APRIL IN ROME
Chapter Twelve

Primly perched on the upper banks overlooking the serene black waters of Caddo Lake, a great 19th century pristine southern belle stood waiting. Ancient majestic moss-draped live oaks stood in twin single file formations for a quarter mile long emulating gigantic parasols that shaded the tunnel-like alleyway leading to her front doors. Standing at attention like antiquated bearded Confederate soldiers, the grand oaks guarded their gracious queen from the blistering hot Texas sun. Massive white Ionic columns encompassed her surrounding porches supporting her heavenly balconies, verandahs, and steeply dormered roof. Tall sparkling lead-paned windows were flanked by serviceable forest green shutters that were open this sweltering humid August evening permitting gentle summer breezes to pass through her grand halls and corridors. Lush rolling green lawns shared their thick carpets with the magnificent azalea petticoats of the proud Texas lady.

Vying for dominance, day lilies, daisies, and periwinkles held hands like small children dancing in the rustling summer wind. Chinese wisteria, Carolina jasmine, and old-fashioned honeysuckle vines hugged her latticed terraced gazebo seducing honeybees, hummingbirds, and butterflies to their fragrant, luscious blossoms. Flocks of feisty mockingbirds, vermilion cardinals, blue jays and purple martens serenaded the late evening sky with their symphonic songs of peace. Proud princely peacocks strutted their aristocratic attire as if posing for a great artist’s masterpiece. This was Rosedale—the immortal, mysterious Jeffersonian legend of yesteryear. Her vast cotton fields were long gone but their legacy had heralded rich treasures that had given birth to her splendid glory, grandeur, and grace.

Emma Dawson was held completely spellbound and was magically transported for endless moments somewhere back in time.

"So this is where the illustrious Hockleys hide out guarding their little secrets from the prying eyes of civilization," she softly whispered in awe.

It was quite fabulous and evoked intense feelings of fascination, envy and somewhat trepidation. Harboring so many unanswered questions, Emma began to experience shadows of intimidation and uncertainty that the fleeting truths she desperately sought might not be so easily revealed. But, she had to try for her son’s sake. Sometimes male foolish pride blinded one to reality and truth. She had to know even if it labeled her a meddler in some people’s eyes. Having no specific game plan in mind, she decided to just leave everything to chance and let fate run its course.

Stepping out of the rental car parked at the end of the long, winding tree-canopied entranceway, Emma nervously began to stroll up the red bricked pathway that would eventually lead to her final destination—an antebellum manor which was beckoning her to fulfill a destiny.

In the distance the music of loons of the nearby marshes and the soft cooing of mourning doves rent the evening mists. Then suddenly, out of nowhere a horrendous haunting squawking shrill pierced the tranquil dusky air prompting Emma to emit a startled gasp. Her heart skipped several beats and her frightened eyes widened—it was becoming increasing difficult to catch her anxious breath.

Terrified, Emma began thoroughly berating herself for walking the great distance in a somewhat foreign and forbidden place because she was most likely not only trespassing but might possibly be attacked by some strange voracious beast. Overwhelmingly petrified, she froze and placed a trembling hand to her constricted throat.

Unbeknownst to Emma, Rose DiStefano-Hockley was leisurely sitting cross-legged under a nearby stately oak tree intently stitching a tiny gown when she spied an attractive blond stranger haltingly walking past. Rose secretly witnessed her stark fear and took pity therefore graciously attempted to put her at ease, "It’s okay, Ma'am, nothing to be afraid of, just a bunch of peacocks roosting for the evening. Can I help you?"

Startled, Emma turned in the direction of the soothing feminine voice and gazed upon a very young smiling angel garbed in a buttercup yellow empire-waist sundress. Her shiny, copper hair was pulled up in a ponytail with yellow satin ribbons adorning her locks, presenting the image of a little girl at play. Seated on a patchwork quilt, she was beaming in mirth and Emma imagined her heavenly wings might unfurl at any moment and lift her up into the clouds. Finding her tongue and manners, she finally got out, "I’m sorry, that shriek startled me a bit. It’s so secluded here and…breathtakingly beautiful. Excuse me but I’m looking for the Black Swan Hotel in Jefferson. Obviously, I’ve taken a few wrong turns."

Something about the gentle woman seemed vaguely familiar but Rose was never one to forget a face; therefore, she inwardly shrugged. Nevertheless, it was strange but she immediately felt a kind of elusive kinship and was put instantly at ease, so brightly greeted, "Maybe just a few, Ma'am. Actually you’re at Rosedale, our family’s old homestead. And by the way, I’m Rose…Rose DiStefano-Hockley."

Emma flushed unexpectedly. So this is my Jack’s lost Rose. How lucky could one get? And so beautiful and VERY young!

"Glad to meet you Rose. I’m Emma. Emma uh…Jackson," she stumbled slightly.

"Care to sit awhile and enjoy some cold fresh squeezed lemonade and perhaps some positively sinful pecan pralines? We don’t get too many visitors this far out…and not many neighbors either for that matter." Sensing Emma’s hesitation, Rose gently coaxed, "Come on, it’s really hot out today and you look like you need something to whet your whistle and calm your nerves."

"Are you sure? Okay you talked me into it!"

As Rose poured some of the icy beverage, she playfully teased, "Those peacocks can be real nuisances at times. Scary sounding if you’re not familiar with their calls. They’ve been around here for decades. Now, take off your shoes and get comfy, Ms. Emma."

Smiling, Rose served up the pralines on paper lace doilies and set one down in front of her guest like a child at a tea party.

"Thank you, Rose. I believe I will." Taking off her pumps, Emma massaged her weary feet and graciously bragged, "These are absolutely scrumptious. I’ve been driving all day."

"Where are you from and what in tarnation brings you to Jefferson, Texas?" Rose curiously queried.

Absolutely abhorring to outrageously lie to the sweet, gentle girl, Emma guiltily told a half-truth, "I’m actually a legal secretary from California doing some research. Jefferson is such a charming and historical little village, I decided to stay over for the night."

"I’m a wee bit prejudice, but I can’t help but agree. It’s all those things and more…it’s home. You’re certainly a long way from home." Rose interestingly inquired yet simultaneously thought of the last painful time when she had seen Jack in Los Angeles that inwardly made her grimace.

"I am at that. I needed a break…a mini vacation so to speak. I don’t get the chance much." Totally enjoying their conversation and light-hearted banter, they laughed and giggled like little girls at their own tea party. After a time, Emma glanced down into Rose’s lap and espied the delicate handiwork that Rose had been sewing and curiously questioned, "What are you doing there? It feels so soft and dainty."

"Well, I’m not much of a seamstress, but I’ve been trying to copy this antique family heirloom for another christening gown," Rose proudly gleaned.

Looking at Rose’s ever so slightly rounded tummy and seeing a chance to solve a piece of the puzzle, Emma softly probed, "How far are you, Rose?"

Laughingly, Rose politely confirmed, "Is it that obvious already? Actually, I’m due in January. However, we just found out a couple of days ago, I’m miraculously having twins of all things and we’ll need another baptismal gown."

"Twins! I bet that was a pleasant surprise!" Emma became outwardly ecstatic and mentally began calculating relevant timetables.

Rose’s eyes began twinkling like peridot gems.

"Daddy almost passed out! The only thing he could think to say was, ‘Rose, you never do anything half ass, do you?’"

Emma fell completely under Rose’s captivating spell. In her heart, she knew she was perfect for her Jack. Emma saw what he must have seen in Rome. To clarify her suspicions, she dreadfully continued with care.

"Their father must be elated." However, Emma instantly regretted her blunder. Rose’s eyes darkened with agony and tears threatened at their corners.

Finally, however, Rose chewed on her bottom lip. Nonetheless, she openly and honestly confessed, "Well…truthfully, he doesn’t know." Clearing her throat slightly she began staring off at the setting sun and wistfully disclosed, "But sometimes, I wonder what he’d say if he was here and I can imagine him saying,

Shit, Rose, shit! He had the most adorable way of shamelessly swearing!"

Gleefully giggling, Rose turned her dreamy countenance back in Emma’s direction and hastily added, "You must think me brash and uncouth, Ms. Emma."

Still chuckling with pleasure because Emma knew better than most how utterly charming her wayward son could be sometimes even when he was cursing, she laughingly responded, "Of course not, Rose. I love honesty in a person." After a few moments, the opportunity was ripe; therefore, Emma cautiously pressed onward, "Would I be too forward if I asked what happened?"

Taking a deep halting breath and biting her bottom lip, Rose finally revealed, "We met April in Rome and I immediately fell head over heels in love with him. Unfortunately, his plans didn’t include me so I left and came back home." Forcefully exhaling, she hesitated a moment longer and continued enthusiastically, "I have no regrets, though! After it first happened and I came back to Texas, I was devastated—wanted to die even. But then, I found out I was pregnant—these babies saved my life. They gave me a reason to never let go—he was unable to give me his heart but I got his best and I’m happy for that!"

Emma sat completely enthralled, enraptured at this girl’s maturity and open heart. Emma couldn’t help wondering, What in the world happened between her son and Rose in Rome? She was increasingly beginning to doubt Jack’s assumptions as Helga did. Something just didn’t quite congeal or make sense!

Softening her countenance, Emma encouraged, "Rose, maybe a miracle will happen. I’ll certainly pray for one."

"Thank you, Ms. Emma. Actually, I’m Roman Catholic so I truly believe in miracles." Rose lovingly touched her belly and divulged, "The world is full of wonders. Mama would always say things happen for a reason but we may never know why. Jack, the babies’ father, he doesn’t even know he gave me the most precious miracles he could ever give." After a few moments, Rose shifted the subject, "Do you have children, Ms. Emma?"

Emma became increasingly melancholy and weepy. Her heart was being tugged and her insides were trembling with repressed emotions.

"I have a son. And I recently found out I’m going to be a grandmother." Emma glowed.

"Really? You’re so blessed!" Rose innocently congratulated.

"Indeed, I am." With a misty haze over her shining blue eyes, Emma held out a hand to Rose’s abdomen and asked, "May I?"

Upon Rose’s consenting nod, Emma softly laid a slightly trembling hand on Rose’s tummy to feel her grandchildren and telepathically tried to communicate her identity to them. It obviously worked for in a few glorious seconds, Rose jumped and giggled, "They’ve never done that before!"

On a nearby knoll astride Diablo, Don Hockley sat watching, curious about the blond stranger sitting with his daughter presently giggling like two sisters sharing a secret. He couldn’t help turning their direction and finally came upon them.

"What’s all the commotion about ladies?" he gallantly questioned.

"Daddy! The babies kicked for the first time! Come down and meet Emma Jackson," Rose excitedly rejoiced.

"Hello, Ms. Jackson. I’m Don Hockley, Rose’s father," he courteously bowed.

Emma sat it total shock, awe and somewhat dismay. Her foolish son—was he ever wrong! And to add to her stunned countenance, she was staring in astonishment at one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. Mounted on an ebony steed, he exuded male power, aristocratic features with an overwhelming, irresistible aura about him. Eyes the color of his daughter’s, reddish-brown hair, an aquiline nose, and a tempting male frame that set her heart fluttering in embarrassment—his voice was deep and masculine with an inflection of dominance or raw power that caused sensuous tingles to echo throughout her body. Emma swallowed the lump in her throat and finally bid him a faint greeting suddenly fidgety and giddy for some odd reason.

"Come join us for refreshments, Daddy. Ms. Emma lost her way to the Black Swan and wound up here. You sit and visit while I go get more ice and another glass," Rose gaily suggested.

Don agilely dismounted and kneeled on one bent leg, surreptitiously studying the interesting albeit pretty blond woman currently sitting bare feet with flushed cheeks. He wondered if her heightened color was from the heat of the day or embarrassment for getting "caught" with her shoes off. She didn’t look like the typical outdoor type.

"Your daughter is absolutely enchanting, Mr. Hockley," Emma commented as they both watched Rose’s graceful retreat.

"Thank you. She’s my heart and a pistol to boot!" Don proudly boasted.

Trying to cover the reasons for her obvious amazed visage at his arrival and introduction, Emma haltingly explained, "I won’t lie, Mr. Hockley. I’m quite in awe that the famous entertainer is sitting before me this instance. I’ve always been a huge fan of your music. Wow, you’re out in the middle of nowhere and it caught me quite by surprise!"

Genuinely flattered, Don deeply chuckled with ease at her praise.

"Well, I’m retired now, Ms. Jackson and back home for good. I’ve missed all the peace and tranquillity of the country atmosphere. Should’ve been here more often and taken better care of Rose." Thoughtfully he said out loud, "Maybe then…Anyway, as you heard, I’m going to be a grandfather! But two babies—gonna have our hands full if they’re anything like Rose!"

Thinking of her own overly rambunctious son, Emma heartily agreed, "I know you will—but how wonderful! They’ll be absolutely beautiful for sure!"

"You’re right of course. Rose will make a wonderful doting mother; she’s so much like her own in that way at least," Don honestly and wistfully commented.

"Where is Mrs. Hockley?" Emma innocently queried.

"Laurel has been deceased for a very long time now," while slightly grimacing and averting his gaze somewhere in the distance.

Sounding genuinely contrite, "I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have been so inquisitive…"

Interrupting and holding up his hand to halt her apology, "That’s all right. I’ve always kept my private life just that…and here I am rattling on like I’ve known you for years. Hell, you could be one of those rag sheet journalists under cover," he joked while keenly gauging her reaction.

Emma heartily exploded into laughter.

"No, I assure you, Mr. Hockley…I’m not that."

"Don, call me Don." The vivacious woman had mysteriously begun to charm him. He hadn’t felt this comfortable with a woman for a very long time. And what was so uncannily astounding was the short length of time it took her to accomplish such a feat. She was actually glowing right now and Don was beginning to feel again.

"All right, Don. But only if you call me, Emma. Let’s just say that gossip columnists and paparazzi are at the absolute bottom of my list, if you can believe that!" she gaily revealed to an enchanted Don Hockley.

"Well, I do apologize, Emma. It’s just I’ve always been so skeptical of any and every one—comes from years of protecting Rose, I guess. I don’t even think anyone outside of family and friends ever knew I had a daughter or a wife for that matter. Never was one to grant too many interviews and when I did—never allowed family to be discussed. Always lived a ruthless existence, until now at least."

Shrugging slightly and in deep contemplation, he philosophically continued, "I wanted Rose to be free, really free to live her life without the constant pressures of public scrutiny. Those of us in this business have a tough time of that and our children should not have to pay for the choices that we live and make. Power, fame and influence have never seduced Rose…well in that sense anyway. Can you understand that?"

"More than you know, Don. More than you know," Emma mysteriously agreed.

At that precise moment, Rose returned.

"Supper is ready you two and another place has already been sat so don’t even think about declining and insulting our hospitality, Ms. Emma. Besides, we’re having chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes, gravy, lady cream peas, homemade yeast rolls, ice tea, and pecan pie. And furthermore, there’s an ominous black cloud rolling in so we better not argue and hurry!"

Surprised and delighted, "Chicken fried steak? Well it sounds good but I…"

Not allowing her to finish, Don offered her an arm, "You’ll absolutely love it! It’s my favorite. All those years on the road when I was craving it and would attempt to order up some…hell, people looked at me like I was crazy! Can’t get enough of it now! Shall we eat, ladies?"

The dinner consisted of idle chitchat and a few stolen glances between Don and their honored guest. Emma was exuberantly floating in a fantasy world.

The inside of Rosedale was a virtual 19th century showcase. It was solely furnished with antique heirlooms—intricately carved and polished to a high sheen. Elegant sparkling crystal chandeliers boasted of hundreds of dangling prisms that lightly danced with the invading August winds painting tiny rainbows over her high ceilings and walls. Fresh flowers were artfully arranged in crystal vases and placed throughout the rooms, which lent a homey atmosphere to the magnificent interior. But the grand sweeping staircase in the entrance hall was what held Emma’s interest the most for it reminded her explicitly of the one at Twelve Oaks in her favorite movie, Gone With The Wind. Grinning, she could just imagine her grandchildren in future years racing up and down…

Breaking into her silent revelry, "Let’s retire to the parlor and let all this food settle, shall we? Maybe Rose will entertain us with some soothing piano music," Don solicitously suggested. "By the way, you will stay the night as our guest, Emma? It’s a long drive back to the Black Swan in the dark and the rain soaked roads can be quite a challenge and dangerous. You could wind up in a ditch, stranded. We have plenty of rooms going to waste and…we’re all having such a grand time…it’d be a shame for it to end so soon."

"But I…" Emma started to half-heartedly protest, yet secretly hoped for the opportunity to stay a while longer to get to know Rose and Don a bit better.

"No buts, I’ll send Lovejoy to drive your car to the back entrance off the road. Besides you haven’t lived till you’ve heard my Rose play and sing. She’s marvelous, if I do say so myself."

"Daddy, you’re bragging and embarrassing me." Rose implored but joined in on her father’s debate and Emma was flatly defeated and overruled.

However, Emma was elated beyond imagination inwardly agreeing that things had really gone beyond her expectations. Fate was performing a miracle of sorts in the works. Now if she could only talk with Jack and hear his side--find out his true feelings for the future mother of his children. She was still so overwhelmed and downright giddy about that news. A first time grandmother and with twins no less! She thought she might float from the sheer thrill of it all.

Sitting in the elegantly furnished drawing room sipping a glass of offered wine, Emma stared at the gorgeous girl playing the massive carved grand piano. The music seemed to be carrying her away…so soothing…so tranquil…so relaxing…hypnotizing her into a peaceful lull.

Then suddenly, Rose broke off into a fast country swing and Don Hockley came out of his Queen Anne leather chair and gallantly bowed before her.

"Care to dance?"

"But I don’t know the steps," Emma protested.

"Neither do I, just go with it," Don brooked no resistance and she didn’t give any. Guffaws and laughter kept time with the echoes of night creatures.

Later that night, unable to sleep like a child at Christmas time, Emma belted her robe and stepped out onto the verandah to take a breath of the crisp, night air. In a nearby tree, a night owl hooted and far off in the distance the mournful howling of wild dogs and coyotes wailed. Sitting on the balustrade propped against a huge ivory column, Rose was wistfully gazing at the millions of bright twinkling stars. She wore a thin white batiste embroidered gown and her hair was hanging down to her waist in waves. However, her mind was a thousand miles away—in Rome.

"A penny for your thoughts, Rose. Don’t get up. I didn’t mean to disturb you but I couldn’t resist this remarkable sky and the night sounds! They’re so alien yet so tranquil. It’s been a long time since I saw this many stars. Light pollution in LA makes it near impossible sometimes to get a glimpse of such marvels, but never the wonderful sounds of night creatures…It’s like a fairy tale."

"I know. Can you see that meadow over there beyond the pecan orchard? In April, it’s a virtual sea of blue. Thousand of bluebonnets with just a sprinkle of red clover and Indian paintbrush make it appear like a patchwork quilt. I missed that this year. And all the daffodils, lily-of-the-valley, irises, azaleas, and camellias—just to name a very few," Rose whimsically reflected. "I’ve always loved April. It’s my favorite month of the year—especially after a dull gray winter. I wish every month could be April. But mostly, I wish life had storybook endings."

Emma desperately deemed to lighten Rose’s wistful mood and countenance. Taking her delicate hand and locking sapphires with emeralds, she softly encouraged, "Remember this, dear. Never let go—no matter what. Don’t ever lose hope."

"Thank you, Ms. Emma. I’ll try to remember that when it gets to be too much. Good night."

At daybreak, Emma was awakened to the sounds of songbirds and roosters crowing. Then the tantalizing mouth-watering smells invaded her nostrils and beckoned her to descend the stairs. Frying bacon, brewing coffee, and baking yeast rolls greeted her in the dining room along with another tempting menu of southern breakfast cuisine. She was eagerly greeted and joined by Don where they enjoyed much overly warm conversation until Rose belatedly appeared.

"Well, it’s about time, sweetpea…beginning to think you were going to sleep the whole day away," Don lightly reprimanded.

"Sorry, Daddy, Ms. Emma. Wasn’t feeling all that well—a tad bit of nausea this morning."

"Are you sure you’re okay?" Emma sincerely implored looking overly worried and concerned.

"Of course, did you ever get ill in the morning, Ms. Emma?"

"Well, it’s been ages but I definitely remember that feeling—but it’ll pass precious. I promise."

After a while, Don eventually threw both the ladies totally off guard.

"Rose, Martin Stefano called earlier this morning and he’s express mailing us some New York Premier tickets to his new movie, Gangs of Yesterday and he insists that we attend for some reason. Do you have something you’ve neglected to tell me?"

Rose guiltily averted her widened eyes and nervously cleared her throat. Biting her lip, she hesitantly began, "Yes, actually. Well you did say to get a job while I was in Rome this April. And I sort of did. As a matter of fact, Martin gave me a tiny bit part in his movie and that’s how I got the money to come back home."

Rose solemnly prayed that would be all she had to reveal. Please, God, let him drop it…don’t make an issue…please…please…please! Alas, her prayers were not to be answered.

"Why have you not mentioned this before?" Don suspiciously inquired. "Did Vic and Donna know? They never mentioned it last week when they phoned about Fabrizio’s engagement gala—never uttered a blasted word."

"I know, Daddy. I promised Uncle Vic that I’d tell you myself but I somehow forgot."

Hastily trying to change the subject, "Who's Fabri marrying again?"

"Some South American model he met while here in the states. Didn’t catch the name. But please, do continue with you somewhat lame excuse," Don responded with a hint of agitation inflecting his tone.

"It’s not important. I’m not going to the premiere anyway," Rose solemnly declared.

"But you must!" Emma loudly interjected. Both pair of Hockley eyes stared in stunned surprise.

Sheepishly, Emma apologized, "Sorry, it’s none of my business."

"That’s perfectly all right, Emma. I’m totally with you on this. Rose and I must go. I’m curious about this notorious role my daughter is starring in. It’s not everyday your child is in an epic blockbuster, you know."

Emma smiled knowingly and took a sip of her coffee.

Continuing, Don accusingly flung, "Naturally, that’s where you met that boy!"

Extremely ill at ease, Rose denied, "No, Daddy. Actually we met at the opera."

Both Don and Emma simultaneously looked perplexed and somewhat disarmed by that revelation. However, Emma pressed slender fingers to her lips in an effort to subdue her amusement and cast a shining glance at Don.

Don couldn’t help himself.

"An opera? Never mind…I don’t want to hear it," he lightly snapped.

With a quivering voice, Rose desperately pleaded, "Daddy, please. I don’t want to go. He will be there and most likely with her. I can’t stand to see him and together with…Besides, he’ll see me and instantly know about the babies!"

"No buts and that’s the end of it, Rose. It’ll be fine. Besides, it’s next week and you’re still relatively small. Just wear something loose and no one will ever know. Trust me," Don roughly insisted.

Gingerly, Rose touched her slightly extended middle and cast a worried apprehensive glance towards Emma.

Emma impishly winked at her to try and allay her fears. Inwardly, however, she became furious at her seemingly fickle hearted son. Just who was this other "she"? It better not be that…She politely made conversation to turn everyone’s attention from the intense course it had been roughly flowing.

Much later, as Emma said her farewells, she confidentially encouraged Rose.

"Promise me, Rose, that you’ll never let go." Brushing her rosy cheek with her slender fingers she softly added, "Till we meet again, take care of those precious angels."

"Only if you swear, we’ll see you again. It’s been so heavenly having you here. You can’t imagine how much this has meant to me. Almost as if you were brought here by an invisible force to help me when I needed a mother the most. It’s funny, I’ve only known you for such a short time and I feel…like I did with Jack somehow. Well almost anyway…" Rose shyly dropped her head at her last comment.

Clasping Rose’s hand and tilting her head up with the other to meet her sapphire watery gaze, Emma emotionally promised, "It’s meant the same to me, Rose. I promise I’ll be there for you when you least expect it and whenever you need me the most. Say a prayer, mia."

Chills raced along Rose’s arms. At that precise moment, Don Hockley rode up and boyishly interrupted the teary-eyed pair, "Ever ride a mule, Emma?"

"No," she nervously laughed.

"I’ll take you to your car. Hop on. It’s not a real mule, silly. That’s what this ATV is referred to here in Texas." Don was relentlessly teasing Emma and his reckless antics were just what the two needed at that intense emotional moment.

Putting on her best smile, Rose waved until they were out of sight. With the sad parting came more unsettling thoughts of seeing Jack again. Was he married yet? How was she possibly going to bear it? Coping with his rejection was one thing, but the idea of him flaunting his new wife or fiancee in front of her…Rose literally became sick with the actual onslaught of anxiety attacks. Pressing back against an ivory front porch column for support, she closed her saddened eyes.

Inwardly reflecting, one disturbing thought kept determinedly pulling at her aching heart since that torrid night in Los Angeles. Jack had been unreasonably jealous and she couldn’t figure that out when he was the one engaged to me married! Was he so backward that he actually believed he could keep a string of women and a wife but the women had to be strictly exclusive to him? Well, he had another thought coming from this woman, she mused.

"What’s good for the goose, is also good for the gander," Rose emphatically reasoned.

At Emma’s car, Don loaded her cases then took her slender hand in his own. He gallantly placed a gentle kiss on the back of her extended hand and raised stormy green orbs to her wistful gaze.

"Goodbye, Emma. It’s been a true pleasure. I feel so…sad." Don revealingly disclosed.

"And I haven’t had this much fun in years," Emma interjected yet her mournful face reflected his sorrowful and poignant farewell. She quickly stepped forward to place a last gentle kiss on his cheek. However, Don averted his face and captured her pink lush lips with his own. They clung to each other what seemed an eternity, yet felt like an instant.

Regaining his slight senses, Don spun around and raised his hand in farewell and hastily drove off without further complicating words.

Reluctantly, Emma got in the car and dropped her forehead on the steering wheel and wept. She cried for joy, for grief, and for faith! Destiny, fate or chance had miraculously welcomed her to Rosedale and ironically, Emma Dawson found she desperately wanted to stay.

Chapter Thirteen
Stories