Before I could get too deep down that thinking well, three figures hovering off to the side caught my attention.
“These lovely, eager girls are my daughters,” Rose said, waving at the three girls looking at me without blinking.
“Hey,” I said awkwardly, flashing them just as awkward a wave. I wasn’t sure how much my mom had told Rose about my life and the “mess” (Mom’s term, not mine) I’d made of it. From the looks of it, those girls either knew everything and were wide-eyed in terror or knew nothing and were under the impression I was as cool as chocolate ice cream.
“I’ll make the formal introductions since everyone seems a little tongue-tied,” Rose said, giving her daughters a confused look. “This is Lily.” Rose motioned at the tallest girl, a clone of her mom right down to the flowery dress and the long, dark hair and eyes. “She’s sixteen, and if she goes missing, the first place to look for her is hiding in the barn loft devouring her latest book.”
Lily smiled shyly at me before dropping her eyes. Quiet, a little awkward, and liked to hide away from the rest of the world whenever she got the chance . . . I liked her already.
“This is Hyacinth.” Rose moved on to the next girl who was yet another clone. “She’s thirteen and every bit of thirteen.” Rose lifted her brows and gave her daughter an equally maternal and amused smile.
Hyacinth gave me a smile and a wave. She had none of the pissed-off-at-the-whole-world attitude I’d possessed at thirteen, but I guessed Rose’s and my definition of a teenager were a wee bit different.
“And the little one is Clementine. She’s seven.” Rose bit her lip as she inspected her youngest daughter dolled up in head-to-toe princess garb. Even though the whole princess thing was pretty much my arch nemesis, I had to give the girl credit. She was going to be the best damn princess she could be.
“Mom,” Clementine said, sighing in exasperation, “I’m not little.”
Rose lifted her hands in apology. “You’re right. Forgive me, Your Highness.” Nudging me, Rose cleared her throat. “This is Clementine. She’s my big girl.”
Clementine rolled her shoulders back and gave a small nod, obviously appeased. “How do you do?” she said formally, capping it off with the best curtsy I’d ever seen.
“Nice to meet you, Your Highness.” I gave her my own sucky attempt at a curtsy. Clementine, no big surprise, was yet another mini-clone of Rose.
“And I know you already know, but just to make the introductions formal, this is Rowen,” Rose said, glancing from her daughters to me. “My girls have been crossing off the days on their calendars since they learned you were coming. We don’t get female company out here very often. Especially female company from a big city.”
I suddenly became very aware of myself. My outfit, my eyebrow ring, my dark lips. What a disappointment I must have been. No doubt those girls were looking forward to some chic, trendy girl plucked straight from the pages of Cosmo, not a troubled girl who lived dark like it was a religion.
Oh, well. It wasn’t the first or the hundredth time I’d disappointed someone. I cleared my throat and tried to forget about it.
“Rose,” I said, pointing at her. “Lily.” I pointed at the one still diverting her eyes. “Hyacinth.” My finger moved to the next sister, who was still smiling at me, before ending on the littlest “big” girl of the bunch. “And Clementine?” They must have run out of flower names by the time she came along.
“My husband wasn’t too big on the names Peony or Iris, so we compromised and went with a name just as sweet and delicate as the rest of ours,” Rose answered. Clementine stood a couple of inches taller.
“It’s nice to meet you all,” I said, really needing that bath and bed. The crack-of-dawn wake up, the twelve hours of nose rot, the ride in Old Bessie with the cowboy I already both loved and hated, and meeting the mini-Rose clones who were overwhelming me with a skewed version of hero worship . . . I was spent.
“Let me show you up to your room,” Rose said, steering me out of the living room. “You and the girls have plenty of time to get to know each other this summer.”
We were almost out of the living room when something caught my attention. I came to an abrupt stop. So abrupt, Rose continued all the way into the hallway before she noticed I wasn’t with her anymore.
“Rowen?”
I didn’t reply. All my attention was concentrated on the mantle where four framed portraits highlighted four smiling faces: three dark-haired girls I’d just been introduced to . . . and one light-haired boy smiling that dimpled smile. He was in the same sort of outfit he’d worn earlier: a snug white tee, tighter than tight jeans, a simple belt, cowboy boots, and that light straw cowboy hat. Leaning into the side of Old Bessie, his eyes twinkled behind the glass of that frame like they had at me.
“What is it?” Rose asked with a hint of concern as she made her way back to me. Taking a look at what my eyes were bored into, she gave me a gentle nudge. “He’s a good looking kid, isn’t he?” Even if I wanted to agree or disagree, that was beside the point.
“Why do you have a picture of Jesse on your mantle?” I asked, my voice a couple notes higher. “Next to the pictures of your daughters?” I didn’t really need the confirmation, because my thought process had already traveled from A to B to arrive at C.
“Jesse’s our son, silly,” she said, giving a small laugh. “Didn’t he mention that?”