The Rancher Takes A Bride (The Burnett Brides Book 1)

up until she died."
    Travis glanced at her above his paper, his eyes coolly curious. "What about your father—was he an actor?"
    Rose laughed. Telling Travis the truth about her father would be like handing him a key to her jail cell. She'd be looking between bars before daybreak.
    No, her childhood fantasy was much better than the truth and safer besides. The last time she'd seen her father had been in Kansas City, and frankly she hoped she'd never see him again.
    "My father was a banker's son who loved the theater. My grandfather disapproved of the performing arts—and my mother. When he was a youngster, Dad would leave the family business and sneak down to the opera house. It was there that he met my mother and they fell madly in love. Papa left behind a life of luxury and money for my mother."
    She sighed and gazed at Travis. For some reason, this fabricated tale had always brought her peace and a sense of security when she was a child, but Travis looked skeptical.
    Quickly, before he asked questions, she changed the direction of the conversation. "What about your parents? How did they meet?"
    Travis shook his head. "Don't know. They moved from Virginia to Texas, but that's all I know. Dad never spoke too much about his past, and Mom only spoke of her family."
    "You never asked?" Rose questioned.
    He shrugged. "Not really."
    "Why not? Weren't you curious?"
    "Nope."
    She watched him turn the page of the newspaper. "Did your parents love one another?"
    "They were committed to one another. My mother ran the house, and my father took care of the ranch," he said, his voice almost uninterested.
    "But was there passion between the two of them?"
    Travis frowned. "My father loved my mother. Not because of passion, but because she was a decent woman who took care of their home and raised his children."
    "Oh," Rose said, a smile on her lips. "But if there wasn't passion and love, what kept them together all those years?"
    His brow rose, and he took a deep breath. "Desirée, it's obvious you don't understand. Love is what naturally happens between a good man and a good woman who spend a lifetime getting to know each other. Passion is just a momentary feeling that, once explored, is gone."
    "No!" Rose couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Passion is what causes love to take root and grow. It's a natural occurrence between two people who are attracted to one another."
    "Passion is a short-lived emotion that happens when a man wants a woman. She doesn't have to be a good woman. She's just convenient at the moment."
    Rose studied him. She'd never tried her hand at seduction, but this seemed the perfect opportunity and a chance to prove him wrong. She walked around the furniture until she was standing in front of Travis. She leaned down until they were eye to eye.
    "If you were to feel passion for me, you would not consider me to be a nice woman?" she asked, her voice low and sultry.
    He frowned, wrinkling his forehead, and his eyes raked her from head to foot. "Now, I'm having trouble with this question for several reasons."
    He paused. "All the nice women I know don't dress in men's clothing that has been resized to fit them like a second skin. Secondly, they don't run a séance parlor or steal. And last, they don't tempt a man the way you do."
    She leaned even more toward Travis, who was pinned to the couch, blocked in by Rose's presence, but he wasn't resisting. In fact, his eyes widened and darkened with an emotion that seemed to reach deep inside her and start a flash fire.
    "I don't tempt men, Travis. I don't try to entice you." She paused a moment, then added, "Most of the time. So am I to be blamed for the fact that I attract you?"
    "Yes," he said. "I'm a man. When you dress this way, you're provoking, and I respond like any man."
    "So you don't think I'm a lady."
    "Nope."
    A flash of anger burst through her, but she quickly tamped down the hurtful feeling. She didn't like his response, but getting angry would get her nowhere.
    Yet her voice sounded harsh in her ears. "You're right—ladies don't wear men's clothing. I guess it would have been better if I'd gone naked. At least then I wouldn't be breaking that rule. And it would be better for me not to try to help others who have lost loved ones get over their grief, and let myself starve, since I wouldn't have a job. And I guess a real lady wouldn't lean so close to you and think about how your lips felt against mine when you kissed me. Or admit to the passion