From where he stood he could not see into the small storefront across the street, and it irked him more than he liked to admit. He had a clear view of Flossie’s place, a partial look into the well-lit saloon, but only a slant-eyed peek into the darkened interior of the shop Rosa Audi intended to call her own. Although darkness was rapidly settling in for the night, there was still no light visible through her front window. Kase wondered how long it would be before Rosa Audi decided it was time to light a lamp.
If she even owned one.
He shifted his weight to his left foot and ignored the sound of Zach Elliot entering the office.
“Still worryin’ about the widow woman?”
Kase turned on his friend. “I’m not worrying. Not about her.”
“No? Then why you been wanderin’ around this place like a pony with his bridle off? You got the worried look of a fish floppin’ on a grassy bank wonderin’ how he got there.”
“You got a real way with words, Zach.”
“No sense in shootin’ straight and talkin’ crooked.” Zach frowned and rubbed the stubble of his beard with an open palm. “Been speculatin’ on where a man might get a bite to eat tonight. What’re you plannin’ on? Cold beans in a dirty bowl again?”
“I was thinking of ordering a meal at Bertha’s. Tonight’s fried chicken night. It’s the one thing she can’t ruin.” Kase shrugged.
“Yeah? I’ll tag along.”
Kase cleared his throat before he said, “I won’t be eating there. Floss always brings me some when she picks up hers.” He figured the old man might as well know where he stood with some of the townsfolk. “Bertha won’t have a half-breed at her table.”
Zach paused for a moment before he said, “Which doesn’t sound like punishment from what you said a minute ago.”
Kase cocked his head and half smiled. “I guess not, now that you mention it.”
Kase reached up for the black hat slung over the rack near the open door and settled it on his head. “I think I’ll just take one last walk around town and then meet you over there. If you run into Flossie Gibbs, introduce yourself. And be polite. She’s a friend.”
Zach rolled his eyes heavenward. “Already met her. Tough as an old hen. Wears so much paint she can’t blush.”
“She’s got a heart as big as Wyoming, though. I’d appreciate it if you’d remember I told you that.” Kase’s voice was smooth as silk, emphasizing the strong warning behind the words.
“Defending old women, widows, and orphans seems to set real well with you, boy.” Zach clapped Kase on the shoulder as he stepped outside. “I’ll try and save you a drumstick.”
Darkness quickly smothered the remaining sunlight. Kase sauntered down his side of the street, pausing long enough to thrust head and shoulders between the faded black drapes that hung in the doorway of the Yee family’s laundry. The place was no bigger than his dressing room in the Storm mansion. It was filled with the eye-smarting smell of lye soap mixed with the cloying scent of incense. Flossie and the girls kept the family in business. So did Paddie, who wore a spanking white shirt every day, regardless of the fact that he had few customers who would even notice. As usual, the Chinese couple were arguing with each other while their daughter, a soulful twelve-year-old, looked up at Kase and smiled. He waved and ventured on.
One or two horses were tied up outside the saloon across the street. Cowboys from Mountain Shadows and other nearby ranches would be arriving now that the sun was down. But unless they got too liquored up, Kase did not expect any trouble. That was the reason he liked to sit unobtrusively at a corner table in the saloon until closing time. It helped pass the empty hours of an evening as well as curb the cow punchers’ appetites for too much whiskey. After all, he reasoned, that was why Quentin Rawlins had hired him—to keep the peace in Busted Heel. The job kept him occupied while he tried to put his life back in order.
At first Kase had wondered why a man as wealthy and removed from the town as Rawlins even cared about Busted Heel’s growth and reputation, but within a few hours of proposing the job to Kase, the man had explained. They had discussed the offer over dinner at the Grand Hotel in Kansas City just after they recognized each other on one of the city’s main thoroughfares.
“The reason I want a good man out there, a man I can trust,” Quentin said, leaning back on a thick rolled Havana cigar, “is because my spread’s the biggest outfit near Busted Heel. I hire the most men, and I’ll admit, running an operation as big as Mountain Shadows doesn’t leave any room for getting to know the type of men I hire. I can only hope that I’m as good a judge of men as I am of cattle. But, times being what they are, with my investments spreading out over Wyoming and beyond, my foreman does most of the hiring these days. I guess what I’m trying to say”—he inhaled and set the tip of the cigar glowing—“is that I don’t want to be responsible for any of my boys going hog wild and harming innocent townsfolk.
“I’ve known your father since we worked together for the Bureau. I’d trust him with my life, and I’d say the same for you, just knowing you’ve been raised by him. I won’t tell you Busted Heel’s not a lonesome, forlorn place right now, but I foresee the town growing in the next few years, right along with the rest of Wyoming. Statehood’s just around the corner,” the cattleman had predicted, “and that’ll bring in all kinds of folks.”
One of whom was a golden-eyed Italian girl with a head as hard as a mule could kick, Kase thought as he stood at the end of the sidewalk, staring at the dark interior of the empty shop across the street. He could pretend to Zach that he hadn’t paid her any mind since she stalked away from the jail at midday, but he could not deny it to himself. That would make him twice the fool. Without wanting to, he had tracked her every move, tried not to notice when she left Paddie’s with a smug look on her face and, he suspected, the key to the run-down store safely tucked in her pocket. He had only glanced up from the newspaper for a moment when he caught a glimpse of her leaving Flossie’s. Then it took every ounce of fortitude he had not to walk over and ask Floss what the girl had wanted. He could just imagine the belly laugh Flossie Gibbs would enjoy over his uncalled-for curiosity.
He knew G.W. had spent the day running Rose’s errands for her. Kase had watched the nappy-headed boy run from one end of town to the other, first to the depot and then down to Al-Ray’s. She kept the youngster so busy G.W. hadn’t pestered him all afternoon. Not that it bothered Kase. Not in the least. If the boy wanted to earn his penny candy elsewhere, good riddance.
By now she had probably unpacked the huge leather-strapped trunk he had seen John Tuttle haul out of his delivery wagon and slide across the sidewalk into the shop. He knew for a fact, after observing his mother and sister, that once a woman unpacked her goods she was ready to stay put, at least until she’d had the chance to wear everything she had hauled with her. That thought led him to speculate on whether the rest of Rose’s clothes were too big for her, not to mention as old-fashioned as the black velvet dress.
Kase scuffed the sole of his boot against the edge of the sidewalk and stared at the darkened storefront. She was probably in the back room with the connecting door closed; that had to be the reason he could not see any light within. No need to stop by and see how she fared. None at all.
But he stepped off the boardwalk and crossed over to her side of the street anyway.
The front door to the little shop was locked. The faintest glow of light, a rectangle of golden yellow in the darkness, outlined the small door to the back room. The hum of low voices broken by the occasional high-pitched giggle of one of Flossie’s girls issued from Paddie’s next door. There was no one on the street. Deciding things were quieter than a hole in the ground and feeling not the least bit hungry yet, he moved toward the back of Rose’s empty store.
Tired beyond exhaustion, Rosa had satisfied her hunger with a few slices of bread and a bowl of stew made of an unfamiliar meat that Zetta had brought over. After thanking her neighbor profusely, Rosa fell upon the food, remembering that just last night she had sworn she would never feel like eating again. Time and hard work seemed to have a way of healing all sorts of wounds.
Rosa glanced around the room, happy with the progress she’d made in just a few short hours. Her trunk stood against the back wall yawning open to reveal a few items still neatly stacked in the bottom. The few dresses she owned lined the wall above the cot, hanging on the very hooks that Giovanni had once used. The newly washed table stood in the center of the room and atop it were stacked the cups, saucers, bowls, and plates that had been safely wrapped in the linens packed in the trunk. Two small photographs, one of her mother and father and one of Giovanni, were on a crooked shelf near the stove.
The familiar sights and smells of Corio had been dredged up from the very depths of the trunk as Rosa unwrapped her precious possessions. The linen sheets had all been embroidered by her sister and Zia Rina. Handwoven runners and lace doilies had been lovingly wrapped and folded around each piece of china. Rose petals and spices were scattered among her belongings to keep them smelling sweet. Fragrant muslin packets of basil and oregano, anise, and thyme brought back bittersweet memories of Zia Rina. It was not difficult for Rosa to imagine the old woman sitting before the fire, bent over the squares of fabric as she sewed them together.
Rosa laughed aloud when she found two old iron keys at the bottom of the trunk. Ever cautious, Zia Rina had secretly sent them along for Rosa to use to guard against evil. Whenever a strong wind blew down a sapling or any other signs of misfortune materialized, Zia Rina would always cross two keys to drive away the bad luck that was sure to follow.
“Grazie,
Zia Rina,” Rosa whispered aloud in the empty room as she hung the keys on a nail beside the door where they would lock out bad luck. She looked at the collection of unpacked goods and smiled.
A single candle lit the room. There were four of them, each hand-dipped in scented wax and carried across the sea to be used during the first meal she served in her new home. But instead of sharing dinner with Giovanni, she had eaten alone in the semidarkness, leaning back against the now spotless stove. Aching for rest, she glanced over at the cot. She had beaten the dust off and covered the cot with a sheet so pristine in its whiteness it seemed a shame to use it on so humble a bed. The night was warm, balmy enough that she would need no other cover.
Slowly, in the dim light that cast tall, flickering shadows over the walls of the tiny room, Rosa began to unbutton the front of the brown dress that had faded to near beige. She drew it off her shoulders and let the bodice hang from the still buttoned waistband. The white camisole beneath clung to her damp skin, testimony to the heat. She unbuttoned the first three buttons. A pail of water on the unlit stove served as her wash basin as she dipped her cupped hands in again and again, splashing the refreshing liquid over her parched and dusty skin. Eyes closed, she reached out, searching for the linen towel she had looped over the oven door handle.
The slightest hint of a footfall outside caused Rosa to freeze just as her fingertips reached the towel. Holding her breath, she hastily dried her face and listened, head cocked to the side, for another sound. With one hand she held the towel pressed against the valley between her breasts, slim protection for whatever danger lurked outside. As she stood staring at the door, too afraid to move, she heard the sound again. There was definitely someone moving around out there.
G.W., she thought. Relieved, she started to step forward. Then she realized it was long past sunset and the child would be in bed.
When the door handle moved slightly to the right and then to the left, her heart began to pound so intensely that she thought she was going to faint. But as the door swung slowly open, she felt a strange, cool calm come over her. She would face the intruder and deal with him. Or die trying.
Determined to pick up the one remaining piece of wood and use it as a weapon, she moved toward the box just as the door opened completely.
Kase Storm stepped over the threshold.
Rosa did not know whether to grab the piece of wood and bring it down on the crown of his head or feel relieved at the sight of his familiar face. She did neither. Instead, she clutched the towel against her breasts and wondered at the reason for his intrusion.
“You left your door unlocked,” he stated bluntly.
She nodded, unable to do more than stare and wonder what he wanted.
He returned her stare, determined to frighten her. She needed to learn what could easily happen to someone so vulnerable. “You don’t realize there are all kinds of drifters who ride into town every night,” he said, his eyes roving over her.
“Drifters?”
He stepped closer. “A woman like you shouldn’t be living here alone at all, let alone with the door unlocked after sundown.” He watched her slowly mounting panic and envisioned his mother’s eyes wide with horror as she faced her attacker.
Rose reached up with her free hand to push aside a tendril of hair that had slipped free of her braids. It felt damp as she looped it behind her ear.
Kase could almost smell her fear. It was all too visible in the way she had begun to tremble. He knew he should stop what he was doing to her, but a cruel need to frighten some sense into her spurred him on. “What do you intend to do when some cowhand decides to walk in here the way I did? Have you thought about that?”
“No, I—”
“What if a man were to walk up to you like this?” In two strides he closed the space between them until they were standing toe to toe.
“I—” Rosa swallowed and tried to break the hold of his piercing gaze.
“What if some cowpoke were to put his hands on you, like this?” The sight of his dark fingers pressed into her white flesh shook him to the core. A man had roughly used his own mother once, forced his way into her flesh and left his seed inside her. That man’s blood now surged through his veins.
He let go of Rose as if he had been scorched, but he did not back away.