Rose (22 page)

She moaned aloud, a sound that echoed mingled feelings of release and intensified longing. Her fingers dug into the material stretched taut across his wide shoulders. She clung, afraid to let go and find herself spinning free, flung out into a universe of sensation.

He suckled one breast and released it, then ministered to the other. Again she experienced an overwhelming need and again she moaned. As he sucked and gently nibbled at her breasts, she thrashed her head from side to side, giving in to the exquisite torture, wondering if she could stand more even as she prayed he would never stop.

Lost in the taste of her silken skin, surrounded by the sound of her heavy breathing and the incessant throbbing of his own blood as it pounded through his veins, Kase was oblivious to the sound of an approaching wagon as it moved along the road behind them. Finally, as the other vehicle drew near, the jingle of the harness and rattle of the wooden floorboards penetrated his thoughts.

“Hallo! Everything all right?” a man’s voice called out across the distance that separated the two vehicles.

Rosa gasped and tried to sit up. She clutched the front of her jacket together, a futile attempt, since her breasts were unleashed and straining over the top of her camisole.

Kase drew a ragged breath. “Stay down,” he whispered. His tone brooked no argument.

She complied, finding it all too easy to close her eyes against the embarrassment of her situation. Her awkward position left her little to do except cross her arms over her breasts as Kase stood to look over the back of the carriage.

He cupped his hands around his mouth and called back, “Everything’s fine. Just watching the moonrise.”

“Good night, then,” the man called back. They could hear the sound of laughter and happy chatter as the wagon moved on down the road.

Kase took Rosa’s hand and drew her to a sitting position. Gently he brushed her hair back over her shoulders and then reached out for her hands. He uncrossed her arms and then slipped his fingers beneath her breasts. The weight of them rested against his knuckles. Carefully he pulled her camisole up until she was covered once again, then drew the sides of her jacket together. With painstaking care, he rebuttoned the jet buttons and then grabbed the hem of her fitted jacket and tugged it down over her waist until it rested on her hips.

Reminded of the night he had first kissed her, Kase wondered if he was doomed to spend all of their stolen moments buttoning Rose’s clothes. He offered a silent prayer of thanks for the interruption that had allowed him enough time to cool off and think about the ramifications of his actions. Until he could come to terms with his past, there was no way he could involve Rosa Audi with his future. She was too vulnerable, and far too willing.

He leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. “They weren’t close enough to see us.” He brushed her lips with his, then drew the blanket up over her shoulders again. “Are you all right?”

“
Sì
.”

“Good. It’s time we head back to town.”

Still shaking, as much from unfulfilled desire as from fear, Rosa nodded.

Rosa moved through the following morning in a daze, her thoughts centered on the night before. No matter how she tried, she could not forget her wanton disregard for propriety. Standing over a steaming pot of chicken stock, she closed her eyes against the memory of Kase Storm leaning over her as she lay sprawled against the cold leather seat of the hired buggy. Even now she could recall the scratch of the heavy blanket against her back, the sharp night air that added to the erotic sensation of his lips against her bare skin, the rush of heat that seared her as he laved her breasts with his tongue.

An insistent pounding at the back door startled her into awareness. Rosa left the stock to simmer and went to answer the summons. It was G.W. Davis, come to sweep the floor.

Relieved to see that it was only the child and not Kase, Rosa forced a smile. She would have to come to terms with herself and her actions of the previous evening before diners arrived for the midday meal. She set the boy to his task, crossed the dining room to survey the three tables that now served the customers, and unlocked the front door. She paused on the walk for a moment and glanced toward the jailhouse. There was no sign of Kase, although the door to the building stood open. Quickly she stepped back inside.

What shall I do when I see him? she wondered. What shall I say? She thought perhaps she should, apologize for her actions, then remembered the long silent ride back to town and knew that the opportunity for an apology had passed. Kase had not touched her again, except to help her from the carriage. He had walked her to the door, said good night with a nod, and waited while she turned the key. In her mind, she dreaded coming face to face with him again. In her heart, she could not wait to see him.

He did not come in for the midday meal. In a way, she was not surprised—he had yet to return for a meal since the day he ate with Quentin Rawlins—but she had half expected him to come today. Instead, it was his friend Zach, along with Paddie O’Hallohan, who arrived a short while after noon.

“Howdy, Miz Rosie.”

He studied her for so long with his one-eyed stare that she colored. Surely Kase had not told the man what had passed between them?

“Signor Zach, Signor Paddie. Please, sit.”

Flossie, they explained, was tending bar so that Paddie could experience eating at the café instead of standing behind the bar, shoveling down food they carried in to him. Since it was his first visit, and he the provider of most of her chairs and all of the tables, Rosa took extra care with their meal. Hovering attentively over the men, she served them chicken soup with tender, fragrant vegetables, roast chicken, potatoes boiled and tossed with butter and garlic, bread, and finally dessert.

Not once did Zach Elliot mention Kase.

Not once did she ask about him.

Rosa retreated to the kitchen and slid the soiled dishes into a dishpan of water. She reached up to the windowsill where she kept an earthenware pitcher wrapped in towels to chill the drinking water. Returning to the dining room, she filled Paddie’s water glass, then Zach’s, all the while trying to summon her courage.

They both spoke at once.

“How is—”

“Kase said to—”

“Scusi,”
she said, blushing furiously.

Zach scratched at the perpetual white stubble that silvered his face, leaned back in the chair, and stretched his legs under the table. Then he hiked his waistband up. “Kase said to tell you good-bye.”

Her heart sank and she felt her breath leave her. “Good-bye?” She could barely say the word. Rosa turned away and left the men alone at the table. She did not hear Zach’s chair scrape across the floor.

“Miz Rosie?” He had followed her into the kitchen.

Rosa rewrapped the pitcher and set it back on the window-sill. She blinked furiously, fighting tears, before she turned around to face Zach Elliot.

“I thought rather than fish around for some decorated words to tell you he rode outta town this mornin’, I’d just tell ya what he said. I didn’t mean to hurt you none by bein’ so blunt.”

She could see he was trying to make amends for the shock his news had wrought, but could make no comment.

“Come to think on it, he did say more’n good-bye. Not much, but as I can recall, Kase said... well, he said...”

It was Zach’s turn to color from embarrassment. Rosa came to his aid.

“It is all right,
signor.
You need not lie to me. He told you to tell me good-bye,
sì
? You have done that.
Va bene.
”

She turned away, pretending to fuss with the cutlery lined up on her worktable.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about Kase, Miz Rosa. He didn’t even tell me where he went, but I got a hunch. Left me in charge and said he’d be back jest as soon as he could.” He lifted the brim of his hat and reached up to scratch beneath his hat band.

Kase’s own words echoed in her mind:
There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Rose. A lot I don’t know about myself.

As Zach Elliot stood in the middle of her kitchen looking worried, Rosa tried to smile. She failed miserably.

The Pine Ridge Reservation was a good two hundred miles from Cheyenne. Kase traversed the land slowly as he followed Horse Creek and continued northward across a section of Nebraska’s open land to the White River, the one the Sioux called the Smoky Earth River. From there it was a short distance to the reservation. He found it healing to spend the days alone. The open space of the Badlands afforded him time to listen to the meadowlark’s last song of the season and watch the prairie dogs at play.

The Badlands were not entirely wasteland torn by wind and water, as the name suggested. In the spring and summer the land had been alive with grasses now turned brown and gone to seed. Coyote shared the landscape with badgers and ferrets as well as the playful prairie dogs. But not once on his journey eastward did he see a buffalo. As Kase looked across the land that once easily supported vast herds of buffalo on its natural bounty of grasses, it seemed a valuable piece of the whole was missing.

The reservation land was dry and nearly barren. The grass in the higher elevations had survived the harsh drought of summer, but here, where the plain spread out and the wind raked the land night and day, barely a weed survived. Ramshackle houses made of scraps of wood, twisted boughs of cottonwood, and various pieces of hides dotted the landscape. Many of the shacks appeared deserted; others were obviously still occupied. Futile attempts at farming were evident near some of the patchwork houses. Forlorn, half-grown cornstalks that had been bleached nearly white by the heat stood alongside other shriveled crops like skeletons against the prairie landscape.

As he traveled across the reservation he was able to communicate with the people living there, and was thankful that Caleb had insisted he learn the language. Kase and Caleb had sometimes communicated in Sioux when they were alone together. Kase often used Dutch when he spoke to his mother, but Annika, his half sister, refused to use either. As stubborn as the rest of her family, she insisted on speaking English all the time.

Studying the harsh conditions and the poverty the Pine Ridge dwellers faced, Kase realized for the first time exactly what it meant for him to have been spared a life there. He would never be fully accepted by the whites, but Caleb’s moneyed position and Kase’s law degree ensured that he would never be forced to experience the hunger and poverty that was a way of life on the reservation. He would never be forced to scratch a living out of worthless soil or be dependent on government handouts of beef, coffee, and sugar to keep his family from starvation.

As he made his way across the land he gained much needed information that would help him in his quest. He was advised to go to the agency distribution center the Sioux called Wakpamni and seek out the shaman, Running Elk, an elder who knew everything about the People. Robert Shield, a young man about his own age, advised Kase to leave his white man’s clothing, saddle, and guns in his care, for if Kase took them to the agency, he would be forced to surrender his arms to the agency police. Shield told him it would be dangerous to go about armed, since it was against the law for the Sioux to do so. The man feared Kase would surely become a target for the Indian police. Shield seemed like a man he could trust, and having no alternative, Kase gave over his possessions for safekeeping.

Kase remembered the police, or Metal Badges, as they were called, who were hired by the agents to keep the peace among the People. As a boy he had admired the shining buttons and insignia on their dark uniforms. Now he had a badge himself tucked into his saddlebag. He had been lucky not to have run into the Indian police thus far.

The day after he met Robert Shield, Kase rode into the Pine Ridge Agency dressed in a pair of the man’s faded woolen trousers and a buckskin shirt. He wondered—as he had each and every day since he left Busted Heel—how Rose fared and what she might be doing. He had left Zach instructions to watch over her and had taken the old man’s ribbing when he did. He thought of Rose and Zach, of Floss and the girls. All of them were misfits of one kind or another who had been brought together by the hand of fate.

He found himself anxious to return to Busted Heel, and to Rose, but knew he could not go back until he had faced and dealt with his past.