Rose (30 page)

Asleep on her stomach, Rose stirred slightly, snuggled deeper beneath the blankets, and hugged the pillow closer. Left alone, she would probably sleep until noon and the fault would be his.

Feeling quite smug in his happiness, Kase laced his fingers together behind his head and stared at the ceiling. There was a lot to take care of today. His first order of business would be to write his parents. A letter of apology was long overdue; his mother deserved better than this separation and silence. Silk stockings for Rose were the next order of business, along with roses. He would give her more roses than she had ever seen. Right after he proposed. Then he would alert Quentin to the fact that the position of marshal was open. Kase would be going home soon—taking his new bride home, he amended. Rawlins needed to start looking for a new marshal for Busted Heel.

Someone scratched the door and he straightened, afraid it was Chicago or one of the other girls come to visit. One glance toward the window ruled out the idea. It was still far too early for any of them to be up.

He finger-combed his hair as he crossed the room to answer the summons. Nude, he opened the door a crack and grumbled, “Come back later.”

A worn, sun-baked hand tried to push the door open wider. Kase held firm and peered around the edge. It was Zach Elliot.

“What do you want?” Kase whispered, afraid of waking Rose.

“Get your gun.”

It was all his old friend needed to say. Kase shut the door and rummaged through the pile of clothing on the floor until he found his pants. He shook them out and slid them on, shoved his feet in his boots, then grabbed his gun belt and slung it around his waist. Shirtless, he donned his jacket. Opening the door just wide enough to slip out, he joined Zach in the hallway. The old man frowned at the closed door, but did not volunteer any advice.

“What’s going on?” Kase led the way down the back stairs.

“While you were gone, two ugly cusses rode into town and tried to rough up Miz Rosa.”

Kase stopped dead still and turned on Zach. “What!”

“Like I said, two ugly—”

“What happened to Rose? Why didn’t anybody say anything about this last night?”

“One day two ruffians went into the café and wanted a little more than food. The Chinee girl came runnin’ to me, and I got there before anythin’ happened, but I can tell you they weren’t none too happy when they rode outta town gunless. Alice Wilkie was up early this mornin’, and she said she saw them hangin’ around down by the depot. I thought maybe you might want to add to thefirepower if trouble starts.” His brow creased again before he added, “If I’da known you was occupied, I’da never come a-callin’.”

Afraid Zach would somehow guess that it was Rose in his room, he fried to lighten the mood. “That’s what happens when you live in a whorehouse, I guess.”

“I guess, but knowin’ a real woman might take a notion to get upset over it might make me think more’n twice about foolin’ around.”

“Meaning?”

“If I have to explain it to ya, boy, I’m wastin’ my breath.”

Zach turned and led the way down the street. The ruse had worked, for he obviously thought the woman in the room upstairs was someone other than Rose. Kase was about to smile, but the expression was short-lived when a gunshot rang out at the far end of the street.

Rosa awoke with a start and, disoriented, sat up. She took in the strange surroundings, and as realization came flooding back, she groaned aloud, hastily pulling the sheet over her bare breasts. Tangled in her own hair, she tried to extricate herself, thankful that Kase was not in the room. Before she could wonder where he was, the sound of gunshots reverberated on the cold morning air.

There was movement in the hallway. She half expected Kase to walk through the door, but when more shots rang out, she was certain he was somehow involved. Black fear, fear as cold as death, swept over her. She glanced at the pile of clothing on the floor. Realizing it would take far too long to dress, she scrambled across the bed toward the tall wardrobe on the other side of the room. Frantic, she pulled out and tossed aside one shirt, then another. Finally, she came upon a quilted satin robe and slipped it on. Nearly able to wrap it around herself twice, Rosa knotted the belt at the waist, raced across the room, and flung the door open.

She nearly ran into Flossie, who stood rooted to the floor outside Kase’s room, pressing a thick, dampened towel to her forehead. Her face was slathered with cucumber cream; the concoction gave her the look of a ghost prowling the hall. Rosa nearly jumped out of her skin at the sight, but the sound of gunfire shocked her into action.

“What is happening?” she demanded of Flossie.

“Sounds like someone’s bustin’ up the town. Probably nothin’ Kase can’t handle.”

Rosa pushed past the madam and began running toward the stairs. She had lost her husband to a stray bullet. She refused to think that she might lose Kase Storm the same way.
Dio!
Not Kase.

“Stop!” Flossie’s hushed voice held such authoritative command that Rosa froze at the top of the stairs and turned around. “Not that way. Lordy, girl, you want the whole town to see you run outta here like that? Go the back way.” Flossie pointed down the hall in the opposite direction.

Rosa tore along the hall and down the outside stairs, her bare feet pounding, her hair flying out around her. The sleeves of the oversized robe flapped like crows’ wings as she ran out the back door and over the hard, frozen ground. The deserted back lot behind the buildings smelled of fecund earth and pigs. She ran over uneven clods of dirt, the remains of Zetta’s summer garden. Her feet stung with cold. Clutching the robe, Rosa ran past the back of Paddie’s saloon, past the Davises’ shanty, which stood empty, its door gaping wide, past her own back door, and then around the end of the row of buildings.

Without pause, she stepped up on the wooden walk that fronted the shops. The shooting had ended, but her breath caught in her throat when she saw the crowd gathered outside her restaurant window. She could not see over the backs of the men who huddled around a figure lying on the walk, but she recognized Slick Knox and Paddie, as well as two cowboys from Flossie’s party. The wranglers were not dressed much better than she; they sported B.V.D.’s, boots, and Stetsons. As he hung on to his father’s legs, G.W. Davis stared into the circle of onlookers. Martha cried and clung to her mother’s skirts. The sight of Zach Elliot’s stern expression as he pushed back his hat and casually spat out a stream of tobacco did little to lessen her fear.

Rosa began shoving men aside, fully expecting to find Kase Storm lying in a pool of blood, his unseeing eyes staring heavenward, his face ashen. Instead, she found him squatting down on his haunches, his suit coat open to reveal his naked upper body as he leaned down to close a dead man’s eyes. In a glance she recognized the dead man as Bert, the one who had tried to drag her into her own kitchen in broad daylight. He appeared even younger in death, his features softened, his beard a light scattering of golden hair. The plaid suit he had worn on the day he accosted her was no longer new. It appeared to have been in steady use since she had seen him last. It was rumpled, as if he had slept in it. She looked around for his companion, the one he had called Bart, but the other man was nowhere in sight.

As she stared down at the body, then the trail of blood that disappeared into the street, she became all too aware of the attention her disheveled appearance had attracted. Rosa straightened and pulled the robe tighter.

Kase unfolded to his full height. His eyes never left her face. Frantically, she searched for any sign of harm, but saw there was not even a scratch on him. Overwhelming relief was followed closely by all-consuming anger. It very well might have been Kase lying dead in the street instead of the other man. The thought unnerved her. She looked past him and for the first time noticed that the front window of her restaurant no longer contained glass. The entire pane had been blown to smithereens.

No one in the crowd uttered a sound. Some continued to stare in awe at the bullet-riddled body while the rest watched the silent exchange between Kase and Rosa. She stared at the shattered glass on the sidewalk, at Kase, outwardly calm and unharmed, and then down at herself. Her hair hung free, the robe did little to cover her ankles and bare feet. What in the world had she become?

The sight of Rose standing on the street in his robe startled Kase Storm out of the shock he had experienced when he realized he had killed a man. Any thoughts he had entertained about inheriting his blood father’s murderous ways were wiped out the moment he realized a man had died by his hand. It was all he could do to keep from vomiting in front of the gathering crowd. If it had not been for Zach’s steady hand on his shoulder he felt he might run from the scene.

Somehow he calmly issued orders to Zach and two others to carry the body down to his office and lay it out. An undertaker would have to be called from Cheyenne. He sent Decatur Davis to Mountain Shadows for Quentin. The man had to be told that he wanted out of this job as soon as possible. Then, his nerves still on edge, he realized he would have to get Rose out of the way. Assuming a casual tone, he stepped over the man on the ground and said, “I’m real sorry about your window, Mrs. Audi, ma’am.”

Unaware that he was only trying to protect her, Rosa blanched at his nonchalance.
Mrs. Audi? Ma’am?
Before she could stop herself, she raised her hand and slapped him with all the gusto she could muster.

“What in the hell was that for?” he shouted.

She leaned forward and glared up at him. “The window!” she screamed back, then turned and marched off the way she had come. When she reached the back door of the restaurant, she went inside and slammed the door so hard the noise easily carried out onto the street.

Fuming, Rosa locked the back door and shoved the work-table in front of the entrance that led to the dining room, successfully barricading herself in the kitchen. She refused to think of the dead man on the other side of the dining room window, the crowd, or most of all, Kase Storm. Trying to calm herself, she boiled a kettleful of water and mixed it with water from the barrel out back until she had filled a tin tub. Then she bathed, standing in the washtub in the middle of the floor.

She knew it would take her more than one sponge bath to wash away the memory of the night she had spent in Kase Storm’s arms.

And what of Giovanni’s memory? Giovanni. She closed her eyes and tried to conjure up his image. It was nearly impossible now. Only the image of Kase Storm came clearly to mind. Kase standing nude beside the bed, Kase kneeling before her. It did not take much imagination to recall the feel of his flesh against her flesh or his hard length sheathed fully inside her.

Suddenly ashamed, she berated herself for her easily fallen widowhood. Giovanni was six months gone, and she had already given herself to another man, even begged him to take her. She had never been a proper widow, never worn black, never even written to his parents. Had she been living in Corio, Rosa knew she would be clothed in black from head to toe for years. What a widow. What a horrid way to treat her husband’s memory.

When she thought of the night past and of the casual disregard she had shown for propriety and her good name, Rosa almost wept. When Kase returned last night, the mere sight of him had made her forget that she was not one of Flossie’s fancy women. She prayed that no one had seen her rush out of Flossie’s place half dressed. Most of the townsfolk knew she cleaned for Flossie, and they knew that was all she did. She hoped everyone thought she had been hiding in the café, waiting for the gunfire to end, that she had run out of her own back door when it was over. Only Flossie knew her secret and she knew Flossie would keep it for her.

As she scrubbed herself dry with a towel and then dressed as hastily as possible before braiding her hair and twisting the coils around her head, Rosa repeated a litany of prayers. God would forgive her this one transgression. He would not let one moment of passion outweigh a lifetime of good behavior. Would he? No, she had to believe that he would forgive her last night.

She had to see Kase soon; she needed her shoes. Rosa promised herself that when she did see Kase Storm again, she would tell him that she’d never forget herself again. Not once more. Not ever.

She tossed the dirty bathwater out the back door and then pushed the table away from the other. As she laid wood in the stove, Rosa tried to ignore the sound of someone sweeping up broken glass from the walk outside the dining room.