G.W. Davis licked his fingers with loud smacking sounds that usually alerted Rosa to the fact that he had finished with his treat and was ready for another. She did not immediately respond, so the licking and smacking grew louder. Using a far more direct approach, Martha Washington Davis tugged on Rosa’s skirt with her sticky fingers. “I want more.”
Rosa shook off her preoccupation, sighed, and glanced down at the dark-skinned child hovering near her knees. She took another cinnamon bun off the oven, divided it, and gave the halves to the children, then licked the sugary sweetness from her own fingers. A knock sounded at the back door. Rosa’s hand trembled slightly as she opened the door. The intuition that had rattled her nerves proved to be correct; Kase Storm stood just outside, a well-wrapped bundle under his arm.
Rosa pulled her scattered nerves together. “G.W., take your sister home now. Come back tomorrow.”
“Aw, Miz Rosa, we won’t get in the way none. ‘Sides, you got lots more buns left.”
Kase stepped inside the back door. “Get, G.W.”
The boy scuffed out, dejected, but paused long enough to be sure Martha was toddling after him.
“Smells like sticky buns.” Kase sniffed the air.
“What do you want?” She tried to still the inner quaking that threatened to become visible.
His expression was one of concern. He frowned and said, “Among other things, I came to return your clothes.”
He held the bundle out to her, and she accepted it without looking at it. She put the clothes on her cot and took his robe from a hook on the wall. Without bothering to fold it, she handed it to him.
He tossed it on her cot with the rest of her things. “Keep it. I came to tell you that I telegraphed Cheyenne. Walkers is putting the glass on the next train through. It should be here before tonight.”
“Grazie.”
Silent, she waited for him to leave.
He didn’t move.
Instead, Kase took a deep breath. Frustrated, he shifted his weight and continued to stare down at her. He noticed her bare toes sticking out from beneath the hem of her skirt and realized he had just returned her only pair of shoes. Her toes were not all he noticed. Her arms were crossed protectively across her breasts and she appeared to be glowering at him.
“Look, Rosa, I don’t know why you’re still so upset. I’m sorry about what happened this morning. I wanted to get you out of Flossie’s before the dawn; then Zach came for me and—”
“And you ran out into the street to maybe be killed.”
“—and as a man sworn to uphold the law, I had to do my duty.”
She didn’t appear to be placated.
He tried again. “I said, I ordered your window.”
She pointed toward the door. “Go now.”
“What in the hell’s wrong with you?”
She emphasized every word, pronouncing it distinctly. “What in hell is wrong with me?” Hands on hips, she stepped toward him until she dared go no closer. “I wake up alone in a bordello, and I am wondering why I am alone. Then I hear the guns, and I think you are dead. So, stupid Rosa, I grab the robe. I run outside—no shoes, no stockings, no dress. I run and run and my heart is beating so hard I think I will the myself. All I the time I am thinking you are dead. Then I run to the street and you are alive and I am a fool.”
He tried to follow the logic of her complaint, but failed.
“You
suggested my place. Would you rather I had died?” His first mistake was making the joke. The second was that he smiled.
“No! But I do not want to feel this fear again. And I am ashamed.”
“Ashamed?” Kase nearly spit out the word.
His face instantly darkened with a fury she had never seen before. Instinctively Rosa raised her hand in her own defense. His hand swung past her and slammed against the wall beside them. Rosa flinched, truly afraid of him for the first time ever.
“Ashamed?” He leaned close and forced her to try to escape him.
There was nowhere to run.
“So you’ve had second thoughts about sleeping with an Indian. Is that it?”
Frightened beyond belief, she managed to whisper, “No.”
“No?”
She shook her head with a frantic glance toward the door.
He echoed her words of the night before. “ ‘Make love to me, Kase.’ “ His tone was bitter, his eyes haunted. “Did you do it to find out what it’s like to sleep with a half-breed? Was it
savage
enough for you, Rose?”
She covered her face with her hands as a sob escaped her. He grabbed her wrists and jerked her hands away from her face. “Look at me! Or can’t you stand to now?”
“You do not understand.” She struggled to speak as she gasped for breath. “I am ashamed for myself. Of what I did with you in the night, what I am become. It is not
you that
causes my shame. Never you. It is those things I have done. I do not wish to think of it, and to see you makes me remember it all.”
He let go of her wrists and tried to understand what she was trying to say. He took a deep breath and struggled to bring his temper under control. Regretting the outburst that had frightened her so, he waited a moment until he could almost think rationally again. He stepped forward, intent upon taking her in his arms.
Rosa stepped away. “Don’t touch me!”
“Rose, please.”
She shook her head violently. “No. I have done things I do not wish to think of, and to see you makes me think of them.”
“Things?” His brow arched suggestively as he recalled the night they had spent together.
“Sì.
Things.” She began to count on her fingers, holding them up for his benefit. “I disgrace Giovanni. He is not dead six months and I disgrace him. I become a fool this morning in the street. When you are near me I have not the power to think. Go away. Please.”
“You’re the one who begged me for it last night, Rose.” He stepped toward her.
Rosa stepped back again.
Kase smiled a slow half-smile. “You’re going to end up on the stove if you don’t stop backing away from me.”
The sight of his easy smile was nearly her undoing. She was shaking all over, but stood her ground. “Please go.”
Kase stared at her and tried to understand what she was trying to say. “Tell me the truth.” With a gentle shake, he forced her to look at him again. “You’re not upset because might have been killed—”
“Sì,
I—”
“And you’re certainly not sorry you betrayed Saint Giovanni’s memory last night.”
She took a swift breath when she realized what he’d said. Undaunted, Kase pressed her. “You’re afraid of what happened between us last night. My guess is that you felt things you never imagined you could feel. Do you know how I know that, Rose?”
She shook her head.
“Do you?” He bent closer.
“No.” She licked her lips.
“Because
I
felt things last night that I’ve never felt before, feelings that might scare a person if that person wasn’t sure,
really sure,
of what she wanted. I’m not going to pretend I don’t go along with whatever mixed-up feelings you’re entertaining right now. Don’t you think I’m mixed up, too? But I’m not going to beg, either. You asked me once to share my feelings with you, but I’d kept things bottled up inside for so long I didn’t know how. Don’t you start doing the same thing, Rose. Face what you’re feeling and get used to it. When you’re through fooling yourself, when you’re ready to talk about this, you let me know. But don’t hide what you’re feeling for too long, Rose. You certainly didn’t last night.”
Abruptly he released her and walked away. He stopped and, just as he opened the back door, paused long enough to say “Your window will be in by nightfall.”
The door slammed shut behind him.
Rosa stared at the door for a moment, then marched toward it, turned the knob, and yanked it open. Pulling the door open as far as possible, she swung it forward and listened in acute satisfaction as it slammed again. Twice as hard.
Nearly a week had passed without repercussions from her appearance on the street the morning of the shooting. Just as she had hoped, everyone thought she was asleep in her kitchen when the shooting started. Far from being accused of having loose morals, she was lauded as the poor widow woman who lived alone, unprotected, easy prey to ruffians like the Dawsons. A reporter from the
Cheyenne Leader
was sent out to Busted Heel to cover the story, but on Flossie’s advice, Rosa refused to talk to him. Poor thing is too distraught, everyone said. No one mentioned that she had recovered enough from the ordeal to open the restaurant the very evening of the shooting. But the entire town noticed the new window, and everyone was talking about how the good marshal had paid for it himself.
Afraid of running into Kase on the street, Rosa had sent the Yee girl for the grocery orders all week. But this morning, after two gray, overcast days, Rosa could not stand being cooped up in the restaurant. She wrapped herself warmly in her winter coat, donned her new hat, and hung her market basket over her arm. The hat was a man’s black Stetson, one that had been forgotten months ago by one of Floss’s customers. Knowing Rosa’s penchant for utilizing castoffs, Floss had offered it to her one morning and Rosa had gladly accepted. It would keep her velvet hat from suffering during the harsh winter snows. Floss had donated a long striped pheasant feather, which Rosa stuck into the hatband. She had rounded out the crown and loved to stuff her hair inside it and pull the hat low on her forehead.
Ready for her first outing in days, she stepped outside. Without being obvious, Rosa looked up and down Main before she continued on her way. There was no sign of Kase Storm, so she walked toward Al-Ray’s.
Zach Elliot and Bertha Matheson’s husband, who had taken to sitting around the potbellied stove in the middle of the room, were absent today. Alice Wilkie, obviously starved for company in the usually busy store, wiped her hands on her apron and climbed down from the tall ladder where she was stocking goods. She proceeded to follow Rosa from one end of the store to the other, chattering away without pause. Rosa requested a cut of ham and Alice lowered one from where it hung from the ceiling.
“John Tuttle said Marshal Kase sent a telegram to some woman in Boston name of Analisa Storm.”
Rosa’s stomach suddenly lurched. What was Alice Wilkie trying to tell her? Was Kase preparing to go away? She tried to sound disinterested, but her voice shook. “
Sì?
Boston?”
“It’s back east.”
“Slick heard it from Paddie that Zach told him Kase was something fierce to see when he faced down that Bert Dawson. Said it wasn’t only that the man was wanted in three states, but that the marshal saw red when Zach told him about that man having accosted you right there in your own restaurant.”
Rosa scooped flour out of the bin beneath the counter, listening intently as Alice prattled on.
“I would love to have seen that.” Alice cackled. “What with the marshal being a ‘breed an’ all, I guess that accounts for his terrible temper—not that I’ve ever seen it. Ray was there. Said the marshal’s eyes was blazin’ as hot as his gun.” She sawed off one slab of ham after another, weighing them as she talked. “I hear he’s part Sioux, and God knows they’re mean. I read the government’s always havin’ trouble with them. Not all that far from here, either, just up to Pine Ridge Reservation. Did you hear the marshal wants to up and quit now? I declare. I would’ve thought things were just gettin’ interesting for him.”
“Pardon? What did you say?” Rosa handed Alice the sack of flour and waited for the woman to explain.
“The marshal intends to quit, soon as Rawlins can find a new man.”
“No,” Rosa interrupted, “before. You use a word I do not understand. About the marshal.”
Alice wrinkled her brow as she tried to remember all she’d said. Breed? What did you think he was? Clearly the man ain’t all white, not that it makes no never mind to me. His money’s as good here as the next man’s.” She thumbed over her shoulder in the general direction of the boardinghouse. “I hear tell”—Alice leaned forward and began to whisper, although the place was still empty—“that’s why he moved out of Bertha’s right after he first got here. Far as I’m concerned, he’s a good enough sort, but I’d have to think about it before I let him live under my roof. You never know when one of them might take it into his head to attack a white woman.” Alice leaned forward and waved Rosa closer. “The sight of a woman’s white skin really riles some of them bucks up.”
Rosa fought to keep her expression bland. She could hardly believe this woman was serious. “You believe this?”
“Well, I hear tell—”
“Do white women never marry these men of mixed blood? Did not a white woman marry an Indian to make such a child?”
“Well, sure, honey, but no decent woman would do such a thing.”
“And if one did so? What if this happened?”
“Well, I guess that would be food for speculation.” Alice glanced slyly at Rosa. “I can’t imagine any decent woman from around these parts considerin’ such a thing—beddin’ down with a half-breed—but if one did, why, I reckon she’d have to put up with whatever folks thought of her. Don’t you think so?”
Rosa felt sorry for this woman who judged others so easily. Had Alice Wilkie never loved enough to overcome her prejudice? Kase Storm’s mixed blood had never mattered to Rosa, and it did not now, but Alice’s views helped clarify the burden of hatred he had been forced to bear his entire life. He had reason to be angry. She was becoming angry herself.
Rosa stared, no longer listening, as Alice wrapped up the ham and then totaled her items.
“Want to pay for your week’s water delivery now? Roy’ll be bringin’ it around regular till the pump freezes up.” Moving as if in a trance, Rosa paid for her goods. She thanked Alice, then walked outside.
The shopkeeper’s words had deepened her already dismal mood until her spirit was as low as the day was gray. There was no denying that she missed Kase terribly. After what she had just heard, she longed to go to him and offer him comfort for all he had ever suffered.
But she knew what that comfort would lead to, and until he had expressed his own words of love, until she knew that he truly wanted her as much as she did him, Rosa refused to make a fool of herself. She shifted the heavy basket she carried and purposely refused to glance toward the jail. Now that she had barred him from her life, she missed him as sorely as if he had been part of it forever.