Rose (32 page)

The clouds seemed to lower as she walked down Main. Even her jaunty Stetson with its perky feather did not cheer her as it usually did. At the moment life seemed incredibly unfair.

The huge black safe behind Kase Storm’s desk had not been opened once since he took over as marshal. Luckily no one had wanted him to put anything away for safekeeping. It seemed Quentin did not have the combination, nor did he have any inkling as to who might. For some reason, this morning had seemed like as good a time as any for Kase to fool with the blasted thing. Besides, sitting on the floor in front of the safe kept him from staring out the window waiting for some sign of Rose.

But it did not keep Zach Elliot from reporting her every move.

“There she goes, back up the street toward the restaurant.” Zach paused long enough to spit into the spittoon Kase insisted he use, stare over at Kase, then continue. “She’s wearin’ a man’s Stetson with some kind of feather stuck in the band.”

Kase was determined not to respond, and he succeeded. But the image of Rose in another oversized hat came instantly to mind. He spun the lock and squinted at the safe.

“I still can’t figure out what you did to make her so danged mad. Why, she’s even taken to glarin’ at me when I go in the café. Seems like you’d be good enough to go over and tell her 1 ain’t to be blamed for your transgressions.”

“I guess she’s still mad because of her broken window.”

Zach spit again. “Well, now, I guess some folks would believe that’s the cause o’ your troubles, but I don’t.”

Kase stared at the painting on the front of the safe. Tall cypress trees lined an avenue that led to a shimmering pond. It reminded him of pictures he’d seen of Rome, Italy.

He sighed.

“Could be,” Zach was saying, “she found out about the girl in your room the night of the party.”

Kase spun around on the seat of his Levi’s to face Zach. “What?”

“Maybe she found out you had a girl that night.”

“What are you talking about?” He stood up and brushed at his pants, trying to appear offhanded as he questioned Zach.

“After Flossie’s party. When I had to wake you that mornin’, it was all too clear to me there was a girl in your room. You made a big enough show of not lettin’ me see past you. If I know it, what’s to say Rosa don’t know it? After all, Floss is a friend of hers.”

Kase smiled. “Floss is a friend of mine, too.”

“Well, be that as it may, if it was me, I’d be tryin’ my damnedest to make it up to her.”

“If there was something to make up,” Kase said.

Zach looked at him sideways. “If there was.”

“Open the door, Miz Rosa. We got somethin’ for ya.”

“Wait, wait, wait.
Un momento.”
Rosa shook out a clean tablecloth and let it settle over a table before she hurried to the front door. She could see the top of G.W.’s head and what looked like—she opened the door to be sure—roses.

“For you!” G.W.’s smile was a mile wide as she took the armful of red roses from him.

“Where did you get such a wonderful gift?” She stared down at the huge bouquet of perfect red rosebuds, then beyond the child. There was no one standing behind him.

“The marshal tol’ me to bring ‘em to you. He said I was to stay and then tell him what you said when I gave ‘em to you.”

It had been three weeks since she had even spoken to Kase Storm.

Rosa tried to hide any reaction to the gift, but a smile teased the corners of her mouth. “
Grazie,
G.W.,” was all she said, but as she closed the door behind Kase’s willing messenger, she buried her face in the ruby-red blooms and inhaled their precious scent.

Ten minutes had not passed before Flossie came knocking on the front window carrying a tall vase. When Rosa opened the door, Flossie bustled past her and scanned the room.

“So,” she said, her bosom heaving as she tried to catch her breath, “where are they?”

“Who?” Rosa asked, fully aware of the purpose of her friend’s sudden visit.

“Not who, what. Where are the roses?”

“You know about the roses?”

“Honey, there’s probably not a soul in town that doesn’t know about the roses. It’s the end of November and there’s not a rose bloomin’ in Busted Heel. Besides, John Tuttle just delivered them to Kase from the station. Seems the marshal sent all the way to California for ‘em from some fancy hothouse. Anyway, Kase had G.W. bring ‘em over, and you know that child couldn’t keep a secret to save his life.”

“And as soon as Signora Wilkie hears of my roses, all of America will know,” Rosa laughed.

Floss laughed, too. “You’re right there, Rosa. Now, let’s see em.

Rosa led her to the kitchen where she had put the roses in the water pitcher.

“Here,” Flossie offered the tall porcelain vase, “I thought you might need this.”

“Thank you,
signora.
I will take care with it.”

“Forget it. What I want to know is, are you plannin’ to speak to the marshal now? That boy’s sufferin’, you know.”

Rosa held up her hand in defense, “Please ...”

“I know it ain’t none of my business, Rosa, really it ain’t, but I know since you spent the night with Kase you ain’t seen fit to talk to him. I don’t want to know why; all I want you to do is think about talkin’ this out with him.”

“Did he ask you to say these things to me?”

“Lordy, no. Up until this passel of roses arrived, he’s been actin’ like you don’t even exist.”

Rosa hugged the vase tighter and fought down the lump in her throat. “Has he ...” She turned away from Flossie, her face aflame with embarrassment, but she had to know. “Has he—”

“Slept with one of the girls?” Flossie finished for her. “No, honey, you don’t need to concern yourself with that. He’s havin’ himself a good sulk. He don’t know any of ‘em exist.” Her penciled brows arched as if she’d just had a revelation. “Not yet, at least. But if I were you, I wouldn’t be puttin’ him off too long. A man’s dry spells usually don’t last too long.”

So many of her neighbors wandered by to see the roses that Rosa put them in the center of the window table where everyone could enjoy them. The bouquet had become such a topic of conversation that G. W. insisted he had to have a rose for his mother. Rosa gave away two when Martha came running in on his heels demanding one for herself.

The rosebuds opened to full bloom and soon filled the air with their heady fragrance. Rosa found herself looking at them a thousand times a day. With each glance, she thought of Kase. Still, she could not convince herself that it would help to go and talk with him. If anything, as vulnerable as she felt, she knew she would probably fall into his arms again. And then his bed. He had to come to her. To profess his love. To propose in a proper manner.

One afternoon, just after the sun had burst through the clouds, Quentin Rawlins walked into Rosa’s, dressed for cold weather in a fleece-lined wool jacket. His smile further lit up the day, and she found herself crossing the room to greet him.

“Signor Quentin! It has been a long time since you came to Rosa’s!”

He gave her a warm hug. “It was roundup. The boys took off right after Flossie’s party and just got back. I thought you might like to come out to the ranch for Sunday dinner.”

She started to refuse, then thought the change of scenery might just lift her spirits. “I will come and cook a special dinner for you,” she offered.

“Hell, no. The idea is for you to have the day off. My cook can do the honors.” He took her hands in his. “I’ll send one of the boys to get you, Rosa. You be ready by two, and dress warm, you hear?”

“Thank you, Quentin. I will be ready.”

As he started out the door he caught sight of the roses, but left the café without saying a word about them. At first Rosa thought it odd that the flowers, which were such a topic of conversation with the townsfolk, had failed to earn even a comment from Quentin, but then, she thought, why would a man of wealth and prominence think to ask about a bouquet of roses?

On Wednesday morning Rosa dressed with care. Her black skirt with its simple lines fit her well; her crisp white blouse complemented her dark hair. As she surveyed her effort in the small square of mirror hanging near her cot, she decided she made a presentable guest for dinner at Quentin’s. If only she felt as good as she looked. Not even the idea of dining with one of the richest, most eligible widowers in Wyoming cheered her.

Promptly at two o’clock she heard a knock on the door and went to answer it, fully expecting one of Quentin’s ranch hands to be there waiting for her.

Instead, she opened the door to Zach Elliot.

He tipped his hat to her. “Miz Rosa. I come to carry you out to the Rawlins ranch.”

For a moment she was taken aback. “You? The
signore
said he is sending one of his own men.” For a fleeting moment she wondered if Kase Storm might be behind Zach’s appearance.

“It seems he don’t trust any of his own boys to drive you, ma’am. He asked me to do it.”

“I—” She hesitated.

“You comin’ or not?”

“Signor Rawlins sent you?”

“I said he did. I ain’t been called a liar for some time.”

She could see his patience was ebbing. A buckboard stood behind him in the street, the horses shaking their heads impatiently. She recognized the brand on them as the same symbol she had seen hanging over the gate at Mountain Shadows.

“Va bene.
I go.” Rosa went inside and donned her coat, then locked the door behind her and let Zach help her up onto the wagon seat.

The ride was as chilly with silence as it was with cold. The clouds that had gathered low threatened rain, and the temperature seemed to plummet as they neared the base of the mountains. Zach Elliot slouched forward, his arms resting on his knees, and drove the team in silence. As he peered out from beneath the brim of his hat, he kept his eyes on the heavily grooved wagon wheel ruts in the road.

Rosa could think of no comfortable way to start a conversation with the old man. She wanted to ask Zach about Kase, how he was, if he ever mentioned her. Instead, she rode in huddled silence, her arms wrapped about her against the cold. Hatless, she bemoaned the fact that she had forgotten to bring along her Stetson.

Relieved when they finally turned up the drive to the ranch house, anxious to be inside and out of the cold, Rosa stared at the two-story ranch house. Smoke spiraled out of the chimneys and hugged the roofline. As they passed the barn she recognized Zach’s horse tied at the hitching rail in front of it. He drew the buckboard alongside the wide veranda before he jumped down to help her to the ground.

Wondering if he would drive her back to town, she asked, “You will be eating here?”

“Naw, I’ll be headin’ on back to town. You have a good dinner, Miz Rosa.”

She frowned. “How am I to go back?”

He paused for a fraction of a second before he answered. “Quentin said he’s got a ride all arranged for you.”

“Then,
grazie,
Signor Zach.”

“Have yourself a good dinner, Miz Rosa.”

The inside of Quentin Rawlins’s house was far different from Flossie’s place, but it was equally awe-inspiring. She had seen it only once before, the night of the barbecue, when guests had moved about freely. She was looking forward to seeing every detail of the exquisite rooms downstairs. With his usual exuberance, Quentin ushered her into the entrance hall, a room nearly as large as Flossie’s entire parlor. Rosa stared at a piano covered with a fringed paisley shawl. The instrument shared one wall with a gigantic spread of antlers. Chairs of assorted styles were grouped at random about the room while an imposing clock stood near an arched doorway that led to the rooms beyond. Impressively large paintings hung near the ceilings; lamps and candelabra graced cloth-draped tables. There were more furnishings in the room than she had ever seen assembled in one place in her life. Quentin took her arm and led her into a side parlor that was even larger than the entry. Its plump-cushioned chairs and deep couch were arranged around an imposing fireplace. A crackling fire that drove the November chill from the room beckoned Rosa nearer.