by Lee Savino
Cupping the back of her head, he drew her into his arms, so she could soak his chest with her tears.
“Let it out, darling,” he said. “Let it all go.”
“I can’t,” she choked. “I can’t ever let go. I can’t let myself fall.”
“I’ll catch you,” he whispered. “I won’t let you fall.”
She drew back to stare into his beautiful face, trying to catch her breath as she hiccupped. “I’ve never had...anyone.”
“You do now. I’m here. I’ll catch you and I promise I won’t let go.”
“Kiss me, Lyle.” She needed to feel close to him.
He did as she asked, and it wasn’t long before their bodies caught fire again, and their love making washed all her fears away.
“Tell me what happened after your father took you,” Lyle said.
They were lying entwined. He’d let the fire burn down and Rose watched the curling embers in a daze.
“I ran away. I was sixteen, but tall for my age. I told everyone I was twenty, and joined the traveling show as a maid. They taught me to dance.” She cuddled close to him, letting her hair fall like a red sheet over his bare torso. “I did well. There were saloons from Kentucky to Wyoming filled with men who knew me, loved my show. I had a gift for it.”
“I know.”
“But, the company changed. The girls grew jealous. And the men…”
His arms squeezed her. “Tell me.”
“The men in the company were courteous. But the manager started drinking. One night he called me to his tent and told me he wouldn’t pay me my share unless…I gave him what he wanted.” She stared at the fire unseeing, her eyes full of the memory of that horrible night. “I…did something for him, and then he was too gone with drink.” She shook her head. “I took my share of the money that night, got Sam, and ran.” She blinked and focused on Lyle’s flawless face. His beauty gave her strength. “We went to towns the show wouldn’t go to, but that meant dealing with men like Doyle. The rest you know.”
He nodded. “Now I know it all.”
She felt a pang of fear. “Do you, Lyle?” Her eyes searched him but his expression held no judgment and no pity, just an understanding that she’d done what she needed to survive.
“I do,” he said. “I know you’re a fighter, and you’re used to scrapping for everything you get. But, Rose, you gotta know, I’m not going to stop coming for you, until you know how much you mean to me.” He brushed her face with the back of his fingers. “Fight me, sweetheart, please do. Just know, I’m not going anywhere. No way, no how, nothing is gonna get between me and you. That’s a promise.”
She stared at him, feeling his words land like blows, more effective on her walls than cannon fire.
His smile curved his lips, and she swallowed hard. In the low light, his eyes shone with a piercing blue light. Even the flickering shadows couldn’t mar his beauty. He had the face of an angel, fallen to earth.
“You’re so beautiful,” she blurted. Immediately his eyes and face got soft.
“Right there. You prove you’re worth all the trouble.”
A pang went through her. Mary had been the beautiful one, the sweet one. Even in all the hardship they’d lived through, Mary’s kind nature had survived. When she was married to Lyle, she would’ve been a perfect angel. Whereas Rose was nothing but trouble.
Rose turned to her side, and Lyle left the bed for a moment then settled in behind her. Lifting her hand, he secured it with a soft piece of leather then tied the other end around his wrist. He pulled her more firmly against him and lay with his arm along hers, wrists bound in front of their faces.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said.
“I don’t want to,” she whispered, and it was the truth. The question was, would Lyle one day look at her and realize she was nothing like his angelic first wife? And when that day came and he cast her out, would she be able to survive?
“Good,” he chuckled in her ear, oblivious to her change in mood. Twisting her wrist so her fingers could twine with his, he pressed his face into her hair. In no time, his breathing went soft against the back of her neck, but it was a long time before Rose could follow him into sleep.
“Rose, wake up.”
Light streamed from the sole window across the pallet, but Rose buried her face in the blanket.
“No,” she moaned, and Lyle chuckled.
“It’s dawn.”
“Sleep.” She burrowed further into the covers then gasped as the warmth left her. She rolled, clutching for the blankets, but Lyle had whipped them off.
“Scoundrel,” she cried. “Give them back.”
“Come on, Rose. Day’s a wastin’. Got a lot to do.”
Glaring, she rolled onto her side, curling into a ball.
“Stubborn,” he said.
“Idiot,” she mumbled.
“Now, now, what did I tell you about calling me names?” He caught her ankles and dragged her down the pallet.
“What are you doing?”
“I know how to wake you up and make you sweet.” With a wicked grin, he lowered his head between her legs.
The sun was up by the time the newlyweds left the cabin. After a simple breakfast, Rose helped Lyle with the morning chores and learned her way around the homestead. Fetching water, chopping and stacking firewood, and sweeping the cobwebs out of the cabin was work, but she threw herself into the mundane chores. The labor was good and she felt clean somehow, out in the fresh air with the sun on her face.
By noon, her shoulders ached. She felt relief when Lyle stopped working to offer her a dipperful of water. “If you’re all right with jerky for lunch, we’ll ride out to visit our neighbors. I’d like you to meet them.”
Nodding, Rose hastened to smooth her dress and brush out her hair. What would these neighbors think of Lyle’s new wife? Her pale skin and fashionable figure weren’t assets on a homestead; she would look ridiculous.
Lyle caught her peering into his shaving mirror, fussing with her bonnet. Wrapping a handful of her shining hair around his wrist, he drew her head back and kissed her.
“You look beautiful. Let’s go.”
“I just don’t know what to expect…”
“They’ll like you. Stow the piss and vinegar, and don’t throw anything at ‘em.”
He ducked out of the door before she could find a worthy missile.
The afternoon’s journey took them through the great pine forest, but they were never far away from the sound of the rushing river. Lyle guided his stallion along a woodland stream until he found the trail. Rose rode behind him and they brought the gelding along to give to their neighbor, who seemed to have a lot to do with horses.
The Donovans homesteaded in a large clearing, their cabin on a hill overlooking their stable, corrals, and the river.
A broad shouldered man, muscular and tanned, came out to greet them. Behind him, in a training pen, a great white stallion pranced and whinnied angrily at the newcomers.
“Miles Donovan,” Lyle murmured to Rose, before dismounting and helping her down.
“That horse is coming along,” Lyle said to Miles as a greeting.
Miles shrugged. “He’ll always need a strong master.”
“He’s a beauty,” Rose said, and had the pleasure of watching Miles’ eyes crinkle at the compliment.
“Name’s Lightning.”
“Come here, you old saddle-stiff.” Lyle gripped Miles’ hand and the two men thumped each other’s backs before looking to Rose.
Lyle reached for her. “Donovan, this is my wife, Rose Wilder.”
Miles blinked in surprise but tipped his hat to her. “Ma’am.”
Donovan was shorter than Lyle, but his shoulders were wider and his whole form was thickly muscled. He was a stern faced man, and Rose kept her distance as he never seemed to smile. Only when his wife came out of their cabin with the baby in her arms did Donovan’s face soften.
“My wife, Carrie,” he said proudly. Carrie
was short and curvy, with long, wavy chestnut hair. A few curls wafted against her cheeks, having escaped her cheery bonnet. “And my daughter.”
“You must be Rose.” Smiling, Carrie came forward and, to Rose’s surprise, handed the baby to her husband before coming to hug Rose.
Turning panicked eyes to Lyle, Rose returned the hug as best she could.
“I’m so glad you’re here. It will be nice to have a woman out here on the frontier.”
“Carrie.” Miles looked disapproving, but his wife just shrugged.
“Well, it’s true.” She turned to Rose and whispered loudly, “My husband can get by with just cattle and horses, but I need to talk to someone.”
Lyle chuckled.
Meanwhile, Miles was looking down at the babe in his arms. Rose almost caught her breath at the change in his serious expression. His shining look of love washed the usual grimness of his face away.
“This is my daughter, Mary,” Carrie said.
“Oh.” Rose’s hand went to her throat, and she blinked back tears that seemed to be always close by. She felt Lyle move closer to her side. “She’s beautiful.”
“Do you want to hold her?” Carrie asked.
Rose shook her head. “Not now. She’s sleeping. Let her be.”
“She’s always sleeping.” Miles deposited the baby into the mother’s arms.
Carrie cuddled her child close. “She’s the sweetest baby ever.”
“Doesn’t take after her mother then,” Lyle said, and Rose looked at him sharply until she realized her husband was teasing.
Carrie didn’t take the bait, only shook her head gently at the grinning man. When Miles and Lyle turned away, she stuck out her tongue at Lyle, then winked at Rose.
“Got that cow for you once she’s weaned its calf,” Rose heard Miles say to her husband before Carrie fell into step beside her.
“You taking Blossom? She’s a good cow.” The young mother walked quickly for someone so short. Rose swept along faster, wincing as her hem trailed in the muddy grass.
“I guess so.”
“Have you ever milked one?”
“No.” Rose snorted before she realized that was probably going to be her chore every day. “I don’t even know how.”
“I was the same way,” Carrie laughed. “Let me know if you need a tutor. I’ve become an expert hand at it, now.”
As the men stood at the corral, watching Lightning and talking, Rose glanced down at her short companion. Carrie Donovan was the picture of a perfect prairie wife, with a robust form and freckles on her nose.
“How long have you lived here?” Rose asked.
“About a year,” Carrie said. “Miles wrote that he was looking for a wife, and I had no prospects back East, so I came to marry him. It was rough at first, but we found our way.” Her lips curved with a secret smile. “Little Mary was born this summer.”
Surprised, Rose couldn’t think of what to say. She’d judged Carrie too soon; behind the sweet face lay an iron will.
“I know Lyle has been looking for you for some time now. Where did he find you?”
“In a saloon,” Rose blurted and waited for the woman’s rancor. “I knew Lyle when he married my sister five years ago, but I was separated from them. When he found me, I was working as a dancer.”
Carrie cocked her head, nothing like disgust in her expression. “Did you like it? Dancing, I mean.”
Rose blinked in shock. “I loved it. I loved the music, the audience. Just not the men—not all of them.”
“I can understand that,” Carrie muttered, and again Rose felt she had misjudged the woman’s depths.
“Have you ever been in a saloon?” Rose asked bluntly, and was rewarded with a slight coloring of the homestead woman’s face.
“No, but I imagine it must be fun to dress up in fine things and have music every night.” Carrie blushed fully. “And both your complexion and figure are so perfect, you probably drew every eye.”
Rose’s lip curled. “Yes, well, pale skin and fine hands won’t do me much good here.” She looked over the clearing, the cabin on the hill and well-kept garden behind, the cow in its shed and chicken coop, and wondered if she could ever be as steadfast and capable as the sweet-tempered Mrs. Donovan. What if she wasn’t cut out for such a life? Would Lyle become disappointed in her and wish he had never married her?
One winter, she reminded herself. She could play at house for one winter, then come spring examine her prospects. Once Lyle saw how unfit she was for homesteading, he would let her go. Right now, with the fantasy of living with her as he did with her sister Mary, he would try to keep her.
“Rose.” Carrie turned to her. “When I first came here, it took me a while to settle. In the end, Miles and I worked it out—” Again, her cheeks pinked. “But I wish I had a friend nearby to see me through. Promise me that, if you feel lonely, you’ll talk to someone. I may not have many fancy things or exciting tales, but I’m a good listener. I’m here, if you need a friend.”
“Thank you.” Rose felt a pang, realizing how haughty and alien she must seem to the frontier woman. “I promise you that I will call again. By then I may have a more suitable dress.” The redhead looked ruefully at her green riding dress, the mud stains not quite hiding the fabric’s fancy sheen.
“I can make you one, if you like. Have Mr. Martin in town order you some fabric. Green, to set off your fine skin.”
Rose felt her face soften into a smile. “I’d like that.”
As the men returned, baby Mary started to cry.
“Be well,” Carrie said, before heading up the hill to the cabin.
“Take care, my friend.” Miles shook Lyle’s hand then tipped his hat to Rose before jogging up the hill to catch up with his wife. As Rose watched, he put his arm around Carrie, escorting her and the babe to their cabin in a tender picture. The perfect family, Rose thought, and wondered if Lyle would want children one day. She felt a pang as she realized she would best be long gone by then.
A few days on the homestead and Rose fell into a routine. Every morning, Lyle went to feed the horses and let them out to pasture, while Rose fetched water, tended the fire, and cursed over the making of breakfast. Lyle rode to the Donovans again and brought back meat, milk and eggs in exchange for a few hours labor. Carrie had sent an apron for Rose, who was grateful for something to protect her few dresses while she learned her chores. After the third day of Rose burning dinner, Lyle took over making the johnny cakes and cornbread, and made her promise to stick to making porridge for breakfast.
One morning, she had spent a few extra minutes picking the juicy red berries on a bush near the stream where she got water. She put them in a dish and set them carefully on the table when a shadow cut across the setting.
“Hello, sister.”
Rose jumped at the man’s voice and whirled, but it was only her brother-in-law. The younger Wilder lounged in the doorway, black hair curling over his forehead and green eyes glinting. He looked so smug, but then, he always seemed amused by something.
“Jesse.” After frowning at him, she went back to the hearth. Everything Lyle had told her about his vagabond brother had only grown her dislike of him. “About time you showed up.”
“Couldn’t miss a hot meal.” He strutted to the table and started to poke at the berries. Rose rushed over and slapped his hand.
“We’re waiting for Lyle.” Setting the porridge on the table, she started to dish it into their bowls.
“Well, now I’ve seen everything. The great Rosie May turned into a cook. Pretty soon you’ll be knitting his clothes and darning his socks like a good housewife.”
The glare she sent his way could’ve curdled milk, but Jesse just chuckled.
“It’s good to see you settling into matrimony. My brother needs help.”
“Especially since you can’t seem to stick around long enough to fulfill your obligations.” Rose couldn’t resist goading him, though she knew Lyle would want her to bite her tongue.
Jesse started to answer, then noticed her breakfast preparations and caught her hands. “Rose, what are you doing?”
“I’m putting berries into the porridge.”
“Those are poison.”
In their dish, the juicy red orbs looked so delicious. “Are you sure?”
“Quite sure. Did you eat any?” Jesse looked so alarmed, she shook her head quickly.
“Good.” He relaxed and grinned, showing fine white teeth. “Unless you want to be a widow, I would throw them out.”
“What’s this about being a widow?” Lyle said from the doorway.
Still holding Rose’s wrists, Jesse turned his smile onto his brother. “Your bride’s already trying to get rid of you.”
“Old news.” Lyle waved a hand. “She tries to kill me every day. Keeps me on my toes.”
Rose tried to pull her hands away, but Jesse held on with a teasing smirk, until Lyle loomed over him.
“You want to let her go?” Lyle’s voice turned scary.
With a wink, Jesse released Rose and she scuttled away to the hearth to get the coffee. “No harm done, brother. I was just admiring your bride’s domestic skills.”
“Don’t speak too soon, brother.” Lyle pulled up the large chair to the table, and held it out for Rose as she returned. “Though, I must admit, she’s gotten a good grasp of porridge.”
She set the coffee pot on the table and glared at her husband before sitting down.
“Thanks for making breakfast, darlin’.” He leaned forward and kissed her frowning mouth.
Throughout the meal, Rose busied herself with serving the coffee and dishing out more porridge while the brothers talked about plans for the winter.
“I have a commission to ride escort to a stagecoach. Some bigwig from Europe is coming West to make his fortune.”
“I thought you’d be here for the next few months.”
Jesse shrugged. “Maybe by the first snow.” He rolled his eyes at Lyle’s unhappy expression. “Relax, brother. I’ll have money enough to pay for my own stores, and help you two.”
