by Caroline Lee
He agreed, and knew that it was thanks to her. If he hadn’t been lucky enough to have his horse stumble into her barn, he would’ve frozen to death or died of infection days ago. As she went to rewrap the linen, he impulsively dropped his hand over hers, trapping her delicate fingers against the skin of his thigh.
She sucked in a startled gasp, but he barely noticed; he was too busy being startled himself. She’d removed her glove to poke at his flesh, as she always did, and that meant that her tiny hand—her bare skin—was against him now. Shoot, his hand was twice the size of hers, and hairy and sun-darkened to boot. He didn’t look like the kind of man who should be touching a lady like her…but at that moment, Bear didn’t give a plug nickel.
Finally, after too few heartbeats, her fingers twitched under his, and he heard her begin to breathe. That’s when he realized he’d been holding his breath too. He looked up from their hands and met her eyes, and thought that he could just fall straight into those clear gems. They were the exact color of a topaz necklace he’d once seen on display when he investigated a jewelry store robbery in Salt Lake City. Thanks to her, he didn’t think that he’d ever forget that color.
Her flush deepened, and he watched her swallow, his eyes drawn to the smooth skin of her neck. The green coat she wore was buttoned all the way up, but still left tantalizing glimpses of creamy flesh. It wasn’t the first time his body reacted to her nearness, but Bear was suddenly almost overwhelmed with the desire to pull her across his lap and unwrap all of her layers. She’d be the best Christmas present ever.
Instead, he forced himself to clear his throat, to release her hand, to look away. It was one of the hardest things he’d done, but scaring her with his thoughts wasn’t his intention. Instead, he tried to concentrate on what they’d been speaking of moments before.
“So, Rose Red…this is the first time you mentioned your father.”
She was pretending great interest in laying out the food she’d brought. “He’s been dead a while. We came out here from Alabama after the war, but he wasn’t as good a farmer as he’d thought. Now, my sister and I try to keep the house up as best we can. I take care of the hogs that we use for barter, and make a bit of money by selling—”
She cut off her confession by biting her lower lip, and Bear nearly groaned, to think of tasting that lip himself. Instead, he forced himself to concentrate on her words. “Selling…?” This was more than she’d told him about herself all week.
But her smile was brittle when she looked up again, not quite meeting his eyes. “It doesn’t matter, really. Now, how are you enjoying Black Bart’s Revenge?”
The change in topics confused him. “The book? I’m only about a chapter from the end.”
“Oh, so he’s rescued Samantha already?”
Bear smiled at the eagerness in her voice, but doubted that she could see it under his beard. “Yeah. That was pretty exciting.”
“When Black Bart was dangling her over the cliffs like that? No matter how many times I read it, I still get chills!”
Bear had to agree. “I sure read it faster than I’d expected. That Bart is one evil rattlesnake. He deserves to be—“ Bear swallowed down his impolite words, and shrugged in apology. “I mean, I’m looking forward to seeing what Captain Reasinger does to him.”
Rose cocked her head to one side, looking at him oddly. “The bad guy always loses in the end, Bear.” He nodded, agreeing. In books, the bad guy always loses.
“But in real life, sometimes the bad guys get away.” He couldn’t hide the bitterness in his voice as he stared at his wounded leg. In real life, it was up to men like him to make sure that the bad guys paid, somehow, but it didn’t always work out the way they hoped. But when he glanced back up at her, he was surprised to see a look he couldn’t define on Rose’s face; part disappointment, part confusion, part sadness. Maybe she hadn’t expected him to bring real life into this discussion, or something.
She bit her lip again, and rearranged herself so that she was sitting beside his pallet, her arms wrapped around drawn-up knees. His boots could’ve knocked against her skirts, if he’d twitched, but she didn’t seem to notice the nearness.
“How about you?” She asked suddenly. “You must have plenty of good stories, right? Do the good guys always win?” She lowered her voice to what she must’ve thought was a wheedling tone. “You’ve got to know about horse chases and shootouts and stuff, right?”
Bear sighed. This again? For the last few days, since he was able to sit up, she’d asked him something similar. Sure was an odd line of questioning, coming from a poor farmer’s daughter. Maybe she just really liked adventure stories, but what about him made her think he knew any? Oh, sure, he had plenty of adventures under his belt, enough to rival Captain Reasinger, but nothing that he could tell her. He couldn’t tell anyone; not until he managed to get his sorry butt to a telegraph office to wire for backup to help stop Quigg.
“Sorry, Rose Red. I prefer to read about heroes in white hats.” That much was true; Bear was never going to be confused with one of the heroes in her books.
“Yeah, but…” Guess she wasn’t done trying to get information out of him. “I mean, look at you.” Her nod encompassed his rumpled jacket—pulled on for warmth overnight—and his unkempt beard. “Can’t you just tell me one of your adventures? Just something that I could—”
She bit her lip again, apparently not wanting to give away too much, and met his eyes. When he raised a brow at her, she blushed prettily and looked away fast enough that he wondered if he’d offended her or something. She sure looked scorched by something.
Bear tried to make a peace offering. “I’m sorry. I really can’t tell you anything.” It was the truth. Not because he didn’t have any stories, but he couldn’t let himself share them. If she knew—if word got out—that a US Marshall was wounded in her barn, every lowlife around would be gunning for him…and she’d be in danger too. Without his Colts, he couldn’t hope to protect either of them, but he didn’t want to ask her for them either. She’d been carting one of them around since he met her, and it obviously made her feel safer to have it. Maybe that feeling of safety—that confidence, was what let her ask him so many questions.
Although why in the heck a little lady like her would be so fascinated by tales of derring-do and narrow escapes, he didn’t know. On the other hand, seeing her sitting in the dirt with her knees drawn up like that, and her cute little chin perched on her forearms while she pouted, Bear had to admit that she didn’t look like any other “little lady” he’d ever met. She was a gal who liked adventure, and was stuck here tending hogs. He knew exactly what being trapped felt like, and cursed his busted leg once more.
“Rose Red? Why don’t you tell me one of your adventures? I’ll bet you’ve got plenty—”
It was the wrong thing to say. Abruptly, she stood, still not meeting his eyes. “I… I have…” She was collecting the discarded plate from last night, and a few other things, throwing it onto the tray she’d brought this morning. “I’ve got to go. I’ve been here too long anyhow.”
And before Bear could apologize for whatever he’d said, or ask her to stay, she was hurrying across the barn floor and pushing open the door to the December snow outside.
She’d left. Bear sighed, and allowed his head to thump back against the logs he’d fashioned into a slightly-less-uncomfortable rest. She’d left, and he wasn’t going to see her again until that night, unless he’d scared her off for good. What would happen if she didn’t return? He’d have to drag his sorry butt across the barn and out that door, he supposed, and hop around looking for her.
And wouldn’t that be a pitiful sight? He had to chuckle at himself then. He had it bad for his little rescuer, and she didn’t even realize what she was doing to him. Heck, she didn’t even know the first thing about him, because he hadn’t told her a blessed thing. Maybe she figured he was the outlaw he looked like; that might explain all those cryptic comments of her about the bad guys alw
ays losing. That sure would be funny, if that’s what she thought. The urge to tell her the truth was so strong he could taste it, but he had to keep reminding himself that his subterfuge served a purpose. Served justice.
Speaking of justice, there wasn’t much else to do for the rest of the day besides work on his standing, and read. He was almost done with the book that she’d left, and then he figured he’d have to start over again, to re-read it. Unless, maybe, if she came back, he could talk her into loaning him another one?
Bear shifted to one side, reaching for the book, and gratifying in the stretch of his muscles. He might not be able to walk again easily, but he was healing, and that was something. But when his fingers closed around the book, he noticed another, lying on the dirt floor right where Rose had been sitting. Had it fallen out of the pocket of her coat?
Forgetting Black Bart for the moment, Bear snagged the little book, which turned out to be a journal. But not just any journal; on the front page was written, in a lady’s neat handwriting, Sheriff Caraway at Gumption Gulch, part Two of ??.
Curious, Bear flipped through it. Each page was full of the same flowing script. Occasionally there’d be sections crossed out, or notes in the margins… But there were also chapter headings and page numbers. The second page picked up in the middle of the story:
Since Miss Molly’s kidnapping, Sheriff Caraway hadn’t been able to eat. The food all turned to lead in his stomach, just like the lead he’d pumped into Murderous Mitch’s brother. The thought didn’t ease his worry though. On the contrary; Caraway never liked taking a life, and knew that this life would mean Mitch had a reason to want revenge on him. Maybe even at the risk to Miss Molly’s delicate person.
Bear was hooked. Forgetting all about the last chapter of Black Bart’s Revenge, he settled down to read through this intriguing little book. The plot was just as good as Black Bart’s, and he found himself rooting for Sheriff Caraway immediately. Sure, he wore a big ridiculous white hat and didn’t know much about caring for his horse, but he loved Miss Molly and was determined to get her out of Mitch’s clutches, and that was good enough for a reader like Bear. It was just a shame that he didn’t have Part One, to read the whole thing from the beginning. Oh well, Part Two was a pretty good read on its own.
The rest of the day didn’t seem so lonely, after all.
CHAPTER SIX
He’d touched her! Oh, sure, she’d touched him plenty over the last days, but for him to actually reach out and touch her? Rose stopped her frantic search for the missing journal, and stared out the window over her desk, one hand cradling the other, trying to recapture the feeling from that morning. Her hand in his much larger one. His skin cradling hers. Warm, tingly.
It was exactly the way Sheriff Caraway would touch Miss Molly, once he rescued her. But he couldn’t get around to rescuing her until Rose found the second installment of the book. As she sighed and went back to sorting through her stacks of ledgers, she realized that Bear had been helpful after all. Sure, he hadn’t given her any insight to the criminal mind, but he’d helped her understand the feelings that could grow between a man and a woman.
A very handsome man, who was a terrible person to be mooning over. But that didn’t seem to stop Rose.
“What are you mooning over?”
Her sister’s words—so closely matching Rose’s thoughts—caused her to drop the stack of books and swing around. Oh dear, she’d forgotten Snow was sitting in the little parlor as well. “What? What do you mean, mooning? I’m not mooning. There’s no mooning. What do you mean?”
Snow just chuckled, and bent back over the pillow with her half-finished piece of lace. Her fingers could move so quickly and so accurately that she almost didn’t need the light from the window at her shoulder that made her dark skin glow. Rose knew that soon the lace would adorn a sweet little gown, which some rich parents would pay handsomely for, and the White family would be able to survive another month. Rose’s own income from her stories was pitiful compared to her sister’s, but had hopes that one day she’d have enough life experience to be able to write really good full novels. Sheriff Caraway was to be her first… and her last, if she couldn’t find Part Two.
She began to shift the books around again, not quite ready to ignore her sister. “Besides, who’s mooning?”
“You’ve been looking for that book in the same place for the last twenty minutes. And you’re doing just as much sighing and staring out the window as looking.” Snow hadn’t even glanced up from her work, but Rose could hear the smirk in her voice. “I don’t suppose this has anything to do with all the food you’ve been pilfering, and the time you’ve been spending out in the barn?”
Rose felt her chest tighten. She hadn’t realized anyone had noticed… “Does Mama know?”
Snow looked up there, her brows drawn down and her lips pursed in disappointment. “You can’t honestly think I’d tell that woman anything about you sneaking around, do you?”
That woman. Mama didn’t think much of Snow, and the feeling was mutual. The three of them lived together, and supported one another—at least, the sisters supported Lucinda White. But they were hardly a family. They’d have to love one another for that, and there was little love lost between Snow and her father’s widow.
It was usually exhausting, to be surrounded by so much tension, but this time Rose was glad Snow hadn’t mentioned anything to Mama. Her shoulders slumped in relief. “Sorry. Thank you, I mean.”
“So, you want to tell me what’s going on?” Snow’s fingers hadn’t stopped. “With all your mysterious disappearances, I mean.”
“Not really.”
“Rose…?” Snow’s tone was needling, like when they were children and the older sister could convince the quiet, bookish little red-head to do all sorts of things. “I’m going to keep bugging you, you know. Unless it’s some kind of Christmas present, in which case I don’t think I want to know why you needed a whole chicken breast last night, and that half-loaf this morning.” She gasped, her eyes bright. “Unless it’s a puppy. Is it a puppy?”
Rose had to giggle at her sister’s excitement. “No, it’s not a puppy.”
“A kitten? A new mule?” Snow’s perfect nose wrinkled. “Do you have a new pet out in the barn?”
“No! It’s a—He’s a… Well…”
“He, Rose? Ewww, it’s not a new hog, is it?”
“No, he’s a man.”
The silence after her confession seemed to stretch into next week. Snow’s fingers stilled, her shoulders straightened, and her eyes widened. Finally, she breathed, “A man, Rose? You have a man in the barn?”
Rose glanced towards the door, worried that Mama could somehow overhear them. “It’s not like I’m keeping him a prisoner or anything. He’s wounded. I’m fixing him up.”
“You’re fixing him up? Why not take him to town?”
She couldn’t very well tell her sister that she was kind of keeping Bear prisoner, what with having hidden his horse and guns from him, and him being too weak to escape otherwise. And she was honest enough to admit that she was planning on keeping him prisoner at least until he could teach her more things. Things about the outlaw life, not necessarily the way she felt when he touched her. “We don’t have money for Doc Carpenter. And he was too badly hurt to move. So I’m tending him.”
“You’re tending him. Alone in the barn. Twice a day.” Snow’s tone was flat, and her brow was raised speculatively. “You know how bad that sounds, don’t you?” Because she did, Rose didn’t answer. “Is he the reason you’ve been mooning around?”
Sinking down into her desk chair, Rose knew there was no use denying it. “Yes, I think so. I didn’t mean to, though. He was just…”
“Just someone who needed your help?” He was more than that, but Rose nodded anyway, and Snow sighed, putting aside her lace. “Rose, honey. You know I love you, don’t you?”
“And I love you.”
“I want the best for you. And you know that I don’t
think the best place for you is here.”
Rose swallowed, and looked down at her hands in her lap. Even now, she could feel his touch. “Here, in this house?”
A snort. “Here in Everland. Your Mama is making you miserable, your talents are wasted, and you haven’t let yourself really live. You need to get out of here.”
It was hard to deny, but she had to try. “I couldn’t leave you alone here with Mama.”
“Don’t you worry about me, honey. I can handle your mother alright.” Yeah, by ignoring her, which irritates her to all get-out. “I’ve got my sewing, and we get by. But you? You need to get away from here, away from her. You need to live.” Snow sighed, and Rose met her eyes, only a few shades darker than her own. “I always figured that you’d get married and move away, and that would be that.”
“You know Mama doesn’t approve of any men around Everland.” Lucinda White had this silly notion that her daughter had to marry a blonde man, so that Rose could have little perfect blonde sons. Reginald White had had hair so blonde it was almost white, and Lucinda’s shame was that she passed her own red hair down to her only child. Hair color was a stupid reason to turn down a man, but the town had come to realize that Mrs. White was very particular. “And I haven’t exactly had a glut of offers.”
“So, don’t wait for your mother’s approval. If you find a man you think you could love, Rose, you snatch that opportunity. You marry him and move away from here and write the books you’ve been longing to write.”
“I…”
Snow must have seen her hesitation. Standing, she crossed the room to crouch beside the chair, and took Rose’s hands in hers. “Honey, I mean it. Your mother and I will be fine here. You don’t belong here. You need to get away, to have an adventure. Marry your man.”
