Rose

by Jill Marie Landis

  “Four of the meanest sons of bitches ever born.”

  “Brothers?”

  “Yep. Bad blood runs in their veins.”

  Kase suddenly wondered if there was any truth to that old saying. If so, what of his own bad blood? Suddenly he didn’t want to hear what Quentin had to say. It seemed there wasn’t any subject that was safe for him to think about anymore. Not bloodlines, not Rose Audi. Maybe, he thought, it was time to move on.

  Quentin took his silence for attention. “The Dawsons started out as petty thieves bothering farmers on small spreads without the manpower to stand up to them. They moved up to shootin’ up towns and riding roughshod over places like Busted Heel. Done some horse-thieving.”

  “Have they been spotted around here?”

  “South of Cheyenne last month. Who knows where they are now? Just keep your eye out for four or more men riding together, strangers you might not recognize. Are you familiar with most of my men by now?”

  “Most of them. You keep adding new ones, which makes it tough, but they always come into town together, so it’s easy to pick ‘em out.”

  “I’ve had a run of good luck lately, hired a good crew. Just sold off a herd of beef for the highest price yet. I’m thinking it’s about time I did a little celebrating.”

  Kase looked doubtful. “So you came to Busted Heel instead of heading into Cheyenne?”

  Quentin laughed. “No, I came to Busted Heel to tell you about the Dawsons and to eat at Rosa’s place. I’ll tell you how I plan to celebrate over dinner.” He stood up and walked to the hat rack beside the door. Quentin reached for his gray felt Stetson and waited for Kase to join him. “Come on, Kase. I’ll buy.”

  Except for Slick Knox, who sat slowly savoring a cup of coffee, the restaurant was empty. Rosa bustled about in the kitchen and wondered whether or not to deep-fry any more uova alla torinese when she heard the front door open. She leaned away from the stove and peered around the door frame. Her breath caught in her throat.

  Kase Storm and the big man he had introduced her to earlier were standing in the dining room, waiting to be seated.

  She dropped the spoon and pressed her palms against her cheeks and then her forehead. The kitchen was sweltering, her face flushed. The hairstyle she’d taken such pains with that morning rode nearer the nape of her neck than the crown of her head.

  And Kase Storm was standing in her restaurant.

  The day’s menu suddenly seemed inadequate. She glanced at the vegetable soup, breaded eggs, spinach tossed with garlic, the sautéed rabbit and polenta and silently scoffed, “Peasant fare.”

  She peered around the door frame again. The Rawlins man exchanged greetings with Slick Knox while Kase Storm stood silent, his hands shoved deep in his back pockets. His hooded eyes took in every detail of the room.

  There was no time to change the menu. They were waiting.

  Rosa took a deep breath and smiled. Then she stepped into the dining room.

  “Benvenuto, gentlemen. Please, sit. Sit.” She drew a chair away from the empty table and waited while Kase indicated that Quentin should be seated first.

  “Well, Rosa,” Quentin began, “I’ve heard nothing but good things about your cooking, so I decided to try it for myself. We’ll have two of whatever you’re serving today.”

  She wanted to keep her gaze from straying to Kase, tried to concentrate on Quentin Rawlins’s words, but was finding it nearly impossible. “Grazie, signore. I hope you like it. Un momento. I’ll bring the soup first.”

  Without another glance in Kase Storm’s direction, she returned to the kitchen. Once inside the smaller room, Rosa leaned against the wall and tried to catch her breath. Her hand shook as she ladled the soup into two bowls. What had come over her? She wanted to speak to Kase, but each time she started to say anything directly to him, she was overwhelmed By fear.

  What if she said something wrong?

  What if she made him angry again without knowing why?

  What if the soup got cold before she carried it out to them?

  She scolded herself for her foolishness and served the soup. Rosa set Quentin’s down without mishap, then walked around the table and reached out to set Kase’s bowl at his place. Her breast accidentally brushed his shoulder. She was close enough to hear his swift in-drawn breath. As Rosa set the bowl down, a spoonful of soup sloshed over the lip.

  “Scusi.”

  “It’s all right,” he mumbled.

  Quentin silently watched the exchange. “Can you sit with us, Miss Rosa, while we eat?”

  Rosa glanced toward the door and then to Slick Knox’s deserted chair. The barber had put his money beside his empty plate and left while she was serving the other men. Since there was no reason why she should not join them, Rosa pulled out a chair and sat down.

  “This is delicious,” Quentin said. “What do you think, Kase?”

  Kase glanced up at Rosa long enough to mumble “Great.” He dipped his head again and concentrated on the soup.

  As he grew silent, Rosa’s apprehension mounted. She turned her attention to Quentin. “Yours is the ranch where the cowmen work?”

  Quentin laughed easily. “Yep, but around here the men who own the cattle are called cowmen and the men who work for them are called cowhands, or cowboys. I hear they’re some of your best customers.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “You just let me know if you have trouble with any of ‘em and I’ll see they don’t bother you any more.”

  Kase shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  Rosa glanced in his direction, then back at the older man. “Grazie, Signore Quentin, but they have been gentlemen.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. I don’t see how they could be anything but gentlemen around a lady such as yourself.” After one look at the marshal’s face, Quentin finished his soup in silence.

  Rosa waited for Kase to speak, but he continued to stare at her without saying a word. She chanced a glance in his direction and was assaulted by his blue-eyed gaze. When she caught herself staring back at him, she nearly jumped out of her chair and grabbed his empty bowl.

  “I will get the rest.”

  Kase followed her with his eyes. Her wine-colored skirt twitched provocatively from side to side with each step. He hoped he could make it through the next course.

  “Never took you for a coward, boy.”

  Quentin’s soft words drew his full attention. “What do you mean by that?” Kase’s voice was low, the words carefully drawn out.

  Quentin leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out beneath the table. “I know your pa, that’s all, and I figured you to be more like him. He’d never let a woman make a stone statue out of him.” The older man frowned and straightened. “What’s eatin’ at you, son?”

  Everything was eating at him. Since the moment he walked in the door, Rose had met his eyes only once; then she had run from the room like a skittish colt. Each time she spoke to Quentin, Kase felt his stomach knot as tight as wet rawhide drying in the sun. For all he knew, the food she had served him tasted like the bottom of an old shoe; his mouth had gone dry at the sight of her. Now Quentin Rawlins was calling him a coward and he couldn’t come up with an argument. He didn’t know why in the hell he was feeling the way he was, but he did know things hadn’t been right since the day Rose Audi stepped off the train.

  “Nothing’s eating me.” He went silent again when Rose entered and set down their plates.

  “Can you stay, Rosa?” Quentin asked again.

  “I must check on the pudding, signore. Perhaps later.”

  Kase watched her smile down on Quentin and then picked up his knife and fork. He attacked the succulent portion of rabbit on his plate and listened to the sound of her receding footsteps.

  “I’m having a big shindig out at the ranch, Kase. Whole town’s invited, all my men, some of the farmers close to town. Might even ask some of the folks I know in Cheyenne to come out to stay the night.”

  “When?”

 
; “Two weeks. I’d like to have you there, of course.”

  “Sure.”

  There was a long pause. Quentin looked thoughtful before he added, “Thought you might drive Rosa out to the party.” He took a bite of food, chewed, swallowed, and then continued. “Don’t think she could very well ride out with Flossie and the girls. The Wilkies’ wagon will be full of Wilkies.”

  Kase looked skeptical. “You’re inviting Floss and the girls?”

  “Floss and I go way back. Wouldn’t want the boys to be disappointed. There’s not enough women to go around at a dance anyway, and after all, this is a party for the boys.”

  Kase felt Quentin watching him intently. He kept eating.

  “Guess if you don’t want to bring her out, I could send one of the boys after her. One I know to be a real gentleman, that is.”

  Kase nearly choked. He swallowed and then ground out, “I’ll take her.”

  Chapter

  Eight

  With her head bent in concentration, Rosa tugged a shawl tight about her shoulders and carefully walked across the uneven ground. An autumn chill rode the ever-present wind as the morning sun shone bright in a cloudless blue sky. Stealing a few precious hours away from the endless tasks in the kitchen as well as the close stuffiness that pervaded Flossie’s parlor, Rosa made her way across the open landscape, intent on visiting Giovanni’s grave.

  She had awakened with a deep longing for home and family coupled with a need to escape the daily routine she had established in her new surroundings. After a brief visit to Flossie’s to quickly dust and set the kitchen to rights, Rosa set out to find the graveyard, traveling in the direction she and Kase Storm had taken the day she arrived in Busted Heel.

  She paused for a moment to look back at the two even rows of wooden structures that comprised the town and shook her head. The place looked more like a child’s set of wooden blocks than a true village. From a distance it appeared fragile enough to be toppled by a storm. Rosa sighed, shook her head, then turned northwest and continued on. She judged the gravesite to be on a knoll just ahead and was soon reassured when she spied a lone gnarled sage that had managed to gain stature in the twisted form of a tree. They had passed by the same landmark in the buggy that first day.

  For a moment she wondered if it was a good idea to be so far from the town all alone, then put the thought aside before it became aft unlucky one. She did not intend to stay long, and judging from the emptiness of the landscape, she did not expect to see another living soul.

  Marching on with stalwart determination, she skirted the largest of the countless rocks embedded in the dry soil. Tufts of thick sun-yellowed grass along with scattered animal dung and the dry remnants of spring wildflowers littered the ground. Bordered by the mountains on the northwest, the landscape was deceptive. It had appeared flat when she gazed at it from her kitchen window, but once she started out on foot, she discovered that the land had been molded into gentle waves that rose gradually toward the mountains. It was vast, windswept, and seemingly barren and did little to relieve the sense of loss she had experienced all morning.

  Within-half an hour’s time, Rosa reached the graveyard. She walked inside the dilapidated stake-and-wire fence before she paused to look back at Busted Heel. The town had become a speck on the horizon. As she walked past the few scattered graves, Rosa wondered who might be buried here and how they came to die in such a place. When she reached the crude wooden cross that marked Giovanni’s grave, she tossed aside a few loose rocks and sat down on the ground beside it.

  Alone on the prairie, Rosa thought about all the times in Corio when she had wished for a moment’s peace. Now her wish had come true and she found that the countless quiet hours she spent alone were wearing on her. Flossie Gibbs had befriended her and she felt she could go to her for advice and companionship, but the kindhearted woman was not famiglia, not of her blood or background. There was no one here who really knew Rosa, her likes, her dislikes, her own personal history. She missed the close bond that came with such knowledge.

  She had written to Zia Rina, but it was far too soon to expect an answer. It would be weeks before her letter reached Corio and perhaps months before Zia Rina sent one in return. Smiling, she imagined her aunt carrying the letter to the village and showing it to everyone. She shook her head and wondered how many arguments would arise as the family sat around the table deciding what to include in their response.

  Using the corner of her shawl, she wiped away the fine dust that lingered on the cross and wondered if her own stubborn determination would force her to spend her life alone on the prairie. Would the years slip by as quickly as the past few weeks until she was as gnarled and bent as the twisted sage? Would she dry up and blow away like the tumbleweeds?

  As much as she hated to admit it, Rosa began to wonder if Kase Storm had not been correct in insisting that she leave Busted Heel. At the very least she could have gone to San Francisco to live among other Italians. There she could have spoken her own language and lived among people whose customs and manners were familiar to her. Here she was so lonely that not a day passed when she did not think of her former home and family.

  Her thoughts led her to wonder what sort of a man Kase Storm was. Why was he so bitter? So intolerant? She knew he was as determined as she, a man who, once having decided upon a course of action, did not like to change his mind. But why was he afraid to show any emotion other than anger? And even that he often tried to hide behind a cold stare.

  Rosa tried to remember if she had ever seen the man smile. She did not think so. Nor had she heard him laugh. It would be a challenge to try to make him laugh. It would be a pleasant change to see his eyes shine with happiness. Could he ever be anything but upset with her? Her thoughts wandered until she found herself thinking it might be nice to experience his kiss again, and then suddenly, remembering where she was, she quickly crossed herself and glanced at Giovanni’s grave. Apologetically she shrugged and said aloud, “What harm is there now, Giovanni? It is because you left me alone that I think such thoughts.”

  Deciding that she had spent enough time away from her tasks, Rosa stood and shook the loose soil from her skirt. She looked up at the rugged mountains in the distance and then out across the land. When she noticed a lone rider coming from the direction of town, she chided herself for not having seen him sooner. He was still too far away for her to make out what manner of a man he was, and she knew a moment of fear. All of Kase Storm’s warnings came to mind. Should she run or crouch behind a grave marker and hope he passed by without noticing her?

  She glanced around and knew immediately that both ideas were ridiculous. The rider stood between her and town. The headstones were far too narrow to conceal more than a very small child. The man was approaching rapidly now. From a distance he appeared to be part of the horse he was riding. The scene reminded her of the mythical creature, the centaur, half man, half beast. Her heart began a rapid beat.

  Stupida, stupida. She had no one but herself to blame for the consequences of her own carelessness.

  As the rider approached, his horse’s hooves churning up the dry soil as it closed the space between them, Rosa strained to see this man who rode so gracefully. He had indeed become a part of the animal beneath him. It was not long before she recognized the man’s face beneath the shadow cast by the wide brim of his hat, but even so, her pulse did not return to normal. She noticed a cloth bag tied to his saddle horn, its contents clinking and chiming together.

  Kase Storm drew his horse to a halt just outside the rickety fence, and Rosa prepared herself for an onslaught of disapproval.

  Kase dismounted and quickly tied Sinbad’s reins to a fence post before he strode through the graveyard gate. Without a word he glanced first at Rose and then at the deserted landscape as if to emphasize their isolation. Anyone could have come along and raped her, murdered her, or even carried her away, and no one in town would ever have known what had become of her. He was too furious to speak as he watched
her expression change from one of open welcome to one of familiar obstinacy. He knew he was in for another argument.

  Mad enough to toss her over his saddle and carry her back to town, he took a step toward her. Rose stepped back and nearly tripped over the cross at the head of her husband’s grave. Kase reached out and grabbed her by the wrist to right her before she pulled away.

  “I know what you will say to me,” she said before he had a chance to speak. “I am stupid to be here alone.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And you will say that someone might come and hurt me.”

  “Right.”

  “Maybe kill me.”

  “Yep.”

  “And so you are once again angry with me.”

  “That’s right.” He folded his arms across his chest and waited for her to go on, admitting to himself that she was doing a fine job without his having to say anything.

  Unexpectedly, she began to laugh.

  He scowled. “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “You, Marshal. You are always the same. So big and strong and angry. Do you never smile?”

  Taken aback, he felt his frown deepen. “No.”

  She crossed her arms and looked at him skeptically “Pooh. I don’t believe it.”

  He smiled then, unable to resist.

  Her own smile widened as her eyes sparkled up at him. “You do smile! A handsome smile, too.”

  At that he felt a strange constriction about his heart. He felt safer when she was yelling at him. He resumed what he hoped was an unreadable stare, and then without another word he walked back to his horse.

  Feeling relieved and at the same time disappointed, Rosa thought he was going to leave her in peace until she watched him untie the bag on his saddle. The rattling and clinking began again as he carried the bag many yards distance. She watched curiously as he opened the drawstring and started pulling out bottles and cans of all shapes and sizes and proceeded to set them upright on the ground all around him. He placed some in a line, others he stood on rocks, still others he scattered about at random. He left a few bottles in the bag and walked back away in the opposite direction.