He had to get Rose.
Rosa unsuccessfully tried to ignore the feel of Kase Storm’s strong hands about her waist as he lifted her down from the carriage. Her attempts to dismiss him failed as he set her down between him and the shining black vehicle. It was a moment before he moved. There was no way she could disregard the man who towered over her, the heat that radiated from him, or the mingled scents of wool, leather, and bay rum that enveloped him. Instead of wearing his usual garb, he was dressed like a gentleman in a stylish suit of striped, warm brown wool. Beneath the brim of his dark Stetson, his eyes seemed bluer than ever. Although his taunting half-smile had made few appearances while they were on the road to Mountain Shadows, his manners had been faultless, his demeanor polite. They had barely exchanged ten words.
“After you.” He stepped aside to allow her to pass.
Rosa remained all too aware of him as he followed close behind her, his hand occasionally reaching out to her waist as she sidestepped the buckboards and buggies drawn up together just inside the network of fences that surrounded Quentin Rawlins’s sprawling ranch house. They walked in silence across a dry, grassy expanse. The sound of laughter and frivolity drifted around them on the late afternoon breeze.
The house, an imposing two-story, molded itself to the flowing landscape. The violet-shadowed mountains behind it provided a dramatic backdrop for the brick and wood structure, which boasted two enormous chimneys and leaded-glass windows. The house stood well away from the outbuildings beyond. Rosa tried to concentrate on their names—tack room, bunkhouse, chuck house—as Kase explained the uses for them, but somehow she was more aware of his hand gently riding at her waist.
Quentin’s house reflected Wyoming’s openness. In Corio, his home would have been considered a castle. It was far grander than the contessa’s villa, but dwarfed as it was by the mountains and the land that spread out all around it, the impressive size of the house seemed only natural.
The area between the house and the outbuildings bustled with activity. Unlike the bare, treeless main street in town, Quentin’s yard was alive with trees, stately oaks and maples, their branches adorned with leaves that were beginning to hint at the arrival of autumn. Rosa realized for the first time that summer was nearly through. By now, Zia Rina’s flowers would have died, and the roses would have finished blooming for another year.
Beneath colorful paper lanterns strung from tree to tree, three men worked to stake a wide canvas tarp. They pulled it tight and smoothed it over the dusty ground. A man with a fiddle sat on a nearby stump tuning his instrument. Trestle tables and benches were set up near long serving tables lined with various bowls and covered dishes. A few women labored near the tables, arranging and then rearranging the bowls. To one side of the house, a cook in an oilcloth apron turned huge slabs of beef on a grill above an open pit.
Rosa reached out to Kase without thinking and rested her hand on his coatsleeve. “What is this called?”
“He’s barbecuing. Ranchers like to cook the meat over the open fire. The smoke flavors the beef. Would you like to watch?”
She nodded and then realized her hand was still on his arm. She felt him stiffen. Rosa turned away quickly, moving in the direction of the huge pit. The smell of roasting beef drifted on the smoky air. She wondered how the charred meat could possibly taste good, although she was intrigued by the delicious scent. As they drew near, she recognized Quentin Rawlins when he called out to them.
“Welcome, you two. Did you have a good ride out? How’re things in town?”
Rosa assured him their ride had been pleasant and listened while Kase told him things in town were as uneventful as ever.
“I’m glad to see you here.” Rawlins looked from one silent figure to the other. “Both of you.” He took Rosa’s hand and led her away from Kase. “Come on, Rosa, I’d like you to meet some of the other ladies here. I figure it won’t hurt to do a little advertising. They just might be able to convince their husbands they need a night off from cookin’ once in a while.”
She glanced back over her shoulder. Kase made no effort to follow. He watched them for a moment before he walked toward a group of men talking near the canvas dance floor.
Rosa caught sight of Kase only from a distance as the late afternoon drifted into evening. Quentin Rawlins kept her by his side throughout the introductions to the other women in attendance. They were a varied group of ranchers’ wives, townsfolk from Cheyenne, and a few farmers and their families. All of them were cordial, eager to learn about her restaurant. All of them wanted to know how she managed alone. When the buffet dinner began, Quentin returned to her side and then sat beside her at one of the long trestle tables. He monopolized her time so thoroughly that she could not spare Flossie more than a brief hello and a smile.
Unobtrusively, she tried to locate Kase among the crowd of townsmen, women, and cowhands who crowded into the yard to partake of the feast. He was seated at the table farthest from her with Flossie, Slick Knox, and three women she assumed were Flossie’s employees. Rosa wanted to study the three women without appearing curious, so she stole sly glances in their direction. Flamboyantly dressed in vibrant silk and satin, the women were by far the most attractive at the party. It was no wonder the marshal had chosen to enjoy their company rather than hers.
Rosa forced herself to look away and study the scene around her. The sun was setting behind the mountains in the distance, the sky streaked with vibrant pinks and reds against the darker shadows of high clouds. Lanterns placed along the length of the tables were lit, casting the faces that lined each side in light and shadow. The language was far different, the faces unfamiliar, but Rosa was reminded all the same of late summer nights in Crotte. She glanced down the table to her left, and found her gaze arrested by Kase Storm’s stare. In the gilding of lamplight, his features appeared cast in bronze; his eyes were startling blue in contrast. He was seated between Flossie Gibbs and the youngest of her girls, Chicago Sue. The blonde with the riotous frizzy hair was chatting amiably to Kase as she ate, totally unaware that his attention was elsewhere.
Rosa smiled, across the distance, happy to note Kase Storm was at least aware of her presence, then turned to answer a question put to her by Quentin.
“Yes, I have danced,” she said, “but not often.”
“Well, you’ll have all the practice you’ll ever need tonight, little lady, because after we eat, the dancing starts. I’d be obliged if you’d have the first dance with me.”
She tried to steal another glance at Kase and found his attention on Chicago Sue. “I would be happy to dance with you, Signor Quentin.”
Quentin Rawlins was not the only man she danced with that night. A long succession of rowdy cowhands demanded a turn, as did mild-mannered bachelors from Cheyenne. By the end of the first hour of dancing, the soles of her feet ached and the tops had been bruised by overzealous partners. By the end of the second hour, she had received four proposals of marriage. By eleven o’clock, as she watched Flossie and the girls— surrounded by at least ten cowboys—walk toward their wagon, Rosa wished she could go home with them. She was exhausted, not to mention disappointed. Kase Storm had not asked her to dance with him even once.
She had tried not to focus her attention on him as he whirled by with one after another of Flossie’s girls on his arm, tried not to stare into the darkened yard and watch him as he stood beneath the trees drinking with the other men. Whether he watched her with such interest she could not say. She never caught him looking in her direction.
The lively music never stopped as one fiddler relieved the next. Rosa asked the name of every new dance she learned— lancers, Newports, schottisches, polkas—but try as she might to perfect her steps, most of her partners were as inept as she. But what they lacked in finesse they more than made up for in enthusiasm. Finally, near midnight, Quentin announced the last dance would be followed by dessert and coffee. Rosa stood on the edge of the makeshift dance floor, determined not to let herself look for K
ase, certain he would end the evening dancing with Chicago Sue, the girl he seemed to choose most often. She watched Quentin as he smiled and nodded to his guests. Her host was crossing the canvas, moving in her direction.
Kase watched Rose from the shadows that shrouded the area beyond the perimeter of the glowing lamplight. He had caught her watching him all evening, but so far had resisted the temptation of the veiled invitation in her eyes. He had not set himself an easy task—not when her apparent interest in him only helped stir up the growing need he felt whenever she was about.
Tonight had only proved to him that becoming involved with Rose Audi in any way would be all wrong. He knew that as surely as he knew the sun would come up tomorrow morning. All evening he had watched as Quentin danced attendance on Rose, introduced her to Cheyenne’s society matrons, seated her beside him at dinner, and carefully kept her too occupied to have time for Flossie or him. Quentin had helped Rose slip into the good graces of polite society, kept her reputation intact by steering her away from her acquaintances and by emphasizing the fact that he found her entrepreneurial talents quite amazing.
Kase could not blame Quentin for his protectiveness toward Rose. Nor, he guessed, could Floss—Kase could tell as much from the woman’s own careful avoidance of Rose Audi. But he could not help but wonder how Rose would react if she realized what the three of them had been up to.
The last dance was about to begin. Kase shifted and straightened his collar as he glanced around the dance floor. Most of the couples from Cheyenne had taken their leave. He wondered if it would do any harm for him to ask Rose to dance.
He had found himself thinking of her all evening—perhaps because each time he glanced in her direction, she had quickly looked away. Although her stubborn determination angered him, he had to admit that she had so far proved herself both capable and independent. He remembered the way her honey-colored eyes had danced when she tried to make him smile the day before and slowly found he was convincing himself that one dance would not ruin her reputation beyond repair.
He knew if he hesitated a moment longer that Quentin was bound to step in and dance with Rose, who was standing near the edge of the dance floor, her gaze searching the shadows.
* * *
“May I have this dance?”
The words were softly spoken near her ear. She held her breath, turned around, and found herself face to face with Kase. Rosa had to swallow before she could answer. Suddenly the incessant throbbing in her toes was forgotten. Her exhaustion vanished with each rapidly accelerating beat of her heart.
She nodded.
He reached down for her hand as the strains of a waltz began to drift on the crisp September night air that surrounded them. She knew she was staring up helplessly into his eyes, but found she could not move. He placed her fingers on his shoulder and reached for her other hand and held it captive in his own. She was forced to tip her head back to accommodate his height, but she was unwilling to tear her eyes away from his gaze. He pulled her close as he took control and whirled them onto the dance floor.
His steps were smooth and sure, his movements perfectly timed. As they began to glide and twirl to the music, Rosa caught glimpses of the starry sky above them. Kase did not speak, nor did he smile down at her as he had his other partners. Instead, he studied her intently, his expression closed and serious. Midnight blue in the semidarkness, his eyes showed little emotion. He looked down at her with the hooded, watchful gaze of a hunter.
He stopped dancing even though the haunting waltz played on. Without a word, without releasing the hand he held so tightly in his own, he glanced around and then led her off the dance floor. Rosa let him pull her into the darkness. He stalked toward the wagons, his long stride no match for her shorter steps. She began to run to keep up with him. The hand that held hers squeezed her fingers tighter as she stopped to ease a stitch in her side. He turned and looked back at her.
“Please...”
He halted, a look of surprise on his face, as if he realized for the first time what he had done. They were near the hired carriage, far from the lights swinging in the yard, and hidden by darkness from the view of the revelers. He stepped close to her, let go of her hand long enough to reach out and grasp her shoulders as he had before. Her breath was coming faster now, her eyes wide in anticipation.
Kase pulled her up hard against his length, one arm moving to encircle her shoulders while he draped the other across her hips to press her against him. His breath was warm and whiskey-scented, the rough material of his suit a sharp contrast to the soft sensual feel of his lips against hers. His kiss, as before, was not gentle, and yet she felt no fear as his lips played against hers. As if he might devour her with his kiss, Kase ground his lips against hers, slanted his mouth and slid his tongue between her teeth.
Rosa uttered a muffled groan and pulled him closer, as she strained upward, clasping him to her as the exchange deepened. The arm he held across her hips lowered until his hand cupped her derriere. He fit her to him. She could feel the hard length of his manhood burgeoning beneath the heavy suit material.
The kiss ended—not abruptly as it had the night he kissed her in the store—but slowly as he drew his lips away from hers until they stood breathing heavily, still clasped in each other’s arms. He kissed her temple, then her cheek. She felt his breath whisper past her ear as he sighed.
“Let’s go.”
Chapter
Nine
“Should we not tell Signor Quentin good-bye?”
“No.” He held her elbow as she climbed up into the carriage.
“We should tell him grazie,” she tried again.
“He’ll think I had to get back because of all the cowhands who followed Flossie and the girls to town.”
“Do you?”
“I think you know why I want to leave. Besides, Zach stayed in town to look after things.”
She watched him pick up the reins and signal the horse to move forward. “Why we are leaving before the party is ended?”
He was hungry for the taste of her, aching with need, and out of patience. It was evident in his tone. “You’re playing with fire, Rose. You know it, though, don’t you?”
Surprised by the harshness in his voice, she looked away. What he said was true and she knew it. He was as volatile as a powder keg. What she did not understand was why.
“Look, Rose. We have to get something straight.”
“Rosa.”
He ignored the correction. “Ever since the first day you came to Busted Heel, I’ve felt responsible for you.”
Puzzled, she shook her head. “Why?”
He shrugged. “I’m the marshal. I feel responsible for you the way I feel responsible for everyone in town.” The next reason was harder to put into words. After a pause he continued, “You remind me a lot of my mother.”
“Your mother?” Her heart sank. Just when she was marveling that this usually angry, brooding man was beginning to share some of his thoughts and feelings with her, he tells her she reminds him of his mother. Rosa sighed. A woman does not want to remind a man of his mother.
Kase went on, unmindful of her disappointment. “She came to this country from Europe, too.” He paused, collecting his thoughts, carefully choosing his words. “Things weren’t easy for her, either.”
Rosa watched as he flexed and unflexed his fingers and then rubbed his palms on his thighs unwilling to say any more.
“But I am not your mother.”
“No, definitely not.” He relaxed a little and leaned back against the seat.
Jealous of the attention he had paid Flossie’s women all evening, especially one in particular, she could not resist saying, “The girls from Flossie’s house do not remind you of your mother. Perhaps you do not care for me because your hands are already loaded.”
“What?”
“Your hands are loaded with the others.”
After straining to comprehend, Kase suddenly laughed out loud. “Do you mean full? My h
ands are full?”
His laughter riled her. “Full, loaded, is no difference.” She pictured his hands, dark and sure, occupied with Chicago’s more glamorous attributes.
“Floss’s girls are friends.”
“The blond one, too?”
“Especially the blond one. She’s like a sister to me.”
Suspicious, Rosa arched a brow. Her skepticism was evident, even in the moonlight.
“Don’t give me that look,” he said.
“Don’t give me the lie.”
“I’m not lying. She’s a friend.”
Rosa shrugged. “If you say so.”
“I do say so. There’s no need to get huffy.” Kase sat in stony silence as the carriage moved down the road. The horse’s dark mane shone blue-black in the moonlight. The road was a white ribbon against the black earth; the moonlit sky hovered close above them. Rosa shivered in the crisp air; it seemed much cooler than it had been before sunset. She rubbed her arms to warm them as, more confused than ever by his actions, she tried to ignore the man beside her.
As the carriage rolled on toward Busted Heel, the strained silence lengthened between them. She shifted as the jolting ride became more uncomfortable, the night air more chilled as the moments passed. When a back wheel hit a rock, Rosa bounced upward and lost her balance. She nearly landed atop Kase’s thigh. He drove the carriage off the main road for a few yards, men stopped. After looping the reins around the brake, he reached under the seat and brought forth a thick striped blanket.
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