Every instinct that had been honed over six lawless years told him to force her to do what he wanted. He could hold her down and kiss her the way he’d imagined during all the long nights alone. With brutal strength, he could bend her to his will, make her pay for hurting him.
She didn’t believe he could ever change. So why should he struggle to suppress the animal inside him? Maybe he should show her just how bad Bart Kingsley could be.
“Haven’t you done your share of sinning?” he asked. “Haven’t you lied to your pappy and pretended to be someone you’re not? Weren’t you married to one man and engaged to another at the same time? Come on, Rosie, answer me.”
Her brown eyes met his. “Yes, I’m a sinner, Bart. Everyone is. I know I hurt my pappy and Dr. Lowell, too. Believe me, I’ve lived these past months torn between wanting to make amends and needing to take care of my future.”
“So you rank your desire for a happy life above the agony in your own father’s heart?”
She caught her breath in a gasp. “Oh, Bart, it’s true what you say. I’ve thought only of myself. But I’m sure that when I’m settled—with a teaching job and a home of my own—then I’ll telegram my pappy.”
“And in the meantime, you’ll let him suffer?”
With a cry, she covered her face with her hands. Her hair had come loose from its knot. Long glossy tendrils, silvered by the moon, spilled over her shoulders.
“Aw, Rosie,” Bart cried in a muffled voice, “this arguing and fussing is killing me.” Catching her tightly to him, he kissed her soft lips. “I’m sorry darlin’. You’re right to call me a bad man. I’m used to punching anyone who makes me mad, stealing money when I need it, taking what I want without asking. But, Rosie, I want to change. I swear it.”
Once he finally let her go, she backed away and stood shivering, her shawl clutched tightly at her throat. “You’ve made me see my own sins, Bart,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “I will find a way to repair the damage I’ve caused. But I’ve never seen anybody change as much as you’re going to have to. I expect it’ll take a miracle.”
“Reverend Cullen said miracles can happen.”
“God’s in that business, not you.”
“So, maybe God will help me.” He took a step toward her. “Rosie, can’t you give me a chance?”
She shook her head. “I’ve given you too many chances. I’ve trusted you too much. If you want me to believe you’re a different kind of person, you’ll have to prove it to me.”
“I will show you. If I can convince Sheriff Bowman I’m decent, I can convince you, too.”
“Sheriff Bowman doesn’t know who you really are.” She turned and walked quickly toward the house. “Come for me tomorrow at four. We’ll go skating at the rink.”
For a moment Bart felt elated at her invitation. Then he remembered that Rosie didn’t want to be with him because she enjoyed his company. She was out to get what she had set her sights on: that teaching job. And her freedom.
All the next day while Bart curried, fed and saddled horses, he thought about how he had told Rosie he wanted to change. The man she wanted wouldn’t get drunk on a bottle of rotgut or shoot up a town. Changing meant he would have to put a lid on his urges. If she made him angry, he would find a way to let her know gently. He would listen better, be kinder, take life more peacefully.
He would go to church and read his Bible, too. But instead of just believing all those great things about Jesus, he would start showing his faith by doing right. He wouldn’t just understand goodness. He would be good.
As he washed and dressed in his dandy clothes that afternoon during a break between trains, Bart made up his mind to win back Rosie’s heart. She had loved him once. The memory of her at fifteen—those brown eyes gazing into his face and her sweet soft kisses—told him how much she had cared.
With his hair combed and his old boots shined, Bart presented himself to Mrs. Jensen at the Harvey House. But as Rosie walked into the room, he felt just as awkward and rough as ever.
Hat in hand, he stood to meet her. My, she was a beauty! She had brushed her hair up in a knot high on the back of her head and tied it with a ribbon. Her pink dress had a draped front that fell over her knees like a curtain swag and a pretty ruffle over the bustle.
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” he said, managing a bow.
“Mr. Springfield, how kind of you to call.” Rosie tucked her hand around his elbow as they took leave of Mrs. Jensen and headed down the boardwalk. The square skating rink was a crude structure constructed of rough-hewn planks. Its owner charged Rosie and Bart twenty-five cents each for roller skates and an hour of skating.
The rink was almost deserted as Rosie laced her skates. Bart couldn’t resist sneaking glances at her pretty little ankles. Anything but acknowledging the truth: He had never skated in his life. He’d have preferred to walk in the park. Maybe then he could steal a kiss or two.
But now Rosie was swirling out across the bumpy rink, her dress fluttering around her ankles like a blossoming rose. She wore a grin as big as Lincoln County as she spun around in a circle that lifted her hem clear up to her knees.
“Glory be,” Bart muttered. If Rosie was going to expose herself in public like that, he’d better stay by her side. He lunged up from the bench, rolled out onto the rink and fell flat on his backside.
“Oh, Bart!” Rosie giggled behind her hands. “Don’t you know how to skate?”
“The name’s Buck, and does it look like I know how to skate?” She grabbed his hand and helped him to his feet. In moments he began to wobble. Then his legs spread-eagled and he crashed onto the boards with a thump and a whoosh of dust.
“Bart!” Rosie was beside herself by this time.
So was everyone else at the rink. Bart glanced at the other skaters and felt his hackles rise. “What’s so funny?” he growled.
“It’s just that you’re so big and brawny,” Rosie said as she reached for his hand again. “You look as if you could wrestle a bull to the ground with your bare hands.”
“I can wrestle a bull to the ground with my bare hands.”
“But you can’t roller-skate? Bart, we have to teach you how to skate.”
“Not me.” He eased up into a crouch, then straightened his knees. “I haven’t taken a fall like that since I was learning how to break a wild bronco.”
“Take my hand, and we’ll go around together. It’s easy.”
Rosie began skating slowly around the rink. Bart felt vulnerable hanging on to her like a frightened child, his jaw clenched and his eyes locked on his feet. He didn’t like it.
“You’re doing fine,” she said when they had completed their second circle around the rink. “You want to try it alone?”
“To tell you the truth, Rosie-girl, I’m enjoying your company.”
Though she blushed, she didn’t move away from him, and Bart felt a thrill of victory as they swung in circles around the rink. Rosie’s slender arm curved around his waist, and her laughter lightened his heart. It seemed they had barely started when a train whistled in the distant tunnel.
“I’ve got to go!” Rosie exclaimed. “I’ll be late.”
“So what? In a few days you’re going to marry me and quit that job anyway. Why don’t you stay with me, Rosie? I’ll take you over to the Mountain Monarch for a bowl of ice cream.”
“You’re forgetting our deal, Bart Kingsley. We’re here to show everyone that you’re courting me. Besides, I can’t quit work. I need every penny so I can buy myself a house in town.”
She sat on a bench and began unlacing her skates. Her message was clear. There could never be anything between her and Bart. She just didn’t trust him. Not one bit.
For a week Rosie kept tabs on Mr. Kilgore’s unfruitful search for a new teacher. She and Bart made a public display as a courting couple everywhere in town. They went out to eat, attended Wednesday-night prayer meeting at church, strolled the streets of town and accompanied a group of Harvey House employees
to a band concert at Bayne and Frank’s Hall.
Etta was beside herself. She couldn’t get over how much her friend had changed since the dashing Buck Springfield came to town. Whereas once Laura had chosen the most severe dresses in her wardrobe, Etta explained to the other Harvey Girls, she was now wearing those luscious things she had brought with her from Kansas City—bright blues, greens and pinks; drapes, waterfall frills, lace cuffs and fringes, checks, stripes, plaids and florals; taffetas, silks and velvets. From her traveling trunk, Rosie produced hats Etta had never even seen—straw hats with wide brims, small hats with upturned brims and lace edgings, tall felt hats and flowerpot hats.
More significant, Rosie was always giggling. Etta insisted her friend was falling in love.
It was all a ruse, Rosie told herself. She wanted everyone to think she cared for Bart to fulfill her plan. Although it was easy enough to spend an hour or two a day with him, Rosie knew she couldn’t put much stock in those moments of laughter and fun. Every night when she went to bed, she knelt to pray that Bart wouldn’t run off before she had gotten that teaching job.
As the days passed, it became clearer to Rosie that Bart would never last in Raton. He tried to keep his rough ways hidden, but it was hopeless. Not only couldn’t he roller-skate, but he didn’t know any popular songs. And he’d learned his manners in a pigsty.
When he and Rosie went out to eat at the Mountain Monarch with a group of Harvey employees, Bart leaned his chair back on two legs, picked his teeth with the end of a matchstick and told a wild story about a bear hunt. Then he slipped up and started to call her Rosie instead of Laurie in front of everyone. It took all his doing to explain that Rosie was just his pet name for his girl.
One of these days someone was going to fit the pieces of Bart Kingsley’s puzzle together. One of these days someone would remember a half-breed outlaw who had come to town and been shot by Sheriff Bowman. And one of these days someone would link that man to Buck Springfield. There wasn’t a doubt in Rosie’s mind, and she had better set her plans in motion as soon as possible.
“We’re leaving on the six-thirty train for Springer,” she told Etta one evening. “We’re going to get married.”
Etta’s blue eyes widened. “Married! Oh, Laurie, how wonderful!”
“Don’t tell, Etta. Not even Stefan,” Rosie warned her friend, knowing the news would be out before she got back to Raton.
“If you get married, you’ll be fired the minute Mr. Gable finds out! Mrs. Jensen will have a hissy fit.”
“I don’t care. Buck has filed for a homestead and he has built a soddy on his land. He’s planting sugar beets.”
“You’re going to trade being a Harvey Girl for a soddy and sugar beets?”
Rosie was silent for a moment. “I love him, Etta.”
Etta caught her friend in a warm hug. “Marriage! Your very own cookstove, ironing board, washtub, jam jars, and…and babies! You’ll have scads of children. Just think, you’ll be a man’s wife for the very first…time…”
She drew back and faced Rosie. “You’ve been married before, haven’t you? You said you had a husband once.”
“But I told you we never were…together. Not in the way husbands and wives are. I kept on living at home, and he ran off two weeks after the wedding. It wasn’t really a marriage.”
“He was a half breed, too, wasn’t he? And you told me that boy you married had black hair and green eyes.”
Rosie’s breath shook as she drew it in. “I guess I’m just a sucker for a man with green eyes. Lucky thing Buck is nothing like the kid I married when I was fifteen. That boy was so skinny and short…and ugly,” she added for good measure.
“You’ve got a good man in Buck Springfield. He would never run off and leave you. Your first husband couldn’t have been half the man you’re marrying tomorrow.”
“Really?” Rosie whispered without thinking.
“Sure. Buck may not know better than to wear the same suit for five days in a row, but he’s as good a person as a girl could ever find. He’s going to give you a snug home and plant crops to feed your family. He works hard at the livery stable. I’ve never seen him squander money—not once. Buck Springfield doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. If I weren’t so stuck on Stefan, I’d be after Buck. So there!”
“Oh, Etta!” Rosie laughed.
“Go get ready for your wedding trip,” Etta said, giving Rosie a little push. “Wear that blue dress, the one that looks like ice.”
“All right, Etta.” Rosie stepped to the door and glanced back at her friend. Etta was staring out the window.
“Etta?” Rosie murmured.
When her friend didn’t look up, Rosie shut the door and walked down the hall to her room.
Chapter Nine
Bart didn’t have any intention of showing his face to the justice of the peace at the courthouse in Springer, New Mexico. Such a mistake would have ensured him a one-way ticket to the gallows in Missouri. Rosie knew this, and she understood that their Saturday morning train trip was intended to convince people in Raton that they’d gotten married. It was Rosie, in fact, who had set the date, and it was she who had purchased the tickets.
So when Bart arrived at the waiting train, caught her elbow and whispered in her ear, “Happy weddin’ day, Rosie-girl,” she was more than a little surprised.
He wore a brand-new outfit, and she couldn’t help but think how much it must have cost and how rarely he would ever wear it again. All the same, she couldn’t deny that in his black suit, white shirt and red four-in-hand tie, the man looked positively dapper. He had combed his hair and donned a gray, felt top hat. In one leather-gloved hand, he carried a wicker basket, and in the other he held a gentleman’s walking cane.
“A cane!” Rosie cried, louder than necessary. She hadn’t seen a man with a cane since she’d left Kansas City.
“I do believe my trigger finger looks better hooked around a cane than it does around a six-shooter,” Bart declared. “Besides, I knew you’d like it.”
Rosie didn’t want him to see how close he had come to the truth. “You must have spent all your pay and then some, Bart Kingsley,” she said in her best schoolteacher voice.
“As a matter of fact, I didn’t spend a penny for this getup.”
Rosie gasped. “Bart! You stole those clothes?”
At that, he gave a loud laugh. “Get on the train, girl, and stop your frettin’. I broke a horse for Mr. Loeb, who owns the Star Clothing House, and I’m going to fix his best saddle for him next week. He traded my work for these fine gent’s clothes. All except the cane. I bought that.”
Rosie hardly knew what to say as Bart helped her up the iron steps and into the passenger car. As Rosie seated herself, she recalled Etta’s assertion that Bart was no lying, dishonest gunslinger. Etta called him faithful, reliable, a good provider. Mr. Loeb trusted him. Cheyenne Bill had deceived the whole town on his behalf. Even Sheriff Bowman had accepted Bart. Did they see something Rosie had been blind to?
“Sure do like your dress,” he offered. “Did you buy it for today?”
Rosie studied her ice-blue gown, covered in ruffles, rosettes and ribbons. Actually, her father had given her the money to have a seamstress fashion it for a charity tea last spring.
“I’m afraid I didn’t have anything to trade Mr. Loeb for,” she said softly. As the train whistle blew, steam hissed from the undercarriage and the passenger car jolted forward. Bart took one of Rosie’s hands and slipped his fingers between hers.
“This sure is different from the first time we got married,” he said as the train gathered speed. “I’ll never forget you climbing down that sugar maple outside your bedroom window.”
“I climbed down that tree every afternoon to escape my lessons and run to find you at our…our place…” She faltered and couldn’t continue.
“I was supposed to be working horses,” he reminisced. “I’d get my chores done early so I could hightail it to the stream. You brought books t
o read me, remember?”
Rosie smiled, closed her eyes and leaned her head against the seat. Lulled by the swaying train and memories of those golden summer days, she felt relaxed. Maybe it was just that she was taking a day off work. Maybe the fact that they were leaving Raton calmed her. Or maybe it was Bart’s hand in hers, strong and warm. “Pilgrim’s Progress—now, that was one I liked,” Bart said. “Sometimes when I thought about finding you again, Rosie-girl, I’d remember how Christian stood up, and the heavy bundle of burdens he’d been carrying snapped and fell off his back.”
“Christian was standing at the foot of the cross when that happened,” Rosie reminded him. “I’m not your salvation, Bart.”
“I didn’t sit on the church porch for years without knowing where salvation comes from. But I will say that ever since I climbed in your bedroom window, my burdens have felt lighter.”
“Mine have felt heavier.”
He shook his head. “Aren’t you ever going to let up on me, Rosie?”
“Am I supposed to pretend that everything about the past was as wonderful as those afternoons by the stream?” she retorted. “Do you think I can just take up with you where I left off? Do you honestly believe I’m happier since you came to Raton?”
“I know some things in the past hurt you a lot. They hurt me, too. But I wish you could just let it be and start over.”
“You were hurt?” she said. “What was so painful about high stepping out of Kansas City and joining Jesse James’s gang?”
“Shh.” He glanced at the only other passengers, an elderly couple at the far end. The woman appeared to be asleep, but the man was staring out the window. “If you don’t learn to talk quieter, you’re going to get me caught one of these days.”
“You’re going to get yourself caught!”
The Gunman's Bride Page 9
