“You may not like it, but the fact is people want to know about their idols, and you’re an idol for a whole lot of people. Especially kids.”
A wrenching pain swooped through Rose as his words sank in. She dropped the curry brush and stared at H.L. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Now every child in Chicago is going to know I have no education.”
H.L. stalked up to her and took her by the arms. “Dammit, Rose, that’s not what they’re going to focus on!” He shook her lightly. “They’re going to read today’s article, and their parents are going to say to their children, ‘See? This young lady came from pitiful circumstances, and look at what she’s made of herself.’ They’re going to say, ‘Don’t you dare complain to me about your life. Look at Wind Dancer. See what she’s done with herself. She’s a big star with Buffalo Bill’s Wild West, and she was so much poorer than we are, she had to shoot game for her family to eat when she was just a child. She never had a chance to go to school, yet she made something of herself.’ Don’t you understand, Rose?”
The only thing Rose understood at the moment was that she didn’t want anybody to know what a hick she was, and that it felt wildly good to be this close to H.L. again. She resisted the urge to fling her arms about him, but it was an effort.
“Dammit, didn’t you hear those people out there?” He shook her again, still lightly or Rose would probably have socked him. “Well? Did you?”
She admitted it. “Yes.”
“You see? Those people read all about you and what you call your deficiencies, and they love you more now than they did before! And it’s because they admire you and what you’ve made of yourself! Don’t you see that?”
“Well . . .” Now she felt totally foolish. It occurred to her that she simply couldn’t win with H.L. May, and the notion was darned depressing.
“Admit it, Rose. It’s true. You and your friend Annie Oakley might not want to admit it, but it’s the truth. You’re a phenomenal example of the human spirit triumphing over circumstances. You’re a real-life, honest-to-God, rags-to-riches story. You’re a tiny, beautiful, wonderful miracle of life.”
She wanted to whack the side of her head to clear it of fluff. Had he really said all those nice things about her? Did he mean them? She’d really like to know but didn’t feel comfortable asking. Anyhow, he was going on, so she couldn’t.
“Those people admire you. I admire you! Hell, the whole world would admire you, if they knew you. Dammit, you’re special.”
She swallowed, then asked in a tiny voice, “I am?”
He goggled at her. “How can you even doubt it?”
Since she didn’t know, she shrugged.
“Aw, hell, Rose.”
H.L. gazed down at her for several seconds, as if searching for something to say. Rose recognized the exact second he decided words weren’t enough, but she didn’t have time to prepare herself because she was in his arms an instant later, and he was kissing her as if there would be no tomorrow.
Rose felt his hunger and recognized it, because it matched her own.
Unable to resist a moment longer, she threw her arms around his neck and clung to him.
“Ah, Rose, Rose, Rose,” H.L. mumbled into her curls. “Damn, I want you.”
He did? A thrill shot through her at his words. She wanted him, too, although she wasn’t sure for what. She had a vague notion it had to do with one of the more basic secrets of life, however. He resumed kissing her, feathering light touches over her cheeks and throat and turning Rose to jelly in his arms.
“I can’t stand knowing you’re angry with me, Rose,” he said after another few moments. “I was afraid you’d never speak to me again, and I couldn’t have stood that.”
She didn’t think she could have stood it, either. Unable to form words, she only held him more tightly and ran her lips over his jaw line. Recalling the punishment that jaw had taken a mere two days prior, she lifted her hand and delicately brushed her fingers against the livid bruises. “Does this still hurt?”
He didn’t answer immediately. It seemed to take a moment or two for him to process her question. Pulling back slightly, he blinked down at her. “What? Oh. No, it doesn’t hurt much.”
“I’m glad.”
He crushed her against him again. She felt his hard body against her own, and it was perfectly glorious. Something hard and long pressed against her thigh. It took her a moment to realize it was the evidence of his desire for her.
She was shocked for only a second before passion subsumed her fear and replaced it with delight.
Yes! This is what she wanted from H.L. May! She wanted his passion.
His desire. His— Oh, Lord.
Suddenly, Rose stilled in his arms, because she understood what she wanted from him, and it frightened her—mainly because she didn’t think she could get it.
Lord help her, she wanted his love.
“Rose,” he whispered in her ear, “I want you so badly, I can hardly stand it.”
The emotions that surged through Rose nearly rendered her speechless. Understanding was followed almost immediately by a sense of defeat. H.L. May, a man who lived through words, could never love Rose Gilhooley. He might admire her for overcoming her origins, but he’d never be happy with a woman who couldn’t handle language the way he could.
Shortly on the heels of defeat came resignation and something she couldn’t immediately put a name to. A second later she decided it was acceptance. If she could never secure his lasting love, perhaps she could experience a brief season of his affection and passion.
Swallowing both her dreams and her scruples, Rose whispered, “I want you, too, H.L.”
His renewed kisses made her understand how much he appreciated her admission. Rose decided not to fight the heady sensations rioting in her body, but to relinquish herself to them. If she couldn’t have his love, she could experience his desire and her own, and she’d make do with that. She guessed she’d have to.
As for H.L., he was lost. He wasn’t sure he believed he’d really heard Rose say she wanted him, but if he hadn’t he didn’t want to know it, so he kept kissing her. He explored her small, sturdy body as he did so, allowing his hands to wander at will. She was perfect, as far as he could tell through touch.
Her breasts were wonderful, as he’d expected them to be. Thank the good Lord, she didn’t wear a corset during her act, but only a chemise and underdrawers. He managed to get the top of her costume open with a minimum of struggle. It was crafted of lightweight calico, he presumed so as not to interfere with movement during her act, and it fastened with buttons, which he worked with ease.
“H.L.!” she cried softly when his hand covered her breast.
Worried that she’d object, he whispered, “You’re so beautiful, Rose.
Please . . .” He wasn’t sure what he was pleading for, but it had something to do with her not making him stop.
She said no more, but sighed deeply as her nipples pebbled under his tender assault. He stroked them lightly, longing to taste them but not wanting to rush anything.
It wasn’t until Fairy got fed up with being ignored during this, her favorite time of the day, and gave Rose’s back a firm push with her nose, that H.L. realized what he’d been about to do. He staggered when Rose fell against him. He barely managed to straighten up with her in his arms in time to prevent them both from tumbling onto the stable floor.
He glanced around the stable, confused, before reality conked him over the head with a thunk.
Good God! He’d been about to ravish Rose Gilhooley, star of Buffalo Bill’s Wild West and woman extraordinaire, in a horse barn! He could hardly believe such a thing of himself. Aghast, he muttered, “Good God.” Then he shook his head, trying to get the jumble therein to organize itself.
“Oh, my,” said Rose in a rattled whisper.
Gazing down at her, H.L. noticed that her eyes appeared about as unfocused as his own brain. This would never do. He ought to be horsewhipped, as Annie Oakley ha
d recommended.
With tremendous effort, he forced out a word. “Rose.” That was as far as he got before fuzz overtook him once more.
Rose said, “H.L.,” and she, too, subsided.
He cleared his throat.
Fairy nudged Rose again, propelling her against H.L., whose arms tightened automatically around her. The temptation to continue where he’d left off was so great, he almost succumbed to it, but he knew Rose deserved better. So did he, actually. He didn’t particularly fancy getting straw stuck in indelicate places.
With that thought foremost in his mind, he finally came up with a coherent suggestion. “Finish with the horse, and let’s get out of here.”
Rose stared up at him for a moment as if she didn’t comprehend the meaning behind his words. He swallowed, praying hard that when the meaning penetrated the fog inside her, she wouldn’t slap his face and rush off in the opposite direction.
She didn’t. After only another few seconds of looking befuddled, Rose gave a sharp nod, wheeled around, and resumed brushing the horse. She snapped out orders to H.L. as she worked, as if she, too, wanted to finish up and get out of there to more felicitous surroundings.
“Hand me the curry comb, please.”
H.L. handed her the curry comb.
“Fill that bucket with water.” She jerked her head at a bucket hanging from a hook on the wall. H.L. obeyed then stood, holding the dripping bucket, awaiting further instructions.
“Dump it in that trough there.”
H.L. did so with alacrity.
“Fill that other bucket with oats from that sack over there.”
H.L. filled the other bucket with oats.
“Dump it in the bin in that stall.”
He did it.
“Now give Fairy a pat, H.L. She likes to know she’s appreciated.”
Although it had never occurred to him that horses had feelings, he was willing to do pretty much anything in order to get Rose in his arms again. Therefore, he walked up to Fairy, stroked her velvety neck and nose and stepped back again. He was glad he’d obeyed Rose’s peremptory commands when she shot him a glowing smile and led the horse to her stall.
His heart was thundering like a bass drum when Rose dropped the latch on Fairy’s stall and turned to face him. They gazed at each other for what seemed like hours, but could only have been seconds. H.L. felt a sudden pang of trepidation, for fear Rose had decided, in the few minutes it had taken her to deal with the horse, that she didn’t want to go through with his plans for the rest of her evening.
She opened her arms, whispered, “I’m ready,” and his relief was so great, he felt lightheaded for a moment.
That didn’t last long. Elation filled him a moment later, and with one giant step, he’d reached Rose and swept her up into his arms. “Shall we go to your tent, Rose?”
She nodded and buried her face in his shoulder. She made a compact and tidy little bundle, and one that felt swell in his arms as he carried her through the encampment. It was thin of people at the moment since most of the cast were in the arena shooting at each other.
Without missing a step, he ducked under her tent flap, and fetched up a second later. It was pitch-black inside her tent. He muttered, “Bah.”
Sensing his concern, Rose whispered, “There are matches and a lantern on my night table.”
“Where’s your night table?”
There was a smile in her voice when she said, “Set me down. I find my way in the dark all the time in this tent.”
“I don’t want to put you down,” he objected.
“Better that than falling and breaking both our necks.”
She kissed him, and he decided she was right and he could probably stand letting her go for a couple of minutes. He set her gently on the floor of the tent, and he heard her move toward the bed, which he recalled as being more of a cot, really, but would do. He’s see to it.
A startled cry from Rose jolted him out of the pleasant contemplation of the consummation of his lust. He called out, “What is it?”
“I—I—Oh!”
Her cry of fright curdled H.L.’s blood. With a roar, he lunged in the direction of the sound, his arms outstretched so as to feel where he was going.
“Put me down!” Rose shouted.
The panic in her voice made H.L. curse. “Dammit, Rose, what’s wrong?”
“That man!” she cried. “That man! He’s—oomph!”
H.L. bumped into something huge and human, and bounced off. Fury consumed him. If it was that one-legged bastard, he was going to kill him for certain this—
Pain and light exploded in his head. He grunted once, then darkness engulfed him. He felt himself fall, as if from a great height, and then there was nothing.
# # #
Rose had never experienced such rage. She didn’t have any idea who’d kidnapped her, but she knew good and well she’d been kidnapped, because why else would she be in this filthy burlap sack, being bounced all over the place? She struggled like a mad cat, to no avail. If she weren’t so crunched up in so small a space, she might be able to reach a gun or a—but, no. She didn’t wear weapons during her act. She had nothing on her person with which to fight off whoever it was who’d taken her.
She could use her voice, though, and she did. At the top of her lungs, she shrieked, “Help! Help me! Somebody, please help me!”
“Shut up,” a growly voice sounded from outside the burlap. “Shut up, or I’ll shut you up.”
Rose was too scared and angry to care about threats at the moment. She struggled wildly in the sack—although wildly in her present confines wasn’t very. She continued to screech, though, since that was something the burlap couldn’t confine.
“Help! Murder! Police!”
“Dammit, shut up!” the growly voice said again.
It sounded moderately frustrated, and Rose experienced a sense of triumph that was probably unwarranted, considering the circumstances.
“No!” she shrieked. “Let me go!”
“Dammit, if you don’t shut up, I’ll shut you up.”
“Try it!” she bellowed. She hoped he would. If he so much as reached into the sack, she’d bite his hand off.
She hadn’t counted on how painful it would be when he set the sack down, hard, on the ground. “Oomph!” Ow. She anticipated brutal bruises from this night’s escapade, whatever else happened to her. And here she’d been primed for something wonderful with H.L.
The sack fell open suddenly, as if whoever had been carrying and dumped it down had untied the rope or whatever he’d used to close it up. It took Rose only seconds to gain her feet, and she thanked God and the colonel for her years of practicing agility and nimble moves. “You!” she screeched when she saw the person who’d been carrying her.
“Damn your eyes, be quiet!” Pegleg snarled.
He looked quite the worse for wear, and Rose was glad to see all of his swellings and bruisings. She didn’t have time to contemplate the mess H.L. had made of him, because he lifted what looked like a small beanbag, as if he aimed to hit her with it.
“Don’t hurt her,” another voice snarled behind her. “Al ain’t going to pay for damaged goods.”
Oh, this was simply splendid, Rose thought resentfully. There were two of them. That probably accounted for the sudden cessation of H.L.’s protests back there in her tent. This beast’s friend had attacked him from behind. A fresh surge of ire swept over her at the thought of one of these brutes bashing H.L. with one of those beanbags.
Rose hadn’t spent years on the Kansas plains and associating with the reservation Sioux for nothing. Before Pegleg or his companion could do a thing to her, she’d caught Pegleg a kick in the groin that doubled him over with a very satisfying roar of pain. Whirling around and using a high kicking maneuver Little Elk had taught her, she bashed the man behind her on the chin with her foot. Since she wore only moccasins, it hurt like crazy. If she’d been wearing her heavy boots, she might have done something worthwhile, like br
eaking the creature’s jaw.
“Damn you!” Pegleg’s partner bellowed. Pegleg was rolling on the ground, clutching his privates and groaning. Rose darted over to him, grabbed the beanbag thing out of his loosened clasp, and bashed him over the head with it before he knew what was going on. His groans ceased.
Perceiving a knife in a scabbard at his waist, Rose snatched it out and held it the way Little Elk had taught her, turning to face Pegleg’s pal as she did so.
He was under the weather, too. “You bitch! You broke my jaw!”
“Good.” Rose was panting hard, but the blood was pumping hard in her veins and she was ready for anything now. “I’m going to kill you next, if you don’t get out of my way.” She waved the knife in front of the man’s face, and he shrank back, cursing her and holding his jaw with both hands. Rose saw blood dripping from his mouth and experienced a thrill of victory in battle that she imagined few women ever felt.
“Stay away from me, damn you!” she bellowed, although he hadn’t done anything but cower at the sight of the gigantic knife in her hand. “I know how to use this, so don’t you dare try anything else!”
It looked to her as if he believed her. After casting a frightened glance at Pegleg, who was still out cold on the ground, and giving Rose one last dirty look, he stumbled off in the opposite direction. Rose didn’t dare take her gaze away from him until he was out of her sight. Even then, she didn’t trust him not to come back and do something awful, but she needed to take her bearings and find out where she was.
She was at the perimeter of the Wild West encampment, at the very farthest point from the Indian encampment. Rose’s breast swelled with contempt. “So, you and your friend didn’t dare carry me through Indian territory, eh?”
Because she was so furious, she stalked over to Pegleg and glared down at him for a second. He hadn’t awakened yet, and because she was operating under stress, adrenalin, and residual fear, she hauled her foot back and kicked him in his huge stomach, again hurting her foot.
“Blast.” Scanning the darkness around her with a feverish intensity for fear the other man would return, she limped off. Now that she had time to think, she started worrying about H.L. She realized that what she’d believed to be a beanbag was actually a heavy leather sack filled with sand. She’d read that city criminals often hurt their victims with such things, and that they were called sandbags. She’d also read that such injuries could be serious.
Coming Up Roses Page 24
