Give My Love to Rose

by Nicole Sturgill

  “How long?” Marston snapped, turning his gaze to Snelly.

  She tapped a crooked finger against her wrinkled chin. “Three weeks,” she said, setting down his bowl and grabbing up a stack of bandages from the table. “Three weeks should give this back time to heal and allow you to build up some strength.”

  Marston growled. He knew he was a terrible patient but he didn’t do sick or weak well and, dammit, he wanted to go home to his family. He supposed though that if anyone could handle his grouchiness it was the grizzled old lady currently tearing his old bandages off his back with a vengeance.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Rose snuggled deeper into her blankets and stretched her arms over her head. She was lying directly in the middle of the vastest bed she had ever slept in. She’d chosen the middle so there wouldn’t be so much empty space and perhaps she wouldn’t feel the ache of loneliness so sharply in her chest—it hadn’t worked.

  Rose had been quite shocked when they’d arrived at this massive home two days ago. It was two stories tall, painted white with black shutters and a wraparound porch. It was fully furnished with heavy gleaming furniture that was sturdy and made to last—no more rickety, scratched up kitchen tables for her family.

  There were two large barns, spacious corrals and vast fields for farming to the west of the house. The land in all directions as far as a person could see belonged to her family.

  And they didn’t need to worry about bumping elbows inside. The home had six bedrooms, a vast kitchen with stone countertops and gleaming copper pots and pans, a sitting room, a game room with a billiard and poker table, a small den complete with sewing table and a desk behind the kitchen, two water closets and an attic.

  Jeremiah had laughed after they’d done some exploring and said that rich men shouldn’t play poker. Rose thought the house was nice, but it wasn’t home…. There was no Marston.

  Rose rolled onto her side and stared at the bright yellow curtains over her glass bedroom window—Rose had never before lived in a home with glass windows. She thought about the time that had passed since they’d lost Marston.

  Langley and Kaitlyn were adjusting well thanks to the resilience of children. When Marston was mentioned or something reminded them of him, they would experience a few ad moments but as a whole they were moving on with their lives rather quickly.

  Jeremiah was clearly getting tired of being cooped up and tied down, but the man was staying true to his word and had been with them, keeping an eye out for danger without fail.

  They were all doing okay—all of them except Rose. She put on a brave face for Jeremiah and the children but when she was alone, as she was right now, she could never stop the tears from pouring from her eyes.

  Marston was gone.

  Rose knew he was gone. Her mind knew he wasn’t coming back to her. But she couldn’t seem to convince her heart. Every night she dreamed that he would come riding across the plains and wrap her tight in strong arms. He would whisper gruffly against her ear and tell her how much he loved her. She would find herself lifted into his arms and cradled against his broad chest with her head against his heart. He would carry her up to this giant bed, lay her down and love her body until they were both far too tired to move.

  Rose sniffed and wiped desperately at her tears. Rose imagined she could hear Marston’s heartbeat beneath her ear—as if the pillow were his chest—and it made her smile.

  “Hey Rose?” Jeremiah’s voice came from the other side of her closed door.

  Rose pulled the blankets up higher and dried her face with the sleeves of her gown. “Come in.”

  Jeremiah opened the door and poked his head inside. “I’m going into town. Langley wants to come with me. Is that okay with you?”

  Rose hated the annoyance the saw on his face when he caught her in tears. She squared her shoulders and glared back. Sometimes she hated having the man around. He was nice enough to them all but he was cold and not the least bit comforting and what she hated most about having him around was his eyes—his golden eyes that reminded her so much of his brothers.

  It was hard enough to live without Marston knowing that she had a piece of him growing inside of her—to have to look into his eyes shining at her from the face of another man was torture.

  “That’s fine with me,” she assured Jeremiah.

  He nodded. “Kaitlyn is already downstairs cleaning,” he added before slipping back out the door.

  Rose sighed. She knew that was code for ‘get your backside out of the bed’. She stood from the bed and slid on the blue dress that had always been Marston’s favorite. She laid her hand over her stomach which was beginning to swell a bit under her skirts.

  Rose slipped into her shoes and left the room, knowing that the only reason she was carrying on was because she had promised Marston she would when the law had taken him away.

  ***

  Marston slid into the clean shirt that Duke had given him. “I’m out of here,” Marston growled.

  “But my shack will be so lonely without you,” Snelly complained from where she rocked beside the fire. “How will I fill the silence without your bitching and moaning?”

  Marston laughed. “I’ll just have to get myself shot again and come visit soon.”

  That seemed to satisfy Snelly and she smiled before going back to the knitting in her lap. Duke tossed a sack at Marston. “Put all this on and I’ll go get the horses saddled.”

  Marston poured out the sack and a hat, gun belt, revolver and bowie knife tumbled onto the bed. Marston frowned. “Where did you get all this and a second horse?”

  Duke grinned. “Does it matter?”

  Marston found himself chuckling. “No, I don’t guess it does.”

  Duke left the shack and Marston took his time strapping on the weapons. He rolled his shoulders once his task was completed and winced. The skin on his back was tight and it still pained him to move but Snelly assured him the wounds were closed and as long as he took it fairly easy they should remain that way.

  The biggest trouble Marston had was with his aching right hand. He’d done a number on it when he’d sent it crashing into the stone wall. He had a feeling he’d never be able to use the thing quite the same as he had before but he wasn’t too concerned about that—his left worked just as well.

  All in all, he felt fit and healthy and more than ready to get back to his wife and children. There was only one stop he needed to make before he went and he knew Duke wouldn’t be too happy about it.

  ***

  “You want to what?!” Duke demanded as the two men stood on the porch a short time later.

  “I want to go back to Millerton,” Marston repeated.

  “Why in the holy hell would you want to do that?” Duke asked, his voice tight.

  Marston raised his brow. “Since when is hell holy?”

  Duke’s eyes narrowed. “Just answer the damn question.”

  Marston sighed. “I want to make sure they believed I was dead and I want to kill that good for nothing Marshall.”

  “I’ll do it for you,” Duke insisted. “You don’t need to be riding around Millerton.”

  Marston bristled. “I’m not asking your permission. If you don’t want to come that’s fine but this is something I need to do and I’m going to do it myself.”

  Duke glared at Marston before shaking his head and grumbling under his breath. “I guess I understand… But if you get yourself caught again I’m not saving you this time. Understood?”

  Marston grinned. “Understood. My ass is my own responsibility. Don’t worry, Duke, I ain’t gonna get caught again. Now that I know that Rose and the children are safe and hidden, the Marshall won’t find me nearly as cooperative.”

  ***

  “See? I told you Marston Jacob’s is a dead man.”

  “That is a really disturbing thing to see,” Marston admitted, staring down at the wooden cross with his name carved into it. Graves surrounded them and a shiver ran down Marston’s spine as
light rain misted down upon them. It was dark and the streets of the quiet town were silent.

  “I did good if I say so myself,” Duke boasted. “They never knew the difference between you and this man.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to know what his name is would you?” Marston asked, tilting his head toward the cross.

  Duke shrugged. “Dead Guy?”

  Marston chuckled but forced himself to stop quickly when he remembered that this wasn’t a laughing matter. “That works.” Marston pulled off his hat. “Thank you, dead guy, for allowing Duke to kill you so that….”

  “Did I mention that I whipped him too?” Duke interjected.

  “While he was alive?” Marston demanded.

  Duke shrugged. “I was drunk and I wanted it to look authentic….” He shrugged. “Beyond that my reasoning was clouded.”

  Marston placed his hat back on his head and rubbed at his freshly shaven face. “Thank you, dead guy, for getting whipped and then killed so that I could make an escape and go be with my family—” Marston paused and glanced at Duke. “He didn’t have a family did he?”

  Duke shrugged again and Marston wondered if that’s all he knew how to do. “I don’t know if he had a family or not. We didn’t exactly have a conversation. If he did they’ll probably be happy to be rid of him. He reeked of whiskey when he came stumbling out of the whores room at the brothel.”

  “What were you doing at a brothel?”

  Duke grinned. “What would you do at a brothel?”

  “Nothing. I’m a married man.”

  “Well before you got boring, what would you have done at a brothel?” Duke amended.

  Marston snorted with disbelief. “So you were drinking and sleeping with whores? Where exactly did I fall on your priority list… and something else that’s been bugging me. If that executioners knot had worked, I would have died long before you sent them cows to the gallows.”

  Duke laughed heartily and patted Marston on the back—Marston hissed in pain and punched Duke solidly in the jaw. Duke stumbled back and glared at Marston. “Would you stop punching me? I’m over fifty years old!”

  Marston shrugged. “Don’t piss me off.”

  Duke rubbed at his face. “I knew the knot wouldn’t work, you bastard. I’m the one that altered the knot so it wouldn’t snap your neck.”

  Marston grinned sheepishly. “Well, thanks for that then.”

  Duke nodded. “Now what are you going to call yourself? You can’t very well keep going by Marston Jacobs.”

  Marston stared down at his grave marker for a long time while rain collected on the brim of his hat. Duke cleared his throat. “I was thinking something like Phillip….”

  Marston winked mischievously. “Jacob Marston.”

  Duke’s eyes widened. “Are you really that big of a cocky bastard?”

  Marston laughed. “You know damn well I am.”

  “Well let’s go then, Jacob. We got a few weeks of riding before we reach the family.”

  “Not yet,” Marston pulled his hat lower. “I’ve gone one more thing to do in town.”

  “You better not be sloppy this time,” Duke warned.

  Marston’s fists clenched. “I oughta punch you again for saying that. I’m one of the best damn outlaws that’s ever lived.”

  “Except now you’re dead.”

  Marston grinned. “Well, that just makes me even better. Now, I’m gonna go kill that Marshall and we’ll head out for home.”

  Duke chuckled. “Spoken like a true family man. Let’s go murder someone before we got get some bedtime kisses from the family.”

  Marston ignored Duke and slipped silently through the shadows. The streets were deserted this late at night as he made his way to the jail with Duke on his boot heels. Marston rolled his eyes. He had no idea what had gotten into Duke lately to make the man so protective, but he was ready for the bastard to back off.

  Marston peaked through the window of the jail office and saw Marshall Montgomery sitting behind his desk. The man was slumped in the chair and sound asleep. The wispy hairs of his blond mustache were dancing in time with his light snores.

  Marston felt hatred in its purest form burning in his gut. Sitting there with his legs propped up on his desk and his arms crossed on his belly was the man who dared threaten his family. The man who had beaten and whipped him. Marston grinned. Marshall Montgomery was not going to live to regret the mistakes he had made.

  Marston motioned for Duke to get around the side wall and out of sight. Stepping to the door, Marston knocked and stood to the side so he wouldn’t be visible through the peephole. He heard the Marshall’s chair scrape against the floor and his footsteps came to the door.

  “Who’s out there?” the Marshall called.

  Marston pulled his knife and remained silent. When the door opened, Marston sprang forward and the Marshall’s eyes widened when his knife sank deep into his chest.

  Marston used the force of their impact to propel their bodies backward and slam the Marshall back into his chair. “Remember me?” Marston growled, driving the knife deeper.

  “You’re…dead…” the Marshall gasped, tears gathering in his dying eyes.

  Marston grinned. “Like I said, Marshall, you better be praying like hell that men like you and me stand a chance with God cuz you’re about twenty seconds away from meeting him.”

  “Why…?”

  A low rumbling chuckle left Marston’s chest. “You have to ask? You threatened my family, you son of a bitch, and no one threatens my family. I just had to rise from the dead and make sure you understood that.”

  Marston twisted the knife and yanked the knife from the Marshall’s chest with a wet plopping sound. Warmblood gushed from the wound, covering Marston’s hand. Marston watched as the Marshall grew pale and his breaths turned shallow.

  The fear in the man’s eyes grew weaker and weaker and then it died completely as the Marshall took one last shuddering breath and then breathed no more.

  Marston wiped his hand and knife clean on the Marshall’s shirt before turning to see Duke standing in the doorway with a proud smile on his face. “You still got it.”

  “Were there any doubts?” Marston asked.

  “A few,” Duke admitted.

  Both men laughed, but the sound fell silent when a boot shuffled on the other side of the door to the cell hall. Marston put his finger to his lips which caused Duke to roll his eyes. The door to the hall opened and Marston barely managed to stop Duke before the man pulled his gun and shot Pete dead.

  The young deputy was pale as he glanced at the dead body beside the desk. “You killed the Marshall.”

  Marston nodded. “Yeah.”

  Pete swallowed hard and met Marston’s gaze full force. “He deserved it. I’ve been looking into things since your hanging and he deserved it and more.”

  Marston sighed. “The only problem now is that I have a witness. What should I do about that?”

  Pete held his gaze bravely. “You should probably kill me, but you don’t have to. I won’t say a word to anyone. I knew you weren’t dead. I saw that man get you down and leave with you, but I kept my mouth shut because I respect you, Marston, and I still do.”

  Marston studied the boy a few moments and then nodded. “Fair enough.”

  “Marston, are you forgetting that leaving witnesses is what got you in this mess to begin with?” Duke grumbled.

  Marston glared at the man. “Duke, I appreciate you helping me, but you’re beginning to piss me off.”

  Duke threw his hands in the air and left the jail. Marston growled. For as long as Marston had known him, Duke had never acted like he gave two hoots in hell about Marston or anyone else. Now suddenly Duke was saving his life, having his back and acting like a friend… Marston shivered. He wasn’t sure he liked this new relationship.

  “I’ll let you live, Pete,” Marston said. “I trust you.”

  Relief caused Pete’s shoulders to sag. “Thanks, Marston. I appreciate it.�
�� The deputy shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He held it out and Marston took the letter he’d written for Rose so long ago in his hand. “I figured you might want it back.” Pete shrugged. “You can give it to her yourself now.”

  Marston nodded and shook Pete’s hand. “It was an honor to know you, Pete.”

  “You too, Marston,” Pete replied, wincing at the strength in Marston’s hand. “And I didn’t see a thing here tonight.”

  Marston winked, tipped his hat and stepped out onto the porch. “You done kissing your lover boy in there?” Duke grumbled, his hands deep in his pockets as he stared out at the rainy night.

  Marston came to stand beside him. “Why, you jealous?”

  Duke snorted. “Hell no. You’re a prickly bastard.”

  Marston chuckled and patted the older man on the back. “You coming to the Dakotas with me?”

  “Of course I am.” Duke smiled thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t miss out on a chance to look at Rose.”

  It was Duke’s turn to laugh as Marston’s expression turned dark. “It’ll be hard for you to look at her if I cut out your eyes.”

  Duke just laughed harder. “I’d say it would, Marston. I’d say it would.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “Did you see that, mama! I blasted a hole straight through that target! I can’t believe I just did that! It must be because I’m using pa’s rifle. I’ll bet that’s it.”

  Rose barely glanced at her son as she continued hanging clothes on the line. Her mood was dark today.

  “You’re damn near as good a shot as your pa was too,” Jeremiah agreed proudly.

  Rose didn’t miss the happy smile that split Langley’s face and she was quick to grab up one of Kaitlyn’s skirts and hang it in front of her so that Jeremiah and Langley wouldn’t see her pained expression.

  As good a shot as his pa was. Not is because Marston was dead. Damn, but Rose missed that man! It had been months since he’d been taken away and yet Rose still couldn’t seem to convince herself he was truly dead. She kept waiting for him to come riding over the hill and have them pick up where they’d left off.