Rose (47 page)

Delivering the parting gifts proved harder than she had imagined. At each stop her friends alternately begged her not to leave and then—once they were convinced she would not change her mind—wished her a good journey. By the time she completed her rounds, Rosa had repeated her plans so often that she was tired of hearing the details: Quentin would come by in the morning to escort her as far as Cheyenne; yes, she would take the train directly to San Francisco; no, she had no one to meet her there, but she would locate the Italian quarter and find a place to stay; yes, she would write to them all. It was as hard leaving the people she had grown so close to as it had been to leave her family.

An early dinner with Flossie and the girls in the hospitality parlor kitchen was a subdued affair. Even Mira, who had never been as cordial to Rosa as the others, seemed genuinely sad to see her leave Busted Heel.

“Now we’ll have to resort to eating Bertha Matheson’s cookin’ again,” Flossie admitted through tears. “An’ besides tastin’ terrible, it’s a pain in the neck to buy. I have to send Slick or Paddie by for my order. The hypocrite’ll take my money, but she don’t want me to be seen orderin’ from her.”

Rosa tried to smile as she reached out to pat Flossie’s hand. “It will be only until I send someone to cook. Soon the restaurant will be open again.”

A tear streaked Floss’s powdered cheek. “Aw, Rosie gal, it’ll be different without you here.”

When the meal ended and Rosa announced it was time for her to leave, they all lined up in the front parlor to bid her farewell. Chicago Sue, her round china-doll eyes brimming with tears, hugged Rosa and sobbed until Flossie announced that the girl was ruining both her eyes and the front of her red satin gown. Ever cool, Mira didn’t shed a tear, but she took Rosa’s hand and wished her well. Satin, her plump cheeks ruddy with embarrassment, presented Rosa with a fine lace-edged handkerchief that had been doused with perfume. Felicity, with the bouncing black hair Rosa so admired, gave her a swift, tight hug and warned her against taking up with strangers on the train.

Finally it was time to bid Flossie farewell. The buxom redhead wiped her eyes on her own kerchief time and again as she stood with an arm about Rosa. “If that cussed mule Zach were here, he’d say I was spoutin’ like a watering can.” Flossie laughed through her tears.

“And so you are, my friend. Maybe you will come to San Francisco to visit me?” Rosa’s expression was hopeful.

“You better believe it. I always wanted to see the place. Why”—Floss began to brighten—“I sometimes think I’d like to spend my old age in a warmer climate. Why not?” She shrugged, smiling once more. “Plan on it, Rosie gal. I’ll be there before you know it.”

“I will write to you as soon as I am there.”

“You better,” Flossie admonished. “And I’ll let you know how everybody around these parts is gettin’ along.”

The time had come to end the farewells. Rosa gave them all a last look, a smile, and then kissed Flossie Gibbs on her rouged and powdered cheek.

“Ciao, signora.”
When Rosa stepped out of the door, she was hit by a cold blast of wind. Quickly she wiped the tears from her cheeks before they had a chance to freeze.

The black velvet dress had been relegated to the very bottom of her trunk. Too practical to toss it out entirely, Rosa decided to take it with her, although the sight of the dress she had worn on Christmas Eve still conjured up far too much pain. Also packed safely away were her candlesticks and handmade cloths and runners—and one brittle, dried red rose from the bouquet Kase had given her. Determined to carry no reminders of him, she had nearly thrown it away, but then changed her mind. It was only a small token of what they had shared in happier times, so she decided to keep it a while longer.

The dishes and cooking utensils she would definitely leave behind; she considered them part of the place now. For a moment she wondered what kind of position she would find for herself in San Francisco. Maybe she would teach English, she thought, or perhaps find a job in a big hotel like the Inner Ocean in Cheyenne. Surely San Francisco had far bigger, grander places where she might find work.

When everything was safely packed away in her trunk, Rosa glanced around the kitchen to be certain she had not forgotten anything. Except for the pots, pans, and food tins on the shelves, the walls looked as bare and forlorn as they had on the day she moved in. The photographs of her mother and father no longer hung on the wall above her cot, nor did any of her clothing. There was a fire in the stove, but nothing simmering on top, no warm loaves of bread in readiness for tomorrow, no hint of cinnamon or other spices on the air. Her sauce pots were all clean and empty, hanging on the wall near the worktable.

She fed more wood into the stove and then took her last bottle of cabernet off of the shelf. Along with matches, an empty glass, and a candle, Rosa carried the wine into the darkened dining room and sat down alone at one of the tables. Earlier she had pulled the café curtains closed, hoping to discourage any last-minute visitors or customers who were not aware that the place was closed.

As Rosa lit the candle and poured herself a glass of wine, she paused to look around and think that this really was the perfect way to end her time in Busted Heel, for this was where it had all started. This was the place Giovanni had chosen to make their home. It was here, in the café, that she had begun her new life of independence. And here, she remembered, Kase Storm had walked in unexpectedly and kissed her for the first time.

Kase. She allowed herself to think of him for one moment, long enough to wonder how he fared in Boston, whether he was happy—or if he would ever be happy again.

The pins slipped easily from her hair, and she shook it free until it rippled down around her back. Rosa sighed and took a sip of wine, then stared into the candle’s steady flame, thinking of how tomorrow she would board the train and head farther west, farther from Crotte than she ever imagined possible. Guido would be furious when he received her letter that announced her move to San Francisco. She had yet to receive any letters from home and wondered if she was out of their thoughts as well as their lives.

After another sip of wine she began counting the time since she arrived in Busted Heel. Only seven short months, yet they seemed to hold a lifetime of learning.

Halting footsteps scraped against the wooden sidewalk outside, and Rosa paused in her introspection to wonder if another stumbling drunk from Paddie’s had lost his way. Her gaze flickered to the doorknob. Even though she tried to remember, she still had the bad habit of forgetting to lock both doors. Tonight she was certain that she had secured the front and back entries. Almost certain.

The shuffling stopped. She waited—listened—held her breath. Then, when there was no further sound from outside, she breathed a slow sigh of relief.

When something bumped against the door, she started and held her breath. Beyond the glow of the single candle, the room was swathed in darkness. Rosa stared hard at the place where she knew the doorknob to be, but could not see it. Slowly, silently, she stood, intent on moving across the room to bar the door.

She tried to call out, to tell whoever was on the other side that the place was closed, but the words stuck in her throat. All that came out was a croaking “Is closed.”

Memories came flooding back. There was the reminder to lock the door Kase had issued so effectively the first night she had stayed alone here. Then, all too vividly, she recalled the day Bert Dawson had tried to assault her in this very room. Rosa found her mouth gone suddenly dry as her heart began to pound. She took two more steps toward the door.

It swung open before she could reach it and she stopped, arrested by the sight of the tall, dark shape of a man silhouetted against the star-spattered sky behind him. The man’s height was exaggerated by the tall-crowned hat he wore. Whoever it was stood head and shoulders taller than any of the men she knew in Busted Heel. It was not the diminutive Paddie or the lanky Slick. As he stepped closer, the candlelight further defined his shape, and that of the bundle he held in his arms. Whatever he carried he held dear, for he cradled the bulky object as a mother would a babe.

Was her mind playing tricks on her? Had she wanted to see Kase Storm again so badly that she was ready to claim that this apparition in her doorway might be him? She licked her lips and hoped that she could find her voice. “What do you want?” The words came out in a hush that was barely a whisper.

“I want to know if you’ll still have me.”

There was no denying the deep, resonant timbre of Kase Storm’s voice. He took a slow, steady step forward and then halted again.

Rosa could not move, nor could she speak. Her legs were trembling so fiercely she thought she might collapse. She reached out and braced herself with one hand on the back of a nearby chair.

“Rose?”

She stared, speechless. Then she crossed herself. She offered up a swift, silent prayer to San Genesio and swore that if he removed this apparition, she would never sin again.

He took two more steps forward.

Frigid air swept in through the open door and set the tablecloths fluttering. It guttered the candle flame, engulfing them in darkness.

Shuffling sounds told her that he had stepped closer. One, two, three more steps. She could hear his soft, steady breathing, then heard him move again.

A chair scraped somewhere nearby and then clattered to the floor with a loud bang.

“Damn!” he cursed softly.

His frustrated curse jolted Rosa out of her shock. She extended her arms and felt the air, stepping carefully in his direction.

“Do not move,” she said, at last able to think, to act.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “The last thing I intend to do is fall.”

The heavy wool of his coat was the first thing she grasped as she reached out for him in the darkness. It was only natural then to clutch his upper sleeves and hold on. The bundle in his arms prevented her from stepping any closer. She made certain he was steady on his feet, hoped she was steady on hers, and then breathed a sigh of relief.

“This isn’t exactly the way I planned this scene,” he said.

Even in the darkness, Rosa could hear the old familiar smile in his voice. It was a tone he had not used since the shooting. She swallowed and waited for him to explain.

“I wanted you to be able to witness the big surprise, but here we are in the dark. I guess that’s not all that bad either.” She felt him shrug.

“You are not in Boston.” Her hands tightened on his sleeves.

“No. I’m not in Boston,” he said softly. “I’m standing in the middle of a restaurant, in the dark, hoping I’m not about to break my damn-fool neck. Do you think you could let go long enough to light the candle?” he teased.

“Do you think you will not break any more of the furniture?” she countered.

“I’ll try not to.”

She let go and felt her way around him and closed the door. Then Rosa worked her way back to the table where she had left the candle. Her hands were shaking so hard it took her three tries to light a match, but finally the candle flared to life. She whirled around and found that he had not been a dream, nor was he an apparition. Kase Storm was standing in the middle of her café holding in his arms something wrapped in what appeared to be a linen dish towel. Rosa ignored the curious object and drank in the sight of him standing on his own feet.

Her hair swirled about her as she shook her head in disbelief. “How?”

He reached out and ran his fingers through the glossy fall of ebony. “God, you’re beautiful.”

Rosa reached out, her fingers hungry for the feel of him, and touched his cheek. “You are beautiful, too,” she said.

They did not move. Rosa was afraid that he might disappear, Kase refused to rush the moment, and so they stood in silence, each engrossed with the other. He continued to stroke her hair. Rosa reached up and brushed the wayward lock of hair back off his brow and watched it fall back out of place. She fought to still her beating heart, fought to keep her emotions in check until she learned what he wanted, why he had come, and how he had regained his health.

Someone rode a horse down Main Street and the distraction broke the spell that surrounded them. Kase looked around the room. “May I sit down?”

Rosa pressed her palms against her flaming cheeks.
“Testa quadra.” Blockhead.
She whispered the curse under her breath. She had forgotten that he might be in pain. Quickly she pulled out a chair and held it while he set his bundle on the table and then slowly sat down.

Hastily she moved the candle to his table and then pulled out a chair for herself.

“Sit by me,” he said softly.

She complied and pulled her chair up directly beside him. “Talk,” she said.

He took off his hat and gloves and ran a hand through his hair. Even in the candlelight she could see his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“First, Rose, I have to apologize. And I have to tell you that if you cannot forgive me for the way I treated you that I will understand.” He took her cold hands and held them between his warm ones. “I’m so sorry, Rose. Truly, truly sorry.”

She bit her trembling lips together and swallowed a sob. All she could manage was a nod.

“After you left my room on Christmas Eve, I proceeded to drink myself into oblivion. But the problem was that there wasn’t enough liquor in Wyoming to make me forget what I’d done to you. Or to myself. When Zach told me you were leaving Busted Heel for good, something snapped inside me.” He shrugged and squeezed her hands. “When I woke up from my stupor—with the worst hangover I’ve ever had, by the way—I was determined not to let you leave me.”

“But you did not send for me again. It has been over a month.”

“I put a condition on it. Since everyone but me was convinced there was no real reason why I couldn’t walk, I told myself I was going to walk again, or crawl on my hands and knees and beg you to forgive me, if that’s what it took to have you back. I sent my mother and Caleb home without me, made them promise not to tell you that I had changed my mind about leaving and that I was determined to get back on my feet. When I was finally regaining some feeling in my legs, Zach moved out to Mountain Shadows so he could help me daily.”