Rose (7 page)

It took only one glance around the tiny, cluttered room to see that this place called “jail” was unoccupied. A table heaped with loose papers, empty bowls, pens, an inkwell, and a pile of newspapers stood in the middle of the room. In the far corner, what appeared to be a new wood stove stood ready for winter. A safe, much like the one in the bank in Corio, only smaller, was positioned behind the table. Was this place a bank, then? She turned slowly, taking in the entire room, trying to determine the nature of the jail. Four rifles were chained together in a gun rack on the wall near another rack that was obviously for hats, although none hung there now. A broom stood in another corner. It was not until she noticed the sturdy wooden door on the back wall, a door with a small square window protected by bars, that she realized fully what the word “jail” meant.

Was Giovanni a prisoner? Could that fact explain the stationmaster’s odd expression when she asked for her husband? Silently, she closed the outer door and crept toward the cell.

Dio!
She swore silently. The little window was at least a head higher than she could stretch, even on tiptoe.

“Giovanni?” Her soft whisper was barely audible. There was no response from inside.

Quickly Rosa set her valise down beside the paper-strewn desk and rolled the chair that stood behind it over to the door. Just as she reached out to brace her hands on the arms of the chair, her hat slid forward over her eyes. Her temper got the best of her, and she fiercely shoved it back into place, unmindful of the damage to her hair until she heard a pin hit the floor. There was little time to waste, so she ignored the cascade of waving hair that brushed against her right cheek as she grasped the chair. She carefully placed one foot on the seat and crouched to maintain her balance before she lifted the other foot.

Too late, she discovered the chair could both swivel
and
tilt. As she reached up to grasp the bars of the window, the chair began to roll away from the door. As Rosa clung to the bars and fought for balance, she heard the front door open.

The chair continued to roll until Rosa found herself stretched full length, feet on the chair, hands clutching the bars of the cell window. Not until she hung nearly parallel with the floor did she hear the softly spoken words that issued from behind her.

“May I help you?”

The deep voice gave her little indication as to what type of man had entered the room. Still, she had no recourse but to accept his help.

“Take me down.” She tried to swallow.
“Per piacere.
Please.”

“My pleasure.”

There was no mistaking the note of humor in the man’s tone, nor could she dismiss the masculine strength in the sound of his deep voice. Rosa tried to peer over her shoulder but found her view of him hampered by her oversized hat. She heard him cross the room and stop directly behind her. Two strong hands grasped Rosa about the waist and steadied her on the chair.

“You can let go now.” He spoke softly, gently now, his tone laced with humor.

Rosa released the death grip she held upon the bars and felt the man’s warm hands tighten around her waist. He lifted her down as easily as if she were a child and set her on her feet. Taking a deep breath, Rosa straightened and turned to look up at her rescuer.

He was unlike anyone she’d ever seen before.

From the hint of amusement in his voice, she had expected him to be smiling. Instead, he was glowering at her. She wondered curiously what he would look like when he smiled. Her gaze drifted from his mouth, with the generous, sensual lips, to his eyes. There was a slight tilt to the corners of them, they were nearly almond in shape; large, wide, and startlingly blue. The warm brown tone of his skin made the color of his eyes more pronounced. His nose was wide, yet finely tapered, and as she stared at his exotic features, she was struck by the memory of the Roman statues she had seen adorning the fountains of Genoa.

But cold marble could not compare to this man who radiated such quiet strength. He stood silently awaiting an explanation.

“I ... I’ ma... I look for husband.” She shook her head. Nervousness hampered the use of her newly acquired language. Before she could explain, he spoke again.

“You aren’t going to find one in there. What kind do you need?”

“Kind?”

“Of husband.”

“I have already one,” she explained.

He crooked a brow. “Oh?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Giovanni. Giovanni Audi. I’m told by the train man to come here.”

Rosa watched him turn away, and faced with the broad width of his shoulders, she suddenly realized how very tall he was. Much taller than Giovanni. Much taller than anyone she had ever seen. Were she to stand beside him, the top of her head would barely reach his shoulders.

She watched as he shoved his hands into the pockets of the close-fitting denim pants—pants more closely fitted than any of the men at home would have deigned to wear—and stared out the window.

“Sit down, ma’am.”

A dry, metallic taste filled her mouth, and she realized her heart was pounding. Rosa started to protest. “But—”

Slowly the man turned around, and she felt his cool blue stare assessing her. He stretched out a hand.

“Please”—he indicated the empty chair—“sit down.”

Except for the fact that she obviously possessed a pair of well-developed breasts beneath the unrelieved black velvet bodice, the woman poised stiffly on the edge of his chair might have been mistaken for a child. He guessed she was not much older than his half sister, Annika, who was only fourteen. Kase swallowed, glanced at the cluttered desktop, and then met her eyes once more. They were a rich golden topaz, as warm and sweet as dark honey. For a moment he forgot what he was going to say as he lost himself in her steady gaze. He swallowed again.

“Ma’am, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you.”

He cursed himself for having to be the one to tell her, wished there was an easy way, all the time knowing there wasn’t. Not an hour ago as he spoke with Zach, he had casually mentioned the Italian bystander killed during a shooting spree. He had been so preoccupied with his own problems that not once since the accidental shooting had he stopped to think that the young man might have had family and friends somewhere. No one in town knew where the Italian had come from, or anything else about him except his name.

“Signore?”

Her soft question interrupted his thoughts, and Kase cursed himself again for making her wait, but damn, if this wasn’t one of the hardest things he’d ever done.

The girl’s heart was in her eyes, and she looked tired enough to drop right where she sat uncomfortably on the edge of his chair.

A. soft mass of waving ebony hair had slipped out from beneath the huge hat on the crown of her head. He thought of his half sister again and was well aware that Annika would scoff at wearing anything so outdated as this girl’s black velvet dress. Muttering a swear word under his breath, Kase wiped the palms of his hands on his thighs and hunkered down until his eyes were on a level with hers.

“Mrs, Audi...” He cleared his throat. “Your husband isn’t here any longer.”

“Not here?”

He would not have thought it possible for her to look any more wary, but suddenly her eyes widened and she reminded him of a wide-eyed rabbit frozen in fear.
Tell her.

“He’s dead, ma’am.”

“Dead?” Her face paled.

“Dead,” he repeated.

“How?”

“Shot.”

“Shot?” When she repeated the word, her expression was blank, void of understanding.

“With a bullet.” He pantomimed a shooting. “Gun. Shot.”

She choked on her husband’s name. “Giovanni? Dead?”

Kase nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“Who would want to shoot Giovanni?” she asked. “Why?”

“It was an accident. He was standing out on the sidewalk and was hit by a stray bullet.” Kase spoke slowly and watched the girl try to absorb all he was saying. “He died quickly,” Kase added, hoping to offer some comfort, however small. “Probably didn’t even know what hit him.”

The honey-gold eyes suddenly flooded with tears that intensified their strange color. For a moment, he could only stare.

“Ma’am?”

A shudder racked her frame and the loosened lock of hair unfurled farther, cascading over her shoulder and down the bodice of her gown. He followed its fall, then looked away.

He could tell by her lost expression that she was having problems voicing her thoughts. When the pool of tears began to stream down her unmarred complexion, Kase stood up, suddenly uncomfortable at having to witness her sorrow.

“I’ll get you a room at the boardinghouse for tonight,” he quickly decided for her, “and you can be on the train again by tomorrow noon.”

Kase stood, then turned away, but not before he caught a glimpse of the girl wiping away tears with the sleeve of her gown. Should he offer her the comfort of an arm about her shoulder? Stymied, he stalled, toying with the edge of his desk. Would she want him touching her? He glanced over his shoulder. She was crying softly, her head bowed, her face hidden behind her hands.

Propriety be damned. If ever anyone was in need of a warm, sympathetic touch it was this slip of a girl in borrowed clothing.

Kase stepped over to her and reached out awkwardly, drew his hand away, men extended it again and gently patted her shoulder. He wished she would scream or cry. Anger he could deal with. Hysteria he could fight to calm. But these silent, pitiful tears left him feeling more than helpless.

“Ma’am?” He found himself moving to kneel before her again. “Mrs. Audi?”

She lowered her hands and stared at him as if suddenly remembering she was not alone.

“I... I am sorry. I am so... so...” She shook her head, searching for words. “I come from so far, wait so long to be with Giovanni.’’

He watched her wrap her arms protectively against her rib cage as if to shield herself from further pain. “Three years,” she stopped to catch her breath, “three years I wait to come to America. When I am leaving, Guido said, ‘You will be back, Rosa. You will see.’” She shook her head as if to deny this Guide’s words. “I take the ship across the ocean and am sick all the time. I am afraid in New York. I ride the trains, always taking care to find the right one.”

Unable to make much sense of her rambling, Kase offered silent comfort. The girl who had referred to herself as Rosa became increasingly upset as she spoke.

“... There is no Broken Shoe, only Busted Heel. And the man says, You come the right place? I say yes. Then when I say... Giovanni’s name... he says, go see the marshal.”

She stood up so abruptly that she nearly knocked Kase off his feet. Stepping around him, she began to pace the room. Kase stood and watched, feeling helpless.

“What I am going to do?” Shouting now, she turned on him, her hands raised in appeal. “What?”

Kase stepped back and shrugged. “Go home.”

“Home?” She looked as if he’d struck her.

He felt as if he had.

“Well, not right now, of course. For tonight you’ll stay at Matheson’s and tomorrow you’ll go home.” So saying, he rested his hands on the gun belt that rode at his hips.

The tears started again and she squared off to face him.

“Home?” She fairly shouted the word. “How?” With a desperate shake of her head, the velvet hat slid free of its precarious perch and floated to the floor like a dying black crow.

Kase bent to retrieve it and, as he straightened, saw her suddenly lean over his desk and support herself with the palms of her hands resting on top of the clutter. She wavered, about to collapse.

“Mrs. Audi, are you all right?”

As she turned to face him, the bulk of her hair fell free of its pins and tumbled past her shoulders to her waist. She shook her head. “No...”

Unsteady on her feet, she reached out for him. Kase stepped forward, tossed the hat on the desk, and slipped an arm about her waist. With a soft moan, the girl lost consciousness and crumpled against him, her head lolling against his shoulder. He stared down at her upturned face and noticed the thick, dark lashes wet with tears that lay unmoving against her porcelain skin. He scooped her up into his arms and moved the few steps to the chair. Holding her close, as a father might cradle a wounded child, he sat down and began to smooth back the strands of ebony that clung to her moist temple.

Kase jerked upright as Zach Elliot stuck his head around the half-open cell door.

“If you got everything under control now, I ‘spect I can come on out.”

Glaring in his direction, Kase once again took a firm hold on the girl in his arms and shifted in his seat.

“You nearly scared the life outta me, Zach. I forgot you were here.”

“Well, I decided to lie low till you got this sorted out. I heard someone come in and creep up on the door kinda slow. Then I heard a woman’s voice whisperin’ something that sounded like ‘Jee-vani’ and I decided to wait to see what transpired. That’s when you came in, so I jes’ treated myself to a listen.”

“Yeah? Well, thanks for all your help with the bereaved widow. What’ll I do with her now?” Kase shrugged and the girl moaned.

“If I had a looker like that stretched out in my arms, I guess I’d know what to do”—Zach shrugged—“but you’ll probably end up doing jes’ what you was tellin’ her you would. Take her to the boardin’house.”

“Like this?” Kase looked down at her again.

“Well, you could wait for her to wake up an’ start yellin’ again. Or you could give her over to the lady that runs the boardin’house—that is, assumin’ there is one.”

“Yeah. There is.”

Kase thought of big Bertha Matheson and wondered if there was a gentle, caring bone in her obese body. He’d rather turn the girl over to Flossie, who would know for certain how to deal with her tears until the train pulled in tomorrow. But the widow Audi didn’t look like the type who’d take to being left in a whorehouse. He shook his head and stood up, his mind set on carrying Rose to the boardinghouse at the end of the street. Zach was right. He didn’t want to be around when she woke up again.