The Gunman's Bride (8 page)

“You’ve left me twice, and I survived just fine.” She turned away. “I’m sure I can do it again, Bart Kingsley.”

Etta hammered on Rosie’s bedroom door at exactly seven that evening. “Laurie! There’s a man come to call on you. He’s talking to Mrs. Jensen, and you should see him!”

Rosie’s heart slammed into her ribs as she pulled a
fringed shawl around her shoulders and opened the door. “I’ve been expecting him,” she said with forced calm. “We spoke today in town, and he asked to accompany me to church tonight.”

“He’s the best-looking fellow I ever saw!”

“Better looking than Stefan?” Rosie hurried down the hall.

“Stefan’s as cute as butter, but this man is so handsome it’s plumb dangerous!”

Rosie took the last step down into the lobby, caught one look at the man who stood waiting for her and realized he was no longer the wild man who had crawled out from under her bed. Bart Kingsley had begged, borrowed or stolen a starched white wing collar that framed his bronzed face. A fine black cutaway jacket and a new pair of trousers completed the transformation.

“Evening, ma’am.” Bart came toward her and held out an arm. “Mrs. Jensen has given me permission to escort you to church.”

Rosie glanced at Mrs. Jensen and noted the high color in the woman’s cheeks. Obviously the starchy matron wasn’t completely immune to the charms of a dashing man.

“You’ll stay with the others on the way to church,” she told them. “And you’ll have Miss Laura back at the dormitory at nine o’clock sharp.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Bart tipped his hat as Rosie slipped her arm through his.

Joining a crowd of young men and women, Rosie and Bart left Harvey House and headed for church. She could feel the hard lump of his biceps beneath his jacket sleeve, and his bay rum scent wafted around her head.

“Nice night,” Bart commented. “It’s a grand moon. Brisk wind down the mountainside sure sets up a chill, doesn’t it?”

Rosie saw he was grinning at his own silly conversation. She rolled her eyes and gave him a sharp jab to the ribs. “It’s windy around here, all right.”

He chuckled as he led her up the steps. But as they entered the sanctuary, he leaned close and whispered in her ear. “You look beautiful tonight, Rosie-girl.”

Without responding, she made her way to the pew where she usually sat. But when she had seated herself, Rosie looked around to find that Bart had vanished. Not again! She whisked out of the pew and marched back up the aisle. Bart wasn’t going to pull this! Not tonight. Sheriff Bowman sat two pews in front of Rosie, and she would just tell him exactly who had escorted her to church.

But the moment Rosie set foot on the narrow porch, her heart melted. Bart was sitting on the stoop, his hat in his hands, just as he had when he was a little boy. With his head bowed, he was studying a small wrinkled Bible he had pulled from his pocket.

“Bart?” Rosie whispered. “What on earth are you doing?”

He lifted his head and smiled. “I figured I’d be more comfortable out here. Hope you don’t mind.”

“I do mind. You’re no outcast that you have to hide like this.” She crouched beside him, her blue dress billowing into a pouf. “Please come in and sit with me, Bart.”

“I’m Buck, and I’m a half breed. I won’t be wel
come in there, no more than I was in the church back home.”

Rosie laid a hand on his shoulder. “Please,” she whispered. “You look fine tonight. Just fine.”

“Fine clothes don’t change the color of my skin, Rosie-girl. Much as I try to act decent, I don’t know about manners in church and other high-society places. My mama used to say poor people have poor ways. She was right. Now get on back in there where you belong, and I’ll meet you out here after the service.”

Rosie shook her head. She wouldn’t be the obedient little girl any longer. “I’m not going in without you, Bart Kingsley,” she told him. “Now get up and escort me like a gentleman should.”

It was a moment before he clambered to his feet and offered Rosie his arm. As they took their seats, it occurred to her that this was probably the first time in a long while that Bart had obeyed an order he didn’t cotton to. She knew it was the first time ever that he had set foot inside the lily-white walls of a church. But before she had time to ponder all this, he took her hand, wove his fingers through hers and bowed his head in prayer.

W
hen the church service ended, Bart wished he could ease right out a side door and escape for a few minutes alone with Rosie. The last thing he wanted was to be hauled to the church door where Reverend Cullen stood shaking hands with everyone.

For one thing, Bart was feeling convicted. From the time he was a boy, he had known preachers could really lay a sinner out—and Reverend Cullen was no exception. After nearly two hours of the minister’s preaching that evening, Bart was squirming in his pew. He envisioned his transgressions stretched out across the heavens like a headline in
The Raton Comet.
Worse, he pictured God and the angels looking down on him and shaking their heads in disappointment.

Another reason Bart was hoping to bypass the preacher had to do with his uncertainties about trespassing in such a sacred place. If a half-breed Apache hadn’t been wanted in the Kansas City church, what would make Reverend Cullen welcome him now? In spite of his bath, shave and the fancy duds he had borrowed from the
owner of the livery stable, Bart knew he looked just as much like an Indian as ever.

The third reason for slipping out of church was to talk to Rosie in private and get to the bottom of her feelings for him. He had never known her to be so downright cold. Miss Prim and Proper was in her element. If the angels were shaking their heads over Bart, they were smiling with pleasure at the uppity Laura Rose.

No doubt Rosie never felt a moment’s conviction all through that sermon. She didn’t have a single thing in her upright life to feel guilty about. As he made his way up the aisle, Bart steeled himself for the disapproval he would read in the preacher’s eyes. Sure, the elderly man had a handshake and kind word for everybody else. But Bart didn’t hold out much hope that he’d get the same treatment. He had seen too many grins dissolve into thin air when he walked into a room.

“Reverend Cullen,” Rosie said as she shook the preacher’s hand. “What a thought-provoking sermon. I was truly moved.”

“All credit goes to the Lord, Miss Laura.”

Rosie turned to Bart, who wished he could disappear. “Reverend Cullen, I’d like you to meet…”

“Buck Springfield,” Bart said.

The preacher stuck out his hand and grabbed Bart’s, giving it a firm shake. “Welcome to Raton, Mr. Springfield. I understand you’re Cheyenne Bill’s cousin.”

Bart glanced at the ceiling, wondering if he could be struck dead for telling two bald-faced lies right inside a church. “That’s right,” he managed. “We’re like family.”

“Splendid! I’ve done my best to lure that gentleman
into church. Now that you’re in Raton, perhaps you’ll be able to convince him of the need for spiritual renewal.”

“I can try, sir.” Bart discovered he was still shaking hands with the minister. “But you know Cheyenne Bill is a hard, hard man.”

Reverend Cullen threw back his head and gave a hearty guffaw. “That he is! And you’re escorting Miss Laura tonight. A fine young woman. You couldn’t have chosen a better lady to court in this entire town.”

“I agree, sir. Well, that was a real nice sermon. Good evening to you.” Bart detached his hand and took Rosie’s. Feeling hot around the collar, he lunged out into the night.

Rosie was fairly running alongside him. “Bart!” she cried. “Slow down. What’s gotten into you?”

He shortened his stride and took a deep breath. “Did you hear what I said? I told him I enjoyed his sermon! He was preaching about sin and eternal damnation.”

Rosie grinned. “I always tell him I like his sermons, even when he’s been pounding the pulpit and shouting about Satan, iniquity and the fires of hell.”

Pondering this, Bart eased to a stroll and tucked Rosie’s arm inside his own. “I never met a preacher who’d welcome a man like me inside his church.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your bloodlines, Bart. And you certainly aren’t responsible for them.”

“But I am for all the other things I’ve done. If Reverend Cullen ever found out about my riding with the James gang and robbing those trains and being wanted in Missouri—”

“He’d treat you the same. He often quotes the Scripture
where Jesus told a group of men who wanted to stone an adulterous woman, ‘Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.’ Everybody’s done wrong, Bart. Anyhow, it’s a good idea to go to church. People will think you’re honest and upright. If Mr. Kilgore believes I’ve married a decent man, it’ll help me get my job.”

“You’re doing all this hoo-ha with me just so you can teach school, Rosie?”

“Of course. After all I’ve been through, there’s not a man alive who could persuade me to marry him for keeps.”

“Just because you don’t cotton to that doctor your pappy wants you to marry doesn’t mean another man wouldn’t treat you right.”

She glanced at him. “I hope you’re not referring to yourself, Bart Kingsley. You haven’t done one right thing by me since I’ve known you. Now you’ve come to live in my town, and you’ll probably mess things up for me here, too.”

He stopped and pulled her around to face him. “What makes you so sure I’m going to mess up?”

“You haven’t let me down so far.”

He studied the tops of the cottonwood trees lining the street. Although the air was clean and fresh, his gut was twisted into a knot that grew tighter with every word from Rosie’s mouth. Sure, those big brown eyes called to him. Those sweet, full lips beckoned. Yet Bart knew that when it came to him, Rosie had a chilly streak a mile wide.

“You don’t believe I can lead a straight life?” he asked.

“Frankly, no. The last time you walked the straight
and narrow you were seventeen years old. All your adult life you’ve been living on the wrong side of the law. Don’t tell me you can up and change just like that.”

“I reckon I could if I had a reason to.”

She pushed his hands from her shoulders and crossed her arms. “Don’t make me your reason to change, Bart. I remember the sweet words you said about me being the light of your life. Well, listen here. I’m not interested in being your light. If you want to change, go right ahead. I want my freedom and I moved to Raton to claim it.”

“What are you so all-fired hot about, Rosie?”

“You’ve tangled me up as usual. I don’t know why I let you talk me into that wedding nonsense when we were kids. I don’t know why you ran off and left me like you did, or why you tracked me down after six years. I don’t understand any of it!”

“Why don’t you just ask me?”

“Because I don’t trust a word out of your mouth.” Her voice quavered for a moment, as if she were struggling not to cry. “You can go on blaming your mama, your Apache pappy, the boys who teased you, the preacher who wouldn’t let you into church and everyone else for the way you turned out. But you’re an outlaw because you chose to be one!”

“Hush now,” he pulled her close, pressing her head against his shoulder. “You’re going to scare up the sheriff with all this carryin’ on.”

Bart knew he was bad. Gritting his teeth, he stared up at the moon and acknowledged the truth. He was a sinner in league with the devil. And he felt just as mean and nasty as she had made him out to be. A hot flame
of bitterness curled through him as he thought about Rosie’s taunts and accusations.

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.