by Caroline Lee
“That I like to read?”
“That you like to read that particular genre. The good guys always win in the end, you know.”
What an odd thing to say. But Bear had to admit that just about everything that had happened since he’d let his horse have free rein yesterday had been odd. This was just one more thing to add. “Well, it was that or Domestic Medicine.”
She snorted slightly, intent on the wrapping around his wound. “Yes. Black Bart is much more exciting reading, isn’t he?”
More out of a desire to distract himself from her prodding than anything else, Bear asked, “How does it look?”
She was chewing on her lower lip when she glanced up at him. “Better than yesterday, but not good. The bullet went all the way through, Bear.” Shoot, did she have to look so sympathetic? “There were pieces of bone where it came out, although I think I was able to pick them all out.” So it had hit the bone. Walking again wasn’t guaranteed. “We need to keep a close eye on it, to make sure infection doesn’t set in. I think I did a good enough job—I’ve read Domestic Medicine cover-to-cover, after all—that it’ll eventually heal, if it doesn’t go gangrenous.” Bear gulped and focused on the roof again. God, please let me keep my leg. Please let me walk again.
Rose sat back on her haunches, and he felt her gaze on him, even though he couldn’t look at her right then. Not with the fear of never walking properly again so fresh. “Tomorrow, I’m taking your horse into town.” So he was near a town? “There’s just not enough fodder here for an animal his size, and we can’t afford to keep him. When you’re better, he’ll be at the livery.” Bear would happily pay whatever the livery-owner asked for keeping the horse fed in the meantime. He’d been able to see that the animal was suffering today.
So he nodded his thanks. “I appreciate all that you’re doing for me, miss.”
Was it his imagination, or did she blush before she busied herself with cleaning up? “Here’s some more food for you, when you’re ready.” She rolled to her feet, and he caught a glimpse of her boot under her heavy winter skirts. She had lovely feet, like the rest of her. And that foolish thought told Bear that he’d lost way more blood than he’d feared. Either that, or it was all pooling in a currently useless area of his anatomy.
She hurried out of the barn without bothering to say goodbye, and Bear was left there in the lantern’s light, wondering why she’d looked so guilty when he’d thanked her.
CHAPTER FOUR
Maybe the bandit in her barn had given Rose some sort of confidence-by-proximity, because she was getting really good at sneaking around these days. Two evenings in a row, she’d managed to go out to the barn with supplies for Bear without her mother or sister being the wiser. Although Snow did give her an odd look this morning.
And now, after saying her goodbyes to Snow in the study and getting her sister’s latest package to ship, Rose was on her way to town. With a horse. Bear had still been asleep, when she’d managed to drag the animal out of the barn by its bridle, whispering furiously all the while, and then lead it the long way around so that there was no threat of Mama looking out her window and seeing it. Because heaven knew how Rose would explain this new adventure to Mama.
She wasn’t even sure if she could explain it to herself, but it was certainly profitable. Just being in the stranger’s presence seemed to excite her; in between her chores yesterday she’d written nearly half of a journal’s worth of words. Four chapters on Murderous Mitch’s chase and gunfight with Sheriff Caraway. She’d even decided to introduce a lovely and bold heroine, with the same bright red hair Rose herself had been cursed with. After all, a girl could dream, couldn’t she? But in her story, Miss Molly would be rescued by the Sheriff, and they’d live happily ever after. Because the good guys always won, in stories, and Murderous Mitch would have to go to prison.
So why did the thought of her own burly outlaw—“Bear,” indeed—in prison make her stomach ache a little bit? Surely justice and law was more important than the fact that he made her heart pound when he watched her? In the lantern light, he had the most compelling eyes; dark around the edges but lightening to a gray at the middle. She should be slapped for noticing the color of a bandit’s eyes, much less admiring them… but that hadn’t stopped her.
She’d admired a lot more about him, all the while trying to convince herself that she was just doing her Christian duty by caring for him. His thigh was as big around as her waist, covered in hair that she didn’t let herself touch more than necessary. It was hard to forget how close her hands were to…well, to other parts of him that no respectable lady should even think about. And why had she put herself—and him!—through such delightful torture? Because she wasn’t ready to turn him over to Doc Carpenter and Sheriff Cutter yet. And if there’d been any doubt that he was an outlaw, a man who didn’t want anyone to know that he was there, it fled as soon as she remembered that he hadn’t demanded a real doctor’s care either.
He was a real, live bandit, who was going to help her write her books. So why did she feel so guilty lying to him about why she’d helped him? Why she hadn’t told him about Everland—and medical help—being so close? Rose sighed, and tugged the horse a little harder than necessary, stomping her way through the snow towards Mr. B. G. Foote’s livery.
It took some creative story-telling—not quite lying, but close—to convince Mr. Foote to board the horse in return for later payment. Hopefully Bear could pay. Outlaws had money, didn’t they? Part of her hoped that he was at least a semi-successful outlaw, despite how horrible that wish sounded. After all, it would be downright embarrassing to discover she’d been lusting after the thigh of a mediocre outlaw. On the other hand, maybe a bad outlaw was really a good guy? Rose rubbed her temple. Oh, this is getting confusing.
Even in this snowy weather, there were plenty of Everland residents out and about. Rose plastered a smile on her face and nodded politely to the ladies that she recognized. She had to admit that, with her love of books and writing, she was known as the more reclusive White sister. Beautiful—she heard whispered—but snooty. Snow at least had her best friend Zosia Spratt, but Rose had never really made herself comfortable here in this town. Probably because Mama had so many rules and opinions about how she should conduct herself.
Today, though, she needed to make a few stops, and thus made sure to be as friendly as she could manage to the people she only saw a few times a month. Some smiled back at her timid overtures, while some just hurried on with their Christmas errands, heads down against the wind.
First was a visit to the train station. Besides Snow’s package that needed mailing, she had to know when her next delivery would arrive, and John Henry the train master would be able to tell Rose what the schedule would be. He was a big black man—rumor had it he was a bit infamous back east—who smiled hugely when he saw her, but just shrugged when asked. “Sorry, Miss White. It ain’t here yet, that’s all I can tell you. Wednesday, or the one after, maybe?”
“The Wednesday after next is Christmas Eve!” Surely Snow needed her embroidery floss before then? But it wasn’t Mr. Henry’s fault, so she wished him a Merry Christmas and ducked back into the December wind.
Crowne Mercantile was a cozy place to get out of the cold, and Rose was happy for the respite. Still, as she pushed her way inside the orderly store, she couldn’t help but think of her prisoner—I mean, guest—back in her barn. Was he warm enough? He was large, and had his jacket; surely he could handle a little cold? Outlaws must be used to sleeping in rough situations.
“Rose! It’s good to see you!” Ian Crowne was seated on his usual tall stool behind the counter, within easy reach of the ropes he used to get around his store. But Rose smiled to see the change in the rust-haired man; nestled in one large forearm was a tiny bundle. “Have you come to see my little Erik again?”
“No, and don’t get up.” She waved the shop-keeper back into his seat. With one missing leg, it was already a bit of a challenge for Ian to get around,
but doubly hard with the tiny baby in his arms. “I cooed over him last week at church. Is Ella recovering well?”
“She is, and should be back over here any minute.” The Crownes—and their dogs—had moved into the apartment over Mayor’s Books some months ago. “My son is getting fussy for his mama. Hungry, probably.” The expression of pride on the man’s face was almost heart-breakingly sweet, and Rose had to look away, pretending interest in the selection of threads. Would she ever have a husband who spoke of her that way? Who cherished her and her children as Ian cherished his?
As if conjured, the bell over the front door—already bedecked in Christmas finery—tinkled, and Ella swept in. “Hello, Rose! What a nice surprise.” Rose sent the dark-haired woman an awkward wave, wishing she’d spent more time in town, as her sister did, getting to know the inhabitants. “And there’s my big boys!” Ella swept both her husband and son into an embrace, and Rose blushed to see their kiss. She wondered if she could use Ella and Ian as a model for the kiss between Sheriff Caraway and Miss Molly at the end of her current book. After all, she’d never been kissed herself, and this was as good an example as any. She sort of wished she’d had her notebook with her…
“So, Rose, what can we help you find today?” Ella sat down and rearranged her cloak and blouse to put the fussy baby to her breast.
“Snow sent me to see if you had any bright-white satin embroidery floss, and I’d love a new notebook.” She’d written so much yesterday that she was running low on pages. If they had more money, she could order them direct, but as it was she had to ration her paper.
Ella was smiling sweetly down at little Erik, so Ian hefted himself to his feet with the help of the ropes. “I don’t think we’ve gotten any more of the satin thread since the last time your sister bought us out, but I’ve been saving a journal for you.”
The kind man always made sure to put aside something for her, and sometimes not even charge full price. Rose blushed slightly, thinking about this young family’s kindness, when she barely knew them. She hurried to the counter to pay for the journal that Ian had pulled from the shelf beside him, but turned when the bell over the door twinkled merrily again.
Zosia Spratt had tight curls that never managed to stay completely contained, and her bonnet looked like something out of a Christmas magazine. Her round face broke into a grin when she saw the baby, and she hurried to push the door shut to block the wind. “Good morning, everyone! Hello, Rose. Is Snow in town?”
“No, she has to finish a…project.” Rose’s sister was a brilliant seamstress, crafting stunning christening gowns from broderie anglaise lace that she cut and embroidered herself. The style was hugely popular in England, and Snow had realized that would mean wealthy American parents would pay top-dollar for such works of art. But she’d long ago decided to keep her talent a secret from her neighbors, and sold her gowns through a distributor in San Francisco. Rose wasn’t even sure if Snow’s best friend Zosia knew about her “projects”, but had agreed to keep her sister’s secret.
Zosia didn’t seem to notice Rose’s pause, though. “Well, tell her I’ll stop by and visit one day this week, when your mother…”
Rose nodded, understanding. Mama didn’t approve of many people in what she called This little backwater town, and the Jewish Spratt family was towards the bottom. “I heard Mama mention that she’d be visiting Mrs. Muffit on Monday afternoon.”
The other girl smiled appreciatively. “Then that’s when I’ll visit, thank you.”
Rose turned back to finish her transaction as Ian asked Zosia, “What can I get for you today, Miss Spratt?”
“A pound of baker’s chocolate, please. Pape has run out again, now that he’s trying to keep Briar’s old customers happy.” Mr. and Mrs. Spratt owned what was currently the only eatery in town, and Briar Jorgenson used to sell her fabulous desserts there, before she quit to help Gordon MacKinnon—her fiancé—prepare to open his own restaurant. “But really, I came to gossip.”
She laughed as she admitted the sin, and Ella joined in. “Do tell! I confess I’ve missed out on plenty, since Ian forces me to go home and sleep most days.”
“Understandable, I think.” Zosia winked at the new mother. “I was visiting with Rojita, who heard it from her husband.” Rojita’s grandmother had been close friends with Mrs. Spratt, so it made sense that the two were friends. “Sheriff Cutter got word about a gang of robbers over in Granger who attacked a mail coach, can you believe it? He’s gone over that way to be part of the posse, if they needed help.” The Crownes expressed various degrees of shock and interest. “Rojita said that Hank didn’t think there’d be much for him to do, though. Apparently the gang stole what they could, and high-tailed it up into the mountains. He’ll almost certainly be back home before Christmas.”
“Mail coaches?” Ella shifted the baby to the other breast, clucking disapprovingly. “Are banks too easy, now?”
Ian chuckled. “It’s Christmastime, darling. So many people are sending and ordering things. Maybe even greenbacks. Mail coaches are probably easy targets.”
As Zosia and the Crownes speculated, Rose’s thoughts were running wild. A robbery in Granger? That wasn’t too far away. Was her mysterious outlaw part of the gang who robbed the mail coach? Had one of the local lawmen tried to stop them, and shot Bear?
But how could that be the truth? He hadn’t seemed threatening to her, despite his air of danger, and it was hard to imagine him shooting at a lawman.
Suddenly, she couldn’t wait to get home to ask him all about his life of banditry. Maybe, while she took notes and learned all she could for her books, she could cleverly pump him for information about the recent robbery. Then, when Sheriff Cutter returned from his investigation, she could lay all the evidence in front of him, and have Bear… she swallowed. Have Bear arrested.
Buck up, missy. He’s a criminal, and deserves to be in jail. But as she hurried to pay for her purchase, and said her goodbyes to the gay holiday gossipers, she couldn’t ignore the hollow pit in her stomach. If the compelling stranger in her barn was part of the gang who took property from the people of Granger, then he deserved to be in jail.
But why did that thought—and the thought of helping to put him there—make her feel like a terrible person? Maybe caring for him, touching him, had been a bad idea. Maybe she was beginning to see him as more than a source for writing better books… maybe she was beginning to see him as a man.
Oh, dear.
For years, Mama had been trying to find her a “suitable” husband. And for years, Rose had wished for a man who could take her away from Everland and her mother’s overbearing influence. But a bandit? Even she couldn’t sink that low, could she?
Oh, dear, indeed.
CHAPTER FIVE
The last week had been torturous. Bear could feel himself getting more and more pitiful, just lying here on the pallet. The first time he’d tried standing, two days after he’d arrived, he’d blacked out and fallen down and tore something that started his leg bleeding. Rose hadn’t said anything, but just gave him a scolding look while she patched him back up again.
But he couldn’t stop trying, and by seven days after the aborted ambush in Granger, he was able to stand for longer than five minutes. He’d tried walking, but his right leg just wouldn’t support any weight, and he’d have to catch himself from collapsing each time. But at least he was upright, which was something. Now, when she’d come to check on him—once in the mornings, once in the evenings, he’d be sitting up against the log pile, the quilts piled around him, cursing his own inability to move.
How was he going to stop Quigg and his boys from hitting their next target, if he was laid up in this mysterious barn in not-quite-the-middle-of-nowhere? Shoot, he couldn’t even walk, and his horse was someplace else.
But he still had the dime novel, and he got to see her twice a day. Two weeks ago, if someone had told him that the highlight of his day would be to have a gorgeous woman peel his blankets off and t
ouch his thigh, he would’ve assumed something very different. But today he couldn’t deny it; he looked forward to her poking and prodding at him. He even looked forward to her odd conversations.
Which is why he was already staring at the barn doors when the one on the left opened that morning. The pigs went crazy, squealing and hollering as always, but he didn’t even mind. Shoot, he’d started talking to them, and had even named a few. It was dang lonely, otherwise. And besides, they kept his little area warm enough.
He couldn’t help his smile at the cute little bounce in her step as she crossed to his pallet. She smiled in return, and dang if his day didn’t just brighten.
“’Morning, Rose Red.”
The way she stumbled told him that the dumb little nickname had surprised her. “Wh—What did you call me?”
He shrugged, shifting his shoulders against the logs, and glad that his exercise of the last few days meant the movement was effortless. “Rose Red. I just figured it was fitting.”
She sunk to her knees beside him, a bundle of food in her lap. She didn’t look up from it when she whispered, “My last name is ‘White’. Papa used to call me ‘Rose Red’ because he said that ‘Rose White’ wasn’t a good name for me.”
Bear smiled, and shifted his weight to his left buttock, to allow her to poke at his wound if she wanted. “Makes sense. I’ve never seen hair as red as yours.” Even now, his fingers itched to feel the strands that caressed her ears. “If you were a rose, you’d be a red one.”
Was that a blush he saw, climbing up her cheeks? She busied herself with unwrapping the bandage, and cleaning the wound, and he tried to concentrate on her actions, rather than how downright beguiling she looked today, in her green jacket and sparkling topaz eyes. “Looks good. Not infected at all.”