Valentine's Rose

by E. E. Burke

  Rose glanced up at him, her porcelain skin turned pink. How did she do that? He’d never seen anyone fake blushing. Perhaps it wasn’t false. She could be embarrassed, worried someone might find out they were just pretending. He’d better get going before he gave them away.

  “Where are you off to?” she asked.

  “Mr. Hardt will have the paperwork ready. After I meet with him, I’ll be going out to take a look at the property. Don’t look for me before dinner.”

  Something hopeful, and heartbreaking, filled her eyes. “Would you take me along? I’d like to see it. The property, that is.”

  He had no idea what he’d find, or who, and he refused to expose Rose to danger. Not to mention the temptation of being alone with her. He had less impulse control than most, and he didn’t want to test it with his temporary wife. “After I see what we’re dealing with.”

  Leaning down, he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. The twin stains on her cheeks deepened from pink to red, triggering a hot rush of blood somewhere much lower than his face. He turned on his heel and left before anyone noticed he was getting hard as a stone.

  The morning air had a clean crisp quality, smelled of grass and something elemental, earthy, not quite like the countryside at home, but much nicer than the air in London, where he’d frittered away much of his time—and his inheritance.

  His father had purchased him one-way passage to America, a telling gesture. When he returned with his coffers replenished and repaid his debt, he wouldn’t need his father’s wealth or approval. He’d marry a woman who had a title and estate, as he had neither. A sound plan, except it didn’t excite him quite as much as it had before he’d wed Rose.

  Sweet Rose. He couldn’t let himself become attached. Rose could never fit in with his family, would feel more rejected and outcast than he had felt most of his life, for different reasons. Here, she could find a husband who could give her the kind of life and love she deserved.

  It was a fairly short walk to the land office, but Val couldn’t make his feet move fast. Hardt had given him a lecture about hedging his vows, saying Rose deserved better. That, Val couldn’t dispute. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t give Hardt another chance to chastise him. He’d get right to the point and keep the discussion related to business.

  Unlike the shabby structures housing older businesses, the land office looked like a building one might find back east. Given the scarcity of lumber, it had probably been shipped in, ready to assemble. In America, anything could be ordered from a catalog—stores, schools, churches, even brides—and trains would bring it. Fueled by coal.

  Armed with the assurance he stood to make a great deal of money, Val opened the door.

  Hardt sat working at a desk strewn with papers. He’d shed his coat, apparently comfortable doing business in waistcoat and shirtsleeves, another American peculiarity.

  The office took up a single room, with filing cabinets in the back, bookcases pushed up against another wall, and behind the desk, large maps showing completed and projected railway routes across the region.

  Until Val got inside, he didn’t see the men seated to his right: Jarvis, looking every bit the sore loser, and O’Shea. The Irish saloonkeeper offered a sympathetic smile.

  “Mr. Valentine, good morning.” Hardt stood. “I thought we’d see you soon, so I told Mr. Jarvis and Mr. O’Shea to wait.” He gestured to a chair closer to the desk. “Have a seat.”

  Alarms sounded in Val’s head. He considered the possible reasons the railroad agent would’ve invited these two men to join them, and could come up with nothing good. He held onto his hat brim and remained standing, which gave him a natural height advantage, as well as the ability to get away if for some reason the three decided to gang up on him. After a few run-ins with surly miners, he’d learned to plan for quick exits.

  “Thank you, but I can’t delay. I’m here to pick up the assigned deed.” He trained his attention on the railroad agent, while keeping the other two men in his peripheral vision. “I assume everything’s in order.”

  “Hell no, it ain’t in order, you uppity bastard.” Jarvis shot to his feet. His sparse mustache twitched like whiskers, and his black, beady eyes filled with malice. Rats didn’t concern Val, but rabid ones could be dangerous.

  Still smiling, O’Shea leaned back in his seat and crossed his ankle over his knee as if preparing to watch a show. Val didn’t intend to give him one.

  “The assigned deed?” he said in a clipped voice. “May I have it?”

  Hardt didn’t touch any of the numerous documents. “Mr. Jarvis has challenged your right to his claim.”

  “Knew you’d see it my way, Mr. Hardt.” Jarvis smirked, gripping the lapels of a loose-fitting coat, the movement shaking loose specks of dirt. He not only looked like a rat, he was as filthy as one. “That cheatin’ gambler’s tryin’ to steal my property.”

  Val clutched his hat brim, his breathing deepening with anger. He had never cheated at cards. His sharp memory, observation skills and natural instincts helped him win—often. Impulsiveness had been his downfall, not dishonesty. Refusing to take the bait, he replied in an unconcerned tone. “The whining excuse of every sore loser I’ve ever met.”

  He gave the agent a questioning look, wondering at the man’s next move.

  Hardt addressed the Irishman. “Mr. O’Shea, did you observe the game? Did Mr. Valentine cheat?”

  Val’s chest tightened. He’d been set up, just as he thought.

  O’Shea didn’t blink. “Jarvis bet his land, he had a losing hand, that’s pretty much the way it seemed to me.”

  Jarvis dropped his jaw, and then he turned on O’Shea with his hands fisted. “What the hell, you stupid Mick! You know damn well he cheated. There ain’t no other way he could’ve won that many times.”

  Val blinked in astonishment as the Irishman unfolded out of the chair. His smile turned brittle. “We don’t allow cheating at O’Shea’s. Warning’s posted on a sign. Them that don’t abide by the rule, is taken outside and shot. None of the others at the table felt the need to shoot Mr. Valentine, and they’d emptied their pockets, too.”

  “Then it’s settled.”

  Jarvis whipped around at Hardt’s statement, which had been delivered with the tone of an ultimatum. His face darkened to the color of a beet. “No! Nothing’s settled!”

  He advanced on Hardt, fists raised and shouting. Before Val could intercept him, Hardt reached beneath the desk and withdrew a large revolver. He didn’t lift it or point it, or even cock it, but he had a deadly glint in his eyes. “Mr. Jarvis, I suggest you take your leave. Now.”

  Jarvis halted in his tracks. “But...that’s my land.”

  Hardt’s flat expression didn’t shift. “It was your land. You gambled it away.”

  “You-you can’t do this. I-I’ll...” Jarvis trembled with rage.

  “You’re welcome to discuss your case with a lawyer or with the judge when he’s in town. In the meantime, under the authority of the railroad, I’m assigning the land to Mr. Valentine. If you make trouble, Lieutenant Goldman will escort you out of town. If you wish to stay in the area, I suggest you go find another claim to...improve. Good day, Mr. Jarvis.”

  A fine speech, and delivered with less emotion than if he’d been discussing the weather.

  Jarvis crushed his hat in his hand. With a final glare at Val, he turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

  Val stared after him in amazement. He hadn’t expected this turn of events. In fact, it was possible he’d fallen asleep on that hard floor and was having a strange dream.

  O’Shea settled a black felt hat on his head and smoothed the brim with his fingers as he spoke. “Well, then. I’m off. Got work to do. You know where to find me if you need anything more.” He said this to Hardt, and then he offered Val his hand. “Watch yer back.”

  Val returned the Irishman’s beefy grip. “I will. Thank you for vouching for me.”

  “Didn’t do it for you. Can’t have folks
thinkin’ I allow cheatin’ in my place. Wouldn’t be good for business.” As he left, he tossed a remark over his shoulder. “If any of them women happen to be looking for work instead of a husband, send her my way.”

  Hardt slipped the gun back into a desk drawer. He might consider carrying one if he made a habit of collecting enemies like that rat, Jarvis.

  “Did you ask those two to come here to dispute my claim?” Val asked. Utter fatigue had set in, which had to be reason for the fog in his brain that prevented him from deciphering Hardt’s motive.

  Hardt glanced up with a look of mild surprise. “No, I asked them to meet us here so we could settle this. If I assigned the land to you without establishing ownership in front of a reliable witness, there would be trouble. I don’t like lynch mobs.”

  Val’s stomach pitched. He’d seen the results of vigilante justice dangling from the thick branch of a tree. Hardt was right. Jarvis, being one of the locals, could try to rouse sympathy in his quest for revenge. O’Shea apparently had popularity and trust, and he’d be telling a different story in his saloon, where so many men gathered and gossiped. Jarvis would be pegged as a sore loser and would have a hard time recruiting supporters.

  Smart thinking on the part of the railroad agent, considering the poor judgment he’d shown yesterday, and downright decent of him. “I owe you a debt,” Val readily admitted, offering his hand. “Thank you.”

  Hardt didn’t return the handshake. “You don’t owe me anything. I’m tasked with doing whatever’s necessary to settle disputes and keep construction moving.” Cold-eyed, he picked up an envelope and handed it over the desk to Val. “I’ve assigned you the land. But the only reason I did is because I’m honor bound to do so, given you’ve met the stipulations decreed by the railroad. Personally, I think you’re lower than a rattlesnake for tricking Miss Muldoon into thinking you’ll stick around. I know your type. You’ll be out of here as soon as you pocket the proceeds from the sale.”

  Val took the envelope and dropped his hand to his side. He’d not offer it again, not to a man who held him in such contempt. The cut stung worse for having more than a grain of truth. “Regardless of what you think, I would never leave Rose without resources.”

  “By that, you mean you offered her money? Did you consider asking her first if money was what she wanted?”

  Money was what every woman wanted.

  Only, Rose hadn’t turned out to be like every other woman.

  Val refused to be dragged into another argument. His conscience had been flaying him for the past eighteen hours. He was well aware he’d taken advantage of Rose’s attraction to him, but she seemed to have gotten over him enough to play along.

  He put on his hat and tucked the envelope into his pocket. Whatever he made, he would give her half. It was the least he could do, as well as seeing to it that she had a nice place to stay, and dresses that covered her ankles. “I’ll take care of my wife.”

  Unrelenting, Hardt held his gaze. “And who will take care of her after you’re gone.”

  There was something about the railroad agent’s fierce defense that seemed stronger than the usual concern a gentleman showed for a lady. Hardt had a tender spot for Rose. The way his expression softened whenever he looked at her confirmed it, as well as the possibility he would step in to fill the void.

  Jealousy blistered Val’s heart. “Are you implying you’ll be the one taking care of her?”

  The contempt in Hardt’s gaze turned to disgust. “Only a foul mind could come up with something so base. In case you hadn’t noticed, your wife is barely an adult. I’d wager she hasn’t seen more than twenty summers.”

  He sat in the desk chair, reached over and took an ink pen out of its holder, dipped it into an inkwell and went back to writing whatever he’d been working on earlier. His actions made it clear he’d ended the conversation.

  Simmering, Val left the office. Hardt’s rudeness grated on him, but it wasn’t nearly as vexing as the man’s interest in Rose. Granted, she deserved to find a good husband, but the stodgy railroad agent wasn’t right for her, not at all. Stunted personality, humorless, dour...

  Rose had remarkable optimism, given her impoverished background, and an appealing playfulness, which needed to be encouraged. Hardt would stifle her. He was right about one thing, though. Rose was young and innocent. As such, she deserved to be awakened with tenderness and sensitivity, shown all the ways in which she was beautiful and desirable, and coaxed into blooming like the flower she was named after.

  Val decided he would do something else for Rose before he left.

  He would find her the right man.

  Chapter 8

  After breakfast, Rose followed Susannah into the parlor. She had to get her friend to help her learn how to be a lady as soon as possible. There was no time to waste. Val had gulped down his food and then rushed out the door in a big hurry to get to the railroad office, but also to escape her. He didn’t have to say it. She knew. Last night, she’d heard floorboards creak and moan, as he’d turned and tossed and heaved repeated sighs of frustration. At dawn, he’d slipped out, quietly, so as not to wake anyone. He needn’t have worried about her. She wasn’t asleep, and hadn’t been for most of the night.

  In the parlor, Susannah settled into a wingback chair, taking time to adjust her skirts while her son, Danny, hopped onto a matching chair positioned on the other side of a marble-topped table. Rose hesitated. She wanted to be close enough to talk to Susannah, but she’d have to pull up a chair and then she might be a bother if her friend had other plans for the morning.

  “Danny, you need to work on your penmanship.” Susannah reached into a satchel and withdrew a writing slate and a piece of chalk.

  He made a face. “Do I hafta?”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “Must I?”

  Danny huffed and drooped over the slate in his lap. He did a fine job of putting on a miserable expression. “Must I sit here? I saw some kids outside earlier. They were playing.”

  “School before play.”

  Rose’s hopes fell. Susannah would be busy with Danny for some time, although this might be the chance to propose a deal. Offer help in exchange for lessons.

  “I’ll sit beside ye,” Rose offered. “Will you show me your writing?”

  That seemed to perk him up, and Susannah’s relieved expression gave Rose extra hope. She moved a chair next to him and sat down.

  “Can you do your alphabet?” She was proud to have learned as much as she had, which included knowing her letters and numbers. Her Da had taught her how to add and subtract, so she wouldn’t get cheated. She knew enough to get by, but not nearly enough to impress her husband.

  “Shoot, that’s easy. I can do more than the alphabet.” Danny bent over the slate and began to write a word; the chalk screeched, sending shivers over Rose’s arms. Danny glanced up with an apology in his eyes. “Sorry. That happens when I press down too hard.”

  “Makes me shiver. That means you’re doing a good job.”

  “Really?” He beamed at her with obvious pride.

  She smiled and couldn’t resist ruffling his hair, as she’d done so often with Willy. “You’ll be smarter than those chuckleheads outside, and then they’ll wish they had a mother who could teach them.”

  “Chucklehead...” Smiling, he bent over the slate. “How do I spell that?”

  Rose gasped. Name-calling wasn’t what Susannah would want to be teaching him. “Spell this instead: silly Rose.”

  Susannah’s soft release of breath sounded like a laugh, but Rose glanced up to be sure. Sure enough, her friend’s eyes shone with amusement. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so interested in penmanship. Thank you, Rose.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m happy to help out with Danny as much as I can. I used to watch over my little brother Willy...” Rose stopped mid-sentence. That wasn’t what she’d come in here to talk about, her losses. With Susannah’s help, she’d not have to bear another loss, made worse by reje
ction. “Would you help me learn to be a lady?”

  Susannah’s eyebrows arched.

  Danny snickered.

  Rose felt her face grow warm. She wondered if they both thought the task would be impossible.

  “Rose...you are a lady,” Danny giggled through his nose and pointed somewhere in the vicinity of her chest. He’d interpreted her words literally, like most children.

  Playing along, she looked down at herself and made a surprised face. “Why, you’re right! I hadn’t noticed.”

  Danny doubled over with laughter.

  Rose turned to plead with Susannah, who wouldn’t have misinterpreted what she said. “Please, I could repay you for your help. I’ll wash for you, watch Danny when you need to go out.”

  Susannah lifted her hand. “Rose, I don’t need payment. I’d be happy to teach you anything within my scope of knowledge. But Danny is right. You are a lady. In the truest sense of the word.”

  Rose shook her head. “No, I’m not. Not the right sort of lady.” She searched for the words. “The kind of lady I need to be is the type Val would have on his arm if he hadn’t been pushed into marrying me.”

  “If anyone has been pushed, it’s you. Mr. Hardt knew better, he’s just so...so...” Susannah clutched her hands in her lap, her body stiffened and her face flushed, even her eyes turned darker, the color of a storm cloud about to erupt.

  “Hard-headed.” Rose supplied a nicer word than what her friend might come up with. The two were matched in stubbornness, but she didn’t point that out. “And I wasn’t pushed. I as much as asked him to marry me, so if anyone was doing the pushing, it was me.”

  Susannah stood abruptly. “I believe I hear someone calling us. Danny, continue to work on your penmanship. Rose and I will be back in a moment.” Before Rose could react, her friend motioned her to follow.

  When they reached the front hallway, Susannah led her to the door and outside to the porch. She whirled around, her forehead creased with concern. “Mr. Valentine wasn’t pushed into marrying you. He took advantage of your interest in him. You don’t need to prove anything to that opportunist.”