She shut her eyes. No, she didn’t want to hear Bart. She couldn’t listen to his gentle words, and she couldn’t let herself be swept away by his touch. She had more to think about now than ever before. It wasn’t just her own future and her own hard-fought freedom that were at stake. It was the life of an unborn child.
“Rosie, can you hear me?” he was asking against her cheek.
She waited a moment before nodding.
“The boys have drunk up the liquor they brought, and they’ve spent their loose change. I know they’re starting to think about moving on now, and I reckon they’ll be heading out tomorrow or the next day.”
“To rob a train?” she whispered, still turned away from him.
“What they do doesn’t matter to us. They’ll be gone. Long gone. It’ll just be us again here at home.”
“Until the next outlaws come hunting down their old pal.”
Bart was silent, his breath stirring the strands of hair around her neck. “Maybe so, Rosie,” he said finally. “Are you going to give me up because of it? Or do you love me enough to stay with me, whatever comes our way?”
“Do you love me enough to put the past behind you, Bart? That’s what I want to know.”
“I can’t just run Bob Ford out of my house. He saved my life. Ornery as the man is, if it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t be here today. I’d be dead as a can of corned beef. I owe him, Rosie. A man stands by his pals, and that’s just the way it is.”
“I know that,” Rosie whispered. “But sometimes…sometimes a man has to choose between his friends and his family. And Bart, you have a family now.”
She waited, breathless, as he absorbed her words. Did he know what she meant? Could he see the changes in her that she already felt? Could he sense the soft weight in her belly? Did he know by the tears in her eyes that she was not the woman he had married, that she was different now? Different and new and blossoming inside? Oh, please, Bart! Please understand.
“Rosie,” he murmured, turning her to face him, “you’re all the family and friends I’ll ever need or want. I’ve promised to take care of you and protect you with my life, and I aim to do just that. Now I want you to quit your fretting and snuggle up here in my arms. Get yourself a good night’s sleep, and things will look better in the morning. I swear it.”
Before she could speak again, he tucked her head against his shoulder, let out a deep breath and fell sound asleep.
It hadn’t taken four nights in the same house for Bart to figure out how Snort had gotten his nickname. If the roof of the dugout hadn’t been nailed down, Snort would have sent it a mile high with every one of his thunderous snores. When Bart rolled out of bed Saturday morning, he could have sworn the walls were shaking.
He studied Rosie’s sleeping form for a long time as he stood pulling on his buckskin jacket. She sure looked innocent and frail. Her skin was as white as the underbelly of a rabbit, and just as soft. Long brown hair fell in thick, shining ropes over her shoulders and across the pillow. Her fingers lay spread across the quilt, relaxed as though they hadn’t worked as hard as Bart knew they always did.
But it was her parted lips and dark lashes that stirred his soul. Lord, I love the woman, he prayed in silence. You know I’d give every inch of ground I own, every sugar beet I’ve planted, everything I possess just to make sure she stays with me, content and as peaceful as she looks right now. But, Lord, how am I going to get rid of Bob Ford and his pair of no-good saddle tramps?
Bart had mentioned several times that they might want to head on out, but they’d just made themselves more at home. None of them lifted a finger to tidy up the place. Instead, they had made a filthy mess out of Rosie’s beautiful little home.
If politeness hadn’t worked, Bart was sure force would never do the trick. Trying to order Bob Ford off his land would bring a hailstorm of bullets at the worst. At the very least, the men would rob him, tear up everything they could get their hands on and ride off with his horses and cows. There was no telling what they might do to Rosie, woman-starved as they were, and Bart knew he would have to keep an eye on her every minute.
Rubbing the back of his neck, he thought of the time she’d given him a haircut. He had to smile. In those days, he hadn’t been much better put together than the fellows snoring on the floor. But there had been one difference between Bart Kingsley and Bob Ford: Bart wanted to make a respectable life for himself, and he had. Bob was still footloose and bent on making trouble.
Well, he thought, if politeness wouldn’t get rid of the three moochers, and if forcing their hand would cause more trouble than it was worth, he’d just have to think of another way to run them off. Quick.
“Get yourself up and quit shaking down my house, Snort,” Bart said, giving the sleeping outlaw a swift kick in the hindquarters. “You know anything about milking cows, boy?”
Snort rolled over and began rubbing his eyes. “What you wakin’ me up fer, Injun?”
“We got a woman in the house now, Snort. Time to shape up.”
He nudged Fancy with the toe of his boot. “Rise and shine, cowboy. If you want breakfast, you better fetch some eggs.”
“Breakfast?” Fancy worked his dry tongue around the inside of his mouth. “All I want is another shot of rotgut. I got a headache as big as Lincoln County.”
“And your breath is strong enough to bust a mirror. Come on, I’ll boil you some strong black coffee, and you can get to work sweeping.”
“Sweeping?” Fancy glanced at Bob, who was just stirring. “That’s woman’s work. Put yer wife to the job, why don’t ya?”
Bart looked at the bed. Rosie had sat up and was staring at her disheveled house with a look of shock.
“Rosie, darlin’, settle back now and rest a spell,” he told her. “Us boys’ll take care of you, won’t we, fellers?”
“Not me,” Fancy groused. “I’m headin’ outside to water the daisies.”
Before Bart could say another word, Fancy and Snort had fairly run to the door and flung themselves through it. Bob sat up on his haunches and laughed. “Got rid of them two, didn’t you? Just mention honest work, and they hightail it out of here.”
Bart hunkered down beside the man who had once saved his life. “Bob, I’ve got to speak plain with you,” he said. “It’s time you boys hit the trail. We’ve had some good laughs jawing over the past, but I meant what I told you about my new life. I’ve gone straight. That means I’ve got to tend my crops and my livestock. I’ve got weeding and irrigating and hoeing to do, and unless you boys want to join me, I’m going to have to ask that you head out.”
“Some thanks you show to a man who saved your life,” Ford spat. “I reckon you owe me more than a few days in yer hideout, Injun. And I aim to collect.”
Bart eyed Rosie, who had risen and was stepping over whiskey bottles on her way to the dressing screen. “What is it you want, Bob?” he asked in a low voice. “Speak plain.”
“I want the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe, hombre. I want me a nice, fat bankroll. You don’t think I came all this way just to catch up on old times, do you? No, sir, I tracked you down for one reason, Injun. With Jesse gone and Frank living the clean life, you’re the best there is at setting up a train heist, and I aim to put you back in the business.”
“I’m not robbing any trains, Ford,” Bart growled. “Not a one. I made that clear last night.”
“Now, don’t get riled. You just put that brain of yours to work figuring out a plan of action. Me and the boys’ll skedaddle into town for some more whiskey. When we get back, we’ll set ourselves down and put the details in place. It’ll be just like old times, don’t you know? Remember Jesse, Frank, me, you—all the boys in together? Pals.”
“Yeah, and you shot Jesse in the back. Some pal.”
Ford jumped up and grabbed Bart’s collar. “Jesse had it comin’, and you know it! Every one of us considered plugging him for the reward. I was the only one man enough to do it!”
“You were the only
one low enough to do it,” Bart said, knocking Ford’s hand away.
“Sure I was, you yellow-bellied half breed. Now get to work planning that train job before I blast you to kingdom come.”
Bart had no doubt that Ford meant what he said. He also knew Ford wouldn’t stand a chance if it came to a shootout between them. Bart could outdraw all the boys in the James gang, and Ford had never been much of a deadeye in the first place. He’d managed to plug Jesse only because the outlaw had been hanging up a picture and had his back to his killer. And if it came to a fist-fight, Bart could fold Ford up like an empty wallet.
But there was more to consider than the present conflict between the two men. First, there was the undeniable fact that Bart did owe Ford his life. Such a debt could never be looked at lightly. Second, there was Rosie, who had to be taken out of the situation before it blew sky high. Third, there were Snort and Fancy, both of whom would stick by Ford. With three men against him, the battle would be tougher, and Bart sure was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.
“We’ll talk over your loco train robbery,” Bart stated bluntly, “after I take care of what’s important.”
“You do that,” Ford responded as he walked toward the door. “Meantime I’ll join my pals in that outhouse of a garden you got out there.”
“Stay out of my wife’s vegetables!” Bart hollered.
Laughing, Bob Ford climbed the stairs and banged the door shut behind him.
Chapter Eighteen
While Bart did his morning chores, Rosie worked to put her home back in order. To her relief, she discovered that the cramps she experienced the night before had not led to any spotting, and she still carried the tiny life inside her. Fierce with determination to protect her unborn baby, she made up her mind to do whatever it took to keep the child safe.
After all, how well could the baby grow if its mother was constantly fretting and scared to death? Bart kept telling her to trust Jesus and stop worrying. It was about time she learned how to do just that.
With this outlook firmly established in her mind, Rosie ran Bob and Snort out of the house the minute they tried to come back in. When Fancy elected to disobey her orders, she took her broom to his backside until he sprinted howling through the door. Sweeping didn’t take as long as she had expected, but setting the house to rights required far more than a lick and a promise.
Bart’s shirts and britches lay in a heap by the dressing screen. Not a single dish, cup or spoon had been washed in days. A ring of some undetermined scum encrusted her fine black iron pot, and she couldn’t bring herself to ask what it was. Worst of all, the house stank of stale cigarette smoke and whiskey. If she hadn’t known better, Rosie would have thought she was walking around in a low-class saloon.
She had just filled the cookpot with boiling soapy water when she heard the front door open. Thinking it was Fancy again, she grabbed her broom and swung around.
“It’s time to go,” Bart announced. “I’m taking you back to town.”
Rosie stiffened and propped the broom up against the table. “I’m not going back to town until Monday morning. If you want to run somebody off, get rid of your pals.”
“This isn’t something to argue about, Rosie. While I was out tending the stock, I made up my mind.”
Planting her hands on her hips, she lifted her chin. “You made up your mind? Don’t I have a mind to make up, Bart Kingsley?”
“In this case I’ve made the decision for you. I’ve thought it all through, and it’s for the best.”
“What’s best is me living with you in our house—by ourselves. I’ve done some thinking, too, Bart. There was a time when just the thought of your outlaw days scared me so much I wanted to run away from you. The very notion of Sheriff Bowman searching the Missouri law records sent me scampering off to Raton to hide out with the Kilgores.”
“I remember. That was a plumb crazy notion you took into your head, girl. I knew the sheriff couldn’t track me down on the little information I’d given him. But this is different. Bob, Snort and Fancy are real mean men, Rosie. They’ve got a bad streak in them a mile wide, and I want you to stay clear of this place until they’re gone.”
“You don’t seem to understand that I’m not afraid anymore, Bart.” She wiped her hands on her apron and came to stand before him. “You told me to put my faith in Jesus, so I am doing just that. More than a year ago I decided I wanted a different life than the one my pappy had planned out for me. I left Kansas City to find my new path. I gave up marriage to a wealthy man to go after my dream. I left my good job at the Harvey House so I could keep the dream alive. I’ve been scared. I’ve been poor. I’ve worked my fingers to the bone—all for that dream, Bart. And just when I thought I’d lost it forever, I realized I had found it right here in this little dugout with you. So don’t tell me to start running away again. I’m through with that. This is my house. Those are my chickens out in the yard. That’s my kitchen garden those outlaws are defiling. And you’re my husband. It’s my dream. It’s what I believe God planned for me all along. I’m not turning my back on it. Do you understand me, Bart Kingsley?”
“Plain as day. But the fact is, that little dream of yours is in danger of getting blown to pieces if you don’t do what I say. You’re coming with me to Raton if I have to hogtie you, Rosie.”
He reached out to take her hand, but she jerked away. “Bart! Don’t do this!”
“I don’t have a choice,” he said, grabbing her around the waist and slinging her over one shoulder. “You’ve got a city-girl way of looking at things, but dreams don’t always work out as neat and pretty as you paint them.”
As he spoke, he carried her into the sunshine and deposited her on the seat of the wagon.
“Bart!” she cried as he circled in front of the horses to take his own place. “Please, Bart, let me stay here.”
“Better gag her!” Snort hooted. “We don’t want no female squallin’ all the way to town.”
“Just shut up and get in the wagon,” Bart snapped.
Rosie sat in utter shock as her husband pulled his hat low on his brow and gave the reins a quick flick. Ford and his boys scrambled onto the moving wagon bed, but Bart hardly seemed aware of them. Glowering, he grabbed his rifle and set it across his thighs.
She couldn’t believe he actually had carried her over his shoulder to the wagon! Despite her fine speech about her dreams and God’s plans, he had tossed her around like a sack of potatoes. To think that the man could be so rough—never mind that he had no idea of her delicate condition.
She glared at him from the corner of her eye. Maybe he was worried about the outlaws, but that gave him no right to treat her worse than he treated his cows and horses. She crossed her arms and set her jaw as the wagon bounced down the track. Once those men had gone, she would give Bart Kingsley what for!
If he truly loved her as he said he did, he would have listened more closely to what she was saying. He would have taken her feelings into account. Most of all, he would have run off those pals of his a long time ago.
“So tell us about the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe, Injun,” Bob Ford said from the back of the wagon.
“I’m busy,” Bart growled.
“You said you’d talk once you got them chores done. So talk.”
Bart gave the reins another flick. “I said I’m busy.”
“You want us to ask little Rosie? She used to work at the Harvey House, didn’t she?”
“Leave her out of this. We’l1 talk later.”
“How’re us boys gonna rob a train if we don’t plan it, Injun? You know better’n anybody how important it is to lay out a good scheme. Now, when does the richest train roll through town?”
Bart had clamped his jaw shut, and Rosie had never seen him look so dark. Was he angry with her? Was he mad at Ford and his boys? Or was Bart actually considering robbing one of the trains that passed through town? A chill washed into her bones when she heard him begin to speak.
“Any
one of ’em could be loaded,” he began. “You’ve got three or four a day pulling up from Albuquerque and Lamy. They go through Las Vegas, Wagon Mound and Springer picking up passengers and freight on their way east. Then you’ve got the trains down from Denver. They’ve come all the way from Kansas City loaded with goods and settlers.”
“You reckon we could take a bigger haul off the westbound traffic?”
“Probably. Hard telling, though. There’s some good money going east these days. Gold and silver coming out of the territories. Rich cattlemen taking their profits to banks in Missouri.”
“Sounds like a pretty good flow both ways.”
Bart nodded. Rosie could hardly believe her ears. Was he just trying to pacify these outlaws, or was he actually discussing which train to rob? For all she could tell, he was helping them plan an armed holdup. Was he going to join them? Had her worst fears come true, that Bart had been lured back to his old ways by the temptation of easy money?
For a moment she considered grabbing the rifle off his lap and peppering all three of those filthy criminals in the wagon bed. How awful to think of needing to escape from Bart. Tears of anger and dismay filled her eyes at the injustice. Just when they had begun to build a normal life, a life more fulfilling and passionate than she’d ever dreamed possible, everything had come crashing down.
Bart had slid back into the role he’d worked so hard to leave behind him. When Rosie took a closer look at the man she loved so deeply, the sight of him sent a curl of panic shooting through her stomach.
His black hair blew away from the angles and planes of his face. The high Indian cheekbones, his father’s legacy, had bronzed to deep mahogany. Instead of the clean, starched white shirts she had sewn for him, Bart wore his rugged buckskin jacket. His faded denims and boots, the holsters on his thighs and the ammunition belt around his waist forced her to see what she wanted so much to deny: Bart looked every bit the gunman he was.
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