The Gunman's Bride

by Catherine Palmer

  Even if he didn’t really intend to rob one of the inbound trains, he wouldn’t stand a chance in town if he showed up looking like this. Sheriff Bowman was no longer around to identify him, but there were three deputies who would.

  Besides, a whole town full of people no doubt had read the wanted posters describing a green-eyed Indian. To top it off, Bart was in league with a man who loved to boast that he’d shot Jesse James. That would seal Bart’s fate.

  “We want to stop a train that’s pulling into town, don’t we, Injun?” Ford was asking. “Ain’t I right about ’em bein’ slower comin’ in? There’s that switchback and all.”

  “The switchback isn’t used these days,” Bart responded. “The train used to have to climb to the summit with all those steep grades and sharp curves. That was an eight-thousand-foot pull. But there’s a tunnel now, so the trains aren’t so slow coming in, but they’re not so fast going out either.”

  “So either way might work?”

  “Might.”

  “Any bridges?”

  “There’s a trestle at Raton Pass. It’s pretty shaky.”

  “Hey, boys, how about that? We could stop the engine while it’s on the trestle. It’d only take one of us to keep it in line while the rest of us could work the safe and the passengers.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Snort said. “Whatever Injun thinks.”

  “What do you say, Injun?”

  “I say we just hit the city limits, and you boys better shut your gates if you don’t want the whole town in on this.”

  Rosie wanted to shrink into her boots as the wagon jolted down the street past stores and restaurants filled with people she had come to love and respect. How would they react if they knew of the conversation she had just heard?

  Oh, there had been a time when she was just as pristine and pious as any of them. But now, thanks to Bart Kingsley and his pals, she was party to a crime. Just for having listened to their plans she could be brought before a jury! Especially if she didn’t run straight to the sheriff’s office and tell the deputies everything she knew. Yet, if she did, she’d be turning Bart in, too.

  She studied his handsome profile as he pulled the wagon up to the hitching post in front of the Central Hotel. How grim he looked. The light had died in his green eyes. His face was as dark as she’d ever seen it.

  As he came around the wagon to help her out, she remembered what he’d once told her. He said that his life had become black—as black as a tunnel with no end in sight. And she was the only light he’d been able to remember. Rosie was Bart’s shining light. Now he seemed ready to snuff it all out again.

  “Bart,” she whispered as she slipped into his arms. “Bart please—”

  “Stay here at the hotel, Rosie,” he cut in. “You’ll be safer where there are lots of folks around you.”

  “Safer?”

  “Don’t go to the law, Rosie. I don’t want to complicate things, you hear?”

  She stared at him as he lowered her to the ground. “Bart, what’s become of you?”

  “Just do what I say and don’t ask questions.”

  “Oh, Bart.”

  “C’mon, Injun,” Snort called. “Time’s awastin’. Let’s head over to the Bank Exchange Saloon and bend our elbows a spell.”

  “Rosie, get inside the hotel quick,” Bart said in a low voice. “Take this and keep it hidden so no one sees.” He thrust a small revolver into her hands. “I’ll come back for you when I can.”

  Clutching the gun, she watched him stride away and swing up into the wagon. Without a backward glance, he drove the wagon from the hotel and steered it toward the nearest saloon.

  Rosie stayed up in her little room all the rest of the day. She didn’t feel up to going downstairs for lunch, and she knew she didn’t stand a chance of putting on a cheerful demeanor for the hotel’s owners and guests. Instead she sat in a rocking chair by the window and watched the trains pull in and out of town.

  All the while she rocked, she held her hands over her stomach as if to protect the tiny life within her body. Visions of small hand-smocked linen dresses, knitted booties tied with white ribbons, quilted flannel coverlets and lacy crocheted blankets flitted through her thoughts and mingled with memories of whiskey bottles strewn about, coarse language and the cold steel of a six-shooter.

  Maybe Manford Wade had been sent by God to tell Rosie to stick by Bart. But why did she have to bring a child into the world of outlaws with their foul smell and rough demeanor? A baby, no matter what its heritage, deserved the very best life had to offer.

  She wanted picture books and sun-gilded tea parties, puppies and tender gardens for her baby. She wanted the child to go to school and to learn manners and decorum. She wanted fine clothes and good healthy food and clean skin. Most of all, she wanted loving parents to nurture and guard the baby until the time was ripe for opening windows and setting the child free.

  If she told Bart about their baby, would that make the difference for him? Would it pull him back from the brink on which he now balanced? Or would a child even matter to him?

  How well Rosie knew that Bart had never experienced the love of a father. His mother certainly hadn’t given him the affection and gentleness he needed. So why should she think Bart would suddenly be filled with glowing images of fatherhood, as she was?

  With a sigh, Rosie stood and went to the mirror over the washstand. As the dinner bell rang from the floor below her room, she brushed back strands of loose hair around her neck. What hope was left for her and the seed of life inside her? Even now Bart might be completing the plans that would destroy any dreams for happiness they had ever cherished.

  With a weight of sadness heavy on her shoulders, Rosie left her room and made her way down the carpeted hall to the stairs. In the foyer, she followed the rest of the hotel guests into the dining room. Seated at a table by a window, she tried to make herself read the menu, but the words were a blur. She had just settled on chicken soup when a shout from a nearby table startled her.

  “Laura Rose? Is that you?” In the dining room, not ten feet away, Rosie’s father had risen from his chair and was crossing toward her. “At last I’ve found you! And it’s about time.”

  Stunned, for a moment Rosie couldn’t speak. “Oh, Pappy,” she finally managed. “Hello.”

  “Stand up, young lady.”

  Rosie’s urge to bolt was quelled by the sharp command. Accustomed to obeying her father’s every word, she jumped to her feet.

  “Laura Rose,” he said, “you will accompany me out of this room at once, and I shall speak with you in my private quarters.”

  Dr. Vermillion took Rosie’s hand and drew her away from the table. All but dragging her up the stairs, he unlocked the door to his suite and prodded his daughter through it.

  “I want you to know, Laura Rose,” he began, “I have been searching for you for six months. I engaged the Pinkerton National Detective Agency from New York City, and their men scoured the entire state of Missouri. Believe me, I’ve spared no expense in tracking you to this forsaken outpost. My dread was that you had been abducted for foul purposes. Far worse, I feared you might have run away as you stated in the cruel note you left behind when you vanished. Am I to assume that you did flee the man who loves you and—even yet—stands ready to make you his wife and take you into his fine home?”

  Rosie wished the floor would open up and swallow her. “My note was accurate. I left on my own accord.”

  “Why?” he demanded. “Why in the name of all that is decent would you do such a thing? Have you any earthly idea the ramifications of your actions? Never mind the expense you’ve caused me, do you know what I’ve been subjected to personally?”

  “No, sir. I don’t.”

  “Why, it’s taken every ounce of fortitude I possess to hold up my head in public. Your rash and thoughtless behavior threatened not only my standing in polite society, but my professional reputation as well.”

  “I’m so sorry, Pappy,” Rosie m
urmured. “I didn’t mean to cause you any harm.”

  “When I finally learned you had been observed laboring as a common waitress in this pitiful town, I could hardly believe my ears. Why? Why, Laura Rose?” her father repeated. “What led you to do such a despicable thing?”

  She cupped her hands over her stomach. “Oh, Pappy, it’s because…because…I don’t love him,” she fumbled. “I don’t love Dr. Lowell and I never have. He doesn’t love me, either.”

  “Love?” the physician exploded. “What does love have to do with anything? We arranged a marriage, if you recall.”

  “You arranged it.”

  “And you agreed to it. Your life was beautifully laid out for you—tending a lovely home, managing more servants than I’ve ever kept, making the proper social calls and seeing that your husband’s calendar of events was adequately filled.”

  “Yes, Pappy, but I didn’t want that life.”

  “A life of leisure and luxury? Dr. Lowell stands ready to provide you with everything your heart could desire.”

  “Not everything,” she said. “I want more than a husband. I want a real family—one in which the parents truly care for each other. Pappy, I know I’ve been heedless and willful, and I hope you can forgive me. But I do believe God directed me here. I’ve always wanted to be a teacher. And now that’s what I am.”

  “A teacher? Laura Rose, you can’t be serious.”

  “I certainly am serious. On obtaining my certification, I took a position at a school here in town. I earn a good salary, and in a few weeks I shall sign a contract for the 1883–84 school year.”

  “You most certainly will not,” her father stated.

  “Yes, I shall, sir. You know almost nothing about my dreams and hopes. You never have because you didn’t ask me. You don’t even know me well enough to guess the sort of life I long for. I’ve always wanted to teach school and I’m good at it. I won’t let you take that away from me.”

  “I’m your father, young lady. I’ll do with you exactly as I please.”

  Rosie squared her shoulders. “I’m a grown woman, not a child. You’ll do nothing of the sort.”

  Dr. Vermillion let out a breath and rubbed his temples. “Oh, Laura Rose, you have been so difficult at times. You have no idea the trials you’ve brought me since your mother died. Your running away from me is a most ungrateful act.”

  “Please forgive me, Pappy. I truly didn’t mean to hurt you in any way.”

  Dr. Vermillion shook his head. “Laura Rose, I can only assume that your desire to remain in this town as a teacher is a passing fancy—one from which you will recover in time. Now, if you’ll allow me to escort you to your room, I shall settle the matter of our travel arrangements by return train to Kansas City tomorrow.”

  Dr. Vermillion hurried Rosie down the hall to her room. Though she protested, he took the key from her hand, unlocked the door and pressed her inside.

  “You will stay in this room until morning,” he said, “at which time I’ll come for you and escort you to the train. You will return with me to our home in Kansas City where you will resume your life as if nothing scandalous had happened.”

  Trembling with anger and frustration, Rosie stared at him.

  “I shall make it known,” he continued, “that you left Kansas City and traveled to New York, where you have been fitted for your wedding trousseau and been trained for your future role as Dr. Lowell’s wife.”

  “That will be a lie.”

  “Yes, but it will garner understanding for you from the women in our society. They, in turn, will pass that information to their husbands. You will then simply carry on as before. Do you understand?”

  “Of course I do, Pappy.”

  “I had begun to wonder if you were even listening.” He regarded her a moment longer. “At least your adventure in the west has had some benefit. You are looking quite lovely, Laura Rose. I believe once Dr. Lowell has seen you again, he will find it more than acceptable to resume our family’s connection with his. Good evening, my dear.”

  Her father shut the door behind him, and then Rosie heard the key turn in the lock.

  “Oh, God, oh, God!” Rosie prayed aloud, falling to her knees at the side of her bed. After hearing her father’s footsteps fade away down the hall, she had drawn her curtains and turned down her bedding. Unable to make herself perform the most common tasks of washing her face and unwinding her hair, she could think only of rushing to her bedside to implore the Almighty.

  “Dear Lord, if You ever loved me,” she cried, “if You ever cared for me at all, help me now! Pappy has come for me. He’s going to take me to that…that…odious man….”

  Unable to go on, she gave in to the tears that had begun to flow. Against her cheeks, her hands grew wet, and sobs tore from her chest.

  “Dear God, I can’t…can’t do this! I’m so confused. So scared! Pappy wants to take me back to Kansas City, but…” She broke into tears again. “Oh, I want Bart so much. I don’t know what to do, dear Lord. I want everything to be the way it was. What shall I do? Will I ever see Bart again? Where is he?”

  “Now, don’t put up holler, Rosie,” a muffled voice said. “I’m under the bed.”

  Clapping her hand over her mouth, she gave a strangled squeal as a familiar pair of legs appeared, followed by a broad chest and massive shoulders. Finally, with a last grunt, Bart’s head slid out from under the bed frame.

  “Bart, you’ll be the death of me yet. What on earth are you doing here?”

  “Answering your prayers, I reckon.” With a smile, he rolled onto his knees and took her in his arms. “I love you, girl. I wanted you to know I’m here for you—to protect you and keep you close. I’ll always be yours.”

  “But…but how…?”

  “I climbed through your window to bring you these.” He held up a small brown sack.

  “Huffman’s cream candies!”

  “Here, Rosie, have one.”

  How could she possibly think about sweets at a time like this? But in spite of everything, his kind gesture made her want to smile. “Bart—”

  As she said his name, he popped a tiny candy into her open mouth.

  “When I heard the key in the lock,” he said as she chewed, “I scouted out the best hiding place I could find in a hurry before you and your pappy could walk through the door.”

  “Pappy is very unhappy with me,” Rosie said.

  He paused and regarded her evenly. “Is he still planning to marry you off to that Kansas City fellow?”

  She nodded. “Dr. William Lowell.”

  “He tracked you down, did he?”

  Nodding, she got up off her knees and sat on the bed. “He hired the Pinkertons, too.”

  Frowning, Bart eased up beside her. “Did he say anything about me?”

  “No. But it won’t be long before he finds out.”

  “Well, if this ain’t a pickle.”

  She glanced at him as she swallowed the last of her candy. “At least you smell better than you did the last time you were under my bed.”

  Laughing, he threw one arm around her shoulders and gave her a hug. “Me and the boys got into a tangle with some fellows at the saloon, and I wound up in the horse trough. Good way to get a quick bath, I found out.”

  “You were fighting?”

  “Just a friendly scuffle. Seems Bob’s reputation as the killer of Jesse James doesn’t make him as popular as he’d hoped. I tried to warn him about that, but he never was one to listen to good advice.”

  “So, the whole town knows who he is now? That means they know about you. Bart, you’ll be arrested. Is that why you came to hide in my room? Are you running from the law again?”

  “Rosie, you’re as jumpy as a speckle-legged frog. Did you know that? I’ve never seen a woman who could worry as much as you.”

  “I’m trying to give everything to God,” she said. “But I have good reason to fret. Pappy is planning to haul me back to Kansas City tomorrow to marry Dr. Lowell. Bob
Ford, Fancy and Snort are stirring up all sorts of trouble. The Pinkerton detectives and the deputy sheriffs are sniffing everywhere for you. And there’s more…other things you don’t even know about.”

  He drew her close. “I know all I need to know. I heard your prayer about us when I was under this bed, Rosie. You said you wanted me, and that’s all that matters. God’s going to take care of us, don’t you know that? After all these years of going to church and teaching Sunday school, don’t you trust the Lord, girl?”

  “I trust God, Bart, but I don’t know if I trust you.”

  “If you don’t trust me now, I don’t reckon you ever will. I promised to take care of you. I promised to work things out for us, and I aim to do just that.”

  She shook her head, wanting to believe him but so uncertain. His hand on her shoulder felt big and warm, so comforting that the memories of their happy days together on the little homestead flooded into her heart. Yet despite sun-filled images of sweet pies baking in the fireplace, fragrant peonies in a pitcher on the table, damp sheets flapping in the mountain breeze, Rosie couldn’t shut away the threatening clouds that had gathered overhead.

  “I want to trust you, Bart,” she whispered. “It is as I said in my prayer—I want things to be the way they were before. But life isn’t like one of the slates in my schoolroom. I can’t just erase the parts I don’t want.”

  He bent and kissed her cheek, his touch soft and endearing. “I hope you don’t want to erase me, Rosie-girl. I told you once, you’re the light of my life, the bright spot in all the dark years of my past. That still holds true—truer than ever. You’ve got to believe that I won’t do anything to risk snuffing out that light.”

  “Oh, Bart, I need light, too! Things are crowding in on me and I can’t…I just can’t seem to…”

  “Come here, darlin’. You’ve done enough crying for fifty folks lately.” He took her up in his arms, drew her close and kissed the tears that had started down her cheeks. “Don’t cry, Rosie. It’s going to be all right, I promise.”