Give My Love to Rose

by Nicole Sturgill

  He held up his hands. “I ain’t looking for trouble.” Marston wondered if this was that red-head from the porch holding him at gunpoint. He’d already known he wanted her but if she had spunk like this to match that body and hair then he would have to have her for sure before he could leave town.

  “Then ride on out of here and back the way you came and you won’t find any,” she stated firmly.

  Marston pulled off his gray hat and scratched at his thick brown hair. “I’d be more than happy to do just that, ma’am. Just as soon as I finish my business here.”

  “What business?”

  “I’m looking for someone,” Marston said, placing his hat back on his head. “I was sent by Langston Howell.”

  Silence reigned on the other side of that door for several long seconds and then finally the gun was pulled away and the door opened and Marston found himself staring at the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life.

  Dark red hair framed a snow white face dotted with freckle across a dainty, slightly upturned nose and full cheeks. Red lashes framed wide blue eyes and bow shaped lips were set in a firm line as she stared up at him and aimed that gun at his chest. Marston had known from a distance that her figure was the type he liked but up close it was even better. All five and a half feet of her was full, soft and covered in tender skin. Damnation, she was perfect even in a threadbare dress and stained apron.

  Her eyes met his and narrowed. “Just who might you be looking for?”

  “I’m looking for his wife,” Marston replied. “He told me her name was Rose.”

  The woman frowned. “I’m Rose. Why would my husband send you here?”

  Marston’s eyes narrowed and his blood ran cold. This was the woman he was looking for? This young, beautiful woman had been married to that old man? That man had been seventy years old if he’d been a day and Rose couldn’t be more than thirty—hell she was probably still in her twenties.

  What could a woman like this possibly have seen in a man like Langston? There was only one plausible explanation that Marston could come up with. This woman must have been a whore and Langston must have fallen for her and married her. She had used an old man and now that he was dead she would have all of his money and his home and be able to move on to the next old man. He’d heard tell of women like her. Predators that fed on weak men. Marston wasn’t so damn sure why he was so angry at realizing that’s the type of woman Rose was, but he’d be damned if it hadn’t put a bur under his saddle.

  “Well, Rose, your husband is dead. Here’s his prison release paper, his brown mare and all his money.” He tossed the sack at her and turned his back. “That’s all the business I had here. I’ll be on my way.”

  “Dead?” she whispered as Marston untied the brown mare from his gray and hitched it to the porch.

  “Yep,” he affirmed as he took hold of the gray’s reins.

  “How..how did he die?”

  Something in her voice caused Marston to turn his gaze back to her. Her knuckles were turning white as she gripped the porch banister and every ounce of color had drained from her cheeks as she held on to that rough wood. Marston shook his head and turned away once again. “Shot in the chest. He was on his way back here when I found him and he gave me those things and told me to get them to you. I’ve done that now so I’ll be on my way.”

  Marston was preparing to hoist his large frame into the saddle when he heard a sniff. Tears. Marston hated tears. He told himself to continue on his way, but he couldn’t keep from sneaking one last peek at the woman.

  What he saw caused a frown to pull on his mouth. If she was a manipulative whore than she was sure doing a good job at playing the devastated wife. Her eyes were wide and unfocused. There was no color left in her cheek. Even her full pink lips had gone colorless. Her breaths were coming too fast. Hell, it seemed almost as if she were going to…

  “Oh dear,” Marston grumbled. He moved quickly to catch the woman as she lost consciousness and tumbled forward. He held her softness against his body and stared down at the exposed creamy skin of her delicate neck. She had a mole above her collarbone and Marston wondered just what it would taste like.

  He was about to find out when an angry young voice was suddenly calling out from behind him. “Hey! Hey, what are you doing to my mama?!”

  Marston turned his head to see a young boy who appeared to be around ten years of age come running out of the woods. “Nothing,” Marston grumbled, feeling as if he were a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “She’s asleep. Why don’t you help me get her inside?”

  The boy looked at him with fearful blue eyes, nearly the same shade as his mothers. He was clearly scared, but finally he nodded and ran onto the porch, his red hair flashing in the sun. The boy held open the door and Marston carried the woman into the cabin, dragging her legs on the floor.

  The boy led him to a small sofa and Marston laid the woman down on it before standing straight and glancing around. The inside of the cabin was neat and tidy, but it too was run down. The kitchen, dining area, and living area were just one large room. There were three closed doors off either side and Marston assumed they were bedrooms. The sofa needed new upholstery, the worn kitchen table needed to be sanded and the cupboards in the kitchen were hanging crooked. Everything in this house looked as if it had been neglected and let go for a long time—ten years to be exact.

  “Who are you?” the boy asked. “What’s your name?”

  Marston knelt down so he’d be on the boy’s level and he fixed him with an intimidating gaze. “Not many people dare ask me that.”

  The boy swallowed hard, took a step back and sent a fearful gaze toward his mother. “Will she be okay?”

  “She’ll be fine,” Marston assured him, standing straight once again. “And my name’s Marston,” he added as he strode out the door. He wanted to leave. He should leave. Instead, he found himself settling down on the porch steps. He had to know the damn woman was going to be okay. For some reason, he felt obligated to at least do that much.

  Marston rolled his eyes when he realized the boy had followed him outside. The skinny youngster sat down on the step beside him and eyed his revolver. “Are you gonna hurt us?”

  Marston was shocked by the boys courage—or maybe it was stupidity. Either way it was impressive. Marston took a moment before he answered. “No. No, I ain’t got any intention of hurtin’ either one of you.”

  The boy nodded. He turned his gaze to Marston’s gray. “I like your horse.”

  “So do I.”

  “My papa is on his way home. Mama said once he gets here he’ll help us get this place fixed back up. It’s just been me and mama since I was born and she just can’t fix stuff the way a man could.”

  Marston nodded as he stared into the woods. So the man-eating she-devil hadn’t replaced her husband the moment he’d gone to prison? That didn’t exactly fit the image Marston had had in his mind, but then again you never could predict what a woman would do.

  “I like your gun,” the boy continued. “It’s real nice and shiny. My pa left me a gun but it’s so rusty you can’t use it. Not that mama would let me use it anyway. She’s real strict about stuff. We got pa’s rifle too, but you know that don’t ya? She pulled it on you today. What are you doing here anyhow? Do you know my pa? Why is my mama sick now? Did you do that to her? Are you a bad man? You look like a bad man.”

  Marston felt a throbbing pulse begin to ache in his temples. “You talk a lot.”

  The boy gave him a wide-toothed grin. “I don’t usually have no one, but mama to talk to. We don’t get much company out here. The women in town don’t like mama and they don’t come speak to her. I’m not sure why. My mama is a real nice lady. The nicest one I know as a matter of fact.”

  Marston picked at a tear in the leg of his trousers and let out a long breath as that throbbing picked up tempo. “How about we play a game?” he offered.

  The boy’s eyes lit up. “Sure! What kind of game? I like g
ames, but I don’t get to play them very often cuz I’m always too busy working ‘round here. So what’s the game?”

  Marston raised his brow. “This game is called shut-up and stare into the woods. Whoever does it the longest doesn’t get hog-tied, gagged and tossed on the couch with his mother.”

  The boy’s blue eyes widened as he swallowed hard, nodded and turned his gaze quickly to the trees. Marston was chuckling as he too turned his attention back to the forest.

  Chapter Four

  Marston had to admit that boy impressed him. Even after an hour of staring into the woods he had yet to move a muscle or make a peep.

  Marston wished that damn woman would wake up so he could leave. He glanced over at the boy when he heard his tiny stomach rumbling. The boy grabbed his stomach and grimaced but didn’t say a word.

  “You hungry?”

  “Ha! You lost!” the boy exclaimed with laughter, but one look at Marston’s stern face had the laughter dying on his tongue. “Yes, sir. I’m hungry.”

  “Your mama have any taters around here? I’m afraid that’s about all I’m qualified to make.”

  “You’re gonna cook for me?” the boy asked wide-eyed.

  Marston shrugged as he stood up. “Would you rather starve?”

  “No, sir!” the boy replied, leaping to his feet. Marston rolled his eyes and followed him into the house. Rose was still lying on the couch and Marston wondered if the woman was okay. He knew of women swooning and passing out before but he didn’t think it normally lasted so long.

  “The potatoes are in this box. I’m guessing that’s what taters are, aren’t they?” the boy asked as he pointed toward a wooden box in the corner.

  “Yeah kid, that’s what taters are.”

  “You don’t have to call me kid. My name’s Langston Junior, but mama calls me Langley. I guess you can too.”

  “I’d rather just call you kid,” Marston countered, opening the potato box and gathering up an armful of them. He laid them on the counter and several rolled away, toppling off the counter and bouncing across the floor.

  Marston heard Langley stifling laughter and he glared at the boy. Why the hell was he bothering cooking for the damn kid? He sighed, knowing it was because he knew exactly how it felt to be a hungry kid.

  Marston glanced around the counter and his brow raised when he saw the sink with faucets. “Y’all got running water in here?” he demanded, knowing it was something becoming quite common among the rich but not commonly found in poorer households.

  “Yeah,” Langley replied as he gathered up the fallen potatoes. “Papa installed it to make things easier on mama. We even got a water closet where we can take showers,” he added, pointing toward one of the closed doors. The dirty water goes out some pipes and flows back into the stream which is where the clean water comes from. We still gotta use the outhouse though. I can’t wait ‘til we can do that in the house too. I went out to use the outhouse the other night and nearly ran straight into a big ol’ bear!”

  “I’ll bet that was scary.”

  “Oh, it was!”

  “Probably made using the outhouse easier.”

  Langley laughed, but that laughter died when Marston pulled his large knife from its sheath and went about peeling potatoes. “That’s a big knife!” Langley exclaimed. “What do you need a knife that big for?”

  Marston grinned. “Some men got big bodies.”

  Langley swallowed hard. “I’ll just run on out to the cellar and get some peppers to cook with those potatoes.”

  Marston was certain he heard his ears thank him as the kid took off out the door. He had never in his life met anyone who talked so much.

  ***

  “Ma’am?” A deep voice broke into Rose’s dreams and she resented it. She had been dreaming that she’d been sleeping upon a luxurious bed with silk sheets and pillows as soft as clouds. There hadn’t been a single thing she had needed to clean and nothing to cook and no one to look after. There’d been plenty to eat and Langley had everything he could possibly want.

  Sometimes dreams were cruel—especially when they were so far from being the truth.

  “Ma’am, do I need to go get a doc?” that voice spoke again.

  The voice wasn’t completely unpleasant, but it held no tenderness or true concern. Why was there an unfamiliar man speaking to her? Rose’s eyes flew open and she saw the owner of the voice crouched down in front of her. His face was mere inches from her own and Rose found herself both captivated and terrified.

  His eyes stole her attention. They were a gold color unlike any she’d ever seen in her life. The skin around them was dark and tanned, his nose was long and sharp and his face was covered in a thick, heavy brown beard.

  “Ma’am, are you gonna get up?” he growled with irritation lacing his deep, gruff voice.

  Rose reached back into her memory, wondering who he was and where he’d come from. Suddenly the truth came crashing back down on her.

  She remembered him riding down the hill, letting her know her husband had sent him. Letting her know that her husband was dead and would never be coming back to her or to Langley. Speaking of her son…

  “Langley!” she cried out as she sat up suddenly and her head collided with the stranger’s.

  “Son of a... God! You stupid…!” The man’s voice was a low roar as he rose up and rubbed roughly at his head with his skillet sized hand. Rose could barely breathe. The man was massive. He had to be close to seven feet tall and his body was broad and thick—though judging by those muscles currently working in his bare forearm, none of his body was fat.

  “Where is my son?” Rose demanded, glancing around her for anything she could use to defend herself. What weapon could one use against a man who was roughly the size of an ox?

  “I’m right over here,” Langley’s voice came from the kitchen table. “Marston cooked me some potatoes—I mean taters. They taste real good, mama, especially with those peppers we had in the cellar.”

  Rose looked behind her and saw Langley sitting at the table, his feet swinging and his plate full of potatoes and peppers. She turned her attention back to the stranger. “You cooked my son something eat?”

  “Someone had to,” he grumbled without meeting her gaze. “You were sleeping.”

  “I wasn’t sleeping. I was unconscious,” Rose argued as she got to her feet. Surprisingly she did feel well rested—more rested than she had felt in years. Unfortunately, the stranger was probably right and she probably had been sleeping. Sleep was something she hadn’t had much time for since Langston had been taken away. Between the work, the worry and the nightmares sleep was a stranger.

  Thoughts of Langston had Rose’s legs disappearing beneath her once again and she sat down hard on the couch.

  “I thought you were unconscious too,” the stranger admitted as he began scooping buttery potatoes onto a plate. “But then you started to snore.”

  “It was funny, mama. You sounded like a big old bear.”

  “What am I going to do…?” Rose whispered to no one in particular as she remained lost in her own thoughts. Langston was dead. How? She had just received a letter from him just a couple weeks before saying that he had been released and he would be coming home to her and Langley. What was she going to do without him? She couldn’t go on supporting her and her son alone.. she was barely hanging on as it was.

  Rose knew it was cold-hearted to be thinking of money at a time like this, but it seemed money was all she’d been able to think of for a long time. It was all that mattered when your cupboards were empty, your son’s clothes were falling apart and there were debtors breathing down your neck.

  Rose and Langston had never been in love, but she had had tremendous fondness and respect for the man who had saved her life and given her son a name by marrying her eleven years ago. This was not how their life had been supposed to go! Langston had had to go get himself tossed into prison and then get himself shot. Now she was alone with her son and she was fresh o
ut of hope.

  “What am I going to do?” she whispered again, desperate for an answer, pleading for guidance.

  “You’re going to come on over and eat some damn taters is what you’re going to do,” the stranger grumbled as he plopped a plate full of them on the table.

  Rose forced herself to swallow down her own fears and uncertainties. She had to be strong for her son. Slowly she stood and made her way on stiff legs to the table.

  “Thank you for cooking for us,” she said politely as she met the stranger’s golden eyes. She couldn’t’ get over how handsome he was even with that thick beard blocking most of his face from view. But there was something in his eyes—a coldness that unsettled her. She sensed a sadness within him and wondered what caused it.

  Then Rose scolded herself. She had just lost her husband and should not be looking at another man let alone wondering how she could help him. Langston had been her saviour, her hope and now she would never see him again. That knowledge had new tears filling her eyes.

  Marston saw that tear hovering on her lashes and he waited for it to roll down her full pink cheek. Then he shook his head. “Don’t worry about thanking me, ma’am. Just sit down and eat and we’ll call it even.”

  “Won’t you sit and eat with us?” Rose asked, gesturing toward an empty chair.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Marston quickly denied. “I gotta get going. I left the sack of money over there.”

  Rose glanced toward the small table beside the door and saw the leather sack sitting there. “Money?”

  “Yeah the money from…” Marston’s eyes went to Langley who was watching them closely. He turned back to Rose. “The money from Langston. His horse is out in the barn and settled in.”

  Rose nodded as her stomach rolled and she picked at her potatoes without eating them. She was afraid if she took a single bite she would be sick.

  “Why does Marston have pa’s money and horse?” Langley asked. “Where’s pa?”

  “I’ll be going now,” Marston stated, reaching for the door.