by Caroline Lee
“I brought you something.” She shifted the bundle to her lap, and began to unwrap it.
“Is it pie?” Bear grinned at the flash of topaz under her lashes, and wondered why he was in such a teasing mood. Probably because he was—he had to admit—darn near ecstatic to see her again. He’d missed her, plain and simple.
But when she finished unwrapping, and laid his Winchester on the ground besides her knees, Bear lost his teasing grin. She was returning his rifle? Not just his rifle, he realized as she pulled the Colts out of the basket and placed the guns between the two of them. She was returning his livelihood. She’d healed him, and now was letting him go on his way.
And she didn’t even know who he was.
“I don’t know if you’ll be strong enough to fetch your own horse.” She wasn’t looking at him, but pretending great interest in her fingers, twined together on her lap. “I hope that you have some means of paying the livery, because I promised Mr. Foote…but I could always fetch the animal for you, if you can’t.”
There was a hollow thumping in his chest, and it took Bear more than a few breaths to identify. He was scared. He wasn’t ready to leave her, not yet. Now that he had the means, and maybe even the strength…he couldn’t really just mount up and ride off—hobble off—without her, could he? It was his job, what he was meant to do…but the thought was repugnant.
But by returning his guns and horse, was she telling him that she wanted him to leave?
Bear smiled weakly. “I think I’m still a few days off from being able to climb up on a horse, Rose Red.” The nickname earned him a hesitant glance, and he tried a real smile on her. “I sure would like to hear all about what you’ve been up to, though.” Anything to distract himself from the decision he was going to have to make soon. “I guess you’ve had a lot to do, with the holiday coming up, and all?”
“The holi—oh, yes. That’s what I’ve been doing.” She didn’t look at him when she told that obvious lie, instead turning to the basket to pull out wrapped bundles of food. “Lots of work to do around the house, and in Everland, you know. Plenty of celebrations planned. We always have a big social event at the church hall, and I help my sister make some of the decorations, most years. I think this year we’re doing big red flowe—What? What’s wrong?”
She’d finally looked up from her basket, and Bear knew what she’d seen. Knew because he could feel it, the shock on his face as he stared at her. “Everland?” His voice sounded raw. “We’re near Everland?”
“Yes.” He watched her tilt her chin to one side, sort of inquisitively. “Does that matter? I’m sure I mentioned it before. Everland, Wyoming. We’re on the outskirts, because Papa was sure he was just beginning to build a farming empire, which turned out to be a silly belief.”
“No. Pretty sure this is the first I’ve heard the name.” Except, of course, when Quigg had said it. When Quigg had mentioned hitting the train depot in Everland, to get the payroll that was being shipped through on its way to Fort Bridger. Yeah, he’d heard “Everland” then, and had vowed not to forget it, even as he felt his life draining away with his blood. That’s what had kept him going, knowing that he had to be well enough to get word to his supervisors, so that someone else could stop the robbery.
But here he was, in Everland after all. If he could make it into town, into the telegraph office, then he knew that the head men back in Washington would tell him that he was the closest US Marshall in the Territory, and that it was up to him to solve this problem.
Bear didn’t curse much, but he felt that he was justified in his whispered “Damn.”
“What did you say? Is everything alright?”
Taking a deep breath, Bear tried for a smile, but she was still looking at him a little warily. “Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine.” That was a lie. The only thing that was fine right now was her being here with him. Because a minute ago he’d been telling himself how wrong it would be to leave her and do his job…and now he knew he didn’t have a choice.
His job had come to her. To Everland. And he had to protect her, just as soon as he could stand on his own two feet. Heck, he could’ve hopped his way into town during these last days, if he’d known how close they were… but then he wouldn’t have gotten to see her again.
And to read that book, which he had to admit was pretty good too.
“Oh! There it is!” Speaking of the book, looks like Rose had seen it, judging from her lunge towards the small stack of his reading material. “I’ve been looking all over for this!” She clutched it to her chest and turned to him, topaz eyes wide. “I can’t believe I was silly enough to leave it here. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what? I enjoyed it. Days would’ve been a lot more boring without it.”
“You…” Why did she look so shocked? “You read it?”
“Well…yeah. I mean, was I not supposed to?” Bear shifted position, and his jacket fell open, revealing his right leg with the bandaged thigh and the bare skin. Maybe she was remembering the way she’d touched him—the way he’d touched her—the last time she’d visited, because her cheeks looked paler all of a sudden, and her breathing was shallower.
“No! No, that’s… that’s fine.” He didn’t dare grin at the way she tightened her grip on the book, and looked away, trying to breathe more normally. “What did you think?” The question was too nonchalant to be really nonchalant.
“I liked it.” At his words, her attention flew back to his face, her eyes strangely hopeful. Bear shrugged. “It was just as good—maybe better—as Black Bart’s Revenge. I just wish you had the rest of it. I want to read Part One. And I really hope you’ve got Part Three, because I want to know how Caraway manages to find the dynamite in time.” She looked almost shocked. Did she not expect him to enjoy reading? Well, he had to admit that he didn’t look the part. Looked more like a grizzled outlaw, truthfully. “Do you know the author? Is that how you got this version?”
Her eyes were still wide, her cheeks returning to their natural color, but she still looked like she might be holding her breath. “The… author? Yes. Yes, I know the author.”
There’d been something in the phrases, in the way the story had been told, that reminded him of her. “Do you think you could get Part Three for me? I’d enjoy it.”
“Yes, I think I can.” He wasn’t exactly surprised when she pulled a journal—identical in its cheapness to the first one—from her coat pocket. “I carry it with me when I go for walks, just in case I have ideas…” She sounded almost apologetic when she held it out to him, the other still clutched to her chest protectively.
How many times had he relied on his senses to alert him to danger? Too many, but right now he knew that the hairs that were standing up on the back of his neck meant something else entirely. A suspicion that was turning out to be true. He could tell how much this journal meant to her; could see it in her expression, in the way she held them. In the way she’d poured herself into them. He could see what they meant, and the level of trust her sharing them with him showed.
Humbled, Bear took the offered journal. Sheriff Caraway at Gumption Gulch, part Three of ?? was written on the inside page, in her neat script. “You wrote these?” He didn’t look up, but began to flip through. Yeah, here was Caraway and Molly, and no wonder she reminded him of Rose. Finally, he met her eyes. “You wrote this book?”
Hesitantly—at least it seemed to him—she nodded. Then, a deep breath, and: “That’s what I do. What I want to do. I’ve had some of my stories published, but not enough. And none of my longer ones.”
“Why not? This one is great! At least as good as the dime novels floating around now.”
“I…” She looked down at the book in her hands. “I haven’t sent them in to my publisher. I don’t think they’re good enough.”
“Why not?” He tucked his jacket in, and pulled himself closer to her. “Why haven’t you?”
“Because I’m stuck here in Everland, Bear.” Maybe it was the use of his name, or
the way those clear topaz eyes met his, but he felt like he’d seen her soul. “I moved here with my parents when I was a girl, and haven’t left again. Mama is critical of everything, and the townspeople are nice enough, but I don’t know them too well. Snow is my sister, and my only friend, and even she tells me I need to leave. My stories—my books…. They’re all from my imagination. I don’t even recall what it’s like to ride a train, Bear! How can I write about bandits and bank robberies and adventures?”
Her outburst done, Bear watched her wilt. Shoulders slumped, she leaned to one side and propped herself against the same woodpile he’d been using. And she wouldn’t meet his eyes again.
Not wanting to spook her, Bear slowly reached for her, his fingers skimming over the back of her hand. Shocked, she looked up, but didn’t pull away. “I think your imagination is pretty dang good, Rose.” Not as good as his was, at that moment, thinking about the way that fiery-red hair brushed against her neck. “And I think that I get why you’ve been asking so many questions of me this last week.”
And that’s when she turned her hand over, and wrapped her fingers through his. The same shock he’d felt when he’d touched her last spread up his arm…but this was a million times better, because she was the one who touched him. Bear felt his throat closing off as he tried not to crush her delicate fingers in his.
“I’m sorry if I’ve bothered you, Bear.” Her voice was a whisper, but he could feel it in his heart. “But I’ve been so curious about your life. About your adventures. …About your future.”
He wasn’t sure what she meant about that last part. And he wasn’t even sure who she thought he was…but it dang near killed him to not be able to tell her. A US Marshall was beholden to responsibility above and beyond a pretty set of eyes, even if he was falling hard and fast for her.
“No. I’m the one who’s sorry for not being able to give you answers. But…”
“I understand. Men like you probably have to keep your secrets.”
Men like you. What kind of man, exactly, did she think he was? Had she seen his badge in his boot during one of her early-morning forays? Instead of asking—confirming—he just squeezed her hand. “Thanks for understanding, Rose. But…” He took a deep breath, and twined his fingers tighter through hers. “But we could still talk.”
“About what?”
“Well…about you, maybe? Unless you have to be somewhere, I mean, with the Christmas preparations.” She shook her head. “I’d like to hear more about this Christmas festival you’re planning. More about Everland.” And he refused to let himself feel like he was using her. Sure, her information would help him stop Quigg, if the outlaws came to town…but he genuinely wanted to know about her. Wanted to have something to think back over and remember on the thousands of lonely nights he had to look forward to, if he rode out of Everland without her.
“You really want to know about me?”
“Yeah. How about this; I’ll tell you one of my favorite Christmas memories, you tell me one of yours?”
And when she smiled, he knew that he’d get his way. “And besides, it looks like you brought me a feast. The ambiance isn’t that great—” He gestured to the pigsty, “—but the company is. And maybe after we eat, we can read some more about Caraway? I want to hear you read some.”
“You really do like the book, Bear?”
He looked into those clear topaz gems, and told her the truth. “Rose, I think I’m in love with it.”
Only, he didn’t mean the book.
For all that he had a hole in his leg, and there was snow coming down outside, it was the best afternoon he could ever remember.
Chapter 8
“Good morning, Miss White!”
Rose waved back to the smiling man who carried an ax down Andersen Avenue, but hurried on, afraid to admit that she didn’t remember—or had never known—his name. She knew that the townspeople were friendly, and she knew that she was known for her and her sister’s beauty…but that didn’t make her feel like she belonged here.
No, she was beginning to think she belonged someplace else altogether. With someone else altogether.
Still, she couldn’t deny that Everland was beautiful today. The town’s Christmas celebrations were always her favorite, and this year’s was no exception. There was colorful red-and-green bunting hanging from many of the railings, and firs woven into garlands and wreaths on every door. Even the Gingerbread House—the den of iniquity Mama was always raving against—was festooned in cheerful red bows and clumps of greenery. And over everything was a nice, fresh sprinkling of fluffy snow. It had been coming down in flurries since the afternoon a few days ago that she’d spent with Bear, and it just seemed to make the whole place that much lovelier.
Or maybe it was that she was feeling a little lovelier than usual.
Being with him, sitting beside him next to the hogs…had changed her, somehow. Had confused her, certainly. She’d taken time away from him, to think about what Snow had said about leaving Everland. And after those days away, she had decided that she couldn’t leave with him, couldn’t spend time with him, because he was a criminal.
If she’d met him under any other circumstances, if she hadn’t known that he was an outlaw on the run from the Law, she would have thought that he was a good man. One of the good guys. But he wasn’t, and she wasn’t sure what to do. Should she continue her original plan, of learning all that she could from him, and then turning him into Sheriff Cutter when he and his posse returned from Granger?
No.
Maybe she could’ve, when they’d first met , but now that she knew him better…? Even if he was a bandit, she couldn’t be responsible for harming him, causing him pain. Because at some point, she’d lost her heart to him, and that made her the biggest fool in the west.
Because, even though he was a bad guy, she’d realized he was a good man. And oh goodness, hadn’t that dichotomy kept her up fretting the last few nights? Even Snow had commented on how tired she’d looked. Of course, Mama hadn’t been so kind, berating Rose for looking “sallow” and “wan” right before the big Christmas celebration. After all, everyone knew that gatherings like these were the best chance to catch the eye of a visiting, worthy man.
Rose’s stomach had roiled at her mother’s words, because she knew that no matter his past escapades, the worthiest man she knew was lying in her barn at that moment.
There were plenty of people bustling around Everland today, and Rose imagined them taking care of their last-minute Christmas errands. One of the Pedlar sons was fixing the wreaths that hung in the front windows, under his mother’s watchful eye, and Mr. Grimm the undertaker had his usual cheerful smile as he swept the snow-dusting from his porch. Rose waved politely to a few people who called to her, but mostly kept her attention on the snowy road and her face hidden by her bonnet. Biting her lower lip, she had to admit that she’d gotten herself into a real pickle this time.
After the time she’d spent apart from Bear last week, she’d come to the conclusion that she couldn’t turn him in, couldn’t stand to be the reason he’d be locked away. But she also knew—that for the sake of her own morality and soul—she couldn’t run away with him either. The only option was to let him go; send him on his way. That’s why she’d finally gone back to the barn, to see him one last time. To return his guns and check on his wound and see if he could manage to fetch his horse by himself.
To say goodbye.
But then he’d confessed that he’d read her book, and liked it, and she couldn’t resist sitting beside him to talk about it. And even though he didn’t share any of his own outlawing adventures, he told her about himself, and Rose had to admit that those stories were much, much better.
She’d spent the past three afternoons with him. Sitting beside him, holding his hand sometimes. Just talking. Talking about past Christmases, and his childhood in Kentucky, and the mischief he and his brother had pulled as children. She’d told him about her dreams of traveling, and how she ho
ped to one day sell her novels to her publisher for enough to get away from Mama’s rules and pettiness. And together, they’d painted a pretty picture of a future, traveling by rail to see parts of the country they’d each only read about.
But she wasn’t a fool. She knew that the idyllic painting could only ever be pretend. She couldn’t run away with him…because he was an outlaw. And even though she wouldn’t harm him, she also couldn’t condone his choices.
No matter the joy and magic she’d felt cuddled beside him reading from her stories, she knew they had no future together.
But despite the fact that he had his guns back, and despite the fact that she’d told him where and how to fetch his horse, and despite the fact that his wound was healing nicely…Bear was still in her barn. Each afternoon she’d gone back, opening the door in part-excitement, part-dread, wondering if he’d still be there. Hoping he’d had the sense to escape, to leave her to her memories. Loving the way her heart thrilled to see he hadn’t.
Oh yes, she was in trouble. She’d gone and fallen in love with an outlaw.
Sighing, Rose climbed the two steps to Mayor’s Books and Botany, too deep in her wistfulness to do more than glance at the elegant decorations hanging from the door. When she pushed it open, however, the usual cheerful tinkle of the welcoming bell was drowned out by something far lovelier. Something that pulled her from her hopelessness.
In the corner stood Vincenzo Bellini, the world-renown violinist who’d retired to Everland this past spring, and he was softly playing Oh Holy Night, which had always been one of Rose’s favorite hymns. His wife, the former Arabella Mayor, sung softly along, shelving her books between sending her husband adoring glances. Of course, the man couldn’t see them, since he’d been hideously scarred years before in the war, but seeing the two of them interact always amazed Rose. It was like he could see right through the red silk blindfold he always wore—thank Heavens—and knew exactly where Arabella or her son were at all times.