The Gunman's Bride (16 page)

Cramping again, she curled up into a ball of pain as he returned to the table where the others were engaged
in a hand of poker. Rosie buried her face in the pillow to keep from crying out. What if she lost the baby? How awful to feel the tiny life torn from her body!

Forcing herself to breathe deeply, Rosie tried to find peace in her misery. Bart was alive, she reminded herself. The house was still standing. The crops were in the field, and the stock had been cared for. Maybe things weren’t so bad.

But just look at her home. Rosie gave the room another quick study before shutting her eyes again in dismay. If the house was disturbing, the conversation that drifted her way was worse.

“I reckon we’re about two jumps ahead of that low-down Las Vegas sheriff,” Bob Ford was saying. “Whatcha think, Snort?”

“That posse was campin’ on our trail till we had saddle sores.” He took a swig of whiskey, then struck a match on his boot and lit up a cheroot. “Anyhow, I suspect we lost ‘em. Nobody’s gonna guess we came thisaway.”

“Who’d ever want to wet his whistle in this rat’s nest?”

“Hey, watch what you say about my abode,” Bart put in as he slapped a card onto the table. “Raton may have been named for a varmint with yellow teeth and a hankering for cheese, but it’s been comfort to me.”

“Sure,” Fancy said with a laugh. “You got yerself a female to warm yer blanket. I’d settle down for a while, too, if I had me some purty lips to kiss at the end of the day.”

The men chuckled, and Bart glanced over his shoulder. “That little gal is as sweet as barnyard milk, if you
want the truth, boys. We’re making a home here, and I aim to live the rest of my life inside the law.”

“Aw, sure you are,” Bob chuckled. “Injun, you wouldn’t know the law if it hit you upside the head. Your name don’t exactly tally with the Bible, and I reckon you’re just wastin’ the talents the Devil gave you, sittin’ out here on this mesa.”

“Quit your jawing, Ford.” Scowling, Bart glanced at Rosie again, then lowered his voice. “Anybody ever told you you’re mouthy?”

“I reckon Jesse might have, and look what it got him.”

The room fell silent. As the pain in her stomach gradually subsided, Rosie listened to the sound of cards being flipped onto the table and the swish of liquor in the bottles as the men swilled it. Finally Fancy gave a loud, gusty belch as if to announce that he was ready to change the subject.

“So, what about the Sante Fe line, Injun?” he asked. “You reckon we could pull us off a good one?”

“What? You’re joshing me.”

“No, I ain’t. The minute Bob heard you was in Raton, he says, ‘Injun’ll have what we need to know about the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe, and we’ll make us some
dineros
. Let’s head on over there and find Injun and have us a good time.’ Ain’t that right, Bob?”

“Now that you mention it, I did say something like that. So why don’t you tell us what you know, Injun? With the trains hauling passenger cars up the pass, we ought to have an easy time pulling off a job on one of them slow movers.”

Rosie watched through a cloud of gray smoke as
Bart tossed his cards on the table and leaned back in his chair. “I’m not a train robber anymore, fellers. You might as well get that set in your noggins right off. I’m not going to get myself strung up for aiding and abetting neither.”

“You gone yeller on us, Injun?” Snort jeered.

“I’m no coward. I just made up my mind to go straight.”

“Straight as a snake in a cactus patch. What’s the matter? You plannin’ a deal on yer own, Injun? Don’t you want to cut us in?”

“I’m telling you, Snort. I’m not interested.”

“You tryin’ to say yer plannin’ to dig sugar beets till yer gray and wrinkled?”

“Naw, he’s just airin’ his lungs,” Fancy said. “Come on, Injun. Yer the best gunman this side of the Mississippi. What you got up yer sleeve?”

Bart gave a yawn and scooted his chair back from the table. “What I got up my sleeve is a good woman and one hundred sixty acres of land so quiet I can hear daylight coming.”

“Can’t hardly beat that,” Snort said.

“To add to it, I got decent food to eat, a sturdy horse and enough religion to set my soul at ease. No sheriff’s breathing down my back, no posse’s licking at my trail and my tail’s not saddle sore from churning up the dust for weeks at a time. I got honest work, honest pay and a warm bed to come home to at night. And if you boys will excuse me, I’m aiming to settle myself in with my lady right now.”

“I’ll be cussed if I don’t think he means it,” Fancy
declared as he watched Bart head for the dressing screen.

“He’s a little addlepated is all,” Ford said, gathering up the playing cards. “A female will ruin a good man ever’ time if she gets half a chance. Leave it to me to set him straight. Come on, fellers, let’s roll out and get some sleep.”

Rosie watched as the men kicked aside whiskey bottles and tossed saddle blankets on the bare floor. In a moment Bart pulled back the edge of the quilt, slipped into the bed beside her and drew his hands up her arms and over her shoulders.

“I missed you, Rosie-girl,” he whispered in her ear. “If you’re still awake, I want you to know I’m sorry you got scared and rushed out here looking for me. I couldn’t come back to town. I couldn’t get away from them, see?” He let out a deep sigh. “I wish you weren’t so sick over things all the time. You’ve got to trust God that it’ll turn out okay, hear?”

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.