Give My Love to Rose (3 page)

“
Lord, I don’t like you
and you sure as hell don’t like me, but just now I’m stuck and
unable to come to a decision. Now, that man thanked You for me
finding him that morning and, well, I ain’t so sure about that but
if You did want me to find him and if I am supposed to take this
money back to his family then why don’t You send me some sort of
sign?” Marston felt more than a little foolish as he spoke to the
cloud-covered night sky.

He senses were on high alert watching for
any hint of a sign in the night around him. He knew that if there
was anything, he would notice it. Most believed there was Indian
blood in his veins that gave him increased senses that others
didn’t have. He could hear and see with sharp clarity. He could
tell when someone was going to move simply by the tension in their
muscles. He could also easily tell when someone was lying based on
their body language and posture. Hell, maybe he was part Indian.
He’d never known his family and he had fairly dark skin.

Marston snorted at the direction his
thoughts had gone and cursed himself a fool when no sign magically
appeared in the darkness. Grabbing a stick, Marston began to stab
mercilessly at the fire. He stilled instantly when a swollen
droplet of rain plopped onto the brim of his hat. Seconds later,
more droplets fell and sizzled in the flames.

Within moments, the rain was coming down
hard and the drought hardened ground was soaking up the moisture
like a sponge. Marston cursed and leaped to his feet. He dug
through his saddlebags and pulled out his duster coat before
sliding into it. They hadn’t had rain in these parts in weeks!

“
Is this my sign, God?” he
demanded of the sky. “A little rain shower is the best You could
come up with?”

A flash of lightning lit the sky and the
accompanying thunder, cracked so loudly that Marston felt the
vibration in his chest. He chose to pretend that the thunder and
lightning hadn’t accompanied his mocking of the Almighty as he went
about ensuring the horses were secure.

“
Still waiting on that
sign,” Marston grumbled as he hunkered down beside some boulders
and the rain ran in rivers off the brim of his hat. Suddenly the
wind kicked up and blew his hat off his head. If flew through the
air and Marston chased after it, his long duster coat whipping
around his thick legs. He snatched his runaway hat from the ground
and clutched it to his chest.

Now, Marston was not a religious man by any
means but one of the women at the orphanage had always preached
about the Lord’s will and signs. Even Duke, as cold-hearted as he
was, believed there were times the Lord sent you signs and told you
what to do. Maybe Marston should listen just this once….

***

The rain had stopped falling by the time the
sun began to rise over the horizon the next morning. The clouds
were still gray and heavy with the promise of more rain as Marston
went about cleaning up his camp. His fire had died shortly after
the rain had begun and he was soaked to the bone.

With a sniff, Marston climbed up in the
saddle and turned the horse to the east. Though he knew deep down
it was foolish to believe that a rainstorm was a sign from God, he
was still going to listen. He could be in Harper, Louisiana in
three days and just as soon as he dropped the money off with that
old lady, his guilt would be gone and he could get back to chasing
after Jeremiah.

Marston had made up his mind to give
Langston’s family his money but not all of it--they didn’t need
six-hundred dollars. He had taken half of the money out of the
leather bag and shoved it inside his saddlebags. The old lady and
her son never needed to know there’d been more than three hundred
dollars in that worn leather pouch.

Chapter Three

Marston rode into Harper Louisiana three
days later. He’d never been to this town before and found that it
was little more than a muddy main street dotted with rough-hewn
lumber buildings.

Having no idea where to find this Rose or
her son, Marston hitched the horses outside the mercantile and
headed toward the steps, his boots sinking in the thick mud. He
hated rain. Thanks to the recent downpour he had mud caked to his
shins and the bottom of his duster coat was filthy.

When he stepped into the dimly lit building,
two older ladies glanced up from the catalog they’d been scanning
behind the counter. Their eyes widened substantially upon sight of
him.

“
Can we help you, sir?”
one of them asked. She was short and stick thin with a mouth that
seemed to naturally pucker as if she’d spent most of her life
sucking lemons.

“
I’m hoping you can,”
Marston admitted, a friendly smile curving his lips as he stepped
closer.

The thin woman swallowed hard and her eyes
stared up at him from behind her half inch thick glasses. “My name
is Hester,” Lemon lips stated. “And this is my sister, Hattie.”

Marston nodded as she motioned to the woman
beside her and kept his face a mask of politeness while inside he
wondered how in the hell the two women could possibly be
related.

Hattie was short and so plump he was left to
wonder if maybe they had a bigger door in back that she came in and
out of. He had a soft face, but it was a friendly one and lacked
the sour puss expression her sister seemed to wear at all
times.

Marston held out his dirty hand to the
sisters who stared at it a moment before quickly shaking it. He
pretended not to notice as they wiped their hands on their aprons.
“Fine store you have here,” Marston lied as he glanced around the
dusty interior.

Clearly the H&H Mercantile didn’t see a
whole lot of business. Most of these things appeared to have been
sitting there since before the wrinkly duo had been born. “Well
aren’t you a fine gentleman!” Hattie exclaimed, adjusted her apron
on her ample belly.

Marston winked. “It’s hard to be anything
but a gentleman around such lovely ladies.”

The sisters glanced at each other before
breaking into fits of schoolgirl giggles and fiddling with their
gray hair. “Come on now!” Hester scolded, adjusted her glasses.
“What can we help you with?”

Marston met her gaze. “I’m actually looking
for someone—a woman and her son.”

Both women sobered immediately. “Why?”
Hester hissed, her giant blue eyes narrowing behind her
spectacles.

“
Hester!” Hattie gasped,
clearly shocked by her harsh tone.

Hester shrugged her thin shoulders. “We
don’t know him, Hattie. He’s a mud-covered, filthy, bearded giant
of a man with more weapons than the union army combined! I fail to
see what business he’d have with any woman and her boy.”

Hattie began chewing on her fingernails, her
chins wobbling as she did so. Hester, however, had a deadly glare
fixed on Marston that nearly made him laugh. She was no bigger than
a damn field mouse, but it was clear she had spunk.

“
I don’t mean them any
harm, ma’am,” Marston assured her truthfully. “I have some things
that belong to them and I need to see that they get
them.”

“
Where did you get these
things?” Hester inquired with a raise of her thick gray brow.
Hattie looked back and forth between them as if she were a nervous
child.

“
I’m not gonna tell you
that,” Marston replied. “At least not until I’ve told the woman.”
Marston smiled and stooped lower, leaning his forearms against the
counter to bring himself eye level with the vertically challenged
women. “Now will you two lovely ladies tell me where I can find
Rose Howell or do I need to go door to door to every surrounding
homestead.”

Hester and Hattie shared a look of surprise.
Hattie’s eyes widened and she shook her head, but Hester grinned as
she turned her attention back to Marston. “It’s Rose you’re looking
for?”

Marston nodded. “That’s right.”

“
Hester no…,” Hattie
whispered, but Hester raised her hand to let her sister know she
didn’t appreciate her input.

“
Take the south road out
of town, veer right at the fork. You’ll go about a half a mile
through the thick forest and then you’ll top over a hill and the
cabin will be in view. Rose and Langston Junior should be
home.”

Marston nodded and stood back straight.
Hattie whimpered. “Sir, I truly hope you don’t mean them physical
harm…”

With a shake of his head, Marston chuckled.
“Of course not.” He tipped his hat. “Thank both of you kindly for
your help.”

He heard them fall into a hushed
conversation as he stepped back out onto the boardwalk. Marston
could feel the eyes of several town folk on him as he hopped back
into the gray’s saddle. Marston glanced toward several women
standing on a porch across the street and he threw up his hand in
greeting. Quickly they disappeared back inside and Marston
sighed.

He turned the gray’s nose toward the south
road and headed out of town. It was time to find the old woman,
give her the horse and the money, (or half of it anyway) and get
the hell out of town and back to looking for his good for nothing
brother.

Marston was riding slowly and so he began
whistling his favorite little tune as he rode. When Marston topped
the small hill a bit of a ride later, he saw the homestead exactly
where the sisters thin and fat had said he would.

Instantly Marston knew he had greatly
misjudged the wealth of these people. The cabin before him was one
good windstorm away from being labeled ruins. That roof had to
leak, some of the shutters were barely hanging on and others were
crooked and there were cracks in the log walls that Marston knew
had to let the wind and rain in.

A small barn stood a short distance from the
cabin and it didn’t appear to be in any better shape. As a matter
of fact, from up on this hill, he could see a hole in the roof
nearly big enough to drop a horse through.

A lone skinny horse was currently standing
within the muddy corral. The animal could have easily gotten free
of that rickety fence holding it prisoner, but it appeared too
tired and run down to attempt freedom. A woodshed and smokehouse
nearby matched the cabin and barn.

Marston was beginning to wonder if perhaps
the sisters had been wrong about Rose and her son still living in
this house. It didn’t appear fit for anyone to call home. He was
contemplating turning around when the door to the cabin opened and
a woman stepped onto the porch.

She had a broom in her hands and began
sweeping the dirt from the wooden planks—Marston couldn’t take his
eyes off her.

Deep red curls framed her ivory face,
breaking free of the binds she had attempted to hold it back with.
Her body was full, rounded and soft beneath the worn fabric of her
dress and apron. Marston wished he could make out her features, but
he was still too far away.

Maybe she lived here to help out the old
lady… maybe she was Langston Juniors wife. Marston snorted. It
didn’t matter whose wife she was. He wanted her and he would have
her before he left one way or the other.

The brown mare tied to Marston’s gray let
out a snort as they started down the hill and the woman’s eyes were
instantly on him. She tossed her broom aside, lifted her skirts and
ran into the house, closing the door behind her.

Marston sighed and again had to wonder just
how ugly he’d gotten. These days it seemed that everyone ran away
from him. Hopping from his horse and hitching it to the porch,
Marston stared at the ramshackle cabin. He helped himself to a
drink of water from the well beside the house and then wiped his
mouth on his shirt sleeve as he started up the porch.

“
Stop right there,” a
feminine voice warned from inside and Marston found himself heeding
the warning. Not because she told him to but because the rifle
barrel sticking out of a hole in the door told him to.

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.