Give My Love to Rose (4 page)

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 games, 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.”