Loving a Lawman Page 3

  Micah opened his mouth for a moment, contemplating his next words before clamping his jaw shut again. It ain’t worth it.

  “All right.” Pastor Holtz tapped Carson on the shoulder. “Miss Rosie needs her rest now.”

  Carson stood and stretched, fighting back a yawn as he spoke. “As do I. What a day it’s been. Speeches, suppers, private conferences, and now all of this.” He let loose a weary sigh. “Oh well, such is the life of a public servant. Good night all.”

  Micah stepped aside to allow Carson to exit. He spoke when the room was quiet once again. “If you need anything at all, I’ll be out in the sitting room. Rest well, Miss Rosie.”

  Chapter 4

  The chill of the early morning air stung Rosie’s nose as she inhaled. Her eyes fluttered open in the pale, gray light. The dryness of her throat made it difficult to swallow. She pulled the blanket up over her shoulders and hugged her body for warmth.

  Confusion filled her mind when she felt the buttons running down the front of her dress. This wasn’t her nightgown. She tried to piece the events of the last evening together in her mind, but couldn’t sort out the jumble of patchy memories.

  Pain shot through her skull when she tried to sit up. Grabbing her right temple, she winced when her fingers touched the raised bump beneath the bandage binding her wound. Her mind began to clear as the pain subsided. A confused jumble of memories surfaced: commotion, voices, and pain. But what had happened?

  Never one to lie around when there was work to be done, Rosie applied a little pressure to her head and sat up. Her stomach turned as the room wobbled around her. She took a deep, bracing breath and stood slowly to her feet.

  She walked over to the looking glass hanging above the dresser. Leaning close, she lifted the edge of the blood stained linen bandage. A dark trail of dried blood closed the wound sitting atop a raised lump on her head. Hues of purple and blue surrounded the deep red flesh nearest her broken skin. She opened her eyes wide, testing their range of motion. Her right eyelid disappeared into the swelling that had crept down into her eye socket.

  Rosie washed her face at the bedside table and found a stack of clean linen strips folded neatly beside the wash basin. She replaced her soiled bandage and changed into a fresh dress. Her sleep had been so sound that she’d barely moved all night. Hardly a hair was out of place.

  Walking into her sitting room, Rosie was surprised to find Micah sitting in a chair next to the window. He was dressed in the same clothes from the day before and held a rifle across his lap. A flash of a memory came to the forefront of her mind when she saw the broken window. The sound of glass shattering followed by a sickening crash echoed in her head.

  Her fingers gingerly walked over the bandage on her forehead as she gazed at the sleeping sheriff from across the room. The longer her eyes lingered on him, the more desire came alive in her heart. She trailed the back of her hand down the side of her face, watching him intently. There was something—some memory that was just beyond her reach. He had spoken to her last night; she was sure of it, but she couldn’t bring his words into focus.

  The sunlight streaming in through the windows had changed from the gray-blue of early morning to a rich golden shade. Micah would wake soon, and Rosie wanted to be ready. She’d always had a knack for putting the needs of others before her own, even to the point of her own detriment, and this morning was no different.

  Rosie put her questions about the night before out of her mind, and went to the kitchen and began preparing breakfast for her guests. She mixed the cornbread batter and poured it into a well seasoned cast iron skillet to bake. She soon had fresh eggs and bacon sizzling on the fire.

  With her grandmother’s best dishes laid in place around the table, she set out both the honey and wild raspberry preserves to sweeten the cornbread. Nothing was too extravagant for this meal. It wasn’t every day she had the opportunity to cook breakfast for Micah Lagrange.

  Her mind was lost in a day dream of a life where she no longer had to take care of strangers to survive. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she imagined mornings where she only cooked for one man. One man in particular.

  “Miss Rosie?”

  Micah’s voice made her nearly jump out of her skin. She threw a hand to her heart and dropped her turning fork into the popping bacon grease. “Micah, I didn’t hear you come in. I thought you were still sleeping.”

  “I don’t know if there’s a man alive that could sleep with the smell of this food in his nose.” His smile turned serious. “But you shouldn’t be up, and you certainly shouldn’t be doing all this work.”

  “I’ll admit, my head is tender, but I’m almost done here.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. “What happened last night?”

  “Some cattle rustlers rode into town aiming to cause trouble for Carson. I’m afraid you got caught in the middle. The rock they used to bust out your window nailed you right in the head, but Pastor Holtz took care of you.” He pointed at the bandage around her head.

  “I remember bits and pieces, but honestly, it’s all so confusing.” Her brows drew together as she looked over her shoulder at the sheriff. “Do you think they’ll come back?”

  “The best U.S. Marshall in the state of Texas is hot on their trail. Plus, you’ve got me and Carson’s man to look after you.” Micah hooked his thumbs into his ammunition laden gun belt and squared his shoulders. “You’re in good hands, Miss Rosie.”

  Rosie smiled faintly and went back to work on her buttered eggs.

  “I really wish you’d sit down.” The deep velvety tone of his voice made Rosie’s pulse quicken.

  “Folks got to eat, you know.” Her cheeks glowed with a soft shade of pink when her eyes met his. Only a few minutes before, she had imagined herself married and settled with this man, and now she couldn’t hold his gaze for more than a few moments.

  “Let me help you, at least.” He crossed the kitchen and stood within an arm’s length of her.

  “No, no. Don’t be silly. I can handle—”

  A gentle firmness entered Micah’s voice. “I insist, Miss Rosie. You have a seat at the table. It’s high time someone served you a meal.”

  He stepped up to the stove while Rosie made her way to her chair. She sat, watching as Micah’s head roved from side to side. Apparently, he was sizing up the situation. Finally, his clenched fists came to rest on his hips.

  “Okay, what do I do?” He could face off with desperados, bank robbers, and killers without hesitation, but put him in a kitchen, and he looked as helpless as a child.

  Rosie couldn’t help but laugh at the bewildered, six-foot tall man. She recoiled at the sudden shock of pain that shot through her head.

  “Miss Rosie?” Micah was kneeling at her side in an instant, supporting both of her arms with a firm grasp.

  Rosie’s heart melted when she saw the look of concern etched in the bronzed features of his face. “I’m all right. Really. I just need to remember not to laugh at my friends, that’s all.” She gazed into his hazel eyes, and for the first time didn’t feel the need to look away.

  The closeness of the moment jogged the memory she had been straining to reach all morning. “It was you, wasn’t it? You took care of me last night. I remember now. You were talking to me. I don’t remember what you said, but I remember how it made me feel…”

  Rosie quieted, drinking in the moment. Micah still held her upper arms in his large, warm hands. The tender sensation of his thumbs rubbing her shoulders sent a tidal wave of emotion through her soul. She held his gaze, willing the moment to never end.

  “What is that smell? Is the house on fire?” Carson’s boots clunked toward the kitchen.

  Rosie snapped back to her senses, eyes darting to the cloud of smoke hovering over the pot belly stove. “The bacon!”

  Micah rushed to the stove and grabbed the iron handle of the skillet with his bare hand. “Catfish and crawdads!” he howled. He tossed the searing pan back onto the stov
etop, sloshing scorched bacon grease onto the surface. “I’m afraid I ain’t been much help, Miss Rosie.” He rubbed his burnt hand on the back side of his britches.

  “I’ll say,” said Carson, “next time why don’t you let Rose do what she does best—cook her exquisite meals on her own.” Carson snatched a plate from the table and walked over to the stove. He loaded it with extra crispy bacon, clucking his tongue the whole time. After piling a mound of scrambled eggs on his plate, he took a seat at the table. “It’s awfully good to see you up and about this morning, Rose. Is that corn bread I smell baking?”

  “Oh yes, it’s about time I take it out,” said Rosie.

  “I can do it for you, Miss Rosie.” Micah took hold of a dish towel, determined to avoid another burn.

  “Just let Rose get it. I’d like to be able to enjoy the cornbread, not mourn its demise on the kitchen floor,” said Carson with a quiet chuckle.

  “It’s all right, Micah,” said Rosie. “I’m much better now. I can get it.”

  Micah handed the towel to Rosie. He shook his head as he regarded Carson through narrowed eyes.

  Rosie set the steaming bread in the center of the table. She straightened her back and exhaled, closing her eyes. “Will you boys be all right if I go lie down for a bit? I think I need to rest my head.”

  “You do that, Miss Rosie. Don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine.” Micah placed his hand on her back and walked her to the kitchen door.

  “I’m fine. I just need rest for a spell until this pounding eases up.” She paused a moment before walking through the door. She took one last look into Micah’s eyes. “Safe,” she said.

  Micah gave her a puzzled look.

  “Last night, when you were talking to me—it made me feel safe.” She offered a weak smile before taking her leave.

  Micah watched Rosie walk down the hall to the room he had laid her in the night before. It took all of his self-control to keep his boots rooted in the kitchen. Every inch of him wanted to be near her—to look after her.

  The sound of Carson crunching his blackened bacon caught Micah’s attention. He hadn’t had words with him last night, and now was the time.

  “Sheriff,” Carson said with his mouth full, “you need to stick to what you’re good at. Let Rose do the cooking …” he paused to pick a piece of burnt bacon from his teeth, then continued “… while you do the sheriffing. Or are you good at that?” He slapped the table and laughed at his own hilarity. “What were you doing last night when those men came after me?” A wry smile played on his lips as he dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

  The veins on Micah’s forearms bulged as the knuckles of his clenched fists turned white. He pulled a chair out and turned it around. Straddling it, he rested his arms on the back and looked Carson straight in the eye. “Why are you here?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Why are you here?” Micah repeated the question with the same icy tone.

  “Sweet Creek is my campaign headquarters. My ranch down south is too far away to—”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about. Cole told me what you did to the Garret boys. I can’t say I blame you. I probably would have done the same thing in your place. But to turn around and come here without so much as a warning to be on the lookout for trouble?” Micah leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “Those boys are lookin’ for their pound of flesh, and they’ve set their sights on you. You got no business bringing danger into this house.”

  Regret flashed across Carson’s face. “I do feel terrible about what happened last night, but how could I know those two lunatics would follow me here? I thought they were off rustling cattle somewhere far away.” He heaved a heavy sigh and cut himself a large piece of steaming cornbread. “Don’t worry, Sheriff, I have a plan to make it all up to Rose and soon. She will be handsomely rewarded for all of her trouble; that I can promise you.”

  “You ought to consider moving out for Miss Rosie’s sake.”

  “Where would I go?”

  “There are plenty of rooms for rent above the saloon.”

  “Oh no, that wouldn’t do. I can’t take the chance of being misconstrued as a winebibber this close to the election. No, I really must stay here. Now that Cole is here to help, you shouldn’t have any more trouble protecting me.”

  He flashed Micah his brightest campaign trail smile. “I’ve decided to have faith in you.” He rapped his knuckles on the table and sat back in his chair, apparently quite pleased with his magnanimous gesture. Micah’s nostrils flared at the satisfied look on Carson’s face. He didn’t need this politician’s stamp of approval—he wasn’t even sure if he wanted it.

  Carson stuffed an enormous bite of honey soaked cornbread into his mouth. “Want some?” The words came out muffled as crumbs flew from his lips.

  “No thanks. I haven’t got much of an appetite this morning.”

  Micah greeted Cole on his way out the door. “Watch Miss Rosie while I’m gone.”

  “Will do, boss,” said Cole.

  Micah stepped out into the clear morning air and made for the jailhouse to clean up for the day. Of all the questions swirling in his mind, one screamed the loudest. Handsomely rewarded? What does he mean by that?

  Chapter 5

  Rosie heard the low rumble of men’s voices through the wall of her room on the first floor. The throbbing pain in her head had subsided but flared up once again when she turned to look out the window.

  She hadn’t intended to sleep, but the bright light of midday told her that several hours had passed since she had lain down. Her head swam when she sat up, but not quite as badly as the first time she had gotten out of bed that morning.

  The sound of the voices led her to the kitchen where she found two men deep in excited conversation.

  “… and I’ll bet he doesn’t have that ace up his sleeve.” Carson clapped his hands and rubbed them together so vigorously he looked as if he were trying to start a fire. A grand peal of laughter erupted from his lips as he leaned back in his chair, slapping the table with his palm. “It’s the best possible outcome for us, Titus.”

  “You’re all but guaranteed a win.” The eager voice of the small man seated at the table was lost in another wave of Carson’s laughter.

  The sound was a lot for Rosie’s tender head to deal with. Though she was used to their meetings, she had never heard the men quite so exuberant before. She put a hand to her head and strode into the kitchen in search of something to quench her thirst.

  “Rose, how wonderful to see you looking so much recovered.” Carson’s hair was uncharacteristically disheveled and hung down the right side of his face. A soft wave of silky black hair peppered with white curled under and came to rest just beneath his chiseled cheekbone. It was quite a change from his usual appearance. Rosie liked the look of this less-polished version of her boarder.

  Carson stood to stretch. “It was difficult to go over Titus’s notes with the morning dishes still littering the table.”

  “Sorry about that. I’ll try not to lie down so much the next time I’ve had my head cracked open with a rock.” If Carson had been paying attention, he may have detected the hint of annoyance masked beneath Rosie’s playful grin.

  Titus was busy shoving papers into a fine leather bag. The latch clicked shut on the monogrammed satchel. He pushed his spectacles up and cleared his throat. “Miss Rosie—”

  “Call her Rose, Titus. The name is much more befitting a woman of her standing. Don’t you think, my dear?” Carson’s last words were directed at Rosie. His features came alive as a magnetic smile spread across his face.

  Rosie’s brow furrowed as she bit her bottom lip. Her name was Rosie. It was the name her father had given her and it would always be her name, but there was no use trying to tell Carson. He wouldn’t hear her even if she tried.

  “Pardon me,” said Titus. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Rose, I have errands to run. Elections aren’t won by the idle.” He knocked his knuckles on
the bag he held to his chest and looked at Carson. “I’ll be back later tonight with good news, I’m sure.” With that, he was out the door.

  Rosie began collecting the morning dishes.

  “Oh, don’t bother with that now. Titus and I have finished our conference. You and I have more important matters to discuss.” He took a stack of plates out of her hands. They clanked as he set them down on the end of the table. He pulled a chair out for Rosie. “Please have a seat.” She caught sight of something twinkling in his chestnut eyes as he stared at her, but she couldn’t quite place what it was.

  Carson stood to his full height and buttoned his cutaway jacket. Its style offered a perfect view of the gold chain attached to a pocket watch tucked safely away in his silk vest. The close fit of the jacket highlighted the contrast between the breadth of his shoulders and the trim proportions of his waist. He made a striking figure in the small country kitchen.

  As Rosie looked at him, she saw for the first time that there was more to him than fancy clothes and good looks. He had an air of authority about him wherever he went; a special something that made people want to follow him. She couldn’t explain it, but she couldn’t deny it either. He may be blind to the needs of the people around him, but that man is a natural born leader.

  He looked past Rosie deep in contemplation, a fiery intensity burning in his eyes. His fingers raked through his hair before he opened his mouth. “Where to begin …” He took a deep breath. “Your exceptional capabilities as a hostess have not escaped my notice.”

  “Well, thank—”

  He held up a hand. “I’m far from finished, my dear Rose. Please allow me to continue.”

  Rosie’s jaw hung slack for a moment as she sat silently in her chair, hands folded in her lap.

  “Not only are you an excellent house keeper …” he paused and looked at the table still strewn with breakfast dishes and said, “on most occasions at least, you’re also a superb cook. The fact that you always have a kind word and a ready smile on your lips is something that I admire. Those qualities make you an ideal hostess.”