breed. I won’t be welcome in there, no more than I was in the church back home.”
Rosie laid a hand on his shoulder. “Please,” she whispered. “You look fine tonight. Just fine.”
“Fine clothes don’t change the color of my skin, Rosie-girl. Much as I try to act decent, I don’t know about manners in church and other high-society places. My mama used to say poor people have poor ways. She was right. Now get on back in there where you belong, and I’ll meet you out here after the service.”
Rosie shook her head. She wouldn’t be the obedient little girl any longer. “I’m not going in without you, Bart Kingsley,” she told him. “Now get up and escort me like a gentleman should.”
It was a moment before he clambered to his feet and offered Rosie his arm. As they took their seats, it occurred to her that this was probably the first time in a long while that Bart had obeyed an order he didn’t cotton to. She knew it was the first time ever that he had set foot inside the lily-white walls of a church. But before she had time to ponder all this, he took her hand, wove his fingers through hers and bowed his head in prayer.
Chapter Eight
W hen the church service ended, Bart wished he could ease right out a side door and escape for a few minutes alone with Rosie. The last thing he wanted was to be hauled to the church door where Reverend Cullen stood shaking hands with everyone.
For one thing, Bart was feeling convicted. From the time he was a boy, he had known preachers could really lay a sinner out—and Reverend Cullen was no exception. After nearly two hours of the minister’s preaching that evening, Bart was squirming in his pew. He envisioned his transgressions stretched out across the heavens like a headline in The Raton Comet. Worse, he pictured God and the angels looking down on him and shaking their heads in disappointment.
Another reason Bart was hoping to bypass the preacher had to do with his uncertainties about trespassing in such a sacred place. If a half-breed Apache hadn’t been wanted in the Kansas City church, what would make Reverend Cullen welcome him now? In spite of his bath, shave and the fancy duds he had borrowed from theowner of the livery stable, Bart knew he looked just as much like an Indian as ever.
The third reason for slipping out of church was to talk to Rosie in private and get to the bottom of her feelings for him. He had never known her to be so downright cold. Miss Prim and Proper was in her element. If the angels were shaking their heads over Bart, they were smiling with pleasure at the uppity Laura Rose.
No doubt Rosie never felt a moment’s conviction all through that sermon. She didn’t have a single thing in her upright life to feel guilty about. As he made his way up the aisle, Bart steeled himself for the disapproval he would read in the preacher’s eyes. Sure, the elderly man had a handshake and kind word for everybody else. But Bart didn’t hold out much hope that he’d get the same treatment. He had seen too many grins dissolve into thin air when he walked into a room.
“Reverend Cullen,” Rosie said as she shook the preacher’s hand. “What a thought-provoking sermon. I was truly moved.”
“All credit goes to the Lord, Miss Laura.”
Rosie turned to Bart, who wished he could disappear. “Reverend Cullen, I’d like you to meet…”
“Buck Springfield,” Bart said.
The preacher stuck out his hand and grabbed Bart’s, giving it a firm shake. “Welcome to Raton, Mr. Springfield. I understand you’re Cheyenne Bill’s cousin.”
Bart glanced at the ceiling, wondering if he could be struck dead for telling two bald-faced lies right inside a church. “That’s right,” he managed. “We’re like family.”
“Splendid! I’ve done my best to lure that gentlemaninto church. Now that you’re in Raton, perhaps you’ll be able to convince him of the need for spiritual renewal.”
“I can try, sir.” Bart discovered he was still
Rosie laid a hand on his shoulder. “Please,” she whispered. “You look fine tonight. Just fine.”
“Fine clothes don’t change the color of my skin, Rosie-girl. Much as I try to act decent, I don’t know about manners in church and other high-society places. My mama used to say poor people have poor ways. She was right. Now get on back in there where you belong, and I’ll meet you out here after the service.”
Rosie shook her head. She wouldn’t be the obedient little girl any longer. “I’m not going in without you, Bart Kingsley,” she told him. “Now get up and escort me like a gentleman should.”
It was a moment before he clambered to his feet and offered Rosie his arm. As they took their seats, it occurred to her that this was probably the first time in a long while that Bart had obeyed an order he didn’t cotton to. She knew it was the first time ever that he had set foot inside the lily-white walls of a church. But before she had time to ponder all this, he took her hand, wove his fingers through hers and bowed his head in prayer.
Chapter Eight
W hen the church service ended, Bart wished he could ease right out a side door and escape for a few minutes alone with Rosie. The last thing he wanted was to be hauled to the church door where Reverend Cullen stood shaking hands with everyone.
For one thing, Bart was feeling convicted. From the time he was a boy, he had known preachers could really lay a sinner out—and Reverend Cullen was no exception. After nearly two hours of the minister’s preaching that evening, Bart was squirming in his pew. He envisioned his transgressions stretched out across the heavens like a headline in The Raton Comet. Worse, he pictured God and the angels looking down on him and shaking their heads in disappointment.
Another reason Bart was hoping to bypass the preacher had to do with his uncertainties about trespassing in such a sacred place. If a half-breed Apache hadn’t been wanted in the Kansas City church, what would make Reverend Cullen welcome him now? In spite of his bath, shave and the fancy duds he had borrowed from theowner of the livery stable, Bart knew he looked just as much like an Indian as ever.
The third reason for slipping out of church was to talk to Rosie in private and get to the bottom of her feelings for him. He had never known her to be so downright cold. Miss Prim and Proper was in her element. If the angels were shaking their heads over Bart, they were smiling with pleasure at the uppity Laura Rose.
No doubt Rosie never felt a moment’s conviction all through that sermon. She didn’t have a single thing in her upright life to feel guilty about. As he made his way up the aisle, Bart steeled himself for the disapproval he would read in the preacher’s eyes. Sure, the elderly man had a handshake and kind word for everybody else. But Bart didn’t hold out much hope that he’d get the same treatment. He had seen too many grins dissolve into thin air when he walked into a room.
“Reverend Cullen,” Rosie said as she shook the preacher’s hand. “What a thought-provoking sermon. I was truly moved.”
“All credit goes to the Lord, Miss Laura.”
Rosie turned to Bart, who wished he could disappear. “Reverend Cullen, I’d like you to meet…”
“Buck Springfield,” Bart said.
The preacher stuck out his hand and grabbed Bart’s, giving it a firm shake. “Welcome to Raton, Mr. Springfield. I understand you’re Cheyenne Bill’s cousin.”
Bart glanced at the ceiling, wondering if he could be struck dead for telling two bald-faced lies right inside a church. “That’s right,” he managed. “We’re like family.”
“Splendid! I’ve done my best to lure that gentlemaninto church. Now that you’re in Raton, perhaps you’ll be able to convince him of the need for spiritual renewal.”
“I can try, sir.” Bart discovered he was still
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