your mama, your Apache pappy, the boys who teased you, the preacher who wouldn’t let you into church and everyone else for the way you turned out. But you’re an outlaw because you chose to be one!”
“Hush now,” he pulled her close, pressing her head against his shoulder. “You’re going to scare up the sheriff with all this carryin’ on.”
Bart knew he was bad. Gritting his teeth, he stared up at the moon and acknowledged the truth. He was a sinner in league with the devil. And he felt just as mean and nasty as she had made him out to be. A hot flameof bitterness curled through him as he thought about Rosie’s taunts and accusations.
Every instinct that had been honed over six lawless years told him to force her to do what he wanted. He could hold her down and kiss her the way he’d imagined during all the long nights alone. With brutal strength, he could bend her to his will, make her pay for hurting him.
She didn’t believe he could ever change. So why should he struggle to suppress the animal inside him? Maybe he should show her just how bad Bart Kingsley could be.
“Haven’t you done your share of sinning?” he asked. “Haven’t you lied to your pappy and pretended to be someone you’re not? Weren’t you married to one man and engaged to another at the same time? Come on, Rosie, answer me.”
Her brown eyes met his. “Yes, I’m a sinner, Bart. Everyone is. I know I hurt my pappy and Dr. Lowell, too. Believe me, I’ve lived these past months torn between wanting to make amends and needing to take care of my future.”
“So you rank your desire for a happy life above the agony in your own father’s heart?”
She caught her breath in a gasp. “Oh, Bart, it’s true what you say. I’ve thought only of myself. But I’m sure that when I’m settled—with a teaching job and a home of my own—then I’ll telegram my pappy.”
“And in the meantime, you’ll let him suffer?”
With a cry, she covered her face with her hands. Her hair had come loose from its knot. Long glossy tendrils, silvered by the moon, spilled over her shoulders.
“Aw, Rosie,” Bart cried in a muffled voice, “this arguing and fussing is killing me.” Catching her tightly to him, he kissed her soft lips. “I’m sorry darlin’. You’re right to call me a bad man. I’m used to punching anyone who makes me mad, stealing money when I need it, taking what I want without asking. But, Rosie, I want to change. I swear it.”
Once he finally let her go, she backed away and stood shivering, her shawl clutched tightly at her throat. “You’ve made me see my own sins, Bart,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “I will find a way to repair the damage I’ve caused. But I’ve never seen anybody change as much as you’re going to have to. I expect it’ll take a miracle.”
“Reverend Cullen said miracles can happen.”
“God’s in that business, not you.”
“So, maybe God will help me.” He took a step toward her. “Rosie, can’t you give me a chance?”
She shook her head. “I’ve given you too many chances. I’ve trusted you too much. If you want me to believe you’re a different kind of person, you’ll have to prove it to me.”
“I will show you. If I can convince Sheriff Bowman I’m decent, I can convince you, too.”
“Sheriff Bowman doesn’t know who you really are.” She turned and walked quickly toward the house. “Come for me tomorrow at four. We’ll go skating at the rink.”
For a moment Bart felt elated at her invitation. Then he remembered that Rosie didn’t want to be with him because she enjoyed his company. She was out to get what she had set her sights on: that teaching job. And her freedom.
All the next day while Bart curried, fed and saddled horses, he thought about how he had told Rosie he wanted to change. The man she wanted wouldn’t get drunk on a bottle of rotgut or shoot up a town. Changing meant he would have to put a lid on his urges. If she made him angry,
“Hush now,” he pulled her close, pressing her head against his shoulder. “You’re going to scare up the sheriff with all this carryin’ on.”
Bart knew he was bad. Gritting his teeth, he stared up at the moon and acknowledged the truth. He was a sinner in league with the devil. And he felt just as mean and nasty as she had made him out to be. A hot flameof bitterness curled through him as he thought about Rosie’s taunts and accusations.
Every instinct that had been honed over six lawless years told him to force her to do what he wanted. He could hold her down and kiss her the way he’d imagined during all the long nights alone. With brutal strength, he could bend her to his will, make her pay for hurting him.
She didn’t believe he could ever change. So why should he struggle to suppress the animal inside him? Maybe he should show her just how bad Bart Kingsley could be.
“Haven’t you done your share of sinning?” he asked. “Haven’t you lied to your pappy and pretended to be someone you’re not? Weren’t you married to one man and engaged to another at the same time? Come on, Rosie, answer me.”
Her brown eyes met his. “Yes, I’m a sinner, Bart. Everyone is. I know I hurt my pappy and Dr. Lowell, too. Believe me, I’ve lived these past months torn between wanting to make amends and needing to take care of my future.”
“So you rank your desire for a happy life above the agony in your own father’s heart?”
She caught her breath in a gasp. “Oh, Bart, it’s true what you say. I’ve thought only of myself. But I’m sure that when I’m settled—with a teaching job and a home of my own—then I’ll telegram my pappy.”
“And in the meantime, you’ll let him suffer?”
With a cry, she covered her face with her hands. Her hair had come loose from its knot. Long glossy tendrils, silvered by the moon, spilled over her shoulders.
“Aw, Rosie,” Bart cried in a muffled voice, “this arguing and fussing is killing me.” Catching her tightly to him, he kissed her soft lips. “I’m sorry darlin’. You’re right to call me a bad man. I’m used to punching anyone who makes me mad, stealing money when I need it, taking what I want without asking. But, Rosie, I want to change. I swear it.”
Once he finally let her go, she backed away and stood shivering, her shawl clutched tightly at her throat. “You’ve made me see my own sins, Bart,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “I will find a way to repair the damage I’ve caused. But I’ve never seen anybody change as much as you’re going to have to. I expect it’ll take a miracle.”
“Reverend Cullen said miracles can happen.”
“God’s in that business, not you.”
“So, maybe God will help me.” He took a step toward her. “Rosie, can’t you give me a chance?”
She shook her head. “I’ve given you too many chances. I’ve trusted you too much. If you want me to believe you’re a different kind of person, you’ll have to prove it to me.”
“I will show you. If I can convince Sheriff Bowman I’m decent, I can convince you, too.”
“Sheriff Bowman doesn’t know who you really are.” She turned and walked quickly toward the house. “Come for me tomorrow at four. We’ll go skating at the rink.”
For a moment Bart felt elated at her invitation. Then he remembered that Rosie didn’t want to be with him because she enjoyed his company. She was out to get what she had set her sights on: that teaching job. And her freedom.
All the next day while Bart curried, fed and saddled horses, he thought about how he had told Rosie he wanted to change. The man she wanted wouldn’t get drunk on a bottle of rotgut or shoot up a town. Changing meant he would have to put a lid on his urges. If she made him angry,
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