Rose Read Free

frame was thick and wide, his spine straight, his square hands capable of the tasks of the field.
    Rosa stood, intent on leaving the brewing argument behind as she sought shelter in the house.
    “Does Giovanni come to get her himself?” Guido persisted. “No. He sends money and a letter. Three years, three letters.” As if the others were incapable of counting, he held up a thumb and two fingers and shook them in Pino’s face. He belched, a loud, rumbling sound that climbed upward from deep in his belly. “Three stinking letters and then the command for her to go to America alone. And what if I say she is not going?”
    “Guido, basta,” Zia Rina warned. She raised her hand as if her feeble show of strength could halt his argument.
    Guido reached out and grabbed Rosa’s arm. “Guido!” Rosa was startled by his physical assault.
    “You are not as smart as you think you are, Rosa.” He brought his face close to hers, and she could smell the wine on his breath. “You and your America. You know nothing.” His grip tightened on her arm and she winced. “If you were so smart you would never have married a man who would run off and leave you. The man is a dreamer, a fool.”
    “Let go of my arm, Guido.” Rosa held her temper in check as she tried to pull out of his punishing grip.
    “Let her go, Guido.” Pino stood so quickly that his chair toppled back with a soft thud as it hit the ground.
    “Yes, let her go.” Even Mario spoke up mis time. Guido shot a dark look in his direction. Always a follower, Mario quickly slumped back down in his chair and poured himself another glass of wine.
    “So, go, Rosa.” Guido released her with a rough shove toward the house.
    Rosa tilted her chin in defiance and spat the words back at him. “I will, Guido. And I’ll be more than happy to see the last of you.” She turned away from him and walked toward the door.
    “You’ll be back,” Guido shouted after her. “You’ll be back, begging to live here again.”
    Rosa halted inside the back door and hastily crossed herself. She hoped the harsh words she had fired at her brother would not call bad luck down upon her.



Chapter
One

    Wyoming, July 1887
    A rickety oak table of unknown origin with a surface so scarred it might have been a chopping block functioned as a resting place for a pair of well-worn but comfortable boots coated with a fine layer of dust. From the scuffed leather of the boots emerged a pair of long, lean legs molded by muscle and enveloped in a pair of Levi’s so worn that they shone at both knee and thigh.
    Shifting his weight around in the swivel chair where he sat slouched behind his desk, Marshal Kase Storm swung first one and then the other booted foot to the floor. He folded back the front page of the Cheyenne Leader, then shook out a stubborn wrinkle along the fold. Scanning the page, Kase found nothing so noteworthy that it would change his life before sunset, and he tossed the newspaper on top of the clutter that already littered the table. Clasping his fingers behind his head, Kase spun the chair around in the opposite direction and tilted back, this time propping his feet up on the opposite corner of the table and stared out the window of the tiny room that served as his office.
    The only sign of movement on the deserted street outside was a whirling dust devil. Kase watched it pass. Gazing out of the window, he was content to allow another hour of the day to slide by. A crooked smile crossed his face as he sat musing over his present circumstances. He’d heard Tombstone, Arizona, referred to as the town too tough to die and thought that if Busted Heel, Wyoming, were to have its own motto, it would surely be “Busted Heel, the town too dead to care.”
    The only danger he had faced in his six months as marshal of Busted Heel was breaking his neck as he hung over the roof of the local whorehouse trying to rescue a kitten that belonged to one of the girls. When the wooden rain gutter