Chapter Eight

Rose woke from a nearly sleepless night. She'd tossed and turned and been on edge, waiting for Marston to either come into the house and murder those inside as he'd promised he could or slip into her room and kiss more than just her fingertip....He had warned her that he'd do the first and yet his eyes on that porch had told her he wanted to do the second.

She wanted to drift back to sleep and was about to do just that when she was startled from the bed by the sound of banging outside of the cabin. Rose pulled on her thin robe and left her room. Her bare feet patted gently on the wood floor as she stepped into the cabin and realized that Langley's bedroom door was open and he was gone.

Was her son alone with Marston? Why didn't that thought scare her after what the man had said last night?

That banging continued outside and so Rose stepped out and walked around the side of the yard. The dew covered grass soaked her feet and the bottom of her sleeping gown but she paid that no mind. Her attention was on the duo currently fixing her crooked shutters.

Marston was holding the shutter in place while Langley, (with nails between his lips), hammered it into place and stared at Marston with what could only be called hero worship.

Rose smiled. "It's a bit early to be doing hammering, don't you think?"

Both of them whirled around with nearly identical sheepish expressions. Langley spit the nails into his hand and wiped his mouth with his hand. "We didn't wake you up did we, mama? Marston came in and got m up this morning. We did all the outside chores for you. We fed the animals, gathered eggs, cleaned the stalls and even milked the cow." Langley counted off the chores on his fingers. "Then Marston said we needed to fix the damn shutters cuz they're an eyesore."

"Language!" Rose scolded quickly.

Langley flushed. "Well that's what he said!" he insisted, pointing an accusatory finger up at Marston.

Marston removed his gray hat and wiped his brow on his shirt sleeve. "I'm afraid he's right, ma'am."

"You came into the cabin and woke Langley up?" Rose demanded. She didn't like thought of Langley's rest being interrupted for work.

"He was already awake and reading a book," Marston assured her. "I could hear him moving around so I figured he might as well be helping with the chores. Someone needs to learn how to keep things up around here or the place is gonna fall down around you."

Rose squared her shoulders defensively. "We do the best we can." Marston merely shrugged. Rose pointed at the hammer in Langley's hand. "You two could have warned me before you started pounding away," she stated before crossing her arms under her chest.

"Did we scare...." Marston's voice trailed off. His gaze had been on a downward path toward her breasts but had instead stopped on her neck and the dark purple bruise that marred it. "What the hell happened to your neck?" he roared, his jaw popping with the rage that tightened it.

Rose mentally kicked herself for forgetting about that bruise and coming out in something that didn't keep it covered. Langley's eyes widened when he too caught sight of her neck. "Oh this?" she asked, laying her hand over the mark and attempting to come up with some excuse for it.

"Yeah that. And don't try to lie to me because I can tell when a person is lying," Marston warned. His stomach was tied in knots as anger raged in his blood. He would kill whoever had put those bruises on her soft, white skin. Rose looked more like an angel than ever this morning with her red curls wild around her head and the sunshine shimmering on her white sleeping gown and robe. Her full cheeks were flushed, outlining her freckles and her blue eyes were wide and innocent as she stared up at him.

He was the opposite of her in every way. An angel to his devil. Marston would defend her against whoever had done her wrong.

"Langley go to the river and get a bucket of water to clean the floors with," Rose ordered, her gaze moving to her son.

"But mama, I wanna know where you got that bruise too," Langley insisted.

"Langley..." she warned.

"No mama," he refused stubbornly.

"Boy, you better listen to your mama. She works her ass off for you so the least you could do is not give her the added stress of not doing as she tells you," Marston snapped.

Langley glared up at him a moment but then heaved out a sigh and nodded as he dropped the hammer to the ground. "Yes sir."

"What happened?" Marston asked again once they were alone.

Rose kept one hand over her bruise, though it was too small to completely block it from Marston's view. "You didn't mean to, Marston... You were startled that's all. I shouldn't have been so close to you when I was trying to wake you..."

Rose stopped speaking and stared wide-eyed at Marston as he stumbled backward and his tanned face paled. A painful grimace washed over his features. "I..I did that?" he croaked.

"You didn't mean to!" Rose assured him as she rushed forward and grabbed his big arm in her hands. "It was an accident and as soon as you realized it was me, you let go."

Marston looked down at her fragile hands on him and yanked himself away. "I warned you about keeping your distance, didn't I?"

"I'm not afraid of you, Marston," Rose vowed firmly. Though inside she knew that wasn't entirely the truth. She was afraid of him. Afraid of the way he made her feel. Afraid of the things he made her want. She was afraid that she might be falling in love with a man who was bound to take off and leave her behind.

"You should be, Rose. You should be afraid of me," Marston replied, his gaze on the ground.

"You didn't mean to hurt me," Rose insisted, stepping forward once again and laying her hand on his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles. This time Marston didn't jerk away.

"I could have, Rose. I could have hurt you and I wouldn't have been the least bit sorry."

Rose snorted with laughter which caused his golden eyes to widen. "You would too have felt bad. Look at you now! You're beating yourself up over something you did when you were delirious with a head injury!"

Marston frowned. "I never beat myself up over the things that I do. I steal from people and they cry? Too bad I need the money too. I shoot a man and his wife sobs at my feet? Too bad, it was either him or me. Guilt is a waste of damn time."

Rose stared up at him. That anger was back. The anger that seemed to have no cause. She tried desperately to read his other emotions and was a bit surprised that she could to a certain extent. She hadn't known him long but the man wasn't as good at hiding things as he thought he was. The man certainly seemed angry but Rose knew it was a cover for the fear, guilt and uncertainty she could also see.

No doubt those three things were incredibly dangerous for a man who lived the way Marston did.

Rose had had her suspicions about Marston and so she wasn't surprised to hear he'd stolen and killed before. Rose still had no fear that this man would hurt her or her son physically. Whatever Marston had been in the past, he wasn't that same man any longer. Something inside him had changed—shifted. There was a warmth in his golden eyes that hadn't been there just two days ago.

Rose had learned long ago that the world was not black and white. Good men did bad things and bad men did good things. No one was simply good or bad. Life was much more complicated and there were no such things as saints and devils.

Langston had been what many would have considered a bad man. But he had saved her life when he had bought her from the back of that wagon. He had told her later that what had compelled him to pay so much to get her out of that life hadn't been the scars she'd been covered in but the deadness in her blue eyes.

A deadness that years of rape and torture had caused but that nine months with Langston and ten years with her son had finally healed. If she could be saved, so could Marston.

"You're not all bad," she insisted. "You brought that money to Langley and I. You carried me into the house when the news was too much for me to handle."

"I dragged you," Marston admitted, looking for anyway to downplay his actions. He didn't like being reminded of the softness he had shown for these people.

Rose rolled her eyes, (in a movement that he found impossibly endearing), before continuing. "You sat with my son so he wouldn't be afraid."

"He followed me outside and I threatened to tie him up, gag him and toss him on the sofa with you if he didn't quit talking so much."

"Yes, but you didn't."

Marston's mouth clamped shut and he crossed his arms over his chest with a growl before staring into the woods to avoid her gaze. Rose smiled. "And then you cooked for us, defended me to Hester and Hattie and even went so far as to help me load and unload my supplies. You chased our worthless horse into the woods and nearly got yourself killed in the process but still managed to work on our corral and now our shutters... not to mention the tender way you kiss away pain..." Rose blushed and she felt Marston's gaze return to her. "You cannot tell me you're all bad," she added, her eyes locked on his chest.

"Maybe I'm just earning your trust so I can have that much more fun when I torture you and run off with everything you have."

Rose looked up at his face and saw that glint in his eyes and that same false smile he'd used on the sisters at the mercantile. She rolled her eyes and stared hard at him. "Then I'm afraid you'll be awfully disappointed. I've been tortured enough in my life that the thought doesn't frighten me and anything of value that might have once been here is long gone."

"Is there more than one goddamn woman living in that head of yours?" Marston demanded, tossing his hands in the air.

"What kind of question is that?" Rose asked, as Langley returned and Marston bent to retrieve the fallen hammer and sack of nails.

"A good one," Marston insisted. "One minute you're soft spoken and gentle and the next you're riled up and full of fire."

"You are not one to criticize anyone else for having mood swings," she scolded. "And I am quiet most of the time because life has taught me that getting angry rarely solves anything. Let's just say that you seem to have a knack for bringing that particular emotion out of me."

Rose took the bucket of water from Langley, thanked him for getting it and then turned on her heel and strode back around the cabin.

"Is mama okay?" Langley asked.

Marston sighed and pulled off his hat. He scratched at his thick brown hair and shrugged. "Hell, kid, I don't know. You can't never tell when you're dealing with a woman."

Langley let out a pained sigh and nodded. "Ain't that the truth?"

Marston chuckled and the two went back to work.

***

Marston was sitting beside the river that evening and his mind was racing. He didn't like being told he was a good person when he knew for a fact that he wasn't.

But try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to do anything bad to these people to prove Rose wrong. He only wished he knew why.

'You like having someone you can be softer with.'

Marston snorted. "Being soft gets you killed. Just ask my kitten."

'Would you shut up about the kitten? That was a long time ago.'

"I was young and it was traumatic," Marston shot back.

'Well, you're not young anymore and it's okay to care about someone and let them care about you.'

Marston grabbed up a rock and threw it roughly into the water, enjoying the way the peaceful current was thrown into chaos. He'd like to toss his newfound conscience into that damn river.

Marston had to get away from this place and these people. He was bound to hurt them—hell he already had! His stomach churned when he thought of those bruises on Rose's pale skin. Those weren't the first bruises he'd ever put on a woman but he'd be damned if he'd ever put another bruise on any woman. Hell, he felt as if someone had ripped his guts out knowing he'd done that to her—to anyone.

Marston wasn't good. He didn't know how to be. Any goodness in him had been whipped out by that headmaster a long time ago and if any had been left, it had been ironed out by Duke. Marston was hard, cold and ruthless and that's exactly how he liked it.

"Marston! Mama said it's time to come eat!" Langley called. "We already said grace so we wouldn't ruin your appetite this time."

Marston sighed and pushed himself to his feet, cursing at the searing pain in his leg. 'Go on, you big bad outlaw. Go running to the boy.' Great now the voice in his head was mocking him—Marston wondered if that was a sign his brain had gone completely soft.

Despite being angry with himself for following orders, Marston headed toward the house to eat supper. This would be his last night here. Marston would leave while everyone slept and be gone come morning.