Free The Gunman's Bride by Catherine Palmer Page B

edge of the oak frame around her mirror so that she could see it from any part of her small room. She might be a fool when it came to Bart Kingsley, but she was brilliant in every other area of her life.
    As she changed out of her city clothes into her white nightgown, Rosie decided that she had taken enough of what other people dished out. She had come to Raton to get a teaching position, and against all odds, she would have one.
    “Dear God,” she whispered as she folded her hands. “I’ve made some whopping mistakes, as You very well know. There was all that with Bart…and then I let Pappy talk me into accepting Dr. Lowell’s proposal…and then Bart again. You can’t be any too pleased with me. But, Lord, I had good intentions in coming out here to Raton to be a schoolteacher, only now Mr. Kilgore says hedoesn’t want me. Father, please work out this problem. Give me a sign so I’ll know what You want me to do. Amen.”
    As she slipped between the cool sheets and shut her eyes, Rosie felt the first peace she’d known since Bart Kingsley crawled out from under her bed.
     
    At one o’clock in the morning the screaming whistle of the switch engine woke Rosie with a start. Gunfire shattered the night’s silence. Shouts and cries echoed through the streets.
    “Fire! Fire!” someone hollered below the Harvey House dormitory. “O’Reilly’s Saloon is afire!”
    Rosie threw open her window to an ebony sky lit with an orange glow. Red sparks shot upward to mingle with the stars and then vanish. Smoke billowed over shingled rooftops. The members of the hose company dashed down the street.
    “Laurie!” Etta barged into Rosie’s room. “Laurie, everyone’s going out to see the fire!”
    Wide awake now, Rosie pulled on her robe as they ran into the hall. “O’Reilly’s Saloon is a frame building, Etta! It’ll go up like a matchstick!”
    “The whole town might burn down! Oh, isn’t this thrilling?” Etta, frizzy blond hair bouncing, hopped up and down in the hall as the other girls assembled. Even Mrs. Jensen, ruffled nightcap in place, had started for the stairs.
    Clad in billowing white gowns, the Harvey Girls followed their matron across the street. Gray smoke hung thick in the night air.
    Rosie noted with relief that no wind had sprung upto blow the fire from building to building. Even so, the whole town had come out to view the blaze. Children clung to their mothers’ nightgowns. Fathers lugged buckets of sloshing water toward the saloon. Against the bright orange fire, silhouetted men wrestled heavy hoses to shoot streams of water onto the flames.
    “There’s Sheriff Bowman!” Etta cried. “I heard he was the first to spot the fire!”
    Through the smoke, Rosie could barely make out the man kicking down O’Reilly’s door. She recognized a good many townsfolk, including some of the sheriff’s deputies and Reverend Cullen.
    “There’s Stefan!” Etta gasped. “Oh, Laurie, I hope he doesn’t get hurt! That’s Cheyenne Bill with him.”
    Rosie could see the young German’s blond hair back-lit by the blaze as he unrolled hoses from the hose cart. A stocky, long-haired man on the cart was shouting orders.
    “Is Cheyenne Bill a real Indian?” Rosie asked. She had heard rumors the man was popular at glove contests. Some townsmen were said to wager large sums on him.
    “Sure he’s a real Indian,” Etta said. “Who’s that other Indian with him? I’ve never seen him before.”
    Rosie focused on the broad-shouldered silhouette of a man who had leaped onto the hose cart beside Cheyenne Bill. The stranger’s short black hair glistened in the firelight, and his arms gleamed like bronze as he pulled at the tangled hoses. When he straightened to toss a length of hose to a waiting volunteer, ice washed through Rosie’s veins.
    “He’s an Indian, all right,” Etta said. “Oh, look, Laurie. The saloon roof is caving in!”
    But Rosie could not tear her attention from the tall man on the hose