Texas Brides Collection (45 page)

Owen Cooper wanted to court her? Fear fought with joy in Rosie’s heart. A good, God-fearing man wanted to court her, like she was any ordinary woman. He deserved someone so much better than she was. Imagine that, a Ranger asking to court a thief who had gone to prison for her crime.

But he didn’t know about her latest exploits, did he? If he knew about her plans for a final strike…With her whole being, she wanted to say yes. But she must refuse. “If you knew me, you wouldn’t ask me that question.”

He blew his breath out and his cheeks collapsed into flat plains, a pale stubble covering his chin and hiding that marvelous mouth. “I may know more than you think I do, Rosie.”

At that she expected him to march her to the Ranger office at Leon Springs, but he said no more. Overhead, a gray cloud scuttled by, obscuring the moon on the rise to the east. “It’s getting dark. I’d best get you home.”

Rosie’s feet hurt, and if she walked all the way home, she might hurt bad enough not to go out tonight, for fear of the noise she would make creeping around a building with leaden feet. On this night full of the unexpected, Owen surprised her again by calling for another cab. “I don’t know about you, but I’m tired. Do you mind?”

She shook her head, and the pressure of his hand on the small of her back as she climbed in gave her joy. His hands wouldn’t be so gentle if he ever had to arrest her.

Again Rosie lifted the window. How different the familiar streets looked from this height, at this time of day. In this part of town, lamps kept the streets nearly as bright as day, only thinning out a little as they passed into a residential neighborhood.

“Mr. Abbott, the church’s treasurer, lives down that street. He’s a local banker. I hear tell he just received a large deposit that he brought home for safekeeping.”

Rosie’s insides rattled, but she fought to stay in place. “That’s interesting. I wonder if he’s Mrs. Abbott’s husband. The president of the Ladies’ Aid Society.” She had already heard about the deposit from the servants’ network that wove the city together. She glanced at Owen, but he had settled against the back of the seat, his face inscrutable.

When they stopped by her home, he stopped her from getting out. “I meant what I said earlier. I promise, if you ever need to talk, I’ll listen without judging. You are too good a woman to let a few mistakes bring you down.” He stepped out, helped her down, and walked her to the door. She waited in the doorway as he vanished with the cab into the darkness.

Rosie plucked a dandelion from the lawn. Some people called it a weed, but she’d rather think of it as a flower, one determined to grow no matter where the seed landed. She’d tear off the petals, she decided. It might not be the best way to make a decision, but she had used it before. God seemed to have stopped talking to her since she started her plan to make the church do God’s will, whether they wanted to or not.

For each thought that sped through her mind, she pulled off a petal. If Mom is awake when I go upstairs, I won’t go out again. She tore at the petal. If I accept Owen’s request for courtship, I must quit. A second petal floated to the floor. If I don’t go out tonight, I can never gather enough money for the operation. A third petal dug under her fingernail and turned it yellow before disintegrating. I will go. I won’t go.

She made it halfway around the stem when she reached the top of the second flight of stairs. God, it’s up to You. You can even add an extra petal if You need to. Should I go? Or shouldn’t I go? She continued tearing the petals, dropping one on each step. By the time she reached the last stair, she saw how it was going to play out. Even so, she continued until she had stripped the stem of all the petals, almost hoping God would change the outcome. But He didn’t.

“Very well,” Rosie said under her breath. Ten minutes later she slipped out the same way she’d come in, so quiet even a dog couldn’t hear her light tread.

“Are you sure this is necessary, Cooper?” Abbott patted the pocket of his suit, searching for a pipe. “No thief has ever cracked my safe.”

I wish it wasn’t. “It is best to take precautions. We sent out enough rumors that the thief will find it hard to resist the temptation. It’s best if we catch”—he kept himself from saying “her” just in time—“them in the act, don’t you think?”

“Then let me stay here with you. I don’t want you risking your life on my account.”

That was the one thing Owen didn’t want. “I’ll be fine. It’s no contest, between an armed and experienced Ranger and this thief who relies on stealth as opposed to violent action to garner the goods. No, you take your wife out and enjoy your visit with your son.”

Abbott had given the servants the night off and made arrangements to stay overnight with his son. The stage was set for San Antonio’s Easter Angel to make an appearance.

Heavy curtains covered the walls in the study that held the safe, and Owen took his hiding place between the floor-length drape and the wall. He was prepared to stay until dawn if necessary; in fact, it’s what he hoped for. Unfortunately, he suspected he would have company, and soon.

Owen had left his timepiece behind, not wanting the ticking seconds to give his presence away. For the same reason, he had allowed himself a fresh bath before going out with Rosie. The bearded stubble made up for his vanity with the bath, at least that’s what he told himself.

By his calculations, two hours passed before he heard the door to the kitchen squeak open. Light steps ran down the hall, headed straight for the study door. Someone must have informed the thief about the layout of the house.

The door opened with a whisper of sound. Owen waited while feet crossed the room and pulled a small stool across the floor. Thin, metallic sounds testified to the use of a lock pick’s tools on the safe.

God, help me. Owen sent up a final prayer before he stepped out from his hiding place.

The feminine figure dressed in black from the top of her cape to the tip of a booted foot turned with a gasp.

“Rosie, I told you I knew more than you thought.”

T
he hood of Rosie’s cloak fell back, moonlight highlighting her pale features. “Owen.” His name came out in a jagged whisper, and she stumbled forward, crossing her arms in front of her, ready for him to clasp handcuffs over her hands.

Owen’s heart throbbed in his chest. Oh, Rosie. He closed the drapes so no one from outside could see them and lit the single lamp in the study.

She stood rooted in place, as if caught in a child’s game of freeze tag. As gently as he could, he placed a hand on her shoulder. She jerked away. Sighing, he pulled a chair to the front of the desk and gestured for her to sit. She did, sitting on the edge, ready to spring away. Instead of sitting behind the desk and frightening her even more, he placed another chair in front, where he could look into her eyes, and sat down next to her. He waited, hoping she would speak first.

When at last she spoke, her words surprised him. “I never should have trusted a dandelion. They never brought me luck before.”

Owen had no idea what she was talking about, so he ignored it. “I meant what I said earlier tonight. I’m willing to listen. What happens when we leave here depends a lot on what you do right now.” His heart ached. He wanted to help her, but she had to take the first step.

“Is there money in that safe?” Her head jerked toward the heavy box. “Or was that a lie, too?”

“There’s money there.” Owen felt slapped. “And what I said is not a lie.” He drew a deep breath. “I will admit that I asked Abbott to bring money home from the bank and to make sure all his servants knew about it. I promised to keep it safe. And so, I’m here tonight.”

“Did you know it was me all along?” Her head hung low in shame. How he longed to lift her up.

“I was pretty sure. You were the strongest link between the robberies and the people who were helped. San Antonio has been abuzz with our own Robin Hood, our Easter Angel.” He smiled. “Your heart was in the right place. But, Rosie…you just can’t go around taking things from people without their permission. Not even clothes destined for the church clothes closet.”

She slipped out of her chair onto her knees. “Oh, God, what have I done?” Tears slid down her face. Salty smears and pain-contorted lines marred her loveliness as she turned to Owen. “Go ahead and arrest me. I’m ready.”

His heart contracted. “I’m not going to arrest you. All the people involved want is for the robberies to stop. I have a different idea. Are you willing?”

“Yes. I’ve been asking God what I should do. I have a feeling your plan is going to lead me in the right direction.”

He outlined his alternative. “It will be difficult for you. Are you still willing?”

Peace eased the lines around Rosie’s face. “Yes.”

The original Easter crowd joined Rosie outside the apartment house on Sunday morning, along with several additional families. At her request, many of them wore the clothes she had distributed among the neighborhood. It was both a confession and a plea.

Owen, with the driver who worked for Mrs. Braum, arrived at the apartment house with two wagons. Every inch of floor space was taken as the horses lumbered in the direction of the church. As excited as ever, the children chattered and jumped up, standing by the rail to feel the wind whipping their hair and to lean out and try to touch the hands of someone in the other wagon. Rosie worried some might fall out, but their parents kept quiet, and she couldn’t bring herself to fuss at them. She’d have to trust their safety to God, something she had neglected too much in recent days.

As if sensing her mood, the people around her kept silent. Only Ma and Iris knew what lay ahead this morning, and they sat on either side of her, cushioning her against her fears.

Mrs. Braum and the pastor’s wife waited by the door to the church, walking forward to welcome them as everyone scrambled out of the wagon. “Freddy, why don’t you show the children where our class meets. And today we’ve started a class for the little ones. They’ll be going with Mrs. Martin.”

The pastor’s wife came forward. “Any children who are under five years old will be in my class.” She passed down the line and patted the head of the first toddler she met. “Come with me. We have some special things planned for you today.”

The child’s older sister clung to his hand. “He’s staying with me.”

Mrs. Martin took a step backward but recovered quickly. “I understand. Maybe next week he’d like to check out my class.” After a few minutes, two lines of children followed their teachers to the open spot on the lawn where they had started holding children’s Sunday school.

The adults went to the sanctuary, where one of the deacons taught the weekly Bible class. Soon only Owen remained to escort Iris, Rosie, and her ma. “Are you waiting to make sure I don’t run away?” Her laughter was only half genuine.

Owen shook his head. “I thought you could use a friend today. That is”—he gestured at the women on either side of Rosie—“another friend. Do you want to go on to class, or would you rather find a private spot?”

Rosie longed for a time of quiet and privacy, but she had invited her neighbors to church. What would they think if she didn’t attend Sunday school? She shook her head. “I’d better go to class. But I’ll sit at the back.” She made it through the next hour by rote. She answered when people talked to her, nodded her head when appropriate, and even introduced a few of her neighbors to people from the church.