Prairie Rose (21 page)

“Until then,” she replied, favoring him with a slight curtsy. “Excuse me.” Feeling faint, Rosie walked out of the barn for some fresh air. She was being so silly! He had only asked her to dance. Just a simple request.
Will you dance the first dance with me tonight?

The first dance? The significance of his words tumbled through her. She couldn’t dance with Seth. She already had agreed to dance the first dance with Rolf Rustemeyer! This was terrible. She would have to tell Rolf she hadn’t understood him. No, that would be a lie. She
had
understood. But she had forgotten Rolf as soon as Seth walked into the room. It was Seth who took her breath away. Seth who made her heart beat twice as fast. Seth Hunter.

Oh, what was the matter with her? Why did she feel this way? So mixed up. So anxious. All she wanted was to be near Seth and look into his blue eyes. Was this what he meant when he once told her how it felt to be in love?

Had Seth felt this way about Mary Cornwall? No wonder he couldn’t abandon his wife’s memory. Seth had been right that this … this incredible feeling must somehow be important in making a marriage work. There were two parts to it, weren’t there? The lifetime commitment
and
this wonderful … frightening … amazing … feeling!

“Fräulein Mills?” Rolf touched her arm. “You are zick?”

“Sick … no … I’m all right. I just … oh, Rolf, you’re such a good man, such a very kind man, and I really do think I sought to marry you. But the trouble is with Seth, you see. I can’t stop thinking about him and feeling so very odd inside when he looks at me. It wouldn’t be at all right if I were your wife and yet I felt this way whenever I thought of Seth. Even though I know … I know very well … that he loves his wife, and he won’t ever forget her … I can’t make myself feel good about … What are you staring at?”

“Die Musik!”
He grabbed her arm. “
Komm
, fräulein. Ve danzen, you
und
me!”

“But, Rolf!” Rosie grabbed her skirts to keep from stepping on them as the big German whisked her back into the barn.

At the far end near the loft, a platform had been set up. A fiddle, a harmonica, an accordion, and a banjo had been assembled along with musicians who claimed to play them passably well—though this was a matter of opinion. As the music swelled through the barn, couples formed into squares and began to dance in time to the caller’s directions.

“All to your places

And straighten up your faces.

All join hands and circle eight.

Ladies face out and gents face in

And hold your holts and gone again.”

The caller let out a loud whoop, and Rolf twirled Rosie around and around among the other dancers. Still dismayed at what she had done—agreeing to dance with two men—she could barely keep her feet untangled. She had never square danced in her life, and she didn’t know which way to turn or where to go. Rolf didn’t seem to care in the least. Laughing, he caught her around the waist and spun her once, twice, three times around the square in an awkward imitation of the other dancers.

Assembled around the barn, the elderly men clapped and stomped their feet in time with the rhythm. Young girls—LeBlanc’s daughters, Rosie assumed—giggled in clumps of two and three as the young single farmers paused to chat with them. Wives cut cakes and poured lemonade or joined with their husbands in the dance. Wishing the song would end, Rosie searched the barn for Seth.

“Goot danzen,” Rolf said as he galloped past her. “Ist fery fun,
ja?
” Rosie grinned bravely and sashayed with him beneath a long arch of upstretched arms. If Seth saw what she had done, he could turn away from her forever. He would believe she had chosen Rolf over him. He might even think she wanted to marry Rolf, as she had so firmly told him.

But she didn’t. She knew it—knew beyond the shadow of a doubt—that she could never marry Rolf Rustemeyer.

“You fery pretty!” Rolf half shouted as he jigged around her. “I lof you!”

What?
Rosie flushed in mortification. Had Rolf just announced that he loved her—in front of everyone? As she examined the faces of the other dancers, she realized no one had understood his meaning. But she knew. She knew!

Oh, where was Seth? Why didn’t he step in and claim her? She had no more formed the thought in her mind when a man’s firm arm slipped through hers. Linked at her elbow, he twirled her out of the square and away from the crowd.

“Seth,” she began, breathing hard. “I must explain—”

But when she looked up, it wasn’t Seth’s blue eyes that met hers. A slow smile spread across the man’s face as recognition dawned in hers. “Howdy, ma’am,” he said. “Any idea where I might find Chipper tonight?”

Rosie caught her breath and jerked her arm away from his. The man was Jack Cornwall.

CHAPTER 11

A
REN’T you the little gal who whacked me on the head back in Kansas City?” Jack Cornwall asked.

Rosie couldn’t speak. Fear had caught in her throat and blocked her urge to scream. She clutched the edge of the table behind her.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re the one. You were up in a dang tree. So, you and Hunter hooked up together, I hear. I hope he didn’t play you for the fool the way he did my sister.”

Rosie shook her head. She wanted to explain, wanted to shout for help, wanted to run away. But nothing happened. She merely stood staring at the man with her mouth hanging open and her knees locked beneath her.

“Where’s my nephew?” Jack asked. A tall, rawboned, rangy man, he studied her with a pair of eyes the color of hard, cold slate. Thick brown hair hung to the collar of his battered leather coat, and a sweat stain ran around the band of his hat. “I didn’t see him playing out front with the other children. What have you done with him?”

Not with the other children? Rosie quickly searched the throng of dancers. Where was Chipper? And where was Seth? Why couldn’t he see what was going on? Why didn’t he come? Had Jack Cornwall done something to him?

“Listen, ma’am,” the man said, “I really don’t want to make a scene here. Truth is, I’ve spent the last four years fighting Yankees like Seth Hunter, and I’m a little tired. But I never have liked winding up on the losing end of things. So if you don’t tell me where the boy is, I may have to get rough.” At that, he reached out and took Rosie’s arm in a firm grip.

“Wait … what are you—?”

“I’d hate to have to hold you as a hostage,” he cut in. “After all, I don’t know what you mean to Hunter. But you whacked me on the head and landed me in jail. He violated my sister and kidnapped my nephew. And the fact is—I don’t really much care what becomes of either of you. I want the boy. Now tell me where he is.”

“I-I-I don’t—”

“Fräulein?” Rolf Rustemeyer stepped up beside her. “I danzen,
und
I not zee you no more.
Was ist
hoppened?”

Rosie let out a breath of relief. Rolf was a good three inches taller than Jack Cornwall and at least fifty pounds heavier. “Rolf, get Seth. You’ve got to find him. This man … this man—”

But her captor had released her and melted into the crowd of dancers before she could even make the German understand the problem. Frantic, she searched the room until she spotted Cornwall’s dark hat as he left the barn. He was gone. Into the cover of night. Chipper was somewhere out there unprotected. And Seth. Where was Seth?

Grabbing her skirts, she brushed past Rolf. As she stepped into the throng, the big German caught her arm. “Fräulein, you danzen vit him?
Der
man vit
braunen
hat? I liken you. You maken goot zupper
und
breakfascht. You fery goot fräulein. Fery pretty. But you danzen vit him? Not goot.
Nein, nein, nein
—”

“Rolf, stop talking!” Rosie cried. “We have to find Chipper. That man with the brown hat wants to take him away. Where’s Seth?”

“Hunter? You danzen vit Hunter now? But I vill danzen vit you.”

“Oh, just move!” Rosie let out a cry of frustration and pushed him aside. Unwilling to cause panic in the crowd but terrified for Chipper, she elbowed her way among the dancers. “Excuse me, Miss Rippeto. Pardon me, Mr. Laski.”

By the door, Jimmy O’Toole stood picking his teeth with the end of a hay stem. He spotted Rosie and straightened as she grabbed his arm. “Sure, you look as if you’ve seen the ghost of St. Peter himself,” he said. “What’s the matter now, Rosie?”

“Jack Cornwall is here!”

“Here?” He looked around. “In the barn?”

“He just left. He’s after Chipper. Where’s Seth?”

“I saw him walk out of the barn at the start of the first dance. He looked angry enough to chew nails, so he did.”

“Where did he go?” She shook her head. “No, never mind about Seth. We have to find Chipper. Tell Sheena. Get some of the men together. Cornwall has threatened trouble.”

Leaving Jimmy to round up help, Rosie dashed out of the barn. The children were playing prisoner’s base in the light of lamps hung from the circle of wagons in the yard. Rosie grasped Will O’Toole by the shoulders and stopped him in his tracks.

“Will, where’s Chipper?” she demanded.

“He’s around here somewhere. He was playing with us a few minutes ago. What’s wrong, Rosie?”

“I want you to help me find him. Now.”

“But the game—”

“Never mind about the game. Find Chipper. Take him to your papa right away.”

Her heart tight in her chest, Rosie raced toward the soddy. Three women stood tending the outdoor fire and trading gossip. They insisted they hadn’t seen the little boy, but Rosie threw open the door and hurried into the house.

“Chipper? Are you in here, Chipper?” The soddy was empty. Fear clutching her stomach, Rosie fell to her knees. “Oh, Father, please help me find Chipper! Please don’t let Jack Cornwall take him away. Chipper belongs to Seth. Seth needs him so much. Father, please show me how to find Chipper. And where is Seth?”

Seth sat on the flat rock by the willow tree and flipped a pebble into the creek. Things were about as good as they ever had been in his twenty-four years. He owned one hundred and sixty acres of fertile land. He had a house, a barn, two mules, three cows, a couple dozen chickens, even a dog. His crops had come up healthy and strong, their straight green rows promising him a stable future. Spring wheat, oats, sod corn, and barley should turn a decent profit come fall. The kitchen garden would provide lettuce, beans, cucumbers, tomatoes, and roasting ears for the table. The bridge had been a good idea, bringing toll money and opening the path to easier travel. All in all, things looked mighty fine.

And they looked terrible. Seth shook his head and tossed another stone into the gurgling water. Chipper didn’t love his father. Didn’t even call him “papa.” In fact, the boy clearly preferred the puppy to his own flesh and blood. The dog could make Chipper’s blue eyes light up with joy. Rosie could make the child laugh that bubbly chuckle that tore up Seth’s insides. But in spite of all the time Seth had spent with his son, Chipper remained wary, his little heart carefully guarded against the man he had been warned never to trust. No matter what he tried, Seth couldn’t seem to break down that sturdy wall.

And then there was the matter of Rosie herself. A few weeks ago, Rosie Mills had fallen into Seth’s arms and knocked him flat. He’d never recovered. But Rosie seemed bound and determined to marry Rolf Rustemeyer. What did she see in that big German hound dog? Must be something pretty special. Though she had promised Seth the first dance, she had forgotten her pledge as easily as she had slipped into Rolf’s embrace.

Seth hurled another pebble into the water. Why did he care? If Rosie married Rolf, she’d have a good life. With all those hearty meals under his belt, Rolf would sure be happy. And Chipper could visit them often. They’d probably have children of their own pretty soon, and Rosie would have everything she’d ever wanted: a home, a husband, a family. She had told him that was all there was to marriage, and it was more than enough for her.

Rosie didn’t understand the kind of mixed-up, heart-stopping, breathtaking whirlwind that could tear through a person’s soul. She didn’t think that kind of love mattered. And she was right. It didn’t. So why did Seth feel it every time he looked into her big brown eyes?

“Seth!” Rosie’s voice startled him out of his reverie. “Seth Hunter, where are you?”

“Here,” he called. “By the creek.”

Rosie raced down the bank and nearly crashed into him. Stopping short, she took his hand and squeezed so tightly the blood stopped flowing through his fingers. “I’ve been looking all over for you!” she said. “He’s here. He’s right here. And Chipper’s missing. I can’t find him. I don’t know where he—”