The Five Dollar Mail Book 3: The Road Home

84: By the Book

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Rosie by Laura Hollingsworth. All graphics by me.

Book 1: The Green, Book 2: Lynch's Boys, Book 3: The Road Home, and the Riders & Kickers Anthology are available on Amazon under the name Regina Shelley. So if you hate waiting for chapter posts and/or want a more polished read, the finished product is available now.

Rosie tiptoed across the worn wooden floor of the house, navigating the almost complete darkness and trying hard not to wake anyone. Now that Miss Lily, Mr. Saint, and Mr. Bender had come home, and the station hadn't been attacked, everyone was beginning to relax a bit. Most of the men had started sleeping in the bunkhouse again, although someone was usually on the sofa through the night, just in case. She had no idea who she heard breathing through the darkened parlor door as she passed, but she thought it sounded a lot like Wash's soft, comforting snuffle. Her heart swelled with fond gratitude at the sound. He's so kind to me. They all are. What would my life had been like without them? She stepped gently, settling her bare feet carefully so as to make no sound, knowing if she did, he'd be up and instantly alert.

Slipping out of the side door into the garden, she relaxed and exhaled, listening to the sounds of the crickets. Somewhere near the river, a screech owl trilled, its voice strange and eerie.

Who was I before this? Do I miss that girl? Do I even remember her?

There was a lamp burning in the kitchen. She could see the yellow light behind the curtains in the windows and shafting through the propped-open door and onto the porch. Who is up at this hour?

A voice, faint and half whispered, was murmuring softly. She stepped up onto the porch, her ears pricking to make it out. Is that...?

"Luis?"

His head jerked up in surprise, dark curls tousled and uncombed. Dark circles lurked under his eyes. Her reading book lay open on the table before him. "Miz Rosie?"

"My goodness, Luis, you're still up at this hour?" she said, incredulously. "Have you been to sleep at all?"

"No, senorita," he said. "Not yet." As exhausted as he looked, his eyes were incandescent. He shook his head, a breathless smile on his lips.

Rosie frowned, her surprise quickly turning to concern. He seemed delirious. "Luis, are you alright?"

"I can do this," he breathed. He clamped his hand over his mouth. Rosie could see his fingers shaking.

"Luis," Rosie pulled her dressing gown around herself tighter and sat down beside him. "You're scaring me."

He gripped the cover of the book before him with both hands. "Rosie, I can do this."

"What are you saying?" Whatever Luis was in the throes of, it seemed to be catching. Rosie's heart had started to pound.

"I..." Suddenly, Luis' eyes were brighter, wetness sparkling on his black eyelashes. "Rosie, I think I can do this. I can..." He reached over and took her hand, squeezing it. "Read." His breath caught in his throat and and his mouth hitched into an incredulous smile.

Rosie's heart was pounding in her ears. "You've been sitting in here all night working on this?"

"Si." he nodded. "I have. What you showed me. It's easier when we write it on the ground, but..." He unwrapped his shaking fingers from hers and fumbled with the papers lying on the table. He'd written some simple words in huge letters, the lines shaky and unsure, and a few of the letters backwards. He traced the shapes with his ink-smudged fingers, rattling off the names of the letters and then saying the words.

"Oh!" Rosie's dropped open. She wanted to dance. She wanted to shout. She wanted to wake up everyone on the property. "Oh, Luis!"

"I'm doin' it, si?" His brown eyes were huge, imploring her.

"Si! Yes! Ha!"

A mixture of emotions twisted his face, tears spilling over his lashes. He grinned, his brows furrowing over her eyes as he shook his head. "Ah, senorita..." he whispered, his voice tight. "Gracias...I can't ever..."

His gaze fell on hers and Rosie felt the room spin and fall away, the way it always did when he spoke Spanish to her in his incredible accent and called her "senorita'. He leaned towards her, their noses colliding awkwardly, and he turned his head, softly pressing his lips to hers.

Lightning cracked through every bit of her body, sizzling through her veins, exploding in her chest. Nothing existed but the sweet warmth of his lips, the tickle of his curls against her face, the incredible, stupefying nearness of him. The room, what was left of it, wheeled and crashed and dissolved.

She opened her eyes in time to see the thick curl of his lashes flutter open as he pulled away, color flooding his cheeks. Her own face was on fire, and she drew in a giddy breath, thankful she was sitting down. Did that just happen? Did Luis Santana just kiss me? On the lips?

He looked sheepish, breathless, watching her to see if he should apologize or not. He was grinning in spite of the embarrassed color flooding his face.

How can he not hear my heart? How is it not waking Wash up all the way in the house? She felt breathless and weak. The intensity of his beautiful eyes was too much. Looking down at the table, she wondered why it was suddenly hot in the room, why the collar of her dressing gown was suddenly gluing itself to the back of her neck. Her lips tingled with the memory of him.

Luis cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'm sorry, Miz Rosie...maybe I shouldn't have..."

"I wouldn't mind..." Rosie said shyly, fresh heat flashing across her face. "If you want to do it again."

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