The Horseman
Jillian Hart

To Ernest Fraijo,

who gave me the inspiration for the Spirit Horse.

To Tony and Ryan, who will always be heroes to me.

Thank you.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Montana Territory, 1882

I should be holding my baby now. Katelyn Green sat up in bed and buried her face in her hands, unable to hide from the grief. Pain filled her up, cold and dark as the night. She didn’t want to feel it; the loss was overwhelming. She was empty, her stomach strangely quiet.

By all rights, she ought to be cradling her daughter, safe and warm in her arms.

But instead she had this horrible sorrow, deep like a well and as dark. With a groan she shifted carefully, ignoring the physical pain the early birth had brought her. She climbed from the bed as if she could escape her sadness, but it followed her like the gloom to the window where she leaned her forehead against the frosty glass.

If only the baby hadn’t come early. If only she had lived.

Try not to think of it and maybe you’ll be all right. She willed her heart to be as cold as the glass at her brow. As icy as the frigid world outside her window. As quiet as the hard frost that painted the black reaching limbs of the leafless trees a solid snowy white and coated the vast Montana prairie with a frozen hush.

The moon was out, a bright round disk that warmed the ice-cold light from a thousand stars scattered across the void of night. The silvered light glinted across the prairie, as if more stars had tumbled to earth and still shone where they had fallen in the rises and draws of the high plains.

Like a lure, the night beckoned her, as if in those deep shadows where the moonlight and stardust did not reach, Katelyn could hide forever in the cold and night. Surely the grief could not follow her there.

“What are we gonna do with her?” a man’s deep voice demanded from the kitchen down the hall.

A voice hard and violent with anger. Katelyn shivered, her insides coiling up into a hard knot. She feared her stepfather, Cal Willman, but not as much as the husband who’d cast her out.

“She’s not staying with us much longer.” Cal sounded adamant and forceful, the way he always did when he’d been drinking.

“She’s my daughter. I guess I have to help her.” Her mother’s voice answered, perplexed and put-upon, sounding thin and torn.

Katelyn could picture her mother in the parlor, hands to her stomach, helpless to know what to do. Katherine Lyn Willman was not good at decisions or seeing past her own needs. It was a weakness of character and one of heart.

Katelyn knew what her mother would say next. She’d learned from the hard experience of growing up in this house. And from similar conversations her parents had had about her since she’d arrived five weeks ago.

“But we must consider our reputation.” Mother’s words vibrated with the worry of it. “I’ve had plenty of sympathy from my friends. They say it’s terrible how her husband set her aside.”

“Terrible? It’s scandalous. It’s ruining my business, that’s what it’s doing, and I can’t have much more of it.”

“Yes, but if we cast her out, think of how that would make us look.”

“But she’s useless, nothing but a burden—”

Useless. That’s what Brett had called her, the man who’d vowed in front of God to honor and cherish her. Katelyn squeezed her eyes shut, soaking in the cold draft seeping through the single-paned glass.

If only she’d had someplace else to go. It hadn’t been easy coming back. Walking the mile from town after a difficult birth and surgery three days after losing her baby, a girl child and not a son. You’re useless to me, Brett had told her. Worthless and replaceable.

He was a judge, and he’d found a way to dissolve the legal ties of their marriage.

“No decent man will have her.” Her stepfather sounded deeply disgusted. “It’s not as if we can find someone to marry her. She’s barren.”

“When she’s well, she could help with the housework. We’d be able to get by without a second housemaid.”

“Did you hear me, woman?” Cal’s disdain rang bitter and cold as the night outside. “I don’t want to cast my eyes on that daughter of yours. She’s a disgrace, and I have my business to think of.”

Katelyn covered her ears, refusing to listen to her mother’s answer, for it would be filled with her own selfish worries, as always. This was no home, no refuge, the way it had always been. This place was only another form of hell that she’d married to escape.

And the joke was on her. Marriage had been worse than this place, and now she had nowhere to go, no one to turn to, and her future was gone, vanished like a puff of smoke in midair, evaporating as if it never had been.

Her stepfather had said it. No decent man would want her. And she had to wonder if there were any decent men, husbands who treated their wives with tenderness and honor.

Maybe there were no men like that, like the princes in the fables she’d read about as a child, or heroes in the novels she so loved to read. Heroes of heart and courage and integrity were fiction, and nothing more.

What am I going to do? She couldn’t stay here, and she wasn’t yet strong enough to leave. Hopelessness lashed through her, smarting like the tip of a bullwhip against the inside of her rib cage.

I can’t stay here a moment longer. She had to escape, even if only for a few minutes. Her fingers glided over the glass panes. She unlatched the lock with a flick of her thumb.

“There is another course.” Her mother’s voice sounded again. “We send her away. Find a situation for her and wash our hands of her. All anyone needs to know is that she’s gone to stay with relatives.”

The night breeze was blessedly cold and as welcome as a wish come true. Katelyn sucked in the cool scent of winter and held it deep in her lungs before she tugged her quilted housecoat from the closet and pulled it on over her nightgown.

It was the darkness and not the starlight that drew her as she climbed through the window. The bitterness of her parent’s voices dulled to a mumble, their words becoming indistinguishable and then nothing at all as her feet hit the ground beneath her bedroom window.

She hated the weakness that shivered like water through her limbs. The weakness that made her feet heavy as she shuffled through the dormant rose garden. The shrubs were bundled in cloth with straw tucked around their shadowed bases. Hibernating. Envious, she kept on going.

The last of the fallen leaves crunched beneath her slippers as she ambled toward the open prairie. Pain sliced from her stomach down to her knee with each step. The doctor had said it would take a long while to heal. She’d lost a dangerous amount of blood during the birth and after.

She limped across the yard, the grass crisp and dead beneath her slippers. She could feel the night around her, somehow alive and magical, as if the moonlight laid down a path of silver for her feet and the white ice of the stars glittered like hope in the velvet sky.

The last time she’d felt hopeful was for the one moment in her bleak marriage when she’d first felt her baby quicken in her womb, that faint, incredible flutter of new life. Gone.

Her hands covered her stomach, empty and hollow. She should have died with the child, she thought, turning her back on the moon and stars, closing her eyes so hard the tears of sorrow could not escape. She was dead in all the ways that counted.

It did not matter what her mother and stepfather decided to do with her. Whatever situation they would find could not be worse than this pain she was in. A pain so deep it was a perfect darkness, like a night without moon or stars or end.

She heard him before she felt the change in the air, like the whisper of an archangel, then she heard the booming crack of thunder so loud it shook the despair from the night. The drumming crashed through the silent yard growing closer. It echoed along the eaves of the house and the long row of stables and outbuildings.

A high, sharp neigh trumpeted a warning an instant before the black shadow galloped into sight, front hooves pawing the air as he reared into the sky, nostrils flaring, ears pinned back, fury in his cry. The sight of him lured Katelyn closer, despite the pain of each step.

She could feel the wild rage of the stallion, the untamed power of him as he called out again, a warning neigh that pierced her ears like a bugle’s call to battle. She hugged the flat board rail of the paddock fence and watched, spellbound, as the magnificent creature leaped a six-foot-high fence in a single bound.

He’s magnificent. She held her breath as he landed, skimming the ground. He flew with effortless grace toward the far stables. The night slowly disguised him until there was only the beat of his hooves on the frozen earth.

The door to the bunkhouse slammed open and the sharp smack of wood striking wood shot through the yard like a gunshot. Light spilled into the darkness from the open doorway.

“What in the blazes?” a man’s gruff voice asked in confusion.

“It’s the devil, he’s back.” Old Pete, one of the longtime ranch hands, answered as he shoved his way through the door. “I know how to handle this one. Stand out of my way.”

A metallic rasping resounded in the dark. The sound of a rifle being cocked.

No! Katelyn watched in horror as the shorter, stockier man lifted the gun. Horror washed over her, launching her forward onto the bottom rail of the fence. She had to stop him—

A shot rang out, piercing the night. She clung to the top rail, helpless to do anything more than watch as the stallion neighed fiercely. He lived.

Relief left her dizzy. She’d had enough tragedy. She’d seen enough harm.

“Are you crazy?” a man’s voice boomed like winter thunder, deep and confident and angry. In the lit doorway across the row of paddocks, the strange man held the rifle by the barrel, as if he’d ripped it out of the old ranch hand’s grip. “You could have killed the beast.”

“That was the notion. He killed my only son last year, and I swore an oath on my boy’s grave that if that bastard dared to come back to these plains, I’d shoot him dead.”

“Get back to your bottle, old man.” The stranger jerked on the back part of the gun and the rattle of bullets clinked into his palm. “No one harms an animal as long as I’m here. Is that understood?”

“You wranglers come and go and think you know everything, but you’ll see that I’m right. The only way to handle a beast like that is with a bullet.” The old man shook his fist, as if in warning, or as if casting a curse, and then hobbled through the lit doorway and into the shadows of the bunkhouse.

The man was alone in the yard, standing with his shoulders broad, feet planted and the rifle in hand.

A dangerous man. Fear caught in her chest, watery and weak. Tonight, he’d made the choice of protecting the stallion.

The old man had called him a wrangler. He must be the new horseman her stepfather had hired some time back. Katelyn had overheard him discussing it more than once. He was a drifter by the sound of it, a man said to have been everywhere, done everything and have a rare touch with horses. It was rumored he had Indian blood in his veins.

The wind shifted. The shadows deepened. Katelyn felt the horseman’s gaze shift to her and focus with the same threat as if he’d loaded the rifle and aimed it straight at her heart. The hair prickled on the back of her neck. Her flesh rose in goose bumps as the night expanded around her.

The stars seemed to snuff out one by one until there was only the two of them. The powerful, intimidating man with a rifle and her, in her housecoat and slippers. If he was a dangerous man, she was alone with him. Perhaps that wasn’t the wisest course. She could simply turn around and scurry back the way she’d come.

She took a step back, knees weak. Scurrying wasn’t as simple as she first thought. The pain was worse, knifed down her legs in fine, cold slices. Maybe she’d stand here and rest up before heading in.

The man was staring at her. He looked like trouble. Although she could not see his face, there was something about him. Something raw and mighty, as if he were made of iron and not flesh and blood.

He stood in the faint shadows. The light gilded the broad strength of him, but his face remained in darkness.

She did not doubt his would be a hard face, one weathered by time and sun and violence. But why would such a man save a wild animal?

The stallion was calling again, pawing at the closest stable. He bugled a sharp protest. What was he doing? Then a gentle nicker answered from inside the stable.

The stallion lifted his head high and arched his proud neck. As if showing off for the mare, he pranced the length of the paddock. The fading starlight worshiped him, glinting like precious silver dust on the graceful line of his back and shoulders. A dream come true.

No man was a dream. Disenchanted, Katelyn turned away. Her uneven steps crackled through the frozen grasses loudly enough to pinpoint her location. The night silenced—even the wind fell still—and she felt the horseman’s presence as surely as the icy ground beneath her feet.

Something touched her cheek. Feather soft. Brief. Abrupt. She jumped, the fight rising up in her like a storm. She was alone. There was no danger as a second snowflake brushed the tip of her nose. A third caught on her left eyelash.

She felt foolish for being so jumpy. All around her was the whir of a million snowflakes, tumbling from the sky to tap against the ground. They filled the silent night like a symphony and softened the darkness.

There was the horseman. He was more than shadow now, and close. Too close. He was four fence posts away, leaning on the corner post without hat or coat. The stolen rifle rested against the long length of his thigh. He looked invincible standing there like a warrior of old.

It was the horse he was after. Not her. Katelyn stopped, grateful for the chance to catch her breath. She was quaking from fear and cold, but she could not tear her gaze away from the man, barely visible in the dark as he braced both forearms against the top rail.

“Hello, boy.” When he spoke, it was like harmony, low and sure and true. “Lookin’ to go courtin’, are you? You’re out of luck tonight, man. The stable’s locked up tight.”

Katelyn couldn’t believe her eyes. The stallion stopped pawing the ground and stilled. He swung his big head to stare at the man who dared to talk to him. The stallion’s ears pricked as he scented the stranger, then he snorted in obvious disdain of the human.

The man didn’t seem offended by it. “Folks tell me they call you the devil for a reason.”

The stallion bared his teeth and laid back his ears in answer.

“I see. You’re a tough one. Me, too, so I understand.” The easy friendliness in the man’s voice and posture remained. “It isn’t often a man comes across a mustang like you. Those are pretty distinct markings you have. Do you know how valuable that makes you?”

“Five hundred gold eagles,” called another man’s voice from the direction of the bunkhouse. Another one of the hired hands.

That seemed to get the horseman’s attention. “Why? Is he someone’s lost horse? Is there a reward on him? He looks wild to me.”

“Cal Willman wanted him caught and broke to ride. A stallion with markings like that would be worth something in stud fees, even if he is a cayuse. That horse put up a fuss and killed Old Pete’s son before he broke free and took a few prized Arabians with him. Cost Willman a bundle, I’ll tell you. Near about ruined him, far as anyone can tell. He fired a whole bunch of us, and we’ve been runnin’ this place with just a few hands ever since.”

“Wonder if Willman still has that reward out for him,” one of the hired men asked. “Reckon we can collect on it?”

“What do you mean ‘we’?” the other ranch hand argued. “I’d like that money for myself.”

So, that’s why my stepfather sold the house in town. Curious, she couldn’t help creeping through the shadows and swiping the snow from her eyes, edging close enough to better hear what the men where saying.

But it was the horseman her eyes strayed to. The way he remained motionless, snow accumulating on his dark locks, the width of his shoulders, his attention trained on the wild horse, his focus never wavering.

He’s going to catch the stallion. But how? If the animal had leaped into the paddock, he could easily leap out before he could be cornered. The fence could not hold him. What could? The magnificent beast’s hooves beat out a swift rhythm along the length of the stable, as if he knew it, too, and he wasn’t afraid.

Run, she silently pleaded. Run while you can. The stallion skidded to a halt, shaking the snow from his coat. He turned to face the horseman, nose up, ears forward, nostrils flaring wide to scent the man who watched and waited.

“We are going to be partners, you and me.” The horseman’s promise made the men behind him guffaw.

“Keep on dreamin’, Hennessey,” one of the men called. “You’re not man enough to get your hands on that big fat reward. Bet you’d like to.”

“I wouldn’t mind if I did. It wouldn’t matter if I didn’t.” The horseman climbed onto the rail and eased down into the paddock. He approached the stallion slow and sure, like a predator stalking his next meal, confident of the outcome. “You are a handsome one, aren’t you, boy?”

The stallion nickered, a low warning sound that sent shivers down Katelyn’s spine.

“We’ve got lassos ready,” one of the ranch hands said as he led the others toward the fence. “Stand back, Hennessey. Let the real cowboys take care of this one.”

“Fine, Ned, but you boys will scare him off.” The horseman lifted a coiled whip from his belt. “Go ahead. You catch him. I’ll just lean back, take a few minutes to rest and watch you rope him in. It shouldn’t be too hard for a seasoned wrangler like you.”

“You’re a son of a bitch, Hennessey. There isn’t a horse I can’t break.” Ned crawled through the fence, then shook out his lasso.

Dillon Hennessey had learned long ago how to manage fools like Ned Ritter, so he was careful not to let anger get the best of him. He had a quick trigger when it came to the way men treated horses. It was just the way he was. He believed in respecting animals.

And women, too.

He’d noticed her before tonight. What man wouldn’t? He’d caught sight of her in the windows of the house, quiet and pale and moving slowly, as if in pain. She’d lost a child. That was hard on a woman. He could understand that.

What he couldn’t understand was why any man would have set her free.

She was beautiful. Probably the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. She was delicate, refined and as fragile as those china dolls he’d seen in the store window in town. She was far too fine for the likes of him. Why are you even looking at her, Hennessey?

Because while he tried his best to make wise decisions, he made mistakes. And watching the owner’s daughter out of the corner of his eye had to be the worst mistake a man like him could make.

“You’re spookin’ him, Ned.” Dillon couldn’t believe his eyes. What were the four men going to do? They could toss all the rope in the county around that stud’s neck, and it wouldn’t do any good. They couldn’t hold him.

The truth was, nothing could hold that horse.

Nothing except his loyalty. A stallion like that one decided if he’d trust a man or not. That was the secret to dealing with difficult animals. That, along with no small bit of kindness, did the trick.

It was a secret Ned didn’t seem to know as he tossed the fat noose through the air. The hemp smacked the horse in the head.

With one great shake, the stallion knocked the rope aside. Another sailed through the air and he pivoted, a blend of shadow and substance, and fled.

“I got him! I got him!” Ned braced his stance and whipped the lasso tight.

“Hold on, Ned!” the hands advised.

This ought to be good. Dillon settled back to watch, wondering how long Ned would last. Thirty seconds at most. The stallion bunched up into a powerful jump that sent him sailing like Pegasus himself over the fence railing, hauling Ned into the fence with a crash.

Ned’s groan of pain was followed by a long string of vile curses as the end of the rope sailed out of sight along with the horse. The stallion returned to his herd of mares and galloped for the foothills of the Big Horn Range, until there was nothing but the faint drum of their hooves. Then nothing but wind and storm.

“You stood there, you lazy cuss!” Ned moaned, finding his feet and swiping the snow from his backside. “If you would’ve helped, I could’ve held him.”

“You said to let the real cowboys handle it, and I did.” That comment only made Ned mad, but Dillon didn’t care. He ignored the ranch hand’s tirade.

What Dillon did care about was the stallion. He was a runaway, was he? From this ranch? Interesting. Dillon figured he’d find out about the reward. And why the stallion had returned to this spread.

A mare’s nicker sounded from inside the stable, lifting on the rising wind, and it was a sad and lonely sound.

A female. It always came down to that. When she was special, what was a poor male to do?

Suffer, that’s what. Dillon glanced over his shoulder to the shadows near the far fence. She was gone. There was only shadow and a thin blanket of snow. Fat flakes tumbled relentlessly, covering over her footprints.

Dillon stared down at the imprints. Small and delicate.

Just like her.

Warmth filled him. It was a strange thing. A dangerous reaction.

He was lonely. He wanted a wife. But there was no chance in hell that beautiful Katelyn Green would want a man like him.

Yep, he knew when to draw and when to fold. He stood in the storm a long while with the snow falling all around him and thought of her, as elusive as that stallion in the night.

And twice as unreachable.

Chapter Two

Katelyn carried her morning cup of tea to the dining-room window to watch the snow fall. Peace. It covered the landscape in a blanket of white, the gentle rolling whiteness covering up the mud and dirt and the season’s dead grasses, making the world new and beautiful. Heavy ice-gray clouds hung low on the horizon, masking the proud peaks of the Rocky Mountains on one side and the Big Horn Range on the other.

With the snow falling, it felt as if the sky was so close to the ground that if she went outside, she could almost touch heaven. Wishful thinking, she knew, but it remained a hard longing within her. Probably because she wanted to escape this house and this pain.

“I told you, hot tea in the mornings. Hot, not tepid. This is entirely unacceptable.” There was a clatter from upstairs and an angry tap of shoes on the staircase that echoed through the downstairs room.

It didn’t sound as if Mother was in a good mood this morning. Katelyn cradled her teacup in her hand and hobbled to the kitchen. She was still too tender to hurry, but she ignored the shooting pain that radiated from her midsection as the beat of Mother’s angry footsteps knelled closer. Thankfully the kitchen doors swung shut behind her a second before Mother entered the dining room.

“She’s in a mood this morning.” Effie stirred scrambled eggs on the stove. “I don’t blame ya for wanting away from her. Stay here with me, and I’ll give you the best bits of bacon I saved. With all you’ve been through, you need to eat. Else how do you expect to gain back your health?”

“Just the tea for now, thanks.” Katelyn brushed a kiss along the older woman’s cheek. Effie Kerr had been a fixture in this kitchen for as long as she could remember and more kindly to her than her own mother could dream of being. “I’m too upset to eat.”

“And little wonder, with the way they was carryin’ on, as if you’d done somethin’ bad.” Effie put down her wooden spoon to brush a handful of blond locks from Katelyn’s face. “That husband they made you marry is the bad one. Everyone knows it. Never heard of such a thing, undoing the marriage the way he did. Suppose he knows how to do it, but it ain’t right if you ask me.”

“Don’t work yourself up, Effie.” Katelyn caught the older woman’s callused hands in her own and gave a squeeze. “I wasn’t happy being a wife to that man.”

“I should think not.” She returned to the stove, shuffling like a woman far older than her years, her back beginning to stoop. Her sadness was as palpable as the heat radiating from the stove.

Losing her son had been hard on her. Katelyn recalled how Old Pete Kerr had wanted to kill the stallion, and remembering that majestic creature made her breath catch. He’d been remarkable, like poetry moving in the darkness, something bold and beautiful and striking like William Blake would have written, a wild animal burning in the night.

“Sit down, child, and finish that tea if nothing else.” Effie pulled out a chair at the small table in the corner. “Maybe some of my biscuits fresh out of the oven will tempt that appetite of yours.”

“They smell good.” Katelyn obliged, grateful to rest in the comfortable chair. The cushion was soft, and the view remarkable. She leaned her elbows on the edge of the table, since there was no one to reprimand her, and stared out at the world of white.

If only the world could stay like this, comfortable in a cold layer of snow, and made new every morning. Although she knew the temperatures were bitter outside, sitting with her back to the stove and tea warming her up was the most pleasure she’d felt during the years she’d been married to the county’s most respected judge.

She shivered, remembering Brett. Her stomach coiled into a tight ball and the peaceful moment was ruined. Breathing in the sweet spicy tea, she tried to banish thoughts of him from her mind. She needn’t think about him or any man ever again.

She was better without a husband. Without a ring on her finger. Safer.

“It’s good to see you feeling better, dear. To have you up and about.” Effie slid a covered basket onto the edge of the table. “Don’t be afraid to eat them all. Go on, now.”

The warm yeasty scent of fresh roll with melted butter, sugar and cinnamon made Katelyn’s mouth water. Her stomach growled in anticipation. “Maybe just one.”

“Thata girl.” Satisfied, the cook ambled away. The bang of pans against the stove filled the kitchen with a merry sound.

Katelyn took one sticky roll from the basket and tore off a bite-sized morsel with her fingers. The gooey icing reminded her of when she was a little girl, sitting at this same table and unrolling the coiled cinnamon roll so it was one long strip of sweetness.

Something stirred in the white downfall outside and distracted her. She absently placed a bit of roll in her mouth and chewed, squinting through the smudged windowpanes. All she could see was the steady cascade of snow falling like rain outside, obscuring the mountains and the plains, giving her only a view of the yard directly outside the window.

There it was again. She held her breath as a blur of dark color moved closer. A deer, perhaps? An elk? Or what if it was a moose? She’d missed the wildlife coming to visit, living in town for so long. At least that was one blessing. She’d grab her coat, head straight to the barn and snatch a bag of grain. Maybe the animals would come close enough so she could watch them eat.

But it wasn’t a deer or an elk or even a moose that broke through the veil of snow and into her sight. It was Dillon Hennessey riding a big black-and-white mustang. Sitting tall and straight in the saddle, he looked rugged and as invincible as a warrior of old. As if nothing could defeat or diminish him.

A strange tingle began at her nape and slid down her spine. What kind of man was Dillon Hennessey? Why did she want to know? She didn’t like men. She wasn’t interested in them. Not after what she’d been through.

So, why couldn’t she tear her eyes from him? Why did that tingle in her spine strengthen when he rode so close to the window?

He was dressed well for the weather, and she couldn’t see his face. Couldn’t see anything more of him than she had last night in the dark. But the wide cut of his coat suggested a man of muscle and strength. The shadowed profile hinted at a man hard as stone.

She shivered. He was probably a harsh man. Weren’t they all? Stronger than a woman, and he was probably the worst, breaking horses with whips and spurs and cruelty.

The image of Brett’s raised fist flashed into her mind and she shook harder, willing it away. She was safe from him here. Whatever happened to her now would not be as bad as being married to that man.

She wrapped her hands around the teacup and lifted it to her lips. The dark liquid sloshed up to the rim but didn’t spill. She took a deep breath. She had to relax. She didn’t need to be so jumpy. She was safe, remember?

She felt something, a strange sensation like the brush of a feather against the side of her face. She snapped her head up. There, on the other side of the glass, the horseman was staring at her. He’d turned in the saddle, his face shadowed by the brim of his hat, and in the storm all she saw was his dark blue gaze, compelling and calm, before the snowfall swallowed him whole. Leaving her watching the flakes tumbling past the window and with a strange quickening in her chest.

“Effie, do you know anything about that new man?”

“The wrangler?” The wooden spoon scraped on the steel fry pan. “Came in about a month ago. Your stepfather brought him in to work with his new mares. Dillon Hennessey’s supposed to be the best. There ain’t a horse he can’t break.”

“How unlucky for the horses.” Her stomach tightened and she stared at the roll. She was no longer hungry.

“Horses aren’t useful for much if they can’t pull a buggy.” Effie dropped the empty pan on the counter, untroubled by the clatter, and rescued the sizzling bacon from the heat. “I hear he comes up from Texas way, but worked in Wyoming for a spell. Been all around. California. Colorado. New Mexico. He always comes back to Montana. Folks say this here territory is his home.”

“I thought you said he was from Texas?”

“I don’t rightly know. He isn’t given to talk much, and you know my Pete is as deaf as a turnip. Can’t hear anything right, so that’s probably what he thinks he heard about Hennessey. Haven’t spoken to the man myself. He keeps to his own.”

A loner. A drifter. Katelyn remembered how he’d stood apart from the men last night, and it hadn’t only been the distance between the others that separated them and made him distinct, as if he were above those other men.

And yet how could he be? He was no different, being a wrangler, a man who wore spurs and dominated wherever he could, and at whatever cost. Like any man.

“Eat up, girl, you haven’t eaten enough to keep a bird alive.” Effie thrust a plate of bacon and eggs onto the table.

Katelyn wrinkled her nose. “I’m not hungry.”

“It doesn’t matter. Eat. Or there will be hell to pay.” Effie’s stern words were forceful enough to echo in the small kitchen, but her eyes shone with kindness.

Hers was the only caring Katelyn had known since she’d been a little girl. Grateful, she lifted the fork off the edge of the plate. For Effie, she’d do her best, even if her stomach felt as if it were tied into a hundred knots.

Effie’s attention drifted to the window. “Was there any reason you wanted to know about Dillon Hennessey?”

Was it Katelyn’s imagination, or did Effie sound unusually pleased? “It was idle curiosity. So much has changed since I’ve been gone.”

“True. You were married how long?”

Effie knew full well how long. “Five years. A lot has changed. I wondered if my stepfather has been any more successful in keeping his hired men.”

“Not a bit. If Pete wasn’t your mama’s cousin, we’d be long gone ourselves. Cal Willman is a tough man to work for, I’ll grant you that. A man like Hennessey, he’s a drifter. He moves from ranch to ranch. Gets paid well, I hear. We had a year and a half wait for him, he’s got that much work. That ought to say something good about him, wouldn’t you say?”

“I suppose.” Katelyn stared at the eggs in front of her. She never should have asked a single question about the horseman.

Effie snatched the pot from the counter, moving casually, but there was nothing the woman did without purpose. “He’s pleasing to the eye, wouldn’t you say? A woman can’t help but notice Dillon Hennessey’s about as tough as a mountain and good-looking to boot.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“You are a terrible liar, dear heart.” Effie sounded as pleased as a new mother as she tipped the pot, warming up Katelyn’s cup. “Even at my age, a handsome man still catches my eye. He’s not truly handsome, though, is he? Rugged. Striking. That describes him better. He looks like a man who could protect a woman from any threat. Any danger. Now that’s what a woman needs in a husband.”

Katelyn groaned. “Stop, please. I’ve had one husband. I will never want another.”

“But whatever will become of you?” Effie set the pot on the table and drew up a chair. The sharp scrape of the wooden legs against the floor came as harsh as the fear on the woman’s face. “I’ve heard what they’ve been saying, the two of them, when they think no one can hear. They intend to find a situation for you, and it won’t be a pleasant one.”

“I don’t need them to find anything for me. As soon as I’m well, I can leave.”

“What if they ain’t planning to wait that long? And where would you go? This is a cruel world for a woman alone.”

“It can be a cruel world for a married woman.”

“No, only if the woman marries the wrong kind of man. I promise you, you could do much worse than Dillon Hennessey.”

“What? Effie, I asked you to stop. I can’t stand it.” She laid down her fork and rested her aching head in her hands. She was still weak from one man’s beating. Did Effie think that she couldn’t wait to give control of her life to another man?

“There, there.” The cook’s hand lit on Katelyn’s shoulder blade, a gentle, comforting touch. “Didn’t mean to overset you. But keep in mind, you need a situation better’n the one your stepfather will find for you. The best way to get out of here is to marry a man of your own choice. One that’ll treat you good, the way you deserve.”

“Oh, Effie.” Tears burned behind her eyes, blurring her vision, and Katelyn blinked hard, refusing to let them fall. What would she do without Effie? She’d be all alone. Utterly, completely alone. “The food will get cold. You’d best go. You know how my mother gets.”

“Well, I do.” With a dramatic roll of her eyes and a heaving sigh, Effie hauled her bulk from the chair. “Now you think on what I said. Mr. Hennessey has never married, at least that’s what they tell me. At his age, a man wants to be settled and have sons to pass on his wisdom to.”

With a smile of approval, Effie hustled from the room, snatching two platters of food on her way out.

I can’t give him sons. Effie knew that. Everyone did. Hadn’t it been the topic of gossip around the ranch for the past month? The doctor had told her she couldn’t give any man a child. Not that she wanted the horseman—she never wanted to be at a man’s mercy again—but the fact that she would always be completely alone without a child, without a family, hurt like a mortal wound.

She opened her eyes. There was no use in spending the morning in sorrow. Sadness couldn’t change the past. Nothing could. The only course open to her was to move forward. To make what she could of today and of the solitary future ahead of her.

Resolved, she stirred the tip of her fork through the fluffy scrambled eggs. They’d tasted delicious, for Effie was a remarkable cook, but she wasn’t hungry. How could she be? She felt dead inside and nothing, especially a plate of food, was going to change that.

But food would help her regain her strength. She wanted out of this house more than anything. Determined, she took a bite of eggs and chewed, even as her stomach recoiled. She fought to swallow and keep it down.

When she was done, she sipped her tea and watched the snow fall. Now and then she thought she saw a movement in the relentless shower of white, a dark shadow, his shadow.

But she was wrong. There was no formidable man riding through the storm like a legend born.

Why was she thinking about him again?

She didn’t need another man in her life. What she wanted was to be left alone.

She rubbed the space on her fourth finger, where a slight indentation was the only reminder that she’d worn a ring. That she’d made vows to honor and cherish and obey. What a mistake that had been. A mistake she would never make again.

She drained the last drop of tea from her cup and set it down with a clink. She was stronger today. Better.

Maybe she’d go spread some grain in the field. That should draw out any animals, and then she could enjoy the peaceful sight of the beautiful creatures. Perhaps the serenity of it would ease some of the ache from her soul.

And keep Dillon Hennessey from her thoughts.

As he had expected, with the snow falling hard and heavy, Dillon saw no further sign of the stallion. Still, he’d had to try. A true horseman couldn’t let a stud like that slip out of his fingers.

Something told him that the horse would return. So, he may as well head back and grab a hot cup of coffee from the stove in the bunkhouse. That sounded mighty good, seeing as how he was frozen clear through.

It was hard to give up the hunt. Hard to nose his gelding toward home and turn his back on the chance of finding that stallion. What a magnificent animal. He couldn’t forget him, the same way he couldn’t forget the woman, Katelyn Green.

How could he? She’d looked like an angel come to earth this morning, framed by the window and brushed with a golden radiance by the lamplight. She was beyond beautiful. She looked like goodness in a woman’s form, with that softly spun blond hair she wore down so it cascaded around her heart-shaped face. A face dominated by eyes a rare, exotic blue, a small, delicate nose and a mouth so perfect it would shame every rosebud in existence.

If he closed his eyes, looked deep into his being and pulled out his vision of the perfect woman, it would be Katelyn Green. He’d never seen anyone like her, and it wasn’t her beauty that drew him. That was the plain truth.

It was something else. Something about her, and her alone. He didn’t know what it was, and he wasn’t a man who was good with words or feelings, but he did know people, the same way he knew animals. When he’d locked gazes with Miss Green through the snow this morning, he’d seen the quiet gentleness inside her. Rare, indeed.

Back on the acreage he owned next door to his brother, he had a mare like her with big scared eyes and it had taken nearly two whole years of work before she’d let him stroke her neck without flinching.

Not that a woman was like a horse, but it was horses he knew and not women. Yep, women were pretty much a mystery to him. His ma had died when he was a small boy. He had no recollection of her, and that left only his pa and his five brothers. Pa had never remarried, never tried to replace the love of his life, and so there was no woman’s influence in Dillon’s life as a boy.

And as a man, he was bewildered to think about beauing one of those pretty creatures in soft dresses that swept the floor whenever they walked, giving the impression their dainty feet did not touch the ground like mortals. Women were different entirely and far too fine for the likes of him.

Even if he could catch a lady’s attention, what would he do then? He wasn’t given to fancy language and insincere flattery to make a woman like him. Hell, it would probably take more than a mountain of flattery to do that. Even if he could manage to speak instead of remain tongue-tied, what would he say? He wasn’t citified and he wasn’t educated. The only thing he knew was horses and horse breeding.

He couldn’t imagine walking up to Katelyn Green and asking her opinion on which stud should service the thoroughbred mare that was coming in heat.

The same mare the wild stallion had wanted last night when Katelyn Green had been out wandering in the dark in her slippers and housecoat, her hair down and unbound and billowing around her in the wind and snow. He wanted to know what she’d been doing. And why, when she was infirm, was she up, limping in obvious pain?

He had little doubt her parents had no compassion to spare. Cal Willman’s hard countenance and heartless manner told Dillon all he needed to know. He’d met a hundred rich men just like him over the years, and they were all the same. Every last one of them. Ruthless and cruel, men who cared only about themselves.

As for the wife, she was as harsh as a Montana blizzard. It was clear in the way she ignored her own daughter.

Dillon wished he knew what had happened. He couldn’t help feeling sorry for Katelyn. He didn’t seem able to stop wondering about her. Maybe he’d round up enough courage to ask one of the hands what had happened to return her childless and wounded to her parent’s home and what would become of her next.

Not that he had a chance, but he was a man. He noticed a pretty, available woman. He was lonelier than he wanted to admit. He’d been wanting to get married for a long time, but he’d never been able to talk to a lady, much less court her.

That proved a terrible problem. He had a house he didn’t live in. A bed he didn’t sleep in. A life he didn’t live because he had no one to share it. He would give anything for a kind, gentle wife to call his own.

He would give his soul and more to marry a woman like Katelyn Green.

But even if she was recovered from her loss, she’d hardly glanced at him. He’d lay down good money that she didn’t know his name. And if she did, what could come of it? He would be gone in a few weeks, when his work here was done.

The new stallion—a pale comparison to the magnificent black stallion—was progressing fine. And the problem mares were responding to him. They’d come around soon. His work here would be done and he would leave, as he always did, with a pocket full of cash, heading in the direction of the next ranch in need of him.

He didn’t like the notion of leaving at month’s end. Not that he was fond of the place. The truth was, he couldn’t stand Cal Willman or his wife. What he would miss, even more than the horses here, was the pretty blond woman who made him very aware of being all man.

Was it his imagination, or did he hear something?

A female’s voice lilted on the wind as sweet as a song. “That’s it, don’t be afraid. Come closer. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

That had to be Katelyn. Who else could it be? Not Effie, the cook—the tone and cadence were too soft for her. Not Mrs. Willman, who talked with enough venom to poison a rattler. Not the housemaids, for both were Chinese and spoke very little English.

“That’s right. See? You’re perfectly safe.”

Katelyn had to be just beyond that rise. Ten yards away. He jerked the horse to a stop and ignored the gelding’s protest. Normally he was steady with his horse, trustworthy and calm, but the thought of seeing Katelyn Green was enough to make him break out in a cold sweat.

She was here alone. What should he do? He could keep on riding and wave at her as he went by. Or he could stop and talk with her. Hmm, that could work. But what would he say? The thought made his throat close shut. His tongue had become paralyzed and wouldn’t work. Dang his shyness.

He could picture the impending disaster. He’d ride on up to her, stop his horse, brace his fist on the saddle the way he’d seen other men do to look tough, and stutter and stammer like a fool.

Wouldn’t that impress her?

A rugged man like him shouldn’t be shy. He ought to be bold. Be brave. He should talk to her the way he talked to anyone.

He was tough. He’d faced down killer stallions and an attacking cougar. He’d been kicked, bit, stepped on, bucked off, crushed against fences and thrown to the ground more times than there were numbers to count with. He was one of the best at what he did.

A pretty, delicate little woman shouldn’t terrify him.

You can do it, Hennessey. Just ride on up to her and smile. Then say howdy.

The wind seemed colder as he pressed the gelding into a fast walk. The ground was too uncertain and the snow too deep for anything faster, but if he could, he’d gallop full tilt past the beautiful woman and never think of her again.

She came into view as he rode over the rise. He eased the gelding to a halt at the crest, gazing down the gently sloping field of white to the slim woman wearing a dark blue cloak, buttoned tight from ankle to throat. A small feed pail dangled from her left hand.

What a sight. Joy filled him. Snow dappled her like a Christmas angel, clinging to the woolen cap and the rippling sheen of golden hair flowing down her back. White flakes hugged the delicate line of her shoulders and the rise of her breasts. Snow clung to the curve of her waist and hips and caked the long hem of her cloak, a womanly shape of grace and loveliness that made his chest tight. Awe swept over him, sweet as a morning breeze.

Just then came the slightest movement in a grove of trees tucked into the lee of the slope. A predator? God knows cougars didn’t like to hunt in the snow. Dillon had spied cat tracks a half mile to the north. They preferred their warm dens on days like this, but that didn’t mean, if a lone cat was hungry enough, he wouldn’t go in search of a meal.

And that meal wouldn’t be Katelyn. She was all alone out here, unprotected. With that pail on her arm, she was probably putting out feed for the birds and unaware of the danger stalking her.

Fierce protectiveness surged through him, spilling hot in his blood. Careful not to make a sound, he eased the Winchester from its holster and covered the cocking action with his free hand to hide the chink of metal. A cat would hear it and bolt, and that was unacceptable. There was a threat to Katelyn Green and, damn it, Dillon Hennessey would stop it.

He held the rifle steady, aiming just at the edge of the trees, anticipating that first glimpse of a shadow. He hugged the trigger, ready and alert, as the shadow nosed toward Katelyn.

It wasn’t the fast strike of a cougar. Dillon took a breath, waiting, as Katelyn’s melodic voice lifted up to him on the wind.

“That’s it. See? No one’s going to hurt you. You’re safe. Come closer. That’s right.”

Sweet as a hymn. She could coax the wildness out of a cougar, he figured, with a voice like that. It wasn’t just the voice—it was her, the goodness in her, the heart of her. He could see it as plain as the woman and she waited while the first doe broke from her cover and eased forward to eat the grain Katelyn had spread on the ground. Grain, not birdseed.

Dillon couldn’t believe it. The wild deer came right up to her. Two smaller animals joined her—yearling fawns, he figured, judging by their size and markings. Young, not fully grown. They, too, scented the air, considered Katelyn standing as still as a statue and bent their dainty heads.

Shrouded in snow, like poetry and fairy tale, the woman watched the delicate creatures eat. The wind gusted, ruffling Katelyn’s long gold locks against her back, caressing the curled ends like a lover’s fingers.

What would it be like to touch her hair? Dillon lowered the rifle, thunderstruck by the notion. He imagined lowering his fingertips to that lustrous fall of gold, and he knew she would feel as soft and fine as silk, the fancy kind in the stores only the rich could buy. She would be like that, and satin everywhere….

Whoa, now, that was not a respectful thought. He took a deep breath, banishing further inclinations from his mind. He was a man and he couldn’t help desiring her, but that didn’t mean he ought to give those thoughts free rein. He had no right to look upon her like that. She was not his wife.

She never would be.

No, she’d find herself courted by one of the rich dandies in town. The kind with an enormous house on Elm Street, the finest lane with the fanciest homes. The sort of man who sat inside all day, didn’t wear Levi’s and smell of horses and leather. The sort that sipped brandy after dinner in the parlor.

Not the kind of man who drank a pint of ale in the bunkhouse.

It saddened him. If he had a dream, then it would be Katelyn Green.

Chapter Three

Dillon couldn’t talk to her. The tightness was working its way up from his chest into his throat. By the time he made it to her side, the tightness would have worked its way up to his paralyzed tongue, and there would be no way in hell he could make an intelligible sound.

He’d be best to keep quiet, turn the horse around and ride the long way back before he made an embarrassment of himself.

The saddle creaked as he shifted his weight to draw the gelding around, and the sound traveled like thunder above the whisper of the falling snow.

Katelyn jerked in his direction, her eyes wide with the same surprise and fear as the deer, frozen, ears pricked, heads high, scenting him. Woman and animals stared as if he were evil incarnate.

Katelyn Green’s gaze scorched him like blue flame. “What do you think you’re doing?”

She sure sounded mad. She looked it, too. Dillon’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. And it was a good thing, too, since he didn’t know what to say anyway. Did he apologize for intruding? Was that why she was so angry?

“How could you? What kind of man are you?” She marched toward him, pure fury, and he had no notion what he’d done.

“I, uh…” Damn it, Hennessey. You can do better than that. “I’m, uh, sure am s-sorry, ma’am.”

“Sorry? For trying to kill the deer when I was feeding them? What did you think? That I wouldn’t mind if you just started shooting?”

“No, uh—” Dang it all, but he was tongue-tied. She flustered him worse than any woman ever had, the way she was flying up the hill toward him, focused anger and indignation.

She was pure beauty, with her face pinkened from the cold and high emotion, her small fists clenched, her hair flowing out behind her like a mare in full gallop. The passion in her showed.

No wonder he was speechless.

Then he realized he was holding the rifle still aimed in the direction of her deer, which had already fled into the trees and disappeared. There was only the two of them, and, flushing, he eased the hammer back and slid the weapon into its leather casing. “S-sorry about that, ma’am.”

“You’re sorry?” She looked ready to hurl sharp objects at his head. Good thing there weren’t any handy. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, taking advantage like that. You’re a man. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised—”

He knew what she thought. “You’re wrong, ma’am. I s-saw some cat tracks back a ways and thought…” He couldn’t find the right word. What the hell was he going to say? She lifted her chin, staring at him expectantly with those fiery blue eyes accusing him of being the worst sort of man, and he just couldn’t think.

“I, uh, didn’t want to see you get hurt, ma’am,” he finished, but it wasn’t what he intended to say.

Had she noticed? All that stammering had to make him look bad.

“A cougar?” She seemed to be debating whether or not he was telling the truth.

Well, that was progress. Leastways she wasn’t ready to give him a lashing. And she wasn’t staring up at him like he was a stammering numbskull. That had to be a good sign. He sat straighter in the saddle.

“I’m Dillon Hennessey. I’m the horse trainer your stepfather brought in.” He tipped his hat.

White tumbled down his face and fell in a heap on his lap. Damn. He should have knocked the snow off before he tried making advances at the pretty lady. Had she noticed?

Sure she had. Her top teeth dug into her lush bottom lip to keep from laughing, and her eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement.

He withered a little inside. He’d acted like this before with women, but not in front of one that mattered so much. If he didn’t get over this blasted shyness, he would never find a wife. Never have a family of his own.

“Well, thank you for protecting me.” She was trying to be polite. A different light sparkled in those blue depths and the sadness in them, the pervasive sorrow he’d noticed before, had ebbed. “I’ll just fetch the feed pail and head home. I wouldn’t want to be cougar food.”

“Guess you probably don’t need to worry about that. Seein’ as you’d be too sweet for ’em.” Good job, Hennessey. He moaned internally at the words that just popped out of his mouth.

He had not said what he just said. He would never say anything as ridiculous as that. Right? If he tried hard enough, maybe he could forget he’d said it.

First he couldn’t speak, now he couldn’t shut up. He might as well have said, I’m sure interested in you, Katelyn Green. It would have left him with more dignity.

“I mean, I’ll keep watch as long as you’re out here.” He cleared his throat, trying to sound gruff, because he was a fearless rugged man, raised in the wilderness, half Nez Percé and a warrior.

She picked up her feed pail and brushed a lock of gold behind her ear, looking up at him through her thick lashes. “Then I guess I should apologize for being angry at you. I saw the gun and thought the worst. I’m sorry.”

She lifted her face, and in the soft daylight he could see plain as day the faint impression of a bruise on her far cheekbone the size of a man’s fist. The wind ruffled her hair and a thick shank of hair fell forward, hiding the mark.

Rage came to life in his chest. Hot and hard, like a kerosene fire until it threatened to burn out of control. His jaw clamped tight. His hands fisted. If the man she’d been married to was here right now, Dillon would be glad to teach him a lesson.

“I should be getting back.” She turned, avoiding his gaze, letting him know she wasn’t interested.

She walked away into the veil of falling snow. He couldn’t stand it, the way she was leaving like that.

“The deer must like you,” he called out, and grimaced. If he kept this up, she’d simply run away from him and his terrible attempts to talk with her. “I mean, it’s rare for them to come up to a person.”

Katelyn glanced over her shoulder, considered him, but kept walking.

“My grandfather could do that. Deer would approach him.”

Why did he keep trying to talk to her? Katelyn wondered. She kept walking, limping, because the pain was still with her. She felt the horseman’s eyes on her back like a touch.

“He had a way with animals.”

Had he taken a sparking to her? Katelyn turned toward him at the same moment he shrugged one big, snow-lined shoulder, and a row of snow tumbled off that broad perch to startle his horse. The mustang sidestepped, startling the rider.

“Whoa, boy.” Instead of sounding irritated or angry, the wrangler’s voice rumbled low and as warm as buttered rum. He stroked his sizable hand down the gelding’s neck, a gentle gesture for so powerful a man.

Katelyn shivered, wondering if his touch was as tender as it looked. But she knew there were no heroes made of honor and strength and tenderness in this cold, hard world.

Dillon Hennessey might be strong and seemingly kind and a little awkward when it came to speaking to a woman, but he was still a man and, like the cougar prowling these prairies, he would strike when he wished. He was more ruthless at heart. It was simply his nature.

Or was it? Every time she glanced over her shoulder, there was the outline of the man on his proud mustang, waiting on the crest of the rise, watching as the storm droned on, the rifle at his shoulder, ready but not threatening.

A protective warrior who remained steadfast and vigilant as she ambled carefully through the deepening snow.

Katelyn may not have had much time with the deer, but a quandary had been solved. At least she knew more about Dillon Hennessey. Remembering how he’d stammered and looked lost, that giant mountain of a man, made her smile.

She lifted the latch to the front gate. She was home, for now. When she turned to wave a thank-you to him, she saw only snow and wind and prairie.

The horseman had gone.

His image remained throughout the day and into the evening as twilight came early. After a slow bleeding of the sun, and the gray shadows had wrung all the light from the sky, darkness descended. Katelyn kept to her room with a single candle lit. She took supper on a tray but could not eat. She hadn’t been hungry in so long.

There was so much to consider, so much to think about. Fear nibbled at the corners of her courage, and she eased out of the chair in the corner and lifted the rug at the foot of the bed. There, beneath the floorboard she’d loosened, was her future. She unwrapped the cloth bundle carefully, cradling it in her hand. Even in the faint light from a single candle, the diamonds flashed and sparkled. The cold, multifaceted gemstones were framed in the gold of a necklace and two rings, gifts from her wealthy husband to his beloved wife.

Or, that’s what he told others at the dinner parties where he pretended to others that he was a fine, loving husband. And she could not tell the truth.

She hated every one of those stones. The wedding ring, the anniversary ring, the necklace he’d given her when she first learned she was pregnant and could be carrying his son.

Tears flooded her eyes and she willed them not to fall. The diamonds blurred into a rainbow glitter of pure, white light as she covered the jewelry, secured it well and tucked it back into its dark safe hiding place. As much as she hated the gems, they would buy her future. She planned to sell each piece and take pleasure in the knowledge that Brett couldn’t touch her, that she didn’t need him.

She didn’t need anyone.

She would make a new life. Alone. The way she wanted it to be.

“Katelyn?” Her stepfather’s voice on the other side of the door sounded harsh.

She dropped the edge of the fringed rug and stood, pain shooting through her as the door hinges whispered open, but it wasn’t fast enough. Cal Willman stood in the doorway, his cold eyes narrowed, his mouth pursed in thought. Or in calculation.

How much had he seen? She would have to find another hiding place, just in case. Her stepfather was the kind of man who took what he wanted. He was a big man, imposing, taller than the horseman, but all brute, and she shivered. She felt small and vulnerable, and she hated feeling so ill. Another week to recover and she would be gone, slipping off into the night as if she’d never been. She never need see him again.

“Is there some good reason for bursting in on me?” she said quietly.

“This is my house.”

“That may be, but you have no right entering my bedroom without knocking first.”

“My name is on the deed. I will go wherever I wish.”

“Yes, but my father built this house with his own hands. I watched him lay every board and hammer every nail.” Her father had been a good man, at least he’d been good to her, and thinking of him brought up a faint memory, as it always did, of a tall, brawny man with a broad-rimmed hat shading his face as he worked in the sun, talking with her while he’d built their home. She’d been five. “Is Mother unwell?”

“Your mother has not been well since you knocked on our door and collapsed on the parlor floor. It wasn’t as if we could take you back. I saw you walking around today. If you’re well enough to walk in the field and try your wiles with one of my hired men, you’re strong enough to get the hell out of this house.”

“You think I want another man after all I’ve been through?”

“Isn’t that what all you women want? A man to pay for every little thing?” The muscles in his jaw jumped and bunched beneath his smooth-shaven skin. “If it’s a man you want, I will find you one.”

“I have no need for a husband.”

“And I have no need for you. Understand this. If you bring more shame to my family name, I will make you regret the day you crawled back to this house. Do you understand me?”

“It’s not my shameful behavior you need to be concerned with.” She spoke quietly but with steel. She’d not be bullied in the house her father built.

Cal’s hard blue eyes iced over, like a pond in winter. Hands fists, feet braced, jaw tensed so tight he could break teeth, a cold anger took him over. “I’ll not be judged in my own house, missy. Remember that, or you will be out on your backside faster than you’ll know what hit you.”

She wasn’t welcome here. How could she be? She was in the middle of their constant fighting. She was a sore reminder of the family name being soiled.

“This shocking scandal has cost me half the business at the bank. How will you make it up to me, I wonder?”

He’d figured out she had something to hide. Something of value. The brief flicker of satisfaction at his severe mouth told her to beware.

He’d demanded whatever money she had on her when she arrived, broken and homeless. She’d lied about the jewels, carefully hidden in her smallest skirt pocket.

She’d find a better hiding place than the floorboard, that was for sure. Those three pieces of jewelry might not be worth thousands, but they were valuable enough to buy her the chance to start a new existence somewhere else now that she was regaining her strength.

Cal stormed from the room. The candle’s flame flickered in the wake of the slamming door, and snuffed out.

She stood in darkness, lost, so very lost. Outside the window, the first glow of star shine misted on the frozen sheen of snow. The silvered light drew her toward the frosty panes. There was the horseman, sitting tall in his saddle, one hand on the saddle horn, holding the reins, the other resting on his thigh. He was a formidable shadow against the velvet-black sky and glittering gray meadows, like all that was good in the world.

He’s a man, Katelyn. Don’t be fooled by appearances. All men are the same within.

And yet he still made her breath catch and her pulse skip through her veins. He drew his horse to a halt at the paddock gate and seemed to be peering at her bedroom window. Instead of a prickle of fear, a jolt of heat arrowed through her, like lightning striking from sky to earth. Could he see her, even through the darkness? Was he watching her?

It was as if the entire world silenced. The anger at her stepfather faded. Why did it feel as if there were only the two of them, and no one else, in existence? And how, when she could not even see his face?

Seconds passed, and they beat within her as the shadowed man looked in her direction, and she in his. What was this strange tingle in the center of her chest? And why were her palms damp from heat, not fear?

He agitated her, that was true, and drew her like a falling star to the ground. Her feet shifted, moving her toward the window. She clutched the cool sill and watched as he lifted one strong arm to tip his hat, a polite countryman’s greeting, before he nudged his mount from the edge of the fence and rode off. Back straight, shoulders proud, becoming one with the night.

The bond between them snapped, and Katelyn’s senses filled again with the world around her. The icy draft from the windowpanes, the scent of hot candle wax and the sharp voices arguing in the other side of the house. A booming crack told her the argument had become violent.

What was it with men, that they had to be in control? In charge of his own castle, as Brett used to say. And what did that make the women they married, the women they courted so gallantly to wed before God with vows to cherish? The horseman, despite his shyness earlier and the mythical look of him this night, could be no different. He wore spurs, didn’t he? He broke horses’ spirits with lashes from a whip.

Disappointed in him, she sank into the wooden cane rocker in the corner. The book she’d been reading slipped to the floor with a thud, but it was hardly audible over the voices rising and the sound of violence piercing the walls. This was marriage. Most of the marriages she’d seen, including her own.

She buried her face in her hands. She would not remember. She would not allow her thoughts to drift backward. Agony twisted through her, braiding her into a tight, hard knot until she couldn’t feel anything. Not one thing. It was better this way, not to feel.

When she lifted her face, she saw him through the window. This time he was a distant figure, a man and his horse, small against the great steeple of the sky but not insignificant. He rode tall and straight in his saddle. He looked as if nothing could scare him, as if he were in authority above all living things on the plains. She felt the charge of it like the burn of a fire to her fingertips. Like a flame reborn on the blackened end of a snubbed-out wick.

What was it about this man? She was no longer a schoolgirl, wishing for the magic of a man falling in love with her. It made her feel old and disillusioned to remember how once she’d melted and sighed in hope that a man might truly love her. A fine, wealthy man like Brett Green, with the finest set of high-stepping bays in the county. A man who had treated her with respect, courted her with gentle words and romantic intentions, and who had proposed to her with a bright sparkling diamond when her other girlfriends wore plain gold bands.

There was no romance. No gallantry. No man’s love to gain in this world.

Bitterness soured her mouth and ached like a wire barb in her chest. Why did she still dare to hope? With a wrist wrapped in a splint and bruises fading from her face, with a barren womb and an obliterated heart? Why did she sigh when she gazed at the horseman?

Because it was human nature, she supposed, to want to be loved and loved truly. No matter how severely Brett had hurt her and no matter how broken her heart, she wanted to believe that a great, worthy man existed. And that he could love her.

That she could be lovable.

The horseman drew her attention again. He’d come back. He was not alone.

Awe filled her as Dillon dismounted in a slow, smooth movement and, dropping the reins, stepped away from his mustang. The starlight revered him, blessing the bow of his head and honoring the gentle invitation of his opened palm.

The wild stallion eased out of the shadowed draw, bold head held high, ears pricked, tail high, every muscle poised for flight. The stardust shimmered along the glossy slope of neck, back and hindquarters, and the only movement was the wind flicking the long mane and buffeting the brim of Dillon’s Stetson. Man and horse faced each other, both as still as statues.

She couldn’t believe her eyes when the stallion moved. He lifted one powerful hoof and stepped forward, toward the still horseman. His hand remained extended in offering. Why wasn’t the stallion running?

Katelyn’s fingers had curled around the top rung of the paddock fence before she realized she was outside, the window open behind her and the bitter night’s chill creeping through her flannel petticoats. She shivered, but she didn’t care if the blood froze in her veins. She had to watch. She had to see what would happen.

The night around her waited as well. A hooting owl silenced, as if listening to the low, melodic rumble of the horseman’s voice.

Rising now, slow and peaceful, the faintest strain of sounds she couldn’t put into words. What was he saying? Whatever it was, it held the stallion trans-fixed, and she, too, was drawn by the masculine baritone and gentle sounds. She’d never heard the like of it. In his words tolled a tenderness, a respect as holy as the starlight, and Katelyn slid down the top rail and into the paddock. She was drawn to the horseman’s voice just as the wild stallion was.

The animal nosed forward, stretching the magnificent length of his neck. The white mane lifted and fell in rhythm with the breeze, and his tightly coiled muscles trembled and flicked beneath his dappled coat. The Appaloosa leaned an inch toward Dillon’s steady hand.

Katelyn’s slipper crunched on a twig in the grass, and the crackle jerked through the stallion. She froze, but it was too late. The great animal pivoted, springing sideways as if under a cougar attack, already fleeing.

The horseman spoke, a cautious and interested sound, a combination of vowels Katelyn had never before heard. Whatever the meaning, the stallion halted, turning again to take the man’s measure and listen to more of that soothing language.

As if he were unaware of her, as if he hadn’t heard the crack of wood that had startled the animal, Dillon remained as he was, feet planted, spine straight, focused solely on the horse. He was like a strange, lone, rugged magician casting a spell that held captive the wild animal more completely than hobbles and a noose ever could.

What a man. She’d never seen the like. The gun at his belt remained untouched. The leather-gloved fingers of his free hand were not inching toward the lasso at his hip. He simply lured the stallion closer, not to catch him, but to know what it was like to be near him.

The Appaloosa took a wary step closer. Only a few feet separated man from beast. Both stood like legends cast in pewter and glazed by star shine.

The lure of Dillon’s words was like sunrise after a cold, bleak night. A kind, gentle light she hungered for, when her defeated heart hurt with darkness. Her chest ached, as if a bullet had torn her apart. Deep and sharp and raw.

The sight of the wild stallion reaching out to the humble man made her want to reach out, too. She longed to place her hand in Dillon’s open palm, to know the warmth of his touch and lose herself in the beauty, the gentleness. Could there be one man worthy enough to trust?

Come on, stallion, come closer. Please. He was almost there, a handful of inches from Dillon’s bared fingertips. Cautious but mesmerized, the wild beauty stretched his long neck, closing the gap. His nostrils flared, inhaling the horseman’s scent.

A crack thundered through the night, shattering the spell. The stallion streaked into motion, his neigh a sharp trumpet of fear and pain. A second gunshot thundered, resounding across the wide expanse of prairie as the Appaloosa took flight. Blood stained the white snow, leaving behind a gleaming trail.

He’d been shot. How badly? Katelyn’s knees gave out and she fell to the ice-hardened snow. The impact rattled through her bones. Who would shoot such a beautiful creature?

“Damn it, Hennessey.” Her stepfather’s fury raged like a full-strength blizzard. “Why didn’t you shoot that worthless piece of horsemeat while you were standing there? I couldn’t believe my eyes. What were you going to do? Rope him first?”

Katelyn turned away, hiding her face. Had what she’d witnessed been real? Or had the horseman lured the stallion close just to capture him? Dillon wouldn’t have harmed the animal, would he?

“I hadn’t figured on roping him,” the horseman answered.

Her stomach lurched. Horror lashed through her, sharp as the sting of a bullwhip across the span of her back. The horseman was not made of legend and moonlight. It had only been the glow of the starlight, nothing more, and her own fanciful imagination. A foolish imagination that still wanted her to find a good man to love.

Still. After all she’d been through, she ought to know by now no such man existed. Like a slap to her face, she felt the cold punch of air on her exposed skin, the cold burrowing in her bones. The ache of it in her joints as she knelt at the base of a scrawny cottonwood, as desolate as a night without stars.

“Then what’s wrong with you?” Cal demanded. “Mount up, boys, he can’t be far, not with that bullet I put in him. The first man to bring him down gets a five-hundred-dollar bonus.”

“Paid with what?” Old Pete argued back, and several hands guffawed in agreement.

“In trade, if that’s what you want.” Cal’s pompous tone fooled no one, least of all, her. Her stepfather’s financial troubles had to be extensive.

His pride was more important, apparently, as his next words came from the direction of the stables.

“Saddle up my gelding, Ned. I want that problem eliminated. I’m sick and tired of that mongrel stud coming after my purebred mares.”

Katelyn watched in horror as the horseman wasted no time swinging into his saddle. Determination made him fierce as a warrior as tiny bits of snow sifted down like sorrow.

Hennessey looked neither right nor left as he sent his gelding soaring over the somber prairie, taking the last remaining shard of her innocence with him.

Chapter Four

Katelyn could not sleep. Restless, she tugged the counterpane over her head, blocking out the bold moonlight spilling through the gap in the curtains. Total darkness didn’t help. She could still see the horseman mounting his mustang like an ancient warrior, armed and ready for battle.

Her stomach sickened. What was she doing lying here? She may as well get up and brew a pot of tea. Something soothing to help her relax.

But chamomile, she suspected, wouldn’t keep Dillon Hennessey from her thoughts.

The kitchen was dark as a cave, and her nightgown rustled around her as she opened the belly of the stove and stirred the covered embers to life. They gleamed orange in protest as she added a handful of kindling. The snapping and popping told her the dry cedar had caught fire. She left the damper open and the door ajar, the strange growing light flashing and writhing as she located the ceramic teapot from the cabinets and dug through the crocks on the counter.

A reward for destroying the wild stallion. The rage she felt burned to life like the flame inside the stove, stronger and brighter and all-consuming. Who could harm such a beautiful animal? In her mind’s eye she could see the regal stallion, skin over taut muscles flickering with fear, daring to touch the horseman’s extended hand.

How dare he trick the stallion? Katelyn slammed the tea ball on the counter, ignoring the echoing chink as she rummaged in the drawers for a spoon. If the horseman were here, she’d have a good mind to tell him exactly what she thought of him. Of him and his deception and his spurs and his guns and his vicious nature well hidden beneath his shyness and his quiet nature.

Oh, she could have a list of faults in the time it took for the water to heat. His faults, Brett’s faults, her stepfather’s faults, every man she’d ever met, in fact. They were all so pleased with their own power and in imposing it on others. Regardless of the cost. Regardless of who suffered and who died…

The dam broke, and her eyes burned. Her vision blurred. The crack of pain in the center of her chest sharpened and spread, like wood breaking one splinter at a time, then faster and faster until she was on the floor, sobbing so hard she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, choking on the grief set free. She was drowning in the sudden wave of it, sweeping her away, and she was dying, too.

Her arms were so empty. Her heart so empty. Her body, her soul, her life. All she wanted was the baby she loved. The round-faced little girl with the tuft of black hair and button nose and…

The back door squealed open on tired hinges. The muted rap of a man’s boots followed. Her stepfather! Katelyn swiped at her face with her sleeve, but the tears kept falling. She stood, fumbling to close the oven door and the only light in the kitchen faded.

But not fast enough. He was behind her in the threshold, bringing the cold breeze from the night with him. Chill radiated from him, and in the darkness she shivered, wiping at her face and clearing the tears from her throat.

“Just making some tea. I couldn’t sleep.”

She knocked over the lid of the crock. The clatter, as it rolled to a stop, wasn’t loud enough to obliterate the sound of her broken breathing or the catch in her throat.

“I get like that sometimes,” Dillon said. “Tea helps me to settle, too.”

The kitchen was dark, but he didn’t need light to see her.

Another clatter rang as she dropped the spoon on the floor. She gasped a brittle sound of distress as she knelt, her nightclothes whispering around her. She wore a nightgown with ruffles at the hem. He remembered seeing her last night. Of course she’d have ruffles. She was a dainty, high-quality lady. Probably had ruffles at the sleeves and collar, around the soft swell of her bosom.

Remembering his manners, he swept off his hat, holding it in one hand. “Smells like chamomile.”

“Yes.” Her back was to him, but she wasn’t hiding a single thing from him.

He’d been a horseman all his life. Reading another creature’s emotions was simpler than the book of poetry he read in his bunk every night. He’d heard her crying, and he could feel the raw emotion like a pain in his own heart.

Sympathy welled up in him, so stark and bright it surprised him. Laid him bare. Made him brave as he took one step forward, but only one step. She was easily startled, and the last thing he wanted to do on this earth was to scare her.

Hat in hand, he planted his feet and let the seconds tick by as she set the tea to steep. “What would it take to get a cup of that?”

“A loaded gun pointed at my head.”

Funny thing, she didn’t sound so easy to scare. “That seems mighty drastic. I’d be willing to trade you a favor. Judging by your stepfather, you might need a helping hand now and then.”

“What kind of favor would I need from the likes of you?”

“Oh, I don’t know, a saddle horse so you could ride into town.”

“I can saddle my own horse, and I’ll thank you to leave me be.”

She definitely didn’t sound afraid of him.

She sounded mad, and that didn’t make a lick of sense. Not at all. “How about a saddle horse in the middle of the night, with my word no one would know you were leaving?”

That did it. Her reaction was like the snap of a bullwhip. She tensed. “How did you know?”

“Easy guess. Your stepfather doesn’t seem to want you here, and you keep gazing off down the road.” That was better—he had her attention now. He hung his hat on the edge of the chair back. “Seems to me a woman with her eye on the door has plans to leave.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“Maybe to someone watching, but Cal Willman isn’t observant.”

“Oh, good.” The relief in her voice was the briefest sigh.

Dillon felt it as if it were his own. His chest squeezed tight until it hurt. How bad was it for her here? He knew she was grieving the loss of a child and her marriage, but was there more?

Remembering the fading bruise on her cheekbone, he knew there had to be.

“How about it?” Gentle, that’s how he’d be to her. Let her see right away the kind of man he was. “Do I get some of that tea?”

“No.”

Not the answer he expected.

It was probably the one he deserved. Whoa, Hennessey, you know the lady isn’t interested in you. It disappointed him. A lot. The weight of it settled on his shoulders and in his heart.

Sad, he snatched his hat off the chair back. “Guess I’ll leave you be. Good night, ma’am.”

“Good night.”

“Sure hope the tea helps you to sleep. I’m so tired I’ll sleep like a dead man.”

What did she say to that? Katelyn winced as the spoon she held bit into the crease of her knuckles. She ignored the stinging pain, loosening her strangulation grip on the utensil. To think he could hunt down a beautiful creature, the same one he’d tricked into trusting him, and then be able to fall asleep?

The horrible man! She hated him. She hated everything about him, everything he represented. She had a good mind to hurl the spoon at him. She would, too, except for the fact that he was much stronger than she was and much bigger. He would certainly exact revenge, as any man would.

Still, it was the thought that counted.

She’d had enough of brutal men. Enough of them to last her a lifetime. With her jewelry to sell, she wouldn’t have to be dependent on anyone. She would get a good job and her own little place to live and no one could hurt her. No one.

She might be lonely. She’d sleep alone. Eat alone. Live alone. Spend every holiday alone.

She watched the breadth of Hennessey’s shoulders as he ambled away, probably in search of Cal, and she listened to the ringing authority of his gait. She knew with all the certainty in her soul she didn’t need any man.

Loneliness was a small price to pay for safety. For peace. For the chance to be, if not happy, then content.

It was the most she could hope for.

The warm, honest scent of chamomile brought her out of her thoughts of the future. She had to concentrate on regaining her strength. She was too weak, and still too sore, to leave. Dillon had made her realize all she needed to think about. Would she take a horse to town? It would be faster than walking, she knew.

She could still take the train, as she planned, and leave the animal at the livery. Where would she end up? She didn’t have a train schedule, but she could hear the whistle from town. She knew when trains arrived and departed. She’d take the first one, even a freight train making a water-and-coal stop, during the night. And make her decisions from there—

“Hennessey! Is that you?” Cal’s fury cannoned through the sleeping house.

Katelyn dropped the spoon again. Damn! She plucked it off the counter, vowing not to make another sound. She couldn’t face her stepfather one more time tonight.

“Yep, I just got back.” Dillon’s easy drawl sounded friendly.

Why not? Katelyn figured they were cut from the same bolt of cloth. Tears of anger stung her eyes, and she wrapped her arms around her waist, comforting herself, the handle of the spoon cutting into the meat of her palm.

Maybe, if she didn’t make a sound, Cal wouldn’t know she was here. That was the best course.

“Guess I owe you five hundred when you leave. Not pleased about that, horseman, but I am grateful to you for solving that problem for me.”

“I see. A man with a reputation for fine horseflesh wouldn’t want an Indian pony mating with his expensive broodmares.”

“Glad you see my point. I won’t forget about the five hundred. You got the animal strung up? We got a cougar problem. Wouldn’t hurt to set a couple of the men up with guns and use the carcass to draw the cat out. I’d be most obliged.”

Obliged? That was a civilized way of saying it. A moneyed way of dealing with a problem. Disgust soured Dillon’s mouth, leaving a bad taste he couldn’t tolerate. He liked to avoid confrontations when he could. Most situations weren’t worth fighting over.

Some were.

He took a breath, remembering the woman in the other room, and kept his tone low so he wouldn’t scare her, but serious. Deadly serious. “I have trouble seeing how the boys will be able to do that.”

“Oh? Tired, are they? I suppose tomorrow night will do as well.” Perched at the top of the impressive cherry-wood staircase, at one with the shadows, Cal might have figured he looked intimidating.

Dillon braced his feet and planted his hands on his hips. “Nope. As I see it, tomorrow night ain’t going to work, either.”

“Why’s that?”

“Two reasons. The first being the men aren’t back yet. They’re still out there looking for that Indian pony.” Defiance strengthened the horseman’s baritone and it rang like winter thunder.

Katelyn crept to the doorway, keeping out of sight. She could see a sliver of the horseman, the jut of his elbow and the steeled length of his upper arm. The rounded tip of his right boot.

But she could feel his presence like a swiftly approaching storm, the crackle in the air, the sting of anticipation and the bridled force.

“What’s the other reason?” Cal demanded.

Katelyn knew what the horseman would say. The money wasn’t enough—he wanted more than five hundred. She knew how men worked. He and Cal would argue about it, trade insults, show their tough sides and Dillon would hand over the stallion he’d caught and had hidden for the right amount of cash.

Why was she listening? She ought to take her tea, creep up the backstairs and never think of the horseman again. He was no different from her stepfather or from those other hired men who were riding by the light of the moon, hunting a wounded stallion for their own gain. It was a shame.

“The real reason I can’t do it is simple.” Hennessey grabbed the knob of the newel post and his glare was an unmistakable challenge. “I didn’t catch the stallion.”

“What do you mean? You were right there. I wounded him. He couldn’t have outrun you.”

“He’s a tricky devil.”

Oh, so that’s how it was going to be. Hennessey was planning to bargain now, get the price he wanted first, then bring in the stallion.

Nauseated, Katelyn turned away, her step a whisper on the boards, her disappointment as heavy as an anvil. She didn’t want to hear anymore.

“I don’t give a damn how clever that piece of dog meat is! I want you to bring me that stallion.”

Katelyn froze. What had happened to the stallion? Her pulse hammered through her chest, a staccato beat that coursed through her veins and she waited, aching with the faintest hope the animal had escaped.

“Can’t do it. Sorry, sir.”

Katelyn felt dizzy with relief. Or maybe it was the extreme emotions warring in her. Pride in the injured stallion for eluding the horseman. How strong and brave of him. Fury at Hennessey for hunting the horse in the first place. He was a son of a bitch, that’s what he was. A strong man hurting the weaker, the more vulnerable. The very nature of man made her sick and she padded away, careful to remain quiet.

“Then get the hell back out there!” Cal’s fury echoed in the silent rooms. “Out! Now.”

“Won’t do it.” There was no apology in the horseman’s words.

Hope returned. What did he say? The stallion was alive?

“I won’t allow that stallion to be harmed. Not if I’m standing. When I hired on, we made a deal, Willman. I told you, no harm. I won’t inflict it. I won’t stand for it. Only a coward hurts an animal.”

He stood like an errant knight at the base of the stairs, washed in light, framed by darkness, a solitary soldier that fought for all that was right.

It was fanciful, Katelyn knew, but she’d been wrong. Dillon hadn’t hunted the stallion, and the power of it left her trembling. Her chest filled. Her eyes burned.

She’d been mean to him. Again! Remembering his fumbling attempt to speak to her in this kitchen, and how she’d expected the worst of him, she covered her mouth with her hands. She’d been wrong. She’d been wrong about the stallion. What about the man?

“No, Willman,” Hennessey was saying, his rage a controlled, quiet warning. “Not for all the money you could beg, borrow or steal to pay me. It’s time to end our business.”

Cal’s swearing tirade made Katelyn wince, but it didn’t seem to intimidate Dillon. He did not shrink or cower, but faced Cal with confidence.

“If you can’t find the greenbacks, I will take my salary in trade. I’ve got my eye on three of your broodmares. I’ll be happy with that.”

“Why you greedy bastard. You take those horses, that’s theft, and I’ll have a noose hanging around your neck. We still hang horse thieves in this county.”

“Taking what you owe me isn’t theft. Any jury will agree.”

“Who needs a jury? You’ll do the job I paid you to do.”

“Then pay me what you owe me, or I’ll make you get out that noose. You’re not man enough to get it around my neck.”

“Fine. I’ll be rid of you, but that won’t save the stallion.” Cal stormed down the stairs and pushed past the horseman, knocked him hard in the shoulder as he passed.

Hennessey didn’t move. The blow didn’t register. He stood like a granite mountain, as if nothing could harm him.

He was the only man she’d ever known who would stand up to her stepfather.

A door squeaked open at the far end of the hall. Not the door to the library, where her stepfather’s safe was hidden, but her bedroom door.

No, not the jewelry. Horror filled her as the air was pulled from her lungs. Her hands flew to her throat as she gaped, fighting to breathe. Her plans died before her eyes as her stepfather approached, holding something that winked and glittered in his outstretched hand.

“Here. Take it. It’s all I have. It ought to be worth a few hundred. A drifter like you couldn’t be worth more.”

“I’m not interested in a lady’s jewelry. I told you, I want greenbacks, or I’ll take the mares. It’s your call.”

Katelyn sank to the floor, her face in her hands. This couldn’t be happening. How could she have forgotten to move the jewelry? It was because of him, the horseman. He’d been the sight that drew her from the room, making her forget everything but him. It wasn’t fair. Not after all she’d been through.

“I can’t let you have the mares, Hennessey. They are all that’s keeping me solvent. If I had the money in hand, I’d pay you.” Cal closed his fist, crushing the necklace in his cruel hand. “I have a fine house, with many treasures here. Surely I have something you might want?”

“I have no use for a fancy painting or expensive candlesticks. You have until morning to come up with the greenbacks, or I’ll take this matter to the sheriff.”

“No, wait. There is something you can have. I know you want her. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

Katelyn’s hands slid from her face. Her head jerked up, seeing at the same time the cruel triumph curling Cal’s upper lip and the horror on the horseman’s.

“You would sell me your daughter?”

“She’s my stepdaughter and of no use to me. Take her. She cooks, she cleans, she’ll warm your bed. Surely that’s worth three hundred dollars.”

Chapter Five

Dillon couldn’t believe it. Was he hearing the man right? Or imagining it? Men didn’t sell their daughters.

Not good men, he amended. It hadn’t been the first time he’d seen such a thing. From penniless farmers to gamblers desperate to stay in a poker game, he’d seen it. “Are you really that low of a bastard?”

“At least I’m not a worthless drifter. Take her and go.” Willman gathered up what remained of his dignity, shoved the string of gold and diamonds into the pocket of his fine black-striped house robe and disappeared up the stairs.

I despise that man. Dillon jammed his brim low, pivoted to face the door and caught the faint shadow of her face through the dark kitchen. He’d forgotten she was there, that she’d heard everything.

He stopped, torn. Did he go to her? And if he did, did he reassure her? Or offer the one thing he knew she wanted, the chance to escape this house?

And if he did, why would she want the likes of him? As soon as she was well, he had no doubt there’d be men knocking at the door. Gussied up in their Sunday best, with their hair slicked back and their manners in place for the chance to court lovely Katelyn.

He heard a whisper of fabric, the hush of a footstep, and she was gone. Somewhere in the back of the house a floorboard groaned beneath her weight. She was going pretty fast. Guess that’s your answer, Hennessey. She doesn’t want the likes of you.

Fine. He’d wait until morning to settle the matter. He wasn’t about to treat a woman like goods to be bartered. Except it sure would be something to have a wife.

Then you’d have to talk to her. Kiss her. Figure out what to say at the supper table. He may as well try to jump to the moon. His few attempts at conversation with Katelyn had to make her think he was a bumbling fool.

And now, the sort of man who would buy her.

It just went to prove his philosophy in life. The problem wasn’t with the horses but with the owners. Every single dad-blame time. The longer he was at this, the crazier it seemed folks were.

Maybe it was time to settle down. He’d been thinking of it hard on and off over the past year. Missing the land he owned. Missing a sense of permanence.

Reason he traveled was because he had no one to anchor him. No woman of his own. A house was mighty lonely day and night without end, to a bachelor too shy of women to court one.

He wouldn’t have to court Katelyn, he reasoned. She’d be already his.

Don’t even consider it. Buying a wife. What sort of a man did such a thing?

What would she think of that?

Remembering the ghostly shadow of her face in the kitchen, how she’d seemed so withdrawn, pulled in on herself. It was a purely protective stance, he knew. A deep wounding.

No, she wasn’t about to trust another man so easily. And a man who worked with his hands for a living? It was crazy thinking, that’s what it was, and he’d do best to figure out where he was headed next. And which mares he wanted, since Cal Willman was too financially troubled to come up with a few hundred bucks, the bastard.

The night had turned brutal. Sharp chunks of snow punched from a hostile sky as he waded through the accumulation. Frigid air speared through the layers of wool he wore to freeze against his skin beneath, but he was too damn het up to let it bother him. His breath rose in great puffs.

Anger built with every step he took, a rage he fought to control. What a pompous, heartless son of a bitch to think he could barter a grown woman like a broodmare in his paddock.

Ned appeared out of the blackness, sidestepping his gelding to get the hell out of the way. “Whoa, what put you in a fightin’ mood?”

What had happened in that house was no one’s business. What Willman had offered him seared like a raging flame in his guts. Another man would have taken him up on it. It was a free country, sure, but women were at the mercy of the men responsible for them. Cal Willman wanted to be rid of his stepdaughter; it was plain and simple for any man to see.

Who would he offer her to next? Ned? Or Rhodes? There was the cold-eyed cowpoke, following Ned out of the storm. The small, mean-spirited man held his rifle still, cocked and ready. Eager to earn what he considered a fortune at the unholy killing of that mystical stallion.

What if Rhodes had found the Appaloosa and Willman had offered Katelyn as the prize?

Dillon’s guts twisted so hard he missed the bottom porch step. The thought of the cowboy’s grimy, stubby fingers on her creamy satin skin made his vision blur. Rage roared through him like a firestorm, obliterating everything as he kicked his boots off in the corner and jammed wood into the potbellied stove with enough force to dent steel.

She wasn’t his to protect. He knew it.

It went to show how much he sparked for her.

“The horseman’s in a good mood,” Rhodes quipped as he stomped into the bunkhouse, snow crumbling off his boots and onto the plank floor. “Pissed you didn’t get the reward, I reckon. Good, ’cuz it takes a real man to take down a piece of horseflesh like that. Knows these prairies, and where to hide. Don’t worry yourself none, ’cuz I plan to draw him out.”

“If you figure on taking one of Willman’s prized mares with you, one in heat, don’t figure on it working.” Dillon couldn’t believe how dumb some men could be. That animal had been wounded. He’d be doubly hard to hunt down now. “Take off your damn boots. I’m not sweeping up that mess.”

He jammed the door shut, needing a target for his anger and knowing the danger in that. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this furious. A raging mad that whirled inside him like a hurricane, growing inside itself until it threatened to break down his control. And all because of a woman.

He was a sad, sorry man. He ached for her as he washed the hard ride’s grime from his face and brushed his teeth in front of the cracked mirror in the necessary room. His reflection confirmed it. Lines on his face, the deep furrows in his brow. He was troubled, no doubt about it.

His bunk was damn cold. The sheets crackled with frost as he hunkered down between them. The old tin lantern cast a sputtering light, enough to read by if he squinted some. The brazen words of William Blake drew him into the poem but did not take his mind from her.

He could see the light of her bedroom window, if he leaned to the left and craned his neck just right. The ranch house was dark except for one faint gleam in her window. A single candle, he wagered, flickering around her as she stood at the foot of her bed. He felt like a criminal watching her.

No decent man peered into a lady’s bedroom window, but he looked anyway. She’d left the curtains open, and he saw the graceful curve of her back as she stooped, folding something with care. The way she bent, elegant and slender, the perfect rounding of her spine elongated her neck and accentuated the alluring curve of her full breasts.

Desire pulsed through him like a whip’s lash. Fast. Unexpected. Fierce. The snap of it surprised him. He was rock hard, his long johns straining, suddenly tight at his groin as he leaned toward the small grubby window that gave him a view of hers.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.