“If the flock finds out Katherine’s behind the flowers, they’ll be using them to decorate your grave.” Morgan pushed his hat back, revealing dark lank hair.
Jake didn’t argue. Feelings were running high. Able Browning kept insisting they take matters into their own hands and run the saloon’s owners out. Jake flatly refused and had begun to wonder if he could continue as minister.
The cattle trails increased daily, as did the rowdy cowhands who descended on the town looking for the fanciest saloon in the West. And they found it, night after night. During the days he could almost forget he lived next to the Crystal Palace. But his nights were increasingly restless, and the reason for that restlessness haunted him.
“How many seeds did she go and buy?” Jake asked as he lifted another shovelful of dirt.
Morgan paused, wiping his forehead. “Let me put it this way. I hope nobody else in the territory was planning to put in a flower garden.” Jake grimaced, and Morgan laughed despite the heat. “I thought you would have learned your lesson when she planted the tomatoes and corn. When she gets her mind set on something, I’d rather fight Joe Coburn.”
“You said that like someone who’s seen him box,” Jake answered in surprise, referring to the legendary champion boxer.
“Twice. Hell, I was ready to go over to England and watch him fight for the championship.” Morgan stopped, resting on his shovel, to gaze inquisitively at Jake. “Why, do you like boxing?”
Jake diverted his attention to the dirt, shrugging as he answered. “You could say that.”
Morgan’s eyes narrowed as he studied the other man’s bare back. Despite Jake’s easy nature, Morgan had been certain from the first that Jake hadn’t always been a preacher. The rippling muscles of his back and massive chest suggested a more physical occupation. There was something faintly familiar about Jake, but Morgan couldn’t place the connection. “You ever sparred?”
“That I have,” Jake replied without elaboration.
Pure pleasure lit through Morgan, dimming his curiosity. “Would you consider sparring with me?”
Jake glanced up, holding a spadeful of dirt. “You’ve had experience?”
“When I could. Most of the morons I’ve been in the ring with would be better off wrestling bears.”
Jake looked doubtfully at Morgan’s habitually languid pose.
“Don’t worry. I can handle my own.”
A smile split Jake’s features. “I hope so. I’d hate to have to finish putting in all these flowerbeds myself.”
Katherine left by the front door, deciding she couldn’t stay inside anymore while Jake worked shirtless just outside her office. After watching his muscles shift and heave, she thought her insides would do the same. Feeling like a hapless peeping Tom, she’d stared at him far too long before she marched to her wardrobe and selected a suitable walking costume. The pleated grosgrain skirt was overlaid by a polonaise of deep blue velvet.
She grabbed the matching Tuscan straw bonnet with its perky ostrich plume, wishing she knew why this man attracted her so. Katherine had known more men in her life than she cared to count, but none had ever provoked such longing. When he sat on his porch, she often studied his intriguing features, trying to discern why he stirred her so. Was it the expressiveness of his flagrantly blue eyes? The set of his stern jawline and almost hawklike nose? Or was it the strength in his hands that habitually raked through hair far too shaggy to belong to a preacher?
Remembering his occupation, she increased the pace of her stride, nearing the mercantile. Entering, she kept to the side aisle, hoping to attract little attention. She rarely shopped on her own, preferring to send the cook or housekeeper instead. Small towns weren’t like big cities, where her presence would have gone unnoticed. While she’d grown used to being snubbed in small communities, the feeling wasn’t something she relished.
Bypassing sacks of sugar and salt, molasses and meat, gunpowder and ammunition, crockery and coal oil, she avoided the potbellied stove where the delicious odors mingled along with the townsfolk who had a moment to gossip. Spotting a few bolts of fabric, she rounded the corner and almost ran into another woman. Stepping back, Katherine apologized.
“No harm done,” the woman replied, continuing to finger the bolt of watered green silk.
Katherine started to step away when she noticed the longing on the other woman’s face as she gazed at the material. Judging from her appearance, the woman could obviously well afford the fabric. It was equally apparent that she normally dressed in a drabber, more somber fashion. One glance at the sparse collection of fabric told Katherine that the silk was indeed unusual. It stood out like a rare flower amidst the calico and gingham.
“That fabric would look lovely with your hair and skin,” Katherine ventured quietly.
The other woman glanced up shyly. “Do you really think so?”
Katherine studied the red hair twisted in a severe chignon and the pale skin that seemed unnaturally stark against the harsh black bodice of the woman’s gown. “I believe so. See how the green picks up the golden background in your skin?” Katherine lifted a bolt of saffron yellow, a color she knew she couldn’t wear, and held it next to her own skin. “See, I can’t wear this. It makes me look orange.” Then she held the same swatch next to the other woman. “But it’s very flattering on you.”
Timid eyes of green met hers. “It’s hard to believe you wouldn’t look beautiful in anything you choose to wear.”
Katherine’s heart melted. The woman’s lack of confidence compelled her to continue. “I’ve spent years learning how to enhance my appearance.” She took a deep breath. “I have to for my profession.”
The woman showed no sign of surprise at her revelation. “This is a small town, Miss O’Shea. I know who you are.”
Of course she did. Katherine started to turn away.
“And you really think I could wear the green?”
Surprised, gratified, Katherine turned back. “Yes, I do.”
“Then I’ll buy it.” The woman’s words sounded almost fierce, as though someone would argue she shouldn’t. Katherine merely smiled, and the woman appeared vastly relieved. “I’m Sadie,” she confided.
“A pleasure to meet you, Sadie.”
“You, too, Miss O’Shea.”
“Katherine.”
A smile bloomed on Sadie’s face, transforming her plain features, making her almost pretty. “Katherine.”
“Do you have a pattern in mind for the silk?”
Sadie’s face fell at this unexpected thought. “No. I haven’t studied a Godey’s in some time. It would take months to get a new pattern.”
Katherine made up her mind quickly before she could regret her next words. “I have several patterns you could borrow.”
The delight reached Sadie’s eyes. “Might I?”
Her candor was endearing. “Certainly.”
Sadie caressed the fabric again as she carried the bolt toward the front counter. “I believe this is the best decision I’ve ever made.”
Glancing up, Katherine encountered the censorious glares of the other customers. Her stomach sinking, she had the distinct impression it might have been Sadie’s worst decision.
“Do you suppose I could impose on you to see the patterns today?” Sadie asked after she had the material tucked in her satchel.
“If you’ll tell me where you live, I can have someone bring them by later.” Katherine knew she couldn’t invite the unsuspecting woman to the saloon.
“If it wouldn’t trouble you, I could return with you after you’ve finished shopping,” Sadie offered instead.
“Sadie, I don’t believe you understand. My home is in the saloon.”
“I understand.” Despite her timidity, Sadie’s voice rang with both intelligence and perception.
Katherine started to respond when a man passed them, tipping his hat and addressing her companion. “Miz Browning.”
The name registered as Katherine turned her face away to a
void the man’s perusal. “Browning?”
“As in the town, Katherine. Shall we go?”
Seeing the pleasure hidden beneath Sadie’s beatific smile, Katherine couldn’t repress her own amusement. “Yes, Sadie. But first, would you tell me what relation you are to the Brownings?”
“Why, I’m Mrs. Able Browning.”
“The town founder?”
“The same.”
Katherine’s mouth opened and closed without uttering a sound. The preacher and the town founder’s wife? If she were made of less sterner stuff, she would be wondering if there were any route out of town other than being ridden out on a rail.
Chapter 7
Services were over, the picnic lunches eaten and packed away. The last of the stragglers left, and the churchyard stood empty. The quiet of the Sunday afternoon droned with occasional cries of blue jays and the muted neighing of stabled horses. Children were put down for naps, and even the breathless heat seemed to doze in the mid-afternoon lull.
Katherine perched in her window seat, watching the stillness. Unable to contain herself any longer, she crept down the stairs, careful not to waken the sleeping inhabitants of the saloon. On Saturday nights Vance, his dealers, and the girls usually didn’t get to sleep until nearly dawn since the saloon stayed open all night to accommodate rowdy cowboys who didn’t want to stop celebrating. Thus Sunday was slept away and mercilessly ignored.
Once the door shut behind her, Katherine breathed in the fresh air, sweet despite the settled heat. The seeds in the flowerbeds had germinated, poking through the black soil, lending their scent.
“Who are you escaping from?” Jake’s mock whisper startled her, sending her flying nearly into his arms. Realizing the folly of that action, she stepped back.
“What makes you think I’m escaping?”
“Creeping down the stairs, shoes in hand…”
She glanced down at the patent-leather slippers, wondering why he’d been watching, inordinately pleased that he had.
“I didn’t want to disturb anyone.”
“Uh-huh.”
“No, really,” she protested. Seeing the wicker basket in his hand, she wondered about his destination. “Didn’t you have lunch with the others?”
“Keeping an eye on me?”
Flustered, she searched for a reply. “Of course not. I heard the noise next door and just assumed you’d joined your congregation.”
“The preacher rarely gets to eat during church lunches. Too many people asking questions. I answer and don’t eat.”
Spying the basket in his hand, she wondered whom he planned to invite on his private picnic. She ignored the fluttering in her stomach, reminding herself it didn’t matter whom he ate lunch with or whom he was attracted to. “I hope you have a pleasant lunch.”
“Me, too.” He dropped in step next to her, swinging the basket as he walked along beside her. He’d left his good jacket behind, along with his tie. He looked carefree and not in the least like a man who’d just preached a sermon.
As she made her way across the yard, Jake made no effort to leave her side. When they reached the huge oak at the very rear of the property, she turned to him. “Weren’t you planning to eat your picnic?”
“Only if I can find some company.”
Ignoring a burst of jealousy, she turned back and continued walking briskly. “I’m sure you’ll find someone.” Having seen the women flocking around him that morning, Katherine felt certain he would suffer no shortage of luncheon companions.
“I had the same thought.”
When he still made no effort to leave, she stopped and turned to him in exasperation. “I doubt you’ll find someone out here, though.”
“I already have.”
“Excuse me?”
“Miss O’Shea, would you do me the honor of sharing my humble picnic basket?”
A rush of emotion surprised her, almost overwhelming her. “I…that is—”
“If you’re doubting my culinary abilities, I’d say you have good reason. I know a cook named Hattie, however, who can whip up one incredible batch of fried chicken.”
“Hattie? My Hattie? She cooked your lunch?”
“Our lunch,” he reminded her.
“Don’t you think that was a bit presumptuous?”
His grin made her breath catch. “I’d say so.”
Exasperated, pleased, and a bit flustered, she stared at him in silence. Her calm countenance was one of her strong points, and she was at a loss when it disappeared.
But in moments they sat on the soft grass, the basket open. Hattie’s chicken was indeed delicious, but Katherine tasted little of what she ate.
“Not hungry?”
“Oh. I had plenty.” She ignored her almost full plate and didn’t meet his gaze, fiddling with the embroidered napkins Hattie had packed in the basket.
He didn’t argue, instead stretching his long frame out on the grass. Clusters of sparkling pink wild asters dotted the wild grass and the sky overhead was a clear robin’s egg blue. “I’ve always liked Sundays.”
“Really.” Katherine plucked at the grass, avoiding the sight of his impressive muscles reclining only inches away.
“Do you?”
The breeze ruffled the leaves and stirred the shaggy hair that spilled onto his forehead. “Do I what?”
“Enjoy Sundays,” he repeated.
Katherine remembered the past joy of that family day. Though a distant memory, it was one she occasionally retrieved. When she thought she’d lost all touch with her past, she remembered those special Sundays. Her mother would cook more than anyone could eat, although they all tried valiantly since everything tasted so wonderful. Her father would stretch out for a nap while she and Beth played with the dollhouse he’d built for her the year she turned five. Then they would all pile in the buggy for a ride, staying out until dusk. But now it was the day of the week that served as a constant mocking reminder of what she no longer had.
“I used to enjoy Sundays,” she finally murmured.
“But not anymore?” he probed.
“Some things are never the same.” Realizing she was on the verge of saying too much, she changed the subject. “Morgan says you enjoy boxing.”
“Yep.”
“Could you elaborate?”
“No reason to.”
Katherine’s gaze sharpened. “Whenever you have something to hide, you’re suddenly quiet. What is it concerning boxing that you don’t want me to know?”
“You missed your calling by a few hundred years, Katherine. They could have used you during the Spanish Inquisition.”
“Aha! So it is something connected with boxing!”
“Katherine, it’s a beautiful summer day. Do you really want to waste it discussing fighting?”
“I’d like to find out about you,” she answered frankly.
“Am I that much of a puzzle?” He purposely reversed her tactic. “Actually I know almost nothing of your past.”
She laughed. “You already know that I’m Kitty O’Shea.”
“That’s a stage name, not a person.”
Katherine nodded in mute agreement, knowing how much she hid. How much would remain hidden.
“Have you ever married, Katherine?”
Startled, her head flew up. “No, of course not.”
“Such vehement denial.” Jake rolled to one side, fixing his gaze on hers.
“What about you?” she asked, uncomfortable with his questioning. “A wife or two tucked away somewhere?”
“No, not a one.”
“Not from the ladies’ lack of trying,” Katherine teased. He seemed only a few years older than her. And at twenty-seven, she was far beyond the age most people married. He shrugged, and again she admired his unusual grace. It hardly fit his massive frame. “I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me what you did before you became a preacher?”
“If you’d like to tell me why you’re running a saloon,” he replied, fixing those incredibly blue e
yes on her again.
“So, we’re at an impasse,” Katherine replied. Her heart raced, and she sought to move away from this dangerous territory.
“You have to trust someone.”
“I trust Morgan,” she replied quietly. “And I’ve tried to trust others in the past. It was never a wise decision.”
The quiet was broken only by an occasional stirring of the warm breeze.
Jake sat up. “I talked to someone today.”
“Oh.”
“Aren’t you going to ask who?”
“Should I?” Katherine picked at the remnants of their lunch.
“It was a friend of yours.”
Katherine’s hands stilled. She wondered if he was mocking her, and even the wondering hurt. She hadn’t expected it of him. “I doubt that,” she finally answered.
“Sadie spoke very highly of you.”
A rush of relief accompanied the pleasant memory of her afternoon with Sadie. They’d pored over patterns, finally draping Sadie in various fabrics, and Katherine had even coaxed Sadie into trying on a few of Katherine’s elegantly cut Paris fashions. Sadie’s glow of joy as she left clutching the pattern she’d chosen filled Katherine with a rare contentment.
“Katherine?”
She laughed lightly, realizing she’d been caught in her own musings. “Yes, Sadie is quite nice.”
“Seems she wants Able to back down.”
“She told him that?”
“I don’t think she’s brave enough. But she did ask me to be kind to you.”
“And is that what you’re doing, Reverend? Having lunch with me to show your charity?” Katherine’s smile eased into a questioning look as she studied Jake’s face. No longer grinning and carefree, his blue eyes darkened, and his heavy eyebrows furrowed as he studied her face. Suddenly the quiet heat of the afternoon seemed to settle dangerously. No longer did the day beckon for quiet lassitude. Katherine felt her lips tremble as Jake watched her.
His face, the one that haunted her dreams, was but a breath away. Her chest rose in such accelerated anticipation that she thought the prickling of her skin must be visible. Despite resisting the urge to reach out and touch the laugh lines framing his eyes, her body leaned forward on its own. Feeling like a willow about to be swept away on the wind, she inched closer, watching his head lower.
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