The Horseman

by Jillian Hart

  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 so
mething 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.