The Horseman

by Jillian Hart

  Affection filled him, soft and sweet. Yep, he’d take this one for sure. What a fine addition she’d make to his herd.

  With the job ending early, would he head home? Would he stay for a spell? Or move on, unable to take the emptiness of a lonely house? To sit alone evening after evening, sleep alone night after night.

  Maybe he could remedy that. He moved down the aisle, digging more peppermint out of his pocket, stroking more soft, eager noses. There were all sorts of ways to get a bride. Now that he had some experience with a woman under his belt. Fine, not a successful one, but he’d managed to talk to Katelyn last night without stumbling and stuttering like a clodpate.

  There were those magazines where women had placed advertisements in search of a husband. Maybe one of them would be nice. Kind. Gentle as an angel come to earth.

  Even as he considered the notion of another woman, his chest seized up. The trouble was, whoever he picked wouldn’t suit him. She wouldn’t be Katelyn.

  I can do this. I can stand up to Cal. Katelyn rubbed her gritty eyes, dry and sore from lack of sleep, breathed deep, steeled her spine and pushed open the library door. It whispered open to reveal a book-lined room draped in darkness.

  Cal sat on a big Windsor chair, pushed away from his rolltop desk, his elbows on his knees. His face in his hands. The rounded C of his back powerful and shadowed. The faintest gray of predawn peeked through the curtains, a witness to the sorrow in the room. Defeat hung in the air like dust motes.

  She hadn’t realized how much trouble he was in. She’d been too hurt to notice. A sense of foreboding beat like a war drum in her stomach.

  “Put the tray on the coffee table and leave me.” Cal didn’t move.

  Say it. Just walk right up to him and tell him. Her feet didn’t move her through the threshold.

  “I said, leave it, damn it!” Sharp, red faced, Cal whirled around, the chair squeaking as it spun with him. When he realized it was her and not the servant standing in the doorway, his impatience changed to hatred. “What do you want? Come to say goodbye?”

  Do it, Katelyn. “I’m not going anywhere. I want my jewelry back.”

  “What jewelry?” He straightened to his full height to glare down at her like an angry deity. “What jewelry?”

  “The pieces you stole from the loose board in my room. I saw you offer my bracelet to the horseman.” Chin up, she met his gaze. Fisted her hands. Planted her feet. She refused to be afraid of him. Of any man. Ever again. “Those diamonds are mine and I want them back.”

  Tendons stood out on Cal’s neck. “If you’ve lost your things, then that’s your own fault. Don’t come to me and complain.”

  “It’s theft, and I’m certain I could ask the horseman to verify that you offered him my bracelet as payment.”

  “Your bracelet? I took that as partial payment for your doctor’s bill, which is sizable. Or do you intend to pay the bill? And what about the room and board and trouble you’ve cost me and your mother?”

  “Return the jewelry to me, and I’ll gladly pay my own bills.”

  “Can you reimburse me for the business I’ve lost at the bank? My reputation is everything, and to think the best people in town are moving their money from my bank. Your divorce is a scandal, and it’s ruining me.”

  “Ruining you?” What Brett’s abandonment had done to her was immeasurable, and Cal wanted to blame his business failures on it?

  “Last year, Clemming, my competitor, was losing business, and do you know what happened? He went broke. Had to sell what little his bank was worth and give up his home. He left town a broken man, heading back east to live with relatives. And do you know why?”

  Because of his daughter. Katelyn withered. There was no possibility of getting her jewelry. None.

  “Because his daughter got into trouble. Folks thought, what kind of banker is he? He can’t keep his children in line and behaving well, so how well can he manage a bank? That’s what they say. They lost confidence and brought their business to me.”

  “Your financial problems have been going on for some time. I’m not the cause of your problems.”

  “No, but you will be a partial solution. I’ve got bills to pay.” He gestured toward the pile of papers strewn on his desk. Bills due, debts to be paid. Over a few dozen of them. “There’s the coal bill. Over two hundred dollars. Old Hal down at the railroad buried his wife a month ago. He’d be glad to take you. Or how about this one?”

  Cal grabbed the piece of paper and shook it open with a snap. “A note due on two of my best mares. I think Johnson down at the auction house was complaining about his last woman. Maybe he’d take you in trade.”

  “You can’t sell me and you know it, Cal.” There was no talking to a man so arrogant. And maybe, she wondered noticing the glaze in his eyes, to a man who was desperate. A man to whom his reputation and appearance of wealth was everything, and he was on the verge of losing it.

  Footsteps hustled on the carpeting. The maid, late with breakfast, looked harried. Katelyn moved out of the doorway and let the woman pass, to receive Cal’s irritated remarks about her lateness.

  She marched down the hall. She was leaving this house today. Somehow. The doctor said she wasn’t strong enough, but it didn’t matter. She’d pack what she could carry. It wouldn’t be much. Whatever awaited her out there, alone, had to be better than staying here.

  Dillon expected trouble. The hired men were watching him, keeping an eye out while they worked.

  The hairs along the back of his neck itched, a sure sign something was wrong. Dillon tucked his extra halters and lead ropes into the spare compartment of his saddlebag. Almost done.

  Good thing he’d worn both revolvers strapped to his left and right thighs. He was handy with a gun, but he was outnumbered. If Willman thought he was an easy target, then he was dead wrong.

  Dillon sensed him before the horses stirred in their stalls, alert to the intruder. He felt the man’s hatred before he heard the first drum of an authoritative footfall on the hard-packed earth.

  “So, you didn’t listen when I told you to leave the horses alone.” Willman must have thought he was judge and jury with the cold hard judgment that drove his words, for he had brought Ned with him. “If you take those mares, you hang, boy.”

  “Who are you calling ‘boy’?” Dillon didn’t bother to hide his disregard or his sneer. “You’re the one who needs a hired gun, not me. I’m not about to take your mares. I’m taking your stepdaughter.”

  Surprise flashed in those cold eyes, then a brief gleam of satisfaction. “Oh? Then take her and go.”

  “I already have.” Dillon freed the hem of his jacket from his right hip, to reveal the loaded Colt.45. “Our business dealings are through. Are we in agreement?”

  “I am done with you, horseman.” A bead of sweat rolled down Willman’s temple.

  “No, I’m finished with you. Ned and Rhodes, stand back. There’s no need to use those guns you’re packing,” Dillon said as he settled his left hand over the base of the whip coiled at his hip. “I don’t want trouble. Do you?”

  Ned shook his head. Rhodes stared, jaw set, and his hand twitching above his holstered Colt.45. The youngster was looking for an excuse.

  The hired men let him pass. Feeling Willman’s malice on his back like cannon fire, Dillon loaded his packs in the sleigh. His mustangs waited patiently in the wind shadow of the stable.

  There was one more thing to do. Not even the hard fall of snow dared to impede him as he headed straight to the main house. He didn’t knock. He didn’t figure he needed to ask permission to take what was now his. He ignored the spoiled Mrs. Willman seated at the dining room table, fussing over her clothes for some fool women’s meeting in town by the sound of it, and marched down the hall.

  He rapped on her door and pushed it open.

  The room was perfect. The fancy sleigh bed made up in satin counterpane and those fancy matching pillows. A rug and curtains to match. Little breakable knickknacks c
rowded across the carved bureau and the little dressing stand.

  His gaze flew to the open wardrobe in the corner, where every peg was bare.

  Katelyn was gone.

  By the time Dillon had gone a half mile, the storm had turned treacherous. Good thing he was a damn good tracker. He’d been taught by his great-grand-father, once a Nez Percé warrior, who hunted in the old way. The snow was fast falling, but he’d found a trail.

  Yep, he was getting closer. She had to be just up ahead. He brushed the new snow from the faint imprint of a woman’s shoe. Katelyn’s shoe. He imagined the foot that had made the impression. He thought about the woman as he grazed his gloved fingertip over the curve of instep.

  He only had to think of her and softness eased into his chest. It was a strange, expanding sensation behind his breastbone.

  It looked as if she was staying close to the fence lines, which pretty much followed the road to town, so she’d be easy to find. The wind kicked hard, making the storm nearly a whiteout. At least she was smart enough to find her way. Plenty of folks got lost in these storms and wandered out onto the vast prairie to freeze to death. The wind gusted and drove through his layers of wool and flannel. Hell wouldn’t be this cold if it froze over.

  Teeth gritted, gloved hands tucked into his armpits to keep them from freezing. The sleigh’s runners squeaked on the snow, and the clomp of the horses’ steel shoes were the only other sounds.

  Why was he going after her like this? She could be safe in town by now, sipping hot tea in front of a fire at the town’s fanciest hotel.

  She’s mine. That’s why. She’d been hurt, he understood that. Hell, wounded hearts was his business. Every horse he’d ever worked with had a damn good reason not to trust men. Remembering the pain in her eyes last night, he knew Katelyn had been more than hurt. She’d been betrayed and abandoned and cast aside.

  He’d worked with horses like that, too.

  Wait-was that her? He caught the hint of a shadow in the cascading snow.

  “Katelyn!” He cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed so she could hear him above the storm.

  She was merely a part of the snow and wind, a brief curve of shoulder before the curtain of white swallowed her then teased him with another glimpse of wool cloak. Head bent, stumbling in the drifts, she had to be half-frozen. That fancy coat she wore couldn’t keep her very warm.

  “Katelyn,” he said again, but the jealous wind stole his words away. She looked so cold. He took her arm and gestured back the way they came.

  The curtain of snow dropped again, snatching her from his sight. Swiping snow from his eyes, he swore. This was foolish. They couldn’t even speak, the blizzard was bad and getting worse. Why was she out here anyway? Did she think so little of him?

  Hell, he wouldn’t force any woman to marry him. He was quaking now, frozen clear to the bone marrow, and getting a tad irritable.

  He grabbed the soft curve of her upper arm, meaning to show her he intended to take her back to the house, but the moment his fingers curled around her, the storm ceased. The winds silenced. The snow disappeared. The beat of his heart slowed to an eternity as, miraculously, her mittened hand fisted in his jacket.

  He felt her question before she yanked her scarf from around her mouth with her other hand and shouted.

  He shook his head. He couldn’t hear her. He said the only word that counted. “Home.”

  The fist at his jacket twisted the material more tightly. He could feel her desperation. And it tore at him. “Too cold.”

  “No.” As firm as the earth at his feet, that word.

  Was she so desperate to escape him? The fight went out of him. He unclasped her hand from his jacket and cradled it in both of his.

  “…town…” he heard her say as the wind fractured and beat between them. “Please?”

  God, she was killing him. But he swallowed the pain, pushed aside the wound of her rejection. If only she hadn’t said “please” like that, with so much naked grief and need that not even the storm could lessen it. Tenderness seeded in his chest, a thin growing warmth that left him helpless.

  Tears were freezing on her exposed cheeks when he took the end of her scarf and gently tucked it back into place around her mouth and nose. He swiped at the tears, rubbing them before they burned her delicate skin.

  His eyes had adjusted to the whiteout conditions and he could distinguish the almond shape of her eyes, visible between the scarf and the woolen cap she wore over her head. He felt the unspoken plea as if she’d whispered it to his soul.

  “C’mon.” He held her arm tight, shielding her from the brunt of the wind with his body the best he could, and led her to the waiting mare. He placed her hand on the animal’s warm flank and leaned close to her ear. The ice-flecked wool scratched at his jaw. “Can you ride?”

  “I won’t go back. I won’t.” She was as fierce as the wind.

  “Fine. Let me help you.”

  “I don’t need help.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  Katelyn didn’t want him, but could she trust him? Struggling through the snowdrifts and fighting to keep her sense of direction in the confusing swirl of snow and wind was more difficult than she’d imagined.

  “You’ll truly help me?” she asked, daring to lean close to speak against his ear. “You won’t trick me?”

  “I’m not that kind of man.”

  She didn’t know what manner of man he was. But she needed help. She could follow the fence line only so far. Could she find the road to town? Every landmark was shrouded in snow and the storm was impenetrable.

  She couldn’t see the horseman, as close to her as he was, although apparently he could see her as his hand found her elbow and steadied her.

  He was offering to help her into his sleigh. She couldn’t see the vehicle-sudden pain slammed into her knee-the sleigh. Awkward with exhaustion and cold, she lifted one foot while Hennessey held her steady. She slipped into the seat with a grateful sigh.

  Snow pummeled her face like a thousand icy shards driven on a violent wind, but the horseman shielded her with a bundle of blankets. She caught a brief glimpse of him, hat and profile, and the storm closed around her, draping him from her sight. She felt alone in a vast, cold world. Every inch of her ached from the cold. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.

  Then he was climbing in beside her. She felt the iron of his thigh and the hard bone of his elbow as he gathered the reins.

  She belonged to him now. She could feel it. She didn’t have to turn around to see there were no prized Arabian mares tied to the back of the sleigh. She didn’t need to ask if he’d accepted the diamonds and gold as payment. He’d taken her.

  Miserable from the cold, hurting from the inside out, she felt hopeless. What would her future hold?

  But no shelter from the storm rose out of the night. Only the endless howling of the blizzard and the beat of wind-driven snow against her back. Time stretched forever, an eternity of enduring the ice creeping from skin to muscle to bone.

  Exhaustion settled in like a heavy steel weight in her midsection, dragging her down. She was too tired to worry about what would happen next. Tucked safe against the horseman, her eyes drifted shut and the welcoming darkness claimed her.

  Chapter Seven

  Dillon watched her thick curling eyelashes drift shut. Katelyn’s breathing relaxed into a quiet cadence. Her fingers slackened on the edge of the robe.

  Asleep, she didn’t look wounded or wary. She was an angel, the worry and pain gone from her face. It’s all right, darlin’, I’m going to take good care of you. It was a promise he meant to keep.

  He nosed the team of horses into the storm. The winds had waned and the snow was less heavy, but it was hazardous traveling like this with nothing but the wide, lonesome prairie to keep him company. With any luck he’d be coming across town by nightfall. His house wasn’t far from his hometown of Bluebonnet, so that meant he could be sleeping at home tonight.

  H
ome. Maybe it would be with Katelyn there. Maybe, when she saw the place, she’d want to stay. He had horses there, and a brother he was missing something fierce. In all, maybe he finally had a reason to stay put.

  And he was looking at her. She stirred in her sleep, making the softest sound. It moved through him like poetry, the feel of her warmth next to him, the lean curve of her thigh, the line of her arm, the dearness of her cheek as she shifted, her head rolling into place against his shoulder.

  Tenderness took root in his heart. He took his time simply watching her. Listening to the sweet rhythm of her breathing. Memorizing the dip in the center of her lush upper lip. Wondering what her kiss would be like. Rose-petal soft, he wagered.

  Would she be his? It was a risk to think she would be. She’d made her feelings about him pretty clear. But a woman in her condition, and alone with no one to help her, might need a friend. Or a place to call home.

  Anything was possible, wasn’t it?

  That meant it was his job to protect her. To take care of her. He was a man who took his job seriously. Concerned about her, he yanked off his glove and carefully slipped his fingers beneath the icy glove on her closest hand.

  Her skin was soft, cool, but not deathly cold. A good sign. He’d make sure she was safe while she slept. It was intimate watching her. Seeing the tiny blue veins beneath the delicate skin on her eyelids. Tracing the straight line of her nose. Smelling her faint lilac scent. His chest swelled up tight from watching her.

  Was there any chance she could be his? Was there something he could do to change her mind? He sure hoped so.

  He brushed the ice from her cap and cloak because he wanted to take care of her. Tenderness warmed him clear through, from top to toes. He had to make sure she was warm enough in these extreme temperatures, so he untucked his end of the buffalo robe around her and left the flannel blankets beneath to shield him from the cold.

  He wasn’t what mattered. She was. He tucked the robe over her body and beneath her chin. His knuckles accidentally grazed the underside of her jaw. Too bad he was wearing gloves. He’d wager that her skin was the softest thing he’d ever felt.