The Horseman

by Jillian Hart

  That was proof of a man’s pure adoration.

  He yanked on his Levi’s and tugged on his shirt, buttoning it as he rushed downstairs. He didn’t know why he felt a need to tell her his plans. Something was troubling him, and he couldn’t put his thumb on it. Couldn’t name the odd, jittery anxiety snapping in the dead center of his gut.

  The kitchen was empty. A fledging fire snapped and crackled in the stove’s belly. The lamp in the center of the table had been filled with oil and cast a bright light to guide him to the door, where the peg next to his was empty. Where had she gone? He grabbed his coat and, on the edge of panic, skidded outside into the frosty morning.

  Where had she gone? He followed the small imprint of her shoes on the frosted crust of the snow to the stable. There, just beyond the paddock where the stallion watched, a dark figure in the shadows spread grain from a small silver pail for the five deer in a half circle around her.

  Her back was to him, and the delicate shape of her affected him more fiercely than ever before. How could it be that every time he looked at this woman, he desired her more? Thought her more beautiful? More sensual? More amazing?

  As if she felt his presence, she stiffened. Turned. How pale she looked. Big circles bruised the delicate skin beneath her eyes. She wasn’t feeling well. It troubled him. He should have made sure she didn’t feel obligated to do too much too soon. Well, he’d take care of her. He always would.

  “Good morning, beautiful.”

  Her smile was tentative. Shadows darkened her angel’s eyes. He took the empty pail from her mittened hands and gave her a kiss to warm her to her toes.

  The same way she warmed him.

  It should have been a beautiful day, but it wasn’t, Katelyn realized. Seated beside Dillon in the snug little sleigh skimming the snow behind a matched set of black-and-white pintos should have been the most exhilarating ride of her life. It wasn’t.

  Was there any way he would want her when she told him the truth? Their love was so new. It wasn’t as if they’d spent years together and their bond had been strengthened by time and familiarity. No, her husband of many years had been able to cast her aside. How easy would it be for Dillon?

  “I’ve got to swing by the stockyard.” Dillon broke the silence as the prairie road gave way to the first signs of town. “You want me to drop you off at the dress shop?”

  “That sounds wonderful. I need a few things.”

  “You make sure you get whatever you want. I got you some clothes, but that was only meant to get you by. You need more than you have.”

  “No, I have all I need.”

  “Me, too.”

  He snuggled her close, drawing her against him, his arm a pleasant weight on her shoulder.

  Her generous, loving husband, who had vowed to always stand by her. To always love her.

  What if he knew the truth? Would he still want her?

  The main street of town was crowded with horse-drawn sleighs and various sleds. Folks had come in from all over the county because of the auction, Dillon explained as he drew the horses to a slow walk behind a loaded teamster’s enormous sled stacked high with crates.

  Katelyn was grateful for the chaos. Dillon was kept busy as out-of-town drivers rode through intersections or stopped in the middle of the street to look around and get their bearings. He was too preoccupied to wonder why she was so quiet.

  She should just tell him. Say it very matter-of-factly. Open her mouth and let the words roll off her tongue. Dillon, I can’t have children. Will you still love me anyway?

  Her stomach clenched tight. A blurry, agonizing memory shot into her head. Of Brett hauling her to the door, his fingers biting into the soft skin of her upper arm. Angry, so angry. And she’d felt so worthless…

  No, don’t remember. She squeezed her heart closed, like the lid on a too-full trunk, and did her best to lock it up tight before any other painful images popped out.

  Dillon wasn’t Brett. She knew that. Dillon was an incredible man of integrity, everything that Brett was not. But the truth remained, cold and harsh and as unchangeable as the season. As the dirty, beaten-down snow on the street in front of them. Every man wanted a son.

  “I can’t believe our luck.” Dillon drew the team to a halt and waited while an ox-drawn sled skimmed away from the hitching post. “Right in front of the dress shop.”

  Maybe there was a chance he would want her. He was the most steady and loving man she’d ever known. He accepted her flaws and her less-than-perfect cooking with that easy, lopsided grin of his. Maybe he would still love her. Maybe he would still love her the same way.

  As if she were a princess, he took her hand and helped her from the sleigh. He walked by her side up the slick wooden steps, opened the door for her as the overhead bell tinkled and introduced her to the seamstress.

  “Have a good time shopping. I know it’s what you women like to do.” With an approving grin, he laid his palm to her face and kissed her in public, to the sigh of the seamstress and a few nearby shoppers.

  He strode away as regal as any prince. A noble, worthy man who deserved to have the son he wanted.

  The son she couldn’t give him. The injustice of it tore her in two. Could have dropped her to her knees except for the seamstress who took her elbow and helped her to the bench near the window.

  “Goodness, you look pale, dear. I’ll fetch you a cup of hot tea. That should help cure what ails you.”

  It was a lovely thought, that something as common and as ordinary as tea would fix the grief inside her.

  Her gaze naturally followed him through the window. He yanked on the tether line to make sure it was good and tight, then slipped pieces of peppermint from his coat pocket and let the horses lip the treat from his gloved hands.

  He turned, his attention on someone just out of sight. A group of women stood in a small circle, blocking whoever it was Dillon was talking to from Katelyn’s sight. Wait, the women were moving. Dillon reached out for something…

  A baby. Mariah’s baby boy was wrapped in green today. His thick coat and cap and mittens were so small, so dear. Mariah waited, looking pleased with Dillon’s obvious compliments, as he cradled the little one, held him close and blew kisses on his plump forehead.

  What a good father he would be. Katelyn had felt his silent longing when he’d held the infant. Because a part of her heart would always be his. Her last hope died as quietly and as surely as a single snowflake in sunshine. Melting without protest. Because it was inevitable.

  Dillon should be a father. He had the right to hold his son one day. She would not stand in his way. She did not want him to live his life alone, without the large family he obviously desired.

  The one she could never give him.

  The seamstress returned with the tea, and Katelyn sipped it dutifully. She watched as Dillon handed the baby back to Mariah, said goodbye and tromped off across the busy road, cutting between vehicles as he went, until he was out of sight.

  Everywhere she looked, she saw children. A toddler cried, “Mine! Mine!” somewhere in the store. Children who were too young for school raced down the boardwalk, escaping from their mother who charged after them. Babies held tight in their mother’s arms.

  Did these women know how lucky they were? she wondered. Her arms felt empty without a baby to hold.

  As empty as her soul.

  Every wonderful thing Dillon did cut like a knife. His generosity. His gallantry. He held every door. Took her hand. Carried her packages. Treated her to a delicious meal at the finest diner in town. He helped her into the sleigh and tucked the robes snug beneath her chin.

  The image of him holding Mariah’s baby troubled her. The way he had lit up. How big and strong he looked, cradling that tiny little boy. He wanted one of his own. Anyone could see it.

  I wish I could give you a child. She’d sacrifice anything, do anything, to give Dillon what would make him happy. To give him the child he wanted. If only she could.

  Just
tell him. It plagued her all the way home, as the afternoon sun chased away the stubborn gray clouds. It burdened her as she added wood to the stove and checked on the pot of simmering brown beans.

  Maybe it would be all right. She wouldn’t know until she told him. What happened next-whether she left or stayed, was happy or miserable, loved or not wanted-was all in Dillon’s capable hands. It was his choice.

  She had to let him make it.

  It wasn’t easy opening the door and stepping outside. It was hard to make her feet move forward all the way to the paddock. Her spirits didn’t lift when she saw the man and stallion together, alone. The wild horse trusting Dillon enough to eat peppermint treats from his hand.

  Dillon’s low voice calmed the horse and it calmed her heart. She waited, perched on the fence, while Dillon stroked the stallion’s face and head. The animal shied and sidestepped, only to return to the delicious treat and the man’s enchanting touch.

  “That’s it, boy, that’s all I have. You ate all of it.” Dillon held up his hands and the stallion backed away, haltingly, unsure. Dillon spied her and headed straight for her. “Katelyn, I’m glad you’re here. His wound is healed, and so I’m letting him go.”

  “Back to the wild? But what about the reward for him?”

  “It no longer exists.” He braced his forearms on the fence as he stretched over the top rung and claimed her mouth with his. “You know those ten Arabian mares I bought at the sale? The ones Dakota is going to help me drive home from the livery tomorrow? Those were your stepfather’s horses. The ones he paid me to train.”

  “What? He wouldn’t sell those horses.”

  “He didn’t. He’s bankrupt, and the bounty on our stallion’s head is nullified. He is no longer in danger.”

  She felt relief for the stallion, but sadness, too. “That land was my father’s.”

  “Your stepbrother managed to appease the bank. The land is his now. At least it’s still in the family.”

  “Good.” Memories flooded her. Of family. Of helping her father build the big ranch house. Of so many good times. But not nearly as treasured as the ones she’d made here with Dillon. Now she had more memories to comfort her when she was alone.

  There’s no reason to wait, she realized. She knew how it would end. She may as well handle it with as much dignity as she could. Even if her heart was dying. “It’s good for a man to have a son.”

  “Or a daughter. I’m not choosy.” He flashed her that slow, lopsided grin, the one that always made her soul smile in return. “Daughters can inherit land, too. Daughters can learn to train horses.”

  She could see his dreams. He wanted to teach a child how to ride a horse and how to handle them. He wanted to pass on the knowledge his grandfather had given him about horses, the land and life. It would make him complete. Make his life come full circle.

  “As for this fellow-” he gestured to the stallion that was standing a few feet away, skittish but demanding more candy “-you want to come in and say goodbye?”

  “Knowing him has been a privilege.” She climbed through the space between the rungs. The stallion had started the romance between them, that night of the season’s first snow. She remembered how Dillon had defended him, and befriended him and saved him.

  Just as he’d done for her.

  And he had saved her, she realized. If she hadn’t come here, if she’d chosen to live on her own, then she never would have known this man. The strength of him that could never break. The integrity. The tenderness.

  Knowing Dillon had been a gift. One she would treasure always.

  “Goodbye, handsome.”

  His greatness shone over her like the sun, true and remarkable and, when Dillon opened the gate, that greatness didn’t diminish. It swelled and soared as the animal lifted his head, scented his freedom, neighed a warm trumpeting goodbye and trotted off, free. Leaping fences and crossing meadows until the prairie claimed him as its own.

  The greatness, she realized, wasn’t the stallion’s. It was the man beside her.

  “You’re looking pale, darlin’. Let me walk you back to the house. Get you lying down.” His hand lit on her shoulder, a tender claiming touch that left her wishing there was a way.

  But she couldn’t stay. She couldn’t do that to Dillon, to this wonderful man she loved more than her life.

  “Did you have a good time in town today?” he asked as he held the back door for her. “Did you overdo it?”

  “No. I enjoyed it, very much.” She took off her wraps and hung them on the peg by the door.

  “You didn’t buy hardly anything. I might be a humble horseman, but I can afford to buy my wife what she wants.” He drew her against him, folding his arms around her, cradling her close. “I love you, you know. You weren’t getting a taste of town life and wishing you lived there, were you?”

  “No. I have treasured my time with you.” She wanted him to know how she felt. Wanted him to know this great love she had for him was endless.

  She lifted up on the tip of her toes to give him her kiss. To lay the palm of her hand against his strong jaw. He was everything to her. Now, and for all time.

  He could feel it in her kiss; she was sure. He cupped her head and kissed her in return. A hot, hard caress that matched her own need for him.

  “Let’s finish this upstairs.” His intimate suggestion enlivened her. Made all her senses spin. She didn’t need to answer. He swept her into his arms and carried her upstairs, raining kisses over her face as he navigated down the tiny hall and into the room where their bed waited.

  One more time. She was given this chance to love him once more. It was magic, his kiss, his touch. Thrilling as he laid her across the cool sheets and hovered over her.

  “You are overdressed for this occasion, ma’am.” Flashing her a dimple, he tugged at her collar and freed her from her dress. While he kissed her throat and breasts, he unlaced her corset. The stroke of his tongue grew hot and wet as the lace gave way and his mouth closed over her nipple, suckling hard.

  Desire snapped like a tight line through the core of her. She dug her fingers into his hair.

  “Oh, yes.” She wanted him forever, to remember him just like this. The excited thrill of her body as he kissed his way down her stomach and the white-hot flash of pleasure as his fingers parted her. His low, deep groan when he found her wet and ready and lifting up for all of him. The amazing glide of his thickness stretching her open, filling her, making them one, making them whole.

  Two hearts, one soul.

  Chapter Eighteen

  How was she ever going to find the strength to walk away? Katelyn watched Dillon sleep, his hair tousled from lovemaking, the sweat drying on his brow. She loved him so much her spirit ached with it. She couldn’t tell him the truth now. She loved him too much.

  As he loved her.

  “Katelyn,” he murmured in his sleep and reached out for her.

  She put her hand in his but didn’t let him pull her close. He sighed, holding on to her hand so tight, even in sleep. As if to say he intended to hold her forever.

  And at what cost? She had failed him. It was only a matter of time before his love eroded slowly and as surely as sand on an ocean shore, moved by a current too strong to resist. Time would pass, and if Dillon could accept her barrenness, then his desire for a child would go unrequited. Become stronger until one day he would gaze at her with disappointment in his eyes.

  The slow death of their love would be twice as painful. And if she stayed, she would be asking too much of him.

  The fear that she wasn’t enough, wasn’t good enough, rose up hard and fast and blinding. She loved Dillon too much to fail him. She couldn’t do that to him. To herself. The end result would be the same anyway.

  Walk away. It was the only solution for them both. He would hurt, but he’d get over it. She couldn’t take this pain anymore. It rose up like a serpent from the sea, twining around her spine, twisting around her entire being. Crushing her body, heart and sou
l. There was no escape from the black sorrow.

  There never would be.

  He will be happier without me. Thinking of all the ways Dillon would benefit from her leaving was the only way she found the strength to let go of his hand. The courage to slip the wedding ring from her finger. The faith to face a future without the love of her life.

  She took one look back before she crossed the threshold. Love for him burned inside her as bright as a summer sun, radiant and everlasting and strong enough to bring light to anything. Even to the darkness of her fear and her sorrow.

  She was doing this for him. So he would have a better life. So he would be free to find a woman who could give him a son. Her legs trembled as she descended the stairs. The deepest part of her was breaking.

  Keep going. She was doing the right thing. Walking through the parlor, her steps whispering around her. This house wouldn’t always be empty. Isn’t that why Dillon had always chosen to travel, when he had the land and the money and the horses to stay here and build a life?

  The yard was sullen and silent, long with shadows as the daylight waned. Dark came early this time of year, and it felt as if it were coming into her. The shadows inside her lengthened, blotting out all the happiness she’d known here.

  One day children would run in this yard, shrieking as they played tag and blindman’s buff. Little boys with Dillon’s dark untamable hair ruffling in the wind as they threw baseballs back and forth. Or wrestled in the grass. Or pulled toboggans along the snowy ground in search of the perfect slope to speed down. Little girls with Dillon’s dimples playing with their dolls on the front steps or riding horses in the endless fields.

  She could see Dillon seated on the front porch on a summer’s evening, reading his ranching magazines, content while his children played around him. And a pretty, kind woman who would bring a tray of lemonade and coffee as an evening treat.

  It was a happy picture. The best gift she could give him. Her lifetime of unhappiness without him was worth happiness in his.