Katie sank with the egg. She dropped to her knees in the red dirt of the farmyard, cradled the scratched hand to her chest, and wept.
It wasn’t starting out to be a very good day.
She was alone at the inn. The two guests they’d hosted overnight had departed at first light, and Rowdy had taken Martha and Andrew into Jefferson to pick up supplies. They’d not return until tomorrow. Katie had total freedom to lie in the mud like a wide-snouted hog and wallow in self-pity. So she did.
She was pregnant and alone. Her poor baby wouldn’t have a father. For a time she’d been able to put the problem from her mind, but no longer. Time moved swiftly, and soon she’d pass the halfway point of her pregnancy. She could ignore the issue no longer.
She lowered her hand till it lay across her womb and despite her gloomy state, a faint smile touched her lips. She was expanding, just a little, but enough that she could tell. Her body was changing to nurture the life growing inside it, the baby she already loved.
It wouldn’t be long before she felt the tiny swells and kicks that announced the little one’s presence. Katie couldn’t wait. She remembered the day she felt Mary Margaret quicken. At first, she’d not known what the funny bump in her stomach was, but then, as it happened a second time, a joy that eclipsed any she’d known before had filled her.
The first hello with one’s child was a moment a mother would always remember. The memory stayed with her, even throughout the goodbyes.
The smile on Katie’s face slowly died. Other memories remained throughout goodbyes. Branch was never far from her thoughts.
Where was he? What was he doing? For that matter, who was he? She remembered their last night together and his revelation that Rob Garrett had been his brother. At the time, she’d not questioned the difference in their last names. Now she wondered at the relationship between them. Were they half-brothers? Was his name really Kincaid or Garrett? It could be Smith or Simpson or Santa Anna for all she knew.
Wiping the tears from her cheeks with her fingertips, she sniffed and wondered, Who does that make me? The man’s my husband. What’s my name? What will be my baby’s name?
Maybe she should go after him.
The idea was not a new one; Katie had been considering it off and on since realizing she carried Branch’s child. She’d pondered other, more palatable solutions, even going so far as to write to Shaddoe in New Orleans and ask him to perform the love spell that calls a wayward lover home. He must have chosen not to honor her request, or else he had and it just hadn’t worked, because she’d yet to see Branch Kincaid ride up to her door, proclaim his love, and solve her predicament.
She had to find a father for her baby. She’d face hell itself to see that this child lived a cheerful, protected life— she’d sworn as much at her daughter’s grave—and the best way to ensure that happiness was to provide the little one with a large and loving family. It was time for Katie to make a choice.
If she hunted down Branch, she gambled more than the chance he’d deny his promise to accept the marriage if a child resulted from their time together. She risked losing the child to the powerful Garrett family. It was her greatest fear—that they’d take her baby and send her away and she’d have no way to fight.
Her other option was to explain her circumstances to Sheriff Strickland and hope that he’d reiterate his recent offer of marriage. She didn’t love the man, but he was kind and gentle. If he could accept another man’s child as his own—which Katie honestly didn’t feel too certain about—he’d make a good father for her baby.
Branch Kincaid or Jack Strickland? This was her choice. “By the end of the week,” she promised herself. “I’ll make up my mind before the end of the week.”
Baking worked the melancholy from her system and by midmorning she had wheat bread rising on her worktable and a plum-and-peach pie was almost ready to pull from the oven. As she bent over to peek into the oven and check the crust, she felt a warm breeze stir her skirt and encircle her ankles.
Just like before, only warm not cold. Her pulse thundered as she straightened, praying, her eyes squeezed shut as she backed up into a solid wall of muscle. Hands clasped her waist and jubilation grasped her heart. A smile burst across her face, and she whirled around to greet—
Jack Strickland.
Her heart sank to her knees. “Oh,” she said. “Why, Sheriff, I didn’t hear you come in.”
He peered past her into the oven. “What are you baking, Miz Katie? It smells simply delicious.”
She took a step sideways, and his hands fell away from her waist. “Pie,” she said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Why was she nervous? she wondered, slanting him a look as she walked to her worktable. Why was she more comfortable with the table between them?
“I must say, Miz Katie,” Strickland said, making a show of sniffing the air around the fireplace, “I’ve never known a woman with such a talent for cooking.”
She smiled wanly. “Thank you. Sheriff Strickland, I hesitate to admit this, but I don’t remember making plans with you for today.”
With a gentle smile, Strickland approached the table and pulled out a chair. He straddled it, just as Branch always had. Oh dear, Katie thought, is this some sort of heavenly message concerning the decision I must make? If so, what does it mean?
Strickland is nothing like Kincaid, she reassured herself, even as the sheriff helped himself to one of the morning’s leftover biscuits. For one thing, Jack Strickland treated her with more gentleness than any man she’d ever known. The lawman was a classically handsome man with his coal black hair and soulful eyes. But that dimple in his chin softened rugged features and gave him a boyish look when he smiled.
He was smiling at her now. “Miz Katie, I have a confession to make. When I awoke this morning, I thought of you and, well, you’re a beautiful woman and a pleasure to be with, but I found myself dreaming about your yeast rolls.”
Katie punched down the bread dough and turned it onto her table to knead. Dryly she said, “You do say the nicest things to a woman, Sheriff Strickland.”
His gaze was a gentle caress. “Please, Katie, I’ve asked you to call me Jack, and whenever I try to say the things I want to, you put me off.”
Her brows knitted in a frown. “Jack, I’m sorry. It’s simply so confusing for me. I’ve decided—well, never mind that for today. Tell me, why are you here? I know, it’s more yeast rolls.”
His gaze lingered on her bosom, something she’d never noticed him do before. Abruptly he said, “I’ve had news from home.”
“Really?”
“Remember I told you my family’s from Boston?”
Katie worked her bread dough and answered, “Of course, Jack, we’ve discussed it a time or two. Besides, a lady doesn’t meet a United States congressman’s son very often. It’s not something she’d forget.”
“I received a message from my father yesterday,” Strickland said, spinning a plum on the table. “You see, Miz Katie, some time ago I was erroneously accused of committing a crime against a Bostonian gentleman. I was forced to flee to avoid undeserved punishment. After a brief period in New Orleans, I decided to come to Texas.”
Katie stared at him with somber eyes. She knew what it was like to be unjustly accused. “Jack, you are one of many who’ve settled this country after leaving behind legal problems in the States. You needn’t feel it is something you should confess. That’s the biggest reason it’s considered impolite in the Republic of Texas to ask a man where he came from.”
“I’m not confessing here today, my dear. I’m explaining. My father sent word that the charges against me have been dropped. I’m free to go home.”
“Why, that’s wonderful.” She beamed at him as she returned the bread dough to its bowl to rise a second time. Walking to the basin, she washed her hands as she said, “Your father must be so pleased.” Then a sobering thought struck her. If he planned on returning home, she might not have to the end of the week to make her decis
ion. Slowly, she said, “I guess that explains why you’ve visited me today. You’ve come to say goodbye.”
Jack Strickland stood. “No, I’ve not.” His expression was somber as he approached her, his hand held out for hers. “I’m here today to ask you to return with me to Boston. I’ve run out of time to pay you court. Marry me, my darling.”
Katie dropped both his hand and the tea towel she carried. Turning away from his entreating gaze, she walked to the hearth and swung the metal arm away from the fire. The aroma of cooking onions escaped into the room as she lifted the lid from a pot of simmering stew. Using a wooden spoon, she stirred the mixture and said, “Jack, this is all so sudden.”
He came up behind her and put his hands at her waist. “Not sudden. I’ve asked you before, and you promised me you’d think about it.”
“But Boston! It’s so far away. I’d have to leave Gallagher’s, and Martha.” Katie’s teeth worried her lower lip. She’d be leaving any chance she ‘d have of seeing Branch again.
The lid banged back onto the pot, and she returned the stew to the fire. Strickland turned her around. With a finger, he tilted her chin and stared down into her eyes. “You’ll love my family, and my mother will be so pleased that I’ve finally married. She’s been wanting grandchildren for years.”
Oh, dear. Grandchildren. The baby. Katie bit back a groan as he continued. “The Stricklands are powerful people in the northeast. We have wealth. I’ve watched you with people, Katie, and you’ll make a fine politician’s wife. My father is a congressman, my grandfather a senator. Now it’s time for me to follow in their footsteps. Who knows, maybe someday I’ll even be President and you my First Lady.”
He kissed her then, with more passion than any of their previous exchanges. Katie responded to him, more to buy time than due to any desire he might have kindled.
“Jack,” she said, ending the kiss and pulling away from him. “So much stands between us. There’s my marriage, for one thing.”
He waved a hand, dismissing her objection. “It’s nothing. A bond easily put aside.”
“But there’s more, Jack—”
He shook his head, and a predatory light entered his dark eyes. “Katie, none of it matters. I want you. I’ve wanted you for some time, now. I’ve been amazingly patient.” His hands worked the buttons on his shirt, and he shrugged it off.
Katie’s eyes widened. This man standing before her wasn’t the Jack Strickland she’d contemplated loving. “Jack, stop it. You’re scaring me.”
He unbuckled his belt and stepped toward her. “I don’t mean to scare you, sweetheart. I think maybe you need a little convincing as to how good it can be between us.”
“No!” She jumped backward. At his sharp, angry look she showed him a tremulous smile. “I mean, uh, that is, Jack, I know the loving between you and me would be wonderful, but I’d rather wait—”
He didn’t wait. He yanked her to him, taking her lips in a long, deep kiss, clamping his arms around her to halt her struggles. Katie could barely get her breath, and when his mouth finally left hers to trail wet kisses down her neck, she gasped for air.
Emotion flared to life inside her, but it wasn’t desire. Katie got angry. She’d had enough of men acting like primitive beasts, beating their chests and howling at the moon in the need for a mate to sate their sexual desires. Heavens, if she’d wanted violence in her lovemaking, she’d have never let Branch go. He was a master at it, a genius. Intending to use the handiest weapon she had, Katie turned her head and opened her mouth to bite him.
She froze. There, right at eye level, on the inside of his left breast, was a tattoo. A three-pronged pitchfork set against a background of flames.
Katie stared at it. She shut her eyes, then looked at it again. Fear clutched her heart. Oh, Lord. She was transported back in time, to the night that continued to haunt her dreams. To the man whose life she had taken.
Rob Garrett lay dying. His tormented voice croaking, No name. Pitchfork. Flames.
A short, hysterical laugh escaped her. A kind and tender gentleman, Sheriff Jack Strickland. How could she have been so wrong?
Katie was in the arms of her daughter’s killer.
His hand cupped her breast, kneading and pinching. Oh, God, it hurt—clear through to her soul. A trembling began deep inside her, and she knew she must get away from him, now, before she screamed and betrayed herself.
But how? His hand tugged her blouse free of her skirt, and she shuddered at the touch of his fingers against the bare skin of her back. Her baby! Was she big enough yet that he’d notice? No, she didn’t believe so; after all, he’d never touched her before.
He was touching her. Oh, God, please! She’d do anything to protect her baby, she’d lie with him if she must. Anything, just as long as her child remained a safe, hidden secret.
She’d have to take care not to retch.
Think, Katie! How? How do I get away from him? His heavy breaths lifted hackles on her neck. Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed hard before attempting the only ruse that came to mind. She began to kiss him back.
Passionately, she pressed herself against him, rubbing and wiggling. “Oh, Jack,” she sighed.
He lifted his head and smiled triumphantly, the male beast whose dominance has been assured. “I knew you’d be a hot bit of fluff,” he said, dipping his hand down her drawers to cup and brace a bare buttock as he ground himself against her.
Now, the gamble. In her most provocative voice, she said, “Sheriff Strickland, you’ve convinced me. I find I fancy myself to be a politician’s wife.” At her words, he loosened his hold, and she yanked away from him, showing a saucy smile. She began a campaign of distraction. “Will we marry here or in Boston? It’d be nice for your family to attend, don’t you think? Probably good politics, too—the handsome young candidate and his Southern belle.”
Strickland’s gaze lifted from her bosom to her mouth, and she found encouragement in the fact. He was listening to her. “Maybe the President could come! What do you think, Jack? Would President Polk come to our wedding?”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yes, I do believe he might. That’s a wonderful idea, Katie. See, you’ll make a grand political wife.”
He moved to take her in his arms again, but she held up a hand. “What about my divorce? We must make certain that not a breath of scandal reaches Washington. It could be disastrous.”
“I’ll see to the divorce,” Strickland said. “Don’t worry. I will not allow anything to interfere with the future I have planned.”
Please, Katie prayed, let this work. She sank into a chair at the kitchen’s table and sighed heavily. “Then we’d best wait, Jack. One thing your political career cannot tolerate is a baby prior to nine months after the wedding.” Pleasure or politics, had she read him right?
Jack frowned and picked his shirt up from the floor. “You are right, Katie. As much as it pains me, we’ll wait until we’re wed.” He put his shirt on and flashed her the smile that less than an hour ago she had found so appealing. “I’ll want to be on the road tomorrow, though, taking the fastest route to Boston.”
She forced an answering smile. “I’ll have my bags packed and waiting at dawn.”
He kissed her once more before he left. She heard his carriage rattle on its way as she rushed to the basin and vomited.
Her first impulse was to flee. She went so far as to grab up a bag and stuff it with clothing and keepsakes. Better sense prevailed, and she left her bedroom and sat at her worktable, thinking, planning, and shelling peas. She always thought better with busy hands.
Three problems faced her: two immediate, one more distant but certainly as urgent. First, she must leave Gallagher’s before Strickland returned. Second, she must see that the sheriff received the punishment she had envisioned for the killer of Steven and Mary Margaret Starr. And third, she must see to finding a father for the child she now carried.
Repeatedly as she considered her options, Katie
snapped the end from a pea pod, yanked off the string, and gouged out the peas. She deliberated everything from running away and hiding, perhaps at Shaddoe’s Le Cadeau d’Etoiles, to remaining right where she sat with a loaded shotgun pointed at the door. Glancing down at the mess of smashed green peas in the wooden bowl in front of her, Katie shoved away from the table. Frustration made for messy shelling.
She sighed as she made her decision. Of all the choices available to her, only one addressed all three of her concerns. One man could solve all her problems.
She’d leave a note for Martha up at the inn and tack another one to her front door for Strickland. Surely she could come up with some kind of excuse not to be here when he arrived. Then she’d go to Riverrun Plantation and find Branch Kincaid.
An immediate trip to Brazoria in South Texas would put her beyond Strickland’s reach and solve her first predicament. If luck was with her, Branch would be at the Garrett family home, but if not, surely someone at Riverrun would know where to find him. She would explain what had happened—well, most of it, anyway—and he would realize that the major part of the blame for his brother’s death lay at the sheriff’s feet.
Together, she and Branch would see that the wheels of justice rolled right over Jack Strickland, thereby dealing with her second concern.
But the third, well, that was the thorniest of the bunch. If she burned a few red-onion peels for luck, maybe Branch would forgive her participation in Rob Garrett’s death and believe her when she said she’d not betrayed him with Shaddoe.
Then she could tell him about the baby. She dare not risk it before she knew Branch would honor their marriage—the powerful Garrett family was too big a threat to an innkeeper’s daughter. Katie still loved her husband, and she knew she could forgive his lack of faith if Branch could forgive her and accept her love and the child they had made together.
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