by Griggs, Winnie; Pleiter, Allie; Hale, Deborah; Nelson, Jessica
If. And that was a mighty big if.
“Katrine,” Clint began again, watching Lars’s eyebrow rise. Until now he’d been careful to refer to Katrine as your sister or Miss Brinkerhoff in company. He cleared his throat and repeated, “Well, Katrine…” Hang it, he had no idea how to have this conversation. It couldn’t wait, but now seemed like the worst possible time.
“Katrine and you,” Lars said after a pause that pressed on Clint’s chest, “have had much to bear.” When Lars added “…together” in a tone Clint couldn’t hope to decipher, the night air seemed thick enough to choke a man.
“She’s strong. And she was brave.” That truth was an easy admission.
“Katrine has great faith.” Lars fished for something in his pocket as they rode, and Clint was grateful the Dane had someplace else to focus his piercing blue eyes. “And a very big heart.”
“Yes. It was hard for her to watch good folk grieve over you. Your sister loves you very much.” Which is why I’ll be sunk if you can’t see your way clear to us being together, his mind finished. If it were any other woman, Clint was enough of his own man to disregard what other people thought, but this was Katrine, and this was Lars. He could never be a wedge between these two, ever.
“Broderkaerlighed.”
“Huh?”
“Broderkaerlighed,” Lars repeated. “The word for what a brother feels for a sister, and such. For what is between you and Elijah and Gideon. Family.” The Dane tapped his heart with his open hand. “What I feel for Katrine.”
What I feel for Katrine. It’d be hard to find words that didn’t prick sharper than that. Clint only nodded, unable to come up with any other response.
Lars pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. “Only that is not the word Katrine used.”
“She’s such a fine writer, she’s probably got handfuls of words to use.” They were getting closer to the church. Clint was going to have to turn this conversation away from vocabulary, and quickly at that, if he was going to gain Lars’s approval before he saw Katrine.
“Katrine writes stories, but she also writes truth. That is a good thing.” Lars pulled his horse to a halt and held the paper out to Clint, pointing. “See the words here?”
“Those?”
“These words mean to lose one’s heart to another.”
Clint stared at the soft, flowing letters, absorbing their meaning. He felt Lars’s hand come to his shoulder as their horses stood side by side.
“In English you would say fall in love. Only in our language it is closer to are too in love. I like that better than falling, but now I know why you use that word.” A wide smile crinkled the corners of Lars’s eyes. “And now you use that word as well, ja?”
Clint was beyond wide awake now, and not the least bit tired. “She wrote you? She said she…?” He couldn’t even manage to choke the word out, just pointed to the Danish words on the paper.
“Winona brought it to me two days ago. It is the letter you say you found on your desk. She does not use your name, but Winona told me she had seen Katrine’s heart turn toward you long before I realized it. A brother does not always see these things, ja? But Winona is wise that way. So you see?” His hand gave Clint’s shoulder a jovial squeeze. “We both fall.”
Clint felt a mile-wide smile spread across his face. “You and Winona.”
“We are very different, but then again not so much. God is fond of surprises, don’t you think?”
Clint actually laughed. “I think God is mighty fond of big surprises. I’m glad God is mighty patient with the likes of me, too.”
Lars started his horse to walking, with Clint echoing his movement. “I am glad to see your soul has found its way home. I would not see Katrine wed to a man who is not right with God.”
“Wed?” Clint hadn’t quite gotten that far in his thinking—at least not that he was ready to let on to Lars.
“It is what men in love do, is it not?”
Clint’s head was spinning faster than his heart was pounding. “I suppose it is.” A life with Katrine. He hadn’t allowed himself that splendid of a daydream.
“I was thinking how wonderful it would be to erase my false funeral with a true wedding. How much more joy with two!”
Clint stopped his horse again. “I haven’t told her, Lars.”
Lars stopped his horse and met Clint’s gaze. “You will tell her how you feel.”
“No, not just that. I mean I know she wants a family and…I haven’t told her. I can’t give her that.” In all the conversations he’d had with Lars, Clint had hinted at the fact that he felt he’d always be alone, but he’d never revealed his inability to father children.
Lars was silent for long moments after Clint explained the problem now, and while the pause was difficult, Clint found himself glad the Dane gave the admission the thought it deserved. Finally, he looked up at Clint with understanding in his bright blue eyes. “I am not Dakota’s father. But he has become a son to me. Yes, Katrine will be sad, but she has a big heart and a strong spirit. And God is fond of surprises.”
“Lars…” Clint didn’t know how to ask this final question.
“What, my friend?”
“What if…” He stared at the blood that had seeped through the bandage on his hand, remembering the helplessness he felt the night of the Brinkerhoff fire. Nothing, not even his brothers, had come to mean so much to him as Katrine. Doubt that he could ensure her happiness uncurled under his ribs. “What if I am not enough?”
Lars’s brows furrowed for a moment, a shadow of understanding coming over his pale features. He was a man who had made his way halfway across the world with no more family than a single sister. He knew the truth Clint lived every day; a man who loved was a man who could lose. “No man is ever enough. God must fill the rest.”
And there it was. The final truth Clint had slammed up against tonight, the one he’d been pushing toward for years now in his quest to be good enough, strong enough, vigilant enough, man enough. “Yes.”
The smile returned to Lars’s eyes. “Let us hope that is what she says.”
“Has Winona already given you her yes?”
Lars’s smile widened. “She has. For a dead man, I have an excellent life ahead of me.”
Clint adjusted the set of his hat and nudged his horse into a trot. “A fine life indeed. Give me an hour and I hope to say the same.”
*
It was nearing four in the morning and Evelyn’s grace and optimism had long since run out. Now she simply paced the room. “It has been too long. Something must have happened.”
Katrine was trying to keep such thoughts at bay. “No,” she said, more to herself than to Evelyn. “They must have won the battle or someone would have come by now. The delay means good things.” She didn’t really believe that, but she could not allow her worries to gain words. Not now. Not with Lars and Clint still out there.
“What if there were more than four? Gideon said whoever was behind all this had lots of guns. There is good land to be stolen here. Maybe they have more bandits coming.”
“There are only four,” Katrine declared.
Evelyn turned toward Katrine. “How do you know?”
Katrine put her hand to her forehead. She was beyond weary. Too much time had passed and she and Evelyn had switched composures—now she was the one quietly hoping for the best and Evelyn had given in to a rising panic. “I don’t. But I am trying to tell myself the story that will keep me most calm.”
“What story is that?”
“A story where good men turn back evil, and peace comes to Brave Rock. A happy ending.”
“I doubt words can save our men.”
“Only hours ago, you thought my brother was dead. He is alive because he and Clint are smarter than those men. I choose to hope and tell myself stories that do the same.”
Evelyn returned her gaze to the window. “I will not bury a second husband. I will not find Gideon only to lose him to the likes of Sam M
cGraw.”
Katrine sighed. “Those are hopeful words. Keep to those.” She checked the pot, which had already boiled down several inches. She tried to take her own advice. “I will see Lars again. We will celebrate his return home.” I will tell Clint what my heart feels for him. I did the right thing by not staying silent. I will not be that frightened girl in the alley anymore.
With a gasp, Evelyn pressed her hands to the windowsill. “Horses!”
Elijah and Alice would be in the wagon—horses had to mean Clint and Gideon or even Lars. “They are back!” Katrine felt the relief spark her tired body to life. The past several hours had felt a thousand years long, filled with sounds and sights and endless worries. She understood now why Clint gave everything in the service of justice—the threat of just a few evil men could take so much from Brave Rock.
Katrine pulled open the door and rushed out onto the porch, ready to greet Clint and Lars and give thanks that they were home safe and sound. Instead, she backed against the infirmary wall in dread as the bloody image of Samuel McGraw staggered down off his horse. His gun was drawn and aimed at her even though it wavered a bit, and his face gleamed with sweat. “I let you get away once,” he sneered, limping toward her, “I don’t aim to let it happen again.”
Evelyn gave a small yelp from behind her. Katrine tried to shut the door, but a second man already had her by the arm. “Looky here, Sam, there’s one for each of us.”
“The men will be here in a moment.” Katrine tried to make her voice hold Clint’s confidence, but she failed. If McGraw was free, did that mean Clint and the others had come to harm? Or might even be dead? The way McGraw looked at her turned what little hope she was holding into thin, brittle ice.
“Don’t matter much if we got here first.” He took another step toward Katrine, wiping his dirty mustache with the black bandana that hung loose around his neck. “Tie ’em up, Wellington. But nice and careful-like. We don’t want to be taking home damaged goods.”
Wellington gave an ugly laugh as he pulled Katrine’s hands together and she felt the harsh bite of a rope on her wrists. Evelyn tried to cry out, only to have Wellington yank the bandana from his own neck and wedge it into her mouth. Even though she kept silent, Katrine grimaced when McGraw did the same. She hated that the cloth had been near his mouth, felt nearly sick at the foulness of it all.
The men were quick despite their injuries. It seemed only seconds before Private Wellington was hoisting her up onto a horse in front of McGraw. Katrine turned her face toward the barely lightening sky, willing Clint and Lars—or anyone—to come over the ridge and save them. Send him to save me again, Lord! The smell of soot and blood radiated off McGraw as he turned the horse away from town.
There was no log to kick now, no exit of her own to make in time to grab Clint’s saving hands. Katrine tried to throw herself from the horse, thinking whatever injury the ground could give would be far better than the wounds McGraw had in mind.
The private only tightened his arm around her and pulled her closer. “Hang on there, Katie darlin’,” he sputtered through labored breaths that felt as if they were crawling down Katrine’s back, “we’ve a hard ride and I can’t have you fallin’ off.”
Katrine managed to find Evelyn’s wide eyes in the dark chaos. She looked just as frightened as she rode on Private Wellington’s horse. Now that they had been exposed, McGraw and his gang had nothing left to lose and only vengeance on their minds. “Did you know your brother was alive, missy?” McGraw hissed in her ear as they rode away from Brave Rock. “Have you known the whole time?”
Katrine was glad to hear McGraw confirm that Lars—and hopefully Clint—was alive. Still, even if the private pulled the gag from her mouth, Katrine would not give him the satisfaction of an answer.
“I don’t take kindly to being played the fool. Neither by your brother nor by that sheriff who thinks he can outsmart the likes of me.”
Clint is alive. Katrine gave silent thanks.
“Hey, McGraw,” Wellington called, “what are we gonna do with these little fillies anyway?” Out of the corner of her eye, Katrine saw Private Wellington finger a lock of Evelyn’s dark hair with fascination until she yanked her head away.
“A hostage is fine leverage against your enemy,” McGraw declared in a superior tone. “When it’s a pretty one, well, I always find that just makes the time a little easier to pass. Veer down by the river for a spell so we can hide our tracks. Then head over to that hut past the river bend. We’ll be fine holed up in there for the day.” He shifted in his saddle. “Need to rest my leg a spell anyways.”
“How bad you hurt?” Wellington asked.
“Don’t you worry none about my leg,” McGraw replied, but Katrine noticed the strain in his voice. “Nothing a little nursing by a pretty lady can’t fix up.”
“How will those Chaucer boys and that foreign fellow know we’ve got their sisters? Don’t they think we’re back with Reeves and Strafford?”
“Wellington, some days you don’t show a lick of sense. They’ve long figured out we’re gone. When they come to find their women gone, they’ll know who took ’em.” He gave a dark laugh. “They just won’t know where.” His hand reached around to finger the lace at Katrine’s cuff. “Maybe we’ll send them a hint or two, just to keep things interesting.”
Katrine yanked her hand away from McGraw’s grasp, only to have him hold her more tightly against him. One thought settled quietly in her brain, dark and still as a graveyard: He tried to kill me once. He’ll do it again. Father God, do not let him succeed.
Chapter Eighteen
“Clint! Lars!” Gideon’s voice rose above a thunder of hooves sounding behind them. “Hold up!”
“Changed your mind about needing to see Evelyn?” Clint teased, only to drop his smile when he saw the panic on Gideon’s face.
“It’s McGraw. And Wellington. They’re gone.”
“I didn’t figure they were wounded that badly.” McGraw had a pretty bad gash in his leg, but it didn’t look like the kind of thing to kill him. Alice had tended to the wound, besides.
“No, they’re gone! One minute the four of them were slumped together, out cold, the next time I turned around Reid was running around yelling. I don’t know how that pair of snakes did it, but those two made off.” He gave the next two words the gravity they deserved: “With horses.”
For one leaden moment, silence filled the air while each of the three men envisioned the possible outcomes of McGraw’s escape. Then, as if all of them had come to the same conclusion, they set off at a gallop toward Elijah’s cabin and the infirmary.
Clint knew it was too late before he was even onto the property. The infirmary door swung open in the night wind, a chair lay toppled over just outside the door. Lars said something in Danish that needed no translation—his tone matched the slam of dread in Clint’s chest.
“He’s got her.” The very thing he’d tried so hard to prevent.
“And Evelyn,” Gideon added with alarm. “Evelyn was with Katrine.”
“I don’t think he’ll hurt them,” Clint said with a certainty he didn’t truly feel. His mind recalled the lecherous way McGraw had eyed Katrine. The private was smart enough to know possession of the two women gave him enormous leverage. He’d play that to the hilt, given his fondness for cat-and-mouse games. Still, he didn’t need their deaths to take his revenge—a man of his moral lack could harm good women in other ways. Clint battled to keep the rage boiling in his chest under enough control to let him think clearly. He stared at the open door. They’d taken no care to cover their tracks. “He wants us to know he has them.”
“If he so much as touches one hair on Evelyn’s head…” Gideon ground out through his teeth as they swung down off their horses to survey the scene.
Clint dreaded the question, but it had to be asked. “Lars, do you know where Winona is?”
Relief flooded the Dane’s blue eyes. “She told me she would gather Dakota and wait for me at the
Gilberts’.”
Clint ran his hands down his face, calculating who was where and could offer what help. “That’s good.”
“McGraw does not know her…” Lars struggled for the right way to say it “…value to me. She may be useful.”
Gideon looked a bit puzzled, but now was certainly not the time to go into specifics of that nature. “No,” Clint replied, “best keep her safe and out of this. Elijah and Alice are a bit behind us, right?”
Gideon began reloading his rifle, his tinderbox of a temper about to get the best of him. But Clint knew dealing with McGraw—especially now that the stakes were so high—would take strategy, not gunpowder. If he was heading anywhere close to an ammunition stash the size of one Lars had seen, McGraw could not be outgunned. He had to be out-thought. “Hold on there, Gideon.”
“That lout’s got Evelyn!” Gideon nearly shouted.
Clint could empathize—his insides were shouting for Katrine with every slam of his pulse. “I know. I know. But think, Gideon. We’ve got to try to think ahead of him. We’ve got to try to figure out where he’s taking her.” He turned to Lars, who had already begun to scan the scene like the master tracker Clint knew him to be. “What do you see?”
Lars had grabbed the lantern still burning in the infirmary and was inspecting the ground beside the building’s front porch. “Two horses.” He went a few steps farther. “Blood.”
“Blood?” Gideon surged forward to the dark splatters illuminated by the lantern.
Clint came up behind his brother and steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. “That’s good news. McGraw was injured, remember? If he’s still bleeding, he’s in bad shape.” Don’t let it be Katrine’s, Clint found himself praying, feeling as if no one but God Himself could keep her safe for the next hour. Or Evelyn’s blood, either. Think, Thornton. Be a sheriff.
