by Griggs, Winnie; Pleiter, Allie; Hale, Deborah; Nelson, Jessica
“I came for her, not for you. I’d love to hunt you down like the weasel you are, but right now I’d just as soon never see you again.”
I came for her. The words sank themselves deep into Katrine’s fear, giving her something to hold on to. He was reaching for her even now, just the same as when he pulled her out from the fire.
“As if I’d believe the likes of you would just stand there while I waltzed away.”
“Let her go, let Evelyn go, and I may surprise you.”
A twig snapped far to Katrine’s right, and she fought the urge to swing her head around toward the noise. Clint’s eyes told her not to move, and she heard the command as clearly as if he’d spoken.
“You telling me you got eyes for this one?” McGraw ground out. “What makes you think I don’t already know that? What makes you think that ain’t exactly why I took her? Why I might not just keep her for myself just to spite you?”
While Sam was talking, Clint cast his eyes down toward his left hand, his fingers spread flat against the leg of his pants. When she looked back up again, it took her a second to realize he was mouthing something to her, but she could not make it out. She gave Clint a puzzled look.
“’Cause even you’re not that much of a snake, McGraw,” Clint went on, his eyes continuing to dart between her and what she could only assume was the rifle-ready stance of Sam McGraw behind her. “Or do you want to prove me wrong?” Clint said. His face was taut and fierce, yet somehow he managed to keep his words casual, almost like children daring each other in the schoolyard.
He cast his glance down to his hand again, which now had four fingers flat against his pant leg. When she looked up again, it only took Katrine a second to realize he was mouthing the word fire—four in Danish.
He was counting down. Counting down to do something—but what?
Chapter Twenty-One
McGraw could fire on him at any moment. Clint knew that, but he also knew somewhere in his gut that McGraw would not. He kept it up, baiting McGraw into conversation, waiting for Katrine to realize he was signaling her to get ready.
The middle of an armed standoff was not an ideal place to declare his affection for Katrine, but he needed distraction and this was the biggest surprise he could conjure up with a gun aimed at his heart. Funny, that was half how the words came out—if McGraw was going to shoot him down in the open, part of him wanted to make sure the words were spoken before he took a bullet. I came for her. An odd peace told him that if he was going to go, staring into Katrine’s blue eyes seemed like a good way to meet his Maker.
Only Clint Thornton had no plans to meet that Maker anytime soon. He was going to let McGraw think he had the upper hand only long enough to get the man surrounded. Keep him distracted long enough to have Gideon in position to ensure Evelyn made it out alive, as well. Her shouts had confirmed what Clint suspected—that McGraw had locked the women in the little shed off the cabin.
Slowly, Clint curled his ring finger into his fist so that three fingers now lay flat against his pant leg. “Where’s your buddy Wellington?” he called. “Did you promise him prime stakes of land? Pocketfuls of money? Evelyn?” He knew he’d succeeded in antagonizing McGraw, and that increased the chances the man would tire of the game and start shooting, but Clint knew his job and knew how to take a desperate man down. He mouthed tre—three—to Katrine, and she gave a barely perceptible nod.
“Two claims of my own!” Jesse shouted from out of a hole McGraw had knocked in the shed wall earlier. Clint calculated what Gideon would already guess—Wellington was in the front of the shed and Evelyn would be frightened enough to stay back as far as she could. “I don’t want no momma with a sniveling young’un.”
“You sure you can take a man like McGraw at his word, Wellington? I wouldn’t be, not after what I’ve seen. After all, where are the other two of the Black Four? What’s to say he won’t leave you behind as easily as he did them?” He curled his middle finger into his fist so that only two fingers lay against his pant leg, no longer needing the Danish numerals Lars had taught him one afternoon to pass the time on a long ride.
Suddenly, a shriek came from the direction of the shack as a shot rang out from the shed. A ball of fire exploded in Clint’s left shoulder, knocking him a step backward. Katrine screamed and ran toward him. Despite the pain racing through his arm, Clint yelled his planned final command, “Komme ned!”—“Get down!”—and pushed her toward his feet as he reached behind with his good arm to grab and then fire the pistol he’d slipped in his waistband. He figured he might have the chance of two revolver shots to take down McGraw and his rifle; he prayed God granted him aim enough to do it in one.
He watched the wood of the doorway explode in splinters from his first shot as his vision began to blacken around the edges. Thrusting Katrine behind him, he sank to one knee and fired again, more by instinct than any true sense of aim. Behind and in front of him the other men shouted and fired rifles and pistols; the battle seemed to be waging in every direction. He strained through the noise to hear Evelyn, knowing her cries were from fear, not injury. Clint threw his body over Katrine’s just as Wellington hollered in pain. As he raised his head, a rifle shot from McGraw’s direction sent a bullet whizzing inches from his temple. He covered Katrine’s head with his bad arm, even though the resulting pain made his ears ring and his head spin. The crashing and yelling seemed to go on for hours, although it could hardly have been a handful of minutes before the only sound he could hear was Katrine’s terrified whimpers underneath him.
Clint rolled off her, falling flat on his back in the soil with enough strength left to turn his head in the direction of the cabin where he saw Gideon, Evelyn clinging to his side, standing over the limp body of Sam McGraw facedown in the dirt. He turned back toward Katrine and gasped in fright at her closed eyes and bloody cheek. He rolled to his side toward her, sliding his wounded arm up to lay a bloodied hand against that red-streaked cheek, only to crumble in relief as those blue eyes opened wide to meet his gaze.
“Are you alive?” He had to ask. He had to hear her voice the words.
“Ja,” she whispered. “But you are shot. Clint, you are shot!” She began to cry. “So much blood.” He noticed the red pool on her blouse, panicking until he realized it was from where he had lain on top of her.
“Help!” she cried, scrambling to her knees and frantically undoing her apron to hold it to the wound as Alice must have taught her. It stung like a hundred bees but Clint was so happy to see her unwounded he couldn’t bring himself to mind.
Theo Chaucer was over him then, blocking out the sunlight and extending a hand. “Can you sit up?”
Clint managed to maneuver himself upright with Theo’s help, even though the world spun fast around him and his pulse thundered in his ears. His sleeve was warm and wet; sparks of burning fire were shooting down his arm all the way to his fingers. He felt Katrine’s arms around his neck, helping to hold him upright. They were soft and cool, soothing the burning sensation now creeping out in every direction from his shoulder.
“I see a hole in your back where the bullet went clean through,” Theo said. “I reckon if we can get this bleeding stopped, you’ll live to tell the tale.”
“There’s bandages and ointment inside where we were tending to McGraw.” Evelyn’s tearful voice came from somewhere to his left. “Bring him in there.”
Clint angled his feet underneath him, feeling Theo’s grip pull him to his feet. Katrine’s tender hands wrapped his good arm around her neck. His last thought, before the world went black and spun him down the rabbit hole, was that she proved his earlier prediction right: she did fit perfectly under his arm.
*
Katrine wiped the last of the blood from her hands and sat down beside the rickety cot where Clint had been laid. When he’d tumbled over in the clearing, it had taken both Theo Chaucer and Gideon to hoist him into the cabin so his wounds could be tended. It was gruesome to step over McGraw’s lifeless body, and sh
e was glad the men tended to McGraw’s and Wellington’s corpses while she and Evelyn worked to clean and dress Clint’s shoulder.
He was alive—she knew that by the half-conscious grunts and groans he made when Evelyn applied the stinging whiskey and pressed on the wound. Still, they could not seem to slow the bleeding down enough, and Clint had made his presence known with a loud yell when Gideon pressed a glowing knife to his wound to burn it shut. How ironic that fire—which had tried to take her life—ended up saving his. Much as she wanted to get back to Brave Rock and Lars this very minute, Gideon had suggested giving Clint a stretch of time to heal and settle before they attempted the trip.
She spent most of that time sitting beside him, staring at his jaw, his hairline, the set of his shoulders. Every detail seemed new and precious, even the things she’d noticed about him long before now. They’d been in close proximity many times since the fire, but not close like this. This was altogether different.
Katrine reached out and placed his hand in her palm. It was warm—not fever warm, thankfully, but a solid, strong kind of warm. These hands had come to mean so much to her. The pads of his fingers and the heel of his palm were calloused from hard work, and the back of his hand still held the reddened scar from where he’d scraped himself in the fire. They’d stripped his bloody shirt off to treat the gunshot wound, revealing strong arms and muscled shoulders. It was not just physical strength she could see, but the inner force of a man who accepted his calling to protect others. The strength of these arms had protected her not once, but twice.
Now, staring at Clint, Katrine knew she wanted more than protection from these arms; she wanted their embrace. She knew for sure now what she’d begun to realize last night—she was ready to risk telling him of her past. Wasn’t it the only way to ensure that whatever future they had—if God was kind enough to grant them a future—could be built on truth? Katrine was done with secrets and wanted none between her and Clint. Not this morning, not ever.
Lifting the hand on Clint’s good side, she raised it to her cheek and kissed the back of his palm. His eyes fluttered open, at first lost in the haze of his injury, then leaping to life when he caught sight of her face.
“You’re all right.” He said it with such a genuine relief, his eyes falling back shut for a moment, that Katrine felt the lump in her throat rise back up and threaten more tears.
“Yes,” she whispered softly, “I am fine, thanks to you.” She kept his hand to her cheek, even while he awoke fully. It felt like a bold declaration, and then again the most natural thing in all the world.
He stiffened for a moment as his awareness returned. “McGraw?”
Of course Clint’s first thoughts would be of securing safety. She felt herself smile and nod, even as she waited for him to recognize that she was holding his hand. “Dead. Wellington, too. You saved Evelyn and me—you and Gideon and the others.”
Clint winced. “He shot me, the dishonorable varmint. Thought I was unarmed and shot me anyway.” His words were a little slurred and unchecked. She’d not heard Clint resort to name-calling ever, and she found such a peek into his unguarded feelings tender and amusing. The vigilant lawman with his guard down. It doubled her affection for him even as he’d yet to realize he was touching her.
Still, his hand rested against her cheek with an instinctive ease that made Katrine’s breath sparkle in her chest and made her want to laugh. “I am very glad Wellington is a poor shot. Theo says the bullet missed your heart. It went clean through and your shoulder will heal.”
Clint grunted. “Theo ought to know what my shoulder feels like before he makes such claims. Everything burns.”
Katrine moved her hand to wipe Clint’s furrowed brow. “We will get you to Alice as soon as we can, but for now you must stay put.”
His fingers moved softly against her cheek even as his eyes fell shut again. “You’re all right. He didn’t hurt you?”
She smiled at his repeated questions. He did care. She’d known it on some level long before today, but today his clear and unguarded affection settled warmly in her heart. “I am fine.” She brushed a lock of dark hair off his forehead, glad to feel it cool and free of fever.
The intimate gesture seemed to waken him. It was a glorious thing to watch, to see his dark eyes glow with warmth as he realized how his hand lay against her cheek, how she touched him. There was a second of panic—the old Clint standing guard over his feelings—but it quickly fell away to a relief that made her want to cry.
“You came for me.” It said everything and nothing all at once.
The smile that started at the corners of his mouth seemed to ignite his eyes. With a wince he rolled his head slowly so he could look her fully in the face. “I came right out and said that, didn’t I?”
Words fled out of reach, and Katrine could only nod, still pressing his good hand to her cheek. She felt his fingers spread against her skin, as if verifying she was solid and real, not some pain-induced hallucination.
“Didn’t plan on that. Just sort of jumped out while I was staring at your eyes. Your eyes are so blue.” His voice began to fade a bit. “Not seen anything else so blue in all my days.” His eyes fell shut for a moment, then reopened. “You’re not hurt?”
“No, silly,” she reassured him, filled with such affection that she leaned down and kissed his cheek. She’d meant it to be a quick, gentle kiss, but found herself staying softly pressed against his stubbled skin for a lingering, blissful stretch of time.
His sigh at first was deep and contented, until awareness caused his eyes to open wide. “What’s that for?”
Now she laughed. “What are any kisses for?”
He stared at her, the full realization finally hitting him. She’d never seen anything so delightful. “So,” he fumbled, looking half his weathered years, “you…are too in?”
When she raised an eyebrow, he continued, “Lars told me it’s not falling in Danish, it’s more like are too.”
Katrine wondered if Clint had lost more blood than they realized. “I don’t understand.”
Clint closed his eyes, his brows knitting together in concentration. “The Danish phrase for being sweet on someone. In English we say falling in love but Lars said the Danish is more like are too in love.”
Katrine had to think about it for a moment, but in a direct translation, Lars was right. “Yes. Jeg elsker dig.”
Clint was wide awake now, managing a big, if slightly slanted smile. Truly, Katrine felt as if she’d watched a completely new man emerge from the shell of the old one. Would anyone believe such a glint could inhabit the sheriff’s eyes? “I sure hope that means what I think it means.” His voice held hope and joy.
There was only one way to respond. Katrine leaned over and brushed his lips with hers. “It means my heart is yours,” she whispered.
Clint moved his good hand from her cheek to slide around her neck and pull her close. His kiss was tender and full of life. While it was a small kiss, it was more than she’d imagined, and full of so much relief she thought she’d cry again right there on the spot.
He brushed her hair back from her forehead. “We have loads to work out. There are things you need to know.”
Katrine put her finger to his lips. “Shh. I know what I need to know. And we will have time enough for that later.”
He ventured a look around him, wincing as he tried unsuccessfully to rise. “Don’t think I’m going anywhere anytime soon. So we got time for this.” With that, he pulled her close and proved to Katrine that a man does not need the use of his shoulder to show a woman his heart.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The ride back to Brave Rock felt a hundred miles long. Clint had been shot before—wounded far worse, near as he could remember—but Wellington’s bullet seemed to light fire to every nerve up and down his left side. The bleeding had finally stopped; he could give thanks for that.
He could give thanks for lots of things today.
Except one. “You lookin
g for the bumps up there?” he called through gritted teeth as he sat in the payload of the wagon Lije had brought. “Or are they just finding you?” Every jolt of the wagon reminded him that whatever Alice had given him for the pain wasn’t near enough.
“I’m actually being careful,” Lije called over his shoulder. “Try to be glad we could get the wagon up here at all.” McGraw had chosen his hiding spot well—that shack had been out in the middle of nowhere—and in the vast Oklahoma territory, that was saying something. The wagon took another vicious jolt and Clint hissed through his teeth. “Sorry!” Lije offered. “That was a big one.”
“They’re all big ones,” Clint muttered. Katrine squeezed his good hand, and he distracted himself in the stunning blue of her eyes. “I’ll try to remember I hurt ’cause I’m alive.”
Alice leaned over the backboard. “Is he bleeding, Katrine?”
Tender hands inspected his bandages. “No, no bleeding.” Katrine needed no encouragement to fuss over Clint. If it weren’t so pleasant to have her fawning over him like this, he might be annoyed. As it was, he couldn’t contain his wonder at the nearness of her. Clint couldn’t be sure if it was the pain medicine or the intoxicating smell of her hair that made him woozy. He was surprised to discover he didn’t care. He was going home to a free and peaceful Brave Rock, and that’s all that mattered.
“I’m going to be fine,” he assured her worried eyes. “Soon enough.”
Katrine smiled. He’d been fascinated by her smile before, but now that she smiled for him, it unwound his common sense. He could conjure up a list of twenty reasons why they shouldn’t be together, and in one look she could whisk them away like weeds in a dust storm. “I am glad to hear it,” she said, checking his bandage yet again. “I have done enough worrying for ten years, ja?”
