The Bond Unbroken

by Bond unbroken (NCP) (lit)

  "Anyways, the poor critter laid down in front of your door lookin' pitiful, and tweren't nothing nobody could do to budge him. You got yerself one loyal animal there, ma'am."

  "Bart is special, Tom. He's the best friend I've ever had," Katlin admitted with pride, then asked, "Know where a girl can get a cup of coffee?"

  * * * *

  Mitch watched Katlin, trying to find an indication that she remembered any part of their little bathtub interlude of the night before. He couldn't seem to think of anything else while she gave no indication of remembering anything at all. Though with Katlin, that didn't mean much. She was too adept at hiding her thoughts and emotions. Still, if she remembered nothing, he didn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

  After leaving Ben last night, he'd returned to his flea-bag room and his lonely bed where he'd spent a long, uncomfortable, sleepless night. It appeared Ben hadn't slept much better, though for different reasons. Ben had admitted he'd spent the night trying to make some sense out of Katlin being here and what it all meant. He said the sun was just beginning to rise when he finally accepted that it made no sense. It just was.

  So, here they sat, both men feeling and no doubt looking a little rough around the edges, drinking strong black coffee in an attempt to fight off the affects of a sleepless night. If there was any justice, the least Katlin could have done was to stay in bed most of the day nursing a hangover. But oh no, not Katlin McKinnen. She was bright eyed and bushy tailed, looking like she was ready to take on the world and annoyingly confident of her ability to do just that.

  Both men rose as Katlin approached the table, and Ben pulled out a chair for her.

  "Good Lord, chivalry isn't dead after all," she thought to herself. "It lives and breathes in the wildest, wickedest, cowtown in the west."

  "Good morning, gentlemen," she said brightly as she sat down. Then she looked up, eyeing each man in turn. They both looked a little worse for wear, and, unless she missed her guess, neither were in the best of moods. She wondered if maybe they hadn't gone out and tied one on themselves after she had gone to bed and were suffering the consequences this morning. Considering how she had felt when she woke this morning, she could understand they would feel none too pleased that she appeared to have suffered no ill effects herself.

  In an attempt to lighten their somber moods, she asked sweetly, "Gee guys, who peed in your corn flakes?" Probably not the smartest remark she'd ever made. It earned her a "Don't get cute," glare from Mitch, and poor Ben looked at Mitch as if expecting him to explain what she was talking about. Mitch gave Ben a "Damned if I know" shrug as both men sat down.

  Katlin took her first healthy drink of her coffee and choked. Last night she had somehow managed to belt down straight shots of Red Eye Whiskey without blinking an eye, but the thick sludge in her cup brought tears to her eyes. Feeling as if her tongue was coated with the hot black tar used to patch a leaky roof, she waited for the tongue numbing, bitter taste to fade before taking a stabilizing breath. Any moment now she expected the strong caffeine concentrate to enter her blood stream, sending her nervous system into anaphylactic shock.

  "Is this what you're drinking?" she gasped, and she'd be damned if both men didn't seem to be taking some perverse pleasure in her discomfort. "So much for chivalry." However inadvertently, choking on her coffee appeared to have succeeded where her corn flakes remark had failed. Both men were fighting grins as they picked up their cups and took a drink. Katlin supposed their action was the Wild West equivalent of Tarzan beating his chest and belting out a jungle yell to show what a powerful MAN he is.

  "You're awfully chipper this morning, considering . . . ." Mitch deliberately left his sentence unfinished, hoping to detect some tell-tale reaction. "I trust you slept well."

  "Like a baby," Katlin responded.

  She honestly had no memory of what happened between them in her room last night, Mitch realized, and he also had the answer to his other question. She didn't remember. He wasn't as relieved as he'd expected to be.

  "So, what's on the agenda for today?" Katlin asked.

  "Before you came down, we were thinking of going over to the Drover's Cottage for breakfast," Ben answered. "We figured you would probably sleep late."

  Detecting the subtle note of censure in his voice, she answered innocently, "Now, why would I want to do that, Uncle Ben?" Katlin responded sweetly, stressing the Uncle Ben. "It’s such a beautiful morning."

  "Why indeed?" Ben muttered, rising to his feet.

  Katlin took note that Ben was dressed today as she would expect a typical gunslinger to be dressed, black shirt, snug fitting black trousers tucked into black boots, and riding low on each hip was a holster tied down to his thighs with leather thongs. In combination with his black hair, black mustache, and dark eyes, he emitted the aura of a man to be reckoned with, if anyone was fool enough to risk crossing him. Gone were all traces of the fancy dressed gambler of the night before.

  "Breakfast it is," Katlin agreed, rising also. "I'm so hungry I might even indulge myself in an unhealthy dose of artery clogging cholesterol."

  Ben's eyebrows drew together in a frown. "I hope you won't be too disappointed. The Drover's Cottage has the best food in town, but they don't have any fancy foreign dishes on the menu."

  Katlin couldn't repress her giggle as she responded, "Trust me, they have plenty. Cholesterol isn't a food. It's in the food. Remind me to explain after breakfast. I wouldn't want to ruin your appetite."

  She walked over to Ben and looped her arm through his, then looked down at Mitch who was still seated. "Aren't you hungry, Mitch?" she asked, arching her right eyebrow in question as was his habit, an action Mitch considered deliberately provocative. She could tell he was annoyed with her, and she couldn't resist giving him an impish wink and a lazy smile, then was forced to choke back a chuckle at his resulting scowl.

  Oh he was hungry all right but not for food. Damn her. Did she remember or didn't she. Now he wasn't so sure.

  "Are you coming, Mitch?" Katlin asked as she extended her hand toward him in invitation. Mitch rose to his feet and caught her with a level gaze and a slow heart-stopping smile. Katlin couldn't decide whether the smile held a warning or a promise.

  "I’m afraid we'll have to leave Bart behind with Tom," Ben informed her reluctantly. "The manager of the Drover's Cottage has a prejudice against dogs in his dining room."

  It was a silent trio who walked down the plank board sidewalk, each lost in their own thoughts. For Katlin's part, she was busy assimilating her impressions of the sprawling city she had grown up in, comparing it to Abilene during its time as one of the most violent cowtowns in The Old West.

  Though it was early, and the town relatively quite, if you could ignore the sounds of thousands of stomping, bawling cattle penned in the sprawling stock yards, there were signs the human inhabitants were making ready to face a new day.

  It reminded Katlin of the eerie quiet following a Kansas tornado, when the people who had taken shelter slowly begin to emerge to assess the damage with an almost shell-shocked calm.

  Debris littered the hard mud-packed rutted street. A drover stumbled from an alley across the street where he'd no doubt slept off a drunken stupor from a night of reckless revelry. Mitch and Ben casually stepped over the sleeping, snoring form of a man who was still out cold then paused, waiting for her to follow suit, as if it were a common expected occurrence.

  Across the street, a shop keeper was sweeping up glass from the front window which had no doubt been shattered by a hail of bullets fired off by rowdy cowboys having a bit of fun. Painted across the top of the false front of the building was the name, J. Karatofsky - Great Western Store.

  Katlin had to ask herself if the Abilene Kansas of 1871 was any more violent or decadent than in her own time. In her time, everything was more methodical and covert, hidden behind the disguise of civilization and multiplied by the sheer size and population of the city. There, they had a huge, well trained, well equip
ped police force and a justice system which protected the rights of the law abiding citizens.

  "Like hell," Katlin muttered under her breath. In her time, children were bringing automatic weapons to school, shooting classmates and teachers indiscriminately. Gang violence and drive-by shootings were rampant. By comparison, the wicked Wild West was a peaceful reprieve from so much anger, fear, and confusion.

  As they approached the Drover's Cottage, Katlin tried to correlate how she had always imagined the hotel to look, based upon faded black and white photographs, drawings, and written descriptions, compared to viewing the actual structure. If she compared it to what she was used to, she would have to call it quaint, if a bit rustic. Comparing it to what she had seen of Abilene so far, it was no doubt elegant, a five star hotel of its time.

  The various accounts she'd read about the Drover's Cottage had described the color as everything from bright yellow to tan. Katlin put the color of the three story hotel with a railed porch running across the entire front of the building somewhere in between. She always figured that much of recorded history was based upon some fact mixed with the perceptions and imagination of the writer. If her memory of what she had read was accurate, the hotel had one hundred rooms, a restaurant, a saloon that was the equivalent of an exclusive private club, meeting rooms for cattlemen and buyers, and its own laundry. She also seemed to remember something about an adjoining barn large enough to house fifty carriages and over one hundred horses. For its time and location, the Drover's Cottage was indeed impressive.

  They had just reached the steps to the porch when the doors opened, and a man walked from the hotel.

  Katlin froze mid-step, her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach, and she felt almost consumed with rage. The vacation was over. Detective Sergeant Katlin McKinnen knew why she had been sent into the past.

  The man could be the identical twin of Rick Westfield. The man she had relentlessly investigated and personally arrested for rape, aggravated assault, and sexual deviant conduct. The man who had unjustly been declared . . . not guilty.

  The man who exited the famed hotel had to be one of the original Westfields in Abilene, or her enemy had followed her into the past to seek revenge.

  Chapter Seven

  Katlin looked on in stunned silence as the man rushed forward and greeted Mitch warmly with a vigorous handshake and a hearty slap on the back.

  "You son of a sidewinder, why didn't you let us know you were coming?" The man asked as he stepped back. "The old man was beside himself when he heard you were in town and not staying with us at the ranch."

  "It’s a long story, Rick," Mitch responded almost apologetically. "It seems some trouble followed me into town, and I don't want to put the family at risk by staying there."

  "This is not good," Katlin groaned inwardly as she stood watching Mitch greet the man like a long lost brother. Did she hear correctly? Did Mitch say family? This was worse than not good. A complicated situation had just gone from bad to plug ugly.

  Furthermore, what was Mitch referring to when he said trouble had followed him into town? Was he referring to the bounty on his head or to her?

  One thought barely crossed her mind before another followed. Katlin ruthlessly pulled a tight rein on those thoughts. Now was not the time to lose control. She was an experienced undercover cop, one with a role to play if she was to sort out this mess. Mitch's life could depend upon it.

  For the time being, her best course of action was to play the innocent observer. One of the reasons she was good at her job was because she knew you could often learn more from being patient and observing than from asking direct questions.

  If the chuckle that met Mitch's ‘trouble following him into town’ remark was anything to go by, there was no doubt in Katlin's mind as to how the other man had chosen to interpret it.

  "So I heard," Westfield responded with obvious amusement. "A couple of my men were in the Bull's Head last night when you arrived."

  Katlin had a suspicion of which men those were, she just had to prove it.

  Westfield's eyes moved from Mitch to Katlin, acknowledging her presence for the first time. His eyes were hooded, sharp, and assessing as he took in her appearance, reminding Katlin of a hawk circling before swooping down to impale its hapless prey with razor sharp talons. Had she received that same assessing look from Mitch it would have left her weak-kneed with excitement, but the gray gaze sliding over her left her feeling as if she had touched something cold, wet, and slimy.

  When he spoke, it was to Mitch even though his eyes were fixed upon Katlin. "This must be the sharp shooting female I've been hearing about," he acknowledged, favoring her with his most calculated, charming smile. "My men neglected, however, to tell me what a beautiful woman she is."

  Knowing who this man was, Katlin was honest enough to admit she was predisposed toward reading the worst possible motives into his actions. Praying she did not betray her agitation or suspicions, she nodded her head slightly to acknowledge the compliment. She plastered a smile on her face as she moved to loop her arm through Mitch's, making a deliberate point of declaring a relationship Mitch could easily dispute.

  Point made, Katlin waited for the reactions. Without saying a word, she had taken control of the situation, setting the stage. She hoped the other players followed where she lead them.

  Mitch looked down at her, clearly amused, if somewhat puzzled by her actions. He did not, however, seem inclined to dispute the impression she'd given.

  Ben, on the other hand, was leaning against the porch railing, looking on with an almost studied indifference, too studied, too indifferent. Katlin wore that same bland mask herself too often not to be able to recognize it on someone else. She also knew the mask was hiding something he didn't want anyone else to see, and Katlin had every intention of finding out exactly what that was.

  Katlin didn't miss the flicker of something almost predatory in Westfield's eyes as they slid from her face to her arm linked possessively through Mitch's. He looked up at Mitch with a grin. AI must say, old buddy, your taste in women seems to have changed drastically." Then, no doubt for Katlin's benefit, added, "Quite an improvement. Aren't you going to introduce us?"

  Not having a clue as to what had motivated Katlin's actions, Mitch knew exactly what he was doing when he extracted his arm from Katlin, then wrapped it around her shoulders, and pulled her closer to his side, effectively staking his claim.

  "Of course, old buddy. Where are my manners?" Mitch responded to his friend's question. Looking down at Katlin, he smiled warmly and gave her shoulder a gentle yet somehow warning squeeze, leaving Katlin feeling that she had already lost control of the scene she had set up.

  "Darling," Mitch said with deceptive sweetness, "I'd like you to meet my oldest friend, Rick Westfield. We grew up together, almost like brothers." Katlin couldn't help reminding herself that Cain and Able had been true brothers, and look how that had turned out.

  Then to Rick, he said, "And this lovely lady is Miss Katlin McKinnen, a very close friend who also happens to be Ben Thompson's niece."

  "Mr. Westfield," Katlin acknowledged with a smile she hoped appeared to be friendly, even though she felt more like gritting her teeth.

  "Miss McKinnen," Westfield replied with a gallant nod as he reached up and removed his flat-domed Stetson. Hat in hand, he looked toward Katlin. AI was ordered from my home this morning by my father with orders that I was to return with my old friend here in tow."

  "Get real," Katlin thought with a mental snort of disgust. The man's tone was

  patronizing as if he were speaking to a simpering idiot. Did the women in this time period honestly put up with this crap?

  "Anyway, ma'am, both you and Mitch are more than welcome to stay with us at the ranch. You would be made more than welcome. I'm sure my wife would enjoy the company of another female."

  Though Katlin found the invitation tempting, affording her the opportunity to get close to the family, she also knew she had to uncove
r some information which could only be found in Abilene. She could easily see herself stuck out on a ranch in the middle of nowhere, entertaining the little wife, while Mitch conducted his own investigation unencumbered by a lady cop from the future.

  As much as Katlin believed responding to Westfield's invitation by acting like a docile, unimaginative female without a mind or will of her own would leave the impression she wasn't someone he needed to be concerned about, she couldn't force herself to do it.

  "You've come a long way, baby," was the thought that entered Katlin's mind as she looked him directly in the eye without attempting to disguise the sharp-eyed intelligence shining from her own as she responded, "As much as I appreciate the invitation, Mr. Westfield . . . ."

  "Rick," he interrupted. "Any friend of Mitch's is a friend of the Westfield family."

  "Rick," she agreed with a nod. "I’m sure you understand that I haven't seen my Uncle Ben in years, and I'd like to spend more time with him."

  "And her uncle wouldn't have it any other way," Ben inserted with quiet emphasis, speaking for the first time. "Mitch, however, doesn't need to concern himself that my niece will be well looked after if he chooses to take you up on the invitation."

  "Fat chance," Mitch and Westfield muttered simultaneously.

  Although there were no outward signs of it, Rick Westfield was sharp enough to pick up on the subtle undercurrents between Mitch and Ben Thompson. Knowing them to be friends of long standing, he also suspected a woman, especially this woman, could well set off a spark that could effectively solve his problem.

  "Don't give it a thought, Miss McKinnen. I understand perfectly," Rick said. "It would, however, do my father a world of good if you and Mitch would do us the honor of joining us at the ranch for supper this evening." As an after thought he added, knowing he wouldn't be taken up on the offer, "You're welcome to join us as well, Ben."

  "Thanks for the invite, but I think I'll pass," Ben answered.