Katriona's Keeper (The Alphabet Mail-Order Brides Book 11)

by Lynn Winchester

  It was the perfect size for her new home.

  Now, to find something to do to pass the time before Race got home and found her gone. At first, she was worried he’d be upset by her absence, but then she realized that if he didn’t have the decency to send word about his whereabouts and activities, that she didn’t need to tell him about hers. They were partners, after all. Tit for tat—as Madame Wigg would say. Although, she wouldn’t say that about one spouse doing wrong to the other. But Madame Wigg wasn’t stuck married to a thoughtless lout, either.

  Shaking off her frustrations, Katriona had wound her way around the town streets, people watching, until she finally made her way to a small eatery. There were several people inside, sitting at round tables, eating what looked and smelled like delicious food. She’d gone in, sat at a table near the windows—to continue her people watching—and was immediately set upon by the pretty blonde with the gorgeous dress and bright smile.

  At Tilly’s request for more information about New York City, Katriona gladly spilled all she could about the place. Tillie listened, asked questions, coaxed her on excitedly, and finally slapped the table, jiggling the flatware Katriona had used to eat her chicken pot pie.

  “My goodness, I didn’t think there was so much to learn about a place,” Tilly remarked, leaning back in her chair. “And I bet there is more to tell.”

  Katriona smiled, happy to have spent time with Tilly, who’d helped her forget about her troubles for a while.

  “There’s lots more to tell, but I should get going,” Katriona said, peering out the window at the late afternoon sun. “I didn’t mean to spend so much time chatting.”

  Tilly grinned, shrugging. “I love meeting new people, especially when they are so interesting.”

  Katriona hadn’t told Tilly much about her personally, just that she’d travelled from New York and was settling in Dry Bayou.

  “You can’t leave until you tell me what brought you all the way to Texas,” Tilly demanded, placing her hands over Katriona’s on the table. Katriona could refuse and leave anyway, but there was something about Tilly that made her want to stay, open up to her, and let her in.

  Sighing, Katriona admitted, “My benefactress, Madame Wigg, the one who runs the foundling home and school…”

  Tilly nodded, silently encouraging Katriona to continue.

  “Well, she isn’t doing too well.”

  Tilly frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that…but what does that have to do with you leaving New York?”

  A humorless laugh escaped before Katriona could stop it. “The woman was determined to see us all—all twenty-five of my sisters and I—settled with grooms before she passed on.”

  Tilly fairly squealed. “You mean you came out here to get married?”

  Flushed and a bit wary about bringing Race into the conversation, she blurted, “And to start a school.”

  Her eyes wide, Tilly leaned in, curiosity written into her lovely face. “A school? What kind of school?”

  Now this was a topic Katriona didn’t mind going on about for hours, but she really should think about getting back to the cabin. Being gone a few hours was fine, it gave her time to cool off from her frustrations over Race’s insensitivity, but she still had to live with the man. Which meant heading home and dealing with whatever happened.

  “I wish I had the time to talk with you about it, but I really ought to get home.” She stood, pushing her chair back.

  Tilly stood as well. “Where is home?”

  “Dry Bayou Ranch,” Katriona answered.

  Tilly gasped. “You live at the ranch?” Suddenly, her eyes narrowed pensively. “Who did you say you came here to marry?”

  Katriona hadn’t said. She shrugged, hoping the motion seemed carefree and not as tense as she felt.

  “Mr. Horace Tucker.”

  Again, Tilly gasped, just before she burst into laughter. Taken aback by the other woman’s outburst, Katriona pursed her lips.

  “What’s so funny about that?” she asked, hating how petulant she sounded.

  Dragging in a breath to speak, Tilly answered, “You’re the one Ray was talking about, the woman who stepped off the stagecoach and went right to work leading her man around by his nose.”

  Ruffled by Tilly’s words, Katriona opened her mouth to set her straight, but Tilly continued.

  “I only laugh because I think fate has a sense of humor about such things,” she explained. “I came in here to have lunch with Ray, but when Ray didn’t show, I was about to leave when you walked in. I just knew by looking at you that you were someone I wanted to know. And, sure enough, you are! I can’t wait to tell Ray about this.”

  “You know Ray?” Katriona asked, her ruffled feathers falling back into their proper place.

  “Oh, we’ve been best friends for decades,” Tilly replied, smiling.

  At Tilly’s answer, Katriona couldn’t help but agree that fate had dealt an interesting hand.

  “Well then, we should be friends, too. And if you have the time, I’ll need someone to introduce me to all the tradesmen in town.”

  Tilly arched a golden eyebrow before inquiring, “Why?”

  “Because I’ll need some teachers for the school I plan to build.”

  Chapter Ten

  Race turned Twister down Robinson Street, his mood as dark as the sky. It was well past supper time, and he still hadn’t located his wayward wife.

  That woman needs a keeper…

  “Where in the world has she gone off to?” he grumbled to himself, forcing a smile and wave to Gaston Mosier as he passed by. Gaston owned the saddlery, and Race had purchased his handmade, personalized saddle from the man, and he was a nice enough fellow. But Race wasn’t in the mood for polite conversation—not when his wife of one day was missing.

  If he were really worried about her, he supposed he could go talk with Sheriff La Fontaine, but Race couldn’t picture Katriona getting herself into trouble. He told himself that she probably walked into town, got caught up in the busyness of a new town, and lost track of time.

  So where is she?

  “Tucker!” someone called from behind him. He turned to see Dr. Hank Bartlett closing up his clinic, waving him over. He was standing beside Mrs. Joy MacAdams, wife to his fellow ranch foreman—except that her husband Seamus saw to all things sheep related.

  “Hey there, Doc,” he drawled, pulling Twister to a stop.

  “Goodnight, Joy,” Hank said to the departing woman as she took her leave, no doubt to go home to her loving husband—a man who hadn’t spent the day looking for her.

  Sour anger roiled in his gut, but he pushed it down, watching as Hank stepped off the boardwalk to come up beside Race.

  “I hear you got yourself married yesterday, what’re you doing in town? I figured that a newly married couple would at least spend the first few days…getting to know one another better,” Hank remarked, his face cloaked in the long shadows cast by the lanterns hanging at regular intervals from the boardwalk posts.

  “I’m lookin’ for my wife. She left home sometime this afternoon, and I have yet to find her,” he answered honestly.

  Hank chuckled. “Well, that’s interesting, considering Tilly came into the clinic about two hours ago, going on about a Katriona Tucker she’d met at Joe’s Eatery.”

  Race’s heart rate kicked into a high gallop.

  “Did she say if Katriona was still there when she left?”

  Hank shook his head. “Tilly said Katriona was headed to the livery to get a ride back to the ranch. I thought that was strange, considering there are plenty of horses at the ranch she could have used.” Hidden as Hank’s face was, Race couldn’t tell if the man was expressing censure over the fact that Race hadn’t provided his own wife with a horse.

  He’d failed to provide something she needed. The anger he’d felt toward Katriona turned its hiss and fangs on Race, sinking deep to let loose its venom.

  “Tilly didn’t happen to mention what she and Katriona talke
d about?” he asked without thinking.

  Hank chuckled, raising his hand to rub at his neck. “If I didn’t know better, Race Tucker, I’d think you were nervous.”

  Biting his lip in his rush to disabuse Hank of his misconception, Race blurted, “Nervous about what? What’s to be nervous about?” To his own ears, he sounded like a jittering fool, so he knew Hank didn’t miss it.

  Instead of chuckling again as Race expected, Hank stepped up closer to Race, placing a hand on Twister’s withers. Twister turned to nuzzle Hank’s hand—she’d always been a flirt.

  “Old married man that I am, I can honestly tell you that there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think I’ve somehow messed the whole danged thing up. I make mistakes, get anxious about it, but then Tilly swoops in, assuages my fears, and we build a better relationship—moment by moment, mistake by mistake.”

  “We’ve only been married a day,” Race commented, as if that was an excuse. Deep down, in the core of him, he knew that he and Katriona had started their marriage on the wrong foot—shoot, the wrong leg, more like. They’d already argued, he’d broken a promise, she’d gone off without telling him, and now he was stuck on the back of his horse when he should be home, his arms wrapped around his wife. In bed.

  Hank rubbed Twister’s nose, smiling. “Well,” he said then paused. “I think you ought to head home and make sure there’s another day to add to the first one.”

  Hank was right—what was he doing? He should have been home with his wife all day. He never should have left her to put his work before her, especially when their marriage was so new…so vulnerable. Like that colt he’d sacrificed his breakfast—and maybe his marriage—for.

  With a nod and wave to Hank, Race kicked his horse into a gallop, racing toward the edge of town and the road to the ranch beyond. It was dark, but he and Twister could find their way blind.

  As he approached the cabin for the second time that day, there was smoke billowing from the stove chimney, the interior was ablaze in lantern light, and there were the tell-tale sounds of someone moving around inside.

  She’s home…where I should have been all along.

  He knew he needed to apologize to her. That should be easy. He was raised by parents who apologized to each other all the time, he knew how it was done—but he knew his pride was biting back, pushing him to keep his mouth shut. She was his wife, she should know he had to work, that work was what put food on the table, kept them in the cabin, and would keep her in pretty dresses and bonnets for as long as she lived. But then the other voice, the one that sounded a lot like his pa, told him that women were more than just objects you polished and kept on the mantle, they were industrious people, capable of great things—so long as you let them do what they were meant to do. His ma, Mrs. Lavender Tucker, had been a teacher for years before taking over the foundling school. She’d helped raise her younger siblings, had helped Pa build their home and create a piece of land that produced enough food to feed the children at the school. She also raised him, nurtured him, taught him, and, at times, had helped Pa think through complicated business matters at the smithy he ran in town. His parents had been the perfect team—and that’s what he wanted for his own marriage.

  But what about Katriona? She had outrageous dreams about building some school to teach trades and life skills. It would take more money than they had, and it would take time—hours and hours a day. When would she have time to be his wife? His partner?

  No.

  His mind made up, he dismounted at the lean-to, unsaddled and brushed out Twister for the second time that day, and put her in for the night with some oats and fresh water. Stepping onto the porch, he mentally rehearsed how the apology would go; he’d tell her he was sorry about leaving and missing breakfast, then he’d explain to her that she should expect more days like that. It was logical to assume a ranch foreman would have to make decisions without telling his wife first. Then, they’d settle in for the night, perhaps do some more kissing, then….

  Excited by the thought of where the evening would end up, Race was grinning when he pushed open the door. Stepping inside, he closed the door behind him and took in the scene before him.

  The table had been cleared, the fire in the stove was burning bright orange, and his wife was standing at the wash basin drying what looked like the last dish.

  From the stiffening in her shoulders, he knew she’d heard him come in.

  Apologize…

  He cleared his throat, then began, “Katriona, I’d like to apologize—woman! What in the name of St. Pete are you wearin’?” When he’d begun speaking, Katriona had turned toward him, and his eyes finally caught on to what she was wearing.

  “What does it look like I’m wearing,” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

  He sputtered, his mind boggled, his eyes bulging from his head at the sight of his wife’s long, curvy legs encased in body-hugging material. “You’re wearin’ trousers!”

  A lopsided smile lifted one side of her mouth. It was a mocking smile.

  “That’s right. They’re more comfortable than skirts, and make it easier to move around when I don’t have a mountain of wool and crinoline around my legs.”

  “But I can see every inch of you! You wore them into town?” His voice was deeper than usual, almost like a growl, but he couldn’t stop the rush of possessiveness from grabbing hold of him.

  “No one else seemed to mind,” she remarked, shrugging as if showing every man in Dry Bayou what belonged to him was nothing of importance.

  “I mind,” he ground out, walking to her to stand above her, his eyes peering down into a face that showed no signs of remorse or guilt. “No one should get to see those legs but me.”

  A flush flooded her face but she didn’t look away. “Well…” she murmured, her voice suddenly husky. “I didn’t think about that.”

  No, she hadn’t. He could tell by the look of chagrin on her face that she hadn’t thought about what it meant to walk around in trousers, showing off those glorious legs to other men.

  His anger dispersing, he sighed. Race rubbed at the bridge of his nose, the exhaustion of the day finally hitting him.

  “Come on, let’s get to bed. We can talk about it tomorrow,” he said.

  Katriona’s chin tipped up, just a fraction higher, and she replied, “Fine.” Her shoulders back, she moved around him and walked toward the bedroom.

  The second bedroom.

  “Where are you goin’?” he demanded, following behind her as she walked into the room.

  “I’m going to bed, just like you suggested.” Her tone was flat.

  “Not in here, you aren’t,” he growled, not in the mood to argue with her again, especially not when all he really wanted to do was rest beside her…listen to her breathe, and watch her beautiful face at peace.

  She planted her hands on her hips, glaring at him.

  “You made it quite clear that this marriage is nothing more than a momentary distraction from work. I am to stay home, waiting for you to come home when you dang well feel like it. Well, if that’s what you want, then there’s no need for all the….” She blushed. “Other things.”

  He strode to her, stopping just inches from her face. His lips were close enough to her he could have brushed then against hers… He wanted to. To taste that passion that was scorching her from the inside out. His gaze held hers—blazing sapphire—and he bent a little closer. Her breath caught.

  “I refuse to go to sleep without my wife beside me,” he drawled, his tone dangerous.

  There was a flicker of something in her expression, but it disappeared before he could catch it, then, she was moving back, away from him. An invisible shield of cold surrounding her. The fire dampened.

  She spoke, her voice as chilly as the shards of ice in her eyes. “Then I suppose you’d better learn to stay awake.”

  She closed the door in his face, and he couldn’t stop himself from growling into the smooth wooden barrier, “Woman, you n
eed a keeper.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Race tossed the bale of hay into the wagon, his muscles screaming at him for his abuse. He’d been working from before sunrise to well passed sunset, doing whatever needed doing…away from his own home. His own wife.

  It had been ten days since Katriona had moved into the second bedroom, effectively shutting him out. When he left, she was still in bed, and when he came home, she was back in her room, the door shut, but the lantern light showing under the door.

  Sometimes, he’d stand there and stare at that light, wondering what she was going, what she was thinking about. Was she sleeping well, was she getting enough to eat? He knew she was cooking because the food Moira brought every morning—as a sort of honeymoon gift—was gone when he returned later that night. She had a home, food, and he’d made sure to give her access to the horses in the stable, just so that she had a way into town when she felt like going. But that wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be. Not for Katriona. She deserved better than silence and an empty cabin.

  Where she went, what she did, who she talked to…he had no idea. And it was killing him to not see her, to not speak with her—even in an argument, to not feel the warmth of her beside him as he lay awake, staring into the ceiling.

  He missed her. Race didn’t know how it was possible for her to root herself in his soul as she had in only a day, but she had. And the roots were withering.

  Their marriage was a failure before it even had a chance.

  It doesn’t have to be… There was the voice, the one that sounded too much like his Pa’s. The voice of reason. The voice that lead him down the path with the obstacles, pitfalls, rugged terrain, and the final destination of his dreams: a blissful marriage.

  “Race,” a familiar voice called from the far side of the wagon. He watched as Ray stepped around it, walking toward him with her flaming red hair flying about wildly. She always walked with purpose, like Katriona did.