Four Weddings and a Kiss

by Margaret Brownley

  “Thank you,” she gasped, her hat hitting him in the face. She grabbed for it as it went flying out toward the street.

  Treb snatched the hat with his free hand while tightening his grip on Katie just as the silly horse ran straight into the path of an oncoming wagon.

  Katie pushed away from him as if he were a hot coal, then grabbed for the reins as they barely missed colliding with the wagon.

  “Watch out!” the grizzly-looking man yelled. He shot to his feet in his wagon and pumped a fist at them.

  Katie shot to her feet. “Watch out yourself!” she yelled as the wagon careened across the rutted road and past other wagons heading their way.

  Treb gripped her by the gun belt and yanked her down. Her backside hit the seat with a hard thud.

  “Ouch!” she yelped, glaring at him, mouth open, eyes flashing. He pushed her hat at her and snatched the reins in one motion. Fuming, she fumbled to get a grip on her hat before it took another ride on the wind.

  “Myrtle May’s done driving today,” he snapped, pulling firmly on the reins.

  “Hey, give those back to me.”

  “Nope.”

  “You work for me,” she huffed, looking madder than an angry prairie dog. “Give me those reins.”

  “Nope.” Focusing straight ahead, he placed his elbows on his knees and gave a tug to let Myrtle May know he was in charge.

  “Well,” Katie huffed again. He could feel her eyes burning holes in his back. “I ought to—”

  He looked briefly over his shoulder at her. “Fire me? Looks like you have plenty of men lined up ready to take my place.”

  Katie eyed him rebelliously from beneath the brim of the floppy brown hat.

  He wondered if her hand was tickling the pearl handle of her Colt.

  Probably. He could be a dead man in about half a second.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SERVES YOU RIGHT, KATIE PEARL.

  Katie nibbled at her bottom lip, her hands holding tight to the reins the stubborn man handed over to her after they’d gotten out of town and into open space. Poor Myrtle May was moving at her own sporadic pace toward the ranch.

  He hadn’t said a word since he’d handed her the leathers. He’d arched one of his thick, dark brows, then slumped in the seat like a lump of lard. A handsome lump, but a lump nonetheless. He’d pulled his hat down over his eyes and leaned back against the oat bags that were stacked higher than the low seat back. Time for a nap.

  Katie tugged her hat to the side to shield her eyes just a bit, then snuck a peek at him.

  The dad-burn hat got in her way. But she could see that he was a huge, dark-haired mountain of a man.

  She hadn’t realized how big he was until he’d climbed up and sat down beside her. And then when he’d grabbed her up against him! The man had muscles as hard as green pears. Almost knocked the breath out of her when he’d slammed her to him. To be fair, she might have leaned out too far when she stood up and waved her fist at the rude man in the other wagon. Not that she would have fallen out of the thing—she’d have saved herself before that.

  She was good at saving herself.

  Still, truth be told, Treb Rayburn had sort of rescued her . . .

  “So, what are you mad about?” she grunted out loud before she could stop herself. She glanced at Treb and was relieved that he was still sleeping. Since the tornado, she tended to talk to herself—and it was plumb worrisome. But at night in the dark, it was a comfort, hearing the sound of a voice even if it was her own. It had been her only comfort when she’d been trapped in the dark for days, hurting and alone.

  Katie stared out across the pastures.

  She was so thankful her ranch was getting close. Going to town these days was a near intolerable strain, almost beyond bearing now that everyone there thought she was a lunatic.

  You are a lunatic.

  She tried to ignore the voice in her head, concentrating on the wildflowers blooming across this stretch of the road. But even their bright yellow faces and deep burgundy colors failed to lift her spirits.

  Her life was a mess. Nothing helped her spirits since the tornado ripped across her home leaving nothing but disaster in its wake.

  Her pa was dead.

  Her home destroyed.

  Sometimes she thought she was destroyed too.

  She wasn’t sure what to think of herself anymore. Honestly, she was scared.

  Not that she’d let anyone know it. Forcing the thought away, she glanced at the good-looking lump. “What were you thinking, Katie Pearl?”

  The old gray horse drove the buckboard over a rut, jostling everyone, including the lump—she’d been hitting ruts pretty regular on this trip. “Haven’t had anyone but myself and Myrtle May to talk to for weeks, and now look what I’ve done. Hired a non-talker.”

  The words slipped out just like before. She shot Treb another glance.

  He nudged his hat back and was studying her. Katie’s insides dipped—even though Myrtle May hadn’t hit a hole in the road.

  “I talk. Just resting a bit. So, you know how to use that sharpshooter on your hip?”

  That he thought she’d been talking to him was a relief. She relaxed, staring at him. She’d forgotten that his voice was as smooth as honey—she’d been having a little trouble with her memory lately. Forgetting things. And her head hurt something fierce sometimes. Of course there were a fair amount of things that weren’t right about her since the tornado. She recognized it, but just couldn’t seem to fix most of them. But she would.

  “Better than most,” she said. “It eases my mind a great deal, just like my pa told me it would when he taught me.” She cut her eyes back to his. “Not many men find my ability to shoot a good thing. Especially when they find themselves staring down the barrel of my Colt or my long gun.”

  “Sounds like your pa was a wise man too.”

  Oh, that got her right in the heart. “He was.” She sighed, giving Treb a grateful look. “Not the easiest man to know, but my pa was the best rancher around these parts. Wasn’t anything he couldn’t face straight on and win because of his mind working so far out in front of him. Just wasn’t nothing he could do when the . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to go on. She rubbed her temple as a pounding started. That day was fuzzy in her head, bits and pieces coming together in odd ways and none of it fitting quite right. Most times she’d wake in the middle of the night crying and with a fierce headache when scenes collided in her head. Her hands were damp just thinking about it. And the pain started throbbing in her temple like a sledgehammer hitting one of those spikes she’d seen workers hammering into a railroad track. She blinked hard and tore her eyes away from Treb’s penetrating gaze.

  “Sounds like you’ve had a tough situation out here.”

  His quiet words caused some calm to settle over her thoughts. She nodded and took a steadying breath. “Nothin’ I can’t handle. Except the building. I don’t know a thing about building.”

  Silence surrounded them again as the blue sky and the green meadows spread out before and behind them. Progress. That was what her pa was always saying. A person always needed to be making progress, moving forward. That was what she was trying to do. Even as dark as things were inside her head since he’d left her.

  And he’d been more than right about the relief she got from making progress and being able to shoot her Colt. If she just kept pushing, things would get better. She hoped.

  “So you’ve had your share of no-goods calling trying to get your ranch?”

  “They call me Crazy Katie, and they might be right. But even I know that since my pa died and left me owner of the ranch, it makes me a prime prospect for marryin’. A bride they think they could make cower so they could claim my land for themselves. They’ve been crawling out of every hole in the ground since I was . . . found alive.” She started to say pulled out of her grave, but the words stuck. “I’ve been running them off by using them for target practice, but they just keep coming. They’re a dense lot,
that’s for certain. Isn’t that right, Myrtle May? Some men just need a good kick in the head—that’s what Myrtle thinks about the situation.”

  “I’m real sorry about what you’ve gone through. But it sounds like your pa would be real proud of you and Myrtle May. Sounds like you two have it all figured out.”

  They topped the hill and her gut tightened up knowing what lay on the other side. A wave of lonesomeness crashed over her as she met the deep gray eyes of Treb. Suddenly she was fighting back the urge to cry. She didn’t have anything figured out. Her life lay in ruins over this hill, and try as she might, she just couldn’t fit the pieces back together.

  But looking at Treb calmed some of the upheaval inside her. For the first time since the tornado ripped her world apart, it was good to have someone riding beside her. He might be moving on when the job was done, but for now, there was comfort in his presence.

  And his words.

  The drive to Katie’s place took half the day—especially with a horse that went whatever speed it wanted, when it wanted. The horse seemed at times to simply follow the grass trail.

  It was no wonder, considering how far the drive was, that it took several days for someone to realize she and her pa had been in trouble after the tornado. Katie had talked to herself several times on the drive. He wasn’t sure if she even realized that she was speaking sometimes. If he hadn’t been forewarned, he’d have been disturbed by it.

  He hadn’t been prepared, though, for the extent of damage he was going to see until they topped a rise and there it was—or what was left of the house and surrounding grounds. The place was a disaster. The house had been nearly demolished. One side lay in rubble, the roof was torn off the other side, and the front side was missing too. This had been the home of a man who’d done well for himself and his daughter.

  The extent of what Katie had been through hit Treb as he realized she’d lain beneath all this rubble for days—with her father dead. There was no doubt that God had been looking out for her that day. The cross made of two sticks that marked the fresh grave on the hill belonging to her pa was evidence enough of that.

  There was a chicken coop that leaned to one side and looked as if it had been somewhat repaired. A barn was still standing but part of the roof was missing. The corral was a pitiful sight—clearly Katie had attempted to repair it herself with a mishmash of materials. Surprisingly, though, it held a number of good-looking horses. How it held them in he wasn’t sure, but it did. The makeshift concoction of wood looked as if it might fall down with the slightest wind.

  Myrtle May took them to a spot beside the barn where a small grouping of supplies sat right out in the open. Even bags of feed and flour. Treb didn’t understand why they were here, not with the barn sitting right there with half a roof to protect them from the elements.

  “Unload everything here,” she said, hopping from the wagon.

  She was the boss so Treb kept his mouth shut, though it was hard to do. He got busy earning his wages.

  Hefting the first bag of oats, he laid it beside the other bags of supplies already there in the dirt and watched as Katie unhitched Myrtle and led her to a small pen off to the side of the barn. Like the chicken coop, it was a pitiful thing leaning to one side—the loose posts shook as she tugged the gate open, and the entire pen moved.

  Treb watched her lead the horse inside. With her back straight in her blue calico dress, Katie was silhouetted against the pale summer sky. The poor girl. It was her against the world. A sudden and unwanted wave of protectiveness washed over him.

  “Don’t go there,” he growled to himself under his breath. He shook off the emotion and got back to work. He’d known Katie Pearl for the whole sum of half a day—best just to keep his mind on helping her get her house fixed, then get out of here as fast as he could ride.

  Beyond that, helping her get her life in order was none of his business.

  “Where have you been sleeping?” he asked, eyeing the campfire in the center of the clearing between the rubble that had been her house and the barn.

  She came out of the stall, struggling to drag the pitiful gate closed before she nodded toward the campfire. “There.”

  Disbelief had him scrubbing the back of his neck hard. “Let me get this straight. You’ve been sleeping out here for a month?” And no one had come help her clean up this wreck? What was wrong with this town?

  “Three weeks,” she said defensively. “And that’s where I’ll keep sleeping. You, on the other hand, can bunk in the barn.”

  She was getting odder by the moment.

  He reckoned he could understand her staying there a night or two. He enjoyed sleeping beneath the stars as much as the next man, and he did it often on his travels, but this was a woman. One used to living inside a nice home.

  But that was her choice and none of his business, he reminded himself.

  As soon as he finished unloading the supplies, he went to check out the barn. It had half a roof but it was a wreck inside. The splintered wood and shingles of the ruined roof still lay where it had caved in. Standing in the entrance, he spied two saddles among the ruins. “There’s some good tack and stuff in here,” he called to Katie. “Do you want me to clean some of this up?” She was over by a pile of limbs and cut wood.

  “That would be a good thing for you to do for now,” she said, distracted as she gathered an armload of wood. “We’ll start the house tomorrow.”

  Glad to have a plan, he strode forward and pushed debris out of the way until he was able to pull the saddles free. How could she be so reckless with something so valuable? Tamping down his consternation, he moved the saddles to the side, then set out to save what he could from the rubble.

  Before the sun started setting, Katie had a roaring fire going and was stirring a pot of beans as he took a break from working. His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since the jerky he’d had that morning.

  Moving over to the fire, he sat down on a log and watched her. Her hand shook as she stirred.

  Unable to hold it in any longer, he put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “I was thinking it might be best to start the barn, get it cleaned up before we start on the house. You could have a roof over your head while we work on the house.”

  “I’m fine.” She shook her head. “We’ve already settled this. You can stay in there. I’m fine out here.” Her voice shook slightly and she stirred the beans faster.

  “But—”

  “I’m fine,” she broke in. “The open air suits me. Sleep where you want, but I hired you to help rebuild the house—not to tell me where I need to sleep.”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” he snapped, his irritation flaring.

  “It . . . it’s what I want. And that’s all that matters.” She grabbed a tin plate, dipped a large ladle of beans onto it, and stomped around the fire to hold it out to him.

  Stubborn woman! He’d figured there’d be trouble working for her. “It isn’t right,” he said as he reached for the dish. His fingers brushed hers—his pulse jumped at the touch and a tingling sensation raced up his arm.

  Katie yanked her hand away almost before he got a good grip on the dish. “It’s right for me. I can’t help if you don’t like it. I didn’t ask you either.”

  She stalked back to the other side of the fire before looking across the flames at him. The woman was small, but the fire in her eyes clearly said, Back off. He got the feeling she’d felt the same tingling sensation he had when they’d touched, and she didn’t like it either.

  “Fine, have it your way,” he grunted. Tugging his hat low over his eyes, he held back further comments and dug into his beans. He wasn’t here to talk sense into her, and he wasn’t here for romance. He was here for a horse. And that was it.

  This was going to be a long few months.

  How bad did he need a horse?

  He thought about Galveston and how much he wanted to see the ocean.

  He needed a horse bad.

  And
the truth was, Katie Pearl needed his help.

  Even if she was determined to sleep in the elements.

  CHAPTER THREE

  AS THE DARK SETTLED IN, KATIE ADDED ANOTHER LOG to the fire. The sky was clear with stars twinkling, and that at least gave her some comfort. Across the fire, Treb had stretched out on his bedroll and now lay there with his boots crossed and his hat pulled down over his face, his hands folded over his chest. Studying him, she thought about the way her pulse had reacted when their fingers had touched. It had almost taken her breath away. Infuriating man, made her mad, and yet she had reacted to his touch as if she . . . were attracted to him. She tried not to think about that, tried hard to put it out of her mind. He was irritating; still, she found a bit of peace looking across that fire and seeing him there. Her heart hammered relentlessly despite it, just as it did every night when the darkness sank in around her.

  She prayed for the morning to come soon and the sun to peek over the distant horizon. She knew she would have to burn a lot of logs before that moment came. Sitting with her back against the large log she’d rolled into place that first night alone, she drew her legs up and wrapped the blanket around herself.

  Leaning her forehead on her knees, she rocked gently, trying not to think about the darkness . . . “The morning will come soon enough, Katie girl,” she whispered, keeping her voice low but needing the comfort she found in the sound.

  “You just hold on, my girl. Hold on.” Her heart ached for the sound of her pa’s deep, reassuring voice. “You’ve got nothing to be concerned about, Katie girl. You’ve got help now. A strong man to lend a hand.” She could see her pa even now, so strong.

  “He’ll be moving on, Pa. Soon as the work is done.”

  “Until then, you’ve got some comfort. Make a list, get it done. And calm down. Things will be all right. God has a plan.”

  Katie could feel her pa as if he were sitting right beside her having the conversation. He’d talked to her and comforted her that night. He’d been her saving grace during the nightmare of being trapped beneath the rubble of her home. Hearing his voice had kept her hanging on. As usual her head throbbed when she thought too much about the days she lay there. Things muddled together. She couldn’t remember everything, and when she tried to bring it all back, the hurting in her head got worse.