Stetsons, Spring and Wedding Rings

by Jillian Hart

  “Thanks,” he said, turning around as he secured a giant nipple onto the biggest bottle Constance had ever seen.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Going to feed my orphan.”

  She startled at the unexpected answer. The smooth upward slide of Kyle’s lips caused an equally startling reaction.

  “My new foal,” he explained. “She lost her mother last week.”

  “She’s adorable,” Stella said, looking back from the stove.

  “Take Constance out to see her, Kyle.”

  “You want to?” he asked. “The stable is out back.”

  She couldn’t resist the thought of watching him bottle feed a baby horse. He opened the door and motioned for her to go ahead of him. As the door shut behind them she felt a pressure on the small of her back.

  “Did Frank give you further trouble today?” he asked, seeming unaware of his hand pressed against her, guiding her down the dirt path.

  “Not at all,” she said, fighting the tremble in her voice. “He even helped to clean the slate boards after school, though I did promise to give him pitching advice at recess tomorrow.”

  Kyle grinned. His blue eyes, full of warmth and mischief, heightened the surge of tingles low in her belly. “Nothing wrong with good, honest bribery.”

  His hand dropped away as he reached for the stable doors.

  Constance sucked in a full breath and strove to quell the current of jitters.

  Good heavens.

  She stepped inside, breathing in the scent of hay and horses.

  Expecting to find a dark old barn, the brightly lit corridor surprised her. The large stable housed seven horses. Sunlight streamed in through open Dutch doors in various stalls, creating a warm atmosphere.

  “I didn’t realize you had so many horses.”

  “I own the livery in town, so I do a bit of housing and grooming.” He walked to the far end. “But this here is my prize.”

  He stepped up to an end stall.

  Constance could barely make out the foal lying in the shadows of the far corner. She looked so tiny and lonely.

  “Evening, Sunshine.” The smooth rumble of Kyle’s voice sent tendrils of sensation swirling through Constance. The foal sprang up on its spindly legs. Kyle stepped through the gate and the young horse charged at him, bumping into his chest.

  “Easy, now.” He crouched down, brushing his hand across its coat in a vigorous caress. In the sunlight her fuzzy golden coat shimmered. The foal nudged him, searching for the bottle he kept just out of reach.

  “You’re going to be as pretty and ornery as your mama,” he said with a laugh, nudging her back.

  Constance watched him in amazement. He was so calm and confident, and handsome. This was her cowboy, the man she’d met on the train.

  Kyle glanced back at her. “Come on in and shut the gate.”

  She hurried to do as he said. Once inside, she realized the foal was nearly as tall as she was, but it was too late for hesitation.

  The curious foal bumped right up to her, nearly knocking her back. Kyle’s arm braced her, holding her upright.

  “Clumsy as she is, you’ve got to brace yourself.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” she said, smiling as the foal went back to searching for its supper.

  “She shimmers. She’s beautiful, Kyle.”

  “Right now she’s soft as a mink,” he said, his fingers sliding through the fluffy coat. “You should feel it.”

  He looked at her expectantly, and Constance swallowed hard.

  “You got no call to hide your hands from me. I know how badly you were burned. I helped to bandage them up.”

  “You did?” Heat burned into her cheeks at the thought of him seeing her in such a state.

  “I did.”

  Glancing back at the young horse, she paused a moment, then tugged at her left glove. She brushed her hand over the foal’s side.

  The soft down, smooth as cream, felt so nice beneath her fingers.

  She glanced at Kyle. His smile was as bright as hers.

  “Told you.”

  “I had no idea they were so soft.”

  “Not for much longer. It’s a shame she’ll shed out. She’ll likely lose all this light fur and be a dark russet as Blaze was.”

  When she moved back, he reached out and took her hand before she could replace her glove.

  “Don’t you get warm wearing those gloves all day?”

  Constance felt the color flaming into her cheeks as he turned her hand in his, giving both sides a close inspection before lifting his questioning eyes.

  “I suppose,” she said in a shaken voice. His thumb skimmed over her sensitive palm as he held her gaze. A tingling sensation vibrated through her entire body.

  “Then why do you never take them off?”

  She blinked hard, unable to bring herself to answer. He had just seen why! Her heart thundered in her chest as he glanced back at her hand. His thumb stroked the wavelike pattern of skin from her pinky to her wrist.

  “Here I was expecting raw bones when you have such pretty, soft skin.”

  The man is a saint. There was no other explanation.

  She struggled to find her voice as tears burned at her eyes.

  “The patches are shiny and redden if I’m cold or hot. People would ask questions.”

  Kyle didn’t see anything short of a blessing when he looked at that tender pink skin. “You’re likely more aware of the redness than anyone else would be.” He caressed her smooth fingers, no more discolored than a light blush. “I’ve never seen prettier skin.”

  She sucked in a quick breath, her honey eyes surging wide.

  The deep flush in her cheeks reminded him she’d spent the past two years in a convent and likely wasn’t used to anyone touching her with such familiarity, much less a man she barely knew.

  He released her hand and she quickly replaced her glove. “I apologize for being forward. I’m just glad to see you’ve healed so nicely.”

  The bottle tugged in his arms as Sunshine found the nipple.

  He quickly tightened his grip and straightened. From the corner of his eye he saw Constance smile.

  “Would you like to feed her?”

  Visibly fighting moisture from her eyes, she gave a nod.

  “Scoot in and get a good grip.”

  She did as he said, moving in front of him, her gloved hands wrapping around the bottle. “It’s warm.”

  “Just like mother’s milk,” he said, moving his hands to make room for hers.

  Sunshine tugged, fearing she was about to lose her supper.

  They both stumbled forward. His arm strapped Constance around the middle, all but tucking her between his legs. She struggled to right herself.

  Damn it, Sunshine! He struggled to keep from swearing out loud. Holding her to his chest he couldn’t help but feel the alluring feminine curves of a woman he damn sure wouldn’t mind tumbling into the hay with.

  “I’m not trying to be fresh,” he said, figuring he should be horsewhipped for the thoughts steaming through his mind.

  “I know,” she said, her voice strained.

  He eased his hold as Constance found her balance. “Got it?” he asked, slowly stepping back.

  “Yes.” Sunshine settled. With her hold secure, Constance reached out, stroking the foal’s muzzle as she drank. She glanced back at him, and her bright smile could have been a shot of whiskey for the way it warmed him.

  “I’ll, uh, be a few stalls down if you need me.”

  Silently swearing a blue streak, he set about feeding the rest of his stock. Her soft coos carried through the stable, grating across his senses. By the time he had everyone fed and had closed all the top ends of the outer doors leading to the training corral, Constance was waiting for him in the center aisle.

  “You leave the lamps on? Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “I’m coming back after supper. It will be dark by then.” He shut the stable doors and took the empty bottl
e from her before starting down the path. “Thanks for your help.”

  She gave a slight smile. The intensity in her gaze told him she had something on her mind.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were a marshal?”

  And there it was. “Habit, I suppose,” he said, the growing curiosity in her eyes tightening the muscles across his shoulders.

  “I worked mostly undercover, infiltrating bands of outlaws. It’s not something I talk about. And frankly, it wouldn’t make for polite conversation.”

  “Were you inside the boardinghouse with the outlaws?”

  “No. Ned Chandler was real particular about who he let close to him. I rode with a gang he used for larger jobs. When I got word they were all getting together, I set up the ambush from the outside.”

  “Was anyone else hurt that morning?”

  “Aside from the three dead outlaws, only you.”

  She frowned, and Kyle tucked his fingers into his pockets, fighting the powerful urge to pull her close. Something in his brain refused to accept he had no right to such liberties.

  She walked quietly beside him, her slender eyebrows in a pinch, her golden eyes burning with questions she was hesitant to ask. Waiting for those questions to surface was slow torture.

  “If you have something on your mind, you can ask me.”

  “Ned Chandler, did he have light hair and dark eyes?”

  “He did.” The fear in her gaze ripped at his conscience. Kyle had been in San Francisco the day he’d received word of Ned Chandler’s execution. Had he not been hunting down the man’s brother, he would have been in attendance. “He was convicted for a number of horrible crimes and hanged along with the rest of those men.”

  She tightened her arms around her middle, a visible shiver going through her. “I can’t say I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t see why you should be. I wish we had caught them sooner, before they’d hurt anyone else.”

  “I don’t want you to feel bad because of me,” she said, her wide eyes full of conviction. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  He knew that wasn’t entirely true. He’d been careless, taking the word of others instead of doing the checking himself. It was a mistake he’d been careful not to repeat—one he wished to God he’d never made in the first place.

  “Thanks,” he said, offering a smile to ease her worried frown.

  They reached the back door and he allowed Constance to go ahead of him. She came to an abrupt stop before the door, but didn’t reach for the handle. He stepped up behind her and spotted the scene that stopped her. Stella wrapped in Günter’s arms, their mouths fused as his hands all but molested her! Not that Stella was fighting him. She leaned up, pulling him closer, and his hands slid down her back, another inch and—

  He reached past Constance and opened the door. “If you don’t get your hands off my sister, you’ll be courting in handcuffs, Sheriff Hagen.”

  Stella jumped back, her cheeks flushing to a deep pink as she smiled up at her brother.

  Kyle wasn’t smiling. As they sat down to eat, he took care to place Günter and Stella on opposite sides of the table.

  Sitting across from him, Constance noted his mood didn’t improve over supper. Neither Günter nor Stella seemed to notice, their gazes mostly locked on each other. She was glad when the meal was over. Everyone helped to clear the table, Günter and Stella washing the dishes while Constance righted the table and brushed crumbs from the cloth.

  “What’s this?” Kyle asked, starting to lift the lid of a white box stacked atop another near the drain board. Günter snatched them away.

  “I brought sweets for my sweetheart.”

  “Hope you brought enough for all of us,” said Kyle.

  “Ja, I did.” He set one of two boxes on the table and opened the lid. “Mrs. Sorrento’s lemon squares. Enjoy.” Günter took Stella by the hand. “We will be on the porch.”

  “You sly devil!” Kyle reached for a powder-coated square.

  “You’re trying to distract me.”

  “I’m wounded you think such.”

  Constance watched Stella’s beau lead her from the kitchen, Stella’s soft laughter echoing through the hall.

  “Don’t think I won’t check up on you,” Kyle called after them.

  Not about to be caught alone with her brooding host, Constance moved to follow them into the hall. “Good night.”

  Kyle cut her off. “You can’t turn in before you try Mrs.

  Sorrento’s lemon squares.” He held a white-and-yellow square to her lips. “Here, take a bite.”

  “I don’t—” The sweet concoction invaded her mouth. She glared and bit down because she had no choice. The sweet coating gave way to burst of tangy lemon flavor, quickly soothed by a sweet crumbly crust.

  “Good, isn’t it?” His blue eyes fairly sparkled.

  She licked the powdery sweetness from her lips. “Delicious.”

  He stuck the other half of the square into his mouth and pulled a chair out for her. “A cup of coffee to go with the tarts and you’ll swear you’re in heaven.”

  She didn’t need coffee. His cheerful company was enough.

  Constance sat down as he set the pot and two cups on the table.

  He slid a small plate with two squares in front of her and began eating his own.

  He hadn’t brought silverware. Kyle stuck his thumb in his mouth, cleaning off the sticky coating. Discreetly removing her glove beneath the table, she picked up a tart, took a quick bite and tucked her hand back into her lap.

  His brow furrowed as he met her gaze. “You don’t have to hide your hands from me. They’re a whole lot prettier than my scuffed and callused fingers.” He held them up, showing off the strong, masculine hands of a man who worked hard.

  “You’re very kind.”

  Kyle didn’t care for her implication that he wasn’t being truthful.

  “No, I’m not. I’m honest. A kindness that doesn’t tell the truth is still a lie. If your hands were disfigured and hideous, I’d say so.”

  She gaped at him, her golden eyes flaring wide.

  “Not rudely, mind you.” He reached for the coffee and filled his cup. “Something like, ‘that’s a damn shame. Best keep them covered when you’re out and about.’” He glanced at her delicate hand as she picked up a second pastry. “Not so, darlin’. Your new skin is soft and pretty as a winter’s dawn.”

  She dropped the lemon tart. Quickly tossing it back onto the plate, she wiped at the dusting of sugar on the red tablecloth, her hands trembling ever so slightly. “Thank you for saying so.”

  Damn. He’d meant to reassure her, not make her nervous.

  “Mrs. Sorrento bakes some of the finest foods I’ve ever eaten and keeps my restaurant packed with customers.”

  “You own a restaurant?”

  “Inside my hotel.”

  “Why am I staying here instead of the hotel?”

  About to fill her cup with coffee, he paused. “Because all thirty of my tenants are lumberjacks taking a break from camp life and likely anxious for the company of a woman.”

  “Oh.”

  “We tried to have your apartment ready, but with so much construction going on in Pine Ridge, our carpenters are stretched tight. Stella thought you’d appreciate rooming here with her since she’s helping with the school.”

  “And I do,” she said. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

  “You don’t. I wouldn’t set you up in a place I wouldn’t be comfortable leaving my sister.” His elbows hit the table as he picked up another lemon tart and took a bite. “I have to be honest with you, when I hired ‘Miss Constance Pauley from the mission,’ I was expecting a pruned-up schoolmarm.”

  She laughed and cupped her hand over her mouth, having just taken a bite of her lemon square. Damn, but he liked that reaction.

  “So, tell me, did the nuns teach you to throw a fastball?”

  “No. But they did allow me to organize games for the children.”

&
nbsp; It was easy to see she liked working with kids.

  “While I lived on a farm in Missouri I was one of two girls amid six boys. It took all of us to have a decent game.”

  “Did you like living in Missouri?”

  “Not especially. But I wasn’t there long.” Her lips formed a wry grin. “I wasn’t the most dependable field hand.”

  By the time the dessert box was empty, he knew she’d been born in New York, had lived in nine different homes across the plains and she preferred to talk about his horses or her love of teaching. Which suited Kyle just fine, so long as he got to stare into her smiling eyes.

  He realized later, with some annoyance, that Günter’s plan had worked.

  Chapter Eight

  Sunshine whinnied as Kyle entered the stable. Her new nursemaid had fed her before supper. The thought of Constance’s delight in the young foal over the past few days brought a smile to his lips. The closer he got to finishing her apartment, the more he thought she’d be better suited to staying here at the house. He sure hadn’t minded the past two evenings of sitting with her in the kitchen, hovering over Günter’s sweet distractions. His sister’s beau hadn’t shown up for dinner tonight, and Kyle didn’t want to admit he’d been nearly as disappointed as Stella.

  He’d completed half his chores when the sound of an approaching horse drew him from the stable. He started toward the house as Günter rode into the yard. Spotting Kyle, the sheriff rode toward the back of the house.

  “Evening,” Kyle greeted as Günter dismounted. He pulled two small boxes from his saddlebags, brightening Kyle’s mood considerably. “You missed supper.”

  “Could not be helped.” He tucked the boxes beneath his arm.

  “Had trouble in town today. Need to talk to you about it.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Someone broke into the mercantile last night. Andrew stumbled upon the robbery and was knocked out before he got a look at anyone. Didn’t take much—dried beef, beans, kerosene and other basic items—no more than two or three men could carry. We found a campsite a few miles north of the town. Could be interlopers fired from another logging camp.”

  “You didn’t catch them?”