The Horseman

How dare he trick the stallion? Katelyn slammed the tea ball on the counter, ignoring the echoing chink as she rummaged in the drawers for a spoon. If the horseman were here, she’d have a good mind to tell him exactly what she thought of him. Of him and his deception and his spurs and his guns and his vicious nature well hidden beneath his shyness and his quiet nature.

Oh, she could have a list of faults in the time it took for the water to heat. His faults, Brett’s faults, her stepfather’s faults, every man she’d ever met, in fact. They were all so pleased with their own power and in imposing it on others. Regardless of the cost. Regardless of who suffered and who died…

The dam broke, and her eyes burned. Her vision blurred. The crack of pain in the center of her chest sharpened and spread, like wood breaking one splinter at a time, then faster and faster until she was on the floor, sobbing so hard she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, choking on the grief set free. She was drowning in the sudden wave of it, sweeping her away, and she was dying, too.

Her arms were so empty. Her heart so empty. Her body, her soul, her life. All she wanted was the baby she loved. The round-faced little girl with the tuft of black hair and button nose and…

The back door squealed open on tired hinges. The muted rap of a man’s boots followed. Her stepfather! Katelyn swiped at her face with her sleeve, but the tears kept falling. She stood, fumbling to close the oven door and the only light in the kitchen faded.

But not fast enough. He was behind her in the threshold, bringing the cold breeze from the night with him. Chill radiated from him, and in the darkness she shivered, wiping at her face and clearing the tears from her throat.

“Just making some tea. I couldn’t sleep.”

She knocked over the lid of the crock. The clatter, as it rolled to a stop, wasn’t loud enough to obliterate the sound of her broken breathing or the catch in her throat.

“I get like that sometimes,” Dillon said. “Tea helps me to settle, too.”

The kitchen was dark, but he didn’t need light to see her.

Another clatter rang as she dropped the spoon on the floor. She gasped a brittle sound of distress as she knelt, her nightclothes whispering around her. She wore a nightgown with ruffles at the hem. He remembered seeing her last night. Of course she’d have ruffles. She was a dainty, high-quality lady. Probably had ruffles at the sleeves and collar, around the soft swell of her bosom.

Remembering his manners, he swept off his hat, holding it in one hand. “Smells like chamomile.”

“Yes.” Her back was to him, but she wasn’t hiding a single thing from him.

He’d been a horseman all his life. Reading another creature’s emotions was simpler than the book of poetry he read in his bunk every night. He’d heard her crying, and he could feel the raw emotion like a pain in his own heart.

Sympathy welled up in him, so stark and bright it surprised him. Laid him bare. Made him brave as he took one step forward, but only one step. She was easily startled, and the last thing he wanted to do on this earth was to scare her.

Hat in hand, he planted his feet and let the seconds tick by as she set the tea to steep. “What would it take to get a cup of that?”

“A loaded gun pointed at my head.”

Funny thing, she didn’t sound so easy to scare. “That seems mighty drastic. I’d be willing to trade you a favor. Judging by your stepfather, you might need a helping hand now and then.”

“What kind of favor would I need from the likes of you?”

“Oh, I don’t know, a saddle horse so you could ride into town.”

“I can saddle my own horse, and I’ll thank you to leave me be.”

She definitely didn’t sound afraid of him.

She sounded mad, and that didn’t make a lick of sense. Not at all. “How about a saddle horse in the middle of the night, with my word no one would know you were leaving?”

That did it. Her reaction was like the snap of a bullwhip. She tensed. “How did you know?”

“Easy guess. Your stepfather doesn’t seem to want you here, and you keep gazing off down the road.” That was better—he had her attention now. He hung his hat on the edge of the chair back. “Seems to me a woman with her eye on the door has plans to leave.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“Maybe to someone watching, but Cal Willman isn’t observant.”

“Oh, good.” The relief in her voice was the briefest sigh.

Dillon felt it as if it were his own. His chest squeezed tight until it hurt. How bad was it for her here? He knew she was grieving the loss of a child and her marriage, but was there more?

Remembering the fading bruise on her cheekbone, he knew there had to be.

“How about it?” Gentle, that’s how he’d be to her. Let her see right away the kind of man he was. “Do I get some of that tea?”

“No.”

Not the answer he expected.

It was probably the one he deserved. Whoa, Hennessey, you know the lady isn’t interested in you. It disappointed him. A lot. The weight of it settled on his shoulders and in his heart.

Sad, he snatched his hat off the chair back. “Guess I’ll leave you be. Good night, ma’am.”

“Good night.”

“Sure hope the tea helps you to sleep. I’m so tired I’ll sleep like a dead man.”

What did she say to that? Katelyn winced as the spoon she held bit into the crease of her knuckles. She ignored the stinging pain, loosening her strangulation grip on the utensil. To think he could hunt down a beautiful creature, the same one he’d tricked into trusting him, and then be able to fall asleep?

The horrible man! She hated him. She hated everything about him, everything he represented. She had a good mind to hurl the spoon at him. She would, too, except for the fact that he was much stronger than she was and much bigger. He would certainly exact revenge, as any man would.

Still, it was the thought that counted.

She’d had enough of brutal men. Enough of them to last her a lifetime. With her jewelry to sell, she wouldn’t have to be dependent on anyone. She would get a good job and her own little place to live and no one could hurt her. No one.

She might be lonely. She’d sleep alone. Eat alone. Live alone. Spend every holiday alone.

She watched the breadth of Hennessey’s shoulders as he ambled away, probably in search of Cal, and she listened to the ringing authority of his gait. She knew with all the certainty in her soul she didn’t need any man.

Loneliness was a small price to pay for safety. For peace. For the chance to be, if not happy, then content.

It was the most she could hope for.

The warm, honest scent of chamomile brought her out of her thoughts of the future. She had to concentrate on regaining her strength. She was too weak, and still too sore, to leave. Dillon had made her realize all she needed to think about. Would she take a horse to town? It would be faster than walking, she knew.

She could still take the train, as she planned, and leave the animal at the livery. Where would she end up? She didn’t have a train schedule, but she could hear the whistle from town. She knew when trains arrived and departed. She’d take the first one, even a freight train making a water-and-coal stop, during the night. And make her decisions from there—

“Hennessey! Is that you?” Cal’s fury cannoned through the sleeping house.

Katelyn dropped the spoon again. Damn! She plucked it off the counter, vowing not to make another sound. She couldn’t face her stepfather one more time tonight.

“Yep, I just got back.” Dillon’s easy drawl sounded friendly.