by Jillian Hart
“I should be getting back.” She turned, avoiding his gaze, letting him know she wasn’t interested.
She walked away into the veil of falling snow. He couldn’t stand it, the way she was leaving like that.
“The deer must like you,” he called out, and grimaced. If he kept this up, she’d simply run away from him and his terrible attempts to talk with her. “I mean, it’s rare for them to come up to a person.”
Katelyn glanced over her shoulder, considered him, but kept walking.
“My grandfather could do that. Deer would approach him.”
Why did he keep trying to talk to her? Katelyn wondered. She kept walking, limping, because the pain was still with her. She felt the horseman’s eyes on her back like a touch.
“He had a way with animals.”
Had he taken a sparking to her? Katelyn turned toward him at the same moment he shrugged one big, snow-lined shoulder, and a row of snow tumbled off that broad perch to startle his horse. The mustang sidestepped, startling the rider.
“Whoa, boy.” Instead of sounding irritated or angry, the wrangler’s voice rumbled low and as warm as buttered rum. He stroked his sizable hand down the gelding’s neck, a gentle gesture for so powerful a man.
Katelyn shivered, wondering if his touch was as tender as it looked. But she knew there were no heroes made of honor and strength and tenderness in this cold, hard world.
Dillon Hennessey might be strong and seemingly kind and a little awkward when it came to speaking to a woman, but he was still a man and, like the cougar prowling these prairies, he would strike when he wished. He was more ruthless at heart. It was simply his nature.
Or was it? Every time she glanced over her shoulder, there was the outline of the man on his proud mustang, waiting on the crest of the rise, watching as the storm droned on, the rifle at his shoulder, ready but not threatening.
A protective warrior who remained steadfast and vigilant as she ambled carefully through the deepening snow.
Katelyn may not have had much time with the deer, but a quandary had been solved. At least she knew more about Dillon Hennessey. Remembering how he’d stammered and looked lost, that giant mountain of a man, made her smile.
She lifted the latch to the front gate. She was home, for now. When she turned to wave a thank-you to him, she saw only snow and wind and prairie.
The horseman had gone.
His image remained throughout the day and into the evening as twilight came early. After a slow bleeding of the sun, and the gray shadows had wrung all the light from the sky, darkness descended. Katelyn kept to her room with a single candle lit. She took supper on a tray but could not eat. She hadn’t been hungry in so long.
There was so much to consider, so much to think about. Fear nibbled at the corners of her courage, and she eased out of the chair in the corner and lifted the rug at the foot of the bed. There, beneath the floorboard she’d loosened, was her future. She unwrapped the cloth bundle carefully, cradling it in her hand. Even in the faint light from a single candle, the diamonds flashed and sparkled. The cold, multifaceted gemstones were framed in the gold of a necklace and two rings, gifts from her wealthy husband to his beloved wife.
Or, that’s what he told others at the dinner parties where he pretended to others that he was a fine, loving husband. And she could not tell the truth.
She hated every one of those stones. The wedding ring, the anniversary ring, the necklace he’d given her when she first learned she was pregnant and could be carrying his son.
Tears flooded her eyes and she willed them not to fall. The diamonds blurred into a rainbow glitter of pure, white light as she covered the jewelry, secured it well and tucked it back into its dark safe hiding place. As much as she hated the gems, they would buy her future. She planned to sell each piece and take pleasure in the knowledge that Brett couldn’t touch her, that she didn’t need him.
She didn’t need anyone.
She would make a new life. Alone. The way she wanted it to be.
“Katelyn?” Her stepfather’s voice on the other side of the door sounded harsh.
She dropped the edge of the fringed rug and stood, pain shooting through her as the door hinges whispered open, but it wasn’t fast enough. Cal Willman stood in the doorway, his cold eyes narrowed, his mouth pursed in thought. Or in calculation.
How much had he seen? She would have to find another hiding place, just in case. Her stepfather was the kind of man who took what he wanted. He was a big man, imposing, taller than the horseman, but all brute, and she shivered. She felt small and vulnerable, and she hated feeling so ill. Another week to recover and she would be gone, slipping off into the night as if she’d never been. She never need see him again.
“Is there some good reason for bursting in on me?” she said quietly.
“This is my house.”
“That may be, but you have no right entering my bedroom without knocking first.”
“My name is on the deed. I will go wherever I wish.”
“Yes, but my father built this house with his own hands. I watched him lay every board and hammer every nail.” Her father had been a good man, at least he’d been good to her, and thinking of him brought up a faint memory, as it always did, of a tall, brawny man with a broad-rimmed hat shading his face as he worked in the sun, talking with her while he’d built their home. She’d been five. “Is Mother unwell?”
“Your mother has not been well since you knocked on our door and collapsed on the parlor floor. It wasn’t as if we could take you back. I saw you walking around today. If you’re well enough to walk in the field and try your wiles with one of my hired men, you’re strong enough to get the hell out of this house.”
“You think I want another man after all I’ve been through?”
“Isn’t that what all you women want? A man to pay for every little thing?” The muscles in his jaw jumped and bunched beneath his smooth-shaven skin. “If it’s a man you want, I will find you one.”
“I have no need for a husband.”
“And I have no need for you. Understand this. If you bring more shame to my family name, I will make you regret the day you crawled back to this house. Do you understand me?”
“It’s not my shameful behavior you need to be concerned with.” She spoke quietly but with steel. She’d not be bullied in the house her father built.
Cal’s hard blue eyes iced over, like a pond in winter. Hands fists, feet braced, jaw tensed so tight he could break teeth, a cold anger took him over. “I’ll not be judged in my own house, missy. Remember that, or you will be out on your backside faster than you’ll know what hit you.”
She wasn’t welcome here. How could she be? She was in the middle of their constant fighting. She was a sore reminder of the family name being soiled.
“This shocking scandal has cost me half the business at the bank. How will you make it up to me, I wonder?”
He’d figured out she had something to hide. Something of value. The brief flicker of satisfaction at his severe mouth told her to beware.
He’d demanded whatever money she had on her when she arrived, broken and homeless. She’d lied about the jewels, carefully hidden in her smallest skirt pocket.
She’d find a better hiding place than the floorboard, that was for sure. Those three pieces of jewelry might not be worth thousands, but they were valuable enough to buy her the chance to start a new existence somewhere else now that she was regaining her strength.
Cal stormed from the room. The candle’s flame flickered in the wake of the slamming door, and snuffed out.
She stood in darkness, lost, so very lost. Outside the window, the first glow of star shine misted on the frozen sheen of snow. The silvered light drew her toward the frosty panes. There was the horseman, sitting tall in his saddle, one hand on the saddle horn, holding the reins, the other resting on his thigh. He was a formidable shadow against the velvet-black sky and glittering gray meadows, like all that was good in the world.
And yet he still made her breath catch and her pulse skip through her veins. He drew his horse to a halt at the paddock gate and seemed to be peering at her bedroom window. Instead of a prickle of fear, a jolt of heat arrowed through her, like lightning striking from sky to earth. Could he see her, even through the darkness? Was he watching her?
It was as if the entire world silenced. The anger at her stepfather faded. Why did it feel as if there were only the two of them, and no one else, in existence? And how, when she could not even see his face?
Seconds passed, and they beat within her as the shadowed man looked in her direction, and she in his. What was this strange tingle in the center of her chest? And why were her palms damp from heat, not fear?
He agitated her, that was true, and drew her like a falling star to the ground. Her feet shifted, moving her toward the window. She clutched the cool sill and watched as he lifted one strong arm to tip his hat, a polite countryman’s greeting, before he nudged his mount from the edge of the fence and rode off. Back straight, shoulders proud, becoming one with the night.
The bond between them snapped, and Katelyn’s senses filled again with the world around her. The icy draft from the windowpanes, the scent of hot candle wax and the sharp voices arguing in the other side of the house. A booming crack told her the argument had become violent.
What was it with men, that they had to be in control? In charge of his own castle, as Brett used to say. And what did that make the women they married, the women they courted so gallantly to wed before God with vows to cherish? The horseman, despite his shyness earlier and the mythical look of him this night, could be no different. He wore spurs, didn’t he? He broke horses’ spirits with lashes from a whip.
Disappointed in him, she sank into the wooden cane rocker in the corner. The book she’d been reading slipped to the floor with a thud, but it was hardly audible over the voices rising and the sound of violence piercing the walls. This was marriage. Most of the marriages she’d seen, including her own.
She buried her face in her hands. She would not remember. She would not allow her thoughts to drift backward. Agony twisted through her, braiding her into a tight, hard knot until she couldn’t feel anything. Not one thing. It was better this way, not to feel.
When she lifted her face, she saw him through the window. This time he was a distant figure, a man and his horse, small against the great steeple of the sky but not insignificant. He rode tall and straight in his saddle. He looked as if nothing could scare him, as if he were in authority above all living things on the plains. She felt the charge of it like the burn of a fire to her fingertips. Like a flame reborn on the blackened end of a snubbed-out wick.
What was it about this man? She was no longer a schoolgirl, wishing for the magic of a man falling in love with her. It made her feel old and disillusioned to remember how once she’d melted and sighed in hope that a man might truly love her. A fine, wealthy man like Brett Green, with the finest set of high-stepping bays in the county. A man who had treated her with respect, courted her with gentle words and romantic intentions, and who had proposed to her with a bright sparkling diamond when her other girlfriends wore plain gold bands.
There was no romance. No gallantry. No man’s love to gain in this world.
Bitterness soured her mouth and ached like a wire barb in her chest. Why did she still dare to hope? With a wrist wrapped in a splint and bruises fading from her face, with a barren womb and an obliterated heart? Why did she sigh when she gazed at the horseman?
Because it was human nature, she supposed, to want to be loved and loved truly. No matter how severely Brett had hurt her and no matter how broken her heart, she wanted to believe that a great, worthy man existed. And that he could love her.
That she could be lovable.
The horseman drew her attention again. He’d come back. He was not alone.
Awe filled her as Dillon dismounted in a slow, smooth movement and, dropping the reins, stepped away from his mustang. The starlight revered him, blessing the bow of his head and honoring the gentle invitation of his opened palm.
The wild stallion eased out of the shadowed draw, bold head held high, ears pricked, tail high, every muscle poised for flight. The stardust shimmered along the glossy slope of neck, back and hindquarters, and the only movement was the wind flicking the long mane and buffeting the brim of Dillon’s Stetson. Man and horse faced each other, both as still as statues.
She couldn’t believe her eyes when the stallion moved. He lifted one powerful hoof and stepped forward, toward the still horseman. His hand remained extended in offering. Why wasn’t the stallion running?
Katelyn’s fingers had curled around the top rung of the paddock fence before she realized she was outside, the window open behind her and the bitter night’s chill creeping through her flannel petticoats. She shivered, but she didn’t care if the blood froze in her veins. She had to watch. She had to see what would happen.
The night around her waited as well. A hooting owl silenced, as if listening to the low, melodic rumble of the horseman’s voice.
Rising now, slow and peaceful, the faintest strain of sounds she couldn’t put into words. What was he saying? Whatever it was, it held the stallion trans-fixed, and she, too, was drawn by the masculine baritone and gentle sounds. She’d never heard the like of it. In his words tolled a tenderness, a respect as holy as the starlight, and Katelyn slid down the top rail and into the paddock. She was drawn to the horseman’s voice just as the wild stallion was.
The animal nosed forward, stretching the magnificent length of his neck. The white mane lifted and fell in rhythm with the breeze, and his tightly coiled muscles trembled and flicked beneath his dappled coat. The Appaloosa leaned an inch toward Dillon’s steady hand.
Katelyn’s slipper crunched on a twig in the grass, and the crackle jerked through the stallion. She froze, but it was too late. The great animal pivoted, springing sideways as if under a cougar attack, already fleeing.
The horseman spoke, a cautious and interested sound, a combination of vowels Katelyn had never before heard. Whatever the meaning, the stallion halted, turning again to take the man’s measure and listen to more of that soothing language.
As if he were unaware of her, as if he hadn’t heard the crack of wood that had startled the animal, Dillon remained as he was, feet planted, spine straight, focused solely on the horse. He was like a strange, lone, rugged magician casting a spell that held captive the wild animal more completely than hobbles and a noose ever could.
What a man. She’d never seen the like. The gun at his belt remained untouched. The leather-gloved fingers of his free hand were not inching toward the lasso at his hip. He simply lured the stallion closer, not to catch him, but to know what it was like to be near him.
The Appaloosa took a wary step closer. Only a few feet separated man from beast. Both stood like legends cast in pewter and glazed by star shine.
The lure of Dillon’s words was like sunrise after a cold, bleak night. A kind, gentle light she hungered for, when her defeated heart hurt with darkness. Her chest ached, as if a bullet had torn her apart. Deep and sharp and raw.
The sight of the wild stallion reaching out to the humble man made her want to reach out, too. She longed to place her hand in Dillon’s open palm, to know the warmth of his touch and lose herself in the beauty, the gentleness. Could there be one man worthy enough to trust?
Come on, stallion, come closer. Please. He was almost there, a handful of inches from Dillon’s bared fingertips. Cautious but mesmerized, the wild beauty stretched his long neck, closing the gap. His nostrils flared, inhaling the horseman’s scent.
A crack thundered through the night, shattering the spell. The stallion streaked into motion, his neigh a sharp trumpet of fear and pain. A second gunshot thundered, resounding across the wide expanse of prairie as the Appaloosa took flight. Blood stained
the white snow, leaving behind a gleaming trail.
He’d been shot. How badly? Katelyn’s knees gave out and she fell to the ice-hardened snow. The impact rattled through her bones. Who would shoot such a beautiful creature?
“Damn it, Hennessey.” Her stepfather’s fury raged like a full-strength blizzard. “Why didn’t you shoot that worthless piece of horsemeat while you were standing there? I couldn’t believe my eyes. What were you going to do? Rope him first?”
Katelyn turned away, hiding her face. Had what she’d witnessed been real? Or had the horseman lured the stallion close just to capture him? Dillon wouldn’t have harmed the animal, would he?
“I hadn’t figured on roping him,” the horseman answered.
Her stomach lurched. Horror lashed through her, sharp as the sting of a bullwhip across the span of her back. The horseman was not made of legend and moonlight. It had only been the glow of the starlight, nothing more, and her own fanciful imagination. A foolish imagination that still wanted her to find a good man to love.
Still. After all she’d been through, she ought to know by now no such man existed. Like a slap to her face, she felt the cold punch of air on her exposed skin, the cold burrowing in her bones. The ache of it in her joints as she knelt at the base of a scrawny cottonwood, as desolate as a night without stars.
“Then what’s wrong with you?” Cal demanded. “Mount up, boys, he can’t be far, not with that bullet I put in him. The first man to bring him down gets a five-hundred-dollar bonus.”
“Paid with what?” Old Pete argued back, and several hands guffawed in agreement.
“In trade, if that’s what you want.” Cal’s pompous tone fooled no one, least of all, her. Her stepfather’s financial troubles had to be extensive.
His pride was more important, apparently, as his next words came from the direction of the stables.
“Saddle up my gelding, Ned. I want that problem eliminated. I’m sick and tired of that mongrel stud coming after my purebred mares.”