by Jillian Hart
I despise that man. Dillon jammed his brim low, pivoted to face the door and caught the faint shadow of her face through the dark kitchen. He’d forgotten she was there, that she’d heard everything.
He stopped, torn. Did he go to her? And if he did, did he reassure her? Or offer the one thing he knew she wanted, the chance to escape this house?
And if he did, why would she want the likes of him? As soon as she was well, he had no doubt there’d be men knocking at the door. Gussied up in their Sunday best, with their hair slicked back and their manners in place for the chance to court lovely Katelyn.
He heard a whisper of fabric, the hush of a footstep, and she was gone. Somewhere in the back of the house a floorboard groaned beneath her weight. She was going pretty fast. Guess that’s your answer, Hennessey. She doesn’t want the likes of you.
Fine. He’d wait until morning to settle the matter. He wasn’t about to treat a woman like goods to be bartered. Except it sure would be something to have a wife.
Then you’d have to talk to her. Kiss her. Figure out what to say at the supper table. He may as well try to jump to the moon. His few attempts at conversation with Katelyn had to make her think he was a bumbling fool.
And now, the sort of man who would buy her.
It just went to prove his philosophy in life. The problem wasn’t with the horses but with the owners. Every single dad-blame time. The longer he was at this, the crazier it seemed folks were.
Maybe it was time to settle down. He’d been thinking of it hard on and off over the past year. Missing the land he owned. Missing a sense of permanence.
Reason he traveled was because he had no one to anchor him. No woman of his own. A house was mighty lonely day and night without end, to a bachelor too shy of women to court one.
He wouldn’t have to court Katelyn, he reasoned. She’d be already his.
Don’t even consider it. Buying a wife. What sort of a man did such a thing?
What would she think of that?
Remembering the ghostly shadow of her face in the kitchen, how she’d seemed so withdrawn, pulled in on herself. It was a purely protective stance, he knew. A deep wounding.
No, she wasn’t about to trust another man so easily. And a man who worked with his hands for a living? It was crazy thinking, that’s what it was, and he’d do best to figure out where he was headed next. And which mares he wanted, since Cal Willman was too financially troubled to come up with a few hundred bucks, the bastard.
The night had turned brutal. Sharp chunks of snow punched from a hostile sky as he waded through the accumulation. Frigid air speared through the layers of wool he wore to freeze against his skin beneath, but he was too damn het up to let it bother him. His breath rose in great puffs.
Anger built with every step he took, a rage he fought to control. What a pompous, heartless son of a bitch to think he could barter a grown woman like a broodmare in his paddock.
Ned appeared out of the blackness, sidestepping his gelding to get the hell out of the way. “Whoa, what put you in a fightin’ mood?”
What had happened in that house was no one’s business. What Willman had offered him seared like a raging flame in his guts. Another man would have taken him up on it. It was a free country, sure, but women were at the mercy of the men responsible for them. Cal Willman wanted to be rid of his stepdaughter; it was plain and simple for any man to see.
Who would he offer her to next? Ned? Or Rhodes? There was the cold-eyed cowpoke, following Ned out of the storm. The small, mean-spirited man held his rifle still, cocked and ready. Eager to earn what he considered a fortune at the unholy killing of that mystical stallion.
What if Rhodes had found the Appaloosa and Willman had offered Katelyn as the prize?
Dillon’s guts twisted so hard he missed the bottom porch step. The thought of the cowboy’s grimy, stubby fingers on her creamy satin skin made his vision blur. Rage roared through him like a firestorm, obliterating everything as he kicked his boots off in the corner and jammed wood into the potbellied stove with enough force to dent steel.
She wasn’t his to protect. He knew it.
It went to show how much he sparked for her.
“The horseman’s in a good mood,” Rhodes quipped as he stomped into the bunkhouse, snow crumbling off his boots and onto the plank floor. “Pissed you didn’t get the reward, I reckon. Good, ’cuz it takes a real man to take down a piece of horseflesh like that. Knows these prairies, and where to hide. Don’t worry yourself none, ’cuz I plan to draw him out.”
“If you figure on taking one of Willman’s prized mares with you, one in heat, don’t figure on it working.” Dillon couldn’t believe how dumb some men could be. That animal had been wounded. He’d be doubly hard to hunt down now. “Take off your damn boots. I’m not sweeping up that mess.”
He jammed the door shut, needing a target for his anger and knowing the danger in that. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this furious. A raging mad that whirled inside him like a hurricane, growing inside itself until it threatened to break down his control. And all because of a woman.
He was a sad, sorry man. He ached for her as he washed the hard ride’s grime from his face and brushed his teeth in front of the cracked mirror in the necessary room. His reflection confirmed it. Lines on his face, the deep furrows in his brow. He was troubled, no doubt about it.
His bunk was damn cold. The sheets crackled with frost as he hunkered down between them. The old tin lantern cast a sputtering light, enough to read by if he squinted some. The brazen words of William Blake drew him into the poem but did not take his mind from her.
He could see the light of her bedroom window, if he leaned to the left and craned his neck just right. The ranch house was dark except for one faint gleam in her window. A single candle, he wagered, flickering around her as she stood at the foot of her bed. He felt like a criminal watching her.
No decent man peered into a lady’s bedroom window, but he looked anyway. She’d left the curtains open, and he saw the graceful curve of her back as she stooped, folding something with care. The way she bent, elegant and slender, the perfect rounding of her spine elongated her neck and accentuated the alluring curve of her full breasts.
Desire pulsed through him like a whip’s lash. Fast. Unexpected. Fierce. The snap of it surprised him. He was rock hard, his long johns straining, suddenly tight at his groin as he leaned toward the small grubby window that gave him a view of hers.
The faint light caressed her sweet woman’s form, stroking her like a dedicated lover. His hands curved, wishing. He ought to be ashamed, lusting after her. But it wasn’t only lust he felt.
She sure was something. Longing tugged at his heart, at every inch of his being. Down to his very soul. I want her so much.
Ned’s rough voice rang at the far end of the house as he uncapped a bottle of whiskey and a few more of the boys crowded inside, stomping ice from their boots, growling at the weather and the damn horse that had eluded them. The noise reminded Dillon where he was. He wasn’t about to be caught pining over a woman clearly too good for him.
He leaned into the pillows and held his book up to the light. He read, but tonight the bright images and powerful words did not move him. He was too tired, too cold, too distracted. Maybe it was best to call it a night.
He put down the book, blew out the light and huddled beneath the blankets. Gradually the covers warmed from his body heat, and the rest of the hired men stumbled to their frosty beds. The bunkhouse was dark and filled with the sounds of drunken snoring and the scouring snow against the outside walls.
Exhaustion settled on him like a dead weight, but he couldn’t sleep. Blood pumped through his veins, and he was still hard. He refused to think of her. Wouldn’t resort to lusting after her. He had too much respect for her for that. And yet…
He leaned toward the window. Yep, her light was still gleaming like an invitation in the night. Was she in bed, beneath frilly lace-edged sheets and a
fancy blanket? Was she wearing that white ruffled nightgown that had to feel as soft as her skin?
That way of thinking was only making his situation worse. Uncomfortable now, he sat up, shoving away the covers to let the frigid air cool his sizzling blood. Surely that ought to help.
Even as his teeth chattered, and he shook from head to toe, he still had that particular problem. It didn’t look likely to go away any time soon.
He sat up and rested his face in his hands. He had a big day tomorrow. He had to be ready for it. If only he could stop wanting her, then maybe he could at least get some sleep.
Maybe, what he wanted tomorrow couldn’t wait.
Tonight’s conversation with Willman troubled him. He remembered feeling Katelyn’s shocked silence in the dark kitchen. Dillon wasn’t the kind of man who’d buy a wife, that was for sure. But if she were willing…
Had he gone plumb loco?
A movement through the window snagged his attention. What was it? The faint shadow flashed briefly in the impenetrable storm and vanished before he could hop off his bunk and scrape at the frosty glass with his thumbnail. It was her. A thin wisp of a woman, hardly more than shadow and night, but she called to him. Made his heart move in a way it never had before.
Katelyn couldn’t go back to her bed. She couldn’t sleep after that. She couldn’t stand to be in the house, as weak as she was, and headed for the back door.
She’d already been out of bed too long today, and pain gripped her chest. She let the dark and cold scud over her. Welcomed the freezing wind into her soul as her stepfather’s words echoed over and over. Anger hammered through her, blurring the world of night and shadow into one blackness. The bastard had taken her jewelry, all she had in the world. All she’d been wearing when she’d left her husband’s house. She had nothing more of value. She had no other family, no friends, nowhere to go.
Forcing back those horrible memories, she made it to the stable, grateful, sagging against the door before she opened it to catch her breath. If she could leave, she would. She’d buy a ticket on the train and hurry far away.
The doctor had told her she had to rest. He’d told her the complications he feared, and she closed her eyes, willing away the panic of remembering the blood staining the nightgown and sheets and-
Don’t think of it, Katelyn. She willed the image away, but the truth of it remained. She shivered deep, afraid, while the wind gusted her as strong as a human touch to her back. Well, she’d heeded his advice. She’d been too weak to do little else, and where had it gotten her? Now that she had regained some strength, however tenuous, she was penniless.
What would become of her now? She was still too weak to travel.
“Ma’am.” A deep baritone penetrated the force of wind and snow.
It was his touch on her back, she realized. The horseman towered over her, shielding her from the brunt of the cold.
“We best get you back to the house where it’s warm. It’s mighty cold out here. A man well bundled would freeze to death in no time. It isn’t safe for a little fragile thing like you.”
“I can’t go back yet.” She didn’t know why she told him that. He wouldn’t understand.
“Pretty bad in that house, is it?”
“It always was, that’s why I married. I thought any place would be better than living with those people.” I was wrong. She kept back the truth. There was worse. Living with a man who wanted a son more than anything. Anything. And watching how that had destroyed him, and then her.
“Desperation can bring out the bad in a man,” the horseman said thoughtfully. “Or it can bring out the best. It tests the mettle, anyhow.”
“The best? That I’d like to see.” She didn’t believe it. Had stopped believing in anything.
Why hadn’t she moved that jewelry? Mad at herself, mad at Cal, it felt near to breaking her. Without her health and anything of value, she was at the complete mercy of her stepfather. The man who’d offered her to Hennessey like a horse to be traded.
The horseman reached over her head and dragged open the heavy wood door enough for the comforting warmth of hay and horse to float through. “You don’t believe in a man’s goodness?”
“No.”
“Never? You think there isn’t one good man in this entire territory?”
“There was one.” Affection warmed her, chasing away the cold and pain and taking her back to a simpler part of her life, when the summer had seemed to last forever and when she’d known kindness. “My father was a good man.”
“Is that so? Come inside, out of the wind, why don’t you, and tell me about him.”
She saw what he was up to. The steadiness in his voice, the interest. He wasn’t here out of the goodness of his heart. No man did anything for free. Not without expecting something in return.
And she feared what it was. What had gone on between the horseman and her stepfather? Had Cal paid Hennessey with cash? Or not?
“What are you doing out on a night like this?” she asked instead, tucking her memories away to keep safe.
“Couldn’t sleep. Have a lot on my mind.”
“Your next job, perhaps?”
“No. I figure I’ll head home for a bit. I’m not worried about my next job. They tend to find me.” He nudged her elbow, guiding her into the darkness.
She inched away, refusing to lean on him. She knew what he was thinking. “You would be better off with the horses. Even with the jewelry. It would fetch you a few hundred if you were to sell it.”
“I don’t want a lady’s bracelet. I’ve got enough horses.”
Why didn’t he have a wife? The dark hid him from her, and he moved with the slightest sound into the aisle. She listened to the rustle as he moved, to the tap of his solid boots on the floor and the scrape of metal as he found the lantern.
A match flared, and light danced across his rugged features. My, he’s handsome. She’d always thought he was nice looking, but this close, he was devastating. A generous forehead over dark, expressive eyes. The high, sharp cheekbones of his native ancestors and the same proud look. A straight nose that wasn’t too big, but fit his face well. Over a mouth that was hard enough to be cut in stone, but suited him and didn’t look harsh. A jaw as strong as he was, and he clenched it hard so that muscles bunched in his throat while he studied her.
“I’ve been cast aside, you’re aware of that.” It was only the truth. “I did not make a good wife.”
“I suspect that’s a matter of opinion.”
“I don’t want to marry again.”
“What? If your stepfather offered you to me, he may do the same to someone worse. Ever think of that?”
Her stomach rolled. It was logical, of course. The horseman was right. She hadn’t considered the possibility. Cal had said he was looking for a situation. One that suited him financially, no doubt.
While her stepfather could not force her to marry anyone, he could make her life so miserable she would choose anything as an escape. Just as she’d chosen Brett. As an escape. As the one chance at happiness she thought she’d ever get.
“Come on up to the loft. There’s a good view from up there.”
“I don’t want to sit with you. I came here to be alone.”
“Me, too. We can be alone together. Come on.” He carried the battered lantern with him, sending light swinging back and forth across the dirt floor. Horses inside their shadowed stalls snuffled and shifted in protest, for their sleep was disturbed. Hennessey stopped at the end of the aisle. “Why don’t you come on up and make me understand why you won’t at least consider the proposition I have for you.”
“Why? It won’t be in my best interest.”
“You can’t know that. You’re assuming I’m no better than your stepfather or that bastard who hurt you.” He held out his hand, palm up, just as he’d done with the stallion. “At least come tell me no and be done with it.”
She found her feet moving forward. “I can tell you no from here.”
&
nbsp; “Yeah, but if you reject me here and now and I go back to the bunkhouse to lick my wounds and leave for home come morning, then you’ll never know what happened to the stallion.” A gleam of triumph widened his smile as he climbed the ladder, taking the light with him.
That man! She found her feet moving forward, taking her to the small glow of light, trailing down the wooden ladder from the loft above.
Hennessey gazed down at her, one brow cocked. “Interested?”
Wasn’t that what she’d expect? Men liked to dominate. They liked to control. Be in charge. Use leverage. The very reason why she could never marry again.
But you have nowhere to go. That truth weighed like a thousand-pound anvil on her chest as she curled her hand around the sanded rung.
“That’s it.” The horseman gripped her wrist, then her elbow, aiding her up with hardly a strain to those muscles of his.
Reminding her how strong he was. Not as big as Brett, but bulkier. Iron hard. The latent power in Hennessey’s tall, lean form frightened her. It was his touch that soothed like steaming hot chocolate on a cold day. Like a toasty hot bath before a crackling fire.
She pulled away, her feet solid on the hay-strewn boards. She skirted a pile of hay just to get away from him.
“The snow’s letting up.” Hennessey’s baritone rumbled along the rafters she had to duck to miss bumping her head.
“Sure is a bad sign, getting a hard snow this early. Likely to be a cold, long winter. The old-timers say that, too.” Like a touch, his voice drew her closer. “That means your stepfather’s situation is going to get worse. This hay won’t last him through a long winter. He pinched pennies this summer by trying to get by with fewer hired hayers. It might cost him big.”
“I know what you’re trying to do.”
“Fine. I’m not denying it. But it’s a free country, and I do have the right to ask.”
She remembered how he’d looked on the midnight prairie. Remembered how he’d watched over her when she’d been feeding the deer. I’m not afraid of him, she realized. It wasn’t much, but it was the reason she followed him to the edge of the loft, where he threw open the haying door. The night air rolled in.