Kathryn prepared herself for the worst. Would MacGregor go so far as to dismiss her simply for refusing his advances? Surely not. Nevertheless, her mind tumbled forward, wondering where she would live, what her next employ would be, and who might hire a woman seven months heavy with child.
“Mrs. Jennings, I’ve been thinking about our conversation two nights ago and deeply regret some of what I said to you.”
A look bordering on contrition edged his thin smile, and Kathryn felt a wind of caution sweep through her. Donlyn MacGregor was only a man, she reminded herself as she watched him. A powerful one, yes. Wealthy, most certainly. But still, just a man. One who could help her realize a dream if he so determined. She reminded herself to breathe.
He glanced away, his gaze settling somewhere on the bookshelves lining the walls. “Frankly, Mrs. Jennings, I was angry at the way you refused my attention. At the way you have repeatedly refused me since the day we met.” He looked up then and placed his hand, palm down, on a thick legal document atop his desk. Kathryn’s eyes immediately went to it. “But after much consideration, I have decided to give you what you’ve asked of me. I’ll loan you the money so you can keep your land. All of it. But first, we need to discuss the terms of our agreement.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
LARSON PULLED THE curry brush over the mare’s coat, working in smooth, rhythmic strokes, thankful for the breeze that helped cool the heat of the midday sun. At the horse’s whinny, he looked up and across the corrals to see Donlyn MacGregor peering inside the stable. Apparently MacGregor hadn’t noticed him yet.
Though he’d glimpsed Casaroja’s owner several times since being here, Larson hadn’t seen him up close. Not since he’d met with him the previous fall when MacGregor had come to him wanting to buy the south pastureland as well as the homestead acreage. MacGregor had said he needed additional grazing land and had pushed him hard to sell, but Larson had refused. Twice. He knew it was a lie. MacGregor already had enough land to keep twice his herd.
MacGregor turned in Larson’s direction and stilled.
Larson straightened as the man approached. He offered his hand first. “Sir.” He worked hard to keep the spite from his voice.
MacGregor openly studied his face, distaste clearly written in his steely eyes. “I’m Donlyn MacGregor, the owner of Casaroja.”
“Yes, sir. I know who you are. My name’s Jacob. Jacob Brantley,” he added, thinking quickly.
“Brantley,” MacGregor repeated. “Stewartson was tellin’ me we had a new hire a while back. I thought I knew everyone here, but I don’t recall seein’ you before.” His tone clearly stated that he would have remembered such an encounter.
“I’ve been here about a month. I mostly keep to myself and just do my job.”
MacGregor eyed him, then gave him a look that said he understood why. Larson turned back to currying the mare.
His employer walked around the horse to face him. “Where were you before you came to Casaroja?”
“I ran cattle down south at Johnson’s place for a while. He has a nice spread there. Then before that I was up north of Denver for a few months.” That was stretching it a bit, but technically it was the truth.
MacGregor laughed in his throat. “Johnson’s stock doesn’t come close to comparing with Casaroja’s. I’m sure you can see the difference.”
“You do have fine animals.” The compliment nearly choked him.
“I only purchase the best.” MacGregor ran a hand over the sleek black coat of the mare. “It’s costly, but worth the investment. You’ll discover that after workin’ here for a while.” He paused for a moment. “If you want the best, you must be willin’ to pay to get it.”
Noting the shift in MacGregor’s tone, Larson looked back to follow the man’s line of vision. Kathryn was walking toward them from the house.
“Now there’s a real beauty, man.” MacGregor’s voice dropped low. “Somethin’ worth an investment, for sure.”
A stab of possessiveness twisted Larson’s insides.
MacGregor went to meet her. “Mrs. Jennings, what a nice surprise.”
Larson watched her but didn’t say anything. Kathryn nodded politely to MacGregor, then looked over the man’s shoulder. She offered Larson a smile, and he felt the tightening lessen in his gut. Her hair shone like gold in the afternoon sun. She’d never been more beautiful to him.
“You’re needed at the main house, sir,” she told MacGregor. “Mr. Kohlman is here to see you. He’s waiting in your office.”
“Indeed,” MacGregor answered, taking hold of her arm. “And would you do me the great honor of accompanyin’ me back, Kathryn? I enjoyed our evenin’ together and look forward to many more like it.”
Larson’s eyes met Kathryn’s just before she turned away. He didn’t know what to make of the look of surprise on her face.
Not watching them leave, he worked the brush over the mare’s coat until the black coat gleamed almost blue in the hot sun. When he was done, his long-sleeved shirt was soaked clean though and his shoulder throbbed with pain.
Jacob sat quietly beside her as the wagon jostled along the parched, rutted road. From the moment he’d helped her onto the bench seat, Kathryn had tried drawing him into conversation. They still had a good half hour before arriving at church, and she’d so looked forward to talking with him again. Jacob’s responses, though kind, were reserved. She’d caught him staring at her twice since they’d left Casaroja, and for some reason, that gave her hope.
Kathryn turned her head slightly to try to read his mood. Unfortunately, the right side of Jacob’s face bore more damage than did the left, and any tension in his jaw or slight turn of his mouth that might have hinted at his feelings lay masked beneath the scarring.
Despite the heat, Jacob wore his customary long-sleeved shirt and loose-fitting dungarees, with a knit cap almost totally covering his ears. His beard grew in much thinner and in patches on the right side of his face. He’d let the whiskers grow, to help cover the scarring no doubt, and kept them neatly trimmed, much different from the first time she’d seen him in town. It looked like he’d gained weight in recent weeks, and his shirts didn’t look nearly so large on him. Even sitting silently beside her, Jacob radiated a gentleness that drew her, and Kathryn wished she could hear him laugh again.
Jacob suddenly cleared his throat and repositioned his glasses. Kathryn glanced away, not having meant to look overlong. He was sensitive about people staring, and that’s exactly what she’d been doing, but not for the reasons he might imagine.
“Thank you for taking me to church this morning.” She tried again after a moment. “I’m sorry Gabe couldn’t join us.”
Jacob urged the pair of bay mares to a faster trot. “I did ask him, like I told you I would. He said he’d come, but this morning he said the boss needed him to work.”
Kathryn caught a trace of defensiveness in his tone. “I didn’t mean to imply that you hadn’t asked him, Jacob. I’m fine with it being just the two of us. Really. I’ve been looking forward to your company.”
He said nothing.
Waiting for him to respond, Kathryn sighted a post about a hundred feet down the road and promised herself that if Jacob hadn’t said something by the time they reached it, she would inquire about his sullen mood.
They passed the post, and Kathryn wondered if promises made to oneself really counted. She sat up a little straighter, summoning her nerve.
“Jacob—”
“Mrs. Jennings—”
They both turned to each other and gave a nervous laugh.
“Please, Jacob, you go first.”
He kept his gaze trained forward, his thumbs rubbing the worn leather of the reins in his hands. “You can tell me this is none of my business, ma’am. And you’d be within your right, but I’ve been wondering about something the Carlsons mentioned when we were at the picnic.”
“And what is that?”
“The pastor said something about your having gone th
rough a recent loss.”
He turned and looked at her then, and from the tilt of his chin, Kathryn got the feeling he wasn’t looking only at her eyes. Strangely, it didn’t bother her, because she sensed nothing inappropriate in his stare, and besides, hadn’t she been studying his face just moments ago? The morning sunshine hit his glasses just right and, for an instant, she saw the faintest outline of his eyes.
He faced forward. “I’m just wondering what your loss has been. ’Course I can guess some of it from the dresses you wear.”
Kathryn looked down at her dress and then rested a hand on her abdomen. She hadn’t expected this sharp of a turn in the conversation. “Have you always been this straightforward, Jacob?”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am. Guess I picked it up somewhere along the way.”
Kathryn thought she detected a smile fighting the edges of his mouth. The church building came into view, and she wondered how much to share in the brief time they had left. She quickly decided that Jacob had been honest with her and the Carlsons about parts of his life, and she owed him no less.
“I buried my husband earlier this year. That’s when I first met Patrick Carlson, in fact. He spoke at my husband’s funeral. And he did a fine job remembering him too, especially never having—” Her voice caught, and Kathryn realized how long it had been since she’d spoken her husband’s name aloud. “Especially since he’d never known Larson.” She looked across the valley toward the cemetery. The warm breeze suddenly felt cool on her cheeks, and Kathryn dabbed the tears on her face. She felt Jacob watching but didn’t turn.
“So your husband wasn’t a church-going man?”
“No, he wasn’t. But he was still a good man. He just had a . . . a difficult upbringing that made it hard for him to be around people. I remember the day he agreed to come to church with me, just that once. It was years ago, before the Carlsons moved to town.” She sighed, remembering the hymns they’d sung. “The songs we sang filled my heart to overflowing, but with every note we sang, I sensed his discomfort. He didn’t want to be there—I felt it. So I finally told him I’d had enough and that we could leave.”
Jacob kept his focus on the road and Kathryn did the same. The prairie grass growing tall by the road’s edge quivered as they passed.
“But you hadn’t had enough, had you?”
A rush of tears rose without warning. Kathryn swallowed hard and shook her head. “No. That hunger has always been inside me.” She turned to him. “Same as dwells inside you, I think.”
Jacob started to speak, then stopped. His hands tightened on the reins. “Did he know? Your husband, I mean. About how you felt?”
Kathryn wondered how they’d drifted down this delicate path, a path she hadn’t had the courage to walk yet, but part of her welcomed the reflection. Perhaps it would help provide some clues to the answers she still sought about her marriage to Larson and how they’d grown apart, especially toward the end. “I did tell him once that I wanted . . . more. More of him, more of us. But then time goes by and things between a husband and wife settle. Even if life isn’t what you thought it would be, nevertheless, you’re there. And you get used to things the way they are. Time passes, and you almost forget what it was that you wanted at the outset. Then all of a sudden, out of the blue, things happen that make you remember. Then it almost feels selfish to ask for something more when you’re not even certain there’s something more to be had. And yet, sometimes I . . .” She looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. “I still felt so empty inside.”
Kathryn bowed her head, suddenly self-conscious at having rambled on and afraid she might appear selfish in Jacob’s eyes. She looked across the fields to the nearly finished schoolhouse. Uncomfortable as it might be, it did feel good to talk about Larson to someone else, to finally give voice to misgivings that still haunted her solitude.
“In answer to your question, Jacob, I think he knew. It was always a kind of . . . unspoken boundary that separated us.”
Jacob guided the team of horses down the lane leading to church. “Why didn’t you ever just tell him outright?”
Though she doubted he intended it, Kathryn sensed accusation in Jacob’s question. And she acknowledged the guilt laid at her feet. “I should have been more honest with him, I know that now. I shouldn’t have expected him just to know what I needed or wanted.” She closed her eyes as the truth surfaced. “I guess I was always afraid it would hurt Larson in some way if he knew I wasn’t completely happy, and I didn’t want to do that. I loved my husband very much, even though there were times when—”
Kathryn suddenly caught herself. She blinked to clear the memories and forced a smile. “I’m certain that’s more than you wanted to hear, Jacob. Maybe that’ll keep you from asking me such a straightforward question next time.” She tried for a lighthearted laugh as she smoothed her skirt.
A few wagons dotted the yard, and she spotted Patrick Carlson standing in the doorway greeting people. Jacob brought the team to a halt in the churchyard and set the brake. They sat in silence for a moment, neither moving. The breeze whistled through the cottonwoods overhead.
“How did your husband die?”
Surprised again by Jacob’s directness, Kathryn slowly let out a breath. “We really don’t know for certain. Most people seem to think he got lost in the storm on Christmas Day, but I find that hard to believe. In all the years I knew him, Larson never lost his way in this land. Not once. He loved it.” She decided not to mention that he had been shot—it somehow seemed unimportant now—plus she didn’t want to risk planting doubt in Jacob’s mind about the kind of man Larson had been. Tears stung her eyes. “He loved this land more than anything else.” Even more than me. She suddenly wished they would change the subject.
Jacob climbed down and came around to help her. Kathryn offered him her hand and was surprised when he slipped his arms around her to help her down. The strength in his arms was unexpected. He steadied her, his hands lingering on her shoulders. She felt his stare but didn’t look up. Why did her pulse skip to such an unnatural rhythm?
But she knew the reason. It was the reminiscing about Larson, followed by the unquestionable certainty that though their marriage had been far from perfect, he had taken a part of her with him when he died. A part she needed in order to feel complete.
“I’m sorry you lost your husband.”
Moved by the emotion in his roughened whisper, Kathryn lifted her eyes. “Thank you, Jacob. But I think I lost my husband years ago.”
“We want you both to join us for lunch today, and I’m not taking no for an answer,” Hannah Carlson said following the service. “Lilly’s even made another pie.”
Larson noted the look that passed between the two women and wondered at Kathryn’s frown.
“Hannah, I hope you didn’t . . .” Kathryn whispered. Larson recognized the undercurrent of displeasure in her tone.
Hannah squeezed Kathryn’s arm tight and leaned close. “I didn’t, Kathryn, honestly. But there is another guest coming, someone Patrick invited just a moment ago. He’s new in town and is a widower himself, for five years now.” Her look grew soft. “Despite my kidding, I know it’s too soon for you to be thinking of courting. Everyone realizes you’re still in mourning, and I’ve made certain he knows this is only lunch, nothing more. Please come, Kathryn. I’d love to spend some time with you, and Lilly and Bobby will be so disappointed if you don’t.” She glanced back behind her. “Listen, I’ve got to go stand with Patrick for a minute. You two can go on to the house. I’ve already given Jacob directions on how to get there.” She touched Larson’s arm before turning. “I’m so glad you’re joining us today too. Lilly can’t wait to show you her new pony.”
Larson helped Kathryn back into the wagon, watching as she searched the crowd. No doubt she was looking for the gentleman Patrick had invited. He climbed up beside her and waited for the wagons to clear out before flicking the reins. Kathryn was quiet next to him, which suited him just fine. Taking
the long way through town to the Carlsons’ house, he welcomed the time to think.
He’d tried listening to Patrick’s sermon, but the things Kathryn had said to him kept churning in his mind. And no matter how he looked at it, he kept coming back to the same conclusion he’d reached the other night. Kathryn deserved better than what he could give her. He’d had his chance and failed. The question he struggled with now was . . . did he love her enough to stay in the grave?
He maneuvered the wagon down a side street and saw the brothel looming ahead. Sensing Kathryn’s awareness of it, he stole a look at her. Her eyes were narrowed, and a slight frown creased her brow.
Through all this, Larson couldn’t help but think of Matthew Taylor and wonder how he fit into Kathryn’s life. He hadn’t seen Taylor since Kathryn had moved to Casaroja. Did that mean Taylor wasn’t the father of Kathryn’s child after all? Or that they’d reached some sort of understanding?
As they passed the brothel, Larson studied the row of curtained windows on the second floor of the clapboard building. Maybe the child wasn’t Taylor’s. . . . Maybe Kathryn didn’t know who the child’s father was.
Though it still wounded him to think that the baby Kathryn nurtured wasn’t his own, somehow it hurt him even more to know that her child would share his name after all—a name he’d heard repeatedly as a young boy when he walked through town, the name he’d been running from his entire life.
Hannah Carlson was as gifted at cooking as she was at making coffee. The meal was delicious, and Larson felt especially grateful for Lilly’s insistence that he sit by her. It had helped him feel less out of place. Despite Hannah’s assertion that their male guest wasn’t interested in Kathryn, from his vantage point, interest was written all over the man’s face.
Larson looked across the table to Kathryn and the man seated beside her. He guessed Michael Barton to be about Kathryn’s age, maybe a little older. Tall with dark blond hair and a mustache, Barton seemed to be a nice enough fellow. Regrettably so. He’d been attentive to Kathryn throughout the meal, asking questions about her upbringing and how long she’d been in town. Kathryn’s answers had been truthful but hadn’t invited further discussion.
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