Love Inspired Historical June 2014 Bundle: Lone Star HeiressThe Lawman's Oklahoma SweetheartThe Gentleman's Bride SearchFamily on the Range

by Griggs, Winnie; Pleiter, Allie; Hale, Deborah; Nelson, Jessica

  Katrine rubbed her sore neck. The sky was splashed with orange and purple tones, the relentless wind settling a bit as it did every dusk. Even before all this strife, dusk had become her favorite time of day. The birds, always so loud and combative during the day, seemed to ease into softer songs. Oklahoma’s continual buzzing torrent of insects died down as the sun set, but the dogs and wolves had not yet started in on their night howls. Sunrise often spoke of possibility, but sunset always spoke of peace. “I am glad to have this day finished.” Katrine sighed, feeling far too little of that peace. “It has felt twenty days long instead of just one.”

  “Still, it is good to see such honor paid to your brother, yes?”

  “Sheriff Thornton told me to look at it that way as well, but I couldn’t. All those tears. All that sadness. I know it is to keep Lars safe, but it feels so cruel.”

  Winona nodded. “My people mourn him, too. He was kind to many of them. I will be glad when I can tell them Gaurang lives.”

  “Gaurang?” Lars had never mentioned his Cheyenne name.

  Winona offered a bit of a smile. “While we have words that are as long as your name—” here Winona offered a cumbersome pronunciation of Brinkerhoff to prove her point “—it is too hard on the tongue of many of my people. Gaurang is our word for Man of Fair Skin. It is better than the word for Corn Hair, which is what Dakota called Lars at first, don’t you think?”

  Katrine welcomed the laugh that sprung up at the thought of Lars answering to that name. Lars had talked of how many of the Cheyenne found his flaxen, straw-straight hair odd, but Corn Hair? “Oh, I shall have to tease him with the name when I see him again.” She couldn’t help but add, “It feels so long until I will see him again.”

  “He must miss you. He would know the pain this is causing many, and I am sure it weighs on him.”

  Katrine looked at the woman’s dark eyes. She cared for Lars, it was clear. “When you see him, tell him I am going to be fine. We are all going to be fine.” She fingered the watch hanging from her neck. “Tell him we will have a grand party when he comes back from the dead.”

  “His own Easter, yes?”

  Well, of course it wasn’t quite like that, but Katrine had to smile at Winona’s grasp of the Christian faith. Easter had fallen just the day before the Land Rush, so it had barely received notice this year despite Pastor Thornton’s efforts to keep the holiday. “Lars has told you of Christ’s resurrection from the dead?”

  “And Pastor Thornton. He has told me, as well. It is a powerful story.”

  “It has all the power in the world to us.”

  Winona folded her hands. She was a graceful, peaceful woman. Katrine couldn’t help but think the Cheyenne beauty had handled today with far more calm than she had even before learning the truth. “Your Christ also said ‘blessed are they who mourn,’ did he not?”

  “He did.”

  “Then many of your people and my people are blessed today.”

  Katrine pulled in a deep breath of the cooling air. No matter how hot and dry the day, the evening always brought a welcome breeze. It had taken her a few days to make friends with darkness again—the horrors of that night clung fast to her memory—but she could welcome the end of this day in the peace of knowing the hardest part was behind her. “You are a very wise woman, Winona. Yes, we are very blessed today.” She took Winona’s hand in hers. “Thank you for your friendship. I’m glad you will be keeping Lars company.”

  Winona returned her grasp with strong, weathered hands. “I am glad to know the sheriff is watching over you. He is a good man, as well. Strong and full of honor.”

  Katrine couldn’t help but ask. “What name do your people give him?” For some reason, Katrine expected Winona to say something dark and serious, something like Face of Stone or Silent Guard. She couldn’t imagine even the Cheyenne children giving the somber sheriff a name as funny as Dakota’s initial choice of Corn Hair.

  Winona’s face split into a broad smile. “We only call him the sheriff, the same as you.”

  Katrine laughed. “Well, I think Corn Hair might have a thing or two to say about that!”

  Winona’s eyes were soft and warm, but they settled down to a more serious gaze. “The sheriff saved your life. My people believe that binds you in many ways. More than just the friendship he shares with your brother.”

  Katrine turned her gaze to the river, wrapping her shawl more tightly around her, even though the evening breeze was gentle. “He was doing his job, that’s all.” She almost winced at how false the words sounded.

  “Did you feel close to death that night?”

  Close to death. The phrase made Katrine shudder. “Far too much. The sound of the room coming down behind me—I do not know if that will ever leave my memory. When I felt the sheriff’s hands pull me, I…” She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth for a moment. “I am grateful to be alive.” She turned to look at Winona. “I want those men brought to justice. Whenever hiding Lars feels too difficult, I remember how much I want them brought to justice.”

  “The Cheyenne believe a warrior who has faced death is stronger for it. You are stronger for this, and the sheriff has the strength of facing death many times.” She placed her hand over her chest. “The brave have strong hearts. My father always taught me that one strong heart knows another.” Her face took on a slight glow when she added, “I believe it is true.”

  Katrine touched the woman’s shoulder. “You believe my brother’s heart is strong, don’t you?”

  Winona nodded, but did not speak. Even without words, her eyes betrayed the affection she had for Lars. Katrine marveled, for a moment, how very different Lars and Winona were. She could not think of a culture further from the Danish world than the Cheyenne, and yet some things were never bound by country or language, were they? “Does he know?”

  Winona only blushed and lowered her eyes. “We have not spoken of this.”

  Yes, some things were universal across every people. “He speaks of you with warm words, Winona. I know that to be true. When all this is over, I will ask him how…how ‘strong’ his heart is, if you would like me to.”

  “No!” Winona’s eyes grew wide and the hand that had been on her heart went up to cover her mouth. Katrine could only smile at her alarm, revealing as it was. “Such things come in their own time, do they not?”

  “I couldn’t say,” Katrine offered. “But I will say nothing to Lars unless you ask me to.”

  “We must bring him back from the dead first. Then, as my father would say, we will let the river flow where it wishes to go.”

  What an astounding place the Oklahoma territories were that a Danish man thought to be dead could grow sweet on a Cheyenne woman who came to church. Some days it was easy to believe anything was possible out here on the frontier.

  Chapter Seven

  Saturday morning was a busy shopping day in Brave Rock, but Clint watched only one citizen as she made her way down the main street and into Fairhaven’s Mercantile. He slipped into the store and stood across the room, keeping an eye on Katrine but granting her some time on her own. That is, until Clint saw Sam McGraw saunter up to her and dangle a yellow ribbon.

  “Suits you, don’t it? I do hope you’ll allow me the pleasure of buying it for you. Seein’ as you’ve lost so much in the fire and all, it’s the least a gentleman can do.”

  The genteel tone of McGraw’s words, the ease of his false gallantry, churned in Clint’s gut. Looking on, shopkeeper Polly Fairhaven seemed totally taken in by the uniform and the gush of fake charm. She beamed at the soldier’s gesture. This was why McGraw would be so hard to convict—he had everyone fooled.

  Katrine’s shoulders held firm and straight, even though Clint could see the white-knuckled grip on her basket from his position across the shop. “I am in mourning, sir.” She pointed to the black band on her arm. Since most folks could not afford the luxury of full black mourning clothes out here in the territories, a black ribbon on their sleeves w
as the most practicality would allow. How very like McGraw to exploit the fact, offering bright finery to the very woman he believed he’d sent into mourning. Every time Clint felt he’d seen the depths of McGraw’s menace, the man sank to new lows.

  “The time will come when you no longer mourn,” McGraw said. Then he added, “With all due respect for your loss, ma’am, life does go on.” He held the ribbon up as if admiring how it went with her complexion. Mrs. Fairhaven tittered from behind the counter and made some comment about the cavalryman’s generosity.

  Clint had heard enough. He began walking toward McGraw, determined to come up with any diversion to get that snake away from Katrine. “McGraw! There you are.”

  McGraw laid down the ribbon with a dramatic reluctance. “Another time then, Miss Brinkerhoff. You be sure and let me know if you need anything. Anything at all.”

  “Lawrey down at the land office was looking for you right away.” It was true, but not with the urgency Clint assigned to it. “Some trouble with the two claims down by the river.”

  McGraw tipped his hat to Katrine. “Ladies, I’m afraid duty calls.” He leaned in to the shopkeeper. “Give Miss Brinkerhoff a helping of coffee and sugar and put it on my account. Even a woman in mourning can have her coffee sweet on my watch.”

  “Such a kind man.” The shopkeeper sighed as she watched McGraw swagger out the door in the direction of the land office.

  Katrine merely caught Clint’s eye with a pained expression. Clearly, she found McGraw’s display as distasteful as he. The day that man was exposed for his true nature couldn’t come quickly enough. “You’ll be needing a heap of nails come Monday when the timbers are ready,” he said to her, just to keep his teeth from grinding against each other in anger. “Walls’ll be going up and it’ll start looking like home.”

  “Shall we walk down the street to the smithy’s and put in the order then, Sheriff Thornton?” Katrine looked eager to get away from the prying eyes of the shopkeeper.

  “Oh, and here’s your coffee and your sugar from Private McGraw along with the rest of your order,” Mrs. Fairhaven called, her knowing glances now eagerly matching up McGraw with her current customer.

  Clint took the basket from Katrine’s hands and unceremoniously plunked McGraw’s “gifts” in with the other goods. “Your hands are still scratched. Let me carry that for you.”

  Katrine pushed out a breath the minute they were out of the shop. “He has everyone fooled.” She shook her head.

  “That’s what makes him so dangerous. Folks will never suspect the likes of him until we have solid proof.”

  “More proof than the word of my brother.” Frustration clipped her words short.

  “I’m afraid so.” Clint settled his hat farther down on his head. “Much as I hate to admit it, he’ll be believed over Lars if it comes down to word against word.” When Katrine sighed, he added, “But I aim to change that as fast as I can, you know that.”

  “I know.”

  “Let’s order your nails and then ride out to the homestead. I’ve blocked out the foundation. I meant it when I said it might help you to see the cabin on its way back to being built. Besides,” he added, knowing it was still hard for her to go to that place, “I have news.”

  “News?” Her eyes lit up. The blue of her eyes never ceased to startle him. He’d never met any Danes other than Lars and Katrine, and sometimes he wondered if everyone in Denmark had such rare blue eyes.

  He gave her a cautionary look. “Not here.”

  As they walked down the bustling town street to the smithy’s, Clint watched her look over her shoulder more than once. It made him regret not stepping in between her and McGraw earlier. That man could insert himself where he wasn’t welcome with a slippery, genteel ease. Even though Clint had overheard the conversation, he asked, “What’d he say to you?”

  “Private McGraw? He wanted to buy me some ribbon. It was nothing.”

  It was far from nothing. Clint didn’t have to catch the man’s every word to read what McGraw’s expression said loud and clear. “That’s all?”

  “He looks at me as though—” she waved her hand in the air the way she did when she was reaching for the right English word “—as a hungry man would look at bread.”

  Clint would have put it in coarser terms, but her comparison was accurate enough. “He’s a man used to taking what he wants. I don’t like him anywhere near you.”

  They reached the blacksmith, and Clint put in the order for the amount of nails he would need. While it would take until midweek for the full order to be ready, the smithy could give him half the needed nails now. That was good, because Clint was feeling the need to take his anger out on a few logs this afternoon while he and Katrine were out at the homestead. Not only could he see that the constant stream of sympathy from townsfolk was wearing on her, but McGraw’s leers had doubled Clint’s resolve to keep Katrine in eyesight every second he could. On a last-minute impulse, he bought a small basket of apples, a jug of cider, some bread and a chunk of hard cheese two doors down.

  “Saturday luncheon?” Her eyebrows arched in curiosity as he piled the food in the wagon alongside Katrine’s dry goods.

  “Let’s just say I think it’s a good idea to keep you out of McGraw’s sight for the weekend.” He handed her up into the wagon and swung up beside her on the seat. A steady breeze had kept the usual June heat at bay today, and there was a pleasant enough tree beside the homestead to host their meal in shade. He nodded to the red leather journal he’d seen in her basket. “You can tell me one of your stories while I lay the corner timbers.”

  Clint could almost see her flinch at the mention of corners. The sooner he got Katrine back into a solid home of her own, the faster she could put that awful night behind her. “You want to hear one of my stories?” She forced a casual tone into her words Clint could see she did not feel.

  Snapping the reins, Clint set the horse to a gentle trot toward the spot a bit outside of town where Lars and Katrine had staked their claim. “I like your stories.” It was true. On the many evenings when he had shared supper with the Brinkerhoffs, Katrine had often entertained them with stories. Normally he wasn’t much for such fanciful things, but the way her blue eyes darted over that little red book of hers as she read aloud had caught his imagination, despite his best attempts to stay away.

  She laughed, and he was glad for the sound. “Lars thinks you find them silly.”

  “They are.” Clint surprised himself by laughing right along with her. “Some of ’em, at least. But there’s a place for silly in the world, don’t you think? We’ve got all the serious we need, and then some, if you ask me.”

  She eyed him, head cocked to one side. “Sheriff Thornton, you surprise me.”

  He gave in to a whim as they pulled out of town. “I think we can dispense with the Sheriff Thornton, don’t you?”

  “Pardon?”

  “When we’re out on the homestead, you can call me Clint if you like. Sheriff Thornton is a mouthful anyways.”

  He watched her make a decision. “Well, then, I suppose you may call me Katrine when we are here.”

  She offered a shy smile, laughing when the breeze pulled the bonnet from her head and sent strands of her hair playing across her cheeks. Her hair had always looked like spun sunshine to him—not that he’d ever say such a thing to her face. Clint swallowed hard and turned his eyes to the path. “Thank you kindly, Katrine. I’ll do that,” he said, trying—and mostly failing—to say her name with a casual air. “I’ll do that.” The truth was her name sat sparkling on his tongue, as potent as it had lodged in his mind since the fire. He stole another look at her, feeling awkward when their eyes met.

  Yes, spun sunshine—that’s exactly what her hair looked like to him.

  *

  While Dakota sat with Pastor Elijah going over some new words and phrases after services on Sunday, Katrine was glad to see Clint motion for Winona and her to join him in the empty infirmary. Alice had invited
Winona and Dakota to stay for lunch, and was in the cabin getting things prepared. The situation being what it was, the three of them had to grab the opportunity to exchange information whenever a private meeting place presented itself.

  “How is he?” Katrine asked the second the door had shut behind Clint. Every detail was a gift to her, every letter an absolute treasure, even though she had to hide them carefully.

  Winona spoke, smiling at Katrine’s enthusiasm. “I will see him tonight.” She understood Katrine’s hunger for information much better than Clint did, and Katrine was glad for the Indian woman’s companionship on this strange journey. They had even prayed together for Lars’s safety, something Katrine cherished. “I have food, another blanket and one of the books I borrowed from the reverend.”

  Katrine went to her cot, pulling a small bundle wrapped in a napkin out from under her pillow. “Alice and I made these cookies yesterday evening for Sunday supper this afternoon, and I snuck half a dozen away for Lars. He has a sweet tooth.”

  Winona’s brows furrowed. “Sweet tooth?”

  “It means he likes sweet things like cakes and cookies,” Clint said, keeping one eye on the window in case Alice should return. “I’m glad you can go, Winona. I’m not able to get out to Lars until tomorrow, or even Tuesday.”

  I would find the time every day. Katrine was surprised how the sour thought roared up without any warning. Try as she might to keep such feelings at bay, Katrine always felt a sharp stab of jealousy when Clint and Winona talked of seeing Lars. It hurt to be the only one who knew Lars was alive but was unable to see him. Her brain knew better. As a young woman, she had no plausible reason to ride out alone into the wilderness. Her sensible side knew such action would only raise suspicion. Her lonesome sister’s heart, however, refused to accept that truth. Every day, every hour, she yearned to make the journey to Lars’s hiding place no matter how foolish it was. Just yesterday she’d spent an hour trying to dream up a reason to “pretend” to visit the reservation, only to surrender to the fact that it just couldn’t be.