The Bond Unbroken

by Bond unbroken (NCP) (lit)

  Mitch felt his gut wrench when he saw tears fill Katlin's eyes. "Good Lord," was all he was capable of saying at that moment.

  AI can't interfere. I can't warn Phil or Ben. It's one of the things I can't change," Katlin insisted with quiet conviction. "It’s a risk I can't take."

  Mitch allowed his mind to wander back to the pond on that first night when Katlin tried to explain the possible dangers to the future if she interfered with history as it had been recorded. He'd believed at the time he understood the principles, in some twisted way it even made sense. Now Mitch realized what made sense in theory had an entirely different impact when faced with the reality of it. He also realized what an incredibly heavy burden Katlin was carrying.

  She knew so much she couldn't reveal. If she was permitted to remain in this time with him, as Mitch prayed would be the case, his heart ached at the gut wrenching choices Katlin might be forced to make in the future.

  Katlin had just confided one incident, and the information was playing billy-hell with his conscience. Mitch also liked Phil Coe, the soft spoken, mild-mannered gambler who was Ben's partner in the saloon. And just this morning when he'd stopped in at the jail to see Hickok as he'd promised to do last night, Mitch had met the young deputy Katlin had mentioned. Mitch had taken his measure of Mike Williams in an instant. He suspected that despite his fast gun hand, the young man's fresh-faced good looks, ready smile, and no doubt tender heart would be his downfall. It had never entered Mitch's mind to doubt Williams would be fast with his gun. Hickok would never have taken him on otherwise. It was also obvious to Mitch the deputy had a misguided case of hero worship when it came to Wild Bill Hickok.

  Mitch appreciated the fact that Katlin had remained silent, giving him time to absorb and assimilate the potential ramifications of what she'd told him. Mitch suspected he was grasping at straws, but it was a possibility. "You said you believed you'd been sent here to right a wrong," Mitch said hopefully. "Preventing that shoot-out might be it."

  "It isn't," Katlin answered with quiet conviction.

  "How can you be sure?'

  "I’m sure."

  "But . . . ."

  AI know, Mitch. Don't ask me how I know. I just do."

  Once again, Mitch used his kerchief to blot the perspiration on his brow. "If you knew there is nothing we can do to prevent two senseless deaths, why did you tell me?" Mitch demanded with obvious frustration.

  For barely an instant, Katlin closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes she caught and held Mitch's gaze without blinking. AI told you because you have to understand what you're getting yourself into. I didn't ask for this, Mitch. I don't have any choice here, but you do."

  Leaning toward her, Mitch curved his index finger under Katlin's chin and lifted her lips toward his. "We’re in this together, darlin'." He insisted in a tone which left no room for ifs, ands, or buts.

  "No matter what happens?" she whispered against his lips.

  "No matter what," Mitch insisted, then proceeded to kiss her until she had to clutch at the lapels of his shirt to keep herself from falling from her horse. Mitch broke off the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers. AI wish we could forget our supper plans."

  "No more than I do," Katlin agreed wholeheartedly.

  The horses beneath them began to fidget restlessly, forcing Mitch to straighten in his saddle. "What can I do to make things easier for you, Kat?"

  "Just love me and understand things might happen over which I have no control."

  "You can count on it."

  Approaching the Westfield ranch, Katlin was struck by the simplicity of the two story, white-washed frame house with a porch spanning the front. There was a barn, corral, what was most likely a bunk house, and in the distance she could see a herd of grazing cattle. More than a ranch, the Westfield spread reminded Katlin of an Amish farm she had visited several years ago. It was a far cry from the sprawling Westfield Estate surrounded by a high brick security wall she had visited in the course of her rape investigation.

  If the current Westfields had begun making inroads toward amassing the huge fortune Katlin knew they would attain, it was well hidden. On the front porch awaiting their arrival stood Rick Westfield who was leaning negligently against one of the supporting posts as he talked with a seated gray haired man.

  Katlin had been an extremely unwelcome visitor on her last visit to a Westfield home, what her reception would be this time remained to be seen.

  As they reined in at the porch, the gray haired man guided his wheelchair to the top of the steps and looked up at Mitch. AI see one thing hasn't changed, boy. You're never late for supper," he said in lieu of a greeting.

  It didn't take a rocket scientist to recognize the resemblance between Rick and the older man in the wheelchair, a man who could only be Richard Westfield Sr. Although there was also a slight resemblance to his descendant in 2002, it was obvious the stroke had taken a toll on the once robust man.

  "And I can see that you're as cantankerous as ever," Mitch responded with a grin.

  "What can I say?" the elder Westfield agreed with a shrug. "My son insists I'm too mean to die."

  If Katlin hadn't been watching, she'd have missed the barely discernible clenching of Mitch's jaw at Westfield's remark. She suspected he was thinking of the recent death of his own father.

  AI suspect he's right," Mitch tossed back in a teasing manner, shaking off his unpleasant thoughts.

  Mitch glanced toward Katlin with a wink and a reassuring smile then proceeded to dismount. Katlin followed suit.

  As if on cue, the instant their feet touched solid ground, a man stepped around from the side of the house. Katlin tensed, glad she was armed even though she didn't expect trouble. Too many people knew where they were, and Ben Thompson was one of them. Rick might be a low-life bastard, but he wasn't stupid. Wordlessly, the man walked over, took the reins of their horses, and headed in the direction of the barn. Even though his hat was pulled low, hiding his eyes from view, Katlin felt a crawling sensation on her flesh as he passed, and she didn't miss the leering smirk that curved the man's lips.

  Katlin glanced quickly up at Mitch to see if he'd noted anything unusual, but his attention was focused on Westfield Sr.

  "He doesn't have much to say, but Gant is one hell of a ranch hand," Rick said almost too casually, speaking for the first time.

  Mitch arched a questioning eyebrow in Rick's direction. "Rather well armed for a ranch hand, isn't he?" Mitch's question confirmed Katlin's observation. Common ranch hands didn't wear holsters strapped low on each hip, nor were they usually armed with expensive pearl handled Colts.

  "It’s unfortunate but necessary," Rick responded. "There has been some trouble in the area, and I don't plan on being taken by surprise."

  Mitch put his arm around Katlin's waist, pulling her to his side. "Yeah, so I've heard."

  Rick moved away from his leaning post and faced Mitch squarely. "Oh? And what exactly have you heard?" It was a defensive posture if Katlin ever saw one.

  AI thought I taught you young pups better manners," Westfield Sr. interrupted, effectively putting a halt to anything which might have been said between the two younger men. "Is someone going to introduce me to this lovely young woman, or do I have to introduce myself?"

  Mitch's arm tightened around Katlin, and he looked down at her with such love shining from his eyes her heart melted in response. "Richard, I'd like you to meet Katlin McKinnen, soon to be Mrs. Mitchell Cameron," Mitch responded. "Kat, this is Richard Westfield, my father's oldest and closest friend."

  After a few seconds of silence, which would be expected after an unexpected announcement, Westfield Sr.'s lips curved up in a welcoming smile. "Well, I'll be damned," Westfield expelled on a soft whistle. "About time you settled down." He looked up at Katlin and extended his hand. "Welcome to the family, Miss McKinnen."

  Katlin walked up the two steps necessary to clasp Westfield's hand. "Katlin, please," she insisted.

&
nbsp; "I’d be right proud, Katlin, but only if you call me Richard. We don't stand much on formalities around here."

  Katlin was willing to give the elder Westfield the benefit of the doubt. There was a chance he was clueless to his son's activities, and Rick Jr. could well be the first rotten apple in the Westfield barrel. The elder Westfield seemed genuinely pleased by Mitch's announcement, once he'd recovered from the surprise of it. Still, Katlin's keen observation skills hadn't failed her, and she hadn't missed Richard's white knuckled grip on the wooden wheels of his chair after Mitch announced their wedding plans. Rick's reaction had been similar, gripping the glass he held so tightly Katlin expected it to shatter in his hand. Rick had recovered less quickly than his father, and he was at the moment shaking Mitch's hand and giving him a hearty slap on the back.

  "So, when is the big day?" Rick asked.

  "Tomorrow afternoon at the church in town," Mitch answered. "We’d like the family to be there."

  "We wouldn't miss it for the world," Richard accepted for the entire family before he looked over his shoulder toward the screened door and bellowed, "Sarah, come on out here and greet our guests." Katlin felt herself cringe inwardly at his tone of voice.

  A few moments later, Sarah Westfield stepped onto the front porch. Clearly in the advanced stages of pregnancy, Katlin judged her to be in her early twenties, about five foot seven in height, and, in Katlin's opinion, way too thin. Her long dark hair was pulled back, tied with a yellow ribbon, and escaping tendrils clung to the side of her pale features in damp ringlets. The only thing which kept Sarah from being described as plain were the huge, expressive, brown eyes that shined with genuine welcome. Noting Sarah's heat flushed cheeks and the dampness which caused her blouse to cling to her swollen abdomen, Katlin immediately felt guilty and angered that the young woman had been forced to cook on such an unbearably hot day.

  Still, Katlin suspected Sarah would have been forced to cook the evening meal, guests or no guests. It was the sign of the times when women were expected to perform their so called duties right up to delivery. Katlin's opinion of the Westfield men led her to believe Sarah would receive little compassion or pampering from that quarter.

  Richard confirmed Katlin's opinion when he addressed Sarah more like a servant than a member of the family, "Is supper ready to be served?"

  "It’s ready," Sarah responded almost meekly, but not before Katlin glimpsed a flash of defiance in Sarah's eyes before it was quickly masked. "All I have to do is put everything on the table."

  So, Sarah Westfield is not as meek as she pretended to be, Katlin thought to herself as she stepped forward and extended her hand. "Hi, Sarah, I'm Katlin. What can I do to help?"

  Sarah took Katlin's hand in a surprisingly firm grip despite a flinch of pain. Katlin glanced down and saw that Sarah's right wrist was swollen almost twice the size of her other slim wrist.

  "Nonsense," Richard insisted. "You’re a guest. Sarah wouldn't hear of you helping out in the kitchen."

  "In this heat, in her condition, and with a sprained wrist? No, I insist," Katlin responded with feigned sweetness, yet her tone was firm and not to be denied. "Besides, Richard, you did say you don't stand on formalities around here," she reminded him.

  "Who am I to argue with a beautiful lady?" Richard conceded with obvious reluctance. His tone of voice was cordial if somewhat patronizing. Katlin wasn't fooled for an instant. Westfield Sr. wasn't used to a woman, any woman, questioning his dictates and doing exactly as she pleased despite his objections. And he didn't like it for a moment. Furthermore, Katlin had no qualms about pulling his strings.

  AI thought you'd see it my way," she couldn't resist adding. "Come on, Sarah, let me wrap that wrist for you. Then we'll see that the men are fed."

  Katlin cast a meaningful glance in Mitch's direction. Their eyes met, and no words were necessary. Mitch was surprised that despite the expressionless mask she wore, he knew exactly what she was thinking even before she spoke.

  "How did you hurt your wrist anyway?" Katlin asked with feigned but deliberate innocence. Mitch and Katlin both took note of the quick glance Sarah cast in Rick's direction before answering. It was the same anxious look Mrs. Peabody had given her husband before Katlin decked him. A reaction which had Mitch wondering if Rick was about to meet the same fate.

  Just like Mr. Peabody, Rick answered before Sarah could respond, "She tripped. What can I say?" Rick explained with a negligent shrug. "Getting fat has made her incredibly clumsy."

  Mitch realized he had been holding his breath, waiting to see what Katlin would do next. He knew the conclusion she had reached, and, unfortunately, Mitch had to agree she was probably right. Even as a child Rick had possessed a cruel streak. The proverbial child who pulled the glow off lightning bugs or tied tin cans to a cat's tail. With a barely discernible nod of her head, Katlin acknowledged that she knew Mitch knew exactly what had gone on in his friend's home. Katlin put her arm around Sarah's shoulder, and the women turned for the door.

  "Before you do anything else, Sarah, bring Mitch a drink," Rick instructed.

  AI think Mitch is capable of getting his own drink," Katlin responded. "Aren’t you, darling?"

  Mitch didn't have to be hit over the head to take the hint. AI think I can manage," he agreed with a wink as he walked up the steps and followed the women into the house.

  Once inside, Mitch turned right into the parlor, and Katlin followed Sarah through the dining room into the kitchen. At the liquor cabinet where Mitch poured himself a snifter of Richard's best brandy, he found his mind wandering back to the years he'd lived with the Westfields as a child. He remembered all of Rachel's so-called accidents, how often her eyes were red and puffy from crying.

  Thinking back on it now, he remembered how soft spoken Rachel had always been, as if she was afraid of angering Richard. Yet she had never hesitated to step in when Richard's anger was directed toward the boys. Which wasn't actually true because Richard's anger was never directed toward his son who could do no wrong in his eyes. It was always Mitch who took the blame, no matter what Rick might have done. Mitch had taken it all without complaint because he was afraid they'd send him away from Rachel, the only mother he'd ever known. Sweet, gentle, loving Rachel.

  He had just turned nine years old when his own father had an attack of Christian conscience and had arrived to take Mitch home, away from Rachel. Mitch had never forgiven him for that. Nevertheless, in the intervening years until Rachel's death from a fall down the stairs when Mitch was sixteen, he had spent much of his time with the Westfields.

  It had taken Katlin to open his eyes, to make him recognize what he'd been blind to all those years. Mitch tossed his drink back in one fiery gulp, poured himself another, and was annoyed to realize his hand wasn't quite steady.

  Like the liquor burning a path to his stomach, an unwanted question began burning in his head. A question which had never crossed his mind until this moment. Had Rachel's death really been an accident?

  Just considering the possibility sickened Mitch, making him feel disloyal to the man who had taken him into his home as an infant, after Mitch's own mother had been abducted by the Comanche, never to be seen again. Although Mitch had never wanted for anything financially, he hadn't learned until years later that his father had paid Richard handsomely for his care. Still, Richard hadn't made his early years easy. It had been Rachel who had made him feel worthwhile, made him feel wanted.

  In retrospect, Mitch was asking himself what exactly he owed Richard Westfield. Not a damned thing. All these years his misguided sense of loyalty stemmed from nothing more than his reluctance to sever his final ties to Rachel.

  Now he had Katlin. Just the thought of her brought a smile to his lips and soothed his troubled thoughts. He remembered how smoothly and effectively she'd handled Richard on the porch, and he couldn't resist a chuckle.

  His emotions were mixed. Now that he had Katlin here, he wanted nothing more than to get her out of what he was beginning to s
uspect could be a viper's nest. Still, he had questions, and he needed answers. Another part of him relished the prospect of watching Katlin manipulate the situation to her satisfaction. That she was up to the task was without question. Although Katlin had been charming and gracious toward Rick in town this morning, Mitch had felt the tension in her body and had sensed her immediate dislike. Out on the porch she'd been sizing up the old man and had found him lacking.

  Intending to rejoin the men on the porch, Mitch closed the door on the liquor cabinet, turned, took one step, then froze in his tracks as the memory of their conversation on the range before arriving at the ranch flashed through his mind.

  Kat had warned him that she possessed knowledge which could affect many lives, and he'd had the feeling she was afraid of how it might influence his feelings for her. At the time he'd attempted to reassure her that he'd love and stand by her no matter what might happen. She hadn't been convinced. Now he understood why. It made perfect sense.

  Katlin knew something about the people he called family. People he called family without confiding his true feelings toward them, his misplaced loyalties, and his own questions regarding their possible activities.

  Imagining what must be going through Katlin's mind, Mitch groaned inwardly. Attempting to put himself in her position, if the situation were reversed, he'd feel caught in the middle. Would he have the strength to do what he had to do if he suspected that by doing so he could lose the person he loved? Is that what she was afraid of? Didn't she know how much he loved her? Didn't she know she was the only family he needed?

  "How the hell can she know, you damned fool, if you don't share with her how you really feel?" he berated himself silently.

  Whatever she might know, whatever was really going on here, Mitch was almost overcome with a sense of foreboding, as if they were all sitting on a dry powder keg, and Katlin was hell-bent on lighting the fuse.