A Good Man for Katie

by Marie Patrick

  The dog ran ahead, as was his habit, but stopped frequently to make sure he could still see her.

  “I’m coming, Sarge. Remember, you have four legs whereas I only have two,” she said as the dog doubled back and ran circles around her.

  Kathryne started to cross the little bridge between the schoolhouse and the cottage when she felt Shep’s stare boring into her back. She stopped and took a deep breath. If Shep Turner’s intention had been to frighten her, he’d succeeded, but she’d never let him see how much. She turned around. He hadn’t moved from his position beneath the tree, but his stare met hers. And held.

  Enough!

  She returned her gaze to the dog, who waited patiently on the other side of the bridge, his tail swishing the air around him. “You stay here, Sarge,” she ordered. The dog whined but obeyed the command and sank to his haunches. Kathryne took another deep breath to still the pounding of her heart and strode along the path to where Shep stood.

  Despite the wobbliness of her knees, she asked, “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Turner?”

  He didn’t say a word, but he shook his head. The knife in his hand glinted as he continued to clean his nails. His gaze rose up to her face. The look in his eyes made her suck in her breath. She took a step back as she tried to maintain her composure, but he’d rattled her, more than she cared to admit.

  “Then I would ask you to leave.” Though she wanted to scream at him to stay away from her, she kept her voice level and calm. She could be kind, but still get her point across. She’d already made an enemy of Sheriff Townsend; she couldn’t afford another one. “Please.”

  His back came away from the tree trunk but he made no move to touch her. A slight breeze brought his particular aroma of sweat and hair pomade to her nose. Kathryne stilled the desire to turn away. Indeed, it took every ounce of bravado she possessed to remain where she stood when every muscle in her body poised to flee.

  “It’s a free country.” He slid the knife into its leather case then folded his arms across his chest. “I can stand anywhere I want. There ain’t no one here to stop me. Hunter ain’t here to protect ya, neither.”

  Belligerence and hostility colored his tone and reflected in his stance. He wouldn’t leave, wouldn’t go away. She could report him to the sheriff, but truthfully, he wasn’t doing anything wrong except staring at her. Intimidating her. Harassing her might be a better definition. What else could she call it? Every time she turned around, he seemed to be there.

  There had to be another solution to make Shep Turner leave her alone.

  They both turned at the sound of the low growl. Kathryne hadn’t noticed that Sarge had silently walked up to her and stood not more than a foot away. His ears were back and the hair along his hackles stood up straight. His tail did not wag, not even the slightest bit. Indeed, nothing in the dog’s stance hinted at friendliness. One wrong move on Shep’s part, and Kathryne had no doubt Sarge would attack him. He could get hurt in the process. She didn’t want that.

  A deep flush stained Shep’s face and his lips pressed together in a thin line. He didn’t move, didn’t utter a sound, but his gaze went from Kathryne to the dog next to her. Fear did not shadow in his eyes. Rather, fury flashed within the deep brown depths.

  Kathryne snapped her fingers and the dog immediately stepped closer, his big body brushing up against her long skirts. Sharp white teeth were revealed as the growling continued and grew in intensity.

  “I think you should leave.” Her gaze met and held his. “He’s never bitten anyone before, but there’s always a first time.” She grabbed the yellow kerchief around the dog’s neck, more for her own comfort than to control him.

  Shep glanced at the dog then back at her once more. Without conscious thought, Kathryne retreated another step on legs that felt like soft butter instead of flesh and bone. Her breath seized in her lungs as he smiled—grinned actually.

  He muttered something about the dog not being around all the time as he marched away. To Kathryne, the words sounded like a threat. She watched him disappear into the trees, but didn’t move, didn’t release the kerchief around Sarge’s neck until she could no longer see him.

  The breath left her lungs in a whoosh as the trembling in her body increased almost violently. “You’re a good boy, Sarge, but he’s right. You may not be here the next time he comes around,” she said as she came to a decision. If the sheriff couldn’t force Shep to stay away from her, then perhaps his employer could.

  They walked toward the cottage—or rather, Kathryne walked while Sarge ran circles around her and passed through the gate she’d left open earlier in the day.

  “Now you stay here. I mean it.” She closed the white picket gate, trapping Sarge inside the yard. “Don’t follow me.” The dog whined and stood on his hind legs, his front paws resting on the wooden slats that formed the gate. His tail wagged and his tongue hung out the side of his mouth. He barked at her but stayed behind the gate as Kathryne moved away. Twice, she turned around to make sure Sarge didn’t jump the fence and follow.

  She strode past the sheriff’s office and thought about letting Townsend know Shep was harassing her, but decided against it. Townsend wouldn’t do anything about it. He hadn’t done anything when she reported being accosted by the Willow Creek boys. Indeed, the opposite had happened. Instead of staying away from her, Shep had made it almost a game to let her know he could and would approach her at any time. Without fear of repercussion.

  Kathryne went into Jacobs’s Blacksmith and Livery to the rhythmic pounding of metal on metal as Mr. Jacobs shaped a horseshoe on an anvil. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Indeed, sweat formed rings beneath his arms and wet patches on the back of his shirt despite the chill outside the building that made her wrap her shawl tighter against her shoulders.

  She waited until the hammering stopped then drew his attention. “Mr. Jacobs, do you have a horse I can rent?”

  Ephraim Jacobs plunged the glowing horseshoe into a bucket of water using long tongs. The metal hissed and popped as steam rose. “Of course.” He pointed to a beautiful bay with a white patch on his nose munching hay in the corner. “Old Blue will do nicely for you, I think.” He dropped the tongs on the bench beside the bucket then wiped his hands on a rag. “I’ll saddle him up for you.”

  Kathryne paced the confines of the building, warm now from the fire blazing in the forge. She paused several times to glance at the tools of his trade.

  The sound of hooves thudding on the wooden floorboards made her turn around as Ephraim lead the big bay toward her. “How much do I owe you?”

  A flush colored his cheeks. “It’s on the house. Any friend of Laurel’s is a friend of mine.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Jacobs.”

  “Please, call me Ephraim.” He flashed a smile at her as he helped her gain her seat in the saddle and adjusted her skirts to cover her legs. “Do you mind if I ask where you’re going?”

  “Willow Creek Ranch, if you’ll tell me how to get there.”

  “Just head west as soon as you cross the bridge. Can’t miss the ranch. Big stone pillars hold up a sign.” His eyes squinted as they met hers, concern in their light brown depths. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Are you going alone, Miss Kate?”

  “Is there a reason why I shouldn’t?” she asked as she pulled a pair of thin white gloves from the reticule around her wrist and slipped them on. They weren’t the correct gloves for riding, but they’d still protect her hands from the leather reins as well as the cold.

  He tilted his head and his mouth opened several times, but no words came forth. Clearly, he wanted to say something. Warn her, perhaps? Tell her it wasn’t proper for a woman to go riding off alone? “Just be careful,” he finally said as he handed her the reins. “The ranch hands at Willow Creek aren’t the nicest. Neither is the Widow Kinsbrough. And it looks like we might get snow.”

  A long while later, Kathryne glanced at the sign supported by stone pillars, pulled on the reins a
nd turned up the winding dirt drive, relieved she’d found the ranch. Several times, she’d been tempted to turn back, afraid she’d missed the entrance to Willow Creek.

  The main house, built of wood and stone, loomed before her as Kathryne rode up the drive. Men rushed toward one of the outbuildings, answering the call of the dinner bell. The aroma of a hearty beef stew filled the air and mixed with the clean, fresh scent of snow yet to fall. No one stopped her nor did anyone offer a greeting or try to help her. Indeed, no one even looked at her.

  She dismounted in front of the house and wrapped Old Blue’s reins around the post then took a deep breath. Doubts filled her. She shouldn’t have come.

  “Can I help you?”

  Kathryne glanced up to the porch to see a tall willowy blonde-haired woman. She wore a split leather skirt made of the softest suede and a pristine white shirt beneath a heavy coat, left unbuttoned. She was the most beautiful woman Kathryne had ever seen. She would have been even more beautiful if she smiled, but she didn’t. Instead, she stood with her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed, her lips pressed together in a thin line. Ephraim was right—not a hint of friendliness exuded from her.

  “I’m looking for Mrs. Kinsbrough.”

  “Well, you found her.”

  Swallowing the sudden dryness in her throat, Kathryne climbed the porch steps and held out her hand. “We haven’t met. I’m Kathryne O’Rourke. I—”

  “I know who you are.” She didn’t take the hand Kathryne offered. She didn’t move at all. “What do you want?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about one of your men.”

  If possible, the Widow Kinsbrough’s eyes narrowed even more, turning her pretty face into a mask of ugliness—ugliness that went further than skin deep. “What about?”

  “Shep Turner is harassing me,” she blurted, trying to cover her nervousness in the face of such inhospitality. “Every time I turn around, he’s there, watching. He doesn’t seem to understand I just want to be left alone. As his employer, I thought perhaps you could speak with him. Perhaps give him extra duties so he isn’t in town as often.”

  One eyebrow raised as Kathryne explained, but Mrs. Kinsbrough said nothing.

  “You should also know that Mr. Turner and his friends accosted me one evening as I was walking home. I reported the incident to the sheriff, but ever since that night, Mr. Turner—”

  “I’m not responsible for what my men do once they leave this ranch, Miss O’Rourke. It’s your problem. You need to handle it. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  The woman turned away and strode to the front door of her home. Kathryne had been dismissed. Rudely. Anger surged through her veins. She couldn’t help it. She’d wasted her breath as well as her time, but she couldn’t let it go. She took a few steps and blocked Mrs. Kinsbrough from the door. “I understand that you and I don’t know each other, Mrs. Kinsbrough, but I still insist you speak with Mr. Turner.”

  “Miss O’Rourke, as I stated, I am not responsible for what my men do once they leave this ranch. I am not their mother. I pay them to work for me. That is all.” She smiled finally, but Kathryne wished she hadn’t. Instead of warmth lighting her face with her smile, the opposite was true and coldness radiated from her. “Perhaps, if you hadn’t enticed Mr. Turner, he wouldn’t be bothering you.”

  Kathryne stilled beneath the woman’s accusation. Heat rose to her face and her hands balled into fists at her side. “I did no such thing. He attacked me.”

  “That’s not what I’ve heard, nor is it what I’ve seen. Chase Hunter’s been sniffing around your skirts, too.” Her eyes, a lovely pale blue, darkened as the ugly smile faded. “Now, if you don’t leave my ranch of your own accord, I will have you escorted off.”

  “Everything all right, Miz Kinsbrough?”

  Beau Canady stepped up on the porch, the spurs on his boot heels jingling. The skin around his missing eye puckered as he grinned at her. The mere sight of him and the memory of the night he tried to push her into the alley made Kathryne’s stomach knot. Her breath wheezed out of her lungs. His eyes were black as coal and glittered with dangerous intent. Like Shep’s. Like Townsend’s. Kathryne took an involuntary step back.

  “Miss O’Rourke was just leaving, Beau,” Mrs. Kinsbrough announced as a satisfied smile crossed her face. Whatever beauty the woman possessed disappeared. “Show her the way so she doesn’t get lost.”

  The tone of her voice left no doubt in Kathryne’s mind. If she didn’t leave by her own accord, Beau would “help” her. She didn’t want that. “That won’t be necessary. Have a lovely evening.”

  She stepped from the porch, her entire body quaking, unwrapped Old Blue’s reins from the post and struggled to climb into the saddle—with no assistance, not that she wanted Beau to touch her again—once had been more than enough.

  She kicked at Old Blue’s sides and raced down the drive, heading for the road into Crystal Springs, her ears attuned to any sound, particularly that of another set of horse’s hooves if Mrs. Kinsbrough made good her threat to have her escorted from Willow Creek. Every muscle in her body tensed, every nerve alive as she turned and glanced behind her. No one followed.

  She passed between the stone pillars at a high gallop, her hands tight on the reins. Despite the cold, sweat beaded on her forehead and dampened her back.

  Shadows closed in around her as twilight descended. Hard. With no moon and only the eerie glow from the snow-laden clouds, Kathryne could barely see. She trusted Old Blue knew the way to his warm stall.

  “You’re a fool, Kate,” she whispered, berating herself for her present circumstances. “When will you learn?”

  Something crossed her path ahead, lumbering out from the shadows of the trees to her right. Kathryne squinted behind her glasses but could only make out a shape. A man? A small bear rising up on its hind legs? Shouldn’t bears be hibernating now? Startled, she jerked on the reins. Old Blue reared, his front legs pawing air as the shape crossed the road and disappeared into the trees.

  One moment, she was seated in the saddle. The next, she was on the ground, the breath knocked out of her and Old Blue continued his race up the thin ribbon of road. Without her.

  Nothing hurt except her pride, but she wouldn’t go back to the ranch and beg for help. She doubted the Widow Kinsbrough would extend a hand, even if it were to her benefit. Kathryne crawled to her hands and knees then stood and tightened the shawl around her shoulders. She peered into the shadows of the trees, looking for the shape that had startled both her and Old Blue, but saw nothing.

  As she began to walk toward Crystal Springs and the safety of her cozy cottage, the first flurries from the snow-laden clouds floated to ground. She looked up at the sky and sighed.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Well, there’s your problem.” Ephraim pointed to a small stone stuck between Champion’s hoof and his shoe. “Got to be uncomfortable as hell.” He pulled a hoof pick from the pocket of his leather apron and pried the stone loose then inspected his handiwork. “Good as new.”

  “How much do I owe you?” Chase asked.

  Ephraim quoted a price as he released his grip around Champion’s forelock. Chase dug the proper coins from his pocket. He would have paid more if asked as he placed Champion’s well-being above his own. The horse had been a good and faithful companion and deserved nothing less. “Thanks, Ephraim.”

  The blacksmith grinned and stuck out his hand, one of the few people in town who held no malice or suspicion or hatred toward him. He’d once told Chase he didn’t care who or what a person was, as long as he or she took good care of their horses. “My pleasure, Chase.” They shook before Ephraim patted Champion’s shoulder.

  Chase took Champion’s reins and led him toward the open doors of the livery. Darkness had fallen and with it, a frigid bite to the air, which nearly stole his breath. Snow fell softly, bringing with it an eerie silence. Coldness sunk deep into Chase’s bones and thoughts of sitting before the roaring flames of a fire warmed him. Shar
ing that fire with someone—Katie came to mind—warmed him even more.

  “What the—” Chase jumped out of the way as a big bay thundered into the building. Sweat gleamed on his coat and his sides heaved with each breath. Puffs of steam issued from his nostrils.

  “Something must have happened.” Ephraim grabbed Old Blue’s reins and did his best to calm the horse.

  “What do you mean? You know this horse?”

  Ephraim nodded. “He’s one of my best. Miss Kate rented him earlier today. Strange he should come back without her.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “Willow Creek.”

  “Hell!” Chase cursed as Ephraim revealed Kathryne’s destination. Willow Creek. Just the name was enough to make his heart pound a little harder in his chest. His hand tightened on Champion’s reins. “Now why would she go there?” he asked, though he didn’t expect an answer from the blacksmith. He already knew. The woman, without a doubt, had a penchant for finding trouble. Or rather, trouble found her.

  Without another word, Chase climbed into the saddle, nodded toward Ephraim and raced through town toward Kathryne’s cottage. No lights flickered behind the window. The house was empty and silent, except for Sarge, pacing and whining behind the gate. Another curse escaped him. She hadn’t taken the dog and she hadn’t come home.

  Chase dismounted and released the latch, swinging the gate open. The dog burst through, the odd growl-groan loud in the silence. “You were supposed to protect her,” he said as Sarge danced around his legs, pushing his nose into Chase’s hand for a pet. Chase obliged, but only for a moment, his fingers scratching the dog behind the ears. “Let’s go find your mistress.”

  He climbed into the saddle and patted his thigh, drawing the dog’s attention then gently exerted pressure on Champion’s sides with his knees. In moments, man, horse and dog were racing over the bridge at the edge of town and heading toward Willow Creek.

  The further from town he traveled, the harder his heart thundered in his chest. The storm had grown worse. Borne by a frigid wind, the frozen granules now stung his face and he could barely see ten feet in front of him as the snow no longer came straight down, but slanted sideways, building drifts along the side of the road. Sarge became a shadow beside him, the trees and bushes beyond him dark shapes that creaked and moaned beneath the weight of the snow.