Kathryne didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She held onto him, her body throbbing with satisfaction, her mind reeling, the musky scent of him drifting into her brain, the heat of his body so close.
The fire died down to burning embers, the soft glow turning the walls a reddish-orange and yet, there didn’t seem to be a need to add more logs. Warm and cozy beneath the quilt he pulled over them, Kathryne snuggled a little closer, her head resting on his shoulder, her leg thrown over his, and fell asleep as the snow continued to fall.
Chapter Thirteen
Kathryne’s fingers stilled in the midst of brushing her hair as a rush of warmth whispered through her. Two days had passed since she and Chase had made love and yet, her body still tingled with the memory. The taste of his mouth on hers, the tenderness in which he touched her, the pure rush of bliss as his body filled hers had the power to make her knees buckle, her face flush.
She let out a long sigh, trying to push the memory from her mind, and finished brushing her hair. She pulled the heavy mass away from her face with a ribbon that matched the dark green skirt she wore this morning. She heard the children in the yard outside the schoolhouse and frowned. They should be inside the building, keeping warm, not waiting for her in the cold. Snow still covered the ground from the last storm and she’d noticed the heavy clouds above threatening more when she’d let Sarge out earlier this morning.
She glanced out the window. Something wasn’t quite right. The children were gathered around the door, some stomping their feet to stave off the cold, a few of the younger girls huddled together for warmth. Sarge wasn’t chasing the children as he normally did. Instead, he sat in front of the door and didn’t move. Even from here, Kathryne could see how rigidly he held himself. He wouldn’t let anyone get close to him, not even Joe or Walter, whom the dog adored.
Kathryne grabbed her shawl from the hook beside the door and wrapped it around her shoulders then left the house without her reticule and cup of coffee. Her pace quickened as she crossed the little bridge, her stomach clenching as a feeling of dread wavered through her. Cheeks rosy from the cold, the children disbursed so she could pass through. “Why aren’t you all inside where it’s warm?” She glanced at them, one by one, their breaths coming out in plumes of white. “Where are your gloves, Nancy?”
“I forgot them.”
“Then put your hands in your pockets. Paul, button your coat.” Both children quickly obeyed her command as her gaze alighted on Walter. “Where’s the scarf your mother made you?” The boy made quick work of pulling the scarf out of his pocket and wrapping it around his throat.
She approached Joe, standing on the steps, his ears and face red from the biting cold. “No hat, Joe?” Kathryne instantly adjusted the collar of his coat to cover his ears. A smile crossed her lips. Hadn’t Chase reprimanded her a few days ago for the same reasons?
The boy said nothing, although his face reddened a bit more.
“Why aren’t you all inside?” she repeated.
“Sarge won’t let us in,” Joe said as he gestured to the dog stationed in front of the door like a sentinel. “I was gonna start the fire in the stove, get it nice and warm inside, but he just won’t let me.” The boy shook his head and grinned, as if Sarge’s behavior were some sort of strange game. “Watch what he does. It’s the dangest thing.” Slowly, Joe extended his hand toward the doorknob, past the dog’s head. Kathryne sucked in her breath as Sarge reached up, took Joe’s hand in his mouth and moved it away from the knob. There was nothing menacing in his actions, nothing threatening. Indeed, Sarge couldn’t have been more gentle. “He’s not using his teeth, Miss Kate. He’s not hurting me at all. He just doesn’t want me to go inside.”
Kathryne studied the dog and drew in her breath. “Sarge! Come away from the door!”
The beast sat on his haunches, his body rigid, ears laid flat against his head. He didn’t growl, didn’t show his teeth, but he also didn’t move. “Whatever is wrong with you?” she asked, though she didn’t expect him to answer. He barked at her, not his normal happy-to-see-you yap, the tone deeper, more intense, almost anxious and fearful.
She tried to go past him but he finally stood, moving his big body in front of her, nudging at her legs, at her hands, trying to push her back. A high-pitched whine emitted from his throat as he grabbed at her skirts with his teeth, pulling the material in an effort to keep her away from the door. “Stop it, Sarge.”
He was acting in the most peculiar way, stranger than usual and under normal circumstances, she might have found his behavior amusing, but the sense of dread, that something was terribly wrong, banished her humor. She grabbed him by the kerchief around his neck, her fingers suddenly stiff. Sarge tried to squirm free of the kerchief. His whine grew louder, more desperate as he struggled.
“Hold him,” she ordered Joe. The boy stepped forward then hunkered down and wrapped his arms around the dog’s neck. Still, Sarge fought for freedom and almost made good his escape, wriggling free from Joe’s grasp, but the boy caught his kerchief as Kathryne sidled past them and let herself into the schoolhouse.
She stopped in her tracks, the door wide open, a startled gasp escaping her before she could stop it. She closed the door behind her with a quick kick. The children didn’t need to see what she saw.
Shep Turner lay on the floor, his eyes wide open and staring unseeing at the ceiling, his face ghostly white beneath horrible bruises. The top of his head, from his forehead upward, appeared staved in. He looked like someone had beaten the living daylights out of him, with fists then with a hard, unyielding object, like a shovel or the butt of a pistol or…she didn’t know what else. Blood from his wounds stained the floorboards beneath him a dull, rust-colored red. His chest did not rise and fall. Indeed, he didn’t move at all.
Kathryne took a step back. Though she knew she should check to see if his heart still beat, she had no doubt the man was dead. The urge to scream, to flee, flared in her. She took a deep breath to control the sudden panic sweeping through her, and yet, breathing deeply did nothing to stop the violent shaking taking hold of her.
Sudden tears blurred her vision behind her glasses. She had wanted him to leave her alone. She hadn’t wanted him dead.
A noise behind her startled her and she jumped. From the corner of her eye, she saw the door open and Joe peek his head in. “Don’t come in,” she said, though her voice shook. She could hear it in her ears.
I mustn’t startle the children, mustn’t frighten them.
For only the second time since she began teaching, Kathryne reached for the rope to ring the bell in the little tower above her. School would be canceled today. The ringing of the bell would alert the parents of the students except for those who lived on the ranches and farms outside of town. She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders, took one last look at Shep, and stepped through the door, closing it firmly behind her.
Sarge nudged at her hand and she sunk her fingers into the soft fur around his neck, finding comfort in the simple action.
“There will be no school today,” she announced to the group of children assembled in front of her and hoped her voice didn’t betray her fear. Amid shouts of excitement from her students, she began issuing orders. “Paul, please walk the younger children home and stay together. Lucas, I want you to take your brothers and wait in my house until I can arrange for someone to take you to the ranch.” She lowered her voice and gestured to Peter, Joe and Oren to come closer. “Joe, go get the sheriff. Peter, I need you to get Doc Leslie, and Oren, if you would ask your father to come see me, I’d appreciate it. Have him bring the sleigh to take the Cabot children home.”
“What’s wrong, Miss Kate?” Joe asked, concern for her evident in his eyes. He exchanged worried looks with his fellow classmates.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” she assured him. “Now go.”
The younger children dispersed amid laughter and excitement. Any day off from school was a day to be treasured and their attitudes
reflected that, their thoughts centered around snowball fights and sleigh rides and ice-skating. Joe stayed, his gaze unwavering as he studied her. “Miss Kate?”
“I’m all right, Joe.” She forced a smile to her lips to reassure him. “Just please get Sheriff Townsend. As quickly as you can.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He ran off, his footprints marred the pristine white of the snow as he veered off the path where the snow had been tamped down by many feet.
Sarge sidled up beside her, leaning his heavy body against her legs. He whined as he nudged at her hand. “You’re a good boy, Sarge,” she whispered as she rubbed a silky ear.
She wrapped the shawl tighter around her shoulders against the coldness seeping into her bones. The nightmare of seeing poor Shep beaten to death would haunt her for the rest of her days. She glanced toward the cottage and the faces of the Cabot boys peering out the window. Thank God they didn’t see him. Thank God for Sarge.
Kathryne paced as she waited, her footsteps loud in the snowy silence, her thoughts running rampant. Who killed Shep? Why? Because he’d been harassing me? Why leave him in the schoolhouse? Did I cause his death by complaining to Townsend? Mrs. Kinsbrough?
She sucked in her breath. Is this a warning? Have I made someone uncomfortable by asking questions?
Sarge’s anxious bark drew her attention, breaking the litany of unanswered questions in her head. Kathryne rushed around to the side of the schoolhouse in time to see the big dog chase Conn Riley away from one of the windows. Though not one of her students, she knew him by sight and her stomach clenched. Conn Riley could rival Edna in his love of gossip and she wondered how quickly he would spread the word about the dead man in the schoolhouse.
Just what she needed—another scandal. She’d barely lived down riding into town in front of Chase not so long ago, looking like she’d spent the afternoon in the throes of unbridled passion, barely survived the gossip from when he’d rescued her after the Willow Creek boys tried to push her into the alley.
Kathryne folded her arms across her chest in an effort to hold her rising panic at bay. Anxiety made her tremble, but fear made her queasy as she made her way back to the front of the building in time to see Terrence thunder up the snow-covered dirt road astride the old nag he rode on his house calls.
Relief rushed through her, making her shake just a bit more, as Terrence dismounted, letting Buttercup’s reins dangle on the ground. “Are you all right? I heard the bell and when Peter knocked on my door…well, I didn’t know what to think.” He gazed into her face then immediately grabbed her wrist and checked her pulse as Sarge scampered around his legs.
“You’re as white as a sheet but your heart rate is normal. What’s wrong? What happened?” He scratched the dog behind the ear and offered a quick hello. Satisfied with the greeting, Sarge moved away from the doctor, but did not go far. He hovered around Kathryne, his stance protective.
“It’s not me, Terry. I’m fine. Well, as fine as I can be.” Kathryne inhaled, filling her lungs with cold air as she announced, “Shep Turner is in the schoolhouse. He’s dead.”
“Turner? Dead? Are you sure?”
She nodded, unable to speak over the lump in her throat. Her eyes misted, blurring her vision.
“Stay here.” He grabbed the sturdy leather bag hooked over Buttercup’s pommel and entered the schoolhouse, closing the door firmly behind him.
A few moments later, Oren Jessup guided the sleigh to a stop in the schoolyard. His son sat beside him, eyes wide with curiosity, his breath pluming from his lips in a white cloud. Kathryne left the relative safety of the school’s overhang and went to greet him, Sarge a step in front of her, hindering her progress.
“Oren. Thank you for coming.”
“What the hell happened, Kate?” The man’s three chins jiggled as he spoke, his eyes narrowing and almost disappearing in the fleshiness of his face. “I heard the bell. Why is school cancelled?”
“The Cabot children need to be taken home,” she said as she gestured toward the faces pressed against the window of the cottage.
“Of course. I’d be happy to, but I’d still like an explanation,” he huffed, as if the energy he exerted to bring the sleigh up to the schoolhouse had exhausted him. “We don’t pay you to cancel school whenever the whim hits you.”
Kathryne bristled beneath his words and attitude, a sharp retort on the tip of her tongue as anger surged through her. She’d only canceled school once before, the day after Chase had rescued her from freezing to death in the snowstorm that had dropped almost three feet of snow on the ground. She took a deep breath and forced herself to remain calm.
She didn’t want to blurt out the news in front of Oren Junior. The boy didn’t need to know, but she feared everyone would know in a short time, thanks to Conn Riley. As it was, a crowd had formed. The townspeople walked up the hill toward the schoolhouse. The ringing of the bell and curiosity forced them from the warmth of their homes and businesses to brave the cold. Francine Maitland strode front and center, a satisfied, smug smile on her face. No doubt, Conn’s second stop had been to her, after, of course, he’d notified his father at the saloon.
She motioned for Oren to follow as she moved toward the front of the school. The big man lumbered out of the sleigh, huffing and puffing with effort, and joined her beneath the overhang. Kathryne lowered her voice, knowing how sound could carry in the silence around them. “Shep Turner is dead.”
“Huh?”
“Looks like someone beat him to death and left him in the schoolhouse.” She couldn’t stop the shiver that raced up her spine. “I made sure the children didn’t see him.”
His eyes widened then narrowed with suspicion. His gaze went from the top of her head to her feet then back again, as if judging her and finding her guilty without a shred of proof.
Terrence chose that moment to open the door and step out of the schoolhouse. “Jessup,” he said and nodded to the man who tried to peek into the building through the open door before the portal closed. “You were right, Kate. Someone definitely beat him, but that isn’t what killed him. His skull has been crushed.” He shrugged his shoulders. “With what, I don’t know.”
Tears smarted Kathryne’s eyes. No one should have to die that way, not even Shep Turner and yet, not all her sympathy and tears extended toward him. Some of it she saved for herself as she scanned the faces of the townspeople as they gathered around.
It was the opera house in Washington all over again, the scandal ready to explode as she heard the ugly speculations, the barely concealed whispers, saw the expressions of horror, disbelief and distrust on the faces of her neighbors.
Declarations of innocence had garnered her nothing before. She doubted they would again. Most assuredly, she would lose her position over this, and be forced from town under a cloud of suspicion, though she had done nothing wrong.
“Not this time,” Kathryne murmured and stood up straight. She’d found a home here. She adored the children and loved teaching. She liked living on her own and being responsible for herself. She wasn’t about to leave it all without a fight.
She raised her chin a notch and gathered the shreds of her dignity around herself like a mantle. “Please take the Cabot children home now, Oren,” she managed to say then walked away beneath the glaring stares of the townspeople with as much self-respect and poise as she could.
“Kate!”
She stopped and turned as Emeline, Laurel and Edna cut through the crowd and made their way toward her. None of them wore a look of censure, only concern and worry. Kathryne breathed a sigh of relief as they flanked her, offering the gift of friendship and faith without saying a word, and escorted her to the cottage while Terrence remained in front of the door to the schoolhouse.
The Cabot boys pounced on her with questions, which Kathryne did her best to ignore. The fear on their faces, though, shot to her heart. “Everything is fine. Mr. Jessup will take you home now,” she said as she exchanged glances with Emeline.
&
nbsp; The two women helped the children with coats, scarves and hats before releasing them to the frosty coldness and the sleigh waiting outside as Laurel and Edna made quick work of removing their warm winter clothing and tossing them on the settee before making their way to the kitchen.
Kathryne stood at the window and watched the people still milling about outside. She shivered though the embers of the fire she’d built earlier exuded warmth. Despite the cold, the townsfolk showed no signs of leaving, though several of them stomped their feet to keep warm while others huddled together.
She couldn’t hear a word of what they said, but the expressions on their faces were clear enough. Though most of them were afraid of the Willow Creek boys, they still blamed her for Shep’s death, even accused her of performing the deed herself, as ridiculous as that might be. Conn Riley had done an excellent job of spilling his gossip and she couldn’t help wondering what other juicy rumors he spread around like so much manure.
Let them look. Let them talk. I’ve done nothing wrong.
“Come away from the window, Kate.” Edna casually draped an arm around her shoulder. “It’ll do ye no good ta be standin’ there, lettin’ all them people gawk at ye.”
She shook her head and continued to watch the crowd, her mouth dry with fear, her fingernails digging into her palms and leaving ridges in her skin. Edna patted her shoulder then left her to join Emeline and Laurel in the kitchen.
“Here.” Emeline handed her a glass of brandy a few moments later. “Tell us what happened. Laurel and I were with Edna at the Wagon Wheel when we heard the bell. We ran into Walter as we were leaving. Walter said Sarge wouldn’t let anyone, but you into the schoolhouse.” She laid a reassuring hand on her arm, the warmth of her fingers finally breaking through to Kathryne’s self-imposed silence. “What did you find inside, Kate?”
Obviously, Emeline was one of the few Conn hadn’t told.
“Shep Turner.” She turned from the window and saw Laurel making herself comfortable in one of the wing-backed chairs where she could watch Walter outside with the dog. Edna laid more logs on the embers in the fireplace—they’d come into the parlor without her even noticing. “He’s dead.”
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