Kat's Law

by Samantha St. Claire

She flung her hands out to the town. "The town has grown so much! It's doubled in size. My father's tired out. I can see it in his face, the weariness."

  "Town's lucky to have a skilled doctor. Not many towns west of the Mississippi can boast to having one. Where I come from, there just weren't any. The big cities had them, but often-times it was Indian medicine that was the closest you could get to any doctoring or some snake oil salesman."

  With the soft brush of her fingertips, Kat touched his arm again, creating a shock that sang through him. He mustn't allow these emotions to be stirred. They would only interfere with his ability to focus on protecting her.

  Unaware of her effect on him, she continued, "But it's other changes that have me worried. Jonathan, I don't trust the sheriff or the men he has working for him. I know some of them. They were bullies when I was here, and now they're supposed to be protecting the townspeople?" She shook her head, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

  "Wouldn't be the first time I've heard of a sheriff with a shady past." If he could get her to trust him and share what she'd learned that had the Hall's anxious, he might be able to put a few more of the pieces together. Low and quiet, he pushed his luck a bit. "But there's something else about this troubling you."

  She hugged herself as though she were cold, but the warm breeze suddenly lifting across the valley belied the source of the chill. He saw the struggle in her face as she worked out her level of trust in him.

  Kat tossed her head angrily. "One thing that I know is true, is that there's more violence now than before we had a sheriff. There've been fights in town. That never happened before. People are putting locks on their doors. It's the men that I know surrounding the sheriff that makes me suspect he's involved."

  "I'm pretty sure that he'd say he took over the job because of the violence."

  "Probably. But did you know that he wasn't even elected? And Father says no one wants to confront him about it." Fire flashed in her eyes. "Oh, if I were a man! If I were a man, I'd demand that there be an election so that the town could decide."

  "And would there be any one of them willing to put himself in that position?" Jonathan asked softly.

  Ignoring the question, she threw her arms around herself again. "And I wouldn't even be allowed to vote."

  Jonathan wasn't holding any convictions one way or the other about women's suffrage, but he could definitely see her reason for frustration. If there wasn't a man with enough backbone to stand up to Hall, they'd just have to suffer the injustice of it. The consequences would inevitably follow. More disturbing was the threat he'd heard directed at Kat and her father, placing both of their lives in peril.

  A sudden thought struck him that she was testing him. Did she know he'd been a lawman? Had she heard the rumors as well or had her father told her? Was she expecting him to confront Gilford Hall? Jonathan caught the movement from the corner of his eye and looked up sharply to see Nathaniel approaching. "Dr. Meriwether."

  "I see you've been taking care of my daughter." Nathaniel winked at Kat as she reached for his arm, wrapping hers around his.

  "My pleasure. We've been discussing...politics," Jonathan said.

  "Oh my! I wouldn't have advised that. She's got some headstrong opinions," Nathaniel teased.

  "Don't we all where politics are concerned? Don't think women are alone in that."

  "Suppose you're right about that. Kat's been keen on the subject ever since she read an essay by Lucretia Mott a year or so before she left for Boston. She started reading through newspapers like other women might study that magazine, Ladies' Home Journal."

  "And who gave me the article to read?" Kat tugged on her father's arm, shooting back a teasing, narrow-eyed challenge.

  Nathaniel shrugged and grinned.

  Jonathan said, "An educated man, like yourself, was bound to raise a child with strong opinions. Seems a few men could use their brains a bit more when forming their voting opinions. I've seen too many votes cast in exchange for a mere glass of whiskey. Think a woman's vote might not be so easily bought."

  "Why, Mr. Winthrop, I'd never have figured you for an advocate of women's rights." Kat delivered him the warmest of smiles, with just a hint of humor.

  "Well, ma'am, I'm not too certain of that. I'm just calling it as I see it. And I've met a fair number of men that vote without giving much thought to why or who they're voting for."

  Kat's smile touched her eyes. "Thank you for that, and thank you. . .for the dance." She paused before adding, "And the conversation."

  "We'd love to have you join us for dinner sometime," Nathaniel said, then looking at his daughter's horrified expression, he added, "I'll cook."

  "I'd be privileged. A man who's traveled as much as me, catching a good meal is something worth riding the hills for. Thank you."

  Jonathan remained where he was watching them walk away. He waited for a short time, scanning the crowd for Hall. Watching his back as well as theirs, he followed them at a short distance, staying in the shadows.

  After a short walk of a few hundred yards, he noticed that someone was indeed following them. On the opposite side of the street, hidden in the shadow of two buildings was the younger Hall, the man who had it under control. As if uncertain, the man stood there for a few minutes until Nathaniel and his daughter had started up the hill to home. After a time, he turned away. Jonathan waited until he saw him mount up and ride in the opposite direction. Then he waited at the base of the hill until he'd seen Kat and her father enter their home and lights appear within.

  He brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Pulling his hand away almost as though he'd been stung, he looked at his fingers where the scent of lavender still clung. Remaining professionally distant would be difficult this time. Beyond the sweet fragrance of lavender, there was something about Kat Meriwether that lingered with him still.

  Exhausted as she was, all Kat wanted to do was take off her ridiculous corset and tight shoes, then crawl beneath the covers of her bed to sleep. But sleeping did not come easily. To make it all the more frustrating, it wasn't life choices, concern for her father, or even the threat of impending disaster that fueled her insomnia. Those reasons would have been excusable, tragically laudable even. No matter how much she pinched her ear, she couldn't shake the pleasurable memory of Jonathan Winthrop.

  She tried all the techniques that had been a part of her self-government, her discipline of higher cognitive reasoning over petty temptations. She tried thinking of those things she did not approve of in the man. There were none. She liked the musky scent of him, of leather, and horses, and the soap that lingered from his last shave. The rich tone of his voice, the measured cadence of his speech, the gentle way his hand held hers only improved her opinion of him. She liked the way his clothes stretched across his broad shoulders, the easy manner in which he controlled all that muscle and sinew to hold her tight to his chest without crushing her. And, blast it all, she even liked his politics!

  In his arms she had felt so safe. In all her self-sufficiency that was one strength she never felt she possessed. She never felt completely safe. It riled her that although she might be able to win a debate, or even win a shooting contest against a man, she knew her vulnerability as a woman. But in Jonathan's arms, she felt her resolve to be completely self-reliant dissolve.

  She had faced three smiles that day that held a quality of danger. One smile sprawled across the face of her childhood enemy, Liam. She wouldn't soon forget his threat. The other smile, smooth and inviting, belonged to the handsome Ethan Hall. But the most dangerous smile of all was that which touched the serious eyes of Jonathan Winthrop. His gentle smile posed the greatest peril of all. When the corners of his mouth lifted, the warmth that radiated from his heart was like the rising of the sun on a cold Idaho morning. Jonathan Winthrop was indeed a dangerous man.

  Chapter 19

  A Habit of Mistrust

  Noah Stanton had been Liam's shadow since he'd been old enough to ride a horse, which was no
t long after he'd learned to walk, which was shortly after his mama had taken off his diapers, letting him shift that out for himself. Most people didn't even notice Noah unless he was standing in the proximity of Liam, even though he stood a head taller. His father had told him there wasn't a thought in his head that hadn't first been rattling around in Liam's. So, when Liam hatched a plan to take the gold they'd stashed behind the cabin and light out, of course Noah went along with it. The fact that Gilford Hall might do very bad things to them never resolved itself into a thought in Noah's head, because Liam confidently declared that they could get away with it.

  Two pack mules and four horses had been acquired from a ranch outside Lake City. The plan had no finesse to it. Neither man possessed enough gray matter between them to devise anything that might even warrant the name plan. They were just going to load the saddle-bags with as much as the mules could carry and leave. The closest thing that resembled a plan was that they had a destination of Oregon Territory. How they themselves might avoid being victims of a robbery, or where they could find an assay office and sell the gold without raising questions had not been a topic of conversation.

  "Did anyone ask you why you needed so much truck?" Liam asked Noah as he carried bags and boxes into the cabin while Liam sat on the sagging porch watching him.

  "Nah. They just thought I was goin' huntin' in the mountains. I told 'em I heard there was a pack o' wolves up Mount Baldy and I was goin' to bag me a few and come down and sell the hides for a stacka' gold. I told 'em I might even try to snag me a bear, maybe two. That's why I needed all them supplies." Noah looked quite pleased with himself.

  "You told 'em all that, did 'ya? Seems you did a might more talkin' than I told you to. Dang, Noah! What was you thinkin'?" That was a rhetorical question, of course, and Noah stood with his mouth agape.

  "Well, it don't matter much. I'm just quit of this place. I'm tired of that pretty boy, Ethan, telling me what to do! And I ain't so sure that new man, Cahill, ain't got his own ideas about stealing the gold."

  The sun had set before they could finish sorting out the essentials that they'd need and those items that Noah had simply taken a fancy to. Not having carried that much money at any time in his life, the temptation was too great not to buy a few extras that caught his eye, like a full tin of lemon drops and another of black licorice. Liam conceded that he could take with him as much as he could carry in his pockets but no more. So, while they packed up the saddle-bags, Noah continued to stuff copious amounts of lemon drops and licorice into not only his pockets, but his mouth.

  Liam tugged on the halter of the second mule, attempting to pull him closer to the cellar in back where the gold was stashed. He was anxious to be loaded and on their way before sunrise, thinking Ethan and the rest of them might be coming at any time. As much as he hated the sheriff's cock of a son, he had no desire to face him with a gun. Liam wasn't that good. Maybe if he could ambush him, he could take him out with his rifle, but that wasn't in his plan. He just wanted to be shut of Snowberry for good. He'd been looked down on too long by her good citizens.

  Unfortunately, for both men, Ethan had decided to bring the promised supplies on this night. Frustrated by the day's events and his lack of success in getting information from Kat Meriwether, he decided a ride might be just what he needed. As it turned out, it was not.

  His horse and the one he led packed with supplies stepped into the cabin's clearing just as Liam finished loading the last pack. Liam's head snapped up. From over the back of the mule he watched warily as Ethan approached the cabin. With eyes locked on the man, he pulled the pistol from the holster at his hip.

  With the light of a nearly full moon, Ethan cautiously scanned the area, a habit of mistrust developed over the years working with men who trusted him as little as he trusted them. Riding in with his rifle balanced on his lap, his hand resting on the trigger guard, the muscles in his lower back tensed with each step. Tied to the porch post both men's horses stood saddled, pawing impatiently at the ground. Liam and Noah may have been lazy but both treated their horses better than family. They wouldn't leave them tacked up unless...

  Ethan swung his head, straining to see past the shadows to either side of the house. Slipping from the saddle, he positioned himself so that his horse shielded him from anyone in the house. The fact that no one had stepped out to greet him only increased his uneasiness. The horses gave evidence that the men were still in the vicinity and they most likely were aware of his presence since he'd done nothing to make a stealthy approach, something he wished he'd thought to do.

  "Liam! Noah! Come on out and see this fine box of whiskey I brought you." Having announced his presence, he brought the rifle barrel up, slowly chambering a round as he did. A movement in the shadow to the right of the cabin drew his eye.

  "Liam, that you?" Ethan recognized the man's stoop-shouldered bulk. "I brought some supplies for you and Noah." He kept his voice even, casual, but the rifle in his hands belied his tone.

  "Might neighborly of you." Liam's voice spoke from the shadows, simmering with anger.

  "Surprised you haven't tended to your horses. That's not like you." Ethan sought to buy some time to assess the situation. He'd feel easier knowing where Noah was. "Hey, Noah! Come help me carry in your supplies."

  "He's busy." Ethan could see the shadowed figure toss his head to the side. "Privy."

  "Mr. Ethan?"

  Ethan's gaze shifted to the left of the cabin, where Noah stepped out of the shadows, slack-mouthed, leading a pack mule.

  Well, this was the least favorable scenario he could have imagined, flanked in the dark. Ethan continued to feign ignorance of the obvious intentions of the two men to head out. The packs on the mule certainly didn't suggest their departure was simply to take off without compensation. "What's going on, Liam?"

  "I've had enough of you and your father! Me and Noah got plans of our own," Liam snarled back. As he did, he side-stepped to the protective cover of the cabin's western wall. "Now you, just head on back to your daddy."

  Ethan could see the glint of moonlight off Liam's revolver. "Liam! You'll never get away with it." He didn't shout it. He simply stated the obvious fact.

  From his left, Ethan watched Noah step forward, apparently unaware of the dangerous position he had moved into. "Ethan, why are you here?"

  "Noah, get back!" Ethan shouted this time, worried that Noah would soon block his view of Liam. He tried again to reason with the man. "Liam, you know my father will never stop chasing you. He'll track you down."

  Pulling up the mule, Noah turned to look in the direction that Ethan now pointed his rifle. "Liam? We ain't gonna shoot anyone else, are we?"

  Liam's voice from the deeper shadows called out, "Noah, you simpleton, get out of the way!"

  Ethan scanned the shadowed edge of the clearing for Liam. All he could do was hope to take some shelter of his own on the opposite, eastern wall of the cabin. He ran past Noah and the unhappy mule, sliding behind the edge of the porch. Laying his head back against the log wall, he cursed softly; this was the out-of-control he'd feared. He'd managed to extract himself from worse situations by using his persuasive skills. He tried again. "Liam, take a sack of gold and you and Noah head out. You can set yourself up in a nice town and live pretty good." Ethan didn't want to do this. He was sick of the whole thing. If he could just head out on his own, he would. An owl hooted from a nearby pine, laughing at him. His father wouldn't let him go either. "Liam, I don't want to fight you."

  A sudden movement to his right brought him to his feet too late. He swung his rifle a moment after the flash from Liam's pistol sent a bullet ripping into Ethan's stomach. Ethan fired, striking Liam squarely in the chest. The man fell backward with the impact, crying out. Ethan dropped his gun and sagged to the ground.

  Noah came at a run, kneeling by his friend's side, a look of disbelief washing over his face. "Liam? Liam? You dead?"

  Ethan watched as Noah picked up Liam's gun, staring at it with a v
acuous expression.

  "You killed him, Ethan." Noah stood and walked toward Ethan, the gun hanging limp in his hand.

  Perhaps he could still survive this. Noah wasn't a killer like Liam. He spoke calmly but with labored breath. "Noah, I need for you to go get my father. Tell him I've been hurt."

  Noah shook his head slowly. "I can't do that. He'd kill me."

  Ethan felt himself losing focus. He had to get through to this man. "Noah, I'll explain that it was Liam's idea, and you had nothing to do with it. Noah! Look at me!"

  Noah dropped the gun and knelt down gaping at the blood pouring from between Ethan's fingers. "You're hurt bad, Ethan."

  "Yes, Noah. Go get help. Please." He closed his eyes, passing into unconsciousness.

  As Noah rode down the trail, he had a thought that was all his own. It took root in his mind and he watered it with words to keep it fresh in his memory. "I'm goin' to get Ethan help. I'm goin' to get the doctor and get Ethan help so he won't die."

  Chapter 20

  The Wound

  Leaning closer until she could feel the man's breath against her cheek, Kat strained to hear the words he labored to say. With so little breath left in his blood-filled lungs, the word hissed from his lips as a single gasp. "Hall."

  Kat woke with a start, sitting up, pulling the covers to her neck with clenched fists. Was that what he'd said? Had she misunderstood that last word breathed into her ear by the dying man? She shivered and reached for the quilt she'd kicked off the bed earlier in the night. Wrapping it around her shoulders, she slid her legs from under the sheets and placed her bare feet on the cold floor. She gasped with the chill. Immediately her mind cleared, but her heart continued to beat a rapid cadence within her chest.

  She padded to the window, pulling back the linen curtains to look down on the darkened streets in the town below. One light burned in the boarding house window where she presumed the cook, Mrs. Carter, was already up and making fresh bread for the guests. Another glow came from the back rooms of the mercantile. Perhaps Mr. Forester's rheumatism was flaring in his knees again, giving him trouble with sleeping.