The Horseman Page 17

  Katelyn closed her eyes, willing away the image he’d created in her mind. So, he made a habit of collecting the unwanted and the wounded. And brought them here to heal.

  The gray mare nudged Dillon’s arm for attention. When he stroked his big hand down her nose, she leaned into his touch, trusting.

  Was that what Dillon saw in her? Katelyn wondered. Someone to pity? Or to save? “You must be gone a lot with your work. Does your brother look after your herd?”

  “It keeps him out of trouble. I’ll have to have him over for supper one night soon.” He took her hand. “The stallion is over here. Since he can leap six-foot fences without much trouble, I put him behind eight feet of board so he stays put.”

  “It’s sad to pen him up when he’s used to running free.”

  “True, but this country isn’t wild, as it used to be. And there’s a price on his head.”

  “Cal Willman lives far from here.”

  “A day’s journey. A wild mustang and his herd will roam twice that distance. There he is.” Dillon nodded toward the paddock in the shade of the log stable. “He gets two meals a day and he doesn’t need to fight off predators. Hello there, boy.”

  The stallion paced the far end of the paddock, constant motion, his mane flying, tail up, ears laid back.

  “He doesn’t look happy.”

  “No, but he’s better. That wound to his shoulder had begun to fester, so I treated it. He seems to be recovering.”

  “I’m glad.” Seeing the majestic creature penned up made her sad.

  Dillon climbed through the boards, talking in a low gentle murmur she didn’t realize was a different language, it lulled her so. Tranquil sounding. The horse must have thought so as well because he stopped pacing.

  “A few days ago, my brother and I rode out and wrestled him home between the two of us. He broke our best rope. Even injured, he was a tough one to bring in.”

  Such an impressive animal. Big for a mustang, brawny but not stocky. A perfect head as black as night with a blaze streaking down the center of his nose. His spots were a flecked blanket draping his shoulders and back and rump. Strong legs, built both for speed and endurance, were rooted in the earth as the stallion waited, ready to flee.

  Katelyn held her skirts and climbed through the space in the boards. Before she could straighten, Dillon was there, holding her steady, then guiding her to his side where they faced the nervous stallion together.

  “He’s huge.” Being so close to him made her feel small, easily crushed. The stallion’s power radiated from him like heat from a stove, like light from the sun. A wild power that was as unstoppable as the wind. As rare as a new star in the sky.

  “It’s a shame to break him.”

  “Then we’ll gentle him. There’s a difference, you’ll see.” Dillon dug a peppermint out of his pocket. “Want to feed him?”

  “No.” She took one look at the horse, so big now that she was closer. Raw power. Strong muscles rippled beneath his perfect black-and-white coat as he pivoted and ran, pivoted again.

  She took another look at the horse as he shot around the rim of the fence. Hooves cutting into the hard-packed earth propelled him forward in a blur of black and white and flying mane. The beat of his step vibrated the earth, moving up through her, through them, leaving her spellbound.

  “Watch.” Dillon spoke in that musical, gentle language and the running horse began to calm. The hard line of his elegant neck became softer, arching as the stallion swiveled his big head, keeping one eye and both ears on Dillon as he circled the paddock.

  “Hold out your hand.”

  She did as he asked and he dropped another candy into her palm. Dillon’s arm slipped around her back to rest on the space between her shoulder blades. His closeness a comfort, warming her like a summer’s wind, from the outside in, as the magnificent stallion slowed, swiveling his ears, considering the softly speaking man and the enticing scent of peppermint. His intelligent eyes studied both humans, as if considering.

  What was Dillon saying? She’d love to know. She didn’t want to interrupt the magic to ask as the stallion reached forward with his big head, stretching his neck long, nostrils flaring. He was at the far end of the paddock, distant but considering.

  Dillon kept talking conversationally and if Katelyn made her heart still, she could understand what he was saying. Dillon was telling the animal that he was safe, that he wouldn’t be hurt, that they would be friends.

  She didn’t know one word of his grandfather’s language, but she could feel Dillon like the emotions inside her. She was mad to think she could feel his heart with hers. She’d never heard of such a thing, but then how could she explain it? Maybe because she’d heard him say those same words in English, and yet there was something of the heart in that unfamiliar cadence.

  Something she could sense, and it was Dillon. It was his infinite respect for the stallion, his honorable sincerity and his affection. A caring that reached as deep as the earth and as high the stars and as boundless as heaven. It was a brilliance that filled her as Dillon’s kiss brushed her brow.

  A spark like a shock in the air flashed from his kiss to the depths of her.

  “Look at that.” Dillon’s whisper was like a tide that moved through her. “He’s decided he wants the treat. Stand real still now.”

  The tide crested inside her, swelling like the top curl of the wave rolling in to break on the shore of her heart. As if myth, the spotted stallion approached, noble and regal and so big he blocked the veiled rays of daylight from the sky. But he was not what moved her, what changed her.

  Dillon’s whisper swept through her again, a sweeping current washing through her until she felt submerged in it. Drowning in it. His love. His commitment. His tender words as he spoke to the stallion. Or was it to her?

  Still he spoke, drawing the stallion closer. Drawing her closer. Her heart felt as if it were lifting, opening as the tide of his heart swept against hers. A warm, sweet surge that eroded the hard, icy protection and laid open the deepest part of her, leaving her too vulnerable, too open. She tried to step back, but Dillon’s hand stopped her. His touch reassured her.

  The stallion was quick. She felt the whisper of his satin lips against her palm and the tickle of his delicate whiskers and then he was gone, retreating to a safe distance to crunch the treat. His attention remained on Dillon, watching him, assessing him.

  “He’s a smart one, but what a spirit he has.” Dillon’s touch grazed up her spine to nestle against her nape. “It’s going to be a pleasure to get to know him, don’t you think?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you want to help me gentle him?”

  “I don’t know anything about training a horse.”

  “I do.” His confidence was as reassuring as the wind on her shoulders. As his touch was as loving on her neck. “I’ve tamed a few cayuses over the years.”

  Katelyn remembered the pintos and Appaloosas in the back field. She knew why wild horses came to love him, why they clamored close to him, and not only for the peppermint he offered. How could anyone not come to believe in him?

  “C’mon, let’s get you inside. I’ve got supper to put in the oven and you’ve got a nap to take.”

  “You’re too good to me, Dillon.”

  “Sweet lady, I’m not nearly good enough.” He offered her his arm, gallant as a knight in flawless shining armor.

  She slipped her arm in his and they walked to their house together.

  Tiny, perfect snowflakes filled the air, as crisp and as light as spun sugar. Sifting like grace over the land, over Dillon.

  Over her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Did you get enough to eat?” Dillon asked as he grabbed the tea tray, leaving the full cup of sweetened tea on the bedside table. She’d eaten all but a few crumbs of the snack he’d brought up with a pot of chamomile tea. “I can run down and get you another slice of cake. Or some tea. I’ll brew up a pot for you.”

  “No, I�
�m fine.” Katelyn smiled at him from the bed, where a pile of plump feather pillows braced her as she sat up, her book open in her lap. A colorful afghan covered her and kept her warm.

  “Do you need something else before you settle down for the night? Are you hungry? I could make you a sandwich.”

  “Really, I’m fine.” Her eyes danced at him. She was trying not to laugh at him again.

  He didn’t blame her. He was new at being a husband. It was harder than he’d thought. It would take some learning, that was for sure.

  He found refuge in the hallway out of her sight. He took the steps two at a time, the ring of his boots echoing all around him, but the house didn’t feel empty with her here. He didn’t mind the dark corners and shadows where no light reached in the parlor and the kitchen where the table waited in darkness.

  There was a peace in the house now, because of her, the mercy she’d brought with her in her smile, with her presence, with the way she smelled like springtime and everything good in the world. Everything beautiful.

  You’re a lucky man, Hennessey. She’d chosen him, not because she had no choice but because she wanted to be with him. Right here, in a humble log cabin with horses, with him, just the way he was.

  He might not be a fine enough man for her, able to offer her a luxurious life. But he’d give her something more. He would give her everything he had, everything he was, everything he would be.

  He would treat her well, with all his good intentions. He’d never hurt her, never make her sad or unhappy. He’d take the sadness from her heart and chase away the shadows from her eyes, from her soul. As he’d done in the paddock today, when the wild stallion had eaten from the palm of her hand. She’d seemed lighter, as if she’d let go of something that had been weighing her down.

  Maybe she was beginning to heal. That was a good thing.

  He heard the squeak of a loose board and the pad of her step in the necessary room overhead. Brushing her teeth, he figured, getting ready for the night ahead. He thought only of her as he rinsed the tea things and set them in the wash basin for morning. He climbed the stairs, following the faint glow of her bedside lamp that grew brighter and brighter, drawing him close until he was passing through the threshold.

  She sure improved the room by being in it. He swore that he would forever remember her like this, with the subdued golden lamplight burnishing her with a celestial glow, like an angel on high.

  He burned into his memory the way she turned the page at the upper corner with a graceful turn of her wrist, her brow furrowed, her concentration sharp as she read. The soft movement of her mouth as she sipped at her tea. The way her hand cupped the mug as if to draw in all its warmth.

  He loved how she lit up from the inside when she saw him.

  “Enjoying your book?”

  “I’m riveted.” Katelyn’s left hand rested against the page, holding her place, but her attention, all of it, was on him. “I should be asleep by now. I’m exhausted. I just can’t seem to stop reading.”

  “Me, either. I’ve got my book downstairs. I’ll pick it up tonight, meaning only to read a chapter, and the next time I’ll look up, it’ll be midnight. You watch. That happens to me all the time.”

  “Me, too.” She tried to stifle a yawn, but she couldn’t. Her hand flew to her mouth. Tears brimmed her eyes, and she chuckled. “I’m not sleepy. Really. I can read one more chapter.”

  “Darlin’, you can say it, but that doesn’t mean it will be true.”

  “I know.” She set her cup aside.

  He watched, spellbound, as she raised both arms. The fleecy soft flannel nightgown she wore strained over the generous curve of her breasts.

  She plucked the hairpins from the knot in the back of her head and his blood thundered in his veins. Lustrous locks of her hair tumbled down like a shower of rare, perfect gold and nearly dropped him to his knees.

  He could still see her in the tub, with the water pearled on her skin, bare and enticing. He fisted his hands when he wanted to reach out and touch her. Strip the flannel from her breasts and caress her the way the light did. Reverently and thoroughly until she wanted him, wanted more. Until she opened up to him like a flower to sun and, oh, the pleasure he’d give her-

  If you follow that thought to its natural conclusion, your heart’s going to explode, man. Like a keg of gunpowder. Dillon pulled back on the reins. He wanted her with a force that would put a tornado to shame and outblow every blizzard that had ever hit the Montana plains.

  But he was a patient man. He believed in self-control. “Let me help you with that.”

  “Oh?” She looked surprised, even startled, and it was something, when he thought about it, how little she expected. As if she wasn’t used to anyone caring for her.

  I care for you. A wave of tenderness left him speechless. He took the brush from her fingers settled beside her on the bed. The ropes groaned with his weight, and it was different being alone in the bedroom with her this time.

  This was his bed she was sitting in. The bed where he’d always slept alone and never thought there would be a woman to sleep beside. And never such a lovely, gentle-hearted woman to hold in his arms. To cherish forever.

  He filled up with the significance of it. A love like this came along once in a man’s lifetime, if he were lucky.

  He’d never brushed a woman’s hair before, and he didn’t know if he was doing it right. Too hard? Too light? The bristles disappeared into those radiant locks and as he stroked downward she drew in a satisfied mew. She liked this, did she?

  The bristles reached the long, curled ends of her hair and the strands crackled. The scent of wild roses filled his nose and sparked his blood.

  He rested the bristles at the crown of her head and stroked downward, listening to the crackle of her hair. He breathed in the woman and floral scent of her, and desire thudded through every inch of him. Every hard inch.

  I want you so much, my love. He ran the brush through her hair again, and she lifted up imperceptibly, as if she were enjoying it.

  “Do you like this? Does it feel good?” he murmured against the soft pink shell of her ear.

  He felt pleasure move through her, traveling down her spine in a luxurious, tingling thrill. He knew her answer before she nodded, felt the truth of her feelings for him, so new and tender.

  “You have beautiful hair. Hmm.” He raked his fingers through fine threads of gold silk and breathed in. Crushed them in his hand, so soft.

  He relaxed his hand, and the curls sprang free, cascading down her slim neck and over her shoulders. Amazing. Love for her glided through him, like a bird on a hard wind, lifting him higher and higher until he felt tall with it, great with it. This love he had for her had no end, no boundary, no measure.

  One day soon, she was going to want him. She was going to long for the pleasure of his touch. She would be the one to step into his arms and give him her kiss. She would pull back the covers and invite him into their bed. She would let him unbutton those buttons again and this time run his hand down the creamy valley between her perfect breasts over the soft curve of her belly where their child might take root and grow, and open her thighs to welcome him into her.

  One day soon.

  “I’ve got to make a trip into town in the morning.” It was hard to hide his desire for her, but he did it. Veiled it behind talk of the everyday and the ordinary.

  “I’ll be gone early and back after noon. It might be too long a trip for you. Give me a list and I’ll buy whatever you want.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I have feed to pick up. I’ve got winter supplies to put up for the horses. Molasses, grain, see about getting more hay and straw delivered. It’s going to be a hard winter by the looks of things.”

  “The early snow?”

  “That and the wildlife. Prairie dogs and beaver and waterfowl have all dug in or built thicker nests this year. They have a way of knowing things.”

  “Did you learn that from you
r grandfather?”

  “Yes. I learned many things. He was a great man.”

  “You mourn him still.”

  “Always.” The brush stilled in mid-stroke.

  Katelyn wondered what it would have been like to have family ties, the kind that sheltered and endured, that made you stronger instead of tearing you down. And then she realized she did know.

  It had been her father’s steadfast affection, protective and decent, that had been everything to her once. And the knowledge of it, although the relationship had been a different one, made her believe now. Made her believe in the man seated beside her, with a fierce passionate love blazing in his eyes, trembling through him.

  Dillon set aside the brush and caressed the line of her jaw with his knuckle. “You’re sad.”

  “I’m thinking of my father.” Even though his touch was an unbreakable promise of love, it was hard to open up her heart like a room and let someone in. To trust someone, even a man like Dillon, with all of her, all of who she was.

  She should. She should just give in, let go, let the tide of emotion carry her away from shore, and trust Dillon to hold her up, keep her safe, never let her down.

  “Are you ready for bed?” he asked in an intimate drawl.

  She nodded, unable to speak, feeling the tide of emotion well up inside her again, from him to her, lifting her up, threatening to carry her away.

  Without a word, he lifted the afghan from her lap, leaving her in the nightgown he’d bought for her. She felt oddly naked, as if the soft fleece was no covering, no protection from his eyes, which had already seen her without clothes. He folded down the thick blankets and the top sheet, arranged the pillows as she slipped her feet under the covers and relaxed.

  He rose up over her, his arms enfolded her and his kiss was perfection. The warm velvet brand of his lips against hers made her arms lift and her hands curl around his solid shoulders. The sweep of his tongue was a deeper, intimate caress that made her want to surrender. Made the defenses covering her heart, like water on snow, break apart in slow, painful eddies.