The Horseman Page 3

  She opened her eyes. There was no use in spending the morning in sorrow. Sadness couldn’t change the past. Nothing could. The only course open to her was to move forward. To make what she could of today and of the solitary future ahead of her.

  Resolved, she stirred the tip of her fork through the fluffy scrambled eggs. They’d tasted delicious, for Effie was a remarkable cook, but she wasn’t hungry. How could she be? She felt dead inside and nothing, especially a plate of food, was going to change that.

  But food would help her regain her strength. She wanted out of this house more than anything. Determined, she took a bite of eggs and chewed, even as her stomach recoiled. She fought to swallow and keep it down.

  When she was done, she sipped her tea and watched the snow fall. Now and then she thought she saw a movement in the relentless shower of white, a dark shadow, his shadow.

  But she was wrong. There was no formidable man riding through the storm like a legend born.

  Why was she thinking about him again?

  She didn’t need another man in her life. What she wanted was to be left alone.

  She rubbed the space on her fourth finger, where a slight indentation was the only reminder that she’d worn a ring. That she’d made vows to honor and cherish and obey. What a mistake that had been. A mistake she would never make again.

  She drained the last drop of tea from her cup and set it down with a clink. She was stronger today. Better.

  Maybe she’d go spread some grain in the field. That should draw out any animals, and then she could enjoy the peaceful sight of the beautiful creatures. Perhaps the serenity of it would ease some of the ache from her soul.

  And keep Dillon Hennessey from her thoughts.

  As he had expected, with the snow falling hard and heavy, Dillon saw no further sign of the stallion. Still, he’d had to try. A true horseman couldn’t let a stud like that slip out of his fingers.

  Something told him that the horse would return. So, he may as well head back and grab a hot cup of coffee from the stove in the bunkhouse. That sounded mighty good, seeing as how he was frozen clear through.

  It was hard to give up the hunt. Hard to nose his gelding toward home and turn his back on the chance of finding that stallion. What a magnificent animal. He couldn’t forget him, the same way he couldn’t forget the woman, Katelyn Green.

  How could he? She’d looked like an angel come to earth this morning, framed by the window and brushed with a golden radiance by the lamplight. She was beyond beautiful. She looked like goodness in a woman’s form, with that softly spun blond hair she wore down so it cascaded around her heart-shaped face. A face dominated by eyes a rare, exotic blue, a small, delicate nose and a mouth so perfect it would shame every rosebud in existence.

  If he closed his eyes, looked deep into his being and pulled out his vision of the perfect woman, it would be Katelyn Green. He’d never seen anyone like her, and it wasn’t her beauty that drew him. That was the plain truth.

  It was something else. Something about her, and her alone. He didn’t know what it was, and he wasn’t a man who was good with words or feelings, but he did know people, the same way he knew animals. When he’d locked gazes with Miss Green through the snow this morning, he’d seen the quiet gentleness inside her. Rare, indeed.

  Back on the acreage he owned next door to his brother, he had a mare like her with big scared eyes and it had taken nearly two whole years of work before she’d let him stroke her neck without flinching.

  Not that a woman was like a horse, but it was horses he knew and not women. Yep, women were pretty much a mystery to him. His ma had died when he was a small boy. He had no recollection of her, and that left only his pa and his five brothers. Pa had never remarried, never tried to replace the love of his life, and so there was no woman’s influence in Dillon’s life as a boy.

  And as a man, he was bewildered to think about beauing one of those pretty creatures in soft dresses that swept the floor whenever they walked, giving the impression their dainty feet did not touch the ground like mortals. Women were different entirely and far too fine for the likes of him.

  Even if he could catch a lady’s attention, what would he do then? He wasn’t given to fancy language and insincere flattery to make a woman like him. Hell, it would probably take more than a mountain of flattery to do that. Even if he could manage to speak instead of remain tongue-tied, what would he say? He wasn’t citified and he wasn’t educated. The only thing he knew was horses and horse breeding.

  He couldn’t imagine walking up to Katelyn Green and asking her opinion on which stud should service the thoroughbred mare that was coming in heat.

  The same mare the wild stallion had wanted last night when Katelyn Green had been out wandering in the dark in her slippers and housecoat, her hair down and unbound and billowing around her in the wind and snow. He wanted to know what she’d been doing. And why, when she was infirm, was she up, limping in obvious pain?

  He had little doubt her parents had no compassion to spare. Cal Willman’s hard countenance and heartless manner told Dillon all he needed to know. He’d met a hundred rich men just like him over the years, and they were all the same. Every last one of them. Ruthless and cruel, men who cared only about themselves.

  As for the wife, she was as harsh as a Montana blizzard. It was clear in the way she ignored her own daughter.

  Dillon wished he knew what had happened. He couldn’t help feeling sorry for Katelyn. He didn’t seem able to stop wondering about her. Maybe he’d round up enough courage to ask one of the hands what had happened to return her childless and wounded to her parent’s home and what would become of her next.

  Not that he had a chance, but he was a man. He noticed a pretty, available woman. He was lonelier than he wanted to admit. He’d been wanting to get married for a long time, but he’d never been able to talk to a lady, much less court her.

  That proved a terrible problem. He had a house he didn’t live in. A bed he didn’t sleep in. A life he didn’t live because he had no one to share it. He would give anything for a kind, gentle wife to call his own.

  He would give his soul and more to marry a woman like Katelyn Green.

  But even if she was recovered from her loss, she’d hardly glanced at him. He’d lay down good money that she didn’t know his name. And if she did, what could come of it? He would be gone in a few weeks, when his work here was done.

  The new stallion-a pale comparison to the magnificent black stallion-was progressing fine. And the problem mares were responding to him. They’d come around soon. His work here would be done and he would leave, as he always did, with a pocket full of cash, heading in the direction of the next ranch in need of him.

  He didn’t like the notion of leaving at month’s end. Not that he was fond of the place. The truth was, he couldn’t stand Cal Willman or his wife. What he would miss, even more than the horses here, was the pretty blond woman who made him very aware of being all man.

  Was it his imagination, or did he hear something?

  A female’s voice lilted on the wind as sweet as a song. “That’s it, don’t be afraid. Come closer. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

  That had to be Katelyn. Who else could it be? Not Effie, the cook-the tone and cadence were too soft for her. Not Mrs. Willman, who talked with enough venom to poison a rattler. Not the housemaids, for both were Chinese and spoke very little English.

  “That’s right. See? You’re perfectly safe.”

  Katelyn had to be just beyond that rise. Ten yards away. He jerked the horse to a stop and ignored the gelding’s protest. Normally he was steady with his horse, trustworthy and calm, but the thought of seeing Katelyn Green was enough to make him break out in a cold sweat.

  She was here alone. What should he do? He could keep on riding and wave at her as he went by. Or he could stop and talk with her. Hmm, that could work. But what would he say? The thought made his throat close shut. His tongue had become paralyzed and wouldn’t work. Dan
g his shyness.

  He could picture the impending disaster. He’d ride on up to her, stop his horse, brace his fist on the saddle the way he’d seen other men do to look tough, and stutter and stammer like a fool.

  Wouldn’t that impress her?

  A rugged man like him shouldn’t be shy. He ought to be bold. Be brave. He should talk to her the way he talked to anyone.

  He was tough. He’d faced down killer stallions and an attacking cougar. He’d been kicked, bit, stepped on, bucked off, crushed against fences and thrown to the ground more times than there were numbers to count with. He was one of the best at what he did.

  A pretty, delicate little woman shouldn’t terrify him.

  You can do it, Hennessey. Just ride on up to her and smile. Then say howdy.

  The wind seemed colder as he pressed the gelding into a fast walk. The ground was too uncertain and the snow too deep for anything faster, but if he could, he’d gallop full tilt past the beautiful woman and never think of her again.

  She came into view as he rode over the rise. He eased the gelding to a halt at the crest, gazing down the gently sloping field of white to the slim woman wearing a dark blue cloak, buttoned tight from ankle to throat. A small feed pail dangled from her left hand.

  What a sight. Joy filled him. Snow dappled her like a Christmas angel, clinging to the woolen cap and the rippling sheen of golden hair flowing down her back. White flakes hugged the delicate line of her shoulders and the rise of her breasts. Snow clung to the curve of her waist and hips and caked the long hem of her cloak, a womanly shape of grace and loveliness that made his chest tight. Awe swept over him, sweet as a morning breeze.

  Just then came the slightest movement in a grove of trees tucked into the lee of the slope. A predator? God knows cougars didn’t like to hunt in the snow. Dillon had spied cat tracks a half mile to the north. They preferred their warm dens on days like this, but that didn’t mean, if a lone cat was hungry enough, he wouldn’t go in search of a meal.

  And that meal wouldn’t be Katelyn. She was all alone out here, unprotected. With that pail on her arm, she was probably putting out feed for the birds and unaware of the danger stalking her.

  Fierce protectiveness surged through him, spilling hot in his blood. Careful not to make a sound, he eased the Winchester from its holster and covered the cocking action with his free hand to hide the chink of metal. A cat would hear it and bolt, and that was unacceptable. There was a threat to Katelyn Green and, damn it, Dillon Hennessey would stop it.

  He held the rifle steady, aiming just at the edge of the trees, anticipating that first glimpse of a shadow. He hugged the trigger, ready and alert, as the shadow nosed toward Katelyn.

  It wasn’t the fast strike of a cougar. Dillon took a breath, waiting, as Katelyn’s melodic voice lifted up to him on the wind.

  “That’s it. See? No one’s going to hurt you. You’re safe. Come closer. That’s right.”

  Sweet as a hymn. She could coax the wildness out of a cougar, he figured, with a voice like that. It wasn’t just the voice-it was her, the goodness in her, the heart of her. He could see it as plain as the woman and she waited while the first doe broke from her cover and eased forward to eat the grain Katelyn had spread on the ground. Grain, not birdseed.

  Dillon couldn’t believe it. The wild deer came right up to her. Two smaller animals joined her-yearling fawns, he figured, judging by their size and markings. Young, not fully grown. They, too, scented the air, considered Katelyn standing as still as a statue and bent their dainty heads.

  Shrouded in snow, like poetry and fairy tale, the woman watched the delicate creatures eat. The wind gusted, ruffling Katelyn’s long gold locks against her back, caressing the curled ends like a lover’s fingers.

  What would it be like to touch her hair? Dillon lowered the rifle, thunderstruck by the notion. He imagined lowering his fingertips to that lustrous fall of gold, and he knew she would feel as soft and fine as silk, the fancy kind in the stores only the rich could buy. She would be like that, and satin everywhere…

  Whoa, now, that was not a respectful thought. He took a deep breath, banishing further inclinations from his mind. He was a man and he couldn’t help desiring her, but that didn’t mean he ought to give those thoughts free rein. He had no right to look upon her like that. She was not his wife.

  She never would be.

  No, she’d find herself courted by one of the rich dandies in town. The kind with an enormous house on Elm Street, the finest lane with the fanciest homes. The sort of man who sat inside all day, didn’t wear Levi’s and smell of horses and leather. The sort that sipped brandy after dinner in the parlor.

  Not the kind of man who drank a pint of ale in the bunkhouse.

  It saddened him. If he had a dream, then it would be Katelyn Green.

  Chapter Three

  Dillon couldn’t talk to her. The tightness was working its way up from his chest into his throat. By the time he made it to her side, the tightness would have worked its way up to his paralyzed tongue, and there would be no way in hell he could make an intelligible sound.

  He’d be best to keep quiet, turn the horse around and ride the long way back before he made an embarrassment of himself.

  The saddle creaked as he shifted his weight to draw the gelding around, and the sound traveled like thunder above the whisper of the falling snow.

  Katelyn jerked in his direction, her eyes wide with the same surprise and fear as the deer, frozen, ears pricked, heads high, scenting him. Woman and animals stared as if he were evil incarnate.

  Katelyn Green’s gaze scorched him like blue flame. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  She sure sounded mad. She looked it, too. Dillon’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. And it was a good thing, too, since he didn’t know what to say anyway. Did he apologize for intruding? Was that why she was so angry?

  “How could you? What kind of man are you?” She marched toward him, pure fury, and he had no notion what he’d done.

  “I, uh…” Damn it, Hennessey. You can do better than that. “I’m, uh, sure am s-sorry, ma’am.”

  “Sorry? For trying to kill the deer when I was feeding them? What did you think? That I wouldn’t mind if you just started shooting?”

  “No, uh-” Dang it all, but he was tongue-tied. She flustered him worse than any woman ever had, the way she was flying up the hill toward him, focused anger and indignation.

  She was pure beauty, with her face pinkened from the cold and high emotion, her small fists clenched, her hair flowing out behind her like a mare in full gallop. The passion in her showed.

  No wonder he was speechless.

  Then he realized he was holding the rifle still aimed in the direction of her deer, which had already fled into the trees and disappeared. There was only the two of them, and, flushing, he eased the hammer back and slid the weapon into its leather casing. “S-sorry about that, ma’am.”

  “You’re sorry?” She looked ready to hurl sharp objects at his head. Good thing there weren’t any handy. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, taking advantage like that. You’re a man. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised-”

  He knew what she thought. “You’re wrong, ma’am. I s-saw some cat tracks back a ways and thought…” He couldn’t find the right word. What the hell was he going to say? She lifted her chin, staring at him expectantly with those fiery blue eyes accusing him of being the worst sort of man, and he just couldn’t think.

  “I, uh, didn’t want to see you get hurt, ma’am,” he finished, but it wasn’t what he intended to say.

  Had she noticed? All that stammering had to make him look bad.

  “A cougar?” She seemed to be debating whether or not he was telling the truth.

  Well, that was progress. Leastways she wasn’t ready to give him a lashing. And she wasn’t staring up at him like he was a stammering numbskull. That had to be a good sign. He sat straighter in the saddle.

  “I’m Dillon Hennessey. I’m
the horse trainer your stepfather brought in.” He tipped his hat.

  White tumbled down his face and fell in a heap on his lap. Damn. He should have knocked the snow off before he tried making advances at the pretty lady. Had she noticed?

  Sure she had. Her top teeth dug into her lush bottom lip to keep from laughing, and her eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement.

  He withered a little inside. He’d acted like this before with women, but not in front of one that mattered so much. If he didn’t get over this blasted shyness, he would never find a wife. Never have a family of his own.

  “Well, thank you for protecting me.” She was trying to be polite. A different light sparkled in those blue depths and the sadness in them, the pervasive sorrow he’d noticed before, had ebbed. “I’ll just fetch the feed pail and head home. I wouldn’t want to be cougar food.”

  “Guess you probably don’t need to worry about that. Seein’ as you’d be too sweet for ’em.” Good job, Hennessey. He moaned internally at the words that just popped out of his mouth.

  He had not said what he just said. He would never say anything as ridiculous as that. Right? If he tried hard enough, maybe he could forget he’d said it.

  First he couldn’t speak, now he couldn’t shut up. He might as well have said, I’m sure interested in you, Katelyn Green. It would have left him with more dignity.

  “I mean, I’ll keep watch as long as you’re out here.” He cleared his throat, trying to sound gruff, because he was a fearless rugged man, raised in the wilderness, half Nez Percé and a warrior.

  She picked up her feed pail and brushed a lock of gold behind her ear, looking up at him through her thick lashes. “Then I guess I should apologize for being angry at you. I saw the gun and thought the worst. I’m sorry.”

  She lifted her face, and in the soft daylight he could see plain as day the faint impression of a bruise on her far cheekbone the size of a man’s fist. The wind ruffled her hair and a thick shank of hair fell forward, hiding the mark.

  Rage came to life in his chest. Hot and hard, like a kerosene fire until it threatened to burn out of control. His jaw clamped tight. His hands fisted. If the man she’d been married to was here right now, Dillon would be glad to teach him a lesson.