The Horseman Page 7

  “Are you cold?” he asked. “I’ll give you my coat.”

  Already he was shrugging out of it. It was a soft calfskin jacket lined with fluffy sheep’s wool. How warm it would be, she realized, and how it would smell of his salty male skin. “No, I’ll be fine enough. I don’t plan on staying here long.”

  “We’ll see what I can do to change that.” He shoved his fists into his pockets, looking oddly nervous and vulnerable for a man who towered over her, pure strength and might. “Look at the storm break. Sure is something.”

  He wasn’t a polished lady’s man, that was for certain. Katelyn leaned her shoulder against the door frame. The rough-textured wood caught on her sleeve. It would be best to be honest with him. He looked as if he was suffering. “I know what my stepfather offered you.”

  “I’m sorry you had to hear that. Had to make you feel pretty bad. I mean-” He hesitated, swiped his big hand over his face. “You’re not an animal.”

  He really wasn’t eloquent, was he? She bit her lower lip to keep from smiling. That was a change from the men she knew, friends of her stepfather’s, friends of Brett’s. “No, I’m not livestock to be traded. I’m glad you understand.”

  “Good. Then come and sit with me. You might as well enjoy the view while you’re up here.” He eased onto the floor and hung his feet over the edge. He held out his hand, palm up, to help her down. “You aren’t in a hurry to go back into that house, right?”

  “Right.” Hennessey might not be sophisticated, but he was perceptive. He’d said the exact words to make her stay with him. At least he understood. That was what mattered. He wasn’t going to take Cal at his word.

  Her relief felt as endless as the night sky, where the storm clouds ripped and shredded apart to show a thin curve of moon. The prairie stretched in a frozen hush as if in waiting.

  Or, maybe that was the way she was feeling. Not relieved because the horseman understood but worried over what Cal would do next. Where he would send her, before she was strong enough to strike out on her own. Who would her stepfather offer her to next?

  Cal was desperate, she realized that. Stretched tight and hurting for money. He was proud and cared only that it looked as if he were doing well. What he had to do to maintain that facade, well, he would do. Even sell her to the highest bidder.

  She shivered, repulsed, afraid. The calm after the storm, the gloss of the moonlight on miles upon miles of snow made the world look like a prized pearl. So beautiful it hurt to look at it. She ached, wondering where her horizons lay, what the morning would bring.

  What if one of the other hands found the stallion? Would one of them take her instead of diamonds and gold, when there was no money behind Cal’s reward offer?

  The only option left her was to run tonight, in the bitter cold. She was not yet strong enough for travel. And without funds, she couldn’t take the easier journey seated on a passenger train. That left more arduous forms of transportation. She would not survive a stagecoach rattling her across Montana Territory.

  “Want to know what happened to the stallion?”

  Her head jerked up. “You said he got away from you.”

  “No, I said I didn’t catch him. I wasn’t honest. I trapped him in a small canyon in the mountains. Made sure he was safe and hid my tracks on the ride back.”

  “How badly is he hurt?”

  So much concern. Dillon figured he liked the woman even more for her softheartedness. He could spend the rest of his days counting the pretty, privileged women he’d come across in his work, who saw their prized matched teams as little more than an extension to their fine, fashionable buggies and surreys.

  He always figured a horseman’s wife ought to at least like horses. “The bullet hit him in the shoulder, I think. It was hard to tell in the dark and it happened fast. When I corralled him in, he wouldn’t let me close enough to patch him up. From what I could see, it was nothing serious now, but if the bullet’s still in there, he’ll need care.”

  “And the other ranch hands won’t find him?”

  “Not if I get him moved right away.”

  “You’ll capture him, then, and tame him. Break him,” she corrected, adding the last words with a heavy disdain.

  Or sadness. He could feel both. “I don’t break animals. I train them.”

  “Isn’t that the same? Just because you’re not wearing your spurs now, you use them. You carry a whip.”

  “I don’t wear spurs.”

  “All the hired men wear spurs.”

  “Then where are mine?” He held up his boot as proof. “My grandfather was a great Nez Percé warrior. He could talk with horses. A rare gift. He taught me what he knew. Gentle voice, gentle hand, gentle treatment makes for a gentle horse. Haven’t you seen me working your father’s mares?”

  She shook her head, looking away toward the horizon. Appearing so lost and frozen inside.

  “How about I make you two propositions?” He stood, because she was still standing, and watched her eyes narrow, felt her stiffen in distrust as he approached.

  She smelled like beauty. Spring flowers and starlight, and the impact beat through him. Hot. Hard. Fast. He wanted her with a fierceness he’d never known and he couldn’t believe he was standing here, about to offer for her.

  Hell, how was she ever going to say yes? “I don’t have much to offer a woman like you,” he began, because it was the truth and he didn’t want to lie to her. Ever. She had to know the man he was, good and bad. “I do have a house and three sections of land a far piece northeast of here. Good, rich land. I’ve got a herd of mares, ones I’ve picked up here and there. My brother keeps an eye on them. His land is next to mine.”

  “He’s a horseman, too?”

  It was a good sign she hadn’t run for the hills yet. “He is. My house isn’t what you’re used to. It’s stout enough to keep out the brutal north winds. It has a view that is just as good as this one. I promise you, on my honor, on all that I am, that it’s one place where you will be safe. No one, I mean no one, will ever hurt you there. Marry me. I’ll never give you cause to be unhappy.”

  She turned away, grimacing as if he’d caused her harm.

  What hopes he had slid south until they crashed to the ground in little irretrievable pieces. She doesn’t want me at all.

  He was a man. He was strong. He could live with that. Taking a shaky breath, he tried to be logical. It wasn’t as if he had a real chance anyway.

  “What’s your second proposition? You said there were two.” She sounded hollow and tired.

  She wasn’t interested in him, he knew that. He was a practical man. So he told her what she wanted to know. “To help me with the stallion.”

  “What would you do to him if I don’t accept your proposal?”

  Was that fear in her eyes? “I would never hurt him, don’t worry. His welfare doesn’t depend on you marrying me. Your welfare does.”

  “I can’t. I can’t ever marry anyone again.”

  “Why not?”

  Because I’m afraid. Because I’m barren. What man didn’t want a son? Gossip traveled on a ranch. Hennessey had to have heard the rumors, and he was here, in front of her. Why? What did he want? Did he think she had money?

  “I know you were hurt. I know what happened.” The horseman laid his palm against the side of her face.

  His touch made her hurt inside, like frost burning on bare skin. Maybe it wasn’t only his touch that hurt, but the compassion in his voice. Compassion wasn’t something she was used to. No man was like this in real life, was he? He had to want something. That was it.

  She steeled her emotions, fought hard to be less vulnerable because this was the proof. He thought she was well-off. It would be reasonable. Brett was a wealthy man.

  “Sure, you’re ready to walk away. You don’t think a horseman would be a good match for a lady like you. You may be right. But right now you’re about as frail as a woman can be. You need time to recover, but what about tonight? Your stepfather d
oesn’t want you here.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Because I had nowhere else to go.” She hated hearing the words. Hated how alone they made her feel.

  “And now?”

  She shook her head. Nowhere. No one.

  “The way I figure it, your stepfather is in a monetary bind. He made me an offer, but other bills are going to come due. He’s going to have to hire someone to replace me. He has no money to pay them. What about the coal bill? What about the wages? How long will it be before he offers you to someone else?”

  “It has occurred to me.”

  “If you stay here, then what? You want to be standing in front of Rhodes with a minister? The truth is, your stepfather doesn’t care what happens to you, but I do. You could do a whole lot worse than taking me as a husband.”

  No. She started to tremble, a fine, cold quivering that began in her soul and overtook her. She couldn’t trust a man. She couldn’t do it again.

  Like a gallant knight, graced by moonlight, Hennessey knelt at her feet and cradled her hands in his.

  “Marry me.” Deep and true, his words rang like a hymn in the stillness. “Please, Katelyn. Be my wife.”

  “No.” She tugged, but he had a tight hold on her hands. “I don’t have anything. My clothes and a few books are all I own. Cal stole what little I took with me when I was forced from my own house.”

  “After childbirth?” He rose, his face twisting. “I’m sorry. That’s damn horrible.”

  His hand curved around her nape, and folded her to the hard plane of his chest. She breathed in the scent of night and snow on his coat, fighting the sensations that were overtaking her. The soft tanned leather against her cheek. The heat of his body. The hardness of it. The sound of his breathing, the rhythm of it.

  “I will keep you safe, I swear it.” How fierce he sounded, how sure. As if he’d move mountains if he had to, reshape the earth and raise the endless prairie to keep his word. She could feel it in his touch, in his body as he held her tight, held her safe, made her feel sheltered.

  She almost believed him. “I truly don’t have anything of value. Not even this land. It will be handed down through Cal’s side of the family.”

  “I told you, I have my own land. I don’t understand. Do you think that matters to me?”

  “Why else would you be proposing to me?” She pulled away, out of the refuge of his arms.

  “That is what you think. Do I look like the kind of man who’d marry a woman for what she’s worth?” Dillon couldn’t remember being more mad. Not at Cal Willman. Not at anyone. “Do you really think so little of me?”

  “I wanted to be honest.”

  “Honest? You look at me and think I’d harm an animal, so why wouldn’t I marry a woman for my own monetary gain?” He was ashamed, how wrong he’d been. “I think you are the most heavenly woman I’ve ever had the privilege to meet. You are beautiful and gentle, and I know I’m stepping out of place, a workingman like me asking for a wealthy man’s step-daughter to be my bride. Even if she has nowhere to go and no one to help her.”

  “You asked out of pity?”

  “No. I asked you because I couldn’t imagine a man like me being so lucky as to have a wife like you. And if you married me, I’d be grateful every day of my life.”

  “It’s not what you do, Mr. Hennessey. I just can’t. I can’t.” The pain remained frozen, a hard icy clump deep in her heart as she watched him stalk away. Heard his boots snap against the wooden ladder rungs and then pound through the stable.

  If you married him, you wouldn’t be here. You won’t be alone. She heard the stable door bang shut, caught on Hennessey’s emotions and a gust of wind. She didn’t need him. She wasn’t interested in his proposal.

  So, then, why did she watch for him to cross through the barn’s shadow below and into sight? He’d called himself a workingman. She could not forget his words. His kind, obviously sincere words. You are the most heavenly woman I’ve ever had the privilege to meet. You are beautiful and gentle.

  He was wrong, but oh, how nice it was to hear kindness. She didn’t receive a lot of that.

  There he was. Striding hard, but in control. Head up, shoulders set, back straight. He was angry, yes, but had she hurt him?

  Chapter Six

  It was nearly daybreak, and Dillon was still feeling like a fool.

  Why else would you be proposing to me? He could remember her confusion as handily as if she was still standing in front of him in all her beauty and grace. I truly don’t have anything of value. Not even this land.

  She’d thought he’d been wanting to improve his circumstances in life by marrying a wealthy man’s daughter. Well, not so wealthy at this particular time, Dillon thought wryly as he grabbed the iron poker from the hook in the hearth.

  Good going, Hennessey. His first proposal to a woman and it could not have been more of a ruination. Maybe he should just keep away from women entirely. Then he couldn’t act like a fool. Then he’d at least keep his dignity.

  He doubted Shakespeare himself could find the words to describe how humiliated he felt this morning. And he hadn’t stopped there. He’d tossed and turned in his cold bunk thinking of her.

  It had been a long shot, proposing to her, sure. But he remembered when she’d first come to the ranch. Over a month ago now, he had finally been making some progress with that blood-bay mare. She’d been mishandled something fierce. Effie had made her way from the kitchen with some treat, and Dillon had overheard it then.

  It was hard not to eavesdrop when Effie gossiped, since she saw no cause to lower her voice to a whisper when she did. Half-dead, poor thing showed up on the doorstep late last night, she’d said. The doc came and went and didn’t think she’d live.

  He’d felt sad for her, hearing of her tragedy. But when he’d first laid eyes on her the night she’d climbed from her window, well, he’d never been the same.

  He knocked the ashes from the pile of coals and stirred them. Watched them glow orange the moment air touched them. He opened the damper wide, because he wanted a good hot fire. The bunkhouse was drafty and frigid, although he’d risen first and early this morning. It was a good time to think, and he had some thinking to do.

  The bunkhouse was silent, unless you counted the snoring. While the kindling crackled to life and sent hungry flames to lick at the seasoned logs of wood he’d added, Dillon hunkered down in front of the open door and held his hands to the warmth. Damn, that felt good. His fingertips prickled so sharp he gritted his teeth to keep the swearing in.

  She’d sure been a sweetness against him. His thoughts drifted backward, to the precious feel of her tucked against his chest. Fragile and female. When he’d folded his arms around her and felt her hair catch on his unshaven chin, something had changed in him. His chest expanded, his blood quickened, his soul woke up and took notice.

  He wanted to protect her. To take care of her. To hold her. Never let her go.

  Why? He’d seen her a few times. He hardly knew her. He didn’t know a thousand things about her, what her childhood was like. Was the good man she’d known her real father? Had she always loved horses? Why had she married a man who wasn’t kind to her? What were her favorite foods?

  See? He could make a list that would stretch from here to Great Falls of every single thing he did not know about Katelyn Green.

  What did he know?

  That when he looked at her, the world faded away. Everything he’d ever cared about, everything he was, came alive as if newly awakened. It made him feel better than the man he was.

  She didn’t think so much of him. She’d thought he wanted money. Then again, maybe that’s what she knew. Maybe the man who’d cast her aside had done that. Looked at her and, instead of seeing the woman she was, saw her family’s wealth.

  Dwindling wealth, he corrected. Times were hard and were about to get harder. He was going to take three mares, unless Cal Willman could cough up enough gre
enbacks.

  It wasn’t as if he’d be riding out of here today with a wife. Disappointment raked through him, sharp tipped and hard. It was too bad, because he wanted her. His own wife.

  Strange, soft feelings had beat to life within him. He wanted her. Still.

  Didn’t that make him five times a fool? Wanting a woman who didn’t want him?

  Grumbling sounds emanated from the back. The boys waking up, pulling on their ice-stiffened clothes and complaining about it. There were horses to feed, stalls to clean and, for him, horses to say goodbye to. Friends that he’d made, the four-legged variety that he understood far better than the two-legged.

  Another wall of storm clouds had covered the sky from sight as he waded through the snow. Flakes started to fall, hard, fast, dry. The wind came from the north at a swirl.

  Not a good sign.

  He pulled open the door enough to slip inside, the same door he’d held for Katelyn last night. She’d shut it behind her. How long had she stayed in the loft? Had she watched the night stars move across the cloud-strewn sky and thought about him? Or had she hurried back to her fancy house and warm bed, glad to be rid of him?

  A nicker drew his attention. The sorrel Arabian mare, one of the horses he’d been hired to train, leaned against her stall gate and stomped her right foot, demanding his full attention.

  “Good morning, beautiful.” He slipped her a broken piece of peppermint from his jacket, as he always did, and offered it on his flat palm.

  Pleased, the mare nibbled the treat, her delicate lips whisking over his skin like a tickle.

  “I’m taking you, pretty girl,” he told her in his grandfather’s tongue. The reverent lilt of the language was a sound of peace to all living things. “You are one fine beauty.”

  The mare leaned her forehead against his shoulder in response. His chest warmed at the emotional connection. Trust. She trusted him. It had been a hard journey they’d taken together, but what a reward. He rubbed his knuckles into a sensitive spot behind her ear. She pushed harder into him, her way of hugging.