The Horseman

“I told you, hot tea in the mornings. Hot, not tepid. This is entirely unacceptable.” There was a clatter from upstairs and an angry tap of shoes on the staircase that echoed through the downstairs room.

It didn’t sound as if Mother was in a good mood this morning. Katelyn cradled her teacup in her hand and hobbled to the kitchen. She was still too tender to hurry, but she ignored the shooting pain that radiated from her midsection as the beat of Mother’s angry footsteps knelled closer. Thankfully the kitchen doors swung shut behind her a second before Mother entered the dining room.

“She’s in a mood this morning.” Effie stirred scrambled eggs on the stove. “I don’t blame ya for wanting away from her. Stay here with me, and I’ll give you the best bits of bacon I saved. With all you’ve been through, you need to eat. Else how do you expect to gain back your health?”

“Just the tea for now, thanks.” Katelyn brushed a kiss along the older woman’s cheek. Effie Kerr had been a fixture in this kitchen for as long as she could remember and more kindly to her than her own mother could dream of being. “I’m too upset to eat.”

“And little wonder, with the way they was carryin’ on, as if you’d done somethin’ bad.” Effie put down her wooden spoon to brush a handful of blond locks from Katelyn’s face. “That husband they made you marry is the bad one. Everyone knows it. Never heard of such a thing, undoing the marriage the way he did. Suppose he knows how to do it, but it ain’t right if you ask me.”

“Don’t work yourself up, Effie.” Katelyn caught the older woman’s callused hands in her own and gave a squeeze. “I wasn’t happy being a wife to that man.”

“I should think not.” She returned to the stove, shuffling like a woman far older than her years, her back beginning to stoop. Her sadness was as palpable as the heat radiating from the stove.

Losing her son had been hard on her. Katelyn recalled how Old Pete Kerr had wanted to kill the stallion, and remembering that majestic creature made her breath catch. He’d been remarkable, like poetry moving in the darkness, something bold and beautiful and striking like William Blake would have written, a wild animal burning in the night.

“Sit down, child, and finish that tea if nothing else.” Effie pulled out a chair at the small table in the corner. “Maybe some of my biscuits fresh out of the oven will tempt that appetite of yours.”

“They smell good.” Katelyn obliged, grateful to rest in the comfortable chair. The cushion was soft, and the view remarkable. She leaned her elbows on the edge of the table, since there was no one to reprimand her, and stared out at the world of white.

If only the world could stay like this, comfortable in a cold layer of snow, and made new every morning. Although she knew the temperatures were bitter outside, sitting with her back to the stove and tea warming her up was the most pleasure she’d felt during the years she’d been married to the county’s most respected judge.

She shivered, remembering Brett. Her stomach coiled into a tight ball and the peaceful moment was ruined. Breathing in the sweet spicy tea, she tried to banish thoughts of him from her mind. She needn’t think about him or any man ever again.

She was better without a husband. Without a ring on her finger. Safer.

“It’s good to see you feeling better, dear. To have you up and about.” Effie slid a covered basket onto the edge of the table. “Don’t be afraid to eat them all. Go on, now.”

The warm yeasty scent of fresh roll with melted butter, sugar and cinnamon made Katelyn’s mouth water. Her stomach growled in anticipation. “Maybe just one.”

“Thata girl.” Satisfied, the cook ambled away. The bang of pans against the stove filled the kitchen with a merry sound.

Katelyn took one sticky roll from the basket and tore off a bite-sized morsel with her fingers. The gooey icing reminded her of when she was a little girl, sitting at this same table and unrolling the coiled cinnamon roll so it was one long strip of sweetness.

Something stirred in the white downfall outside and distracted her. She absently placed a bit of roll in her mouth and chewed, squinting through the smudged windowpanes. All she could see was the steady cascade of snow falling like rain outside, obscuring the mountains and the plains, giving her only a view of the yard directly outside the window.

There it was again. She held her breath as a blur of dark color moved closer. A deer, perhaps? An elk? Or what if it was a moose? She’d missed the wildlife coming to visit, living in town for so long. At least that was one blessing. She’d grab her coat, head straight to the barn and snatch a bag of grain. Maybe the animals would come close enough so she could watch them eat.

But it wasn’t a deer or an elk or even a moose that broke through the veil of snow and into her sight. It was Dillon Hennessey riding a big black-and-white mustang. Sitting tall and straight in the saddle, he looked rugged and as invincible as a warrior of old. As if nothing could defeat or diminish him.

A strange tingle began at her nape and slid down her spine. What kind of man was Dillon Hennessey? Why did she want to know? She didn’t like men. She wasn’t interested in them. Not after what she’d been through.

So, why couldn’t she tear her eyes from him? Why did that tingle in her spine strengthen when he rode so close to the window?

He was dressed well for the weather, and she couldn’t see his face. Couldn’t see anything more of him than she had last night in the dark. But the wide cut of his coat suggested a man of muscle and strength. The shadowed profile hinted at a man hard as stone.

She shivered. He was probably a harsh man. Weren’t they all? Stronger than a woman, and he was probably the worst, breaking horses with whips and spurs and cruelty.

The image of Brett’s raised fist flashed into her mind and she shook harder, willing it away. She was safe from him here. Whatever happened to her now would not be as bad as being married to that man.

She wrapped her hands around the teacup and lifted it to her lips. The dark liquid sloshed up to the rim but didn’t spill. She took a deep breath. She had to relax. She didn’t need to be so jumpy. She was safe, remember?

She felt something, a strange sensation like the brush of a feather against the side of her face. She snapped her head up. There, on the other side of the glass, the horseman was staring at her. He’d turned in the saddle, his face shadowed by the brim of his hat, and in the storm all she saw was his dark blue gaze, compelling and calm, before the snowfall swallowed him whole. Leaving her watching the flakes tumbling past the window and with a strange quickening in her chest.

“Effie, do you know anything about that new man?”

“The wrangler?” The wooden spoon scraped on the steel fry pan. “Came in about a month ago. Your stepfather brought him in to work with his new mares. Dillon Hennessey’s supposed to be the best. There ain’t a horse he can’t break.”

“How unlucky for the horses.” Her stomach tightened and she stared at the roll. She was no longer hungry.

“Horses aren’t useful for much if they can’t pull a buggy.” Effie dropped the empty pan on the counter, untroubled by the clatter, and rescued the sizzling bacon from the heat. “I hear he comes up from Texas way, but worked in Wyoming for a spell. Been all around. California. Colorado. New Mexico. He always comes back to Montana. Folks say this here territory is his home.”

“I thought you said he was from Texas?”

“I don’t rightly know. He isn’t given to talk much, and you know my Pete is as deaf as a turnip. Can’t hear anything right, so that’s probably what he thinks he heard about Hennessey. Haven’t spoken to the man myself. He keeps to his own.”

A loner. A drifter. Katelyn remembered how he’d stood apart from the men last night, and it hadn’t only been the distance between the others that separated them and made him distinct, as if he were above those other men.

And yet how could he be? He was no different, being a wrangler, a man who wore spurs and dominated wherever he could, and at whatever cost. Like any man.

“Eat up, girl, you haven’t eaten enough to keep a bird alive.” Effie thrust a plate of bacon and eggs onto the table.

Katelyn wrinkled her nose. “I’m not hungry.”

“It doesn’t matter. Eat. Or there will be hell to pay.” Effie’s stern words were forceful enough to echo in the small kitchen, but her eyes shone with kindness.

Hers was the only caring Katelyn had known since she’d been a little girl. Grateful, she lifted the fork off the edge of the plate. For Effie, she’d do her best, even if her stomach felt as if it were tied into a hundred knots.

Effie’s attention drifted to the window. “Was there any reason you wanted to know about Dillon Hennessey?”

Was it Katelyn’s imagination, or did Effie sound unusually pleased? “It was idle curiosity. So much has changed since I’ve been gone.”

“True. You were married how long?”

Effie knew full well how long. “Five years. A lot has changed. I wondered if my stepfather has been any more successful in keeping his hired men.”

“Not a bit. If Pete wasn’t your mama’s cousin, we’d be long gone ourselves. Cal Willman is a tough man to work for, I’ll grant you that. A man like Hennessey, he’s a drifter. He moves from ranch to ranch. Gets paid well, I hear. We had a year and a half wait for him, he’s got that much work. That ought to say something good about him, wouldn’t you say?”

“I suppose.” Katelyn stared at the eggs in front of her. She never should have asked a single question about the horseman.

Effie snatched the pot from the counter, moving casually, but there was nothing the woman did without purpose. “He’s pleasing to the eye, wouldn’t you say? A woman can’t help but notice Dillon Hennessey’s about as tough as a mountain and good-looking to boot.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“You are a terrible liar, dear heart.” Effie sounded as pleased as a new mother as she tipped the pot, warming up Katelyn’s cup. “Even at my age, a handsome man still catches my eye. He’s not truly handsome, though, is he? Rugged. Striking. That describes him better. He looks like a man who could protect a woman from any threat. Any danger. Now that’s what a woman needs in a husband.”

Katelyn groaned. “Stop, please. I’ve had one husband. I will never want another.”

“But whatever will become of you?” Effie set the pot on the table and drew up a chair. The sharp scrape of the wooden legs against the floor came as harsh as the fear on the woman’s face. “I’ve heard what they’ve been saying, the two of them, when they think no one can hear. They intend to find a situation for you, and it won’t be a pleasant one.”

“I don’t need them to find anything for me. As soon as I’m well, I can leave.”

“What if they ain’t planning to wait that long? And where would you go? This is a cruel world for a woman alone.”

“It can be a cruel world for a married woman.”

“No, only if the woman marries the wrong kind of man. I promise you, you could do much worse than Dillon Hennessey.”

“What? Effie, I asked you to stop. I can’t stand it.” She laid down her fork and rested her aching head in her hands. She was still weak from one man’s beating. Did Effie think that she couldn’t wait to give control of her life to another man?

“There, there.” The cook’s hand lit on Katelyn’s shoulder blade, a gentle, comforting touch. “Didn’t mean to overset you. But keep in mind, you need a situation better’n the one your stepfather will find for you. The best way to get out of here is to marry a man of your own choice. One that’ll treat you good, the way you deserve.”

“Oh, Effie.” Tears burned behind her eyes, blurring her vision, and Katelyn blinked hard, refusing to let them fall. What would she do without Effie? She’d be all alone. Utterly, completely alone. “The food will get cold. You’d best go. You know how my mother gets.”

“Well, I do.” With a dramatic roll of her eyes and a heaving sigh, Effie hauled her bulk from the chair. “Now you think on what I said. Mr. Hennessey has never married, at least that’s what they tell me. At his age, a man wants to be settled and have sons to pass on his wisdom to.”

With a smile of approval, Effie hustled from the room, snatching two platters of food on her way out.

I can’t give him sons. Effie knew that. Everyone did. Hadn’t it been the topic of gossip around the ranch for the past month? The doctor had told her she couldn’t give any man a child. Not that she wanted the horseman—she never wanted to be at a man’s mercy again—but the fact that she would always be completely alone without a child, without a family, hurt like a mortal wound.

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. Dang 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.