The Lawman's Oklahoma Sweetheart

“No one died.”

“I keep telling myself that but it is not working.”

“Then keep repeating it. Out loud when you can, in your head when you can’t.” He nodded at her, cueing her words.

“No one is dead.” Her words were wobbly and insufficient.

“No one is dead,” he repeated for her. Katrine found herself stunned by the compassion in his eyes. There were wounds behind those eyes. She could see their shadows before he broke the gaze and turned away.

There was a moment of raw silence until he caught sight of something and walked toward it. “Try thinking of last night this way—you made your own window.”

She wiped her wet lashes to watch him turn over a log with his boot, the recognition hitting her as fierce as the wind: the corner log. He must have tossed it far enough from the cabin when he pulled it out of the wall, for it hadn’t fully burned. When he bent to another, she knew that both logs of her “drafty corner” had somehow survived the fire.

Sheriff Thornton squatted down and inspected the logs. “You should save these,” he said, turning to her as she walked closer. “Build them into your new home.”

Katrine recoiled at the thought. “Why?”

“Lije says the strongest people make peace with their scars. You were brave to fight your way out last night, and you’re being mighty brave to do this now. It’d be good to remember.”

Remember. Was it worth it to remember when all the ashen pieces of home were blowing away in the wind? A black flake of charred wood settled on her hand and she flinched as if it still burned. “I think I might rather forget. Or not. I just do not know.” The tears threatened again.

To her surprise, the sheriff rose and carefully settled the logs on one end, like an odd little row of order in all the destruction. He extended a hand. “Maybe you don’t have to know yet. Lars would want you to see what else can be saved. Maybe it’s more than you think.”

She let him pull her closer to the blackened pile, still smoking in some places. With a tenuous smile, he pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket and began picking through the debris. She watched him for a moment, then began walking around the collapsed house, trying to feel Lars’s encouragement but failing miserably. She spied half a blackened bowl and swallowed hard. The two new bowls brought by neighbors couldn’t really replace it. New wasn’t always better, was it?

“Well now, look here!” Katrine raised her gaze to see Sheriff Thornton holding Lars’s favorite tin coffee mug, the blue enamel still visible under spots of black soot and a considerable dent. He used his glove to wipe away some of the soot. “He’ll want this back, I reckon.”

He said it like a secret. He’d said over and over that this deception was necessary, that it was the best way to keep Lars safe, and Katrine wanted to believe him. Neither Lars nor the sheriff truly knew why this was so hard for her, but that had to stay a secret, as well. She lifted her chin to the sheriff. “I want to see him.”

Thornton came down off the pile and stood in front of her. “You know I can’t do that.”

Katrine felt the urge to stamp her foot in a childish fit. All the pain and loss was boiling up inside of her, and he’d told her not to swallow it, hadn’t he? “You could find a way. Do you know what it is like to sit in your brother’s house and hear people talk of Lars dead? They bring me food and clothes and they cry over my loss. It is awful. I want to run away, but...” She flung out her arms at the mound of ashes in front of her. “I have nowhere to go now, do I?”

“You could build a mansion out here and it’d be no good if men like McGraw are free to take it from you!”

She spun on him. “So it was McGraw!” The shouts from outside the cabin that horrible night clicked in her memory. Lars had hinted that he knew something about the men, but wouldn’t say outright, claiming she was safer not knowing. That hadn’t proved true, had it?

The sheriff kicked a fallen beam. “Hang it, I wasn’t supposed to say.” He pointed at her. “You forget you heard that. You’re in enough of a spot as it is.”

She had to agree with that. “I don’t like the way he looks at me.”

“Well, I don’t either,” he said quickly, then ran his hands down his face as if he hadn’t wanted to admit that. “It’s gonna be fine. I’ll get him. I’m already in with the load of ’em. We just need to get through this part until I have enough proof to put the Black Four away for good.”

“I need to see Lars.” She knew it was pointless, but she couldn’t help saying it. Without hearing Lars’s voice, without looking into the strength of his eyes, she wasn’t sure she could keep up this dangerous game. She waited for Thornton’s temper to rise at her childish insistence.

He sighed instead, walking over to hand her the battered mug. It wasn’t much of a peace offering, but he was trying, she could see that. “How about I take him a message? Write him a note, and I’ll bring you back his reply. Will that help?”

It wasn’t like seeing Lars, but it would have to do. “Yes. Yes, it would help very much.”

Chapter Four

An hour after returning Katrine to Lije’s house, Clint rode out of town toward the Cheyenne reservation. He wandered through the open prairie, following the hunting trails Lars used, deep into the wilderness where only those most familiar with the countryside would venture out. He watched the stones along the path until he began to see piles of three stones—carefully laid so that they looked natural and would not catch the eye of anyone not looking for such clues. When Clint saw three piles close together, he stopped his horse along the series of rocks Lars had marked and gave a long, low whistle. He waited, watching a hawk loop overhead, then gave the same whistle again.

A minute later, a long low whistle floated down from the rocks to his left. Lars was here, and Lars was safe. He’d known that, of course, but he was still relieved to see his friend’s face peering out. All the talk of death and mourning he’d left back in Brave Rock made it a double joy to pull the pack of supplies off his saddle and climb up to shake Lars’s outstretched hand.

“It is good to see you, Thornton!” The man looked strained and tired as he accepted the pack from Clint. “How does our plan go?”

Their original plan had been for Lars to “lie low,” to be out hunting for a while just to ensure McGraw and his men didn’t try anything rash. They hadn’t been sure McGraw knew Lars had witnessed them planning to go so far as to burn down a home.

Up until last night, there was still a chance Clint and Lars were wrong. That chance had burned with Lars’s home. Clint considered it a blessing Lars was far enough out of town not to see the flames or smoke. For all Lars knew, Brave Rock had spent a quiet night.

“Not well. Not well at all.” Clint took a swig from his own canteen he’d brought up with Lars’s supplies.

Lars froze, his hand stilled inside the pack. “What has happened?”

No sense beating around the bush—there was no good way to deliver the news he bore. “I’m in with McGraw’s men.”

“That is good, ja?”

“Not the way it happened. Lars, you need to know that Katrine’s safe, but I’ve had to tell folks you’re dead.”

“What? Why?”

“Sit down, this is gonna take a bit of explaining.”

Lars motioned them into the small cave he’d often used while hunting, lifting the leather flap that served as both door and disguise. The shelter within was cool and comfortable, fitted with a makeshift pallet, rock table and stacks of supplies. “I do not understand,” Lars said, gesturing for Clint to sit on the pallet while he sat on another rock. “Why should I worry about Katrine and why are you telling people I am dead? This was not our plan and I am very sure I am alive.”

“You were right—McGraw was planning to burn a home down. Your home.”

“Our cabin?”

“Burned to the ground last night. Meant to burn you down with it, near as I can tell. That tells us for sure he knows what you know. Somehow, he’s found out you saw enough to link him to the Black Four. That means you’re not safe until they’re behind bars, so I thought it best to let him think he’d succeeded in killing you.”

Alarm widened Brinkerhoff’s bright blue eyes. “And Katrine?”

“I got her out in time.” The remark felt like putting that terrible night in too simple terms, but Clint would rather avoid the details. It would do Lars no good to know how cruel McGraw had been. The Dane did not need to hear of bloody feet or choking gasps or how the door was nailed shut. If Lars pressed him for details, he’d simply couch it in terms of Katrine’s desperate, brave escape. “But all of it burned. Katrine is staying with Lije and Alice. She’s fine enough, and she knows you are alive, but...well, I’m sorry.” Again, those two words didn’t seem near enough for what had happened, but Clint didn’t think this was a good place for particulars.

Lars muttered something in Danish. “I had expected trouble, but not this. Dangerous. These men are more dangerous than we thought. This is not a fence or a well. These were lives. To seek to kill like that.” He looked up at Clint. “To kill me.”

“That’s just it. If they thought you were still alive, they’d try again. Surely you can see that. You’ve got to know that you and Katrine are safer this way.”

Lars’s furrowed brow—altogether too much like his sister’s—told Clint his friend wasn’t quick to agree. “This was not our plan. I don’t know.”

“It’s not a perfect plan, and it’s hard on Katrine, but...”

“And Winona—she does not...”

In all his planning, Clint hadn’t thought to consider Winona Eaglefeather. The Cheyenne woman and Lars had been growing close during her many English lessons with Lije. Lars spoke the Cheyenne tongue fluently, and while Clint had always put their closeness down to the language, it was clear now that feelings between them ran deeper than mere translation. This plan was getting more complicated every minute. “Look, Lars,” he reasoned, “it can’t be helped. She can’t know.” He started to say, We’re playing with fire as it is, but stopped himself to simply utter, “The more people know you’re alive, the more dangerous this gets.”

“Winona cannot think I am gone,” Lars argued. Then, as if his feelings for her weren’t reason enough, he added, “And she can help.”

She could, in more than just practical ways, but it was still a bad idea. “Not yet. Not until we know what we’re dealing with.” When Lars only offered another frown, Clint added, “We’ll get you back to life as soon as possible, but for now you’d best stay dead. For your own sake as well as Katrine’s. And maybe even Winona’s.”

Lars blew out a frustrated breath. Clint waited until the Dane came around to his line of thinking. Finally, Lars turned and asked, “They believed you? Truly?”

“I made it in their best interest to believe me. After you and I talked about them likely burning down someone’s home, I got a bad feeling.”

“You and your hunches.” Lars was forever kidding Clint about his gut instincts where crime was concerned, and how funny he found the American term for it.

“If McGraw had any inkling you were on to him...” Clint shrugged off a chill despite the hot day. “I couldn’t shake that hunch, so I rode by your cabin on the way back to town just to be sure.” He looked away from Lars, not wanting his good friend to be able to read any of last night’s dread in his eyes. “That’s when I saw the torches. They were setting your shed on fire by the time I got there. They weren’t even trying to make this look like an accident. McGraw’s gotten so cocky he wasn’t even wearing a black bandana.” The use of dark clothes and black bandanas had earned the mysterious gang its name. Clint forced the sound of the crackling rosebushes as well as the sickening thump of Katrine’s kicking from his memory. “It came to me in a flash, but I had to act right then and there. I had the perfect chance to show I’d be loyal to them, to get in close enough to be ready for whatever the Black Four planned next. I took it.”

“It was a big chance to take.” Lars shook his head.

“Katrine is safe with Elijah and Alice. Lije, Alice, Gideon—they all think you’re dead. They’re taking it pretty hard, actually. Folks have brought Katrine food and supplies and all kinds of comfort.”

“Of course they would. Brave Rock is a good place with good people.”

“Well, tomorrow morning, you’re Brave Rock’s first funeral.”

Lars gave a shiver. What man wouldn’t at hearing talk of his own funeral? “It is not an honor I enjoy.”

“I don’t like it any more than you do, but a chance like this to get in with McGraw may not come again. This is the safest place for you to be. You just need to keep your head down until I’ve got enough proof to expose McGraw and his men as the Black Four. It’s our original plan, and it still holds. It’s just a mite more...complicated now.”

“And Katrine? You are sure she is not in danger?”

He wanted to give Lars an outright no, but found he couldn’t. “I hope not. I’ve convinced McGraw she doesn’t know anything important.” She surely knew enough to be in danger now, but he left that out. He also left out the near-lecherous tone the private had used when discussing her. Lars was protective of Katrine, but Clint was about to double those efforts. That louse would never get within a mile of her. “He’s got better things to do right now, anyways.” Clint leaned in and held Lars’s gaze. “He’s plotting more ‘accidents,’ and I aim to know what they are so we can catch all four in the act.”

Lars’s eyes narrowed. “Brave Rock will be no place to call home until they are gone.”

Clint suddenly remembered the most valuable provision he’d brought. “Here. It’s a message from Katrine. I told her I’d bring one back from you. She’ll be just fine if she can hear from you.” Clint handed over the folded note, envying the eagerness with which Lars snatched it from his hands. Family meant everything out here.

Ducking out of the cave to give Lars some privacy, Clint surveyed the landscape. If a man had to carve out a future somewhere on this earth, Oklahoma Territory was a fine place to do it. The rolling green plains begged for homesteads, the clear air gave a man space to think. Plagued with growing pains as it was, there was a brand of fierce hope out here that Clint had never found anywhere else. The kind of hope that made a man feel capable, almost unstoppable. It egged a man on to grabbing his slice of the future with both hands.

Clint’s two brothers, Elijah and Gideon, had surely grabbed their futures with both hands. Not only had they settled lands, but settled their hearts, as well. The iron-clad trio of the Thornton brothers was still there, but it had widened to include two women—wives, now, actually. Lije and Gideon had wives. Within Clint, marvel battled with a hefty dose of envy. He’d never quite forgiven God for making him want a big family—a whole noisy passel of sons and daughters—and then taking away his ability to do so. Back when Cousin Obadiah told him that disease “cursed” him to never be a father, he’d been too young to understand what a curse it truly was. Now he was old enough to feel its weight every single day.

Lars’s groan behind him pulled him from such thoughts. “She is not telling me everything, Clint. She is very upset and picking words with care. Watch over her for me, will you?”

“Just a while, Lars. She’s strong enough to hang on that long.”

Lars came and stood next to him, handing him a reply to bring back to Katrine. “I want your word, Clint, that you will protect her.”

That was easy to give. “You have my word, Lars. On my life, she’ll be safe.”

The oath took a bit of the strain out of Brinkerhoff’s face, but not all of it. “I will hold you to that, friend.”

Clint grasped his friend’s arm. “One thing I’ll ask in return.”

“Of course.”

“When you build your new home, give it windows. Two.”

The Dane’s brows shot up. “Windows? Why?”

Clint allowed himself a slip of a smile. “It’s a long story for another time.”

* * *

The next day Katrine looked up from taking in a skirt that had been given to her—thankfully long enough for her tall stature but big enough to fit her and Lars inside, it seemed—to see Clint riding up to the house. The sight was a mixed blessing; she knew Clint would bring news of Lars, but it stung to know Clint could visit him while she could not.

“I’ve found something over at the homestead you ought to come see,” he said, more for Elijah and Alice, who were bent over a box of new medical supplies Alice had received. The way he caught Katrine’s eye, she knew that remark to be a ruse in order to bring news of her brother.

“Of course I’ll come,” Katrine said, then winced at the thought of how falsely cheerful she sounded. She was truly delighted to hear how Lars fared, but her words sounded unnatural.

“Take the wagon,” Alice suggested. “And while you’re at it, take some of that ham Mrs. Gilbert sent over. There’s enough food in this house for a dozen church picnics. In fact, take a whole picnic and go sit by the river before you go.” Alice cocked her head to one side and eyed Clint. “You’re too thin. When’s the last time you ate a good meal that wasn’t at our table?”

“Alice, leave him be,” Elijah chided with an affectionate smile. “Thornton boys have survived life long before wives fussed over us.”

Clint looked as if he didn’t care for the scrutiny. “I’m survivin’ just fine, Alice. Don’t you worry none.”

“Still, a picnic sounds nice.” Katrine put down her sewing. If she was careful, she could pack several extra things that Clint could take to Lars. “I could use a pleasant task.”

Knowing looks shot between Alice and Elijah. The hour before, Katrine had sat with the couple and set the order for Lars’s memorial service. The task was far from pleasant and made Katrine’s heart feel sour and heavy.

The minute the wagon pulled out of earshot, Katrine let out the frustrated sigh that had been building all day. “How much longer?”

Clint needed no further words to know the subject of her question. “Can’t truly say. Longer than you’d like, I know.”

Katrine looked at the sheriff. “How am I to get through the service tomorrow? All those mourning people? What will they think of us when they learn their sadness did not have to be?”

Clint pulled the horses up and turned to face Katrine. “They’ll be glad you did what was needed to keep Lars safe. They’ll be worried for you and wanting to help you get back on your feet—which you’ll need to do no matter what. You can’t stay with Lije and Alice forever.”

“Certainly not.” Katrine shut her eyes at the thought. Elijah and Alice were wonderful—compassionate and helpful—but their affection and closeness had only served to make Katrine more lonely for her brother. More lonely in all sorts of ways.

Clint looked surprised. “Everything been all right? Lije and Alice treating you well?”

How could she talk of such loneliness with Sheriff Thornton? “No, no, they are wonderful. It is just...” There weren’t even Danish words for the tangle of her thoughts.

“They’re hard to be around sometimes,” Clint offered. “All that happiness wears on a person.”

“Yes!” Katrine let her relief whoosh out in the single word. She could almost laugh at the pained way Clint made a face.

She did laugh at the oh-so-accurate imitation Sheriff Thornton did of his pastor brother’s besotted smile. “All that ‘dear’ this and ‘darling’ that.” He joined in her laughter, and Katrine felt the weight of grief slide off her shoulders. She had not laughed since the fire, and it felt wonderful to remember there was still joy to be had in the world. “Still, I’m glad to see him so happy. He’s a good man and they’re good for each other, I think. Not everyone’s suited to be on their own.”

“Yes,” Katrine agreed, more quietly this time. “That is true.”

“He’s fine, Lars is.” Clint turned the cart down the path that led to where her home used to stand. “Worried about you. Worried about Winona.”

“Winona.” Katrine had not seen the Cheyenne woman since the fire. Word was she had stayed on the reservation since that night. “Lars cares for her, I think.”

“I think so, too. He asked me to tell her, especially since she can travel easily between the reservation and the...where he’s hiding out.” Katrine could tell Sheriff Thornton was taking care not to offer clues to Lars’s location. She liked that some part of him considered her strong and brave enough to venture out looking for her brother.

“Someone else who can see Lars while I cannot.” She failed to keep the frustration out of her voice.

The sheriff looked down at her. “I told him no.” There weren’t many people in Brave Rock who could tower above her like that, but it was more than his height that gave Clint Thornton his air of command. “Lars is going to have to do this alone. Don’t be thinking this isn’t as hard on him as it is on you. He wants to come home, too.” As he said those last words, the wagon pulled next to the ashes. “Well, when home is...”

Suddenly Katrine did not feel at all like picking through the remains of her house. “I think we should have that picnic now.”

The sheriff looked puzzled. “You do? I figured that was just a way to scuttle off some food for Lars.”

So he had come to the same plan as she. “Well, yes, but...” She stared at the pile of charred timbers, then pulled the napkin off the basket in her lap. “I would rather eat ten muffins than deal with that today.”

An amused smirk filled the lawman’s often-serious features. “Ten, huh? How many did you bring?”

“Too many. I made too many. I needed something to do.”

“Lars told me you bake when you worry.” He bit into a muffin. “They are fine indeed. But I’m fond of that bread you make, too.”

“Kartoffelbrod?”

“That’s it. Tasty, in a different sort of way.”

Katrine smiled. “It is Lars’s favorite.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to go on about it when we get back to Lije’s. That way you can make me two loaves and I’ll be sure to pass one on to Lars.”

It would feel good to be able to send bread along with her next message to Lars. “I’d like that.”

“See?” the sheriff said as he swung down off the wagon. “This ain’t as hard as you think. Just requires a bit of thought and patience, that’s all. Think of it like making up one of your stories.”

This was nothing at all like making up charming stories to entertain. This was life-and-death and dark secrets that could get Lars killed.

Chapter Five

Friday morning, Clint stared at the back of the building that would become the church of Brave Rock and watched the shadows of the people who had just filed out of Lars’s memorial service. He’d known Lars would be mourned, even prepared himself for it, but was not ready for how the sorrow would cut him to the quick. People were downcast, buckling under what seemed a gruesome tragedy, yet still clinging to their faith. It was the first time he felt as if the weight of this plan might be too hard to bear.

“He was good to many, but an especially good friend to you.” Lije’s voice was as close as the hand Clint felt on his shoulder. “I know you would have saved him if there was any way. We all do. I’m so sorry.”

He’d kept the truth from Lije for an essential reason, but still he felt the wedge it placed between them. There always seemed to be a gap between Clint and his brothers, but today it yawned wider still. His life was forever destined to be different from theirs, solitary even if it was full of purpose.

Sitting next to Katrine hadn’t helped. It was both soothing and unnerving to be near her since the fire. The truth they alone knew made him feel close to her—and yet that closeness managed to open up a black hole of lonesomeness at the same time. The sad service had shown him how much Katrine would need to lean on him while this plan played out. Only, Clint wasn’t the sort of man who could offer that kind of support. She would need someone else—some person other than him to turn to for comfort. It’d be easy—but wrong, and dangerous—to pull in Lije. Clint needed someone who could ride out of town often without raising any eyebrows.