The Horseman. Jillian Hart

chest squeezed tight until it hurt. How bad was it for her here? He knew she was grieving the loss of a child and her marriage, but was there more?

      Remembering the fading bruise on her cheekbone, he knew there had to be.

      “How about it?” Gentle, that’s how he’d be to her. Let her see right away the kind of man he was. “Do I get some of that tea?”

      “No.”

      Not the answer he expected.

      It was probably the one he deserved. Whoa, Hennessey, you know the lady isn’t interested in you. It disappointed him. A lot. The weight of it settled on his shoulders and in his heart.

      Sad, he snatched his hat off the chair back. “Guess I’ll leave you be. Good night, ma’am.”

      “Good night.”

      “Sure hope the tea helps you to sleep. I’m so tired I’ll sleep like a dead man.”

      What did she say to that? Katelyn winced as the spoon she held bit into the crease of her knuckles. She ignored the stinging pain, loosening her strangulation grip on the utensil. To think he could hunt down a beautiful creature, the same one he’d tricked into trusting him, and then be able to fall asleep?

      The horrible man! She hated him. She hated everything about him, everything he represented. She had a good mind to hurl the spoon at him. She would, too, except for the fact that he was much stronger than she was and much bigger. He would certainly exact revenge, as any man would.

      Still, it was the thought that counted.

      She’d had enough of brutal men. Enough of them to last her a lifetime. With her jewelry to sell, she wouldn’t have to be dependent on anyone. She would get a good job and her own little place to live and no one could hurt her. No one.

      She might be lonely. She’d sleep alone. Eat alone. Live alone. Spend every holiday alone.

      She watched the breadth of Hennessey’s shoulders as he ambled away, probably in search of Cal, and she listened to the ringing authority of his gait. She knew with all the certainty in her soul she didn’t need any man.

      Loneliness was a small price to pay for safety. For peace. For the chance to be, if not happy, then content.

      It was the most she could hope for.

      The warm, honest scent of chamomile brought her out of her thoughts of the future. She had to concentrate on regaining her strength. She was too weak, and still too sore, to leave. Dillon had made her realize all she needed to think about. Would she take a horse to town? It would be faster than walking, she knew.

      She could still take the train, as she planned, and leave the animal at the livery. Where would she end up? She didn’t have a train schedule, but she could hear the whistle from town. She knew when trains arrived and departed. She’d take the first one, even a freight train making a water-and-coal stop, during the night. And make her decisions from there—

      “Hennessey! Is that you?” Cal’s fury cannoned through the sleeping house.

      Katelyn dropped the spoon again. Damn! She plucked it off the counter, vowing not to make another sound. She couldn’t face her stepfather one more time tonight.

      “Yep, I just got back.” Dillon’s easy drawl sounded friendly.

      Why not? Katelyn figured they were cut from the same bolt of cloth. Tears of anger stung her eyes, and she wrapped her arms around her waist, comforting herself, the handle of the spoon cutting into the meat of her palm.

      Maybe, if she didn’t make a sound, Cal wouldn’t know she was here. That was the best course.

      “Guess I owe you five hundred when you leave. Not pleased about that, horseman, but I am grateful to you for solving that problem for me.”

      “I see. A man with a reputation for fine horseflesh wouldn’t want an Indian pony mating with his expensive broodmares.”

      “Glad you see my point. I won’t forget about the five hundred. You got the animal strung up? We got a cougar problem. Wouldn’t hurt to set a couple of the men up with guns and use the carcass to draw the cat out. I’d be most obliged.”

      Obliged? That was a civilized way of saying it. A moneyed way of dealing with a problem. Disgust soured Dillon’s mouth, leaving a bad taste he couldn’t tolerate. He liked to avoid confrontations when he could. Most situations weren’t worth fighting over.

      Some were.

      He took a breath, remembering the woman in the other room, and kept his tone low so he wouldn’t scare her, but serious. Deadly serious. “I have trouble seeing how the boys will be able to do that.”

      “Oh? Tired, are they? I suppose tomorrow night will do as well.” Perched at the top of the impressive cherry-wood staircase, at one with the shadows, Cal might have figured he looked intimidating.

      Dillon braced his feet and planted his hands on his hips. “Nope. As I see it, tomorrow night ain’t going to work, either.”

      “Why’s that?”

      “Two reasons. The first being the men aren’t back yet. They’re still out there looking for that Indian pony.” Defiance strengthened the horseman’s baritone and it rang like winter thunder.

      Katelyn crept to the doorway, keeping out of sight. She could see a sliver of the horseman, the jut of his elbow and the steeled length of his upper arm. The rounded tip of his right boot.

      But she could feel his presence like a swiftly approaching storm, the crackle in the air, the sting of anticipation and the bridled force.

      “What’s the other reason?” Cal demanded.

      Katelyn knew what the horseman would say. The money wasn’t enough—he wanted more than five hundred. She knew how men worked. He and Cal would argue about it, trade insults, show their tough sides and Dillon would hand over the stallion he’d caught and had hidden for the right amount of cash.

      Why was she listening? She ought to take her tea, creep up the backstairs and never think of the horseman again. He was no different from her stepfather or from those other hired men who were riding by the light of the moon, hunting a wounded stallion for their own gain. It was a shame.

      “The real reason I can’t do it is simple.” Hennessey grabbed the knob of the newel post and his glare was an unmistakable challenge. “I didn’t catch the stallion.”

      “What do you mean? You were right there. I wounded him. He couldn’t have outrun you.”

      “He’s a tricky devil.”

      Oh, so that’s how it was going to be. Hennessey was planning to bargain now, get the price he wanted first, then bring in the stallion.

      Nauseated, Katelyn turned away, her step a whisper on the boards, her disappointment as heavy as an anvil. She didn’t want to hear anymore.

      “I don’t give a damn how clever that piece of dog meat is! I want you to bring me that stallion.”

      Katelyn froze. What had happened to the stallion? Her pulse hammered through her chest, a staccato beat that coursed through her veins and she waited, aching with the faintest hope the animal had escaped.

      “Can’t do it. Sorry, sir.”

      Katelyn felt dizzy with relief. Or maybe it was the extreme emotions warring in her. Pride in the injured stallion for eluding the horseman. How strong and brave of him. Fury at Hennessey for hunting the horse in the first place. He was a son of a bitch, that’s what he was. A strong man hurting the weaker, the more vulnerable. The very nature of man made her sick and she padded away, careful to remain quiet.

      “Then get the hell back out there!” Cal’s fury echoed in the silent rooms. “Out! Now.”

      “Won’t do it.” There was no apology in the horseman’s words.

      Hope returned.