The Horseman. Jillian Hart

one man worthy enough to trust?

      Come on, stallion, come closer. Please. He was almost there, a handful of inches from Dillon’s bared fingertips. Cautious but mesmerized, the wild beauty stretched his long neck, closing the gap. His nostrils flared, inhaling the horseman’s scent.

      A crack thundered through the night, shattering the spell. The stallion streaked into motion, his neigh a sharp trumpet of fear and pain. A second gunshot thundered, resounding across the wide expanse of prairie as the Appaloosa took flight. Blood stained the white snow, leaving behind a gleaming trail.

      He’d been shot. How badly? Katelyn’s knees gave out and she fell to the ice-hardened snow. The impact rattled through her bones. Who would shoot such a beautiful creature?

      “Damn it, Hennessey.” Her stepfather’s fury raged like a full-strength blizzard. “Why didn’t you shoot that worthless piece of horsemeat while you were standing there? I couldn’t believe my eyes. What were you going to do? Rope him first?”

      Katelyn turned away, hiding her face. Had what she’d witnessed been real? Or had the horseman lured the stallion close just to capture him? Dillon wouldn’t have harmed the animal, would he?

      “I hadn’t figured on roping him,” the horseman answered.

      Her stomach lurched. Horror lashed through her, sharp as the sting of a bullwhip across the span of her back. The horseman was not made of legend and moonlight. It had only been the glow of the starlight, nothing more, and her own fanciful imagination. A foolish imagination that still wanted her to find a good man to love.

      Still. After all she’d been through, she ought to know by now no such man existed. Like a slap to her face, she felt the cold punch of air on her exposed skin, the cold burrowing in her bones. The ache of it in her joints as she knelt at the base of a scrawny cottonwood, as desolate as a night without stars.

      “Then what’s wrong with you?” Cal demanded. “Mount up, boys, he can’t be far, not with that bullet I put in him. The first man to bring him down gets a five-hundred-dollar bonus.”

      “Paid with what?” Old Pete argued back, and several hands guffawed in agreement.

      “In trade, if that’s what you want.” Cal’s pompous tone fooled no one, least of all, her. Her stepfather’s financial troubles had to be extensive.

      His pride was more important, apparently, as his next words came from the direction of the stables.

      “Saddle up my gelding, Ned. I want that problem eliminated. I’m sick and tired of that mongrel stud coming after my purebred mares.”

      Katelyn watched in horror as the horseman wasted no time swinging into his saddle. Determination made him fierce as a warrior as tiny bits of snow sifted down like sorrow.

      Hennessey looked neither right nor left as he sent his gelding soaring over the somber prairie, taking the last remaining shard of her innocence with him.

      Chapter Four

      Katelyn could not sleep. Restless, she tugged the counterpane over her head, blocking out the bold moonlight spilling through the gap in the curtains. Total darkness didn’t help. She could still see the horseman mounting his mustang like an ancient warrior, armed and ready for battle.

      Her stomach sickened. What was she doing lying here? She may as well get up and brew a pot of tea. Something soothing to help her relax.

      But chamomile, she suspected, wouldn’t keep Dillon Hennessey from her thoughts.

      The kitchen was dark as a cave, and her nightgown rustled around her as she opened the belly of the stove and stirred the covered embers to life. They gleamed orange in protest as she added a handful of kindling. The snapping and popping told her the dry cedar had caught fire. She left the damper open and the door ajar, the strange growing light flashing and writhing as she located the ceramic teapot from the cabinets and dug through the crocks on the counter.

      A reward for destroying the wild stallion. The rage she felt burned to life like the flame inside the stove, stronger and brighter and all-consuming. Who could harm such a beautiful animal? In her mind’s eye she could see the regal stallion, skin over taut muscles flickering with fear, daring to touch the horseman’s extended hand.

      How dare he trick the stallion? Katelyn slammed the tea ball on the counter, ignoring the echoing chink as she rummaged in the drawers for a spoon. If the horseman were here, she’d have a good mind to tell him exactly what she thought of him. Of him and his deception and his spurs and his guns and his vicious nature well hidden beneath his shyness and his quiet nature.

      Oh, she could have a list of faults in the time it took for the water to heat. His faults, Brett’s faults, her stepfather’s faults, every man she’d ever met, in fact. They were all so pleased with their own power and in imposing it on others. Regardless of the cost. Regardless of who suffered and who died…

      The dam broke, and her eyes burned. Her vision blurred. The crack of pain in the center of her chest sharpened and spread, like wood breaking one splinter at a time, then faster and faster until she was on the floor, sobbing so hard she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, choking on the grief set free. She was drowning in the sudden wave of it, sweeping her away, and she was dying, too.

      Her arms were so empty. Her heart so empty. Her body, her soul, her life. All she wanted was the baby she loved. The round-faced little girl with the tuft of black hair and button nose and…

      The back door squealed open on tired hinges. The muted rap of a man’s boots followed. Her stepfather! Katelyn swiped at her face with her sleeve, but the tears kept falling. She stood, fumbling to close the oven door and the only light in the kitchen faded.

      But not fast enough. He was behind her in the threshold, bringing the cold breeze from the night with him. Chill radiated from him, and in the darkness she shivered, wiping at her face and clearing the tears from her throat.

      “Just making some tea. I couldn’t sleep.”

      She knocked over the lid of the crock. The clatter, as it rolled to a stop, wasn’t loud enough to obliterate the sound of her broken breathing or the catch in her throat.

      “I get like that sometimes,” Dillon said. “Tea helps me to settle, too.”

      The kitchen was dark, but he didn’t need light to see her.

      Another clatter rang as she dropped the spoon on the floor. She gasped a brittle sound of distress as she knelt, her nightclothes whispering around her. She wore a nightgown with ruffles at the hem. He remembered seeing her last night. Of course she’d have ruffles. She was a dainty, high-quality lady. Probably had ruffles at the sleeves and collar, around the soft swell of her bosom.

      Remembering his manners, he swept off his hat, holding it in one hand. “Smells like chamomile.”

      “Yes.” Her back was to him, but she wasn’t hiding a single thing from him.

      He’d been a horseman all his life. Reading another creature’s emotions was simpler than the book of poetry he read in his bunk every night. He’d heard her crying, and he could feel the raw emotion like a pain in his own heart.

      Sympathy welled up in him, so stark and bright it surprised him. Laid him bare. Made him brave as he took one step forward, but only one step. She was easily startled, and the last thing he wanted to do on this earth was to scare her.

      Hat in hand, he planted his feet and let the seconds tick by as she set the tea to steep. “What would it take to get a cup of that?”

      “A loaded gun pointed at my head.”

      Funny thing, she didn’t sound so easy to scare. “That seems mighty drastic. I’d be willing to trade you a favor. Judging by your stepfather, you might need a helping hand now and then.”

      “What kind of favor would I need from the likes of you?”

      “Oh, I don’t know, a saddle horse so you could ride