The Outlaw Bride (12 page)

Without waiting for an answer, he spun on his heel and stalked to the door, jerking it open. It flew back and hit the wall with a resounding slam.

***

Katherine pushed the hot iron over the wrinkles in Connor’s shirt and hummed a quiet tune, one she remembered her mother often sang before the music went out of her. Funny how despair could do that to a person; rob them of so much joy they couldn’t even work up the gumption to hum. Maybe if she kept singing, things wouldn’t seem so all-fired bad. Maybe the worrisome sickness eating its way through her middle would go away, and Frank Beesom would make it all the way to Baker and hang, her whereabouts dying with him.

And maybe pigs would fly past the moon at midnight.

She set the iron on its end. Closing her eyes, she dug her fingers into the small of her back and stretched. What if she was wrong? What if Beesom gave her up? Her chance to make amends would come to a staggering halt.

Blast that man! Why couldn’t he have stayed hidden in a cave somewhere? And blast Grant Langston for jumping in front of that bullet. Why did he have to save her? It seemed a wasted effort. She was no good at all this lying business, and what did she know about fixing little girls with broken hearts? It would have been best for all concerned if she had been the one to die that day.

But she hadn’t.

Her gratefulness over Grant’s heroic deed tangled with her guilt until she didn’t know where one left off and the other began. All she knew was she had to keep her promise. Otherwise, Grant Langston would have died for nothing. She couldn’t allow that to be his legacy. Or hers.

Katherine opened her eyes. “Oh!”

Connor stood silently in the doorway staring at her, his eyes a stormy blue. After several heartbeats, he walked into the room and lowered his weight to the corner of the kitchen table, crossing his arms.

“You scared me. I didn’t hear you,” she said.

“You seemed lost in thought.” A hardness altered his features, like a bitter wind blowing in across the plains.

She shivered despite the warmth from the stove. “I guess I was.” She tried to read him. Did he know? Had Frank given her up? She couldn’t tell. A curtain had dropped over his expression.

“I heard you were in town today.” He lifted his hand to his jaw. Long fingers rubbed the stubble on his chin in slow steady strokes.

Katherine swallowed. He knew. He must. She could feel his anger sizzling in the air, see it in his tightly controlled movements. Would he haul her off now and throw her into the cell next to Frank, thinking she had some part in his brother’s murder? The idea of sharing space with that man curdled her insides.

“Y-yes, I needed to get—”

“You went to my office?”

Her skin prickled. The need to run overwhelmed her.

Maybe she should throw herself on Connor’s mercy. Make him see that she didn’t know what she was getting into, marrying Rogan. She had been young and scared and desperate. If she could go back and change things, she would. Oh Lord, how she would.

“Connor…” She forced a smile she didn’t feel, a sad attempt to charm. “Let me explain. I—I know Mr. Hewitt told you that my family owned a restaurant and yes, I went along—”

His hand cut sideways through the air and his eyes blazed. “Just answer my question—did you or did you not take Jenny into town?”

Katherine blinked. Jenny? What did Jenny have to do with this? An ember of hope flared to life, touched by the gentle breeze of possible reprieve. “I beg your pardon?”

“Are you hard of hearing, Miss Stockdale?”

Miss Stockdale
. Not Slade. Her breath caught. Had Frank kept his miserable mouth shut?

I don’t know spit about no Slade.

She prayed Frank Beesom’s sense of self-preservation, his denial he knew anything about Rogan Slade, would be her saving grace. Her heartbeat slowed to almost normal.

“No,” she swallowed, “I hear just fine.”

“Then answer my question.”

“Yes, I took Jenny into town.”

He nodded, an agitated jerk of his head.

“Jenny needed—”

He pushed away from the table and came around the ironing board, stopping in front of her. “Jenny needed to be protected and I trusted you to do that. You had no business taking her to my office. That’s no place for a little girl, especially with—”

“I never had her anywhere near your office!”

“What?”

“I left her with Amelia while I delivered the basket of food. How could you think I would take her there?” She swatted a hand at his chest. Connor grabbed it and held tight.

His eyes bore into her, searching. She wanted to look away but his eyes held her mesmerized. Warm breath brushed her skin and sent little ripples of sensation skipping down her spine. Another inch and her body would be flush against his.

The air around them sparked like lightning bugs on a clear summer’s night.

His hold on her hand loosened. “She wasn’t at the office?”

Katherine shook her head. “No. I would never take her there.”

He had yet to step away. His closeness rattled her. If she just leaned in—

Footsteps echoed behind them and interrupted the direction of her thoughts. Jenny walked through the door and into the kitchen, lifting her feet high like a newborn colt.

Connor relinquished his hold on Katherine and half turned. She had a close view of his chiseled profile. Confusion turned to comprehension as he stared down at Jenny’s feet.

“I bought her new shoes today,” Katherine explained. “Her old pair didn’t fit. That’s why she was always running around barefoot. I took her into town to buy a new pair.”

Connor paled. For a moment he said nothing, then, “I should have known that. I should have seen it.” Guilt smothered his tone, keeping his voice barely above a whisper.

Jenny marched across the kitchen, the steady clomp, clomp, clomp of her new shoes resonating through the room. Connor flinched with each step.

Sympathy tightened Katherine’s throat. “How could you have known? I’ve been here nearly three weeks and I just realized it this morning.”

Connor shook his head. “I should have known. Grant would have.”

Katherine didn’t know what to say, what words would reach past the gnawing sense of failure riddling his handsome features. He seemed lost.

She placed a hand on his arm, the only bit of comfort she had to give. The only bit she thought he would accept. “I’ll see to supper,” she said.

He nodded, but she wasn’t sure he heard her. A moment later the door shut again, and when she peered out the small window over the counter, Connor was halfway to the barn, his long strides carrying him swiftly over the beaten path.

Connor did not return for supper. Instead, he hid out in the barn, doing mindless chores until the lights in the house dimmed and he knew Kate and Jenny had turned in.

He’d never considered himself a yellow-bellied coward, but he could not bring himself to face Kate. He’d behaved like an ass, accusing her without first hearing her out, automatically assuming the worst of her. He should have known she’d never drag Jenny into his office. She’d shown nothing but the greatest concern for his niece. Lord only knew she was a far cry better at the job than he’d proven to be. Hell, he hadn’t even noticed Jenny needed new shoes.

If he had any sense at all, he’d leave Jenny with Bart and Amelia and hightail it out of Fatal Bluff. The idea slithered up from a dark corner of his mind on a regular basis. He ignored it now as he had every other time. Regardless of how bad he was at the job, he couldn’t bring himself to abandon the little girl. She’d already lost too much for him to take away the one person she had left. Even if that person was an abysmal failure when it came to filling her father’s shoes.

When he finally slunk back to the house, all was quiet. Connor glanced at the closed bedroom door and tried not to think of Kate, curled up on the soft feather mattress, her hair fanned out against his pillow. He pulled his boots off and tossed them aside with a muttered curse. He spent way too much energy avoiding thoughts of his pretty housekeeper.

Connor shrugged off his shirt and flung it over the back of the sofa before crawling beneath the quilt and trying to find a comfortable position. He missed his bed. It was a sad thing to admit. He’d spent the past eight years sleeping in one bunk after another, or out under the stars, but six months back home had softened him. He longed for the comforts he’d quickly become reacquainted with, and others he wished to—

No! Connor flopped over onto his side, hoping the sudden movement would dislodge the unwelcome thoughts. He didn’t need that sort of entanglement. One slip, one lapse in judgment and no doubt Kate would haul him kicking and screaming to the altar. She had come to Fatal Bluff to get married, after all. He needed to remember that.

Sleep proved an elusive bedmate. Though exhaustion slowly claimed his body, his mind refused to rest. Worse, it refused to let go of the image of Kate’s face only inches from his own as he berated her, those delectable lips pursed into an angry line. He had grabbed her hand to prevent her from leaving before he had his say, and it took all of his willpower not to scoop her up in his arms and kiss her senseless. To peel away the layers of clothing that separated them.

Dammit! His body went hard just thinking about her. He surged up from the sofa, wrapping the quilt around his shoulders to ward off the chill.

Walk it off. Just walk it off.

He paced the room, eventually stopping near the back window. Clouds smothered the stars and covered the moon, which burned a hazy glow through the mist, giving just enough light to cast the room in shadows. He leaned against the wall that separated the bedroom from the main room. He wasn’t sure how much more of this madness he was expected to endure. He had to do something. He had to figure out a way to—

He stopped. What was that?

His body stilled, his senses attuned to the sound he’d heard.

It came again. Muffled, but unmistakable. The sound pierced a part of his heart he thought dead and gone. He rubbed a hand over his chest. The quilt slipped off his shoulders and puddled on the floor at his feet.

What now?

The sob rent the air again, louder this time, shuddering through him.

Damn.

Should he just pretend he didn’t hear it? Crawl back to the sofa and bury his head beneath the blankets until it passed? Connor glanced down the length of the wall to the door. Another sob ripped at his insides.

You were an ass. That’s why she’s crying. This is your fault.

The accusation rushed at him. The sob grew louder. Hell, at this rate he’d have a full-fledged wail on his hands in no time. His gaze shot across the room to Jenny’s bedroom door. It was closed, but his niece had proven to be a light sleeper. The last thing he wanted was her popping out of bed, worried or upset because Kate had decided to have herself a good cry.

Connor inched his way to the door and gently touched a hand to the door knob. “Kate?”

Silence.

He rested his head against the door. Tension eased out of his shoulders.

There. That was simple.

His smugness was short-lived as another sob broke through the hush and cut the night air.

Connor pressed a hand over his face and groaned but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out her crying. God, the sound was pitiful. It made his chest ache. How had it come to this? Just seven months ago he had lived a life of freedom, worried about nobody but himself. Now here he was, back home in Fatal Bluff with two females to contend with and not the first clue how to do it. One was too silent, the other too dangerous.

He sighed and reached for the doorknob. The smooth brass was cool beneath his palm. With great reluctance he twisted it, a bit surprised when it opened. She hadn’t locked him out. Probably hadn’t felt the need to. Connor guessed come morning she’d have a different view on that.

The hinges creaked, cutting off her cry mid-sob.

“Kate?” Her back was to him, her arm hugged around the pillow. His pillow. He eased the door open a little further. Strands of misty moonlight spilled across the bed. He closed his eyes. It’d be fine if he didn’t have to look at her. “Are you okay? I heard you crying.”

She sniffed, and for a moment he thought she wouldn’t answer. When she did, her hoarse voice betrayed her. “I wasn’t crying.”

His eyes snapped opened at the bald-faced lie and he stepped further into the room, finding the lamp on the bureau. Fumbling for the matches, he lit the wick and turned it down low until a faint glow chased away the darkness.

“I heard you.”

She pulled away from the pillow just enough to glare over her shoulder at him.

Loose curls splayed over the stark whiteness of the pillowcase and trailed away from her like gold and red streamers caught in a gentle breeze. The blankets pooled about her waist, revealing a plain cotton nightdress that had slipped down, exposing the warm curve of her shoulder. Good Lord, she was more beautiful than anybody had a right to be. Her scent drifted up to taunt him.

Connor swallowed, barricading his heart against the onslaught of unwanted emotion that made his hand twitch to reach out and run along the exposed line of her collarbone, or trace the dangerously low, scooped neckline where several buttons had come loose of their moorings. The memory of her naked in the tub resurrected itself with a vengeance.

His fingers folded into his palm and he crossed his arms over his chest, realizing his shirt remained slung over the back of the sofa. Damn. He shouldn’t be here.

“Go away,” she whispered, echoing his thoughts. “I’m fine.”

“Your crying is going to wake Jenny.”

She suddenly seemed more alert. She pulled herself up. “Did I wake her?”

“I didn’t say you woke her, I said you would if you kept crying.”

“I was not crying.”

Shadows flickered over the thin material of her nightdress, outlining the curves beneath it. The opening at the neck gaped and he could see the gentle swell of her breasts.

“Jesus,” he whispered, slapping a hand over his eyes. The silhouette of her small, perfectly rounded breasts seared into the back of his lids so there was no escaping the image.

He had to get out of there. It was sheer insanity to stay. He tried to move his feet, but the limbs remained rooted to the spot.

“You may want to, uh—” he cleared his throat and waved his hand in her general direction, “—cover yourself up.”

A soft gasp reached his ears and his insides somersaulted and twisted themselves into knots. He waited a moment before sliding two fingers apart to peer through them. Kate had pulled the quilt up and tucked it under her arms, her belligerent chin jutting into the air.

She narrowed her gaze, her green eyes almost disappearing into slits. “Satisfied?”

Not nearly, he thought, but kept it to himself.

“I’m fine. Sorry if I disturbed you,” she said.

Disturbed didn’t even begin to cover the effect she had on him.

“You can leave now.”

Except his legs still wouldn’t move. “You wanna tell me what turned on the waterworks?”

One shoulder lifted in a shrug. She dropped her gaze, fingering the design on the quilt. The edge of the nightgown came perilously close to dropping over her shoulder once again. Like the rest of her things, it seemed made for someone much larger.

“Was it about your parents?” He hated the hopeful note that entered his voice, the pathetic desire that maybe he wasn’t responsible after all.

She shook her head.

“Are you worried about the money you owe the Hewitts?”

Mr. Hewitt told you that my family owned a restaurant and yes, I went along with it.

He crinkled his brow. He’d heard it when she’d said it, but he had been too wrapped up in his own anger for it to register then. Now it rattled around in his head, demanding his attention.

What had she meant by that? Had Oliver concocted some story to make one of his brides more appealing? It didn’t make sense. A man like Walter Figg wouldn’t have given two licks about his bride’s background. He just wanted someone to cook his meals and warm his bed.

Connor moved to the bed and sat down.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for answers,” he said, taking her arm. She tried to pull away but she was no match for his strength. He turned her arm over in his hand, much as he had that day in the garden. No burn scars. Not one. Nor did she seem to have any idea of the actual date the fire occurred and her family perished. How could she not?

“Get off the bed!” Katherine kicked from beneath the blanket, her foot hitting his hip. He grabbed her leg, winding his hand around her ankle, while his brain worked to wind around the growing inconsistencies he had forced himself to ignore. Until now.

“Quiet down, you’ll wake, Jenny,” he admonished her, feeling only a small prick of conscience at using his niece to silence Kate.

“I’ll wake the whole town if you think for one minute I’m just going to fall back on the sheets and let you have your way!” She tried to dislodge her leg from his grip but his fingers tightened.

“While your assessment of my character is less than flattering, I can assure you, I’m not in the habit of forcing myself on women.” She had the chagrin to blush at least a little. “Answer this—you said you went along with Oliver when he said your parents owned a restaurant. What did you mean?”

Katherine squirmed. How she wished she had kept her mouth shut. When she looked up, her gaze collided with Connor’s and then quickly skidded away, unable to spar with the intensity found in their depths.

“You were angry and I just…I just…” Her words trailed off. She just what? She had no suitable answer and she was too tired to make up another lie.

He studied her, saying nothing. Seconds passed. The clock on the bureau ticked out a static beat. “Is it the truth? Did your parents own a restaurant?”

She evaded the question with one of her own. “Why would I lie?”

Connor shrugged and shook his head, his eyes boring into her, searching for answers. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“I expect there’s a lot I’m not telling you. We barely know each other.”

“Then enlighten me.”

Katherine picked at a loose thread jutting up from one of the colorful squares of the quilt. The room lapsed into silence. She thought of any number of scenarios she could concoct to keep him from discovering the truth, but she knew he’d see right through them for the lies they were.

The pressure on her ankle ceased and for a fleeting second, Katherine knew a sense of relief and loss. It didn’t last long. His calloused hand encompassed hers. Strong fingers wrapped around and pressed into her palm. Heat swept through her body.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice soft but firm, tripping over her nerves like a feather tickling her skin.

Katherine shook her head, her attention riveted to the hand holding hers. She knew better than to look up into those eyes. They had a way of confusing the issue, making her forget herself. They had captivated her the first time Walter Figg threw her into Connor’s arms, and every time since. It was dangerous territory. Whenever she looked into those eyes, she had the urge to blurt out the truth.

“You shouldn’t be here. I can’t—” She stopped. “Please, just go.”

A coyote wailed in the distance, a high, mournful sound that shattered the still night. A wave of helplessness stole over her.

“You can’t what?”

I can’t have you touch me. I can’t stand that I want to touch you back.

She should tell him to go, but every fiber of her being wanted him to stay. Madness had invaded her senses and taken over.

“Nothing,” she said, and shook her head. Several curls fell forward, partially blocking her view of him. It didn’t help. His presence coiled its way around her, encompassing her in a cozy cocoon she feared she wouldn’t be able to break out of. Or didn’t want to.

“Kate, look at me.”

She started as he tucked his fingertips beneath her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. His touch branded her skin, but it was the tenor of his voice that was her undoing.

Her heart pounded with such ferocity she feared it would explode. His gentleness startled her. How long had it been since someone had taken her hand in a gentle embrace and simply held it? How long since someone touched her face in a caress? Tears stung her eyes. Too long? Never?

But now was not the time, and this was not the man. The truth wouldn’t allow it. Her husband had killed his brother, left Jenny locked up in her grief. If Connor knew, he would hate her, toss her out in the middle of the night, or worse, haul her off to jail to face a judge, figuring she had a part in it. He would not be sitting here at her bedside, his touch inciting a riot within her she couldn’t quell.