The Outlaw Bride (5 page)

The harder she tried to keep her mind on other things, the more her traitorous thoughts drifted to the days ahead. What would it be like spending her days alone with this man? She had little experience in that regard. Though married for eight years, Rogan rarely stayed home for more than a few days at a time, leaving her alone for long stretches. The loneliness had been unbearable, but being with him had been even worse.

The rhythm of the horse and the warmth from Connor’s body slowly lulled her into a doze. She tried to keep her eyes open, but it felt as if lead weights had been tied to her lashes. She told herself she’d close them for only a moment. That was the last thing she remembered until Connor’s voice penetrated the fog clouding her mind.

“Miss Stockdale?”

She heard a throat clearing but it seemed far off in the distance. The fading warmth of the sun acted like a blanket, tucking her in for the night. She ignored the sound, quite content with where she was. She snuggled in further.

“Miss Stockdale?”

A hand touched hers, rough yet comforting. It squeezed and she stretched slightly, nuzzling further into her pillow, taking a deep breath. Lord, it smelled good. She wondered if this Miss Stockdale knew someone was calling her.

“Hannah?”

The hand squeezed again, harder this time, dragging her unwilling mind back to the surface. Was he talking to her? Her name wasn’t Hannah.

“Kate,” she mumbled, attempting to burrow back into the comforting warmth, to recapture the sleep that had eluded her for days. “My name is Kate.”

“What?”

The sudden crack of the tone broke through her sleeping brain with the effectiveness of a dash of cold water. Her head shot up and heat burned her cheeks when she realized she’d been resting it on the sheriff’s back. “What?”

He turned his head just far enough to give her an appreciative view of his profile. Dark lashes contrasted with the pale blue of his eyes, the golden tone of his skin the perfect backdrop to set it all off. Lord liftin’, but he was one handsome man.

“You said your name was Kate.”

The tiny voice inside her head that had known taking this job was a bad idea came back to mock her now. Her mama always said when it came to lying she didn’t have a lick of talent. Why hadn’t she taken that into account before assuming another woman’s identity?

“It’s—I—that is to say—” Her mind worked furiously to concoct a plausible explanation, grasping at any wisp of an idea that spun through her brain. “Kate is my nickname…uh, short for…Kathleen. Which is my middle name.” She forced her smile wider, hoping that would make her words more believable. She should have stopped there, but words kept tumbling out. “Hannah was my mother’s name too. So they called me Kate to…to avoid confusion.”

There. That wasn’t so hard.

Connor nodded slowly and turned to face the small clapboard house in front of them. “Alright then.” His tone gave nothing away. Had he believed her?

He patted her hands. “You want to let go now, so we can get down?”

“Oh!” Embarrassed, Katherine snatched her hands away as if scalded.

Connor held her arm in a firm grip and helped her ease herself down from the horse’s back. The horse snorted and Katherine stepped away, allowing Connor room to swing his legs over and dismount.

“That you, Connor?”

Another voice carried out through the door of the house. A second later Amelia Holkum’s top half appeared through the screened-in portion of the door.

“Evening, Amelia,” Connor answered, untying Katherine’s satchel from behind the saddle.

“Why, Miss Stockdale!” The door opened and the woman stepped outside, her arms thrown wide. Before Katherine knew what she was about, she’d been swallowed up in a pair of sturdy arms then quickly released. “It’s good to see Connor came to his senses and hired you. That is what he’s done, isn’t it? Unless he’s gone and married you to make it permanent?” Hope eased the lines in her face.

Katherine shook her head, catching Connor’s scowl from the corner of her eye. “I’ve agreed to be his housekeeper for the time being,” she explained, ignoring the sinking disappointment his scowl brought on. What did she care if the man had no interest in marrying her? She was hardly in the market for a husband. And if she was, a lawman would be the last man she’d pick. That would be the closest thing to suicide she could think of, short of letting Rogan catch up with her.

“Well, either way,” Amelia said, “it’s good to have you here. C’mon inside and get settled.”

“Put her in my room. I’ll take the sofa,” Connor said, taking hold of the horse’s reins.

Katherine stopped. “What happened to sleeping in the barn?”

Connor half turned. A smirk twitched the corners of his mouth. “I lied.”

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but the tiny thrill that rushed through her veins didn’t bode well. “Oh.”

“Unless that’s a problem?”

“The lying part or the sleeping in the barn part?”

“Pick one.” His hand slowly caressed the neck of his horse.

Katherine swallowed. “It’s fine.” She was hardly in a position to call the man on lying, especially when he fessed up to it. And she wasn’t about to kick him out of his own home after he’d rescued her from working in a saloon. She forced a smile, hoping it masked the uncertainty crowding her insides.

His hand stalled on the horse as if he’d forgotten he’d been moving it in the first place. Sunlight caught his eyes and the blue lightened to silver. The space that stretched between them filled with a strange sizzle, one that would have burned the tips of her fingers if she’d had a mind to reach out and touch it.

Amelia cleared her throat, interrupting the silence that engulfed them. “Let me show you the room. You must be exhausted.”

Thankful for the diversion, Katherine nodded and forced her attention to the other woman. Her heart pounded an erratic beat. What had just happened?

Katherine picked up her satchel and followed Amelia through a door that opened directly into the kitchen. A table that easily sat six and a good-sized cookstove warred for dominance on the left side of the room. She paid them little heed. Her gaze stuck on the one thing she had not expected to see.

On the opposite side of the room, standing on a chair pulled up to the counter, was a little girl, maybe six or seven years old. Her hands methodically snapped a bowl of yellow beans. The screened door shut behind them and the girl peeked over her shoulder. She blinked twice and then returned to the task at hand.

The child’s eyes were cornflower blue, just like Connor’s.

Shock rendered her momentarily speechless. She hadn’t known there was a child. With the way the townspeople talked about getting Connor married off, she had assumed he was a bachelor. But he wasn’t. He was a widower. And a father. The change in dynamic shifted the landscape of what she was dealing with, raising the stakes to a new level.

Katherine offered a tentative smile, even though the girl had turned away. “Hello.”

“Jenny.” Connor’s voice startled her. She’d thought he’d taken the horse down to the barn. “Jenny,” he called her name again. The snapping stopped and the girl turned her head. Wisps of wheat-blond hair trailed down the side of her face, having escaped the misshapen braid at her back. “This is Miss Stockdale. She’s going to be staying with us awhile.”

Katherine smiled nervously. She didn’t have much experience around children, though she had always yearned for one of her own. Someone to hold and watch grow, another little body to care for, to fill the void in her empty life and stave off the loneliness that had become synonymous to her very existence. But Katherine had refused to bring a child into her world. With an outlaw for a husband, what kind of life would she be able to offer a child? So, on the rare nights Rogan had been home, she’d been careful, employing the methods her mother had used to prevent conception.

“How do you do, Jenny? You can call me Kate,” she offered, sticking with the variation of her own name. It made her feel less like a liar.

Jenny didn’t answer. She snapped one last bean then crawled down from the chair and brought the bowl with her. Her dress, faded and a tad too short, swirled around thin legs as she crossed the room and held the bowl out.

Katherine set her satchel on the floor and took the offering. Without a word, Jenny’s hands slid away and she quietly glided from the room like a shadow slipping across the walls.

Katherine stared after her, not sure of what to say, or what to do with the bowl.

“Well,” Amelia said, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist. “Perhaps I’ll let you get her settled, Connor. It’s getting late and I’m sure Bart will be wonderin’ where his supper is. It’s lovely to have you here, Miss Stockdale.”

“Please, call me Kate.”

“Kate it is then.” Amelia leaned up and kissed Connor on the cheek, giving his arm an affectionate pat.

“I’ll be down to the barn in a minute to give you a hand with the buggy,” he said. The door closed behind Amelia. Connor cleared his throat and stepped out from behind Katherine. He took the bowl from her and set it on the table. “Jenny doesn’t talk much.”

“You have a daughter?” The silence of the little girl hadn’t startled her nearly as much as the fact she existed at all. Katherine understood now why the townspeople had urged him to take a wife. Obviously they thought the little girl needed a motherly influence. How long had she been without? And what had happened?

“Caring for her is part of the job. That’s non-negotiable.” He slipped his hands into the back pockets of his denims and rocked back on his heels. “I should have mentioned that, I guess.” He hesitated. “You still want the job?”

Katherine nodded, unable to resist the hope she saw flicker in his eyes. Caring for a child was a far sight better than serving drinks and
whatnot.

“Yes, yes of course.” She needed him every bit as much as he needed her. He remained the one and only link to Grant Langston she had stumbled upon.

“Tell Con…I’m sorry.”
Those had been Grant’s last words as the life ebbed from his body, his breath coming in rasps. She’d pressed her hands against the mortal wound in his chest, his heart slowing with each beat. He had used the last of his strength to pull a letter from his jacket pocket.
“Give Con the letter…tell my girl…tell her I love her. Make sure she’s okay…promise?”
And she had. She’d had no other choice. The man had saved her life. Keeping his dying wish was the least she could do in return.

“Good,” Connor said, startling her out of her memories. The broad line of his shoulders relaxed a little. “I’ll show you to your room. You can get settled while I help Amelia hook up the buggy.”

Katherine waited for the door to shut behind Connor before she sat down on the bed, its soft, feather mattress an inviting temptation after the hard surfaces she’d been sleeping on for over half a year. Being on the run didn’t allow one to be choosy about comfort.

Nor should she get it in her mind to become so now. This was a temporary stopover until she could pay back the Hewitts and keep her promise to Grant.

Although, keeping that promise just became a whole lot more difficult. How she planned on keeping up the ruse she’d taken on for an entire month she had no idea.

And what if the real Hannah Stockdale decided to suddenly put in an appearance? What then?

She had no answer.

Fear raced through her and she flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the exposed beams above her.

“Oh, Katy, you’ve managed to wedge yourself between a rock and a hard place this time,” she whispered to herself.

If the real Hannah Stockdale arrived in Fatal Bluff, or the sheriff discovered her true identity before she could pay off her debt, the jig would be up.

And no amount of dancing would save her then.

Connor knocked softly on the oak door. “Miss Stockdale?” He waited a moment. No response. Another rap. “Miss Stockdale?”

Still nothing. Connor twisted his mouth to one side. What was she doing in there? Amelia had left over an hour ago, the sunlight had long since faded, and he and Jenny were famished.

He tried again. “Kate?”

Silence answered back. Leaning his forehead against the wood, Connor surveyed his options, which basically consisted of barging into the room—his room, really—to discover why she ignored his repeated summons, or standing out here banging on the door like a fool.

Connor chose the former. With a twist of the brass knob he pushed open the door. “Miss Stock—” He stopped short and squinted into the dimness. Was she—?

He took a step closer. “Miss Stockdale?”

Good Lord.

Kate had curled up on the bed and nestled into the pillows, the soft down feathers providing a sanctuary from the day. There had been plenty of days when he’d wished to do the same, crawl into bed and pull the covers over his head. But he hadn’t. Afraid if he did, he might not get up.

Quietly, Connor stepped to the side of the bed and turned up the lamp on the bedside table. The flame cast a warm glow across her face. Fear and worry had eased from her expression, leaving behind half-mooned shadows beneath her eyes.

Fiery curls spilled over the stark white pillow. Autumn, Connor realized suddenly. That’s what her hair reminded him of. Vibrant strands of red, orange and gold, all entwined together to create a vivid display of color.

A quiet snore emanated from his new houseguest, a testament to her exhaustion. He rubbed a hand down his face in an attempt to chafe away the day. It just figured. Only he could be forced into hiring a housekeeper—a far too beautiful one at that—who spent her first hours on the job in fitful slumber. It amazed him just how far one man’s bad luck could stretch.

“What am I supposed to do with you,” he muttered, not that he expected her to bolt awake and give him the answer. Though it would have been nice, because damned if he had one.

He let out a long, slow sigh. “Alright then, guess I’m cooking supper tonight.” He reached down for the patchwork quilt his mother had made years before and drew it up around Kate’s shoulders.

She snuggled further into the warmth, a stray curl draped over her face. Without thinking, Connor lifted it away, tucking it behind her ear. It felt like silken threads between his fingers. The urge to sink his hand into its full softness jolted through him. He snatched his hand away and buried it beneath his armpit.

What the hell was he doing? He had no business even entertaining such thoughts. It didn’t matter how long it’d been since he had a woman. This one was off limits. With hurried steps he retreated from the room.

By the time his sleepy housekeeper finally roused herself from his bed, Connor had things well in hand. Sort of. Their supplies were dangerously low and his cooking skills did not extend beyond anything that could be burned over a campfire.

“I fell asleep,” Kate said.

Connor glanced over his shoulder from the counter where he was busy slicing up what was left of the ham and hoping it would stretch between three people. She looked rumpled, dazed and even a little apologetic, but having spent the past half hour trying to pull together a meal with his belly gnawing at his backbone, Connor wasn’t in the mood to be charitable.

“I believe that’s stating the obvious.”

She flushed, or maybe that was just from the sleep. “I—I can help now.”

Connor turned and walked to the table, setting the platter of ham down in the center with a little more force than he intended. “Now is too late. The work is done.”

Her face pinched and she twisted her fingers about each other. Connor had noticed her doing the same thing when she stood in Garrett Bentley’s saloon looking for work, and again when she lay on the sofa at Amelia’s while Oliver railed at her about his lost train fare. She’d had a rough couple of days, he allowed. But he’d had a rough six months.

He pointed to an empty chair. “Sit.”

With hesitant steps, she came further into the kitchen and slid into the offered chair. She smiled at Jenny and said a timid hello. Jenny didn’t respond but Connor caught a flicker of interest when her gaze flitted over Kate.

The meal itself proved only marginally edible. The biscuits were burned on the bottom, the ham hardly enough to stick to the ribs, and the carrots might as well have been served raw. Only the coffee had turned out well, but by the time he’d served Kate a cup, there was barely enough left to fill his own. He supposed he would have to get used to brewing for two. Or she would. The thought left him unsettled. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the idea of a strange woman tending to his needs.

He gave his head a shake but the thought lingered, conjuring up the reminder of far too many other needs that were going unattended.

When everyone had finished their meal, Kate stood and began clearing the table. “I hear you’ve only recently returned to Fatal Bluff.”

Connor hesitated. “From who?”

It never ceased to amaze him the way the people in this town discussed everyone else’s business. Having been gone for so long, he’d almost forgotten the rampant grinding of the gossip mill that kept the townspeople entertained.

Kate reached for his empty plate, her arm hovering just inches from his face while she contemplated his question. He could smell the heady scent of lavender. He closed his eyes for just an instant and breathed it in, then caught himself and straightened in his chair. Dammit!

“I forget his name.” She turned her head slightly toward him. Curls bounced around her temples and cheekbones. Soft, shiny and mesmerizing. She’d attempted to tie her hair back, but most of it had escaped. Connor couldn’t help but want to lift a hand and—

Oh God…this was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. He forced his gaze to the corner of the table—the one square inch of his vision that wasn’t filled with her tousled loveliness.

She lifted his plate and leaned away, oblivious to the machinations of his overworked mind. “The gentleman with the bushy moustache that owns the haberdashery.”

“Milo,” Connor croaked. The sound made him wince.

“Yes, that was it.” Her face brightened in the flickering lamplight. “So did you?”

“Did I what?” He couldn’t remember the question. In fact, his own name escaped him at the moment. He needed some air.

She smiled at him. He really wished she wouldn’t do that.

“Did you just return to town?”

He nodded. “Last April. Did—” He hesitated. He really didn’t want to discuss this, especially not in front of Jenny. “Did he say why?”

She made a face. “I’m not sure. I could barely make him out with that heavy accent. I spent a lot of time smiling and nodding.”

Connor issued a silent thank you for Milo’s European heritage.

Kate set the dishes on the counter and pumped water into the tin washbasin on the counter. Connor watched her move about the kitchen, confident and capable now that she had something to do. And too damn pretty while she was doing it.

He wished he could have hired a woman far less pleasing to the eye, perhaps one with hair on her chin and a wart growing out of the side of her nose. Older too, with enough extra padding on her person so that every movement she made didn’t draw his attention to the lithe form beneath her dress, teasing him with thoughts he didn’t need, or want, to be having.

Connor exhaled slowly and concentrated on the coffee cup he’d pulled into his hands. His fingers tapped against the warm curve of the earthenware mug. He should have stuck to his guns and let Garrett Bentley hire her. At least then she’d be someone else’s problem and not his. And that’s what she would be—a problem. He could feel it in his bones with shocking clarity. Kate Stockdale had trouble stamped all over that delectable little body in big bold letters.

“Sheriff, you haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?”

Connor gave himself a mental shake. “Sorry, no.”

“I asked where you were before returning to Fatal Bluff.” She walked to the stove and lightly touched the kettle, testing its warmth.

He tried to keep his focus fixed on the table, but every time she moved it would stray in her direction. The yellow calico caught the light, swishing and swirling about her legs. The length appeared shorter than he’d seen other women wear, and every now and then, he’d catch a glimpse of her stockings. Stockings encased in the ugliest pair of boots he’d ever seen. Flat heeled, scuffed and worn thin in some spots, they looked more like something he’d see one of the poor Patterson boys wearing as they schlepped about town begging for work to support their pa’s drinking habit.

Why would someone with Kate Stockdale’s background be wearing boots like that?

Connor cleared his throat and lassoed his thoughts, dragging them away from Kate’s legs and forcibly back to her question. “Nevada, for a bit. Arizona Territory a while after that.”

“Were you the sheriff down there too?” She poured water into the basin. Once filled, she rolled up her sleeves, exposing her skin from wrist to elbow.

Connor started. Smooth, supple skin. Oliver Hewitt’s words echoed in his memory. He angled his body to get a better look before she plunged her hands into the water. Not a burn scar in sight.

Perhaps they were hidden elsewhere.

His gaze drifted slowly over the soft curves of her body and he tried to imagine where the scars were. She glanced over her shoulder and he flushed. “Uh, no. Bounty hunting, mostly.” He took a sip of his coffee and leaned back in his chair, determined that was the last time he would look at her. “How long ago did your parents pass away?”

A dish clanged against the metal ridge of the basin and toppled into the water with a splash. His determination fled and his gaze flew back to her. Kate’s shoulders went rigid.

Connor winced. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” He silently cursed his stupidity. It had been so long since he’d lost both his parents, the rawness of their passing had been tempered and softened by time and fond memories.

“No, no, that’s fine,” she said quickly, shooting him a forced smile over her shoulder. She picked up the dish and turned back to her task. “It…uh…it was a little while ago. A year or so.”

Or so
. Her choice of words struck him as odd for something so significant. He could never forget the date and time of Grant’s death. Late afternoon, March 5, 1873. The memory had been carved into his soul.

“It must have been difficult to find yourself alone. Did you have any people at all?”

She shook her head and continued scrubbing the dishes with a vigor that would have made Amelia proud. But sadness tinged her tone when she answered. “No. No family. I’m alone.”

“I’m sorry.” In the gaping absence of her family, his words sounded wholly inadequate.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Her shoulders relaxed a little and the intense scrubbing eased. She pulled the dish from the pan and set it on the counter. “I guess we all have our burdens. What about you? Is your family nearby?”

Connor’s gaze drifted over to Jenny, who up until now had been sitting quietly in her chair. Whether she had been listening to them or not, he couldn’t say. Connor smiled warmly at her. “It’s just Jenny and me.”

Kate squeezed the excess water from the washcloth and set it aside. Picking up the dishtowel, she turned and leaned her back against the counter. Amelia had done the same thing countless times, stood there talking to him while she cleared and cleaned the dishes. But somehow this was different. The air felt charged around them. And sure as shootin’ he had never once considered crossing the room and gathering Amelia up in his arms to plant a good solid—

Connor pushed out his chair and stood abruptly. “I should get Jenny ready for bed.”

***

The floorboard creaked beneath her weight. Katherine shifted her stance. She cringed and crouched down, trying to mesh with the shadows. A hesitant peek at the sofa revealed Connor had turned onto his side, away from her. The quilt had slipped down to bunch at his waist, revealing the bare expanse of his broad back. Its rippled smoothness teased the dim morning light, creating a display of light and dark. Connor inhaled.

She pursed her lips and forced her gaze toward the kitchen.
Focus, Katy. You’ve a job to do.
She’d failed miserably last night, falling asleep on the job and leaving Connor to fix the meal on his own. The results had been rather horrifying. No wonder Jenny was so thin if that was what she’d survived on. But this morning she would make up for that. She’d fix a big breakfast and prove to the sheriff she could earn her keep and maybe then the doubt and apprehension that riddled his handsome features would ease.

Letting the first weak strands of sunlight guide her, she carefully picked her way to the lantern sitting atop the cookstove. Her hand groped for the matches on a small, narrow shelf bolted to the wall behind it. The scrape of the match against the rough surface of the stove tore through the morning hush. Katherine held her breath until the quiet snoring from the other room continued undisturbed.

With deft swiftness Katherine built up a fire and then searched the pantry to determine what she had to work with. Supplies were running low and a trip to the mercantile would soon be in order. Did she do that? Or did she just give him a list, since he would be in town anyway? She’d never been a housekeeper before; though for eight years she’d managed whatever hovel Rogan holed her up in. She’d always tried to create a sense of home in each one, a definite chore when they were little more than shacks. It had given her something to do to break the monotony.

But it wasn’t just herself she needed to look after now. There was Connor and Jenny. And if last night was any indication, they were in desperate need of her help. She pulled ingredients from the pantry with renewed purpose and set to work.

An economy of movement kept the noise to a minimum as she fixed breakfast. Once the biscuit dough had been rolled out and cut, she placed the biscuits in the oven and took the last of the fresh eggs from the larder. The cracking of the shells against the crockery bowl echoed like a gunshot through the kitchen.