The Outlaw Bride (7 page)

No sooner had he pushed his plate away than he stood from the table and turned to reach for his hat by the door, mumbling something about chores. She wasn’t quite sure what he did down in the barn but he’d certainly spent a lot of time there this week.

Connor stopped at the door, worrying the brim of his hat in his fingers. He didn’t look at her. Hadn’t looked at her since she’d practically shown him her altogether earlier that evening. The memory caused her skin to flush anew. His gaze had raked over every exposed inch of her before he turned away.

“Did you want something else?”

He winced and took a deep breath. “Bart and Amelia asked us to dinner this Saturday.”

“Oh, how nice.” Katherine smiled, her embarrassment quickly forgotten. She’d never been invited anywhere before. Pleasure washed over her. Even if the Holkums were only inviting her out of courtesy, it was nice to be included just the same. “Should I prepare something?”

Connor looked up, startled. “Prepare something?”

Katherine nodded. “Something to bring with us. A dessert, perhaps?”

“I—I don’t know. See the thing is…” He shuffled his feet. “The thing is, after that, on Monday, I’ll be taking you back into town.”

To town? Katherine glanced around the kitchen. “Do we need more supplies?”

“Uh…no…” Connor looked pained. For the life of her Katherine couldn’t find the reason, but a sickly feeling developed in her belly. Something was wrong. Her stomach coiled in anticipation.

“Why?” The word whispered out of her.

Connor cleared his throat. Looked at Jenny, then back to her. “See, the thing is I don’t think this is going to work. It’s not proper you living here like this, and I don’t want you getting any ideas that it’s going to lead to marriage—”

Katherine laughed, relief flooding her. “Marriage?” Is that what he was worried about?

“Yes,” he answered crossly. “And I’ll have nothing to do with it.”

“Nor will I.”

Connor’s face crinkled in confusion. “Isn’t that what you came to Fatal Bluff for?”

“Oh!” Drat. “Yes, right…” Katherine bit her bottom lip. Hannah Stockdale had come to Fatal Bluff with the intention to marry Walter Figg. A sure sign the woman was desperate. “Well, I’ve changed my mind.”

He arched one skeptical eyebrow. “Just like that?”

“I’m not saying someday I won’t entertain the idea again,” she said, thinking that day would have to be after Rogan Slade was dead and buried and no longer chased her from town to town. “But right now I have more pressing concerns.” Like not falling for the likes of Connor Langston.

“So do I, and I can’t be worrying about what the townsfolk are suspecting. It isn’t fair to risk your reputation. It was a foolish idea from the start and I mean to rectify it.”

Reputation? When had she ever had a reputation worth saving? But Hannah Stockdale apparently did. “I don’t need you protecting my reputation.”

He continued on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I’ll keep you on ’til Sunday. That’ll give me a few days to find someone else. And I’ll pay you like we agreed, with a bit extra to get you on your feet.”

Silverware slammed on the table. Katherine turned to Jenny, who sat glaring at Connor with all the fury of a small storm. Her breath came in short gasps and twin dots of pink burned in her cheeks. Stunned, Katherine reached out a hand to comfort the child, but before she could reach her, Jenny pushed her chair out, hopped down and ran from the room.

They stared at the empty space left behind. Katherine blinked in amazement. Connor flinched as Jenny’s bedroom door slammed shut. Though the child hadn’t spoken, her feelings were clear. In her own silent way, she’d stood up for Katherine. No one had ever done that before. Katherine’s heart swelled and tears stung her eyes. For some reason, Jenny wanted her here. She needed her. It was a new feeling, one Katherine couldn’t quite wrap her mind around. But her heart spoke up in spades.

She turned and met Connor’s tortured gaze. “I’m not going anywhere.”

***

“Seems Eli’s gettin’ a bit off in his head,” Bart said, leaning against the post at the front of the stall.

He’d stopped by after checking in on Eli Gillis, one of the prospectors who lived up on the bluff behind Connor’s property. Word was he’d been causing some ruckus with the neighboring farms, stealing their chickens and raiding their storehouses. Bart had spoken with the man. Warned him off.

“Hardly surprising,” Connor muttered, his mind only half on what Bart was saying. He finished mucking out the stall and then dragged in a fresh bale of hay.

“Guess livin’ up on the mountain alone for all those years was bound to make a man a bit squirrelly.”

“I reckon.”

“Said he was talkin’ to the fairy folk. Introduced me to ’em and everything. Nice people. Bit small, though.”

“Good…good…” Connor stopped, the prongs of the pitchfork buried in the hay. “What?”

Bart chuckled. “Didn’t think you were listenin’. You want to tell me what’s on your mind?”

Connor scowled. “I can’t get rid of her. Jenny won’t have it. Going on two weeks and already she’s attached. This is what I was afraid of.”

“I take it we’re talking ’bout Miss Stockdale?”

Frustration poured out of him. “And this is your fault.” Connor let go of the pitchfork long enough to jab an accusing finger at Bart.

“My fault, huh?”

“Fine then—it’s Grant’s fault. What the hell was he thinking tangling with the likes of Rogan Slade?” Anger surged through him and he jabbed at the hay again. The prongs of the pitchfork vibrated as they missed the bale and stuck in the planked flooring. “Dammit.”

He yanked the prongs free. “The man screwed up my life eight years ago and now he’s doing it all over again. Only this time he didn’t even have the decency to stick around and answer for it.”

“If I remember correctly,” Bart said, crossing his arms, an unlit cheroot tucked in the corner of his mouth. “It was you that took off eight years ago. Not your brother.”

Connor glared at the man who was like a father to him. Bart’s words hit home and knocked the bluster out of his sails. He slumped against the stall and slid to the floor.

“Look at me, Bart.” He threw his hands up. “I’m not cut out for this. I’m making a mess of it. I can’t find the damn Slade Gang—can’t even go out and look for them because of Jenny. I’ve got a housekeeper that drives me crazy, a town that wants me married, and I’m hiding out in the barn trying to avoid it all.”

“Sounds like you got your hands full.” But the older man’s voice held more humor than sympathy.

Connor rubbed his hands over his face and then stared up at the ceiling. He was quiet for a moment, trying to digest all of what had happened. “Why couldn’t Grant have let Compton make the trip to Mercury? Was it so damn important to collect the bounty himself?”

“He thought so.”

When Bart had told him why Grant went to Mercury, Connor could have torn his hair out. The damn fool didn’t even take along a deputy to watch his back while dragging Finster Jutes back to Mercury for trial. The man had been caught rustling horses just inside the county limits and when Grant heard of the hefty reward being offered, he insisted on collecting the bounty himself. He wanted a safety net for Jenny, in case anything ever happened to him.

And then something did. And Connor was left to pick up the pieces of a life he’d abandoned eight years before. Only this one had a housekeeper in it. A housekeeper that drove him near mad with want and fueled his desire like a lightning rod to dry brush.

If he had half a brain, he’d ride into town and take Lucy Mae up on her offer to take care of his needs, but he knew he wouldn’t. Thing of it was, he didn’t want Lucy Mae. He hadn’t woken up in a fever every night for the past two weeks dreaming about Lucy Mae. And he sure as hell didn’t imagine gathering Lucy Mae in his arms and kissing that fool mouth of hers every time she pried into his family business.

But even this unwanted desire Kate provoked in him couldn’t overpower the feeling something was not quite right. He couldn’t put his finger on it precisely, but she seemed…what? Afraid? Nervous? Desperate?

“It just feels like she’s hiding something,” he said, voicing his thoughts.

Bart lifted one bushy eyebrow. “Miss Stockdale? What would she have to hide?”

“I don’t know.” Connor pushed himself to his feet. “Maybe it’s time I found out.”

***

Much to Katherine’s relief, Connor hadn’t mentioned anything further about firing her and sending her on her way. Jenny’s reaction to the idea put an end to it, at least for the time being.

Katherine spent the next few days working even harder, more determined than ever to prove her worth. Along with her regular chores, she’d also taken time out to play with Jenny. Just yesterday they’d had a tea party. Granted, Katherine had carried the conversation, but given that she’d spent the past eight years holed up with no one to talk to but herself, she’d become quite adept at it.

Guilt flared in Katherine’s gut as the hoe hit the dirt and she unearthed a section of potatoes. Eventually she would have to leave, she knew that. What would happen to Jenny then? She’d been at the house now for two weeks, and had developed a fondness for the quiet little girl whose blue eyes were filled with heartbreak.

Was it because she missed her mama? The woman was obviously gone, yet was never mentioned. Why? Had it happened a long time ago, or just before their return to Fatal Bluff? And why were there no photos of her? No remembrance?

“Grab the potatoes, sweetie, and put them in the bucket,” Katherine said, stepping aside while Jenny did her part. The brief respite offered her a chance to look around. Overhead, the sun beamed brilliant in an azure sky and a faint breeze brushed the leaves on the old oak, its branches casting shade over the chicken coop. Lucifer—as she had taken to calling the rooster—strutted about, every now and again stopping to puff out his chest when one of the chickens passed by.

The thought of leaving here drove a sharp pain into her heart. What she wouldn’t give to stay. But she knew better. Staying wasn’t an option. The mistakes of her past wouldn’t allow it.

She closed her eyes against the bucolic scene surrounding her. The sound of potatoes dropping into the bucket stopped. Even without opening her eyes and looking, Katherine knew Connor approached. The air changed when he drew near. It crackled and sizzled until her hair stood on end.

“Miss Stockdale.” Bart Holkum tipped his hat. “Lookin’ forward to seeing you this evening.”

She opened her eyes and forced a smile. “Thank you for inviting me.”

Connor winked at Jenny then walked on without acknowledging her. Once Bart left, Connor disappeared into the house.

Katherine breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t have the strength to fight against her growing attraction today.

But her relief was short lived.

A moment later Connor reappeared, kitchen chair in one hand, knife and chunk of wood in another. He settled near the end of the garden, his feet propped up on an overturned bucket. The brim of his hat left all but his mouth and chin hidden in shadow.

Lord, but he had the most beautiful mouth.

Temptation. That’s what he was. Surely she wasn’t the first woman to face it. But just because it stepped in her path didn’t mean she had to stop and chat with it like an old friend. No, she would just stick her nose in the air and march right past it like she never even noticed. That’s what she’d do.

Katherine returned to the potatoes. She wanted to finish harvesting this row before she readied herself for dinner. This time, she would take the tub into her room. This time she would try to forget the feeling of Connor’s gaze searing her flesh like a physical touch.

She gritted her teeth as the hoe sliced through a potato with a jerk.

Pay attention. Quit letting this man get to you. He’s just a man. Puts his pants on one leg at a time. No, don’t think about him putting his pants on.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to close her mind to the image, to the sensation of him watching her from behind, to everything that had anything to do with Connor Langston.

“I’m curious,” Connor said, his voice mocking her attempt to block him out.

Katherine stopped digging. Jenny moved in and scooped up a few unearthed potatoes.

“About what?” She glanced behind her. Connor slid the blade of his knife along the piece of wood he held in his hand. Another animal for Jenny. An elephant, she guessed, based on the outward curve of the snout. She didn’t have one of those yet.

Connor hesitated then continued on. “That day we met, Oliver said you had been burned in the fire, that it had left you scarred. I assume you must have told him as much when you answered his ad for mail-order brides.”

He lifted his head. The sun behind her caused him to squint. Katherine could feel his eyes running over the length of her. She tingled with warmth as if he had reached out and laid his hand upon her skin.

“Yes?” She had gathered from the questions Connor had asked earlier that there had been a fire, but the scars were a new detail she hadn’t been aware of. Trepidation tiptoed up her spine.

“It’s just that I haven’t seen any evidence of them.” He motioned at her person with the knife.

Heat rolled over her like a cresting wave. What could she say? He’d seen a healthy portion of her the other day when she’d tried to bathe. She grabbed the hoe and attacked the earth again, her brain working furiously to come up with a plausible explanation.

“So where are they? The scars?”

“They healed.”

“Healed?” He uncrossed his feet at the ankles and leaned forward. “Isn’t it the nature of scars not to heal? That’s what makes them scars.”

She turned her back on him, working up a reasonable scenario to satisfy his sudden curiosity about the supposed marks on her body.

“Mr. Hewitt must have misunderstood. When I answered his ad, my burns were not fully healed. I suggested to him there may be some scarring. I wanted to make him aware of the possibility, so he wouldn’t feel I had tried to sell him a false bill of goods.”

Connor resumed his carving. She could hear the scrape of the blade against the wood.