A Good Man for Katie
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
A Good Man for Katie
by
Marie Patrick
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
A Good Man for Katie
COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Donna Warner
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Tina Lynn Stout
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Publishing History
First Cactus Rose Edition, 2013
Print ISBN 978-1-61217-710-6
Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-711-3
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To John, my hero. Always.
And to my son, who encouraged me to follow my dreams as I encouraged him to follow his.
Chapter One
Fear made Kathryne O’Rourke’s palms damp and her heart thunder in her chest. Time had lost all meaning since the stagecoach started its bone-jarring race over the rutted road. She swallowed hard to ease the dryness in her throat and tried once more to get the driver’s attention.
“Mr. Simmons! Please—” She never finished yelling the words as the coach hit another bump. The impact of hard wheel meeting harder rock bounced her from her seat. She landed on her backside on the filthy floor and bit her tongue. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth.
A word her father said all the time popped into her mind. She didn’t allow herself to say it, however appropriate it might have been. Instead, Kathryne pulled herself back into the seat with the help of the leather strap nailed to the side of the carriage, but the vehicle swerved again and slammed her against the wall. The right side of her body exploded with pain.
She tried again to get the driver’s attention, but doubted he could hear her over the thundering of the horse’s hooves. She pounded on the ceiling nonetheless, but only succeeded in hurting her already bruised knuckles. Red splotches made ugly stains on her white gloves.
“Mr. Simmons—” Her words were replaced with a sudden “oomph” as she found herself sprawled on the floor of the coach once more. Gold-rimmed glasses askew on her face, she fought back the tears.
The careful coif she’d twisted her heavy locks into earlier this morning came undone and tumbled to her waist. Shiny hairpins settled on the floor of the stagecoach. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and fixed her glasses.
I’m going to die on a lonely mountain road in Arizona Territory
. The thought popped into her head and wouldn’t be stopped as a kaleidoscope of family and friends she’d never see again flashed through her mind.
“No, I’m not!” Anger replaced the paralyzing fear in an instant.
She gave in and uttered General Galen “Fighting Irish” O’Rourke’s favorite word as she climbed into the seat though she knew she’d be safer on the floor.
“Mr. Simmons! Stop this coach!” she yelled, hoping he’d hear above the rattle of the wheels but the coach kept up its speed and swayed from side to side, tossing her about as if she were a rag doll.
With trembling fingers, Kathryne grabbed the stiff cloth covering the window. The wind tore the shade from her hand. It shredded before breaking free of the small nails that held it in place. Her gaze met sheer rock wall. Rust- and sand-colored stone rose up who knew how high. Spiky branches of the hardy bushes that clung to the rock poked through the window and scratched her cheek, almost knocking her glasses off her face.
The stage scraped against this stone wall with such force, Kathryne flew to the other side of the coach and banged her head on the seat. Fresh pain assailed her as she crawled to her knees, grabbed the windowsill, and pulled herself up. Already in tatters, the window covering fluttered in the wind and ripped free as soon as she touched it.
With nothing to impede her vision, she saw the tops of wavering piñon trees and the sharp drop off between the edge of the dirt road and nothingness.
Oh, dear God!
To save her own life, she’d have to jump…or be killed.
She took a deep breath, unlocked the door and pushed it open. The door slammed against the side of the stagecoach and echoed in the canyon below.
“You’re a general’s daughter, Kate. You don’t have to die this way.” The roar of the horse’s hooves drowned out her voice. Dark brown earth littered with rocks sped beneath her and made her more lightheaded than she thought possible. Everything swayed and grew fuzzy—the treetops, the dirt road beneath her, the blue sky above.
“Take my hand!”
He appeared out of nowhere beside the stagecoach though he didn’t look like her idea of salvation. From his black hat to his solid black clothing to his ebony steed, he resembled every bandit, every outlaw, every desperado she’d read about in the books she loved so well. The dull glow of the pearl-handled pistol in the holster added to the illusion and yet, she wasn’t afraid of him. In all reality, Kathryne was more afraid of dying on this high mountain road than of this handsome stranger.
And then he was gone. But only for a moment.
“Take my hand!”
“For pity’s sake, stop the horses!”
“No time,” he yelled over the rattle of the stage. His eyes never left her face as he extended his hand. “Trust me.”
The trimmed black goatee and mustache on his face did not inspire trust—he looked wicked enough to be Satan himself—however, the kindness in his soft gray eyes gave her hope.
Kathryne reached out to grab his hand as the coach veered and scraped against the rock wall, but grasped empty air. In the next instant, a startled scream escaped her as she lost her balance. Kathryne pitched forward just as he wrapped one strong arm around her waist and snatched her from certain death. Her skirt snagged on a protruding nail and ripped from the hip down to the hem as he pulled.
Clutched against his side, her feet dangling above the ground, she felt the muscles in his thigh flex as he applied pressure to his horse with his knee. The ebony steed slowed to a walk then stopped.
The space of a heartbeat passed before the coach horses took the sharp curve in the road ahead. The vehicle, with no driver to apply the brakes, tipped on two wheels before it crashed into solid rock. A cloud of dust hovered in the air above the wreckage and the thundering sound echoed in the canyon below to drown out her hoarse squeal of surprise.
The trunk, which held all her worldly possessions, shattered with the impact. Clothing scattered on the ground amid a spinning wheel and the remains of what had been one of the finest coaches in the Seton Stage line. The horses, unharmed and now free of the hitch that bound them to the stage, raced onward down the mountain pass.
“Dear God,” Kathryne breathed as her savior eased her to the ground. The realization of how close she had come to dying echoed through her mind and her knees buckled. She melted to the dirt without a whimper.
He slid from the saddle and squatted beside her, his hand resting on her shoulder. “You’re safe now, ma’am. Can you stand?”
Kathryne gave a slight nod. Strong hands lifted her with ease.
“Are you all right?”
Her eyes rose to gaze into his face and she swallowed hard. She tried to speak, but all that emerged was a wheezy squeak.
“No need for words, ma’am. Give yourself a moment.” He held her hand and squeezed, offering a snippet of comfort. The heat of his touch seeped through her ruined gloves and infused her with peace.
Kathryne nodded as she stared into his hypnotic gray eyes. Butterflies floated in her stomach and yet, she felt safe in his presence. She
could
trust him, without a doubt. “Thank you. I—I…” She swallowed again over the tight lump in her throat. Reassured by the directness of his gaze and the slight twitch at the corners of his mouth, she took a deep breath and asked, “Might I know the name of my rescuer?”
“Hunter, ma’am. Chase Hunter.” He removed his hat to reveal thick, glossy black hair then patted his horse’s shiny coat. “And this magnificent beast is Champion.” The horse tossed his head and whinnied. “And you are?”
“Kathryne O’Rourke.” She extended a shaky hand though it seemed strange after what he’d done. A handshake couldn’t convey her immense gratitude. On impulse, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. “Thank you, Mr. Hunter.”
He stiffened in the embrace then cleared his throat and pulled away. “Well, ah…Miss Katie, let’s get you into town. Doc Leslie should take a look at you to make sure you’re unharmed.”
He called her Katie. No one ever called her Katie. It was either Kathryne or Kate, but coming from him, it sounded rather nice—and much too familiar. “You know Doctor Leslie?”
“Yes, ma’am. Everyone ‘round these parts knows the doc. Best sawbones this side of the Mississippi.”
The knowledge she neared the harrowing journey’s end rippled through her. Tears blurred her vision behind the lenses of her glasses. The trembling within did not subside. Indeed, the tremors increased and Kathryne feared she might melt to the ground once more with relief.
Come on, Kate. Get hold of yourself. You’re all right. You’re safe
.
With difficulty, she tore her gaze away from his face to glance at her possessions scattered on the ground. “My clothes?”
“We can come back later and see if anything is worth salvaging, but for right now, Miss Katie, we should have Doc Leslie take a look at you.” He rubbed his thumb against the side of her face. “You look a might pale.”
He helped her into the saddle then settled behind her, grabbed the reins and nudged Champion into motion. Kathryne leaned against him, the hard planes of his chest pressing into her back and again, she felt comforted by his strength.
As they passed the wreckage of the coach, Kathryne shuddered. “What happened to my driver?”
“I found him a few miles back.” Chase’s breath tickled her ear as he spoke. “Must have been knocked from the seat by a low branch. The fall broke his neck.” With a gentle tug on the reins, he guided the horse down the mountain pass. “My question is why the driver was alone? There’s usually someone riding shotgun. What happened to you shouldn’t have.”
“The other man became ill at the last stop. There was no one else to take his place so Mr. Simmons decided to press on.” She felt him nod then all conversation ceased.
It was just as well. Bruised and battered, still reeling from her narrow escape from death, she didn’t feel like talking, didn’t feel like anything except letting the comfort of his embrace surround her. Trees swayed gently in the breeze, but didn’t go out of focus despite the fresh tears, which stung her eyes.
A small farm came into view as the ribbon of dirt road curved. Smoke rose from the chimney and curled against the deep blue sky. Milk cows dotted the verdant field. Their lowing echoed against the high ridge behind them. As they drew closer to the house, she saw a woman hanging pristine white sheets on a clothesline. The woman stopped with her arms straight up in the air. Lips set in a grim line around the clothes pins in her mouth, she stared at them as they passed.
The iciness of the woman’s glare froze Kathryne to her very soul and she gave an involuntary shiver.
Why is she staring at me like that?
She turned to glance at Chase. The question died before she could ask. His stern expression did not invite questions.
The constant whoosh of water as it tumbled through boulders met her ears as the road curved yet again and brought them beside a tree-shaded river. They followed the stream, the constant rush of water becoming a whisper as the number of boulders lessened and the riverbed widened into deep pools. Sunlight glinted off the fish darting among the smaller, shiny stones. She looked up in time to see the small sign announcing the town of Crystal Springs and the bridge separating the settlement from the road.