A Good Man for Katie (11 page)

She poured coffee, handed him his cup and took her seat once again. With a touch of anxiety, Kathryne watched him take a sip.

He choked on the brew.

It was bitter, no matter what she did. Heat rose from her chest to warm her neck and face as her hands clutched her cup. “I’m sorry. It’s not very good. I’m still learning how to use the stove. And cook. And make a decent pot of coffee.” She pushed the sugar bowl and a can of condensed milk toward him. “Maybe this will help.”

“No, it’s fine.” Chase insisted and to prove it, took another sip. His lips twisted into a grimace once again. “Oh, I take it back, Katie. I’ve had bad coffee before but this…this will curl your hair.” He grinned. “If you wouldn’t mind, I can show you how to make coffee.”

“No, please do.” Kathryne laughed with him, although feelings of inadequacy jumbled in her head. She couldn’t help herself. She had to explain why at the age of twenty-five, she couldn’t brew a simple pot of coffee. “Mother didn’t let me near the stove after I singed off my eyebrows when I was eight so I never learned how to cook. I love a good cup of coffee, but I can barely tolerate the stuff I make. Either it’s too weak or it’s too bitter.”

She watched him just as intently as he had watched her and couldn’t help wondering about the man. He instructed her as he had instructed Walter earlier in the day—with patience, tolerance and good humor, so at odds with the reputation he carried around town.

“Canady?” Chase prompted as he poured fresh coffee into their cups a short time later and brought them to the table.

Kathryne took her seat once more. “They came out of the shadows between the bakery and the barber shop. I tried to push past them, but they wouldn’t let me.” A shudder rippled through her as she recalled their rank odor and their intentions, which gleamed so wickedly in their eyes. “I thought…I knew what they wanted and it wasn’t Laurel’s stew. When Beau grabbed me, that’s when you came along. And I’m so thankful you did.”

“It’s all right now,” he said, his voice calm though she sensed the anger beneath his words. “They won’t bother you again. I’ll see to it.”

She believed him. With effort, she stilled her trembling hands and took a sip of coffee. “Oh, now that’s heaven. Where did you learn to make coffee so well?”

He didn’t answer. He simply watched her, piercing her with the intensity of his eyes, which were no longer a soft gray, but more like polished pewter. No smile twitched the corners of his mouth as he reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “What are you doing here, Katie?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t belong here. You belong in New York or San Francisco, not this godforsaken town in the middle of nowhere. You belong at balls and soirees and the opera. It’s evident in the clothes you wear, the way you speak, the way you carry yourself.” He released her hand. Intense and forceful, he seemed to be staring into her soul, into her heart. “Go back to where you came from.” His voice hardened as his eyes narrowed. “Now.”

Startled, Kathryne didn’t know how to respond, but his attitude rankled. Deep in her bones. Beneath his steady stare, heat rose to her face. Who was he to tell her what to do? Order her to go home? He wasn’t her father. He wasn’t her husband. He had no right. And she didn’t have to listen.

She opened her mouth, ready to tell him what she thought of his order, but couldn’t. She never could. She’d never been allowed to show anger or frustration, had been trained from the moment she could think and understand that to express either of those emotions showed lack of breeding. The general expected her to be obedient, and she always had been.

Unshed tears burned her eyes behind the lenses of her glasses. Oh, she so wanted to try, so wanted to be able to give verbal evidence of her anger—for once—but before she could utter a sound, he rose from his seat.

“I should leave.”

She stood, jaw aching, the words she wanted to say filling her mind but stuck on the tip of her tongue.

He stood at the door, his hand on the knob, reluctance to leave evident in his stance, on his face. She could tell he wanted to say more, perhaps apologize. The hardness in his eyes softened just a bit, no longer the color of polished pewter, but he didn’t ask for forgiveness. Indeed, he issued another order. “I want you to report what happened with Canady to the sheriff.”

Once again stung by his attitude and harshness, Kathryne stammered, “I-I…don’t think it’s…it’s necessary. And I don’t think he-he’ll do anything about it.”

“Doesn’t matter. He still needs to know. Promise me.”

She looked at him, saw his sadness. Perhaps he regretted his behavior. The knowledge didn’t help. Her throat tightened and her chin trembled. It always did when she wanted to cry. She took a deep breath and nodded, unable to utter a single word.

He didn’t move for the longest time but his gaze settled over her, as if memorizing every detail of her face. “Lock your door. And think about what I said. Go home, Katie. Go back to where you belong.”

He said not another word as he opened the kitchen door and left the house. Kathryne stood rooted to the spot. Tears filled her eyes and gathered on the rims of her glasses. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly then stood up straight. Her hands balled into fists. She wanted to hit something, anything, just to hear the satisfying crash of something breaking. Kathryne grabbed his cup and threw it against the wall, something she never would have done while living in the general’s house.

****

Chase heard her indrawn breath then the thump of something hitting the wall and the inevitable crash as the item exploded on impact. It took every ounce of his strength to remain where he stood when all he wanted was to rush back into the cottage, take her in his arms and apologize.

He’d made her angry with his order to go home, an order he conceded she had no intention of following. He’d hurt her, too. Her brandy-colored eyes had darkened then glimmered with unshed tears and color blossomed on her cheeks, but she hadn’t said a word.

He’d been harsh. For her. For himself as well. He didn’t consider Crystal Springs a safe place and that’s what he needed for Kathryne, for his own peace of mind. He had murderers to find and he couldn’t do his job if he continued to worry about her. And he did worry about her. Constantly. For reasons he could not explain.

Before he left the back steps, Chase heard her talking to herself, the words clear. He had been correct in his assumption she wasn’t about to go home, but at least she locked the door.

Hands shoved in his pockets, he walked back to his room at the boarding house, his brain a jumble of thoughts and unanswered questions. He’d known from the moment he rode into Crystal Springs something was wrong here. Aside from the treatment he received, he sensed secrets the townspeople kept, secrets they dared not utter aloud.

And now he knew. Not only had Evan and his companions been murdered, but several others had as well, including the late sheriff. All unsolved and suspicious as hell. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he walked through town, the music pouring from Riley’s batwing doors the only sounds in the otherwise quiet night.

The fine hairs at the back of his neck rose. Someone watched him from the shadows. He felt the heated stare and the malice in that steady glare. Was it Beau, angry and seeking revenge for having his plans thwarted? Roy? Shep? Or someone else? Someone who just plain didn’t want him in town? Hell, that could be just about anyone. He wasn’t exactly welcome given the label they’d attached to him.

He slipped into the shadows between buildings and waited, hardly daring to breathe, counted to ten then ten again then stepped out of the shadows. The street remained empty, but the feeling of being watched persisted. His first thought wasn’t for his own safety. It was Katie’s and before he realized it, he’d changed direction and strode back to the cottage on the hill.

He stood beside the boulder in the front yard where Walter had once taken his punishment. Light spilled from behind the lace draperies in the parlor. Katie moved toward the small table beside a big comfortable wing-backed chair and set a cup on its surface. She’d changed from the lavender skirt and white blouse she’d worn earlier into her nightclothes. From this distance, he could see the lace at the collar of the robe. She’d taken her hair down from the tight bun at the back of her head, the glossy chestnut tresses curling wildly around her face and over her shoulders. He ached to run his fingers through those silken locks and touch her soft skin. He watched, fascination taking hold of him, tugging at his heartstrings, as she took a seat and curled her legs beneath her before she grabbed a book from the table, found her place and began to read.

With effort, he pulled his gaze away from her and searched for movement within the shelter of the trees that surrounded the cottage. Confident no one lurked within the shadows, he breathed a sigh and gave up his position beside the boulder, but only went as far as the schoolhouse.

He couldn’t keep watch over Katie every night and still find Evan’s murderers. There had to be another solution. As he watched Katie rise from her chair and blow out the kerosene lamps in the parlor, the solution came to him. Aside from installing new locks on her doors, what better watchdog could he ask for than Sarge?

Satisfied with the answer, knowing she would be safe, at least tonight, he found a spot beneath the branches of a huge evergreen, settled himself against the trunk and folded his arms across his chest. As soon as the opportunity arose, he’d ride to Camp Verde and bring Sarge back to Crystal Springs with him.

Chapter Eight

Kathryne nodded to several acquaintances as she let herself into the sheriff’s office bright and early on Saturday morning. Though she didn’t feel it necessary, and despite the fact Chase’s attitude still upset her, she had promised to report the incident with the Willow Creek ranch hands. And so she would.

Even though she didn’t think anything would be done about it. In the short time she’d been in Crystal Springs, she knew the sheriff did very little to maintain the law. Her conversation with Laurel proved it. Three unsolved murders in a year proved it.

Deputy Long sat at his desk, the only one in the small, dingy office, his feet on the desktop as he leaned back in the chair. A cup of steaming coffee to his right lent a pleasant aroma to the stifling confines of the room. Dust motes danced in the sunlight streaming through the window. The newspaper in his hand rattled as he quickly folded the pages and jumped to his feet. She didn’t know him well, though he’d been friendly on the few occasions they’d met. “Good morning, Deputy Long.”

“Good morning, Miss O’Rourke.” Dimples appeared in his freshly shaved cheeks when he smiled. Blond hair settled in unruly waves over his forehead and he pushed the silky strands back with long, slim fingers. Startling green eyes twinkled as his grin deepened. He looked so young, not much older than she, and yet, he held the power of the law within his hands. The silver star within the silver circle pinned to his shirt glittered in the sunlight, and she suspected he spent considerable time keeping the badge polished. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“I’d like to see Sheriff Townsend.”

“He ain’t…I mean, he isn’t here.” He flushed, the red stain rising up from his neck to color his entire face. “I don’t expect him back until later. Can I help you?”

“I’d like to make a report, please.”

He seemed startled by the request. His eyebrows rose in question and the flush staining his face darkened. Perhaps, no one in Crystal Springs had made a report or filed a complaint before. Perhaps, she was the first, but she doubted what happened to her had been a unique incident. It was common knowledge the men who frequented Riley’s could and did get rowdy on occasion. She had been warned, which led her to believe some other woman had been accosted as she had been.

“Of course.” He pulled a chair away from the desk and dusted off the seat. “Please.” He grabbed a ledger from the shelf behind him, blew dust from the cover and placed it on the desk before he took his seat. Opening the book, he turned to the first blank page then picked up the short stub of a pencil and licked the tip. Even from her position, she could tell the ledger had never been used. “What would you like to report?”

“I was accosted by three men from Willow Creek ranch.” She said the words matter-of-factly, but the anxiety of those words and the memories they invoked made her shudder. If Chase hadn’t come along when he did…

Instantly alert, he studied her face. “Did they hurt you?”

She shook her head. Other than frightening her, she remained unscathed, except for the bruises on her arm and the nightmares, which had plagued her as she tossed and turned in her bed.

“Do you know who they were?”

“Beau Canady, Shep Turner and Roy Benedict. They came out of the alley between Stagmeier’s and Gleason’s.” Another shiver rippled through her. “They’d been drinking. I smelled whiskey on their breaths.”

“I see.” He glanced at the book and wrote the names on the page. “Tell me everything.”

Brow furrowed, the tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, he wrote while Kathryne related the incident, pressing so hard on the pencil, he broke the point twice. Both times, he picked up another pencil and kept writing.

He glanced at her, his eyes reflecting worry. “How did you get away from them?”

“Mr. Hunter came to my rescue.”

“Hunter?” His body tensed and the concern in his eyes changed to something else, something menacing. Kathryne not only saw the change, but felt it as well. The very air around him seemed to shimmer with hatred and he looked at her differently, as if she had done something wrong by allowing Chase to save her from whatever the Willow Creek boys had planned. Sympathy for Chase rose in her. Anger for the way he was treated in this town rose in her as well.

“I’ll let Sheriff Townsend know.” He closed the book and rested his hands on top. “Perhaps, I’ll take a ride out to Willow Creek and have a talk with the boys.”

As soon as he said those words, Kathryne knew nothing would be done. As she suspected, reporting what happened was a waste of time, but she had promised Chase and she’d kept her promise. “Thank you for your time, Deputy,” she murmured, but couldn’t keep sarcasm from her tone. Kathryne rose from her seat and let herself out of the office. She stood on the sidewalk for a moment, drawing air into her lungs in an effort to calm the anger surging through her.