A Good Man for Katie (12 page)

“Miss O’Rourke.” The voice came from her right, accompanied by the sound of boot heels heavy on the thick planking of the sidewalk. Kathryne turned as Sheriff Townsend approached. “I see you came from my office. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” From all appearances, he seemed solicitous, but after hearing how Laurel had been treated when James died, she suspected his attitude was just an act. “Was Deputy Long able to help you?”

“Yes and no.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I came to report an incident that happened to me last night. Your deputy dutifully took my statement, but I doubt he’ll do anything about it.” Frustration made her words sharper and louder than she intended.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because I happened to mention that Chase Hunter came to my rescue.”

As with Deputy Long, scorn and loathing passed before Sheriff Townsend’s eyes, the expression of concern quickly changing. His eyes narrowed and his hands balled into fists. It was more than apparent he had no liking for Chase and though he recovered quickly, the damage had been done. His true feelings had shone, if only for a brief moment. He gestured toward a bench. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Though she wished to forget the whole incident, she took the seat he offered. Sheriff Townsend sat beside her, and at least pretended to listen. He didn’t move, but a muscle jumped in his cheek and his lips were pressed together with something akin to annoyance. With her? With Canady and his companions? With Chase? She didn’t know. What’s more, she didn’t care. She wished he’d do his job, but doubted that would happen.

For a long time, he didn’t speak. He watched the street, nodding to a few people going about their business. When he finally turned to her, he said, “You were fortunate Hunter came along when he did.”

His words were calm, but Kathryne sensed the contempt beneath them. She studied him and saw that same emotion reflected in his eyes.

“Yes, I was lucky. I hate to think what would have happened.” An involuntary shudder shook her to the core. “What is it you have against Mr. Hunter?”

Oh, if looks could kill, she’d be dead where she sat as he pierced her with his intent glare.

“We don’t like his kind.”

“And yet, you tolerate men like Canady who attack women with no provocation. I don’t understand.”

He said nothing more, but the skin around his left eye twitched. And kept twitching. The muscle jumping in his jaw picked up its pace. At one time, she’d thought the sheriff an attractive man. Now, knowing what she knew about him, seeing the hatred blazing on his face, he seemed just plain ugly.

Kathryne stood, brushed the dust from her skirt and started walking away. “Have a lovely day, Sheriff,” she said over her shoulder, the sarcasm in her words heavy…and intentional.

“You might not want to wander around alone after dark, Miss O’Rourke.”

It wasn’t the words that struck her. It was his tone and the implied threat. Kathryne stopped in her tracks and turned on her heel to face him once more. She didn’t know where she found the courage to finally let lose some of the anger she’d suppressed for so long, but she did. “I beg your pardon? Are you saying it’s my fault those men accosted me? Are you saying I asked to be attacked simply because I chose to walk through town after dark? Is that what I’m hearing from you, Sheriff?”

“No, ma’am.” He stood, his tall, lanky frame unfolding from the bench in one fluid motion. “That’s not what I meant at all.”

The expression on his face, the tenseness in his body told her he lied. He did think it her fault those men accosted her. She sucked in her breath as her heart began to pound in her chest and her whole body trembled with suppressed fury. She approached him. Townsend backed up a step, but his expression didn’t change. Oh, how she wanted to slap the condescending look from his face. Indeed, her hand just itched to connect with the smirk on his lips.

“Let me tell you something, Sheriff,” she said, unable to hide her feelings or the tremor in her voice, which only served to make her angrier. “I will not be told where I can or cannot go, or when, simply because the sun has set or because you say so. Nor will I be treated with disrespect, by anyone, you included. It’s your job to make the streets safe, so do it. And if you won’t, we can find someone who will!”

She’d made an enemy. She knew it the moment the words left her mouth and the sheriff’s expression changed. The smirk disappeared. His eyes narrowed and glittered. He said not a word, but the murderous gleam in his gaze struck her to the core.

“Good day, Sheriff.”

As quickly as she could, she strode away. Disbelief and fear settled over her as she rounded the corner, but anger took the lead in her emotions. Something had changed though. She’d stood up for herself. For the first time in her life, she’d expressed her frustration and anger, and it felt good. Now that she had done so, she could never go back to keeping those emotions tucked inside.

In moments, she found herself in front of Emy’s house just in time to see Terry, black bag in hand, scurry past her down the walkway with a nod. “Emy’s in the kitchen,” he said as he climbed into the saddle of the horse waiting just outside the gate. “Go on in.”

Kathryne let herself into the house and traversed the long hallway to the kitchen. She could hear Emeline’s voice…or rather, the frustration in her voice. She stopped in the doorway to take in the sight before her.

Emeline stood at the table, rolling pin in hand, flour up to her elbows, coating the apron she used to cover her gown and dusting the open cookbook beside her. Flour also dusted the floor around her, as well as almost every other available surface in the big kitchen. Tendrils of glossy brown hair escaped the tight bun at the back of her head and stuck to her red, perspiration damp face as she stood poised to roll the rolling pin over the glob of white sticky dough before her.

The anger and fear from a few moments before dissipated as Kathryne watched her sister, a woman she’d always thought could do anything, attempt to flatten the dough into a circle. And fail. The dough stuck to the rolling pin, curling around the smooth surface. Emeline blew air from between her pursed lips—a sigh of frustration—as she peeled the dough from the wooden rod and dropped it on the table, producing a cloud of white powder, which sprinkled more flour on her apron. She pushed the hair away from her forehead with her forearm, getting flour there as well…and looked up. Her expression changed from frustration to embarrassment to happiness in a quick second.

“Kate! What are you doing here?”

“Watching you.” She walked into the kitchen, her skirts kicking up flour from the floor, to grab a dishtowel from the counter near the sink. She wiped the flour from her sister’s face then laid the towel over Emeline’s shoulder, as their mother had always done.

“Mama always made this look so easy and so less messy,” Emeline admitted with an exasperated sigh.

“What are you making? Or trying to make?” Kathryne poured two cups of coffee from the pot on the stove and brought them to the table before she sank into a chair. She added canned milk and a teaspoon of sugar to hers and took a sip.

“Oh, Terry wanted pie for desert tonight. As you can see, the simple task is beyond me.” She dropped the rolling pin and wiped her hands on her apron, adding to the mess already there. Her gaze remained steady on Kathryne. “What’s wrong?”

She could never hide anything from Emeline. “I just came from seeing Sheriff Townsend. He made me so angry, Emy, I could have spit nails!”

“Spit nails?” Her eyes widened with shock. “What’s come over you? I’ve never heard you say anything like that. Father would be mortified.”

“Yes, he would be, but I don’t care. I’m angry and I want everyone to know it. I was accosted by three men from Willow Creek last night on my way home from Laurel’s.”

“What? Are you hurt?” Emeline pulled a chair away from the table and sank into it, all the color draining from her face. “Tell me everything.”

Kathryne rose from her seat and began to pace as she related the incident, aware that Emeline followed her movements, her head swiveling back and forth. She left nothing out, the words spilling from her lips unimpeded. “I told Townsend to do his job. I also told him that if he wouldn’t, we’d find someone who would.”

“Oh, Kate, what have you done? Sheriff Townsend is not a man to be threatened. I’ve lived here long enough to know—”

“Know what? That he doesn’t do his job. That he’s part of the reason ranch hands can do as they please without repercussions? That three people have been murdered within the past year and no one has been brought to justice?”

A long sigh escaped her as Emeline reached for Kathryne’s hand as she passed by, forcing her to stop pacing. “Don’t look for trouble, Kate.”

Kathryne studied her sister, seeing, perhaps, for the first time, a touch of fear in Emeline’s eyes. “Are you afraid?”

“Things are different here.”

“I’m reminded of the differences every time I have to use the outhouse, Emy. You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. This isn’t Washington. Father isn’t here to protect you.” Another sigh escaped her. “You are right though. Townsend is a horrible lawman and his deputies aren’t much better. None of them can be trusted.”

“You are afraid.” With those words and the realization of the truth, Kathryne lowered herself to her chair and tried to concentrate on breathing in and out. “But nothing ever frightens you, Emy. You’re the bravest person I know.”

Emeline rose from her seat and picked up the rolling pin once more. “That was before.” She wielded the object as if it were a weapon then began rolling out the dough. She stopped suddenly and glanced up, pinning Kathryne with her gaze. For a long time, she didn’t say a word, then... “It would be better for you, for all of us, if you didn’t ask questions. Let sleeping dogs lie.”

****

“Sarge, must you lie right there, under my feet?”

Chase couldn’t help the grin that spread his lips as he passed beneath the kitchen window of the little house Alex and Prudence Barstow shared. He heard the exasperation in Prudence’s voice and could just imagine the scene. A big dog, the size of a full-grown man when he stretched, Sarge probably lay sprawled on the kitchen floor, forcing everyone to walk around him. Chase could imagine the expression on the dog’s furry face, too. Eyebrows moving, tongue hanging from the side of his mouth, dark brown eyes full of mischief, he stuck out his paw and tried to trip anyone within reach.

If he could speak, he’d say, “Yes, I must lie
right
here,” as Chase had imagined him saying since he’d raised the dog from a pup. Strange, he missed having Sarge underfoot or trying to trip him.

A short bark of welcome, the sound of nails scrambling for purchase on the floor and Prudence’s startled “Sarge!” before glass shattered accompanied Chase as he crept around the corner of the house and let himself into the kitchen. The greeting for Prudence died on his lips as the dog jumped up and placed his paws on his shoulders. Sarge’s tail wagged, indeed, his entire body wiggled with joy as his long, smooth tongue swiped at Chase’s face.

“Hello, boy!” He scratched behind Sarge’s ears, eliciting the odd growl-groan the dog used to express his happiness. “Oh, you’re happy to see me, aren’t you, but what ever happened to your manners?” One more scratch and he ordered the dog to get down. Sarge obeyed, but his tail continued to wag as he leaned his body against Chase’s legs.

“Manners?” Prudence asked as she finished picking up the shards of a broken dish and tossed them into the trash. “He doesn’t have any, but it’s obvious he adores you.” She strode toward him, grace and purpose in every step, and placed a kiss on Chase’s cheek, the dog’s tail sweeping against her long skirts. “For what it’s worth, I’m happy to see you as well.”

She studied his face, her cerulean blue eyes softening as they gazed into his. Always the mother hen to the men her husband commanded, she tsked before she said, “You look tired.”

Chase returned her frank stare. He could say the same about her. Dark circles beneath her eyes emphasized the paleness of her smooth skin. A streak of white, new since the last time he’d seen her, drew the eye, contrasting deeply with her otherwise head of dark, glossy hair. She’d lost weight, too, her normally thin frame appearing even thinner. Grief could do that to a person, as he well knew.

“The colonel isn’t home yet, but I was just going to have a cup of coffee. You’re more than welcome to wait with me.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He removed his hat and sat at the table. A long sigh escaped him, one born of fatigue. In truth, he was tired—weary down to his bones. Evan’s murder weighed heavy on his heart.

The dog, still not finished greeting his master, sidled up beside him and laid his massive head on Chase’s leg. Without conscious thought, Chase buried his fingers in the soft fur around the dog’s neck. The simple act brought him a small measure of comfort.

Prudence glanced at him, her brows furrowed as she poured coffee into cups. “How long have we known each other?”

Chase shrugged. “Six years? Seven?”

“Don’t you think you can bring yourself to call me Pru?” She brought the cups to the table then turned around and reached into a cabinet beside the sink. She held a bottle of fine sipping whiskey in her hand when she returned to the table and placed it in front of him. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes, ma—Pru.”

“I have some cake.” She sat across from him. This woman had always been one of the strongest women he’d ever known, but now, her sorrow had become a palpable entity, and yet, she remained as hospitable as he’d always known her to be, caring more for others than herself. “I’d be more than happy to give you a slice.”

He didn’t quite know what to say, didn’t quite know how to assuage her grief but wanted to let her know how sorry he was for the loss of her son. The words were on the tip of his tongue and yet, he couldn’t utter them, not with the way she looked at him, her eyes so sad. At the very least, he could do something about the weight she’d lost. “Only if you’ll have a slice with me.”