A Good Man for Katie (26 page)

“I thought I told you to get rid of him.” Though Cassandra’s voice came through the glass a bit distorted, Chase managed to understand every word.

“What do you want me to do, Cass?” Townsend removed the cigar from his mouth and tapped the ashes into a little glass dish beside him. “He hasn’t done anything. Reputation alone isn’t cause to arrest him and there are no Wanted posters for him. Hell, no one seems to be looking for him at all.” He sighed then twisted in his chair beneath Cassandra’s steady glare. “For a man who’s supposedly a hired gun, I haven’t found evidence of anyone he’s killed. Not one, Cass.”

“Who the hell are you talking about?” Corporal Henry leaned forward, his hands dangling between his knees, his head swiveling from one to the other.

“Hunter,” Cassandra and Townsend replied in unison, both of them spitting out his name as if it left a bad taste in their mouths.

A slight smile curved Chase’s lips as the intonation of his name met his ears and he knew they were annoyed and frustrated with his presence in town. Angry, frustrated people became nervous and tended to make mistakes, but did he have time to wait for that mistake? Was there a way to force their hands?

He didn’t dwell on the questions running through his head as his attention was drawn once more to Vance Henry. It didn’t take a genius to know Henry had supplied Townsend and Cassandra with information about the shipment of rifles. Why else would he be here? Rage swelled within Chase as he stared at the corporal. He wanted to drive his fist into the smug face in front of him, but forced himself to remain calm and listen.

“Who the hell is Hunter?” Henry demanded then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Who gives a shit anyway?” He took a sip of his brandy and placed his snifter on the table. The affable smile disappeared from his face as his lips tightened. “If it wasn’t for me, neither of you would have known about the rifles. You’d still be holding up stagecoaches for a pittance.” He pierced Townsend with his steely gaze, his hands balling into fists between his open legs. “My only concern is my share from the rifles we took so I have to ask—where’s my money?”

Every muscle in Chase’s body stiffened and his heart rate picked up its pace to thump in his chest. If it was proof he wanted that Townsend had a part in stealing the rifles, he had it, but what could he do? It would be his word against the sheriff’s and who would listen to a supposed outlaw?

How he wanted to barge into the house and shoot all three of them dead, but he couldn’t. They’d only admitted to taking the rifles. He’d heard nothing about Evan’s murder. A bead of sweat rolled down his face despite the chill in the air and he wiped it away as he shifted a little closer to the window.

Cassandra’s gaze met Townsend’s and a flush colored the tall man’s cheeks. “We’ve run into a bit of a problem,” she admitted as she finally lowered herself to the settee across from them and reached for her own glass of brandy. “My buyer backed out.”

“Well, hell, why didn’t you tell me?” Vance Henry slapped his knee and chuckled, the smile returning to his face in an instant. “I know someone in Mexico who will take the whole shipment off our hands. For a nice price. Just give me the rifles and I’ll be on my way.”

“They’re not here.” Cassandra’s voice shook a little as her face took on the same reddish hue as Townsend’s. “You think I want to have six crates of Army issue rifles just laying around my ranch for anyone to find? I’m not that stupid, Vance. They’re in a safe place while I look for another buyer.”

Corporal Henry rose from his seat so quickly, Cassandra and Townsend jumped as did Chase. “Get them,” he ordered as he strode across the floor and stopped in front of her. “I’m not a patient man, Cassie. I want my money.” He leaned forward, his hands resting on either side of her, the menacing expression on his face enough to make Cassandra turn pale. “Once I make contact with my buyer, he’ll want those rifles as soon as possible so they better be here by the time I get back from Mexico.”

He remained in front of her, his hands still in the same position on either side of her as his intent stare pinned her to the spot. Finally, Cassandra nodded. “They’ll be here.”

“Good. I’d hate to have to mess up that pretty face of yours,” he threatened as he traced her jawline with his finger. Cassandra flinched beneath his touch, but remained silent, her eyes wide and filled with fear as he stood.

A moment later, the front door slammed. Chase plastered himself against the side of the house, his breath caught in his throat as Corporal Henry strode past him, so close he could have reached out and touched the traitor, so close he smelled the vile cologne the man seemed to bathe in. He didn’t move, didn’t release his breath as he waited for Townsend to follow.

Agonizing minutes passed until Chase peeked in through the draperies and realized Townsend wouldn’t be heading back to town for quite some time, not with the Widow Kinsbrough sinking to her knees in front of him and reaching for the button at the waistband of his trousers.

Chase turned away from the scene before his eyes, not wanting to see what Cassandra was willing to do, and left his hiding place beside the house. He moved quickly, silently, gaining the tack room and the door secreted within. Using Henry’s bouncing light in front of him and the dirt wall as his guides, he retraced his steps through the tunnel. He wanted answers, wanted to know why they’d chosen that particular shipment of rifles to steal, wanted to know why Evan had had to die. The person who could give him those answers was just ahead of him. He quickened his pace.

Intent on following Corporal Henry and his bobbing light, Chase didn’t see the empty whiskey bottle in his way until his boot kicked it, sending the glass skittering across the dirt. He froze right where he stood, realizing how much the slight noise echoed in the semi-darkness, how loud the reverberations sounded in his ears.

“What the hell ya doin’, Townsend? Change your mind about stayin’ with the widow?” Henry chuckled as he stopped and raised the wick on his lantern to shed more light.

Too late, Chase scrambled against the side of the tunnel. Though his intention had been to confront Corporal Henry, he hadn’t wanted it to be this way as Henry turned quickly and their gazes met across the short distance. Henry’s mouth opened in a silent O and he blinked several times as fear and recognition widened his eyes.

“You!” he sucked in his breath as he dropped the lantern. Glass shattered. The light extinguished, plunging Chase into utter darkness—indeed, thrusting them both into the pitch black of the tunnel.

Chase’s heart thundered in his chest as he heard rather than saw a revolver being drawn from the holster buckled around Corporal Henry’s waist. The flare at the bore of the pistol blinded him as the first shot was fired. The bullet whizzed past his ear and ricocheted off the rock as Henry aimed for the last place Chase had been standing, firing blindly in rapid succession. The second shot hit him in the thigh. Pain blossomed in his leg, flaring bright hot. He didn’t have time to react as a third bullet struck his torso. Chase dropped to his knees to avoid another bullet and pulled his own revolver. He fired, using the flare from Henry’s gun to aim. A sharp cry echoed in the chamber as Chase’s bullet hit its mark, but not before Henry got off one last shot.

Pain exploded in his chest, searing him to his soul, stealing his breath. His last thought before darkness of another kind engulfed him was of Katie.

****

Sarge whined at the door, his nails clicking against the hardwood floor as he paced back and forth, interrupting Kathryne’s concentration. “Just a minute, Sarge. Just let me finish grading this essay and I’ll let you out.”

Her words did nothing to appease the dog. He continued pacing, stopping only to stare at her then going back to the door, and not the back door as he usually did when he needed to go out. A sharp bark issued from his throat when she didn’t move as quickly as he expected.

“One more minute, please.”

Kathryne heard his nails clicking on the floor again, felt his presence at her side, and couldn’t deny the intensity of the dog’s stare.

“Sarge!” Usually, his name spoken in such a sharp tone calmed him, but not this time. As if tired of waiting, he nudged her hand. Without conscious thought, Kathryne reached down and rubbed the silky fur around his ears, but attention wasn’t what he wanted and he moved just out of her reach.

He wanted to go out. Now.

“All right,” Kathryne sighed. “I’ll let you out.”

She stuck her pen into its holder then rose from her desk in front of the big bay window. Not quick enough to suit Sarge’s needs, the dog gently grabbed her hand in his mouth and started pulling her toward the door. Kathryne chuckled at his impatience. “I got the message, boy. I’m coming.” As soon as the words left her mouth, he released her hand, but his whine remained sharp, more intense as he sniffed at the doorsill.

Kathryne’s eyes narrowed as she stood beside the fireplace, a sudden rush of dread washing through her. The last time Sarge acted this strangely, she’d found a dead man in her school. “Come away from the door, Sarge.”

The dog ignored her. Indeed, so anxious to be outside, he scratched at the wood and barked. And not his normal I’m-glad-to-see-you bark. This was insistent, bordering on desperate, the tone and pitch deeper. Kathryne feared if she didn’t open the door right this moment he might try to jump through the big bay window in front of her desk. And yet, she couldn’t move another inch. Apprehension whispered through her, keeping her rooted to where she stood. As much as Sarge needed to go outside, she didn’t want to open the door.

“Katie.” She heard her name, spoken so softly she thought for a moment her imagination had conjured up the sound. “Quiet, Sarge!”

Again, she heard the faint word and her heart leapt to her throat. No one in the world called her Katie except Chase, whom she hadn’t seen or spoken to in days, not since Francine tried to have her fired. She rushed across the room, pushed the draperies aside and peered out the window. Moonlight illuminated the yard at the front of the house, snow glowing an eerie white, silence deep and disquieting. Nothing moved. No wind rustled the trees to make their bare limbs rattle against each other. The evergreens stood tall and mighty, but remained still.

Sarge nudged at her hand, persistent, determined, unrelenting, in his desire to be outside. Kathryne let the draperies swing back into place and quickly released the lock. She opened the door just a crack to peer through the small opening. Sarge had no such patience. He stuck his nose through the small crack, pushing the opening wider, and darted off the front porch. He jumped the gate at the end of the small walk, running toward a dark shape on the bridge over the stream between her house and the schoolhouse. He didn’t attack the mound, simply danced around it, nudging it with his nose and whining.

“Katie.” The mound moved, just a little, as a hand reached out toward the dog—to push him away or bring him closer, she didn’t know.

“Oh, my God! Chase!” Kathryne tied the sash of her robe tighter around her waist against the cold. With only slippers on her feet, she dashed outside, her heart thumping in her chest, her mouth suddenly dry as she slid to a stop beside him on the bridge. She pushed Sarge out of the way and dropped to her knees. In the glow of moonlight, dark patches on his coat gleamed. Kathryne touched one of them, her fingers coming away wet. She smelled blood. “Chase!”

He leaned against one of the posts, as if he had crawled to this spot on the bridge, but could not go any further. His eyes were open and filled with pain. “Shot,” he whispered. The one word seemed to cost him every ounce of strength he had left and a deep sigh escaped him, but he touched her, his hand grasping hers as if his life depended upon it, trusting her to help him.

Kathryne glanced at the dog dancing around them. “Go get Terry.” The dog tilted his head, ears twitching. “Go!” Sarge took off like a shot from a rifle, his legs eating up the ground as he raced toward town.

Panic and fear made her hands shake. Indeed, her entire body trembled. She’d never seen so much blood before, never seen Chase, that vital, strong man in so much pain and so weak. His pain hurt her, deep in her heart. Tears filled her eyes. She tried to swallow over the dryness in her throat. “Who shot you?”

He didn’t answer as consciousness left him and his eyes closed, but his breathing remained steady. “Chase?” She shook him, trying desperately to rouse him. His eyes flickered open as he drew in a deep breath. “We have to get you inside. Can you walk?”

He nodded, but even that much sapped his strength as he fought to remain awake and aware.

She helped him to his feet, and step by painstaking step, brought him into the house. He barely made it to the bedroom, his knees buckling, his face pale, breathing harsh and unsteady. Kathryne nearly fell to the floor beneath the heaviness of his weight, yet managed to guide him to the bed. He sat as a sharp groan escaped him then, as if he had no bone, melted onto the mattress and didn’t move.

Kathryne turned up the wicks of the wall sconces, shedding more light into the room and sucked in her breath when she faced him. The blood on his coat wasn’t in patches—it stained the whole front. She didn’t know what to do. She had experience with minor cuts and scrapes. As a schoolteacher, she dealt with small hurts on a daily basis, but this was different.

She did know one thing. No matter what it took, she couldn’t let him die, the possibility of which was very real and very frightening.

Fear left a coppery taste in her mouth and yet, despite the anxiety growing in her, Kathryne approached the bed and tried to move him into a more comfortable position so his legs weren’t hanging over the edge, a task more difficult than she first thought. Sweat beaded on her forehead, dampened her underarms and her breath wheezed in and out of her lungs with her efforts as Chase couldn’t help her, but at least he didn’t feel any pain. She removed his coat, tugging and pulling until she could free his arms.

Breathless, panting from exertion, she held up his coat. Lamplight shined through two holes, not one. He’d been shot twice. She glanced at the man lying across her bed, the man she couldn’t help falling in love with. The terror she’d been trying to keep at bay flared deep in her soul when she noticed another bullet hole in his upper right thigh, his trouser leg soaked in blood.