A Good Man for Katie (29 page)

When it was all over, when Townsend and Kinsbrough and the rest of their cohorts were under arrest and safely in jail, when he could look both his father and Colonel Barstow in the eye and tell them he’d avenged Evan’s and Jeremy’s deaths, he’d tell her everything and pray she would forgive him.

He took the back steps one at a time. Sarge ran toward him, tail wagging, snow covering his coat, and sank to his haunches. “Thanks for warning me. You could have barked to let me know she was home,” he muttered as he patted the dog’s head. “You stay with Katie. Watch her.”

The dog whined and nudged his hand, looking for more affection.

“Where ya goin’, Mr. Hunter?” Walter ran up to him, too, his cheeks rosy from being out in the cold. His breath plumed from his lips as he shaped a snowball in his bare hands.

“Nowhere special.” Chase adjusted the hat on the boy’s head to cover his ears then tucked the edges of the wool scarf into his coat. “Where are your mittens?”

“You can’t make good snowballs with mittens on your hands.”

Chase said nothing, but eyed the boy, his gaze unrelenting until Walter threw the snowball for Sarge, who chased after it with enthusiasm, then pulled a pair of knitted mittens from his pocket. “Aw, shucks. Can’t do nothin’!” he muttered and slipped his hands into the warm wool then kicked at the pile of snow in front of him.

“Now keep them on. I’m sure your mother doesn’t want you catching cold, Walter,” he said, although how he managed to keep a stern tone, he didn’t know.

The boy with the sprinkling of freckles across his nose charmed him right down to his socks. “Yes, sir,” Walter mumbled, but he wasn’t happy. What six-year-old would be when told by an adult what he had to do?

“Sarge doesn’t care that the snowballs aren’t perfect,” Chase told him, trying to ease his frustration. “He just wants you to throw them for him. Try it.”

The boy scooped up a handful of snow, patted into a ball and threw it. Perfect or not, Sarge bounded after it with just as much enthusiasm, bringing a wide grin to the boy’s face. “See?” He couldn’t help the chuckle rising up from his throat. “Now don’t stay out here too long.”

“Yes, sir.” The boy glanced at him, eyes wide, grin in place. “Do you wanna play with us?”

If he didn’t feel like such a heel for hurting Katie, if he didn’t have a plan to put into action, if his body wasn’t already aching, he would have stayed. “I’d love to, Walter, but I can’t.”

Chase started to leave then felt eyes boring into him. He turned quickly and saw Kathryne standing in the window. The expression on her face—anger, fear, sadness all mixed into one—made him suck in his breath before she pulled the drapes closed.

The inclination to go to her, wrap her in his arms and ease her fears almost had him bounding up the porch steps. He couldn’t allow himself that luxury. Hardening his resolve, he walked into town, though the pain in both his heart and his thigh made it a bit more difficult.

Lost in thought, he didn’t hear the greeting shouted his way until Mr. Graham, sweeping the snow off the sidewalk in front of the General store, called again. He blinked, surprised, and nodded then blinked again as Mrs. Cabot and her sons hailed him as well. He tipped his hat in their direction. He didn’t have time to wonder about the change in attitude from them as he made his way to the stable behind Mrs. Rawlins’s house.

Champion waited in his stall, warm and cozy beneath the blanket thrown over his back. He nickered softly when he saw Chase. “Hate to do this to you, boy, but we have someplace to be.”

Before he could stop himself and go back to the cottage and Kathryne, he saddled Champion and nudged the horse’s sides, leaving the town behind him.

He rode into Camp Verde just as the big bell rang to call the men to mess, unconcerned that moonlight reflected off the snow-covered parade ground and he could easily be seen by the men rushing to fill their bellies. He’d grown tired of all the secrets, of sneaking around and hiding. With Vance Henry dead and buried in the tunnel beneath the schoolhouse, he could breathe a bit easier. He slid from the saddle and almost fell to the ground as pain radiated from the wound in his leg. He sucked in his breath and held it until the pain became a dull throbbing ache then wrapped Champion’s reins around the post in front of Colonel Barstow’s office. He let himself in. “Evening, Colonel.”

Alex looked up from the papers on his desk. “Chase!” A wide grin spread across his face then disappeared in a flash. “Pru and I have been worried about you, son. You haven’t picked up any of the messages I left at the cabin.” He stuck his pen into its holder and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his stomach. “Please. Sit. Help yourself to some coffee.” He pointed to the pot sitting on top of the small Ben Franklin stove that heated his office. “Anyone see you come into camp?”

Chase removed his soft kid gloves and stuck them in the pockets of his duster before he hung it on the coat rack in the corner. He eased himself into his seat and stretched his leg out in front of him. Every muscle in his body trembled with fatigue and weakness. The cold seeping into his bones made it worse. He hated to admit it, but perhaps Kathryne had been right. It had been too soon.

Alex sat up straight and studied him, his eyes narrowing as he did so. “Are you all right? You’re a bit pale. And you’re sweating.”

Chase squirmed beneath the colonel’s scrutiny. “I had a run-in with a couple bullets. Laid me up for a bit, but I’m all right.” He wiped away the perspiration on his forehead with the back of his hand and concentrated on simply inhaling and exhaling.

“Good God, man!” Colonel Barstow sat straight up and exhaled sharply, his eyes widening. “Who was it?”

“Corporal Vance Henry.”

“What? Why?”

Chase shrugged then related the details of his trek into the tunnel. “It was either kill him or be killed by him.”

While Alex absorbed the information, Chase asked, “Who do you trust, Colonel? I need two or three good men, men you would have at your back in battle, men you would rely on for Pru’s safety.”

Colonel Barstow leaned back in his chair once more, his bushy brow furrowing as he stared straight ahead. “Aside from you? At one time, I would have said Jeremy and Evan—” He paused, his fingers beating out a tattoo on the desktop as a hint of sadness radiated from his eyes. “There are one or two that come to mind.” He cleared his throat and stopped drumming on the desk. “Why? What do you need, son?”

Instead of answering, Chase asked, “How good an actor are you?”

“Actor? What the hell are you talking about?” The colonel’s face flushed in puzzlement and confusion. “What’s with all the damn questions? Make some sense, dammit!”

Chase grinned. “I need you to play the part of a wealthy gentleman. You’re going to buy our rifles back.”

“The hell I am!” Alex slammed his open hand on the desk. “If you think I—”

“I have a plan, Colonel.” Chase leaned forward in his chair. For the next twenty minutes, he laid out the scheme he’d concocted while laying in Kathryne’s bed. He answered questions, well rehearsed in his head, as he’d had a lot of time to think in the past few days, ever since he stopped the laudanum.

The colonel steepled his fingers in front of his face, deep in thought. “It could work,” he said after a long time, “but I don’t believe the United States government is willing to buy back their own rifles, and there’s no way I can get my hands on that much money.”

“I can.” Chase grinned. “I have my inheritance from my grandfather. I’ve never touched it. Besides, they won’t get one red cent. They’ll be in jail.”

The colonel released his breath in one long sigh. “It’ll warm my heart to see those bastards behind bars. It won’t bring Jeremy back, but it’s a start.” His eyes took on that faraway quality they always did when he thought about his son. He blinked, several times, and cleared his throat, snapping himself out of his reverie. “You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you? I insist. Pru would love to see you. She’s been worried as much as I.”

Chase shook his head. “I should be getting back to town. Even though Sarge is with Katie, I’d feel better if I were there as well.”

Alex’s brows rose. “Is she the one who nursed you back to health?”

“If it weren’t for her, I probably wouldn’t be here now,” he said as he rose to leave, but after sitting so long, his muscles had stiffened and he felt like an old man. He must have made a face because the twinkle in the colonel’s eyes faded.

“You’re in no condition to ride back to Crystal Springs, Chase. You’ll stay with us tonight.”

Chase opened his mouth to argue, but the colonel held up his hand. “That’s an order, son.”

Chapter Nineteen

Whispers and giggles punctuated the last chapter of
Gulliver’s Travels
. Kathryne looked up from the pages of the book. The admonishment died on her tongue and she sucked in her breath.

Sitting at the back of the class, his large frame tucked into a small desk and chair, was General Galen O’Rourke. Her father. He looked older than she remembered, the darkness of his hair now liberally streaked with gray, the mutton chops and bushy mustache almost all white. He did not wear his uniform, clad, instead, in the stylish clothes of a man about town.

She glanced out the window, looking for the cavalry she was certain he’d brought with him to drag her back to Washington…or the convent in upstate New York. He would need them as she wasn’t about to let that happen.

No one lurked outside and she exhaled.

Kathryne nodded in his direction then announced, “Class dismissed.” The children put their belongings away then rushed into the coatroom. “Make sure your coats are buttoned and hats are on your heads. Don’t forget your scarves and gloves, too.”

The sounds of the children talking among themselves died down as the door opened and closed several times. Kathryne held her breath and approached him. “Hello, Father. What a lovely surprise.”

“Daughter.” He rose from the desk, unfolding his big body from the small confines and embraced her. Galen O’Rourke had never been a very demonstrative man. More used to commanding men than nurturing children, particularly little girls, he’d stopped showing his softer side as she grew older. Kathryne had no doubt she was loved, but hugs were not common from the general and he surprised her with his embrace.

He cleared his throat and released her. “You’re much too thin, Kathryne. Obviously, this life isn’t the one for you.”

“You haven’t changed, Father.” Despite his welcoming embrace, they were back to stilted conversation and criticism, repeating the pattern from her younger days. It wasn’t enough for Kathryne, but then, she really hadn’t expected him to change. In fact, she’d be astonished if he had.

“Have you had enough of this foolishness?”

She stiffened beneath what she knew would be the first barrage in the battle they constantly waged. “What foolishness? Teaching?”

“Of course, but we have plenty of time to discuss it later.”

“I prefer we discuss it now, sir. Come up to the cottage. I’ll make some tea.” She stepped away from him and into the cloakroom where she grabbed her cape from one of the hooks. Her fingers shook as she wrapped the soft blue fabric around her shoulders. Indeed, her entire body trembled and a knot formed in her stomach.

Why must it always be this way with him?
I am twenty-five years old. Why does being in his presence make me feel like I’m six?

Kathryne inhaled and exhaled, determined she wouldn’t let him treat her like a child. After she buttoned the cape, she pulled his long winter coat from another hook and brought it to him.

As he shrugged into it, she asked, “Is Mama with you?”

“She’s at the hotel, resting. The trip was a little much for her, especially the last leg.” His face reddened, highlighting the whiteness of his facial hair, and his hands balled into fists. Anger radiated from him like heat from the little Ben Franklin stove. “We were robbed at gunpoint by some ruffians just before we came into town. They took Grandfather’s watch and your mother’s pearls.”

“I’m so sorry, Father. I know that watch meant a lot to you. And Mama’s pearls. She loved those pearls.”

“I gave them to your mother on our wedding day.” He sighed and for a moment, her father’s face transformed, his stern countenance disappearing, replaced with a softness she’d never seen before. Kathryne took a step back in disbelief. Was this General Galen “Fighting Irish” O’Rourke? Was that sentimentality shining in her father’s eyes? Or love?

She cleared her throat, trying to reconcile the man who raised her with his bellowing, commanding voice and the one who stood before her now. “Did you report the robbery to the sheriff?”

He harrumphed as he nodded and pulled on the soft leather gloves he retrieved from his coat pocket. “For what little good it did me. If that man were under my command…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but she knew exactly what he’d say. The general had little tolerance for incompetence or laziness, and even less for stupidity.

“Have you seen Emy?”

“She told me where to find you. She looks well. And happy.”

Kathryne hooked her arm through his as they left the schoolhouse. Sarge waited at the door, tail wagging, ears perked, a bundle of energy. He nudged Kathryne’s hand then turned and looked at Walter, who stood not far away, already shaping snowballs in his gloved hands. The dog issued the growl-groan deep in his throat, his body fairly vibrating with excitement. “You may play with Walter for a little while.”

Though he’d been given permission, Sarge remained by her side, his brows twitching as he watched the man beside her. His tail wagged in a way that showed his uncertainty.

“You’re talking to dogs now?”

Kathryne ignored his tone. “He understands every word I say.” She shrugged. “He’s been a wonderful companion. Sarge, say hello to my father.”

The dog sank to his haunches. He barked once then extended his front paw. The general stared at the beast.

“He wants you to shake.”

“Oh, of all the ridiculous—”

“Shake his paw, Father,” Kathryne encouraged. “He won’t hurt you.”