Maureen McKade (2 page)

“Old Two Ponies still around?” Fondness fringed Patrick’s tone.

Kit nodded. “And still as ornery as ever.”

“I know it’s not my ugly mug that’s brought you here so early, so what is it, lass?”

She glanced at the door blocking her view of the cells. “I heard Jake Cordell is in there.”

“Word gets around fast.”

“With someone as well known as him, are you surprised?”

“Nope, can’t say that I am. Don’t be tellin’ me you just want to get a look at the hero?”

Kit shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “No. I knew him when we were younger. He was good to me, Patrick. The least I can do is get him out of here. I’m hoping Freda will let him stay in her extra room.”

“It’s true Cordell doesn’t belong in a cell, but I’m not certain I should let you help him. He’s not a pretty sight.”

Kit frowned, wondering how Jake could have changed that much.

Jake Cordell was accustomed to the attention he garnered in the many towns he passed through—especially that of the fairer sex. His solidly built body was typically clothed in tan jeans that hugged his muscular thighs, and a navy blue shirt spanned his broad chest and shoulders. Dark brown hair highlighted with fiery tints was kept trimmed above his collar, and clear, alert eyes the color of maple syrup surveyed the world with an intensity matched by few other men
.

It was his face, however, that caught the admiring gazes of all ages of women. Carved in granite like the ancient mountains, his features were a landscape of angles and planes. His profile was that of a hawk’s, sharp and proud. Lines etched around his mouth testified to an easy smile or an unforgiving frown, depending on whether the object of the expression was friend or foe
.

The ladies, however, never saw the violent side of Jake Cordell, for in their presence, he was always a gentleman; a cavalier, as in days past
.

Retching sounded from behind the wood door.

Patrick flushed, his face matching his hair. “It’s no place for a lady.”

Despite her embarrassment, Kit propped her hands on
her hips. “There’s not many folks who think I’m a lady. Now, are you going to let me take him out of here or not?”

He studied her a moment, then nodded slowly. “All right, but I warned you.”

He plucked a ring of keys from the wall behind his desk. Her heart in her throat, Kit followed him to the back room. The sour smell of vomit assailed her nostrils and she nearly gagged. When they reached the cell, she stared at the curled-up figure on the floor. Was that pitiful piece of humanity Jake Cordell, hero and defender of justice? She glanced at Patrick, who shrugged helplessly.

“He’s not exactly what you expected, is he?” he asked gently.

Kit shook her head. She cleared her throat of bitter disappointment and squared her shoulders. “He’s not how I remember him, but I owe him.”

“Would you two shut up and let me die in peace?” Jake Cordell growled.

Tears welled, threatening to roll down Kit’s cheeks. He wasn’t anything like the dashing hero of her dreams. Did the polite gentleman of the dime novels even exist? Pain stabbed deep in her chest. Maybe David was right; maybe Jake Cordell was nothing but a common drunk.

“She said I was the only man she ever cared for,” Cordell slurred.

Kit studied his bleak expression. “Who?”

“Maggie. She deserved better.” Self-disgust bled into his tone.

Kit stared into Jake’s bloodshot eyes. Grief glimmered in their dark depths. Keeping her gaze locked with his, she said, “Let him out, Patrick. I’ll take him over to Freda’s.”

“Are you sure, Kit? With the liquor in him, he’s got a surly tongue,” Patrick said, concern in his voice.

Turning away from Jake, she nodded and smiled in reassurance. “I’ll be fine. Besides, I don’t know him well enough for him to hurt me.”

Liar
, a little voice shouted in her head. She knew Jake Cordell too well.

With a resigned sigh, Patrick unlocked the cell door.

Kit stiffened her spine and tried to hold her breath as she entered the enclosure. She wrapped her fingers around his arm. “Come on, Jake. Let’s get you out of here.”

“Who are you?” he asked, as he tried ineffectually to escape her grip.

“It doesn’t matter. C’mon, stand up.”

Surrendering to her grasp, he pointed to the hat that lay on the cot. Kit grabbed it and slapped it on his head.

“Take it easy, would ya?” Cordell grumbled.

Patrick handed her Jake’s gunbelt, and she slung it over her shoulder.

“If you have any trouble, lass, give me a holler,” Patrick offered.

“Thanks, but if I have any trouble, I’ll just shoot him.”

Jake stiffened as he turned startled eyes toward her.

“Don’t worry,” Kit reassured. “I’ll aim for your head. Won’t hurt a thing.”

Jake only managed an indignant grunt.

She supported much of his weight across her shoulders as she tried to keep her nose turned away from his grime-encrusted clothes and stale liquor breath.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Freda Finster’s. If we’re lucky, she’ll let you rent her room.”

He stumbled along beside her. “Why’re you helping me?”

“Because I used to know a Jake Cordell a long time ago.”

He turned to study the blond woman’s profile. Her thinned lips were set grimly in a mask of distaste, and a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles balanced on her nose. Despite his hangover, he noticed she wore trousers that emphasized her long legs, but the soft body pressed against his side told him a woman’s body lay beneath the masculine clothes. With a firm hold, she steered him toward a neat whitewashed house with a porch that ran across the front.

“Freda,” she called out.

Her voice ripped through his brain like a dull plow and he covered his ears with his palms. “I’ve known Apache war cries that weren’t so damned loud.”

She ignored him, and despite her apparent disgust, which he admittedly deserved, she continued to steady him. Jake wondered why she cared if he fell flat on his face or not.

A tiny woman wearing a food-stained apron opened the door. Wisps of flour streaked her flushed cheeks, and her eyes twinkled with fondness. The aroma of fresh-baked bread and cinnamon trailed after her, triggering a recurrence of nausea. Jake swallowed back the bile and concentrated on the conversation.

“Kit. Good to see you,” Freda Finster welcomed her visitor, with a German accent as thick as molasses. “I do not see you enough. You must not spend so much time at that house with only Johnny to keep you company.”

The woman named Kit smiled warmly. “Johnny is more than enough company, but you’re right. Another woman’s voice would be nice once in a while.”

Freda glanced at Jake, her lips curving downward with disapproval. “Who is this?”

“His name’s Jake Cordell, and he needs a place to stay.”

Freda’s eyes narrowed and Jake could tell she was
wondering what gutter he’d crawled out of.

“I know he looks pretty bad now, but…” Kit’s voice trailed off. “Please, Freda, as a favor to me?”

After a moment, the middle-aged woman nodded reluctantly. “If you put it that way, how can I say no? After all you have done for me, it is the least I can do.”

“Thank you.”

“After he is cleaned up and the liquor is gone, better he will look.” She wrinkled her nose. “Smell better, too.”

Jake sniffed his shirtfront, his dignity bruised. “I don’t smell so bad.”

The two women exchanged glances, rolling their eyes.

“I’d best get back to check on Johnny. I left him with Pete, so I’m never sure who watches who.” Worry etched Kit’s smooth brow. “Do you think you can handle him on your own?”

“I can handle myself,” Jake retorted. He drew back his shoulders and nearly toppled over. Kit grabbed hold of him and propped him upright.

Freda nodded. “Go home and take care of your son. This one I will take care of.”

Kit eased her support away from Jake. He swayed a moment, then reclaimed his balance.

“Thank you,” Kit said. She set down his gunbelt and hurried away.

“Wait!” Jake called after her.

She didn’t stop.

“Who is she?” Jake asked Freda.

The German woman frowned. “She helps you, and her name you do not know?”

“I never set eyes on her before today.” He tried to concentrate on the woman’s features, but all he could recall was cornflower blue eyes behind her glasses. “At least, I don’t
think
so.”

“Kit. All her life she has lived here, but few folks know her.”

Jake frowned. The name sounded familiar, but his head was pounding too much to recall where he’d heard it. “Hell, I grew up here and I don’t remember her.”

Freda’s eyes slitted. “While you’re under my roof, cursing will not be tolerated. Understand, do you, Mr. Cordell?”

“Sure, whatever you say.” Suddenly tired, he asked, “Which room’s mine?”

She shook her head. “After a bath, you will get your room.”

“Look, I never had use for a mother when I was growing up, and I got even less use for one now.”

Freda’s small chin jutted out pugnaciously. “No bath, no bed.”

Jake studied his opponent, wishing she wore a gunbelt. At least then he’d know how to handle her. Sighing in resignation, he nodded. “All right, I’ll take a damn bath.”

Her mouth thinned to a narrow slash. “What about cursing, I said?”

He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I think I’ll go see if I can get a room at the hotel.”

“You do that, then why you did not stay here, you must explain to Kit.”

Jake’s conscience reminded him that she had done something no one else in town had: she’d helped him. He cursed silently. “Where’s the tub?”

“Show you, I will.”

An hour later, a damp Jake followed Freda down the hallway to his room. The carpet, though worn, was clean, and gold-bannered wallpaper brightened the dim interior. She swung open a scarred door. “Your room.”

He glanced inside. “Thanks.”

“You have manners. I was beginning to wonder what
kind of stray Kit had found this time. If there is anything you need, I will be in the kitchen baking.” She waggled an admonishing finger. “No boots on the bed.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jake entered the bedroom and closed the door behind him, shutting out his landlady’s disapproving clucks. He surveyed his new home, noting the bed and a straight-backed chair, as well as a scratched dresser. A long, narrow cloth embroidered with orange, red, and gold leaves twining its length ran across the dresser top with a chipped porcelain pitcher and bowl sitting in the center of it. A braided rug covered most of the floor, which had been waxed to a bright shine.

Tossing his hat on the chair, Jake collapsed on the bed, crossing his arms behind his head.

A knock sounded and he quickly sat up, planting his feet back on the floor. “What?”

“Your boots, Mr. Cordell,” Freda scolded from the other side of the door.

“Yeah, yeah.” He tugged them off, muttering, “I wonder if Spinster Finster knows that witches are still burned at the stake.”

Lying back down, he stared at the whitewashed ceiling. It was 1894 and the era of the bounty hunter was drawing to a close. Jake could feel it as easily as he could feel the coming of a new century. He had hoped to return home and pick up where he’d left off with Maggie, although asking her to be his wife wasn’t something he’d figured on. He’d seen enough of his own parents’ unhappiness to know marriage was a losing proposition.

He tried to picture Maggie’s face, but her features were indistinct. Instead, spectacled eyes filled with compassion crept into his thoughts and lulled him into a deep, dreamless slumber.

Chapter 2

A
s her appaloosa mare galloped down the road, Kit leaned low over the animal’s neck. The wind whipped her shoulder-length hair behind her, and the pleasant mix of horse and leather filled her nostrils.

Kit eased back on the reins and Cassiopeia responded immediately, slowing to a trot, then gradually to a walk. Cassie blew noisily, snorting a couple of times, and Kit held firmly to the reins with her gloved hands.

Despite her attempts to dismiss Jake Cordell from her thoughts, he intruded like a pesky fly. The years always had a way of changing people, but the transformation of Jake Cordell from a friendly, warm-hearted kid to a cold, mocking man had shocked her. His cynical brown eyes reflected the wealth of experience that had molded him into a stranger.

But it was the haunting loneliness she’d glimpsed that had tugged at her heart. She knew what it was like to be alone, without someone to turn to for comfort or companionship. She’d spent her solitary childhood nursing hurt animals and creating imaginary friends. Always on the outside looking in, Kit had never belonged.

She dragged herself out of her musings. At least she had Johnny to love; Jake had no one.

Ten minutes later she arrived at her home, the home where Jake Cordell had been raised. The first time she’d set foot in the yard over six years ago, she’d felt a sense of homecoming. When she’d gone into the house, she’d experienced a disconcerting déjà vu, of having lived there in another time, another life.

She reined up beside the smallest of the network of corrals and dismounted, giving Cassie a quick pat on the neck. She looped the leather straps about a fence pole and turned around only to be met by a five-year-old whirlwind on two legs. Following on her son’s heels, Johnny’s dog, Toby, yipped excitedly.

Kit wrapped her arms around Johnny and swung him around until his shrieks of joy mingled with her own laughter, even as a fear clenched at her heart. What would she do if she lost Johnny? She couldn’t even imagine her world without her son.

Kit set Johnny’s feet back down and he toppled to the ground in a dizzy heap. She joined him as they both regained their breath.

“Did you miss me?” she asked.

Johnny’s dark eyes danced. “Yep. Pete teached me how to sneak up behind bad men and scalp ’em cleanlike.”

Kit groaned. “He was just having fun with you, Johnny. People don’t take scalps anymore.”

“But Pete said when he was my age, he practiced all the time. He said that if I want to count coup, I have to practice. Pete says that back in his time, I coulda been a great warrior.”

Kit made a mental note to talk to the old Indian about his “lessons.” “That was a long time ago, sweetheart. Now we’re civilized.”

Johnny screwed up his young face. “What does civlized mean?”

“It means we can’t have any more fun,” answered a growling voice.

Kit smiled wryly at the ancient Indian. Coarse gray hair flowed down his back, but Pete Two Ponies’ eyes were those of a young man.

“No, it means now we can all have fun without worrying about outlaws,” Kit said.

“It ain’t the outlaws you have to worry about, it’s the railroad and the banks and them politicians.” Two Ponies spat a stream of tobacco to the brown soil.

“Maybe, but it also means Johnny doesn’t have to grow up wearing a gun for protection. By the way, thanks for watching him while I went into town.”

Pete waved a gnarled hand. “Nothing else for an old Injun to do but watch the young’uns growin’ up to take their place.”

Kit ignored his standard gloom and doom. “Has Charlie been working with the yearlings this morning?”

Pete nodded. “Looks like you’ll be havin’ some more of them gray men comin’ here and lookin’ you over.”

“Those ‘gray men’ are businessmen, and they’re looking over my
horses
.”

“In my day, you woulda been married and borne a whole lot of papooses by now.”

“In your day, I’d have lost my scalp to an overzealous warrior,” Kit shot back with a grin.

“It wouldn’t have been your scalp you’da lost.” Pete Two Ponies winked and turned to walk away with an arthritic gait.

Watching his departure, Kit shook her head fondly. Pete had shown up two days after she’d bought the ranch, and he came and went as he pleased. She respected his privacy, and through the years a friendship had grown between them.

Kit brought her attention back to her son. “Have you fed the animals yet?”

Johnny shook his head. “Me and Pete were just getting to it.”

“Pete and I,” Kit corrected automatically. “How about you and I go take care of them?”

“Okay.”

With Toby dancing at his heels, Johnny skipped ahead to the smaller of the two barns. Kit followed, her disappointment with Jake Cordell evaporating beneath the tranquillity of her home. Toby lay on the ground outside the shed, waiting patiently for Johnny to come back out. Inside the building, Kit spotted Johnny on his knees in front of the first cage.

“Looks like Jasper’s getting better. He’s standing up,” Johnny said, his voice low so he wouldn’t disturb the injured raccoon.

Kit joined him and leaned over to peer inside. She smiled, laying her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “He does look better. You’ve done a good job caring for him.”

Johnny turned, grinning up at her. “Remember how he was at first? He wouldn’t let me get near him.”

“And you got him to trust you.”

“Can I keep him even after he’s all healed?”

Kit knelt beside him and shook her head. “It wouldn’t be right, sweetheart. Jasper’s a wild animal. He’d be sad locked away in a small cage. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

Johnny was silent for a moment. “What about Satan? He was wild.”

Kit stared at Jasper’s bandaged leg a moment, trying to come up with an explanation of why the stallion was different. “That’s true, but horses are meant to be tamed and used by people, just like cattle. But Jasper and all his friends weren’t. They belong in the wild.”

“I guess so,” Johnny said reluctantly. He got to his feet and fed and watered the creatures in the five cages. Besides Jasper, there were two rabbits, a squirrel, two
kittens who’d been orphaned, and a possum who’d been cut by a tin can.

While Johnny carried out his tasks, Kit went to the house to retrieve two baby bottles filled with milk. She passed one to Johnny and kept the other.

Opening the wire door of the kittens’ pen, she lifted one of the young animals off the cloth-covered floor and gave it to her son. Taking the other one in her palm, she sat beside Johnny on a wooden bench.

Kit glanced at him, noting how he gently cradled the kitten in his lap. She’d known ever since he was an infant that he had an affinity with animals. Johnny had been less than a year old when she’d found Toby, a starving young puppy in Chaney. She’d brought him home to care for, and from the moment they’d set eyes on one another, her son and the gawky hound dog had been inseparable.

The peace and quiet in the barn usually soothed Kit, but her meeting with Mr. Mundy had left her troubled. If she hadn’t taken a second mortgage out on the ranch to purchase some mares, the loan would’ve been paid in full. But she’d taken the risk, and now she might lose everything she’d worked for.

“Can we keep them, Ma?” Johnny asked, startling Kit out of her somber thoughts. “Salty and Pepper aren’t wild.” He turned his wide, pleading brown eyes to her. “Can I, Ma? Please?”

She lifted Pepper, the black kitten, to her cheek, its soft fur tickling her skin. “I don’t see why not.”

Johnny’s wide grin sent a shaft of brilliant sunlight to her heart. “Thanks.”

She swallowed the fragile emotion. If only the ranch were that easy to keep.

After putting the drowsy kittens back in their cage, Kit and Johnny went outside. Toby met them at the door.

“Race you to the house,” Johnny challenged Kit.

For a moment, she wondered what the townsfolk would think if they saw her running across the yard for the sole purpose of having fun. It would definitely be an interesting addition to the rest of the rumors circulating about the eccentric Kit Thornton.

“You’re on,” Kit replied, and broke into a long-legged stride.

Johnny streaked past her and Kit took off after him. She laughed at the sheer folly of it and caught up with her son. Side by side, with Toby barking excitedly beside them, Kit and Johnny raced across the bare yard, their breath coming out in white wisps. Falling back a few feet, Kit allowed him to beat her to the porch. She bent over at the waist to breathe in deep draughts of air.

“Looks like you beat me this time,” she gasped.

Johnny nodded jubilantly. “Maybe next time, Ma.”

Kit glanced at her son. In that instant she saw his father’s face, and dread gripped her heart. If Jake found out about Johnny, he might try to take him away from her. She blinked back moisture in her eyes. He had no right to Johnny. He hadn’t nursed Johnny through the chicken pox, or patched him up when he hurt himself. Johnny was
her
son, and nobody, not even his father, would ever take him away from her.

The following morning, after having slept fourteen hours straight, Jake gazed at his image in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes peered back accusingly. His pallid complexion was colored only by slightly ruddy cheeks covered with dark bristles. Scooping up cool water in his cupped palms, he washed his face, then shaved with an unsteady hand.

He glanced around and was surprised to find his saddlebags and rifle sitting on the chair. He didn’t remember retrieving them. Tugging on a clean set of clothes, he left the room.

“Good morning, Mr. Cordell.”

Freda Finster was placing two settings of silverware on the dining room table.

“Morning, Mrs. Finster.”

“Feeling better, you are?”

“Hell—heckuva lot better, thanks,” Jake replied. “Who brought my saddlebags and rifle in?”

“Sergeant O’Hara.” She turned toward the kitchen. “Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes.”

Jake followed her into the oven-warmed room and sniffed appreciatively at fresh coffee and baking bread.

“If some coffee you would like, there is a fresh pot,” Freda said.

Jake flashed her one of his most charming smiles. “That sounds real good, Mrs. Finster.”

She poured him a cup and handed it to him.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You are welcome. Now sit down by the table and drink it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He did as she ordered, lowering himself to a sturdy wooden chair. The hot brew was strong, just the way he liked it.

He glanced at Freda and caught her studying him. “What is it? Did I forget to wash my face? Or maybe you want to check behind my ears?”

She almost smiled. “No. I was only thinking that you might not be as bad as I had thought.”

Feeling like he was back in short pants and his teacher Miss Evans had scolded him, Jake squirmed in his chair. “I guess I owe you an apology for the way I acted yesterday.”

Freda laughed, startling him, and bringing a reluctant grin to his lips. “That was not so hard, was it?”

“I never was too good at saying I was sorry,” Jake said with a sheepish grin.

“Why Kit helped you, now I understand,” she commented, as she stirred cooking oats.

Puzzled as to why a woman he didn’t even know would go out of her way to help him, he asked, “Why’s that?”

“She knew there was good in you. Sees things, she does, that other people do not even notice.”

He shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t like anybody reading him too well, because then they expected something from him. And he’d long ago given up trying to live up to others’ expectations. “Who is this Kit, anyhow?”

Freda paused. “When I came here four years ago, I had just lost my Hans. He left me with only a few dollars. Here I was, new to this America and all alone. Kit, she introduces herself and knowing nothing about me, helps me buy this house and start a bakery. Without her, I do not know what I would have done.”

Jake digested the information. “Did you say she’s lived in Chaney all her life?”

A frown furrowed her brow. “That’s right. Yet some people in this town approve of her not.”

“What do you mean?”

“Kit is not like other people. She…” Freda puckered her lips as if searching for the right words. “Those who need, she helps. Color of their skin or what language they speak, she cares not. And it is not just people but animals she takes in and cares for. Most in this town do not understand her, so they make up horrible things about her. Kit pretends she does not care, but it hurts her.”

He searched his memory, trying to remember a girl named Kit. Hadn’t she said she’d known a Jake Cordell a long time ago? Usually he had no trouble remembering a pretty woman, and Kit definitely was someone he
should’ve had no trouble recalling. He shrugged aside his musings.

“Would you happen to know of any offices in town that I might be able to rent?” Jake asked.

“A room above the doctor’s office, there is. Dr. Lewis is looking for someone to rent it.”

“So old Doc Haney isn’t here anymore, huh?”

“No. Such a terrible thing. Late one night he fell in a horse trough and drowned.”

Jake shook his head in a mixture of amusement and pity. “Probably drunk again. I’ll talk to Dr. Lewis later.”

“Are you planning on staying in Chaney?”

“For now.”

“What about your family?”

“My father’s dead. My mother lives back East.” Jake quelled the familiar hurt with a forced nonchalance. “She didn’t like living in the middle of nowhere.”

Freda’s hazel eyes clouded with sympathy, but she didn’t comment. “Breakfast is ready.” She motioned to a plate piled with biscuits and a bowl filled with gravy. “Could you bring those?”

Jake picked them up and followed Freda into the dining room.

She sat at the head of the table while Jake took the seat to her right. Filling his plate, he hoped the food tasted as good as it smelled. The first mouthful told him it tasted better.

Finishing breakfast, he wiped his mouth with a napkin and pushed back his plate. “That hit the spot, especially those biscuits. Thanks, Mrs. Finster.”