He stood like an errant knight at the base of the stairs, washed in light, framed by darkness, a solitary soldier that fought for all that was right.
It was fanciful, Katelyn knew, but she’d been wrong. Dillon hadn’t hunted the stallion, and the power of it left her trembling. Her chest filled. Her eyes burned.
She’d been mean to him. Again! Remembering his fumbling attempt to speak to her in this kitchen, and how she’d expected the worst of him, she covered her mouth with her hands. She’d been wrong. She’d been wrong about the stallion. What about the man?
“No, Willman,” Hennessey was saying, his rage a controlled, quiet warning. “Not for all the money you could beg, borrow or steal to pay me. It’s time to end our business.”
Cal’s swearing tirade made Katelyn wince, but it didn’t seem to intimidate Dillon. He did not shrink or cower, but faced Cal with confidence.
“If you can’t find the greenbacks, I will take my salary in trade. I’ve got my eye on three of your broodmares. I’ll be happy with that.”
“Why you greedy bastard. You take those horses, that’s theft, and I’ll have a noose hanging around your neck. We still hang horse thieves in this county.”
“Taking what you owe me isn’t theft. Any jury will agree.”
“Who needs a jury? You’ll do the job I paid you to do.”
“Then pay me what you owe me, or I’ll make you get out that noose. You’re not man enough to get it around my neck.”
“Fine. I’ll be rid of you, but that won’t save the stallion.” Cal stormed down the stairs and pushed past the horseman, knocked him hard in the shoulder as he passed.
Hennessey didn’t move. The blow didn’t register. He stood like a granite mountain, as if nothing could harm him.
He was the only man she’d ever known who would stand up to her stepfather.
A door squeaked open at the far end of the hall. Not the door to the library, where her stepfather’s safe was hidden, but her bedroom door.
No, not the jewelry. Horror filled her as the air was pulled from her lungs. Her hands flew to her throat as she gaped, fighting to breathe. Her plans died before her eyes as her stepfather approached, holding something that winked and glittered in his outstretched hand.
“Here. Take it. It’s all I have. It ought to be worth a few hundred. A drifter like you couldn’t be worth more.”
“I’m not interested in a lady’s jewelry. I told you, I want greenbacks, or I’ll take the mares. It’s your call.”
Katelyn sank to the floor, her face in her hands. This couldn’t be happening. How could she have forgotten to move the jewelry? It was because of him, the horseman. He’d been the sight that drew her from the room, making her forget everything but him. It wasn’t fair. Not after all she’d been through.
“I can’t let you have the mares, Hennessey. They are all that’s keeping me solvent. If I had the money in hand, I’d pay you.” Cal closed his fist, crushing the necklace in his cruel hand. “I have a fine house, with many treasures here. Surely I have something you might want?”
“I have no use for a fancy painting or expensive candlesticks. You have until morning to come up with the greenbacks, or I’ll take this matter to the sheriff.”
“No, wait. There is something you can have. I know you want her. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”
Katelyn’s hands slid from her face. Her head jerked up, seeing at the same time the cruel triumph curling Cal’s upper lip and the horror on the horseman’s.
“You would sell me your daughter?”
“She’s my stepdaughter and of no use to me. Take her. She cooks, she cleans, she’ll warm your bed. Surely that’s worth three hundred dollars.”
Chapter Five
Dillon couldn’t believe it. Was he hearing the man right? Or imagining it? Men didn’t sell their daughters.
Not good men, he amended. It hadn’t been the first time he’d seen such a thing. From penniless farmers to gamblers desperate to stay in a poker game, he’d seen it. “Are you really that low of a bastard?”
“At least I’m not a worthless drifter. Take her and go.” Willman gathered up what remained of his dignity, shoved the string of gold and diamonds into the pocket of his fine black-striped house robe and disappeared up the stairs.
I despise that man. Dillon jammed his brim low, pivoted to face the door and caught the faint shadow of her face through the dark kitchen. He’d forgotten she was there, that she’d heard everything.
He stopped, torn. Did he go to her? And if he did, did he reassure her? Or offer the one thing he knew she wanted, the chance to escape this house?
And if he did, why would she want the likes of him? As soon as she was well, he had no doubt there’d be men knocking at the door. Gussied up in their Sunday best, with their hair slicked back and their manners in place for the chance to court lovely Katelyn.
He heard a whisper of fabric, the hush of a footstep, and she was gone. Somewhere in the back of the house a floorboard groaned beneath her weight. She was going pretty fast. Guess that’s your answer, Hennessey. She doesn’t want the likes of you.
Fine. He’d wait until morning to settle the matter. He wasn’t about to treat a woman like goods to be bartered. Except it sure would be something to have a wife.
Then you’d have to talk to her. Kiss her. Figure out what to say at the supper table. He may as well try to jump to the moon. His few attempts at conversation with Katelyn had to make her think he was a bumbling fool.
And now, the sort of man who would buy her.
It just went to prove his philosophy in life. The problem wasn’t with the horses but with the owners. Every single dad-blame time. The longer he was at this, the crazier it seemed folks were.
Maybe it was time to settle down. He’d been thinking of it hard on and off over the past year. Missing the land he owned. Missing a sense of permanence.
Reason he traveled was because he had no one to anchor him. No woman of his own. A house was mighty lonely day and night without end, to a bachelor too shy of women to court one.
He wouldn’t have to court Katelyn, he reasoned. She’d be already his.
Don’t even consider it. Buying a wife. What sort of a man did such a thing?
What would she think of that?
Remembering the ghostly shadow of her face in the kitchen, how she’d seemed so withdrawn, pulled in on herself. It was a purely protective stance, he knew. A deep wounding.
No, she wasn’t about to trust another man so easily. And a man who worked with his hands for a living? It was crazy thinking, that’s what it was, and he’d do best to figure out where he was headed next. And which mares he wanted, since Cal Willman was too financially troubled to come up with a few hundred bucks, the bastard.
The night had turned brutal. Sharp chunks of snow punched from a hostile sky as he waded through the accumulation. Frigid air speared through the layers of wool he wore to freeze against his skin beneath, but he was too damn het up to let it bother him. His breath rose in great puffs.
Anger built with every step he took, a rage he fought to control. What a pompous, heartless son of a bitch to think he could barter a grown woman like a broodmare in his paddock.
Ned appeared out of the blackness, sidestepping his gelding to get the hell out of the way. “Whoa, what put you in a fightin’ mood?”
What had happened in that house