A Good Man for Katie (17 page)

Oh, such a kiss!

If this is wrong, then so be it!
Kathryne melted into him, her body pressing against his, her hands snaking around his neck, drawing him closer still. His kiss deepened, his lips sliding over hers, his tongue exploring the recesses of her mouth. Heat flared in her veins, molten honey warming her from the inside out. The strange quiver in her belly every time he came near exploded, sending a shudder of pure pleasure up her spine.

He pulled away, breaking the kiss, leaving her bereft and chilled without his warmth. A flush spread over his face, as if embarrassed he’d let his emotions get out of control. “I should go,” he whispered against her hair then quickly, before he changed his mind, walked out the kitchen door into the darkness of the night.

Kathryne closed and locked the door behind him, then let her pent-up breath escape her and though she still trembled from his touch, she finished washing the dishes, bathed in the brass bathtub hidden in a small room off the kitchen and put on her nightclothes.

She’d never be able to sleep now. Too many thoughts rumbled through her head, her body keyed-up and tense from Chase’s kiss. The warmth of his touch had left an unsatisfied ache burning within.

She made herself a cup of tea then wandered into the parlor. She needed something to do, something to take her mind off the men who watched her, off Chase, who’d left her muscles taut with a yearning she couldn’t deny. Kathryne pushed the trunk near the fireplace, made herself comfortable in her favorite chair, and finally opened the ornate chest that seemed to be in everyone’s way.

Old letters, tied together with a pink ribbon rested on top of a lace and silk wedding dress. There were other things in the chest as well—a small spray of dried flowers, a ticket to a play held at the town hall, folded so often the crease was soft and frayed, a daguerreotype of an older man and woman, but above all, the carved wooden box contained an overwhelming sense of loneliness and foreboding.

Sarge trotted up beside her and stuck his nose into the chest. He sneezed twice then shook his head, sending droplets of water from the drink he’d just taken into the air. “Be a good boy and go lie down.” Obedient as always, he turned in a circle and flopped to the floor, his head resting on her foot.

“What do you think happened to her, Sarge?” The dog whined and gave a small muffled woof. “Even if Amanda Stillwell had eloped, she wouldn’t have left these treasures behind.” She pulled the wedding gown from the trunk and shook it free of wrinkles. “Especially this.” She untied the ribbon holding the letters together and began to read. The letters were from Amanda’s mother in San Francisco and were full of gossipy tidbits of people Amanda must have known well.

Kathryne found herself laughing at Mrs. Stillwell’s words…until the letters took on a more serious tone. Mrs. Stillwell had been very concerned—worried—about the man Amanda had been seeing and her letters reflected as much, especially after the love affair had taken a turn…and not for the better.

By the time Kathryne finished the last letter, she, too, was worried about a woman she’d never met. Amanda had not eloped. And Amanda’s unhappy love affair had been with one of Crystal Creek’s lawmen. But which one? Deputy Montrose, whose fiancé had left town because of his temper or so Edna claimed? Deputy Long? Or the sheriff himself? And if she hadn’t eloped, what happened to her?

Chapter Eleven

“The end,” Kathryne said as she read the very last words of
The Adventures of Oliver Twist
and closed the book. She smiled as her gaze passed over the students in her class. For the past thirty minutes, they’d sat quietly, riveted by Charles Dickens’ words, enthralled by the tale. “Did you all enjoy the story?”

Nods and grins came from the children. If nothing else, perhaps she had sparked a love of the written word for them. Some of her happiest childhood memories revolved around sitting in her favorite chair and getting lost in the pages of a good book.

“Thank you, Mary, for sharing your book.” She walked between the small clusters of desks and handed the novel to Mary. “Now, take this home and put it in a very special place, but don’t just let it sit there gathering dust. Read it again. As often as you like.” She strolled toward the front of the room and her desk. Movement outside the window caught her attention.

He was there again. In the same place he was in yesterday and the day before. Shep Turner. Standing beneath a tree, his intense stare focused on her as he cleaned his fingernails with the tip of his knife. Kathryne took a deep breath and did her best to ignore his presence, but she trembled just the same. She didn’t like him. In all truth, he frightened her. He’d only approached her one other time since that night when he accosted her on the street several weeks ago. He’d been following her as she left the Wagon Wheel but Sarge hadn’t liked the idea. The man had backed off once the dog stepped between them and emitted a menacing growl low in his throat. From that moment, Shep hadn’t come near her again, but he still watched her.

With effort, Kathryne pulled her gaze away from the window. “Does anyone else have a book they’d like to share with the class?”

Paul Maitland raised his hand. “My mother’s favorite story is
Gulliver’s Travels
. She might let me bring it in.”

“That’s a wonderful story. It’s one of my favorites as well. I’ll write a note to your mother. Perhaps she’ll let us borrow it for a while.” Kathryne quickly jotted a message on a piece of paper, folded it and handed it to Paul. “Class dismissed.” The sound of chairs scraping and children talking followed her words.

She stood at the door, Sarge dancing around her skirts as she inspected each child to make sure coats were buttoned. The weather had turned colder in the past few days and the scent of snow hung in the air, but as yet, no snow had fallen. Though only the beginning of November, winter had come to Crystal Springs, necessitating the use of her fireplace at home and the small Ben Franklin stove in the schoolhouse, which someone always had blazing by the time she walked into the schoolhouse each morning.

Walter and Joe were the last two students left in the classroom. “Joe, would you please do me a favor and walk Walter home?” She adjusted the collar of Walter’s coat, bringing the wool closer to his throat.

“Aw, Miss Kate, I don’t need no one to walk me home.” Walter tried to twist away from her. “I’m a big boy. Mama said so.”

Kathryne grinned. She couldn’t help it. He’d become so special to her, as had his mother, and though Shep had not once approached any of the children, she’d feel better knowing Walter wasn’t alone. “Yes, you are, Walter, but I would consider it a special favor if you and Joe walked together.”

She and Joe exchanged glances over the boy’s head.

“Come on, Walter. Maybe we can stop at Graham’s and get some candy.” Joe grinned as he said the words then dug deep in his pocket to pull out a few pennies.

Walter’s face lit up, the freckles adorning his nose more pronounced, his eyes twinkling with the prospect. He took one of the pennies and closed his fingers around it. “Do you think Mr. Graham has peppermint sticks?”

Joe ushered him out the door as he nodded his goodbyes to her. “He did yesterday.”

She folded her arms across her chest against the chill. “Stay out of trouble, boys.”

As Kathryne watched them walk down the path, she marveled at the changes that had come over Joe in the past couple weeks. She couldn’t help wondering what—or who—had inspired them. He’d gone from being a belligerent bully to a boy who was more respectful, more helpful. His grades had improved as well. Part of that, she hoped, might have something to do with her influence and the love she had for teaching.

She grabbed her shawl from the hook beside the door and left the schoolhouse. Sarge pushed his cold, wet nose into her hand. She noticed that his fur was cold too. “Let’s go home, boy.”

The dog ran ahead, as was his habit, but stopped frequently to make sure he could still see her.

“I’m coming, Sarge. Remember, you have four legs whereas I only have two,” she said as the dog doubled back and ran circles around her.

Kathryne started to cross the little bridge between the schoolhouse and the cottage when she felt Shep’s stare boring into her back. She stopped and took a deep breath. If Shep Turner’s intention had been to frighten her, he’d succeeded, but she’d never let him see how much. She turned around. He hadn’t moved from his position beneath the tree, but his stare met hers. And held.

Enough!

She returned her gaze to the dog, who waited patiently on the other side of the bridge, his tail swishing the air around him. “You stay here, Sarge,” she ordered. The dog whined but obeyed the command and sank to his haunches. Kathryne took another deep breath to still the pounding of her heart and strode along the path to where Shep stood.

Despite the wobbliness of her knees, she asked, “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Turner?”

He didn’t say a word, but he shook his head. The knife in his hand glinted as he continued to clean his nails. His gaze rose up to her face. The look in his eyes made her suck in her breath. She took a step back as she tried to maintain her composure, but he’d rattled her, more than she cared to admit.

“Then I would ask you to leave.” Though she wanted to scream at him to stay away from her, she kept her voice level and calm. She could be kind, but still get her point across. She’d already made an enemy of Sheriff Townsend; she couldn’t afford another one. “Please.”

His back came away from the tree trunk but he made no move to touch her. A slight breeze brought his particular aroma of sweat and hair pomade to her nose. Kathryne stilled the desire to turn away. Indeed, it took every ounce of bravado she possessed to remain where she stood when every muscle in her body poised to flee.

“It’s a free country.” He slid the knife into its leather case then folded his arms across his chest. “I can stand anywhere I want. There ain’t no one here to stop me. Hunter ain’t here to protect ya, neither.”

Belligerence and hostility colored his tone and reflected in his stance. He wouldn’t leave, wouldn’t go away. She could report him to the sheriff, but truthfully, he wasn’t doing anything wrong except staring at her. Intimidating her. Harassing her might be a better definition. What else could she call it? Every time she turned around, he seemed to be there.

There had to be another solution to make Shep Turner leave her alone.

They both turned at the sound of the low growl. Kathryne hadn’t noticed that Sarge had silently walked up to her and stood not more than a foot away. His ears were back and the hair along his hackles stood up straight. His tail did not wag, not even the slightest bit. Indeed, nothing in the dog’s stance hinted at friendliness. One wrong move on Shep’s part, and Kathryne had no doubt Sarge would attack him. He could get hurt in the process. She didn’t want that.

A deep flush stained Shep’s face and his lips pressed together in a thin line. He didn’t move, didn’t utter a sound, but his gaze went from Kathryne to the dog next to her. Fear did not shadow in his eyes. Rather, fury flashed within the deep brown depths.

Kathryne snapped her fingers and the dog immediately stepped closer, his big body brushing up against her long skirts. Sharp white teeth were revealed as the growling continued and grew in intensity.

“I think you should leave.” Her gaze met and held his. “He’s never bitten anyone before, but there’s always a first time.” She grabbed the yellow kerchief around the dog’s neck, more for her own comfort than to control him.

Shep glanced at the dog then back at her once more. Without conscious thought, Kathryne retreated another step on legs that felt like soft butter instead of flesh and bone. Her breath seized in her lungs as he smiled—grinned actually.

He muttered something about the dog not being around all the time as he marched away. To Kathryne, the words sounded like a threat. She watched him disappear into the trees, but didn’t move, didn’t release the kerchief around Sarge’s neck until she could no longer see him.

The breath left her lungs in a whoosh as the trembling in her body increased almost violently. “You’re a good boy, Sarge, but he’s right. You may not be here the next time he comes around,” she said as she came to a decision. If the sheriff couldn’t force Shep to stay away from her, then perhaps his employer could.

They walked toward the cottage—or rather, Kathryne walked while Sarge ran circles around her and passed through the gate she’d left open earlier in the day.

“Now you stay here. I mean it.” She closed the white picket gate, trapping Sarge inside the yard. “Don’t follow me.” The dog whined and stood on his hind legs, his front paws resting on the wooden slats that formed the gate. His tail wagged and his tongue hung out the side of his mouth. He barked at her but stayed behind the gate as Kathryne moved away. Twice, she turned around to make sure Sarge didn’t jump the fence and follow.

She strode past the sheriff’s office and thought about letting Townsend know Shep was harassing her, but decided against it. Townsend wouldn’t do anything about it. He hadn’t done anything when she reported being accosted by the Willow Creek boys. Indeed, the opposite had happened. Instead of staying away from her, Shep had made it almost a game to let her know he could and would approach her at any time. Without fear of repercussion.

Kathryne went into Jacobs’s Blacksmith and Livery to the rhythmic pounding of metal on metal as Mr. Jacobs shaped a horseshoe on an anvil. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Indeed, sweat formed rings beneath his arms and wet patches on the back of his shirt despite the chill outside the building that made her wrap her shawl tighter against her shoulders.

She waited until the hammering stopped then drew his attention. “Mr. Jacobs, do you have a horse I can rent?”

Ephraim Jacobs plunged the glowing horseshoe into a bucket of water using long tongs. The metal hissed and popped as steam rose. “Of course.” He pointed to a beautiful bay with a white patch on his nose munching hay in the corner. “Old Blue will do nicely for you, I think.” He dropped the tongs on the bench beside the bucket then wiped his hands on a rag. “I’ll saddle him up for you.”