A Good Man for Katie (25 page)

“Walter adores you, as well,” Laurel told her, the love for her son evident in her soft brown eyes. “He’s always talking about what Miss Kate taught him in school.”

“I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have teach my boys, Kate,” Abigail chimed in. “Not only are they learning arithmetic and history, reading and writing, but they’re becoming little gentlemen as well. You do have a way of instilling a love of learning in them.”

“Thank you.” Kathryne’s eyes misted with unshed tears and a lump rose to her throat once more. She glanced at Emeline, who grinned at her.

“Since most of us are here,” Abigail said as she took a bite of cake. “Let’s talk about the Christmas Dance. It’ll be here before we know it.” She pinned Kathryne with her gaze. “You’ll be on the committee, won’t you, Kate?”

“Oh, yes, please say you will.” Laurel clapped her hands, excitement making her eyes sparkle. “It’s a lovely night. Music and dancing. We decorate the town hall—”

The bell jingled over the door as Francine Maitland strode into the Wagon Wheel, silencing Laurel’s statement. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, but it was her red-rimmed eyes that drew Kathryne’s attention. She nodded toward Edna, but didn’t pause in her quick pace across the restaurant, her intention clear.

Tears shimmered in her eyes as she reached for Kathryne’s hand. “My son, as well as you and the ladies have given me much to think about and…and you were right. I’ve been unfair to both you and Mr. Hunter.” She drew in a deep breath, her face flushing to the tips of her ears. “I am ashamed of my behavior and I hope you can accept my apology, Kate.”

“Thank you, Francine,” Kathryne sighed as she drew the woman into her embrace, realizing that it hadn’t been easy for her to admit she’d been wrong. “I accept your apology.” She released Francine and grabbed an empty chair from a nearby table. “We were just discussing the Christmas Dance. Won’t you please join us?”

Kathryne caught Emeline’s wink as several of the women made room at the table for Francine. She knew her sister had been instrumental in changing Francine’s mind as well as her attitude. She realized the debt of gratitude she owed Emeline could never be repaid, but she would try until she took her last breath.

Chapter Sixteen

Riley’s did a spirited business on this Saturday evening, which wasn’t unusual. As the only saloon in town, Chase knew men from all walks of life stopped in now and then to drink away their sorrows, listen to the tinny piano, play games of chance or take one of the girls upstairs for a quick tumble.

Sheriff Townsend was no different. He frequented Riley’s so often, he had his own felt-covered table, his luck with cards a legend in Crystal Springs. A charming grin spread across the Sheriff’s face now as he clamped a cigar between his teeth and added to the pile of winnings in front of him, taking the money from Oren Jessup, George Maitland, Lucas Cabot, and surprisingly, Ephraim Jacobs.

Chase sat in a dark, smoky corner beside one of the few windows and nursed a beer, but even as he watched Townsend shuffle and deal the cards like an expert, his thoughts turned to Kathryne. He hadn’t seen her in over a week, hadn’t talked to her, hadn’t felt the warmth of her touch since Edna had told him about Francine Maitland trying to fire her from her position because of Shep. And himself. Edna also told him about the children demanding that she stay, which warmed his heart. She’d done something good for the children of this town, but his presence, his association with her, would only cause her more trouble. That was the last thing he wanted.

He’d never been in love before. And he did love Katie O’Rourke, with a passion that surprised and stunned him, left him gasping for air. More than her beauty, the pure goodness of her nature attracted him. That’s not to say she couldn’t frustrate him, because she could…and did. The woman had a knack for finding trouble, but when she gazed at him with her brandy-colored eyes, he could forgive her anything.

Despite his loneliness, despite his love for her, he’d made a decision. As much as the thought pained him, he had to stay away from Kathryne. He missed seeing her though, missed the warm friendship they’d developed, missed her tender soothing touch. Making love to her had been soul shattering. It made him yearn to hold her in his arms for the rest of his life, though the realization frightened him to the core.

The batwing doors parted, jarring him out of his thoughts. Chase stiffened, every nerve in his body alert and on edge. Even out of uniform, he recognized Corporal Vance Henry.

“What the hell is he doing here?” he muttered as he slid deeper into the shadows. From his vantage point, he saw Henry give a slight nod toward the sheriff, who gestured toward the second floor of the saloon. Corporal Henry stood in the entrance of the bar for a moment longer, his eyes darting around the barroom, guarded and leery, his posture rigid, before he headed upstairs.

A few raises and a call later, Townsend sighed with satisfaction and tossed his cards on the table, showing four aces and a king. “That’s it for me, gentlemen. I think I’ve taken enough of your money.” He grinned as he signaled to Ruby, one of the serving girls, and gestured toward the upstairs rooms.

Several of the men around his table groaned as Townsend stood and stuffed his winnings into his pocket. “Better luck next time.” He winked, then grabbed a half-empty bottle of whiskey, and strode upstairs. Ruby followed, though judging by her slow step, she wasn’t anxious to spend any time with the sheriff.

As Chase watched the stairs, waiting for their return, questions rumbled through his mind.
Henry and Townsend know each other?
That much was evident in the way they greeted each other without saying a word. The slight nod had been all it had taken for Townsend to throw down his cards.
What is Henry doing here?
What are they up to?

A short time later, Ruby patted her flaming red hair in place as she walked down the stairs. Alone. Her eyes flickered warily around the barroom as she stepped off the last riser and headed toward the long cherry wood bar spanning the length of the wall.

Chase straightened in his chair, muscles taut, brow furrowed as Ruby picked up a bottle of whiskey and began pouring drinks. He returned to watching the stairs. A minute passed, then five, then fifteen. Neither man made an appearance. With each tick of the clock, Chase grew more anxious. The urge to run upstairs and barge into every room overwhelmed him, but he forced himself to remain in his seat.

Footsteps and low voices on the stairs outside his window drew his attention. Chase peered through the dirty glass. He sucked in his breath as his heart rate picked up its pace and thundered in his chest. Moonlight illuminated the tall, lanky frame of Townsend and the much shorter, rounder profile of his companion as they descended the staircase.

“Son of a—” Chase was out of his chair, through the batwing doors, and in the street in a flash though he kept to the shadows and watched the two men as he slipped into his coat. He assumed they were heading toward the sheriff’s office, but he erred in his conclusion as Townsend and Henry walked past the office, past the little house where Townsend lived, and continued up the hill, their passage marked in the snow still covering the ground.

His breath coming out in clouds of white vapor, Chase followed them, though at a distance. Surprise mixed with concern when they disappeared inside the schoolhouse. He glanced at Kathryne’s cottage. The soft glow of lamplight spilled from behind the draperies at the window, but he saw no movement. He wondered briefly if she sat in her favorite chair before the fire, a book open on her lap as she read one of the adventure stories she enjoyed. He could picture her, the firelight gleaming off her chestnut hair, bringing out the highlights of red and gold in the silken tresses, her legs tucked beneath her firm round bottom, slippers on the floor in front of her. He pictured Sarge, too, sprawled out in front of the fireplace.

He shook his head. He shouldn’t be thinking about Kathryne at all, should be keeping his wits about him. He peeked into the window then, as quietly as he could, let himself into the schoolhouse, taking care that his boot heels made no noise. No sounds met his ears. The coatroom was empty, but moonlight coming in through the window illuminated wet footprints on the floor, leading toward the trapdoor he and Kathryne had found.

Townsend and Henry had descended into the tunnel.

Where are they going? To the road above Dead Man’s Drop? Somewhere else?

Chase grabbed the lantern from the wall, but didn’t light it. He strode across the floor and held his breath as he stuck his finger into the knothole to lift the floor panel. No light shined from within the dark confines of the passageway, no voices. No one waiting to jump him, either.

Placing the lantern on the floor, he lowered himself into the utter darkness. Despite the warmth of his coat, goose bumps pebbled his flesh as a cold sweat dampened his back and yet, he persevered. Finding out where Townsend and Henry were going became more important than the feeling the walls were closing in on him. He took a deep breath, then another, then reached for the lantern and pulled the floorboards back into place.

For a moment, he stood with his back pressed against the tunnel wall to get his bearings, to allow his eyes to adjust. It didn’t help—he couldn’t even see his hand in front of his face. Silence permeated the passageway so completely he could hear the erratic pounding of his own heart, but he didn’t light the lantern just in case Townsend knew he followed and lay in wait. He took another breath, hoping to calm the irrational fear sweeping through him, and started walking, his hand skimming along the dirt wall to keep his balance and stability.

In time, although how much time, he didn’t know, Chase came to the place where the tunnels branched off. He stood motionless, straining his ears for any sound, undecided on which way to go. Darkness smothered him, made the hair at the back of his neck stand straight up, made his palms damp as he listened for the smallest noise, a clue to which direction Townsend and Henry had taken. Low-pitched voices came from his left and the smaller passageway. He peered into the darkness and saw the faint glow of lantern light coming from far ahead.

He followed the bouncing light at a discreet distance, his hand still pressed against the side of the cave until the soft glow ahead of him disappeared from view. He no longer heard voices either. He cursed beneath his breath and fumbled in his pocket, looking for the small silver box of matches he always carried.

The flare of the match nearly blinded him, but his eyes adjusted quickly once he lit the lantern and turned the wick to chase away the suffocating blackness around him.

What kind of fool am I?
The question popped in his head as he continued on his way.
No one knows I’m here.
The thought he could meet the end of his life in this dark, underground passage rippled through his mind. The knowledge did not stop his progress.

The floor slanted downward then upward, the earth hard packed. The walls of the tunnel here were dirt and definitely manmade, wide enough for three people to walk side by side. Thick wooden rafters framed the sides and ceiling. He wondered, briefly, who had dug the passageway and why, but didn’t have time to speculate as the light from his lantern illuminated a wooden door.

Chase pressed his ear to the wood. He heard horses moving about and assumed the space behind the door connected to a stable. No voices met his ears. He took a deep breath and pushed. Well-oiled, the portal opened easily, without a sound. He raised his lantern higher, casting light on harnesses and bridles dangling from the ceiling, and saddles and blankets straddling wooden sawhorses. He recognized a tack room when he saw one, but couldn’t begin to guess on which ranch.

There were several spreads in the area, but having been beneath the ground in a twisting turning tunnel, his sense of direction had become skewed. He couldn’t tell north from south, east from west, although when he started following Townsend and Henry, his direction had been west, that much he knew. The only ranches west of Crystal Springs were Twisted River and Willow Creek.

He glanced around in an effort to get his bearings and noticed another exit in the small room. He extinguished the lantern, placed it on the floor, and crossed the wooden boards as quietly as he could. The last thing he needed was to spook the horses in the attached stable and bring someone to investigate.

Chase held his breath as he eased the door open a bit and peered through the crack. Smoke rose from chimneys and stove pipes of the buildings clustered straight ahead of him. He heard men talking and laughing among themselves as they settled in for the night in their warm, cozy bunkhouses, heard the shuffling of horses in their stalls, but he didn’t see anyone walking about.

He pushed the door open a little wider and sucked in his breath as the main house came into view.
I’ll be damned. I’m on Willow Creek.

He’d only been here once before. Cassandra Kinsbrough had summoned him to offer a job. One look at her face that long ago day and he had known being her hired gun wouldn’t have been his only task. Widow Kinsbrough had been looking for more than protection—she’d been looking for someone to warm her bed. She hadn’t been pleased when he refused both offers.

A silhouette passed before the closed draperies in the main house, the figure that of a woman, her long skirts swaying about her as she paced. The parlor, if he recalled correctly, the same place where Cassandra Kinsbrough had made her offer.

Chase left the tack room and hurried across the compound, careful to stay in the shadows. His breath plumed in front of him, frosty white, yet sweat beaded on his forehead. Snow crunched beneath his feet and several times, he stopped to listen, afraid his presence had been noticed. If that happened, his grave would never be found—he’d never see Katie again, never know for certain that Townsend had murdered his brother.

He sucked in his breath and held it as he crept beside the house and peered in the window through the slit where the draperies didn’t quite meet. Both Townsend and Henry relaxed in high-backed chairs, cigars clamped between teeth, snifters of brandy in their hands as the Widow Kinsbrough marched back and forth in front of them.