Love Inspired Historical June 2014 Bundle: Lone Star Heiress\The Lawman's Oklahoma Sweetheart\The Gentleman's Bride Search\Family on the Range (36 page)

Clint thought about arguing the point, but this was Lije—he was too smart about these kinds of things. While it made him a wonderful pastor, it made him an insufferable brother some days. “It don't matter none.”

“It does.”

Clint wanted to take his brother by the shoulders and yell, “Lars will be home soon and we can all go back to our peaceful lives!” But even as his mind held the thought, he knew it for the lie it was. Lars could come home a dozen times over and some things could never go back to being the way they were.

“How's Mrs. Murphy's ginger cake today?” Clint's attempt at changing the subject was as futile as it was ridiculous.

Lije sat back on one hip on the porch rail and narrowed his eyes at his brother.
Really?
his glare seemed to say. “I wouldn't know.”

Clint put his hand on his office door, still open from the escapade with Martin. “Perhaps you should go bring some home to Alice.” He waved a falsely cheerful goodbye. “She likes that sort of thing, don't she? It'd be a
husbandly
sort of thing to do.” He gave the word a not-so-gentle emphasis that he hoped translated to
Perhaps you should clear off my office porch and not sermon me on how I handle my affairs.

Just as he feared, Lije followed him back inside. “You know, Gideon just got through telling me his new black is the most stubborn soul in Brave Rock. I need to go on back there and tell him he's wrong. I think that honor goes to our esteemed sheriff.”

“I'm just being realistic, Lije. I know that comes hard to your type, but—”

“You're being foolish. There. I said it. For a man who claims to be so observant, you can't see the truth when it's so close to your eyes it could bite you in the nose.”

Oh, it bites, I tell you. Hard and sharp and right at the place under my ribs
. Clint pointed a finger at his brother. “Lije, I'm only going to say this one more time...”

Lije surprised him by pointing a finger right back. “Don't you shut her out, Clint. Don't you be cold to her now when she's all alone like this. She needs you. Land sakes, you might even need her more, if you'd just be man enough to admit it.” With that, Lije pushed through the door and slammed it shut behind him.

Clint stared at the door. Since the sheriff's office had been built in Brave Rock, his own kin had never slammed the door at him like that. He didn't much care for the way it felt. Not one bit.

Chapter Thirteen

K
atrine hadn't spoken to Clint since he'd barked at her outside his office this morning. He was right, of course. It had been a foolish risk to leave that note on his desk, but the truth was she had been relieved to find him out of the office. She lacked the courage to hand it to him face-to-face, even if he couldn't read the contents.
I should have waited and given it to Winona.
It seemed as if every ounce of patience she possessed had fled her lately.

Even her sewing irked her, going as slow as molasses. While the seams and waistband of her first new skirt whipped up quickly with the help of Evelyn's amazing stitching machine, the tedious yards of hemming on her blouse sleeves and second skirt seemed to try her strained nerves. Even outside, as she perched on a bench under the large tree that sat next to Elijah and Alice's house, the yards of fabric seemed to take too long to hand sew.

The bench had become her favorite place to be, for sewing wasn't the only thing that tried her patience. Katrine had grown weary of her nights on the cot in the back of the clinic and her days in Reverend Thornton's home. Pleasant as the cozy space was, it had begun to feel confining.
Newlyweds ought to be left alone,
she thought to herself,
not playing host to homeless neighbors
.

Knotting off the end of another thread, Katrine looked up to see Clint walking toward her. He looked as weary as she felt. Their last encounter had clearly weighed as heavily on him as it had on her.

He sat down on a stump opposite the bench. “I apologize for being so short with you this morning. I was worried, but that was no reason to take it out on you.”

“It was not wise to leave that note out as I did.”

He took off his hat and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can hardly expect you to think like a lawman, especially given the circumstances. You did no real harm. To make it up to you, I made sure Winona took the letter to him this afternoon.”

The letter was in Lars's hands. He knew now. The fact set off a storm of butterflies in her stomach and she hid her eyes in her sewing rather than look at Clint. No one knew what she felt for him, of course, not even Lars—but yet she felt exposed and fragile.

Clint picked up on her reaction. “You still look upset. Missing home?”

She sighed and dropped the stitching to her lap. “I try not to think of it, but some days I feel lost. Homeless.” Her hand went to Lars's watch where it hung around her neck. “They are...were just things, but...”

“All this is about to be over, Katrine. You'll not have to bear up much longer, I promise you that.”

There was a seriousness in his voice. “Over?”

“Tonight, actually. It's why I was so short with you. I've got a lot on my mind. And a fair bit to do before sundown.”

She dared a look into his eyes, sure there was something he was not telling her. “And this means...?”

He stepped closer, leaning in toward her so as to speak softly and not be overheard. Heavens, but it made her skittish to have him so close. He'd not been so near since she'd written that letter, and it made her heart gallop just to have him nearby. Even though they were not spoken to him, her words in that letter had been a declaration of sorts. They had changed everything, without changing anything.

Clint looked at her for a long moment before speaking, and she knew he was deciding how much to tell her. His looks could steal her breath lately. She could read these things in his eyes now, see his doubts, his worries and the things that pleased him more than he would say aloud. “It means,” he said as he picked his words carefully, “that tonight I will arrest Samuel McGraw. All the Black Four, actually.”

She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly going dry. Tonight. Tonight would bring Lars home. “That is a good thing,
ja?
That is what we have been waiting for.”

“Katrine.” The expression in his eyes was half tender, half pained. The deep sound of his voice saying her name made her clutch at the cloth in her hands. “I don't expect these men to go quietly. It might not...go smooth.”

“There are dangers.” She'd known that all along, but they seemed all too real just now. It had always been about justice, but now it was about putting people she cared about in harm's way.

“They're going after Chaucer land tonight, and the Chaucers aren't taking the warning as serious as I'd hoped.”

He saw that as a failure—she could read the regret clearly in his eyes. “You tried to warn them.”

“And I'll try again. But even that won't change the fact that there'll be a fight. If I succeed, not much of one. But if I don't...well, it could get nasty.”

“I know.” She said the words, but she didn't really mean them. She didn't have any real idea what these men were capable of. She only knew how much she wanted all this to end. How much she wanted Lars to come home and all this watching and worrying to go away.

Clint shifted his weight the way he did when saying something he didn't care to say. “Katrine, you ought to know that I'm going to tell the Chaucers that Lars is alive and that he will come out of hiding tonight. It's the only way I can see to end this. We're out of time. I want to think those Chaucer men are smart enough to heed my warning when they see Lars coming, but it also means Lars will be in the thick of it.”

“You must do whatever it takes,” she said, seeing the frustration in his eyes. “You are the sheriff.” She wondered for a split second if somehow Lars had guessed her heart and said something to Clint. Did he know? Was that why he'd come to tell her these things? The thought made her feel twice as pinned by his powerful eyes, every feeling she'd written to Lars roaring up stronger than ever.

Clint could be killed tonight. The startling thought grabbed her like a hand around her throat. If he didn't know how she felt, he could die without ever knowing. For that matter, Lars could be killed tonight. “I will pray all day and night that justice is done tonight and good men are not harmed.”

She could not go so far as to say she'd pray for him, and that felt cowardly. Here Clint was risking his life for the sake of justice, for the sake of peace in Brave Rock, and she could not risk her heart in what might be his final hours. The admission made her feel small and damaged, a mistake of justice rather than its champion as Clint was. She had no claim on this honorable lawman, nor could she. There was one thing she could do, though, one thing that absolutely could not go unsaid. She reached out and touched his arm. “Thank you, Clint. For everything.” She meant so much more than those measly words, but her fright and his nearness tangled her tongue.

Something that might have been regret darkened his eyes. “I was just doing my job.”

“No, it was more than that. You were...you are...being a good friend to Lars.” Somewhere down deep she found enough courage to say, “And to me.”

“I'd like to think we're friends, Katrine.” His words were lovely and awful at the same time. Her head told her she could grow to think of Clint as a loyal friend, but her heart had already raced well beyond that. If Lars had guessed anything—or if Clint had known with or without Lars's response—the result was clear. Clint's declarative use of the term
friend
spoke what he could not openly say.

Like Trillevip and the spinning girl, they could not share a future. She had resigned herself to an acceptance of that when he asked softly, “Are we? Friends?”

Katrine was sure her heart stopped altogether. “Yes, of course.” The answer gushed out of her in a rush of breath. She was sure her face was pink, and her hand flew up to her chest as if to tamp down the pounding she felt there. Was he confirming her last statement that he'd been a good friend? Or was he asking the much more dangerous question if she thought of him as more? All her resolve fled. “Of course,” Katrine repeated, flustered.

“Well then,” he said, breaking the closeness with his own withdrawal. The moment, if it had ever truly been there, was gone. The tender look in his eyes vanished, and Katrine could practically watch him become the hardened lawman preparing for battle. Something fierce settled behind his eyes—something like determination, but much deeper. “I'll be glad to know my
friend
Katrine is praying for my safety and for Lars's. Tonight we'll need all the help we can get. I do believe the Almighty might be the only force to get through to those Chaucers.” He tried to force a laugh—to make light of what she knew he considered a very serious situation—but it failed.

Panic filled Katrine, and she reached out to grip Clint's hands. “Be safe, Clint.” She squeezed the hands that had pulled her to safety, the hands that had wrapped his coat around her for protection that horrible night, the hands that had begun to rebuild her home. Her heart stilled when he responded by wrapping her hands in his. They were so warm and so very strong. She sputtered out, “Both of you,” just to put some safe words into the very dangerous-feeling air between them. “Bring my brother home.”

He held her eyes for a moment that seemed to stretch out forever. He started to say something, but never spoke. Nodding very slowly, he released her hands as he stood up and turned back down the path.

All the sensible thinking in the world could not change the fact that when the sheriff walked away, he took her heart with him.

* * *

It had begun.

After tonight, Brave Rock might either be free to grow in peace, or several men might lie dead. Perhaps both. Either way, Clint was more than ready to put this burden down and make some kind of peace with the storm that had jangled his insides for the past two weeks.

It was Brett Chaucer's condescending smirk that he saw when he knocked on the man's door come suppertime Monday evening. The Chaucers had arranged their adjacent claims so that while their land stretched out in three directions, their cabins were close and shared some outbuildings to form a family compound. This only made McGraw's job easier.

Clint was already hot and tired, having backtracked and then circled far south out of his way in the blazing late-afternoon heat so that neither McGraw nor his men had the chance to see him arrive on Chaucer land.
When I think of all the energy I'm spending trying to save their hides,
he thought darkly to himself. Still, they were citizens of Brave Rock—exasperating, thankless citizens, but citizens just the same. As such, even though they didn't offer even a hint of the warm gratitude Katrine had shown him earlier, he owed them his protection.

“Evening, Brett.”

“Evening, Sheriff.” Brett bowed in exaggerated solicitude. “Won't you come on in?”

Clint ignored the mockery in Brett's voice and walked inside. The cabin was well-appointed with food and supplies, but clearly the spartan home of a bachelor. There wasn't a “homey” touch in sight, which made him wonder how much time Evelyn spent with her brothers anymore. Still, Clint was relieved to find that Theo had honored his request and gathered his two other brothers. This was going to be hard enough to tell once, much less have to repeat.

“Theo. Reid.” Clint tipped his hat to the other men in greeting. “Hope you don't mind me asking if you all are alone?” It sounded overdramatic, but tonight's situation called for every precaution.

“Just us.” Theo spread his hands around the room with the indignant grin Clint tried not to let get under his skin. “Not a bandit in sight. Sit on down and tell us why we ought to be boarding up our windows and loading our rifles, why don't you?”

Clint sat down, doing his best to ignore the jab.
Don't let them get to you
.
You can't expect decades of bad blood to dissolve overnight
. He folded his hands on the table and gave a serious look to each of the three brothers as he filled in every detail of the siege that was about to take place. “Late tonight, five men on horseback with black bandanas over their faces will ride onto your property from the northern side. Two men will stay behind and cut your northern fence so as to drive some of your cattle across the river on their way out. The other three will head south to each of your barns where they plan to set fire to your grain stores and any outbuildings that look like they might burn quickly. Make sure your horses and other animals are elsewhere—these men can't be bothered to be careful.”

“You're serious. You've somehow come by the advance information that the Black Four are raiding here, tonight.” Clint dearly hoped Reid's shock was the beginnings of belief, rather than open ridicule.

“I do.”

Theo crossed his arms over his chest. “How?”

“I'll get to that in a moment. Right now you need to—
I need you
to listen.” Clint longed to snap at them to quit their grousing for once and do the right thing, but that wouldn't help matters at all.

Reid let out a low whistle. “You really believe this is happening.”

Clint chose to take that as acceptance and kept going, hoping the other brothers would follow. “Store up water buckets, blankets and move as much of your grain and hay elsewhere. Set two men with rifles to guard the house, and a third on the southwest corner of your land so that he'll see my messenger.”

Theo actually laughed. “Your messenger?”

“I've gotten myself in with the Black Four. They think I'm one of them now. That means I'll be riding with them onto your land. I can't very well duck out and warn you, so I'm sending someone else. Someone you can't help but notice.”

“Well, who would that be?” Brett planted one elbow on the table in mock interest.

“Lars Brinkerhoff.”

Theo laughed harder. “You're sending
a ghost
to warn us?”

“I'm sending you a flesh and blood live man who escaped murder by Samuel McGraw and his fellow cavalrymen of the Security Patrol—who are the Black Four—by letting them think he was dead.”