Love Inspired Historical June 2014 Bundle: Lone Star Heiress\The Lawman's Oklahoma Sweetheart\The Gentleman's Bride Search\Family on the Range (28 page)

Clint looked surprised. “Everything been all right? Lije and Alice treating you well?”

How could she talk of such loneliness with Sheriff Thornton? “No, no, they are wonderful. It is just...” There weren't even Danish words for the tangle of her thoughts.

“They're hard to be around sometimes,” Clint offered. “All that happiness wears on a person.”

“Yes!” Katrine let her relief whoosh out in the single word. She could almost laugh at the pained way Clint made a face.

She did laugh at the oh-so-accurate imitation Sheriff Thornton did of his pastor brother's besotted smile. “All that ‘dear' this and ‘darling' that.” He joined in her laughter, and Katrine felt the weight of grief slide off her shoulders. She had not laughed since the fire, and it felt wonderful to remember there was still joy to be had in the world. “Still, I'm glad to see him so happy. He's a good man and they're good for each other, I think. Not everyone's suited to be on their own.”

“Yes,” Katrine agreed, more quietly this time. “That is true.”

“He's fine, Lars is.” Clint turned the cart down the path that led to where her home used to stand. “Worried about you. Worried about Winona.”

“Winona.” Katrine had not seen the Cheyenne woman since the fire. Word was she had stayed on the reservation since that night. “Lars cares for her, I think.”

“I think so, too. He asked me to tell her, especially since she can travel easily between the reservation and the...where he's hiding out.” Katrine could tell Sheriff Thornton was taking care not to offer clues to Lars's location. She liked that some part of him considered her strong and brave enough to venture out looking for her brother.

“Someone else who can see Lars while I cannot.” She failed to keep the frustration out of her voice.

The sheriff looked down at her. “I told him no.” There weren't many people in Brave Rock who could tower above her like that, but it was more than his height that gave Clint Thornton his air of command. “Lars is going to have to do this alone. Don't be thinking this isn't as hard on him as it is on you. He wants to come home, too.” As he said those last words, the wagon pulled next to the ashes. “Well, when home is...”

Suddenly Katrine did not feel at all like picking through the remains of her house. “I think we should have that picnic now.”

The sheriff looked puzzled. “You do? I figured that was just a way to scuttle off some food for Lars.”

So he had come to the same plan as she. “Well, yes, but...” She stared at the pile of charred timbers, then pulled the napkin off the basket in her lap. “I would rather eat ten muffins than deal with that today.”

An amused smirk filled the lawman's often-serious features. “Ten, huh? How many did you bring?”

“Too many. I made too many. I needed something to do.”

“Lars told me you bake when you worry.” He bit into a muffin. “They are fine indeed. But I'm fond of that bread you make, too.”

“Kartoffelbrod?”

“That's it. Tasty, in a different sort of way.”

Katrine smiled. “It is Lars's favorite.”

“Well, I'll be sure to go on about it when we get back to Lije's. That way you can make me two loaves and I'll be sure to pass one on to Lars.”

It would feel good to be able to send bread along with her next message to Lars. “I'd like that.”

“See?” the sheriff said as he swung down off the wagon. “This ain't as hard as you think. Just requires a bit of thought and patience, that's all. Think of it like making up one of your stories.”

This was nothing at all like making up charming stories to entertain. This was life-and-death and dark secrets that could get Lars killed.

Chapter Five

F
riday morning, Clint stared at the back of the building that would become the church of Brave Rock and watched the shadows of the people who had just filed out of Lars's memorial service. He'd known Lars would be mourned, even prepared himself for it, but was not ready for how the sorrow would cut him to the quick. People were downcast, buckling under what seemed a gruesome tragedy, yet still clinging to their faith. It was the first time he felt as if the weight of this plan might be too hard to bear.

“He was good to many, but an especially good friend to you.” Lije's voice was as close as the hand Clint felt on his shoulder. “I know you would have saved him if there was any way. We all do. I'm so sorry.”

He'd kept the truth from Lije for an essential reason, but still he felt the wedge it placed between them. There always seemed to be a gap between Clint and his brothers, but today it yawned wider still. His life was forever destined to be different from theirs, solitary even if it was full of purpose.

Sitting next to Katrine hadn't helped. It was both soothing and unnerving to be near her since the fire. The truth they alone knew made him feel close to her—and yet that closeness managed to open up a black hole of lonesomeness at the same time. The sad service had shown him how much Katrine would need to lean on him while this plan played out. Only, Clint wasn't the sort of man who could offer that kind of support. She would need someone else—some person other than him to turn to for comfort. It'd be easy—but wrong, and dangerous—to pull in Lije. Clint needed someone who could ride out of town often without raising any eyebrows.

Lars was right; he needed Winona's help. She'd spent a good deal of time with Lars, didn't interact much with most of the Brave Rock folk, and rode back and forth between town and the reservation many times each week.

Lije seemed to follow his gaze to the Cheyenne woman as she stood with her nephew Dakota. “I'm glad Winona felt welcome to come. You were good to invite her. I want her to see how faith takes away the sting of death for those of us who believe.”

Leave it to Lije to paint Clint's actions with the brush of faith. He'd extended the invitation because Clint knew Lars was fond of the young woman. Lars also confessed to a soft spot for Dakota, the half-white boy who had been abandoned by his white father. Lars had talked in admiring terms of how Winona had stepped up to take the boy in, how it took courage to do so.

Well, it would take courage to step into this dangerous circle he'd drawn around himself, Lars and Katrine. Clint nodded at his brother. “I was thinking she'd be good company for Katrine. She's started to attend services regularly, and Katrine will need someone to sit with her with Lars gone.”

“There is no doubt I see her drawn to our faith, and she's taken to English like lightning—even though I have to say I credit Lars for that much more than myself.” Lije eyed his brother with one eyebrow raised. “Still, I can't help saying how much I think
you
are good company for Katrine.”

Clint frowned. “I think not.”

“Why?”

“You know why.” Lije never did understand Clint's reluctance to take a wife, forever pushing him in the direction of relationships that weren't to be. Despite his endless compassion, Lije seemed blind to how the subject felt to Clint like God's cruelest burden. Lije could start a family whenever he wanted, had even been engaged once, but had lately insisted on being single until Alice stole his heart back in Boomer Town. In contrast, Clint wanted nothing more than a big, noisy houseful of young'uns but could never sire children. The childhood disease hadn't taken Clint's life—he knew he should be grateful for that when so many in Pennsylvania died that winter—but it had taken almost more than Clint could bear. Lije couldn't see how a wife but no children could never be enough for Clint, how it was less painful never to marry at all.

“She needs a friend,” Lije replied. “That's all I'm saying.”

Clint could not be a friend to Katrine. The tiny part of him that had come to think of her in ways that went beyond friendship had taken firm root the night he pulled her from the burning cabin. His mind strayed to the beautiful statuesque blonde too much lately.

“Which is exactly why I brought up the subject of Winona.”

Lije shot him an older brother “you're not fooling me” look and began stacking hymnals as if they were discussing something ordinary rather than the long-painful subject it was. The church was nearly complete, with some walls up all the way and others still sporting bits of tent tarping to keep out the blazing June sunshine. The fact that Lije had enough hymnals to stack was a minor wonder in itself. “Katrine looks at you the same way you look at her—when you aren't looking of course, or when you think I don't see. But I saw it. Alice did, too.”

Clint began stacking hymnals just to give his hands something to do. “So you and Alice are in on this together, are you?” Sometimes Lije could be too much the elder brother, all full of “sage” advice when Clint would prefer he kept to his own on some matters.

Lije offered him one of those “I know better than you” smiles just then. “Actually, Alice brought it up first. Once I was looking for it, it wasn't that hard to see.” Thumping the last stack down on the church's back bench—still without a laid floor, the church sported rows of benches where pews would one day sit—Lije planted his hands on his hips. “You mind telling me what's so awful about the prospect of you and Katrine Brinkerhoff?”

He was going to make him say it, wasn't he? “Stop.”

Lije's sigh was long and weary. “Not every woman pines for a family, Clint.”

As if he didn't know that. As if he hadn't considered the foolish notion that somewhere out there might be a woman who would welcome a man with his particular set of shortcomings. The war had filled the world with pretty young widows, already-made families in need of fathers, but he wasn't the sort of man who could take that on.

“This one does. I've heard Lars speak of it, and her, too. Besides, a body can't hardly make it out here without a big family, even you know that.” He let out a sigh ten times wearier than his brother's. “It ain't to be, Lije. Leave it alone.”

“God crafts families in many ways.”

He'd heard that line before, too. He'd heard every single platitude on that subject. “I said
leave it,
Lije.” He walked out of the church, needing to put some wide open space between himself and his brother's meddling.

Of course, Lije followed him. “Well, then, let's talk about Katrine. She's alone now, and missing a heap of provisions besides. You just said how hard it is to make do out here with a few hands, let alone all by herself. So how do we help her? If what you say about how her place burned down is true, how do we keep her safe?”

Hadn't he done nothing but worry about that very thing for days now? “You do your job, I'll do mine. Seems you got half of Brave Rock corralled to get her settled with provisions. I'll get the homestead built back up as fast as I can while I see to her safety.” It would be so much easier to tell Lije this was just a temporary solitude for Katrine, but that wasn't smart. Not until he knew more. Maybe he could keep her in safe company until this was all over. “Can't you keep putting her up in the back of the clinic for a while yet?” Alice ran the Healing Hearts medical clinic right next door.

“Of course we can. But even if you do get her cabin built back up, I'm not much for the thought of her living there all alone.”

He'd thought of that. He'd spent too much time thinking on that, actually. He gave Lije the same argument he gave himself: “She spent plenty of time on her own while Lars was out tracking or on the reservation. She's made of stern enough stuff. She'll do all right once the grief clears a bit. But that might be where Winona can help, too.”

In that moment, he caught a glimpse of Katrine standing off to the side of all the folks gathered remembering Lars. She stood tall and strong in the sunlight, the hem of her borrowed Sunday best dress whipping in the wind, the band of black fabric standing out like a gash against the sky-blue of her sleeve. Even her bonnet couldn't hide the strained and lonesome look he could see in her eyes.

“Winona might be good company for her, but
you
need to watch out for Katrine, as well.”

Clint was never the kind of man to shirk his duties—most especially in a matter like this—but Lije didn't realize what he was asking.

His reluctance must have shown on his face, for Lije put a pastorlike arm on Clint's shoulder and said, “It's the least you can do for Lars. He'd have wanted you to take care of her, don't you think?”

Was the whole world conspiring to keep Katrine Brinkerhoff at his side? “You know I'll protect her. She'll come to no harm, I promise.” He cast his eye back to the woman. She was wiping one eye with a handkerchief—one he knew to be one of the pale blue ones Lars always carried. Around her neck, on a black ribbon, she wore the pocket watch they'd found yesterday amongst the homestead ashes. Even now, her hand came up to finger the old timepiece—their father's, she'd told Clint—as she gazed off in the direction of the reservation.

Did she guess that Lars was hidden out over that ridge? Could she feel him the way Clint could sometimes sense the presence of his brothers? Families were strong like that—it's what held the world together out here where there was so much to overcome. He stared at the set of her chin and told himself again that she'd come through this okay. She'd push on through to build a fine homestead, find some good man with as much faith as Lije, and raise up a passel of children to listen to the harrowing tale of “when Uncle Lars had to disappear for a while.”

He'd stay close enough to see her through. He'd bring Winona in on this dangerous game because that was the only safe thing to do. Then, when Lars could come home, he'd return to his place in the background of her life—doing a disappearing act of his own.

* * *

Katrine sat down on the rocking chair outside Elijah and Alice's home after all the congregation had gone, weary inside and out. She stared off into the horizon, wondering where Lars was and if somehow he could hear all the lovely things that had been said about him today.

“I wished I had a jar.”

She looked up to see Gideon's wife, Evelyn, sitting next to her. She hadn't even noticed that the woman had sat down in the adjacent rocking chair. “Pardon?”

Evelyn offered a sad, knowing smile. “When my grandpappy died, I wished I had a special jar that I could catch all the fine things said about him at his funeral. I was so tired and sad I was sure I'd forget most of it. The stories, the compliments, that sort of thing.”

“Lars was a fine man.” Oh, how she hated using
was.
Her mind would shout “He still is!” every time she had to refer to Lars as if he were truly gone. Today seemed stuffed full of “was.”

“Of course, I had no such jar,” Evelyn continued. “But I didn't forget them, you know. Oh, maybe one or two—and there were a few stories grandmammy would have groaned to hear—but I remember all the fine words as if it were yesterday.”

Katrine let her head fall against the tall back of the rocking chair. It was so soothing, to sit here and rock.
I will want one of these in my new house,
she thought, bemused to remember she had no such house at the moment, much less a chair or a porch on which to rock. “I am glad to know. I feel too weary to remember my own name right now.”

“Grief is tiresome business. It wears on a soul to lose ones we love. And you've lost much more than that.” She placed a brown paper package on the arm of Katrine's rocking chair. “I wanted to give you a little bit back.”

“Me?” Evelyn was becoming one of her closest friends here in Brave Rock. She loved to look at Evelyn's talented sketches, and Katrine had often enjoyed telling stories to Walt, Evelyn's charming young son.

“Walt is fond of you. Now that he talks again, he has tried several times to tell me stories like Miss B's.” Back when Katrine first met Walt, the trauma of his father's death had rendered him mute. Now, finding a new father in Clint's brother Gideon, Walt was an endless stream of chatter and generous affection. He loved Katrine's stories, but they'd had to resort to Miss B when Walt couldn't possibly get his five-year-old mouth around Brinkerhoff.

“I am fond of Walt.” She fingered the twine on the package. It was too soft to be a book, too small to be yet another must-be-altered item of clothing. She undid the knot to pull a beautiful linen pillowcase from the wrapping. Delicate and soft as a cloud, it was embroidered along the side with familiar yellow flowers with six long thin petals. “Star of Bethlehem!” she exclaimed.

“I asked around town to see if someone had a book that would show me a flower that comes from Denmark. I thought you needed an extra touch of home. Did I get it right?”

Katrine brushed away a new wave of tears. “It is perfect.” She had never felt so welcomed, so part of a community in all her years in America. If she had ever had doubts that Brave Rock was her new home, today had erased them. “Thank you so much.”

“I thought you might like something that is all yours. A soft pillow is one of life's great luxuries. And a good night's sleep makes everything better.” Her eyes took on a shadow of memory that spoke of experience. Evelyn had lost her first husband on the day they staked their claim here in the territories, and the land been at the center of a long argument between herself, her three contentious brothers and Gideon Thornton. The worst fights sprung from contested claims out here, where two settlers claimed rights to the same land. It had been a heated battle—one which became as much about the decades-old feud between the Thornton and Chaucer families as it was about good land. Katrine only knew the bits and pieces Evelyn chose to reveal—something about land and the war—and what her brothers and those who listened to them muttered or whispered. Despite Evelyn's loving relationship with Gideon, that rift had yet to heal. So, when Evelyn spoke of needing softness at the end of a trying day, Katrine could believe she spoke from experience.