The Texan's Dream (10 page)

Finally, he didn’t even step in the room when he passed by to tell her he had business on the range and would be gone for several hours.

Angela was no help, saying she “never took no reading or writing.” The Old Guard seemed to have disappeared completely, as well. Shadows grew into evening, and Kara felt alone in the huge house. If she listened carefully she could almost hear whispering. Maybe it was just the wind. She tried not to listen.

Just before sundown, Angela appeared to tell Kara that her supper was in the kitchen and a room had been cleaned for her at the opposite end of the hall from where she’d slept last night.

“Only Jonathan will be in the house after dark. I stay no later,” she explained. “Jason and the others are in the bunkhouse across the courtyard. Miss Victoria insisted I have my own place. My little house is on the other side of the garden. My grandfather was against it, but Miss Victoria insisted a woman needs a nest of her own by the time she’s twenty.”

“No one else will be here?” Kara asked, realizing when Angela left, she would be alone.

Angela nodded. “Like my grandfather always tells me, bolt your door. If anything frightens you in this old house, scream for Jonathan. He’ll come running to your aid.”

After the woman left, Kara let the warning roll around in her mind. Why would she need to bolt her door in a house inside a fortress where even the safe sat open? Jonathan was the only one close enough to reach her. If she were to encounter trouble, he was the one who would save her. Nothing—the warning, the bolt, the empty house—made sense.

TWELVE

KARA WORKED UNTIL HER EYES NO LONGER FOCUSED on the numbers. Pulling off her glasses, she rubbed at her nose. She’d thought to wait up for Jonathan, but realized he might not be coming back tonight. He was not a man accustomed to answering to anyone, and certainly not a bookkeeper.

She moved through the shadows to the kitchen. Soup and bread sat atop a stove that had been banked for the night, providing just enough warmth to keep the supper heated. Kara carried a bowl to a long counter and hopped onto a stool.

She could remember eating very few meals alone, in the past few months. Most of the places she’d stayed included two meals with the rent of a room. They were always served in crowded little dining areas. Everyone answered the dinner bell immediately, or was left with cold gravy and fat to eat.

Somehow, tonight, the silence wasn’t lonely. Angela’s touches were everywhere in her kitchen, making this the only room in the house that seemed lived in. The housekeeper was a matter-of-fact woman who saw little use for conversation. She seemed far older than thirty. Kara guessed that was because she’d been raised by a strict grandfather. But here in Angela’s kitchen there was warmth and color and smells that welcomed.

Halfway through the meal, the back door opened. Jonathan came in with the wind, dusty and looking tired, with his hat pulled low. Kara wondered if the man ever slept more than a few hours a night.

He didn’t notice her right away. The jingle of his spurs on the brick floor was almost musical. The soft brush of leather against leather contrasted with the hard lines of his lean body.

As she watched, he lifted an empty coffeepot and let out a long breath of disappointment.

“I could make you some,” Kara volunteered.

Jonathan turned loose of the handle. His fingers were on his Colt before the pot clanged against the stove.

He whirled to face her so quickly she felt as though she’d blinked and he’d shifted positions without her seeing him move.

His angry eyes softened slightly when he saw her. His hand moved away from his weapon. “How could I not have noticed you there?” He stared at her, worry lines cutting deeply into his face.

She jumped from the stool. Something haunted him, and she knew it wasn’t the lack of coffee or her presence. A sadness lingered in his smoky eyes that almost made her catch her breath every time she met his gaze. Yet, she knew it would be a waste of time to ask. “I’m sorry.” She moved toward him slowly. “I didn’t intend to startle you. I worked late and was just finishing a meal.”

He stood frozen as she neared.

Trying not to brush against him, Kara leaned around Jonathan and picked up the coffeepot. “How do you like your coffee?”

“What?” he managed to say as she crossed to the sink.

“Strong, I’d guess. Anyway, that’s the only way I know how to make it.” She filled the pot with grounds and water without looking toward Jonathan, who seemed to think of himself as a kitchen statue. “There’s little soup left, I’m afraid.”

When she passed him to put the pot on the stove, she had to gently shove him out of the way to reach more wood.

As her hand pressed against his arm, he stepped back quickly, suddenly aware of what she was trying to do.

“Have you had dinner?”

“No.” Jonathan walked to the sink and washed in cold water from the pump.

Kara didn’t ask any more questions. She collected pans and food. She knew a hungry man needed to eat, and without knowing much about the kitchen and its stores, there were few options of what to cook.

While a skillet heated, she mixed several eggs with milk. When butter sizzled in the pan, she cut two thick slices of bread and placed them on one side to brown. The eggs cooked on the other.

With his back to her, Jonathan propped his foot on a bench by the door and unstrapped his cowhide chaps and silver spurs. He hung them on a hook, then got a cup from the cupboard and claimed the stool she’d been sitting on. He watched her without comment.

In only a few minutes, she sat a plate of fried bread and scrambled eggs before him. It wasn’t much, but in her part of the world it was often considered a feast.

“What’s this?” He looked at the food.

“Dinner.” She poured coffee. “If I knew where everything was, I could have cooked you something else. The bread tastes great with honey on it.”

Jonathan cut away a bite with his fork. Without a word, he tasted first the bread, then the eggs. “You can cook,” he mumbled between bites.

“Of course, I can cook. But this is hardly a meal. I used to make this for my father when he had to pull a late shift.” She moved another stool across the table from him and climbed on it. “Until three months ago, I made three meals a day for him. Now, I guess he eats at his cousins’ house down the way, or at a pub.”

“Why’d you leave?” He didn’t look up from his food.

The question could almost have been casual and simply to make conversation. But Kara guessed nothing about Jonathan was ever casual. He wasn’t the kind of man who bothered making small talk.

Kara busied herself getting more coffee. After she was settled once more, she answered, “My father thought I should see some of the country before I marry and settle down. He sent me to school in Kansas City. When I finished, I just decided not to go back.” It wasn’t all a lie. Everything she’d said was based on scraps of truth.

Jonathan made no further effort at communication. She drank her coffee and watched him finish everything before him.

When he carried his plate past Kara to the sink, she asked, “Would you like more?”

He walked to her side before answering. For a moment, he hovered as though trying to figure out just how close he should stand to her. “Not tonight,” he finally said as though having to figure out each word in order to make conversation. “But again sometime. I like your cooking.” He moved his hands out as if to help her down, then pulled back. “This stool is too high for you. You’ll break your neck jumping on and off of it.”

Kara tried to remain calm. The rule he’d made of not touching bothered him as well. She’d never been aware of how frequently people touch inadvertently. She guessed no touch of Jonathan’s would ever be casual. “I’m used to everything being too high for me. I can barely touch the floor from your chair in the study.” She tried to relax. “I’m sure the work table and stools fit Angela fine. I think she may be the tallest woman I’ve ever known and her grandfather, Gideon, couldn’t be more than five-five.”

“Maybe her father’s side of the family was tall.” He said the words as though he knew the answer.

“Maybe.” She didn’t want to pry.

“My sister, Allie, is small like you.” He changed directions. “Her husband, Wes, is taller than me. He kids her about her thinking his name is ‘Get me,’ because she’s always saying ‘Get me this or that.’ ”

Kara laughed and stepped away. It seemed strange to think Jonathan might have a sister, someone he cared about. “Do you have brothers as well?”

He hardened before her eyes, and she wasn’t sure if he planned to answer. Finally his words came fast, matter-of-factly. “I had three Catlin brothers who were killed in a raid by Comanche. I was so small they took me alive to trade. When I went to the Apache, I had two brothers in my adopted family. Quil and one other who was killed the day I was rescued.” He said the last word like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

She didn’t have to ask. She knew what he’d just told her, he’d told very few people in his life. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be. That’s the way life is out here. There is no sanctuary.” He turned away, not letting her see his eyes. “Time I got some sleep. It’s been a long day.”

Before he could reach the door, Kara asked, “What about Wells? Was he involved in the shooting in Kansas City?”

Jonathan slowed but didn’t stop. “It wasn’t Wells who shot at us. There was no surprise or fear in his eyes when he saw me. Only hatred. The man wants not just me, but all trace of the Catlin Ranch destroyed. But he’s no fool.”

“Oh.”

Jonathan turned at the door. “You seem disappointed.”

Kara quickly rattled her dishes at the sink. “Oh, no. I just wish we knew who tried to kill us. Now we’ll have to keep guessing.” She couldn’t say the possibility of it being a McWimberly lingered in her mind.

“We may have picked up a few more clues today. The north range was hit by rustlers. They didn’t seem to be just after the cattle. It was like they were trying to do as much damage as possible. Trying to send me some kind of message.” He sounded tired. “I covered every inch of their trail and couldn’t figure it out.”

He glanced at her, looking surprised he’d told her so much. With sudden harshness he added, “Good night, Miss O’Riley.”

“Good night, Mr. Catlin,” she said, but he’d already gone.

She cleaned up the dishes and lit a lantern to take with her through the house to her room. Except for the low fireplace glow in both the study and the great room, no lamps or candles burned to help her see her way. The hallways filled with shadows on top of shadows, all in varying shades of darkness. The house seemed to close itself away from her as if not wanting her to intrude.

The lantern’s light danced along the walls just ahead of her as she climbed the stairs and walked down the long passageway. She could see a sliver of light from under Jonathan’s door and knew he was still awake, but the house felt huge and empty. She was to her room before she realized she’d left her glasses in the study downstairs.

It didn’t matter, she told herself, she was too tired to read tonight, anyway.

As she opened the door to her assigned quarters, Kara smiled. The room was small with colorful quilts on the bed and rugs on the polished floor. A dainty desk sat next to the window along with a chair turned to catch the morning light for reading. The three books of Jonathan’s she’d looked at in his quarters were stacked on a tiny table next to the chair. Whether by accident, or by plan, the room seemed designed just for her.

Kara ran her hand over the books, wondering if Angela or Jonathan had placed them there. “Jonathan,” she answered her own question. He would be the only one to notice she’d moved his books the night before.

She bolted her door, as Angela had instructed, then undressed. A few minutes later when she crawled into bed, the howling wind and the whispers in the house didn’t matter. She slept soundly through the night.

At dawn, she joined the men for breakfast.

As the weeks passed, the meal became her favorite time of the day. The Old Guard told stories. Newton talked about the happenings of the ranch. And Jonathan watched her.

In time, the watching no longer bothered her. She told herself he was just observant. Like the books, a stool appeared in the kitchen that had a step built into the base so she no longer had to jump up. Since the first night, when she’d carried a lantern from the kitchen, lamps lined the foyer and hallway. All were lit at dusk. And a board was fitted beneath her desk so her feet no longer dangled.

Jonathan was a man of details, that was all. He was a man who watched all around him.

After breakfast each morning, Kara went to the study and worked. Most days Jonathan joined her for the first few minutes to tell her why he couldn’t stay and help. Then he’d be gone, along with everyone else.

Kara worked alone. Alone with bookkeeping tasks she slowly grew to hate. By the second week, she was fighting to keep from throwing away the ledgers and receipts. She even thought of telling Jonathan they’d all been destroyed in a fire. However, he might think it a little strange that they burned, while the rest of the study remained intact.

She knew how important her work was to him. If the books weren’t in the black within a year, Jonathan stood to lose the ranch. She had to be accurate. She wrote Mary Ann Adams in Kansas City with her problems, and Mary Ann wrote back with suggestions.

After the second week, Kara took her lunch in the kitchen with Angela. The woman didn’t talk much, but some company was better than no company. When Kara offered to stay a few minutes and help her finish the bread making, Angela seemed grateful. Lunchtime in the kitchen grew longer each day until Kara found herself spending her afternoons cooking.

The workings of the ranch kitchen were far more interesting than the bookkeeping. The huge bunkhouse also had a cook, a man named Smithy who thought the only bread was cornbread. Angela traded baked goods with him for smoked meats. He also rode into Brady twice a week for supplies for both kitchens.

Every Tuesday Angela cooked for what looked like an army. She filled baskets with bread and pies, and jars of stew, chili Smithy brought over and fresh vegetables from the winter stores in the cellar.

They loaded the baskets in a wagon, and Gideon made the rounds to the outposts where guards lived alone. By midafternoon, he returned with his wagon as full as when he’d left. The men sent fresh-cut pinion, freshly butchered meat, wild berries and flowers. Baskets and baskets of prairie flowers in bright yellows and blues.

One afternoon in late November, Kara wiped flour from her hands and ran to watch Gideon supervise the unloading. When he handed down the bright red blooms of Indian paintbrush, Kara laughed aloud. In a land of so little color, the sight of flowers was all the more beautiful.

“Are these for the house?” Kara hoped so. She’d love to have a few of them for the office. Anything would be better than the weed by the window that had suddenly taken a growing spurt thanks to daily coffee.

“Those are for you,” Angela said without emotion as she stepped around the flowers and helped with the food. “It’s the Old Guard’s way of saying welcome.”

“It can’t be.” Kara was overwhelmed. “I haven’t even met the men on the outposts. They wouldn’t be sending me these.”

Angela stopped and stared at Kara with a frown. “They know about you. Word travels fast on this ranch. The men on the outskirts used to send Miss Victoria flowers in winter, too. There are places deep down in the ravines where they grow almost year-round. I heard one of the men tell Jonathan. I wouldn’t waste my time looking.”

Kara still couldn’t believe the flowers were for her. “But I only work here. They wouldn’t send me flowers. There must be some mistake.”