The Texan's Dream (15 page)

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Authors: Jodi Thomas

Tags: #Contemporary, #Fiction, #Romance, #General, #Historical, #Texas

BOOK: The Texan's Dream
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Jonathan waited for her to take a breath. “Are you finished?”

She nodded.

He had no idea what to say next. He wanted to swing her into his arms and tell her everything was all right. But if he touched her it could make matters worse. He told himself the last thing he wanted was a woman in his life, and she obviously didn’t want him. So there shouldn’t be a problem, right?

Right! Then why couldn’t he stop staring at her lips? He was five feet away, and he would swear he smelled her hair. He must be catching some dreaded disease. She’d filled his thoughts and was now spreading like bindweed to his senses.

Jonathan was relegated to accepting H. B.’s advice. “How do you feel?” he asked without much conviction.

She lifted her head. “Fine,” she lied.

“Good.” Jonathan waited. So much for H. B.’s suggestion.

He decided they couldn’t live under the same roof and not speak of what happened. There were things that needed saying between them, and he’d listen to none of her objections. He’d have his say, clear the air and then never speak of it again. “I want you to know I’ve never felt like I did last night when I kissed you.” He paced as he thought of just how to tell her.

“It must never happen again,” she whispered more to the window than to him.

Jonathan was planning his words, not listening to hers. “I’m not saying I haven’t kissed a few women. More than a few, to tell the truth. But not like that.” He scrubbed at his lips with his fist.

She didn’t notice. “It should never have happened in the first place.” She nodded at her own reflection in the windowpane. “It took us both by surprise.”

He stared at the ceiling before closing his eyes. “You filled a hunger in me, Kara. I never thought a woman would do that. Every touch keeps running over and over in my thoughts.”

“Never again.” She pressed her cheek against the glass, wishing it would cool the blush of her cheeks.

“It was like I couldn’t get enough. Like I became addicted in one touch.”

“No matter how often we’re together,” she swore.

“I know you felt it, too. Somewhere destiny binds us together and saying it won’t happen again is like denying the wind.”

“The saints as my witness.”

“The saints as mine, too,” he finished, wondering what she’d been talking about.

Angela tapped on the door, then opened it awkwardly as she carried a small tray of coffee and cookies. “I thought I’d find you in here, Mr. Jonathan. I brought you both a cup.”

“Thanks.” Jonathan noticed Angela looked like she’d been crying. Frustrated, he plowed his fingers through his hair. The entire female population seemed to have caught a weeping affliction. “Is something wrong, Angela?”

“I just heard Snort say we have a prowler.”

“Don’t be frightened.” Jonathan had a hard time believing Angela, at over six feet tall, was ever frightened by anything, much less the shadow of a prowler.

“Snort said they might just have to shoot him and ask questions later.” She wiped her tears with her apron. “You wouldn’t let them do that, would you? I don’t want to think of a man dying in our courtyard for no other reason than he went out walking at night.”

Jonathan had never known the woman to care much about anything except her baking. “Angela, do you know anything about this man?”

She shook her head and hurried to the door. “I never seen any man sneaking around late at night, but if I did, I wouldn’t shoot him until I knew he was trouble.”

She was gone before he could ask more questions, but Jonathan bet she knew more. Maybe the prowler was simply a secret lover? But of Angela’s?

Jonathan turned back to Kara. “What do you think?”

Kara smiled. “I think she knows more than she’s saying. And I think it would be most improper of you to question her further.”

Jonathan nodded. “I agree, unless I want to find another cook. But that doesn’t mean I won’t question the prowler.”

“Who else might he be?”

Jonathan shrugged. “Someone wanting to kill me. Maybe the same man who shot at us in Kansas City. Who knows? Except for the slight chance that Angela has a lover, I assume the fellow is up to no good. There’s a way out of the headquarters behind the bunkhouse. We found it unlocked this morning. The shadow could be one of my men, disappearing back into the bunkhouse, or a stranger leaving through the gate.”

“What if someone wanted to kill me?” Kara whispered so softly he barely heard her.

Jonathan moved to touch her, but stopped a few feet away. “If it were someone set on harming you, he’d have to pass through me first. Don’t you believe you’re safe here, Kara?”

She tried to smile, almost believing him.

He moved closer. “There’s no reason for you to be afraid of a prowler … or of me,” he added.

Tears threatened to bubble over her eyelids. “I’m not afraid of you.” She swallowed. “I’m afraid of me when I’m with you. I’m promised to another and all I want to do is go back home.”

The heartbreak in her green eyes startled him. He knew how she felt. Most of his life he’d wanted to go home, but for him, there had been no home to return to.

He straightened slightly. If she wouldn’t let him touch her, at least he’d keep her safe and when the time came, he’d make sure she got back to her home. He’d take her back to her Devin, a man who would never cherish her the way Kara deserved. If the man had such ability, he’d never have let her go in the first place.

“If that’s what you want,” he said, wishing other words were coming from his mouth. “You’ll be safe here until you tell me it’s time to take you home.” There were reasons she wasn’t going back, but he wouldn’t pry.

She smiled for the first time that morning. “After last night can we still be friends?”

He didn’t think they were friends before last night, but he thought it wise not to bring up the matter. “Because of last night, we’ll always be friends.”

She lifted her hand, and he took it in his.

He didn’t leave the office all morning, but stayed and worked with her. He listened to the numbers she quoted, looked over her shoulder as she worked, got everything in order to take to the bank. Through her work, it was obvious something was wrong. The money for cattle sales didn’t add up to the expenses.

Maybe because of what they’d shared over the past few days, they relaxed around one another for the first time. Both were surprised at how much time had passed when Angela brought in lunch.

They talked of the ranch while they ate. Jonathan relayed stories the rangers told him of the history. They both laughed when he told her his grandmother’s hobby was burying husbands.

After lunch, a rider brought in several more leather hides. They took them to Dawn, who seemed delighted. Jonathan tried to get her to move to a larger room to work, but the woman wouldn’t budge. She had set up camp in the tiny bedroom and planned to stay there until she left for good.

He gave Kara his grandmother’s old sewing box. He considered staying to interpret, but learned the women no longer needed him. Sign language served them fine.

He checked the grounds, restless. The storm that showed promise that morning became a threat to be dealt with by midafternoon. Cowhands rode in from the ranges, and began tying things down and boarding up for a winter storm.

When he passed through the kitchen, Angela was bringing in plenty of wood and stores from the cellars. The cowhands might be stuck at headquarters with little to do, but her job never ended. If the ranch was snowed in, they’d be playing cards. She’d be cooking.

At dusk, Dawn didn’t want to stop to eat. Jonathan finally talked Kara into joining him downstairs for dinner. They left Dawn working by the fire with her baby asleep beside her.

He offered his arm at the stairs, and Kara accepted. For the first night since she’d been here, Jonathan insisted they eat in the dining room. They filled their plates from the stove, then sat at one end of the long dining table.

Kara asked him why Angela always left the main house before dark and refused to spend the night in the place.

He shook his head. “I have no idea. Her mother and father were both dead before she had time to remember them. She’s been raised by her grandfather, Gideon, who was very strict. Except for a few trips to Brady, I don’t think she’s ever been off the ranch.”

“How did her mother die?”

Jonathan shrugged. “She never recovered from the birth of Angela. She was very young, I think.”

“And her father?”

“I heard someone say he was killed by accident by the guards.”

“Maybe that’s why Angela is so upset about Snort shooting a prowler.”

“Maybe.” Jonathan hadn’t thought of it. “Who knows? There’ll be snow by morning,” he said, changing the subject, listening to the wind howl through the chimney.

“You think so?”

“Want to see it coming in?” Before she could answer, Jonathan took her hand. “I’ve my own private balcony to watch.”

He led her up the stairs to a ladder that he pulled down from the ceiling of the second
floor.
“They used this as a lookout when the Indian raids were bad.”

She followed him up to a tiny balcony built into the roof of the house.

“It’s called a widow’s walk. I have no idea why. My grandmother used to say that a man could see a hundred miles from this point.”

The wind whipped through them with icy force, but the beauty was breathtaking. The last light from the sun was dying, turning the earth over to darkness. Huge clouds fought one another for space along the horizon while thinner ones raced across the sky above them, sending out an alarm.

“It’s beautiful,” Kara whispered.

Jonathan moved behind her, blocking the wind with his body as his arms circled around her loosely to offer warmth.

They stood, silently watching the night and the storm moving closer.

From the corner of her eye, Kara thought she saw a lone figure slipping away from the headquarters and into the night.

But when she looked, no one was there.

SEVENTEEN

THE STORM LASTED TWO DAYS. BLOWING SNOW across the plains in icy drifts. By morning of the second day, Jonathan walked the halls like a caged animal. He seemed on a quest to wear out the tile flooring.

Kara watched Dawn sew, worked on the books and helped Angela cook, but Jonathan’s pacing wore on her nerves. The fragile truce between them strained at times. They made an effort not to migrate toward one another when they were both in the same room. But, invariably, they ended up in the same room at the same time. Again and again, they brushed in passing, or accidentally touched when reaching for the same thing.

She found herself looking for him, listening when he talked with others, waiting until he neared.

All the workings of the ranch stopped for two days. The third day dawned clear and cowhands rode out to break the ice. Cattle, if still alive, had to be able to reach water.

They returned by midafternoon, with news that a hundred head or more had disappeared from the north pasture. Not frozen, or drifted across downed fences, but disappeared.

Jonathan took the news with fury. With guards posted along the borders of his land, there was no way that many head of cattle were moved unseen, not even in a snowstorm. And, anyone moving cattle in bad weather would not only have to be a trained cowman, he’d have to know his way, for he’d be herding blind in a storm.

An hour later more bad news rode in with the last of the men. The body of a guard named Russell, who lived on the west border, had been discovered in a gully beside his cabin. The cowhands reasoned he must have slipped on the snow and ice and tumbled to his death.

Jonathan went with the other guards to pay their respects to Russell. He questioned the two men who found Russell’s body, making sure they’d seen no tracks or cattle, or horses near the place. Both men said they would have noticed tracks in the snow when they rode up to Russell’s place if there had been any.

When Jonathan and the guard returned, the men met in the dining room.

Jonathan’s first theory about the cattle was that one of the guards had been bought off by Wells. Snort and H. B. assured him that was impossible. They both said they’d stake their lives on the loyalty of any man along the line.

Maps were needed to prove Jonathan’s second theory. As evening crept across a cloudy sky, Snort, H. B. and Luther spread maps out across the dining table. Most were old, few were accurate. Several looked more like paintings of the land than actual maps. But what kept Jonathan searching was something he’d heard Angela say to Kara. She’d commented about the flowers, saying there were ravines where the Indian paintbrush and bluebonnets grew year-round.

It had to be true. The flowers were proof, but no record of them registered on the maps.

“If they exist?” Jonathan asked as he tried to ignore Kara moving behind him lighting lamps. “Isn’t it possible the cattle were driven through them and off Catlin land?”

His men took turns scratching their balding heads. They were fighters, not surveyors. Only two men knew the ranch well enough to find the flower ravines: Newton and Gideon, who made the rounds to the outposts.

Newton was in Fort Worth with Willis, and because of his broken leg, Gideon could only travel in a buck-board. With the snow, it might be days before a wagon could make it across wet land.

Gideon could, however, point to the likely spots on the map.

“Saddle my horse at dawn,” Jonathan said between yelling for Gideon. “I have to find the ravines, if they exist, before the snow melts. It will be easy to follow tracks. Once the snow disappears, so will the clues.”

Snort and H. B. both volunteered to ride with him.

“Snort, I can use you with me.” Jonathan knew how antsy the old man was after being left behind last time. “Bring along the new man, Cooper, as well. H. B., I need you here guarding the house with Luther.”

“But we haven’t checked Cooper out fully,” H. B. mumbled.

“That’s why I’m taking him with me,” Jonathan said as Gideon entered the room and they all turned back to the maps.

The groundskeeper proved to be little help. He could trace his route from outpost to outpost, but he didn’t venture off the path. He’d never actually seen any ravines where the flowers grew. At best, all he could do was pinpoint the cabins along Catlin borders where guards had sent in baskets of flowers back to headquarters. Russell’s cabin was among them.

Gideon thought he remembered Russell saying something about the key to the flowers was marked by a pine that grew out of a boulder. But Russell’s words had made no sense.

When the man called Cooper entered the house, all talk of the ravine ceased. Jonathan moved to greet the newcomer.

“You sent for me?” Cooper asked as he removed his hat. He was polite, but there was no bowing of his head to the boss. “I’m Cooper.”

Jonathan didn’t expect anything but civil respect until he’d earned more. He liked a man who looked at him directly when asking a question. Jonathan offered his hand. “Jonathan Catlin,” he said, as if Cooper didn’t know who he was. “I haven’t seen you around, but welcome.”

Cooper shifted, acting like he didn’t notice the offered hand. “I been pulling night watch since I got here.”

Jonathan lowered his hand, noticing Cooper’s right-hand fingers were curled at his side. He held his hat in his left.

“Are you up for riding with me in the morning? I need a good man.”

“Yes, sir, I’m about ready to stretch my legs,” Cooper answered. “Mind my asking where we’re headed?”

“We’re circling, looking for rustlers. Somehow during the storm they came in close to the headquarters and removed maybe a hundred head. If we find nothing, we’ll be back before nightfall. If we cross the tracks, we stay with the trail.”

Cooper nodded. “I’ll be saddled by first light.” Every man in the room watched Cooper leave. If he were part of the trouble, they’d know soon enough.

An hour after sunset a rider made it in from Brady. He brought a telegram and was immediately offered supper and a night’s stay. The kid accepted gladly. The excitement of staying at the Catlin Ranch was well worth a ride in cold weather.

Jonathan walked to his office and closed the door. He stared at the envelope for a long minute wondering if good news ever came by telegram. He also wondered why he’d let the Western Union office in Brady know that he’d pay a five-dollar tip to any man who brought out a telegram. Couldn’t bad news wait a few days for a mail run?

He opened the message and read without allowing his expression to change. The paper read simply, “Bringing body home. Newton.”

Jonathan crumbled the telegram and closed his eyes. He hadn’t wanted this place and its people, but he’d sworn he’d do the best by them he could. Now, he’d lost not one but two men.

“What is it?” Kara asked from a few feet behind him.

Jonathan whirled. She must have been sitting at the desk all along and he hadn’t noticed her when he’d entered.

Without a word, he handed her the crumpled telegram. She let out a little cry as she read it. “He’s dead! Willis is dead.”

Jonathan leaned against the desk. “I shouldn’t have let him go with us. I should have known he was getting too old for that kind of ride. I should have …”

“Willis was old, but he loved being in the saddle,” Kara comforted. “Accidents happen.”

Jonathan shook his head, still blaming himself.

She moved around the desk. “With the weather, you couldn’t have gotten him to a doctor any faster.”

“I know all the reasons, but they don’t change the facts.” He moved away toward the window. He didn’t want her to look at him. “First Russell was found dead near his cabin, now Willis. Two men are down on my watch. Death stalks me again, Kara. No matter how far or how fast I run, it’s always a step behind, waiting to strike.”

He didn’t realize she’d followed him until her hand touched his arm.

With a jerk he pulled away, angry more at life than her. He’d let her get too close. He’d allowed himself to think of this place as a home. “Don’t you understand? Don’t get too close to me. Everyone I’ve ever cared about dies.”

He saw shock register in her eyes, but he didn’t care. Better that she know the truth. Even being his friend might draw death closer to her. She’d be safer if she kept calling him Mr. Catlin and never touched him.

“But …”

He saw the question in her green depths, the disbelief, the shock that he would say such a thing. She reached for him.

“No,” he whispered, letting her hand move along his arm. “I’m only telling you the facts. If you value your life, stay away from me.”

With a grim determination, Jonathan left the room. As he walked toward the bunkhouse, he felt sick at his stomach for telling Kara about his private demons. If she believed him, the telling would only serve to frighten her. If she didn’t believe what he said, she now must be convinced he was losing his mind.

Either way, he’d made his point. She’d avoid him like the plague from now on.

Jonathan shoved thoughts of Kara aside as he walked into the bunkhouse and told the men about Willis. The young cowhands were saddened, saying how sorry they were and how much they liked the old man. But the Old Guard behaved differently. They spoke of how lucky Willis was to die quickly. Men like them never expected to live long enough to retire. To do so and then die without wasting away in bed was good fortune.

Jonathan left the bunkhouse wondering what might happen to the Old Guard if he sold the place. Where would they go? Would anyone else bother to make them feel needed?

He told himself it wasn’t his problem. He didn’t want ties. He didn’t need people. He wasn’t meant to stay in one place. But, in the end, he knew it was his problem, inherited along with the land.

The mood was somber the next morning when Cooper, Snort and Jonathan rode out after Russell’s funeral. Every man on the ranch knew that if tracks were found leading toward Wells’s place, there would be an all-out war. Small towns like Brady didn’t have sheriffs, and men would never be sent down from Fort Worth. Ranchers usually settled their own arguments with talk or with guns.

The three didn’t speak as they rode across frozen virgin snow. A huge spread like Catlin Ranch could never be completely covered, but could be crisscrossed. A hundred head of cattle leave a wide trail in the snow. Most of the spread was flat, good range country, but there were places with wide gullies and bluffs. The canyons were confusing even for a seasoned hand. Once a man lost sight of the horizon, he often forfeited his sense of direction, taking hours to find his way out of a box canyon.

By noon, they’d found several strays and spoken to two guards along the border, but nothing else. The snow had turned to slush, slowing the horses.

Jonathan watched Cooper. The man did nothing to arouse suspicion. He had a good eye for strays and checked behind them regularly. He even made a habit of circling back when they’d taken a turn or reached high ground, so he could see better just in case they were being followed.

When Snort stopped to check his horse, Cooper signaled to Jonathan that he’d be circling back once more. Jonathan nodded and drew his canteen, preparing to wait. They were halfway back to the headquarters on high, rocky ground. They had plenty of time to make another loop, maybe two before dark.

Snort jerked off his coat and swore at his horse before tackling a mud-packed hoof with the blunt blade of his knife.

Jonathan watched Cooper disappear behind rocks. Seconds passed. A shot rang out, popping the air like a whip. Another followed, almost quick enough to be an echo. A second later a bullet bounced off the rocks. Jonathan dropped the water and wrenched his rifle from its sheath on the saddle.

“Take cover, Snort!” he yelled as he scanned the low hills in the direction Cooper had disappeared. Jonathan slapped his horse out of the way and slid behind a pile of rocks barely large enough to provide cover.

Cooper’s down, Jonathan thought, knowing he’d be running with no cover if he tried to get to the man.

“Cooper!” he yelled. “You all right?”

Silence. If the man was down, he was dead.

For a long breath, Jonathan watched the hills, searching for the glint of a rifle or any movement among the rocks. Nothing. The cold air went completely still, as though the shot came from nowhere. Cooper vanished into a cloudless sky.

“Any ideas, Snort?” Jonathan glanced in the direction of the old man’s horse. The animal was skittish but couldn’t run. His reins were wrapped around Snort’s hand, and Snort lay, facedown, on the ground.

“No!” Jonathan forgot about cover and ran to the old man, expecting bullets to mark his progress.

But no fire thundered as Jonathan rolled Snort over and watched blood pump out of his shoulder.

“Ain’t so bad.” Snort slowly sat up and stared at his own blood. “I reckon it missed my heart or I wouldn’t be looking.”

Jonathan ripped away the old man’s shirt and tied a bandage tightly over the wound. “Can you ride?” The longer they stayed, the easier a target they became. “We’ve got to get you back to headquarters.”

“As fast as I’m losing blood, I’m getting lighter in the saddle all along. Get me on the horse. I’ll beat you back.”

Jonathan lifted him into the saddle and handed Snort the reins. The old man was a half-mile in front of him before Jonathan could catch his horse and follow. Even at a pounding gallop all the way, he expected to hear more fire. Nothing.

In twenty minutes, they were barreling into headquarters at full speed. Gideon barely got the gates open as they raced in. Snort rode to the front door and slid from his horse.

Suddenly, men were everywhere, closing the gates, taking care of the horses, carrying Snort inside, running for supplies. Jonathan stood and watched, almost expecting Cooper to follow them in. When he didn’t, Jonathan turned and let the trail of Snort’s blood lead him inside.

The old-timers seemed to have lived through times like this before. There was no discussion. Snort was deposited on one of the leather couches in the great room and supplies were brought in too quickly not to have been kept ready. He could hear Angela yelling from the kitchen that water would be hot soon. Gideon built a fire in the grate.

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