Jillian Hart - The Horseman

No. She started to tremble, a fine, cold quivering that began in her soul and overtook her. She couldn’t trust a man. She couldn’t do it again.

Like a gallant knight, graced by moonlight, Hennessey knelt at her feet and cradled her hands in his.

“Marry me.” Deep and true, his words rang like a hymn in the stillness. “Please, Katelyn. Be my wife.”

“No.” She tugged, but he had a tight hold on her hands. “I don’t have anything. My clothes and a few books are all I own. Cal stole what little I took with me when I was forced from my own house.”

“After childbirth?” He rose, his face twisting. “I’m sorry. That’s damn horrible.”

His hand curved around her nape, and folded her to the hard plane of his chest. She breathed in the scent of night and snow on his coat, fighting the sensations that were overtaking her. The soft tanned leather against her cheek. The heat of his body. The hardness of it. The sound of his breathing, the rhythm of it.

“I will keep you safe, I swear it.” How fierce he sounded, how sure. As if he’d move mountains if he had to, reshape the earth and raise the endless prairie to keep his word. She could feel it in his touch, in his body as he held her tight, held her safe, made her feel sheltered.

She almost believed him. “I truly don’t have anything of value. Not even this land. It will be handed down through Cal’s side of the family.”

“I told you, I have my own land. I don’t understand. Do you think that matters to me?”

“Why else would you be proposing to me?” She pulled away, out of the refuge of his arms.

“That is what you think. Do I look like the kind of man who’d marry a woman for what she’s worth?” Dillon couldn’t remember being more mad. Not at Cal Willman. Not at anyone. “Do you really think so little of me?”

“I wanted to be honest.”

“Honest? You look at me and think I’d harm an animal, so why wouldn’t I marry a woman for my own monetary gain?” He was ashamed, how wrong he’d been. “I think you are the most heavenly woman I’ve ever had the privilege to meet. You are beautiful and gentle, and I know I’m stepping out of place, a workingman like me asking for a wealthy man’s step-daughter to be my bride. Even if she has nowhere to go and no one to help her.”

“You asked out of pity?”

“No. I asked you because I couldn’t imagine a man like me being so lucky as to have a wife like you. And if you married me, I’d be grateful every day of my life.”

“It’s not what you do, Mr. Hennessey. I just can’t. I can’t.” The pain remained frozen, a hard icy clump deep in her heart as she watched him stalk away. Heard his boots snap against the wooden ladder rungs and then pound through the stable.

If you married him, you wouldn’t be here. You won’t be alone. She heard the stable door bang shut, caught on Hennessey’s emotions and a gust of wind. She didn’t need him. She wasn’t interested in his proposal.

So, then, why did she watch for him to cross through the barn’s shadow below and into sight? He’d called himself a workingman. She could not forget his words. His kind, obviously sincere words. You are the most heavenly woman I’ve ever had the privilege to meet. You are beautiful and gentle.

He was wrong, but oh, how nice it was to hear kindness. She didn’t receive a lot of that.

There he was. Striding hard, but in control. Head up, shoulders set, back straight. He was angry, yes, but had she hurt him?

It was nearly daybreak, and Dillon was still feeling like a fool.

Why else would you be proposing to me? He could remember her confusion as handily as if she was still standing in front of him in all her beauty and grace. I truly don’t have anything of value. Not even this land.

She’d thought he’d been wanting to improve his circumstances in life by marrying a wealthy man’s daughter. Well, not so wealthy at this particular time, Dillon thought wryly as he grabbed the iron poker from the hook in the hearth.

Good going, Hennessey. His first proposal to a woman and it could not have been more of a ruination. Maybe he should just keep away from women entirely. Then he couldn’t act like a fool. Then he’d at least keep his dignity.

He doubted Shakespeare himself could find the words to describe how humiliated he felt this morning. And he hadn’t stopped there. He’d tossed and turned in his cold bunk thinking of her.

It had been a long shot, proposing to her, sure. But he remembered when she’d first come to the ranch. Over a month ago now, he had finally been making some progress with that blood-bay mare. She’d been mishandled something fierce. Effie had made her way from the kitchen with some treat, and Dillon had overheard it then.

It was hard not to eavesdrop when Effie gossiped, since she saw no cause to lower her voice to a whisper when she did. Half-dead, poor thing showed up on the doorstep late last night, she’d said. The doc came and went and didn’t think she’d live.

He’d felt sad for her, hearing of her tragedy. But when he’d first laid eyes on her the night she’d climbed from her window, well, he’d never been the same.

He knocked the ashes from the pile of coals and stirred them. Watched them glow orange the moment air touched them. He opened the damper wide, because he wanted a good hot fire. The bunkhouse was drafty and frigid, although he’d risen first and early this morning. It was a good time to think, and he had some thinking to do.

The bunkhouse was silent, unless you counted the snoring. While the kindling crackled to life and sent hungry flames to lick at the seasoned logs of wood he’d added, Dillon hunkered down in front of the open door and held his hands to the warmth. Damn, that felt good. His fingertips prickled so sharp he gritted his teeth to keep the swearing in.

She’d sure been a sweetness against him. His thoughts drifted backward, to the precious feel of her tucked against his chest. Fragile and female. When he’d folded his arms around her and felt her hair catch on his unshaven chin, something had changed in him. His chest expanded, his blood quickened, his soul woke up and took notice.

He wanted to protect her. To take care of her. To hold her. Never let her go.

Why? He’d seen her a few times. He hardly knew her. He didn’t know a thousand things about her, what her childhood was like. Was the good man she’d known her real father? Had she always loved horses? Why had she married a man who wasn’t kind to her? What were her favorite foods?

See? He could make a list that would stretch from here to Great Falls of every single thing he did not know about Katelyn Green.

What did he know?

That when he looked at her, the world faded away. Everything he’d ever cared about, everything he was, came alive as if newly awakened. It made him feel better than the man he was.

She didn’t think so much of him. She’d thought he wanted money. Then again, maybe that’s what she knew. Maybe the man who’d cast her aside had done that. Looked at her and, instead of seeing the woman she was, saw her family’s wealth.

Dwindling wealth, he corrected. Times were hard and were about to get harder. He was going to take three mares, unless Cal Willman could cough up enough greenbacks.

It wasn’t as if he’d be riding out of here today with a wife. Disappointment raked through him, sharp tipped and hard. It was too bad, because he wanted her. His own wife.

Strange, soft feelings had beat to life within him. He wanted her. Still.

Didn’t that make him five times a fool? Wanting a woman who didn’t want him?

Grumbling sounds emanated from the back. The boys waking up, pulling on their ice-stiffened clothes and complaining about it. There were horses to feed, stalls to clean and, for him, horses to say goodbye to. Friends that he’d made, the four-legged variety that he understood far better than the two-legged.

Another wall of storm clouds had covered the sky from sight as he waded through the snow. Flakes started to fall, hard, fast, dry. The wind came from the north at a swirl.

Not a good sign.

He pulled open the door enough to slip inside, the same door he’d held for Katelyn last night. She’d shut it behind her. How long had she stayed in the loft? Had she watched the night stars move across the cloud-strewn sky and thought about him? Or had she hurried back to her fancy house and warm bed, glad to be rid of him?

A nicker drew his attention. The sorrel Arabian mare, one of the horses he’d been hired to train, leaned against her stall gate and stomped her right foot, demanding his full attention.

“Good morning, beautiful.” He slipped her a broken piece of peppermint from his jacket, as he always did, and offered it on his flat palm.

Pleased, the mare nibbled the treat, her delicate lips whisking over his skin like a tickle.

“I’m taking you, pretty girl,” he told her in his grandfather’s tongue. The reverent lilt of the language was a sound of peace to all living things. “You are one fine beauty.”

The mare leaned her forehead against his shoulder in response. His chest warmed at the emotional connection. Trust. She trusted him. It had been a hard journey they’d taken together, but what a reward. He rubbed his knuckles into a sensitive spot behind her ear. She pushed harder into him, her way of hugging.

Affection filled him, soft and sweet. Yep, he’d take this one for sure. What a fine addition she’d make to his herd.

With the job ending early, would he head home? Would he stay for a spell? Or move on, unable to take the emptiness of a lonely house? To sit alone evening after evening, sleep alone night after night.

Maybe he could remedy that. He moved down the aisle, digging more peppermint out of his pocket, stroking more soft, eager noses. There were all sorts of ways to get a bride. Now that he had some experience with a woman under his belt. Fine, not a successful one, but he’d managed to talk to Katelyn last night without stumbling and stuttering like a clodpate.