Jillian Hart - The Horseman

“A little more than tired, are you?” One brow quirked on his stony face. There was tenderness written there in the corners of his mouth and the pinch of his eyes. “Just close your eyes, angel, and rest.”

“But-”

“Hush. The last thing you need right now is to be troubled by a packful of worries.” His callused fingers could have been harsh, but when he squeezed, the power in them was comforting. “I’ll take care of anything you need. You say the word, and I’ll do it. How’s that?”

Tears welled up, filling her throat and her eyes. He was kind. Kind, when she was helpless and he so strong.

“I brought up a full tray from the kitchen. Figured you might be hungry. I was. Ate the diner out of their entire stock of eggs and bacon, I’d bet money on it. That was some storm we came through, wasn’t it?”

She nodded, the scrape of her hair on the pillows all the effort she could manage. Her vision blurred so that he was streaks of gray and black, backlit by the cheerful glow of the fire.

“It wasn’t luck we made it here by nightfall. My horses have traveled in a lot of blizzards.”

He moved away, the heat of his hand leaving hers. She rubbed the wetness from her eyes as he ambled through the half light in the room, his step a comforting knell on the wood floor, his drawl luring her attention away from the pain she was feeling.

“They’re used to traveling, just like me. We’ve been over most of the West. That gelding and me have been through flash floods in New Mexico, an avalanche in Colorado, prairie fires in Texas. We’ve borrowed rides on the railroads from here to Mexico.” There was a scrape of ironware and the sound of water pouring.

“Here.” He knelt beside her, a cup cradled in his hands.

Her hands shook. The ironware cup was full nearly to the brim. She’d spill it for certain, but as if he could read her thoughts, Hennessey guided it to her mouth and held the cup steady while she sipped. The cool water tasted delicious across her dry tongue.

“Want to try some of that soup I brought?”

Her chest began hurting, too, at his kindness. She managed to nod. What manner of man was he? She didn’t know, but she wasn’t afraid to be alone with him. The sounds of his movement in the room and the rise and fall of his voice comforted her.

Ironware rattled, flatware scraped and he returned. The rim of the bowl brushed her bottom lip and the fragrant broth steamed her face. Not too hot, just right as she sipped slowly, letting the soup glide all the way to her stomach, warming her up. Soothing. Comforting.

There was that word again. She didn’t want to be comforted by a man.

She couldn’t seem to turn away as he held the bowl steady. She watched him over the curve of the rim. “It’s good to be back. I was raised here. It’s the reason I took the job on your father’s ranch. Figured it would do me some good to be close to home for a change. I could ride over and stay at my place now and again.”

Her stomach began coiling up. She didn’t feel right. She didn’t feel good.

“You’re looking more pale, if that’s possible. I reckon it’s a good thing I asked the doc to stop by.” The callused pad of Hennessey’s thumb traced away wetness at the corner of her eye.

“I can’t pay a doctor.” When she spoke, her words came rough and raw, and so quiet he had to lean forward to hear her. “I just need rest. No doctor.”

She wasn’t only tired, Dillon figured. She was weak. She was in pain. Her gold hair fanned along the crisp pillow slips that were shockingly white against her gray pallor. Fear wedged in his chest as he lowered the bowl.

“Katelyn? You rest. That’s right. Sleep all you need to.” He intended to make damn sure the doctor took good care of her. Where was that man? He should be here by now. If he didn’t hurry up, Dillon vowed to march through the snowdrifts and haul him back by the collar.

She’ll be all right. I’ll see to it.

Her eyelids drifted closed, fluttering half moons against her cheeks. Dark circles bruised the delicate skin beneath her eyes. Exhaustion dug deep furrows into her soft brow and bracketed her lush mouth.

Maybe he’d been wrong to help her. If he’d known her health was this frail, he would have hauled her back to that house, and no amount of pleas and empathy for her would have changed his mind.

She was more important than anything, a good kind woman like her. Why would anyone cast her aside?

His fingertips drifted to her brow. He knew it was wrong to touch her like this, as if he had the right. He couldn’t stop his thumb from trying to rub out the worry deep in her brow. He hated that she was ill. Hated that she was worrying even as her breathing changed to a slower, deeper rhythm.

I’ll take care of you. He watched sleep claim her, his chest swelling, his entire being filling with a strange, powerful emotion. All he knew was that he would lay down his life for her.

Right here, right now, until his last breath, he would watch over her. Keep her safe.

A light knock rattled the door. The doc ambled in, set down his black bag and shrugged out of his coat.

“’Afternoon, Hennessey.”

“Hi there, Haskins. Appreciate you coming over.”

Dillon stood, jarring the bed, and Katelyn heard his easy gait ringing on the wood floor. Pain washed over her. She really wasn’t feeling well. She tried to open her eyes and through the curl of her heavy eyelids she saw a man about Hennessey’s age, competent looking as he unbuttoned both sleeves and began rolling them up his forearms.

“Are you responsible for this woman?” the doctor asked.

“Yes, she’s mine.” Hennessey’s rumbling baritone was nearly a whisper, but the impact of his words shouted through her.

That was the reason he’d been caring this morning. Noble, as he knelt at her side. Dependable, as he’d held the cup to her lips.

Mine, he’d said. She squeezed her eyes shut, turning her face into the pillows, but the image of him standing before the door remained. The image of Hennessey watching her, hat in his hand, heart on his sleeve.

Hell, yes, she was his. Saying it was different than hoping for it. Saying it gave a man reason to hope.

What was taking the doc so damn long? Dillon tossed the hat onto the sofa cushion next to him and took up pacing the short length of the inn’s lobby. Her color hadn’t been right. First pale, then gray. That couldn’t be good.

The doc’ll know what to do. The thought comforted him, but he still couldn’t calm down. Couldn’t make himself sit on that narrow dainty sofa and wait for the doc to come down those stairs.

“You must have marched a good mile since I’ve been standing here,” Mrs. Miller commented from behind the front desk. “Sit down, you’re making me nervous.”

“Sorry, ma’am.” He blushed.

The cushions were too small and too hard. Dillon tried sitting there without fidgeting. His worries kept shooting right back to her. It sure had been something to be near her. He couldn’t say why he felt the way he did about Katelyn Green.

He only knew that every time she was near, his gaze riveted to her like a rock rolling off a cliff’s edge, falling fast and far, helpless, to the ground below. There wasn’t one thing to stop it.

He could only hope the impact wouldn’t tear him apart.

A pair of women, dressed in traveling clothes, descended into the lobby, giving Mrs. Miller orders for a ride to the train station.

That got him to thinking, and he popped to his feet again. Was Katelyn planning to head out on a train? Was there any chance he could convince her to stay? How much time did he have? Was she going to be all right? What if the long day traveling had harmed her?

“Hennessey?”

Doc’s voice broke through his worries. Dillon made a beeline across the lobby, toward a man with concern surrounding him like a cloud. “Is she all right?”

“She should be.”

Relief shook him to the marrow of his bones. Left him weak. Left him dizzy. Left him feeling a far sight too vulnerable. All that mattered to him was her well-being.

“It’s a good thing I stopped by.” The doc went on. “She’s not well, I won’t lie about it. She had a hard time of it, if I can figure out the truth in all she wouldn’t tell me. Her health is fragile, and we have to be careful. She’s not recovering the way she should.”

“Hell, Doc. You said she was going to be all right.” His chest exploded as if a bullet had ripped through his flesh and bone, leaving him in agony.

“She is, but she needs care. She needs rest.”

“Then that’s what she will have.” He was still hurting. He felt as if the wound remained, that his chest was ripped wide open and raw. “I’ll take care of her.”

He’d keep her here for a few weeks if he had to until he could move her to his house, where she’d be warm and snug.

“I’ll be back to check on her. In the meanwhile, she’s to be kept in bed.”

Dillon thanked the man for his time and expertise. He was sure grateful to him, and determined, he snatched his hat from the sofa and took the stairs two at a time.

He opened the door a crack to peek in, see if she was sleeping. The shade was drawn and the curtains closed to block out the stubborn cold draft.

A small pool of lamplight spilled over Katelyn’s still form lying beneath the quilts. Her knees were propped up with pillows beneath them, raising her legs higher than her head.

She didn’t move. Was she sleeping? He couldn’t tell if she was even breathing.

He dared to step in and close the door slowly so the hinges wouldn’t rasp, and he turned the knob carefully so the click wouldn’t disturb her.

Oh, she was something. An angel sent to save him from his loneliness. Or, so he hoped.