“Ruining you?” What Brett’s abandonment had done to her was immeasurable, and Cal wanted to blame his business failures on it?
“Last year, Clemming, my competitor, was losing business, and do you know what happened? He went broke. Had to sell what little his bank was worth and give up his home. He left town a broken man, heading back east to live with relatives. And do you know why?”
Because of his daughter. Katelyn withered. There was no possibility of getting her jewelry. None.
“Because his daughter got into trouble. Folks thought, what kind of banker is he? He can’t keep his children in line and behaving well, so how well can he manage a bank? That’s what they say. They lost confidence and brought their business to me.”
“Your financial problems have been going on for some time. I’m not the cause of your problems.”
“No, but you will be a partial solution. I’ve got bills to pay.” He gestured toward the pile of papers strewn on his desk. Bills due, debts to be paid. Over a few dozen of them. “There’s the coal bill. Over two hundred dollars. Old Hal down at the railroad buried his wife a month ago. He’d be glad to take you. Or how about this one?”
Cal grabbed the piece of paper and shook it open with a snap. “A note due on two of my best mares. I think Johnson down at the auction house was complaining about his last woman. Maybe he’d take you in trade.”
“You can’t sell me and you know it, Cal.” There was no talking to a man so arrogant. And maybe, she wondered noticing the glaze in his eyes, to a man who was desperate. A man to whom his reputation and appearance of wealth was everything, and he was on the verge of losing it.
Footsteps hustled on the carpeting. The maid, late with breakfast, looked harried. Katelyn moved out of the doorway and let the woman pass, to receive Cal’s irritated remarks about her lateness.
She marched down the hall. She was leaving this house today. Somehow. The doctor said she wasn’t strong enough, but it didn’t matter. She’d pack what she could carry. It wouldn’t be much. Whatever awaited her out there, alone, had to be better than staying here.
Dillon expected trouble. The hired men were watching him, keeping an eye out while they worked.
The hairs along the back of his neck itched, a sure sign something was wrong. Dillon tucked his extra halters and lead ropes into the spare compartment of his saddlebag. Almost done.
Good thing he’d worn both revolvers strapped to his left and right thighs. He was handy with a gun, but he was outnumbered. If Willman thought he was an easy target, then he was dead wrong.
Dillon sensed him before the horses stirred in their stalls, alert to the intruder. He felt the man’s hatred before he heard the first drum of an authoritative footfall on the hard-packed earth.
“So, you didn’t listen when I told you to leave the horses alone.” Willman must have thought he was judge and jury with the cold hard judgment that drove his words, for he had brought Ned with him. “If you take those mares, you hang, boy.”
“Who are you calling ‘boy’?” Dillon didn’t bother to hide his disregard or his sneer. “You’re the one who needs a hired gun, not me. I’m not about to take your mares. I’m taking your stepdaughter.”
Surprise flashed in those cold eyes, then a brief gleam of satisfaction. “Oh? Then take her and go.”
“I already have.” Dillon freed the hem of his jacket from his right hip, to reveal the loaded Colt.45. “Our business dealings are through. Are we in agreement?”
“I am done with you, horseman.” A bead of sweat rolled down Willman’s temple.
“No, I’m finished with you. Ned and Rhodes, stand back. There’s no need to use those guns you’re packing,” Dillon said as he settled his left hand over the base of the whip coiled at his hip. “I don’t want trouble. Do you?”
Ned shook his head. Rhodes stared, jaw set, and his hand twitching above his holstered Colt.45. The youngster was looking for an excuse.
The hired men let him pass. Feeling Willman’s malice on his back like cannon fire, Dillon loaded his packs in the sleigh. His mustangs waited patiently in the wind shadow of the stable.
There was one more thing to do. Not even the hard fall of snow dared to impede him as he headed straight to the main house. He didn’t knock. He didn’t figure he needed to ask permission to take what was now his. He ignored the spoiled Mrs. Willman seated at the dining room table, fussing over her clothes for some fool women’s meeting in town by the sound of it, and marched down the hall.
He rapped on her door and pushed it open.
The room was perfect. The fancy sleigh bed made up in satin counterpane and those fancy matching pillows. A rug and curtains to match. Little breakable knickknacks crowded across the carved bureau and the little dressing stand.
His gaze flew to the open wardrobe in the corner, where every peg was bare.
Katelyn was gone.
By the time Dillon had gone a half mile, the storm had turned treacherous. Good thing he was a damn good tracker. He’d been taught by his great-grand-father, once a Nez Perce warrior, who hunted in the old way. The snow was fast falling, but he’d found a trail.
Yep, he was getting closer. She had to be just up ahead. He brushed the new snow from the faint imprint of a woman’s shoe. Katelyn’s shoe. He imagined the foot that had made the impression. He thought about the woman as he grazed his gloved fingertip over the curve of instep.
He only had to think of her and softness eased into his chest. It was a strange, expanding sensation behind his breastbone.
It looked as if she was staying close to the fence lines, which pretty much followed the road to town, so she’d be easy to find. The wind kicked hard, making the storm nearly a whiteout. At least she was smart enough to find her way. Plenty of folks got lost in these storms and wandered out onto the vast prairie to freeze to death. The wind gusted and drove through his layers of wool and flannel. Hell wouldn’t be this cold if it froze over.
Teeth gritted, gloved hands tucked into his armpits to keep them from freezing. The sleigh’s runners squeaked on the snow, and the clomp of the horses’ steel shoes were the only other sounds.
Why was he going after her like this? She could be safe in town by now, sipping hot tea in front of a fire at the town’s fanciest hotel.
He’d worked with horses like that, too.
Wait-was that her? He caught the hint of a shadow in the cascading snow.
“Katelyn!” He cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed so she could hear him above the storm.
She was merely a part of the snow and wind, a brief curve of shoulder before the curtain of white swallowed her then teased him with another glimpse of wool cloak. Head bent, stumbling in the drifts, she had to be half- frozen. That fancy coat she wore couldn’t keep her very warm.
“Katelyn,” he said again, but the jealous wind stole his words away. She looked so cold. He took her arm and gestured back the way they came.
The curtain of snow dropped again, snatching her from his sight. Swiping snow from his eyes, he swore. This was foolish. They couldn’t even speak, the blizzard was bad and getting worse. Why was she out here anyway? Did she think so little of him?
Hell, he wouldn’t force any woman to marry him. He was quaking now, frozen clear to the bone marrow, and getting a tad irritable.
He grabbed the soft curve of her upper arm, meaning to show her he intended to take her back to the house, but the moment his fingers curled around her, the storm ceased. The winds silenced. The snow disappeared. The beat of his heart slowed to an eternity as, miraculously, her mittened hand fisted in his jacket.
He felt her question before she yanked her scarf from around her mouth with her other hand and shouted.
He shook his head. He couldn’t hear her. He said the only word that counted. “Home.”
The fist at his jacket twisted the material more tightly. He could feel her desperation. And it tore at him. “Too cold.”
“No.” As firm as the earth at his feet, that word.
Was she so desperate to escape him? The fight went out of him. He unclasped her hand from his jacket and cradled it in both of his.
