The Horseman

both were as glacial as the relentless north wind.

She’d let him kiss her. Dillon couldn’t think of anything else as he watched her sleep. As the hours ticked by and she lay on her stomach, her face turned toward the wall, buried in her pillows.

Just seeing the fall of her luxurious hair down the fragile column of her neck and the glimpse of creamy skin at the flannel collar of her borrowed nightgown made him weak. Like a blow to his knees. Like having the wind knocked right out of him.

She sure is special. How a man could have set her aside, he couldn’t figure. Couldn’t imagine it. She was beautiful and smart and kind. She had a heart of gold and an invisible halo crowning her head. He was sure of it, for when they kissed, the instant his lips had met hers, the desire he kept banked roared like an inferno feeding on kerosene.

What more could a man ask for?

There was no single woman on this earth as special as her. And she might be his. There was a good chance she would say yes when he proposed. Be at his side, as his wife and lover-

The thought of climbing into her bed nearly tore him to pieces. What would it be like to claim her completely? To loose the ties at her throat and pleasure her breasts and thrust deep inside her sweet woman’s body? To make her completely and everlastingly his?

The doc had said she would be strong enough to be up and around some tomorrow. In a week, maybe two, she’d be strong enough to buy a passenger ticket and leave him forever on the afternoon train. He had to work fast. He’d kissed her and she’d accepted it. She’d kissed him in return.

That meant he kept moving forward with his plan to make her fall in love with him. To show her the man he was, heart and soul. He might not be an educated, rich man, but he was decent and he’d love her better than any man could. If he showed her that, would it matter to her?

Or, if he gave her his heart, showed her his soul, would she leave anyway?

On the other hand, how did a man hold back when everything he ever wanted was right in front of him? So amazing and precious, he’d spend the rest of his days mourning her loss?

Chapter Ten

“Good morning.” Dillon’s thundering baritone boomed over the crackle of the brown- wrapped packages in his arms. He dropped at least a dozen of them on the foot of her bed.

Katelyn’s hand stilled, and her grip tightened around the wooden handle of the hairbrush. She simply stared. Eight days had passed and she was stronger. But she wasn’t ready for this. The way he stood so proudly over her and the steady, measuring way he studied her made her stomach ball into one huge knot. “What is this?”

“Necessities for you, ma’am. Mrs. Miller had a hand in that. She told the seamstress what you would be needing.” Bits of snow clung to his dark hair, turning to ice and then translucent as they melted.

One thing was for certain. She would not melt. She could not relent. “You are a thoughtful man. But it wouldn’t be right for me to accept gifts from you.”

“And why the hell not?” He quirked one brow, not angry but determined to know. “You need clothes, it’s that simple.”

“Then I can worry about procuring them.”

“The doc wouldn’t want you to be up and around shopping for hours. He said you’re to stay indoors. I thought I could help make it more enjoyable for you.”

“You took that burden upon yourself, huh?” She frowned, as if trying to figure out what he wanted from her.

That’s one worry you don’t need to have, angel. His chest filled with the certainty, the responsibility of it. He would not hurt her or use her. She didn’t believe it now, but she would. “I don’t mind taking up the reins and seeing a task gets done. You needed more clothes, since you didn’t have the foresight to pack a bigger bag.”

“I didn’t think I was strong enough to carry one.”

“Did you think you were strong enough to walk to town in a snowstorm?”

“Yes, if I wasn’t weighed down by heavy baggage. Besides, there is nothing I want from that house. It’s my past, and it’s behind me.” Her chin shot up, all fight. There was no self-pity, but strength and unwavering determination.

He liked her spirit. “Ready to start a new life? Maybe you’d be willing to accept a helping hand with that.”

“And you’re willing to help me, is that it?”

“I am. I’m the right man for the job, and I intend to convince you of that. You’ll see.”

He sure looked like the right man. In every possible way. Katelyn felt a sudden, expanding sensation in her chest. A sensation she refused to name. Refused to feel. She did not find the horseman attractive. Truly, she didn’t.

To make a liar of her, her body warmed. Her senses filled with him. Her hand ached to lie at the base of his strong neck, where his shoulder and back met, and feel the heat of him against her skin. Her mouth tingled, remembering and yearning for the taste of his kiss and the power of it. She ached deep inside for him.

It wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want another man dominating her. Controlling her life. Withholding affection because he had the power to.

“Unwrap these, go on.” He nudged a half-dozen packages toward her. The largest he set in the corner. “We’ll keep this one for last. Go on. I’ll be right back.”

What she ought to be was wary. Guarded. Hadn’t Hennessey admitted to trying to earn her affections? She had to put a halt to this. She had to make him understand she was a woman strong enough to stand on her own feet. That she’d been married once. And never again.

She didn’t need gifts from a man. What she needed was to be strong enough to find work. She shouldn’t be wondering what was in these packages, what the horseman, who’d stood so proud and pleased, had bought for her.

It doesn’t matter. Leave the packages alone, Katelyn. It was the right thing to do, but she wanted to open them.

It was weak of her, she supposed.

A clatter in the hallway tore her away from her thoughts. Was that Hennessey? What was he up to?

The metallic clanging came closer until a big steel tub filled the threshold, hefted by the brawny, capable horseman. His sleeves were rolled back to display the ropes of muscle cording beneath his brown skin.

He placed the tub on end in front of the fire, leaving it balanced against the wall while he moved the wing chair out of the way.

She watched him work. How could she not? He was a sight to behold, the magnificence of him, the elemental maleness of him as he worked. His intensity of concentration, the care he took with his task, the masculine grace as he moved and bent and tugged to fit the big tub into a narrow space. The fall of hair over his brow, the curve of his neck as he knelt, the line of his back so wide and strong.

She wanted to put her hand there, between his shoulder blades, and run her fingers down the deep furrow of his spine. To feel the heat of his skin. To kiss him there and taste his salty male heat.

It wasn’t what she wanted, not rationally. But the woman in her craved something that did not exist. Or was so rare, it might as well be nonexistent.

He simply looked wonderful. Of course her basic humors would respond to this example of male perfection. What woman wouldn’t want to be held safe in his arms? What woman wouldn’t want to believe there was comfort and love and tenderness to be found snuggling against his impressive chest?

“You’re not opening your packages.” He tossed her an infectious grin-he had to know how charming he was-and disappeared through the doorway and into the hall, his steps fading away into silence.

Stop trying to see a man as good as Papa in him. Her father had been a rare individual. Protective and strong and gentle with her, and the memories made dim and fuzzy from time remained powerful enough to still the pain inside her. A brief remembrance of a man who had spoken softly, acted deliberately and hurt no one.