The Horseman

“I’ve been known to hold a conversation or two with my four-legged friends.”

Dillon liked the way her fingers fit between his, how her entire hand could fit into his palm. He traced his thumb over the diamond sparkling on the gold band. The ring that made her his wife.

He was so committed. He was the man who would take care of her. Stand by her. Love her. She would never have to worry like that again.

The way she was now, delicate lines of worry crinkled between her brows and around her mouth. Don’t you worry, my love. I’ll treat you right. I’ll show you the man I am. It would take some time but she would trust him. He’d make damn sure of that.

He still couldn’t believe she was really his wife. His to love. Forever. It was too good to be true. But she was here, with him, of her own free will. He thought of his home waiting for her. Of their future together. All he had to do was get her to love him.

It sounded like a big task, but the hard part was over. That courting sure was hard work. After that, how hard could a marriage be?

“Did you live with your grandfather? Is that how he taught you?”

Yep, she was interested. “He was my mother’s father. A Nez Perce warrior of great courage and goodness. I was honored to have known him.”

“You loved him. It was his native tongue I heard you speaking.”

“Guilty. My grandfather taught me a great many things. Talking to horses was one of them.”

The image of him speaking to the wild stallion was etched into her memory. The lull of his voice, deep and strong and musical. The silvered moonlight, the pearled shadows on the snow-blanketed prairie and the lone man with his hand outstretched, a legend in the night.

And he is yours. The new ring felt strange on her fourth finger, a reminder of the choice she’d made. She listened to the wagon wheels splash in the melting slush and chunks of snow. Felt the temperate breeze on her face. Let her body relax into his.

Dillon affected her like the warm south wind, trying to melt away the shadowed places within her. Persistent and constant, and she was weakening. What would happen if she did?

“My grandfather has been gone nearly five years. He lived with me.”

That surprised her. “Here? Not on the reservation?”

“In the house I built. He wasn’t well toward the end, and I cared for him all day, every day until he passed. It was a heartbreak. I miss him still. That’s the reason I began traveling. I couldn’t stand to be alone in the house anymore. The sadness of losing him was part of it. The sadness of not having my own family was another.”

“I lost my father when I was little. Whenever I’m in the ranch house, I remember him. He was so tall I had to tip my head all the way back to see his face. He was a giant to me. In all ways.”

“He was a horseman?”

“Yes.”

“We horsemen are good men.”

When she smiled, a slow curve of her rosebud lips, Dillon swore he saw paradise. He wanted to kiss that amazing mouth more than anything. Ever.

She shivered, and he realized he’d been staring at her.

When the last rise of the prairie lifted them up on a field of brown, dead grasses and mud and white patches of melting snow, he had to admit it. He couldn’t pretend even to himself that he wasn’t nervous.

Nervous? Ha. That was a lie. He was terrified. He loved his house. His brother and grandfather had helped him build it because he’d always hoped he’d find the wherewithal to court a woman and marry her. To raise a family there. Sons and daughters who would run and play in the pristine meadows and splash in the nearby creek.

So much depended on this woman he’d made his bride. Every bit of his future. His happiness. Hell, even his children. He wanted her to be happy. It wasn’t much, but the structure shaded by a grove of cottonwoods to the north and framed by the giant Rockies to the west and hugged by wild prairie was his home. All he had in the world.

Would it be good enough?

He braced himself for her disappointment. Figured he’d done all he could to prepare her. He’d told her outright before he’d placed the ring on her finger how it was going to be. She’d made her choice. But what if she regretted it?

Please, Katelyn, please like the house. He drew in a shaky breath and steeled himself for what was to come as the horses crested the last rise.

“That’s our place,” he told her when the prairie rose up before them. “Welcome home.”

She didn’t say anything. That couldn’t be a good sign, could it?

He tried not to let it trouble him. He had told her she wouldn’t be living in a fancy house. He was a man of humble means. He hadn’t pretended to be something he wasn’t.

At his low command, the horses stopped the wagon near the front steps. He tried to understand her disappointment. Maybe she’d come to like the place in time. The cabin was cozy and snug. She was a good woman. She’d come to see that was a far sight better than a lot of people had.

“This is your home?”

She didn’t sound unhappy. Not at all. When he dared to look at her, she shone.

“When you said you lived in a cabin, I imagined something much smaller. You know, like the ones we drove past on the way here.”

“You mean the claim shanties.” The ten-by-sixteen shacks that dotted the prairie in quarter section patches. “You’re not disappointed because you were expecting worse?”

“Stop this. I didn’t always live in a big house. Before my father built the ranch house, we lived in a claim shanty. I was probably four years old, but my best memories are from that time. From living in that shanty.”

The reins slipped from his fingers. He wouldn’t have guessed that about her. Her lack of arrogance and the affection that warmed her like summer on the plains. It warmed him, too.

He hopped down and circled around to help her down.

“Come in. I’ve got a fire going and I’ll put some tea water on. You can look around and get used to the place. See if it’s something you can make a few more good memories in.”

“Maybe.”

When she laid her palm on his, his heart rolled right over in his chest. When her foot tapped against the ground, her long skirts swished around her ankles. The rustling sounds of her movements skidded along his skin.

It was amazing how she affected him. As if there was nothing and nobody in the world but her. Only her.

She left her hand in his, her step matching his as they climbed the few stairs onto the porch. She was here, on his porch, about to become a permanent part of his life. He had to be dreaming this. How else could he ever have an angel like her? What good had he done?

Nothing nearly good enough, but he wasn’t about to argue. She was his, and he was determined to take care of her. “You still look tired. There are circles under your eyes. Let’s get you sitting down to rest.”

“Oh, yes, I know. I’m not at my best.” She bowed her head, self-conscious.

Maybe he hadn’t said that the right way. He unlocked the door, cursing himself a few times. “You look beautiful, did I tell you that? I feel proud to be seen with you.”

“Dillon, you don’t have to compliment me.”

“How else are you going to fall in love with me? Unless you want me to start saying ugly things?”

“You know I don’t. You are in a good humor today, aren’t you?”

“Darlin’, this is my best day ever.”

He brushed a warm kiss across her brow, a brief stroke of heat against her skin. She inhaled his salty, musky scent, so pleasant.

He pushed open the door and stood aside. “What do you think?”

“It’s home.” Her home. Katelyn stepped through the threshold into a parlor as perfect as a painting, constructed with an artist’s touch.

Wide smiling windows framed the river-stone fireplace, topped by the carved wood brim of a mantel. Neatly chinked log walls shone honey-gold in the sunlight, like an invitation.

Like a place to belong.

“Do you like it then?” He stood on the porch, looking in, hands fisted, frowning.