The Horseman

No, he was never going to hurt her. But he had to show her that. Trust was something a man earned.

“What were you doing down in that pantry?” Dillon gentled his voice, spoke with the same cadence he used with the horses. “I thought you were supposed to be taking it easy. Doctor’s orders. Or am I wrong?”

“No, you’re right. But I thought-I just wanted to do something for you. After all you’ve done for me. This dress, for instance.”

She brushed at the delicate white-and-pink calico he’d picked from a shelf at the seamstress’s shop. Satisfaction filled him. It did look fine on her. Made the little color she had in her cheeks rosier. The fabric hugged her just right, too, over the curve of her fine breasts to the dip of her waist.

Why, it made a man want to run his hands along the shape of her, peel off that dress and…

His blood turned so hot he was ready to melt. One day soon. He’d wait until she was ready.

She was that precious to him.

“I’d like to do something for you, even if it is breakfast.”

She shyly pushed a lock of gold behind her ear, escaped from the braid that trailed down her back. The diamond and gold sparkled on her finger, bright and new.

His ring. He loved that. He did. She was his now, his to take care of. She gazed up at him, watching him carefully.

She didn’t know how he was going to react next, he figured. Like the horses he came across who had good reason not to trust one more man. A wounded heart was a wounded heart, and he knew just what to do. How he was going to treat her, his wife.

His wife. That filled him up. Slow and easy, so she could see there was nothing to worry about, he set the potatoes on the table and approached her. She stiffened a little. It was best to start talking, let her hear in his voice how he meant to treat her. “I figure we can fix breakfast together. What do you say?”

“Together?” She took a little intake of breath as he leaned close. “All right.”

“Good. It’s settled then. And if you get tired, why, all you have to do is sit down and I’ll take over. Agreed?”

She nodded, wary as he lifted the packages out of her arms. He was close enough to tilt his head and he’d be able to brush a kiss against her temple, to breathe in the female and flowery fragrance of her hair.

He waited, wanting to kiss her more than anything, to brush his lips over hers. To fit her body against his, to show her there wasn’t one thing she ought to be afraid of. Because he was going to love her good and hard and completely…

Her mouth parted, as if she wanted it, too. He could see her pulse fluttering in the hollow of her throat. He’d scared her and that fear lingered. He pressed his forehead to hers, not a kiss, but a connection. He swore that he could feel love rise up from his chest and pour into her.

As if she felt it, too, she rose, somehow taller against him. The tension holding her so tight eased, and there was less wariness in her eyes when he stepped away.

“Guess we’d best get started with the bacon.” He kept his voice steady, calm. To let her know everything was just fine. “I see you found my favorite fry pan. It goes everywhere I go. I’ve cooked a lot of good meals in that pan. And a whole lot of bad ones.”

She quirked one brow at him and didn’t say a thing.

In truth, his favorite pan wasn’t the best topic of conversation. He was no parlor-room conversationalist. On a sigh, he wrestled the bacon from the thick paper and took a knife to it. Cutting through the meat gave him something to do so he wouldn’t have to say anything to embarrass himself further.

Just think before you speak, man.

“What about the stallion?” She shouldered close and peeled a thick slice of meat from the cutting board. “Something bad happened to him and you didn’t want to tell me. Or you forgot about him.”

“If that’s the kind of horseman you think I am, then I’ve got to change your opinion.” His chest tightened, and he put down the knife. “I haven’t said anything because I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“A good surprise?”

He felt her hope, tentative and fragile like a young seedling in a March rain, easily drowned. He chose his words with care. “The one thing you need to learn, beautiful, is that the only surprises in this house will be good ones.”

She smiled, that tentative hope strengthening, and he felt as tall as the sky.

Katelyn peered over the top of her book through the front window to see if she could spot Dillon riding in from the far fields. After making most of the break-fast-she paid careful note so she would know how to do all the cooking tomorrow morning-Dillon had banished her to the couch for the rest of the day.

Not cruelly or by barking orders as Brett would have done. No, the horseman had used his kindness to his advantage. He’d simply taken her hand in his, told her how good it was to see his ring there, kissed the palm of her hand and asked her to do something for him. To lie down and rest, because he worried about her.

How was she so lucky? That night when she’d watched Dillon for the first time trying to lure the wild stallion closer, how could she have known she would end up here in his house as his wife? That he would be the one? The man she didn’t believe existed because he was too good to be true.

She still thought that when he rode into sight through the fallow meadow, sitting straight and proud and mythical on a white spotted horse. He used no saddle or bridle, not even a lead rope snapped to a halter. The proud Appaloosa and rider moved as one being, one entity, cantering across the plains.

If she squinted, blurring the modern clothing of Levi’s and his heavy winter jacket and imagined away the Stetson covering his dark locks, he could have been a native warrior on his Indian pony, hunting the plains for his tribe. Or on a spirit quest. He was regal and noble to the very core.

Something she had never seen in any man before.

She put aside her book and folded the wool blanket he’d covered her with. The one he’d slept beneath last night, she knew, because it smelled faintly of winter wind and leather and him.

“Did you take a nap?” Dillon asked the instant he walked through the door.

“I rested.” She swung her feet off the couch and he was there, his hand taking hers to help her stand. “You’re spoiling me.”

“Good. You may as well get used to it. This is forever, just like I vowed.” His kiss feathered across her brow.

Making her quiver deep down. He almost made her believe as he led her to the door, grabbed her coat and escorted her into the stunning day.

The wind was cool and smelled of snow, although the clouds were moving high and fast. The wind ruffled her coat hem and chilled her face as Dillon tucked her hand into his and led her down the steps and along the fence where a dozen horses gathered. Not mustangs and cayuses, but fine-blooded animals.

“Where did you get these animals?” Katelyn rubbed the nose of a big black Arabian who nudged her mitten.

“Got them in trade, mostly, whenever someone couldn’t find the cash to pay me for my work.” He reached into his pocket. “Hold out your hand flat.”

She did, and he dropped a broken length from a peppermint stick onto her palm. Before she could blink, the black mare lipped the treat from her hand. The others crowded around.

“In trade?” She accepted a piece of candy for each hand and held them out to two of the other mares. “You sometimes choose the horses instead of the ranch owner’s daughter?”

“There was only one woman I ever wanted bad enough that I’d try to talk to her. And that’s you.”

“Try to talk to? What does that mean? You used smoke signals? Wrote notes on a slate?”

“I’m thirty years old and until yesterday, I was a confirmed, lifelong bachelor. And the reasons why? Because I’m too shy to get up my courage to talk to a woman. Courting is one daunting experience. I don’t see how most men live long enough to stand before the altar.”

“You’ve never courted anyone?”

“Just you.” Over the velvet nose of the sorrel mare, Dillon blushed. A slow heat crept up his face from his chin to his hairline.

How did he do that? Make her feel special to him with two simple words?

“This one here, the little gray mare, she’s a delicate thing. See how she stands off? She’s never sure about