The Outlaw Bride (18 page)

Connor turned his attention away from the fawning and preening and sought out Jenny, finding her in a group of children near the edge of the refreshment table.

She had spoken. Only two glorious words, but it was a start. If Kate hadn’t taken control of the moment, Connor felt certain he’d still be standing in Amelia’s parlor, his chin on the floor, staring in disbelief. But Kate had taken control, instinctively knowing what Jenny needed while the rest of them just watched in rapt fascination.

Slowly, the fear that Jenny would never crawl out of her silent shell began to dissipate, and for the first time in a long time, Connor had the courage to hope. To believe he hadn’t failed. He knew better than to take the credit. His only part in this was to bring Kate to their home. She had done the rest, providing a soft, steady presence. She’d filled the house with her warmth and made it a home.

Bringing Kate into their lives had been the best thing he could have done for Jenny. And the worst thing for himself.

He wasn’t sure how or when it had happened, but somehow, Kate Stockdale—or whatever the hell her last name was—had managed to burrow under his skin until he couldn’t think straight anymore. She had wrapped herself so tightly in his mind all thoughts led back to her.

Delbert Mackie’s voice rose above the others requesting a dance. Connor couldn’t stand it any longer. He shouldered his way through the crowd before Kate could answer.

“Sorry, gentlemen. This dance is promised to me.”

Katherine smiled, grateful for the rescue. She’d never had so much attention focused on her at one time before and while it was flattering, she didn’t want any of it. The only man she wanted to notice her stood off to the side, ignoring her completely. At least until Mr. Mackie voiced a desire to dance, a request that speared her with dread.

“I can’t dance,” she admitted, letting Connor lead her out onto the dance floor amidst the crush of bodies. His arm slid easily around her waist and pulled her close, until the space between them shrunk to mere inches.

“Can’t? At all?”

“No. I never learned. No one ever asked me before.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

He pulled her closer, his fingers splayed across her lower back, holding her firmly against him. She stumbled, her foot stepping on his.

“Told you so,” she muttered, embarrassed by her lack of grace.

“Well what do you know, you can tell the truth.” She heard the smile in his voice, felt his warm breath touch her cheek like a soft caress. Her hand gripped his shoulder as the strength in her legs began to wane and her limbs grew heavy and languid.

“Where is Jenny?” she asked, valiantly trying to turn her thoughts in another, safer, direction.

“Watching from the refreshment table with Beth’s girls.” Connor spun her around so she faced in the direction of the table. He slowed then, allowing her a chance to watch the three children before he had to spin them once again to avoid colliding with other couples.

His agility on the dance floor surprised her. “You seem to know what you’re doing. Do you do this a lot?”

He shook his head, the movement slow, barely perceptible. “Not for a long time.”

She breathed in the soapy scent of him, filling her lungs with it. “I’m glad,” she whispered, the admission slipping out before she could stop it. The pressure of his hand increased just enough to let her know the desire curling in her belly extended beyond herself.

The music faded away until she barely heard it and the couples around them became nothing more than a swirl of blurred color cocooning the two of them into a world of their own. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her, tantalizing, building a slow ache that traveled downward to pool low in her belly. Katherine wished the music would play on forever, never changing. She wanted to rest in the safety of Connor’s arms for the next hundred years.

But time refused to stop, and the mournful sounds of the waltz came to an end and a more lively jig began.

“I beg you, please don’t make me try to keep up with this one.”

She felt Connor’s smile against her temple and the pressure of his hand on her back eased. “I think you’ve trampled my toes enough for now.”

She giggled. A strange, gurgling sensation bubbled up from somewhere inside of her. From a place where happiness grew and lies never touched.

Oh, if she could only bottle this night and live it over and over again. Katherine pushed the wistful wish away as Connor led her from the dance floor. She would not waste time on wishes. Tonight she would live, she would revel in what she had and not think about all she would lose now that Jenny was healing and her time to leave had arrived.

The night wore on. Each time a gentleman asked her to dance she found one excuse or another to decline. The thought of being held in anyone else’s arms seemed too wrong. But Connor steered clear. After he’d brought her back to the refreshment table and fortified her with mulled cider, he excused himself and disappeared. Now and again, she’d see his golden head in the crowd, talking to one group of men or another. But he didn’t ask her to dance a second time.

Without Connor to distract her, her thoughts began to drift back to Jenny. The fact that she had spoken thrilled Katherine. But her joy was tempered, selfishly so. With Jenny doing better there was nothing keeping her here. She’d kept her promise to Grant. All that remained now was to deliver the letter to Connor, pay off the Hewitts and leave town.

The truth of that tore through her with a ferocity she had been unprepared for. She had always known she could not stay, but she had never imagined the pain leaving would bring. She loved Jenny. She loved this town and the way it looked after its own. She loved Bart and Amelia and Con—

Katherine blinked. No. She did not love Connor…Did she?

Her eyes searched for him in the crowd and found him, his broad shoulders filling her vision. Though most of the men present wore their Sunday best, Connor hadn’t changed out of his denims and worn blue chambray shirt. She’d sewn new buttons on that shirt just the other day. Who would do that now? Who would make him his favorite apple cobbler, or cheese biscuits, or the gravy he liked so much? Who would keep his house clean, look after Jenny, or make sure he let Rudy in each night?

Worst of all, who would make him smile so his eyes crinkled at the corners, or trample his toes when they danced, or kiss his lips with more passion than a body had a right to feel?

Who would warm his bed at night and wake to see his handsome face each morning for the rest of her life? Who would that be?

She only knew it would not be her.

The knowledge clawed at her heart, cutting it to ribbons. She did love him. Sadness smothered her and tears burned her eyes. She loved him and she had to leave. Fate’s final retribution for all she had done wrong.

Katherine stumbled from the hall, needing air to fill the sudden emptiness inside of her. The cool October night greeted her and she wished she’d thought to grab her shawl, but she couldn’t go back. The need to move, to outrun the pain, propelled her up the tiny rise to the church where Reverend Sangster preached his Sunday services. She bypassed the white clapboard building with its steeple that reached up toward the stars. Following the line of the statuesque elms, she reached a white picket fence. Within its borders, stone and wooden markers dotted the well-tended grass. Scattered amongst the graves, a few brave wildflowers refused to succumb to the frost and dotted the ground with bursts of color that turned blue and silver in the eerie glow of moonlight.

“Kate?”

Katherine did a half turn at the sound of Amelia’s voice approaching from behind. “Oh…Hello.” She swallowed, not sure if she had it in her to cover up her misery in the face of company. She ducked her chin to avoid the other woman’s sharp gaze.

Amelia stopped next to her and handed Katherine her shawl. “Thought you might need this.”

As if to punctuate the offer, a stiff breeze buffeted their skirts and made her shiver. Katherine wrapped the wool fabric tight around her shoulders, grateful for its warmth, and for Amelia’s thoughtfulness. “Thank you.”

“Rather pretty for a final resting place, isn’t it?”

Katherine answered with a nod.

“Con’s parents are buried right over there,” Amelia said, pointing to the far corner of the fenced-in yard. Two narrow slabs jutted from the earth, side by side, tilting toward each other.

“Was their passing recent?” Katherine asked, thankful for the diversion from her mottled emotions.

Amelia shook her head. “Oh no. It was a long time ago now. Con was fourteen, Grant just three years his senior. Their mother had been unwell for quite some time. When she died, their father wasn’t far behind. Broken heart, I think, though I’m sure Doc Bolger would come up with some other diagnosis.”

“Did you and Bart take them in?”

“No. We would have, gladly. But Grant was determined to do it on his own. He took a job as deputy while Sheriff Moseby was still alive, and set about raising Con up right.” Amelia chuckled then. “Though once he realized just how headstrong his younger brother was, I expect he wished he could have changed his mind.” She lifted a finger to point near the center of the graveyard. Her voice softened, and Katherine could hear the sadness in her tone. “He’s buried right there near the middle, next to his wife.”

“Grant?” She could barely force the man’s name past the thickness in her throat. She had thought he would have been buried where he died. She never considered his body had been brought home. For that, she was thankful. He deserved to be laid to rest amongst his kin.

Amelia nodded. “He was a good man. Took over after a fashion when Sheriff Moseby retired. Seemed to enjoy it, though it was hard to tell. Grant was always the more serious of the two. Quieter.”

“Like Jenny?”

Amelia laughed, a rich, husky sound full of mirth. “Oh heavens, no! Jenny inherited her uncle’s easy temperament.”

Katherine smiled. When she’d first met Connor she thought him remote, but even then, she sensed the essence beneath the distant façade. Warmth and laughter danced behind those vivid blue eyes, and no matter how hard he tried to hide it, it kept sneaking out.

Katherine turned around and looked at the church, its white steeple stark against the starry night sky, and a question prodded her curiosity. “Why doesn’t Connor go to church? Reverend Sangster keeps trying to get him there, but Connor won’t budge.”

“I suppose that’s to be expected.” Amelia let her gaze drift down the hill. Some people had congregated outside and Katherine realized things were winding down. She could see Connor standing a little taller than most, his hair windswept by the breeze.

“Expected why?” She let Amelia take her arm and lead her back down the hill.

“Ever since the wedding, he’s refused to step foot in the church.”

“Th—the wedding?” The words stammered out of her.

“Emily and Connor’s wedding.”

Katherine tripped over a thick tuft of grass, too shocked to lift her feet to step over it. “Emily and Connor? Don’t you mean Grant?”

Amelia stopped before they reached the growing crowd. Her brow puckered in confusion. “No. I mean Connor…” Her voice faded. “He didn’t tell you?”

Katherine shook her head, unable to form the words. No, he hadn’t told her. He’d asked her plenty of questions, but answers to his own past had been in short supply. Beyond the fact that he’d left town eight years ago and returned after his brother’s death, she knew very little about his past. Certainly not that he’d married his brother’s wife! How was that even possible?

“Ask him,” Amelia said, resting a hand on Katherine’s arm. “He’s bottled it up inside for far too long. He won’t talk to any of us. Bart and I have tried. But I think maybe he’ll talk to you.”

“Why would he?” With all her lies, she’d be the last person he trusted with the truth.

Amelia smiled. She lifted one hand and pressed its warmth against Katherine’s cheek. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, the way he watches you when you’re not looking. You’ve managed to wiggle your way past those walls he’s spent eight years building. I expect that probably scares the pants off him and he’s not sure what to do about it. But you might as well take advantage and get that boy to face up to his past.”

“His past?” What could he have done that was so awful, that needed facing up to?

Amelia’s eyes softened. “He has a good heart. He’s just afraid to listen to it anymore. Thinks because it was wrong once it can’t ever be right again. Maybe you can change his mind on that.”

But she couldn’t. She didn’t have that right. She was a married woman, the wife of an outlaw. She was the last person on earth Connor should trust.

And they both knew it.

Amelia gave her arm a final squeeze and left to find Bart. Katherine stood alone for a moment before Connor sought her out.

“You okay?” His voice brushed over her, scrambling her senses and making her nerves sing.

She nodded, unable to speak just yet. Too many unanswered questions whirled in her brain. She feared that if she opened her mouth, they would all tumble out at once.

“Beth asked to take Jenny home with her tonight. You said being around other children would be good for her, so I thought especially now…” His voice trailed off and he looked at her expectantly until Katherine realized he sought her agreement.

She bobbed her head. “Yes…yes, I think that’s good.”

Connor rolled the brim of his hat in his fingers and stared at the ground. After a silent moment, he glanced up at the stars. “I can take you home if you’d like. Bring you back to town in the morning to pick up Jenny.” He shrugged. “Or you can stay here if you’d prefer.”

Katherine shook her head. Her days here were numbered. She could feel the end coming and knew there was nothing she could do to stop it. She wanted to spend what time she had left at the one place where she felt safe and needed.

However illusory that feeling was.

“Take me home.”

“Take me home.”

Kate’s words echoed in Connor’s mind long after the ride home. He’d dropped her off at the house and continued on to the barn to unhitch the buggy. She’d been quiet the whole way, barely saying a word. Perhaps not terribly unusual, but she’d been so happy at the dance, he couldn’t imagine what had changed. Hewitt had steered clear of her, Connor’s warning apparently doing its job. And near as he could tell no one said anything untoward about their living arrangements. That left only one thing.

He’d seen her at Grant’s graveside with Amelia.

Had Amelia said something to her? And if so, what?

Connor closed the door to Belle’s stall and let his weight sag against it. Being with Kate stirred up a quagmire of emotions he didn’t want to deal with. For eight years he’d ignored them, heaped anger on top of them and buried the hurt well beneath it.

He discovered early on it was easier to be angry than hurt. Anger fueled him, kept him moving, pushed him on. Hurt…well, that just stopped a body cold in its tracks. Took your breath away until you fell to your knees gasping for air. Anger didn’t break your heart the way hurt did. It kept you busy, so you didn’t have to think about how your insides were shattered into pieces so small they no longer fit back together the way they used to.

And for the longest time it hadn’t mattered that he was broken. Hell, after a while he stopped caring. Until he came home. Until he hired Kate and suddenly all the feelings he thought were dead and gone came raging back. No matter how hard he tried to stuff them down, they kept popping back up. Day after day, her smile and her warmth wormed their way in. Little by little, her presence sewed the broken pieces back together. He hadn’t even noticed it because it felt so damn natural just being around her. Like she belonged there.

Like she belonged with him.

But she didn’t, he reminded himself. She was another man’s wife.

A man who scared her so intensely she was willing to assume another woman’s identity to hide away from him. A man he wanted to protect her from. Save her from.

Dammit.

Had he felt that way with Emily? Connor shook his head. He could barely recall. For years, the only thing about Emily he allowed himself to remember was her betrayal. His memory of her paled after that final day. One thing he did know—and the truth of it did little to quell the confusion welling inside of him—but even on her best day, Emily wasn’t half the woman Kate was.

Kate was strong and sweet and genuine. Despite the lies she’d told, the past she still kept hidden, his instincts told him he could trust her. And his heart stood firm in its agreement.

He loved her.

The realization slammed into him and squeezed the air from his lungs.

Dear God, it couldn’t be true. Not so soon. Not this fast.

But there it was. Truer than anything he had ever known.

He loved her.

He loved a woman he didn’t know. A woman who refused to trust him with the truth. A woman whose touch filled him with all the dreams he thought he’d left behind eight years ago.

Maybe Will had the right of it. Maybe it was time he fessed up to her before someone else filled her in on the truth. Maybe then she’d feel free to confess her past to him and they could find a way to free her from her husband.

And she could be his.

He returned to the house and found Kate standing by the kitchen table, her arms methodically kneading a shapeless lump of dough. Flour dusted her forearms and sprinkled the front of her dress. She had changed back into her yellow calico. The soft glow from the lamp brought out streaks of gold that wound through her curls.

“You’re baking bread?”

She glanced at him briefly before returning to work. “We need some for the morning. And I wasn’t that tired, so…” Her words drifted off.

“Kate?”

“Hmm?” She pressed her hands into the dough one last time before shaping it into an oval and dropping it into the waiting pan.

“I saw you at the graveyard with Amelia.”

Kate nodded and covered the bread with a tea towel, returning it to the counter to rise. “Yes. She showed me where your brother’s grave was.”

“Did she say anything else?”

Kate shrugged, keeping her back to him. “Just that he raised you after your parents died.” She stopped for a moment, then added, “And that you and Emily were married.”

“She said what?”

Kate turned. “But I don’t understand. How could you marry her when she was already married to your brother?”

Connor didn’t know where to start, other than to blurt out the whole sordid mess. “Emily was my fiancée.”

“But Amelia said—”

“You must have misunderstood. I courted Emily for over a year. I was twenty-two. Reckless. Headstrong. Thought I owned the world. I had all these lofty ideas about heading north, maybe getting a spread of my own, raise some cattle. Didn’t have one sweet clue how I planned to accomplish such a feat with barely a nickel to my name, but I was going to do it, and I was going to take Emily with me. I thought it would be a great adventure.”

Kate shook her head. “What happened?”

His past reassembled itself in his mind, pulling together pieces he had refused to think about for years, resurrecting the pain, dulled by time yet honed by regret. “The day Emily and I were to be married, Grant and I stood waiting at the front of the church. The whole town had stuffed themselves into the pews to watch us say our vows. But an hour passed, and Emily didn’t show.”

“Where was she?”

Connor tensed, remembering the humiliation of having to go search for his bride while the town clucked their tongues in pity. “Grant and I found her back at her pa’s place, sitting in the kitchen, wearing her wedding dress.”

Kate rested her hand lightly on his forearm. Warmth seeped through his shirtsleeve into his skin and he closed his eyes, soaking it in. That small bit of encouragement made it easier to go on.

“I asked her why she wasn’t at the church. She said—” he stumbled over the memory, “—she said she couldn’t marry me. Said I was too wild. She couldn’t count on me to provide a good home or be a good husband and father. She said she wanted a man like my brother. Not someone like me.”

“Did Grant…did he know how she felt?”

Connor shrugged. The pain of his brother’s duplicity still stung even after all this time. Emily’s betrayal he could take, it had been Grant’s that had hurt the most. “Guess so. They married less than a month later.”

“What did he say when you confronted him about it?”

Connor laughed, the sound bitter and mirthless. “I didn’t. I was too angry. I stormed out of the house, packed a bag and rode straight out of town as fast as I could.” He let out a long, pent-up sigh. “I never saw or spoke to my brother again. A few years later, Bart sent word Emily had taken ill and died.”

“How did Bart know where to find you?”

“I didn’t want them to worry about me, so I kept in touch, just in case…”

He let his words trail off. In case what? He hadn’t believed anything could ever happen to Grant. He was strong, steady and dependable. Connor never considered for a moment any misfortune would ever befall his older brother. But it had.

“Why didn’t you come home after Emily died?”

Connor took Kate’s hand and pulled her closer. He needed her touch, needed the comfort of having her close. Resurrecting his past had left him raw and exposed. “Pride, I guess.”

“I’m sorry you were hurt.”

Her words slid past his barriers to a dark corner and shone a warm light where he kept his pain hidden. Funny how she did that, lit up the places no one else could reach.

“I wish I understood why he betrayed me like that,” he said. The question had worn a deep path through his brain, but he’d never found a satisfactory answer. And he’d had too much of that damned pride to ask Bart and Amelia.

“Sometimes people make mistakes, big ones. They rush in thinking they’re doing the right thing and then find out they were wrong. But by then it’s too late, and the damage is done.”

Connor looked at her, into her. Was she talking about Grant or herself? There was something buried in her expression, struggling to the surface. “Is that what happened to you?”

Regret blazed in her eyes. She took a step back, her withdrawal hitting him like a bitter gust of wind.

“Everyone makes mistakes, Connor. And sometimes we can’t go back and fix them.”

He reached for her, pulling her back to him. She didn’t resist, didn’t pull away when he cupped the side of her face. “Whatever mistake you made, you’re safe now. Here with me. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

An unexpected tear trickled down her cheek. He swept it away with his thumb and lowered his head, hesitating for one final second, before brushing his lips over the trail of moisture left behind.

“Connor…” His name on her breath fueled him. His lips sought hers, a shudder coursing through him as they met. Soft at first, gentle. He wanted to comfort her. To take away their pasts and make them not matter. The tension in her body eased and she leaned in, pressing her lithe curves against the length of him. It proved his undoing.

He devoured her, breathed her in. Warm flour and lavender clung to her like a tantalizing mist, teasing his senses into madness. God help him, he couldn’t get enough of this woman—this stranger who had invaded his mind, his heart, his very soul. One touch would never be enough. He knew that now. He had to have her, to make her his.

A small whimper escaped her and he drew it in, gentling his kiss until his lips barely moved over hers. Just a light whisper of skin touching skin, breath mingling with breath. His fingertips slid slowly down over the curve of her neck. Connor thought he might lose what was left of his mind. He wasn’t at all sure he’d miss it. It took every ounce of his will not to crush her to him, to pick her up and carry her off to the bedroom. Peel away every item of clothing piece by piece until she lay naked beneath him.

“We shouldn’t,” she whispered. It sounded more like a question than a statement.

“No, we shouldn’t.” There were probably a hundred reasons why she was right. The biggest one being the husband who lurked in the background. But he could take care of that. They could divorce. It wouldn’t be easy, but they’d figure it out. Then they could be together. A family. The two of them and Jenny. Kids of their own—

“I’m leaving.” Her words cut straight into his heart.

He lifted his head. “What?”

“You owe me my wages. It’s been a month. I’m going to pay off the Hewitts and move on.” Her words had the sickening ring of finality to them.

“And go where?”

“It doesn’t matter.” She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his cheek. “Please don’t kiss me again. I can’t stand it. Promise you won’t.”

“I can’t promise you that,” he whispered.

Her eyes opened, filled with surprise. “Why not?”

“I’d never be able to keep it.”