elk or even a moose that broke through the veil of snow and into her sight. It was Dillon Hennessey riding a big black-and-white mustang. Sitting tall and straight in the saddle, he looked rugged and as invincible as a warrior of old. As if nothing could defeat or diminish him.
A strange tingle began at her nape and slid down her spine. What kind of man was Dillon Hennessey? Why did she want to know? She didn’t like men. She wasn’t interested in them. Not after what she’d been through.
So, why couldn’t she tear her eyes from him? Why did that tingle in her spine strengthen when he rode so close to the window?
He was dressed well for the weather, and she couldn’t see his face. Couldn’t see anything more of him than she had last night in the dark. But the wide cut of his coat suggested a man of muscle and strength. The shadowed profile hinted at a man hard as stone.
She shivered. He was probably a harsh man. Weren’t they all? Stronger than a woman, and he was probably the worst, breaking horses with whips and spurs and cruelty.
The image of Brett’s raised fist flashed into her mind and she shook harder, willing it away. She was safe from him here. Whatever happened to her now would not be as bad as being married to that man.
She wrapped her hands around the teacup and lifted it to her lips. The dark liquid sloshed up to the rim but didn’t spill. She took a deep breath. She had to relax. She didn’t need to be so jumpy. She was safe, remember?
She felt something, a strange sensation like the brush of a feather against the side of her face. She snapped her head up. There, on the other side of the glass, the horseman was staring at her. He’d turned in the saddle, his face shadowed by the brim of his hat, and in the storm all she saw was his dark blue gaze, compelling and calm, before the snowfall swallowed him whole. Leaving her watching the flakes tumbling past the window and with a strange quickening in her chest.
“Effie, do you know anything about that new man?”
“The wrangler?” The wooden spoon scraped on the steel fry pan. “Came in about a month ago. Your stepfather brought him in to work with his new mares. Dillon Hennessey’s supposed to be the best. There ain’t a horse he can’t break.”
“How unlucky for the horses.” Her stomach tightened and she stared at the roll. She was no longer hungry.
“Horses aren’t useful for much if they can’t pull a buggy.” Effie dropped the empty pan on the counter, untroubled by the clatter, and rescued the sizzling bacon from the heat. “I hear he comes up from Texas way, but worked in Wyoming for a spell. Been all around. California. Colorado. New Mexico. He always comes back to Montana. Folks say this here territory is his home.”
“I thought you said he was from Texas?”
“I don’t rightly know. He isn’t given to talk much, and you know my Pete is as deaf as a turnip. Can’t hear anything right, so that’s probably what he thinks he heard about Hennessey. Haven’t spoken to the man myself. He keeps to his own.”
A loner. A drifter. Katelyn remembered how he’d stood apart from the men last night, and it hadn’t only been the distance between the others that separated them and made him distinct, as if he were above those other men.
And yet how could he be? He was no different, being a wrangler, a man who wore spurs and dominated wherever he could, and at whatever cost. Like any man.
“Eat up, girl, you haven’t eaten enough to keep a bird alive.” Effie thrust a plate of bacon and eggs onto the table.
Katelyn wrinkled her nose. “I’m not hungry.”
“It doesn’t matter. Eat. Or there will be hell to pay.” Effie’s stern words were forceful enough to echo in the small kitchen, but her eyes shone with kindness.
Hers was the only caring Katelyn had known since she’d been a little girl. Grateful, she lifted the fork off the edge of the plate. For Effie, she’d do her best, even if her stomach felt as if it were tied into a hundred knots.
Effie’s attention drifted to the window. “Was there any reason you wanted to know about Dillon Hennessey?”
Was it Katelyn’s imagination, or did Effie sound unusually pleased? “It was idle curiosity. So much has changed since I’ve been gone.”
“True. You were married how long?”
Effie knew full well how long. “Five years. A lot has changed. I wondered if my stepfather has been any more successful in keeping his hired men.”
“Not a bit. If Pete wasn’t your mama’s cousin, we’d be long gone ourselves. Cal Willman is a tough man to work for, I’ll grant you that. A man like Hennessey, he’s a drifter. He moves from ranch to ranch. Gets paid well, I hear. We had a year and a half wait for him, he’s got that much work. That ought to say something good about him, wouldn’t you say?”
“I suppose.” Katelyn stared at the eggs in front of her. She never should have asked a single question about the horseman.
Effie snatched the pot from the counter, moving casually, but there was nothing the woman did without purpose. “He’s pleasing to the eye, wouldn’t you say? A woman can’t help but notice Dillon Hennessey’s about as tough as a mountain and good-looking to boot.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“You are a terrible liar, dear heart.” Effie sounded as pleased as a new mother as she tipped the pot, warming up Katelyn’s cup. “Even at my age, a handsome man still catches my eye. He’s not truly handsome, though, is he? Rugged. Striking. That describes him better. He looks like a man who could protect a woman from any threat. Any danger. Now that’s what a woman needs in a husband.”
Katelyn groaned. “Stop, please. I’ve had one husband. I will never want another.”
“But whatever will become of you?” Effie set the pot on the table and drew up a chair. The sharp scrape of the wooden legs against the floor came as harsh as the fear on the woman’s face. “I’ve heard what they’ve been saying, the two of them, when they think no one can hear. They intend to find a situation for you, and it won’t be a pleasant one.”
“I don’t need them to find anything for me. As soon as I’m well, I can leave.”
“What if they ain’t planning to wait that long? And where would you go? This is a cruel world for a woman alone.”
“It can be a cruel world for a married woman.”
“No, only if the woman marries the wrong kind of man. I promise you, you could do much worse than Dillon Hennessey.”
“What? Effie, I asked you to stop. I can’t stand it.” She laid down her fork and rested her aching head in her hands. She was still weak from one man’s beating. Did Effie think that she couldn’t wait to give control of her life to another man?
“There, there.” The cook’s hand lit on Katelyn’s shoulder blade, a gentle, comforting touch. “Didn’t mean to overset you. But keep in mind, you need a situation better’n the one your stepfather will find for you. The best way to get out of here is to marry a man of your own choice. One that’ll treat you good, the way you deserve.”
“Oh, Effie.”
