don’t know.” He cut her off gruffly.
Another question rose in her mind—one she couldn’t resist asking. “And what kind of man are you, Shane McKenna, that someone would wish you dead?”
“You’ve a sharp tongue, Caity. Best you hold it for a better time and place.”
“I will that,” she promised him. “Be sure of it.”
“Boy tell us locky door,” Mary said in her odd singsong English. “He say ba-ad man shoot at you. Mary no bringy lantern. Mary come quick. Missy-Wife no stay house.” She replaced her unlit pipe in her mouth and nodded firmly.
The mare raised her head and uttered a strangled moan. Instantly Mary ran her hands along the animal’s belly and murmured in a strange language.
“I don’t know if we can get her to the barn,” Gabe said.
Mary nodded again. “Need light. You help or horse die quick, I think.”
A coyote howled off to the north, and Caitlin glanced nervously over her shoulder. Anxiously she followed the three back to the largest stable.
Once inside, Mary lit a lantern, and Gabe and Shane let the suffering mare sink down in a pile of clean straw. “I’ll need whiskey,” Shane said.
“I’d think this would be a time when you’d need a clear head,” Caitlin offered.
Mary grinned, exposing perfect white teeth. It was the first time Caitlin had seen her smile. “Mary bring whiskey.”
When she turned toward the doorway, Caitlin asked, “Are you going to the house?” She was torn betweenremaining here and seeing if Derry was safe. In the end, concern for the child won out and she hurried back.
Mary went into the large parlor, and Caitlin returned to the kitchen where she’d left the children. “Is Derry—”
Justice nearly knocked her down running past. “Where’s Shane? Did the mare have her colt?” He didn’t stop for an answer. Caitlin heard Mary say something to him, but she couldn’t understand what the Indian woman said.
Derry was seated in the chair where Caitlin had last seen her, sound asleep, rosebud lips sucking contentedly. In one chubby hand she clutched a handful of duck feathers; in the other, a piece of Mary’s fry bread smeared with honey. She was nearly hidden in the man’s shirt that someone had draped around her shoulders.
Caitlin heard the front door close. Suddenly, unwilling to miss out on what was happening in the barn, she picked up Derry and carried her out to the stable.
When she reached the circle of lantern light, she saw that Shane had stripped away his shirt. Naked to the waist, he vigorously soaped his muscular arms over a tub of water.
Caitlin laid Derry in a nest of hay and tried not to stare at Shane’s exposed chest. Thin white scars crisscrossed his tanned skin. His stomach was flat beneath bands of hard sinew; his biceps bulged below a set of brawny shoulders.
A fair broth of a man, she thought, and her remaining anger at him drained away. Surely Shane had been brusque with her out of concern for her safety. It was only natural that he’d not want her in the field where someone had tried to shoot at him. She’d been too quick to flare up, as usual, and she’d accused him of being to blame. Her behavior was inexcusable, and she resolved to apologize to Shane as soon as they were alone.
She could not take her gaze from him as her pulsequickened and disturbing thoughts filled her head. She had lain beneath Shane McKenna, felt those powerful arms around her, known the intimate touch of his long fingers. He was her God-given husband … but she had never seen him like this.
“Mary,” he said.
The housekeeper uncorked the whiskey bottle and poured the amber liquid over Shane’s hands. He rubbed them together, then sloshed the potent brew along his arms to the elbow.
“Oh,” Caitlin murmured. She hadn’t realized that he meant to use the
uisce beathadh
as a disinfectant. “I thought you were going to drink the—”
“Shane doesn’t drink,” Justice said.
Another thing she didn’t know about
Another question rose in her mind—one she couldn’t resist asking. “And what kind of man are you, Shane McKenna, that someone would wish you dead?”
“You’ve a sharp tongue, Caity. Best you hold it for a better time and place.”
“I will that,” she promised him. “Be sure of it.”
“Boy tell us locky door,” Mary said in her odd singsong English. “He say ba-ad man shoot at you. Mary no bringy lantern. Mary come quick. Missy-Wife no stay house.” She replaced her unlit pipe in her mouth and nodded firmly.
The mare raised her head and uttered a strangled moan. Instantly Mary ran her hands along the animal’s belly and murmured in a strange language.
“I don’t know if we can get her to the barn,” Gabe said.
Mary nodded again. “Need light. You help or horse die quick, I think.”
A coyote howled off to the north, and Caitlin glanced nervously over her shoulder. Anxiously she followed the three back to the largest stable.
Once inside, Mary lit a lantern, and Gabe and Shane let the suffering mare sink down in a pile of clean straw. “I’ll need whiskey,” Shane said.
“I’d think this would be a time when you’d need a clear head,” Caitlin offered.
Mary grinned, exposing perfect white teeth. It was the first time Caitlin had seen her smile. “Mary bring whiskey.”
When she turned toward the doorway, Caitlin asked, “Are you going to the house?” She was torn betweenremaining here and seeing if Derry was safe. In the end, concern for the child won out and she hurried back.
Mary went into the large parlor, and Caitlin returned to the kitchen where she’d left the children. “Is Derry—”
Justice nearly knocked her down running past. “Where’s Shane? Did the mare have her colt?” He didn’t stop for an answer. Caitlin heard Mary say something to him, but she couldn’t understand what the Indian woman said.
Derry was seated in the chair where Caitlin had last seen her, sound asleep, rosebud lips sucking contentedly. In one chubby hand she clutched a handful of duck feathers; in the other, a piece of Mary’s fry bread smeared with honey. She was nearly hidden in the man’s shirt that someone had draped around her shoulders.
Caitlin heard the front door close. Suddenly, unwilling to miss out on what was happening in the barn, she picked up Derry and carried her out to the stable.
When she reached the circle of lantern light, she saw that Shane had stripped away his shirt. Naked to the waist, he vigorously soaped his muscular arms over a tub of water.
Caitlin laid Derry in a nest of hay and tried not to stare at Shane’s exposed chest. Thin white scars crisscrossed his tanned skin. His stomach was flat beneath bands of hard sinew; his biceps bulged below a set of brawny shoulders.
A fair broth of a man, she thought, and her remaining anger at him drained away. Surely Shane had been brusque with her out of concern for her safety. It was only natural that he’d not want her in the field where someone had tried to shoot at him. She’d been too quick to flare up, as usual, and she’d accused him of being to blame. Her behavior was inexcusable, and she resolved to apologize to Shane as soon as they were alone.
She could not take her gaze from him as her pulsequickened and disturbing thoughts filled her head. She had lain beneath Shane McKenna, felt those powerful arms around her, known the intimate touch of his long fingers. He was her God-given husband … but she had never seen him like this.
“Mary,” he said.
The housekeeper uncorked the whiskey bottle and poured the amber liquid over Shane’s hands. He rubbed them together, then sloshed the potent brew along his arms to the elbow.
“Oh,” Caitlin murmured. She hadn’t realized that he meant to use the
uisce beathadh
as a disinfectant. “I thought you were going to drink the—”
“Shane doesn’t drink,” Justice said.
Another thing she didn’t know about
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