The Lawman's Oklahoma Sweetheart. Allie Pleiter
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an edge of fear he felt right down to his gut. Still, it was an agreement, and that’s what he needed right now. “I understand,” she went on, nodding, her voice gaining a tiny sliver of strength. “We will do this. For Lars.”
“Clint?” Lije’s voice came from the door as he pushed it open. “I saw flames. What is...” His expression changed as the light from the window illuminated Clint’s and Katrine’s soot-smeared faces. “Land sakes! Are either of you hurt? Where’s Lars?”
Katrine looked back to Clint with wide, panicked eyes. For the delightful storyteller Katrine was, this tale seemed beyond her right now. Could she really do as he asked? He looked at her hard, his stare saying “Lars needs you to do this,” but she blinked and wobbled a bit as if she’d just had the breath knocked out of her. He spared her any further answer by turning toward his brother and slowly shaking his head.
Clint watched as the realization spread over his brother’s face. Losing Lars would be a huge blow to this community—it was precisely why he had to be “lost” now so that his life could be saved. “God have mercy. No. Not Lars.”
Clint nodded even as Katrine seemed to wilt. He held her upright by the shoulders, sending her strength through his grip. This was asking a lot of her, but he knew her. She was stronger than she knew, even if she couldn’t have been prepared for tonight’s shock. The fire’s trauma still pounded through his own blood, for that matter. How could it not still hold her in its grip? “The house went up like a matchstick,” Clint said, focusing his thoughts with the facts he could safely relate. “It’s a wonder I could get Katrine out through the back wall.”
“You saved her life, Clint. Thank God for that.”
Lije’s brand-new wife, Alice—they’d just been married the first of the month—came out from behind her husband, wrapping a shawl around her nightshift. “It’s dreadful, dreadful news. Bring her in here, Clint. The two of you look awful.” She pulled Katrine from Clint’s grip, brushing aside the blond locks that had frayed out of Katrine’s long braid. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?”
“Ja,” Katrine said meekly, lapsing for a moment into her native tongue. “I am not hurt. Not much.” She coughed, hiding her face in her hands.
“No need to talk about it further. Come inside and let’s get you cleaned up. Clint, you, too. I want to look at that hand.” She nodded to the bloody gash on Clint’s left hand inflicted by the splintered logs as he had pulled Katrine to safety.
“Give me a moment with Clint,” Lije said, grabbing Clint’s elbow. “I’ll be inside in a minute.”
“I’m fine, Alice,” Clint insisted when Alice gave her husband a questioning look. “A bit worse for wear but nothing serious.”
Alice held up a pair of fingers. “Two minutes. Then I want you inside to get some antiseptic on that arm.”
Clint turned to his brother as the door shut behind the women. “Before you ask, no, it wasn’t an accident. It was the Black Four.”
“Lars was murdered? By the Black Four?”
Life took harsh turns out here in the territories, but Clint had learned that the four men who had come to be called the Black Four were helping things along by ensuring certain weaker settlers met with more bad luck than others. Worst of all, Clint now knew that Samuel McGraw and the other members of the local “Security Patrol” were the men behind the name. As the Black Four, these cavalrymen had done exactly what they were out here charged to prevent: cut fences, set fires, let livestock loose and a whole host of other crimes. Acts designed to intimidate folks out of their land. As a result, scared settlers had sold their stakes at cheap prices—right to a convenient buyer Clint was pretty sure was in McGraw’s back pocket. Greed was alive and well in Brave Rock, Oklahoma, but all Clint had right now to prove McGraw was behind the Black Four was Lars’s eyewitness testimony. The witness that the Black Four had thought they killed tonight.
Clint ran his hand down his face, still feeling the gritty soot he’d tried to wipe off several times already. The image of that private’s lackadaisical stance made his stomach churn. Evil was alive and well—and in the last place most people would think to look. “Keep this between us for now, Lije, but they nailed the door shut with her inside. McGraw set his torch to the place as easily as if he were lighting a cigar.”
Lije placed his hand on Clint’s shoulder. “Lord protect us.” Clint saw grave worry darken his brother’s eyes. “These men have people fooled and must be stopped. Clint, you have got to prove McGraw is behind everything. Any way you can.”
He’d begun to do just that, hadn’t he? “I intend to. Men like that will kill again if it suits them, and more easily as they go. They’re going after the easy claims now, but it won’t stop there. Pretty soon no one will be safe. I know how much I need to bring them to justice.” After a pause, he added, “I owe that much to Lars. To his memory.” He didn’t like keeping Lije in the dark this way, but there was nothing for it—the fewer people who knew Lars lived, the more chances the Dane had of staying alive.
As if she’d heard his thoughts of her brother, Katrine’s quiet sob came though the cabin window.
Lije’s hand tightened on Clint’s shoulder. “Not all was lost. You saved her life.”
The skitter of panic returned and Clint pushed away the black thought of what might have happened if he’d been even five minutes later. “Barely.”
“In these parts, barely’s enough. Come inside and let Alice tend to you. The fire’s out, and there’s nothing to be done until daylight.”
It must be near two in the morning, but even though every bone in his body ached, Clint was sure no sleep would come to him tonight. He couldn’t leave Katrine right now. Not only wasn’t it wise until he knew she could maintain the deception, but a part of him felt responsible for her now. He’d saved her life. He’d inserted himself into a crime and had thrust this simple, gentle woman into a dangerous game. He’d tangled with the cavalrymen by choice, in order to see justice done. Katrine? She’d only been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He pushed through the door to find her slumped and still shaking at Lije’s table. He’d always thought her quietly strong, but she looked to be made of glass right now.
“Are you hurt?” Clint asked as gently as he could. He didn’t think she was, but Are you all right? wasn’t even a question worth asking.
“Her feet are badly bruised from kicking,” Alice offered, gathering up the ash-blackened cloths that sat beside the wash bowl. Katrine’s hands fared no better, for red scrapes marred the too-pink skin of her scrubbed hands. “It’s awful.” Alice’s voice broke. “Poor, dear Lars.”
Clint caught Katrine’s eyes and silently told her to hold on just awhile. “I’ll bring Lars’s killers to justice,” he declared to her more than anyone else. “So help me I will.”
* * *
Even though daylight came through Elijah and Alice’s windows, Katrine felt as if she were still surrounded by darkness. Sunshine did nothing to bring her peace. She wondered how she would get through another hour—much less an entire day—of telling people Lars was dead. Already she had watched them mourn her brother and offer her comfort. Much as she trusted Sheriff Thornton’s judgment and wanted to keep Lars safe, these few hours had fed Katrine’s doubts that this plan would work.
Breakfast was barely finished before Alice resumed dabbing more disinfectant onto one of the deep scratches. The woman who served as Brave Rock’s nurse offered a sympathetic smile. “Nasty stuff, isn’t it? Trust me, an infection would be a lot nastier. And hurt more.” Alice peered at the wound on Katrine’s arm once more, then began to wrap it in a bandage. “God was watching over you last night. I know you’ve lost much, but you haven’t lost your life.”
Katrine looked at the cabin’s table. Already it had begun to fill with food and other gifts of comfort from the good people of Brave