Katrine stared at the spot on the hill where Winona no longer stood watch, feeling as void as the bare landscape. Winona had ridden to Lars, giving the signal to set the drastic events of the night into motion. Everyone Katrine cared about was galloping headlong into danger, and she felt as trapped out here under the open sky as she had inside the burning cabin.
You can pray. You must pray. She knew these truths, but her hands refused to fold and her head would not bow. She paced the grass in front of the church, stared back at the yellow light of the windows, then paced more. Somewhere to her west in the direction of the Chaucer lands, where she could now see a menacing yellow glow begin to flicker over the ridge, a trio of gunshots rang out, and Katrine’s whole body flinched.
Tell someone. The thought shook her to action, as far from her youthful need to keep quiet as Katrine could ever imagine. It was as though she had no choice—this time, staying silent would not, could not stand. Without a shred of hesitation, Katrine ran into Elijah and Alice’s house, banging open the door without so much as a knock.
“Katrine?” Elijah looked up from his chair.
“Guns! At the Chaucer lands. Clint is there, and Lars will be soon.”
“What?” Elijah dropped the book he was holding.
Katrine squinted her eyes shut, her English failing her at a time when she must explain so much so quickly. The sound of two more gunshots filled the air through the open door—a more convincing alarm than Katrine’s words could achieve.
Sending up a wordless burst of prayer for clarity, Katrine tried again. “Lars is not dead. McGraw tried to kill him when he burned our cabin. He’s been hiding because Lars knows McGraw and the other privates are the Black Four.”
Alice rose off her chair. “McGraw? The Security Patrol?”
“Yes.” Katrine tried not to shout, but her heart begged him to hurry with every beat. “It was those four who trapped me in my house and set it on fire. They thought Lars was inside.” Elijah’s eyes widened, and Katrine’s throat tightened in frustration. It was too many details to make sense. She hardly understood it herself. How could she convince Elijah and Alice to lay aside the deception and offer their help? “They are horrible men and Clint is riding with them right now to trap them. Winona went to tell Lars to help the Chaucers before McGraw takes their land and—”
The sound of more gunshots stole whatever words remained, leaving her only to cry “Help!” and clutch the watch that hung from her neck in desperation.
Elijah was already off his chair and reaching for the holster that hung on a peg by the door. “Clint had you keep this from me?”
“If too many knew, it would be more dangerous for Lars.”
“Gracious!” Alice’s hand went to her chest. “Lars is alive?”
The exclamation seemed to feed Katrine’s sense of dread. What good was Lars alive if he was heading into a gun battle at this very moment? What if he and Clint both lay dying at the hands of that terrible Sam McGraw? Her eyes went to the reverend. “We must do something!”
Elijah’s eyes took on a hardened quality Katrine had never seen the man display. “Alice, gather a basket of medical supplies. I’m going to get Gideon. Evelyn can stay here with Katrine while we sort this out.” For one brief second he stilled, his eyes boring straight at Katrine. “McGraw. You’re sure? Clint is certain?”
More shots rang out and someone in the distance shouted, “Fire over west!”
Sure enough, Katrine’s next breath nearly choked at the faint scent of smoke. “Yes!”
Elijah finished the buckle on his holster and grabbed his wife’s hand. “Then Heaven help us all tonight. Alice, bring the wagon as soon as Evelyn arrives, but stay back behind the pond. I’ll send injured folks to you or send a messenger if it’s safe to come onto the Chaucer land.”
Katrine and Alice stood staring at the open doorway as Elijah raced out, mounted his horse and galloped into the darkness.
Alice’s fingers trembled as she grabbed Katrine’s elbow. “Samuel McGraw and his men are the Black Four? How could they do such things?”
All the fear and anger Katrine had been struggling to hold in check seemed to roar out of control, licking at her like the fire that had devoured her house. “Because he is an awful, terrible, heartless man!” She put a hand to her forehead, ashamed of her own outburst but beyond being able to control it. “And he is shooting at Lars and Clint while we are standing here doing nothing!”
An efficiency settled behind Alice’s eyes. “We will not sit here and do nothing. We have medical supplies to pull together and Evelyn will be here any moment. Your ordeal ends tonight, Katrine. God willing, our men will put a stop to the Black Four for good.” She put her hands on both of Katrine’s shoulders. “And Lars lives! I shall pinch Clint Thornton’s ear until he hollers for putting us all through that—right after I hug him for saving so many lives.” She undid the apron around her waist and picked up a lantern, heading for the infirmary. “Come now, let’s go. We can pray while we stock my bags.”
They had barely gotten the wagon hitched and the infirmary lanterns lit when Evelyn’s voice came from the yard. Katrine rushed to the window in the vain hope that either Lars or Clint had come as well, despite the foolishness of that idea. “In here!” she called to Evelyn, waving her away from the cabin and into the infirmary.
Evelyn burst through the door, eyes wide and out of breath. “McGraw? The other cavalrymen? It can’t be true, can it?” Her hand went to Katrine’s. “And Lars is alive? I can barely take it in.”
“My brother has come out of hiding to help save yours,” Katrine said, grasping Evelyn’s hand tightly. “These are dangerous men. I am worried for all of them.”
“Our men are brave and strong and in the right,” Alice declared as if the very words sent protection to Gideon, Elijah, Clint and Lars. “God defends the faithful. He is on the side of justice. That’s what we must try to remember.” Alice selected three bottles from the shelf and packed them alongside the bandages. She handed canteens to Katrine. “Here, fill these with the water from that jug over there and cap them off as tightly as you can.”
Katrine was grateful to have a task. As she ladled the water from the large jug into the set of small flasks, she begged God to keep Lars and Clint from harm. I will tell Clint how I feel and what I’ve done, she told her Lord. I will tell Lars what happened that night. I will trust in the truth and in You. Only give me the chance. She wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand, pushing away the thought that such a chance might never come. “Gud nade,” she prayed, aloud, falling into Danish. “Gud nade.”
Evelyn raised a dark eyebrow, more in tender curiosity than any kind of judgment. It was the first time Katrine noticed that Evelyn’s eyelashes were wet also. All of her brothers were in danger as well as her husband.
“God have mercy,” Katrine translated, tightening the last cap with resolve. “God have mercy on them all.”
“Amen to that,” Alice replied, taking the last flask from Katrine and closing her bag. “Keep on praying and don’t stop. If we are very fortunate, no lives will be taken tonight and we’ll have much to celebrate in the morning.” She ducked out the door and deposited her bag in the wagon bed. “I’ll try to make sure word reaches you as soon as I can. Tend to each other now, and boil some water so we’re ready to treat the wounded here.”
“I pray we won’t need it,” Evelyn said, looking toward the western ridge and the ominous orange glow that burned through the dark sky.
“You never know—someone might want to boil Samuel McGraw before the night is over.” Alice settled herself in the wagon seat and snapped the reins. “To think how much we all trusted them to be keeping the peace, not stealing it.”
“Gud nade,” Katrine called as Alice rumbled off toward the chaos.
“God have mercy,” Evelyn repeated, the tears finally winning over whatever calm she had left.
* * *
“Where have all those guns come from?” Reid Chaucer yelled as he reloaded his pistol with his back to the wall. The orange glow of the barn fire cast the cabin in long, flickering shadows.
“They have government supplies stocked up all over the territory,” Clint called back, his memory cataloguing every place he’d met the cavalrymen and how Lars had come across crates of ammunition. The more he uncovered the depths of these men’s evil, the more astonished he grew that Lars and Katrine were still alive.
Lars had not died. Katrine had not died. The marvel in that stuck to his soul, an antidote to some of the dark corners that had stolen his faith in recent years. All Clint had to do now was live through the next few hours.
That, and fight back the four varmints who currently had him and the Chaucer brothers outgunned, cornered and close to burning down. Anytime You’d like to show that Mighty Hand of Yours, Lord, I’d be obliged.
The volley of bullets died down for a moment as the Black Four—it made no sense to call them soldiers anymore, they were a bandit gang if not far worse— reloaded or moved closer. Clint peered through the window opening and found a shadowy target. Just before his finger pulled the trigger, a yell and Lars’s whistle signal broke the temporary quiet. Strafford cried out, clutched his leg and tumbled from his horse.
Clint’s jaw dropped as not only did Lars’s tall frame appear out of the smoke, but Gideon’s and Elijah’s, as well. As the gang whirled in surprise to meet the attack from behind, Theo Chaucer slipped out of the woodshed to pull Bryson Reeves down off his mount and knock the private out cold. As Clint pushed out the door, Gideon pointed to the side of the house in just enough time for Clint to send the butt of his rifle into Jesse Wellington’s chest. Half a minute more, and Wellington might have breeched the cabin door and killed both Clint and Reid with the pair of pistols he flaunted in his hands. Clint looked up toward the Heavens, sent up a silent Thank You kindly, and pulled a length of rope from his belt to tie Wellington’s hands behind his back before he got even a bit of his wind back.
Reid stormed up to Wellington from behind Clint, his hand drawn back for a solid punch. Clint caught the fist midair. “Hold on there, fella. There’ll be time enough for pleasantries later. Right now we’ve got a fire and animals to deal with. Drag him onto the porch and line him up with McGraw.” Thankfully, it hadn’t been hard to nab McGraw once one of the splintered wagon spokes had gashed his leg wide open. “No need to be gentle, but keep your temper in check for now.”
Looking up, Clint whistled through his teeth. “Gideon! They’re driving the cattle over toward the river. They’ve cut the fence.”
Always the best Thornton with animals, Gideon didn’t need any further instruction. “On it!” He wheeled his mount around and headed off in the direction of the riverbank.
Turning back toward the porch, Clint found Reid and Theo knotting off the ropes that bound McGraw’s feet. “We ought to send ’em into the barn to fight the fire!” Reid sneered, clearly hoping the barn would come down on these foes.
The darker part of Clint welcomed the visual of McGraw trapped in smoke just as he’d done to poor Katrine, but sense prevailed. “Not a smart idea,” he counseled, realizing his left hand was covered in blood. Somehow in the battle he’d reopened the gash he’d received pulling Katrine to safety. “Can’t risk these sneaky louts running off in the confusion.” Clint paused and gave McGraw his meanest scowl. “They’ll get what’s coming to them, I promise you that.”
“Look out!” came a cry as the east side of the barn gave way with a hideous groan. Sparks flew everywhere, and the next minutes were lost in a fury of water buckets, beating blankets and smoke. Lars and Clint fought back the fire side by side, their only greeting a quick, sweat-streaked smile between buckets of tossed water.
After an hour’s chaos, the furious noises of the night finally died down to spurts of shouting, the hissing of wet wood, and the forlorn quiet of a finished battle. Clint hadn’t even realized Alice was on the scene until he found her picking glass out of Lars’s bloody hair. She was weary, dirty, but smiling.
“You’re the first dead man I’ve had the honor of stitching up,” she said to Lars. She caught Clint’s gaze with a narrowed-eyed smirk. “Of course, you weren’t ever really dead, so I doubt it truly counts.” Those eyes softened into something all-too-knowing when she said without moving her stare from Clint, “Lars, your sister will be beyond relieved to know you and Clint have not been harmed. I’ve sent word up to the house, but I don’t think she and Evelyn will stay put for long so you’d best get along up there.”
There was nothing Clint would have liked better than to see the relief that would be in Katrine’s eyes. She’d been so brave for so long, never letting her sweet spirit descend into the bitterness of having been caught in McGraw’s vicious crosshairs.
That sweet spirit had become the light of his life. Sometime between her goodbye this afternoon and the moment when Lars had appeared out of the darkness, he’d fixed his life to hers and could never hope to take it back. Even if she chose not to make a life with him—which she very well might, once she knew everything about him—he couldn’t cease to love her any more than he could cease to breathe. If Lars couldn’t see it, Clint would argue with him until he could.
Lars would see it, however, for the look in the Dane’s face when Winona came running up the path toward him said it all. Lars pulled himself from under Alice’s hand, the bandage still untied and trailing from his head as he ran toward Winona, circling the Cheyenne woman in his arms and holding her there.
“Now wait just a cotton-pickin’ minute,” Theo said, coming up to stand next to Clint. “Lemme get all this straight. They were the Black Four,” he said, nodding toward the quartet of bound soldiers slumped on the other cabin’s porch. “He’s not dead,” he continued, pointing to Lars, who was still clinging to Winona, “and he’s with her.” Theo cast his eyes on Gideon, Elijah and Clint. “And y’all risked your lives to save us.”
Clint didn’t really have an answer to that astonishing list. He was too busy thinking about his own startling revelation—one that had nothing to do with Chaucers or Thorntons but everything to do with a stunning blonde woman who probably was wringing her hands with worry back at the infirmary. And not just for her brother.
“I’d say that about sums it up.” Elijah shrugged.
Turning toward his friend, Clint saw a flood of happiness and relief in Lars’s eyes. Their ordeal was over. It was time to build the lives each of them had come to Brave Rock to create, and Clint found himself ready to take the night’s biggest risk.
He extended a hand. “Hello, friend, good to have you back.”
Lars looked at the hand, then at Clint, then sidestepped the handshake to clasp him in his arms. “It is very good to be back.” The Dane’s eyes wandered over to the dark eyes of the Cheyenne woman beside him. “Very good indeed.” They began walking toward the cabin where Reid, Alice and Elijah were packing things up. “You and I have much to discuss, ja?”
Clint stopped walking and returned his hand to Lars’s shoulder. “Far more than you know.”