The ride back to Brave Rock felt a hundred miles long. Clint had been shot before—wounded far worse, near as he could remember—but Wellington’s bullet seemed to light fire to every nerve up and down his left side. The bleeding had finally stopped; he could give thanks for that.
He could give thanks for lots of things today.
Except one. “You looking for the bumps up there?” he called through gritted teeth as he sat in the payload of the wagon Lije had brought. “Or are they just finding you?” Every jolt of the wagon reminded him that whatever Alice had given him for the pain wasn’t near enough.
“I’m actually being careful,” Lije called over his shoulder. “Try to be glad we could get the wagon up here at all.” McGraw had chosen his hiding spot well—that shack had been out in the middle of nowhere—and in the vast Oklahoma territory, that was saying something. The wagon took another vicious jolt and Clint hissed through his teeth. “Sorry!” Lije offered. “That was a big one.”
“They’re all big ones,” Clint muttered. Katrine squeezed his good hand, and he distracted himself in the stunning blue of her eyes. “I’ll try to remember I hurt ’cause I’m alive.”
Alice leaned over the backboard. “Is he bleeding, Katrine?”
Tender hands inspected his bandages. “No, no bleeding.” Katrine needed no encouragement to fuss over Clint. If it weren’t so pleasant to have her fawning over him like this, he might be annoyed. As it was, he couldn’t contain his wonder at the nearness of her. Clint couldn’t be sure if it was the pain medicine or the intoxicating smell of her hair that made him woozy. He was surprised to discover he didn’t care. He was going home to a free and peaceful Brave Rock, and that’s all that mattered.
“I’m going to be fine,” he assured her worried eyes. “Soon enough.”
Katrine smiled. He’d been fascinated by her smile before, but now that she smiled for him, it unwound his common sense. He could conjure up a list of twenty reasons why they shouldn’t be together, and in one look she could whisk them away like weeds in a dust storm. “I am glad to hear it,” she said, checking his bandage yet again. “I have done enough worrying for ten years, ja?”
Enough worrying. He certainly had done his share over the Black Four. Now, two of the awful gang were locked up in the Brave Rock jail while the other two lay dead under burlap sacks in the wagon Lars and Gideon drove a few yards behind them. The Chaucer men had gone on ahead, having much rebuilding work ahead of them after the battle waged on their property. Clint gave Katrine’s hand a reassuring squeeze and brought it to his lips. “Enough worrying. Today we lay that burden down. We lay all of them down.”
“Yes, all of them.” They’d talked a long stretch at the cabin, peeling off the layers of history and doubt between them. He was sure he’d split in two from regret as he told her all he could not give her, astounded to discover she already knew. She knew, and wanted him anyway. It didn’t seem possible.
And Katrine had cried as she told him of the terrible burden she’d carried since that night in that alley. Oh, how he’d wanted to hunt that man down and throttle him for hefting such a burden on a young girl. To think he’d ever given her reason to think he’d hold something like that against her. The law in Brave Rock would be about justice and mercy, not the kind of condemnation that had given Katrine such deep wounds.
“You are a good woman, Katrine.” He gave her hand another kiss, just because he could and just because it felt so wonderful to do so. “More kind and caring than I deserve.” The words felt like they were coming from some other man—some poetic, lofty gentleman like Lije rather than the ragged soul he knew himself to be. Still, he felt compelled to tell her—over and over—that her past held no sway with him. When she pressed it further, telling him of the sordid jobs she’d taken at saloons and the like over the years to keep her and Lars fed, his admiration for her only grew. She’d done what she had to, made sacrifices far beyond any he’d made in battle or law. She survived. Katrine Brinkerhoff was far braver and stronger than he’d ever suspected.
The wagon gave another nasty lurch, knocking him against her shoulder, and he allowed himself to rest his head there. He, Clint Thornton, allowed himself to rest against her. The day might never hold a greater wonder than that. All this time he’d been striving to protect her, never realizing the perfect partner, the exquisite helpmate, she could be to him.
“Tak Gud,” he whispered into the yellow bliss of her hair. For some reason, the Danish words had become his personal prayer rather than the English ones. God had returned His presence to Clint’s life. Of course, that wasn’t really true—it was never God who left but only Clint’s admission of Him that wavered. Still, tak Gud had become like a heartbeat, pulsing over and over through his weary chest.
“Tak Gud we are almost to town?” she mused aloud, her voice so close to him he could feel it hum against his cheek.
How had he managed to keep such a distance from this beauty for so long when now it seemed as if an ache began every time she left his side? He turned to look up at her. “That,” he said, starstruck for the hundredth time by the color of her eyes, “and much more.”
He watched the pink come to her cheeks, feeling something so close to delight he wanted to laugh. He must have, for Katrine shushed him with a gentle finger against his lips. “Alice’s medicine has clouded your head.”
That wasn’t it. Clint felt as if he saw the world clearly for the first time in years. It was yellow and blue, bright as sunshine and clean as wind—as clean as the wind that would blow through the two windows in the cabin he’d built.
He knew, now, that he’d not built that cabin for Lars and Katrine. Without knowing it, he had built it for Katrine and himself. When she’d told him what the pair of windows had meant to her, Clint recognized it could not be any other way. There were lots of details to work out—a man couldn’t rightly toss his newly resurrected best friend out into the night with no place to stay—but Lars and Winona would need to carve a future of their own, as well.
There would be time enough to work all that out. Clint had his whole future to work out a life with Katrine in Brave Rock. For now, the perfection of her shoulder was a fine place to rest.
* * *
It took Katrine a second or two to recognize the sound. At first she thought it a trick of the wind, but as the distance closed, she heard the shouts and cheers for what they were. Turning the last corner into Brave Rock, she peered over the wagon’s front bench to see a crowd gathered all along the main street. It was like a tiny parade as the wagon pulled into town. Molly Murphy cried into her handkerchief, shouting offers of free meals and ginger cake delivered every night from the café until Clint was on his feet again. Dakota ran alongside the wagon, waving wildly until Katrine lifted her hand to wave back. The Gilberts stood waving as well, shouting “Thank you!” and “Get well!” with such enthusiasm that Clint managed a laugh or two. When Felix Fairhaven rushed out of his store with a pair of new shirts tied up in twine, Clint fingered the “Heard you needed these” note with an expression of stunned disbelief. Two loaves of bread followed a few feet down the road, hoisted onto the cart by one of the Ferguson sisters. Half a minute later Maureen Walters, Martin’s mother, slid a whole pie onto the wagon bed.
He’d never done his job with the expectation of thanks; that was not who Clint Thornton was. He simply, quietly, fulfilled his calling. Katrine felt her heart swell for the gift of this wild, noisy outpouring and what it would do to Clint’s spirits. She knew he felt the weight of all the damage the Black Four had been able to do before he could bring them to justice. He took it as a personal failing that he had not been able to prevent their slew of crimes before good people had abandoned their hope of a future in Brave Rock. The law had always been deeply personal to him; it always would be. It had been one of the reasons she’d been afraid her past could stand between them. The man fed his life on justice the way she’d fed her life on story and faith. She’d hoped now that their future could be a story of how justice and faith wove together to create hope and grace.
Hope and grace, however, had to wait until this lawman’s shoulder healed.
“I said I wanted to go home,” he muttered as the wagon turned toward the infirmary. For all his new lightness, Clint’s stubborn streak had not lapsed.
“You know Alice won’t hear of it. She’s insisting you stay in the infirmary at least two nights until she’s satisfied the wound won’t open again.”
“One night,” Clint grumbled, wincing when the wagon hit another ditch. “No more. Besides, where will you sleep?”
“Oh, I will be just fine.” Katrine had hoped to save that for later, knowing once she revealed her news it would take both his brothers to hold Clint down on the infirmary cot.
“You can’t stay there with me in the infirmary. It’d be improper.” He was still watching out for her. His protection wrapped around her like a soft shawl, banishing the worries that had pressed down her shoulders for weeks.
“Of course not.” She smiled at him. She was beginning to wonder if she would ever stop smiling at him. “But I am settled for now, so there is no worry.”
Clint eyed her as the cart came to a stop. “Where?” He’d needed to know where she was every moment since he’d woken. Not out of control, but out of a craving to keep her near. It made her feel beautiful in a new and splendid way.
“With Alice and Elijah, of course. Close enough to keep an eye on you,” she teased. How long had it been since she could feel such laughter in her voice?
“Close enough for me to keep an eye on you, you mean.” His good hand tightened around hers. More than one person had noticed how close they were sitting in the wagon payload, and part of her worried about being on display, as they rode into town. Still, Katrine was delighted to see smiles from friends, and even nods of approval as she could see their eyes register how Clint’s hand was wrapped around hers, or the way she could not help but look into his eyes. Goodness, could everyone know already? She could not bring herself to care—this happiness was too dear to squelch even one little bit.
“Besides,” Clint went on, “I thought you said Lije and Alice were a bit too lovesick to be around any longer.”
She smiled at Clint and squeezed his hand. “It is not so hard to see now, ja?”
Clint said nothing, merely ran his thumb along the back of her hand in a way that made Katrine’s breath hitch. He looked different. She felt different. People looked at her differently. Did the inner change—which felt like it had washed through her with the power of a flood—show on the outside with the same force?
“Not much longer, you two,” Alice called from the wagon bench. There was a warm teasing tone to her voice, too.
“Alice knows,” Katrine whispered.
Clint laughed. “No kidding?” he teased, for Alice had been anything but subtle in how she cooed over Katrine and Clint. “Oh, believe me,” Clint moaned, “Elijah does, too. He was giving me all kinds of brotherly grief while he got my shirt back on. Actually, from the looks of things, I think all of Brave Rock knows. Where’s Gideon? I half expected him to join in on the fun.”
“He’ll be along, I am sure.” Katrine knew exactly where Gideon was, and what he was doing, but this was to be a happy secret for now.
The wagon bumped to a stop, and Clint let out a sigh. “I could have ridden. It would have hurt less.”
“And miss your grand return to town?” Katrine motioned to the back of the wagon, which had filled with gifts of good wishes as much as Alice’s table had filled with gifts of comfort the morning after the fire. Everything was coming full circle, healing, as if God were going out of His way to spread her joyful new life out before her. Before both of them.
Clint shifted his weight to rise, grimacing. “Well, yes, that was kind of the idea.”
He wasn’t fooling anyone. For all his grousing, Katrine could see the satisfaction in Clint’s eyes at the town’s gratitude. By now, they all knew what lengths he and Lars had gone to in their efforts to protect Brave Rock. Why deny these good people the chance to show their gratitude?
As Katrine moved the many gifts aside to let herself and Clint climb down off the wagon bed, her eyes met those of her brother. Lars stood smiling on the infirmary steps, looking as happy as she felt. He held Winona’s hand. Looking up at Lars with obvious affection, Winona clasped Lars’s hand in both of hers. Katrine recognized the impulse to clutch these heroes close.
Gazing at the happiness washing over her brother’s face, Katrine had her answer: yes, love did show on the outside. It radiated from Lars and Winona like summer sunshine.
Clint must have seen it as well, for he gave a groan and tapped Katrine’s hand. “We don’t look like that, do we?”
“Ja,” Katrine laughed softly, “I am sure we do.”