Free Keegan's Lady by Catherine Anderson

shut. "What kind of person does something like that?"
    Caitlin had no answers. She wished to God she did. She couldn't imagine the brother she knew doing such a terrible thing. Patrick had always been so gentle—so caring, even with dumb animals.
    "It's in my blood," he said in a voice devoid of inflection. "Sometimes I'm so much like him, it scares me to death."
    "Oh, Patrick." Caitlin smoothed his hair from his brow. "You're nothing like him. Nothing. Do you understand me? I don't want to hear you say such a thing, not ever again. It's just the whiskey. You get crazy when you drink. If you keep your word and never touch the stuff again, you're going to be fine. Just fine."
    With a suddenness that startled her, Patrick grabbed hold of her. Burying his face against her neck, he wept like a child, his entire body heaving. Caitlin had no idea how to ease him, so she just held him. Her heart broke a little at how big he felt in her embrace, how awkward it seemed to gather him close. He was broad across the shoulders, muscular through the arms. It had been a good long while since they'd done more than give each other a quick hug in passing. Her baby brother, whom she'd loved so long and so well, had become a man.
    A tormented man.
    She had no idea how long they huddled there, only that eventually his sobs subsided and his tears turned to damp streaks of salt on her skin. When he began to lean more heavily against her, she wondered if he'd passed out.
    "Patrick?" she whispered.
    He stirred slightly. "Don't hate me, Caitlin. I'm sorry I didn't stop you from going back there with him. I was just so scared. I'll never get drunk like this again. I promise I won't. Not ever."
    She ran a hand over his hair again and smiled slightly. As frightening as her encounter with Keegan had been, it would be almost worth it if Patrick would stop drinking. For weeks, she'd been racking her brain, trying to think of some way to turn Patrick around. Now, it seemed, her prayers had been answered. In a most unlikely and unpleasant way, to be sure, but having her brother back again was all she truly cared about.
    "Come along, boyo. I'm thinking it's time you got to bed. A fine state of affairs it will be if you pass out here in the barn. Come morning, it will be a mite cold, you can bet on that."
    Patrick drew away from her and made a gallant effort to stand on his own. Unfortunately, his legs didn't seem to be cooperating. Caitlin looped his arm over her shoulders and strained to stand bearing his weight. After several aborted attempts, they finally managed to gain their feet.
    "Holy Mother, Patrick, how much whiskey did you drink?" she asked as they staggered sideways.
    "Too much."
    She laughed in spite of herself. Too much? Oh, what a silver-tongued devil her brother had become. She tightened her arm around his waist and set off determinedly for the house, taking one step sideways for every two she took forward.
    Practice had perfected Caitlin's technique when it came to handling semiconscious drunks. She had long since learned that the most important thing was to get a man bedded down someplace warm so he could sleep it off, be it on the floor or the bed. She had never bothered with stripping off clothes. Removing a man's boots and his gun belt was enough of a struggle, and all that was really necessary.
    It took approximately ten minutes to get Patrick into bed and another ten to return to the barn to care for his horse. Only then did she have time to reflect on what had happened between her and Ace Keegan in the horse stall. A raincheck, he'd said. That had to mean he intended to come back.
    After assuring herself that Patrick was peacefully asleep, Caitlin returned to bed herself, but sleep eluded her. She couldn't forget the anger she'd seen burning in Keegan's eyes. Should she go to the marshal? The thought was tempting. Then again, what might Keegan do if she reneged on her promise and went for help? After all, unless they sold the ranch, they