Free Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] by Nightrose

it was a matter of pride. Then he would lock her away and she would never see her son again.
    The servant came hurrying from the back of the house. She saw the fear on his face change to pity when she told him to take the others and go. Refusing to acknowledge by the slightest gesture what they both knew was going to happen, or to show her fear, she lifted her skirts with her two hands, and with her head high, went up the curved stairway as if she were going to take her afternoon rest.

CHAPTER
    Five
     
    “Why are you avoiding me, Katy? You haven’t said three words to me in three days.”
    Looking at Rowe now, Katy found it hard to believe it had been only four days since he had been shot. He had insisted on getting out of bed for a while on the second day. Yesterday he had gone back to the jail building, and today he had walked up to the funerary for his meals, refusing Mary’s offer to bring them to him. Now he sat in a straight cane-bottomed chair on the porch, gazing at her with narrowed, intent eyes, and Katy returned the stare.
    His eyes were like a deep, dark well with little lights dancing on the water. His features were rough, making him look hard and perhaps a little cruel. The woman who belonged to him would feel either terribly safe or terribly intimidated by him. Katy remembered how vulnerable and young he had looked while he lay unconscious on her bed and how he had opened his eyes and said, “You’re here,” as if he hadn’t wanted to be alone.
    “Katy, Katy, don’t run away. Sit down and talk to me.” The soft-spoken request told her something else about him. He could be a charmer when he wanted to be.
    “I have things to do.” Katy found herself wondering how it would feel to belong to such a man. Even though he overwhelmed her with the intensity of his maleness, he aroused her curiosity. She eyed him warily for a moment. Should she go, or should she stay?
    Theresa came to lean against his knee and looked earnestly into his face. “I’ll talk to you, Mr. Rowe.”
    Rowe’s face softened as he looked at the child. He ran his palm down the long length of her hair that had just been washed and brushed.
    “I’ve not had a better offer, Miss Sugarplum.”
    This was another thing that puzzled Katy about Rowe. Theresa had taken to him and he to her. He seemed to be genuinely fond of the child. Theresa was enthralled by him and his dog. She and Mary had held their breaths when Theresa, with squeals of childish laughter, had thrown her arms around the dog’s shaggy neck. “He’ll not hurt her,” Rowe assured them.
    “Theresa!” Mary called from inside the funerary. “Come let me braid your hair.”
    “Oh, shoot!” Theresa rested her small fists on her hips, a gesture she had picked up from her Aunt Katy.
    A deep chuckle rumbled up out of Rowe’s chest, and the dark eyes that sought Katy’s gleamed with amusement. Her own spontaneous laughter rang out, and Rowe sobered quickly as he watched her. He was a little stunned by the intensity of his feelings. She was a creature made for laughter, sunshine, and love. She made his heart jump at the sight of her as no other woman had ever done. He pulled his eyes away from her and brought them back to the child.
    “You’d better go, Sugarplum, before your mamma comes with a willow switch.”
    “She never hits me with it,” Theresa said confidentially, glancing toward the door. “She only acts like she will.”
    “There’s always the first time,” he whispered.
    “Oh, all right.” She started for the door, then turned back. Her small, pixie face was serious; her eyes large and round. “I love you more than Papa,” she blurted, and then, as if embarrassed by what she had said, she ran across the porch and through the doorway.
    For the second time in the last few minutes Rowe was overcome by emotion. He couldn’t remember a time in his life when a female had said, “I love you,” and he had believed her. His mother had loved him, but she