Not the Marrying Kind (2 page)

At least, that’s how it used to
be…before.

Now, things were a lot different around the
Rocking P Ranch.

“Reverend Kendrick will be here at seven, so
you’d better hurry up if you’re going to get dinner ready on time.”
Emily’s eyes lit up as she accepted the pennies. “And you’d better
change, too. Your dress is a mess.” She laughed and scampered from
the room.

Kat glanced down at her flour-covered,
yolk-stained skirts. Yes, she would have to change. Although she
really didn’t care what Reverend Kendrick thought of her
appearance, her pa would have a conniption fit if she came to the
table looking like she’d been rolling around on the kitchen
floor.

But why did she have to wear a dress? She
saw nothing wrong with the shirts and trousers she usually wore.
They were comfortable and practical for her needs.

At least, they always had been. But that was
before.

Kat sighed, wishing life could have stayed
the same as it had been for the last eighteen years, but things
always changed, and there wasn’t a damned thing anybody could do
about it.

That didn’t mean she had to like it
though.

She glanced toward the clock. Close to five,
and Reverend Kendrick would arrive at seven. For anyone else, that
would leave plenty of time to get a meal on the table. For Kat, it
wasn’t nearly time enough.

Two hours later, she carried a tureen of
chicken soup to the dining room. Soup was not on the menu her
mother had written out, but Kat’s inedible attempt at fried pork
chops and gravy had gone straight to the trash heap. Even the mangy
dogs that hung around the ranch turned up their noses and went
whining away.

She didn’t care. It’s not like she was out
to impress anyone with her culinary skills. Especially not Reverend
Kendrick. If he didn’t like the meal, he could go elsewhere. The
church-goers fed him every night. The man should be thankful for
whatever he got, in her opinion.

With the pork chops ruined, Kat had raided
the cellar. Her mother had put up dozens of jars of thick, rich
chicken soup. A second batch of biscuits had fared slightly better
than her first. They were burned, but not to a crisp. Soak them in
the soup…they’d be just fine, she hoped.

As she placed the tureen on the table,
footsteps shuffled through the doorway. Kat put a bright smile on
her face and looked up.

“Pa? What are you doing? I thought you were
still sleeping.” She’d changed into a neat, simple, and clean
cotton frock—and she’d taken off the hideous bustle. With little
time left to worry over her hair, she’d removed the pins, letting
her tresses fall in loose waves around her shoulders. Not exactly
the ideal image of young womanhood, perhaps, but at least she
looked more feminine than usual, and the expression on her father’s
face showed his approval.

“Sleeping?” He shook his head. “There’ll be
time enough for sleeping when I’m dead,” he quipped, coming forward
to lift the lid from the tureen. “What’s this, honey?”

“Chicken soup.” She turned away. It bothered
her when her father joked about dying.

He replaced the lid and nodded. “Not what I
was expecting, but I’m sure it will taste fine. You did a good
job.”

“I didn’t make it, Pa. I got it from the
cellar.” She brightened her smile. “But I did make biscuits. They
turned out fairly well, I think. And there’s apple pie for
dessert.” She hurried around the table and linked her arm in his.
“Why don’t you let me take you back to your room? You can rest a
little longer. I’ll wake you when the reverend gets here.”

A few months before, he’d collapsed while
working out on the range. Most likely his heart, Mama said,
promptly ordering him to his bed. It took a few days before a
physician from Denver could make it to Sunset to check him out. The
doctor quickly agreed with Mama’s assessment and her recommended
treatment. Lots of bed rest. No excitement. No strenuous
activities.

But her father still hadn’t regained his
strength. Kat knew he never would. At least he was alive, and she
intended to keep him that way as long as possible, no matter how
much she had to fuss at him—and no matter how much he fussed
back.

Her father patted her hand. “I know you mean
well, honey, but I can’t seem to rest these days. I’ve got too much
on my mind.”

“Pa, I’ve told you before, you don’t need to
worry about the ranch.”

She was accustomed to hard work, probably
knew as much about ranching as any man, and with the help of a good
foreman, she could all but run the Rocking P by herself.
Fortunately, their lead man was one of the best.

“Mike and I have everything under control,”
she rushed on, not giving him a chance to interrupt. “We’re doing
just fine, Pa.” They’d scaled back their cattle ranching operations
and let all the hands go except for Mike Morrissey, the foreman.
He’d been with the Rocking P since its beginning twenty years
earlier. The grizzled old man was part of the ranch and part of the
family.

Dirk Phillips shook his head. “It’s not
right, Kat. You’re a woman, and you don’t need to be doing a man’s
job.”

“Oh, pshaw!” Thankfully that was the word
that came out, even though she was thinking a slightly different
one and barely managed to catch herself in time to stop it. “You
know how much I love this ranch, how much I love being out on the
range. It’s in my blood.”

She knew her father heard every word she
spoke, but he pretended otherwise. For a moment, he said nothing at
all, just pressed his pale lips together and stared off toward the
leaded-glass windows. It was hard to see anything through the thick
panes, but the land lay out there, vast acres spreading out for
miles. Land they both loved.

“Let me help you, Pa.” Kat came to his side.
With loving care, she maneuvered him toward his chair at the head
of the table. He eased himself into it. His illness had weakened
him, left him a shadow of his former self, but even in his
diminished state, he remained a commanding figure. He’d been a
powerful presence in Kat’s life from the time she was born.

He cleared his throat and averted his tired
gaze.

“Kat, we need to have a little talk. I want
you to…”

Whatever he meant to say got swallowed up by
the noise of cattle lowing and dogs barking as a horse and buggy
pulled into the yard. The clock chimed.

Precisely seven o’clock. Reverend Kendrick
had arrived.

* * * *

Joshua Barron rode slowly toward the
Rockies, awestruck by the sight of the majestic mountains rising
above the plains. No wonder Cody loved Colorado. Joshua had a
feeling he could come to love the place too, with its azure-blue
skies overhead, its thick stands of pine, and the vast stretches of
land spreading out in all directions. He took in a slow breath,
letting the cool, fresh air go deep into his lungs before he
exhaled.

As he neared the foothills, he drew up on
the reins and brought his big bay to a halt. Running his hand
through the horse’s thick black mane, he stared off toward the
western horizon. They’d come a long way together, and they ought to
be getting close to their destination.

Joshua tilted his flat-brimmed hat back on
his head in order to get a better view of the sky. Judging from the
sun’s position, he reckoned he had about two more hours of
daylight.

His stomach growled and grumbled, reminding
him he hadn’t eaten since early afternoon. He sucked in another
breath of the cool, clean air, and glanced over his shoulder,
remembering the ranch house he’d passed about a mile back. Maybe he
should have stopped. He’d heard tell that folks around these parts
were a neighborly sort, quick to invite a man in, give him a bite
to eat.

Joshua wasn’t quite ready for all that yet.
After a while, he’d get accustomed to meeting and greeting, and
hell, he might even make himself a friend or two. But not yet. He
needed a little time first.

He could use a bit of rest too. The long
afternoon’s ride had worn him to a frazzle. Probably the smartest
thing would be to keep on going; surely he must be close to Cody’s
place by now. But his back ached, his buttocks were sore, and his
damned leg felt like it was on fire.

With care, he maneuvered himself from the
horse’s broad back, then grabbed the thick oak walking stick
fastened to the saddle. Sorry state of affairs when a man couldn’t
support himself without a crutch.

Of course, he wasn’t really much of a man
anymore. Nothing more than a broken-down, worn-out fellow a long,
long way from home. Which is exactly where he wanted to be.

* * * *

Kat breathed a sigh of relief when dinner
ended. Something about Reverend Kendrick always made her skin
crawl. Maybe it was his pale, pasty-faced complexion, or those
narrowed, beady eyes that always seemed to be gawking at her. Maybe
it was the awkward way his thin lips curled up so that whenever he
smiled, it looked more like a leer. She never felt comfortable when
he was around.

Of course, it had been a precious moment
when he’d shoved a forkful of apple pie into his mouth and promptly
spat it out again. Who would have thought little Emily was right
about the sugar!

At least—thank the Lord—the ordeal was over,
and Reverend Kendrick was on his way back to Sunset. She’d politely
walked him to the door, careful to keep her hands tightly clasped
behind her lest he attempt to seize one as he bade her
farewell.

Kat shuddered at the thought.

“Pa, is there anything else I can get for
you?” she asked, poking her head into the parlor where they’d taken
dessert earlier. “And I’m awful sorry about the pie.”

“You’ll learn, honey. It just takes a little
practice.”

“I’ve cleaned up the kitchen. Got the dishes
washed and dried. Just thought I’d check on you, see if you need
anything.”

Her father cleared his throat. “There is one
thing. Before you go upstairs, I’d like a word with you, please.”
His voice sounded tired and old, far older than his forty-seven
years. He’d worked hard to make a home for them all, and he’d worn
himself out.

“Of course, Pa.” Kat would do anything to
make his life easier. She settled herself into a chair beside his,
close enough that he could reach out and take her hand in his. That
simple gesture always comforted her, made her feel safe and
secure.

“He’s taken quite an interest in you, you
know.”

Although her father spoke the words in a
calm, quiet voice, they set off waves of panic as Kat realized
their meaning. Her chin shot up. “Who are you talking about,
Pa?”

He chuckled. “Reverend Kendrick, of
course.”

“Well, that’s plumb foolishness, and you
know it.”

“He’s a good man, Kat, and he’d take very
good care of you.”

Her jaw dropped and she stared at her
father. Finally she found her voice. “Surely you’re not suggesting
I—” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought. “No, I
couldn’t!” She tried to laugh off the ridiculous idea, but the look
on her father’s face frightened her. He couldn’t possibly be
serious…could he?

She hesitated, expecting him to say
something more.

He didn’t.

Her nerves jangled. “Pa, I’m not the sort of
woman any man would want for a wife,” she said. “You know that as
well as I do. I can’t cook. I’ve never done any housekeeping, and
when Mama tried to teach me to sew, all I did was make such a mess,
she never got it untangled. A good wife needs to have skills I
don’t have, and—”

“Reverend Kendrick has asked for your
hand.”

Kat jerked away and flew from her chair. “I
don’t believe this!” She pressed her hands to her head. Her temples
throbbed and her mind reeled with confusion. “How could you? Wait,
you didn’t…did you?” A glimmer of hope flickered. She turned to her
father with pleading eyes. “Please, tell me you didn’t promise I’d
marry him.”

Her father’s features softened. “Of course
not, sweetheart. I’d never do that without talking to you
first.”

Relief washed over her. “Thank you.” She
could still trust her father. Despite his illness, his judgments
were sound. “My answer is no, Pa. I can’t marry him.”

Dirk Phillips leaned back against the
pillows. From the pinched expression on his face, Kat knew her
father was hurting. She wished she could do something—anything—to
ease his pain. Anything except marry Reverend Kendrick.

“Kat, listen to me, please. There are things
you don’t understand.” Her father’s weary blue eyes refused to meet
hers.

“I do understand,” she assured him. “I just
don’t agree, that’s all.” She winced upon hearing her words. She’d
never questioned her father’s authority before. She’d always been a
dutiful daughter. Her father knew best. She trusted him to make the
right choices and decisions. But not this time. This time…well, she
couldn’t marry the minister. She couldn’t marry any man. “I’m happy
with my life just the way it is, and I don’t see any reason to
change things. I love this ranch, Pa. Mike and I are doing all
right. Now that we’ve cut back a bit, we can manage just fine.”

“Guess Mike didn’t tell you.”

Her heart raced. “Tell me what?”

“He’s leaving.”

Now, Pa
was
talking crazy. Kat shook
her head. “He can’t do that.”

“Yes, he can, and he is.” Her father shifted
in his seat and leaned slightly forward. “Mike came to talk to me a
couple days ago. He got a letter from his daughter.” He paused and
drew in a breath. “She’s come out to Denver, brought her whole
family with her. Mike’s made up his mind to leave the ranch, go
live with her.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious, honey.”

“But he loves this ranch. Almost as much as
I do.”

Her father leaned back and closed his eyes.
“Sure, he loves the ranch, but he knows it’s time to move on.
Mike’s old. He’s cranky and cantankerous, and he deserves a chance
to rest. He’s stayed here all these years because he had nowhere
else to go, but now he’s got family close. He’s got a grandson he’s
never even seen. It’s time for him to slow down, take it easy, and
enjoy what time he’s got left.”