Read Online Keegan's Lady by Catherine Anderson - Free Book Online
Authors: Catherine Anderson
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on. The cotton felt icy as she tied the sash. Still cold, she wrapped her arms around her middle and shivered, her mind teetering between the past and the present, old terrors and new. Even though Ace Keegan hadn't actually touched her, she felt violated. And ashamed. It wasn't so much what had actually happened that bothered her, but what she would have allowed to happen if he hadn't decided to walk out. What she would still allow to happen if it came to a choice between sacrificing her honor or her brother's life.
Anything for Patrick. Caitlin closed her eyes on a mounting wave of rage that glowed red against the backs of her eyelids. If not for his drinking like a fish these last three months, Patrick never would have gotten himself into such a pickle.
How dare he put her in such an impossible position? How dare he! She could be as sympathetic as the next person, but enough was enough. Shooting a prize bull?
And taking pot shots at Keegan's men? And all because he'd taken a shine to whiskey?
For almost twenty years, their father had made her life a living nightmare. She'd be damned if she would put up with more of the same from her brother. She was older now and not so helpless. Patrick was going to straighten up, or she would know the reason why.
After returning to douse the lantern, Caitlin burst into the alleyway. Ahead of her, the glow of the other lamp beckoned, its pulsating nimbus still throwing a silhouette of the empty noose against the weathered walls. With every step Caitlin took, her stride lengthened and her anger mounted until she was seething.
She found her brother sitting in the feed passage near his horse, where she presumed Keegan's men had dumped him. Beside him, they had left her rifle, the ejected cartridges lying scattered on the ground. Back slumped against the planked partition of a stall, head hanging, Patrick looked so dejected that she was brought up short.
She shoved aside her feelings of pity. That was probably more than half of Patrick's problem, that she had been making excuses for him. Well, not this time. There was no oblivion to be found at the bottom of a whiskey jug, only a wealth of heartache. He couldn't escape the truth by trying to numb himself to it.
She hugged her waist again, so angry she was shaking. Shooting a glance at Hank, who still stood just inside the doorway, she asked, "Are all of them gone?"
Though he was obscured by the shadows, Caitlin could see the elderly man well enough to tell he was leaning toward her, a hand cupped behind one ear. Raising her voice an octave, she repeated herself.
"Oh, yes'm, they're gone." Hank moved into the light, giving Patrick a look that could have pulverized granite. Then he turned a concerned gaze on Caitlin. "Are you okay, honey? Did he—"
"No," she broke in. "I'm fine, Hank. Perfectly fine."
Hank studied her for a long moment, his expression dubious. "I'm sorry I didn't step in, missy. There wasn't much I could do, what with Patrick an inch away from hangin' and all. It seemed smartest to just stand still and keep my mouth shut."
"You did the right thing, Hank. All's well that ends well. We got off lucky."
"No thanks to some I could name." The elderly cowpoke shook his grizzled head. "I reckon it ain't any of my business. In fact, I know it ain't. But I been workin' on this spread for nigh onto twenty-five years, and I'm gonna say it anyhow." He fixed another glare on Patrick. "If you keep on like you are, boy, you're gonna turn out to be one sorry excuse for a man. After seein' what whiskey did to your pappy, a body'd think you'd know better than to make the same mistake. When are you gonna get your head on straight? After it's too late? If I was younger, I'd knock some sense into you, no two ways about it."
"Thank you for coming out to help us, Hank." She glanced back at her brother, who hadn't bothered to acknowledge Hank's comments by so much as lifting his head. "Having you out here made me feel a little less
Anything for Patrick. Caitlin closed her eyes on a mounting wave of rage that glowed red against the backs of her eyelids. If not for his drinking like a fish these last three months, Patrick never would have gotten himself into such a pickle.
How dare he put her in such an impossible position? How dare he! She could be as sympathetic as the next person, but enough was enough. Shooting a prize bull?
And taking pot shots at Keegan's men? And all because he'd taken a shine to whiskey?
For almost twenty years, their father had made her life a living nightmare. She'd be damned if she would put up with more of the same from her brother. She was older now and not so helpless. Patrick was going to straighten up, or she would know the reason why.
After returning to douse the lantern, Caitlin burst into the alleyway. Ahead of her, the glow of the other lamp beckoned, its pulsating nimbus still throwing a silhouette of the empty noose against the weathered walls. With every step Caitlin took, her stride lengthened and her anger mounted until she was seething.
She found her brother sitting in the feed passage near his horse, where she presumed Keegan's men had dumped him. Beside him, they had left her rifle, the ejected cartridges lying scattered on the ground. Back slumped against the planked partition of a stall, head hanging, Patrick looked so dejected that she was brought up short.
She shoved aside her feelings of pity. That was probably more than half of Patrick's problem, that she had been making excuses for him. Well, not this time. There was no oblivion to be found at the bottom of a whiskey jug, only a wealth of heartache. He couldn't escape the truth by trying to numb himself to it.
She hugged her waist again, so angry she was shaking. Shooting a glance at Hank, who still stood just inside the doorway, she asked, "Are all of them gone?"
Though he was obscured by the shadows, Caitlin could see the elderly man well enough to tell he was leaning toward her, a hand cupped behind one ear. Raising her voice an octave, she repeated herself.
"Oh, yes'm, they're gone." Hank moved into the light, giving Patrick a look that could have pulverized granite. Then he turned a concerned gaze on Caitlin. "Are you okay, honey? Did he—"
"No," she broke in. "I'm fine, Hank. Perfectly fine."
Hank studied her for a long moment, his expression dubious. "I'm sorry I didn't step in, missy. There wasn't much I could do, what with Patrick an inch away from hangin' and all. It seemed smartest to just stand still and keep my mouth shut."
"You did the right thing, Hank. All's well that ends well. We got off lucky."
"No thanks to some I could name." The elderly cowpoke shook his grizzled head. "I reckon it ain't any of my business. In fact, I know it ain't. But I been workin' on this spread for nigh onto twenty-five years, and I'm gonna say it anyhow." He fixed another glare on Patrick. "If you keep on like you are, boy, you're gonna turn out to be one sorry excuse for a man. After seein' what whiskey did to your pappy, a body'd think you'd know better than to make the same mistake. When are you gonna get your head on straight? After it's too late? If I was younger, I'd knock some sense into you, no two ways about it."
"Thank you for coming out to help us, Hank." She glanced back at her brother, who hadn't bothered to acknowledge Hank's comments by so much as lifting his head. "Having you out here made me feel a little less
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