Read Online Maureen McKade by A Dime Novel Hero - Free Book Online
Authors: A Dime Novel Hero
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Shaking aside the dismal thoughts, she returned to her desk in the library. The smooth wooden chair creaked beneath her, and she slipped her glasses back on. She stared at the bulky typewriter, willing it to write Jake Cordell’s final adventure without her help. It remained stubbornly silent.
She sighed restlessly and opened a desk drawer, withdrawing a wooden box. Lifting the lid, she gazed at Jonathan Cordell’s revolver. He’d given it to her a few months before he was murdered, as if he’d had a premonition of his own death. She had never figured out why he’d gifted her with the gun, but Kit cherished it as a remembrance of her friendship with the elder Cordell. Kit stroked the cool metal, then placed the velvet-lined box back in its place.
Settling her fingers on the round typewriter keys with an intimacy born of familiarity, she forced a couple words onto the paper. The clacking kept time with thegrandfather clock’s swinging pendulum. But the solace she usually found in her writing eluded her.
Propping her elbows on the desktop, Kit buried her face in her hands. She wished Jake had never returned to Chaney to stir long-forgotten memories. Some memories were best left alone.
“Can we go watch Charlie and Ethan, Ma? I got my chores done,” Johnny pleaded.
The afternoon sun glinted across his hair, highlighting the same auburn tints that shone in his father’s darker hair.
Kit chastised herself. She had to stop comparing Johnny to Jake. If she continued, she was liable to slip up and comment aloud. She glanced at her son, who waited expectantly. “All right, but you’ll have to be quiet.”
“I know.”
Johnny’s indignation rang clearly in his tone. Sometimes she forgot he wasn’t a baby anymore.
The training pens were situated a quarter of a mile from the main building, curtained from sight by a grove of hardwood trees. As Kit and Johnny walked, dead leaves crackled beneath their feet. Spring had finally decided to make an appearance, and buds showed on the bushes and trees.
The training pens came into view and Kit slowed their approach. Once they were by the corral, she leaned against the upper rail and Johnny against the lower. Ethan, a nineteen-year-old who shared his heritage equally between the Pawnee and whites, waved at them. Kit returned the gesture, smiling at the young man.
“They’re working with Snowflake,” Johnny said in a low voice.
It didn’t surprise her that her son had named the horse,and the white mark on the chestnut mare’s forehead told her why he’d chosen that name.
They watched Ethan and Charlie, a muscular black man, work with the skittish horse for a few minutes.
“Someone’s coming,” Johnny announced.
Kit glanced up to see a horseman nearing the corral. The cream-colored horse gave away the rider’s identity immediately: Jake Cordell. Why had he returned so soon?
Kit gripped the pole so tightly that her knuckles whitened. Had he guessed Johnny’s identity? Or had he already found out
she
was the hated T. K. Thorne?
Chapter 4
J ake eased back on Zeus’s reins as he neared the activity around the corral. His palomino snorted impatiently, shaking its mane.
“Yes, I know she’s a cute little filly, but you behave yourself,” Jake warned in a low voice. Zeus flicked his ears back but settled down to a sedate walk.
Jake’s gaze roamed across Kit Thornton, noting she again wore the snug trousers that drew his attention to her small waist and nicely rounded hips that his palms ached to possess. He recalled the soft plumpness of her breasts pressed against his side as she’d helped him to Freda’s, and he had little trouble imagining what lay beneath the mannish clothing.
Shifting in the saddle uncomfortably, Jake drew his appreciative gaze away from Kit. “All right, maybe I should be taking my own advice,” he said to Zeus.
A few moments later he halted by the corral and touched the brim of his hat with his thumb and forefinger.
Shaking aside the dismal thoughts, she returned to her desk in the library. The smooth wooden chair creaked beneath her, and she slipped her glasses back on. She stared at the bulky typewriter, willing it to write Jake Cordell’s final adventure without her help. It remained stubbornly silent.
She sighed restlessly and opened a desk drawer, withdrawing a wooden box. Lifting the lid, she gazed at Jonathan Cordell’s revolver. He’d given it to her a few months before he was murdered, as if he’d had a premonition of his own death. She had never figured out why he’d gifted her with the gun, but Kit cherished it as a remembrance of her friendship with the elder Cordell. Kit stroked the cool metal, then placed the velvet-lined box back in its place.
Settling her fingers on the round typewriter keys with an intimacy born of familiarity, she forced a couple words onto the paper. The clacking kept time with thegrandfather clock’s swinging pendulum. But the solace she usually found in her writing eluded her.
Propping her elbows on the desktop, Kit buried her face in her hands. She wished Jake had never returned to Chaney to stir long-forgotten memories. Some memories were best left alone.
“Can we go watch Charlie and Ethan, Ma? I got my chores done,” Johnny pleaded.
The afternoon sun glinted across his hair, highlighting the same auburn tints that shone in his father’s darker hair.
Kit chastised herself. She had to stop comparing Johnny to Jake. If she continued, she was liable to slip up and comment aloud. She glanced at her son, who waited expectantly. “All right, but you’ll have to be quiet.”
“I know.”
Johnny’s indignation rang clearly in his tone. Sometimes she forgot he wasn’t a baby anymore.
The training pens were situated a quarter of a mile from the main building, curtained from sight by a grove of hardwood trees. As Kit and Johnny walked, dead leaves crackled beneath their feet. Spring had finally decided to make an appearance, and buds showed on the bushes and trees.
The training pens came into view and Kit slowed their approach. Once they were by the corral, she leaned against the upper rail and Johnny against the lower. Ethan, a nineteen-year-old who shared his heritage equally between the Pawnee and whites, waved at them. Kit returned the gesture, smiling at the young man.
“They’re working with Snowflake,” Johnny said in a low voice.
It didn’t surprise her that her son had named the horse,and the white mark on the chestnut mare’s forehead told her why he’d chosen that name.
They watched Ethan and Charlie, a muscular black man, work with the skittish horse for a few minutes.
“Someone’s coming,” Johnny announced.
Kit glanced up to see a horseman nearing the corral. The cream-colored horse gave away the rider’s identity immediately: Jake Cordell. Why had he returned so soon?
Kit gripped the pole so tightly that her knuckles whitened. Had he guessed Johnny’s identity? Or had he already found out
she
was the hated T. K. Thorne?
Chapter 4
J ake eased back on Zeus’s reins as he neared the activity around the corral. His palomino snorted impatiently, shaking its mane.
“Yes, I know she’s a cute little filly, but you behave yourself,” Jake warned in a low voice. Zeus flicked his ears back but settled down to a sedate walk.
Jake’s gaze roamed across Kit Thornton, noting she again wore the snug trousers that drew his attention to her small waist and nicely rounded hips that his palms ached to possess. He recalled the soft plumpness of her breasts pressed against his side as she’d helped him to Freda’s, and he had little trouble imagining what lay beneath the mannish clothing.
Shifting in the saddle uncomfortably, Jake drew his appreciative gaze away from Kit. “All right, maybe I should be taking my own advice,” he said to Zeus.
A few moments later he halted by the corral and touched the brim of his hat with his thumb and forefinger.
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