The Texan's Bride Read online

  You’re right about that, Irishman, Branch thought. Rob Garrett had discovered that some of it led to Gallagher’s own door. Casually, he asked, “Well, who’s making it? Can’t the law do something about it?”

  Gallagher’s eyes narrowed, and he gripped the spill cloth in his hand until his knuckles whitened. “The law is part of it,” he stated flatly. He made an obvious effort to relax before he asked, “So, you got a family you’ll be a’bringin’ to this ranch?”

  “Nope.” Branch shook his head. “I’m a single man.”

  Pursing his lips, Gallagher nodded. “There’s your problem. You get a league and a labor of land if you’re a family man, rather than the third of a league single men receive. You’d be safer to get yourself a wife than to spend your money on risky scrip.”

  Branch laughed. “I think I’d rather take the risk of being stuck with counterfeit paper than a false woman. Good women are hard to find in Texas—they get snapped up before they’re out of pigtails.”

  Gallagher fixed a considering gaze upon Branch. “You might just be surprised, boyo. Tell me, now, are you hoping to settle ’round here?”

  “Yeah, I’m in no hurry, though, what with winter comin’ on. I’m gonna look for work and take my time hunting the best piece of land.”

  “Funny you should mention hunting.” The tavern owner rubbed a hand across his whiskered jaw, his light blue eyes steady as he gave Branch a measured look. “That’s one of the things that had me Mrs. Starr in a huff when you blew in.”

  Branch lifted an eyebrow. “Mrs. Starr?”

  “Katie. It’s a widow woman she is. Well over a year now.”

  The way the old man tilted his head and the satisfied gleam in his eyes caused Branch to shift uneasily. The fella shouldn’t look so pleased, seeing how not ten minutes ago he’d eyed the man’s daughter like she was hot peach cobbler.

  Gallagher continued. “Those squirrels she belted you with were the last of our fresh meat. Our hunter quit a couple of weeks ago.” A ghost of a smile hovered on his lips. “Seems he couldn’t get along with the cook.”

  “The cook?”

  “Katie. Anyway, me boy, Daniel, is not able to use a shotgun.” John lifted his chin defensively. “His right hand is crippled.”

  “Sorry to hear that. Must be a hard prospect to live with,” Branch replied.

  Gallagher appeared pleased with Branch’s answer. “An accident. Hard for a youngster to accept what happened. He wants so bad to pull his weight around here, but he just can’t provide meat enough for the family and the guests. Think you could handle the job? It’d be a good way to get a look at the land around here.”

  “You offering?” Branch asked.

  “If you think you can do it, the work is yours.”

  Branch grinned. He’d never hoped for something to suit this well. He offered his hand. “You’ve got yourself a new hunter, sir. I’m proud to take the job.”

  Each man smiled at the other while they shook hands on the deal. Branch knew his own motivations, but he could only wonder at John Gallagher’s.

  “If you want,” John told him, “you can head out to the kitchen and tell Katie I said to fix our new man a meal. She ought to have those squirrels ready in a while. The kitchen’s out back to the left. After you’ve eaten, Daniel will be showing you where to put your gear.”

  As Branch rose and started for the door, Gallagher called out to him. “And never you mind what Katie says, you’re hired. Don’t let her scare you off about how she made the last hunter leave. What she’s liable to tell you would be only a portion of the truth.”

  That made Branch pause. He lifted a hand to his face where every so often he’d pick up the scent of dead squirrel. He owed her. This just might be fun.

  CHAPTER 2

  COCOONED IN THE WARMTH of her kitchen, Katie struggled to dismiss that overgrown oaf from her thoughts. But as she tested the cutting edge of a carving knife against her thumb, she pictured glowing, golden eyes, a cocky smile, and shoulders that filled the doorway. She stabbed the pumpkin before her with uncharacteristic viciousness.

  “Were I not a good Catholic girl, I’d send him on his way,” she grumbled. The sharp knife bit into the tabletop; two hunks of orange gourd rocked on either side. “Without a coat.” She chopped each half into quarters. “Barefoot.”

  Certainly he deserved no better. Only his size and the voice that had rolled over her like warm molasses made him different from any other first-time patron of Gallagher’s. Katie placed the pumpkin into a Dutch oven and set it onto the coals to bake. I should be used to it, she thought. After all, hadn’t O’Dell Thompson pinched her behind right before the stranger came in? And hadn’t the card player from Austin just asked her to show him to his mattress and stay awhile?

  “Men!” she exclaimed. She ought to know by now that the majority of the men who walked through the front door followed the divining rod in their pants. They took one look at her and wanted to dig for water. And Da—half the time he’d pull a shotgun on them and the rest of the time he’d invite them to stay a couple of days extra—on the house! She’d realized right off that he was husband hunting for her.

  “And isn’t that just what I need,” she mumbled. She peeked into the brick Dutch oven built alongside the fireplace. The aroma of baking cornbread escaped to mingle with the other tempting scents wafting through the room.

  He’d smelled of tobacco.

  She shook her head as though that would dislodge the memory, then turned her attention to the skinned and dressed squirrels, muttering, “Seven men, Daniel, and myself to feed with two measly squirrels.”

  She sucked her lower lip, considering the best way to stretch the small amount of meat. “Brunswick stew is the best I can do,” Katie decided. Picking up a large kettle from the hearth, she carried it back to the worktable. She dropped the squirrels into the pot, then gathered vegetables from shelves, bins, and baskets that sat around the room.

  “Better add extra of everything,” she fussed. “No doubt that scapegrace will eat for three.” Da ought to charge a man that big more than the usual fee. Gallagher’s surely would lose money boarding him.

  Katie added lima beans and corn to the pot, and then picked up her knife to peel the last of the fall tomatoes. Actually, he wasn’t that tall. Why, Steven had stood to six feet, and the stranger was only a bit taller than that. He just had a lot more meat on him than had her husband.

  Dear Steven, how she missed him. A friend long before he became her sweetheart, Steven had loved the person she was beneath these female characteristics men seemed to find so fascinating. While they had enjoyed the physical side of marriage—after all, they had wanted a family—the true strength of their love had been the friendship that had bound them together since childhood.

  The kitchen door flew open and the bitter wind swirled into the room, displacing the warmth and cozy aromas with hollow chill. She looked up to see Daniel wrestling to pull the door tight against the gale. “Do you need a hand?” she asked, then immediately cringed at her thoughtless words.

  Her brother secured the door, then turned a sullen face toward Katie. “Yeah, you got an extra one you can sew on for me?” he asked, holding out his right arm. From the cuff, the crushed, mangled hand drooped pathetically toward the floor.

  “I’m sorry, Daniel. My mind’s full of clover this afternoon. ’Fraid I had some trouble with one of the guests, and it left me a tad flustered.”

  The boy’s expression lit. “So I heard,” he said with a smile. “Squirrel slapping’s something new for Gallagher’s.” He walked over to the table and grabbed a handful of shelled pecans. He pulled out a chair and sat down, plopping a nut into his mouth.

  “Oh, posh. I don’t need any sass from you, young man,” Katie said.

  “Sass?” he asked with innocence.

  Katie rolled her eyes. That look reminded her of the stranger. Do they practice, or are men just born with it?

  She reached beneath the table to g
rab a potato from the bin next to the dough box. “Have you finished with the beds?” she asked.

  “Yeah, except we don’t have enough blankets,” Daniel answered. He looked at his sister expectantly, as though he knew what her words would be before she said them.

  Katie frowned. “Well, any traveler this time of year ought to carry his own blanket, even if he does plan to sleep at inns. And they shouldn’t be complaining, either. We’re the only hotel in a hundred miles that offers each guest his own mattress. They’re lucky to be staying at Gallagher’s!” she finished in a huff.

  Daniel peered into the kettle, now piled high with vegetables, and licked his lips. “They’re extra lucky ’cause you’re the cook,” he declared.

  Katie smiled. She was a good cook. She’d worked hard to learn. That first year after Mama died, she’d almost run off all the business with the meals she’d put on the table. Of course, even then, Gallagher’s food wasn’t much worse than what the average hotel in Texas offered.

  She cut up one last potato and added it to the stew. From a basin she took fresh water and poured it over the mixture, before adding salt and pepper as the final ingredients. She looked at her brother. “Would you carry this over to the fireplace for me?” she asked.

  “Sure,” the boy said matter-of-factly, but he stood a little straighter as he grabbed the handle and toted the kettle across the room. He hung the pot on the iron crane that pivoted in and out of the fireplace so that Katie could tend her victuals away from the heat. He pushed the metal arm into the opening that was big enough to roast a small steer. “You need anything else, Katie? I thought I’d help Da for a while.”

  Katie shook her head, clicking her tongue. “Don’t you help him like you did last week. You get into that corn liquor again, and he’ll skin you alive.”

  Daniel shuddered, moving toward the door. “Not likely. I’ve never been that sick before in my life!”

  Katie laughed, remembering the boy’s green face. “There is one thing, Daniel,” she said. “We’ve got all the horses inside the barn because of the storm. I’d hate for any to get loose. Would you check on them please?”

  “Yes’m,” Daniel answered. Passing the table, he grabbed another handful of pecans.

  Katie slapped at his hands and laughed. “Get out of here, or I’ll make you eat one of those dough balls I fixed for breakfast,” she warned. She’d attempted a new recipe for the rolls, but it had failed miserably.

  Daniel held his hand to his throat as though choking. “That’d make me sicker than the corn brew, for certain.” Laughing, the boy scampered out into the cold, heading for the barn before his sister could scold him.

  That boy, Katie thought with tenderness. It’s so good to hear him laugh again. For more than a year following the fire, Daniel had wallowed in guilt; he’d survived and the others had not. The mischievous little boy transformed into a melancholy young man, and she’d begun to fear he’d never deal with his grief. But eventually time began its healing, and now, in these last few months, he appeared to be putting the horror behind him.

  That’s why she’d been happy to be the target of one of his pranks yesterday. Before the trouble, he’d pestered everyone in the county with his practical jokes. When he’d tripped her with that hidden rope, she’d wanted to shout for joy, but she’d boxed his ears instead. He needed to believe everything was back to normal.

  Katie’s heart lifted. Things would be just fine around Gallagher’s Tavern and Travelers Inn. She walked to the fireplace, took a spoon from a hook hanging above the hearth, and stirred the stew. Well, they’d be fine once Da got the food problem solved.

  During that first disastrous year as mistress of the inn, Katie learned how much a well-laid table meant for business. Stories of burnt meat, decaying vegetables, and predictable menus commonly offered at hotels across the Republic made an indelible impression on the young hostess. She realized that a reputation for fine food would stand Gallagher’s in good stead.

  So she bent herself to the task of learning new methods for preparing the staples—corn and pork—and oversaw the planting of a variety of vegetables in the garden. She learned the location of every fruit and nut tree in the area. At her insistence, a hunter had been hired to provide an assortment of game for the table.

  Then, as a combination wedding gift and bribe not to move to the Starr family land, Da had built the new kitchen to her exact specifications. It came complete with a connecting bedroom for Katie and her new husband to share. She stayed and cooked, and now Gallagher’s was well-known for the fine fare served to guests. Why, not a month ago, a visitor told Da that he made a detour on his journey in order to stay here and sample the delicious bear steak he’d heard so much about.

  “Of course,” Katie muttered, “a month ago we had a hunter.”

  She bent over to look into the oven at the cornbread. Frowning, she remembered their last hunter. He’d worked for the inn almost six months before he decided to try his trapping skills on the cook. She shuddered as she recalled his rancid breath against her lips and his groping hands. “I wonder if he can walk without wincing yet,” she mused, deciding the bread was just about done.

  A frigid draft encircled her exposed ankles and shimmied up her skirts. Without turning, she called, “Daniel, either get in or stay out. You’re almost as bad as that yellow-haired wolf I tussled with earlier over the very same thing.”

  She straightened and stepped back—into a wall of muscle and two very large hands that grasped her firmly around the waist.

  “Grr…” the blackstrap voice growled into her ear. “What big muffins you have, my dear. Care if I take a bite?”

  Her outraged gasp preceded a screech that made the lamp chimneys vibrate. “You! Take your hands off me this instant, you—”

  The overbuilt animal released her before she could finish her outburst. She twisted to face him.

  He wasn’t looking at her.

  He gazed past her into the oven, and she almost could see the halo above his head. “I sure do love the taste of cornbread right out of the oven,” he said.

  He’s perfected that look. I’ve got to keep him away from Daniel, she told herself. She pushed past him and marched to the worktable. Armed with a rolling pin, she demanded, “What in heaven’s name do you think you are doing?”

  He flashed a cocky grin over his shoulder. “I believe I asked that same question a little earlier. Only I didn’t much like your answer.” He moved to check the contents of the kettle. Squatting down, he peered into the pot and asked, “Is this where my squirrels ended up?”

  Katie dragged her gaze from his behind. Really, those buckskins stretched indecently tight. He’d caught her looking, and as he rose, his grin became a knowing smirk.

  She felt her face flush. Oh, saints above. Get hold of yourself, Katie, she silently fumed. She should be scared, alone in the kitchen with this muscle-bound brute, the wind howling so fiercely outside that no one would ever hear her screams.

  But she wasn’t afraid, just very, very aware.

  Embarrassed and ashamed, she declared, “Listen to me, you uncouth man, I don’t know why you came into my kitchen, or what possessed you to paw me, but I tell you this: You just lost yourself a place to stay tonight.” With each word her voice became more strident until she ended with a shrill, “Get out of my kitchen and this hotel! In fact, leave the blessed Republic this instant!”

  He pivoted and walked toward her, his magnetic eyes capturing her own. “Sprite, you use the words ‘man, possess, and me’ all in one sentence, and you’re liable to cook up more than squirrel stew.”

  With a yelp, Katie scurried to the far side of the table and raised the rolling pin. He stopped with the table between them, grabbed a chair, and straddled it.

  He folded his arms on the back of the chair and said, “To answer your sweetly asked questions: Branch Kincaid, dinner, you backed into me, and I’m not leaving because your father just hired me to be Gallagher’s new hunter.”


  The rolling pin clattered against the wooden floor. “He what?” Katie had to force the words.

  Branch cocked his head to one side and answered, his golden eyes twinkling. “Yeah, I’m now gainfully employed by the famous Gallagher’s Tavern and Travelers Inn in the capacity of game procurer. I assume that means the four-legged kind. Although I have nothin’ against the two-legged variety. It’s just that things tend to get a little messy tryin’ to stock the stable, so to speak.”

  Katie sank into her chair, then buried her head in her hands. In a minute, she told herself, in a minute I’ll pitch a fit. I’ll get this all straightened out. What was his name, Limb or something?

  “Brunswick,” she finally muttered through dry lips.

  He arched a blond brow.

  “The stew. Not just squirrel, Brunswick stew.”

  He nodded solemnly. “Heaven for the senses, I’m sure.” He launched into an explanation of the travails of his journey and what had led him to Katie’s kitchen. She comprehended about one word out of every three. But while her mind was a mass of confusion, the rest of her was busy reacting to the hunk of masculinity across the table.

  His voice flowed across the table, touching her, bringing shivers to her skin. Tendrils of heat spiraled throughout her body, and she tingled in places that had no business tingling. It was all she could do not to squirm in her seat.

  Slowly Katie lifted her head and looked at him. He rested his chin atop his hands, and she heard words like “storm,” “barn,” and “card game.” But his compelling eyes spoke a different language, and she understood every word.

  He fell silent. His lips curved into a slow, secret smile.

  “You had it wrong, you know,” she eventually said.

  Again, he quirked one eyebrow.

  She watched his mouth. “You said it backward. The muffins. Red Riding Hood says what big teeth you have, not the wolf. He says…”

  Kincaid interrupted. “The better to eat you with, my dear.” With that, he picked up a dough ball from a bowl on the table and took a large bite. He chewed once, and a peculiar look crossed his face. As he continued to chew, his brows met in a K and he began to blink rapidly. With great effort, he swallowed.