bad.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Kit said. “How about if we give you a hand?”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know, but we want to. Right, Johnny?”
“Yep!”
They removed their jackets, and Kit set to work organizing law books on the newly made shelves. Jake and Johnny sat on the floor, and together they opened boxes and arranged the supplies that were inside.
“Hey, Ma, Mr. Cordell’s got all his books,” Johnny exclaimed.
Puzzled, Kit turned to see which books her son referred to. Stacked in front of him were all the dime novels she’d written.
She licked her lips nervously. “I thought you didn’t like those.”
Jake shrugged. “Patrick lent me one, and I was curious to read the others.”
“This one’s my favorite,” Johnny said, holding up
Vengeance Rides a Black Horse
.
Jake took it from him and riffled through the pages. He frowned. “Whoever this T. K. Thorne is, he sure knows a lot about me.”
Kit held her breath; her palms grew moist.
“Did anyone ever come around town asking about me and my father?” Jake asked.
She shook her head, afraid to speak lest her voice betray her nervousness.
Jake opened the novel to the first page.
“Read it to me, Mr. Cordell,” Johnny urged, moving close to Jake.
“I thought you heard this one already.”
“I did, but only five times.”
Jake chuckled. “I guess we can take a break. Is that okay, Kit?”
“Fine,” Kit squeaked out.
He stood. “C’mon, let’s sit by the desk.” Jake lowered himself to the chair, and Johnny eagerly moved to sit on his knee. Jake put an arm around Johnny’s waist and held the book up on the desk. He began to read.
“ ‘Jonathan Cordell rode tall in the saddle of a prancing black stallion as his son rode beside him, equally as prideful as his sire. The two men were a matched team, a deadly duo who courted danger as most men courted a lady. There had been a robbery in their town while they had been tracking down the notorious Ace Hardy. When they returned with their prisoner in irons, Deputy Logan greeted them with his arm in a sling.’ ”
Kit continued shelving the law books, listening as intently as her son to Jake’s rich, mellow voice. It gave her a strangely unsettled feeling, hearing Jake’s voice speak the words she’d written in tribute to him.
Ten minutes after he’d begun reading, Jake stopped and Kit glanced up to find Johnny asleep. His headrested against Jake’s shoulder, his mouth open as he breathed deeply in slumber.
“He must’ve been tired,” Jake said softly.
Kit gazed at Jake and noted the softening of the lines in his forehead. He seemed truly fond of Johnny, and the observation brought a recurrence of guilt. “He’s been up since before sunrise,” she said.
Jake settled Johnny in the desk chair, and Kit turned back to the books she was organizing by author. She sensed Jake’s nearness a moment before he pulled a book from her hands. “You’ve done more than enough, Kit.”
She tried to look away but found his brown eyes too alluring, his face too easy to admire. A small, crescent-shaped scar near the corner of his sensuous lips caught her attention. No whiskers grew in the slight mark, accentuating it further. He wasn’t classically handsome like David Preston, but Kit found his rugged looks compelling. Jake had matured, his features carved by the rivers of experience.
Kit curled her fingers into her palms to keep from touching his whiskered jaw or the tousled strand of hair across his forehead. How often had she dreamed of being this close to him? But in her dreams, it had been the dime novel hero, not the man in front of her, who she’d fantasized about. Could she risk learning if the hero existed only in her mind? His rejection would hurt her more than any mean-minded comment from the townsfolk.
Her hand trembling, she took the book from him and slipped it on the shelf in proper alphabetical order. “I don’t mind. Besides, you’re so good
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Kit said. “How about if we give you a hand?”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know, but we want to. Right, Johnny?”
“Yep!”
They removed their jackets, and Kit set to work organizing law books on the newly made shelves. Jake and Johnny sat on the floor, and together they opened boxes and arranged the supplies that were inside.
“Hey, Ma, Mr. Cordell’s got all his books,” Johnny exclaimed.
Puzzled, Kit turned to see which books her son referred to. Stacked in front of him were all the dime novels she’d written.
She licked her lips nervously. “I thought you didn’t like those.”
Jake shrugged. “Patrick lent me one, and I was curious to read the others.”
“This one’s my favorite,” Johnny said, holding up
Vengeance Rides a Black Horse
.
Jake took it from him and riffled through the pages. He frowned. “Whoever this T. K. Thorne is, he sure knows a lot about me.”
Kit held her breath; her palms grew moist.
“Did anyone ever come around town asking about me and my father?” Jake asked.
She shook her head, afraid to speak lest her voice betray her nervousness.
Jake opened the novel to the first page.
“Read it to me, Mr. Cordell,” Johnny urged, moving close to Jake.
“I thought you heard this one already.”
“I did, but only five times.”
Jake chuckled. “I guess we can take a break. Is that okay, Kit?”
“Fine,” Kit squeaked out.
He stood. “C’mon, let’s sit by the desk.” Jake lowered himself to the chair, and Johnny eagerly moved to sit on his knee. Jake put an arm around Johnny’s waist and held the book up on the desk. He began to read.
“ ‘Jonathan Cordell rode tall in the saddle of a prancing black stallion as his son rode beside him, equally as prideful as his sire. The two men were a matched team, a deadly duo who courted danger as most men courted a lady. There had been a robbery in their town while they had been tracking down the notorious Ace Hardy. When they returned with their prisoner in irons, Deputy Logan greeted them with his arm in a sling.’ ”
Kit continued shelving the law books, listening as intently as her son to Jake’s rich, mellow voice. It gave her a strangely unsettled feeling, hearing Jake’s voice speak the words she’d written in tribute to him.
Ten minutes after he’d begun reading, Jake stopped and Kit glanced up to find Johnny asleep. His headrested against Jake’s shoulder, his mouth open as he breathed deeply in slumber.
“He must’ve been tired,” Jake said softly.
Kit gazed at Jake and noted the softening of the lines in his forehead. He seemed truly fond of Johnny, and the observation brought a recurrence of guilt. “He’s been up since before sunrise,” she said.
Jake settled Johnny in the desk chair, and Kit turned back to the books she was organizing by author. She sensed Jake’s nearness a moment before he pulled a book from her hands. “You’ve done more than enough, Kit.”
She tried to look away but found his brown eyes too alluring, his face too easy to admire. A small, crescent-shaped scar near the corner of his sensuous lips caught her attention. No whiskers grew in the slight mark, accentuating it further. He wasn’t classically handsome like David Preston, but Kit found his rugged looks compelling. Jake had matured, his features carved by the rivers of experience.
Kit curled her fingers into her palms to keep from touching his whiskered jaw or the tousled strand of hair across his forehead. How often had she dreamed of being this close to him? But in her dreams, it had been the dime novel hero, not the man in front of her, who she’d fantasized about. Could she risk learning if the hero existed only in her mind? His rejection would hurt her more than any mean-minded comment from the townsfolk.
Her hand trembling, she took the book from him and slipped it on the shelf in proper alphabetical order. “I don’t mind. Besides, you’re so good
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