Forbidden Fire Read online

  His smile remained in place. “You.”

  Katherine tried to ignore the thundering blood that swirled alarmingly through her body. “Excuse me?”

  “I’d like to set up a chicken coop behind the house, and I wanted to make sure the roosters wouldn’t disturb you.”

  Of course. Roosters. He hadn’t really meant he’d wanted her. Feeling incredibly ridiculous, she tried to focus on the question at hand. “I don’t see any objection.”

  “They’ll crow early every morning,” he warned.

  “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.” Because the saloon stayed open till the wee hours of the morning, everyone slept till around noon.

  “I could put a garden back there instead.”

  Her eyes lit up at the thought, and she turned aside, hoping he wouldn’t see her enthusiasm. After all, it would be his garden, not hers. She couldn’t remember when she’d last had the satisfaction of digging in rich soil and watching seeds sprout. Gardening was one of the few things in life that came full cycle, that could be savored and not snatched away. “Whatever you think is best,” she finally murmured.

  “Now that I think on it, a garden would probably be more practical.” He took the birdseed from her hands without permission and poured a liberal amount into the feeder. “But I don’t know anything about putting a garden in.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t suppose you know anything about planting?”

  Katherine examined the filled bird feeder as she answered casually, “I’ve done a little in the past.”

  “Great. You can tell me what seeds to buy.”

  Not allowing her to reply, he took her by the hand and tugged her toward the plot of ground at the rear of the parsonage. Too startled to protest, Katherine allowed herself to be pulled along in his strong grip. She had a momentary sensation of the strength in those hands coupled with a startling awareness of his touch upon her skin. But then they stood at the rear of his house, and he released her hand.

  She wondered if this was his new tactic to get them to leave town. She doubted he’d had a change of heart and decided that she and Morgan were perfect neighbors. There’d been a trail of somber-looking men in and out of the church since his visit. She didn’t have to guess why. But he surprised her once more, talking again about the garden.

  “Sorry-looking piece of ground,” he admitted, squatting amidst the wild grass and errant wildflowers. She watched in fascination as he picked up a fistful of dirt and allowed it to sift through his splayed hand. “Think anything will grow here?”

  Katherine jerked her eyes away from his outstretched hand and the corded muscles of his arm. The lure of the land made her kneel down beside him. As she studied the ground, she thought how plentiful the land was here compared to the East. This boundless territory had always intrigued her. The only constraints were the people who populated the area.

  “What did you want to plant?” she asked finally.

  Jake shrugged. “Corn, tomatoes, I guess.” He gazed around at the fields of wild milk vetch and red clover. “Yeah, that would be good.”

  “Your housekeeper could get some good meals out of the vegetables.”

  “I don’t have a housekeeper,” Jake admitted.

  “You do your own cooking?”

  He grinned, and Katherine’s breath caught at the change in his face. “Can’t say I do. But women seem to love to feed me.”

  I’ll bet they do. She’d expected fire and brimstone, not vegetables and beguiling blue eyes. He leaned closer to point out how deep the lot ran, and she forgot about anything else.

  “You don’t think I’d be wasting my time trying to put a garden in?” he asked.

  She snapped her mind away from its unlikely course. What was she thinking? He was a preacher, for heaven’s sake. “Actually, if the ground were properly tilled, it would probably make a decent garden,” she answered, running her fingers through the soil.

  “Tilled?”

  “Do I take it you’re a city man, Reverend?”

  “Jake. You could say that. I’m no farmer, that’s for certain.”

  “Cowboy?”

  He laughed. “I thought you knew what I did for a living.”

  “Before. You weren’t always a preacher.” Although her voice was quiet, its conviction was complete. “And you didn’t spend your time sitting behind a desk or a counter.”

  In twenty-four hours she’d figured out more about him than most folks had in six months. “Learning to be a good preacher’s important to me, Katherine. I’ve made a promise to myself, one I’ve got to keep.”

  “Then it must be kept,” she answered softly.

  Gazing into the velvety depths of her deep brown eyes, he again sensed the danger he’d discovered yesterday. Danger he couldn’t afford to pursue. When his eyes continued traveling over her long shapely neck down to her full bosom and tiny waist, he was certain that old habits died hard. Abruptly he stood up. “So, will you help me put in my garden?”

  Distracted momentarily, she gazed about the ground, longing to see it filled with beautiful growing things. “I might be able to spare a little time.”

  “Good.”

  She rose to leave, then paused. “Perhaps while we’re planting you can finish telling me about your former occupation.” Not waiting for his reply, she continued back into the saloon, letting the screen door thump behind her as she entered.

  The smile left his eyes, and the lines around his mouth tightened. Seeing the excitement on her face, the idea of the garden had been spontaneous. But he knew he was dancing with the devil, and he wasn’t yet ready to pay his dues.

  The contingent stood somber and indignant. Flanked on both sides of the bar at the Crystal Palace, they faced Vance Smith, the bartender, whom they’d interrupted in his unpacking. His closed expression didn’t reveal the tension that reverberated through the room.

  “We want to see the owner,” a tall, fair-haired man demanded.

  “Who are you?” Vance asked, giving no ground.

  The man hesitated. “Able Browning.”

  Vance cut his dark eyes in Browning’s direction and allowed a few moments to pass before he nodded toward the rear. When Browning started to turn the knob on Katherine’s office door, Vance’s voice barked out a command. “Knock!”

  Browning’s face tightened, but he complied, noting Vance’s beefy physique and threatening stance. Browning was obviously surprised when Katherine’s melodic voice bade him to enter.

  He opened the door, starting to voice his demands without introducing himself. “See here, missy. We want to talk to the owner, not some saloon gal—”

  “I am one of the owners. What do you want?”

  Taken aback, he stared and then narrowed his gaze. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

  “You don’t. However, you haven’t even given me the courtesy of your name, yet I’m speaking to you.”

  “I’m Able Browning and—”

  “Mr. Browning. And who are these gentlemen with you?”

  His four cohorts crowded into the office behind him, all gaping at Katherine. Apparently their indignation had momentarily been replaced by slack-jawed admiration. She smiled at them and was pleased to see more than one Adam’s apple bob.

  Browning looked at his companions and snarled their names, more in warning to them than as an introduction. “Ralph Turner, John Peterson, Frank Edwards, Lloyd Davis.”

  She nodded in turn to them, although she noticed each had visibly withdrawn and adopted their leader’s stance. “What can I do for you?”

  “You can shut this gin mill down,” Browning demanded without preamble.

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” she returned pleasantly, steeling her voice at the same time.

  “This is our town, and we won’t see a saloon next to our church, missy.” Browning moved closer to her desk, making his presence intimidating.

  “My name is Miss O’Shea, Mr. Browning. The lease doesn’t list a
ny restrictions. So I’m afraid our business is concluded.”

  “Not by a long shot. Either shut this place down, or we’ll burn it down.”

  “As I told your minister yesterday, we have a five-year lease we intend to uphold.” Katherine wondered if she imagined the distaste that flickered across Browning’s face. “As for your threats, I’d be very careful, gentlemen.”

  She raised those luminous, intriguingly dark velvet eyes. Five sets of male eyes followed hers as their heads craned. She could see it took great effort for them not to jump in fright. Vance and three of her floorwalkers were positioned behind them, shotguns pointed at their backs.

  Able Browning’s bearded face purpled in anger. “Next time they won’t get the drop. Make no mistake. We’ll get you out of here. No matter what it takes.” He stalked by the men holding shotguns. Browning’s entourage followed, not quite as confidently.

  “Miss Katherine?”

  “It’s all right, Vance. I believe they understood our message.”

  Seemingly satisfied, he gestured for the others to lower their weapons, and they went back to their work. Katherine laid down her pen and rose to stare out the window. The plot behind the house next door mocked her. Had Jake known about this visit? A picture of his warm smile that morning refuted the idea, but the lingering threats in the air surfaced as she watched him leave the parsonage.

  Chapter 3

  “You gotta learn that nothing’s simple with Katherine.” Morgan finished pounding in the tomato stakes.

  “I’m beginning to see that.” Jake gazed at the newly tilled land. It had taken them over a week, but he and Morgan had almost finished the heavy labor. Katherine insisted on doing all the planting herself, putting in the first rows as soon as that half of the plot was tilled. He was beginning to learn that the woman had a will of iron. In the weeks since she and Morgan had come to town, Jake’s existence had been livened up considerably. And they hadn’t even opened their saloon yet.

  Morgan laid the hammer back with the other tools, wiping the sweat from his brow. “What next, Jake?”

  “I think we’re about to find out.” He cut his eyes toward Katherine, who approached with her hands full. She’d dressed in a simple blouse and skirt, but his gaze wandered immediately to the opening of her blouse. Her pale porcelain skin peeked through the open top button, and his eyes traveled down to the fullness of her breasts that the shirt covered. Her attire was completely modest, but he could easily imagine her without it. Jake turned away, reminding himself that he was a preacher now. He’d thought the reminders would be needed less often by now. But since Katherine had become his neighbor, they’d increased considerably.

  She cocked her head to one side, gazing critically at the upturned soil. “Satisfactory, gentlemen.”

  Behind her back, Morgan threw up his hands in mock exasperation before he stuck his shovel into the dirt. Despite Morgan’s antics, Jake controlled his expression as Katherine unrolled toweling that held the seeds she’d purchased. “I believe we’re ready to plant.”

  His garden had been carefully designed by Katherine, who waved aside his protests and told him to consider the seeds a donation. After the workmen in her saloon left each evening, she had studied the plot of ground, laying out a map of the proposed garden. She amazed him by plunging wholeheartedly into plans for the garden, studying the soil, planning each row with care. He admitted he’d enjoyed having her so close, being able to watch each graceful move.

  “Whatever you say, Miss O’Shea.” Jake continued to try to get past this formality, but she stubbornly called him Reverend, and he was just obstinate enough to respond with the same formal address. Morgan seemed amused by their parlor manners, but Jake wasn’t budging until she did. He wanted her to acknowledge him as a man, not a collar.

  Morgan clapped a grubby hand around Jake’s shoulder. “All right, my good man. She’s booting us out. Let’s find something cool to drink.”

  “Hattie made fresh lemonade, and I believe there are some cookies as well.” Katherine’s voice was muffled as she bent her head, concentrating on her task.

  “No need to say any more.” Morgan headed toward the saloon, then paused. “You coming, Jake?”

  Jake hesitated for a moment, aware of what his congregation would think if he went into the saloon. The brief pause was barely noticeable. “Can’t pass up cool lemonade on a hot day.” He glanced back once more at Katherine, who contentedly wielded her trowel, and then followed Morgan to the saloon.

  Inside, the kitchen area was cool, shaded by the massive elm that towered overhead. During the saloon’s construction, Jake wondered if the new tenants had purposely built around the huge trees. Katherine’s love of the garden proved it must have been intentional.

  Morgan poured tall glasses of lemonade, coaxing cookies from Hattie, who rewarded him with a rap to his knuckles and then a fond smile.

  “Thank you, Hattie.” Jake grinned as he tasted the buttery cookie.

  “You boys’ll be the death of me yet,” she reprimanded, not sounding the least bit put out as she waddled her considerable girth out of the kitchen. She obviously doted on Morgan, and the smile she flashed at Jake included him in that affection.

  “She’s something,” Jake remarked.

  “Yep, been with us for ten years. Saloon’s kind of like a family. You got your in-laws, your outlaws, and everything in between, but you stick together.”

  Jake thought of the beautiful women he’d glimpsed around the saloon and wondered if one of them was special to Morgan, but tactfully decided to hold his silence.

  “You uncomfortable sitting in a saloon?” Morgan’s expression was a combination of his usual amiability along with an uncanny perception.

  Jake hesitated. “No. Well, yeah, I guess. But it’s not what you think.” He rose and walked toward the window. “I’ve only been the preacher here about six months. These people don’t know me real well.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Guess I just don’t want them to get the wrong idea.”

  Morgan held up his hand. “There’s no need to tell anybody about the cooperative garden.”

  “I haven’t got any reason to hide it, either.”

  “Our professions aren’t all that different, Jake. Sometimes it’s just better for folks not to know everything. They sure as hell have a better time that way.”

  Morgan’s grin mocked himself, and Jake found it easy to return the smile. “Its hard to argue with you when you’re on both sides.”

  “Funny. Katherine says the same thing.” Morgan downed the cool liquid gratefully and refilled the glasses.

  “You two are good friends, aren’t you?” Jake was curious about their relationship. Well, actually he felt more than idle curiosity. At first he’d assumed they had a romantic relationship. Now he knew that they didn’t, but in ways they seemed closer than many married couples he knew. Still, he wondered how any man could be close to Katherine and not want her for his own. The thought startled him, and he bolted down the lemonade.

  “The best of friends.” Morgan put his glass down, stared at the tabletop for a moment, and then raised unusually serious eyes. “I appreciate you including her in the garden. It’s been hard for Katherine, always on the fringes. She should be used to it by now, but she’s not.” He turned away for a moment and looked out the window at Katherine’s dark head bent over in concentration. “She loves nature—flowers, gardens, birds. But living in saloons, well…”

  Jake wondered at what he’d left unsaid. How had this exquisite woman come to be a saloon owner? Everything about her denied such a fate.

  “I’m getting the best end of the bargain,” Jake replied, ignoring the obvious.

  Morgan’s smile returned, but regret tinged its edges. “I don’t think so. You’re still the preacher who’s supposed to get rid of this saloon. Being kind to Katherine won’t look too good to the flock.”

  He knew Morgan was right, which made everything that much more complicated. But Jake hadn’t become a
preacher to please people. The reason was far more complicated. “Maybe you’re not giving the townsfolk enough credit.”

  “You don’t know, do you?” Morgan cocked his head, studying Jake’s face.

  Jake finished a long, cool, sip, sighing in satisfaction. “Know what?”

  “The visit Katherine got from your town’s finest.”

  “Who?” Jake’s face sobered, his voice hard-edged.

  “Able Browning was the main guy. Did all the talking. Told Katherine he’d burn us out if he had to.”

  Jake clenched his fist, not in moral indignation or sympathetic agreement, but in blatant anger. “I told them I’d talk to you both. We agreed it was my problem, and I was to handle it.”

  “Guess they don’t think we’re handled.” Morgan draped his long body against the sideboard languidly, his meaning clear. Jake hadn’t blasted them, he’d befriended them.

  “Browning wasn’t supposed to go around me.”

  “Sorry, guess I shouldn’t have said anything. I thought you knew.”

  “Katherine?”

  Morgan shrugged his shoulders. “You’ve got a choice to make, friend.”

  Without answering, Jake stalked out the door and to the garden plot. Standing over Katherine, he shadowed the spot she was working on. Leaning back, she grinned, obviously happy with her task. “Did you decide you wanted to plant some seeds, too?”

  “No. I decided I want the truth.”

  Her smile faltered, and slowly she lowered the trowel to the ground. “What are you talking about?”

  Jake knelt next to her, meeting her eyes, wishing their long lashes would stop beguiling him. “A visit you had from Able Browning.”

  She lowered her gaze. “Oh, that.”

  “Yes, that. Were you just going to let me prattle on like a fool and not tell me you were threatened?”

  Her voice held resignation and incredible sadness. Both ate into him. “I’m used to men like Browning.”

  “Well, I’m not. They don’t even know you—”

  Katherine’s hand on his arm was a gentle but effective blocker. Her eyes held a wealth of knowledge. Knowledge Jake sensed he didn’t want to know. “We’ve placed you in an untenable position. It would be best if we forget the garden, the friendship.”