Maggie greeted them after Trace knocked on the front door of the house.

  “It’s so good to have you back, Miss Katherine,” she blurted. She sounded as if she was near tears.

  Katherine touched the maid’s arm, then pulled her into an embrace. “I’m not staying, Maggie,” she said softly, “but we’ll figure out how to make things better here.”

  The maid sniffed and nodded, the cap she wore scraping against Katherine’s cheek.

  “Where’s my mother?”

  Loud voices drifted from down the hall.

  “I can make a guess.” The smirk was evident in Trace’s voice. With his hand on her lower back, he nudged Katherine to enter the house in front of him.

  “She’s been yelling and fighting with her visitor since he arrived about an hour ago,” Maggie whispered.

  “Bob Hamilton?” Trace asked.

  “I believe that was his name.”

  “Let’s go meet him, Katie.” Trace took hold of her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Together they headed for the parlor, following the sounds of Chantal’s shrill voice.

  The arguing stopped when Trace stepped into the parlor ahead of Katherine. She tilted her head slightly, listening for what might be happening.

  “What are you doing here?” her mother hissed.

  A floorboard creaked and the scent of a man’s cologne invaded Katherine’s nose, mixed with the faint smell of her mother’s familiar perfume.

  Trace released her hand. “Trace Hawley,” he said. “I presume you’re Bob Hamilton?”

  “Yes, I am,” a man answered. He sounded mildly sophisticated and pleasant. Her mother had accused him of being a drunk and a gambler, and Katherine had imagined him to sound rough, with a raspy voice.

  “This is my wife, Katie, Chantal’s daughter.” The way Trace introduced her sounded as if he were taking the man’s measure, but with a distinct note of pride.

  “My pleasure, Mrs. Hawley,” Bob Hamilton said. Katherine lifted her hand, and he took it in his for a shake. “We finally get to meet. My late uncle told me once that he had a granddaughter. That was over twenty years ago.” There was a soft chuckle in his voice.

  “I’ve never met anyone from either side of my parents’ families,” Katherine said, for lack of a better response. “My father had no siblings, and the rest of his relatives live back east.”

  “This is all very nice,” Chantal interrupted. “I was just telling Bob that he can pack up and go back to where he came from. He won’t be getting his hands on the Red Cliff.”

  “Chantal, I’ve been trying to explain to you why I’m here. Why won’t you hear me out?” Bob said in a calm, but exasperated, voice.

  “Because I don’t believe any of your lies for a second,” she spat.

  “What’s going on?” Trace asked.

  “Bob has come to take over the ranch, just like I knew he would.”

  “I’ve stated my case, Chantal. My grandfather made it very clear what is to happen to this place if there was no one to properly manage and continue with the operation.”

  “You mean, a man has to run it,” Chantal yelled. “Well, I’ve told you, there is a man running it. He’s standing right here, and he’s married to my daughter.”

  Trace chuckled. Katherine couldn’t suppress her own scoff of surprise at her mother’s audacity. Apparently, Trace was good enough now to have around when it suited her.

  Bob sighed. “Mr. Hawley. Could we speak in private?”

  “Sure,” Trace answered. “You don’t look like you’re out in the country much, but how about I give you a tour of the place? We can talk then.”

  “That would be most agreeable,” Bob said.

  “I’ll have to change my shoes to go walking through the barns,” Chantal huffed.

  “No, you won’t,” Trace said in a commanding tone. “You ain’t coming with us.”

  “You have no right to tell me what to do, Trace.”

  “That’s true, Chantal, but I do have a right to refuse your company,” he retorted with firm authority. “If you want to go for a stroll through the barns, fine by me, but find your own way.”

  Katherine held her hand up to her mouth to hide the smile on her face. Her heart swelled with love for the man she had married. Trace didn’t back down from anyone or anything, and he approached everything he did with absolute conviction. Heat crept up her neck. That included loving her. His hand wrapped around hers.

  “Why don’t you go and pack your things while Bob and I talk business,” he said, his voice close to her cheek. His thumb caressed the sensitive spot on her wrist as he spoke. “Maggie would probably be more than happy to help you, if you need it.”

  Katherine nodded. Suggesting that she enlist Maggie’s help was Trace’s way of telling her not to be alone with her mother.

  “Good idea,” she said, smiling. Trace touched her arm with his other hand and kissed her cheek.

  Katherine ignored her mother’s exaggerated breathing, and led the way out of the parlor. Calling for Maggie, she headed up the stairs to her old bedroom. Behind her, Trace and Bob Hamilton were heading out the door.

  “If you upset my wife in any way while I’m gone, Chantal, you’ll be dealing with me,” Trace warned.

  * * *

  “Are you all finished, or can I get you some more supper?” Katherine left her seat at the table and moved to where Trace sat opposite her.

  His hand encircled her wrist, and he pulled her onto his lap. Giggling, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned closer for a kiss. She’d never been this happy in her life.

  “You sure know how to spoil a man with your cooking,” he murmured against her ear. Chills of delight raced down Katherine’s spine. “We ain’t had much time to really talk, but I want to know everything about you, Katie, and your time in New York. It must have been hard, especially at first.”

  Katherine leaned her head against his shoulder. They’d have a lifetime to get to know each other again from when they were kids.

  “Wilma taught me to cook,” she said. “I’m not sure the headmistress was too happy about letting her add culinary skills to the curriculum. I think she was worried the students would chop off their fingers or burn down the school, but she didn’t voice her objections too loudly.”

  “And you wanted to be as independent, and do everything you could, without anyone telling you that you couldn’t.”

  The smile faded from Katherine’s lips. “There will always be things I won’t be able to do, Trace.”

  “But it won’t ever stop you from trying, and that’s one of the many things I love about you. Something I’ve always liked about you.”

  Katherine sat up, and patted him on the chest. Her heart swelled with his subtle admission that he had taken notice of her a decade ago, even if he hadn’t let on. “Well, I sure wouldn’t mind some help with the dishes.”

  She was about to scramble off his lap, when the sound of hoof beats reached her ear, and one of the horses in the corral outside whinnied. It seemed a bit late in the day for Sally to come for a visit, and she’d just been here this morning, telling them that Bob Hamilton was at the ranch. A moment later, someone knocked.

  “We really need to do something about the constant visitors,” Trace grumbled.

  Katherine slid off his lap, and waited while he answered the door.

  “Trace,” a deep voice greeted.

  “Sheriff Benson,” Trace replied. “What brings you all the way out here?”

  There was a short hesitation. Katherine moved around the table, and came up behind Trace.

  “Ma’am,” the sheriff said.

  “Would you like to come in for some supper?” she offered.

  “No, ma’am,” he said, and cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I’m gonna have to ask you to come with me, Trace.”

  “Come with you, where?”

  “You’re under arrest for the murder of a Mr. Bob Hamilton, Mrs. Chantal Sinclair’s relative.”

  Katherine gasped. One hand flew to her mouth, the other reached for Trace’s arm.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Trace sounded bewildered.

  The sheriff cleared his throat. “Mrs. Sinclair was in town, frantic. Her relative was stabbed to death at your old cabin at the Red Cliff Ranch. She said you’d been by for a visit earlier today, and you and Mr. Hamilton had left the house together, and that’s the last time she saw him alive. She told me there was an argument over legal rights to the ranch.”

  “That’s absolutely ridiculous,” Trace scoffed. “When Katherine and I left the Red Cliff, Bob Hamilton was alive and well.”

  “I’m afraid it’s your word against Chantal’s, Trace.” The sheriff did sound as if he was reluctant to accuse Trace of any wrong-doing. “I have to take you in. Judge Chapman’s in town. He can hear the case tomorrow.”

  “There is no case,” Katherine said adamantly, stepping forward. “My mother is lying.”

  “Can you vouch for your husband, ma’am?” Sheriff Benson asked hopefully.

  “Of course. I know he didn’t kill Mr. Hamilton. Why would he? Trace would never hurt anyone.”

  “Did you see Mr. Hamilton when you left the ranch?”

  Katherine’s heart sank. Trace had come back to the house about an hour after taking Bob on a tour of the barns. The men hadn’t been together when Trace returned to take her home, saying he hadn’t wanted to leave her in the house alone with her mother for too long. Bob had apparently decided to wander the property alone.

  Well?” the sheriff prompted.

  “No,” Katherine whispered, the dread in her chest growing. “I didn’t see him.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Trace cupped the back of his head between his palms, staring up at the plastered ceiling of the jail cell. He’d spent a sleepless night in the drafty building, waiting for morning to arrive. Outside, the town of Deer Lodge was coming to life. Horses’ hooves clacked along the hard-packed dirt street, harnesses jingled, and people conversed, carrying on with their business.

  A key turned in the front door of the jail. Trace glanced toward the sound. Sheriff Benson walked in, carrying a tray. He tossed his hat on a peg by the door and headed for the back of the room toward the cell.

  “Mornin’, Trace,” he said. “Brought you some breakfast.”

  Trace sat up, his back stiff from the uncomfortable mattress. He ran a hand through his hair and over his rough face.

  “Mornin’,” he grumbled. The smell of strong coffee and bacon made his mouth water, but he didn’t have much of an appetite.

  He’d cooked most of his meals on his own for years. Finding out that Katie could cook, and cook well, had been a most pleasant surprise. The last three days since their quick wedding had been the best days he’d ever spent. He couldn’t have been more happy or content with his life. His intense love for Katherine had surprised him, and the feeling had only grown stronger with each passing moment he was with her.

  His life was on the right track. He had a beautiful wife, and the beginnings of a horse ranch and breeding program that anyone would be proud of someday. Trace clenched his jaw. Now he was falsely accused of murder. He scoffed. There was no question who was really the guilty person. Proving that Chantal had killed Bob Hamilton would be nearly impossible. It was her word against his, and as much as he hated to admit it, Katie wasn’t a credible witness.

  After meeting Bob Hamilton and talking to him, it had become evident that he wasn’t the ogre Chantal had made him out to be. If he ever was a gambling and drinking man, he sure seemed to have cleaned up. He’d come to the ranch with the genuine interest of partnering with Chantal. Apparently, she hadn’t wanted any part of it.

  Trace had told him about the breeding and racing operation, and what he saw for the future of the ranch. They had parted ways yesterday, agreeing to meet again to draft a deal for some kind of joint venture.

  “Hope you had a good night,” Benson said, sliding the tray through the bars.

  Trace sipped the bitter coffee.

  “Did you have someone escort Wilma Rodgers out to my place to stay with my wife last night, like I asked?” Trace glared at the sheriff, whose lips twitched in a smile.

  “Yep. Drove her out there myself. Your wife insisted that I bring her back to town, that she’d rather spend the night in jail with you.” He scratched the back of his head, and shot Trace a sheepish look. “My apologies for breaking up the honeymoon, but I had no choice.”

  “I understand,” Trace grumbled.

  Relief swept through him that Katie hadn’t been left alone. She would have had no trouble spending a night by herself at the cabin, but she would have tried to come to town by herself, and that might have ended in disaster. Wilma was the perfect person to look out for her.

  Trace looked Benson in the eyes. “I’m going to clear my name. I didn’t kill Hamilton. He and Chantal were arguing when I arrived at the ranch yesterday. You might want to question her some more.”

  “It’ll be up to a judge to decide who killed the man,” the sheriff said, “but if you have any information that could help your case, I’d be happy to check into it. You’re a good man, Trace. I always respected your pa. That Sinclair woman is something else, ain’t she?” He shook his head and chuckled.

  Sheriff Benson offered another smile before heading for his desk at the front of the jailhouse. “I had breakfast with Judge Chapman, and he’ll hear your case at the courthouse at nine o’clock to see if there’s enough evidence for a trial,” he called.

  Trace lifted the coffee mug to his lips, forcing the bitter brew down his throat. He sat back on the hard bunk and rested his elbows on his knees. If he was convicted of murder, he could go to prison for life, or even hang. What would happen to Katie then? Chantal would be the sole owner of the Red Cliff. After Katie’s defiance of her mother by marrying him, she wouldn’t be welcomed back. Katie would have his place, but she couldn’t possibly live there on her own.

  Trace ran a weary hand over his face and blinked away the grit in his eyes. If anything should happen to him, Sally would take care of her. There was also Wilma. Perhaps Katie could go back to New York and live at the school, but she wasn’t cut out for that kind of life. She belonged in Montana.

  The door to the jailhouse creaked open. Trace raised his head. He sprang to his feet.

  “Katie?”

  His heart jumped to life at seeing her sweep into the room, followed closely by Wilma. Her head snapped in his direction. Sheriff Benson rose to his feet.

  “We’re here to see Mr. Hawley,” Wilma said in an authoritative tone. Benson pointed to the back of the jail. Her former guardian led Katie to his cell.

  Trace reached for her through the bars.

  “Trace,” she whispered. Her soft hands against his face were like a touch of heaven.

  “Are you all right?” he murmured, pushing his head against the bars to kiss her.

  “Yes. Wilma was with me last night. Trace, I’m so worried. I know my mother did this.”

  “We’ll get to the bottom of it.” Hopefully he sounded confident.

  “Do you need anything?” Tears ran down her face.

  Trace swiped at her cheek with his thumbs. “Having you here is all I need,” he said. ‘Everything will work out.”

  He glanced toward Wilma, giving the stern woman a meaningful look. Her lips tightened, but she nodded.

  “Thanks for looking out for Katie for me.”

  “I’ve looked after her for ten years, Mr. Hawley. I won’t stop now.” Her usual harsh voice wasn’t as harsh at the moment. “I never knew her mother was truly that sort of woman.”

  “She’s not going to get away with this.” The knuckles on Katie’s hand turned white as she wrapped it around one of the cell bars. Trace covered her hand with his, and smiled into the palm still caressing his cheek.

  “No, she won’t.”

  Katie and Wilma remained at the jail, keeping him company, until Sheriff Benson announced that it was time to head to the courthouse. Trace held out his hands for Deputy Harry Farr to handcuff him.

  “Sorry, Trace. Formality, you know,” he mumbled.

  Katie stayed at his side, refusing to let go of his arm during the short walk to the courthouse. She kissed him one final time before Farr insisted she step back and take a seat in the gallery.

  “I love you, Trace,” she whispered.

  “I love you, Katie. This will all be over soon.”

  After the judge arrived and the formalities of a court proceeding were over, Judge Chapman read the charges against him.

  “This is only a hearing, not a trial, to find out if there is a case against you, Mr. Hawley. How do you plead?”

  “Not guilty, Your Honor.” Trace looked directly at the judge, who stared down at him from his bench.

  The judge nodded, then told him to sit.

  Trace glanced over his shoulder when Judge Chapman called Chantal Sinclair to come forward and tell her side of the story.

  “She ain’t here, Judge,” Sheriff Benson said. Murmurs erupted from several people who had come to watch the proceedings.

  “Then, while we wait and see if she shows up, are there any other witnesses?” The judge scanned the room.

  “Right here.”

  Trace wheeled around. Katie had stood from her seat. Wilma whispered to her and guided her a short distance toward the judge.

  “And you are?”

  “Mrs. Trace Hawley,” she answered with a definite hitch in her voice. Trace smiled at the way she’d referred to herself.

  After swearing in, the judge asked, “Were you present when Mr. Hawley and Mr. Hamilton were together yesterday?”

  “Not the entire time. They thought it was best to speak in private, since my mother, Chantal Sinclair, was acting out of sorts.”

  “And why was she out of sorts?”

 

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