He laid his head back against the heavy support beam and settled in. Either she'd come out, or she'd have some very well-scrubbed pans. He had time, either way.
Catherine could feel the tears welling up. She didn't have time for it. She forced herself not to feel them any more. If she ignored them well enough, it was as if they weren't there. She reminded herself of that again.
As if they weren't there. No problems, no concerns, and certainly no man in the barn waiting for her to tell him that she was going to marry him. Certainly no man who should have come in for supper, but would stay outside until he got his answer.
A stubborn man like that, would it matter what she said? Maybe he would just wait until he got the answer he wanted. Catherine tried to decide whether she hated that stubbornness or loved it. She already knew the answer, but it only meant that she had to convince herself that she was wrong.
They weren't right for each other. She, more specifically, was no good for him. The stubborn fool should have known better. He'd gotten it into his head, no doubt, that if she was married again, then folks wouldn't talk. Those women would talk about the mother of God if they met her.
It wouldn't change one thing about her, and it wouldn't change anything about how folks treated her. It was the wrong thing to do. She knew it, and he should have known it. Even still, she couldn't go out. Couldn't face him.
If she did, she might say the wrong thing. She could hurt him, she knew. She could harden herself and make him hurt as much as she needed to make him hurt to get him to understand. That wasn't the problem.
The problem was whether or not she could force herself to lie to his face. He would know she was lying. That didn't matter. Glen had respected her boundaries up to this point. If she didn't want to tell him the truth, he wouldn't force it.
It would hurt, though, and Catherine couldn't quiet the little voice in the back of her mind. The one that said that she wanted him and she should have him. The one that said that it didn't matter what the right thing was, she should do what she wanted to do.
Thoughts like that were dangerous. Thoughts like that were what married her off to Billy Howell and put her in this situation in the first place. Glen wasn't like her ex-husband. He wasn't going to ruin her.
Hell, she already felt better. Like she might be a good woman one day. With a lot of help.
But she needed to remember the lesson that Billy had taught her. For all the badness he'd brought into her life, even in spite of the children she knew that she had to remember her ex-husband.
He'd taught her never to do something she wanted. It had to be the right decision, or she wasn't going to do it. Marrying Glen Riley wasn't the right decision.
The door opened. She didn't need to turn to recognize the sound of Glen's boots on the floorboards. She didn't want to see him. She wasn't ready to see him. Not right now, not while her heart was
still so unsteady.
She needed more time alone. Tomorrow she'd take his horse, no arguments, and she would go get Ada from the doctor's. Then she'd come home, her babies all home and safe, and she would be able to face him. Having Ada around had always helped her to make the right decision.
Without her, it felt like she was adrift. As the boots approached, Catherine set the pan aside.
"I don't want to talk to you right now," she said, rubbing her hands off on a towel.
The voice that answered sent a shiver running up her spine. It wasn't Glen.
"I missed you too, hon."
Thirty Two
Glen saw the man coming from a ways away. It was odd to see someone coming past the ranch. Odd, but then again, from the way the man's hat so low on his face, and the way he hunched over, it was hard to see who it was.
Could have been the Padre coming along to wish them well. Could have been about anybody. As they came closer, though, Glen saw that it wasn't anybody. Whoever it was, they were coming straight for the house.
Like they owned the place, more or less, and once he was very close Glen saw that in a very real sense the man approaching out of the evening dust did own the place.
Bill looked better than he had when Glen had seen him before. Even for his posture, he was wearing a mighty fine set of clothes. Riding a fresh-looking stallion that trotted like a thoroughbred. A hell of a horse.
He tied the horse off to the banister and headed inside. Didn't bother to put his horse back into the stable, which meant he was either not planning on staying long, or he was every bit the man that Glen had come to believe he was.
Either way, Glen thought, Catherine wasn't going to like this. He pulled himself down from the loft, then thought for a second and opened up the cylinder on the Smith and Wesson. He hoped not to have to use it, but sometimes that luxury wasn't an option and Glen got the sick feeling in his stomach that he was going to need all the options open to him.
He could feel the pull to hurry up on the way over. That was the natural thing to do. Hurry up, get over there. Rush in and save the girl. It was the most natural thing in the world, and it would get him shot.
Oh, maybe old Bill wouldn't shoot him. Maybe he would be fine, this time. But Glen had been through enough scrapes to know that it was better to be there at the right moment, and not a moment too soon. Late was too slow—but early was too fast.
Catherine's eyes shot over to the mantel-place. Where the Spencer had hung, those past five long years. Where Glen had taken it, and then he'd hung it back up. It was there still. She could go for it, she thought.