Prairie Fire by Catherine Palmer Page A

reached for Caitrin’s arm, but Jack blocked her. “Not so fast, Miss Mills. You seem to be forgetting that this poor, innocent woman you love so much has a right to her own opinions. As far as I’m concerned, Caitrin can choose where she wants to live, what she wants to do, and who she wants nearby. If she ever works her way through the tangle and chooses to have me at her side, you can bet your last dollar I’ll treat her right. I’ll protect her. And I’ll fight any man who tries to come between us. Count on it.”
    Stamping her foot, Rosie glared at him. “I am not a betting woman!” she said. Then she swung around and faced her friend. “Fine, then, Caitrin. Choose.”
    “Not yet,” Jack pronounced slowly and carefully in Rosie’s face. “I have to go back to Missouri and take care of a little trouble that’s been following me around. Besides that, I have people to look after. Responsibilities.” Then he straightened and met Caitrin’s green eyes. The look of bewilderment in them softened his fury. “I may not understand everything about you, Caitrin,” he said. “But I respect you. You’re something special. Something I’ve been needing. Maybe it’s those three words, huh?
    What do you think?”
    “Sure, I don’t know, Jack,” she whispered.
    “I don’t know either, but I’ll find out. You can depend on that. And now, if you ladies will excuse me, I’ll get my stuff and head out before someone in this friendly little town starts shooting at me again.”
    He strode across to the storeroom, grabbed his shirt, his guns, and the bag of supplies he’d been accumulating, and headed for his horse. As Jack bridled Scratch, the stallion tossed his head, eager for some exercise. Jimmy had put the saddle on a sawhorse nearby.
    “Okay, boy,” Jack murmured as he fastened the cinch. “Easy, now.”
    Both women were standing just where he’d left them, stock-still and staring after him as he led Scratch out of the barn. It was all he could do to walk away from Caitrin Murphy, but he wouldn’t cause her any more trouble than he already had.
    Jack mounted and set off, peering through the swirling flakes of the now heavy snow in search of the trail that led to the road. The sky was black, as black as it had been the night he’d come to this place. But he felt none of the defeat that had burdened him then. The flame of Caitrin Murphy burned brightly inside him. So did the words she had spoken … those three little words. You are precious.
    He threw back his head and stared up into the dizzying flurries, but the calm in his heart held firm. You are precious to the Father, her words echoed. Precious to the Father.
    “Hey, God,” he shouted upward. “Jack Cornwall here. I’ve been looking for you.” Watching the snow fly, he drank in a deep breath of chill air. And I’ve been looking for you, a voice answered softly.

    Caitrin hurried across the barnyard toward the soddy, praying fervently to escape Rosie’s questions. She had almost reached the door when her friend laid a hand on her arm.
    “Caitrin?” Rosie asked. “What on earth have you done?”
    Pausing, Caitrin took a breath and turned. “I know you want an explanation for what you saw tonight, Rosie, but I don’t have one that will satisfy.” She spoke quickly, hoping to put an end to the conversation. “Sure, I found the man lying in Jimmy’s barn the night of the harvest party. After his fistfight with Seth, the bullet wound in his shoulder was torn open and bleeding. I gave him a little salve and some food, as a Good Samaritan should. He was in no condition to defend himself, so I put him in the storeroom to keep Jimmy from finding him that night … then he refused to go away. But now he has, and that’s that.”
    “Jack Cornwall kissed you,” Rosie said, her eyes crackling beneath her yellow bonnet. “I saw it.”
    “He’s not like we thought … not wicked through and through. Aye, he carries guns and rides a big black