Chapter 22

22

Spring 1867

One Year Later

" F riend? Is that what we're still calling this?"

Katie looked ahead, unable to meet Colby's intense glare as he rode his horse beside hers. "You shouldn't have followed me. I told you I needed space to clear my head." She nudged her horse forward, but he caught up.

"You have a husband who has ignored you for over a year. There's been no intimacy whatsoever, am I correct?"

Heat spread from her neckline to hairline. She'd shared too much. Colby knew the exact state of her farce of a marriage. There was no point in lying.

"Katie, please. Can we be honest about this?"

"Why? What good will honesty do?"

"We could make a plan. Find a way."

When he used that gentle tone, it took every bit of her willpower to stay strong. But she had to, so she sent him a pointed look. "To what? Leave Josiah after all he's done for my family—and for you? We'll never do that."

"But, Katie, I can't help the way I feel about you."

Her chest ached. "Nor I you, but that changes nothing unless we're both prepared to betray Josiah and the last bit of goodness left inside our souls." She looked at him astride his horse, the handsome man, the friendly soul who had taken her in as a friend when Josiah had cut her out of his life. Her heart lurched. It would be so easy to give in to the flesh, the friendship, the feelings.

"So, you're just going to pretend?—"

She looked away from him, staring into the distance. "I keep hoping to find the man I married. We had something special."

"It's been a year, and things have gotten worse, not better. What a waste of your life." His words came out drenched in sadness.

He was right, but that didn't matter. "I gave up my life the day I agreed to marry him." She had to resign herself. "This is not much different than the way I imagined things would go, I only thought I would at least have the joy of children to fill my days. My mistake was believing we were headed in the direction of having it all. That disappointment has been a long fall." She almost blurted out the one thought she had never shared with anyone. Why wasn't she a mother? Was she barren and inadequate in that area, as well?

"Every man in the countryside wants you except your husband," Colby said. "You deserve to feel loved. You're fun, kind, and beautiful on the inside?—"

"Stop, Colby." She held up her hand and pulled back hard on her reins. The horse pranced back on his feet. "Sorry, Sugar." She leaned forward and patted the gelding's neck.

Colby turned his mount to come up beside her. His leg bumped hers as they steadied their horses.

She couldn't meet his gaze. "This is all my fault. I should never have confided in you."

His hand reached out and slid down the side of her cheek, thumbing a tear away. "I will never regret our friendship, nor one moment in your presence, but I do want to kick Josiah to the moon. How could he waste such a beautiful gift?"

She shook her head. "See, that's the kind of thing you should never say."

"Why? Because it makes you feel rather than remain numb to the world?"

She glared and made her voice low and serious. "Don't follow me." The words took a monumental effort, but at least she got them out. She pressed her heels hard against her horse and lit off in a run.

After a while, she slowed her horse, letting him roam the hillside wherever he pleased. She had to break loose of her churning thoughts and feelings, and a long ride through the beauty of nature was her surest hope.

Yet she couldn't seem to find the clarity she sought. With a slap of the reins and a slight sink of her heels, she pushed the horse into another run. She sank into the glorious feeling, letting the exhilaration of speed consume her. Her long black braid flopped behind her as she tried to outrun her troubled thoughts. Like a woman possessed, she raced across the clearing, sailed over the wooden fence, and landed on the opposite side.

But no amount of speed could carry her away from her problems. At last, she reined in her horse and patted his mane.

The glorious smell of new foliage, grass, and meadow flowers drifted on the wind's cool breath. Their land stretched for miles around her, skirted by the rugged terrain of mountainous forest. The verdant pastureland dipped and rolled in a beauty all its own. The distant moo of cattle and the bleat of a newborn calf blended with the chatter of a mouthy squirrel in a nearby tree. Spring buttercups, hot pink lady's slippers, and purple violets dotted the hillside. All the little things that used to bring her joy now did little to lift her spirits.

She slipped from the saddle. All was as it should have been on a fine spring morning. Yet she clung to her only defense—to remain numb. Despondency helped her make it through one long day after another. If she felt nothing, she would expect nothing.

If only Colby had not challenged what worked. Not given voice to the solace she'd had in their…whatever it was that had grown between them.

Out in God's green open, with not a soul around, she allowed her walls to crumble. Pent-up emotion flowed free. Snippets, memories, feelings rose like a volcano inside her soul, forcing their way out. She let out the scream of a banshee warrior. The freedom to cry unchecked and uncontrolled poured out. The salt of her tears stung her wind-burnt cheeks as they spilled onto the thirsty ground. Cathartic. Cleansing. Crucial.

One by one, her cobwebbed mind released the emotions of the past year. She was powerless against their pull, and at last, she faced the darkness she had kept in the shadows.

Josiah. Dear, sweet, kind Josiah. What happened to that man, the one she first knew? She'd been so sure of his love for her and the stirring of emotion within her heart for him. And then, everything changed. What had happened to create this chasm? What had she done to deserve his coldness, his rejection? His complete withdrawal?

She'd not meant for this plethora of feelings for Colby to spring out of the dark thirst of her soul. Why had she so foolishly sought him out after Josiah seemed to turn away? In her loneliness, the need for a friend and a shoulder to cry on had outweighed wisdom. And over the past year, that friendship had developed too far. If she were honest, she had to admit she desired far more from Colby than friendship had to offer.

The duplicity was killing her. For the first time, she could finally admit the death of her marriage and the unpardonable fact—that she cared for someone else in a way meant for her husband.

Truth unwrapped the hidden, the secrets, the dark. She fell to the soft green grass and buried her face in her arms. Painful sobs rose up in her chest, forcing their way out to split the quiet.

What was to become of her? Could she really live the rest of her life like this? Maybe she should run away. Yet deep within, the truth burned hot. She could not run from herself.

Like a whisper on the wind, she gave herself the permission to let the memories of the past year blow across her mind. Full body sobs racked her being as she opened the door to truth. Why had she confided in Colby about her difficulties in their marriage? Why had she not pressed Josiah more? She should've demanded he tell her what went wrong. But, by seeking out comfort in a relationship with Colby, a shift had happened. She'd allowed a demon to insidiously slip into her life.

Though loneliness had driven her to Colby's open door, she'd never meant to give him her heart. But, as they shared conversation, laughter, and friendship, life had unfolded. Like a heavy mist, their feelings for each other seeped in and fingered out, spreading, living, breathing, until they consumed her. Guilt had also moved in, but it was fading. She cared far less about right and wrong than she used to. And that made her hate herself even more.

She and Colby walked a tight line, feeding a beast that could not be satisfied by mere friendship. A form of living hell created by their own foolishness ruled as they lived within inches of each other but were not able to act on the desires that plagued them.

And Josiah didn't care. He'd grown increasingly aloof.

"Oh, God, if you're up there, help me." Her words echoed through the pines.

Josiah had watched Katherine leave the yard mounted on her mare, and he'd watched Colby follow. Her desperate expression and Josiah's need to confirm his suspicions pressed him to shadow them. He didn't want to feel anything for her, but his sorry heart still picked up rhythm every time she came into view. He had spent a year fighting his love, to no avail.

He kept well back in the tree line and spied from a distance. They talked. It looked like Colby wiped tears from her face. And then she lit out in the opposite direction while Colby headed back. This had proved nothing.

She raced across the meadow and flew over the fence so fast, his heart jumped to his throat. Was she trying to kill herself?

He followed at a good clip and didn't breathe again until she slid from her horse. He moved as close as he dared, hidden in the stand of trees downwind from her. He didn't want the horses to pick up scent and nicker to each other.

Guilt surged at the way he was invading her privacy, but a force stronger than his will drew him forward. She was in a heap on the cold ground, weeping. Everything within him fought the urge to run to her side and comfort her. He longed to turn those tears into laughter and kiss away the pain as a husband should.

Instead, the memory that had held him hostage for a year assaulted his mind. Her description of their arrangement to Colby, after all he had done to reach her, had cut him down. Until that moment, he'd been so sure he could win her love. What an arrogant fool that man had been.

Today, however, witnessing her sadness and vulnerability, that memory lost its power. The mad obsession of not having her, yet not being able to let her go, had to stop. As he viewed her crumpled in a heap on the ground, sadness welled up. Thick. Heavy. Oppressive. She didn't need his comfort. She needed her freedom. He would go ahead with his plan.

Wheeling his horse around, he left her, details spinning in his mind. He had gotten her into this mess, and he would get her out.