Striker.
A gust of wind buffeted the kitchen, and she rose and walked to the window, telling herself she merely checked the weather. Bitter winter air swept into the room as she cracked open her shutter.
He was in the yard, mounted on the dun, his brightly colored poncho the single vision of warmth in the world outside. He wore his hat pulled low on his head, and a kerchief wrapped his nose and mouth. She saw nothing cold in his eyes, however, as his gaze met hers.
He nodded once, and then, as he gigged Striker and rode away from the remnants of Gallagher’s Tavern and Travelers Inn, sleet began to fall.
CHAPTER 6
THE DAY FOLLOWING BRANCH’S departure, they had come armed with axes and saws and hammers, what seemed like an army of men ready to attack the task they’d been hired to accomplish. With them they carried supplies to last the length of the job: food, canvas tents— one man even brought his wife. The wages were good, with bonuses promised for speed and quality work.
Behind them had rolled wagon after wagon loaded with expensive milled lumber. Now, after weeks of constant toil in weather that ranged from pleasant to bitter cold, Gallagher’s Tavern and Travelers Inn existed once more.
Katie, Daniel, and John anticipated a month or more of hard work ahead readying the hotel for guests. The Gallaghers would make many of the needed supplies themselves—some of the furnishings, mattresses, and decorative touches like window curtains—but many of the necessities were on order out of Jefferson, where riverboat traffic gave access to imported goods. Some had arrived already, but most were due within the next month.
With a little luck and a lot of hard work, the Gallaghers hoped to reopen the inn by midspring, when East Texas saw the greatest number of travelers.
While the workmen readied for their departure, Katie wandered from the parlor to the dining room, picturing the rooms filled with furniture and guests. Never had she imagined such splendor for Gallagher’s Inn; it was too extravagant, too costly.
It was financed by a stranger named Finian Trahern. She crossed the wide hallway that ran through the center of the structure to the long room that would serve as the new tavern. Da stood behind a long, polished wooden bar, whistling as he lined up bottles of liquor delivered from Jefferson earlier that morning. He went about his work with a vigor that had been absent from his movements for weeks, and the sight dissuaded Katie from mentioning her doubts yet again. Instead, she asked, “Da, where’s Daniel?”
“He’s upstairs. Our order of linen arrived with the whiskey, and he’s looking for a place to store it. Most likely he’ll be needing your help, Katie-love.”
“I’ll keep the sheets in that wardrobe Mrs. Craig sent us from Nacogdoches House. You know, Da, I don’t believe her claim that she had too much furniture in her boardinghouse. It’s charity.”
“Now, Katie,” Da said, frowning a rebuke. “I have the same sort of opinion as you about charity, but Martha Craig is simply being neighborly. Don’t be reading problems into kindnesses.”
“Yes, Da.” But as she made her way upstairs, she grumbled, “Just like I’m not questioning the largess of Mr. Finian Trahern. I swear Da is wearing blinders.”
She found Daniel playing marbles in room number eight, a stack of sheets beside him on the floor. “Hard at work, I see,” she commented in a wry tone. His guilty grin made her smile, and her pleasure at watching him move without pain prompted her to ruffle his hair and challenge him to a game.
She was on her hands and knees with her head lowered near the ground lining up a shot when a voice behind her groaned, “Good Lord, woman. Offer a man a target like that, and he’s liable to misfire his shooter.”
Marbles scattered everywhere as Katie flopped over, protecting her backside by sitting on it. Daniel shouted gleefully, “Mr. Branch! You’re
A gust of wind buffeted the kitchen, and she rose and walked to the window, telling herself she merely checked the weather. Bitter winter air swept into the room as she cracked open her shutter.
He was in the yard, mounted on the dun, his brightly colored poncho the single vision of warmth in the world outside. He wore his hat pulled low on his head, and a kerchief wrapped his nose and mouth. She saw nothing cold in his eyes, however, as his gaze met hers.
He nodded once, and then, as he gigged Striker and rode away from the remnants of Gallagher’s Tavern and Travelers Inn, sleet began to fall.
CHAPTER 6
THE DAY FOLLOWING BRANCH’S departure, they had come armed with axes and saws and hammers, what seemed like an army of men ready to attack the task they’d been hired to accomplish. With them they carried supplies to last the length of the job: food, canvas tents— one man even brought his wife. The wages were good, with bonuses promised for speed and quality work.
Behind them had rolled wagon after wagon loaded with expensive milled lumber. Now, after weeks of constant toil in weather that ranged from pleasant to bitter cold, Gallagher’s Tavern and Travelers Inn existed once more.
Katie, Daniel, and John anticipated a month or more of hard work ahead readying the hotel for guests. The Gallaghers would make many of the needed supplies themselves—some of the furnishings, mattresses, and decorative touches like window curtains—but many of the necessities were on order out of Jefferson, where riverboat traffic gave access to imported goods. Some had arrived already, but most were due within the next month.
With a little luck and a lot of hard work, the Gallaghers hoped to reopen the inn by midspring, when East Texas saw the greatest number of travelers.
While the workmen readied for their departure, Katie wandered from the parlor to the dining room, picturing the rooms filled with furniture and guests. Never had she imagined such splendor for Gallagher’s Inn; it was too extravagant, too costly.
It was financed by a stranger named Finian Trahern. She crossed the wide hallway that ran through the center of the structure to the long room that would serve as the new tavern. Da stood behind a long, polished wooden bar, whistling as he lined up bottles of liquor delivered from Jefferson earlier that morning. He went about his work with a vigor that had been absent from his movements for weeks, and the sight dissuaded Katie from mentioning her doubts yet again. Instead, she asked, “Da, where’s Daniel?”
“He’s upstairs. Our order of linen arrived with the whiskey, and he’s looking for a place to store it. Most likely he’ll be needing your help, Katie-love.”
“I’ll keep the sheets in that wardrobe Mrs. Craig sent us from Nacogdoches House. You know, Da, I don’t believe her claim that she had too much furniture in her boardinghouse. It’s charity.”
“Now, Katie,” Da said, frowning a rebuke. “I have the same sort of opinion as you about charity, but Martha Craig is simply being neighborly. Don’t be reading problems into kindnesses.”
“Yes, Da.” But as she made her way upstairs, she grumbled, “Just like I’m not questioning the largess of Mr. Finian Trahern. I swear Da is wearing blinders.”
She found Daniel playing marbles in room number eight, a stack of sheets beside him on the floor. “Hard at work, I see,” she commented in a wry tone. His guilty grin made her smile, and her pleasure at watching him move without pain prompted her to ruffle his hair and challenge him to a game.
She was on her hands and knees with her head lowered near the ground lining up a shot when a voice behind her groaned, “Good Lord, woman. Offer a man a target like that, and he’s liable to misfire his shooter.”
Marbles scattered everywhere as Katie flopped over, protecting her backside by sitting on it. Daniel shouted gleefully, “Mr. Branch! You’re
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