Summer Moon Read Online Free PDF

passed between them in their letters, and yet she had fallen in love with him, or at the very least, the
idea
of him, and of sharing his life.
    His letters had been insistent, full of a quiet desperation as well as a determination of purpose that matched her own. After months of sincere, heartfelt correspondence full of both intelligence and tenderness, she had agreed to marry him by proxy before she traveled to Texas.
    Dear Katherine,
    I want this done so that you will already be irrevocably mine when you come to me.
    Had he known he was dying?
    The floorboards creaked behind her. Kate turned around. Sofia rushed into the room.
    “Señora, we must talk. Please . . .”
    At the same time, a man outside shouted something unintelligible.
    “Our wrangler,” Sofia said by way of quick explanation. She was becoming increasingly agitated. “People will be arriving for the burial soon.”
    Kate jumped when the front door banged opened. Sofia hurried back to the entry hall. Uncertain of her place in the scheme of things now, Kate waited beside the coffin and listened to Sofia’s brief exchange with a man, heard the housekeeper’s lilting, slightly accented words.
    “Last night . . . sent word . . . no time.”
    Heavy footfalls rang out. Boot heels and spurs struck high polished wood. A man reeled into the parlor, his footsteps uneven and heavy—as if he was forcing himself to walk.
    He was only a few strides into the parlor when Kate grabbed hold of the edge of the coffin for support.
    Across the room, just inside the double-width doorway, stood a younger version of the late Reed Benton. He was as tall or taller than the corpse beside her, wide shouldered, with the same dark hair and features. He wore dark pants, a buckskin jacket, and two pistols at his waist. A growth of stubble covered the lower half of his face.
    Above it, his haunted, bright blue eyes were glassy, almost feverish. His full mouth was set in a harsh, firm line. He stared right past her, and she saw plainly in his eyes that if he felt anything for the man in the coffin, it was certainly not sorrow at his passing.
    Relief washed over Kate and the numbness began to fade as she stared at this man, so vibrant and alive, with such an undeniably commanding presence. He was the living likeness of the picture she had held against her heart all those cold and lonely nights in Maine. He was the man who had opened his heart to her in such touching, heartfelt letters.
    I was named for my father, Reed Benton Senior.
    He had always written of Reed Senior in the past tense and so she had assumed that his father had already passed on.
    Her head swam with giddiness as the shock of the last few moments began to fade. She held out her hand and started to speak when he stepped farther into the room. Briefly he glanced at her, then looked through her, as if she were nothing more than a caller come to pay her respects.
    Her hand went to her hair, then to her skirt. Of course, she was travel-weary, tired, dusty, and disheveled—and still shaken by what she had mistakenly assumed. But surely he must recognize her from her photograph. He had been expecting her to arrive any day now.
    He started forward, then staggered as if his feet had suddenly grown too heavy to lift. His hand went out as he reached for the back of the settee. Then, without warning, he toppled like a fallen oak and hit the floor face-first.
    “Señor Reed!” Sofia cried. Both she and Kate ran toward him at the same time.
    The housekeeper helped Kate roll him onto his back. Blood poured from his nose. His upper lip immediately started to swell. Feverish heat radiated from him. The buckskin jacket he wore fell open to reveal a blood-stained, ragged tear in the shoulder of his shirt.
    “Ay, Dios!”
Sofia cried upon seeing the bloody shirtfront. “He has been shot!”
    “He has a raging fever,” Kate added, all the time thinking, . . .
but he is alive.
She eased the jacket back off his shoulder, carefully