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he was interrupted. That’s it, he decided. He’d plan the next assault with the strategic finesse of Alexander the Great. He’d storm her defenses like Saxons at England’s castle walls. He’d conquer Katie Starr as Napoleon had conquered Europe, and within a month, the spoils of war would be in his bed.
    Confident of victory, Branch headed for Gallagher’s and the field of dishonor. He broke into song, his baritone forming the ribald words that became his battle hymn.
    He did his best to forget the niggling thought that even Napoleon had his Waterloo.

 
     
    CHAPTER 4
     
     
    OCCASIONAL BURSTS OF LAUGHTER split the muted hum of after-dinner conversation in the main room of the tavern. Pine logs crackled and popped in the fireplace, working to displace the January chill seeping through cracks in the log walls’ chinking. Overall, the atmosphere in Gallagher’s was cozy and comfortable as the inn played host to eight guests.
    The two ladies, sisters traveling with their husbands to visit family in Liberty, had already retired for the night, seeking their beds upstairs. Their mates had joined a dice game in progress and were now expansively detailing the beauty of the Sistine chapel to two buffalo hunters headed west and a patent-medicine salesman who eyed their pocket watches with interest. The aroma of roasted turkey mingled with the pungent scent of cigars and lingered with the soulful notes Daniel Gallagher pulled from his harmonica.
    The inn’s other guest sported an elegant frock coat of dark blue broadcloth over a red satin vest—quite a contrast to his poker opponent’s buckskins and wicked smile. Katie worked behind the bar, polishing spotless glasses as her gaze returned time and again to the gentleman and Branch Kincaid, who apparently had taken this night off from the siege he’d declared on her virtue.
    For the past three weeks, Gallagher’s Tavern and Travelers Inn had served as the staging area for a war equal in intensity, if not in violence, to Texas’s War for Independence. Not that the skirmishes between Branch and Katie lacked for havoc; they just weren’t as mortal.
    Although she was a skillful strategist and had evaded most of his maneuvers, Branch had managed to capture a few stolen kisses over the days. More and more she felt like the walls of the Alamo; another kiss, and Santa Anna Kincaid would breach her defenses.
    She filled a cup with water and drank from it, glancing over its rim to the golden-haired warrior whose eyes set fire to her fortress. Honesty forced her to admit that sometimes, in the middle of the night, defeat sounded so good.
    Branch lifted the tankard of ale to his lips and sipped. His opponent laid down his hand and said in a voice that carried, “Two pair, jacks high. My win, Kincaid.”
    Branch tipped back in his chair, grimacing. “That brew is green. Next time you buy me a drink, William Bell, make it whiskey. Gallagher’s Irish is pretty darn good.”
    “I’m not here to discuss the relative merits of this establishment’s beverages,” the visitor said with a wry smile. He paid careful attention to gathering his small pot of winnings from the middle of the table. “Branch, cease with the evasions. I rode through a two-day snowstorm to reach this rustic little dwelling, and I believe I deserve some answers. Now, what have you learned since your arrival at Gallagher’s?”
    “Hah.” Branch’s scornful scoff caught Katie’s attention. Her long, auburn braid swung across her shoulder as she gave him a curious look. He flashed her his rakish grin and winked. Loud enough for her to hear, he said, “I’ve learned that war can sometimes be a helluva lot of fun.” Katie rolled her eyes and returned to her business of dusting the various bottles and glassware behind the bar.
    “Branch?” William Bell inquired.
    “What have I learned?” The front legs of his chair thumped to the floor. He fastened a frigid gaze on the impatient messenger and said in a