Catherine

by Raine Cantrell

  There was something boyishly appealing about his admission. He swung the towel in widening circles, unaware that he sent the last lingering smoke toward her. But the room was fast filling with fresh air.

  All manner of imprecations at his ignorance rose to her lips. Her impulsive imp, which would have made her speak them, was nowhere to be found. It was simpler to be kind to him than callous. He was such a handsome but pitiful sight with his perplexed expression. The sun was barely up. Perhaps she could still look forward to a quiet day of rest after all this excitement.

  “Catherine, I really feel like a fool.”

  “You couldn’t know that the…the damper sticks.” She smiled at him. “I should have warned you.” She wiped the last tears from her cheeks.

  “Stop being so damn kind. Look at you, hobbling on your injured ankle, crying, and once again I’m at fault. I’ve never, to my knowledge, made a woman cry.”

  “You used to pull Suzanne’s braids. Mine, too.”

  “We were children then. Now…” He came toward her, absently waving the towel.

  When he was closer, she saw the look in his eyes. Catherine felt as if her blood had suddenly heated and was rushing through her. It was a dizzying, but not unpleasant, sensation. Then again, the cause could be all the smoke she inhaled.

  “Don’t you ever get really angry, Catherine?”

  “Stop it.”

  “You can’t keep overlooking the mess I’ve made of everything.”

  “Yes, I can get really angry. Furious. Dish-tossing and door-slamming kind of anger. But this really wasn’t your fault.”

  “Wrong. I moved the piece of metal. Thought it was crooked.”

  “You didn’t know. And now you do,” she insisted.

  Greg opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. She looked like a tousled angel risen in sultry splendor from some man’s bed. And yet there was an innocent unawareness of her very feminine appeal to him.

  He wanted to brush away her frown as he continued to stare at her. He wanted to be the one to brush the long, silky blond hair back from her shoulder. He thought of last night and how she’d appeared gilded by the lamp’s light: creamy skin touched with the flush of passion, her lips reddened from his kiss, begging for more. The rapid rise and fall of her breasts…

  He shook his head. Where had these thoughts come from? He had made the decision that he would not pursue her. No sexual contact. There was no place in his life for a woman like Catherine. He could hear his friends laughing behind his back if he were to take her east with him. She’d insist on bringing that nightmare cat, and likely her hen. No. And he had certainly proved both yesterday and this morning that he didn’t belong here. If it wasn’t for that damn bet with Suzanne…but the bet existed. He couldn’t falter now. Too much was riding on the outcome. And it wasn’t just for himself.

  He touched her cheek despite his own warnings. “You never told me how you got down the stairs.”

  “I sort of sat and bumped my way down.”

  “Poor Catherine. You’ve made a bad bargain with my sister.”

  “Have I?” There wasn’t the strength of a piece of straw in her words. They came out breathless and soft. This time she couldn’t blame the smoke. The gleam in his eyes appeared brighter, suddenly hotter. She only knew his gaze made her feel an odd heaviness while her heart pounded.

  Gracious! What was wrong with her? She had been physically attracted to a man before him. Whatever this thing was between them, she was sure it was stronger on her side. But that’s all there was, this inexplicable, intangible attraction that would never be acted upon.

  If only he hadn’t kissed her. He awakened all the longings she thought she could live without satisfying. It was more than her missing a shared marriage bed. Louis had been a patient lover and praised the passion she brought to him. What she missed most was the special intimacy of living together with someone who shared your dreams, hopes and fears. Gregory Mayfield made her realize her life was barren without love.

  Sarah would take her to task if she ever expressed such a thought. She tightened her hand buried in the folds of her gown, welcoming the feel of her nails biting into her palm. This foolishness had to stop. Right now.

  “Catherine,” he said, looking away for a moment. “I have something important to ask you.”

  “Ask.”

  He was oddly embarrassed to do so. Her curt tone put him off. They were both adults. And he’d been a fool twice this morning. No need to make it three times.

  “I noticed,” he began, then cleared his throat, “a lack of a bathroom in the house.”

  “Bathroom?” She felt stupid repeating it, but here she was thinking of love and he was…damn him. Once again she faced the decision of laughing or crying. “What is so important about a bathroom?”

  “I need a bath,” he snapped. “Smoke. Reek. And I couldn’t find where you have—”

  “A tub?” she finished for him with an unholy gleam in her eyes. “You have a choice. Sarah and I prefer to use the rain barrels on the side of the house. The soapberry bushes serve as screens and if you crush the berries you have soap of a sort. Or you can use the laundry tub that is stored in the pantry. Of course, you will have to haul it out here to the kitchen, heat pots of water, and when you’re done, you can begin hauling out the buckets until the tub is empty. Understand, bucketful by bucketful,” she added for good measure.

  “But the privacy?” he sputtered.

  “Privacy? Truth to tell, I don’t give much thought to that. After all, we started out three women living together. Sarah and I just mention we want a bath, and that’s that.”

  He closed his eyes briefly. His mouth tightened, then he looked at her. “In case it has escaped your notice, Mrs. Hill, I am not a woman. I do give a great deal of thought to bathing in private. And since I am in residence here, you’d better do the same.”

  The temptation proved too much. After all, she was allowed a slip. Curbing an impulsive nature was most difficult with him around.

  She leaned forward and kissed him. A kiss very unlike their heated exchanges of last night. But it served her purpose. Short and sweet.

  “You definitely don’t kiss like a woman. Enjoy your bath, Mr. Mayfield. Don’t forget to lock both doors and draw the curtains. Your privacy must be protected at all cost.”

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I’ll try the parlor. I’m not up to tackling the stairs again.”

  He caught hold of her arm. “Why did you kiss me?”

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” She glanced at his hand wrapped around her arm. “Now I see it was—”

  “Sweet,” he finished for her. “Stay. I might need you to scrub my back.”

  All the mischievous sparkle disappeared from her eyes as she looked directly at him. “You don’t want that. You don’t really want me. And if I stayed, we both know what would happen. I won’t let it.”

  His hand slipped from her arm. The teasing had to stop. But even with her eyes reddened, she appealed to him as no other woman had. He shifted uneasily with the silent admission. Thoughts like these would trick him into doing or saying something foolish. Like making a few promises that would be impossible to keep. Men did it all the time. Women believed them. He was tempted, but couldn’t play that kind of cruel game with Catherine.

  Fighting the strong need to take her into his arms and show her how easily nature could take its course between them, he put the distance of the room between them. Absolving him of guilt for his part in her injury revealed a rare, unselfish nature. He was finding it hard to keep a level head where Catherine was concerned.

  But he had to. Unless…

  Ramon’s breathless return ended any action on Greg’s part. He importantly announced that his mother could not come, for the grand lady—his name for Mrs. Pettigrew—was having a grand fiesta and needed her. That said, he carefully opened his shirt and removed a folded paper. He handed it to Greg and left to take care
of chores.

  The note was an invitation for Greg and Catherine. He was generous in calling it an invitation, since the party Mrs. Pettigrew planned was in his honor.

  “Will you go?” she asked when he finished reading.

  “It’s more like a command performance. I don’t have a choice. But it’s not until next week. A lot could happen by then.”

  Yes, she wanted to say, you could be gone. Catherine took two hops into the hall and found herself where she least wanted to be. At least the sensible part of her said she didn’t. The other part, the needy Catherine she discovered last night, was perfectly content to steal a few minutes in Greg’s arms while he carried her back up to her room.

  He left her immediately. She daydreamed her way through the morning with thoughts so erotic her body felt fever flushed.

  Catherine gave herself a good talking-to after he brought up a brunch tray. Coffee making was not among the man’s accomplishments. It was beyond her ability to understand how anyone could ruin coffee. Greg had managed the impossible. Not only would the spoon stand by itself, the liquid was dark, thick sludge.

  She nibbled at the generous slice of gingerbread and admired the wildflowers stuck in her best china teacup. She almost admired the intricate folds of the napkin made to resemble a sailboat. An odd thing for a man to master. She took it apart and tried to make it herself, only to give up.

  Thoughts of Greg had to be pushed aside. She was firm with herself. There was no room in her life for a man like him. She certainly had no place in his. Imagine her in the city, following Suzanne’s routine of rising late, sipping hot chocolate in bed while her maids brought invitations and clothing for her approval.

  No, it was in her best interest to forget his gender or else think of him as a brother.

  She settled back to enjoy the quiet.

  Her restful moments lasted just about that long, when a horrid thud, followed by a screeching, filled the house.

  Chapter Ten

  Catherine yanked the quilt over her head. Three seconds later she threw it aside and struggled off her bed.

  Mayfield was killing her cat. From the sound of the screeching, he was succeeding, too.

  The thought of attempting the stairs again made her cringe. She had expected a quiet day. What was the man doing? He was here to get better, not drive her insane.

  Lord Romeo was normally well behaved. It had to be Greg’s fault.

  With her awkward gait she reached the doorway. There she stopped. Greg rushed up the stairs and down the hall toward her.

  “Stay put!”

  “But—”

  “No buts. Just stay there.”

  She was tempted to do just that. But she couldn’t cower behind a closed door while her pet was in danger. And from the look of Mayfield, Lord Romeo might not last the day.

  “Just a minute, Mayfield. You can have your money back. Your sister will have to forgive me for quitting.”

  “No!”

  “No? This is my house. And if I say—”

  “The house belongs to Sarah. Or so you said. And while your cat is not long for this world, madam, you are. You will not quit.” He swiped at the water that dripped from his hair, sprinkling her with droplets.

  “Nothing like this has ever happened. Not until you arrived. Lord Romeo is a good cat. And don’t you dare give me orders.”

  “Point that finger in my face again and I’ll—”

  “What? Bite it? Just try. You’ve already bitten off more than you can chew.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  His cheeks were mantled with the flush of anger. Catherine drew herself up to her full height, using the door frame for support. “It means, sir, that you lack a certain basic knowledge of the workings of ordinary things. You almost set fire to the house, you—”

  He leaned close, almost nose to nose with her. “What happened to the soul of forgiving kindness I had the pleasure of meeting this morning? You’re a typically fickle female.”

  “I’m—” Catherine closed her mouth. He was right. Things had been as topsy-turvy as one of the dolls Mary made. Forgiving kindness aside, it didn’t help his cause that he nodded with satisfaction for having stopped her protest.

  “Despite your lowly opinion of me, Mrs. Hill—and I know you think I’m some kind of bumbling idiot—I’m the only one who can take care of you. For your edification, I was trying to make you soup.”

  She gaped at him in astonishment. Her voice, when she finally spoke, sounded feeble. “Soup? You were making soup? And Lord Romeo—”

  “Twined himself around my legs as I was carrying the pot of water to the stove.”

  Catherine started to reach out to touch him, then pulled back. “I owe you another apology. He was just showing affection. He really doesn’t understand that people aren’t as agile as he is.” His frown didn’t bode well for Lord Romeo. She touched his forearm. “If it will help, I’ll ban him from the house.”

  “We’ll see.”

  She didn’t know what to make of that cryptic remark. His expression offered no clue. Catherine decided not to pursue the matter.

  “I didn’t know you knew how to cook. Suzanne wrote that—”

  “In this lowly male’s opinion, women have a tendency to make the most simple task into an unnecessarily complex problem. How difficult can soup be to make? A pot of water, vegetables, a piece of meat, and you have the makings for soup.”

  He sounded so reasonable that Catherine found herself agreeing with him. “You found the smoked bacon?”

  “No.”

  “You used what’s left of the ham?”

  “No.”

  “Then what did you use for meat? I hadn’t gone to the butcher. There’s nothing—”

  A smug smile creased his lips. “Did you know there are cultures that consider cat a delicacy? I’ve also heard of several Indian tribes that enjoy dog.”

  Catherine pressed her hand to her heart. She wondered if she could murder him and bury his body.

  “Are you going to faint?”

  “Never. And if you harm one hair of my cat’s fur, I’ll—”

  “You leave that misbegotten creature to me. But I won’t harm him.”

  Trust was at low ebb. But what choice did she have? “All right, you promised not to hurt him. I suppose if you’re staying, you’ll have to work out some way to get along.”

  “Do you need my help to get back into bed?”

  “I do not.” She turned away and hopped a few steps, when her uninjured leg buckled.

  Greg caught her up from behind. “You’re making it a habit to fall into my arms every chance you get. Not that I’m complaining—”

  “A good thing you’re not.” His chest pressed against her back so tightly that she felt the wetness from his shirt seep into her gown. “And I do not make it a habit—”

  “You’re a woman to tempt a saint, Catherine,” he whispered, and nuzzled her ear. He lifted her a bit higher and marched her to the bedside.

  “I’ve never wanted to tempt a saint. I don’t know any. I don’t believe you’re on speaking terms with any, either. You certainly aren’t one. And I don’t fall into your arms every chance I get. You’re always underfoot.”

  He dumped her on the bed.

  She glared up at him. “And another thing. Stop interrupting me at every turn.”

  “To hear is to obey, madam.” He offered her a hand-waving, graceful bow, then straightened. “Now, stay put. I’ll deal with this little mishap.” He left an openmouthed Catherine behind and closed the door.

  “Just another little mishap,” he muttered over and over on his way downstairs. He was going to kill that cat.

  Greg stood in the kitchen doorway and surveyed the ruin of his good intention. He wasn’t sure where to begin cleaning up the mess in the kitchen this time. The temptation to march back up the stairs and tell Catherine that he was leaving bloomed like the finest idea he’d had all day.

  “Señor.”

>   He saw Ramon standing by the back door. There was no sign of that miserable cat.

  “Ramon, how would you like to earn a twenty-dollar gold piece?”

  The boy’s bright smile was hard to resist. Greg’s lips curved into a reluctant smile. “Here’s what you have to do.”

  Catherine heard Greg singing. She flopped back against the pillows and gazed upward. “Lord, I know I’ve asked for patience, but this time, give it to me in bigger doses. Fickle female, am I? Who wouldn’t be fickle dealing with a man whose moods change faster than our weather? And makes me feel like scrambled eggs?”

  “Señora?”

  Catherine’s musing ended with the sound of Ramon’s voice. “Come in.”

  He peered around the door. “The señor, he said I am to sit on you.”

  “Sit on me? I think he meant for you to sit with me. But, Ramon—”

  “No, no, señora.” He stepped inside, shoulders pulled back, eyes straight ahead, standing tall. “He said I am to sit on you so you stay put.”

  Catherine glanced upward. “Where’s that bigger dose of patience?” she muttered. Looking back at Ramon, she smiled. No point in confusing the child. “Did he say why you had to sit on me?”

  “Señora, this thing he asks, I cannot do it.”

  “Never mind, Ramon. That will be our secret. You can stay and keep me company.”

  “This I can do.”

  He appeared troubled. Catherine waited until he had made himself comfortable on the corner of the bed.

  “Ramon, where is the señor?”

  “He is gone to town. Please,” he said, staring at her with wide brown eyes, “you no ask me more.”

  His serious request kept Catherine silent for a while. She bit her bottom lip. She couldn’t put Ramon in the middle. But she had her own ideas of why Mayfield had gone to town. Likely to drown his sorrows in the first saloon on Main Street. And she was supposed to keep him from drinking hard liquor.

  Then again, he might be sending Suzanne a telegram telling her that all bets were off because he was not staying in a crazy house. It mattered not one whit that she was disregarding his commitment to stay. He also could communicate with his business partners. Another strike against her if he did.