by Soard, Lori
Chapter fourteen
Catherine wanted to run screaming from the room. Her father may have been a lot of things or rather not a lot of things, but she knew one thing for certain, he was not a thief. Gage could talk until her mare had another foal and she would not believe such a thing of her father. He was lying, trying to confuse her so he could steal her land. He was the thief.
Catherine calmly walked over to the tree and picked up the present. She crossed to Gage and handed it to him. He took it without commenting.
“I don’t want this. It meant something when I received it from the man I thought you were. But I don’t want it from the man I now know you to be.”
Gage shrugged. “What about you, Catherine? Are you what you appear to be?”
Catherine raised her chin, pride refusing to allow her to do any less. “What do you mean, Gage?”
“Are you a con artist like your father? Or are you genuine?”
A look crossed his eyes, almost of pleading but was as quickly gone. Catherine felt anger thrust through her. Anger that Gage couldn’t see the person she was and believe in her. Anger that she was being forced to stand up for a father who had never shown her he loved her. Anger that her one chance at a perfect Christmas had been ruined.
“You’ll figure it out eventually,” she said bitterly, turning toward the doorway. “I just hope it isn’t too late.”
A good stiff whisky. Gage couldn’t think of many things that would taste better at this moment. But as quickly as the thought of the scorching liquid sliding down his throat and burning away his frustration came, he squelched it down. The last thing Catherine needed was for him to get drunk on Christmas. He’d set out to give her a Christmas she’d never forget. His lips twisted in self-derision. He’d managed to do that by attacking her father. The conversation with his mother had unnerved him, set off something inside him that was long buried and uncomfortable. Gage had snapped.
He dropped into the recliner, rested his bent elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands, remembering the stabbing hurt in Cat’s eyes. He shouldn’t have told her that way, he could have been more gentle. He jumped to his feet and paced the room.
Why was he feeling guilty anyway? He was the one that had been cheated and lied to. Catherine herself had even lied to him about being pregnant. She was no better than her father, just a better actress. And he was nothing but a liar, because he lied to himself. The truth was he’d enjoyed Cat’s company, had grown accustomed to hearing her tinkling little laugh and seeing the fire of battle enter her blue eyes.
He paced out to the hall and glanced up the stairs. There was no sound. No sobs of anguish. A slow grin tugged at his lips. Cat had spirit, it wouldn’t be tears she was shedding right now, more liked a string of curses directed at him. She might be another con artist but that didn’t stop him from wanting her, it just meant he had to be on his guard.
He took one step toward the stairs. One hand came up and grasped the stair railing, the worn wood felt smooth and cool under his fingers and Gage wondered how many times he’d slid down this banister as a child. Too many to count, enough times to wear the wood flat. His eyes glazed over and he remembered a scene just after he’d slid down the banister and landed in a heap at his mother’s feet.
“I hate this place.” Gage’s mother stomped her foot and glared at the room in general. “If you kids don’t kill yourselves on that banister, you’ll die a slow death working this money-eating ranch. Just like your father.”
Gage looked up at her with eight-year-old confusion at an adult’s logic. “Mom, are you mad?”
“No.” She’d reached down and ruffled his hair. “Not at you, son. I’m just sick of this place, it eats away at a person until they’re almost dead.”
Gage heard a deep sob tear through her.
“I promise you, Gagie. I’ll not let you waste your life on this ranch. No matter what it takes.”
No matter what it takes. Gage’s vision shifted back into focus, his hand gripping the banister tightly enough to make his knuckles white. The last thing in the world his mother had wanted was to allow him to run this ranch. She’d accused Mustang of stealing it out from under them, but they’d had the money to move to Boston, buy a house and she had bought herself a nice wardrobe before starting a social whirl England’s royal family would have envied. Gage frowned.
Those were crazy thoughts. Of course Mustang had cheated them. He’d believed that for fourteen years, had hated the man that long. Sometimes hate was all he’d had to hold onto. The only thing that had kept him going in the crowded, airless city. The hate and the knowledge that one day he would have his revenge.
Had he wasted his life? Allowed bitterness and hate to eat away at his soul until there was nothing but crumbs left? Gage sank onto the bottom step of the stairs. Was any of this Cat’s fault? She’d been about twelve when her father had taken over the ranch. Too young to know what was happening. He’d never met Catherine, she’d always been absent when her father met with him.
Gage wondered about that. They’d sometimes met late at night. Had Mustang left a child on the verge of young adulthood alone? Had Cat been frightened? Gage suspected she’d learned at a very young age to be self-sufficient and smother any weaknesses she had, such as fear. But still, had loneliness clawed at her on dark lonely nights? Had she been frightened enough to crawl into her bed and cover her head with the blankets, every noise causing her to tremble a little more? Was that why she trembled each time she got scared or nervous?
How could he possibly blame her for her father? She was a victim just as much as he had been. Didn’t mean he totally trusted her. She was her father’s daughter, after all, but perhaps he could sympathize just a little. Truthfully, he felt sorry for that little girl who’d been cheated out of Christmases, and snow cream, and a childhood.
Gage pushed to his feet and headed up the stairs. The low moan as he hit the loose board reminded him of his mother, coming to check on him every night. He wondered who had ever checked on Catherine. Who had ever tucked her into bed and kissed her on her forehead?
He knew he’d have to discuss the ranch with his mother some more, find out why she was still so bitter after all these years, but right now he just wanted to take a long hot shower and let the tension spin down the drain with the water.
He stopped in front of Cat’s closed door, barely resisting the urge to enter. Was she curled up on the bed crying? Or was she pounding on the pillows pretending they were him? He sighed. He’d have to apologize for upsetting her. She hadn’t deserved that. This was supposed to be her first true Christmas. Somehow, Gage suspected she wouldn’t be willing to listen to anything he had to say right now. It could wait until later. He needed to think. His gut clenched with need for Catherine Claiborne and he was scared he was coming to need her a little too much. Right now the only thing he wanted was a hot shower. Then he would work on making things right with Catherine.
Salt and cloves. Catherine sniffed the air appreciatively, the undeniable smell of ham cooking. Gage must have started it. Her traitorous stomach let out a hungry growl. If he thought she’d forgive him just because he knew how to throw some pork in an oven, he was insane. Walking over to the door, she edged it open a crack.
A faint wedge of light tilted into the room, most of the day had passed and twilight was falling. The gentle burn of the glass encased bulb brightened the hallway. No sign of Gage, Catherine edged the door open wider, standing indecisively in the doorway and gnawing on her bottom lip.
Why should she starve? Just because she ate his cooking didn’t mean that she forgave him for all the things he’d said about her father. The lies, she corrected herself. She took one step into the hall and toward the top of the staircase, then another and another. It was just—no one had ever cooked for her before. Ever. Her father certainly hadn’t, and the few dates she’d been on had usually taken her out to dinner.
She walked slowly down the stairs, trailing her fingers over the smooth banister, w
ondering how many hands had passed over it to wear it smooth as a worn saddle. She grinned. The insane urge to jump on the banister and slide to the bottom was almost overwhelming. She stopped halfway down and tilted her head to the side. Hadn’t she said she was going to live a little? Take some risks? But even as the thought took firm hold and seemed almost like a good idea, Gage was at the bottom of the stairs looking up at her and Catherine knew she could never carry it off with him watching.
“Dinner’s ready.” The foyer was dim, Catherine couldn’t see the expression on his face.
“I smelled.”
“Come eat.” It was a command, but spoken softly.
Catherine walked down the remaining stairs. Gage didn’t move, so that when she reached the last one and stood on the oak floor he stood an inch too close for comfort. She could smell the woodsy musk of his after shave and the underlying hint of soap. Catherine’s heart began pounding in a skipping beat.
“I might have a little.” Hiding her reaction to him, Catherine edged past him and headed for the brightly lit kitchen.
The counters were lined. A ham, dressing, and at least twenty side dishes littered the kitchen. Dirty pots and pans, soaking in soapy water, filled the sink. The table had been dressed in her mother’s lace tablecloth and two long-stemmed wine glasses had been placed in the middle, filled with equally long, flickering tapered candles. In the soft glow of the candlelight, Catherine took a deep breath. And another.
It hurt to breathe. It was the Christmas dinner of her dreams. Except she still didn’t have anyone to share it with. Not really. More than anything she’d ever wanted in her life, more than exotic places or exciting adventures, Catherine wanted someone special to share this dinner with. To share next Christmas with. To share her life with.
She drew in a shaky breath, trying to control the trembling that was trying to assert itself. She couldn’t let Gage see how this had affected her. Keep things casual, Catherine. Don’t show any emotions or reaction.
“Very nice. Where’d you learn to cook?”
“My mother taught me. Said a man should help sometimes.”
“She sounds like a smart lady.” Catherine grinned, even though she didn’t feel like it.
Gage frowned. “She is smart.”
“Don’t look so happy about it.”
Gage half-opened his mouth as if to say something and then closed it again. “Let’s eat.”
Catherine snatched a plate off the table and put a dab of each selection on there. She could feel Gage’s hot gaze on her, but ignored it. If he so much as came within spitting distance of her, she was going to give him a piece of her mind. What had she been thinking the last few days? She’d been having crazy daydreams about the two of them living cozily in this house. Maybe she’d even envisioned a kid or two. She shook her head in self-disgust. And all along Gage had been plotting how to get her ranch away from her.
She finished filling her plate and slammed it onto the table, hooked her foot around the leg of the chair, scooted it out and plopped into it. She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
Gage sat down across from her, his gaze catching hers. Catherine looked away, spooned a mound of mashed potatoes into her mouth, and chewed. She heard Gage release the air from his lungs a long, suffering sigh. When his fingers wrapped around hers, she jumped, startled.
Leaning across the table slightly to reach her hand, his face was a little closer too. Close enough that she could note the tiny amber flecks spraying out from his irises. Catherine wanted to snatch her hand away but then he would know that he “affected” her and that was the last thing she wanted. He could never know just how attracted to him she was, just how much she…she slammed that thought down. She did not care for him.
“Cat,” He raised her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips over her knuckles. “I’m sorry about earlier. I was out of line. I shouldn’t have told you about your father.”
Catherine felt her firm resolve to remain cold as ice melt a little. “So you take back what you said about Pop?”
Gage shook his head. “No, I just wish I hadn’t said it that way or spoiled your Christmas. You really didn’t need to know.”
Catherine felt fury pump through her veins, swift and hot and familiar. “So, you still think my father is a crook?”
“I know he is.”
Catherine sucked in a burning breath. She pulled her hand out of his grasp. Holding his gaze, she lifted her chin. “My father was a lot of things. But he was not a crook.”
“Cat, let’s not get into this—”
“No, let’s not.” She picked up her fork and smiled at him sweetly. “You say one more word against my father and I’ll jab this fork into your hand.”
Chapter fifteen
Gage watched her expression change from the fierce protectiveness of a mother lion protecting her cubs to sweet heaven. His gaze focused on those smiling lips, they were forming words.
He jerked back in his chair a little. Jam a fork in his hand? His eyes narrowed on her. She wouldn’t really do it of course, but her message was clear. Hands off and Mustang was a dead subject. Couldn’t she see that this ranch belonged to him? Why wouldn’t she just marry him? It would solve all of these petty problems once and for all and he could make her happy. He knew he could.
Her hips swayed from side to side as she turned her back on him and walked from the room. So much for his peace offering. Gage stabbed a slice of ham with his fork and plopped it onto his plate. He cut off a bite-size piece and put it in his mouth. It might as well have been cowhide. He chewed and swallowed the dry piece of ham, letting it slide past the lump in his throat and laid down his fork and knife.
Gage didn’t know why he had this heavy, defeated feeling, almost like guilt. That was ridiculous. There was no reason for him to feel guilty. Sure, he should have kept quiet until Christmas was over. He probably could have broached the subject a little more gently. Despite that, he was the one who had been grievously wronged. He’d lost his heritage! All she’d lost was a little pride.
Gage wished his heart would listen to his rambling thoughts. The heavy feeling refused to go away. There was still that niggling doubt over what his mother might have done.
*
He missed her. Gage wouldn’t have thought it was possible. They’d only known each other for two weeks. He found himself listening for her laugh, trying to capture those special glances they’d shared on Christmas Eve, and his body ached with wanting her.
Gage laid the blueprints out on his bed. So many years. So many plans. What did they mean to him now? Strangely, for the first time he could remember, he didn’t care if the resort was built. He wasn’t sure what this strange fascination was, but he wanted Cat. In his bed and in his life. Her becoming his wife was the perfect solution. He’d never proposed to a woman before, had avoided it even. The one time he did, Cat turned him down.
Gage frowned and rolled the blueprints up, stuffing them haphazardly under the bed. He was used to winning. He would convince her to marry him, it would be the best thing for both of them. First, she’d have to get over her anger. Actually, it was more of a cold dislike. Wincing at the memory of the chilly looks he’d been receiving, Gage tried to think of ways to woo a woman.
Flowers? She’d probably stuff them down his throat. Candy? If it was chocolate, she just might eat it. He’d never had to work at attracting a woman before. The women he’d been involved with had been more than willing. What could he do to convince a woman like Catherine that marriage to him was what her dreams were made of?
His eyes fell to the dull, beige phone on the night stand. Perhaps he should call Anna, she could probably give him some advice. The only problem was, if he called his sister, she would read more into his feelings for Catherine than there was. She’d probably tell their mother, who would give him the third degree. He sighed. In their matchmaking minds, they’d have him married off in the love story of the century.
Cat’s bedroom door across the hal
l slammed with enough force to jar his teeth. Decision made. Gage picked up the phone and punched in his sister’s phone number. After several shrill rings, she answered the phone, slightly out of breath.
“I know I’m going to regret this, but I need your help,” Gage said.
Anna’s breath hissed out in a sigh and Gage could almost picture her blowing the loose tendrils of hair off her forehead. “What’s wrong, Gagie, finally get bitten by the love bug?”
Gage barely held back a groan. “Don’t call me Gagie.”
“Sorry, brother. What’s up?”
Gage quickly told her about the situation with Cat, then he swallowed. “I want to know how to woo a woman.” Gage held the phone away from his ear as Anna laughed.
“Didn’t you learn this in high school or something?”
“Not how to charm a woman like Catherine. She’s…different.”
“Like that, is it?”
“Like what?”
He could almost hear the smirk in her voice and he clenched his jaw tightly, fighting the urge to hang up. He needed her help, he reminded himself.
“Never mind. Here’s a couple of ideas…”
Gage listened carefully while Anna told him what she thought would soften Cat’s feelings toward him, wished him luck and promptly ended the call. No doubt she was at this moment punching in the numbers to call their mother and fill her in on Gage’s upcoming nuptials. He hoped he had the key to wooing Cat. Now, to put his plan into action.
*
She knew the moment he’d stepped into the dimly lit stable. Catherine chose to ignore him. Pretend he wasn’t there. If she were fully honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she’d missed their talks these past few days. Even when they were arguing, there was a spirit and life to it that she’d never experienced before.
She scooped more oats into Peanut’s feed pail, delaying the moment she’d have to turn around and face him. Several deep breaths and she felt just composed enough to try.
“What do you want, Gage?” Catherine couldn’t help how waspish she sounded. The man had insulted everything she’d ever known or believed, why wouldn’t she resent it?