Loving Katherine

by Carolyn Davidson

  “He might as well ride off on her right now,” Katherine said beneath her breath, striding from the corral in the direction of the henhouse. “She’s his, as surely as if he’d already paid cash up front.”

  Dealing with the quarrelsome hens took the edge off her unreasonable anger, and she carried the morning’s gathering of eggs in her apron as she left the speckled flock to their scattered grain. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Roan Devereaux working his magic, rubbing with long strokes at the flank of the filly. Brown coat gleaming in the sunlight, the horse turned her head, looking over her shoulder at the man who tended her with capable hands.

  “Turncoat,” Katherine grumbled accusingly. “Just like a female, taken in by the first good-looking man to ride down the pike.” That she accused her own gender didn’t occur to her, since she’d decided long ago that she was a breed apart from the women she’d met in Tucker Center.

  “Katherine.” His voice claimed her attention and, turning, she frowned, aware of the triumph gleaming from his dark eyes. Even with the length of the yard between them, she still felt the masculine pull of him, the male force that spoke to some small part of her. Brushing aside the unwanted attraction, she faced him with impatience.

  “What do you want? I need to take care of these eggs.”

  His eyes rested on the rounding of her apron, clutched closely against her belly, and he felt a flush of pleasure, for a moment imagining that she would look just so with a child growing there. Chasing the rampant thought from his mind, he gritted his teeth. She’d been thrusting- herself into his thoughts with more and more frequency over these past days, and his randy condition was making him ripe for all sorts of foolishness.

  She’s Charlie’s daughter, he told himself firmly. You’re leaving for Louisiana in a couple of weeks, owing her nothing. You’ll find plenty of willing women in the next town. Getting hard never killed a man yet, he decided. And he was sure as shootin’ hard up when Katherine Cassidy set him to thinking about planting a baby in her.

  He shook his head in disgust.

  “I asked you what you want,” she repeated impatiently. “You gonna stand there all day and gloat, or have you got something to say?”

  “Gloat?” Her choice of word caught his attention, and he frowned as he considered the accusation. “What would I have to gloat over, Katherine?”

  She pinched her lips tightly and slanted her eyes in his direction in that arrogant manner that reminded him sharply of her pa. “Never mind,” she said. “I’ve got dinner cooking. You’ll have time to clean stalls before we eat.” Her eyes gleamed with a triumph of their own as she envisioned him pitching the straw bedding, the aroma pungent in his nostrils.

  His nod was quick and he turned away, aware suddenly of her meaning. She’d watched the mare, her eyes anxious, as he rode her. She’d waited, needing to comfort the animal should he deal with her harshly. And then she’d walked away, realizing his taming had only served to bond the creature to him.

  “She’s mine now, Katherine,” he said, his words unheard as she stalked up the steps and across the narrow porch. Her stiff posture told the tale. She was mourning the loss of her favorite, and he acknowledged her sorrow. But a flush of triumph overrode the compassion he felt as he remembered the strength of the horse between his legs. He’d craved ownership of the animal from the first. The elegance of her finely formed head and the sleek lines had drawn him. As had the fiery spirit he’d taken care to subdue without damaging the horse’s mettle.

  Some lucky man would have to use the same care with Katherine one day. She’d need a light hand, backed by a determined nature, if any man ever expected to keep her in line without shattering the strength of her pride and determination.

  Somehow, he no longer attributed her with the stigma of dowdiness. He thought with amusement of his first evaluation. Mud hen. Mud hen, indeed. Her pa had her pegged right, he concluded. She was second cousin to a sparrowhawk, sure enough. Small and feisty, Charlie’d told him. “Plain as puddin’,” he used to say. “But under them brown feathers is a heart that’s bustin’ with courage.”

  “Sparrowhawk…suits her better than I’d have thought at first,” he acknowledged aloud, then grinned as he caught himself. “Talkin’ to yourself is a bad sign, Devereaux. Means you been too long without a little female companionship. Makes you drifty.”

  The quiet of the dinner table was roughly shattered by the sound of gunfire. Roan shot from his chair as though he’d taken the impact of the bullet himself.

  “Shut that door,” he ordered her as Katherine flew to the open doorway.

  She obeyed, her response automatic as she sensed the authority in his voice. Gone was the man of easy gestures, courtly mannerisms and gentle speech. She faced him warily, her back against the heavy planks that made up the door, and watched as he delved within the saddlebag that had taken up residence against the far wall of her kitchen.

  With fluid movements, he clasped the gun belt about his hips and took on the guise she had attributed to him weeks earlier. Gunfighter. Warrior, perhaps. Whatever name he wore, his stance in her kitchen proclaimed him ready to do battle, and she acknowledged his ability with silent admiration.

  “It’s probably not what you think,” she told him quietly.

  “How do you know what I think?” he asked roughly, striding to the window to stand at one side and bend his head to peer through the curtain.

  She drew in a shuddering breath. “I don’t, of course. I just think it’s maybe someone trying to scare me.”

  His look was piercing. “Who?”

  “I don’t know,” she quibbled, and then at his frown, she shook her head. “Could be Evan Gardner, a man from town.”

  “Why? You got somethin’ he wants?”

  “Yes.” A brief smile flitted across her mouth and vanished beneath the pursing of her lips. “He’s the man who wants my farm. Not to mention the horses—and of course, he’d like me thrown in to boot.” Her words were clipped and harsh, and he felt the anger she suppressed.

  “Well, I reckon we’ll just have to let him know you’re not available, won’t we, Katherine?” he asked in a deep drawl that offered a threat to the man who dared to encroach here.

  “It might not be him,” she said quickly as he strode to where she stood against the door. “It’s just that no one else ever bothers me.”

  “Bothers you! Hell, you haven’t even had a visitor since I’ve been here, lady. If this Evan Gardner comes callin’ with his gun cocked and ready, he’s askin’ for trouble.”

  Snatching up his rifle from where it stood against the wall, he motioned her to one side and slid the latch on the wooden door.

  “Come on out, Katherine.” The voice was cunning, grating against his hearing. “I know you’re peekin’ out. I heard the latch slidin’, Katherine. Did I get your attention?” Wheedling and tinged with mockery, the man’s words coaxed the unseen woman to expose herself.

  “Where is he?” Roan asked quietly, motioning to the window. “Can you see him?”

  She slid carefully across the wall, her eyes peering through the white curtain as she sought to see the man who called from outside the house.

  “He’s right in front of the door, sitting on his horse,” she said, catching sight of Gardner and then moving fully in front of the window. “He’s put his gun away.”

  Roan’s lips curled back in a grimace of pleasure that belied the flare of anger in his dark eyes. “More fool than I thought,” he said with quiet satisfaction.

  The door was flung open, and he stepped out on the porch, rifle at the ready, feet apart and braced as he faced the man who waited astride a dark mare. It was worth a bundle, Roan decided quickly, just to see the surprise and then the look of panic that painted Evan Gardner’s features, even as his flesh paled abruptly.

  “Who the hell are you?” Gardner croaked defensively, fighting for a semblance of dignity. His wide-brimmed hat rode low over his forehead, but yellow hair cascaded
over his collar from beneath the band. Bulky and belligerent, he faced the gunman on the porch, his eyes narrowed as he attempted to focus beyond Roan, as if he hoped to espy his quarry within the house.

  “I’m the one holdin’ the gun,” Roan reminded him with a tightening of his grip on the stock. “Maybe you’d like to tell me just who the hell you think you are, comin’ here and shootin’ off that weapon in a threatenin’ manner.”

  Evan Gardner attempted a jovial gesture, his grin wide and forced. “Just a joke, mister. Me and Katherine always did tend to fool around. Just playin’ a little, you understand.”

  Roan observed him silently, his stance unchanging, his rifle poised before him.

  “Hell, I didn’t mean anything by it. Katherine knows that. Why don’t you ask her yourself?” His color had gone from pale to pasty as the heavily built man watched the unmoving figure on the porch.

  “Katherine, come out here,” Roan ordered quietly.

  She approached the doorway slowly, her nostrils flaring as she sensed the danger emanating from the man who called her name.

  “Yes, I’m here,” she said, moving to stand beside him.

  The barrel of his gun tilted upward, pointing directly at the head of Evan Gardner. “This man the one who gave you grief before?”

  “I ain’t been near this place since March,” whined the intruder.

  Roan took one step forward. “Well, if I were you, mister, I wouldn’t plan on comin’ back for at least another year. In fact, you might be wise to keep your distance from the lady from now on.”

  Evan Gardner’s lip curled in a sneer, as if he realized the danger he was in had receded somewhat. “And what happens when you’re not here anymore, stranger? What happens when Katherine there needs a helping hand, and I’ve got the only one available?”

  Roan’s brow lifted in derision. “Somehow I doubt she’ll ever be that desperate,” he said bluntly.

  Evan turned his horse in a half circle and touched his spurs to the animal’s sides. “Can’t never tell, mister. You might not be here then.” The horse responded to another urging touch and within moments had crested the hill and headed toward town.

  “He from Tucker Center?” Roan wanted to know.

  “Yes,” Katherine answered. “He has a place just outside of town, just a small holding. He’s wanted my pa’s horses since the war. I guess he figures he’ll take me along in the bargain. Least that’s what he’s bandied about town.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Katherine,” Roan told her with a sidelong glance. “You’d be the best part of the bargain. To my way of thinkin’, anyway.”

  She felt a flush rise from her throat and sweep over her face with a heated rush. Turning away quickly, lest he see the telltale blush, she cleared her throat and touched one hot cheek with the palm of her hand. “I hardly think he’d make all this fuss for a spinster like me, Roan. If there was another way to take over here, he’d do it. He’d like to marry me, but just so he can have what I own. At least I’d be pretty safe. He’s very much aware that if something happened to me, the whole town would know that he was the first man to suspect.”

  She took a deep breath, as if she could blot the whole idea from her mind, push it into oblivion. Her smile was shaky, but she persevered. “Anyway, Mr. Devereaux, he’s not going to ever get his hands on me or the stock my pa left me. Not to mention the farm and the house.”

  “How do you plan on holdin’ him off, honey?”

  She stopped, her indrawn breath filling her lungs as she repeated the endearment in her mind. Honey. Spoken in a hushed, tender tone, so at variance with his harsh tonguelashing of Evan just minutes ago, the word clutched at her heart. Honey.

  “Katherine?” He reached for her, his hands heavy on her shoulders, turning her to face him. “What did I say? What’s wrong?”

  She ducked her head, the shining crown almost touching his chest as she sought to shelter from his inquiring gaze. “Nothing’s wrong, Mr. Devereaux,” she mumbled, both her hands pressed firmly against the heated flesh of her face.

  One long finger inched between their bodies, brushing against the rough fabric of her dress until he found the rounded chin he sought. He tilted it upward, frowning his bewilderment at her actions. The shadows on the porch did little to hide the tinge of color still remaining, and he smiled in understanding.

  “I said something to embarrass you, didn’t I?” he asked gently. “What was it, Katherine? Did I doubt your ability to defend yourself? Was that it?”

  She grasped at the straw he offered, and her head nodded, her eyes half-closed against his penetrating gaze. “Yes,” she said quickly. “Yes, I…I’m a good shot. I can take care of myself. You have no reason to doubt me.”

  “Look, honey,” he began, and watched openmouthed as she tore away from his grasp.

  “Don’t call me that!” she huffed. “I’m not your ‘honey’ or anyone else’s. I’m not the kind of woman for that sort of sweetsy stuff.”

  “Sweetsy stuff?” He dropped his hands from her shoulders and gaped. “Is that what you call it when a man uses a plain little old word like honey instead of just callin’ you by name?” He viewed her with suspicion as she clamped her lips together and looked away from him, her eyes intent on the barn.

  “Hasn’t anyone ever called you sweetsy names, Katherine?” he asked softly. “Haven’t there ever been any men hangin’ around, tryin’ to court you or just tryin’ to get your attention?”

  She spun back to face him and her eyes were bleak. “Take a good look at me, Roan Devereaux! Do I look like the sort of woman men come to court? I’m sure not good-looking, and too old to be having babies much longer, and too plainspoken for most of the men hereabouts. What have I got to offer a man in his right mind?”

  She was serious! By damn, she was! Standing there telling him she was too dried up to appeal to a man. And here he’d been feeling like a randy, apple-cheeked boy around here for the better part of a week already. With that slim body hiding beneath those ugly dresses she put on every morning, and that long, dark hair that made his fingers itch to twine themselves in its length. Not good-looking? With color like the pale side of a peach and skin like a newborn babe’s and those dark blue eyes that reached inside and touched a man’s soul…Well, it was too much to be believed.

  “Ah, hell, Katherine! You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he said harshly. He allowed his eyes to roam the length of her, from the darkness of her hair, fresh and clean and smelling like the soap she kept by the kitchen sink, to the leather thong that held her dress loosely about her waist.

  She blinked at him, shook her head in bewilderment at his words. “I do,” she said, denying him.

  His hands came to rest once more on her shoulders, this time holding her firmly, lest she pull from his grasp. “Do not,” he growled. And then he bent forward and claimed the mouth that had begun to form another protest.

  She gasped in surprise, aware only of heated breath filling her mouth, warm flesh covering her lips, containing her in a damp, hungry embrace that sent her senses reeling. She drew in air through her nose and stared at him, her eyes unable to focus, only aware of the thick brush of his eyebrows, riding above his heavy-lidded eyes. And then he closed them, those dark, unfathomable orbs that had so easily warmed her with their regard just seconds past.

  Her lips attempted to close, but he would not let her bring them together, playing along the edges with the hot sword of his tongue instead. There, just inside her upper lip, where the flesh was tender and sensitive, he brushed his weapon. Back and forth he swept with a slow movement that brought a gasp of surprise from her throat. He swallowed that, too, resuming his exploration of her mouth, his lips closing just a bit, his teeth finding a hold on her lower lip as if he would nip lightly at the delicate skin. Then, catching her unaware, he moved to whisper a series of kisses from one side of her upper lip to the other, his mustache teasing her sensitive flesh. He chuckled softly.

  “Ro
an!” she whispered on a quick gasp of air.

  “No more Mr. Devereaux?” he asked with another chuckle.

  She was stunned. Speechless and inert, she hung between his hands, only the grip of his fingers holding her erect. And then those warm hands slid the length of her arms and somehow fastened themselves about her waist, finding a home at the small of her back, where he clasped his fingers to hold her captive.

  “Never been kissed, Katherine?” he asked gently.

  “Of course I…” She stopped. “No…you know I haven’t,” she admitted finally, fastening her eyes on his, afraid to allow them permission to look fully at the mouth that had plundered her own so thoroughly.

  “You’ll do better with a little practice,” he told her cheerfully. “But for a beginner, you sure pack a wallop, lady.”

  “A wallop?”

  “A punch,” he explained, delighted by the color washing over her countenance once more. He looked at her assessingly. How had he thought her plain? The fine lines of her eyebrows cast a perfect frame above the brilliant blue of her eyes. Eyes that were viewing him with a wonderment that pleased him immensely. Her nose was almost too straight, only a small deviation at the tip marring its perfection, almost like a dimple. And then there was her mouth. He looked at it again, soft and swollen a bit, reddened from his caresses. He tugged her closer against him and she gasped, the sound a shocked whisper of his name.

  “Roan!” She stiffened against him. Against her body, pressed tightly, with only the layers of clothing they wore separating her from its threat, she felt…Her eyes closed again and her lips tightened.

  “Let me go.” It was quiet, but a demand echoed in those words, and he obeyed.

  “I’m sorry, Katherine. I didn’t mean to…”

  She stepped back once, and then again, until the wooden wall of the house pressed against her back. Her face was pale now. Gone was the becoming flush, the pink cheeks stained by her guileless innocence.