LoverforRansom (10 page)

Ransom glanced at Cathleen. There was always a first time
for everything. Hopefully, today would not be one of those firsts for String
Bean.

“Oh heavens!” Cathleen exclaimed. “He’s beastly!”

“Now, don’t go hurtin’ his feelings,” Ransom drawled.

Jenny frowned. “I hope Andy doesn’t come riding up. I’d be
mortified if he were to see me on that nag’s back.”

“Ride him down!” Ransom called to Charles.

With delight, Charles climbed into the saddle and String
Bean loped toward them. Ransom forced himself not to sneer at the horse’s ugly
gait. He’d been sired by one of their most sought-after trotters, but alas,
String Bean had gotten none of his father’s grace or speed. Neither army had
wanted the gelding so he’d remained at Byrne’s End to live out a carefree life.

A good-natured beast, String Bean seemed blissfully
oblivious to his ungainly appearance. He didn’t stop until he’d reached Jenny,
where he nibbled her with his horse lips as if he were reuniting with a long
lost friend.

Jenny’s grimace turned into a smile as she cradled String
Bean’s knotty brown head and ran her palms over his face.

Ransom lifted Charles down from the saddle. “Miss Ryan?”

Cathleen eyed the animal and shook her head. “I couldn’t
possibly.”

Ransom held out his hands. “I’ll help you.”

Her lips pursed. “No thank you. Besides, I could never ride
astride.”

At that, Ransom burst into laughter so hard he sagged
against String Bean’s side. “
You
? Not attempt something forbidden to
women? I’m disappointed in you, Cathleen.”

Her eyes widened when he let slip her given name, but she
judiciously said nothing as she tilted her chin down to peep at him over the
rims of her spectacles. Despite his familiarity, defiance sparked in those
black pools. He widened his arms, and failing at suppressing a grin, Cathleen
walked toward him.

“See,” he said, putting his hands on either side of her
waist. “I told you I’d have you on horseback before long.”

“Oh, just hush up and put me on that infernal thing’s back,”
she admonished, though the light never left her eyes.

With ease, he lifted her off the ground, hooked a hand
around one leg and tossed her onto the horse’s back. She landed with an “oomph”
and an errant lock of hair escaped her bun. She didn’t bother to sweep it back.
Instead, she gripped the pommel with both hands.

Ransom slid one of her feet into the stirrup before skirting
the horse to find her loose foot toeing blindly for its hold. With a chuckle,
he guided her foot in.

“This is indecent,” Cathleen complained, but also refused to
let go to adjust her rucked up skirts.

Yards of white-eyelet-trimmed petticoat stood out in vibrant
contrast to the dull black of her mourning gown. Ransom warmed at the memory of
seeing her bared last night.

“Well, I can’t say as you look like a seasoned horsewoman,
but you’ll manage,” he jibed. “Jenny, tell your teacher how to ride like a
Byrne.”

Jenny felt her way around the horse and placed a hand on
Cathleen’s thigh. “Goodness gracious, Miss Ryan, you’re tense as can be. Relax.
String Bean’s not going to hurt you.”

She groped for the reins and then offered them to Cathleen.
“Lean back slightly and don’t keep too tight a grip on the reins.”

“This is not for me,” Cathleen protested, trying to hold the
reins and the pommel at the same time.

Ransom laughed. “You’re up there. You might as well give it
a go.”

Cathleen shot him a nasty look. “How does one maintain one’s
balance?”

“One uses these,” he said—and squeezed her thigh.

Her jolt rippled all the way down through String Bean. The
horse shook and blew.

“I know you’re capable of it,” he added, teasingly.

Her gaze clashed with his but she couldn’t quell a knowing
smile. “All right. Might I get down now?”

“Down?” Ransom asked. “You’ve yet to ride.”

“Lean back a little,” Jenny instructed, but Cathleen seemed
intent on remaining hunkered over the horse’s neck.

“Snap the reins and cluck to him,” Jenny said and stepped
back.

Cathleen shook the reins. “Go, String Bean.”

The horse remained in his spot. He dropped his head and
began nibbling the grass. Cathleen’s eyes rounded and she stiffened as if she
might topple over the front of the animal.

Ransom chuckled. “Like this.” He clucked his tongue. String
Bean’s rangy head lifted. “Dig your heels in.”

Cathleen wriggled in the saddle, barely scraping her heels
on the animal’s flanks. It was enough.

The horse took off.

Surprise rattled Ransom as he watched Cathleen bounce,
doll-like, on the galloping horse’s back.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath and took off. “Pull the
reins, pull the reins!”

Cathleen tried to look back, but instead ended up bending
completely over to cling to String Bean’s neck.

“Pull the reins! Make him stop!” Ransom coached. Who’d ever
have thought String Bean had such a streak in him? Finally, and completely of
his own accord, the horse loped to a halt and began munching grass again.

Cathleen threw one leg over and dangled across the saddle,
backside up. Ransom tried not to snicker at her attempts to climb down before
he gathered her into his arms and set her on the ground.

Her glasses hung loose from one ear. Locks of black hair
waved wildly around her flushed face. Her lips formed a straight line, matching
her lowered eyebrows.

Ransom’s lips twitched as he tried not to smile. Instead, he
tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and reset her spectacles. “I
guess String Bean doesn’t like Yankees.”

Cathleen appeared as if she were trying to stay angry, but
at that comment, she burst into laughter. “Well, String Bean,” she said to the
horse, “the feeling is mutual.”

“My turn!” Jenny cried as she traipsed across the grass on
the arm of Charles.

“Do you really think that’s wise?” Cathleen asked.

“Even without her sight, Jenny’s a far better rider than
you,” Ransom said as he took his sister’s hand and placed it on the horse’s
side.

Jenny found the stirrup as if it were second nature and
swung easily into the saddle in spite of her skirts.

“Just here in the yard,” Ransom told her. “Listen to the
sound of my voice and try to circle. There aren’t any trees with low branches.
Be careful or I’ll have to answer to Sissy
and
Aunt Chloe.”

Jenny’s laughter pealed as she seized the reins, kicked the
horse’s flanks and bounded away. Her hair trailed behind her and the back of
her skirts billowed, but to Ransom, the most beautiful thing was seeing her
smile.

“It pleases you to see her this way,” Cathleen said.

“Immensely.” He watched Jenny for a moment more. “I didn’t
think she’d ever forgive me.”

“Forgive
you
?”

“She contracted the fever that blinded her from me.”

Cathleen reached for his arm. “That’s truly unfortunate,
Ransom, but she could never resent you for it.”

“I resent myself for it,” he bit out as he took two steps
toward Jenny—two steps away from Cathleen’s attempt to comfort him. “Back this
way, Jen!”

Guilt snaked through him that he’d spurned her. He glanced
back over his shoulder. “Will you come to me tonight?”

But before she could answer, a group of riders turned off
the pike and headed down the drive. He counted seven. Ransom tensed. “Charles!”
he called. “Take String Bean back to the barn.” He turned to Cathleen. “Take
Jenny in the house.”

“Why? Who are those men?”

“Now, Cathleen.”

* * * * *

“Who are those men?” Cathleen asked as she peered out from
behind the drapes. Ransom, Mr. Byrne and Morris Hunt had armed themselves and
approached the riders, rifles aimed.

Aunt Chloe squinted. “I ain’t sure. But from the looks of
’em, they ain’t up to no good.”

Sissy’s hands fluttered like wild birds. “Oh, where’d Sally
leave my tonic?” she asked, searching frantically.

Face still flushed from her ride, Jenny stood in the middle
of the room, wringing her hands. “Listen. They’re talking about
you
,
Miss Ryan.”

Cathleen held her breath as she cocked an ear to hear over
Sissy’s warbling.

“We don’t want no she-Yank down here agitatin’ our
womenfolk.”

Cathleen’s heart skipped a beat.

“You men turn around and go back where you came from.” Mr.
Byrne’s voice boomed.

“Not ’til you give us yer word you’ll keep that bitch in her
place.”

One of the horses turned and Cathleen spied a whip coiled
and hanging from his saddle. The man in the saddle spat.

Bile rose in Cathleen’s throat. She’d heard tales about
groups such as this, but she’d never really imagined she’d be the target of
one. Her gaze flicked to Ransom, who held his rifle trained on the lead rider.

A cold shudder racked her. She’d put the Byrnes in danger.

One of the men eyed the house. “Nice place ye got here,
Byrne. It’d be a shame to see it burned to the ground, seein’ as how it
survived the war and all.”

Ransom aimed his rifle over their heads and fired. The shot
split the air. Sissy screamed. Jenny gasped.

“Take your men and get the hell off our land,” he said.

The leader leaned low over his saddle and said something
Cathleen couldn’t make out before he wheeled his horse around. A cloud of dust
kicked up in the wake of the riders as they left Byrne’s End.

Cathleen released the breath she’d been holding. “They’re
gone,” she said to Jenny.

“What did they want? Why were they talking about you?” Jenny
asked.

Cathleen’s gaze clashed with Aunt Chloe’s before she turned
to Jenny. “I’m not sure.” But she knew it had everything to do with the talk
she’d given in Spring Hill.

Cathleen went to Ransom almost nightly. No mention was ever
made of the riders or the reason for their visit.

She wondered if he continued to see her so she’d remain out
of the public eye, or because he, too, enjoyed their encounters. Each time
practically mirrored the one before. He waited for her in near darkness and,
for the most part, remained silent as he pleasured her with his fingers and his
mouth. Though she achieved orgasm, his touch left her reeling, wanting more.

But as soon as they were both sated, he encouraged her to
return to the big house. She reluctantly left the warmth and comfort of his bed
in order to keep their trysts secret. It wouldn’t do for her to be gone if
Jenny needed her.

They spent their days at their respective duties and both
maintained their distance lest someone realize how familiar they’d become with
one another.

Cathleen found it was best to stay as busy as possible. When
she was idle, her stolen nights with Ransom haunted her thoughts.

She’d gone into this thinking her curiosity would soon be
quelled and she could get back to her cause of educating women about voting
rights. Every night, she told herself that it would be her last encounter with
Ransom, but each new dawn her resolve wavered and she found herself drawn once
more to his bed.

* * * * *

“Where is Miss Ryan?” Ransom demanded. He’d known something
was up when Charles hadn’t appeared in the barn that morning.

Sissy looked up from her darning. “Charles took her into
town,” she replied blandly.

Warning bells pealed in Ransom’s head. “And you let her?”

“Let her?” Sissy asked. “Son, I can hardly stop her from—”

“Don’t you fret,” Aunt Chloe interjected, stepping out from
behind the burgundy portieres that separated the parlor from the foyer. She
shook her feather duster at him. “I gave her a rough talkin’ to before she set
out fo’ town.”

Ransom bit the inside of his cheek. He doubted Cathleen
would heed Chloe’s “rough talking to”. Or anyone else’s for that matter.

He hated to think what might happen to her—or worse, little
Charles—if those night riders were to come upon her. Cathleen Ryan was not the
kind of woman who’d walk away without telling those men what she thought of
them.

He huffed a sigh and hurried to the barn to saddle Asteroid.

As if sensing his urgency, the horse took the bit and stood
patiently as Ransom hoisted the saddle onto his back, tightened it down and
then swung into the saddle.

With a high-pitched nicker, Asteroid shot toward Spring
Hill, covering the distance with the swift precision of his trotter bloodline.

He recognized the Byrne rig outside the church. “What the
hell?” he asked as he climbed down and then looped the reins around a hook on
the back of the wagon. How much trouble could she get into in a church? But
then, he reminded himself, Cathleen could court trouble anywhere.

Bracing himself for whatever atrocity she might have
started, he skipped up the steps and looked in the open door.

His heart warmed at the sight he beheld.

Five war veterans sat scattered in the first few pews.
Ransom recognized them at once. Louis Hardison, who’d been blinded by
grapeshot. Peg Stutts, who was stone deaf since charging an artillery battery
at Chickamauga Creek. One man sparked a sliver of guilt in Ransom. Tommy
Moncrief. He, too, had fallen ill with the same sickness that blinded Jenny.
Now, Tommy could neither hear nor see.

Cathleen sat next to him, tracing her finger on the boy’s
palm.

A smile stretched across his face and he nodded and then
began similar finger markings in Cathleen’s hand. Realization inundated Ransom.
Cathleen was teaching him to communicate by spelling words into his hand.

Unexpected moisture dampened his eyes and Ransom blinked it
away. He’d come here to admonish her, only to discover her compassionately
helping men who’d fought against her country. He leaned against the doorframe
and watched for several minutes before she lifted her head.

Their gazes met and his stomach did an odd sort of flip.

“Don’t mind me,” Ransom mumbled and hurriedly ducked out the
door. He suddenly felt like an intruder. If only she hadn’t seen him…

He clenched his fists as he stalked back to Asteroid and
hefted himself into the saddle. She infuriated him as no woman ever had and
then she surprised him by doing something so completely against…

He glanced back at the church. No. He was wrong about that.
Helping anyone, no matter who they were, was not against Cathleen’s nature.

He chuckled to himself, wheeled Asteroid around and rode
away.

* * * * *

Cathleen had balked when Sissy insisted that Charles
accompany her on her walk. She’d gone on many such walks in Boston, completely
by herself. In fact, she’d longed for the solitude so she could sort out her
reaction to her feelings about Ransom being gone for several days.

He’d said a somewhat cold goodbye to her, along with his
family, and hadn’t mentioned when he might return.

She’d been disappointed, but hadn’t realized just
how
disappointed. Three days later, her body yearned even more desperately for his
touch. It warmed indecently at the thought of him and she found the only way to
get any relief was to touch herself in the quiet of night.

A ray of bright sunlight shone through the trees and she
shielded her eyes against the glare.

She hadn’t counted on the entirety of her walk being in the
woods. The path had taken so many twists and turns, Cathleen was now grateful
Charles was along. Otherwise, consumed in her thoughts, she might get lost and
never find her way back to Byrne’s End.

The narrow trail mostly meandered alongside a rippling
creek, and Cathleen found the rush of the water surprisingly soothing.

Charles walked a few feet ahead. He’d picked up a stick and
presently used it to flip over rocks. Whenever he discovered a worm, he sharply
pounced on it and shoved it into his pocket.

He’d explained—in lurid details Cathleen could have done
without—that he used them as bait.

Cathleen had tried to listen to his tales of which creeks
were the best to fish and which bait was used for what species of fish, but her
thoughts remained fixated on Ransom.

Fear nipped at her every time she wondered if he had
reconsidered the agreement they’d made. A part of her knew she’d be devastated
if he came to her with the news he didn’t want to continue
dominating
her.

Dominating?

Alarm sparked that she’d thought of it that way.

Dominated. She sucked in a sharp breath. Warmth unfurled in
her belly and spread downward, igniting parts of her anatomy on which Ransom
had lavished attention the night before.

Her rear practically tingled in anticipation of another
thorough spanking. She giggled. Who would have ever dreamed Cathleen Ryan would
submit to being spanked by a former officer in the Confederate Army?

It was utterly scandalous.

And yet, the discovery of this side of her nature excited
and intrigued her.

It changed her.

The realization of that struck terror in her heart. As a
self-avowed spinster, what would happen to her once she left Byrne’s End? Most
assuredly, Jenny would grow up and would come to her senses and allow that besotted
boy to court her.

Ransom Byrne probably wouldn’t stay unattached for long
either.

Charles suddenly stopped on the path, dragging Cathleen’s
attention back to the present.

A few yards ahead, several crudely built cabins sat in two
rows. Steam rose from a black iron cauldron in their midst. A skinny black
woman, clad in a tan colored dress with a faded red kerchief on her head,
stirred whatever was in the pot. She reached for a pitchfork, stabbed it into
the cauldron and when she withdrew it, a pair of dripping wet trousers hung
from the tines. She flicked them into a basket and then stood, holding the
pitchfork and staring at the pair coming up the path.

Charles turned. “Let’s go back now.”

“Go back?” Cathleen asked warily, eyeing a bony red hound
that loped between two of the cabins. “But she’s seen us. It would be impolite
not to acknowledge her.”

“Aunt Chloe told me to stay away from the shanty.”

“Shanty?”

Charles pursed his lips and nodded. “They used to work on
the farms around here.”

Cathleen nodded. “I see.” So, these people were former
slaves. She glanced back at the pitchfork-wielding woman who continued to stare
as if she were daring them to come any closer.

“Are they dangerous?” Cathleen whispered.

Charles shook his head. “I don’t reckon they are.” He leaned
in conspiratorially. “But they’re not like me.”

“Not like you?”

He shook his head again. “No ma’am. These folks don’t know
how to read.”

Realization dawned on Cathleen. The South observed almost
strict caste systems, but she’d never dreamed those standings existed within
the black race.

Her gaze flicked once again to the woman. Cathleen couldn’t
imagine not being able to read. How would these people ever rise above what
they were right now? Refugees. From the looks of these ramshackle dwellings and
the threadbare laundry the woman had already thrown over a clothesline, they
were practically indigent.

Cathleen straightened, summoning courage. “Excuse me,
Charles.” With that, she strode purposefully toward the woman. She extended her
hand. “Good afternoon. I am Cathleen Ryan, hired by the Byrnes as a teacher for
their daughter.”

The woman gaped at the outstretched hand and clutched the
handle of her pitchfork tighter. “Momma!” she called toward one of the cabins.

Up close, Cathleen could tell this woman was barely that.
She looked no older than eighteen or nineteen.

An older version of the laundress appeared on the porch of a
cabin. She spat tobacco juice on the ground. Her gaze scrutinized Cathleen.
“There sumthin’ we can do for you, miss?”

“I was thinking there might be something I could do for
you,” Cathleen responded.

* * * * *

Asteroid didn’t let up until he reached the stone posts at
the entry of Byrne’s End. Though he’d been gone for nine days, Ransom tugged
the reins and reluctantly Asteroid slowed his pace. The horse blew through his
lips and twisted his head proudly as he trotted past the big house toward the
stable.

Charles was nowhere to be found, so Ransom dismounted and
began unsaddling Asteroid. That was unusual. Charles normally enjoyed attending
to the famed horse and eagerly awaited his arrival.

Ransom draped the saddle on the table in the tack room
before he drew out his pocket watch to check the time. He’d just missed the
dinner bell. Doubtless, Charles was eating supper with his own family.

After taking care of Asteroid, Ransom strode down to the big
house. Sally would be miffed that he was late, but he’d make it up to her by
buying her some of the chocolates she adored the next time he was at the
mercantile.

After raking the mud from his boots on the boot scrape, he
walked into the house.

“Ransom!” Jenny cried from the dining room.

A tendril of joy snaked through him at the sound of her
voice. The idea that she knew him merely by his footfall encouraged him.

And also sparked admiration for Cathleen in his heart. She’d
been a good and patient teacher for his sister.

He stepped into the dining room.

“About time you got here,” Sally muttered. “You’ve been gone
for a month of Sundays!”

“Any news from Franklin?” Father asked.

Ransom nodded a greeting to them. “Jenny,” he acknowledged
as he moved to bestow a kiss on her cheek. But disappointment flared when his
gaze landed on Cathleen’s empty chair. That dismay was quickly followed by
alarm when he noted that Charles had been conspicuously absent from the stable
as well.

Had she already backed out on her promise not to stir up
discontent among the local women? And if so, did that mean she no longer
intended to continue their blasted arrangement? His jaw ground down at that
word again.

“Where’s Miss Ryan?” he inquired tersely.

Sissy’s eyes widened. Jenny actually smirked.

“She’s been taking long walks all week and—” Jenny began,
but Sally cut her off.

“Ain’t none of his business where that Yankee girl done got
off to.” She handed him a plate heaped with mashed potatoes, corn on the cob
and pork roast, then tossed a buttered cornbread stick on top of the pile. “Now
sit yourself down and eat.”

Sissy cleared her throat. “She’s been taking her supper
early.”

Ransom placed his plate on the table and drew out his chair.
“What about Jenny?”

“Oh Ransom,” Jenny chirped. “You’re so concerned, someone
might get the idea you’re sweet on her.”

Heat flashed his cheeks. Annoying, revealing, embarrassing
heat. “My
concern
is for Charles.”

Father took a healthy drink of his sweet tea. “Not to worry,
son. Charles accompanied Miss Ryan on a walk.”

That could mean anything.

Having thoroughly lost his appetite, Ransom barely picked at
his meal.

“Funny,” Jenny teased as she felt her way into the bread
basket for a second cornbread stick. “Miss Ryan seemed a little perturbed that
you’ve been gone for so long.”

“Jenny!” Sissy scolded. “Your brother knows better than to
court the attentions of your teacher.”

“Of course I do,” Ransom blurted.

Father laughed heartily. “With all the belles in the county
shamelessly chasing after Ransom, I highly doubt that plain wren of a Yankee
schoolteacher could turn his head.”

Ransom battled the urge to snort. Naked and bent over a bed
with her jet hair loose and streaming over the cotton-white sheets, Cathleen
Ryan was anything but a plain wren.