Loving Katherine (4 page)

“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.

“Roan!” 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.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said quietly, allowing her the width of the porch, aware he had invaded unforgivably.

“I’m sure you have things to do in the barn or the pasture…or somewhere,” she managed to say, her voice high and breathless in her ears. Here she’d been worried about Evan Gardner coming around, giving her trouble, causing her grief. Somehow she knew Evan Gardner couldn’t hold a candle to Roan Devereaux when it came to causing problems for her.

In fact, if the sensations washing their way through her body were any indication, Roan Devereaux had already managed to cause more hassle than she was equipped to handle.

“And that’s a fact,” she mumbled beneath her breath as she watched him stride, with only an almost imperceptible limp, across the yard toward the corral.

“I
’ll wash your clothes if you bring them to the house.”

He’d wondered how she would greet him this morning. After the general all-around mess he’d made of last evening, he hadn’t known what to expect. Certainly, Katherine knew what to look for from a man who was all hot and bothered. Or did she? Her total experience with males appeared to have begun and ended with horse breeding. Hell, that ought to have taught her something!

He looked at her finally, aware she’d been fidgeting about with her hands all twisted up in her apron, waiting for an answer to her offer. Her expression was calm, but a telltale tinge of pink stained her cheeks, and together with the knot she was managing to put in the front of her voluminous apron, he knew she’d dreaded this encounter.

“I reckon I’d appreciate havin’ my clothes washed up, Katherine,” he responded gently. “I can scrub them out myself, though, if you leave the water when you’ve finished your own things.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ve done a passel of laundry in my day, keeping my menfolk clean,” she answered crisply. Her eyes met his gaze for a moment and then skittered off to fasten on the low ceiling of the barn, just over his head.

“I’ll bring them up to the house directly. Soon as I finish putting this stall door back together.”

She nodded briefly and turned to make her way from the barn. Roan’s eyes rested on the dark dress that hung so limply from her squared shoulders, and his mouth twisted in a smile of remembrance as he visualized the slim form she hid so well beneath the sturdy fabric. His hands had personal knowledge of her waist. It bore no resemblance to the length of the leather thong she had taken to using for a belt.

If any woman needed rescuing from herself, it surely was Katherine Cassidy, he thought idly, his lips twitching with humor. It’d be no small task for the man brave enough to take it on. And it was certain sure
he
wouldn’t be around to tend to the job.

“Breakfast is almost ready,” Katherine told him, calling the words over her shoulder as she stepped through the wide doorway into the early morning light. “Leave that door for later.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Obediently, he put aside his hammer, brushing his hands against the denim that covered his thighs. The grin he’d restrained for her benefit split his mouth and remained in place as he gathered up the few pieces of clothing he’d folded and stowed beneath his blankets on the cot—anything for a little padding.

That hayloft was looking better night after night. If it weren’t for the fact he’d be leaving shortly, he’d even consider building a bunk against the wall and stuffing a mattress with fresh straw.

Ah, no sense in getting too comfortable. Before long, his bed would be the bare ground. Maybe a few leaves or a good stand of grass for padding. The country between southern Illinois and River Bend was pretty green for a while yet. Autumn was late in coming to the south, and with a little hustle, he could miss the cold nights that would soon be heading this way.

He sauntered to the house, his dirty clothes tucked beneath one arm. Slowing long enough to drop off his bundle next to the washtub Katherine had dragged from the porch, he hesitated. A fire burned not far from the well, a metal pail hanging over it from a tripod, the water within steaming, catching his eye. Retracing his steps, he picked up his shirt and folded it compactly. Then, with casual ease, he reached for the pail, using the shirt to shield his palm from the hot metal handle. After emptying it into her washtub, he filled the bucket from the well, replacing it over the fire to heat.

“Thank you, Mr. Devereaux,” Katherine called from the doorway where she was watching. “I was about to come out and do that myself.”

“Saved you a few steps,” he answered, washing his hands at the horse trough. He splashed the water over his face and used his wet hands to plaster his hair down, running his fingers through it to groom the dark length into a semblance of order. Katherine tossed him a towel as he mounted the steps, and waited until he had dried his face and hands.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” she asked with a lifting of one eyebrow.

“Matches the ‘Mr. Devereaux’ you’ve been spoutin’ this mornin’,” he reminded her with a rakish smile. “Thought maybe you were tryin’ to put me on my best behavior, Katherine.”

“Not much chance of that, is there?” she asked, crossing to the stove to dish up the oatmeal she’d had simmering on the back corner. A pan of biscuits and a plate of sausage from the warming oven up top completed the meal, and Roan settled down to the business of eating, blithely ignoring her final gibe.

“Tell me,” he said between bites, his fork held upright as if he commanded her attention. “Tell me how you got those yearlings out there with not a mare in sight? They got
birthed somehow, but I sure haven’t figured out where, or what you did with their dams.”

She lifted one of her eyebrows in a gesture of triumph, and a dimple showed high on her left cheek as she suppressed a smile. “One of my better deals—actually three of them. My father and I offered his stallion for breeding at three different farms hereabouts and asked for a foal from each of the farmers. They all had mares they wanted bred, more than a dozen between them, and Pa’s stud was the best-looking horse in the area. They jumped at the chance. They ended up with free stud service for their mares, and we got the three foals for nothing, once they were weaned from their mamas.”

Roan eyed her with new respect. “Your idea?” he asked.

She nodded. “One of my better ones. We needed new blood, and we didn’t have much money available. Pa’d sold off everything we’d trained and saddle broke, and he was getting itchy feet again. It was hard for him to stay in one place. I think he bought this farm for my benefit, knowing how sick of roaming the countryside I was. He said it was time to put down roots and find me a husband.”

“I expect you didn’t look very hard, did you? Seems to me you wouldn’t have much trouble finding a man if you put your mind to it.”

She sniffed and turned her head aside. “I’ve seen enough men in my time to know for a fact I don’t need one to warm my bed at night. Never could see much benefit for a woman in marriage anyway.”

“Maybe you looked at the wrong men,” he suggested mildly.

“Men are men,” she stated, as if that were the final word on the subject.

His nod was agreeable and he set to eating, accepting her decree. Katherine watched him with furtive glances as he made his way through the abundance of food before him. The man did appreciate good meals, she thought, her eyes
focused on the hands that wielded his fork and spoon with innate grace. Well formed and darkly tanned, those hands held eating utensils with ease, as easily as they used the tools from the shed.

With as much skill as they’d demonstrated touching her body last evening, she thought, remembering the heat of his palms against her waist. Even through the heavy homespun of her dress, she’d felt the warmth of him, the bold touch of his fingers tugging her against his hard body. She shivered suddenly, shifting in her chair as her errant thoughts tread the dangerous ground that lured them. Maybe she’d not have been so dead set against getting married if someone like Roan Devereaux had come along when she was more amenable to the idea.

Roan’s eyes speared her quickly, snagged by the quick lift of her breasts as she gained a deep breath, fastening on the flaring of her nostrils and the dark awareness shining in her eyes. He chewed methodically, his gaze narrowing as he watched her…noting the faint flush painting her throat and creeping upward.

Wiping his mouth with the edge of his hand, he picked up his coffee, eyes never veering from the woman across the table. Damned if she didn’t look flustered to beat all.

Things would be better all the way around if she didn’t keep looking at him the way she was right now. He wasn’t the man she needed. And heaven knew he’d got an awful itching urge to cart her off to her bed…and then she’d be compromised, but good. And he wouldn’t be as good for her as Evan Gardner. At least Evan wanted to marry her.

Hell, he couldn’t sit around here any longer, he decided. She had him going in circles and she hadn’t even touched him. Except with the bluest eyes he’d seen since the day he met Charlie Cassidy.

His chair scraped against the plank floor and he rose hastily. “I’ll just get back to the barn, Katherine,” he muttered, groping with one hand for his hat as he turned toward
the door. “Mighty fine meal,” he called back as he strode across the porch, his steps long and hurried.

“Here’s your hat…what’s your hurry?” she said beneath her breath, relieved to have him gone. “He stirs me up, and I don’t like it.” Her mouth pursed as she considered him, glaring at his long legs, which carried him quickly across the yard. He was limping a bit this morning. “Not that I care,” she grumbled. “He can limp all the way to Timbuktu and back, for all it matters to me.”

He managed to stay out of her way for the rest of the week, making his way to the house for meals and tending to his business otherwise. The pasture fence took on a new look, the posts erect once more, the poles firmly attached and anchored in place. He’d hung a new gate, after viewing the old one with a shake of his head. Sagging and swinging from handmade hinges with half the nails missing, it was a wonder she’d been able to handle it at all. The ruts were deep where she’d been dragging it across the ground to lead the yearlings in and out, and he frowned at the thought.

How much more had she put up with on her own? he wondered. He hadn’t even looked around much inside the house, not enough to spot the places that needed repairing, anyway. And sure as the sun rose and set every day, she wouldn’t be asking him to spend any time in her kitchen. Leastways, not any longer than it took to eat a meal and vamoose out the door.

“I’ve given her a good case of leavin’ alone, Charlie,” he said dryly, casting his eyes heavenward. Somehow it seemed likely Charlie’d headed in that direction, he thought, remembering the gray-haired soldier who’d made little fuss over his Bible reading or the quick words he spoke over his meals.

“Wish you were here, old man,” Roan muttered, turning his attention to the bridle he was mending. The sun beat on his back through the dark cotton of his shirt and he relished
the heat with a lifting of his shoulders. Tugging at the bit, he assured himself that the leather would hold, then, putting it aside, reached for the halter that awaited his care.

He was about done. The month was up and he’d set his hand to every chore he could find, aside from the house Katherine guarded so closely. He’d ask her politely about it before he left, in case she needed something done that wouldn’t hold over the winter. Fat chance she’d give me space to work inside her sanctuary, he thought with a grin. She guarded it like a smuggler’s cave.

His eye was caught by a flash of color and he looked up to see her quickstepping across the yard in his direction. The apron she wore was yellow, bright against her dark dress, and he wondered for a moment where she’d dug it from. Every other single piece of clothing he’d seen on her looked like they’d been cut from the same cloth…dark and somber.

“New apron, Katherine?” he asked teasingly.

She shook her head impatiently and he straightened abruptly, rising from the stool he’d dragged into the sunshine.

“What’s wrong?” His eyes moved over the yard, up the hill to the small cemetery, and then darted across to the rise just east of the garden. Satisfied that no immediate danger threatened, he turned his attention to her face, puzzled by the expression she wore.

A mixture of panic and embarrassment painted her features and her hands were linked tightly against her waist. “I feel foolish,” she blurted, her teeth biting against her lower lip.

Relief flooded him and he grinned at her admission. “Can’t imagine that, Katherine.”

“I’m not generally easy to fluster,” she told him, her fingers flexing as she relaxed the grip that had fused them so tightly. Lifting one hand to her forehead, she brushed aimlessly at the tendrils of hair blowing about her face.

“Well, I’d say somethin’ disturbed you in a big way,” he allowed, amused at her dithering.

Her mouth pinched tightly and she glared at his teasing grin. “It’s not funny, Roan Devereaux!” she spouted. “There’s a whole family of mice underneath my cupboard!”

His eyes danced with delight. “Is this the same woman who threatened me with a shotgun and came within an inch of runnin’ me off her place?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I didn’t think there was a thing in this world that could put the fear of God in you, Katherine Cassidy. I’m glad to see I was wrong. You’re pret’ near as human as the next one, after all.”

She stiffened and narrowed her eyes. “I’m not afraid,” she denied stoutly. “I just don’t know what to do with them.”

He hooted with laughter. “Well, I doubt they’re big enough to warrant a shotgun blast. Reckon a swat with the shovel would take care of the matter.”

She shuddered visibly. “I couldn’t do that.”

“Well, you could always make pets out of ‘em.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she sniffed. “I should have known better than to expect any help from you.” Her skirts tangled about her legs as she spun around and headed back to the house, her face crimson with embarrassment.

His hand on her shoulder effectively halted her progress and the warmth of his breath next to her ear caused another shiver to cascade through her.

“Aw, come on, Kate,” he coaxed softly. “Don’t take on so. I can handle most any kind of problem around here you can throw at me, so long as you don’t get all huffy and stomp off.”

Her head dipped and she caught a deep breath. “Just let go of me, Roan Devereaux, and go clean out that nest of critters before your dinner burns to a frazzle.” Her voice
trembled just a bit and he peeked over her shoulder, bending lower to scan her flushed countenance.

“Well, we sure can’t have that, can we?” he said softly. And he then bent even lower to drop a quick kiss against her cheek. “Consider it done, ma’am.” His hand squeezed gently for a moment before he dropped it from her shoulder.