Loving Katherine (6 page)

“Get out of here, Evan,” she told him wearily. “I don’t have time to argue with you.” The barrel of the shotgun sagged just a bit, its weight heavy.

He halted and peered at her. “I can wait, Katherine. I’m a patient man.” With little grace and much muttering, he made his way to where he’d tied his horse, mounting and riding from the yard.

It was only a whisper of sound, there outside her bedroom window. Almost asleep, she wakened with a start, her heart pounding with a breathtaking cadence. Framed against the opening, his shoulders already inside, was a shadowed figure. Katherine’s mind was muddled, the edges of sleep making her movements slow as she swung her feet to the floor.

“Who is it?” she whispered into the darkness, aware even as she spoke the query that the familiar bulk belonged to Evan Gardner.

“I told you I was patient,” he said with a chuckle. “I been waitin’ out yonder for better than two hours, Katherine. Thought you’d be asleep by now, though.”

“What do you want?” she said, her voice raspy as she struggled to her feet, dread clutching at her throat. Without a gun as an equalizer, she was no match for Evan’s weight and she knew it. The thought of those thick fingers against her flesh made her shudder, and she feinted to evade his touch. To no avail. He was upon her before she could
take a step, his body slamming into her with no regard for her woman’s vulnerabilities.

She lost her breath as he bore her down into the feather tick, his heavy torso solid against her slender form. One hand found its way into her hair and he twisted a handful about his fist, anchoring her against the sheet while he sought to rub his mouth over her face. His lips were open, loose and wet, and she shuddered, reaching with both hands to pound against him.

It was futile. Before she regained her breath, gasping for air to fill her lungs, she knew she was in way over her head. Her gun was beside the bed, too far for her to reach, and the nearest help was down the road, almost a mile away. Tears flooded her eyes. Tears of resentment that because she was a woman, smaller and more easily bested, he could come into her home and wrestle from her what she was unwilling to give.

“Evan, no…” Her voice was muffled beneath his weight. His free hand was busy at the front of her nightgown, tugging at the buttons, his mouth vainly attempting to capture hers as she endured the pain of his fist clenched in her hair.

“You wouldn’t be nice about it, would you,” he snarled against her cheek. “I wanted to do this nice and easy, Katherine, but you wouldn’t let me.” His fingers grew impatient; he tore at the worn fabric of her gown, the material ripping with a ragged sound.

“Please, no. Don’t do this, Evan,” she sobbed, aghast as she felt the helpless tears flood her eyes and overflow.

“Aw, come on, Katherine. I’ll make you happy,” he wheezed, his hand fumbling beneath her bodice, fingers grasping for a hold against her flesh.

She felt the brush of a fingernail across the crest of her breast and gasped for air, only to release it in a scream of sheer terror. And once started, she could not be silenced.

“Listen to me, you stupid woman,” he growled, both hands on her shoulders now as he sought to hold her firmly,
aware only of her thrashing body beneath him. “Damn it, Katherine, I’m willing to marry you!”

“Nooo…” It was a cry of anguish, followed by a sobbing, mournful wail that reached the ears of the lone rider who approached over the rise east of the garden patch.

“I’ll show you what a good husband I’ll be, Katherine,” Evan told her loudly, attempting to make himself heard over her muffled cries. He fought for a space between her flailing legs, his hands shifting to grasp wherever he could, ducking her fists, which aimed in his direction, more often than not landing sharp jabs.

She screamed again, the sound shrill in his ear. He straightened over her, his hand open and hurting as it met the side of her face, cracking loudly in the darkness.

“Shut up and listen to me, Katherine,” he shouted angrily. “You’re gonna marry me, one way or another, and I don’t mind takin’ my wedding night a day early.”

“I wouldn’t count on that.” The voice from the window was quiet. The sound of a revolver’s hammer being cocked was unmistakable, and the form of the man who climbed silently through the window was familiar.

Evan rolled from the bed, exposing Katherine’s pale flesh to full view. Her gown was tangled about her thighs, the bodice torn and shredded, one breast exposed in the moonlight.

Roan stood to one side of the window, his eyes searching the darkness beyond her bed, narrowing as he spied movement. A form was edging across the floor, making an attempt to reach the door.

“Gardner, stand up where you are,” Roan snarled. “Don’t make me shoot you in the back.”

“Roan?” Katherine moaned beneath her breath, her hands futile in their efforts to tug her gown into place over her breast.

“I’m here, Kate,” he answered, his attention focusing on her, attuned to her distress.

It was all Evan needed, that moment of distraction Katherine had afforded him. He bolted through the open doorway and across the kitchen to the door of the house, crouching low as he leapt from the porch.

With a snarl of disgust, Roan turned back to the window and was gone, landing on the ground with one leap and moving around the house to the front.

“Gardner!” he shouted, stopping and taking aim at the fleeing figure. “Damn fool knows I won’t shoot him in the back,” he growled. Lowering his aim, he steadied his arm and pressed the trigger. The shot was true. Evan hit the ground, rolling to clutch at his leg and shouting his anger.

“Shoot me in the back, would you?”

Roan covered the ground between them rapidly, his eyes intent on the man who was attempting to struggle to his feet. “If I wanted to shoot you in the back, I’d have aimed higher,” Roan snarled in disgust.

“You’ve broke my leg,” Evan cried, stumbling as he put weight on the injured member.

“You’re lucky I didn’t kill you,” Roan told him harshly. “Get on that horse of yours and get out of here before I finish the job.”

Evan crawled across the ground to where his horse was tied to a tree near the barn. “You’ll pay for this, Devereaux. I’ll have the sheriff out here after you.”

“You just do that,” Roan said. “I’ll be waiting.”

Turning his back, he shoved his gun into its holster, aware of the unaccustomed weight of it against his leg. It had been a long time since he’d worn it there. But tonight he’d sensed the need for the familiar revolver close at hand.

His steps were light as he ran back to the house, in the door and across the kitchen to where the opening to Katherine’s bedroom showed as a pale rectangle. She lay unmoving on the bed, outlined in the moonlight from the window. Her eyes were closed, arms clutched across her
breasts. His heart thumped against the wall of his chest as he neared the bed.

“I’m so glad you came back,” she whispered. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

“No, he’s just got a hole in his leg. Man deserves to hang,” he growled, kneeling by the side of the bed. His hand hovered over her, hesitant to frighten her, sensing her tightly held emotions.

“I don’t want anyone to know.” Her whisper was forlorn. “Roan, I’m glad you…I thought you’d gone….”

“Hush. I’m here, Katherine.” His hand settled finally on tugging her gown down to cover her thighs and calves, loosening the folds where the material had been forced up by the weight of Evan Gardner’s legs.

She clutched at herself more tightly, her hands against the bare flesh of her breasts. “Please pull the sheet over me.”

“I’m gonna light the lamp, Katherine,” he told her. “I wanna make sure you’re all right.” With one quick twist of his wrist, he settled the white muslin sheet over her body. Then, turning to where the oil lamp rested in the darkness on the table next to the bed, he fumbled for the matches that lay there. Muttering darkly as his fingers groped, he grasped one, and struck it against the side of the box, his eyes narrowing against the glow as it caught fire.

“Don’t look at me,” she begged, and the words cut him to the quick. So unlike the spunky, vibrant woman he knew, the small creature lying before him tore at his heart.

He lifted the globe and lit the wick, lowering it until the lamp’s glow was subdued. His hands were warm as they touched her, one brushing the hair back from her forehead, the other clasping her shoulder. His eyes found the red welts that measured the handprint of Evan Gardner against her cheek, and his mouth tightened.

“I should have aimed higher,” he growled, his fingers gently touching the bruising flesh. He scanned her shoulders, bare beneath the shredded gown, and he brushed
against the small marks, which would be purple by daylight. Deliberately, he lowered the sheet a few inches, drawing back the fabric she’d attempted to pull into place, exposing the pale rise of her breasts. His eyes were hard as he saw the results of harsh fingers, the reddened places where Evan’s nails had scraped her tender flesh.

“I should have killed him.” He swore again beneath his breath as he pulled the sheet up and over the fullness of her bosom once more.

“I need to get up and wash,” she whispered, her eyes opening as she clasped the covering in place, struggling to sit up. He lifted her against him, holding her head to his shoulder and clasping her waist as he turned her to sit on his lap. He’d managed to find his way onto the bed, and she welcomed the warmth of his big body as he shielded her with the comfort of his arms.

“I’ll help you in just a minute or two,” he told her, sharing the heat of his body with the chill that held her in its shuddering grasp. She shivered against him and he tightened his grip, pulling the sheet around her, wrapping her in its folds. With a rocking movement, he comforted her, his arms cradling her securely, his dark head bent low as he rested his cheek against her forehead.

Breathing deeply, he inhaled her scent, the clean aroma that followed her like a breath of spring. “Ah, Katherine, what am I gonna do with you?” he muttered against her skin.

“I’ll be all right.” Her voice wavered only a little. “I’ll be fine in the morning.”

“Yeah.” His tone was unbelieving, and his mouth twisted with anger as he held her. “Yeah, you’ll be fine.”

“I
’m not leavin’ you here alone.” For the third time he

spoke the words, and for the third time she glared her refusal of the ultimatum he offered.

Her face was swollen, the bruise fully developed. His eyes traveled over the evidence of brutality and beyond, assessing the puffiness of her mouth, where harsh treatment had damaged the tender tissue. He knew what the tightly buttoned dress hid beneath its somber layer of cotton. His eyes had seen the marks of uncaring hands, frantic to grasp at her softness. He swallowed hard, feeling the bile of disgust rise within him.

“I can’t stay, Katherine, or I would. I have to go home.” How to explain the need for this journey. How to make her understand the necessity of closing this chapter of his life so that he could continue the act of living. With no more questions, no more regrets.

“I understand…I know you’re going to Louisiana,” she said quietly, her eyes telegraphing the determination that existed within her as a living, breathing entity. “What you don’t understand is my need to finish what I’ve begun, right here. It will be another two years before I have my yearlings ready to sell. I can’t let them go before then.”

“Is this some kinda vow you’ve made to Charlie?” he asked bluntly. “‘Cause if it is, he wouldn’t hold you to it, Katherine.”

She bowed her head. It was far from a sign of defeat, he knew instinctively. Whether she hid the sadness that darkened her eyes when she thought about her father, or sought to keep from his sight the resolve that drove her, he would not have it.

Leaning across the table, he grasped her chin and forced her face into view. Lips pressed tightly together, eyes swimming with tears, she glared at him.

“Aw, Katherine,” he sighed.

“Leave me be.” Her forehead wrinkling in a scowl, she squeezed her eyes shut. The pressure forced a single tear to make its way from beneath each eyelid and begin a trail down her cheek.

The sight of those drops of sorrow against her bruised and battered flesh was his downfall.

He released his hold on her and rose, reaching her side in three quick steps. His hands were gentle as he scooped her into his arms and lifted her from the chair, ignoring the protest she cried against his chest. He turned around, seeking a place to suit his purpose, his gaze moving to the open door of her bedroom. The quilt was smooth across the plump surface of her feather mattress, the pillows fluffed and perched against the rough headboard. It was there he headed.

She wiggled and twisted in his arms when she sensed the direction he took, her mutterings muffled against his shirt as he gathered her tightly against himself.

“Hush, Katherine.” He spoke it as an order, not coaxing or entreating her, but issuing the edict with no expectation of refusal.

The bed beckoned him. He turned around to sit down, his arms full of obstinate woman, his mind swimming with confusion. The only solid thought penetrating the mass of
broken images in his head was to persuade this fool woman of the folly implicit in her intentions.

There was absolutely no way in hell she could stay here alone now. Not for one day would he leave her by herself with only that damn shotgun for protection.

“Why the hell didn’t you ever get a dog?” he asked bluntly, sinking into the softness of the feather tick, the double weight of two bodies taking them to the wooden base.

“A dog?” She felt enveloped in the bed, drawn against his hard body, the billowing mattress surrounding them. “Why would I get a dog?”

“He mighta taken a chunk outa old Evan last night and saved you a whole lot of misery, lady.” His feet rose from the floor, and turning, he shifted them both into a supine position, leaning against the headboard.

Struggling against the strength of his hold, she sought a new angle, only to find his face mere inches from her own. His grin served to multiply her frustration, and wiggling, she managed to free one arm, waving it about in silent threat.

“You gonna hit me, Katherine?” he challenged.

Her eyes flashed fire, the tears drying as if a good west wind had borne every trace of sadness with it as it passed her way. “You know I’m not,” she snapped.

“You done cryin’? I carried you all the way in here to give you a little comfort, and all you do is fight me every inch of the way.”

“We’re on my bed, Mr. Devereaux,” she told him unbelievingly. “Let me go, and leave my bedroom.”

“I been here before, Kate,” he reminded her, tightening his grip.

She stilled, her legs relaxing, her hand falling to rest on his shoulder, her head drooping against his chest once more. “I remember,” she whispered bitterly. “But it was kind of you to remind me.”

“I don’t mean to hurt you,” he said quietly. “In fact, I suspect you know I’m the last man on earth lookin’ to give you a hard time.”

She lowered her head, exposing the slender, vulnerable nape of her neck, the heavy rope of hair falling across her breast and coiling in her lap.

It was more temptation than he could resist. Lured by the pale vulnerability of that exposed skin, he inhaled deeply, allowing her scent to fill his lungs.

“Don’t, Roan,” she told him. “You’re breathing on my neck, and I’ve got chill bumps—I don’t want you doing that!”

He straightened, his body heating beneath her, his loins heavy with the arousal he strove to deny. Not now, he prayed desperately. Not here, not with Katherine. All he needed was to frighten her again. Here on the bed where Evan Gardner had grasped with greedy intent at her tender flesh last night. Where he’d rooted about like a boar hog in rut between her legs, bruising her and scaring her half to death.

Shifting her about, Roan loosened his hold, rubbing his face on the top of her head, freeing the wispy strands of hair she’d so carefully scraped into place earlier.

“You done cryin’ now?” he asked again.

“I never cry,” she told him harshly.

“Yeah, I noticed that about you. You just hold every blamed thing inside that starchy little body of yours and glare like a banty rooster, your feathers all ruffled and your neck stuck out.”

“Well, thank you, Mr. Devereaux. I’ve never been described in more glowing terms, I’m sure,” she said with mock delight. Lifting herself with deliberate care, she sat upright on his lap, no small feat, given the angle of their posture. Unfortunately, she managed to park her bottom in the exact spot he had been striving to keep from her notice.

Her eyes widened and her lips pressed together tightly as she became aware of the significance of his sudden gasp.

“If you don’t mind, Katherine,” he said tightly, lifting her with alacrity and rising with her. He held her with one arm about her middle, her feet dangling above the floor and their eyes on a level.

Her cheeks were flushed, at least the unbruised one, the other already so suffused with blood it made his stomach hurt to look at it. Her eyes were bright, shining with an element of surprise that tickled his fancy, and he chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” she asked breathlessly, her lungs squeezed against his chest.

“Nothing,” he told her cheerfully. “I’m just tryin’ to decide how to tell you what’s gonna happen now.”

“I can solve that problem for you,” she said tartly. “You’re going to release me, and I’m going to gather the eggs and get ready to churn butter before I go work my yearlings.”

He shook his head slowly, her eyes following the movement. With each back-and-forth motion, she bit at her lip, flaring her nostrils and frowning her finest.

“The eggs can sit out there and rot for all I care, Katherine. We’re gonna have this out, here and now,” he told her firmly, the facade of cheerfulness gone by the wayside.

“Let me down.” Chin uptilted, she was defying him.

“Not till you listen.”

“I’m listening.” Her teeth gritted against one another, and she clenched her jaw tightly as she shot the words at him.

“We’re gonna leave here together, Katherine. I’m not leavin’ you alone again. We’ll figure out some way of takin’ care of your stock, and if we have to, we’ll take the blamed horses with us. But I’m tellin’ you for the last time, I won’t leave you here alone.”

“Just where do you think you’re going to take me? Me and a whole herd of horses! That’ll be the day, Roan Devereaux!” Her eyes snapping smartly, she twisted in his grasp and her lower lip stuck out in a determined pout. Her hands
shoved against his chest as she stretched her legs to the floor, her toes barely touching the bare wood. Her mind searching for an out, she settled on the obvious.

“Well, maybe I’ll just marry up with old Evan and save you the trouble of worrying about me,” she spouted shrilly.

“The hell you will!” He glared from dark eyes into the stubborn blue ones that flashed fire in his direction.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” she said.

“I owe your daddy, and he’d turn over in that grave up on the hill if he knew I’d walked away from you yesterday.”

“Well, you don’t owe me!” And then her eyes softened and she leaned her head back to fill her vision with the rough outline of his face, the squared jaw and hawkish nose that denied him beauty.

“What do you owe my daddy?” she asked in a hushed tone, aware she was in the dark on this subject. All she’d heard about when it came to Roan Devereaux was the story of his valiant effort to save Charlie Cassidy’s life. About his care of the man, his strength and his stubborn determination that Charlie should live to return home.

“If it hadn’t been for your daddy, I’d be wearin’ a pair of crutches, lady. He stood off an army surgeon with his rifle when they wanted to cut off my leg. Old Charlie pointed that gun and told that doctor to patch it up long enough for me to get to a hospital. They dumped enough carbolic acid on that wound to kill every bit of poison the bullet left behind. Charlie made ‘em wrap it up and splint it tight, and then he put me in a wagon and headed out.”

“Where’d he take you?” Somehow she was aware of his hands loosening their grip, allowing her to slide down the front of him till her feet were flat on the floor, enabling her to step back a bit, her eyes never leaving his face.

“All the way to Philadelphia, changin’ the dressing on my leg twice a day and feedin’ me soup from every farmhouse we passed. Well, pret’ near, anyway,” he amended. “The doctor in the hospital there just shook his head when he saw
me. Guess I was a sight to behold, all skin and bones and my leg all stove up.”

“But he patched you up?” she prodded.

“Yeah. Charlie waved goodbye, like he’d done ‘bout all he could. By then the war was over, and he headed home. That doctor took me on like a personal challenge.” Roan grinned, obviously remembering. “I owe your daddy,” he repeated. “If I have to lug you all the way to Louisiana and back, I will.”

“You don’t have much of a limp,” she said, ignoring his command.

“He was some bang-up doctor,” Roan answered agreeably.

“You still don’t owe me anything, Roan,” she repeated. “I’ll be fine here.”

“Sure you will, and I’ll be a suck-egg mule if I walk away from you.”

Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “I’m not sure what that is and I don’t think I want to know. But
you’d
better know something. My daddy would do cartwheels from that grave if he thought I was trotting across the country with a man.”

“What if that man was your husband?”

“I don’t…have a husband. The only offer I’ve had lately was from Evan Gardner, and we both know what I thought about that one.” Remembering her threat, she cast him a quick look of chagrin.

“I’m not offerin’. I’m tellin’ you what’s gonna be.” The strength that carried Charlie up that hill was on display as he placed hard fingers about her shoulders, giving her no leeway, holding her firmly in place as his words made their impact.

She shook her head. “I can’t do that.”

“What can’t you do?” he asked quietly.

“The dragging all the way to Louisiana and back, for one. And the married part,” she blurted.

“You let me cuddle you a while ago. I even kissed you once.”

“Twice,” she corrected him.

His brow lowered as he searched his mind and found the brush of his mouth across her cheek when he’d agreed to rid the vermin under her cupboard. “That little peck doesn’t count as a kiss. One decent kiss is all you’ve ever gotten from me.”

“I’m not afraid of that. It’s just the rest of it, the pawing and pushing and sweaty hands part I can’t tolerate.”

“Whose sweaty hands touched you, Katherine? Besides Evan’s, I mean.”

She ducked her head. “I don’t want to talk about it, Roan.” Her voice pleaded for understanding and he gave it, with immediate compliance.

“All right, we won’t talk about it. I’ll just tell you here and now, I won’t be pawin’ at you. All right? Not unless I know it’s what you want,” he added quickly, leaving an open door.

“I can’t leave here just like that.” Her mind spun as she attempted to digest the plan he proposed.

“Charlie wouldn’t hold you to this place, if he knew,” he told her bluntly. “If you want to come back, we’ll head north in the spring, Katherine. We can decide then what to do with your place. In the meantime, let me take care of you, and you just worry about that string of horses out back.”

Her look was doubtful. “Charlie bought this place for me. I can’t just walk away from it.”

“I don’t expect you to. It’ll take a couple days to make arrangements. I’ll take you into town and we’ll see the banker. You have to deliver that filly anyway. You can’t get her any more trained than she is, Katherine. You’ve just been puttin’ it off and you know it.”

“You’re rushing me!” she cried accusingly.

“Damn right I am.”

*   *   *

It took three days. One longer than he’d allowed, but several shorter than she’d planned.

The banker, Ross Green, had been more than obliging. Agreeing to sell off her hens and loaning her cow to a family near town too poor to own their own, the man had sliced through her arguments neatly. Ross Green would either keep an eye on her place or rent it out, whichever was likeliest, he said.

The garden was about done anyway, Roan had reminded her, and the canned goods on her shelves would make a dandy present for the woman who’d been unbelieving when presented with the cow. Left in the pantry, they’d only freeze and burst in the first below-zero cold spell to hit. Even southern Illinois was guaranteed to be laid low at least once by a blast from the north this winter.