Loving Katherine (8 page)

With another veiled look at the gathering darkness, Katherine shook her head. “I think I’d rather stay here, keep an eye on the animals.”

Roan walked to the doorway, his gaze pulled upward by the lowering clouds, scudding across the sky like a flotilla of dark-sailed ships. Shifting and changing in the wind, they gathered the rain, glowing from within when the lightning flashed above them.

A large drop scattered the dust near his boot, and he stepped back into the shelter of the barn. Then, as though a purse string had been cut, the sky opened, the bounty pouring forth, the clouds loosing their burden. Slanting across the barnyard in great sheets of water, the rain poured down, drenching the thirsty ground and running off into the low areas around the buildings.

“Man, that’s some storm,” Roan said admiringly, having grudgingly given up his post at the door. Rain splattered in, dampening the floor. He reluctantly slid the wide door closed, keeping the weather where it belonged.

With that, the barn was plunged into darkness and he backtracked, opening it a crack, till he could locate a lantern to hold back the shadows. Encroaching from the corners to where Katherine stood in the center of the wide aisle, the dimness surrounded her. She was small and still, only the pale oval of her face and the white shirtwaist she wore making her visible to him.

“I’ll get some light in here,” he told her. “Soon as I find that lantern I saw when we came in.”

“It’s up on the wall, just to your right,” she said, watching as he turned his head at her direction. Framed in the narrow opening of the barn door, he was a shelter she’d give a bundle to settle into right now, she thought yearningly.

Storms were another matter in her own home place. She could sit in her chair and cover herself with the shawl she kept folded there. The small house was sturdy and the roof tight against the elements. Here, in this great barn, with the rustlings and shadows alive with movement, she felt stranded and vulnerable.

The light blinded her for a moment—the quick flare of Roan’s match and the brilliant glow from the lantern as he caught the wick afire. A sigh of relief escaped her lips and she opened her hands, which had tightened into fists in an automatic gesture.

In the corner, from behind a barrel of feed, a pretty calico cat peered at her, and Katherine crouched where she stood, her hand outstretched, her whisper soft as she coaxed the half-wild creature with twitching fingers and highpitched sounds. “Come, kitty,” she called in a singsong welcome. The cat edged closer, its back curved, its tail stiff, eyeing the temptress who beckoned.

“You’ve got babies, haven’t you?” Katherine wiggled her fingers enticingly. “Have we got any more of that beef, Roan?” she asked in the same lilting, coaxing whisper, as if loath to break the spell she was weaving about the shy creature.

“If you think I’m gonna give that barn cat my dinner, you’ve got another think coming,” he told her from where he’d planted himself on a stool near the door.
She’s never used that tone of voice with me,
he thought, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the lantern.
All I get is the sharp side of her tongue, till she wants the rest of my dinner. For a cat,
he added silently.

Katherine looked up at him reproachfully. “She’s got a litter somewhere, Roan. Just look at her.”

“I am lookin’.” His eyes took note of the underside of the cat’s belly, where she showed signs of having recently nursed her young ones. “She’s got her pick of varmints in this barn,
Katherine. She can catch some nice, fresh meat for her dinner.”

A shiver passed over her shoulders and ran its fingers down her back as Katherine considered that idea. Her eyes glared with disgust as she turned her head fully in his direction. “Well, give her my share of the beef. I’ll just have a piece of cheese and another biscuit.”

“Not likely,” he told her. “We ate all the biscuits at noon.”

The cat had come within inches of Katherine’s fingers. Curling her tail about her, she sat, eyes intent on the woman who crouched just out of reach. A rusty sound escaped her mouth, an inquiring purr that brought a grin to Katherine’s lips.

“Hear that?” she asked Roan. “She’s talking to me.”

“Likely tryin’ to coax you out of that beef you keep tellin’ her about.” He reached down for the saddlebag he’d stashed against the wall, his fingers agile as he tore off a piece of the meat. “Here, catch.”

She snatched it in midair and flashed a look of triumph in his direction. “I knew you couldn’t resist her,” she said, shredding the dark beef and holding out a morsel at arm’s length.

It wasn’t the cat he couldn’t resist, he thought dourly. It was the long-haired urchin with the smudged cheek and shining eyes. Crouched on the dusty floor, her bottom cupped in the denim pants he’d bought for her, she was an inviting sight. The material stretched tight across her thighs and calves, outlining the slender, womanly length she’d hidden so well for so long. His eyes feasted on her, the dark tendrils of hair falling against her cheek, the flush of triumph she wore as the cat rose, stretched and yawned, then approached on dainty paws.

“Nice kitty,” Katherine whispered, holding out her hand for the cat’s approval. The rough tongue touched her fingertip, and the small teeth closed with precision about the
treat she offered. She was still wary, chewing the beef, eyes moving to where Roan sat. Then, abandoning the pretense of aloofness, she purred and bent her head to rub it against the extended hand.

Katherine smiled her delight and offered another morsel of meat. The cat, accepting it as her due, settled down next to her benefactress, not moving away even when Katherine lowered her bottom to the floor and crossed her legs.

Outside, the lightning flashed, calling forth the booming thunder, and Roan leaned over to close the door tightly. He watched the woman before him, fascinated by the gentle movements of her hands as she drew the brightly colored cat closer. In moments, Katherine was holding the cat in her lap, tearing the rest of the chunk of meat apart and offering it in minuscule bits.

“You ever had a cat?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head. “Pa always said the mice had a right to be in the barn. I think he just didn’t want to be tied down with having small animals about. Made it hard to leave when the time came.”

“You still should have had a dog,” he told her.

“They’re not easy to come by sometimes. A good farm dog is worth something.”

“I had three huntin’ dogs when I was a boy. Then when my father sicced ‘em on a runaway, I decided I never wanted to hunt with ‘em again.”

“He ran down a slave?”

“Yeah, the dogs were good at followin’ a scent. We’d never had a field hand run off before, and my father didn’t want to wait for the bloodhounds to be brought out from town. He just rode behind my dogs till they treed that man. Then he brought him back on the end of a rope.” Roan’s eyes were bleak as he remembered the day that signified the end of his youth.

“What did you do?” she asked quietly.

“Left.” He stood suddenly, and the cat dug in her claws as she made her escape, spooked by the sudden movement.

“Ouch!” Katherine winced at the three separate stings the unsheathed claws made in the flesh of her calf. She scrambled to her feet, unwilling to let Roan retreat into silence. “Roan?”

He shook his head at her. “Didn’t mean to get you stabbed like that.” A grim smile curved his mouth.

“Roan!” She repeated his name, her tone a bit demanding.

“You’d better find a spot to settle down for a couple of hours, Katherine,” he said harshly. “This rain isn’t about to let up for a while.”

“All right,” she agreed reluctantly, looking about for a more welcoming place than the hard floor. A pile of woolen blankets in the corner drew her attention, and she stacked them neatly, settling down with her back to the wall, silent beneath his glowering look.

He turned from her and opened the door once more, looking upward to where the rain fell unabated. The door slid shut beneath his hand. He stalked back to the stool, stretching his legs before him as he sat.

“Might’s well take a nap if you can,” he told her gruffly. And so saying, he tipped his hat forward and closed his eyes.

From behind the feed barrel, the cat ventured forth once more, approaching Katherine’s side with dainty steps. Her tail twitched once as she halted, then her legs folded with limber ease, lowering her into a purring bundle of fur, pressed tightly against the warmth of the woman.

The lightning was hidden by sturdy barn walls, the thunder muted by the hayloft above, and Katherine touched the folded ears and rubbed the outstretched head of the cat, who offered her silent comfort.

“I
don’t like the idea of that stallion in the barn.” Katherine had taken a stand. From the look on her face, Roan could foresee a battle royal.

“I mean it, Roan Devereaux. I’ve got a mare ripe for breeding, and you expect me to rest easy with that enormous stud having hissy fits just fifty feet away?” She glared at him, hands on hips, shoulders squared for battle and all flags flying.

What she didn’t know about male animals could get her in trouble, he decided, his gaze taking in the flaring color riding her cheeks. The stance she had taken, not to mention the great gasps of breath it was requiring to support her angry accusations, only served to emphasize the womanly charms she scorned. And he was enjoying every bit of it.

“What are you looking at now?” she blurted, moving a step backward, as if to distance herself from his scrutiny.

“Just wondering if your filly is as set against that big old stallion as you are.” He spoke with dry humor, his eyes continuing their journey over her trim body. Trim, all but thatlush, rounding bosom that was straining at the buttons of her white shirtwaist.

“She’s mine,” Katherine told him angrily. “She doesn’t have to think. I’m making the decision for her. And I say she’s not ready to be bred. Besides, he’s too big. She could
throw a foal that would kill her to deliver.” Her eyes slid to the back of the barn, where the stallion paced the limits of the box stall where he’d been confined.

As though he responded to her words, the stallion snorted, banging his head against the door of his stall, testing the limits of his freedom. His head came up with a flourish of black mane flying, nostrils flaring, lips drawn back as if to announce his intentions.

“That filly is built like a…well, she can take him, if it comes to that,” Roan told her in a low tone, rightly deciding the air was already rife with emotion. Wasn’t a bit of sense in him adding to the uproar.

“You’re missing the whole point! I don’t want her to be bred yet,” Katherine said firmly. “If there were any way we could saddle up and leave here tonight, I’d do it.”

Roan cocked his head and nodded at the low ceiling overhead. “Hear that rain, Katherine? There’s no way on God’s green earth you could talk me into headin’ out with a storm like this one clobberin’ us. And you can’t blame old Jed for puttin’ his stud inside. He left him out as long as he could in that corral. There just isn’t any shelter with the wind blowin’ a mile a minute out there.”

He watched her pace to the door and back, the dark swath of braided hair hanging down her back, shimmering in the light of the kerosene lantern. He’d hung the lantern high above the wide aisle, pulling it up on the rope provided, allowing it to illuminate the entire area.

The better to watch you,
he thought, his eyes narrowed as he imagined the sight of that marvelous skein of hair undone and flowing against her flesh. Already he’d cursed himself for obeying her order earlier when she’d changed into the shirtwaist. Stood there like a dummy while she stripped down. Probably missed the prettiest sight of the day.

Katherine kicked a block of wood as she passed the stall holding her yearlings, and it hit the wall with a bang, startling
the feisty animals into motion. They’d pretty well settled down for the night, and Roan grinned at Katherine’s small fit of temper.

“They’ll never get any rest if you keep on rilin’ ‘em up, Katherine,” he drawled, leaning back against the wall, legs outstretched into the aisle. He’d perched on a stool, hands busy with their tack, going over each piece carefully to check for weak spots or points of strain. “Why don’t you simmer down. Come on over here and quit that marchin’ around. You’re gettin’ all in an uproar for nothing.”

She looked at him over her shoulder, aware suddenly of the slumberous quality of his gaze, his half smile curling his mouth beneath the lush mustache. Her gaze fastened on him, caught by the sudden stillness of lean hands that had been plying the leather with supple grace.

Laying aside the bridle he held, he leaned forward, fingers splayed against the muscled length of his thighs. His eyes were dark, deep-set and heavy-lidded. He was quiet now, as though he waited for her compliance, as if he willed her to his side.

The filly nickered softly, only feet from where she stood, and Katherine’s attention swerved to the pretty, sleek creature. Before she could step in her direction, an answering call from the stallion split the air. The floor of his stall echoed with the stomping of his feet as he tossed his head, the barn echoing with his shrill challenge.

“Stay out of her stall, Katherine,” Roan warned her tightly. “She’s all jittery tonight. You don’t wanta take a chance on her shovin’ you against the wall.”

“I raised her!” she said sharply. “She wouldn’t hurt me.”

He shook his head. “Don’t chance it. You oughta know enough about horses to know you can’t depend on them when they’re ready to mate.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do? Just go up in that hayloft and close my eyes and pretend…”

He nodded his head slowly. “That’s about the best idea you’ve had all evening, Mrs. Devereaux.” He rose slowly, stretching with enthusiasm. The leather he’d been working with lay about his feet, and he bent to set it to order, hanging the bridles on nails, the pack saddle open over the stool he’d been occupying. He nodded at the ladder leading to the hayloft.

“Let’s have at it, Katherine. You aren’t gonna do any good down here. They’ll all settle down once I turn out the lantern.”

She cast a last look at the far stall, then again to the filly, who rubbed against the wall, lifting her hind feet in a slow rhythm. Katherine’s shoulders slumped, and the gesture twisted something deep inside him as he watched.

She thought she was so blamed invincible, this woman of his. It hurt to see her plumb up against a conundrum she couldn’t solve. Yet he rejoiced at the small sign of defeat. It left her vulnerable, her eyes questioning as they turned in his direction once more.

“You sure?” she asked. “I thought maybe…”

“Katherine, you’re gonna get yourself up that ladder right now.” He stepped to the wall, loosening the rope and lowering the lantern. It hung between them and he nodded at it. “Lower the wick.”

She tightened her lips in a show of defiance, her chin lifting in a gesture that pleased him, even though it told him her vulnerability was a moot point. Twisting the key, she lowered the wick, the flame dying gradually as he lifted the lantern a few feet to keep it from being knocked about. In the dark, he felt for the hook provided and wound the rope about it securely.

Her feet rustled in the scattering of hay as she made her way to the ladder. He followed the sound, his body close as she reached to pull herself up the first rung. He lifted her, hands on her waist, and rejoiced as she allowed the small intimacy.

Her feet were sure against the wooden slats, and she pulled herself up to the loft floor in seconds. A window at the near end, fitted with precious glass, revealed the slashing lightning and she flinched, clenching her fingers into fists against her sides.

“It’s not letting up any, is it?” she asked needlessly, sensing his presence behind her as he reached the top of the ladder.

“Nope, can’t say that it is,” Roan replied, heaving himself to his feet. He made his way to where he’d tossed their bedding earlier, atop a mound of hay.

“Come on, Katherine. Take off your boots and britches and slide into your blankets.”

“Yes, all right,” she answered, her eyes still focused on the window. Another lightning bolt lit the loft for a moment and she got her bearings.

He gripped her shoulder and pressed her down to the floor, where he’d spread out her belongings. “Boots off first,” he said, following his own advice and sinking into the hay to work at the tall boots he wore. With a grunt, he levered the first one off, then tackled the other. She followed suit, sinking down till she toppled backward, losing her balance.

A chuckle escaped as she sat up, reaching for her feet and fighting a losing battle against gravity.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, squinting in the darkness.

“This is like battling a feather tick. I’m having a hard time keeping my balance.”

“Give me your foot.” As he reached out, his left hand brushed against her boot, his right hand groping in the dark. He backtracked quickly and snagged it, gripping it tightly and tugging it toward him.

“Roan! You’re pulling me with it,” she cried, sliding across the hay with his efforts.

“Let me get a better grip.” He was grinning, beginning to enjoy this game. Scooting her to his side, he lifted her legs across his lap, holding them there with the weight of his upper body as he bent to his task. One hand on her heel, the other holding her calf, he levered the boot off, repeating the maneuver on the other leg.

She pulled her legs back reflexively. “Let me loose,” she said quickly, rolling to escape his hands. They were warm against her, fingers squeezing gently, palms spread on the fullness just beneath the backs of her knees. It felt indecent, she decided abruptly, his handling of her limbs in such a fashion.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, kneeling beside him, wishing against her better judgment for another flash of lightning to reveal the whereabouts of her blankets.

As though nature answered her dilemma, the clouds were lit from within, shimmering outside the window for long seconds, illuminating the loft. Her movements were quick as she slid beneath the blanket, tugging it over her and settling down, cushioned by the hay.

Roan watched her scamper about, his eyes becoming accustomed to the dark, able to make out her form, if not the details of what she did.

“Did you take off those britches like I told you?” he asked, intent on removing his own.

“No.” She settled lower in the blankets, her voice muffled.

“You’ll be sorry tomorrow. You’ll be fightin’ those tight pants all night.”

“They’re not tight,” she answered defiantly.

“You haven’t been lookin’ at ‘em like I have, sugar.”

She was silent, digesting the remark. Her small huff of disagreement was audible. “Well, you picked them out.”

He smiled in the darkness, head cradled on the saddlebag, arms folded over his broad chest. “Yeah, I did,” he allowed, his eyes slanting to where she lay, close at hand.

“How about my kiss, Katherine?” he said moments later, when she’d all but decided to ignore him and the flaring sky, closing her eyes tightly.

“Is this going to be a nightly event?” she asked primly.

“Yeah, I reckon it’s all I get. Unless you’re ready to share these blankets with me.” His voice held an undertone of sultry heat that reminded her of the rolling thunder overhead.

She was quiet, her breath tightly held as she waited. It was less than a threat, his casual invitation, given so easily. Her mouth opened and she blew out the air she’d held within, aware he’d not moved in her direction. It was still her choice, and she made it with a degree of speed that tickled his funny bone.

Rolling to her side, she lifted one hand to seek his face, meeting the blade of his nose and feeling her way to his mouth. Rising, she placed her lips firmly against his, allowing them to move just a little, as if she felt her way in the darkness. With an audible sound, she released the slight suction she’d brought about and lowered her hand to press against his chest. Then, using him as a lever, she scooted back to her hollowed-out place in the hay and settled down.

She heard him, heard the rustling of his movements, and her eyes widened in the dark, aware of the closeness he’d created between them. Another flash of lightning above the clouds lit the loft, and she stifled a gasp as he rose over her on one elbow, his mouth just inches from her own.

“That was a pretty poor kiss, if you ask me, Mrs. Devereaux. You’ll have to do better.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know how to kiss any differently than that. It’s how I used to kiss my father.”

His snort was expressive. “Well, I don’t plan on treatin’ you like my little girl. I’ll just have to repeat the last lesson we had on this subject.”

He’s an arrogant…
The words were still forming in her mind when he captured her mouth.
Surely this isn’t proper,
she thought as his tongue once more explored the seam of her lips, nudging and coaxing his way within. His hand was tugging her closer, fingers spread behind her shoulder, moving up to her neck, where he got a grip and held her in place. She felt the brand of his fingers, cupping the base of her skull, moving through her braid as he loosened the heavy plait.

She drew in air through her nose, her lips so enclosed by his mouth she could only have taken in the breath he released to her. It was not enough. Even the shuddering of her chest agreed with her verdict, and she twisted to escape his hold. His mouth released hers and she gasped, eyes wide, shivers traveling from the nape of her neck down the length of her spine.

“I can’t breathe!” she exclaimed against his cheek, turning away from the damp kisses he pressed against her.

“Yeah, you take my breath away, too, Katherine,” he whispered with a trace of good humor.

She inhaled sharply, filling her nostrils with his scent, aware of the fresh hay around them and beneath them. It mixed with the soap he’d washed with and the smell of leather that seemed a part of him. Above her, he sighed, the small chuckle that accompanied it telling her the lesson was over for tonight.

And about time, she thought with relief. She was becoming used to his hands on her. The firm pressure of his mouth against hers was almost pleasant, she decided. But there was no point in encouraging him, she thought. If she should decide to go back to Illinois…

Now where had that idea come from? she wondered. She’d about decided she couldn’t handle the farm alone anyway. Why would she want to go back? Even if Roan tired of the novelty of marriage and wearied of being denied his rights, she could always manage on the trail alone. She’d ridden a lot of miles with Charlie and Lawson over the years. She could do it again if she had to, and put down
roots in a town somewhere. Maybe get a job in a store or livery stable, she thought darkly.