SleepyHollow2BookBundle (22 page)

John watched him go, waiting until after he disappeared into the woods to finally retire to the farmhouse, muttering a prayer under his breath for Brom’s safety. After all, something had left those hoofprints, and if it could vanish so suddenly, surely it could reappear just as easily.

* * * * *

By the time John finally got around to returning Katrina’s baking dish, the winter school term had started. The first day of lessons was always a challenge, with the children more interested in socializing – and now, talking about the headless horseman – than learning anything. It was no secret that John and Brom had been patrolling the roads nightly, searching for any sign of the phantom rider. This fact had elevated John in the eyes of the children, who now seemed to regard him with a sort of hero-worship that paled only in comparison to the admiration they lavished upon Brom.
 

When he’d cracked open the first textbook of the morning, John hadn’t been able to read more than a few words at a time without being interrupted by the students, who clamored constantly for tales of his midnight escapades. It had taken a threat to make the students cut their own switches from the trees outside to quiet them. There had still been whispers throughout the day though, and surreptitious questions cleverly tied in with the decidedly educational matters at hand. He’d done his best to avoid answering, not wanting to frighten the children, and it had been a long day.

Visiting Katrina was certainly the day’s silver lining. He couldn’t deny the happiness that welled up inside him as he rode, her baking dish secure in a saddle bag. Gunpowder plodded along without giving John much trouble – probably because the horse was as tired from their nightly excursions as John was. Riding late each night in search of the headless horseman was taking its toll; at just the thought of sleep, John yawned. He was still doing so when the Van Tassel farm came into view, but managed to put a stop to it as he tethered Gunpowder to a post and pulled Katrina’s dish from the saddlebag.

Katrina greeted him at the door with a smile. “I’d hoped you’d come today,” she said, ushering him inside.

“I couldn’t bear to stay away any longer – not with the promise of another pie.” He pressed the dish into her hands, inhaling the sweet aroma that drifted from the nearby kitchen – she was definitely baking something. “Is your father home?” He scanned his surroundings for any sign of Mr. Van Tassel. He hadn’t seen the man since he and Brom had escorted a sleepwalking Katrina to the house, and though the meeting might be somewhat awkward, he could hardly put it off.

“No,” Katrina replied. “He and the bondsmen, Harry and Eustis, went into the village to see about a new horse.” Her smile stretched a little wider as she delivered the news, and her blue eyes sparkled like polished sapphires. “Brom’s gone with them, too.”

“Oh?” If Mr. Van Tassel and his indentured men were gone, then he and Katrina were quite alone.
 

“Yes. Father says we must find a new carriage horse – one of ours has got shin splints, and he intends to turn it out to pasture for the winter. Brom’s going to help him choose a suitable replacement animal.”

“I won’t trouble you then, though I may return soon to collect the pie you promised me.” He smiled, but his heart sank a little. He’d hoped to stay a while and make conversation with Katrina, but she was an engaged woman now, and he hardly wanted to risk seeming as if he had an inappropriate interest in her – which he most certainly did.

“Nonsense, John.” She took him by the elbow and whisked him deftly into the kitchen. “I’ve just taken some buns out of the oven and covered them with a sweet glaze – it’s my own recipe, and I need someone to try it.” She picked up a tray from the counter and set it on the table, her cheeks dimpling as she smiled up at him. “It will be an hour at least before father arrives home, and they’ll be cold by then.”

John sank obligingly into a chair at the table, his knees giving way far too easily. The scent of the glazed buns was undeniably alluring, but not nearly as much so as the sight of her creamy bosom swelling above the neckline of her dress as she bent over the table, pushing the tray toward him. A memory flashed through his mind, cock-joltingly vivid, of her in nothing but her shift, her nipples rosy and erect beneath. The sugary scent in the air combined with the mental imagery, and he couldn’t help but wonder whether her breasts would taste as sweet as the treat she was urging him to try. “Holy God,” he muttered under his breath as he plucked a bun from the tray.

Katrina frowned. “Are they too hot – are you burnt?”

He managed to shake his head, shoving the bun into his mouth before he could say anything else incriminating. The glaze melted against his tongue, and he glanced guiltily back at Katrina’s breasts, plump and beautifully round beneath her bodice. God, he’d give anything to taste her.

“How is it?” she asked, coming around the table to hover at his shoulder, wearing an anxious expression as she awaited his verdict.

This position put her breasts at his head level, and he tried very hard not to notice the tiny bump of one pert nipple that was visible at such close range, stiff beneath her bodice despite the hot kitchen air. “Wonderful,” he said when he’d swallowed his first bite. “Absolutely wonderful.”

She beamed and urged him to have another, though he was hardly done with his first. He’d eaten his way through three of the buns by the time he managed to come up with something to say that didn’t involve confessing his intense desire to smear a little of her homemade glaze across the swell of her breast and lick it away. “You’re an excellent cook, Katrina – I’m sure your father will be sad to lose you.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t think he’ll be terribly upset,” she said, taking the seat across from him at the table and flashing him a conspiratorial smile. “He and the Van Antwerp widow have struck up quite the friendship.”

“Ah,” John said, accepting the mug of mellow ale she’d set on the table for him. “So he intends to finally remarry?” The original Mrs. Van Tassel had died years ago, leaving Mr. Van Tassel wifeless, but with a daughter who was very skilled in the kitchen, as her mother was reputed to have been.

“I think so. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were to marry shortly after Brom and me.”

“What a happy autumn this will be for Sleepy Hollow, then.”
 

“I hope so.”

Minutes passed slowly by, and John finished his cup of ale, the taste of which lingered in his mouth, along with the sweetness of hot rolls and glaze. “I had better be going,” John said, glancing at the kitchen window, which afforded a view of an increasingly dusky sky. “I promised to meet Brom at dark.”

“Of course,” Katrina said, standing and smoothing her apron.

John rose and pushed his chair back under the table, stealing one last glance at Katrina, though the sight of her made his heart – and his balls – ache. He was uncomfortably aware of the absence of a book in his hands – usually, he brought one when he visited with her, and left it behind for her to pursue. He was reasonably sure that she’d lied about finishing the last one he’d lent her though, and had taken the hint. When she rounded the table and strode toward him, the last thing he expected was for her to press a hand against his chest, her palm resting over his heart. He opened his mouth to ask what she was doing, but then her lips were against his, warm and unfathomably soft.

Her kiss was tentative, but with an edge of hunger to it that made him reach out automatically, pressing a hand against the small of her back and pulling her close against him. Their mouths seemed to melt together, and he scarcely knew what he was doing – the only thing he was sure of was that she’d personally taste-tested the glaze. The sweetness of it lingered in her mouth and on the tip of her tongue, which she touched to his lips, seeking. He stroked it with his own, reveling in the taste of her and the feel of her breasts against his chest. He was vaguely aware that his cock was hard against her, but was powerless to resist the pull of her – her softness, her warmth and the delicacy of her every feature, from the fine hand pressed against his chest, to her lips, which were softer than any he’d ever known. He slid his tongue deep into her mouth, claiming the dark, sweet hollow of it, and his guilt finally caught up with him. Breathless, he pulled away.

Katrina’s eyes gleamed, whether with excitement or shock, he wasn’t sure. Her lips were parted and shining, the tip of her tongue touching the inner rim of the lower one. Her hand still lingered on his chest, and he reached down to gently remove it. “Forgive me,” he said.

“No.” She took a half step forward, placing her hand on his chest again. It was all too easy to imagine her fingers slipping beneath his shirt and touching his bare skin. His cock throbbed, and without looking down, he knew it was tenting the front of his breeches obscenely.

“I’m sorry,” he said, unsure of how to beg her forgiveness further when he was still savoring the taste of her, still fantasizing about the feel of her hands on his bare body and her skin against his. It was wrong, but damn it, it was impossible to stop.

“Don’t be,” she said.

“I must. You are betrothed to my closest friend – if he will still allow me to call him that, after what I’ve just done.” His stomach churned with guilt, even as his cock ached for more of her touch.

Katrina finally dropped her gaze, her plump lips curving down in a hint of a frown. “I love Brom. I didn’t mean to disrespect our engagement, it’s only… I love you too John, and I know I shan’t have you, except for this one last kiss, and I wanted you to have that, to remember.”

He sighed, resisting the urge to slump against the nearest wall – his heart had stopped upon hearing her admission, and now it sped, like a galloping horse. The worst of it was that she could feel it, every wild beat. She kept her hand firmly on his chest, meeting his eyes again.

“Sweet Katrina… I promise you I’ll never forget it, but you mustn’t do it again. Your lips are more of a temptation than your cooking, and the touch of them begs me to do unforgiveable things.”

She smiled ruefully at that, and finally dropped her hand, clasping it in her other one and holding them demurely in front of her apron.

“Now, I must be going.” John’s voice was firmer than before, and he turned on his heel, heading for the door.
 

Katrina walked with him, pausing at the threshold. “Have you and Brom found anything?” John opened the door, and she drew back from the cold. “Any sign of the horseman, I mean.”

John paused. Should he tell her about the mysterious hoofprints? It was the most evidence he and Brom had encountered so far, if it could be called that. But he didn’t wish to frighten her, not when she was home alone in the farmhouse. “Nothing definitive.”

“Will you continue to search much longer, then?” She was gripping the doorframe, and her knuckles were as white and small as pearls against the wood.

“For a while, at least. I assume you’ve heard that Mr. Damkot claims to have seen the horseman now too?”

Katrina nodded, a stray lock of her golden hair falling out from beneath her cap to hang by her cheek. John’s fingers tingled with the urge to brush it aside and tuck it behind her ear, but he didn’t dare touch her. His body was still humming with the pleasure of her kiss, and even dark thoughts of headless specters couldn’t completely quash his carnal thoughts.

“I did hear,” she said, “but only that he saw it. I wasn’t told what the phantom rider is supposed to look like.”

“A headless man in dark clothing, on a black horse. It’s a wonder anyone sees him at all – a horse and rider of that description ought to blend easily into the night.” He’d done his best to imbue his voice with confidence, but a small frown was playing around the corners of Katrina’s mouth, and a sense of wrongness hung in the air, causing the skin on his arms to pebble beneath his sleeves. “Why? Have you heard of any other sightings?”

“No, but…” Her knuckles went even whiter against the doorframe. “It may be nothing, but last night as I was lying in bed waiting to fall asleep, I thought I saw a man on a dark horse ride past my window.”

It took a moment for the impact of what she’d said to sink in. When it did, John’s stomach seemed to drop straight to his feet. “But your bedroom is on the second floor.”

She nodded. “Perhaps I dreamt it.”

John forced his neck, which was suddenly stiff and cold, to bend, and nodded. “Yes, it was probably a dream.” Saying so didn’t dispel the gooseflesh that had risen on his arms – thank God Katrina couldn’t see it beneath his sleeves.

“I have had strange dreams lately,” she added, “though they haven’t all been bad.”

Could any of her dreams have involved walking in the moonlight with the arms of both Brom and John around her? John didn’t dare to ask, or to mention the event at all, not knowing whether her father had told her what had happened. “Would you like me to stay until your father arrives?” It would be uncomfortable, thanks to the fact that he still suffered from an enduring erection, but he couldn’t bear to leave her alone at night, fearing the return of a phantom, whether dreamed-of or real.

“I thank you for your offer, but that’s all right. Brom is expecting you.” She took a step backward, flashing him a small smile. “Goodnight, John.”

“Goodnight, Katrina.” He left, still tasting her on his lips, and tried not to think about the feel of her soft body against his hard cock.