Loving Katherine (22 page)

“What about your brother?” Katherine slid the unbuttoned dress down the length of her body and leaned against Roan’s solid form. Her head turned to rest against his shoulder and she closed her eyes, suddenly weary.

“He left. Got on his horse and rode west, from what Jethro said.” Roan’s hands swept the length of Katherine’s back and pressed her close. His head bent and he nuzzled his nose against her hair. “He was in a Yankee prison, Kate. I guess when he came home, he just couldn’t face all the ruin hereabouts. Maybe he thought River Bend could make it without him. I don’t know—”

Katherine leaned back and looked at Roan, her eyes wide. “He just abandoned your mother and father. Just walked way?”

Roan’s expression was grim. “Appears so.”

“Are we staying?” Katherine stepped from the folds of her dress and bent to pick it up. Watching Roan, she approached the washstand and picked up the pitcher to pour water in the flowered bowl.

“Don’t know, Kate. Maybe for a while, till spring anyway. I told you I’d take you back to the farm.”

She dampened the cloth and rubbed soap over it. Lifting the warmth to her face, she washed, relishing the clean scent and the luxury of warm water. “Think I could have a real bath before we go to bed?” she asked, lashes drooping as she drew the cloth over her throat and around the back of her neck.

“Reckon you could.” He watched her with hungry eyes. “You sure make a production out of gettin’ clean, lady.”

Katherine slanted a look in his direction. “Warm water is a luxury, Roan. I appreciate it. I’d just appreciate it more if I could climb in a whole tub full of it.”

“If you let me help, I’ll scout up a tub after dinner and see what I can do about hot water.”

Her eyes widened at his words. “Dinner! What on earth will I wear to dinner? I just took off my only decent dress.”

Roan measured her with narrowed eyes. “Think you might be close to Yvonne’s size. Maybe she left something you could wear. I’ll find out, soon as I get washed up.”

“I could wear my pants,” Katherine offered sweetly.

He shook his head. “I’m not sure River Bend is ready for my wife in a pair of britches just yet. You’ve got them thinkin’ you’re a lady, Kate. Let’s not burst the bubble, yet.”

A somber Letitia provided a dress of her own. Garbed in a summery print that almost fit, once the hem had been taken up with wide stitches, Katherine found her way to the dining room. The meal was scant, with only a stewed chicken and more vegetables than meat to offer, but she paid little attention. Watching Roan act the gentleman took her mind from the scarcity of food. Fresh bread and churned butter filled the gap, and she relished the treat, after days of stale biscuits eaten from a saddlebag.

“More stew, Katherine?” Letitia asked.

She shook her head quickly. “No, thank you. It was wonderful.”

Susanna stood in the doorway. “We got sweet potato pie, missus.”

Letitia nodded. “That will be fine. I believe we’re finished now, Susanna.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Nodding agreeably, she came to the table and began clearing the dinner plates.

Letitia stood and went to the sideboard, removing smaller plates and bringing them to the long table. Returning to the burnished mahogany buffet, she opened a drawer and found forks. “We find ourselves short of help these days,” she said to Katherine. “Most of the people from the house left us after the war.”

“I’m not used to being waited on,” Katherine told her quickly. “I can help out if you’ll let me.”

“Kate’s a good cook, Mama. She bakes pret’ near as good as Susanna.”

Letitia’s head swung from one to the other. “No…no, I couldn’t let you do that, Katherine. You’re a guest here.”

“If we’re staying awhile, we’ll both pitch in, Mama.” Roan’s voice was firm and he looked to Katherine for agreement.

“I want to do what I can to help,” she echoed. “I’m used to—”

“What Kate means is she’s used to runnin’ the whole show. From trainin’ horses to raisin’ the food, she’s about as capable as any woman you’d ever want to meet up with.”

LeRoy Devereaux lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “You train horses, ma’am?”

A blush suffused her cheeks and Katherine nodded.

“Those are really your animals? I thought Roan was funnin’ me, tellin’ me they belonged to you.”

“They’re mine, all right. I raised them and I’ve been training them. After my pa died, I was all there was.”

“Maybe you’d like to go out to the stable after dinner and take a look at my animals,” LeRoy said, his eyes alight with interest.

“Watch your back, Kate. He’ll have you talked out of that black mare before you know it,” Roan warned her quickly.

She shook her head. “I doubt it. I’ll be needing to get on her back before long. If we do any hard riding, I won’t want to be riding my mare much longer.”

LeRoy looked puzzled. “That chestnut got a problem?” Katherine shook her head quickly. “No, not really. She’s due to drop a foal early in the spring.”

“You got a mare breeding?” LeRoy leaned forward over the table. “Where’s the stud?”

“You won’t believe this story,” Roan put in.

“Well, eat your pie before you start talkin’ horse talk,” Letitia said politely. “I declare, this is not fit conversation for the dinner table, LeRoy.”

“Eat up, Katherine.” The older man nodded at the pie being served and picked up his own fork. “We’ll go to the stable as soon as dinner’s over.”

“You didn’t get to show off your horses, Kate. Are you mad at me?” Roan stretched out on the bed, arms behind his head, sheet pulled haphazardly to cover his long body. He watched, his eyes half-hidden beneath hooded lids, as Katherine languished in the tub of water he’d provided for her.

She looked at him over her shoulder and pursed her lips. “You left me with your mother.”

His grin struggled to be apologetic. “Pa wanted to talk, Kate. To tell the truth, he didn’t know which he wanted more—to take you out to the barn, or spend some time hashin’ over some bad memories with me.”

Katherine nodded, reaching for a towel from the chair nearby. “He said he’d rather look my yearlings over in the daylight.” She stood and stepped from the cooling water, wrapping the length of towel around her. Her hair was slipping
from the pins she’d used to anchor it with and she lifted both hands to twist it atop her head. “Your mother holds grudges, doesn’t she?”

He nodded, his eyes intent on the towel that clung precariously to her breasts, its length barely covering the tops of her thighs. “Mama always was one to nurse a sore spot. I knew she wouldn’t be gettin’ out the fatted calf for me, Kate.”

She glanced at him. “Do you suppose there is such a thing around here? I have a notion that meat on the hoof is pretty scarce these days.”

“Pa said they’ve got a good sow left and she produced a big litter this year. There’s pork salted away from fall butchering and the smokehouse is in pretty good shape. They had three good-sized pigs that they kept. The rest they traded off for supplies in town.” He sat up in bed and shoved his pillows against the tall headboard, scooting up to lean against them.

“I heard chickens after supper. I think Susanna was out feeding them,” Katherine said, leaning to dry her legs with a second towel. The hair she’d piled and pinned with haste fell forward, unable to resist the power of gravity as she bent to pat her feet. “Drat…I swear I’ll cut it off one of these days,” she mumbled, her forearm rising to brush it from her face.

“Not on your life,” came the lazy reply from the man who watched. “I like your hair.”

She muttered a hasty word beneath her breath, then turned to glare in his direction, the dark strands falling over her shoulders in tangled disarray. “You aren’t the one who has to keep it brushed and combed and out of the way.”

He grinned and waved invitingly. “Come on over here and I’ll brush it all you like.”

She shook her head. “I want to hear what your father had to say. If I climb up on that bed, you’ll—”

“I’ll tell you while I do your hair,” he coaxed. He watched as she pulled her long nightgown from a drawer, his frown deepening as she lifted it over her head and allowed it to fall in place down the length of her body. She stepped aside and picked up the towel she’d disposed of in the doing, then placed it to dry over the wooden rack behind the washstand.

“You gonna wear that thing?” His tone was aggrieved.

She cast him a scornful glance. “I’m in your mother’s house,” she said.

His eyes were genuinely puzzled. “What does that matter?”

“It matters.” Picking her way across the floor, stepping over his boots and pants with exaggerated precision, she paused to snatch her brush from the dresser. “I’m not picking up your things, Devereaux,” she warned him.

“Hell, if you take that damn tent off, I’ll do the wash, honey. Yours and mine both,” he offered.

She stood before him, brush in hand, smelling of soap and warm woman, and his breath caught as he inhaled the scent of her.

Her eyes narrowed, her gaze directed to the flush rimming his cheekbones, rising to the gleam of desire lighting his eyes. Then in a languid survey that seemed to penetrate the covering sheet, she focused on the masculine arousal he made no attempt to hide. Her smile was faint, curling the corners of her mouth. “Got a problem, mister?”

One hand snaked from where it had rested against his thigh, snatching her wrist in its grasp before she could step back. Her gasp was pleasing to Roan’s ear. “You shouldn’t tease a sleeping giant, ma’am,” he told her, his voice deepened by the desire he’d been harboring for the past half hour. Watching Katherine bathe was becoming one of life’s greatest pleasures, he’d decided.

Her frown was a facade, her struggle to rid herself of his grip halfhearted. The warmth of his fingers was a prison she felt no need to escape, and she gave in without a whimper. One knee lifted to the edge of the bed and he tugged her the rest of the way. Brush in hand, she fell across his chest and he narrowly escaped being smacked by the wooden handle as it flew from her fingers.

“Wanna talk now or later?” It was an offer he felt dutybound to make, having promised to answer her questions. His hope was that she would take the latter option. Hell, they had all night to talk, he figured. Right now, his arms were full of curves and hollows he yearned to explore.

She peered at him, her hair tangled and half hiding her eyes from his view. “Brush my hair first?”

“Take off that nightgown?” His grin was eloquent, his hands already tugging it up her legs.

She sighed and tried unsuccessfully to present a somber demeanor. “You drive a hard bargain, Devereaux.”

His fingers smoothed over her hips, taking the gown with them, lifting it higher, his palms cupping the firmness of her breasts as he slid them beneath the cotton fabric. “It’s almost off, Kate.” He squeezed with delicate pressure and her indrawn breath told him what he wanted to know.

“I want the sheet over me,” she said from beneath the enveloping folds.

He pulled it over her head and tossed it to the foot of the bed. Reaching down, he tugged at the sheet and held it high, allowing it to fall over her as he held her against his chest. “Happy now?”

She sighed, stretching a bit, shaking her head to toss the hair from before her eyes. “After you brush my hair I will be.”

He turned her, spreading his legs to settle her between them, her back to him. Then, picking up the brush, he set to work, his strokes long and slow, his fingers untangling as
he went, intent on smoothing the strands, deft and gentle against her skin.

Her pleasure was audible and he grinned as she tipped her head back, allowing him access. “You could do this all night,” she said, her words a slurring sound.

“Five minutes, Kate.” Bending forward, he kissed her nape. “I’ve got other plans for the rest of the night.”

T
he kitchen garden was a plot of overgrown weeds with only a few cabbages and turnips left to harvest. The tomato plants were tangled and dry, the squash and cucumber vines trampled into the dirt. Chickens poked beneath the brown leaves that remained, seeking a morsel, cocking their heads to watch for any stray movement. Roan leaned one shoulder against the springhouse, his expression grim as he contemplated the remains of his mother’s prized garden. “I don’t know how my folks have made it by themselves, with only Susanna in the house and a handful of help in the fields.”

“A summer garden always looks pretty worn out by this time of year, Roan,” Katherine told him. “Susanna’s put up a good lot of vegetables. Your mama just wasn’t much of a help to her in the kitchen.” Or anywhere else, she thought privately.

He shook his head. “This…” His waving hand encompassed the bedraggled area. “It should have been cleaned up. When I was a child, Mother would have one of the hands pull the vines and rake up the plot. Only there isn’t anyone to do it now.”

“I’m here.” Katherine hugged herself, a chill gripping her as the wind swept between the outbuildings, promising a
drop in the temperature. “I’d like to work the garden, Roan. It needs to be made ready for spring and I can do it.”

“You can’t do everything, Kate. You’re flyin’ around from one place to another already. I’ve been watchin’ you scrubbin’ the stairs and washin’ windows to a fare-thee-well. Today you’ve been up to your neck with cleaning the parlor since right after breakfast. I told you, there’s no point in tryin’ to make away with years of dust in one fell swoop.” His frown deepened. “You’ll be fightin’ a losin’ battle anyway. This place is too big for one woman to keep up.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “Your mother just needs a hand. I don’t think she ever learned how to do much cleaning, and Susanna is busy with meals and doing the wash.”

He reached to pull her next to him, his arm curving around her waist and fitting her neatly against his side.

“You can’t even find time to spend with your horses, Kate. My father’s been tryin’ for three weeks to get you on that black mare and you always have some excuse or another.”

She grinned at him and shook her head. “He’s having a good time working with her. He’s been throwing a sack of feed over the saddle and I even caught him draped over it himself, getting her used to the weight.”

Roan looked down at her, this woman who had become almost indispensable to his parents’ household in such a short time. She had blossomed here, between sorting through musty linens and hanging fresh curtains in the bedrooms and helping Susanna get ready for the cold weather. The chickens had been culled, the young roosters put in a separate pen to fatten for the dinner table. The garden had been neglected, but then his mother had always said there wasn’t much sadder a sight than a dried-up pile of watermelon vines. And Letitia Devereaux had finally begun to perk up a little, to his way of thinking.

Kate was the reason. As sure as the sun would set in the west, his wife was determined to set this place to rights. Letitia had balked at first, insisting Katherine was a guest. But she’d had that notion banished in a hurry.

“I’m a member of the family now,” Katherine had told her firmly. “If I’m living here, I’ll pull my own weight. Besides, it looks to me like you need a hand with things.”

And she’d given it. Not only a hand, but the whole of her energetic body. As if she had stored up an abundance of energy during the trek southward, she burst into activity, leaving a stunned Letitia to follow her about the house. Until, finally, they had begun to work together in a way that had put a smile on the face of LeRoy Devereaux and a song about the golden stairs and heavenly gates upon the lips of Susanna.

“He’ll have that mare stolen away from you if you’re not careful,” Roan warned her as they watched the sun set with a brilliant flourish of color against the twilight sky.

“He’s having a good time.” Katherine’s shrug was eloquent. Some days she was astonished at what little time she spent even thinking about her string of horses. That they had been moved from the forefront of her thoughts to second or third place was a conundrum she had not ventured to solve. Family was what counted right now. What did it matter who trained the mare-to carry a rider? Somehow, during the past days, the importance of the sleek animal had become overshadowed by the magnitude of work to be done at River Bend. The mare could wait. Katherine had decided she wasn’t going anywhere for a few months, anyway.

One session with LeRoy in the barn had convinced her of his ability to manage her horse. His hands, so broad and callused, became things of beauty when they touched the silken mane and the velvet nose of the black mare. He’d begun calling her pet names, gruffly and beneath his breath at first. Then, to Katherine’s surprise, he’d asked at the
dinner table one evening if she would have any objections to him giving the filly a name.

“Doesn’t seem right to be talkin’ to a creature every day and not be namin’ her, Katherine,” he’d said abruptly. “Always made it a practice to put me a wooden sign on every stall. I wrote the letters and Jethro burned them on with a hot poker. Don’t suppose you’d cotton to me callin’ that black mare by a proper name, would you?”

Katherine had nodded slowly, as if the idea met with reluctant approval. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” she’d said. “I was thinking a while back, if I were to call her something, it might be Journey.”

LeRoy chewed slowly, contemplating his daughter-in-law with a thoughtful frown. “Don’t know as how I’d have come up with that particular name. Any special reason?”

Katherine had sent a look at Roan, who had followed the conversation with silent appreciation. “She’ll have reason to remember her first long trail ride.” Smiling, she’d sipped from her water glass. “It just sounds like a good name to me.”

LeRoy had acquiesced. “Journey,” he’d muttered, as if he were trying the name on his tongue, and then he repeated it. “Journey. I reckon it’ll do, all right.”

“I suppose he’ll be namin’ the rest of your animals, if you don’t come up with some suggestions for him,” Roan told her now, watching as her smile widened.

“He’s having a good time, isn’t he?”

“Yeah.” He nodded agreement. “It’s kinda put a sparkle in his eye, playin’ with your babies, Kate. You know, he’s not the same man I knew ten years ago. He’s changed.”

“Maybe you’ve changed, too.” She tipped her head back to meet his gaze and hers was challenging. “You never told me if he whipped the slave that day, Roan. You said he ran him down with your hunting dog. But then what happened?”

“I don’t know. We had an argument while Jethro stood there with a rope tied around his neck, followin’ along behind my pa on his horse. I was so mad, seein’ it…like for the first time, I knew I couldn’t own another man. Hell, Jethro was my friend growin’ up. He taught me how to spit between my front teeth, and how to make a willow whistle and a couple other things I don’t think I’m gonna tell you about.” His grin was a welcome respite from the grim look he’d worn. His eyes were warm with remembrance and he chuckled. “I used to sneak out after I was supposed to be sleepin’ at night and we’d run off and sit together and talk for hours, down by the stream.”

“Did your father know?”

Roan shook his head. “I doubt it. I could climb out that window and down the oak tree like greased lightning.”

She thought once more of the man tied to a rope and wondered aloud, “You didn’t tell me before that it was Jethro.” She considered for a moment. “Jethro doesn’t seem to hold a grudge.” And it was the truth. Between the two men there appeared to be an unspoken agreement, LeRoy Devereaux in charge, but Jethro holding his own as he managed the several field hands who lived in cabins behind the barn.

“Jethro said they have an understanding. I think what it is, Pa understands he couldn’t get along without somebody to take charge, and Jethro understands he’s got a place for his wife and family to live and food on the table.”

Katherine’s smile dimmed. “Things are hard, aren’t they? The war left some pretty deep scars.”

“It’ll never be the same, that’s for sure,” Roan said flatly. “But maybe, one of these days, it’ll be better. Pa’s hired on six of the men who used to be slaves here, for a place to live and whatever else they need. After the war they left for a while, but when they found out how hard it was to scrabble out a livin’, they came back.”

“It’s not much different for them now than it was then, is it?”

“They’re free, whatever that means.” His laugh was harsh. “Hell, we’re all tied to the land, hereabouts. Most everywhere, I guess. Nobody’s really free, what with havin’ to sow and reap and hope for good weather so the crop comes in good. The only freedom any of us have is the choice of where we do it. I figure the big difference is that those men don’t owe their soul to LeRoy Devereaux anymore.”

He laughed suddenly, a rueful sound in the silence of the gathering darkness. “The strange part is, they’re workin’ harder now than ever before and not gettin’ any more out of it. Except they each got their own little piece of land and their cabin to call their own.”

“Their spirits are free, Roan.”

“How about yours, Kate? Is your spirit feelin’ tied down here? Are you countin’ the days till we head north in the spring?”

She nestled closer, gathering the warmth he radiated and allowing it to seep into her chilled body. Turning, she leaned against him, her arms lifting to circle his neck. She peered at him, wondering at the turnabout he’d effected with his quiet questions. Like a stone dropped in still water, forming circles in an unending fashion, his query had caught her off guard, shaken her out of her comfortable rut. She’d just begun to settle here, and he’d brought up another change. One she’d planned would come about, but perhaps not so soon. And if she went home, what would happen next? Would he want to stay with her in the rolling farmlands, where his slow, Southern drawl made him a stranger?

“I’m too busy to be counting days, Roan.” Her tone was curt as she silenced the nagging doubts that surged within her. Would the ties they’d forged during the long night hours be strong enough to bind them during the years of hard work facing them back at the farm? Would he be satisfied
with her life there? She clutched at the strength of his muscular shoulders, her fingers gripping him with a silent plea.
Just love me,
she wanted to tell him. But the words she spoke were all her cowardly heart would allow.

“I told your mama I’d help get all the rugs out on the line tomorrow. She asked Susanna to get one of the men to beat them good for us.”

He squeezed her gently, his hands firm against her back, fingers yearning toward the tempting fullness of her hips. His look was approving as he spoke his praise. “You’ve done more than your share, Kate. You just pitched in and took on the whole house, like it was your calling, didn’t you?”

“Your mama needed me,” she said, as if that were enough reason to tie her to the fading glory that was River Bend. “Besides, it’s fun to live in a house where everybody’s got room to put their belongings without tripping over them every time you turn around. Your pa’s got books in the library I never thought I’d get a chance to read, Roan. And there’s pictures on the wall of your pa’s folks, painted and framed just like in the museum.”

“You don’t mind the hard work?” His fingers obeyed the urging of his fertile mind and curved around the firm flesh of her hips.

She wiggled against him, aware now of the awakening of his body to her nearness, and her lips formed a secret smile she managed to hide against his chest. “No, I don’t mind working. I never did. And I don’t work any harder here than I did on the farm.” She tilted her head to the side and considered his flashing grin, white teeth visible beneath the mustache he had trimmed just this morning. “I probably don’t work as hard, some days. Fine things are easier to keep up, somehow. Your family has a houseful of beautiful things.”

“Pa said they hid a lot during the war. Jethro buried a heap of stuff in a cache way out in the swamp east of here.
Took the best horses out there and kept them from the armies that went through.”

“Your father owes him, doesn’t he? When he could have run off, Jethro acted like he was part of the family.”

“Guess he was, really. He’d been here since he was born, and then when Gaeton went off to fight and I was gone, Pa had to depend on him more than ever.”

“Your mother told me they’ve only heard once from your sister. She was settled in New York. I think your mama misses her terribly.” Kathenne’s voice held a sadness Roan recognized. It was the same yearning, wistful sound he’d heard from her after Lawson was killed, the lonely cry of a woman without family

“She’s lucky she’s got you then, isn’t she?”

His rasping words rumbled against her ear and she lifted her head from its place against his chest. “I’ll never be able to take the place of a daughter,” she stated unequivocally. “Yvonne is your mother’s own blood.”

“Yvonne was a spoiled little girl who didn’t care enough about her folks to stay here and take care of things.” It was a judgment he’d made and carried about silently for weeks.

Katherine lifted her shoulders and sighed. “We’re all different, Roan. Don’t be judging her. You weren’t here to know what happened.”

He snorted his disagreement. “Pa told me that the Yankee officer took a shine to Yvonne right off, and the way the war was goin’, it made sense for her to head out with him when he left. Hell, Pa doesn’t even know if he married her.”

“Surely…” Her voice trailed off pensively as Katherine considered the alternative. All men weren’t cut from Devereaux cloth, and Roan Devereaux himself was a rarity among men, she admitted with a thankful heart. He’d married Katherine Cassidy without a second thought, knowing he couldn’t cart her away from her home without protecting her with his name.

“We need to be gettin’ inside, honey,” he told her with a final squeeze of his arms before he set her apart from him. “The dew’s fallin’ and the night air is beyond chilly. You’re gettin’ cold.”