Loving Katherine (3 page)

“It’s not necessary,” she countered swiftly. She’d felt the warmth creep up into her cheeks as the play of words had swirled between them, and she felt a sudden letdown as he turned from the fray so easily. For a few minutes, she’d felt alive and vital sparring with Roan Devereaux and, in an odd way, enjoying it

His index finger rose to tilt the brim of his hat in a courtly parody, and he headed for the door with long strides that carried him out onto the porch and down the steps before her protest could be enlarged upon.

She watched, almost unwillingly, yet drawn by the sight of him. Slim-hipped, he walked with a lithe swing that spoke of long years in the saddle and an ease with his own body. Only a slight hitch betrayed him, and Katherine’s gaze narrowed as she analyzed the hesitation that marred his easy stride. Then her father’s words came back to her, jolting her with the image of savage warfare they had painted.

“Roan paid for my life, girl,” he’d said grimly. “That leg of his will wear scars for all of his years. He dragged me when he could hardly make it himself…till both of us were so covered with muck and mire you couldn’t make out the pair of us from the mud we crawled through. Him pullin’ and tuggin’ on me, one hand holdin’ my belt and the other clawin’ for a good grip on the side of that hill.”

Charlie Cassidy had spoken often—and well—of the man who’d saved his life in the midst of battle in Virginia. Her eyes softened as they focused on the barely discernible hesitation in Roan’s step now as he strode across her yard.

“I owe you, Roan Devereaux,” she whispered with reluctance in the silence of her kitchen. Her shoulders lifted as an indrawn breath shuddered through her. “Maybe I can figure something out.” And maybe she’d better quit lollygaggin’ around and get busy, she thought, shaking her head as she reluctantly turned her back and headed for the cookstove to bank the fire.

Charlie had left a fine legacy. Although where the mares were concerned, who had produced these charmers was anyone’s guess. The yearlings frolicked about the pasture with long-legged freedom, heads tossing and tails flying, performing as though they sensed the admiration of their audience. Oblivious to their antics, a chestnut mare grazed, her nose lifting as she turned her head momentarily in his direction. The man who’d hooked one boot on the bottom rail, leaning casually to watch the animals gambol about in the pasture, was more than just an admiring audience. Roan had earned his respite, the sweat that drew his shirt to cling to the muscles of his back was a damp testimony to his morning’s work.

He’d walked the boundaries of the pasture, checking and repairing several weak places in the old fencing, tight-lipped as he considered the amount of work that needed to be done. The condition of the posts and wire had disturbed him, and he was aware that his nailing up sagging wire and shoring up fence posts could only be considered a temporary measure.

Charlie’s homestead was not what he’d expected. The horseman who’d befriended him in the last days of his service to the army had not been cut out to be a farmer, it seemed.

Charlie’d been more suited to be a roaming man, Roan thought. More geared to training horses and moving on his way than settling down here on green Illinois pastureland.

And then there was Charlie’s daughter. Roan’s quiet laugh broke the silence and one of the fillies tossed her head at the sound.

“Yeah, Katherine…” His voice caressed the name and his mouth twisted in a wry grin as he considered the woman. Unyielding at first glance, stiff and unbending with that old shotgun aimed in his direction, she’d glared her best at him. She was still glaring, he thought, only not quite as convincingly.

He’d glimpsed her uncertainty earlier, when he’d touched her arm. Sensed the withdrawal as she shrank from his hand. There was a lot of woman there, he decided, hidden beneath the coarse homespun dress she wore like armor against his gaze. But not just his. She made it her business to look dowdy.

“Doesn’t look to me like you’ve earned your dinner yet.”

He spun to face her, his hand brushing against his thigh in an automatic gesture. One her eyes followed with cynical awareness.

“You’re lucky you haven’t lost these horses before this,” he said roughly, his head inclining toward the pasture. “I mended several places that were just one good shove from collapsing.”

Katherine nodded. “I’ve been meaning to check it out. It was on my list,” she said dryly.

Along with a hundred other chores, he thought, aware of the unending job she’d taken on when Charlie died.

“Well, what I did will hold for a while. But it was only a lick and a promise. Some of those posts are rotting where they stand. You’re gonna have to replace them.”

Her sigh was tinged with defeat. “I do what’s most needed. And right now, training those horses in the corral is the most important thing.”

“Who are you gonna sell them to?” He’d lay money she hated the thought of parting with any one of the sleek mares she was so fond of.

“My mare’s not for sale to anyone,” she told him, nodding at the chestnut animal approaching them. Katherine’s hand reached out to stroke the white blaze that flashed through her mare’s forelock and slashed like a narrow sword down the length of her nose. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

Roan nodded, admiring the picture before him…the woman caught up for a moment in her pleasure with the creature she fondled. “I like the looks of the tall bay,” he said, glancing back at the corral Charlie’d attached to the barn.

“The three-year-old? Well, I haven’t decided about her. The four-year-old is going to the banker’s daughter in town, soon as I finish gentling her real good. The black’s mine,” she said, her voice soft as she turned to watch the horses in the corral closer to the house.

“Charlie teach you how to train?” he asked as they began to walk back to the house.

She nodded. “Ever since I was big enough to snap on a lead rope and drag a six-week-old foal around in a circle.”

They walked side by side, their attention caught by the mares who stood in the shade offered by the barn.

“My pa bought this place from the man who cleared the land and built the house. Matter of fact, we moved in just a while before he left for the war. He’d been fretting about sitting on the sidelines, and one day, he just got on his horse and told me to take care of things till he got back.”

“Just like that?”

Her nod was abrupt. “Just like that.”

“What did you do?”

“I’ve always been a dutiful daughter, Mr. Devereaux. I did as he asked. I took care of this place till he did come back. It was a good thing he’d waited so long to go to war. Things had piled up on me by the time he showed up again. I pampered that four-year-old mare and delivered the three-year-old and bought the black with the last of Pa’s hidey-hole money. A neighbor lost his mare birthing that one and
sold her to me real cheap. He didn’t want to waste his time raising her by hand. I spent a lot of hours with a play titty on a bottle till I got her to eat by herself.”

They’d reached the pole fence that surrounded the corral on three sides, and he leaned his elbows on the top rail. The image of Katherine, here alone, struggling with the day-to-day work of caring for a farm and all the animals involved, was an overwhelming idea.

“I don’t see how you handled it all,” he said finally.

“I managed. We all do what we have to.”

“And then?” he said, urging her. “Then he came home?”

“He came home.” She took a deep breath, and her smile was tender with the memory. “He rode that big stallion up to the porch one afternoon and called me out of the house, just as if he’d only been gone for a day or so. ‘Katie, my love,’ he said. ‘Your father’s home.’ Just like that,” she told him with emphasis on the words. “Just as if he’d been to town for supplies.”

“Was your brother here at all while Charlie was gone?”

“No. I haven’t any idea where Lawson was.” She glanced at Roan soberly. “I told you, I don’t talk about him.”

“Charlie—” he began.

“I need to go to the house.” Her dismissal was abrupt. “Dinner will be ready shortly.”

Katherine’s retreat gave him pause, and he watched as she left his side to walk with long, hurried strides across the yard to the small house.
You were right, Charlie. She’s small, and fierce, and ready to do battle at the drop of a hat. Not an inch of give to her.

He followed her, stopping long enough at the well to pump fresh water. Within minutes, he was ready to eat, sleeves rolled above his elbows, hair damp and smoothed back from his forehead. He carried his hat with him into the house and snagged it on the peg inside the door as he passed.

She’d already set the table and was pouring a tall glass of milk as he came in.

“I like milk at noontime,” she said, looking his way.

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” he agreed, sliding into the chair he’d used the night before.

He ate his fill before he spoke again, his stomach welcoming the chunks of roasted venison and the abundant array of vegetables she’d prepared.

“Someone sure taught you how to cook, Katherine.” Moving his chair back, he crossed one booted foot over the other knee.

She allowed her eyes to rest on him for a moment. He looked contented and well fed, sitting across the table. Deceptively idle, for even in repose, there was the look of a hunter about him, a faint menace that set her on edge. He was handy with fence-mending tools, though, she reminded herself, and for that she had to be grateful.

“I found early on if you don’t cook, you don’t eat,” she said finally, uneasy with his compliment. “My pa was never one to lend a hand around a stove, so after my mother died, I learned in a hurry how to put a meal together.”

“I wouldn’t mind havin’ dinner here on a regular basis for a while,” he said easily. “Fact is, I’ve got sort of a deal in mind to offer you.”

“I’m not much for making deals. The last time a man tried to make a deal with me, he came close to getting shot for his effort.”

“What did he want? The three-year-old mare?”

She caught the amusement in his voice and flushed. “No, he wanted the whole kit and caboodle. The farm, the horses and me.”

“I take it you weren’t agreeable.”

“It wasn’t any bargain from my point of view.”

“Well, maybe I can strike a better deal than he tried for. It’ll involve some of my time and more work than I’d
planned on doing right now, but it might pay you to listen up.”

“Are we back to my three-year-old?” she asked suspiciously.

“She’s a good-sized horse and she’s ready to be saddle-broke,” he said firmly. “If she’s bred from Charlie’s stud, I’d like to have a go at her. I can be in the saddle in a week or so, and you can have a hell of a lot of work done around here in the meantime.”

“I’m not in the market for a hired hand, Mr. Devereaux.”

He flicked her a doubtful glance. “Looks to me like you could use a little help, Katherine. That barn needs some work, and your tack’s in bad shape.”

“I’ll get to it. I can’t afford to hire you.”

“I’ll do a pile of work for a chance at that mare,” he said bluntly.

She looked at him, lips pressed together, holding back the refusal it was her inclination to give. “She’s worth more than a week’s work,” she said finally.

He shrugged. “Set a price. Tell me what you want.”

“I’ll have to think about it.” She hesitated, wondering if she could abide letting the spirited mare go to this man. He was right, she acknowledged to herself. She’d made a favorite of the sleek filly, and now she’d pay the price.

“You’ll stay in the barn,” she said warningly. “I haven’t room in the house for you.”

“I expected as much.” It had been too much to hope that she’d offer Charlie’s bed. It sure had to be better than the cot he’d fought with all night long.

“She’s probably worth more than you’ll want to work out. I won’t give her up easy. I’ll want some hard cash to boot.”

“I don’t blame you. She’s a good-lookin’ horse.” He leaned back in the chair once more. “Do we have a deal?”

She pursed her mouth and glared at him, impotent in her need. “I’ll run you ragged for a month, and then we’ll have to settle on the money end,” she said finally.

“Agreed.” He held out a hand across the table and she reluctantly placed her palm against his.

“Agreed?” he repeated, prompting a reply, his fingers wrapped about hers.

She flushed, aware only of the warmth of his flesh and the strength of the hand she touched. Looking at him quickly, she nodded, tugging her fingers from his grasp.

“Yes…agreed.” She plunged her hand into the pocket of her apron, only too conscious of the triumphant gleam that lit his gaze.

T
he man’s a worker, Katherine acknowledged, a bit grudgingly but with inherent honesty. In just over two weeks, he’d been able to tighten up the barn, his hammer pounding audibly throughout several afternoons. Replacing boards, reinforcing the stalls, then coating the entire interior with whitewash, which he’d told her would reflect the light and brighten up the place.

He’d been right. And not only once. Telling her she needed to quit pampering her three-year-old pet and climb on her back had ruffled her feathers more than a trifle, she remembered.

Again, he’d been more than right. She’d babied the mare beyond reason, scratching her ears till kingdom come, confiding in her with soothing whispers, speaking the fears she could trust to no one. Except to the saucy, long-legged creature who’d stolen her heart the first time she’d seen her, all wet and gawky, swaying on spindly legs.

Wincing as she watched him saddle the bay mare, Katherine had almost turned from the sight. Then, gritting her teeth, she’d watched as his big hands gentled the skittish creature. She’d peered from beneath half-closed eyelids as he mounted the animal the first time, his words too low to be heard, whispered for the benefit of the shivering horse. He’d ridden her with tenacious skill, subduing her brief attempts
to spill him from the saddle, his hands easy on the reins, lest he damage her tender mouth.

Only when the brown sides were heaving and the sleek coat was daubed with flecks of foam did he ease from her back. And then only to step quickly in front of the mare, facing the flaring nostrils and wide-eyed gaze, touching with soothing hands and speaking quiet words of praise.

Katherine turned away, her heart aching as she relinquished possession. With strength tempered by kindness and an uncanny knowledge she couldn’t help but admire, he’d subdued the feisty creature, forcing her to acknowledge him as master.

“He might as well ride off on her right now,” Katherine said beneath her breath, striding from the corral in the direction of the henhouse. “She’s his, as surely as if he’d already paid cash up front.”

Dealing with the quarrelsome hens took the edge off her unreasonable anger, and she carried the morning’s gathering of eggs in her apron as she left the speckled flock to their scattered grain. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Roan Devereaux working his magic, rubbing with long strokes at the flank of the filly. Brown coat gleaming in the sunlight, the horse turned her head, looking over her shoulder at the man who tended her with capable hands.

“Turncoat,” Katherine grumbled accusingly. “Just like a female, taken in by the first good-looking man to ride down the pike.” That she accused her own gender didn’t occur to her, since she’d decided long ago that she was a breed apart from the women she’d met in Tucker Center.

“Katherine.” His voice claimed her attention and, turning, she frowned, aware of the triumph gleaming from his dark eyes. Even with the length of the yard between them, she still felt the masculine pull of him, the male force that spoke to some small part of her. Brushing aside the unwanted attraction, she faced him with impatience.

“What do you want? I need to take care of these eggs.”

His eyes rested on the rounding of her apron, clutched closely against her belly, and he felt a flush of pleasure, for a moment imagining that she would look just so with a child growing there. Chasing the rampant thought from his mind, he gritted his teeth. She’d been thrusting- herself into his thoughts with more and more frequency over these past days, and his randy condition was making him ripe for all sorts of foolishness.

She’s Charlie’s daughter,
he told himself firmly.
You’re leaving for Louisiana in a couple of weeks, owing her nothing. You’ll find plenty of willing women in the next town.
Getting hard never killed a man yet, he decided. And he was sure as shootin’ hard up when Katherine Cassidy set him to thinking about planting a baby in her.

He shook his head in disgust.

“I asked you what you want,” she repeated impatiently. “You gonna stand there all day and gloat, or have you got something to say?”

“Gloat?” Her choice of word caught his attention, and he frowned as he considered the accusation. “What would I have to gloat over, Katherine?”

She pinched her lips tightly and slanted her eyes in his direction in that arrogant manner that reminded him sharply of her pa. “Never mind,” she said. “I’ve got dinner cooking. You’ll have time to clean stalls before we eat.” Her eyes gleamed with a triumph of their own as she envisioned him pitching the straw bedding, the aroma pungent in his nostrils.

His nod was quick and he turned away, aware suddenly of her meaning. She’d watched the mare, her eyes anxious, as he rode her. She’d waited, needing to comfort the animal should he deal with her harshly. And then she’d walked away, realizing his taming had only served to bond the creature to him.

“She’s mine now, Katherine,” he said, his words unheard as she stalked up the steps and across the narrow
porch. Her stiff posture told the tale. She was mourning the loss of her favorite, and he acknowledged her sorrow. But a flush of triumph overrode the compassion he felt as he remembered the strength of the horse between his legs. He’d craved ownership of the animal from the first. The elegance of her finely formed head and the sleek lines had drawn him. As had the fiery spirit he’d taken care to subdue without damaging the horse’s mettle.

Some lucky man would have to use the same care with Katherine one day. She’d need a light hand, backed by a determined nature, if any man ever expected to keep her in line without shattering the strength of her pride and determination.

Somehow, he no longer attributed her with the stigma of dowdiness. He thought with amusement of his first evaluation. Mud hen. Mud hen, indeed. Her pa had her pegged right, he concluded. She was second cousin to a sparrowhawk, sure enough. Small and feisty, Charlie’d told him. “Plain as puddin’,” he used to say. “But under them brown feathers is a heart that’s bustin’ with courage.”

“Sparrowhawk…suits her better than I’d have thought at first,” he acknowledged aloud, then grinned as he caught himself. “Talkin’ to yourself is a bad sign, Devereaux. Means you been too long without a little female companionship. Makes you drifty.”

The quiet of the dinner table was roughly shattered by the sound of gunfire. Roan shot from his chair as though he’d taken the impact of the bullet himself.

“Shut that door,” he ordered her as Katherine flew to the open doorway.

She obeyed, her response automatic as she sensed the authority in his voice. Gone was the man of easy gestures, courtly mannerisms and gentle speech. She faced him warily, her back against the heavy planks that made up the door,
and watched as he delved within the saddlebag that had taken up residence against the far wall of her kitchen.

With fluid movements, he clasped the gun belt about his hips and took on the guise she had attributed to him weeks earlier. Gunfighter. Warrior, perhaps. Whatever name he wore, his stance in her kitchen proclaimed him ready to do battle, and she acknowledged his ability with silent admiration.

“It’s probably not what you think,” she told him quietly.

“How do you know what I think?” he asked roughly, striding to the window to stand at one side and bend his head to peer through the curtain.

She drew in a shuddering breath. “I don’t, of course. I just think it’s maybe someone trying to scare me.”

His look was piercing. “Who?”

“I don’t know,” she quibbled, and then at his frown, she shook her head. “Could be Evan Gardner, a man from town.”

“Why? You got somethin’ he wants?”

“Yes.” A brief smile flitted across her mouth and vanished beneath the pursing of her lips. “He’s the man who wants my farm. Not to mention the horses—and of course, he’d like me thrown in to boot.” Her words were clipped and harsh, and he felt the anger she suppressed.

“Well, I reckon we’ll just have to let him know you’re not available, won’t we, Katherine?” he asked in a deep drawl that offered a threat to the man who dared to encroach here.

“It might not be him,” she said quickly as he strode to where she stood against the door. “It’s just that no one else ever bothers me.”

“Bothers you! Hell, you haven’t even had a visitor since I’ve been here, lady. If this Evan Gardner comes callin’ with his gun cocked and ready, he’s askin’ for trouble.”

Snatching up his rifle from where it stood against the wall, he motioned her to one side and slid the latch on the wooden door.

“Come on out, Katherine.” The voice was cunning, grating against his hearing. “I know you’re peekin’ out. I heard the latch slidin’, Katherine. Did I get your attention?” Wheedling and tinged with mockery, the man’s words coaxed the unseen woman to expose herself.

“Where is he?” Roan asked quietly, motioning to the window. “Can you see him?”

She slid carefully across the wall, her eyes peering through the white curtain as she sought to see the man who called from outside the house.

“He’s right in front of the door, sitting on his horse,” she said, catching sight of Gardner and then moving fully in front of the window. “He’s put his gun away.”

Roan’s lips curled back in a grimace of pleasure that belied the flare of anger in his dark eyes. “More fool than I thought,” he said with quiet satisfaction.

The door was flung open, and he stepped out on the porch, rifle at the ready, feet apart and braced as he faced the man who waited astride a dark mare. It was worth a bundle, Roan decided quickly, just to see the surprise and then the look of panic that painted Evan Gardner’s features, even as his flesh paled abruptly.

“Who the hell are you?” Gardner croaked defensively, fighting for a semblance of dignity. His wide-brimmed hat rode low over his forehead, but yellow hair cascaded over his collar from beneath the band. Bulky and belligerent, he faced the gunman on the porch, his eyes narrowed as he attempted to focus beyond Roan, as if he hoped to espy his quarry within the house.

“I’m the one holdin’ the gun,” Roan reminded him with a tightening of his grip on the stock. “Maybe you’d like to tell me just who the hell you think you are, comin’ here and shootin’ off that weapon in a threatenin’ manner.”

Evan Gardner attempted a jovial gesture, his grin wide and forced. “Just a joke, mister. Me and Katherine always did tend to fool around. Just playin’ a little, you understand.”

Roan observed him silently, his stance unchanging, his rifle poised before him.

“Hell, I didn’t mean anything by it. Katherine knows that. Why don’t you ask her yourself?” His color had gone from pale to pasty as the heavily built man watched the unmoving figure on the porch.

“Katherine, come out here,” Roan ordered quietly.

She approached the doorway slowly, her nostrils flaring as she sensed the danger emanating from the man who called her name.

“Yes, I’m here,” she said, moving to stand beside him.

The barrel of his gun tilted upward, pointing directly at the head of Evan Gardner. “This man the one who gave you grief before?”

“I ain’t been near this place since March,” whined the intruder.

Roan took one step forward. “Well, if I were you, mister, I wouldn’t plan on comin’ back for at least another year. In fact, you might be wise to keep your distance from the lady from now on.”

Evan Gardner’s lip curled in a sneer, as if he realized the danger he was in had receded somewhat. “And what happens when you’re not here anymore, stranger? What happens when Katherine there needs a helping hand, and I’ve got the only one available?”

Roan’s brow lifted in derision. “Somehow I doubt she’ll ever be that desperate,” he said bluntly.

Evan turned his horse in a half circle and touched his spurs to the animal’s sides. “Can’t never tell, mister. You might not be here then.” The horse responded to another urging touch and within moments had crested the hill and headed toward town.

“He from Tucker Center?” Roan wanted to know.

“Yes,” Katherine answered. “He has a place just outside of town, just a small holding. He’s wanted my pa’s horses since the war. I guess he figures he’ll take me along in the bargain. Least that’s what he’s bandied about town.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Katherine,” Roan told her with a sidelong glance. “You’d be the best part of the bargain. To my way of thinkin’, anyway.”

She felt a flush rise from her throat and sweep over her face with a heated rush. Turning away quickly, lest he see the telltale blush, she cleared her throat and touched one hot cheek with the palm of her hand. “I hardly think he’d make all this fuss for a spinster like me, Roan. If there was another way to take over here, he’d do it. He’d like to marry me, but just so he can have what I own. At least I’d be pretty safe. He’s very much aware that if something happened to me, the whole town would know that he was the first man to suspect.”

She took a deep breath, as if she could blot the whole idea from her mind, push it into oblivion. Her smile was shaky, but she persevered. “Anyway, Mr. Devereaux, he’s not going to ever get his hands on me or the stock my pa left me. Not to mention the farm and the house.”

“How do you plan on holdin’ him off, honey?”

She stopped, her indrawn breath filling her lungs as she repeated the endearment in her mind.
Honey.
Spoken in a hushed, tender tone, so at variance with his harsh tonguelashing of Evan just minutes ago, the word clutched at her heart.
Honey.

“Katherine?” He reached for her, his hands heavy on her shoulders, turning her to face him. “What did I say? What’s wrong?”

She ducked her head, the shining crown almost touching his chest as she sought to shelter from his inquiring gaze. “Nothing’s wrong, Mr. Devereaux,” she mumbled, both her hands pressed firmly against the heated flesh of her face.

One long finger inched between their bodies, brushing against the rough fabric of her dress until he found the rounded chin he sought. He tilted it upward, frowning his bewilderment at her actions. The shadows on the porch did little to hide the tinge of color still remaining, and he smiled in understanding.