Cat began brushing her hair with a vengeance.
It felt like it was going to be a long night.
Last night, she’d hardly been able to take her eyes off of him as he unbuttoned his trousers. Tonight, she ignored him.
He put his gun on the nightstand and hung his pants on the bedpost. He wondered what she’d say if he took off his undershirt and drawers.
In the end, he decided that would only make both of them more miserable. So he slipped between the covers, propping up his pillow and clasping his hands behind his head to watch her.
He swore if she brushed her hair any harder, it would come out by the roots.
But even when she was angry, she really was incredibly alluring. She was far more interesting than the milk-faced maids who fluttered their fans at him on the street and more complex than the fawning ladies who usually worked in a sporting house. She was going to make someone a lucky man…if a man could get close to that kind of fire without getting burned.
The man who married Cat would have to know just how to handle her. He’d have to let her lean on him while making her feel like she was in charge. He’d have to have patience with her skittishness while daring her to break her boundaries. He’d have to lead her into temptation and make her believe it was her idea.
As he watched her at her ablutions, he started thinking it was a shame she didn’t want him to “make the sex” with her. He knew he could make her first time special. He knew how to be gentle and sweet and caring.
He would have swept those black curls off the back of her neck and placed a kiss there.
He would have traced every lovely feature of her face with a fingertip.
He would have slipped her dress off of one creamy shoulder, running his tongue lightly along her collar bone.
He would have…
“Do not stare at me like that.” It was a breathless plea.
“I can’t help it,” he said sincerely. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
She didn’t believe him. He could tell by the way she lowered her eyes in the mirror and gave a little shake of her head.
“You don’t believe me?”
“You are only, what is it when you play cards? Bluffing.”
“Bluffin’? No, ma’am. I swear.”
Catalina felt the same way about him. But she certainly wasn’t going to let him know. Not now. Not since he’d made such a strong argument against any kind of permanent relationship.
She should have known better than to listen to Anne and Emily and Miss Hattie, who had convinced her that Drew might have tender feelings toward her.
He’d made it plain that while he found her pleasing to look at, he wasn’t interested in anything lasting.
She told herself that was fine. She needed to focus on her work anyway. Two nights with Drew meant she was closer to affording her sewing machine. She had to look at their time together as a business transaction. He paid her, and she let him share her bed.
He was staring at her again, making her blush. In the mirror, she saw how he caressed her with his eyes. She could feel the warmth of his gaze. It was doing strange things to her insides.
She gulped. She’d washed her face and brushed her hair. Now all she had left was getting out of her clothes.
“I need to undress now,” she told him. “You must…close your eyes.”
“No.”
“What?” She blinked.
“No.”
She wheeled around to him. “But you are causing me…great distress.”
“Good.”
“How can this be good?”
“’Cause you’re causin’ me great distress.”
What did he mean by that?
“Look, Cat,” he told her, “you said no touchin’. Fine. You said no sex. Fine. So I figure I paid twenty dollars to sit in this bed and watch you undress. And that’s what I’m gonna do.”
His smug smile was infuriating. His twinkling eyes made her livid. She hated him for ogling her, even more for being right. He had paid a huge sum, and for what?
But the sight of him reclining in her bed, so self-assured, waiting for her, sent a shiver of apprehension through her. She almost wished she’d brought that bottle of whiskey.
“You scared?” he asked, arching a brow.
That did it. Now she was insulted.
“Scared? Never!”
Catalina—who’d defied her father, the lord of Ferrara, left her homeland on her own, and set out all alone to follow her dreams—wasn’t afraid of anything.
Determined to prove it, she unbuttoned her dress with furious fingers. She yanked the shoulders down and pulled the sleeves off with such force that she almost ripped the seam. She shoved the dress down until it puddled at her feet. Then she stepped out of it, whipped it up in one hand, gave it a good shake, and draped it across her chair.
If she thought that would wipe the grin from his face, she was wrong. If anything, his eyes sparkled with more amusement than before.
With a frustrated growl, she untied her petticoat and stepped out of that too.
Then, before he could make some self-satisfied remark, she turned down the oil lamp until it guttered out.
But the joke was on her, because the storm had cleared and the full moon shone into the room. He could still see every humiliated inch of her. And she could still see the gleam in his eye.
With an exasperated sigh, she stomped over to her side of the bed, threw back the covers, and got under them before he could ogle her any longer. She flounced onto her side, facing away from him, but not before her foot contacted his briefly.
Her breath caught. His skin had felt warm and smooth, not at all what she’d expected. But she wasn’t going to let that kind of thing happen again.
He flopped over on the bed, dragging most of the covers with him. Her eyes went wide in panic. What if his leg brushed hers?
It didn’t. After a moment, she breathed easy again. She closed her eyes, determined to sleep away her conflicted feelings.
But sleep evaded her.
She opened her eyes, glaring at the moon outside the window.
It wasn’t the moon’s fault. She simply couldn’t quiet her brain. She kept thinking about the man lying beside her.
Drew Hawk was surely the most fascinating, irritating man she’d ever met.
She pulled what few covers he’d left her up over her shoulder.
Full of contradictions, Drew could be charming one moment and aggravating the next. He’d cautioned her against pursuing this line of work, and then he’d hired her. He’d claimed she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. And yet he had no interest in pursuing her.
It was baffling.
She squished her pillow into a more comfortable shape, and then lay her head back down.
She began to think about what Miss Hattie had said, about it being good to have a gentleman like Drew for her first experience.
He didn’t seem very gentlemanly to her. He was a rogue, a manipulator, a trickster.
She picked up her pillow, flipped it over to the cooler side, gave it a swat, and nestled into it.
She’d watched Drew play cards. He might smile through the whole game, but his strategy was ruthless. She wondered what his strategy was tonight. It seemed to her he had just wasted another twenty dollars.
She released a heavy sigh and burrowed farther under the covers.
Drew startled her. “Hey, Miss Wigglesworth, you plan on settlin’ in sometime soon?”
She’d thought he was already asleep. “Well, if you had not stolen all the covers…”
“Did I?” He sounded sincere. “Sorry about that. I’m not used to sharin’ a bed.”
He reached over the top of her, giving her back her covers. This time his hand grazed her shoulder. She was sure it was an accident. But it still sent a delicious shiver through her.
“There. Better?”
“Yes,” she choked out. “Thank you.”
&n
bsp; Now she really couldn’t get to sleep. Her shoulder tingled where he’d touched it. If a slight brush could cause such a powerful current…
“How about callin’ a truce?” he said.
“A truce?”
“A peace agreement. I’ll stop stealin’ the covers, and you stop bein’ mad at me. Agreed?”
She wasn’t mad at him, just disappointed. Who could stay mad at a man who was so charming and handsome and amusing? “Fine.”
“A penny for your thoughts,” he offered.
“What?”
“I said, a penny for your thoughts.”
“You already gave me twenty dollars.”
He chuckled.
She didn’t see what was so funny.
“For twenty dollars,” he said, “I should be allowed to read your mind.”
Chapter 14
Catalina bit her lip. She hoped he couldn’t read her mind. Her thoughts were going in all sorts of dangerous directions.
“No?” he asked. “All right. I’ll tell you mine then. I was just recollectin’ the last time I tangled with a real wildcat. I was about twelve years old, and my brother Chase and I were headin’ to the river to go fishin’.”
Catalina tried to imagine what Drew would have looked like as a boy.
“We were almost to the river when we heard a strange sound. We thought it was a baby left on the riverbank, cryin’.”
Catalina rolled onto her back, toward him, so she could hear better.
“But it wasn’t a baby. It was a mindich.”
“Min-…”
“Mindich. White folks call ’em bobcats.”
She repeated the word to herself. “Bobcats.”
“It was a little thing, just a kitten really. Poor thing had got stuck in a snare. The noose was wrapped around its back legs, and it couldn’t get out. So there it was, squallin’ like a colicky baby.”
Catalina wasn’t sure what a colicky baby was.
“Chase said we should leave it alone. He said it was the will of the Creator. The mindich had been led into the trap. Maybe it was supposed to die there, to become food for a xontehl-taw.”
“What is a—”
“A xontehl-taw? It’s a coyote. You know coyotes?”
“The animal that looks like a dog.” She’d seen one in the canyon on her buggy ride to Paradise.
“That’s right. Anyway, I told my brother that if it was the Creator’s will that the mindich be led into the trap, then it was also his will that we find the mindich and rescue him.”
Catalina smiled. Drew had been very clever, even as a boy.
“So I pulled out my yehwilxit…” He paused. “Funny. When you tell a story from the past, you go back to the language o’ the past.”
She nodded.
“I pulled out my knife and started to cut the mindich loose. But he must have thought I was a mikyow, a big bear or somethin’. The little critter started growlin’ and attackin’ me with his front paws. He got in a couple o’ good swats at my arms, drew blood.”
She sucked air between her teeth.
“It wasn’t so bad,” he confessed. “But I sawed through that rope as fast as I could. When I finally cut him free, I thought he’d bound off. But he didn’t. He just sat there, starin’ at me. Chase whispered somethin’ about him bein’ a messenger from the spirit world. I think the poor thing was just stunned. Anyway, that little mindich sidled up to me, as pretty as you please, plopped down right by my knee, and started purrin’.”
Drew laughed low, and the sound of his laughter warmed her like whiskey.
“Did you keep him for a pet?” she asked.
“I thought about it. He let me pet him, and he even licked my knee. But pretty soon we heard a loud yowl. His mama had come lookin’ for him, so we left him there and took off.”
“Did you ever see him again?”
“Naw.”
It must have been interesting growing up in Drew’s world. He sounded much nicer than her siblings.
“My brothers used to throw rocks at rabbits,” she told him.
“Huntin’ ’em, for food?”
“No, for fun.”
“Fun?” he scoffed. “Strange kind o’ fun. For the Hupa, animals are sacred.”
“The only animals that were sacred in my family were pigs.”
“Pigs?”
“They were used to hunt the tartufo.”
“What’s a tartufo?”
“You do not know?” Catalina was surprised. Maybe they called them something different in America. “A tartufo is a…” She furrowed her brow. She didn’t know the English word. How could she explain? “It is a thing you eat.”
“Like a chicken?”
She chuckled. “No, it is not an animal.”
“It’s a plant?”
“Not…exactly.”
“So it’s a rock then,” he surmised. “In Italy they eat rocks.”
She laughed. “No.”
“No?”
“A tartufo is a small, soft thing that you dig out of the ground.”
“Ah, a bulb,” he said. “My father’s people, the Konkow, they used to dig bulbs out o’ the ground to eat.”
“A bulb. What is this?”
“A bulb? It’s like a big round seed that grows into a plant.”
“No. A tartufo does not grow into a plant.”
“But it’s under the ground?”
“Yes. It grows under the ground, close to the trees. The female pigs can smell them.”
“Now, Miss Cat, I think you’re makin’ stuff up.”
She gasped. Was he accusing her of lying? She elbowed him. “I am telling the truth.”
Only then did she see the sparkle of mischief in his eyes. “So let me get this straight. It’s somethin’ that ain’t animal, vegetable, or mineral, hunted by sacred pigs?”
She giggled. It sounded funny when he said it like that. “It is true. And some people believe they make you…” She didn’t know the English word. “Amoroso.”
“Amoroso? Amorous?” He raised both brows.
“I do not believe this.”
“Well, I suppose I might eat a rock if it made me amorous.”
She jostled his shoulder.
He grinned. “So what do they look like, these…tortugas?’
“Tartufi. They are lumpy, like soft, brown stones.” She hastened to add, “But they are delicious. They are my favorite.”
“Uh-huh. And what do they taste like?”
“A sort of dark flavor,” she decided, “earthy, like the ground.”
“Mmm, sounds tasty,” he said with obvious sarcasm.
“They are tasty,” she insisted, giving him a playful shove. “You will see. I will find you some.”
“I don’t think we have ’em here.”
“No?”
“My father’s people ate just about everything it was possible to eat—lichen, bulbs, acorns—and your tartufo doesn’t sound like anything they ever had.”
She sighed. That made her a bit sad. Already she missed the garlic and wine of her country, the pasta and gelato. She missed those familiar flavors almost more than she missed her friends.
“I’ll tell you what,” Drew said. “If I sniff any out, I’ll let you know. I have a nose like a sacred sow.”
She grinned. It was nice, talking with Drew like this. She almost forgot they were lying in bed together in their undergarments…
Until he shifted under the covers again and happened to nudge her thigh with his knee. “Sorry.”
She blushed. There was an awkward span of silence as she frantically tried to think of something to say. When she finally spoke, it was at the same time as Drew.
“What kind of—” she began.
“What made you decide to—”
“Sorry.”
“Go ahead.”
She cleared her throat. “What kind of clothings did you wear when you were a boy?” She’d seen drawings of natives with feathered headdresses and buffalo capes
.
“Not much,” he said with a chuckle. “When the weather was good, I’d just traipse around in a loincloth and moccasins.”
Her blush deepened.
“When I was older, I dressed like the rest o’ the tribe—a deerskin around my hips and shells around my neck.”
“And a shirt?”
“Naw, no shirt.”
Catalina’s eyes widened. She tried to imagine what he looked like without his shirt. The picture in her mind left her speechless.
“But my mother made us shirts and trousers like the white folks too. We’d wear ’em when we went to town.”
“Why?” Catalina asked, though her thoughts were still whirling over the deerskin and shell necklaces.
“She didn’t want people teasin’ us.”
“Teasing you? Why would they tease you?”
“A lot o’ folks don’t much care for natives. They think we’re savages.”
“But you are not a savage,” she argued.
“No.”
“You saved the mindich.”
“True.”
She thought about this for a moment. “Many people are cruel.”
“Like your brothers, throwin’ rocks at rabbits.”
“Si. Yes. Your people, they do not throw rocks at animals?”
“Only if they’re plannin’ to eat ’em,” he said with a yawn. “And even then, they thank the animal for givin’ up its life.”
“That is very kind.”
He shrugged. “The animals belong here too.”
Catalina thought about that, about belonging. Her brothers obviously didn’t think the animals belonged here. In the same way, some white people didn’t think the Indians belonged here.
And yet wasn’t that all anyone wanted—to belong somewhere?
It was why her uncle had come to America. It was why she had come too.
In Italy, no matter how she’d tried to fit in, she’d never felt like she truly belonged to her entitled family. She couldn’t understand wishing to be an idle noblewoman, whose only worth came from marrying well.
Here, in this new country, a woman could start a business, be productive, make a name for herself. Here, Catalina could belong.
She was silent for a long while as she thought more about Drew’s people…how they belonged here first, long before the settlers…how they lived in nature and respected the animals…how they wore very little and cared very much. She thought about the food Drew had said his father ate—whatever he could find in his surroundings. And she realized that people like this were worthy of—not ridicule—but great respect.
Native Hawk (California Legends Book 3) Page 10
