No sooner had Katie begun to walk the length of it, however, a familiar voice startled her, nearly causing her to lose her footing.
“Aren’t ya ever gonna grow up, Katie Matthews?” Hillary asked.
“Well, I hope I never grow up too much to enjoy the simple joys of life,” Katie told her.
“I wouldn’t call walkin’ the bridge rail a simple joy, Katie,” Hillary sneered. “Ya might slip and fall into the creek—then you’d have to slop home lookin’ like a drowned cat.”
Katie turned to look down at Hillary. Making certain her footing was solid, she placed her hands on her hips and said, “I’ve never fallen off this bridge, Hillary. I’ve done this a hundred times and never once fallen.” Just then, both girls turned, their attention arrested by the rhythm of horse hooves. Katie felt the color rise to her face when she recognized Stover astride a large buckskin horse.
No sooner had she begun to smile at the sight of him than she heard Hillary say, “Never fallen once, huh. Well, there’s a first time for everythin’, Katie.”
In the next moment, Katie heard Hillary shout, “Katie Matthews! You’re losing your balance! Here! Take my hand!” Reaching up, Hillary pretended to try and take Katie’s hand, but instead, pushed on her arm just enough to throw her balance off. With a startled yelp, arms flailing, Katie leaned backward, lost her footing and toppled off the bridge, plunging into the water below.
The impact of hitting the water knocked Katie’s breath from her, and she gasped as she went under. The cold water filled her mouth and nostrils, shooting pain through her body. For a moment everything was dark, but she managed to keep her eyes open, somehow found her footing and stood. Coughing and choking as the water swirled around her shoulders and neck, Katie wiped water and tears from her eyes and made her way to the creek bank. A powerful hand took hold of the back of her shirtwaist, hoisting her onto the bank.
“Ya all right, Katie?” Stover asked, as she coughed and wiped more water and tears from her eyes.
“She’s such a silly goose, Mr. Steele,” Hillary was saying. “I’ve told her a hundred times to stop actin’ like a child and quit walkin’ that bridge rail.”
“You pushed me in!” Katie choked, glaring at Hillary as tears streamed down her face.
“I was tryin’ to help you,” Hillary argued. “Maybe she hit her head, Mr. Steele. She doesn’t seem herself.”
Katie looked at Stover who frowned at her. Whether he was concerned or irritated, she couldn’t quit determine.
“Are ya all right?” he asked again, brushing a wet strand of hair from her cheek and searching her eyes.
“Yes, Katie,” Hillary said, feigning concern. “Are you hurt?”
Katie looked from Stover to Hillary. Accusing Hillary would accomplish nothing. All she wanted in that moment was for the girl to leave. Yet it was humiliating, Stover’s finding her in yet another ridiculous situation.
“I’m fine,” Katie said, standing and wringing water from her skirt. “Thank ya for your help, Stover,” she said as she began to walk away.
“I’ll see ya back to town, Katie,” Stover said, reaching out and taking hold of her arm. “I can’t let ya walk all the way—you’ll catch a fever.”
“Oh, she’ll be fine, Mr. Steele,” Hillary assured him. “The walk will dry her off.”
“No,” Stover said. “And why don’t you just run along, Miss Westover,” he added. “I’ll take right good care of Katie.” Stover winked at Katie and led her to his horse. Lifting her easily into the saddle, he mounted behind her and tipped his hat to Hillary. “Good afternoon, Miss Hillary,” he said. “Get up, boy.” He and the horse lurched forward, Katie couldn’t help sticking her tongue out at Hillary who stood with the pinched-faced expression of defeat, watching them ride away. She smiled, the knowledge she’d triumphed over her enemy seeming to be worth appearing like a drowned kitten in front of Stover.
“Here,” Stover said, handing the reins to Katie. “Hold these.” Puzzled as to why he would put the reins in her hands, Katie did as instructed. A moment later, she gasped as she looked back in time to see Stover strip off his shirt. “Just cause you’re soaked don’t mean I wanna be,” he explained with a chuckle. He tucked one corner of his shirt in his back pocket and reached around in front of Katie, taking the reins once more.
Katie stiffened as his bare chest pressed firmly against her back. Even through her shirtwaist she could feel the warmth of his skin. She studied Stover’s hands as they held the reins in front of her—admired their calloused strength. These were powerful, hard-working hands. She watched the muscles in his forearms, amazed by the definition and size of them.
“You and that Hillary Westover,” he said. “You two always been this way?”
Katie felt herself blush. It was all rather childish. Still, Hillary just had a way of egging Katie on so.
“She plain as day pushed me off the bridge. On purpose,” Katie told him, rather amazed herself that even Hillary would do something so physical.
“I saw that,” Stover said. “Nearly scared me to death. I thought sure ya hit yer head on a rock or somethin’ and would come out bleedin’ all over.”
Katie smiled, delighted by his concern. “I’m glad ya saw her push me,” Katie told him. “Everyone always thinks she’s so sweet, refined and innocent. But she’s not. She’s a pill! I can’t understand why she’s been so extra mean to me lately.”
“Rivalry. Plain and simple as that,” Stover said.
Katie closed her eyes for a moment, completely intoxicated by his breath in her hair as he spoke, the warmth of his arms around her. “Rivalry?” she asked.
“Yep. You’ve snatched her prize right out from under her nose—that makes ya her rival,” he said.
Katie smiled, delighted by his implication she’d won something over Hillary. “Her prize?” she asked.
“Don’t ya think I’m a prize, Katie Matthews?” he asked, placing his lips to her ear and blowing in it softly. “Don’t ya go playin’ ignorant with me, Miss Katie Matthews,” he chuckled. “I don’t mean to sound full of myself, mind you—but ya know darn well Hillary Westover is madder than a hornet at you ridin’ off with me. And you’re glad for it.”
Katie blushed, embarrassed by being read so thoroughly. “Well, she deserves it,” she told him. “I coulda broken my neck fallin’ off that bridge!”
“Yep. Ya coulda,” he said. “That’s why I’m gonna break it myself if I ever see ya on there again.”
Although Katie was thrilled he would have such concern for her, the thought of never walking the bridge rail again saddened her. “Now ya sound like my Pa,” she mumbled.
“I hope I never sound like yer pa, girl!” he growled. “Yer pa is the meanest ol’…” He paused, reining in the horse so quickly Katie almost fell off. “Hang on there, Boy,” he said to the horse. “I lost my shirt.”
Katie looked back to see Stover’s shirt lying on the ground just a ways behind them. He quickly dismounted and walked back to pick it up, stuffing it in the waist at the back of his pants.
As he turned and started back toward her, Katie’s heart began to hammer in her chest. Everything had happened so fast—Stover Steele moving to town, her immediate attraction to him, his saving her life, flirting with her, kissing her, her tumble into the creek, and now he stood looking up at her only half dressed. Even though she’d been thrilled by the feel of his arms around her as he rode and was delighted by his attention, it wasn’t until that very moment she realized the marvelous nature of the situation. She was alone with him again! Isolated, solitarily in the company of the most wonderful man in the world! Furthermore, somehow she’d won his exclusive attention, ridden on his horse with him, and now sat watching him walk toward her, bare-chested and smiling. In those moments she realized how truly young—how naïve she was. Stover Steele, broad-shouldered, muscular and bronzed by hours of working in the sun, was definitely the perfect figure of a man. He’d left boyhood behind him long ago and Katie�
��s awareness of her own youth came flooding back to her.
Who did she think she was? Hillary Westover? Hillary exuded refinement and all the other qualities of a matured young woman. And what did Katie exude? Gawky silliness—falling off a bridge rail, tramping around looking like a drowned cat. She couldn’t even sling a phrase correctly—Hillary made her ‘skin’ boil? For Pete’s sake!
Suddenly the feelings of inadequacy in the presence of the man of her dreams became stronger than the desire to be in his company. Katie dismounted quickly, smoothing her wet hair and straightening her skirt.
“What’re ya doin’?” Stover asked as he reached her.
“I can walk from here,” she told him, shyly glancing down.
“What’s the matter?” he chuckled. “Do I make yer skin boil, too?” He stepped closer to her, close enough she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. “Or do I just plain boil yer blood? That makes ya nervous, don’t it?” he said.
He did boil her blood. In a far, far different manner than Hillary did, it was certain. Katie felt overly warm, all too aware of the way her heart fiercely drove her blood through her veins as she stood so near to him. A tree house, a dark grove of pines—for some reason previous situations of seclusion with Stover hadn’t made Katie as nervous. For some reason, broad daylight and open space made her feel more vulnerable somehow.
“N-no. Of course not,” she stammered. He was standing very close to her. She could feel his eyes staring at the top of her head. “I—I just don’t want to trouble ya any more than I already have.” She looked up when she heard a familiar, beloved chuckle escape his throat.
He was smiling down at her, his eyes fairly twinkling with pleasure. “That girl must really hate ya,” he chuckled.
“Not any more than I hate her,” Katie mumbled.
“Ah, ya don’t hate her,” he said. “She just gets under yer skin.”
Katie looked up to him as he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek with his thumb. His touch sent goose bumps erupting over her body and her breath caught in her throat for a moment.
“A little different than the way ya get under mine, though,” he added.
Katie’s breath caught again. Not simply his words, but the way his eyes had narrowed, the way they seemed to linger on her mouth. Her heart raced, her skin tingled, and her mouth began to water at the thought of kissing Stover again.
“Ya wanna really get under Hillary Westover’s skin, Miss Katie Matthews?” he said, his voice low and alluring.
“I—I—I think so,” Katie stammered as he moved closer to her.
“Ya think so?” he chuckled. “Well, ya better be sure. Do ya or don’t ya wanna get under Hillary’s skin, Katie? Don’t ya wanna get the best of her—just once?” A mesmerizing, mischievous grin spread across his face as he looked down at her, and
Katie was suddenly self-conscious about her appearance. No doubt she was a sight, standing there dripping wet. Still, as her heart began to pound more rapidly she answered, “Well, she did push me off the bridge.”
His grin spread into a dazzling smile, and Katie’s breath abandoned her once more as he reached out, placing his hands at her waist. As he pulled her closer to him Katie swallowed the hard lump forming in her throat. The sound of her blood racing through her veins roared in her ears and she felt feverish, faint.
“She didn’t go back to town, ya know,” he whispered. “She’s hidin’ behind that big Cottonwood over yonder.”
Instinctively, Katie started to turn and look toward the tree, but Stover whispered, “No, no, no. Don’t let her know you know she’s there. Let’s just remind her she ain’t got a chance of goin’ up against you. What do ya say?”
Katie’s breath quickened, and her body burned with the familiar pleasure at his touch. Other men and boys had put their hands on her waist to help her down from a carriage, but this was different. She felt his thumbs caressing her stomach, felt his fingers pressing into the small of her back and the perpetual goose bumps traveling over her body caused her insides to quiver.
“Let’s really get under her skin,” he whispered as he released her waist. He took her hands in his for a moment before letting them slowly travel up her arms, caressing her flesh as they went. “Are ya afraid to let me kiss ya when somebody’s watchin’, Katie?” he said.
“No,” she whispered. “I’m just—I’m just…”
How could she explain to him she’d suddenly become frightened? For some reason, whether it was Hillary’s cruelty, or something else—for some reason Katie had begun to fear Stover. For some reason, she’d only just realized how completely helpless she was in his arms, how completely he held her heart in his powerful fist. For some reason she’d just realized he couldn’t possibly have any serious intentions toward her—not the kind of intentions Jared had toward Pillar, anyway. And that realization frightened her. What would happen when he lost interest in her, when another woman caught his eye? Katie knew what would happen, she’d simply curl up and die of a broken heart.
“You’re just what, Katie?” he asked, smiling as he squeezed water from one of her sleeves.
“I’m—I’m wet,” was all she could say. She couldn’t put into any other words what her heart was feeling—that she loved him and was afraid he’d tire of her.
“Sugar, I’m well aware that yer wet,” he said, squeezing water from her other sleeve. He attempted to wipe his hand on his chest, obviously having forgotten he wore no shirt. “Are ya nervous because yer friend Hillary is watchin’ us?” he asked. Then, lowering his voice, he said, “Or is it because I’m so good lookin’ without my shirt on?”
Katie blushed as he pulled her to him causing her hands to press against the bare flesh of his chest. His skin was warm, his muscles solid and his expression completely mesmerizing.
“She’s not my friend,” Katie breathed, entranced by the way he held her, the way his narrowed eyes burned into her own.
“Well, if she ever was—she won’t be after this,” he said, pressing his lips to hers in a tender kiss. He kissed her cheek next, her neck, the corner of her mouth.
“Yer gonna break my heart, aren’t ya?” Katie whispered.
Stover paused, looked at her, and studied her for a moment. “No,” he mumbled a moment before his mouth descended to hers. His kiss was aggressive, passion-driven and reassuring. He enfolded her in his arms, and the warmth of his skin burned through Katie’s wet shirtwaist.
Try as she might to keep her wits about her, to remember that a man like Stover could not possibly remain satisfied with a little prairie girl like herself, Katie was undone. She surrendered to him, returning his kiss, letting her hands travel over the smooth contours of his shoulders and back. She didn’t care if her heart would be broken in the near or distant future, for in those moments she owned him. In those moments he approved of her, was attracted to her and liked her—not Hillary Westover or anyone else, but her, Katie Matthews.
“You still taste as sweet as sugared peaches, Katie,” Stover mumbled against her mouth. He kissed her once again before breaking the seal of their lips and stepping back from her.
“Let Hillary Westover put that in her pipe and smoke it. Right?” Stover said, pulling on his shirt.
“Yeah,” Katie managed to respond.
Stover reached out, taking her chin in one hand and forcing her to look up at him. “You run on back to town now—alone,” he said. “I don’t want yer ma skinnin’ me alive for lettin’ ya tumble off the bridge or for sparkin’ with ya so close to town.”
Katie smiled, still light-headed from his kiss.
“I’ll see ya at supper,” he said as she watched him mount his horse.
“All right,” she said, smiling as he touched the brim of his hat and nodded at her.
Katie watched him ride away then, out of the corner of her eye, caught a glimpse of Hillary stomping back toward town.
“No,” he’d said when she’d asked him if he was going to break her heart. She tried t
o believe him, tried to imagine not having to let him go, but it all seemed like a dream, and she kept wondering when she would wake up.
“It was hard on the girls when Pa died,” Stover said in response to Evelyn’s question. He finished chewing a bite of chicken before going on. “Their mama passed the year before and when Pa went—well, me and Pillar try our best.”
“They seem just too sweet for words,” Evelyn said.
Katie glanced at her father who wore a rather irritated expression. Katie had been sick to her stomach ever since Stover had arrived for supper. She sensed her father did not like him and wondered if he would remain calm and civil.
“Oh, they’re about as sweet as pickles,” Stover chuckled. “Always gettin’ into trouble, runnin’ off, worryin’ Pillar somethin’ awful. But sweet or sour, they’re easy to love and run me like a love-sick calf.”
Evelyn smiled and laughed, but before she could say anything more Katie’s father said, “Women run ya easy then, boy?”
Katie stiffened at his attempt to provoke Stover. “Some do,” was all Stover said. When Bart grumbled and looked down at his plate for a moment, Stover winked at Katie and repeated, “Some do.”
“I guess my boy is gettin’ ready to marry up with yer sister,” Bart said next.
Katie began to breathe faster, uneasily. Her father didn’t like Stover, and she sensed he would make it more and more obvious as the meal wore on.
“I hope so,” Stover said.
“More’n ready to have her off yer hands, I ‘spect,” Bart said.
“Nope. It’ll hurt me to see her go, but she needs to get on with life—be happy,” Stover said. “Yer son’s a good man. He’ll look after her in the manner deservin’ a good woman.”
Katie ventured a glance at Stover, for there was deeper meaning in his words—more than just the plain and obvious.
The Prairie Prince Page 11
