Catherine

by Raine Cantrell

  He almost sagged with relief. He had her attention. If choking noises could be called that.

  Catherine stared at him. Mad. The man was utterly mad. She searched his features, so dear and familiar to her. This wasn’t a moonlit garden with the soft strumming of guitars and the heavy fragrance of roses surrounding her as Louis proposed marriage. This was a pantry, for heaven’s sake. Not that the place mattered. Louis had never offered himself as Greg did. Greg adored and loved things about her. But did he love her?

  “Catherine?”

  So impatient. He rocked her world and dared to be impatient? “Just so there is no mistake, you are not making me an indecent proposal to be your mistress?”

  “Yes, mistress of my life.”

  “You really mean marriage?”

  “I thought I said so, woman. You have the power to distract me from sensible thought. This isn’t a romantic place to make a proposal. I’ll get down on bended knee if you want. You see, your impulsiveness is catching.”

  “I didn’t ask. I never said…don’t you dare blame me.”

  “I already admitted I’ll use any advantage I can. I didn’t get ahead in business by waiting for perfect moments. What is important is the words I said to you. Those come from my heart.”

  Wonder filled her gaze. “You are serious. You’d marry me as a result of a bet?”

  “Yes.”

  “You just admitted you’re ruthless.”

  “That, too.”

  “Stop being so accommodating. You shouldn’t be eager to admit your faults.”

  ‘‘But I want honesty between us. I know mine, you know them, and I know yours, too.”

  “We aren’t discussing mine. And stop scattering kisses all over my face. I can’t think when you do that.”

  “I’m ruthless.” He buried his face against her shoulder, fighting laughter.

  “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “Never.” His voice was muffled.

  “Look at me, Mayfield.” She had to be firm with him or his madness would infect her.

  He looked at her. “I’d marry you any way if I can get you to say yes. But only if you want it, too. And only if I win.”

  “Fairly?” She wasn’t thinking clearly. His mouth hovered above hers. Temptation. She fought her need to kiss him senseless.

  “Yes. Fairly.” He kissed her. Briefly. Then tormented her and himself by stepping back. “It’s your decision.” He looked at her stunned expression and fought the sensation of having his legs give out from under him. He was sure he would not only go on bended knee but crawl to her next. The thought of not being where he could see her, touch her or hear her laugh sent blood roaring through his head. He gripped a shelf for support. She wasn’t answering him.

  “Greg,” she pleaded, “I can’t think.”

  “Good. Don’t. Just answer me.”

  “You infuriating, stubborn man. Oh, dear Lord.”

  “I don’t think he’s going to help either one of us. I, on the other hand, can order building materials.” He had to get out of the small confining space or he’d press his advantage. He’d take her where she stood and then, when she was truly vulnerable, and amenable to anything he suggested, he’d have the answer he sought.

  That would put an end to the idiotic idea of his happiness and hers resting on the outcome of henhouses.

  “We could forget this bet, Catherine. Just marry me.”

  “But I want to be treated as an equal. I didn’t have any say in my first marriage. I won’t tolerate—”

  “But I’m not him.”

  “No, you’re nothing like him.” But then Louis did not reveal his dominating nature until after the wedding. She knew Greg’s faults. She had had ample opportunity to witness them firsthand. She trusted Greg, but… Her spirit returned from its temporary retreat. “All right, Mayfield. I accept your challenge.”

  “Bet, Catherine. And no welshing. I build the better henhouse, you marry me.”

  “As an equal partner.” Because I love you. But she couldn’t say those words to him now.

  “To the best of my ability. Agreed?”

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat. Sarah, Mary, where is your wiser counsel when I need it? He never said he loved me. It was foolish to think of talking this over with her dearest friends. No one else but she could make this decision. Wasn’t that what this was all about? Her independence? Her rights?

  “Agreed, Mayfield.”

  “Good.” He had to look away before she saw the smugness he felt. “I’ll order and pay for all the building materials as repayment for the embarrassment you suffered today.”

  She sagged against the wooden shelves as he left her. “What have I done?” Lord Romeo padded inside and came up against her skirt, where he rubbed himself.

  “Some cat you are. Where were you when I needed you? I don’t want to get married again. He’ll mow me down like that Gatling gun the soldiers have at the fort.”

  The cat’s rumbling purr filled the pantry.

  “Don’t tell me you approve? You don’t like him. And you’d have to live with him, too.”

  That caught the cat’s attention. He stopped rubbing against her, stopped purring and began a restless prowl around the room.

  “If you’re looking for your nemesis, he’s gone.”

  His reproachful meow made her lean down to scratch behind his ears. “There is only one thing to do. We have to win.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Catherine spent a restless, sleepless night thinking of all the things she could have said to Greg and didn’t.

  But she was never one to cry over spilled milk and wouldn’t begin now. Someway she would make him understand that she liked the slow, steady growth of her small business. He would also understand that she resented his interference. She was going to prove to him that a woman could order her own life and do it well.

  But dawn was breaking and chores waited. She dressed in a hurry, helped by the fact that she wore the more comfortable cord pants. She had banished them to the back of the wardrobe because of Greg. It was time she remembered who and what she had made of herself.

  She braided her long hair into a single thick braid and even used a bit of rawhide to tie it. No ribbons, no lace. At least none that showed. She wasn’t going to have any female frippery to distract her from her purpose.

  She opened her bedroom door just as Greg opened his. Lord Romeo, having spent the night with Catherine, strolled out into the hall. He looked back once before, tail in the air, he padded downstairs.

  “Good morning,” Greg said in a cheerful voice. “I see you slept as well as I did. Really, Catherine, there’s no need for us—”

  “There is every need for us to maintain distance.”

  She started for the stairs, rankled by his remark. So her sleepless night showed, did it? His didn’t. At the top of the staircase, Greg stepped aside.

  “Ladies first. After you.”

  “Oh, no. Equal partners never do that. After you.”

  “I insist you go down first.”

  “And I insist,” she said with a battle gleam in her eyes, “that you go first.”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you to play fair, Mrs. Hill, but a slight push and I’ll take a tumble. If I’m injured, I lose the bet.”

  “You think I’d push you down the steps!”

  “I didn’t say you would,” he answered with a calm that he knew infuriated her. “I merely stated—”

  “Don’t try your fancy double-talk with me. You accused me of wishing to do you harm. Know what, Mr. Mayfield? You’re right.”

  She pushed past him and raced down the steps. In the kitchen she stopped short. The delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. Damn him! He had been up before her.

  “Coffee, Catherine,” he whispered from behind her. “Sit down, I’ll serve.”

  “No, thank you, I’ll stand. I have a lot to get done today. Can’t waste time.”
/>   “Pity,” he said, and walked over to the stove. The cups were already waiting, and he poured out coffee for both of them. She was right beside him to take hers.

  “What’s that smell?” she demanded.

  “Ah, pity you can’t sit and eat with me. Ramon’s mother made empanadas de dulce. Peach and apple fillings.” He whipped off the napkin that covered the pile-high plate of turnovers.

  “She only makes those for holidays.”

  “Or for someone who asked nicely.”

  “Who paid far too much—”

  “Who can afford to pay for whatever he likes.”

  “Fine. I’ll help myself.”

  His hand covered hers and prevented her from taking one. “You’ll sit down at the table with me and have breakfast or you don’t get any.”

  “I might have known that your true nature would come out.” She slipped her hand away from his. But not before a telltale shiver revealed to him what being close to him did to her.

  “And what nature is that?” He brought the plate to the table along with his coffee and sat down.

  Catherine glared at his back. Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten much last night. And the turnovers smelled so good.

  She drew out a chair and sat across from him.

  “I asked you what nature—”

  “Ordering, dominating. Male.”

  “I keep reminding you that I am a male, Catherine. I can’t help wanting to feed you, clothe you and now house your chickens.”

  He looked disgruntled at having to explain. She couldn’t stop her smile. “House my chickens? I thought you wanted to build me a summer home?”

  “That, too. Eat. You’ll need your strength. We have work to do.”

  “There you go again, telling me—”

  “Catherine, I’ll give you a choice. Quiet your mouth by eating, or by kissing me.” It was stated so calmly, so softly and with such a telling glance that she had no doubt he meant it.

  She ate.

  When she rose to refill her cup and offered to do the same for him, Greg decided a little more needling was required. She was going to pay for his restless, sleepless night and all the doubts that plagued him.

  “By the way, I like your tailor’s work.”

  “My tailor…” She broke off and faced him, coffeepot in hand.

  “It wasn’t a woman who made those pants. If ever cloth was cut to reveal every feminine attribute for a male’s admiration, those pants are it.”

  “Oh, no,” she muttered more to herself. Catherine set the pot down. Hands on hips and with a walk calculated to send a man’s temperature soaring, she strutted her way to his side.

  “Like them, do you? Take a good look. Admire them all you like. But until I win our bet, don’t touch.”

  Later, she told herself for the tenth time it was a miracle the cloth didn’t dissolve. How could he put so much sensuality into one look? Her temper was out of sorts, and the rest of the day didn’t soften it.

  Catherine had just finished hitching the horse to the wagon when Greg rushed from the house.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Since I’m going to build the best henhouse this town has ever seen, I want to look over a few of them first.”

  “Without me?”

  “That was my intention.” She snatched her floppy felt man’s hat from the wagon seat and plunked it on her head.

  “Like hell you are. Besides, Ollie will be here with the lumber soon. You need to tell him where to stack it. And we need to decide where to build.”

  “Later, Mayfield.” She climbed up on the wagon’s seat, untied the reins and flipped the brim of her hat at him.

  Greg reached the wagon before she released the pole brake. “Where you go, I go. New rules for partners.” He crowded her on the seat. “And take note for that list of yours that I am not insisting that I drive the wagon.”

  “As if I’d let you. And there’s no need for you to come with me.”

  “Yes, there is. I’m not letting you gallivant all over the county dressed like that.”

  “See, that’s just what I mean. Stuff your—”

  “Catherine, live with this. I can’t help it. It’s not safe for you to be riding out alone.”

  “Well,” she informed him, “I did it before you came and will likely do it after you’re gone.”

  “You haven’t won yet.” At last he was content, for he had the last word.

  And she never mentioned her loaded gun under the seat.

  It was a disappointment to Greg. Chicken coop after chicken coop all looked the same. They were usually made of odds-and-ends of lumber. Catherine’s flock, including Miss Lily, whom he had an understanding with since he gave her an extra ration of corn twice a day, deserved better.

  “Everything we’ve seen is too small,” he remarked as they turned out of the last ranch’s road and headed back home.

  “They’re supposed to be small. The idea is to avoid the problem we have now of searching all over for eggs. Or did you forget that? And that keeps the varmints out.”

  “I never forget anything that’s important to me.” He glanced over at her. “You know, Mrs. Davis was mighty sweet to offer us lunch. You could have said yes.”

  “And watch Lolly fawn all over you. No, thank you. I’ll eat my meal in peace.”

  “Mrs. Davis’s daughter is a fine-looking woman.”

  “She is that. And that’s all she is. Can’t cook, which is why she isn’t married.”

  “But, Catherine,” he pointed out, “I don’t need a woman who can cook.”

  “No, you don’t. You can buy whatever you need.” But not love. She guided the horse to the turn in the road that led to home. Trouble was, she couldn’t get very far. Wagons of all sorts crowded the front drive.

  “What have you done now?”

  “Nothing, Catherine. I swear it. I didn’t cause this.”

  This was Ollie Walker and his lumber delivery. He was waiting in the yard for them. They had abandoned the wagon and walked around the back of the house.

  “Boys an’ me figured you’d need help unloading it all. Figured you might need some advice to get started, too.”

  “Didn’t do anything, huh?” she muttered to Greg.

  “This isn’t my fault.”

  “Isn’t your fault? Look at what you ordered. You need a keeper. There’s enough cut boards to build a house.”

  “You’re pointing that finger at me again. Remember I warned you. And for your information, Mrs. Hill, we are building a house. Two of them.”

  Catherine threw up her hands. She closed her eyes.

  “Praying isn’t going to help.”

  “Thank you for your sage advice, Mayfield. I know that. I’m trying to find some patience.”

  “The hell with patience. Find a place to put all this lumber.”

  Four hours later, an exhausted Catherine stood and watched the last of the wagons leave the yard. Every last piece of lumber was stacked in two piles on either side of the barn. What should have been the simplest work was made complicated by the squabbling between the men who had come to help. The wood was raw and needed to season, so they argued over how it should be stacked. Then there was the choice of sites to build the chicken coops. Staggered piles won, as did final locations, but only after Ollie had nearly come to blows with one of the Jobe boys.

  While she had been run ragged trying to hold off the next flying fist, Greg, with the jovial air of a man at a social, found something to laugh about with each backslapping man. More than once he had caught her eye as he sneaked off toward the front of the house. Someone had a jug of whiskey. If Sarah was here, they wouldn’t have dared to bring it near the house. Well, she was one woman and couldn’t expect to oversee everything.

  There was nothing more to do. The men had pitched in with chores. She thought longingly of a hot bath. But it would be hours before she heated enough water. She felt like an aching bundle of nerves scrubbed raw as she started for the hou
se.

  Greg came outside and met her halfway.

  “You’re still walking?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised, Catherine. Why shouldn’t I be?”

  “I thought you would be passed out by now from all those trips you made to the jug they had hidden.”

  “I’ll tell you a secret. I didn’t touch a sip of that whiskey. A man has to keep his word. But I had to be sociable with my neighbors.”

  She stopped short. “Neighbors? When did you decide to stay here? What about your mansion? Your businesses? Your sister? The nieces and nephews you adore? And your social life? All those balls and dinners and theater parties? How could you give all that up?”

  “Easily.” He blocked her way into the house with his arm across the doorway. “And I’ll stay as long as it takes you to say yes.” He gazed back at the empty yard. “I’m glad they’re all gone. You had the patience of a saint to deal with them.”

  His praised warmed her, even eased an ache or two.

  “Do you know what Ollie said about you, Catherine?”

  “No. I couldn’t even think with all their hollering and swearing. I never knew men could come to blows over how to place a board.”

  “Well, I never knew women could rip apart seams and a reputation in an hour.”

  Exhaustion fled. She kicked at the earth with the toe of her boot. “Mine.”

  “Lie?”

  “No. Never lies.”

  “Mrs. Pettigrew tried. Nita told me. But there’ll be no more. I threatened to pay Camilla’s way to Paris. She wants to study painting, not get married. You’ll have no more trouble from that woman.”

  “I could have handled her on my own.”

  “I know you could. I was the cause and was able to remedy the problem. Accept it as a gift with no obligation attached.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered softly, but knew there was a debt now.

  “Don’t you want to know what Ollie said?” He could barely make out her nod. She wasn’t looking at him. “He told me you’re a gal with sand in her bottom. I almost took a swing at him for noticing your bottom, but George Vaughan explained what it meant. A woman with courage. He said I might get some sand in my craw. A compliment, I gathered, since everyone agreed. And Bill Nelson from the telegraph office said that when you sang you made everyone forget their troubles. Nice things for a man to hear about the woman he cares for.”