Catherine

by Raine Cantrell

  She looked at him then. “You really like them?”

  “Yes, I do. They’re good, honest, hardworking men. They have accepted me, even if I won’t carry a gun and haven’t their skills. Ollie had to show me which end of the hammer to use when I asked him to pick up the tools I needed. He’ll have them here in the morning along with the nails.”

  It was his sincerity that made her place her hand over his forearm. “You’re a good man, Greg. Despite buying everything in sight, here—” she touched his heart “—you are good and kind.”

  “Catherine,” he whispered, and leaned closer to kiss her.

  “Oh, no. We are not going to sleep together until this is settled.”

  “Sweet, fair lady, who said anything about sleeping?” He didn’t need the fading light to know she was blushing. “Know what else I heard today?”

  “No. But I’m sure you’ll tell me.” She brushed the back of her hand against her flushed cheek.

  “Jobe’s son told me I should toss a lasso over you and hog-tie you tight or some other man was going to come along and snatch you from under my nose.”

  “Not likely.” She threw back her head and laughed. “But you can try.”

  “Damn right it won’t happen. Wait, was that an invitation?”

  “I meant, Mayfield, that a woman doesn’t get snatched from under anyone’s nose unless she wants to be.”

  “You know, Catherine, I finally figured out that you call me Mayfield when your guard is down. Scared I’ll get some advantage?”

  “I’m shaking in my boots over the thought.”

  His hand closed over her shoulder. “You’re shaking, all right, but it’s not because of me. You’re exhausted. Come inside.”

  The coal oil fixture over the table was turned down low. It took Catherine a few moments for her eyes to adjust. But the breath she drew brought the sweet scent of lavender, and then she saw the tub filled with steaming hot water. Two buckets rested on the floor. Her soap and towels were piled on a chair, and on the back of another were her nightgown and robe.

  “A bath and bed for you. I’ll bring a supper tray upstairs when you’re done.” She didn’t answer. She didn’t move. “Catherine, if you don’t want the bath—”

  “I want it.”

  “Then why, why are you crying?”

  “You…you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try to tell me. I’ll try to understand. This makes no sense. It’s only a bath. And if this makes you cry, I’d hate to show you the Elizabethan-style bathrooms in my home. They’re about the size of the kitchen, all marble and cherry wood, and half the time some guest gets lost in them.”

  She brushed the tears from her cheeks and laughed as he intended her to do. “This is the nicest, best gift you could have given me.”

  “I’d do more. Give you more. Just say yes.”

  “Greg, I—” She shook her head. “I don’t know that I can explain to you what I feel. But I said you were good and kind and generous, too. I meant that. But you make me forget my own name. I’m still finding what I am capable of doing on my own.”

  She looked up at him. His expression was guarded, then he grinned. “I can tell you what you’re capable of. You make me dizzy with need. I’m about ready to crawl for a smile. And I’d kill for one of your kisses. Now,” he said with a slight push at the small of her back, “go enjoy your bath. I won’t take advantage when you’re tired.”

  To her confused and very intense disappointment, he kept his word. Catherine shared her lonely supper with Lord Romeo. Finished, she sat on the bed with the cat curled at her side.

  “He makes it so hard not to love him,” she told the cat. He flicked an ear, a sure sign he was listening. She scratched under his chin and his purring calmed her.

  “I have to try and win. I can’t even fully explain to myself why it’s so important to me, but it is. But, Romeo, I didn’t know it would be this hard to stay away from him. I miss the closeness we shared as much as I miss making love with him.”

  The cat wiggled out from under her hand and rolled over to offer his stomach to be rubbed.

  She laughed. “You old softie. You like him, too. And if you think petting is the way to win, you’re wrong. I gave my word that it was to be a fairly won bet. No cheating allowed.”

  The cat stared at her with unblinking eyes as if to dispute the wisdom of that.

  Catherine lay back against the pillows. She stared at the door, willing it to open.

  In the hallway, Greg’s hand hovered above the latch. There was no reason why he couldn’t collect her supper tray. Weak excuse. He could see if she needed some liniment rubbed on aching muscles. Ollie’s advice was the only reason he could still move. He leaned his forehead against the door. He missed her. There was no getting away from that. More than he needed to wrap her in his arms, more than the passion that exploded between them, he missed her cuddling.

  He was so proud of her. Partly due to the others’ admiration. He hadn’t told her half of what the men said about her. He dropped his hand and clenched both of them into fists.

  “Damn stubborn woman!” Couldn’t she understand that he didn’t want to change her? Did she expect him to crawl?

  Not Catherine.

  I know that.

  And because he knew it, he turned away from her door. He needed to sleep. He had a bet to win. His life depended on it.

  Chapter Twenty

  By the time Sunday rolled around, Catherine felt she lived in an open-sided corral. Ramon, having learned his lessons well from his mentor about business, had set up a stand where he and his brothers or sisters sold lemonade or their mother’s turnovers to those stopping by.

  And a lot of people stopped by to check the progress of the henhouses. Greg complained that with their advice, he could tackle a whole town’s buildings for his next project. Catherine’s mouth hurt from smiling as men, and it was mostly the men who viewed her work, made suggestions that she had to ignore. If she followed a tenth of them, Greg would build rings around her. Or a lovely, golden cage.

  But there was to be no work today. She packed her basket for the box lunch social while Greg was still upstairs getting dressed. She wrapped the basket in an old sheet so he wouldn’t be able to identify it. Half the fun of the social was keeping secret which basket or cheese box was yours, so the bidding the men did had a few surprise results. Of course, some enterprising young woman who had picked out her man would cheat by finding some way to alert her chosen beau which one was hers.

  Catherine knew that if he sniffed a few baskets he could easily find hers. Living in the same house prevented her from keeping the cooking aromas from wafting upstairs.

  By the time he came down, she had the basket hidden beneath the buggy’s seat.

  It was a beautiful day. Not a wisp of a cloud marred the bright blue sky. But it was unseasonably warm for May. She shook out the folds of her blue-and-ecru summer wool skirt. She had on a diminished bustle and a corset. She wanted no comments about her appearance from the other ladies. They had quite enough to gossip about despite Greg’s threat to Mrs. Pettigrew. The snugly fitted bodice had additional bones to define her waist. The soft cream percale was trimmed with small rows of ecru lace.

  “I’m happy to see you’re not wearing that detestable poke bonnet.” He liked the black braided straw hat with its simple blue ribbon and cluster of blue forget-me-nots pinned to one side of the brim. She made a charming picture right down to the high-buttoned shoe tapping impatiently as he strolled toward her.

  “Absolutely fetching, Catherine.” He lifted her net-gloved hand, but instead of kissing the back, he turned it so that his lips kissed her palm, then her wrist. He smiled when she snatched it away. Too late, he wanted to say, I already felt the jump in your pulse. But he had promised himself that he would be all that she found charming, and kept silent.

  Catherine wanted to return his compliment. He wore a long black frock coat, a vest with gold-and-green embroidery and one of his fin
ely woven linen shirts that appeared to be silk. From his polished boots, tailored pants and black string tie, she knew she would have her hands full keeping women away from him.

  Talk about fetching…if they put Greg up for the bidding at the social, he’d fetch enough to build and furnish the school.

  Sunlight burnished his hair. She hadn’t noticed the hat he held at his side until he put it on. She arched her brow. “New?”

  “Don’t you like it? Nita thought this flat-crowned Stetson dashing on me. And Dolly Hudspeth said no other man could wear it, since the hat seemed to be made for me.”

  “I wouldn’t put any stock in what she said. She sold it to you.”

  Catherine’s teasing smile faded. There was something about the way he put the hat on with the brim tilted slightly forward and off to the side that changed his appearance. A delicious shiver of awareness ran down her spine. Greg looked more like the fancy gamblers her father used to warn her about than a respectable eastern banker.

  Regret for her decision that they cease being lovers darkened her eyes. She turned away and allowed him to help her climb to the seat.

  “We better get going. I don’t want to arrive late.”

  “I know,” he answered, going around to the other side. “You hate walking in late, when the only available seats are down in front. Everyone stares, then whispers. The minister pauses to tip his spectacles and give you one of those condemning looks.”

  Since he suited his actions to fit his words, she burst out laughing.

  The merry mood lasted until they reached the church grounds. Wagons and buggies of every description vied for space. Children ran wild, laughing and shouting, while mothers tried to gather their broods to usher them inside.

  Greg reached over and covered Catherine’s hand with his when the group of women around Mrs. Pettigrew refused to return Catherine’s greeting. He deliberately turned his head when it appeared that the woman would greet him.

  He found a spot beneath a stand of towering pines. There were no other wagons close by.

  “Would you rather not go inside?” He caught the press of her teeth against her bottom lip. “Catherine, would you like me to take care of this once and for all?”

  “I don’t think there’s anything you can do. I’m not a coward. They’re just a group of busy gossips.” She squared her shoulders. “As a matter of fact, the woman standing next to Mrs. Pettigrew is considered the worst gossip this town has. Alberta Elray will take a tiny inch of yarn and weave it into a tangled skein with the slightest encouragement. If anyone wants to listen to what she has to say, they are welcome to.”

  As he lifted her down from the seat, Greg held her for a brief moment. “I have felt admiration for you before this, Catherine, but never as much as this moment.” He set her down and placed her hand in the crook of his arm. “I hope these vest buttons are sewn tight.”

  “What?”

  “I’m so proud to be your escort that my chest is swelling. I just might embarrass myself and pop them.”

  “Don’t you dare make me laugh again. Not now.”

  “Now is the best time. Besides, your smile is one of the things I love about you, Catherine. That is part of the trouble. Those women are long past their prime. They’re jealous of you.”

  Thomas Hoffman, the minister, stood at the door, greeting his flock as they entered the church. Greg excused himself for a moment as Caroline arrived and came to stand by Catherine.

  “I see you got your plaque hung,” Greg said.

  “Thanks to Mary,” the minister said, “our contributions for the pews went over the required amount. We have the smaller plaques for the pews themselves, but the ladies thought it would be nice to acknowledge those families that gave a little more.”

  “Speaking of which, I understand that the church needs a new organ and I seem to recall there was some mention of a stained glass window.”

  “Once the school is completed, that will be our next fund-raising effort.”

  “Thomas, far be it from me to interfere, but there is a draft burning a hole in my pocket. A substantial amount, enough to buy your organ and window, and have enough left over to take care of your expenses for a few years.”

  “Mr. Mayfield—”

  “Greg, please.”

  “All right. What you are offering sounds suspiciously like a bribe to me. I am a man of the cloth, above such things.”

  Greg eyed his enormous girth and almost smiled. A man of the cloth indeed. But he answered in a serious tone. “I meant it to be a bribe. I’d like you to change your sermon. We require a little something about casting the first stone. I seem to recall my bishop saying something about there being only two sorts of men, the just, who believe themselves sinners, and the other sinners, who believe themselves just.”

  Greg used a few moments to remove the draft from his pocket. “This is drawn on my account at Purcell’s bank so there’s no delay in your having the money. And please, Thomas, let us keep this between us. You and I are performing charitable acts this morning.”

  “But I’ve never—”

  “No one is harmed by this. Gossip shouldn’t be spread, especially when it hurts a good woman. And to ease your conscience, Thomas…” Greg leaned closer to him and whispered in his ear.

  “That requires my viewing this in a different light. I admit the ladies came to me and asked that I speak to Catherine. But I shall refrain.” He tucked the bank draft into the inside pocket of his frock coat. He flung an arm around Greg’s shoulders and urged him to the doorway, where Catherine still stood with Caroline.

  Greg escorted them down toward the front and chose an empty pew. To Catherine he said, “I think you’ll find the minister’s positively inspired this morning.”

  Catherine didn’t ask what he meant then, but she began to understand as Thomas’s voice boomed out over the congregation on the wages of casting stones without being free of sin. There was a great deal of shifting within the pews, for he was an inspired speaker who seemed to look right at one.

  By the time the collection plate reached them, she saw that Thomas had moved more than a few people to be generous this morning. The plate overflowed as she passed it behind her.

  When they finally had their turn at the door, she caught the wink Thomas gave Greg and his returned nod. Before she could voice a question, he was leading her back to the buggy to get her basket. “Don’t ask and I won’t have to lie.”

  Catherine didn’t ask. They strolled back to where men had set planks on upturned barrels so the ladies could line up their baskets. The men were supposed to keep their distance, but many of them milled around.

  Catherine noticed a few of the soldiers. One or two greeted her, but one possessive look from Greg and they came no closer.

  The minister, sensing the mood of his flock, rapped the board with a stone to gain their attention. He was feeling pleased with himself. Several men had come to thank him for stopping the nonsense about asking Catherine to leave. They liked her, and Greg, and didn’t hold with the same notions as their womenfolk. Most didn’t. And Thomas patted his pocket. A little whisper here, another in someone’s ear helped to quiet wagging tongues.

  The married women claimed the shady spots beneath the spreading cottonwood trees. The single women and the widows stood about in groups as the rest of the men joined them. There was good-natured teasing as beaux warned other men away from this prettily decorated box or that ribbon-tied basket.

  “Won’t you give me a hint, Catherine?” Greg asked.

  “That wouldn’t be fair.”

  Caroline and Nita joined them just as the first box lunch was held high to start the bidding. Thomas, a young man himself, and one fond of good food, sniffed appreciatively.

  “Gentlemen, whoever bids on and wins this lovely lady’s offerings will find himself in earthly heaven. I smell succulent fried chicken and lemon tarts. Who is going to offer the first bid?”

  Standing off to the side, Catherine saw Thomas tu
ck the checkered napkin back into place. He was a wonderful, kindly fraud, and as the first basket went quickly, he continued his remarks about the food contained within each lunch.

  Catherine felt sad to see Camilla pushed forward by her mother when a basket decorated with flowers and bows was next.

  “Poor Camilla,” she whispered. “Now everyone will know that it’s hers and likely cooked by someone else.”

  Mark Jobe started with a dollar and found himself facing competition from two soldiers who had lost the other lunches they had bid on. Camilla blushed a deep pink that matched her gown.

  “There’s a romance brewing,” Nita commented. “One that ain’t finding any favor with her mama. If she looks at Jobe’s boy any harder, he’ll fall where he stands.”

  “The boy’s got more backbone than you give him credit for, Nita. He’ll stay with the bidding until he wins.”

  “You sound very sure of that, Greg. Did you have something to do with this?” Catherine turned to look at him, and he wouldn’t meet her gaze.

  “Ask me no questions and I won’t have to lie.”

  “He’s a smart one, all right, Catherine. Don’t you be putting him on the spot.” Nita leaned forward to smile at Greg. “’Bout time that boy shook the dust off his boots and made his feelings known.”

  “Well, I didn’t know,” Caroline said. “Did you, Catherine?”

  “No. She never hinted that she found any favor with him. The last I heard, she wanted to run off to Paris to study painting.”

  Mark offered six dollars, the highest bid so far. One of the soldiers asked if they could combine their money and share the lunch. Thomas said no. Mark, with a gleam in his dark eyes that would make any woman’s heart beat faster, claimed his basket and his lady. They went off to find a spot at the edge of the crowd. Nita left them and stopped Mrs. Pettigrew from following by linking her arm with the woman’s. She engaged her in conversation, a whispered one, but in the end, Mrs. Pettigrew remained with the married women close by.