Catherine

by Raine Cantrell

  Greg stood contemplating the remaining baskets. He must have been looking away when Thomas removed the sheet from Catherine’s. Now he couldn’t tell which one was hers. There were five left. Three belonged to ranchers’ daughters judging by the sudden surge of cowhands, slicked in their Sunday best, that came to the front. Caroline’s basket was there, too.

  He moved to stand behind his favorite lady. “If you don’t give me a hint,” he murmured, “I’ll have to bid on all the remaining ones. Do you have no pity in your heart for me? Do you want to see me suffer through a meal with one of those giggling young girls that look as if they stepped out of a confectioner’s shop?”

  “No pity, Greg.”

  But he heard the undercurrent of laughter in her voice and took heart. “What did I do to deserve this?”

  “You respond so well to teasing that I can’t help myself.”

  “You’ll pay for that remark. Just wait.”

  She looked at him then with a sparkle in her eyes. “I can. I will.”

  “Hush, you two,” Caroline warned as one of the girls squealed with delight that her chosen cowboy had her basket. “Mine is next.”

  “Shall I bid on it, Caroline?”

  “And have my dear friend stop talking to me? No, don’t. Besides, I already know who’s winning my box lunch.”

  Before any of them could ask her who it was, the opening bid of ten dollars revealed the secret.

  “Peter Austin? You and Peter?” Catherine exclaimed, squeezing her friend’s hand. “When? And how? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Didn’t know myself until last night. ‘Sides, you have enough to deal with. Look who’s stepping up front.” She whispered into Catherine’s ear, “That’s yours, I recognize it.”

  But Thomas made them wait while another of the young girls’ baskets went for bids. Then it was Catherine’s turn.

  Buck Purcell, like Peter, opened the bidding at ten dollars. Catherine wasn’t all that surprised. When she had first come here to live, Buck had called on her, but she discouraged him. He was a handsome man, as tall as Greg with a heavier build. His hair was burnished shades of brown, and his eyes a rich chocolate color. What prompted him to bid was anyone’s guess. But Greg soon showed his serious intent of having her and her box lunch.

  “Twenty-five dollars!” he called out. Oohs and aahs followed. People crowded close.

  Thomas’s remarks didn’t help Catherine accept being the center of all attention. She tried to stop Greg when he again topped Buck’s bid by another ten dollars.

  “You can’t mean to pay fifty dollars. You don’t even know what’s in it. Maybe you won’t like what I cooked.”

  “Then I’ll have you to nibble on. There’s more than one hunger, Catherine. And no one is sharing that lunch with you but me.”

  Buck went to seventy.

  Catherine gasped. She wasn’t alone. Nita came to her side.

  “Girl, if you didn’t want the town gossiping about you, you ain’t got no more chance than a hen in a pack of coyotes to keep them quiet now.”

  Greg bid ninety.

  Catherine grabbed his arm. “Did you hear Nita? If you continue, I’ll never live this down.”

  “One hundred and twenty-five dollars!” he called out.

  “Listen to me.”

  “No. You listen. Going, going and sold to me.” He took hold of her hand. “Come on. I want to claim my prize.”

  “For goodness’ sake, Greg, it’s only ham in a blanket.”

  “That’s how much you know.”

  Buck stopped them. He shook Greg’s hand but spoke to Catherine. “I guess I waited too long, but he’s a fine man. There’s still one merry widow left. When is Sarah coming back?”

  “Before summer’s end, if all went well with Mary’s confinement.” She could have told him that he’d be wasting his time trying to court Sarah. She would never marry again. But then, hadn’t she thought the same? Had? She still did, didn’t she?

  “Are you that disappointed?” Greg asked as Buck walked away and he took the basket from Thomas.

  “No. No,” she repeated, and smiled brightly at him.

  Greg reached for his initial-embossed leather bill book and removed a few banknotes.

  “Wouldn’t be right to take that money after all you did.”

  “Thomas, that was between us. I’ll pay for the basket like every other man here did.”

  More than a few of the married men teased them as they strolled beneath the trees, where spread blankets left little room. Catherine saw Caroline and Peter and steered Greg past them. They were so engrossed in each other, they didn’t notice them.

  He shook out the blanket beneath two stripling cottonwoods that barely offered enough shade. Catherine was quiet. Too quiet, he thought, watching her unpack their lunch. “Aren’t you going to ask me what Thomas was talking about?”

  “No.”

  “Just no?”

  “If I ask,” she said, leaning back on her heels, “you’ll only tell me not to ask so you won’t have to lie.”

  He grinned like an unrepentant sinner. “You know me so well.”

  “Do I? You’re showing a decidedly devious streak of late.”

  “A man has to do what he has to do—”

  “To get what he wants,” she finished for him.

  “Like I said, you know me so well.” He rubbed his hands together. “What goodies did you make?”

  “Your favorite. Hard-boiled eggs.” He groaned and she laughed. “Little darlin’ cookies, green coleslaw, pickles, chili popovers, ham loaf wrapped in biscuit dough and lemonade.”

  “A feast, Catherine.” But his gaze remained locked on her lips as he leaned closer.

  “Is it time to pay?” she murmured, leaning toward him to close the short distance.

  “I’ll need privacy for that payment.”

  She pulled back. Lashes fluttering, her voice at its softest, slowest drawl, she whispered, “Then hurry up and eat.”

  “For once, lovely lady, we are in perfect agreement.”

  Sensual excitement hummed between them as they drove home. Catherine couldn’t pinpoint the moment she had changed her mind. She just did it. She missed his lovemaking and the closeness they had shared. Perhaps it was the sight of so many courting couples strolling around them and the kisses they exchanged out of parents’ sight. And maybe she was finally admitting the intensity of her feelings for him were much more than she could deny.

  Greg snapped the reins to pick up the horse’s pace as they turned into the drive. “You go inside and I’ll unhitch the buggy.”

  For once she didn’t argue. Her gaze swept over the tent canvas shrouding his project, then as he halted the buggy, she looked at her own. Catherine cried out. The canvas covering was off. The walls she had labored to build had been torn down.

  “I’ll kill the son of a bitch who did this.”

  “Greg, no. At least they didn’t burn it. I can rebuild the walls. It was easier than I thought. But I don’t think I have a chance of winning now.”

  “Yes, you do. I won’t work on mine until you do your repairs. Now, I want you to go inside. I’ll take a look and make sure it’s safe for you to work there. Who knows what the bastard might have done. But I swear to you, Catherine, I had nothing to do with this.”

  “I know.”

  “You know?”

  “You gave me your word that it would be fairly won.”

  “And you believed me? You have that kind of faith in me? Yet you won’t just forget this stupid bet and marry me?”

  “Ask me no questions, Mayfield. Then I won’t lie.”

  “Catherine, come back here.”

  She skipped across the yard, her mood light despite the sabotage to her project. He called her again, and she turned.

  “Greg, we need to complete the bet. You gave your word that all would be equal no matter who won.”

  “What if I swear that now? Will you marry me?”

  “But you alrea
dy gave your word. I’m holding you to it.”

  With a mock growl he went after her, chasing her through the house and up the stairs. He caught her, too.

  It was a good long while before the buggy was unhitched.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  With a catlike smile and a stretch that set her moaning as tiny aches sent memory rushing through the long passion-filled hours of the night, Catherine bolted up from her bed. Greg was already gone. She sensed it without having to look.

  He had mentioned that he would go to town and speak to the mayor about the sabotage. She tried to warn him that without a town sheriff, there was no law. Men took care of their own. Civilized gentleman that he was, he refused to accept that.

  She heard Ramon arrive, whistling some tune that Greg had taught him. She dressed hurriedly, intending to question him.

  The boy denied knowing anything about the damage.

  “Señora, I would not do this terrible thing. The señor, he pays me mucho dinero. He tells me I am a man. A man does not bring trouble to his friends.”

  He stood tall, barely reaching her waist, and was so serious that Catherine had to respond in kind. “I know you didn’t do this, Ramon. We’ll all keep a watch. This is very important to me.”

  “Sí, I know. The señor, he tells me you will marry and have niños and niñas.” He smiled with a flash of white teeth and held up five fingers.

  “That many? The señor has grand ideas.”

  “You do not want so many? Madre, she loves the little ones.”

  She hugged him. “I do, too. Go on, get started. I’ll be out to help you in a few minutes.”

  Children? Why hadn’t she thought of children? Her hand slipped down to cover her flat stomach. Dear Lord, they had never discussed—how could she—“Oh, Greg, what have I done?”

  “I don’t know. But you can tell me anything.”

  “How did your meeting go?” She couldn’t tell him. She didn’t want to admit the likelihood to herself.

  “Disappointing. Your esteemed mayor expressed regret that this happened but there was nothing he could do. He is trying to get the town board to agree they need someone to uphold the law.”

  Though the morning was cool, her forehead was damp with perspiration, her heart hammered against her rib cage. A child? No. She couldn’t think about it. But a child? Her knees almost gave out beneath her.

  “Catherine, I’ve been asking you what’s wrong?”

  Her gaze focused on Greg’s concerned face.

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. Sit down and I’ll get you coffee.”

  “I’d rather you tell me what has you looking a little green.”

  “Green? I look green?”

  “Sick? Like you’re either going to faint or—”

  She pulled away from him. “I’m fine.” She made a complete turn and then held on to the dry sink. “Just fine.” Feeling strangely exposed, as if he could see her thoughts, she fled outside. “I need to get to work.”

  Catherine threw herself into work with a frenzy. But she couldn’t stop the warm flushes that came over her every time she thought of having Greg’s child. One with his charming smile. And his eyes. And… She had to stop this or she’d drive herself crazy. She certainly knew all the signs to watch for. She had none. There hadn’t been enough time. Then she wondered if Mary had thought the same thing. But Mary longed for a child of her own. Always. She couldn’t ever remember feeling like that. Louis had been careful. He wanted to wait. And then he was thrown from a horse he was breaking to the saddle and there was no more time.

  What if she was pregnant?

  Weak-kneed, she sat on an unopened keg of nails, the hammer she’d been using dangling from her hand. How long she sat there, totally unaware that people were stopping by on their way into town to see what progress had been made, she didn’t know. She roused herself and stood up to see Greg deep in conversation with Ollie.

  Whatever Ollie said, Greg was refusing. His hair, which hadn’t been cut since he’d arrived, flew to the sides as he shook his head. Catherine went back to work. Greg would tell her soon enough.

  Minutes later, he joined her. “Do you know what he wanted to do?”

  “No, but you’re going to tell me, right?”

  ‘‘He wanted to help me build. Said a lot of men had money riding on the outcome.”

  “You winning.”

  “Yeah.” He ran his hand through his untidy hair. “I refused. Told him…Catherine, are you listening to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t seem surprised.”

  “I guess you could say I had all the surprise knocked out of me today.” So would you if you were shaken to the core, to the very essence of your being.

  Something about the size of a hammer slammed into Greg’s throat. She appeared suddenly fragile, vulnerable. He took her into his arms, holding her head against his heart, and rocked her.

  “Whatever it is, you’re not handling it alone. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you, if you let me, Catherine.”

  “Don’t make me cry.”

  Lord, help! How do you stop a woman from crying when you don’t know what’s wrong?

  “Promise, Greg.”

  “Word of honor.” But she was crying. Her tears were soaking his shirt. His gaze lit on the half-finished wall she had been repairing. If she didn’t want to cry, it was up to him to make her laugh, or get angry. With Catherine a man took his chances.

  “Listen to me, lady, if anyone told me I’d pay good money for first-grade lumber and then see such shoddy work as yours—”

  She jerked free of his arms. “Shoddy work? No one had to show me which end of the hammer to use.” She swiped at the tears in her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  “Stealing a cuddle?”

  She glowered at his grin. “Stealing is right. Likely you’re looking to steal my idea. Go away. Go back to your lopsided—”

  “Now, just a minute! Just a damned minute. If you are so all-fired honest, how come you know the floor is a little slanted?”

  “Get spectacles, Mayfield. ‘Little’ isn’t the word I’d use to describe that thing you call flooring.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He went nose to nose with her, but when he attempted to pull her close, she evaded his hands.

  “Can’t you keep your pants buttoned? Stop trying to lure me into your bed at every turn.”

  “It wasn’t my bed I got lured into last night.”

  “You—”

  “This man who adores you when you’re steamed as Christmas pudding.”

  Catherine gave him a shove, but only rocked him back on his heels. “There are times, Mayfield, when I could punch you. And I’ve never said that to anyone else. Never wanted to hit someone as badly as I do you. You are impossible. Go back to butchering your first-grade lumber.”

  He went. Whistling all the way. He’d stopped her from crying. He shot a look over his shoulder. She had a sassy, hip-swinging walk emphasized by a shrunken pair of pants. He was going to strip her wardrobe of every pair. His temperature shot up, bypassing warm and heating into hot.

  He reached his spot and picked up his hammer, unable to stop himself from taking another look, but the barn blocked his vision. He thought of all the punishment he would extract from her. Just like last night. And proceeded to work.

  Still thinking about her walk, he held the nail in place and aimed a mighty blow.

  Catherine almost jumped out of her skin when she heard him yell. She leapt over the small stack of lumber and ran around the barn calling his name.

  “What happened? Where are you?”

  “I’m fine. Go back to work.” He didn’t want her to see him cradling his hand against his chest. His thumb felt four sizes too big with all the blood throbbing.

  “Are you hurt? Let me see you.”

  He got to his knees and looked over the nail kegs. “I said I’m fine. Just taking a break.”

  “If you’re so fine, why are you talking
through gritted teeth?”

  “’Cause I got a woman pesky as a bluebottle fly buzzing around asking foolish questions.”

  “Fine. Suffer in silence.” She started back, then turned. “Soaking it in a bucket of water from the well will help.” Men and their pride. But she veered off and returned a few minutes later with the bucket for him.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  That night, Catherine pulled out the tub and had a hot bath waiting for Greg. There had been more swearing and a few crashes from his side during the day. As he limped inside the kitchen, she assumed he had taken a tumble or two. He wore such a forbidding black scowl that she didn’t say a word.

  Two days later, Catherine couldn’t find her saw. Greg lent her his. Then it rained for a whole day. He went into town, she baked off her frustration.

  He hadn’t returned by the time she dragged herself off to bed. A wicked headache began her monthly cycle. Why that should have made her cry herself to sleep, she didn’t know.

  Morning found her staring into her mirror. The headache was gone, the cramps bearable, but she could do nothing to hide her red-rimmed eyes. The lids were puffy. All she wanted to do was cry again.

  Greg knocked on her bedroom door.

  “Go away.”

  “Stop sulking, Catherine, and come out. There’s something I want to show you.”

  “I’m not sulking. And I don’t want to see anything you have.”

  “That’s not what you said the other night.”

  “Don’t remind me of my foolishness. And stop sounding so amused. I’m not indulging in some female whim, Mayfield.”

  “Then why is your door locked? Are you sick? Why won’t you let me help you, thickheaded as you are?”

  “Don’t use that arrogant know-it-all male tone with me. Go back to town. Find someone else to amuse you.” She glared at her reflection, then turned away.

  “Fine. Maybe I will. I just want you to know that there will be no more sabotage to your henhouse. I—”

  “What did you do, buy an army detail to stand watch?” She jumped when the door handle rattled from the force of his attempt to open it. Then there was silence. She walked to the door and put her ear against the wood. Nothing. She should apologize for snapping at him. But how could she tell him why? Until she came to live with Sarah and Mary, a woman’s monthly problems were her own.