Catherine

by Raine Cantrell

  Catherine didn’t answer. She stood in front of Greg and the press of people around her made it hard to breathe.

  “I think you should unveil yours first,” she said, surprised she sounded calm. Once again she rubbed damp palms against her pants and felt against the pocket for the match safe.

  “Are you sure, Catherine?” He gazed directly into her eyes, ignoring the hoots and calls to get on with it. He saw her bottom lip tremble. He was that close and that sensitive to every facial expression that was burned into his memory.

  She nodded and forced a smile. “Good luck.”

  “And you.” He wanted to say more. He needed to tell her he loved her. But people pushed and crowded them toward the canvas.

  Nita shoved Catherine forward. She elbowed a few men aside to make room. “Go on, get up there next to him. That’s where you belong. That’s where your heart is telling you to be.”

  “Nita, I—”

  A loud collective gasp cut Catherine off.

  Greg ripped aside the canvas to reveal his idea of a hen…house. Catherine swallowed. Hard. “House” didn’t quite describe what he had built. Everyone, she saw, was at a loss for words. He had, with one stroke, effectively silenced them all.

  But her love’s pride was at stake.

  “Greg,” she cried out, “it’s magnificent! Oh, to think I wasted my labor. My chickens would never even look at my poor effort when they can roost in such…such splendor!”

  She turned to look at Nita, silently crying for help.

  “Have you ever seen anything so grand, Nita?”

  “Gal, I swear to you all, never have these poor old tired eyes of mine beheld such a sight.” Her hand pressed her heart.

  Catherine wasn’t sure if it was an indication that she told the truth or that she was about to faint.

  “Catherine?”

  She faced Greg. “I meant every word. It’s a glory. A wonder. A perfect…I’m running out of words.” She faltered at the strange looks she received. But it was what Greg thought and felt that concerned her.

  He watched her every breath. She smiled. Brightly. She nodded. She put her heart into her gaze. She knew what the others saw. A leaning towered creation that would likely collapse with the first strong wind. It partly resembled a castle. There was a walkway and a window. The front was narrower than the back. He’d even put double doors on the side. True, none of the hinges lined up, but they worked. She knew, because she had tried them. There wasn’t a perch inside for the hens to roost on. A minor inconvenience. One had only to look at the tiers of roofs he had created. They rose two and three stories high. A few were flat, some were arched, others pitched. None of the joinings matched. So, what was a little rain for the hens?

  “I love it.” She had nothing to lose at this moment and everything to gain. Each word, each look and move had been calculated to sustain his pride, to win his love.

  “Love it? You love it?” His heart was in his gaze. He lifted a hand toward her.

  “I declare you the winner, Greg.” She would never mention the slight tremble of the hand she grasped with her own.

  She was compelled to fling her arms around his neck and kiss him with the pent-up emotions that had kept her awake most of the night.

  “You can’t declare him the winner, Catherine. It’s for the rest to us to judge.”

  There was an angry murmur at the protest that Buck Purcell raised.

  “Sore loser, Buck? Bet on Catherine, did you?” Ollie taunted.

  “He’s got a right to have his say,” Caroline said. “Catherine would want this to be fair. Right?” she asked her friend.

  “Yes. It is to be fairly judged. Just give me a minute and then you all come over to the other side.”

  She slipped from Greg’s arms, ignoring his bewildered expression. She never saw the fist he planted in Buck’s face. Nor the skinned knuckles he raised to his lips.

  No one uttered a protest. Not even Caroline.

  Catherine took a deep breath and went forward to the canvas around her henhouse. It was big enough for twenty laying hens. Plain as could be. She heard Greg shout her name. She dropped to her knees. Her hand shook. She couldn’t breathe now, for the stench of the kerosene she had poured earlier to soak every bit of wood was overpowering.

  “For his love,” she whispered, and with a cry, she struck the match, flung it at the canvas and jumped back. With a loud whooshing sound the flames erupted.

  She ran back around the barn. Smack into Greg.

  He gripped her arms and held her away from him. “What the hell have you done?”

  “Given you a wife,” she answered, then dropped the match safe to the ground.

  “Are you mad?” he demanded to know, shaking her. “You’ve burned your henhouse.”

  “I know.”

  “Answer me, Catherine. Are you mad?”

  “Yes, answer him, Catherine!” the crowd shouted in chorus.

  She flushed to the roots of her hair, and Greg glared at all who closed in on them.

  “Mad? I suppose I am. I need to travel for my health. I understand that New York is lovely in the spring. I have it on good authority that the Paris countryside must not be missed in summer. And then—”

  He kissed her. Quick and hard. Then he lifted his head to look down into her eyes.

  Her chin rose, her gaze as direct as his. Smoke stung her eyes, but the tears came from the love that filled her heart.

  “I love you, Catherine Rose.” He tightened his arms around her and lifted her up with his lips sealed to hers. Slowly then, he turned them in a circle to everyone’s enjoyment. He heard nothing of comments or cheers, only the roar of his blood.

  “Mine. Truly won, and mine,” he whispered against her lips.

  “Do you love me, Gregory Mayfield?”

  “I fell in love with a dream and found the dream was real.”

  Catherine clasped her hands on the back of his neck. Her head fell back and she demanded that he spin them faster. “Now, while I’m dizzy, ask me to marry you.”

  “Why, for heaven’s sake?”

  “I need an excuse to fall back on when we fight.”

  He fought not to laugh. “Planning to do lots of fighting, are we? But you’ll need more than one excuse.”

  “Ask me, Mayfield.”

  He slowed, then stopped and lowered her to stand, but kept her caged within his embrace. “Will you be my love? The keeper of my dreams? Live with me? And laugh with me? Be mother to my children? Guardian of my heart? My wife, my wanton, my sweet enchantress? Obedient until death do us part?”

  With her eyes closed, she had been murmuring yes to all his questions. Her eyes opened wide on hearing the last. “I can’t promise that, Greg. No more than you could, or would.”

  “That’s my Catherine, contrary to the end. Kiss me.”

  She offered her lips, cherishing the tenderness that flowed between them as much as she did the passion that flared to life.

  “You two planning on burning the ground where you stand or helping us fight a real fire?” Nita pushed a bucket at Greg. “Right smart of you, Catherine, to soak the ground with water and clear the wood away. Pity, though. It was a real fine chicken house.” She gave Greg a head-to-toe look and smiled. “Guess I can’t blame you none. He’s a prize, all right.”

  “Yes,” Catherine answered softly, holding Greg’s arm. “And he’s all mine.”

  After the fire was out, they danced, for no one wanted to go home. It was then that Greg made his confession.

  “I knew you were up to something, Catherine. Between us you won the bet, but I had a few more ready. And Nita was right. You built the better henhouse.”

  “You cheated? You—you—”

  “Now, Catherine, don’t make a scene.” He held her tighter. “I’ve had enough of feeling like one of my sister’s parrots with everyone gawking at us.”

  “Suzanne has parrots?”

  “Six at last count. I wouldn’t be surprised to find my br
other-in-law living at his club. She has them in the drawing room, her dressing room, even the back parlor. There might be one on the upstairs sunporch.”

  “Greg?”

  “What?” he asked, but wouldn’t look at her.

  “You’re trying to distract me.”

  His gaze locked on hers. “It works every time, doesn’t it? And as you have repeatedly pointed out to me, I’m a man. I use whatever means are at hand. Especially with such a prize at stake. I even had another bet all set for offering if this one hadn’t worked.”

  “Another bet?” She knew by the tantalizing, charming smile he wore that she had fallen right in with whatever he had planned. It didn’t seem to matter. “No doubts, Greg?” She had never searched so deeply for the truth as she gazed into her beloved’s face.

  “A few. Will I be a good husband? A good father? Will you always love me? And you?”

  “About the same.” She snuggled against him. No sense in upsetting him with her thoughts. She didn’t want to tell him now that having a husband who was inept at a few things made her more his equal. Greg was very good at making money, and making her laugh, and kissing—she couldn’t, wouldn’t ever forget that—but most of all, he loved her just as she was.

  Her head fell back. “About that other bet?”

  “Later, after everyone’s gone.”

  He drew Catherine to his side as the last wagon rumbled down the drive. “Want to bet I can find Miss Lily?”

  “Is that find or already found?”

  “Must you, to quote Ollie, split hairs over a word? In the joyous spirit that prevails in my heart at this moment in time, just say yes or no.”

  “Yes, but first I want to know what I win.”

  “You’re pushing, Mrs. Soon-to-be Mayfield.”

  “I know. It seems to be one of the things you love about me.”

  “Such a smug woman. We have a bet, and the prize…let me think what I want.” He cupped her shoulders and turned her to face him. Moonlight shimmered in her eyes. “My prize is that you never change, Catherine. No matter what, never change the woman you are.”

  She threw her arms around his neck, burying her face against his chest.

  For once he needed no words. He accepted her nod and the slight dampening of his shirt. He took her hand after a few minutes and led her into the barn, passing the stalls to the tack room, where he’d left a lantern lit.

  He moved from Catherine’s side to lift an old crate aside. “There’s where she’s been hiding.”

  On old sacking, the hen had made a nest of straw. Peeking beneath her feathers was a tiny beak. The hen’s eyes were bright as she watched them. A muffled cheep left no doubt that Miss Lily had finally hatched one of her stolen eggs.

  Greg took his love in his arms and gazed into her eyes. “New life, Catherine. I guess I’ll order more lumber. She deserves a henhouse all her own.” He pecked at her nose. And smiled. “But this time, love, you do the building.”

  Her laughter rang out, sweet and joyous, joined by his deeper, masculine sound.

  And in her heart, she echoed his words…a new life was just beginning for them.

  Epilogue

  Between wedding and travel arrangements, the time of waiting for Sarah to return passed quickly. And now Catherine faced her wedding day. She had a telegram, her first, from Suzanne, who was already planning a ball in their honor. She knew Greg understood without her explaining the need that she had to be married here, surrounded by friends, before she began her journey with him.

  And Lord Romeo.

  Greg had established a truce of sorts with the cat. Never once did he complain about the hairs he had to brush from almost every article of clothing he owned. Of course, contrary cat that Lord Romeo was, he never went near the clothing while Greg was wearing it. He would wait and then sneak into the wardrobe.

  Catherine swore to Greg that this was a hopeful sign that the cat felt affection for him.

  Greg still had his doubts.

  She turned from her window as Sarah came into the room. “It’s time?”

  “Yes. You’ve a very impatient groom. I wish that Mary could be here. Greg is so in love with you, Catherine, just like Rafe adores Mary and their new son. You look lovelier than I’ve ever seen you.”

  They hugged each other, Sarah making her wishes for her friend’s happiness, and Catherine feeling the bittersweetness of having to leave Sarah behind.

  “I’m wrinkling your gown. I still don’t understand why you chose to wear this old one.”

  “Greg understands. I leave this behind and with it the memories of a first marriage.”

  Sarah smiled at her. “I shall miss you. You brought laughter back into my life, Catherine.”

  “You’ll come and visit. Promise?” Catherine asked as she picked up the bouquet of roses that Camilla had clipped from her mother’s garden.

  “We’ll see. Rafe and Mary have promised to visit when the baby’s a little older. I think he has her convinced to travel with him this time. Now, before Greg comes looking for you, which is bad luck, let’s go down.”

  But at the door, Catherine stopped her. “Sarah, do you realize that both Mary and I opened the door to strangers that we fell in love with?”

  Sarah shook her head. “Ah, Catherine, you’ll never change. Such fanciful thoughts.”

  “Well, it could happen. One dark night, some man will come knocking, and before you know it, you’ll marry again, too.”

  “But who would be the merry widow of Sierra County then? Not that it matters for you to answer. I won’t be getting married a second time. And no more talk. You have love waiting…go on.”

  Catherine took a breath and started down the steps. She didn’t turn, but had to have the last word. “Just think about the possibility, Sarah. That’s all I ask. If a man that’s not old enough to be your father walks through that front door, you’ll give him every chance.”

  But Catherine had reached the bottom of the steps and found Greg waiting. His gaze narrowed her world to only him. Hand in hand, they walked to stand before the minister in the parlor. And there, love’s promises were made.

  When the rainstorms came, Sarah had reason to recall Catherine’s words. It didn’t quite happen as she had thought. It wasn’t a door but a window that brought a man into her life. And he wasn’t old at all…

  More from Raine Cantrell

  The Merry Widows Series

  The Kincaid Series

  Novels

  Novellas

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