His mind warning him furiously away, her gaze burned through him, kindling a fire. Slowly he finished what he’d started and pulled the fork back. She touched her tongue to her lips as if savoring the taste he’d given her.
A small sheen of fruit syrup at the corner of her mouth caught his eye and before he could check the impulse, Case slid the pad of his thumb across it. Her lips parted slightly in response to his touch, her quickened breath kissing his skin.
Case pulled his hand back. The strong, sudden desire to taste where he’d touched jolted him.
Instead he offered her another bite of fruit, their eyes never leaving each other. The room around them seemed to fall away into darkness save for the small golden flame of the single candle glowing between them.
Katlyn longed to suspend the moment, to let the warmth in his touch, in his eyes, shelter her from the cold storm of worry and fear, so she could forget how alone she was.
She took her own fork and speared a piece of peach. “You’ve forgotten yourself,” she murmured. “Here, let me give back what you’ve given me.”
Case sensed she meant something far beyond the sweet taste she offered. Her bold yet innocent attempt to return his kindness found him suddenly awkward and unable to accept. For the first time since they’d sat down, he dragged his eyes from her face.
As gently as he could, he held up a hand in pause. “I—That is, thank you, I—can’t. I confess, I don’t have much appetite, either.”
Katlyn stopped midmotion, utterly confused and embarrassed. “Oh…I see.” She flushed, looking everywhere but at him.
What a fool she was! She’d imagined something more behind his gestures than compassion borne out of decency or his determined sense of honor and duty. But that’s all it had been, the gentle touches, the kind words, the morsels of food. Compassion, just as he’d shown toward Becky and Bucky, Sally, Tuck and Bat. All of his orphans.
To him, she was simply another lost and lonely soul looking for a place to call home, in need of someone to care. Perhaps that’s why the ghosts stayed in this hotel, she mused. For despite his almost fierce bravado, the truth was Case Durham didn’t have the heart to send any needy spirit away.
Case finished his wine in one drink and shoved his plate away. He drew a gold case from his vest and took out a cheroot. Cutting the tip and lighting it, he took one long draw before facing her again. “I’m concerned about your companion. I didn’t realize she was so ill.”
“Thank you,” Katlyn murmured, unable to meet his eyes. She tried to push the last few minutes from her mind. What he’d felt, what he’d shared with her, was nothing more than empathy or something she wanted far less: pity.
“What’s her name?”
Katlyn’s eyes snapped to his at that. “Her—name?”
“I presume she has one. But you never call her anything but your companion.”
“Her name is—Beatrice, Beatrice Riley,” Katlyn blurted, using the name of her mother’s former dresser. Beatrice was nearly eighty now and hadn’t dressed anyone in over fifteen years, but Case didn’t know that. And at least if he mentioned the name again, she would recognize the new persona she’d just given Penelope.
“We’ve known each other a long time, we’re very—attached. I owe her a great deal.”
Case leaned back in his chair, his long legs stretching well to the side. “I see that. I only wish I could be of more service.”
“That’s very kind of you. But there’s nothing anyone can do right now.” She stumbled over the last words and blinked back the tears burning her eyes.
Case saw her lose her struggle for restraint as several tears slipped down her face. His heart twisted. “You can quit singing for a time, with pay, if need be, to take care of her,” he offered.
That did it. His arrogance and his cold distance Katlyn had defenses against. His tenderness and generosity, she didn’t. Unable to hold back another moment, she broke down and began to sob openly, feeling humiliated by her outburst. But, tired and worried beyond reason, she couldn’t stop the flood tides of emotion.
Immediately, Case doused his cheroot and moved to her side. He bent close to her, dabbing at her eyes with his napkin. How could it be that the moisture on her flawless skin brought a beguiling glow to her cheeks? He yearned to kiss away the drops, one by one, but willed himself to give her only comfort.
“I promise I’ll do whatever I can to help,” he murmured, gently lifting her chin with his fingertips to look directly into her eyes.
Why was he tormenting her? Katlyn stared at him through a watery haze. Better to leave her alone in her misery than to make it worse with this empty show of caring.
Case waited a moment then slowly backed away. “I’ve said the wrong thing. I’ll leave you alone. It was an honest offer, though, I promise you.”
Honest. The word struck Katlyn like a blow. She couldn’t deny that he’d tried everything to help her and her mother, treated her with protective kindness, as a woman and a friend instead of a mere subordinate. But then, to Case, all of his employees meant far more than the word indicated. And each one, in gratitude, in his or her own way, gave back more to Case than he ever demanded.
And how had she repaid him? By returning his efforts with lies.
She reached for him, gripping his hand before he walked away. “No, Case, you’ve been wonderful tonight. It’s just that I—”
Case turned back to her, his hand moving from hers to reach out and brush several coppery strands of hair that had come loose and fallen across her face. Her shimmering curls, now tinted with flames of gold and sparks of crimson in the candlelight, teased his fingertips with their softness, momentarily overtaking any other thought.
“Don’t.” The effort of restraint to bank his need to let his touch keep trailing down her cheek, left his voice a raspy whisper. “There’s no need to explain. Only know that I’ll help, however I can.”
“You have helped. More than you know.”
Case brushed a thumb beneath each eye, wiping away the wetness there. “If you’re finished, I’ll walk you back to the boardinghouse. Unless you’d rather go to your room. As tired as you are, it might be wiser to stay here. I don’t think you can be of much help to your friend now.”
Katlyn gathered her tattered nerves, wiped her eyes and cheeks with her napkin and allowed Case to pull out her chair for her. He proffered his elbow and she curled her palm around his muscular arm. He felt so strong, so stable, she longed to lean into him.
She stifled a yawn. “Maybe you’re right.”
“A little of this may help you sleep,” Case said, holding up her wineglass.
She shook her head. Knowing you care will help me sleep tonight.
Her small tired steps, the delicate touch of her hand on his forearm, made Case yearn to sweep her into his arms and carry her upstairs to her bed. But tonight, if he took her that far, held her that close, touched the fiery essence of her hair and skin, would only bring the deepest of regrets for them both tomorrow.
He chided himself for the thought, but as they walked slowly up the staircase Katlyn yawned again and leaned her head against his shoulder. She had no way of knowing how that small gesture set his loins aflame, how long it had been since he’d even had any interest in taking a woman to his bed. After the agony of his breakup with his wife, for a surprising length of time it had hardly crossed his mind.
He’d been so preoccupied with Emily and with the hotel, it hadn’t mattered—until Katlyn McLain swept into his life. Since that day, he now realized that little by little his senses had begun to awaken to her, from the sweet lilac scent of her hair to the lyrical sound of her laugh, to the gentle sway of her hips beneath those satin and silk confections she wore each night. She was bringing him back to life in ways he’d hoped to never feel again.
Katlyn relaxed against Case’s arm, relishing the support. She wished the staircase were a mile long. He’d leave her at her door, all propriety intact. Of that she was certain. But to
night, feeling him so close, needing the power of his soothing touch, she wished he would abandon his cool stoicism and simply hold her.
The tender image filled her mind so vividly, she scarcely heard the first thud strike the lobby door.
In the next instant both she and Case jerked around to face a thunderous ruckus of shouts and pounding. At first the noise came from outside, but whoever it was obviously intended to come crashing right through the front door.
Chapter Seven
Case ran down the stairs, taking several at a time, pausing only to pull his six-shooter from a drawer hidden behind the desk in the lobby. He strode to the front door and yelled above the noise as he grasped the doorknob, “The saloon’s closed.”
A round of laughter from several revelers answered him, loud even through the closed door.
“We don’t mean no harm, mister,” a man’s slurred voice called back. “We jus’ wanna git warmed up and git us some rooms fer the night.”
Bucky, roused from the pallet he’d taken to sleeping on in the little nook behind the front desk whenever their father was on a drunken rampage, poked his head up to peer sleepily at Case and Katlyn. “What’s happening?”
“Just stay where you are, Bucky. And you—” He turned to Katlyn, hovering at his side. “Wait upstairs until I find out what this is about.”
Though tempted, Katlyn didn’t argue with his demand. She retreated only as far back as the bottom of the staircase and waited there, watching.
Case unlocked the door, but before he could open it, the men outside flung it back. A mass of drunken, stinking cowboys and painted women stumbled headlong into the lobby, nearly knocking him backward.
“Evenin’!” one of the men said, jovially lifting his near-empty whiskey bottle to Case. “We’re lookin’ fer a spot to rest our backsides a spell. And we heard this here hotel is the best in town.”
Case looked him over, hardly impressed with what he saw. The man stood a gangly six-feet-plus with slicked-back greasy hair, wearing an ill-fitting attempt at dandified clothes. Case had seen the type a thousand times over. And in nearly every instance, it had meant trouble.
Still, antagonizing men with more whiskey in them than good sense would only mean trouble. If at all possible, he wanted to avoid any more bullet holes in the wall—or worse. “I own the St. Martin. What exactly do you want?”
“Why, some empty beds and full bottles,” said another of the men.
This one, stocky and strong, in fringed leather chaps with a bright red scarf around his sun-tanned neck, was obviously pure cowhand. Though he wobbled in his boots, he managed to prop up a bleary-eyed blond with red rouge smudged to her cheekbones. The woman in tow, he made his way through the others toward Case.
Katlyn took a few steps forward in an impulse to support Case, then stopped. Better not to complicate things any further; letting them see her would hardly help the situation. But watching Case face them, so outnumbered, made her nervous.
“We just sold us a herd of mustangs and we’re out celebratin’,” the cowhand said.
“In the blue chips tonight, ain’t we boys!” the first man shouted, toasting again with his now empty bottle. The group answered with cheers and hoots.
Case glanced over the others in the group, then back at the leader. Cattle rustlers. He’d thought as much the minute he’d laid eyes on them.
Trouble.
Maybe, maybe not.
He had to decide quickly whether it was worth the risk to let them stay, although he didn’t have much choice. In this territory, the peculiar brand of Western hospitality demanded you feed and shelter your worst enemy if he came to your place, and if you turned anyone away, you might as well close the door on your business.
Still, Katlyn wouldn’t know that. He glanced back over his shoulder to where she waited in the shadows in defiance of his order to go upstairs.
Katlyn expected he’d be irritated to find her there. But she suddenly realized he was silently asking her opinion.
The notion both surprised and moved her. He was desperate for the income, she knew. And apart from Emily, nothing meant more to him than the success of the St. Martin. But without income from guests, whatever form they took, he could never hope to revive the hotel.
Yet obviously he was worried about Emily and about how Katlyn would feel with more guests like these under the same roof. He seemed to be looking to her, asking for her approval, before he allowed the men to stay.
She took no time to make up her mind. Case wouldn’t let them stay if he thought he couldn’t handle them, that much she knew. She’d seen him throw many a rowdy drunkard out into the night, and once he’d neatly relieved two men of their knives before a fight could ensue over whether or not to close a window.
But for some reason, right now he needed her trust and her support before he would take a chance on this group. She mustered a smile and nodded, hoping she looked more confident than she felt.
Case caught her meaning. In spite of her own problems, she was thinking of the hotel, of him. He nodded back, earning himself another fleeting smile.
Turning back to assess the men and their whores, he decided they were so whiskey soaked, once he broke them up and sent them to their rooms, most of them would probably simply pass out.
The hard truth was he couldn’t afford to lose the amount they’d let slip through their fingers in his hotel, even if they only stayed one night. And he certainly couldn’t afford to give the St. Martin a reputation for turning away travelers.
The bottle-toting ringleader spoke up again. “We’ll take—now let’s see how many of us are there?” His ridiculous struggle to count on his fingertips frayed Case’s patience.
“Nine. You need nine rooms. Pay up front and go on to bed and you can stay.” Case braced his boots in a wide-legged stance in case what he was about to say ignited the man’s temper. “But nothing else. I told you already, the saloon’s closed for the night.”
The man’s affable smile turned suddenly sour. “Closed?” He whirled around in an off-balance motion. “Hear that boys? Man says the well’s dried up for the night.” A round of boos and groans fed his cockiness. “Seems the boys think we might oughta get that pump workin’ again ’fore we turn in fer the night. I’m in need of a bottle of the local tangle leg. The kind that’ll make a hummingbird spit in a rattlesnake’s eye.”
Case took one long stride to stand square in the man’s face. He pulled his Colt from his waistband, slid his thumb to draw back the hammer, and pointed it between the man’s bloodshot eyes.
Katlyn barely stopped herself from rushing to Case’s side. But knowing taking such a risk might only worsen the situation, and recognizing the cold threat in his voice, gave her pause.
“I don’t think you’re listening,” he said to the group. “I said the saloon’s closed.”
An uneasy hush fell over them, dousing their high spirits.
Katlyn heard the stairs creak. She glanced toward the noise and spied Becky creeping down to see what the ruckus was. Katlyn lifted a hand in warning, waving Becky back upstairs to the relative safety of Emily’s bedroom.
Of all nights for Becky and Bucky to have to have left their house again. She could hardly fault Case for offering them the hotel as a refuge, but tonight it might be more dangerous than their own home. Then again, young as Bucky was, she suspected he’d already learned how to hold his own in a fight and how to handle a gun.
The room deadly still, Case and the other man locked eyes in a silent battle of wills, Case’s hand steady on his gun. “If you want to take a bottle to your rooms, you can pay me now. If you want anything else, you won’t find it here tonight.”
“Are you gonna let him talk to you thatta way, Gar?”
Katlyn picked out a raven-haired woman yelling out from the back of the group. Her dress hung off her shoulders at such a low angle most of her bosom was exposed.
“Ah, shut up, Millie, I’m plum tuckered out,” the cowboy to her right groane
d.
“Yeah,” someone else agreed. “Can’t you keep yer woman quiet, Gar? Them mustangs nearly done me in.”
“All I wanna do is get outta these damned boots,” another man added. “Come on, Gar, give him his money and let’s get our whiskey and settle in. There’s always tomorrow night.”
Gar narrowed his eyes on Case. “No one points a gun in my face and lives to tell about it, mister.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to kill me. Now, do you want the rooms or not?”
After another tense silence, several men burst out in laughter, cajoling and teasing Gar. Finally, a small twisted smile lifted one corner of his narrow lips. “A jokester, huh? Well, I ain’t laughin’. But since my boys are tired, we’ll take the rooms. And the whiskey.”
Ever so slowly, Case lowered his gun, keeping his trigger finger ready. “And I’ll take your money.”
“What happened at home tonight?” Katlyn said to Becky and Bucky after Case left with Tuck to see to it the rabble-rousers were all safely in their rooms for the night.
Bucky shrugged. “Nothin’ new.” He fluffed the pillow on his pallet and lay down.
Becky stood nearby waiting for her brother to settle into his makeshift bed. Emily who, disturbed by the noise, had followed Becky downstairs, looking for her daddy, now rested cuddled in Becky’s arms, her head on Becky’s shoulder.
“Pa went after us both with a broken whiskey bottle, so we run out and come here,” Becky said, sounding unconcerned, as if it had happened so many times it didn’t matter any longer. “Mr. Durham lets us do that, you know.”
“I know. I’m glad you have somewhere to come.”
Case had practically adopted the twins. As demanding and strict as he was at times, he treated them more like his own children than employees. He was a good, solid man and a loving father. And at the same time he could be shrewd and fiercely protective. Somehow, tonight, he’d diffused a highly volatile and dangerous situation and managed to turn a very tidy profit out of it. How could she help but admire him?
Cimarron Rose Page 8
