Loving Katherine

by Carolyn Davidson

  Rising from the chair purposefully, he reached for his hat, hanging on a peg just inside the door. Easing it into place, he settled it with a final tilt of the brim His fingers slid into the pockets of his denim pants, thumbs hooked over his belt and his elbows thrust behind him.

  All he needed was a gun belt and he’d look like a gunslinger for sure, Katherine thought, her eyes ranging over the man who was thoroughly upsetting her equilibrium this morning. She struggled against the tension that had gripped her upon his arrival yesterday and had remained deeply seated in the depths of her being. His touch had not eased her disquiet any, either, she reflected grimly. Whether it was a natural reaction to a stranger or some individual sense of danger attached to this particular man was the problem.

  The former she could handle. The latter, which was more likely to be true, could create a situation she’d gone to great lengths to steer clear of over the years.

  His eyes pinned her in place, taking a leisurely journey over the dowdy length of her, and she began to bristle instinctively. He had no right, she thought with rising indignation. No right at all to come in here and make himself at home and then question her about her livestock as if he could pick and choose.

  His next words only added to her turmoil. “What are you gonna do with the three mares out in the corral?” he asked mildly, as if he sought to salve her obvious tension.

  Her reply was abrupt, snapped off irritably. “Work with them.”

  “I’ll take one off your hands,” he offered easily. “Give me a few days to get in the saddle and I’ll be out of your way.”

  “My four-year-old is too small. In fact, I don’t have anything big enough for you. Just a three-year-old and she’s…” Her eyes softened as she hesitated.

  “Doesn’t pay to make pets of animals you’re bound to sell off, Katherine,” he said gently.

  Once more her chin tilted as she glared at him. “She’s not a pet. But she sure isn’t ready to have a saddle thrown on her back and a two-hundred-pound man digging his heels in her sides.”

  “She’s a horse,” he said bluntly. “She was bred to be ridden.”

  “Said like a man,” she returned with icy disdain, anxious to be rid of this reminder of her own frailty.

  “Any man in particular, Katherine?”

  She glanced at him quickly, assessing the question.

  He pushed for an answer. “Who made you so prickly?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. But something tells me you’re a mite touchy about that sassy little filly of yours.”

  “That’s the key word, Mr. Devereaux. She is mine and I intend to keep her.”

  He smiled agreeably. “That’s your right, ma’am.” His head nodded in the direction of the barn as he changed the subject with alacrity. “Thought I’d spend a couple of hours out there to pay for my keep.”

  “It’s not necessary,” she countered swiftly. She’d felt the warmth creep up into her cheeks as the play of words had swirled between them, and she felt a sudden letdown as he turned from the fray so easily. For a few minutes, she’d felt alive and vital sparring with Roan Devereaux and, in an odd way, enjoying it

  His index finger rose to tilt the brim of his hat in a courtly parody, and he headed for the door with long strides that carried him out onto the porch and down the steps before her protest could be enlarged upon.

  She watched, almost unwillingly, yet drawn by the sight of him. Slim-hipped, he walked with a lithe swing that spoke of long years in the saddle and an ease with his own body. Only a slight hitch betrayed him, and Katherine’s gaze narrowed as she analyzed the hesitation that marred his easy stride. Then her father’s words came back to her, jolting her with the image of savage warfare they had painted.

  “Roan paid for my life, girl,” he’d said grimly. “That leg of his will wear scars for all of his years. He dragged me when he could hardly make it himself…till both of us were so covered with muck and mire you couldn’t make out the pair of us from the mud we crawled through. Him pullin’ and tuggin’ on me, one hand holdin’ my belt and the other clawin’ for a good grip on the side of that hill.”

  Charlie Cassidy had spoken often—and well—of the man who’d saved his life in the midst of battle in Virginia. Her eyes softened as they focused on the barely discernible hesitation in Roan’s step now as he strode across her yard.

  “I owe you, Roan Devereaux,” she whispered with reluctance in the silence of her kitchen. Her shoulders lifted as an indrawn breath shuddered through her. “Maybe I can figure something out.” And maybe she’d better quit lollygaggin’ around and get busy, she thought, shaking her head as she reluctantly turned her back and headed for the cookstove to bank the fire.

  Charlie had left a fine legacy. Although where the mares were concerned, who had produced these charmers was anyone’s guess. The yearlings frolicked about the pasture with long-legged freedom, heads tossing and tails flying, performing as though they sensed the admiration of their audience. Oblivious to their antics, a chestnut mare grazed, her nose lifting as she turned her head momentarily in his direction. The man who’d hooked one boot on the bottom rail, leaning casually to watch the animals gambol about in the pasture, was more than just an admiring audience. Roan had earned his respite, the sweat that drew his shirt to cling to the muscles of his back was a damp testimony to his morning’s work.

  He’d walked the boundaries of the pasture, checking and repairing several weak places in the old fencing, tight-lipped as he considered the amount of work that needed to be done. The condition of the posts and wire had disturbed him, and he was aware that his nailing up sagging wire and shoring up fence posts could only be considered a temporary measure.

  Charlie’s homestead was not what he’d expected. The horseman who’d befriended him in the last days of his service to the army had not been cut out to be a farmer, it seemed.

  Charlie’d been more suited to be a roaming man, Roan thought. More geared to training horses and moving on his way than settling down here on green Illinois pastureland.

  And then there was Charlie’s daughter. Roan’s quiet laugh broke the silence and one of the fillies tossed her head at the sound.

  “Yeah, Katherine…” His voice caressed the name and his mouth twisted in a wry grin as he considered the woman. Unyielding at first glance, stiff and unbending with that old shotgun aimed in his direction, she’d glared her best at him. She was still glaring, he thought, only not quite as convincingly.

  He’d glimpsed her uncertainty earlier, when he’d touched her arm. Sensed the withdrawal as she shrank from his hand. There was a lot of woman there, he decided, hidden beneath the coarse homespun dress she wore like armor against his gaze. But not just his. She made it her business to look dowdy.

  “Doesn’t look to me like you’ve earned your dinner yet.”

  He spun to face her, his hand brushing against his thigh in an automatic gesture. One her eyes followed with cynical awareness.

  “You’re lucky you haven’t lost these horses before this,” he said roughly, his head inclining toward the pasture. “I mended several places that were just one good shove from collapsing.”

  Katherine nodded. “I’ve been meaning to check it out. It was on my list,” she said dryly.

  Along with a hundred other chores, he thought, aware of the unending job she’d taken on when Charlie died.

  “Well, what I did will hold for a while. But it was only a lick and a promise. Some of those posts are rotting where they stand. You’re gonna have to replace them.”

  Her sigh was tinged with defeat. “I do what’s most needed. And right now, training those horses in the corral is the most important thing.”

  “Who are you gonna sell them to?” He’d lay money she hated the thought of parting with any one of the sleek mares she was so fond of.

  “My mare’s not for sale to anyone,” she told him, nodding at the chestnut animal approaching them. Kath
erine’s hand reached out to stroke the white blaze that flashed through her mare’s forelock and slashed like a narrow sword down the length of her nose. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

  Roan nodded, admiring the picture before him…the woman caught up for a moment in her pleasure with the creature she fondled. “I like the looks of the tall bay,” he said, glancing back at the corral Charlie’d attached to the barn.

  “The three-year-old? Well, I haven’t decided about her. The four-year-old is going to the banker’s daughter in town, soon as I finish gentling her real good. The black’s mine,” she said, her voice soft as she turned to watch the horses in the corral closer to the house.

  “Charlie teach you how to train?” he asked as they began to walk back to the house.

  She nodded. “Ever since I was big enough to snap on a lead rope and drag a six-week-old foal around in a circle.”

  They walked side by side, their attention caught by the mares who stood in the shade offered by the barn.

  “My pa bought this place from the man who cleared the land and built the house. Matter of fact, we moved in just a while before he left for the war. He’d been fretting about sitting on the sidelines, and one day, he just got on his horse and told me to take care of things till he got back.”

  “Just like that?”

  Her nod was abrupt. “Just like that.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I’ve always been a dutiful daughter, Mr. Devereaux. I did as he asked. I took care of this place till he did come back. It was a good thing he’d waited so long to go to war. Things had piled up on me by the time he showed up again. I pampered that four-year-old mare and delivered the three-year-old and bought the black with the last of Pa’s hidey-hole money. A neighbor lost his mare birthing that one and sold her to me real cheap. He didn’t want to waste his time raising her by hand. I spent a lot of hours with a play titty on a bottle till I got her to eat by herself.”

  They’d reached the pole fence that surrounded the corral on three sides, and he leaned his elbows on the top rail. The image of Katherine, here alone, struggling with the day-to-day work of caring for a farm and all the animals involved, was an overwhelming idea.

  “I don’t see how you handled it all,” he said finally.

  “I managed. We all do what we have to.”

  “And then?” he said, urging her. “Then he came home?”

  “He came home.” She took a deep breath, and her smile was tender with the memory. “He rode that big stallion up to the porch one afternoon and called me out of the house, just as if he’d only been gone for a day or so. ‘Katie, my love,’ he said. ‘Your father’s home.’ Just like that,” she told him with emphasis on the words. “Just as if he’d been to town for supplies.”

  “Was your brother here at all while Charlie was gone?”

  “No. I haven’t any idea where Lawson was.” She glanced at Roan soberly. “I told you, I don’t talk about him.”

  “Charlie—” he began.

  “I need to go to the house.” Her dismissal was abrupt. “Dinner will be ready shortly.”

  Katherine’s retreat gave him pause, and he watched as she left his side to walk with long, hurried strides across the yard to the small house. You were right, Charlie. She’s small, and fierce, and ready to do battle at the drop of a hat. Not an inch of give to her.

  He followed her, stopping long enough at the well to pump fresh water. Within minutes, he was ready to eat, sleeves rolled above his elbows, hair damp and smoothed back from his forehead. He carried his hat with him into the house and snagged it on the peg inside the door as he passed.

  She’d already set the table and was pouring a tall glass of milk as he came in.

  “I like milk at noontime,” she said, looking his way.

  “Sounds like a good idea to me,” he agreed, sliding into the chair he’d used the night before.

  He ate his fill before he spoke again, his stomach welcoming the chunks of roasted venison and the abundant array of vegetables she’d prepared.

  “Someone sure taught you how to cook, Katherine.” Moving his chair back, he crossed one booted foot over the other knee.

  She allowed her eyes to rest on him for a moment. He looked contented and well fed, sitting across the table. Deceptively idle, for even in repose, there was the look of a hunter about him, a faint menace that set her on edge. He was handy with fence-mending tools, though, she reminded herself, and for that she had to be grateful.

  “I found early on if you don’t cook, you don’t eat,” she said finally, uneasy with his compliment. “My pa was never one to lend a hand around a stove, so after my mother died, I learned in a hurry how to put a meal together.”

  “I wouldn’t mind havin’ dinner here on a regular basis for a while,” he said easily. “Fact is, I’ve got sort of a deal in mind to offer you.”

  “I’m not much for making deals. The last time a man tried to make a deal with me, he came close to getting shot for his effort.”

  “What did he want? The three-year-old mare?”

  She caught the amusement in his voice and flushed. “No, he wanted the whole kit and caboodle. The farm, the horses and me.”

  “I take it you weren’t agreeable.”

  “It wasn’t any bargain from my point of view.”

  “Well, maybe I can strike a better deal than he tried for. It’ll involve some of my time and more work than I’d planned on doing right now, but it might pay you to listen up.”

  “Are we back to my three-year-old?” she asked suspiciously.

  “She’s a good-sized horse and she’s ready to be saddle-broke,” he said firmly. “If she’s bred from Charlie’s stud, I’d like to have a go at her. I can be in the saddle in a week or so, and you can have a hell of a lot of work done around here in the meantime.”

  “I’m not in the market for a hired hand, Mr. Devereaux.”

  He flicked her a doubtful glance. “Looks to me like you could use a little help, Katherine. That barn needs some work, and your tack’s in bad shape.”

  “I’ll get to it. I can’t afford to hire you.”

  “I’ll do a pile of work for a chance at that mare,” he said bluntly.

  She looked at him, lips pressed together, holding back the refusal it was her inclination to give. “She’s worth more than a week’s work,” she said finally.

  He shrugged. “Set a price. Tell me what you want.”

  “I’ll have to think about it.” She hesitated, wondering if she could abide letting the spirited mare go to this man. He was right, she acknowledged to herself. She’d made a favorite of the sleek filly, and now she’d pay the price.

  “You’ll stay in the barn,” she said warningly. “I haven’t room in the house for you.”

  “I expected as much.” It had been too much to hope that she’d offer Charlie’s bed. It sure had to be better than the cot he’d fought with all night long.

  “She’s probably worth more than you’ll want to work out. I won’t give her up easy. I’ll want some hard cash to boot.”

  “I don’t blame you. She’s a good-lookin’ horse.” He leaned back in the chair once more. “Do we have a deal?”

  She pursed her mouth and glared at him, impotent in her need. “I’ll run you ragged for a month, and then we’ll have to settle on the money end,” she said finally.

  “Agreed.” He held out a hand across the table and she reluctantly placed her palm against his.

  “Agreed?” he repeated, prompting a reply, his fingers wrapped about hers.

  She flushed, aware only of the warmth of his flesh and the strength of the hand she touched. Looking at him quickly, she nodded, tugging her fingers from his grasp.

  “Yes…agreed.” She plunged her hand into the pocket of her apron, only too conscious of the triumphant gleam that lit his gaze.

  Chapter Three

  The man’s a worker, Katherine acknowledged, a bit grudgingly but with inherent honesty. In just over two wee
ks, he’d been able to tighten up the barn, his hammer pounding audibly throughout several afternoons. Replacing boards, reinforcing the stalls, then coating the entire interior with whitewash, which he’d told her would reflect the light and brighten up the place.

  He’d been right. And not only once. Telling her she needed to quit pampering her three-year-old pet and climb on her back had ruffled her feathers more than a trifle, she remembered.

  Again, he’d been more than right. She’d babied the mare beyond reason, scratching her ears till kingdom come, confiding in her with soothing whispers, speaking the fears she could trust to no one. Except to the saucy, long-legged creature who’d stolen her heart the first time she’d seen her, all wet and gawky, swaying on spindly legs.

  Wincing as she watched him saddle the bay mare, Katherine had almost turned from the sight. Then, gritting her teeth, she’d watched as his big hands gentled the skittish creature. She’d peered from beneath half-closed eyelids as he mounted the animal the first time, his words too low to be heard, whispered for the benefit of the shivering horse. He’d ridden her with tenacious skill, subduing her brief attempts to spill him from the saddle, his hands easy on the reins, lest he damage her tender mouth.

  Only when the brown sides were heaving and the sleek coat was daubed with flecks of foam did he ease from her back. And then only to step quickly in front of the mare, facing the flaring nostrils and wide-eyed gaze, touching with soothing hands and speaking quiet words of praise.

  Katherine turned away, her heart aching as she relinquished possession. With strength tempered by kindness and an uncanny knowledge she couldn’t help but admire, he’d subdued the feisty creature, forcing her to acknowledge him as master.