“I’ll be sure to tell Katherine. She’s been hopin’ the mare took, first time out.” Roan smiled as he considered Katherine’s delight with the news.
It was in the quiet of the hayloft when he told her. They’d bedded down in their blankets, scant inches apart, due to Katherine’s unspoken dread of mice scampering about while she slept.
“Young Joshua says your mare’s gonna drop a foal, for sure,” Roan told her quietly.
She sat bolt upright, searching in the dim light for his face, leaning toward him eagerly. “Is he sure? How can he tell?”
Roan sighed. “Yeah, he says he’s sure. And how the hell should I know how he can tell? He just felt around and came up with the news.”
She dropped back into the bed of hay and pulled the rough blanket up to her chin, her mouth forming a satisfied smile. “I knew it anyway.”
“You did not,” he said, denying her claim.
“Did so,” she countered. “I just knew that stallion of my pa’s wouldn’t let me down.”
“Well, I’m sure not gonna argue with logic like that.” Roan turned in his blanket to face her. The moon’s glow was sparse through the open window, barely allowing him to make out the pleased smile she wore. Her lips were curved, her eyes shiny, and her small hands were gathering that blanket up right under her chin.
She’d been a good sport about everything. Never complaining, only wistful when he shot down the notion of a hotel tonight. And this is my wedding night. he thought. Maybe he could coax her just a little.
He took a chance.
“You said you didn’t mind the kissing part of marriage, Katherine,” he reminded her softly.
Her head turned his way, her eyes meeting his. “Did I say that?”
“Yup, you surely did.”
She shifted beside him. “Are you trying to tell me something, Roan?”
“Nope. I’m askin’, nice and polite, if I can kiss my new wife good-night.”
Taking in a deep breath through barely opened lips, she rolled toward him, one hand touching his cheek as she collided with his big body. Her mouth settled softly against his, her lips still parted.
As kisses went, it wasn’t the choicest he’d ever shared, but the fact that it was freely given, and probably the best he was going to get on his wedding night, made it worthy of his full response.
He clasped the back of her head with his big palm and, angling her head a bit, set out to taste just a little of her sweetness. His mouth was warm, lips urgent against hers as he pressed for entrance. She sighed, providing him with the opening he’d silently requested, and he took possession with a languid sweep of his tongue, swallowing her gasp of surprise.
He’d give her credit, he thought admiringly as he wrapped his arms about her slender body, she didn’t pull back or push him away but snuggled up right tight and let him have a go at it. Trusting little soul, he thought, releasing her finally, reluctantly allowing the small space between them once more.
“I think I’d like to have you layin’ on my arm, Katherine,” he said mildly, offering his shoulder to serve as her pillow. He’d already placed a saddlebag beneath his own head, which she’d scorned, remembering the goose-down pillow she’d abandoned in the bedroom.
She considered his request. “Why?” she asked bluntly and a little breathlessly, a trace of suspicion coating her query.
“So I know where you are, in case I hear anything out of the ordinary,” he answered glibly.
“Like what?”
“Oh, an intruder. Maybe mice. Who knows?”
“All right,” she said hastily, scooting over in the bedroll until she was pressed once more against his side. Lifting her head, she waited, watching him as he slid his long arm beneath her. Then, fitting her neatly into the bend of his shoulder, he curled around her, his arm scooping her tightly against him.
“There, isn’t that better?”
“I guess so,” she answered, inhaling the musky scent of him, only now aware that he’d stripped down to his small-clothes—at least above his waist. She’d washed that set of summer-weight underwear. She could smell her soap on the knit material. It was familiar. The musky scent was Roan’s own flavor, she decided. And it blended quite nicely with lye soap. It was her last coherent thought as she closed her eyes, nestled against him, secure from marauding mice in the night.
Chapter Seven
They’d eaten a hearty breakfast. Roan, the last to leave the table, placed a silver dollar behind as they left the house to ready the animals for the trip.
“They were poor, weren’t they?” Katherine’s voice was filled with sadness as they rode away from the small farm. Roan shot a look at her. Her mouth was drawn down, her eyes straying once more to the man and woman who waved from their doorstep.
“Yeah, they were,” he agreed. “But things’ll get better for them. He said they just have to get through this year. Things will pick up once his crops come in next summer. She’s in the family way, you know.”
Katherine nodded. “She told me. She’s been pretty sick, I guess.”
“It goes with the game, you know,” he told her, leaning back to check on his saddlebags once more.
She’d noticed he left nothing to chance, rechecking and redoing every knot and buckle until he was satisfied that things were as secure as he could make them. She felt safe with him. That was why she’d slept so well.
She flushed as she remembered waking to find her arm about his middle, hanging on for dear life. She’d slipped it back to her side, aware of his stirring and mumbling as he awoke.
“Don’t dally, Katherine,” he called back to her, urging her to narrow the gap between them. She had been slowing unconsciously, her thoughts wandering, while he’d stepped up his pace and left her to bring up the rear.
“I’m not dallying!” she told him. “Just enjoying the beautiful day. Isn’t that sun wonderful?”
“It’s gonna rain this afternoon. We need to get some miles under our belts.”
“Killjoy,” she muttered. And then raised her voice. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to hold you up, Mr. Devereaux. I’ll just hurry right along.”
He glared in her direction as she urged her mare into a lope, gaining his side in seconds. “Don’t be flip, Katherine. While we’re on the trail, I’ll set the pace and you’ll mind your manners.”
“Yessir!” she answered briskly, dropping back to keep company with the yearlings and the dainty filly, all of whom were acting frisky today. Strung out behind the packhorse, they’d scampered about yesterday, testing the length of their lead ropes until, tiring of the long trail, they’d settled down and cooperated nicely.
“I’m proud of you,” she told them quietly, her eyes scanning each animal as she rode, looking for any untoward hitch in their gait or mar on the smooth texture of their glossy coats. “I’ll spend some time with you tonight,” she promised them in an undertone. She dropped back to bring up the rear, aware always of the quiet solitude of the countryside, only occasionally broken by a house or barn in the distance. “It’s gonna be a long trip.” Her sigh was deep, her eyes on the man she’d married, who was riding at a brisk trot some hundred feet ahead.
“I’m married, Pa,” she whispered. “What would you think if you knew?” Her mouth twisted as she recognized the irony of the query. “Doggoned if I know what to think, and I’m the one who married him,” she said beneath her breath. How he’d persuaded her to accept his edict so readily was beyond her comprehension. She just knew she’d rather go with him than watch him ride away again. Her heart thumped as she allowed herself to admit the feelings she harbored for Roan Devereaux.
They stopped to eat when the sun was directly overhead and Katherine had long since quit admiring the warm weather. She was hot. Already, she’d rolled up her sleeves and unbuttoned the top two buttons of her shirt. Not that it helped much, she thought, wiping beads of sweat from her forehead.
“Why don’t you take off that hot flannel and put on the shirt
waist I got you,” Roan suggested. “It’s cotton. Should be a heap cooler.”
“It’s too nice to wear riding a horse. I’ll have it all dusty and sweaty by tonight and then I won’t have anything pretty to wear if we stop in a hotel.”
His sigh was deep. “Put on the shirtwaist, Katherine It’s gonna get dirty anyway, sometime. You can rinse it out tonight and let it dry on a bush.”
“I won’t be able to iron it so I can wear it again,” she said logically.
“Well, it sure isn’t gonna be all smooth and pretty for long, all folded up in your saddlebag. And I’ll tell you a secret, Mrs. Devereaux. You aren’t likely to come across a flatiron anywhere between here and River Bend, unless we luck out another night and stay in somebody’s barn.”
“Turn around and I’ll change,” she told him, bending to search for the white garment he’d chosen in Orv Tucker’s store.
He eyed her trim bottom regretfully and turned his back. “We’re married, Katherine,” he reminded her, rocking back on his heels and considering the clouds that hung low in the west.
Her voice was muffled in the depths of the flannel shirt she was pulling over her head, scorning the undoing of buttons.
“Can’t hear you,” he said. “Sure you don’t need any help?”
She brushed back her hair and slid her arms into the sleeves of the white shirtwaist, rolling them up to the elbow before she buttoned it up the front. “I’m doing just fine. You can turn around now.”
He turned slowly, his eyes warm as he saw her for the first time in a truly feminine garment. “You look pretty in that, Mrs. Devereaux.”
She flushed at the words, her hands busy as she tucked the shirt beneath the belted waistband of her denim pants. “Pretty’s kinda flighty sounding, I’ve always thought. I guess I’ve never tried too hard to look thataway.”
“Well, that certainly explains the getups you traipse around in,” he told her bluntly. “Never saw a woman more determined to look like a shapeless dowdy in my life. I’d say you managed to keep from lookin’ flighty, all right.”
“What I managed was to keep myself clean and presentable and left alone.” The words were sharp in his ears, reflecting the tight-lipped scorn she projected as she faced him. “You didn’t marry a woman lookin’ for admiration from any man, Roan Devereaux. What you see is what I am. Too plain and too old to be in the market for compliments.”
“Well, far be it from me to notice anything about you to admire. Just get your plain old bottom in the saddle so we can get on our way. That rain cloud in the west is movin’ fast, and I’d like to be under cover before it hits us full blast.”
“Thought we were going to eat,” she said, facing him boldly. “I don’t know about you, but I’ll hold out better if I get something in my stomach. Besides, I need to…” Her voice trailed off as she cast a quick glance around. They’d come to a halt under the shade of a walnut tree, one of a small grove that lined the banks of a rushing stream.
“There’s a likely spot for you to wash up a little, back upstream a hundred feet or so,” he told her, nodding to a low stand of bushes behind her. He’d simmered down quickly, his irritation forgotten as he recognized her need for privacy. “I’ll dig into that sack and find somethin’ for us to chew on while we ride.”
What he found was dried beef and a soft hunk of yellow cheese. Four biscuits left over from breakfast held all of it nicely. He wrapped two of the makeshift sandwiches in a clean kerchief as she made her way back down the bank of the stream, heading reluctantly away from the cool breeze that flirted beneath the trees.
“This’ll have to do,” he told her, handing her the small bundle, watching as she knotted the end of the red fabric about her saddle horn. “I’ll tighten your cinch,” he offered, his voice gruff as he attempted to clear the air between them. They’d come mighty close to having a fuss. Her with her nose in the air, so all fired set on her notion of being too old and not good-looking enough to appeal to a man. Him being so randy and on the edge.
That was probably half his problem, he decided glumly. He had a bride, but what he needed right now was a wife. He’d spent longer than any man should have to without some female companionship, and Katherine sure didn’t intend to help matters any, far as he could make out.
“I’ll take care of my cinch. I loosened it and I can tighten it,” she said evenly, the movements of her capable hands suiting her words.
I pull my own weight, Roan Devereaux, she thought, her shoulders hunched defensively as she checked the stirrup.
“We’ll water them at the stream,” Roan called back to her, leading the packhorse and the string of yearlings toward the water.
She followed, noting the black filly bringing up the end of the line. She’d been keeping an eye on her since before they left, and the signs were unmistakable. She was in season, no doubt about it. She’d throw a good foal one of these days, Katherine thought, her eyes following the clean lines of the creature she’d bottle-fed. The mare was long-legged, with a delicate conformation, filling in nicely. Katherine admired the horse’s rippling hindquarters, the hooves that lifted and fell with dainty precision.
The string of yearlings lined up in the stream, their noses to the water, tossing bright drops that glittered in the reflected light as they shook their heads, enjoying the cool shade beneath the leafy branches.
His packhorse was stoic, already up the bank, waiting for the signal to proceed, and Katherine thought of the stallion they’d left behind. It was a good thing. He’d have scented the filly right off, and they’d have been fighting him every step of the way. It’d been hard enough to keep him separated from the rest back at the farm. There wouldn’t have been a chance on the trail.
The clouds in the west were moving fast, Roan noted, chewing on the biscuits, wishing he had a cool drink to wash them down with. The water in the canteen hanging from his saddle would have to do, and he unfastened it, opening and tilting it to his mouth in an automatic motion. No milk for Katherine this noon. The thought came from nowhere, and he wondered at it. He’d lived with her for over a month, picking up on her small habits and likes—not to mention the dislikes, he thought dourly.
Like the thunder they would likely be hearing soon, if the lightning in the distance was any indication. She’d been quiet those few afternoons when a storm blew up quickly, staying away from the door and windows as the thunder boomed and the lightning flashed and glowed about the small house. Charlie’d put lightning rods on the barn, demonstrating his concern for the animals it held. The small house had no such protection, and he’d noticed Katherine’s eyes widen as the storms swept past, her reluctance to be caught in the open when it rained.
He added the knowledge to his list. Mice and thunderstorms. He’d have her figured out yet, he thought with a dry chuckle. She wasn’t nearly so starchy as she let on, just fearful of…what? Somewhere, somehow, she’d been taught to hide behind the sharp-tongued, drab picture of womanhood she presented to the world. She’d managed to keep the available men at arm’s length. All but Evan Gardner… that pitiful excuse for a suitor, who’d probably limp for the rest of his life for his efforts.
At that thought, Roan pressed his heels into the sides of the horse he rode, coaxing her from the trot she’d maintained throughout the morning. Those long legs could cover ground, he thought admiringly. Now was the time to prove it, what with the storm moving in and him with a string of horses and a pouting woman out in the open.
He cast about for a shelter and settled on a cluster of buildings to the south, perhaps a decent sized farm. He altered his direction just a bit to head that way. “Gonna rain,” he called over his shoulder. “We need to find shelter.”
Katherine’s mare edged next to him, her tail flying as she tossed her head and sidled nervously. Damn horse didn’t like the approaching weather any better than the woman who rode her, Roan observed with a grin.
“What’s so funny?” Katherine asked, an anxious edge making her voice sharp
. “I’m not real fond of being out in a storm, Roan.”
“Well, I’m not real interested in gettin’ wet this afternoon, either. It’ll take too long to get things dried out if we travel in the rain. I’m headin’ for that farm,” he said, pointing into the distance and prodding his horse into a lope that would bring them to shelter in short order.
The farmer was reluctant to offer his barn until he saw the color of Roan’s money. The coins he held would buy more than a few hours beneath the barn roof, Roan knew, acknowledging the farmer’s wariness.
“Can’t be too careful these days,” the robust man declared, leading the way to a large box stall, watching as Roan turned the yearlings in together. The dark filly was tied in an open-ended stall, Katherine’s mare in the one next to it, and Sugarfoot in a third. Roan’s horse was the last one in the barn and he unsaddled her in the wide aisle, rubbing her down as he watched Katherine move from one to another of her animals. She’d deposited her own saddle on a rack, upended against the wall, tended to her horse quickly, then turned to the black filly that stood just a few feet away, twitching her ears and rubbing against the wooden wall of her stall. Her arm about the animal’s neck, Katherine ignored the tossing head, speaking soothingly to the dark beauty as she calmed her with the sound of her voice.
“She’s caught the scent of the stud outside,” Roan told her quietly, standing behind the twitching tail.
Katherine looked over her shoulder at him, her hair disheveled, her face smudged. “I know,” she said, intent on pacifying the filly. With a final stroke of her palm against the dark neck, she backed from the stall, reluctant to leave the animal.
“Are the yearlings settled down?” she asked Roan. At his grunt of affirmation she turned toward the outside, peering past him to where dust devils blew in the barnyard. Through the wide, open doors of the barn, the storm threatened to break momentarily, the thunder a dull rumble overhead, the air heavy with the scent of rain.
“They’re fine, Katherine. They watered at the stream and I gave them a handful of oats this morning. After bein’ hauled thirty miles since sunup, I’ll warrant they’re happy to be loose of that lead rope for a while.” His eyes were intent on her, catching the wariness in her, noting the fidgety way she moved, her hands rubbing against the rough denim of her pants.
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