Loving Katherine

by Carolyn Davidson

  He’d crouched beside her while the coffee boiled and the last of the oatmeal cooked over the fire. His hands had been warm against her shoulders, drawing her into his embrace, lifting her to kneel in the nest of blankets, flushed and nearly naked before him.

  She smiled to herself as she recalled his look of satisfaction. He’d brushed his palms over her skin, tenderness in each caress, cradling her, weighing her flesh, his fingers gentle yet insistent. And she’d shivered beneath his touch, her eyes closing as waves of heated pleasure flooded the very essence of her being.

  His kiss had been more than welcome, his mouth causing hers to flower and soften into a receptacle for his gentle passion. And then, gathering her closely against him, he’d whispered words of endearment against her rosy cheeks. The phrases had caught at her hearing…. “Sweetheart… soft and warm…” What had he said? Something about her had struck him as being soft. She smiled wistfully. No one had ever considered Katherine Cassidy to be soft in any way, shape or form. That Roan Devereaux had sunk to the level of wooing her with such words of praise was almost unbelievable.

  “Katherine? You’re daydreamin’ there when you told me you’d find somethin’ to put together for our dinner.” His voice pulled her from the memories she gathered about her, the moments of pleasure she’d garnered at sunrise.

  “Don’t get all in an uproar,” she told him, turning to face his tall figure, bold and arrogant beneath the noonday sun.

  He looked her over with an uncanny eye for detail, his expression softening as he noted the faint shadows beneath her eyes, the still-pallid complexion with a scant feathering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Swaying on her feet and still ready for battle. His brow furrowed, and he thrust his jaw into a belligerent pose.

  “Maybe I’d better tend to the cookin’ and you can cozy up under the trees on your blanket for a while,” he told her bluntly. “You’re lookin’ sorta rocky, Kate.”

  “Well, thanks a whole lot. That’s just what every woman likes to hear, I’m sure.”

  “You look like the near side of a freshly whitewashed shed, honey,” he said with flat emphasis. “You’re pale as a winter sky right before a big snow.” She rolled her eyes and rose to her feet, hands clenched into loose fists at each side.

  “I’m sure you’re trying to make me feel better with all your compliments, Mr. Devereaux, but I don’t need to hear any more about how good I look today. I’m very aware of my lack of beauty without you making an issue of it.”

  He slammed his fisted hands deep into the pockets of his pants and glared at her hostile expression. “Aw, hell, Katherine! You make everything I say come out the wrong way. I only meant you should take it easy for a while. You got shot in the head, woman! You need to plant your twitchy little butt on the ground somewhere and rest. You are the damnedest confounded female I’ve ever met!”

  She met his glare with equal measure, and her reply sputtered from between clenched teeth. “I’m regretting every nice thought I had about you this morning, Mr. Devereaux. You’re about the bossiest man I’ve ever had the honor of…” Eyes wide and flashing, she ran out of steam, her mouth clamping shut, her nostrils flaring, swaying on her feet as she faced him.

  His hands were on her waist even as she blinked her surprise at his rapid movements. He scooped her up before him, holding her at eye level, his gaze piercing as he took her measure. She’d lost the pallor, her cheeks now rosy with the fire of frustration, her eyes sparkling and alive with the spirit he’d admired in her from the first moments of their meeting.

  It was more than he could turn down, this vision of female pique and womanly enticement. He bent to her lips, swallowing the words of protest she uttered, claiming the mouth she’d used to scold him with, turning it into a willing vessel for his filling.

  With barely a murmur, she shed the indignation cloaking her, curling her arms around his neck and clutching tightly the hard, tensed muscles of his back with spread fingers. His hands against her waist held her with bruising strength, and she lifted herself, wrapping her legs around his hips, holding him with the sleek embrace of her thighs. She rubbed against him, fired by the vivid memories of his loving through the night, and he groaned beneath her onslaught.

  “Damn, Katherine, you’ll be spread out on that blanket before you know it,” he warned her, catching his breath, their lips brushing as he spoke.

  She blinked at him, caught up in the desire he’d set afire within her. Then her cheeks flamed anew, her eyes closed before his scrutiny, and, relaxing her legs, she slid down his body, her face pressing against his chest.

  “Hey, don’t hide like that,” he scolded her gently. “I’m not the least bit against lovemakin’ in broad daylight, honey. I just wanted you to know where we were headin’ before we got there.”

  She drew in a deep breath and pushed away from his grasp, smoothing her hands over her shirt, tucking it in neatly, repairing the damage she’d done with her twisting and turning in his embrace.

  “I’ve got cooking to do,” she said shortly, turning from him to drop to her knees near the fire, where the small store of supplies lay scattered.

  Roan’s grin was wide as he surveyed her stiff posture. Smothering the chuckle he knew would embarrass her, he walked to where the horses grazed. Even as he selected one of the yearlings to work with, loosing it from the rope he’d stretched between trees, his lips twitched in amusement.

  Once more she’d surprised not only him but herself. The fiery woman in his arms was a far cry from the Katherine Cassidy he’d met weeks ago. She’d hidden her passion well, guarding her womanhood beneath layers of drab attire. That he should have been the man chosen to discover the female creature dwelling in such a disguise was more good fortune than he’d ever anticipated. His heart swelling with emotions he was unwilling to name, he led the young horse from the campsite.

  Roan’s mind focused on the chestnut beauty before him as he attached the lead to the horse’s halter. That the words of praise he heaped on the yearling were more generous than usual did not occur to him. His smile was brilliant as the animal responded to his bidding, reflecting the deep pleasure he’d found in Katherine this morning. Somehow she was a part of this and so his hands were gentle, his voice soothing as he handled her young filly. With practiced ease, he worked through the session of training and discipline he’d instigated with the yearling.

  Caught up in the chore, he failed to notice as Katherine’s slender figure slipped from the camp, long gun in hand.

  The shot echoing from the west spun him about as he led the horse back to her siblings. His grip on the halter tightened automatically and his eyes narrowed, sweeping the horizon, piercing the small glades of woodland as he sought its source. A second report focused his gaze on a figure rising from the ground, weapon held at the ready, several hundred yards away.

  “Katherine!” The word was thunderous, reverberating in the still air. “Damn woman,” he growled. “Leave her sittin’ under a tree and she goes huntin’.” His eyes were dark with concern, his momentary dread banished by an influx of frustrated anger.

  He tied the horse in place and stalked with measured paces to where she stood, hands on hips, frowning at his approach.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doin’, shootin’ that thing behind my back? You’re lucky I didn’t draw on you, woman!”

  “You’re not wearing your gun,” she pointed out succinctly.

  His frown deepened. Closing the gap between them, he faced her, the memories of their interlude earlier banished from his mind, his attention riveted on the weapon she held.

  “I left you fixin’ dinner,” he said.

  She tilted her head back to look at him through her lashes, squinting against the sun. “So you did. And I decided we didn’t have enough to put together for one hungry woman, let alone a big galoot like you. So I went out hunting for something to hang over the fire. Now if you don’t mind, I’ll go pick up my rabbit and get it skinned and gutted.”


  Her stance belligerent, her jaw jutting in defiance, she faced him. He gritted his teeth, holding back the words that filled his mind. His eyes feasted upon her…independent creature that she was, a small, stiff-necked female armed for battle, facing him unafraid. He felt a wash of unwanted admiration for this woman cleanse his mind of the anger gripping him. The tension eased, and the muscles of his throat relaxed as he allowed his irritation to seep from him. His concern, after all, had been for her well-being, and his relief at discovering the innocence of her gunshots banished the quarrel he’d sought to set into motion.

  “I’ve been killing my own meat for years,” she continued, unaware of the softening in his stance.

  “Is that so?” he asked, teasing her from her indignant pose.

  She tilted her head, eyeing him askance, wary of this new mood. Her nod was quick. “Yes, that’s so. And selling off the surplus in town when I needed money for supplies.”

  “You’ve made a habit of your independence, haven’t you, Katherine?” he asked softly.

  She lifted her chin once more. “I’ve taken care of myself for a long time,” she reminded him quietly. And then she handed him the gun, placing it into his hands even as he automatically reached for it, sensing her movement.

  Her pace was casual as she walked away from him. He watched, gun in hand, transfixed by the womanly sway of her softly rounded hips. Watched as she pulled the knife from a sheath on her belt and knelt in the grass to tend the carcass of her quarry. In a few swift strokes of the knife, she’d cleaned the large rabbit. Gripping the furry creature by the hind legs, she approached him once more.

  “I’m going to the river to wash and skin him out. It’ll be a while before I get things together for dinner. You’ll have time to finish with the yearlings, if you want to work them.”

  His hand rose to his temple in a mocking salute. “Yes, ma’am,” he intoned solemnly, then watched as a flush rose to paint her cheeks with color.

  Her lips narrowed and her gaze searched his. “Don’t mock me, Devereaux.”

  “That’s the last thing I’d do, ma’am. I’m not about to bite the hand that’s doin’ the cookin’, so to speak.”

  She swallowed a reluctant laugh. “You have a unique way of putting things,” she said finally, pacing at his side as they returned to the campsite. Bending, she wiped her knife blade against the grass to clean it, then slid it within its sheath. Her eyes scanned him as he strode from her, his only reply a grunt of acknowledgment.

  By the time she’d dressed the rabbit and spitted it for the fire, she was reeling. A fine sheen of perspiration covered her beneath the concealing fabric of her shirt, and her fingers trembled as she rubbed them against her thighs to dry the water from them. Then, with an audible sigh, she sank to the ground. Her head resting against her bent knees, she drew a deep breath, and the ensuing shudder caught the eye of the man who approached.

  “Kinda shaky?” he asked, unwilling to scold her again.

  She lifted her face from its resting place and met his gaze. “A little,” she admitted.

  His smile was tender. For the first time, she’d allowed him to sense her vulnerability without hesitation. “It’s gonna take you a while to get over that crease in your skull. Better let me take a look at it.”

  She bent her head again, quietly submissive to his suggestion. He knelt beside her, his fingers gentle as he parted the hair to search out the wound.

  “It’s clean, Kate,” he announced quietly, brushing the long strands back to cover the scabbed area. “Want me to braid your hair up for you?” His hands untangled its length, lifting it from her back, allowing it to slide like shimmering silk between his fingers.

  She turned her face to slant a questioning glance at him. “You trying to make up to me, Devereaux?” she wanted to know, her tone suspicious.

  “Do I need to?” he asked with a cocky grin. “I worked your horses and washed your clothes, honey. I thought that was about all the makin’ up I needed to do today.”

  She shrugged her shoulders in a negligent gesture. “Just so you know, Roan. I pay my own way. I do my share of the chores and—”

  His hand, rising to touch her lips with warm fingers, silenced her, closing off the list she enumerated. “This isn’t about sharing chores, Katherine. This is about a man takin’ care of his woman, lookin’ after her.”

  “I can look after myself,” she whispered against the warmth of his flesh, her lips brushing the callused surface of his fingers.

  He nodded. “I know you can. But you don’t have to. Not anymore. You’re my wife.”

  She heard the implied message his final words delivered, and her eyes widened. Twisting her head to rid herself of his restraining fingers, she narrowed her eyes, scanning his face. It was somber, his gaze dark with the message she’d rightly interpreted.

  “And you’re my husband. That means I look out for you, too.”

  He shook his head. “You can tend to my needs and keep me fed and dressed, and even stand behind me for a backup if need be, but for once in your life, you’re about to find yourself on the other end of the stick, Kate.” He sat beside her on the ground and his hand found hers, his fingers lacing with her narrower ones, forming a grip she would have found difficult to escape.

  She frowned at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean you’re going to play the part of a wife.” He looked at her with fleeting amusement. “Who knows? You might even begin to enjoy lettin’ someone else take you on. It means I’m plannin’ on lookin’ after you. Doesn’t mean we aren’t partners, Kate. I just want you to know, you don’t have to always rely on yourself. From now on, I’ll be here for you to depend on.”

  “That sounds a little like you’re planning a lot of years with me. I thought we’d agreed this was sort of a temporary situation, this being married.”

  “Did you?” His look was piercing as he viewed her from stormy eyes. His hand lifting hers between them, he flexed his fingers, tightening their grasp against hers. “We’re married, Katherine. See our hands? We’re joined just as tight as these fingers of ours. If it wasn’t a fact before, last night made it so. You’re stuck with me.”

  “Still poutin’?” he asked from the darkness. She huddled before the fire, wrapped in a blanket against the night air, aware of his presence behind her before his voice broke the silence.

  It remained unbroken, only her look of scorn acknowledging his query.

  Sinking to the ground next to her, he stretched his long legs toward the fire. “Everything looks quiet. I scouted around, but it’s pretty much like I thought. I didn’t see any new tracks.”

  He’d been gone since supper, saddling his mare and leaving her alone, only a short few words to let her know he’d be riding out for a while.

  Trying unsuccessfully to ignore his return, she’d listened to the sound of his voice as he checked out the string of horses, her ears attuned to the approaching whisper of near silent footsteps.

  Now she deigned to answer his challenge.

  “I don’t pout,” she said firmly. “I may keep my thoughts to myself sometimes, but I don’t pout. I’m not a child.” His gaze raked her slim form.

  “Well, I’ll have to agree with you there.” She cast him a speaking look, unwilling to respond to the suggestive phrasing.

  “Gonna be mad all night?” he wondered aloud, his eyes hooded and barely visible to her in the glow of the fire.

  “I’m not mad.”

  “Are we havin’ a fight?”

  “I’m trying to keep from it,” she said after a moment.

  “You don’t wanna be dependent on a man, do you, Kate? Is it so hard for you to lean on me, just a little?”

  “What if you change your mind?” she asked quietly. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe your folks won’t want you married to a Yankee. What then? What if you decide to send me back to Illinois? A lot of things could happen, Roan. You might very well get tired of my ways after a while. I’m not
always easy to get on with. And I know I’m not the best-looking woman you’ve ever laid eyes on.” She took a deep breath and chanced a look at his profile. “I’m what they call ‘long in the tooth’ at the livery stable,” she said defiantly, as if she dared him to protest the claim. And then in a low whisper she admitted her final fault, the most damaging she could think of. “I haven’t got the sort of upbringing your folks will be looking for in your wife.”

  His disdain was obvious, his scornful look daring her to continue. “My folks can go to the devil, for all I care, Mrs. Devereaux. I married you in Illinois, and I’m plannin’ on stayin’ married to you in Louisiana. I don’t go back on my word. You might just as-well set your mind to the fact. I told you this afternoon that you’re stuck with me and that still holds true.”

  She bit at her lip, shaken by his vehement response, for the first time sensing the finality of his commitment to her. The almost overwhelming tide of emotion his lovemaking had released within her surged once more to the surface. That she was willing to give her love into his keeping was a fact she was beginning to accept as truth. But though he would be loyal, that he could ever respond in kind was doubtful.

  He’d be true to her. Roan didn’t have it in him to be faithless He’d take care of her. He was a gentleman beneath the facade of hard-bitten warrior, much as he tried to disguise the fact. His fidelity was unquestionable. But faithfulness was a far cry from the love her lonely heart yearned for. Whether he was capable of returning the emotion she felt was a moot question, one she was unwilling to consider yet.

  She drew a deep breath, cautious lest she display her vulnerability. “We’re married and that’s a fact,” she told him staunchly. “That makes you my husband, and according to the law, you pretty much get to run things your own way. But I’m used to being on my own. I don’t know if I can take being beholden to a man.” Her pursed lips and the promise of her stubborn chin warned him of the stand she’d taken. He responded without hesitation.