Loving Katherine

by Carolyn Davidson

  She jutted out her chin and granted him a look of scorn. “Probably not, since you’ve managed to tickle it once or twice.” Then she blushed at the implication of her words.

  His shout of laughter only served to bring a darker rosy hue to her cheeks, and she dug her heels into the sides of her mare, riding on ahead.

  There was indeed a hotel, one sporting a satisfactory bathtub. Filled with hot water and contented woman, it presented a pretty picture to the man entering his assigned room, bundle in hand.

  “You’re supposed to bathe behind the screen, Kate. Anybody in the hall could look in here and see you.”

  Katherine opened her eyes just a bit, jarred from her state of languid pleasure, sitting erect as she stirred from the sloped back of the tub. Her hair, secured firmly only minutes ago to the top of her head, had begun to fall around her ears in dark strands. She blew one stray lock from in front of her eyes and glared accusingly at the man who’d interrupted her leisurely bathing.

  “Seeing as how you and I are the only ones having keys to that door, I don’t see how anybody else could peek in here.” She lifted her washcloth and rubbed the bar of soap against it. Satisfied with the suds she produced, Katherine sniffed at the cloth and smiled.

  “Smells like lilacs in the spring.” She ran the soapy cloth the length of one arm and across her breasts, then upward to her throat, her eyes closing as she reveled in the tactile pleasure. “What’s in the package?” she asked idly.

  Roan’s footsteps were silent against the rug. He knelt beside the tub and leaned over the rim, his lips puckering as he blew a warm breath on the soap bubbles covering her breasts. “A new dress for my wife.” Spoken in a husky whisper, the words brought a smile of delight to her mouth. He blew once more, watching the shimmering soap bubbles break, revealing her pale flesh.

  She shivered. Her eyes opened and her mouth puckered. The temptation was too much for him to resist. He bent farther, capturing the words she would have spoken, his mouth settling on her lips with unerring accuracy. Without opening his eyes, he grasped the cloth she held and took up the route she’d chosen in her bathing. He swept across her shoulders, then made a detour to the arm she’d not washed. Obligingly, she lifted it from the water, holding it aloft for his ministrations.

  Mouth moving beneath his kiss, she whispered, “You didn’t wash between my fingers.”

  His chuckle was spontaneous, and he leaned back to grin at her. “You sure know how to mess up a mood, sweetheart.”

  She shrugged, lowering her arms into the warm water, hiding the smile she wore. “If you’re going to do a job, you’d best do it right the first time.”

  Roan stood and glared at her with feigned annoyance, tossing the washcloth into the water with enough force to splash her face. Elaborately, she wiped the water from her left eye and lifted the brow just a bit, scanning his towering frame.

  “I always figured you’d be prickly about taking criticism,” Katherine said with an air of disdain. Casually, she searched for the washcloth beneath the surface of the water and once more brought up a lather with her bar of soap. Lifting one leg, she washed its length, bending her knee to better reach her toes. Then in turn she lifted the other limb, pointedly ignoring him as she washed every inch of calf and foot.

  “Would you believe me if I told you you’d missed a spot?”

  Katherine glanced up and smiled sweetly. “Nope.”

  He leaned over and pressed a long forefinger to the flesh just inches above her knee. “Right here.”

  Her leg slid with haste into the water and she sniffed, spurning his advice.

  “Just tryin’ to be helpful,” he said with a sigh.

  “You bought me a dress?” She slanted a look from beneath lowered lids.

  “Yup. I told you I would.”

  “How do you know it’s going to fit?” She lifted one eyebrow as she dribbled a stream of water from the washcloth over her shoulder.

  His eyes lit with amusement. “You forget I’m pretty familiar with the way you’re built, ma’am.”

  She sniffed and looked away. “Go away, Devereaux.” It was a casual dismissal, accompanied by the lackadaisical wave of one hand. That her mouth was curved in a satisfied smile did not fail to escape his notice, and he stuffed his hands into the back pockets of his pants, rocking back on his heels as he surveyed her slender form.

  She was really coming out of her shell. Like the hermit crab he’d watched as a child on a trip to the shore in New Orleans, she was wary of exposing herself. She’d pulled back from him, shielding herself from the start, unwilling to let him too close. Until the past few days, when he’d broken down the barriers of her innocence and brought to life the passion she’d guarded so carefully.

  “Think you can get out of that tub in time for supper? I’d be more than happy to help you dry off and put on your new dress.”

  “If you get yourself out of here, I’ll be ready for supper in fifteen minutes. I can probably manage to dry off all by myself,” she told him firmly. “Been doing it for more years than I can count.”

  “Make that an hour,” he said, turning away. “I’m goin’ to the barber across the way to get my hair trimmed and a decent shave. Maybe I’ll get a bath over there while I’m at it.” He scooped up a clean shirt and a dark pair of socks from the clothing she’d piled on the bed and headed for the door.

  “Don’t forget to lock it behind you,” she called out. “We wouldn’t want anybody paying me a visit.”

  His mouth tightened at her words, and when he left the room, he checked the doorknob twice before he was satisfied. The man he’d spotted on the dock had looked familiar. With just a glance, he couldn’t be certain, but that fleeting look had sure as hell rung a warning bell. It had been the slouch, the leather vest and the furtive gestures that had caught his attention. Too late, the man had turned away, but Roan had long since learned to trust his intuition. His frown deepened as he trotted across the dusty road to the small barber shop.

  “Any strangers in town?” It was a polite opening query and the barber accepted it as such.

  “Besides yourself?” He shook out the striped cloth and draped it around Roan’s neck, stepping back to consider the shaggy length of dark hair.

  Roan chuckled obligingly. “Thought I saw a fella I used to know, down by the dock earlier. He didn’t come from hereabouts. Thought maybe he was passin’ through.”

  The barber slashed the air with his scissors. “Coulda been. We always got folks comin’ and goin’, what with the riverboats dockin’ here every couple of days.”

  Roan nodded. It was just about the answer he’d expected. He’d have to do some looking around on his own. It wasn’t likely that the lone gang member to escape would show up here, but it wouldn’t do to rest too easy, he decided. He closed his eyes as the first snip of hair fell to the floor.

  It had been a simple matter to purchase tickets for the trip. The horses would be accommodated in the stern of the boat. He and Katherine would have a small stateroom on the second deck. Satisfied with his arrangements, Roan turned his steps toward the hotel, aware he’d lingered longer than he’d expected.

  His bath had been lukewarm and he’d hurried through it, scrubbing and singing in time with the movement of his hands over his body. He’d rinsed with clean water, standing in the tub, shivering as the cool stream floated the suds from him. He grinned, remembering the pleasure Katherine had taken in her leisurely bathing. Sure didn’t take much to make her happy. Give her a tub of hot water and bar of soap and she was in hog heaven.

  The hotel lobby was crowded, and Roan stood for a moment, taken aback by the suppertime crowd, most of them travelers planning on boarding the riverboat in the morning. Then, as if she drew his gaze with conscious intimacy, he became aware of Katherine. Halfway down the curving staircase she’d paused, her eyes meeting his across the fifty feet or so separating them. Her hair was braided and coiled around the crown of her head, a severe arrangement, only serving to bet
ter display the finely drawn lines of her forehead and cheek. Her beauty stunned him with its simple form.

  His indrawn breath was audible to his own ears, and he blinked quickly as though he must regain control of his emotions. She was exquisite, this woman of his—this lady of grace and dignity. His lady—his woman. The blue dress he’d chosen for her was simple, its lines classic, clinging to her lush breasts and fitting to her waistline. From there it cascaded to the floor, its yards of fabric swirling about her feet as she descended the stairway.

  She walked across the lobby to join him, her eyes never leaving his, her mouth curved into a half smile, as if she delighted in the stunned expression he wore.

  “Katherine.” He could speak only her name. He wanted to tell her how lovely she looked, but the words would not form on his tongue. Only the name that rolled from his mouth like a liquid melody and pleasured his very being as he gave it voice.

  “Katherine,” he said once more, and she took his hand and allowed her gaze to sweep over his damp hair and cleanly shaven jaw.

  “You’re looking mighty fine, Mr. Devereaux.” Her voice was husky, her look flirtatious, as if she tested her new power over him.

  “I see the dress fits.” It wasn’t what he wanted to tell her. He wanted her to know how lovely she looked, how proud he was of her. Later, he thought. I’ll tell her after a while, when I help her take the dress off. Taking her hand, he placed it on his arm and led her to the wide archway and through it into the hotel dining room.

  A girl in a white apron stood there, ready to usher them to a table in the already crowded room. Katherine followed her and Roan brought up the rear, his gaze intent on his wife. Her hair was dark, with mahogany highlights gleaming from the lamps overhead. The nape of her neck looked fragile and vulnerable beneath the heavy, coiling braids. Her back was slender, narrowing to a slim waist he knew would fit his hands with unerring precision. Then his eyes caught the gentle sway of her skirts as she moved between the tables, and he envisioned the sleek length of her legs and the lavish curves of her hips.

  By the time he’d seated her and slid into his own chair, he was halfway to a state of arousal that was well on its way to being embarrassingly obvious. Blessedly, the approach of the waitress, menus in hand, took his attention and he concentrated on ordering their evening meal.

  They ate with extravagant appetite. Katherine wrinkled her nose at the rare steak Roan ordered, but fell to with enthusiasm when her own roast beef was served. After the scant rations they’d been reduced to over the last two days, they’d ordered a veritable feast. Katherine’s index finger traced the edge of the china plate she ate from, her gaze admiring the floral design. She lifted the heavy silverware with a careful touch, her fingertips intrigued by the splendor of the carved pattern.

  Roan watched her, his eyes narrowed as he noted the movement of her hands. That she was unfamiliar with fine linen tablecloths and silver tableware was not a surprise to him. Her easy acceptance of their surroundings was, and yet he would have expected no less of her. Though raised in the rough-and-tumble world of horses and men, she’d somehow retained a feminine grace that served her well tonight.

  He’d admired her skills for weeks—her abilities with the horses she loved, her adaptability to the life on the trail they’d traveled. Now he caught another glimpse of the woman she’d been concealing beneath her frumpy clothing and bristling demeanor.

  His Katherine was a lady. There was no doubt about it. Did it come from the mother she scarcely remembered, or had Charlie held the seeds of gentility somewhere in his rough makeup? Perhaps it was her own determination, her own stalwart sense of self that allowed her to put on the gentle airs of a lady as easily as she had donned the dress he’d provided for her to wear.

  No matter, she fit as well into this room of genteel men and women as if she’d been raised in the finest drawing rooms of the East. That her fingernails were short, her hands bore calluses and her feet were more accustomed to boots than the shoes she wore was of little matter. What counted was the grace and dignity she displayed, even as she ate with delicate enthusiasm. He found his mouth curling in a smile, observing her as she chewed and swallowed, watching the movements of her hands and the delight she displayed in her surroundings.

  It was almost a letdown when the meal was over, when they’d replaced their napkins on the snowy tablecloth and had, by mutual, unspoken consent, deigned to leave the table.

  Once more, Roan followed her as she made her way through the maze of tables. He watched her with vigilant eyes, his stern countenance a warning to the admiring men who dared to cast their gaze in her direction. And then, he moved behind her, up the staircase, down the narrow hallway, past the flickering lamps that lit their way to the door of their room.

  And within that room, he fulfilled his fantasy, removing her dress, undoing the ties of her petticoat and sliding the leather shoes from her feet. In silence, he came to her, his hands as gentle as his eagerness would allow. With hushed murmurs, she accepted his attentions, bending and swaying to his every urging. And with a tenderness of touch he fought to maintain, he wooed her. Stifling the eagerness that cried to be spent upon her slender form, he worshiped her with careful caresses and passionate words.

  She blossomed beneath his attentions, her flesh responding to the care he lavished upon every inch. From the top of her head to the soles of her feet, he imprinted his touch, the warmth of his desire, the heat of his harnessed needs. He pleasured her, courting her with all of the skill within him…until she writhed in his arms, her whispered words a pleading for his possession.

  And with a gentleness that knew no limits, he took her, only in the final moments of their loving allowing himself the luxury of unbounded passion.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Sure as hell got all fancied up since the last time I saw her.” Abel Sloan slouched in the shadows, his gaze fastened on the woman at the rail of the boat just a few yards distant. Just moments ago, he’d watched as Devereaux loaded the string of horses on board, eyeing with greed the sight of beautiful horseflesh just out of reach.

  “I coulda had one of them mares,” he muttered beneath his breath. “Hell, I coulda had all of ‘em, given half a chance.” Magnifying it in his mind, he recalled the gunplay around the campfire. “All that damn smoke got in my eyes. Couldn’t get a clear shot.”

  Now he shifted, easing his way beneath the eaves of the warehouse, careful to shade his features with the wide brim of his hat. The blue-clad female had turned her back, making her way down the lower deck to pause near the stern of the paddle wheeler. Sloan glanced at her briefly, certain she’d paid him no attention. His steps became less furtive, his manner more aggressive as he neared the gangplank and made his way aboard, offering his ticket to the man waiting there.

  “Goin’ down to Memphis, are you?” Giving him a casual glance, the boatman waved him on board, obviously unimpressed by the sorry condition of the new passenger.

  Sloan hurried toward the bow of the boat, unwilling to expose himself to the scrutiny of the woman he watched. She was still watching as her man fussed with his horses back at the stern. They’d probably be heading for their dinner as soon as the boat left the landing, he figured. Seeing to those horses would sure be his concern if they wore his brand. His mouth almost watered as he remembered the sleek lines of the mares.

  A man could set himself up right well with a bunch like that in his corral. They’d bring a pretty penny if I was to sell ‘em outright. His eyes lit with a speculative gleam as he considered the future he planned for himself.

  Not only did the man called Devereaux owe him plenty for shooting up the gang he’d been part of for over a year, he’d also made away with all of the booty the bunch had managed to snag from the pair’s saddlebags—and then some.

  “Damn lucky I was to even find my boots,” Sloan grumbled aloud, remembering the roundabout return he’d taken to the campfire. Barefoot and without a mount, he’d surveyed the ruin of a year�
��s work, at the same time developing a healthy portion of hatred for the man called Devereaux and his woman. He’d managed to run down a horse and equip himself from the motley assortment of belongings lying about the campfire, before setting out for the river.

  “Sure never thought I’d lay eyes on ‘em again,” he said beneath his breath. Slouching on a wooden bench, his hands hanging between his thighs, he scanned the other passengers with furtive interest. Now he just had to stay out of Devereaux’s way till he made his move.

  “I hear tell the food’s real good.” Roan, stripped to the waist, peered at himself in the small mirror, his hands busy at the chore of removing his whiskers.

  Katherine sat on the bunk behind him, swinging a foot impatiently as she watched his endeavors. “It’ll all be gone before we get there,” she said pointedly.

  His eyes crinkled at the edges as he fought back a grin. Wouldn’t do to get too cheerful while he was working on his throat, he decided. He leaned forward after a moment, splashing his face in the basin and wiping it on the small towel provided.

  “I’ll make sure you get enough to eat, Katherine.” His gaze found her over the edge of the cloth he used. She’d changed into the other dress he’d bought her, a deep shade of maroon with white touches at the collar. It fit her well, hugging her narrow waist, and he complimented himself on the choice.

  “What’s the matter? Do I have dirt on my face or something?”

  “Nope. I was just admirin’ your getup. You look good in that color. I noticed it fits you pretty snug around the middle. And above—there where—”

  Her head dropped forward and she frowned, her eyes wary as she examined the bodice of the dress. “I didn’t think it was too tight,” she exclaimed indignantly. Her fingers tugged at the fabric outlining her bosom, vainly attempting to loosen it.

  Roan reached her in one easy step. His hands covered hers and stilled their movement even as his head ducked to allow his mouth access to her face. She looked up at him, still perturbed by his comment, and he dropped a quick kiss on the end of her nose. She wrinkled it and shook her head, as if she would brush aside his caress.