Loving Katherine

by Carolyn Davidson

  His hands tugged at her, gripping her shoulders as he murmured her name. “Kate, come on, honey. It’s all right. Only gives me a little trouble now and then. Kate!”

  But she would not be soothed. Her mouth opened as she touched the most severe scarring with the tip of her tongue. Then, tracing the line of knotted scar tissue where stitches had pulled flesh to cover the gaping wounds, she delivered damp kisses and tender touches of hands and fingers to his leg. Bending almost double before him, she bowed as a supplicant, unaware of the clenched jaw and glittering eyes of the man she had married.

  “You’ve seen it before, Katherine,” he said gruffly.

  She shook her head, her hair brushing against his knee. “No…only in the moonlight and from a distance. I didn’t know—” She clasped his knee between her palms and rubbed the flesh with gentle movements, shaking her head, ignoring the tears that flowed without ceasing. Then with a final brush of her lips, she leaned back, her legs folded beneath her, and looked up to meet his gaze.

  “You were hurt dreadfully, weren’t you?”

  He grasped her hands and lifted her to stand before him, molding her hips beneath his palms, only the fragile fabric of her gown between them. A mocking smile curled his lips as he drew her closer. “I reckon the surgeons did as much damage as the shot they dug out of me. ‘Course, by the time they got to me, it was pretty loaded with pus and dead flesh. Your pa did his best, but there’s just so much a man can do with no doctorin’ skills and nothin’ to do it with.”

  She wiped her eyes with quick swipes of her fingers and cleared her throat, sniffing the tears out of existence. “I’m glad he did what he could for you. He said he owed you for dragging him from the battlefield in Virginia. He told me you saved his life.”

  “I guess we were even then, Kate. Didn’t matter who did what anyhow. We all just did the best we could. By that time we’d begun to wonder what the fightin’ was all about anyway.” His voice held a tinge of bitterness and she hugged him tightly, as if she would gather to herself the harshness of his memories.

  “Did you ever wonder how things happen to be, Roan?” Her voice was muffled against him, and he bent to bury his face in her hair, inhaling the sweet, early morning scent of it.

  “Yeah. I’ve often wondered if Charlie knows. You know, he told me to look him up after the war. Told me he’d have a horse for me. Said he’d train one special.”

  She laughed, a silent movement of her shoulders and a quiver of her breasts against his stomach. “And you got the special one I’d worked with instead.”

  “You were pretty mad at me, weren’t you, Kate?”

  “I guess so. You took her away from me. With a few little whispers and some tugging on the reins, you had her going in circles for you. When you got on her, I almost hoped she’d dump you in the dirt.”

  He laughed, a sound of muted triumph. “Nah…by the time I got on that sweet little filly’s back, she knew we were goin’ to be just right together. I just had to sweet-talk her a little and coax her into likin’ me.”

  She lifted her head and eyed him with new knowledge. “Is that what you did with me, Devereaux? Sweet talk and coaxing and whispering promises in my ear?”

  He shrugged indifferently, trying without much success to hide the grin fighting to curl his lips. “I’ll have to admit, you’re one fine filly, Kate. But the sweet talk and the coaxin’ weren’t just to nudge you into my blankets.”

  “No?” She waited, willing to be persuaded, hoping for the reassurance of his words of…what? Love, perhaps? No, not Roan Devereaux. He wanted. He might even need. But the words of deeper emotions would not come easily to that wide, mobile mouth. He would give her assurances, tell her how much he was drawn to her curving female flesh. He could make her think she was almost beautiful, in the depths of the night, when his hands made magic against her skin and his mouth gave her pleasure beyond her wildest imaginings.

  “No. You’re my wife, Katherine. I needed you like a man needs his woman. You drew me like a bee to a honey tree right from the first, and you knew it. You saw me cuttin’ my eyes at you every chance I got. I knew I was bound to lay claim to you one way or another if I stuck around.”

  “Is that why you left?”

  He nodded. “I was wantin’ you more than was good for either one of us, Kate. But then I couldn’t do it. You know damn well I didn’t get very far before I turned around and came back.”

  “A good thing you did, too. Did I ever thank you?”

  He shook his head. “Nope, never did. I figured gettin’ you to marry me was thanks enough. And look what it got me.”

  He held her away from him and his gaze traveled down the length of her, from the shadowed tips of her lush breasts to the pink toes curling against the wide planks of the cabin floor. Beneath the gown, she felt a flush paint her flesh. She lifted her hands to push against him and felt the curling brush of hair enfold her fingers as they pressed against his broad chest.

  Against the soft flesh of her belly, his arousal made itself known, and she caught a breath at the evidence of his need for her. For her. Not for just anyone, but for Katherine Cassidy. No, Katherine Devereaux…his wife. She leaned against him, her thoughts of turning away set aside. Later, she could dress and prepare for the day. Later, she could find her way to the cabin where breakfast would be served. Later, she could think about seeing to her mares. For now, there was a man who deserved the assurance of her love. For if he could never tell her the words, it would matter little to her. She would lavish upon him all of the love her heart held, until some of it would surely overflow and take seed within his own being and there be nourished until it bore fruit.

  Her hands framed his face and her mouth formed the sounds of love he’d learned to listen for. He bent to meet her lips. For now, he could forget the suspicions festering in his fertile mind. He could ignore the faint pangs of hunger nudging at his stomach. He could even put from his mind the string of horses he must tend to within the hour. Katherine was here, waiting, willing and warm against his hard, rigid frame; and there was nothing in the world more important.

  The string of mares and yearlings trailed behind Roan. He looked over his shoulder as he kept his mount to a trot, grinning while he watched the animals tugging and pulling at the restraint of their lead ropes. The side-wheeler had drawn tightly to a bank and dropped the wooden plank from deck to ground. They would only be there for a couple of hours, he’d been warned by the captain, and with those words still ringing in his ears, he’d headed for the edge of the small town where they’d moored.

  A grove of trees beckoned from a half mile or so ahead. He quickened the pace of the mare beneath him, anxious to allow the horses an hour of exercise before they were once more tied in place in the stern of the boat. The yearlings were feisty this morning, he thought with a satisfied grin, and he kept check on their frollicking behind him. The packhorse had been left behind, content to stand on three legs and rest in the humid morning air.

  Katherine had argued a bit, wanting to come along, but his time was limited, he’d told her, and she’d have to change clothes and saddle up. Besides, she’d been wanting a bath, and the captain had assured him that a tub was available, with two strong deckhands to deliver it to their cabin forthwith. His smile widened as he thought of her pleasure in the warm water and leisurely splashing she was so fond of.

  So intent on the yearlings with their scampering about at the end of their lead ropes, he missed the stealthy figure of a man who had been watching him for just such an opportunity for two days. Even now, Abel Sloan slouched on the seat of a wagon he’d rented at the livery stable, clutching the reins and ambling along on his trail as if he were heading for his own spread of land. Only the intent stare from beneath lowered brows gave away the malice he held like a finely honed weapon against the man exercising the small herd of horses beneath the grove of oak trees.

  Somehow the bath wasn’t nearly as enjoyable as she’d expected. The water was nicely heated
, the soap was fragrant, and the cabin was warmed by the morning sun streaming through the small windows on the outside wall. Katherine had peered out anxiously before she climbed into the metal tub, estimating the eye level, should anyone on the riverbank be looking toward the windows. Finally satisfied, assured of privacy, she’d shed her gown and climbed into the warm water, relishing the scent of lilacs as she plied the soapy cloth over her body.

  It was quiet. Only the far-off cries of children and the thump-thump of the engine at rest stirred the air. An occasional call from another passenger broke the silence. But the voice Katherine’s ear was attuned to was absent, and she moved restlessly within the close quarters of the tub.

  “I should have gone with him,” she murmured, squeezing the water from the cloth and hanging it over the rolled edge of metal. Her fingers searched out the bar of soap and clutched it firmly, leaning over the side to locate the wrapping paper. She knelt in the water, folding the precious fragrance in the flowered covering that had contained it since the bath in the hotel in St. Maria.

  Katherine smiled, remembering the diffident expression on Roan’s face as he’d presented her with the soap and the new towel. She rose, rubbing her hair with the thick, soft fabric, her memories filled with the pleasure of his thoughtfulness.

  “Decided you could use somethin’ a mite softer than that old feed bag you were usin’,” he’d said gruffly.

  Her smile widened and she shook her head vigorously, the long strands of dark hair flying about her. Her brush was already laid out and she reached for it, bending from the waist to scoop her hair into one hand. With brisk strokes, she eliminated the snarls, then her fingers snaked through the strands, braiding quickly.

  Naked, she surveyed the cabin. Roan’s neatness had extended to her belongings; her pants and shirts were piled in a tidy stack on a chair, fresh from the hotel laundry in St. Maria. She snatched the topmost pants and reached into her saddlebag for fresh undergarments. Not the fragile beauties Roan had bought to go with her dresses, but the practical cotton drawers she’d made. A camisole top came to hand and she pulled it on, buttoning it quickly, tucking it into the elastic-banded underwear she’d donned. Her slim boy’s pants were next and then the flannel shirt.

  The mirror across the cabin reflected her slender figure and she blinked as she recognized herself in the almost unfamiliar getup. “Three days dressed like a lady and I’m forgetting what I really look like,” she grumbled, tugging her boots in place.

  The long braid fell down her back, making a damp line down her spine. She grabbed the hat she’d stashed in her saddlebag and punched it into shape before placing it squarely atop her head. A quick look around assured her of her readiness, and she unlocked the cabin door, pulling it closed behind her. The key turned in the lock and then dropped into the pocket of her pants, her index finger stuffing it all the way to the bottom, lest it work its way out and be lost.

  A deckhand approached and nodded, looking her over with unveiled curiosity. “Ma’am? Are you going ashore now? Cap’n says we only got a little better than an hour till we push off.” His eyes roamed the length of her, pausing on the slim-fitting boy’s clothing she wore, coasting over the fullness of her bottom and down the slender legs.

  Katherine tilted her chin and viewed him with narrowed eyes, defying his assessment with one of her own. “Mr. Devereaux has taken my mares out for exercise, and I intend to join him. Can you direct me?”

  The deckhand swallowed and bobbed his head. “Yes, ma’am. He headed south of town. Shouldn’t have gone too far, I don’t reckon. Cap’n told him to watch the time.”

  “Thank you.” Offering him a cool smile and the back of her head in quick succession, Katherine strolled from the boat. Crossing the patch of water on the plank without looking down at the muddy flow that rocked the boat with a gentle motion, she made the bank and headed at a quick trot for the road running through the small town.

  A livery stable stood next to the general store and she peered into the dim interior, squinting to locate a human presence. The scent and sound of horses met her, and she inhaled, pleased with the familiar surroundings.

  “Help you, ma’am?” From the shadows a young boy ambled toward her.

  “I need a riding horse for about an hour.” Her fingers slipped into her front pocket in search of coins and she grimaced as they came up empty. “I haven’t any money with me,” she apologized. “But the gentleman who just rode out of town with a string of horses is with me and he’ll pay you when I bring the horse back.”

  The boy scratched his head and eyed her skeptically. “I dunno, ma’am. We don’t generally do business thataway.”

  “I’ll pay a quarter when I come back,” she offered.

  He looked at her, taking in the slender form encased in boy’s clothing, the damp braid and rumpled hat. His smile broke through the doubting frown and he nodded. “Leave me your boots and I’ll let you take the horse.”

  Katherine bent to tug at her leather boots without hesitation. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d ridden barefoot. Probably not the last, either, she thought with a grin.

  “I don’t need a saddle. Just stick a bit in his mouth and I’ll ride anything you’ve got back there,” she told him.

  The boy led an undistinguished mare from the rear of the stable, bridle and bit in place, and offered Katherine the reins. He scooped up the boots and placed them on an overturned bucket inside the door.

  “Don’t fergit ya owe me a quarter when ya come back,” he reminded her quickly as she hoisted herself to the broad back of the aging mare.

  Her feet wrapped around the mare’s ribs and she nudged the animal with her heels. “I won’t forget. I’ll be back in less than an hour.” Urged into a trot, the mare made her way down the road, past a small white church, past a scattering of homes and toward the open country beyond.

  Katherine’s hand shaded her eyes as she peered into the distance. He couldn’t have gone far, not in the half hour or so head start he’d had. The sun was bright and glittered on the harness of a lone horse, probably half a mile down the road. Hitched to a wagon, it stood beneath a small stand of trees.

  Katherine’s brow furrowed. Roan would have no use of a wagon, surely. Perhaps he’d gone in a different direction. She looked around, squinting against the sunshine, but to no avail. Nowhere did she see a tall man astride a bay mare, nor, for that matter, was there any trace of three yearlings and a pair of mares on a lead rope.

  It seemed the grove of trees was the only spot he could have headed for, and she turned the mare she rode in that direction. The animal broke into a slow lope with Katherine’s urging, and her scent rose, pungent and ripe

  “That bath was a waste of time,” she said aloud. “I’m gonna smell like horse and dust, and Roan spent a quarter on warm water for nothing.”

  She slowed as she neared the trees, catching sight of a slumped figure on the wagon seat. He’d cast a look in her direction and then back at whatever he watched through the trees, and she narrowed her eyes to make out the face that turned once more in her direction.

  With furtive movements, he picked up the reins and slapped them against the back of the horse. The animal lurched in movement and the wagon pulled from beneath a shady tree to wend its way south.

  “What’s going on?” She whispered beneath her breath, then dug her heels once more into the sides of the mare she rode. Obligingly, the animal broke into a gallop, heading for the shady grove before her. Katherine’s heart thumped in an unsteady rhythm as she approached the section of wooded area.

  “Roan?” she called out. “Are you there? Roan?”

  From within the trees came a whinny, then another, and the horse she rode answered with a call of her own.

  “Roan?” Katherine nudged the animal forward, ducking her head as she passed under an overhanging branch. Here, past where the wagon had been sitting only moments ago, she could catch sight of her yearlings, each on a lead, Roan holding the ropes and allowing
the gamboling youngsters to circle him. He was in a patch of sunlight in a clearing within the clustered trees. His shirt was off, lying on the ground to one side. His big body was gleaming with sweat, the muscles of his arms flexing as he controlled the playful yearlings with the tremendous strength of his shoulders.

  Katherine watched, her mouth dry as she inhaled deep breaths of morning air, her heart still hammering with a combination of apprehension and sudden awareness of the man she’d married. She glanced over her shoulder quickly, hoping to catch sight once more of the wagon, but it was too far away now, rolling into the distance, turning off the road even as she watched.

  “Roan?” Her voice was quiet, but his ear was ever attuned to her and he wheeled quickly, holding the ropes over his head as he turned to face her. The yearlings continued their romping, bucking at the end of the lead ropes, shying at the breeze that brought fluttering dust devils to life about their feet. But the man facing her was intent on the woman who rode bareback atop a livery stable mare.

  “What are you doing here, Kate? I thought I left you in a bathtub.”

  “You did. I got out of it.” She smiled at him with tremulous lips. That he could affect her so was more than she could fathom. The sight of Roan Devereaux, shirtless, sweaty and, unless she was mistaken, about to take her head off, was about the best thing her eyes had lit on in at least an hour or so. Since the last time she saw him, anyway, she decided.

  “I wasted two bits on hot water for you,” he told her, frowning in her direction. “Now I’ll warrant you smell like a horse that hasn’t seen a curry comb in a month of Sundays.”

  She shrugged. “Probably.” Sliding from the mare’s back, she approached him, her eyes intent on the frollicking yearlings.

  “Stay back.” His words were brusque, his hands busy as he gathered up the lead ropes he held, pulling the young horses closer with each twist about his arm. They came reluctantly, slowing their pace, tossing their heads, until they were caught in a circle around him. He led them to a rope he’d strung between two trees and clipped their leads in place, several yards apart.