Loving Katherine

Chapter Four

“I’ll wash your clothes if you bring them to the house.”

He’d wondered how she would greet him this morning. After the general all-around mess he’d made of last evening, he hadn’t known what to expect. Certainly, Katherine knew what to look for from a man who was all hot and bothered. Or did she? Her total experience with males appeared to have begun and ended with horse breeding. Hell, that ought to have taught her something!

He looked at her finally, aware she’d been fidgeting about with her hands all twisted up in her apron, waiting for an answer to her offer. Her expression was calm, but a telltale tinge of pink stained her cheeks, and together with the knot she was managing to put in the front of her voluminous apron, he knew she’d dreaded this encounter.

“I reckon I’d appreciate havin’ my clothes washed up, Katherine,” he responded gently. “I can scrub them out myself, though, if you leave the water when you’ve finished your own things.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ve done a passel of laundry in my day, keeping my menfolk clean,” she answered crisply. Her eyes met his gaze for a moment and then skittered off to fasten on the low ceiling of the barn, just over his head.

“I’ll bring them up to the house directly. Soon as I finish putting this stall door back together.”

She nodded briefly and turned to make her way from the barn. Roan’s eyes rested on the dark dress that hung so limply from her squared shoulders, and his mouth twisted in a smile of remembrance as he visualized the slim form she hid so well beneath the sturdy fabric. His hands had personal knowledge of her waist. It bore no resemblance to the length of the leather thong she had taken to using for a belt.

If any woman needed rescuing from herself, it surely was Katherine Cassidy, he thought idly, his lips twitching with humor. It’d be no small task for the man brave enough to take it on. And it was certain sure he wouldn’t be around to tend to the job.

“Breakfast is almost ready,” Katherine told him, calling the words over her shoulder as she stepped through the wide doorway into the early morning light. “Leave that door for later.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Obediently, he put aside his hammer, brushing his hands against the denim that covered his thighs. The grin he’d restrained for her benefit split his mouth and remained in place as he gathered up the few pieces of clothing he’d folded and stowed beneath his blankets on the cot—anything for a little padding.

That hayloft was looking better night after night. If it weren’t for the fact he’d be leaving shortly, he’d even consider building a bunk against the wall and stuffing a mattress with fresh straw.

Ah, no sense in getting too comfortable. Before long, his bed would be the bare ground. Maybe a few leaves or a good stand of grass for padding. The country between southern Illinois and River Bend was pretty green for a while yet. Autumn was late in coming to the south, and with a little hustle, he could miss the cold nights that would soon be heading this way.

He sauntered to the house, his dirty clothes tucked beneath one arm. Slowing long enough to drop off his bundle next to the washtub Katherine had dragged from the porch, he hesitated. A fire burned not far from the well, a metal pail hanging over it from a tripod, the water within steaming, catching his eye. Retracing his steps, he picked up his shirt and folded it compactly. Then, with casual ease, he reached for the pail, using the shirt to shield his palm from the hot metal handle. After emptying it into her washtub, he filled the bucket from the well, replacing it over the fire to heat.

“Thank you, Mr. Devereaux,” Katherine called from the doorway where she was watching. “I was about to come out and do that myself.”

“Saved you a few steps,” he answered, washing his hands at the horse trough. He splashed the water over his face and used his wet hands to plaster his hair down, running his fingers through it to groom the dark length into a semblance of order. Katherine tossed him a towel as he mounted the steps, and waited until he had dried his face and hands.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” she asked with a lifting of one eyebrow.

“Matches the ‘Mr. Devereaux’ you’ve been spoutin’ this mornin’,” he reminded her with a rakish smile. “Thought maybe you were tryin’ to put me on my best behavior, Katherine.”

“Not much chance of that, is there?” she asked, crossing to the stove to dish up the oatmeal she’d had simmering on the back corner. A pan of biscuits and a plate of sausage from the warming oven up top completed the meal, and Roan settled down to the business of eating, blithely ignoring her final gibe.

“Tell me,” he said between bites, his fork held upright as if he commanded her attention. “Tell me how you got those yearlings out there with not a mare in sight? They got birthed somehow, but I sure haven’t figured out where, or what you did with their dams.”

She lifted one of her eyebrows in a gesture of triumph, and a dimple showed high on her left cheek as she suppressed a smile. “One of my better deals—actually three of them. My father and I offered his stallion for breeding at three different farms hereabouts and asked for a foal from each of the farmers. They all had mares they wanted bred, more than a dozen between them, and Pa’s stud was the best-looking horse in the area. They jumped at the chance. They ended up with free stud service for their mares, and we got the three foals for nothing, once they were weaned from their mamas.”

Roan eyed her with new respect. “Your idea?” he asked.

She nodded. “One of my better ones. We needed new blood, and we didn’t have much money available. Pa’d sold off everything we’d trained and saddle broke, and he was getting itchy feet again. It was hard for him to stay in one place. I think he bought this farm for my benefit, knowing how sick of roaming the countryside I was. He said it was time to put down roots and find me a husband.”

“I expect you didn’t look very hard, did you? Seems to me you wouldn’t have much trouble finding a man if you put your mind to it.”

She sniffed and turned her head aside. “I’ve seen enough men in my time to know for a fact I don’t need one to warm my bed at night. Never could see much benefit for a woman in marriage anyway.”

“Maybe you looked at the wrong men,” he suggested mildly.

“Men are men,” she stated, as if that were the final word on the subject.

His nod was agreeable and he set to eating, accepting her decree. Katherine watched him with furtive glances as he made his way through the abundance of food before him. The man did appreciate good meals, she thought, her eyes focused on the hands that wielded his fork and spoon with innate grace. Well formed and darkly tanned, those hands held eating utensils with ease, as easily as they used the tools from the shed.

With as much skill as they’d demonstrated touching her body last evening, she thought, remembering the heat of his palms against her waist. Even through the heavy homespun of her dress, she’d felt the warmth of him, the bold touch of his fingers tugging her against his hard body. She shivered suddenly, shifting in her chair as her errant thoughts tread the dangerous ground that lured them. Maybe she’d not have been so dead set against getting married if someone like Roan Devereaux had come along when she was more amenable to the idea.

Roan’s eyes speared her quickly, snagged by the quick lift of her breasts as she gained a deep breath, fastening on the flaring of her nostrils and the dark awareness shining in her eyes. He chewed methodically, his gaze narrowing as he watched her…noting the faint flush painting her throat and creeping upward.

Wiping his mouth with the edge of his hand, he picked up his coffee, eyes never veering from the woman across the table. Damned if she didn’t look flustered to beat all.

Things would be better all the way around if she didn’t keep looking at him the way she was right now. He wasn’t the man she needed. And heaven knew he’d got an awful itching urge to cart her off to her bed…and then she’d be compromised, but good. And he wouldn’t be as good for her as Evan Gardner. At least Evan wanted to marry her.

Hell, he couldn’t sit around here any longer, he decided. She had him going in circles and she hadn’t even touched him. Except with the bluest eyes he’d seen since the day he met Charlie Cassidy.

His chair scraped against the plank floor and he rose hastily. “I’ll just get back to the barn, Katherine,” he muttered, groping with one hand for his hat as he turned toward the door. “Mighty fine meal,” he called back as he strode across the porch, his steps long and hurried.

“Here’s your hat…what’s your hurry?” she said beneath her breath, relieved to have him gone. “He stirs me up, and I don’t like it.” Her mouth pursed as she considered him, glaring at his long legs, which carried him quickly across the yard. He was limping a bit this morning. “Not that I care,” she grumbled. “He can limp all the way to Timbuktu and back, for all it matters to me.”

He managed to stay out of her way for the rest of the week, making his way to the house for meals and tending to his business otherwise. The pasture fence took on a new look, the posts erect once more, the poles firmly attached and anchored in place. He’d hung a new gate, after viewing the old one with a shake of his head. Sagging and swinging from handmade hinges with half the nails missing, it was a wonder she’d been able to handle it at all. The ruts were deep where she’d been dragging it across the ground to lead the yearlings in and out, and he frowned at the thought.

How much more had she put up with on her own? he wondered. He hadn’t even looked around much inside the house, not enough to spot the places that needed repairing, anyway. And sure as the sun rose and set every day, she wouldn’t be asking him to spend any time in her kitchen. Leastways, not any longer than it took to eat a meal and vamoose out the door.

“I’ve given her a good case of leavin’ alone, Charlie,” he said dryly, casting his eyes heavenward. Somehow it seemed likely Charlie’d headed in that direction, he thought, remembering the gray-haired soldier who’d made little fuss over his Bible reading or the quick words he spoke over his meals.

“Wish you were here, old man,” Roan muttered, turning his attention to the bridle he was mending. The sun beat on his back through the dark cotton of his shirt and he relished the heat with a lifting of his shoulders. Tugging at the bit, he assured himself that the leather would hold, then, putting it aside, reached for the halter that awaited his care.

He was about done. The month was up and he’d set his hand to every chore he could find, aside from the house Katherine guarded so closely. He’d ask her politely about it before he left, in case she needed something done that wouldn’t hold over the winter. Fat chance she’d give me space to work inside her sanctuary, he thought with a grin. She guarded it like a smuggler’s cave.

His eye was caught by a flash of color and he looked up to see her quickstepping across the yard in his direction. The apron she wore was yellow, bright against her dark dress, and he wondered for a moment where she’d dug it from. Every other single piece of clothing he’d seen on her looked like they’d been cut from the same cloth…dark and somber.

“New apron, Katherine?” he asked teasingly.

She shook her head impatiently and he straightened abruptly, rising from the stool he’d dragged into the sunshine.

“What’s wrong?” His eyes moved over the yard, up the hill to the small cemetery, and then darted across to the rise just east of the garden. Satisfied that no immediate danger threatened, he turned his attention to her face, puzzled by the expression she wore.

A mixture of panic and embarrassment painted her features and her hands were linked tightly against her waist. “I feel foolish,” she blurted, her teeth biting against her lower lip.

Relief flooded him and he grinned at her admission. “Can’t imagine that, Katherine.”

“I’m not generally easy to fluster,” she told him, her fingers flexing as she relaxed the grip that had fused them so tightly. Lifting one hand to her forehead, she brushed aimlessly at the tendrils of hair blowing about her face.

“Well, I’d say somethin’ disturbed you in a big way,” he allowed, amused at her dithering.

Her mouth pinched tightly and she glared at his teasing grin. “It’s not funny, Roan Devereaux!” she spouted. “There’s a whole family of mice underneath my cupboard!”

His eyes danced with delight. “Is this the same woman who threatened me with a shotgun and came within an inch of runnin’ me off her place?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I didn’t think there was a thing in this world that could put the fear of God in you, Katherine Cassidy. I’m glad to see I was wrong. You’re pret’ near as human as the next one, after all.”

She stiffened and narrowed her eyes. “I’m not afraid,” she denied stoutly. “I just don’t know what to do with them.”

He hooted with laughter. “Well, I doubt they’re big enough to warrant a shotgun blast. Reckon a swat with the shovel would take care of the matter.”

She shuddered visibly. “I couldn’t do that.”

“Well, you could always make pets out of ‘em.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she sniffed. “I should have known better than to expect any help from you.” Her skirts tangled about her legs as she spun around and headed back to the house, her face crimson with embarrassment.

His hand on her shoulder effectively halted her progress and the warmth of his breath next to her ear caused another shiver to cascade through her.

“Aw, come on, Kate,” he coaxed softly. “Don’t take on so. I can handle most any kind of problem around here you can throw at me, so long as you don’t get all huffy and stomp off.”

Her head dipped and she caught a deep breath. “Just let go of me, Roan Devereaux, and go clean out that nest of critters before your dinner burns to a frazzle.” Her voice trembled just a bit and he peeked over her shoulder, bending lower to scan her flushed countenance.

“Well, we sure can’t have that, can we?” he said softly. And he then bent even lower to drop a quick kiss against her cheek. “Consider it done, ma’am.” His hand squeezed gently for a moment before he dropped it from her shoulder.

“I don’t want to know…” she began, calling after him as he climbed the steps to the porch.

“Why don’t you go gather the eggs or somethin’,” he suggested from the doorway, turning to face her. She was worrying her bottom lip again, and he fought the smile twitching at his mouth.

“Yes, I’ll do that.” Relief was alive in her voice as she spun away and headed quickly to the henhouse. He watched till she slipped inside the wire fence, shooing the clucking hens before her, preventing their escape from confinement.

By the time she pushed the henhouse door open minutes later, holding her apron tightly to protect the eggs she carried, he’d disappeared from sight. She hesitated, unsure whether he was still in the house, her eyes scanning the garden and beyond for a glimpse of him.

“Roan?”

“Go rescue your dinner.” He was somewhere near the other side of the house, his voice carrying on the breeze.

“Yes…all right,” she said quickly, intent on putting aside all thought of his solution to the problem.

She picked at her food, waiting for the sly digs to begin, certain he wouldn’t be able to resist at least one reference to her being so softhearted. But she waited in vain. He ate swiftly and well, silently offering his plate for seconds, devouring the chicken and dumplings with obvious enjoyment. He sat back finally, a sigh of satisfaction the first sound to escape his lips since the meal began.

“Had enough?” She looked up, still shifting the carrots around on her plate.

His raised eyebrows saluted the movements of her fork. “Looks like you aren’t much for your own cookin’ today, Katherine.”

She placed the utensil beside her plate and folded her hands in her lap. “I guess I wasn’t in the mood for chicken. I didn’t seem to work up much appetite this morning.”

“Well, you can just heat up the leftovers later on,” he told her. “It’ll save you cookin’ supper after while.”

“I’d have to add a mess of vegetables to the pot and call it soup,” she said with a quick smile in his direction. He wasn’t going to tease her, she realized, and her smile widened.

“A pan of cornbread would go real well with that,” he suggested hopefully. “You sure do make good pone, Kate.”

It was the second time he had shortened her name today. She considered him. Leaning back in his chair, he looked utterly relaxed. It was an illusion, she knew for a fact. Rarely did Roan Devereaux allow himself to be off guard. As if he were aware of every movement within his range of sight and hearing, he kept watch. That he could do so and still maintain a conversation puzzled her.

Another puzzle was his calling her “Kate.”

“My father used to call me that,” she said quietly.

“Kate?”

She nodded. “No one else ever has, just Charlie.”

“I didn’t mean to be too familiar. Sometimes you just look like…like you ought to be Kate.” His eyes were dark, their regard warming, and his mouth was pursed as he studied her.

“I don’t mind,” she said quickly. It was a familiarity that pleased her somehow. And she fought against the pleasure it brought her. He’ll be gone… before you know it, he’ll be gone, she told herself. And you’ll miss him.

That admission was a new one. So hurting was it, she rose and gathered up the plates and forks, carrying them to the sink and depositing them with a clatter in the tin dishpan waiting there. She couldn’t afford to miss him, she thought, blinking away the hot tears burning against her eyelids.

“Katherine?”

She heard his chair scrape against the floor and she blinked furiously, determined to hide any evidence of weakness. Not on your life, Roan Devereaux, she thought furiously. You’ve already known me for a softhearted female once today. I’ll be switched if you see me being foolish again.

“It’s time to be movin’ on,” he mused beneath his breath as he pounded the last nail into place. The stall door hung straight, the latch was in place, and for the life of him, he couldn’t find another thing to do in the barn.

On top of that, Katherine was looking better to him all the time, and he surely didn’t need a woman to complicate his life right now. At least, not on a long-term basis. And Katherine was definitely not a bed-’em-and-leave-’em woman.

He watched her from the barn door. Watched as she took the last of his clothing from the line she’d strung between the cabin and the milk house. His gaze was fixed on the heavy rope of hair that caught the sunlight and gleamed with hidden fire. Prettier than a spotted pony and twice as spunky, he thought with a subdued chuckle. She’d be a prize for the right man. One willing to look beyond her fierce pride and drab demeanor.

“Katherine,” he called, reluctantly heading in her direction. “How about if I take a look inside the house and see what needs tending before I head out of here? Thought I’d see what I can put to rights for you.”

Her head shot up and she put out one hand in an unmistakable gesture. “My house will do fine, thank you. I manage to keep it up to snuff without any trouble at all.”

He lifted one eyebrow in silent question. “If you’re sure about that…” he said, unwilling to push, aware of her fierce possessiveness when it came to her own surroundings.

“Are you heading out?” she asked bluntly.

He sauntered closer, his eyes intent on her fisted hands, clenched at her sides, betraying the tension she sought to conceal. Katherine was not nearly as unconcerned about being here alone as she let on, he decided.

“It’s about time. I’m pret’ near thirty years old and my family hasn’t seen me in ten or twelve years.” His laugh was rusty. “Fact is, they might not be too excited about my comin’ home. But I figure it’s time to let ‘em know I’m still alive and kickin’.”

“They’ll be glad to see you, Roan,” she said quietly, her eyes on his guarded expression. “I’ll bet your mother watches for you every day.”

“Well, you sure don’t have any notion of how Letitia Devereaux carries on, I can see that,” he answered dryly. “About the last thing she’s thinkin’ about is her long-lost son. Matter of fact, I’m probably the biggest disappointment in her life. I doubt she ever got over my fightin’ for the North.”

Katherine regarded him thoughtfully. “I wondered that myself,” she admitted. “Just thought it wasn’t my business to ask questions, though.”

Roan squatted in the shade of the milk house and picked up a handful of small stones from the ground between his knees, one at a time, looking each over carefully. As if he considered his words with equal care, he spoke hesitantly.

“Slavery wasn’t the issue with most Southerners, you know. But it was with me. I had a hard time with the right of one man to own another, no matter what the law said. Still do, for that matter. My father and I had a go-round more than once, after I got to be full grown. He said I had to learn my place in life and it wasn’t workin’ side by side with the slaves and bein’ familiar with them.” He looked up at her with somber eyes. “I couldn’t consider the boys I’d grown up with as less than men,” he said harshly. “And to my father, they were ‘boys,’ fit only to work in the fields.” He shrugged. “We didn’t see eye to eye. So I left.”

“And fought on the side of the North,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, that was sorta strange, I guess. When I wrote to my mother, after the war, I told her. She wrote me back while I was in the hospital in Philadelphia, where they patched my leg up for the last time.”

“I’ll warrant she was worried about you,” Katherine told him.

His laugh was harsh. “Maybe, maybe not. What she was was ashamed of me. That I would fight against my ‘own kind’ was more than she could tolerate, she said.”

“Why do you want to go back?” Katherine asked after a moment.

He stood, brushing his hands together as the stones fell once more to the ground. “Haven’t figured that out yet,” he told her with a grim smile. “Somethin’ just seems to be tuggin’ at me to go home. Maybe I think things will be different, now that the war’s over. Maybe I need to make peace with my daddy before it’s too late to put things right.”

Katherine shaded her eyes from the sun as she looked up at him. “What if they don’t want you back?” The thought that any parent would turn aside his child was abhorrent to her, but the possibility surely existed where Roan Devereaux was concerned.