Читать книгу Loving Katherine - Carolyn Davidson, Carolyn Davidson - Страница 12

“How’d you ever talk Katherine Cassidy out of a mare?”

Roan eyed the livery stable owner with a tight grin. “I worked it out. She needed some repairs done and I’m kinda handy with tools.”

“Huh!” Thurston Wellman expelled his breath forcefully. “Never thought I’d see the day that gal would let loose of another one of her horses, after she had to sell that stud of her pa’s. She’s tighter’n an old maid’s pucker when it comes to her animals.”

Roan waited patiently for the older man’s nattering to cease. He’d known the sight of him atop the sleek mare would set tongues wagging and he’d been right. Evan Gardner had been in the general store just minutes ago, his eyebrows at half-mast when Roan came through the doorway.

“How’d you get your hands on one of Cassidy’s horses?” the man had blurted out. “Does Katherine know you’re ridin’ her mare?”

Roan had given him a glare to end all and turned to the storekeeper. His list was long, and it took more than a few minutes to name the supplies he’d need for his trip. At least for the first leg of the journey.

In the meantime, Evan had stomped out the door, reentering minutes later. “That’s surer than the dickens one of Cassidy’s horses,” he’d said vengefully. “You got no right to that mare, stranger.”

Roan had turned to face the man. “If you got a problem, I’ll meet you out front. Are you callin’ me a horse thief?” The words were spit with precision, the tone tightly leashed but edging toward anger.

Evan Gardner wisely backed off, his face ruddy, his words sputtering without coherency from his lips. “Never said, uh, didn’t mean…sure didn’t…”

Roan had spun to the storekeeper. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. Can you have it packed and ready for me?”

With the man’s assurance still in the air, Roan had left the store, brushing past Evan Gardner with a look of scorn.

Now he tended to the business at hand. The purchase of a packsaddle was next on his agenda. The stud he’d ridden through Tucker Center just over a month ago would carry his supplies, perhaps trading off with the mare if she needed spelling during the long journey.

“You got a packsaddle I can buy?” he asked Thurston Wellman. He’d loosened the girth on the mare and turned the stallion into the small corral while he’d gone to the dry goods store earlier. Now it was time to do his business and make tracks to the south.

Thurston cleared his throat, loathe to miss a sale of any sort. “I expect I can locate what you need, mister. Might take me an hour or so to come up with it, though. You got anything you need to do? Mebbe you’d like to wet your whistle over at the saloon while I check things out.”

The idea of a long swallow of beer was mighty appealing to Roan. It’d been a long dry spell since he’d left Ohio, heading for Charlie Cassidy’s spread. But drinking and riding a trail didn’t mix well in his book. In fact, he might just bed down at the hotel for the night and make it an early start in the morning.

“Sounds good to me,” he told the livery stable owner. “Maybe I’ll stay overnight and head out early.” He swept his hat from his head and tossed it to rest on a bale of hay. “Show me a stall for my mare and I’ll unsaddle her.”

“Second one on the right,” Thurston said agreeably. “You can stow your tack over yonder. It’ll be two bits for the night, if you leave the stud in the corral. I’ll feed ‘em both.”

Roan nodded. He led the mare to the stall and stripped the saddle from her back. Replacing the bridle with a halter, he rubbed her down, his hands possessive as they swept the glossy length of her. Checking twice to be sure she was securely tied, he left the stall.

“I’ll toss her some hay,” Thurston told him. “There’s some for your stud already in the hay rack outside.”

Roan grunted in reply, snatching his hat on the way out the double doors into the sunlight.

Already it had started, he thought gloomily, catching sight of sidelong glances as he passed small knots of townsfolk. Noting the speculative look on the face of the local lawman as he neared the jail, he slowed his steps.

“Sheriff?” he said, greeting the robust man cordially.

“Yessir, I’m Sheriff Doober.” The man straightened from his post against the wall. “You the feller asked about the whereabouts of the Cassidy place a while back? Heard from Evan Gardner you was stayin’ out there. He was kinda upset, bein’ an admirer of Katherine and all.”

“I was there. Now I’m leavin’. My name’s Roan Devereaux. I’m an old friend of Charlie’s,” he told him, hand outstretched in greeting.

With a degree of reluctance, the lawman met his grip. “Heard tell you got away with one of Charlie’s mares,” he said, his words tinged with admiration.

“Mares aren’t Charlie’s anymore,” Roan corrected him. “They belong to Miss Katherine now, and yes, I made a deal with her for one of them.”

“She’s kinda low on stock, ain’t she? What with sellin’ one to the banker for his daughter pretty soon, she’ll be scrapin’ the bottom of the barrel.”

Roan nodded. “Pretty close. She’s got one more filly she’s workin’ with and the yearlings she’s trainin’.”

“Looks like she’d think twice before she sold off her breeding stock,” Sheriff Doober said.

“Want to ride out there with me and ask her about it?” Roan offered quietly.

The other man shook his head. “No, I don’t reckon I do. Just makin’ conversation.”

Roan nodded and walked on, feeling himself the center of attention. The town probably hadn’t had this much excitement in years, he thought with a suggestion of good humor. It sounded like Katherine had a reputation for being stingy, least when it came to her horses.

He made a quick stop at the dry goods, where Orv Tucker, the owner, agreed to store his purchases in the back room till morning. “Won’t be no trouble at all,” he assured him.

Across the street was the hotel, the tallest building in town, with elegantly carved wooden curlicues and flourishes garnishing its framework. As though expecting his arrival, the clerk met Roan with an ingratiating smile, assigning him a room with much fuss and ado. Extolling the virtues of the establishment, the clerk ushered him up the stairs, unlocking the door with a flourish.

“Yessir, we’ve got the finest rooms for fifty miles,” the young man boasted. “Our dining room’s known all over the area. Why, we get folks come from miles away just to eat dinner here,” he said, beaming with pride.

Roan waited patiently, nodding agreeably, then herded the enthusiastic clerk out the door.

“I’ll send up a pitcher of hot water,” came the final word from the young man as he stood in the hallway.

“You do that,” Roan answered, already stripping off his shirt. He turned the glass knob once more and stuck his head through the open door. “In fact, make that a whole tub of hot water. Might be the last chance I get for a good bath for a while.”

A marked contrast to the short cot and the quiet barn, he found the hotel to be a mixed blessing. The bed was comfortable but the sounds coming through the open window kept him awake half the night.

“Didn’t know the saloon would be open till all hours,” he grumbled to the desk clerk in the morning. “Man can’t get a decent night’s sleep.”

“Should have closed your window, sir,” the clerk ventured mildly, counting the coins Roan had given him.

“Felt like I was in a tomb, with all that velvet hangin’ all over the place,” Roan growled. “Can’t sleep without fresh air.”

Breakfast was plentiful in the hotel dining room. Ignoring the speculation he encountered on several faces, he plowed through the plate full of ham and potatoes he’d ordered. It wasn’t near as good as one of Katherine’s meals, he thought, wiping his mouth with the linen napkin.

He deliberately set his mind to other things, her image too vivid for comfort. “Forget the woman,” he told himself beneath his breath, marching down the wooden sidewalk. “She can take care of herself just fine. You got other fish to fry, Devereaux.”

Thurston Wellman, busy harnessing a mare, nodded to him as he strode into the livery stable. “Got you what you need all right. It’s over there.”

The packsaddle lay across a sawhorse outside his mare’s stall, and Roan noted its age with concern.

“It’s in good shape, Mr. Devereaux,” the man assured him as he hurried over. “I checked it out first thing this morning, and it’s good and sturdy. Only cost you a dollar.”

Roan nodded. “Sounds fair,” he allowed, digging for the coin in his pocket.

“Hear tell Evan Gardner is het up about you gettin’ the mare from Miz Cassidy,” Thurston confided in an undertone.

“None of his damn business,” Roan said with a grunt, lifting the mare’s saddle to her back.

“He’s been tryin’ to make her his business for a while now. He’s a determined son of a gun. I’ll put my bet on Katherine, though. She’s a spunky little gal.”

“Yeah, she can handle that shotgun like a trooper,” Roan agreed. The saddle was cinched and he slid the bit into the mare’s mouth, fastening the bridle in place.

“I’ll bring the stallion in,” Thurston offered. “We’ll have you ready to go in no time at all.”

“Yeah,” Roan said glumly, aware that his early morning enthusiasm was rapidly evaporating.

“I did what I could, Charlie,” he said beneath his breath. “I got her all fixed up and things are up to snuff out there. Hell, I got to get on my way.”

The stallion didn’t take well to his status as a pack animal, nudging against the mare’s flanks and nipping more than once at her hindquarters. Roan cast him a look of sympathy as he jerked on the lead rope.

“You got to behave, boy. You got the better end of the deal, totin’ my gear. Just leave this filly alone. She’s gonna let loose with one of those heels, and you’ll be wearin’ a horseshoe across your nose if you’re not careful.”

He stopped long enough when the sun was overhead to tear a heel from the loaf of fresh bread Orv had given him. After cutting a thick slice of cheese from the chunk in his pack, he stowed the food securely and set out once more. There was no sense in stopping till near nightfall. He might even make it to the river by then.

According to the map he’d carried about for over a year, Tucker Center was just a ways east of the big river, and once he reached the Mississippi, he’d be home free. He’d just follow it south, almost all the way to River Bend. Home. His eyes narrowed as he considered what awaited him there.

“Might be nothin’ left for you, Devereaux,” he grumbled. “They probably won’t thank you for makin’ the trip. The damn horse’ll probably get a warmer welcome than me. Pa was always on the lookout for a good piece of horseflesh. He’ll appreciate Katherine’s mare.”

Katherine. He shouldn’t have spoken the name. A dull ache beneath his breastbone nudged him. A vision of dark hair glimmering in the sunlight and blue eyes sparkling with intelligence filled his mind. He shook his head, willing the memory of her to vanish, but to no avail.

“I did what I could,” he growled, as if her image accused him. “No woman is gonna tie me up in knots. She’s set for the winter, anyway. By spring, she’ll probably…”

The angry face of Evan Gardner sprang before him. “What happens when you’re not here anymore, stranger?” As though he heard the question aloud, Roan swore, biting the words off savagely. “He’s a determined son of a gun,” Thurston Wellman’s voice echoed in his head.

“She can face him down any day of the week,” Roan growled, nudging his mare into an easy lope, the stallion falling in behind. The thought was not the comfort he’d hoped for. Once fresh in his mind, the memories of Katherine would not be dislodged, and he turned over each glimpse of her as it appeared before him.

Her stubborn chin, the creamy look of her skin where her throat met the collar of her dress. The strong, well-formed hands that were equally as capable whether she held a skillet or the lead rope of a yearling foal. His mind dwelt for a moment on the surprising softness of her mouth as it had opened beneath his own, and he tilted his head back to gaze at the cloudless sky.

“Damn woman…I don’t need to be thinkin’ about you,” he snarled impotently His mind’s eye envisioned the bulky form of Evan Gardner, imagining the man’s mouth intruding where Roan’s had been the first to venture.

“Never been kissed, Katherine?” He’d known when he asked, known that he’d been the first to taste the sweetness of her mouth. Damn. Evan Gardner’d better keep his hands to himself. Not to mention his slack-jawed…

He pulled the mare to a halt, his hands tight on the reins. With a grim foretaste of disaster, he sensed Katherine’s vulnerability. The whole damn town was probably waitin’ for Gardner to move in on her, he thought glumly. They probably all thought it was the best thing for her, havin’ somebody to look after things there.

He lifted his eyes once more to the brilliant blue sky, watching as a hawk circled and swooped beyond the next rise in the trail. Damn it all, Charlie. I can’t just ride off and leave her to fend for herself. I reckon I shoulda just ridden south from Ohio and stayed out of this mess.

And never known Charlie’s Sparrowhawk? The thought pierced him with dreadful accuracy and he shook his head.

He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he left her with things so unsettled. He cast another look at the sky, shaking his head glumly. “It’ll be full dark before we get there,” he said to the mare, his hand stroking her neck with a gentle touch. “Guess we’d better make tracks.”

“I know you’re not gonna shoot me, Katherine,” Evan said cajolingly, sidling toward the porch. The setting sun cast his face in shadow beneath the wide brim of his hat, but she knew exactly how he looked. She knew the greedy expression his face wore as he considered her. For too long, she’d known he was only biding his time.

“Should have realized you’d be back here as soon as Roan Devereaux left town,” she taunted him, leveling the barrel of her shotgun in his direction. “Too much of a coward to hang around while a man was staying here, weren’t you?”

“I don’t take kindly to bein’ called a coward. I’m facin’ you down, ain’t I? And you with a gun aimed at my belly.” He reached the foot of the steps and tilted his head back to look up at her. “Let me come in and we’ll just talk, Katherine,” he wheedled softly, a smile turning his expression into a parody of friendly persuasion.

“Get out of here, Evan,” she told him wearily. “I don’t have time to argue with you.” The barrel of the shotgun sagged just a bit, its weight heavy.

He halted and peered at her. “I can wait, Katherine. I’m a patient man.” With little grace and much muttering, he made his way to where he’d tied his horse, mounting and riding from the yard.

It was only a whisper of sound, there outside her bedroom window. Almost asleep, she wakened with a start, her heart pounding with a breathtaking cadence. Framed against the opening, his shoulders already inside, was a shadowed figure. Katherine’s mind was muddled, the edges of sleep making her movements slow as she swung her feet to the floor.

“Who is it?” she whispered into the darkness, aware even as she spoke the query that the familiar bulk belonged to Evan Gardner.

“I told you I was patient,” he said with a chuckle. “I been waitin’ out yonder for better than two hours, Katherine. Thought you’d be asleep by now, though.”

“What do you want?” she said, her voice raspy as she struggled to her feet, dread clutching at her throat. Without a gun as an equalizer, she was no match for Evan’s weight and she knew it. The thought of those thick fingers against her flesh made her shudder, and she feinted to evade his touch. To no avail. He was upon her before she could take a step, his body slamming into her with no regard for her woman’s vulnerabilities.

She lost her breath as he bore her down into the feather tick, his heavy torso solid against her slender form. One hand found its way into her hair and he twisted a handful about his fist, anchoring her against the sheet while he sought to rub his mouth over her face. His lips were open, loose and wet, and she shuddered, reaching with both hands to pound against him.

It was futile. Before she regained her breath, gasping for air to fill her lungs, she knew she was in way over her head. Her gun was beside the bed, too far for her to reach, and the nearest help was down the road, almost a mile away. Tears flooded her eyes. Tears of resentment that because she was a woman, smaller and more easily bested, he could come into her home and wrestle from her what she was unwilling to give.

“Evan, no…” Her voice was muffled beneath his weight. His free hand was busy at the front of her nightgown, tugging at the buttons, his mouth vainly attempting to capture hers as she endured the pain of his fist clenched in her hair.

“You wouldn’t be nice about it, would you,” he snarled against her cheek. “I wanted to do this nice and easy, Katherine, but you wouldn’t let me.” His fingers grew impatient; he tore at the worn fabric of her gown, the material ripping with a ragged sound.

“Please, no. Don’t do this, Evan,” she sobbed, aghast as she felt the helpless tears flood her eyes and overflow.

“Aw, come on, Katherine. I’ll make you happy,” he wheezed, his hand fumbling beneath her bodice, fingers grasping for a hold against her flesh.

She felt the brush of a fingernail across the crest of her breast and gasped for air, only to release it in a scream of sheer terror. And once started, she could not be silenced.

“Listen to me, you stupid woman,” he growled, both hands on her shoulders now as he sought to hold her firmly, aware only of her thrashing body beneath him. “Damn it, Katherine, I’m willing to marry you!”

“Nooo…” It was a cry of anguish, followed by a sobbing, mournful wail that reached the ears of the lone rider who approached over the rise east of the garden patch.

“I’ll show you what a good husband I’ll be, Katherine,” Evan told her loudly, attempting to make himself heard over her muffled cries. He fought for a space between her flailing legs, his hands shifting to grasp wherever he could, ducking her fists, which aimed in his direction, more often than not landing sharp jabs.

She screamed again, the sound shrill in his ear. He straightened over her, his hand open and hurting as it met the side of her face, cracking loudly in the darkness.

“Shut up and listen to me, Katherine,” he shouted angrily. “You’re gonna marry me, one way or another, and I don’t mind takin’ my wedding night a day early.”

“I wouldn’t count on that.” The voice from the window was quiet. The sound of a revolver’s hammer being cocked was unmistakable, and the form of the man who climbed silently through the window was familiar.

Evan rolled from the bed, exposing Katherine’s pale flesh to full view. Her gown was tangled about her thighs, the bodice torn and shredded, one breast exposed in the moonlight.

Roan stood to one side of the window, his eyes searching the darkness beyond her bed, narrowing as he spied movement. A form was edging across the floor, making an attempt to reach the door.

“Gardner, stand up where you are,” Roan snarled. “Don’t make me shoot you in the back.”

“Roan?” Katherine moaned beneath her breath, her hands futile in their efforts to tug her gown into place over her breast.

“I’m here, Kate,” he answered, his attention focusing on her, attuned to her distress.

It was all Evan needed, that moment of distraction Katherine had afforded him. He bolted through the open doorway and across the kitchen to the door of the house, crouching low as he leapt from the porch.

With a snarl of disgust, Roan turned back to the window and was gone, landing on the ground with one leap and moving around the house to the front.

“Gardner!” he shouted, stopping and taking aim at the fleeing figure. “Damn fool knows I won’t shoot him in the back,” he growled. Lowering his aim, he steadied his arm and pressed the trigger. The shot was true. Evan hit the ground, rolling to clutch at his leg and shouting his anger.

“Shoot me in the back, would you?”

Roan covered the ground between them rapidly, his eyes intent on the man who was attempting to struggle to his feet. “If I wanted to shoot you in the back, I’d have aimed higher,” Roan snarled in disgust.