Читать книгу Eden - Carolyn Davidson, Carolyn Davidson - Страница 13

THE NEXT FOUR DAYS passed quickly for Katie, bound up in the discoveries she made in John’s cabin. An extra sheet from his closet was cut up and hemmed to make curtains for the bedroom window, and she begged thread, a needle and pins from Berta to accomplish her goal. Her stitches were fine, her skills honed by years of darning stockings and mending trousers, not to mention the few items of clothing she’d made for herself to wear over the past couple of years.

Mrs. Schrader had not been enthused about the art of sewing and by dint of hard work and much stitching and then tearing out and redoing, Katie had learned how to put together two pieces of fabric and sew a fine seam. Curtains were a joy to make, she decided, especially when she knew John would be pleased with her efforts.

Berta contributed a dowel rod and together she and Katie tacked it into place over the window and the curtains were duly admired over a cup of tea, Berta’s praise for Katie’s skills falling on grateful ears.

John’s thoughts on the subject were more than she’d expected, for he told her that they would find a bolt of material in the general store that she could use for the kitchen, where curtains were sorely needed. She agreed with enthusiasm and made her plans accordingly, mentioning to John that a piece of oilcloth would look well on the kitchen table. A suggestion he agreed with, his pleasure in her plans for his cabin obvious.

She looked forward to the evenings spent before the fireplace, when John spoke to her of the cattle and horses, of the men who worked with him, and occasionally of his past. He came from a big family, his father still alive, although his mother had been buried several years ago. He had several brothers and a younger sister, he told her, all of them miles away, but close to his heart.

She envied him, a quiet sort of emotion that took nothing from his joy in his family, but a yearning for someone to call her own. John was fast becoming her friend, she thought, but she yearned to know that someone, somewhere might think of her as their family, perhaps the way John cared for his father and the brothers and sister he’d left behind. And yet, there was in her relationship with John, more than mere friendship, for she found herself yearning, on occasion, for a touch from him, perhaps his hand on her shoulder or his lips against her forehead, something he seemed to find pleasurable.

His touch was a comfort, his arm resting across her shoulders sometimes before he left the cabin in the morning to work in the barn or out in the pastures. But better yet were the infrequent times that he smiled at her and his gaze touched her with a heated warmth that went beyond his other gestures of tenderness. He’d placed his lips against her temple or cheek more than once, as a gesture of affection, and she cherished those small touches, aware that her presence in his home pleased him.

Today, after ironing his clothes and straightening his dresser drawers for the third time, she’d cooked a light meal for their supper, knowing he’d rather eat more heavily at noontime. And after the third trip to the window to look out into the twilight, she began to wonder where he could be. He’d told her he could usually be counted on to come in for his supper before darkness fell. And the sun had set already, making it necessary to light the lamp over the table.

She’d begun to fret, unable to think of what might have happened to make him so late, hearing the sounds of men walking to the house, their voices calling back and forth. And still, John was not to be seen.

Until, like a silent spirit in the night, he was behind her in the kitchen. She’d just turned back to the stove, rescuing the beans cooked with bits of ham before they burned, stirring the creamed potatoes one last time, deciding to give up and slide the whole meal into the oven to stay warm.

His hand was on her shoulder, his voice a whisper in her ear and she dropped her spoon on the floor with a clatter, turning to him, a cry of surprise and relief on her lips.

“John. Where have you been? I didn’t hear you come in. I’ve been worried. When it got dark and you weren’t home yet, I thought something had happened to you.”

Her words spun a web of caring about him and John drew her into his arms, not caring that he might be pushing her in the wrong direction, unable to halt his movements as he lifted her chin with one forefinger and pressed his lips to hers. For the first time yielding to the temptation she so unwittingly offered. For up until now he’d eased his growing need for her with tender, brief kisses against her temple, her cheek.

And yet, there was a boundary over which he would not cross, would not make Katie think he thought of her as more than a friend. She was a woman, and though her behavior was that of an innocent, he knew only too well how a woman could lure a man into her web. And the thought of ever again being enthralled by a female was not one he harbored for a moment of time.

That Katie was of the same ilk as Sadie had been, he didn’t believe, yet she was a female, a woman with the duplicity of her gender, no doubt. Hadn’t she already brought him to a state of arousal on more than one occasion, merely by smiling at him, or by providing him with the comforts a man could expect from a woman. That she would no doubt withhold her kisses, should he venture to claim those lips was a given, for Katie harbored within her a fear he could sense.