Eden Page 21

  He clenched his jaw and his eyes were warm as he looked at her. “Will you let me kiss you, Katie? Can we make this up between us for now. We’ll have to talk about it later on, but not today. I just want to get this over with and get your hand wrapped up.”

  “You can kiss me whenever you want to, John. You know that. If you’d like to bend over here, I’ll put my good arm around your neck and hang on and kiss you back.”

  He grinned suddenly at her words, and she responded with a chuckle of her own, knowing that he would feel her pain as much as did she in the next minutes. He bent to her, his lips soft against hers and then his mouth touched her cheek and swept to her throat, pressing the warmth of his lips to every inch of skin he could reach.

  “I’ll try not to hurt you, Katie. But I can’t make any promises. This doggone cut is deep and I’ll have to take a number of stitches to close it up good.”

  She closed her eyes then and clamped her teeth together, holding her hand still in his, awaiting the first piercing of her skin. John called out for Berta and asked her to return to the bedroom, and when she neared the bed, he nodded at Katie, a silent request for Berta to hold her against the bed, lest she jerk her hand away without thinking.

  But there was no need for Berta’s grasp on her other arm, for her hand lay upon Katie’s head, lending sympathy and the strength of a woman who had known her share of pain. Katie lay unmoving, only a quiet whisper of sound leaving her lips when the needle pulled the thread tautly against the flesh. John tied the first stitch off, cutting the thread and moving on to the next area he would close with the silk.

  He winced as he drew the needle through her palm, and Katie watched his face as his fingers held the needle, unable to look at what he did to her, but unwilling to look from his profile as he worked. His jaw was taut, his mouth a drawn line and his teeth seemed to be grinding together. He inhaled through his mouth, then exhaled through his nostrils, keeping his breathing even as if he would somehow control his whole body by the discipline he used in this way.

  “Katie, take some deep breaths,” he said quietly. “Don’t try to hold your breath, honey. Just keep your eyes on something other than your hand.”

  “I’m watching you, John,” she said softly, and he halted what he did for a moment of time, his gaze turning to mesh with hers, his eyes filled with the pain he felt for her as he completed the necessary mending her hand required. Eleven stitches crossed her palm, the black thread against her flesh pulling the skin taut, the blood flow almost ceasing as he worked.

  “He’s about done, honey,” Berta said, her hands gentle on Katie’s arm and forehead. “It’s almost over.”

  Silent tears escaped Katie’s eyes and she smothered the sob that begged to be spent, for the sharp pain of the needle had not been totally contained by the whiskey John had poured on her cut. She looked down at what he was doing as he tied off the last bit of thread, and his sigh was long and harsh.

  “That’s it, Katie. We’re done.” He bent low to inspect the work on her hand and then met her gaze, his eyes filled with a sorrow she had not expected. John hurt as much as she did. She knew it without a doubt, knew the pain she had borne had been shared by him, that his long minutes of tending her had caused him an amount of pain she had not expected.

  “Thank you, John.” Her whispered words were puny, she thought, as if she hadn’t the breath to speak them aloud, but he heard her and nodded, placing the needle back into the dish that still held an amount of whiskey.

  “Here’s some clean cloth to bind it with,” Jane said from the foot of the bed. “I tore it off an old petticoat that Katie had in the pantry for some reason or other.” She held out the strips of cloth to John and he folded several layers together to form a pad for her palm, then bound it in place with long strips that held it firmly.

  “That ought to do it,” Berta said, with a sigh of relief. “Jane, let’s you and me head for the kitchen and get things going. Did you put those spuds on to boil?”

  Jane nodded, for she’d apparently filled the kettle when Katie’s accident happened and finished the peeling herself, then settled the pan on the stove.

  “We’ll get busy with the chicken then, John. If you’ll stay here with Katie for a little while, she’ll be feeling better and you can bring her to the house so she can sit and watch us work.”

  John nodded his agreement and Berta gathered up her things and left the bedroom. She and Jane spoke briefly in the kitchen and Katie did not pay any mind to them, her thoughts wrapped up in the pain that seemed to have taken hold with greedy strength in her hand.

  John sat beside her, his hands holding her arm, and she whispered the thought that would not be denied. “Thank you for helping me, John. I’m sorry you had to do such a thing for me, but I’m glad it was you and not anyone else.”

  His smile was lopsided and he caught a deep breath as she spoke. “I wouldn’t have let anyone else touch it, Katie. I knew I could handle it, for I’ve sewn more than one cut on a man. Barbed wire can be nasty and there’s been more than a handful of men who’ve gotten themselves torn up on it. We’ve been real fortunate that no one has ever gotten an infection, and so long as we’re careful and keep things clean we shouldn’t have any trouble with your hand.”

  “Can I get up now?” she asked, thinking of Jane and Berta working in the big kitchen. “I need to see if those potatoes are getting done yet.”

  “I’ll check on them,” John said quickly, rising and making his way into the kitchen. He took out a fork and pierced one of the topmost pieces, then used a big spoon to stir them in the pot. “Just about finished, Katie,” he said, raising his voice the better for her to hear him.

  “Use my biggest lid to hold them in the pot when you drain them, John,” she said, sitting up on the edge of the bed, holding her hand carefully in her lap. The throbbing had not let up and she feared that she would be of no use to Berta in the kitchen. And on top of that, she didn’t think John would allow her to do much to help anyway. He seemed bent on watching her closely, and she didn’t mind one little bit, for his mood seemed to have softened over the past hour or so.

  Whether or not she would ever have to see Clay Thomas again was a moot question, for she knew that if he were to stay on the ranch, she would, as before, go out of her way to steer clear of him. And yet, even that had not kept him from her presence. Yet, it might not even be an issue, for she thought she’d heard Jane tell her that John had kicked Clay off the ranch, telling the man to pack his things and get out.

  She heard the kettle dragged across the stove, then the sound of John draining the potatoes. “I’ll take these to the house so Berta can get them ready for supper,” John said, sticking his head in the bedroom door. “You stay right there till I come back, you hear?”

  Katie only nodded, unable to speak, for the throbbing in her hand seemed to increase with her movement, and she would not test her strength by rising while she was alone in the house.

  Within five minutes, John was back and Katie called out to him, asking him to check on the beans. He stirred them, then came to where she sat and spoke of Berta’s doings in the house.

  “She told me she’d send one of the men out to get the kettle of beans, and you should just take it easy for a while. I’ll wait here with you till you’re able to make it into the house, Katie. Then you can eat something in the kitchen. Jane and Berta have everything under control, the chicken is about done frying and the men are washing up for supper.”

  “I’m going to sit in the kitchen, John,” she said, standing up and waiting until her head stopped swimming before she attempted to walk to the kitchen.

  He hastened to her side and put his arm around her waist, lending his strength to hers as she walked slowly to the kitchen chair and sat down. “Would you pour me a little coffee?” she asked, knowing that the pot contained leftovers from earlier in the day.

  He did as she asked and brought the cup to her. A spoonful of sugar was stirred in quickly and she lift
ed it to her mouth, knowing that the hot beverage would lend her strength. Coffee always gave her a quick rush of energy it seemed, and she needed such a thing right now.

  Shorty came onto the porch and rapped at the door. “I heard that there was a kettle of beans in here waiting for me to carry them to the house,” he said, entering the door and heading toward the stove. John found a pair of thick pot holders and handed them to Shorty, then opened the door for him to leave the kitchen, kettle in hand.

  “Okay, let’s get you over to the house now, Katie,” John said quietly. “Can you walk by yourself, or shall I carry you?”

  Katie shook her head with a quick movement. “No, I’m fine. Just hold on to me a little and I’ll walk by myself.”

  “First I’m going to put your arm in a sling,” John said quietly, seeking out a piece of sheeting from the ragbag in the kitchen pantry. He folded it double, making a triangle out of the square and slid it under her arm, then tied it behind her neck, holding her hand against her breast.

  He did as she’d asked and together they made their way across the yard, passing the ranch hands who had filled their plates and were seeking out places to sit with their supper. The big kettle of beans was on the table and Berta used a large slotted spoon to dish up the vegetable to the men who still stood in line. Pieces of chicken were snatched from the platters and mounds of mashed potatoes appeared on every plate, topped by creamy gravy.

  Jane brought a platter of sliced bread from the house and passed it to the men who had already served themselves from the laden table. They took the slices from her, thanking her nicely and using them to sop up the gravy.

  John helped Katie into the house, settled her at the table and then left her to go outdoors and fill a plate for her. In moments he’d returned and sat down beside her.

  “I don’t think I can eat all of that,” she said, eyeing the huge amount of food he’d brought to her.

  “I’ll share it with you,” he told her, lifting the fork and spearing a piece of chicken. It was a part of the thigh, broken off from a piece that had been too tender to hold together. “Try this,” John said, offering it to her and then grinning as she accepted it into her mouth.

  “My right hand still works,” she told him, reaching for a piece of breast meat that sat atop the beans Berta had scooped up onto his plate. Biting into it, she savored the flavor of the crisp coating, and then replaced it on the plate.

  John ate heartily from the plate, offering bites of potatoes and then beans to Katie as he scooped one forkful after another into his mouth. “Sure tastes good,” he said. “You want some more chicken, Katie?” he asked, holding aloft the piece of white meat she had tasted just minutes ago.

  “I don’t think I can eat any more,” she told him, leaning back in her chair and holding her left hand carefully against her breast.

  John looked to where the bandaged hand rested and his eyes held a wealth of tenderness as he directed his look at Katie. “Why don’t we just take you on back to the cabin now, and get your nightgown on so you can crawl into bed. I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day, Katie.”

  She could not fault his plan, and she only nodded, willing to do as he directed her. His plate was empty now and he put it in the sink, pumping water over it, then returning to the table to help her to her feet. At the door, he lifted her into his arms and carried her from the house, unmindful of the watching eyes of the men who silently followed his progress to the cabin.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  BY THE TIME THE SUN was settling below the horizon in the western sky, Katie was dressed in her white nightgown and placed beneath the sheet and quilt in the big bed. John sat beside her, silent, his thoughts his own as he watched his wife. She didn’t seem prone to sleep, so far as he could tell, for she lay on her right side and looked out the window, her hand resting on a pillow before her.

  He’d helped her undress, even though she protested that it was a task she could handle with one good hand, and after pulling her nightgown over her head, covering the slender curves he’d knowingly exposed to his view, he settled down to watch her.

  “Aren’t you going to come to bed?” she asked him, not turning to look at him as she spoke, but intent on the window where the twilight seemed to be infiltrating the bedroom.

  “After a bit,” he said, leaning back in the chair. “I want you to close your eyes, Katie. You’ve had a shock to your system and you need to rest.”

  She spoke beneath her breath and he leaned closer, intent on hearing her words, but she seemed to regret whatever phrases she’d spoken, for she did not repeat them, even though he asked politely. Something about resting better when he was in the bed with her, he thought she’d said, but could not be certain, for she had mumbled the words as if she didn’t want him to hear them.

  He bent over her, lifting her hand to move the pillow to a better angle, enabling her to cradle her hand on it. She lay in the middle of the bed and he knew that there was barely room for him to sleep behind her, but not for the world would he find a resting place somewhere else. Wrapping his arms around Katie’s form was prominent in his plan for this night, and keeping her comfortable was first and foremost in his mind.

  He carried in a quart jar of water and a clean glass from the kitchen before he readied himself for bed, and then he closed the door and blew out the candle before he undressed. It was still early, but his day had begun at sunrise and riding with the men, then coming home to the hassle with Clay had worn him to a frazzle. Now he craved the comfort of his bed, and only the knowledge that Katie needed him to be aware of her needs during the night kept him from seeking his slumber too rapidly.

  He pulled back the sheet and quilt and crawled in behind her, then wrapped her in his warmth, one big arm around her waist, pulling her carefully against himself. She murmured softly, and he heard his name spoken aloud, then a muffled sound that might have been a yawn.

  She didn’t quibble over his hands on her, though he feared that she might refuse his touch, knowing that things were still not settled between them. An enormous amount of frustration filled him as he considered Clay’s behavior earlier today. It had been obvious to him that Katie was not inviting the man’s attention, that Clay had made his presence known to her while she was working on the porch, and then had made haste to open the door for her to enter the house.

  Had John not appeared when he did, the man might have gone into the cabin with her, and John felt a surge of anger as he thought of Clay’s hands on Katie’s flesh. The memory of the man’s head bent close to her, his lips next to her ear filled John with a cloud of indignation, that the man had dared to whisper his thoughts to Katie.

  She had not seemed to encourage him, but had stood back, waiting for him to move lest she brush against his body. As John recalled the incident, he recognized that Katie had not offered any invitation of any sort to the man, only tried to escape his presence.

  That Clay had borrowed a horse from Bill Stanley and made his way to town did not dismiss him from John’s fury, for he regretted that he had not left the man with any teeth in his head, that he had not left him unconscious on the barn floor. Had Bill not called a halt to the fight, Clay might not have survived with his vision intact, for John had closed both of his eyes with well-placed blows.

  Now he curled behind Katie and held her against himself, yearning for the warmth she offered, knowing that he could not approach her as his manhood demanded, for indeed he was swollen and hard against her back. She moved a bit, leaving a small amount of space between their bodies as if she felt his arousal and would not encourage him in seeking her warmth.

  “I’m not going to bother you tonight, Katie,” he said softly, aware that she was not able to withstand a session of loving. “I don’t mean to be pushing at you, but that thing of mine just doesn’t seem to realize that you’re in no shape for loving tonight.”

  She turned her head toward him and her voice was soft, her words spoken in an undertone. “If you want me
tonight, John, I’ll roll over and keep my sore hand out of the way. I won’t refuse you. You know that.”

  “I wouldn’t ask that of you, Katie. There are a lot of nights in our future, and you’re not in any shape to be handling a man in this bed tonight.” He cuddled her close, his hand moving up to cup her breast, and she sighed, curling against him, her legs against his, her bottom cradled by his thighs.

  “Sleep, sweetheart,” he said softly. And held her as she closed her eyes, her body relaxing against his, the sounds of her breathing deepening as she slept.

  JOHN FELT HIS WAY carefully over the next days, not mentioning the rift in their relationship, his mood ever watchful of Katie, lest she hurt herself by working too hard. She let Jane do the washing up after meals, and then had to sit by as Jane took care of scrubbing their clothing on the board and hanging them on the line. After a week, John unwrapped Katie’s hand one evening and with Berta’s small scissors, clipped the stitches on her palm, then pulled them from her flesh, watchful as she winced with each move of his hands.

  “I’m sorry, Katie. I know it’s touchy, but they have to come out. It’ll be harder to free them if we wait any longer.”

  She nodded her agreement and held her hand against her breast, rocking back and forth a bit as if it would bring surcease to her aching palm. John put a fresh bandage on her palm then, wrapping it carefully, telling her that she would need to change it daily, a task he would be glad to take care of in the evenings.

  Berta had offered a tin of salve that she said would bring quick healing to the cut and John used it generously on the pad he formed over the long scar. Then, he helped Katie get ready for bed, taking off her shoes and stockings, unbuttoning her dress and blowing out the candle before he helped her get into her nightgown.

  She seemed to feel less embarrassment each evening, as John handled her with ease, his hands not straying to her soft parts, but being careful to treat her with care. That he yearned to touch her intimately, that his hands burned to take hold of her breasts and the curves of her bottom was not to be spoken of yet, he decided, for Katie seemed to hold herself from him.