Loving Katherine Page 27

  Letitia’s eyes moved slowly over the young woman who stood before the window, gazing pensively into the yard beyond. “You have no family, have you, Katherine?”

  Katherine’s head shook slowly. “No. Lawson was the last. Now there’s just me left.”

  “You have Roan.”

  Katherine turned to face the older woman “Yes, I have Roan.” Her smile was like a ray of sunshine on a dreary day. “I thought more than once that maybe he was an angel God had sent to me when I needed—well, when I was alone “ She shook off the mantle of sadness that threatened to cover her, remembering instead Roan’s laughter, his constancy, his early morning cheerfulness on the trail. Her eyes crinkled as she considered the thought. “He can’t sing, you know. He’ll never make the choir in the church back home.”

  Letitia’s brows rose in silent inquiry.

  Katherine laughed aloud. “Have you ever heard him sing? He’d put a bullfrog to shame, I swear.”

  Letitia shook her head. “Do you think he’ll go to church with you…back home?” Her voice rose with a delicate emphasis on the last words.

  “I don’t know.” Katherine shrugged. “The matter didn’t come up.”

  “He wasn’t much for church-goin’ as a boy,” his mother confided quietly. “He was sort of…rebellious, once he got his growth and started feelin’ his manhood comin’ on.”

  Katherine’s mouth firmed. “He hated what happened to Jethro. And then I think he felt guilty because he left before finding out what his pa was going to do about the running away business “

  Letitia shivered. “I declare, I hate to think about that day. LeRoy was so angry. Probably angrier at himself than Jethro or Roan, come to think of it. He’d never done that before…used a dog to track down a slave, then led him back with a rope around his neck.”

  “Jethro was Roan’s friend.” And that made the difference? For a moment, Kathenne considered the thought. If it was wrong for Jethro to be treated so, then it was wrong for any man to be shamed that way. It wasn’t so much owning a man that was hurtful, though that was sin enough, it was the shame of the treatment that man received from his fellow man.

  “He let Jethro go when Roan rode out of here,” Letitia said quickly, as if she must still Katherine’s solemn pondering. Her eyes were anxious on the younger woman’s face. “He didn’t whip his people, you know. LeRoy wouldn’t do that.”

  “I’ll tell Roan I think he’s wondered if his pa hadn’t taken it out on Jethro when his son left in such a temper.”

  “And he won’t ask for himself.”

  Katherine shook her head. “No, he’s not been able to yet. I think men tend to go roundabout, rather than facing headon sometimes. I remember when Pa and Lawson would—”

  Letitia’s eyes were moist with tears at the grief inherent in Katherine’s voice as she spoke the names of the men in her past. Her hands stilled on the silver she’d been cleaning. “I’d like to think we could be your family now, Katherine.” Her head ducked a bit as she rubbed her cloth against the carved pattern of the knife handle she held.

  Katherine looked startled, her glance settling on the older woman. “You’ve treated me well, ma’am. Better than I expected, coming out of the blue the way we did Roan should have warned you he was bringing home a Yankee.”

  “That used to be almost a profanity here,” Letitia said sadly. “The country hereabouts was almost devastated, you know. It’s hard to be forgiving, like the Bible says we must. And then to think of my son in that terrible prison in Elmira. He was almost a broken man when he returned home.”

  “Roan doesn’t understand how he could leave you and his father,” Katherine ventured quietly.

  “Roan wouldn’t have done it,” his mother said. “He left thinking that Gaeton would always be here, as the oldest son. He thought Gaeton would inherit someday. Now we don’t even know for sure where he is.”

  Katherine put the pole down on the floor, careful to gather the dusty cloth into a ball to hold the accumulated soil within. She stepped around the table where they’d eaten their morning meal and stood beside the woman who’d made the hesitant offer, as if she’d expected it to be refused.

  “I’d like to claim you as my kin, now that I’m a Devereaux in fact.” Her knees bent in a gesture of submission to the older woman, and Katherine knelt beside her chair. She looked sad, Katherine thought, lonely perhaps, her eyes damp with unshed tears, her mouth quivering.

  Letitia’s hands left the silver she’d been tending and settled on either side of Katherine’s face, her fingers caressing as she moved them across the fine cheekbones. “I desperately need a daughter these days. Roan coming home answered a prayer I’ve spoken every night for years I’m so pleased that he brought you to me, Katherine. I only hate that you’ll be gone in the spring.”

  “My home’s in Illinois, back at the farm. My father bought it for me, for a home place. He knew I needed a settled spot to be my own, where I could count on seeing the same walls every morning when I woke up. Where I could look out and see the sun set every evening and know that the land around me was—” She smiled, a blush moving up to cover her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go on so about the farm. It’s just that…it’s my home.”

  Letitia nodded knowingly. “We all need a home place, Katherine. Especially a woman. Where she can make her nest and settle in and feel comfortable.”

  Katherine felt relief sweep over her. For the first time in her life, another woman shared her thoughts, understood her feelings. Her hands rose to cover the slender fingers of Roan’s mother, and she held closely to the cool flesh. “Thank you for understanding, for knowing how I feel.”

  Letitia nodded. “I know how you feel, but knowin’ won’t make it any easier to see you leave, come spring.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “I’ve never spent a lovelier Christmas, Roan.” Spoken on a sigh, it was a pronouncement that pleased Roan Devereaux beyond imagining.

  Katherine turned to face him and caught sight of the smile he wore. “Does that surprise you? That I’ve never enjoyed Christmas more than I did today?”

  “It pleases me, I reckon. To think that one of your finest memories will always include me.”

  She inhaled deeply, his aroma as always a part of the attraction that drew her to this man. The fresh outdoor scent he carried with him, on his clothing and in his hair. The faint, musky perfume of his flesh, which fired her imagination with memories of their loving. Even the aroma of his father’s slender cigars, clinging to him when he left the dinner table, having taken up the sharing of LeRoy’s evening smoking ritual.

  “Most of my best memories include you,” she told him quietly. “I love you, you know.”

  She hadn’t said it lately. He’d begun to wonder why, and the words spoken now made him realize how much he’d missed the soft declaration from her lips. She’d said it first in the heat of their loving, almost reluctantly, their coming together all but forcing it from her, as if she could not contain the emotion welling up within. But never in daylight, or while the candlelight shone on her face.

  He’d tried. He’d formed the words with his lips, whispered them silently against the silken strands of her hair, his face buried against her dark tresses. Now she faced him in the flickering candlelight of their bedroom and whispered them once more. And he felt the sting of unfamiliar tears beneath his heavy-lidded eyes. Thankful for the dim light, he nodded, accepting her love, and bent his head to cover her mouth with his own.

  “Kate…you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” Each syllable brushed against her lips, his voice harsh as he tempered it into a whisper. His mustache was soft, moving the caress to her cheek and then to her temple as he left a line of kisses across her face. The words had never come easy to him. He remembered his mother asking for them in a small game they’d played at bedtime.

  “Do you love your mother, Valderone?”

  And he’d nodded his dark head solemnly. “Yes, Mama.”<
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  “Do you love me, Roan?” As if she echoed that long past question, Katherine repeated the query, her voice trembling. His proud, strong woman was asking for his love—or at least the declaration of it—and he was shamed by the thought. She deserved better than Roan Devereaux, gunman, sometimes gambler and wanderer. All the qualities she’d scorned in her menfolk, she’d managed to find in a husband. And now she’d been forced to ask assurance of his caring.

  “You know I do, Kate,” he said finally, gruffly and against the cushion of her hair.

  Her sigh was a release of the pent-up breath she’d held in abeyance as she waited his reply. She leaned against him fully, knowing he would accept her weight, confident in his strength, aware of his tender concern for her. But did all that add up to love? He’d acknowledged her plea, he’d couched his answer in words of agreement, and with that she would be satisfied. It might be all she’d ever get from Roan Devereaux and it was certainly more than she’d ever wanted from any other man. Her voice was cheerful, determinedly so.

  “Your mama had a good time, didn’t she? Singing all the old songs and serving up the spiced tea. She said she hadn’t used the old trimmings around the house in years. I thought Jethro would have a fit when she made him climb a tree to get down a ball of mistletoe for her.”

  Her fingers had been busy with the buttons of his shirt as she spoke, her voice amused, the fondness for Letitia Devereaux apparent in her words. Now she spread wide the sides of his garment and placed her hands flat on the triangle of curls that covered his chest. She dipped her fingers beneath the dark hair and tangled them there, tugging to get his attention.

  She needn’t have gone to such pains. His whole being was focused on the woman before him. From the first words she’d spoken when they entered the room until now, he’d not taken his attention from her. She’d sashayed before him, the new dress Letitia’d made her for Christmas swirling about her ankles as she walked. Slipping the soft shoes from her feet just inside the door, she’d traveled on stocking-clad feet to where he stood, chattering all the time, her words barely making an impression.

  Until she’d spoken the declaration of love. Those words had penetrated his mind, traveled throughout his body and lodged firmly in the place where his heart pounded in a solid, steady beat. Hell, if he couldn’t tell her what she wanted to hear, he’d just have to show her. Let his body speak for him.

  He turned her around with easy pressure on her shoulders until her back was to him, her head bent as she waited for his fingers to work the buttonholes, which were still stiff from Letitia’s fine stitches. His hands were clumsy and he silently cursed their tremors. Like a callow youth, he trembled in anticipation, knowing what he would find beneath the fabric. The finely pored flesh he would uncover, the narrow span of her shoulders, the slim waist and flaring hips that held him in thrall. She lured him with her presence. Unknowingly she brought him to the edge of his endurance, his manhood rising as he touched only the clothing she wore.

  Kate…the very word caught at his heartstrings. He smiled as he considered his musing thoughts. She had him making poetry these days. Heartstrings…a fancy word for a part of his being he’d never known existed until now.

  His hands smoothed the dress over her hips, and he watched as it drifted to the floor about her feet. Carefully, he turned her within the circle of fabric, his fingers gentle against her bare shoulders. “Help me, Kate. I think I’m probably gonna tear something if you don’t give me a hand here.” His gaze was dark and piercing as it traveled the length of her body, pausing for long moments as he watched the telltale changes his scrutiny brought about.

  Her hands rose to cover her breasts and she flushed, the pink color rising from the rounding of her bosom to settle against her cheeks.

  “Don’t.” His fingers gripped her, lifting her hands to his mouth, turning them until he was able to cover her palms with soft, damp kisses. “Don’t hide from me, Kate. You’ve no reason to cover yourself. I know what my lookin’ at you does to them. Don’t you know it makes me proud to see it?”

  She shook her head and breathed her reply “No…I just know it happens when you look at me like that.” Her chin lifted in a gesture that pleased him and she took her hands from his and set them to work with the ties and hooks that held her underclothing in place. “I’m glad I please you, Roan.” The petticoat fell to the floor and she lifted the chemise over her head. White underpants were next, a small encumbrance as her hands disposed of them quickly. Her slender legs were covered with white stockings, held above the knees with narrow garters, and she bent to roll them down over her calves.

  His hands stopped her and he brought her erect once more. “Let me do that.” It was an order, roughly given, harshly spoken from a mouth that barely moved with the words that passed through it.

  Her eyes widened at the tone and she smiled, a siren’s acknowledgment of her effect on the man she lured so easily. He knelt at her feet and his fingers were gentle, careful lest he snag the precious stockings, rolling them till they lay about her ankles. Then he picked up her feet, one after the other, while she held his shoulder to brace herself. The white stockings lay in small circles on the rug, and he picked them up with one long index finger, lifting them to her waiting hand.

  “Thank you.” Her voice was amused and he shot her a glance of narrowed appraisal. She’d disposed of the stockings on a nearby chair and raised her hands to her hair, unpinning it from the top of her head, where braids had been arranged in a complex design. The heavy plaits fell over her shoulders and her fingers busied themselves with the untwining of them while she watched the man who knelt at her feet. Proud and unfettered, her breasts rose with each breath she took. Trim and sleek, her body gleamed in the candle glow, her legs rounded and slender, her hips filling his palms as he fit his hands against her flesh.

  Her indrawn breath told him she was not immune to his touch. Her involuntary shiver brought a smile to his lips. But it was the soft speaking of his name that brought him to his feet.

  “Roan.” More than a whispered entreaty, it was an invitation, spoken in a tone he’d become familiar with. “Roan.” Love me, it said. Hold me close, touch me, make me tremble, pleasure me…give me your body and take mine in return. “Roan.” She spoke it once more, in a yearning, coaxing appeal he had no inclination to refuse.

  “Let’s celebrate Christmas, Kate,” he said with a smile that spoke the words he could not utter. His clothing came off with haste, even as his eyes held her gaze. Only when he bent to remove his boots did he break the look he’d held her with, and that only for the moments it took to free himself from their leather hold.

  Lifting her in his arms, he carried her to bed, lowering her to the sheets, and then followed her down into the feather mattress. “Happy Christmas, sweetheart,” he whispered, his hands sliding through the crinkled length of her hair. His mouth pressed against hers, his lips damp and seeking, and then he groaned as her tongue made the first advance.

  “Kate…” It was a sound of pure pleasure, the calling of her name, as his hands found the fullness of her breasts, his mouth opening to receive the abundance of her kiss and his body settling itself next to her. His firm muscles cushioned by the softness of her woman’s flesh, his long legs given space between hers, he lifted himself to where he yearned to be. His heart beating and pulsing, the blood flowing at a quickening pace throughout his big body, he sensed his readiness for this act of loving. And yet he waited, wooing her with his mouth, his loving phrases, his hands and the movement of his body against hers. Until she told him she was ready for his possession. With softly uttered words, with smothered gasps and the moans she could not contain, she brought a smile of satisfaction to his tightly drawn lips.

  And then with careful, gentle touches, with hands that moved her to his pleasure, he gave her the gift of himself and received the warmth of her love.

  “Did my boy buy those britches for you?” LeRoy Devereaux’s brows were lowered over his dark eyes a
s Kate entered the barn. The shirt Roan had purchased those long months ago in Illinois had shrunk somewhat. It no longer tucked down over her fanny beneath the boy’s pants she wore, and the front of it was filled nicely with her bosom. She’d taken a second look in the mirror before she left the bedroom and had eyed her own burgeoning figure with doubt. But there was nothing to be done. If she wanted to ride the black mare, she needed to wear her pants. The clothing intended for a young boy had fit her during those weeks on the trail. Somehow her rounded figure, combined with multiple washings of the cotton fabrics, now produced a snug fit.

  “Yes, your son bought me these clothes. And yes, I know they’re a little bit—” She looked down at herself and bit her lip.

  The eyes that reminded her of Roan every time she looked into their depths sparkled now as LeRoy grinned at his son’s wife. “I didn’t say I didn’t like the outfit, girl. I just wondered how Roan had the nerve to turn you loose in it.”

  A deep chuckle from the far stall announced the presence of a third party. “She won’t be goin’ anywhere but right here. And I reckon I’d better invest six bits in a pair of bigger britches for her next time I go to town.” His eyes reflecting the residue of passion from their early morning loving, Roan approached his wife.

  “You ready to finally climb on that animal of yours? After my pa’s gotten her all nice and gentle for you, it shouldn’t be much of a challenge, I reckon.”