Katherine nodded. “I’ve been meaning to check it out. It was on my list,” she said dryly.
Along with a hundred other chores, he thought, aware of the unending job she’d taken on when Charlie died.
“Well, what I did will hold for a while. But it was only a lick and a promise. Some of those posts are rotting where they stand. You’re gonna have to replace them.”
Her sigh was tinged with defeat. “I do what’s most needed. And right now, training those horses in the corral is the most important thing.”
“Who are you gonna sell them to?” He’d lay money she hated the thought of parting with any one of the sleek mares she was so fond of.
“My mare’s not for sale to anyone,” she told him, nodding at the chestnut animal approaching them. Katherine’s hand reached out to stroke the white blaze that flashed through her mare’s forelock and slashed like a narrow sword down the length of her nose. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”
Roan nodded, admiring the picture before him…the woman caught up for a moment in her pleasure with the creature she fondled. “I like the looks of the tall bay,” he said, glancing back at the corral Charlie’d attached to the barn.
“The three-year-old? Well, I haven’t decided about her. The four-year-old is going to the banker’s daughter in town, soon as I finish gentling her real good. The black’s mine,” she said, her voice soft as she turned to watch the horses in the corral closer to the house.
“Charlie teach you how to train?” he asked as they began to walk back to the house.
She nodded. “Ever since I was big enough to snap on a lead rope and drag a six-week-old foal around in a circle.”
They walked side by side, their attention caught by the mares who stood in the shade offered by the barn.
“My pa bought this place from the man who cleared the land and built the house. Matter of fact, we moved in just a while before he left for the war. He’d been fretting about sitting on the sidelines, and one day, he just got on his horse and told me to take care of things till he got back.”
“Just like that?”
Her nod was abrupt. “Just like that.”
“What did you do?”
“I’ve always been a dutiful daughter, Mr. Devereaux. I did as he asked. I took care of this place till he did come back. It was a good thing he’d waited so long to go to war. Things had piled up on me by the time he showed up again. I pampered that four-year-old mare and delivered the three-year-old and bought the black with the last of Pa’s hidey-hole money. A neighbor lost his mare birthing that one and sold her to me real cheap. He didn’t want to waste his time raising her by hand. I spent a lot of hours with a play titty on a bottle till I got her to eat by herself.”
They’d reached the pole fence that surrounded the corral on three sides, and he leaned his elbows on the top rail. The image of Katherine, here alone, struggling with the day-to-day work of caring for a farm and all the animals involved, was an overwhelming idea.
“I don’t see how you handled it all,” he said finally.
“I managed. We all do what we have to.”
“And then?” he said, urging her. “Then he came home?”
“He came home.” She took a deep breath, and her smile was tender with the memory. “He rode that big stallion up to the porch one afternoon and called me out of the house, just as if he’d only been gone for a day or so. ‘Katie, my love,’ he said. ‘Your father’s home.’ Just like that,” she told him with emphasis on the words. “Just as if he’d been to town for supplies.”
“Was your brother here at all while Charlie was gone?”
“No. I haven’t any idea where Lawson was.” She glanced at Roan soberly. “I told you, I don’t talk about him.”
“Charlie—” he began.
“I need to go to the house.” Her dismissal was abrupt. “Dinner will be ready shortly.”
Katherine’s retreat gave him pause, and he watched as she left his side to walk with long, hurried strides across the yard to the small house. You were right, Charlie. She’s small, and fierce, and ready to do battle at the drop of a hat. Not an inch of give to her.
He followed her, stopping long enough at the well to pump fresh water. Within minutes, he was ready to eat, sleeves rolled above his elbows, hair damp and smoothed back from his forehead. He carried his hat with him into the house and snagged it on the peg inside the door as he passed.
She’d already set the table and was pouring a tall glass of milk as he came in.
“I like milk at noontime,” she said, looking his way.
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” he agreed, sliding into the chair he’d used the night before.
He ate his fill before he spoke again, his stomach welcoming the chunks of roasted venison and the abundant array of vegetables she’d prepared.
“Someone sure taught you how to cook, Katherine.” Moving his chair back, he crossed one booted foot over the other knee.
She allowed her eyes to rest on him for a moment. He looked contented and well fed, sitting across the table. Deceptively idle, for even in repose, there was the look of a hunter about him, a faint menace that set her on edge. He was handy with fence-mending tools, though, she reminded herself, and for that she had to be grateful.
“I found early on if you don’t cook, you don’t eat,” she said finally, uneasy with his compliment. “My pa was never one to lend a hand around a stove, so after my mother died, I learned in a hurry how to put a meal together.”
“I wouldn’t mind havin’ dinner here on a regular basis for a while,” he said easily. “Fact is, I’ve got sort of a deal in mind to offer you.”
“I’m not much for making deals. The last time a man tried to make a deal with me, he came close to getting shot for his effort.”
“What did he want? The three-year-old mare?”
She caught the amusement in his voice and flushed. “No, he wanted the whole kit and caboodle. The farm, the horses and me.”
“I take it you weren’t agreeable.”
“It wasn’t any bargain from my point of view.”
“Well, maybe I can strike a better deal than he tried for. It’ll involve some of my time and more work than I’d planned on doing right now, but it might pay you to listen up.”
“Are we back to my three-year-old?” she asked suspiciously.
“She’s a good-sized horse and she’s ready to be saddle-broke,” he said firmly. “If she’s bred from Charlie’s stud, I’d like to have a go at her. I can be in the saddle in a week or so, and you can have a hell of a lot of work done around here in the meantime.”
“I’m not in the market for a hired hand, Mr. Devereaux.”
He flicked her a doubtful glance. “Looks to me like you could use a little help, Katherine. That barn needs some work, and your tack’s in bad shape.”
“I’ll get to it. I can’t afford to hire you.”
“I’ll do a pile of work for a chance at that mare,” he said bluntly.
She looked at him, lips pressed together, holding back the refusal it was her inclination to give. “She’s worth more than a week’s work,” she said finally.
He shrugged. “Set a price. Tell me what you want.”
“I’ll have to think about it.” She hesitated, wondering if she could abide letting the