Saturday's Child (15 page)

"Look at your arm," he said angrily, grabbing her hand and pushing the sleeve up to show her the reddened skin. "And you're soaking wet. You could catch pneumonia. And the nearest doctor is nearly a day's ride away."

"Don't worry. If I catch pneumonia, I'll try to die peacefully without disturbing you by asking you to send for the doctor." She hardly knew what she was saying. Tears blurred his tall figure. All the tension of trying to learn a lifetime of things in a few short weeks, of pretending to be something she wasn't, had worn away her control.

"I didn't say it would disturb me to send for the doctor," Quentin protested, trying to understand how the subject had changed. "Katie, they're just plants."

"It was the one thing I'd done right," she lashed out, wiping angrily at the tears "on her cheeks. "The cow hates me and I can't kill a chicken and my cooking is hardly worth mentioning, but those plants were growing."

"Katie." Quentin's voice softened when he saw her distress. He reached for her shoulders but she twitched them away.

"I don't need your pity," she snapped, her chin coming up. "You married me out of pity. I knew that. You went to San Francisco to look for a wife and you felt sorry for me. You brought me here and found that pity wasn't enough to build a marriage on. Well, it's not enough for me, either. I may not come from a Nob Hill family but the McBrides have as much to be proud of as the Sterlings any day. I don't need your pity."

"Katie." He reached out, ignoring her attempt to pull away from him. She was rigid in his grasp as he drew her close. She stared at one of the buttons on his coat, willing back the tears that threatened to become a deluge to rival the one outside.

"I didn't marry you out of pity." His hand slipped under her chin, tilting her face up to his. Katie kept her eyes lowered, refusing to meet his eyes. "I married you because I thought we could make a good marriage together. Only a fool would marry for pity."

His words brought her eyes to his and she could see nothing but honesty in them. "Then why haven't you..."

She broke off, feeling her cheeks flush as she looked away from him. But Quentin understood her meaning.

"I said I'd give you time." He let his hand slip from her chin to rest along the side of her neck, his thumb brushing her ear. "I didn't want to rush you, Katie."

"You're not rushing me," she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper, her cheeks burning at her own boldness.

He pulled her a step closer so that there was hardly a whisper between them. Katie closed her eyes, afraid of what he might see, afraid her eyes might tell him things she wasn't ready to admit, even to herself.

"Look at me, Katie." His breath brushed across her forehead and her lashes lifted slowly. She could only guess at what he saw in her eyes, but the look in his sent a shiver down her spine. Quentin felt the small movement. "Are you afraid of me, Katie?"

Afraid of him? No, she couldn't in truth say that she feared him. It was more that she feared what he made her feel. This shivery awareness was new to her. But that wasn't what he was asking. She shook her head slowly.

"I know you'd not willingly hurt me," she answered at last.

"Willingly?" He questioned the qualifying word. "Do you think I'd hurt you unwillingly?"

The fingers at her neck moved back to comb through the damp braid of her hair, separating it, spreading it across her shoulders.

"I can't say. I'm no gypsy to be looking into the future."

His hands moved again until he cupped her face between his palms. Katie felt the roughness of callused skin against the softness of her cheeks. She felt his touch deep inside, reaching to the very core of her and stirring new feelings.

"Katie Aileen Sterling, I promise I'll never knowingly cause you pain. Do you believe that?"

"Yes." The word breathed out, her eyes on his.

"We've a marriage that isn't a marriage. It seems to me it's time we did something about it. Do you trust me?"

The hands she set against his chest trembled and her voice was little more than a whisper, but her eyes were steady on his as she answered.

"With my life."

This kiss was different from the other they'd shared. It held more demand, more hunger, more need. It was the need she responded to, opening her lips to him, her tongue entwining with his as she sank against his chest.

After a moment, Quentin lifted his head. He looked down into her eyes, feeling his stomach tighten at the innocent sensuality of her gaze. He wanted her. He couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted something so badly. It wasn't just a sexual need, it was a deep visceral hunger that only she could satisfy.

She gasped as he bent, scooping her up in his arms as if she weighed no more than a feather.

"I'm wet."

"I'll help you get dry," he said huskily, his mouth coming down on hers as he carried her into the bedroom.

Outside, the hail had turned to rain. The worst of the storm had passed overhead, leaving an occasional rumble of thunder to growl in the distance. The clouds blocked out the sunlight, leaving the bedroom dim.

Quentin set Katie down next to the bed. He undressed her slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. In the back of her mind was the thought that this was a sinful thing to be doing in the middle of the day. But it didn't feel sinful. It felt right. For the first time, she didn't feel like an unwelcome visitor in this room.

She stood before him at last, clad in nothing but thin cotton knickers and lace-trimmed chemise. Her bare toes curled against the floor uncertainly. Was he disappointed in her? She wasn't tall, nor was her figure overly rounded. Had he hoped for more?

But there was no disappointment in Quentin's eyes, none in his touch as he tugged loose the ribbon bow at the top of her chemise. The tiny pearl buttons fell open beneath his touch and Katie gasped as his hand slid inside to cup her breast. She'd never dreamed a simple touch could start such a fire raging inside her.

She felt a deep sense of loss when his hand left her, but it was only so he could strip off his coat, dropping it to the floor. His shirt soon followed. Her vision was filled with the width of his chest. A thick mat of golden-brown hair covered the taut muscles, tapering to a thin line that disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.

She jerked her eyes up, her cheeks flushing at the glimpse she'd had of his arousal. The flush deepened when Quentin's hands went to the buttons of his pants. She stood there, rigid, looking anywhere but at him as he unbuttoned the jeans.

But he didn't take them off immediately. Instead, he reached for her hands, setting her palms against his chest and holding them there until he felt her relax. Slowly, she moved her fingers, feeling the springy mat of hair curl against her hands. Quentin held his breath as her palms brushed over him. The innocent exploration was somehow more erotic than the practiced touch of the most experienced courtesan.

Burying his fingers in her hair, he tilted her head back, catching her mouth with his. Katie felt her head spin as he pulled her close, slipping the chemise from her shoulders so that her breasts pressed boldly against the warm skin of his chest.

Nothing could have prepared her for the feelings that flowed through her. She'd thought of this moment since the wedding. She'd wanted Quentin's touch and dreaded it. In the back of her mind, she'd remembered Joseph's hands, hard and hurting, remembered the feeling of fear and humiliation that had accompanied his touch.

But nothing in Quentin's touch reminded her of Joseph. His hands caressed, they didn't hurt. In a matter of minutes, she could think of nothing but the warm pleasure washing over her.

When Quentin lifted her onto the bed and kicked off his jeans before following her down into the feather mattress, Katie opened her arms to him. This was her husband.

This was the man she loved with all her heart.

K
atie came awake slowly. Her sleep had been light but restful. Outside, the rain had slowed to a gentle shower, the moisture sinking into the grateful earth rather than battering it.

She stirred in the big bed, aware of a feeling of fulfillment she'd never had before. Without opening her eyes, she shifted one foot, cautiously seeking. She wasn't sure whether she felt relief or disappointment when she found she was alone. Opening her eyes, she stared up at the ceiling, seeing the same wide beams and smooth planks she'd seen for the past few weeks.

But they didn't look the same. Everything looked new and different, just as she felt new and different. She sat up, wrapping her arms around her shins and resting her chin on her updrawn knees.

She was really and truly a married woman now. Odd, how something she'd regarded with a mixture of fear and fascination should turn out to feel so natural. Wonderful actually, she admitted to herself, feeling the color flood her face as she remembered the response she'd given so readily.

There was a muffled thud from the direction of the kitchen and Katie swung her legs off the bed. She'd thought Quentin was gone and she'd been half sorry, half relieved. She wasn't sure she was ready to face him again quite yet. On the other hand, she couldn't hide in the bedroom, particularly not dressed as she was—or as she wasn't.

She dressed hastily, muttering over uncooperative buttons, terrified that Quentin would walk in at any moment. They might have made their marriage a real one at last but it was going to take her a while to get used to the idea of sharing a room with him.

Another thud made her decide against trying to pin her hair up. She had allowed it to dry without combing it, and it now fell in a thick mass of curls to her waist. A glimpse in the mirror told her that she looked like a wild woman. She tied the unruly mass back with a wide ribbon.

Katie approached the kitchen warily. There was an odd smell in the air, slightly harsh as if something were burning.

"My bread!" She entered the kitchen in a rush, giving a moan of despair when she saw the loaves sitting in the middle of the big table, their crusts nearly black.

Quentin turned from the stove, the last pan in his hand. At another time, she might have found the incongruous sight of him—shirtless and barefoot, a towel wrapped around his hand to protect him from the hot pan—more than a little appealing. But at the moment, all she could think of was that she'd failed yet again.

"I smelled them burning," he said as he turned the last loaf out of the pans and onto the table. "It's too bad I didn't smell them a bit sooner."

"I followed the steps so carefully this time," she said sadly.

"It was my fault for distracting you."

At that, she glanced at him, the ruined bread forgotten. Her cheeks flushed. In the theater, she'd grown accustomed to the sight of men without their shirts. The quarters were simply too cramped, the timing too tight to allow for strict modesty. But there was something very different about seeing Quentin's bare chest.

Perhaps it was because his chest seemed so much more muscular than the ones she remembered seeing backstage. Maybe it was that the surroundings were more intimate. Or could it be the fact that she had explored every inch of his chest in the not-too-distant past? Her fingers curled into her palms, remembering the feel of crisp hair against her skin.

"Katie?"

The way he spoke her name reminded her that she was staring at him. She blushed again, dragging her gaze upward, but that was no better. She couldn't meet his eyes without remembering the abandoned way she'd responded to him. She directed her gaze over his shoulder.

"Maybe you should dress. It's a bit chilly," she mumbled.

Since she wasn't looking at him, she missed seeing the amused light in his eyes when he took in her flushed cheeks and the careful way her eyes looked everywhere but in his direction.

"You're right. Now that you mention it, it is a bit cool."

Unfortunately for Katie's peace of mind, it took Quentin only a moment to finish dressing. She was still staring at the burned bread when he strode back into the room, his boot heels loud on the wooden floor.

"Don't worry about the bread," he told her, seeing the direction of her gaze. In truth, she wasn't concerned any longer about her latest culinary disaster. But she could hardly tell him that.

"I'm getting used to it," she said, turning to look at him. She called on all her acting skills to keep her tone and expression normal, as if nothing momentous had happened.

Quentin poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot always left warming on the stove. By this late in the afternoon, it resembled thick tar, but Katie had learned that the men liked it that way.

She turned from him, finding it easier to sustain her casual air if she wasn't looking directly at him. She brushed a few crumbs from the table into her palm, wishing he'd say something.

"Are you all right?" She jumped when his voice came from directly behind her. She hadn't heard him move.

"I'm fine." Her voice was too high, her words too fast. She cleared her throat, taking a deep, calming breath. "I'm fine," she repeated, more calmly.

"Then why won't you look at me?" His hands settled on her shoulders, turning her to face him. She stared very hard at the third button on his shirt.

"I've looked at you," she mumbled to his chest.

"Do you truly think I married you out of pity?"

The question brought her eyes to his face as she remembered the things she'd said when he'd brought her in out of the storm.

"I... I don't know," she admitted at last, her eyes dropping back to his chest. "I don't know why you married me."

Quentin released her, turning away to pick up his cup. "We haven't talked much, have we?" he said, as much to himself as to her. He leaned one hip against the edge of the sink, his eyes on her.

"I married you for just the reasons I gave you in San Francisco. I felt we could build something together. There are those who will tell you that men settled the West but that's not really true. It was the women who brought civilization with them. The women who demanded schools and churches and streets that were safe to walk.

"I've lived here alone for several years and I could feel civilization slipping away from me. A true home needs a woman, children," he added softly.

Katie felt a warm glow inside at the thought of children. His children. Her hand slipped unconsciously to her stomach. Even now, she could be carrying his child. It was an incredible thought.

"I needed someone to help me build this ranch," he went on. "Someone strong. A woman who didn't expect to be waited on hand and foot. A woman who could take care of herself. That's why I married you, because I believed you could do those things."

"You needed a woman who knows about cooking and cleaning and caring for animals," she said, a note of despair in her voice. "I should have told you at the start that I'd no experience with such things. But because you were offering a home, a place to sink roots—" she shook her head "—I didn't have the strength of character to tell you you'd made the wrong choice."

"I went to San Francisco with the idea of bringing back a wife who could stand beside me. I'm not disappointed in my choice. You've done fine, Katie."

"No, I haven't. You see, I've never kept house or cooked much. We never settled in one place long enough for me to learn."

"Your family moved often?" he questioned, realizing that he'd given little thought to her background beyond what he'd seen. He knew her parents were dead but he knew little else.

"We rarely spent more than a few weeks in one place."

"What did your father do?"

"We were a theater family," she said, meeting his eyes directly, her chin raised, as if daring him to think less of her because of it.

"Theater?" Odd, he'd never have imagined Katie coming from that background. The theater people he'd known had generally been outgoing to a fault. " You were on stage?"

"Yes."

She waited for his reaction, wondering if he'd find her background embarrassing. Though times were changing, there were still many who felt that being in the theater put one on the lowest possible social rung, barely above that of a scullery maid.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" He didn't seem upset or angry, only curious.

"You didn't ask, and I thought I could learn the things I needed to know without your being any the wiser." She poked one of the blackened loaves. "I wanted you to feel you'd made the right choice in marrying me. I know your parents didn't approve. Maybe they were right."

"No, they weren't." He set his cup down and took her by the shoulders again, shaking her gently until she looked up at him. "I did make the right choice when I married you, Katie. I'm glad I married you.

"You've brought warmth and light into this place. You've turned it into a home, just as I knew you would. The cooking and the cleaning aren't important, though you've done a fine job there."

Katie heard little beyond his first words. He was glad he'd married her. The only thing that would have made her happier was if he'd told her that he loved her.

And who knew, in a world where even flight had been shown to be possible, perhaps love would come, too.