Saturday's Child Page 14

  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.

  Chapter 9

  Katie 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.

  ❧

  Katie took up her pen and wrote,

  May 1905

  Dear Edith,

  It's been too long since I last wrote, I know. I can only tell you that my life has been so full, I seldom have time to draw a breath, let alone write a letter.

  I am glad to hear that you and Colin have made peace and that you are seeing him occasionally. I know it's foolish but I do worry about him. He's a grown man, I know, but it makes me feel better to know that he has friends like you.

  You mustn't blame Johnny too much for his attitude regarding females working. After all, most men would feel the same. Indeed, many women would feel his position is the correct one.

  I agree with you that a century but a few years old deserves to go on without outmoded notions clinging to it from years past. But I think it will be many years before we see changes in the position of women, human nature being what it is. Changes on paper are much easier to make than changes in attitude.

  You mention women getting the vote soon, which I found interesting since here in Wyoming, we already have the vote. Indeed, we have had it for nearly forty years. Although I'm sure it's a very good thing and agree that women should have the right to their say, since elections can certainly affect our lives and those of our children, I can't say that my life would be much different if we didn't have suffrage. There's little enough time for worrying about the politicians when I've a house to keep. I suspect it's much the same for other ranch women.

  Indeed, between the garden and the chickens and the house, I could make use of several more hours in every day. Quentin has ordered me a sewing machine from the Sears and Roebuck catalog Nearly twenty dollars it's costing, which seems a great deal of money, but he insisted.

  We had a terrible hailstorm nearly two months ago and I thought the garden entirely lost. Fortunately, I've found that plants, no matter how fragile they seem, are quite sturdy, rather like humans I guess. Most of the plants survived and they are now thriving.

  Life in Wyoming is so different from that in the city, I'm not sure how to go about describing it to you. The first and most obvious difference is the lack of people. Though we have neighbors, I've yet to meet them, for they live several miles away. Spring and summer are very busy times on a ranch, leaving little time for visiting. Quentin says that there is a harvest dance every year, which we will be attending in the fall.

  I've seen no one but Quentin and the hands since coming here. I must admit that the solitude can be somewhat wearing. I miss having a chance to chat with another woman. It's a lonely life but a very good one, I think.

  I'm afraid my loneliness has made me ramble on more than I should have and I'm sure you have better things to do than to read my meanderings.

  Please let me know how Colin goes on. I've had only one card from him since leaving the city and I'm afraid it wasn't very informative. Write soon.

  Your fond friend,

  Katie.

  ❧

  Katie blotted the last page carefully before setting it aside. She'd been intending to write to Edith for weeks now. It seemed as if there was so much to teil, it was hard to know what to put down.

  Of course, the most important news was something she wasn't quite ready to share with anyone. She set her hand over her stomach, hardly daring to hope that her suspicion was correct. Carrying Quentin's child would make her life complete, or nearly so.

  "You're a fool, Katie, to be always wanting more than you have," she whispered to herself, trying to banish the melancholy that threatened to darken her mood as she folded the letter to Edith and slipped it into an envelope.

  She and Quentin had developed a certain closeness over the past two months. It might not be love, or at least not a grand, passionate love, but it was enough for now, or so she'd made herself believe. Love could grow. That she did believe.

  Katie realized she'd been hearing the odd sound for some minutes before she became consciously aware of it. She stood up, crossing to the door and stepping out onto the porch.

  It was a beautiful late-spring day. The yard, which had been a sea of mud for so long, had suddenly sprouted greenery that she thought nearly as beautiful as a finely clipped lawn. The roses she'd planted were showing strong new growth, green leaves as delicate as the life she was nearly sure she carried within her. Before summer's end, she'd be able to step out on the porch and breathe the deep, rich scent of them.

  The noise was closer now. It sounded, for all the world, like a motor car, a most unlikely thing so far from town. But that was exactly what came into view. A bright yellow automobile, bouncing and rattling its way down the rutted lane.

  People. Katie felt her cheeks flush with excitement, her breath catching in her throat. It had been so long since she'd seen anyone other than Quentin and the hands. She'd hardly know what to say to anyone outside that small circle.

  A movement on the other side of the barn caught her eye. Obviously, Quentin had heard their visitors' arrival for he was riding down the hill toward the ranch. Maybe this was one of their neighbors, the ones she'd not expected to meet until fall.

  It was her first opportunity to meet the people she'd be living among. She lifted her hands to her hair, suddenly aware that it was in a terrible state of disarray. And the apron she had on was dirty. Turning, she ran into the house, trying to simultaneously straighten her hair and untie her apron.

  Her hands were shaking as she settled the hairpins more firmly in the hope that they would hold the un
ruly mass in place. There was only a moment in which to replace her apron with a crisp white lawn one trimmed with a band of embroidery just above the deep hem.

  The sound of the automobile sputtering to a stop in front made her fingers fly as she tied the apron strings. Giving a last pat to her hair, she hurried outside. The car had drawn to a halt in front of the steps. There were two people in it, both so swathed in dusters, goggles and gloves it was difficult to tell anything about them except that one was male and one was female.

  "Hello there. You must be the gal Quentin married." The driver was extricating himself from behind the wheel as he spoke. "I'm Angus Campbell and this is my wife Louise. We're pleased to make your acquaintance."

  He tugged off his gloves and hat and tossed them into the seat behind him. With only the goggles, he looked rather like an insect and Katie was hard-pressed not to giggle, more from nerves than amusement.

  Then his wife spoke. "Take off those silly goggles, you old fool. You look like a bug-eyed monster. Probably scaring the girl out of a year's growth. And come help me out of this contraption. Every bone in my body is shook loose, I swear."

  As the man hurried around to help her, Quentin rode into the yard. His horse took instant exception to the bright yellow vehicle, backing and fighting the bit, convinced he was facing something dangerous. Quentin swore, but didn't try to force the pony any nearer. He swung down from the saddle and turned the horse, giving him a swat on the rump that sent him trotting toward the barn.

  "I do believe that creature has more sense than this husband of mine," Louise Campbell complained as her feet touched solid ground again.

  "Now, Louise, you're the one who said we had to come meet Quentin's bride."

  "I don't see why we couldn't have come in the buggy, just like civilized folks," she complained good-naturedly as she shed her driving hat with its veil.

  She was something above middle age, Katie guessed, a sturdy woman who seemed very comfortable with who she was and with her place in life. There was warm good humor in her face.