Chapter Five

Sam shifted in the saddle, trying to ease the ache in his side. Inez had been right about it being too soon for him to go out, but seeing how his men were coming along with the new fence was too important for him to waste another day in bed. He’d lost almost a week already.

Since Gus Nylan’s bunch had thrown the first lead, Sam no longer gave a damn about how anybody reacted to his fence. He’d tried to keep the peace; now he’d protect what was his.

He reined up and watched his men stringing the glistening wire for a few minutes. Then one of them, a tall Negro who went by the name of Black George, came sauntering over. “A couple more days and we’ll be finished, boss.”

“You’re posting guards at night?” Sam had put George in charge of the fencing job.

“Sure am. The boys are hoping somebody tries to cut it. We’re all pretty hot about the way they threw down on you the other night.”

Sam smiled grimly. “I’m pretty hot myself, although I did feel a little better when I heard Pettigrew had taken some revenge.”

A few days after the ambush, Nylan’s barn had mysteriously caught fire and burned to the ground. No one had any proof, but it was generally believed Amos Pettigrew was responsible.

“Well, it don’t seem enough to make up for taking a bullet,” George said, “but it was pretty fine, all the same.”

Sam nodded, and George went back to work. In the time he had spent laid up, Sam’s fury had cooled somewhat. Now he could even grudgingly acknowledge Gus Nylan’s right to protect his home. Apparently, Nylan had not believed Catherine’s tale about Sam wanting to make peace and had taken appropriate measures in the event Connors and his men rode in shooting. In Nylan’s shoes, Sam probably would’ve done the same thing.

Common gossip said the shooting had started because one of Nylan’s guards, a young boy, had panicked and fired too soon, setting the others off. It could’ve happened that way, Sam reasoned, but while he could understand Nylan’s act, he’d taken a bullet that could easily have caused his death, so he wasn’t inclined to forgive.

Sam kicked his horse into motion and drifted along the fence, inspecting the work. As he rode, his thoughts drifted, too, and as always, they came around eventually to Catherine Eaton.

Try as he would, he couldn’t forget the way she’d come to him and confessed what she had done. And try as he would, he couldn’t help admiring her. She had a lot more guts than he would’ve ever suspected.

Imagine her facing him down and telling him she’d almost gotten him killed. She was quite a woman.

While part of him still wanted to strangle her, another part of him was intrigued. He supposed he should have more common sense, but then again, what was the harm in thinking about her? After what had happened, she’d certainly never come within ten feet of him again. Even if she did, she was a lady, which meant he wouldn’t dream of carrying out any of the numerous fantasies he’d had concerning her. No, Catherine Eaton was the kind of woman you married first and bedded after, and marriage to Catherine Eaton simply wasn’t in Sam’s plans.

With a sigh, Sam turned his horse back to where the men were working. His side was burning like hellfire, and he knew he’d better head home soon. Inez would berate him for disobeying her orders, but he’d be willing to put up with her just for the relief of lying down somewhere soft, he realized with chagrin.

Catherine walked slowly down the street, head lowered and lost in thought. The week following the ambush had been a nightmare. First, only a handful of children had shown up at school, just those who lived in town. Then the Nylans’ barn had burned. The tension was palpable, and Catherine felt personally responsible for it all.

She hadn’t even had a chance to apologize to David. After her conversation with Sam, she had hurried back to the other women, who had finished their work and left shortly afterwards. Catherine knew she should have explained everything to David, but she simply couldn’t. She’d exhausted all her courage facing his brother, so she took the coward’s way out and left it to Sam to tell David why he was taking him out of school.

No one had yet spoken directly to Catherine about her part in the disaster, and she supposed they were simply too disgusted with her. She’d seen hardly anyone all week, anyway, preferring the privacy of her room behind the school to the talk circulating in town.

The children whose family was supposed to board her over the weekend had not come to school all week, so Catherine had stayed at the school. Even now she hated to venture out of her sanctuary, but she had run out of food.

The town was relatively deserted for a Saturday afternoon, and Catherine supposed the violence was keeping people close to home. She paid little attention to the two strangers standing on the corner outside the Shallcrosses’ store, until one of them spoke.

“Hey, ain’t she a pretty one?”

“Hush up, Floyd. Don’t bother the lady.”

Catherine glanced at the two men slouching against the store wall, appalled at how filthy and menacing they looked. They wore ordinary range clothes, but they each had two pistols tied down to their thighs. The one called Floyd grinned at her, his eyes holding a maniacal gleam that sent a chill down her spine. His long, greasy hair and dirty, stubbled face repelled her, and she felt a frisson of fear.

Quickening her step, she hurried into the store.

“Who are those men outside?” she asked Twila.

Twila rolled her eyes in disgust. “The Taggert brothers. Gus Nylan and his friends hired them. They let me know they were the terrors of Dodge City before they came here.”

“Good heavens! I thought Mr. Pettigrew was the one hiring gunfighters. ”

“He did, only his are a lot cleaner, I’ll give him that. As soon as Gus got wind of Pettigrew’s plans, he fired off a telegram, and what you saw outside is the result.”

“Oh, dear,” Catherine murmured, feeling sick.

“What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you’d be gone to someone’s house.”

Catherine forced herself to smile. “No one invited me.”

“Land sakes, why didn’t you say anything? You can always stay with us. No use spending any more time in that school than you have to.”

“I don’t mind, really. Besides, I’ve been ashamed to show my face after what I did.”

Twila grinned conspiratorially and leaned across the counter so she would not be overheard. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. I reckon I’m the only one who figured out you sneaked off to see Sam alone the other day. Everybody else thought you went to the necessary.”

Catherine’s cheeks flamed. “I—I didn’t meant that. I meant about telling Mr. Nylan.”

“Telling him what?”

Catherine stared at her in astonishment. “Don’t you know? I was the one who warned him Sam... Mr. Connors was coming to see him.”

Twila’s mouth dropped open. “Does Sam know?”

“I... yes, I told him when—when I sneaked away to speak to him the other day.”

Twila muttered something unintelligible.

“I can’t believe you didn’t know,” Catherine said. “I was so sure Mr. Nylan would tell everyone.”

Twila shook her head. “If he did, nobody told me, and I hear everything standing behind this counter all day.”

“Then why didn’t the children come to school? I thought the parents must be blaming me for the trouble.”

“I reckon they’re just playing it safe until they see how bad things get. I’ll speak to Reverend Fletcher and have him say a few words from the pulpit tomorrow about putting the kids back in school. I expect you’ll see most of them on Monday.”

“I hope so,” she said, thinking forlornly of one she would never see in her classroom again.

“Now, what brings you shopping this morning?”

Catherine gathered up the foodstuffs she would need for the coming week, and when she had paid for her purchases, Twila told her to wait until Mathias returned so he could walk her home. “No sense in letting you walk past them Taggerts alone again. You should’ve heard some of the things they’ve been saying out there. They keep it up, they’re likely to get themselves shot before they can even draw their first month’s wages.”

Mathias walked her back to the school, and as they passed where the Taggerts still lounged on the sidewalk, the one called Floyd grinned at her again, displaying a set of rotting yellow teeth. Catherine quickly looked away, but his bray of laughter followed her and haunted her dreams that night.

Almost everyone in the community showed up for church the next morning, although Catherine watched in vain for the Connors brothers. The Reverend Fletcher encouraged the parents to send their children back to school, and the next morning Catherine was relieved to see most of them gathered in the yard.

Even the Nylan children came, although Jessica’s cold stare warned Catherine not to make any friendly overtures. Surely Jessica knew of Catherine’s role in all this, and she would have no reason to keep the secret. Why had she not spread the word?

Fighting her frustration, Catherine had just reached for the bell rope when she heard yet another horse approaching. Squinting into the morning sun, she made out a rider, and her heart did a little lurch in her chest. It couldn’t be, and yet it was! David Connors rode into the yard, waving in acknowledgment to the greetings of the other children.

Why had he come? What did he want? Refusing to let herself hope, she waited breathlessly as he dismounted, turned his horse loose in the fenced enclosure, and sauntered over to the school.

“ ’Morning, Miss Eaton,” he said cheerfully. “I’m real sorry I had to miss last week, but I didn’t want to leave Sam while he was laid up and all. I knew you’d understand and... is something wrong?”

“What? Oh, no, nothing at all. I’m just... I’m glad to see you,” she stammered, unable to make sense of all this. “Did your brother say you could come?”

“He was after me all last week to get along to school. Said I was underfoot and a nuisance,” David reported with a grin. “I could tell he was glad for the company, though. Sam’s a bear when he’s stuck indoors. Once we had a blizzard, lasted three days, and—”

Catherine barely heard the story. Sam hadn’t told him! And Sam hadn’t forbidden him to come back to her. Could this mean he had forgiven her? For some ridiculous reason, she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Instead, she smiled at David. “I was thinking maybe we could start working in oils.”

“Oils?” he echoed, delighted.

“Davy, help me get the kids lined up,” Jessica purred, sidling up to David and immediately capturing his attention. She came so close that her well-developed breasts brushed his sleeve. “Please?”

“I—” He swallowed loudly. “Sure. Excuse me, Miss Eaton.”

Catherine sighed, thinking her oils were going to have some stiff competition.

Jessica’s dour mood lifted the instant David appeared, and her good humor lasted until she left him at the schoolhouse door that afternoon. The departing frown she gave Catherine seemed to carry a silent message, and the schoolteacher recalled only too well Jessica’s accusations. But she wouldn’t worry about Jessica, not today.

When all the children were gone, Catherine turned to David and smiled mysteriously. “Come into my room. I have something to show you.”

Intrigued, David followed, and she pointed out a large crate that stood in one corner. She handed him a hammer and gestured for him to open it.

“What’s in it?” he asked suspiciously.

“Something you’ll like, I hope.”

He made short work of the lid and brushed the packing straw away to reveal the first of several flat, square packages carefully wrapped in brown paper.

“Open it.”

He did, ripping the paper away eagerly. Catherine held her breath. She did not know what worried her most—David’s reaction or her own.

“My God! Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Eaton, but I never saw anything like it.” David stared at the painting in awe. Seeing his response gave her the courage she had lacked until now, and she approached where he knelt on the floor. “Did you paint this?”

“Oh, no,” she hastily assured him, looking at the masterfully crafted landscape he held. “My father did. I could only bring a few of his paintings with me, so I chose my favorites.”

Seeing the reproduction of a spot where she and her father had spent countless hours together, sketching and painting, brought the sting of tears to her eyes. She blinked resolutely and managed a small smile. The memories are happy, she told herself sternly. Don’t spoil them by remembering the bad things.

“Look at the way he did the trees and—Oh!” He grinned up at her sheepishly. “I guess you already know how he did the trees.”

“Yes, I do.” Gently, she took the painting from his hands and set it aside. “Open the rest of them.”

He did so eagerly, tearing into each wrapping as if it contained a gift for which he had waited all his life. In a way it did, she acknowledged, her heart swelling as she watched his expression grow progressively more wondrous. She was opening a whole new world for him, a world in which she had once lived and which she had once loved.

Don’t remember the pain, she told herself. Don’t remember how shattered your father was when, time after time, the critics derided his work and his peers refused to recognize his genius. He was beyond pain now, and she would be foolish to feel it for him.

If the world’s most famous critics had not recognized her father’s talent, David Connors certainly did. The paintings spoke to him in some elemental way, and when he looked up, his eyes were moist. “Tell me about them, Miss Eaton.”

So she did. The landscapes were easy, and she recounted some incidents to give the scenes life. The portraits were a little more difficult. She began with the easiest one. “This is me, of course.”

David chuckled. “I figured. You were awful young.”

“Thirteen, but I was vain enough to put up with hours of sitting in order to have my portrait painted by the man I considered the greatest artist in the world. I was a little disappointed, though. He didn’t make me look pretty.”

“You aren’t pretty!” David exclaimed ingenuously. Catherine gave him a look of dismay, so he hastily corrected himself. “You’re not pretty, you’re beautiful!”

“Don’t lie to try to get out of trouble,” she scolded.

“But you are! Your eyes are so... and your mouth... and your cheeks... ” He gestured helplessly, not knowing how to describe what he saw in her.

“Oh, I see. As an artist, you find my face interesting.”

The concept puzzled him for a moment, but then he brightened instantly. “Am I really an artist?”

Catherine glared at him in mock annoyance. “Well, you certainly aren’t a diplomat.”

“What’s a diplomat?”

Ignoring him, she reached for the next picture. “This is my mother.”

She stared for a long moment at the soulful eyes and the plain face her father had captured so vividly. How many years had slipped by during which Catherine had only been marginally aware of her mother’s existence? The woman had lived on what Catherine considered the periphery of their lives, a shadowy figure of no consequence. How wrong she had been.

“I thought this must be your mother,” David said, picking up a picture of an older woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to Catherine.

Catherine set her mother’s portrait aside and examined the one David held. “No, that’s me.”

“Don’t tease. Who is it really?”

“I told you, it’s me.”

“But this lady is old. Look at those wrinkles.” Catherine had, many times. She smiled. “My father painted it to show me how I’ll look when I’m an old woman.”

David’s expression clearly showed his confusion. “My father was an expert on human anatomy,” she explained. “He could look at a person’s face and know exactly where the wrinkles would form.”

David’s eyes widened, and he examined the picture again. “Gosh. He didn’t make you pretty here, either.”

Catching the twinkle in his eye, Catherine swatted at him and plucked the portrait from his hands. She set it alongside the others, which were lined up against the wall of her tiny room. “Now I’m going to teach you how to paint like this.”

David’s dismay was almost comic. “I could never paint this good, and I’d be afraid to use oil paint. What if I make a mistake?”

“You’ll be happy to know that oil is much more forgiving than the watercolor you have been using. With oils, you can paint over something you don’t like, and you can use texture and colors you never imagined and—Oh, come on, I’ll show you how to mix it.”

Still uncertain, David followed her for his first lesson in oil painting.

Sam leaned over his horse’s neck, hoping to reduce the pounding he was taking as the animal raced along. He muttered curse after curse at the man who had shot him and the men who had made this ride necessary. At last he saw the small group of cowboys for whom he was looking, and he slowed his horse to a trot.

Black George waved and shouted something he did not catch. George had sent one of the men to fetch Sam when they had discovered the mischief someone had perpetrated the night before.

“Damn it to hell,” Sam said, looking at the curls of twisted wire. His fence had been cut in between every pair of posts for as far as he could see, but even more infuriating was what the cutters had left behind. “A coffin,” he said in disgust, swinging down from his saddle and ignoring the shaft of pain the motion caused.

The plain pine box gleamed in the mid-morning sun.

“They left a note, too,” George said, handing him the scrap of paper that was obviously a page torn from a tally book. On it, someone had scrawled, “Keep fencing and you’ll need this.” Sam wadded it up and threw it down. Rage boiled in him until he thought he might choke from the force of it.

When at last he could speak, he said, “Let’s get a buckboard. I think I’d like to pay Gus Nylan another visit.”

Sam timed his visit to coincide with the noon meal. The older children would be at school, and no one would be expecting trouble in broad daylight. He and his men rode up to the Nylan house at full gallop, the buckboard clattering loudly.

Nearby, a pile of blackened timbers marked the former location of the Nylans’ barn and gave testimony to Gus’s reason for wanting revenge.

Nylan and his men spilled out of the house, but before they could gather their wits, Sam and some others held shotguns on them. Lulie and her younger children hovered in the doorway, watching the proceedings with fearful eyes.

“I brought you a little present, Nylan,” Sam said, gesturing to the driver of the wagon, who climbed over the seat and shoved the coffin out. It landed with a crash, and Mrs. Nylan uttered a startled cry, making the children howl.

“What’s this all about?” Nylan demanded.

“You know what it’s about. Your hired guns cut my fence last night and left me that, along with a warning to stop fencing. This is my warning to you: Next time, I’ll bring it back with your men in it!”

“My men didn’t cut your fence!”

“Then who did?”

“I don’t know, but my men were only hired to protect us from you.”

Sam glanced over the half-dozen men he was holding prisoner and quickly spotted the Taggerts, recognizing them from their description. One was apparently simple-minded, if Sam could judge by his vacant grin, but the other seemed perfectly calm and even cocky. “Maybe you’d better ask them if they’ve been obeying your orders to the letter.”

Nylan frowned uneasily and turned to look at the Taggerts, who met his questioning gaze unflinchingly. “I didn’t tell anyone to cut your fence. There’s a dozen men around here who’ve got good reason. Why pick me?”

“Because you’re the one with the hired guns, Gus,” Sam told him with a cold smile.

Nylan’s face reddened, but he bit back whatever reply he wanted to make.

“Come on, boys,” Sam told his men, but before he could turn his horse, Lulie Nylan yelled, “Stop!”

He turned his questioning gaze on her, noticing her for the first time.

“You aren’t going to leave that thing here, are you?” she cried pointing at the coffin. Her face was white, and the baby on her hip squalled pitifully.

Sam looked at the coffin and then back at her.

“The children... ” she said, gesturing helplessly.

She made a pathetic picture in her faded calico, her limp hair drooping in its bun, a baby clutched to her sagging bosom.

Sam remembered her as a young bride, still pretty and full of hope. None of this was her fault. His conscience pricked him.

“Load it up,” he told the man driving the wagon. “I think I’ll keep it as a souvenir.”

When the coffin was back in the buckboard, Sam started to turn his horse, but Gus Nylan called his name.

Sam looked back warily.

“I—I never meant for anybody to get shot the other night. I was only trying to protect my home.”

“And see what it got you,” Sam replied, gesturing toward the ruins of the Nylans’ barn. “I didn’t set that fire, but so help me God, if my fences are cut again, you’ll wish your parents had never even met.”

“Your fences are safe,” Nylan said, with a meaningful glance at the Taggerts.

Sam jerked the reins and kicked his horse into motion. He and his men left the Nylans’ yard in a cloud of dust. They weren’t even out of sight when Lulie said, “That bastard! Who does he think he is, coming in here and—?”

“Shut up!” Gus snapped. “Get in the house.” With a disgusted snort, she obeyed, shooing the bawling children in before her and slamming the door.

Nylan turned to the Taggerts. “I told you I didn’t want any trouble.”

Floyd Taggert giggled and wiped some spit from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. Will Taggert blinked his rheumy, colorless eyes and said, “You leave things to us. We’ll take care of Connors.”

“I don’t want you to ‘take care’ of anybody.”

“There’s some other folks think you should.”

“They don’t pay your wages. I do, and I give the orders.”

Will’s loose mouth stretched into a mirthless grin. “Then maybe we’ll take our wages from somebody else.” Floyd giggled again.

Nylan glanced at him impatiently. “Maybe you’d better. I’ll pay you what you’re owed, and you can ride out.”

“Fine with us.”

Nylan stomped into the house to get the money. The instant he came through the door, Lulie said, “I warned you Sam Connors was up to no good. He’s nothing but a low-down—”

“Shut your goddamned mouth!”

Lulie gasped, and the children began to howl again. “I’m sick of hearing you bitch about Sam Connors. What’s he ever done to you?” Gus demanded.

“I—I—” Her face became mottled, and she closed her mouth with a snap and glared defiantly at him.

He muttered an imprecation and went to get the Taggerts’ wages. The sooner he was rid of those two, the better off he’d be.

Sam and his men rode back to their ranch in silence. When they had finished putting their horses away, George approached Sam. “You wanna burn that coffin?”

Sam considered the box still sitting on the buckboard. “You think it’d hold water?”

George studied the coffin with narrow-eyed concentration. “I reckon it would.”

“We could use a new watering trough, now, couldn’t we?”

George’s smile made a white slash in his dark face. “Wouldn’t that be fine? Everybody who came could see it setting there.”

“Just what I was thinking. Let’s get it down.”

Catherine never ceased to be amazed at the speed with which rumors spread in this country. Stories went from house to house and ranch to ranch as if carried by the gritty Texas wind. She heard about Sam’s new watering trough the next morning at school. David was boasting about his brother’s boldness, but the other children had already heard of the incident.

“A coffin? Where on earth would they have gotten it?” Catherine asked, rubbing her arms against a sudden chill at the thought.

The children looked at her as if she were simple-minded, and one of them said, “They made it.” With chagrin, Catherine realized she had been thinking like a city dweller for whom coffins were supplied by the corner undertaker. Here such things were handmade when the necessity arose.

“Oh,” she said lamely, and called the children inside for class. She took some comfort from the incident. At least this proved Gus Nylan had not told anyone she had warned him of Sam’s visit. If he had, the news would have spread all the way back to Philadelphia by now.

And Sam hadn’t told anyone, either. The thought caused a funny little flutter in her stomach. How odd of him. He had every reason to hate her and to want her vilified throughout the community. Instead, he had kept her secret and even sent David back to school. Would she ever understand what went on in his mind?

David kept her posted on events at his ranch. Sam mended his fences, and his nightly guards patrolled to keep cutters away. Gus Nylan had fired the Taggerts but they were still around, camped out somewhere or so the story went.

That weekend Catherine stayed with Billy McCoy’s family, prosperous ranchers who had only good things to say about Sam Connors. On Sunday morning she saw him at church, looking remarkably fit and seeming no worse for his experience.

The sight of him set her heart to pounding. She told herself it was only apprehension over his certain anger at her and not the memory of his lips on hers.

Catherine found no opportunity to speak to Sam, although she longed to thank him for sending David back to school. When he tipped his hat as he walked by after the services, she smiled, hoping he could read the gratitude in her eyes. His eyes held no discernible expression at all. The blankness of his look haunted her for days.

“Where’s Davy?” Sam asked.

Inez looked up from her cooking and frowned at Sam’s intrusion into her kitchen. “He is not home yet. Every day he stays longer with Miss Eaton. Someday I think he will not come home at all.”

Sam fought down an irrational surge of irritation. Why did the thought of Davy spending time with Catherine annoy him so much? He still didn’t approve of the boy’s interest in art, of course, but he really didn’t mind the lessons. And Catherine had been right about Sam not needing Davy’s help at the ranch. Why then did he feel like spitting nails?

He turned on his heel and stomped back out to the parlor. From the front window, he could see the road to town. No sign of his brother yet. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Sam began to pace. What was wrong with him? He felt like he was going to explode. Or hit something. Or somebody.

It was the waiting, he decided. Not knowing when Nylan and his bunch would strike again was driving him crazy. No wonder he felt so edgy.

Unfortunately, that didn’t explain the dreams he’d been having lately, the ones in which Catherine Eaton played such an interesting part. Sometimes in the dreams, he remembered how angry he was at her, but the anger never lasted very long. As soon as he looked into her eyes, it flamed into desire.

Even now his body hardened in response. Damn her to hell. What right did she have to haunt him? Didn’t he have enough ghosts to contend with already?

His gaze moved involuntarily to the portrait over the fireplace. Ordinarily, he never even noticed Adora’s picture anymore, but now he studied the painting as if seeing it for the first time. Odd, he thought, how blond hair and blue eyes made some women look frail and others... Well, no one would ever think Catherine Eaton was frail.

He could still feel the jolt she’d given him on Sunday morning. Every time he remembered the look in her eyes, his blood quickened. No wonder his sleep had been so troubled.

In exasperation, he turned away from Adora’s perfect insipid beauty. Suddenly, he knew an overwhelming urge to see Catherine’s face. He couldn’t go to her, of course, but if only he had a picture of her...

The thought formed with lightning swiftness. Davy would have a picture of her. He’d done dozens of sketches of her face. Without a second thought, Sam strode down the hall and burst into Davy’s room.

The place was a mess. Clothes were strewn over the unmade bed and the floor, and broken bridles lay mingled with sketchbooks and boxes of paints. The only neat portion of the room was the corner where Davy’s easel stood. The afternoon sun streamed in the window, shining directly on the canvas resting there.

For some reason, Davy had covered the picture he was working on. Sam recalled how the boy had sequestered himself all weekend, painting furiously on something. Curious, Sam walked over and lifted the piece of sheeting protecting the work.

“Catherine!” He spit the word out like a curse and followed it with a stream of profanity. What kind of a woman was she? And he’d sent Davy right back into her clutches!

Snatching up the painting, Sam strode from the room, wrapping the sheet around it as he went lest anyone else catch a glimpse of it. He’d been a fool and a jackass, but he’d correct his mistake right now.

Catherine was closing the classroom windows for the day when she heard a horse running into the yard. Alarmed, she started for the door and was halfway there when Sam Connors stormed into the room carrying some sort of bundle.

“Where is he?” he demanded, looking around.

“David? He’s gone,” she replied, alarmed by his obvious fury.

“I didn’t see him on the road.” The words were an accusation, as if he suspected her of something untoward.

“He left a few minutes ago. He can’t have gotten far.” Now she realized he was holding a canvas wrapped in what appeared to be a ragged sheet. “Is that one of David’s paintings?”

“Yes,” he said, and his lips stretched into a feral grin that sent a chill over her. “Would you like to see it?”

Catherine wasn’t at all sure she did, but she didn’t dare let him see how he was frightening her. “Certainly,” she said, feigning cheerfulness.

He closed the distance between them in a few quick strides and presented the canvas, whipping off the sheet to reveal a perfectly ghastly portrait of her. A nude portrait.

“Good heavens!” she gasped, laying a hand over her heart.

“Good heavens? Is that all you’ve got to say?”

“What do you expect me to say?” She couldn’t seem to take her eyes from the painting. Its very vulgarity fascinated her.

“Oh, I figured a fancy educated woman like you could think of something,” he said sarcastically. “I’ve been paying you to give Davy lessons, and now I want to know just exactly what you’ve been teaching him.”

Catherine gasped again, this time in outrage. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting Davy seems to know a lot more about you than he should.”

Catherine had actually raised her hand to slap his insolent face, when she saw the warning glitter in his black eyes and thought better of it. “How dare you!” she said instead, looking at the picture and then back at him. “You can’t think I posed for this?”

“No, because he’s been working on it at home, but I figure he must know his model by heart by now. How long have you been teaching him? Three weeks? Four?” Catherine glared at him, wishing looks could kill. What a pompous, evil-minded, idiotic... Words failed her. She looked at the painting again. How could he possibly think?... She looked more closely. Oh, dear, it was even worse than she’d thought the first time. “May I?” she asked, offering to take the canvas from him.

He surrendered it grudgingly. She carried it over to the window, where the light was better, conscious of Sam Connors’s disapproving gaze. The more closely she examined the painting, the more amazed she became. Suddenly, she wasn’t outraged at all. In fact, she was beginning to find the whole thing quite amusing. She looked up to find Connors scowling fiercely. Oh, this would be such fun!

“Mr. Connors, I know you are a bachelor. Does that mean you are unacquainted with female anatomy?” she asked sweetly.

His scowl deepened. “What do you mean by female anatomy?”

“I mean, do you know what a naked woman looks like?”

“Hell, yes!” He reddened, but Catherine didn’t bother trying to decide if he were embarrassed or simply angry.

“Would you step over here please?”

Suspiciously, he moved closer, his gaze darting from her to the picture and back again. She laid the canvas down on a nearby desk where the light could strike it fully.

“Since you are so obviously a man of the world, I’m surprised you didn’t notice the... shall we say imperfections in the painting,” she began smugly. “Surely you must recall that women have nipples.”

He started, and Catherine supposed no woman had ever spoken the word nipple to him before. Determined to shock him thoroughly, she smiled. “And of course there is hair on... ah... certain places that seems to be missing from this portrait.”

Wide-eyed, he stared, first at her, then at the picture, and then at her again.

“You were correct in recognizing my face, of course. David has a lot of practice capturing my likeness, but my hair isn’t nearly that long,” she continued, indicating the flowing tresses cascading down past the very ample hips of the female in the picture. “And, of course, I’m not nearly so... voluptuous as the woman in the portrait.” She crossed her arms beneath her small breasts and grinned at him in triumph.

Sam could hardly believe his ears! Never in all his thirty-two years had he ever heard such shocking things come out of a lady’s mouth. She knew she’d shocked him, too, and the little hussy was gloating! Mortified, he managed to dredge up the remnants of his rage and rake her slender form with a scathing look. “Yeah, now that I notice, you are too skinny to be the woman in the picture.”

There now, they were even, and she didn’t like it one bit. Not giving her a chance to reply, he said, “What I want to know is where he got the idea for this.”

Still smarting from his insult, Catherine needed a moment to comprehend his question. “He... ah... ” She felt the color coming to her cheeks at the memory. What a horrid thing to have to confess to Sam Connors! “I guess he got the idea because I told him we used nude models at the Pennsylvania Academy.”

“Nude? You mean they don’t wear clothes?”

Catherine winced. She’d known what his reaction would be, hadn’t she?

“It’s not what you think.”

“Then what is it?” he challenged.

“It’s all very proper. Mostly, the students pose for each other and—”

“Students? Did you pose?”

“Well, yes... ”

“And you told Davy all this?”

“Yes, but—”

“Good God!”

“You must believe me, I didn’t do anything—”

“You didn’t have to! Don’t you know the boy’s half in love with you?” She shook her head in frantic denial, but he ignored her. “He’s with you every day. He worships you, for God’s sake, and he’s almost a man, so naturally he—” Sam made a vague gesture toward the painting.

Catherine bit her lip, knowing he was right. She’d seen the signs and tried to pretend she didn’t. “I’ll have a talk with him.”

He snorted in disgust. “Oh, fine. Tell him all about how you posed naked... ”

“No! I’ll talk to him about his feelings for me, explain he’s only infatuated with me because I’m his teacher and—” Her voice trailed off under the intensity of his dark eyes.

He released his breath in a long, weary sigh and let his gaze drift slowly over her again. She knew he was imagining what she looked like without her clothes and felt an absurd urge to cover herself. A heat she blamed on embarrassment crept up her neck and then swept over the rest of her. When his dark eyes found her again, the heat settled into the pit of her stomach.

“No wonder he thinks about you that way,” he said, his voice husky.

“I’ve never encouraged him,” she insisted, oddly breathless.

“You don’t have to. All a man has to do is look at you to be encouraged.” His gaze on her breasts was like a caress, and her nipples hardened in response. Her heart slowed to a dull thud, and the breath caught in her throat.

“Sam... ” She meant it as a protest, but it sounded like an invitation.

He reached for her, and she did not resist. His mouth found hers unerringly, seeking the sweetness she could not deny him. She opened her lips, and his tongue found hers.

His arms crushed her to him, lifting her to her toes and into the cradle of his thighs, where the hardness of his desire met the heat of hers. Need spiraled through her, taking her breath, and she clung to him desperately.

One of his hands slid down to her hip and pressed her to him, while the other found the curve of her breast. It swelled to fill his palm, and she moaned as sensation streaked over her and convulsed between her thighs.

“Cat,” he breathed against her lips, and just before she surrendered once again to his kiss, some foreign sound tugged her back to reality.

“Wait,” she whispered.

He would have ignored her entreaty, but then he heard it, too. Tearing his mouth from hers, he swore just as David’s voice called, “Sam? Are you in there?”

“That boy’s getting to be a nuisance,” Sam muttered as he and Catherine untangled.

He turned away from her as David came through the door.

“What’re you doing in town?” the boy asked, but he didn’t wait for a reply. “I stopped at the store to ask Mrs. Shallcross to order me some more canvas, and somebody said they saw you. I figured you was looking for me and— What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Sam said gruffly, not looking at Catherine. “Come on, let’s get on home. Inez’ll be mad if we keep her supper waiting.”

For an instant, Catherine thought David would obey, but then he saw the portrait she and Sam had forgotten about. “What’s that?” he asked, stepping closer. His curiosity turned instantly to horror as he recognized the painting. His face blanched with the pain of betrayal and the humiliation of discovery. “Sam!” he protested in anguish.

For a moment all three of them stood frozen, then David whirled and bolted from the room.

“David!” Catherine cried, starting after him.

Sam caught her arm. “Wait! He’s too embarrassed to face you right now. I’ll talk to him.”

Annoyed, she shook free of his grip. “You should have talked to him before you came riding in here making your ridiculous accusations!”

“Well, I’ll talk to him now. He’ll be all right.”

“You’d better apologize to him for invading his privacy!”

His dark eyes flared with renewed anger. “Catherine, I raised him. I know how to handle him.”

“Do you?” she challenged, thinking how little he really understood the boy.

He made an exasperated noise and then reached for her again, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her to him. His kiss was swift and hard, and it left her breathless.

“I’ll handle Davy,” he said with assurance. “And then I’ll be back to handle you.”

Catherine might have kicked him for his arrogance, but he left too quickly. By the time she recovered from the shock of his kiss, he was already riding away after his brother. Trembling with rage and reaction, she sank down in the nearest desk and covered her face with her hands. She didn’t know which had unnerved her more, seeing David’s humiliation or experiencing Sam Connor’s kiss.

The man was definitely a menace. Reluctantly, she glanced at the portrait again and winced. She couldn’t really blame Sam for being upset, she supposed, but how could he possibly suspect her of seducing a fifteen-year-old boy?

Probably because of the way she’d let him kiss her, she told herself ruthlessly. No lady would submit to a man the way she’d surrendered to him that day in his office. She should have struggled and slapped his face. And what about today? Good heavens, she’d let him touch her breast, and instead of protesting, she had moaned with pleasure!

Her nipples puckered at the memory, and she moaned again, this time in dismay. What must he think of her? No worse than she thought of herself, certainly. When she remembered how she had reacted in his arms, she hardly recognized herself at all.

What made her act so wantonly with him? Unbidden came a distant memory of a girl she had known in Philadelphia, a fellow art student who had taken one of the male art students as a lover. Catherine had been shocked by her friend’s confession.

“You must love him beyond reason,” Catherine had supposed.

“Love?” she had replied, honestly puzzled. “I don’t know whether I love him or not, but I can’t deny the passion I feel for him. Oh, Cathy, you can’t understand unless you’ve felt it yourself. I’ll simply die if I can’t have him.”

Catherine had thought her friend insane to throw away her good name and her virtue for the sake of lust. Now, of course, she was beginning to feel slightly insane herself. How could cool, logical Catherine Eaton have let passion overrule her good sense?

She certainly wasn’t in love with Sam Connors. They had nothing in common except a concern for David, and their ideas on what was best for him could not have been more different. No, the only thing between them was a strong physical attraction. Catherine would do well to remember that lust was hardly the basis for a relationship, at least not the kind of relationship she would demand before surrendering herself to any man.

Davy was riding hell-bent, so it took Sam a while to catch up to him. The boy ignored his brother’s calls, but Sam saw him wiping his face with his sleeve and figured he was preparing himself for the inevitable. At last Davy slowed, allowing his horse to blow and giving Sam a chance to catch up.

“I reckon I acted like a jackass,” Sam said, gratified to see the boy’s head come up in surprise. “Miss Eaton said I had no right to invade your privacy.”

“She’s right,” Davy replied tightly after clearing the huskiness out of his voice. “Why’d you go snooping around, anyhow?”

Serna hesitated. He couldn’t very well confess he’d been desperate for the sight of Catherine Eaton’s face. “I’d been wondering what you were working on. I didn’t figure it’d hurt anything if I took a peek.”

“But why’d you show it to her?” he wailed.

“I told you, I’m a jackass. When I saw it, I thought—”

“You thought what?”

“I thought maybe she... maybe you and she... maybe you were painting from memory.”

Davy swore eloquently. “Are you crazy? Miss Eaton’s a lady!”

Sam had his own ideas on that point, but he managed a sheepish smile. “Don’t worry, she straightened me out.”

“Now I’ll never be able to face her again!”

“She’s not mad,” Sam assured him, only to earn a contemptuous glare.

“Sam, I painted her naked. She’ll know I—I—”

“That you’re in love with her?” Sam guessed. Davy nodded miserably. “She already knew. She said it’s only natural for you to feel that way because she’s your teacher and you’re so grateful to her.”

“That’s not why!”

Sam smiled wisely. “No, I reckon it’s not. She’s a fine-looking woman, even with her clothes on. Any man would notice, and you’re a man.”

Again Davy started in surprise, then shook his head. “I’m not man enough for Miss Eaton, though. God, I wish I was older!”

Thinking how glad he was Davy wasn’t older, Sam reached out and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “There’ll be other women. You just gotta be patient.”

Davy made a rude noise, and Sam chuckled sympathetically.

“But I ain’t going back to school,” Davy said. “I can’t never face her again.”

Sam lifted his eyebrows skeptically. “You want her to think you’re a coward, too?” Sensing the boy’s indecision, he added, “She blames me for the whole thing, anyway. I told you, she ain’t mad, and I figure she understands what made you do the picture. She won’t hold it against you. Don’t worry, when we get home, I’ll help you figure out what to say to her.”

Davy nodded, the picture of abject misery again. They rode the rest of the way in silence, giving Sam a chance to consider what had happened between him and Catherine back at the school.

He’d been a fool about a lot of things lately. Even after Catherine had let him kiss her the first time, he’d still thought her innocent until he’d seen the portrait.

For one wild, insanely jealous moment, he’d actually believed her capable of seducing a young boy, but even as he’d accused her, he’d known it wasn’t true. The whole thing had been nothing more than an excuse to see her again.

Then he’d gotten the shock of his life. Who would expect a woman like her to have a past? When he envisioned her flaunting her perfect little body in front of a roomful of men, his loins tightened with desire but his soul filled with rage. If the thought of Catherine with David had infuriated him, the thought of her with countless other men made him crazy. The bitter gall of jealousy was a familiar taste in his mouth, one he’d sworn never to experience again.

But on the other hand, he had no reason to be jealous. He sure as hell wasn’t in love with Catherine Eaton. He wanted her, nothing more, and now he knew she wanted him, too. That’s what she’d meant by the look she’d given him in church, and just now she’d shown him beyond a shadow of a doubt. Why should he care how many men had come before him so long as he was the next?

And he would be the next.