Chapter Six

Catherine lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Moonlight bathed the room in a golden glow, and she blamed its brightness for her inability to sleep. All evening visions of Sam’s confrontation with David had haunted her. Did he truly know how to handle the boy, or would he further humiliate him? What if they quarreled? What if David ran away? What if?...

A dozen possible outcomes occurred to her, each one worse than the last. Her only consolation was knowing Sam loved the boy even more than she did and wouldn’t purposely hurt him. If only he didn’t hurt him accidentally.

She rolled over, punching her pillow in a vain attempt to get more comfortable, and then she heard a noise outside. Peering beneath the curtain, she had no trouble making out the rider disappearing into the shadow of the willows by the creek. Her nerve ends prickled in warning. She waited for the rider to emerge again, but when he did, he was on foot, walking toward the school!

Catherine sat up in alarm, squinting to recognize the man. When she did, her alarm turned to dread. Why would Sam Connors be coming here at this hour? Something must have happened to David! She bolted from the bed, grabbing her robe as she ran.

Sam glanced around, relieved to note all was quiet. The town was dark, and likely, no one had seen him ride in. He hated sneaking around, but he’d promised Catherine he’d come back and he intended to keep his promise before another day went by. He’d wasted enough time already.

No light shone in her room, and he figured she’d already gone to bed. So much the better. He lifted his hand to knock, but the door flew open before he touched it.

“What’s happened? Where’s David?” she asked.

She stepped back automatically, allowing him to enter. He closed the door behind him and tried to make sense of her question. “He’s at home, in bed.” He pulled off his hat and tossed it on the table.

Catherine stared at him, trying to make out his expression in the darkness. “Then why are you here?”

“You know why. I told you I’d come.” He reached for her as he had that afternoon. This time, all the warning alarms she had previously ignored began to sound and she tried to resist, but he was having none of it.

“Sam, I don’t—”

His mouth smothered her words, and his arms crushed her to him. Through the thin fabric separating them, she could feel his heart thundering against hers. His kiss drained her strength, leaving her weak and trembling, and her hands slowly relaxed from fists into a caress, until she was clinging to his broad shoulders.

His hands moved over her urgently, tracing the curves of her body through the fragile barrier of her nightclothes and scorching her wherever he touched. He cupped her breast, then lowered his head to mouth the puckered nipple through the cloth. She cried out as his gentle sucking sent a spasm of desire quaking through her.

Her cry seemed to startle him, and he jerked away. “No, not like this,” he murmured, pulling out of her arms. Drawing a shaky breath, he backed toward the table and sank down in one of the chairs.

Catherine fought for her own breath, hugging herself to stop her trembling. She still didn’t know why he had come. “Wh... what happened with David?”

His eyes glittered in the darkness. “We talked. I told him you weren’t mad.” He bent over, muffling his words, and Catherine had to strain to hear. “He’s got a speech all ready for tomorrow. All you have to do is listen to it and tell him to behave himself from now on.

“Did you apologize for taking the painting?”

“Yes,” he said impatiently. Catherine finally realized he was taking off his boots, then suddenly, he stood up and stripped off his vest.

“What are you doing?” she demanded in renewed alarm.

“I’m getting undressed.” He pulled his shirt over his head as Catherine watched, stunned.

“Why?” she asked, her voice slightly shrill.

He tossed the shirt onto the table and began to unbuckle his gunbelt. “I figured you’d like it better that way.”

“Like what?” she asked, although she was very much afraid she knew. Instinctively, she backed away.

His gunbelt hit the table with a clunk. “I—I think you’d better leave now, Sam.”

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, capturing her easily. “I’m not one of your fancy artist friends, but I’ll make you happy, Cat. You won’t be sorry.”

His words made no sense, but she understood him all the same. He was going to make love to her—or at least he thought he was. “Sam, you can’t—”

But he could, and he did. This time when she struggled, she encountered bare flesh, hot and silken and inexorable. His tongue plunged into her mouth, and her fingers relaxed against his chest, burrowing into the mat of hair she found there. He pulled her robe loose and stripped it from her arms, then hauled her back against his chest with only her nightdress separating them.

The musky male scent and taste of him engulfed her, weakening her defenses. As if of their own accord, her arms encircled his neck in a futile attempt to get closer to him. She couldn’t really let him make love to her, but this was so wonderful that she would enjoy it for another moment or two. He wasn’t a rapist. He’d stop when she insisted.

His skin felt warm and vibrant, and she could sense the tensile strength he held so tightly leashed. Beneath her stroking hands, a groan began, deep in his chest. She coaxed it with teasing fingers until it became her name breathed fervently against her lips.

In the next instant, he lifted her high against his chest. His mouth never left hers, giving her no chance to protest, and then he lowered her onto the bed. New warnings screamed in her mind. She’d never intended to let things go this far.

“Sam, no, stop... ”

Her voice was no more than a whisper of sound, and when his hands touched her naked flesh, the sound became a purr of pleasure.

“I’ll make you forget the others, Cat,” he said against her throat just before he slipped her nightdress over her head.

What others? she wondered, but then his mouth found her breast, and nothing else mattered. His hungry lips closed around one nipple, tugging gently while his fingers found the other and teased it to a tight bud. Desire coiled into white hot need.

She had to stop him, but she couldn’t end this yet, not yet. His mouth moved lower, pressing stinging kisses down her belly, while his callused palms traced the curve of her hips. She shifted restlessly beneath him, needing something, wanting something for which she had no name.

Gently, he parted her thighs, abrading the sensitive inner flesh with the tips of his fingers and soothing it with his kiss. Her whole body ached with emptiness, an emptiness only he could fill, and her body wept the tears of need that dewed her womanhood.

“Sam?” The word was only a strangled cry, but he responded. She groaned when he left her, but he was only tearing away the last of his clothes. When he came back, nothing separated them. His flesh touched hers everywhere, his glorious weight crushing her, closer, closer, until he was almost close enough.

Almost, but not quite, not yet, not enough! She opened to him instinctively, offering what she had never considered giving another man.

“Cat, my sweet Cat,” he breathed against her cheek, then his pulsing hardness touched her, probing, pushing, straining. She lifted at his urging, seeking fulfillment for the need that had become an agony.

Encountering resistance, he hesitated, muttering something she could not understand. She couldn’t wait, not another minute. Wrapping her legs around his, she grasped his flanks. With a groan, he broke the barrier of her innocence.

The pain tore through her, wrenching a cry from her throat. Above her, he jerked in reaction. “Cat? Cat, I didn’t know!”

She hadn’t known, either. Tears stung her eyes, but already the pain was receding, leaving behind the glorious sense of fulfillment she had sought. He loomed above her, a shadow in the darkness, but she wanted him closer. She snaked her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers. His kiss was sweet and infinitely tender, but she wanted his passion now.

She parted her lips, and his tongue sought hers. His skin grew damp beneath her palms, and she traced the powerful muscles of his back, reveling in his nearness.

And then he moved away!

“Don’t go,” she pleaded.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered back, burying his face in the curve of her neck as he slid back into her velvet depths.

She gasped at the sensations, lying perfectly still while he showed her another dimension of pleasure. He slipped his hands beneath her hips and taught her the ancient rhythms, too, until they moved together.

“Purr for me, Cat.”

And she did, tiny sounds of abandon born in the deepest part of her where wants and needs coalesced. Her blood raced, roaring in her ears and shutting out all the world except the two of them, straining together until pleasure itself became a painful need for something more.

Each thrust brought her closer to the edge, and she teetered on some precipice, fighting the plunge into the unknown yet knowing she must fall. She clung to him, no longer sure where his body ended and hers began, holding back for one last second. And then she could resist no longer. With a cry, she yielded, shuddering with spasms of pure joy.

From far away she heard his voice, “Yes, Cat, yes.” Tiny shocks still rippled through her when she felt his body convulse with his own release. A strangled cry escaped his lips, and she held him close, cradling him against the storm.

Afterward, for long moments, they lay still, gasping for breath. Finally, he rolled off her without letting go, still holding her in his arms. She rested her head against his shoulder, dazed, then she realized he was asleep, his regular breathing at first a comfort to her.

Gradually, however, sanity returned, and with it came the shock of what she had done. She was lying naked in Sam Connors’s arms! Her eyes flew open as the magnitude of her act struck her. She stared at his profile, barely visible in the moonlight. He looked oddly young and vulnerable, and not at all like a man who would come to a woman’s home and ravish her against her will.

Of course, she hadn’t really resisted, not for more than a moment. Her whole body burned with shame when she recalled how eagerly she had surrendered to him. What must he think of her? But what must he have thought to have come here in the first place?

Carefully, she let her memory pick its way past the mind-numbing ecstasy she had experienced to recall what had come before. The senseless things he had said then now made perfect sense. He would make her forget the others, the fancy artists whom he believed had been her previous lovers! He’d thought her a loose woman, little better than a whore! The knowledge chilled her, mortified her, but when she tried to draw away from him in horror, he tightened his embrace, refusing to release her even in his sleep.

Catherine shuddered. She had given herself to a man she barely knew, a man she certainly didn’t love, and a man she wasn’t even sure she liked. True, he wasn’t as bad as she had once thought. He had tried to make peace over the fencing issue, he had forgiven her betrayal, and he had even allowed David to continue his lessons. Still, every time she began to think well of him, he did something outrageous, like accusing her of seducing his brother!

No, she couldn’t possibly love him, but why had she responded so passionately to him? Surely mere lust could not explain her reaction. And how could she ever face him again? Even though he knew she had been innocent, her eager surrender had proven his low opinion of her. What could she say to him?

He stirred, sending her into a panic. She slammed her eyes shut, knowing she was being a coward but unable to summon a shred of her usual courage.

Sam woke with a start, instantly aware of an overwhelming feeling of awe. How long had it been since he had made love to a woman? Oh, he had paid for the privilege of release and had taken his pleasure when it was freely offered, but to actually make love... The memory was dim and distant and infinitely painful, so he blotted it out.

He glanced down at Cat’s tousled blond hair and instantly remembered her cry of pain. Oh, God, what had he done to her? Guilt was like a knife in his vitals. He had behaved like a man possessed. How could he possibly make amends? Should he apologize? Should he propose?

He actually winced at the prospect of proposing to Catherine Eaton. What would a woman, a lady, like her want with Sam Connors, a man who had just forced himself on her, ignoring her protests? Oh, God, she had protested, too, but he’d been too dead set on having her to pay her any mind.

Gingerly, guiltily, he released her from his embrace, watching her lovely face for any sign she was awakening. “Cat?” he whispered.

No response.

“Cat?” he said a little louder.

She did not move, and he suddenly realized she wasn’t really asleep. Her failure to respond was deliberate. She didn’t want to face him, and who could blame her? Surely, she must despise him now.

The thought sent a spasm of agony through him. Of course she’d hate him, hate and fear him, and he had no right to expect anything else. His guilt burgeoned as he considered his options. He could force her to talk and risk an ugly emotional scene that might alienate her forever, or he could honor her wishes and steal away into the night, leaving the confrontation for another time when they were both more rational.

He really had no choice. He couldn’t add cruelty to his sins by forcing her to talk about his violation when she plainly didn’t want to. Still, he felt far more cowardly than considerate as he slipped from the bed and found the jeans he had so hastily discarded. When he had them on, he turned back. Catherine’s perfect body seemed to gleam in the moonlight, and renewed desire hit him like a wave, taking his breath.

He wanted her all over again, but he’d had no right to take her the first time. How humiliated she must be, lying there naked, knowing he was looking at her but not daring to cover herself. Quickly, he reached for the sheet tangled at the foot of the bed and drew it up.

Catherine tensed when she sensed him moving toward her. She could hardly believe it when the cool sheet settled over her, covering the nakedness she had found so mortifying. Then she heard him walk away and finish dressing. He paused for a long moment, as if uncertain exactly what to do. She imagined him trying to wake her again, wanting to talk, but mercifully, he moved toward the door. In another minute she heard his footsteps outside, carrying him toward where his horse was tied in the willows.

Only now did she give way to the emotions churning inside her, the shame and embarrassment and confusion. A strangled sob escaped her. He’d covered her up! It was the act of a kind and gentle and considerate man, the type of man she’d never let herself believe Sam Connors to be. Clutching the sheet to her bosom, she tried to smother another sob.

Had she misjudged him? Was he more like David than she had imagined? He had to be, she realized in despair. After what had just happened between them, he simply had to be.

Once away from town, Sam rode fast and hard, as if he could escape his thoughts. Finally, though, he had to slow down or risk riding his horse to death, and his thoughts easily caught up with him again.

He’d hoped being away from Catherine would help him see things more dearly, but now he was more confused than ever. Nothing made sense anymore. In spite of all her scandalous talk, she’d been a virgin. He hadn’t let himself think much about the previous lovers he’d imagined, since the very idea of their existence had sent him into a towering rage. He’d wanted to murder every one of them. He’d wanted to be the only man alive who knew her body.

And now he was.

Oh, God, what a fool he’d been. And now he’d ruined any chance he might have had to win her.

Or had he? A woman who had lived the life Catherine had and still held onto her virginity would not take its loss lightly. In the cold light of day, she’d begin to realize the implications of her act... and the possible results. Sam might have given her a child.

A child, his child, a baby he could claim as his own and a baby who would be part of Catherine. The haunting need he had suppressed for so many years surged suddenly to life again, and he knew he had found his dream at last.

He had just begun to consider all the ramifications, when his horse looked off to the right, its ears pricked. He reined to a stop and listened, the possibility of danger wiping all the happy thoughts from his mind. He heard nothing, but trusting the horse’s instincts more than his own, he waited for several minutes.

Then he saw a tiny pinpoint of light, a match being struck by a man way off in the distance. It might be one of his own men, of course. He still kept a few riding fence at night, but something told him it wasn’t one of his men. He turned the horse and kicked it into a trot, keeping his eyes trained on the spot where he had seen the match flare.

The moon was still full and bright, a Comanche moon. Years ago settlers would have slept with one eye open on a night like this, expecting the Indians to swoop down, using the light to raid and slaughter. The Comanche were all safely ensconced on reservations now, but new raiders had taken their place, raiders who carried wire cutters instead of arrows.

He stopped again, listening, and then he heard the soft murmur of voices carrying clearly on the night air. His horse shifted restlessly, sensing others nearby. He gave the animal its head and allowed it to move toward the voices.

Then he heard the sharp snap of wire being cut. Once, twice, again. Sam drew his pistol. Soon he was close enough to see their horses grazing peacefully and the silhouettes of two men working on his fence.

One of their horses lifted its head and whinnied a welcome. The two men froze. “Who’s there?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

Sam responded by pulling back the hammer of his pistol with a resounding click. “Hold it right there or I’ll shoot.”

“Jesus, it’s Connors!” one of them said.

In the next instant, a gun spat flame and Sam ducked, leaning close to his horse’s neck. Luckily, the shot went wild, and before Sam could still his dancing horse to take a shot of his own, the others were running toward their own mounts. He fired after them.

One of the men howled in pain.

“Floyd, you hit?”

Floyd swore viciously and snapped off another shot in Sam’s direction, before flinging himself into his saddle. Sam fired back, but his horse was rearing now, panicked by the gunfire, and he missed.

The two men were galloping away, firing as they went. Sam shot back, kicked his horse into a gallop, and leaned low in the saddle. He couldn’t let these two get away. The ground beneath him blurred as his horse stretched out, straining in the chase.

They ran for a mile or more, spitting shots at each other until their guns were empty. Then Sam felt his horse falter. He threw his weight forward, but his horse was already tired from the earlier run. Even in the dark, he could see he was losing ground, but he kept up the chase until he sensed his horse couldn’t go on any longer. Swearing, he slowed to a walk, listening with growing frustration to the fading sound of their hoof beats.

Well, he could trail them if nothing else. Sam was one of the best trackers around, and from the way these fellows were going, they’d leave prints a blind man could follow. But even Sam couldn’t track them in the dark, and only an idiot would try it alone. Sighing with defeat, he turned toward the ranch. At first light, he’d be on their trail, and his men would finally get their chance to go after some real live fence cutters.

Once Catherine finally fell asleep, she slept too long, waking up with only minutes to spare before her students would begin to arrive. She threw on her clothes and hastily smoothed her hair into its customary style. She had no time for breakfast, but her stomach wouldn’t have tolerated food in any case.

When she’d finished with her hair, she stared at her reflection in the mirror, wondering how she could still look exactly the same when she felt so changed. Well, what had she expected, a brand on her forehead? An F, perhaps, for “Fallen Woman”?

Bracing herself, she drew up the bedclothes without looking at the crimson stain on the bottom sheet, the evidence of her folly. She didn’t need the visual reminder, because the unfamiliar aches in her body would not let her forget. How would she endure the coming day, trying to act as if nothing had happened? How would she face the children?

And David! Dear heaven, he would be coming to apologize to her for the painting. How could she deal with this? She had no time to decide. Her students were already beginning to arrive, cheerful and enthusiastic and wrapped in slickers against the morning drizzle. Perfect weather, she thought morosely, peering out at the scudding clouds and massaging her pounding temples.

Catherine waited nervously for David to appear, but when the time came to ring the bell, he still had not arrived. Now new fears assaulted her. Had Sam lied about having settled things with David? Or worse, had David found out about her and Sam? Knowing she could not dwell on such thoughts, she started the youngest children on their recitations, hoping they would provide sufficient distraction.

The morning dragged by, and more than once Catherine found herself staring out at the road, as if mere yearning could make David appear. His absence portended all sorts of unpleasant things, and Catherine couldn’t bear thinking about any of them.

Ironically, it was after she had given up hope that he finally rode in, drenched and disheveled, just as she told the children to get their lunches. Hearing his horse, they ran to the door. Everyone sensed he had some important news to impart, and he was surrounded the instant he came in.

“I... I’m sorry I’m late, Miss Eaton,” he said breathlessly. He flushed scarlet, perhaps thinking of the humiliation of their last meeting, but Catherine gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

“No need to apologize. I’m sure you have a very good reason.”

“Yeah, well, Sam saw some fence cutters last night. There was some shooting, but they got clean away and—”

“Shooting?” Catherine interrupted, feeling the blood drain from her head. “Was Sam hurt?”

“Oh, no, but he thinks he hit one of them.” Catherine went weak with relief and barely heard the rest of the story. “He chased ’em, but his horse gave out, so he came back to the ranch and got some of the men together. They went out at first light. Sam, he can track a butterfly across solid rock, so they figured they’d catch up with no trouble, but then this blasted rain started and—” He shrugged his frustration. “Anyways, he told me to get along to school, since there wasn’t anything else we could do.”

The children bombarded him with questions while Catherine stood silently, gathering her wits. Sam had been shot at again! The thought sent a wrenching pain through her, and she blinked at the sting of tears. If anything happened to Sam, how would she bear it?

The thought stunned her, and at that moment she began to understand that she was falling in love with Sam Connors. Standing there, surrounded by children, listening to David’s explanations, she suddenly realized why Sam had become such an important presence in her life, why his opinions mattered so much, and most of all, why she had surrendered to him last night. It hadn’t been mere lust at all.

But how could she love a man like that?

She noticed David was staring at her, and she imagined her churning emotions must be reflected in her expression. Luckily, Jessica chose that moment to call David’s attention to herself.

“Davy, you’d better take off your wet things before you catch a chill.”

“Oh, yeah,” he muttered, noticing the puddle forming beneath him. While he shrugged out of his slicker, Catherine composed herself.

“Have you eaten?” she asked, noticing he wasn’t carrying a lunch pail.

“Uh... no, I... in all the excitement, I reckon I forgot.”

“I’ll make you a sandwich,” Catherine offered, glad for the opportunity to escape, however briefly. But her room held far too many memories, she realized when she saw the hastily made bed. Turning to her makeshift kitchen, she pulled out the bread and cheese and began to slice, vitally aware of Sam’s haunting presence in the room.

He must have encountered the fence cutters on his way home last night. Did anyone know where he had been? Did David suspect? The boy still seemed awkward around her, but maybe he was only embarrassed from yesterday.

“Miss Eaton?”

She jumped, glancing up to find David standing in the doorway leading to the classroom.

“Can I... I mean, I’d like... I need to talk to you a minute,” he said, looking furtively over his shoulder lest any of the others overhear.

“David you don’t have to explain anything.”

“But Sam said—”

“You don’t have to do everything Sam says!” she snapped, instantly sorry when she saw his bewildered expression. She consciously softened her voice. “I told Sam he had no right to take the painting from your room. I was quite angry with him, but certainly not at you. In fact, I’m proud of your creativity. Trying a nude without a model shows great courage.”

His face flushed scarlet, and he glanced over his shoulder again. “I never meant it to be you,” he whispered, “but your face was the only one I could do from memory.”

“Of course,” she replied, managing to maintain her nonchalance. “I never thought otherwise.”

He blinked in surprise at her calm acceptance of his obvious lie. Catherine wondered if he could see how her hands were trembling. She finished up the sandwich and handed it to him, smiling benignly. “You’d better eat up before the others start asking you questions again.”

David obediently took a bite.

Catherine started to clean up the mess, thinking she should probably make herself a sandwich but knowing she couldn’t have swallowed a bite of it. “You said Sam wasn’t hurt?” she asked, hoping she still sounded normal.

David swallowed. “No. It’s pretty hard to hit anything when you’re running for your life, like they were. It was dark, too.”

Briefly, Catherine debated asking a dangerous question, but she needed to know how much Sam had told David. “What was Sam doing out so late?”

“He said he had a hunch something was going on, so he went out looking.”

David’s expression never flickered. He didn’t know about her and Sam! She felt almost giddy with relief. She wasn’t even annoyed when Jessica sidled up beside David and batted her eyes provocatively. “Did you go after the fence cutters, too?”

“Well, no,” he reluctantly admitted. “Sam sent me out to tell the neighbors so they could join in the hunt, but by the time we met up, the rain had already washed out the tracks.”

Jessica slipped her arm through David’s and skillfully drew him away, asking another question Catherine did not hear. Catherine slumped down in one of her kitchen chairs and sighed wearily, overwhelmed by a sudden need to see Sam.

How ridiculous. Last night she’d seen more of him than she’d ever expected to, and then she’d been too cowardly to exchange two words. Now, in spite of everything, she wanted nothing more than the opportunity to hold him close for one instant.

She must truly be in love, she thought in despair. What else could explain such bizarre emotions?

The afternoon dragged even more slowly than the morning, the rain and David’s news making the children restless and cranky. Only when she had released them for the day did she remember it was Friday. She was scheduled to stay with the Redferns this weekend. Little Eli was barely five, one of her youngest students. His father was the town’s blacksmith. For a moment she entertained thoughts of begging off, until Eli approached her with a radiant smile.

“You’re staying at my house tonight,” he announced proudly.

She simply didn’t have the heart to disappoint him. “Yes, I am. Just give me a minute to get my things together.”

Opal Redfern was about Catherine’s age, a plain-faced woman who had grown plump with childbearing. Eli Junior was the oldest of three, but Opal seemed to thrive on the demands of caring for a houseful of little ones. Grateful for the confusion, Catherine allowed Opal to think her distracted attitude was the result of being overwhelmed.

Somehow Catherine managed to go through the motions of living that evening. The worst moment came when she held Opal’s baby for a few minutes and suddenly realized she might, at that very moment, be carrying Sam Connors’s child.

Panic seized her. What on earth would she do? Would Sam even care? Of course, she wasn’t dependent on Sam Connors, she told herself sternly. She had the legacy her father had left her. She didn’t need a man to take care of her or her child. But the prospect of bearing and raising that child alone and unloved loomed large and foreboding.

Her fears must have shown on her face because Opal asked if she was feeling well and took the baby from her arms.

That night, lying alone in the bed little Eli and his brother had vacated for her, Catherine stayed awake for a long time, trying to make sense of her feelings. Whether she loved him or not, she had been insane to surrender to Sam. He had treated her like a whore, and she had no idea if he felt remorse for having done so or if he were simply proud of his conquest.

And how did she feel? Humiliated, certainly, and guilty for having participated so eagerly in her own debasement. How could she have cast aside every principle of her life for a few moments of pleasure? How could she have risked creating another life for which she would be responsible? Hugging herself against the pain of her own emotions, she asked herself a hundred questions, but she had no idea what the answers were.

Saturday went by in a blur, with townspeople dropping in to exchange news about Sam’s fence being cut. Catherine listened numbly, trying not to show any reaction to hearing him spoken of so casually. On Saturday night she slept poorly, bothered by nightmares of Sam getting shot again.

On Sunday morning she dressed carefully for church, in a blue sprigged muslin, and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders against the morning chill. The Redferns lived in town, only a short walk from the church, and Catherine spotted Sam standing in the church yard long before they reached it.

The first sight of him made her heart leap, and she lowered her eyes, not daring to stare lest everyone guess her guilty secret. She tried to tell herself she was only frightened at the prospect of seeing him again, but she knew her fears did not completely explain her reaction. For some reason she still found this dark, impossible man attractive, and no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t forget she loved him. Catherine wanted to groan aloud in despair.

Sam took a deep drag on his cigarette and squinted through the smoke, watching her approach. He’d wanted to go see her the very next night, to get things settled between them. When he’d realized the next night was Friday and she’d be staying at someone’s house, he’d been wild. Davy hadn’t even known where she was. Sam was almost grateful for the fence cutters.

Everyone attributed his irritation and short temper to his encounter with the Taggert brothers.

God, she was even more beautiful than he remembered. Or maybe he was just seeing her differently now, recalling how sweet her kisses had been and the way she had melted in his arms. Whatever, he was hard-pressed to stand where he was and not run right over and take her in his arms. He should have been good at dissembling. He’d had plenty of practice, God knew.

But, he reminded himself, he didn’t have to dissemble this time. No one would be the least bit shocked if he expressed an interest in Catherine Eaton. Of course, he had his work cut out for him. She wouldn’t so much as speak to him the other night, and she wouldn’t even look his way this morning. But she was with Opal Redfern. Opal had always liked him and Davy. All Sam had to do was drop a hint or two, and he’d be spending the whole afternoon with Catherine. And afterwards...

The church bell rang and Sam threw down his cigarette, watching Catherine move into the church. He’d sit behind her so he could watch her, he decided, feeling a surge of anticipation.

Catherine felt Sam’s eyes on her through the entire service. She went through the motions in a daze— standing, sitting, singing, listening—all the while acutely aware only of the man whose gaze was like a warm hand on the back of her neck.

What was he thinking? How would he treat her? What would he say to her? What would she say? Her head spun with questions, and when the service ended, she left the building feeling mingled anticipation and dread.

Outside, the buzz of conversation swirled incomprehensibly around her. Someone asked her a question to which she responded automatically, while her heart did a flip in her chest as she saw Sam approaching.

“ ’Morning, ladies,” he said pleasantly. His greeting included Opal and the other women of the group, but his black eyes never left Catherine’s heated face. The others returned his greeting, but Catherine couldn’t force any words past the lump in her throat. Finally, he turned to Opal. “Do you still make the best lemon cake in Texas, Opal?”

“Why, Sam Connors, anybody’d think you were hinting for an invitation to Sunday dinner,” Opal chided with a knowing grin.

Sam grinned back, and Catherine’s heart jerked to a halt. “I figured a kindhearted lady like you would take pity on a poor, lonely bachelor.”

To Catherine’s dismay, his gaze flickered back to her. Why on earth was he looking at her like that? Now everyone would know what they had done!

“Bachelor, is it?” Opal teased. The other women chuckled and looked at Catherine. “Well, you’re a little late. Some other bachelors have already put in their bids.”

Sam’s head came up with a jerk. “Who?”

“Tom Riley, Ed Spencer, and one or two others, I forget just who. Of course,” she added slyly, “we’ve always got room for one more... or two more if Davy’s feeling like a lonely bachelor, too.”

Catherine would have sworn she couldn’t have felt any more embarrassment, but this new information proved her wrong. Three or four other men had already finagled an invitation to the Redferns’ Sunday dinner in order to be with her! The prospect of spending the afternoon in Sam’s company was horrifying enough without an audience of eager would-be suitors to observe them. How would she ever endure it?

But endure it she did. Opal had the men set up a makeshift table in the backyard. They were all quite eager to help, and they gave Catherine the impression of exuberant puppies falling all over each other. Catherine hid in the kitchen as much as she could, pretending to assist Opal and ignoring her hostess’s commands to “go on outside and talk to the men.”

At last the meal was ready and on the table, and Catherine had no further excuse for not joining the rest of them. When she went outside, she saw the only vacant seat at the table was on the end. Little Eli Redfern sat on one side and Sam Connors on the other. How had Sam engineered it? she wondered, feeling flattered and panicked all at once.

Sam jumped up to pull out her chair, making her blush even more furiously, and she took her seat without looking at him, murmuring her thanks. David, who was sitting on Sam’s other side, caught her eye and gave her a quizzical smile, obviously puzzled by his brother’s sudden interest in her.

Mr. Redfern sat at the far end of the table, opposite Catherine, and he started passing the various serving bowls. “Say, Sam, what makes you so sure it was the Taggerts who cut your fence?”

Catherine paused in the act of scooping a potato from the serving bowl she held, shuddering a bit as she recalled her initial reaction to seeing the Taggert brothers.

“One of them called the other one Floyd,” Sam explained, relieving Catherine of the potato bowl.

“But don’t they—” she blurted, before she could stop herself. She had intended to avoid talking to Sam. All eyes turned to her, and her face grew hot again. She forced herself to finish her question, pretending to look at Sam while actually looking somewhere over his shoulder. “I thought the Taggerts worked for Mr. Nylan.”

“Gus fired them after they cut my fence and left the coffin.”

She longed to ask another question but didn’t want to risk drawing Sam’s attention to her again. She dropped her eyes and pretended an interest in her food. Luckily, one of the other men voiced the question in her mind.

“Why do you reckon they stayed around after Gus fired them?”

“Maybe they’re working for somebody else, although nobody’ll claim ’em right now,” Sam said.

Catherine passed a platter of ham to Sam, still not daring to meet his eye. She had just picked up her knife to cut her own meat when Sam’s knee touched hers beneath the table.

The nudge sent a jolt of electricity through her and the knife jumped from her hand, clattering onto her plate. She jerked her knee away, tucking her feet beneath her chair in hopes of avoiding any further contact. Now she felt hot all over, and she wondered miserably if her face could possibly be as red as it felt. She didn’t dare raise her head.

Sam’s voice startled her again. “It’s time we called in the Rangers.”

“Rangers?” everyone echoed incredulously.

“Would they come?” Opal asked.

“Of course they’d come,” Sam said. “Private property’s been destroyed. There’s been shooting.”

“What do we need the Rangers for?” David asked. “We can take care of a couple of fence cutters.”

“We’ve already tried, and look where it’s got us,” Sam replied. “All we’ve done is stir up more trouble. It’s never a good idea for people to take the law into their own hands, and especially not when the law’s ready and willing to help out.”

Some of the others murmured their disagreement, apparently feeling like David that the problem wasn’t too big for them to handle.

“I still say lynch law and Judge Colt are the quickest way to settle this,” one of the men argued.

“And what if ‘Judge Colt’ executes the wrong man, Tom?” Sam countered. “What if you’re the one who goes down next time?”

Tom had no answer, and Catherine felt her respect for Sam Connors growing. He had more reason than anyone to seek his own revenge, but he was willing to bow to the proper authority. Underneath all that bluster, he really was a reasonable man.

The next time Sam’s knee brushed hers, she glanced up to find his dark eyes upon her. The touch had been deliberate, and although she knew she was being foolish, she didn’t mind—or at least not very much. She pulled her leg away, but slowly. Some emotion flickered in his eyes and was gone, but his lips twitched slightly, as if he were holding back a smile. Suddenly, she wished they were alone. She wanted to see that smile.

Unfortunately, the other “suitors” were not about to allow Catherine a moment alone with any of their rivals. They lingered all afternoon, and for a while Catherine feared she wouldn’t even be able to go to the outhouse by herself.

Only Opal’s not-too-subtle hints finally drove them away, and none of them would leave unless all the others did. Catherine found herself bidding Sam goodbye under the close scrutiny of half-dozen pairs of eyes. If she wasn’t mistaken, he shared her frustration. The knowledge gave her some hope that he really did care about what had happened between them.

“I hope I’ll see you again soon,” he said, taking her hand.

The callused roughness of his palm sent chills racing over her as she recalled his touch on other, more sensitive parts of her body.

“Yes, soon,” she replied inanely, wondering if the others could see the fire in his eyes and if her own were equally as bright.

Reluctantly, he released her hand and turned away. David said something she only half heard and to which she responded absently. Then the others filed by, said their adieus, and left.

“Well, well, well,” Opal said smugly as she closed the door behind them.

Catherine gave her what she hoped was a puzzled look.

“You and Sam Connors. I never would’ve guessed.”

“Wh—what do you mean?” Catherine stammered, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.

“You know what I mean. The man’s smitten, truly smitten. I declare, I don’t recollect Sam ever taking an interest in any woman before now. Did you know how much he liked you? I mean, has he courted you any before today?”

Courted? What a quaint euphemism for what she and Sam had done. Catherine wondered whether Opal would agree but decided not to ask her. “No, not really,” she hedged. “I mean, we’ve talked on several occasions about David’s art lessons, but never about anything personal.”

“You stayed out at his place, didn’t you?” Opal prodded.

“Yes, but he barely spoke a civil word to me the entire time.” Catherine didn’t mention the way he had kissed her at the end of the visit.

“Well, I’d say he’s willing to be more than ‘civil’ now.”

“How come you’re making such a fuss over poor Sam?” Mr. Redfern asked his wife in disgust. “There was some other fellows here, too, you know, and they all had eyes for Miss Eaton, same as Sam.”

“Yes, but Miss Eaton didn’t have eyes for any of them except Sam, now, did you, Catherine?” Opal asked. Luckily, she didn’t wait for a reply. “Any fool could see the two of them didn’t even know the rest of us was around. The other men knew it for sure. You noticed they wasn’t about to let Sam get a second alone with her.”

Catherine had certainly noticed and been grateful. As much as she longed for some time alone with Sam, she also dreaded the moment when she learned whether her worst fears were true and he saw her only as an easy conquest, a woman who had been more willing to submit to him than any decent woman should have been. Perhaps his interest in her was nothing more than eagerness to return to her bed.

As soon as she could politely do so, Catherine thanked the Redferns for their hospitality and returned to the school. Would Sam visit her tonight? And how should she treat him if he did?

Sam slowed his horse to a walk, straining to see through the darkness and listening for the faint echo of hoof beats he had been hearing ever since leaving the ranch. Yes, there it was again. Someone was following him.

Even as his nerves prickled to attention, he swore in frustration. He wanted nothing more than to get to Catherine, and now he had to deal with more trouble.

He guided his mount off the road, finding a deep shadow near a rock in which to hide and wait. When he heard the faint clip-clop of hooves growing louder, he pulled out his pistol. The horse and rider materialized out of the darkness, and Sam cocked the gun.

“Hold it right there, partner.”

“Sam?” Davy squeaked in surprise. “God, Sam, you scared me to death!”

“Damnit, what’re you doing out here? You could’ve got yourself killed.” Sam shoved the pistol back into his holster and walked his horse over to Davy’s.

“I—I was following you.”

“What on earth for?”

“I thought you might run into trouble and need some help.”

Sam opened his mouth to ask what kind of help a fifteen-year-old boy could provide, but he bit back the words. Davy was only doing exactly what Sam would have done in his place. The two of them had always stuck together, and now Davy was showing how much he loved his brother by following him into the night. Suddenly Sam felt cherished, as if someone had pulled him close in a gentle caress. He had to clear the hoarseness from his throat before he spoke.

“I appreciate it, Davy, but I doubt the Taggerts’ll strike again this soon. I won’t be gone long. Why don’t you get on back to the house now?”

“I—I thought maybe you’d like some company.”

“No,” he said too quickly, thinking of Catherine, who’d be waiting for him.

“Oh, well, then,” Davy said, hurt thick in his voice.

“Wait, I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” Sam swore silently. Even if he sent Davy back, the boy would probably disobey and keep on following him, anyway, and he couldn’t let Davy see him go to the schoolhouse. He forced a laugh. “Hell, I guess all this trouble has me spooked. For some reason I keep thinking you’re still a kid and should be home in bed.”

“I’m not a kid anymore,” Davy said defensively.

“Of course you aren’t. Come on, let’s find us some fence cutters.” He kicked his horse into motion and Davy fell in beside him, his grin a white slash in the darkness.

A vision of Catherine, her hair loose, her arms reaching for him, appeared before Sam’s mind’s eye, but he forced it away. Tomorrow, he promised himself, and he’d wait until Davy was asleep before he left the house.

Catherine waited up until late, reading by the poor light of the lamp until her head ached. Then, with unsteady hands, she undressed and prepared for bed, brushing her long, golden hair one hundred strokes and leaving it loose around her shoulders.

She lay awake for a long time, starting at every sound. When at last she could resist no more, she fell asleep, awaking at dawn to a profound sense of both disappointment and relief.

On Monday afternoon, Catherine took David outside to sketch some trees, thinking this would be safer than jumping back into the oil painting lessons. She could tell he was still embarrassed by the nude painting, but she treated him as casually as she always had and he soon loosened up.

“Tomorrow we’ll start an oil of these trees,” Catherine said as they sat sketching the straggly willows and the stream that ran beneath them. The willows where Sam had tied his horse the night he... Pushing that thought quickly away, she continued, “Maybe we should study some animal anatomy. Then you could do pictures of horses or cows or—”

“Anything except naked ladies,” David concluded with a sheepish grin.

Catherine grinned back, relieved he could see some humor in the situation. “Exactly. I’m afraid you’ll have to go to Paris if you want to draw naked ladies.”

“Paris? Paris, France? Do ladies go around naked over there?” he asked eagerly.

“Of course not!” Catherine chided, wanting to bite her tongue for having mentioned the subject. “However, the art classes in Paris are mixed and they use nude models of both sexes, but if you ever even mention it to your brother, I’ll never speak to you again!”

“I won’t say a word, I promise!”

Catherine could have groaned at the lustful gleam in his eye. Perhaps Sam had been wrong about David being in love with her. Perhaps it was just his normal adolescent interest in sex that had inspired the nude and nothing personal with her at all.

“Of course, you might try to find a man or a boy who’d pose for you shirtless. That would be a start.”

David nodded thoughtfully. “Not nearly as interesting, though,” he said after a minute, earning a swat from Catherine.

They sketched for a while in silence, and then David said suddenly, “Do you think Sam likes you?”

Catherine’s heart jumped up into her throat, but she swallowed it resolutely back down again. “I’m sure he doesn’t dislike me,” she said carefully.

“No, I don’t mean that. I mean, he’s been acting kind of strange lately, like the way he was so eager to eat over at the Redferns yesterday. He never did nothing like that before.”

“Anything,” Catherine corrected, hoping to distract him.

She failed. “Anything like that. And he’s been asking me lots of questions about you.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Oh, he wanted to know whose house you’d be visiting last weekend, and whether you ever talked about him and—”

“And what?” she asked when he hesitated.

“It was the funniest thing. He asked me if I thought you liked flowers.”

“Flowers?”

“Yeah, we was... were riding fence last night, and I said how the rain had brought out the wildflowers, and he asked did I think you were the kind of woman who’d like flowers.”

Fascinated, Catherine could think of nothing to say for a whole minute. “I... did you say you were riding fence last night?” she managed finally.

“Yeah. Sam was going out alone again, but I made him take me with him. I figured he wouldn’t get into any more shooting scrapes if I was along.”

“Oh.” So Sam had tried to get away last night and David had prevented him. But he’d been thinking of her. Flowers! Just imagine.

Did he plan to bring her some the next time he came to her?