Dark Bites

Rebecca arched a questioning brow.

“I am,” Catherine insisted.

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Rebecca said, putting the pan away. “Can you truly tell me that you haven’t once given thought to having a handsome man come sweep you off your feet?”

Catherine laughed halfheartedly. “I already had that happen, and I must say I found the experience less than desirable.”

Rebecca shook her head. “You know, I came to work here almost four years ago and never in that time have I heard you speak of your husband. That is who you’re talking about, isn’t it?”

Catherine nodded, refusing to meet Rebecca’s inquisitive brown-eyed stare as she moved to pump more water into the sink. “There isn’t much to tell.”

Rebecca nudged her away from the pump and took up the motion. “Come on, Catherine. All the children are in bed for the night. Why not open up a little?”

Catherine buried her hands back in the suds and sighed. “What do you want me to tell you? Plain preacher’s daughter fell in love with the gorgeous stranger who came to work for her father’s ranch? He married her a month after they first met, took her off to Nevada, and left her the first chance he got.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Rebecca paused. Her brown eyes darkened in anger. “I’ll never understand a man who could do something so cold-blooded or mean.”

“Me either,” she whispered under her breath.

“I don’t see how you stand it.”

Catherine shrugged. “I got used to it. Five years gave me time to lay aside my hatred. Besides, I have Diana to think about. I’m the only parent she has and I decided on the day she was born that I would never mention his name or dwell on what he did to us.”

“Well, I respect you for that. Me, I wouldn’t have rested until I found the polecat and skinned him alive.”

Catherine relished the image of her husband’s tawny skin being flayed from him as he screamed for mercy. Now that Rebecca mentioned it, she did rather enjoy the thought of him being skinned. It would certainly serve him right. “You know, I do want something after all.”

“And that is?”

Catherine scrubbed her pot with renewed vigor, wishing it were her husband’s head she held beneath the water. “I wish I could lay eyes on him one last time to tell him what a no-good, lousy, rabid dog he was for leaving me.”

“That’s my girl.” Rebecca laughed as she patted Catherine on the back. Then, she leaned forward and said in a low tone, “But the real question is, was he any good where and when it counted?”

“Rebecca!” Catherine gasped, trying her best not to think about just how good he had been there.

Though why Rebecca’s words continued to shock her after all these years of knowing her, she couldn’t imagine. Rebecca had never had an ounce of shame in her.

But then, it was her outspokenness Catherine liked most of all. She always knew where she stood with Rebecca. Her friend never held anything back. And after having lived with her husband and his secrets, she found Rebecca’s candor a true blessing.

Suddenly a knock sounded on the door.

Catherine wrung the suds off her hands, then wiped her hands dry on her apron. “Why don’t you go on to bed?” she said, rolling her sleeves back down her forearms and buttoning them against her wrists. “I’ll get the door. I’m sure it’s just someone needing a room.”

“Poor soul to be out on Christmas Eve without a bed,” Rebecca said. She inclined her head to the sink. “You sure you don’t want me to finish up the dishes?”

Catherine shook her head. “There are only a handful left, and we already have all the gifts under the tree. Why don’t you just go and enjoy what’s left of Christmas Eve?”

“All right, then. I’ll look in on the kids and then retire. Let me know if you need me.”

“I will.”

Rebecca headed to the back stairs while Catherine took the lantern off the kitchen table and walked down the narrow hallway to the front door.

Through the lace curtains, she could see the outline of a tall man with broad shoulders.

A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. Perhaps Rebecca would get her wish after all.

Rolling her eyes at the very indecent thought that flicked across her mind, Catherine opened the door.

She took one glance at the handsome stranger, who had his head turned to look at his horse, and dropped the lantern straight to the floor.

O’Connell cursed as the lantern’s fire exploded on the pine boards of the porch. Reacting without thought, he dropped his black Stetson and saddlebags, and stamped at the flames, his spurs jingling loudly as he stomped. Then, to his chagrin, the flames spread to his boots and set fire to the toes of his left foot.

He hissed in pain as he whipped his black duster off and put out the fire on his smoking boot. Then he quickly used the duster to extinguish the rest of the fire.

Luckily, the fire didn’t do much in the way of permanent damage, but the porch and door would need a good washing come morning.

“Good Lord, woman,” he snapped as he surveyed the damage. “You ought to be more…” his words trailed off as he looked up and met wide, startled brown eyes.

His jaw went slack. Those were the same eyes he’d been dreaming of not more than a few minutes before.

“Catherine?” he whispered in disbelief.

Catherine couldn’t move as she stared into the handsome, devilish face that had coaxed her away from everything she had ever known.

Ask and ye shall receive, her father’s favorite phrase echoed in her head.

Stunned by his sudden appearance, she took his form in all at once. He was still as handsome as sin. His dark brown hair was short in back with long bangs that draped becomingly into eyes so silvery gray they appeared almost colorless.

Captivating and searing, his eyes could haunt a woman night and day. And she ought to know, since they’d done nothing but torment her since the moment she had first seen them.

That same air of danger still clung to him seducing her, wooing her. Oh, but he was a man to make any woman’s heart pound.

His face had grown thinner over the years, adding sharp, angular planes to it. But they in no way detracted from the perfection of his patrician features. Dark brows contrasted sharply with his silver-gray eyes, and his broad nose still had the tiny bump in the center where she’d broken it.

Glory, but he was scrumptious. Completely and utterly scrumptious, like a rare treat of succulent chocolate after a long abstinence.

He’d always possessed a powerful, compelling, masculine aura that was downright salacious in nature. An aura that reached out and captured the attention of anything female within its mighty grasp.

And heaven only knew, she was far from immune to it.

But the Devil would move his home to Antarctica before she ever let him know that.

“What on earth are you doing here?” Catherine asked as she finally found her voice.

“Needing a doctor,” he said sardonically, shaking his left foot.

Catherine looked down to see the charred black leather in the bright winter moonlight. A rush of embarrassment filled her.

“Why is it,” he asked, “every time we meet, I end up needing a doctor?”

She lifted her chin at his playful tone. Her days of finding him amusing were long past. “Are you trying to charm me?”

Not even the dark could mask the wickedly warm look in his eyes. “And if I were?”

I’d probably end up surrendering to it.

But she had no intention of letting him know that, either. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. She couldn’t afford to let him break her heart again. The first time had been painful enough. And in truth, she wasn’t sure if she could survive losing him again.

Instead, she sought to protect herself by putting an end to whatever thoughts might be playing through his mind.

“I’m not a girl anymore, Mr. O’Callahan. I no longer dance to your tune.”

O’Connell took a deep breath as he sized her up. He’d almost forgotten his old alias. But the cold tone of her voice chilled him more than the winter wind at his back.

Still, it did nothing to daunt the fire in his gut that her presence stirred. She looked even better than he remembered. Gone was the willow-thin frame of her youth and in its place were the luscious curves of a woman full grown.

She wore her hair in that tight bun he’d always despised. Catherine had such beautiful hair – long, thick, and wavy. He, the man who was wanted in six states, had spent hours brushing her hair at night. Running his hands through it.

And he wondered if it still smelled like springtime.

In that instant, he remembered the way he had left her. Without a word, without a note. He had simply gone off to work and had never returned.

Shame filled him. He should have at least sent a letter. Although, honestly, he had tried to write one a thousand times. But he’d never completed it. What did a man say to a woman he’d been forced to give up against his will?

Especially when he didn’t want her to know the real reason he’d left?

Picking his hat up from the porch, he cast a sweeping, hungry look over her body, and wished for the millionth time, that things had been different between them. That he could have had a long life spent by her side, being the husband she deserved to have. “It’s good to see you again.”

Her look froze him as she untied her apron, then stooped to pick up the broken glass and place it in the cloth. “I wish I could say it’s good to be seen by you, but in this case I think you’ll understand if I’m a bit cool toward you?”

“Cool” was a mild term for her demeanor. In truth, he suspected icebergs at the North Pole might be a shade or two warmer.

He’d expected more anger from her. The Catherine he remembered would have been cursing him like a slow-walking dog for leaving her.

This Catherine was different. She was composed and serious, not laughing and playful. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">