Mackinnons #02 For All the Right Reasons (16 page)

Karin cringed. “Yooou-hoo,” was something she found supremely irritating, and quite unnecessary, since somebody was most always at home. Katherine rarely went anywhere, except for church or church socials, and Fanny attended these as well. Once in a while Katherine would make a trip into town, and more often than not, Fanny accompanied her when she went. Therefore, in Karin’s mind, all this caterwauling was unnecessary. She had said as much to Fanny, of course, on several occasions, but things of this nature, things that were as plain as peanuts to Karin, didn’t seem to settle in as logic in Fanny’s mind.

From somewhere upstairs Karin’s voice floated down. “I’m up here, Fanny. Katherine is in the barn, I think. Feeding.”

Fanny nodded. That sounded reasonable. On Fanny’s arm was a willow sewing basket. Inside the basket was a dress she was sewing and wanted Katherine’s help getting fitted. She placed the willow basket on the kitchen table, poured herself a cup of coffee, and sat down at the table to wait for Katherine. After waiting fifteen minutes—she knew it was precisely fifteen minutes because she had checked the clock over the stove when she sat down—she pushed back her chair and went outside to look for Katherine.

Katherine was in the barn, just as Karin said she would be, but something strange was going on. Fanny stopped just inside the door, killing a little time and watching Katherine, who stood in the middle of the barn with a milking pail in one hand and a milking stool in the other, but she didn’t look as if she had thing on her mind. In fact, she didn’t look like she had
anything
on her mind. There she was, staring straight ahead like she was seeing a vision—as if she was there but she really wasn’t here. Fanny waved her hands in the air, just to see if Katherine noticed, but she didn’t let on like she had seen a thing. Truth was, she didn’t bat an eye. About this time, Fanny was wondering if Katherine had fallen from the barn rafters and knocked the starch out of her drawers, for the only time Fanny had seen anyone look so stupefied was when a hired hand she once had fell from the rafters of her barn. The poor man ended up walking around in a daze for two full days.

Fanny’s look-of interest had turned to one of disbelief. She was still watching Katherine—who had stopped looking like she was seeing a vision and started talking to herself. Fanny wondered if she had gotten hold of some loco weed—the kind that made cows act crazy as a bullbat. She ceased all speculation, however, when Katherine carried the milk pail and stool to the stall where Clovis was penned. When she placed it on the floor in front of the mule’s stall, Fanny was shaking her head.

Still unaware of Fanny’s presence in the barn with her, Katherine turned and walked to the stall where the cow was penned. Going into the stall, she fastened a lead rope on the cow and led her outside. Fanny followed, still shaking her head.

Katherine was still mumbling to herself as she led the cow to the wagon, going around to the front and stopping in front of the singletree. She looked at the wagon, and then she looked at the cow. Her face had the most peculiar look on it, like she had just crawled out of bed and didn’t have the fuzziest idea how she had gotten dressed and into the barnyard with this cow. Fanny couldn’t stand the suspense any longer.

“You planning on hitching that cow to the wagon?” she asked.

Katherine still had that dumbfounded expression on her face. “I thought I had Clovis,” she said in a half-dazed way.

“Clovis is still inside. I think you planned on milking him.”

Katherine’s expression was still dumbfounded.

Fanny laughed. “I almost wish you had tried,” she said with a chuckle. “It’s a small wonder to me why you insist on keeping that mule—with him giving milk and all.”

Katherine didn’t say a word.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded. “I’m okay.”

“Katherine Simon, you are acting mighty peculiar. Is it something you ate? I don’t mind telling you I was mighty surprised to see you take that milking stool toward Clovis. For a minute there, I thought you were going to hitch that cow to the wagon.”

“You aren’t any more surprised than I am,” Katherine said. “I feel like I’ve been in a state of surprise for weeks now. I hardly know who will be staring back at me each morning when I look in the mirror. I feel like I’m living with a stranger.”

“Well, hankering for a man can do that to a body. I always say, love can make the most clever woman into an idiot,” she said.

“What about men? What does love do to them?”

“Since they’re already idiots, it can make them appear almost clever.”

Katherine laughed and gave Fanny a shove. “Oh Fanny, you are always a bright spot in my day.” Then, on a more serious note, she said, “I’m not hankering after anybody.”

“Humph!” was all Fanny said.

Two days passed before Katherine went into town and saw Alex. He was there before she arrived, picking up a wagonload of supplies he’d ordered for the farm. Katherine was passing the general store when Alex came out with a keg of nails. With a grunt of exertion, he heaved the heavy keg into the wagon bed, then turned, his eyes catching a glimpse of Katherine as her wagon drew even with his. He grinned at the sight of her and tipped his hat.

She dipped her head in recognition. “Morning, Alex.”

“Morning, Katherine.”

She was driving that cantankerous mule of hers, the sun splaying about her, warm and bright. Her dress was plain and white, her hair hidden beneath a calico bonnet, her cheeks a flush of pink. His first thought was that she looked like the pinky-white bloom of a peach tree, only this blossom wasn’t hummed over by a myriad of bees. But the blossom coming down the boardwalk just over Katherine’s shoulder sure was, for he caught sight of Karin sashaying down the street all prissy and sassy-looking in a lovely dress of wild-rose pink, so soft and frilly he ached to take her in his arms, just to see if she felt as good as she looked, knowing damn well she did. Her hair was wound around, all fancy-like and tied back with a shiny, satin bow, and she twirled the prettiest little pink parasol over one shoulder. Every man on the street looked his eyeful, most of them making fools out of themselves, tripping and stumbling all over the place trying to speak and tip their hats at the same time, something few of them could do with any ease. Even old Hooter Peabody let fly with a wad of chewing tobacco, just so he could mumble “Good morning, Missus.”

Of course, Hooter Peabody didn’t look before he spit, and the ill-aimed wad splattered, dark and oozing on the ruffled skirt of Mrs. Claiborne Claiborne, who promptly smacked him a good one up beside the head with her parasol.

Alex laughed and shook his head. Knowing that amused look wasn’t for her, Katherine followed the direction of his stare, catching a glimpse of Karin, who lit up like a Christmas tree when she saw him.

A pain so intense she almost doubled over stabbed into the heart of her, and Katherine clucked Clovis and moved slowly on down the street. Her first stop was the post office, then the bank, the blacksmith, and lastly the shop where Karin worked. Karin, she was told, had gone to lunch.

That must have been true, for when Katherine headed her wagon out of town, she passed Alex and Karin standing beside the rain barrel in the alley between Doc Lesley’s and the hotel. It was the sound of Karin’s laughter that drew Katherine’s head in their direction—just in time to see Karin dampen the corner of her handkerchief and blot Alex’s mouth. Katherine winced when Alex’s hand came up to cradle Karin’s hand, his eyes locked on her face.

Their heads and shoulders dappled by the sunlight filtering through the Virginia creeper that covered the balcony of the hotel, they stood breathtakingly close as Alex leaned closer and whispered something in Karin’s ear.

At least it looked like a whisper from where Katherine sat, but it was nothing more than a soft nuzzle laced with kisses. Karin laughed. “You make me feel like a confection and you a starving man.”

“I am a starving man,” he said in a faint, nibbling whisper. “Starving for you.”

Karin rested her forehead against Alex’s chest. “Oh Alex, Alex. What am I going to do about you?”

“Love me,” he said. “Just love me.”

“I always have,” she said. “For as long as I can remember.”

And that was true.

A few minutes later she was back at work, watching Alex through the shop window as he rode out of town. Lordy, Lordy, he was a looker—by far the most handsome man she’d ever seen, even dressed in the faded blue shirt and worn pants. It wasn’t the clothes, but the body in them she thought, trying to analyze just why he appealed so much to her. Looking at the lean face that possessed a hint of almost barbaric handsomeness, she let her eyes rest on the proud aquiline nose, the full lips that she knew could speak with such determination and passion. No man had ever attracted her as he had. No man had ever been so much of what she wanted—with one exception. Alex was poor. Dirt poor.

Oh, he went on to talk about how he and Adrian had saved their army pay and were using that to buy the things they needed to fix the old place up, and how they were going to put in a good crop this year and how prosperous they’d be the next.

But whenever Alex took off in that direction and began talking about the life they would have there, the way the old place would look fixed up, she would find her mind wandering back to thoughts about getting away from Limestone County. It had become almost an obsession with her.

Just as she was about to turn away from the window, Karin saw Nathan Bradbury ride into town on his sleek chestnut. He was a tall, slender man, very attractive and well-to-do by small town standards. He was older than she by at least twenty-five years, not that it mattered any to her, but one thing about him did matter. Nathan was married. Whenever she saw him, she noticed the fire for her was still in his eyes. She remembered too, the way he had sought her out at a church social, following her until she was alone and some distance from the others, then coming to her, pressing his case and professing his desire for her. “Mr. Bradbury, I will pretend you didn’t say that. Everyone knows you’re a married man.”

“And everyone knows my wife is an invalid. They also know you are a very ambitious young woman.” His arms came around her. “I can give you everything you want, everything you’ve ever desired: a nice home, clothes, a fancy carriage.”

“And a bad name.” She pried his hands away and twisted out of his grip. “I’m not a trollop, Mr. Bradbury. I may be poor, but I don’t sell myself.”

“You will,” he said confidently. “I’ve seen your kind before. The brothels are full of women like you, women who were starry-eyed young girls once; girls too young and foolish to be realistic until it was too late. You’ll come around. Your kind always do.”

Karin felt like crying. “You stay away from me, you hear? You stay away from me and my sister. We may be poor, but we aren’t trash.”

He laughed. “I have no designs on that outspoken sister of yours,” he said. “She could be a pretty little thing well enough, I suppose—if she put her mind to it, but she’s too clever with her own way of thinking, too plain and plodding. She wears adversity like a mantle of strength. She has too much will to survive for me, too much faith in herself.”

“We both do,” Karin said hotly, lifting her chin.

Again he laughed, his hand touching her face. “You have too much will to get ahead, too much faith in what you think it will bring you. You’ll stick to the straight and narrow for a while, and when what you want doesn’t come along, you’ll sell your soul, if you have to, to get it. Your sister isn’t a woman to compromise. She would die first.”

Karin swept around him, feeling his hand clamp down on her arm. “You think about my offer,” he said. “There is no one else around who can give you the things you want. I know that. And so do you. You’ll change your mind, and when you do, I’ll be waiting.”

“You can wait until the cows come home,” she said. “I won’t ever change my mind about that. I’ll have the things I want, no matter what you say. The difference is, I’ll have them my way.”

Even now, almost three years later, the sound of his mocking laughter haunted her. But in a way she owed Nathan Bradbury a debt of gratitude. After that day, Karin had begun to have a feeling that she would show him. She would show them all. She would be a grand lady, one day. And a rich one. Some might call her cynical and calculating, but that didn’t matter to her. Her blue eyes turned sapphire dark, glittering just as coldly. She would
show
them. She would. She would.

The sound of a child’s laughter pulled her thoughts back to the present. As she followed the sound of the laughter, she saw Betty Jo Dillingham come out of the mercantile, her three-year-old son laughing so loud, the baby in Betty Jo’s arms started crying. It was awful to stand there watching Betty Jo with her children, because it reminded Karin painfully of her brother Billy and the baby sister she really never got to know, little Audrey. She stared almost lovingly at the children for a moment, then thought of her family, of the lives that were so dear to her, lives that had been snuffed out as insignificantly as a candle. She hated this place. Its cruelty. Its harshness. The unforgiving way it took and took and took, and when there was no more to give, it took your life as well. God damn Alex Mackinnon to perdition for being what he was. How much easier it would have been to harden herself against him if he weren’t so desirable so handsome, so much a part of her past.

It was because of this, because he was so much a part of her past that she was more determined than ever that he would not ever be a part of her future.

Chapter Eight

Over the next few weeks Katherine rarely saw Alex, and when she did he was fawning over Karin or behaving in an uninterested, impersonal manner toward her. How could she have ever thought him anything but indifferent? It would have been easier to accept his going out of his way to ignore her—at least that would have said he was aware of her existence. But to treat her like she was transparent as glass was another matter entirely.