Mary's small hands fluttered in her lap. "Gracious, Mr. Cain, you misunderstand. We're all deeply fond of her. Katharine Louise is a generous and warmhearted person. Her hunting skills have put food in the mouths of our poorest families, and she never fails to cheer us up. But that doesn't alter the fact that she conducts herself outside even the most liberally defined boundaries of acceptable behavior."
Cain had played too much poker not to know when he was beaten. Willard Ritter had given him letters of introduction to four families in Rutherford, and he'd been rejected by all of them. He finished his cursed jelly sandwich and took his leave.
As he rode back to Risen Glory on the bony mare he'd hired at a livery stable in Charleston, he faced the unpleasant truth. Like it or not, he was stuck with Kit.
The plantation house came into view. It was a handsome, two-story structure of stucco-covered brick that sat at the end of a twisting overgrown drive. Despite the general air of neglect from peeling paint and broken shutters, the place was sturdy. The house had weathered to a warm shade of cream with bricks and mortar visible beneath the stucco. Live oaks heavy with Spanish moss shaded each end and draped the tiled roof. Azaleas, smilax, and holly spilled from overgrown beds, while magnolias scattered their waxy leaves across the knee-high grass of the front yard.
But it wasn't the house that had caught Cain's interest when he'd arrived two days ago. Instead, he'd spent the afternoon inspecting the ruins of the burned outbuildings, crawling over broken machinery, setting aside rusted tools, and occasionally stopping in an empty field to pick up a handful of rich soil. It trickled through his fingers like warm silk. Once again he found himself thinking about New York City and how it had begun to suffocate him.
Cain turned his horse over to Eli, the bent old man and former slave who'd met him with a shotgun the day Cain had arrived at Risen Glory.
"That's far enough," he'd said. "Miz Kit told me to shoot anybody steps foot on Risen Glory."
"Miss Kit needs to have her britches tanned," Cain had replied, not adding that he'd already done the job.
"You sure enough right 'bout that. But I still have to shoot you if you come any closer."
Cain could have disarmed the old man without difficulty, but he'd wanted his cooperation, so he'd taken the time to explain his relationship to Kit and Rosemary Weston. When Eli understood that Cain wasn't one of the fancy scalawags who'd been preying on the countryside, he'd put down his shotgun and welcomed him to Risen Glory.
The middle of the house curved in a graceful bow. Cain stepped into the wide center hallway that had been designed to carry a breeze. Parlors, a music room, and a library opened off it, everything shabby and dust-shrouded. The handsome teak table in the dining room bore fresh gouges. Sherman's troops had carted it outside and used it to butcher the plantation's remaining livestock.
Cain caught the scent of fried chicken. Eli couldn't cook, and as far as he knew, there was no one else in the house. The former slaves, enticed by the promise of forty acres and a mule, had gone off after the Union army. He wondered if the mysterious Sophronia had returned. Eli had made several references to Risen Glory's cook, but Cain hadn't yet seen her.
"Evenin', Major."
Cain stopped in his tracks as a small, much-too-familiar figure appeared at the end of the hallway. Then he began to curse.
Kit's hands twisted nervously at her sides. She wasn't moving any closer until he'd had a chance to adjust.
She'd left Cain's house in New York the same way she'd entered it. Over the back wall. She'd taken her bundle with her, along with The Sybaritic Life of Louis XV, which was the inspiration for the desperate plan she'd conceived the day after Cain left.
Now she plastered a smile on her face that was so big and fat it made her cheeks ache. "I sure hope you're hungry, Major. I got some fried chicken and hot buttermilk biscuits just beggin' for somebody with an appetite. I even scrubbed down the table in the dining room so we could eat there. 'Course, it's kinda scratched up, but it's a gen-u-wine Sheraton. You ever heard of Sheraton, Major? He was a Englishman and a Baptist to boot. Doesn't that seem strange to you? Seems like only Southerners should be Baptists. I-"
"What in the hell are you doing here?"
She'd known he'd be mad, but she'd hoped he wouldn't be quite this mad. Frankly, she wasn't sure she was up to it. She'd endured the train trip back to Charleston, a bone-jarring wagon ride, and, just today, a fifteen-mile hike that had left her with blisters and a sunburn. The last of her money had gone to buy food for tonight's dinner. She'd even taken a bath in the kitchen and changed into a clean shirt and britches so she didn't smell. She was surprised to discover that she liked being clean. Taking baths hadn't turned out to be such a bad idea after all, even if it did mean she had to look at her naked breasts.
She attempted a simper even though it about curdled her stomach. "Cookin' dinner for you, Major. That's what I'm doin'."
He clenched his teeth. "No. What you're doing is getting ready to die. Because I'm going to kill you!"
She didn't exactly believe him, but she didn't entirely disbelieve him, either. "Don't you yell at me! You'd of done the same thing!"
"What are you talking about?"
"You wouldn't have stayed up there in New York City while somebody was takin' away the only thing in your life you ever cared about! You wouldn't have sat in that fancy bedroom readin' books and tryin' on ugly dresses while it all slipped away. You'd of got yourself back to South Carolina as fast as you could, just like me. And then you'd have done anything you had to so you could keep what was yours."
"And I'm getting a pretty good idea what you've decided to do." In two long strides, he closed the distance between them. Before she could jump back, he began to rake his hands over her body.
"Stop that!"
"Not till you're disarmed."
She gasped as he touched her breasts. A tingle of sensation shot through her, but he didn't seem affected. He moved on to her waist and her hips.
"Stop it!"
He found the knife strapped to her calf. "Were you planning to use this on me when I was asleep?"
"If I didn't have the guts to kill you with a gun, I'd hardly do it with a knife, now, would I?"
"I suppose you were carrying it to open cans?"
"You took my gun. I couldn't travel without some kind of protection."
"I see." He set the knife out of her reach. "Then if you're not planning to kill me, what do you have in mind?"
This wasn't going the way Kit had hoped. She wanted to tell him to stop towering over her, but she wasn't that much of a fool. "Why don't we eat dinner first, and then I'll tell you? Food's hard to come by. No sense in lettin' everything get all dried out."
He took a moment making up his mind. "All right, we'll eat. But afterward we're having a serious talk."
She hurried toward the kitchen. "Supper'll be on the table in a minute."
Cain should have confronted her right away, but he was hungry, damn it. He hadn't eaten a decent meal since he'd left New York.
He disposed of her knife, then stalked back into the dining room. Kit appeared with a platter of fried chicken she placed on the table, and he finally noticed what had escaped him earlier. Everything about her was clean. From her cropped hair to the plaid shirt with a button missing at the neck to the dark brown britches that hung loosely on her small hips, she was scrubbed up as shiny as a new penny. He hadn't imagined anything short of force convincing her to bathe voluntarily. She was obviously prepared to go to drastic lengths to please him.
Not that she was going to have any success. He still couldn't believe she'd done this. But then, why not? She didn't understand the meaning of caution.