Honor's Promise

by Sharon Sala

  “He’s about a quarter of a mile up the mountain. This is his gun.”

  “What?” the sheriff asked, shocked that she could be so specific. “How can you be sure he’s still there? And how did you get his gun?”

  She smiled. “Because I tied him up before I left,” Honor replied, and started toward the house. “You don’t need to hurry. He’s got mud up his nose, his eyes are swelled shut, and he’s just passed the test for eunuch of the month.” She added as an afterthought, “He’s probably suffering from a concussion, too. I expect you’ll need to administer first aid before handcuffs.”

  The sheriff looked on in stunned amazement as the tall young woman seemed to get her second wind and bounded away from him, her goal obviously set on the men in white who were carrying a stretcher toward the waiting ambulance.

  Chapter 12

  Still damp from his shower and wearing nothing but a towel twisted carelessly around his hips, Trace looked into the mirror and then winced as he tried unsuccessfully to comb his hair over the place where his stitches had been. He’d gotten too close to the scalp.

  There was nothing he could do about the new scar on his forehead. It was visible for all to see. But when his mother got a look at the length of the cut that disappeared into his hairline, he knew she was going to cry. He smiled to himself as he remembered Honor’s reaction. His mother couldn’t hold a candle to the amount of tears that Honor had shed.

  Trace could barely remember the ambulance ride. Hell! He didn’t remember much that took place after he started down the basement steps. But he did remember seeing Honor come flying toward him across the yard as the attendants loaded him into the ambulance. He’d never felt such relief at the sight of her dirty face and muddy red sweatsuit.

  Honor had taken one horrified look at Trace covered in blood and fainted. When that happened they just loaded Honor into the same ambulance on another stretcher and headed for the hospital with J. J. and Father Andrew following closely behind.

  The next thing Trace remembered was Honor crying and hiccuping as she sat by him in the emergency room, holding his hand while they stitched his head back in place.

  All thoughts of the last few days went by the wayside as Trace looked into the mirror and saw Honor walk into the room behind him holding an outfit in each hand.

  “Honey,” she asked, swinging the clothes by their hangers, “which outfit should I wear to meet your family?”

  “I like that,” he drawled, pointing to the black silk teddy Honor was wearing and watched, mesmerized by the appearance of her dimple as his words registered.

  “Oh, you do, do you?” Honor asked. She dropped the outfits at her feet, shrugged one tiny spaghetti strap of her teddy off her shoulder, then watched the look of passion flare in Trace’s eyes as she slid the other strap down her arm. The teddy hung, suspended on the thrust of Honor’s breasts before gravity pulled it down her body into a puddle of midnight around her feet.

  “If you like it that much, then it’s yours,” Honor drawled. “But you’re going to have to come and get it.”

  And then she was in his arms and in his heart and in his blood. Nothing mattered but her hands on his body. Nothing existed until he claimed her lips with his own searching mouth and drank life back into his tortured lungs. Trace groaned, shaking from the intense, instant need that Honor always triggered in him. Her body filled his hands as her love filled his soul. She was everything, and without her he’d be nothing.

  His legs grew weak as his body hardened. His hands slid down between their bodies and began a searching journey all their own that sent Honor’s sanity flying.

  She meant to cry out at the pleasure he was giving her, but she needed her breath to survive. She’d started to touch Trace in much the same way he was touching her, but she needed her hands clasped around his neck to keep from falling. Instead, she leaned weakly against the wall, held on for dear life, and let Trace Logan into her body and into her heart.

  He’d meant to take her to bed before he’d taken her body, but once again it had been too far and he was too far gone. Trace felt Honor opening beneath his fingers as he teased and caressed her satiny warmth. But when the heat between them nearly burned his fingers and he felt the sweetness flow, he couldn’t think of moving to a bed. The only movement he was capable of was inside Honor, and so he did. With a groan of need, he slid his hard, aching manhood between her legs and thrust upward, moaning softly into her ear as the sensation made his bones melt.

  “Look at me, Honor,” he pleaded, pausing as he allowed her body to adjust to his swelling presence. “You look at me when I love you. Then you’ll never have to wonder who you are again. You’re my lady, my love, and my life.” And then he began to move.

  Honor watched, eyes brimming with tears and love, lips parted in sweet agony as she drew breath and life from their joining. The room spun as a building pressure began to overwhelm her. Suddenly she could see nothing, feel nothing, but those dark eyes and his body, moving…moving…moving. And then there was silence.

  * * *

  Sometime later, the sounds of cars coming up the drive and horns honking their arrival brought them both off the bed they’d finally located, onto their feet and frantically searching for clothes.

  “Oh, Lord!” Honor moaned, as she jumped on one foot, trying to stuff her other leg into a pair of slacks. “I shouldn’t worry about what to wear to meet your family. Just about anything would be better than this.”

  Trace laughed joyfully, planted a hard, hungry kiss on her worried mouth, and pulled a thick white sweater over his head.

  “I’ll go first,” he said. “Take your time, love. It’ll take them a bit of time to unload and unwind. Come down when you’re ready.”

  Honor smiled, nodded gratefully, and then caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as Trace left the room. It didn’t matter what she wore. She was still going to look like she’d just gone ten rounds through a carnival’s tunnel of love. Her hair was in tangles, her eyes wide, and her lips looked red and swollen. And she’d never been happier in her life.

  As Trace had predicted, his mother had taken one look at the place where his stitches had been and burst out crying. His dad had just rolled his eyes at his wife’s hysterics and started unloading their car. Just then three other cars pulled into the yard and his brothers Ted and Ron and their families and his sister Patsy and her family began spilling kids and clothes onto the yard. Everyone was laughing, glad to be together again, and thankful that Trace, a beloved member of the family, was safe and well. They continued their loud, boisterous meeting as the Logan menagerie moved into the house.

  “My God, Son!” Conrad Logan muttered, as he dropped his heavy bags onto the living-room floor. “What in hell happened at Malone Industries? When J. J. called telling us you’d been hurt and Hastings Lawrence was responsible, I couldn’t believe it. I knew J. J.’s granddaughter had been found. Heard it on the news. Called myself to congratulate him. But then all that good news turning to this…” He stopped his rambling, pulled his eldest son into his arms, and gave him a tight hug, pounding him on the back in gentle roughness. “Just glad you’re all right. Damn glad!”

  His sister grinned and blew him a kiss, dumped her sleeping baby onto the sofa, and went back outside to retrieve her lingering husband and the rest of the luggage. She’d save her welcome for later. Trace smiled at her and winked as he acknowledged his father’s concern.

  “Thanks, Dad,” Trace replied, returning the hug. Then he went to help his brothers, who were struggling with their own mountains of luggage.

  “Damn, Dick Tracey,” Ted teased, while Ron looked on in delight at the old nickname. “I leave you alone and what do you do? Nearly get yourself killed. And, by the way…” he drawled. “Who’s this Honor O’Brien?”

  Trace took a deep breath, all the foolishness disappearing from his demeanor at the mention of her name. “She’s mine,” he muttered.

  “So, it’s that way, is it?” Ron asked.
“Well, old man, welcome to the club.”

  They laughed easily and then were distracted by the flurry of children all shrieking their delight at being released from the cars and the long rides from Denver. The children’s noisy exuberance woke Patsy’s baby, and between her cries and the children’s shouts of joy, pandemonium reigned.

  It was that scene that greeted Honor as she started down the stairs. That, and the way Trace was laughing. She’d never seen him like this, so at ease, and so confident that he was an accepted member of this loud, happy family. It stayed her progress. And so she watched, a lonely figure in blue as she hesitated to interrupt, afraid she would not be accepted when she so desperately wanted to belong.

  “Dear Heavenly Father,” Susan Logan gasped. She was the first to see the tall, dark-haired woman in matching blue slacks and sweater sitting on the stairs…watching. “It’s Meggie!”

  Everyone pivoted toward the direction Susan Logan was looking.

  “No, Mother,” Trace answered quietly, as he walked up the stairs to meet his love. They came the rest of the way down the stairs together. “This is my Honor.”

  ‘But she looks just like…I know you told us…I just didn’t expect…” Her voice quivered, her eyes filled.

  Trace’s father stepped forward and went to meet them. He paused, looked deeply into Honor’s face, saw the anxiety and the need for reassurance and saw the ghost of another woman he’d lost to his best friend, J. J. Malone, more than forty years ago. Some things do come full circle, he thought, and pulled Honor into his arms.

  “Welcome to the family, Honor O’Brien.”

  Trace’s mother shocked her entire family when she pulled herself together without shedding another tear.

  “Yes, my dear! Welcome!” she cried, and warmly clasped Honor’s hand between her own. “Come,” she urged, pulling Honor with her toward the sofa. “You must tell me all about yourself. Your grandmother and I were best friends. I hope we can be, too.”

  The last of Honor’s fears disappeared as she was absorbed into the Logan clan as if she’d known them for years. And so the day passed.

  * * *

  It was nearly sundown, the tired children already in their beds as Honor stood on the deck alone, entranced by the night sounds and how quickly night came to the mountains. She watched the sun slipping closer and closer to the crest of the ridge, and then right before her eyes it was gathered into the waiting arms of the trees to be hidden until it would burst forth on the opposite side of the mountain the next morning. Instantly the sky turned into a magical, myriad display of colors as the last rays of the sun reluctantly released their hold on today.

  Honor shivered, wrapping her arms around herself, aware of the chill of night air yet reluctant to go back inside.

  So much had happened to her since Charlie’s death. So many surprises, so many choices to be made. But she knew in her heart that she’d made the right ones. Peace filled her. Charlotte O’Brien had done the right thing…finally. Honor was not alone. Not anymore.

  “Cold, baby?” Trace whispered in her ear as he came up behind her and wrapped her in his arms. He nuzzled through the dark tangle of curls at her neck, found just the spot he was searching for, and branded her with his kiss.

  “A little,” Honor replied. “But I was just thinking about how happy I am and how fortunate we both are to have survived the past few weeks. I talked to Uncle Rusty earlier. He’ll be out later next week.”

  “I know,” Trace said. “That’s good. He’s now part of this family, too.” Then he grabbed her by the hand, urging her inside to the warmth and the waiting family who’d been primed for a surprise.

  When they entered the house J. J., who’d arrived some time after the Logan clan, was deep into the discussion of Hastings Lawrence with Trace’s father. Honor knew by the look on Trace’s face that he was going to make some wise remark. He still crowed about Lawrence’s downfall and the manner in which he’d been felled.

  “I saw him coming out of the courtroom yesterday after his arraignment,” J. J. remarked. “He wouldn’t look at me. And he was still in a wheelchair. Quite subdued.”

  “From what I hear he’ll be lucky if he ever gets out of that chair. He was doing fine as long as he had stairs to use for weapons. It was when he ran out of stairs and ran into Honor that he ran out of luck,” Trace drawled.

  Everyone burst out laughing as Honor blushed and then shrugged innocently.

  “Enough about that slimy weasel,” Trace said. “I have an announcement to make.” He pulled Honor under his arm and hugged her as he continued. “Mom, you and J. J. have exactly six weeks to plan the biggest wedding Colorado Springs has ever seen. By Christmas there will no longer be an Honor O’Brien. She’ll be Honor Logan.”

  He stopped them before pandemonium broke loose as he finished. “And, there’s just one more thing I have to do before this day is over.” He pulled a small, flat, gaily wrapped box from behind his back and handed it to Honor.

  “Here, love. This is for you. And I think you’ll know just where it belongs.” He leaned forward and placed a gently reassuring kiss on the dimple by her mouth.

  Honor’s eyes widened and her heart thumped an extra beat as Trace laid the little package in her hands. She tore away the wrappings. Her excitement faded into shock and then into the most overwhelming joy she’d ever experienced as she pulled a small silver frame from within the layers of tissue paper.

  She tried to speak, but the word wouldn’t come. She could only look at the image staring back at her through a veil of tears.

  “Oh!” she finally whispered. “Oh, Trace! Only you would know what this means to me. Only you!”

  She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly in front of God and everybody before turning to the mantel over the fireplace behind her. She walked down the length of the mantel where the many, many pictures of the Logan family rested in all their glory and placed the small silver frame she was carrying in line with all the rest.

  It was a photograph of Honor and her mother. And they were smiling into each other’s faces in some secret, conspiratorial manner, as only mother and daughter can do.

  Trace had done what no one else had been able to do since her world had fallen apart. Right or wrong…he’d given her back her mother…and he’d given her love.

  * * * * *

  “Skillfully balancing suspense and romance, Sala gives readers a nonstop breath-holding adventure.”

  —Publishers Weekly on Going Once

  Looking for more heart-pounding romantic suspense from New York Times bestselling author Sharon Sala? You won’t want to miss a moment in the action-packed Secrets and Lies series.

  Wild Hearts

  Past sins cast a long shadow…

  Cold Hearts (September 2015)

  There’s only one way to keep secrets buried…

  Complete your collection!

  Also from Sharon Sala, be sure to catch the adrenaline-fueled Forces of Nature series, available now in ebook format:

  Going Once

  Going Twice

  Going Gone

  Connect with us on www.Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

  Other ways to keep in touch:

  Harlequin.com/Newsletters

  Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks

  Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks

  HarlequinBlog.com

  ISBN-13: 9781460391662

  Honor’s Promise

  Copyright © 1992 by Sharon Sala

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of p
ublisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

  www.Harlequin.com