A Cowboy’s Promise

by Marin Thomas

  “I’m calling a doctor.” Amy’s pronouncement barely registered through the haze of pain fogging his brain.

  “What happened, Mr. Matt?” Rose asked when they paused at the bottom of the porch steps. Showing no interest in the adults, Lily continued to draw with chalk.

  “Bruised my leg is all,” he answered.

  “Oh.” Apparently satisfied with his explanation, Rose rejoined her sister in the garden.

  “Ready?” Amy’s breath puffed heavily against his neck.

  Six steps—six humungous steps. He clutched the handrail. “Let’s do it.” His injured leg almost buckled and he choked on a cuss word. By the time he reached the landing his muscles shook with fatigue.

  “Sit,” Amy ordered as soon as they entered the kitchen. He didn’t have the energy to argue. “Take these.” She set a glass of water on the table and a bottle of Naproxen. He took four of the anti-inflammatory pills.

  “Let’s get your jeans off before your leg swells and I have to cut you out of them.”

  “Interesting pick-up line.”

  Ignoring his attempt at levity, she said, “The femur may not be broken, but you might have a hairline fracture.” She dialed the doctor’s number. Matt didn’t protest. He was in too much agony to play the tough guy.

  After a quick conversation Amy hung up. “Doc Murphy will be here in an hour. He wants you to ice your leg.” Amy stood in front of his chair. “Can you manage another set of stairs? You’ll be more comfortable lying on a bed than the short couch in the living room.”

  “If I’d known all I had to do was injure myself to earn an invitation into your bed I’d—”

  “Not funny, Matt.” Her voice broke, surprising him. “You almost got killed, just like Ben.”

  What an ass he was not to realize that his injury would remind Amy of her husband’s death and trigger memories of that day. He brushed a tear from her cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “Never mind.” She tugged him to his feet.

  The trip upstairs left him with a burning sensation in his leg. Amy led him to the room across the hall from the bath. He grabbed the door frame when he spotted a pink bra on the chair in the corner. “This is your bedroom.”

  “You’re too big for Lily’s starter bed or Rose’s single mattress.”

  “No guest room?” He glanced at the closed door at the end of the hall.

  “The third bedroom is used for storage.”

  As they crossed the room to Amy’s bed, she noticed him eye the pink bra and mumbled, “Sorry.” She stuffed the scrap of lace into the top drawer of the bureau, then dropped to her knees in front of him. Before he had the chance to indulge in an erotic fantasy she grabbed his boot heel and jerked. He grunted in pain.

  “Sorry.” One boot slipped free. Then a second one. He unbuckled his belt and lowered his zipper.

  “Aren’t you going to close your eyes?” he teased.

  The color of her face matched the hot-pink bra she’d hidden from sight. “Can you manage by yourself?”

  And miss the chance of her touching him? “Nope.” He shoved his jeans past his hips and sat.

  “That’s going to be a nasty bruise.” When her fingers stroked the purplish-red marks marring his thigh, he moaned—the sound having nothing to do with pain and everything to do with her gentle caress. Once she removed his jeans, he reclined on the mattress, and Amy confiscated a blanket from her closet to cover him with.

  “I’ll fetch the ice.” She practically ran from the room.

  Less than five minutes later she appeared with a plastic tablecloth, several towels and a pail filled with ice. He frowned at the array of items. “What’s all this for?”

  “To keep the mattress from getting wet.” She snapped open the tablecloth. “Lift up.”

  He did as ordered, holding his rump in the air until Amy spread the cloth beneath him. Next, she packed ice-filled towels around his thigh, carefully avoiding his crotch, then covered him.

  “Thanks.” He squeezed her hand and her fingers tightened around his. “I’m going to be fine. Don’t worry.”

  Lips trembling, she begged, “Please don’t mention the rat to Rose.”

  “Of course I won’t.” Rose would blame herself for her father’s death. No child deserved to be burdened with that kind of truth. “It’s not her fault, Amy. She didn’t know SOS was terrified of rats.”

  “What’s wrong with Mr. Matt?” Rose and Lily strolled into the bedroom. Lily didn’t wait for an answer to her sister’s question. She charged the bed, bouncing against Matt’s injured leg.

  Teeth clenched, he swallowed a groan. Amy scooped Lily up and set her on the floor. “Don’t bump him, honey. Mr. Matt injured his leg.”

  “Does it hurt bad?” Rose asked.

  “I’ll be good as new in no time.” He hated the thought of breaking the news to Rose that Sophia had been trampled to death.

  Lily patted his hand. “Boo-boo.”

  Matt grinned. “Yeah, I’ve got a big ol’ boo-boo, Lily.”

  “C’mon, girls. Play in your room for a while. Mr. Matt’s tired.”

  Amy ushered her daughters toward the door.

  Rose applied the brakes. “I’m hungry.”

  “I’ll make supper soon.” After they scampered off, Amy asked, “Anything else I can get for you?”

  How about a kiss? Or two. Or three. “No.”

  “As soon as the doctor arrives, I’ll bring him up. If you need me, holler.”

  He needed Amy all right, but not in the way she meant. Matt must have dozed off because the next time he opened his eyes he saw a short, pudgy man with snow-white hair and Coke-bottle glasses that made his eyes look like giant super balls.

  “This is Doc Murphy.” Amy stood at the foot of the bed, wringing her hands. “Doc, this is Matt Cartwright.” She switched her gaze to Matt. “I told Doc what happened.”

  The old man whipped out his stethoscope. “That stallion got the best of you, did he?”

  “It wasn’t the horse’s fault,” Matt muttered. He didn’t want the news of his injury to add to the rumors already going around about SOS.

  “Let’s have a listen to your lungs. Can you sit up?”

  Amy rushed to his side and helped him. Ignoring the gray eyebrow that arched, Matt took deep breaths as instructed.

  “Lungs are fine. Let’s see the leg.”

  “I better check on the girls.” Amy ducked out of the room.

  The doc peeled off the blanket and whistled. “Must hurt like the dickens.” He poked and prodded, then rotated Matt’s hip socket. “Nothing’s broke, except for a heck of a lot of blood vessels.” He shook his head. “You’re a lucky man, Mr. Cartwright.” He pulled out a wicked long needle from his black bag.

  “What’s that for?”

  “This pain medicine will knock you out for a few hours.”

  “No shots,” Matt protested.

  “Roll over.” Two seconds later, Matt’s underwear was yanked down and he winced at the sharp stick in his butt.

  “When you wake up walk around a bit to keep the circulation going in your legs. If you have any problems or the pain worsens, have Amy drive you to the E.R. in Rockton. Otherwise, I’ll drop by in a few days.”

  “Thanks, Doc,” Matt mumbled, drifting off to sleep.

  MATT AWOKE TO AN EERIE silence in the house. The slant of the light through the window proved supper time had passed him by. His bladder complained so he sat up, amazed his injured leg didn’t scream in agony—must have been a hell of a shot Doc Murphy had given him. He moved the ice-filled towels aside and swung his legs off the bed

  When the room stopped spinning, he stood and tested his injured limb. Satisfied his leg would support his weight, he hobbled across the floor. A shiver racked his body and he grabbed the door frame to steady himself. After hours packed in ice, his thigh glowed fire-engine red.

  He poked his head into the hallway. Coast clear, he hobbled to the bathroom. After finishing his busine
ss he considered another nap, but the claw-foot tub beckoned him. First, he’d soak his stiff muscles and warm up in a hot bath, then he’d ask Amy to bring him a snack before his stomach gnawed a hole through his backbone. He grabbed the Mr. Bubble from the toilet tank, stripped, then stepped into the tub and ran the water. He shoved a rolled up towel behind his head and reclined in the hot suds. When the bubbles reached his chin, he shut off the tap and closed his eyes.

  “Mer Matt!”

  Matt jerked upright, the sudden movement sending a wave of water over the side of the tub, dousing Lily’s sandals.

  “Uh-oh.” Holding a yellow rubber duckie, the little girl lifted her wet foot off the floor.

  “Sorry, Lil.” Matt snatched another towel from the shelf next to the tub. “Would you wipe up the puddles?”

  She shoved the toy at him. “Duck.”

  “I see that.” He exchanged the towel for the duck, then squeaked it. “Thanks for the tub toy.”

  Bent at the waist, rear in the air, Lily pushed the towel around the wet floor with both hands, spreading water everywhere. “That’s good. Thanks, Lil.”

  Leaving the towel on the floor, she crawled onto the toilet lid and sat.

  “Make yourself at home, kid.” He grinned and Lily mimicked the gesture.

  Amy heard Matt’s voice coming from the bathroom when she reached the top of the stairs. She’d been outside in the garden with the girls when she spotted Lily toddling up the porch steps and into the house. After instructing Rose to stay put, Amy had followed her daughter, worried she’d disturb Matt, who’d been sleeping since the doctor had left three hours ago.

  Obviously Matt was awake and, from the sound of splashing water, taking a bath. Amy hovered out of sight in the hallway. Spying on the cowboy was becoming a habit—one she didn’t mind in the least. She glanced around the door frame and discovered Matt buried beneath a mound of white foam. Plastering herself against the wall in the hallway, she clamped a hand over her mouth to mute her laughter.

  “Bubba,” Lily said. “Bubba.”

  “Don’t touch the bottle, Lil. We don’t want bubble bath spilling all over the floor,” Matt warned.

  “Me bubba!”

  Amy was dying to see who’d win this battle—the cowboy or the two-year-old.

  “You’ll get your turn later.” Matt ran the water in the tub for a few seconds. “Gettin’ low on bubbles, Lil. Gotta keep covered.”

  “Duck.”

  On cue, Matt squeaked the toy and her daughter laughed. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that naughty word you said the other day. You got me in a heap o’ trouble with your mother.”

  “Shit, no, no.”

  Amy swallowed a gasp.

  “Don’t say that word, okay?”

  “’Kay.”

  “Speaking of your mother…what am I gonna do about her, little Lil?”

  The air in Amy’s lungs froze.

  “I like her. In fact, I like your mom a whole lot. Something about Amy grabs me and doesn’t let go. Like you, she’s cute and sassy.”

  “Duck.”

  Matt squeaked and Lily squealed, “Again!”

  Squeak! More giggles.

  “I’ve got this strong urge to protect your mama and help her out of the mess your daddy left her in, but…”

  Eager to hear Matt’s confession, Amy inched closer to the door.

  “I want your mama like nobody’s business.”

  Amy exhaled slowly.

  “But if we go all the way, she’ll take for granted I’m in it with her forever. And I can’t do forever with your mama.”

  So much for dreaming Matt cared deeply for her.

  “You see, Lil, I’m afraid of taking the same road with your mama that I traveled with another woman.”

  Jealousy surged through Amy.

  “Kayla and your mama have a lot in common. At first, Kayla refused my money when her beauty shop hit hard times. But it wasn’t long before she changed her mind about accepting a handout from me. Pretty soon she was digging deep into my pockets, but I didn’t complain, because I thought we were going to marry.” Matt paused. “Guess what, Lil?”

  A quick peek inside the bathroom confirmed that her daughter was more interested in the buttons on the front of her shirt than Matt’s confession.

  “She cheated on me.”

  “Shit, no, no.”

  “Lil…that’s a naughty word.” Matt scowled.

  “Shit, naughty,” Lily repeated.

  “You’re right about one thing, Kayla was naughty.”

  Nausea and anger gripped Amy’s stomach. She hurt for Matt, yet at the same time he ticked her off. How dare he believe she was after his money.

  Maybe because you asked him to make your mortgage payment?

  But she intended to pay back every cent with interest.

  “I found Kayla messing around with another cowboy after a rodeo. I didn’t know until later that the two had had a kid together, but had never married. And you know the worse part, Lil…?”

  “Naughty.”

  “…was finding out Kayla and her ex had been plotting against me all along. She was gonna marry me, then ask for a divorce and walk away with a bank account full of Cartwright oil money.”

  Amy clenched her hands, wishing her fingers were wrapped around the Kayla woman’s neck.

  “I can’t seem to find a lady who wants just me, Lil. Not my money. Or my name. Me, damn it.”

  “Naughty.”

  “Yeah, that was another naughty word. Don’t say it, okay?”

  “’Kay.”

  “I want a woman who can stand on her own two feet.”

  “’Kay.”

  “If any woman needs rescuing, Lil, it’s your mama.”

  Eyes burning, Amy retreated to the front door. She’d been rescued once in her life by a cowboy who’d done the right thing and married her and that sure as heck hadn’t panned out.

  One way or another she’d show Matt Cartwright that she didn’t require his white-knight services.

  THE RHYTHMIC CREAKING of the porch swing woke Amy around midnight. She sat up on the couch and rubbed her eyes, then headed into the kitchen, pausing at the screen door. Matt sat on the swing, his injured leg stretched out before him on the seat.

  They hadn’t said more than a few words to each other all evening. After warming up a plate of chicken casserole for him, she’d bathed the girls and tucked them into bed. Then she’d taken a shower and made up the couch, insisting Matt sleep upstairs where he’d be more comfortable. He’d put up a token fuss, but fell asleep before she’d left the room.

  She pushed open the screen door and stepped outside. The swing stopped moving. “Leg hurt?” she asked.

  “A little.”

  “Should I get the Naproxen?”

  “I took a few pills a half hour ago.” He slid his injured leg off the seat and patted the space next to him.

  She shouldn’t. But she did. As soon as she sat, Matt put the swing in motion and the sweet scent of lilac from the blooming bushes surrounding the porch engulfed her. For a few minutes the sound of croaking frogs and chirping crickets serenaded them.

  “I’m sorry,” Amy confessed.

  “For what?” He brushed a curl from her cheek and his gentle touch almost drowned out her guilt.

  “SOS hurting you was my fault.” At his frown she sucked in a deep breath and explained. “A couple of months before Christmas, Rose asked for a dog.” Amy remembered the moment as if it had happened yesterday.

  As soon as her daughter had hopped into the truck after getting off the school bus…Mama, Butch got a new puppy and brought it for show-and-tell. Amy had made the appropriate murmurs and laughed when Rose described the puppy’s antics in the classroom.

  Can we get a puppy, Mama? Please?

  “I didn’t have the heart to tell Rose we didn’t have the money for a pet. I said I’d think about it.” Amy regretted the way she’d handled the situation. She shouldn’t have gi
ven Rose false hope. “Every week she asked for a puppy and I made up excuses off the top of my head.” Then her daughter had made her feel even worse. “Rose switched tactics and began talking about rescuing a dog from the shelter.” The lump in Amy’s throat swelled bigger, forcing her to swallow several times before she found her voice.

  “I kept saying no. She finally stopped asking and I’d believed she’d forgotten all about it. If I’d known she’d been so desperate for a companion, that she’d adopt a barn rat, I would have found a way to get her a dog.”

  Matt’s arm wrapped around her shoulder and she leaned in, accepting his hug. “It’s my fault Ben died,” she whispered.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” Matt took her by the arms. “Ben’s death was not your fault. And it wasn’t Rose’s fault. I suspect at one time SOS was bitten by a rat and now the stud panics when he senses a rodent nearby.”

  “But if Rose hadn’t been feeding the rat then—”

  “Then nothing, Amy. Sophia had probably lived in the barn for a long time. She would have come out in the open eventually whether Rose had fed her or not. It was sheer coincidence the rat appeared when Ben was in the stall with SOS.”

  Amy yearned to accept Matt’s explanation. His fingers wiped at the tear tracks on her cheeks, then before she realized his intent, he kissed her—not a simple I-hope-you-feel-better kiss. But an I-want-you kiss.

  More than willing to accept the distraction, Amy wound her arms around his neck and snuggled herself against him, soaking up the comfort he offered. The kiss became more passionate—mouths opened, tongues explored, sighs mingled. Matt’s hand found her breast and she pushed against his fingers, dying for the feel of his callused palm against her bare flesh. He read her mind and snuck his hand beneath her nightshirt.

  “I want you,” he whispered, his fingers doing wicked things to her breast.

  Matt’s touch eased Amy’s guilt—if only for a short time. “I want you, too.”