Promises Linger (Promise Series)

by Sarah McCarty

  No, it wasn’t. They both knew it. And the urge to point that out was nearly overwhelming, but she held it in check. She’d love to let him know her brain functioned as well as her corset, but she recited multiplication tables in her head instead, until she could make her expression blank and the words leaping on her tongue still. Men didn’t like to be corrected and ladies didn’t cause scenes, in public or in private. Keeping quiet was hard to do with his gaze memorizing every nuance of her expression, but four years of grueling comportment lessons came to her aid.

  “You’re a prickly little thing,” he sighed, shaking his head over her success.

  “I’m not the least little.”

  She was back to deadpan, Asa noticed. A flash of relief, then a flash of anger, colored by a hint of vulnerability, and the woman was back to her poker face.

  “At least you didn’t deny being prickly,” he sighed, wondering if his life from here on out was going to be a continuous trek over egg shells.

  “You’re entitled to your opinion.”

  He turned in the direction of the livery, then stopped. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

  “I assure you, Mr. MacIntyre, I’m perfectly fine.”

  She was going to hold to that story. He could tell from the set of her chin. “Did anyone ever tell you that ladies are delicate creatures? In need of soft words and tender touches?”

  Her step faltered. “No.”

  As they entered the warmth of the livery, he motioned her to a bench. “Now, that’s going to be a problem.”

  She gingerly sat on the rough wood, her back so straight it dared a sliver to lodge in her backside. He had to wait until her hands were properly folded in her lap before she asked, “Why?”

  “Because, I’ve had it drummed into my head so much, I’ve grown quite attached to the idea.”

  “Of ladies?”

  He kept his face as straight as an arrow as he answered, “Nah. Just the part about touching them tenderly.”

  * * * * *

  “Repeat after me. Do you, Asa MacIntyre, take Elizabeth Coyote to be your lawfully wedded wife? To honor and protect…”

  The words to the ceremony droned in Elizabeth’s ears like so many gnats at a picnic. She supposed she should take more notice, but it wasn’t like she hadn’t been through this before. And there was nothing in Asa’s voice as he repeated his vows to cause unease.

  He was confident, sure. He’d been that way since Old Sam had pointed him out in the bar. “A man to hitch her wagon to.” That’s what Sam had said. And since her own taste in men had proven so flawed, she’d burst into Dell’s Hair of the Dog, declared herself free of Brent and gambled her future on this one.

  From the corner of her eye, she studied his profile. Her soon-to-be, locked-up-as-tight-as-two-dogs-in-a-barrel husband was a handsome man. His square face with that jutting chin would never be called pretty, but there was a no-nonsense strength from within that she found infinitely more appealing than Brent’s carefully groomed confidence. Where Brent had strutted, Asa strode. Whereas Brent brayed his successes to all who would listen, Asa wore his experience and strength like an invisible cloak.

  She let her gaze wander the dusty courtroom with its tiny tables, makeshift podium and scattering of chairs, and silently chastised herself for a fool to have mistaken Brent for a man. She should have known Old Sam wouldn’t have steered her wrong when it came to a husband, and he’d hated Brent on sight. She sighed. Old Sam was an excellent judge of character.

  She snuck a peek at Asa again. She really was going to have to work on her judgment. Even if the man hadn’t proven his intelligence by stopping by the lawyer’s office and confirming her story, her identity, and her rights to the land before heading out of town yesterday, one look into his eyes should have told her he wasn’t a man given to foolish risk. That he was a man to count on. The judge’s droning took a more staccato note, bringing her out of her reverie. “Do you Elizabeth, take Asa MacIntyre as your lawful husband. To love, honor and obey?”

  That was her cue. All she needed was to say two little words, and her ranch had a fighting chance, but God help her, the words wouldn’t slide past her lips. She had absolutely no idea if she could love this man. Wasn’t even sure she wanted to.

  Two, three seconds crept by. Her groom’s hand, so casually holding hers, began to tense. She caught her breath, nearly choking on a dust mote. If she didn’t promise to love, honor and obey, she’d fail. MacIntyre would disappear to wherever men of his ilk went. She’d lose the ranch, and she’d become the one thing she abhorred. A silly, helpless female. Good for nothing more than tatting pillow trims and waiting on a man’s good will. Incapable of doing the most basic thing a son could accomplish; keeping the Rocking C in the Coyote family. She moistened her lips, took a deep breath and tried again. To her dismay, the only thing that came out was a blatant hedge.

  “I can promise to try.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Well, she’d succeeded in shocking the judge. His fat cheeks were quivering with outrage. Without looking at Asa, she repeated herself. “I said I can try.”

  She hoped her groom’s frown wasn’t as heavy as the Judge’s, but she wasn’t going to draw his displeasure by checking.

  “Young lady,” Judge Carlson censured. “It’s a woman’s place to look to her husband for guidance, to follow his lead. It clearly states in the Bible—”

  “It’ll do.” Asa’s deep drawl cut the judge’s tirade.

  “What?”

  “I said I’d take an honest try.”

  Judge Carlson drew himself up to his full height. “Young man, I cannot proceed with this ceremony in good conscience without having my say.”

  “You serious?” Asa asked in that low drawl that just goaded a listener to react.

  Elizabeth shot him a glance. A blind man could see this bloated fool of a judge was serious. He practically vibrated with indignation and moral outrage.

  “I most certainly am. I’ve married more than two hundred couples in my ten years of serving God and country, and I can assure you while the fervor of love that brings a man to the altar can make him overlook the basics, it’s always in the best interest of the marriage to start as you mean to continue.”

  “Seems like that’s what we’re doing.”

  The judge cleared his throat, shifted his Bible in his plump hand, then snapped it closed. “I’m afraid, young man, that your bride’s reluctance to promise love and obedience bodes ill for your union.”

  His censure elicited amusement rather than anger in her husband as evidenced by his bland response. “Ever heard the expression, ‘you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink’?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I suggest you hitch us up, and let me worry about who’ll be wearing the pants in this outfit.”

  Elizabeth thought the judge was going to refuse. She thought she’d have to lie. Midway to the attempt, her husband’s hand tightened painfully on hers. He caught her gaze with his darkly silver one and gave one shake of his head. It was an order to keep silent. She pressed her lips together and swallowed her resentment.

  “It’s highly irregular and I feel ill-advised, but I’ll go along with this request.” Elizabeth let out her breath on a sigh of relief, only to suck it back in outrage as the good judge felt compelled to add, “But only because I feel you’re a man capable of keeping your wife in line.”

  “I appreciate the vote of confidence, Judge.”

  Elizabeth would have dearly loved to kick Asa MacIntyre in the shins. She had to settle for unobtrusively digging her nails into the back of his hand.

  His retaliation was swift. “Lift your face, darlin’, like a good, obedient wife.”

  She didn’t miss the emphasis on the word obedient. Cursing her promise and the desperateness of her situation, she did as ordered. His lips were planted on hers before she could gasp. She dug her nails deeper. His lips pressed harder. He clearly wasn’t going t
o give ground. Well, neither was she.

  Through gritted teeth, she muttered, “The judge.”

  “Isn’t seeing anything he hasn’t seen before,” Asa drawled, barely removing his lips from hers. “Open your mouth.”

  Her eyes flew wide at that. Her gaze collided with his. This close, she could see the flecks of slate gray splattering the lighter irises. She could also see Asa MacIntyre was a determined man. She kept her mouth closed.

  His finger touched the corner of her mouth. “Open.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  He drew back a quarter of an inch. His breath intermingled with hers. “I don’t remember asking if you wanted to.”

  It was an order. Clear and simple. Only obeying wasn’t simple with the judge watching, and, with the space between their lips yawning like a chasm, almost too great for her modesty to cross. She thought of her ranch. She thought of her father and the duty he’d left her with when he’d died. Her lips parted a hair’s breath.

  Asa’s nose touched hers. “A little more, darlin’.”

  As soon as the ranch was flourishing, she’d kill him. She opened her mouth a fraction more. If he wanted it any wider, he’d have to get a pry bar.

  She soon discovered he didn’t need one. Only his tongue, which he slid through the slight opening with shocking smoothness. Her breath caught in her lungs as his taste flooded her mouth. She wanted to hate it, him, but he tasted of coffee and cinnamon. And it wasn’t unpleasant. She closed her eyes as he nibbled at her lower lip, sending sparks shooting through her body.

  “Kiss me back.”

  The words drifted into her mouth, his breath becoming hers as he tipped her head back, arching her back over his arm so the suddenly sensitive tips of her breasts pressed into his chest. Against her stomach she could feel the hard ridge of his erection. His tongue traced the full curve of her lower lip, taking her gasp as his own as she caught his shirt front in her grip and tentatively touched his tongue with hers.

  “Damn, darlin’, I love your mouth,” he whispered for her ears alone as the judge cleared his throat.

  “May I remind you two that I haven’t gotten to the part of the ceremony in which you kiss the bride?”

  Asa lifted his head and loosened his hold. “Just getting in some practice.”

  He didn’t look the least embarrassed while Elizabeth wished for a hole to crawl into.

  “I’d say you’re finished practicing and ready to move on.”

  Elizabeth opened her mouth to tell the judge what she thought of him. With a tip of his finger, Asa forestalled her plan, shutting her mouth and answering the judge. “Then I suggest we get this wedding underway so the moving on is nice and legal. Ready, darlin’?”

  There was absolutely nothing in the man’s voice to make her think he was amused, but as sure as she was choking on frustration, she knew Asa MacIntyre was having a good old time. She searched his face for confirmation, but the only indication to his mood was the way his eyes crinkled at the corners.

  If he dared laugh out loud, she decided, she’d kill him, and the ranch be damned. She’d found two husbands in as many days. Surely it wouldn’t be that hard to locate a third. He didn’t laugh, more the pity, and his vows were clear as a bell.

  Never hesitate, girl, or you’ll show yourself for the weak female you are.

  Her father’s voice rang in her ears. She locked her gaze with MacIntyre’s and made sure her vows were just as clear. She didn’t let herself think of anything beyond the moment, otherwise she knew she’d crumble into a useless ball of waffling indecision. Just when she didn’t think she could stand anymore, Judge Carlson snapped his Bible shut.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  As Asa placed his lips on hers, a shiver went down her spine.

  The ranch was safe. Now there was only the price to pay.

  Chapter Three

  They arrived at the ranch at sundown. Even to Elizabeth’s loving eyes, the two-story ranch house looked bad. The place was in such a dire need of white wash, it was the dingy gray of poorly washed linens. The repair she’d made on the front steps fell in a shadow, which only served to enhance how much she’d botched that particular job. Someone had left the supplies on the porch, and chickens were now pecking at the dried corn scattered over the wood porch. One of the dogs or a coon had gotten into the bag of bacon, and, in search of more, had torn open the rest of the sacks. She wanted to cry. Instead, she squared her shoulders, and said, “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s a nice setting with those mountains in the background.”

  The tactful response surprised her.

  “Father said my Mamma called those mountains our Guardians. That they loomed over us like that to scare away evil.”

  “Yup. They could sure do that.”

  The buckboard stopped at the watering trough in front of the barn. The thirsty horse blew over the water. Asa’s horse, tied behind, whinnied hopefully. Asa jumped down and strode around front.

  “Could you hop down and bring Shameless up with old Willoughby here?”

  Catching her skirts in hand, she did as asked. “I didn’t know his name was Willoughby.”

  “Occurred to me on the ride here that he had the look of a Willoughby.”

  As she brought his horse up beside the other, she couldn’t help asking, “What does a Willoughby look like?”

  He handed her the reins of the horse harnessed to the buckboard. “Like this.”

  He didn’t smile as he said it and, this close to the trough, she could see why. The water was brackish with bits of green slime drifting across the surface. She wanted the ground to open up and swallow her.

  “I gave orders…”

  She let the disclaimer trail off as Asa headed for the well pump. What did it matter if she gave orders? The fact that her hands had allowed the horse’s water to stand this long was humiliating testimony as to what they thought of her authority.

  He returned with two buckets and set one in front of each horse. She tightened her grip on Shameless’ reins. Whatever angle her husband wished to attack from, she had no defense. The ranch was a mess. She’d failed to control anything.

  His finger tipped her face to his in a gesture that was becoming familiar. She fought the urge to close her eyes. She deserved this.

  “You scooting my gaze because you’re embarrassed?”

  “Wouldn’t you be?”

  “Yeah, but I’m not a woman trying to keep a ranch together by myself.”

  Willoughby jerked his head free to reach the water. She jerked her chin out of Asa’s reach with no less urgency. Grinding her teeth for control, she shoved the reins into his hands. Useless. The man saw her as useless. “From the quiet, the men haven’t ridden in yet.”

  “How many are there?”

  “Ten when I left.”

  His left eyebrow rose. “Should I be expecting more or less?”

  She pulled off her gloves one finger at a time before answering. “I have no idea. Would you like me to introduce you when they get here?”

  “Morning’ll be soon enough.”

  She took a deep breath, shoved her gloves in her reticule, and wished he were given to excessive speech. At least that way she’d know what he was thinking. And where she needed to bolster her defenses.

  “Why don’t you head into the house and rustle up some dinner while I get Willoughby and Shameless settled?”

  Resentment swept over her in waves at his dismissal. But what did she expect? Respect? When his first view of her home showed the level of her failure?

  “Would you prefer steak or ham?” she asked carefully as he led the horses away.

  He stopped so quickly, Shameless bumped him with his head. He went forward two steps before asking, “You got any syrup to go with that ham?”

  “I think so.”

  Shameless bumped him with his nose, anxious to get to the barn. Asa didn’t budge. She remembered his tactful reaction to the shambles
of the ranch and softened despite herself. “Would you care for anything special?”

  “Mashed potatoes?”

  Mashed potatoes were as common as day old bread, but he made the request with the same awe a miner would demonstrate when confronted with the specter of a two-pound nugget. She ran her gaze over Asa from his head to his toes. He was a big man. Last night, he’d had a dinner equal to hers in size. She remembered how quickly he’d demolished it. How closely he’d watched her finish hers. She remembered how he’d taken on Brent.

  “I could probably manage potatoes.”

  His free hand went to the front of his body. “I’d be obliged.”

  She studied him with new eyes. His chestnut brown hair, long overdue for a cut, curled over the collar of his shirt. His clothes were practical, but, on closer scrutiny, worn threadbare in places. He was tall and big-boned, no doubt about it, but now she wondered if his leanness came naturally or from lack of proper food.

  “If the coons didn’t get to the good corn, I could probably put together some Johnny cake,” she offered, wondering if the reason she couldn’t see his hand was because he was clutching his stomach.

  This time it was Willoughby who bumped Asa. Again, he didn’t budge. She might have been imagining it, but there seemed a vulnerability to his stance as he mentioned casually, “Red-eye gravy would sure taste good with that Johnny cake.”

  “Gravy might be possible.” Provided she could find some leftover coffee.

  “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

  He still didn’t face her, but instead of lumbering, the horses had to trot to catch up as he headed for the barn. Some of her frustration faded to amusement as it became apparent that Asa clearly viewed her as invaluable in one area of the ranch.

  “You’re taking an awful risk, MacIntyre,” she called out, “assuming I can cook.”

  “I’m hoping, darlin’. I sure am hoping.”

  With a smile on her face, she spun on her heel and hurried to the house, deciding the blackberries she’d picked before she’d left could go into a cobbler. That way, she’d at least have dessert to offer.