Elizabeth used the hem of her apron to wipe the water from her hands. Supper was set and simmering. And so was she. Despite the breeze coming through the open door, the kitchen was a humid inferno. A glance out the window revealed dusk snuggling up to the empty yard. Past the thick trunked oak tree, she spotted the chicken coop. No hens pecked outside. As was their habit, they were probably inside, waiting for her to lock them in safe for the night.
She wished she had the same option, but, come nightfall, the first payment on her debt would begin. No matter how much she told herself it was no big thing, that women all over the world did this every day, she was nervous. Scared spitless as a matter of fact. And it wasn’t just because she didn’t know if MacIntyre was mean in bed or not. That was actually the least of her worries. More than anything, she was terrified that, in her ignorance, she’d do something on her wedding night so totally stupid, the man would be laughing for months to come. Lord, she hated appearing incompetent.
She checked the simmering potatoes, poking them a little harder than necessary. The fork bounced off one without even gouging a hole. She replaced the fork on the table next to the stove and scanned the yard again. She had a good fifteen minutes before she needed to slide the corn bread in the oven. In that time, she could gather the morning’s eggs and have them on hand for breakfast. Of course, getting the eggs meant crossing the yard, which, since her father’s death, was tantamount to entering enemy territory. The trickle of fear that sent her heart tapping in her throat renewed her determination. Dammit! She would not be made a prisoner in her own house.
Grabbing the egg basket from a peg by the door, she stepped onto the back porch, pausing to let the evening breeze caress her cheeks. The sounds of the approaching night enfolded her and she relaxed into its embrace. Here and there, a cricket chirped. Soon, the night would be filled with their loud chorus, but for now, the sound was calm. Peaceful. Almost like a promise of better things to come.
She closed her eyes, wallowing in the remnant of a promise that enfolded her like the memory of her mother’s hug. Lord, she hoped things were going to be better. She’d never been so scared or gambled so high as when she’d walked into Dell’s and asked Asa Macintyre to marry her. She still couldn’t believe she’d done it, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
The only consolation was that, unlike Brent who’d lied and hidden his true personality behind a polite facade of manly attributes, Asa was the real thing. Whatever else he turned out to be, she knew he had the ability to run this ranch. Asa MacIntyre had the heart, the determination, and the reputation to take the Rocking C back into prosperity. At least, she hoped so.
Doubt swirled from its hiding place deep inside, sneaking up on her blind side. For a second, every decision she’d made came back to haunt her, swamping her in insecurity, until, with a relentless maneuver born from long practice, she shoved it back down. She opened her eyes and surveyed the yard and outbuildings. This was her home. The place her mother had called her sanctuary. The place where she, Elizabeth Ann Coyote, had been born.
On this porch, she’d stood as a small child with her mother, holding hands, staring at the small oak sapling, and listened with wide-eyed wonder to the story of how, with love and nurturing, it would grow into a tree capable of protecting them and guiding them. Her father had said it was going to die and that they were wasting time babying it along, but her mother had merely leaned down and whispered in her ear to believe. She’d watered that tree every day from then on, wanting to do just that. And it had grown. Year after year, a living testament to love and determination.
She ran fond eyes over the oak’s silhouette, remembering and smiling. As a child, she’d been frustrated with its slow progress. As an adult, she’d been in awe of what its steady determination to thrive had accomplished. Today, it stood a good thirty feet, and where it had once thrown dappled shadows, it now delivered full shade.
Whenever life got complicated, she remembered her mother and that tree. Both had faced the odds and made a place for themselves. So had she, and it wasn’t back East or in a fancy town. Her roots were firmly sunk in the Rocking C with its wide-open spaces, constant challenges, and relentless demands. Like that tree, she thrived here.
And she was going to stay. She was determined. Marrying Asa had been the right thing to do. She knew it in her gut. All she needed to do to succeed was to believe her course was right, and to be strong enough and determined enough to see it through. She looked at the basket clenched tightly in her hand. That strength and determination included getting eggs from the hen house so she’d have something to offer her husband for a wedding breakfast.
Peace faded to unease. She searched the yard again. It appeared empty. Still, she hesitated. Ever since her father had died, the ranch foreman had been playing with her like a cat with a mouse. Cornering her when no one else was around, taking liberties, each time going further than the last. At first, she’d thought she could handle it, but he’d gotten worse. She’d thought of complaining, but removing Jimmy wouldn’t remove the threat. A woman alone, unfortunately more often than not, was seen as a target, so she’d done the sensible thing. She’d stepped up her search for a husband.
Her haste, however, had cost her. By not questioning Brent close enough, she’d created a bigger disaster by buying into his pack of lies. Hopefully, she’d cleaned up that mess because, if not, her goose was truly cooked. No one, she thought, as she peered into the darkness under the tree, was going to quietly sit back and watch her pluck a third husband from the scanty pile of eligible men passing through town.
She nearly dropped her basket when she thought she saw a shadow move beneath the spreading arms of the huge oak. The hairs on her nape leapt to attention. She took a breath to still the butterflies in her stomach as she carefully scrutinized the area. Nothing moved except the leaves swaying with the light breeze. About the time her lungs threatened to burst, she decided she’d confused the motion of the wind with the malevolent mannerisms of the ranch foreman.
She released her breath on an audible sigh. Relief from the constant threat of Jimmy Dunn was one of the benefits she hoped to reap from having Macintyre as a husband. Whatever his faults were, she was sure Asa wasn’t the type to ignore a man bothering his wife. Even if the man was a big, blond, belligerent, fighting type.
No, she decided, recalling her husband’s reputation and broad shoulders. Jimmy wouldn’t scare a man like Asa. She tightened her grip on her basket, stepped off the porch, and reminded herself again that she’d done the right thing in marrying Asa MacIntyre. He was big and mean, and more than capable of handling threats to the ranch, whether they came in the form of rustlers or overly familiar foremen.
Her steps slowed as she skirted the shadows stretching from the oak. She sucked her lower lip between her teeth and chewed as she realized there was no reason for Asa to believe her if she screamed and he caught her in a compromising position with Jimmy. They hadn’t had enough time to establish any trust or knowledge of each other. If the opportunity ever came up where she needed to explain her difficulties with the foreman, she’d have to choose her words carefully. She didn’t need the complication of a husband jumping to conclusions.
Two steps from the hen house, a heavy hand slapped down on her shoulder, driving her teeth into her lip. She didn’t have time to toss retrospection aside in favor of alarm before she was pulled against a large, male body. As the scent of liquor and sweat assaulted her nostrils, reality hit. For one crippling moment, she didn’t know what to do.
“Hello, Elly.” His voice, as always, was a soft drawl of sound. Low and intimate, as if there were only sweet secrets between them. It was as much crap as the chicken droppings she stood on.
“Let me go, Jimmy.”
His answer was scary in its brevity. “No.”
She looked into his bloodshot, blue eyes, felt his fingers biting painfully into her upper arm, and understood one truth with crystal clarity. Whatever her future held
with Asa, it had to be better than this.
“I told you I’d be here for you,” Jimmy continued his parody of a lover’s voice.
Elizabeth tugged on her arm. Instead of letting go, he tightened his grip. She could have shot herself for wincing when his smile broadened.
“Did you miss me?” he asked, his eyes narrowing, the lines beside them fanning out in an evil mockery of laughter.
She swallowed back a “Hell, no.” Above all, she knew she needed to keep control. She couldn’t let the shaking inside spread to anywhere he could see. Oh, God! She was so sick of this. His fingers sank deeper into her flesh. Pain constricted her throat as his thumb ground into her collarbone. She wanted to scream blue murder. She wanted to rage and swear. Instead, she had to settle for forcing an off-putting “Excuse me,” through her pain-clogged throat.
Jimmy’s smile expanded to let her know it wasn’t enough. It was never going to be enough.
* * * * *
Asa came around the side of the barn, drawn to the kitchen’s back door by the tantalizing odors drifting on the evening air. He hadn’t tasted a home-cooked meal in a coon’s age. He’d dallied a couple of hours in the barn, trying to give his wife some time alone, but a man could only hold out so long against aromas like that. At least he’d put the time to good use, checking the lay of the land. It was clear the hands had been slacking off, just as it was clear Elizabeth had been doing her best to pick up that slack. Two things he could say for sure about his wife. She wasn’t lazy, and she wasn’t worth a plugged nickel when it came to carpentry.
A very controlled “Excuse me” from the other side of the hen house pulled him up short.
He’d recognize that icy tone of voice anywhere. His wife was in a snit about something. He decided to keep the coop between them until he discovered what it was. His stomach growled, agreeing that they didn’t want any backlash that might affect the quality of their meal.
“Move out of my way, Jimmy.”
A slow curl of anger unfurled that the person his wife was facing was a man.
“I don’t think so, Elly.”
“That’s Miss Coyote to you.”
He made a mental note to remind her she was Mrs. MacIntyre now.
“I like Elly a lot better.” The man’s voice dropped to an insinuating whisper. “It’s more…friendly.”
“I told you the last time you cornered me, Jimmy, that if you ever did it again, you’d be fired.”
“But you’re married now, Elly.” A soft thump announced something landing against the other side of the hen house. “You don’t have the power to fire me.”
“My husband does. He’ll be heading this way any minute.”
“That little piss-ant gambler isn’t going to do squat. And you know it.”
“He will!”
“Then why don’t you scream for him?”
That’s what Asa wanted to know as he headed to the rescue. He heard a gasp, then a man’s muttered curse of pain. “Bite me, will you, hellcat?”
Asa was around the corner of the hen house before the last syllable died, and what he saw drove reason from his head. The cowhand had his fingers dug into his wife’s breast. He was using it to hold her pinned to the rough wall. The other arm, he was shaking, trying to dislodge her teeth from his wrist.
With a sharp blow of his hand, Asa broke Jimmy’s grip on his wife. Before he could follow with a second, Elizabeth was between them. She drove the hard toe of her boot into her tormentor’s groin and Jimmy doubled over. Elizabeth was on him with the ferocity of a badger. Her hair tumbled out of its bun as she grabbed a chunk of firewood and walloped the man on the back. Her breath hissed between her teeth, punctuated with violent mutterings. As Jimmy dropped to his knees, Asa took a step back.
His wife clearly had the situation in hand.
He shook his head as she walked in front of the convulsed man. The move clearly showed her a green horn at this kind of thing. He caught her arm. When she spun around, wood raised, he plucked it from her hand.
“Shhh,” he soothed, pulling her into his arms. “It’s all right.”
Instead of fainting with relief like he expected, she struggled. “Let me go.”
“Why?”
“I want to kick him in his filthy mouth.”
Asa eyed Jimmy. “Not now you don’t.”
“Yes, I—”
The sounds of violent retching cut off her claim.
She stood stiffly in his arms. “Well, maybe not now.”
“I’d be saving it for later.” He looked down at the undulating waves of hair that fell over his arms, reinforcing the impression of dainty femininity his body was responding to. He smiled. “Were you planning on leaving a piece of him for me to whale on?”
“No.” The answer vibrated dead center below his breastbone.
“Good thing I stepped in then.”
That brought her gaze to his. Instead of the tears he expected, he saw an open challenge that baffled him. He turned his attention to something he did understand.
From the sound of things, Jimmy was about done puking up his guts. Asa set Elizabeth carefully away from him. He kept his hands on her shoulders until he was sure she wasn’t going to keel over. She was as steady as a rock, leaving the comforting words he intended to say sitting awkwardly on his tongue.
“You came out here looking for eggs?”
She nodded, catching the fall of hair into her hands and twisting it into a knot at the base of her neck. He didn’t miss her wince as she moved her right shoulder. The bastard had probably hurt her good.
“Why don’t you go get them while I clean up around here?”
He grabbed Jimmy by the collar and hauled him to his feet. As she straightened from retrieving her basket, he called her name. She paused and looked up.
“Next time you even think some yahoo’s backing you into a corner, I want you screaming loud enough to do a banshee proud.”
She merely nodded.
“And Elizabeth?”
“Yes.”
“You’re Mrs. MacIntyre now.”
Beyond a thinning of her lips, she didn’t respond.
Asa wondered if he’d ever understand his wife. Yanking Jimmy in front of him, he headed for the barn. Besides teaching this yellow bastard some manners, he needed to let loose some frustration.
* * * * *
Supper wasn’t the friendly meal he’d been hoping for. By the time Asa finished his third helping of cobbler, he felt like he sat in the middle of a powder keg. To make it worse, Elizabeth kept shooting him glances he didn’t understand. He couldn’t tell if she was angry or upset, but remembering her temper, he sure as shooting didn’t want to risk it being the former. Not on his wedding night, so if his mouth wasn’t chomping on food, he kept it closed.
“Would you care for more cobbler?” she asked from her side of the table.
“No. Thank you.” He placed his napkin beside his plate, wincing as he did so. Two fights in one day were hell on his knuckles.
“We have an ice house,” she offered.
“What?”
“I said if you’d like to soak your hands, there’s probably enough ice for you to do it.”
He’d heard of ice houses, sure, but he’d never experienced the luxury of ice in August. He wasn’t about to pass it up. “That would sure be appreciated.”
Ten minutes later, she was back. In her hands was a large tin basin that made bell-like tinkles as she walked. He kept his expression bland, not wanting to appear a bumpkin. She placed the basin before him on the table. Before he could lift his hands, she had them in hers. Each one was carefully inspected before she placed it in the basin. Her face was tight as she pushed his right hand under the chilled water and said, “Thank you.”
Since there was no telling what she was feeling from her expression, he replied with the truth. “It was my pleasure.”
Within a couple of minutes, the cold water was doing its job. “Damn, this is good,” he groaned on
a complacent sigh.
She reached around him to collect the plates. “They don’t hurt anymore?”
“No.”
Her breast, plump and tempting, came into view as she removed her cup, reminding him of her injuries. He cleared his throat, not sure how to bring up the subject. She stared at him, waiting for him to speak, his dirty dishes in her hands.
“What about you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Did you soak your…er…did you treat your…uhm.”
Her face flamed bright red, leaving no doubt she understood. She shrugged, grimaced and muttered a hasty, “I’m fine.”
The bruise around her eye showed a revolting green against the bright red of her cheeks. It didn’t take schooling to know the woman hadn’t treated her own injuries. Hell. When had she had the time? She’d cooked him dinner with all that he’d asked for and then some. She’d fetched ice for his hands, and now she was cleaning up. Damn. As a husband, he wasn’t exactly outshining the competition.
“Put those dishes down and come here.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather get to them before the gravy hardens.”
“I mind.”
Her back to him, she dropped the plates into a basin set beside the stove. “That’s probably because you won’t have to scrub them in the morning,” she muttered.
He heard even though he bet he wasn’t supposed to. “I wasn’t making conversation, darlin’.”
She faced him, daring him.
“Come here.”
He’d seen grubs cross meadows faster than she got to his side.
With his foot, he snagged a chair and hauled it kitty corner to his own. “Sit down.”
She did with stiff-backed reluctance. “I’m fine, you know.”
“You’re sore.”
“Of course, I’m sore.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t act sooner.”
“You got there soon enough.”
Promises Linger (Promise Series) Page 5
