Promises Linger (Promise Series)

by Sarah McCarty

  “The bunkhouse is no place for a woman.”

  She placed the skillet in the wash basin. Patience, she reminded herself while she counted to ten, was a virtue. “I’ve been down to the bunkhouse plenty of times.”

  “You have a husband now, darlin’.” A loud grating squeak announced his chair shoving back. “What kind of man would I be if I married up with you and then left you to handle my job as well as yours?”

  She bit her tongue. She gripped the cutlery, struggled to hold onto her patience, and tried again. “I don’t mind this one last time.”

  “There’s always some testing of the new boss. Might as well get it out of the way.”

  “I don’t doubt you’re a capable man—”

  “Capable enough that you don’t have to take time from your work to do mine,” he stated flatly.

  The last of her fragile hope died that he might want her as a partner. The cutlery hit the dishpan so hard, the sound echoed around the room and water splashed everywhere.

  The chair squawked again as he shoved it back under the table. “You mind telling me what you’re so mad about all of a sudden?”

  Instead of turning, Elizabeth started wiping up the water. “I’m not mad.”

  Not that she was admitting, because then he’d want to know why, and she didn’t think she’d be able to keep from killing him if he laughed when she told him she was as knowledgeable as a man when it came to the ranch. Or worse, that he might want to listen to her opinions. She set to scouring the skillet with zeal.

  “Glad to hear it, darlin’, but would you mind gentling your grip on the cookware until I see if we can afford the trip to town to replace it?”

  She was banging the pots. Anger, she realized, was a devil of a hard habit to break. She immediately relaxed her grip. “Of course.”

  “Now, would you mind facing me and answering my question?”

  “No.” Not until she got herself under control.

  “No, you don’t mind facing me, or no, you don’t want to answer my question.”

  No to both, but she supposed she couldn’t evade either.

  The face she presented as she turned around was totally composed. As put together, Asa decided, as her dress and ruthlessly smoothed back hair.

  “Are you ordering me to answer your question?” she asked calmly.

  Now there was a thought. “You know, darlin’, when a woman’s as trussed up tight as you are, she shouldn’t walk around picking fights.”

  The only hint that his comment annoyed her was an almost indiscernible tightening of her lips. “I asked you a relevant question,” she said calmly.

  “That wasn’t a question, that was a dare,” he answered just as calmly.

  “It was and is a question which you’ve still failed to answer.”

  “There you go again, daring me.” He couldn’t resist. The more sweet calm she threw his way, the more he wanted to devil her. This act she had of always being sweet and unruffled was so much bull, it practically reeked manure. She was as mad as all get out. If he needed proof, he’d find it in her chin. If that sweet, stubborn curve got any higher, the woman would be stuck with a permanent crick.

  “I fail to see, Mr. MacIntyre, why you’d want to turn an innocent question into a battle.”

  He folded his arms across his chest and settled his weight onto his good hip. “It does make a body wonder why anyone would set out to do that, but, sure as shooting, you’re itching for a fight.” When she didn’t rise to the bait, he continued. “Seems all I did was ask what had you slamming pots around and, you went all poker-backed on me.”

  “I did not go poker-backed on you, MacIntyre, whatever that means—”

  “Poker-backed means you couldn’t pull that spine any tighter unless you wanted to pop it in two.”

  “I simply placed the pots in the basin to be washed,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “If that doesn’t meet with your approval…” She ended on a shrug.

  The way she stood, all sweet and gentle, looking as calm as a daisy sitting in a meadow of sunshine, was irritating as hell, but knowing that she was doing it on purpose to aggravate him took the edge off his bad humor. It was a strange and new thing, not having a woman run from his scowl. Kind of fascinating in an irritating sort of way. “So, I’m supposed to believe you were placing pots in the sink hard enough to crack ‘em because you like the way the sun’s shining this morning?”

  “You, Mr. MacIntyre, can believe whatever you want. No doubt you’re eminently capable of handling any testing sent your way.”

  “You got that right.” Asa smiled. “Which brings us to the question of why any new wife would want to test her husband?”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  And pigs would fly before noon. “You don’t?”

  “No.” Her weight shifted slightly, suggesting she might be digging in for another round.

  “Seems to me it all started when I didn’t need you to introduce me to the hands.” He shook his head. “But that doesn’t make sense as one of the reasons you married me was to handle the ranch.”

  “The men,” she corrected a little too quickly to be polite.

  He hid a smile and pretended he didn’t hear. “My part of the deal was that I took over the men so you could get back to your needlework.” He hadn’t seen any needlework around the house, but, from talk he’d heard, needlework was a woman’s passion.

  Just maybe not Elizabeth’s, he decided as her face immediately turned beet red.

  “I assure you, Mr. MacIntyre, there’s more to a woman than needlework.”

  “Hey, don’t be embarrassed. It’s no never mind to me if you can’t make those fancy little pillows.”

  “I’m perfectly accomplished at needlework!”

  “I didn’t mean any slight,” Asa continued in the face of her anger. “I’m a plain man and plain pillows suit me fine.”

  The man was anything but plain, Elizabeth thought, unless she considered him plain aggravating. “If you want a house full of fancy pillows with cute sayings on them, I’ll make them for you.”

  “That’d be nice. I always had a hankering for one that said Home Sweet Home.”

  “Fine, then that’ll be first on the list.”

  “Well, I thank you. Now, do you want to tell me why you’re so angry?”

  “No.”

  “Then come here.” He pointed to the floor in front of him. He didn’t give her time to budge before he repeated himself. “I said, come here.”

  She would have, too, if he hadn’t snapped his fingers. Instead, she planted her feet, arched her chin up, and matched him stare for stare. In a pissing contest, he had an advantage, but, when it came to a battle of wills, she could hold her own. “I’m not a dog, Mr. MacIntyre.”

  “You call me Mr. MacIntyre one more time, and you’re going to wish you were.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” She threw up her hands before slamming them down on her hips. “What possible objection can you have to being called Mr. MacIntyre?”

  “Plenty. I’m your husband.”

  “And I’m your wife.” She bet he used that frown to scare people. Well, not her. “It’s a sign of respect for me to refer to you as Mister.”

  His right brow took wing, landing somewhere in his hairline. “Who in hell told you that?”

  “All proper—”

  “Is that another one of those idiotic rules you learned at that da—darned school?”

  “It’s not an idiotic school.”

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Let’s get something straight! I don’t care what you learned in that fancy school. I don’t want a wife who walks around trussed up tighter than a Christmas goose, who wears more clothes to bed than she wears around the house, and I definitely don’t want a wife who calls me Mr. Anything!”

  When he was done shouting, she was right in his face, matching him yell for yell. “Well, what do you want me to call you?”

  “How about honey,
or sweetheart, or hey, here’s a thought…” He pushed his face in hers. “What the hell is wrong with Asa?”

  On that note, he shoved past her and slammed out the door.

  Elizabeth stared at the closed door. “Nothing’s wrong with Asa. I just find jackass preferable.”

  The door flew open so quickly, she dreaded he might have been listening. From the set of his shoulders, she guessed the few seconds of fresh air hadn’t improved his mood. “Did you forget something?”

  “Yes.”

  “What?”

  “This.”

  He stepped into the room, bringing the fresh scent of morning with him. Beneath his hat, his storm cloud eyes glittered with emotion. Her heart dropped into her stomach. She searched the small kitchen for a weapon. Unfortunately, in order to secure a pot or knife, she’d have to come within his reach. Where was her brain this morning, angering a man to the point she’d needled Asa? If she wanted to be so stupid, the least she could have done was to arm herself while she was at it.

  He stopped when they were toe to toe. Her feet betrayed her resolution to show no fear. She took a step back. Asa took a step forward. Her rear collided with the kitchen table. His hand reached out. She closed her eyes and braced for the blow.

  It was the longest time coming. In the eternity in which she waited for his fist to make contact, his scent surrounded her. The heat of his body scorched her nerve endings. His chest brushed against hers. The briefest of contacts and then nothing. No pain, no bruises. Just nothing. She opened her eyes.

  “I forgot my lunch.”

  “Oh.” For the life of her, she couldn’t think of anything. A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead. She felt her heart pounding. No doubt her pulse was visible in her throat.

  “I forgot something else.” Slow and easy, his drawl made a mockery of the fear that parched her throat.

  “What?”

  He shifted the sack containing his lunch to his left hand. His right came up to slide slowly around the back of her neck. His smile was as lazy as his drawl. “I forgot my goodbye kiss.”

  “Oh.”

  He tugged and she went. His thumb tipped up her chin. His head came down. She closed her eyes when his lips touched hers. There was none of the force she expected. No probing with his tongue. There was just the sweet, light rubbing of his lips on hers. He eased back. Disappointment at the separation tripped over her defenses. Opening her eyes, she looked into his. His gaze was intent. His thumb pulled her lower lip free of her teeth and slid across the moist interior. “You want to kiss me back?”

  Did she? She slid her arms around his neck as her breasts swelled and plumped in anticipation. “Yes.”

  His thumb slipped into her mouth. Her lips closed reflexively around it. His groan vibrated against her hardened nipples. His eyes were glued to the sight of her lips wrapped around his thumb. “Damn, I love your mouth.”

  “You said that before.”

  He smiled, moving his thumb in and out of her mouth, sending tingles down her spine. “You’ll probably hear it a time or two more.”

  She caught his thumb with her teeth. Holding his gaze, she sucked lightly on the salty flesh.

  “Damn!” There was a soft thump as his lunch hit the floor.

  He didn’t look mad anymore. Elizabeth couldn’t contain her smile as she swirled her tongue around the rough pad. It wasn’t her imagination that he jerked against her.

  “Jesus! Do that to my cock and I’ll be your slave for life.”

  Two things hit her at once. Shock at his wording and satisfaction on finally knowing what men called their things.

  “You liked it last night when I kissed you there?” The question obviously threw him for he stared at her open mouthed, but not a word passed his suddenly tight lips. She dragged her hands to the buttons on his shirt and slipped her fingers between the flaps. The hair on his chest tickled her fingertips. “You liked my lips on your…cock?”

  His breath drew in harshly. He released it on a rough laugh. “Yeah.”

  “Then why did you pull me away?”

  She popped the top two buttons of his shirt and her smile broadened as he seemed to freeze into a statue. Against her stomach, his cock pressed demandingly. Above her head, his breath sawed in and out of his lungs in desperate anticipation. His hands fell from her face. They landed by his sides, briefly touched her hips, and fell back to his sides again. He clearly didn’t know what to make of her boldness. She kissed his chest through the vee of his shirt. She decided she liked him off balance.

  With the tip of her tongue, she tasted his flesh. He tasted as fresh as he smelled. He tasted of pure, unadulterated, clean masculinity. His big hand came up and cupped the back of her head, pressing her against him.

  “You’re killin’ me darlin’.”

  “I’m just kissing you back.”

  “You’re playing with fire.”

  She cut him a glance through her lashes. “Not yet, but I intend to.”

  His hand never left her head as she kissed her way down his torso on her slow drop to the floor. Until her knees hit the wood planks, she wasn’t really sure she was going to go through with it, but when she saw the extent of his desire for her, remembered the night before, the power that had been hers those few brief moments she’d had him in her mouth, she knew what she wanted. His fingers clenched in her hair, stopping her from moving forward.

  “You don’t need to do this.”

  It was a long trip up to his face. A long pleasurable trip. Her husband was one finely put together man. She moistened her lips with her tongue. “Don’t you like it when a woman kisses you there?”

  His eyes closed and his head tipped back like he was struggling for control.

  “I’ve never asked a woman to do that.”

  She paused, returning her gaze to the front of his pants. “I was the first?”

  She might have imagined it, but his cock seemed to be reaching for her through the heavy denim.

  His “yes” was a harsh hiss of sound.

  She liked knowing that. With one finger she reached forward and traced the contours of his shaft. His hips bucked helplessly beneath her touch. A woman could get addicted to having a man react to her like this, she decided.

  “I liked it,” she confessed in a barely discernible whisper.

  “What?”

  A quick glance determined she had his full attention. She didn’t know if he truly hadn’t heard or was shocked at what she’d said. She did know, however, that she wanted to taste his cock again. This time at her pace, without his interference.

  “I liked it,” she repeated clearly.

  She was lifted from the floor by two large hands on her upper arms. She looked up to find his dark eyes glittering with emotion, the dark almost swallowing the silver.

  “What?” she asked on a twinge of unease.

  “I’m thinking I might like it, too.”

  In the time it took her to blink, he had her up and sitting on the table top. It was going to be tough to accomplish what she wanted from here. It took all her composure to point that out without stammering or crumpling into a ball of embarrassment. He didn’t appear to notice. He merely flashed a grin and chuckled when she groaned. For once, he didn’t argue her avoiding his gaze. It should have warned her, but she was too caught up in mortification to pay attention until it was too late.

  She nearly jumped out of her skin when his cool hands captured her ankles. As she scooted back, she asked, “What are you doing?”

  With a tug, he undid her efforts and had her posterior teetering on the edge of the table.

  “Thought I’d have a bit more breakfast,” he answered, stepping between her calves, completely unconcerned with her skirt riding up past her knees.

  She tried to push the material down, but she wasn’t too effective as she had to use one hand to balance on the table top. “This isn’t seemly,” she pointed out desperately as he stepped between her splayed thighs. Her skirt continued its upward
climb.

  His “I wasn’t going for seemly,” was completely unconcerned with the fact that her skirt was now above her thighs and sunlight was highlighting every wrinkle in her pantaloons.

  He paused. “Now there’s a problem.”

  What on earth could he be seeing as a problem. Down there?

  On second thought, she didn’t want to know.

  The jiggle he gave her legs as he reached for something in his boot upset her balance. With a gasp, she felt her arm give out and she landed on her back.

  “Now that’s a sight.”

  She was sure it was. It wasn’t every day a woman found herself laid out on the kitchen table in broad daylight, with her skirts hitched up around her waist and a fully dressed man standing between her thighs staring at all there was to see. She squeezed her eyes shut. The one corner of her soul that wasn’t writhing in mortification wished heartily she’d put on her fancy underwear this morning. The silk ones with the expensive lace.

  Something cool and narrow touched her thigh. She jerked upright only to immediately fall back. “Is that a knife?”

  “Yup.” His drawl was unconcerned. His hand on her midriff stopped her next lunge.

  “Just lie still darlin’ and we’ll be getting this problem out of the way.”

  “I assure you I don’t have any problem down…there.” At least, she hoped not.

  The knife began an upward slide. She heard the hiss of material parting, and suddenly had an excellent idea of what he thought was a problem.

  “Are you crazy?” she gasped.

  “Nope.”

  “I can’t be naked in the kitchen!” There was a light tug as the knife hit the thickness of the drawstring waistband, and then the cool waft of the morning air on her hip.

  “I wasn’t shooting for fully bare assed.”

  As if that was some comfort. “I absolutely refuse to allow this to continue.” The knife slid under her opposite leg and slid through the cotton like it was nothing.

  “It’s a little late to be complaining.”

  Not in her book. While he was distracted returning the knife to its sheath, she wiggled toward the side of the table and freedom.

  He stopped her simply by using his grip on her legs to pull her hips back toward him. “Hold still, darlin’. I’ve never done this before and I’m real interested in getting it right.”