Promises Linger (Promise Series)

by Sarah McCarty

  All the hope of a green horn betting his last dime rested in her gaze. “I don’t see how—”

  He clicked his tongue. The woman was the most suspicious critter he’d ever come across. “Getting you inside is my side of the deal. You just need to ante up.”

  She held out her hand. “Done.”

  He took it in his, the novelty of shaking hands with any female making him smile. “Done.” He nodded with his chin. “You get that hair under control, and I’ll get Shameless settled in his stall.”

  Her gaze flew to Shameless. Her cheeks flushed scarlet anew. It wasn’t hard to follow where her memory traveled as she uttered a strangled “okay” and fled to the opposite side of the barn.

  Damn! Asa thought. Who’d have thought having a wife would be so much fun? He looped a lariat around Shameless’ neck and led him to his stall. From the corner of his eye, he saw Elizabeth fussing with her hair. Her arms were raised, her body partly turned so the curve of her breast flowed into the curve of her hip like the elemental sweep of a river. It was a purely feminine pose that caught him by surprise with a wave of possessiveness. Along with some pure lust. The woman was his. No one else’s. And he wasn’t going to lose her. Not for any reason.

  Which meant he had to find a way to make her want to stay, he decided, as Shameless clopped placidly behind him on the way to his stall. The scene in the kitchen with Aaron had given him some bad moments. She’d been so at ease with the other man. Truly confident, not that fake stuff she kept tossing his way. He hadn’t liked the feeling of standing outside looking in while she entertained the other man. He’d spent too much of his life that way.

  He sighed. Apparently, this marriage business was trickier than he’d been led to believe. To hear married men tell it, a man got married and chains started locking tight as if by magic. Nights on the town were curtailed. Evenings were spent at home in front of the fire or carousing in the bedroom. A man had a wife to account for and to account to. Eventually, he had kids and his obligations expanded. A married man had responsibilities. He had obligations. He had people who cared about him. A married man was part of a bigger community. A married man belonged.

  He nudged Shameless away from the grain bucket. The horse’s grunt echoed his own feelings. It was getting pretty obvious that he needed to work on his husbanding, because, married or not, he couldn’t be freer if he floated on a breeze. Elizabeth made no claims on him, chained him with no demands. She just let him be. He tossed the halter onto the hook with disgust. If that didn’t beat all. Here he’d waited his whole life for someone to sink their claws into him, and he married up with the only woman who couldn’t care less if he came home at night.

  Maybe he was the only married man in history looking for the chains others whined about, but dammit, he was getting tired of drifting through life with no one caring whether he showed up at dusk or at dawn. He eyed Elizabeth using his corner vision. She was scrubbing at a smudge on her shirt. Damned if she didn’t make him smile. Too proud to want the world to know she’d been sparking with her husband, yet hot-blooded enough to have enjoyed it.

  A smart man would find a way to make himself matter to a woman like that. If he did, he’d never be on the outside looking in again. Elizabeth wasn’t a woman to let someone she cared for go wanting. All a man had to do was to look at how far she’d gone to save this ranch to know that.

  He stepped out of the stall, and latched the door. Yup. The key to nailing down this marriage was in finding the key to Elizabeth’s loyalty. She was a straightforward woman. It couldn’t be that hard to put a handle to. He’d just have to think on it some.

  Elizabeth watched as Asa came ambling her way. His stride shouted pure confidence as he crossed the distance between them with that deceptively lazy way of moving he had. Once again, she realized he really was a fine figure of a man. Broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, and strong. Both inside and out.

  Lord, how was she supposed to hold someone like that? Especially someone who simmered with such intensity. She shook her head at her own denseness. How had she fallen for his just-a-cowpoke act? Common sense alone should have clued her in to his real personality. No one accomplished what he had by the time he was thirty-two without a will of iron and the intelligence to put it to good use. Lord, sometimes she was too stupid to breathe. Thank goodness the qualities he was opening her eyes to were strengths, not weaknesses.

  She smoothed her hands down the front of her dress. No matter how tightly she tucked in her blouse or how hard she stretched the fabric of her skirt, the material insisted on returning to its revealing pattern.

  She still couldn’t believe she’d acted as she had. Even though it had been her husband she’d been “sparking” with. The constant reminder in the way her clothing lay was hard to take. He probably thought she was loose. Especially after this morning. While he claimed he didn’t mind it now, the first time he got his suspicions up, he’d be throwing it back in her face. She’d have to be very careful in the future that she didn’t give him any reason to be suspicious.

  “You ready?” he drawled as he came abreast of her.

  She was going to hell in a hand basket for sure. Just the sound of his voice was enough to evoke memories of other words just as slowly spoken. Hot on the heels of those memories came the unladylike sin of lust. Maybe she was just like her mother. She took a breath, straightened her shoulders, and mentally pulled her dignity around her. Just because she was the contradiction of everything ladylike inside didn’t mean she had to let it show. “I’m ready.”

  His right brow shot up. “This isn’t going to work if you poker up on me.”

  “What isn’t going to work?”

  “Our stroll back to the house.”

  Stroll? She’d been thinking more along the lines of a mad dash. “You plan on strolling?”

  “Yup.” He held out an arm. With the free one, he motioned her into the crook. “Quicker you slide over here, the quicker I’ll be getting to that chocolate cake.”

  Mentally clutching her pride, she stepped to his side. His arm immediately slid to her waist, under her arm. “Relax,” he ordered.

  “I am relaxed.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I am!”

  “Darlin’, when a man has his arm around a woman and she’s relaxed, there’s some natural accommodating that goes on.”

  It took her a second to figure out what he meant. “And you’re an expert on that?”

  “I’ve had my arm around enough to be sure on the subject.”

  She made her voice as prim as she could. “I’m sure you feel you are, Mr. MacIntyre, but I’m relatively certain your accommodating expertise took place outside proper circles.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “As we’ve already established, no decent woman goes about un-corseted.”

  She knew as soon as he made the connection because his neck turned slightly red and the hand resting on her hip reflected the same tension she saw in his jaw. She’d only meant to get the upper hand. To get a bit of her own back. She hadn’t meant to insult him, but she had. She knew it. She touched her hand to his where it rested on her waist. “I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about.” He steered her out the barn door.

  “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  “I never made a secret about where I came from.”

  But he hadn’t advertised it either. As they stepped into the sunlight, she raised her hand to shield her eyes. “Still, I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t say a word, just kept walking across the yard, his path taking the route least likely to bring them into anyone’s path. His arm around her waist a natural barrier to anyone seeing the wrinkles in her shirt. She looked down at the hand resting on the flare of her hip. It was a big hand, all but spanning half her hip. A hand he’d never touched her with except in gentleness. A hand she knew in her bones he wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice to keep her safe, not because he bore her any great love, but simply because he believed a m
an protected what was his.

  Every man she’d ever known who’d claimed to be honorable valued respectability whether they lived up to their concept of honor or not. Asa’s honor ran bone deep. He had to value respectability to some degree. And she’d just as much as told him she didn’t see him as respectable. Sunlight blinked to shade as they reached the spreading branches of the old oak tree by the back door. She planted her feet and jerked Asa up short. She took advantage of his surprise to twist out of his grip and face him.

  “I said I was sorry.”

  “I heard you.”

  His expression was so unconcerned, she started thinking she’d been wrong. “And I heard you say it doesn’t matter, but it does if you think I don’t think you’re a respectable man.”

  “You’re making it hard for me to keep my end of the deal.” He waved his hand in the direction of the back door. “Ten more steps and I’ll be earning that chocolate cake.”

  She brushed aside his hand. “You’re not distracting me from this.”

  “From what?”

  She slammed her hands on her hips in exasperation. “From you thinking I don’t think you’re respectable!”

  He sighed and met her gaze evenly. She found no solace for her frustration there. “Darlin’, if you were hoping to marry with a man society would admire, your choice fell far short of the mark.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “My mother was a whore who’d lay down for any man, no matter how drunk or diseased, if it meant she could get more opium. My father was one of the thousand who’d found relief between her thighs.” This time, he brushed aside her hand before she could touch him. “In case you don’t know what that means, I spent my first years in a cat house in San Antonio, fetching and carrying for the women who worked there. Later, I hustled the streets, searching for food and sleeping in alleys. The nicest thing that ever happened to me was my mother’s death when I turned thirteen.”

  He delivered the facts of his birth in an unemotional drawl. No doubt it was in an effort to make her believe it didn’t affect him. She could understand that need to protect oneself. She did it herself. “Are you trying to shock me?”

  He sighed, whipped off his hat, and ran his fingers through his hair. “No.”

  “Good, because Old Sam already told me what he knew about your background.”

  “I never pegged you for a liar.”

  “Okay. So all he said was your beginnings were rough, but you were as honest as the day was long, fair in a fight, and a man to hitch my wagon to.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Will you stop that?”

  “What?”

  “Stop acting like you know what I’m going to say before I say it. It’s a most annoying habit.”

  “You weren’t going to say my background didn’t matter? You weren’t going to say what interested you were my other sterling qualities?”

  He had the gall to look amused while he stole her thunder. She wanted to smack him. “For an intelligent man, you are incredibly stupid!”

  She spun on her heel and marched into the house. Let him stew on that. The screen door gave a satisfying thump as she let it slam behind her. Halfway into the kitchen, she stopped to let her eyes adjust to the dimness. She near jumped out of her skin when the screen door slammed again. She turned and made out Asa’s silhouette. Apparently, he wasn’t a man given to stewing.

  “You needn’t look so scared. I didn’t come in here to whale on you, though I’d be well within my rights for that crack.”

  She tipped up her chin. “Stupid is as stupid does.”

  “You’re pushing it.”

  Yes, she was. And she had no idea why. “I’d like to be alone.”

  “You owe me some chocolate cake.”

  She marched to the cupboard. Opening the door, she pulled down the cake. She resisted the urge to toss it on the table. Instead, she gently set it in the middle. What she really wanted to do was to smash it in his face. How dare he take her apology and make light of it!

  “I’ve never welshed on a bet in my life.” Scooping the dirty dishes from her visit with Aaron into a pile, she moved them to the wash basin. Returning to the table with a plate and a fork, she plopped Asa’s place setting before him. Aligning his fork on the napkin, she took the knife and plunged it into the center of the cake. Stepping back, she waved Asa to his seat. “Enjoy.”

  Asa looked at the precise place setting. The beautifully frosted cake. The knife still quivering in its center. No doubt about it. His wife was beginning to lose a bit of her starch. “It’s already frosted.”

  In that carefully precise voice he was fast coming to hate, she said. “Yes, it is.”

  “You tricked me.”

  “It’s not my fault you chose to bargain without ascertaining the facts.”

  “If that means I get what I deserve for bettin’ blind, I guess you’re right.” He pulled the knife free and waved it at the single plate. “You not planning on having any?”

  “I don’t want to spoil my dinner.”

  He caught a glob of frosting on his finger before it could splat on the checkered tablecloth. As natural as breathing, the frosting made its way to his mouth. The rich flavor spread through his mouth, seducing him with its promise. “Darlin’, you sure can cook.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want some?” he asked as he cut through the cake.

  “No. But you go ahead. I’ll just go upstairs and make myself presentable.”

  That quick, she was out of the room. And it was just him and that mouth-watering chocolate cake. He should have been thrilled. He’d only had chocolate cake a few times in his life, but it’d been enough to know it was his favorite. Now he had an entire cake in front of him. It hadn’t cost a week’s wages and he had all the time in the world to enjoy it. He should have been hopping with glee.

  Instead, all he could think of was how Elizabeth had looked when Ballard was here. The kitchen had seemed a cozy place. Warm. Almost seductive. He leveled a chunk of cake onto his plate. It sat in the middle of the white expanse, dark, moist and slathered with frosting. It should have sent his mouth watering anew. Instead, it seemed lonely somehow, sitting on that stark white plate. Like something was missing. The whole kitchen felt that way, he realized. Almost unwelcoming. Definitely neglected.

  Maybe it was the pile of dishes waiting to be washed. He left the cake and filled the basin with water from the warming pan. Working up a lather on the cloth draped over the side, he set to cleaning the mess. When he was done, he glanced around. The dishes drying on the sideboard was an improvement, but things still didn’t feel right. He looked about, but couldn’t put his finger on what was wrong. No doubt about it, he wasn’t going to fully appreciate that cake without everything being just perfect.

  “You didn’t eat your cake.”

  Elizabeth was back. He turned to find she’d changed into a red-checked dress that made her look so prim and proper, he itched to nudge her bun askew.

  “Thought I’d get these dishes first.” He tossed the dishrag into the basin. Water slopped over the side. He suppressed a curse as he fished out the rag to wipe it up.

  She came rushing to his side as if it had been an emergency. “Oh, my goodness! You didn’t have to do that.”

  “It’s just a little water.”

  “No.” She stood to his left, wringing her hands and fidgeting. He got the distinct impression she’d shove him to the side if she thought she could get away with it. “I meant the dishes. I would have gotten to them. Just when I was about to, you came in and I haven’t had a chance to clean up.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “No, it isn’t. I really am responsible. I would have gotten to them.”

  He caught her by the shoulders. She flinched. “Elizabeth, I did the dishes because I was standing here and they were sitting there. I reckon we’ll all survive.”

  “But you didn’t eat your cake!”

  Appa
rently, that was supposed to mean something. “It’s not going anywhere.”

  She glanced at the table and wrung her hands anew. “I didn’t even pour you coffee!” She bolted for the stove, halted halfway there, and turned to apologize again. “It’s no excuse, but I was so worried about being presentable—”

  The way he remembered it, she’d been mad because of his teasing. “I can pour coffee.”

  The look she shot him said “don’t you dare” louder than if she’d screamed it. She motioned to the table. “Go sit down and eat your cake. I’ll get the coffee.”

  “You don’t have to heat it up. Cold is fine.”

  He might have saved his breath for all the mind she paid him.

  He sat at the table. It must have been his imagination because the piece of cake seemed to have perked up in his absence. His mouth watered immediately on sight. When Elizabeth came over, coffee cup in hand, he was a little embarrassed to note he’d put a full third of the cake on his plate. She took a look at the size of his helping as she placed his coffee before him. Instead of shooting him a frown, she seemed to relax.

  She waited expectantly for his first bite. He’d be damned if he was going to take it with her hovering like a waitress at a restaurant. He pushed the adjacent chair out with his foot. “Have a seat.”

  “Just let me get supper on.”

  “Does it need to be done now?”

  “No.”

  “Then have a seat.”

  She sat kitty corner to him. Her hands folded primly on the table as if she didn’t quite know what to do. He cut a piece of cake with the side of his fork. Her gaze followed every inch of the short journey it made to his mouth. Her eyes stayed glued to his face as he chewed. When he made to go for another bite, her eyes followed the fork.

  “Sure you don’t want some?” he asked.

  “My father killed my mother.”

  The words lay between them like stone. A crumb lodged sideways in his windpipe. He grabbed for his coffee. Thank the Lord it wasn’t piping hot or he’d have been short a throat come morning.