Cougar poured the alcohol. “Why?”
“I just got done dropping Dorothy off at your place.”
Which explained Doc’s bad mood. Dorothy refused to ride a horse and Doc hated to ride in the wagon. Claimed it shook his bones up.
“What kind of mood is Dorothy in?”
“Well, she’s madder than a wet hen at you for upsetting Mara, and pleased as punch she’s going to have a baby to spoil.”
Cougar shook his head and tossed back the last of his drink.
Mark put another bottle on the table, along with a tray of glasses. “Congratulations, Cougar.”
Cougar took the bottle out of his hand and flipped a glass over. Despite the amount of liquor he must have consumed, the glass landed precisely where he wanted it and his speech was perfectly clear. “I’d rather have my wife.”
Doc held out a glass. “It’s not an either-or thing, son.”
Cougar ignored the request. “You said she wasn’t a good candidate to bear children.”
“I’m just a country doctor, what the hell do I know?”
“Enough to save Mara when she miscarried.”
The truth of that lay heavy in the silence.
Doc grabbed the bottle out of his hand. “Lots of women as small as her have babies without problems.”
“She’s already had a problem.”
With a lift of his grizzled eyebrow, Doc held the bottle over Brad’s near-empty glass. What the hell. Brad nodded. There were worse things a man could do on a Saturday morning. One of them being all but raping his wife in a church where anyone could walk in.
Doc poured the whiskey and then picked up the conversation. “She had a miscarriage, that’s not the same thing.”
“Feels like it to me.”
“I always thought it’d be an outlaw that took me down.” The glance Cougar cast Brad was heavy with irony.
Lord knows in his day Brad had given it a try. The only law-men he’d never been able to shake off his trail had been the McKinnelys. They’d been like deadly blood hounds, riding his tail so close by the end of a year they were almost like a reflection of himself, so when they’d been bushwhacked, he’d given in to the impulse and saved their lives. Occasionally, it was an impulse he regretted. He gave Cougar his most taunting smile. “I could go back to trying.”
Cougar arched a brow. “Missing that price on your head?”
“Sometimes.”
Cougar cracked his knuckles. “Say the word and we can reinstate it.”
“I don’t want it reinstated.” He shoved his glass toward Cougar. “I simply want the option of tearing up the place when I get pissed.”
“Hell, so would I.” Cougar tipped the whiskey bottle. The glass filled in three splashes.
“Next time you decide to show your gratitude by giving me a new start, make it something less confining.”
Cougar shrugged. “Like it or not, Rev, you’ve got preacher ways.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means it’s been good for everyone since you went straight,” Doc interrupted.
Brad remembered how he’d left Evie—panting, her face having that shell-shocked expression he’d seen on the faces of men after the war. And her mother beating down the door. “Not everyone.”
“See,” Cougar pointed to the table. “That’s a man’s downfall.”
Brad looked at his hand, seeing nothing but the faint scars and his wedding ring. “What is?”
“A woman. A tiny little slip of a woman.”
Since Brad wouldn’t call Evie tiny, Cougar must be back to talking about Mara. He couldn’t imagine how scared Cougar must be right now. His wife was in danger, in his mind he’d put her there, and worse, there was nothing he could do to mitigate it. “Mara will be fine, Cougar.”
The other man looked up, his dark eyes haunted. “I never should have touched her.”
“Don’t be an ass,” Doc snorted. “It’s bad enough we’ve got the Reverend making a spectacle of his wife by dragging her all about town. We don’t need Mara kidnapping you again.”
Cougar smiled with remembered pleasure. “That part was fun.”
Doc shook his head and growled in his gravelly voice, “Hell, it’s a wonder the two of you survived long enough to get out of knee pants. With the mess you’ve both made, it’s a sure thing Dorothy is going to be in a foul mood tonight.”
“So?”
“So it’s Saturday, and I’ve got a long-standing date with my wife.”
Brad spewed whiskey across the table. Cougar choked. “Shit, Doc, we don’t need to be hearing that kind of stuff.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot how lily-white pure you two are.”
Brad was with Cougar. “Hell, Doc, I like you and Dorothy both well enough, but I sure as shit don’t want to be imagining you between the sheets.”
“Well, who in hell invited you to? I merely pointed out I don’t appreciate you giving my wife something else to think about.”
“There’s nothing for her to think about.”
“You don’t think Evie and Mara are going to talk to Dorothy, do you?”
“Hell, Cougar, use your head. Everyone talks to Dorothy. The woman has a knack for making people spill their guts.”
An uncontrollable heat spread up the back of Brad’s neck. There were some things he wasn’t comfortable with anyone else knowing, including the fact his wife drove him so crazy he’d dragged her into the church and made love to her, unable to stop even when her mother stood just on the other side of the door. “I’m sure there are some things even Dorothy can’t pry free.”
Doc scoffed. “Don’t kid yourself.”
Cougar swore again and looked as uncomfortable as Brad felt. “Hell.”
“Or shit.” Doc shrugged. “Spit out whatever curse takes your fancy. By now, Dorothy probably knows exactly how Mara got pregnant and”—he pointed at Brad—“what you did to your wife once you got her alone in the church.”
Which likely meant Brad would never get close to Evie again. That was unacceptable. He took a bigger sip of his whiskey.
“So, since you seem to know everything, what in hell do you think we should do?”
“Well, gentlemen,” Doc picked up the bottle and poured another round. Waiting until they picked up their glasses, he lifted his in a mock salute. “Considering the mess you’ve made of your marriages and how the resulting mess is going to impact mine, I think the best thing we can do is sit back and finish this bottle.”
Brad raised his glass. “Amen.”
Ten
THE KITCHEN DOOR of the parsonage squeaked a warning. Brad was home. Evie hastily smoothed her braid and settled the basket Gray had dropped off from Dorothy onto the kitchen table. Her nerves skipped like a leaf in a windstorm, images of the morning racing right behind.
“Looks like I got here just in time.”
Out of the corner of her eye she could see Brad standing in the doorway. However, she couldn’t turn her head to save her life. A blush scalded her cheeks. “If you want a prayer of lunch, yes.”
“That mean you’re as hungry as I am?”
There was absolutely nothing suggestive in the statement, and yet the heat in her cheeks intensified. “Yes.”
Still out of the corner of her eye, she saw Brad take off his hat and hang it by the door. A stray beam of sunlight caught the blue of his eyes and the top of his shoulders, while the shadows hugged his hips and thighs. The combination emphasized the perfection of his build. He was impossibly handsome, obviously virile. Very appealing. Scenes from this morning in the church wouldn’t go away. There had been nothing saintly about the man then. There was little saintly about him now. He was all aggressive male. All pure masculinity. All . . . perfect.
She took a step back as he came forward, folding her arms across her chest. Her gaze fell to the open neck of his shirt. His skin was deeply tanned, almost as dark as any cowboy’s. It was a gorgeous brown color, as rich as coffee, and set off the brig
ht blond of his hair. Beneath the smooth tan of his skin, she could see his pulse. She counted the beats. One, two, three. Her fingers tingled. If she touched him, he’d be warm and smell like leather, man, and tobacco. He ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling the thick mass into waves. She couldn’t help but remember how those same strands had felt like the coolest silk in her fingers as she’d held him to her. He peeked into the basket, releasing the scents of rosemary and fresh-baked bread.
“Now, that smells good. You cook it?”
He knew she hadn’t.
It was hard to get the words to form in her suddenly dry mouth. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll poison you?”
He pulled the towel back farther. “Hmm, it’s a possibility, according to the Simmonses.”
This close it was impossible to miss the new scents clinging to his clothes that hadn’t been there this morning—smoke and alcohol. Only one place drenched a man in those odors. “And getting stronger by the minute.”
Glancing at her from under his lashes he asked, “Are you warning me or testing me?”
She had the incredible urge to push his hair off his forehead. “Maybe a little of both.”
He pulled out a chair. “In the testing department, are you hoping I’ll pass or fail?”
She started pulling items from the basket. It was either that or succumb to the inappropriate urges that were prodding her. There was fragrant baked chicken, crusty sourdough bread, mayonnaise, butter, fresh whipped cream, biscuits, and juicy fresh strawberries. “I haven’t decided yet.”
He picked up his napkin. “Then why don’t we call a truce until after lunch? I’m starving.”
So was she, but she also had to know. “You’ve been drinking.”
“Can’t deny that.”
It wasn’t even noon. “At the saloon?”
“Yeah.”
Loose women were at the saloon. Her thumb broke through the crust of the loaf. Had he gone to a prostitute after leaving her in the church? Against her will, she remembered the warmth of his seed on her back. Did he come in the woman at the saloon? Give a prostitute what he wouldn’t give her?
“Alone?”
“Cougar and Doc kept me company.”
“Cougar was in the saloon?”
Ever since the night Mara had kidnapped Cougar, he’d avoided the place.
“Half-lit when I found him.”
“So you went there to keep him company?” It was all she could do to keep the hope out of the question.
“I went there to get drunk.”
She grabbed up the knife. “From the red rimming your eyes, I’d say you succeeded.”
He paused in reaching for the bread. “You think I’m drunk?”
The smile edging his lips grated on her nerves. He had nothing to be amused about. “Aren’t you?”
“Not for lack of trying, but that Cougar can be a selfish bastard when he’s determined to go on a bender. Doc and I barely got a sip. Mostly, I’m just tired.”
That was his own fault. She pulled out her chair at the other end of the rectangular table. Beyond a lift of his eyebrow, he didn’t comment on her choice of seating. Part of her was grateful. The other part was annoyed. He could at least care enough to notice. “Maybe you’ll have time to catch a nap later.”
“Is that an invitation?”
“For what?” The question popped out before she could censor it. His brow arched higher, and he grinned, damn him. Grinned that grin that made him more sinner than saint. The one that had every sore inch of her perking up in interest.
“I must be doing something wrong if you need me to spell that out.”
“You don’t need to spell anything out. It’s bad enough everyone knows what you did in the church this morning.”
“I did?”
“Yes, you.”
“You weren’t there coming so hard I had to cover your mouth to muffle your screams?”
How could he just say things like that? “You led me astray.”
Brad tugged the platter of chicken toward him. “Interesting.”
She couldn’t help noticing how dark his skin looked against the white platter, couldn’t help remembering how good those hands felt on her body. How skilled they’d been. “Everybody in town thinks I’m loose because of you!”
“First off”—he picked up the carving knife she’d set out earlier—“a woman can’t be too loose with her husband.”
“Says who?”
“Says me, your local spiritual voice.” He glanced up. “Do you prefer white or dark meat?”
“White. What’s secondly?”
Brad severed the joint with one cut. He was awfully good with knives. “What makes you think there’s a ‘secondly’?”
“If there weren’t, there wouldn’t be a ‘first off.’ ”
With deft grace, he settled the leg beside the breast. “Good point.”
She licked her lips and pulled the cutting board with the loaf of bread toward her. She needed something to take her mind off the pure sexuality of the man. “So what is it?” she asked, cutting into the loaf.
“The only way anyone would know what happened in the church would be if you colored berry bright—like you’re doing right now, incidentally—when they asked you about it.”
Her hand jerked. The knife angled off to the side. The first piece of bread fell off halfway down.
“You can’t blame me for that.”
“I don’t blame you for anything. I rather like the reputation that blush gets me. Offsets the rather staid image of a minister.”
She reset the knife on top of the loaf, keeping all her focus on the bread as she cut down. “I thought your staid image was everything.”
“The blush works fine for me.”
The knife slipped and skidded off the edge of the wooden board.
“Whoa now.” Brad caught her wrist, keeping the knife from demolishing the butter crock as it skidded across the table.
“Thank you.”
He didn’t let go of her wrist. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his thumb. Such an innocuous appendage. At least on anyone’s hand but Brad’s. Long, elegant, with neatly trimmed nails and thick calluses, it was a workingman’s hand. Her lover’s hand. And not more than three hours ago, it had had her screaming his name as joy crashed over her. In church. Oh God. He probably thought no more of her than anyone else.
“Evie, look at me.”
“I’ve got to finish cutting the bread.”
“The bread can wait.”
No, it couldn’t. Not if she didn’t want him to see how flustered she was. “I thought you were hungry.”
He sighed. “My hunger can wait.”
She tugged her hand again. “No it can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because, no doubt, every woman in this town is trying to peek in the windows to reassure themselves I’m taking care of you correctly.”
He let go of her wrist. “It’s a little hard on you, being married to me, isn’t it?”
“I’m sure it’s harder on you.”
He stole the piece of crust she’d originally cut off. Scooping some butter from the crock with his spoon, he spread it on the slice. “Nah, pretty much, I’ve got free license to do whatever I need to do to get you in line, including and up to beating you.”
She snapped the knife down. The serrated edges bit into the hardwood of the cutting board. Yanking it up, she angled it at him. “You beat me, and you won’t be waking up in the morning.”
He snagged the handle of the breadboard and spun it toward him. In a move so quick her fingers were still closing on air after the knife was gone, he took it from her grip. As if he hadn’t done the most extraordinary thing, he put the blade to the bread. “I stand advised.”
He didn’t look advised. He looked completely in control and unconcerned. While she, looking at him and then at her hand that still bore the sensory impression of the knife, was stunned. How had he done that? With smooth efficiency
, he cut four slices.
“I could finish cutting that.”
A full smile tugged his lips. “I have a policy of taking over the cutting when anyone starts threatening to gut me.”
Evie sat down because there didn’t seem to be anything more for her to do. Brad had taken over cutting the bread, his lunch . . . her life. All with the same lazy never-saw-it-coming competence.
“Do people often threaten to gut you?”
“You’d be surprised by how often preaching the good word gets people’s dander up.”
She couldn’t resist. “It might not be the good word, but the way you preach it that gets them riled.”
His smile turned completely charming, disarming if one didn’t look beneath the surface. “You just don’t have it in you to be cautious, do you?”
There was no sense lying. “Probably not.”
He started spreading mayonnaise on the bread. “At least you’re honest.”
“Sometimes.”
As he layered the white meat on top of the bread, he asked, “And is this one of those times?”
Surprisingly. “Yes.”
“Good.” Sprinkling salt over the top, he asked, “What the hell were you doing in that lawyer’s office?”
She poured lemonade from a pitcher into two glasses. “Finding out what my options were.”
He put another slice of bread on top, put it on the plate, and pushed it over to her. “Because you woke up alone this morning?”
It wasn’t a question. “It certainly didn’t make me happy.” She licked her lips. “Where did you go?”
There was the barest hesitation before he started on a second sandwich. “An old friend needed help.”
The only reason a man would hesitate to tell his wife about an “old friend” was if that old friend was female. “Is she your lover?”
Another look from under his lashes. “I’m a married man.”
He didn’t deny the person was female. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“It sure as hell should.” He slammed the top piece of bread down on the sandwich, smashing it flat. He was upset.
She didn’t really care. “But it doesn’t. Is she your lover?”
“It’s as good an answer as you’re going to get.”
Promises Reveal Page 16
