Promises Reveal

by Sarah McCarty

  He pushed his chair back. He didn’t fucking need this. The bottle of whiskey sat on the ornate sidebar in the parlor. He poured a hefty amount into one of the crystal glasses that matched the decanter, a gift from a grateful traveler after Brad had found his daughter, who’d run away with a cowhand. It hadn’t been that hard to bring her back. The girl had already been having second thoughts, but there’d been no telling the traveler that. In his mind, Brad had worked a miracle. Brad tossed back the whiskey. The crystal set, the most expensive thing the man owned, had been his reward for being a hero.

  Another sob drifted down through the air vents, the muffled sound flaying him with unexpected force. He’d had the guilt beaten out of him before he’d sprouted his first chest hair, so he damn well knew what bothered him wasn’t that. Three more sobs and another couple shots and he’d had enough. Pouring two glasses this time, Brad swore and headed upstairs, not clear where he was heading until he got in front of their bedroom door. The bedroom where Evie wasn’t, but should be. Curled up soft and warm in their bed, waiting for him to tuck her against him so she could sleep.

  No more sobs came down the hall. She’d either fallen asleep or heard him come upstairs. The thought of her behind the door holding on to her pride bothered him more than the thought of her crying herself to sleep, but not by much. He turned too fast. Liquid splashed over his hands. He glanced down, not understanding the wetness at first and then he remembered. He’d brought Evie and himself a drink. Being careful not to spill any more of Doc’s best, he walked the ten steps it took to get to the bedroom door. He debated knocking. If he just walked in, she might be more offended, but she sure couldn’t turn him away. The deciding factor was that his hands were full. He knocked with the toe of his boot. Once. No answer. Twice. No answer. He didn’t bother with a third, just kicked hard. The door bounced against the wall. Evie screamed and sat up.

  “Shh, you’ll wake up the neighbors.”

  Glaring pointedly at the door while she scrubbed at the tearstains on her cheeks, she asked, “You think they’re asleep?”

  The scrubbing was a waste of time. Her eyes were swollen and her face was splotchy. Even if he hadn’t heard her, there was no way he could miss the evidence that she’d been crying.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  He handed her a glass. “I brought you a drink.”

  She took it, her gaze bouncing between him and the glass. He put the other on the bed stand and started unbuttoning his shirt.

  “Now what are you doing?”

  “Getting ready for bed.”

  “I’m mad at you.”

  “I know. I heard you crying.”

  “I had a hard day.”

  Shucking his shirt, he started on his boots. “And I didn’t help.”

  She blinked and sniffed. “No, you didn’t.”

  She was holding the drink like it was poison.

  “If you sip your whiskey, you’ll feel better.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  The second boot was more stubborn than the first. “Are you arguing with me again?”

  “Yes, and you can’t sleep here.”

  “Husbands and wives sleep together.” His thoughts might be a bit unclear due to the amount of whiskey he’d drunk on an empty stomach, but he was sure on that fact.

  “No, they don’t.”

  “I swear, woman, you’d argue the color of the sky if you got in a mood.”

  “I’m not in a mood, I’m indisposed!”

  That snapped his head up. “You’re sick?”

  Illness could be another reason for the splotchy face.

  “No.” She clenched her teeth. “I’m indisposed.”

  He stopped unbuttoning his pants. “I’ll get Doc.”

  “No!” She took a hefty swig of her whiskey, wheezing and sputtering, her face getting so red he thought it might catch fire. Just when he thought she’d get her wind back, she clutched her stomach and bent double. He caught the whiskey before it hit the floor.

  “Just go away.”

  Alarm sharpened his senses. Placing her whiskey beside his on the bed stand, he squatted in front of her, lifting her chin so he could see her face.

  “Now’s not the time for modesty.”

  Just last month Clancy almost lost his wife when she wouldn’t tell Doc her stomach hurt because she was worried he’d want to see the location. It’d taken a hell of a lot of sweet talking on Brad’s part, but eventually, Doc had not only seen her stomach, he’d removed the appendix that was threatening to kill her. Damn, could that be happening to Evie, too? “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Her expression a mixture of pain, misery, and embarrassment, she repeated herself, the emphasis on each syllable imparting a meaning her narrow-eyed glare said she clearly expected him to get.

  “I’m in-dis-posed.”

  “I don’t know what the hell that means.”

  “It’s my time of the month!”

  The last was yelled loudly enough to be heard the next block over. Over the sound of crickets came the sound of male laughter.

  “Oh God.” Tears filled her eyes as she turned her face away. “Just go away.”

  And leave her like this? He didn’t think so. Processing what she’d told him and what he could see, he asked, “Your belly hurts?”

  She bit her lip and nodded, clearly in too much pain to worry about mortification anymore. He shucked his pants.

  “I can’t—”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve already figured out you’re not going to be much fun tonight.”

  While she sputtered her indignation, he walked around the bed and slid in on the other side. The mattress dipped under his weight. Taking advantage of the moment, he worked his arm behind her and pulled her into his shoulder as he leaned against the headboard. “Drink the rest of your whiskey.”

  She shook her head. Her hair rubbed his cheek. The soft scent of wildflowers surrounded him.

  “It’ll relax you.”

  Beneath the covers, his hand found her abdomen. The muscles were rock hard beneath the silken skin. With a nudge, he pushed her hand away and laid his much bigger hand over the area, letting the heat seep in. After a minute she relaxed into his shoulder, turning more fully into the warmth of his hand.

  “I’m still mad at you.” It was a very soft, determined declaration.

  “I know you are.” He brushed his lips over her hair, his insides tied in knots. He didn’t like seeing her like this. “Drink your whiskey.”

  She reached for the glass, taking a cautious sip. He felt the relaxing of her muscles that signaled the end of the cramp. Turning her a little more into his arms so he was half supporting her, he started to massage the affected area lightly through the thin cotton nightgown.

  “Oh.”

  “Feel good?”

  The only answer he got was a nod. “How long does this last?”

  “A week.”

  “You suffer like this for a week?” If that was the case, he didn’t care what she said. She was going to see Doc.

  “I only hurt for a day or two.”

  A day or two? “Drink faster.”

  “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

  “Just trying to catch you up.”

  “You’re drunk?”

  “Working on it. Whiskey hits hard on an empty stomach.”

  “You didn’t eat your dinner.”

  “Millie knows I hate chicken paprika.”

  For some reason her whole face lit up. “I love it.”

  “Want me to get you a plate?”

  She took another sip of her whiskey. “I think I’d rather just get drunk.”

  “Are you a happy drunk?”

  “Is there any other kind?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “I’ll try to be happy.”

  The way she gulped the next swallow told him the pain was coming back. He tucked her just a little closer, easing his other hand around so he could work at the tension in her back. “Don
’t tense up.”

  “What do you know about it?”

  “Not much.” He’d never been close enough to a woman to know her cycle and the problems that came along with it. “I’ll talk to Doc tomorrow though and get informed.”

  “You will not!”

  He held her when she would have pushed away. “I’m not having you in pain.”

  “It’s normal.”

  Not for his wife. “I’m talking to Doc.”

  “You’ll embarrass me.” A tear dampened his chest as she moaned and pulled her knees up.

  “I’ll be discreet.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

  “You don’t know the first thing about me.”

  “I know you’re more than what you seem.”

  Shit. Now was the time to be mean, to throw her off, but she was small and hurting and curled up in his arms, letting him comfort her. He brushed another kiss across the top of her head. “Trust me, it’s all good.”

  There was a tense silence and then, “Tell me you didn’t make love to Nidia the other night.”

  Ah hell. “I didn’t make love to Nidia or any other woman. I didn’t have sex with her or any other woman. What’s more, I didn’t want to.”

  “Why?”

  He could lie, should lie, should do something to keep her at a distance, but what came out was the truth. “Because she wasn’t you.”

  For a minute she didn’t say anything. He couldn’t tell if she was thinking or just in so much pain she didn’t care what he’d said, but then she turned just a little more into his embrace and sighed.

  “We argue.”

  “Passionate people often do.”

  Another silence as she mulled on that. “You don’t hurt when you argue.”

  “I’m not a bully.” The one thing he swore he’d never be is a man like his father, a man who used his size and his position to abuse those who had no protection. A man who guided through terror.

  Her fingers curled around his nape—the action was soft, sweet, and trusting. Making him feel ten times the heel he was. He didn’t deserve her trust.

  “No, you’re not.”

  The admission flicked his conscience with whiplike precision. He was an outlaw and a bastard, a man who’d walked so far from God there could be no return. Some would say a real son of a bitch. Yet Evie saw him as good.

  The door to forgiveness is always open. All you have to do is walk through.

  Brad tipped the glass toward Evie’s mouth, ignoring the refrain that had been tempting him of late, growing in frequency right along with his commitment to the town and its people. There was no undoing the past.

  “Drink.”

  “This doesn’t change anything.” She took another large sip before repeating, “I’m still mad at you.”

  That made him smile. “You worried that you’re going to forget?”

  “Yes.”

  This time, when he kissed her, he didn’t pull back, just kept his lips on her hair, holding her, an odd sense of rightness invading him as he provided her comfort. “Then I promise to do something to remind you.”

  “But not now?” she sighed into his kiss.

  “No, not now.” Now he just wanted to hold her and pretend that Shadow Svensen had never existed, that he was the man Evie thought him to be, and that this life he’d always dreamed of as a boy too stupid to know better really could be his. “Now we’ll just pretend everything is perfect.”

  She stirred and grumbled. “Perfect is boring.”

  Only to someone who’d never known hell. “Then for tonight, let’s be boring. No pain, no past, no pressure, just us.”

  She broke the kiss to meet his gaze. More than what he wanted must have shown in his expression, because she relaxed against him and her hug cradled him the same way he cradled her, protectively.

  “That would be nice.”

  He nestled her closer. Yeah. It would.

  Thirteen

  “I DIDN’T JUST demand everyone be here today because I was feeling underappreciated.”

  Brad’s words filtered through the bustle of the congregation as they gathered their belongings, preparing to leave. Evie, for whom the hour had passed in an agony of faking serenity while her belly cramped, was as surprised as everyone else.

  “You didn’t?” Doc asked. “Then why in hades are we packed in here tighter than pigs in a poke?”

  Brad didn’t immediately answer, his blue eyes slightly narrowed as his gaze swept over the congregation with an expectancy that had people shifting uncomfortably. Evie shifted right along with them. It wasn’t Brad’s normal pattern to start another sermon after he’d just finished one. Had seeing her so indisposed last night made him rethink his insistence on the marriage being real? Was he going to announce he wanted a divorce? She hunched down in her pew.

  “Because I wanted to talk to you.”

  The sick feeling didn’t leave Evie’s gut, and it had nothing to do with the agony of her monthly and everything to do with fear that her marriage was about to end.

  “Heck, Rev, you just spent thirty minutes jawing our ears off.”

  His smile didn’t give anyone comfort. “That was just to soften you up for what I really want.”

  “And what is that?”

  “To talk to you about the need to follow our beliefs as strongly as we voice our opinions.”

  Total silence descended upon the church. A baby wailed. Pews creaked as people looked at each other. Evie pressed her hand to her stomach and looked at her mother, who sat in the third row. Pearl just shrugged. She didn’t have any idea either.

  I like your pride.

  Evie sat up as Brad’s words came back to her. Whatever this was it had nothing to do with her marriage. Any issues Brad had with that, he’d handle in private.

  “A year ago Cattle Crossing was a cesspool of ill repute. Bandits hid out here, raiding the surrounding area, believing they were safe from retribution because of the fear that held the citizens paralyzed. Some of our beloved citizens were abused, some were held against their wills and forced into lives they never would have chosen for themselves.”

  Everyone turned to face Mara and nodded. Cougar growled.

  “You damn well—”

  “Cougar,” Mara gasped, “you can’t swear in church.”

  “Then the Rev best find another way to make his point.”

  “The truth is never an insult,” Brad continued. “And the truth is, while the McKinnelys did a good job of routing the bandits, the rest of us haven’t done our job.”

  Cougar settled back down, his gaze speculative. Evie relaxed further. This definitely did not sound like the start to an I’ve-decided-I-don’t-want-my-wife-anymore speech.

  “We’ve turned a blind eye to the problems still in our community, letting the weak be abused and exploited while telling ourselves there’s nothing we can do. We’ve made this choice time and time again, and I’m sick of it.”

  “Could you get to the point, Rev? I’ve got a whiskey with my name on it waiting at the saloon,” a wrangler standing among his three friends in the back shouted.

  Brad smiled that cold smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’d be happy to. You all know me.” He glanced pointedly at the drunken quartet in the back. “I’m a tolerant man when it comes to some things, coming to church on Sunday with the effects of Saturday night clinging to you being one of them, but there are things going on in this community that turn my stomach, things that we excuse because the law says it’s fine to turn a blind eye, and societal rules make it even more convenient.”

  “What kind of things, Rev?” Clint asked in his deep voice.

  “There are still women trapped in a life they don’t want, abused, their children’s stomachs cramping with hunger, their little bodies sporting bruises that shame us all. Because we look the other way.”

  The congregation shifted again, looking toward Bull Braeger’s small family.

  “What t
he hell are you all looking at?” Bull snarled.

  The congregation shifted again, no one wanting to face that much muscle.

  Everyone except Brad. He met Bull’s gaze directly, stepping down from the pulpit. When Bull stood, displaying his massive size and muscle, Brad didn’t even pause, just headed down the center aisle.

  “They’re looking at a problem that needs to be solved.”

  “My family is my business.”

  “Not anymore.”

  Bull’s hands fisted and his face flushed while Brad, apparently oblivius to the warning signs, just kept walking with that smooth, measured glide that Evie recognized as signaling he meant business. Oh shoot! Searching the church for a weapon, she considered the freestanding candelabra to her right. It was heavy enough to put a dent in even Bull’s thick skull.

  “The hell you say,” Bull snapped.

  “Yes. I do.”

  On the aisle opposite Bull’s family, Patrick, the new blacksmith, rose to his feet and watched Brad’s progress with a calm Evie wished she felt. Bull made two of most men.

  “This morning, Erica Braeger came to me in tears, desperate, asking for help.” Brad casually nodded to Millicent as he passed. “And I’ve decided to give it to her.”

  “Thank God.”

  That came from Jenna.

  After a hard glare at his wife, Erica, that had her cringing, Bull spat, “You ain’t got no call to come between a man and his wife.”

  Brad was even with the Braeger family. “Your wife and your children are members of this congregation, same as you.”

  He held out his hand to the oldest girl. She was about seven. Her too small dress was spotless, her complexion ghostly pale. The girl shook, glanced at her father, her mother. Erica’s nod was infinitesimal.

  “It’s okay, darling,” Brad murmured in that voice that all women, no matter what age, responded to. Because it made them feel safe, Evie realized as the girl placed her palm in Brad’s. “I promise, you’re going to be fine from here on out.”

  “Don’t you move, Hannah Lynn!” Bull bellowed.

  The child froze, shaking as if she had the ague, trapped between the threat of her father and the promise of safety that Brad held out.

  Brad’s mouth tightened. With a suddenness that shocked, the normally mousy Erica jumped to her feet and thrust herself physically between Bull and her children, shoving the two-year-old who had been in her lap into her five-year-old girl’s arms, desperation in every line of her slender body. “Go! Oh God, go!”