Past Promises

by Jill Marie Landis

  Some women give comfort

  Some just give pain.

  Some are stubborn enough,

  To stand out in the rain.

  But when I find a woman,

  A gal I can love,

  We’ll both fit together

  Like a hand in a glove.

  Not bad, he thought. Rory turned the phrases over and over in his mind. Not bad at all. He always found that the right words came to him fastest when he was pissed off, and if the last two hours alone with Jessica Stanbridge were any indication, he was probably going to do one hell of a lot of composing over the next few days.

  He watched as Jessica’s female companion put down a book and hurried across the campsite to greet them. She was shorter, a sight wider, and far friendlier than Jessica, if her welcoming smile and enthusiastic shout of hello was any indication. Sporting a getup much the same as Jessica’s, the elder woman waited while Rory dismounted. The woman beside him was out of the saddle before he could offer to help her, which was just as well as far as he was concerned.

  Rattlers came in pretty packages, too, but a man didn’t rush to touch them.

  With the burlap sack in his hand, Rory stared around the pitiful excuse for a campsite and listened while the two women exchanged greetings.

  “How did everything go, Myra?” Jessica asked.

  Rory felt the older woman’s eyes on him even though she spoke to her friend. “Lovely. Our Ute friends left shortly after you did. I gave away the sketch of the youngest and they seemed well pleased. Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

  When she moved up beside him, Rory gave Myra his full attention. Jessica offered brief introductions and then Myra bluntly asked, “Are you married, Mr. Burnett?”

  Jessica Stanbridge turned scarlet and whispered, “Good heavens, Myra.”

  Rory was hard pressed to hide a smile as Myra turned back to her companion. “I’m only asking because I’m sure you didn’t think to.”

  “No, I didn’t. Besides, what difference does it make?” Myra turned to Rory and offered an apology. “I’m sorry, Mr. Burnett, it’s just that I’m curious about everything. Jessica always forgets the details where mundane things are concerned. But just ask her anything about paleontology and she’s got the answer on the tip of her tongue.” She gazed at him over a pair of lopsided spectacles. “So, you’re to be our guide?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He shot a cool glance at Jessica. “If you want, you can call me Rory. And you’ll want to start packing. I’d like to have you two moved by sundown.”

  “Wonderful!” Myra started to hurry off in the direction of the lopsided tent then stopped and looked over her shoulder. “By the way, where are we going?”

  “I promised to take Miss Stanbridge to see some saurian tracks on my land, but I’m afraid it will entail moving your camp.”

  Myra glanced at Jessica and back to Rory. Then she smiled. “Saurian tracks? What luck! Marvelous! I knew everything would work out. I’ll be ready in no time.”

  Jessica trailed after Myra. He heard her say, “How come you are so willing to pack up and leave? You wouldn’t budge this morning when I asked you to go into town.”

  Myra looked back at Rory, then at Jessica, and shrugged. “I suppose being rested makes all the difference. Besides, things may prove to be far more interesting from now on.”

  THE SUN SLIPPED over the edge of the land before the relocated travelers had time to cook their dinner. Myra made a rock pen for the tortoise she named Methuselah while Rory stoked the fire, opened two cans of beans, dumped them in a pot, and got the coffee going. When Myra joined him at the fire, he handed the bacon duty over to her.

  Across the fire Jessica pulled four crates together into a makeshift table, hefted two cane back chairs out of the wagon, and carried them over. The smell of the frying bacon made her stomach grumble, and until it had, she thought she was too tired to eat.

  Even though Burnett had pushed them all afternoon, by the time they had set up the new camp, she still had not had a chance to see the promised saurian footprints. They had barely had enough light left to choose a clearing.

  Jess felt the strain in every muscle as she set the two chairs in place and then reached for the chisel in her pocket. She had done as much lifting as Burnett, only relinquishing the heaviest crates and barrels when she could not budge them. Now she pried open a low crate that stood with a pile of others near the tent. Inside lay her china and cutlery, carefully packed between wads of burlap she would later use to make plaster casts for fossils. She took out a stark linen tablecloth, shook out the wrinkled folds, and let it settle over the table. Piece by piece she unwrapped three plates, cups, and saucers, then lined the monogrammed silverware up alongside it.

  She snuck a glance at Rory Burnett and found him hunkered down by the fire, watching expectantly as Myra fried the bacon. The two of them were talking softly. Jessica envied them their growing camaraderie. Despite the trying move, Myra was still full of spark. She had complained a few times when the wagon had jolted sharply over the rocky ground, but had done her share to help them get moved.

  In the dim light cast by the fire, Jess turned back to her task and, once satisfied, went into the tent to freshen up. The oil lamp on a box between two cots was already burning. Tossing her helmet on the bed, she turned up the wick and then poured water from the pitcher on the makeshift stand into a wide, porcelain bowl. Having finally discarded her jacket during the unpacking, she reached up and unbuttoned the collar and top buttons of her blouse. The pins that held the tight knot atop her head fell to the cot one by one as she pulled them out and then shook her hair until it swung free to her hips. She set her spectacles beside the basin. As she began to splash the refreshing, tepid water over her face and neck, Jess sighed with relief.

  It was definitely foolish, she decided as she massaged her throbbing temples, to let Burnett get to her. He was only hired help. A necessity. A means to an end. When her work was complete, she would happily see the last of him. There was no need for her to worry about what he thought of her or to let him shake her carefully controlled composure.

  No need at all.

  “Supper’s on.”

  She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of his voice and whirled around to the open tent flap. He was head and shoulders inside, unabashedly staring at the open throat of her blouse and the water stains spattered over the bodice. Her hands flew to the buttons. She fumbled one closed and then caught herself overreacting to his open appraisal.

  Straightening as far as she could in the low tent, she drew a deep breath, shot him an indignant glare, and said, “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Burnett, I’ll be right there.”

  He smiled. A slow, wide, knowing smile. Without a word he withdrew.

  Jessica thrust the remaining buttons through the buttonholes, quickly wound her hair into another tight bun, and then picked up her pith helmet and jammed it on her head.

  She found them waiting at the table, the plates already filled with beans and bacon. Coffee steamed in the china cups. A tin of crackers completed the meal. She noted Burnett’s portion was double that of hers and Myra’s.

  Myra asked no one in particular, “Smells wonderful, doesn’t it?”

  Conscious of the fact that Burnett was waiting for her to take the first bite, Jess lifted a forkful of beans to her lips and stared down at her plate as she chewed. “I’m so tired it doesn’t matter what I’m eating,” she mumbled.

  “You shouldn’t have done so much heavy lifting, my dear,” Myra admonished.

  Jessica made no comment, but just as she expected, Burnett did.

  “Never saw so much stuff for a short stay in my life.” He shoved a cracker into his mouth and bent over his plate.

  Jessica stared at his big hand wrapped around her delicately patterned silverware. “You thin
k I’m foolish for carrying the comforts of civilization with us?”

  Rory glanced at her for a second and then shrugged.

  “Perhaps I did bring one too many books,” Myra admitted.

  “One too many?” Still feeling quite testy, Jessica turned to her friend. “I didn’t know you left any at home.”

  Undaunted, Myra smiled. “Reading is my life,” she told Rory. “I can’t imagine going anywhere without my favorite books. Just now I’m rereading a wonderful tale of reincarnated lovers who—”

  “I’m sure Mr. Burnett isn’t interested—”

  “Sure I am. Go ahead, Myra.”

  Jess was seething. The two of them were on a first-name basis, discussing reincarnated lovers. Staring down at her beans, she shoveled up a forkful as she fought to maintain her dignity and silently cursed Burnett for getting under her skin so easily.

  Finally, as if they sensed her unease, the conversation dwindled into silence. Rory Burnett picked up his empty teacup, turned it over, read the bottom, and then carefully put it back on the saucer.

  “You do think I’m crazy for carrying all of this with me, don’t you?” Jessica challenged.

  Myra tried to stem the argument with a low warning, “Jessica, dear . . . ”

  “I didn’t say that,” Rory said.

  “You didn’t have to,” Jess snapped irritably.

  He sat up and shoved his hat back on his head, ready for a fight. “Look, lady, I didn’t say anything about anything.”

  The firelight flickered over his features. The tension around the table increased as the silence lengthened. Jessica was determined to get hold of herself. Rory Burnett merely stared back.

  “Where did you go to school, Rory?” Myra asked, trying to change the subject.

  To Jessica’s relief he finally looked away. “There wasn’t any school around here when I was small. My mother taught me to read and I’ve done some learning on my own.”

  As if there was nothing wrong between her two dinner companions, Myra chatted on. “I imagine you’re a busy man, being a ranch owner and all. What do you do in your spare time?”

  “I like poetry.”

  “Really? Who do you admire most? I must admit that Whitman is a favorite of mine. So is Ralph Waldo Emerson.”

  “I don’t read much poetry, ma’am. I write it.”

  Jessica dropped her fork. It clattered loudly against the china plate. Her cheeks burned with raw embarrassment.

  When she looked up again, Myra was displaying a satisfied smile and Rory Burnett was concentrating on ignoring her.

  “Please, give us a sample. I’d love to hear some of it,” Myra coaxed.

  When Burnett became visibly more uncomfortable, Jess couldn’t help but feel satisfied. It served him right. “Yes, please do recite something, Mr. Burnett.”

  “I don’t think so.” He glared back at her.

  Myra polished off the last of her bacon, wiped her lips with a linen napkin, and leaned forward. “Are you sure? I think it’s very encouraging that there are so many young people about with such talent these days.”

  Rory didn’t take his eyes off of Jess. “I’m sure you’d find my poems . . . rough, to say the least.” Deftly he switched the subject. “I’d like to show you the tracks first thing tomorrow, Miss Stanbridge, so that I can get back to the ranch house.”

  For the third time in an hour he caught her off guard. “What do you mean, get back to the ranch house?”

  “You didn’t think I’d be staying here full-time, did you?”

  She stared at him, blinked twice, and adjusted her glasses. “But I hired you as a guide.”

  “And I guided you. When you’re ready to move camp again. I’ll be back.”

  “As far as I know, you merely led me away from an area I intended to explore fully. This is no haphazard jaunt I’m on, Mr. Burnett. This is a field expedition for the Harvard Museum. I have been given the responsibility to report back with what I hope will be the major find of the century and I do not intend to go traipsing around at your whim. You brought me here to see saurian tracks that you claim are ‘over yonder.’” She pointed to the northern edge of the campground. “I trusted you to be ready to help us pick up and move whenever I see fit. Is that clear?”

  She watched him sit back and fold his arms across his chest.

  His voice was low, his tone held no menace—but it was obvious he meant to put her in her place. “Let’s get one thing straight, Miss Stanbridge. You obviously don’t like me and I don’t like you. I don’t intend to drag this out any longer than I have to. I have a ranch to run, you needed someone to point you in the right direction and see you get there. You dig around here for a couple of days, I’ll send my men out to check on you, and then—when and if you’re ready to leave—I’ll see that you get moved. Is that clear?”

  “Exceedingly.” She nearly choked on the word.

  “Good. I’m going for a walk. When I get back, I’ll bed down in the empty wagon. I’ll see you at dawn.” He stood up and turned to Myra, who had become ominously quiet as she began stacking the plates. “Good night, Myra.” He nodded curtly at Jessica. “Miss Stanbridge.”

  As she watched him disappear beyond the glow of the firelight, Jessica leaned her elbows on the table and cooled her burning cheeks against her palms.

  Tomorrow morning she intended to fire Rory Burnett again.

  This time for good.

  Chapter Three

  THE TENT WAS dark. Jessica heard Myra breathing softly and knew that her friend wasn’t asleep yet, but she didn’t feel like engaging in conversation. As quietly as she could, she washed her face and hands, then sat down carefully on her cot and bent down to unlace her boots. She heard a sound outside near the edge of the camp and stiffened. A quick glance told her that the tent flap was still securely closed.

  Firelight flickered on the tent’s canvas walls, playing over the fabric. The smell of burning piñon mingled with the pungent, ever-present sage.

  The sound of footsteps warned her Rory Burnett had finally returned from his walk. Perfectly still, she held her breath, listening to the creak of the wagon bed as he climbed inside and imagining the tall man stretching out with only a bedroll on the hard plank flooring.

  Thankful that he had stayed away while she helped Myra wash and stack the tableware, Jess relaxed and dropped one boot to the ground. When the other was finally unlaced and carelessly tossed aside, she wriggled her stockinged toes and sighed, then she flopped back onto the cot.

  Myra’s voice floated to her from the darkness. “Aren’t you going to change clothes?”

  “I’m too tired.”

  At first there was no response, and then came a hushed, “I’m worried about you, my dear.”

  Jess draped her arm over her eyes. “Please, don’t be. I’m just exhausted.”

  Myra continued to whisper. “I can’t help but think you weren’t ready for this journey, Jessica.”

  The quiet statement jolted her so that all the cobwebs of fatigue momentarily dissolved. Jessica turned her head toward Myra’s silhouette outlined against the tent wall. “How can you say that when I’ve been training for just such an expedition for half my life?”

  “Don’t be offended, dear. I meant no slight to your professional ability. Heavens, no. What I’m worried about is your frame of mind. You’re driving yourself. Perhaps it’s too soon after your father’s death for you to be under so much of a strain.”

  Rolling to her side, Jessica drew herself up on an elbow and propped her head in her hand. “What makes you think I’m under any strain? A time limitation, yes, but really, Myra—”

  “Let’s just say you’re not yourself. Why, your behavior tonight toward Mr. Burnett bordered on rude. I’ve never seen you act that way before.”

  Try
ing to find a comfortable position, Jess wriggled her bottom and then punched her pillow. “You’ve never seen me at work. Besides, Mr. Burnett just seems to bring out the worst in me.” Wishing it was his smug face, she gave the downy pillow another good whack.

  “Why?”

  Why?

  “He just does. He’s . . . he’s arrogant. He’s . . . crude.”

  “Are we talking about the same man?” To Jessica’s irritation, Myra sounded astounded.

  “He said some terrible things to me on the ride from Cortez, Myra.”

  Jessica heard a swift intake of breath. Then, ever curious, Myra whispered, “Can you repeat them?”

  Jess thought it was high time Myra lost some of her growing admiration for the man. Her face burned even in the darkness when she admitted, “He called me stuffed up.”

  “Oh, my!”

  “And”—she paused for emphasis and lowered her whisper until it was barely discernible—“tight-assed.”

  “Oh!”

  “Exactly.”

  “Why didn’t you fire him?”

  “I did. But he didn’t take me seriously. And I didn’t press the issue. I need him until he shows me those saurian tracks and be knows it.”

  The frame of Myra’s cot creaked as she shifted. “I have to admit, you did act a bit pompous tonight at supper, dear.”

  “Well, now you know why.”

  “Since we need Mr. Burnett, don’t you think it would be a good idea to put aside your offended pride and—”

  “—ignore his hostility? I don’t think so.”

  “He’s not so bad. Maybe you offended him in some other way.”

  Jess thought of how she must have appeared on the ride back from Cortez when she let him know she felt frightened of him. And after all, he really hadn’t done anything to lead her to think he might do her bodily harm—if one called staring her up and down nothing. Perhaps she had offended his male sense of honor with her unspoken accusation, but then again he didn’t look the sensitive type.