Vows of the Heart

by Susan Fox

  "You don't even know what you've inherited." The irritation in his voice increased her unease and she fidg­eted with her napkin.

  "All right," she conceded quietly. "What have I in­herited?"

  "My father willed you a one-quarter interest of every­thing he owned. That includes not only the ranch, but the Montana mining interests his brother left him years ago."

  Veronica shook her head slightly, unable for a mo­ment to grasp the meaning of his words. She had expected perhaps a few thousand dollars at the most, but a one-quarter interest? Hank had never been one to flaunt his wealth, preferring a much simpler life than he could actually afford, but she was certain that because of the mining interests Hank had been a millionaire. Veronica reached for her crutches and stood wordlessly.

  Finally, she managed to collect her thoughts. "Your father was always generous with his time and affection." Her voice wavered precariously on the last word. "But his money and his property really belong to you and your son." Veronica's shoulders straightened. "If you'll give me the name of your lawyer, I'll see him before I leave today and have him draw up whatever papers are neces­sary to see that it's all returned to you."

  Veronica turned away, overwhelmed by the signifi­cance of the inheritance. A man her mother had been married to for only two years and then betrayed had not only provided her with her childhood ideal of a father, but had also left her a part of what rightfully belonged exclusively to his natural son.

  Warm steady hands closed over her slim shoulders, preventing her from moving away.

  "As much as I would benefit from letting you do that, Ronnie, I wouldn't feel right about taking it. I'd planned to make you an offer." Cole's thumbs began to move in slow warm circles that sent a new kind of shock through her system as she felt an answering heat pulse to life in her veins. Panicked by the sensation, Veronica shrugged off his grip, stepping away to a safe distance.

  "I think I'm a little confused by all this," she said. "It's all happening so fast." She managed a thin smile as she hazarded a sideward glance. "Would you mind giv­ing me an hour or two to pull myself together?" She was close to tears again, unable to find the strength to keep her emotions under control for very long.

  "I've already offered you a couple of days, Ronnie— more if you need them." Cole's voice was gruff but not unkind.

  "I know that, but I don't think I should stay." The sound she made was intended as a short laugh, but came out grimmer than she'd intended. "If I did, it wouldn't be long before I'd manage to get on your wrong side and we'd have a fight."

  Cole's brow darkened ominously.

  "Don't you see?" she whispered sadly. "It's happen­ing already."

  "Well, dammit, let it happen. We're both adults now and surely we can work out our differences." Cole stopped, then sighed, running a tanned hand through his thick black hair. "I'm sorry, Veronica. That came out harsher than I intended. Why don't you rest awhile, then come on into the study when you feel up to it. I'll get finished up in the kitchen and we can talk later." Cole waited for her to respond and at last, resigned, she nod­ded her agreement.

  She had been caught off guard by Cole's apology. True, his regretting his harshness had been a small thing, but any kind of apology from Cole was a step out of the old pattern between them.

  "I think I might rest awhile, then."

  "Take all the time you need. If you sleep through lunch you won't starve." The smile Cole suddenly gave her struck her emotions with the impact of a runaway freight train.

  She had seen Cole charm countless other women with that smile. At sixteen she would have eagerly given her life for the privilege of being the recipient of a fraction of the charm he'd lavished on other females.

  Now at twenty-four she could appreciate the irony of finally having an adolescent wish fulfilled—but only after Cole Chapman was more romantically inaccessible to her than ever.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Veronica returned the phone to its cradle, relieved that the emotionally charged conversation with her mother was over. Miriam had been tearfully contrite about keeping Hank's death a secret, and then adamant in her appeal—no, her insistence—that Veronica return to New York as soon as possible.

  Veronica leaned back comfortably in Cole's big swivel chair, a warm feeling of security enveloping her. For most of her life, she had been Miriam's little complication. In these past few months, however, the scatterbrained so­cial butterfly who loved to play the role of enchantress seemed to have vanished, and in her place, a remarkably sensitive and compassionate parent had evolved, fret­ting over her only child, pampering her, loving her. When Eric, Veronica's husband, decided after the accident that he'd chained himself to a bride who was suddenly less than the physical perfection his vanity required, Miriam had consoled her, devoting hours on end to her daughter in a campaign to coax Veronica from life-threatening depression.

  It had taken Veronica weeks to recover emotionally from Eric's abandonment. It was little wonder her mother had avoided adding a new shock just as Veron­ica had begun to cooperate with the professionals who were working to restore the use of her legs.

  Too bad, Veronica mused, that Charles Whitcomb, her most recent stepfather, regarded the situation between mother and daughter with barely concealed impatience. He was the reason Veronica was in no hurry to return to New York. As much as she loved her mother now and treasured their new relationship, she didn't want to be the cause of Miriam's sacrificing the only marriage she'd ever found contentment in. Veronica hadn't made any definite plans for the future, but she was certain she had to find some gentle way of redirecting her mother's attention from her and her problems to the husband who had so jealously awaited his stepdaughter's recovery. What she needed now was some excuse to delay her return to New York. Perhaps she could do a bit of traveling, resume in hand, or visit a few of her friends.

  Her brief sense of security evaporated. It was time to come to a decision about her future. Now that she was well out of college, single once again and unemployed, she needed to make some definite plans. Veronica knew that coming back to Hank and this ranch had been an effort to delay making the decision.

  The splintering crash of glassware made an almost welcome intrusion into the unpleasant turn her thoughts had taken. By the time she got to the kitchen Cole was wiping slivered pieces of glass from the sink and shaking the dishcloth of fragments over the trash can. It was ob­vious from the haphazard assembly of tableware and food that he was beginning preparations for the noon meal.

  "Is there anything I can help you with?" she offered hesitantly, unable to tell from Cole's granite profile whether he would tolerate her presence or not.

  "Not unless you learned to cook somewhere along the line." Cole dropped the dishcloth into the trash can, then turned on the taps to rinse any unseen bits of glass down the drain. When he finished and returned the trash can to its customary place at the end of the counter, he turned back to her. The cynical look in his eyes told her he doubted she'd be much help. After all her mother had been nearly useless in the kitchen.

  "Cooking is one of my favorite hobbies. It's some­thing I'm good at." Veronica felt color seep into her cheeks at her impulsive boast, then chagrin when his dark brows rose in exaggerated amusement. She didn't add that she had minored in food and nutrition at college.

  Instead she felt awkward and embarrassed, certain he would decline her offer. "Of course, I haven't had much practice these past months." Now her mind was darting frantically, trying to wiggle out of her offer before Cole could refuse. "Since you'll be busy for a while, I thought I might walk down your driveway a bit—I didn't get any real exercise yesterday."

  Crutches in place under her arms, Veronica started for the porch door, horribly aware that Cole's eyes followed her every move. She had just reached the door and put out her hand to open it when he spoke.

  "If you could help me out, Ronnie, I'd be obliged."

  Veronica's hand dropped back down to the crutch grip as she released
a small pent-up breath. Trying hard to mask the pleased smile on her lips, she turned.

  "What are you planning?" she asked as she made her way over to the sink to wash her hands.

  "I've only gotten as far as thawing out four pounds of ground beef. Problem is the boys are getting tired of hamburgers."

  Although Veronica cringed at the thought of the "boys" eating nothing but hamburgers, she managed to keep a neutral expression.

  "If you have the right ingredients, perhaps a good meat loaf would be better. Do you mind if I look through your cupboards?"

  "Go ahead," Cole invited, then began pulling open cupboard doors that held what stores of staples and foods there were. Veronica scanned the shelves, mentally list­ing the ingredients of one of her favorite recipes.

  "I know a recipe for a cheese meat loaf with a sweet topping. If you've got some processed cheese, a couple of carrots and about three large onions, I should be able to make enough meat loaf to last you and your men through two meals." A look of real interest lit Cole's face as he reached for the refrigerator door and brought out the things she'd asked for.

  "What kind of vegetables had you planned?"

  After a brief discussion of the impromptu menu, Veronica set to work combining the meat loaf ingredi­ents while Cole set the table. Soon there were three large pans of meat loaf in the oven and Veronica began mak­ing pastry for pie crusts to contain the lemon pie filling she'd found in the cupboard. For want of a more elabo­rate, more nutritious dessert for Cole and his men, lemon meringue pie would do.

  Cole's men were coming up the path to the porch just as Veronica was cutting generous slices of the steaming meat loaf. Cole carried the vegetables she'd prepared to the table and everything was ready.

  "Smells like the boss got us a cook." There was a sec­ond of silence before several pairs of heavy boots could be heard thumping up the porch steps and clumping into the kitchen. The room she had once thought so large was suddenly cramped with the entry of Cole's ranch hands.

  Five sets of hungry eyes surveyed the modest bounty she'd prepared, then fastened intently on her before the brisk tide of color surging into her cheeks had them glancing away apologetically. She'd forgotten the al­most shy reserve many otherwise boisterous cowhands displayed around women. Although none of these men looked familiar to her, their quaint manner of respect and politeness was a quality she found endearing. Belatedly they swept off their hats and glanced expectantly at their boss.

  Veronica chanced a look in his direction and saw the cloudy look in Cole's eyes she knew signaled a quick rise of irritation.

  "Ain't you gonna make an introduction?" The old­est, shortest, most grizzled-looking cowboy she'd ever seen was the first to speak. "It ain't every day we get a spread like this one served up by a purdy young gal." Wizened brown eyes whipped over to meet Veronica's before they shot back to the boss. "Well?" There was a cantankerousness about the old cowhand that Veronica liked immediately.

  "This is Veronica Spencer," Cole began. To Veronica he said, "These are the men who eat at the house every day. Shorty Blake, Ansel Edwards, Bob Brown, Teddy Ferris and Jim Fisher."

  Veronica smiled silently at each man, who nodded as he was introduced. Ansel and Shorty, the hand who'd insisted on the introduction, were much older than the other three, with Bob somewhere in his late forties. Teddy and Jim, Veronica guessed, were in their late teens or early twenties.

  Once the introductions were made and the men had cleaned up in the washroom just off the hall from the kitchen, they all sat down to eat. Cole seated Veronica to his right, and while the food was passed and plates loaded, the men talked about what they'd accomplished that morning and what Cole's plans for them the rest of the day entailed. Cole also had orders for Shorty to pass along to the three cowhands who had gone to their nearby homes to have lunch with their families.

  "Now this is what I call cooking!" '

  Veronica glanced up, smiling modestly when Shorty's compliment was enthusiastically echoed by the other men around the table. The only one who didn't comment was Cole, who seemed strangely sullen. The only indication the food was to his liking was that he helped himself to generous seconds of everything.

  In a surprisingly short time, the table was virtually cleared of food. Cole reached for the pieces of pie on the counter and passed them around, prompting another chorus of approval.

  "I'm sure glad you've retired from the kitchen, Boss," Shorty piped up, leaning back in his chair as he patted his slightly protruding paunch with satisfaction. "I run out of Pepto Bismol just this morning." Raucous male laughter burst out, but Cole seemed unamused. "Now that you've hired yourself a good cook, I reckon I can save some money on stomach remedies."

  Veronica glanced nervously at Cole. Shorty appar­ently thought she was their new cook and she felt her face pale. Cole's stony demeanor warned he wasn't pleased with the assumption.

  "Veronica is just visiting for a day or two, Shorty. She may only be helping out for this one meal."

  Shorty's happy expression fell and he dropped the chair back down onto all four legs. "Well, shucks. D'you mean all we got to look forward to after a spread like this is more of our own cookin'?" The sour expressions on the other men's faces duplicated Shorty's dismay.

  "I'm afraid so. Unless that employment agency comes up with someone real soon." Cole stood and picked up his tableware, depositing it into the dishwasher, his brisk manner effectively ending the conversation. One by one his men got up, clearing their own places and adding their dishes to the rapidly filling rack.

  "That was a mighty fine meal, Miss Spencer," Shorty told her as he reached for his hat. "It's a cryin' shame you ain't plannin' to stay longer." Veronica couldn't help smiling at the earnest expression on the aging cowhand's weathered face. "A man what cooks like he does—" Shorty jerked a thumb in Cole's direction "—don't de­serve to keep good men working for him long."

  The solemn rancher he'd just indicated stood with his arms crossed over his broad chest, his mouth twitching with a barely concealed smile.

  "I'm not worried about tomorrow, Shorty. It'll be your day to do the cooking." Cole was grinning broadly now at the sour look on Shorty's face.

  "Yeah," Shorty groused. "I shoulda guessed my time'd come again before that agency could shake loose with a cook." A disgruntled Shorty ambled to the back door, shaking his head and muttering.

  Ansel and Bob grabbed their hats and politely took their leave, but Teddy and Jim were slower about it. Teddy looked as if he was about to say something to her, but Cole loudly cleared his throat and the two each mumbled another bashful compliment about Veronica's cooking and disappeared out the door.

  Once they were gone the kitchen took on an uneasy stillness. Veronica was the only person sitting at the ta­ble and she rose with as much grace as she could man­age, very aware that Cole hadn't taken his eyes off her.

  "I think we should have that discussion you wanted so I can be on my way this afternoon." Veronica slipped the crutches beneath her arms and grasped the grips, uncon­sciously steadying herself for the unpleasantness she expected. Cole said nothing and began to dear the rest of the table. "Should I wait in the den or would you rather talk here?" she prompted.

  "We can start here," Cole replied as he worked. "What are your plans for the next few days?" Cole's question was not easily answered, as she hadn't really come to a decision about where she'd be going when she left the ranch. When he looked at her, she shrugged.

  "I don't think I'll be going directly back to New York. Charles needs -some undivided attention from Mother that he won't get if I'm around." Veronica felt her face redden when Cole's dark brows arched. "No, Charles doesn't like me much, either. Hank was the only one of Mother's husbands who did." She spoke frankly, since this wasn't news to Cole.

  "It might be a good idea for me to look for a job until I have the strength and desire to go into business for my­self."

  "What business is that?"

  Veronica tried to gaug
e whether Cole was really inter­ested or whether he was just making small talk.

  "I started an interior-design business with a friend in New York, but after my accident I let her buy me out so she could take on another partner. I'd like to try again in a few months someplace else."

  "Not in New York?"

  "New York doesn't have much appeal for me beyond the fact that Mother lives there."

  "I heard you'd gotten married."

  Veronica felt a tremor go through her at the abrupt turn of conversation.

  "I did." The words came out surprisingly strong con­sidering she was practically holding her breath, hoping he wouldn't pry further.

  "And are you still married?"

  At the dreaded question Veronica felt a sudden con­striction in her throat and a fresh spasm of pain some­where in the region of her pride. How she hated to confess even a small part of her failed marriage to Cole and risk the obvious comparison he'd make between her and her mother. Cole waited long moments for her an­swer, the expression on his face saying he was more than casually interested in her reply.

  "No. I'm not married now."

  "But you were," he stated persistently, his lips twist­ing.

  "Yes." The admission brought a swift glimmer of hurt into her eyes before they were shielded with a defiant glare. "Go ahead. Say it, Cole," she invited bitterly. "Like mother, like daughter."

  "She wasn't much of an example for you, Ronnie."

  Veronica's hands clenched on the crutch grips with frustration. What could she say? It was true. Her mother hadn't been a very good influence. But she was not like her mother. Her marriage hadn't ended because of any­thing she could have humanly controlled. Besides, since their marriage hadn't been consummated it had never been legal anyway. The fact that her big society wedding was followed by an almost instant annulment was too humiliating an experience for her to reveal to Cole. She'd hardly been able to picture herself telling Hank about it, much less Cole with his scorn. It didn't occur to her at that moment that the brokenheartedness she'd felt the past months was now drifting closer to wounded pride.