Vows of the Heart

by Susan Fox

  "If we're going to come to some sort of agreement about your ranch," Veronica said at last, determined to get off the topic of her marriage, "I'd like to get it re­solved quickly. The sooner I get to the airport, the sooner I can be on an outgoing flight." She didn't add that she was unaccustomed to standing on her feet in one place for so long and was battling a fatigue she hadn't expected.

  At Cole's nod of agreement, she preceded him to the den, her awkward rhythm becoming less and less steady. He seemed not to notice as he gestured at the long leather couch.

  Veronica sat down, grateful for the firm comfortable cushioning. Cole tossed a pillow against the end of the couch, but Veronica tried to ignore the thought of how good it would feel to lay her head on that pillow and stretch out for a few minutes. Instead she smothered a yawn behind her hand while Cole's back was still turned toward her. As Cole seated himself in a nearby wing chair the phone shrilled.

  Hoping the call would not be lengthy, Veronica dropped her head back, intending to close her eyes for a few seconds. Concentrating on the warm rough sound of Cole's deep voice, she tried to follow the conversation, certain that Cole would soon finish and they could begin the talk he was so determined to have before she left.

  Ronnie never knew the exact moment the low full tones of Cole's voice lulled her to sleep. She experienced a sen­sation of sinking, but it was pleasant, as was the layer of something that someone tucked around her. And when gentle fingers brushed her cheek, the involuntary move­ment of her head to prolong the contact propelled her far beyond her grasp of reality into the land of perfect dreams.

  Veronica resisted awakening, snuggling against the pillow in an effort to cling to the last sleep-induced im­ages: Cole so handsome when he smiled at her that way; the two of them talking long and earnestly, coming closer together; her feeling an overwhelming sense of security; then Cole taking her in his arms and holding her, no longer her adversary but instead. . .

  Veronica was suddenly aware of a presence nearby. She opened her eyes to a pair of solemn gray ones that stared down at her face. Startled, disoriented, she struggled up onto one elbow, raking her fingers through her hair.

  The eyes belonged to a small dark-haired boy. Their intent study of her face, coupled with a frown and a very familiar quirk of his lips, told her plainly who he was and exactly what he thought of naps.

  "You must be Curtis," she said. The child was the im­age of his father, and Veronica marveled at the likeness. Other than the gray eyes there was almost no resem­blance to Jackie she could discern. Veronica offered Curtis a tentative smile, fully expecting the boy to react with one of his own. He did, but it was a very reserved smile, as if he hadn't quite made up his mind about her.

  "My name is Veronica," she said as she sat up and be­gan folding the afghan of granny squares that had been placed over her.

  "Dad told me to come and see if you were awake." The bare smile had vanished.

  "Where is your father?" she asked as she reached for her crutches and prepared to stand. A glance at her watch told her it was after five p.m. How could she have slept so long?

  "He's in the kitchen." The boy stepped back and with some curiosity watched her rise before he turned and hurried away. By the time she got to the door, he'd dis­appeared.

  She entered the kitchen moments later, interrupting the conversation Cole was having with a visitor.

  "I'm sorry, Cole. I didn't mean to intrude." Veronica had started to turn away when Cole spoke.

  "You remember Jackie's sister, Helen, don't you, Ronnie?"

  Veronica smiled slightly and nodded, having recog­nized Helen instantly. She even remembered that Cole had dated the pretty, black-haired Helen for a few weeks before suddenly discovering her younger sister.

  "I'd better get going, Cole," Helen said quickly. "Nice to see you again, Veronica," she added in an obvious af­terthought as she hurried out the door, leaving Cole staring after her for a long moment.

  "I didn't intend to sleep the afternoon away," Veron­ica ventured. Cole glanced at her, his eyes making a slow sweep of her too-slim frame. "If you wouldn't mind taking my luggage to the car I can be on my way."

  "We still need to talk."

  "There's really nothing to talk about, Cole. I'll have a lawyer draw up whatever papers are necessary to return my share of the ranch to you."

  "Just like that?" The firm lips slanted cynically.

  "You could pay for my legal fees," she suggested. Cole's expression turned thunderous and Veronica re­sisted the urge to mollify him. "I think that's only fair, Cole." She hadn't asked to be given any part of Hank's ranch, and returning it to Cole would save him a for­tune. He could easily afford a modest legal fee.

  Cole strode across the kitchen to her, a look of incred­ulous anger on his face. "I'm not going to let you just give it back to me, Ronnie. There's too much money in­volved!"

  Veronica bristled indignantly. "I think I can guess how much money is involved here, Cole. I'm not slow-witted."

  Cole raised hard rolled fists and placed them cockily on his trim hips. "All right, Ronnie. Just how much do you guess your share is worth?"

  Veronica flushed, feeling like a fool. Unbidden, the

  memory of the perfect dream she'd had came back on a

  surge of sweetness that clashed bitterly with reality. She

  and Cole could never have an earnest talk, they would

  always be adversaries. The hot color in her cheeks deep-

  ened. And Cole would never take her into his arms.

  Beneath Cole's glare she suddenly felt like a sixteen-year-old again, never able to win an argument with her stepbrother. Then with astonishing clarity, the old re­pressed memory of the incident that had guaranteed Cole's everlasting dislike surfaced.

  "I figured my share was at least worth Chapman Red," she said.

  Her quiet answer wiped the irritation from Cole's strong features. Awash now in recollection, Veronica turned, moved cautiously from the kitchen and on down the hall to her room.

  Chapman Red had been Colt's horse, a beautiful bay stallion with a spirit and intelligence that set him apart from the horses Hank had assigned Veronica to ride and care for. Cole had refused to let her ride Red because he believed the big quarter horse was too spirited for a young girl. Veronica had thought Cole selfish and mean, denying her out of spite the pleasure of riding the ani­mal whose affection she coveted.

  Weeks of bringing the stallion carrots and other treats and hours on end of sitting on the fence, confiding to Red all her adolescent secrets and heartaches, had forged a special relationship between girl and horse. She could stili remember the way Cole used to frown when the big horse whickered a greeting at her, or when Red would trot over to her for a pat when she went near his paddock.

  The day finally came when she braved Cole's wrath and took Red for a quick bareback ride just before sun­down. She remembered how the pleasure and exhilara­tion of the ride had evaporated the instant she'd returned to the barn. Cole had come out to check on a mare with an infected cut from barbed wire, and when Veronica rode in, Cole confronted her.

  Retribution had been swift, humiliating and painful. Cole had turned her across his knee and spanked her— hard. She had hated him then, hated him fiercely. But the paradox of that hatred was that she'd also desperately needed Cole's affection and admiration.

  Yet her desire to ride Chapman Red was so strong that she eventually worked up the courage to defy Cole again. She took Red out for several more rides, and for a time remained undetected. The last ride had been the best. The girl and the stallion, who was so spirited, yet as gentle as a puppy with her, had covered miles, and she had care­fully cooled him down on the way home. She had just finished a brisk rubdown, given Red his measure of grain and turned him into his paddock when she heard Cole and Jessie approaching.

  Two years older than Veronica, Jessica Ryan lived on the next ranch, and along with half the female popula­tion in and around Cheyenne, Jessie had
a crush on Cole. He knew about it, but had been unfailingly indulgent with Jessie while utterly intolerant of Veronica's infatua­tion.

  One look at Ronnie's guilty flush had told Cole she'd been riding his horse again. After the verbal dressing down he gave her in front of Jessie, Ronnie fled to the house.

  Later, the unthinkable happened.

  Chapman Red had somehow escaped his paddock and raced off to challenge another stallion. One or both of the animals broke the chain on the steel gate of the second enclosure, and the stallion fight that followed left Chap­man Red so severely injured he had to be destroyed.

  As vehemently as she'd insisted she'd latched Red's gate properly, Cole never believed her and held her com­pletely to blame. Over the years the deep guilt she'd felt at defying Cole by riding his horse had eaten away at her confidence until she, too, had come to believe she had somehow been responsible for the tragedy. Heartsick now at the memory, Veronica leaned against the bedroom door.

  "Ronnie?"

  She stiffened, then reached for the doorknob to admit Cole, her face a tranquil denial of her inner agony. "While you carry my things out, I'll make certain I haven't left anything behind." As she turned and headed for the bathroom Cole spoke.

  "I've got a favor to ask."

  His words stopped her and her attention snapped back to his face. Cole's expression was stern but not harsh. She'd expected him to be angry, or at least coldly aloof, but his calm visage was puzzling.

  "A favor?"

  Cole looked uncomfortable for a moment and she didn't miss the way his gaze dropped to her crutches then to her legs before they returned to her face.

  "You don't seem to have any immediate plans," he began. "Of course, I realize you might not be physically able to take much on." Cole paused again. "But the boys were impressed with your cooking and. . ."

  Veronica's eyes widened in amazement and a quick smile came and went on her lips. "You want me to cook for you and your men," she concluded, searching Cole's face for any hint that he was joking or she was mistaken.

  "You mentioned that cooking was something you're good at and you demonstrated that pretty well at noon. I need someone to fill in until I can get a permanent cook." Cole halted and she sensed he was waiting for some kind of tentative reply from her.

  Veronica shook her head. "Oh, Cole, you don't want me here," she scoffed. But even as she tried to get him to admit that, she wished with all her heart he really did want her to stay, if only temporarily. In many ways she was still that adolescent girl who'd craved Cole's accep­tance and approval. To her knowledge there had never been anything about her Cole had much use for. But if something as simple as cooking for him while he was in a bind would lessen his hostility, she knew it was an of­fer she'd find hard to turn down.

  "You'd only have to cook, Ronnie. No housework. We've always liked a lot of baked goods and desserts, but we'll settle for good simple meals if you aren't up to any more than that."

  Veronica was silent for a few moments considering,

  trying to honestly gauge her physical ability. Cooking for Cole and his men would be a tiring and time-consuming job. But then, it was only temporary______________

  "Would I have a free hand with menu planning?"

  "Yes, but—" Cole was looking at her almost warily "—we need meals that will stay with us."

  Veronica nodded. "I remember how hungry you can get cowboying."

  "Then you'll stay on for a while?"

  "How long?"

  "Until I can find a good cook. And I'll pay you the same wages I'd expect to pay anyone else."

  Veronica caught the almost eager sound in his voice but didn't mistake its cause being anything other than it ap­peared.

  "When you find this new cook, will you give me a week's notice, or will you expect me to leave on the next flight to anywhere?" Veronica hadn't been able to sup­press the question. She had to keep in mind that Cole had never wanted her around. She knew if he wasn't so des­perate for a cook, her luggage would already be in her car and she'd be halfway to Cheyenne.

  "I'll give you a week's notice." It seemed to Veronica that he made the concession grudgingly.

  "Don't worry, Cole," she began caustically. "I prob­ably won't stay the whole week. I can imagine how charming you'll be when you have no further use for me." Veronica turned away, thinking herself forty kinds of fool, but for the moment more willing to stay than leave. "One thing, though." Her back was to him now.

  "What's that?" The ill temper in his voice was easily discernable.

  "I don't want you to be rude to my mother if she should call me here. I know you've never liked her, but she—she's been awfully good to me these past few months. If you can't promise me you'll be a model of decorum with her I'll have to turn you down." There was a silence, as if the decision was difficult for him to make. Veronica flicked a look over her shoulder, her violet eyes sparkling with challenge. "Well?"

  Cole sighed and shook his head. "I'll be so sweet to your mother she won't crave bonbons for at least a month." Cole wasn't smiling, but the glint of laughter in his eyes filled her with pleasure. The realization that she'd so easily fallen for Cole's subtle charm made her glance nervously at her watch.

  "Are leftovers from today's lunch all right with you and your men?" Veronica knew the evening meal was always served promptly at six and it was nearly five-thirty.

  "I'll shoot the first one who complains."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Veronica dropped tiredly onto the chair, wincing at her too-abrupt descent. Her whole body ached, and yet she hadn't felt so good about anything in months. Working for Cole the past two weeks had been hard on her, much more physically and emotionally taxing than she had imagined it would be. But she had survived and felt her stamina slowly increasing.

  Despite the fart that she had conceded to his wish that she stay, Cole frequently displayed ill humor, question­ing everything she did, from the rearranging of the con­tents of the cupboards and freezers to the lengthy grocery list she'd handed him the first day. But the fact that Cole had ultimately granted her every request indicated he had a fair amount of confidence in her judgment. She learned not to take his gruff manner too seriously.

  Veronica's life on the ranch had settled into a routine. She was seeing a therapist in Cheyenne three times a week; no matter how short her stay might be, she couldn't forfeit those sessions. She also found she had more and more time on her hands. In an effort to make the most of it, she had called her mother and arranged for her favorite cookbook and some of her unfinished needlework to be sent, along with the baby quilt she'd started working on for a friend.

  In the meantime the employment agency had come up with a woman who wanted to apply for cook. Cole had interviewed her over the phone, then invited her out to prepare the noon meal. At the memory of the most in­credibly sloppy-looking woman she'd ever seen, Veron­ica sighed and shook her head. Just watching her at work in the kitchen had been enough to turn Veronica's stom­ach. By the time the meal was served, Veronica needed to get out and conveniently "remembered" an errand she had to run in town. She'd returned an hour or so later to find the woman gone and Cole his usual choleric self.

  Prospects for the job hadn't improved since then. There had been no other applicants, and according to the woman at the agency, there were likely to be none in the near future.

  Cole still refused Veronica's offer to give the ranch and mining stocks to him, and she in turn refused his every monetary counteroffer. They had clearly reached an im­passe, so Cole finally let the subject drop. An unde­clared truce seemed to have evolved between them and Veronica was delighted. The frequent hostilities and misunderstandings that had marred her time at the ranch years ago, were pleasantly absent now. She and Cole were far from xxx Maids, but the fact they were on speaking terms was enough for her.

  The low sound of a car coming up the long drive from the highway brought Veronica to her feet. When she heard it pull up in the part of the driveway that cu
rved around the house toward the barn she moved across the kitchen toward the window where she caught sight of a tall leggy blonde getting out of a low, fast-looking sportscar.

  "Oh, no." She'd barely given Jessica Ryan a thought since she'd come to the ranch, and because Cole hadn't mentioned the woman, Veronica had just assumed she'd be spared any contact with her. Veronica watched as her childhood nemesis crossed the yard with a fluid grace that mocked her own unavoidable awkwardness.

  Tall and model slim, except for her generous bust, Jessie was likely any man's fantasy in the white halter top and shorts that showed off her golden tan to perfection. Now that Cole had been a widower for some time, Veronica wondered if Jessie's old crush on him had brought them into a romantic relationship.

  Jessie's perfect mouth bore a sly smirk when she walked into the kitchen as if it were her own. Although she hadn't seen Veronica for years, she made no word of greeting, no polite preamble to the direct confrontation she was apparently determined to have.

  "God, Veronica." The amber eyes looked her up and down as if X-ray vision had revealed every scar, every imperfection. Jessie stared at the crutches before at last returning her gaze to Veronica's impassive expression. "No wonder Cole feels sorry for you."

  Veronica braced herself against the woman's pen­chant for cruelty. Jessie Ryan hadn't changed a bit.

  "Does he?" she challenged softly, realizing that if Cole felt sorry for her, he certainly hadn't shown it.

  "Of course he does. You wouldn't be here other­wise." With a dismissive wave of a manicured hand, Jes­sie walked to the refrigerator and helped herself to a soft drink. When she'd popped open the can with almost comical care to avoid damaging her long nails, she turned back to Veronica and took a quick sip of her drink.

  "Surely you've noticed that Curtis spends very few of his waking hours at this house. He takes all his meals at Helen's, doesn't he?" The well-plucked brows arched. "And Cole hasn't left you alone with Curtis for a sec­ond," she surmised, "has he?"