Vows of the Heart

by Susan Fox

  "You promised to take me for ice cream," he said sulkily, his tone of voice bringing a frown of displeasure to his father's face.

  "I said I might," Cole corrected patiently. "Your timing leaves something to be desired, son. Haven't we talked about interrupting?"

  Curtis blushed, embarrassed. "You weren't talking to her," Curtis told his father reasonably.

  Veronica might have found Curtis's reply amusing, but the hurt in the boy's expression tugged at her heart. The slim fingers that rested behind Cole's head jerked warningly on a thick black lock. In response, a wide smile spread across Cole's face. Curtis seemed to relax at the sight.

  "You've got me there, Curt," Cole admitted. "What do you say the three of us climb into the pickup and go for ice cream? I heard they're having a special on hot-fudge sundaes." Curtis's quick grin dissolved. Instantly, Veronica sensed she was the reason.

  "What do you say we leave me at home?" Veronica suggested, allowing her tiredness to show. "I'm afraid I've overdone things a little today. Would you mind handing me my crutches, Curtis?"

  The boy was quick to comply, but the unfriendly look in his eyes told her clearly that his eagerness had more to do with getting her away from his father than giving his assistance. Veronica thanked Curtis and he ran out to the truck.

  "Are you really tired, or are you trying to do an imi­tation of a small kitchen appliance?" Cole's question re­ferred to her offer not to court Curtis's friendship if Cole kept him home more, assuring him Curtis would likely pay her no more notice than he would an appliance or a piece of furniture.

  "Both." Veronica got to her feet. Now that she wasn't touching Cole, now that the delayed sense of weariness was asserting itself on her tired body, Veronica was sob­ering rapidly from the euphoria of the afternoon. One glance at Cole's iron expression as he fell into step be­side her thrust her back into all the old familiar insecur­ities. So he had forgiven her, taken her riding, then offered her the use of a lovely mare. And her foolish lit­tle kiss had triggered his sensual appetite. He'd said be­fore that it had been a while since he'd been with a woman. . ..

  A cold sick feeling of shame and fear rushed up inside her. She remembered how she'd felt after the kiss she and Cole had shared when she'd bandaged his hand. She couldn't be intimate with a man—ever. The scars from her accident were too repulsive.

  Veronica glanced at Cole again. What a superb virile male specimen he was, with a sexual confidence and ex­perience that warned her he was accustomed to much more from a woman than kisses.

  "I hope the ride won't make you too sore," Cole said. "Should I get out the liniment later and give you a rub-down after Curtis and I get back?" His intimate tone as they reached the porch steps sent a jolt of apprehension through her—magnifying her fear of what such physical closeness would reveal to him. No man could stand the sight of her scars—Eric's abandonment was proof of that.

  Veronica stepped onto the porch, then turned to face Cole. "Look. I think it would be wise to keep our rela­tionship with each other as businesslike as possible while I'm here. I'm not going to be here long, so there's no sense in flirting with complications." A wry smile twisted her lips, stilling their trembling. "We've shared a couple of hot little kisses, but I think we both recognize a mis­take when we see one."

  Cole's expression grew so thunderous she almost fal­tered.

  "And poor Curtis!" She went on. "We've managed to make him feel threatened and unhappy."

  Cole's jaw muscles flexed ominously and Veronica took that as her cue to be silent. "Have fun at the Dairy Queen." Veronica turned and moved through the porch door, leaving Cole staring after her for a moment before he turned to join his son.

  CHAPTER SIX

  "What's that stuff?"

  Veronica smiled tolerantly at the boy who stood by her elbow. Now that Curtis was eating breakfast and supper at the house and generally spending much more time at home, the relative calm of her couple of weeks at the ranch had vanished. Veronica didn't mind Curtis's rambunctiousness, but the fact that he seemed determined to make things harder on her had proven to be more emo­tionally wearing than she'd have thought possible. It gave her a whole new perspective on the problems she had caused her mother's suitors.

  "It's called Christmas Stew."

  His nose wrinkled into an expression of disgust that was becoming ail too familiar to her. "Christmas Stew! I hate stew."

  "You might like this stew. Can you guess why it's called Christmas Stew?" Her smile was open, friendly.

  "I don't know." And the scowl on his handsome little face told her he didn't care to know. Patiently Veronica continued talking.

  "It's called Christmas Stew because most of the ingre­dients are either red or green, like Christmas decora­tions."

  "That part ain't," he challenged as he pointed to a piece of meat. Veronica glanced down at the triumphant look on his face and knew Curtis was only interested in the stew now because he'd found some-thing to be disa­greeable about.

  She resisted the temptation to correct his grammar and said, "There's one other ingredient in there that's not red or green." She wondered if he'd spied the diced onion that had been cooked almost transparent.

  "Where?"

  Veronica lifted the wide wooden spoon from the rim of the simmering pot and deftly skimmed off a few bits for Curtis to see.

  "What's that?" he asked suspiciously.

  "Onion."

  "I hate onion, too."

  Veronica laughed. "You're going to be in sad shape come supper," she kidded. "But you'll at least give the stew a fair tasting, won't you?" Curtis's expression was pure mutiny.

  "I don't like that rule," he scowled, referring to Veronica's requirement that he at least taste a new food before he rejected it.

  "I'm sorry, Curtis, but the only way you can find out what you like or don't like is by tasting," she told him patiently.

  "If you were as good a cook as my Aunt. Helen, I'd like everything you cook." Veronica refused to be either sur­prised or rankled by the childish jibe. With a thoughtful expression on her face, she glanced down at Curtis's glum face.

  "Would you like me to ask Helen for some of your fa­vorite recipes? There's no reason I can't make some of the foods you like best." Veronica's smile was meant to be encouraging, but Curtis only managed to look more annoyed.

  "I don't like the way you cook." And with that final pronouncement disappeared out through the porch door.

  Veronica pondered for a moment, then checked her watch before crossing the floor to another cupboard. Opening the door, she selected enough boxes of choco­late instant pudding to fill eight parfait glasses.

  "He'll probably find something wrong with that idea, too." Cole's voice startled her. Guiltily she glanced over her shoulder at him, then disheartened, she started to put the boxes away.

  "Go ahead and make some up if you want to, Ronnie. If he complains, I'll split his share with you." Cole walked to the refrigerator for a glass of iced tea.

  Both Chapman males had been hard to get along With all week. Since Sunday, Cole had been cool and uncom­municative. Veronica had spent nearly every moment she wasn't preparing meals, or taking her daily exercise, working on the small baby quilt she'd started—contrib­uting her part to the distancing between them by avoid­ing Cole altogether. She had begun riding Honey Lamb every day, but Cole didn't once offer to go with her, in­stead leaving the task of saddling the mare or accompa­nying her to Shorty or one of the other men.

  "I'm giving you the day off tomorrow, Veronica."

  Veronica looked at Cole, who was leaning against the counter nearby while he drank his tea.

  "There's a woman coming out in the morning to cook breakfast and I thought she might as well give us a full day. Her references indicate she's pretty good in the kitchen, so she could be the one to replace you." Cole's face was absolutely unreadable, his eyes betraying noth­ing but a casual interest in her reaction.

  Veronica summoned up a smile from the surpris
e she felt, then turned back to the mixing bowl and began tearing open pudding boxes. "I wish you luck," she told him, moving toward the refrigerator for milk. Stronger now, she managed very well on one crutch while she car­ried the milk jug to where she was working.

  "Which day will we count as the first in the week's notice you're giving me? Tomorrow?" Veronica mea­sured out the milk while she talked.

  "I haven't hired her yet," Cole reminded her gruffly.

  "Oh, you will," she said, then smiled, certain Cole wouldn't know that her amused expression hid the hurt she felt. "Curtis is getting pretty tired of corn flakes and peanut-butter sandwiches." Veronica switched on the mixer to discourage further conversation.

  With the end of her stay in sight, she felt nothing but disappointment. As Cole left the room she chided her­self. Things between her and Cole had improved more than she'd ever imagined they would. Just because they were avoiding each other now was no reason to feel dis­appointed. They would part on friendly terms and Cole would surely remember her the way she was now—older, more mature, useful. At least if they happened to meet in the future, there would be no hostile exchanges like the ones they'd had when she first came back to Wyoming.

  Yet when Veronica poured the thickening pudding into the parfait glasses, she felt a prickle of tears. Scolding herself for being such a sentimental sap, she finished up in the kitchen and left the house for a walk.

  The evening had been lonely. Veronica had gone to her room after cleaning up the supper dishes. She'd spent a long time soaking in the tub before she put on her nightgown. She had just finished drying her hair when she heard a knock, then Cole's voice at her door. Has­tily grabbing her robe, she belted it around herself and called for him to come in.

  Veronica was seated before the dresser mirror brush­ing out tangles as he crossed the room and stood behind her. Their eyes met in the glass with an impact that brought a rush of excitement into her system. Even now that she was sure her stay was limited only to a few more days, she couldn't help the secret longing she felt—a longing more than just to stay.

  Yet that longing was as futile as it was unwelcome. She had looked at Jackie's picture only the day before and had been reminded of what a beautiful woman she had been. After being married to someone like Jackie, Cole would never be content with anyone less, and certainly not his former stepsister. Although the past had been virtually resolved between them, Veronica felt herself no match for the sweet memories Cole would certainly have of the mother of his only child—a child who resented Veronica's presence.

  "There are one or two things I'd like to take up with you, Veronica." Cole had her instant attention when he spoke to her in that tone, dropping the use of the nick­name his father had bestowed upon her. Veronica waited, expecting him to go on, but he merely stood there, si­lent.

  "Well?" she prompted, uncomfortable with the way his eyes were starting to stray over her reflection. The obvious preoccupation he seemed to have with the way her light robe was draped over her small breasts signaled her to beware. Had her earlier fears been correct? Had Cole been without a woman for so long that he'd devel­oped an interest, in her because she was convenient?

  Fully aware of how vulnerable she was to any demon­stration of affection from Cole, she was anxious for him to say what he had in mind and leave her room.

  "Since I gave you tomorrow off, I was wondering if you'd have dinner with me tomorrow night." Cole's deep voice was like rough silk, a caress of her senses. Resist­ing its drawling persuasion was almost a physical pain, but Veronica didn't hesitate.

  "No, I don't think so, Cole. Besides, don't you want to taste the new woman's cooking?

  "I'll be there to sample breakfast and lunch. The boys will give me a report on dinner. After all, it's them she's cooking for."

  She ran the brush briskly through her thick brown hair for several strokes before finding her hand captured in the firm warmth of Cole's. Violet eyes found his again in the mirror.

  "So why not come?" His look was shrewd, almost calculating. Veronica tugged her hand free.

  "Don't tell me you're so accustomed to having women fall all over you for a dinner date that you give the third degree to the rare one who declines," she kidded, hop­ing to deflect his question. One corner of Cole's mouth lifted in mild amusement.

  "I think I know what you're trying to do, Ronnie."

  "I'm relieved," she parried, smiling brightly to cover the trapped feeling that engulfed her suddenly. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to take no for an answer." Veronica started to rise when Cole's hands set­tled over her shoulders, their pressure just enough to keep her seated.

  "You're tense, Ronnie," he said, as his fingers began probing her taut muscles. The warmth of his touch was sending an almost unendurable heat through her sys­tem.

  "Thanks, Cole," she said hurriedly, raising her hands to brush away his gentle grip. "It's much better now."

  Stubbornly he maintained his hold.

  "The country air has done you good, Ronnie." Cole's husky voice was a sensual accompaniment to the feel of his hands and the heat that radiated from the strong muscular body just behind her. "I can't get over the change in you in only three weeks."

  Veronica felt a rush of panic. Cole had asked her once before if it had been a long time since she'd been with a man. It was clear to her from his invitation to dinner, his flattery, and his seductive ministrations, that he was about to hint at the mutual release he thought they were both seeking. The fact that she'd likely be leaving very soon permitted Cole to indulge in an affair that would be brief and remain discreet.

  "Relax," he coaxed softly as his hands worked a bit harder to disburse the increasing tension in her shoul­ders, his eyes never leaving her face. "And say yes about tomorrow night."

  "Why?" she challenged, determined to resist the slow seduction of her will. Cole's brows rose at her tone.

  "I'd like to be with you in a relaxed atmosphere where we're served good food that you don't have to tire your­self preparing." Cole's hands worked toward her neck, then paused to comb tenderly through her silken hair. "And I'd like to get to know you better."

  The hot and cold shivers of pleasure caused by the teasing involvement of his fingers in her hair changed into a blazing resentment that brought her to her feet with surprising speed.

  "What a clever line," she snapped, rounding on him. "Now that I'll be leaving soon, you suddenly want to get to know me better. I suppose you think I'll be so flat­tered I won't remember how determined you've been to avoid me all week. I might be a little susceptible to a man who knows how to push all the right buttons," she ranted, unable to hold back the anger that had sim­mered in the months since Eric's departure, "but expe­rience has destroyed any illusions I might have had about men and what really motivates their interest in me." Veronica halted, then rushed on recklessly.

  "If you're looking for some desperate female to re­lieve your male frustrations, you'd better look some­place else. You're about six months too late with this one." Cole's eyes narrowed and Veronica suddenly real­ized her uncontrollable outburst had revealed too much.

  "Careful," Cole cautioned as he braved the temper in her violet eyes. "I think you're jumping to conclu­sions." Heat shot into her cheeks as her anger faltered and chagrin mingled painfully with her roiling emo­tions. "Just because your divorce has left you feeling wary of men, don't assume that every man who finds himself attracted to you is only looking for a release of sexual tension." Cole paused. "And I'm not in the habit of bestowing my attentions on a woman because of a warped sense of generosity. I don't feel sorry enough for any woman to take her to bed." Silence fell and left a painful awkwardness between them.

  "And while we're on the subject, how long did it take for this prize-winning husband of yours to leave you with such dismal expectations of men and their motives?"

  Veronica couldn't look at Cole. Fumbling fingers reached for the crutches leaning against the wall. "I don't want to talk
about it," she murmured as she moved past him in as much of a retreat as she could manage.

  "Maybe you'd be better off if you did," Cole sug­gested, his tone mellowing from harshness to a velvet rasp.

  Veronica didn't comment; she'd said too much al­ready. Strange how until her angry outburst a few mo­ments earlier she'd only been able to feel hurt and humiliation over Eric's defection. But however strong her delayed anger had been, her charge hadn't been fair to Cole.

  "I'm sorry about that little tirade, Cole. It was un­called for. I guess I have developed a pretty negative at­titude in some areas."

  "You could take the first dose of cure for that nega­tive attitude by changing your mind about tomorrow night." Cole moved closer, but didn't touch her. He didn't have to. His gentle tenacity was persuading her.

  "All right," she murmured, sadly realizing she wasn't strong enough to resist what could be one of her few op­portunities to be with Cole before she walked out of his life forever. "I'll go with you tomorrow night."

  Despite all her best efforts, Veronica was behaving like a teenager on her first date. She fussed over her ap­pearance for almost two hours before she was satisfied with her makeup and her shoulder-length page-boy hair­style. She used gold combs to draw the hair on each side of her head into soft upsweeps that accented her high cheekbones.

  She found the ride into Cheyenne slightly unnerving, as she recalled being in the passenger seat with Eric driv­ing and the awful results. Yet as if Cole was aware of her silent torment, he did his best to distract her with con­versation.

  Of course, Cole was a powerful distraction, and no more so than tonight in the navy slacks that encased his lean hips and muscular thighs, and the sky-blue silk shirt with the elaborately embroidered yoke that intensified the blue of his eyes. The western-cut jacket and the black dress Stetson completed the casual look of a rancher going to town on a Saturday night.