“You don’t drink brandy,” Clint pointed out.
“No shit.”
“So because you don’t drink brandy, you can’t smoke?”
“Pretty much.”
Clint pulled out a paper. “You ever consider just laying down the law?”
“Yeah.”
Clint sprinkled tobacco on the paper and rolled it tight. “And?”
“You ever see a woman cry without shedding a tear?” Cougar asked.
Clint paused mid-lick on the edge of the paper. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Well, don’t be passing judgment until you do.”
Clint finished wetting the paper’s edge. As he sealed it, he asked, “Still don’t see why that means I can’t have a smoke.”
Cougar snatched the cigarette out of Clint’s hand. “I’m not spending another meal choking down clear broth because she catches a whiff of smoke the next time she marches in here.”
Clint choked on his laughter as he tucked his makings back into his pocket. “Is that how she’s keeping you in line?”
Cougar shot a murderous glare at the closed door. “Not that she’s owning up to,” he grumbled. “But one meal, after enduring endless rounds of watered-down broth…”
“It’s only been two days.”
“And then,” Cougar continued as if no interruption had occurred. “I get the most mouthwatering platter of roast beef and mashed potatoes.” At the memory, saliva filled Cougar’s mouth. One look at Clint’s face stated emphatically that he was sharing the same, beautiful memory.
“Mara sure can cook,” he sighed blissfully.
“Yeah,” Cougar agreed. “Well, one lousy cigarette later, and I’m back to tasteless broth and dry bread.”
“If I were you,” Clint advised solemnly. “I’d bury every bit of tobacco on the place in a deep, dark hole.”
Cougar glared at the bulge in the pocket of Clint’s well-worn red shirt. “Starting with yours.”
“Want one that badly, huh?”
Cougar ran his hand over his face as if to wipe away the urge. “Yeah.”
Clint smiled at his cousin’s dilemma. “Look at it this way. At least Mara didn’t take it into her head that coffee wasn’t good for an invalid.”
In response, Cougar passed the cup on the bed stand to Clint. One look was all it took.
“Couldn’t grow hair on the backside of Two-Shot Hank,” Clint observed morosely, naming a man famous for the abundance of hair gracing his body. “Who’d have thought that someone who could cook like those fancy chefs in San Francisco would make coffee so weak, tea would be ashamed to call it kin?”
Cougar grunted and placed the cup on the floor by the bed. For a moment, the two men eyed each other in sympathetic communion.
“So smoking is responsible for Mara storming around here like a thunderstorm at full tilt?” Clint observed.
“That’s one reason,” Cougar admitted, “but it’s not the reason she just slammed out of here.”
Clint stopped twirling his hat and dropped it on his knee. His bent head hid his knowing smile. “Oh.”
Cougar adjusted the pillow behind his back. “I just informed Mrs. High and Mighty that I was officially vacating the sickbed tomorrow.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“The woman’s trying to make an invalid of me.”
“I can see where she’s overreacting,” Clint agreed magnanimously. “After all, she nearly killed herself keeping you alive.” He cocked his head to one side. “I don’t see why she feels two days isn’t long enough to recover from being mauled by a bear and a fever that’s already killed three people.”
“Don’t start.” Cougar shot his cousin a glare. If anyone could give Doc a run for his money in the meddling department, it was Clint. Beneath all that molasses-thick, lazy get-to-it-in-my-own-time attitude, lurked a stubborn bulldog of a temperament. “It’s my body, and I damned well know when I’m ready to put it to use. Hell, I’m only talking about getting out of bed, not riding herd.”
“You’re saving that for the day after, I gather.”
“Sometimes,” Cougar grumbled, “having you for a cousin is worse than having a second conscience.”
“Just don’t want to see all your wife’s good work undone.” The smile disappeared from Clint’s black eyes, leaving them dark and serious. “It was touch and go there for a while, cousin, with nothing standing between you and your maker but that tiny bit of female determination.”
“So I gather.”
“I hope you had the good sense to drop to your knees and kiss her feet when you woke up.”
Clint was back to twirling his hat laconically around his finger, Cougar noticed. A sure sign he was thinking on something. Or plotting. For all his lazy appearance, a close observer would note that Clint was never still. He accomplished more at a walk than most accomplished at a run.
“Actually,” Cougar admitted, “the very first thing I did was to accuse her of taking up with the Reverend.”
Clint whistled long and low through his teeth. The hat looped awkwardly around his finger as he forgot to keep the rhythm. “I’m surprised she didn’t send the room up in flames with her anger. She’s a feisty little thing for all she looks like a porcelain angel. Took a pitchfork to me at our first meeting.”
“Ah, yes. The infamous pitchfork incident. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. Just what in hell did you do to spark such a reaction?”
Clint chuckled. The tan Stetson with its snakeskin band resumed its slow, steady whirl. “I told you. I rode a horse.”
“And how did riding a horse cause Mara to go reaching for the nearest pitchfork?”
Clint smoothed a crease from the brim of his hat. “The pitchfork actually came first.”
“Am I going to have to pull teeth to get the story out of you?” Cougar asked with no real rancor. Sooner or later, Clint would get to the point.
Clint lifted his head, revealing his admiration. “You should have seen her, cous. She came flying into the barn, rapping out orders to beat the band. Looked ready to gut me for not having gone to get Doc sooner.”
Clint’s gaze when it met Cougar’s was filled with the contradictory emotions of apology and fury. “You ought to whip that bitch Nidia.”
“No point. She’d probably enjoy it. Go on with your story.”
Clint shrugged. “There isn’t much left to tell. She finally stopped jabbing that pitchfork at my gut and calling me every foul name in the book right about the time she realized I didn’t know you were up at the house dying. That’s when she started rapping out orders.” Clint slanted Cougar a dark look. “You really should talk to her about defending herself. She got way too close, too fast. I was able to snatch it right out of her hands. It might not have been much in the way of protection, but it was all she had.”
“She carries a wicked blade strapped to her thigh.”
Clint arced his Stetson to his other hand, never missing a beat. “A knife’s no good if you don’t have the skill or the wherewithal to use it.”
Cougar pulled up his knee and rested his arm across the top. “Oh, Mara has the wherewithal, all right. Killed Cecile with one before we got out of that hellhole, and she fended off Nidia’s attack apparently with no problem.”
The hat flopped to another jerky halt and Cougar’s smile broadened to a chuckle as he watched comprehension dawn on his cousin’s face.
“I wondered at Nidia’s haircut. Did Mara…?”
“Yup.”
“And you say she took out Cecile?”
“Yup.”
“And she married up with you?”
“Yup.”
Clint’s shook his head. “Damn. You are one lucky son of a bitch.”
Cougar rubbed at the bandages covering his chest. The hair Mara had shaved away was growing back with a vengeance that threatened to drive him crazy with itching. “Yes. I am.”
Clint’s stomach, never far from the subject of food, rumbled l
oudly. “And she can cook, too,” he marveled. “I’m going to have to spend more time in nefarious whorehouses.”
“If you’re in the market for an easy woman,” Cougar offered helpfully, “Nidia will be available soon.”
“Soon?” Clint yelped, astounded. “Why the hell isn’t she available now?” He dropped his hat back to his knee with a disgusted jerk. “You can’t seriously prefer her over Mara. I mean, sure Mara’s a little banged up right now, and Nidia is quite a bit more,” Clint graphically cupped his hands three feet out in front of his chest. “But Mara is as delicate as a rose. As quick as she is to anger, I bet she’d be a wild blossom in your bed. All sweet and filled with fire.”
The anger and possessiveness came out of nowhere, propelling him half out of the bed, the warning issuing from his throat before he was even aware of the intent. “That’ll be enough.”
Clint shut up immediately, the gaze he turned on Cougar speculative.
Clint dragged his hand down his face. For a moment, Cougar felt like he was looking in a mirror. “Hell, Cougar, I’m sorry,” Clint apologized. “I meant no disrespect. But seriously, you don’t prefer Nidia…”
“Of course not!”
“Then why in hell is she still here?”
The fact that there was no good way to answer must have shown on his face.
“Uh-oh…”
“Yeah.” Cougar echoed the sentiment. “Uh-oh. As you pointed out, Mara is not built sturdy, and for all her denials, she’s still weak as a kitten from nursing me. The only help for fifty miles is Nidia. Jackson is sending for his sister, Lorie, but since I’ve forbidden Mara to do anything more strenuous than cooking meals, I’m stuck with that she-cat until Lorie can get here.”
Clint glanced out the window. “I think you’d better just send Nidia on her way and be done with it. Save yourself a lot of burnt meals and a lot of useless hassle.”
Cougar traced the trajectory of Clint’s stare. Pushing to his feet, he made his way awkwardly to the window, his wounds itching and burning with every step. The curses that marked his progress were nothing compared to those he spewed when he saw what was affording Clint such amusement. He hauled on the window but the damned thing was swollen shut. Naked but for the quilt he yanked off the bed and threw around his hips, he lurched out the door, scratching and swearing as he went. Swinging up on his crutches with graceful effort, Clint tagged along in his wake, laughing so hard, Cougar thought he’d choke.
* * * * *
Thwack!
Mara landed the rug beater on the large wool carpet with a satisfying amount of force, supplanting her husband’s face over the most beautiful carpet she’d ever seen. Who on God’s green earth did he think he was fooling? Concerned about her health, my foot. If she hadn’t killed herself dragging him back from the edge of the grave, caring for a nearly recovered man wasn’t going to drive her into one. Mara paused her fuming to drag one of the socks she was using as a glove across her brow. Though the weather was brisk, taking one’s frustrations out on a rug worked up a sweat.
Her eyes narrowed in renewed aggravation as she recalled the “good morning” she’d received from Cougar two days ago. She’d opened her eyes to the pink dawn of a new day, and the belief that her husband was just as desirous of making their marriage work as she. She’d smiled at Cougar, and bid him good morning.
He’d kissed her and announced that Nidia was staying on because she was the only help available. Did he think she was a fool?
Well, Mara thought, swinging the wooden tool in a wide arc, Mr. High and Mighty McKinnely had a few surprises coming his way. Sooner than he might believe. Nidia was no longer in residence. She swung the beater again. And she wasn’t coming back.
Cougar watched as Mara swung the beater. Clearly, she hadn’t heard him approach.
“I thought I told you that housework was out until I deemed it okay.” It took more effort than normal to achieve a growl. Making it down those stairs had taken most of the fight out of him. And the way Mara spun around to face him with that rug beater leveled at his head, made him wonder if he might be needing his strength back fast.
Mara lifted her chin and swung the beater at the rug. “You did.”
Cougar ground his teeth. Hell, his hands backed down immediately when he turned this look on them, but his little wife, whom he could snap in two as quick as he could spit, just threw his authority back in his face. The woman needed a keeper. “Maybe you misunderstood, Angel. It wasn’t a request.”
Mara’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I didn’t misunderstand, but since Nidia is no longer around, that order is no longer relevant.”
“What do you mean she’s not around?”
“I sent her packing this morning,” she informed him without a trace of guilt, nimbly sideswiping his grab for the rug beater. “Try that again and you won’t be grabbing anything for a long while.”
She was threatening him, Cougar realized on a note of pure shock. His primary inclination was to wrest that woven paddle from her hands and apply it to her backside, but common sense said he couldn’t win this fight that way. He needed calm. He clenched his teeth hard enough that a muscle jumped in his jaw, but he managed a reasonable tone. “Be sensible, Mara. That rug is twice your weight. Your ribs aren’t healed, and one night of solid rest isn’t going to restore all the sleep you lost caring for me.”
Mara’s voice was laced with just as much calm as his. “I appreciate your concern, but I am well aware of my body, and trust me, it lets me know the minute I push too far.”
Cougar ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “You wouldn’t recognize common sense if it jumped up and bit you.”
Her hand came to her stomach, a sign he was beginning to recognize indicated that she was nervous, but nerves didn’t keep her chin down or her from facing him. “Just because I don’t agree doesn’t mean I’m not sensible.”
He eyed her hand and that chin. “Couldn’t prove it by me.”
“I don’t need to prove it by you.”
“Yes, you do since it’s my job to take care of you.”
She stared at him for a long time. The paddle in her hand dipped to the ground. The hand pressing her abdomen curled into a fist and dug in deeper. “I’m not a job.”
He looked at the rug, the paddle in her hand and the anger on her face. He reached for the paddle. “Well, you’re sure turning into a lot of work.”
She yanked it free of his grip. “Then you needn’t bother yourself anymore. From here on out, I’ll make decisions for myself.”
“As long as those decisions follow my orders, we’ll be fine.”
“If you feel the need to play the heavy-handed husband, why don’t you hunt up Nidia and practice on her? I’m sure she’d love to fall into the role of wife,” Mara suggested in a tone so sweet, it bordered on sarcasm.
“Why should I want Nidia when I’ve got you?”
Mara had no idea. Absolutely none. She spun around and delivered a blow to the rug that shook the tree and sent shockwaves of pain up her arms. She had no idea why a man like Cougar would want someone like her. The beater fell from her hands. She shook out the tingles. Her stomach churned as she turned to face him. Behind him, at a distance, stood Clint. Watching her. Them. Why was everything she did in front of an audience?
“I don’t know, but you seem to have us confused in your mind.”
“How so?”
“You seem to think I’m as lazy and useless as she is.”
She bent down to pick up the beater, her intent to get out of there. He caught her arm with his hand, stopping her halfway to her goal. She straightened, but he didn’t let her go. He should look ridiculous standing there in the red and brown quilt and nothing else. He didn’t. He just looked incredibly handsome, incredibly sexy as he drawled, “I know exactly who you are.”
His deep voice sent a shiver down her spine. His hand on her arm was warm. His eyes as they stared into hers, intent. Maybe he was trying to make her feel better
. Maybe he was trying to intimidate her. Whatever he was trying to do, he needed to be clearer because she didn’t know what he meant. Didn’t know who he thought she was, and it was driving her nuts trying to figure out what he wanted from her. “Well, congratulations.”
Her stomach rolled hard. She pressed her hand into her abdomen. His eyes followed the movement. He frowned.
“You don’t have to prove yourself to me.”
Well, maybe she had something to prove to herself. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
His fingers moved on her inner arm in a caress she felt to her toes. “See that you do.”
His eyes narrowed as she jerked her arm free. Lord, he had gall. She grabbed up her beater and the last of her courage. “I’ll do exactly as I please.”
She turned on her heel and stalked toward the house. She’d finish the rugs later.
Cougar watched her stomp toward the house, his senses still reeling from her unwitting display as she’d bent over. Damned if she didn’t have the prettiest breasts.
Clint sauntered up. “Very nice,” he commented in a voice laced with amusement. He threw up his hands to ward off the blow Cougar was unaware of aiming.
“Don’t be an idiot, man.” Clint grunted as he steadied Cougar in the aftermath of all that momentum. “I wouldn’t comment upon your wife’s charms were I to see them. I was referring to the way you set your wife in her place. It’s clear you’ve established who’s boss.”
Cougar shot Clint a sideways glance before holding out his hand. “Here, give me a hand getting down. I can’t face that climb back inside without some rest.”
“More than likely you just don’t want to come up against the wrong side of your wife’s tongue again,” Clint grunted, as he bore the brunt of Cougar’s weight as he sat down.
Cougar tilted his head back against the tree’s rough trunk, feeling the bark grab at his hair. The wind was cold, so he pulled some of the quilt over his shoulder. A small smile touched his lips. “She could cut steel with it, couldn’t she?”
Promises Keep (The Promise Series) Page 19
