Promises Prevail

by Sarah McCarty

  “If I were you Clint, I’d watch what you say. The little lady has a hair trigger temper.”

  Clint wasn’t impressed.

  “The little lady is going to have a sore ass.”

  He probed down her thigh, and she moaned as pain flared. Now that the excitement was over, her body was making her aware of every bruise. She looped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his throat, breathing deeply of his wonderful scent.

  “I already do.”

  “You’ve got no one but yourself to blame,” he growled, fingering the knot in her thigh and massaging it, his touch incredibly light in direct contrast to his biting words.

  “If I start unbuttoning my blouse, will you stop yelling?”

  The jerk of Clint’s body could have been laughter or irritation. Before she could find out, Asa came up, holding Danny’s ruff. She didn’t look too closely at the stain around the big dog’s mouth.

  “Now there’s a woman knows how to sweet-talk a man.”

  This hadn’t been his fight, but he’d come, backing her husband, risking his life. She only had one thing to say to him. “Thank you.”

  He shrugged. “McKinnelys stick together.”

  “You’re a MacIntyre.”

  “He wore us down with that damned perverse sense of humor of his,” Cougar admitted in a disgusted tone. “We claimed him out of sheer self-preservation.”

  Asa smiled and tipped his hat, leaving it a little lower over his brow as he said dryly, “I was flat-out honored.”

  Clint grunted. “Did you get the others?”

  “They’re all wrapped up nice and tidy. Mark doesn’t run with a bright group.” He motioned to the center of the clearing where two men were lying face-down in the dirt, their hands tied behind their backs. The other bodies weren’t tied and didn’t move.

  “Who got Mark?” Asa asked.

  “Gray.” Clint shot the boy a concerned glance. “He saved Jenna’s life.”

  None of the men said anything for a moment. Then Cougar spoke up.

  “Good job.” Gray nodded, his expression tight.

  Clint ran his hand over the welt on her hip. Jenna couldn’t help wincing.

  Asa’s eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t look in any shape to ride.”

  “She’s not.” Clint pushed the hair off her cheek, his eyes searching every inch of her face.

  “You two want to wait for us to come back with a wagon?” Cougar asked.

  Before Clint could weigh in, Jenna shook her head. She didn’t want to stay here. “I want to go home.”

  “Baby, you’re too busted up.”

  “I got here, I can get home.” She was not staying here.

  “Speaking of which, how did you find us?” Asa asked.

  “Danny.”

  “I thought you had better sense.” Clint glared at the dog.

  Danny merely sat and cocked his head, the dog equivalent of a shrug.

  “I for one am glad that he came. Took out one of the bastards who had the drop on me.” Asa patted Danny’s big head. “Think I’ll have Old Sam whip him up a steak when I go back to get the wagon.”

  “I’m not staying here,” Jenna repeated. If she could have she would have folded her arms across her chest. “I’m going home.”

  Clint sighed. “You’re so weak now, you’re shaking. You’ll never sit a horse.”

  She was. In the aftermath of the violence, she felt totally drained, buffeted by so many emotions that she couldn’t make sense of any but one. “I’m going home.”

  “Goddamn it, Jenna.” Clint tucked her tighter against him. “You are in no shape to ride.”

  “Fine. She could tell he was working up to yelling at her again so she headed him off. Then get my pillow and let me ride in front of you.”

  “What?”

  “I used a pillow to get up here. I can use one to get back.”

  “A pillow?”

  “The saddle hurt, so I used a pillow,” she muttered into his shoulder. The look he sent her questioned her sanity. “It worked fine until the pillow slipped. Bucky didn’t like that—”

  Around her there was the stifled sound of laughter. Against her, Clint’s muscles tightened to hard ridges of disbelief.

  “You rode one of my testiest cow ponies on a pillow?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he waited to balk until you got here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Son of a bitch, somebody upstairs must hate me.” He dropped his forehead against hers.

  “Maybe the good Lord wanted to make sure you’d be able to find me when I got bucked off.”

  “That must be it,” He said in a resigned tone.

  He touched her forehead, her cheek, her lip, all the places she knew she had marks and then pulled her hard against him, asking in a weary voice, “What am I going to do with you Jenna McKinnely?”

  She only had one answer for him.

  “You could try loving me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  You could try loving me.

  Clint leaned his shoulder against the door, popped the bottle in Bri’s mouth, and watched the soft glow of moonlight play over Jenna’s gentle face as she slept.

  How could she not know he loved her? Since the day he’d first seen her, he’d been a goner. He’d fought it, tried to rise above his selfish need, but there hadn’t been any true hope that he’d escape. He was too far from a saint, and she was just too much temptation with her shy smile, sweet softness, and hot, giving nature. Son of a bitch, he loved her.

  As he watched, she turned, reaching out to his side of the bed before frowning and rolling back. He’d have to take her back to see Doc tomorrow. That’d require some sort of clever excuse as Jenna would balk at another examination, but damn it, she worried him. She’d been listless ever since that night. Not eating well, not smiling, and generally withdrawn. Part of it was her wounds—any movement at all the first day was agony—but even when that let up, her listlessness didn’t. Son of a bitch, he wasn’t going to lose her.

  The baby kicked her feet and turned away from the bottle.

  “What’s the matter, Button? Suck too much wind?” he whispered, taking the bottle from her mouth. She gave him one milky little smile, no doubt delighted with her ability to disturb the adult world, and then proceeded to pout.

  “Oh no, you don’t. No waking up Mommy.”

  He shifted her to his shoulder. She’d doubled in size since the first time he’d seen her, but she was still the tiniest bit of humanity, her back barely stretching his palm and for all her spirit, felt as fragile as the china tea cups Dorothy pulled out on special occasions. With the tip of one finger, he rubbed her back, feeling the delicate ladder of her baby spine. And frowned. Maybe he’d have Doc look at her again tomorrow, too. He didn’t care what the women said about her being fine. She needed more meat on her bones.

  He sighed. Jenna would have something to say about that, no doubt. She was always riding his case about worrying too much, but he’d gone from nothing to everything and those kinds of changes had a man thinking in terms of the cost of losing. Especially with the scare Jenna and Gray had just given him. He frowned as Jenna turned and the blanket fell off her shoulder revealing the head to toe nightgown she’d taken to wearing.

  He sighed and kissed the top of Bri’s head. Jenna’s taking to wearing smothering nightclothes was his fault, too. Every time he’d seen her cuts and bruises over the last four days, he’d lost his temper. He couldn’t help it. It scared the shit out of him that that sick son of a bitch had gotten his hands on Jenna. And it would take at least five lifetimes to forget the sight of her facing down the barrel of a gun, uncaring of her own safety as she defended her son.

  “Your mother has a bit of a wildcat in her, Button,” he whispered, a smile working past his worry. Bri bobbed her head on his shoulder, belched, and tangled her fist in his hair. “If you’re lucky, some of it will wear off on you.”

  “I don’t think that will be a
concern,” Gray said, touching his sister’s cheek. “She has quite a temper.”

  “Couldn’t sleep?” Clint turned, not surprised to find the boy up, or Danny by his side. The two had taken to each other and patrolled the halls nightly.

  Gray shook his head, his long braids swinging with the motion.

  “Killing a man is hard, even if he deserved it.”

  “It is already getting easier.”

  “Then why are you up?”

  Gray’s gaze skirted his to touch on Jenna as she lay on the bed. He tickled Bri’s cheek with one hand while the other clenched in Danny’s rough fur. A sure sign he was working up to something big. Clint rubbed Bri’s back, waiting him out. Finally, the boy raised his face, his jaw clinched and his shoulders set for battle.

  “She is not happy.”

  “She had a tough time of it out there.” So he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed the change in Jenna.

  “I do not want to lose another mother.” The boy’s mouth was set in the same determined line as his jaw.

  “Jenna’s not going anywhere.”

  “She is an easy person to love.” The boy’s expression went from stubborn to mutinous.

  “I know.” That was the truth. Falling in love with Jenna was as easy and as natural as breathing.

  “Then why doesn’t she know you love her?”

  “Because I haven’t told her.”

  “I will take Hope on the Mist, and you will tell her.” The look of disgust the boy gave him said more than words. Gray reached for Bri. Bri went to him willingly. Clint untangled her fist from his hair while she dangled sleepily between them.

  “I was planning on telling her at the social.” He’d come up with the plan after Mara had let slip what that bitch Shirley had said about his reasons for marrying Jenna. Saturday’s social was going to be a territory-wide party, celebrating his marriage to Jenna, and right in the middle of it he was going to work up the courage to get down on one knee before God and the territory and ask Jenna to marry him again. It was going to be the granddaddy all of romantic gestures. It would embarrass the hell out of him, but he’d do it for Jenna. Dorothy and Elizabeth were handling the arrangements. Lorie and Patricia were helping. After the social, there wouldn’t be any doubt in anyone’s mind that Clint McKinnely was head over heels in love with his wife, and he’d married her for love and nothing else.

  “Three days is too long to wait,” Gray countered, stubbornly clinging to his point.

  Jenna moaned. Clint glanced over. She was trying to turn onto her back. One hand reached for him. Her fingers splayed over the empty side of the bed. Her fingers closed, her arm relaxed, and that sad resigned expression he’d come to hate took up residence on her face.

  He sighed and shook his head. The kid was right. He’d have the party, and he’d make Jenna a legend with how she’d brought Clint McKinnely to his knees, but he wouldn’t make her wait any longer for that last piece she needed from him.

  “I suppose it is.” He cupped Gray’s shoulder and kissed Bri’s head. “Do you think you and Bri might want to spend a couple days visiting with Uncle Asa and Aunt Elizabeth?”

  “You will tell her?”

  “Yes.” It was a measure of how much the boy loved Jenna that he even hesitated, seeing as being with Asa meant being with his horse. The boy’s smile flashed brighter than sunshine off a mirror.

  “We will leave in the morning.”

  “Take Jackson with you.”

  “I can handle myself.”

  “I know you can,” Clint handed Gray the bottle and the burping rag, “but a baby limits a man’s ability to react, and it’s better not to take chances.” He expected the boy to argue, but instead he nodded, his eyes taking on that too-old look.

  “I will not take chances. You do not have need to worry.”

  “I’m not worried, son, just naturally cautious.”

  Before Gray could cite stories to the contrary, Clint turned him by the shoulders and pointed him down the hall.

  “If you want me to be making peace with your mother, I suggest you give me space to do it in.”

  In two seconds, he had all the space he needed.

  * * * * *

  Clint shucked his denims and sat on the side of the bed, turning sideways as he carefully eased the thick rope of Jenna’s braid from behind her. He loved the way she looked bathed in moonlight. Her skin taking on the color of cream and roses. Her hair shining with an ethereal light. She looked like one of those angels from the paintings. Plump, sweet, and as tempting as sin itself.

  He tugged the tie from her braid and worked the silken strands free. He arranged them around her face, smiling as the waves fell where they would despite his plans. He leaned over, bracing his hands on either side of her torso. He brushed her ear with his lips, his smile broadening as she shivered in her sleep and goose bumps sprang up on the one arm he could see.

  “Wake up, Sunshine.”

  She stirred. “Clint?”

  He braced his palm on her spine before she could roll back and hurt herself.

  “Easy, baby.”

  Her right eye cracked open and she nuzzled into his thigh. Lord help him, he even loved the way she came awake in stages like a plump, sleepy little kitten, cuddling up to the warmth of his body.

  “What’s wrong?” She cupped his knee and stroked her thumb over the ridge of bone.

  “Nothing.”

  He hitched his hip higher on the bed, urging her closer until her cheek rested high on his thigh and the soft silk of her hair fell across his groin.

  “It’s still night,” she yawned. “Did Bri wake up?”

  “Yes. Gray has her.”

  “He couldn’t sleep?”

  “No.”

  “But he’s okay?”

  “Yes.” Her other eye cracked open.

  “So there’s no need for me to be up?”

  “There’s a need.” He took a handful of her hair in his hand and rubbed it over his aching cock simply because it felt so damned good.

  “You want to make love?”

  “You’re still too banged up.” He couldn’t tell how she felt about the idea from her tone of voice.

  “So you did wake me up for no reason.” She tipped her head back, her smile as soft as her skin.

  “No.” He eased his thumb between her lips, letting the moisture inside her mouth coat his flesh before sliding his thumb along the full curve of her lower lip, pulling it away from her teeth, teasing himself with the heat of her mouth. “I woke you up to tell you I love you.”

  Air hissed past his thumb, bathing it in a wash of moist warmth as she blinked at him. Both eyes were totally open now, shining deep blue in the dim lamplight. She didn’t say a word, didn’t move, didn’t breathe for three seconds. Then she blinked again, sucked in a staccato breath, and those beautiful eyes began to fill with tears.

  “Ah baby, those had better be happy tears.”

  “I’ve waited so long for you to say that.” Her tongue touched the pad of his finger, sending streaks of need shooting up his arm.

  “I know.” He caught a teardrop as it shimmered on her cheek. “Too long.”

  “But why now?” She asked, as she shook her head, letting her hair flow erotically down over his balls.

  “Because I realized even if you wanted an out, I’m never going to give it to you.” She was his own little piece of heaven, his personal treasure, and he could no more give her up than he could give up his soul. “I can’t let you go, Sunshine.”

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “I’m beginning to believe that now.” He slid his fingers across her cheek, behind her head, keeping his thumb against her lips, needing the contact.

  She tucked her elbow under her torso and pushed up. Her flinch cut him to the bone. He’d have to take much better care of her. He supported as much of her weight as he could as she pulled herself higher against him.

  “Hold me,” she ordered. He did, groaning as the smoot
h skin of her inner arm slid over his thigh. Son of a bitch, she tempted him.

  “You thought I’d want to leave?” she asked on a sigh of satisfaction as he gave her weight back to her gradually. She made it sound as if it was the most ludicrous idea that could ever cross a man’s mind.

  “Sunshine, as much as you like to think otherwise, beyond a hefty bank account, I’m not much of a prize.”

  “I decided long ago that you are no judge of people.”

  “I beg your pardon?” He was known far and wide for his ability to scent a lie before it was spoken.

  “You should beg for it, making me wait so long for your heart.” She trailed the backs of her fingers up the inside of his thigh.

  “You’ve always had my heart.” He tilted his hips forward a bit, giving her better access. “I just didn’t tell you about it.”

  “Why?” She clasped his cock through the blanket of her hair, closing her fingers with that delicacy that was so much a part of her.

  “I’m not the man you think I am.” He looked down at her plump white hand wrapped in the moonlight-gilded blonde of her hair as it encompassed his cock. She was so pure compared to him. So innocent. He fought back the selfish lust that raced through him. She didn’t look shocked or upset, just patient as she waited for him to elaborate.

  “Jack Hennesey didn’t die in that fire.”

  Her “I know” was a bare whisper.

  “You do?”

  “He slammed the door behind him when he left.” She shuddered and he cupped her cheek, helpless to remove the memory that terrified her. “I knew he wouldn’t be coming back.”

  “I killed him.” The stark statement landed hard in the silence. He couldn’t read anything in her slow blink, her stillness.

  “How?” she finally asked.

  “I was coming up to check on you—”

  “Check on me?”

  “Hennesey had been spouting a bunch of nonsense in the saloon.” She didn’t need to know that the man had suggested that anyone willing to lay out a gold piece could have her.

  “And?”

  “When I got there, the shack was on fire. Hennesey was outside. There was blood all over him, but not much damage.”