Promise Me (23 page)

“I'm counting on that, Amanda. I much prefer a wild wanton in my bed to a sedate civilized lady.”

Amanda discovered nearly every pair of eyes trained on her antics with Sam. She yanked her hand back and prayed for deliverance once again. Not that it seemed to do any good. She couldn't resist this infuriating, overconfident man. She was constantly torn by her emotions. She'd vow to stay away from him, only to discover she ached with a need to be near him.

She stood and nearly tipped the chair over in her rush to get out of the dining room. She paused on the steps outside the Parmeter House and waved her hand to fan herself.

“The day's heating up, isn't it?” Sam's voice was calm and composed when he approached her from behind and offered his elbow to escort her.

She studied the azure canopy of sky above their heads. “It would be a lovely day for a picnic, don't you think?”

Sam nodded. “I have to ride out to the willow grove near the river bend,” he said. “That's the place I took you that first day, where I...” His words trailed off into the warm breeze.

Amanda gave him a flirtatious smile. “Where you had the audacity to”—she adjusted her hat carefully—“recite poetry to me, Mr. Calhoun?”

Sam laughed, two deep dimples appearing on each side of his face. “I always knew poetry was destined to get me into trouble.”

They strolled along the boardwalk, and Amanda enjoyed the gentle peace of simply being with Sam without any conversation. Today they didn't seem to need words. In fact, if they spent more time in silent companionship, they might avoid the too frequent arguments.

She turned to him at the door to the Miners' Benevolent Association and plucked a small piece of lint from his dark frock coat. “I didn't hear an invitation to join you, Sam.” She pushed out her lower lip to form a pout.

He grasped her chin gently and brushed his lips across hers.

“If I take you on a picnic, it will spoil me for getting any work done this afternoon,” he murmured.

“You don't need to work, Sam. I've heard rumors you married a very wealthy woman and you're set for life.”

Sam stepped away from her and shook his head. “She's quite a demanding wench, so I believe I'll earn every penny of those riches.”

Amanda didn't release her grip on his lapel, and pulled him forward again. Gazing into his amber eyes, she brushed her fingers lightly across his face.

“It's a pity you're forced to labor under such demanding circumstances. I suppose you're too exhausted from all that work to spend a quiet afternoon rolling around on the soft grass.” She licked her lips. “Too busy for a bit of fun and frolic.”

Sam grasped her around the waist and bent her back, his lips trailing heat down the side of her neck to nuzzle her.

“Promise me something, Amanda.”

Her breathing had turned into tiny, little pants and she wanted to push him away, to demand they stop making a scene in the middle of the street. She simply couldn't find the strength.

“What?”

“If I'm ever too busy for a bit of fun and frolic on soft grass in the warm sunshine with you, shoot me again.”

His lips came closer to hers, but before he could silence her with a kiss, she giggled.

“You can count on it, Sam.”

Then she was lost in a swirl of heat and desire.

Chapter Sixteen

Sam tipped his hat. “I'll be looking forward to o
ur picnic.” Leaning toward her, he kissed the top of her nose.

She slanted her head to give him a coquettish smile. “Me, too. And I believe it's my turn to ride Stranger.”

Sam backed down the steps. He waved a finger at her. “I don't think so, darlin'. He's a bit too rough for a sweet thing like you. I'll bring Duchess. She's a more suitable mount for a lady.”

Amanda stuck out her tongue at him. “Sometimes it's downright boring to be a lady.”

Sam turned and strolled down the street, lost in the fantasy of an idyllic afternoon spent in the arms of his bewitching wife.

The sound of her scream tore through the early morning, ripping the air with its mournful wail. Sam stopped breathing. His heart slammed against his chest. Pain clenched his gut, and he turned quickly to head back to the Miners' Association.

If someone had hurt her, he swore he'd tear that person apart with his bare hands.

Amanda stood at the front door, her face ashen. A dark wet stain spread across the skirt of her dress. Both of her hands were covered in blood. Stumbling up the steps, Sam grabbed her shoulders.

“Amanda, are you hurt?”

She was shaking and her eyes were wild with fear.

“Caleb,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion. “It's Caleb...” Tears flowed down her cheeks. “Sam, Caleb's been hurt. Badly hurt.”

“I'll get the doctor.” Sam examined the scarlet stain on her dress and a boulder of fear crashed down upon him. “But I need to be sure you're not bleeding.” He pulled her to him and held her for a moment.

When he finally released her, she was sobbing quietly. Sam felt helpless, unable to soothe her, and apprehensive about leaving her alone to check on Caleb. He couldn't rely upon her to summon the doctor. She was too overwrought.

Her face went white, and she stumbled to the edge of the boardwalk, leaning forward. She lost the contents of her stomach. Sam wrapped his arms around her waist, concerned she might faint and tumble over the edge. When she finally stepped back and leaned into him, he didn't release her. She swallowed several times and wiped her mouth with the lace cuff of her dark dress.

“I think he's dead, Sam.”

“I want you to sit down here and lean back onto the building.” He helped to settle her against the front portico. “I need to get some help, but I'll be right back.”

Glancing each way down the street, he swore under his breath. Hell and damnation, any other day there would be folks falling over each other in the street. Today it was nearly deserted. He crossed to the General Store and caught the shopkeeper who was putting merchandise out in front.

“There's been an accident over at the Miners' Association. Caleb's been hurt, and we need the doctor.”

Homer Fullerton shook his head and refused to look up at Sam. “I got a business to run, Calhoun. Can't you go get the doctor yourself? He's sleeping it off at Mrs. Holt's place.”

Grabbing Homer by the collar, Sam leaned forward, pausing just inches from the other man's yellow teeth and pockmarked face. “My wife has nearly collapsed from the shock of finding that boy. She's covered with blood, and I'm not exactly sure if any of it's hers.” Sam released the terrified man. “Now, you go get that nearly useless doctor. I'm going to give you ten minutes to wake him up, pour some coffee down his throat, and drag him over to the Miners' Association.” Sam stepped away from the man. “And after ten minutes I'll come looking for the both of you.” Menace dripped from his voice, and he let his hand graze his revolver to emphasize the point. “God help you when I find you.”

Sam's heart pounded as he crossed the dusty street. He discovered Walter Abbott squatting next to Amanda, trying to comfort her.

Sam nodded at the young man. “Could you go fetch Harriet Parmeter? I need a cool head around here right now.”

Walter plopped his brown felt hat back onto his head and took off at a run toward the hotel. Sam dropped to a crouch and studied Amanda's face. She was still crying, but she had a stunned, glassy-eyed look that frightened him. He said her name, but she didn't seem to hear him. Gently, he lifted her chin with one finger, trying to get her attention.

“Amanda, honey?” Her emerald eyes captured his, and the distant, forlorn look chilled Sam to his bones.

“Why, Sam?” Her voice cracked with emotion. “Why would anyone want to hurt Caleb? He's such a nice boy.” She stared off into space, and tears continued to roll down her cheeks. “He was just learning to read, you know.”

Sam patted her on the shoulder. “I need to go inside and check on him. Will you be okay?”

Amanda didn't respond. Her red lips were bright against the pallor of her skin. She continued to cry, her shoulders shaking, her breasts rising and falling as she took deep, ragged breaths. Sam cursed the abandoned street once more. He didn't want to leave her, but he also worried that if Caleb wasn't dead yet, he soon would be if he didn't get some help.

She finally lifted her head and tried to straighten her shoulders.

“Go inside, and...” Her head fell forward again and she sobbed into her hands.

Sam patted her arm again, hoping the simple gesture would calm and reassure her, then he rose to his feet and took long measured steps into the shadows of the entryway. Caleb stretched across the parlor floor, surrounded by a large pool of blood.

Sam's stomach wrenched. The substantial meal he'd just eaten threatened to reemerge. Swallowing, he stepped closer. The boy's form was still. Deathly still, and Sam feared the worst. Kneeling down, he forced himself to touch Caleb's back. The boy was still breathing. It was a thin, shallow sign of life, but Sam was overjoyed.

Ignoring the blood, Sam shifted the boy and used the edge of his shirt to wipe Caleb's face. The boy groaned, and a glimmer of hope seized Sam.

“Caleb?” He wiped more of the blood away. “Stay still. The doctor's on his way.”

Sam held Caleb in his arms, and memories of other injured men, their bodies torn apart by the cruel weapons of war, swept through his mind. He swallowed the pain knotting his throat and squeezing his chest. He'd seen so many young men die. Dear God, please spare this one, he prayed. Amanda loved this boy, and she had lost so much lately.

Voices echoed in the street, and Sam heard people rushing about. Loud steps pounded on the boardwalk, and several men entered the room.

“I got him here, but it ain't my fault if he's no damned good to you.” The shopkeeper shoved the doctor forward.

Doc Potter stumbled in and belched loudly before addressing Sam. “If a body loses that much blood you can't blame me if he dies.”

Sam made his voice as cold and heartless as he could manage. “You'd better hope this boy lives. Because if you don't do everything in your power to save him, I'll cut out your liver and hang it on a pole for the vultures to chew on.”

The doctor coughed and turned back toward Homer Fullerton. “I'll need hot water, bandages, supplies from my office, and whiskey.”

“I can't be expected to hang around here all day long. I got a business to run.” Homer tried to back out the door, but Sam stopped him with an angry growl.

“Do what the doc says and I won't be forced to shoot you.”

When Walter Abbott stepped into the room, the shopkeeper grabbed him by the elbow and twisted him around. “We got supplies to fetch, so don't be lollygagging around here. Calhoun would just as soon shoot us as look at us this morning. C'mon and help me and save yourself some aggravation.”

Sam gave the doctor a cursory glance before studying the pale white face below him.

“Tell me the truth, Doc, what are his chances?” Doc Potter wobbled a bit, belched again, then straightened his stained frock coat. “I won't know until I can find out where all that blood came from. Do you see a gunshot or a knife wound?”

Sam searched the length of the inert form. He couldn't see any wounds, just a lot of bruises and cuts on the boy's face. It looked like someone with large fists had punched him repeatedly. Caleb made a low, mournful sound.

“Take it easy, my friend; we're going to find out what happened to you.” Sam tried to reassure him. He pointed toward the stairway, giving the doctor a look that held a stern warning.

“Go on upstairs. I know you've been here enough times to remember the way. There are linens and pillows on the beds. Bring some down so we can make this boy comfortable.”

Doc Potter looked ready to argue with Sam, then seemed to think better of the idea and headed out of the room.

“Don't.” Caleb's voice was thick, the words barely intelligible through his swollen lips. “Mrs. Wainwright.”

Sam leaned forward to capture the words. “What is it, Caleb? What about Amanda?”

Caleb's eyes fluttered open. “Don't let ‘em kill her.”

Blood rushed through Sam's body and congealed into one large ice crystal that suddenly encased his heart.

***

Amanda sat on her bed, her teeth chattering and goose bumps crawling across her skin. She couldn't get warm, despite the sunshine streaming through the windows in her room.

The image of Caleb in that dark red pool of blood wouldn't leave her. Caleb, his young body so injured he couldn't move or speak. He was so still, she thought, he must be dead. Though Harriet had assured her Caleb was still alive, the fear that his injuries had killed him haunted her.

Harriet bustled into the room with a tray of food. “Land's sake, Amanda. Let's get a quilt around you.”