Promise Me (26 page)

Drinking himself into oblivion was the only way he could think of to get through the night.

Chapter Eighteen

Amanda resisted the urge to throw herself across her bed and weep. She choked back tears and tried to replace the cold, desolate feeling of loss with hot, hard-edged anger.

Lies.

That's all he'd ever told her.

She swept a loose curl back from her face. Her earlier conversation with Harriet haunted her, and tears filled
her eyes, threatening to cascade in a waterfall of heartbreak.

She'd never tell Sam about the baby now. Her hands moved to cover her stomach protectively. Maybe the father of her child didn't want a family, but she did. This baby would be the one good thing she could take away from her marriage to Sam.

She unfolded her silk shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. In a few weeks, she could leave Willow Creek and all the horrible memories. She'd travel to Europe, perhaps to Italy. She'd heard there were places on the Mediterranean coast where the sun was warm and the air perfumed with the scent of flowers. A rich American widow could easily hide herself in some small seaside town there.

She stood at the doorway to Sam's room and wiped away tears that insisted upon falling. She wanted to bury her face in his pillow, to smell the clean masculine scent of his shaving soap. She wanted to gather some small item to remind her of the man she loved.

She pushed the thought aside. When she left Willow Creek, she would be the Widow Wainwright again. She wouldn't even give Sam's child his name.

The thought fulfilled her desire for vengeance. Sam wanted his freedom, and she was obliged to give it to him. But he would never know about the child she carried in her womb. Her final act of retaliation would be to rob him of that knowledge. She needed to find Harriet and make sure she didn't congratulate Sam.

Hurrying down the stairs, she waited at the desk in the foyer. No one was about, which was unusual. She gasped when she saw a letter in her mailbox. Bright blood-red ink screamed at her, and she backed away, terror clenching her in a vise that nearly strangled her. She was ready to scurry back up the stairs when she bumped into Mr. Penny.

“I heard what happened to young McQueen. I was hoping there might be something I could do.” He rolled the brim of his hat in his hands and avoided looking directly at her.

Amanda twisted around to ponder the letter in the cubbyhole, then turned to find his small black eyes studying her. He grasped her elbow.

“You look a bit pale, Mrs. Calhoun, perhaps you should sit down. You've had a very trying day from what I've heard.”

Amanda sat down in a deep upholstered chair and gave Mr. Penny a sharp glance. “What do mean, trying?”

He swallowed hard, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. He seemed intent upon destroying his black bowler while he fumbled for words. “The whole town is talking about it.”

Amanda's eyes grew wide. Had the news of Sam leaving her swept through town already? Mr. Penny shook his nearly bald head. “They say you were the one who found Caleb.” His eyes glittered with something that disturbed her. “That you found him lying in a pool of blood.”

Amanda shuddered as she recalled the image of Caleb, pale, wounded, and sprawled upon the floor. Taking a deep breath, she adjusted the shawl around her shoulders and gave Mr. Penny a grim smile. “I seem to be getting used to astonishing events and frightening experiences. My constitution is stronger than you might imagine, Mr. Penny.” She stood and lifted her chin, hoping he would see confidence where it didn't really exist. “I need to finalize the arrangements for the Miners' Ball.” She took a deep breath. “I've decided to leave Willow Creek soon. Please have all the papers ready for transferring management of the association to the miners within the next week.”

Mr. Penny's eyes popped wide. “Will Mr. Calhoun be leaving Willow Creek with you?”

Amanda started toward the door and paused to glance over her shoulder. “I'll be traveling alone for the time being. Mr. Calhoun has business interests to attend to before he can join me in San Francisco. After that, we'll be taking an extended voyage to Europe.” She gave him a weak smile. “Our honeymoon.”

Before he could ask any more questions, Amanda spun on her heel to briskly walk out the door. That would be her version of events, and Sam could go to hell if he didn't support her. She planned to leave Willow Creek with her pride intact and her head held high. No one would know her heart had been broken and her dreams destroyed. No one except Sam, and he'd made it perfectly clear that the sooner she disappeared from Montana, the happier he'd be.

***

Sam learned to observe Amanda from the shadows. If she caught sight of him, she went to extremes to avoid him. He tried to inquire about her, but ugly frowns and cold stares from both Robert and Harriet silenced him. Sam cursed Father Mikelson and his arrangement, and considered resigning from the Secret Service. Several times he'd started to cross the street to the Miners' Association, aware she was there, keeping vigil at Caleb's bedside. He wanted to unburden himself and beg for her forgiveness. The honest, painful truth was that without her, his life wasn't worth living. He'd tell her about the sleepless nights, pacing the lonely rooms above his office, trying to drown his sorrow and loneliness in whiskey. He'd make any promise necessary to win her back.

He'd tell her about the times he fell exhausted upon his bed, only to be tormented by dreams of her. He couldn't sleep, he couldn't eat, and now, he lurked in the shadows, hungry for the sight of her.

He slammed his fist against the wall and grimaced at the crushing pain that slid up his arm. Lately, pain was the only way he could remind himself he was still alive. Most of the time he felt like a phantom, flickering in and out of conversations, drifting through each day, feeling nothing but cold, bleak loneliness.

Amanda's head was bowed as she crossed the street to the Parmeter House. An ugly dark black bonnet obscured her expression, but he knew what he would see if he could catch a glimpse of her face. There were deep shadows beneath her eyes, and the corners of her mouth were drawn sharply down. He'd heard when others expressed concern over her she waved them away, explaining her long hours with Caleb were taking their toll. Yet, she'd hardly leave the boy's side.

She planned to leave town after the Miners' Ball. Gossip said she was going to Europe, and when others questioned him, Sam simply nodded at Amanda's assertion they would be traveling abroad together after he settled details of his business.

In a few weeks, his mission would be over and he'd leave Willow Creek forever. Father Mikelson would arrange for the annulment, and Sam would get a new assignment. Most importantly, Amanda would be alive and safe.

Sam pondered the box sitting at his feet. He'd ordered a gift for Amanda weeks ago. It had arrived on the stage today, but he didn't know how to give it to her. If he placed it on the steps of the Miners' Association for her to find, she'd discard it. He needed to explain the significance of the gift, the reason it was so important and why he wanted her to have it.

He tucked the box beneath his arm. He could sneak up the back stairs so no one would see him. He still had the key to his room. As far as anyone knew, he worked late each night, attempting to organize his affairs so he would be free to travel on an extended honeymoon with his wife. When the town slept, when even the doors to the saloons closed, he doused his light and climbed the steps to his lonely rooms above the office.

At first light, he made sure he was back downstairs, so intent upon his business he never had time to dine with his wife. She took her meals with Caleb or in her room. He climbed the steep back stairs of the hotel, preparing the words he'd use when he faced Amanda. She hated him. She certainly wouldn't want to accept a gift from him.

He opened the door to his room quietly and stood for a few moments trying to locate her. A soft rustling echoed from the other room, followed by the heavy crash of an object hitting the floor. Amanda cussed loudly and Sam grinned. Her temper was certainly intact. He didn't know if he should be grateful or wary.

Many of her garments were now spread across his bed. He paused to caress the fine lace of a petticoat. It brought to mind the nights he'd undressed her, discarding each piece of lingerie to reveal the soft, satiny skin beneath. Blood surged to his groin and he rose. There was no denying the carnal appetite they shared, but there was more than sensual lovemaking between them. A lancet of regret pierced him. He hated to hurt her. The pain was worse than anything he'd faced in prison camp. His breath caught when her shadow fell on him.

“What the hell do you want, Calhoun?” Poison dripped from her voice.

She stood on the threshold between their rooms. The door had not yet been replaced, but without him in the other room, why would it matter? She was garbed only in her corset, petticoat, and chemise. Sam couldn't tear his eyes away from her, and his cock grew as hard as stone. His mouth was so dry, he didn't think he'd be able to form words.

Instead of blushing and turning away, she pushed her breasts out, set her hands on her hips and tossed her head. “Get out. I told you to leave me alone, and I meant it.”

The length of her hair, glowing copper in the late afternoon light, moved in an undulating swirl. Desire ripped through Sam's body like a flood released from the gates. His tongue was thick in his mouth and he grew harder with a hot, sizzling need that flashed red across his vision.

“I have something for you. A gift.” Before she could back away he thrust the box toward her. She smiled coldly at it but made no move to take the box away from him.

“A little late to come courting, isn't it, Sam?”

She was different, as if she'd grown into a woman and discarded all of her girlish affectations. She didn't accept the box, but moved with a familiar glide across the room to sit at her dressing table.

“I don't need anything from you, Sam, remember?” She picked up her brush and pulled it through her auburn tresses.

Sam couldn't tear his eyes from her. Her breasts, spilling out over the top of her corset, seemed fuller, rounder than he remembered. She tossed her head again and gave him a long desultory look. The tip of her tongue flickered across her lips, and a sharp stab of desire clawed at Sam. She was teasing him, and damn her to hell, it was working.

“I didn't come to play games with you, Amanda. I brought you something, and we need to talk.”

Amanda set her brush down and fluffed her hair. “More's the pity, Sam. You're much more fun to play with than to talk to.”

Turning on the bench, she leaned forward, and he caught a glimpse of her ankle when she lifted the ruffle of her petticoat. He nearly forgot what he needed to say. Then he spied the deep cleavage between her breasts and he did forget what he was going to say. The bulge at his crotch was painful and pushed hard against his trousers.

She looked at Sam with a languid, predatory glow in her eyes. “So, talk.”

He mumbled, and closed his eyes in exasperation. She toyed with him, and he felt green as a boy again.

“Enjoying yourself, Amanda?”

“Actually, yes. I'm enjoying this immensely.”

He opened his eyes, threw the box on the cluttered bed, and removed the lid. He held a satin and lace gown out to her. A modest offering for a goddess.

“I ordered this for you, back, well…when we were first married. I want you to wear it to the Miners' Ball tomorrow night.”

Amanda's eyes widened and her mouth formed a tiny “o” of surprise. Her gaze moved from the pale green frock to him and back again. What might be pleasure glimmered in the emerald depths of her eyes for a moment, before the cold indifference reappeared.

“That color is not appropriate for a woman in mourning.” She dismissed his gift with a brief wave of her hand. “I'll wear black crepe, it's my usual garb.”

Sam clenched his hands. “That's what I'm trying to tell you, Amanda. You can discard those widow's weeds. It's time for you to pull yourself out from under Arthur's shadow. You've proven to me and everyone else in Willow Creek that you're a woman capable of making decisions and running a business on your own.”

He settled the gown back into the box and approached her.

He forced his hands to remain at his sides, fists clenched, though his fingers itched to stroke her hair, touch the softness of her cheek, and trail down to cup the fullness of a breast. The fragrance of lilacs, mixed with her personal woman's scent, assailed his nostrils, and he struggled for self- control.

“You're a woman to be admired, Amanda Wainwright Calhoun.”

She tossed her head and rose to move within inches of him. Her breath was sweet and warm, and he fought to keep his hands off her creamy skin, bare and inviting and within his reach.

“Admired or pitied, Sam?”

He threw back his head and laughed. The sound wasn't filled with mirth though; it rang sad and hollow in the room.

“I pity myself, Amanda. Only a fool would walk away from you.”

Her glance flickered across his face, searching. He wanted to cringe at the stark appraisal, but knew he needed to be honest with her.