Promise Me (4 page)

Intrigued by the handsome stranger, she stepped closer. He was standing now, and she marveled at the way his wide shoulders, long, lean legs, and muscled arms seemed to fill the room to the corners of the kitchen.

She wet her lips, took a deep breath, and stepped even closer. Close enough to notice a gleam of mischief in his honey-colored eyes.

She lifted her chin to peruse him with the same bold look he was giving her. “I couldn't sleep, so I came down to fix myself some warm milk. I didn't expect to find anyone else up at this hour.”

He grinned, his eyes challenging her. “You gave me quite a scare, you know. I thought you were one of the Lord's minions come to carry me away. But, I notice you don't have any gossamer wings, so I suppose I'm safe.”

Amanda quickly looked over her shoulder and gave him a flirtatious smile.

“We always take them off at bedtime; it makes it easier to sleep.” A shiver of excitement rolled over her as the man's gaze once again flickered along the curves of her body. It was very inappropriate, yet her skin burned as he slowly considered her.

“Besides, are you quite sure when your time comes angels will be the apparition you'll be seeing?”

He held his hand to his chest, as if wounded, and moaned. “I hope with just a glimpse of me you haven't discovered I'm bound for hell. It usually takes at least a short acquaintance before a woman proclaims I'm destined to dwell with the devil.”

Amanda laughed. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, she was having fun. It had been such a long time since someone had teased her, and she had missed it.

She knew she shouldn't be talking with a handsome stranger in the middle of the night, but that made it even more delightful. As tempting as forbidden fruit, despite all the warnings to leave it alone.

“Well, I agree, not knowing your identity or character, it's possible you are of good virtue and shall be escorted by seraphim to the hereafter.” She gave him a playful grin and narrowed her eyes. “But, I really don't believe so.”

He responded with a hearty laugh. The sound echoed in the small room enticing her with its promise of something delicious and secretive. She shivered as warmth spread through her limbs, and the beat of her own heart pounded in her ears. She'd never experienced such a feeling, and wanted desperately to explore it.

Amanda enjoyed the sound of his laugh; it was as warm and sweet as maple syrup. She knew she shouldn't be engaged in such outrageous behavior. After all, she was the poor Widow Wainwright. Of course, he didn't know who she was, and for a just a little while it was fun to pretend she was some other woman. She wanted to be a woman who didn't concern herself with the iron-clad rules of etiquette and propriety. A woman who flirted unabashedly with a man she didn't know.

She glanced down at the table, and swept a hand towards him. “Please, do sit down and finish eating. I'm sorry to disturb you, but I couldn't sleep. I'm afraid my restless wandering isn't such a good idea.” With some reluctance, she turned to leave.

“My mother had a cure for insomnia. Perhaps you'd allow me to fix you a hot toddy. I guarantee it will make you sleep soundly as a baby.”

The sultry tone of his voice mesmerized her.

All the deportment lessons she'd suffered since childhood came back to her in a flash. She should keep going back to her room, but his dark and hypnotic voice promised secret delights, and she didn't want to leave. She wanted to sit down and continue to banter with this mysterious man. If he thought her a brazen hussy, so much the better. For a few moments tonight, she'd be that other woman, the one who didn't care what others thought of her.

Swallowing her apprehension, she tossed her braid over one shoulder and crossed the small kitchen to take a chair at the table. She settled her candle next to the oil lamp and gave him an inviting smile.

“A hot toddy sounds perfectly wonderful. Are you sure it won't be too much trouble?”

The man leaned forward. The corners of his lovely mouth lifted slightly. “It would be my pleasure to assist an angel to bed.”

Heat traveled from her cheeks down to her bosom. She had never in her life done anything as brash as this. What would Father Mikelson say? She didn't want to think about the penance she'd do when she confessed. Flirting wasn't the same as adultery, was it? Could she still be an adulteress if her husband was dead? Good Lord, why was she even thinking about such a thing?

When he turned his back to her, she knew what fueled her illicit thoughts. As he poured a concoction into a cup, Amanda forgot to breathe as she stared at the thick, dark hair curling at the edge of his collar, his lean torso and long legs.

“It's you,” she whispered.

He turned back to her, confusion clouding his honey-colored eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

She stood up and hurried to the window to pull back the checkered curtain. She pointed outside. “The stallion, is he your horse?”

He poured hot water into a cup before taking two long steps to hand the steaming mug to her. “Drink this. I guarantee it will help you sleep. And yes, Stranger is my horse.”

He was standing far too close to her. Only inches separated them, and she felt a tremor of delight when their fingers touched as she accepted the mug. She was acting silly as a besotted schoolgirl. As she tried not to stare at the chiseled features, golden eyes that sparkled with good humor, and the dark, thick hair that he wore too long to be respectable, she thought perhaps she might discover another use for her bed rather than sleep.

She nearly dropped the cup, and stumbled back a step to remove herself from the enticing scent of tobacco, coffee, and virile male.

She briefly wondered what benefit she'd ever derived from being good and staying out of trouble.

“Beautiful,” she murmured.

He raised an eyebrow. “He is a beautiful creature, isn't he?”

She took a sip from the mug and remained focused on him as a delicious ripple of pleasure surged through her. “I'd have to say—magnificent.”

If this were a dream, she'd strangle the person who woke her. She'd take sleeping draughts to stay in this world with just the two of them exchanging conversation in the deep mystery of the night.

“Allow me to introduce myself, I'm Samuel Calhoun.” He bowed slightly, and she gave a brief curtsy in return.

“Amanda Wainwright, expressing her sincere appreciation for this toddy. It's delicious.” She sipped from the cup again, allowing the apple and spice concoction to warm her nearly as thoroughly as the excitement of being alone with Mr. Calhoun.

“Won't you join me?” He gestured toward the table. “I seem to get caught up in my work until very late, and I miss the company of others while dining.” She studied him as he returned to his meal. The brief silence felt comfortable, as if they were old friends catching up.

“Do you eat alone every night then, without seeing your family?” It was bold, but if he had a wife and several children in a little house someplace, she wanted to know.

He sipped his coffee, and for a few moments a profound sadness reflected in his eyes. “My family is...gone. All of them.”

She felt as if she had somehow intruded, that the light banter had dissolved into something else. She didn't know what to say, and remained silent while the shadows in the corners of the kitchen grew deeper. What was it about confidences exchanged at midnight? Perhaps it was sometimes easier to confess to a stranger than to talk with a friend.

“I recently lost my husband. He was the only family I had left...” Her voice trailed off, and she closed her eyes to keep the tears from forming as she took another sip of the drink.

When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her. “How do you feel about that, Amanda—about being so alone?”

His easy use of her first name was too personal, but she wasn't offended. It seemed natural, as if this conversation had taken place many times before. Perhaps it was the anonymity of talking to someone she didn't know, but for some reason she felt comfortable enough to tell him the truth.

“It's frightening. I'm terrified the sadness will simply overwhelm me someday, and that I'll be consumed by it. And if I disappear, who's going to miss me? I don't think anyone will mourn my passing or even remember me.” She swallowed a sob, as a tear trickled down her cheek. What was she doing? This man didn't care how empty and bereft she felt. First, she had flirted outrageously with him, and now she was going to humiliate herself by dissolving into tears in his presence.

She dropped her head, waiting for him to stand up and leave. She didn't share her deepest feelings with people she knew, much less complete strangers. What had he done to make her feel so vulnerable? Listened? Was she that desperate for someone to talk to?

He moved his pie around on the china plate before dropping his fork. When he made no move to rise and walk out of the room, she swallowed and tried to make her voice sound teasing again.

“What are your intentions regarding that pie?” She wiped away the tear and lifted her face to give him a coy look.

He pushed the plate toward her. “Can I interest you in some?”

She nodded, leaning forward to pick up his fork. It was an intimate thing to do, to use his utensil. It simply wasn't proper. It would be like pressing her lips to his in a kiss. That thought made her even bolder. She scooped up a forkful of cherries and grinned.

“Harriet Parmeter is an extraordinary cook, isn't she?” She slipped the first bite between her lips and savored the tart flavor.

He leaned back in his chair, pulled a cigar from an inside pocket of his coat, and nodded towards her, seeking permission to smoke. From his impeccable manners, she supposed he came from an aristocratic background. What had he said? That his family was all gone.

They had strayed too deeply into an emotional abyss. She wanted to bring back the teasing tone of their earlier discourse. The pain of loneliness was a frightening topic to discuss in the middle of the night.

“I want to buy your horse.” She tried to make her voice nonchalant and businesslike as she continued to eat his pie.

He didn't respond, and she finally looked up to see him scrutinizing her carefully. The now familiar ripple of delight coursed through her as he lazily scanned her face. She gave him what she hoped was a brilliant smile. “The stallion. How much do you want for him?”

He lit his cigar with practiced ease, inhaled deeply, and allowed the smoke to curl up around his head. The raw masculine scent of the smoke reminded her that a virile, sensual male sat across from her.

He smoothed his brocade vest with one thick, finely-shaped finger.

“Stranger isn't for sale at any price.”

Amanda licked the crumbs from her lips and shook her head. “My dearly-departed husband, Arthur, told me everything is for sale. It's just a matter of establishing the right price.”

His mouth twisted into a thin smile and his honey-colored eyes flickered with amusement. “Do you really believe your money allows you to buy everything you want?”

She considered the question for a few moments, then stood and lifted the candle from the table. She had already stayed longer than was proper, and she didn't want to tempt fate or destroy her reputation her first night in Willow Creek.

“I've been disappointed to learn my husband was right in regard to that assumption. Wealth teaches one that anything is for sale, if one is willing to pay the price.” She turned to leave and paused at the door to give him a long, lingering final look. She wouldn't soon forget her midnight sojourn with the handsome and enigmatic Samuel Calhoun. This encounter would fuel her daydreams of illicit romance for a very long time.

“Tell me, Amanda Wainwright, has all your wealth been able to purchase happiness for you?”

She stood silently as his words washed over her, then gave him a thin smile. “That's the one thing that is simply unobtainable for some of us.”

Amanda slipped upstairs and found herself leaning against her bedroom door, more troubled by her encounter with the man than she cared to admit. She found him intensely attractive and strangely disturbing at the same time.

She closed her eyes and recalled the warm, golden honey color of his eyes, his dark hair and silky voice. Yes, he was handsome, but he disturbed her because she sensed they both stood in darkness, nearly swallowed up by sorrow and pain. Had she glimpsed a heart nearly as lonely as her own tonight? She took comfort in knowing she wasn't the only one who suffered. If two souls could find each other in anguish, perhaps they could heal each other with kindness.

The thought surprised her, and spread warmth throughout her body, awakening senses she'd thought dead forever. She blew out the candle and padded across the room to her bed, throwing the quilt back and snuggling beneath the covers.

She wanted to become better acquainted with Samuel Calhoun, and she now had one more reason to remain in Willow Creek.

***

Sam sat smoking his cigar in the silence, the only sound a low hiss from the oil lamp. He thought about Amanda Wainwright and the way she'd appeared before him, making him wonder if he'd conjured her with some sort of magic. He'd been thinking about the ethereal Widow Wainwright as he sat eating his late dinner, and suddenly, there she was, standing before him and giving him a bold look.