Promise Me (7 page)

“I need time to seduce a lady, especially one who's been recently widowed.” Sam stalked to the window to avoid making eye-contact with Pruitt. “She's still in her damned crepe dresses for God's sake. What do you expect me to do, throw her down in the middle of the street and rape her?”

Pruitt settled his bulk into a chair and slammed his feet on Sam's desk. “I ain't the courtin' type, so I don't know what you need to do. But today she's down at that Miners' Benevolent Association.” He spit the words out as if they left a foul taste in his mouth. “And she's handin' out clothes and shoes. You'd think they was rocks she picked up on the side of the road.” He removed his dirty boots from the desk to lean forward and point a meaty finger at Sam. “And she don't even care who she hands goods out to. She's givin' to just anybody who wants to come by.”

Sam folded his arms in front of his chest and leaned against the casing of the window. “So, she actually opened the doors today, did she?”

Pruitt jumped to his feet to slam a fist on the desk. “Damned right she opened them, and now even my men are down there gettin' a free hand-out. What does that make me and the others, when that Wainwright woman is clothin' our miners?”

A bunch of greedy bastards
? The thought flickered through Sam's mind, but he didn't respond to the question. He stared out the window again, wishing he'd never made this hellish bargain. At the time it had all seemed so simple. Now that he'd met Amanda, seen that small tear trickle down her cheek, heard her laugh, kissed her... He shook his head to clear it.

Crossing the room, he unrolled his sleeves and fastened the cuffs of his white linen shirt. He'd been working on his accounts when Pruitt arrived, and he was proud that the business was doing well, despite the fact that it was a sham, set up only to serve as a way for Sam to become accepted in Willow Creek. He reminded himself that Amanda was the key to his mission's success. The President was relying upon him.

He pulled his frock coat from the peg where it hung and shrugged into it. “I suppose I can go down there and see what the troublesome Widow Wainwright is up to this morning.”

Pruitt followed him onto the small landing. “Troublesome don't hardly describe that woman. She's got more friggin' schemes than a dog's got fleas.” He spit a wad of chewing tobacco over the side of the railing and glared at Sam. “Get rid of that woman, Calhoun, or I'll take care of her myself.”

With that, Pruitt thumped down the steps and skulked off toward the saloon. Sam considered the threat still lingering in the air and frowned. Jack Pruitt was a son-of-a-bitch, and he'd do whatever was necessary to protect his own interests. Even kill. The thought chilled Sam to the marrow, as he pictured Pruitt's large fist choking the life from Amanda. He'd have to work faster. There was more at stake now than just Amanda's reputation.

Sam hurried across town, marveling at Amanda's accomplishments. He'd had dinner with her a few nights ago, but their conversation centered on her plans for the Miners' Association and the bid she'd requested for lumber. She'd been cool, precise, and very businesslike. When he'd inquired about the chances of meeting her later in the kitchen for a hot toddy, she'd demurely whispered he didn't need a midnight supper; he'd just eaten with her.

And so he'd sat each night in the lamplight, nursing his whiskey and growing more frustrated while he waited for her to appear. He imagined her copper-colored hair freed from its tight coil, surrounding her, a fiery mane of flame. He recalled the way the thin muslin of her night rail had revealed the delicious curves of her woman's body. But she never appeared, and Sam's desire for her increased each day she remained out of his reach.

Sam brushed his fingers across his chin and tried to clear his thoughts. He'd been too long without a woman. He was never a man to deny his carnal appetite for long. But now, every woman he considered paled in comparison to the vibrant Amanda Wainwright. He was beginning to wish his plan to seduce her could be more than a ruse.

The thought surprised him. For the past few years he'd felt momentary attractions to women, even some affection for a few, but he'd always attributed it to lust. Once in their bed, the mystery had quickly dissolved into boredom. And of course, there had been his wife, his beautiful, doomed Elsbeth. She'd taught him a painful lesson about confusing lust with love.

Shaking himself, Sam straightened his tie and lengthened his stride. A group of miners gathered at the door of the newly opened Willow Creek Miners' Benevolent Association. He paused to consider Amanda's choice of location and grinned. She'd decided the fanciest parlor house in town would be the perfect choice for her new endeavor, and had offered the madam of the place a princely sum to relocate. Sam wondered how many men had arrived at this door to discover the whores had been replaced by a woman intent on good works instead of pleasure.

Several men nodded at Sam when he opened the door. He grinned again as he stood in the vestibule of the house, with its red floral wallpaper, gilt mirrors, and crystal chandelier. Sam's memory flooded with images of the girls he'd been with here. Removing his hat, he brushed his hand through his hair. Too long without a woman, he thought. He'd need to find out where Mrs. Holt had relocated her establishment. Soon.

He heard a murmur of voices from the parlor, and Sam walked across the smooth fir floor to investigate. Amanda sat perched on a stool behind a large counter surrounded by piles of coats, overalls, shirts, and boots. Sam's heart thumped so loudly against his chest, he wondered if she could hear it. The soft cadence of her voice reminded him of their clandestine meeting in the kitchen, and his groin tightened. She was engaged in conversation with the young man standing before her, a thin lad with the long arms and legs of a boy not yet grown to manhood. He held a worn brown hat in his hand and appeared to be shyly asking Amanda for something.

“I ain't too proud to beg, ma'am.” The boy mumbled politely.

Amanda bestowed a brilliant smile on the boy that made Sam swallow hard but was lost on her audience. The boy never raised his gaze to look at her.

“That's not at all necessary, Mister...” Her response was gentle and kind. She gave him another smile, and the boy seemed mesmerized when he finally looked up in time to catch it. He didn't speak or respond, just stared. It started to bother Sam. The boy was obviously besotted with Amanda and a prickle of jealousy gave Sam a vicious stab.

“Caleb McQueen, that's his name. Lives over in tent city, I believe.” A rush of desire whipped through him when Amanda's gaze found him and lit with warmth that nearly took his breath away.

Caleb turned to stare at Sam, then returned to his conversation with Amanda. “That's it ma'am, and well, I ain't one of the Wainwright folks, but I badly need me some new boots.” He hung his head, staring down at the patched and worn leather on his feet. He straightened his shoulders but didn't look at her. “I swear I'd work off a payment to you.”

Amanda started to protest, but Sam stepped closer to settle a hand gently on the young man's shoulder. “That's fine, Caleb, and the honorable thing to do. I'm sure Mrs. Wainwright can find some chores around here that need to be done.”

Caleb lifted his head, seeming to grow taller beneath Sam's praise. Amanda indicated the pile of clothing surrounding her. “I sure could use some help sorting through all this. And Caleb”—her green eyes sparkled—“why not find the pair of boots you want right now? There's no sense waiting until everything is picked over. I trust you'll earn them.”

A grin split the boy's face as he nearly fell over in his rush to find himself a new pair of boots. “Yes, ma'am, and thank you, ma'am. I'll work hard, I swear.”

Amanda came out from behind the counter and placed her hands on her hips. “So, Mr. Calhoun, what brings you to the Willow Creek Miners' Benevolent Association?” Her gaze raked his body, lingering long enough to nearly make Sam's blood boil. “It's clear you don't need my help to get dressed.”

But I'd love to help you undress, was that what she was implying? Sam shook his head, trying to ignore the heat circling down from his lower belly to make his cock hard as a piece of oak wood. This place gave a man lewd thoughts.

“I heard you were open for business, so thought I'd see what you were up to.” He looked around the room and gave a low whistle. “It seems to me you're going to give the dry goods store some stiff competition.”

Amanda shook her head. “There are so many things that need to be done. Food, clothing, homes, medicine.” She frowned and glanced up at Sam. “Do you know the only doctor in this town is a drunk with questionable qualifications? Willow Creek doesn't have a school or a church, but it has eleven saloons and at least three houses of ill repute.” Her voice carried a rebuke in it, and Sam scowled.

“Willow Creek is a mining town. They grow up quick, but can fade fast depending upon the ore.” He leaned back against the counter and crossed his legs. “There are poor miners up in those hills, and scattered all across Montana.” He considered his words carefully. “They're all over the west, I suppose. You can't make a difference to everyone who needs help out here, that's for sure.”

Amanda straightened her shoulders and pursed her lips. She glanced toward Caleb, who was seated on the floor pulling on a new pair of boots. His face reflected a look of pure joy. She leaned forward to point a finger sharply towards Sam's chest.

“That might be true, but I made a difference to him. Didn't I?”

With that, she turned on her heel and flounced out of the room and toward the kitchen. Sam looked at Caleb and grinned. She was right; she sure as hell had made a difference to someone. Amanda Wainwright was proving to be a force to be reckoned with.

***

Amanda was ashamed of herself. Why had she been so irritated with Sam? He'd come to see how things were going for her. She had no reason to be angry with him for telling her the truth.

She sat down at the large pine table in the kitchen and lowered her head. The enormity of what she was trying to do overwhelmed her. Arthur had entrusted her with this responsibility, had wrung a deathbed promise from her, and now she just didn't know if she could.

Yesterday, she'd toured “tent city” with Mr. Penny. He had tried to dissuade her. Later she'd made a note to herself to pay closer attention to the man's advice.

People were living in squalor. The stench of thick mud and refuse had nearly choked her. Sad- eyed children and women with hopelessness engraved on their faces stared at her. Drunken men had called out ribald comments as her horse picked its way through what passed for a street. When she returned to the Parmeter House, the weight of her responsibilities had settled upon her like a heavy wooden yoke on a team of oxen. The visit had left her despondent, aware that her efforts were futile when faced with the enormous challenges of helping so many people.

Then Sam had said the very thing she'd been thinking since yesterday. She couldn't help them all. His words echoed in her heart. What could one foolish woman with no experience do to make life better for these people?

But the look on Caleb McQueen's face made her realize perhaps the way to accomplish her goal was one person at a time. Change one life and hope that would inspire someone to help another person. Like a ripple across a lake, people could help each other and change Willow Creek.

Amanda shook her head. The longer she stayed here, the stranger her thoughts became. She'd wake up in the middle of the night, seized by an idea, and wouldn't be able to sleep again until she lit a candle and wrote in her journal. She'd sit at the vanity table in her room, wrapped in a quilt, her mind straying down the stairs and beyond the closed door to the kitchen. To the man sitting at another table, waiting for her. Night after night, she had resisted the urge to walk down those stairs and fall into his arms again. She craved his touch, the gentle look in his golden eyes, and the fire he ignited when their lips met.

As if she had summoned him with her thoughts, Samuel Calhoun stood in the doorway. “You can't stay in Willow Creek, Amanda. I've heard rumors, and you're in danger.” He took a step toward her. “You could get hurt, badly hurt.” A flicker of sadness crossed his face. “Go back to Helena and forget about Willow Creek. Leave your agent in charge of this Benevolent Association and get out of town.”

Amanda considered his words as she traced a pattern on the worn surface of the table in front of her. “I know about the threats. Mr. Penny informed me nearly the moment I arrived in town.” She stood, pulled several china cups from the cupboard, and pointed at the chair across from her.

“Can I get you some coffee?”

Sam sat down. “Don't think the people behind those threats are harmless, Amanda. This territory breeds dangerous men who will stop at nothing to get their own way.”

Amanda set the cup and saucer in front of him, poured them each some coffee, and returned to her seat. She stirred cream and sugar into her own cup while pondering his warning.

“How about you, Sam?” She challenged him with a bold look. “What would you do to get your own way? Would you sell your soul for the things you desire or to accomplish a goal?”