Promises Linger (Promise Series) (6 page)

There was absolutely nothing in the man’s voice to make her think he was amused, but as sure as she was choking on frustration, she knew Asa MacIntyre was having a good old time. She searched his face for confirmation, but the only indication to his mood was the way his eyes crinkled at the corners.

If he dared laugh out loud, she decided, she’d kill him, and the ranch be damned. She’d found two husbands in as many days. Surely it wouldn’t be that hard to locate a third. He didn’t laugh, more the pity, and his vows were clear as a bell.

Never hesitate, girl, or you’ll show yourself for the weak female you are.

Her father’s voice rang in her ears. She locked her gaze with MacIntyre’s and made sure her vows were just as clear. She didn’t let herself think of anything beyond the moment, otherwise she knew she’d crumble into a useless ball of waffling indecision. Just when she didn’t think she could stand anymore, Judge Carlson snapped his Bible shut.

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

As Asa placed his lips on hers, a shiver went down her spine.

The ranch was safe. Now there was only the price to pay.

Chapter Three

They arrived at the ranch at sundown. Even to Elizabeth’s loving eyes, the two-story ranch house looked bad. The place was in such a dire need of white wash, it was the dingy gray of poorly washed linens. The repair she’d made on the front steps fell in a shadow, which only served to enhance how much she’d botched that particular job. Someone had left the supplies on the porch, and chickens were now pecking at the dried corn scattered over the wood porch. One of the dogs or a coon had gotten into the bag of bacon, and, in search of more, had torn open the rest of the sacks. She wanted to cry. Instead, she squared her shoulders, and said, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s a nice setting with those mountains in the background.”

The tactful response surprised her.

“Father said my Mamma called those mountains our Guardians. That they loomed over us like that to scare away evil.”

“Yup. They could sure do that.”

The buckboard stopped at the watering trough in front of the barn. The thirsty horse blew over the water. Asa’s horse, tied behind, whinnied hopefully. Asa jumped down and strode around front.

“Could you hop down and bring Shameless up with old Willoughby here?”

Catching her skirts in hand, she did as asked. “I didn’t know his name was Willoughby.”

“Occurred to me on the ride here that he had the look of a Willoughby.”

As she brought his horse up beside the other, she couldn’t help asking, “What does a Willoughby look like?”

He handed her the reins of the horse harnessed to the buckboard. “Like this.”

He didn’t smile as he said it and, this close to the trough, she could see why. The water was brackish with bits of green slime drifting across the surface. She wanted the ground to open up and swallow her.

“I gave orders…”

She let the disclaimer trail off as Asa headed for the well pump. What did it matter if she gave orders? The fact that her hands had allowed the horse’s water to stand this long was humiliating testimony as to what they thought of her authority.

He returned with two buckets and set one in front of each horse. She tightened her grip on Shameless’ reins. Whatever angle her husband wished to attack from, she had no defense. The ranch was a mess. She’d failed to control anything.

His finger tipped her face to his in a gesture that was becoming familiar. She fought the urge to close her eyes. She deserved this.

“You scooting my gaze because you’re embarrassed?”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

“Yeah, but I’m not a woman trying to keep a ranch together by myself.”

Willoughby jerked his head free to reach the water. She jerked her chin out of Asa’s reach with no less urgency. Grinding her teeth for control, she shoved the reins into his hands. Useless. The man saw her as useless. “From the quiet, the men haven’t ridden in yet.”

“How many are there?”

“Ten when I left.”

His left eyebrow rose. “Should I be expecting more or less?”

She pulled off her gloves one finger at a time before answering. “I have no idea. Would you like me to introduce you when they get here?”

“Morning’ll be soon enough.”

She took a deep breath, shoved her gloves in her reticule, and wished he were given to excessive speech. At least that way she’d know what he was thinking. And where she needed to bolster her defenses.

“Why don’t you head into the house and rustle up some dinner while I get Willoughby and Shameless settled?”

Resentment swept over her in waves at his dismissal. But what did she expect? Respect? When his first view of her home showed the level of her failure?

“Would you prefer steak or ham?” she asked carefully as he led the horses away.

He stopped so quickly, Shameless bumped him with his head. He went forward two steps before asking, “You got any syrup to go with that ham?”

“I think so.”

Shameless bumped him with his nose, anxious to get to the barn. Asa didn’t budge. She remembered his tactful reaction to the shambles of the ranch and softened despite herself. “Would you care for anything special?”

“Mashed potatoes?”

Mashed potatoes were as common as day old bread, but he made the request with the same awe a miner would demonstrate when confronted with the specter of a two-pound nugget. She ran her gaze over Asa from his head to his toes. He was a big man. Last night, he’d had a dinner equal to hers in size. She remembered how quickly he’d demolished it. How closely he’d watched her finish hers. She remembered how he’d taken on Brent.

“I could probably manage potatoes.”

His free hand went to the front of his body. “I’d be obliged.”

She studied him with new eyes. His chestnut brown hair, long overdue for a cut, curled over the collar of his shirt. His clothes were practical, but, on closer scrutiny, worn threadbare in places. He was tall and big-boned, no doubt about it, but now she wondered if his leanness came naturally or from lack of proper food.

“If the coons didn’t get to the good corn, I could probably put together some Johnny cake,” she offered, wondering if the reason she couldn’t see his hand was because he was clutching his stomach.

This time it was Willoughby who bumped Asa. Again, he didn’t budge. She might have been imagining it, but there seemed a vulnerability to his stance as he mentioned casually, “Red-eye gravy would sure taste good with that Johnny cake.”

“Gravy might be possible.” Provided she could find some leftover coffee.

“I’ll be looking forward to it.”

He still didn’t face her, but instead of lumbering, the horses had to trot to catch up as he headed for the barn. Some of her frustration faded to amusement as it became apparent that Asa clearly viewed her as invaluable in one area of the ranch.

“You’re taking an awful risk, MacIntyre,” she called out, “assuming I can cook.”

“I’m hoping, darlin’. I sure am hoping.”

With a smile on her face, she spun on her heel and hurried to the house, deciding the blackberries she’d picked before she’d left could go into a cobbler. That way, she’d at least have dessert to offer.

Elizabeth used the hem of her apron to wipe the water from her hands. Supper was set and simmering. And so was she. Despite the breeze coming through the open door, the kitchen was a humid inferno. A glance out the window revealed dusk snuggling up to the empty yard. Past the thick trunked oak tree, she spotted the chicken coop. No hens pecked outside. As was their habit, they were probably inside, waiting for her to lock them in safe for the night.

She wished she had the same option, but, come nightfall, the first payment on her debt would begin. No matter how much she told herself it was no big thing, that women all over the world did this every day, she was nervous. Scared spitless as a matter of fact. And it wasn’t just because she didn’t know if MacIntyre was mean in bed or not. That was actually the least of her worries. More than anything, she was terrified that, in her ignorance, she’d do something on her wedding night so totally stupid, the man would be laughing for months to come. Lord, she hated appearing incompetent.

She checked the simmering potatoes, poking them a little harder than necessary. The fork bounced off one without even gouging a hole. She replaced the fork on the table next to the stove and scanned the yard again. She had a good fifteen minutes before she needed to slide the corn bread in the oven. In that time, she could gather the morning’s eggs and have them on hand for breakfast. Of course, getting the eggs meant crossing the yard, which, since her father’s death, was tantamount to entering enemy territory. The trickle of fear that sent her heart tapping in her throat renewed her determination. Dammit! She would not be made a prisoner in her own house.

Grabbing the egg basket from a peg by the door, she stepped onto the back porch, pausing to let the evening breeze caress her cheeks. The sounds of the approaching night enfolded her and she relaxed into its embrace. Here and there, a cricket chirped. Soon, the night would be filled with their loud chorus, but for now, the sound was calm. Peaceful. Almost like a promise of better things to come.

She closed her eyes, wallowing in the remnant of a promise that enfolded her like the memory of her mother’s hug. Lord, she hoped things were going to be better. She’d never been so scared or gambled so high as when she’d walked into Dell’s and asked Asa Macintyre to marry her. She still couldn’t believe she’d done it, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

The only consolation was that, unlike Brent who’d lied and hidden his true personality behind a polite facade of manly attributes, Asa was the real thing. Whatever else he turned out to be, she knew he had the ability to run this ranch. Asa MacIntyre had the heart, the determination, and the reputation to take the Rocking C back into prosperity. At least, she hoped so.

Doubt swirled from its hiding place deep inside, sneaking up on her blind side. For a second, every decision she’d made came back to haunt her, swamping her in insecurity, until, with a relentless maneuver born from long practice, she shoved it back down. She opened her eyes and surveyed the yard and outbuildings. This was her home. The place her mother had called her sanctuary. The place where she, Elizabeth Ann Coyote, had been born.

On this porch, she’d stood as a small child with her mother, holding hands, staring at the small oak sapling, and listened with wide-eyed wonder to the story of how, with love and nurturing, it would grow into a tree capable of protecting them and guiding them. Her father had said it was going to die and that they were wasting time babying it along, but her mother had merely leaned down and whispered in her ear to believe. She’d watered that tree every day from then on, wanting to do just that. And it had grown. Year after year, a living testament to love and determination.

She ran fond eyes over the oak’s silhouette, remembering and smiling. As a child, she’d been frustrated with its slow progress. As an adult, she’d been in awe of what its steady determination to thrive had accomplished. Today, it stood a good thirty feet, and where it had once thrown dappled shadows, it now delivered full shade.

Whenever life got complicated, she remembered her mother and that tree. Both had faced the odds and made a place for themselves. So had she, and it wasn’t back East or in a fancy town. Her roots were firmly sunk in the Rocking C with its wide-open spaces, constant challenges, and relentless demands. Like that tree, she thrived here.

And she was going to stay. She was determined. Marrying Asa had been the right thing to do. She knew it in her gut. All she needed to do to succeed was to believe her course was right, and to be strong enough and determined enough to see it through. She looked at the basket clenched tightly in her hand. That strength and determination included getting eggs from the hen house so she’d have something to offer her husband for a wedding breakfast.

Peace faded to unease. She searched the yard again. It appeared empty. Still, she hesitated. Ever since her father had died, the ranch foreman had been playing with her like a cat with a mouse. Cornering her when no one else was around, taking liberties, each time going further than the last. At first, she’d thought she could handle it, but he’d gotten worse. She’d thought of complaining, but removing Jimmy wouldn’t remove the threat. A woman alone, unfortunately more often than not, was seen as a target, so she’d done the sensible thing. She’d stepped up her search for a husband.

Her haste, however, had cost her. By not questioning Brent close enough, she’d created a bigger disaster by buying into his pack of lies. Hopefully, she’d cleaned up that mess because, if not, her goose was truly cooked. No one, she thought, as she peered into the darkness under the tree, was going to quietly sit back and watch her pluck a third husband from the scanty pile of eligible men passing through town.

She nearly dropped her basket when she thought she saw a shadow move beneath the spreading arms of the huge oak. The hairs on her nape leapt to attention. She took a breath to still the butterflies in her stomach as she carefully scrutinized the area. Nothing moved except the leaves swaying with the light breeze. About the time her lungs threatened to burst, she decided she’d confused the motion of the wind with the malevolent mannerisms of the ranch foreman.