Promises Linger (Promise Series) (7 page)

She released her breath on an audible sigh. Relief from the constant threat of Jimmy Dunn was one of the benefits she hoped to reap from having Macintyre as a husband. Whatever his faults were, she was sure Asa wasn’t the type to ignore a man bothering his wife. Even if the man was a big, blond, belligerent, fighting type.

No, she decided, recalling her husband’s reputation and broad shoulders. Jimmy wouldn’t scare a man like Asa. She tightened her grip on her basket, stepped off the porch, and reminded herself again that she’d done the right thing in marrying Asa MacIntyre. He was big and mean, and more than capable of handling threats to the ranch, whether they came in the form of rustlers or overly familiar foremen.

Her steps slowed as she skirted the shadows stretching from the oak. She sucked her lower lip between her teeth and chewed as she realized there was no reason for Asa to believe her if she screamed and he caught her in a compromising position with Jimmy. They hadn’t had enough time to establish any trust or knowledge of each other. If the opportunity ever came up where she needed to explain her difficulties with the foreman, she’d have to choose her words carefully. She didn’t need the complication of a husband jumping to conclusions.

Two steps from the hen house, a heavy hand slapped down on her shoulder, driving her teeth into her lip. She didn’t have time to toss retrospection aside in favor of alarm before she was pulled against a large, male body. As the scent of liquor and sweat assaulted her nostrils, reality hit. For one crippling moment, she didn’t know what to do.

“Hello, Elly.” His voice, as always, was a soft drawl of sound. Low and intimate, as if there were only sweet secrets between them. It was as much crap as the chicken droppings she stood on.

“Let me go, Jimmy.”

His answer was scary in its brevity. “No.”

She looked into his bloodshot, blue eyes, felt his fingers biting painfully into her upper arm, and understood one truth with crystal clarity. Whatever her future held with Asa, it had to be better than this.

“I told you I’d be here for you,” Jimmy continued his parody of a lover’s voice.

Elizabeth tugged on her arm. Instead of letting go, he tightened his grip. She could have shot herself for wincing when his smile broadened.

“Did you miss me?” he asked, his eyes narrowing, the lines beside them fanning out in an evil mockery of laughter.

She swallowed back a “Hell, no.” Above all, she knew she needed to keep control. She couldn’t let the shaking inside spread to anywhere he could see. Oh, God! She was so sick of this. His fingers sank deeper into her flesh. Pain constricted her throat as his thumb ground into her collarbone. She wanted to scream blue murder. She wanted to rage and swear. Instead, she had to settle for forcing an off-putting “Excuse me,” through her pain-clogged throat.

Jimmy’s smile expanded to let her know it wasn’t enough. It was never going to be enough.

* * * * *

Asa came around the side of the barn, drawn to the kitchen’s back door by the tantalizing odors drifting on the evening air. He hadn’t tasted a home-cooked meal in a coon’s age. He’d dallied a couple of hours in the barn, trying to give his wife some time alone, but a man could only hold out so long against aromas like that. At least he’d put the time to good use, checking the lay of the land. It was clear the hands had been slacking off, just as it was clear Elizabeth had been doing her best to pick up that slack. Two things he could say for sure about his wife. She wasn’t lazy, and she wasn’t worth a plugged nickel when it came to carpentry.

A very controlled “Excuse me” from the other side of the hen house pulled him up short.

He’d recognize that icy tone of voice anywhere. His wife was in a snit about something. He decided to keep the coop between them until he discovered what it was. His stomach growled, agreeing that they didn’t want any backlash that might affect the quality of their meal.

“Move out of my way, Jimmy.”

A slow curl of anger unfurled that the person his wife was facing was a man.

“I don’t think so, Elly.”

“That’s Miss Coyote to you.”

He made a mental note to remind her she was Mrs. MacIntyre now.

“I like Elly a lot better.” The man’s voice dropped to an insinuating whisper. “It’s more…friendly.”

“I told you the last time you cornered me, Jimmy, that if you ever did it again, you’d be fired.”

“But you’re married now, Elly.” A soft thump announced something landing against the other side of the hen house. “You don’t have the power to fire me.”

“My husband does. He’ll be heading this way any minute.”

“That little piss-ant gambler isn’t going to do squat. And you know it.”

“He will!”

“Then why don’t you scream for him?”

That’s what Asa wanted to know as he headed to the rescue. He heard a gasp, then a man’s muttered curse of pain. “Bite me, will you, hellcat?”

Asa was around the corner of the hen house before the last syllable died, and what he saw drove reason from his head. The cowhand had his fingers dug into his wife’s breast. He was using it to hold her pinned to the rough wall. The other arm, he was shaking, trying to dislodge her teeth from his wrist.

With a sharp blow of his hand, Asa broke Jimmy’s grip on his wife. Before he could follow with a second, Elizabeth was between them. She drove the hard toe of her boot into her tormentor’s groin and Jimmy doubled over. Elizabeth was on him with the ferocity of a badger. Her hair tumbled out of its bun as she grabbed a chunk of firewood and walloped the man on the back. Her breath hissed between her teeth, punctuated with violent mutterings. As Jimmy dropped to his knees, Asa took a step back.

His wife clearly had the situation in hand.

He shook his head as she walked in front of the convulsed man. The move clearly showed her a green horn at this kind of thing. He caught her arm. When she spun around, wood raised, he plucked it from her hand.

“Shhh,” he soothed, pulling her into his arms. “It’s all right.”

Instead of fainting with relief like he expected, she struggled. “Let me go.”

“Why?”

“I want to kick him in his filthy mouth.”

Asa eyed Jimmy. “Not now you don’t.”

“Yes, I—”

The sounds of violent retching cut off her claim.

She stood stiffly in his arms. “Well, maybe not now.”

“I’d be saving it for later.” He looked down at the undulating waves of hair that fell over his arms, reinforcing the impression of dainty femininity his body was responding to. He smiled. “Were you planning on leaving a piece of him for me to whale on?”

“No.” The answer vibrated dead center below his breastbone.

“Good thing I stepped in then.”

That brought her gaze to his. Instead of the tears he expected, he saw an open challenge that baffled him. He turned his attention to something he did understand.

From the sound of things, Jimmy was about done puking up his guts. Asa set Elizabeth carefully away from him. He kept his hands on her shoulders until he was sure she wasn’t going to keel over. She was as steady as a rock, leaving the comforting words he intended to say sitting awkwardly on his tongue.

“You came out here looking for eggs?”

She nodded, catching the fall of hair into her hands and twisting it into a knot at the base of her neck. He didn’t miss her wince as she moved her right shoulder. The bastard had probably hurt her good.

“Why don’t you go get them while I clean up around here?”

He grabbed Jimmy by the collar and hauled him to his feet. As she straightened from retrieving her basket, he called her name. She paused and looked up.

“Next time you even think some yahoo’s backing you into a corner, I want you screaming loud enough to do a banshee proud.”

She merely nodded.

“And Elizabeth?”

“Yes.”

“You’re Mrs. MacIntyre now.”

Beyond a thinning of her lips, she didn’t respond.

Asa wondered if he’d ever understand his wife. Yanking Jimmy in front of him, he headed for the barn. Besides teaching this yellow bastard some manners, he needed to let loose some frustration.

* * * * *

Supper wasn’t the friendly meal he’d been hoping for. By the time Asa finished his third helping of cobbler, he felt like he sat in the middle of a powder keg. To make it worse, Elizabeth kept shooting him glances he didn’t understand. He couldn’t tell if she was angry or upset, but remembering her temper, he sure as shooting didn’t want to risk it being the former. Not on his wedding night, so if his mouth wasn’t chomping on food, he kept it closed.

“Would you care for more cobbler?” she asked from her side of the table.

“No. Thank you.” He placed his napkin beside his plate, wincing as he did so. Two fights in one day were hell on his knuckles.

“We have an ice house,” she offered.

“What?”

“I said if you’d like to soak your hands, there’s probably enough ice for you to do it.”

He’d heard of ice houses, sure, but he’d never experienced the luxury of ice in August. He wasn’t about to pass it up. “That would sure be appreciated.”

Ten minutes later, she was back. In her hands was a large tin basin that made bell-like tinkles as she walked. He kept his expression bland, not wanting to appear a bumpkin. She placed the basin before him on the table. Before he could lift his hands, she had them in hers. Each one was carefully inspected before she placed it in the basin. Her face was tight as she pushed his right hand under the chilled water and said, “Thank you.”

Since there was no telling what she was feeling from her expression, he replied with the truth. “It was my pleasure.”

Within a couple of minutes, the cold water was doing its job. “Damn, this is good,” he groaned on a complacent sigh.

She reached around him to collect the plates. “They don’t hurt anymore?”

“No.”

Her breast, plump and tempting, came into view as she removed her cup, reminding him of her injuries. He cleared his throat, not sure how to bring up the subject. She stared at him, waiting for him to speak, his dirty dishes in her hands.

“What about you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Did you soak your…er…did you treat your…uhm.”

Her face flamed bright red, leaving no doubt she understood. She shrugged, grimaced and muttered a hasty, “I’m fine.”

The bruise around her eye showed a revolting green against the bright red of her cheeks. It didn’t take schooling to know the woman hadn’t treated her own injuries. Hell. When had she had the time? She’d cooked him dinner with all that he’d asked for and then some. She’d fetched ice for his hands, and now she was cleaning up. Damn. As a husband, he wasn’t exactly outshining the competition.

“Put those dishes down and come here.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather get to them before the gravy hardens.”

“I mind.”

Her back to him, she dropped the plates into a basin set beside the stove. “That’s probably because you won’t have to scrub them in the morning,” she muttered.

He heard even though he bet he wasn’t supposed to. “I wasn’t making conversation, darlin’.”

She faced him, daring him.

“Come here.”

He’d seen grubs cross meadows faster than she got to his side.

With his foot, he snagged a chair and hauled it kitty corner to his own. “Sit down.”

She did with stiff-backed reluctance. “I’m fine, you know.”

“You’re sore.”

“Of course, I’m sore.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t act sooner.”

“You got there soon enough.”

Not in his opinion, but he was grateful she wasn’t screaming to point that out. One thing was for sure, his wife wasn’t bearing out the rumor that ladies were delicate. Hot on the heels of that thought came the image of Jimmy’s hand against Elizabeth’s breast. The cruelty on the bastard’s face lingered in his mind. Damn! No telling how much harm had been done. He pulled his hand out of the water and gingerly touched her breast. She gasped and shrank back into the chair.

“What are you doing?” If her face got any redder, she’d explode.

“I’m taking care of you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“You have a husband now. You don’t have to.” He stood, using his height to keep her from bolting. “What in hell do you have on under this dress?”

“It’s called a corset.”

He traced the ridges until they stopped at her waist. Hell! She was trussed up tighter than a Christmas goose. “You got a broken rib or something?”

“No. It’s an…unmentionable.”

He wouldn’t mention it either if he were dumb enough to let someone harness him into anything as uncomfortable as what he was touching. He didn’t claim to have many dealings with decent women, and the women he did sport with normally weren’t wearing anything that got in the way of business, but common sense said a body didn’t cage itself to the point of pain.