Promises Reveal (6 page)

He smiled and tossed back the last of the whiskey. With him, she wasn’t afraid. He liked that about her best. Handing Doc the glass, he nodded to the McKinnelys. “Well, if you’re not going to indulge me tonight, I think I’ll go rescue my bride.”

Doc shook his head. “Don’t hurry. Ruth’s not doing so good. Last winter out on that old place of hers without Herb was hard on her.”

Brad had noticed. “I don’t think she’ll survive another one.”

And that would be a shame. Ruth was a sweet woman and the backbone of the community.

“It’s going to take dynamite to get her out of there.”

Or the right incentive. He handed Doc the glass. “I’ve got an idea brewing that might get her out and into a better situation.”

“What is it?”

“Ask me next month.”

“What’s wrong with now?”

Glancing back toward Evie, Brad felt a thrill of anticipation he hadn’t enjoyed in a long time. “I’ve got better things to do.”

 
IF EVIE HAD to stand there one more minute, she was going to do one of two things: melt into a puddle or scream bloody murder.

“It’s important to keep your man happy, young lady.”

She nodded and mouthed a “yes.” She was too hot to continue yelling and since Ruth read lips more than heard, it wasn’t necessary.

“The Reverend Swanson might be a man of God, but he’s still a man and he has needs.”

Evie really wished the old lady’s voice didn’t carry. A blush rose to her cheeks. Ruth continued with her point.

“I was married to Herb for thirty years, and never turned him away when he reached for me at night.” Ruth patted Evie’s arm. “You welcome your husband the same way and you’ll know the same happiness.”

Evie really couldn’t imagine that. Not just the making love part, but the welcoming. Brad was an intimidating man. She found that just standing beside him put an itch in her feet. Which is why she’d avoided him as much as possible for all that she’d made a habit of studying him. She’d still be avoiding him if it wasn’t for that darn painting.

“Thank you. I appreciate the advice.”

An arm slipped around her waist.

“Definitely, thank you.” Brad said that loud enough that not only Ruth but the whole room heard.

The old lady blushed. The guests tittered. Evie gritted her teeth. He was embarrassing her on purpose. Revenge for her joke that had backfired so horribly? She put her hand over Brad’s and sank her nails into him while dropping her eyes and gasping in her best innocent-miss voice. “Reverend!”

Her nails were drawing blood. Brad’s smile didn’t slip. “Just going along with sound advice, sweetheart.”

Even in mockery he had a way of making the endearment as smooth as honey. If he wasn’t a minister, she would have labeled him a ladies’ man.

“You’re embarrassing me,” she hissed.

“Don’t go making the girl blush, you rascal!” Ruth chastised, the smile on her face taking every bit of sting out of the reprimand.

“But she’s so pretty when she blushes.”

The stroke of her husband’s finger down her cheek felt more like a warning. To shut up or to go along? It didn’t matter. Evie was no man’s pet. She bared her teeth in a smile. “He’s full of those practiced sayings.”

“Which would make you a lucky woman,” Mara said, coming up on Evie’s side, her brown eyes alight with humor.

“Only if I like hearing platitudes all day long.”

“I would assume platitudes are better than curses.”

“I guess that would depend on your personality.”

“Trust me,” Brad interrupted with another brush of his finger. This time the gesture ended at the corner of her mouth. His knuckle pressed gently. “You wouldn’t like me in the mood that generates curses.”

She parted her lips, opened her mouth, and set her teeth to his skin. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Unbelievably, he laughed and tapped her cheek. “You’d best come dance with me before you get yourself in trouble.”

“We don’t have any music.”

He lifted his hand. A small commotion began across the room. Chairs were pushed out of the way, tables pulled back. Cyrus pulled his fiddle from behind the door. She looked at Brad. “You can’t dance at a wedding.”

He took her hand as Cyrus tuned up the fiddle. “Who says?”

“God.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. His hair fell across his forehead, giving him that outlaw look that made her heart flutter. Her fingers twitched to push it back.

“I work for him, and he’s never whispered that in my ear.”

She tugged at her hand. “You know it’s not done.”

He tightened his grip, dragging her along. “Then we’ll set a new tradition.”

A high, sweet tune filled the room. The good citizens of town, her friends, fell to the side, making a path. She glared at Jenna, who rested back against her big husband’s chest, the sadness that had haunted her eyes for years no longer visible.

“You should be protesting this.”

Jenna’s smile was soft. Her shrug barely contained an apology. “But I want to dance.”

Everything about Jenna was soft. She was the nicest woman Evie knew, the opposite of her hard-as-nails husband, but no one worried about Jenna when she was with Clint. The man adored his wife. She glanced at Clint’s dark hand, wrapped around Jenna’s. And she was beginning to think they didn’t need to worry about Clint anymore either. Jenna was good for him. She brought him smiles, normalcy, and family. She glanced at Gray, where he stood beside the couple, his baby sister in his arms. Neither were of Jenna’s or of Clint’s blood, but woe to whomever dared say they didn’t belong. They’d been lost, and Jenna, who wouldn’t say
boo
to a ghost, who’d known more horror in her lifetime than anyone should have to survive, had fought to the death to bring them home, given them a place, made them McKinnelys. And all four appeared content with the arrangement.

Clint bent his head to brush his lips over Jenna’s smooth cheek. “Just one dance, sunshine. You’ve been on that leg enough for one day.”

“I’m good enough for two.”

“One.” It was said in a tone that brooked no denial.

Jenna patted his hand. “We’ll see.”

This time Clint’s lips brushed her hair, the fine strands shining against his dark skin. “One.”

Evie bet there’d be two. Jenna truly was Clint’s sunshine, bringing him back from that dark place he’d fallen into. Clint caught her staring at him. He smiled. She blinked. Clint smiling really did take some getting used to.

“Dance with your husband, Evie. You can trust him to take care of you.”

Was there an underlying message in Clint’s order? Or was that wishful thinking on her part?

“He thinks I tricked him into marriage. I’d be a fool to trust him.”

Brad came up beside her. “But you will dance.”

“It’s scandalous.”

“You like scandal.”

She jumped. How did he know?

His grip shifted to her elbow as he steered her into the cleared space. The temperature in the room seemed to shoot up ten degrees but it was a good heat, an inviting heat. “It’s not exactly a secret. And if anyone had any doubts, that art show killed them off.”

“Mother was sending me back East.”

“For wearing pants.”

“I was trying to learn to ride.”

He steered her to the center of the floor, his hand a warm weight at her waist, his thigh brushing hers. He turned her into his embrace. Their bodies fit nicely together. “You were testing your limits.”

Evie could feel everyone watching. She kept her smile in place. “What do you know about anything?”

His hand shifted up to rest just above the small of her back, tucking her against him. This close she couldn’t miss his scent—spicy, masculine, and very intriguing.

“Your family can’t give you what you want.”

His drawl, rich with innuendo, flowed above the opening strains of a waltz. Pitched just right, it smoothed along her senses, weakened her anger. A red flag went up. He wouldn’t. She looked up, met his eyes, and knew he absolutely would. The Reverend Brad Swanson would seduce his wife on the dance floor in front of the whole town. The thrill from before came back twofold. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the mayor’s wife, Shirley, frown. Evie fluttered her lashes and relaxed into Brad’s embrace.

“And you can?”

Without missing a beat, he smiled and took the first gliding step, the subtle tension in his arm guiding her effortlessly into his rhythm. “Absolutely.” He spun her in a wide turn. “You’re not hard to figure out.”

She blinked. “I’m not?”

A woman liked to feel she had some mystery.

“No, but you are intriguing.”

“How?”

Other couples joined them. Doc led Dorothy onto the floor. As he took her in his arms, she smoothed his cowlick down. They were so comfortable with each other. Evie couldn’t imagine being like that with Brad, but she’d like to be. The thought came out of nowhere.

Another spin, this one faster than the last, brought her gaze back up to her husband’s.

“You’re looking for someone you can’t outthink or run over. Someone who can handle that wild side of yours.”

That statement shot a thrill of excitement straight to her core. She lifted her chin. “And you think you’re that man?”

His lips spread in a slow smile. With an easy grace he spun them into another turn, whirling them so fast she lost her balance. Her momentary panic was for nothing. Brad caught her effortlessly with the hand at her back. She waited, but he didn’t pull her up, just held her gaze with the same easy sensuality with which he held her suspended there, helpless, back arched, legs entwined. It was a perfectly shocking, perfectly scandalous thing to do and she loved every second. When he pulled her up with a flex of his arm she went willingly, as hopelessly fascinated with this side of him as with all the others. Bringing her hand to his mouth, he pressed a kiss to the back, that knowing smile still curving his mouth.

“You can count on it.”

“IT’S TIME TO go, Evie.”

Evie looked at the watch pinned to the waist of her skirt. The hand ticked toward six o’clock. As much as she wanted to grab it and keep it from progressing, she knew it wouldn’t do any good. No amount of wishing moved time forward or backward. It just progressed inevitably. In another hour, it would be dark. She took a breath of the humid air and stared at the far-off mountains rising above the plains, desperation building with that forbidden sense of excitement that had enfolded her since she and Brad had danced. “So it is.”

The rather forced smile on her mother’s face faltered. No doubt she’d hoped Evie had resigned herself to her fate by now.

“The Reverend’s a good man.”

The stab of resentment that shot through Evie was an all-too-familiar sensation. “Whether he is or isn’t is immaterial. I’m married to him. He can be whatever he wants to be and I believe my role is to smile and put a pleasant face on whatever the truth works out to be.”

“That’s a very cynical attitude.”

“Then I guess that makes me a cynic.”

Pearl fussed with the cuff of Evie’s dress, her hand hovering an instant over Evie’s before dropping back. “I want you to be happy.”

“No. You want me to be happy in a life of which you approve.”

One that stifled her so badly that she buried her face in her pillow at night and screamed with the frustration of it.

“You can’t do the things you want to do, Evie. The things you want to be, they’re just dreams. It’s time to grow up and realize that.”

Evie blew out a breath, her corset biting into her waist on the last of the exhale. She focused on the sting, needing something to keep her balanced. Otherwise, she’d go screaming from the wedding, embarrassing herself, her family, and the Reverend. The corset was as confining as the rules of society that fenced her in. She couldn’t breathe—now, before, and probably never again.

She folded her arms across her chest, trying not to pin too much hope on that one moment of excitement on the dance floor. “Well, you can’t get more respectable than a preacher’s wife, so you don’t need to worry anymore. You’ve saved me from a life of ill repute. Your job is done.”

The truth burned like acid across her confidence and the small flicker of hope left by that scandalous dance.

“Then why don’t I feel relaxed?”

Because it’s not my choice. Because you know I’ll only suffer this so long before I’ll explode. Because you know when I do, you’ll have to send me away and our relationship will be so much ash in the aftermath.
“I have no idea.”

“It’s not going to be that bad, Evie.”

It would just be the same hell she’d been running from for the last twenty years, etched forever into her future. Evie pushed away from the side of the building. Splinters of wood clutched at the material of her dress, pulling her up short. “Shoot.”