The Promise (22 page)

Pete swallowed and reached for another one with a
grin. "Them things you make ain't biscuits. They're more like river
rocks."

"Now look, old man, if it weren't for me, you
wouldn't have eaten at all."

"Well now, after tasting this, I can't help but
wonder if I wouldn't have been better off." He smiled congenially
and reached for the mashed potatoes.

Loralee beamed at them both, and for the first time
in a long time, Patrick actually felt like the ranch was home. He
slurped up a mouthful of stew, wondering just what she did to get
the rabbit so tender. His always came out stringy and tough. Took
practically a whole meal to chew one bite.

The door shook as someone pounded on it. The mood was
shattered in an instant. Loralee jumped up, panic flashing across
her face. Patrick reached for his rifle, satisfied to see that Pete
was doing the same.

"Hey, what's a fella got to do to get some grub
around here?" At the sound of Arless' voice, everybody relaxed. The
door burst open and a red-faced Arless staggered into the room. "I
could smell that stew all the way from the road. 'Bout time you
took some cooking lessons, Patrick, me boy."

He came to a full stop on spying Loralee, ripping his
tattered hat from his head. "Why, Miss Loralee, I should have
knowed right off those heavenly smells weren't caused by anything
Patrick concocted."

Pete indicated the empty chair. "Have a seat, Arless,
there's plenty to go around."

He straddled the chair backward and then with a look
from both Pete and Patrick stood up and turned the chair around,
sitting on it properly. "Don't mind if I do." He heaped his plate
with stew and potatoes, took three biscuits and dug in with a sigh.
"Now this is eating."

"What brings you out this way, Arless? Besides free
food," Patrick added dryly.

"Figured I'd best head for home. Lena don't tolerate
my being gone for long."

Arless and Lena lived up the valley a piece, near
Slumgullion Pass. He often spent the night at Clune in route one
way or the other.

"To hear the sheriff tell it, she's already on the
war path." Pete's gaze met Patrick's, a question there.

"Could be. Danged woman won't let me alone." Arless
shot them a crooked-toothed smile and reached for another biscuit.
"Me, I ain't in no hurry."

"Well, you know you're always welcome here," Patrick
said.

"Coffee?" Loralee smiled down at him.

He nodded and she bent over him to pour the hot
liquid in his cup, her nearness setting his insides on fire. He
managed to refrain from pulling her into his lap, instead mumbling
thanks to her breasts as they brushed past.

She moved away and he sat back, relieved that the
sensual onslaught was over. He was just congratulating himself on
handling it all with some amount of dignity when he realized Arless
and Pete had stopped eating, their know-it-all eyes twinkling with
laughter.

"Ready for a little dessert, boy." Pete winked and
Arless started laughing.

Heat washed across Patrick's face. A quick glance at
the stove assured him that Loralee had her back turned. He glared
at his two dinner partners.

*****

"Who wants pie?" Loralee carried the pie
plate over to the table and watched as three pairs of hungry eyes
devoured the pie before she even had a chance to cut it. She'd
forgotten how much men could eat. It was amazing. Why, she'd made
two dozen biscuits and there wasn't one left.

She had to admit it made a body feel good to have her
cooking appreciated. And truth be told, that wasn't the only thing
making her body feel good. Every time she got within three feet of
Patrick Macpherson, her hands started to sweat and she felt tingly
all over. She sucked in a breath, swallowing her thoughts. No good
ever came of feelings like that. No good at all.

She focused on the pie, cutting it into hefty slabs
and placing them on four tin plates.

"Patrick, why don't you and Loralee take your pie out
on the porch. Me and Arless have some business to discuss."

Arless looked up from pouring a flask of whiskey into
his coffee. "We do?"

Pete shot him a look. "We do."

He frowned, then grinned. "Oh right."

Pete made a shooing motion toward the door. "Out.
Sunset won't last forever."

Loralee tightened her grip on the plate, her mind of
two accords. Go… stay… go. Her feet seemed to have made their own
decision, and she started for the door. Patrick jumped up, managing
to knock his chair over, hot color staining his face.

Good, at least she wasn't alone in her confusion.
They arrived at the door at the same time and got stuck trying to
pass through. She sucked in a breath as his hard body pressed
against hers. Lord, she was behaving like a schoolgirl, and that
was hardly the case, to say the least.

Finally, they managed to get out of the room and
settle on the porch. Loralee sat on the top step and Patrick sat
across from her, his long legs straddling the railing.

"I think we were set up." Patrick's emerald eyes
twinkled and she felt a sudden burst of warmth somewhere deep
inside.

"Yes, but with such a lack of subtlety." They laughed
and then ate in companionable silence. The sun hung orange-red at
the crest of the mountains, almost as if it was riding them.
Loralee knew that in just a few minutes it would dismount, dropping
behind the peaks, leaving behind pale streamers of pink and orange.
And even those would soon slip away almost as if they were tethered
to the sun itself. Sunset came fast in the mountains.

"Why'd you become a…" Patrick stopped, his face
burning red again.

"Whore?" She filled in the word for him, unashamed of
her choices.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have asked you that. It's just
that sometimes you seem so innocent, I forget that you, that you…
Aw, hell."

She reached up and patted his knee. "It's all right.
It's an honest question." She sighed. "I ran away from home when I
was thirteen. My daddy drank. And when he was through sleeping with
Mama, he started turning on us."

"Us?"

"Me and my sister, Faye." She set her plate and fork
down on the step and leaned back, looking out at the mountains,
remembering. "I woke up one morning, stiff and bruised, and figured
I'd had about enough. So I packed up my stuff and left."

"What about your sister?"

"I tried to get her to come, but she was afraid. In
the end, I just left her there."

"Where'd you go?"

"Here and there to begin with. I took odd jobs.
Washing, cleaning, sweeping up, whatever I could find. I worked
mostly for a place to lay my head and a bite to eat. I wound up in
St. Louis, cooking for the girls at a fancy bordello." Patrick sat
down beside her on the step, his presence comforting somehow. "I
worked there for almost five months. The money was good and my bed
was clean. Then one night a drunken customer mistook me for one of
the girls. I fought like a hellcat at first, then finally decided
it wasn't like I had anything to lose."

She laughed and was surprised at how bitter it
sounded. "The next morning, he was gone and I had twenty-five
dollars. Well, it didn't take too much ciphering to figure out that
was more than I made in a week of cooking. And all I had to do was
what my pa had already forced me to do." She shrugged
philosophically. "Only problem was I wasn't one of the girls. Word
got out and I found myself out of a job right quick. So I nosed
around and tried to find a place in another parlor house."

"In St. Louis?"

"Yes, at first. Only see there's rules to everything,
even whoring, and none of the fancy houses wanted a scrawny kid
like me. About the only place I was accepted was on the streets and
that was too risky. So I headed west on the first stage out of
town.

"Followed the miners mostly. Started out in Del Norte
in a dance hall. That's when I changed my name. Saw it on a flyer.
Thought it sounded real pretty. Anyway, before long I was making my
way. Never had the looks for the fancy places, but I did all right
for myself. Finally wound up in Leadville." She stopped memories
crowding in faster than she could put them into words. She reached
for her locket, comforted by the cool touch of silver.

"Who gave you the locket, Loralee?"

She brought herself back, focusing on Patrick. He had
such a strong, handsome face. She could see bits of Duncan in him.
She chewed the side of her lip, trying to decide how much to share
with him, and finally let the soft light in his eyes decide her. He
was a good man.

"My husband."

*****

Patrick couldn't have been more surprised if
she'd up and told him she was really a man. She smiled and squeezed
his hand, reassuringly. He tried to stop the wave of jealousy that
washed through him.

"I met him in Leadville. Handsomest man you ever did
see. Tall like you, but thinner with a wiry build. He was a
charmer. But real kind to all the girls. He moved around a lot.
Always after big money, I guess. Anyway, he always brung us
presents when he got back. He never treated us like working girls.
Always had respect for us." She stopped and looked up into
Patrick's eyes. "Like you." Her whispered words reduced his gut to
jelly.

She turned away again, fixing her gaze on the shadows
in the barnyard. "He always seemed to wind up with me and we
started spending more and more time together. He even took me out
in a rented buggy once."

The happiness that the memory brought was reflected
in her face and it made Patrick want to buy her a fleet of buggies.
She leaned back and sighed. "We spent a whole summer like that. I'd
never been with anyone like him before. He made me feel special,
like I was the only woman in the world. I quit seeing other men.
Didn't seem right. Then I found out I was pregnant."

Patrick felt her confusion and pain as if it was
happening right there on the porch. He smoothed the soft curls
hanging over her shoulder, his hand aching to touch more than just
her hair. But she had a husband, he reminded himself fiercely and
dropped his hand to his side.

"At first I wasn't sure I should tell him. I mean, I
was a whore. And well, I knew it was his baby, but there wasn't a
dad-gummed thing I could do to prove it. But finally, I decided I
had to." She tipped up her head to look at him. "It was the right
thing to do."

He nodded, too full of conflicting emotions to string
together any words.

"Well, he was so proud you'd have thought he was the
only man to ever make a baby. Started talking about how we had to
get married and give our child a home. A home. Can you imagine me
with a real home? After all the things I'd done?" She managed to
sound outraged and wistful all at the same time.

He whispered 'yes,' but didn't think she heard
him.

"At first I said no. I mean I couldn't very well go
and marry him. It would have spoiled his reputation. But he just
laughed and said he hadn't any reputation to spoil. And he told me
he loved me more than he'd ever loved any living thing. Well, I
couldn't resist that long. So we got married. And me with a belly
already swelling.

"We took a room in town and lived like fancy folks.
But the money soon ran low and he said he'd have to go off and find
us some more. I wanted to go back to work. Women do it all the
time, but he wouldn't hear of it. I guess in his mind he'd made me
respectable and he didn't want me to go and mess it up.

"The night before he left, he gave me this locket.
Said it was a reminder that we belonged together. And that he'd be
back to get me just as soon as he could." She ran her hand along
the filigreed chain. "He fastened it around my neck and kissed me."
She ran a finger across her lips, so lost in memory that Patrick
doubted she'd even realized she'd done it.

"I remember his exact words. 'Loralee darlin',' he
said, 'this locket is forever. It's a symbol of my promise to you.
No matter what happens, it will keep you safe. Always.' And then he
kissed me again. And then he was gone." She exhaled a breath, her
eyes still fixed on the deepening shadows of the yard.

"Three months later Mary was born. The girls helped
me, gave me a place to stay. And we waited, Mary and I. He wrote
every week. Always promising that we'd be together, that we'd be a
family. His last letter said he'd struck it rich and that he'd wire
us the money to meet him. I waited and waited. I never heard from
him again."

"What happened?"

"I never knew. But I know in my heart that he's
dead." She said it with finality.

"Oh God, Loralee, I'm sorry."

She patted his shoulder, as if he were the one who
needed comforting. "It's all right. It was a while ago. I've had
time to make my peace with it."

"What happened to Mary?"

Her face tightened. "We tried to make it on our own
for a while, but no one wants a woman with a child. So I moved on."
She opened her mouth to continue and then closed it as if deciding
to skip over part of the story. Patrick wondered what she wasn't
telling him.

"I wound up here and found a place in the cribs and
went back to whoring, but the cribs weren't any place for a little
girl. Mary was two and I didn't want her to have the same kind of
life I did. So I swallowed my pride and wrote to my sister."

"Faye?"

"Yup. She'd done real well for herself. Married a
preacher man. I figured it was the best possible kind of home for
Mary. So I sent her to Virginia."

"Have you seen her?"

"No. Folks write for me sometimes, but I don't want
her to be ashamed of her mama. So I've tried to let her go. I know
my sister is telling folks Mary's hers. She can't have children of
her own."

A tear slipped down the crevice between her nose and
cheek. Patrick reached out to wipe it away. "Loralee, anyone would
be proud to have you for a mother."