The Wedding Promise (Harlequin Historical) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Praise

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Excerpt

  Other Books By

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  About The Author

  Copyright

  Special thanks to our well-wishers,

  who have contributed their

  congratulations and support.

  “The best historicals, the best romances. Simply the best!”

  —Dallas Schulze

  “Bronwyn Williams was born and raised at Harlequin Historicals. We couldn’t have asked for a better home or a more supportive family.”

  —Dixie Browning and Mary Williams, w/a Bronwyn Williams

  “I can’t believe it’s been ten years since Private Treaty, my first historical novel, helped launch the Harlequin Historicals line. What a thrill that was! And the beat goes on…with timeless stories about men and women in love.”

  —Kathleen Eagle

  “Nothing satisfies me as much as writing or reading a Harlequin Historical novel. For me, Harlequin Historicals are the ultimate escape from the problems of everyday life.”

  —Ruth Ryan Langan

  “As a writer and reader, I’ve always felt that Harlequin Historicals celebrate a perfect blend of history and romance, adventure and passion, humor and sheer magic.”

  —Theresa Michaels

  “Thank you, Harlequin Historicals, for opening up a ‘window into the past’ for so many happy readers.”

  —Suzanne Barclay

  “As a one-time ‘slush pile’ foundling at Harlequin Historicals, I’ll be forever grateful for having been rescued and published as one of the first ‘March Madness’ authors. Harlequin Historicals has always been the place for special stories, ones that blend the magic of the past with the rare miracle of love for books that readers never forget”

  —Miranda Jarrett

  “A rainy evening. A cup of hot chocolate. A stack of Harlequin Historicals. Absolute bliss! Happy 10th Anniversary and continued success.”

  —Cheryl Reavis

  “Happy birthday, Harlequin Historicals! I’m proud to have been a part of your ten years of exciting historical romance.”

  —Elaine Barbieri

  “Harlequin Historical novels are charming or disarming with dashes and clashes. These past times are fast times, the gems of romances!”

  —Karen Harper

  The Wedding Promise

  Carolyn Davidson

  This book is dedicated to the memory

  of Arnold “Jake” McDonnell,

  brother-in-law and friend, a wounded warrior

  who spent over 40 years in his wheelchair.

  He was a hero to the end.

  and

  To Mr. Ed

  Sweetheart, husband, lover and friend—

  Father and grandfather extraordinaire—

  A man who knows the meaning of romance

  “I didn’t frighten you?” His grin widened.

  She met his gaze, her blue eyes shiny with the tears she had not shed. “I liked the kiss. I just didn’t think it was proper, with me working for you, and all. I can’t stay here if you intend to…”

  “I won’t take you to my bed, Rachel.”

  Her quick look was skeptical. “I don’t know much about men, Cord McPherson, but my mother told me that when a man takes a kiss, he usually plans on…Well, anyway, she said I should be sure that a man has honorable intentions when I let him kiss me.”

  “Ah…there’s the hitch, honey. You didn’t let me. I just went ahead and stole the kiss without permission.” His gaze was filled with the wonder of her, the glowing color she wore like the armor of a virgin bride…

  Also available from Harlequin Historicals and

  CAROLYN DAVIDSON

  Gerrity’s Bride (#298)

  Loving Katherine (#325)

  The Forever Man (#385)

  Runaway (#416)

  The Wedding Promise (#431)

  Prologue

  “There’s no way on God’s green earth you young’uns can travel by yourselves.” As if he pronounced the fate of the three people facing him, the weathered wagon master issued his ultimatum. “If your pa had listened when he should have, you’d have two good oxen pullin’ your wagon instead of those horses. You’d have stood a chance, maybe.”

  The big man took off his hat and shaped it with a fist, his gaze avoiding the eyes of the young woman in front of him. “I asked around, Rachel. There’s plenty of churchgoin’ people in Green Rapids that’ll be glad to give homes to all of you.”

  Rachel Sinclair’s arms stretched like the wings of a mother hen to encompass the narrow shoulders of her small brothers. “I can tend to my family,” she muttered stubbornly. “I don’t need the charity of a bunch of church folk.”

  “You’re nothin’ but a child yourself, girl.” With a rush of exasperation, Mr. Clemons denied her claim. His brow furrowed as he scanned the waiting wagons behind her. “You’re a good girl, Rachel. You’ve held things together for your brothers real well, but the truth is, these men are in a hurry. They’re haulin’ freight, and besides that, I can’t expect the rest of the people in the group to look out for you when things go sour. We’re goin’ to leave you here with the sheriff and that’s that!”

  Rachel’s slender fingers tightened their grip, as if she must imbue her brothers with a trace of her determination. “Go on then,” she told the man in front of her. “We’ll be just fine.”

  A look of sheer relief brought an easing of Tom Clemons’s frown. “Sheriff’s on his way. Y’all just stay put here and he’ll make some arrangements for you. I already talked to him.” His gait was hurried as he made his way past the three young people, none of whom turned to watch his departure.

  “Is he really leavin’ us here, Rae?” Barely a whisper, the voice reached her ear and Rachel bent momentarily to brush a quick kiss across her brother’s dark hair.

  “We don’t need him, Jay,” she murmured.

  “What are we gonna do, Rae?” came the query from her other side.

  He reached her shoulder, this ten-year-old who looked so much like his daddy that it made her heart hurt to look at him. Her smile was sweet as she met his worried gaze.

  “We’re going to climb back into our wagon and head out before the sheriff gets his hands on us, Henry.” As a spur-of-the-moment suggestion, it had as much merit as any other notions she’d come up with in the past day or so. Rachel Sinclair was plumb out of ideas. But standing in the middle of the dusty street, halfway between the hotel and a general store, she had reached a conclusion.

  “There’s enough food in the wagon to keep us for a while. We’ve got a barrel of water and two good horses to pull the wagon. It’ll be a cold day in you-know-where when we can’t figure out some way to keep body and soul together without a bunch of busybodies pokin’ into our business. Just hike yourselves into the wagon, boys.”

  Her dark hair swung in a long braid down her back and slim legs were briefly exposed as Rachel Sinclair scrambled atop the high seat. Her brothe
rs joined her in seconds, even as a rangy lawman sauntered from his office to head in their direction.

  His hand lifted in a silent gesture and his mouth opened, only to snap shut as the trio huddling on the wide seat ignored his beckoning fingers. Shaking his head in puzzled resignation, he watched them go, until they were just a speck on the horizon.

  Chapter One

  The line of clothing snapped in the brisk west wind. Four small shirts billowed, the sleeves filling like the sails of a boat. Next to them hung overalls, one pair a little larger than the other. Stockings draped over the line in a dark parade, and his gaze followed their lead, beyond the pale assortment of undergarments to where a skirt caught the breeze.

  “Damned if there isn’t a passel of nesters squattin’ on my doorstep!” Talking to himself had long been a habit, and Cord McPherson was more than comfortable with the sound of his own voice.

  His hands rested on the pommel of his saddle and he slouched just a bit as he leaned forward to better view the small valley that rimmed the north side of his property.

  He’d ridden this far only once this spring, more than a month ago, and nothing unusual had caught his eye. Only the leafing out of the trees along the stream and the greening of the meadows had pleasured his vision. This was another thing entirely.

  His gaze narrowed on a small figure just beyond the ramshackle building at the edge of a patch of trees. Dark haired and slim as a reed, a young boy scampered into full view, his voice a piping song.

  “Rae! Listen to me! I can whistle just like that bird over there,” he called, and then proceeded to do a creditable imitation of a robin.

  Cord’s mouth twitched, amusement and annoyance vying for a place there. “What the hell is that kid doin’, prancin’ around in my back forty?” he grumbled beneath his breath.

  And then his eyes caught sight of another figure, this one not nearly so reedlike…slender, but well rounded. A female, no doubt of that, he decided quickly, what with the curves that threatened to spill over the front of her petticoat.

  “Jay, I sent you to the stream to fill a bucket with water. I need to finish the washing.”

  She’d turned, coming to a halt with her back to him, and for a moment Cord silently urged her to turn around. He’d thought her to be but a child at first glance, but the sight of rounded hips beneath the clinging petticoat and the memory of curves he’d caught only a glimpse of sent that thought scampering.

  “I’m gonna!” the child answered cheerfully. “I just was watchin’ the birds for a minute, Rae.” The dark head turned, the small face scrunched against the morning sun as he faced the woman, and even from a distance, Cord caught a glimpse of terror in the boy’s hurried movements.

  “Rae! There’s a man watchin’. Over on that rise, there’s a big man lookin’ at us!” His bare feet were a blur as the boy ran to the woman and she clutched him against herself in a protective gesture, her head bending low over his.

  And then she turned. With one hand she swept the youngster behind her, facing the unknown with a measure of bravery that brought an admiring chuckle from Cord’s throat. Even as he eyed her stance, his heels tapped the sides of his big gelding and he sat deeply in the saddle as the horse picked his way down the shallow slope of the hill.

  “Go in the house, Jay,” the woman said, her voice carrying in the morning air. Low and steady, yet with an authoritative quality he could not miss, her command sent the boy running. She waited, unflinching in the brilliant sunlight as Cord approached, her eyes shaded by the hand she lifted to her forehead.

  “Morning, ma’am.” He hadn’t forgotten his manners, even when faced with a half-dressed female in his own backyard, so to speak. His gaze on her face, he was only too aware of her state of dishabille, and his treacherous eyes narrowed as they widened their focus to include the lush curves she made no attempt to hide.

  “What do you want?” She lifted her head as he neared, her eyes remarkable in their fearless daring. Not a twitch of muscle in that suntanned face betrayed her. Nor did her hands tremble as she lowered the right to meet the left at her waistline. Her chin was a bit too firm for his liking, but the mouth that spoke a challenge in his direction was soft and full, her flesh clear, her cheeks flushing a bit as he rode close to where she stood.

  “I was about to ask you the same question, ma’am.” His words were mild, his senses instinctively lulled by the sight of a defenseless woman and a small child.

  She shrugged with deliberate defiance and her jaw tightened. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I don’t want anything from you, mister. Just to be left alone.”

  Cord McPherson was a man of few words, but the ones that came to mind this morning weren’t what he could in all good conscience spout in her direction. His hands itched to circle that narrow waist. His body twitched in a too long neglected fashion as he allowed his gaze to openly scan her form.

  Not for the life of him could he be so blunt as to tell her she was about three feet from a randy man.

  He shifted in the saddle, discomfort a reality now. “I’m wonderin’ just what you’re doin’ on my property, ma’am.”

  Over her shoulder, a taller version of the small boy she’d sent scampering peered around the corner of the shack.

  Cord nodded at him. “Another one of your bunch?” he asked politely. And then his eyes glittered with a dark menace as the youth lifted a shotgun to his shoulder.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, boy.” As far as from dawn to full dark, his voice plunged to a low, growling threat, the affable visage only a memory.

  The woman spun about, her head shaking a warning. “Henry, put the gun down!”

  The barrel wavered and fell, its weight pulling it almost to the ground, and the boy glared, a passionate threat, unhampered by his compliance. His dark hair gleaming in the sunlight, he waited, as if one movement from the horseman would bring his heavy weapon into line once more.

  The young woman turned to Cord again, as if caught between two opposing forces. “He’s only a boy and no threat to you.”

  “Hate to gainsay you, ma’am, but any hand holdin’ a gun is a threat in my book. I’d suggest you have him put that shotgun on the ground, or I’ll have to see to it myself.”

  “Put down the gun, Henry. Right now.” Without looking back over her shoulder, the woman issued the order, her tone of voice speaking confidence in his obedience.

  And he obeyed. Without hesitation, he leaned forward and deposited his weapon on the grass. His mouth twisted in a mutinous grimace and his eyes burned with a thwarted gleam, but he obeyed.

  Cord swung from his saddle, dropping his reins to the ground. With two long strides, man and woman were in touching distance and Cord’s mouth twitched as he caught sight of the alarm she could not hide at his approach.

  She stepped back, her hands rising distractedly to spread across her breasts, a purely female gesture, honed by the instincts inbred in women, and he recognized it for what it was. She’d only now remembered her state of undress, her vulnerability to his masculine strength.

  In the heat of the first few minutes of their encounter, she’d been aware only of the danger his presence offered to the young boys she guarded with her very body. Now she was apprehensive for her own sake, and her eyes were wary as she faced him.

  “We haven’t got anything you’d want, mister. There’s just me and the boys. Our pa will be back any time now, but—”

  Cord’s eyes flickered to the telltale clothesline, strung between two sturdy maple trees. “Not much on that line that’d fit a full-grown man.”

  Her eyes met his, a defiant look alive in their depths. “I haven’t gotten to his things yet.” The softness was gone from her lips as the blatant lie fell from her mouth. She swallowed, a visible breach in her composure, and her cheeks flushed crimson as she turned away, her hands moving to spread over the bare flesh above the bodice of her petticoat.

  He followed an arm’s length behind her, his gaze sweeping o
ver the length of her slim body. The petticoat was too short for fashion, exposing bare feet and ankles and just a suggestion of curving calves. Her shoulders were smooth, creamy and inviting, and his hands clenched as he felt the urge to touch the softness he knew would meet his caress.

  “You’re on my property,” he reminded her. Her shoulders lifted, as if she’d caught her breath at his words, and she halted.

  “We didn’t know anyone lived here. It was empty and neglected and we…” Her words trailed off and her head shook, a negative gesture. “We can pay a little for the use of the place. We’ll only be here for a while, just till we make some decisions.”

  It was a fair offer. But Cord McPherson was used to doing business face-to-face. Looking at her back was a pleasure, but the memory of what she had become so conscious of in the past few minutes gnawed at him.

  “Turn around and look at me if you want to do business, ma’am.” His words were low, but unwavering, an ultimatum in any man’s language.

  “I can’t.” She whispered her denial of his demand. Her head turned, just a bit, and he caught sight of her rosy cheek, her lashes sweeping its heated surface.

  It was enough. He’d managed to embarrass her beyond her endurance, and his good sense took command.

  “Go put a dress on and get yourself back out here.”

  She fled. With slender feet brushing aside the grass, she ran the few steps to the shack, one hand grasping the arm of the watching boy as she turned the corner.

  “Rae!” The protest rang out in the silence and was hushed by a soft murmur from beyond his sight.

  Cord cast one measuring glance around the empty clearing, then, lifting an empty wooden bucket from his path and leading his horse he headed for the stream.