The Wedding Promise (Harlequin Historical) Page 2

  She’d known it was too good to be true. That they would find an empty house…no, not a house, a shanty really. But sufficient for their needs for now.

  She’d cleaned it up, sweeping the dirt floor with her mother’s good broom, scrubbing the crude wooden table and chair with an old shirt of Pa’s. The stove worked, once she’d carried out an accumulation of ashes and set a small pile of kindling to burning in its depths. The draft worked and the chimney drew well.

  The boys had taken over the single bunk, one at each end for sleeping, and she’d been content to roll up by the stove at night, the shotgun placed in front of her. It had almost been idyllic, this three-week stretch of time, with her marking the days in her mother’s journal.

  Somehow, it was important that she know when Sunday came. And just the other day she’d sat beneath the trees to read from Pa’s Bible, knowing the boys would only pay attention for a short while. She’d sung with them, reminding them of the words they stumbled over, yearning for an hour in the white church back home in Pennsylvania.

  Home. Her mouth tightened as the word nudged her memories. She bent to find her blue dress in the trunk beside the boys’ bunk, her fingers busy as she unfolded it and pulled it over her head. No sense in getting maudlin over the past. This was here and now and she was committed to making the best of things.

  The buttons slid easily into the handmade buttonholes her mother had worked with care one winter’s evening. Rachel Sinclair allowed only a moment’s grief for that memory as she prepared herself to face the man waiting outdoors.

  Crying never did anyone any good as far as she could see. She’d shed her tears when the bodies of the people she loved most in the world were lowered into their graves, each a day apart from the other, more than a month ago, beside the trail in Missouri.

  Then she’d gathered up the reins and taken charge. Any grown woman, eighteen years old, had better be equipped to tend to her family these days, or she’d be showing a decided lack of good upbringing, she’d vowed on that day.

  And she’d done just that. Taken charge of her brothers and turned her face west. In the direction of her father’s dream…a dream she vowed would not die with him.

  This shack was only a temporary stopping place. Somehow she’d find a way to continue on, to where she might find a place for the boys to grow and flourish. A place where she might find a man willing to take on a ready-made family.

  A man. She blinked at the reminder. You’ve got a man waiting right this minute, Rachel Sinclair. You need to go on out there and face him and do some dealing. The memory of the small nest egg in the bottom of the trunk reminded her of the limits of her bargaining power and she shrugged off the daunting thought

  At the door the boys waited, watching the tall intruder as he walked from their sight, heading for the stream. Preparing to join them, Rachel brushed back her hair with agile fingers as she approached the door, feeling for the braid that hung down her back.

  “What’s he doing?” she asked quietly. Hastily, she rolled up her sleeves to just beneath her elbows. He’d already seen pretty near everything she owned. No sense in being overly modest, she decided stoutly.

  Washing clothes in her petticoat had seemed safe enough. Besides keeping her dress dry and clean, she’d enjoyed the breeze blowing against her bare shoulders and arms, keeping her cool. She’d scrubbed out the boy’s overalls, rinsing them in the bucket and wringing out the water before she hung them on the line to dry.

  And then, just as she’d sent Jay to the stream for clean water to wash the rest of her own things, the stranger had come, destroying what little peace of mind she’d been able to find in this place.

  She was ready to face him, as ready as she’d ever be, but she hesitated at the threshold. His demeanor had overpowered her, more so than the gun she’d spied behind his saddle, which she was dead certain he could handle with an expert touch.

  He’d not threatened her, not bodily, but his eyes had paused to survey every living inch of her, especially the parts the bodice of her petticoat had failed to cover.

  She blushed anew at the thought. And so it was that she watched him, reins in one hand, bucket in the other, striding up the fresh path from the stream, worn down only by the repeated steps of Jay and Henry over the past weeks, the grass still green beneath his feet

  He carried the bucket easily, its weight a barely noticed hindrance to his easy gait. His hat was pushed back a bit and she caught sight of dark eyes, their intensity focused on her, his nose flaring just a bit as he came to a halt in front of her.

  “I figured you needed water. Thought I’d save you a trip to the stream while I watered my horse.”

  “Yes, thank you.” He’d put her at a disadvantage already, being nice. She drew in a breath, reaching for the handle of the bucket.

  “Let the boy get it.” He nodded, his movement a silent command, and Henry eased past her to take the bucket from his grasp. “Take it in the house, son.”

  “Yessir,” Henry said quietly, obviously subdued in the presence of subtle strength. His eyes had lost their challenge, if not their wariness; but as if he sensed no danger for the moment, he turned from his sister to obey the stranger’s command.

  Rachel buried her hands in the pockets of her dress and faced her visitor. “Can we come to an agreement, mister? Maybe reach a fair price for us staying in this place?”

  “Are you dead serious about staying out here by yourself?” The stranger faced her, his expression disbelieving as he surveyed his surroundings. “This shack isn’t fit for animals. The door’s hangin’ by one hinge and there isn’t even a floor. You can’t tell me you’re set on livin’ here.”

  “For now, I am,” she answered, her mouth firm as she staked her claim.

  “How much you plan on payin’ for rent?” His gaze swung back to her as she defied his judgment. “What are you thinkin’ to live on?”

  Rachel thought of the dwindling supplies she’d stashed with care in the rude cabinets against the wall inside the shack. “We’ll make do,” she told him proudly. “There’s good fishing in the stream and Henry is a good shot.”

  Her mind worked quickly as she defended her position. “We noticed the berries are ripening up along the stream and there’s more greens growing than we can ever eat, even with the rabbits getting their share. We’ve got plenty of food.”

  Plenty, if we dole it pretty thin and the rabbit population holds out, she amended silently.

  A nicker from beyond the shack caught his attention, and Cord’s gaze shifted from the woman before him. For all her claims of independence, he’d warrant she was barely holding her own out here. And yet, beyond the shelter she’d found, somewhere past the shack, was a horse.

  Another nicker joined the first and his gelding answered the challenge, lifting his head from where he’d buried his muzzle in the lush grasses.

  “How many head of horses you got out there, ma’am?” His query demanded an answer, his words delivered with a hard edge.

  “The team is not for sale,” she answered quickly. “They belonged to my pa.”

  “Belonged?” The single word made mockery of her claim. There was no father about to return. These three were alone here, on the edge of his land, ten miles from the nearest town.

  “They’re mine now,” she told him bluntly.

  “It’s not safe out here for a woman alone, with two young’uns.”

  Her eyes flashed defiance. “We haven’t seen another soul, till you came up over that hill.”

  “And you might not again. But then again, you might. And the next man to ride up on you probably won’t be willing to ride away without giving you some trouble.” His words were roundabout, but the look on her face told him he’d managed to get his meaning across.

  That slim body was tempting enough in its blue covering, the modest dress buttoned up to the neck. Any man worth his salt would have been tempted mightily by the sight she’d presented just minutes ago, prancing around in her underg
arments.

  That thought alone was enough to give him pause and he silently cursed the urges that ran rampant in his body. Too long without a female wasn’t good for a man, and he’d about reached his limit

  “How much do you want for rent, mister?”

  Her demand caught his ear and his thoughts returned from their meandering. She waited, watching him, and the cautious hope in her eyes was his undoing. full-blown, a picture sprang to his mind, and his words gave it life.

  “Maybe we can work something out,” he said. “Looks to me like you’re pretty good at washing clothes, ma’am. How about if you come up to the house and do up the laundry and maybe see what you can do in my kitchen a couple of days a week?”

  His lips thinned as he waited for her reply. What the hell was he thinking of? He’d do well to send her and her brothers on their way, or at least take them to town and find a place for them to roost, out of danger. No sense in saddling himself with any more of a load than he already had.

  The girl shook her head, denying his offer. “I’d just as soon pay a bit for the place to stay, mister. Maybe till we get our mind made up about what we’re going to do.”

  So much for that plan. Ill formed as it was, he’d decided in a hurry it might be her salvation. That she would be a temptation to every roving cowhand and stray rider in the county was a fact.

  Once the word got out, she’d be under siege. Fool woman stood there like an unwary doe just before dawn, with danger all around, and not enough sense to take cover.

  “We can come to an understanding, I’m sure,” he said, not wanting to douse her hopes. She was so valiant, so willing to do what had to be done for her family. “Let me think about it.”

  The boys came from the doorway to flank her, lending their mute support, and her arms lifted in an automatic gesture to lie across their shoulders. He suspected she’d lent them her strength on a regular basis over the past few weeks or months. How long they’d been alone was anyone’s guess. Maybe she’d open up a little more next time. For now, he figured he’d about gone as far as she’d let him. Further than she’d wanted.

  “I’ll be back,” he said, easing into the saddle with a lithe movement. One tanned, broad-backed hand reached out to her. “My name’s Cord McPherson.”

  She moved toward him, accepting his hand, her own enclosed by his fingers, and he felt its slender strength against his palm. He held it for a moment, silently urging her to reply to his words of introduction. And she complied.

  “Rachel Sinclair. These are my brothers, Jay and Henry.”

  As if she begrudged him the intimacy of knowing her name, she ducked her head, drawing her fingers from his grasp, stepping back.

  He tipped his hat and turned his horse away, aware of her gaze on his back as he rode. Her length of dark hair, the braid thick and heavy against her back, nudged his thoughts. She looked good in blue, he decided. Matched her eyes.

  But the memory that edged out the others, that haunted him on his ride back across the fields and meadows he traveled, was that of womanly curves, of slender arms and smooth shoulders, gleaming in the sunshine.

  Chapter Two

  It was a long trip, and her heart beat at a rapid pace as the town came into sight. Coming to Green Rapids was a calculated risk, she knew. The sheriff was bound to see them, unless he should by chance be gone from town this morning.

  The thought of a confrontation with the law was far from appealing, although the lawman had probably thanked his lucky stars to have them off his hands. Nevertheless, Rachel had her jaw set and her spine stiff as a ramrod, ready for the encounter should it come about.

  Traffic on the dusty road was heavy, probably not more so than usual for a Saturday, but Rachel was counting on the assortment of buggies and wagons to conceal her passage down the main street.

  Her eyes scanned the business places lined up alongside the broad, wooden sidewalks. Just ahead, the wooden sign of Green Rapids Emporium and Dry Goods came into view, and she brought the horses to a halt.

  Henry jumped from the seat and snapped the lead in place on the harness, then tied the team to a hitching rail convenient to the store. “All set, Rae,” he called out, tugging one more time at the leather strap, testing the security of his knot.

  “Thank you, Henry. You and Jay come along now, and remember, no treats today. We’re only here to buy the things we absolutely need.” She spoke in an undertone, ruing the warning she gave, wishing for a hundred pennies to shower on her brothers, with no thought for the expense.

  “I know, Rae,” Jay whispered on a wistful sigh, his nostrils flaring as they entered the store.

  The smell was always the same, Rachel thought, aware of the deep breaths her brothers had taken. Drygoods stores the country over, at least the parts they’d traveled, had that selfsame scent of leather and lye soap, mixed with the starched aroma of fresh bolts of fabric.

  A whiff of molasses reached her nose, countered by something freshly baked, perhaps bread or cake. So much temptation, she thought, and so little hard cash to spend.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?”

  Rachel looked up quickly as the clerk approached, her eyes widening at his elegance. Pomade slicked his hair back neatly, a heavily starched collar clenched his throat and his shirtsleeves were buttoned firmly at the wrist. A genial smile curled his mouth and his eyes were faintly admiring as he nodded a greeting.

  “Yes,” she answered, fumbling in her pocket for the list she’d written. As if she needed prompting to remember the few items she’d scribbled on the brown scrap of paper: sugar—a pound or two, depending on the price, a bag of cornmeal, a pound or so of lard and perhaps some eggs. Maybe even cans of milk for the boys’ oatmeal.

  She’d yearned for weeks for the taste of a fried egg. Not that she could afford that luxury. These, if they weren’t too dear, would be used for baking. Jay and Henry had responded to the bribe of a cake, should they do their chores and carry water without complaining.

  They’d been more than compliant, she realized, once they were settled in and ready to call the tumbledown cabin their dwelling. They’d followed her lead, straightening and settling in, making a home of the place they’d found.

  “We got some new dimity in from St. Louis just the other day,” the clerk said, recalling Rachel from her thoughts.

  He probably thought she could use a new dress. And he was right. Her smile was grim as she shook her head. “No, we just need a few items today. Some cornmeal to start with.”

  She read off her short list and watched as the clerk moved efficiently behind the gleaming wooden counter. He filled a cloth sack with her sugar, surely more than a pound, she thought, her eyes narrowing as she watched his deft movements. The lard was next, dealt with quickly, then three cans of evaporated milk.

  Finally, wrapping four eggs individually in brown paper, he placed them carefully inside the bag of cornmeal. “That’ll keep ‘em from breaking if they get jostled,” he explained, tying the neck of the bag once more.

  He rested both palms on the counter, leaning just a bit in her direction, his smile more eager now. “What else will you have today?”

  Rachel’s mind moved quickly, counting up her spending against the coins she’d brought with her. Such strict rationing of money was a burden, but one she was willing to assume, given the alternative. There was no way she would give over the care of her brothers to strangers, no matter how well off they might be.

  “How much is a small bag of tea?” she asked.

  He turned from her without reply, opening a tin on the shelf behind him. From within rose a pungent aroma as he turned with it to face her. His smile was inviting as he scooped out a generous portion into a metal box.

  “I don’t think I can afford that much,” Rachel protested as he closed the lid tightly on the enameled container. Covered with painted roses and green leaves, intertwined over the top and down the sides, it beckoned her, silently tempting her.

  “Well, why don’t we just
call it a welcome present from Green Rapids, ma’am. You’re a stranger here, and we like to make newcomers feel at home.”

  As a gesture of friendship, it was more than she had expected. But from the look in his eyes and the ready grin he bestowed upon her, she suspected he’d taken a shine to her.

  “I don’t know you, sir,” she said quietly, aware of the silence of her brothers as they flanked her in a silent show of support.

  “Conrad Carson, proprietor, ma’am,” he announced, offering his hand politely. “At your service.”

  His bow spoke of old-world manners and good upbringing and Rachel was mollified. Her hand felt cool as she placed it against his smooth palm for a moment Clean, with well-kept nails, it touched hers with assurance.

  She was reminded suddenly of the hand she’d taken hold of just two days ago. That hard, callused hand that had held hers with care. A far cry from this storekeeper’s.

  “Thank you, Mr. Carson,” Rachel said, withdrawing her palm from his touch. She fumbled in her pocket for her small change purse and drew it forth. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Well, let’s see now.” Quickly, he scratched out figures on a piece of brown paper and told her the total of her purchases before he wrapped the bits and pieces together in the heavy paper.

  Rachel counted out her coins and breathed a sigh of relief. She had enough and a bit left over. Recklessly, she handed each boy a penny. “You can buy a piece of candy, if you like,” she told them beneath her breath.

  “Really, Rae?” squeaked Jay.

  “Can we afford it?” Henry whispered, standing tiptoe to speak closer to her ear.

  She nodded and smiled at the two of them, these dear boys she would defend with her very life if need be. And then she watched as they marched quickly to the glass case that held jars of assorted candies.

  He’d give her a week, he’d decided, riding back to the ranch house. He’d let her eke out an existence in the shack, living on fish and rabbits and whatever else she had stowed in that pitiful excuse for a house. And then he’d go back. She’d be ripe by then for another offer.