The Wedding Promise (Harlequin Historical) Page 9
Perhaps the time for evasion was at an end. She was what he wanted in a woman; he’d decided the first time he spotted her, living in that shack on the north end of his ranch. Even then, in a petticoat that barely contained her lush charms, he’d recognized a purity, an innocence he could not deny.
Whether or not he deserved the happiness she might bring him, he felt the yearning of his soul for her presence in his life.
So be it. Rachel would be his.
“Rachel?” His voice was gruff, harsh in his own ears, and yet she opened her eyes to meet his gaze without hesitation.
“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to frighten you. It won’t happen again.” Not until he had her in his bed, at any rate, his honest heart reminded him.
She nodded hesitantly, her blush fading as his words assured her. “I must seem awfully young and foolish, Cord,” she said hesitantly. Her eyes met his with an honesty in their depths he could not doubt. “No one has ever kissed me before, except for a man on the wagon train.” Her nose wrinkled in a gesture of disgust that brought a smothered chuckle from his throat.
“Why did you let him kiss you, Rachel?” Although he certainly didn’t blame the hapless fellow for trying.
“I didn’t!” she said indignantly. “He just grabbed at me and slobbered all over me. He had a passel of children, his wife was dead, and he wanted me to marry him.”
“And you turned him down?” Cord asked with amusement.
Her head nodded firmly. “You bet I did. I don’t blame her for leaving him in the only way she could. I’ll bet he’d have given her a baby a year from now till forever.”
“She died in childbirth?” His face was sober now at the thought of such suffering during the harsh rigors of a wagon trip across the country.
Rachel nodded. “I wasn’t about to take on the job, and I couldn’t have stood him kissing on me. I just said I wasn’t interested, thank you.”
Her prim recital of the facts made him smile, her mouth pursing as she considered the kiss she had received at the hands of her would-be suitor.
“And I kissed you that way and reminded you of him?”
“Oh, no! It was nothing like that. It just made me…I just felt so strange…inside where…” She stopped, obviously helpless to describe the beginning stages of desire, and Cord nodded, accepting her words.
“Desire is not determined by our minds, Rachel. Our bodies are strange things. We can feel a need for another person without rhyme or reason. The way I kissed you is the way a man and woman who are going to make love might express their feelings.”
“We’re not going to make love,” she blurted. “I’m your cook, Cord!”
“For now.” He eased the firmness of his hold on her, moving her to arm’s length as he shifted his stance. Distance would ease the discomfort he felt, a bucket of cold water over his head might even ready him for a day of hard riding. Right now, mounting his horse would guarantee him a pain he wasn’t about to look for.
She cocked her head and he drank in the beauty she seemed so unaware of. Her hair had loosened from the simple plait she formed every morning, falling in loose tendrils about her face. Her eyelids were damp, lashes stuck together in a frame that enhanced the dark blue of her eyes. The dimples were almost in evidence as she offered a half smile, and he watched for them as he might have sought the rising sun in the morning.
He was sure enough smitten, he decided, his sigh a recognition of the fact. “I’ve got work to do, Rachel,” he told her, setting her farther from him. “Sam will keep a good eye on your brothers. Don’t worry about them. Just fix me a good dinner, will you?”
Unable to resist, he leaned forward to snatch a quick kiss from the pink softness of her mouth, his lips closed and firm against hers.
She looked a bit bewildered, he thought as he strode from the house. And well she might be. He’d made a complete ass of himself.
“I’m going to speak to Lorena and see if she’ll come to work for us,” Cord announced. Rachel was drying the last of the supper dishes and she turned to him, towel in hand.
“What about Jake? Will he pitch a fit, do you think?”
Cord shrugged. “What can he do?”
“Make her life miserable. She loves him, Cord! What do you think it will do to her to have him shout and carry on the way he did yesterday?”
“The way he carried on yesterday told me he still cares about the woman, Rachel. He’s my brother and I love him. If having Rena here brings him back to life, I’m all for it.”
“She’ll be hurt!” Rachel twisted the towel between her hands, her eyes dark with concern for the young woman.
“Better her to bear some wounds than for Jake to live and die in that room.” Cord’s words were fierce, whispered in a savage tone that sealed the decision. “I’m going over there tomorrow to talk to her. She’ll know what she’s getting into, and I’m willing to lay money that she’ll come.”
“All right,” Rachel conceded, aware she had lost this battle before it began. “I can use the help, that’s for sure.” Her smile broke through as she considered the idea. “It will be good to have another woman here. I think I’ll let her clean the library, first thing.”
Chapter Seven
The burn pile was located far from the barn, an equal distance from the house. Sam watched it with an eagle eye. With the sun shining brightly for the third week in a row, and no rain in sight, the chance of fire spreading was great.
The household trash from a week or so was there, along with an assortment of papers and old periodicals dragged from the library yesterday.
Rachel smiled to herself as she recalled the vision of Lorena tugging three boxes of assorted rubbish from Jake’s hideaway. He’d stayed stubbornly by the window, after the first set-to. His gaze had focused on some faraway spot, only occasionally turning to watch the determined woman who had set herself to cleaning up the room he lived in.
From the doorway, Rachel had peeked in, more than once, willing the man to unbend, yet realizing it was far too soon to expect him to change the habits of years.
“Good morning, Rachel.” Lorena entered the kitchen, rolling up the sleeves of her dress to the elbow, her hair pulled back in a neat snood at the nape of her neck.
Rachel cast a brilliant smile in the young woman’s direction. It was like a gift from heaven, having her here. After just one day, she’d proved herself to be efficient and industrious, both qualities Rachel could only admire.
That her own work would be lessened by Lorena’s arrival was a fact. That her company would be a joy and a delight was a bonus she was prepared to take advantage of.
“After breakfast, we need to shuck peas, and then we have to work in the garden,” Rachel told her, pulling cinnamon rolls from the oven. She’d set them to rise for the second time last evening and put them in the hot oven first thing upon awakening this morning. The men would be pleased, and pleasing the menfolk in her life seemed to be the focus of her days, she reflected.
Lorena’s hands were full, distributing plates the length of the table. “I can pull weeds while you shuck peas on the porch,” she offered, as if willing to do the more menial task.
Rachel laughed as she cracked eggs into a crockery bowl. “Not a chance! I’ve been wanting someone to talk to for weeks, and I’ll be jiggered if we’re going to separate to do chores. We’ll do them together.”
Lorena’s smile lost its sparkle for a moment, and her voice lowered. “I want to talk to you, anyway. About Jake.”
“Wait until we’re outdoors,” Rachel cautioned in a whisper. “He was in the hallway yesterday while you were cleaning the parlor. He manages to get around without even a whisper of noise, and neither of us wants him listening while we discuss him.” Her eyes glanced at the kitchen door several times as she spoke and then she placed a finger against her lips.
Lorena nodded her understanding, her hands busy sorting out the silverware for breakfast In a few minutes the men began finding their seats at the tab
le and Rachel spooned out scrambled eggs onto their plates. Lorena pulled a steaming platter of sausages from the oven, and in moments the kitchen was filled with laughter and the sounds of men preparing for a day’s work.
“He wouldn’t let me in the library this morning,” Lorena said quietly as she ran her thumb down the length of a pea pod. It split open and seven round specimens rolled into the bowl she held in her lap. The pod was discarded in a pail by her side and another pea pod picked up and disposed of in the same manner.
“You’re showing me up,” Rachel said, her own movements slower.
“I’ve been doing this all my life,” Lorena answered. “My grandma taught me how to shell peas the summer I was five. We used to sit on the porch by the hour, her telling me stories and me just following her lead.”
“We had a cook back home,” Rachel confided. “I only learned to put a meal together after we started on the wagon train. Mama was sort of sickly and I did the cooking for our family every day.”
Lorena popped a pea into her mouth. “These are nice and tender, Rachel. Did Conrad sell them to you?”
Rachel nodded. “He sent a mess of green beans home with me, too. He said they were the first ones to come in. I washed them up and put them on to cook before breakfast.”
“What else did he say to you? Did he ask you to the dance tomorrow night?”
“He asked, and I said no.”
“For pity’s sake! Why don’t you go with him? He’s a fine catch, girl. He has his own business and he’s an usher at church.”
Rachel shook her head. “I don’t know why. I just felt like it would be leading him on to accept and have him come all the way out here to pick me up.”
Lorena grinned. “I’ll bet he wouldn’t have cared. Chances are he was looking forward to the long ride back out here afterward.”
“If she goes to the dance, she’ll go with me,” Cord said from the other side of the screen door.
“Land sake! How did you get in the house?” Rachel asked, twisting in her chair to look at the tall rancher.
“Came in the front door,” he said. “My horse is out front waiting on me. I needed an extra kerchief to tie over my mouth.”
“My pa is ready to start cuttin’ on the young bulls next week, so he can get them out in the far pasture for the summer,” Rena said.
Cord cast a look at Rachel, hesitating a moment. “We’re gettin’ to that, Rena. We’re done with the branding.”
“You going to the dance, Cord?” the woman asked with a sly look at Rachel.
Cord slid his hands into his pockets, rocking on his heels as he considered the two young women on his back porch. “Might,” he allowed. “It all depends.”
Rachel’s face flamed as the conversation flowed past her. With a sigh, she poured the peas she’d shucked into the bowl Lorena held and rose from her chair.
“I’ll be in the garden,” she said brightly. “Those weeds will be getting away from me, and all the effort Conrad put into bringing those tomato plants out here will have been in vain.”
She ran lightly down the porch stairs and moved quickly toward the garden patch, a small fenced area between the house and the chicken coop.
“Why don’t you ask her, Cord?” Lorena asked, giving him an impatient look.
“I don’t do much dancin’,” he muttered.
“Don’t let her get away. You’ll be sorry if you do.”
“I don’t need to take her dancin’ to court her.” His voice held a trace of stubborn pride.
“It wouldn’t hurt any.”
“You think she’s takin’ Conrad seriously?” Cord’s gaze was fastened on Rachel, down on her knees in the garden.
Lorena smiled, her face bent to the pan of peas in her lap. “I’m sure there are a dozen women hereabouts who’d give their eyeteeth for a chance at Conrad Carson. Why should Rachel be any different?”
Subduing her amusement, she lifted her head to meet Cord’s gaze. “He’s a real catch, Cord. If he asks her to marry him, she’ll be a lucky girl.”
His snort was immediate and expressive. “Lucky? To be tied to a stiff-collared, pale-faced storekeeper? Rachel needs a man in her life, not a grocery clerk.”
“You got anybody in mind?” The query was softly spoken, her glance sidelong.
“Damn right, and you know it, Rena Claypool!”
“Then do something about it. I’ve got to finish up in the library.” Picking up the pan of shucked peas, she rose, facing the man in the kitchen doorway.
His palm slapped the wooden frame and the door was flung open, banging against the house siding. He stepped across the sill and in three long strides had cleared the porch and steps. Hat at a jaunty angle, he slowed his pace, heading for the garden patch.
Rachel’s slender form was bent low, her arms stretching as she reached for the weeds before her. Piling a handful in the basket she’d designated for the purpose, she rose, gathering her skirts as she moved forward another three feet or so. Her ankles and lower calves were nicely outlined against the fragile green of the waving carrot tops, and Cord’s eyes were drawn to the sight She’d obviously scorned wearing stockings, working as she did in the garden, and had kicked off her shoes at the edge of the row. Her toes were pink against the dark soil and she curled them into the dirt, as if she relished the coolness hidden there.
He halted, his breathing a conscious effort as he watched the young woman kneel. Like a penitent, she gazed up at the sky, narrowing her eyes to shield them from the sunlight, and a faint smile touched her lips as a robin flew overhead, landing just a few feet away from her.
My God, he thought in a reverent manner that had almost escaped him over the past years. What if he hadn’t found her? What if he’d missed out on having Rachel Sinclair in his life?
She glanced to where he stood and her eyes widened as she met his gaze. “What do you want, Cord?”
He swallowed the words that would have stunned her with their boldness. “Thought maybe you’d consider…”
From the field beyond the apple trees a shout of distress ended his question. His body was poised for action as he turned on his heel to face the danger inherent in such a call. Jay and Henry danced about in a frenzy, and Sam was leaning forward, his shirtsleeves ablaze.
Henry halted suddenly and snatched up the pail of water Sam had carried to the burn pile. Stumbling, water splashing from the pail as he moved, he poured its contents over Sam’s hands and arms.
“Rachel…Mr. Cord…come quick!” the boy called, his thin reedy voice rising above the frantic cries of Jay, who had succumbed to tears.
Cord was already on his way, halfway to the tableau before him, and Rachel stumbled to her feet, following quickly. Sam was white-faced, his hands beet-red from the heat of the blaze. His shirtsleeves were blackened and wet, hanging from his forearms.
Thankfully, the water had done the trick, and Cord blessed the quick thinking of Henry Sinclair. Sam’s arms were reddened, but the skin had not turned black. Blisters were rising above his wrists and his mouth poured forth a steady stream of cuss words.
“Help me get him to the horse trough, Rachel,” Cord ordered, his shoulder easing beneath the old man’s armpit.
“Yes, of course.” Breathless and frantic, she followed Cord’s lead, and between them, they hustled Sam to the pump.
He knelt against the trough and Cord shouted instructions to the boys, who were only steps behind. “Pump fresh water, Henry. Jay, go in the house and get towels, a couple of ‘em.”
“Yessir!” Jay’s feet flew as he obeyed Cord’s instructions, his fingers scrubbing at his eyes, dirt marking his efforts to halt the tears.
Henry gave his full strength to the pitcher pump and water cascaded from its mouth to pour in a cold gush over Sam’s hands and arms. Cord stood behind him, his muscular thighs gripping the old man’s shoulders, submerging him upright on his knees. His long fingers gripped Sam’s elbows, holding his hands just under the surface of the water.
“The wind caught up a piece of paper and it snagged on his shirt,” Henry said, panting with his efforts. “It flared up before we could do anything. Mr. Sam was brushing at it and it caught the other sleeve on fire, too.”
Cord nodded. “You saved the day, Henry. You used your head.”
“I’m so proud of you,” Rachel said, her own tears flowing in a steady stream.
“Told you the boy was a winner, didn’t I?” Sam grumbled, swaying as he spoke. His face had paled, his eyes feverish with pain as he viewed the blistered skin on his arms.
“You’re headin’ for the spare room, Sam,” Cord told him, his tone offering no room for argument.
“Hell, the bunkhouse is good enough. I’ll be up and around tomorrow. Just need a little salve and an old sheet torn up to cover the blisters.”
Rachel drew in a quick breath, but Cord beat her to the draw. “You’ll come to the house and let Rachel tend those burns, Sam. I don’t need to have you out for weeks with infection.”
“Do what the boss says or hit the road? Is that the way it goes?” the grizzled cowhand asked, his words slurring as he stumbled to his feet.
“You can take it any way you like, Sam Bostwick. I’m runnin’ the show around here. I’m telling you this is the way it’s gonna be.” Cord stated the facts, his voice gruff but his hands gentle as he guided Sam to the house.
Rachel wrung out the wet towels, draping them over Sam’s hands and arms as he passed her. “They’ll keep down the burning,” she said, her touch careful as she tended him.
“Thank you, ma’am.” Courteous to the core, Sam bobbed his head, then stumbled. Cord’s arm tightened around him and he half lifted him up the steps.
“I ain’t dead yet, McPherson. Leave me be.” Wrenching himself from Cord’s grasp, Sam made it to the door, then inside the kitchen, where Rachel pulled out a chair for him to sit on.