Promises Keep (The Promise Series) (11 page)

“You can’t guarantee that.”

Dorothy’s hands landed squarely on her hips and Mara finally got to see the temper everyone claimed went with red hair. “Look at me.”

The way the order was rapped out, Mara didn’t have any choice.

“I can guarantee your safety, Mara Kincaid, because that big man out there,” Dorothy pointed toward the door, her body jerking with the force of the movement. “The one that you’re so determined to think the worst of is going to make it his life’s mission to see that you are. And I’ll tell you another thing.” That finger came to point at Mara with the same subdued force. “About the only hands you’d be safer in would be God’s.”

“He’s a man.”

“He’s a good man.”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes everything.”

Mara tightened her grip on the quilt covering her legs. The same quilt this angry woman had just finished tucking in so carefully. The woman who wanted to wrap her in gift wrap as a present for her son. “I don’t want anything changed!”

Except the last few months.

“Change is part of life, Mara,” Dorothy argued almost gently. “You can’t fight it.”

“Leave her be, Dorothy.”

Mara whipped her head around and saw Cougar standing in the doorway. Lord, he was big. All muscle, confidence and cool control.

“It needs to be said, Cougar,” Dorothy countered, love for her son in her voice. “She can’t go on as she has, risking her life and yours.”

“I can do whatever I like!” Mara struggled to rise off the mountain of pillows propped behind her. She needed to gain some advantage.

All she gained was McKinnely’s attention.

In three strides, he was at her side, his big hands swallowing her shoulders as he pushed her back into the pillows. His long black hair swung forward, casting his dark eyes in shadow as he drawled, “Steady.”

The ease with which he subdued her struggles drove a nail through her soul.

“You can’t keep me here,” she hissed, hating the quaver that shook the last word. McKinnely scared her, plain and simple. He was too intense. Too big. Too close. And now, because she couldn’t control her voice, he knew he scared her.

She closed her eyes and counted to ten. His hands left her shoulders. She opened her eyes. He was still standing beside the bed, looking totally out of place against the blue flowered wallpaper that covered the top half of the walls. And he was still looking at her with that mixture of cool control and banked possession, as he always did.

“I didn’t drag you halfway across the territory only to have you do yourself damage in my mother’s home,” he informed her.

“Then let me go home.”

“No.” One word, but it brooked no argument. She gave it to him anyway, matching him glare for glare, pitting her will against his.

“Yes.”

“You can’t leave, Mara,” Dorothy interjected, looking anxiously between them. “You’re hurt.”

Cougar reached for Mara. Her flinch was involuntary. So was her gasp, but all he did was take the sleeve of her borrowed nightgown and slip it back up over her shoulder from where it had fallen. She caught it before it could fall again. A quick glance showed Cougar wasn’t even looking at her. He was staring across the bed at his mother.

“Whatever you’re trying to do, this is not the time.”

“Hrmph.” Dorothy snapped her apron straight, and shoved a hairpin back into her graying red hair. “When do you think the right time might be? When I’m standing by your grave, crying my eyes out over the waste?”

“No one’s going to kill me.”

He seemed very sure of that.

“How do you know? One of these days, you might have to threaten the wrong man in an effort to keep her safe, and then what?”

And then she would be alone without even her secret illusion that there was someone, somewhere she could count on.

“This isn’t any of your business,” he told his mother. It was a softly worded order, but an order nonetheless. Dorothy didn’t seem to notice.

“It most certainly is.”

While pretending to smooth the quilt, Mara watched Cougar out of the corner of her eye. He folded his arms across his chest, his muscles straining his shirt as he said, “No. It isn’t.”

Mara didn’t know where Dorothy got the courage to argue with him, but her arms crossed over her ample bosom and her mouth opened, obviously prepared to do just that.

He silenced her with another shake of his head and a frown. Dorothy huffed in disgust and turned away. “I’ll get Mara something to eat,” she said as she pulled the door open.

“Thank you.”

Dorothy closed the door behind her, and that left just him and her in this small frilly room together. Mara took a breath for strength. She’d never been good at arguing. Up until Cecile’s, she’d always been more inclined to follow orders than give them. She released the breath in a slow steady exhale. A lot of things had changed since then.

“Do you need anything?” he asked.

“No.” At least none of her inner shakiness showed in her voice.

“When Dorothy gets back with dinner, you eat all she brings.”

Who in heaven’s name does he think he is?
The retort that sprang to her lips died as her eyes met his. He was looking at her with a combination of amusement and expectation, his right brow arched in an invitation or a challenge. She wasn’t sure which. As a result, her “I’ll eat what I want” was more a whisper than a statement.

“As long as what you want is everything, I can live with that.”

Well, she couldn’t live with the mouse she turned into whenever he was around. She had a backbone for goodness sake. She put it to use, lifting her chin and straightening her spine. “What you can and cannot live with is not one of my concerns.”

His answer was a flat “It will be.”

What was she supposed to say to that? By the time she thought of something, the silence had gone on too long for it to have any impact. How did people argue like this daily? Her stomach churned. She pressed her hand against it, while she focused on a list of potential retorts to his potential arguments. She’d discovered arguing was easier when she was prepared.

“Everything’s going to be all right for you now,” he vowed quietly.

She hadn’t prepared for that or the memory it tickled. She frowned. “You promised me that before?”

“Yes. On the ride here.”

She skimmed her left wrist with her right hand, remembering the feeling of being restrained. “You held me down?”

“Yes. I did.” He was matter-of-fact as he picked up her arm and shoved back her sleeve, ignoring her tugs to free herself. “You were fighting so hard, I thought you’d hurt yourself.” He touched the mark on her wrist, his frown deepening. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that!”

His gaze flicked to her in surprise. “What?”

“That you’re sorry!” She jerked her hand free. She never wanted to hear those words from anyone again. “Don’t say it!”

He stared at her with knowing eyes and in one sentence, made the nightmare real again.

“He said that when he raped you.”

The man saying that was one of her few clear memories of that night. She took a deep breath, held it and slowly unclenched her fingers. There wasn’t much point in lying. “Yes.”

He leaned forward. She shrank back, but the headboard limited her movement. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. When he stepped back, she could breathe again. When she did, her lungs filled with the scent of sage, tobacco, and man. His scent.

“I would give anything for it not to have happened,” he said quietly.

Mara shifted her body into a better position. “Me, too.”

Even more immediately, she’d give about anything not to be having this conversation. She was lying in a bed, dressed in nothing more than a nightgown, for heaven’s sake!

Cougar transferred his weight from his left foot to his right. A floorboard creaked. The sound scraped Mara’s nerves. She felt raw, exposed, and so confused, she had to know the truth. “Is it true?”

“What?”

“Have you been helping me all these months?”

The floorboard creaked again. “Yes.”

“Why?” When he didn’t answer immediately, she asked him again, “Why have you been helping me? What do you want from me?”

“I don’t want anything.”

“Yes. You do. No one goes to all that trouble for nothing.”

“Some do.”

She eyed him consideringly. The man radiated intensity and purpose. “You don’t.”

His head snapped up. The board gave one final squeak as his weight landed squarely on it. The flick of his eyebrow told her he was surprised she’d figured that out about him.

“You’re right. I don’t.”

“So what do you want?”

“Your attention.”

Two little words that scared her to death. “Why?”

This time, the look he sent her questioned her sanity. “You’ve got to know how beautiful you are from the way the men flock around you.”

“And here I thought my reputation was the draw.”

Her sarcasm took him aback. She could tell from the way his eyes widened before narrowing and the way his hands settled on his lean hips. Well, if he thought he could win her with lies, he had another think coming. Her own Daddy had told her he wouldn’t be able to marry her off without a poke of gold to up the ante, so he’d sold her instead. A girl didn’t have any illusions left after something like that, so she wasn’t falling for this big man’s lies. But it would be nice, she thought, as he kept spinning yarns. Very nice, if half of what he said was true.

“Maybe, at first, the men thought you round in the heels.” He shrugged. “Women who work above stairs are. But, Mara, only a rabid fool would interpret your behavior these last months as anything but proper. You, Miss Kincaid, are a lady from the top of your head to the tips of your shoes.”

A lady dressed in the rag she wore on her back and the shoes she stuffed paper in to fill the holes in the soles? Did he think she was a fool? “Lies are not necessary, Mr. McKinnely. I know who I am, and I’m content with it.”

He leaned his shoulder against the wall and drawled, “Not yet you’re not.”

“I am.”

“Not.”

She folded her arms across her chest, as he had. She hoped it lent her the same appearance of authority as it did him. “Do you have to argue about everything?”

The smile in his voice was unmistakable. “Just some things.”

What did he find so constantly amusing about her? “Why this thing?”

“Because I’ve always had a preference for ladies.”

Did he think because he willed it, he could make it so? “I’m not a lady.”

“You are.”

She blinked back tears that tried to well. Her fingers sank into her upper arms. There was no avoiding the truth. “Ladies aren’t intimate with a man for money.”

“No, they aren’t. Not if they’ve got a choice.”

She wanted this charade over. She met his gaze dead on. “I won’t be your mistress.”

He blinked, and then, impossibly, smiled. “You might want to wait until asked.”

Her stomach heaved and churned. She needed to get away from here. “I don’t understand you.”

“I don’t imagine you do.” He pushed away from the wall and took a step forward. It brought him so close, his knees hit the bed. He was imposingly big, this close. She had to tip her head back to see his face as he said, “But I won’t ever hurt you.”

She could only stare at him as his fingers brushed down the side of her head. Two deep breaths and she had the urge to cringe under control.

“Or let anyone else,” he added as she met his gaze.

His hand slid to her shoulder, where it rested heavy and warm.

“Do you hate my touching you?”

Did he expect her to lie? Want her to lie? Well, she wouldn’t. “Yes.”

“Because he hurt you?”

Her chin inched up a notch. “Yes.”

“I guess you’ve got cause to distrust men,” he admitted on a sigh, patting her shoulder before removing his hand.

She took a steadying breath. What did he want from her? She ran her eyes over his face from hair to chin. He was a handsome man with high cheekbones, deeply bronzed skin, full lips and a straight nose. His chin, however, gave her pause. It was way too aggressive for her peace of mind. Her gaze dropped to his shoulders, wider than her arms could wrap around. She moved her gaze down to his chest, equally massive. He was a man built for strength. For endurance. Her gaze rose back to his stubborn chin that told her he wouldn’t be averse to using that strength to get his way. He was probably well used to getting his way.

She pulled her gaze from his chin and studied his eyes. They were, by far, his best feature. More gold than brown, and they were very expressive. As much as she wanted to hate him, she couldn’t. There was too much regret in those eyes, too much guilty sympathy for her plight, and too damned much consideration for her feelings in his manner for her to hate him. But she could try. She could really try.