Promises Keep (The Promise Series) (22 page)

“Let me go, Cougar,” she ordered.

He paused and the look in his eyes was distinctly predatory. “No.” His hair, tangled and damp with sweat, fell against her shoulder. His lips found her cheek as he drawled, “In bed, Angel, I give the orders.”

His fingers tugged at her hair as he shifted and pushed up. The tugs of pain blended with her panting breaths.

He was straddling her torso now, his muscular thighs tucked against her ribs, his knees wedged into her armpits. His balls rocked against her stomach as he brought his hips forward until his penis towered above her mouth.

She turned her head away. His fingers on her chin were gentle, yet inescapable as he brought her face back.

He stroked his cock in one hand, working its engorged length downward with each pass of his hand as he asked, “Do you know how long I’ve been dreaming of your mouth, Mara? Of feeling it wrapped tight around me, sucking me? Your hot little tongue stroking the tip, driving me wild until I can’t help but give you what you want?”

No. She hadn’t and she didn’t want to know now, but try as she might, she couldn’t escape. Oh God, she had wanted so much more than this between them. The first sob caught her by surprise. The second shamed her with her inability to keep it back. The third hit the air, and Cougar with the snap of a blow.

In an instant, he was off her and by her side on the big bed. The mattress listed as he pulled her into his arms, against his chest, his hands stroking her back gently. “Don’t cry, Angel,” he crooned against the top of her head as if he hadn’t been the source of her tears. “Don’t cry. I’ve got you. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.” He nuzzled his mouth against her temple. “I’ve got you,” he sighed one last time. His arms wrapped tighter around her, sheltering her in his strength.

Mara blinked, and slowly absorbed the fact that he was now intent on giving comfort. And because she was still feeling the aftershocks of fear, because she needed someone to hold her against the confusion her life had become, she turned her face into the solid strength of his shoulder and took it.

A few moments later, she heard footsteps on the floor downstairs. Nidia, no doubt. A door opened and closed. Cougar’s arms loosened and he fell back. A quick check revealed he was sleeping again. Slipping free of his grip, Mara stood. Cougar lay where she’d left him, the white sheets casting his big muscled body in sharp relief. She placed her hand on his stomach below the bandages. He was burning up.

She slid her hand over the deep ridges of muscle covering his abdomen. They crisscrossed the flat plane. She ran her hand over the hills and valleys. Below his navel, they cut inward in a sharp vee. A line of dark hair spread out from the center of his stomach just above his hip bones. She stopped her explorations when she reached the sheet covering his hips. She tried to pinch his skin, but she couldn’t. There wasn’t an ounce of excess flesh on his massive frame. He was all hard bone and solid muscle. A scar puckered the skin above his left hipbone. It stretched and smoothed as it angled toward his stomach. She touched it gently, marveling that he’d survived such a wound.

There were other scars on his torso. A small circular one on his right shoulder. A long curved one covering his ribs on the left side. A wicked rough-edged one pitted his upper arm just below his right shoulder. If she had any lingering doubts that her husband was a warrior, they were dispelled by the evidence before her. He was a man in his prime, tested by life, alive because of his skill.

He moaned and she petted his stomach soothingly, her finger catching in his navel. His skin was sticky with dried sweat. He needed a bath. Medicine. Care. She needed help. Now.

She left the bedroom, calling for Nidia. There was no response. No one else came to see why she was screeching like a banshee. There was just the hollow echo of her voice in answer. Great.

She threw open the front door. She’d lost her home, her virtue, and nearly her sanity in the last few months. She’d be damned if she was going to lose her husband as well. To her right, she spotted some outbuildings. One of them had to be a barn and one had to be a bunkhouse. Two places she might find help. She hit the bunkhouse first. Not only was it filthy, but it was empty. The barn, in contrast, was neat as a pin, and boasted one cowhand sitting on a bale of hay mending a bridle. His left leg was splinted and propped out to the side.

He had the gall to be whistling. A bright happy tune as if there wasn’t a care in the world. Mara grabbed up the pitchfork propped against the wall and advanced on him. He never heard her come up behind him. She shifted the pitchfork in her grip and poked him in the ass.

The whistling shrilled to a halt. He stood and spun around on his good leg, the bridle flaring out. She leaned back. The metal bit just missed her jaw.

“Dammit, woman. What in hell are you doing?” the man demanded. He had the same dark skin as Cougar, similar features but his eyes were black as sin and she wouldn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.

She kept the pitchfork pointed at his stomach. “I believe that’s my question.”

He took a hopping step forward and she stabbed at his midsection. He paused and his head cocked slightly to the side as he studied her.

She motioned with the tines toward his hand. “Drop the bridle.”

He slowly lowered it to the hay bale. “What are you doing down here whistling when Cougar’s up at the house dying?” she demanded.

He shrugged, his hands open and away from his sides. “Mending a bridle.” His dark eyes narrowed slightly as he asked a question of his own. “You mind putting the pitchfork down and telling me what makes you think Cougar’s dying?”

“Yes, I mind.” He didn’t appear affected at all by her response unless she counted the gathering of muscles beneath the cotton of his blue shirt. She tightened her grip on the pitchfork. Too late.

In a smooth move that looked lazy and unthreatening, the cowboy yanked the weapon out of her hands. With the same apparent indolence, he caught her by the arm when the subsequent pain in her ribs threatened to send her to her knees. He lowered her to the bale of hay.

“Are you all right, Ma’am?”

He asked the question with utmost courtesy, but his grip on her arm was iron-tight.

Mara sagged in his grasp. What was she going to do? If nobody on this Godforsaken place lifted a hand to help her, Cougar would die. She glared at the cowboy. He stared back at her, his expression relaxed if she discounted the intensity in his gaze as he waited for her to answer. It dawned on Mara that maybe he didn’t know about Cougar.

“I’m fine.”

His grip on her arm didn’t relax. “Are you Cougar’s new wife?”

“Yes.”

He tipped his hat to her with his free hand. His smile was a practiced slide of his lips across his teeth that didn’t touch his eyes, but was charming anyway. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

She’d just bet he had. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

“I hear you’re part angel, part hellcat and the sweetest thing Cougar’s seen in a coon’s age.”

Defiance left her on a soft “Oh.”
Cougar said things like that about her?

“Now, tell me what’s wrong with Cougar?” the man asked, his grip on her arm reminding her there were more important things to focus on than the fact that her husband had been bragging on her.

“Nidia said a bear attack.”

He frowned. Again, it was only the slightest shift of expressions, but she caught it because she’d been staring at him so hard. “Nidia’s been taking care of him?”

“Yes.”

“Shit!”

Those had been her sentiments. Apparently, he was well acquainted with Nidia because there was resignation in his voice as he asked, “How bad is he?”

“I just got here a half hour ago. When I saw him, Nidia was…” She ducked her head. What Nidia had been doing wasn’t something she wanted everyone to know. “When I saw him,” she began again, “he was out of his head with fever. I haven’t had a chance to examine him further.”

The cowboy shifted his weight fully onto his good leg. Bits of hay drifted up to float through the sunbeams. He looked like he was going to say something, checked himself, and with another of those deceptively lazy movements, resettled his hat on his head.

“Damn. We need Doc.”

At last. Reason. “Yes.”

“I’ll get him.” He turned toward one of the stalls.

“Don’t you be worrying, Ma’am,” he called as he disappeared into the stall. “Cougar’s too ornery to die from a few bear scratches.”

No doubt, he meant to reassure her, but Mara had heard about Cougar’s immortality one too many times already. She got to her feet, slapping at the straw on her skirt. “His reputation may be immortal, but I assure you the man can die as easily as the rest of us.”

He glanced at her as he dragged the hand-tooled saddle off the rail it had been sitting on. “He’s that bad?”

“Yes.”

“You get back in the house and do what you can for Cougar. I’ll ride like the demons of He…Hades.” He grunted as he moved deeper into the stall. Maneuvering that saddle must be hell on his leg. “I’ll be back with Doc before you know it,” was muted as he worked.

“You can’t ride with a broken leg.”

“Not a problem,” came the unconcerned response from inside the stall. She stood on tiptoe to see over the stall wall. She glimpsed a flash of brown as the saddle swung high and then there was only the sound of leather sliding across leather. The cowboy limped out of the stall leading a fine looking buckskin.

Mara met him halfway into the corridor created by the six stalls on either side. She grabbed the reins out of his hands. “I can’t afford you falling off midway between here and Doc’s.”

He took the reins back. “I haven’t tumbled off a horse since I was in knee-high to a grasshopper.”

She grabbed the reins again, but this time he didn’t let go. The buckskin tossed his head and nickered nervously at their tug of war. “Well, Mr. Whoever you are, today is not going to be the first time in a long time.”

The man soothed the horse with a rub on his muzzle. His answer was slow and deceptively casual. “The name’s Clint, Ma’am. And I’ve ridden horses while more busted up than this. Now, if you’d let go of those reins?”

“No.” There was no way in hell she was doing that. “You’ll have to take the wagon.”

“Ride in a wagon?” Clint’s lazy gaze flickered with what she would have sworn was horror. He didn’t slacken his grip on the reins. His mouth set in a determined line that reminded Mara distinctly of Cougar. “I don’t think so.”

“You’re the only hope I’ve got.” A quick glance showed the pitchfork too far away to grab easily. More’s the pity.

“And I won’t be letting you down. Cougar’s my cousin, our mothers were sisters. There’s no way I’d let anything happen to him.”

Relief slid through her. “Good. Then we can stop arguing.”

“Not if you’re still thinking I’m going to take the wagon.”

“If you ride that horse with your leg all busted up just to prove how tough you are and then fall off, there’ll be nobody left to notify Doc that I need him. Desperately.”

As if she’d been speaking gibberish, Clint swung up onto his horse, awkwardly angling his splinted leg over the saddle. Leaning down, he flicked her cheek with his finger before prying the reins from her hands.

 
“Try not to worry, Mrs. McKinnely. I’ve been riding horses since before I could walk.”

When Mara opened her mouth on another protest, Clint shook his head before letting his grin slide, showing his seriousness. “It’s better I don’t take the wagon. Not only can I travel faster on horseback, but if something should happen to me, you’re going to need that wagon to move Cougar.”

There really was no refuting that logic, but Mara had plenty of arguments set to try. Before she could trot one out, Clint kicked his horse into a gallop. She watched as he cleared the corral, dust kicking up in his wake. He was right about one thing. He could ride.

Chapter Eleven

Pain woke Cougar. The bed shook and his chest was on fire. He struggled to his side, grunting with the effort, to spot Mara hunched against his bed holding her knees, her body jerking as if she were sobbing. “What’s wrong?”

Mara jerked around. “You’re awake!”

“Yeah.” He felt like something the cat had dragged in. Mara didn’t look much better than he felt. Her skin was bleached white by the bright light filtering through the lace curtains, and her lips were nearly colorless. Her cheeks were dry. He propped himself higher up on his elbow. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not.” There might not be tears on her cheeks but he couldn’t shake the feeling she’d been crying.

Pushing up off the floor, she got to her feet. Her movements were stiff and heavy.

“Then let me try again.” Dammit! She looked worse than when he’d left her. His voice, raspy with disuse, got harsher as he rephrased, “What’s wrong?”

She threw him a look that questioned his intelligence.

“You’ve been sick.”

“And that had you crying?”

“I never cry.”

“Okay. So what had you not crying?”

“I’m just tired.” She grabbed up the flowered pitcher on the bedside table. “You must be thirsty.”