Promises Keep (The Promise Series) (37 page)

“You’ve got to admit, miles and miles of wooden fence is a bit shocking on the eyes.”

“Hardly miles and miles,” Cougar countered, grabbing his hat off the peg by the door. “Wood is expensive.”

Clint followed him out the door, grabbing his own hat. “Speaking of fences, how much more can you afford?”

“Not much.” Reaching the barn, he stepped inside the humid interior and began scooping some oats for the horses. He shot Clint a knowing glance. “Getting tired of hammering nails?”

“You might say that.”

“Well, hang in there. One of these days, someone’s going to come up with a cheaper, more effective method of fencing.”

“I don’t see why they have to come up with one at all,” Clint muttered, tossing some hay to the prized mare that was recovering from the same bear attack that had injured Cougar. The bear Cougar had subsequently killed. “There’s plenty of land for everyone.”

“The West is getting smaller every day.”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed sadly. “And isn’t that a shame.”

Chapter Seventeen

Mara scrubbed at the persistent streak on the window. No doubt she’d be hearing from Cougar about the windows being spotless tonight. He’d spent the last week pleasantly exhausting her at night and ordering her to rest in the morning. Every day, as soon as he rode out, she went about her business, the way he went about his. The first evening he’d come back, he’d come through the door like a thundercloud. Apparently, every ranch hand down to the fourteen-year-old barn help had reported every move she’d made through the day. Supper had grown cold while he’d recited a litany of all she’d done against his orders, and then all the ways this could negatively affect her health. She shook her head. As if she were made of cotton fluff and the first strong wind would blow her away.

The second day he’d come home, he’d spotted the crates she’d pried open and hit the roof. The man was not a yeller, but he was not above using his size and presence to intimidate. Unfortunately for him, she didn’t agree with his assessment. If her bodice hadn’t gaped as she’d hunched her shoulders on a neutral “I don’t know,” she might still be listening to him carp. The third day, he’d caught her emptying the washtub. He’d opened his mouth to lecture her, took one look at the sodden front of her dress and dragged her into the house where he’d taken her roughly against the wall. The fourth day, he’d come through the door with an air of resignation, looked at the new crates she’d opened, shook his head, scooped her up and carried her to bed. Yesterday, he’d merely walked through the door, caught her around the waist, and back stepped her to the sofa.

She was beginning to get the impression that Cougar took her to bed so often because it was the only place he felt that she obeyed.

And she did obey him there. She just loved how he handled her body, the dark orders he issued into her ear, and the way she could trust him to make it good for her. She knew if he asked for permission, she’d be frozen in indecision, but the no-nonsense way he took charge freed her from her modesty. He was her husband. He gave the orders. She obeyed. It worked out perfectly. She scratched at a speck on the sill and grinned at her reflection. At least in the bedroom.

* * * * *

The sound of a harness jangling came to the left of the house. She pulled the curtain back in time to see a woman pulling up in a fancy carriage. A beautifully put together, proper from her head to her toes stranger. One who was obviously very pregnant.

Around the corner behind her came a big man racing in on a big black horse. Dust spewed when the horse sat back on its hindquarters as the rider pulled up ten feet away from the woman. There was nothing in the woman’s expression to show that she was expecting him or glad to see him.

The man gave Mara pause. He had an air about him. A dangerous quality very reminiscent of Cougar, except she didn’t know this man and the way he cradled the rifle across his saddle and the frown on his face would put the fear of God into anyone.

She brushed at the front of her borrowed dress and patted her thigh, the bulge of the knife reassuring against her hand. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

A harsh “Goddammit” as she stepped onto the porch sent her heart to her throat and her gaze searching for the source.

The big man was striding away from the hitching post where he’d tied his horse, and was bearing down on the small, pregnant woman who was reaching into the back of the buggy. He grabbed the woman’s arm. They exchanged words. His scowl deepened as he listened to what she said. When she paused to take a breath, he muttered a “To hell with it,” that carried clearly, and swept her up in his arms.

His face, as he approached the house, was tight and hard. His scowl, scary. Downright dangerous. Mara stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind her. Having this man in her house would be like being caged with a wild animal.

He looked up as his boot hit the bottom step of the porch, took in her standing there, blocking the way, and the closed door behind her.

He dipped the brim of his hat in her direction, offered an “Excuse me, Ma’am,” and kept on coming.

He had the coldest eyes Mara had ever seen. Killer’s eyes. Deep silver. They seemed to look right through her. She ordered her feet to stay put when he came up on the third step. He was forced to stop, the shoulder of the woman in his arms almost brushing her folded arms.

He seemed surprised to find her still there. Why, when it was her house he was trying to enter, she didn’t know, but he was surprised as evidenced by the way his right eyebrow arched up.

“You’re standing in my way, Ma’am.”

The woman in his arms turned her head into his shoulder, murmured something and kept her face hidden.

Mara kept her response short, “I know.”

His left brow shot up as high as his right, “And you don’t feel that’s a might unneighborly?”

She slipped her hand into the pocket of her skirt through the slit until she could finger the hilt of her knife. “No.”

“You here alone, Ma’am?” he asked.

She looked across the yard to the barn. There was no sign of movement.

“No.” Cougar was going to kill her for opening the door, especially to a man who wore two guns strapped low on his thighs.

“Your husband know you greet strangers on the porch?”

“Yes,” she lied.

“He approve?”

The woman in the man’s arms stirred. With his big hand, he pressed her face into his shoulder, rendering the words she uttered senseless. Her hand swung at his head. He caught it with the hand under her knees as he balanced her weight on his forearm.

“Pardon my saying so, Ma’am,” he said as he shifted the woman to a better position, “but I find that hard to believe.”

She didn’t particularly care. She pulled her knife free of the sheath, letting it rest against her thigh. “Who are you?”

“I’m your neighbor to the left.”

That told her nothing.

“Do you have a name?”

“Uh-huh.” He winced. Mara had the impression that the woman in his arms had just bit him. Nothing in his expression changed except for the fact that she saw a flash of amusement chase across his stern features.

She pulled the knife from her skirt. “You need to put the woman down.”

He looked at her, at the knife, and then back at her. “Not a wise choice of orders if you ask me, Ma’am.”

“I didn’t ask you.”

He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Seeing as how I’m a friend of your husband’s, I feel obligated to educate you on this one.”

This time, she heard the “Shut up, Asa,” the woman groaned before he buried her face back into his shirt.

The name tickled the edge of her memory. While she worked on dredging up where she’d heard it before, Asa continued with his lecture. “If I put Elizabeth down, two things are going to happen. One, she’s going to start lecturing me on the impropriety of carrying her across the yard and two, my hands are going to be free.”

Mara stepped back. She hit the door.

Asa nodded. “Yup. And that would be number three. You’ve got nowhere to go, and considering my arms are longer than yours and I’ve been in more knife fights than years you’ve been alive…” He shrugged. “Well, I’m going to be the clear winner in this wrangle.”

She paused, assessing his easy confidence. He might be right. It didn’t change her course of action, but it did put a dent in her confidence. The last she didn’t let show. “You still need to put her down.”

“We’re both going to regret it.”

“I don’t think so.”

He shook his head. “You’ll see. By now, she’s worked up a good head of steam.”

“Which I imagine she’ll be directing at you.”

His sigh was long-suffering. “You could be right.”

He ever so gently let the woman’s legs drop until her feet hit the porch. His big hands on her shoulders were protective as she found her balance. They slid to cup her pregnant belly as he pulled her back against his chest.

The woman rested easily against him. She straightened her hat. The little feather poked the man in the eye. He flinched back but his hands never left her body and he never removed his support.

The woman looked at Mara. Her face was red with embarrassment. Her expression wry. “You must be Mara McKinnely.” She held out her hand. “I’m Elizabeth MacIntyre.”

Mara wiped her hand on her skirt before taking Elizabeth’s. This perfect example of propriety was the woman Cougar admired, and spoke of with such warmth? She felt rumpled and inadequate in her hand-me-down gown. “Nice to meet you.”

Elizabeth placed her hands over her husband’s and removed them from her stomach. She stepped to the side. “This is my husband, Asa.”

He took his eyes from his wife just long enough to tip his hat to Mara. “Pleased to meet you.”

His hand hovered near the base of his wife’s spine. Mara got the impression he thought she was in eminent danger of tipping backwards. Why he would think that, she didn’t know as the woman’s stomach was so huge, Mara didn’t see how she kept from pitching onto her face.

“I hope you don’t take offense about my visiting?” Elizabeth asked.

“Of course not.”

Elizabeth wiped her forehead. “Oh good. Some women are so wrapped up in propriety that they would be.”

Mara hadn’t a clue to what she was talking about. She made a mental note to look it up in her etiquette book.

Elizabeth grimaced and stretched her spine. “Which I think is perfectly ridiculous. There’s nothing unseemly about an expecting woman.”

“Unless it’s the way she takes risks,” Asa muttered, his hand going to his wife’s spine where he massaged gently.

Elizabeth groaned softly and curved into his touch. “The backaches are a killer,” she told Mara through a soft hiss of breath.

“Oh.” Mara couldn’t think of anything more eloquent to say.

This time, Elizabeth was the one to grimace. “I suppose I shouldn’t have mentioned that. It’s all Asa’s fault.”

Asa’s skeptical “Uh-huh” coincided with Mara’s curious “Oh?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Elizabeth turned, kissed her husband’s lips lightly and stepped away. “He has a complete disregard for propriety. It’s rubbing off on me.”

Asa didn’t look the least repentant.

Again, she didn’t know what to say. She settled for, “Really?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Definitely. If I’m not careful, our children will grow up hooligans.”

Asa climbed the last step. This close, he was too big, too masculine. Mara shifted to the side. As if he sensed her unease, the big man took up a position on the other side of his wife.

“If they grow to be hooligans, it won’t be because of me,” he assured Mara. “I’ve been toeing the line proper, right down to the rule that states very pregnant women should stay home.”

Elizabeth waved off his censure. “He’s convinced our son will make an appearance the first time he looks the other way.”

“I’m convinced you’re going to shake her out before she’s ready by riding around in that buggy.”

Elizabeth tugged at the fingers of her black lace gloves. “I’m having a boy and if it were that easy to have a baby, they wouldn’t call it labor.”

“Uh-huh. And if it were as safe as you want me to believe, it wouldn’t be called a delicate condition.”

Elizabeth cocked her eyebrow at him. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“As a matter of fact I do, but seeing as you’re determined to be difficult, I’m stuck here.”

To Mara’s eyes, he didn’t look stuck. He looked pretty darned content. And so did Elizabeth.

Mara decided there was nothing to do but invite them inside. She wished the place wasn’t such a mess. She wished she’d baked those cookies she’d been planning on making. At least, she’d set a pitcher of tea to brew. “Would you like some cool tea?”

Elizabeth brightened immediately. “I would love some.”

Asa reached around both women and opened the door. He cupped his hand under Elizabeth’s elbow as she passed, steadying her as she stubbed her toe on the doorjamb. Mara thought it was cute the way he hovered while Elizabeth just proceeded as if her walk hadn’t been stolen by a waddle. The fond amusement in Asa’s eyes as he watched his wife lumber to a stop in the middle of the foyer was obvious.