Promises Keep (The Promise Series) (51 page)

There came a sharp knock on the back door.

“That’s the Reverend, I expect,” Millicent said, pushing herself to her feet. “Why don’t you fill these two in on our little group while I show him in?”

Pearl patted her bun in place before intoning loftily. “Women Outmaneuvering Male Bullheadedness.”

Mara clapped her hands together as she understood the acronym. “W.O.M.B.!”

Lorie laughed out loud. “I like it.”

“Good,” Dorothy chuckled as two sets of heavy footsteps could be heard approaching. “If you like the name, I expect you’re just going to love the rest.”

Millicent returned with Reverend Swanson in tow.

“Ladies.” Reverend Swanson tipped his hat to the gathering. In his hands, he held a bulky package wrapped in brown paper. “I take it from the message I received this morning that another meeting of W.O.M.B. is about to take place?”

“He knows?” Lorie asked as Mara squirmed uncomfortably on the settee. Pearl poked her in the ribs with her elbow.

“Darn tooting.” Millicent relieved the good Reverend of his burden. “Couldn’t have a meeting without him.”

“Would I be correct in assuming Cougar McKinnely is the impetus of this meeting?” Brad asked.

“It’s not like we lack a surplus of targets with all the men in this town,” Dorothy grumped, “but right now, Cougar has done his damnedest to beat the rest to the head of the list.”

“I’d probably feel sorry for the man, if I didn’t agree with you in this instance,” Brad confessed as Millicent handed him a basket draped with a white napkin. “Ah, my favorite payment.” Reaching into the basket, he pulled out a still warm sugar cookie. He waved it under his nose, savoring the aroma before he popped it into his mouth. Waving a second one in the air, he took up his earlier point. “The Good Lord knows, I felt sorry for your last victim. Old Man Clemence is a fine, upstanding man.”

“He still is,” Dorothy pointed out.

“Just more enlightened,” Pearl observed.

“At least those girls of his will be protected now.”

Brad laughed outright. “Does anyone else know why Clemence changed his stand on the suffrage issue?”

“Not hardly,” Pearl declared.

“And they’d better not, either,” Millicent warned.

Brad held up his cookie like a shield. “If anyone does find out, it won’t be from me.” He slanted Dorothy a considering glance. “Tell me, my dear woman, how did you get Doc to convince Clemence that he had a life-threatening disease?”

Mara, whose head had been on a swivel ever since Reverend Swanson walked into the room, was surprised to see the “dear woman’s” face burn red.

“I have my ways.”

A smile, entirely too wolfish to sit on a reverend’s face, spread across Brad’s lips. His “I’m sure you do,” had Dorothy choking on embarrassment.

Millicent whacked her on the back. Lorie caught her before the blow could knock her to the floor.

Pearl’s eyes drifted to the brown wrapped bag on the end table. “If you’ve finished embarrassing the tar out of Dorothy, Reverend, I believe it’s time for you to go.”

Brad tipped his hat to each lady present. When he got to Mara, he winked. “Don’t you worry, Mara. You put your faith in these women, and you’ll be back with that man of yours faster than Calvin can spit.”

Knowing Calvin Wyatt prided himself on his ability to rattle a spittoon six times a minute, Mara was a bit dubious, but she smiled her thanks anyway.

Brad’s “I’ll see myself out,” no sooner faded than the neat parlor was a flurry of motion.

“I’ll get the glasses.”

“I’ll get the cards.”

“And I,” Pearl said, brandishing the mysterious package high. “Have got the whiskey!”

* * * * *

Three hours later, the prim and proper parlor had all the earmarks of a saloon. The scent of lemon oil blended with whiskey fumes and the stench of cigar smoke. Five women sat hunched over a round table, their cards held close to their chests. Pearl had a cigar clenched between her teeth. Dorothy shot it several sharp glances, but beyond waving her hand in front of her face now and then, she held her tongue. Mara figured that was due more to the scowl on the woman’s face than to politeness. Pearl, Mara had discovered early on, took her cards seriously.

“Goddammit. It just can’t be legal what you’re doing.”

So did Millicent, it appeared. Mara winced as she dealt the last card to that large woman. Owing to the hours she’d spent sharpening her poker skills with Cougar, Mara had a sizable pile of winnings in front of her. And she was coming under attack as a result.

“You know,” Lorie ventured slowly, her voice ripe with implication. “There were rumors of cheating out at the ranch.”

Dorothy poured herself another glass of whiskey. The bottle rattled against the glass. Her head snapped up so fast, she landed back in her chair with an audible plop. “Oh…?”

“And who was the one spreading the rumors?”

Lorie shrugged unconcernedly in response to Millicent’s growl, a small, triumphant smile toying with her lips. She took another swallow of whiskey, “Cougar.”

“And we all know what a polecat he is,” Mara jumped in, anxious to divert all that hostility from herself. She shot Lorie a dirty look.

“Aw, hell,” Millicent cursed, tossing her cards into the middle of the table. She folded her arms across her ample chest. “I suppose he taught you everything you know?”

Mara nodded tentatively.

“Damn cardsharp!” Dorothy blurted out. Mara thought they were talking about her until Dorothy threw her cards into the middle of the table, too.

“That boy took a month’s egg money off me in the time it took to sneeze.”

“The man has no respect for the gentler sex,” Pearl declared, blinking twice to focus her vision.

Mara was beginning to catch on. Apparently, she wasn’t the only victim of her husband’s “innocent” card games. “How much did he take you for?”

“Ten dollars. The money I was saving for some special Irish lace for my parlor curtains.”

“He took me for ten Sundays of free chicken and dumplings.” Millicent looked properly aggrieved. “Didn’t even have the grace to look guilty.”

Lorie joined the crowd and tossed her cards into the middle of the table. “I’ve got three bushels of apples in the root cellar I’ve got to make up into pies.”

Pearl uncorked the last bottle of whiskey. She filled each woman’s glass as they held it up. “Ladies, it appears to me a certain Cougar McKinnely is in dire need of a lesson, and not only for his treatment of our sister member Mara.”

A hearty “Amen” followed that declaration, and as skilled as any seasoned drinker, each woman downed the drink in her glass. As one, they dragged their sleeves across their mouths and broke into laughter. Pearl was the first to recover.

“Since we are now pleasantly sloshed, and free of inhibitions, it is now time to plot the downfall of one Cougar McKinnely.”

“I favor the cast iron-frying-pan-over-the-head school of thought myself,” sweet and gentle Dorothy volunteered.

“While that has merit,” Pearl acknowledged, “I’m afraid it won’t work in this instance.”

“Why not?” Mara demanded. It sounded pretty good to her.

“Head’s too hard,” Millicent informed her.

There was that.

Pearl pulled her spine taut, battling its tendency to slump. “As I mentioned when I got here today, I have given this matter considerable thought.”

“Just spit it out, Pearl,” Millicent growled, rubbing at her forehead.

Pearl pulled her dignity around her like a cloak. The effect was slightly ruined by the way she kept swaying in small circles. “Well, we all know that Cougar went crazy when Mara lost the baby, right?”

“I thought we were going to lose him right along with Mara.”

Pearl inclined her head regally to let Dorothy know that she didn’t mind the interruption. She caught herself on the table before she could fall flat on her face. She looked at Mara for confirmation. “And then as soon as you were out of the woods, he slapped that deed in your hands and, poof! He disappeared.”

Mara carefully placed her hands on the arms of her chair to keep from spinning off with the room. “Yes. Without a word, he left.” Familiar anger swelled in her breast. “Damned bastard.”

“Be that as it may,” Pearl silenced the angry muttering threatening to drown out her voice. “I feel that is significant.”

“Doc says Cougar’s Ma died giving birth to a brother,” Dorothy volunteered, knowing the information was important, but unable to remember why. All she could think of was the good time she and Doc had had in bed that morning and how pleasant it would be to do it again tonight. “And he was with that twit Emily when she died.”

“How was your night life?”

Mara gaped at Millicent, unable to believe the woman had asked such a blunt, personal question. She glanced at Lorie to see if she was as shocked as herself, but Lorie was staring blankly out the window, humming a tuneless song, oblivious to all that happened around her.

“Uh,” Mara stalled, her cheeks burning.

“Well?” Millicent prompted. “Did you and Cougar make the mattress creak nightly or only once a week?”

“Really!” Pearl protested.

“Don’t go putting on airs, Pearl. Sometimes, I swear you’ve been cultivating that prim and proper role so long, you’ve forgotten how to live.”

Pearl looked at Millicent and smiled a special smile. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

“Neither would the blacksmith,” Dorothy interjected. Millicent’s sexy, booming laugh filled the room. The outrage on Pearl’s face dissolved into amusement.

“And here I thought I was being so discreet.”

“This town isn’t that big,” Millicent chided.

Suddenly, the laughter stopped and as if someone had pointed, all eyes were upon Mara. “So Mrs. McKinnely, what’s the answer?”

There was a tiny drop of liquor in the bottom of her glass. Mara took an inordinate amount of time to drain it. “Four or five times.”

“A week?” Dorothy prompted kindly.

“A night,” Mara corrected.

“Every night?” Pearl asked and when Mara nodded shyly, she gasped. “Lord have mercy!”

Millicent was skeptical. “You’re telling us that big lug pleasures you four or five times a night, every night?”

Mara had to swallow twice to find the small thread of her voice. “He makes love to me four or five times a night, but he likes to pleasure me more than that.”

“Holy shit!” Millicent boomed. She dropped back into her chair and fanned herself vigorously with a fistful of cards.

Lorie came out of her reverie for a moment. Just long enough to sigh, “That’s the man for me.”

Millicent eyed the young woman pityingly. “Honey, that’s the man for anyone.”

The women studied Mara with new respect before they nodded their heads slowly in agreement.

Dorothy cleared her throat. She unbuttoned the top button of her dress as she made a mental note to drag Doc off to bed as soon as the supper dishes were cleared. “Maybe you could get back to your plan now?”

“Yes, well.” Pearl sat heavily on the nearest chair, struggling for her train of thought. “Remind me to take care of business next time before we start drinking.”

Lorie, who was having a tough time focusing on anything beyond the view out the window said, “I think that might be a good idea.”

“Stop getting sidetracked, Pearl, and get on with it,” Millicent ordered. Mara sat quietly without saying a word. After that last volley, she didn’t dare call attention to herself.

“All right,” Pearl snapped. “It occurred to me that Cougar might be feeling guilty.”

“Because he blames me for losing the baby,” Mara nodded wisely. “I had the same thought myself.”

“Then you shouldn’t have wasted your time thinking. Now, don’t interrupt and pay attention.”

“Don’t be so sharp, Pearl,” Dorothy reproved. “Mara’s been through enough without our adding to it.”

“I know,” Pearl sighed. “It just gets me so mad when a woman takes the blame for her husband’s stupidity.”

Mara released her tongue long enough to venture a question. “If it’s not my fault, then whose is it?”

“No more whiskey for her,” Millicent piped up. “It’s obvious it clouds her thinking.” She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “It’s a downright shame, too, usually the girl rows with both oars in the water.”

Mara reminded herself that everyone had had a bit too much to drink. She looked to Lorie for support, but her would-be ally was slumped with her head on the table. Very unladylike snores were escaping with each breath.

Mara bridled her temper. Counting to ten helped. “Then what does Cougar feel guilty about?”

Pearl’s smile was as smug as any cat that got the cream. “He feels guilty about getting you pregnant in the first place.”

“That’s crazy!”

“Crazy or not,” Dorothy interjected, “that’s a man for you.”