Promises Linger (Promise Series)

by Sarah McCarty

  She looked into his face. His grim expression squashed her small hope. “But you won’t,” she concluded out loud before asking, “Why?”

  He had to know she was looking at him, but he didn’t take his gaze from the steady flame of the lamp. “Three reasons. First off, if I do get killed holding onto this ranch, you’d be back where you started with your ranch up for grabs to whoever lands you at the altar.”

  “I don’t understand what that has to do with consummating our vows.”

  His free hand cupped her belly through the bunched up quilt. “If you had a baby, the child would inherit when he grew up, not your next husband.”

  “If there was anything left to inherit,” she pointed out.

  The pressure of his fingers increased. For absolutely no reason, she found it protective. “There’s always risks, but it’s the best odds you’ve got.”

  As he was the best bet she had against losing it all. The similarity in their thinking was comforting. “You said there were three reasons?”

  No mistake, the hand on her stomach was protective. And possessive. “The thought of a little one of my own has been nagging at me.”

  “You want a son.” That she could understand. Her father had spent his whole life on two pursuits; building the ranch and getting a son.

  “I’ll admit you dropping a delicate little girl first time off scares the beejezus out of me, but I expect I’d manage.”

  She just bet it scared him. Men were obsessed with sons. “I’ll have you know, Mr. MacIntyre, women do not do anything as indelicate as ‘drop’ babies.”

  “Well, you tell me the correct word and I’ll use it.”

  “It’s not something that’s discussed.”

  That got his attention away from the lamp. “If we’re not to discuss it, how am I to know when you get in the family way? Or if you need something when you do get that way?”

  It was obvious he found the situation amusing while her cheeks were burning from the direction of the conversation. “I’m sure something will occur to me if the time ever comes,” she said through gritted teeth. “You mentioned a third reason?”

  The corn husks rustled as he shifted to face her. His hands contracted in the quilt. “The only thing I’ve been thinking about since you laid out that fancy gambler is the way a man gets a woman pregnant.” The quilt started to loosen as he pulled. “And how much I wanted to do that with you.”

  She closed her eyes. The time had come.

  The tugging stopped. The loose hair on her forehead parted on his slow exhale. “That,” he admitted in a low voice, “and how much a bastard I feel for forcing this issue.”

  She opened her eyes. Her gaze collided with his. He was going to stop. Instead of the relief she expected to feel, there was only an onslaught of terror. She couldn’t lose her home! Just as she couldn’t lose her last chance, because it suddenly occurred to her that, come morning, she wasn’t the only one who could walk away. While she loved this place with an intensity that went back to her grandfather, Mr. MacIntyre’s ties were only cemented in the nebulous hope of future profit.

  She wet her lips and schooled her expression to calm. “You aren’t forcing anything.”

  He shook his head and touched his index finger to her knuckles. “Darlin’, were you willing, you wouldn’t be popping the stitches in that quilt.”

  She looked down. Her knuckles showed white through her skin. “I’m just nervous,” she explained. She counted to ten, and one by one, willed her fingers to relax. “I’m perfectly willing.”

  He tugged on the quilt. She reflexively tightened her grip.

  “I can see that.” His lips quirked again.

  She straightened her spine and released the quilt. “I’m perfectly ready to uphold my end of the bargain, Mr. MacIntyre. I just don’t see why you insist on disrobing.”

  His left eyebrow quirked up. “Because it’s more fun that way?”

  She tossed her head. The quilt started to slip. “I fail to see where extreme mortification would be fun.” By widening her elbows, she was able to stop the quilt’s decent. “Until we get to know one another, do you think we could perform our duties modestly clothed?”

  His expression went from amusement to shock and then back to amusement in the time it took her to take a hopeful breath.

  “I see no reason why we need to abandon decorum,” she growled, piqued.

  “Decorum?” he asked, his right eyebrow lifting to join the left.

  She cautiously waved one hand between them. “Decorum. You know, a polite respect for each other’s sensibilities?”

  “No. I didn’t know.” He rubbed his hand across his mouth. Elizabeth had a sneaky suspicion he was hiding a grin. She set her chin a bit higher. She fully intended to hang onto her dignity and, the sooner he accepted it, the better.

  He removed his hand from his mouth and rubbed it on his thigh. “Let me get this straight. You want me to perform my ‘duty’ fully clothed, holding onto my modesty and yours, and remembering my manners all at the same time?”

  “You needn’t make it sound so implausible.”

  “Darlin’, when a man sets to pleasuring a woman, he’s got enough to chew without adding more to his plate.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “That’s clear enough.”

  She ignored his interjection. “But I’m sure we can get through this with our dignity intact if we concentrate on the necessities.”

  “I’m thinking our ideas of what’s necessary are about as far apart as a body can get.”

  “I don’t think so. We both want this ranch. Like you, I’d like children.” She hoped her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. She needed to keep the upper hand and she hadn’t a prayer if she came off as namby-pamby. She cleared her throat and continued. “At Miss Penelope’s Academy for Young Women, the subject of marital duty was discussed.”

  “This Miss Penelope’s Academy is a school?”

  “Yes.”

  “And this is where you got the notion that a man and woman bring their manners to their wedding bed?”

  “You needn’t scoff, Mr. MacIntyre. The Academy is very respected. All the best families send their daughters there with complete confidence that, when they graduate, they’ll take their place in society as the wives of respected men. Why are you laughing?”

  “Was this Miss Penelope a dried-up prune of a woman?”

  “I always thought of her as properly reserved.” She recalled Miss Penelope’s impeccable dress, upswept hair, and modulated voice. “Dignified.”

  The corn husks rustled louder as Asa shifted closer. “I hate to upset your apple cart, darlin’, but, if I aim to pleasure you, that dignity you’re so fond of is going straight out the window.”

  His hand gliding around her waist dislodged the quilt. No matter how she widened her elbows, she couldn’t halt its descent. His fingers brushed the side of her breast. His calluses dragged across her flesh. She wished the floor would open up and swallow her as he nudged the edge of her camisole off her nipple. She closed her eyes.

  “Mr. MacIntyre…”

  “Damn, you’re as pretty as a wildflower.”

  “Mr. MacIntyre.”

  Amusement colored the rough tones of his drawl. “Seeing as I’m looking at your charms, don’t you think you could call me by my first name?”

  “Asa!” His name ended on a high note as his finger traced a circle on her bosom.

  “Right here, darlin’”

  “Surely this isn’t necessary!”

  “If by ‘this’, you mean my touching you, nothing could be more necessary.”

  She caught his wandering hand by the wrist. When she opened her eyes, his face was inches from hers. For all the amusement in his voice, his expression was intense. Intimidating, but she clutched her conviction like a lifeline. “I don’t believe you.”

  His resistance to her tugging halted. “You calling me a liar?”

  She’d never be
so idiotic as to call a man a liar to his face. “I believe you’re laboring under a misconception.”

  “Want to lay it out a little clearer?”

  “I don’t feel it’s necessary for you to touch me so intimately in order to perform your duty.”

  “You don’t?”

  The incredulity in his voice sparked her anger. “You tell me. Is it necessary for you to touch me so intimately in order to…complete the act?”

  “Not for me—”

  She cut him off. “Then I’d appreciate getting it over with.”

  “It won’t be nice for you if I just ‘get it over with’.”

  “It’s not supposed to be nice,” she muttered. Her bravado giving out, she redirected her gaze to the oil lamp. “It’s a duty, like any other chore, and I intend to get through it the same way I get through the wash.”

  “Shi—I mean, shoot. I don’t think I want to hear this, but just how do you plan on getting through it?”

  “At Miss Penelope’s, they suggested occupying our minds during monotonous chores by designing a new dress or planning a party.”

  “And this Miss Penelope is an expert on the duty between a husband and wife?”

  She heard the doubt in his voice. How dare he scoff at her education! The man had probably never attended school a day in his life. She gritted her teeth. “Miss Penelope would never lie. She’s a very responsible woman, dedicated to the education of the young women at her school.”

  “And you’re dead set on sticking to her teachings?”

  She met his gaze and that slightly raised eyebrow defiantly. “Nothing to date has made me question my education.”

  “And you’re willing?”

  “Perfectly.”

  He motioned to the bed. “Then drop your death grip on that quilt, darlin’, and let’s get to it.”

  Get to it? He wanted to get to it? Just like that? “Now?”

  His eyebrow went up a notch, but he didn’t laugh at her stupid question. “Seems like as good time as any. And you were the one who wanted to just ‘get it over with’.”

  “I may have been a little premature in my decision.”

  He tugged on the sheet. “Nope. Seeing as how the night’s getting away from us and morning comes early, I think now is about perfect.”

  For all of the seriousness of his expression, he was laughing at her. She knew it. And the knowledge stung.

  “Let go the sheet, darlin’.”

  “Not until you blow out the lamp.”

  “I like the light on.” A quick tug on his end of the quilt had it slipping from her grip. She tried to catch it, but he tweaked it away. Damn. He was fast.

  “I am not participating until you blow out the lamp,” she informed him as she lunged for the trailing corner of the quilt.

  “Seems to me you’re not the one calling the shots here.”

  She caught the quilt, but leaned too far over and Asa caught her. She was forced to continue her argument from an undignified sprawl across his lap. “I mean it, Mr. MacIntyre. I’m not participating in anything with the light on.”

  “Too much light interferes with your planning?” His hand passed across her posterior and she yelped. She squirmed to get up, but his forearm across the small of her back kept her pinned.

  “I have no idea,” she gasped as he touched her intimately again.

  “Then I think we’ll leave it on.”

  “No!” The heat from his hand permeated the thin cotton of her pantaloons. She didn’t want to picture the image she presented in her current position. “Let me up.”

  “I like you like this.”

  As if to prove his point, his hand moved in a circular motion. He traced the seam of her buttocks with indecent accuracy. Her protesting wiggle only served to give him more ideas. On his next pass, he pressed harder, causing the material to catch embarrassingly between her cheeks where his finger probed. She froze, mortification drying her protest in her throat.

  “Damn, you’re something, darlin’.”

  “Let me up,” she hissed. His finger traced the crease he’d created. Despite her determination to lie still, her hips bucked, driving his hand firmly between her legs.

  His “not just yet” sounded alarmingly gruff to her straining ears. Something poked her in the side and, ranch girl that she was, she knew what it meant. Her husband was aroused. The hand across her back shifted so his elbow had her pinned and he could use that hand to separate her thighs. His fingers wedged deeper, until he could cup her woman parts.

  Oh God, she thought, there was no reprieve. He took his hand from her back, slipped his forearm under her chest and turned her across his lap. His fingers between her legs supported her weight. The hand across her chest kept her pinned against his arm. As he moved it to cup her breast, she looked into his face. There was no softness. No sign that he shared her distress or even noted it. There was only an intense concentration as he watched his hand engulf her breast.

  “The light…” she whispered, blinking to fight back tears. He didn’t seem to hear.

  “Part your legs,” he ordered.

  “I can’t. The light.”

  His gaze met hers. No mercy there. “You promised me two things—willingness and obedience.”

  She closed her eyes, counted to ten, and then kept on going.

  “That’s an order, Elizabeth.”

  How could the man expect her to keep her word in circumstances like this? She parted her legs a spare inch. He took a mile. When she felt his fingers slide through the slit in her pantaloons to slip between the folds of her female flesh, it was too much. She turned her face into the hollow of his throat and prayed for her Maker to take her then and there. Beneath her cheek, his chest rose on a shuddering breath.

  “Guess I’m going too fast for a student of Miss Penelope’s, huh?” he asked on the exhale.

  She guessed he was going too fast for the women who lived over Dell’s, but she wasn’t going to risk losing his compassion by saying so. “I’m sure it would be easier on both of us if we blew out the lamp.”

  In response, he stood, leaned over, and blew out the lamp. The fact that he didn’t moan or even shift his grip convinced her that struggling would be useless, even if she wanted to forsake her word. As darkness enveloped them along with the stench of kerosene, he gave her a little toss that switched his grip to her waist.

  She dangled in his arms as he asked, “You still planning on making a dress while we do this?”

  “Yes.” He had no idea what her complacency was costing her.

  “You’re going to cut and stitch while I do whatever I want?”

  “You said you wouldn’t hit,” she hastened to remind him.

  “We’ve already established what I’m set on doing. What’s up for grabs is whether you plan on joining in.”

  Was he questioning her integrity? “I know my duty, Mr. MacIntyre.”

  “Asa,” he reminded her.

  “Asa,” she dutifully repeated. She crossed her arms over her chest as a compromise between encouragement and obedience. “Could we please get on with this?”

  “You in a hurry?”

  “I’m scared to death.”

  “I can feel you trembling.”

  There was a long pause in which he did nothing.

  “Is there something wrong?” she asked.

  “I’m trying to figure a way to make you less nervous. Any particular worry you’re gnawing on?”

  She thought about it. “I don’t like not knowing what you’re going to do next.”

  “Seeing as how I’m a talker, I could probably manage a warning or two.”

  Having her inch, Elizabeth decided to go for a mile. “I also don’t like it when you handle me sooo…intimately.”

  “That,” he said, a smile in his voice as he brought her breasts back against his chest, “you’re going to have to get used to. Any more questions?”

  It was hard to think with the threat of his big body so close to hers. Through
the lingering odor of kerosene, she smelled his scent. She wanted to dislike it, but he smelled of soap, fresh air and blackberries.

  “Well?” he prompted in the wake of her silence.

  “I guess not.”

  “No need to sound so discouraged, darlin’. We’re going to do just fine. Put your arms around my neck.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to feel your breasts against me.”

  Shock at his bald pronouncement held her frozen for the two seconds he waited before pretending to drop her. Reflexes threw her arms around his neck. She felt his smile against her hair. “That’s the way.”

  “I’m not sure my sensibilities can take any more warnings,” she admitted grudgingly.

  “Then why don’t you stuff them under the mattress?”

  “What?”

  “Your sensibilities and all that other starchy stuff Miss Penelope taught you.”

  “I can’t.” The words ended on a small squeak as he tossed her again in order to shift his hands to the backs of her thighs.

  “Then, darlin’, you’d best get to stitching because the fun’s about to begin. Wrap your legs around my waist.”

  She was too smart to ask why this time. She just did as ordered. He took a step back and sat on the edge of the bed. If she thought the humiliation of having him touch her was bad, it was nothing compared to the humiliation of straddling his lap. When he suggested she move to the right, she had no illusions as to why. His manhood pushed heavily against her inner thigh.

  “I can’t,” she confessed. “I’m not breaking my promise, I swear. I’m doing my best. I just can’t.”

  “Guess that stitchin’ isn’t getting you too far, huh?”

  She shook her head. It might have been her imagination, but she thought his lips brushed her hair. “Could we just get this over with?” she asked.

  “You always in this much of a rush?”

  “Please? I’ll beg if you want. I—”

  His finger across her lips cut off the rest of her plea.

  She pulled back. “Is that a yes?”

  “A man wishes his whole life for a woman to beg for his lovemaking. Guess when she does, the least he could do is honor the request. Lie on the bed, darlin’, while I shuck these clothes.”