Promises Linger (Promise Series)

by Sarah McCarty

  “I spent a goodly portion of my adult years studying the matter,” he informed her.

  “I’m sure you did.” And she didn’t want to hear about it.

  “Where is Cougar with that basin?”

  “He’ll be along presently,” Asa answered. After he sampled some of that whiskey. He patted the bed beside him. “Come here.”

  Elizabeth did, only because she wanted to slide the wadded sheet beneath him to catch the water from cleaning his wound. She leaned over to do just that, and he caught her wrist and tugged. By nearly twisting full around, she managed to avoid landing on his side. As it was, she plopped on the bed hard enough to jostle a groan from the man. Her apology was instantaneous. As was her anger. “What are you trying to do, kill yourself? I could have landed on you!”

  “A little feather like you couldn’t make a dent on a cushion.”

  “Huh!” Ladylike or not, there wasn’t anything more eloquent she could come up with in the face of such nonsense than an inelegant snort. She pushed herself straight. The effect was immediately ruined as his hand slid across her cheek. His fingers curled around the back of her head.

  “I missed you, darlin’.”

  “Before or after you met up with rustlers?”

  He grimaced. “Not buying my story, huh?”

  “A two-year-old wouldn’t buy that story.”

  “It’d be real helpful if you could see your way to pretending.”

  She resisted the downward pressure of his hand. “Not likely.”

  He pulled harder.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. “You’re going to hurt yourself!”

  “Darlin’, if you don’t know I’m working on stealing a kiss, I haven’t been doing my job right.”

  Heat surged into her face, but it didn’t deter her from pointing out the idiocy of the statement. “You can kiss later. Right now, you need to be sewn up.”

  “I want to be kissed now.”

  She was weakening, which explained how her last token protest ended with a whisper against his lips. “This really isn’t the best idea—”

  He opened his mouth and she lost all thoughts. His breath, his taste, it was all so dearly familiar. She braced one hand on the other side of his body. With her free one, she cupped his cheek. Her mouth opened over his and her defenses scattered like flies. She’d come so close to losing him. One more inch and the bullet would have insured she’d be alone forever. More desperation than passion poured into the kiss.

  He pulled back a fraction. “I missed you, darlin’.”

  “You could have been killed.” It came out on an anguished moan.

  “Nah,” he whispered.

  She closed her eyes. She felt his lips graze each lid before brushing her cheeks. “I just got me a wife.” His hand cupped her belly. “Maybe even got a start on a little one.” He absorbed her start with his touch. “You can stop your fretting. I’m not going anywhere, Elizabeth.”

  As irrational as it seemed, she took great comfort in his conviction. For a few precious moments, they rested forehead to forehead, hand to belly, and let time drift. He was here now, she told herself. She’d take care of him and he’d be fine. That’s all she had to do. Just take care of him.

  The stairs creaked. Boot heels reverberated on the hall floor. While Asa watched, a small, satisfied smile on his face, she repaired her appearance. When there were two quick knocks on the door, Asa called an immediate “come in”. She shot him a glare. She would have preferred a few more moments.

  Clint came in, carrying the empty porcelain basin.

  “Cougar get sidetracked?” Asa asked.

  Clint nodded to Asa and tipped his hat with his free hand to Elizabeth. “He sent me up with this, ma’am. He said you might need help?”

  Elizabeth took the basin. The roses, painted in pink, cream and blue, looked so pretty. Cheerful. A direct contrast to what she was going to do.

  She put the basin on the night stand and poured in some water. With her hands, she worked soap into the liquid. She dipped the cloth into the soapy water. Turning to Asa, she said, “I’ve got to clean the wound.”

  Asa shrugged as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “We’re not going anywhere.” He touched the sheet she’d dropped by his side. “This to catch the water?”

  And blood. She’d cleaned enough wounds in her time to know there’d be fresh blood. “Yes.”

  Without her asking, he shifted his torso so he was half on the sheet. When he was done, his breath was coming in harsh pants. “That work?”

  “Yes.” She’d replace the mattress if it didn’t.

  Clint appeared at her side like magic. “If you hadn’t been in such a hurry to impress your wife with how tough you are, I could have helped you.”

  Asa’s response was a glare.

  Elizabeth felt Clint needn’t be so provoking. She was going to reprimand him for it when, in a miraculous move, he had Asa re-positioned without a groan of pain or further whitening of his countenance. Instead, she looked at him in amazement. “How’d you do that?”

  “My uncle was a doctor. A body tends to pick up a few tricks here and there.”

  “You probably need to be real strong?”

  His smile was gentle. “I’ll show you the trick later.”

  “Thank you.” She couldn’t put it off any longer. The step to the bedside seemed like a leap across a chasm. She’d done this literally hundreds of times without a qualm. There was absolutely no need for her to be squeamish now, she told herself.

  It didn’t help.

  Before she could touch him, Asa grabbed the last of the whiskey and tossed it down in one swallow. He closed his eyes and braced himself. “Go ahead.”

  She didn’t start immediately. She waited until his breath evened out. When she thought he was ready, she gently touched the cloth to the top of the long tear.

  His breath hissed. Hers stopped. A trickle of blood started to flow. She dipped the cloth into the wash basin again. The water tinged a hideous pink. She wrung the cloth until it was short of dripping. She took a breath and applied it again. Asa didn’t make a sound this time, but his eyes closed and his whole body clenched. With broken ribs, that couldn’t have been comfortable. As if in testament to her assumption, sweat popped out on his brow. She left the cloth on the wound to soak out the debris.

  She stared at the cloth and the wound without really seeing them. Her mind she kept focused within, in order to prevent the nausea. She took deep breaths as she repeated the process. Never had treating someone affected her to this degree. She’d even amputated a foot once. She’d been nauseated then, but it had been the practical thing to do. If she hadn’t amputated the foot, the cowboy would have died. The same rule applied here. There was no need for her to be nauseous now. It was just a simple cut.

  She told herself that repeatedly, but it didn’t help because, truth be told, she’d never had to work on anyone she’d loved before.

  She paused in wringing out the cloth. The enormity of the realization sank in. God help her, she loved this man. Her hands shook as she replaced the cloth again. She loved him and he’d married her to get a place of his own and respectability. She closed her eyes against the pain. Against the vulnerability. Her father was right. She was a born fool.

  She opened her eyes and checked his wound. As best as she could tell, it was clean. She gently placed the cloth in the basin. She dipped her hands in the bowl of whiskey. She caught Clint’s eye. The wing-backed chair rustled a protest as he got to his feet. She tipped her head in Asa’s direction. “Hold him.”

  Asa’s eyes popped open. “You’re not sewing me up.”

  His gaze collided with hers. She braced and reminded herself this was the practical thing to do. The only thing. “Yes. I am.”

  “You touch me, and you’ll be saying howdy to next week before I do.”

  It was a nonsense threat. Asa knew it. There wasn’t a thing he could do to stop the other man from holding him down. In his current s
tate, he probably couldn’t stop Elizabeth. Clint halted and looked at Elizabeth. All Asa could see was her profile. There was no softness to play on. He didn’t find any in her voice either as she declared softly, “I’m sewing him up.”

  “The hell you are!” he growled.

  She held the wicked looking needle high and straightened out the thread. “You can settle up with me later for my disobedience,” she told him in a very precise voice, “but right now, I’m closing that wound. If you think on it, you’ll see it’s reasonable.”

  “There’s nothing reasonable about setting a needle to a man’s flesh,” he snarled, his stomach churning at the sight of it. Jesus, he hated needles.

  Elizabeth paused. “You can’t expect me to believe you’ve never had a cut stitched before?”

  “The hell I can’t.” Pain whipped through his body, reminding him that forceful speech was not on the agenda. “I don’t hold with needles,” he added in a more normal drawl.

  “You mean you’re afraid of them,” Elizabeth corrected in a voice he thought too likely to carry.

  “Grown men are not afraid of needles.”

  She stared at him the longest time, her expression unreadable. Clint stood by her side. Asa didn’t fool himself thinking that the man was caught in any sort of indecision. If Elizabeth wanted him held down, Clint would do it.

  Something shifted inside Elizabeth. Emotions flashed across her face, too quick to be deciphered, but when all was said and done, the final expression was a resigned practicality. She was going to stitch his wound and that was that. For the first time, he didn’t admire her perseverance in the face of adversity.

  “Please hold him,” she said to Clint.

  Asa held up his hand. “You dead set on doing this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even though you know I don’t want it and the only way you’re getting away with it is because I’m too busted up to arm-wrestle a gnat?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you don’t feel the least bit guilty?”

  “No.”

  “Now that’s a sad, sorry state of affairs.” Asa waved Clint back. “You won’t need to hold me.”

  It was bad enough Elizabeth had seen him so weak that he couldn’t enforce a solid “no.” He wasn’t going to drop anymore in her estimation by needing to be hog-tied like a green boy.

  “It might be better if Clint held you.” Her placating tone of voice set his teeth on edge almost as much as the sight of that needle. “I need you to be perfectly still.”

  He glared at her. “I’m not some whining kid who needs to be forced to stay put.”

  She flinched, immediately making him feel guilty, but not nearly as guilty as the tiny “I’m sorry” she whispered when she pressed the needle to his side.

  He swore loudly as it pierced his flesh. Her hand jerked and he swore again.

  Another “I’m sorry” drifted between them. A drop of wetness splattered on his chest. He swore, for no other reason than it felt better than the needle.

  “Shut up,” Clint growled, sounding as if he were the one under the needle.

  Asa opened his eyes. Elizabeth’s face was inches from his, and she was crying. Another tear rolled down her cheek to tumble from her chin onto his chest.

  Her throat worked as she pressed the needle tip into the other side of the wound. He wasn’t thinking. He swore anew. Tears overflowed Elizabeth’s eyes. She swallowed hard. Her lips moved. Another “I’m sorry” slipped out before she bit her lip.

  The truth was hard to ignore. Sewing him up was killing her. He didn’t need Clint’s glare to smother the next curse before it could escape.

  During the last month, he’d wondered what it would take to make Elizabeth cry. Now he had his answer. All it took was hurting him. He thought she was going to burst into sobs as she pulled the thread through, and he couldn’t control his involuntary wince. He caught her hand in his before she could tie off the stitch. Surprise had her gaze flying to his.

  “Clint can finish.”

  Her face set in stubborn lines. “No.”

  “It’s all right, ma’am,” Clint concurred, reaching for the needle. “I’ve sewn up more wounds than most doctors.”

  Elizabeth’s expression turned feral. “Don’t you touch him.”

  Clint jerked his hand back so fast, a body would have sworn he’d been bitten. “I wouldn’t think of it.”

  Elizabeth didn’t look appeased. “It’s all right, Elizabeth, Clint’ll do a fine job.”

  She shook her head. “No, he won’t. You said so yourself. Men are ham-handed.”

  He wished he’d been smart enough to bite off his tongue earlier. “McKinnely was as gentle as a lamb. I was just spouting nonsense to get out of getting stitched.” He kept his grip on her hand and nodded to the door. “Go get McKinnely.”

  “No problem.” Clint all but bolted for the door.

  “He’s not touching you,” Elizabeth informed him in a tone that belied the tears on her face.

  “Be reasonable, darlin’,” he coaxed. “Stitching me is hurting you more than me. Poking me with a needle won’t bother McKinnely a bit.”

  “We both know he’s down there drinking,” she told him, keeping a death grip on the needle and thread. “By now, he’s so drunk, he’ll probably think he’s working with two needles.”

  Asa shook his head at her vehemence. “You really do have a thing about drink, don’t you?”

  “It turns men into animals.”

  Well, at least he knew why he’d been rationed to a scant two fingers, which wasn’t enough to kill the pain in a tadpole, let alone a grown man. He touched her hand. “Not all men are mean drunks. Some of us get downright happy.”

  The look she shot him was rank with disbelief. He dropped that line of argument. “It’ll take more than a few drinks to affect a man of McKinnely’s size.”

  “He’s not touching you.”

  And that was that, Asa realized. He slid his thumb across the back of her hand. He didn’t have much hope of it soothing her, but he figured it was worth a try. “You dead set on finishing this then?”

  She bit her lip. The color fled her cheeks, but her answer didn’t waver. “Yes.”

  He relaxed into the pillows. “Have at it, then. I won’t say a word.”

  On another “I’m sorry” that ripped his insides, she tied off the stitch.

  While her expression remained perfectly controlled, she couldn’t extend that rigid control to her eyes. All the agony she tried to hide from him rested there.

  He touched her cheek with his clear hand. At first, he thought it was his imagination, but then he changed his mind. She was leaning her cheek into his hand, taking comfort from his touch even as she insisted on sewing him up and causing herself agony in the first place. He shook his head. The woman was a born contradiction.

  “It’s all right,” he found himself saying as she applied the needle again. In response, she apologized. He looked to the door, wondering where McKinnely was. Apparently, the job of comforting his wife was being left up to him. “We’re a fine pair, Mrs. MacIntyre,” he whispered, brushing a fresh tear off her cheek. “Too stubborn for our own good.”

  “I’m not stubborn,” she growled, then ruined the effect by biting her lip.

  “I can see that.” What he could see was her feeling protective. If she weren’t bawling her eyes out while she was feeling it, he might have enjoyed the experience.

  “McKinnely and Clint wouldn’t do it right,” she informed him.

  “Doc is Cougar’s father and Clint’s uncle. What makes you think they couldn’t do as good a job?”

  She paused as if weighing a decision. “They don’t know you like I do. They’d probably take something you said personally and do a lousy job.”

  He laughed. “You saying I’m the provoking sort?”

  “You know you are.”

  She tied off the knot, and he took the brief interlude to relax his muscles.

  “If Clint
’s Cougar’s cousin—” she began.

  “You didn’t know?”

  “No.” She retied the knot in the end of the thread. “If Clint’s Cougar’s cousin, why isn’t he over at the Tumbling M?”

  “McKinnely’s been a bit suspicious of things going on here.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Apparently, you refused McKinnely’s offer of help?”

  “That didn’t give him the right to assign spies!”

  “Hey!” Asa warned, watching the way she jerked the knot on the string. “Don’t get your feathers in an uproar. He just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  “He should have respected my wishes.”

  “He did. Clint came on a just-in-case scenario.”

  She glared at the door. It didn’t take a genius to figure out she felt betrayed. “He just wanted the ranch.”

  “Use your head, woman.” His response was curt. “The Tumbling M is a prime property of over three thousand acres. There’s no way the man would want the headache of the Rocking C on top. Hell, your land doesn’t even abut his.”

  She didn’t look convinced.

  “McKinnely’s a good man who was concerned, rightly enough, about a woman alone being taken advantage of.” He glared into her mutinous expression. “I respect him for it, even if you don’t have the sense to. He did what any honorable man would. He’s the only one of your neighbors who did anything remotely helpful.”

  This time, she put the needle into his flesh without a quiver. He figured she’d caught his slight to Aaron. Her next sentence confirmed it. “Aaron came over often.”

  “No doubt trying to prey on your emotions.”

  “I am not an emotional woman.”

  “You’re one of the most emotional women I’ve met, whether you show it or not.”

  She stared at him in shock and horror. Hell, did she really think him that much of a fool? “I wasn’t insulting you,” he tacked on gruffly.

  “I can be as hard-nosed as any man.”

  “I never said you couldn’t be,” he backtracked, “but that doesn’t mean you don’t have feelings.”

  “With an ounce of cooperation, I could run this ranch as well as you.”

  “I’ve never doubted it.”

  “Yes, you have.”