Promise Me

by Deborah Schneider

  He’d been shocked earlier to discover she was a young and beautiful woman. He would need to approach her differently. For a moment his conscience reminded him that he was usually the kind of man who would protect a woman as fragile as Amanda Wainwright. But his mission couldn’t be jeopardized for the sake of one woman’s reputation. Too much was at stake.

  Nevertheless, she intrigued him, and the thought of taking her to his bed excited him. Certainly, the memory of her dark green eyes and perfect mouth made him eager to taste her kisses. And while her widow’s weeds didn’t favor her fiery hair, her night rail didn’t hide the fact that she possessed a full and voluptuous figure.

  When she’d appeared in the kitchen, her beautiful face aglow in a pool of shimmering light, her white nightclothes possessed of a magical luster, making her radiant in the dark shadows of the night, he really had thought, for a moment, he was seeing a celestial vision.

  Then her frank perusal and vivacious manner had entranced him. He found her amusing, and that was a surprise, as she teased and challenged him at the same time. Amanda Wainwright was an enchanting woman, and he would need to take care he didn’t fall under her spell.

  He tapped the ash from his cheroot and wondered how he could arrange to see her again. Her inquiry about his horse had pricked his pride a bit. While he’d tried to provoke her about the power of wealth, he agreed with her late husband Arthur’s assessment of humanity. One could buy anything; it was just a matter of negotiating the price. After all, wasn’t this planned seduction and humiliation of a respectable widow proof of that? Of course, he wasn’t really going to seduce and ruin her for the money. He’d simply use her to protect his identity and convince the other mine owners they could trust him.

  While it was unfortunate he was involved in a conspiracy to ruin her reputation, at the moment it couldn’t be helped. He pushed the small tug of his conscience back to the depths of his heart. There was more at stake than a rich woman’s good name. Besides, from what he’d discovered about her, she possessed enough money to convince people to ignore gossip.

  Sam shifted his weight and tried to focus again on his conversation with Amanda. What was it she had said, that for some people happiness was unobtainable? He had to agree, but what made a rich woman with all the opportunities in the world so cynical? She was an enigma—bright and teasing one moment, caught in a web of grief and loneliness the next.

  He recalled the single crystal tear sliding down her cheek, and how powerfully he’d fought the urge to reach out and capture it. In fact, he’d been tempted to taste it, as if he could somehow swallow the pain for her, if for only a moment.

  But he couldn’t concern himself with the sorrows of the Widow Wainwright. His job was to distract her, to take her mind off her efforts on behalf of the miners and charm his way into her life. Eventually, without having to seduce or bed her, he would create some pretense of breaking it off. That would be enough to send her running back to Helena.

  Amanda had a unique quality, a force that enticed him, yet made him feel protective at the same time.

  Sam crushed his cheroot on his dessert plate and grinned. She hadn’t blinked as she picked up his fork and devoured the pie. A hot rush of desire had sliced through him as she licked the sticky juices from her full red-stained lips, her soft pink tongue making slow circles of invitation. It was too innocent a gesture to be interpreted as a seductive message, and it occurred to him that Amanda might not be aware of her intense sensuality. Her flirting didn’t possess a practiced air; it had more of a playful quality, as if she were unaware of her ability to arouse a man. And she had certainly aroused him with her innocent, yet provocative, behavior. Of course, she was a widow, so she would have some sense of what a man desired from a woman.

  Sam recalled the way his body had reacted to the surprising Widow Wainwright. When she’d walked into the dimly lit room, with the thin nightclothes hugging her softly curved and womanly body, his cock had responded immediately. By the time she was licking the red cherry juice from her lips, he’d been hard as granite.

  Sam was eager to see Amanda again, and he wondered if she’d accept an invitation to go for a ride tomorrow. She’d mentioned Stranger, and her offer to purchase the animal indicated some familiarity with horses. He’d recently purchased a lovely little mare that was stabled over at the livery, and she’d be perfect for Amanda. A long, leisurely ride in the countryside would give him time to learn more about her. Once he understood her needs, her desires, and her dreams, he could use them to plan his attack.

  He’d send a note to the Parmeter House in the morning, offering to take her for ride so she could see some of the countryside. It was a bold move, but if he judged her correctly from their encounter this night, she’d accept the invitation.

  He turned down the lamp and closed the door behind him, careful to lock it. Meeting Amanda tonight had been a stroke of luck; he’d been trying to figure out a way to wrangle an introduction from Harriet Parmeter. Of course, if he’d happened to mention he found the widow attractive, Harriet would have arranged a not-too-subtle chance meeting.

  He crossed town, wandered by the saloon, and considered going in, then a pair of emerald eyes and a brilliant smile came to mind. He could still smell her, recalling the light floral scent that had followed her into the kitchen. He didn’t want sawdust, filthy men, and sour beer to wipe that from his memory.

  Sam walked back to his rooms over the mill office. For the first time since he could remember, he didn’t feel the need for bourbon to help him sleep. His encounter with a midnight angel had lightened his heart and improved his mood. He would have to remain focused on the agreement he’d made with the mine owners; the success of his mission could depend upon it. But pretending to seduce the Widow Wainwright could serve as a pleasant diversion. A very pleasant diversion indeed.

  Chapter Four

  “What do you know about Mr. Samuel Calhoun?” Amanda asked as she carefully folded the note Harriet Parmeter had handed to her when she arrived in the dining room for breakfast.

  Harriet cocked her head. “I know he’s a real gentleman, and there’s a scarcity of them in these parts, that’s for sure.”

  Amanda sipped her tea and waited, hoping for more information—or some good gossip—about the man she’d met in the kitchen last night.

  Waking up from the most restful night of sleep she’d had in months, Amanda stretched like a feline and grinned as she recalled her encounter with the handsome stranger. How could she have acted so witty and coy? She generally wasn’t good at that sort of thing, so different from the other women she’d known in Helena. She didn’t normally banter and tease. She was usually shy, awkward with strangers, and never comfortable enough to flirt with men. Her convent education hadn’t taught her the feminine arts or how to be alluring.

  He probably thought she was a wanton woman. The idea should have distressed her; instead, a shiver of delight shimmied up her spine. She’d sat in her night rail in the middle of the night and conversed with a perfect stranger.

  Perfect.

  That would be the word to use when describing the delicious Samuel Calhoun.

  He was tall and broad shouldered, with an air of male superiority that should have repulsed her. Instead, it drew her back to the memory of their meeting with an uncontrollable heat and yearning. She couldn’t wipe the image of those golden eyes, with that glint of mischief in them, from her mind. She was attracted to him, and a rush of intense happiness had rippled through her when she opened the note to discover his signature.

  “Good businessman. Honest.” Harriet tapped her fingers on the table and frowned. “He’s not married, engaged, or courtin’ anyone, if that’s what you want to know.”

  Amanda nearly choked on her muffin, then recovered as she gave Harriet a look she hoped smacked of indifference. She waved one hand delicately.

  “As if that would be of any interest
to me! I’m inquiring because I’ll be doing some business with him.” Amanda hoped he wasn’t a professional gambler or the town sheriff. Perhaps she should quit badgering Harriet for information and make other discreet inquiries about the man.

  Harriet took a seat across from Amanda and leaned forward.

  “Sam comes from a good family back East is what I heard. He was a colonel in the cavalry and spent time in a Confederate prison camp. I guess he lost everything in the war. His family, his business.” She shrugged. “He ain’t the only one to start ridin’ west one day, looking for a fresh start...” Her voice trailed off and her face wrinkled into a frown. “I guess Sam came to Montana to build himself a new life.”

  Amanda set her cup back on the saucer and sighed.

  “How awful,” she said, realizing the source of the sadness she’d glimpsed last night. He was as alone as she was. She decided to accept his invitation to go for a ride today and apologize for the way she’d acted in the kitchen.

  Harriet brushed some crumbs off the oilcloth and shook her head. “But, the war is over and I keep tellin’ Sam he’s gotta get on with his life.” She grinned at Amanda. “A good woman would do that man a world of good.”

  Amanda warmed at the insinuation. She twisted an errant curl that had escaped from her chignon as she looked away. “Well, I was considering, he—well, invited me to go for a ride with him.” Her words came out in a rush. “And I thought perhaps I would accept.” She puckered her brow. “If you think he would be an appropriate escort.”

  Harriet’s laughter boomed through the small dining room.

  “I couldn’t have planned this any better if I’d tried.” She leaned forward, her large bosom nearly covering the surface of the table. “How long you been widowed, honey?”

  Amanda traced the blue willow pattern on the saucer with one finger. “Nearly six months.”

  Harriet stretched out a hand and touched her arm gently. “Well, you still got the hurt inside you, but that gets better as time goes on. I always say, life is for the livin’.” She shook her head. “Of course everythin’ is different for a widder woman.”

  Amanda looked up in surprise. “Different? Do you mean all those dreary hours of prayer for your husband’s soul that the church demands of you?”

  Harriet laughed again, the sound reminding her of a small, clear bell ringing. “My husband can take care of his own soul, ain’t no amount of prayin’ down here that can change God’s mind, that’s my opinion.” She sat back in satisfaction. “I mean a woman without a man to tell her what to do all the time can say what she thinks and do what she wants. You don’t have to worry about protectin’ your virtue or pleasin’ a man.”

  Amanda leaned forward, eager to hear this woman’s advice. Harriet Parmeter wasn’t anything like the other widows she’d met. All they talked about was how dreary their lives were without their husbands.

  “You mean you don’t care what other people say about you?”

  Harriet shook her head. “I don’t care and I don’t pay no attention. I aim to please myself, and I don’t aim to please nobody else. Of course, I don’t go prancin’ down Main Street in my unmentionables.” She grinned wickedly. “Or least ways, I ain’t done it yet!”

  Amanda giggled. Harriet fascinated her. Who would have guessed so many interesting people lived in the small town of Willow Creek?

  “As for Sam, well, if that man wanted to take me out for a peek at the countryside, you know for sure I’d get all gussied up nice and go. There wouldn’t be no need to ask me twice. That man’s so damned handsome, it hurts my eyes to look at him!”

  Harriet stood up and waved a finger at Amanda. “Go on out and have some fun, honey, because life’s short and before long you’ll be an old woman.”

  Amanda grinned up at Harriet. “You are hardly old, and from the way I saw Mr. Holcomb looking at you this morning, I think you have an admirer.”

  Harriet blushed and seemed tongue-tied for a few moments. She finally cleared her throat as she picked up Amanda’s plate. “He helps me out around here, but don’t let your imagination run away with you.” She tossed her head, and the silver-streaked pile of dark curls shook. “Now, how about I tell Robert to run back on over to the lumberyard and let Sam know you’ll be ready for that ride in about an hour?”

  She turned to head back into the kitchen, then whirled back to face Amanda. “I’ll pack you two a little somethin’ to eat. All that gallopin’ around the countryside is sure to make you hungry as bears just comin’ outta hibernation.”

  Amanda nodded. The bright morning sunshine glittered outside, and the thought of once again being astride a horse thrilled her. As she stood to return to her room and change into her riding habit, a twinge of conscience hit her. Father Mikelson’s voice droned in her mind about her responsibilities as Arthur Wainwright’s widow. He would not approve of her riding about the countryside with a handsome stranger.

  She stood outside the door to her room and worried she might be making a terrible mistake. Accepting an invitation from a man she barely knew was bad enough, but she was still in mourning. She shouldn’t be going on picnics. She should be going to mass. Of course, Willow Creek didn’t have a priest or church. She ignored her anxiety and unlocked the door. Somehow, the fact that she wasn’t playing the proper bereaved Widow Wainwright made the entire adventure even more appealing.

  She would apply some of Harriet’s advice today. Perhaps for the first time in her life, she would ignore what other people said or expected of her, and do just as she pleased. She imagined herself a caged bird whose door was left open by mistake. Amanda was ready to try out her wings.

  ***

  “I really think you should have let me ride Stranger. It would have been the chivalrous thing for a gentleman to do.” Amanda gave Sam a sidelong glance as her soft, rose-colored lips formed a pretty pout. Sam nearly laughed at her attempt to be coy. The Widow Wainwright was not the shy innocent he had presumed.

  “He’s strong-willed and can be difficult to handle.” Sam grinned down at her. “Besides, whoever said I have any inclination to be chivalrous or a gentleman?”

  Amanda shifted in the saddle and her hat dipped to the side, causing several russet curls to escape from the tight coil at the base of her neck. Sam was briefly reminded of the way her hair had hung down her back the night before, wisps escaping to frame her face like flame engulfing a celestial spirit. A hot flicker of desire whipped through him.

  She groaned, and her face contorted in a look of stubborn defiance. “Why is it a difficult horse makes a man proud, but a difficult wife makes him angry?”

  Sam couldn’t help himself; his grin exploded into a loud, booming laugh.

  Amanda made a clicking noise to her horse and took off at a gallop.

  Sam let her get ahead of him as he marveled at the way she sat upon her horse. Even on a sidesaddle, her posture was perfect and her poise elegant.

  He knew her Morgan was no match for the long strides and stamina of the purebred Arabian beneath him. Still, if he gave her the opportunity, she might prove an admirable challenge.

  Sam spurred his horse forward into a run, letting Stranger enjoy the freedom of the level ground and green fields surrounding them. He considered the woman riding ahead of him, an intriguing mixture of innocence and sensuality. Was it natural or contrived?

  When he caught up to Amanda, she pulled gently on the reins to slow her horse to a walk. Her forest green eyes sparkled with good humor, and her cheeks were bright spots of scarlet.

  “Duchess certainly has spirit to match your stallion. They’ll breed fine horses together.”

  She continued to surprise him. In his experience, no gently-reared lady would ever mention horse breeding to a gentleman.

  “Tell me, Mrs. Wainwright, do you always speak your mind?”

  She sat quietly for a few moments before shrugging he
r shoulders.

  “Nuns don’t encourage artifice, and they punish you”—she raised an elegant eyebrow at him— “severely, for dishonesty. I’m afraid I never learned how to be coy or demure. Arthur seemed to appreciate my opinions. He said my wit entertained him.”

  A shock of surprise struck him like a bolt out of the sky. He wasn’t used to women who were so bold or so honest. He shifted in his saddle. It would be easier if he could convince himself they were both playing a flirtatious game.

  They rode in silence for a while, the air filled with birdsong, the wind blowing lightly and rustling the leaves in the birch trees. Sam felt at peace, and it was such an odd sensation, he wondered at the source of it. Amanda Wainwright? What was it about this woman that delighted him to such a degree? Why did her presence make him feel younger and more alive?

  As they approached a small creek, Sam pointed to an outcropping of rocks. “Shall we take a walk and let the horses rest a bit?”

  Amanda nodded. He pulled Stranger to a halt and dismounted, dropping his reins and moving to assist Amanda from her horse. An enticing smile played across her lips.

  “I’m not sure if I should trust you, Mr. Calhoun. You’ve informed me you don’t consider yourself to be an honorable gentleman.”

  Sam wrapped his hands around her waist as he lifted her from the saddle. He kept his hands in place, standing close enough to enjoy the fragrant scent of lilacs surrounding her. The turquoise highlights in her eyes sparkled, the teasing good humor still evident as she looked up at him.

  “I’m really quite a scoundrel, Mrs. Wainwright, not to be trusted whatsoever.”

  Sam finally released her, but from the way the blood rushed through his veins, he knew he wasn’t immune to the attractive widow’s charms.

  She placed a gloved hand on his arm, and he escorted her toward the rocks at the edge of a small stream. She settled on the hard granite outcropping and carefully arranged the dark velvet skirt of her riding habit.

  Sam removed the saddlebag from his shoulder. “Shall we see what Harriet has packed for us?” He opened the bag and produced a loaf of freshly baked bread, a wedge of cheddar cheese, and two apples. He held up two canning jars filled with cider.