Amanda clapped her hands. “A veritable feast! I confess I’m starving after that ride.”
He handed her a rough linen napkin, then broke off a chunk of bread for each of them. He removed his knife from the pouch fastened to his gun belt and caught her staring at the revolver strapped to his thigh.
“Does the gun disturb you, Amanda?” He sliced a piece of cheese and handed it to her, then began to peel the apple with a slow, lazy motion.
She seemed to consider his question carefully before she replied. “The ease with which some men use guns to solve their problems disturbs me.” The corners of her mouth lifted in an impish grin. “But I understand your need to protect yourself. After all, I could be a very dangerous woman.”
Sam’s mouth went dry and he couldn’t muster an answer. She was a danger, because he found himself attracted to her. He couldn’t afford to care about Amanda Wainwright, because to do so could destroy any chance of successfully completing his mission. He needed to keep his emotions under control.
Yet, she captivated him with her unaffected ways and lack of guile. She didn’t drop her eyes and giggle at a man, playing the games so many of the women he’d known before did. She expressed her opinions honestly, with a forthright manner he found charming. And for some inexplicable reason, she made him laugh.
He enjoyed the way she took obvious pleasure in her meal. Ladies of his acquaintance nibbled at food, or pushed it about their plates, feigning disinterest. Amanda relished each piece of apple he handed her, closing her eyes as she bit into it, the juice moistening her lips.
Stretching across a large rock, he laid his head on his hand and simply enjoyed watching her.
“I doubt I’ll be able to resist you, Mrs. Wainwright, and I suspect there are no weapons I could find to defend myself from your charms.”
Amanda threw back her head and laughed, the full throaty sound of it arousing him in a way he never expected. She made him feel alive. No, more than that. She made him grateful to be alive. The sound of the water trickling across the rocks of the creek and the music of birds singing filled him with happiness. Concern nudged him, and he reminded himself that seducing this woman was the key to success. Or at least pretending to seduce her. There was more at stake than his happiness. He could enjoy her company, as long as he maintained control of his feelings.
She removed her hat and turned her face to the sun, a soft smile painting her features with joy. “I swear, Calhoun, if you start spouting poetry, I shall simply swoon.”
He considered her for a few moments. “Is that a challenge?”
She studied him with a delicate frown. “Don’t tell me you’re a romantic?”
He remembered the lines of one of his favorite poems and gave her a bold grin.
“My life is like the autumn leaf that trembles in the moon’s pale ray, its hold is frail—its date is brief—restless, and soon to pass away.” He put a hand over his heart. “Yet when that leaf shall fall and fade, the parent tree will mourn its shade, the wind bewails the leafless tree, but none shall breathe a sigh for me!”
When his words faded into the breeze, Amanda slapped one hand over her own heart and dramatically placed the other on her forehead. “I warned you, sir.” She wavered momentarily, lifted her gaze to the heavens then dropped to lie prone upon the rock, her eyes closed.
Sam laughed again as he waited for her to sit up. When she remained stretched across the rock, he became concerned.
“Amanda?” She didn’t move. He sat up. “Mrs. Wainwright?” Again, he had no response. Was she playacting, or had she bumped her head on the granite beneath her when she performed her swoon?
He hurried to her side and knelt down. “Amanda, are you hurt?” Her eyes fluttered open, and her emerald gaze captured him. His finger gently traced the side of her cheek, her skin pulsating with warmth.
“I suppose I was just overcome by the power of your oratory.” She grinned up at him.
He grasped her chin gently, but tried to make his voice stern. “It’s not nice to tease a scoundrel, Amanda. I’m going to need to punish you.”
“That sounds terribly frightening, Sam.”
He saw the invitation in her eyes. And he was seized by an urge he had no power to resist. Leaning forward, his intention was only to taste, to brush his lips across hers, to satisfy this craving to know how she’d react if he kissed her.
He wasn’t prepared for her response. Her lips parted, the soft heat of her inviting him into a deeper embrace. She made a delicate, almost purring, sound as her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. She captured him with her desire.
Sam plunged his tongue deep into her mouth, reveling at the taste of her. She was honey, fruit, and sweet sensuality all in one. Passion seared his blood until he felt as if he were standing in front of a blazing fire. He needed to pull away from her, but the thought was agony. He wanted more, so much more. And he promised himself he would have it, but not here, not yet. If he moved too quickly, he might frighten Amanda and thwart his ultimate purpose.
Finally, he found the courage to release her. He sat back on the rocks, his fingers combing through his hair, and he struggled to catch his breath.
Amanda still stretched across the rocks, the dark black velvet of her riding habit now wrinkled where his body had crushed the fabric. He considered what lay beneath the richness of the velvet—the dainty lace of her undergarments, the delicious satin of her skin.
He closed his eyes and lifted his face to the clouds, silently pleading for help. He needed to gain control of himself. He cleared his throat and opened his eyes to discover Amanda Wainwright studying him with a dark shadow of sadness reflected in the green depths of her eyes. His heart wrenched with fear. What had he done? She was the Widow Wainwright, not some harlot he’d purchased for an evening’s pleasure. He had acted too quickly, too thoughtlessly. He needed to win the confidence of this woman, not frighten her with amorous advances.
Pulling to his feet, he offered his hand to assist her. When Amanda stood, facing him, he bowed his head.
“I’m terribly sorry, I...”
Before he could finish the mumbled apology, she placed one of her gloved fingers upon his lips.
Her eyes sparkled, and a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Don’t spoil a magnificent kiss with an apology, Calhoun, you’ll wound my pride.” She tilted her head and lifted her chin to meet his gaze, then she dropped her hand to her side. “A woman likes to believe she’s utterly irresistible.”
Jumping down from the rocks, she headed back to the horses, but turned again to face him, a hand shading her eyes from the sun.
“I would, Sam.” Her voice was husky with emotion. “I would mourn you.”
Sam swallowed, nearly overwhelmed by her simple words. A flicker of fear slid up his back. He was drawn to this woman.
Resist her? He didn’t know if he could, and that thought terrified him.
Chapter Five
“Why the hell haven’t you bedded that widow woman and driven her outta town yet, Calhoun?”
Sam’s head came up so fast, the muscles in his neck stretched. His temper rose as he rushed to slam the door shut behind Jack Pruitt, resisting the urge to shove his fist into the man’s face at the same time.
He tried to control the anger in his voice when he faced the older man. “Try to remember, I run a lumberyard not a brothel, Pruitt.”
Pruitt waved a meaty fist in the air and leaned toward Sam. “We paid you for a job, Calhoun, and from the looks of things, you ain’t done the work.”
Sam moved closer to Pruitt, working hard to keep the anger from his voice. “I haven’t taken a cent of your money yet, if you’ll recall. I’ll only do so once I’ve accomplished the task.” Sniffing at the sour odor rising from the man, he took a step back to lean on his desk.
“Did you presume she’s the type of wo
man who’d fall into my arms in a swoon the moment she laid eyes on me?” He raised a dark eyebrow to glare at Pruitt.
Jack Pruitt shook his head and waved a balled fist toward Sam. “You’ve had a week, and everyone in town’s seen the two of you together. Lift that woman’s skirts and get it over with, Calhoun. The longer she stays in town, the more trouble she makes.”
Sam fought an incredible urge to smash the face before him into an unrecognizable pulp. Hearing the man refer to Amanda in such a vulgar manner riled him. But that was the agreement he’d made with the mine owners.
“I need time to seduce a lady, especially one who’s been recently widowed.” Sam stalked to the window to avoid making eye-contact with Pruitt. “She’s still in her damned crepe dresses for God’s sake. What do you expect me to do, throw her down in the middle of the street and rape her?”
Pruitt settled his bulk into a chair and slammed his feet on Sam’s desk. “I ain’t the courtin’ type, so I don’t know what you need to do. But today she’s down at that Miners’ Benevolent Association.” He spit the words out as if they left a foul taste in his mouth. “And she’s handin’ out clothes and shoes. You’d think they was rocks she picked up on the side of the road.” He removed his dirty boots from the desk to lean forward and point a meaty finger at Sam. “And she don’t even care who she hands goods out to. She’s givin’ to just anybody who wants to come by.”
Sam folded his arms in front of his chest and leaned against the casing of the window. “So, she actually opened the doors today, did she?”
Pruitt jumped to his feet to slam a fist on the desk. “Damned right she opened them, and now even my men are down there gettin’ a free hand-out. What does that make me and the others, when that Wainwright woman is clothin’ our miners?”
A bunch of greedy bastards? The thought flickered through Sam’s mind, but he didn’t respond to the question. He stared out the window again, wishing he’d never made this hellish bargain. At the time it had all seemed so simple. Now that he’d met Amanda, seen that small tear trickle down her cheek, heard her laugh, kissed her... He shook his head to clear it.
Crossing the room, he unrolled his sleeves and fastened the cuffs of his white linen shirt. He’d been working on his accounts when Pruitt arrived, and he was proud that the business was doing well, despite the fact that it was a sham, set up only to serve as a way for Sam to become accepted in Willow Creek. He reminded himself that Amanda was the key to his mission’s success. The President was relying upon him.
He pulled his frock coat from the peg where it hung and shrugged into it. “I suppose I can go down there and see what the troublesome Widow Wainwright is up to this morning.”
Pruitt followed him onto the small landing. “Troublesome don’t hardly describe that woman. She’s got more friggin’ schemes than a dog’s got fleas.” He spit a wad of chewing tobacco over the side of the railing and glared at Sam. “Get rid of that woman, Calhoun, or I’ll take care of her myself.”
With that, Pruitt thumped down the steps and skulked off toward the saloon. Sam considered the threat still lingering in the air and frowned. Jack Pruitt was a son-of-a-bitch, and he’d do whatever was necessary to protect his own interests. Even kill. The thought chilled Sam to the marrow, as he pictured Pruitt’s large fist choking the life from Amanda. He’d have to work faster. There was more at stake now than just Amanda’s reputation.
Sam hurried across town, marveling at Amanda’s accomplishments. He’d had dinner with her a few nights ago, but their conversation centered on her plans for the Miners’ Association and the bid she’d requested for lumber. She’d been cool, precise, and very businesslike. When he’d inquired about the chances of meeting her later in the kitchen for a hot toddy, she’d demurely whispered he didn’t need a midnight supper; he’d just eaten with her.
And so he’d sat each night in the lamplight, nursing his whiskey and growing more frustrated while he waited for her to appear. He imagined her copper-colored hair freed from its tight coil, surrounding her, a fiery mane of flame. He recalled the way the thin muslin of her night rail had revealed the delicious curves of her woman’s body. But she never appeared, and Sam’s desire for her increased each day she remained out of his reach.
Sam brushed his fingers across his chin and tried to clear his thoughts. He’d been too long without a woman. He was never a man to deny his carnal appetite for long. But now, every woman he considered paled in comparison to the vibrant Amanda Wainwright. He was beginning to wish his plan to seduce her could be more than a ruse.
The thought surprised him. For the past few years he’d felt momentary attractions to women, even some affection for a few, but he’d always attributed it to lust. Once in their bed, the mystery had quickly dissolved into boredom. And of course, there had been his wife, his beautiful, doomed Elsbeth. She’d taught him a painful lesson about confusing lust with love.
Shaking himself, Sam straightened his tie and lengthened his stride. A group of miners gathered at the door of the newly opened Willow Creek Miners’ Benevolent Association. He paused to consider Amanda’s choice of location and grinned. She’d decided the fanciest parlor house in town would be the perfect choice for her new endeavor, and had offered the madam of the place a princely sum to relocate. Sam wondered how many men had arrived at this door to discover the whores had been replaced by a woman intent on good works instead of pleasure.
Several men nodded at Sam when he opened the door. He grinned again as he stood in the vestibule of the house, with its red floral wallpaper, gilt mirrors, and crystal chandelier. Sam’s memory flooded with images of the girls he’d been with here. Removing his hat, he brushed his hand through his hair. Too long without a woman, he thought. He’d need to find out where Mrs. Holt had relocated her establishment. Soon.
He heard a murmur of voices from the parlor, and Sam walked across the smooth fir floor to investigate. Amanda sat perched on a stool behind a large counter surrounded by piles of coats, overalls, shirts, and boots. Sam’s heart thumped so loudly against his chest, he wondered if she could hear it. The soft cadence of her voice reminded him of their clandestine meeting in the kitchen, and his groin tightened. She was engaged in conversation with the young man standing before her, a thin lad with the long arms and legs of a boy not yet grown to manhood. He held a worn brown hat in his hand and appeared to be shyly asking Amanda for something.
“I ain’t too proud to beg, ma’am.” The boy mumbled politely.
Amanda bestowed a brilliant smile on the boy that made Sam swallow hard but was lost on her audience. The boy never raised his gaze to look at her.
“That’s not at all necessary, Mister...” Her response was gentle and kind. She gave him another smile, and the boy seemed mesmerized when he finally looked up in time to catch it. He didn’t speak or respond, just stared. It started to bother Sam. The boy was obviously besotted with Amanda and a prickle of jealousy gave Sam a vicious stab.
“Caleb McQueen, that’s his name. Lives over in tent city, I believe.” A rush of desire whipped through him when Amanda’s gaze found him and lit with warmth that nearly took his breath away.
Caleb turned to stare at Sam, then returned to his conversation with Amanda. “That’s it ma’am, and well, I ain’t one of the Wainwright folks, but I badly need me some new boots.” He hung his head, staring down at the patched and worn leather on his feet. He straightened his shoulders but didn’t look at her. “I swear I’d work off a payment to you.”
Amanda started to protest, but Sam stepped closer to settle a hand gently on the young man’s shoulder. “That’s fine, Caleb, and the honorable thing to do. I’m sure Mrs. Wainwright can find some chores around here that need to be done.”
Caleb lifted his head, seeming to grow taller beneath Sam’s praise. Amanda indicated the pile of clothing surrounding her. “I sure could use some help sorting through all this. And Caleb”—her green eyes sp
arkled—“why not find the pair of boots you want right now? There’s no sense waiting until everything is picked over. I trust you’ll earn them.”
A grin split the boy’s face as he nearly fell over in his rush to find himself a new pair of boots. “Yes, ma’am, and thank you, ma’am. I’ll work hard, I swear.”
Amanda came out from behind the counter and placed her hands on her hips. “So, Mr. Calhoun, what brings you to the Willow Creek Miners’ Benevolent Association?” Her gaze raked his body, lingering long enough to nearly make Sam’s blood boil. “It’s clear you don’t need my help to get dressed.”
But I’d love to help you undress, was that what she was implying? Sam shook his head, trying to ignore the heat circling down from his lower belly to make his cock hard as a piece of oak wood. This place gave a man lewd thoughts.
“I heard you were open for business, so thought I’d see what you were up to.” He looked around the room and gave a low whistle. “It seems to me you’re going to give the dry goods store some stiff competition.”
Amanda shook her head. “There are so many things that need to be done. Food, clothing, homes, medicine.” She frowned and glanced up at Sam. “Do you know the only doctor in this town is a drunk with questionable qualifications? Willow Creek doesn’t have a school or a church, but it has eleven saloons and at least three houses of ill repute.” Her voice carried a rebuke in it, and Sam scowled.
“Willow Creek is a mining town. They grow up quick, but can fade fast depending upon the ore.” He leaned back against the counter and crossed his legs. “There are poor miners up in those hills, and scattered all across Montana.” He considered his words carefully. “They’re all over the west, I suppose. You can’t make a difference to everyone who needs help out here, that’s for sure.”
Amanda straightened her shoulders and pursed her lips. She glanced toward Caleb, who was seated on the floor pulling on a new pair of boots. His face reflected a look of pure joy. She leaned forward to point a finger sharply towards Sam’s chest.
Promise Me Page 5