“I didn’t come to play games with you, Amanda. I brought you something, and we need to talk.”
Amanda set her brush down and fluffed her hair. “More’s the pity, Sam. You’re much more fun to play with than to talk to.”
Turning on the bench, she leaned forward, and he caught a glimpse of her ankle when she lifted the ruffle of her petticoat. He nearly forgot what he needed to say. Then he spied the deep cleavage between her breasts and he did forget what he was going to say. The bulge at his crotch was painful and pushed hard against his trousers.
She looked at Sam with a languid, predatory glow in her eyes. “So, talk.”
He mumbled, and closed his eyes in exasperation. She toyed with him, and he felt green as a boy again.
“Enjoying yourself, Amanda?”
“Actually, yes. I’m enjoying this immensely.”
He opened his eyes, threw the box on the cluttered bed, and removed the lid. He held a satin and lace gown out to her. A modest offering for a goddess.
“I ordered this for you, back, well…when we were first married. I want you to wear it to the Miners’ Ball tomorrow night.”
Amanda’s eyes widened and her mouth formed a tiny “o” of surprise. Her gaze moved from the pale green frock to him and back again. What might be pleasure glimmered in the emerald depths of her eyes for a moment, before the cold indifference reappeared.
“That color is not appropriate for a woman in mourning.” She dismissed his gift with a brief wave of her hand. “I’ll wear black crepe, it’s my usual garb.”
Sam clenched his hands. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Amanda. You can discard those widow’s weeds. It’s time for you to pull yourself out from under Arthur’s shadow. You’ve proven to me and everyone else in Willow Creek that you’re a woman capable of making decisions and running a business on your own.”
He settled the gown back into the box and approached her.
He forced his hands to remain at his sides, fists clenched, though his fingers itched to stroke her hair, touch the softness of her cheek, and trail down to cup the fullness of a breast. The fragrance of lilacs, mixed with her personal woman’s scent, assailed his nostrils, and he struggled for self- control.
“You’re a woman to be admired, Amanda Wainwright Calhoun.”
She tossed her head and rose to move within inches of him. Her breath was sweet and warm, and he fought to keep his hands off her creamy skin, bare and inviting and within his reach.
“Admired or pitied, Sam?”
He threw back his head and laughed. The sound wasn’t filled with mirth though; it rang sad and hollow in the room.
“I pity myself, Amanda. Only a fool would walk away from you.”
Her glance flickered across his face, searching. He wanted to cringe at the stark appraisal, but knew he needed to be honest with her.
“I’d never be good for you, Amanda. In a few years, you’d be looking down the table at me, feeling angry and betrayed at being forced to marry a man so unworthy of you.”
She took a step closer and Sam nearly stopped breathing. He needed to hold her, to kiss her, to plead with her to make the pain inside him go away.
He closed his eyes, knowing she was going to touch him, and that at that moment all of his composure would dissolve. He prepared himself for the assault on his senses, but instead she turned away.
“So, that’s the kind of woman you think deserving of admiration? One who would discard people because they didn’t meet her preconceived notions or expectations?” She crossed to the bed and lifted the dress to examine it.
Sam took a deep breath. “I’ve lied to you and betrayed you. Certainly you deserve better than that.”
With one quick motion, she turned and threw the dress at him.
“Yes, I deserve someone who loves me. That’s all I ever wanted, Sam. Someone who could see beyond the widow’s weeds, and the mines, and yes, even beyond the money.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I wanted someone to see me. Was that too much to ask?”
Sam fought the urge to rush to her and pull her into his arms. Instead, he draped the dress on the curve of the trunk near the foot of the bed and took another deep breath.
“People do see you, Amanda. That’s why I believe it’s time you get rid of all these black gowns and start to show people how beautiful you really are.” He raked his eyes over her, from the toes peeping out from beneath her petticoat to the unruly russet tangle of her hair.
“Stop hiding behind Arthur and me. You’re intelligent, beautiful, and desirable. Let the world see who you really are, Amanda. You’re a butterfly, and it’s time to crawl out of your cocoon.”
Her face went pale. “How dare you. I’m not hiding behind you, or Arthur, or any other man.”
Sam flung the green dress back onto the bed and flipped open the trunk. He grabbed the first black crepe gown he could find and held it up. “Really? Isn’t this a costume? You admitted you weren’t really in mourning for Arthur. But traipsing around town in widow’s garb reminds people of how sad and lonely you are.” He shook the gown in her face. “Even when you publicly declared a marriage to me, you couldn’t get rid of your disguise. Isn’t that true, Amanda?”
She grabbed for the gown but he took two steps away. “The poor, pathetic Widow Wainwright, isn’t that what you want people to see?”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Stop it. Why can’t you ever just leave me alone, Sam?”
Sam fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his Lucifer matches.
“People have been leaving you alone all your life, haven’t they, Amanda? Is that why you hide yourself away, drape yourself in black, and hope you disappear into the background?”
She stumbled toward him, hands raised into fists prepared to pummel him. She stopped when he lit one of the matches. “What are you going to do, burn down the hotel?”
Sam didn’t hide his loathing as he glared at the ugly black dress he held in one hand. “I certainly hope not. I do believe Harriet Parmeter is already quite annoyed with me.” He touched the match to the dress and it burst into flame. He opened one of the windows and flung it toward the middle of the street. She brushed him aside to look out the window, then turned on him and smacked him with the palm of her hand. He grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her to him.
“I’ll burn every single gown you own before I see you dressed in that crow’s garb again. Do you understand, Amanda?”
She struggled, and all the warnings against holding her disappeared as a wave of longing swept through him. With no thought to the consequences, he pulled her into his arms and fastened his mouth to hers with a hard, deep, demanding kiss.
Her struggles ceased and her lips opened beneath the assault. He forced his tongue into her mouth and stroked her with a plunging, exciting rhythm. Her arms circled his neck, pulling him closer, and he dipped his hand beneath the silk of her chemise to find the perfect pearl of her nipple.
All his control slipped as desire seized him. He wanted to fall down on the bed, yank her on top of him, and spread her legs over his hips for a wild bucking ride that would carry them both over the edge to ecstasy.
She seemed transfixed by the motions of his mouth and hand, and finally surrendered. With one swift movement, he tumbled to the bed with her, pulling her down on top of him.
He yanked on the top of her corset, exposing her breasts before he placed his mouth where his fingers had been. She arched her back as he suckled one, then the other.
His hand slid down to the buttons of his pants, and he fumbled to release his erection.
“You bastard,” she whispered, her words rough and angry. “How dare you use me in this way.”
She spun off the bed to stand over him, her arms folded across her breasts and her lips twisting her face into a mask of pain and defiance. “I’m not some cheap whore you can use and dis
card. I’m your wife. And you either take your marriage vows seriously, Samuel Calhoun, or get out. And I mean out of my life, once and for all.”
Sam struggled to his feet. His body demanded satisfaction, the length of his cock was rigid with a burning need to slide between her legs and satisfy the ache, but her words hit him like a bucket of ice water tossed on his head. He felt off-balance, as if he’d just downed a bottle of whiskey and been in a barroom brawl, all within the last fifteen minutes.
“I’m...” He adjusted his collar and string tie and straightened his clothing, then bowed gracefully. “I apologize, Amanda. I didn’t mean to take advantage of the situation.” He curled a tousled strand of her hair around one finger. “Just remember what I said. No more of that black crow. You’re a beautiful butterfly.”
He stumbled from the room and down the stairs, forgetting to sneak out the back. Harriet Parmeter’s smile thinned when she spied him making his way out the door.
He couldn’t stop to explain. The air in his lungs was hot, making it painful to breathe. The searing agony of losing Amanda again, this time finally and for good, was too horrible to contemplate.
Chapter Nineteen
Amanda picked up her silver brush and sent it flying toward the door where it hit the frame, barely missing Sam. He’d once again walked out on her. “Damn you, Samuel Calhoun!” she screamed, not caring that she sounded like a harridan. “You keep walking away, but you just won’t leave me alone.”
She tumbled to the bed, throwing an arm across her eyes and fighting to keep from dissolving into tears. Her breasts still ached from his sensual assault, and she was wet between the legs, moist and ready for him to thrust into her. Angry and frustrated that he could so easily arouse her, she struggled to breathe and worked to regain her composure. He was gone, leaving her to pick up the pieces of her shattered heart.
“I won’t cry for you, not again.” She swore under her breath and wiped a tear from her cheek. “Not ever again.”
The man was impossible. He’d recite all the reasons they couldn’t be together, and in the next instant, wrap her in his arms and tease her to distraction with his kisses. She sat up, catching a glimpse of the gown he’d given her. She snatched it up and briefly considered taking a match to it and tossing it out the window to join her blazing widow’s weeds.
What difference did it make to Sam what she wore to the Miners’ Ball? He wouldn’t be there, and as far as she was concerned, no one else mattered. She heaved a deep sigh of regret. She could dream of dancing in the beautiful dress, candlelight flickering in those golden eyes, and seeing desire blossom in their depths. But the reality was Samuel Calhoun had once again said good-bye to her.
She tossed the dress to the floor, stood up, and stomped across the room to stare at her reflection in the dressing table mirror. Her lips were swollen from his kisses and her clothes askew. She adjusted the top of her satin corset. Her breasts were fuller, more mature looking.
Turning sideways, she looked for signs of the babe she carried. Her stomach was still flat, and she spread her hands protectively over the spot where she imagined her child slept. “I’ll never abandon you, my darling.”
Amanda perused her reflection. Was she a butterfly? She scoffed at the idea. She knew she wasn’t plain, but she’d hardly call herself beautiful. Yet Sam had said she was that and more. His words echoed in her mind. Strong and capable. The very things she wanted to be, but always felt were so hugely lacking in her character. How did he see those things in her?
And why wouldn’t he just leave her alone? She recalled the way he’d looked at her, the gentle softness of his touch and ache of desire in his kiss. Twisting her head to the side, she gathered her hair in one hand and traced the outline of her face with the other. Who was she? Certainly not the woman who’d arrived in Willow Creek so many weeks ago.
That woman had been a shadow, afraid of facing the challenges before her, terrified of the gaping loneliness that nearly consumed her. Where was that woman now?
Sam was right. She had emerged from a cocoon. She’d been wrapping herself in the black crepe mourning clothes so she could pretend life wasn’t going to pass her by. Or pretend she didn’t care if it did. She shivered at that thought. She cared very much about her life at this moment.
She cared because a new life was growing stronger each day within her. Her future wasn’t going to be filled with morning mass, afternoon prayers, and cold lonely nights.
She gathered up the pale green frock. Hugging it to her body, she examined the effect in the mirror. The color brought out the red highlights in her hair and the dark green of her eyes. Sam had chosen well.
The corners of her mouth lifted into a smile. Samuel Calhoun didn’t want her to leave, that much was obvious. He might pretend his bargain with Father Mikelson obliged him to annul their marriage, but his kiss told another story.
A surge of power rushed through her. Of course, she needed to contact the old priest and find out what kind of deal he’d forged with Sam. If she knew how Father Mikelson had manipulated Sam, she could convince her husband they needed to stay together.
She gently draped the gown across the foot of the bed and hurried to the dressing table. Locating her stationery, pen, and inkwell, she scrawled a note to Father Mikelson. She finished the note and contemplated who could act as a messenger and take it to the telegraph office. She would normally ask Mr. Penny, but their earlier encounter had left her unsettled. His eyes had been cold and measuring when he’d noticed her looking at the letter in her box. Remembering the cursed missive written in blood-red script, she reached into a hatbox and pulled it out with trembling hands.
Get out of town, bitch, and forget about Willow Creek. If you value your life, you’ll leave today. We’re watching you. Beware, Mrs. Calhoun, because you live only as long as we allow it.
Amanda crumpled the letter and tossed it back into the box. A cold tremor of fear ripped through her. She wished now she had told Sam about it. He never would have left her if he thought she was in real danger. She could have kept him with her, protecting her and their baby.
But she didn’t want Sam as a guardian angel, stuck by her side because he felt guilty and responsible. She wanted him to be her husband, staying because he loved her. And the only way she could accomplish that was to prove to him he couldn’t bear to see her leave town. She stretched and yawned. She decided to take a short nap and wait for Harriet to bring her supper.
She’d settle this thing with Sam and make him realize their marriage was destined to be strong and successful. Caleb would recover soon, and the three, no, the four, of them, could build a family together.
Amanda smiled. She felt content for the first time in days. She would fill her life with people who cared about her, and that would be a gift beyond measure.
***
Amanda woke the next morning possessed by a feeling of cold, hard determination. She’d given the note for Father Mikelson to Harriet and asked that she telegraph the message to Helena as soon as possible. Hopefully, the priest was already in route.
Dressing quickly, Amanda was eager to be on her way to the Miners’ Association. She had many tasks to complete before the ball tonight. She grabbed the bed frame for a moment to steady herself. The combination of her usual morning queasiness and the thought of trying to accomplish everything made her lightheaded.
When she opened the door to the association she found Margaret Abbott and a crew of miners already hard at work.
“Look at these Chinese lanterns, aren’t they just the prettiest things?” Margaret beamed at her. “I feel like a kid again, all excited. This is Christmas and my birthday all rolled into one.”
Amanda grinned at her. “You’ve done wonders with this place, Margaret. It’s beautiful.”
Margaret threw back her head and laughed. “The idea of decorating up this fancy house for a big shindig just tickles m
e to no end.” She leaned forward and gave Amanda a wink. “And the other wives can hardly wait to get into the place, just to satisfy their curiosity. I’m looking forward to seeing their faces when they get a gander at that picture of the fancy lady hanging in the kitchen.”
“I wish you would have allowed me to remove that painting,” Amanda said. “I don’t want to embarrass the other women.”
Margaret waved a hand. “They’d be madder’n hornets in a stirred up nest if you did that. For most of them, the high point of the evening will be pretending to be shocked to see such a thing. It’ll give us something to gossip about for months.”
Amanda couldn’t keep her eyes from straying toward the staircase, and shuddered at the spot still stained with Caleb’s blood. No amount of scrubbing could seem to remove the dark blight upon the wooden floor.
“Any change in Caleb today?”
Margaret shook her head and patted Amanda on the arm. “I’m sorry honey, he’s still not awake. The doc was here though, and I have to admit, that man seems to have had some kind of revelation or something.” She grabbed a brightly painted lantern and held it out to examine it. “He was clean and sober and talking just like a regular doctor. He says Caleb has better color today and his breathing is real normal. He’s been sipping that good broth Harriet made for him, just a bit at a time, but enough to know he’s gonna come out of this, mark my words.”
A wave of relief rushed over Amanda. Worry over Caleb’s condition had consumed her for days. She felt guilty that he’d been left alone to face his attacker the morning he was beaten and stabbed because she’d lingered in bed with Sam. If only she’d been a bit more reluctant to frolic with her husband, they might have arrived before Caleb had been hurt.
“You go on up and visit him for a bit, I’ve got things under control down here.” Margaret nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “We got the best cooks in town setting up in there. The folks will surely have a feast tonight, thanks to you, Amanda.”
Promise Me Page 20