Promises, Promises

by Amber Miller

  “I remain close if you need me.”

  Need? What she needed was some peace and quiet. And she wouldn’t get it until she eased Gustaf’s concern. She was touched, but she didn’t want to face the undeniable truths that might come from admitting that.

  “Mr. Hanssen, thank you for everything today. Your attentiveness has helped me endure a difficult situation. But now I need some time alone.”

  Gustaf accepted her wishes, even if he couldn’t disguise his reluctance to leave. She watched him lead his horses in the direction of his farm. Alone at last.

  But was that what she truly wanted?

  She’d thought she did, but faced with isolation, she found the emptiness was unbearable. This is ridiculous. I’m quite well. I merely need time to gather my senses. And the best place to do that was with the one friend who had never let her down.

  Valdig.

  Without a second thought, Raelene made her way to the barn. The familiar smells of hay, oak, and farm animals greeted her. Spending time with Valdig always soothed and comforted her like one of Mama’s soft, hand-stitched quilts. He had a way of knowing just what she needed. A gentle whinny showed he was in tune with her even now.

  “How are you, boy?” she said as she scratched from his forelock to his nose. He stretched his neck over the gate of his stall and nuzzled her arm.

  Laughing with delight, Raelene guided his head away and placed a kiss between his eyes. “Oh, you are quite the rascal. What makes you think I have anything for you?”

  Valdig tossed his head and neighed in response as if to say, “You always do.”

  To prove him right, Raelene withdrew a carrot from the pocket she’d long ago stitched in the folds of the petticoat. Valdig eagerly accepted the treat, his whiskers tickling her palm as his velvet muzzle caressed it. How easy it was to fall back into a routine.

  A lone tear slipped from her eye. She reached up to brush it away, and Valdig tipped his nose under her chin. Raelene leaned over the gate and threw her arms around his neck.

  “Oh, how I have missed you!”

  Valdig settled his head over her shoulder and allowed the embrace, once again knowing just what she needed.

  After composing herself, Raelene checked on Jägar and their milking cows. Assured that everything was in order, she latched the barn door and backed away—right into Preston Sanbourne.

  Her hand immediately went to her throat as she attempted to catch her breath. A day without an encounter. Was that too much to ask?

  “Mr. Sanbourne! You startled me.”

  “Ah, Miss Strattford. Forgive my intrusion.” He bowed low, but a devilish twinkle in his eyes set Raelene’s heart jumping. “I wondered why I didn’t see you during the festivities in town, so I decided to find out myself.”

  His voice had the schooled edge of trying too hard to appear nonchalant.

  “Do forgive me, Mr. Sanbourne, but a headache from the heat hastened my departure, and Mr. Hanssen was good enough to bring me home.”

  “Ah, yes,” he replied, his mouth curling without humor. “The kind Mr. Hanssen. The overseer present for your every need.”

  Raelene bristled at the innuendo. “I do not believe I appreciate your insinuations, Mr. Sanbourne. Mr. Hanssen has been nothing but a gentleman in every regard while he has been working here. Which is more than I can say for you at the moment.”

  Sanbourne remained unaffected by her insult. “Is that any way to speak to someone merely inquiring after your health?” he chided gently.

  Be careful, she silently reprimanded. Something about his presence and demeanor suggested he played some sort of game, although what it was or why eluded Raelene. “Perhaps I am not thinking clearly and merely responding out of fatigue.”

  “Why don’t we go for a little walk? I’d like the opportunity to continue our conversation from the other day in town.”

  “Mr. Sanbourne, I do appreciate the invitation, but as I stated, I suffer from an aching head and am quite overwhelmed from today’s events. I would like nothing better than to rest.” She started to step around him. “Please excuse me.”

  He grabbed her wrist, painfully stopping her departure, and pressed her against the stable door. “That isn’t how you were supposed to respond.”

  “Forgive me, Mr. Sanbourne, but—”

  “No need to apologize for the attraction I can see in your eyes, no matter what that lovely mouth of yours says.”

  Raelene’s indignation hitched in her throat. She had admired the man and his impeccable manner, but—

  “There’s no cause for fear, dearest,” he assured her. “I only intend to make you realize what your eyes already know.”

  As he leaned toward her, Raelene felt like a cornered animal. Backed up against the barn, she had nowhere to run.

  As he lowered his head to hers, Raelene inhaled his hot breath, ready to scream. But before she found her voice, Sanbourne rose off the ground, lifted by unseen hands, and whirled away, stumbling over his own feet and grasping for something to keep from sprawling on the ground.

  The roar of Gustaf’s voice drew Raelene’s attention from her startled assailant to where he stood like a towering god of thunder.

  ❧

  It was all Gustaf could do to keep from tearing off the man’s head then and there. The moment he’d seen Sanbourne ride up and walk toward the barn, Gustaf had raced across the field. He’d heard of Sanbourne’s less-than-noble plans regarding Raelene while in town that day but hadn’t expected the man to make his move so soon.

  Momentarily stunned, Preston recovered and hurled himself at Gustaf. “How dare you, you overgrown oaf!”

  With a strength born of hard labor, Gustaf deflected Preston’s blow and swung at the man’s jaw. But he connected with air. Before he realized where the quick-footed scoundrel had gone, a fist shot up, smashing squarely into the ridge of bone over Gustaf’s eye. White light flashed, and Gustaf blinked. His vision cleared just as Preston came at him again. Gustaf blocked the jab, his glower backing the man off beyond reach.

  “I thought you two were more than just a hired man and his employer,” Sanbourne huffed, his feet moving like a dancer. “Now I know that Miss Strattford isn’t quite the lady she professes to—”

  Raging like a bull, Gustaf charged and swung, but once again his adversary dodged him. “Stand still, you coward,” he demanded. “This is a fight, not a jig.”

  “And this is boxing, you muscle-bound imbecile.”

  Blood pounding in his temples, Gustaf plowed into the man again and, once again, Sanbourne danced away, but not before delivering a stabbing kidney punch. “You’ll not lay a hand—”

  Ignoring what felt like a steel blade twisting in his back, Gustaf spun on the man with a powerful hook, proving him wrong. The impact practically lifted Sanbourne off the ground, and he descended in a crumpled heap. Walking over to the fallen man, his chest heaving, Gustaf seethed. “You stay off this farm. I give fair warning.”

  “I—I think you’ve broken my jaw,” Sanbourne slurred as he pulled himself up on the nearby post.

  “It could have been your neck,” Gustaf replied without sympathy. “And it will be your neck if you hint that Miss Strattford is anything less than a lady. Am I clear?” he called after Sanbourne, who staggered toward his horse without looking back.

  “Quite,” he managed to respond.

  Gustaf watched the unwelcome visitor until he was mounted and headed away from the homestead, holding back the murderous rage that still rampaged through his veins. Had Sanbourne not given up when he did—

  Gustaf doubled over at the waist and pressed his fists into his sides, taking in huge gulps of air to calm himself. His body trembled, and the pain his fury had overridden made itself known. Yet even as his brain acknowledged it, soft cries from a few feet away beat
it back into submission again. Raelene!

  He rushed to where Raelene huddled against the stable wall, her body shaking with strangled sobs. Kneeling in the dirt beside her, he laid a hand on her arm.

  “Min raring, Raelene.”

  She answered his “My dear” with what sounded like a combination between a hiccup and a gasp, giving him cause for concern that maybe he’d overstepped his bounds.

  “Var god—” He checked himself, switching to English for fear it might come too naturally in his native language to reveal more of his feelings than he dared.

  “Please. He is gone.”

  Lifting her head, Raelene sniffled but kept her eyes downcast.

  “You are safe.”

  He retrieved a handkerchief and pressed it into her hands. This was becoming a habit, one that wasn’t altogether unpleasant.

  “It was my f–fault,” she murmured brokenly. “I—I must have been too friendly in town—”

  “Nonsense,” Gustaf objected. “He is no gentleman. He is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Never your fault,” he vowed softly, stroking away a golden strand of hair from her face. “I do not want to hear that.”

  After wiping her cheeks and eyes, Raelene raised her gaze to his. Her eyes widened. “You’re bleeding!”

  Surprised, he reached up to touch the tender spot near his eye.

  “No! Don’t touch it. It could become infected.”

  As though she drew strength from his injuries, Raelene hurried to her feet and grabbed his arm, all but dragging him over to a worktable. She rummaged through an odd assortment of supplies and selected the ones she wanted.

  Gustaf watched in disbelief. She was going to tend to his wounds with the same bandages and ointments she used on Jägar and Valdig. And he was going to let her.

  Focused on tending to him, she didn’t even pause to meet his gaze before beginning her ministrations. With ointment on a cloth, she raised it to his temple.

  “You do not have to do this,” he mumbled halfheartedly. “I will take care of it.”

  “No!” she said a little too fast. “P–please. I m–must do this. I owe you this much.”

  The pleading in her eyes and tremble in her voice made him consent. But it was more than that. Her eyes were saying “Stay away,” while her touch was saying “Thank you” and “Don’t go.” A compelling contrast that fascinated him.

  Gustaf remained still as she cleaned the cut at his temple. With Raelene at such close proximity, an acute awareness overcame him. The faint scent of lavender mixed with the scent of horseflesh and ointment caused an odd but heady sensation, enough to make him think things he had no right—

  “I wanted. . .”

  Raelene’s soft words jerked him away from his unsettling thoughts, but she hesitated. After a moment, she spoke again.

  “I must thank you for today.” Raelene focused on her task and avoided his eyes. “If you had not arrived when you did, I—” Her words caught in her throat. “I cannot bear to think what Mr. Sanbourne would have done.”

  A shudder overtook her, leaving her trembling in its wake. Every fiber in him wanted to pull Raelene into his arms and hold her, stilling her fear. He clenched his fists and forced his arms to remain at his side as he watched a range of emotions cross her face. Gratefulness, panic, trepidation, agitation, and finally, control. When she moved to clean the cut at the corner of his mouth, he nearly lost his own. Surely his teeth would crack if he clenched his jaw any tighter.

  What he wouldn’t give to know what Raelene was thinking. If she was half as aware of him as she was of her, she must have better control than he.

  Her fingers grazed his lips, causing him to inhale a sharp breath.

  She froze.

  Her touch both unnerved him and awakened his senses. He placed his left hand over hers. It shook as he raised it to his mouth, but she did not resist. At its contact, liquid fire surged through his veins.

  “Raelene.” The guttural quality of his voice surprised him. Her widened eyes suggested that she, too, was shocked, making him want to take it back. But when those blue pools met his, her shock softened and a soulful light shone from their depths. With his other hand, he cupped her cheek. Raelene inhaled a tremulous breath, her lips parting. A lump the size of his fist formed in Gustaf’s throat.

  Slowly, he lowered her hand from his mouth and leaned forward. Her eyelids fluttered closed and her hand tensed, but she didn’t try to remove it from his. All he could think about was what it would be like to taste her lips. Just before Gustaf’s mouth found hers, Duncan Strattford’s words came to him. “Promise you’ll take care of her. Promise me you won’t let her get hurt.”

  Someone may as well have dumped a bucket of cold water over his head. With a jerk, Gustaf moved away and dropped her hand.

  Raelene stared, confusion and hurt clouding her eyes.

  “I—I cannot,” he stammered. “I make promise. And I will not break it.”

  Her crestfallen face was nearly his undoing. He almost closed the gap between them and picked up where he’d left off. But it wouldn’t be right. He’d pay the consequences of his actions, and so would she.

  With a groan borne of frustration, Gustaf retreated, barreling out of the barn. The responsibility that her father had placed on his shoulders was almost unbearable. And from the wounded look she’d given him, it was impossible. No matter what he did, he seemed destined to hurt the one person he’d not hurt for the world. Never mind that she’d seemed to welcome his attention, making his blood boil in the process. What he needed was a cold dip in the creek. Although it wouldn’t clear his mind of the hurt on Raelene’s face. His was an impossible situation.

  Fourteen

  In mute shock, Raelene watched Gustaf leave. One minute, she was tending his wounds, and the next, they were both locked in a place where time didn’t matter. Then, as if a lightning bolt had touched ground nearby, he’d started, snatching the magic from her, as well.

  He could’ve at least said good-bye. . .something. Yet her irritation at Gustaf paled in comparison to what had almost happened, what she had almost let happen. Shame filled her, and she pressed her hands to her warm cheeks.

  “You are safe.”

  Those were the same words he’d uttered when he’d brought her parents home after their accident. The compassion in his blue eyes filled her with an odd mixture of assurance and comfort. The same had happened just now. But nothing about her feelings for him was safe or comfortable.

  She crumpled in a heap of petticoats on the loose clumps of hay at her feet and sobbed. How could she have let things reach this point? The attraction. The awareness. The desire. If he hadn’t walked away, she wouldn’t have been able to stop him.

  Thankfully, Gustaf had walked away. Two advances in one day were more than enough, even if one wasn’t entirely unwanted.

  Composing herself, Raelene gently wiped the tears from her cheeks with the soft linen of Gustaf’s handkerchief. It filled her nose with his outdoorsy scent. Ignoring the resulting ache within, Raelene filled her lungs to calm her erratic breathing.

  Jägar’s nicker from the stall closest to her drew her attention away from her distress. The gentle way Jägar looked at her made it feel like Papa was there, empathizing with her. She wanted to believe it was so with all her heart, for it comforted her like nothing else could.

  But in her confusion about men and love, she supposed she needed Mama’s presence more. And if she listened to her senses rather than her longing heart, she was exactly where she’d been the moment they left—alone.

  Raelene stood and brushed the straw from her skirts. As she made her way to the cottage, she glanced at the fields, wondering where Gustaf had gone. With not even a shadow in the distance, she stepped inside.

  It was just as well. They needed time apart to gather th
eir wits and get back on the right path. The path they’d both chosen from the start.

  As her eyes adjusted to the dark interior of her home, Raelene paused. It was silly, she knew, but her longing to connect with her mother overrode reason. Perhaps if she did work that she’d often done with Mama. . .

  Raelene frowned, lost in thought. Other than candle making, Mama had only one other interest that drew her into the room with Raelene.

  Embroidery.

  Raelene went to the cedar chest in Mama’s room and retrieved the quilt squares from the heavy-scented interior. Settling into the rocking chair by the hearth, she draped Mama’s half-finished creation across her lap, grabbed supplies from the basket at her feet, and set to work.

  The familiar in-and-out motion as she pushed and pulled the needle and thread brought comfort in the routine. Mama always said that needlework soothed the mind and rested the soul. “Try to keep a straight line,” Mama would always say. “And pull tight. You do not want your work unraveling.”

  Raelene’s smile faded as she spied the dented tin cup Gustaf always used. Once again, thoughts of Gustaf and how she’d responded to him plagued her. If only she could talk to memories, confide in Mama. Grief fell unchecked, soaking into the dry fabric in her lap.

  “Oh, Mama! Why did you and Papa leave me here alone? I’ve made a dreadful mess of things, and I need your counsel.”

  Unable to run from what had happened in the barn, Raelene steeled herself. She’d go over it step by step until she understood why she’d felt like kissing away Gustaf’s pain and falling into his strong arms.

  She had been agitated by Preston’s attempts to compromise her. Then the intimacy of tending to Gustaf’s wounds had led to agitation of a different sort. How could she not have seen to him? He’d come to her rescue and defended her honor. It was the least she could do.