Promises Reveal

by Sarah McCarty

  “No one can hold you to a promise made with a shotgun at your back.” She didn’t want a husband under coercion.

  His jaw set. “I gave my word. ’Til death do us part.”

  “Well, I’m not so stubborn about the concept of a promise.”

  Again, one of those looks out of the corner of his eye that made her uncomfortable. “Good to know.”

  He didn’t need to say it like that! “What I mean is, I’m reasonable enough to understand that circumstance—”

  “That would be you.”

  She gripped a fold of the cape in her hands, squeezing for patience. “Circumstance conspired to put us in an awkward position.”

  “You put us in an awkward position.”

  “Fine.” She slapped her hat against her thigh. “I put us in an awkward position. However, that doesn’t mean we have to continue this farce until ‘death do us part.’ ”

  “What’s the alternative?”

  She took a hankie from the cuff of her dress and dabbed at the perspiration on her forehead. At last he was being reasonable. She yanked a bunch of her skirt out from under her hip. “We stay married for a sensible amount of time and then dissolve the marriage.”

  He clucked to the bay, drawing the buggy to the right, heading toward the edge of town. “There are only a couple of reasons a marriage can be dissolved, none of them ideal.”

  “I thought we’d go for non-consummation.”

  He made a strange sound in his throat.

  “I looked it up and it seemed the least offensive.”

  He pulled the horse to an abrupt stop. “The hell you did.”

  She stopped tugging at her skirt and looked at him. Really looked at him. “You’re angry.”

  “What gave you that impression?”

  Nothing really. Certainly not his eyes, as they were shadowed by his short-brimmed hat. Not his mouth, which wasn’t any more tense than normal, and certainly not by the tone of his voice. But a lack of signs didn’t change what she knew. He was annoyed.

  “It’s more than an impression. You’re angry.”

  “Because you think to make me a laughingstock again by telling all and sundry that, when faced with a beautiful woman, I can’t be a man?”

  “What do you mean again?”

  “I know it’s been a month since the last time you threw my masculinity into question.”

  A month? What had she done a month ago? A month ago she’d had her little show . . . She sat up straight, outrage spiking down her spine. “You thought my painting was an insult?”

  “It sure as he—heck wasn’t a compliment.”

  He hadn’t liked her painting? How dare he criticize her art? “It was an excellent painting and immensely flattering.”

  It had also been the most exciting piece she’d ever worked on.

  “So you told everyone who would listen.”

  He didn’t sound at all pleased, which only aggravated her more. She might not be one to fit neatly into convention, and he might doubt her ability to be a properly restrained wife, but she was a wonderful artist.

  “You have no taste!”

  Instead of getting angrier, the tension left his shoulders and a smile tucked into the corners of his mouth. Why? The insult should have landed. He should be mad, not amused.

  “Pretty much, it’s all in my mouth.”

  “That’s a shame, because I can’t cook.”

  He didn’t even flinch. “Then you’ll have something to keep you busy for the next forty years.”

  “You think I’m so stupid, it’s going to take me forty years to learn to cook?”

  The half second it took him to shake his head had her chin snapping up. She wanted to hit him, to kiss him, do anything but just sit here quietly beside him and ride to their honeymoon. The man drove her crazy with contradiction.

  “Don’t look so indignant. For a bright woman, you’ve pulled some stupid stunts.”

  She glanced at him from beneath her lashes. There was definitely a come-play-with-me invitation in that grin. What he wanted to play, and the rules of the game, were still up for grabs, but he wanted her along. Her irritation dissipated in the wake of that knowledge, but the urge to kiss him lingered. She studied his mouth. It’d taken her a month of trying before she’d caught on paper the sensuality that was reflected in the chiseled shape. A month of sketching and wondering. And tonight, all that wondering would come to an end. She’d know the nature of his kiss. It seemed like forever until tonight. Of course, she didn’t have to wait. She could always initiate a kiss.

  She wondered what he’d do if she gave in to the impulse and leaned over and kissed him. Probably die of shock. She tucked the urge away with her hankie. Belatedly, she noticed he was studying her just as hard as she was studying him, but he wasn’t being at all discreet about it, surveying her with the fervor of a fox perusing his next meal. A little shiver sneaked down her spine.

  “I have not.” None that she was confessing to anyway.

  “What about the other night at the Pleasure Emporium?”

  Oh shoot. “Who tattled on me this time?”

  “Everyone was happy to tell me.”

  “Everyone’s always happy to point out my mistakes.”

  “Now why do I get the feeling we’re not talking about the harebrained plan you came up with?”

  “It wasn’t harebrained.”

  “Did it have you going within twenty feet of a whorehouse at night, unchaperoned?”

  He knew darn well it did. “Yes.”

  “Then harebrained covers it.”

  There was only one more house before they left town behind. A pretty two-story with quaint gingerbread trim on the porch. Where on Earth was he taking her? “Those women need help.”

  “Those women aren’t my concern. You are.”

  “That’s all you’re going to say?”

  “Beyond the fact that you can put the idea of divorce out of your mind? Pretty much.”

  With a jerk, Brad released the brake. She clutched the cape, unease digging deep in her gut as he clucked to the horse. It sighed but didn’t move. Brad tapped the reins against its flanks. It leaned into the harness with a snort. The buggy surged forward. “Where are we going?”

  With a flick of his finger he indicated the road ahead of them. “That way.”

  She set her teeth. “Do you go out of your way to aggravate everyone, or is it just me?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. In humor or anger? “At the moment, I’m focusing on you, as you’re currently my biggest irritation.”

  That was not good. She flopped back against the buggy seat. “It was just a painting.”

  “That you created to kick up a bit of a fuss.”

  “Life around here is so stifling.”

  “So you set out to stir it up.”

  He didn’t have to be such a know-it-all.

  “And now I’m married. The thing I never wanted to be. You might be right. Harebrained does cover it.”

  “Don’t sound so despondent. Marriage might have a few pluses.”

  She wiped at her face again. “It’s prison, with the husband as jailer.”

  “That’s a bit extreme.”

  “That’s how it feels to me.”

  “Well, then, I’ll try to live down to your expectations.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  “It’d be my pleasure.”

  That’s what she was afraid of. “I don’t understand you.”

  “I’m a pretty straightforward man.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  That got his gaze off the road.

  “You act like you are, but there are too many contradictions.”

  “Do tell.”

  There were some things she didn’t want to reveal. “I don’t think I will.”

  His eyebrow went up in that provoking manner. “I could order you to. As your husband and number one jailer, I have the right.”

  “Go right ahead.”

  �
�And see where it gets me?”

  He was an intelligent man. “Yes.”

  The buggy bounced down the road. “Where are we going?” “I told you—”

  She cut him off. “Something more specific than ‘that way.’ ”

  Another flick of the reins. Another almost smile. “If you want something more specific, you’re going to have to ask me nicely.”

  “You want me to beg?”

  “I was thinking along the lines of please and thank you, but if you want to beg, I could probably work up the tolerance to listen.”

  Her bonnet crumpled under the tension of her grip. It was her favorite, too. “You are being more than a little provoking.”

  “I have a talent for it.”

  “It’s not a good thing.” She tried to smooth out her hat.

  “Guess that depends which side of the provoking you’re standing on.”

  No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t straighten the brim. “I guess it does.”

  He didn’t say anything more, just returned his attention to the road, which with every pass of the wheels diminished a little more to well-worn ruts. If she wanted to know where they were going, she was going to have to ask. Nicely. It wouldn’t kill her.

  “Could you please tell me where we’re going?”

  He pointed to a house just emerging into view as they cleared the rise. “There.”

  She shaded her eyes from the glare of the setting sun. “Elijah and Amy’s old place?”

  “Yup.”

  “Why?” The place, once pretty and full of hope, had been vacant since the death of Elijah’s wife and his newborn daughter.

  “Because as many eyes as have been on me for the last few weeks, I’m finding I want a bit of privacy on my wedding night.”

  “You thought we needed privacy?”

  “We definitely need privacy.”

  A minister was a very public persona. One being forced to marry was subject to even more scrutiny. He could be telling the truth. He might just want peace and quiet.

  The buggy pulled up in front of the house. Brad set the brake and jumped down.

  He took her satchel from where it was tied to the back of the buggy before helping her down. “Why don’t you take this into the house?”

  She took the satchel. He caught her hand as she turned away. The way his thumb stroked across her knuckles brought the memory of his kiss alive. “If there’s something see-through and provocative in the satchel, feel free to slip it on.”

  Or he might be looking for more.

  Four

  AT LEAST SHE wasn’t going to have to cook. Evie set her satchel down on the floor just inside the door of the quiet house. There was a basket on the table, the dark wicker offset by a yellow-checked tablecloth beneath. Even from here she could smell the delicious aroma of Franny’s special roast chicken. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make sure their first meal as husband and wife was not a disaster. Which it would be if she prepared it.

  She quietly pulled the door closed behind her. Twilight settled over the interior, mellowing it with inviting charm. As she moved into the room, the scent of cleaning products mingled with the fragrance of dinner, but for all the scents of home, the house had a lonely feel. She looked around the space and tried to imagine it as it had been when Amy was alive. It wouldn’t have felt empty, that’s for sure. She imagined, for Elijah, it would have been a haven of warmth and love.

  Amy had always been quiet and kind. She’d been a few years behind Evie in school, but Evie remembered that about her. Amy had always been the first person to welcome newcomers, always the one to share her lunch with those who didn’t have any. When she’d found Elijah, a lot of people in town had reacted protectively and disapproved of the match, but Evie hadn’t. Because the one thing that had always stood out about Amy was the joy she gave. She loved to make others happy. And while she’d made Elijah very happy, he’d also made her happy and no one had deserved happiness more than Amy. But she’d lost everything, leaving her husband as empty a shell as this house.

  Looking around, Evie could see Amy’s personality in the brightly colored quilt on the back of the couch. In the stained-glass art that hung in the parlor, the bright reds and yellows of both reflecting the joy Amy had found in each day. It was so hard to accept that she was gone. So hard to believe that God had needed her more than Elijah.

  Evie sighed and hung her cape and bonnet on the coat hook. At least she’d been able to finish the portrait of Amy to give to Amy’s parents before they’d headed back East. She’d tried to give it to Elijah, but he’d taken one look and walked away. The Greers had been more open to the gift. The death of their last surviving child, along with their grandchild, had broken them. The painting had given them some comfort. Nothing, however, could comfort Elijah. He’d disappeared for the longest time, and then one day came back thinner, harder, and so cold-eyed she’d hardly recognized him. He’d moved into the livery and then the saloon. He didn’t smile, didn’t laugh, and he never spoke of his wife or the child they’d lost. It was as if, when he’d lost Amy, he’d lost his will to live.

  Evie wondered what it would be like to be loved like that. To love someone like that. Truth be told, it scared her to think so much of her happiness could depend on someone else. She ran her fingers over the freshly dusted and polished surface of the small pedestal table just to the right of the door. Loving someone that much made a person too vulnerable.

  Footsteps sounded on the porch. Brad was coming. She was supposed to be waiting for him in something flimsy. She rolled her eyes. Not that she owned any such thing. And not that she was interested in pleasing him by wearing what he wanted, but she was reasonably sure there was some etiquette about wedding nights that did not involve standing in the foyer playing with the furniture.

  As she stepped away from the table, her finger caught under the edge. It rocked on the smooth wood floor. Reaching out, she steadied it and sighed. She was fidgeting. Because she was nervous, she admitted to herself. Because of that darn dance.

  You’re looking for someone you can’t outthink or run over. Someone who can handle that wild side of yours.

  She’d been fine with the marriage when she’d been able to tuck the thought away as a necessary evil, like doing laundry, but that dance had changed everything. Changed the way she saw Brad. She hadn’t had time to figure out how, but she was pretty sure she didn’t like it. And she was pretty sure it was a threat to her independence. The door opened with the same creak as it had for her. She made a mental note to find some grease. Brad stopped when he saw her standing by the basket in her traveling clothes. He leaned his shoulder against the jamb and folded his arms across his chest. She had the impression of a big, hungry mountain lion stopping in to visit.

  “And here I was hoping you’d be waiting in something sheer and floaty.”

  The sexy timbre of his drawl made her wish she had been. She brushed her hands down her skirt. She didn’t know him like this. This was not the behavior of a staid preacher. “You didn’t give me time.”

  He smiled, and it only added to the image of a big, lazy cat getting ready to pounce. “I admit, the possibilities of what you might have put on inspired me to hurry.”

  This, she realized, was the man she’d always sensed lurking beneath the facade of a proper minister. The one who drew her like a fly to honey. She was finally meeting him. She had the strangest sense of exhilaration—and an incredible urge to run. That urge drove her into the kitchen. “You’ve got a very optimistic view of tonight.”

  “Are you telling me you didn’t pack something special for our wedding night?”

  Had he really expected her to? She shrugged and glanced over her shoulder. “I didn’t actually pack at all.”

  His eyebrow rose. “So there’s hope.”

  She remembered Pearl’s smile. “Maybe.”

  He came up behind her. The hairs on her arms rose as awareness flashed between them. She jumped when his fingers closed
around her shoulder. He turned her slowly. “Evelyn Washington, are you fretting? Over a mere man of God?”

  She had two choices. Avoid looking at him and appear a coward, or meet his gaze and hope what she felt inside didn’t show. She opted for the latter. “But you’re not a mere preacher, are you?”

  She was glad she’d chosen the latter. Otherwise, she might have missed the betraying flicker of his lashes and fallen for his smooth reply: “I’m whatever you want me to be tonight.”

  “What I would like you to be is considerate.”

  “Meaning?”

  Stepping back, she motioned to the distance between them. “This isn’t a real wedding, Brad.” Before he could correct her, she placed her hand on his chest. “I mean we’re not in love . . .”

  He took off his hat and put it on the table behind her. It landed with a soft plop. He didn’t step back. “You still dreaming of an annulment?”

  The question wafted across her cheek. Against her palms, she could feel his heartbeat. “Honestly? I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  He lifted the cloth covering the basket and inspected the contents over her shoulder. “Being married to me doesn’t have to be a prison.”

  “You’re a preacher!”

  As he drew back just far enough to see her face, his too long hair fell across his forehead, giving him that rakish look that had the ladies sighing during sermons. “You keep trotting that out like it’s some kind of talisman.”

  “I was thinking it was more along the lines of a curse.”

  He fingered the lace on the collar of her dress before he smoothed it flat. “A lot of things can imprison a person, Evie. A lot of them a hell of a lot worse than toeing a few lines to ease peoples’ sensibilities.”

  “Not for a woman.”

  She said that like it was true. Brad dropped the cover back on the basket. A hundred examples of “worse” leapt to his tongue. Looking into Evie’s eyes, he swallowed them back. She was entitled to her beliefs. And he was entitled to preserve her innocence. At least the innocence that kept her naïve of just how cruel the world could be to some.

  He let his gaze wander down over the full curves of her breasts, the narrowness of her waist. The heavy skirts blocked his view of the rest but he had a fair imagination that filled in a very pleasing picture.