Promises Keep (The Promise Series)

by Sarah McCarty

  He slid his arm into the sleeve. “I do?”

  “You do, but I’m not sure you respect me.”

  He put his arm in the other sleeve. “You aren’t?”

  “No. And that’s a problem.”

  “It is?”

  “Yes,” Mara tossed her hair over her shoulder. “For a man who loves me, you’re proving remarkably reluctant to grant me my rights.”

  “For a woman who loves me,” Cougar countered, a hard edge sharpening his drawl. “You are proving remarkably reluctant to trust me.”

  “What makes you think I love you?”

  “Probably the same thing that tells you I love you.” He shoved the button through the buttonhole on his shirt. It came off in his hand. “Gut instinct.”

  As romantic moments, this one was not going down in the annals of history. “Of course I trust you,” she dismissed that absurdity with a wave of her hand. “I wouldn’t be here in your bedroom if I didn’t.”

  “You don’t trust me to protect you,” Cougar corrected, tossing the button into the corner of the room and reaching for his work pants.

  “Maybe I don’t want to be protected,” Mara pointed out carefully as she retrieved the button. As she came back toward Cougar, she met his gaze squarely. “Maybe I’d like to run my own life.”

  Cougar stepped into his pants, ignoring the button his wife held outstretched. “We’re husband and wife,” he snapped. “There is no ‘own life’ between you and I.”

  Mara dropped the button into her pocket and took a deep breath and came in from another side of the same argument. “When we were speaking of the Clemence girls, you were all for them having their property separate.”

  Cougar ran his hand through his hair. “That’s because their husbands are the biggest bunch of no-accounts ever to hit the territory.”

  Mara threw up her hands. “Why can’t you grant the same rights to me?”

  “Because you are in no danger from me,” Cougar growled. “Because I’ll always protect you. I would never take from you.”

  “You already have,” Mara cried, taking a step closer, her hands clenched at her side. “Just by marrying me, you’ve taken everything I have.”

  “I haven’t taken a damned thing from you,” Cougar snapped. “I don’t even know why we’re having this discussion. I’ve given you everything I have.”

  “No, you haven’t,” Mara countered, regaining control. “I live here on your whim. If you decided to throw me out, I’d have nowhere to go.”

  Cougar grabbed Mara’s arm. “I’ll never let you go.”

  “And legally, I never could go, just by your saying that.”

  Cougar dropped Mara’s arm as if the touch scalded his fingers. “You know I’d never hurt you.”

  “You’re hurting me now.”

  Cougar’s eyes widened at the accusation.

  “You’re denying me a separate existence,” Mara continued.

  “You’re my wife!”

  “It doesn’t have to go hand in hand that wife means slave.”

  Cougar’s head snapped back so fast, she might have slapped him. “I have never treated you with anything less than respect.”

  “Don’t you understand, as it is now, I might as well be a slave? Just the fact that I have to stand here begging, begging you to grant me what should automatically be mine, proves it.”

  “And just what would you do with your property if I gave it to you?”

  Mara felt hope blossom. “I’d just keep it and cherish the knowledge that you thought enough of me to respect me.”

  “Well, Angel,” Cougar replied, flicking the tip of her nose with the tip of his finger as he headed for the door. “You’re just going to have to trust in this man you love, because I’m not drawing up any such document.”

  And just like that, he left the room.

  A cock crowed the spreading dawn. The first tendrils of morning light touched Mara’s feet as she watched her husband walk out of their bedroom. Mara’s foot began to tap rapidly on the wooden floor. Apparently, Cougar didn’t realize the depth of her determination. Her husband was a good man. Stubborn, opinionated, yes, but he was a good man. With the right arguments, she was sure she could convince him to her point of view. She just had to work on her technique.

  Mara pulled out all the stops over the next week, trying to get her husband to see her point of view. She’d seduced him, cried on him, ranted at him, and finally retreated into a separate bedroom. The first had been hampered by Jackson’s sister Lorie’s arrival, but none of it worked. Her husband met every maneuver with cold silence and a pointed avoidance of the subject.

  Except for the separate bedrooms, Mara remembered, pulling her chemise away from her chafed breasts as she stuffed another of her new dresses into a trunk. He’d been quite diligent about pointing out her error there. Punishing her until she’d screamed for satisfaction, granting it only when he’d been good and ready. The pretty blonde’s blushes after that first morning had been hard to endure.

  “So you’re really going to do it?” Lorie asked.

  Mara turned to see Lorie in the doorway, a concerned frown on her face.

  Mara shrugged. “I don’t seem to have much choice.”

  Lorie bit her lip before blurting out, “I think he’s afraid you’ll leave him if he gives you what you want.”

  “I finally realized that yesterday,” Mara admitted. “But that just makes me more determined to do this.”

  “I don’t understand you.”

  Mara’s smile tinged lightly with bitterness. “That’s just what Cougar said. Why can’t anyone understand that I want to be seen as a human being that counts?”

  “You count with Cougar. That man loves you so much that he’d die for you.”

  “But,” Mara pointed out, “he doesn’t respect me, otherwise, he’d never have ordered Jackson to watch to make sure I don’t leave the ranch.”

  Lorie bit her lip. “You figured that out?”

  Mara laughed as she fished through the drawer for her stockings. “It didn’t take a genius. Jackson has been trailing me around with that hangdog look plastered to his face for three days now.”

  “He’s not real happy with his present duties,” Lorie admitted.

  “I am,” Mara stated surprisingly, snapping the lid closed on her trunk. “Grab the other end of this. Every time I hear him behind me, it just reinforces my convictions. If I want to leave, no one, but no one should have the court-given right to restrain me. Least of all the man who claims to love me.”

  “I know you’re right about that,” Lorie agreed, grunting as they maneuvered the heavy trunk out into the upstairs hall. “But I still wish you and Cougar could come to an understanding.”

  “I’m working on it,” Mara muttered as they half slid, half lifted the trunk down the stairs.

  “How are you intending to get to town?”

  “By wagon.”

  Lorie folded her hands in her skirt. “You realize Cougar left orders that you were not to be allowed to leave?”

  Mara smiled complacently as she tugged on her gloves. “I also know he’d tear into little pieces the first man to lay a hand on me.”

  The humor of the situation began to strike Lorie. “So you intend…”

  “To walk out there and hitch up the team.”

  “And calmly drive them out of here,” the blonde-haired girl finished on a laugh. “And by the time they finish drawing lots as to who’s going to have the misfortune of telling Cougar that his wife’s flown the coop—”

  “I should be safely in town, tucked under Millicent’s militant wing.”

  Lorie’s brows rose. “That’s your strategy, huh?”

  “Got a better one?”

  “Nope.” Lorie shook her head, her curls swaying around her heart-shaped face. “With Millicent to run interference for you, by the time Cougar gets to see you, he’ll be well primed to listen.”

  “And damned grateful, I hope.”

  Lori
e sat down on the trunk, laughter shaking her sides. “I imagine that you could screech at him by then, and he’d regard it as music to his ears.”

  “Millicent can be a bit harsh,” Mara agreed.

  “To put it mildly, and since this is a Suffragette issue, all three hundred pounds of her will be squarely on your side.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  “Do me one more favor?” Mara asked.

  “What?”

  “Mention to Cougar I’m having dinner with the Reverend Swanson.”

  * * * * *

  “Where did he go?” Mara asked Millicent who came upstairs immediately after slamming the door in Cougar’s face.

  “Where all men go when faced with a problem,” Millicent muttered, dropping the curtain back over the window.

  Mara dropped onto the bed, all her excitement and apprehension exiting her body in a rush of disappointment. “The saloon.”

  “Yup,” Millicent agreed before issuing one of her patented snorts that meant a thousand and one things depending on the inflection. “And by the look of it, he’s mad enough to spend the night wallowing in a bottle.”

  “Well, hell.” Mara glanced down at the scuffed tip of her shoe. “You’d think after three days, he’d be lonely enough to try a little harder.”

  “Like you are.” Millicent patted the lace curtain back over the window.

  “Like me.”

  “Do you intend to sit around here like a goose fit for stuffing, letting him call the shots, or do you intend to keep control?”

  Mara pushed a stubborn lock of hair back into her braid. “Well, I can’t quite see marching into the saloon and demanding he talk to me. Besides ruining my reputation, I’m sure it would ruin my stand.”

  “It would that,” Millicent agreed. “Our best strategy would be to get his ornery carcass out of that all male domain.”

  Mara perked up. When she’d chosen Millicent as her accomplice, she had no idea the woman could be so ingenious. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Who says I’ve got anything in mind?”

  “You had that same expression on your face yesterday when you sent Lorie with that note about bringing Brad into the picture.”

  “Someone has to do the long-term planning.” She twitched the curtains aside for another peek. “Those four no-accounts who hang around outside the saloon have gone in after your husband. No doubt hoping for a free beer in return for their sympathy.”

  “I’m surprised the saloon hasn’t fallen down without their support,” Mara commented dryly.

  Millicent laughed out loud at that. “It is a wonder. Now, in regard to your husband, don’t you think what worked once might work again?”

  Mara stared at Millicent’s broad back until understanding dawned. As she gathered her hat and gloves off the dresser, she said, “You have a devious mind, Millicent.”

  “Thank you. Now, I think it’s time you hunted up the Reverend and get knee-deep in a discussion about the weather,” Millicent directed, still looking out the window.

  “I think I can do better than the weather.” Mara gave Millicent a hug from behind. “Thanks for being on my side.”

  “There’s no side to it. Merely right or wrong.”

  Millicent kept her eyes locked on the motionless scene of the town as it blurred. “Go stir a hornet’s nest under your husband before he takes root in that saloon. Lord knows, there’s no talking to a drunken man.”

  Mara snapped off a salute. “I’ll do you proud, captain.”

  “See that you do.”

  * * * * *

  Homer came bursting into the saloon like someone had just set his tail on fire. Two chairs tumbled to the floor in his wake. It was obvious, before he’d even crossed half the distance to the far corner, that Cougar was his destination. His eyes wide and wild behind an untidy shock of hair stayed unwaveringly on his quarry. Which was why he never saw the table loaded with poker chips and money until he fell over it. Through the curses and pandemonium that erupted, his shout could be heard. In a voice loud enough to wake the dead, he shouted, “McKinnely, your wife’s bedding the Reverend!”

  The noise fell off in the saloon until there was nothing but the sound of fifteen men breathing in anticipation of his response. Only a quarter of the way through his whiskey bottle, Cougar rose from his chair with a slow growl. He kept his tone purely conversational as he asked, “Would you like to rethink your comments about my wife before I unscrew that worthless head from your shoulders?”

  Homer had never been blessed with an overabundance of brains. He had however, firmly grasped the virtue of honesty. Folks said it was a blessing that he had managed to grasp something. “God’s honest truth, Cougar,” he whined, rising from the broken bits of wood that had once supported a heavy game. “I think she’s done gone and embraced that free love business them suffragists are always talking about.”

  “You’ve never heard a suffragist speak in your life,” Brian scoffed.

  “Maybe not.” Homer winced as he plucked a sliver from his thigh, “but you told me all about them women and as how Cougar’s wife was following in their footsteps.”

  “Shut up, you ass,” Brian hissed as Cougar cocked an eyebrow at him. “I never said Mrs. McKinnely was spreading any free love around,” he swore in a voice loud enough to carry. Grabbing his dimwitted friend by the collar, he tried to drag him out the door to safety. They almost made it.

  “Just what gave you the idea my wife was interested in the Reverend?” Cougar asked.

  Brian stopped as if his feet were frozen to the floor.

  Homer yanked free of his friend’s grip. He made a big to-do of straightening his clothing. “Well, everyone in town knows the Reverend is sweet on Mrs. McKinnely. He went and bought her all new clothes right down to the…” his reedy voice dropped to a mere whisper, “undergarments.”

  Cougar dragged his hand down his face and struggled to hold onto his temper. Homer was a damned idiot, and he babbled like a fool. Mara was going to have to love him long and hard to make up to him for having to stand in a room full of men and listen to this drivel. He was somewhat cheered by the prospect.

  Homer glanced around, satisfied that everyone was properly scandalized before continuing. “Well, it seems Mrs. McKinnely returns the sentiment.”

  “Careful, Homer,” Brian muttered through the side of his mouth.

  “Hush up, Brian,” Homer retorted. “Cougar is right grateful that I was witness to these goings on.”

  “Well, stop blathering like an idiot, man, and get on with the telling.” A recently arrived gambler urged lasciviously. “What did the Reverend and the pleasingly anxious Mrs. McKinnely do?”

  Glad for the opportunity, Cougar casually reached over, grabbed the man by the back of his well-oiled head, and slammed his face into the table. In the same conversational tone as before, he nudged, “Yes, Homer, what did my wife do?”

  Homer might not be a genius, but he did boast some basic survival instincts. Cougar noted when it dawned on him by the widening of his eyes that he was defaming a man’s wife in a saloon full of attentive men. He also noted the moment the urge to be the center of attention took off with his good sense as he squared his shoulders and his stance assumed the importance befitting his role of town crier. Hell, Cougar thought, he hoped he wasn’t going to have to kill the son of a bitch.

  “I started watching Mrs. McKinnely because she was acting strange,” Homer began. “She was strolling up and down the street, peeking into every store.”

  Brian held up his hands in defeat. “I’m out of here.”

  Homer gave his friend’s flying retreat one pitying glance before he continued, his reedy voice booming with importance. “Suddenly, she spies the Reverend. Her whole face lights up like a bonfire and she trips right into his arms! As God is my witness!” He swore, reaching for the heavens with an upraised palm as if calling down divine truth. “They embraced right there in front of the livery.”

  The room w
as suddenly full of uneasy mutterings.

  One of the men, a small-time rancher, eyed Cougar uneasily. “What do you think, Cougar? I know Homer’s an idiot, but he sounds pretty…sure.”

  “I think,” Cougar stated conversationally, knowing from the way Homer twitched that he wasn’t through. “That Homer ought to finish up what he was saying about my wife.”

  Homer’s thin chest puffed out about three times its normal size. He didn’t appear to give any notice to the men fleeing his vicinity. He pulled his pants up with a flourish and resumed his telling. “Next thing you know, the Reverend’s scooping that pretty Mrs. McKinnely up in his arms and heading right on down to Millicent’s. Bold as brass, Mrs. McKinnely’s laughing in the man’s arms. It’s a wonder God didn’t strike the two of them down as they went right on up the stairs to her room! Twenty minutes later,” he continued, his voice hushed, his manner intimate, “the Reverend comes out the door…adjusting his pants!”

  “That did it,” one man noted.

  And in the time Homer looked around to see who did what, Cougar had him by the shirtfront. “Next time you feel the need to discuss my wife, Homer, make sure it’s with the proper respect.”

  With one blow from his fist, Cougar laid the man out flat. He hadn’t hit him as hard as he should have, but after all, Homer was a fool. “Anyone else have anything to say about my wife?” The rest of the men in the saloon weren’t operating a few straws short of a bale and he could unleash a bit of frustration on them without guilt.

  “Hell no.” They chimed as one.

  The barkeep tossed a bucket of cold water on Homer who lay so still in the aftermath, everyone knew he was faking. “I suspect that when Homer wakes up, he’ll be full of remorse for his lies.”

  Cougar eyed every man in the saloon coldly. “See that he is.”

  The trip from the saloon over to Millicent’s was two minutes long. Two minutes during which Cougar went from disbelief to belief and back again. Two minutes during which he reviewed every reason why he should wring his wife’s neck. At the very least, give her a beating, but somehow he couldn’t get past the knowledge that making love to her would be infinitely more pleasurable.