Promises Prevail

by Sarah McCarty

  “Reverend,” she whispered, “enough.”

  She sensed the change in the room. The stillness coming over Reverend Swanson, the control seeping back into his breathing. Something snapped and then fell to the floor beside her. She opened her eyes and saw the quirt in pieces.

  The faintest of touches on her skin and then her dress was carefully lowered over her legs. Just the brush of the fabric was agony and she whimpered.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Mara,” she managed to croak through her scream-torn throat. “He hit Mara.”

  The ache in her head blossomed again and she had to close her eyes against the pinpoints of light stabbing at her.

  She traced the reverend’s movements through sound, hearing the rattle of the door as he tested it, the jingle of keys as he took them off the hook, the clank as the lock gave, and mostly his soft “bastard” as he reached Mara.

  The door creaked again and then she was surrounded by the scent of bay rum and the sensation of power. She opened her eyes. The reverend was squatting before her, reaching for his boot.

  She licked her dry lips. “Mara?”

  “I think she’s just knocked out.” He touched her forehead, where it throbbed. His fingers came away red.

  “Bleeding?”

  His smile was a weak shadow of his normal grin. “Just a little.”

  He wiped his hand on his pants. Metal scraped on leather. She caught a glint of steel and then her arms were free. She dropped into the reverend’s arms, leaning into his strength because she had none of her own left.

  She looked over at the bloody pulp that was Mark. Reverends were supposed to be peaceable, which could only mean one thing. “You’re not a reverend?”

  “Yes, I’m a reverend.” He looked over at Mark. “Just a little more Old Testament than most.” He shifted his grip. His arm brushed the welt on her back, she moaned, then cut off the sound, and asked the one thing she needed to know more than anything.

  “Brianna?”

  “She’s safe at the rectory.”

  She wanted to ask why she wasn’t with Clint but all that came out was a broken, “Clint?”

  “He’s coming, Jenna.” The reverend eased her down to her side on the floor. “Elijah went for him.”

  She moaned again, this time unable to keep it back. It was over then. Clint would come, find out what had happened—and what had happened to her before—and it would all be over. The gentle touches, soft teasing, the comforting arms. All gone. Tears trickled down her cheek to puddle in the cold dirt.

  “Are you all right?”

  Jenna stared across the dirt floor at Mara, lying unconscious. She thought of her baby girl, of what could have happened. Of what did happen.

  She shook her head. She didn’t know if she was ever going to be all right again.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Son of a bitch, as soon as you can get out of this bed, I’m going to beat you black and blue.”

  “Okay.” Jenna sank deeper into the pillow under her cheek, relaxing into its softness as she relaxed into the gentleness of Clint’s touch as he spread ointment over the welt on her back.

  “Okay. Is that all you have to say?” Clint eased the sheet up over her back. It stuck to the ointment, sealing off the burn of air. “You go and damned near get yourself and Mara killed and the only thing you have to say is, ‘Okay’?”

  “Would you prefer please?” A tug at the foot of the mattress jostled her. The cool air of the bedroom slid up her legs with the sheet.

  “What I goddamn well would prefer is my wife letting me know when there’s trouble afoot.” His teeth snapped closed on the last word as the sheet pooled at the base of her spine.

  “I didn’t know the mayor had appointed Mark deputy in the Sheriff’s absence.”

  “Jesus Christ, Sunshine.” The growl dropped from his drawl. His fingers shook as they grazed the edge of her right hip.

  “I’m sure it looks worse than it is,” she offered, trying not to wince from even that light touch.

  “Shut up and hold still.”

  She did, not liking the new note that had entered his drawl. It was hard, mean, and unforgiving. He’d been waffling between the two extremes ever since he’d picked her and Bri up at the rectory. He’d spoken with the Reverend Swanson, then picked her up, and carried her to the buggy he’d rented, laying her down on a mattress in the back, not saying a word as he’d placed Bri beside her.

  As they’d pulled away, she’d seen Cougar carrying Mara in his arms. She’d looked so tiny, so defenseless, and Cougar so wildly, primitively furious.

  The small group that had formed outside the rectory when word had spread that the McKinnely women had been abused, parted as Clint and Cougar urged the horses forward. The look the men exchanged chilled her to her bones. Both men were hanging onto control by a thread. Both men looked capable of anything.

  A fiery shaft of agony ripped outward from her buttock as the softest of cotton pressed against her welt. She bit the pillow and curled her fingers into the sheet, smothering her whimper in her throat.

  Another harsh “Son of a bitch” rent the silence. Jenna bit back a sob. The silk of Clint’s hair brushed her left buttock before the softness of his lips.

  “Go ahead and scream, Sunshine.” A string of equally soft kisses were trailed over the rise of her ass and up onto the hollow of her spine as Clint held the compress to her. “I know it hurts, baby, so go ahead and scream. Do whatever you need to do but let me make you feel better.”

  The kindness in his tone broke the dam she’d been backing her emotions behind. Her “I’m sorry” was a puddle of tears. The mattress shifted as Clint eased his big body up beside hers.

  “Ah shit, baby. You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

  “I thought it was over when Jack died.”

  He propped himself up on his elbow beside her. His hair fell in a curtain, limiting her vision to the expanse of his chest and the powerful muscles of his arms. If she lifted her gaze just the slightest bit she’d be able to see his beautiful face. She kept her gaze locked on the too-fast pulse in his throat.

  “Did he rape you, Sunshine?” Clint’s fingertips slipped between the pillow and her cheek, pressing gently.

  “What makes you ask that?” Her breath froze in her lungs.

  “Brad said he found you tied and naked.” His thumb stroked over her mouth. “It’s a natural assumption.”

  He hadn’t raped her today, but he’d raped her before, and the memories she’d buried for so long were clawing their way out of the grave she’d made for them, screaming and wailing to be recognized. “Clint?”

  “What?”

  “I know you’re angry but please, please…”

  “I’ll give you whatever you need, Sunshine. Just tell me what it is.” He tipped up her chin, forcing her to look at him, to see the anger in his face, the primitive rage blending with concern.

  “Please just hold me like it doesn’t matter. Just for a few minutes.” She wanted what she could never have, but for now she was ready to pretend.

  “Son of a bitch!” He lifted her and slid beneath her, taking her moans of pain into his throat, not stopping until she was lying on top of his big warm body. His arm on her waist held her firmly in place, his other hand cradled her head to his chest while he brushed kisses over the top of her head. “It doesn’t matter, Sunshine. Doesn’t matter at all.”

  “It has to matter.” Beneath her cheek she could feel the tension vibrating through his muscles, feel the throb of his heart as it raced to keep pace with his emotions.

  “Why?”

  “Men care about that.”

  His thumb tipped her chin up as his mouth met hers in a kiss that defined tender.

  Oh God, he knew. He knew. She shivered.

  He shifted and swore. “I want to hold you so badly, Sunshine, but there’s just not that much of you in holding condition.”

  “This is good.” She turned her mouth to
his throat and kissed him.

  “Then tell me what I need to know.” He tucked her hair behind her ear.

  “He said if I didn’t scream for as long as it took him to come, he’d let her go.”

  “While he cut you with that quirt?” The calmness of his tone was scarier than his anger.

  “Yes. I knew it wasn’t likely. He’s crazy, but there was a chance…”

  “He’s done that to you before?” Clint’s fingers moved up to the side of her breast, to the old scars.

  She couldn’t get her “Yes” past her throat, so she nodded instead.

  “And your husband let him?”

  “They made a deal.”

  “He sold you?”

  “He had debts. It was his right.”

  “Like hell!”

  “I care that I wasn’t able to protect you,” he whispered against her lips, the edges of his moving hers with every syllable. “I care that you were hurt. I care that you keep secrets that endanger your life. But Sunshine, nothing anyone does to you can change how I feel about you.”

  “And how is that?”

  “You’re sweet and special and you’re mine.”

  Which wasn’t the same as saying he loved her.

  “Mark didn’t think I was sweet.”

  “I heard you kicked his balls up into his teeth.”

  “I had to. Mara wouldn’t stop challenging him.”

  “Jenna baby, I’m not complaining.”

  No. He wouldn’t. He pushed her hair out of her face. “Mara said you stopped fighting.”

  Was that disappointment in his voice? “I had to.”

  “Why?”

  She couldn’t tell him. Couldn’t. It was too dirty.

  “I already know he’s a perverted son of a bitch, but you will tell me exactly what he put you through.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s not leaving you with any more nightmares.”

  “I know.” She sniffed. The second and third tear came hard on the first. “You don’t hate me,” she whispered.

  “Ah hell, is that what has you crying?” He squeezed her carefully. “Sunshine, I could never hate you.”

  “You don’t think I’m weak.”

  “You’re the strongest person I know.”

  “You don’t want me tougher.”

  “They had different beliefs.” And she’d gone along with them because she hadn’t known any better. Jenna stroked Clint’s chest, petting the tight muscle, trying to calm him. To no avail.

  “I should have taken you from him when I first saw you.”

  “I was his wife.”

  “You were mine.”

  “I know.” Ignoring the pain in her back she arched so that she could kiss the underside of his chin.

  “Stay put or I won’t cuddle you.” He pressed her back down. It was a toothless threat, considering that his big hands were coasting over her body, touching her everywhere he could as if reassuring himself that she was really there. As if he couldn’t get enough of her. Still, because he worried, she settled her cheek back against his chest.

  “So what happened when you said no?” His hands went to the muscles knotting in her back, gently massaging away the tension.

  “What makes you think I said no?” The question was more of a groan than a statement. He had wonderful hands. Her scalp tickled as Clint brushed his lips across her hair.

  “I know you, Sunshine.” It was the softest of whispers, carrying the utmost of confidence. As Jenna listened to his heartbeat and felt the determination carefully couched in his gentleness, she realized he really did. He knew everything about her, and it didn’t matter. He wanted her anyway. She started to cry again. Big fat tears of relief.

  “Tears are not going to sway me, Jenna. I want to know everything.”

  “Baby, I want you happy and safe, in my home, loving me, our kids.”

  “You really do care about me.”

  “Yes.”

  “And it really doesn’t matter.”

  “No.”

  “I love you.” She worked her arms around his neck. Moaning and crying at the same time as pain and joy lanced through her. He held her while she cried, steadying her so she didn’t have to until, finally, he understood. He kept answering her statements like they were questions.

  “These are happy tears, aren’t they?”

  “Very happy.” She nodded and wiped at the pool collecting in the hollow of his throat. His sigh blew her hair off her face.

  “Sunshine, I’m never going to understand you.”

  “But that’s okay.”

  “Yes.” He took a corner of the blanket and wiped her face. “But I still want to know.”

  She took a breath and gave him the last of her trust.

  “They locked me in a grain bin full of rats until I agreed to do what they wanted.” She shuddered. “The rats were everywhere. On my face, my legs, under my skirts. I thought I’d go crazy.

  “Instead you did what you needed to survive,” Clint provided in that deep baritone that soothed.

  “Mark raped me then.” She ducked her head.

  “And he’ll die for it.” It was a calm statement of fact that brought her face up.

  “You can’t kill him!”

  “I can do whatever I want.” He cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “But that would be murder and we… I need you.”

  “A man doesn’t let an animal like that loose in the world.”

  “Let the law take care of it.”

  “He touched you.” He cradled her cheek in his palm. His fingers brushed the bruise on her forehead while his thumbs stroked her lip. “Hurt you. There’s no way in hell he’s seeing another sunrise.”

  His eyes were the cold, deadly eyes of a stranger. She didn’t have any doubt that Mark would not make it to trial if left to Clint.

  “Does Cougar feel the same way you do?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve talked to him?”

  “No.”

  “Then how do you know?”

  “The man laid hands on his wife. I don’t need to know any more than that.”

  “Oh God, you’re going to get yourself killed.”

  “I’m just going to put a rabid animal out of its misery.” His kiss was cool, not the least comforting, his mind clearly on revenge.

  “You are going to have to hunt him first,” Gray interrupted from the door.

  Jenna squealed, knowing she was bare to Gray’s gaze. Clint pulled the covers over her body, carefully settling them over her injuries as he slid out from under her.

  “You have reason to come barging in, son?”

  “I thought you would be caring for her, not doing…other things.”

  “I was caring for her.”

  Jenna peeked out from under her lashes. Gray was staring at her, a brooding expression on his face.

  “Mark escaped the jail.”

  “How?” Clint asked, reaching for his gun belt.

  “Someone let him out.”

  “When?”

  “A couple hours ago.”

  “Who brought the news?”

  “Jackson.”

  “Does Cougar know?”

  “He told Jackson he’d meet up with you at the river.”

  “Is Jackson still downstairs?”

  “Yes. He said to tell you that the reverend is staying with Mara and he’ll stay with Jenna.”

  “Good.”

  Jenna caught the pocket of Clint’s pants.

  “Don’t do this.”

  He buckled his gun belt low in his hips. His hand was gentle on her wrist as he removed her hand. He smoothed the hair off her face, his expression solemn.

  “You can ask just about anything of me, Sunshine, except for me to let Mark live.”

  She bit her lip against the protest that leapt forward. This was her husband. She knew him the way he knew her. It would be impossible for him to leave Mark free to hurt another woman. She swallowed her selfishnes
s and fear. Nodding her agreement was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

  The slightest of smiles lit the cold depths of Clint’s black eyes.

  Gray broke the silence from the door.

  “I am riding with you.”

  “No.” Clint’s hair swung forward as he grabbed his black hat off the chair.

  “He used to beat my mother like that. Many times. Many marks.” Gray met Jenna’s gaze and she wanted to cry for the too-old eyes in such a young face.

  Clint settled his Stetson on his head. “He’ll never beat another woman.”

  Gray nodded with the purpose of a much older person. “This is true.”

  “Clint will handle it, Gray,” Jenna whispered, scared by the cold-blooded determination in the boy’s face.

  “It is my debt.”

  “I need you here.” She pushed herself onto her side. Oh God, Clint had to do something.

  “I have not been a child for many years.” Gray’s eyes softened with pity. “You must stop thinking of me as one.”

  “Clint.” He was her son. Brianna’s brother. Despite what he said, he was still just a child.

  “Easy, Jenna,” Clint said, “I’ve got this.” In two strides he was at the boy’s side. “You’re my son now, Gray. That makes your debts mine and I promise you, before the son of a bitch dies, he’ll know exactly who’s killing him and why.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell him he can’t go, Clint.” Jenna didn’t for one second think he was agreeing to let Clint handle his revenge.

  Clint stared at the boy. In that moment they looked so alike, both of their faces drawn tight with fury, their eyes hard with the call for revenge as they took each other’s measure. And she knew. She knew before a word came out of either of their mouths that the decision had been made.

  “No.”

  Gray stepped forward and touched the bruise on her head. She felt his pain and his determination in the brief connection.

  “If the gods will it, I will be back and be proud to be your son.”

  “And if it goes wrong?”

  “Then I will die a man for you to be proud of.” His hand dropped to his side. He stepped back. He turned for the door.