She backed to the doorway, her footsteps silent on the carpet. The dusty carpet, she noted, her quick eye taking in the streaked windowpanes and the cluttered dresser.
Nudging the rolling door closed, she fought the lump that had somehow lodged in her throat. What a waste. What a pity that a man of his obvious talent and intelligence should spend his life within four such dingy walls. The shelves of books had looked to be untouched, and yet he must do something with the long hours.
Rachel entered the empty kitchen, unaware of Cord, watching from the half-open parlor door. Her movements were slow, her mouth working as if she pondered much, and she neither sang nor hummed as she washed up the supper dishes.
Silent steps took Cord to his office, and he listened in vain for the soft sounds he’d grown accustomed to during these moments after the evening meal.
She was all right. He’d seen to that, listening carefully, lest Jake should attack her with harsh words and accusations. She’d dodged his opening sally very nicely, actually ignoring the insulting phrase.
“‘Cord’s lady friend,’” he repeated softly. Not an insult actually, only Jake’s tone had made it so.
“I want more from you than friendship, Rachel,” Cord muttered to himself, sorting out the receipts he must enter in his ledger.
And still he listened for some sound from the kitchen, some sign that the woman he wanted was there, beneath his roof.
Chapter Six
“Hello in there. I’m Lorena Claypool.” Tall, golden-haired and garbed in a gingham dress, the woman stood on the porch, just outside the screened door.
Rachel hurried to open it wide, waving her visitor into the kitchen. “It’s awfully warm in here, I’m afraid,” she said apologetically. “I’m baking this morning.”
She reached for coffee cups in the cupboard as she spoke. “Won’t you sit down?”
Lorena pulled out a chair, her smile transforming her face from a quite ordinary set of features to a classic vision of beauty. “I take it I’m welcome?”
Rachel nodded vehemently. “As the flowers in May!” Placing the cups on the table, she filled them from the blue-speckled coffeepot. “Do you want cream or sugar?”
“Just a little cream,” Lorena answered. She made a quick survey of the kitchen, nodding her approval. “You’ve made your mark, Miss Sinclair. The last time I was here, this place was a shambles.”
“Oh, call me Rachel, please!” Carrying a plate of fresh cinnamon rolls with her, Rachel came back to the table and sat down across from her visitor. “I’m so glad to see you. Did Cord send for you?”
Lorena shook her head. “No, Sam Bostwick came by to see my father and told us about you. I’ve been wanting to stop by for the better part of a week, but I thought I’d let you get settled in first.” She glanced at the kitchen doorway, down the long hall that extended the length of the house.
“He’s fine,” Rachel said quietly, discerning the direction of the other woman’s thoughts.
Lorena flushed, lifting one hand to press against the warmth of her cheek. “I didn’t come here to cause a fuss. It would be better if he didn’t know…”
“You don’t want to see him?”
Lorena dropped her gaze, nodding her reply. “You’d think I’d have gotten over him by now, wouldn’t you?” Her laugh was forced, a mockery of her emotions. “I thought I could come here and visit with you and not let it bother me.”
Rachel reached across the table to clasp the other woman’s fingers within her own. “I don’t think you ever forget your first love.”
Lorena looked up. “Have you?”
Rachel’s laughter was a peal of denial. “I’ve never loved a man, except my father, and I’m sure that’s not what we’re talking about here.”
“No, fathers are a different thing altogether,” Lorena agreed, her smile coming readily. “Now, tell me where Cord ever found you. How did he talk you into coming here to work?”
An hour flew by, Rachel rescuing her bread from the oven in the nick of time, her heart light as she talked of her childhood and life in the East, her sadness finding release in tears as she told of the death of her parents. And she listened.
Rena—she’d asked Rachel to shorten her name soon after arrival—was hesitant at first. Then, as she drank her second cup of coffee, she spoke haltingly of her romance with Jake McPherson. In whispered words, she mentioned their courtship, her desire to be married before he joined up, and her utter devastation at the news of his injuries.
“I was so sure that he still loved me, that we could somehow make a life together.”
“Cord said Jake wouldn’t see you.”
Rena shook her head. “He shouted at me through the door. He told me he wouldn’t have me feeling sorry for him because he was a cripple.”
“He’s still shouting,” Rachel said dryly.
“At you?”
Rachel nodded, then quickly changed her mind. “Well, not really. I took him coffee and cookies after dinner a couple of days ago and he was almost civil. But then, yesterday I suggested I might clean his room and he chased me out.”
“He did?” Rena’s eyes widened as if she found it hard to believe such a thing.
“He wheels that chair around lickety-split,” Rachel said. “I gave up that idea for a while. I thought I’d try again in a week or so.”
Rena emptied her coffee cup and pushed away from the table. “I suspect I’d better leave. Mother will be waiting for the groceries I brought from town.”
She cast a speculative glance at Rachel as she pushed her chair into place. “I talked to Conrad Carson. About you.”
Rachel felt the flush creep up from her neck to cover her face. “Did you? What did he have to say?”
“He’s sweet on you, Rachel. But I suspect you knew that already. Has he come courting yet?”
Rachel nodded, then shook her head. “No, not really. He brought out some tomato plants and onion sets and seeds for the garden. We spent an hour discussing planting them. I’m not sure you can call that courting.”
Rena grinned. “Give the man time. He seems quite smitten. In fact, he mentioned the dance at the grange hall next week. I’ll bet you any money he’s planning on asking you to go with him.”
“I can’t,” Rachel said quickly. “I’ve got my brothers to watch and a job here to tend to. I can’t be gallivanting off to dances.”
“I’ll just bet you could find someone to look after them if you really wanted to go. Maybe Cord would even take you, if Conrad doesn’t ask first.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Rachel answered. Her head tilted as if she heard music from afar. “I’d love to attend, though. I haven’t danced in a long time.”
“Did you do square dancing back East?”
Rachel shook her head. “Some, but mostly we waltzed or danced the Virginia reel. I even learned to polka.”
“They do some pair dancing, but everyone likes to square dance hereabouts. You ought to go, even if you don’t get invited by Conrad. We could pick you up on our way to town, if you like.” Lorena’s face was bright with anticipation as she awaited Rachel’s reply.
And in that moment Jake McPherson’s angry shout sounded from the long hallway. “Rachel! Who’s out there with you?”
Lorena stepped hurriedly toward the back door. “I’d better leave.”
Rachel’s mind went back to an evening several days ago and one word slipped from her lips.
“Coward.”
“You bet!” Lorena whispered, eyeing the kitchen doorway to the hall as she backed away. Pale as alabaster, she was visibly trembling, and Rachel’s heart was stung with the depth of emotion apparent on the young woman’s face.
“Wait for me,” she whispered. “I’ll be right back.”
Her feet flew as she went down the hallway, heading for Jake’s room. He was in the doorway, frowning and peering the length of the hall, his querulous words aimed in Rachel’s direction.
“Who’s out there with y
ou? I heard a woman’s voice.”
Rachel pulled up short, her heart beating double time as she felt indignation rise within her. The man was beyond rudeness.
“Were you wanting company, Mr. McPherson?” she asked with cutting sarcasm as her gaze swept over his wrinkled clothing and unshaved face. “I’m not sure you’re fit for a lady to come visiting. Maybe if you made acquaintance with your razor and put on a decent shirt, we could find you someone willing to…”
His anger overflowed. “Just you shut your mouth, Miss Rachel. Women are only good for one thing, and when I want a damn female to come visiting, I’ll do the inviting. You and your kind are not welcome in my room.”
Rachel’s face flamed with color and she leaned against the wall, afraid her trembling knees would fail her. Never had a man spoken such words to her. The insinuation was more than insulting.
From the kitchen came a shriek of outrage, and through the kitchen doorway a whirlwind of feminine indignation raced full tilt toward the man in the invalid’s chair.
“You ungrateful, miserable cur! How dare you speak to a lady in such a manner! I’m ashamed I ever knew you, Jake McPherson!”
Lorena Claypool pulled up short as her knees collided with the metal wheel of the chair and she lost her balance. Muscular arms rose in an automatic gesture and she was enclosed in the unwilling embrace of Jake McPherson.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he shouted. He shook her, his big hands clutching at her, one against her hip, the other gripping her shoulder. His face was a terrible mask of anguish, lips drawn back, nostrils flaring, eyes glaring with an emotion Rachel could not put a name to.
And then as suddenly as his roar had filled the house with its violent outburst, quiet descended, enshrouding them in a cocoon of unearthly silence.
Rachel slid to the floor, crumpled against the wall. What had her smart mouth accomplished this time? she wondered bleakly. How had she managed to allow such a fiasco to take place?
For no matter how she sliced it, the fault for this episode was hers, and hers alone, to bear.
The back screen door slammed and heavy footsteps pounded across the kitchen. Cord stood at the end of the wide hallway, leaning with one hand on the kitchen doorjamb. His index finger pushed on the brim of his hat and he shoved it high on his forehead.
His gaze rested on Rachel, then swooped to the unmoving pair occupying the rolling chair in the doorway of the library. “You all right, Rachel?” he asked quietly.
She nodded, lifting herself to her feet, brushing at her skirt with trembling hands. “I’m sorry, Cord. This is my fault. I yelled at Jake and made him angry, and then Rena heard the fuss…”
“So did I and half the men on the place.” Leaving the kitchen door, Cord moved quickly down the hall, his hand reaching for Rachel, tugging her to stand next to him.
“Let me loose,” Lorena whispered tightly, stiffening in the embrace Jake had not deigned to relax.
“I didn’t invite you to start with,” the big man growled, his hands tightening for just a moment, then freeing the woman who sprawled inelegantly across his lap. His eyes swept over her slender form as she stood next to the chair, and as Rachel watched, a darkness descended over his features.
“Leave me be.” The chair rolled backward into the room and he disappeared from view, one push of his hand rolling the door into place.
“Jake!” Cord rapped sharply on the oak panel, only to be met with silence. “Jake, I want to talk to you!”
“Not now, Cord,” Rachel said quietly.
He glanced down at her, searching her face. “He needs to apologize to you.”
She shook her head. “I antagonized him. I was impatient and I—”
“Nothing you could have said to him gave him leave to shout insults in your face.”
Lorena stepped carefully toward the pair. “I’m the one at fault. I never should have come here. I’m so sorry, Rachel. I wanted to meet you.” Her hands spread wide in a gesture of helplessness. Tears filmed her eyes and she brushed at them distractedly. “I’ll go now. I’m sorry, Cord. I never meant to cause this kind of a fuss.”
Cord took off his hat, brushing it against his thigh. “You don’t owe anybody an apology, Rena. Maybe this whole mess will work out for the best, yet.”
He turned Rachel toward the kitchen and waved Lorena to follow her, turning back to the library doors with a last pondering look before he traced their footsteps.
“Rae, Mr. Sam said I could ride one of the horses today if it was all right with you.” Henry was poised in the kitchen doorway, anticipation alive in his every movement. “Please, Rae! I’ll be so careful, you won’t even know it’s me on that horse!”
“What about Jay?” she asked, peering over his shoulder in an attempt to locate her younger brother.
“He’s out in the barn with Mr. Sam, helpin’ to saddle the horses we’re gonna ride.” Henry shifted from one foot to the other, his excitement barely contained as his sister hesitated over her decision.
“They’ll be fine, Rachel.” Behind her Cord’s reassuring words were a low rumble in her ear.
She shivered, an automatic reaction as the warmth from his body radiated to the long line of her spine. He’d come up behind her unaware and she closed her eyes for a moment, containing the response his presence engendered.
“Please, Rae?” Henry uttered the coaxing words in a whisper, standing on tiptoe as if he readied himself for her word of approval.
“Yes, all right,” she said, her thoughts on the man behind her. “Cord says it will be fine.”
The boy turned and raced for the barn, and Rachel called after him. “Look out for Jay!”
Cord laughed, an indulgent sound. “They’ll be all right, Rachel. Sam is going to take Jay up in front of him for this ride. He’s looking for a small horse for the boy. Says we don’t have an animal quite the thing for Jay yet.”
“You’re going to buy a horse, just for my brother?” she asked. Turning to him, her gaze swept his face. His mouth was slanted in a half smile, his eyes narrowed, gleaming beneath heavy lids.
It was a look of intent. Innocence did not preclude awareness, and as if she scented the desire he made no attempt to hide, her nostrils flared and she inhaled sharply.
His chuckle was subdued, his gaze focusing on her mouth. “If my buying your little brother a horse that suits him manages to put that look on your face, I’ll tell Sam to bring home a whole herd and stick them in the corral, Miss Rachel.”
She blinked, shivering again as his arms circled her waist, drawing her into the circle of his embrace. Her breath caught in her throat and she swallowed against the obstruction, then took another shuddering breath as he tugged her more firmly against his body.
Firm and ungiving, his chest did little to cushion her breasts, and she whimpered as he brushed against the fullness. She felt swollen and sensitive, and was, for the first time in her life, truly aware of the dimensions of her bosom.
She’d accepted that she was well endowed. Mama had always allowed extra material across the bodice when she sewed her spring and fall wardrobes, back in Pennsylvania.
Now, she was aware, again for the first time, of the sensations those feminine parts were capable of. The movement of his chest across hers was producing a most exciting sensation within her.
Deep inside, in a part of her body she had seldom considered food for thought, a warm, churning commotion came to life. She wiggled her hips, attempting to ease the tension, and in the doing managed only to butt against his groin.
“Judas Priest, Rachel!” The words were muttered with vehemence, resembling an oath to her ears, and she stiffened in his embrace. He shifted against her and his body jolted in response.
“Let me go!” As demands went, it was not as vehement as she’d have liked. Her words were slurred, her eyes half-closed as she attempted to withdraw from his embrace.
She might as well have remained silent. Had her mouth been closed, his might have mer
ely brushed against her lips. As it was, he took the opening she gave him, his tongue sweeping the edge of her bottom lip with assurance, easing its way past her teeth to brush against the roof of her mouth.
He claimed her, his lips and tongue eager as he kissed her with a passion she had never been aware of in her sheltered life.
She flinched from him, at once horrified at the liberty he took and startled at the pure pleasure its sensation produced. Her moan of protest was swallowed up by the groan he uttered, his arousal finally finding ease against the softness of her belly.
Rachel jerked away, her lips swollen and damp, her eyes filling with tears of fright. “Cord, let me go!” The words were whispered, accompanied by a sob he could not mistake for anything else than the distress of the young woman he held.
His grip softened, and he bowed his head, his forehead resting against hers. “Ah, hell, Rachel. I’m sorry.”
And he was, as sorry as any man had ever been, he decided. He’d not only scared her half to death with his openmouthed assault, he’d managed to push his manhood against her like a rutting stallion with mating uppermost in his mind. And all of that in broad daylight in the middle of his kitchen.
“Please, Rachel.” His murmur whispered against her ear as he bent to bestow a multitude of gentle kisses against her cheek and throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you like that. Look at me, Rachel, please.” He lifted his head and with one finger tilted her chin, gently forcing her to turn her gaze upward.
Her eyes shiny with a glaze of teardrops, her face a rosy mask of confusion and embarrassment, she drew in a deep breath. “I never…no one ever…”
Her words ran together as she whispered her innocence.
If ever Cord McPherson had felt shame, it was now. That he could have so forced himself on the girl was unforgivable, and yet, he must have her pardon for the act. Otherwise, they could not continue on in this relationship of ranch owner and…and what? Cook? Housekeeper? The question seemed to be in what capacity he was willing to place Rachel Sinclair.
Right now the only place he could think of that would suit his state of desire was his bedroom. And that would involve a ring and a wedding, two things he had been more than adept at evading for several years.
The Wedding Promise (Harlequin Historical) Page 8