He laughed, a short, derisive sound. “It was pretty much every man for himself. Sam cooked, I pitched in when I could, and everybody scrubbed out their own duds. I had a neighbor come over once a month or so and wash up the sheets and such.”
“And the house got a lick and a promise,” Rachel said dryly.
“If that much,” Cord admitted.
“The piano was clean,” she said quietly. “In that whole parlor, only the piano wasn’t dusty.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I guess I didn’t notice that. Not that I spend much time in there anyway. It’s about all I can do to find my bed at night, some days.”
“Where’s that neighbor? The one who washed the sheets?”
“Still livin’ down the road a couple of miles,” he said. “Alice Claypool’s her name. I guess we could ask her to come, but I doubt she’d do it. She’s got a family of her own to take care of.”
“Any widow ladies who need some extra money?” Rachel asked.
Cord looked thoughtful, his fingertips meeting as he propped his elbows on the table. “There’s someone…”
“Who?” She’d settle for any warm body, Rachel thought, so long as she knew how to scrub on a board and use a carpet beater. The rugs in this house were in pathetic condition.
“Miz Claypool’s daughter, as a matter of fact.”
“Is she a widow?”
He shook his head. “No…but she might as well be.” He pushed back from the table and stood abruptly. “I don’t think that would work out at all. We’d better stick with Sam taking care of Jake and lending you a hand when he can. For now anyway.”
“Who were you talking about?” Rachel asked insistently. If he was serious about getting her some help, she was willing to take what she could get.
“Before the war, Jake and Lorena Claypool were keeping company,” Cord said reluctantly.
Rachel’s heart skipped a beat “And after the war? Did she change her mind about him?” If so, Lorena Claypool would not be welcome in this kitchen, she decided without hesitation.
Cord shook his head. “No, just the other way around. Jake didn’t want anything to do with her. Said he wasn’t a man any longer and he wasn’t about to waste Rena’s time.”
“And she just gave up on him?”
“No, she came around two or three times, asking to see him, and he turned her down flat. You could hear him shoutin’ from here, cursing and carrying on like a madman.”
“I’ve heard that same routine. Just the other day, in fact,” Rachel said, her mouth twisting into a sad parody of a smile.
“Rena left that day, more than three years ago, and hasn’t been back since.”
“My mama used to call that ‘cuttin’ off your nose to spite your face,’” Rachel said quietly. “Seems to me if the woman loved him enough to come to him, he’d ought to have given her a chance.”
“He’s a man, Rachel. A proud man, lacking the legs to hold him upright. Too proud to expose himself to anybody, let alone a woman he cared about.”
“Well, I’ll warrant she’s a proud woman, with enough gumption to face that fact. I don’t even know her, but I’ll bet she’s tough enough to—”
“I doubt she’d set foot on the place again, Rachel,” Cord said, shaking his head.
“Well, if you want the kind of meals you’ve been getting, and clean clothes to boot, it might be worth your while to find out.”
“Is that a threat?” His eyes gleaming with laughter, he rounded the table, tugging her from her chair, his big hands firm against her shoulders.
She laughed, feeling a sense of power as he asked the question. She’d proved herself here. In the short length of time she’d been running Cord McPherson’s house, she’d become a necessary part of his life, and she knew it. Except for those times when he looked somber and all withdrawn, as if the world was sitting heavy on his shoulders, he acted as if things were looking up in his life.
“No, I don’t make threats to big cowboys,” she said teasingly.
“I run a ranch, Rachel. I’m not a cowboy.” He tightened his grip, turning her to stand within inches of his muscular frame. She stumbled a bit as he placed her firmly in his grasp, then sucked in a quick breath when his arms slid around her to meet at the back of her waist.
“Take it back,” he growled, his gaze warm as it moved over her face.
“What?” She felt the flush creep up from her throat to cover her cheeks. His hands were wide, spreading from her ribs to her spine, and she felt each fingertip like a branding iron through the layers of fabric she wore.
His teasing was tinged by more than a touch of arrogance. “You called me a cowboy, Rachel. That’s not a word we use around here. My men are ranch hands. I’m known as a rancher. I own the place. Half of it anyway. Jake’s name is on the deed, right next to mine.”
“Let go of me,” she gasped, her teasing laughter cut short by the apprehension overwhelming her. Leaning from his hold, she shivered as the formidable masculinity of Cord McPherson surrounded her. Forgotten was the simple joy of teasing the man, swallowed up by the temptation of his embrace.
It would be so simple to allow the powerful appeal of this man to overcome the teachings of her early years. So easily could she lean into his embrace and succumb to the lure of his smiling lips and dark, devouring gaze.
Cord’s arms tightened, his teasing demeanor transformed in a heartbeat to that of a needy male creature. She’d asked for her release from his arms and his reluctant good sense echoed the demand. Only the immense pleasure he was gaining from the soft curves he’d managed to capture kept him from complying with her plea.
“In a minute,” he growled. She was about as tempting a morsel as he’d ever held. A dimple hid within each rosy cheek; he’d seen them deepen with her smile. Now he yearned to touch their hiding places with the tip of his tongue, to taste the firm texture of her skin. Her lips were barely parted, her breath audibly passing between their soft surfaces.
And suddenly, it was more temptation than he could resist.
He saw her eyes squeeze shut as he leaned to her, heard the sound of her gasp as she caught her breath, felt her hands pushing against his chest in a futile attempt to free herself, and then he caught her mouth with his own. His lips enclosed hers, his tongue yearning to touch and plunder.
Too soon…too soon…His mouth released her and he tilted his head just a bit, returning to the damp surface of her lips, a prize he’d only begun to relish, his mouth gentle as he offered her a more chaste caress.
It was almost too much to hope that this woman could be his. He didn’t deserve her innocence, her honesty. He feared the darkness dwelling within him, darkness that would swallow up all the joy she contained, leaving her empty, should he claim her as his own.
Against his chest, her hands curled into fists and in her throat a whimper was born. She sagged against him and he lifted his head, his narrowed gaze seeking hers.
No use. Her eyes were closed and from beneath her lashes a single tear slipped to roll slowly down each cheek.
“Ahh…damnation, Rachel. Don’t cry!” He hugged her. Then, fearful that he might be holding her too tightly, he held her away from him, one big hand cupping her chin as he bent to snatch the salty drops from her face. His lips inhaled the tiny specks of moisture and he savored the flavor.
She sniffed in a less than elegant manner and he grimaced, reaching for the handkerchief he kept in his back pocket. It was brand spanking clean, fresh from his drawer, and he tucked it into her small fist “Please, Rachel. No more tears. I’ve never felt guilty for wanting to kiss a woman before.”
She blinked, glancing down at the white square of cotton she held, then lifted it to blot her eyes and wipe her nose. “Thank you.” It was a prim little response and he forced a smile.
“I’m sorry, Rachel. I took advantage of you, and to top it off I reckon I frightened you.”
She shook her head. “No.”
“I didn’t scare y
ou off?” His smile broadened.
She met his gaze, her blue eyes shiny with the tears she had not shed. “I liked the kiss. I just didn’t think it was proper, with me working for you, and all. I can’t stay here if you intend to…”
“I won’t take you to my bed, Rachel.”
Her quick look was skeptical. “I don’t know much about men, Cord McPherson, but my mother told me that when a man takes a kiss, he usually plans on…Well, anyway, she said I should be sure that a man has honorable intentions when I let him kiss me.”
“Ah…there’s the hitch, honey. You didn’t let me. I just went ahead and stole the kiss without permission.” His gaze was filled with the wonder of her, the glowing color she wore like the armor of a virgin bride, the trembling of her bottom lip as she attempted to control it with the touch of her teeth against the soft surface. Her hair, escaping the confinement of the simple braid she wore, curled around her face, and her eyes. shone with guileless beauty.
If it weren’t so soon, if she’d had time to settle in better and know him longer…Even at that, he’d run the risk of hurting the girl.
Shattering his thoughts, a shout of youthful laughter came from the yard as Jay called out a greeting. Cord bent just a little, peering past the curtain to where a horse and buggy had pulled up to the hitching rail. From within, a dark-clad figure dropped to the ground and Jay approached at a run, skidding to a stop as he beamed at the visitor.
“Here’s your young man, come to visit from town, Rachel,” Cord said, his words stilted and forbidding. “I’ll carry your washwater out for you. Hope it doesn’t take all afternoon for him to deliver those seeds he promised you.”
It took only an hour. An hour during which the washwater cooled in the big washtub, an hour during which Cord McPherson had already made two trips back and forth from the barn to the house, scraping his boots carefully each time on the edge of the porch.
Conrad sat on the porch swing, an appropriate six inches from Rachel’s skirt, telling her in great detail how to plant the seeds he’d brought her. She should put in a new planting of the green beans every two weeks, ensuring a steady supply until cold weather. A flat box of tomato plants, for which she was most appreciative, graced the porch, and she had listened attentively as he gave his instructions for their planting.
“I’m sure I can handle getting everything into the ground, Mr. Carson,” she said politely, watching as Cord made another foray from the barn.
“If there’s ever anything I can do to help you feel welcome in the community, I’d surely be willing to make the effort,” Conrad told her earnestly. “In fact, if you would be agreeable, I’d like to come calling one evening next week, Miss Rachel.” He held his empty plate carefully, every crumb of pie having disappeared in short order.
She glanced at it with a smile, then, noting the color ridging his cheeks and the appeal in his dark eyes, her heart twinged with compassion. The man was looking to court her, and she didn’t have it in her to turn him down, not today anyway, when he’d made such an effort, coming to visit.
He’d had to find someone to keep the store for the afternoon, and surely he’d gone to a lot of trouble to locate the plants and seeds he’d brought.
“I’d enjoy having you come out to visit, Mr. Carson,” she answered, taking the plate from his hands, certain she heard Cord in the kitchen as she spoke the words.
Heavy boots stomped across the doorsill. Cord’s glare caught her broadside as he made his way down the steps and across the yard for the third time.
Conrad moved uncomfortably in the swing. “Perhaps Mr. McPherson wants you to resume your duties, Rachel. I’m taking up a lot of your time, I fear,” he said apologetically.
She breathed a sigh of relief, rising from the swing. “I have laundry to do this afternoon. It’s a good thing the wind is up. Perhaps everything will dry by sundown.”
Conrad said his goodbyes, holding his hat carefully in place with both hands as he nodded his head, thanking Rachel for her company.
“How shall I pay you for the things you brought?” she asked as she walked him to his buggy.
“I’ll bill Mr. McPherson’s account.” He climbed into the vehicle, gathering the reins in his hands.
Rachel smiled. Ever the businessman. And that was not all bad, she thought She watched him leave, aware that she’d just been the object of a man’s desire. Conrad Carson was courting her, and the thought was a daunting one.
What would she do if he should ask her to marry him?
How could she say yes when her mind was so filled with the presence of Cord McPherson?
“You got a beau, Miss Rachel?” Sam asked, feigning innocence as he brought Jake’s empty tray into the kitchen.
Rachel shook her head, casting him a forbidding glance. The supper table was silent, as if someone had demanded the attention of the gathered crew, and Sam grinned, his eyes twinkling as they narrowed in pleasure.
“That young man is a right fine catch for any young woman, ma’am,” Sam said, nodding his head. “You might want to consider lookin’ him over real good.”
“Miss Rachel just got settled in here,” Shamus Quinn spoke up. “She’s not goin’ gallivantin’ off with the storekeeper. There’s half a dozen good men right here who can marry her if she’s of a mind to get hitched.”
Rachel’s face blazed as the table fell silent, each man looking to another as if they sought verification of Shamus’s words.
“I’m not in the market for a husband,” she said after a moment. “Mr. Carson is a fine gentleman and a friend. I’ll thank you all to respect my privacy.”
The plate of cookies she carried thumped onto the surface of the table with a resounding clatter, and eager hands reached to snatch at the resulting cascade of baked goods.
“You can stay here forever, Miss Rachel,” Buck declared, three cookies in one hand, another halfway into his mouth as he rose from his chair.
Jamie Callahan followed him, nodding his agreement, his share of dessert safely cupped within his big palm.
“They like you, Miss Rachel,” said a soft voice from behind her as the last man left the table, leaving only the two small boys behind.
“Jay and Henry! Take your dessert and go put the chickens up for the night,” she said briskly, ignoring the man whose presence was causing her heart to beat at a rapid pace.
“We all like you, Rachel,” Cord said, amending his earlier statement.
She circled the table, breathing easier as she left him standing near the stove. Her hands gathered up the silverware, stacked the plates and scraped the scant leftovers into a bowl for the dog’s dinner.
“Rachel?” He was unmoving, a tall, unsmiling presence in her kitchen, and she turned to him as she finished clearing the table.
“I don’t mind being teased, Cord. I’m getting used to it. You don’t have to speak for the men.”
He shook his head. “I’m not. I’m speaking for me. I like you, too, Rachel.”
Flushed with the heady success of her day, Rachel poured a cup of coffee and pressed it into Cord’s hands. “Take this to your brother, Cord. He didn’t get cookies on his tray. Take him some.”
“Coward.” The word was softly spoken, but a dare nonetheless.
“I’m not,” she said staunchly.
“Are, too.”
With suddenly trembling fingers, she took the cup back from his grasp and held it gingerly, pausing only to gather up four cookies before she turned to the kitchen door.
“Go do your chores, McPherson,” she said crisply. “I have a kitchen to clean, and laundry to fold. You’re in my way.”
Her steps were rapid as she headed down the hall, past the parlor and the formal dining room. Past Cord’s office and on to where the library doors were rolled almost shut.
She rapped with one knuckle, careful not to crush the cookies she carried. Then with the tip of her shoe, she eased the door open, rolling it on its hidden wheels, sliding it within the wall.
> “Mr. McPherson, I’ve brought you dessert,” she said quietly, her gaze veering neither left nor right. From one side, she saw a movement and then the wheelchair rolled into her path.
“Ah…Cord’s lady friend, come to visit.”
The cup shifted in her grasp, the coffee sloshing to the very edge before she righted it. Her breath caught in her throat as she lifted her gaze to meet that of the man who watched her.
“I thought you might like coffee.” Ignoring the slur he’d offered, she extended the cup, watching as his long fingers grasped it, claiming it. “I baked cookies.”
His mouth twisted and his eyes were dark beneath lowering brows. “Trying to tame the beast, Miss Rachel?”
She shook her head. “No, just being polite.”
He reached for the cookies. “A peace offering?”
She considered that thought, a new one to be sure. And then deciding it might be well to use it to her advantage, she nodded. “I invaded your territory the other day. I must apologize. I wasn’t aware that the parlor piano was off limits to me.”
He ate a cookie in two bites and swallowed it down with a gulp of hot coffee, his eyes intent on her. “It was a week ago, Miss Rachel. And if my memory serves me, you already apologized, very nicely.”
A second cookie followed the first, and then Jake rested the cup on the arm of his chair, watching her in silence.
She cleared her throat. “Was the first one accepted? I can’t recall, to be honest.” Her voice barely wobbled. He hadn’t thrown the cup at her. Hadn’t even raised his voice, in fact. But the words he spoke were cutting and curt.
“You can dust the finish off the parlor piano, as you call it, Miss Rachel. Just don’t lift the lid. I don’t want to hear your feeble attempts at making music.”
The chair spun away from her and she was given the back of his head, long hair spreading in a mantle across his shoulders. Clean and combed today.
“Get out, Miss Rachel.” He spoke her name in a parody of politeness, emphasizing the syllables as if he mocked the title given her by Sam Bostwick.
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.
The Wedding Promise Page 7