“Maybe I shouldn’t play anymore, not if it’s going to upset him that much.”
“What he said was that you could use a little help with your timing and maybe he’d give you—” Lorena broke off, looking stricken. “I don’t mean to offend you.”
Rachel straightened, her mind spinning with the possibilities Lorena had presented. She waved her hand in a dismissive motion. “No, no…I’m not offended. Not at all. I was just thinking that if Jake was willing to help me, maybe he’d be willing to lend a hand in town when the theater is built.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Lorena asked.
Rachel whirled from the railing, pacing to the end of the long porch and back. “Wait till I tell you, Rena. Cord just heard about it in town, from Cecil Hampton at the bank.”
“Need some help getting ready for bed, Jake?” Lorena stood in the doorway, her golden hair looking like a silken veil about her shoulders.
He’d have been willing to bet a five-dollar gold piece that she’d brushed it and left it loose for his benefit, Jake thought, turning his chair from the temptation she offered. “I can manage,” he muttered, his fingers clenching as he resisted the urge to take her up on the offer.
The doors slid shut, a last rattle and then a soft click as they latched together. He drew in a breath, his eyes closing as he treasured, for just a moment, the image of golden hair and rounded curves. Lorena Claypool was edging her way back into his life, and he’d be damned if he let her take over.
“I’ll just turn down the covers for you, Jake,” she said quietly from behind him, and his eyelids snapped open, even as his chair spun, allowing him to face the intruder. She was bent over his bed, intent on sneaking around, even after he’d told her to leave.
“I can pull that sheet back myself,” he growled. “When are you going to understand that I don’t need a nursemaid, Lorena?”
She looked at him over her shoulder, and for just a moment he caught a flash of a hurt so deep, so ingrained, it almost brought him down. And then it was gone, and a patient, good-humored smile covered the glimpse of sadness he’d seen there.
“I have to earn my keep, Jake,” she said cheerfully. Her hands plumped his pillows, and then she bent to place them just so, piling two on the side of the bed he slept on. She folded the sheet at the foot, leaving him room to swing from his chair to the mattress.
“You planning on undressing me, too?” he asked. “You haven’t had a good look up close at the cripple, Rena. Is that what you’re hangin’ around for?”
She shook her head, the natural glow of her complexion fading at his words. “I’ll do anything you need to have done, Jake. That’s what I’m here for.”
“Really?” He stopped the snail-like progress he’d made and leaned back. Bracing himself on one arm, he lifted his left leg, the material that had been tucked beneath falling to dangle loosely. Then he shifted and extended his right leg, making apparent the absence of flesh and bone just below the knee.
“You can help me undress, Lorena. Come on over here and undo my trousers. I’ll get in bed and you can strip me naked, get a good look at the results of the surgeon’s skill.”
“Jake…” It was a whispered plea, uttered from lips gone white. As if her own limbs had lost their power to hold her erect, she sat down on the edge of the mattress, her hands limp in her lap.
“What?” His heart was pumping at a rapid pace and he moved the chair closer, moving his right leg up and down, the loose pant leg waving in an obscene dance.
“Don’t you want to see what the war did to the great Jake McPherson? That man who was going to take you to Europe on his first tour of the Continent. Who was going to play on the concert stage in London…”
“Jake!” The sound of his name was a cry for mercy, and she fell from the side of the bed to kneel next to his chair. “Don’t do this to yourself! Don’t do this to me.” She gripped his arm, bending to place her cheek where her fingers clenched against his flesh.
“Ah, damn!” His curse was a reproach of his own cruelty, and Jake shook his head as guilt enclosed him with dark tentacles. “Rena…” He covered her fingers with his right hand and bent low to brush his face against her head.
Her hair held the scent of sunshine and lilac soap, and he inhaled its essence, as if his lungs hungered for the sweetness she offered. “Rena.”
She trembled, and his arm moved to enclose her shoulders. “Rena!” With an intensity that spoke of his deep regret, he whispered her name again and she lifted her face from its hiding place.
“Back up, Jake. I’ll leave. Give me room, please.”
“No.” His hand touched her head, his fingers burrowing beneath the waves to cup the nape of her neck. “Look at me, Rena.” As if he’d drawn the words from some deep well of agony, he groaned them aloud.
He gripped the heavy tresses and with a gradual tightening of his hand, tilted her head. She relaxed in his hold, allowing him the sight of her closed eyes, tears seeping from beneath heavy lids.
He bent, almost doubled over in the chair, his mouth touching the pale flesh of her cheek, taking the tears she shed between his lips, brushing her face with his, as if he would take her grief for his own.
“Jake, let me up. Let me leave. I won’t bother you again. I promise.” The words spilled from her lips, the tears flowed, and still he sought to halt the cascade of sorrow.
“Please, Rena. Come here. Let me sit near you.” He tugged at her, his other hand tight around her shoulders, an awkward position that threw him off balance. “Damn, I can’t do it, Rena. I can’t lift you this way. I’m a miserable excuse for a man! You need someone who can…”
“Stop, please.” Her eyes opened as he spoke and she shook her head, her entreaty halting his bitter words. Her whisper was so low, he strained to hear it. “I don’t need anything or anyone but you, Jake McPherson. Why can’t you understand that?” She blinked, forcing back the tears and swallowing as though she would gather her composure about her like a cloak.
“I’m not good enough for you, Rena. I can’t earn a living or take care of you. I’m half a man, stuck in a chair for the rest of my life.”
“How do you know what you can do?” The words gritted between her teeth, her voice trembling with the effort. “You’re willing to stay in this room and call it quits, instead of…?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know why I love you, Jake. I wish I didn’t I truly wish I could walk away and forget you and never look back.”
“It’d probably be the smartest thing you ever did,” he muttered darkly, his hand lifting to brush golden wisps of hair from her tearstained cheek.
Her jaw clenched against the fresh tears she refused to shed, and her whisper was bleak in the stillness of the room.
“Are you going to let me? Are you going to watch me walk away, Jake McPherson?”
Chapter Thirteen
“Not on your life.” Jake’s jaw hardened, his teeth clenching so tightly, he felt they would surely crack from the strain. What he was about to ask of this woman was more than he had a right to demand. And yet, without her full knowledge of the ruination of his body, their lives were at a standstill.
If she lacked the strength to face his scars, and the terrible sight of his butchered flesh, he would lose her. In a final rending of his heart, he would turn his back on the joy he might have found with Lorena Claypool.
Backing the chair from the bed, he looked at her, his gaze intent, as though he would stamp her image indelibly upon the pages of his mind. Should she be unable to accept his injuries, he would send her away. No shame, no recriminations, only the knowledge remaining that once, in a faraway time, this woman had loved him with all that she was, pledging herself to his keeping.
“Give me room to swing into bed.” His instructions were terse, and he watched as she obeyed. Rising to her feet, she stepped back, her hands clenched tightly, her eyes upon him as he swung from the chair to sit upright against his pillows.
&nbs
p; “Now, come here and sit beside me. Watch me, Rena.” His voice was gruff. “I want you to see what you’re asking for, talking about spending your days and nights with me.” Quickly his hands undid the buttons of his trousers, lifting himself with an awkward movement to slide them from his lower body.
The underwear, he left in place. It covered his thighs partway, and he winced as he caught sight of what he exposed as the trousers were pushed from him. With a quick twist of his wrist, he cast them to the floor and dared a look at the silent woman who sat beside him.
She met his gaze, pale and obviously shaken by his words and actions, but unmoving. “Do you think I’ll run, Jake? Do you think I’ve come this far, just to cover my head and cry for what might have been?”
He shook his head. “No, I guess not. I suspect I should have known as much.”
She leaned forward, her eyes touching only the lines of his face, and he permitted the scrutiny as she brushed his skin with her fingertips. Her mouth was soft, her lips pink once more, as if she allowed the blood to flow by some unheard command within herself. Her cheeks no longer held the pallor of hopeless despair, but bloomed with the flush of hope.
“I love you, Jake. No matter what has happened to your legs, the rest of you is still worth more than any other man in the world in my book.”
He drew in a breath, overwhelmed by the vehemence in her voice, the crystal-clear meaning of her words. “Look at me. Now! Look at my legs! Then tell me again how much I’m worth.”
She nodded and her eyelids lowered, even as her head tilted, allowing her gaze to move the length of his torso. With no trace of hesitation, she slid to kneel beside the bed, and her hands lifted to rest against the firm muscles of his thigh.
Through the knit fabric of his underwear, her touch was warm, caressing, and he shivered as his body responded to the stimulus of a woman’s slender fingers where only his own had strayed over the past years. It was his left leg she touched, the one that had not even a knee to boast of. Her fingers edged beneath the hem of his short drawers and she nudged the fabric upward, exposing the scarred, tortured remains of his limb.
She bent low, as if only a close scrutiny would expose the minute details to her gaze, and he allowed his head to fall back against the high headboard, unable to watch as she ran her fingers over his damaged flesh.
And then, as if in a dream, her mouth touched him. There, where the ugliness of war had left its mark, she lent her healing touch, her mouth warm and damp against the marred skin. She turned her head, her cheek against his thigh, and he opened his eyes, looking down at the woman who loved him.
She leaned to touch the other leg, where his knee bent, pressing the short stump against the sheet. Her hand slid the length of his calf, a matter of inches, and she cradled her fingers around the scarred remainder.
“Does it hurt when I touch it?” she asked haltingly, lifting her gaze to his. Her eyes were filled with an indefinable sorrow, a sadness so deep it defied the presence of tears.
He shook his head, unable to speak, aware of the arousal he could no longer ignore. Hurt? He couldn’t tell where her touch was affecting him most Perhaps not even the physical touch of her hands, but the pain that radiated from her eyes to blend with the ache in his heart.
And yet his manhood ignored the dictates of his mind, rising against his body with each movement of her hands, each breath she spent against his wounded legs.
She bent once more to his ruined flesh, and her lips spread an array of silent caresses, her mouth open as she bathed and suckled the wounds he had hidden from the view of others for so long.
“I love you, Jake McPherson,” she whispered, the words a fierce litany as she claimed him, her possession a renewal of the private, secret vows she’d made all those long years ago.
“Rena!” It was a strangled gasp as he acknowledged the raging of a tumescence he could not ignore.
She smiled then, turning her head to glance up at him, even as her hands moved up the ridged muscles of his thighs, easing beneath the knit garment he wore, to lay claim to the aching need he could not conceal. She held him, her fingers pressing the length of his manhood, his urgency hovering on the verge of eruption.
His lips drew back over his teeth as her hand moved on his turgid flesh and he moaned, a sound of blended agony and ecstasy.
“I love you, Jake McPherson,” she whispered again, her hand clenching tighter as he shifted beneath her touch.
“Rena!” It was a warning cry, one she ignored, even as she offered him the gift of release. A gift he accepted with a muffled groan, a murmured whisper of her name.
Breakfast was a simple affair, with only Shamus and Moses coming in from the bunkhouse to sit at the long table. Cord looked toward the hall doorway as he took his seat.
“Where’s Rena this morning? Did Jake get his breakfast yet?” His fork lifted two pancakes from the platter as he spoke, and he slathered them with butter before he poured a dollop of syrup on top.
“I saw her earlier. I’ll check on them in a few minutes.” Rachel scooted sideways into the chair beside him, her look guarded. Her head shook at his offer of bacon. “Thanks, but I’m going to just have some coffee and a slice of toast.” She busied herself with jam, her mouth pursed, her forehead wrinkled, as if she considered some great problem to be solved.
“Rachel?” His query was soft, his look inquiring as Cord paused in his eating to watch her. “Is something wrong?”
“I’ve been thinking about the boys ever since I got up, Cord. I keep wondering if they’re all right.” She broke off a piece of toast and shredded it between her fingers, then lifted a jam-smeared fingertip to her mouth.
His sigh was subdued. “Sweetheart? They’ll be fine. I promise you, Sam will be with them every minute.”
“I know. I just have this feeling.” She leaned closer. “Cord, Lorena looks different this morning, kind of glowing and happy.”
He sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing as he considered her descriptive phrases. “You don’t think…” He shook his head. “Naw, that couldn’t be.” Another forkful of pancakes were chewed as he considered the idea.
“Where did she spend the night?” he asked in a whisper, his glance at the two men sitting at the far end of the table guarded.
Rachel looked stunned for a moment and then indignant as his meaning penetrated. “Where do you think? In her room, of course!”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded. “I heard her door close, early.”
Cord nodded. “Yeah. But was she comin’ or goin’?”
Rachel rose swiftly, gathering her cup and plate. “I won’t even try to answer that.” Her cheeks were flushed and her hands trembled. “Lorena Claypool is a lady, Cord.”
It was obviously going to be her final word on the subject, and Cord found no reason to dispute her opinion. Even ladies found enjoyment with a man, especially when the lady in question was so clearly in love with the man involved.
“We’re goin’ to turn those yearlings out to pasture this morning, boss,” Shamus said, hat in place, as he headed out the door.
“I’ll be out in a few minutes,” Cord answered, snatching at his coffee cup to drain its contents.
Rachel turned from the sink. “Cord…you don’t really think…” Her eyes were wide with unspoken wonderings, and he felt a smile stretch his lips.
“Jake’s not one to take advantage of a woman, Rachel. If they spent time together, it was probably just getting things straight between them. They had a lot of catching up to do.” That part of the reunion might have been spent with their bodies in close proximity was a possibility he could not dismiss, but leaving Rachel with some semblance of purity in her imaginings might be for the best.
She nodded. “You’re probably right. I just don’t want Lorena to be hurt.”
He stepped to her, taking her in a gentle embrace. His kiss was soft against her forehead. “Quit fretting, honey. Jake’s a good man, and Rena’s the best thing that’s
come his way in a long time.” His hands gripped her shoulders and he shook her with an indulgent movement, his grin widening at her fretful look. “And don’t worry about the boys, Rachel. They’ll be home for supper, and they’ll be bursting with all sorts of tales to tell.”
“Boss, that young’un was gone when we got up at daybreak. His blanket was in a tumble and he was nowhere to be seen.” Jamie Callahan held his hat, twisting it in his hands. “I feel awful bad, boss, but poor old Sam is about pullin’ his hair out. He’s out there searchin’ the woods beyond the line shack, and Buck’s holdin’ the fort where we were camped. In case Jay shows up, we didn’t want him to think we’d gone off and left him.”
Cord’s string of curses were enough to send the young cowhand stepping backward. “I’m sure as hell sorry, boss,” he muttered, his gaze wary as he listened to words he’d never heard from Cord McPherson’s mouth.
“Damn, damn, damn! I’ve got to tell Rachel!” Cord pulled his hat from his head and threw it from him, sailing it across the yard.
From the porch, Rachel called his name, her voice shrill. “Cord! What’s wrong?” She jumped to the ground, ignoring the steps, and ran toward him, holding her dress high.
She seized his hands and tugged at him. “Cord, answer me! What’s wrong?”
“Rachel, listen to me!” He freed himself from her grip, holding both of her hands in one of his. His other palm wrapped the nape of her neck and he leaned toward her.
“Jay’s gone missing from the camp, probably wandered off to explore before daybreak. At any rate, Sam’s looking for him and I’m heading up there right now to lend a hand.”
“I’m going along,” she said, her voice deathly quiet, her jaw clenched.
“No. You stay here. I can ride faster alone, honey. I’ll be back before you know it, and you can scold him all you want.”
The Wedding Promise Page 17