The Wedding Promise

by Carolyn Davidson

He met her gaze, his eyes dark with a pain she’d seen there before. When he spoke of Jake he’d worn the same look.

  She repeated the words, her voice a whisper. “He punished you?” She closed her eyes. “He whipped you? And you allowed it?”

  “I didn’t fight him, Rae. He was my father. He knocked me down, caught me unawares. I took the brunt of his hatred. I think he wished me dead that day. He’d been miserable since my mother died. Jake had joined the Union army, and my father cursed me.”

  He clenched his jaw tightly, and she watched as the skin stretched over the grim line that bespoke his pain. “He’d have brought the roof down on my head if he’d been here the day Jake came home. I’d have been doubly cursed.”

  “You weren’t responsible for your brother’s wounds, Cord. Don’t take that blame on yourself.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe my own scars make it easier for me to look at him.”

  “Who tended your back, Cord?”

  “Shamus. He was the only one who knew. Until now.” His smile was bitter. “You didn’t see Jake when they brought him to me, Rae. He sat in the back of a wagon, his bandaged stumps in place of the two good legs he left with, and I…”

  He shook his head. “I’m glad my mother never saw it. My father, either, for that matter.”

  Rachel leaned to him, balanced on her knees, reaching for his shoulders to stay erect. Her hands clenched the wide, muscled width and she dug in her nails. Like an oak tree, he was solid and stalwart, and strong enough to allow her the anger she expended on him.

  “I never want to hear you revile yourself again, Cord McPherson! You’re a good man, honest and upright. Having the strength to live by your convictions doesn’t make you a coward.”

  She caught a breath and her voice trembled. “Hiding your head and pampering your brother does.”

  His brow lifted as she spoke. “Pampering?”

  “Yes! You were all set to smack Jay for running off, weren’t you? You expect him to accept responsibility, and yet…” Her tone took on new strength. “You’ve allowed Jake to live in that dark room, hiding from the world for more than three years. Surely in that length of time, he should have come to grips with his injuries. He may be bitter and ornery the rest of his life, but coddling him while he turns into a hermit hasn’t helped a thing.”

  “You think I coddle him.” His eyes narrowed as he repeated the accusing phrase.

  “Probably more than I coddle Jay. And he’s only a little boy, while Jake is a man, full-grown. What would you call it?” She released him from her hold and leaned back on her heels.

  “That’s different.”

  “Really? Then you tell me?” she said, her challenge alive between them.

  What would he call it? Cord’s mind reflected for a moment on the brother he loved, and yet…At the same time he felt…what? Resentment, maybe?

  He glared at Rachel, aiming his anger for a moment at the woman who’d dared to speak to him so roundly. She was about half his weight, dripping wet, and totally vulnerable out here in the far reaches of the ranch.

  And yet she’d had the guts to accuse him. That impudent little mouth of hers had spit out words he’d never thought to hear from anyone. Certainly not from the woman who claimed to love him.

  Damn! Even half-mad at her, he found himself wanting her beneath him on the ground. He reached for her, suddenly needing to assure himself of the validity of her words. His hands gripped her, with a touch far from gentle, drawing her across the grass that separated them.

  Losing her balance, she fell against him, her hands reaching to steady herself. He turned her, neatly and quickly, sliding her into the shelter of his big body, her bottom perched on his folded leg.

  “Now tell me again how I’ve pampered my brother,” he said, his fingers curving beneath her chin and along the firm line of her jaw.

  As long as she was going to give him holy hell he could at least have the pleasure of feeling that plump fanny against him. He watched her soft pink lips open, willing to hear her out.

  “You’ve allowed him to do absolutely nothing to help you, Cord,” she began, her tone even as if she guarded each word. “Rena told me that Jake did the accounts before he went away to New York. She said he’s got a mind like a steel trap. He can add and subtract in his head and have the totals down before anyone else could manage to get them written on a piece of paper.”

  She drew in a deep breath, and he readied himself for another barrage.

  “Your brother needs some responsibility for the ranch, Cord. You said his name is on the deed, but all he does to contribute is to sit in that chair and raise havoc to let you know he’s there. And you let him get away with it.”

  He shifted beneath the pressure of her weight against him, torn between the accusations she flung at him and the effect the proximity of her body was having on his.

  She wiggled again and his hands gripped her waist, lifting her and settling her once more a few inches from his groin.

  Rachel’s mouth opened, then shut, her cheeks pink, perhaps from the force of her scolding words, he decided. And then she turned her head to look fully into his face.

  “You can just stop that funny business, Cord McPherson. Rubbing your…your thing against me isn’t going to change how I feel about this!”

  “Sweetheart, that ‘thing’ of mine doesn’t seem to care whether you’re mad at me or not.” A surge of desire for the woman he held washed over him, the need for her almost beyond his ability to control.

  Rachel cocked her head, as if she had only now become aware of his inattention to her words. “Cord? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  He felt a smile curl his lips. Jake and his problems could go hang for now. Rachel’s opinions were probably worth his full consideration. And if she had hit the nail on the head with all her carrying on about Jake, he’d be the first to admit it.

  But not right now.

  “Cord!” Her warning cry was spent against his mouth as he twisted in the grass, turning her to her back and coming down over her. “You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said.”

  “Oh, yes, I have, and I promise I’ll do something about it. But right now I’m going to shut that sassy little mouth of yours, and enjoy doing it.”

  It was a kiss of passion, a caress that bypassed the tender foreplay he’d previously favored. Her mouth was invaded by his, the barrier of lips and teeth overwhelmed by the force of his desire. He allowed her no quarter, his hands noting the curves of her body as a territory he had every intention of claiming as his own.

  And yet there was in his handling of her delicate flesh a gentleness she could not deny, a forbearance signifying the great care he took that she might find pleasure in his touch.

  His hands swept away the clothing that hid her from him. His fingertips spread wide over the softness of her breasts, then edged lower to curve with possessive greed against the fullness of her hips, pressing her against the surging need he would not deny.

  She inhaled deep breaths of air, his scent filling her, a musky, delightful aroma that spoke to her of sweetness and satisfaction, of male need and the craving of his flesh for her own.

  Her anger had prepared her, her emotions peaking readily as Cord rolled with her upon the grass. Each word he spoke, each gruff word of command, filled her with anticipation.

  Moving with her, he lifted her, his mouth offering adulation to the curves and hollows of her flesh.

  And then he was there, the driving force of his very being seeking out the wellspring of her womanhood. He merged their bodies, a groan of triumph and satisfaction erupting from him, even as she whispered his name in a gesture of submission to his greater strength.

  He was ever the victor, and she allowed it

  He was the aggressor, and she reveled in it.

  He was the giver of pleasure, and she accepted it, filled to overflowing with a supreme knowledge that without her, his joy would be incomplete.

  That no other woman fulfilled his
needs as could the one he had taken as his wife.

  She was swept into a maelstrom of delight, a world of sensation that precluded all else. He was above her, beneath her, his arms enclosing her, his very breath filling her as he entangled them into a pulsing entity.

  They were one flesh. Man and woman beneath the summer sky, their bodies brushed by the sunshine and shadow of the leaves overhead.

  A cry of triumph burst from her and she gripped him, her legs strong and firm, her arms muscled from the hours of physical labor she embraced.

  An ecstasy beyond her understanding filled her to overflowing and she sobbed aloud, tears flowing in a flood tide that wet her face and his, their frenzied bodies clinging together in a fierce celebration of their love.

  Cord’s mouth brushed at the dampness and he smiled, a satisfied upturning of his lips that brought a like expression to her own. Rasping and rough against her hearing, his words acclaimed her.

  “There’s never been another woman like you, Rachel McPherson.”

  It was homage spoken with deep emotion, and she accepted it, knowing it was dealt her as her due. In this time and place, they had formed a new bond, reaching beyond the meeting of their bodies to a melding of souls.

  Cord McPherson had made her his own on their wedding night. Today, he had given her a deeper glimpse into his heart, and in the doing had offered up his very self into her care.

  For this, she would be ever grateful.

  A trip to town took on new significance, once the theater construction began. Teams of workers gave their time, working during the evenings when their own chores were completed. Saturdays found the surrounding community surging into the town square, bursting the boundaries of townsfolk and farmers, blending the whole into a work force that defied description.

  The women were the driving force, many of them hungry for this new touch of civilization, of culture brought to the level of small-town living.

  Some had come from bigger cities than Green Rapids. Some had known the joy of sharing music and drama.

  Others just came to town for the camaraderie of community spirit that drove men to sit astride beams high over the ground, to blend the hammering of their tools with those of others.

  Whatever the reasons, the theater was being built. No doubt, Rachel decided privately, the investors from New York were delighted that their building was costing them not much more than the materials they sent to the site.

  The train station had been a beehive of activity since the beginning. Twice a week, the afternoon train was met by a string of wagons. The crates and boxes, their outsides stamped with names of faraway places, kept the children enthralled.

  “Look here, Rae! There’s stuff clear from New York City in here,” Jay chirped, standing tiptoe in his attempt to see the top of a tall box.

  Rachel nodded at him, watching from the shade of the station, cooling herself lazily with a cardboard fan. Cord’s last stop was to be at the barber shop.

  He’d talked Rachel into trimming the back of his hair twice, but she’d persuaded him that the town barber needed to make a stab at cleaning up her efforts. His dark hair hung straight, resting against his collar, and no amount of clipping on her part was able to even it out.

  She blew a stray curl from her forehead, fanning from a new direction, wishing she’d left off her petticoat this morning. A thought that would surely have caused her mother to scold her endlessly, had she but known.

  She smiled, a bittersweet thorn pricking her memory, and then thought of Cord. One glimpse of him would be enough to lift her spirits, she decided.

  And it was. From beyond the corner of the railroad station she caught sight of him, one hand lifted in a wave, as he headed her way.

  “You about ready to head for home, Rachel?” he called from the other end of the platform.

  Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him, his slim-hipped stride lending an air of arrogance to the tall rancher. His hat was tilted at an angle, his face shaded beneath the brim. He lifted a hand in greeting to several men as he passed them, but his eyes were trained on his wife.

  As if he were aware of her unspoken curiosity, he swept the hat from his head and grinned. His hair gleamed darkly in the sunshine and it had been shorn considerably. Later, her hands could conduct their own survey, she decided.

  Her gaze lowered, drawn by the masculine width of his shoulders. His shirt was snug over his chest, sleeves rolled up partway to disclose muscular forearms.

  A wide belt held his denim trousers tautly above his hips, and in his boots he towered over the scattered groups of watching townsfolk and the sweating workers who loaded the wagons.

  No matter what the Bible said, pride in this case could not possibly be a sin, for mixed as it was with love, Rachel embraced the emotion wholeheartedly.

  Cord McPherson belonged to her, and her possessive heart beat faster at his approach.

  His eyes warmed as he watched her and his mouth turned up at one corner. She sent him a silent plea, just a twist of her lips, a half smile. Her hand gestured at her brothers, who were scampering about with half a dozen town boys.

  “Jay and Henry are having a good time, Cord.”

  He nodded agreement, ambling over to where she stood, then leaned against the building next to her, one foot flat against the siding. His fingers slid into his shirt pocket, drawing forth a slim cigar and he lifted his brow in her direction. “Do you mind?”

  She shook her head. “My father used to smoke cigars, usually after dinner at night.”

  He held the brown cylinder between finger and thumb, as if he measured the length with his eye. “Conrad gave it to me.” A match sparked as he struck it against the sole of his boot and his eyes squinted at her through the puff of smoke as he lit the tobacco.

  She waved the fan more vigorously and her nose wrinkled. “I’d just as soon you smoked it here, Cord. I don’t really like the smell in a house.”

  He moved it to the far corner of his mouth and spoke around it. “Well, that’s one thing we agree on then.” The thumb of his left hand was caught in his side pocket, and with his other hand he reached for her.

  “You find everything you needed at Conrad’s, Rae?” he asked, holding her hand within his palm. It was a casually possessive gesture and she smiled, aware of his need to own her in public.

  Cord McPherson wasn’t above setting his brand on his belongings, and she suspected that he considered her as just that. Maybe more prized than his horse, certainly a step or two above the herds of cattle he raised. That thought nudged her sense of humor and she chuckled, a soft sound beneath her breath.

  “What’s got you tickled?” he asked, leaning to look down into her face. He squeezed her hand and lifted it, drawing her closer.

  She shook her head. “Nothing, just a foolish idea.”

  “You’re havin’ a good time, watchin’ the fixings for the new building come to town, aren’t you?” he asked, blowing the smoke from his cigar upward.

  “Mrs. Hampton says it’s probably the most excitement Green Rapids has ever seen, Cord. She said her husband told her it’s guaranteed to bring new money into town.”

  Cord grinned widely. “And old Cecil’s no doubt rubbin’ his hands together, waitin’ for a chance to get his hands on it. I’ll bet he’s the reason there’s some fella ready to start building a men’s clothing store, down past the hotel.”

  “When did you hear that?”

  “You’d be surprised at all the gossip in the barber shop these days,” he said, slanting a look at her. “They’re even talkin’ about Lorena living at the ranch.”

  “Nothing bad, I hope?” Rachel frowned at the idea of Lorena being the object of conversation.

  Cord grinned. “Naw. Nobody seems to consider that Jake might still have feelings for her. Guess the general idea is that he’s lost more than the use of his legs.”

  Rachel felt a hot flush creep up her cheeks. “That’s no way to talk, Cord. Lorena’s a lady.”


  The cigar flared briefly as he drew on it, and he clamped it between his teeth. His eyes glittered teasingly as he watched her. “Yeah, but don’t forget, Jake’s a man. He and Rena were gonna get married a few years back. I doubt he’s forgotten how things were between them.”

  “I don’t want Lorena hurt just because she’s staying with us,” Rachel said firmly.

  “I’d say she’s willing to take that chance.” Cord’s fingers plucked the cigar from his mouth and he eyed it cautiously. “Can’t figure out why Cecil Hampton sets so much store by these things. Conrad says he orders them by the box.”

  Rachel’s mouth twitched with amusement “You don’t think you’ll be placing an order any time soon?”

  He shook his head, dropping the cigar to the ground and grinding it beneath his boot. “Can’t say I much enjoy the flavor. I’ll settle for a piece of apple pie any day of the week.”

  “Rae! Can we stay a while longer?” Jay had raced to her side, moisture beading his upper lip, his hair damp with sweat. He caught his breath, rocking on his heels.

  “Everybody’s gonna follow the wagon to the new building and watch ‘em unload. Can me and Henry go, too?”

  She looked at Cord for approval and was pleased at his indulgence. “I don’t see why not,” he drawled. “Your sister and I can probably find something to do for a little while. We’ll come by and pick you up in a half hour or so.”

  “I’m surprised the whole town’s not watching the wagons today,” Rachel told him. “They’re supposed to be bringing in the stage fittings, I heard. Everyone’s champing at the bit to get the curtains hung.”

  “I heard tell the piano’s coming next week,” he said, lifting an eyebrow as he glanced in her direction again. “I s’pose you’ll want to be here when it arrives.”

  She sighed, a reluctant sound. “We can’t be trotting to town every time the train goes by.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I was thinkin’ maybe we could load Jake up in the wagon and bring him along. You think he’d go for the idea?” As casual as his words seemed, she sensed a deep, underlying hope within each syllable.