Читать книгу The Wedding Promise - Carolyn Davidson, Carolyn Davidson - Страница 8

The line of clothing snapped in the brisk west wind. Four small shirts billowed, the sleeves filling like the sails of a boat. Next to them hung overalls, one pair a little larger than the other. Stockings draped over the line in a dark parade, and his gaze followed their lead, beyond the pale assortment of undergarments to where a skirt caught the breeze.

“Damned if there isn’t a passel of nesters squattin’ on my doorstep!” Talking to himself had long been a habit, and Cord McPherson was more than comfortable with the sound of his own voice.

His hands rested on the pommel of his saddle and he slouched just a bit as he leaned forward to better view the small valley that rimmed the north side of his property.

He’d ridden this far only once this spring, more than a month ago, and nothing unusual had caught his eye. Only the leafing out of the trees along the stream and the greening of the meadows had pleasured his vision. This was another thing entirely.

His gaze narrowed on a small figure just beyond the ramshackle building at the edge of a patch of trees. Dark haired and slim as a reed, a young boy scampered into full view, his voice a piping song.

“Rae! Listen to me! I can whistle just like that bird over there,” he called, and then proceeded to do a creditable imitation of a robin.

Cord’s mouth twitched, amusement and annoyance vying for a place there. “What the hell is that kid doin’, prancin’ around in my back forty?” he grumbled beneath his breath.

And then his eyes caught sight of another figure, this one not nearly so reedlike…slender, but well rounded. A female, no doubt of that, he decided quickly, what with the curves that threatened to spill over the front of her petticoat.

“Jay, I sent you to the stream to fill a bucket with water. I need to finish the washing.”

She’d turned, coming to a halt with her back to him, and for a moment Cord silently urged her to turn around. He’d thought her to be but a child at first glance, but the sight of rounded hips beneath the clinging petticoat and the memory of curves he’d caught only a glimpse of sent that thought scampering.

“I’m gonna!” the child answered cheerfully. “I just was watchin’ the birds for a minute, Rae.” The dark head turned, the small face scrunched against the morning sun as he faced the woman, and even from a distance, Cord caught a glimpse of terror in the boy’s hurried movements.

“Rae! There’s a man watchin’. Over on that rise, there’s a big man lookin’ at us!” His bare feet were a blur as the boy ran to the woman and she clutched him against herself in a protective gesture, her head bending low over his.

And then she turned. With one hand she swept the youngster behind her, facing the unknown with a measure of bravery that brought an admiring chuckle from Cord’s throat. Even as he eyed her stance, his heels tapped the sides of his big gelding and he sat deeply in the saddle as the horse picked his way down the shallow slope of the hill.

“Go in the house, Jay,” the woman said, her voice carrying in the morning air. Low and steady, yet with an authoritative quality he could not miss, her command sent the boy running. She waited, unflinching in the brilliant sunlight as Cord approached, her eyes shaded by the hand she lifted to her forehead.

“Morning, ma’am.” He hadn’t forgotten his manners, even when faced with a half-dressed female in his own backyard, so to speak. His gaze on her face, he was only too aware of her state of dishabille, and his treacherous eyes narrowed as they widened their focus to include the lush curves she made no attempt to hide.

“What do you want?” She lifted her head as he neared, her eyes remarkable in their fearless daring. Not a twitch of muscle in that suntanned face betrayed her. Nor did her hands tremble as she lowered the right to meet the left at her waistline. Her chin was a bit too firm for his liking, but the mouth that spoke a challenge in his direction was soft and full, her flesh clear, her cheeks flushing a bit as he rode close to where she stood.

“I was about to ask you the same question, ma’am.” His words were mild, his senses instinctively lulled by the sight of a defenseless woman and a small child.

She shrugged with deliberate defiance and her jaw tightened. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I don’t want anything from you, mister. Just to be left alone.”

Cord McPherson was a man of few words, but the ones that came to mind this morning weren’t what he could in all good conscience spout in her direction. His hands itched to circle that narrow waist. His body twitched in a too long neglected fashion as he allowed his gaze to openly scan her form.

Not for the life of him could he be so blunt as to tell her she was about three feet from a randy man.

He shifted in the saddle, discomfort a reality now. “I’m wonderin’ just what you’re doin’ on my property, ma’am.”

Over her shoulder, a taller version of the small boy she’d sent scampering peered around the corner of the shack.

Cord nodded at him. “Another one of your bunch?” he asked politely. And then his eyes glittered with a dark menace as the youth lifted a shotgun to his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, boy.” As far as from dawn to full dark, his voice plunged to a low, growling threat, the affable visage only a memory.

The woman spun about, her head shaking a warning. “Henry, put the gun down!”

The barrel wavered and fell, its weight pulling it almost to the ground, and the boy glared, a passionate threat, unhampered by his compliance. His dark hair gleaming in the sunlight, he waited, as if one movement from the horseman would bring his heavy weapon into line once more.

The young woman turned to Cord again, as if caught between two opposing forces. “He’s only a boy and no threat to you.”

“Hate to gainsay you, ma’am, but any hand holdin’ a gun is a threat in my book. I’d suggest you have him put that shotgun on the ground, or I’ll have to see to it myself.”

“Put down the gun, Henry. Right now.” Without looking back over her shoulder, the woman issued the order, her tone of voice speaking confidence in his obedience.

And he obeyed. Without hesitation, he leaned forward and deposited his weapon on the grass. His mouth twisted in a mutinous grimace and his eyes burned with a thwarted gleam, but he obeyed.

Cord swung from his saddle, dropping his reins to the ground. With two long strides, man and woman were in touching distance and Cord’s mouth twitched as he caught sight of the alarm she could not hide at his approach.

She stepped back, her hands rising distractedly to spread across her breasts, a purely female gesture, honed by the instincts inbred in women, and he recognized it for what it was. She’d only now remembered her state of undress, her vulnerability to his masculine strength.

In the heat of the first few minutes of their encounter, she’d been aware only of the danger his presence offered to the young boys she guarded with her very body. Now she was apprehensive for her own sake, and her eyes were wary as she faced him.

“We haven’t got anything you’d want, mister. There’s just me and the boys. Our pa will be back any time now, but—”

Cord’s eyes flickered to the telltale clothesline, strung between two sturdy maple trees. “Not much on that line that’d fit a full-grown man.”

Her eyes met his, a defiant look alive in their depths. “I haven’t gotten to his things yet.” The softness was gone from her lips as the blatant lie fell from her mouth. She swallowed, a visible breach in her composure, and her cheeks flushed crimson as she turned away, her hands moving to spread over the bare flesh above the bodice of her petticoat.

He followed an arm’s length behind her, his gaze sweeping over the length of her slim body. The petticoat was too short for fashion, exposing bare feet and ankles and just a suggestion of curving calves. Her shoulders were smooth, creamy and inviting, and his hands clenched as he felt the urge to touch the softness he knew would meet his caress.

“You’re on my property,” he reminded her. Her shoulders lifted, as if she’d caught her breath at his words, and she halted.

“We didn’t know anyone lived here. It was empty and neglected and we…” Her words trailed off and her head shook, a negative gesture. “We can pay a little for the use of the place. We’ll only be here for a while, just till we make some decisions.”

It was a fair offer. But Cord McPherson was used to doing business face-to-face. Looking at her back was a pleasure, but the memory of what she had become so conscious of in the past few minutes gnawed at him.

“Turn around and look at me if you want to do business, ma’am.” His words were low, but unwavering, an ultimatum in any man’s language.

“I can’t.” She whispered her denial of his demand. Her head turned, just a bit, and he caught sight of her rosy cheek, her lashes sweeping its heated surface.

It was enough. He’d managed to embarrass her beyond her endurance, and his good sense took command.

“Go put a dress on and get yourself back out here.”

She fled. With slender feet brushing aside the grass, she ran the few steps to the shack, one hand grasping the arm of the watching boy as she turned the corner.

“Rae!” The protest rang out in the silence and was hushed by a soft murmur from beyond his sight.

Cord cast one measuring glance around the empty clearing, then, lifting an empty wooden bucket from his path and leading his horse he headed for the stream.

She’d known it was too good to be true. That they would find an empty house…no, not a house, a shanty really. But sufficient for their needs for now.

She’d cleaned it up, sweeping the dirt floor with her mother’s good broom, scrubbing the crude wooden table and chair with an old shirt of Pa’s. The stove worked, once she’d carried out an accumulation of ashes and set a small pile of kindling to burning in its depths. The draft worked and the chimney drew well.

The boys had taken over the single bunk, one at each end for sleeping, and she’d been content to roll up by the stove at night, the shotgun placed in front of her. It had almost been idyllic, this three-week stretch of time, with her marking the days in her mother’s journal.

Somehow, it was important that she know when Sunday came. And just the other day she’d sat beneath the trees to read from Pa’s Bible, knowing the boys would only pay attention for a short while. She’d sung with them, reminding them of the words they stumbled over, yearning for an hour in the white church back home in Pennsylvania.

Home. Her mouth tightened as the word nudged her memories. She bent to find her blue dress in the trunk beside the boys’ bunk, her fingers busy as she unfolded it and pulled it over her head. No sense in getting maudlin over the past. This was here and now and she was committed to making the best of things.

The buttons slid easily into the handmade buttonholes her mother had worked with care one winter’s evening. Rachel Sinclair allowed only a moment’s grief for that memory as she prepared herself to face the man waiting outdoors.

Crying never did anyone any good as far as she could see. She’d shed her tears when the bodies of the people she loved most in the world were lowered into their graves, each a day apart from the other, more than a month ago, beside the trail in Missouri.

Then she’d gathered up the reins and taken charge. Any grown woman, eighteen years old, had better be equipped to tend to her family these days, or she’d be showing a decided lack of good upbringing, she’d vowed on that day.

And she’d done just that. Taken charge of her brothers and turned her face west. In the direction of her father’s dream…a dream she vowed would not die with him.

This shack was only a temporary stopping place. Somehow she’d find a way to continue on, to where she might find a place for the boys to grow and flourish. A place where she might find a man willing to take on a ready-made family.

A man. She blinked at the reminder. You’ve got a man waiting right this minute, Rachel Sinclair. You need to go on out there and face him and do some dealing. The memory of the small nest egg in the bottom of the trunk reminded her of the limits of her bargaining power and she shrugged off the daunting thought

At the door the boys waited, watching the tall intruder as he walked from their sight, heading for the stream. Preparing to join them, Rachel brushed back her hair with agile fingers as she approached the door, feeling for the braid that hung down her back.

“What’s he doing?” she asked quietly. Hastily, she rolled up her sleeves to just beneath her elbows. He’d already seen pretty near everything she owned. No sense in being overly modest, she decided stoutly.

Washing clothes in her petticoat had seemed safe enough. Besides keeping her dress dry and clean, she’d enjoyed the breeze blowing against her bare shoulders and arms, keeping her cool. She’d scrubbed out the boy’s overalls, rinsing them in the bucket and wringing out the water before she hung them on the line to dry.

And then, just as she’d sent Jay to the stream for clean water to wash the rest of her own things, the stranger had come, destroying what little peace of mind she’d been able to find in this place.

She was ready to face him, as ready as she’d ever be, but she hesitated at the threshold. His demeanor had overpowered her, more so than the gun she’d spied behind his saddle, which she was dead certain he could handle with an expert touch.

He’d not threatened her, not bodily, but his eyes had paused to survey every living inch of her, especially the parts the bodice of her petticoat had failed to cover.

She blushed anew at the thought. And so it was that she watched him, reins in one hand, bucket in the other, striding up the fresh path from the stream, worn down only by the repeated steps of Jay and Henry over the past weeks, the grass still green beneath his feet

He carried the bucket easily, its weight a barely noticed hindrance to his easy gait. His hat was pushed back a bit and she caught sight of dark eyes, their intensity focused on her, his nose flaring just a bit as he came to a halt in front of her.

“I figured you needed water. Thought I’d save you a trip to the stream while I watered my horse.”

“Yes, thank you.” He’d put her at a disadvantage already, being nice. She drew in a breath, reaching for the handle of the bucket.

“Let the boy get it.” He nodded, his movement a silent command, and Henry eased past her to take the bucket from his grasp. “Take it in the house, son.”

“Yessir,” Henry said quietly, obviously subdued in the presence of subtle strength. His eyes had lost their challenge, if not their wariness; but as if he sensed no danger for the moment, he turned from his sister to obey the stranger’s command.

Rachel buried her hands in the pockets of her dress and faced her visitor. “Can we come to an agreement, mister? Maybe reach a fair price for us staying in this place?”

“Are you dead serious about staying out here by yourself?” The stranger faced her, his expression disbelieving as he surveyed his surroundings. “This shack isn’t fit for animals. The door’s hangin’ by one hinge and there isn’t even a floor. You can’t tell me you’re set on livin’ here.”

“For now, I am,” she answered, her mouth firm as she staked her claim.

“How much you plan on payin’ for rent?” His gaze swung back to her as she defied his judgment. “What are you thinkin’ to live on?”

Rachel thought of the dwindling supplies she’d stashed with care in the rude cabinets against the wall inside the shack. “We’ll make do,” she told him proudly. “There’s good fishing in the stream and Henry is a good shot.”

Her mind worked quickly as she defended her position. “We noticed the berries are ripening up along the stream and there’s more greens growing than we can ever eat, even with the rabbits getting their share. We’ve got plenty of food.”

Plenty, if we dole it pretty thin and the rabbit population holds out, she amended silently.

A nicker from beyond the shack caught his attention, and Cord’s gaze shifted from the woman before him. For all her claims of independence, he’d warrant she was barely holding her own out here. And yet, beyond the shelter she’d found, somewhere past the shack, was a horse.

Another nicker joined the first and his gelding answered the challenge, lifting his head from where he’d buried his muzzle in the lush grasses.

“How many head of horses you got out there, ma’am?” His query demanded an answer, his words delivered with a hard edge.

“The team is not for sale,” she answered quickly. “They belonged to my pa.”

“Belonged?” The single word made mockery of her claim. There was no father about to return. These three were alone here, on the edge of his land, ten miles from the nearest town.

“They’re mine now,” she told him bluntly.

“It’s not safe out here for a woman alone, with two young’uns.”

Her eyes flashed defiance. “We haven’t seen another soul, till you came up over that hill.”

“And you might not again. But then again, you might. And the next man to ride up on you probably won’t be willing to ride away without giving you some trouble.” His words were roundabout, but the look on her face told him he’d managed to get his meaning across.

That slim body was tempting enough in its blue covering, the modest dress buttoned up to the neck. Any man worth his salt would have been tempted mightily by the sight she’d presented just minutes ago, prancing around in her undergarments.

That thought alone was enough to give him pause and he silently cursed the urges that ran rampant in his body. Too long without a female wasn’t good for a man, and he’d about reached his limit

“How much do you want for rent, mister?”

Her demand caught his ear and his thoughts returned from their meandering. She waited, watching him, and the cautious hope in her eyes was his undoing. full-blown, a picture sprang to his mind, and his words gave it life.

“Maybe we can work something out,” he said. “Looks to me like you’re pretty good at washing clothes, ma’am. How about if you come up to the house and do up the laundry and maybe see what you can do in my kitchen a couple of days a week?”

His lips thinned as he waited for her reply. What the hell was he thinking of? He’d do well to send her and her brothers on their way, or at least take them to town and find a place for them to roost, out of danger. No sense in saddling himself with any more of a load than he already had.

The girl shook her head, denying his offer. “I’d just as soon pay a bit for the place to stay, mister. Maybe till we get our mind made up about what we’re going to do.”

So much for that plan. Ill formed as it was, he’d decided in a hurry it might be her salvation. That she would be a temptation to every roving cowhand and stray rider in the county was a fact.

Once the word got out, she’d be under siege. Fool woman stood there like an unwary doe just before dawn, with danger all around, and not enough sense to take cover.

“We can come to an understanding, I’m sure,” he said, not wanting to douse her hopes. She was so valiant, so willing to do what had to be done for her family. “Let me think about it.”

The boys came from the doorway to flank her, lending their mute support, and her arms lifted in an automatic gesture to lie across their shoulders. He suspected she’d lent them her strength on a regular basis over the past few weeks or months. How long they’d been alone was anyone’s guess. Maybe she’d open up a little more next time. For now, he figured he’d about gone as far as she’d let him. Further than she’d wanted.

“I’ll be back,” he said, easing into the saddle with a lithe movement. One tanned, broad-backed hand reached out to her. “My name’s Cord McPherson.”

She moved toward him, accepting his hand, her own enclosed by his fingers, and he felt its slender strength against his palm. He held it for a moment, silently urging her to reply to his words of introduction. And she complied.

“Rachel Sinclair. These are my brothers, Jay and Henry.”

As if she begrudged him the intimacy of knowing her name, she ducked her head, drawing her fingers from his grasp, stepping back.

He tipped his hat and turned his horse away, aware of her gaze on his back as he rode. Her length of dark hair, the braid thick and heavy against her back, nudged his thoughts. She looked good in blue, he decided. Matched her eyes.

But the memory that edged out the others, that haunted him on his ride back across the fields and meadows he traveled, was that of womanly curves, of slender arms and smooth shoulders, gleaming in the sunshine.