A Texan's Promise (10 page)

"You need some help?" a short, pudgy man said from the counter.

"We need two rooms."

"We ain't got two. You want one?"

From the way the clerk was eyeing Vanessa, Clayton decided it was probably best she stayed near his side. "One room will do," he replied, intentionally making his voice clipped.

The clerk examined him with a new awareness. "Yes, sir," he said, a little more respectfully, before pushing the register in front of him. "Just sign here, if you please."

Clayton signed
Captain and Mrs. Clayton Proffitt,
then held out a hand for the key. After receiving it, he said, "My wife will need a bath. Have someone take care of that."

The clerk looked over Vanessa with interest. "Most folks use the tub in the back or go to the bathhouse. It's down the way."

There were too many men in this part of the world who'd commit murder for a woman, let alone a beautiful woman like Vanessa. "That won't do. She'll need a hip bath and someone to bring up hot water."

"Sir—"

"Captain," Clayton corrected sharply.

The clerk sighed in resignation. "We'll have it right up.You're in room five."

Grasping her elbow, Clayton glared at the men lounging against old sofas, inspecting his wife a little too closely for his comfort. One or two of the men wore pieces and parts of faded uniforms, whether by necessity or because they couldn't bear to leave memories of the war behind, Clayton didn't know.

However, he did recognize their type: men down on their luck with nothing to lose. Desperate.

Yes, the war had taken its toll on everyone, had taken a chunk out of the shine of the most God-fearing man, and had turned upright morals to their sides. A woman like Vanessa represented all that they'd lost: home and goodness and beauty in lives that had seen far too little of it. Clayton recognized the feeling, but he also knew that craving could make a man do things he'd never thought he would, just to have a single moment's salvation.

With some discomfort, he realized he wasn't going to be able to give Vanessa the privacy she needed in their room. But it was too late to cancel the bath he'd ordered. Vanessa's eyes had lit up at the mention of that tub, and there was no way he wanted to disappoint her.

"What was that about?" she whispered curiously once they entered their room and he'd locked it. "I've never heard you use your military rank with strangers."

"In truth, it's useless now. Most could care less about the past of any Confederate soldier. But there was something about that clerk that made me think it might make a difference to him. I also hoped it might make a few of the men down there think twice about crossing me." Hating to disillusion her, but knowing he had no choice, he said, "There's men here who would like nothing more than to do you harm, Vanessa. Women are still a scarce commodity in these parts."

She didn't look surprised, only dismayed, then scared. Once again Clayton wished he had confronted Price Venture when there'd been only a thin wall separating the two of them.

Hoping to tease a smile on her lips once more, he said, "Are you eager for a bath?"

"Of course."

A knock on the door alerted them to the boys who brought up their bags. After allowing them entrance, three women entered. Two were holding a sizable metal tub between them.The third carried a load of surprisingly thick towels.

The tallest woman looked over Vanessa before sidling up to Clayton with a knowing glance. "You must be quite a man, Captain. Our man Beck hasn't looked so nervous in days."

"I know what I want."

She winked. "I do, too."

"Just set the tub down."

The two other women placed the tub in the middle of the room, right in front of the fireplace.

"The water's coming, Captain," the chatty one said before opening the door and leading the way out.

Clayton kneeled in front of the fireplace and got to work.In no time a roaring fire flickered before them, warming the room and casting a pleasing glow. Vanessa was untying her boot when a knock announced four men, each holding steaming pails of water. One after the other, they poured them in the tub. Steam rose, just as two more men arrived, bringing up a pail of cool water and yet another hot.

Clayton asked them to place them in front of the tub.After they left, he securely locked the door, propping a sturdy ladder-back chair under the handle for added protection.

Vanessa hadn't moved from the chair in the back corner, her hands clasped in her lap. "Well, my goodness. That bath looks like heaven."

Clayton skimmed his fingers across the top of the water."It feels that way, too." Straightening, he made sure to ease his voice into casualness. "Why don't we switch places? I'll sit there while you bathe. I'll make sure I keep my back turned."

She froze. "You're not going to leave?"

"I have to stay here, Van. There's no choice." When she looked to interrupt, he talked a little faster. "I'd wager just about every man in the vicinity now knows a real fine woman is in here. Everyone also knows I ordered you a tub. If I left you alone, it would be too much temptation for some. The door wouldn't last a heartbeat when faced with a strong shoulder or a well-placed kick."

"Come now, Clayton."

Because he, too, felt awkward, and would have loved nothing better than to leave her in peace, he lowered his voice, hating that his pride was coming into play as well. "If I sat outside your door, I'm afraid it might cause talk. No one would understand why a husband would take off during his wife's bath. And that's one of the reasons we married, isn't it? To keep you safe?"

"I suppose so." Her gaze strayed to the water once more. She softened with anticipation as steam rose from the buckets.

He used it to his advantage. "It's gonna get cold if you wait much longer, Van."

"Well. All right, then." Standing up, she unfastened two buttons at her neck. "We've slept side by side. You've doctored my back. We're married. . . . I guess it would be silly to be so shy about this."

No, she wasn't being silly at all. Their relationship was so filled with twists and turns, he could hardly navigate his way through what was true and what was better left unsaid. But, no matter what, he was the one man she'd never fear would break his word. He still took his vows to heart. He'd promised both himself and her that he'd give her time. Time to forget old hurts.

"I don't mean to embarrass you." Against his will, he glanced her way again.

Her fingers traipsing down the row of buttons of her dress slowed. "I trust you." She lifted a shoulder. "Truthfully, that water looks too enticing for anything but wild horses to keep me away."

He crossed to the covered window as she stepped out of her dress. He swallowed hard as he heard the rest of her garments slip away, then the telltale splash of water as she stepped in."Oh, Clayton, it is like heaven."

He imagined it was. Wearily, he rested his forehead on the linen covering the simple glass pane. Behind him, the sounds of the water splashing sounded amplified, till he was aware of nothing except each imagined movement in that tub.

Of her bare skin, wet. Glowing.

His thoughts shamed him.

Not long after, they switched places—Clayton staying put until Vanessa had gotten covered. Then, she took his place at the window while he bathed in the cooling water.

As quickly as possible, he shaved and soaped up. Then stepped out, too. After he donned his britches and slipped his arms through a broadcloth, Clayton noticed the back of her neck was flaming red. "I'm all done, Van."

She turned, glanced at him, and almost smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. The usual mossy green depths looked dark and unsure. Still unaccountably frightened.

Something had to be said. He wanted to keep his distance from her, but because of past promises he'd made, not through any fault of her own. But he knew her enough to see a tension about her, insecurity.

Quietly, he said, "Honey . . . you all right?"

"Maybe." Curving her arms around her waist she added, "It's just that right now, standing by the window, reminded me a lot of standing by my window at the ranch. I'd thought I'd gotten through all the memories, but I guess I haven't."

"It hasn't been that long."

"I know. It's just that, well . . . when Price grabbed me, I felt ugly, scared inside. Cold. I think parts of me still feel that way."

He was surprised she mentioned Price by name. Though she still was haunted by nightmares, Vanessa had steadfastly refused to talk about the night she'd been attacked.

After erasing the distance between them, Clayton squeezed her shoulders. Taking care not to harm her back, he brushed back her wet hair. "What Price did was ugly. Twisted. What he did has nothing to do with true love and honor. Nothing to do with a real union between man and wife."

"Maybe one day . . . " Her voice drifted off.

"One day." Clayton felt as if he was falling into a deep pit, his senses and emotions were so muddled and confused.Silently, he prayed for guidance. Prayed for patience, and to be the kind of man he wanted to be. The kind of man who put his own needs last.

Vanessa wasn't ready for more than chaste kisses and cuddles.Truth be told, neither was he.

But he would be lying to himself if he denied that another part of him was very ready for more than that.

Once again, he pushed those wants away.

They needed time. She needed to be sure that she was ready for a true marriage. To him. That everything she claimed to feel for him wasn't laced in gratitude. If he died tomorrow, he knew she had to have a future ahead of her.

And if he lived, he never wanted to see regrets cross her features. His heart would stop if she looked at him with disappointment, or worse, stoically. What would he do if he knew she wanted someone else but was beholden to him?

Or if he discovered that she'd never actually wanted him, Clayton? That all she'd really wanted were strong arms to hold her and a reason to forget the things that Price had done?

"Van, when I look at you, I see everything good in this world," he finally admitted. "Your trust in me makes me honored.Proud. It's how marriage is supposed to be, honey."

Her eyes turned luminescent. "I suppose. I'll do my best to honor you. I, uh, best comb out my hair."

Before she completely turned away, he reached for her hand. "Wait."

Quickly, he reached in a pocket and pulled out the paperwrapped packet that had been practically burning a hole in his pants.

Her band of gold. "Van, will you wear my ring?"

Her left hand shook as she held it out for him. "I didn't expect this."

"I don't know why not." He tried to smile so she wouldn't see how nervous he was. "I know it's not much."

"Yes. Yes, it is. It's everything." Her eyes turned radiant when he slid it on her finger. The ring fit well, like a fancy jeweler in New Orleans had made it just for her. She wove her fingers together as if she was afraid he'd pull it off. "Thank you."

He wanted to kiss her, to comfort her, to show her that she was special to him, that he felt something so singular for her that it continually took his breath away.

And what's more, it had nothing to do with obligation and everything to do with deep, true feelings. With love and honor and the desire to cherish everything about her.

But of course, that wasn't right. Stepping away, he murmured, "See to your hair, Vanessa. Then we'll go down and get something to eat."

To his surprise, the light didn't dim in her eyes. Instead, she just smiled. "All right, Clayton."

Turning his back to her again, Clayton knew the worst thing in the world had just happened.

He'd fallen in love with his wife.

Miles's horse turned up lame two hours south of Santa Fe.It had happened quickly. Jericho had gotten a rock embedded in his hoof. It had become irritated, then turned south.

Miles knew the problem was his—he'd forgotten to check Jericho's hooves as often as he should. Instead, he'd once again concentrated on pleasing Price, which was difficult to do because the man hardly ever acknowledged his existence.Still.

By the time Miles had started trying in earnest to help the horse, Jericho's right leg was a bit swollen and he was favoring it mightily. A man who looked to be of Mexican descent and lived on the outskirts of Santa Fe assured Miles his roan just needed some rest.

"Two days ought to do it," he drawled after Miles gave him a couple of bits for his trouble. "Then you can move on." His voice was raspy but his touch on the horse was assured and gentle. "Let this fella rest a bit and eat some oats. There's a good livery called Watson's where you can keep your horses."

Warily, Miles looked to his stepfather. Was the man going to lash out at him for his carelessness? More than once since they'd left, the older man had found the opportunity to reacquaint Miles with his fist.

But to his relief, Price didn't look too disappointed about the unexpected delay. "Anything else around?"

"A few saloons." The stranger looked Price up and down and raised a thick black eyebrow. "Few other places if you're the type interested in that kind of entertainment."

That teased a smile. "I am." To Miles's embarrassment, Price tossed a gold coin his way before turning toward town."Go enjoy yourself too, boy."

Miles missed the catch.

The stranger saved him from the embarrassment of digging in the packed dirt for it. "Here you go," he said, reaching down, picking up the coin, then handing it over to Miles. As the dust flew behind Price and his bay, he murmured, "Guess your pa's thirsty."

"He ain't my pa. My pa's dead."

"Ah. Why you following him, then?"

That was the million-dollar question. "I don't know." Miles wasn't eager to share information about his sister. He was even less willing to contemplate why he was with a man he didn't respect, had no liking for, and who actively made his life miserable.It was becoming more and more clear that nothing was going to change between him and Price. The man only cared about his immediate wants and needs—and none of those were ever decent.

"Where you going?"

"I'm not sure."

The man chuckled, revealing a chipped front tooth. "No wonder your horse is lame,
amigo.
It's hard work, riding in circles,
si?"

"Yes. I mean,
si.
Will Jericho be okay if I ride him to the livery?"

The man smiled at the name. "Jericho, hmm? Yes, I imagine he will become whole once again, just like the city. Take it easy and he'll be okay. And you, son, you take it easy, too.Wherever you might go."

Miles nodded and turned away, wondering about the kindness of strangers and about the extreme disappointment he'd felt with Price.

Their trip to Santa Fe had not been easy. After staying in Camp Hope for a day, they'd ridden west. The desolate, arid landscape had matched Miles's mood. The all-encompassing emptiness of the wide open spaces corresponded well with the hollow ache of past regrets he felt in his soul.

Price talked to everyone that they passed. They'd gotten lucky in Lubbock when a cowboy remembered Clayton's distinctive silver saddle. Two days later, a woman described Vanessa so closely that neither Miles nor Price had had any doubt that they were on the right track.

After rubbing down his horse and paying for water, oats, and feed, Miles wandered through town for a bit.

Finally he stopped at a restaurant and ordered the special.The place was small and clean. Red gingham curtains decorated the two windows that looked out onto the main road.Five tables filled the inside. The chairs were mismatched and the wood scarred and poorly mended.

But the smell inside was heavenly and the idea of being served anything other than beans or hare sounded good.

After Sammy, a woman old enough to be his mother, brought him a bowl of stew, she hung around and visited. "You come to town with that fella sporting a thick black mustache?"

"Yep."

"He's something, ain't he?"

"What do you mean?"

"Practically the minute he rode in, why he boarded that beautiful stallion of his and hightailed it over to the bathhouse."

"Then the saloon?" he asked around a mouthful of surprisingly tasty stew.

"Uh-huh."

She continued to talk while he bit into bread, then used the crust to sop up the remainder of his stew. Seemed Price had already made an impression. Word was, Price Venture was turning out to be a nasty drunk.

Miles already knew that.

After cleaning his bowl, Sammy brought him a thick wedge of cherry pie and some freshly brewed coffee. Both were welcome.As he blew on his coffee, he wondered how his sister was faring. Was she still afraid? Was she even all that hurt?

Maybe Vanessa was doing what Price suggested she was— using her unhappiness at the ranch as an excuse to leave. But that didn't ring true, either. If Price didn't care about her, then why were they looking so hard?

He'd heard her cries, and been treated to Clayton's explanation, but Miles didn't rightly know what was the truth.Especially since just the other night Price had sworn up and down that he hadn't laid a hand on her.

"Is that what she said?" he'd asked from the opposite side of the fire where they'd camped. "She said I beat her?"

"Well, Clayton did."

"He's a liar. I didn't touch her."

Feeling almost brave, Miles whispered. "I heard her cries from outside in the hall. I know you were in the room."

After a blank look, Price rebounded. "Just to ask her a question.That's all."

Miles knew that was a lie. But what was the truth? Why had Vanessa run? Was she running away from Price, or was she running to a life with Clayton?

Everyone knew she'd harbored a liking for Clayton Proffitt.

As he sat alone and allowed himself the luxury of letting his thoughts run wild, Miles knew he'd never forget the last encounter he'd had with Clayton, when the man had gripped his shoulders, slammed him against the barn wall, and gave him a talking to about his future. No, more to the point, he'd given him something else. A choice.

For some reason, Clayton's barely controlled anger had shaken him in a way far more profoundly than Price's knocks ever had. In all the years Clayton had served at the Circle Z, Miles had never seen him lose control.

One dark look or one succinct, abruptly spoken order got more done than the frequent out-of-control tirades Price enjoyed.

Maybe it was because Clayton was a man of honor, and Price never had been.

But Clayton had left him.

"Your pa, he fell asleep without payin'," a Hispanic woman interrupted his thoughts from the doorway. With a scowl, she said, "He's asleep back behind the Tumbleweed. Someone tossed his jacket on top of him to muffle his snores."

"He ain't my pa." It didn't escape Miles that he'd just equivocally announced that fact two times over the last hour.

"Well, whoever he is to you, you owe me money. He is yours, right? Word is that you two came in together."

For a moment, Miles considered disowning Price. If he did, he could use that coin and either take Price's horse or buy another and leave. He could go somewhere and hide. Start a new life, far away from his troubles.

Shoot, he could even decide to track Vanessa and Clayton down on his own. Maybe if he wasn't with Price, they'd even let him stay with them.

As he warmed to that idea, the very hope drew him out of his fantasies. He wasn't even brave enough to stand on his own two feet in his daydreams! That pretty much said it all.

In a crash, the harsh reality of his faults drew him to the truth and to his duty. Standing up, he fished out the change for his meal from a pocket and then walked over and placed another few bits into the woman's hand. "Here. Take it."

With a swish of her skirts, she left without another word.

He was suddenly more tired than he'd ever been in his life.Since he wasn't man enough to leave, he might as well find some solace in slumber. "Sammy, do you know where I can find a place to sleep?"

"I usually have rooms but they're plumb filled up. There's a couple of boardinghouses down the way though."

He was too tired to hunt for anywhere else. "How about the barn?"

"You sure?" She looked him up and down, eyeing his boots. Miles knew they were expensive. He'd been proud of them back when he was sure the price of his clothes meant something.

"Positive. How much for bunking in there?"

"Don't worry about that." Eyes softening, she stepped forward. "You okay? You look troubled, mister. You got problems?"

He almost laughed. His whole life was problems. "I'm fine.It's just been a long few days and I need some sleep."

Miles grabbed his knapsack and walked into the barn, finally settling down in an empty stall near the back.

It felt good to be alone, the peace a welcome change of pace. It was pure pleasure not to hear Price complaining or planning or snoring next to him. But still, sleep didn't come.Instead, old hurts and constant confusions burgeoned forth, claiming his mind and his conscience.

Was he better than Price if he wasn't actively fighting against him? Was he fulfilling his duty if he was merely slowing the pace instead of driving Price away from Vanessa? Was he less of a man because he was choosing to travel with Price instead of breaking away and making something out of his life?

He didn't know any of those answers.

Once again, Miles felt as if he was taking the easy way.The path of least resistance. It was how he'd gotten through life— by not making waves. By not offering much of himself except his presence.

And meager efforts.

Miles frowned as his eyes drifted shut. One thing was for certain. His pa would most certainly hang his head in shame if he knew what had become of him.

To Vanessa's dismay, the gold band on her finger seemed to be only driving her and Clayton farther apart. Ever since they'd left Santa Fe and had ridden hard west toward Colorado Springs, Clayton's manner had become more distant and his words more terse.

Vanessa knew the changes stemmed from their time together in that hotel room. In the space of one somewhat run-down room, their relationship had changed again. The four solid walls that surrounded them had made conversation essential. And, oh, how they'd talked. He'd shared with her more stories about the war.

She'd dared to reveal more of her feelings about her father's passing and her mother's quick remarriage. It was never more obvious that they'd both had their fair share of pain and heartbreak.Yet, still, they had continued on, choosing to move forward instead of giving up. Choosing to honor their vows to each other as well as the ones they'd shared aloud before God.

But the constant give-and-take was wearing on them.Vanessa yearned for stability once again. She yearned to feel whole and not to be afraid. To be able to forget all the bad things in her life and only concentrate on what was good.

Clayton seemed to be of the same mind. Ever vigilant, he kept a lookout whenever strangers crossed their paths. More than once he'd shied away from people who asked probing questions, not wanting anyone to be able to provide information to Price if, indeed, he had decided to follow them.

He was her protector. Her companion. His only purpose was to take her to Corrine's and to keep her safe. But sometimes in the twilight of the day, when the luminous sun was fading into the nighttime sky, Vanessa would spy something more in her guardian's eyes. She recognized it and cherished it and clung to it as well. It was hope and love and a longing so sharp she could feel its sting.

It was the same thing she was feeling.

Upon arrival in Colorado Springs, Clayton asked about a reputable hotel, then got them a room. "Vanessa, I'll be back as soon as I can," Clayton murmured after settling her into a comfy winged chair.