A Texan's Promise (22 page)

"Staying with my sister near Denver."

"In Colorado. Well, my-oh-my. Why did she decide to stay there—if you're here? If you don't mind my asking, that is."

Her forwardness grated on him, yet Clayton didn't shy away from answering. He owed Rhianna, and it seemed she was going to meet Vanessa soon, in any case. "It's safer there.Safer for her."

"Safer how?" she asked, spitting out questions in a rapid fire."What's wrong with her? She some kind of hothouse flower? Too delicate? She couldn't handle life by your side?"

He shook his head. "It wasn't that." He pointed to his saddlebag, which someone had deposited on the floor underneath the washbasin. In that satchel was every letter she'd written."She's written to me faithfully for weeks. I asked her not to come with me."

"Why?"

There were some things he still wasn't ready to share, and a great many things that weren't any of her business. "It's complicated."He bit into the toast, hoping the woman would take the hint and let him eat in peace. Lord knew he needed the peace at the moment. His mixed emotions were churning his insides something awful, threatening to coax him into confiding things that were better left unsaid and unshared. "Vanessa and my pasts have painted our future," he added, liking the images the metaphor created, like they were part of something permanent and special.

"I imagine so." Eyeing the letter, she nodded to his leg. "So, if you didn't send for her, someone else did. Sheriff, were you planning to tell her about getting shot?"

"No. She has enough to worry about."

Rhianna's eyebrows rose. "More to think of than a husband? Do tell. Back when I was married, I did my best by my man. Gerald would've gotten a mouthful if he'd even thought about leaving me somewhere." After a snort of humor, she added, "More than that if he neglected to tell me 'bout his injuries."

Clayton knew there was no sense in replying. Everything between he and Vanessa was complicated. "Thank you for the breakfast, ma'am."

Her blue eyes dimmed. "Well, now. I guess I went and offended you."

Clayton couldn't tell if she cared or not. "You didn't.There's just some things I don't care to share."

"I understand."

Rustling and a sharp bell clanged outside his window.Rhianna stood up and looked out. After a bit, she whistled low and pressed a little closer to the pane.

Finally, Rhianna turned to him and smiled. "I do believe you have a visitor, Sheriff. And I'd bet my last dollar it's your wayward wife."

It was all Clayton could do not to stand up and look out, too. After what felt like an eternity he was alone no more.

Rhianna just kept talking. "Yep, there's a woman out there in a blue dress, a straw bonnet, and a spray of freckles across her nose." Her voice grew louder and slightly garbled when her forehead pressed against the pane. "Why, now. Look at that, she's speaking to Henry, and Henry's pointing to my place."

After a moment, she submitted another report. "Oh my goodness, now that gorgeous gal is picking up her skirts and walking this way. She has brown hair all braided up fancy and walks like she's on a mission all her own." Casting a sideways glance his way, Rhianna raised an eyebrow. "Clayton . . . do you reckon that there's your wife?"

He'd know that walk anywhere. "Probably." Clayton fought to hide his panic and keep his voice steady. Though he'd spent almost every night since they'd parted thinking of her, at the moment, he'd have been happy for just a little more time.Time to gather his thoughts and formulate a plan.

After all, this was not how he'd wanted to see Vanessa again. Certainly never while he was in bed, half-clothed, and still in pain.

Certainly not with a rackety woman in his room who had no qualms about speaking her mind and no doubts about her narrow views on the world.

Raking his hand across his cheek, he scowled. When had he shaved last?

Voices echoed outside the front of the boardinghouse, snippets of conversation floating up and teasing him. As Rhianna moved away from the window and had the audacity to step in front of the room's tiny mirror and check her hair, Clayton swallowed hard. Prayed for control.

But that control was not to be. In its place was a passel of mixed-up emotions, each individual and unique. Together they churned up his dismay and caused him to exhale deeply.

And then he heard Vanessa's laugh, bright and vivid, causing him to smile in spite of himself, bringing forth a burst of feelings that overpowered all other negative influences. No matter what, he was eager to see Vanessa. He loved her. He'd ached for her smile. More important, they were married. She was his, and their waiting period was over.

At long last, a faint sense of peace flowed through him.

The Lord was in charge, not Clayton, and the Lord had decided it was time to see his wife again. The least Clayton could do was accept the invitation gracefully. "Hand me my shirt, Rhianna."

Surprisingly, she did as he asked, handing him a loose- fitting chambray shirt. He'd just shrugged into it when they heard an impatient knock at the front door echo through the entryway and on up the stairs.

And then they heard Vanessa's beautiful voice. "Mrs.Clayton Proffitt."

"I do believe we're about to meet the elusive Mrs. Proffitt," Rhianna murmured before raising an eyebrow his way. "You sure look panicked. What's she like?"

She was perfect. "You'll see."

Rhianna cackled again. "Now that's sparked my curiosity, Sheriff." Rushing to the door, she popped out and called down to her daughter. "Bring the woman on up and be quick about it, Etta."

Clayton felt as if a thousand hammers were pounding into his heart as he heard a soft, sweet voice. Heard ladylike footsteps on the hardwood floor.

Vanessa.

Rhianna strode to his side and picked up his plate."Something tells me you won't be needin' breakfast now."

Finding his voice, he murmured, "Thank you."

"It's been a long time since my man died . . . but I do remember some things like sweet reunions," she murmured, a faraway look filling her eyes. "I think I'll just sneak on out before she shows up. You two might like some privacy for your meeting."

Clayton nodded, unable to do a thing besides watch the door. What was taking Vanessa so long?

"I doubt your woman appreciates you enough, Clayton Proffitt," Rhianna said, slowly opening the door and stepping out into the hallway. "And all I have to say for certain is that that's a crying shame."

And with that, Rhianna closed the door and left far more quietly than she ever had before.

"This way, ma'am," a girl—a woman—of about Vanessa's age said as she slowly led the way down the hall. Vanessa's eyes widened as she tried to figure out what was going on. The telegram had said Clayton was injured. She'd imagined him in the back of the doctor's rooms or in his own place near the jail. Not a room on the second floor of a run-down boardinghouse.She'd imagined Doc Bodey or the deputy greeting her the moment her stage arrived and escorting her to Clayton's side. Never the complete emptiness that had greeted her.

And she'd never imagined Clayton would be spending time with a woman like the one she was following. Oh, this lady was attractive, in a hard sort of way—polite but not friendly.

An unaccustomed stab of jealousy flared— igniting all the doubts and worries that had plagued her during their time of separation.

Why was Clayton here? "This is where Sheriff Proffitt is? Sheriff Clayton Proffitt?" Vanessa asked, just to make sure.

"Uh-huh."

The vacant, half-attentive reply was anything but reassuring.So was the run-down building. The heat was stifling, and more than one fly buzzed its displeasure as they walked on threadbare carpet down the hallway, then up the stairs.

As an older lady with bright red hair and an easy smile chuckled as she passed them, Vanessa swallowed hard.

Doubts ran rampant in her head. Was there a reason he'd chosen to live here? He'd been full of reasons for them not to make their marriage real. Noble reasons about her youth and his responsibilities. What if they'd been all lies?

Was Clayton living here by choice? Had he not wanted her in Nebraska for private reasons, known only to him? Not because he was looking out for her interests but because he'd replaced her?

One walk down a hall had never felt so long. Vanessa squared her shoulders as she followed the girl. They turned left and went through a pair of double doors. Finally they stopped.

"Well, this here's his room," the gal said, scrutinizing Vanessa up and down, making her feel dirty and almost ashamed. Obviously, even in this northern town, women didn't call on men in their rooms.

She decided to rectify that misconception immediately."Thank you for taking me to my husband."

The girl looked skeptical. "So he really is yours?"

Vanessa didn't have the inclination to discuss the girl's bold question. All that mattered was that she was going to see Clayton for the first time after a long separation.

Now all that separated them was a wooden door. When she opened that door, would everything be all right? Or would Clayton blame her for not obeying his wishes?

Would he be as happy as she was to see her? Or would he only want her to go away? Confusion reared its ugly head, giving her doubts, making her pulse race.

"You going in?"

With some dismay, Vanessa realized the other woman was still beside her and was eyeing her with a look of half pity and half impudence. And no wonder! Who else would travel so far just to wait so long to make her presence known?

It was time. With a shaky hand, Vanessa steeled herself and knocked on the door. "Clayton?"

He answered in a heartbeat. "Yes."

"It's me, Vanessa."

A smile floated through the doorway with his words. "I know that, honey. Come on in."

Honey.
The endearment brought forth a torrent of welledup emotion and long-dried-up dreams. Without another thought for the girl standing next to her, Vanessa quickly turned the knob and almost tumbled into Clayton's room, hardly aware of anything but his brown eyes, drinking in her every move. Clayton.

For just a moment, time seemed to stop. She closed her eyes, taking in his scent. Thanking God that they were together again. Finally,
finally
feeling at peace.

"Close the door, sweetheart," Clay whispered, his voice sounding like an echo through a train tunnel, hoarse and almost whisperlike.

Feeling the worn wood behind her, she pushed the door closed.

It connected into the frame with a sharp click.

Confusion and relief and embarrassment for her doubts soared through her as she approached the large four-poster.He really was hurt. He really did need her. Tears pricked her eyes as relief and worry and, well, everything rushed to her full force.

They'd been apart for such a very long time.

His eyes drew her close. Deep chocolate brown eyes that said so much. Always had. They beckoned her without a word.She answered their call, unafraid.

Clayton needed her.
Needed her.
He needed not just anyone to care for him; he needed someone who loved him. His wife.

"Oh, Clayton."

He tried to smile, but didn't quite make it. Instead, his eyes lit on her, drinking in the sight, just like she was doing for him. Held out a hand. "Vanessa, honey. Why did you come?"

"How could I not?" she replied, examining him again, clinging to his hand like a lifeline.

The bandages on his leg looked freshly changed, yet his skin looked pale. His cheeks, always so shaved and neat, had days' worth of stubble, making him look almost like an outlaw.

His chest was loosely covered with a chambray shirt not quite buttoned. When he shifted, she could make out a thick, jagged scar below his ribcage. It looked just as it did when she'd first spied it years ago when she'd seen him changing shirts.

Vanessa tried to smile, though it was difficult. All she wanted to do was rage at him for getting hurt and not letting her know. For taking a job as a sheriff.

For being in Nebraska in the first place. For allowing another woman to nurse him.

For letting his cursed pride take control of their relationship, preventing them from becoming man and wife because of some vow she'd never believed in.

But she did none of that.

Perhaps it was because she'd grown up?

"I couldn't stay away another minute," she said, breaking contact for a moment while she placed her carpetbag and kid gloves on the floor. "I missed you."

A mixture of emotions lit his eyes. Happiness. Relief.Longing, plain and simple. "I've missed you, too."

His words, and the way he hungrily followed her every move, propelled her forward to sit next to him, gave her strength to be strong instead of dissolving into tears and con- fiding all of her troubles and fears.

This is why she'd come. This was what she'd hoped would happen. A connection. The realization that there was still a love between them. Gingerly, Vanessa scooted a little closer.Close enough so that her hip grazed his thigh, close enough to feel him, to touch him, even though he hadn't held out his arms.

Now, neither seemed to have anymore words to say.

But perhaps that wasn't necessary. Immediately, her senses were captivated by all things Clayton. His scent, his warmth.The way he looked at her like she was everything to him.

She couldn't wait another moment to touch him. Reaching out, she cupped his cheek, ran her fingers along his jaw, enjoying the jump of muscles as her fingers played. After a moment's hesitation, he claimed her hand and pressed her knuckles against his lips, sending ribbons of longing through her.

He swallowed.

Her mind went blank.

She couldn't remember a thing—not what she'd planned to say, not what she'd planned to do.

All of a sudden, her doubts about their relationship meant nothing. Nothing mattered but Clayton. After what seemed like forever they were together, and she made a vow that never again would they be apart.

What they had was too important. Worth claiming. Worth fighting for.

The strong bonds she'd witnessed between Corrine and Merritt cemented her will. She trembled when he bent his head to kiss the delicate inside of her wrist. "Tell me what happened. Clayton, are you okay?"

He dropped her hand. "I'm fine. There's not much to tell— not really," he said with a small smile. "I was shot."

"Oh, Clay."

He rubbed his thigh absently. "It's unfortunate, but not a surprise. In one of the saloons, a boy got hold of a gun and made a mistake. I paid the price."

Hating his pain, supremely aware that the bullet could have done more damage, that she could have lost him, Vanessa clasped his hand again.

With some disquiet, Vanessa realized that now she had an inkling of what Clayton must had felt when he'd seen her back for the first time. She felt rage, helplessness, and strength all wrapped up together. She wanted to shake Clayton for being so brave and go give whoever had fired that gun a piece of her mind, after she slapped him silly.

"Oh, Clay," she said again.

"Shh, now honey. Don't fret."

Like always, his endearment made her smile. "I got here as soon as I received the telegraph."

"Doc Bodey must have taken care of that. I didn't know he sent you a wire."

"I wish you had asked him to."

Brown eyes met hers. "Right now, right this minute, I wish I had, too. I'm glad you're here, Van."

"Are you in pain?"

"No."

Vanessa knew he was lying but didn't have the heart to correct him as she scanned his face. Slowly, she watched his eyes dart to her lips. She felt his imprint just as surely as if he'd had his arms around her and they were kissing for all they were worth—just like the evening before he'd left.