Promise Me (6 page)

She would apply some of Harriet's advice today. Perhaps for the first time in her life, she would ignore what other people said or expected of her, and do just as she pleased. She imagined herself a caged bird whose door was left open by mistake. Amanda was ready to try out her wings.

***

“I really think you should have let me ride Stranger. It would have been the chivalrous thing for a gentleman to do.” Amanda gave Sam a sidelong glance as her soft, rose-colored lips formed a pretty pout. Sam nearly laughed at her attempt to be coy. The Widow Wainwright was not the shy innocent he had presumed.

“He's strong-willed and can be difficult to handle.” Sam grinned down at her. “Besides, whoever said I have any inclination to be chivalrous or a gentleman?”

Amanda shifted in the saddle and her hat dipped to the side, causing several russet curls to escape from the tight coil at the base of her neck. Sam was briefly reminded of the way her hair had hung down her back the night before, wisps escaping to frame her face like flame engulfing a celestial spirit. A hot flicker of desire whipped through him.

She groaned, and her face contorted in a look of stubborn defiance. “Why is it a difficult horse makes a man proud, but a difficult wife makes him angry?”

Sam couldn't help himself; his grin exploded into a loud, booming laugh.

Amanda made a clicking noise to her horse and took off at a gallop.

Sam let her get ahead of him as he marveled at the way she sat upon her horse. Even on a sidesaddle, her posture was perfect and her poise elegant.

He knew her Morgan was no match for the long strides and stamina of the purebred Arabian beneath him. Still, if he gave her the opportunity, she might prove an admirable challenge.

Sam spurred his horse forward into a run, letting Stranger enjoy the freedom of the level ground and green fields surrounding them. He considered the woman riding ahead of him, an intriguing mixture of innocence and sensuality. Was it natural or contrived?

When he caught up to Amanda, she pulled gently on the reins to slow her horse to a walk. Her forest green eyes sparkled with good humor, and her cheeks were bright spots of scarlet.

“Duchess certainly has spirit to match your stallion. They'll breed fine horses together.”

She continued to surprise him. In his experience, no gently-reared lady would ever mention horse breeding to a gentleman.

“Tell me, Mrs. Wainwright, do you always speak your mind?”

She sat quietly for a few moments before shrugging her shoulders.

“Nuns don't encourage artifice, and they punish you”—she raised an elegant eyebrow at him— “severely, for dishonesty. I'm afraid I never learned how to be coy or demure. Arthur seemed to appreciate my opinions. He said my wit entertained him.”

A shock of surprise struck him like a bolt out of the sky. He wasn't used to women who were so bold or so honest. He shifted in his saddle. It would be easier if he could convince himself they were both playing a flirtatious game.

They rode in silence for a while, the air filled with birdsong, the wind blowing lightly and rustling the leaves in the birch trees. Sam felt at peace, and it was such an odd sensation, he wondered at the source of it. Amanda Wainwright? What was it about this woman that delighted him to such a degree? Why did her presence make him feel younger and more alive?

As they approached a small creek, Sam pointed to an outcropping of rocks. “Shall we take a walk and let the horses rest a bit?”

Amanda nodded. He pulled Stranger to a halt and dismounted, dropping his reins and moving to assist Amanda from her horse. An enticing smile played across her lips.

“I'm not sure if I should trust you, Mr. Calhoun. You've informed me you don't consider yourself to be an honorable gentleman.”

Sam wrapped his hands around her waist as he lifted her from the saddle. He kept his hands in place, standing close enough to enjoy the fragrant scent of lilacs surrounding her. The turquoise highlights in her eyes sparkled, the teasing good humor still evident as she looked up at him.

“I'm really quite a scoundrel, Mrs. Wainwright, not to be trusted whatsoever.”

Sam finally released her, but from the way the blood rushed through his veins, he knew he wasn't immune to the attractive widow's charms.

She placed a gloved hand on his arm, and he escorted her toward the rocks at the edge of a small stream. She settled on the hard granite outcropping and carefully arranged the dark velvet skirt of her riding habit.

Sam removed the saddlebag from his shoulder. “Shall we see what Harriet has packed for us?” He opened the bag and produced a loaf of freshly baked bread, a wedge of cheddar cheese, and two apples. He held up two canning jars filled with cider.

Amanda clapped her hands. “A veritable feast! I confess I'm starving after that ride.”

He handed her a rough linen napkin, then broke off a chunk of bread for each of them. He removed his knife from the pouch fastened to his gun belt and caught her staring at the revolver strapped to his thigh.

“Does the gun disturb you, Amanda?” He sliced a piece of cheese and handed it to her, then began to peel the apple with a slow, lazy motion.

She seemed to consider his question carefully before she replied. “The ease with which some men use guns to solve their problems disturbs me.” The corners of her mouth lifted in an impish grin. “But I understand your need to protect yourself. After all, I could be a very dangerous woman.”

Sam's mouth went dry and he couldn't muster an answer. She was a danger, because he found himself attracted to her. He couldn't afford to care about Amanda Wainwright, because to do so could destroy any chance of successfully completing his mission. He needed to keep his emotions under control.

Yet, she captivated him with her unaffected ways and lack of guile. She didn't drop her eyes and giggle at a man, playing the games so many of the women he'd known before did. She expressed her opinions honestly, with a forthright manner he found charming. And for some inexplicable reason, she made him laugh.

He enjoyed the way she took obvious pleasure in her meal. Ladies of his acquaintance nibbled at food, or pushed it about their plates, feigning disinterest. Amanda relished each piece of apple he handed her, closing her eyes as she bit into it, the juice moistening her lips.

Stretching across a large rock, he laid his head on his hand and simply enjoyed watching her.

“I doubt I'll be able to resist you, Mrs. Wainwright, and I suspect there are no weapons I could find to defend myself from your charms.”

Amanda threw back her head and laughed, the full throaty sound of it arousing him in a way he never expected. She made him feel alive. No, more than that. She made him grateful to be alive. The sound of the water trickling across the rocks of the creek and the music of birds singing filled him with happiness. Concern nudged him, and he reminded himself that seducing this woman was the key to success.
Or at least pretending to seduce her.
There was more at stake than his happiness. He could enjoy her company, as long as he maintained control of his feelings.

She removed her hat and turned her face to the sun, a soft smile painting her features with joy. “I swear, Calhoun, if you start spouting poetry, I shall simply swoon.”

He considered her for a few moments. “Is that a challenge?”

She studied him with a delicate frown. “Don't tell me you're a romantic?”

He remembered the lines of one of his favorite poems and gave her a bold grin.

“My life is like the autumn leaf that trembles in the moon's pale ray, its hold is frail—its date is brief—restless, and soon to pass away.” He put a hand over his heart. “Yet when that leaf shall fall and fade, the parent tree will mourn its shade, the wind bewails the leafless tree, but none shall breathe a sigh for me!”

When his words faded into the breeze, Amanda slapped one hand over her own heart and dramatically placed the other on her forehead. “I warned you, sir.” She wavered momentarily, lifted her gaze to the heavens then dropped to lie prone upon the rock, her eyes closed.

Sam laughed again as he waited for her to sit up. When she remained stretched across the rock, he became concerned.

“Amanda?” She didn't move. He sat up. “Mrs. Wainwright?” Again, he had no response. Was she playacting, or had she bumped her head on the granite beneath her when she performed her swoon?

He hurried to her side and knelt down. “Amanda, are you hurt?” Her eyes fluttered open, and her emerald gaze captured him. His finger gently traced the side of her cheek, her skin pulsating with warmth.

“I suppose I was just overcome by the power of your oratory.” She grinned up at him.

He grasped her chin gently, but tried to make his voice stern. “It's not nice to tease a scoundrel, Amanda. I'm going to need to punish you.”

“That sounds terribly frightening, Sam.”

He saw the invitation in her eyes. And he was seized by an urge he had no power to resist. Leaning forward, his intention was only to taste, to brush his lips across hers, to satisfy this craving to know how she'd react if he kissed her.

He wasn't prepared for her response. Her lips parted, the soft heat of her inviting him into a deeper embrace. She made a delicate, almost purring, sound as her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. She captured him with her desire.

Sam plunged his tongue deep into her mouth, reveling at the taste of her. She was honey, fruit, and sweet sensuality all in one. Passion seared his blood until he felt as if he were standing in front of a blazing fire. He needed to pull away from her, but the thought was agony. He wanted more, so much more. And he promised himself he would have it, but not here, not yet. If he moved too quickly, he might frighten Amanda and thwart his ultimate purpose.

Finally, he found the courage to release her. He sat back on the rocks, his fingers combing through his hair, and he struggled to catch his breath.

Amanda still stretched across the rocks, the dark black velvet of her riding habit now wrinkled where his body had crushed the fabric. He considered what lay beneath the richness of the velvet—the dainty lace of her undergarments, the delicious satin of her skin.

He closed his eyes and lifted his face to the clouds, silently pleading for help. He needed to gain control of himself. He cleared his throat and opened his eyes to discover Amanda Wainwright studying him with a dark shadow of sadness reflected in the green depths of her eyes. His heart wrenched with fear. What had he done? She was the Widow Wainwright, not some harlot he'd purchased for an evening's pleasure. He had acted too quickly, too thoughtlessly. He needed to win the confidence of this woman, not frighten her with amorous advances.

Pulling to his feet, he offered his hand to assist her. When Amanda stood, facing him, he bowed his head.

“I'm terribly sorry, I...”

Before he could finish the mumbled apology, she placed one of her gloved fingers upon his lips.

Her eyes sparkled, and a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Don't spoil a magnificent kiss with an apology, Calhoun, you'll wound my pride.” She tilted her head and lifted her chin to meet his gaze, then she dropped her hand to her side. “A woman likes to believe she's utterly irresistible.”

Jumping down from the rocks, she headed back to the horses, but turned again to face him, a hand shading her eyes from the sun.

“I would, Sam.” Her voice was husky with emotion. “I would mourn you.”

Sam swallowed, nearly overwhelmed by her simple words. A flicker of fear slid up his back. He was drawn to this woman.

Resist her? He didn't know if he could, and that thought terrified him.

Chapter Five

“Why the hell haven't you bedded that widow woman and driven her outta town yet, Calhoun?”

Sam's head came up so fast, the muscles in his neck stretched. His temper rose as he rushed to slam the door shut behind Jack Pruitt, resisting the urge to shove his fist into the man's face at the same time.

He tried to control the anger in his voice when he faced the older man. “Try to remember, I run a lumberyard no
t a brothel, Pruitt.”

Pruitt waved a meaty fist in the air and leaned toward Sam. “We paid you for a job, Calhoun, and from the looks of things, you ain't done the work.”

Sam moved closer to Pruitt, working hard to keep the anger from his voice. “I haven't taken a cent of your money yet, if you'll recall. I'll only do so once I've accomplished the task.” Sniffing at the sour odor rising from the man, he took a step back to lean on his desk.

“Did you presume she's the type of woman who'd fall into my arms in a swoon the moment she laid eyes on me?” He raised a dark eyebrow to glare at Pruitt.

Jack Pruitt shook his head and waved a balled fist toward Sam. “You've had a week, and everyone in town's seen the two of you together. Lift that woman's skirts and get it over with, Calhoun. The longer she stays in town, the more trouble she makes.”

Sam fought an incredible urge to smash the face before him into an unrecognizable pulp. Hearing the man refer to Amanda in such a vulgar manner riled him. But that was the agreement he'd made with the mine owners.