Promises Linger (Promise Series) (20 page)

“You don’t have to heat it up. Cold is fine.”

He might have saved his breath for all the mind she paid him.

He sat at the table. It must have been his imagination because the piece of cake seemed to have perked up in his absence. His mouth watered immediately on sight. When Elizabeth came over, coffee cup in hand, he was a little embarrassed to note he’d put a full third of the cake on his plate. She took a look at the size of his helping as she placed his coffee before him. Instead of shooting him a frown, she seemed to relax.

She waited expectantly for his first bite. He’d be damned if he was going to take it with her hovering like a waitress at a restaurant. He pushed the adjacent chair out with his foot. “Have a seat.”

“Just let me get supper on.”

“Does it need to be done now?”

“No.”

“Then have a seat.”

She sat kitty corner to him. Her hands folded primly on the table as if she didn’t quite know what to do. He cut a piece of cake with the side of his fork. Her gaze followed every inch of the short journey it made to his mouth. Her eyes stayed glued to his face as he chewed. When he made to go for another bite, her eyes followed the fork.

“Sure you don’t want some?” he asked.

“My father killed my mother.”

The words lay between them like stone. A crumb lodged sideways in his windpipe. He grabbed for his coffee. Thank the Lord it wasn’t piping hot or he’d have been short a throat come morning.

She went on as if nothing were amiss across the table. “I just thought you should know, in case you thought in marrying me, you were obtaining a respectable wife.”

He blinked tears from his eyes and stared at his wife. Sure enough, she’d just dumped a lit bundle of dynamite in his lap. He wasn’t touching it until he garnered a few more facts. He waited until he took another bite of cake, chewed and swallowed, before he asked, “Why?”

“When I was about eight, he caught her with a neighbor. The situation was compromising enough he felt it necessary to kill her.”

“He couldn’t have just sent her away?”

“Apparently not. She had a habit, I’ve been told, of less than ideal behavior.”

He ate a bit more cake. “That’s what Aaron meant when he said there was some of your mother in you?”

“Yes. People don’t forget easily.”

That he understood. There was always someone in every town the folk made fun of. The system worked for the majority of the folk, unless you were the one on the receiving end of all that scorn. Then it was hard to take. “Yeah. Folk’s memories are a bit long when it comes to something like that.” He dipped his finger into the frosting clinging to the edge of the plate. “Your father ever go to trial?”

“No. There was some dispute of the actual events. Some said it was really the other man who shot her. In the end, her death was declared accidental.”

Jesus! “You stayed here with your Pa after?”

“Yes. I was lucky that he didn’t feel I was doomed to the same path.”

He guessed people had different views on lucky. As much as he’d hated his mother, he’d have taken a gun to whoever had killed her if she’d gone that way. “Well, if it’ll set your mind to rest, I’m not one for holding the past against a person.”

After an initial start of surprise, her expression relaxed a hair. “No. I guess you wouldn’t. Not with how it must have been for you.”

The woman blew hot and cold for sure, but he was beginning to figure her out. The more proper her demeanor, the more unsure she felt.

He got up and fetched another fork from the wash pile. He sat, pushed the plate across the table until it rested between them. He held the fork out to her. “Dig in.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why not? I’m sharing.”

She looked surprised, and then embarrassed. “I don’t really know.”

“I’ve always figured, if you can’t say why you can’t do something, then maybe there isn’t a reason to hold back.” He placed the fork in her hand. “I’ll meet you in the middle.”

She stared at the plate for awhile. He had the impression she was thinking on something. Finally, she tapped the plate with her fork. “You’ve got all the frosting.”

“You got a problem with that?”

There was a brief hesitation. He was beginning to expect them. Seems the woman wasn’t too well acquainted with good-natured teasing. She eventually reached a decision. “Yes.”

He smiled at her hesitancy. Very un-Elizabeth-like.

He heaved a huge sigh. “You drive a hard bargain, woman.” He turned the plate until the frosting crossed an imaginary dividing line. “Happy now?”

Her smile was tentative, but there. Her “I’m working on it” was a fair imitation of his own speech. His chuckle jerked up short when she beat him to the first bite, securing for herself the glob of icing he’d marked for his own. He wasn’t going to be beaten by anyone half his size. Especially when it came to chocolate cake!

The next choice bit ended up in his mouth. The third was a dead tie.

His “remove your fork, woman” was all play growl.

Immediately, she separated her tines from his. “Of course.” There wasn’t even a click of displeasure as she placed her fork correctly on the edge of the plate with great precision.

“Hell.”

“I’ll thank you not to swear in my presence.” A neat folding of her hands on the table punctuated the proper reprimand.

Obviously, handling wives was a tricky business. Especially one as jumpy as Elizabeth. Staying on the good side of a man suspected of killing your mother had to make for a bumpy ride. She’d described her upbringing as lucky, but he thought he’d hold back his opinion on that subject. A lot of the woman didn’t ring true. She couldn’t take a joke, panicked at the least hint of offense, defended herself with the ferocity of a badger against a man twice her size, and burned like fire in his arms. How the hell was he supposed to figure her out if she kept breaking all the rules?

He pushed the cake until the disputed piece crossed to her side. “I was only joking.”

“You clearly ordered me to release the cake.”

“We were playing.”

There was no doubting her seriousness as she said, “What has that got to do with anything?”

He sat back in his chair and studied her closely. Nope, she was serious. “About everything, I’d say.”

“Mr. MacIntyre, I gave you my promise to be obedient. It would help tremendously if you’d just say what you mean.”

“You can’t tell the difference between when I’m serious and when I’m fooling around?”

“No.” One word, yet it summed up everything.

He reached for his coffee, took a sip, and pondered the moment. As the rich flavor merged with the taste of chocolate, he came to an understanding. “You don’t trust me.”

He watched her fingers as the question sank in. Her grip grew white-knuckled.

“I want the truth,” he advised.

Her grip relaxed and she gave it to him. A little defiantly, but still the truth. “No.”

“Because you don’t know me?”

Her chin came up. He guessed he was in for another pride-busting revelation. “Yes.”

He tried a stab in the dark. “And you don’t have a whole lot of use for men?”

“To date, I haven’t met many who deserve the respect they demand.”

He hazarded a guess. “Or the obedience?”

“Yes.” She pushed back from the table. “I’ve got to get supper on.”

He was willing to be diverted for the moment. “What are we having?”

“Venison stew with biscuits.”

“You’re going to make me fat.”

Her gaze traveled him head to toe from where she stoked the stove with more wood. “You could use some weight.”

“You won’t be saying that a month from now if you keep feeding me like the last two days.”

She straightened, grabbed an apron off the peg on the wall. As she tied it around her back, she said, “I’ll cut back if your horse turns up swayback.”

He chuckled. “I appreciate you keeping an eye on things.”

Elizabeth moved the big pot of stew on the counter to the front of the stove. The man had her so off balance she didn’t know what to do or say. First, she’d think he was serious and then he’d turn joking or bark an order that had her shivering in her shoes. She was tired, embarrassed, and confused. “No problem.”

She gave the contents a stir, then moved to the counter to get to work on the biscuits. The silence behind her stretched. She could feel his eyes on her. Willing her to do something. She mixed the flour, baking powder and added a touch of sugar. When she was cutting in the lard, he spoke. “I guess I make you nervous.”

She jerked and slopped flour over the side of the bowl. “Yes.” She scooped the flour and lard back in.

A scraping sound caught her attention. She looked over her shoulder and saw he was spinning his cup on the table, studying the movement as if it contained deep secrets. She turned back to her biscuits before he could catch her staring.

“You mentioned in the barn that you’ve never sparked in a barn before.”

Lord! Did he have to bring that up?

“Did you just mean in the barn or ever?”

Oh God! How had he known?

“I am not loose, if that’s what you’re asking.” Despite how she’d behaved the last twenty-four hours.

“I thought I was pretty clear on what I was asking.”

Heat swamped her cheeks. Did the man have no sense of privacy? “I fail to see what my past experience has to do with anything.”

“Don’t go getting mad.”

“I am not mad.” She slammed the biscuit dough on the board.

“Tell that to those biscuits.”

“The biscuits are fine.” She caught herself before she could knead them past the count of ten. If they came out like rocks, he’d never let her live it down.

“Fine. You’re not mad.”

She grabbed the rolling pin and flattened the dough. “Mr. MacIntyre, I get the impression you’re trying to make a point.”

“I liked it between us in the barn.”

She almost strangled on her embarrassment. “Asa!”

“Well, leastways, I know how to get you to use my first name.”

“You promised you wouldn’t mention that.”

“I didn’t. You’re the one who hopped down that path. I was talking about how we worked to get Shameless settled.” He looked as innocent as a saint sitting there, but she knew he’d done it on purpose.

“Though the other was nice, too,” he added outrageously.

“Oooh!” Her cheeks burned like fire.

He held up his hand. “I’m sorry, but that was too good to pass up.”

“Why do you insist on humiliating me?”

“I’m deviling, not humiliating. Deviling you is fun. It’s supposed to make you laugh.”

“Well, it doesn’t.”

“Yeah. I’ve about figured that one out. And a darned shame it is, too, but I think I’ve found a solution.”

“You have?”

He tilted his chair back on two legs. “Occurs to me that you’re always jumping on things I say because you don’t know me well enough to spot when I’m deviling you.”

“It couldn’t be because you bring up the most inappropriate subjects?”

“We’re married, darlin’. We can’t go dancing around the things we want to say just because some prune-faced lady told you they weren’t proper.” He shook his head at her. “No doubt about it, you’ve got to loosen up.”

“You could always—”

She almost spit when he cut her off with another head shake “Nope. I’m too old a dog to be learning new tricks. Sure as shooting, we’ve got to get you used to my ways.”

“I see.” Just like every other man, he wanted everything his way. She accidentally chopped a biscuit in half while cutting them out. She tossed it back in the bowl to include it in the second batch. “And how am I supposed to do that?”

“I’ve been thinking on it.”

She was beginning to recognize the long drawl as a warning. “You have a plan?”

“Yup.” He took a sip of what had to be stone cold coffee, yet he didn’t wince. She couldn’t stand cold coffee. She brought the pot over. He held up his cup.

“How do you feel about being courted?”

Chapter Nine

She missed the cup completely and poured the hot coffee straight into his lap.

“Jesus , Mary, and Joseph!” The chair crashed to the floor as he jumped to his feet.

She stared in dismay at the steaming front of his denims. Dear God, he was going to kill her. “I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

“Hell no! I think you just took off some pretty important layers of hide!”

She backed hastily out of his reach. She measured the distance to the door with her eyes.

“Don’t you dare run out of here,” he warned.

“I was just, just…”

He pulled his pants away from his thighs as best he could. The glance he sent her was wry. “Do you always burn the men who come a courtin’?”