The Wedding Promise

She nodded. “Pa collapsed one day after we crossed a river. The horses were in trouble and Pa was done in when he finally got them up the bank. His chest began hurting and then he collapsed. We buried him there. The doctor in the next town said it was probably his heart.”

“What about your mother?” Cord asked.

Rachel’s voice was thick with the unshed tears she hoarded within herself as she whispered the tragic words she still found hard to believe as the truth. “Mama wandered off the next night while we were sleeping in the wagon and got bitten by a rattler. The scout found her the next morning.”

“My God, Rachel. How did you bear up under it?” Cord asked in a strained voice. He shook his head, as if he groped for words.

“I can see where the loss of your piano wasn’t nearly so important anymore,” he said finally.

“I wish I had it now,” Rachel whispered. “Music soothes the soul.”

“Maybe…” Cord hesitated, then gestured at the coffeepot. “Give it another try, Rachel. I’d be willing to bet Jake enjoyed his dinner. Pour a cup and take it in to him.” His lips curved as he tried on a grin for her benefit.

“If he throws something at you, duck. Chances are he’ll just grouse for a few seconds. Jake enjoys nothing in this world more than a cup of coffee.”

Her chin jutted as Rachel listened unbelievingly to his instructions. She glared at him, her mind torn from the sorrow she’d been reminded of for a few moments. “You owe me, Cord McPherson. I didn’t bargain for catering to an invalid, but I’ve a notion that’s exactly where I’ll be heading, once Sam Bostwick sees me waiting on Jake.”

Cord lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “Maybe you can deal with him, Rachel. God knows no one else gets anywhere.”

“I’m not taking him on, Cord.” Her mouth set in a determined line as she plunged both hands into her apron pockets. “I’m your cook, and I’ll wash your duds, but ducking every time I open your brother’s door is out.”

“Not even once, Rachel? Just one cup of coffee?” The teasing grin was gone.

The vision of the unkempt man who’d so rudely interrupted her few moments of joy burst inside Rachel’s mind, and she shook her head. “I doubt he’d welcome me, even with a cup of coffee in hand.”

Cord’s mouth twisted in a wry grin. “Can’t blame me for trying, Rachel.” He reached for a heavy cup from the cupboard and filled it from the blue-speckled pot “I’ll deliver it myself. Send in the troops if I don’t come back in five minutes.”

Breakfast was barely devoured the next morning when Cord stepped back into the kitchen, hat in hand. “Rachel, I’m going to town to the emporium. Anything we need for the house?”

She turned from the dishpan, wiping her hands on a towel. “Do you think I could go along? The boys need some boots if they’re going to be working in the barn, and I thought I could get them each a pair.”

“I can pay you for your first week here, if you need the money,” Cord said.

She shook her head. “No, I have enough, so long as I know I’ll be earning some right along. Shamus wants me to do up his laundry every week, and Buck and Jamie asked if I’d iron them each a shirt on Saturdays.”

He laughed. “That’s so they’ll look pretty when they go into town Saturday nights.” He shook his head. “You won’t make much cold hard cash ironing two shirts, Rachel. Better charge them a pretty penny.” He turned back to the door. “Come on ahead, then, if you’re riding along.”

She untied her apron and hung it on the hook in the pantry, running back to the stove quickly to check the black kettle where a stewing hen was simmering. With a practiced eye she gauged the bubbling liquid and slid the pot toward the back burner, clutching the handle with a heavy flannel pad.

“I’m ready,” she announced, her hands quickly smoothing back her hair. “I just have to run up and get my money.”

“Five minutes,” Cord said, heading out the door.

Jay and Henry were kicking their heels on the back of the wagon when Rachel crossed the porch, her bonnet strings trailing from her fingers.

“Mr. Cord said we could go along,” Jay piped up.

“He said you were gettin’ us some new boots.” Henry’s voice rose at the end of his sentence, as if he questioned the validity of such an idea.

Rachel nodded, her heart lifting as her brothers poked at each other with delight. She could even spare them each a couple of pennies for candy again, she thought, imagining their delight.

“Can we get high tops, Rae?” Henry asked wistfully.

“We’ll see,” she answered doubtfully, unsure of the cost of such a luxury.

“Looks like you need to get them some britches to go along with the boots,” Cord said, lifting himself to the wagon seat.

“Theirs have a lot of wear left in them,” she put in quickly. “Maybe next week we can look at new overalls.”

Cord reached down a hand to her as she peered up at him. “Let me give you a hoist up,” he offered.

Accepting his broad hand, she placed her foot on the wagon hub, and he lifted her to sit beside him. “They’ll be happy with boots,” she told him, settling her skirts around her.

He bent to her, watching as she tied her bonnet in place. Then, following an urge he’d resisted more than once in the past few days, he brushed at a stray wisp of hair that clung to her face.

She flushed at the gesture and turned her head, her fingers rising to spread across the rosy surface of her cheek. His touch had been gentle and unexpected, his fingertips a bit rough from the calluses he bore.

“Rachel?” He reached for her again, this time to cradle her chin within his grasp, turning her to face him.

“We need to be on our way,” she mumbled, unwilling to meet his gaze, flustered by his attention. “I can’t be gone all day with dinner cooking on the stove.”

“Look at me.” It was a command, delivered in a low, yet forceful voice, and she obeyed.

“You have no reason to fear me, Rachel,” he said firmly. “I’m old enough to know my place and decent enough to remain there.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered, her voice catching in her throat

It was a lie. There was about him something she feared, some unknown threat he offered that caused a trembling in her belly.

The level look he sent in her direction across the kitchen sometimes was enough to set her heart scampering, and his kindness to her brothers gave her a warmth deep inside, and made him tall in her sight.

“Aren’t you?” His eyebrow quirked as if he doubted her brave words, and then he flicked the reins against the backs of his team and they set off for Green Rapids.

There was no doubt about it. Mr. Conrad Carson was more than taken with Miss Rachel Sinclair. Cord watched from his post next to the cracker barrel as his cook chose boots for her brothers. And all the while, Conrad smiled and joked as he offered one pair, then another for her approval.

Kneeling before the boys, he took their measure, then tried on the boots Rachel pointed out. With only a moment’s hesitation, he assured her that her limited resources would be sufficient to cover the cost of two pair, and then his gaze rose, his eyes meeting Cord’s with a trace of warning in their depths.

“I’ll handle the difference, if she runs out of funds,” Cord said, his mouth twisting in a parody of a polite smile.

Conrad flushed a bit. “Miss Rachel can choose what she pleases, Mr. McPherson. I’m sure we can work something out.”

Rachel’s eyes widened as she looked first at one man, then the other. “I thought—”

“You have enough money for the boots,” Carson cut in smoothly. He grinned at the two boys, who were stomping their feet and marching up and down the aisle, admiring their new footwear. “Probably even enough for a couple of licorice whips for each,” he added, counting Rachel’s meager funds into his cash drawer.

Jay’s head turned quickly at the mention of candy. “Can we, Rae?” he asked hopefully.

“We got boots, Jay,” Henry reminded him quickly, as if he would relieve Rachel of the burden of refusal.