The Wedding Promise

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

Rachel looked up quickly as the clerk approached, her eyes widening at his elegance. Pomade slicked his hair back neatly, a heavily starched collar clenched his throat and his shirtsleeves were buttoned firmly at the wrist. A genial smile curled his mouth and his eyes were faintly admiring as he nodded a greeting.

“Yes,” she answered, fumbling in her pocket for the list she’d written. As if she needed prompting to remember the few items she’d scribbled on the brown scrap of paper: sugar—a pound or two, depending on the price, a bag of cornmeal, a pound or so of lard and perhaps some eggs. Maybe even cans of milk for the boys’ oatmeal.

She’d yearned for weeks for the taste of a fried egg. Not that she could afford that luxury. These, if they weren’t too dear, would be used for baking. Jay and Henry had responded to the bribe of a cake, should they do their chores and carry water without complaining.

They’d been more than compliant, she realized, once they were settled in and ready to call the tumbledown cabin their dwelling. They’d followed her lead, straightening and settling in, making a home of the place they’d found.

“We got some new dimity in from St. Louis just the other day,” the clerk said, recalling Rachel from her thoughts.

He probably thought she could use a new dress. And he was right. Her smile was grim as she shook her head. “No, we just need a few items today. Some cornmeal to start with.”

She read off her short list and watched as the clerk moved efficiently behind the gleaming wooden counter. He filled a cloth sack with her sugar, surely more than a pound, she thought, her eyes narrowing as she watched his deft movements. The lard was next, dealt with quickly, then three cans of evaporated milk.

Finally, wrapping four eggs individually in brown paper, he placed them carefully inside the bag of cornmeal. “That’ll keep ‘em from breaking if they get jostled,” he explained, tying the neck of the bag once more.

He rested both palms on the counter, leaning just a bit in her direction, his smile more eager now. “What else will you have today?”

Rachel’s mind moved quickly, counting up her spending against the coins she’d brought with her. Such strict rationing of money was a burden, but one she was willing to assume, given the alternative. There was no way she would give over the care of her brothers to strangers, no matter how well off they might be.

“How much is a small bag of tea?” she asked.

He turned from her without reply, opening a tin on the shelf behind him. From within rose a pungent aroma as he turned with it to face her. His smile was inviting as he scooped out a generous portion into a metal box.

“I don’t think I can afford that much,” Rachel protested as he closed the lid tightly on the enameled container. Covered with painted roses and green leaves, intertwined over the top and down the sides, it beckoned her, silently tempting her.

“Well, why don’t we just call it a welcome present from Green Rapids, ma’am. You’re a stranger here, and we like to make newcomers feel at home.”

As a gesture of friendship, it was more than she had expected. But from the look in his eyes and the ready grin he bestowed upon her, she suspected he’d taken a shine to her.

“I don’t know you, sir,” she said quietly, aware of the silence of her brothers as they flanked her in a silent show of support.

“Conrad Carson, proprietor, ma’am,” he announced, offering his hand politely. “At your service.”

His bow spoke of old-world manners and good upbringing and Rachel was mollified. Her hand felt cool as she placed it against his smooth palm for a moment Clean, with well-kept nails, it touched hers with assurance.

She was reminded suddenly of the hand she’d taken hold of just two days ago. That hard, callused hand that had held hers with care. A far cry from this storekeeper’s.

“Thank you, Mr. Carson,” Rachel said, withdrawing her palm from his touch. She fumbled in her pocket for her small change purse and drew it forth. “How much do I owe you?”

“Well, let’s see now.” Quickly, he scratched out figures on a piece of brown paper and told her the total of her purchases before he wrapped the bits and pieces together in the heavy paper.

Rachel counted out her coins and breathed a sigh of relief. She had enough and a bit left over. Recklessly, she handed each boy a penny. “You can buy a piece of candy, if you like,” she told them beneath her breath.

“Really, Rae?” squeaked Jay.

“Can we afford it?” Henry whispered, standing tiptoe to speak closer to her ear.

She nodded and smiled at the two of them, these dear boys she would defend with her very life if need be. And then she watched as they marched quickly to the glass case that held jars of assorted candies.

He’d give her a week, he’d decided, riding back to the ranch house. He’d let her eke out an existence in the shack, living on fish and rabbits and whatever else she had stowed in that pitiful excuse for a house. And then he’d go back. She’d be ripe by then for another offer.

He lasted three days.

Thoughts of her filled his waking hours. Dreams of that womanly body haunted his sleep, and the pure imaginings of his mind were the impetus that sent him on his way early on Monday morning.

Surely he hadn’t been so long without the companionship of a female that he couldn’t control his own needs.

Certainly he was capable of running his ranch, tending to his stock and overseeing the men working for him without allowing the memory of a slender woman to take precedence over the operation he was heading.

Derisively, Cord shook his head at his own folly. The slim creature he’d been obsessed with for three days would be merely an ordinary woman when he saw her again. No more and no less than any other he’d run across in his life.

Once he set eyes on her again, he’d be able to vanquish the assortment of urges he’d been fighting for three days.

The miles were long beneath the reaching strides of his gelding. The far corners of his ranch had never seemed so distant before. Maybe he shouldn’t have left her alone out here. What if someone had come upon the small family and taken advantage of their pitiful situation?

His heels dug into the sides of his mount and he searched the horizon for the line of trees that rimmed the uppermost ridge of the small valley he sought.

The best approach would be to offer her a job. Not just a couple of days a week, as he’d suggested the other day, but a full-time, everyday job that would necessitate moving her and her brothers, bag and baggage, to his place.

And then there would really be fireworks to deal with, once Jake had his routine disturbed.

He’d have to depend on Sam Bostwick to keep Jake in line and away from Rachel. No sense in scaring her off first thing. The thought of his brother brought a frown and a deep-felt sigh.

Jake wouldn’t take well to a female around the place.

The Circle M employed five ranch hands, none of whom was capable of putting a decent meal on the table, as far as Cord was concerned. Finding help had become almost a farce in the past year. The gold strike was a thing of the distant past, but there were always the hopeful ones making their way west

The fact was, getting decent ranch hands here in Kansas, and keeping them, depended in good part upon the food you put in their bellies.

The gradual rise before him was a sea of wildflowers, topped by a ridge of trees. The sun was brilliant against the horizon. A hawk skimmed the treetops, a silent hunter against the cloudless sky.

And there, kneeling beneath the freshly born leaves of a maple sapling was the slender woman who’d occupied his thoughts for the past three days.

She lifted her head, her eyes wide as she watched him approach. As his horse came to a halt just feet away, she stood. Her dress showed the effects of many wash days, its color nondescript, with faint images of flowers against a faded pink background.

It was too short, even though the hem had been let down, and he felt a quick surge of gladness at that fact, his gaze pausing on the slim ankles and bare feet she made no attempt to conceal.

“Mr. McPherson.”

It was a greeting of sorts, accompanied by a slow nod of her head, her eyes wary as he slid from his horse to stand before her.

“Miss Sinclair.” He stopped abruptly. Then, as if his senses had deserted him, his tongue refused to speak.

She was watching him in a grave, sober fashion that was not encouraging to his proposal. What he wanted to say would be insulting to a lady, and she deserved that designation.

How could he ask her to gather up her family and come home with him? He could offer no chaperon, no other woman to protect her name while she occupied his home. And yet the desire to be in her company had not eased with the passing of time. His best bet was to put it on a business basis, he decided.