Promises Prevail (The Promise Series) (2 page)

She blamed him entirely when she stumbled. Anyone would be nervous to be watched so intently. Still, she would have been fine if her weight hadn’t fallen on her bad leg, and it hadn’t chosen that moment to collapse. Behind her she heard someone gasp as she lurched into an empty table. For one second she caught herself on the edge, but then it skipped out from under her. One minute, she was falling and the next she was being yanked against the hard surface of a well-muscled chest. She breathed deeply as the scents of man, smoke and pine swept over her. Clint had saved her. Again.

His hand slid down her back, and she mentally moaned. Why had she chosen today of all days to not wear a corset? At least with the corset some of her…ampleness would have been contained. His big hands spanned her waist and he set her away from him.

Heat surged to her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“No harm done.” Though he’d pushed her a foot away, he didn’t release her. His hands on her waist burned like fire as he steadied her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just stumbled.”

“Maybe you should sit down for a minute?” Rebecca suggested, holding out a chair, frowning with concern.

Jenna mentally sighed. She was so tired of being pitied. “Really, I’m fine.”

The glance Clint cast said he had doubts. She ignored it. “If you’ll take your seats, I’ll be right with you. Would you like tea or coffee?”

Rebecca’s request for tea was no more a surprise than Clint’s request for black coffee. She glanced across the restaurant and pressed her skirt against the knot below the scar on her leg. The coffee pot was a long way away. She gritted her teeth and headed for it, doing her best to smooth her gait. She made it back to the table without incident. Before she could set the tray down, Clint had it out of her hands and on the table.

“You need to rest.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are not making me happy.”

A kernel of dread took root in her stomach. “I’m sorry.”

She ducked her head and waited. He wasn’t her husband, but he was a man and she was a woman alone. He could pretty much demand whatever he wanted and she would have to obey.

She could feel Rebecca’s stare as well as Clint’s. Bile rose in her throat as she waited for Clint’s decision.

“Could we see the dessert tray?” Rebecca asked.

Jenna wanted to move more than anything, but the years of training froze her in place until Clint released her with a sigh. “Fetch the tray, Jenna.”

Clint’s black gaze followed her as she moved away. She shivered. He was such an intense man. There was no telling what he was thinking. He frowned as she neared the table, and his gaze dropped. As much as she’d like to believe that it was her rose-colored skirt cut to de-emphasize her generous hips that caught his eye, she knew differently.

She was limping. There wasn’t anything she could do about that. All this extra business waiting on what used to be only occasional tables was heck on her leg. She forced a more normal stride. It was vain and pointless, but she didn’t want to look weak in front of him. She struggled to keep from gasping as pain knifed up her thigh.

“Here are today’s choices, Mr. McKinnely.” From the way Clint’s eyes narrowed, she knew he hadn’t missed the breathless quality of her voice after that last step. If he knew how much pain she was in, he’d be furious. Ever since he’d saved her life, he’d been protective. If he didn’t completely ignore her otherwise, she’d think he was staking a claim. But until this last week, he’d never approached her or spoken to her personally. For which she was eternally grateful.

“
Mr. McKinnely
, Jenna?” Clint asked, taking the paper menus from her hand.

Dropping her gaze at Clint’s disapproving tone was as much instinct as it was upbringing. Clint had a way of speaking that demanded compliance. She barely stopped herself from apologizing. But she did. She wasn’t with her father, her husband, or their church anymore. She was an independent woman.

From beneath her lashes, she saw Rebecca shoot Clint a quick look as he read the short menu, caught a glimpse of conclusion as she looked between them, and then saw her frown of disapproval.

Jenna winced. Rebecca wasn’t the first woman to assume Clint had a relationship with her. He had given her the money for her bakery and he was a frequent customer, though if they thought she was his mistress, she didn’t know what they thought about him doing his courting here.

She wet her dry lips. She didn’t meet Rebecca’s eyes as the flush rushed over her cheeks. She struggled through her embarrassment for a business-like tone.

“I’m out of chicken soup, but I have a nice beef barley all ready to go.”

“That’ll be fine.” Clint looked around. “Business looks good.”

“It is.”

He leaned back in his chair.

“Enough to have that leg giving you trouble?”

Heat crept into her cheeks anew. She wished he wouldn’t always notice her weaknesses.

“No more than usual.”

“You were limping.”

“I always limp.”

His frown deepened. “Not that much.”

She shrugged. “It can’t be helped.”

His black eyes cut to hers, unreadable as always, as he said in a perfectly reasonable tone of voice, “You could get off it. Put it up. Wrap a warm towel around it.”

She fought down the instinctive urge to leap to do as he wanted. “I will when I close up shop.”

His gaze flicked over her face, no doubt taking in every sign of the tiredness and strain she tried to hide.

“That’s not for four hours.”

It was a reasonable observation in a reasonable tone of voice, but the underlying censure pricked her nerves.

“Clint,” Rebecca interjected gently. “I’m sure Mrs. Hennesey knows when she needs to rest.”

Jenna’s “Thank you,” coincided with Clint’s “Maybe”.

Rebecca shook her head, a reprimand that Jenna couldn’t ever imagine giving a man. “You’re embarrassing Mrs. Hennesey.”

His gaze never left Jenna. “Maybe.”

No maybe about it. He was. Jenna felt inferior enough in front of perfect Rebecca without him making a fuss about something that couldn’t be helped.

“I can’t afford to close early.”

Rebecca shot Jenna a sympathetic glance. “Honestly Clint, no woman likes to have it pointed out that she’s crippled.”

Jenna clutched her pencil in her hand. She knew how her limp made her look to others, but she wasn’t a cripple. Years of hiding her feelings kept the resentment from her voice.

“Thank you.”

Clint wasn’t as willing to let it go. His normally cool gaze chilled as he turned toward Rebecca.

“That was a damned callous thing to say.”

“I’m so sorry.” Rebecca’s hands fluttered near her throat.

Jenna believed her. Rebecca was enviably sheltered and sweet, but never deliberately cruel.

“It’s fine.” She made her smile bigger to offset Clint’s frown and shrugged. “I hurt my leg, and it’s never going to get better than this.”

Rebecca offered a tentative smile. “It was ill-mannered of me to mention it.”

“Yes, it was,” Clint said

Rebecca flushed, but Clint didn’t relax his expression, completely at ease with the impact of his displeasure.
The big bully.

Jenna squared her shoulders and took a breath. If she was going to be an independent woman, she couldn’t be afraid of taking someone’s side when they were being treated unfairly in her establishment.

The pencil bit into her palm as she pointed out, “You didn’t mention it. Mr. McKinnely did.”

Clint went very still. “Are you challenging me?”

Fear pooled in Jenna’s stomach like a lead weight. Maybe taking this stand wasn’t such a smart idea. She gripped the pencil between her fingers, saw the distress on Rebecca’s face, and forced starch back into her knees as she forced herself to say, “I just think you’re being too harsh.”

Clint would have probably been more impressed with her stand if she’d been able to get her eyes higher than the open neck of his shirt. Truth was, she was impressed that she’d gotten the words out at all. She’d always been a weak woman, though she was learning to fake strength.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the stories of how I handle a challenge,” Clint pointed out, still using that reasonable tone.

Rebecca gasped and sat back.

Jenna wished she had something against which to brace herself. She dropped her gaze to the table. Clint reached for his coffee cup. His hand dwarfed the cup. Ridges and scars marked the back. He hadn’t gotten them by being soft or backing down. And she’d just told him he was wrong. Dear God, maybe she was as crazy as Jack had always said.

She moistened her lips and managed to say, “I’ve heard.”

He arched his brow and took a sip of his coffee. Jenna’s knees shook, making her leg ache more, and a cold sweat broke out over her body. She waited for him to say something. Anything.

He just sat there drinking his coffee and watching her. Her stomach knotted. She focused on the shadowed hollow of his throat, her heartbeat thundering in her ears as she waited. On the fifth beat, she couldn’t stand it anymore.

“I just meant, if I didn’t mind maybe you shouldn’t.”

A strange sound rumbled in Clint’s chest. Almost like a growl. The ice left his gaze to be replaced by a strange heat. Was he angry? The point of the pencil bit into her palm.

Dear God!
she thought,
if you could send me some help, I’d really appreciate it.

“But what if I do mind?” Clint asked, replacing the cup on the table.

“I don’t know why you should.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a flash of white as Rebecca covered Clint’s hand with hers.

“Clint, you’re upsetting Mrs. Hennesey.”

Jenna stared at the contrast, Rebecca’s hand so soft and white and fragile, sitting on top of Clint’s lean, powerful one. Jenna envied Rebecca the innocence that protected her from the knowledge of how fast a man could turn on a woman. “Am I scaring you, Jenna?” Clint asked in that calm, “reveal nothing” voice.

Jenna swallowed hard, aware that everyone in the small restaurant watched the scene, witnessing her humiliation.

The bell over the door jangled as it opened. She didn’t look up, but she knew who, or rather what, had entered by the way the door thumped twice before closing. Danny.

God had heard her after all. He’d sent her protector. Jenna opened her hand to the warm nose that slid under her palm and sank her fingers into the black fur of the massive dog’s neck. As he leaned against her a low rumbling growl emanated from his throat, clearly directed at Clint.

“What is that?” Rebecca gasped pulling back.

Clint’s answer of was full of dry amusement. “My dog.”

“Are you sure it’s not a pony?” Rebecca’s hand slid from Clint’s as she inched away.

“I’m sure. Threw a saddle on him once and he howled for hours. No mistaking what he was, after that.”

The tension in the room eased as a couple of the men snorted with laughter. Jenna patted Danny as he sat, being careful to avoid his burn scars, knowing they were as painfully sensitive as hers. He rested his head on her chest, the slobber from his jowls soaking through the bib of her apron. She didn’t mind. Danny was safety.