Promises Prevail (The Promise Series) (6 page)

Doc held his hands out for the little girl. Clint lifted her away, but as soon as her little body lost touch with his, she started to tense and puff. A quick glance down showed her lower lip flapping like a sheet in a wind. He resettled her and shrugged at Doc’s puzzled look. “She still needs a minute.”

Doc touched Jenna’s shoulder kindly, every line on his face deep with regret. “They won’t let you keep her Jenna, what with you being unmarried and all.”

Jenna’s big blue eyes locked on the baby. Tears washed their bright color and spilled onto her cheeks. Against his shoulder, the little one started fussing. He cradled her on her back in his two hands, and looked down into her face. On a little hiccoughing sob, she stared back at him, her midnight eyes brimming with desolation. He looked at Jenna, her eyes brimming with the same panicked desperation, and lastly at Doc.

His uncle didn’t look sad or upset, just expectant, the way he always did when he was waiting for him to do the right thing. Ah hell, they were ganging up on him. He handed the little girl to Jenna, who clutched her close, buried her face in the little one’s neck and whispered, “I won’t let them take you away.”

“So the bottom line is, without a husband, there isn’t a prayer in hell that Jenna can keep Button,” he said, watching the two women—one full grown and the other new, both too good to be true.

Doc’s “No” was matter of fact. Jenna’s “Watch me” was a growl of determination.

This growl from his timid little Jenna who never said boo to a ghost. She must want the baby very much. He tipped her chin up. When her gaze didn’t rise to his, he tapped her nose with his thumb until it did.

“So I take it you’re dead set on keeping her.”

“Yes.”

“Then you need a husband.”

Panic flickered over her determined face. “I’ll find one.”

“Where?”

“There has to be someone.”

Brave words, but she had to know, as he did, that a barren woman with a half-breed child and no land or prospects would find few takers, and few of those would be the type that the town fathers would approve.

Except for maybe a half-breed man with more money than sense who needed a reason to continue more than he needed his next breath. That was if he was in the market to drag someone as sweet and kind as Jenna into his private hell.

“Seems to me Clint’s available and he’s made quite a spectacle about being in the market,” Doc pointed out helpfully.

Clint shot him a dirty look. Jenna intercepted the look, and the faint glimmer of hope on her face faded. He frowned. She couldn’t read him worth a plugged nickel. She obviously thought he was angered with Doc’s suggestion while in reality the unscrupulous, selfish part of him leapt for the opportunity to make her his, good intentions be damned. Having Jenna in his bleak world would brighten a few dark corners. Until she learned he didn’t have anything to give, and all that optimism faded to disillusionment.

Jenna ducked her face into the baby’s neck and whispered, “I’m not his type.”

“I wasn’t aware that I had a type.”

Her grip on the baby tightened.

“Seems to me that’s why the boy’s been doing so much courting.” Doc offered. “Because he can’t settle on one.”

Jenna clutched the baby to her ample breasts. The little one grunted a protest, the sound almost but not quite covering her quiet reply. “He deserves better.”

She stroked the baby’s back with desperate intensity before vowing, “But I’ll find someone.”

Clint couldn’t imagine what she’d dredge up if she thought he was too good for her.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“You serious son?” Doc asked.

Jenna straightened on the bed, her gaze clinging to his, her lips set between her teeth, looking so uncertain, so torn, so damned innocently optimistic that it hurt him to look at her. He’d meant to keep her free of his taint. It didn’t look like that was going to happen. In his experience, fate had made a habit of messing with his good intentions. Didn’t seem like it intended to stop now. That being the case, there was no sense bucking tradition. He reached out and ran his index finger down the deep crease of Jenna’s left dimple, rested his thumb against that tempting mouth, and sealed her fate to his.

“Yes. I am.”

Chapter Three

Jenna clutched little Brianna to her and stared at Clint. He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant. He couldn’t mean that he was going to marry her. Clint McKinnely was a legend. People feared and admired him in equal parts. The same way they did his cousin. Half-breed or not, there wasn’t a woman in the territory who wouldn’t—hadn’t—thrown herself or her virgin daughter at his feet. All sacrificial offerings to his wealth and his strength.

And there was a lot of strength. She looked up, way up, his body as he stood before her. He was big, the muscles in his thighs pressing against his denims, his chest rising powerfully from his lean hips. She didn’t dare look into his face. Instead, she let her gaze slide across his massive shoulders before traveling down over the bulge of his biceps until it came to the strong bones of his wrists. The wrist attached to the hand on her cheek. He could snap her neck with a flick of that wrist, but his grasp, while firm wasn’t angry. Still, it made her worry. Especially when he cupped her cheek and his fingers slid around to caress the base of her skull. It was all she could do to sit still. He made her so nervous.

She bit her lip and considered her options. The McKinnelys were strong, bold, and possessive. Everyone knew that once a McKinnely claimed something as his, there was no going back, and woe to whoever tried to take it. The McKinnely men were hard, scary people, but when they decided something was theirs, they’d move heaven and earth to protect it. Which proved even more that Clint couldn’t mean what she thought he’d meant. He couldn’t be claiming Brianna.

Brianna fussed again. Her little belly no doubt empty. Jenna jostled her lightly, biting back a moan when the movement sent her muscles to cramping.

“Well what about it, Jenna?” Doc asked. “You going to marry the boy?”

Boy. She looked up at the breadth of Clint’s chest, her attention lingering on the point of his collar, still dark from Brianna’s sucking. Only Doc would consider Clint a boy. She forced the answer past her lips, wishing she was bolder.

“No.”

She couldn’t bear for him to know how much she wanted the McKinnely name for Brianna. How much she wanted for her new baby, the protection she’d never had. It would be too humiliating when Clint let Doc know that he hadn’t meant his words the way they had sounded.

To her surprise, it wasn’t Doc who answered, but Clint himself. His finger slid under her chin, the calluses dragging on her flesh as he tilted her face up, forcing her to meet the intensity of his deep black gaze.

“Yes.”

“You don’t mean it.”

His gaze didn’t waver, demanding her compliance.

“It’s not often I say things I don’t mean.”

“But what about Brianna?”

“Is that Button’s name?”

“Yes.”

“What about her?”

“You can’t…” She tried to duck his gaze. He wouldn’t allow it, holding her centered with the tip of his finger and the force of his personality.

“I can’t what?”

“You can’t want her.”

His left eyebrow rose. “Why not?”

“Because!” Because she was a throwaway. Worthless in the eyes of society. Because she’d always look more Indian than white. Like he did, except the world was harder on women, and so intolerant of differences. Because raising a half-breed little girl was not going to be easy. She wasn’t stupid enough to insult Clint openly by stating the obvious so she settled for, “Just because.”

“Not good enough.”

She patted Brianna’s back as her fussing became more insistent, and shifted her weight off of her aching leg, pulling her chin free of Clint’s touch.

“She’s mine.” She stared hard at the faded knees of his denims.

“No one’s taking her away from you.”

He had that right. She would fight with everything she had to keep Brianna, but the knowledge of how little that actually mattered almost overwhelmed her with hopelessness.

The floor creaked. Doc’s boots came into view a second before his capable hands slid around Brianna’s little chest. He pulled gently. Inexorably. Jenna held onto Brianna right up until the last second, reluctant to lose the buffer of her soft body, to trust her to someone other than herself. But Doc, for all his calm, gruff manner was a McKinnely, and once set on a course of action was not easily dissuaded. In two seconds, he had the little girl cuddled in his arms.

“Looks like you two have things to talk about, and this little one needs her diaper and her lunch.” He brought the baby to eye level. She froze, staring at his face.

Clint chuckled. “Don’t go scaring her, Doc.”

Doc smiled into the baby’s face. “She’s not scared, just admiring the family resemblance.”

As if to prove him right, Brianna gurgled and kicked her feet and waved her little hands. And her gaze did seem focused on Doc’s gray-streaked locks that stuck up off his head in a manner that was very similar to Brianna’s.

He settled her over his shoulder, grabbed up the nappy and asked, “Do you have milk for her?”

Jenna clenched her fists, not only against the pain eating at her ability to think, but also at the way events were whirling out of control. Maybe she should just take Brianna and leave. Start over somewhere else. But with what? She had no savings. She stared at that too thin, square little face and felt desperation squeeze at her heart. And where could she take Brianna that she’d be safe and accepted?

“Jenna?” Doc prompted, still waiting on a response.

“Milk is in the icebox downstairs. The bottles are in the bottom cabinet.”

Out of sight so as not to arouse suspicions. So she wouldn’t be forced to make decisions she didn’t want to. So she wouldn’t be forced to fight a nearly hopeless battle.

“Then little Brianna and I will go get us a bit to eat.”

“Stay out of my torte,” Clint warned.

His tone, as quiet as always, had an undertone that sent a dart of fear down Jenna’s spine, and had her inching away. Danny whined and nuzzled her hand with his nose. Clint shot her a considering look, and Doc…well Doc merely smiled at the growl.

“Then I suggest you turn real sweet and convince the young lady that you’re worth taking on as a husband.”

“He doesn’t need to marry me.” Her first marriage had been bad enough, but at least when sober, Jack had been manageable. She’d never be able to handle someone like Clint.

Clint cut her another one of those looks out of the corner of his eye that sent a strange shiver through her. She worked farther back on the bed. Her leg immediately spasmed. The cry was past her lips before she could stifle it.

Clint swore under his breath. Doc shifted Brianna up and pulled the laudanum bottle out of his hip pocket. “I left the tea in the other room.”

Clint took the bottle. “I’ll get it.”

“Not too much,” Doc warned.

“I know.”

They were talking about her as though she wasn’t there. If she hadn’t been in such agony, she would have protested more strongly, but the most she could work up to was a gasped, “I’m not taking laudanum.”