Promises Reveal (26 page)

It pissed him off that she saw him that way. “You know I didn’t.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because I wouldn’t have gotten a sigh out of you in that alley if you did. You’re a proud woman.”

“Then why did you grind my pride in the dust?”

The answer, when it came to him, was shocking enough that he actually took a bite of the stew. Because he wanted her to think badly of him, so when she found out the truth, she wouldn’t be hurt. Hell, on top of everything else, was he developing a conscience? “I didn’t. You jumped to conclusions.”

He took a drink of cool water. He would have preferred whiskey. Evie glared at him. “You didn’t give me any other choice.”

“There’s always a choice. You could have believed in me.”

Pushing her chair back, she stood. “Then maybe you should give me something to believe in.”

He watched her leave the room, ignoring the strange sense of unease. Taking advantage of a woman’s soft heart was an old game he’d been indulging in for years. Pull them in and then push them away. It kept women off balance, gave him an edge as they struggled to fix what was wrong. And when he was ready to leave, he just pushed them that one time too many and the relationship ended. On his terms. So why didn’t it feel right this time?

Evie stomped up the stairs. She was pissed. He’d succeeded, so where was the sense of accomplishment? Dinner sat before him, getting colder by the second. Upstairs his wife was following suit, stewing in the juices he’d provided. A step farther away than she’d been this afternoon. Ten feet farther than she’d been on their wedding day. It was all going as he’d planned, following a course he’d perfected over the last fifteen years. The spare bedroom door slammed.

He washed the taste of stew out of his mouth with another sip of water. The ensuing silence stretched ominously. A soft breeze blew through the windows, sending the curtains fluttering in time with the slow chirp of crickets. Above it all, he heard the distinct sound of a sob. Crying. Evie was up there crying. He told himself it didn’t matter. Told himself he didn’t care. It was even to be expected. The sound came again. Another sob? Shit.

He pushed his chair back. He didn’t fucking need this. The bottle of whiskey sat on the ornate sidebar in the parlor. He poured a hefty amount into one of the crystal glasses that matched the decanter, a gift from a grateful traveler after Brad had found his daughter, who’d run away with a cowhand. It hadn’t been that hard to bring her back. The girl had already been having second thoughts, but there’d been no telling the traveler that. In his mind, Brad had worked a miracle. Brad tossed back the whiskey. The crystal set, the most expensive thing the man owned, had been his reward for being a hero.

Another sob drifted down through the air vents, the muffled sound flaying him with unexpected force. He’d had the guilt beaten out of him before he’d sprouted his first chest hair, so he damn well knew what bothered him wasn’t that. Three more sobs and another couple shots and he’d had enough. Pouring two glasses this time, Brad swore and headed upstairs, not clear where he was heading until he got in front of their bedroom door. The bedroom where Evie wasn’t, but should be. Curled up soft and warm in their bed, waiting for him to tuck her against him so she could sleep.

No more sobs came down the hall. She’d either fallen asleep or heard him come upstairs. The thought of her behind the door holding on to her pride bothered him more than the thought of her crying herself to sleep, but not by much. He turned too fast. Liquid splashed over his hands. He glanced down, not understanding the wetness at first and then he remembered. He’d brought Evie and himself a drink. Being careful not to spill any more of Doc’s best, he walked the ten steps it took to get to the bedroom door. He debated knocking. If he just walked in, she might be more offended, but she sure couldn’t turn him away. The deciding factor was that his hands were full. He knocked with the toe of his boot. Once. No answer. Twice. No answer. He didn’t bother with a third, just kicked hard. The door bounced against the wall. Evie screamed and sat up.

“Shh, you’ll wake up the neighbors.”

Glaring pointedly at the door while she scrubbed at the tearstains on her cheeks, she asked, “You think they’re asleep?”

The scrubbing was a waste of time. Her eyes were swollen and her face was splotchy. Even if he hadn’t heard her, there was no way he could miss the evidence that she’d been crying.

“What are you doing in here?”

He handed her a glass. “I brought you a drink.”

She took it, her gaze bouncing between him and the glass. He put the other on the bed stand and started unbuttoning his shirt.

“Now what are you doing?”

“Getting ready for bed.”

“I’m mad at you.”

“I know. I heard you crying.”

“I had a hard day.”

Shucking his shirt, he started on his boots. “And I didn’t help.”

She blinked and sniffed. “No, you didn’t.”

She was holding the drink like it was poison.

“If you sip your whiskey, you’ll feel better.”

“No, I won’t.”

The second boot was more stubborn than the first. “Are you arguing with me again?”

“Yes, and you can’t sleep here.”

“Husbands and wives sleep together.” His thoughts might be a bit unclear due to the amount of whiskey he’d drunk on an empty stomach, but he was sure on that fact.

“No, they don’t.”

“I swear, woman, you’d argue the color of the sky if you got in a mood.”

“I’m not in a mood, I’m indisposed!”

That snapped his head up. “You’re sick?”

Illness could be another reason for the splotchy face.

“No.” She clenched her teeth. “I’m indisposed.”

He stopped unbuttoning his pants. “I’ll get Doc.”

“No!” She took a hefty swig of her whiskey, wheezing and sputtering, her face getting so red he thought it might catch fire. Just when he thought she’d get her wind back, she clutched her stomach and bent double. He caught the whiskey before it hit the floor.

“Just go away.”

Alarm sharpened his senses. Placing her whiskey beside his on the bed stand, he squatted in front of her, lifting her chin so he could see her face.

“Now’s not the time for modesty.”

Just last month Clancy almost lost his wife when she wouldn’t tell Doc her stomach hurt because she was worried he’d want to see the location. It’d taken a hell of a lot of sweet talking on Brad’s part, but eventually, Doc had not only seen her stomach, he’d removed the appendix that was threatening to kill her. Damn, could that be happening to Evie, too? “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Her expression a mixture of pain, misery, and embarrassment, she repeated herself, the emphasis on each syllable imparting a meaning her narrow-eyed glare said she clearly expected him to get.

“I’m in-dis-posed.”

“I don’t know what the hell that means.”

“It’s my time of the month!”

The last was yelled loudly enough to be heard the next block over. Over the sound of crickets came the sound of male laughter.

“Oh God.” Tears filled her eyes as she turned her face away. “Just go away.”

And leave her like this? He didn’t think so. Processing what she’d told him and what he could see, he asked, “Your belly hurts?”

She bit her lip and nodded, clearly in too much pain to worry about mortification anymore. He shucked his pants.

“I can’t—”

“Don’t worry. I’ve already figured out you’re not going to be much fun tonight.”

While she sputtered her indignation, he walked around the bed and slid in on the other side. The mattress dipped under his weight. Taking advantage of the moment, he worked his arm behind her and pulled her into his shoulder as he leaned against the headboard. “Drink the rest of your whiskey.”

She shook her head. Her hair rubbed his cheek. The soft scent of wildflowers surrounded him.

“It’ll relax you.”

Beneath the covers, his hand found her abdomen. The muscles were rock hard beneath the silken skin. With a nudge, he pushed her hand away and laid his much bigger hand over the area, letting the heat seep in. After a minute she relaxed into his shoulder, turning more fully into the warmth of his hand.

“I’m still mad at you.” It was a very soft, determined declaration.

“I know you are.” He brushed his lips over her hair, his insides tied in knots. He didn’t like seeing her like this. “Drink your whiskey.”

She reached for the glass, taking a cautious sip. He felt the relaxing of her muscles that signaled the end of the cramp. Turning her a little more into his arms so he was half supporting her, he started to massage the affected area lightly through the thin cotton nightgown.

“Oh.”

“Feel good?”

The only answer he got was a nod. “How long does this last?”

“A week.”

“You suffer like this for a week?” If that was the case, he didn’t care what she said. She was going to see Doc.

“I only hurt for a day or two.”

A day or two?
“Drink faster.”

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Just trying to catch you up.”

“You’re drunk?”

“Working on it. Whiskey hits hard on an empty stomach.”

“You didn’t eat your dinner.”

“Millie knows I hate chicken paprika.”

For some reason her whole face lit up. “I love it.”

“Want me to get you a plate?”

She took another sip of her whiskey. “I think I’d rather just get drunk.”

“Are you a happy drunk?”

“Is there any other kind?”

“Oh yeah.”

“I’ll try to be happy.”

The way she gulped the next swallow told him the pain was coming back. He tucked her just a little closer, easing his other hand around so he could work at the tension in her back. “Don’t tense up.”

“What do you know about it?”

“Not much.” He’d never been close enough to a woman to know her cycle and the problems that came along with it. “I’ll talk to Doc tomorrow though and get informed.”

“You will not!”

He held her when she would have pushed away. “I’m not having you in pain.”

“It’s normal.”

Not for his wife. “I’m talking to Doc.”

“You’ll embarrass me.” A tear dampened his chest as she moaned and pulled her knees up.

“I’ll be discreet.”

She shook her head. “You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

“You don’t know the first thing about me.”

“I know you’re more than what you seem.”

Shit. Now was the time to be mean, to throw her off, but she was small and hurting and curled up in his arms, letting him comfort her. He brushed another kiss across the top of her head. “Trust me, it’s all good.”

There was a tense silence and then, “Tell me you didn’t make love to Nidia the other night.”

Ah hell. “I didn’t make love to Nidia or any other woman. I didn’t have sex with her or any other woman. What’s more, I didn’t want to.”

“Why?”

He could lie, should lie, should do something to keep her at a distance, but what came out was the truth. “Because she wasn’t you.”

For a minute she didn’t say anything. He couldn’t tell if she was thinking or just in so much pain she didn’t care what he’d said, but then she turned just a little more into his embrace and sighed.

“We argue.”

“Passionate people often do.”

Another silence as she mulled on that. “You don’t hurt when you argue.”

“I’m not a bully.” The one thing he swore he’d never be is a man like his father, a man who used his size and his position to abuse those who had no protection. A man who guided through terror.

Her fingers curled around his nape—the action was soft, sweet, and trusting. Making him feel ten times the heel he was. He didn’t deserve her trust.

“No, you’re not.”

The admission flicked his conscience with whiplike precision. He was an outlaw and a bastard, a man who’d walked so far from God there could be no return. Some would say a real son of a bitch. Yet Evie saw him as good.

Brad tipped the glass toward Evie’s mouth, ignoring the refrain that had been tempting him of late, growing in frequency right along with his commitment to the town and its people. There was no undoing the past.

“Drink.”

“This doesn’t change anything.” She took another large sip before repeating, “I’m still mad at you.”

That made him smile. “You worried that you’re going to forget?”

“Yes.”

This time, when he kissed her, he didn’t pull back, just kept his lips on her hair, holding her, an odd sense of rightness invading him as he provided her comfort. “Then I promise to do something to remind you.”

“But not now?” she sighed into his kiss.

“No, not now.” Now he just wanted to hold her and pretend that Shadow Svensen had never existed, that he was the man Evie thought him to be, and that this life he’d always dreamed of as a boy too stupid to know better really could be his. “Now we’ll just pretend everything is perfect.”

She stirred and grumbled. “Perfect is boring.”

Only to someone who’d never known hell. “Then for tonight, let’s be boring. No pain, no past, no pressure, just us.”

She broke the kiss to meet his gaze. More than what he wanted must have shown in his expression, because she relaxed against him and her hug cradled him the same way he cradled her, protectively.

“That would be nice.”

He nestled her closer. Yeah. It would.