The Promise (9 page)

Owen nodded. "And, Patrick, you've got to admit that
we may never know what happened to your brother either."

"Well he didn't kill my father." Patrick's words
sounded petulant even to his own ears.

"Look, I think the thing for you to do now is go back
to Clune. I'm sure Amos will look into this some more." Owen
leveled a look at the sheriff. Amos nodded. "And, Patrick, I'll
look into it myself. All right?"

Patrick mumbled his agreement under his breath.

"You just go on home. I'll take care of this." Owen
looked over to Pete, who had settled back on the window sill.
"You'll stay with him?

"Reckon I will."

"Good. Have you buried Duncan, yet?"

"Up on the ridge, by the river. Did it first
thing."

Owen turned back to Patrick. "You go with Pete, and
I'll be out to pay my respects in the morning."

Patrick nodded. He trusted Owen, even if he didn't
trust the shifty-eyed sheriff as far as he could throw him.

Besides, he had some questions of his own to ask.

Michael stood in the doorway watching her.
Her hair was damp, curling wildly around her shoulders. The satin
robe she wore hugged the curves of her small frame, enhancing the
smooth porcelain of her skin. He quelled the urge to stride across
the room and press her hard against him. It had been a long time
since he'd wanted a woman.

She must have sensed his presence because she turned
around, her eyes narrowed in concern. "You shouldn't be up."

He pulled himself from his thoughts and stepped into
the room. "I'm fine, only a little sore." He rotated his shoulder
in demonstration. "The stuff you gave me really packed a wallop. I
feel like I've been sleeping for a week."

She smiled, her wide-eyed gaze meeting his. He felt
his stomach do a quick flip. "Not quite two days."

He frowned. That meant he'd been away from Clune
almost three. His brother would be worried, frantic probably. And
there was still the issue of who'd shot him. Not that any of that
really mattered if the date on the painting in the bedroom was a
reality. His mind balked at the idea. It was a mistake. Had to
be.

"Michael, are you sure you're all right?" She was
standing in front of him, so close that he could smell the sweet
scent surrounding her. The word 'seductive' ran through his
brain.

"I saw the painting."

Her expression changed from concern to puzzlement and
finally embarrassment. A slight flush stained her cheeks. "I
painted it years ago, before…" Her voice trailed off.

"Are we the figures in the painting, Cara?"

She nodded mutely.

Suddenly the questions he'd intended to ask seemed
unimportant. His hand moved of its own accord, gently cupping her
chin and lifting her face. She licked her lips nervously, the small
pink tip of her tongue fanning the flames already leaping inside
him. He had to taste her. Just one small sip of those sweet moist
lips.

She closed her eyes as his mouth touched hers, her
lips fluttering under his kiss and he felt the fire grow in
intensity. One kiss was not enough. He pulled her closer, wrapping
his good arm around her, ignoring the slight pain the movement
caused. A tiny moan escaped her lips. With ruthless precision, he
used the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Their tongues met,
thrusting and retreating, dueling for some unknown prize.

He felt his manhood press against the soft flesh at
the apex of her thighs. He could actually feel the warmth of her
through the thin satin. Perhaps the prize was not unknown after
all. He imagined how tight she'd be, how hot and tight.

With a groan, he moved his mouth, trailing moist
kisses down the side of her neck. She threw her head back, allowing
him access, her eyes still closed. Pushing back the edge of her
wrapper, he kissed the soft alabaster skin of her shoulder, his
hand slipping between the satiny sides of the robe.

He felt her nipple tighten as he rolled it lightly
between thumb and forefinger, satisfied when she moaned his name.
Exchanging lips for hand, he circled the taut bud with the tip of
his tongue, enjoying the contrast between her nipple and the silken
skin of her breast, his own body pounding for release. He could
feel the fire building, threatening to consume him.

Lifting his head, he found her lips again, his tongue
invading the hot, wet sanctity of her mouth. She pressed herself to
him and he placed his hand on her bottom, pulling her closer,
nestling his shaft tightly against the hot crevice between her
thighs.

He tangled his other hand in her spun gold curls,
feeling the fine strands wrap around his fingers, clinging with
almost a life of their own. He wondered momentarily what it would
feel like to wrap himself in her hair. God, she was
magnificent.

*****

Cara tried to think rationally, but it was
impossible. This was the stuff of her dreams. She moaned and
pressed herself closer, feeling him hard against her, his heat
burning through her robe. She wanted nothing more than to encase
him, feel him drive deep inside her again and again. Her tongue
mimicked her thoughts and she felt him answer her need with his
own.

She ran her hands across the warm skin of his back,
feeling the hard muscle encased in sun-bronzed flesh. His beard
rasped against her face and she reveled in the contrast of the
velvety touch of his lips. The smell of him surrounded her, teasing
her with its potency, pheromones hinting of things to come.

His hands cupped her face and he kissed her eyes, her
cheeks, her neck. Slowly, surely, he moved downward, until she
thought she'd scream with the need for him. His lips closed again
on her breast and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. He
nipped and played, enticing the shy bud into an appearance. With
each touch and tug, she felt the tightness within her ratcheting up
another notch, until she was strung so tightly she thought she
would explode.

Her robe hung open now, her body exposed to his hands
and lips. She ought to feel like a wanton, but instead she burned
with a passion so strong it threatened to engulf her. His teasing
hand finally reached the soft curls the guarded her secret place.
Sensation shot through her and she arched against him, a moan
escaping from somewhere deep inside of her.

His mouth found hers, and she opened it freely,
giving him everything she had. As their kiss grew more frantic, his
hand grew more bold and she realized suddenly that she was actually
hearing bells.

Bells
.

Her mind slammed in gear and she jerked back, gasping
for breath. "It's the doorbell." His breathing was labored, too,
and the evidence of their passion was taut against the denim of his
jeans. He ran a hand through his hair, looking as bemused as she
felt. "There's someone at the door." She belted her robe tightly
around her waist and tried to smooth back the wild strands of her
hair.

They both turned sharply at the sound of a key in the
lock. Cara reacted first. "Quick, get in the bedroom."

He stood rooted to the spot, watching the doorway to
the mud room with narrowed eyes. "Who do you think it is?" The
words erupted with a staccato burst.

"My housekeeper. She probably just came by to drop
off some supplies. Now, go." She tried to keep her voice on an even
note, but a thread of anxiety slipped in. "She wouldn't endanger
you, but to be safe, I think you should stay out of sight. I'll try
to get rid of her."

Michael considered her words and finally, with a
terse nod, spun on his heels and disappeared into the bedroom,
closing the door firmly behind him.

Forcing a smile, she walked forward ready to deal
with Roberta.

"Cara? Are you in there?"

She came full stop, her mind shifting gears,
confusion warring with surprise.
Not Roberta. Nick Vargas
.
But
he
didn't have a key. As if to contradict the fact, the
man belonging to the voice stepped out of the mud room, a key
dangling from one finger. She frowned. How the hell had Nick gotten
a key to her house?

"There you are, darling." He smiled beguilingly. "Why
didn't you answer the door?"

She eyed him warily. He was good looking in a smooth
sort of way. All blond hair and tanned skin, his face youthful in
appearance. One would never guess that he was over forty. "I was in
the shower." She waved a hand absently at her robe. "How is it you
happen to have a key to my house?"

"I sweet-talked Roberta into letting me borrow hers."
The smile broadened, impishly charming, intended no doubt to
disarm, but Cara wasn't buying. She'd known Nick most of her life.
As a young man, he hadn't paid any attention to her. She'd been
little more than a child. But now that she'd returned to Colorado
as an adult, things had changed.

He'd been pursuing her diligently. Offering picnics
in the mountains, moonlit hikes, even the pretense of being
interested in her paintings. Until today, however, he'd been more
of a nuisance than anything else. And despite it all, she'd managed
to keep him at arm's length without being rude. But, just at the
moment, he was pushing his luck.

"Why would you need a key, Nick?" She tried to keep
her voice neutral, but couldn't stop the tremor of anger that
colored her words.

"Why, Cara mia, you wound me with your
suspicions."

"Don't call me that."

He reached out and twined a rebellious strand of her
hair around his finger, tugging slightly so that she was forced to
step closer. "Little Cara, always playing hard to get." His eyes
raked downwards, stripping the robe off with a look.

She pulled her hair free and stepped back, pressing
the lapels of her robe together.

"Nick, you haven't told me why you're here."

He leaned against the counter, crossing his long
legs, his perfectly creased pants riding up to show argyle socks.
Cara sighed and waited.

"I was worried."

"Worried? About what?" She frowned, puzzled by the
turn of the conversation.

A loud thud echoed from the bedroom. Nick glanced at
the closed door, golden eyebrows raised in question.

"The cat." Cara plastered on what she hoped was a
reassuring smile.

"I didn't know you had a cat."

She racked her brains for a reasonable answer. She
had never been a good liar. "She's new—to keep me from getting
lonely." She met his gaze, holding hers steady.

He smiled slowly. "You don't need a cat, Cara mia.
You have me." His tone was teasing, but the banter wasn't reflected
in his eyes.

She ignored the remark and the endearment. "I asked
you why you were worried."

He shrugged. "I was afraid something had happened to
you."

Well that was an understatement. She tried to keep
her face pleasantly neutral, sort of the
prom-queen-stuck-on-a-float look. "Why would you think something
happened to me?"

"Because,
darling
." He paused provocatively
and the word ran down her spine, curling around her, suffocating
her. "You stood me up."

"I did?" She eyed him skeptically.

"Yes. You promised to come by the bar." He raised an
eyebrow, waiting.

"Oh God, Nick, I'm sorry. I forgot all about you." He
had
asked her to come by. They'd been supposed to have
lunch.
Yesterday
.

His face darkened, taking on a sardonic look. "And
here I thought you might have need of rescue."

She held out a hand. "I didn't mean it like that. You
know I'd never stand you up on purpose. Something came up and I
forgot all about it. Forgive me, please." She might not be willing
to jump in his bed, but he deserved better than a brush off.

The anger faded and his lips twisted into an ironic
grin. "I hope it was more than the cat that kept you away."

"The cat?"

"Yes, your new pet."

Damn, she really had to bone up on this lying thing.
"As a matter a fact, it was the cat."

He waited patiently for her explanation, his foot
swinging lazily against the cabinet under the counter.

"She's a stray. I found her a couple of days ago out
by the trash. She looked so pitiful. Skinny and lonely and, well,
as it turns out, sick. She has ear mites. Kept her up all night,
poor baby. So I spent a good part of yesterday in Del Norte at the
vet." She shot him what she hoped was an apologetic look.

"Ah, Cara, my angel. Always taking care of the
misfits." He rose and crossed the space between them. "But now
perhaps you can spare some time for me?" His words were a question,
his tone was not.

"Of course. Why don't I meet you in town, later."

"But you're here and I'm here, why not now?" He
trailed a finger down her cheek. "Besides, as much as I love your
company, Cara mia, I have some business I'd like to take care
of."

There was obviously no getting rid of him, but she be
damned if she'd continue this conversation in her robe. "Fine. Why
don't you make yourself comfortable and I'll get dressed."

"Are you sure you don't want a little help?"

"No, thank you, I can manage. I'll be back in a sec."
She fled into the bedroom and leaned against the closed door, her
breath coming in short gasps.

"Who the hell is he?" Michael's whispered words made
her jump.

"Just an acquaintance."

"He seemed a little more than that to me."

She glared at him. Enough was enough. She was not a
pawn for Nick and Michael to throw around like a football. "I think
he'd like to be, but he isn't," she spoke quietly, through clenched
teeth.

"I'm sorry." His voice softened and his apology
reached all the way to the crystal depths of his cobalt eyes.

She smiled weakly. "Look, I've got to get dressed or
he's going to come in here."

Michael stepped back and waved at the room behind
him. "Your room is mine."