A COWBOY'S PROMISE Read online

  "I'm fine. Stay out of my way." She hauled the thing past him and set it on the floor. "There." She opened it, took out one of the ice packs and a thin cloth wrap, then straightened up and looked at him expectantly. "Jeans, Charlie," she reminded him.

  "Cait," he said, voice strangled.

  She lifted a brow. "Or maybe you're the one who's afraid?"

  Their gazes met. Lightning seemed to flash, and Cait wondered if she had made a big mistake.

  Charlie ground his teeth and, muttering, fumbled to unfasten his belt.

  Cait clenched the ice pack, strove to look indifferent—and steeled herself for the sight of Charlie Seeks Elk unwrapped.

  * * *

  Four

  « ^ »

  It shouldn't have been like this.

  It should have been him seducing her, them getting naked together. Not him shucking his clothes while Cait bustled around like some damned efficient nurse, setting out gauze and bandages and tapping her foot and looking like she had a hot date in half an hour—with Cardiology Man.

  Okay, so she was a nurse.

  She wasn't indifferent.

  She'd loved him, for crying out loud! She'd stroked and touched his body in ways that had made his heart gallop and his body sing.

  And now she was acting like he was a floor she'd been hired to scrub.

  Yeah, well, let's see how long her indifference lasted.

  Charlie tried not to think about his ugly leg or the scars on his chest and back as he pulled his shirt out of his jeans. He took his time, watching her all the while he unbuttoned it, then pulled it off and tossed it on the bed.

  She didn't even glance his way. She was filling a plastic bag with ice and wrapping it in a cloth. She didn't even seem to notice the red scar on the front of his shoulder.

  "You can put this on your leg," she said as she finished with the ice pack, "while I clean up your cuts."

  "Don't you want to hold it on my leg, Cait?" He tried to put a little purr in his voice. Sometimes he used to tease her just to watch her blush.

  But this time she simply said, "I'm sure you can manage. Then she glanced at her watch, not at him. "I'm meeting Steve for the late movie, so if we could hurry things along…"

  Steve again. Damn Steve.

  "Tell me about him," Charlie said. Not because he gave a damn, but it always helped to understand your competition.

  Cait looked surprised. Then she hesitated a moment before she said, "He's tall, dark and handsome. He got his medical degree from Columbia. He's a cardiologist, like I told you. He's been practicing in Bozeman for the past four years, doing a little satellite work in Livingston. But he wants to teach and he's been asked to join a bigger practice in Denver, so he's going this August." She lifted her chin. "And I'll be going there this fall. After the wedding."

  Charlie's eyes narrowed. "When's the wedding?"

  "October 17. Before the snow. After shipping. Are you going to take those jeans off or not?" Cait demanded. She was tossing the ice pack back and forth between her hands, looking like she couldn't care less.

  And all thoughts of "the competition" went right out of Charlie's head. Annoyed, goaded—and at the same time worried that she'd take one look at his leg and run—he shoved the jeans down his hips, then kicked them off and stood glaring at her as she finally looked his way.

  "Pretty, isn't it?" His voice was gruff and defiant. He watched her face for signs of revulsion.

  "Oh, Charlie." The words came involuntarily, he knew. And while he didn't want her pity, he was oddly grateful to see that she seemed to care.

  Rather than running, in fact, she took a step closer. "Where exactly does it hurt?" she asked, and she put her hands on him. Her very cold hands.

  Charlie almost jumped out of his boxer shorts. "Cripes, woman!"

  But she ignored his protests. "Hush," she said, stroking his thigh gently. "Sit on the table."

  He swallowed, willed his body to behave itself. Then he did as she said.

  Cait began gently probing his leg, making him suck in his breath this time. And now that the initial shock had passed, he was breathless only partly because of the cold. He'd forgotten how good she smelled. Her hair was almost under his nose. The curve of her breast brushed his arm as she bent to study his leg. And her hands—cold though they were—were making him crazy.

  "Here?" she said touching the knotted muscle. "I can feel the tension here."

  "Mmm," Charlie stifled a moan.

  "Sorry. Anywhere else?" She had her hand on his thigh, kneading it gently, then lifted it and slid her hand beneath, probing lightly.

  The moan had nothing to do with his pain, and at her continued probing and stroking, Charlie very nearly moaned again. "Ah … um … yeah, there." His fingers clenched against the table. He shut his eyes and threw his head back.

  The scent of her filled his nostrils. Juniper and sage and something indefinably Cait that even in the desert of Abuk spoke of Montana and reminded him now of the nights he'd held her in his arms.

  They'd slept together in one narrow bed, Cait curled against him, exhausted from her long days at the hospital. Though he'd often been bushed, too, Charlie hadn't always slept. Sometimes he hadn't wanted to sleep. Sometimes he'd just lain awake and held her, storing up the moments, savoring them, convinced—and determined—that they were all he'd ever have.

  God, he'd been a fool.

  Now he was damned sure not settling for that. His heart knew it. His mind knew it. And his body very definitely knew it.

  Cait must know it, too. Not many of a guy's secrets remained hidden in a pair of boxer shorts! "Right. We'll need two."

  "Two?" His head jerked; his eyes opened. He gaped.

  She rolled her eyes. "Ice packs." She lifted his leg, slid the one ice pack under it, then went back to fill another.

  "Oh." Charlie felt cold and bereft. His boxer shorts wavered. His body was in conflict. It wanted Cait. It didn't want more ice.

  And then she was back, and naturally he got the ice.

  "Hold this," she commanded. Then she put two fingers under his chin and lifted and turned his head so she could study his lip. "You could have washed at least."

  "I drank whiskey," Charlie told her. "It's sterile."

  Cait made a humphing sound. "Sit still." And she set to work.

  She washed all his cuts and scratches with saline solution. She was brisk and efficient and not exactly gentle.

  "Hey!" Charlie protested when it felt as if she were using elbow grease on a particularly dirty spot.

  "Don't be a baby." And she scrubbed harder. "And stop groaning."

  "I can't."

  "I'm not scrubbing that hard!"

  "The groans have nothing to do with scrubbing," Charlie told her, and was gratified to see the color rise in her cheeks. But, "Cait!" he protested when her scrubbing grew even more intense.

  "There." She nodded her satisfaction when she'd scrubbed him down almost to the bone.

  He touched his elbow gingerly. "Hurts worse now than it did when you started."

  "But it won't get infected." She was cleaning up now, putting everything back in her duffel, then going to wash her hands.

  Watching her taut shoulders and stiff back, Charlie was sure she wasn't as indifferent as she pretended. "Thank you, Cait," he said softly.

  She had her hands under the water tap and she didn't turn around, but he saw her shoulders stiffen even more. "You're welcome."

  He wished he dared go to her, put his hands on her shoulders and knead them gently. He used to do that when she got off work. And she would tip her head back and run her lips along the line of his jaw and make mmmmm sounds that set his hormones singing.

  It was all he could do to stay where he was on the table. But he managed it.

  She cleaned up and said, "Keep those ice packs on there twenty minutes at a time. Do it every few hours. I put in enough ice that you should have some until midday tomorrow."

  "All right."

 
"Did the doctor give you stretching exercises?"

  "Yes."

  "Are you doing them?"

  "Trying to."

  "Do them."

  "All right."

  She looked at him narrowly, almost suspiciously. Charlie smiled at her.

  She averted her gaze and rubbed her hands on the sides of her jeans. "Fine," she said briskly. "I'll leave you to it."

  The smile vanished. "And go to the movies with your fiancé."

  "Yes."

  He looked at her narrowly. "Going to sit in the back and neck with him?"

  "Charlie!"

  Her shocked face made him grin. "Sorry. I should know better. You'd never do a thing like that."

  They had once gone to a political documentary in an old battered theatre in Abuk only so they could kiss in the back row because two of Charlie's journalist buddies happened to be sacked out in his apartment.

  The sight of Cait's flaming face told him she remembered, too. He cocked his head and grinned at her.

  "Goodbye, Charlie," she said through her teeth.

  "Bye." He waited until she was going out the door. "Cait?"

  She turned to look at him.

  "Think of me."

  "I think I'd like triplets," Mary Holt said the next afternoon. Cait was listening to her belly with a stethoscope, but staring off into space. "Or maybe quintuplets. That'd be fun, don't you think?"

  "Hmm? Mmm, yeah. Sure," Cait said.

  "All boys," Mary went on cheerfully. "Little hellions. Just like Gus. That'd be terrific."

  "Yeah."

  "And you can be their godmother and baby-sitter. Okay?"

  Cait nodded absently. "Okay."

  "You haven't heard a word I said."

  At Mary's indignant accusation, Cait had the grace to blush. "I'm sorry. I was … listening to the heart beat."

  "Only one?"

  "You want more?"

  "No. But I just told you I thought quints would be nice—all like Gus—and you agreed with me."

  "Yikes." Cait shrugged guiltily.

  Mary laughed. "My feelings exactly."

  "He's a good foreman, though," Cait allowed. She'd hired Gus Holt this past winter right before he and Mary had tied the knot. He'd been apprehensive at first, worried that maybe for all his having grown up on a ranch, he wouldn't be up to the job.

  But Cait had had faith in him. She'd seen how conscientious he'd been with Mary when she'd been pregnant. He hadn't known anything about expectant mothers, either, but he'd set out to learn.

  "If you try as hard for the ranch as you did with Mary, you'll do fine," she'd told him.

  And he had. He and Mary had moved into the old homestead on the Cutter place, which her father had bought a few years back. No one had lived there since and the house was almost falling down. But Gus and Mary had taken it on eagerly.

  "It will be a great place to raise a family," Mary had said, seeing possibilities that were beyond Cait. In the past few months they had turned it into a home. And now they were going to have the family to enjoy it.

  Mary was two and a half months along, bubbling, eager, and "only sick until noon," she reported ruefully.

  "You're doing great," Cait told her now. "You look wonderful."

  "You don't."

  Cait blinked. "What?"

  "You look worried." Mary sat up and pulled down her shirt. "Is it your dad?"

  Cait shook her head. She made some notes on Mary's chart. "Dad's all right."

  "Is it Steve?"

  Cait looked up quickly. "What about Steve?"

  Mary smiled. "Aha."

  Cait set the pen on the counter and stuffed her hands in her pockets. "What do you mean, aha? Steve is fine," she said defensively.

  "Or at least he was the last time you saw him," Mary said, disgusted.

  "He's busy! I'm busy!"

  "Busiest two people on earth," Mary said dryly. She stood up and adjusted her clothing, then laid a hand on Cait's arm. "Take time for each other. You need to. You're working too hard."

  "I have to work hard. I've got the ranch as well as my practice and—"

  "—as long as you're busy, you don't have to deal with the wedding."

  "What?"

  "You heard me. Maybe it's my imagination, but it looks to me like you're stalling."

  "Stalling? I'm not stalling!"

  "Well, you're not exactly rushing to the altar."

  "Because we're not horny teenagers with stars in our eyes like some people."

  Mary grimaced. "Point taken."

  "I didn't mean that," Cait said hastily, remembering that Mary and Gus had been teenagers in love once upon a time. At least Mary had been. She'd had stars in her eyes, too. Gus had had cold feet. It had taken him nearly a dozen years to warm them up.

  "Steve and I are adults," Cait said calmly. "We're waiting until the time is right. October isn't so far away."

  "October?" Mary brightened. "You've set a date, then?"

  "Yes. Well, sort of. I think." She'd picked a date out of the air when Charlie had asked her yesterday.

  She didn't want him to think she was "stalling" like Mary did, and she knew he'd jump to that very conclusion if she admitted they didn't have a date carved in stone.

  Besides, the more she thought about it, October 17 seemed as good a day as any.

  It was, as she'd told Charlie, after shipping and before the snow flew—more or less. It would give Steve time to get settled in Denver and comfortable in his job, and it would give her time to breathe for a minute or two after the herd had been shipped. It would also give her time to wind down her practice and make sure her dad was really capable of running the place.

  "When? Where? Can I help?" Mary was all eagerness.

  "October 17," she said firmly. "We're still deciding where."

  Steve would be delighted. He'd been eager to set a date since he'd given her a ring. She was the one who'd hesitated, worrying about her father mostly. How could she say she'd go to Denver when he was still so ill?

  He wasn't that ill, Steve had maintained. He was taking advantage of her.

  Cait had never believed that, but maybe Steve was right. In any case he'd be delighted when she told him tonight.

  They were going to dinner. They hadn't gone to the movies last night. She'd called him when she got home from Charlie's to see if he wanted to. He might have, after all. Saying they were going had been for Charlie's benefit. And they could have, except he'd been on call and had had an emergency.

  "Well, I'm glad you've got a date finally," Mary said. "I'll help."

  "I think you'll have quite enough to do getting ready for this baby and teaching school."

  "I might have a little free time. I'm not directing the Christmas pageant this year," Mary said. "I've already told Polly that. She seemed relieved," she added with a grin.

  Last year Mary had not only directed Elmer's community Christmas pageant, but brought the house down by nearly delivering a baby in the middle of it.

  "I suppose she would be," Cait said with a smile. "Who's she going to get?"

  It was always a challenge finding a suck—er, volunteer—to take on Elmer's holiday extravaganza. Polly Mc-Master, Elmer's postmistress and long-suffering mayor, had to strong-arm someone into doing it. Last year she'd conned Mary, the community's newest and therefore most unsuspecting resident, into the job.

  "It's a rite of passage," she'd told Mary. "You'll always belong once you've suf—er, done—it."

  Mary had agreed, and she'd done it very well. She'd also cemented her place forever in Elmer folklore by her near delivery on stage. She'd made it to the hospital, but she'd also managed to convince Polly that pregnant pageant directors were probably not a good thing.

  "Don't know who she'll get this year," Mary said. "Just breathe a sigh of relief that it won't be you."

  It took Cait a moment to realize what Mary meant—that it couldn't possibly be her because she'd be gone.

  She felt oddly bereft at the t
hought. She'd missed lots of Elmer's pageants over the years, but she'd remembered the ones she'd seen as a kid with great fondness. She'd told Resi about it. And Charlie.

  She shoved away the thought. "Maybe we'll get back for it, come see Dad for Christmas. It's not so far."

  "That'd be wonderful," Mary said. "I hope so. Your dad would be so happy. We'll take good care of him for you." She put her hand on Cait's and gave it a squeeze.

  "I know. Get Arlene to make you an appointment for a month from now," she said as Mary started toward the door.

  Mary's face fell. "I just realized, you won't be here to deliver the baby."

  Cait smiled ruefully. "I know. I wish I could. Maybe I—"

  "No. You're not putting it off," Mary said flatly. "Between you and Steve, you'd let the entire state's medical welfare dictate your wedding day."

  "Hippocratic oath," Cait grinned.

  "Whatever. You're not changing it. And I expect you to let me know what you want me to do. Gus and I will be happy to help. Anything at all. Don't hesitate to ask. We owe you."

  "Thanks."

  But Cait imagined that even Gus might draw the line at chasing Charlie out of town with a shotgun.

  Charlie hesitated before he mounted the steps to the broad porch that ran along the southeast side of the Blasingame ranch house.

  He'd promised himself he wouldn't push Cait, and he was on her doorstep less than twenty-four hours later. But he was returning her ice cooler.

  Returning the ice cooler wasn't pushing, was it? It was being responsible. Adult. And she might need it.

  Besides, he wanted to tell her about the bears. He'd found them again today. Picking some kind of berries. It reminded him of that children's book Blueberries for Sal that he'd read over and over to Chase and Joanna's kids. He got some pictures their seven-year-old, Annie, would love.

  Cait would love them, too.

  He could hardly wait to tell her.

  He left before the bears did this time. He'd been more careful to watch where he walked. His leg hurt, but it was better. Some better.

  Maybe a little sore.

  Maybe he could get Cait to put some more ice on it today.