Promise Me (14 page)

He stood at the door of the Willow Creek Miners' Benevolent Association and shook his head. The former parlor house still aroused his senses. He wished he could convince Amanda to move to a more appropriate location, maybe to build near his mill. He'd be sure to talk with her about it. Tomorrow.

What had Amanda said, not to think about yesterday or tomorrow? He wasn't inclined to examine his past too closely, and it had taken him years to find the courage to imagine a future. But now he had an urge to share his hopes and his dreams. And he wanted to share them with the woman standing beside him.

He kissed Amanda gently. “I'll come back for you in about an hour, I promise.”

She laid a hand on his waistcoat, over his heart, and lifted her face to him, good humor reflected in her eyes. “Just don't get caught up in a game of poker at the saloon and forget about me, Sam.”

He backed down the steps and bowed. “I could never forget you, darlin'. I'm counting the minutes until we're back together.” He gave her a sly grin. “And I've got some interesting plans for later. Trust me.”

Amanda threw him a kiss. “I do trust you, Samuel Calhoun.”

Sam walked away and he felt good, really and truly good. It was a heady feeling, one he hadn't experienced in a very long time. He had a sense that, after tonight, everything would change for him and Amanda.

Chapter Ten

It took every ounce of self-control for Amanda not to vomit her supper onto the floor that seemed to be rolling beneath her. She used her anger to maintain the slightest thread of control.

“I don't know if it's true, Mrs. Wainwright, I'm just telling you what I've heard around town. The gossip.” Mr. Penny dropped his gaze to the surface of the desk in front of him, and dark red rose from his neck to color his entire face.

Amanda wanted to break something, anything. Glass. That's what she
needed, something that would shatter and break into a thousand crystal pieces, just like her heart.

“You said it was the talk of the town, didn't you?” Her voice sounded cold and detached, and she couldn't believe her words hadn't come out as a scream. She wanted to lose control and succumb to an angry, spiteful tirade against the man who had betrayed her.

Mr. Penny twisted his hands into a knot and kept his voice so low she had to lean forward to hear him.

“It's been said your Mr. Calhoun was paid to...” He avoided making eye contact with her, feigning interest in a spot just above her head as his neck turned crimson. “To take advantage of you. The other mine owners banded together and hired him, to...um...”

Scream, a small voice said. Don't worry about making a fool of yourself or what Mr. Penny will think of you. Just throw things and scream, and maybe you'll feel better. But she knew it wouldn't help, because the ache deep within her insisted she'd never feel better again.

Shaking her head sadly, she crossed the room to stand before the large marble fireplace. She glanced down at the log crackling at her feet. “I don't understand.” She turned back to Mr. Penny, almost expecting him to be able to explain what had happened.

Why had Sam done this to her? Why would he plan to seduce her, then humiliate her by ruining her reputation? It didn't make any sense. Yet from what Mr. Penny had told her, it was all part of an arrangement. A scheme concocted for money. Sam had been paid to destroy her, and that hurt more than anything else.

She straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. “I suppose there's nothing I can do except confront Mr. Calhoun and ask him if these rumors are true.”

Mr. Penny's eyes popped wide at her announcement. He swallowed hard and shook his head. “I don't think that's a good idea, Mrs. Wainwright. I've heard he's a dangerous man. If only part of what I've heard is true, it's enough to convince me you're in peril. Maybe you should speak with Father Mikelson. He'll know what to do.”

Amanda shuddered at the thought of telling Father Peter Mikelson about her misadventures with Samuel Calhoun. The old priest was a harsh, cold man who'd been a great friend to her father, but a disapproving judge and tyrant to her. He was the executor of her husband's estate, and he managed to find fault with everything she did. Amanda had no intention of asking for his opinion or his help.

She lifted her chin and gave Mr. Penny a haughty look. “I'm a grown woman, for heaven's sake. I believe I'm capable of questioning a man about his intentions without a chaperone or caretaker.” She adjusted the white lace cuffs of her gown and worked hard to stretch a thin smile across her face.

“It's my opinion this whole thing is a terrible misunderstanding, or just malicious gossip.” She picked up her bag and backed toward the kitchen. “In either event, it's my business, Mr. Penny, and I would appreciate it if you would remember you work for me.”

She slammed the door and stood frozen for a moment, afraid if she moved even a hair, she'd dissolve into a fit of tears. How could Sam do this to her? She had believed in him, wanted him, and more than anything else, trusted him. And he had betrayed her. What had he said earlier? Not to trust him, that he didn't deserve it and eventually he would disappoint her? How profound and true his words seemed now.

She considered her choices. She could leave town, return to Helena, and forget all about Willow Creek, its problems, and its people. She didn't owe anyone in this town a thing. All she had wanted to do was help some of the people who lived here. Instead, she'd been dragged down to the lowest level, made to feel cheap and used.

Brushing tears from her cheek, she crossed the room to the small pantry. She rummaged through the shelves for a few minutes until she found what she was looking for. A Smith and Wesson Colt .32. The cowboys called it a suicide gun, because if you didn't hit what you were shooting at, you'd probably be dead before you could reload. It was small, easy to handle, and she had stored it in a crock in the pantry in case of trouble. Well, there was trouble tonight, she thought, sliding the cartridges into the chambers.

She slipped the gun into her bag, stood tall, and stiffened her spine. Her throat felt parched and her face felt warm, almost feverish. She didn't know if she could shoot a man. Up until this moment, she'd never had the inclination. But stepping out onto the boardwalk, she thought perhaps she could pull the trigger. If Sam had planned to seduce her, use her, and then destroy her reputation for the sake of money. If he had schemed with other men to betray her, she thought she could do him harm. It would certainly teach him not to trifle with a woman's emotions.

Her pace was measured as she walked toward the Dark Horse saloon. Tinny music and loud, bawdy laughter echoed from inside. She pulled out the gun and leveled it, then swung through the doors.

The noise died abruptly as faces turned to gape at her. The piano went silent and laughter and conversation dwindled until the people in the room sat spellbound, waiting. She stepped toward the bar where Sam stood, watching her in the mirror. “You're a low-down, sneaky, son-of-a-skunk, lying coward, Samuel Calhoun.”

Sam let out a deep breath when he turned to face her. A deep, tortured sadness haunted his eyes, and he shook his head.

“Don't do this, Amanda. It won't solve anything. I know I've hurt you, but killing me won't change what's happened. Don't make this any worse for yourself.”

Amanda held the gun steady, aimed at his heart. She had to use her other hand to help keep from shaking. Her knees wobbled, and despite the heat of her temper, she was chilled to the bone.

“It will rid the earth of some low-down, lying vermin, and that should be worthwhile. It will prevent you from taking advantage of another woman, hurting her and breaking her heart after you ruin her.” She struggled to keep her voice under control when she felt great, earthshaking sobs swirling through her chest.

The amber highlights in his eyes darkened, and she knew her words wounded him. Good. She wanted to hurt him as badly as he had hurt her. She wanted him to know how sordid and abused she felt.

He stepped toward her. “I didn't want this, Amanda. You've got to believe me. I wasn't going to go through with it.” He stood still as she leveled the gun and pulled back the hammer. The click echoed through the saloon.

“Stay back, Sam. You can't sweet talk your way out of this one. Everything you've ever told me is a lie, isn't it?” All of her dreams crumbled to dust, again. “You planned this, didn't you? All those chance meetings in the kitchen? The romantic gestures? Even the rumors about me being in danger. It was all part of some plan, wasn't it?”

Sam shook his head and took a step back. “Can't we go someplace more private to talk about this, Amanda?”

She laughed and waved her hand at the crowd of people who listened avidly to their confrontation. “Everyone in town knows about us, Sam. We're the main topic of conversation from the dry goods store to tent city. They're all laughing at the foolish Widow Wainwright, deceived by a glib tongue and a handsome face.” She stepped boldly toward him. “I've been so gullible, but I'm going to get even now, Sam. I'm going to—”

“Amanda Rose Dumont Wainwright, what in God's name do you think you're doing?”

Amanda's heart leapt into her throat. She froze, as the attention of the people in the room shifted away from her and Sam to the tall man looming in the doorway.

She wanted to run away, escape to her hotel room, throw the covers over her head, and weep until she was drained of tears. Instead, she turned slightly, gave the man a nod, and waved the gun in Sam's direction.

“I have a dispute with this man, and I'm settling it in a manner he can understand.”

Father Mikelson took two long steps into the center of the room. With his pure white hair, piercing blue eyes, and large, lanky frame clothed in dark priestly garb, he held the crowd enthralled.

“Shooting him might be the method he best understands, but it is the least productive means for settling an argument.” The priest's voice boomed through the room. “I demand you give me that gun.”

Amanda's arm wavered, and she nearly succumbed to the priest's authority, until she caught the small gleam of triumph in Sam's eye. She leveled the gun toward him again.

“I can't do that, Father.” Her voice sounded weak to her own ears, but she gained strength with every word. “He has humiliated me and destroyed my reputation. I believe shooting him is my only recourse.”

“Is this true, sir?” Father Mikelson demanded in a booming voice that was meant to echo through a sanctuary when he gave a sermon. “Did you publicly humiliate her, and is she a ruined woman?”

Sam shifted from one leg to the other, and gave Amanda a look so tender and filled with regret she nearly melted.

“I made a deal with some other men in town to seduce her and spread rumors about our relationship.” There was an audible gasp from the on-lookers and a low murmur of disapproval at his confession. He turned to face the priest.

“I never intended to go through with it, Father. I haven't said anything about her, and I'd swear to that on a stack of Bibles.”

He turned to Amanda. “I didn't betray you. I truly care about you, and I didn't start these vile rumors. I'd never want to hurt you.” His shoulders slumped, and she noticed his golden eyes held dark shadows of the truth.

Amanda wanted to believe him, but she couldn't afford to make another foolish mistake. Even as her head told her to be cold and calculating, her body responded to his plea with a rush of heat that made her nipples tingle and her pantalets feel too tight and confining. She'd trusted him once, accepted all the beautiful promises he'd made, and he'd taken advantage of her. She wouldn't ever be so naive again.

“I've been seduced and ruined, Father. He planned it all for the sake of money.” Her voice trembled. “Now I'm forced to shoot him, even if I hang for it and burn in Hell for an eternity.”

The room was silent, everyone waiting. Emotion played over Sam's face—guilt, sadness, and finally, resolve.

“She's right, Father. I have taken advantage of her. Nothing I can say or do will ever be able to atone for that. She has no choice. Amanda darlin', aim for my heart.” He opened his frock coat and pointed to a spot on his vest. “Right about here should mean a quick, painless death.”

Amanda was stunned. He was inviting her to shoot him. She couldn't tell if he was serious or if he was teasing her.

“What makes you think I'd be that kind to you, Sam?” She lowered the barrel of the gun. “I was thinking of making it as slow and agonizing as possible. I'd enjoy imagining you suffered a great deal before you went to the devil.”

His face blanched as he caught the aim of the weapon. He stumbled backwards a few steps. “Maybe this vengeance thing isn't such a good idea, Amanda. Listen to the priest. You wouldn't want to be joining me in purgatory, would you?”

She gave him a wicked grin, re-aimed the small gun, and slowly pulled the trigger.

A woman screamed, and Sam yelped in pain. “God damn it, woman, you shot me in the foot!”

Amanda tossed her head and walked away from him. He hobbled about behind her.