Vows of the Heart Read online

  Veronica frowned, unable to deny Jessica's words. Of course she'd noticed, but she'd assumed all that would change when Cole got to know her better, came to trust her fully. Yet Jessie was hammering it all home to her in a way that confirmed the situation would persist for the duration of her stay.

  "I hope you haven't started thinking your little Suzy Homemaker act will convince Cole what a wonderful wife you'd make." Jessie laughed as she spoke, but her amber eyes sent quite a different message.

  "Why should I?" Veronica hadn't been prepared for this verbal assault, but just as it had been when they were teenagers Jessie always managed to get the upper hand and have the last word.

  "Take my advice and forget it. Cole will never trust you alone with Curtis. I'll just bet he'll see to it you two don't even become friendly." Jessie paused for effect. "And Cole would never consider becoming romanti­cally involved with a woman who can't be trusted with his precious son."

  Veronica felt her heart constrict as the truth hit home. But before Jessie could claim a sure victory, she rallied. "Jackie's been dead for four years, Jessie, so I guess you'd know better than anyone why Cole hasn't remar­ried."

  There was dead silence. Jessie's flawless features con­torted and her cheeks flushed with anger. Veronica re­membered well all the many times Jessie had twisted her words, taking malicious delight in the misunderstand­ings that had been created, especially between Veronica and Cole. It was wickedly satisfying to be able to turn one of Jessie's cruel barbs against her for a change—but Veronica's satisfaction was short-lived.

  "You'd better hope Cole finds a permanent cook soon, Ronnie," Jessie warned. "History has a nasty habit of repeating itself." Jessie smiled at the stunned look on Veronica's face. Her good humor once again restored at Veronica's expense, Jessie disappeared out the back door with her can of soda.

  Veronica moved out of the kitchen, her weariness for­gotten. The mere suggestion that history could somehow be repeated and that she might once again be held re­sponsible for a tragedy terrified her. Without con­sciously directing her steps, she found herself just outside Hank's bedroom. Assuming Cole would not object if she spent a few minutes inside, Veronica went in.

  The room was austere, with its simple functional fur­niture. Austere, but at the same time warm and com­forting, the much-washed wedding-ring quilt that Margaret Chapman had made when she was a teenager enhancing the country charm of the antique bed. A thick layer of dust covered the surfaces of the once lustrous furniture, but Veronica resisted the urge to brush it away. Old habits die hard, and the old habit of never daring to touch without an invitation was deeply ingrained. If only she had stuck to that habit with Chapman Red!

  Locked into the bitter memory, her mind automati­cally went over every detail. As always, Veronica was sure the gate had been latched, the security chain in place. But later, there had been no evidence that the stallion had somehow broken out. Red had never been one of those animals who challenged a gate, so Cole had concluded that Veronica had been careless.

  "Damn you!" he had bellowed at her, fury and tor­ment on his face. She could still see the big horse writh­ing on the ground, sucking in every painful breath.

  Veronica squeezed her eyes closed, forcing the recol­lection to subside. Hank had never believed her negli­gent. He had told Cole so, and his unshakable belief in her innocence had sparked numerous arguments and brooding silences between father and son. How she'd loved Hank for believing in her!

  Veronica wandered around the room looking, resist­ing the urge to touch the small mementos or tiny gilt-framed photographs on the tall chest. The trunk at the foot of his bed, she knew, held a lifetime of treasures and souvenirs. Hank had let her go through it once, and Veronica's thoughts turned to that happier memory.

  "Ronnie!"

  Veronica started guiltily at the sound of Cole's voice, then moved quickly to the hall. She had just closed Hank's door when Cole emerged from the kitchen.

  "Could you help me with this?" he asked, walking briskly toward her. Veronica's gaze dropped to the hand he extended just before he reached her. Its work-toughened palm, which she assumed had calluses too thick to penetrate, was peppered with scores of splinters that ran across the heel toward the more vulnerable flesh of his wrist. The fact that it was his right hand and Cole was right-handed made her assistance necessary.

  "Of course." Veronica followed Cole into his room. When she saw the sewing-machine cabinet sitting in front of the double windows on the outer wall, she was re­minded that it had also been the room he'd shared with Jackie. The frilly tieback curtains adorning the windows matched the pastel tones of the ruffles and lace bed­spread and canopy, all evidence Cole had changed noth­ing of the decorating so obviously done by his late wife.

  On top of the dresser was a framed photograph of Jackie, side by side with one of Curtis, and Veronica knew without looking that Jackie's clothing would still be hanging in the huge closet that held Cole's clothes, that her personal things probably still took up several drawers. It dawned on her that just as Hank's room was a kind of shrine, Cole's bedroom was a shrine to Jackie.

  Strange how she'd never imagined him capable of real love—the sort he'd evidently had for Jackie and the sort he must have for his son. Now she realized she was wrong. And until that conversation with Jessie, she'd assumed Cole was keeping his son from having any close contact with her because of sheer possessiveness rather than the protectiveness shown by a loving father.

  Jessie's remark about Cole's precious son had been accurate. Just as Jackie had been precious and much loved by this harsh rancher who could summon so little affection for Veronica, young Curtis was likely loved to distraction. Veronica felt guilty that her presence here was costing Cole time with the boy. At Curtis's age, that time was far too valuable to miss.

  Veronica watched as Cole whipped off his hat and be­gan rummaging in the medicine cabinet for tweezers and peroxide. A quick scan of the large bathroom told her that only Cole's things were scattered around the some­what untidy interior. When her eyes came back to his, he was watching her with a shrewdness that made her gaze shy away. It was as if he'd been aware of her observation and wondered what she thought. That's ridiculous, she chided herself. Cole doesn't care what I think.

  "Where would be most comfortable for you to work?" he asked, and she glanced around the room for a well-lit spot. Instead of waiting for her decision, Cole was al­ready clearing a space on the counter top next to the sink. "Sit here."

  Veronica eyed the counter with some misgiving, then decided it was the best place for light. She set her crutches aside and had just turned her back to the counter to use her arms to lever herself up when Cole's big hands spanned her small waist.

  "Cole—your hand!" She reached to gently push it away so that the wood slivers wouldn't become more deeply imbedded.

  "Never mind. I can do this." With far more ease than she could have managed alone, Cole lifted her onto the counter. Then bracing a lean hip against the counter top by her knee, he held his injured hand over her lap.

  The instant her fingers came into contact with Cole's warmth, a tremor of sensation sped up her arm. Her worried gaze shot up to meet the dark glimmers in Cole's cobalt-blue eyes. Cole stared back, seemingly oblivious to the warm shock she'd just experienced. Instead, his gaze dropped to her barely parted lips. Flustered, Veron­ica returned her attention to his hand and carefully in­spected the wood slivers, some of them driven in so deeply they had drawn blood.

  "How did you do this?" Veronica asked, reaching for the tweezers to begin plucking out the largest of the fragments.

  "The colt I was working with this afternoon decided he'd like me a whole lot better if I was on the other side of the fence. Damn near threw me over the top rail." Visibly alarmed, Veronica glanced up, only to meet Cole's grin. "I grabbed the fence post and broke my fall, but I ended up with a hand full of splinters."

  Veronica felt a smile tug at her mouth. Cole and his father always made
the worst spills sound like high com­edy.

  "Next time, I'll wear my gloves."

  Veronica stared a moment more, realizing how pow­erful her attraction to Cole really was. Uneasy with the thought, she lowered her head and got back to work.

  Taking out one of the larger splinters, she glanced around for someplace to deposit it. Cole reached for the small towel that hung on the rack by her shoulder, and laid it across her lap, indicating she could use that. Veronica worked on in silence, intent on what she was doing. Occasionally she angled Cole's big hand so that the light hit it more directly, but she worked steadily.

  Yet for all her outward competence and seeming con­centration, her senses were awash with the man. The press of his hip against her knee, the warm hard feel of his hand, the dizzying nearness when his head brushed hers while they both watched her work. Then there was the tantalizing male scent of him, something that after­shave and soap only heightened. With every breath her senses became heightened, and for the first time in her life, she considered initiating a kiss.

  The instant the thought came to mind she almost groaned. She would be out of this house in ten minutes, cook or no, if Cole even suspected what was going on in her mind. How he'd hated her infatuation with him all those years ago! Now that she had grown up, he would appreciate it even less.

  "What are you thinking?"

  Veronica jerked, unintentionally driving one of the larger splinters deeper.

  "I'm sorry, Cole—you startled me." It was half the truth anyway. Yet Cole hadn't pulled his hand away or lost his temper. Instead he was being more than patient with her as he continued to let his hand rest lightly in the palm of hers. Veronica forced her attention back to her work.

  "Are you going to let my question pass?"

  Veronica glanced up, surprised that he was pursuing a conversation with her. She paused and considered for a moment. Perhaps this was a good time to broach the subject of his son. While she went back to pulling out splinters, she tried to assess the best way of bringing the subject up, then resolved to be direct.

  "I was just thinking that you've sacrificed a lot of time with your son since I've been here." Cole's hand tensed slightly, but didn't withdraw. "Children grow so fast, Cole, and Curtis is still at an age neither of you can af­ford to miss."

  "So?" It wasn't the belligerent comeback she'd half expected, but it betrayed annoyance nonetheless.

  "So, I thought you might think about having Curtis home more while I'm here, if I promise to keep my dis­tance from him." There was no change this time in the tension of Cole's hand and no verbal indication that he'd even heard what she'd said. "I think I can be a friendly presence in his home without courting his friendship," she went on. "Besides, if you're together as much as you both need to be, Curtis won't even notice I'm anything more important than an appliance or a piece of furni­ture."

  "That's enough!" Cole's voice was a gritty hiss. Vi­olet eyes, wide with apprehension, shot up to stormy blue ones. Cole was angry now. Intuition told her he was an­gry because she'd voiced aloud the very conditions he would have dictated himself if he hadn't thought he'd feel so guilty doing it. She opened her mouth to brazenly suggest just that, but his free hand came up to touch her cheek and a thumb pressed gently over her soft lips. Its hard pad rested partially on her teeth, setting off a prim­itive reaction deep inside her. Not even Eric's passionate kisses produced such a deeply thrilling response in her. Yet Cole had breeched her reserve with a mere touch. Frightened at what that might mean, Veronica pushed his hand away.

  "Do you want me to finish this or not?" she de­manded. Now she was the one who was irritable.

  "I'd appreciate it," came the reply. "Please, Veron­ica."

  Those last words invaded her confused irritation and warmed her all the way to her heart. She set to work again, searching out the remainder of the splinters, then wiping the tweezers clean on the towel. Her stirred-up feelings settled finally, but her acute awareness of Cole didn't subside.

  Cole's awareness of her hadn't abated, either. She had no way of knowing that the gruff rancher was just notic­ing the subtle red glints in her dark hair and letting his gaze wander at will over her classically shaped features. Persistently the cobalt-blue eyes were attracted to her lips, watching her moisten them occasionally. He had been just as surprised as she at his own reaction to the feel of her soft lips and the smooth surface of her teeth beneath his thumb. He couldn't remember a time in the four years since his wife's death when he wanted to taste a woman the way he wanted to taste Veronica. The urge to do so was increasing with every passing moment.

  Veronica finished with the tedious removals, then ten­derly rechecked for any she might have missed. Satisfied she'd got every one, she reached for a gauze pad from the box Cole had set out and moistened it with peroxide. Again and again she wiped the treated gauze over the tiny slits, watching them turn white with cleansing bubbles before she smeared on an antibiotic cream. When she finished, she taped a fresh gauze pad over the area to keep out the dirt.

  Cole didn't step away, maintaining contact with her knee while she twisted the caps back on the peroxide bottle and cream tube and closed the box of gauze pads. She'd inched her leg away from his hip and started to ease herself off the edge of the counter when Cole's hand shot out to stop her.

  "Thank you, Ronnie."

  Veronica looked up in time to see his dark head al­ready making a slow descent, closing the few inches be­tween their lips. At the last second, she somehow found the strength to turn her face away. The kiss caught the corner of her mouth and lingered.

  "I thought you'd welcome this," he murmured, his lips grazing her cheek. Veronica was unable to formulate a believable denial. A leaden sensation was invading every muscle and her thoughts were evaporating.

  "But you don't even—" like me, she tried to get out, but the belated attempt was a waste as Cole's mouth set­tled over her lips, catching them parted. Emotion flooded her heart and shot its fluid heat to the very depths of her femininity. It was as if a flash fire was bursting inside her and she was helpless to stop herself from wrapping her arms around Cole's neck and kissing him back. Nothing in her entire experience had prepared her for this. Eric's kisses had been dull by comparison, and the imagina­tion of her teen years hadn't had the sophistication to conjure up more than a fraction of this reality. If she had been rational, she could have reminded herself that even as an adult, she hadn't acquired the kind of experience necessary to foresee this.

  Cole made a husky sound deep in his throat and his lips slipped off hers to glide enticingly toward her ear. Play­ful nips elicited an unwilling sigh of pleasurable tor­ment.

  "Has it been a while, Ronnie?" asked Cole, as his warm breath caressed her ear.

  The sigh of delight caught in her throat. Another ten­der love nip distracted her briefly as he. went on, "It's been a long time for me, too."

  Inexperienced though she was, Veronica suddenly knew exactly what Cole was asking and she went rigid in his arms. To discourage the resistance he sensed, Cole's lips found hers again.

  Neither of them heard the soft footfalls coming through Cole's bedroom or the shocked gasp that came from the doorway. "I think I'd better come back later."

  Cole's lips didn't abruptly abandon hers, but Veron­ica felt his passion die as embarrassment overcame hers. Keeping her in his arms, Cole glanced over his shoulder at his sister-in-law.

  "Afternoon, Helen." Cole eased Veronica off the counter before he turned fully to the brunette whose dark eyes shifted from Veronica's pink-tinged cheeks to Cole's expressionless face. "Hello, Jessie."

  Veronica's discomfort increased as Jessie stepped into view.

  "I was just coming over to ask a favor of Veronica when Jessie came up from the barn saying she'd heard you'd been hurt." The confused concern on Helen's face gave way to disapproval when her dark eyes skittered to­ward Veronica.

  "Yes, darling." Jessie crowded her way past the bru­nette. "It's not serious, is
it?" Her amber eyes were all over Cole before they shot directly to Veronica's slightly puffy lips.

  "Ronnie has taken care of it."

  "I can see she has." Jessie's dusky voice was just a tone above a growl, but she turned her sweetest smile on Cole as she reached to take him by the arm, effectively sepa­rating Veronica from him as she wedged her long perfect body between them. "Now that your injury is tended to, how about showing me that filly you promised?" How quickly the cattiness had changed to something more like baby talk. Veronica was sickened.

  "Excuse me." Veronica inched toward the door and Helen stepped aside to give easier passage. Self­consciously Veronica moved through the bedroom to the hall, then made for the kitchen.

  Once there, she could no longer hear Jessie's cooing voice. There was a faint murmur of conversation, but Veronica managed to block out even that sound as she briskly unloaded the dishwasher and tried to distract her mind and her body from the aftereffects of Cole's kiss.

  Only now was she fully aware of how unexpected that kiss had been. Never in a million years would she have believed it could happen. Not with Cole. Not with any man, she reminded herself. When Eric abandoned her, he'd stripped her of any confidence she might have pos­sessed about her sexual attractiveness. For what man could ever find her scarred body desirable?

  "I'll be down at the barn, Ronnie." Cole came through the kitchen, his dusty black Stetson firmly in place. Veronica felt herself impaled by his riveting blue eyes, which told her nothing of his thoughts before they swung away. Jessie dogged his steps, her bow-shaped mouth pursed in annoyance at the pace Cole set. Helen fol­lowed the pair in, but when Cole and Jessie went out the back door, she stayed behind.

  "You had a favor to ask?" Veronica invited the woman to speak, hoping Helen wouldn't mention anything about seeing her and Cole kissing. Veronica remembered He­len, who was nearly Cole's thirty-four years, as being cool but polite. Neither Helen nor Jackie had ever had much time for her. It wasn't that they'd slighted her, but both of them had been older and much more house­bound than she. For most of her two years on the ranch Veronica had been an unabashed tomboy, and she'd had little in common with the sisters.