Vows of the Heart Page 6

  "I was wondering if you'd make a couple of the dishes I've planned for the barbecue I'm having tomorrow night." Helen was smiling pleasantly. "Cole mentioned what a good cook you are and suggested you might con­sider helping me out if you're up to it." Veronica felt herself relax, absurdly pleased that Cole had compli­mented her to someone. "Jackie and I used to do this every year and, well, after she passed away, Hank's cook always helped out. You don't need to feel obligated, Veronica, but I could sure use your help."

  "I'll be glad to help, Helen. Just tell me what you want and I'll make it."

  "Good. Thank you. I'll send home the food and reci­pes with Cole when he comes for Curtis." Helen paused, and the pleasant smile turned cool. "And there's some­thing else I'd like to ask."

  Veronica waited, not smiling either. She could guess what was coming, and she fervently wished Helen would just let the incident pass without comment. "What's that?"

  "I think perhaps you should talk to Cole about mov­ing you into that small vacant house between here and the highway, the one that's usually assigned to the ranch's cook. I don't think it's good for Curtis to live in a house where there are two single adults sleeping within a few feet of each other." Helen at least had the grace to blush. "And after what I just saw, I think it's even more imper­ative."

  Veronica stared, knowing Helen was overreacting but that her firm tone signaled she would tolerate no dis­sent. Until now Veronica hadn't really given much thought to the propriety of living under the same roof as Cole. She wasn't too concerned about her reputation or Cole's, either, since nothing was going on between them.

  Interpreting Veronica's initial silence as resistance, Helen went on, "I know Cole is a very attractive man, Ronnie, so maybe he's a lot of temptation for you—you had such a crush on him once." Helen smiled tolerantly at the tides of color that washed into Veronica's cheeks. "Sometimes those lovesick feelings resurrect themselves at awkward times when we grow older. But once you get settled someplace where you're not in such close contact with Cole, I'm certain you'll regain some perspective."

  Veronica nearly choked with outrage. She stood qui­etly for a few moments before she trusted herself to speak, her hands clenched so tightly on the crutch grips they tingled.

  Veronica tried valiantly to match Helen's cool. "Cole would be the first to remind you that what goes on in his home is his business," she said. "But if you feel so strongly about my presence here, then by all means speak to Cole about it. I'll abide by any decision he makes."

  Helen looked a bit dismayed before she recovered. "But you should be the one to speak to Cole."

  "There's nothing between Cole and me, Helen, and I'm not about to suggest to him that I think there is by asking him to move me out of this house." Veronica was trembling, hating the angry humiliation she felt. "Now if that's all, I've got a lot to do before the evening meal."

  Helen left without another word. Veronica turned back to the cupboard, distressed that she'd just made another enemy.

  And for what? One silly, impossibly thrilling kiss? Veronica sighed. Despite what Helen and probably Jes­sie had seen and despite what she'd felt in those brief moments of ecstasy, there had been no indication from Cole that his kiss had been anything more for him than a mere sensual impulse.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  After supper, when Cole came home with Curtis and the food and recipes from Helen, Veronica managed to be conveniently absent from the house. She was in the side yard out of sight of the driveway, carefully poking about the ill-tended flowerbeds to see if any perennial blooms had managed to survive the weeds. When Cole and Curtis went inside, she moved around to the front of the house, then decided to make her way down a portion of the long driveway that wandered in a lazy arc to the highway more than a mile away.

  The warm evening air was laden with dust from the recent passing of Cole's car, but Veronica cared little that it settled over her clothing or found beads of perspira­tion to cling to. She was thinking about the awful ten­sion at supper more than an hour earlier. Cole had been terse with his men to the point of rudeness, and he'd barely acknowledged Veronica's presence. There could have been no clearer indication of how much he regret­ted his impulse that afternoon, or how anxious he was to disabuse her of any notion that it had meant anything to him. His aloofness reminded her of his initial attempts to ignore her infatuation with him years ago.

  Veronica cringed at the memory of the time she'd so foolishly confessed her love to Cole. He had not taken to a brotherly role, the fifteen-year-old Veronica had rea­soned, so perhaps he didn't think of her that way. And when Cole looked at her—as he had occasionally—with neither irritation nor dislike, she'd begun to think he'd secretly found himself liking her as a woman. That was all the encouragement Cole's adoring little stepsister had needed to try out her newly discovered feminine wiles.

  Incautious and inexperienced, the young Veronica be­gan to flirt with Cole when they were alone. Cole ig­nored her amateur attempts to imitate what she'd seen her mother do so often, until he finally got tired of having Veronica constantly under foot.

  "But I love you, Cole," she declared, with all the melodramatic intensity only a lovesick adolescent can portray. But he just laughed at her and told her she had a particularly bad case of puppy love. The scorn in his laughter hurt deeply. He didn't even like her enough to rebuff her in a way that left her with any self-respect. In daring retaliation, knowing that Cole had no use for her as a sister or a lover, she had ridden Chapman Red for the first time.

  Preoccupied with her memories, Veronica made a misstep but deftly regained her balance. She'd already managed the prescribed half-mile daily walk, and the physical therapist had cautioned her not to push herself and risk the possibility of a setback. Since the last oper­ation, she'd had fewer and fewer muscle spasms and she certainly didn't want to spoil her record. Reluctantly she turned toward the house and started making her way back, curious about what recipes Helen had sent over for her to prepare.

  Just after breakfast the next day, Veronica started to clean and prepare the enormous amount of fresh vege­tables Helen intended to serve with the four sour-cream based dips Veronica had mixed the night before. The three-dozen eggs that had been boiled lay chilling in the refrigerator, waiting to be deviled. Veronica was disap­pointed that there was little to be done that challenged her cooking skills.

  "Helen didn't give you much more than busy work to do, did she?" Cole whipped off his hat and tossed it carelessly toward the coat tree in the corner as he came in the porch door. Veronica noticed that he'd discarded the bandage on his hand.

  "There's a lot of busy work involved when you cook for a crowd," Veronica replied noncommittally. "I don't mind." Cole crossed the room to the coffee pot.

  "Is this my coffee or yours?" he asked, referring to the expensive decaffeinated brand Veronica preferred.

  "Yours," Veronica said, trying not to let Cole's pres­ence in the kitchen throw her off balance. It was the first time since yesterday afternoon that they had been alone together and Veronica was battling an impossible long­ing for his nearness.

  With a small shock, she realized that her feelings for Cole weren't motivated as much by the leftovers of her adolescent crush on him as by the much more compli­cated, full-blown longings of a woman who wanted the companionship and intimacy of a special man. That re­alization sent her gaze skittering in his direction. Cole had poured himself some coffee and was sipping it, the hint of a satisfied smile on his mouth as he tasted the rich dark brew.

  Those were the same firm sensual lips that had so thoroughly possessed hers less than twenty-four hours ago. The long tanned fingers that dwarfed the coffee cup were the ones that had reached for her and combed through her hair with gentle ferocity. Helplessly her eyes traced the snug fit of his chambray work shirt and worn denim jeans, overwhelmed by the sudden memory of what that lean hard body had felt like beneath her hands.

  Veronica had to look away. This intense physical longing was
something she'd never experienced, and that Cole had so quickly brought it to the surface signaled the potential for a far more devastating hurt than the one Eric had inflicted on her.

  "You haven't heard a word I've said." Cole's deep rough voice intruded on her troubled thoughts in gentle accusation.

  "What?"

  "I asked if you wanted to ride over to Helen's with Curtis and me this evening." Veronica's knife halted in midair, then came down on a helpless stalk of celery with finality.

  "No, thank you." Veronica didn't mention that He­len had neglected to invite her. Until she did, Veronica would take nothing for granted.

  "Good coffee, Ronnie." Cole strode from the kitchen, leaving Veronica with an irrational wish that he'd found some reason to stay longer.

  "Veronica!"

  Cole's thundering voice from the front yard brought her quickly from the kitchen just as she slid the cake she'd just mixed into the oven. A delivery truck was parked out front. Veronica thought she'd heard an engine earlier, but she'd been running the mixer off and on and hadn't paid much attention.

  "Oh good." Veronica smiled at the large box that had been left on the porch. The delivery man had just climbed back into his truck and was driving away. "I didn't expect this until sometime next week," she explained hastily to her iron-faced stepbrother as she went through the screen door onto the porch.

  "Would you mind carrying this box to the kitchen for me?" she asked as she stepped aside and held the porch door open expectantly. Cole didn't move and his stern expression didn't alter a whit. Veronica's smile thinned to a slight line.

  "What's in it?" Cole eyed her curiously, but Veronica missed the gentle look that had come over his face at the defensive stiffening of her thin shoulders.

  "Just a cookbook and some needlework," she told him, forcing herself to look at him. "And before you jump to any conclusions, that doesn't mean I'm plan­ning to move in permanently."

  Veronica turned awkwardly and went back inside. Cole followed a few steps behind her, his booted feet the only other sound in the house as she moved stiffly into the kitchen.

  "Where do you want this?" came the gruff question and Veronica relaxed, recognizing the hint of gentleness that softened his deep voice.

  "On the table," she answered, then cautioned, "but be careful, I've got a cake in the oven." In no time, Cole had the taped seam sliced open, and Veronica began unpack­ing the box, looking for the cookbook.

  "What's that?" Cole's attention was fixed on the large plastic bag of hexagon quilt patches that Veronica had lifted out of the box.

  "A baby quilt." Cole's eyes jumped up to meet hers, his gaze intense.

  "It's for a friend of mine whose baby is due in another month," she explained. "I thought I'd work on it while I'm here."

  "Does that go with it?" Cole gestured toward the huge wooden quilting hoop she was taking out and Veronica nodded. He watched as she pulled out quilt bat and fab­rics, a couple of partially completed needlework proj­ects and sewing supplies before she came to the large, loose-leaf cookbook she was after.

  "Do you know what to do with all that?"

  Veronica was irritated by the faint incredulity in Cole's voice. "That's right. Astonishing, isn't it?" Veronica turned toward the cupboard and placed her cookbook next to the meager collection at the back of the counter.

  "Discounting the fact that your mother couldn't teach you things like this, I'd say you have a few old-fashioned hobbies for a woman of the eighties. Aren't you one of those liberated females who wants a career and a sophis­ticated life-style—husband and children be damned?"

  "Careful, Cole. Your chauvinism is showing." But the look she flashed over her shoulder was indulgent. Cole was an old-fashioned male, but from what Hank had told her, she'd got the impression that Cole had always en­couraged Jackie to use her talents and be all she was ca­pable of being.

  Veronica turned back toward the box, noticing uneas­ily that Cole was waiting for her to answer his question. Flustered, she began putting all the sewing supplies back in the box while she considered her reply. A quick glance upward caught Cole's speculative gaze.

  "After so many years of not having a family or any real home, having a husband and children and making a good home is more important to me than having an out­side career." Veronica shrugged as if the disclosure was not the deep confession it really was. Suddenly over­come with heartache, she looked down at the box. She had thought she'd have all that with Eric Marshall. "And you can find classes that teach you to do just about any­thing these days," she added airily. Veronica forced a smile onto her lips and met Cole's ever-watching eyes. "What would you like for supper?"

  "You've got tonight off." Cole's stern visage relaxed.

  "That's right. I guess I forgot." Veronica paused, then decided to ask Cole about something while they were getting along. "I was wondering if you'd mind letting me use Jackie's sewing machine." His gaze darted from hers and Veronica instantly regretted asking.

  "That's all right," she assured him hastily. "I can piece the quilt by hand. In fact, it might be easier to work with if I did. Besides, that overstuffed chair by the lamp in the living room is far more comfortable than a straight chair."

  Cole's eyes turned a stormy blue. "Stop walking on eggshells around me, Ronnie."

  Veronica's mouth fell open at the gruff order.

  "And don't look so surprised. Hell, you'd think I was some kind of tyrant the way you act," he grumbled.

  "Don't swear."

  "It's my house and my temper. I'll swear if I want to," he thundered, but the suggestion of a smile had reached his lips, a companion to the sparkle of laughter in his eyes. The world had brightened considerably. "The in­struction book for the sewing machine is in one of the drawers," he said, his voice lowering. "You're welcome to it any time as long as I'm not sleeping. And watch where you drop your pins. I'm still finding Jackie's."

  Veronica smiled at Cole's false ferocity, marveling at the friendliness between them and loving it. "Thank you, Cole."

  "You might not be thanking me if you suddenly find yourself stuck with the mending," he warned.

  "Oh, no, I won't," Veronica teased. "You promised me I was only hired to cook, nothing else."

  Cole growled good-naturedly, then said, "I was a des­perate man then. I hadn't had a decent home-cooked meal for weeks and I was probably delirious." He grinned at Veronica's skeptical smirk. "If you'll let me renego­tiate our agreement to include mending, I promise to come up with a bribe you'll like better than a raise—not that you can't have a raise instead," he added quickly. "The boys already think I got the better part of our first deal," he told her. "Will you think about it?" Veronica giggled at Cole's earnest expression.

  "As long as you don't deluge me with mending, I'll do it in return for the use of the sewing machine. Forget about any deals or bribes."

  "You're really quite a pleasant surprise, Veronica." Cole's low rough voice warmed her and she felt her emo­tions scramble to harden themselves against the appeal of Cole's long-awaited approval. The small-scale inner war she'd been waging against allowing the compellingly deep feelings she had for Cole to blossom naturally into love suffered a severe setback at the affection behind his words.

  She made some inane comment about flattery then that casually brushed off Cole's remark. She couldn't even remember what it was the moment after she'd said it, but was just grateful when she could finally retreat to the quiet sanctuary of her room.

  The phone rang stridently in the quiet house and Veronica rose from the sewing machine without her crutches and with stiff caution covered the few feet to the telephone extension on Cole's night table. "Chapman Ranch."

  "Are you all right, Ronnie?" Cole's voice betrayed a concern that threw her for a moment.

  "Of course I'm all right," she assured him. "What could be wrong?"

  "I was afraid you'd had car trouble or something. What's taking you so long to get here?"

  Confused and surprised b
y Cole's impatient tone, she was slow to answer.

  "I'm not coming to Helen's," she said quietly.

  "What did you say?" The sound of the party came clearly over the connection.

  "I'm not coming," she repeated.

  "What do you mean, you're not coming?"

  "I wasn't invited," she told him truthfully, her fin­gers twisting the phone cord.

  "Maybe Helen didn't send you an engraved invitation but you were invited," Cole stated confidently.

  "When?" Veronica released the phone cord to mas­sage her forehead wearily.

  "When she spoke to you about helping her out, I sup­pose."

  Veronica's mouth twisted in grim amusement.

  "Has she asked you where I am tonight?" she chal­lenged. There was a second's silence.

  "Well, no. But she's been busy," he hastened to add. "I'll be there in ten minutes to pick you up. Be ready."

  "Don't, Cole," she warned. "It will be a wasted trip. I'm not about to go to Helen's." Veronica took a deep breath. "I wouldn't come to Helen's even if I had been invited."

  "Why not?" Cole was angry now.

  Veronica frantically tried to think of some reason that would not put him at odds with his sister-in-law. She hadn't mentioned the confrontation she'd had with He­len the day before. Veronica squeezed her eyes closed.

  "You know me," she began, letting just the right touch of snobbery affect her soft voice. "I'm afraid Helen's little get-together is just a little too down-home for my uptown taste." Veronica winced at the lie. "But you and Curtis have a good time," she enthused before she dropped the phone into its cradle, not wanting to hear Cole's temper explode.

  Veronica made her way back to the sewing machine and methodically picked up the quilt pieces and sewing supplies. She folded the machine into its cabinet and prepared to take her things back to her room. A good long bath and an early night would shorten the lonely evening considerably.