Promise Me Forever by Lorraine Heath Page B

him to the sons of Englishmen. Their polished mannerisms had always appealed to him, and he’d worked hard to emulate them—to appear in control even when he wasn’t. While he didn’t think matters could get to the point that he’d have to show any sort of bravery, he didn’t want to be uncomfortable in his new surroundings. It was evident that all the Texas ladies had worked hard to put away their Texas ways.
    “I’ve got a proposition for you,” he said, deciding he might be able to get what he wanted by sweetening the offer.
    “I’ve had one of those from you before, Tom. I’m not interested.”
    “You haven’t even heard it yet.”
    “You’re wasting your breath.”
    “It’s mine to waste. Teach me what I don’t know, Lauren. I’ll release you from the debt.”
    She released a taut self-deprecating laugh. “The debt? You can’t possibly seriously think that I’m going to let you unbutton my bodice.”
    “Either that or give me back my two bits.”
    She scoffed. “Where do you think I’m going to find a quarter, in this country, after all these years?”
    “That’s your problem, darlin’, but I aim to collect what you owe me, one way or another.”
    He could see her bristling over his daring declaration. Well, he’d done his own bristling over the years. And even though he knew hers was most likely one debt he’d never collect, he could still hold out hope.
    “Surely by now, you’ve unbuttoned a bodice and had your curiosity satisfied,” she said.
    He’d unbuttoned his fair share, but he’d never found the experience completely satisfying. He took a puff on his cigar, deciding she didn’t really want her question answered.
    “Are you ignoring me?” she asked.
    He turned then, facing her, holding her shadowy gaze, trying to figure out exactly what it was he was seeing: fear, disgust, disappointment? He’d had the unrealistic hope that his arrival would have brought her some measure of joy, that she’d share with him some satisfactory explanation for her silence all these years.
    “I could never ignore you, Lauren.”
    “You did a good imitation for ten years.”
    “The hell you say!” His voice rumbled into the night, and he realized he’d tossed his cigar aside and taken a threatening step toward her only when she took a quick step back, her eyes widening and her breath coming in quick little hitches. A gentleman would have retreated, would have given her room, but he’d heard the rumors floating around, knew he was thought to be a savage, and at that moment he felt exactly like what they were claiming he was.
    “I wrote you every night,” he said, his rage controlled but seething. “Just like I promised. Every night the first two years you were gone. The third year, I wrote you every week. Then every month. I couldn’t always mail them as soon as they were written because sometimes towns were few and far between when we were trailing cattle, but when I got near enough to a town I took them to the post office. I wrote you, Lauren.”
    She was shaking her head, shock evident in her eyes. “I never got them, Tom. Not a single one.”
    “I wrote them,” he repeated, his anger dissipating as he began to realize the true reason behind her silence all these years.
    “When did you stop writing them?” she asked.
    “Never did stop completely. But I did stop mailing them.” Lord, but he wanted to touch her.
    “You’re a thief, Tom. And you cuss. And you lie—”
    Against his better judgment, he reached out, cupped her cheek, and pressed his thumb against her moist lips. “Never to you, Lauren. I never lied to you.”
    Tears welled in her eyes. “Why didn’t I get them?”
    He shook his head. “I don’t know, darlin’.”
    “I looked every morning. It was years before I gave up. And even when I never heard from you, I kept hoping that you’d come for me. I hung on to that hope because sometimes it was the only thingthat would get me through the day. You can’t