The Bridal Promise. Virginia Dove

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СКАЧАТЬ him since he’d become a man, the breach with his father still brought a daily ache. He made a mental note to check the old place himself before too many more days went by.

      “Here it comes,” he muttered. Big fat drops of rain began to break from the black clouds overhead.

      Annoyed at the delay in repairing the roof, and fit to be tied over having to make a repair to anything this early in the season, he almost missed the fact that Gannie Gledhill’s front door was open. It never occurred to him to let such a transgression slide by. As the pickup behind him honked in protest, he abruptly turned in and barreled up the drive.

      Just driving toward Gledhill brought an ache to his heart. Lord, how he missed Gannie. It was too soon. He wasn’t ready for her to be gone. The funeral had only been two days ago, and he couldn’t seem to adjust to the loss of the only woman he’d never once doubted he could trust. But it was more than that. Gannie’s death brought too many painful changes.

      Gannie. Her family went back almost as far as Matt’s own. Her grandfather had been sent by the Rock Island Railroad when the line had brought its rails to this part of Oklahoma. Old Man Gledhill had married a local girl, buying a farm and building a house in town. He’d had everything brought in from back East, including silk wallpaper for the dining rooms. “Got a good deal on the shipping rate,” Sam Ransom used to say.

      Much to her family’s regret, Olivia—her given name—had refused to go back East to school. Instead she had stayed, graduated from the Oklahoma College for Women and become the town librarian. She had never married. Yet so many children over the years had found a “safe harbor” with her. Sam Ransom had given her the name of Gannie, “the town’s Grannie,” when he was still in grade school.

      Keeper of the town’s books, its heritage, and its children: to many, she was Spirit Valley. To Matt she was even more. How had he made it through the last twelve years? With Gannie’s love, faith and guidance, he acknowledged. It had taken Gannie’s bracing approach to keep him sane.

      And staying steady and well-respected in Spirit Valley was the Ransom family’s heritage. Ransom: The price of redemption; an atonement. Now with Gannie gone, the old house was linked in Matt’s mind to only one other woman.

      He could picture her laughing in the dining room; or watering the backyard. Luminous eyes had watched him as sunlight had played through the windows of an upstairs bedroom. Matt hadn’t often noticed the Indian heritage in her, unless he’d looked past the light hair and eyes. But it was there. Light in that little room had branded her keen-edged cheekbones as Perri Stone had stood slim, motionless, his.

      Perri’s eyes, he thought. Time had frozen a memory of Perri Stone in just about every corner of that house. Perri’s eyes had always intrigued him. The center of each iris was a warm, brandy-colored brown surrounded by emerald green. Matt had never considered, until now, how they were a lighter variation of his own mix of onyx and forest green. Well, that shocked him, teasing back to life some of his fury.

      Driving too fast to absorb the implications of the slightly opened gate to the little graveyard and the red rose on one simple stone marker, he slammed the longbed under the carport. Matt barely felt the sudden whipping of wind and chilly rain as he took the steps of Gledhill’s wraparound porch two at a time.

      Whoever it was, would want to have a good reason for being on the property, because he was in no mood for any more delays. He had a full day of business to attend to, some of it sonny indeed.

      Among other things, he had some horses running at Remington Park tomorrow, if the weather didn’t cancel the races. And some owners had threatened to drop by in anticipation of the running. The social necessities of a well-respected horse farm were never something he could easily oblige. The screen door slammed out his frustration as his boots hit the old wooden floor.

      

      Whoever it was had walked right on in as if he owned the place. And whoever it was, she was really in no mood for the Spirit Valley grapevine to find out so quickly that she was moving in. Perri Stone shook loose the raindrops on her way in from garaging the car. She moved fast, hoping to head off the visitor and graciously sweep him right back out the front door.

      The cowboy reached the back doorway of the living room at almost the same moment she entered. They both stuttered to a halt as recognition over small matters, like a red rose on an old grave and the identity of who always walked into that house like he owned it, returned to haunt her.

      Jeans, boots, work shirt and cheekbones. In the low, stormy light it could have been anybody. But those cheekbones, combined with the piercing eyes and the sharp brows and nose of a hawk, meant it wasn’t just anybody. Stifling the small cry wasn’t an option. Her heart wished that it could be.

      He uttered a low oath as she smacked into his chest, more through his refusal to give an inch than due to speed. Matt’s hands reached out to hold her in a response both instantaneous and automatic. It didn’t improve his mood one bit.

      Perri knew to expect a storm. So far they had managed a cold, civilized distance. But until six weeks ago, when they had begun keeping vigil over Gannie’s hospital bed, they hadn’t shared a roof in twelve years. And the last time they had been in this room together, he’d been closer to violence than she’d ever seen him in her life.

      Perri would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her go weak in the knees as he grabbed her and the sweet memories came flooding back. Her momentary relief that it was Matt in the house was rooted in the distant past, and promptly overshadowed by the reality of the present.

      “Dammit, Ransom, you scared me to death!” she declared, recklessly pushing away from him.

      “My pleasure, Stone,” he answered coldly. Matt stared at her as he quickly let her go.

      She stared right back. Then without another word, Perri moved to the television and found a weather bulletin. A tornado was passing twelve miles to the southwest of where they were standing. The open front door brought in air cold enough to tell her to expect the sound of hail. Although she wasn’t soaked from her run back into the house, she shivered. At the moment she had a more immediate threat to face than the approaching violence out the front door.

      He moved slowly, silently behind her as she kept her eyes glued on the weather map and tried to focus on what the weatherman had to say. It felt as if a brick wall, warmed by the sun, had suddenly materialized at her back.

      She was a tall woman. But he was a tall man, broad-shouldered and with a long reach. Waves of heat were rolling off of him, anger waves most likely. It couldn’t be any other kind between them. She resisted the urge to rest against him when the meteorologist announced that Spirit Valley was out of danger. There would be no comfort there.

      Perri fought back the urge to yawn as she felt him shamelessly look her over. Nerves had always caused her to yawn, and yawn big, at the most inopportune moments. This time, she reasoned, it might be more than her life was worth to succumb to the response. She started as the erratic beat of an arriving hailstorm further destroyed her peace of mind.

      Matt eyed her critically. “You seem taller. Did you grow or something?”

      “An inch, when I turned nineteen.” Perri’s eyes never left the screen.

      “That must be it, then. Something seems off.” He circled to her side. “Something more personal than the fact that you’re all grown up now,” he continued. “I’ve been meaning to tell you. You filled out in all the right places, looks like.” Matt smiled with satisfaction when she stiffened at that СКАЧАТЬ