PROMISE ME SPRING by Robin Lee Hatcher


Other Leisure books by Robin LeeHatcher:

STORMY SURRENDER

HEART’S LANDING

THORN OF LOVE

HEART STORM

PASSION’S GAMBIT

PIRATE’S LADY

GEMFIRE

THE WAGER

DREAMTIDE

PROMISED SUNRISE

“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME, RACHEL?” What did she want from him? To love him. To spend her life with him. To be a mother to his children. To be at his side through good times and bad. To grow old together. But she couldn’t say those things, and so she did the only thing she could. She stood on tiptoe, placed her arms around his neck, and kissed him. What she’d meant to be only a tender gesture, a means of telling him how much she loved him, became a fire in her veins, spreading violently through her, leaving her skin tingling and her limbs weak. When he clutched her tightly to him, she could only moan in acquiescence. His mouth moved hungrily over hers and she responded with equal greed.

“No more, Rachel,” he whispered huskily as he swept her feet up from the floor.

“God help me, I can’t resist you anymore.”

To my husband, Jerry, Who continues to be my heart’s inspiration (and so you won’t feel bad because your name isn’t in this one!) * To the “Thursday Night Gals,” Laurie Guhrke, Rachel Gibson, and Sandy Oakes, Special friends, special writers all, For keeping me sane with a frequent dose of reality And plenty of laughter to go with it.

* To my favorite “cheerleaders,” Lori Bright and Marthe Fosser, Because nobody else can give me a shot-in-the-arm like you two.

* And to all the members of Southern Idaho Romance Writers, Because you understand the ups and downs.

LEISURE BOOKS NEW York CITY A LEISURE BOOK July 1991 Published by Dorchester Publishing Co.” Inc.

276 Fifth Avenue New York, NY 10001 Copyright C 1991 by Robin Lee Hatcher All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

The name “Leisure Books” and the “I” with design are trademarks of Dorchester Publishing Co.” Inc.

PROLOGUE

Idaho Territory March 1883

Rachel Harris wasn’t sure exactly when she’d become aware that she was destined to make a difference in the world. She’d simply awakened one morning, filled with a kind of expectancy, and known life held something special, something significant, in store for her. She didn’t know what that something would be, but she would know it when it came. She was certain of that. She’d been waiting and watching for it for years now. But as the stagecoach rocked and creaked its way across the Idaho desert, the biscuit-colored landscape dotted with silver-green sagebrush, Rachel began to doubt her intuition. She’d been certain she would discover her destiny back East. There had been so many opportunities for something special to happen to her. Yet nothing had. Now she was returning to Boise City, back home to live with her sister, Maggie, and her family. She’d missed them all terribly while she was away, but she couldn’t help wondering if she’d made a mistake in returning. If she’d stayed in Washington just a little longer, might she not have found what she’d been waiting for? What on earth could she accomplish in Idaho that would make a difference to anyone?

Chapter One

Boise City September 1883

One thing never seemed to change, whether a person lived in the capital of a great nation or the capital of a distant western territory. Young, unmarried women always discussed the same thing when they got together—eligible men and the prospect of marriage. Rachel allowed her gaze to move among the members of the little social group, three young women who were quickly proving the truth of her silent observation. She had arrived at Mr. and Mrs. Walker’s autumn cotillion only a half hour ago and already she’d heard detailed information about several of the men in attendance.

“But he’s so very wealthy and quite distinguished,” Margaret continued in a stage whisper.

“Perhaps he’s not everything I personally would like a husband to be, but he’s a good catch for Dorothy. He isn’t objectionable to look at, but Dorothy isn’t exactly a beauty, and at her age she can’t hope to make a better match.”

“She’s nearly twenty-four,” Pamela added with great emphasis, making Dorothy sound ancient.

“Have you met Mr. Stephens’ new junior law partner?” Susannah asked, changing the subject to one of more interest to her. She peeked over Margaret’s shoulder toward a tall, fair-haired man standing near the punch bowl.

“Mr. Newcomb. Isn’t he positively the most handsome man here tonight? He’s already claimed two dances on my card. And everyone knows he’s

going to be a successful lawyer someday. Papa says he’s an up-and-coming young man with a bright future.”

“Look!” Pamela interrupted.

“There’s Rodney Parkinson. Do you think he’ll notice me? Oh, if he doesn’t ask me to dance, I’ll simply die.”

Although Rachel tried to concentrate on what the three young women were saying, she was having a difficult time. The topic of conversation bored her almost to tears. She realized that her point of view would be considered radical. She was, after all, rather advanced in age herself, having turned twenty-two last May and still no husband in sight.

But surely, she thought as her attention drifted off in another direction, there were more important things in life than being married—not just married, but well—married, preferably to a wealthy man or at least one with prospects of being wealthy.

“Excuse me,” she whispered absently, then moved away from the three friends who, she supposed, began gossiping about her the moment she left their midst. She looked fleetingly for Maggie or Tucker but found neither of them in sight. She caught a glimpse of Matthew Foreman on the dance floor, an attractive brunette in his arms. Matthew had been the most persistent of her callers at the Branigan ranch since her return to Idaho, but she felt no more desire to encourage his interest in her than she had had for any of the other gentlemen. Hoping Matthew hadn’t noticed her, she turned away. The tall doors leading onto the terrace were open, and she slipped through them. The music and conversations dimmed as she was enveloped by the night. A quarter moon rocked on its back against a sky dotted with stars. The air was crisp but not unpleasant. She walked down a path leading to Mrs. Walker’s gardens, feeling the need for solitude. Is something wrong with me? she wondered as she settled onto a stone bench. Over-educated. That was what most people no doubt had to say about Judge Branigan’s unmarried sister-in-law. And perhaps they were right. She’d had a fine education, but what was she to do with it now? What use was it if the only important thing was for her to snare a husband before she got any older?

How do I make a difference in this world if marriage is my only choice in life? Gavin Blake drove the wagon down the center of Main Street. It had been years since he’d last come to the capital of the territory. The town was growing. There had to be some fine physicians living here. One of them would be able to help Drucilla. If he didn’t think so, he never would have let her undertake this trip. He turned to look at his wife. She looked tired and wan after a week on the trail. He could read the exhaustion behind the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes. She looked as if she’d lost more weight, though there wasn’t an ounce of fat—hardly any meat either—on her gaunt, five-foot, seven-inch frame. I never should have let her come, he thought. But it had been hard for him to deny Dru anything lately. At least the weather had been warm for their trip to the capital, and he’d made her a comfortable bed in the back of the wagon. They’d lain beneath their blankets at night and stared up at the stars and talked about Sabrina’s and Petula’s futures and what Dru wanted for them. Gavin stopped the wagon in front of the Overland Hotel. He set the brake, then looped the ends of the reins around the brake handle before hopping to the ground. He turned, raising his arms and holding them apart.

“Come on. Let’s get you into a nice soft bed for a change.”

“Shouldn’t we go to the newspaper office first?” she asked softly.

“I’ll take care of that later.”

“Gavin, I..”

“You heard me. Come on.” Dru forced a weary smile, acknowledging her defeat.

“I suppose you’re right, but we came all this way to …”

“I know why we came,” he interrupted in a gruff tone. He couldn’t help himself. He felt suddenly angry. It never failed to alarm him when he lifted her down from the wagon and his fingers overlapped around her waist. He remembered her when she was pregnant with Quentin, her body swelling up like a ripe pumpkin, her face round and rosy her eyes shining with happiness. lord, it seemed a lifetime ago. look at all that had happened in the few years since then. First Quentin was stillborn, then Charlie died, and now this. If only he could take her back east to one of those fine hospitals. There must be something someone could do…. “Gavin?” Cool fingers touched his cheek. He knew she could read his mind, see what he was thinking.

“Let’s go inside.” With a nod, he placed a solicitous arm around her back and guided her into the lobby of the hotel. Wanted: Governess and teacher for two young girls on remote mountain ranch. Separate living quarters. Apply Mrs. Blake, Overland Hotel, after 2:00 PM Friday. Rachel set down the paper and stared out the window at the tall poplars, cottonwoods, and willows growing alongside the river. A warm breeze lifted wisps of blond hair across her forehead and caressed her skin with the last breath of summer. A large blow fly buzzed noisily beneath the porch awning, occasionally bumping into the clear glass window, then flying away before returning to try again. Perhaps the fly seemed unusually noisy because the house was so silent. Kevin, Colleen, Tara Maureen, and Colin, Maggie’s four oldest children, were all in school. Sheridan, at four the baby of the family, had gone into town with his mother for some shopping and would no doubt return with a peppermint stick from the mercantile. Rachel left the dining room and wandered into the parlor. Her fingers idly caressed the photographs and knickknacks that filled the room. Memories. Lots of memories. Happy memories too. Why wasn’t she content with the notion of making the same sort of memories for herself, the way everyone seemed to think she should? She paused in front of the oval mirror with its ornate, gold-flecked frame. She stared hard at her reflection. She supposed she was pretty. She’d been told so since she was little. She wasn’t particularly fond of her baby-fine hair—it was as pale as a field of drying wheat and impossible to keep trapped in a chignon—and she wished she had Maggie’s wide gray eyes instead of her ordinary blue ones. But all in all, it wasn’t a bad face staring back at her. She certainly had never lacked for suitors.