Free Broken Vows by Shirl Henke Page B

father's approval means a great deal to you, doesn't it?” His voice was flat. He tried not to care.
           “Yes, it does. My father is a wonderful man. Kind and gentle, a real scholar. He graduated third in his class from Yale Divinity School and gave up an offer from a prosperous congregation in Boston to come west and spread the Gospel. My mother always favored Leah, but Papa—well, he's always been there when I needed him. I don't want to disappoint him. But…”
           When her voice trailed away, he prompted, “But?”
           “Oh, Rory, heaven help me—I don't want to lose you either! I'm a brazen hussy to say that. I shouldn't even be here, alone with you in this secluded place; and I certainly shouldn't have kissed you and done the other things we did in the garden.” She could no longer meet his cool blue eyes but fidgeted with her skirt, smoothing the wrinkled calico nervously as she spoke.
           “You're no brazen hussy. Take that from a man who's known more than his share.” He was pleased with the small flash of feminine jealousy that turned her green eyes cat-gold. He stroked her cheek. “You've never even had a real beau, have you, Rebekah? I know no man ever kissed you before me.”
           She sighed. “Everyone was always more interested in my sister. She's petite with a perfect figure and silver-gilt hair, and she's a proper lady who never misbehaves or does wild, impulsive things.”
           “And you? What about you?” Why should a beauty like his Rebekah play second fiddle to anyone?
           She sighed. “I'm too tall and practically flat chested.” She blushed beet red and hurried on, cataloging her faults. “My hair is brassy and straight. It's so heavy I have to use an iron to get it to curl this way, and as for my behavior—well, most men in Wellsville think I'm a hoyden.”
           “Most men in Wellsville are fools. You're just the right size, and your hair is glorious—rich as Comstock gold. Didn't anyone ever tell you gold is worth more than silver?” he asked with a teasing smile. “And then, there are your eyes with their thick lashes and changeable color. Did you know they turn from green to gold when you get excited?” He stared deeply into them as his mouth drew nearer to hers, but this time he kept a sensible distance between them, allowing only his lips to brush hers, whisper soft. After a few light, sweet kisses, he broke away, afraid of his own passion and her answering response, which flared to life so quickly.
           “When I'm with you, I forget the whole rest of the world,” she confessed breathlessly as he drew slowly away from her and offered her a slice from one of the peaches. It was sweet and juicy on her tongue, mixed now with the spicy taste of Rory's kiss.
           “So do I. I've never met a girl like you before, Rebekah. I can't believe how lucky I am no man's snatched you away before I found you.”
           Amos Wells' face flashed into her mind, ruining the tranquility of the very private moment between them. “You were right that I've never had a beau before, but...”
           “But what?” He could see the shadowed look that had come into her eyes. “Is there someone else, Rebekah? Someone your father approves?” Dread squeezed his heart.
           “Yes.” A shudder rippled delicately across her shoulders. “Amos Wells has asked permission to court me, and my father thinks he'd make a fine husband.”
           “Wells—as in the Wellsville Wells? That old man! How could your father want you to marry him?”
           “He's only forty-three. Everyone says that's a man's prime. And he's rich and socially prominent. He'll be Nevada's next United States Senator.” She sounded just like Celia, but she had to defend her father. “And most important of all, I'm afraid, he's a member of the First Presbyterian Church.”
           “But in