The Bridal Promise. Virginia Dove

Ransom moved into the living room like a predator closing in for a quick, clean kill.

      “Are you pregnant?” Leila asked calmly, her lovely green eyes resembling ice crystals.

      Speechless, Perri shook her head.

      “If you find out that you are, I’ll pay for an abortion. You’ll need one because Matt isn’t going to many you, no matter what he’s told you. He has more pride than that and more concern for his position in this community.” Leila glanced at the clock on the mantel. Her expression suggested she might find it amusing to time their exchange. “He’s done with you, dear,” she said, “believe me.”

      Perri couldn’t hide her sense of shock or her helpless anger. Never had she imagined herself in a showdown with Matt’s mother. She was in over her head and she knew it.

      “I do hope you will listen to me,” Leila cautioned, “because I don’t plan to give you a second chance. If you continue to see my son, I’ll make certain you regret it.” Pale blond curls rebounded as Leila turned toward the front windows.

      “Certain well-placed rumors, about how your precious little mother has been having an affair with my husband for years, won’t be too difficult to arrange. Everyone will know that’s the real reason behind her divorce. And everyone in town will believe it. Don’t think they won’t.” Amused now, she nailed Perri with those inhuman eyes.

      “Never doubt that I can do it or that I will, Perri. The fact that it’s a lie will mean nothing when I’ve finished with her. I’d enjoy the opportunity,” Leila added as an afterthought. “That goody-goody act of hers won’t be of much help by the time I’m done.

      “No,” Leila smiled coldly, “I think it would be best for you to take your daddy up on the chance to go to that special high school, the one I heard your mother bragging about. Leave for Raleigh and spend your senior year living with your father and his new family. And stay away from my son.” Leila thoughtfully adjusted her wristwatch, pausing to tap a perfectly manicured nail against the crystal.

      The sound struck Perri as inordinately loud, empty and hollow. She flinched away as if from a blow.

      “Maybe they’ve got some summer courses. Now that’s an idea,” Leila brightened. “You could leave immediately after school is out.

      “And,” she shrugged delicately, “if you don’t, when I’m done with her, your precious momma will have to leave town. Do I make myself crystal clear?”

      Perri began to tremble as Leila closed in for the kill. “Yes, ma’am,” she whispered. It was over. Every hope and dream had been shattered.

      “Never mention any of this conversation to Matt, ever,” Leila ordered. “Do we understand each other?”

      “Yes, ma’am.” Tight-lipped and terrified, Perri didn’t even realize she was in shock. All she knew was an overwhelming sense of hopelessness and loss.

      “Good.” Leila sighed with satisfaction, glancing at the mantelpiece. She walked out and drove away without another word.

      Unable to move, Perri found herself staring blindly at the ticking clock. Cruelty had worked wonders. And so quickly.

      Perri never cried.

      One

      

      

      Twelve years later

      

      Matt Ransom was not in the mood for a tornado. Although with his luck, it probably wouldn’t be a twister. It would probably be something he couldn’t out-dodge, like more baseball-sized hail.

      It was hard to complain about tornadoes in Tornado Alley without feeling just a little silly; but he had a mind to anyway. He knew his brother, Whit, was watching helplessly as almost two thousand acres blew away in the Oklahoma Panhandle. Just two inches of rain since November had left many with no choice but to sell their cattle. And these hadn’t been even a hope of a wheat crop for Whit. Irrigation did little good when forty-five-to-fifty-mile-an-hour winds raged day after day.

      At least around Spirit Valley, Oklahoma, there would be a harvest, of sorts. Blessed by the river and many deep wells, in addition to a man-made lake, Spirit was outside of the burn ban. Every field was full of short oats.

      “By now, the wheat should be dropping its heads, dammit,” he muttered as in frustration he automatically checked the land and the sky.

      Understanding that others were having it worse didn’t make his own situation any less aggravating. When racing against a storm, it was usually the storm that won the race. Today wasn’t going to be an exception. Something was in the air and he could smell it. So far, it was only black clouds, some serious wind and approaching dense rain. Born for and of the land, Matt held no hope it would stay as it was now.

      The stop signs and stoplights he now had to navigate were giving him the blues. His father still couldn’t reconcile himself to the fact that the town had grown to need them. Too many people. Matt had grown up seeing those stop signs removed at the start of every harvest. The wheat-laden combines coming in from the farms had made their way into Spirit Valley without a hitch. There was a time when every kid in town knew not to cross Elm Street without being very careful during June.

      Matt swore silently as he stopped at yet another light. Harvest was vital to the whole community. The combines would roll on through, from the farms to the grain elevators over by the railroad tracks, as fast as the weather would allow. “Stopping every couple of blocks is just uncivilized,” he grumbled as he floated the last four lights.

      At the moment, Matt had a fractious yearling that he wanted ready for the sale coming up at Shawnee. Salem didn’t appreciate the hole in the roof over his stall and didn’t care who knew it. A paint with an attitude; just what I need. Matt shook his head at his own lame joke. He had to get out of town. It was affecting his brains.

      He had a dozen things to do today without having to repair the damage from yesterday’s hail. “All right, I was lucky,” he acknowledged as he slapped the steering wheel with the heel of one broad hand. It was only one building. At least his father’s roof was undamaged.

      Not that Sam Ransom would let his oldest son know if he needed any help. The two of them hadn’t had a true conversation about anything other than horses or hard work since before Matt’s mother, Leila, had passed away. And that had been years ago. Matt knew he was responsible for the distance between them and he accepted that. Yet of all the things that had hardened 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