St. John, Cheryl

by Prairie Wife

  She whirled and marched toward the porch.

  "Amy."

  "Don't say my name!" She ran again. Inside, she did as promised, turning the locks back and front, making her way upstairs and slamming down the wooden bar that barricaded her in her room. Diving onto the bed, she covered her head with the pillow as if hiding beneath it could shut out this last prevailing horror.

  Images flashed in her mind's eye, each more unbearable than the next. Jesse's hands on Eden's waist. His eyes staring at her across Eden's bare, rounded shoulder. Him standing steadfast with his face to the side after she'd struck him.

  Throwing off the pillow, she stood and took deliberate, calming breaths. She was stronger than this. She wasn't going to bury her head and wallow. She always picked herself up and went on, no matter what. In three steps she reached her dressing table. The mirror reflected her wild hair, her face pale with disgust and confusion. With trembling hands, she performed her nightly ritual, changing her clothing, braiding her hair, all done while feeling nothing.

  A thousand torturous images had already been buried in the recesses of her mind and the untouched places of her heart. What were a few more? Visions of Jesse with Eden in his arms would have to be added to those. Closed up. Locked away. But she had to capture them first...

  It was as much her fault as his. No guilt! Tuck that out of mind too.

  What the hell did she care? Jealousy? Not allowed.

  She knew he still loved her, she knew it! Doesn't matter, no regrets.

  So many times she had lamented and questioned what she had done to their relationship, agonized over her responsibility for the breakdown of their marriage. But her world had slipped tonight. Everything familiar, no matter how wrong, had been lost and a new doubt had been born.

  What had Jesse done to them?

  ***

  A rooster crowed and Jesse rolled over on his bunk with an agonized groan. His mind was a woolly gray mass and his head ached so bad he thought it would split in two when he lifted it off the mattress.

  He was already wearing his trousers, so he stumbled outside and around the corner. Knocking aside the lid of the rain barrel, he plunged his head deep. He stayed that way, holding his breath, feeling his pulse pounding in his ears and the cold seeping into his numb brain, bringing cells to life.

  With a gasp, he straightened and flung his head back, cold water running down his chest and back, air hitting the rivulets and sending painful messages to his body.

  This was the worst. He'd never felt this bad, never come this close to staying in bed and saying to hell with a day. Never before had he felt the need to go right back in and open a new bottle to work off some of the pain behind his eyes.

  He gritted his teeth.

  And then he remembered. Dread gripped his heart.

  Eden. Coming to his room. Kissing him.

  Amy. Walking in. Hating him.

  He fell to his knees and grasped dry weeds and grass as self-loathing washed over him. Staggering to his feet, he stumbled to the rear of the building where he retched, muscles spasming, until his belly ached.

  Don't follow me. Don't say my name.

  Anger and hurt and betrayal had weighted every word she'd spoken. Shaken her voice. Darkened her eyes. He could have continued sleeping in their room and endured the nights. He could have resisted the lure to drown everything out with whiskey. He could have been the man she needed him to be until she found a better way to cope with their son's death.

  Jesse's hands shook, and he stared at them as if they belonged to someone else.

  They did. He'd become a stranger.

  ***

  Sam rode his horse into the barn and slid off. He removed the saddle and let the mare into the corral. Smoke spiraled from multiple chimneys this morning, from the house, the soddy, the bathhouse—a homey, welcoming scene. His steps were light, and he whistled softly as he crossed the yard.

  The boardinghouse was silent when he stuck his head inside. He sighed in disappointment. Over the last few weeks his Sunday afternoon "rides" with Eden had become a much-anticipated event. The rest of the days, she cast him furtive looks and those soul-burnin' smiles. Sometimes if he caught her alone of a mornin', she would invite him into her room and tease him senseless. Around the others, however, they hadn't let on that something was happening between them—and that had started to feel wrong.

  Last night he'd decided. He was going to just come out and ask her to stay so he could court her proper. He'd been thinkin' it was disrespectful the way he'd been taking his pleasure with her without a commitment. Maybe she wasn't sure of him, either. Maybe one of them just needed to say something out loud.

  Sam moseyed up the back stairs to find the kitchen door open. Voices slowed his pace and he paused, unease creeping into his bones.

  "Fine man like that needs looking after, and it's plain you don't intend to do it," a feminine voice mewled. "I'm more than happy to take your place if you don't want your husband in your bed."

  Eden? Those confusing words made blood roar in Sam's head.

  "You've worn out your welcome at Shelby Station," Amy replied in a hostile tone Sam had never heard. He stepped right up to the door and listened. "Pack up your things and be on the next stage—I don't care which way it's headed. If you don't, I'll put you on it. I don't care if I have to strap you to the boot with the other baggage!"

  "You are a coarse, drab, unfeminine bore," Eden replied haughtily. "This place is uncivilized and backward. It's obvious you belong here and, as you so rudely pointed out, I do not. It no longer amuses me to stay, and I choose to leave on my own."

  The screen door flew open and Eden practically ran into Sam. He steadied her by taking hold of her elbows. "What's goin' on?"

  Her face was flushed and she wore an expression of disdain. After glancing up at him, she jerked away, held her skirts aside and hurried down the stairs.

  "Don't forget to pay for your breakfast," Amy called from the doorway.

  Sam stared after Eden, a sick feeling raising bile in his belly. He wanted to chase after her, but Amy would never understand. He turned on his daughter. "What the hell is going on?"

  Amy pursed her lips and stood with her hands on her hips. He'd never seen her so angry, and half expected her to fly after the retreating woman and snatch her hair out.

  He couldn't have heard right. "Did she say something about takin' your place in Jesse's bed?"

  For the first time in over a year, Sam saw tears come to Amy's eyes. She blinked them back and controlled her quivering chin by raising it a notch to look him in the eye. "Last night I found her in Jesse's room at the boardinghouse."

  "What?" Jesse and Eden together? His mind wouldn't wrap around it. "Doin' what?"

  Her cheeks flushed and her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

  "In—in bed together?" he asked.

  She pressed a hand to her cheek. "No. But getting there, I'd imagine. He had his shirt gone and her dress was nearly off. He was—" She stopped and bit her lip, fought for composure. "He was kissing her."

  Stunned, Sam absorbed the facts. Amy had seen this with her own eyes. She was relating the truth. His ego was takin' a monumental beating, but Amy—good

  Lord, Amy. All his well-hidden doubts bubbled to the surface.

  "Oh, honey," he said, stepping forward to lend her comfort.

  She backed inside and he followed, but she kept him at arm's length with a shake of her head and an outstretched arm. "Don't" was all she said.

  She was too proud, too hurt, too afraid of letting herself feel. Anger rose in Sam's chest and riled his blood. For a minute nothing but Eden's soft curvy body and succulent kisses were in his head. He drove them out and thought of his daughter's pain instead. Sam was a damn old fool, but Jesse was a married man!

  "I'll kill the son of a bitch." He turned and stormed out.

  "No! Daddy, no!" Amy cried, following him. "Let us handle this."

  "That's the problem. You don't handle anything!"


  "Stop!"

  Adele popped her head out of an upstairs window at the boardinghouse.

  "Jesse up there?" Sam growled.

  She shook her head and watched them pass.

  "Jesse!" Sam shouted, heading for the barn. Inside, he crossed the hard-packed dirt in determined strides. "Jesse!"

  Pitch darted out of Sam's path, slopping water from the bucket he carried.

  Jesse stepped from the tack room in the rear. His skin was paler than normal except under his eyes, where dark semicircles gave him a weary appearance.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Sam demanded.

  Jesse swiped a hand down his face and his gaze traveled to Amy, where she hung behind, then back to her father. "I need a chance to explain. I know it looks bad and I was in the wrong but—"

  "It'd take a heap of explainin' to fix this. I don't think you have that much wind in ya."

  A few of the hands had heard the commotion and gathered nearby.

  Sam waved his arms. "Get the hell outta here and earn your pay!"

  They scattered out of the building.

  Sam stomped toward Jesse until they stood face to face. "I know my daughter hasn't been a proper wife to you this past year. But that's no excuse for stupidity."

  What was he saying? He was equally as stupid. Just not married. Who was he mad at? Himself? Eden? At the thought of her and the way she'd let him think she wanted him, Sam saw red.

  "You're right." Jesse looked from Sam to Amy. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was stupid drunk and I wasn't thinkin' straight. I shouldn't have been out here." He drew a shaky hand over his face. "I should have stayed in our room no matter what. It shames me just to face you now, Amy. It's killing me for you to see what I've become. If I could change things, I would. If I could take us back to before all this, I'd do it. But I can't. And I don't know how to fix so much wrong."

  Amy heard the regret in Jesse's voice, saw the misery in his eyes. He was sorry, truly sorry. This was an opportunity for forgiveness and healing. More than anything she wanted to let down her emotional barriers and believe him. But her defenses had been constructed well and reinforced daily, and her fear of being the tiniest bit vulnerable held her rooted to the spot and kept her lips sealed.

  She remembered striking out at him the night before, and the way he'd stood there as if the punishment was his due. He'd come right out at her father's call as though prepared for his anger. She knew as well as she knew night would fall that if her father hit Jesse, he would not fight back.

  Moving beside her father, she said, "I think we've all said what needed to be said this day. Jesse, I hear your regret for what happened. I have regrets, too. We all need some time now."

  Sam's anger seemed to have seeped away, and he took a step back. He looked like he might throw up.

  "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine." He jerked his gaze to Jesse's. "Amy's right. I'm going to get some work done." With hunched shoulders, he turned and walked to the open double doors and disappeared outside.

  Jesse pushed his damp hair back and stood with a hand on his hip. "Amy, I have to explain somethin' to you."

  "If it makes you feel better."

  "What you saw last night was all that happened. She asked me to help her with her dress. I did and she kissed me. It all happened so fast and my head was so sluggish. I don't have an excuse. I'm not makin' an excuse. But you have to know that I wouldn't have made love with her."

  "I guess I don't know that. I don't know what I believe anymore." She looked into his eyes and felt familiar confusion knot her stomach, remembered him kissing her in front of the fire. The heat of humiliation burned in her chest. "You could have stayed with me last night," she said, willing her voice not to break. "It's never been that you can't take your ease with me, Jesse. It's that you put conditions on it that I can't fulfil."

  A muscle ticked in his jaw.

  He was a man with many layers—pride, ambition and honor among them—but he'd never been insincere.

  "Sam thought she was interested in him," he said, as if it had just occurred to him.

  "I know." She thought for a moment. "Maybe you'd do him a favor by putting her on the next stage and leaving him to his work. I made it clear she wouldn't be spending another night at Shelby Station."

  "You want it to be me that sends her packing?" Jesse asked.

  She studied him. "I think you want her gone as much as I do. Am I wrong?"

  "Maybe more."

  "Then the pleasure is all yours." She turned to leave.

  Jesse caught her arm and she stopped, but she didn't look at him.

  "Amy, please." His voice was gruff with emotion. "Look at me."

  She did. He looked awful, with dark circles under his eyes.

  "I'm sorry, Amy. There's no other way to say it. Don't leave me feeling like this. Don't."

  She was as responsible for what had happened as he. She'd shut him out. He needed his conscience purged, and she held one of the keys. Regardless of the fact that she held her affection in reserve, he was the man she loved. Part of the reason she'd locked herself away was how much it hurt to see him suffer.

  "I accept your apology. I do."

  "Something has to change," he told her. "We can't go on like this anymore."

  He was right. He was always right. She nodded, but she had to look away from his probing blue eyes.

  Jesse released her arm. "We'll talk after supper tonight."

  Change was in the wind. Part of her fought the fact with every self-protective instinct. But another part was like a captured butterfly anticipating freedom. Heart thudding, she nodded again.

  "Yes."

  ***

  Sam was coming from the stables when the morning stage stopped for water. The guests enjoyed a breakfast while he and Jesse changed horses and Jesse checked the wheels and axles.

  As the passengers filed back to the coach, Jesse strode into the boardinghouse and returned with two black bags, which Sam helped him strap to the boot atop the trunks.

  Eden appeared in the doorway, wearing a deep blue cape around her shoulders and a matching hat that hid her hair and shaded her eyes. She paused on her way to the coach and approached Sam with sashaying steps and no crutch in sight. He wasn't about to reveal his wounded pride for her devious pleasure, so he simply looked at her, willing himself not to react to her beauty.

  "It's been a pleasure, Sam," she purred, throatily emphasizing the word pleasure and letting her gaze caress his lips.

  Her sweet-as-honey voice and ladylike appearance had soured for him now that he knew her true character. "Goodbye, Miss Sullivan."

  Disappointment flickered across her expression and she continued on to the coach. When she looked about for a hand up, both men stepped back. Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets and Jesse found particular interest in a spec on his sleeve.

  One of the male travelers reached out to assist her.

  Sam turned and strode into the barn, the sound of the coach pulling away behind him.

  Thoughts of Eden's deceit nagged him all afternoon. When the hands washed and trudged to the house for dinner, Sam called to Hermie that he was heading home.

  He saddled his horse and rode out. The sky was a blustery gray and the temperature had dropped by the time he had his horse put up and entered the house.

  His attention grazed the cloth he'd draped over the table last Sunday. He'd never done that the whole time he'd lived here alone, until Eden started coming to the cabin with him. He took the checked fabric off and tossed it over the back of a chair before starting a fire in the stove.

  After making coffee, he heated a skillet and fried potatoes and a pile of eggs. Taking a seat at the table, he ate half of the food he'd prepared, then pushed it away.

  In the bedroom, he opened the top bureau drawer and took out a lacy handkerchief and a small oval tintype, the likeness of his late wife. Amy looked so much like her, he thought, rubbing his thumb over the image in a caress.


  Would you be ashamed of me, Vanessa? Or would you understand a man needed someone from time to time? If Eden had stayed and wanted to make a life with him, what they'd done would have seemed right. But the fact that she'd been dallying with him for her amusement while fancying Jesse sullied everything.

  He was a damn old fool.

  At least he hadn't hurt anybody.

  His thoughts turned to Jesse and Amy. They'd been through so much already. Seemed it never rained but it poured woe on those two. He couldn't forget Amy's face when she'd told him what she'd seen. Nor could he stop thinking about Jesse looking so dad-blamed guilty.

  Humiliation chapped his hide. He should've known better. He should've used some common sense. He should've kept his pecker on the shelf.

  Damn old fool.

  ***

  "Where's my father?" Amy asked the men seated around the table at noon.

  "Said he was goin' home," Hermie replied.

  "Was he sick?"

  "Looked fine."

  Amy set the last plate on. She glanced at Jesse and he gave her a shrug that said he didn't know anything about Sam's leaving. "If he's not back for supper, somebody needs to go check on him."

  "I'll go," Hermie said.

  Cay lifted his fork to gesture and said, "I'll come with ya."

  As it was, they didn't need to go. Sam showed up to work that afternoon and later came to the kitchen for supper.

  He didn't seem his usual self to Amy. He didn't join in the bantering, and more than once one of the hands cast him a quizzical glance. But how did she know what was normal anymore?

  After making four apple pies disappear, the men made their way out, and Sam and Jesse accompanied them.

  Amy had cleared the remains of the meal and Mrs. Barnes was washing dishes when Jesse returned with a package wrapped in brown paper. He untied the string. "These came the other day."

  He revealed several books, two slates and chalk.

  Amy dried her hands and picked up the top book, a reading primer, and glanced through the pages and lessons.

  "Days are gettin' shorter," Jesse said. "I think we should start now."