Beneath The Texas Sky

by Jodi Thomas

  The floor in the main room of the Weston Ranch looked the same dusty brown as the weeds outside. Bethanie decided this was as good a day as any to scrub the neglected tiles. In her month as Ben’s wife, this was her first opportunity to tackle the huge floor. She watched Ben leave with Dusty, knowing she had the entire morning. With determination, she tied her hair into a braid and put on her oldest dress. Rolling her sleeves high, Bethanie knelt and attacked her task with vigor.

  The strong soap stripped layers of dirt off the tiles. She rubbed each square dry with rags until her reflection shone in the polished floor. The brightly colored rugs hanging along the walls seemed to cheer her on as they were reflected in each clean tile. Bethanie hummed as she worked, proud of her labor. The old Shaker songs her mother once sang ran through her mind now as wordless melodies.

  Halfway through her chores, Bethanie jumped at the familiar bang of Ben’s chair against the door. She’d been so absorbed in her work, she hadn’t heard horses approaching.

  With a gust of hot air, Ben clambered in. He was followed closely by two strangers. Bethanie rocked back on her heels and watched as they tracked dirt across her newly polished floor. Though housework was a neverending job, a disheartened sigh escaped her lips as she saw her work laid to waste before the task could even be completed. She had the nonsensical urge to stand and yell, “Wait until I’ve finished before you track this floor up again.”

  One stranger was tall and wiry with a black mustache that stretched from ear to ear like a tightrope. The other was a short, nervous man, who patted his gun like one might pat a faithful pet. Bethanie couldn’t help but stare at their dirt-covered boots as they crossed the room, following Ben to his desk.

  “Beth!” Ben yelled, then turning, saw her on her knees. “Get up, Beth,” he scolded. “We have company.”

  Bethanie rose and came to his side. “I’m sorry, gentlemen. I wasn’t expecting guests.”

  “This is Wes Mayson.” Ben waved toward the tall, bony man dressed in black. The stranger was a few years older than Ben. “And his foreman, Sam Burns.” From Ben’s offhanded introduction, Bethanie knew these men were unwelcome visitors. Ben might not be cordial, but among friends he was always proper. His lack of social grace was an unspoken insult.

  “Nice to meet you.” Bethanie tried to push her unruly strands of hair out of her face. “May I offer you some coffee?”

  “Well, that would be right nice of you, Mrs. Weston.” Mayson smiled, spreading his mustache into a thin line above his ample teeth. “May I say that I’ve heard what a beautiful wife Ben Weston had, but you outshine even the gossip’s description.” He winked at her as he smiled.

  “Thank you.” Bethanie kept her voice formal and moved a step closer to Ben. She couldn’t put her finger on why, but she didn’t like Mayson. Just as one glance at sour milk is enough to tell you all you need to know, something about Mayson was bent out of balance. Maybe it was the too friendly smile or the wink promising future closeness. Bethanie felt her flesh grow cold, and she quickly turned to the other man.

  The runt of a foreman gave her a quick nod that looked more like a hiccup than a greeting. He hurriedly moved to the window and began pacing like a trapped weasel in an empty henhouse.

  Mayson spoke in a loud voice designed to draw everyone’s attention. “If I had such a lovely wife, I’d not work her so hard.” His voice bore a joking tone, but his eyes held a touch of lust as he studied Bethanie with frightening intensity. “Unfortunately, my wife died last year in childbirth. She left me a screaming boy to raise.”

  Mayson’s words were sad, but his tone left Bethanie wondering if he were saddened by his wife’s death or merely annoyed.

  Ben looked down at his desk and showed no sign of having heard Mayson’s comment. After a few minutes of shuffling papers, he asked, “What are you here for, Mayson? It’s a long ride from your ranch. I know this isn’t a social call.”

  Bethanie seized her opportunity to vanish and fetch the coffee. She didn’t bother to wait for Mayson’s answer to Ben. Both of the newcomers made her uncomfortable. She had a feeling she would be happy to wash away the dirt they left behind from her floors.

  Ruth was already preparing the tray when Bethanie stepped into the kitchen. Bethanie wondered if the woman heard everything that was said in this house. She even seemed to second-guess Ben’s requests. Bethanie thanked her for the tray and reluctantly returned to the men.

  Ben sat with his fingers pressed flat on top of his desk as if holding the huge oak piece on the floor. Mayson leaned across the desk toward Ben, his voice rising with each word. “Look, Weston, you’ve got to sell. With winter coming on, half the stock will die off if we have another cold spell like we did last year.”

  Ben knotted his hands into fists. “I’m not about to sell my herd for your prices, Mayson. I’ll not be part of your scheme. I’d rather see them freeze first.” Ben’s voice seemed calm, yet the look in his dark eyes left no doubt that he meant every word. In a cold tone he added, “You’ll go too far someday, Mayson.”

  Mayson’s cheeks puffed in hot anger. He seemed to be struggling to control his boiling blood. He stared at Ben’s wheelchair as if debating an answer. Finally, in frustration, he whirled and stormed toward the door. “You’ll be sorry, Ben Weston. Come spring you’ll be lucky to have enough cattle alive to feed your ranch hands.”

  Sam Burns, Mayson’s foreman, danced behind his boss like a man closely trailing a rattlesnake. They were out of the house before Bethanie realized what was happening.

  She could hear Mayson giving orders to Burns, then the sound of horses being kicked hard. Bethanie quickly retraced her steps to the kitchen. She stayed there until she heard the door close and knew it was safe to return to her work. As she knelt beside her bucket, Ben moved in from the porch and crossed the room toward her. Bethanie noticed the six-gun he usually kept in his desk lay wedged between his leg and chair arm.

  Ben stopped in front of her. “Let me see your hands,” he ordered with more anger than she had ever heard in his voice.

  Bethanie raised her red hands to him. She was shocked at his outburst. His attention seemed centered on her, completely removed from the men who just left.

  Ben cupped her hands in his hard fingers. “It’s embarrassing to find my wife scrubbing floors. I’ll not have it,” he commanded as he pushed her hands back toward her.

  “But…” Bethanie began, her anger flaring. The tension from the visitors had set her nerves on edge, and now Ben was attacking her for no apparent reason. “I’m keeping my part of the bargain.” She lifted her chin. “You wanted a housekeeper, and I try hard.” She couldn’t believe he was criticizing her work.

  Ben’s anger surprised her. “I wanted a wife!” He cut her off sharply, frustration at both her and himself showing in his actions as he turned around and moved away.

  “I am your wife,” Bethanie answered in a whisper to the back of his chair. She watched him moving back to his desk. She knew what he meant by a wife, but he’d said it would be her decision, and he would keep his word. He was as honor-bound by his word as she was to their marriage.

  They talked little all evening, for Bethanie was lost in her own thoughts. He tried to tell her about the runnings of the ranch, but she only half listened. She knew she must do something quickly. Her problem was one that would not wait. She could run away, but where? She couldn’t ask Ben for money to leave him. She could tell Ben the truth, but she feared what he might do if he knew his wife were carrying Josh’s child. No, she wouldn’t come between brothers.

  As Bethanie said good night and went to her room, she knew only one plan would work. She wouldn’t raise a child without a father as her mother had raised her. No one would ever laugh and make fun of the baby she carried. She must make her marriage more than in name only. Not for her sake, nor for Josh’s, but for the baby growing inside her. Her baby must have a birthright. The child would not suffer for her folly even if she must lie.

  B
ethanie bathed and slipped on a freshly washed nightgown. In her mind she talked with her reflection in the mirror. “This is the only answer,” she told herself firmly. She had to make Ben believe he was the one who fathered her child. After all, he said he could. Well, now he would think he had. Babies come early all the time. It wasn’t as if this were some stranger’s child.

  A tear drifted down Bethanie’s cheek. She hadn’t heard a word from Josh since he’d left over a month ago. She knew he wouldn’t return until the pain she had seen in his eyes healed. If it were even a fraction as great as her own pain, Bethanie feared she might never see him again. She must make her own way. She’d been taught all her life to be honest and now she must tell the greatest lie of all in order to protect her child who had no voice in the matter. Bethanie combed her long hair as determination set her sad face.

  An hour later, Bethanie’s bare feet made no sound as she walked across the hall to Ben’s bedroom. The room had always seemed somehow off limits to her, even though no one had ever said anything. Ruth cleaned it daily, offering Bethanie no reason to enter, before tonight.

  Her hand shook as she pushed the door wide open. A warm glowing fire greeted her from the fireplace. The room seemed warmer than any other in the house. Probably Ruth’s doing, Bethanie thought. The woman always ensured Ben’s comfort without seeming to fuss over him. Bethanie saw the darkened frame of a bed with Ben’s wheelchair beside it, as if the chair stood at attention beside its master.

  She watched in frozen silence as Ben rolled over in bed and squinted at the light from her candle. For an instant, Bethanie could see a resemblance to Josh. His dark hair was out of place, and the gray didn’t show in the dim light. His short beard framed his jaw, giving the same strong effect as Josh’s beard. His eyes were dark coals of mirrored firelight.

  The likeness vanished as Ben spoke. “What is it?”

  “It’s me.” Bethanie straightened her shoulders and her determination. She stepped to the bed and set her candle on the nightstand. His furnishings were heavy oak and seemed as immovable as the man before her.

  Ben was wide awake now. His strong bare arms pulled his body up into a sitting position. “What do you want, Beth? It’s late and I’ve got a full day tomorrow.”

  There was no softness in his voice, but Bethanie did not let that deter her. All other doors were closed to her now. “I…I’ve come to sleep with my husband.”

  Bethanie gripped the flannel of her gown as she tried to stop the violent shaking of her body. What if he refused her? What if he didn’t?

  “And do your wifely duty?” Ben’s tone seemed skeptical.

  “And do my duty,” Bethanie echoed. He was not making this easy for her.

  Ben’s voice was hard between a bitter smile. “Pardon me if I doubt your word.” Bethanie knew he didn’t believe her. He had given her so much—his name, his protection, a home—but they had been married a month and she’d never crossed the hallway between their rooms. He’d told her once, he had been hurt too many times by people trying to be nice to him. She watched his eyebrows knit together as he studied her.

  “Do you want me in your bed?” Bethanie asked, fearing he would refuse.

  “Not yet.” Ben folded his arms over his hard chest. “First, I need you to prove to me who is man and who is wife in this room…Remove your gown.” His words were low, but Bethanie knew he was deadly earnest.

  “Now?” Bethanie questioned. “As I stand here?”

  “Remove your gown, or leave. I’ll not be questioned in my own bedroom.” His eyes were cold and dark brown as he watched her without any hint of emotion, without the slightest sign to indicate he cared one way or the other.

  Bethanie knew he was testing her, but she couldn’t turn and run. He wanted her, but not as an equal. She took a deep breath and began unbuttoning her gown. She saw shock register briefly on his face and knew he’d thought his demand would force her to leave.

  As her cotton gown fell to the floor, Bethanie could not meet Ben’s gaze. She forced her vision to the charcoal drawing behind his bed. The sketch of horses running wild reflected her desire to flee.

  “Step closer,” Ben ordered, his words low now. “You’re my wife, Beth Weston, and you are a beauty.”

  This was the first compliment Ben had ever paid her. Bethanie looked at him and wondered if he was complimenting her or himself. The look on his face revealed nothing of his thoughts. His dark eyes studied her as his thumb ran up and down the short whiskers of his jawline. Bethanie was surprised to see a touch of indecision cross his face. Could this hard man be unsure of himself?

  Ben slowly lifted his hand and closed his warm palm over Bethanie’s full breast. She forced her body to remain frozen and not withdraw. His powerful fingers began kneading her flesh roughly as though he didn’t know how sensitive a woman’s breasts were. Her pink nipples peaked to his rubbing.

  “Say it again, Beth,” Ben insisted as he cupped her breasts in his hand.

  “Say what again?” Bethanie’s voice was shaking.

  “Say you are my wife and will lie beneath me. I won’t try to break you. I’ll not demand too much of you, but in this bedroom you must agree I am master, or I’ll not have you in my bed.” His words were as cold as his stone dark eyes.

  Every ounce of Bethanie wanted to run, but she thought of the baby deep within her and knew she must do this thing. “I am your wife, and I will lie beneath you and do my duty.”

  Ben lessened his grip on her breast. “I know that took a great deal for you to say. I never thought I’d have such a fine wife. You’re strong and spirited in mind and body. From this night, you’re mine. Do you understand? Beth, from this night I will not sleep alone again.”

  Bethanie knew exactly what he was saying. This was not going to be a one-night stay as she had hoped. She was crossing a bridge that could not be retraced. “I understand,” she whispered.

  “Put on your gown and go around to the other side of the bed,” Ben said with more gentleness than his usual tone.

  Bethanie quickly pulled up her gown and slid into bed beside her husband. She lay on her back waiting. Staring at the ceiling, she wished she were home with her mother. But her mother was dead, and this was her home.

  Ben scooted down beside her and placed his hand on the flat of her abdomen. He spread his fingers wide and moved up and down across her body, lightly pulling at her flesh through the material of her gown.

  Bethanie closed her eyes tightly and felt tears spill down both sides of her face. She lay frozen as Ben’s hand pulled her gown open and touched her flesh. He moved his palms up from her thigh to her breast and down again. His action was not loving, only exploring, as if he were trying to learn every inch of her body. He seemed to want to prove something to her or to himself. He twisted her nipple between his fingers and thumb until her traitorous mound pointed once more to his satisfaction. “I’ve watched you move many times and wondered what softness lay beneath the bindings of your bodice. You’re full and ripe.”

  Bethanie pulled an inch away. She resented being talked about like a cow. At this moment she hated Ben Weston. She hated his coldness and high-handed manner. She even hated being called Beth.

  Ben’s hand closed like a vise on her shoulder and drew her back. “Don’t pull away from me, Beth.”

  Bethanie nodded slightly as he released her shoulder and slid his hand back to her breasts. His fingers were rough as they rubbed her soft flesh, but she didn’t withdraw again. He wasn’t hurting her, only showing ownership. She hated each stroke.

  Ben reached across her and blew out the candle. In the darkness his voice came clear to her like the dropping of a trapdoor to a man at his own hanging. “Pull up your gown.”

  Bethanie hesitated. There was still time to change her mind. She could jump up and run out of his room. Ben couldn’t even follow her. But she knew there was nowhere else to go and no one to turn to. She forced herself to follow his instructions.

  This was to be it th
en. No words of love or caring. Maybe I’m better off without them, Bethanie thought. It was such words that had gotten her in this mess to begin with.

  In silence, Ben lifted himself and slowly lowered his body to Bethanie. As his organ pushed into her unprepared flesh, Bethanie let out a cry of pain and heartbreak. Ben put his hand over her mouth to stifle any more sound as he pushed deeper. “It always hurts the first time, I’ve heard.” His words were a cold statement brushing her ear.

  His palm remained across her mouth as he took her. Bethanie let the tears flow freely as her body remained stiff. She wasn’t being raped, she reminded herself. She had come willingly to his bed. He was her husband doing what he had every right to do. Yet the pain of his thrusts blended with the ache in her heart.

  Ben’s body tensed, then collapsed on her. A minute later, he rolled off her and lay on his back, his only comment, “It won’t hurt next time.”

  Bethanie pulled her gown down. “Don’t ever cover my mouth again.” It was a little thing, but Bethanie had to say it.

  Ben turned toward her. “I will not, since you ask it. You will sleep in my bed from now on?”

  Bethanie was surprised at the questioning tone in his voice. “Yes,” she answered. He had doubted her word, or had he thought his cold lovemaking would drive her away?

  Bethanie was aware that Ben didn’t sleep for a long time. She wondered what this man, who treated sex as coldly as he did everything else, was thinking. Finally his breathing grew regular and she turned toward him. She studied his face in the dying firelight. In sleep he looked younger and more like Josh. Both brothers had the square jawline and short black beard. Only Josh had allowed the sun to tan his skin golden, whereas Ben’s skin seemed a pale gray. Where Josh’s features were strong, Ben’s seemed hard, unyielding. Though Ben’s arms were powerful like his younger brother’s, his legs were thin, barely capable of movement and too weak to hold him up.