High Plains Promise (Love on the High Plains Book 2)

by Beaudelaire, Simone

  “I don't,” Becky replied. “And he's a pillar of the community. He deserves… better.”

  “Better than being loved by the sweetest, prettiest woman in town? He's a man, not a god, Becky. So who is this paragon?”

  Becky gulped. “I'd rather not say.”

  “Please?” Allison begged, suddenly sounding like a ten-year-old child. In Becky's mind, sometimes she still seemed like she was.

  “Promise you won't tell?”

  “I swear.”

  “It's… well… it's…” she broke off, embarrassed.

  “It's whom?” Allison pressed.

  “James,” Becky forced out at last. Allison turned in the chair and met her sister's eyes.

  “James Heitschmidt? Kristina's father?”

  Becky nodded.

  “Oh wow,” Allison said. And then neither of them said anything else

  Chapter 6

  Rebecca sat on one of the comfortable little seats in her dress shop, pinning pieces of a pattern to a remnant of white satin. She sat back in her chair while she worked, fully extending her arms, not leaning over the fabric. It was an awkward way to sew, but she didn't want the tears, constantly streaming down her cheeks, to stain the fabric.

  The little bell over the shop door chimed and Rebecca looked up from her work to see James Heitschmidt. She drank in the sight of him. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a shock of reddish-blond hair and a firm-jawed face dotted with freckles. Warm, friendly brown eyes wreathed in smile lines met hers. She gulped a little and wiped her eyes.

  “Miss Spencer, is everything all right?” How had he moved so quickly? Before she could even react to his presence, he was beside her, taking her hand in his. Oh, he was so warm, his calloused fingers stroking softly over her skin.

  “I'm fine, Mr. Heitschmidt.”

  “But you're crying.”

  “It's nothing. I'm just feeling sorry for myself. That's all.” She urged him into the seat beside her.

  “You, Rebecca? I can hardly imagine it. Why?”

  She closed her eyes. He'd rarely used her first name before, but it sounded wonderful in that deep, rumbling voice of his. She ran her thumb over his knuckle once.

  “Well, it's Kristina. Her wedding, you know.”

  He gave her wistful chocolate eyes. She smiled sadly, knowing what he was feeling. “It's best for her,” she said gently.

  “I know,” he replied. “But I'll miss her.”

  “The good part is, she's only going two blocks away.”

  He sighed. “So why does Kristina's wedding make you sad?”

  “Can't you guess?” she asked, and her own bitter tone surprised her a bit. “She's so much younger than me, and she's getting married. I'll never get married. Never have a family of my own.”

  “I never realized you wanted one.”

  What was that intensity in his eyes? “Of course I do, James.” How sweet his name felt in her mouth. “I'm not really all that different from any other woman.”

  “But, Rebecca, if you wanted a husband, why didn't you marry? You're lovely, intelligent, and kind. Many men would have wanted to be with you.”

  He was really too sweet. “It's kind of you to say, James, but no one would have me now. I'll never be able to marry.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “But why would they not? The way you say that sounds like…”

  She broke eye contact, looking back down at the satin, her fingers stroking softly over the fabric. “Like the truth, most likely,” she dared admit, and her blush gave way to pallor.

  James seized her hand again. “What happened, Rebecca?”

  “Do I really have to say it? I was betrothed. Years ago, when I was seventeen. He seduced me. Then he left, ran away with one of the Fulton girls. I never saw him again. I thought we would be married. I didn't realize he was playing a game with me. But after that, I knew no man would ever have honorable intentions towards me again. Men want a virgin bride, and I could no longer supply that…”

  She sniffled once and then clamped down on her unruly emotions. Why had James demanded to know her humiliation? And why had she told him? He was certain to look at her differently now, when he knew of her wanton behavior. There would be no more kind talk, no more admiring glances. He was too much of a gentleman to bandy her shame about, but it would affect their relationship.

  “Rebecca,” he said, his voice tender. She looked up at him. “I think you're making too much of that event. I mean, not every man cares if he marries a virgin. Some men marry widows, after all.”

  “A widow is respectable. She gave herself in marriage. She's not a slut who…”

  “A slut? Because of one mistake? Hardly. So that's why you never married, then?”

  She nodded, looking away. He grasped her chin with his free hand and turned her back, so she met his eyes. He captured her with them, as though with a magic spell.

  “Are you opposed to the idea of marriage, Rebecca? I mean, if a man were interested in courting you, would you be open to it?”

  She shook her head. “I couldn't. I would have to tell him… what I just told you. And it was hard enough with you, even though you've been my friend for so long. And then it would all be over anyway, so what would be the point? No. I'm not open to being courted.”

  Another tear streaked down her face. James wiped it away with his fingertips.

  “But you want to be, don't you?”

  “Doesn't everyone?” she burst out. “I'm not happy with being a spinster. That's the consequence for my bad behavior. I accept it, but I don't like it.”

  “But, Rebecca, there's every likelihood a man would be willing to overlook such a mistake. I mean, it's long in the past. Years past. And you're a lovely and compelling woman. You are no less desirable for that. You don't have to be alone.”

  She broke eye contact, and when she spoke, her voice filled with anger. “Stop it, James. I don't want to talk about it anymore. I can't dare to hope. It would crush me. Please, don't talk to me about this mythical man who will forgive my mistake and love…” she broke off, not willing to continue. She'd revealed far too much anyway.

  “It's not a myth, Rebecca.” His lips were so close to her ear, that they actually touched the skin. “There is a man who cares deeply for you, who would love to court you, with honorable intentions, and would not care in the slightest about your mistake.”

  She swallowed. Turning, she faced him again, meeting his eyes from mere inches away. “Unless that man is you, I don't want to know any more.”

  “It's me.” He closed the distance between them and laid his lips on hers.

  Rebecca's eyes slid closed at the sweet, unexpected kiss. Mouth on mouth, he pulled her to stand so he could crush her slender body in his arms. Thankful she had pulled the draperies, shutting out the street so the glare from the setting sun wouldn't blind her, she savored their privacy by slipping her arms around his neck. They kissed for long minutes, savoring what both had thought could never be.

  When he finally released her, new tears were spilling down Rebecca's cheeks. “Why didn't you ever say anything?” she demanded. “I've… cared for you so long. I thought you weren't interested.”

  “I'm interested, Rebecca. I have been for the longest time. But I thought you were too young for me. I know this is an indelicate question, but aren't you just a little older than my daughter?”

  “I'm a great many years older than your daughter. There are ten years between my sister and me, and she's older than Kristina. I'm thirty-five, James. How old are you?”

  “Forty-five.”

  “You see, a decade difference between spouses is no great matter…” She blushed. Talking about spouses was a little much.

  “You're right. Ten years is nothing. I thought it was closer to fifteen. But even then I was about willing to suggest…”

  “Even if it were fifteen, I would still say yes.” She hugged him tight. “You're sure you don't mind about…”

  He interrupted her again. �
�No, Rebecca. I don't mind. I had a virgin bride years ago. But things are different now; I don't need that again. I would choose you, even if a virgin were available.”

  She rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes. He stroked her back, cradling her in his arms. Rebecca smiled through her tears. Life was changing in the most wonderful, unexpected way.

  Wesley woke up early. He wasn't sure why for a while. There was something happening today, something he needed to be part of. But what was it?

  The answered dawned on him in a blast of winter sunlight, revealed by the movement of clouds. The wedding. Kristina and Cody's wedding. He needed to be there, he was the best man.

  Wesley stretched and climbed out of bed. This time, he'd managed, after a whole week of effort, to get Melissa to stay in her bed all night. He'd had to go in about five times to comfort her, it was true, but she'd stayed.

  As he dressed in his black trousers, white shirt, and coat, he couldn't help thinking about Allison. Though he'd decided a week ago that he needed her, needed to ask her to reinstate the engagement he'd shattered years ago, he had not yet spoken to her. She had been hard to find, preparing for the wedding, he supposed. But he hadn't given up. Perhaps afterward he could talk to her in private.

  Conversation swirled around the echoing interior of Lydia's Café, where Kristina's friends stood in small groups, eating sandwiches and drinking coffee. Wesley had found no chance to talk to Allison at all, so far. He leaned against the wall in the corner, where Melissa was sitting on the floor, picking little bites of cheese from inside her sandwich, but avoiding the ham. Scanning the room, he found his favorite girl, clad in a striking burgundy suit, her long golden hair wrapped in a loose bun, smiling as she chatted with the bride. Kristina had never looked so beautiful, he admitted to himself. Most of that was due to the glow of joy on her face. Cody approached and pressed a cup of coffee into her hand, and then wrapped his arm around her waist, leaning over to kiss her temple. Kristina's cheeks turned pink. He'd never seen her this happy. Cody was a lucky man and Wesley hoped to be half so lucky. As he watched, Kristina took several steps away from the milling center of the room. A gaggle of young women gathered into a knot. Kristina threw her bouquet of white roses directly to Allison, who, taller than the others, plucked them easily out of the air. Perfect.

  “Stay there, princess,” Wesley said to Melissa. She didn't acknowledge him, intent as she was on picking every scrap of cheese from her bread. He shook his head and approached Allison from behind, closing his hand around her arm. She jumped a little.

  “Sorry,” he murmured in her ear. “Can you please come with me? I need to talk to you in private.”

  She turned to look at him. “Yes, all right.”

  “Are you ready now, or would you like to spend some more time here?”

  Allison glanced at Kristina, just in time to see Cody scoop her up and carry her out the door to the cheers of the crowd. Blushing, Allison turned back to Wesley. “Let's go.”

  He gathered up his daughter and the three of them bundled on their jackets and left the party. In the dark evening, the chill sank right through to the bone, and they hurried through the icy wind to Wesley's house. Melissa was a dead weight in his arms, and once they reached the dimly lit parlor, he realized she was sound asleep in his arms. Precious little angel. He carried her up the stairs to her bedroom and stripped off her shoes. Her dress was not a good one for sleeping in, and he debated whether it was worthwhile changing her into her flannel nightgown. Allison took the decision out of his hands, removing a nightgown from the bureau and pulling Melissa's fancy dress from her plump little body. The little girl woke up as Allison pulled the nightgown over her head.

  “Mama?”

  “It's Aunty Allie, honey.”

  “Oh.” Melissa wrapped her arms around Allison's neck. She burst into noisy tears. “I want Mommy,” she whined.

  “Hush, darling. Your mommy is always with you.”

  Unable to watch any more, Wesley left the room. Allison had things well in hand, she always did. She was better with his own daughter than he was. Wesley walked into the kitchen, hunted down a kettle and some cups from their strange locations, and made tea.

  Leaning against the banister at the bottom of the stairs with the cup, he stared off into the darkness down the hallway, trying to plan his words. Soft footsteps on the polished boards attracted his attention.

  “Is she sleeping?” he asked, as Allison descended the stairs. He walked her into the parlor and urged her to sit on the sofa.

  She grabbed his cup of hot tea and took a sip. “Yes. She's sleeping now.”

  “Thank you, Allison. I don't know if I could take another night of her crying for her mother.” Wesley shook his head and retrieved his teacup from her hands.

  She slipped her arm behind his back and hugged him. “I'm sorry.”

  He shrugged, guilt and sorrow temporarily overwhelming his goal.

  “How are you holding up,” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Come on, Wes. We've been friends forever. We used to be engaged. Who else are you going to talk to?”

  “I don't want to talk. I want to… do something. Anything. But what can I do? Sam is dead. She's dead, Allison. I failed her. I should have done more.”

  “There's nothing more you could have done. And she's gone. That part is over. You can't worry about her anymore. The question is, what are you going to do for Melissa and for yourself?”

  “Damned if I know,” he replied. Then he realized she'd unknowingly gotten the conversation back on track. “I have to be back at work two days after Christmas. She's three. She's not even in school yet. Who will watch over her while I'm at the bank? Who will cook and take care of the house? I don't even know how to do those things. What can I do, Allison? I'm barely hanging on now. If I have to be at work all day…”

  “What about your mother?”

  He quirked an eyebrow at her, willing her to take the hint.

  She got it. “I know, but at least she could watch over Melissa for a while as you figure out what's next.”

  “I already asked her,” he said coolly, trying not to react, again, to his mother's unhelpfulness.

  “She didn't refuse?”

  Wesley nodded. “She said she did her time taking care of children, and wasn't going to use her `golden years' to do more of the same.”

  “Wes, don't take this wrong, but I really don't like your mother.”

  He grinned wryly. “She doesn't like you either, Allison.”

  “It used to worry me, but I don't care anymore.” She lifted her shoulders briefly.

  “Are you sure about that?” He pressed with the question. It was time to move this conversation forward.

  “I'm sure I no longer care whether your mother likes me. Our engagement ended when you married Samantha. Why on earth would her opinion matter to me now?”

  “Well… no. Never mind.” His eyes veered away from her face. This was too much. He shouldn't even ask it of her.

  “What is it, Wes?” Allison placed her hand against his cheek and turned him back to face her. The warmth of her fingers sank soothingly into his skin.

  “No, I can't, Allison.”

  “Wesley Fulton, for Heaven's sake. Speak. What is going though that mind of yours?”

  Out with it, Fulton. She wants to know. Let her decide for herself. “It's just… well… I need a wife, Allison. I can't work and raise my daughter and take care of the house alone. There are only two women in the world I trust with Melissa, and Kristina just got married so…”

  “So?”

  “So, would you consider… reinstating our engagement?” Good Lord, that sounded even worse than he had expected. He'd be lucky if she ever spoke to him again.

  She blinked. “You mean when your year of mourning is up?”

  “No. That's too long; I need you now. I need this to be your home, and for you to be here with me. I need you after Christmas, to care for Mel
issa when I go back to the bank. Hell, I need you before Christmas, just so her first holiday without her mother isn't a total disaster.”

  She just looked at him, her expression shell-shocked.

  “I know it's a lot to ask, but would you consider it, Allison? I need you.”

  She shook her head, not to say no, but as though to clear it, and put her hands over her face. “When?” she croaked.

  “Tomorrow? Sunday? Whenever Cody can do it.”

  “Oh, Lord, Wes. You want the pastor to perform a wedding, the day after his own?” She dissolved into hysterical giggles.

  He turned away and regarded the window. Outside, black night had settled over the town. Of course she would say no. It had been a stupid thought.

  She pulled him back around again, making him look into her eyes. She had always had the most beautiful eyes.

  “Yes, Wesley.”

  A loud buzzing sounded in his ears, as her delicate pink lips formed the words. “Yes?”

  “Yes. On one condition.”

  Wesley rubbed his jaw and temples, trying to get the buzzing to stop. It sounded like a thousand bees were inside his head. “What condition?”

  “It has to be a real marriage. I refuse to be your glorified housekeeper. It's all or nothing, Wes.” Her pink cheeks told him she knew what she was saying. Then, for the first time in four years, she leaned forward and kissed him, briefly.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

  “Oh yes,” she replied. “I agreed to marry you five years ago. A year later, I lost you. Now I have this opportunity. I'm not letting you go.”

  Wesley nodded.

  “But if you go to bed with another woman, ever again…”

  “I won't. I swear!” He grabbed her and kissed her, trying to tell her everything, all the confused contradictory emotions that were roiling through him. She was the solution to all the problems he had, and several he wasn't ready to admit to.

  That night, Allison knocked on her sister's door. Becky answered, her long, blond hair tightly braided and hanging over her shoulder.