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

by Beaudelaire, Simone

  That didn't answer their question. Both of them were still looking at her with puzzled eyes. “He… we…”

  “I've been… spending time with Rebecca lately,” James said, taking over the conversation. “With the fire and all, we decided it was time to come and speak to you formally.” He crossed the room and laid a hand on her shoulder. She stepped away from her parents and took his arm.

  “Mr. Spencer, Mrs. Spencer, I would like to ask your blessing to marry your daughter.” Rebecca froze. Marry? Had he said marry? She'd expected him to ask their permission to court her. But apparently he'd been serious about his intentions. Her gaze returned to her parents.

  They looked at each other, stunned, and then turned as one back to the couple. She could see shrewd speculation in her mother's eyes. It made Rebecca a little angry. Yes, James was a fine catch, being a prosperous, well-respected member of the community. But that was not why she loved him.

  I love him and I haven't told him. He'd told her, she recalled, but she hadn't responded. She would have to fix that right away.

  “Well…” her father began, “that's certainly quite a bombshell.” He winced at his inappropriate word choice. “And I'll consider, but the question remains, what kept you? The… event took place over an hour ago. Where have you been?”

  “Sorry,” James replied. Was that a hint of guilt in his voice? “Rebecca was a mess from the… incident. I wasn't thinking clearly. I took her back to my house so she could clean up and get warm. And I gave her some dry clothes to change into. I'm sorry we worried you.”

  Her father looked somewhat less than convinced.

  “Rebecca,” her mother said suddenly, “those clothes don't fit you, and you're soaked around the ankles. Why don't you go put on something dry and… yours.”

  Rebecca nodded, glad for the reprieve, and hurried out of the room.

  “Have a seat, Heitschmidt,” Mr. Spencer said, in a voice which told James it was not a suggestion. He sat on a sage green, high-backed armchair and the Spencers took the sofa, giving him matching bemused looks.

  “Tell me,” Mrs. Spencer began, “when did this happen?”

  “About three months ago,” he replied. He could see this answer did not please them.

  “So why didn't you say anything?” Mr. Spencer asked the obvious question.

  “I intended to, several different times. Something would always come up.”

  “Something?” Mrs. Spencer raised her golden eyebrows until her forehead crinkled.

  “First it was… her sister's unexpected wedding.” Mrs. Spencer's rosebud lips compressed into a thin line, creating deep grooves on either side. “Then the train robbery… my son…” he broke off. “I got a little… sidetracked by that.”

  “Understandable,” Mr. Spencer interrupted. “All right. So you've been secretly courting Rebecca for three months, and now you want to be betrothed to her?”

  “Yes,” James replied simply.

  “You know,” Mrs. Spencer began. Her husband laid a hand on her arm and gave her a warning look. “He has a right to know,” she told him. “He wants to marry her. Mr. Heitschmidt…”

  “James, please,” he urged them.

  “James then. There is a possibility that Rebecca might not be… chaste. After her former fiancé jilted her, there was talk. She's never said, and we've never asked, but… I think you should know.”

  James met the woman's blue-eyed gaze steadily. “I don't care,” he said.

  That seemed to settle the awkward issue, and they were all glad to drop it. Especially James. He really didn't want to discuss his role in her lack of chastity.

  “So then,” her mother changed the subject, “do you have a timetable in mind?”

  “Oh, I don't know,” James replied. “I suppose it will depend on what Rebecca wants.”

  “Soon,” a soft voice came from the doorway. Comfortably dressed in a black wool skirt and white blouse, her hair neatly restrained in a bun, his lady scarcely resembled the beautiful wanton who'd climaxed so sweetly in his arms only a short time ago. James rose from his seat and collected Rebecca, escorting her to the chair he had just vacated and standing beside her.

  “How soon, love?” he asked.

  She looked to her parents and then to him. “I want to be married before my next birthday.”

  “And when is that, Rebecca?” he asked.

  Her parents glared. With everything that had just happened, it took him a while to interpret their angry looks. He turned to Rebecca and saw a dismayed look on her face. Wake up, man. Not only have you been head of the elder board and lay pastor of the church for years, she's also your daughter's close friend. THINK! “Right, June. Sorry.”

  Rebecca's lips turned up in a wan smile. The Spencers visibly relaxed.

  “No,” her mother said firmly. “That's not enough time. It's already mid-March. We cannot plan a wedding for the beginning of June and expect to be ready.”

  “What kind of wedding are you thinking about, Mother? Because I want something small. Just you two, Allison and Wesley, Cody and Kristina, and Lydia.” She slipped her hand into James's and he squeezed her fingers gently. I just want to say my vows and maybe have a little tea and cake. Nothing more is needed. I'm an old woman. There's no need for a big fuss.”

  “You're not old, princess,” her father told her.

  “I'm old to be unmarried,” she replied.

  “If you want a small wedding or a large one, I don't care either way,” James said, injecting his thoughts into the conversation. His bride would have the wedding she wanted. He would make sure of it.

  “That's what I want,” she said firmly. “A small, simple wedding at the end of May or beginning of June.”

  Her parents nodded. It seemed when Rebecca insisted on something, she got her way.

  Chapter 12

  Allison paced the parlor of her home. Every surface gleamed in the afternoon sunshine. In her nervous agitation, she'd been polishing, dusting, washing windows and generally tidying up. Now the room had never looked cleaner, but the frantic activity had done nothing to quell her nerves. Just this morning, while Wesley had been at work, she'd left Melissa with her sister and gone to see Doc Baker. The man had required no tests to confirm her suspicions. She was pregnant. Nearly three months, he guessed. The baby would arrive in the fall. Somehow, finding out that her guess was, in fact, correct, had turned the slight nausea she'd been feeling all along into full-blown morning sickness. Again the gorge threatened to rise, and she swallowed convulsively.

  The door banged open and Allison jumped.

  “Hi, hon,” Wesley called. “Sorry if I startled you.” The fragrance of spring sunshine and prairie flowers trailed him into the room, perfuming the parlor with a sweet, clean, nausea-quelling zephyr. She inhaled deeply. Hmmm. Kansas and Wesley. My favorite scent.

  “It's okay, Wes. I was only startled for a moment. What's going on?” He was bouncing on his toes with excitement, but his expression was grim. The strange juxtaposition only made her own swirling thoughts worse.

  “Well, there was a little excitement downtown earlier. Remember that robber who was arrested?”

  She dipped her chin.

  “Well, Sheriff Brody called a town meeting. Apparently the firebombing of your sister's shop was a ruse to try and break him out of prison.”

  His odd demeanor remained.

  “And?” Allison pressed, frustrated.

  “And nothing. He didn't succeed. Brody thwarted the jailbreak, but before he ran, the other robber made threats, against the sheriff and the town if his friend is hanged. He claimed – and Brody believes him – that there's a whole gang of criminals still at large, not just the few who escaped the train robbery.”

  “What will happen?” Allison asked, nervous at the thought of a band of murderous thieves coming against their town in force.

  “Nothing much,” Wesley replied, looking conflicted. “The execution will go forward as planned, but Brody wants everyone on ale
rt. Any suspicious activity anywhere in town is to be reported immediately and he wants us all to be armed when we go out. Do you still have your pocket pistol?”

  Allison nodded, remembering the tiny, serviceable weapon he'd given her for her seventeenth birthday. If anyone threatened her home, she'd be ready.

  And then a sudden image flashed through her mind, a young man with a rope around his neck, falling, reaching the end of the rope, jerking, twitching. Overwhelmed by the sudden, gruesome thought, nausea rose again. Gagging, Allison ran for the door, circled the stairs, and threw up in a large shrub growing below the parlor's bay window.

  “Allie?”

  She wavered and Wesley took her arm to steady her, handing her a handkerchief. She accepted it, knowing the only reason he had a clean one was that she tucked it into his pocket each morning.

  “You all right?” he asked, a concerned look crossing his features.

  “I…” she broke off, swallowing down another retch. “I'm not feeling the best.” Chicken liver, what are you doing? Tell him the truth. But she didn't speak again. There was no time, because Wesley continued.

  “Sorry to hear that. Come on, let's have you lie down. Anyway, I talked to Brody.” He walked her back up the stairs and into the house, and then up again to their bedroom, chattering all the way. Allison only paid the slightest attention to his monologue, so wrapped up was she in her own thoughts. “He says he's sure there's going to be trouble later. It's going to take a lot of vigilance to prevent a tragedy, because these are evil, unscrupulous men, as you know. He needs a new deputy and asked me if I knew of anyone. I suggested Jesse. I know he loves being a bounty hunter, but he's been out there for several years, and maybe he's about ready to come home, even if it's for a short time. It never hurts to ask, right? So anyway, I thought… Allie? Allie, are you listening to me?”

  Allison shook herself out of her reverie to find herself standing beside her bed. “Yes, Wesley, I'm listening,” she said. “Sorry, I have a lot on my mind. It's a bit hard to concentrate.”

  “What can you possibly be thinking about that's bigger than a band of train robbers attacking our town?” he asked clearly exasperated.

  “I…” Okay, Chicken Little, spit it out. “I went to the doctor today. I've been feeling poorly for a while.”

  “Oh?” Suddenly Wesley's face was in hers, his eyes focused on her, filled with concern. “What's wrong, Allie?”

  “I…” She gulped. “The doctor says I'm… expecting.” Her voice broke a little at the end.

  Wesley's face went ashen, his eyes widened until they looked like saucers. Then his eyebrows and mouth drew down, and when he spoke, his voice sounded harsh and angry. “That is hardly an appropriate way to be joking, Allison.”

  She blinked in shock. “Joke? Wes, it's no joke, and no surprise either. We've been… passionately married for months. Did you think this wasn't going to happen sooner or later?” Her voice rose on every syllable until she was nearly shrieking.

  “I…” he cleared his throat. “I didn't think about it, but… later, not so soon.”

  “Wes, I don't think the decision was ours to make. It happened as the Lord willed. I had no control over it.”

  He made a face as though to speak, but in the end remained silent.

  “Wes, please, say something. I'm scared.”

  His lowered eyebrows shot toward his hairline. She knew why. Admitting she was scared was unprecedented in all their years of friendship.

  But still he didn't comfort her or take her in his arms. He didn't say a single word. He stared at her for a long, tense moment, and then turned on his heel and left the room.

  “Come on, Mama Allie,” Melissa squealed. The rain had finally cleared away and late March sunshine had dried the marshy soil. Now the little girl, frustrated at being cooped up in the house so long, wanted to run and play.

  Allison groaned and hauled herself to her feet. She looked at the chamber pot beside her bed. She really needed to deal with that. But the sight of the vomit inside nearly set off another round. Pregnancy was hell. Absolute hell. The doctor had confirmed her condition about two weeks ago now, and since then, she'd hardly gone a day without throwing up. It was growing increasingly difficult to keep up with Melissa, and all the household chores, and Wesley. She felt exhausted and run down, and all she wanted to do was sleep.

  But little children needed to play, and maybe the bracing air would do her some good. She left the pot with its unpleasant contents for later and staggered out of the stuffy bedroom.

  Downstairs in the kitchen, Melissa was prancing around the table. A fragrant pile of molasses and spice cookies perfumed the air. Allison's mouth watered. She grabbed one and offered another to her stepdaughter.

  “Can I have two, Mama?” she asked.

  “No, Missy. Only one.”

  Melissa pouted.

  “Let's go outside,” Allison said, effectively distracting the little girl from her impending tantrum. Melissa hurried into her coat and they stepped outside into the backyard. The cool breeze soothed the heat in Allison's face, and the food settled her stomach. Her mother, overjoyed but distracted by planning Rebecca's wedding, had assured her the nausea would pass eventually.

  While the little girl skipped through the garden, examining the prairie flowers which had popped out in the last week or so, Allison thought back over the three months she'd been married. While everyday life had settled into a routine, there was still a great deal of tension in both her husband and her stepdaughter. She wasn't quite sure what to make of it all. She'd known there would be grief as the two came to terms with Samantha's loss, but there was also a sense of… something. Allison couldn't put her finger on it, but the two of them seemed almost to be holding their breath, waiting for something unspeakable to happen.

  Allison had no idea what that was about, and so she strived simply to be as normal as possible. She'd established a routine they seemed to find more comforting than she could account for. Meals at regular times, chores on a schedule, and a clean home to live in. These things did not seem to Allison like anything other than typical, something most families had to a certain extent. But to Wesley and Melissa, the routines were something of a lifeline. Even the tiniest deviation sent them into hysterics. And with Allison's early pregnancy wearing her down, deviations were becoming more common, with unpleasant results.

  Wesley was not happy about the baby.

  Allison had tried to tell herself that his deadpan reaction to the news had been surprise, and that his continued tense negativity didn't mean anything, but it was getting harder and harder to believe. He didn't want her to be pregnant. Allison sniffled. She'd been excited, though nervous, about carrying Wesley's child. No more. Every sign of her condition elicited an unkind remark or a stony stare. He hadn't laid a hand on her since she'd made the announcement. Marriage was so much harder than she'd expected.

  Allison shook off her unhappy contemplations. Melissa. Focus on Melissa. Her eyes scanned the yard, which was suddenly empty and silent. Drat. The child moved like greased lightning. Where on earth had she gone? The yard was fenced all the way around, so the only place she could have gone was back into the house. Allison mounted the steps and pushed open the back door into the kitchen. There, under the table, the little girl sat cramming one cookie after another into her sugar-crusted mouth.

  “Melissa Elizabeth Fulton!” Allison exclaimed, wresting the plate out of the child's hands and setting it back on the table. The child attempted to flee, but Allison caught her by the shoulder and delivered one hard swat to the back of her pinafore.

  “I told you that you couldn't have another,” she scolded. We'll be eating dinner soon. It was very naughty of you to take more.”

  Melissa burst into noisy crocodile tears. “You're a bad mommy,” she wailed. “I'm going to tell Daddy you hit me.”

  “Tell him,” Allison shrugged. “And you can also tell him how you disobeyed me. You're going to spend some time in the corner, litt
le girl.” She marched the child to the spot where the two exterior walls met and faced her away from the room. “Now you stand there and think about what you've done.”

  Melissa tried to leave, squirming in Allison's grip. Allison spanked her bottom once more, hard enough to sting, but not enough to do any lasting harm. Goodness knew she'd received enough such swats in her own childhood.

  Melissa went utterly still and submitted with no further protest. Meanwhile, Allison hunted down the broom and swept the cookie crumbs from the floor. It was still cold enough that rodents might creep inside and be attracted to them, as well as the insects which were starting to awaken. Leaving the sugary bits behind was an invitation to creatures of all kinds to invade her kitchen.

  Dinner, a rich beef stew with vegetables, had already been simmering on the stove for a while, and would be ready to eat as soon as Wesley returned from work, along with a loaf of fragrant homemade bread. Allison had hopes of calming her husband with a delicious supper and luring him to bed.

  She added a handful of peas to the stew and set the table. Just as she was heading back to the corner to release her stepdaughter from her punishment, the front door banged open.

  “Daddy! Daddy!” Melissa yelled, running through the house to her father.

  “Hello, princess.” Allison heard her husband say, as she walked after the little girl.

  “Mama Allie was naughty today. She hit me.”

  Allison pushed open the door, amused by the child's tattling. The look on her husband's face, though, told her it would be no laughing matter.

  “Allison, Melissa says…”

  “I heard,” she said, her voice light. A swat on the bottom was not worth so much drama.

  “Is it true?” His voice sounded like two stones rubbing together. His jaw clenched in a terrifying expression of rage.

  “I didn't `hit' her, Wesley. She disobeyed me. I gave her one swat. She disobeyed me again and I gave her another. That's all. Two swats on the bottom. That's all that happened. Why is that a problem?”