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

by Beaudelaire, Simone

“I doubt I would succeed,” James admitted. “I seem to have little willpower where Rebecca is concerned.”

  Cody considered his words. “Well,” he said, “I've been scouring the scriptures for a solution, and what I came up with was from Leviticus, where it says couples who anticipate their wedding vows should go ahead and get married. Since you won't stop, how about just moving up the wedding? Y'all have a small one planned. It shouldn't be that hard.”

  And why not, really? James thought to himself, relived at such an easy and appealing solution. “I'll talk to Rebecca.”

  “Preferably in a public place,” Cody urged.

  James made a face. “All right, Cody. I'll seriously consider everything you've said.”

  “Do that,” the younger man urged.

  Shaking his head, James left the church and hurried through the spring sunshine to the Spencer home.

  He knocked and, when Mrs. Spencer's voice called out he should come in, he obeyed, closing the door behind him. He followed the sound of clanking pots and pans to the kitchen where the ladies were preparing lunch.

  “Mrs. Spencer, may I borrow Rebecca for a moment, please?” he asked.

  She glanced at him and nodded. “I think I have things under control here.”

  He grinned. Once Rebecca's parents had gotten over the surprise of their spinster daughter's engagement, they had been quite supportive of it.

  His beautiful lady shot her mother a beaming, breathtaking smile. “I'll set the table,” she said, gathering up a load of plates and set forks and knives on top. James gathered the drinking glasses and followed her into the dining room. As often as he'd eaten there, he scarcely took in the scarlet tablecloth, the matching draperies framing the bay window which overlooked the street, or the china cabinet in the corner. He set his burden on the table and moved swiftly, plucking the plates from Rebecca's hands and depositing them safely before grabbing her in a tight embrace and planting a wet kiss on her mouth.

  When he lifted his head, she smiled at him, her eyes sparkling.

  “I love you, Rebecca,” he said and her grin widened further. “Do you believe that?”

  “Yes, James,” she replied automatically, but her tone was less convinced than he would have liked.

  “And do you believe that I'm going to marry you?”

  “We're planning the wedding. It won't be long.” But her smile had faded.

  He shook his head. “I think we're going about this the wrong way.”

  Her delicately arched golden eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, why are we waiting until June to have our wedding? Why are we waiting at all? It's too hard to resist temptation and I don't know about you, but I'm about to jump out of my skin, wanting to be with you all the time.”

  Her eyes grew misty. “What brought this on?”

  He touched his lips to her forehead and then drew close to her ear and whispered. “I haven't done right by you, and I've been feeling guilty about it. I don't want your reputation to suffer. Sooner or later, people will find out what we've been up to. I don't want that. I also don't want to wait to have you in my bed every night.”

  The cheek pressed to his grew warm. He turned and kissed her there too.

  “You haven't done anything I didn't want, James,” she said.

  “I know,” he replied, “and I love your eagerness. We're going to have a wonderful marriage. But we're not married yet, Rebecca. To me, that seems like a waste. Do you think we could… hurry things up a bit? I mean, what are we waiting for?”

  “For my dress,” she replied. “It's not finished.”

  “And nothing else?”

  She shook her head. “Planning a wedding with only ten guests is relatively simple. It could be put together in a week, once the dress is done.”

  “And how long do you think it will take you to finish it?” he asked. Her eyes widened.

  “A few days, if I work hard. But, James…”

  “Ten days, Rebecca. No more.”

  She gasped. “But…”

  He took her face in his hands and looked deeply into her eyes. “I can't wait. Please?”

  She blinked. He sweetened the request with another kiss.

  “My mother is going to throw a fit,” Rebecca said. James grinned, recognizing her oblique comment as acceptance. Now everything would be all right.

  Ten days later, Rebecca sat in the church's little office, off the main sanctuary, where elder board meetings took place. She was dressed in her rose silk gown and her sister, for once, was brushing her hair, weaving spring flowers into the corn silk strands. The soothing caress of boar's bristles did nothing to comfort the nervous bride. Her parents, who should have been here with her, were protesting the rapid pace by sitting in the pew, instead of assisting the bride.

  “I think I'm going to be sick,” Rebecca said softly.

  “You'll be fine,” Allison replied. She moved around the chair and the rounded swell of her belly brushed her sister's arm.

  “Weren't you scared at your wedding, Allison?”

  “Of course,” her sister replied, patting her shoulder. “I knew Mother would throw a fit. And then Mrs. Fulton would throw a bigger one. But Wesley is worth all that.” She dropped her hand to her tummy. She did that constantly now, Rebecca thought idly. Marriage to Wesley was nothing like Allison had expected, and her sister was still reeling a bit from it.

  “But were you worried he wouldn't show up?” Rebecca gulped down a wave of nausea.

  “No,” Allison replied. “I knew he would be there. And you know Mr. Heitschmidt will be here. He loves you, Becky. Why would he not show up?”

  Rebecca shook her head. Her hands were shaking… her whole body was. She laid her arms down on the table and rested her forehead on them.

  “Becky?” Allison's voice was filled with concern, but Rebecca couldn't reply. Her world seemed to be closing down on her. “I'll be right back,” her sister said, laying the brush down on the table and hurrying from the room.

  Rebecca didn't pay her any mind. She was focused on not fainting, though her stays were not laced particularly tightly. Consciousness faded and wavered. She tried to breathe. In and out, Rebecca. In and out. Keep on drawing air. Don't hold your breath. She knew she was being silly, but she couldn't help it.

  “What's going on in here?” a deep voice cut through her haze and she lifted her head. It felt heavy as a sack of flour and about as animated.

  “James?” His freckles swam in front of her.

  “What's wrong, Rebecca?” He turned her chair and crouched beside it, wrapping his arms around her. His warmth dispelled her frantic, panicky state somewhat, but she still couldn't answer. Her fractured thoughts made no sense to her. How could she express them to him?

  “I think she's got the worst case of bride nerves ever,” Allison said. “She's talking nonsense, like you were going to jilt her or something. I thought she needed to see you were here waiting. Can you keep her busy so I can finish fixing her hair, please?”

  James nodded. At least that's what Becky assumed the strange, wavering movement meant. He pulled a chair around the table so they could sit knee to knee and he took her hand in his.

  “Rebecca,” he said gently, “I'm here. It's our wedding day. In a few minutes you'll be my wife. Nothing is going to happen to prevent me from marrying you. Try to relax, love. I'm here, and I'm going to stay right here beside you today, and for the rest of our lives.”

  He kept on talking, stroking her hand with his, sometimes squeezing her reassuringly. At last Allison set the brush aside again and grabbed a tiny daisy. Becky figured she was tucking it into the hairpin, which held what could only be a braided bun into place.

  “There,” she said. “You're ready. Let's get this over with, before you pass out.”

  James stood, pulling Rebecca to her feet. He placed her arm on his bicep and covered her hand with his. Then they walked out. Instead of processing down the aisle, James led her across the fron
t to where Cody stood waiting behind the pulpit.

  The organ crashed out a loud note and Rebecca started violently. James patted her hand. Rebecca wavered. She wasn't going to make it. Her high-heeled white boots bit into her feet. James's hand left her arm and snaked around her waist, supporting her. She closed her eyes and opened them, looking up into his face. This was real. Sandy red-blond hair, silvered at the temples. Warm brown eyes. Masses of freckles. Snub nose. Full, sensual lips. Cody's soft drawl sounded, but the words were garbled beyond recognition, so she focused on James instead. James and breathing. Nothing more was needed. His lips twisted, forming words. She furrowed her brow, trying to understand. What had he said? Oh yes, I do. She gulped and bit down hard on her lower lip. The sudden sting woke her up enough that Cody's words at last gelled. “… until death do you part?” James gave her a little squeeze.

  “I do,” she said. He nodded, and his worried expression gave way to a smile. His face drew close. His lips touched hers. His eyes looked deep into hers. His smile broadened, but his eyes grew shiny. She blinked. The world rushed back into existence in a roar of sound. They turned to face their `audience'. Wesley sat holding his little daughter on his lap. Her parents stared, stony-faced and silent. From the choir loft, Kristina regarded them with an unfathomable expression. Only Allison, seated beside her husband, smiled. And even she looked strained, though Rebecca figured that was because Wesley had shifted subtly away from her.

  I need to do something about that. The random thought threaded through her mind, though what she could do to help her sister's floundering marriage, she wasn't sure. She did want to give Wesley Fulton a piece of her mind, for making Allison pregnant and then acting as though she'd done something wrong. As though married couples were not supposed to make babies together. Clearly, he hadn't held back.

  Pressure on her back. James was leading her again. James, her husband. Slowly a bright smile spread across Rebecca's face. She'd done it. She's actually managed to get married. Now she had a husband, and it was James. What could be better? They stepped out into the early April sunshine as a married couple.

  Two hours later Rebecca sprawled on James's bed… their bed… in her chemise and bloomers, her dress draped over the back of the chair. She pulled pin after pin from her hair until it tumbled free in a shower of gold and white flowers.

  James froze in the process of removing his tie and collar.

  “Pretty,” he said and heat bloomed in her cheeks.

  He shrugged off his black suit jacket and tossed it aside, slipping his suspenders from his shoulders before joining her on the bed.

  “So, Mrs. Heitschmidt,” he said.

  “So what, Mr. Heitschmidt?” She giggled.

  “You seem better. I was worried about you.” He scooted close to her and slipped one arm under her waist.

  “I was acting like a ninny,” she said, a little embarrassed. “I hope I didn't hurt your feelings.”

  “Well, love, I wasn't thrilled at how little trust you have in me, but under the circumstances, I did understand. I'm just glad the day is done.” He grinned. “I bet you are too.”

  “Relieved is more like it,” she replied, trying not to think about the part where he felt she didn't trust him. “I don't exactly know what came over me, but I think I nearly fainted.

  “I'm sure you nearly did. I'm so glad you stayed on your feet through the wedding.” He touched his lips to her forehead. “And now?”

  “Now I'm waiting for reality to sink in that I'm really your wife and have every right to be in this bed with you in my unmentionables.” She smiled.

  “If they're unmentionable, love, we'd better get rid of them,” he replied solemnly. “I can't have my lovely wife embarrassed by wearing garments which cannot be named. He reached for the hem of her chemise and lifted the garment over her head. “There,” he said, as though proud of his accomplishment. “Is that better?”

  The heat in Rebecca's face spread down to the parts of her he'd just uncovered. Her skin prickled with tingling arousal.

  “It's somewhat better,” she replied. “I'm only half unmentionable now.”

  He winked and reached for the little ribbon which held her bloomers in place.

  “Cody?” Kristina said softly, cuddling her husband. He rolled in her direction and snuggled up against her.

  “Are you awake?” she asked.

  “No,” he replied, resting his forehead against the full softness of her bosom.

  “If you're not awake, why are you answering me?” she asked, her tone ironic.

  “I'm talking in my sleep,” he replied.

  Kristina dug her fingers into his ribs.

  “Argh,” Cody shouted in protest. “What are you doing, woman?”

  “Just making sure,” she replied smugly.

  “You are evil and cruel, Kristina,” he said. “What did you want? I hope after that rude awakening, it's something pleasant.” He took her in his arms and kissed her. She let him for a while. Then she wriggled out of his grip and said, “I heard a rumor.”

  “Kris, I just got through telling your dad you don't listen to gossip.”

  “Well, normally I don't,” she replied. “But in this case, it comes from a reliable source.”

  “What source?” he asked.

  “Allison.”

  “What rumor?”

  “Well, she doesn't know for sure, but she thinks Rebecca is expecting. She said she saw signs in her sister she recognized in herself.”

  Cody sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. “I don't know what you want me to do about it, darlin'. I've done what I could. They're married. I can't prevent the gossip if that's true.”

  “Oh, it's not that, Cody. I'm just thinking… I mean… well Allison and Wes are expecting and now if Dad and Rebecca are too… well, I'm not.”

  “Is that a problem, Kristina? I mean, we've only been married a few months. I'm enjoying having you all to myself, darlin'.” He rubbed his nose against hers.

  “I don't know, Cody,” she replied. “I'm not really worried exactly. I just didn't know how you felt about it.”

  Cody let the thoughts settle in silence for several minutes. When he spoke, it was in a calm, serious voice. “Kristina, if the Lord sees fit to bless us with children, I'll welcome them. If not, well, this life we have; each other, the church, your father, and visiting my folks and sister sometimes… it's a good life and I wouldn't regret keeping it just this way. You're enough for me, darlin', all by yourself.”

  “I love you, Cody,” she said, hugging her husband.

  Chapter 15

  Hold up, cuz!” Edgar Fulton called to Wesley, as he passed the post office on his way to a brief deacons' meeting. Wesley was looking forward to the meeting greatly and wanted to get there. He was in no hurry to get home.

  Don't be unkind, man. It's not Allie's fault she's in a bad mood. She's so huge I don't know how she stands up anymore. The thought of why his wife was so swollen set his insides squirming uncomfortably. As did the thought of her crabby, whiny demeanor, which only seemed to worsen with every passing week. And if you're honest, you'll admit that even her worst is nothing like as bad as what you once knew. It wasn't, but that didn't stop him from resenting it, just a bit.

  “What's up, Ed?” he asked his cousin. The young man hurried across the street. Summer rain had turned the dirt between the stones into a quagmire, and he slipped and skidded, finally grabbing Wesley's arm for support. Thankfully, Wes had seen the move coming and strengthened his stance to compensate.

  “You have a letter,” Edgar replied, waving a rectangle of paper in front of him.

  Bank business, Wesley thought, remembering he was expecting correspondence on a shipment which was due to arrive next month. As if the train robbers weren't bad enough, when all they wanted was revenge. If they knew we were getting… He didn't finish the thought. Didn't have to. Edgar tucked the letter into his hand and one glance at the envelope revealed to Wes that he had been completely w
rong. Heart-stoppingly, gut-wrenchingly wrong. The return address was headed by the name `Andrew Fulton'.

  Wesley blinked, not knowing what to think or feel, moments before a wave of irrational terror washed over his insides like the swollen Arkansas River.

  Oh grow up, he chided himself. It's a piece of paper. It can't hurt you.

  “It's from your dad,” Edgar crowed, oblivious to Wesley's inner upset. “Don't that beat all? After all these years.”

  “I know,” Wesley replied, forcing wooden words past paralyzed lips. Thanks, Ed. I have a meeting.”

  His cousin waved and sauntered back across the street to the post office, wiping his forehead as a wind which held the stale rankness of overripe summer sent a few crispy blades of dried grass waving south towards the Oklahoma panhandle and the whole of West Texas. Wesley turned, facing into the wind. Clutching the letter in one hand, he fought his way through the gusts toward the church.

  “Don't read it,” he muttered to himself. “Why the hell should I care what he has to say now, almost twenty years later? I was only a kid when he took off. What must I have been, seven?”

  Seven, yes. And why do I not remember it? Losing a father should be a memorable event. I don't remember much of anything from before that time. He didn't want to remember either. The very thought had his stomach and jaw clenching.

  “So don't read it. Tear it up and throw it in the river!”

  But do you really want that? What would it hurt to know what the old bastard has to say? You sure don't have to respond.

  By the time Wesley reached the church, he was still of two minds about the unexpected missive and just what exactly he should do about it.

  “What have you got there, Wes?” Allison asked, hefting herself out of the rocking chair and waddling across the bedroom floor to her husband. He hugged her awkwardly and kissed the top of her head.

  “It's a letter,” he said.

  She gave him a look. “I can see that. So what? You get letters every day. Why is this one special?”