Frontier Lady (Lone Star Legacy Book #1)

by Judith Pella

  In spite of all her reasoning, it was only with great effort that she pushed herself away from Jacob. It surprised her that Leonard’s abuse had not soured her completely on the prospect of physical closeness with a man. But perhaps such needs were too elemental to be eradicated completely. Thus, though her whole body trembled with desire, perhaps even with love, she turned her face away from the force of his kisses. For a brief, terrifying moment, when he did not immediately stop, she feared he would compel her to comply. How could she be certain that was not the way with all men?

  But Jacob did stop. Despite the pain and regret in his eyes, he fell away from her, and for several moments neither could speak or even move. Deborah continued to weep, her tears now completely from self-pity.

  Finally, Jacob spoke, his voice filled with bitter irony. “My brother has everything! I hate him, Deborah. God forgive me, but I hate him!”

  “Jacob, he doesn’t have my love. He never will.”

  “What does it matter? I would fall in love with an honorable woman!”

  “I doubt it has anything to do with honor,” she replied, her tone mirroring his bitterness. “I just can’t give him the satisfaction. He would destroy us both.”

  “He is destroying us, anyway.”

  “Jacob, how I wish it could be otherwise!”

  “Do you, Deborah?” Hope once more infused his words.

  “Oh … it is so tempting.”

  “Maybe it is wrong—perhaps a sin. But do you think God wants you to live always in such misery? Isn’t what my brother does to you a worse sin? Let him pay for a change! Imagine his shame when it gets around that his wife ran off with another man—his own no-account Mexican half brother! Let Leonard suffer for once.”

  “I fear that what we feel for each other, Jacob, is too mixed up in what we feel toward Leonard.”

  “I love you, Deborah—because of you, not in order to get back at my brother. But I’d feel no sorrow if that were the effect.”

  Slowly Deborah shook her head.

  Jacob went on, more emphatically now. “I will tell you something, Deborah, before you make your decision. I have made no mention of this because I didn’t want to frighten you too badly. But now perhaps you need to be frightened into seeing just what kind of place this is.” He paused, appearing reluctant to continue, but he did so with great resolve. “You have never asked how my mother died. But I will tell you now. She took her own life. Do you hear me, Deborah? She killed herself! She took a knife and cut the veins in her arms until she bled to death.”

  “Jacob, no!”

  “I don’t know all of the horrors you suffer with Leonard,” Jacob went on in a strained voice, “but I know a little of my mother’s. Caleb treats his horses better than he treated her. I was only a boy, but many mornings I would come upon her weeping in her bed. I did not understand why she should be weeping, but I beheld her haunted, ghastly eyes. My mother was a devout Catholic. But Caleb would have none of that papist apostasy in his home. She always kept her faith secret, but she never gave it up. To her it was a mortal sin to take her own life, but she was willing to risk the fires of hell rather than spend the rest of her life with my father. She left me a note when she died. She put it where she knew I’d find it but not Caleb. In that note she begged me to forgive her for deserting Laban and me, for leaving us alone with him. She said she could not go on any longer, and must place us in the hands of God.” He paused, taking a ragged, anguished breath. “That, my dear, sweet Deborah, is what lies ahead for you if you stay here.”

  Empathizing with his pain, she could hardly speak, but now, more than ever, she had to convince herself of the logic of going on with her marriage. And she tried to convince Jacob, too. She argued that it was different for Jacob’s mother, who was Mexican. No doubt a white wife would receive better treatment, although even as she spoke she knew by experience how lame that reasoning was. But Leonard was not Caleb, and she was Leonard’s first wife. There was still hope of changing him. Jacob just listened, sadly shaking his head.

  “Come with me, Deborah,” he entreated, “before it is too late!”

  “I can’t.”

  “How can you still be faithful to him? He doesn’t return the favor to you. I have seen him go to the cantina in town and visit the women there.”

  “All the men go to the cantina—”

  “After all you have been through, you cannot yet be so naive.”

  She shook her head dismally. “It has nothing to do with that. Jacob, I am expecting Leonard’s child.”

  He responded with a stunned gasp. “Dear God, no!”

  “You see why I must stay. I can bear my own shame, but not my child’s. And I think it will make things better. He wants a child; it’ll make him happy and maybe think better of me.”

  “It did not help my mother,” Jacob replied.

  “For all his faults, Leonard is not as cold and hard as your father.” Oh, how she wanted to believe that!

  Jacob said no more. If she must stay, why should he destroy her hope, flimsy as it was? She would have nothing else to comfort her. But the pain his silence caused ripped like a blade through his soul.

  “Will you still go?” Deborah asked at length. She hated herself for asking, but she desperately hoped that somehow they could remain as they had been before.

  Jacob knew that was impossible. “How could I stay now? I fear I would kill him if I saw him hurt you again.”

  “I knew my happiness could not last forever—”

  The sudden sound of a galloping horse forced her to stop. She and Jacob exchanged a panicked glance. The approaching horse was heading right for the gully.

  11

  Jacob jumped up when Leonard’s mount crested the ridge of the gully. Jacob’s and Leonard’s eyes met—hatred and challenge on one face; fury and accusation on the other. Deborah pulled herself up to stand beside Jacob. Her legs were trembling. She did not see how this could end in anything but tragedy.

  Leonard swung from his horse and loped down the side of the gully. He was wearing a gun, but it was that look in his eyes, not the weapon, that frightened Deborah most.

  She shuddered when that cutting, chilling gaze focused on her.

  “So, in addition to everything else, you are a tramp as well!” Leonard spat.

  Jacob stepped forward, his hands knotted in tight fists. He had never stood up to Leonard before. It was time he started. “Take care what you say, Leonard!” he warned.

  “You will come to the defense of your cheap lover—how noble! And you nothing but a half-breed bastard.”

  Jacob knew his brother meant that final word in all its truest meaning. He would never be more to his brother, or to his father for that matter.

  “I don’t care what you say about me,” Jacob rejoined as calmly as he could, “but if you speak that way against Deborah again, I swear I will kill you!”

  “Ha! You don’t have the nerve. All you are good for is making my wife into a common whore—”

  Jacob had no weapon, but he didn’t need one; his years of pent-up hatred were enough. He sprang on his brother with animal fury, knocking him down, pummeling his face with unrelenting blows. The speed and surprise of his attack was sufficient to give Jacob the advantage for a few moments, and he made the best use of it. Before Leonard gathered back his wits, his face was streaked with blood.

  But the next time Jacob aimed a punch at his brother, Leonard grabbed his wrist and repelled the blow forcefully, pushing Jacob’s solid body back far enough for Leonard to roll away from him. Immediately both men leaped to their feet, but Leonard was first to launch a counter-offensive, charging Jacob. As Leonard’s full weight fell against him, Jacob stumbled back, but he did not fall. Instead, he sprang toward his foe, fists flying. He landed two or three more punches, but Leonard was far from beaten. He came back at Jacob with a barrage of punishing blows to his face and midsection. Bent over, gasping for breath, Jacob didn’t see the boot aimed at his face. The blow shook his tee
th and brought blood spurting from his mouth. The force of the kick knocked him into the shallow creek. He had barely hit the water when Leonard flew bodily at him.

  They struggled in a vicious clinch for several moments before Jacob finally gained the advantage, buffeting Leonard fiercely from the right and left. He thought he felt Leonard’s body go limp beneath him, and he eased his attack.

  That was all Leonard wanted. Unseen by Jacob, Leonard’s hand moved to his side.

  Deborah screamed. “Jacob, his gun!”

  But it was too late. Leonard drew and fired. Jacob fell back, blood dripping from his arm. Leonard took aim again, this time unobstructed by Jacob’s close attack. The pistol was aimed squarely at Jacob’s head, the hammer cocked.

  Deborah ran to her husband. “Leonard! Please don’t! Let him go.”

  “It is my right to kill him,” Leonard panted, his eyes glazed with the fury of a crazed animal.

  “There was never anything between us but friendship,” she insisted, although she knew Leonard would never believe her.

  “Ha! I have heard about you sneaking off together.”

  “Don’t hurt him, Leonard. I beg you!”

  “And with what will you seal this bargain, my dear? I don’t think you have anything left to bargain with.”

  He was right. She had nothing. Leonard’s power over her was complete, and because of her utter helplessness, Jacob would die. How she despised her weakness! But in those brief moments of despair, a resolve began to form in her. Somehow she would not let Leonard Stoner defeat her! She would win, and she would never be helpless again. That sudden resolve, however hollow and absurd, did manage to spark in her, if nothing else, a physical rush of strength. And that was all she needed to gain a brief instant of mastery over her husband and secure Jacob’s safety.

  She bolted at Leonard.

  She was not heavy enough to knock him down under normal circumstances, but because he was balanced on one knee in the water, with his gun aimed and most of his attention focused on Jacob, the force of her attack effectively pushed him off balance. He toppled into the water.

  “Jacob! Run!” Deborah shouted. When he hesitated, she cried once more, “Go, now! You must. And don’t come back—ever!” The words seemed to excise her heart as she shouted them, but she knew it was the only way.

  Jacob realized the truth of her words and forced himself to respond. He ran to his horse and mounted. But before he rode off, he turned back to his brother. “If I ever learn you have hurt her, I will come back and kill you!”

  Then he bolted away at a gallop, his horse cutting a dusty swath in the yellow grass.

  Leonard could have fired at his retreating brother, for Deborah was hardly strong enough to stop him. But he did not. Whether it was from a sense of mercy, or brotherly loyalty, or the simple practicality that shooting a man in the back would tarnish his reputation, Deborah did not know. Nor did she care. If he was wise enough not to come back, Jacob would be safe. Though she had lost her best friend, she could take comfort in that, at least.

  Leonard scrambled to his feet and holstered his pistol. Then he reached out a hand to Deborah. There was no warmth in this gesture, and his face, bruised and bloodied as it was, remained cold. His simple effort to assist her was probably no more than sheer reflex, yet Deborah was immediately struck by the fact that this was the first time her husband’s touch was intended to help and not hurt her. If his action held any deeper significance, she certainly could not fathom it, and later events did not show it to be a precursor to change.

  They rode back to the house in silence. After returning Prairie to his stall, she went directly to her room to change out of her wet things. An hour later, as she lay on her bed resting from the emotional ordeal of the day, Leonard came to her room, entering without knocking as was his habit. He was also in clean, dry clothes; the wounds on his face had been washed and tended, with a small bandage on a particularly nasty cut over his left eye.

  “What do you want?” she asked coldly.

  “Do I have to give a reason for visiting my own wife’s bedroom?”

  “No. You usually have only one reason.”

  “Indeed!” A sly grin slipped across his face.

  “Then get it over with. I’d like to go to sleep.”

  “Is that how you received my brother?”

  “You will never know!” she retorted icily.

  He raised his hand to strike her, but she managed to block his attempt with her arm. It was a paltry defense. He instantly grabbed her wrist and forced her arm against the bed. The viselike grip of his hand hurt terribly, but she bit down a cry of pain. When she tried to claw at his fist with her other hand, he imprisoned that one also. She could not budge, and yet he was hardly exerting himself.

  “It seems we are going to have to begin our lessons in submission all over again,” he threatened ominously.

  Oh, how she wanted to hurt him back! Then the perfect weapon occurred to her. She had hoped before that it might be used to repair their marriage; now she only wanted to lash out at him with it.

  Using all the scorn she could summon as she lay there at his mercy, she spoke, “I guess you may as well know, I am pregnant.”

  “Whose brat is it?” He was challenging her, not asking her.

  She was tempted to drive her weapon into him, to leave him ever tormented with doubt. But just in time, before she further degraded herself, she realized he was not a man to suffer inner torment over anything. He would assume the worst, and only their child would suffer for it in the end.

  “It’s yours.” She nearly choked on the words, especially as it fully dawned on her that she was indeed carrying his baby—this man whom she looked upon as little more than a monster.

  “And I am supposed to believe you?”

  “In spite of what you wish to think, there was never anything between Jacob and me. How I wish to God it was his baby! But God is not abundant with His blessings toward me.”

  “Well, we will know eventually, won’t we? If that baby has but one black hair on its head, I will kill both you and it.”

  “I really don’t care anymore, Leonard.”

  And with that only partially true declaration, she relaxed her arms, which she had been struggling to free. She closed her eyes and tried to close her mind as well to all emotion and feeling. As Leonard bent over her, she wondered if this was how Jacob’s mother had felt before she ended her life. Overwhelming apathy, with but one singular desire—release.

  At least Jacob was free. That was one good thing to come out of this dreadful day. She berated herself many times over for not going with him.

  Oh, her stupid honor!

  And her misguided desire to bring her child into a proper home! What kind of home was it when it made her think more about dying and murder than living? And what kind of child would she raise in such a place? What if it turned out like Leonard, as Leonard mirrored his own father?

  Still, what if there was a small chance that it might not turn out so? Perhaps a child would bring out the humanity in her husband. Children had changed other men, or so she had heard and read. It was possible!

  She sighed miserably. Why did she bother to hope at all?

  12

  After Jacob’s departure, Leonard made Deborah more of a captive in his house than ever. He went so far as to post guards at the doors to insure she did not leave. He said it was because he could not trust her until he was certain Jacob was far away. Deborah hardly cared to go out anyway. Again, the stables brought her painful memories. She forgot all about the young colt, Prairie.

  And it only added to her distress when Laban accosted her shortly after Jacob’s departure. He did not touch her—he didn’t have to. His scathing speech and accusing look were as sharp as a knife thrust through her heart. His trenchant glare was more effective than all of Leonard’s abuse.

  “This is your fault. You have forced my brother away!” He leveled the words like an attack. She was too stunned to won
der at his sudden concern for his brother, for even Jacob had commented on Laban’s aloofness. Perhaps that had only been a protective shield. Maybe Laban was more like her than she had thought. Maybe he cared so deeply for Jacob and needed him so much that he had been afraid to admit it for fear of losing him.

  She only gasped at the sting of his words. “I loved Jacob; he was my friend.” But she spoke weakly, despondently. No one would believe her. These people did not understand anything as pure as friendship.

  “He would not have left if you had not come,” he accused.

  For the first time, Deborah really looked at Laban. She had never done so before; she had barely spoken to him. He lived with Jacob in a line cabin on one of the more distant ranges, but he made an even more pointed effort to stay away from the house than his brother had. Now, she saw how young he was. In the stark devastation of his grief she saw he was but a boy, only sixteen. What had made him appear deceptively older at times was the hard, silent sullenness of his eyes. He had no doubt been hurt even more deeply than Jacob by the early loss of his mother, the only person who could have given him the tender love he needed. But what was even more apparent—frightfully apparent—was his strong resemblance to Caleb. Except for his dark coloring, there could be no doubt whose son he was. Jacob had definitely taken after his mother, which no doubt was why Deborah had warmed up to him so easily. Similarly, because of Laban’s likeness to his father, Deborah had never reached out to him. She pitied him more for his similarity to Caleb than for his present grief.

  Nevertheless, Deborah wanted somehow to comfort him. She could understand better than anyone the desolation he must feel. Even though he now leveled hatred at her, she wanted to show him the gentle compassion he’d find nowhere else. But everything she could possibly say sounded hollow, as empty as her own soul.