How had she ever considered marrying this cruel man?
"I think whomever you're shacked up with needs to know all about you. How you let me under your skirts. How you whored to come up with the money to run away from your daddy because you're a spoiled little girl used to getting her own way."
"All you are interested in is my daddy's land. You don't care about me." At the shifting of his gaze, she knew her comment hit home. "You never loved me. You just want to marry me and wait for my father to die so you can get your hands on the land. Well, you're not going to get it now."
Adeline dashed for the open doorway, but Billy had anticipated it. He jumped from the chair, caught her around the waist, and slammed her against the wall before she could make it inside the bedroom.
"I came because I love you and want you with me, Adeline." The hollow words didn't hold a bit of truth in them.
"Stop the lies and get out of here! Leave!" Adeline shrieked, slapping and kicking at him. "Let me go!"
"Release my wife unless you want a bullet to the back of your head." Jackson's voice was low, but the ominous threat behind the words made chills crawl up Adeline's spine. This was a side of Jackson she'd not seen.
Billy met her gaze for a moment before he released her. He held both hands up, palms forward, and turned toward Jackson, whose gun was steady and pointed at Billy's forehead.
"Step away from her now, stranger," Jackson instructed, his eyes meeting Adeline's, sending her a silent reassuring message. But instead of relief, paralyzing dread tightened its hold in her chest.
Billy cleared his throat. "Your wife? I don't think it's true, mister. As a matter of fact, it's not possible. Tell him why, Adeline." He slid his gaze to her.
"I said move away from her now." Jackson's eyes narrowed at Billy.
Billy moved, but stayed closer to Adeline than to Jackson. "Don't you want to know who I am?"
At Adeline's gasp, Jackson's attention jerked to her for an instant. He nodded at Billy. "All right."
With a triumphant gleam in his eyes, Billy replied slowly. "I'm Billy Johnson, Adeline's husband."
The room tilted and Adeline grabbed for the doorframe to steady herself. She could not, would not faint right now. Jackson wouldn't believe Billy. It was not possible. When her surroundings swayed again, Adeline gulped for air.
Jackson paled, but his expression did not change. Adeline took one step forward, but stopped when her husband's eyes met hers.
Disbelief and shock mixed with deep hurt reflected from the blue depths cutting through her. His sad eyes bored into her as if drinking in the sight of her, and for a few moments, she expected him to call her to him. Instead he turned his attention to Billy.
"Explain why, if she's your wife, she is here... with me."
Billy's Adam's apple bobbed, but he managed a believable hurt expression. "She run off after we had a spat. She's done it before. Twice. Hell, I wouldn't have come after her this time, but her daddy is worried sick about her and begged me to find her. Adeline is his only daughter, you see."
"Stop it, Billy!" Adeline shrieked. "Jackson, please don't believe him. He's lying. He is not my husband."
Jackson didn't look at her; he maintained eye contact with Billy. "He's not dead either."
"You told him I was dead?" Billy interrupted. "Come on now, Adeline, tell the man the truth -- how you don't like staying in one place for long." Billy shook his head sadly. "I love her, mister, otherwise, I wouldn't take her back. I come for her even after finding out she spent time in a whorehouse to come up with the stagecoach money."
Jackson's eyes widened and he looked to her. "Is that true? A whorehouse?" His question barely above a whisper.
"I'm sorry, it was only for two days... I was scared," she sputtered, unable to stop trembling. "I lied about him being dead, but nothing else. I beg you, please don't believe him." Her knees buckled, and she fell against the wall.
The room was quiet while Jackson regarded Billy for a few moments.
When Jackson dragged his eyes to her, heated anger had replaced the earlier sadness. He felt betrayed. He didn't believe her because of her lie, and now she was losing him.
Jackson lowered his gun, and his arm hung limply at his side. "You worked in a whorehouse?"
"Yes, but I didn't..."
"You didn't tell me that either," Jackson interrupted. He looked away and Adeline closed her eyes, not sure what she could say without doing more damage.
Everything shifted, her senses dulled to the point she could not make out what was being said. She fought to keep her knees from buckling when Jackson stepped away from blocking the door. His eyes locked on her face.
Then he broke her heart into a million pieces.
"I believe you, Billy Johnson. Take her, get out of here."
Billy grabbed her arm, his rough grip crushing her. Jackson's eyes went to where his fingers dug into her flesh, but he remained silent.
"No," Adeline tried to scream, but it came out more of a hoarse whisper. "No."
"Ah, come on, Adeline, let's go home. You're lucky I'll take you back after all you put me through." Billy dragged her out of the house.
Once they stepped past the door into the night air, the cold wind slapped her face, and Adeline dug her heels in and began to struggle against Billy. He tightened his hold on her and waved his gun with the other hand, getting her attention. It was pointed at Jackson's back.
"Go to the horse."
He pushed her not so gently up on the saddle, then climbed on after her.
Through the dizzying shock threatening to consume her, she could see Jackson right inside the doorway, his shoulders slumped, the gun still in his hand. He did not turn to watch them, nor did he move.
When Billy turned the horse away, Adeline went numb. Escape was her only option now.
After her mother died, Adeline had cried for days. Her father drank every night, his way of coping with the loss, she supposed. He would start cursing at her, and when he'd had enough of her crying for her mother, he would send her to her room, and she would hear the sound of the bedroom door's lock turning. The routine became a constant in their home.
Then her father began to hit her, beating her without mercy if she dared to mention her mother in his presence. Over time, the reasons for his abuse became less clear. One night as she lay in bed after a particularly brutal beating, she shivered under the blankets, unable to find warmth, yet too weak to get up and find another blanket. With the eye not swollen shut, she focused on a spot on the wall and continued to stare at it until a calm stillness enveloped her. Serenity fell over her, and she no longer cared or felt.
It was at that point Adeline didn't care about her mother's death, about her father drinking and beating her, about anything. She stopped eating, and the doctor was summoned when she became too weak to even sit up. Shock, the doctor called it.
After scolding her father for waiting until she was on the brink of death before calling him, the doctor took her to his house, where his wife helped nurse her back to health. When she returned home, her father's behavior changed. Although he continued drinking, he stopped hitting her and became even more distant.
Now, for the second time in her life, Adeline found the familiar place deep within, a tranquil place where emotions didn't exist. Motionless and limp, she made it through the long days of riding and the cold nights spent outdoors.
No sooner had they left Four Winds than several men joined them. Apparently they'd help someone steal cattle and were now headed eastward to meet another rancher who had similar work for them. Although the men watched her with curiosity, none ever approached. Not that she would have cared. Her world remained grey and unfocused. Numb and oblivious to everything and everyone around her, Adeline only knew she was thankful to feel nothing when Billy climbed on top of her at night and took her body.
At first, whenever she thought of Jackson her heart would stir, and a piercing pain sliced through her chest. Thankfully, the anguish dulled a
little with each passing day until the comfort of apathy filled her instead.
Jackson had turned his back on her and allowed another man to take her away. He had believed Billy's lies and not asked for her side of the story. She was a woman, after all, and no matter how well Jackson had treated her, almost as an equal at times, he'd still taken a man's word over hers.
For that she'd never forgive him.
The campfire was dying, and icy wind cut through her, but she didn't care enough to move. Billy walked by and shoved her shoulder. It made her topple to the ground, and she just lay there on her side without moving and stared into the fire.
One of the men eyed her. "What the hell is wrong with your woman? Send her for kindling, don't you see the fire is about to go out?"
"You sure you want to keep her around?" someone else asked Billy. "Seems to me, she's not right in the head."
"Yeah," another voice agreed. "She don't talk or eat or nothing."
"Shut up!" Billy hollered. "It's a ploy. A game to trick me into letting her go." He pulled her head up off the ground by her hair. "Ain't that right, Adeline? There's nothing wrong with you."
"She's not going to last much longer without food and water," the first man commented, "but hell, it ain't none of my concern."
Moments later, a canteen of water was shoved in her mouth and water poured down her throat. "Drink, whore. You ain't any good to me dead." Billy's face came into focus.
Adeline sputtered and coughed as the water choked her, but he was relentless, not stopping until the canteen was empty. When he released her, she collapsed at his feet, and the side of her face slammed against the muddy ground. Oh, how she wished for unconsciousness, even death.
Billy's nudged her side with his boot. "Get up. I'm taking you over to the creek to wash you up. You stink worse than the horses." He picked her up and half dragged her to the river as the men watched and laughed.
"Shut the hell up!" Billy screamed over his shoulder.
They continued laughing, not paying him any mind.
Chapter Twelve
Buck nudged Jackson's leg and let out a low whine. The sound of the dog asking to be fed snapped him out of his stupor. He took in the kitchen without any idea how long he'd been sitting at the table. It was light outside. Dawn? Dusk? Who knew?
The room was in shambles, totally destroyed. Almost every item in it was broken and strewn across the floor. From what he could see, the bedroom didn't fare much better.
The wind came through the open door and caught the edge of the yellow curtains, which now hung torn from one side of the kitchen window. She'd made curtains.
Jackson roared, jumped to his feet, and yanked the piece of offending fabric from the wall. He threw it outside and slammed the door shut, the sound of it vibrating through the room.
He picked up the bottle of whiskey and attempted to pour another drink, but only a couple of drops splashed into his cup. Laughter bubbled up in his chest and he let it out. Loud peals of mirthless sound filled the room.
"Can't even do drunk right, can you, Jackson? Can't get away from misery properly," he mumbled before throwing the bottle against the far wall. It shattered, sending chards of glass in every direction.
Buck crept under the table, eyeing him warily.
On the stove, a small pot had miraculously remained upright. Jackson walked over and peered inside. Stew.
He placed the pot on the floor. "There you go, Buck. Eat up."
The dog cocked his head and studied him before approaching with trepidation. Once he sniffed the stew, he ate with gusto.
What would he do now? Jackson went back to the table and collapsed into the same chair. The last few days on the ride back, he and Lucas had returned at breakneck speed, barely stopping to sleep. He'd been so anxious to get home to Adeline. To his wife. No, he reminded himself. She was not his wife. Never had been.
God, he'd known she was holding something back, but the secret he'd thought would be easy to get past turned out to be unforgivable. Insurmountable even. She'd told him Billy Johnson was dead. How long did she plan to keep him believing they were legally husband and wife? Had she really whored to pay her fare? The thought made the whiskey in his stomach churn. He couldn't believe it, but what did he know?
Pale and shaken, Adeline had not said much to argue against what the man said. Her eyes pleaded with him silently to believe her, and how he wanted to. It had taken all his willpower to keep from attacking the man when he'd wrapped his hand none too gently around her arm. He didn't treat her well, that much was obvious. Was it the reason she'd left him? If so, why had she not told him the truth?
Jackson hung his head. If she'd admitted to being married, he would have taken her back to town and left her with his brother to figure out what she needed to do. She could have asked for help, but no, she'd purposely deceived and lied to him. And Johnson had said she'd run off before.
His hand trembled as he dragged it over his face. How could she have fooled him? When they'd made love, he felt a deep tie to her, and she'd regarded him with affection. Hell, before he left, he'd been sure she was falling in love with him.
And he was a fool.
He reached down and picked up his Bible off the floor. No matter how angry he was, he wouldn't go so far as to leave it there. Holding it up, he studied it for a long time. "I could ask you why," he told the book, "but I won't." He placed it in the center of the table.
A tear made its way down his jaw, and he swiped at it with the back of his hand. He crossed his arms on the table and rested his forehead on them. "I'm man enough to admit it -- I love her and it hurts like hell," he said aloud to the empty room. "Damn it, Adeline."
Head down Jackson allowed himself to cry.
Loud knocks woke Jackson. The pounding surprised him because he didn't remember barring the door. He must have done it out of habit before falling asleep.
He unbarred the door. "Come in." His voice was hoarse and sounded strange to his ears.
Earl bustled in and stopped short, his wide eyes taking in the state of the room before locking on the broken whiskey bottle. The deputy didn't remark on it, instead he narrowed his eyes at Jackson.
Dread curled in the pit of his stomach. "What is it, Earl?" Jackson asked, trying to ignore the pounding at his temples.
"Err..." Earl stumbled for the right words. "Well, your brother's been shot."
Jackson turned to grab his hat and the Bible caught his attention. "Don't do this," he yelled to the book, pointing his finger at it. "No more."
He turned and shoved past a startled Earl, who followed him out and closed the door. Buck was right on his heels, and he commanded the dog to stay. Buck sat on his haunches obediently, his expression eager as he watched them climb on the horses.
Lucas and Peggy Ann had just arrived in a wagon, and the woman's bright smile dimmed at spotting Earl. "What happened?"
Jackson galloped away without stopping to explain. Earl briefly spoke with them before coming after him.
They made the three-hour trip in less than two. Jackson didn't bother tying his horse outside, but instead dismounted and raced around to the rear of the jailhouse, where Heath lived.
He tore through the doorway, past the front room, and straight to Heath's bedroom. The doctor glanced up at his rushed entry and motioned him to go back out. Jackson ignored him, and approached the bed. His brother's eyes were closed. Heath was shirtless with a bandage wrapped around his upper chest. He was breathing. Jackson almost collapsed in relief.
"What happened?"
The doctor straightened from listening to Heath's heart and pushed Jackson out of the room ahead of him. Doc Wagner was not a man to take lightly. He stood nose to nose with Jackson; the large man didn't take no for an answer often.
"Damn it, Doc, I want to see my brother," Jackson growled, not backing down, and attempted to get around him. "Let me through."
The doctor put his hands on his shoulders to ensure he didn't go back in. "He was shot on
the left side of his chest. Damn lucky it missed his heart. But his lung collapsed, and I had a hard time getting him to settle down. I had to knock the stubborn boy out before I could punch a hole in him to allow the lung to inflate. The darn fool lost a lot of blood fighting me." He shook his head, and a half smile lifted the side of his mouth. "He'll be fine, Jackson. He just needs to get plenty of rest."
Jackson leaned around the doctor to look at Heath, who continued to sleep. "Who did it?" he whispered.
"Don't know," Doc Wagner replied. "He was alone with whomever shot him in his office when it happened. Sometime late last night or early this morning."
"What about Earl? Where was he?"
"Earl was home; they take turns spending the night there."
Jackson nodded. "What about the judge? Has he been around?"
"He's pinned on the star and is covering as sheriff until your brother comes around. I'm sure Heath will be able to tell us who's responsible when he wakes up. Earl is already gathering up a posse." The doctor shook his head. "He's crazy to even try. Whoever did this is probably long gone."
The doctor moved aside. "Go on, see your brother if you want, but don't wake him." He studied Jackson closely. "Everything all right with you? You don't seem well."
"Came off a cattle drive yesterday. I haven't had time to wash up yet." He brushed past the man into the room.
The thick, coarse blanket had slipped, and Jackson adjusted it over his brother, taking care not to wake him. He placed his hand lightly on his forehead. It was cool to the touch. Although a bit pale, Heath didn't seem too bad off.
Jackson slumped into a sturdy chair and leaned his head against the wall. Fatigue came in waves, but he did not allow it to conquer him. He'd watch over his brother until he woke up.
A small wooden dog lay on its side on the bedside table. He remembered whittling it one night when Heath was still a teenager.
The rebellious boy had gone to town without permission, then gotten lost on the way home. All the while, Jackson had practically lost his mind searching for him. When he finally found the scared, exhausted boy sitting beside a campfire not too far from the ranch, he was torn between hugging him and beating him.
Where The Four Winds Collide Page 9
