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

by Beaudelaire, Simone

  “I know,” Allison replied. “But part of me still loves him. It hurts every time I see him.”

  “Then how on earth can you be his friend?” Becky asked.

  Allison rose from the chair and plunked herself down on the blue crazy quilt that covered her bed, leaning back against the headboard. She patted a spot beside her and her sister set the brush on the vanity and joined her, settling at the opposite end of the bed, the footboard supporting her as she slouched. Allison couldn't help but smile. She doubted anyone but she had seen Becky relax enough to slump in years.

  “Love is a funny thing, Becky,” Allison told her sister, trying to diminish her pain by taking the tone of an old-time storyteller. “When you love someone, really love them, you have to forgive them if they make a mistake. Even if it's a horrible, life-changing mistake. I can't go back and change the past, and I don't want to lose one of my best friends, so I just… made peace with the pain.”

  “You should find a suitor,” Becky said, her face uncharacteristically fierce, her eyes flashing like sapphires. “Don't let him destroy your future.”

  “Destroy?” Allison regarded her sister curiously. “What do you mean? Am I destroyed if I remain single? Is that life not worth living? You never married either, sis.”

  “I know. This is not what I would have chosen, and I sure don't want it for you.”

  “Becky, can I ask you something?”

  “You want to know why I never married, right?” Becky's cheeks were flaming.

  “Yes,” Allison replied. She'd always wondered why her sweet, lovely sister was single, at the great age of thirty five. “I know your beau left with that other girl, but really, there are other men in the world. Did you love him so much?”

  Becky shook her head. “I got over whatever affection I had for him quickly enough. That wasn't it.”

  “Then why…”

  “You know the rumors?”

  Allison closed her eyes briefly, and then opened them, nodding slightly.

  “They're true.”

  “You really…” She couldn't continue. Couldn't voice Becky's shame aloud.

  Becky smiled sadly, with only one corner of her mouth. “Yes. I was a silly girl back then. I didn't think… I thought it wouldn't matter.”

  “I'm so sorry, honey. That unbelievable bastard! I wish I could cut his balls off!”

  “Allison!” Becky exclaimed, aghast at her sister's unladylike language. “Anyway, he didn't force me. I was willing enough… at the time. I regret it though. If only…” her eyes went soft and vacant, and somehow Allison knew there was a man in her heart, a different man. It was a shame.

  “You know,” Allison said, trying to ease Becky's distress, “I'm not the most innocent girl myself.”

  Becky's gaze focused back on her sister and she raised an eyebrow. “You let Wesley… take liberties?”

  “Oh yes,” she replied. “A lot of them. We didn't quite… but… well… you know.” She broke off, not wanting to describe how her suitor had once opened her blouse and fondled her, and then promptly bedded another woman and got her pregnant.

  “What a sorry pair,” Becky quipped. “What's wrong with us?”

  “We're a couple of hussies,” Allison replied. They looked at each other and burst out laughing, granted a little hysterically. But really, laughter was better than tears.

  That night, Wesley dreamed of Allison, of that afternoon in the farmhouse, which seemed like a lifetime ago. Only in this dream, when she begged him to take her virginity, he did. In his unconscious state, he sank deep into her tight, eager flesh and pumped hard, desperate to avoid some unseen threat. Dream lovemaking led to a real life orgasm, which stained his nightshirt and the sheets. Waking in a puddle did nothing to improve Wesley's mood. Especially since he was alone in his marriage bed, his wife having spent the night who knew where.

  Grumbling, he cleaned up the mess, dressed for a casual Saturday at home, and headed downstairs. While not much of a cook, Wesley was capable of stirring up a pot of oatmeal and brewing coffee.

  He dished up a bowl for Melissa, set it at the dirty kitchen table to cool and slurped down a soothing cup of the strong black brew. Then he filled the dishpan with water and soap and put several days of accumulated dishes inside, to soak off the crusted slime. This was his Saturday routine, sometimes with Samantha hovering over the process offering useless advice, sometimes not.

  A few minutes later, as he was scrubbing a filthy fork, his little angel trailed down the stairs, barefoot and still in her nightgown, a little ragged teddy bear dragging forlornly behind her.

  She slumped down at the table and began eating her oatmeal in silence. Wesley smiled. Even at three, Melissa was far from a morning person. It would take an hour at least for her to wake up properly.

  The front door slammed open and Samantha breezed in, pink-cheeked and smiling. She leaned over Melissa and kissed her before slinking to her husband. She planted a wet kiss on his lips and he caught a whiff of masculine cologne. He hugged her gently.

  “My goodness it's cold outside,” she chirped, her full pink lips parting in a wide smile. He noticed she had love bites all over her throat.

  “Why don't you have some breakfast and then warm up in a nice bath,” he suggested. He didn't want to be around her when she smelled like her lover.

  “I just ate,” she replied, “But a hot bath sounds wonderful. That's a great idea.” She kissed him again and breezed out of the room.

  Wesley tried not to grind his teeth. He should be thankful Samantha was in a good mood. They seemed to get rarer as time went by. He glanced at Melissa and was pleased to see his little angel smiling into her oatmeal.

  Chapter 2

  All in all, the weekend went better than Wesley had expected. He met the new pastor, Reverend Cody Williams. The man was young for his position, being only twenty-four, and had a wide, white-toothed smile and a friendly demeanor. Wesley hoped they could be friends. Since his best buddy, Jesse, the fourth member of their group growing up, had moved away, he'd missed having a male friend his own age.

  By Saturday night, it was clear Samantha's good mood was holding, and when she slipped into bed beside him and cuddled up, he took her in his arms. She was his wife. This was the only part of their marriage that actually worked, and he refused to deny himself the pleasure. And despite everything, Samantha was still damned good in bed.

  Sunday he took Melissa to church and listened to Cody preach his first sermon. It was powerful, moving. The man was a gifted speaker, but Wesley noticed how his eyes kept being drawn away from the rows of wooden pews with their long scarlet cushions upwards to the choir loft of the church, where Kristina sat on the organ bench with her back to the congregation. So the new preacher was interested in Kristina, was he? Good. It spoke well of his character, because although Kristina was a lively and vivacious woman, she wasn't particularly pretty. Wesley lingered in the pew with Melissa, not wanting to wade into the throng of people trying to shake hands with Cody. The preacher was something of a local celebrity. A lot of people stopped in this little town, wanting a bite to eat when the train stopped. A few came for the night on various errands. No one moved here. Not since Lydia opened her café the same year Dylan Brody came to be sheriff. They were the last newcomers, with five years each under their belts.

  Sunlight illuminated the rows of stained glass windows, which lined the two long exterior walls along the sides of the building. The illustrations of Biblical scenes turned to irregularly shaped patches of color on the dark wood of the floors and lighter wood of the pews. Light like hope. Too bad I have none left. Overhead, the whitewashed ceiling contrasted with row after row of exposed support beams in the same finish as the floor. To the left of the altar with its long communion rail and plain box of a pulpit was a door leading to a storage room. To the right another door leading to an office. That was the church. Simple but lovely, the center of life in their little town. And now a new pastor would be presiding over it, one
who might at least provide some respite for Wesley from the hell of his existence.

  Lydia approached beside him.

  “Hello, Mr. Fulton,” she said, her eyes crinkling a bit in the corners as she smiled. He smiled back. Black-haired, dark-eyed Lydia Carré was an anomaly around this town, being half French, half Italian. The plump, pretty woman was effusively friendly and well liked. Cody wondered how old she was… certainly over thirty, but not by much he'd wager.

  “Miss Carré.” He nodded.

  “How are you two today?”

  Melissa looked up from the paper she was coloring and gave the chef a shy glance. Lydia patted the girl's silky hair and her own expression turned wistful. Wesley wondered why she'd never married.

  Another woman approached, and this time Melissa abandoned her paper with a joyous squeal and pounced.

  “Oof,” Rebecca grunted softly as she gathered the child up for a tight hug. “Wesley. Lydia.” The two women smiled at each other. It was no surprise they were close friends. Both spinsters over thirty, both entrepreneurs, they had a lot in common. Plus they were just nice. Wesley liked them both. He considered Lydia a friend, and of course Rebecca had been his unofficial big sister his whole life. He shook hands with each of them, contrasting their mature beauty. Unlike Lydia's dark, Mediterranean exoticness, Becky epitomized the pale Germanic loveliness typical of this town. Her features were small and delicately shaped and she exuded an air of graceful acceptance. Nothing ruffled Rebecca Spencer. She was utterly serene. It was no wonder his daughter, with all the turmoil in her everyday life, was drawn to the lovely woman's soothing presence. Lydia, with her effusive hand gestures and bubbly nature, intimidated the nervous child and received a tepid reception.

  James Heitschmidt, arm in arm with his daughter, came towards them. Kristina greeted her long-time friend with a warm hug, but there was wariness in her expression when she met Wesley's eyes. He regarded her familiar features. Though Kristina was no great beauty, her heavily freckled face with its short, upturned nose was not horrible to look at. And she did have quite a lovely smile. She released him and her eyes were drawn to the doorway, where Cody was shaking hands with the snobby Jackson family. Ilse, their adult daughter, was eyeing the handsome minister with a predatory expression. Ilse thought all the attractive, unmarried men in town belonged to her. This attitude irritated a great many people. Wesley, for his part, had never been in her crosshairs, tied as he'd been to Allison from the beginning, for which he'd been grateful. He had no interest in that snippy little cat. Of course, you didn't do much better, he acknowledged ruefully.

  “Wesley, would you and Melissa like to come for lunch this afternoon?” Kristina offered.

  After eating his wife's unpalatable cooking all weekend, Wesley was unable to say no. He accepted with a grateful smile, noting that she had turned to look at the pastor again, as though unable to stop herself. His grin broadened. It was about time Kristina noticed a man, and received his attention in return. Even from this distance, Cody's blue eyes burned a bit as they alighted on his friend, and she blushed and looked away. Interesting. Turning, he saw Rebecca deep in a quiet conversation with Kristina's father James. The bluff, blond haired shopkeeper seemed to be instructing the woman on how to figure profits.

  By this time, the crowd had thinned considerably. Rebecca's parents called to her from outside and she faltered mid-word, blushing furiously to the roots of her golden hair.

  “Thank you, James,” she said softly. Wesley was struck by how unusual it was for her to use his first name. Even he and Kristina and Allison got funny looks for refusing to say Mr. and Miss to each other, though they'd been friends their whole lives and couldn't have done it if they'd tried.

  “Of course, Rebecca,” James said. He reached out and clasped her slender shoulder – it might have been because both her hands were filled with Wesley's daughter, but something about his gaze on her blushing face suggested otherwise – and then released her. “I'll stop by tomorrow and help you get that counter constructed.”

  She nodded. Wesley knew she was turning her sewing business from a home-based to a more professional one, by setting up a little shop in the abandoned building next to the jail. She had cleaned up the cobwebby interior with the help of her younger sister and all their friends, Wesley included, a couple of Saturdays ago, and had been setting up the interior with dress forms and hanging bars ever since. The last item was a long counter for her cash register, which had been ordered from Kansas City, but required assembly. James, who had constructed his own a couple of years back, had offered to help.

  Rebecca set Melissa on the floor and left, but tossed a backward glance at the group, her cheeks turning slightly pink. Wesley wondered what that was all about.

  And then his attention was diverted back to the conversation. Lydia shook everyone's hand and headed out. The Heitschmidts and their lunch guests trailed after her.

  “See you later, Reverend,” James said. Kristina took the young pastor's hand and gave him a confused look, in which attraction blended with irritation. He held her fingers a little too long. There was no mixture of feelings in Cody's eyes. He gazed at the organist with unflinching admiration. Wesley wondered if he even realized how much of his interest he was broadcasting.

  Now it was Kristina who was blushing. Wesley grinned. It was about time his friend was struck by Cupid's arrow. She needed it. At last, Cody released her and she hurried down the steps and out into the blustery street.

  Wesley shook Cody's hand and gave him a warning glance with an arched eyebrow, silently promising bad things to anyone who hurt his friend. Cody returned his gaze without flinching. Good.

  Then Wesley joined his friends and they walked quickly down the street. Though the sun shone, the temperature was more winter than fall. He carried Melissa, so her tiny, mincing steps would not slow them down.

  The Heitschmidt house was the most German-looking residence in town. It was gleaming white, decorated with strips of wood in a contrasting golden color. No gingerbread or other frilly adornments. The interior was the same, sturdy, attractive pieces, but no unnecessary accents. Kristina had always liked things plain and simple, just like her mother before her. No fuss. No clutter. This made her unusual, as most women were fantastically devoted to crocheted doilies and other bric-a-brac. But Kristina refused to succumb to the pressure of popular opinion. Her own home was decorated only with well made, serviceable pieces: sofa and armchairs, lacquered tables, and a rocking chair. Heavy green drapes shaded the window.

  Wesley took a seat on one of the armchairs and James perched in the other. Kristina hurried into the kitchen to put the finishing touches on the lunch. Melissa trailed after her.

  “So, Wes, what do you think of the new pastor?” James asked, and the sharpness in his tone told Wesley that his daughter's interest in the young man had not gone unnoticed.

  “I've only talked to him a bit, but he seems decent enough. I don't have any reservations about him so far.”

  “I think he's a good fellow,” James said.

  “Yes, I agree,” Wesley replied. “Just what we need. But he won't stay single for long.”

  “He won't,” James agreed. “I hope Kristina doesn't get hurt.”

  “Encourage her to be open to him,” Wesley said. “He's just as interested in her.”

  “That's hard for me,” James replied, his expression sad.

  “I know. I can only imagine. But isn't it best for her?”

  James nodded and let the oblique conversation drop, and a few minutes later Kristina stuck her head into the room and called them to lunch.

  Chapter 3

  “Good morning,” Rebecca said softly, smiling her serene smile at her favorite gentleman. She was pleased he had come to help her construct a counter for her new shop. Her stomach fluttered, but she strived not to let her inner thoughts show on her face. There was no point.

  “Miss Spencer.” James nodded, giving her a wry half-smile.

  “I re
ally do appreciate your help,” she said, though his formality had her wondering.

  “Any time.”

  He set his tool kit on the floor and shrugged off his coat. Becky noted with pride that, despite being a mature man, he handled the heavy wooden box and its cumbersome contents with ease. Years of hefting the cans, barrels, and other oddments he sold in his shop, had left him strong. He gifted her with a grin, which dimpled his cheeks and set his freckles rolling into the creases around his eyes, before going to work on the crate containing the pieces of medium-sized pine block that would eventually form the basis of her business. It struck Rebecca how incongruous the tall, muscular blond man looked, surrounded as he was by racks of ready-made dresses, shelves of fabric and lace, and little tables littered with sample books. The walls, instead of being adorned with wainscoting or wallpaper, were hung with a soft periwinkle fabric that contrasted cheerfully with the pale pine floors. Rebecca really loved her shop. It was everything a lady might want when selecting new clothes. But she also really loved James being there. Over the years since his first wife's passing, they'd become close friends. If only… Rebecca sighed. There was no hope James would ever care for her in that way, so she would be better off to simply enjoy having a handsome man care for her and help her when she needed it.

  Two weeks passed very much like normal. Some days were good, and Wesley walked down the street to the bank without concern. Other days, he treaded lightly around his wife and hoped not to set her off. He was mostly successful; that is, until two Thursdays later. His mother came over for an unannounced visit, and her usual grumpy comments about the sloppy housekeeping and substandard food sent Samantha into a flurry of furious despair. After Mrs. Fulton left, the younger woman attacked her husband and daughter in a vicious torrent of curses and vile insults. Then she started hitting. Once again, Wesley gathered up his daughter and fled, this time finding the café open and Reverend Williams inside, sipping tea and looking thoughtful. The promising courtship between the young pastor and Kristina Heitschmidt seemed to have fizzled, which made Wesley heartily sad… when he had presence of mind enough to think of problems other than his own.