Wesley set his daughter on the floor and advanced on his wife. Anger radiated from him. She had never before been so aware of his size. He was more than a head taller than her, and while not heavily muscle-bound, he was still quite strong. She took one step backwards, involuntarily, but then firmed her resolve and stood her ground. He grabbed her arm in an iron grip.
“Don't hit the baby!” he gritted out.
“I didn't hit her. I spanked her. She deserved it.” Allison's voice was flat calm, but inside her heart was pounding and nausea was churning her stomach again.
Wesley's hand drew back. “You said you were better than her, but you're not. You're just the same. Are you a whore like her too? Is that even my baby?” His hand closed into a fist.
Allison ignored the details of what he was saying, focusing on preventing the deadly blow which seemed imminent. “Wesley Fulton, so help me, if you hit me I'll have Sheriff Brody lock you up. DON'T!”
They remained frozen in that posture for a moment, Wesley threatening violence on his wife, who stood firm, not backing down, meeting his rage with the appearance of calm.
Then he took a deep, shuddering breath and lowered his hand. The bruising grip on her arm relaxed.
“My God, Wes. What on earth has been going on here?” she asked softly. Now that the crisis had passed, Allison began to tremble at the awareness of just how close they had come to disaster.
“Allie, I…” he broke off. Turned to leave. She grabbed his arm.
“Wes, don't go. Don't run from me.”
“I almost hurt you, Allie.” Even the hunched posture of his back spoke of despair.
“I know. But you didn't. You stopped. You can't run away, Wes. We have to talk about this.”
He shook his head. She ran around the front of his body, taking his arms in her hands and placing herself directly in his line of sight.
“Do not walk away from me, Wesley. You are my husband. We have to deal with this. And you're frightening Melissa.”
His gaze went to the child, who was watching them, frozen like a rabbit, her eyes huge.
The sight of his daughter seemed to shake Wesley loose of whatever sensation had seized hold of him. He crossed to her swiftly and scooped her up. She hugged him.
“I'm sorry, Daddy,” she said, her little lip trembling.
“Sorry for what, princess?” he asked her.
“For eating all the cookies. Mama Allie said no, but they were so yummy, I couldn't stop.”
“So you were naughty then?” he asked gently.
She nodded, looking contrite.
“And did Mama Allie hurt you, or spank your bottom?”
Melissa refused to answer. Wesley visibly relaxed. A little thread of anger flared in Allison. He hadn't believed her. He'd had to hear it from the child. What the devil had gone on in this house?
Wesley kissed Melissa on the cheek. “If you're naughty and Mama Allie swats you, you deserve it. Don't tattle on her again,” he said, his voice stern. “Now go play with your dollies in your room. We'll call you to dinner soon.”
The child scampered off, glad for the reprieve. While she couldn't possibly have understood what had just happened, she clearly realized that on some level, she was responsible for the terrifying scene she'd just witnessed.
As soon as she was out of earshot, Allison cornered her husband.
“All right, Wes, you'd better spill it. What the hell just happened?” Her husband flinched at her unexpected language.
“I… well, um…” he stammered, getting nowhere.
“Did she hurt Melissa?” Allison wasn't going to let him off easy. She had to know what she was up against, what memories she was fighting.
“Sometimes,” he replied. “I tried to make her stop.”
“And yet you left them together,” Allison was appalled, “knowing what could happen?”
“What choice did I have? Sam was her mother. What else could I do?”
“Anything else,” Allison insisted. “She's your daughter too. How could you leave her in danger? What's wrong with you?”
Wesley's jaw clenched. “I didn't know what else to do. There was already so much talk… I… I don't know.”
“Talk,” Allison scoffed. “As if gossip is more important than her safety. For shame, Wesley.”
That dangerous rage flared on his face again. This time Allison took a step back. And then he stopped, shoulders sagging.
“I know,” he said. “I never knew what to do. You can't imagine, Allie, what it was like, living with her from day to day, never knowing if she was going to be sweet, or violent. It changed like the wind changes directions. There was no predicting her moods.”
“And she was unfaithful too, wasn't she?” Allison asked gently. He gave her a stony look. “Hey, I need to know!” she reminded.
He nodded, his expression exhausted. “I have no idea how many lovers she had, but it was more than one.”
Allison shook her head. “Will you ever be able to let go of the hurt?” she asked. “Or will I be competing with the memories of a dead woman forever?”
“I don't know,” he told her honestly, his face bleak. “I thought I'd be over it by now. I know it seems impossible, but I loved her on some level. Loved her as much as I hated her.”
And that thought seemed to be the most destructive of all. Wesley's eyes were shiny, his breathing ragged. Despite what had just transpired, Allison went to her husband and took him in her arms. “I know you loved her, Wes. It's fine that you did. She was your wife. Try to remember the good, and let go of the rest. Everything is different now. I'm here, and it will never be like that again.”
She pulled his head down and kissed his lips. He remained rigid in her embrace, allowing her to move him, but not responding in any way.
“I don't know what Samantha's demons were,” Allison said, “but she's free from them now. She's at peace. Can't you let them go too, find some peace for yourself?”
She kissed him again. This time, it seemed, she'd broken through Wesley's restraint. He scooped her into his arms and carried her up the stairs. As they passed the bedroom, she glanced at Melissa. The child was obediently dressing her dolly in a pair of pink bloomers.
Then Wesley had her though the bedroom door, pushing it shut with his foot and laying her on the bed. His fingers worked feverishly on the buttons of her shirtwaist, baring her to his eyes, to his touch. Her nipples rose eagerly against the thin, transparent fabric of her chemise. He gripped them between his fingertips and squeezed gently, exciting a flurry of half-pained pleasure in Allison.
“Oh, Wes,” she moaned. He pulled the flimsy garment from her body and set to work stimulating her breasts directly, plucking and rolling one while he nipped and suckled the other.
“Remember, Wes,” she whispered, “no one has touched me but you. No one ever will.”
In response, he released the nipple he was sucking and turned to the other. The soreness of the sensitive nubs faded to pure pleasure as he worked them. Meanwhile, his busy fingers were opening the tapes on her skirt, pushing it down.
Eager to be bedded, Allison applied herself to the buttons of his shirt, pushing it from his body.
He rose to remove his shoes and trousers and Allison hurriedly divested herself of her remaining clothing before reaching out to her husband and urging his naked body on top of her.
She sighed, trying to wrap her legs around his.
On his knees, Wesley growled, pressing her hips down with one arm, leaning back a bit. He reached down and with his free hand and sank his fingers into her drenched, ready folds. They slid into her and she let out a little, ecstatic whine.
“Mine,” he rasped, slipping his fingers out of her and pressing them back in again. “All mine.”
“Yes, darling,” she whimpered. “All yours. Take me, Wes.”
He pulled his fingers out and pressed his thick erection in, plunging with one hard thrust. She squealed in delight as he settled into a rhythm that sent fi
re coursing through her body.
“I love you, Wesley,” she told him. “I love you, I love you, I love you… oh!” Her orgasm overtook her unexpectedly and her impassioned words were replaced with pleasured moans.
“Sweet Allie,” he murmured before applying himself to his own pleasure, spending himself in a flurry of hard thrusts.
Chapter 13
“That was kind of a turning point,” Allison said, pouring more tea into her cup and then setting the tea service on the parlor table and returning to the rocking chair. “Don't tell anyone, please, Becky.”
Becky perched on the sofa, sipping her unsweetened brew. “Of course not. So he's better now? More relaxed?”
“Most of the time.” Allison's voice turned a little dark. She swallowed convulsively a couple of times and ran her hand lovingly over her belly. Rebecca smiled at the sight of her sister's little swell. She was about five months now, in early April, and her baby was due sometime in September. Allison was showing rather well, perhaps too much for her to attend Becky's wedding in June. It wasn't going to stop them though. As soon as Becky finished her own rose-colored dress, she was going to make a loosely cut one for Allison and the fusspots could all go to hell.
Becky smiled at herself, thinking such harsh words. It was a good thing James couldn't see what was going on inside her head. No doubt he would run, screaming, if he discovered that the `perfect lady' he thought he was marrying had a bit of a dirty mind. More than a bit, actually. She'd had a hard time not replaying over and over the events of the night of the fire, when they'd lost control and given themselves to each other. While she still suffered paralyzing attacks of self-doubt over whether the wedding would take place, she knew she would cherish that memory forever.
They hadn't repeated their naughty behavior, but now the engagement had been announced, gossiped over, and accepted, James was able to soothe his fiancée with stolen kisses, which set her on fire. He had a freckle at the base of his lower lip, which she liked to nibble…
“Becky? Are you still with me?” Allison waved her hand in front of her sister's face.
“Sorry, what?” Rebecca asked, forcing her mind back to the moment.
“Were you thinking about Mr. Heitschmidt again?” Allison asked.
She didn't answer, but if the heat in her cheeks was any indication, she didn't need to.
“Oh, sweetie, you have got it bad, don't you?”
“Yes,” Rebecca admitted. “I love him so much, Allison. I can't believe he wants me to be his wife.” She set her cup down and admired the amethyst and gold filigree ring he'd placed on her finger. The sight of the large, pretentious purple stone always made her smile. It was like an advertisement hung in his store window, proclaiming `This woman belongs to James Heitschmidt'. She smiled, her thoughts wandering again.
“I can,” her sister replied. “There's no reason why he wouldn't. And he doesn't want to make you his wife, Becky. He's going to. I bet this time next year, you'll be the one stroking your belly and dreaming about your baby.”
Rebecca's eyes stung. “I'm too old for that.”
“Ha,” Allison scoffed. “Mrs. Johnson just delivered a baby, and she's forty-three.”
Rebecca couldn't help smiling. She liked the idea far too much. But she wasn't sure if James, whose daughter had just turned twenty-four, would want to start over again with a new baby. She'd have to find out.
“What's it like to be expecting, Allison?” she asked, a little dreamily.
“It's hard at first. I was really sick for a while there. But after the third month, I started to feel better. Now it's fun, exciting. I can feel the little one wriggling in there. It's like a bowl full of minnows inside my belly. But I like it.” She touched her swollen stomach. “I can't wait to meet him… or her.”
“Is Wesley excited?” she asked, and then cursed herself as Allison's face fell.
“Not too much,” the younger woman admitted sadly.
“Why on earth not?”
“Well, I think,” Allison said, setting her cup aside and rocking faster, as though to soothe herself, “it has to do with Samantha. You know what they say about… her.” She indicated the corner near the window, where Melissa was sitting in a little patch of sunshine, coloring on some newspaper.
“Yes,” Rebecca said cautiously.
“Well he doesn't trust… anyone because of that.”
“Well I hope, for your sake,” Rebecca said, “he gets over it soon.”
“Me too, though it might be asking a lot. It's only been a few months since… since her death, and he never did get a chance to adjust.”
“I know. How difficult that must be,” Rebecca told her sister, rising from the chair and crossing to give Allison a hug. Allison placed Rebecca's hand on her belly so she could feel the movements.
“That's so sweet,” Becky said, smiling. Then she addressed her sister's abdomen. “Welcome to the family, little one. We're all so very glad you're here.”
A knock sounded at the door, and since Rebecca was already up, she headed over to see who it was. Kristina stood outside, her expression devastated. Rebecca hugged her too, without a word, and urged her into the parlor.
Allison rose to her feet and made her way across to her friend. “What's wrong, Kris?” she asked, her voice a study in concern.
Their friend drew a shuddering breath and a tear streaked down her freckled face. Allison quickly joined the hug. The three women stood holding each other while Kristina shuddered with suppressed sobs.
“What is it, sweetie?” Rebecca urged.
“It's stupid,” Kristina finally managed to sniffle.
“Nothing's stupid among friends,” Allison insisted. “Tell us.”
“It's about the… the train robber. We went to the hanging.”
The other women gasped. “Why?” Allison blurted.
“We had to… I had to tell him… I forgave him… Oh Lord, that was hard.” Her voice broke and she sobbed. Rebecca rubbed her back. “He's just a kid. I don't think he's any older than Cal… Cody offered to pray with him, but he refused. Cody's all broken up about it.”
“And so are you,” Becky observed.
“Why aren't you with Cody then?” Allison asked.
“He wanted to be alone,” she replied, unsteadily. Rebecca was suddenly struck by the strangeness of men. Fathers who were ambivalent about their wives' pregnancies, husbands who wanted to be alone when they really needed their wives. It made no sense. And she would have to deal with her own man's idiosyncrasies too. She hoped she was up to the challenge.
A sudden, burning need rose up in her. She needed James, needed to feel his arms around her. The hanging would almost certainly have an impact on him as well. She wished he would talk to her about it. Instead he dealt with his grief alone, shouldering the burden in silence. She would have to make time to sit with him, and try to get him to open up.
Suddenly Rebecca felt a little out of her depth. She'd been basically on her own for years, despite still living in her parents' home. And now she needed to get out of herself and take care of her man. Take care of James. Even though he didn't want it.
“You know,” she told Kristina gently, “I'm not so sure that it's best for Cody to be left alone. I bet that man refusing to pray hurts Cody. I know how much he cares about people. I might be wrong, what do I know about marriage? But it seems like you might want to insist he be the one to cuddle with you. It will give him something to do, so he's not just brooding.
Kristina looked up, the expression on her face clearly showing that in her husband's arms was exactly where she wanted to be.
“Come on, Kristina. I'll walk you home,” Rebecca volunteered. “See you later, Allison. Take care.”
“I will,” Allison replied, returning to her seat.
Kristina leaned rather heavily on Rebecca as they walked down the empty street. Soon, all the workers of the town would be heading home for their dinner, but right now, all was silent save the whispering Kansas
wind. Late afternoon sunshine filtered sideways between the buildings, at times dim, at other times blinding. At last they arrived at the vicarage, in the shadow of the church's steeple. Rebecca walked her friend to the door and knocked. Cody answered quickly. It was a tiny, single room structure after all. The young pastor looked almost as bad as his wife. His black hair stood on end, as though he'd been running his fingers through it. His collar was gone and his shirt badly wrinkled. His eyes were red.
“What's going on?” he asked in a gruff, gravelly voice, which sounded nothing like the deep, smooth bass that enunciated their sermons each Sunday in a soft Texas drawl.
“Your wife needs you, Reverend,” Rebecca said mildly, pressing her friend forward. He took her in his arms without thought. She snuggled against him, hiding her face on his shoulder.
“I don't know much,” Rebecca dared to tell Cody softly, “but it seems to me that if you're both hurting, the place to be is together.”
Cody nodded once and guided his wife inside, shutting the door. Rebecca headed back down the red brick path to the street, where she traversed the embedded bricks for half a block to the general store. She needed James, if only for a moment.
There was no one there. The door of the mercantile was locked up tight. Through the window, she could see the little space he'd been setting up in one corner with several dress forms, a shelf for bolts of fabric, and a counter. As soon as the sewing machine he'd bought her for a wedding gift arrived, she could restart her business right there in her husband's store.
She smiled. James was such a conscientious man. Most would expect their wives to stay home, but he was not only willing to allow her to work, he was providing the space and the means. She loved him for that, along with so many other things. But where was he? Not at work. Her smile turned into a rueful face. If he was home, she couldn't really go there. She would have to wait until another time. Drat.
Sighing, Becky picked her way through the lengthening shadows up the street to her parents' house, the last place on earth she wanted to be.
High Plains Promise (Love on the High Plains Book 2) Page 12
