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

by Beaudelaire, Simone

  “The baby's fine?” Allison asked, in a tiny, wavering voice.

  “Yes, honey. He's perfectly well. We found him at the house. Rebecca has him and Melissa, they're both fine.”

  Allison inhaled and it sounded like a sob. “She had something. It was making sounds like a baby. I thought…” At last, she was overcome, and great, choking tears bowled her under. Wesley cradled her against his body. She was soaked and shivering.

  “It was probably a cat.” At the sound of another masculine voice, both Wesley and Allison looked up. Andrew was standing over them, his features grim. “She always did hate cats.”

  Movement caught Wesley's eye and he turned to see James approaching. Wesley turned Allison in his arms, shielding her body from his brother-in-law's sight. The thin white nightgown, wet as it was, provided nothing like decency.

  “Andrew?” Heads swiveled towards Mrs. Fulton. In the commotion, Wesley had forgotten she was there.

  “What kind of mischief are you up to, Charlotte?” Those eyes, which looked so much like Wesley's own, narrowed in anger as his father glared at his mother. Wesley's gaze went from one to the other. Could he remember ever seeing them together? Perhaps, but it was vague. “What were you hoping to accomplish? Have you become a murderer, Charlotte?”

  “She has,” James said. “I bet she orchestrated Samantha's death. Didn't you, Mrs. Fulton?”

  “She deserved what she got. That stupid slut made my Wesley miserable.” The venom in each word could have poisoned a buffalo.

  “Whose choice was it to marry her, Mother?” Wesley asked. “She didn't put a pistol to my head. Did you really kill her?” He hated to think it, though it did make some sense. It would explain why Samantha had been out by the river at all. “How did you lure her out onto the ice?”

  Mrs. Fulton ignored the question.

  “Allison is a good woman,” James said. “She doesn't deserve this.”

  “She's a slut, just like the other one. Did you notice how quickly she got with child? Bet she already was. Wesley, can't you leave the tramps alone, darling?” The sudden syrupy sweetness of his mother's voice set Wesley's teeth on edge. “She must be a witch. She must have cast a spell on my baby boy, to make him act this way.”

  Wesley shook his head. “No, Mother. Allison is no witch. I love her. I've always loved her. You know that. Come on, gentlemen, let's go.”

  Wesley rose to his feet, setting Allison down for a moment to adjust their positions. He would no more let her walk barefoot through the mud than he would let her go into the river.

  In that split second Mrs. Fulton pounced, grabbing Allison by the arm and dragging her back in the direction of the railing. In an act born of pure instinct, Wesley tightened his hold on his wife's waist and pivoted, shielding her body with his own and pushing out with one arm. His movement caught his mother across the throat and sent her reeling backwards.

  Her high-heeled boots skidded on the wet wood and she stumbled. Her movement brought her in contact with the railing of the bridge. In an instant she was inverted, feet up, head down, screeching as she tipped into the eddying water below. Her screams abruptly cut off. The water closed over her and she could be seen no more.

  Wesley stared at the place where his mother had disappeared. In this flood, it was unlikely she would found, and any attempt to retrieve her would endanger the rescuer. It only took a second to decide what to do.

  “James, please get the doctor. Allison has lost a lot of blood and I'm worried about her.” Agony speared through his heart, but he scooped his wife into his arms nonetheless. “I'm taking her home to bed. Father… would you please get Sheriff Brody? He's going to need to search for… for the body.” Wesley's voice wavered, but he stiffened his resolve and stalked back towards town, carrying his wife home.

  Chapter 17

  For the next week, Allison hardly moved from the bed. The doctor was understandably quite concerned. She'd lost far more blood than was good for her, and he was worried she might have damaged her uterine or abdominal muscles with so much running. So she'd been cleaned up and tucked under a warm quilt, her baby at her side. Rebecca, Kristina, and Mrs. Spencer, when she returned from her trip, took turns caring for Melissa, cooking, and cleaning the house while Wesley was at work, allowing the new mother to rest and recover, and connect with her son. As she'd hoped, Wesley had no objection to the name she'd chosen, and so little Peter Andrew Fulton and his mother snuggled together by the hour. After fearing she'd lost the baby to a madwoman's evil schemes, she would in no way be parted from him, and he stayed beside her day and night.

  The Saturday after Allison's ordeal, she lay asleep late into the morning, following a restless night with little Peter. Rebecca and James had taken Melissa to their house for a few hours, so Wesley had a quiet moment alone with his wife and son. Sadly, Allison was out cold. His son was watching him with solemn blue eyes, however, and Wesley couldn't help gathering him up and taking a seat on the rocking chair.

  “Now then, my good man,” he said formally, in a murmuring undertone, “your mother has earned this nap, and you and I are going to let her take it. A gentleman always takes care of his lady, and you've been a bit hard on mine lately.”

  Peter blinked. He had a knowing expression on his funny little-old-man face. “I hope you grow some baby fat soon,” Wesley quipped. “I've seen handsomer fellows.”

  The baby sneezed.

  “Bless you. Well, I can see I was wrong about you. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to open my heart to more people, but clearly I was. I can see myself in you, and my dad too. You're a Fulton man, and it's going to be my job to teach you what that means. I hope you have a head for numbers. I have expectations of you. You're going to get a good education and I hope you'll take over my place at the bank someday. Of course, you might prefer a different profession. That would be fine, too. Maybe someday, you'll have a brother who can be a banker if you don't want to. That is, if your mother will forgive me. I've been… a bit of an ass lately, and I would deserve it if she didn't.”

  “Yes, you have,” Allison said in a quiet, neutral voice.

  “I know,” Wesley replied, meeting his wife's eyes with a mournful expression. “You deserve better than what I've done to you and I regret it.”

  “I understand,” Allison said, but there was not one hint of softening in her voice.

  “What can I do to make it up to you?” he asked. “Please tell me.”

  “Tell me what you did wrong, Wesley, so I know you understand and aren't just trying to get back in my good graces with nice words. Tell me what you're not going to do again.”

  “Forgive me, love. I need a moment to think about how to say this the right way.”

  She nodded. From his perch on his father's lap, Peter squealed.

  “Argh,” Allison growled, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “What's wrong?” Wesley demanded, alarmed by the sudden noise.

  “Nothing. Please bring me the baby.”

  Wesley positioned his son on his shoulder and carefully rose, crossing the room in a few long-legged strides and handing Peter off to Allison. She fumbled with the front of the nightgown Rebecca had made for her and opened the buttons to bare her breast. Wesley watched in unabashed fascination as milk beaded on the rosy tip. She positioned the baby and Peter opened wide, covering his mother's nipple and clamping down eagerly. Allison sighed in relief.

  “Does that hurt?” Wesley asked, taking a seat on the bed beside his wife and stroking a strand of tousled golden hair from her forehead.

  “It did at first,” she replied, “but not so much now. It tingles when…” She looked away.

  “When?”

  “When the milk comes in. It feels like needles. Don't you already know this?”

  He shook his head. “Samantha was embarrassed to let me see her this way. She didn't want me to look. She also weaned Melissa to cow's milk as quickly as she could.” He thought about saying something else, something uncomplimentary,
but decided against it. Samantha was gone, and Allison had been right when she'd reminded him to keep what had been good about his first marriage and let the rest go. It was part of his life, of his past, of mistakes he'd made, of the lessons he'd learned. They'd both done their best under bad circumstances. And now Samantha was at peace. It was time for him to allow some to come to him.

  He slipped his hand behind Allison and cuddled close to her side, watching their son eat, just as she was doing. As one they reached out and traced the soft, downy hair. Their hands met. Wesley laced his fingers through Allison's and lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckle.

  “What I did wrong,” he said slowly, measuring his words, “was to let my past get in the way of our life together. I let my mother's view of you influence my behavior. I should have married you when we were twenty, and found some way to make it work. It would have been fine. I should have chased Samantha away. And I should have taken my time with you after Samantha's death. Instead, I let a series of small decisions snowball into a colossal mess, and you had to bear the bulk of the burden.”

  She looked up at him through her eyelashes. He nudged even closer to her, and his arm tightened around her. She leaned her head over, resting her cheek on his shoulder. He smiled. This feels right.

  “All those things are in the past and couldn't be changed. But after our marriage, I should have put those ghosts away. I should have made myself remember that you are not Samantha. You kept reminding me, but I let old habits creep into my new marriage. I kept hearing things in the back of my mind. My mother telling me you were trash. I never knew why she said that, but I've heard it my whole life. Even though I never believed it…” he didn't know what to say next.

  “Why did she say that, Wesley?” Peter finished and let go. One tiny fist remained clenched tight, the other had relaxed. Allison extracted her hand from Wesley's and positioned the baby on the other breast. He continued eating eagerly.

  He shrugged, grief spearing his guts again. She was a crazy, mean-spirited excuse for a woman. That doesn't make her any less my mother. “Mom seemed to have lost her mind when I was born. She became dangerous and unstable. I didn't remember until my father told me, but he took me away when I was seven. Do you remember that time, Allie?”

  “Remember the year when my best friend disappeared? How could I forget?” Allison replied. “I was so happy when you came back. But my mother told me in no uncertain terms that I was not to ask you a single question about it, on pain of a lashing.” She smiled ruefully. Mrs. Spencer's lashing were nothing to take lightly, Wesley thought. Goodness knew, he'd gotten a couple himself. “But why…”

  “She found us,” he replied, amusement fading to grimness. “Threatened to kill me if she couldn't have me back. Father agreed – reluctantly – on the condition that your parents keep an eye on the situation and report back to him.”

  “So they were his spies?” Allison appeared thunderstruck.

  He nodded.

  “Well that explains it all, doesn't it?” She rolled her eyes. “What a disaster.”

  “It was,” he agreed. “It's no wonder she both hated you, and let me play with you anyway.”

  “And all the while, said condescending things about me, about my family, when you were alone?”

  Wesley nodded.

  Allison considered for a moment. “So you let your mother affect your opinion of me and your experiences with Samantha color your expectations. Is that right?”

  “I think so,” Wesley replied.

  “And what about Peter? Why did you not want him? Why did my being pregnant make you pull away from us both?” she demanded.

  Wesley lowered his gaze from his wife's angry blue eyes to his son's face. Wrinkles, turkey neck and all, Peter still looked angelic.

  “I was stupid,” Wesley said bluntly. “I didn't want the complication. I was just settling into life with a normal wife. Melissa was improving, acting like a normal child. I thought maybe, just for a while, I could take a breath and adjust to being happy. And then you got pregnant.” He squeezed her. “And you weren't your usual sweet, forgiving self. Sorry, honey, but you were a bit… grumpy. I know!” She had given him an evil look. “I know you were sick and miserable, and I know my attitude didn't help. But I was just hoping for a moment to be selfish and bask in your affection, and suddenly it was all turned inward. But when I look at our boy, I don't regret it. I mean, I must have the strongest wife in all of Kansas. Who else would have gotten up an hour after giving birth and chased a crazy woman through the streets? You risked your life to protect our baby. Allison, you're amazing.” He kissed her forehead. “I don't deserve you, or Melissa, or Peter, but I love all three of you more than words can say. Will you please forgive me, Allison? Let's bury the past and work towards being a family again, can we?”

  Allison looked up into Wesley's eyes with a fathomless, unreadable expression. The moment uncoiled, stretched out in silence as the pain of the last year, of the last several years passed over her expression. Every flash of sorrow lanced through Wesley's heart, each like the blow of a bowie knife. She sniffled and at last spoke.

  “All right.”

  Wesley beamed and a cautious smile spread across Allison's face. He leaned down and touched his lips to hers, sealing the bargain with a perfect, tender kiss.

  Dear reader,

  Thank you for taking time to read High Plains Promise. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends or posting a short review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and much appreciated.

  Excerpt from High Plains Heartbreak, Love on the High Plains book 3

  Garden City, Kansas 1885

  “Jes…se?” A broken voice penetrated Jesse West's focus for the briefest of moments. He lifted his head. The rarest of commodities, a gentle breeze warmed by a kind late-April sun seemed to kiss the tears streaming unceasingly down his cheeks. Then his gaze dropped back to the raw mound of earth at his feet. All around him, under the partial shade of wind-blasted oaks, other freshly dug graves, too many of them, clawed the earth apart. Earth like hearts. He dropped his eyelids.

  Warmth penetrated the shoulders of his shirt. It was no surprise, and he did not react to the touch except to murmur softly, “Kristina.”

  “Jesse, I'm so sorry. So sorry.” The grip of her capable musician's hands became a full-bodied hug as she crushed him from behind. She's so strong.

  But not strong enough to stem the flow of tears, or to stop his heart from bleeding. Can a heart bleed to death? He wondered idly, staring at a furrow in the upended soil. Just bleed and die and leave a shell of a man who eats and breathes but isn't really alive? “I wish it had been me.”

  “Oh Jesse!” Kristina began to sob and her tears soaked into the back of his shirt.

  Reluctantly he turned his back on the grave. Not like it matters. She's with the angels now, not in the cold ground. And it's not like I'll ever forget the sight. “Kris, I…” his voice broke. It was just as well, as he had no idea what to say.

  “I'm so sorry,” Kristina sobbed again. “Lily was such a good girl. I was so happy for you both…”

  Her words cut fresh lacerations in the bleeding wounds on his soul. The best girl, he replied silently. Every man's dream of a woman. How could this happen? Tomorrow was supposed to be our wedding day! The unfairness of life clogged Jesse's throat so badly he felt he could choke on it. I wish I would.

  But here was one of his closest friends, standing five feet from her mother's equally fresh grave, trying to comfort him.

  “I know, Kris. I…” He took a shuddering breath. “You're no better. Your poor mama…”

  At his words she went completely to pieces, shuddering as she cried.

  “Hey,” he said, lifting her face so he could look into her ocean-green eyes. She had been so ravaged by grief, every inch of visible skin between her heavy freckles had tear stains. Her snub nose ran unchecked. He handed her a handkerchief. She wiped without the slightest attention, her e
yes locked on his. “Kris, I'm sorry about your mama. But at least you'll be away from all this grief soon. You'll be glad to get back to school, won't you?”

  She shook her head. “I'm not going.”

  Jesse's jaw dropped, the shock of her words cutting through his sorrow. “Kris, what?” His eyebrows drew together into a solid line. “You're the most talented musician I've ever known. How can you even consider not going back to the conservatory? How can you stay here in this gossip-factory of a town with all these memories?”

  “I have to,” she replied, her lip quivering. “I can't leave Dad alone.”

  “Cal can stay,” Jesse insisted. Let those two stallions battle it out. Cal can help at the general store.

  “Cal left. When we woke up this morning, he was gone. Left a note on the table.” Her full lips, her prettiest feature after her eyes, twisted into a wry parody of a grin. “He said he'd had enough of Dad's bossy ways, and with Mom gone, he was going to seek his fortune.” She sniffled.

  Why that little… “I'm sorry, Kris.” This time the pain lashed her features. And rightly so. Poor Kris. With those freckles, who knows if she'll ever find a husband? And then to lose her career too. Life's unfair. At the thought of just how unfair, another tear escaped him, trailing down his wind burned cheek and moistening his stubble.

  “You should go back anyway,” he told her with brutal honesty. Go and live, Kris. You can't stay here. This town is a dead end. You'll never have a future here. Go and finish school and play your music all over. Don't let your dreams die.”

  “I can't.” Desolate despair weighed down her pugnacious features into the caricature of a bulldog. “But at least I'll have my friends around me.” There was a pleading in her turquoise eyes. I know what she wants, what she'd never admit to, standing here over Lily's grave. But it won't be. I can't marry Kristina. I don't love her enough, and that's worse than being alone.

  Slowly, his soul burning as badly as his eyes, he drove another nail into the coffin of her future. “Not me. I'm leaving in the morning. I don't think I'll ever come back.”