Johnny wrinkled his nose. “I reckon.” He rolled his shoulders forward and dug his big toe into the dirt before peering up at Grayson. “What’s a whore?”
Grayson snapped his head back, the shock of the word coming from a young boy’s mouth rippling through him. “Well, it’s a woman…Where did you hear that word?”
“I heard Pa call Ma a whore just now when he come in from the fields. She started crying. That’s how come I come out here.”
Rage—white, blinding, and hot—surged through Grayson. “Your mother is not a whore,” he ground out through clenched teeth, “and never under any circumstances are you to think of her as such.”
He spun on his heel, in his anger crushing plants as he stalked toward the house. If John Westland thought Abbie was a whore, he was about to discover what a true bastard Grayson Rhodes really was.
He stomped up the steps and flung open the door, not bothering to hide the sounds of his arrival. He caught a glimpse of Westland pacing before he staggered to a stop and glared at Grayson. Abbie stood behind a chair at the table, her hands gripping the back until her knuckles turned white. Lydia and Micah stood nearby, eyes wide, mouths agape.
“Lydia, Micah, go outside and see if you can find some fresh grass for my horse,” Grayson said, surprised his voice wasn’t shaking as much as his body was trembling.
Westland took a menacing step forward, his hands balled into fists at his side. “You will not, by God, give orders to my children.”
“Trust me on this, Westland. What I am about to say, you do not want them to hear.”
Westland looked at his children and jerked his head toward the door. “Go on.”
Holding hands as though at last having a common cause, Lydia and Micah scurried out. Once they were well on their way to the fields, Grayson slammed the door in their wake, the harsh sound reverberating around the room.
Breathing heavily, his fists clenched, he spun around to face a man he loathed.
“Don’t say anything,” Abbie said quietly.
Grayson snapped his gaze to hers. Releasing her stranglehold on the chair, she licked her lips. She looked so damned young, so vulnerable, and yet strength was visible in the way she held herself, a strength he knew had been forged from the ashes of war.
She turned to her husband. “I’d like a few minutes alone to talk with Grayson.”
“I’d say the two of you had enough minutes alone,” Westland growled.
Abbie jerked her head back as though he’d slapped her. Grayson took an ominous step forward. “I’ll not have you speak to her like that.”
“I’ll talk to her any way I like. She’s my wife, by God!” He glowered. “And I have no doubt she’s your whore since she’s carrying your bastard in her belly.”
The word, the implication almost had Grayson doubling over in pain, as though someone had poleaxed him.
“You will not use that word in reference to this child,” Abbie ground out, her violet eyes blazing.
Westland looked as though she’d punched him. Grayson dropped his gaze to her stomach. “Is it true? Are you carrying my child?”
Tears welled in her eyes.
“Hell, yes, it’s true,” Westland snarled. “She’s been puking most of the day.”
“It could be something I ate,” she said softly.
“You know it ain’t,” Westland said. “And it damn sure ain’t mine ’cuz I ain’t touched you since I been home.”
She turned to her husband, a plea in her eyes that Grayson thought would have made Satan himself relent. “Please let me talk to Grayson alone for a few minutes.”
His hardened glare darted between Grayson and Abbie. “Reckon the harm’s already been done. Just remember that you are my wife.”
He stormed out the front door. The blood drained from Abbie’s face as she sank onto a chair and pressed a hand to her mouth.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’m so sorry.”
He knelt before her. “Is this why you came to see me, why you asked me to leave? So I would never know that I had a child?”
“No, I only began to suspect yesterday.”
He furrowed his brow. “It seems too soon—”
“It had to have happened before…before the night you shared my bed.”
His stomach tightened. “So much for my thinking that withdrawing from you was adequate.” He shoved himself to his feet. “A bastard—”
“This child will not be a bastard. He will be born within the sanctity of a marriage.”
Rage surged through him. “And you think that’s enough? Do you honestly believe that man will accept my leavings as his own? Do you honestly think I will allow it, that I will not claim—”
Abbie came out of the chair like an avenging angel. “If you care for this child at all, you will allow it. If you love me as you claim, you will hold your tongue. John will accept this child as his. To do otherwise will bring him shame, and he has too much pride for that.”
“Were you going to let me leave without telling me?”
“I don’t know. It’s as much a shock to me as it is to you. I want what is best for this child, but the laws of God and man will not allow me to marry his father.” Her eyes reflected a tapestry of acceptance. “But they will allow my husband to accept the child as his own.”
“You can’t expect me to walk away.”
“What good will come of you staying?”
He turned away, feeling as though his heart had been flayed. “I never wanted this for you…or for our child. There has to be another way.”
“We’ve all been caught in an unfortunate circumstance. It can’t be undone so we have to make the best of it.”
He felt a strong need to erupt into harsh laughter. Why couldn’t John Westland have died in battle as reported?
He met and held her gaze. “I don’t know that I have the strength to walk away, Abbie. Not now.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes. “You do,” she said quietly, with so much conviction that he had no choice but to believe her.
He gave a brisk nod. “I shall let you know where I am…and if you ever need anything…”
She nodded quickly. “Please go.”
He jerked open the door and stepped onto the porch. Leaning against the pillar, Westland stared at the fields.
“Did you finish talking to your whore about your bastard?” he asked.
To his great surprise, a calmness settled over Grayson, and he wondered why the simple answer to their dilemma had not occurred to him before. “I told you that I would not tolerate your speaking of Abbie in those terms. For the lady’s honor, I challenge you to a duel. Pistols at dawn two days from now.” He leapt from the porch and stormed toward his horse.
He didn’t wait for Westland’s acceptance of the terms for his acceptance was of no consequence. One way or another Grayson would meet him, and one way or another—
He heard the patter of feet hitting the dirt and then felt the slender hand close around his arm. He staggered to a halt and met Abbie’s tear-filled gaze.
“I don’t understand what you just did,” she said.
“My intention, sweetheart, is to make certain that you are well and truly a widow.”
The moon was nothing but a sliver, a mocking smile in the night sky when Grayson arrived in Fortune. After securing his horse at the only stable in town, he headed for the saloon.
It was a dreary place. The smoke thick, the stench of whiskey filling the air. A few men looked his way. Most just continued to drown their sorrows, worries, or fears. He cared about none of their troubles for none of theirs could equal his.
He stalked across the room to the corner table where Harry sat with a young woman. Both held several cards fanned out in their hands.
Harry smiled as he approached. “Gray! Meet Jessye. She’s teaching me the finer points of poker.”
“I’m not teaching you anything. I’m trying to figure out how you cheat,” she said in a
voice as thick as the smoke in the room.
“Now, love, I never cheat.”
She narrowed eyes the green of the first leaf of spring. “You not only cheat, but you lie.”
Harry laughed, a sound that broke the last of Grayson’s restraint. “Have you any dueling pistols?”
Harry sobered as though Grayson had shoved one of the requested pistols into his face. “I beg your pardon?”
“Did you happen to bring dueling pistols?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I brought a pair I inherited from my grandfather. Why?”
“I’ve challenged Abbie’s husband to a duel.”
Jessye’s eyes widened, and she laid her cards down to reveal all hearts. “Are you talking about John Westland? You challenged him?”
“I intend to defend the lady’s honor.”
Harry shoved his chair back. “I’ll get them.”
Grayson took the chair Harry vacated and poured himself a drink, surprised to see his hand tremble. He’d never known such anger. He felt Jessye’s gaze on him. He peered at her over the rim of his glass as he took a long swallow.
She met his gaze with absolutely no coyness. “He’ll kill you.”
He shrugged carelessly. “We’ll see.”
“Abbie won’t forgive you.”
He thought the whiskey must have finally made its way to his stomach because the burning intensified. “She was happier when she thought he was dead.”
“She’s not one to put her own happiness before another’s.”
“Which is why I shall do it for her.”
“Even if it costs you her love?”
Involuntarily, his hand tightened on the glass. “I want her to carry the sunshine in her eyes, the sunrise in her smile.” He downed the last of the whiskey and slammed the glass on the table. “Regardless of the personal cost to myself.” Eager to change the dismal subject, he raised a brow. “Harry does cheat, you know.”
She scrunched up a face that was blanketed with far too many freckles to be alluring. She gathered up the scattered cards and began to shuffle. “I know. I just can’t figure out how he does it.”
He didn’t know what possessed him to add, “I suppose you also know Harry is a scoundrel.”
She gave him a gamine smile, and he realized it was probably that smile that had Harry sitting at this table with her.
“Are you the protector of all women?”
“Hardly. But I wouldn’t like to see you hurt.”
“I was raised in a saloon. I know Harry is a man who enjoys the chase, but I reckon he’s one to let the rabbit go once he’s played with it a couple of times.”
“So you don’t intend to ever let him catch the rabbit?”
She smiled brightly, a false smile that took the light from her eyes, and turned them into flawed emeralds. “Learned the hard way that I ain’t the type of woman a man wants for keeps.”
“Then I would wager that you’ve only known men who were fools.”
The sparkle returned to her eyes. “Lordy, you Englishmen are charmers, aren’t you?”
He smiled warmly. “I have been known to charm a woman or two.”
“Abbie?”
He felt as though he’d been punched in the gut and his smile dwindled. “No. Never Abbie.”
He shoved the chair back and stood as Harry approached. Harry set an intricately carved wooden box on the table.
“My grandfather’s,” he announced with a measure of pride.
Carefully he lifted the lid to reveal two shining dueling pistols. Reverently he wrapped his hand around one, withdrew it, and extended it toward Grayson. Grayson took the gun and aimed it at a bottle resting on a shelf above the bar. “How are the sights?”
“Excellent.”
“I thought I might need a bit of practice so I set the duel for two days from now.”
“Wise decision,” Harry said.
“Where’s the holster?” Jessye asked.
Grayson glanced over his shoulder. “The holster?”
She nodded. “You know. The thing you carry the gun in.”
Harry gave her an indulgent smile. “We carry the pistols in the box.”
“He’ll be dead before he ever gets the gun in his hand.”
Harry leaned toward her. “Love, the rules prohibit that.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sweet Lord, spare me from the ignorance of fools.” She met Grayson’s gaze. “You challenged him to a gunfight?”
“A duel.”
“We don’t duel here. You strap a gun onto your thigh and face each other. The last man to draw his gun from the holster is the man to die.”
Grayson looked at Harry who was staring at Jessye. “Are you talking about these guns that the men around here wear against their thighs as though they’re always expecting trouble?” Harry asked.
“Yep.”
“They withdraw the gun from its holder—”
“They draw it out fast.” She turned her attention to Grayson. “You’ve gotta pull your gun from the holster faster than John Westland can get his gun out. You gotta aim it and fire before he does.”
“Sounds absolutely uncivilized,” Harry said.
“It’s worse than that, English,” Jessye said. “It’s downright deadly.” She met Grayson’s gaze. “Do you know how to use a Colt?”
Confusion swamped him. “I know how to ride, but I wouldn’t use a horse before he had matured—”
“A Colt revolver,” she snapped. “If you were a smart man, you’d call off this duel.”
Grayson brought his shoulders back, and she quickly held up a hand. “Don’t bother to protest. I ain’t never met a smart man yet. I’ll teach you what you need to know…and then I’ll weep at your funeral.”
Abbie felt ill, a sickness that had little to do with the child growing within her. Grayson’s child. The thought filled her with incredible joy—and fear. How would John treat the child once he was actually born? If John survived tomorrow.
Standing at the edge of the field, she watched her husband pluck the cotton as though it might not be his last evening to do so. Neighbors had stopped coming. What remained was hardly worth the effort, but John continued on as he always had in the years before the war—as though he fought a private battle against nature. The bolls didn’t mature at the same rate and sometimes the late bloomers would be bursting forth a month or so after picking time…and John would snatch them from the vines.
She remembered when they’d first gotten married. She’d followed him through the fields, her back aching, her legs hurting, her fingers swollen, trying to understand what made him continue. “You don’t have to pick no more,” he’d said. “Just keep me company.”
In silence, she had shuffled along the rows behind him. It had seemed to be enough for him, just to have her there. Perhaps that was all he’d ever wanted of her. Someone to walk beside him. She had been amazed to see that he never seemed to tire, to grow weary of the task.
And now he felt betrayed. Why couldn’t he understand that she’d thought he was dead? That she had lived her life with false knowledge.
She pressed her hand to her stomach, to the place where Grayson’s child had taken root. She was married. She would find a way to make John understand that he had to claim the child as his. She would not have her child suffer for her sins.
If John survived tomorrow morning.
She slammed her eyes closed. What a stupid thing—a duel. What would it accomplish except to leave one man dead? She loved Grayson, but even so she didn’t want to see John killed. He had been there when she needed someone. In his own way, he had been good to her…and she would have spent her life content if she’d known nothing better.
She heard the thunder of an approaching horse and turned in time to see Jessye Kane draw her horse to a halt. She had always liked Jessye even though she worked in a saloon. The women were always speculating as to exactly what a woman did in a saloon. Abbie had never gotten up the courage to ask her.
&nbs
p; Jessye dismounted and tethered the horse to a cotton plant. Abbie wondered why she’d even bothered. If the horse wanted to bolt, the stalk wouldn’t stop it. She walked toward her visitor. “Hi, Jessye.”
Jessye wore trousers and a faded flannel shirt. Another reason the women gossiped about her. She rode a horse astride instead of sidesaddle. “What brings you out here?” Abbie asked.
“Probably something that ain’t none of my business.” Her gaze dropped to Abbie’s stomach.
Protectively Abbie placed her palm over her stomach. Jessye lifted her gaze, her eyes filled with sympathy and understanding.
“I was playing cards with Harry last night. The whiskey loosens his tongue something fierce. Loosens his hands, too—” She blushed. “—but that ain’t your concern. Anyway, he was saying how he thought Gray was a fool to get into a gunfight just to get land. I asked him what he was on about…” She dropped her gaze and began jerking leaves from the plants.
“What did he say?”
She heaved a deep sigh. “He said…Gray wanted your land. Said he’d been courting you, trying to make you fall in love with him so he could marry you and be a landowner.”
Abbie took a step back, her heart thundering, her chest aching. “I don’t believe that.”
“He had no reason to lie to me. It’s God’s honest truth that he’s a scoundrel and he cheats at cards. I ain’t caught him yet, but I know he does…but I don’t think he lies…well, except about cheatin.’”
Abbie spun around and pressed her fingers to her mouth. “But why would he do that? There’s plenty of land for the taking.”
“Reckon he didn’t know that.” With the toe of her boot, Jessye kicked away a rock. “And that ain’t all.”
“What else could there possibly be, Jessye?” she asked, the pain in her heart reflected in her voice.
“I done something awful. I taught that rogue how to use a gun yesterday. How to draw it from a holster. I swear he took to that gun the way a bird takes to the air. I ain’t never seen nothing like it.”
Abbie jerked around and watched John walking through the fields. “John grew up with a gun in his hand.”
“Yeah, I know. And if you’d asked me two days ago, I woulda said the Englishman didn’t stand a chance. Hell, I did tell the Englishman he didn’t have a chance of winning. But now I ain’t so sure. He’s not only fast—he’s damn accurate.”
Rogue in Texas Page 22
