High Plains Promise (Love on the High Plains Book 2) (3 page)

Without a word, she ushered him into the parlor. She didn't sit, and so he also remained standing. Their eyes met, and Allison flinched a little. She looked away and he scanned the familiar room with its high-backed sofa, upholstered in black and rose velvet, the two blue velvet and wood armchairs, and the black pot-bellied stove in the corner of a room encircled with golden tongue-and groove paneling. Once, he'd considered this room more his home than the gracious two-story gingerbread he'd shared with his mother. In the wake of yet another brutal fight with his wife, this lovely and well-appointed room made the squalor of his own living conditions seem even uglier by comparison.

“Have you eaten?” she asked.

“No,” he replied.

“Would you like some dinner? I think we have some leftovers. Melissa ate well, and since Dad's away on the Wichita run, we have an extra seat at the table.”

“No thank you,” he declined. “I need to head home, I suppose.”

Allison seemed poised on the verge of saying something, but then she bowed her head and left in silence. Wesley sank onto one of the armchairs, exhausted. He rested his elbows on his knees and his forehead in his hands. One reason he kept so busy with work and church responsibilities was that when he had a chance to think, he didn't like the results.

“Are you sad, Daddy?” a little voice chirped in his ear. He looked up, meeting his daughter's beautiful dark eyes.

“Not sad,” he lied, “just tired and hungry.”

“They had chicken and potatoes. Do you want some?”

Wesley's mouth watered at the thought of Mrs. Spencer's delicious cooking. But he couldn't be guilty of Samantha's accusations. He couldn't play house here and pretend. He had committed one sin. One. And he'd more than paid for it. He refused to compound it by making her suspicions true in the smallest way.

“Let's go home, princess,” he said.

The worry in her eyes was beyond her meager years. How could such a tiny, innocent child know such stress?

He scooped her into his arms and, calling goodbye and thank you to the Spencers, walked out into the blustery street. Deep dusk had fallen and the temperature had dropped even further. Wesley cuddled Melissa close, protecting her from the cold as he hurried through the streets.

In the fiery evening light, long shadows cast by the buildings hung ominously over the street, crowding him. He shivered and walked even faster. His long legs ate up the blocks until at last he reached his home. He opened the door silently and crept inside, cursing himself for his cowardice. This was his home, damn it, and he hadn't done anything wrong. So why was he sneaking in like a guilty adolescent?

He set Melissa on the floor. She clung close to his side. Hand in hand they walked through the dark, silent house. The echoing of their footsteps on the reverberating wood floor lent weight to the growing notion they were alone. A quick check of the first floor confirmed it. Samantha was not in the parlor, or the kitchen, or the dining room. Wesley walked Melissa up the stairs to her little bedroom, the only well-kept space in the house.

Her low trundle bed with its pink quilt waited invitingly in one corner, hemmed in by a white bureau and a dark rocking chair. Wesley pulled a little pink nightgown out of the top drawer of the bureau and gently dressed his daughter for bed. Then he settled in the rocking chair. His belly was cramping with hunger, but he would not forgo this time with Melissa.

He folded his big hands around her tiny ones and prayed with her, not a memorized rhyming prayer. Just an honest conversation with God about the day. And then he sang her a lullaby. Glancing down, he saw that her eyes were closed. He kissed her forehead and tucked her into bed. He stood to leave and her arms snaked around his neck in a tight hug.

“I love you, Daddy,” she murmured. “Everything will be all right.”

Wesley's eyes burned. “I love you too, Melissa,” he told her, kissing her cheek. Her arms relaxed, falling to her sides.

He hurried back down the stairs to the kitchen, where he began to rummage for food. His wife's haphazard kitchen system had him baffled as usual. Eventually, he found a loaf of bread in a lower cabinet. It must have been there for ages, as thick blue and white mold covered the entire surface. Trying not to gag, he tossed it into the backyard. A more extensive search of the kitchen revealed the fresh bread she had purchased that day, wrapped in a tea towel below the kitchen sink. The icebox held sliced meat, some of it not rotten, and some cheese from which the mold could be cut off. For this, he had given up roasted chicken with potatoes.

Shaking his head, Wesley consumed his unpalatable supper and cleaned his own teeth, trying without success to remove the taste of the overly ripe cheese. Then he went to bed. Wherever Samantha was tonight, he hoped she stayed there. He was not in the mood to see her.

Allison sat in a little brown chair in front of her vanity, running an ivory-handled brush through her golden hair. She'd just bathed, a Friday night ritual, and now she wanted to dry her hair before going to bed. A knock sounded at her door.

“Who is it?” she called.

“Becky,” her sister replied.

“C'mon in,” she said.

Rebecca entered the room, dressed in a loose white nightgown, with a tan dressing gown belted around her tiny waist. While the sisters shared the same blond, blue-eyed coloring, the similarities ended there. Rebecca, though over a decade older than her sister, was more than a head shorter. Her body was slender, her hands and feet small. She looked almost fairy-like, all but her mysterious, emotion-concealing half-smile. Allison, on the other hand, was taller than some men, with lush curves and a plump-cheeked, full lipped grin.

“Here, let me,” Becky said in her soft, serene voice, taking the brush from Allison's hand and running it gently through the thick, sunshine-colored mane.

Allison's eyes closed at the tingling sensation in her scalp. She loved having her hair brushed, but she could feel that Becky's hand wasn't the steadiest.

“Worried about Dad?” Allison guessed.

“A bit. I hate that he's out there, who knows where, with those train robbers everyone's been talking about.” Becky's voice wavered a bit.

“I know,” Allison agreed. “But you know Dad loves his job. If he doesn't drive the train, what is he good for? He's said that enough times. Thank the Lord Mom convinced him to keep his rifle with him.”

“Did you see Wesley today?” Becky asked, changing the subject.

“Hmmmm,” Allison said, not wanting to talk about her lost love.

“He looks really bad,” Becky continued, “skinny and sad. I feel sorry for him.”

“Why do we have to discuss Wesley?” Allison asked, swiveling in her chair and wincing as the brush tugged uncomfortably through her hair.

“Sorry,” Becky replied. “I thought you were over him. It's been four years, honey.”

“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.