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

Samantha arched her hips, taking him to the hilt inside her and he groaned again. His orgasm began instantly, giving the seed that should have belonged to Allison, his future bride, to this wanton creature.

Four Years Later

“Melissa, I'm home!” Wesley called. His beautiful, three-year-old daughter ran to the front parlor, golden pigtails bouncing with every step. He glanced around the room and sighed. Like the rest of the house, the furniture was covered with a thick layer of dust. A threadbare sofa with scarred arms in a pale finish had been shoved against the wall. An overturned side table rested on the floor, with the remains of a broken oil lamp strewn in a wide circle around it. One of the panes in the big bay window was also broken, and cold air funneled into the room, as well as the odd leaf from the messy, untrimmed shrubs outside. Though he'd lived in this home for quite some time, it was still a shock when he compared it to the immaculate house where he'd grown up. His stomach turned when the wind stilled, allowing the stench of rotten food and dirty house to rise up again.

“Daddy!” the little girl squealed, jumping into his arms. He planted a loud kiss on her cheek and she responded in kind. The uncomplicated love of a child made up for a multitude of other, less pleasant aspects of his life.

“Hello, Wes,” his wife said, entering the room. He was pleased to note she looked fairly lucid today.

“Samantha.” He hugged her gently and pressed a quick kiss to her lips, twirling a strand of golden hair around his finger. “Did you have a good day?”

“I guess,” she replied. “What about you? How was your meeting?”

Uh oh, dangerous territory
. “Fine. We're getting a new pastor.”

Samantha shrugged. “Another two-faced hypocrite?” she asked, an ugly note in her voice.

“I doubt it,” Wesley replied. “He's young. Younger than me. Maybe he'll be nice.”

“Church people are never nice,” Samantha said. The tone in her voice was a warning.

Wesley changed the subject immediately. “So what did you do today?”

“We went to the store. I bought some ribbons and a dolly for Melissa.”

“That's good,” he replied, relieved she'd taken the bait.

“We saw a few people there. Your lover was there.”

“I don't have a lover,” he replied mildly, his pulse increasing as he struggled not to go into full defensive mode. “I don't need one. I have the most arousing woman in town for my wife.” He ran his hand over her backside.

She shoved him away. “Don't lie to me, Wesley. I know you're still with that little whore. The look she gave me… and then talking to me all sweet.”

Wesley took a step away from his wife. There was no truth in what she was saying. Since the day she'd come to him and told him she was pregnant, up to this very day, he'd been faithful to her. He knew full well she didn't return the favor. He knew what those pitying, knowing looks from the men around town meant. It didn't matter. He had to try and keep his family functioning as best he could.

“Is that where you
really
were, after work today,” Samantha snarled, working herself further into a tirade. “Did you go to your whore? Did you bring her back to that farmhouse and take her on the floor, in the dirt, the way you always wanted?”

“Melissa, why don't you go run and play,” Wesley murmured in his daughter's ear. She didn't need to hear this. But she clutched tighter around his neck. Her mother's unstable mood frightening her. He patted her back. “Samantha,” he said soothingly, “that farmhouse was torn down years ago. It's not there anymore. And I was with James Heitschmidt and the other elders and deacons for a meeting. Nothing more, I swear.

“Liar!” she shrieked.

“Mommy,” Melissa said softly, “Daddy loves you.”

Samantha snapped. Her arm flew towards her daughter with the full force of her enraged adult strength. Wesley was faster though. Shifting Melissa to one arm, he used his free hand to catch his wife's wrist in a crushing grip.

“Don't,” he hissed, tightening his grip on her arm, “hit,” he went on, almost spitting now, “the baby!” All his attempts to placate his wife ended where Melissa's safety was concerned. At this point, his life had become nothing short of a nightmare. His daughter was the only thing that kept him from doing something drastic and irrevocable.

“Ow! Wes, you're hurting me!” Samantha wriggled in his grip. He tightened his hand further, unwilling to take the risk. Once, he'd let go and she'd shot out a second blow.

“Stop struggling. I'll let you go, when I know you've calmed down. Melissa, I think we should go over to Lydia's. See if she has anything to eat. Mommy needs some time to herself today.”

That set Samantha off again. Wrenching her arm futilely in his iron grip, she began screaming as loud as she could. “I know where you're really going! You can play house with your whore all you want, but she'll never have you! Not really. She can only be your slut.”

“There's only one slut in this town,” Wesley replied. He released her arm with a sharp backwards shove, which sent her stumbling, and then he was out the door, slamming it shut behind him, and praying she wouldn't follow. He hoped she would nurse her rage and her bruised wrist alone at the house. Of course, she didn't. By the time Wesley reached the street, she was on the porch, screaming abuse towards them at the top of her lungs, for all to hear. He kept walking. There was no reasoning with her when she was in one of her moods. The best thing would be to stay away, until she calmed down.

If only she didn't feel compelled to play out their family drama in public. That was the worst part. Everyone knew. Everyone. It was an open secret, the mess Wesley had made of his whole future, with one moment of stupid lust. And worst of all was how it had hurt Allison. The look in her eyes when he'd told her he'd impregnated Samantha and had to marry her. It had been a year before she'd spoken to him again. Another year before they were able to be friendly. It hurt like hell every time he saw his friend, the woman he should have married. But her support and kindness meant more to him than the sting of unrequited affection he experienced whenever he saw her. So he clung to her, and to their other friend Kristina. They were his lifeline. He was drowning though, in over his head.

Once out of earshot of the house, he set Melissa on the ground and took her little hand, though his thoughts were still on his marriage. When he'd married Samantha, he'd known he was taking on a woman of easy virtue, and a rather unintelligent one at that. He hadn't realized the depth of her problems. Fits of rage were not her only symptom. She was the slowest learner he'd ever run across. Even his cousin Billy Fulton, with his squashed-looking face and slurred speech, could read, figure change at the cash register of Lydia's café, and look after himself with a little help. Samantha looked normal. In fact, she was quite beautiful. But she'd never learned to read and could scarcely count. When she went to the store, she had to trust that the clerk would give her the correct change, because she never could figure it out. Luckily, James Heitschmidt, the owner of the mercantile and his friend Kristina's father, was an honest man who would never consider cheating anyone. His clerk, Wesley's beloved Allison, took pains to be kind to her former fiancé's wife, even though it never helped.

Wesley and his daughter arrived at the café, a two-story red brick building with a wooden shingle over the door. It was rather too cold, now in late November, to be out without a coat, and Melissa had begun to shiver. Wesley scooped her up again and snuggled her. In the crisis of the moment, he hadn't thought ahead too well. He tried the door. Locked. Damn it, could he never get even the smallest break? It was too soon to go home, and too cold to stay out. So what could he do?

“Wesley, so glad I found you.” It was James Heitschmidt speaking, the tall, blond, heavily freckled Head of the elder board, and owner of the mercantile where Allison worked.

“Hello, James. What can I do for you?” Wesley struggled to sound normal. If his life fell apart every time his wife threw a fit, he'd be unable to function at all.

“I need some help at the vicarage. It hasn't been lived in for three years, and the new pastor arrives soon. He needs a place to stay.”

“Well, James, I'd be glad to help, but I have Melissa here.” His little girl clung tighter to his neck.

“Gentlemen?” A soft, soothing voice broke over Wesley, making him smile. Allison's sister Becky approached, her lovely face set in a serene half-smile. If anyone knew how to handle adversity with grace, it was Rebecca Spencer.

James turned to her. “Miss Spencer, how are you today?”

She flushed a little, in the bite of a sudden icy gust. “I'm just fine, Mr. Heitschmidt,” she replied. “Did I overhear that you are going to air out the vicarage?”

“Yes,” James replied. He seemed about to elaborate, but nothing came out.

“Well, then,” the little golden-haired woman continued, “why don't I take Melissa with me for a while? I have some cookies fresh from the oven, and I'd like a taste tester to be sure they're good.”

It was awfully close to dinner time, but how could Wesley say no? He looked at his little daughter, gauging whether she would be okay parting from him. The child wriggled in his arms. He set her down and she ran to Becky, who scooped her up.

“Thank you, Miss Rebecca,” Melissa said, giving her a big hug. “I'm really hungry.”

Wesley closed his eyes. It wouldn't be the first time Samantha had refused to feed Melissa during the day, when she was in one of her precarious moods.

Becky didn't bat an eyelash. “Well then, sweetheart, let's have a sandwich and then a cookie, what do you say? I wouldn't want you to get a stomach ache.”

Melissa cheered.

“Thank you, Miss Spencer,” Wesley said softly.

“Any time, Mr. Fulton,” she replied. Then she turned and carried Melissa away down the chilly street to the Spencer house, a white two-story with lots of gingerbread trim painted black and matching shutters on all the windows. As soon as they ducked out of sight, Wesley turned. James was still staring at the door.

“Shall we go?” Wesley asked. James shook his head a couple of times, as though trying to clear his mind.

“Yes, let's,” he said at last, and the two men headed back down main street, past the commercial center, which consisted of red brick buildings of varying heights; the mercantile, a single-story structure with a sprawling layout, the bank, two stories with the telegraph office up front, the Occidental Hotel: five floors with a balcony. At last, they came to the church. Unlike its neighbors, it was of weathered white boards, and boasted an oversized steeple with an ostentatious brass bell. From inside, the sound of the bellowing pipe organ could be heard in the street. Wesley grinned a little. Sounded like Kristina was practicing for Sunday. Just to the south of the church, a little brick path led past a wind-blighted tree to a tiny, one-room structure. James unlocked the door of the vicarage and the two men were assaulted by the stench of a building that had been unoccupied for several years.

Despite the cold, the first task was to open all the windows. The endless Kansas wind would quickly take care of the musty aroma. James handed Wesley a broom and he worked on warming himself up by sweeping all the dust and cobwebs from the floors and out onto the stoop, where the breeze carried them away. James, meanwhile, was poking at the pot-bellied stove in the corner, making sure it was vented correctly. The new pastor was coming from Texas and would need that source of warmth immediately.

They examined the furniture together. While dated, the pieces were solid and in good repair, protected as they had been under sheets. No mice had built nests in the curved back, upholstered sofa or the two armchairs. The mattress on the small bed was also free of encroaching rodents.

“What about linens?” Wesley asked James.

“The Ladies' Altar Guild will bring sheets, blankets, and towels tomorrow evening. That way, they'll be nice and fresh when he arrives the day after.”

“Sounds good. And food?”

“Allison and Kristina are going to stock the cupboards in the next day or two.”

Wesley nodded. “Sounds like things are about set. I sure hope Reverend Williams likes it here. We haven't had a pastor in so long…” Suddenly Wesley realized how bad that sounded. “Not that you've done a bad job, I mean… sorry.”

“Don't worry, Wes,” James replied. “I'm no pastor. I don't have time to devote to the ministry. I'm glad to fill in, but I know the difference. No offense taken. I'm glad Reverend Williams is coming too.”

The men returned to examining the little vicarage for livability. There were no mouse holes visible in the baseboards. The walls appeared to be in good condition. The floors were still smooth, with no signs of warping. All that would really be needed was a thorough cleaning. The two men did the bulk of the work. The Ladies' Altar Guild would come in and do the dusting tomorrow. Provided the new pastor didn't have fancy tastes, the little house should be serviceable, comfortable, and sufficient.

Task completed, they parted ways at the door with a handshake and James headed south, down the street towards his home. The church had fallen silent, indicating Kristina had finished practicing and left as well. No one walked down the broad brick road. No conversation rang from open windows. All was silent, but the endless, whispering wind. Dusk deepened, casting long shadows of trees and buildings. Wesley turned north and walked to the familiar home he'd visited over and over in his childhood. The Spencers' house; a mature couple and their two spinster daughters. Every time he visited here, he felt a pang of sorrow, no less diminished for the four years which had passed since the death of all his dreams.

He knocked on the door. Allison opened it, looking lovely and as desirable as ever. It was hell to look at her. In some ways, worse than the confrontation with Samantha had been. All he could think every time he saw Allison was how different his life would be now if he hadn't been so noble with her. If he'd taken her there, on the floor of that farmhouse, she would have been the one who conceived his baby. His daughter could have had a stable, loving mother.
This should have been Melissa's family
.

“Wesley,” Allison said. She tried to sound cool and collected, but there was a hint of something in her voice. There always was. He'd betrayed her. Her trust in him was not what it once had been, and deservedly so.