High Plains Promise (Love on the High Plains Book 2) (6 page)

If only he'd married her, instead of Samantha. But he hadn't. Now everything was different. And to be honest, he needed a woman in his life, someone to do all the womanly things around the house, someone to take care of Melissa. She already liked and trusted Allison, and so did he. If Allie would agree… Oh, Lord. If she would agree he could finally marry her. Finally have the perfect life he'd dreamed of for so long. But would she agree? He didn't know, but suddenly he knew he would have to find out. Tradition dictated he wait a year, but he didn't know if he would be able to manage. He would have to think on this carefully.

Allison Spencer and her sister sat at the most level of the little uneven tables at Lydia's café, with the proprietress and Kristina Heitschmidt. The restaurant had closed a couple of hours ago and now the four ladies had gathered in the large, empty room. Outside the rows of massive windows, the early December afternoon was bleak and gray, and a stiff wind sent the twigs on the naked, stunted trees whipping. Though the heat of the kitchen warmed the dining room, the chill outside seeped in. Allison was grateful for the hot drinks and warm gingerbread cake.

“I still just can't believe it,” Lydia said, taking a sip of her tea. “How long have you two been courting in secret?”

“We haven't been,” Kristina insisted. “We've been fighting for the longest time, almost since he first arrived.”

“Well then, what happened?” Lydia asked.

Allison met Kristina's eyes briefly. Should she mention the shocking sight she'd seen at church the other morning? Kristina, half-dressed, sound asleep in Cody's arms on a pew cushion, which had been laid out beside the fire. She supposed they'd behaved, but it had looked bad, and they'd been talking of marriage ever since. Kristina had asked them all to meet here to help her plan the event, which was scheduled for the following Friday, only one week from today, and just a few days before Christmas.

She decided not to speak. Let everyone think Cody and Kristina were marrying because they wanted to, not because they'd compromised each other. From the way the two of them now looked at each other, not to mention the sweet kisses they'd been caught sharing more than once, it seemed that was the case anyway.

On one hand, Allison was truly delighted for her friend. Since her teenage years, Kristina had been convinced that no one would marry a red-haired, freckle-faced woman. Allison had never agreed with her assessment. And now Kristina, pink-cheeked and smiling a silly, woman-in-love smile, was engaged to quite a startlingly handsome man. A man who treated her like the priceless treasure she was. There was no part of it that was bad. Not even the quick pace. A wintertime wedding would be lovely. And Kristina's dramatic coloring would be gorgeous against the snow.

But in her most secret thoughts, Allison was desperately jealous. Not of Cody. No, handsome though he was, Reverend Williams did not make her heart beat faster. He would make a perfect husband for Kristina, but Allison didn't want him. She wanted Wesley. All these years after he betrayed her and crushed her spirit, she still loved him with all her heart, with every fiber of her being. She was suffering pangs of horrible guilt, had been ever since Samantha's death. She'd never liked the woman, never wished her well. And now she was dead, and Wesley destroyed. He must have loved his wife after all, and not Allison anymore.

“You know,” Becky said, forcing Allison's attention back to the conversation, “it's quite fashionable to wear all white for a wedding these days. And you would look marvelous in it, Kristina.”

“Oh,” Kristina said, blushing furiously at the compliment, “is there really time to make a dress? The wedding is only a week away, but I do like things simple…”

“No, there's no time for a whole dress,” Becky told her bluntly. “But I know you have white shirtwaists. If you wore one of those, I would have time to make you a white skirt to go with it.”

Kristina beamed. “Perfect. I love the idea. I can look like myself, only a little more… dressed up.”

“Do you have white shoes?” Becky asked.

“Oh…” Kristina pondered for a moment. “No. I have light grey ones. They'll have to do.”

Becky shrugged. It was much too late to order new shoes.

“I like the statement all white makes,” Allison commented.

“So do I,” Kristina replied. “I mean, you all know what happened, right?”

Becky and Lydia shook their heads.

“There's been some gossip,” the chef said, “but I don't believe a word of it. As if the pastor would behave in such a way, or you would.”

“Here's the unvarnished truth,” Kristina replied. “I was caught outside in the blizzard and barely made it to the church. I think I nearly froze to death. It was really bad. I was getting sleepy.” The ladies shuddered. Everyone knew what that meant. “Cody was inside, and we were trapped there alone together until morning. So yes, we were `compromised' but we didn't do anything wrong. We talked, worked out our problems, and agreed that since we would have to get married anyway, we might as well be happy about it.”

“Did he kiss you?” Lydia asked, wide-eyed.

“Yes,” Kristina replied, cheeks flaming again. “More than once. But nothing more, I swear.”

“Oh, well that's fine then. Certainly not worth gossiping about,” Lydia said.

“I agree,” Kristina replied firmly. “And that makes the white wedding even more meaningful, since there is gossip. I want to make a statement that I have nothing to feel guilty about.”

“Yes,” Becky agreed, “I think you should. And I have just the skirt in mind. You'll be stunning.”

“And what about the reception. Will you be wanting dinner? Do you have a location in mind?” Lydia asked.

Kristina shook her head. “My house has small rooms. I don't think the reception can take place there. It would be awfully crowded.”

“Then have it here. I can provide some food and the cake. It will be my gift to you.”

“Oh, no. I can't let you do that. I'll pay for the food,” Kristina said.

The two women looked at each other, stubborn Italian against equally stubborn German. Then Lydia laughed. “All right, Kristina. Pay for the food. I'll gift you with the cake.”

Kristina grinned. “Perfect.” Allison couldn't help but smile, despite her anguish. The joy of her friend's happiness was more important than her own dashed hopes. She looked around the table. Kristina was smiling the same, silly smile, her short nose wrinkled with cheer. Lydia's round pink cheeks showed deep dimples as she grinned broadly. Then she met her sister's eyes. For a just a moment deep misery shone like tears in the azure depths. Becky looked as though she might burst into sobs at any moment. Then the sad look disappeared, replaced by the serene smile.

What on earth had that look been? Allison couldn't imagine. So she forced her attention back to the wedding discussion again.

“Allison?” Kristina addressed her directly. “You will stand up with me, won't you?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied. “I'm honored. What should I wear?”

“Something to coordinate with the Christmas decorations, I suppose. Wear what you want, Allison.”

She mentally scanned her wardrobe. A vibrant burgundy skirt and pelisse would do the trick nicely. With black boots and her cameo pin.

Wesley had always said she looked best in rich colors, to contrast with her pale hair and fair skin. She was all set for the wedding, except her heart, which was aching that her friend's dreams were coming true, while hers never would.

That evening, Allison sprawled in the chair in Becky's bedroom, the older sister brushing the younger's hair again.
Hmmm, what would look best for the wedding? A twist? A knot? A coronet?

As Becky contemplated the styles, Allison chattered on, half-heard. Becky admitted to herself that she wasn't paying attention. As usual, her silly mind had slipped away to thoughts of James Heitschmidt. She couldn't help but wonder how her friend was coping with his daughter's forced marriage. She hoped to have time to talk to him soon. She'd been so busy lately with her shop, and he with his, it was hard to get together. Particularly as she didn't want to appear to be mooning over him. It wouldn't do to give away that particular tidbit.

“Becky,” Allison's hand closed around her sister's wrist, startling her back to reality.

“What is it, Allie?” she asked.

“I've been trying to get your attention for a while. Where were you just now?”

Heat pricked across Becky's cheeks and she knew she was blushing. “Nowhere interesting,” she mumbled, lying.

“Ha,” Allison replied, “I think it was somewhere
very
interesting. C'mon sis, tell me. You know I won't tell. What makes you go so far away… or should I say
who
?”

Allison saw too much.

“I'm being silly,” Becky replied. “There's no reason why I should be dreaming about any man. Especially not this one…”

“Ah, so it
is
a man?”

“Yes,” Becky admitted. “I'm human. Even though it's hopeless, he's so special I couldn't help falling…” She sputtered to a halt.

“Falling in love with him?” Allison guessed.

Becky nodded stiffly.

Allison shook her head. “Why is that bad, sis? You deserve it, too.”

“I don't,” Becky replied. “And he's a pillar of the community. He deserves… better.”

“Better than being loved by the sweetest, prettiest woman in town? He's a man, not a god, Becky. So who is this paragon?”

Becky gulped. “I'd rather not say.”

“Please?” Allison begged, suddenly sounding like a ten-year-old child. In Becky's mind, sometimes she still seemed like she was.

“Promise you won't tell?”

“I swear.”

“It's… well… it's…” she broke off, embarrassed.

“It's whom?” Allison pressed.

“James,” Becky forced out at last. Allison turned in the chair and met her sister's eyes.

“James Heitschmidt? Kristina's father?”

Becky nodded.

“Oh wow,” Allison said. And then neither of them said anything else

Rebecca sat on one of the comfortable little seats in her dress shop, pinning pieces of a pattern to a remnant of white satin. She sat back in her chair while she worked, fully extending her arms, not leaning over the fabric. It was an awkward way to sew, but she didn't want the tears, constantly streaming down her cheeks, to stain the fabric.

The little bell over the shop door chimed and Rebecca looked up from her work to see James Heitschmidt. She drank in the sight of him. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a shock of reddish-blond hair and a firm-jawed face dotted with freckles. Warm, friendly brown eyes wreathed in smile lines met hers. She gulped a little and wiped her eyes.

“Miss Spencer, is everything all right?” How had he moved so quickly? Before she could even react to his presence, he was beside her, taking her hand in his. Oh, he was so warm, his calloused fingers stroking softly over her skin.

“I'm fine, Mr. Heitschmidt.”

“But you're crying.”

“It's nothing. I'm just feeling sorry for myself. That's all.” She urged him into the seat beside her.

“You, Rebecca? I can hardly imagine it. Why?”

She closed her eyes. He'd rarely used her first name before, but it sounded wonderful in that deep, rumbling voice of his. She ran her thumb over his knuckle once.

“Well, it's Kristina. Her wedding, you know.”

He gave her wistful chocolate eyes. She smiled sadly, knowing what he was feeling. “It's best for her,” she said gently.

“I know,” he replied. “But I'll miss her.”

“The good part is, she's only going two blocks away.”

He sighed. “So why does Kristina's wedding make you sad?”

“Can't you guess?” she asked, and her own bitter tone surprised her a bit. “She's so much younger than me, and she's getting married. I'll never get married. Never have a family of my own.”

“I never realized you wanted one.”

What was that intensity in his eyes? “Of course I do, James.” How sweet his name felt in her mouth. “I'm not really all that different from any other woman.”

“But, Rebecca, if you wanted a husband, why didn't you marry? You're lovely, intelligent, and kind. Many men would have wanted to be with you.”

He was really too sweet. “It's kind of you to say, James, but no one would have me now. I'll never be able to marry.”

His eyebrows drew together. “But why would they not? The way you say that sounds like…”

She broke eye contact, looking back down at the satin, her fingers stroking softly over the fabric. “Like the truth, most likely,” she dared admit, and her blush gave way to pallor.

James seized her hand again. “What happened, Rebecca?”

“Do I really have to say it? I was betrothed. Years ago, when I was seventeen. He seduced me. Then he left, ran away with one of the Fulton girls. I never saw him again. I thought we would be married. I didn't realize he was playing a game with me. But after that, I knew no man would ever have honorable intentions towards me again. Men want a virgin bride, and I could no longer supply that…”

She sniffled once and then clamped down on her unruly emotions. Why had James demanded to know her humiliation? And why had she told him? He was certain to look at her differently now, when he knew of her wanton behavior. There would be no more kind talk, no more admiring glances. He was too much of a gentleman to bandy her shame about, but it would affect their relationship.

“Rebecca,” he said, his voice tender. She looked up at him. “I think you're making too much of that event. I mean, not every man cares if he marries a virgin. Some men marry widows, after all.”

“A widow is respectable. She gave herself in marriage. She's not a slut who…”

“A slut? Because of one mistake? Hardly. So that's why you never married, then?”

She nodded, looking away. He grasped her chin with his free hand and turned her back, so she met his eyes. He captured her with them, as though with a magic spell.

“Are you opposed to the idea of marriage, Rebecca? I mean, if a man were interested in courting you, would you be open to it?”

She shook her head. “I couldn't. I would have to tell him… what I just told you. And it was hard enough with you, even though you've been my friend for so long. And then it would all be over anyway, so what would be the point? No. I'm not open to being courted.”

Another tear streaked down her face. James wiped it away with his fingertips.

“But you want to be, don't you?”

“Doesn't everyone?” she burst out. “I'm not happy with being a spinster. That's the consequence for my bad behavior. I accept it, but I don't like it.”

“But, Rebecca, there's every likelihood a man would be willing to overlook such a mistake. I mean, it's long in the past. Years past. And you're a lovely and compelling woman. You are no less desirable for that. You don't have to be alone.”

She broke eye contact, and when she spoke, her voice filled with anger. “Stop it, James. I don't want to talk about it anymore. I can't dare to hope. It would crush me. Please, don't talk to me about this mythical man who will forgive my mistake and love…” she broke off, not willing to continue. She'd revealed far too much anyway.

“It's not a myth, Rebecca.” His lips were so close to her ear, that they actually touched the skin. “There is a man who cares deeply for you, who would love to court you, with honorable intentions, and would not care in the slightest about your mistake.”

She swallowed. Turning, she faced him again, meeting his eyes from mere inches away. “Unless that man is you, I don't want to know any more.”

“It's me.” He closed the distance between them and laid his lips on hers.

Rebecca's eyes slid closed at the sweet, unexpected kiss. Mouth on mouth, he pulled her to stand so he could crush her slender body in his arms. Thankful she had pulled the draperies, shutting out the street so the glare from the setting sun wouldn't blind her, she savored their privacy by slipping her arms around his neck. They kissed for long minutes, savoring what both had thought could never be.

When he finally released her, new tears were spilling down Rebecca's cheeks. “Why didn't you ever say anything?” she demanded. “I've… cared for you so long. I thought you weren't interested.”

“I'm interested, Rebecca. I have been for the longest time. But I thought you were too young for me. I know this is an indelicate question, but aren't you just a little older than my daughter?”

“I'm a great many years older than your daughter. There are ten years between my sister and me, and she's older than Kristina. I'm thirty-five, James. How old are you?”

“Forty-five.”

“You see, a decade difference between spouses is no great matter…” She blushed. Talking about spouses was a little much.

“You're right. Ten years is nothing. I thought it was closer to fifteen. But even then I was about willing to suggest…”

“Even if it were fifteen, I would still say yes.” She hugged him tight. “You're sure you don't mind about…”

He interrupted her again. “No, Rebecca. I don't mind. I had a virgin bride years ago. But things are different now; I don't need that again. I would choose you, even if a virgin were available.”

She rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes. He stroked her back, cradling her in his arms. Rebecca smiled through her tears. Life was changing in the most wonderful, unexpected way.

Wesley woke up early. He wasn't sure why for a while. There was something happening today, something he needed to be part of. But what was it?

The answered dawned on him in a blast of winter sunlight, revealed by the movement of clouds. The wedding. Kristina and Cody's wedding. He needed to be there, he was the best man.

Wesley stretched and climbed out of bed. This time, he'd managed, after a whole week of effort, to get Melissa to stay in her bed all night. He'd had to go in about five times to comfort her, it was true, but she'd stayed.

As he dressed in his black trousers, white shirt, and coat, he couldn't help thinking about Allison. Though he'd decided a week ago that he needed her, needed to ask her to reinstate the engagement he'd shattered years ago, he had not yet spoken to her. She had been hard to find, preparing for the wedding, he supposed. But he hadn't given up. Perhaps afterward he could talk to her in private.

Conversation swirled around the echoing interior of Lydia's Café, where Kristina's friends stood in small groups, eating sandwiches and drinking coffee. Wesley had found no chance to talk to Allison at all, so far. He leaned against the wall in the corner, where Melissa was sitting on the floor, picking little bites of cheese from inside her sandwich, but avoiding the ham. Scanning the room, he found his favorite girl, clad in a striking burgundy suit, her long golden hair wrapped in a loose bun, smiling as she chatted with the bride. Kristina had never looked so beautiful, he admitted to himself. Most of that was due to the glow of joy on her face. Cody approached and pressed a cup of coffee into her hand, and then wrapped his arm around her waist, leaning over to kiss her temple. Kristina's cheeks turned pink. He'd never seen her this happy. Cody was a lucky man and Wesley hoped to be half so lucky. As he watched, Kristina took several steps away from the milling center of the room. A gaggle of young women gathered into a knot. Kristina threw her bouquet of white roses directly to Allison, who, taller than the others, plucked them easily out of the air. Perfect.

“Stay there, princess,” Wesley said to Melissa. She didn't acknowledge him, intent as she was on picking every scrap of cheese from her bread. He shook his head and approached Allison from behind, closing his hand around her arm. She jumped a little.

“Sorry,” he murmured in her ear. “Can you please come with me? I need to talk to you in private.”

She turned to look at him. “Yes, all right.”

“Are you ready now, or would you like to spend some more time here?”

Allison glanced at Kristina, just in time to see Cody scoop her up and carry her out the door to the cheers of the crowd. Blushing, Allison turned back to Wesley. “Let's go.”

He gathered up his daughter and the three of them bundled on their jackets and left the party. In the dark evening, the chill sank right through to the bone, and they hurried through the icy wind to Wesley's house. Melissa was a dead weight in his arms, and once they reached the dimly lit parlor, he realized she was sound asleep in his arms. Precious little angel. He carried her up the stairs to her bedroom and stripped off her shoes. Her dress was not a good one for sleeping in, and he debated whether it was worthwhile changing her into her flannel nightgown. Allison took the decision out of his hands, removing a nightgown from the bureau and pulling Melissa's fancy dress from her plump little body. The little girl woke up as Allison pulled the nightgown over her head.

“Mama?”

“It's Aunty Allie, honey.”

“Oh.” Melissa wrapped her arms around Allison's neck. She burst into noisy tears. “I want Mommy,” she whined.

“Hush, darling. Your mommy is always with you.”

Unable to watch any more, Wesley left the room. Allison had things well in hand, she always did. She was better with his own daughter than he was. Wesley walked into the kitchen, hunted down a kettle and some cups from their strange locations, and made tea.

Leaning against the banister at the bottom of the stairs with the cup, he stared off into the darkness down the hallway, trying to plan his words. Soft footsteps on the polished boards attracted his attention.

“Is she sleeping?” he asked, as Allison descended the stairs. He walked her into the parlor and urged her to sit on the sofa.

She grabbed his cup of hot tea and took a sip. “Yes. She's sleeping now.”

“Thank you, Allison. I don't know if I could take another night of her crying for her mother.” Wesley shook his head and retrieved his teacup from her hands.

She slipped her arm behind his back and hugged him. “I'm sorry.”

He shrugged, guilt and sorrow temporarily overwhelming his goal.

“How are you holding up,” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Come on, Wes. We've been friends forever. We used to be engaged. Who else are you going to talk to?”