The Gunslinger's Bride. Cheryl St.John
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replied with stern denial. “Rape is despicable. You came to me willingly.” He lowered his voice and added, “Eagerly.”
Her face flamed.
“Stealing is despicable. I only took what you offered.”
Tears glistened and she blinked them back.
“Denying a child is despicable. I acknowledge my son. I want to know him and teach him and be a father to him.”
Holding herself so rigidly like that, she’d shatter into a million pieces if he pushed her over, he imagined. “Murder is despicable,” she accused.
For a confused moment, he thought perhaps she knew more about him than he’d revealed, but that couldn’t be. He’d been too careful. She meant Guy. “He drew on me first, Abby, and you know it. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.” He stood a step back, giving her space, distancing himself so he wouldn’t be tempted to grab her and shake some sense into her. “I’ll return Jonathon before dark.”
Before Brock’s return, Abby had never in her life wanted to hit someone, and the fact that she again wanted more than anything to strike out at this man shocked her. She stood by helplessly, rooted to the floor, as Brock called her son. She stood fast while she watched Jonathon bring his coat and hat, despite the fact that her fingers itched to help while Brock bundled him up.
Watching them prepare to leave, she felt a chasm yawn in her chest. Her breath came in shallow, painful gasps, and she wanted to run to Jonathon and clasp him safely to her, protect him from the truth and the man who threatened the sanctuary of this home she’d made for them.
Brock had donned his own coat, but he knelt, one knee touching the worn wood floor, and said something to Jonathon.
Her son’s blond head turned her way, and without hesitation he darted toward her and hugged her around the waist. “Bye, Mama. I’ll be back before dark.”
Abby loosened his slender arms and knelt to fold him in a desperate hug. She petted his shiny hair and inhaled his unique little-boy scent. “Goodbye, darling. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Mama.” Pulling away, he ran to join the tall man who waited patiently.
He raised his gaze to Brock’s, and Brock looked down. Jonathon trustingly placed his mittened hand in Brock’s huge, gloved palm, and they walked away. The bell over the door clanged a finale to the heart-wrenching scene. Abby’s chest felt as though a lead weight were pressing down upon it. She drew a staggered breath and placed her hand over her heart, where the real ache gnawed.
Stinging tears bit her eyes and she closed the lids tightly.
The bell rang again.
He’d changed his mind! Her eyes flew open.
Her fiancé, Everett Matthews, stood in the doorway, looking over his shoulder, and she knew he was watching Jonathon depart with the stranger.
Stupefied, he turned and met her gaze. “What is going on, Abby?”
Chapter Four
Not now! Why now, of all times, did Everett have to show up? The tears Abby held inside threatened to burst through her defenses and engulf her, but she couldn’t allow Everett to see them, to sense even a glimpse of her torment. He would surely suspect something was wrong if she behaved the least bit odd.
Turning as he removed his coat, she plucked up the pencil and held it over the paper as if she could actually see or think to figure. “Oh, hello, Everett.” He wore a neat, brown serge suit and vest, and a matching bow tie at his neck. The perfect gentleman. “What brings you out today?”
He walked forward with his coat folded over his arm. “Why is Jonathon leaving with Brock Kincaid? What’s going on?”
“Jonathon’s going to play with Zeke for the afternoon. He’ll be home before dark,” she said, forcing lightness into her voice.
“I’ve never seen you let that boy out of your sight except to go to school.”
“Why, that’s not so. He’s gone to play with Zeke before. The winter days are so long. He needs a change of scenery now and again.”
“But Brock Kincaid?” Everett stepped closer, and she was forced to look up, somehow managing a tight smile. “You hate that man!”
Abby’s eyes wanted to clamp shut tight. She wanted to roll into a ball and disappear under the counter like a clump of dust. She would love to pound the floor and kick and scream that she did, in fact, hate that insufferable man.
She didn’t want to stand here all sweet faced and pretend to her betrothed that she didn’t loathe the man who had just walked out with her child! Instead, she scrambled for something—anything logical to say to prevent him from suspecting the worst. “All that was a long time ago. Caleb and Ruth are our friends, after all, and Jonathon and Zeke are best friends.” She took Everett’s coat and hung it on a brass hook. “Jonathon loves to play with him. Besides, Brock is Caleb’s brother, so I might as well let bygones be bygones.”
Had she said that? Had that atrocious lie rolled from her tongue? Abby tasted acrid bitterness and decided that, indeed, it had. She couldn’t abide deceptiveness, and here she was lying to the man she was going to marry. Once again, because of Brock Kincaid, she was going against her principles.
Everett shook his head of thick, neatly trimmed brown hair. One dark brow rose now, and coffee-colored eyes bored into hers in disbelief. “Pinch me to wake me up, because I can’t believe my ears. I must be dreaming, because I thought you just excused the man.”
“You’re not dreaming, silly. It’s not healthy for a person to go around with hard feelings locked up inside. I’ve decided to let the feud go. That’s all.”
“That’s all? That’s all, Abby? Did he apologize?” he asked in amazement. “Did Kincaid say he was sorry about your brother?”
“Oh, yes.” She told the bald-faced lie and turned to carry a lantern back to its shelf. “He regrets that they ever had a misunderstanding and that things got out of control so quickly. He’s a changed man.” Changed from bad to worse, anyway.
“I never really understood what it was they fought over,” Everett said, following.
“I don’t think anyone really remembers,” she said dismissively, as though the worst event of her life was of no importance. “It was a long time ago and they were probably too drunk to know what they were doing.”
“This is quite a change of heart for you,” her fiancé said, still seeming to have trouble understanding.
“Yes,” she agreed sweetly. “People are allowed to change.”
Abby glanced aside to note that Mr. Waverly, who still sat by the stove with his cane against his knee, watched her in silence, a shrewd expression on his grizzled face. He couldn’t have overheard her earlier restrained conversation with Brock, but he’d heard their original exchange and was now getting an earful of this one—and the two sure didn’t line up.
“Do we need a fresh pot of coffee, Mr. Waverly?” she asked.
“Couldn’t hurt. I lost m’spoon in the last cup.”
“I’ll get some water.”
She went about carrying the pot to the back room to rinse and fill. Everett waited while she stoked the fire and set the pot to boiling.
Taking her elbow, he led her aside, away from the old man’s curious gaze. “This is all such a…a surprise,” he said carefully once they were hidden in an aisle of garden tools. “I’ve never seen anything but scorn from you when the man’s name was mentioned, and now this sudden act of forgiveness.”
“Don’t concern yourself with it. It was time to lay things aside, that’s all.” She looked up and gave him a warm smile to distract him. She pulled her elbow from