Cheryl St.John - The Gunslinger's Bride

“We all have to do things that we don’t want to do sometimes,” was all he said, and it sounded trite.

When they returned to the stove several minutes later, the old man was sipping coffee. He grunted and shook his head.

Brock followed Jonathon to where Abby stood beside a counter, calculating a stack of figures. “Do you want this on the ranch account?” she asked in a businesslike tone.

“Yes.”

“Sam will help you carry out the kegs.”

“I’d just as soon wait awhile, so I can visit with Jonathon.”

Her hesitation was evident in the way she paused over the numbers, in the way her chin lifted slightly.

“Or I can take him back to the ranch with me, and he can play with Zeke and help me put things away.”

Unfairly, he’d suggested it in front of the boy, and Jonathon shot forward, raising a small hand to place it on the counter by her paper. “Can I, Mama? Can I go play with Theke? Brock wanth me to help him!”

Abby’s gaze lifted and struck Brock with as much force as a bullet. Anger simmered there, but the fear in her eyes took him aback. Why it should bother him, he didn’t know. He had her where he wanted her. She was afraid to let her son go, but she was afraid Brock would tell Jonathon the truth if she didn’t comply.

He looked down. “Let me talk to your ma alone for a minute, okay?”

“Okay!” The child shot away and disappeared into the depths of the store.

“I’m not going to snatch him and ride off,” he assured her. “You don’t have to fear that. I told you I would get to know him. This seems like a good way. He’s used to Zeke and Caleb. What would people think if I sat around your store all day long?”

He had her there. She cared very much what people thought. And she obviously cared very little for his tactics. “If you sank any lower, you wouldn’t have to open the door to slide out of here,” she said in a venomous tone.

He took a step toward her.

Her heartbeat fluttered at her throat. The soft scent of lilacs floated to his nostrils, striking an unexpected chord of familiarity.

“You didn’t mind me so much once,” he said, his voice as even and insinuating as he could make it.

She released the pencil she’d been holding and dropped her hand to her side, taking a step back and coming up against the cool glass display case. “I was a fool.”

He inched closer. Her green gaze focused on his shoulder, and she refused to meet his eyes.

“We all make mistakes, don’t we, Abby?”

Her chin lifted a notch. “Some more than others.”

He remembered now their brief, heated encounters, his anger and mental chaos and her warm welcoming embrace that soothed and satisfied. He had sought comfort in her arms, taken her virginity, knowing she was smitten with him but also knowing he wasn’t of a mind to be making decisions or commitments. He couldn’t truthfully say what would have happened if Guy’s actions hadn’t forced him to defend himself.

“I won’t hurt our son. I make you that promise.”

At those words, her gaze rose to his, hurt, bewildered.

“Have I ever made you a promise before?” he asked.

She gave a jerky little shake of her head and whispered, “No.”

“So you see, I’ve never broken a promise to you, either. You’re going to have to trust me.”

“I will never trust you until you take off those guns and admit your guilt.”

Guilt because of Guy? Or his guilt over her? If that was what made her mad, it was sure funny that she didn’t remember her part in their carryings on, as if he’d seduced an unwilling partner. Hardly. He remembered then how she’d claimed to hate him. “Then you’re never going to trust me.”

She blinked.

“But you don’t have a choice that I can see, now do you?”

She tightened her lips as though she was clamping them shut against a torrent of raging words. “You’re despicable,” she hissed.

“No,” he 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?”

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.”