***Hello, all! I just want to apologize for the delay on this chapter. I had a very intense few weeks at work that kept me out of range of technology and far too distracted to even think about writing. To that end, I'd also like to apologize for the quality of this chapter. I think writing is a bit like any form of exercise. You need to warm up to do it right, and I was a bit stiff and out of practice when I wrote this. I promise future chapters will be (a) quicker in coming and (b) less shitty. As always, thank you for reading!!!***
Josh
She had her luggage.
It was a flaw in his plan that he hadn't foreseen. He'd meant to put her at ease-- give her the option to turn him down without endangering her access to an escape fund. He felt like a complete imbecile when he realized the logistics didn't really support his plan. He'd left her no choice but to bellow her intentions at him the second he saw her.
She sat on the porch stairs, cheeks pink with the cold as pale yellow sunlight gleamed in her hair. She was shivering slightly, a thin shawl wrapped around her shoulders and a pitiful, faded carpet bag at her feet.
He shrugged away the pang that shot through his chest at the sight. It was ridiculous to mourn her loss. He'd known her for days, and had never had any claim to her affection. Maybe, he thought, it just hurt his pride a little. Yes, that must be it. It hurt his pride to know she'd rather brave life as a grass widow than accept his offer.
"I'm still thinking," she said timidly as he hopped off the wagon and retrieved her bag, placing it in the back. "I don't want you to think I've decided. I just wanted to be prepared."
She was lying. They both knew it, but he nodded as if he believed her and offered her a hand up onto the front bench. She took the blanket he offered and wrapped it around her shoulders, hunched slightly against the cold, her rear parked as far from his on the worn wood as she could get. He supposed he should have helped her into the back of the wagon so she could sit with her bag, but he'd had an inane notion that if he did that she'd feel like luggage.
Stupid.
The wagon trundled along the packed dirt road, small rocks casting long shadows in the low sunlight. Frost glistened silver on the grass, and the air burned his nose and brought a chill to his fingers. Even beneath the blanket, Amelia shivered. He'd take her to the general store after the bank, he decided. If she was going to go off on her own, pregnant, at the cusp of winter, she'd at least need some good clothes. He shivered, imagining her wandering some city street dressed in rags while snow dusted her hair and frost nipped at her eyelashes.
"Mr. Tucker?"
He jerked out of his reverie and glanced at her, absently flicking the reins at the lone horse hitched to the wagon. It was just two people and a carpet bag on the way out, and one man on the way back. No reason to hook up Thistle and Thorn.
"I was just curious," she said thoughtfully. "You're being awfully good to me, and it's not that I'm not appreciative, but I don't quite understand why. You don't know me. All I've done is upset your life and cause you trouble. It doesn't make sense to me that you're so willing to help."
He thought about the question for a long while, watching the shadows get shorter and silver frost fade as green pierced through, greeting the warming sunlight. The fact she was leaving was worth consideration. What harm would there be in telling the truth?
"You probably noticed my father isn't all that fond of me," he said slowly, keeping his eyes on the road in front of them, even though the horse was plodding along, bored but steadfast, without any direction from him. He saw her nod in his periphery and went on with a shrug. "It's not without cause. I was born around a year before my parents were married. The old man met my mother much like you met Brent, I imagine, 'cept he left before she learned she was pregnant. They met again a couple years later."
"That must have been a shock," Amelia said politely, and he nodded without looking at her.
"I reckon it was. At the time, though, he was a different man. Not near so... ornery as he is now. He loved her and she loved him, and he saw no harm in slipping a ring on her finger and bringing us both home."
"That's beautiful," she said approvingly, a heavy longing in her voice. He felt like an ass, telling her a story so close to hers, but so painfully different. His father had loved his mother. Amelia didn't have that blessing.
"They had a good marriage," he agreed. "All my early memories are of a happy home. She was pregnant again shortly after they married, with Melissa. Then Brent came along a few years after that. The ranch was growing, the seasons were agreeable... nothing was wrong. It was like something out of a storybook."
"But then she passed away," Amelia offered, when he paused to decide how to proceed. Grateful for the easy transition, he nodded.
"She passed away," he echoed, gritting his teeth against the memories of that day. Some details weren't worth sharing. "Pa got a bit lost, after that. I think in the early days he just forgot me, Lisa, and Brent even existed. The ranch began to suffer and the weather that year was terrible. By my reasoning it was chance, and I reckon pa would've thought the same, but then that goddamn preacher came to town..." he trailed off, biting his tongue against his own foul language. "'Scuse the cursing, ma'am. I'm just not real fond of him."
"It's quite alright," she said, and if he didn't know better he'd say there was a hint of amusement in her voice. "You had to watch me return my breakfast, now I've listened to you curse. I'd say we're even now."
He glanced at her, smiling, but as soon as their eyes met she lowered her face. He'd bet one real smile from that woman could melt a foot of snow. She really ought to stay for the winter.
"In any event, the preacher didn't have such a good effect on old Owen Tucker," he said, trying not to sound too bitter and failing miserably. "He convinced pa that no misfortune befalls the undeserving. None of it was chance. Ma died because she had relations before marriage. The ranch was failing because pa fell prey to temptation. The drought came because I was around, muddying up pure waters. Reverent Peters told pa he ought to cleanse his soul by casting me out."
"But he didn't," she said softly, stating the obvious truth.
"He didn't," Josh agreed. "Ma loved us all. She didn't give one single care about when I was born or how I was made. Turns out she'd left pretty strict instructions with the old man. I guess the only thing more powerful than his bitterness was his love for her. He never tossed me out." Just made damn sure he showed the devil how much he regretted my existence.
"Well that's a small kindness." Her voice was soft, and he got the feeling she knew she wasn't speaking truth.
"That's just about it," he concluded, shrugging off the gentle tones of her sympathy and the itch of shame that crawled up the back of his neck. "My mother was a good woman, ma'am. Her life was hard before my father came back for her, and I know she didn't deserve the way she had to live to take care of me. And the way things were after she died... no child deserves that kind of life."
She shuddered, and he immediately felt like a heel. "I don't mean to scare you," he said. "You seem like a... like a smart woman. And strong. And if you let me help you, you'll have more to start out with than my mother did. You child will have a good life, with or without a father. I just thought... I thought I'd try to make it easier, that's all."
"Well, you're very kind," she said, but her voice was tight and he felt everything but kind.
"It'll be alright, Amelia," he said, her given name slipping from his mouth before he could stop it. Her face was turned away, but he could see a tear form in the corner of her eye. She dashed it away before it could fall.
"I know it will," she said, sniffing and offering him a weak smile. "I meant what I said. You're very kind. I don't want you to think I'm ungrateful. I just... I can't..."
"It's okay," he said, squaring his shoulders and flicking the reins to swat away the itch of disappointment. "We'll discuss it all after the bank, okay?"
"Okay," she said on a sigh, slumping beneath the blanket and turning her attention back out to the passing scenery. He hoped she'd perk up a bit once she had the money and a train ticket in her hand. Or maybe change her mind. She thought he was "kind" and surely a woman could do worse than a "kind" man for a husband, couldn't she?
He bit back a laugh at his own thoughts and focused on the road.
She could certainly do better.
Amelia
The train back east, Josh explained as they rode into town, had left earlier that morning. With Brent on it was a fact that went unspoken, but they both knew it to be true. "We'll get your bank account set up," he said, nodding politely to some passersby as he guided the wagon down the town's sloppily-cobbled main street. "Then secure you a room somewhere safe. Then you can go to the station and buy a ticket for next week's train."
They weren't even pretending that she was going to stay, and for some reason that darkened Amelia's mood from gloomy guilt to downright sad. She barely noticed the bustle of the town's early morning business as Josh pulled the wagon up beside a low brick building and helped her down. She followed, head hanging, in his footsteps and stood in a trance beside him at the counter as he spoke to the banker.
"Mr. Tucker, that's--"
"Just do it," her companion said, cutting off whatever retort the banker was raising. His sharp tone grabbed her attention and she frowned between the two men. The banker, a thin man with a shiny bald patch atop his head, looked pained.
"Very well," he said with a sigh, shaking his head as he pulled a few pieces of paper from different shelves behind the counter. "If you want to have a seat I'll call you when I'm ready for your signatures. Can the young lady read?"
"She can," Amelia answered for herself.
"Good," the banker said, nodding, but he didn't look at all happy. He looked confused and maybe even a little angry as his eyes lingered on her face.
"C'mon." Josh led the way to a row of chairs in the corner of the chilly room. She sat, her leg jiggling nervously. For some reason, she wanted to tell him that she'd had money. Maybe not a bank account of her own, but she'd had money saved up. She wasn't some helpless, penniless little girl.
Except... except she'd fallen into one of the oldest traps in time. Like the helpless little girl she swore she wasn't, she'd fallen for a man who was no good and given him access to her money.
Because she loved him.
Because she thought he loved her.
She huffed out an annoyed breath of laughter and fidgeted on her seat. Misreading her discomfort, Josh leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he addressed her.
"It'll just be a few minutes," he said. "We'll have you set up in a room with a ticket home in no time."
"That's not..." she trailed off, shaking her head. Then she nodded. She wanted him to know that she wasn't some stupid little girl, but she didn't really see why. It was probably better for him to think that. He'd be more likely to help her if he thought she couldn't help herself. "I'm just very grateful for your help, that's all," she said, and he grimaced.
"It's no trouble," he assured her, leaning back in his chair, the wood creaking beneath him. "My family got you into this mess. It's only fair we get you out."
She didn't bother to point out that his family hadn't done anything. His brother had left her on her own. His father had kicked her out of the house. He was helping her.
The banker finished the paperwork. Without reading it, she signed in three places and received a slip of paper notifying her that she was now in possession of $550, with an extra $50 in cash to store on her person for the duration of her journey.
It was more money than she'd ever had in her possession, but it still didn't feel like enough. Babies cost so much money. Children cost even more. Cold sweat pricked the back of her neck, and she followed numbly as Josh led the way back outside. She shook herself out of her trance as he was offering her a hand up into the wagon. Pulling her fingers loose, she stepped back.
"I owe you an answer," she said, looking around to make sure none of the folk walking by were within earshot.
"It's okay," Josh said, shaking his head. "I already know."
"I still..." she lowered her gaze to the dirty cobblestones beneath her worn boots. "You were very civil when you made your offer, and I'd like to be civil when I give you my answer."
When she looked up, his mouth was twitching with a smile and she decided she wanted him to stop trying so hard to restrain it. He'd look less severe if he smiled. Except... except if he smiled more, he'd probably look like Brent, and that was the last thing she wanted.
"Alright, then," he said, stepping back. "Go ahead."
"It was a very kind offer," she started, once more looking at her feet. "And I don't want you ever to think that I'm ungrateful. And I don't want you to think that my answer has anything to do with you, or how you've treated me. You've shown me nothing but kindness, and I'm sure that would be no different in... in marriage. But..." she grimaced at the ground before forcing her gaze to his. "But to trade safety and shelter for... for marital duties." She steeled herself before looking up to meet his eye. "I don't want my child to be raised by a whore, Mr. Tucker."
She saw realization flicker across his dark eyes, followed swiftly by anger. Then sadness banked the flames and his weary smile didn't make her think of Brent in the slightest.
"I suppose I didn't think of it that way," he said, nodding. "I thought maybe, with time, you'd want--" he cut himself off with a shake of his head and offered her his arm. "Come on, then. Let's get you settled in a room."
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Getting her 'settled in a room' turned out to be a three-hour, multi-step process. By the time it was finished she had a new bag, assorted personal items, preserved food, a small revolver she had no clue how to use, and a box of ammunition. She was wrapped in a new wool jacket, and had a knit cap on her head, a scarf around her neck, and three new pairs of thick wool socks. Her new dress was still at the seamstress, to be picked up later that day after some minor alterations, but the jacket kept her warm against the crisp air and her belly was full of warm food from the hotel dining room.
She expected him to book her a room at the hotel, but he helped her into her coat after they ate and led her down the street to a two-story building with a wide porch and a painted sign reading "Vivian's Saloon."
Amelia knew within seconds of entering the establishment what its true purpose was. If she hadn't known by the painted women wandering about the dark space, she'd have known from the way Josh pulled her close to his side and glared daggers at every half-drunk man whose eyes found her.
If he was so concerned for her safety, why the hell had he brought her here?
The woman behind the bar frowned when she turned and saw Josh and Amelia approaching. She set a glass down atop the polished wood and tilted her head.
"Just what in the hell is this, Josh Tucker?" she asked harshly, crossing her arms over her ample chest.
"She needs a room, ma'am," Josh said bluntly, pulling out a stool and offering it to Amelia. She sank onto it, too confused to protest. The woman behind the bar looked just as confused, a quirk of amusement turning up the edge of her mouth.
"Is that so?" she asked, raising her brows at Amelia as if sizing her up. "She doesn't look the sort to take up residence in my halls, Joshua. What say you book her a room at the hotel?"
"The hotel isn't safe," Josh gritted out between his teeth, leaning his hands on the bar and lowering his voice. "Please, ma'am. Just for a week until the next train east. I'll pay you double what I'd drop at the hotel."
"Excuse me," Amelia said, trying to temper the frustration in her voice. She knew she should be grateful to her escort, but he was talking about her as if she wasn't present. And trying to book her a room at a whorehouse, no less. "I'm more than happy to stay at the hotel, Mr. Tucker," she said, casting an apologetic look at the woman behind the bar. "I felt safe when we were there earlier."
"Well, you weren't," he growled. "This is the safest place for you to stay. I'm not going to leave you alone in some place where any drunken fool could wander into your room at night and--"
"Alright, alright," the bartender said, leaning forward and gently thumping the bar between them to get their attention. "She can stay here, Josh. If it'll get you out of this poor girl's hair so she can breathe, she can room with Noelle for a couple of days."
"A week," Josh amended. "Until the next train east."
"A week," the woman sighed.
"And Gabe will take her to the station?"
"You can take that up with him."
"Vivian..."
"Of course he will, Joshua. What do you take us for?"
Amelia felt the tension bleed out of the man beside her, and he slumped onto a vacant stool, scrubbing a hand through his hair. All of a sudden, she wanted to cry for how... useless she felt. Before she had a chance to properly dam up the tears, the woman behind the bar, Vivian, was waving at a passing girl.
"Noelle, this is..." Vivian trailed off, looking expectantly at Amelia.
"Amelia," she supplied, trying to clear the tears from her throat.
"This is Amelia," she provided. "She'll be staying with us for a few days while she waits for the Denver train. Can you help her take her things upstairs and set her up in your room?"
"Of course!" the girl said brightly, sweeping in and capturing Amelia's bag before she or Josh could bend to pick it up. "Lord almighty, girl, this bag is light. I hope you're not traveling far!"
Those damned tears battered at her eyes, and Amelia swallowed hard. Noelle flitted off toward the stairs and she went to follow but a hand closed around her elbow, tugging her back around. She forced herself to look up into Josh's eyes. She owed him that-- to look him in the eye and tell him how grateful she was for his help. But before she could get the words out he was speaking.
"You'll be safe here," he promised. "I know it's a little odd, but Vivian and Gabe are the best folk in town. I give you my word on that."
He looked like wanted to say more, his mouth opening and closing a few times. She jumped into the silence.
"Thank you for your help," she forced out, gently pulling her elbow from his grip and lifting her chin, praying he couldn't see her tears. "I have no reason to expect such kindness from a stranger, and I'll be forever grateful for everything you've done for me. For us."
He smiled sadly, offering her his hand. She slipped her fingers into his broad, calloused palm and felt the reassurance in the gentle squeeze. "You're not a stranger, ma'am," he said, still holding tight to her hand. "You're family. Don't go forgetting that. Whatever you need, you send word and I'll find a way to get it to you, understand?"
She nodded, and he swallowed hard, lowering his voice even further, although Vivian had busied herself at the far end of the bar and Noelle was waiting patiently by the stairs, well out of ear-shot. "And my original offer still stands," he said lowly, his voice barely above a whisper. "If you change your mind, for whatever reason, I promise..." he grimaced, shaking his head before smiling sheepishly at her. "I promise I'd do right by you," he said, squeezing her hand once more before letting it drop. "By both of you."
Before she could respond, he'd turned away and Noelle had darted forward, tugging her toward the stairs. She followed in the girl's footsteps, numb legs carrying her upstairs to a hallway that smelled of perfume and sex, through a doorway into a room decorated in shades of lurid red. Her mind reeled, struggling to marry this chattering, happy girl with the ungodly things that happened in this room. Trying to accept that she had just watched a lifetime of ease for her child walk away, and for what? For her pride?
What kind of mother would she be?
"I'm sorry," she whispered, fumbling for the doorknob and letting herself back out into the hall. Noelle frowned, stepping forward to follow her. "I'll be right back," she promised. "I'm just... I'm sorry. I'll be right back."
She flew like the winds were carrying her over the carpeted hallway and down the stairs. Josh was nowhere to be seen, but Vivian looked up when she appeared and smiled, nodding her head toward the door. Amelia dashed through the room, heedless of the drunk-glazed eyes following her progress, and burst out into the sunlight.
"Josh," she called, watching his back stiffen as he stopped his slow, ambling walk down the street toward the wagon. He turned, tipping his head back so that sunlight slashed across his face, unprotected by the brim of his hat. She picked up her skirts and hurried down the stairs onto the street, meeting him as he strode back toward her.
"What is it?" he asked before she could catch her breath enough to speak. "Is everything okay?"
"When the baby comes," she said, ignoring his question. "When he comes, what would he call you?"
He frowned, cocking his head, clearly wondering if the stress had addled her senses.
"Ma'am, I don't--"
"What would the child call you? Would you let him call you father, or would he feel unwanted? I have to know. If we were to marry, what would the child call you?"
Josh's face was frighteningly blank as he stared down at her. His jaw ticked, and he swept the hat off his head, thumping it gently against his thigh and pushing his free hand through his hair.
"I told you the truth about my mother, ma'am," he said lowly, his voice as serious as his face. "No child of mine would ever grow up feeling cursed or unwanted."
Her heart twisted with terrified hope, but she squashed it down and forced herself to meet his impassivity with the cool, level-headed nature she had abandoned when Brent swept into her life. She needed that side of her back if she truly intended to go through with this lunatic arrangement.
"But would he be your child?" she pressed, and he didn't hesitate. Didn't so much as blink.
"Yes," he answered with a sharp nod. "In fact..." he hesitated, and a flash of indecision twisted his features before he tightened his jaw and narrowed his eyes at her. "In fact, I'd have to insist on as much. I wouldn't want the child knowing the truth. Or anyone else for that matter."
She tried to stifle the sigh of relief that trickled out of her. Part of her wanted to ask him more. How would he treat her? What duties would she be expected to perform? What life would she lead? But none of that really mattered. She would brave anything to give her child a safe and secure life. Anything at all.
Her whole body trembled with nerves, but she knew what she had to do. Clenching her teeth and raising her face to his, she held out one hand and willed it not to shake as she looked him in the eye and signed away the rest of her time on earth.
"In that case, Mr. Tucker, I would like to accept your offer."