Brent
"We've hired on twenty extra hands for the roundup this year. Most are out on the range right now, and most of them are seasonal hires, but we're building a new bunkhouse down the way. We plan to keep a handful of 'em on through next spring, depending on how they fare. We've been expanding and we need a few more men year round. Calving season went real well the last few years and we're doing well at the market. The old man bought up Jameson's land last summer and we had a hell of a time posting all the new fencing. But... are you listening to this or should I just leave you to your dreaming? I got real work to do, you know. You're the one who asked for this damn tour."
Brent startled. He had been listening. Sort of. He'd just mostly been thinking. He glanced at his brother and thought of the last time they'd spoken before he'd left town. The bastard had broken his nose! And then, what? Gone home and married his woman? Stolen his life out from under him? Sequestered poor, lovely, adventuresome Amelia off in some hovel on this godforsaken ranch?
"Why wouldn't Amelia see me?" he asked, by way of answer. Josh sighed, hanging his head for a moment before tugging his hat off, dropping it over the saddle horn, and fixing his brother with one of those looks he'd started giving so, so long ago. Those disappointed elder looks.
"I told you," he said. "She's busy at the house, and she's not in a rush to see you after what you did to her. She said she'll talk to you on Sunday."
That was utter hogwash if Brent had ever heard it. Amelia was crazy about him! What lies was Josh feeding her? Did she even know he was home?
Did she?
A plan sprang to life in his head and he jerked his chin toward a distant herd of cattle, driven along by three men on horseback. "So you were talking about the new ranch hands?"
Josh gave him a suspicious look but prattled on. Nonsense about wells and fence-cutters and his worries about a drought. Brent asked just enough questions to convince his brother he was listening, but in his mind he was plotting. When a young man came flying across the hill on horseback, looking harried, Brent had his out.
"Boss, we got a problem," the newcomer said, bringing his horse to a halt. "One of the guys from the north pasture came runnin' back. Said they got a stampede going."
"North pasture is miles from here," Josh said with a frown, picking up his hat and dropping it back on his head. "You're telling me they can't head 'em into a mill before they do any harm?"
"It's too late for that, boss," the young man said, wringing the reins in his hands. "They got headed toward the fence and one of the new fellas' horse spooked and he went down. His partner stopped to help him and they couldn't get 'em turned in time and next thing you know they tore down the fence and half the heard is scattered across Robinson's south acres."
"Who fell? He okay?"
"Finnie, sir. He's alright, I s'pose. Mattheson, that's who rode back, he said nobody was hurt. They just lost the steers is all."
Josh sighed and turned to Brent. "Don't suppose you want to help me deal with this, do you?"
"Nah, I'm a little saddle sore," Brent lied, nodding toward the house. "Think I'll go sit with Pa for a bit. Go over the books and whatnot."
Josh was riding away before the words were fully out his mouth, galloping alongside the man who'd come to fetch him. Brent didn't envy his brother this life. He'd never intended to run the ranch, but he damn sure wanted his inheritance. He was building the house in town and he and Amelia and Rebecca-- God Almighty, he needed to meet Rebecca-- could live there. Once the old man died he could run the ranch from afar as his father had. He'd come to accept that he was needed for the bookkeeping. Josh didn't have the mind for it, so Brent could let him live in the house and run the day-to-day while he managed the finances from town. Between the ranch and his own business he would be a titan, like Vanderbilt or Astor.
Brent waited until Josh was out of sight before turning his horse and heading in the opposite direction of the main house. The old man had shown him on a map where Josh had built some sad shack for Amelia in a distant corner of the ranch. His heart broke for her. He had been so stupid, thinking he could leave her here alone and she'd be safe. Now she was legally bound to a man she didn't want, secreted away on some hillside living the life of a common farmer's wife.
Despair had him digging his heels into the horse's sides, bent low as the wind nipped at his face. He'd forgotten how cold it got out here, and how quickly. When the small homestead drew into view, Brent wanted to weep. It was tiny. A pitiful little log cabin with a lone chimney coughing smoke into the air. The barn was more impressive than the house, but of course that could be expected. Josh had always been more interested in livestock than in people.
Coming close he saw that, although it was small, the place was immaculately kept. That would be Amelia's touch. Her determination and strength were part of what had drawn him to her in the first place. She wasn't a woman who would be cowed or made to sit on the mantle. She reminded him of Melissa with her stubbornness, and her energy made him think of the stories his father told of his mother. He saw that energy all over the little property. The neat little garden plot by the side of the cabin. The tidy stack of firewood beneath a lean-to by the porch. There were even flowers, nestled in twin ceramic planters on either side of the porch stairs. He thought of her, sending away for that small symbol of society while she withered away on this lonely hilltop.
Swinging out of the saddle, he hastily tied his horse to the porch rail and hurried up the stairs. Just in time to meet Amelia at the door.
Amelia...
She stood in the doorway in a worn green dress, a stained white apron tied around her waist. When was the last time she'd worn a new dress? He vowed to buy her three. Her beautiful blond hair was tied back in a braid and her bare toes peeked out beneath the hem of her dress. So she needed ribbons for her hair, as well, and new shoes. She looked older than when he'd left her, but he couldn't begrudge her some wrinkles. After all, he had left her to this fate. And still, in spite of it all, she was beautiful. Even with those sad, haunted eyes that found his as he mounted the last stair and drew to a halt, sensing from her expression that he oughtn't come any closer.
She opened her mouth, and then closed it. Her chin trembled and she locked her jaw before any more emotion could paint itself across her face. His Amelia had been so wild and free with her feelings. What had Josh done, locking her up out here with nobody to talk to but horses and nothing to see but the same broad sky, day after day?
"Amelia..." he took a step forward, bolstered when she didn't step away. With still two feet between them, he dropped to his knees. "Amelia," he said again, bowing his head. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sor--"
"Mama? Who?"
His head snapped up and he found himself face to face with a little girl, peeking around from behind her mother's skirts, which she held in one pudgy fist. She had hazel brown eyes and dirty blond ringlets and his heart plummeted into his stomach because this beautiful little creature-- this fallen angel-- was his daughter. He had made her.
"Rebecca?" His voice cracked and he cleared his throat, clasping his hands in his lap to keep them from trembling. "Honey, it's me. It's your--"
"This is your uncle Brent," Amelia said loudly, cutting him off as she bent and lifted the child off the ground, holding her on her hip like she was an infant. She was stronger in the body than when he'd left her, that was for sure. Years of hard living would do that to a woman. When she came to live with him she wouldn't have to do all this manual work. She could keep the house and entertain guests and teach their children to read.
"I. Amelia, I--"
"Your Uncle Brent just stopped by to say hi," she told Rebecca pointedly, and his spirits sank. What had Josh told her? He saw now, by the lack of astonishment in her expression, that she'd known he was around. Why, then, hadn't she come to see him? Had Josh threatened her? The hell with that. Brent loved his brother but he'd put a bullet in the man's heart before he'd allow Amelia and Rebecca to be hurt.
"Amelia, please let me come in. I'd like to talk."
Amelia's jaw flexed as she ground her teeth. She set the little girl-- his daughter-- down on the floor and gave her butt a little tap. "Go and play in your room," she said.
"But mama--"
"Go Rebecca," she said sternly, and the little girl pouted and huffed but ran off on small, stubby little legs. Once her footsteps had fallen into silence, Amelia stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door shut behind her, crossing her arms over her chest. "Does Josh know you're here?" she asked, her brow wrinkled.
"I..." How should he answer that? What was she looking for from him? Did she need to hear that yes, Josh endorsed this meeting? Or did she need to hear that no, her husband didn't know she was meeting with a former lover?
"It's a simple question, Brent," she snapped, bringing his head up. Amelia had never talked to him like that. Her voice was cold. She'd sassed him plenty but she was never mean. "Does or does not my husband know that you've come to see me? I thought the message I gave him to convey was fairly clear. I'll talk to you on Sunday after church."
So Josh hadn't been lying? He must have lied to her, then. Told her some awful tale. She wouldn't be turning him away if she knew...
"Amelia, I had to see you. I've come back for you, darling! I know you've grown fond of Pa and Melissa, and the ladies in town, so I'm building us a home! I've made a fortune out east and I'm bound to make more! I made a mistake leaving you behind. I realize that now."
"Brent, stop."
"I've thought of nothing but you and the child-- Rebecca-- since I left. I would have come back sooner but I wanted to have something to show for myself! A life to offer! And I know you're worried about Josh, but he's a reasonable man and he probably wants to be free anyhow, don't you think? He'll give you a divorce. You haven't born any more children. We could argue impotence or perhaps infidelity--"
"Stop, I said."
"We can talk all the intricacies later. I know it's difficult, but I just wanted to see you. It's been so long and I've missed you so terribly. I needed you to know that I realized the error of my ways. I... I love you. I want to know Rebecca. I want to be her f--"
"Stop it!" she exclaimed, and her sharp shove send him stumbling back toward the edge of the porch.
"Amelia, I--"
"No!" she fairly hollered, bracing her fists on her hips, a flush creeping up her neck into her face. "No, I reckon you've said enough, Brent Tucker. Get off my porch."
Her rejection stabbed through him, and he had to remind himself that he had rejected her first. She would have felt this way, back when he had first left. He'd abandoned her, all alone, with this ache of heartbreak in her chest. He deserved the difficulty she was giving him, and she wasn't likely to go down without a fight. But a little stubbornness wasn't insurmountable. Brent had dealt with stubborn women before, and the way to their hearts wasn't force. It was charm, and charm was a patient man's game. Fortunately for him and fortunately for his girls, he had all the time in the world.
"Okay, then," he said, raising his hands and walking backwards off the porch. "I'll leave you be for a while, honey."
"My name is Amelia."
"It sure is, beautiful."
She glared, and he grinned at her. The disarming one that had lured plenty of hapless fools into a hand of poker and many a buxom lady into his lap. "Don't come around here again," she spat, but only after her expression flickered for an instant. He was sure of the hesitation he'd seen. She was angry, sure. She had every right to be angry, and he was even starting to think she'd developed some kind of affection for his soporific curmudgeon of a brother. But Brent wasn't worried about a little competition. Josh was a good man, sure, but a hard life had turned him into a stodgy, uninspired louse with no ambition beyond a day's hard work and a warm bed. Not to mention, he had no prospects beyond a job at the ranch where he'd work into his grave with nothing to show but subsistence.
Brent knew what had drawn Amelia to him in the first place. His charm. His stories. His confidence and his promise of better things. They had dreamed together. She was mad, yes, but she wouldn't stay that way. He had time to work his magic. To rekindle what they had together.
To remind her how to dream.