Brent
"It's good to have you back, son," Brent's father said, leaning back in his chair with both hands on his belly. Brent forced himself not to look away. Eye contact was a sign of strength.
"It's good to be back."
"Where is your wife?"
"Melissa's getting her settled."
"Good, good. How far along is she?"
Brent tried not to roll his eyes. That was his father: blunt.
"A month or so."
"You married her?"
Brent's stomach flopped and he fought not to cringe. He'd bought her a ring and told her to go along with his charade. She loved him, he knew, and wouldn't betray the lie. For a while, he'd even considered actually marrying her. She was a lovely woman so there were worse fates, and he had gotten her with child. It was his responsibility. But when he thought about the rest of his life, spent tied down in this place he'd always sought to escape, he'd broken out in a cold sweat and proposed this arrangement, instead.
Amelia would go along with the story, and tell her father they were married. He didn't need to feel guilty about it, either, because it was mutually beneficial. She'd have a home to raise the child and an extended family to support her. Brent would take some time to get her settled and then gradually find more and more excuses to leave home. He would be free to travel and to meet women, without the guilt of a promise to God. His father trusted him. He would never ask for proof. It was a perfect arrangement.
Brent wondered, then, why his stomach wouldn't settle. It's a perfect arrangement, he told himself over and over while his stomach rolled and his palms sweated. It's a perfect arrangement.
"Yeah, I married her," he lied through his teeth. "Went to a courthouse on our way here."
"Good, good. I'm proud of you, son. Why don't you sit down and I'll go over all the changes I've made on the ranch since you left."
Brent wasn't a fool. He knew his father spent his days in the study, pickling his liver and stewing in years-old grief and anger. If there were changes to the ranch, his father was not responsible. More likely it was Josh, Brent's brother. The man he was counting on to help him fix this catastrophe with Amelia. As his father poured over the books and talked about asset expansion, low turnover, new wells, and last year's success at the market, Brent nodded and sipped his whiskey, and dreamed of the day when his father would die. The ranch would pass to Josh and Brent could stop pretending. He could tell the truth about Amelia without worrying about reprisal. He could give up the act that he cared about the goings on of the ranch. He could visit and enjoy his family and leave without the pressing guilt and the weight of responsibility.
"Are you listening to me, Brent?"
"Yes, sir," he mumbled, but his eyes glazed as his father dragged a finger tip over the ledger, prattling off numbers and details that Brent had no intention of retaining.
Someday.
Josh
Josh stopped at the well on his way back to the house, washed his face and hands, and used his hat to beat the dust off of his clothes. The sun was high overhead, but it was fall and the weather was cooling, the well water frigid. He'd seen the wagon pull up earlier but hadn't bothered heading back to the house. He knew Melissa was ecstatic about Brent's wife's arrival, and his father was as excited about Brent's. Both newcomers would be preoccupied.
Back at the house, he found his sister in the dining room, setting the table.
"Hey!" she said brightly, stepping back to eye a table placement. "Does this look even to you?"
He stepped to her side and looked down at the plate and silverware. It looked like a table placement, and he told her as much.
"Ugh, you're no help," she said, crinkling her nose and stepping away from him. "And you smell like your horse. Did you even clean up?"
"No," he said, picking a roll of bread out of the covered basket. He tore of a corner and tossed it in his mouth. "I rolled around in the hay and rubbed cow shit on my shirt. Wanted to make a good impression on your new best friend."
She snatched the roll out of his hands with a glare, stared sadly at it, and handed it back. "You ruined it, so you might as well finish it. Just don't get crumbs on the carpet."
He rolled his eyes and tore off another piece.
"Brent look okay?"
"Yeah, he seems alright. He's in talking to daddy now."
He chewed and swallowed. "She wearing a ring?"
"He married her, Josh. He said he was going to."
He knew Brent better than anyone, and a promise from his brother meant precisely nothing. "Is she wearing a ring?" he asked again.
"Yeah, she's wearing a ring, Josh," Melissa sighed, taking him by the arm and dragging him through to the kitchen. "You're so uptight, I swear sometimes you have no faith at all in humanity. I gotta go get her for lunch. Watch the soup?"
He dutifully stirred the simmering pot of split-pea soup, glaring at the wall behind the stove and ruminating on Brent's fickle nature. Josh loved his brother, for sure. He'd die for the man, but that didn't mean he had to trust him. Whoever this woman was, she was dumb enough to fall for his brother's lines, and that didn't bode well. That kind of density meant she'd be completely helpless when Brent eventually abandoned her.
Two sets of light footsteps approached, and Josh forced his mind back to the pot and the spoon in his hand, as if the approaching women might hear his thoughts. Hear his thoughts and do what? Berate him for knowing the truth? He scoffed to himself, glancing up when his sister appeared in the doorway.
"She's out in the dining room if you want to introduce yourself," she said, taking the spoon. Then, quieter. "Don't be yourself, though. You'll scare her."
Bracing himself for vapid stupidity, he stepped into the dining room. The second he looked up, he damn near stumbled back into the kitchen.
The woman sitting at the table was stunningly gorgeous, but that in itself was no great shock. Brent was a handsome man, and had a wealth of charm that served him well in his endless pursuit of new and challenging women.
She had long blonde hair, twisted into a braid and draped over her shoulder, but that made sense because, while Brent was not particular, he did have something of an affinity for blondes.
She was tall, which again was no surprise, and held herself with a degree of grace despite her obvious anxiety. She sat at the table, with her hands folded in her lap and her large blue eyes wide in her face. She was the picture of propriety except for her bouncing knee, which jiggled the tablecloth beside her leg.
What surprised him were her clothes and her eyes. Her dress was a faded blue, obviously made of sturdy material that had been worn to a ragged sort of dignity. Her eyes were shielded by a familiar steel that told him she was no stranger to hardship and had the backbone to rise to a challenge. Brent liked his women dumb and happy. This woman, Josh recognized with alarm, was neither.
She shot to her feet as soon as she saw him, and he couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips as she skirted the table and extended her hand.
"You must be Amelia," he said as he took her hand. Somehow, it was exactly as he had expected-- slender and delicate, but ridged and rough with labor. "I'm Josh, Brent's brother."
She offered him a shy smile and dropped into some semblance of a curtsy. "Pleasure to meet you," she said quietly and something rolled over in his chest. He dropped her hand, beating that feeling back. This is Brent's wife, he told that sliver of impropriety that jostled for control inside of him. Brent's wife. Even if he is going to abandon her, she's still his.
"I see you've met my wife," Brent stated from the doorway, and Josh tore himself away from her eyes.
If Brent's new wife was slender strength, Brent himself was wilting weakness. He was still tall, still wore his hair in a fashionable cut, and still dressed in fine clothes that fit well in the dining room but wouldn't last a day on the trail. He was still Brent, but he looked... tired-- something Josh had never seen in his brother's face. Tired and worried. There were bags beneath his eyes and a hollowness to his smile that fueled the flames of Josh's suspicions.
As much as Brent loved to lie, he'd never been much good at it. It weighed on his soul and sucked the life from his eyes. His own misdeeds and lascivious adventures poisoned him like quality liquor, leaving him dried up and weary and all too ready to let someone else clean up the mess he'd left in his wake.
"It's good to have you back," Josh said honestly, crossing the room to pull Brent into a short hug. It scares the hell out of me knowing you're out there causing trouble. "Things have been pretty quiet without you around."
"Yeah, yeah," Brent said, tensing and pushing him away as if he could feel Josh's thoughts and accusations. When are you going to abandon this woman? Did you even really marry her? "Let's eat."