Josh
Reverend Jacob Peters was a horse's ass.
He had a smug face, oily hair, sharp teeth, and he seemed to have only read the parts of the Bible that talked about sin and suffering. If the good reverend was to be believed, Christ was a rampaging tormenter of sinful souls, and the most sinful souls of all were beautiful women. Vile temptresses, the reverend called them. Whores. Succubi. Witches. She-devils. Surely there were other sins than lust, but Peters never talked about them. Women, it seemed, were a railroad straight to Hell. The only true route to damnation.
Josh shifted on the hard wooden pew and kept his eyes on the dirt-strewn floor as the reverend ranted and raved about sinister curves and evil temptation. He knew the reverend's wife, Katherine. Everyone did. She'd never missed a Sunday service, sitting in the front row with her head down and her hands clasped in her lap. Josh had known her since youth. She was the previous preacher's daughter, and just about the kindest, gentlest woman he'd ever met. He had a hard time imagining her inspiring the reverend's half-crazed sermons.
"So men, beware," Peters cried in the background of Josh's scattered thoughts. "If you see a lovely woman, avert your gaze. They are treacherous and cruel, and their wanton lust is a sure path to damnation. Their siren song will claim you the moment you meet their eyes, and your soul will fall prey to the devil's desires."
Josh had met a lot of beautiful women. Hell, every woman he'd ever met was beautiful in some way shape or form. He knew the siren song the preacher spoke of-- the way a man's mind could turn in an instant to lewd and lascivious thoughts. They'd plagued him enough in his youth, and still rose unbidden now and again. Even so, he'd never felt near so helpless as the preacher always said he ought to be. He'd had a thousand and one lustful thoughts, but he'd never looked into a woman's eyes and seen a demon come to claw his soul out and drag it to hell. His evil thoughts were his, not theirs, and it never took much doing to stow the thought away and go about his day. It seemed, to him, a bit cowardly and pointless for a man to blame his desires and actions on a woman's body. That would be like robbing a store and calling the shopkeeper evil for stocking merchandise worth stealing.
It was senseless. Josh didn't care for Reverend Peters, and he didn't care to spend a perfectly fine day sitting indoors. But here he was, because attending Sunday service mattered more to his father than anything. More than the ranch, more than obedience, more than looking after Melissa and Brent. He'd be disowned entirely if he didn't attend.
"Your soul is damned, boy," his father had said once, long ago, the first and only time Josh had asked to stay home. "I'd just as soon see you rot in hell, but your mother wouldn't want it. Church is not an option. If you turn your back on Christ, you turn your back on this family, and you'll follow God as long as you live under my roof."
That was the last time Josh had attempted to avoid it. He might argue with his father, but he'd never speak against his mother's memory.
The service usually lasted two hours, but the reverend was in high form, dragging on and on. Josh's stomach twisted when Peters lit upon a variation of his favorite subject, shifting gracefully from vile temptresses to wanton whores with fatherless children.
"I have spoken enough to the menfolk," he said, frowning down at his audience. "To the women, I urge you to know the evil living in your womb. Your lustful nature and treacherous form are a test, thrust upon you by a strict but merciful Father. You mustn't fail. You must protect the innocent men around you from the devil inside you. Cover yourselves to protect them from temptation. Resist the urge to lay with any man who is not your husband, for it is not only his soul that will suffer for your carelessness. The word of God is clear. 'No one born out of wedlock may be included among the Lord's people.' Bastard children are Satan's spawn-- a punishment inflicted upon their parents for the evil of their deeds. Ask yourself if this is a curse you are willing to live with. A curse that is worth a few moments of carnal pleasure."
Josh had to fight to keep his gaze on the floor. He sat at the end of the row, with Brent to his left and Amelia just beyond him. He told himself it was only his imagination saying he could feel her cringe away from the reverend's words. He knew for certain it wasn't his imagination telling him Brent's shoulder had twitched against his. He wanted to stand up and order the preacher to shut the hell up. This situation was hard enough without some supposed man of God hurling curses and accusations and promises of damnation. He wanted to squeeze Brent's shoulder and promise he hadn't damned himself. He wanted to take Amelia's hand and assure her she hadn't damned her child.
Instead, he sat with his hands clenched on top of his thighs and fantasized about smashing the preacher's face in with a fist. Or perhaps with a Bible. That'd be a nice, poetic touch-- battering him with the word of God the way he battered them every Sunday.
By the time the service finally ended, he'd worked himself into a dark, simmering mood. As was custom, the church hosted a small social gathering after the service. As was custom, Josh excused himself and went to wait with the wagon while the rest of his family smiled and exchanged small talk with folks from town. He stomped across the yard, still lost in thoughts of violence, and greeted the horses. Thistle and Thorn were two of his father's prized possessions: all-black, purebred Percherons the old man had ordered and had shipped from out east.
They were good horses, Josh had to admit, but they weren't worth all that money. Nor were they worth the added hassle of dragging a ranch hand along to church every week just to watch over the damn things while his family was inside.
"You can head back," he told Johnny, this week's short-straw, who jolted upright from his sprawl across the bench and hopped down.
"You sure, sir?" the kid asked, already unhitching his saddlehorse and swinging up. "If we're making a stop in town I can wait and help out."
"We got supplies on Thursday," Josh said, waving him off. "Head straight back and check in with Paul when you get there. I don't wanna hear you took the scenic route to shirk on dirty work."
"No, sir," Johnny said, shaking his head effusively. It was hard not to smile at the kid's earnest enthusiasm. They were all like that when the first started. The first winter would break him in, but by the time Johnny learned to disappear when the hard jobs cropped up, there'd be fresh young men looking to prove their worth.
The circle of life.
Josh took the kid's abandoned spot on the bench, propping a foot against the front of the wagon and staring absently at the back of the horses' heads. He'd no sooner watched Johnny disappear around the corner before approaching footsteps had him straightening and turning back to face the church.
Brent was walking toward him, followed by Amelia a step or so behind. The woman looked positively green, and Brent looked positively annoyed.
"She's feeling sick," he told Josh, catching his eye with an expression of exasperation, begging for sympathy. "Wanted some fresh air. Can she sit in the wagon with you?"
"Really, I'm fine, Brent," Amelia stuttered, but she had a hand pressed to her stomach and she spoke through her teeth, like she was scared to open her mouth too wide. "I told you I just needed a few minutes to clear my head."
"You can't just be standing around, alone outside," Brent snapped. "Least of all not vomiting everywhere. People will ask questions."
Hurt flickered over the woman's woozy eyes and Josh swallowed a sigh, hopping down off the wagon bench.
"It might help to sit," he said gruffly, offering her a hand to help her into the wagon. She didn't take it, looking from him to Brent to the array of horses, wagons, and carriages gathered about them.
"I'm going to be sick," she said, shaking her head. "People walk here. I don't want..." she trailed off, swallowing convulsively and doubling over a little with a hand on her belly. Movement caught Josh's eye and he looked up to see Brent backing away. Josh glared, and Brent shrugged helplessly before turning and hurrying back toward the church.
Goddamn it.
"Let's go for a walk," he said, taking Amelia by the elbow and leading her away from the hitch post toward a small copse of trees. The moment they fell into the shade-dappled seclusion of the trees, Amelia doubled over and coughed out a stream of watery vomit. Pulling her arm out of his grasp, she braced her hands on her knees, body convulsing with the force of the sickness. A surge of sympathetic bile crept up his throat, but he swallowed it down.
"I'm sorry," she choked out when the bout subsided, her voice gritty and hoarse with exertion. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and sniffed back tears, a flush creeping into her pale cheeks when she turned to face him. "I'm sorry you had to see that."
A sharp laugh escaped Josh's throat, and Amelia flinched as if he'd slapped her. He bit it back, shaking his head. "I've seen a lot worse than a little vomit, ma'am. Don't bother me none."
She frowned, tucking a sweat-damp tendril of hair behind her ear. Her forehead was shiny with perspiration, in spite of the crisp autumn air. "It's still indecent," she argued primly.
"Is that so?" he asked, trying not to smile.
"I was always made to think so," she said, taking a step away from the mess she'd left in the grass. He fell in beside her as she walked back to the wagon. "Ladies are meant to keep such things private."
He did smile at that. "I reckon you would've kept it private if you could've," he said. "And I've got no plans to tell your secret to the world. Your ladyhood is safe for another day."
She laughed-- a small, hesitant giggle that made him a little dizzy. "Well, my reputation thanks you," she said with a smile, but the smile fell when they reached the wagon. She looked back at the church, her brows drawn together.
"I should go back, now," she said, wiping at the sheen of sweat that lingered on her brow.
"Do you want to?" he asked, trying to hide his derision as he followed her gaze to the church.
She shrugged, studying the dirt beneath their feet.
"If you want to be sick a while longer, you're welcome to stay," he offered, wishing she'd look up so he could see her eyes. "There's plenty of fresh air to go around."
With a shy smile, she accepted the hand he offered, clambering up into the wagon. She settled onto the bench, arranging her skirts around her and shivering slightly. He circled around the back of the wagon, snatching a blanket from under a tarp as he walked. He climbed up beside her and offered her the blanket. Part of him wanted to unfold it and wrap it around her shoulders, and then maybe tuck her beneath his arm and let his body's heat warm her.
But those were inappropriate, unwelcome thoughts. Reverend Peters would probably say it was some combination of the devil's touch and Amelia's succubus nature dragging him in, or some such nonsense. He didn't see much evil in her shivering form, though, and he didn't get the impression she wanted his touch. Not for malevolent purposes, for carnal purposes, or even for the sake of comfort. She was not the architect of his desires, just the object. The devil wasn't in her. Just in him.
The reverend was an idiot.
Amelia accepted the blanket and draped it over her shoulders, tugging it close and studying the horses who fidgeted and swayed in their harnesses, tails whipping intermittently at unseen disturbances. She gnawed her lip, and he forced himself to look elsewhere. The trees were beginning to change, signifying the coming winter. It was going to be a harsh one, he could feel it. At supper yesterday, Melissa had brought up finding a plot of land to start building a house for the newlyweds. He'd opened his mouth to say it'd have to wait until summer because there was no way they'd be building once winter fell.
Then he'd seen the look in Amelia's eyes.
It was the first time he'd seen her happy. Since her arrival he'd only ever seen worry on her face and wariness in her eyes. When Melissa brought up the house, encouraging her new friend to talk about her preferences, she transformed. She became vibrant and excited and hopeful. And opinionated. That was the best part. When she first arrived, he'd thought her meek and subservient, but that wasn't the case at all. She knew exactly what she wanted and she was more than happy to say it.
If someone asked her.
"So have you thought anymore about your house?" he asked, leaning back and once more hitching a foot up onto the wagon before him.
She sucked in a breath, and he glanced sideways to see a smile split her face before she turned her gaze to her lap and started chewing her lip again.
"A little," she said quietly, fiddling with the blanket.
"You care to share? It'll help us pick a good location if I know what kind of house you want."
She shrugged, then glanced at him as the smile returned. "I'd like a big porch," she said, her eyes going a little glassy as she dove into her imagination. "It would be nice if it faced west. I know I'm supposed to want to watch the sun rise, but I'd rather watch it set, you know?"
He shrugged. He preferred to watch both, and he'd only ever really watched either from a hilltop, far away from hearth and home. "Sure," he answered. "So we're looking for a spot with a good view to the west."
Her smile widened, and she straightened on the bench. Color was returning to her pale cheeks and her shivering had diminished. "I think one story will do," she said, nodding to herself. "We won't need anything big. Just a kitchen and a sitting room. A master bedroom, and a room for the baby when he grows up. Maybe... maybe one more room, in case there's more children."
As quickly as her excitement had arrived, it fell away. Her shoulders slumped and she looked over at him, not a glance but a hard stare. Her eyes met his and his blood turned to air, lifting him up off the wagon and into the deep blue sky. So blue...
"Mr. Tucker, can I ask you something?" she implored, her voice suddenly cold and emotionless.
He should say no. He could tell from the calculating look in her eye that, whatever she asked, he wasn't going to know how to answer. It wasn't going to be some easy, silly question about the house. He saw doubt in her eyes, and he knew exactly who'd put it there.
"Sure," he said, his voice hoarse with apprehension.
She narrowed her eyes, as if she could see the answer in his before she even asked her question.
"Should I really bother picking out a spot for this house?" she asked, hands clenched into fists in her lap. "Should I plan a future here at all?"
"I'm not sure what you mean," he lied, the coward in him rising to the surface in the face of her fear. He couldn't bear to be the one who let her down. Let Brent take responsibility for once. He'd take a bullet for his brother, but he didn't know if he had it in him to break this poor girl's heart on another man's account. Even if that other man was his flesh and blood.
"I think maybe you do," she said, her words hesitant but her tone unflinching. She didn't look away from his eyes. "I love Brent, but..." she trailed off with a sigh, shaking her head. "I love him, but I don't think he loves me. And I know this life isn't the one he wants to live."
"It doesn't matter what he wants," Josh snapped with a sharp shake of his head. "He got himself into this mess, he can damn well see it through."
He felt his mistake before his brain processed it. Amelia shrank, her shoulders rolling forward, hands strangling each other in her lap. She'd turned her face away, and he was grateful. His damn chest was all tight with guilt, and he knew it'd only get tighter if he could see the anguish he'd caused, glistening in her eyes.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean--"
"No, I'm sorry," she interrupted, sighing heavily. "I brought this on your family."
He laughed lightly, nudging her with his shoulder. "Ma'am, I hate to be crude, but last I checked it takes two people to make a baby. You're not the sole responsible party, here. And I doubt Brent was real honest about his ways when he was cozying up to you. Don't suppose he mentioned he's a degenerate gambler with a penchant for wandering off when things get difficult, did he?"
It was perhaps the cruelest, most earnest thing he'd ever said about his brother. And here he'd gone and set it to the man's lover. What the hell was he thinking?
"So you do think he'll leave?" she asked, catching him in his accidental honesty.
"I think he wants to," he said carefully, after a long, careful pause. "But I also know he's a good man, beneath his tendencies. And I know you seem to be a good woman. If anyone could convince a man like him to settle down, it'd be a woman like you."
She snorted an unladylike laugh of derision, hugging her arms around her stomach. He wondered if she threw up every day. He wished he'd brought some water along, but all he had was a half-empty flask of whiskey and that probably wouldn't do much to settle her stomach.
"Even if you can't convince him, it'll be okay," he promised her. "That baby you're carrying is Brent's son, and that makes you family. I can't promise you'll be able to stay at the ranch if my father learns the truth about your marriage, but I can promise we'll get you set up with some cash, and a place in town. You won't be put out on the street."
"The truth about our marriage?" she asked, shooting him a sharp, suspicious look. "What do you mean?" Her face was burning red and her eyes were dancing with anger. He decided he liked that fire in her eyes. His initial assessment of her couldn't have been farther from the truth. She wasn't meek at all.
"Brent ain't as good a liar as he'd have you believe," he said simply. "Don't worry, though. It's just me that knows, and I got no reason to go talking."
She was silent for a time. In the distance, folks were beginning to trickle out of the church in clumps of two or three. He saw his father, and that jackass of a reverend walking alongside him. His father had turned unpleasant when Josh's mother died, but he'd turned downright malevolent when Reverend Peters came to town. Josh scowled at the preacher, wondering what poison the man was whispering into his family's life this week.
"I suppose I'll climb in the back," Amelia said, holding the blanket with one hand while she stood and twisted to clamber over the bench. He offered her a hand, holding it until she settled down.
"We'll go this afternoon and find some spots with good views to the west," he said as her hand left his. "Nevermind what Brent wants. Melissa said you wanted to see more of the property anyway, right?"
Her face brightened a bit, and she nodded, smiling.
"Then we'll call it a tour, instead. But you make sure to tap me on the shoulder when you see a place you like and we'll keep track. No harm in planning for the best, right?"
"No," she agreed, shaking her head. "No harm in that at all."