SUMMER WAS AT AN END BEFORE THE OLDER KELLINGTONS SHOWED THEIR FACES. Roslyn was highly strung, being that Beauregard hadn’t touched her since the day of the saloon incident. During the day he was unfailingly polite, attentive, and considerate of her needs. At night, he climbed into bed and went to sleep.
Roslyn thought about seducing him, but she’d only had success one of the two times she’d tried. The stinging rejection of the first time was on par with the glorious memory of the second, and she couldn’t bring herself to diminish the importance of the second success by failing.
Each time her mind drifted to what she’d seen in the saloon she fretted about what she would say or do the next time she saw Wyatt. She worried more about how Beauregard would react. She wasn’t sure how much he’d seen or heard, but she hoped he hadn’t heard his brother say her name, or the whore’s revelation he pretended the soiled dove was her. She supposed it was a good sign Beauregard hadn’t jumped Wyatt then and there. Then again men might act different about those things. Beauregard was possessive, but it wasn’t as if Wyatt tried anything forward with her directly.
Still, Roslyn didn’t know what to think about it all, and soon pushed the images from her mind to focus on how to break the barriers her husband erected to keep her at a distance.
She suspected his phony indifference was less to do with what she’d seen of his brother and the whore, and more to do with her reaction to his presence in the saloon. He’d taken her accusation as an attack on the tender heart he had begun to reveal, and she had no defence to prove she was worthy of again receiving that gift.
As the days passed, Beauregard became more distant and she became more despondent.
So one crisp afternoon when Roslyn looked up from where she weeded the flowerbeds and saw the Older Kellingtons bearing down on her she understandably hunched her shoulders and tried to blend into the soil.
The men barely reached her before Beauregard strode towards them, rifle in hand. Her hands fluttered in a panic until she noticed it wasn’t cocked. The barrel pointed to the ground.
Her Decent might be upset with her, but he’d still protect her.
Beauregard’s face was relaxed. His eyes were guarded, but clear of rage. “What are you wantin’?”
“Afternoon to you too,” William replied to that oh so polite greeting. His congenial smile crinkled the corners of his pretty eyes. “It’s been over a month and nothing’s been resolved.”
On her knees, Roslyn slapped gritty earth off her hands. “Good day to you, Will, Wyatt. Are you thirsty?”
“A drink’ll be welcome.” William scratched his head. “After we all talk.”
“’Bout?” asked Beauregard.
“What happened here four months ago?”
“Still beatin’ that bush?”
“Fine.” William peered between the three of them. His eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. “Instead, tell me about what happened in town last?”
Wyatt sighed, Beauregard grunted, and Roslyn shrank closer to the ground.
“Those aren’t answers. Why can’t Roslyn look Wyatt in the face? Why can’t Wyatt bear to hear her name in conversation? Why won’t Caroline stop crying whenever she overhears talk of going into town? And why do you look so goddamn angry?” William directed this last question directly at his younger brother when the first four had been up for grabs.
Beauregard shrugged. “Thought I was always lookin’ mad to you people.”
“Well, yeah, but you got a real mean going today. Why so crusty?”
Roslyn stood shakily not wanting any part of the discussion. “I’ll leave you gentleman to your conversation while I prepare refreshments.”
Beauregard watched her leave with hungry eyes he wasn’t able to hide from his older brothers. Disgruntled they’d come before he and Roslyn worked out their differences, he fixed an inaccessible expression on his face, and waited for them to grow bored questioning him. Once they grew frustrated over his lack of remorse for whatever crime they’d decided he’d committed they’d give up and go away like always.
“Beauregard, I owe you an apology.” Wyatt flicked his hat then vigorously rubbed the nape of his neck. “You and Roslyn, actually, but I doubt she’ll want to be in the same room with me let alone accept an apology.”
“Apology not accepted.” Beauregard jerked his head toward the veranda. “We trespassed on your privacy.”
“Yeah, how exactly did that happen? I can’t tell you how many night terrors I’ve had about it.”
“An accident. Roslyn barged in expectin’ to see me nailin’ Lucy. Not you pinned beneath her.”
“It’s true?” William blurted, face slackening. “I heard a rumour floating around the bed-house someone was interrupted by their wife, but I figured it couldn’t be you Wy. You never visit the Touch when Caroline’s with you.”
The brothers sat staggered on the veranda steps. For a time each was lost in his own thoughts, and for the first time in a long time the quiet between them wasn’t forced or awkward.
Until Wyatt opened his mouth. “So....” He looked nervous. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough to know if you even so much as look at my wife the wrong way you’ll walk with a limp for the rest of your days.”
William threw back his head and laughed.
“What a mess. I’m sorry over it.” Wyatt grimaced. “Was she frightened?”
Beauregard blinked. “Mostly embarrassed. Savage is made of sterner stuff than to be scared by a couplin’.”
“Why do you call her that?” William interrupted, brows knitting. “Don’t it offend her?”
“She calls me Decent.” Beauregard shrugged. “I see savagery in her as she sees decency in me. Must have some buried inside because I haven’t ripped Wy’s throat out for seein’ more of her than any man but me should.”
“Again, I can only apologise.” Wyatt held up his hands, face and ears turning red. “I heard her moaning and thought you were ... but saw you and she actually.... Well, I was wrong. It won’t happen again.”
“What?” William’s gaze pinged between them. “God damn it, what? Tell me. I hate being the one who doesn’t know. Drives me crazy.” Eyes brightening, his mind leaped ahead. “Why were you in the Velvet Touch in the first place? I remember being surprised seeing you there.”
“That place holds no interest for me. Never did, never will. I wanted to warn Wy not to speak of what he’d seen.”
“I won’t,” Wyatt promised. “Not to a soul.”
Beauregard inclined his head as a thank you. “So you know Roslyn saw me go inside. Wrongly assumin’ for a whore. That stupid drunk Harrison told her Mr Kellington was upstairs with Lucy. The rest’s history.”
“But why?” William persisted. “Why did you go there? What did Wy see?”
Beauregard shifted on the step. He felt heat suffuse his neck and itched it self-consciously. “He caught me and Savage in the barn. Alone. In the hay.”
Blindsided by the story, William’s jaw unhinged. “Wyatt saw you and Roslyn fucking?”
A strangled gasp, and the crash of glass made the men jump.
Stomach sinking, Beauregard twisted. He cursed to see his wife rigid in the doorway, her beautiful face pale. Roslyn stared at him with a storm of emotion darkening her blue eyes. Choking back sobs, she disappeared back into the house.
The bedroom door slammed.
Slowly turning to face the yard, Beauregard’s appearance was as impenetrable as ever. “Shit.”
Wyatt snorted, expression gloomy. “At least she didn’t start shrieking and throwing things. Carrie hasn’t stopped. There isn’t a glass left in the house.”
“Been drinking out of jars,” William confided.
After contemplation, Beauregard decided to let his wife have her space. Crowding her might be hazardous to his health, mental and physical. He didn’t want things thrown at him. He didn’t know how he’d deal with Roslyn flying at him in a rage. The idea spooked him. Leaning his elbows on his knees, he studied Wyatt. “Caroline knows what happened? You told her?”
“Tell my prissy wife I paid a whore to pretend to be my sister-in-law who then walked in and watched me come? You haven’t been married long enough.” Wyatt dragged a hand thorough his tousled locks. “Gossip. She doesn’t know the whole story, but enough to make my life hell.”
For the sake of peace, Beauregard decided to have selective hearing so that he didn’t feel the need to rearrange his eldest brother’s face. Considering how Roslyn was about sex when they first got married, he guessed Wyatt had a hard time of it with Caroline. That woman was snootier than his Lioness could ever be.
“There’s a whole bunch of stories going around,” William added. “But as I said, they’re murky. No one really knows who all the involved parties were, or what exactly happened.”
“Neither will they,” Beauregard warned with a steely glare.
Grin faltering, William pouted. “Aw.”
“Lucy won’t say anything,” Wyatt avowed.
Beauregard lowered his hat to block out the sun. He smiled into his shoulder. “Paid well did you?”
“Through the nose. How’s your wife handling the scandal?”
“She don’t know there is any. Well, any more than usual when it comes to our relationship. When she finds out I doubt she’ll break. She’ll probably just keep on not talkin’ to me.” He tried to not sound bitter, but he was unusually loose-lipped. The walls he’d built to keep his brothers out cracked.
“She seemed somewhat down in the mouth,” William observed. “Did you fight about it?”
“Maybe.”
“For god sake, Beau. What the hell does that mean? Did you argue or didn’t you?”
“We didn’t argue. There was no talkin’ at all. We got our supplies. We came home. I bent her over the table and fucked her. We haven’t really spoken since.”
Frozen in place, the Older Kellingtons fell silent. They exchanged a glance. Looked at Beauregard as if he were a strange creature they had no chance of understanding.
Fighting the conditioned response to judge, William struggled for the right words. “Are you telling us–?”
“It wasn’t rape.” Though he admitted consent was dubious. And he hated himself over it. Beauregard chomped harder on the grass. “It was fast, and rough, and so goddamned hot I’m disgusted with myself. I meant to punish her. Hurt her feelin’s like she hurt mine. Instead, I destroyed somethin’ I don’t know how to rebuild.”
“Why’d you do it?” Wyatt demanded. “What she saw was an accident.”
“I know it. I got mad because she assumed like everyone else I was no better than a ruttin’ barbarian. After all we’ve been through, back then, that morning. She should know better. I made a vow to be faithful, and without askin’ for the truth she decided I’d broken it. So when we got home, I acted like the bastard she expected.” Angry all over again, Beauregard threw the grass away. “I can barely look her in the eyes without feelin’ ashamed. Yet I can’t find it in me to apologise, or accept hers.”
It was the longest speech they’d ever heard him make, and the most emotion in his voice since he’d been a child.
The symmetry between Roslyn’s behaviour in the brothel and his own for the last fifteen years wasn’t lost on Wyatt.
Was his brother that hurt each time his family jumped to conclusions? Did Beauregard truly feel betrayed when his older brothers overlooked his justifications for his seemingly merciless actions?
Rubbing his sternum with the heel of his palm, Wyatt felt as if razor blades banged about inside his chest.
Fixating on entirely another detail, William’s gaze sharpened. “Back then? When?”
The change in demeanour was instant. Beauregard clammed up and focused his gaze on the middle distance.
The Older Kellingtons knew they’d get nothing more out of him.
THAT NIGHT BEAUREGARD AND ROSLYN MADE PEACE. Hating the distance between them in the bed, she slid over to his side and spooned him.
Burrowing her face against his back, she said, “Understand me. I acted the way I did because you hold my heart.”
The tension in his shoulders eased. He turned to hold her against him. That night they didn’t make love in the common sense, but stroked, petted and touched until the lost connection was re-established, allowing them both a restful nights sleep.
The next morning, Beauregard took his wife gentle, then again, harder, when she complained he was being lazy.
They were surprised when Sherriff Cooley came to visit. His expression was grim the entire ten minute conversation he stopped to have.
“There’s grumbling in town about you, Kellington. People are demanding I arrest you for trying to murder Homer Roseberry.”
Rubbing his nose, Beauregard was unconcerned. “I hit his shoulder. I had clear aim at his gut.”
“I’m not here to quibble. I saw the wound. It was clean through and through, and I know you’re a dead ringer for accuracy with a rifle in your hand. I just came to warn you no way no how are the Roseberry men going to let it lie, despite my warnings to leave you be.”
“Mighty kind of you, Sherriff. Comin’ out here to warn us.”
“Nothing kind about it. Roslyn told me what happened here that morning. After questioning the men she identified as present, her story rings truer. There’s clear evidence to support it, rather than the lies of fellow conspirators.” Emmitt turned Legs in the direction of the main ranch house. The horse pranced, mirroring its rider’s anxiety to keep moving. “Protecting the law abiding citizens of Dawson Lake is my job, and that’s what I mean to do. I’m off to warn your brothers. They’ll want to keep their eyes open.”
“Wy won’t react well if he sees strange men trampin’ over Kellington land without an invite.” Beauregard raked his teeth over his bottom lip. “Unlike me he’ll shoot to kill to protect this land.”
“Most men would.”
“Hm.”
Emmitt’s gaze turned inward. “What would you kill for then?”
“Roslyn.”
“Well. I’m beginning to think I know it. I was told tales of you murdering a one Franklyn Buckley when you were a boy. I also caught whispers Buckley Senior had an eye for the young’uns. I find it interesting this supposed murder happened on the border of Roseberry land where a pretty little girl lived. So, Beau, I most definitely believe you when you say you’d kill for her.” Emmitt spared the lady herself a look. A genuine smile spread across his weathered face. “Ms Kellington, I do believe you have a glow about you.” Tipping his hat, he winked. “Congratulations.” With that, Emmitt kicked Legs into a fast gallop towards the main homestead.
Roslyn only just managed to croak goodbye after digesting Cooley’s abrupt arrival, warning, and then his congratulations.
Fists clenching, Beauregard spun.
He stared hard at Roslyn’s middle wondering if the Sheriff was pulling his chain. It wasn’t possible. Well, it was possible, but not probable. Wasn’t it? He and his lovely wife had sex often when they were in each other’s good graces, but there had been long periods where he hadn’t touched her.
It took married couples years to get pregnant. Decades, sometimes.
“Lioness?”
“I don’t know.” Bewildered, her usually rosy cheeks were pallid. She hugged her middle. “I’m trying to remember my last bleeding. I can’t. Not since after the first time we.... Oh, Beau. Really?” Her wary eyes swung out of focus. “And my family are on the warpath. Again. I thought Homer might let it go, but that was stupid of me. He’s Elstein’s son. Lord knows that man doesn’t let anything go.” She blanched, her face ghostly white under her light tan. “What are we going to do? How could I have gotten so complacent? Of course my father is on the warpath. You’re meant to be dead. I’m meant to be a widow engaged to Franklyn Buckley Junior.” She swayed on her feet. “Your family think you’re a rapist. A murderer. They won’t help us. We’re all alone. Against the world.” Her voice was shrill, pitched far too high. “How can we bring a baby into this? How can–”
Beauregard inched closer to his distraught wife the moment the blood began to leave her face. He was there to catch her when her eyes fluttered. She crumpled into his arms, her head lolling against his shoulder. He kissed the freckles spattered across the bridge of her nose. Lifting her slight weight into his arms, he cuddled her to his chest and carried her into the house.
He set her carefully on their bed, pausing to briefly run a hand over her stomach. His heart clenched and his body shook.
Sucking in a breath, he went into the kitchen, drew a glass of water and wet a cloth. Kneeling at his wife’s side, he dabbed at her face as gentle as he could manage. Amazing how the woman could face threats of death and violence and never flutter a lash.
Tell her she’s having a baby and she hits the dirt.
“Wake up, sweetheart.” He felt stupid using the soft, cooing tone, but there was no one else to hear. He was alone. Alone with his family. “There now. Open your eyes for me.”
Roslyn came to quietly. Her blue eyes watered with unshed tears the moment they focused on her husband’s suntanned face.
“Don’t cry.” Beauregard ran his fingers across her cheeks then followed with his lips to brush away the wet tracks lining her face. “It’ll be okay.”
Her chin trembled. “How?” Her voice broke on the word.
“I will make it so.”
“No. I don’t want you in danger.”
His eyes softened. “There’s no helpin’ that.” Dipping his head, he brushed his lips across hers. He lingered to share a beautiful moment of celebration. The rest of the world became an insignificant detail as his wife’s mouth moved under his. When they parted he stroked her dimpled cheek. “Hush, now. Drink this water.”
“The glass is dirty.”
“Drink the damn water.”
She made a face at him, but she drank. “What happens now?”
“Pack a bag.”
BEAUREGARD TOOK A CHANCE. Pulling up to the main Kellington ranch house, he motioned for Roslyn to stay put. He jumped off the wagon and headed inside.
He found his brothers and their guest in the roomy kitchen wolfing down an early supper.
The town lawyer Ernest Baker gawked and choked on his bite of food as his gaze settled on Beauregard’s severe expression. His face turned bright red then blanched to a sickly shade of pale cream.
Unnerved by the lawyer’s visceral reaction, Beauregard tried to relax the muscles in his face before the gentleman had a fit. He was too tense, too overwhelmed by anger to do more then an ineffective facial twitch that seemed to scare Ernest even more.
William glanced his way, grunted, then put an arm around his plate and continued to feed. He was dressed in his battered overcoat, shotgun chaps, spurs, and leather Stetson. Yard dirt covered his skin in grit making Beauregard think a horse tossed him.
“Cooley was here.” A tad more cognizant of his surroundings, Wyatt spoke around a mouth full of potato and pan-fried steak. “Was going to ride out later to ask if you needed help.” He shovelled another spoonful into his mouth and took a large bite of buttered biscuit.
Beauregard took in small changes to the kitchen. He’d last been inside this house when he was a young man of eighteen. His brothers had once again jumped all over him after he beat down on a racist gunslinger, and he’d known there would never be peace between them while they believed he was a killer.
They’d given him the smaller house, but after a year he’d hated it. He felt like the ugly secret they kept stashed from sight. So he’d camped out and rented rooms whenever he could. He’d crossed state lines countless times with the intention of never coming back, of finding his mother’s people, but his foolish heart forever tugged him back to Dawson Lake.
It burned, but Beauregard stowed away his pride for his wife and unborn child. “I need to leave Roslyn here.”
“Why?”
“Something needs takin’ care of.”
“Sounds ominous, littlest brother.” Wyatt wiped his mouth with his forefinger and thumb. Patted his stomach. “Why don’t you pull up a chair and we’ll talk.”
“All I’m askin’ is for Roslyn to stay a few nights.”
“And I’m saying sit.” Wyatt kicked the leg of the empty chair closest to him and it jerked from under the table. “Sit.”
Frightened by the strained undercurrents, Ernest’s beady eyes darted around. He smoothed his oiled moustache, shuffled his feet, and tugged on his fancy waistcoat. Sweating bullets, he looked for an escape that didn’t include going past the town outsider who stood in the doorway.
Beauregard sighed, reluctant to kowtow. “Roslyn’s outside.”
“Caroline,” Wyatt bellowed. His deep timbre almost brought the house down. “Guests.” He waited until he heard her march from the front room to the hallway then nodded in satisfaction. “The womenfolk will tend themselves. Now what’s happening?”
Leaning across the table, Ernest frowned deeply. His love of propriety temporarily alleviated his fears of being noticed. “See here Wyatt. I don’t know if I want my darling Emmalee mixing with the wife of a....” Remembering he spoke in the presence of the man he was about to insult, Ernest trailed off.
“What’s he doin’ here?” Beauregard asked, annoyed.
“Ernest and his wife are visiting for the night. I hoped socialising would draw Caroline from her temper.” His wearied tone revealed how well that worked. “Don’t mind him none. Anything you say will be taken in the strictest of confidence.”
Fist to his mouth, Ernest nodded weakly as he cleared his throat. He became remarkably interested in his food, toying with his fork, and refusing to meet anyone’s eye.
Cheeks stuffed full of food, William warily eyed the lawyer then his younger brother.
Beauregard had bigger fish to fry. He settled for directing a cold stare he knew the man would feel. He thought Ernest either mighty smart or damn lucky. If he’d said a word against Roslyn, he’d be living the remainder of his life missing two front teeth.
Exhaling through his nose, and forcing his fists to unclench, Beauregard recalled he’d been asked a question. “Cooley warned another mob’s gatherin’. I weren’t goin’ to risk stayin’ so far out with Roslyn.” He paused. “She’s pregnant, Wy.”
Ernest choked. His fork clattered to the table as he gave up trying to finish his supper.
“Shit.” William’s cutlery clinked onto the greasy surface of his cleaned plate. “Shit.”
Blinking spastically, Wyatt stared, fully bowled over. “Never let the grass grow underfoot, do you? Aren’t you happy?”
“Maybe.” Beauregard blew out a breath in an uncharacteristic show of uncertainty. “Roslyn fainted. She’s worried how her father will react. Frankly, I am too. I need to leave her here while I sort things.”
“Things?”
“That man and his offspring need convincin’ Roslyn is no longer a part of their family. She’s mine. Nobody will hurt her. Over my dead body will I let those bastards surround us again.”
“Is that what they did when they caught you together?” Wyatt asked. When he got no response he sighed. Would he ever find out the truth from his tight-lipped brother or his argumentative wife? “So what’s the plan, Beauregard? Riding up to the Roseberry Ranch house shouting threats will get you gunned down like a rabid dog.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“Perhaps I should leave,” Ernest mumbled, half standing.
Brows furrowing, Wyatt waved the man back into his seat.
William appeared troubled. “Beau, you can’t go to that place. Elstein will kill you, and we won’t get any kind of justice.”
“I have to act. I can’t sit back hopin’ it’ll blow over. It’s not even been six months and they’re gatherin’ again. This time they won’t leave survivors. They’re not dumb enough to make the same mistake twice.”
“We’re getting ahead of ourselves.” Wyatt held out both hands. “We need to–”
The sound of a horse approaching at speed had the Kellingtons bursting into the front yard. Wyatt grabbed his blunderbuss as he went, Beauregard had his rifle, and Handsome William was always armed. He merely swept aside his overcoat to reveal ivory grips snug inside leather holsters.
Benjamin Roseberry skidded to a stop on a pretty piebald sweating white flecks. Swinging a leg over he fell to the ground and staggered. He was covered in trail dust and had a track of dark red leading from a bloodied nose. Hair dark with sweat stuck to his crown and forehead in matted clumps. His eye was blackened, jaw swollen, and his clothes torn. “I need help. I need–Beauregard?” Horrified, he lurched forward, eyes wild, breathing ragged. “Is Lynie here with you?” Benjamin grabbed Beauregard’s shirt in both hands. His expression creased in desperation. “God damn it, tell me she’s here with you. Tell me you didn’t leave her out there lonesome. Tell me–”
“Benji?” Roslyn walked from the house and placed a palm over her brow to shield her face from the dying sunlight. “It is you. I heard you hollering all the way from the back of the house. Why the hullabaloo?”
Staring at her for a second, he choked. He released Beauregard’s shirt. When she was in arm’s reach he grabbed her to him in a bone-crunching hug. “Oh, God. I’m sorry. I should’ve done something or said something. Afterwards, I should’ve found a way to make sure you were okay, but I was afraid of what I’d find. I was afraid you’d hate me. Forgive me. Please. I’m so ashamed.”
Roslyn let her younger brother cling, and wrapped her arms around him. She patted his back, and cooed gently. “It’s alright. I know you were scared. You’re just a boy, Benji. You would have helped if you could. I know it. I’ve always known it.”
Beauregard watched his wife and knew he’d have trouble protecting her from the men of her family. The idea of Roslyn hating him because he kept them away from her – or delivered them a hard beating to remind them they messed with a prairie wolf – hadn’t worried him before. When he shot Homer she’d accepted it as her brother’s due punishment. But when they came to her like this, weepy and vulnerable, he knew she’d fight for them, and try to help them with her big heart.
Much as he wanted to believe the youngest Roseberry had grown a pair, he was more inclined to believe Elstein sent the youngster to spy for him or rustle mischief.
Beauregard’s trust was earned, not given. This boy was about to learn that. “What you doin’ here, Benjamin?”
He stiffened. Straightening, his arms fell away from Roslyn. “I–I just needed to visit Lynie.”
“I see.” Beauregard strolled over to his wife. Sliding an arm around her waist, he eased his body between them. “Is that why you’re bloodied up?”
He might be young, but Benjamin was no fool. “I’m not going to hurt her.” Trembling, he rankled at Beauregard’s slyly protective gesticulation. “You don’t need to protect her from me.”
“He’s just doing what any red-blooded male would.” Wyatt tapped the barrel of his blunderbuss against his thigh. “Come on inside then. Since you’re visiting and all. Can’t have anybody say we’re not polite to family.”
“Aw, well now.” Benjamin knuckled his forehead. “I, uh....”
“Benji, if you have something to be saying, you best do it.” Roslyn leaned into Beauregard’s side, tired all of a sudden. “No matter what you’ve heard my husband is a good man. He’ll hear you out and judge you on your own merits.”
He flushed. Darted a look at Beauregard then back to the safer sight of his sister’s upturned face. “I stood by and did nothing.”
“Fear isn’t a crime,” said Beauregard.
“So you’re letting it go? Just like that?”
“The next time there’s an innocent needs savin’ do the right thing. Then we’ll be square.”
Flummoxed, Benjamin screwed up his face, unused to such level-headed and selfless practicality. “For real?”
“Yup.” Beauregard clasped Roslyn’s hand. “Inside now. I want my wife fed.” He paused behind his brothers who retreated into the shadowy house. “I suspect you have a tale needs tellin’.”
“He sure does.” Roslyn snuggled into her husband’s side. Rubbed her temple on his bicep. “Bursting into this yard scaring the devil out of everybody yelling my name.”
“Homer, the Twins and some other folk headed out to your patch of things.” Benjamin indicated with a vague wave of the hand towards Beauregard’s ranch. His eyes darkened and flickered to his sister. “Their plans were ... not nice.
“Hm.” Beauregard carried on inside. When he couldn’t convince his wife to return to her sister-in-law, he led her into the roomy kitchen. To everyone’s surprise he went about gathering her a plate of food from the stove. He set it before her with a glass of lemonade. He eyed her. “Eat it all.”
“Lord, there’s enough here to feed a man double my size.”
“You’re skinny. The little’un needs food too.”
“I’m the biggest I’ve been my whole life.” She prodded the mountain of potatoes and gawked at piece of steak greater than the dimensions of her face. “I’m not this hungry, Beau. The baby will get everything it needs, no worries.” She patted the rickety seat next to her and he dropped into it, taking off his hat. She took his calloused hand in hers. While he held her often at home, using some weak excuse like, “You got hay in your hair,” she knew he’d never attempt a touch close to affectionate with his brothers looking on. Even though one of them had seen them rolling around in the barn. She flushed, ducking her head to hide it. “You want to share with me?” She nudged the plate toward him.
“Okay.” He eyed it dubiously. “It as good as yourn?”
“Not nearly.”
He grunted a thank you as an amused William passed him a clean fork.
“Oh, guess what, Beau. My oldest friend Emmalee Baker, nee Stone, mind you, is here for the night too. Isn’t that wonderful?” Unmindful of the male tension in the room, Roslyn waved her fork airily as she talked. “We got to chatting, and it was so nice. I’ve missed our conversations.”
It was then Beauregard realised Ernest had fled the room.
Young Benjamin squirmed in the doorway. Unable to contain himself any longer, he blurted, “You’re pregnant?”
“I am.” Twisting in her seat, she beamed at him. She rested a hand on her stomach. “Been thinking on it, and I think three months is about right. You’re going to be an uncle. All of you.” She smiled at the men. “Isn’t that wonderful?”
A silence stretched.
Feeling his wife tense, Beauregard cleared his throat.
William snapped to first, his practiced grin dazzling even as his eyes averted to the floor, hiding the truth from her gaze. “Indeed it is.”
Shifting in his seat, Wyatt remained silent. He offered an awkward quirk of the lips that didn’t meet his eyes.
It was Benjamin that drew the short straw on acceptable reactions. “Are you crazy? Pa already has it out for the mongrel. Now you’ve gone and done it. It wasn’t bad enough you were carrying on with him, shacked up with him, and told everybody in town about how you’re married? Now you’re breeding with him. Pa will be fighting mad. A Redskin for a grandson? He won’t let this go. You just watch. There will be hell to pay for crossing him. How could you do this? Everybody will know what you did.”
Sitting preternaturally still through this tirade, Beauregard took cues from his pale wife. He was more worried about her than any slur he’d been dealt.
Roslyn carefully placed her fork down. “Everybody will know what, Benjamin? What exactly did I do?”
“You know. You ... you....” He turned crimson. Huffed, scowling. “You’re fornicating with that man.” Benjamin pointed a finger at the back of Beauregard’s dark head. “It isn’t right. You deserve better.”
“I’m married to this man. How many times must I prove it?” she muttered. Then louder, angrier added, “You were there when I said my vows and no amount of denial will change it.” Roslyn squeezed Beauregard’s hand tighter, holding onto him for strength. “The world can disapprove of me. I don’t care a continental. These last few months have been the most dangerous and anguished in my entire life.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “They’ve also been the most happy. The most cherished. And now I am blessed with a child. This miracle means nothing is more right than Beau and I being together, as I suspected all along. Nothing will make me feel shame over this.” She placed their joined hands over her stomach. Beauregard’s fingers gently dug into her belly. Placing her ringed hand over their joined ones, she glared at Wyatt. “Not you with your baseless accusations, lustful urges and jealous wife.”
Eyes popping out of his head, Wyatt jumped up. “Wait a damn minute.”
“The only man who may command me thusly is my husband. You’re not him.” She turned on the middle Kellington brother. “Where was I? Oh, yes. And not you, Handsome William. With your empty compliments and your emptier smiles.”
“Dang.” Taking his lumps as his due, Will rubbed his lower abdominals. “Gut shot.”
Outraged, Wyatt speared Beauregard with a hot look. “You going to say something anytime?”
“Maybe.”
“And I most certainly will not feel less than those self-righteous fools in town. Don’t think I don’t see you there, Mr Baker. Emmalee told me what you said when she wanted to visit. You should be ashamed.”
Starting, Ernest jack-knifed straight from his leaning position where he peeked into the room from the hallway. On being singled out, he flushed brightly, spluttered, then disappeared from sight.
Sniffing, Roslyn finally turned on her youngest brother. “I will not cower and apologise for following my heart because of our father’s bigoted views, or because of your fear fuelled prejudice, Benjamin Roseberry. Nobody is going ruin this for me, and I’m as sure as hell you will not stand in my presence and insult my husband again, or I’ll take a gun to you myself.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “I can do that now. I only miss one of every two times. If you have a problem with this turn tail and run on home like a good lap dog.”
“Aw, Lynie.” Benjamin scuffed his boot against the floorboards. He hung his head. “I didn’t mean anything bad by it.”
“Sure you did. But I forgive you.” A mercenary look glinted in her eyes. “After you apologise to Beau and the baby.”
Head flying up, he gaped. “What you saying?”
“You heard me. Apologise.”
Grumbling, shuffling along as if headed for the gallows, he muttered an apology to Beauregard while rubbing the back of his bright red neck. He took a knee and whispered a quick, “Sorry,” to Roslyn’s hand-covered stomach. “Happy now? What are you going to do? Just tell me that. Pa is half out his mind about this business of you being married. Add pregnant and he’ll crumble, Lynie, I swear it. Mother is in a fit.”
“When is she not in a fit?” Roslyn lifted her chin. “I don’t care how my erstwhile father feels. As long as he stays away from me and mine, he can feel whatever he likes.”