SPRING AT THE KELLINGTON HOMESTEAD WAS GLORIOUS. Roast chicken infused the air with a mouth-watering scent, and the sound of her mother crashing about in the kitchen made Roslyn roll her eyes skyward.
Thank God the woman only visited for Sunday dinner after church.
Sipping sweet lemonade, she watched her husband show Benjamin his training techniques until he finally mounted the new stud they’d paid an eye-popping amount for.
Standing on the corral fence, William heckled when the horse bucked violently.
Bully, a sweet-soul of a mongrel dog, barked happily as he got a rough rub from Benjamin, who stared at his brother-in-law, transfixed by his skill.
The sunlight revealed blue highlights in Beauregard’s black hair. As the hot blood danced beneath him, Roslyn greedily eyed his bared torso, the muscles tight as he fought the animal for control. His strong legs were enfolded in fringed chaps. Silver spurs reflected the light as they dug into the stallion’s heaving sides. Beauregard’s uplifted arm jerked for balance while the other clutched the reins. His grip was uncompromising.
The battle lasted far too long, and Roslyn’s heart threatened to pound out of her chest when it looked like he’d be tossed.
When the horse finally settled, exhausted, gleaming sides heaving as it chuffed huge bellows of air, Beauregard grinned. The teeth he flashed dazzled. She melted. The crooked smile brightened his whole face.
Then she remembered how those teeth scraped and nipped all over her body the previous night.
“Well, hell. I’m of a mind to believe that look’s why you’re in your current predicament.” Wyatt’s amused baritone preceded his heavy stomp. He halted beside her and propped a lean hip against the railing. “I often wished my wife looked at me that way.”
Roslyn placed her hand on his crossed arm. Weak comfort that it was, he still smiled a thank you.
Caroline was gone by the time they returned from town the day her father and bother met their maker. It was a difficult time for them all. Benjamin and Roslyn grieved for their family, and the Kellington brothers had to find a way to live together since Beauregard’s home had been burnt to the ground. Wyatt was angry for a long time. Not only because his wife disappeared, but also because she didn’t leave alone. Emmalee’s husband was gone when they got back too, leaving his wife a note of apology and professing his love for another man’s wife.
As far as Roslyn was concerned, Caroline and Ernest deserved each other. She hoped they made each other miserable.
Emmalee had been relieved, thanking God aloud for taking her husband and his broken man part elsewhere.
That blurted comment had William howling with laughter for days then following her around with puppy dog eyes.
Roslyn and the head of the Kellington family came to an understanding the night he finally approached her and asked for an explanation of what happened the morning she and Beauregard got married. When the story was done, his regret had been palpable. After William was told the three brothers disappeared for the day, returning with a new sense of closeness she rejoiced in.
Her husband had his family back.
“Caroline may have never looked at you that way, but....” Roslyn slanted him a coy look from under her lashes. “I know a lady who does.”
Wyatt turned bright red. A secretly pleased smile rode his lips. “She hasn’t said anything.”
“A lady wouldn’t.”
The smile faded under a scowl. “I am done with ladies.”
“Hush now.” She patted him before returning her hand to her swelled abdomen. “You just need the right one. I think she’s waiting for you.”
Her words proved prophetic.
Emmalee rounded the house and strolled towards the vegetable patch. As she weeded and collected the fruits of their labours, she repeatedly glanced over her shoulder at Wyatt, blushing prettily before shyly averting her gaze.
“Will’s sweet on her.”
She shot him a look of exasperation. “William’s been sweet on every female inside state lines at some time or another.” The month he’d been all smiles and lingering looks for Roslyn was hellish. Beauregard near unmanned him. “She’s all wrong for him.”
“And I’m not?”
She studied her brother-in-law. That a woman as unworthy as Caroline damaged his confidence was a sadness. At least the heifer would be a grass widow before long. “I don’t think so, but then what do I know about a happy marriage?”
Reading between the lines, Wyatt chuckled. He almost induced her labour with his crushing hug. He bounded down the steps and headed towards Emmalee with a bounce in his stride, pausing to pick a wildflower on his way.
Watching her husband dismount to bicker with William, who hadn’t stopped haranguing his technique, Roslyn rubbed her distended belly. The twinges grew more painful. A particularly strong contraction ripped across her middle. She gasped, clutching the railing in front. It passed quickly, but Beauregard caught her agonized grimace, and strode towards her leaving an awe-stuck Benjamin congratulating the air.
As he stalked across the yard, so strong and tall, their gazes met, a melding of gold and blue.
Her mind was swept back into the mists of time....
––––––––
Roslyn stifled a giggle as she followed the honey-skinned boy. He passed by the ranch once a week after he went camping in the brush. He was always alone. It made her sad he had no friends. She’d be his friend in a heartbeat, but she was small. Why would a big boy like him want a little girl for a friend? He neared the rickety old barn filled with mice, bats, and other critters. She tried to follow him on feet as silent as the devil, but kept jumping to avoid cactus. She’d heard the evil redskins could move like ghosts so as to hear enemies approaching.
Her father told her Beauregard was the spawn of Satan like those redskins, and not to be fooled by his lighter skin, but she didn’t believe that. She saw beauty when she looked at Beauregard. Saw nothing but heaven when she caught a glimpse of his eyes. Sure they were a funny colour, but that just made him more interesting. She’d seen him when he thought no one was looking. He had a wonderful smile. It lit his whole face and was sort of crooked and wide. He was kind to animals, unlike her mean older brother Homer who took shots at stray dogs.
Crouching behind a cottonwood, Roslyn watched as he ducked into the barn. Her smooth brow knit. She scowled, fists on her hips as she’d seen her mother do when she was in a bother. He’d never gone in there before. Less cautious now, for she was forced to go into the scary barn, she marched after him.
She gasped when hands closed over her eyes.
“Guess who?”
A shimmy of pleasure blazed down her spine at the deep voice. Her brother’s was squeaky and irritating, so she knew this voice was special. She covered the larger hands with hers and giggled. The skin beneath hers was warm and smelt like burnt wood. “Beauregard!”
He let go.
Breathless, she spun. Her eight-year-old heart squeezed and fluttered. He was tall, and already developed the frame of a much older boy. His longish hair was raven black, and flopped into his oval eyes. She’d seen his eyes on a wolverine once, and thought they were more captivating then any other eyes she’d seen. He was handsome too, even if the other girls said he was dirty and ugly. She just didn’t see it. He was the most beautiful person she’d ever seen.
He cocked his dark head, expression puzzled. “Why do you follow me?”
“Will you be my friend?” Shy, her foot scraped back and forth in the dirt. She twisted her fingers together behind her back. “I’m a good friend.”
“You ... you want to be my friend?”
Grinning at his lack of rejection, and the goofy blankness of his face at her request, she nodded empathically. “Oh, yes. Want to play?”
Eying her warily, his dark brows lowered until his expression resembled thunder. “What?”
“Husband and wife, silly.” She stuck her chin up and pranced about pretending she wore a fancy dress. “You be the husband and I’ll be the lady wife.”
That summer Roslyn and Beauregard met once a week by the old barn and played. Beauregard didn’t know what to make of her, being that he’d never had a friend before who wasn’t directly related to him. He did know that he liked her. The time they spent together made his entire week brighter. Her happiness was infectious. She smiled and laughed a lot, her general love of life a warm, vibrant thing he could almost touch. Her innocence charmed him into not glowering or scowling, but grinning at everything she did. She was missing both front teeth, and when she smiled she looked crazy, but he thought it was unbearably sweet. Her hair was one of his favourite things about her. The way the sunlight made it seem liquid gold caught afire. The way it rippled in the wind and blew about her face made her look like a wild thing, an impossibility – a lioness with a mane.
Beauregard knew she understood he was different. She never questioned his instructions to keep their playtime a secret from her family and genteel friends. He’d thought she might balk at the idea and feared losing her friendship more than was healthy. Hadn’t he spent his whole life building barriers and not caring what other people thought of him, of his mixed blood? When she’d nodded solemnly, and cuddled him tightly vowing she’d do anything to keep him safe, he’d felt his heart tumble in his chest and hugged her back.
It wasn’t until the end of the summer it all fell apart. Beauregard’s stolen happiness came back to bite him.
He and Roslyn talked a lot, but he kept the day-to-day horrors of his existence from her. He should have known it couldn’t be that way forever. The day their families bumped into each other in town everything changed.
Roslyn brightened, seeing him lagging behind his father, and sneakily wiggled her fingers in a wave.
Despite his best intentions to give no clue as to his feelings, the corners of his mouth twitched up and his heart swelled.
Roslyn was roughly jerked from his sight.
“Keep your filthy redskin bastard away from us, Kelly.”
Elstein spat on him.
The tobacco-coloured phlegm was a stark, wet stain against his best cream shirt, the one he wore to town in case his new friend saw him.
His big brothers known as the Older Kellingtons closed ranks, stepping in front of him protectively and shielding him from Elstein’s damning gaze.
Eyes wide with horror, Roslyn had been dragged across the street by the arm. Her mother scolded her fiercely and warned her not to mix with evil heathens or she’d burn in hell.
The next day Beauregard almost didn’t go to the barn. He’d never felt such shame as he had being insulted in front of her. It wouldn’t have surprised him if she never spoke to him again, never acknowledged him again.
When he reached the barn a ball of fury slammed into him, wrapping scrawny arms tightly around his waist and burrowing its sweet face in his chest.
“I’m so sorry. He was just awful, but he’s my papa. Please don’t hate me.”
There were bruises on her arms, horrible purple splotches that made him sick. She often got a lick or two from Elstein for being too noisy, or too unladylike, but he knew they were only so bad that day because her father must have seen her wave at him.
He let her sob brokenly, too stunned and remorseful to react.
Then he’d breathed a huge sigh, and ran a finger over her satiny cheek. “There’s nothin’ for you to be sorry for, Lyn. I could never hate you.”
She blinked at him owlishly. Her sky blue eyes glistened with tears. “Really?”
He smiled. A smile that was all hers. “Really.”
“Well, bless my heart. Isn’t this just the sweetest?”
Keenly attuned to undercurrents of danger having spent his young life running from people who would do him harm for nothing but the colour of his skin, Beauregard jolted. He twisted around keeping Roslyn behind him.
Corpulent body swaying, pimple-faced Franklyn Buckley Senior swaggered into the barn. Seeing the two un-chaperoned children he leered. Reaching a hand back, he slowly closed the door behind him.
The large space darkened, shafts of weak light breaking in where the wooden boards rotted through.
Shaking, Roslyn clung to Beauregard’s arm. She peeked at the rotund cowboy from behind his back. He shoved her further behind him to shield her from the man’s lecherous gaze. She didn’t understand how bad it was to be caught like this, but he did, and he began to sweat. He’d seen the way the man looked at him in town. The places his gaze lingered were indecent, and you could see the lewd thoughts swirling in his eyes.
He spat tobacco juice, waving them forward. “Come here.”
Both children wildly shook their heads.
“You want sweets?” His pudgy fingers opened to reveal hard-boiled candies. “I have sweets.”
“No thank you,” Beauregard said stiffly. Bile burned the back of his throat. “We was just leavin’. Our parents are waitin’ for us over the hill.”
A nasty grin exposed black teeth, and released a stomach-churning stench almost as bad as the sour odour emanating from his fleshy body. “I think not.”
Beauregard was a scrapper. He had to be when so many of the other boys wanted to take shots at him for being a half-breed. While he may get a lucky shot in there was no conceivable way he’d be able to take Buckley down.
But he had to get Roslyn away.
“Lyn, I want you to walk as close to the wall as you can.” It was hard, but he let her go and steered her in the right direction. He lowered his voice. “I want you to run to the door and don’t stop until you reach home.”
Face ghost white, she nodded meekly, even as she took two steps then seemed rooted to the floor.
Beauregard coaxed her on as he inched towards the opposite wall, but stayed closer to Buckley than Roslyn, giving the man two options, yet making himself the easier prey.
Beady eyes bright, the licentious male caught onto the game quick. He lunged for girl, knowing once he had her the boy would do whatever he wanted.
As Franklyn dove for her, Beauregard used the power of his youth to leap forward and grab him before he took more than two steps. Locking his sinewy arms around the foul man’s squashy midriff, he heaved to throw him off balance.
“Run, Lyn!”
Franklyn elbowed Beauregard in the face, breaking his nose and knocking the sense out of him. Once he was free he punched the boy in the side of the head.
Beauregard crumpled, ending up flat on his back.
Too excited to chase after the littler one, Franklyn jumped on top of him, wrestling him onto his stomach and yanking at his trousers. He delivered a blow to the back of the struggling young boy’s head that left him dazed. Muttering filthy things, he got the boy’s pants down and started fumbling with his belt.
Arms hugging her middle, Roslyn stood terrified, not sure exactly what was going on, but knowing if she didn’t do something her Beauregard would never be the same. She knew she wasn’t ever to go anywhere near Mr Buckley because he did bad things to children, and what he was doing to her friend seemed worse than even a beating with her father’s belt.
She cast her gaze about and it came to rest on a rusty pitchfork leaning against the wall. She grabbed it and dragged it over to the struggling pair.
“You leave him alone!”
She jabbed the pitchfork at the back of Franklyn’s balding head, intending to bash him and scare him off. But at her fierce yell, Buckley jerked and snapped his head around. Her aim was wonky, the heaviness of the thing sending her off balance and throwing her weight forward.
The fork tine slid into Franklyn’s eyeball and kept going.
And going.
Feeling the flesh give, Roslyn screamed. She yanked on the instrument to pull it free, wriggled it side to side, but it wouldn’t budge, and the wet squelch and gush of blood was making her sick.
Convulsing, Franklyn’s mouth gaped open. Drool dribbled down his pimpled chin. His other eyeball rolled back in his head, and he crashed onto his side taking the pitchfork with him.
Gathering his trousers to his waist, Beauregard scrambled to his knees then staggered onto his feet. Taking in what happened, he shuddered, stumbled the two steps to Roslyn. “Don’t look.” He pressed her face into his battered side and shuffled them towards the door. His whole body ached, and his ears rang. His whole face felt hot and swollen, not to mention the rising tide of nausea at the thought of what had been moments away from happening to him. “Hold onto me. I’ve got you.”
They wobbled their way outside and stood clutching each other.
He heard the thunder of horses’ hooves in the distance. It wasn’t a surprise. Had anyone seen Buckley Senior headed out here from town they would have feared the worst for the Roseberry children.
Beauregard about managed to think, and all he could think of is what would happen to Roslyn. Sure, he would get the blame for the death, he would take it even if there had been witnesses to the contrary, but everybody suspected Franklyn liked children. If they believed he tampered with Roslyn her life would be over before it began. No genteel man would marry her. A good marriage was the highest achievement for a female in these parts, the only achievement. A dark jealousy clouded his mind envisioning the day she’d be married, because it wouldn’t be to him. Never could it be to him. Still, she deserved happiness. She wanted to be a mother and wife so badly. He could give her that. It was the only thing he had to give someone as special as her.
Heart hurting much more than his trodden body, he took a knee and cupped her face. “Lyn, look at me.” Their gazes met and his breath hitched. He would miss her. “You must never, ever, tell anybody what happened. Understand?”
Still in shock, she nodded obediently. “I swear, I won’t say a word.”
“Good.” He dragged down a breath and held it, bracing himself. “Now, I want you to go home and try very hard not to think about this again. Okay?”
She blinked rapidly. Some of her usual fire stiffened her spine. “But ... but they’ll think you killed him if I go.”
“You’re mighty smart, Lyn. Don’t ever change.”
Her expression turned mulish. Chin jutting at an awkward angle, her baby blues glared. “I won’t do it. I won’t.” Her small fingers curled into his torn shirt. “I won’t leave you. They’ll hurt you.”
“You promised to be my friend. Good friends keep their promises. As my friend, I am asking you to run home and never speak of this again.”
He asked so urgently and she wanted to please him, but Roslyn was no fool, and she heard so much more than he said. She was all suspicion when she demanded, “You will be here next week?”
He considered lying, but was too much of a coward to hurt her so. He shook his head, weary shoulders slumping. “No more, Roslyn. We can’t be friends anymore. This last promise is all we can have.”
They’d escaped one predator, but only because of blind luck. What if the next time they were caught alone was with a racialist? He’d be hung, and she’d be declared spoiled, an Indian lover.
He ran to the barn door and stared at the body inside. He grabbed the tinder kit he used when camping, made a fire, and set the wood alight in as many places as possible avoiding the body inside. Soon the walls were wreathed in flames. He would burn it all. There could be no chance Roslyn could be connected to this place. She’d often left gifts for him hidden in there, food, toys, but this way it would all be destroyed.
The sound of horses drew closer, and this time he heard the shouts of angered men.
Coughing from the thick smoke, when he turned to send Roslyn on her way for her safety, his resolve faltered. Beauregard swore his heart bled. Tears pooled above her thick lashes and streaked down her chubby cheeks in fat drops that plopped off her chin. The pain was almost too much to bear. He hated to hurt her, but only one life had to be ruined that night, and it would not be hers.
“Beau–”
“Go on now.” He turned and pushed her gently in what felt like the wrong direction – away from him. “Go home.”
She took a step, hesitated, then spun and jumped, flinging her arms around his neck so she hung there. Her boots knocked his knees. She choked more sobs, and her tears were warm on his neck. She smelt like grass, soap and smoke.
“Love you, Beau.”
The barn burned brightly behind him in the twilight as he watched her run through the tall grass, golden hair bouncing, small hands fisted at her sides.
“Love you too,” he whispered.
––––––––
Taking the porch steps in one bound, Beauregard swept his heavily pregnant wife into his arms.
Her daze passed, and she clung to him.
He nuzzled her cheek. “Lioness? You have a strange look in your eye I can’t place. Are you okay?”
Her hand slid to his nape and tugged. “I’m wonderful.” She kissed him.
Firm lips gently supped from hers. Warm, minted breath mingled. He felt the underlying need in the unexpected caress and was undone by it. Cupping her cheek, he thrust his fingers into her silken hair. He deepened the contact. Their mouths lingered temptingly. And so the kiss began again, gained strength and heat until a sense of time and place was lost. He thumbed her rosy cheek. She pressed her swollen body closer, and ignited a trail of fire down his spine.
Feeling his body strain for hers, Beauregard broke away panting. He chuckled softly. His eyes closed and he thanked heaven for the angel in his arms.
Roslyn’s heart filled to bursting. Inside, her baby kicked. She was dreamy with happiness, utterly contented. Large hands massaged her back, and she stretched into the touch. Cool, dry lips pressed kisses to her jaw in a way that made her knees tremble.
“Now I’ve got to know. What thoughts are you thinkin’ Savage?”
She leaned into his strong arms. Mesmerised by twinkling gold medallions, she rubbed the back of her fingers against his bristled cheek. “I love you, Decent. Just that I love you.”