Texas Trio Pt. 02 - Becky's Debt Ch. 30-32

Brody didn't miss the irony of his belated concern, considering how roughly he'd taken her this time, but Becky curled easily into the protection of his body when he lifted and turned her sideways.

What if it wasn't me? He wanted to ask, to point out the danger she was in when she wandered about alone, but she was so fluid and vulnerable against him, Brody couldn't bring himself to bruise her feelings. Instead, he lifted his head and craned his neck to see her face, a different question in mind. "Did I hurt you?"

Becky blinked, her amber eyes clearing as she looked up at him without moving her head. "Mmm."

"Yes? I hurt you?"

She closed her eye and wiggled a bit, snuggling more closely against him. "Yes," she murmured, "but not in a bad way."

A few seconds later she laughed softly. "That sounds funny, doesn't it?"

Brody kissed the top of her innocent golden head, smiling. She had a lot to learn.

—:—:—:—:—

Lowering the binoculars, Lem sunk down behind a pile of rotten wood chips that used to be a tree or two.

That son of a bitch, he sneered silently. As if that fucking midget Clancy wasn't bad enough, now he had to contend with this sonofabitch cowhand ridin' out after her.

He rested his head, staring up at the strip of green vegetation atop the plateau. When he'd got a glimpse of little Miss Becky creeping out from behind the barn, he'd been sure today was the day they'd get her. From the woods near the swimming hole where he'd been hiding, waiting for her to take another dip, he'd had a pretty good look around the property. The only man to be found was Clancy, who was busy with the three little Connor bastards, and who didn't notice the princess leaving secret-like for reasons of her own.

Lem had stayed snugged up to the base of the hills and sent Ernesto on up ahead to cross the creek and wait at the far side of the boulder field. Ern was supposed to scare her into turning around and Lem would jump her as she came running back out in a panic. Leastways that was the plan, which the goddamn cowboy had gone ahead and made mincemeat outa.

Lem rubbed his cock through the rough homespun trousers. If the goddamn cowboy hadn't turned up, it woulda been him—or at least Ernesto—riding the bitch.

Lem grinned. He'd gotten an eyeful, all right. Little Miss Becky might not have hardly anything for titties, but what she had under those man-pants sure as hell made up for it.

He bet she was gonna like what he did to that fine hind end of hers, too. Nice girls wouldn't letcha do that—not that Lem ever had any nice girls—and hell, even whores pretended not to like gettin' it up the ass. You just knew they were lying.

Lem had only done it a couple of times—that little Mex girl in Abilene and a whore over in Houston. That whore's ass was about used up by the time he got there, but that little Mex girl, she felt good. He could tell she liked it, too, the way she was squirming. She pretended she didn't, pretended she was crying, but Lem knew better.

Lem bet Becky Connor would like it, too. You knew her sister was havin' at it, with two men in her bed, so why wouldn't the little princess favor face-down, ass-in-the-air, too? That cowboy had her in the right position, but Lem bet he'd never have the nerve to try stickin' it in her ass.

A quiet tick got his attention, and Lem lifted his head, his eyes scanning the circle of mesquite and scrub oak. Nothing. The birds were still makin' noise like they oughta . . . He was about to lower his head down an' finish what he was doing when he heard it again. Lem pulled his hand out of his waistband to grab the shotgun laying beside him. The sound had come from off to the south, the direction Ern had gone.

Son of a bitch!

—:—:—:—:—Chapter 31—:—:—:—:—

"You were married," Becky said, as Brody held her in his arms.

One side of Brody's mouth lifted, but no one would have called the expression a smile. His eyes didn't soften until he looked down at Becky by his side.

"Yes. I was married." He kissed her forehead and told her what she needed to know.

After the boom died down in Cassiar, he'd gone south to the Black Hills, where he sold hardware and what-have-you from a tent in a dirty, lawless town. He was seventeen.

"I was still wet behind the ears—" He smiled wryly down at her. "—still a virgin, too."

Becky blushed, and Brody laughed, drawing her closer before he went on. "I didn't want to be, so I took a dollar's worth of gold dust down the street. I picked a girl who seemed shy, because I didn't want to get laughed at—I thought I should know what I was doing by then—and went back to her tent with her."

For a second Brody heard how this must sound from her point of view and frowned. "Becky, if this is too—" He fumbled for a word, but she interrupted.

"Go on with your story."

He searched her expression for disapproval, finding only patience. "Well, we went back to her tent and . . . we hadn't started, but she was crying, so I told her we didn't have to do anything. She said it was her first time doing it for money, but she'd be okay. I was about to say no—I couldn't do that to her—when she started begging. Her husband was dead and she didn't have anywhere to go. She was still crying, and she put her hand on her belly. I just knew, somehow.

"We sat there and talked for a while, then I told her I had no one either, no family, no place to go when I left there, but I wasn't doing too bad money-wise, and I was getting da—sorry—awfully sick of my own cooking. She moved in with me, and we got married the next time a preacher came through."

Brody paused, stroking Becky's shoulder and feeling the warmth of her breath on his chest. "There was no doctor, the one decent midwife was out at another birthing. When Amy had trouble, they got an older woman who had a bunch of her own kids to come, but . . . Amy died. The baby died a couple of hours later. I got to hold him for a little while, but he never opened his eyes. I think he knew his ma was gone."

After a long pause, Becky asked, "Did you love her?"

Brody huffed, a kind of sad laugh, and grimaced. "I'm not sure either one of us knew what love was, but we loved the baby, and we wanted to make a life together."

He looked down at her and was galled by the sympathy he saw in Becky's amber eyes, because he knew the reasoning behind it: "Poor naïve man, believing the whore's trick of false affection." He looked away when she began to speak, not wanting her to see his anger.

Becky placed her hand over his heart and confounded him yet again. "You found each other."

His head snapped around to the woman whose quiet comment had exactly summed up the security he and Amy felt in their short time together.

His eyes filled, though Brody hadn't felt like crying since burying his young wife and baby. He forced a one-sided smile and drew Becky to his chest, where another small shifting of his soul was taking place.

It was true that time dulled the blades of grief, but most grieving was also tempered by its attendant laughter—sweet memories washing away the tears of fresher pain. Brody didn't have that. He and Amy had been together such a short time, in such difficult circumstances, that he didn't have many happy occasions to console him. They'd barely known each other; he'd skipped right over courting to proposing marriage within hours of meeting her. All Brody had left was the memory of Amy in a new white dress, as white as her face, as white as the baby who lay beside her, waiting for the undertaker's nails.

But in telling Becky about Amy, there'd been healing. In other eyes, he'd seen the dark thought that he was lucky not to have been permanently saddled with such a wife, that her and the bastard child were better off dead. Becky was the only person who'd seen how lucky he and Amy felt to be together, the only person who saw why he'd grieved.

Through the pain of his memories, Brody felt a sharp pinch of conscience. He should tell Becky the whole truth about himself. Did he really believe she'd change her mind based on the size of his bank balance? But she was so against the concept of marriage; if he told her now, how would he ever know why she'd chosen to marry him?

He kissed the top of her head and opened his mouth to tell her that she absolutely had to marry him, that he couldn't possibly go back to the life he'd known before. Then he heard it: a tiny tick. It was too faint for him to be certain he'd heard anything, but the hairs on his neck stood straight up. Brody knew better than to ignore that feeling.

His arms securely wrapped around Becky's shoulders, he whispered against her hair, "Becky, stay in front of me; we're going to stand up and when we do, I want you to drop right back down behind that boulder I propped your gun against, okay?"

He felt her jump a little, and when she didn't answer right away, he tightened his grip—tight enough to make it uncomfortable. "Do what I say and neither of us will get hurt."

At that she nodded, a nearly imperceptible movement.

His earlier weakness fled, Brody rolled easily to his feet, keeping his back to the creek and Becky directly in front of him. He glanced casually over his shoulder toward the horses, yanking his trousers up and buckling them as he herded Becky to the boulder. "There, nice and slow, just sink right down."

Becky did exactly as he'd said, thank God, freeing Brody's hands and mind for the purpose of protecting her. In one smooth motion, he lifted her rifle and knelt at her side, aiming at the speck of cloth he'd seen moving between the trees.

"Stop right there and holler your name out, stranger!"

A rough oath rent the hot, dry air. A flash of movement and jingle of metal said the man had mounted, and the thud of hooves on earth confirmed it. The trees surrounding the retreating figure left him little to aim at, but Brody wasn't aiming to kill. He pointed the barrel well to the side of the path the rider had taken and squeezed the trigger. He waited, but the hooves didn't pause, and no one fired back. He shot once more, above the trees this time, and lowered the rifle.

After the sound of the hooves had faded into nothingness, only the creek, their horses, and Becky's measured breathing remained.

"I think we're all right, but we'll wait for a while, in case anyone else is out there." He didn't look down. "You okay?"

"Mm-hmmm."

Brody smiled. She sounded sleepy, which under the circumstances was awfully reassuring.

—:—:—:—:—

In truth, Becky was anything but sleepy. The lassitude of satiation had conquered her limbs and lips, but it had done nothing to quiet her meddlesome brain. Despite the diversion provided by Brody's overprotective nature and a successfully terrified trespasser, Becky was much less at-ease than she'd been when wrapped in the security of Brody's embrace. As soon as they parted physically, she began to recall the carnal excesses of her morning.

When at last he decided it was safe for them to move, Brody didn't relax his guard one iota. He stayed a few paces ahead of Becky on the ride home, scanning their surroundings all the while. Something about the way he held his head reminded her of Colt's cautious guardianship. When his family was at risk—and to Colt that meant any time they weren't in the house—her brother-in-law never truly relaxed. He might appear to be at ease, but his eyes never rested for long on one person or one spot. Brody's posture displayed that same degree of vigilance.

Becky was grateful to be freed from the requirements of conversation. What could she have said, in light of what they'd done? A year ago, she hadn't imagined such things were possible. Only a month ago, if she'd known of it, she would have considered herself above such licentious behavior. Today, she might have been tied, but Becky couldn't honestly say Brody had done anything against her will. After the first touch of his hand on her stocking-clad calf, she'd been putty in his hands—any struggles had been only a matter of form, knee-jerk reactions to impropriety, repressed with ridiculous ease and speed.

That wasn't the worst of it, though. In Becky's estimation, the things they'd done today were shocking, but she was more dismayed by her willingness to continue their affair. Never mind the indecency of being slung over a saddle and taken in a field in full daylight; not once today had she considered the risk of pregnancy. She simply could not continue to behave this way, no matter how Brody made her feel. She wasn't willing to give up her freedom, but she was in danger of having it taken from her by Brody, her brothers, or circumstance itself, if she turned up carrying his babe!

Madame de Staël might say it was a woman's place to submit to public opinion, but Becky wasn't ready to concede.

—:—:—:—:—

On the other side of the creek, Lem was anything but sleepy. Fucking Ernesto! The only thing the half-wit hadn't done was call out his name!

Lem knew exactly what had happened: without whiskey or a companion, Ern had gotten bored. Becky hadn't shown up in the amount of time he'd expected, and he'd given up. It was stupid, but Lem could have forgiven Ernesto for that if the damn fool had just headed back to camp instead of wandering around the woods looking for his partner. Of all the dumb things to do!

It woulda served him right if he had gotten himself shot!

Lem lay flat on his back behind the fallen tree, straining his ears for any clue as to what the cowboy was up to now. He wasn't about to poke his head up and look—that was something Ern was stupid enough to do, but not Lem. Nossirree, he'd lay right here until he heard someone coming across that creek or it got dark enough for him to crawl off to where his horse was hid.

Fucking Ernesto!

—:—:—:—:—Chapter 32—:—:—:—:—

Brody proposed again as they rode back to the ranch and took her refusal with more aplomb than he'd taken her first rejection. In fact, Brody was the one to change the subject afterward, leaving Becky wondering what led to his surprisingly good-natured response. It made her suspicious, considering how vehemently he'd expressed his opinion on the matter.

She should have had a better answer ready when he asked her the first time.

Becky grimaced and returned to berating herself for her sins.

No . . . what she should have done was to avoid the man altogether.

She'd known from the beginning that she had nearly no control with Brody. She should have done everything in her power to remove herself from the situation. Instead, she'd repeatedly given in to desire, letting the debt she owed Brody for dragging her out of that quicksand outweigh the larger debt she owed her family . . . but she could no longer pretend her time with Brody had anything to do with that ridiculous bargain.

She shifted in the saddle, physical discomfort temporarily overcoming her emotional travails.

Considering the incident which had initiated their relationship—Brody blackmailing her into that agreement at the quicksand pit—she wondered how far he'd go to achieve his current goal. Would he be bold enough to confess their carnal sins to Colt and Jeremiah?

She was terribly afraid Brody would do exactly that if she didn't consent to marriage. After all, he'd "ruined" her. He'd probably already been planning to marry her before he took her virginity. He was an honorable man, after all, and she was sure that was part of his dilemma. Of course he felt the need to live up to his obligations after "ruining" her for future relationships.

Becky coughed to cover an unladylike snort of derision.

As if she'd want any other man after being with Brody!

Would she? She struggled to think logically about the question.

What if she succeeded in discouraging his suit?

Would he leave?

Becky froze, suddenly aghast at a possibility which all too recently had been her most fervent wish. Her heart began to hammer against the lump in her throat, and her chest grew tight. It was only when she started to become dizzy that she realized she wasn't breathing, and forced her body to relax, her hands to loosen their violent hold on pommel and reins.

Becky blinked, ridiculously stunned by her initial response.

What if he left? What would she do then?

For a long moment, she struggled with an emotional response which was startling in its ardor.

If she were able to convince Brody that she sincerely didn't wish to marry, she couldn't imagine him remaining in Liberty Falls . . . so he'd return to San Francisco without her, and she'd be alone . . . .

No, she was not alone, she corrected herself sternly: she'd be exactly as she was before Mr. Easton tumbled her onto the parlor rug—living in a safe, comfortable home with the family she adored.

Would she ever want another man?

Becky's lips tightened.

Back in Galveston, she'd once seen a turtle dove standing in the street next to his dead mate. A blacksmith, a post office, and several shops made it one of the busiest streets in town, with wagons, buggies and horses going past every few minutes, but the live bird stood dejectedly over the dead one, unconcerned with its own welfare. She was only ten at the time, but she'd run into the street twice to shoo the dove away. As soon as she was back on the board sidewalk, the dove returned to its mate. As Becky was about to make a third attempt, a gallant young man came to her rescue, moving the dead dove to an alleyway where at least the live one wouldn't be run down by a carriage.

She'd been saddened by the incident, but her curious mind had been captured by it, too, and she was intrigued to learn later that many species mate for life.

Now, she was remembering that dove's devotion.

Back then, she'd been convinced that the dove was so saddened by the loss of its mate that it wanted to die, too, that the decision to stand by her side in such dangerous circumstances amounted to intentional suicide. Most creatures weren't that committed. All the articles and books concurred: doves, eagles, beavers, barn owls—all species that mated for life—also took new mates after one partner died. Humans were the only species that sometimes chose not to do so.

Becky didn't believe that. She believed in the dove.

She swayed silently in the arms of Pepper's rocking, reliable stride, watching Brody watching out for her, and her throat closed around an unutterable cry. She wouldn't die without Brody, but she knew she'd never find another dove, either.

—:—:—:—:—

NOTE: Yes, I am still here. No, I haven't given up on Sleeping Beast, but I've nearly given up sleeping. If I ever have a couple of hours to myself, I'll finish the next chapter—I've had plenty of time to THINK about it, if not write! As always, I appreciate your patience, and I LOVE your feedback! –Stefanie

PS—I've tried multiple times to get a story heading to unite these chapters, but non of the Lit mods have responded. You guys are welcome to picket the forum in protest, though, maybe the mods will listen to readers!