Josh

Josh Tucker had never been one to give himself over to feelings of pride or bouts of boastfulness. As a child, speaking up had earned him lashings. As an adult, he quickly learned that drawing attention to his own good fortune would only ensure that the universe snatched it away that much sooner. So he kept quiet about the things that made him happy and, for that matter, about the things that made him unhappy as well. Both were equally useful as weapons.

Nonetheless, he couldn't help the swelling pride that grew inside him during the long wagon ride home. Something had changed inside Amelia in the scant minutes she'd been alone in Vivian's before chasing after him. Gone was the meek, apologetic girl he'd dragged from shop to shop. Gone was the heartbroken young woman he'd so gracelessly proposed to out in the orchard.

The woman sitting beside him on the bench sat with her back straight and her head held high. She was strong and confident and talkative. She pummeled him with questions-- about the ranch, about his family, about himself-- as if making up for all the time they hadn't spent courting. She was, it seemed, as determined as he was to make this work. Whatever this was.

A business arrangement? A friendship? A marriage?

Whatever it was, he decided on that long ride home that he would not allow her to regret it. Brent had put her in a terrible position and left her with an impossible choice. It was up to Josh to make sure she suffered as little as possible for his brother's actions. He would love her as much as she would allow. He would put a roof over her head and food in her belly, and he would let that child inside her call him whatever the hell it wanted. They would want for nothing, material or spiritual.

And as gallant as he knew his actions seemed, he was still a selfish bastard because look at what he was getting in return. A beautiful woman as his wife. A child. A family. A home to live in, instead of a cot in the bunkhouse. Something of his own to work for instead of pouring blood, sweat, and tears into his father's pockets until the old man died and the ranch passed to his brother. And the more Amelia transformed, the more he realized his wife-to-be wasn't just beautiful. She was also smart and funny and sweet. It was nothing less than a miracle that a woman like her would think to marry someone like him.

"What's your favorite color?" she asked, rubbing her belly and frowning at him as thoughtfully as if she'd asked him his thoughts on the hereafter.

"My what?"

"Your favorite color," she prodded. "Suppose I was to make curtains for our windows. What color would you like them to be?"

"I dunno," he answered with a shrug. What a bizarre question. "What color would you want?"

"I'm partial to lilac," she said confidently. "It makes me think of spring."

"Well, then, I suppose I'd want lilac curtains," he answered, proud of his ingenuity, but Amelia just huffed.

"You can't just want what I want," she said, shaking her head. "What about food? What is your favorite thing to eat?"

"See now, there's a question that actually makes sense," he said, smiling over at her. "Pork ribs and garlic mashed potatoes with sauteed onions and a side of succotash. Finish with a slice of apple pie and a glass of milk."

Amelia laughed, and the sound made him dizzy. So did the sight of her, eyes twinkling, cheeks pink. She'd kill him if she kept laughing like that, but he wouldn't mind very much. He always figured he was doomed to die getting thrown from his horse during a stampede or some such nonsense. What a delight it would be to die of a laughter-weakened heart.

"So clearly you have opinions," she said, her voice light. "They just don't extend to colors."

He wanted to say something nice, to pay her back for the laughter and the easy conversation. He wanted to tell her that his favorite color was blue like her eyes, or yellow like her hair, or even pink like the flush in her cheeks. He wanted to say that of course he had opinions, but none of them mattered if they didn't align with hers. He'd never eat pork ribs again if she told him pigs were too cute to eat. He hated the color purple, but if she wanted it on every wall he'd damn well buy her the fabric. He didn't much enjoy all this talking, but he'd talk all day if his words made her laugh.

"No," he said with a shrug. "They don't extend to colors."

Amelia

The ride back to the ranch ended all too soon. For those scant hours, with just her and Josh and the warming afternoon air, Amelia had been able to convince herself everything would be okay. She'd enjoyed their light conversation, distracting herself from reality with dreams of the house she'd make. The life she'd build. Perhaps she didn't love Brent's brother, but the more time passed the more she realized that she did, at least, like him. He would be a fine husband, and a patient father. What right did she have to ask for more than that? Love was for children. For silly little girls who got pregnant by unreliable men and wound up penniless and abandoned a thousand miles from home.

"I'd better go talk to pa," Josh said, helping her down from the wagon in front of the house. "Melissa is usually out back this time of day, if you want to go find her and tell her you'll be staying."

Amelia wanted nothing more than to flee into her friend's company. Melissa was the one undeniably good thing about this place. She was safe and happy and was fond enough of her brother, maybe she'd be able to lay Amelia's final worries to rest.

But alas, she was not on the verge of entering a lifelong partnership with Melissa. Josh was her future husband, the man with whom she was set to stand against all of the future's trials and tribulations. He was her new chief ally. Her de facto dearest friend. Nevermind that he was little more than a stranger. She owed him her allegiance and her support. Such were her duties as a wife.

"Actually," she said, taking his arm to halt his progress as he turned away from her. "I was thinking maybe we ought to talk to him together."

He frowned down at her, gently pulling his arm free and shaking his head. "That's not a good idea, ma'am. You've seen how he can be when he's put out."

"Yes, I have," she said, nodding crisply. "Which is all the more reason that we should do it together. Married couples face hardship together. This will be good practice."

He grimaced, still shaking his head, and she cut off whatever retort was brewing inside him by stalking past him. Up the porch steps she marched, and through the door. Across the carpeted sitting room and down the darkened hallway. His heavier footsteps thudded behind her, and when she raised her fist to knock on the door to the study, strong fingers wrapped around her wrist and gently tugged her hand down to her side.

"At least let me do the talking," he murmured, after pulling her a few steps away from the door. His face was cast in shadows, but she could see amusement glinting in his eyes.

"Fine," she said, shrugging a shoulder. "Unless he's especially cruel."

"Especially if he's especially cruel," Josh growled, his brow furrowed. "Ain't nothing I haven't heard before, and you piping up will only make it worse. Ask Melissa if you don't believe me."

"Fine," she said again, this time with a sigh, lowering her face so he couldn't see the shame in her eyes. She'd made everything so much worse already.

"Fine," he echoed, nodding his head toward the door. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

She wanted him to hold her hand. She had liked the way it felt around hers when he'd spoken to her at the whorehouse. Brent's hands were cool and soft, and they raised prickles of pleasure on her skin wherever they touched. Josh's were warm and rough and, although no stirring of lust buzzed in her blood when he touched her, his very grip seemed as warm and sturdy as the coat he'd bought for her just hours ago.

She needed that reassurance as they knocked on the study door and stepped inside at the old man's beckoning. Unfortunately, he didn't take her hand and she lacked the nerve to reach for his, and they stood before the desk with a vast six inches between them, together but very much alone.

Brent's father was already drunk. Amelia could smell whiskey in the air and see the film over his eyes as he sneered up at them.

"Well this is unexpected," he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Ms. Connor has agreed to marry me," Josh said bluntly, stepping forward just slightly. Not enough for his father to notice but enough that Amelia suddenly felt safer for the way his body seemed to rise up like a wall between her and the angry drunkard before them.

"Good," he grunted, lifting his tumbler for a sip. "Can't say I expected this, but good."

"We'll go to town next week and--"

"The hell you will. You'll do it tomorrow and Reverend Peters will come here. I don't want a repeat of Brenton's lies."

Shame twisted Amelia's belly, but Josh's shoulders straightened.

"We need time to get ready," he insisted. "We'll do the ceremony here if you prefer, but not tomorrow. It can wait until Saturday. And I'll send for Reverend Tomlinson in Ridgecreek."

"You have a problem with Peters?"

"No, sir, but he has a problem with me. He'd as likely lay a curse on this union as bless it. I know you don't care much for me, but surely you want better for your grandchild. For Brent's son or daughter."

Amelia was confused. Hadn't he just said he would claim the child as his own? That he'd rather everyone treat the child as his? But just as soon as her confusion rose, she watched the bitterness fade from the old man's face and she understood. His eyes lit briefly on her stomach, softening until she thought she caught a glimpse of the husband and father he'd once been.

"I'll be amending my will," he said, his gaze turning sharp and cruel as it left her stomach and returned to Josh's face. "The ranch will still pass to Brent, and now to his child as well. There will be clear stipulations that none of it should touch your hands. God delivered a miracle in this child. Another generation of pure blood. I will not have you sully what your brother has given us by using this child to claim his legacy as your own."

It was all terribly unfair, and Amelia had half a mind to yell at the man to shut the hell up. But Josh had said her chiming in would only make things worse, so she stayed silent. For her child, she stayed silent. Her child: heir to the vast fortune of this ranch.

But still, it wasn't fair and she couldn't quite bring herself to do nothing. So she shuffled forward, putting herself even with Josh once more, and quietly slipped her hand into his. She felt him tense, and then relax beside her, his fingers twitching around hers before tightening in silent gratitude.

"Do what you have to," he said. "We'll be married on Saturday, by Reverend Tomlinson."

"I have one more condition," Brent's father said, malevolent amusement twining like wire around his words.

"What is it?" Josh asked, squaring his shoulders once more.

"When your brother comes to his senses and returns home, you'll give the girl back."

"Excuse me?" Josh's words echoed Amelia's own thoughts. She wasn't a borrowed toy, to be handed back and forth between feuding siblings. She was a woman with a will of her own, and wait... wait... what exactly was the old man saying?

"Sooner or later, Brent will tire of his adventures," the elder Tucker said, a sly grin creeping onto his face. "He'll return home. He'll want a quiet life. A good woman. A family. You are a steward to your brother's birthright, Joshua. Nothing more. When he returns and asks for his life back, you will give it to him. You'll give this good woman a divorce on the grounds of your own impotence, and you'll make yourself scarce. Am I understood?"

Josh's hand tightened spasmodically around hers, and Amelia's mind reeled. Her stomach churned. Impotence? Impotence?! No wonder he was so generous. No wonder he was willing to marry his brother's woman. Raise his brother's child. No wonder he was so kind. So patient. So quiet. So humble.

He wasn't even a man.

She barely even heard Josh's words over the buzzing in her ears. "If that's what she wants," he said quietly, and she knew the wifely thing to do would be to speak up. To say no. No, that isn't what I want. Not now, and not ever. This man will be my husband. For better or for worse. But in truth, she was staggered. Horrified and relieved at once. Josh was impotent. He was no danger to her. He would care for her and her child, and she would have to give him nothing in return but her companionship. And if Brent should return and want her back, the choice would be hers.

She wasn't trapped.

"Get out of my sight," Brent's father barked, and Amelia stumbled along at Josh's side as he tugged her toward the door, his steps hurried, breath agitated. Before she could gather her senses they were outside once more. She chanced a look at her husband-to-be, and saw that his face was burning crimson, his jaw clenched, nostrils flared as he dropped her hand and set to pacing. Back and forth, back and forth he strode in front of the porch. Finally he stopped in front of her, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"That isn't true," he snapped, so sharp she flinched.

"What?"

"That isn't... what he said..." he trailed off, shoving a hand into his hair and tugging on the strands as he glared at something distant over her shoulder. "I'm not... I don't suppose it matters much to you, but it isn't true. If you really want a divorce, I'll give it to you. And I'll give it to you on those grounds. We'll say something happened. A fever, or... or something. Something like that. Nobody would argue. But it isn't true. I'm not... it isn't true, Amelia."

Her name was a plea as he dropped his hands at his sides, his eyes begging her to believe him. She almost wanted to smile. She'd never met a man who didn't have pride buried somewhere inside him. For most, it was right beneath the surface. Scratch the outer layer with so much as an ill-timed giggle and all that angry pride would erupt. For others, it was tucked away a little deeper. It a sense, it made her feel better to learn that Josh was no exception. His pride was buried deeper than she'd ever seen, but it was still there. He was very much a man. Very much in possession of that fierce and terrifying need to defend his own honor.

In another sense, though, it brought all of her dread right back to center stage. She believed him. It wasn't true. He wasn't impotent. Not only was he just as virile as the next man, he was just as desperate to prove it to her and who knew what he would do in his desperation?

He was dangerous.

He would hurt her.

For her safety, and for her child's future, she straightened her back and forced a smile. "I believe you," she soothed, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "I never thought it was true."

Liar.

But he couldn't see her lie. Didn't know her well enough to read the way her eyes wouldn't meet his or the way she bit her lower lip after she spoke the words. He relaxed, scrubbing his hand through his mussed hair and sighing.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"There's no need," she promised. "Now, I suppose I should go tell Melissa we're going to be sisters." She needed to escape him before he saw the truth in her eyes. The fear. "Will I see you at supper?"

He grimaced, then nodded, and she backed away to stand on the porch while he gathered the horse and wagon and led them in a slumped, shamed parade toward the barn. It wasn't until he'd disappeared from view and she was halfway through the house in pursuit of her friend that she realized she'd never responded to his offer. Never said a word about the divorce. Hadn't thanked him for his generosity or assured him it wasn't necessary.

Then again, maybe it would be best to let that matter rest. To say she wouldn't want it would be a lie. To say she would would be cruel. She didn't, in that moment, have the energy to decide what she would rather be. So she picked the third option, coward, and ran away. She fled to her friend, because if anybody could smooth this disaster over, it would be Melissa.