Josh

Josh felt like his skin was drawn too tight over his muscles. Like he'd downed three cups of dark, thick coffee on an empty stomach. Like dark storm clouds were brewing on the horizon. Like the goddamn preacher had just eyed his wife like she was a plate piled high with all his favorite foods.

Amelia scooted across the bench, lifting his arm and tugging it over her shoulders. How did she always know what he needed? Or rather, how did the thing she needed always line up so well with what he needed? He tightened his arm around her and turned his face toward her, pressing a kiss to her temple and lingering for a breath. She always smelled faintly of roses, and the scent leached some of the fire from his veins.

Amelia sighed, twisting slightly to look behind them before settling back against him. "That poor woman," she said finally, her fingers toying restlessly with the hem of his coat.

"Who, Katherine?"

She perked up, twisting beneath his arm to look up at him. "Do you know her? Have you spoken to her? She's never around with the other ladies after services, and I've never seen her anywhere but church. I want to speak with her. She doesn't seem happy, Josh."

He released a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "No, Ames, I don't reckon she's happy at all." His heart lurched when he thought about the Katherine he'd grown up alongside. She'd been small, even for a girl, and so shy he'd wondered if she even knew how to speak. Then his mother had died, and he'd found himself sitting alone outside the church before her service, the burn of his father's belt smarting beneath his shirt, the ache of the man's words wrapped like angry fingers around his heart. She'd sat with him for a while in silence, and then asked if he was alright. Her kindness had created an outlet for his pent-up tears, and he'd broken down in an ugly fashion. She had hugged him and said some nice things about Jesus and Heaven, fate and forgiveness. To date, it was the best sermon he'd ever heard. She ought to have been a preacher, not married one.

"Do you think he hurts her?" Amelia asked, snapping him out of the memories with a painful jolt. "She seemed... I don't know. She seemed so anxious. And the way he talks about women, I can't imagine he makes a kind husband..." she trailed off, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth and staring worriedly at the horizon. She was clearly distraught, tearing herself up about a woman she didn't know.

I love you.

"He does," Josh said, fighting back his own confession, struggling to match his wife's selflessness. He had a hard time thinking about anything other than his own heart, and here she was worrying over someone else's.

"What?" she jerked away from him, scowling. "He does? How do you know? We have to do something!" Her cheeks were flaming red, her eyes glowing as hot as the sun. He'd never been so torn in his life. Ripped in half by remorse over poor Katherine's fate and the blazing, animal desire to lay his wife down in the back of the wagon and see how deep inside her that fire burned.

"Ames..." he sighed and shook his head. "You don't understand..."

"I understand everything I need to!" she exclaimed haughtily, crossing her arms over her increasingly-more-ample chest and glaring at him. "That woman is clearly in distress. You said yourself he hurts her! We need to go to the sheriff, or at least find a way to help her! Perhaps we can buy her a train ticket like you planned to do for me. Give her some money so she can start a new life. Or maybe--"

"Amelia," he cut her off, casting his own glare her way. She shut her mouth but kept scowling. "You honestly don't think we've tried?" he asked, forcing his tone to soften. Begging her to see how much it pained him that he'd met with failure. "She doesn't want to go."

"She loves him?"

He sighed again. How could he explain what he didn't understand? "I don't know, Ames," he admitted, shrugging one shoulder. "All I know is we've tried, and she won't leave. There's only so much you can do for a person who doesn't want to be saved."

For a while he listened to the wagon wheels clatter over ruts and squelch through mud, and watched his wife chew on her lip and grow steadily more defeated. Her shoulders slumped and the fire of righteous rage left her cheeks. She sagged in her seat and leaned against him once more, tugging his arm over her shoulder like she'd use a blanket to ward against a chill. He loved that she let him protect her. He loved that she didn't really need his protection. He loved her. Goddammit, but he loved her.

* * *

They stopped first at the general store, where Amelia browsed the aisles while Josh and Mr. Roberts' son carried sacks and boxes of supplies out to the wagon. Then they visited the hotel for an early lunch. Then the seamstress to retrieve the dresses Amelia had dropped off two weeks prior to be taken out. Then the barber, where Josh got his hair cut while Amelia sat in a chair beside him and read one of the catalogs the barber kept on hand for waiting patrons. She chattered constantly, as she usually did, but Josh could hear the undercurrent of distraction in her voice.

He knew from experience that it was best to keep Katherine Peters far from his mind and his business. He had tried, and failed, to help her in the past. His interference had earned her more bruises, and had earned him the reverend's second-hand wrath, delivered faithfully by his devoted father. He'd accepted years ago that the safest thing for Katherine, and the smartest thing for him, was to leave well enough alone.

The problem was, his wife didn't have that same background and she had the stubborn streak of an aging mule. She'd gone silent on the subject, but he didn't harbor any delusions that the silence would last.

So, after his haircut and a trip to the town's pitiful little library for a stack of medical texts Melissa had ordered from out east, he announced a last, unplanned stop. This problem was no different than every other problem in life, in that it would be easier to deal with if he started early and prepared well. He never tried to build a structure without first laying a foundation. Never tried to break a horse without first wooing the creature with food and kind words. Never tried to make love to a woman without first sleeping on her floor for three months to prove his trustworthiness.

He smiled at his own joke as he helped Amelia down from the wagon. She didn't question the stop, and tucked her hand into his elbow as they ascended the short steps and crossed the establishment's wide front porch. A few tables had been set out for patrons to enjoy the spring weather, but nobody occupied the chairs. Inside was just as barren. Only one customer was present, if "customer" was even the right word for the man who lay face-down and unconscious at a table in the back of the room.

Amelia squealed a happy greeting to the two girls who were busy wiping down tables and mopping the sticky floor. He'd commanded both his wife and his sister to stay in the house while Vivian's girls were hiding out at the ranch. True to form, Melissa and Amelia had soundly ignored his order. They'd prepared small bundles of cookies, tea, and coffee, and hand-delivered them every day. Josh couldn't help but notice some of the liquor had gone missing as well, but he didn't mention it. He had to wonder what it would be like to spend all day every day, either isolated or surrounded by women. It wouldn't be so bad, he thought, but he'd definitely leap at the opportunity to spend a few hours with other men.

So he didn't mention the liquor, or the visits. And in truth he was happy his wife had made some friends. They weren't the kinds of friends his father, or society in general, would condone, but she was always more chipper after her visits. Plus, he liked the way she gabbed and giggled when she was around her friends. It was different from the way she acted around him, and every facet of her fascinated him endlessly. God, she was ruining him. 

He tore himself away from his wife and went to the bar, taking a seat at the end where his friend was wiping down a rack of glasses and stacking them beneath the counter. Gabe wordlessly sat a short glass in front of him and poured a generous helping of whiskey. Josh wordlessly accepted it, although he really would have preferred coffee. He tipped the glass up for a sip, grimacing at the burn as it slid down his throat. How his father and Brent drank this stuff like it was water, he'd never understand.

"Where's your ma?" he asked as Gabe picked up another glass and began polishing it.

"Hopped last week's train east," his friend answered simply, never one for poetry or freely offered detail.

"She coming back soon?"

Gabe shrugged and tucked the polished glass beneath the counter with a small clink. Picked up another and began systematically wiping the rag over the surface. "Probably the train next week. You know how she is."

He did. Vivian was prone to sojourns of indeterminate duration in unknown locations. More often than not, she returned with a young woman with scared eyes who worked the tables or tidied the rooms until some ranch hand or tenant farmer swept her off her feet, or until she saved up enough money to move on. That was one of the reasons Josh suspected the townsfolk hadn't run Vivian out of town. She didn't just supply alcohol and whores. She supplied safe, clean work for innocent girls and bright-eyed, innocent young brides for guileless young men.

"How's the new building working out?"

Another shrug. Another glass set aside. The towel went round and round, making dull, smudged glass gleam. Gabe's eyes were always roving. He watched his hands while he was moving glasses. Looked at Josh while he was talking. Glanced at the girls who stood talking near the stairs, checked the front door, wandered out the front windows.

"Not bad," he said finally. "Different layout. Same customers."

"How are the girls doing?"

"Better. They're strong."

Josh nodded absently, wishing there was a gentle, elegant way to segue to his true reason for the visit. He sighed. No use in delaying it any further. Perhaps if his friend was more keen on small talk he'd have tried harder, but forcing the man into casual conversation wouldn't make him any less tense.

"Amelia and I ran into the reverend on our way into town."

Gabe grunted, his jaw ticking as he continued with his chore. He picked up the last glass, and Josh watched the rag swipe over the surface as he picked the rest of his words.

"Katherine was with him."

Gabe bent and set the last glass on the shelf beneath the counter with a hard clunk, whipped the towel over his shoulder a little harder than Josh figured was necessary, and turned his back. He began fussing with the bottles like his life depended on it. 

"She didn't talk, obviously, but I saw some bruises she was trying to hide. Nothing too serious, but it's not getting any better. If anything, I'd say it's getting wor--"

The heavy chink of bottles knocking against each other cut him off, and Gabe jerked around. If Amelia's glare was like fire, Gabe's was like ice. It froze Josh's blood in his veins and stopped his words as effectively as a slug to the gut. He had to fight his natural instinct at self-preservation to keep talking.

"When was the last time you saw her?" he asked, meeting his friend's steely glare with his own challenge.

"That's none of your goddamn business," Gabe hissed through his teeth.

"It's not," Josh sighed, finishing the dregs of his whiskey. 

With a slight narrowing of his eyes, Gabe turned to retrieve a bottle from the shelf behind him, unscrewing the top and pouring another splash into Josh's glass. Then he bent and retrieved another glass from the shelf, poured a more generous serving, and tossed it back in one fluid movement. He set the glass down and, when his eyes met Josh's once more, the fight was gone.

"She's pregnant," he said, his voice gruff with emotion. With defeat.

Josh choked on a mouthful of whiskey, the liquid nearly coming out of his nose. He coughed, setting his glass down and staring at his friend.

"What?"

Gabe lifted a shoulder, shaking his head helplessly.

"She needs to leave."

"Of course she needs to goddamn leave," Gabe growled under his breath, his eyes darting to the girls, to the door, to the stairs, and back to Josh. "But she won't. She thinks the baby will help. Half the time he goes after her is because she hasn't given him a child. Procreation is one of God's commandments." The last sentence came out on a mocking sneer, and he turned his back once more. Josh watched his friend retrieve bottles from a crate at his feet and place them carefully on the tiered shelf. Minutes passed before he finished, kicking the empty crate to the end of the bar and turning back around.

"My wife has it in her mind to help," Josh said, and Gabe snorted, placing his hands on the edge of the counter and leaning his weight on his arms.

"Well, then... problem solved."

"Don't be an ass," Josh warned, tapping the bottom of his glass against the bartop. "Once she wraps her mind around a challenge--"

"Unwrap her mind from this one," Gabe cut him off with a hard shake of his head. "She'll make matters worse. You know that as well as I do."

Josh sighed, slinging back the rest of his whiskey. He stood, pulled a few coins from his coat pocket and set them on the bar next to the empty glass. Gabe scowled and shoved them back. "You know your money's no good here," he admonished.

"Then give it to one of the girls," Josh said, turning to catch Amelia's eye. He jerked his head toward the door and she nodded, holding up a finger. He turned back to Gabe. "I know it's none of my business," he said. "And I'll talk Amelia down from the ledge. But this whole thing is going to come to a head eventually. I just wanted to remind you that you have friends. And you'd do well to remind Katherine of the same, next time you see her."

Gabe probably had more to say. He may have been a man of few words, but he had a tendency to claim the last one. Josh took some satisfaction at Amelia's timing as she walked up and linked her arm with his.

"Ready to go?" she asked cheerfully, smiling at Gabe as if immune to his glower. "It was lovely to see you, Mr. Moreau. Please give my regards to your mother. I was sorry to miss her." Amelia had a way of injecting so much earnest enthusiasm into her good manners, they hardly seemed like good manners at all. They just seemed... good.

"Take care, Mrs. Tucker," Gabe offered, his good manners somewhat more strained. He jerked his head at Josh, his eyes hard. "Josh."

The fresh air and sunshine were a relief as they stepped through the door and made their way back to the wagon. Amelia recounted her visit with Nicole and Sherry, and Josh was content to listen. He was worried about Katherine. He was always a little bit worried about Katherine, just like he was always a little bit worried about the state of affairs at the ranch and Melissa's future and Brent's safety and his father's health and Amelia's pregnancy. All of life was just a juggling act of worries.

It was difficult to worry, though, with the afternoon sun warming the air, his wife's voice in his ears, and the scent of grass and budding life finally replacing the sterile tang of snow and ice. All those worries turned from balls of fire and sharpened knives to feathers and flower petals, hovering over his head while he relaxed and tugged his wife close to his side and enjoyed the day.

Josh wasn't a fool. He knew that the moment of peace couldn't last. Sooner or later the worries would transform back into flame and blade and he'd have to start juggling again. But Josh wasn't a fool. He knew better than to waste such a fine moment grasping at worries that floated overhead.

"Don't forget I want to swing by the house on the way back," Amelia reminded him as they trundled away from the village beneath a powder blue sky. "I want to see the frame."

Josh groaned in mock exasperation. "It's just an exterior frame, Ames," he complained. "You won't be able to see anything from it."

"Nothing except the shape of our future home," Amelia said sharply, digging an elbow into his ribs. "You promised!"

He had promised. So, when the road forked, he took the left road instead of the right, and took them by the site of their home. Amelia gasped when it came into view, jerking upright in her seat.

"You said it was just the frame!" she exclaimed, slapping his chest with the back of her hand as a wide grin broke out on her face. His own smile mirrored hers as he drew the horse to a halt and hopped down, jogging around to help her clumsy descent. This surprise had been eating at him for two days. He, along with the handful of men he was paying to help him, had leaped ahead of schedule with the onset of the warm weather. They'd laid the foundation and erected the exterior frame, as planned. They'd also set in columns for the interior walls and begun to work on the roof.

Amelia danced through the columns as well as she could on her swollen feet, turning slow circles in each outlined room.

"This will be the kitchen," she said, looking at him and waiting for his nod before moving to the next room. "The sitting room." He nodded. "Bedroom?"

"Nursery," he offered. She stepped into the slightly larger room next to it.

"Bedroom?" she gave him a slow smile, and he hitched his shoulder against a post and raised his eyebrows.

"Our bedroom."

"Where will our bed go?" she asked, leaning back against another post. "Against this wall or that one?"

"Which would you prefer?"

"I think I'd prefer this wall, but it'd be best to get a feel for it." She made as if to sit, and Josh darted forward, cupping her elbow and pulling her back up.

"The ground's dirty, Ames."

"Oh, no," she said, pressing the back of her hand against her forehead and throwing her head back dramatically. "Not a little dirt! Whatever will I do? Save me, husband! Save me from the horrors of a dusty dress!" Laughing, he caught her as she sagged in his arms and lowered her slowly to the ground. She continued the performance, sprawling like an actor in the throes of an impassioned death scene. "Oh, the horror!" she cried, tossing her head to one side. "Oh, the agony!"

"Enough," he growled, tipping her head up and covering her mouth with his, capturing the rest of her mocking histrionics before they could escape. She shifted beneath him, her hands tangling in his shirt. He slipped an arm beneath her head and let his free hand roam over the curves of her body.

Yes, he thought to himself. This would be a very good spot for a bed.