Brent

"This is beautiful," Amelia said wistfully, and Brent wanted to vomit. His stomach twisted and flipped as he stood a few feet back, arms crossed over his chest, and watched her appreciate the view. They stood on a gently-sloping hillside, staring at the orange glow of the setting sun as it outlined the jagged, blue-steel peaks in the distance. In the valley beneath them, the river wound like a lazy snake through trees and grass, grazing cattle dotting the hills.

It was beautiful. She was beautiful. The house she envisioned would surely be beautiful. Their child would be beautiful, their life would be beautiful...

God dammit, but he didn't want beautiful. He wanted adventure. He'd always been restless-- always seeking out new spots to play as a child. He'd rearranged the room he shared with Josh every few months, yearning for change, and chased down all the girls in town for the sweet satisfaction of new, unique sex. It didn't matter if it was good. Good was boring. He just wanted different. Needed it.

Josh lingered back by the wagon, giving them privacy, but Brent wished his brother would just join them so Amelia would have someone to talk to. She didn't deserve the distance he was putting between them, but honestly it was for the best. She'd be better off without him. If he stayed, he'd make her life miserable. Whatever she said now, she'd want him to be faithful. She'd want him present. It would either break her heart or drive her mad to see him wandering off for weeks at a stretch, only to return home already longing for his next sojourn in another woman's bed.

Relief hit him like a rush of warm water, his stomach immediately settling, as he realized the decision was already made. He smiled with earnest ease as Amelia turned around, her cheeks flushed with the chill air. He was going to do what was best for her, and it felt good. He'd been conflicted for too long, hating himself for wanting to go and hating her for needing him to stay.

"It's beautiful," he agreed, offering her his arm and leading her back to the wagon. "Have you enjoyed your tour?"

"Of course," she said, looping her hand through the crook of his elbow. "I love this place so much. I never thought I'd live anywhere so beautiful."

"Well, then I'm glad I brought you here," he said good-naturedly, helping her into the wagon. Josh had already hopped back up to the bench, but Brent joined Amelia in the back. Now that he'd made his decision, being around her wasn't so grating.

"I think we're ready to head back," he told his brother, retrieving a discarded blanket and draping it over Amelia's shoulders before settling in beside her. All the way back to the main house, she gushed about the ranch. Everything was so extraordinary to her, and he wondered what it would be like to be so... simple. The mountains were awe-inspiring, the cattle were cute, the horses were stunning, and the river was divine. Everything had an adjective, and every adjective was excessive in its positivity. She was so charmingly easy to please.

Back at the house, they bid farewell to Josh and walked together to their room. Amelia continued to chatter as they cleaned up for bed, and for the first time in weeks the sound didn't make his skin crawl. As they slid beneath the covers, she turned onto her side to face him.

"Are you okay?" she asked, after a long silence.

"Of course," he answered, unfolding an obliging arm and letting her rest her head on his shoulder. For all that he'd been avoiding it lately, he did enjoy the feel of her warmth against his side. She smelled nice, too, and he wasn't such a heel that he couldn't recognize how adorable her optimism could be. She'd make a good wife. Hell, maybe he'd come back for her someday. Perhaps his wanderlust was a finite substance, and he'd run out. Her arms would be a nice place to settle when he was old and tired.

"You just seem... I don't know," she said thoughtfully. "You seem different. Happy, sort of."

"I am happy," he said, kissing the top of her head. She tipped her face back and smiled at him.

"Really?"

"Really," he assured her, relieved that no rush of guilt accompanied his lie of omission. He could see in her eyes that she thought he was happy with her. Happy here. But it was okay for her to think that, just as it was okay for him to leave. She'd be better off, and so would he. There was no reason to feel guilt if nobody got hurt.

"Go to sleep," he said, squeezing her arm. "We'll talk in the morning."

Amelia

Amelia woke slowly, to sunshine burning against the back of her eyelids. She rolled onto her back and stretched, pointing her toes to the footboard and reaching above her head with her hands. The stretch sent shivers of relief and pleasure running down her spine, and made her think of simpler times. Times spent twined beneath the sheets with Brent wrapped around her body, pleasuring her gently.

After last night, she woke with a small ribbon of hope unfurling in her chest. Maybe those times of pleasure and warmth would come again.

She rolled onto her side with her eyes still closed and reached out a hand. It landed on cool sheets and, in truth, she was relieved. He'd been sleeping late lately, his body reeking of spent alcohol. It was a good sign that he'd seen fit to rise early. It meant he was adapting to life on the ranch-- getting up to help his father, brother, and the men who worked for them.

Yawning, she blinked open gritty eyes and sat up, shivering against the chilly air. She scowled at the dark fireplace. Surely it wouldn't have killed him to light the thing up before he left. She always made sure to do the same for him when she woke first.

She moved to rise from bed, and that was when she saw it. On Brent's pillow, nestled in the dip where his head had rested, was a piece of paper, covered in swooping calligraphy. Heart hammering in her ears, she looked around the room, begging her instincts to be false.

Brent's bag was no longer tucked beside hers in the corner of the room. His shaving kit no longer sat on the vanity. His clothes were gone, along with his gun belt, his boots, his journal...

Numb acceptance filled her blood with ice, and she picked up the note. She didn't need to read it. She knew what it would say. She was simply curious what words he'd choose to say it. What excuses he'd use to justify what he'd done.

Amelia,

I'm sorry. I tried to make this work. I swear to you, I did. But yesterday, seeing you so happy here, and being so miserable myself, I realized it could never be. I know you say you agree with our arrangement, but I've come to realize it was unfair to you. I'm not ready to be a husband, and I am even less prepared to be a father. It would be cruel to play pretend. Cruel to you, to your child, and to me.

You'll be safe at the ranch. My family will take care of you. My father is a grouchy old man, and he'll be angry when you tell him the truth. He loves me, though, so he'll love you by association. Your child will have a good, safe life. You'll want for nothing. I hope you'll choose to stay, as my journeys always bring me home to visit. It would warm my heart to be able to watch the child grow, and to see your sweet face.

If you choose to leave, just talk to Josh. He'll make any necessary arrangements and escort you to town, or wherever you decide to go. I would leave you money but I spent most of my savings getting us out here. If you ask, I'm sure Josh will help out. He's got money and nowhere to spend it, so don't be shy about asking him. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to help.

I truly am sorry, Amelia. I know it feels like I'm abandoning you, but I promise I'm doing the best I can. I want you to be happy.

Sincerely,

Brenton

"Hm." She kept her lips pressed shut, because if she opened them the words that issued forth would be neither ladylike nor quiet. She'd wake the whole house with her cursing, and maybe even God himself. "Hm," she hummed again, turning the letter over as if he might've scrawled something else on the back. Something to negate the words on the front. All that waited for her was blank paper.

"Well..." she remarked to herself, setting the note aside and calmly pushing the covers off. The cold air no longer bothered her. Hell, even the nausea wasn't creeping in the way it normally did at this hour. She stood up and walked to her dresser, staring at herself in the mirror. Her belly was still flat, but she pressed a hand against it and took some comfort in the fact that she wasn't entirely alone.

"I guess it's just you and me, now," she said softly, tilting her head and settling onto the chest at the foot of the bed. Tears tried to well, but she swallowed them. She had some idiotic notion that her baby was listening. She didn't want him to hear her cry.

"It's just you and me now," she said again, rubbing her hand gently over her belly. "It's okay, though. Don't you worry about a thing. I promise we'll be alright. I'll make sure of it."

Josh

Josh was dead tired. He was always dead tired at breakfast. There was something about the mid-morning sunshine that made his whole body sag. He was fine before dawn, when he woke up. He was fine at noon. Fine at supper. Nine o'clock in the morning, though... Maybe it was because he'd been up for hours already, working hard on an empty stomach. Maybe it was the heavy food Melissa always prepared. Whatever it was, something about breakfast hung weights on his eyelids.

As usual, he trudged to the house and slumped into his seat at the table. Melissa brought him a cup of coffee, and he grumbled his thanks. His father stalked in, dressed as always in an impeccably pressed suit. Melissa and Amelia set the table and slid into their seats.

"Where's Brent?" his father asked Amelia, amusement in his voice. Brent had missed more breakfasts than he'd attended since his arrival. His father thought it was downright charming the way the man carried on all night and snored all day. Josh figured it was like recognizing like.

"He's gone," Amelia said after a brief silence. Josh's head snapped up, and Melissa frowned at her friend across the platter of eggs. Amelia calmly served herself a strip of bacon.

"Something to pick up in town?" his father asked good-naturedly. He was always chipper on Monday morning. The hatred of the Sunday sermon treated him like a refreshing swim treated Josh.

"No, sir," Amelia responded, setting down the serving spoon and folding her hands in her lap. She drew a deep breath, and then raised her chin as if sitting up straight could protect her from what she was about to say. "He left, sir."

"Left?" Josh's father asked, finally catching on. "What do you mean, girl?" His voice had an edge to it that Josh recognized well. His blood began to burn hotter in his veins and he clenched his hand around the handle of his coffee cup.

"I mean he left, sir," Amelia said, meeting the man's eyes as if she wasn't scared at all. "He packed his things and was gone when I woke up. He left a note that said he couldn't do this. He's not ready to be a father."

Silence.

Josh knew that he ought to stay and help her explain. It would be the kinder, braver thing to do. She needed support.

His chair scraped as he pushed it back and stood. Melissa looked up and caught his eye, giving her head a slight shake. Stay, she urged with her eyes, but Amelia wasn't looking at him. She was studying her plate. His father was breathing hard. There was only one way to fix this.

He pushed his chair in and stalked out the door. Nobody called after him, and he broke into a jog as he crossed the porch. Copper waited in his stall, and Josh saddled him up quicker than he ever had before. It was silly to rush, he knew. There were two trains that passed through town: one east-bound on Tuesday morning, and another west-bound on Friday afternoon. Brent would have nowhere to go on a Monday, but still. Still...

He rode Copper hard, and the two-hour ride to town took just over one. Folks stared as he dismounted and led the poor animal to a watering trough before tying him, sides still heaving, hide slick with froth, to the hitch post outside Vivian's.

Nevermind that it was a Monday morning. Vivian's Saloon always had customers, and it wasn't the whiskey and burnt steak that drew them in. Blood still bubbling with rage, Josh stomped into the main room, barely noting the half-dozen men, sitting in various states of drunken disrepair throughout the space. He ate the distance between the door and the bar in long strides, bringing a fist down on the hard surface.

"Where the hell is he, Vivian?" he barked, and the middle-aged woman behind the bar scowled at him. She finished polishing the glass in her hand and set it aside.

"What the hell's gotten into you?" she asked with a sly smile. "It's not often you grace us with your presence, Mr. Tucker. Must be a special day." '

Any other time, he'd have sat on a stool and traded harmless barbs with the saloon's owner. She was a smart woman, and kind beneath her rough exterior. Josh liked her. He liked the way she ran the bar, and liked even better the way she ran the business upstairs. Her girls were safe, fairly paid, and no man this side of the Mississippi would dare lay an unwanted hand on any of them.

"Problem, ma?"

The reason for Vivian's girls' safety drew up beside Josh at the bar, leaning an elbow against it and glaring so hot Josh could feel it.

"Gabe," he growled under his breath, sparing Vivian's son a glance before turning back to Vivian herself, struggling to reign in his temper. "Ma'am, I know he's here. You might as well just tell me where."

Vivian sighed, flinging the towel over her shoulder and shooting a look at Gabe. The presence at Josh's side lingered, but some of the tension bled away from the air between them.

"He's with Penny, " she said evenly. "Should be done any minute, and you know he always comes down for a drink when he finishes. Why don't you have a seat and I'll pour you a drink while you wait."

Josh looked at Vivian, then at Gabe. He didn't know which room Brent was in. If he could get by Gabe, a feat in itself, he still wouldn't know where to look. He'd have to knock down every door, which meant he'd have to pay to have every door fixed when all was said and done.

"Fine," he grumbled, planting his ass on a bar stool. "Coffee, please, if you have it."

Vivian obliged, setting a mug of oily black brew in front of him. Instead of leaving, Gabe sat down beside him.

"Didn't know he was back in town," Gabe said. "Can't say I missed him, much."

"Me, neither," Josh sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He didn't cause any trouble, did he?" '

"Not yet," Gabe said with a shrug. "Mostly sober when he came in. Paid for an hour without trying to heckle."

"Auspicious start," Josh muttered into his coffee, and Gabe huffed a knowing, humorless laugh. Josh liked Gabe almost as much as he liked Vivian. They were good people. Humble and quiet. Nothing at all like that horse's ass of a preacher.

"You been getting any more trouble?" he asked, trying to take his mind off his own problems. Ever since Reverend Peters started yammering on, Vivian's had seen a rash of harrassment. Someone had broken a window and splashed the front of the building with red paint. Three men had cornered Gabe and tried to put the fear of God in him. It didn't turn out quite how they'd planned, but Josh still felt for the man. Josh was on edge and fearing persecution at home, but everywhere else he was a well-respected member of the community. Gabe and Vivian were outcasts everywhere.

Gabe shrugged, and flashed him a weary grin. "Ain't nothin' we haven't seen before," he said, smiling at his mother as she set a cup of coffee in front of him as well. "Ma loves her new nickname. She thinks Satan's Concubine has a nice ring to it."

Josh tried not to cringe, wondering what he'd do if someone leveled a slur like that at his own mother. "What does that make you, then?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light. If Vivian and Gabe wanted to joke about the town's hatred, then who was he to question them?

"Satan's Spawn, of course," Gabe said with a grin. "I like it well enough. Not real creative, but--" he broke off, turning as creaking stairs alerted them to Brent's presence. Josh shot off his seat, glaring at his brother, who made it halfway down the stairs at the back of the room before catching sight of him.

For a moment, they stood frozen and staring. Brent had a hand wrapped around the handrail, and seemed poised to flee back upstairs. Josh's hands clenched at his sides as he issued a silent dare to run. Run, and see how far you make it, you jackass. Gabe stood just behind him, and he knew he'd have assistance. He wouldn't have to ask. They were brothers, in a sense.

"You can use the storeroom if you need to talk," Vivian offered blandly, pointing to the door behind the bar. "Just don't break anything."

Brent's eyes flicked from Josh to Gabe to Vivian. Then he sighed, shoulders slumping, and descended the rest of the stairs. Josh followed him into the storeroom, shutting the door behind him and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Why are you here, Josh?" Brent asked, shaking his head.

"You know damn well why," he hissed back, blood simmering in his veins. "How dare you walk out on her like that. You're coming home."

"We talked about this," Brent sighed, shoving a hand through his hair and looking sad but not at all guilty. "I can't do it, Josh. It'd be horrible. For both of us. You knew I had to leave."

"I knew you'd leave," Josh agreed, taking a step forward. "After you got her settled. After you did a more work to paint a picture of a happy couple. I knew you'd leave, but I thought you'd have the brains to do it gracefully, without raising questions. You left that poor woman with no defense but the truth."

Brent had the gall to roll his eyes. "You act like the world will fall apart," he said with a condescending smile. "It's for the best, brother. Pa's not gonna kick her off the ranch. Not as long as she's the mother of my child. She'll have a good life there. Pa'll look after her finances, and she'll have a friend in Melissa--"

"She's not a damn dog!" Josh exclaimed, shoving his hands into his hair and pulling until he felt a sting. How was his brother so stupid? He hadn't been this stupid as a boy, Josh was sure of it. "You can't just leave her with folks you think will care for her. And you're a fool if you think she'll be allowed to stay with a bastard brewing inside her. You know how the old man feels about that."

"He lets you stay," Brent sneered, crossing his arms and raising his chin, and Josh saw red. He lunged forward, grabbing his brother by the front of his shirt.

"Because ma begged him," he snapped, the material straining in his fist as he twisted it, drawing Brent closer and hissing in his face. "She begged him to keep me, and I wish to God she hadn't, Brent. I still get blamed for every dry summer. Every fire. Every blight. Every flu. Every flood. Every poor market. He's found every excuse under the sun to beat the tar out of me to absolve his own damn sins. You know that. You've seen that. Is that really a life you want for your child?"

He saw the hesitation in Brent's eyes-- that brief flash of doubt and regret that gave him some solace. The man wasn't cruel. Just selfish. Too selfish, he realized, as the moment of weakness passed away and anger replaced it.

"You're mighty righteous this morning, Josh," he said, struggling to free himself. Josh tightened his grip, and Brent relaxed into it, as if it was perfectly normal to be standing on his tiptoes, half-choked by the collar of his own shirt. "You want to keep her safe so bad, why don't you marry her? You care so much about that little bastard in her belly, why don't you claim it? She ain't my wife, so she ain't my problem. Not in God's eyes, not in pa's, and not in mine. She's just some careless whore who decided to get with child."

Josh's hand loosed its hold on his brother's shirt and Brent stumbled back, straightening the wrinkled fabric. He was looking down at his shirt, so the punch landed on his temple. Pain shot up Josh's knuckles, but he swung again, this time connecting with Brent's nose.

"What the--" Brent staggered and dropped onto his ass, glaring up at his brother while blood streamed between the fingers he pressed to his face. Dazed eyes caught fire. "You son of a bitch," he roared, lunging up, but Josh shoved him back.

"Shut your damn mouth," he snapped, bearing down on Brent, who cowered on the floor. He'd never hit his brother before. He didn't particularly like the way it felt to get punched in the face, so he didn't dole out that kind of punishment, except in special circumstances.

These were special circumstances.

"You're a selfish ass," he snarled, pushing Brent onto his back with a boot to the man's chest. He kept on just enough pressure to demonstrate that he'd damn well better stay down. "I'm leaving. I left your wife," he hissed the word angrily, "to deal with pa alone, and I need to get back. If you have one shred of sense or decency, you'll follow me. You'll marry that woman and you'll be a father to her child. But if you decide to go, just know that this is the last mess I tidy up for you. I'm not your nursemaid, or your workhorse. You want my help, you earn it. Take some responsibility and act like something more than the spineless, pathetic excuse for a man you're showing yourself to be."

With that, he stepped back, glowering down at Brent, who glowered just as fiercely up at him.

"You call me spineless," Brent said as Josh turned on his heel and stalked out of the storeroom. "But you're--" the words faded into the background as the door swung shut behind him. Vivian still stood behind the bar, polishing glasses. Gabe still sat at one of the stools, nursing a cup of coffee. Both of them looked up as he approached.

"Thanks for the coffee," he said, digging in his pocket and slapping a couple coins on the bar. "I'd appreciate it if you'd keep quiet about anything you might've overheard."

Gabe snorted and saluted with his cup. Vivian smiled warmly. "Didn't hear a thing, dear," she said, scooping the coins off the bar and dropping them into her apron.

"And if he causes trouble--"

"He won't," Gabe mumbled, a touch of amusement in his voice.

"If he tries to cause trouble--"

"We'll handle it," Vivian cut him off, narrowing her eyes. "We've had Brent in here before, Joshua. He's not the first drunken fool to walk into a brothel, and he's not likely to be the last. Go on and head home. We'll send a rider if there's any trouble."

"Thank you, ma'am," Josh said on a sigh. He hated dumping his family's trouble in their laps, but he didn't have much of a choice. He never should have left the ranch. He'd known when he rode in that he'd be riding back out alone. He'd come here for one reason and one reason only-- to yell at his brother. It was a selfish, stupid desire. The better thing would've been to stay and help Amelia, but he'd abandoned her. Just like Brent had.

Copper greeted him cheerfully, and Josh untied the horse and swung up into the saddle, turning them back toward the ranch. He had an idea forming in his mind. It wasn't a good one, but it was something. A shred of compromise to offer his father with raised hand and bended knee. It was a stupid, stupid idea.

But he had to try.