To Love an Outlaw (Into the West #1) (A Wattpad Reading List Choice)

Chapter 18

 

Callie froze in the dark parlor, the ticking of the mantel clock counting down the last minutes of her life. As the pain from the powerful blow to her face subsided, Callie West realized with a rising fear that Sheriff Micah Benson had broken into her house and was going to beat her to a bloody pulp. All because he was under the misconception she was cheating on him! Licking a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth, Callie attempted to reason with the lawman, much like she had begged for forgiveness from Obadiah in the past.

 “Please, Micah. I haven’t done anything wrong. We have never been a couple, don’t you remember?” Even to her own ears, Callie’s voice sounded weak and pathetic. Inhaling a deep, unsteady breath, the widow continued with what she hoped was proper subordination.

 “You and I are just friends, Micah. You’ve always been happy with that.” Slowly Callie turned toward where she thought the sheriff hovered, large and shadowy as he maintained his aching grip upon her hair and scalp. Instead of diffusing the situation like she hoped, her words incensed the lawman. Roughly he yanked her upright by the hank of hair he gripped, forcibly swinging her about to confront him in the dimness. Callie cried out, immediately covering her mouth with one hand to stem the noise before it angered Benson further. Dragging her up nose to nose, the sheriff glared into the widow’s face. Peripherally, Callie noticed the damp threads of hair sticking to his forehead, as well as the sweat beading up on his skin under the dark shadow of stubbly cheeks. Brown eyes, usually warm and caring, now glowered into hers with a faintly unfocused absorption. He leaned closer and spat, “I never wanted to be friends with you, Callie West! I watched you marry Obadiah, and it broke my heart!” He shook her for emphasis, and Callie ground her teeth to keep from uttering a sound. Micah Benson had wanted her back then? She’d never known…

  “But then I became friends with Obadiah, and we talked about you—Look at me when I’m speaking to you!” Callie squealed as the sheriff shook her once more, this time pulling on her hair to stress his words. Ducking her head, Callie cowered, awaiting the accompanying blow. When it came, back-handing across the other cheek, Callie squint her eyes shut, the taste of coppery iron flooding her mouth. This time when she opened her eyes, Callie stared straight into Benson’s angry countenance, deciding to obey rather than move and incur even more of Micah’s wrath. She watched as he inhaled sharply, spittle drying on his lips.

  “Obadiah told me you were a good girl; a virgin when he married you.”

 Callie felt her face heat; no man spoke of such intimacy with a woman!

 “He told me you were a fairly biddable wife. A slap here and there was all you needed to be reminded who was in charge. Obadiah said that he was just like me when he was my age. He even suggested I court you when he was gone! So after he died, I waited patiently for the proper time of mourning, to allow you time to grieve. And instead you repudiate my advances, and start cozying up with that outlaw McQuade! But you should be mine!” This last was yelled straight into Callie’s face, and he shook her till Callie’s teeth rattled. And that was Callie’s defining moment, the absolute second that she realized she could always remain a victim, or stand up for herself and cast off the chains of exploitation for good.

Narrowing her eyes, white hot anger burned through Callie’s chest, infusing her face with dangerous color. She lost all pretense of self-control and screamed back into Benson’s face, spitting with the force of her words, “I never mourned my husband! I hated that man and wished him dead every day of my sorry marriage! I’m so glad he’s gone, and I wish you were, too!”

With tears of fury and fear coursing down her face, Callie attempted to wrench away, to escape the tyranny of Sheriff Benson. But his grip was a manacle, dragging on her arm till she feared it would pop from its socket. She yanked; she pulled, but all it did was infuriate the lawman more, till he grabbed her up close, pivoted, and slung her across the room, to crash into the velvet wingback chair. It skittered across the plank floor from her weight, as did Callie, sliding to a stop under the pie-crust occasional table near the fireplace. In a second Benson was on her, with an abrupt turnaround of behavior. Quickly he gathered her bruised and battered body to his chest, wiping wisps of hair off her forehead and crooning, “Oh, Callie dearest, I’m so sorry! I got so angry, I forgot it was you! Oh, I’m sorry, sorry, sorry! Please, forgive me?”