Something Borrowed

Chapter 1

October, 1870

Amelia

Amelia sat tall on the wagon bench and tried not to fidget or wince as the wheels clattered over divets and mounds, frozen into the muddy road. With a hand pressed to her belly, she forced herself to turn her attention outward and appreciate the beauty in the vast expanse of prairie. The eastern sky was soft pink and blue, and the fresh morning sunlight cast a sparkling glow over the frost-coated grass that stretched for miles in every direction.

"You okay? Not gonna be sick again, are you?" her companion-- her husband, she reminded herself-- asked, and she blushed and removed her hand from her stomach.

"I'm fine," she lied. "I'm just excited. How far until we reach your home?"

"Just a couple hours or so," he responded, his eyebrows pulling together. "Are you sure you're not going to be sick again? We can stop."

She shook her head, embarrassed. Earlier that morning, just as she had every morning for the past two weeks, she'd lost her breakfast and what felt like yesterday's dinner and lunch. It was a side-effect of pregnancy that she had not expected. Her friend Donna had told her it would go away eventually, and she woke every morning with the desperate hope that today would be the day.

Perhaps tomorrow.

"We'll get there before lunch," Brent said on a sigh. He spoke like that often, Amelia had noticed. It was as if a heavy weight was resting on his chest and it was all he could do to draw enough air to speak. When the words did come, they floated on a breath and each phrase ended with a sad downward inflection. She always wondered if she was that weight. Perhaps it was the child in her belly that pressed down on him. When they first met, he had been so happy, so full of energy. That's what drew her to him. Her life had been one long parade of misfortune, drudgery, and prickly exhaustion. Then he had arrived, with his white grin and his drawling charm. He was a storybook, throwing her headfirst and stumbling into easier times and prettier places.

At least... he had been. Now, he was just a man. A tense, tired man, and she knew without asking that she was the storm cloud hovering over him. The weight on his shoulders. The dark night staining his horizon.

"I'll have time to give you a quick tour of the house and the immediate property before we eat," Brent went on, scrubbing a hand through his hair as if frustrated. "We'll get you settled in and you can meet Pa and the others over lunch."

As ever, Amelia had a million questions. What are they like? Will they hate me? Do they know I'm carrying your child? Will we live with your family, or will you build us a house? What will be my job in the household?  Instead of asking, she nodded and stared out across the plains, squinting against the rising sun, stifling her curiosity. Her questions always seemed to triple that weight pressing down on him.

"I look forward to meeting them," she said, rubbing her belly as the nausea eased and a new kind of ache settled in. The ring he'd bought her-- silver-plated nickel with a cut-glass diamond from the general store-- felt strange on her finger. She loved Brent, but she wondered if he and his family could ever come to love her. She was not used to these wide-open spaces, and she felt as if the sky and the future might swallow her whole. Stifling a chill, she wrapped her coat about her more tightly and straightened her spine as she repeated the mantra she'd used to rise from bed every morning for the past 23 years.

My name is Amelia Connor. I am strong, smart, and brave. I made it to this morning, and I will make it to tonight. Everything else is extra.

And then, casting a sideways glance at the man beside her in the wagon, she added another clause to her self-assuring mantra.

I love Brent, and he will come to love me. My baby will be well-fed and much-loved. Nothing else matters.

Josh

Josh sank his heels into his horse's flanks and rode hard for the far end of the herd, where one errant cow had broken off and was leading her neighbors on a tangent in the wrong direction. His dog Cleo-- short for Cleopatra because Melissa insisted on naming her and his sister had an unapologetic obsession with powerful women-- raced in front of him, barking and nipping at the stray cattle until they fell in with the shifting mass as it moved back toward the central complex.

It had taken three days for Josh and a handful of his men to pull these animals together and bring them back to the ranch. Three blissful but exhausting days on the trail, sleeping under the stars in the company of men who were more family to him than most of his blood kin.

Now he was back. Back just in time to meet Brent's new wife.

He'd damn near rolled his eyes when his father had told him the news, three days ago. The old man had been beaming with satisfaction, seated behind the rich mahogany desk in his study, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. "She's some maid from St. Louis. He got her pregnant and I'll be damned if I have a bastard grandson."

Josh had winced at the harsh words, but didn't speak. It was better, he'd learned, not to interfere with or stoke his father's temper. A spark and a tickling breeze could turn into a roaring brushfire at the slightest provocation.

"I told him he'll marry her and bring her home. Live with us for a while, while they get their feet under them," his father had continued, smiling wide and pleased and a touch cruel. "He agreed, of course. It'll be good to have Brent around for a while. Good for the ranch and good for your brother. He's got a knack for this business, and I think he could fix some of what's broken around here."

Josh knew as well as his father did that nothing was broken. He had the ranch running like a well-oiled machine. They'd had uncommon success at the market this past summer, and record low turnover with the ranch hands. There were miles of new fence, two new wells... hell, even the weather had been agreeing lately. There was just one thing the ranch was lacking. The most important thing--

The presence of its most suitable heir.

Squinting against the memory and the harsh sunlight, Josh slowed his horse as the errant cattle rejoined the herd and they settled in for the final stretch into the ranch proper. His father's legacy sprawled across the valley below, smoke curling from chimneys, the land milling with activity. Across the valley, perched on the far hill, his childhood home looked like one of Melissa's dollhouses-- white walls and blue shutters. Tidy and neat and peaceful. Deceitful. 

His gaze snagged on the wagon, silhouetted against the deep blue sky as it moved slowly along the road to the main house. It was too far away to make out either of its occupants, but a strange anxiety twisted his gut and Josh knew it was his brother. Just like he knew that, in weeks or months or years, he would sit on this hill and watch Brent ride back off.

Alone.