Angel (Bartered Hearts 1)

But mostly he hadn’t touched her, because she was too good for him, and he’d known it. Her father had been a doctor who’d moved west to open a retreat for wealthy consumptives. Caleb’s stepfather had been part of Dr. Willoughby’s social circle because he was a banker. But Caleb himself? He was the son of a rough marshal who’d read letters only well enough to puzzle out wanted posters and bounty notices.

Caleb looked like him. A face hewn from hard wood and a mouth that appeared cruel if it wasn’t smiling. And sometimes even if it was.

He had the look of an outlaw, which had served him well in the past two years, but the contrast between his rough, sun-dark skin and the pale beauty of Jessica had always made him nervous. He’d idolized her. And she’d sold herself to strangers.

A tear spilled over and traced down her flawless cheek. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Caleb…”

“So it’s true?” He willed her to say no. No. Never.

She turned her head and stared into the small parlor behind her before her gaze fell to her boots. They were rough boots, the leather scarred and faded. He’d never seen her wear the like.

She took a deep breath, her brow furrowing as if she were puzzled. But then she nodded and her eyes rose. She met his gaze head-on, her voic

e steady, though another tear spilled over her cheek. “Yes. It’s true.”

Oh, holy God. Her words sank into him like knives. No, there was more weight behind them. They were the blows of an ax. He felt the pain. His soul split open, and everything he’d carried inside for her spilled out—his blood and guts and all the soft, sweet feelings he’d never shown anyone, not even her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He couldn’t understand it. How had this happened? Her father had died only seven months before. Caleb hadn’t heard of it until weeks later, but she should have been fine. Her father had owned a pretty house in town, decorated with the finest things. She’d never even written to Caleb to mention her father’s death, much less to say that she might need money. Had she been too proud? Was it possible for a woman like her to be so proud she’d rather sell herself than ask for money?

She raised a hand as if she’d reach for him through the screen door, then seemed to think better of it. “I didn’t think you were coming back.”

“I said I’d come back, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but…”

“I told you I’d come back as soon as I could.”

Her chin rose. “You said you’d return if. If you made money and owned land. If you could look my father in the eye and promise you could support me with your own hands. I asked you not to go. You went anyway.”

He squeezed his fists so hard his fingers went numb. “So this was a way to punish me?”

“No! I didn’t sell myself to punish a childhood sweetheart I thought was never coming back. It’s been two years. We were practically children when you left, and you never promised me anything.”

“Only because I didn’t want to tie you down to a man who might—”

“And so you didn’t,” she snapped. “And now…” She drew a breath and nodded. “I’m sorry I hurt you, and I’m glad you’re home safe, but that’s the end of the conversation. Have a good day.” She turned away.

Was this really the end of it for her? Just I’m sorry, good day? He’d worked his fingers to the bone for two years, saving nearly every cent so he could come home and ask for her hand, and now she was walking away from him? Walking deeper into this place where she took other men to her bed?

No.

“I have coin,” he said.

She froze a few feet from the door. Went silent. She stood so still she must’ve been holding her breath. He could just make out the pale strip of bare neck between the collar of her gray dress and her upswept hair. He’d wanted to kiss her there for so long. On their wedding night, he’d thought. Moving slowly and gently so as not to frighten her.

His clenched hands shook.

“What?” she asked, still facing the hallway.

“I can pay.” The words came out so low that he wasn’t sure she’d heard, but then she turned slightly. Enough that he could see the line of her straight nose and the way her chest rose with a deep breath. She stared into the parlor for a long moment rather than look back at him.

In the end, she said nothing. She only walked away, melting into the shadows of the house, her footsteps fading until a door closed and shut him off from even the sound of her.

Caleb knew there was nothing to do but leave, but he stood at her doorway for a dozen more heartbeats before he could make himself go.

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