Harlot (Bartered Hearts 2)

“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.

Chapter 2

‡

The sounds of this place still frightened her. Everything frightened her lately, but this old house in the middle of nowhere on this moonless night, that was the worst.

Tree branches scraped across the roof. Bill said the tree should be cut down before it fell down, but then she’d feel more exposed. More vulnerable.

Curled tight in her bed, Jessica tried to keep herself from panicking, but it wasn’t safe here. Not really. At first men had come from town, banging on the doors and demanding entry, their drunk voices ringing through the windows, calling out for a fuck or a suck or other things she didn’t even understand.

But those visits had mostly died off, especially after Melisande and Bill had come. The two had arrived seeking work, having heard in town that there was a new whorehouse down the road. Melisande had been open to any kind of work, even on her back, and she would cook and clean. Bill was a handyman, capable of providing protection as well.

Jessica had liked the sound of that and the look of both of them. She’d made clear there would be no whoring in this house, ever, but they were welcome to stay if they would work the farm with her. They’d stayed. Bill had taken the little room above the barn, but after a time, Melisande had ended up sleeping there more often than not. They would have married, but Bill was white, and they didn’t want to invite trouble.

Jessica was glad they were here. It felt almost safe now, yet still not safe enough.

If a knock came tonight, it wouldn’t be some drunk cowboy sent from town. It would be Caleb.

A sob shuddered from her throat.

r /> He had come back. Which added another lie to the many Caleb’s stepfather had told her. She shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was. When she’d agreed to do that terrible thing, when she’d given in to her fear and done something awful…she’d told herself that at least Caleb would never know.

She’d been told he’d settled in California. That he’d decided to stay there with a new sweetheart. Some capable, pretty girl, Jessica had suspected. Some girl who could cook and clean and contribute more to a man’s life than careful embroidery. He’d marry that girl, surely. If he ever returned to Colorado, it would be with a family in tow.

And now, less than six months after she’d sold her virginity, here he was, looking at her as if she was beneath contempt. And she was.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, then covered her mouth to quiet a cry that tore itself free from her chest. Oh, God. Caleb. Whatever he’d done in California, he was back now, and she couldn’t bear that he knew about her. He was furious, of course, but his eyes had looked so hurt. So unbelieving. Because of her.