High Plains Promise (Love on the High Plains Book 2) Read Free

wife.” He ran his hand over her backside.
    She shoved him away. “Don't lie to me, Wesley. I know you're still with that little whore. The look she gave me… and then talking to me all sweet.”
    Wesley took a step away from his wife. There was no truth in what she was saying. Since the day she'd come to him and told him she was pregnant, up to this very day, he'd been faithful to her. He knew full well she didn't return the favor. He knew what those pitying, knowing looks from the men around town meant. It didn't matter. He had to try and keep his family functioning as best he could.
    “Is that where you
really
were, after work today,” Samantha snarled, working herself further into a tirade. “Did you go to your whore? Did you bring her back to that farmhouse and take her on the floor, in the dirt, the way you always wanted?”
    “Melissa, why don't you go run and play,” Wesley murmured in his daughter's ear. She didn't need to hear this. But she clutched tighter around his neck. Her mother's unstable mood frightening her. He patted her back. “Samantha,” he said soothingly, “that farmhouse was torn down years ago. It's not there anymore. And I was with James Heitschmidt and the other elders and deacons for a meeting. Nothing more, I swear.
    “Liar!” she shrieked.
    “Mommy,” Melissa said softly, “Daddy loves you.”
    Samantha snapped. Her arm flew towards her daughter with the full force of her enraged adult strength. Wesley was faster though. Shifting Melissa to one arm, he used his free hand to catch his wife's wrist in a crushing grip.
    “Don't,” he hissed, tightening his grip on her arm, “hit,” he went on, almost spitting now, “the baby!” All his attempts to placate his wife ended where Melissa's safety was concerned. At this point, his life had become nothing short of a nightmare. His daughter was the only thing that kept him from doing something drastic and irrevocable.
    “Ow! Wes, you're hurting me!” Samantha wriggled in his grip. He tightened his hand further, unwilling to take the risk. Once, he'd let go and she'd shot out a second blow.
    “Stop struggling. I'll let you go, when I know you've calmed down. Melissa, I think we should go over to Lydia's. See if she has anything to eat. Mommy needs some time to herself today.”
    That set Samantha off again. Wrenching her arm futilely in his iron grip, she began screaming as loud as she could. “I know where you're really going! You can play house with your whore all you want, but she'll never have you! Not really. She can only be your slut.”
    “There's only one slut in this town,” Wesley replied. He released her arm with a sharp backwards shove, which sent her stumbling, and then he was out the door, slamming it shut behind him, and praying she wouldn't follow. He hoped she would nurse her rage and her bruised wrist alone at the house. Of course, she didn't. By the time Wesley reached the street, she was on the porch, screaming abuse towards them at the top of her lungs, for all to hear. He kept walking. There was no reasoning with her when she was in one of her moods. The best thing would be to stay away, until she calmed down.
    If only she didn't feel compelled to play out their family drama in public. That was the worst part. Everyone knew. Everyone. It was an open secret, the mess Wesley had made of his whole future, with one moment of stupid lust. And worst of all was how it had hurt Allison. The look in her eyes when he'd told her he'd impregnated Samantha and had to marry her. It had been a year before she'd spoken to him again. Another year before they were able to be friendly. It hurt like hell every time he saw his friend, the woman he should have married. But her support and kindness meant more to him than the sting of unrequited affection he experienced whenever he saw her. So he clung to her, and to their other friend Kristina. They were his lifeline. He was drowning though, in over his head.
    Once out of earshot