Page 40 of The Gunslinger’s Bride (Montana Mavericks: Historicals #1)

A bby’s first horrified and incohesive thoughts were of the people of Whitehorn hearing the truth and gossiping about her—about Jonathon—spreading rumors and calling her son names. Her greatest fear would become a reality because of this man’s cruelty—if she didn’t comply with his threat.

“They should know, don’t you think, that the prim little proprietor of the hardware store spreads her legs for the man with the big guns?”

Abby clenched her teeth and dug her nails into his hands and wrists. He squeezed her cheekbones all the harder.

“Mama?”

If she were a fainter, she would have blacked out at the alarmed sound of her son’s voice. He mustn’t see this! In a desperate silent plea, she begged him to go back to his room, but knew he had just become involved in something ugly. Her heart wrenched.

“Let go of my mama!”

Abby couldn’t see him because of the hold Everett had on her head, but she heard the tremor in his brave command.

“Your mama has some thinking to do. And an apology to make. Don’t you, Mama? ” He made the name sound like a profanity.

Abby pulled herself together. If her son was going to see this, he wasn’t going to see her bullied without a fight.

“Go to hell,” she managed to gasp through achingly clenched teeth. His fingers were bruising her face. The other hand yanked her hair. Her eyes stung from the pain.

“Uh, uh, uh,” he warned. “Be nice, Abby. Be nice or I’ll tell everyone.”

He would do it, she had no doubt. He would reveal her private shame and heartache without a qualm.

In the midst of her tumultuous thoughts floated the memory of Brock’s admonition that people probably knew more than she’d let herself think.

He’d pointed out Jonathon’s uncanny resemblance to him, the fact that people could put two and two together on their own.

She’d realized that Caleb knew, but she’d blindly ignored the possibility that others might, too. The whole damned town probably knew anyway, so the hell with Everett’s threats. “I’ll never marry you,” she said through gritted teeth. “I don’t care what you do.”

If there were people who would be shocked by the truth, she would live with that. Her son was as good as anybody, and she’d teach him to believe the best about himself.

“You care,” Everett said. “And you’ll care more when the town shuns your bastard son.”

In a fury, Abby used both fists to beat him in the head.

Dilly barked and lunged for Everett.

Everett screeched and released his hold on her hair and face to kick at the dog. Dilly yelped.

Jonathon howled with fright.

Breathless, Abby escaped and sprang up from the mattress. If she had a gun, she would shoot him in the heart without a qualm. The violent thoughts shocked her. She glanced wildly about for a weapon to use to defend herself and her son.

Everett stood and straightened his clothing and his collar, as though he’d only just finished a cup of tea.

Red marks dotted his hands from Abby’s fingernails, and he bore a welt on one cheek.

Adjusting his tie, he turned his spiteful gaze from Abby to Jonathon.

“You look just like him, you miserable little rat.”

Confused, his blue eyes wide with fright, Jonathon cast Abby a pitiful glance. His lower lip quivered.

Abby picked up the nearest heavy object, the pitcher on her washstand, and swung it toward Everett’s head.

Seeing it coming, he raised his arm and deflected the blow. The pitcher fell with a crash and broke into several pieces. He held his forearm against his middle, a look of pain distorting his vengeful features.

“Get out of my home!” Abby yelled.

“Your home, your precious home. What did you do to earn this place? You just waltzed in and seduced a rich man, then inherited everything when he kicked off. Not a bad trade for a few years in the old guy’s bed.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Get out of here.”

“Did you let him think the kid was his? Were you that good? Didn’t he ever figure it out?”

“Get out!” she screamed, and dimly thought she heard knocking.

“Thought you had everybody fooled, didn’t you? Too bad the kid’s the spitting image of his murdering father.” He turned to Jonathon then and the boy cringed. “That’s right,” he said, stepping over the pieces of broken pottery. “Your father is a murderer, kid. He killed your uncle.”

“It was self-defense,” Abby declared.

“My papa never kilt no one,” Jonathon denied.

Pounding sounded on the interior door. The Spencers had heard the commotion.

“That old man wasn’t your papa,” Everett said with a sinister smile. “Your real father is a worthless, no-good coward who ran away.”

“No he ain’t!” the boy shouted, his face red with indignation. “Why’s he thayin’ that thtuff, Mama?”

“Becauth it’th the truth,” Everett said, leaning toward Jonathon and mocking his speech. “Brock Kincaid is your father. Your mama is his whore.”

Abby picked up the bowl that remained and lunged toward Everett, raising the heavy crock and bringing it down with a sickening thud on the back of Everett’s head.

He crumpled to the floor.

Crying, Jonathon ran to Abby. She dropped to her knees and folded him in her arms. Whining, Dilly licked his face.

“He’s a bad man, ain’t he, Mama?”

“Yes, darling, a very bad man.”

“He’s a liar, ain’t he?”

The truth, Abby. All the damage had already been done. And she’d hidden her secret for long enough.

“He’s a liar sayin’ my papa wasn’t my papa. Why’d he say that?”

“He said it because he’s mean and he wanted to hurt me. But…” She pushed him an arm’s length away and studied his precious, tear-streaked face.

“Abby!” Daisy’s alarmed voice registered now, along with the frantic pounding.

Glancing at Everett’s prone body, Abby stood and pulled Jonathon along with her to the hallway door. He might rouse, and she’d better be gone if he did. She yanked open the door.

“For heaven’s sake, what is going on in there?” Daisy wore her flannel wrapper, and her silver-streaked blond hair flowed across her shoulders. “Are you all right?”

“It’s Everett,” Abby said. “I hit him and he’s on the floor…in my bedroom.”

“Asa went for the sheriff.” She moved past Abby, revealing the derringer in her hand. “Is he dead?”

“Lord, no! I don’t think so, anyway.”

“Well, we’ll wait for the sheriff.”

Abby nodded her agreement. Jonathon still clung to her side, his body trembling. She rubbed his shoulder and bent to kiss the top of his head. “We have a lot to talk about.”

Some time later, after Abby narrated her abbreviated story and Daisy and Asa backed it up by telling what they’d heard, James took Everett, handcuffed and unconscious, to jail. Abby locked her doors tight and made Jonathon hot chocolate.

He sat at the kitchen table, a wary expression on his young face.

“Jonathon, there’s something you need to know.”

“What is it?”

“Your papa was a good and kind man who loved you very much. He provided for us and took care of us and loved us. He loved you and nothing can ever change that.”

Her son studied her solemnly, a chocolate mustache rimming his upper lip.

“But he was not your true father.”

Jonathon’s eyes were wide and blue, and he had never reminded her more of Brock than he did at that moment. “He wathn’t?”

She shook her head. “I met your real father many years ago. I thought I loved him very much.”

“But you din’t?”

How could she ever explain this to a child when she could barely understand it herself? “No, I did,” she assured him, knowing it was true. She had adored him, all those years ago. “I did love him very much.”

“Mr. Matthews thaid Brock is my father.”

“Everett was right about that part. But before you think that Brock wasn’t here for you or that he didn’t want you, I have to tell you what happened…and why he never knew about you until this very year.”

As honestly and simply as she could, she explained that she and Brock had loved each other, but that her brother hadn’t approved of their love and had come after Brock, intending to shoot and kill him.

The most difficult thing to explain was her part in driving Brock away, but she did her best, assuring Jonathon that Brock hadn’t known about him. Once he had learned about Jonathon, he’d done everything he could to claim him as his son without hurting either Jonathon or Abby.

“Is he still my father?”

She studied his innocent features. “You can’t change who your father is.

You can have a new father if your mother marries, which is how Jed became your papa.

But the man who helped create you will always be your real father.

And Jonathon,” she told him, “being a true father means caring for you and loving you. Jed loved you very much, just as Brock does now. So you’re a pretty special boy because you have had two fathers. ”

“But Brock is my real daddy.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re my real mama.”

She smiled. “Always.”

He thought a minute. “Can a kid have two mamas?”

“Well, I guess he could. His mother could leave or die, and he could get a new mama when his father married again. Zeke had two mamas, remember?”

“I’m only gonna have one.”

“That suits me just fine.”

He yawned and blinked sleepy eyes.

“You need some sleep, little fellow.” She removed their cups from the table.

“Are you gonna sleep, too?”

“I’m going to try. There’s still a couple of hours before daylight.”

“Can I sleep with you?”

“Sure.” She took his hand and they scurried into her room and cuddled beneath the covers. Abby smoothed his hair and rested her palm above the steady rhythm of his heart.

“Mama?” he asked some time later.

“Yes?”

“You’re not gonna marry Mr. Matthews no more, are you?”

“Certainly not.”

“Good. Me’n Dilly don’t like ’im.”

“I don’t like him, either.”

“He won’t hurt you no more, will he?”

She hated that her child had witnessed that terrible scene. “No. He’s in jail right now, and he’ll have to deal with the circuit judge.”

“Brock’s teachin’ me how to shoot a gun. I could get a gun and keep it under my bed.”