His Heartbroken Bride (The Brides of Paradise Ranch - Spicy Version Book 4) (10 page)

“Well, you don’t,” Mason snapped, glancing around to see if anyone else dared to even try to disparage her. “Don’t worry, Libby. I’ve got a plan to—”

He was cut off by a sudden female shout.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m sorry.” Petey launched into a desperate apology.

Ahead of them, the boys had apparently run headlong into Bonnie Horner as she came down the hotel steps. From the looks of things, they’d nearly knocked her off her feet. She still clung to Matthew, as if he was the only thing keeping her upright.

“Oh dear, I’m terribly sorry.” Libby jogged ahead to try to make things right. “Boys, watch where you’re going.”

“It’s all right.” Bonnie laughed.

That reaction alone shot Mason’s eyebrows straight up as he strode to join them. He couldn’t ever remember seeing Bonnie laugh. Or smile. But there she was now, beaming down at Matthew and Petey.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Bonnie said, extending a hand to Libby. “Bonnie Horner.”

“Libby Si—Libby Montrose.”

They shook hands, and Bonnie added. “I own the whorehouse across the way there.”

Libby’s eyes popped wide at the ease with which Bonnie admitted to her business. She glanced through the stretch of backyards that separated the houses on Prairie Avenue from the ones on Main Street to the pink-painted building about halfway down Main.

“Oh? Well… I…” Libby stumbled.

“I know what people think.” Bonnie leaned toward her with a conspiratorial twinkle in her eyes, and lowered her voice. “But there’s no sense pretending to be something we’re not.”

Libby blanched at the comment and looked away. Bonnie’s eyes widened. Her expression dropped to concern.

“I’m sorry, I meant that to be a lighthearted, self-effacing comment,” she said. Her expression changed again to something that Mason couldn’t recognize. He suspected it was the kind of look that women saved for other women. In fact, he was certain of it when Bonnie shifted to stand by Libby’s side, close enough to rest an arm around her back in that comforting way women had. “Is everything all right, Mrs. Montrose?” she asked.

Libby took a breath, blinking until her smile returned and her shoulders eased. “Yes, yes, of course. Everything is lovely.”

Mason didn’t have to be a woman to see that Bonnie didn’t believe her. Maybe it was good luck that the boys had run into Bonnie after all. He wanted to give Libby the world and right every wrong that’d ever been done to her, but some things were beyond his capabilities. Sometimes you needed help, and in spite of the establishment she owned, Bonnie was highly respected in Haskell.

Libby cleared her throat. “We need to hurry along. Mr. Gunn has prepared an exciting activity for the boys today.”

“Yes, so I saw.” Bonnie stepped back, breaking the momentary connection she and Libby had had. “I was just in the hotel restaurant, having brunch with Rex and his daughters and some man who’s applying for the job of foreman at the Bonneville ranch.”

“Some man?” Libby went even paler.

“Bonneville.” Mason rubbed a hand over his face. And here he’d thought things couldn’t get worse.

Bonnie hummed. “I don’t think the man is qualified,” she said. Her glance flickered to Libby. “He had a few things to say about you, Mrs. Montrose, but it all sounded like so much rubbish to me.”

“Oh no.” Libby clasped a hand over her stomach.

“Mama, can we go on now?” Matthew urged her. “I want to paint.”

“Yes, dear, let’s go.” Libby’s voice as a mere wisp. She took both of her boys’ hands and started up the stairs, unable to look Bonnie in the eye.

“I didn’t like that man at all,” Bonnie confided in Mason once Libby disappeared inside the hotel. “I’ve seen his type before. Handsome, charming, and nasty through and through.”

“Hector Sterling?” Mason asked.

“That’s his name.” Bonnie sighed. “I take it you know something about him?”

“He hurt Libby.”

Whatever stories Hector had told over brunch with Bonnie and the Bonneville clan, they were enough for Bonnie to put two and two together. Her lips pursed until a white lined formed around them.

“I’ll convince Rex to turn him down,” she told Mason. “He didn’t seem particularly sold on the man anyhow.” She barked out a sudden laugh. “Vivian seemed sweet on him, though.”

“I wouldn’t even wish that on Vivian Bonneville,” Mason growled.

Bonnie’s expression sobered. “If there’s anything I can do to help…”

Mason nodded. “I’m working on something. Perhaps there is something you could do.”

“Keep me informed.” She reached across to squeeze his shoulder. “You’re a good man, Mason Montrose. And it sounds to me like your Libby could use a good man right about now.”

“She could,” he agreed. “But we’ll see how good I stay as I deal with Hector Sterling.”

Not even being surrounded by children could lift Libby out of the gloom she’d sunk into on the walk over to the hotel. After having a last word with the beautiful and puzzling Bonnie Horner, Mason had followed Libby into the hotel to assure her that everything was all right, and that the few folks who had snubbed her were cantankerous old bats anyhow. Libby had smiled and agreed and thanked him for sticking up for her. She’d kissed him goodbye and wished him a productive day of work, promising to see him later, and then her smile had dropped.

“Look, Mama. I’m painting a cat.” Matthew dragged her attention out of her thoughts.

She rested her hand on Matthew’s back and looked over his shoulder at the blob of grey on his piece of foolscap. “That’s lovely, dear.”

“It’s just like Misty,” he went on, referring to the old, grey tabby who Libby had taken to feeding scraps from the kitchen back at the logging camp. Matthew sighed. “I miss Misty.”

“I don’t,” Petey grumbled beside him. “I don’t miss anything about that place.” He sent his mother a wary, sidelong look.

Guilt gripped Libby’s stomach. Petey was too young to grasp everything that had happened in the last few months—or so she kept telling herself. The alternative was too painful to think about.

“What are you painting, sweetheart?” She stepped over to look at the paper pinned to a board and set up on his easel.

“It’s a baseball player,” he announced with pride. “Mason showed me some pictures he had in a magazine the other day. I want to be a baseball player when I grow up.”

Tiny sprouts of hope filled Libby’s chest. “I’m sure if you keep practicing and asking for Mason’s help you could be.”

It had been such a joy to see her boys getting along so splendidly with Mason that morning. For a few minutes, as she watched them throwing the ball in the front yard, she’d had a taste of what a real family could be like. It was what she’d had with Teddy, only lighter somehow, without the threat of running out of money or of accidents or bad weather hanging over them.

“Your boys seem to be enjoying themselves,” Corva Haskell commented in her soft, southern accent.

Libby turned to her, her smile slipping. Had the rumors reached Mrs. Haskell as well? Was she only pretending to be kind while secretly thinking Libby was beneath her?

“Thank you.” Libby made herself believe the best of Corva. The woman was round with child, after all, which meant there was a fair chance the baby Libby carried would be friends with the soon-to-be new Haskell. “It’s such a change for Petey and Matthew to have other children to play with,” she took the overture of friendship one step further.

“Haskell certainly has its share of children.” Corva smiled. “And more on the way.” She patted her stomach. “Did I hear that you are expecting as well?” Her expression was carefully concerned, not judgmental.

“Y-yes,” Libby stammered.

“It’s so precious that you have one more part of your late husband to hold onto,” Corva went on, sniffing and dabbing at her eyes. She laughed. “You must excuse me. I’ve been crying over next to nothing since learning about this one.” She rested her hand on her belly. “You must know how it is.”

“I-I remember.”

It was so normal, such a polite conversation. The way Corva Haskell smiled made Libby think the two of them could be friends. If only she could stop Hector’s poison from spreading and ruining it. There had to be a way.

“I just came over here to let you know that if you have any errands or chores to do, it’s perfectly all right to leave the boys here with me. Olga is helping out.” Corva nodded to a plump, blonde woman in a hotel uniform. “Mr. Gunn said he would come along and supervise as well as soon as he’s finished with the hotel’s accounts.”

“Oh.” Libby glanced around the room. She was the only mother that had stayed behind after dropping her children off. “I suppose I do have a few things I could do.” Like not fussing over her children and letting them have a little independence.

“We’re scheduled to have the ballroom until noon,” Corva added with a smile.

“Thank you so much for doing this,” Libby said, taking a tentative step away from her boys. “Petey, Matthew, you two behave. Mind everything Mrs. Haskell says.”

“Yes, Mama,” they answered in unison.

Libby took a breath and headed for the ballroom door. It was hard to leave her boys in the care of someone who wasn’t family after being the sole figure watching over them most days. It was hard trusting herself to be without them when so much darkness pressed down on her. But somehow that darkness wasn’t as dark as it had been just a week ago. Yes, she had shamed herself beyond reckoning where Hector was concerned. She had proven just how weak she was. But after the way Mason had held her in his arms, after the way he had been both tender and passionate with her, giving her pleasure and letting her take it in ways that made her heart and body sing, she was beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel. A new life was waiting, just within her reach. If she could only—

“Ah. Speak of the devil.”

With a gasp, Libby glanced up. She’d made it halfway across the lobby, only to come face-to-face with Hector. He was dressed in clothes far finer than he’d ever worn at the logging camp and had his hair slicked back and styled in the latest fashion. The young women who flanked him—like his own feminine army—simpered and blinked at him, clearly finding him handsome. Libby’s mind knew he was attractive, but the sight of him made her stomach clench.

The finely-dressed lady clutching Hector’s right arm, as if ready to shackle him, dragged her eyes away from his face and gaped at Libby. “That’s her?
That’s
Libby?” Her pretty face twisted to an ugly sneer, then she broke out laughing.

“You’re right, Hector,” the lady on his left said, tilting her nose up until Libby could see up her nostrils. “She
does
look like a whore.”

Icy prickles jolted down Libby’s back. The youngest lady of the four squeaked, then burst into laughter herself. The remaining of the four—who seemed exceedingly pale and drawn—lowered her head and looked away. Libby knew the shame on that woman’s face all too well.

“Excuse me,” Libby said with a curt nod, turning toward the door.

“Look, didn’t I tell you?” Hector raised his voice, stopping Libby in her tracks. “Didn’t I tell you she has no manners as well as no morals.”

Libby whipped back to him, hands balling into fists. “I beg your pardon.”

“No.” The woman clutching Hector’s arm wrinkled her nose as if Libby stank. “I don’t think I will give you my pardon. Not after what dear Hector here has told us about you.” She pivoted to simper over Hector once more.

“There, there, Vivian.” Hector brushed a knuckle over the woman’s chin.

Vivian giggled. Libby’s stomach turned. The woman must be mad or desperate to have any sort of hope for Hector. Though she made a terrible first impression, Libby couldn’t bring herself to wish Hector’s passions on Vivian, or anyone else.

“I always did think Mason Montrose was a fool,” the woman on the left said. “Only a fool would marry a whore.”

“Melinda, stop saying that word,” the sickly woman hissed.

“Shut up, Honoria,” Melinda, Vivian, and the younger woman—who had to be a sister—snapped at once.

“I’m simply calling this piece of…
something
what Hector has told us she is,” Melinda defended herself.

“I’m going to tell all my friends about her too,” the youngest one declared with glee.

“Oh, Bebe.” Vivian shook her head, batting her eyelashes at Hector. “A refined lady doesn’t engage in gossip. She merely overlooks trash when it dares to cross her path.”

“And advises others to do the same,” Melinda added. “Starting with anyone who’s shopping at Kline’s Mercantile this afternoon.”

Libby turned to Hector, eyes wide. Was he actually going to let these horrible women destroy her reputation?

Yes. One look at the self-satisfied and predatory smirk on his face answered the question with an unequivocal yes. In fact, he had probably planned for this somehow. He was likely behind the slights she’d had on the street earlier too. Her heart sank. He was making good on this threat at the church yesterday, trying to prove that she was his, that he controlled her life, even here. He would stop at nothing until it was impossible for her to stay in Haskell.

“I am married to Mason Montrose.” She addressed Hector, ignoring the women. “I am his wife.”

“And you’re carrying
my
child.” Hector shrugged.

Vivian, Melinda, and Bebe laughed, holding their hands to their mouths and exchanging scandalized and titillated looks. Honoria shrank further into herself.

“You’re so naughty, Hector,” Vivian said.

“Downright devilish,” Bebe giggled.

“And therefore, she’s a
whore
,” Melinda finished.

“Melinda!” Honoria scolded.

“You can’t get away with this,” Libby breathed, struggling to maintain an outward appearance of calm. In truth, she felt like shouting, ‘This can’t be happening.’

Hector shrugged, pretending to be baffled. “What is there to get away with? We conceived a child together. I offered to marry you several times. You rejected me. I believe the facts speak for themselves.”

The facts were so far from speaking for themselves that Libby couldn’t speak at all. Her mouth flapped open uselessly, anger blocking her reason from coming up with an adequate response.

Hector relaxed, clearing his throat. “Ladies, you go on ahead. I’ll be out at your father’s ranch to talk about the foreman position later.”

“We’ll be waiting,” Bebe replied, bouncing on the balls of her feet before grabbing Honoria and heading for the door.

“I’m so happy you didn’t marry him,” Vivian sighed, letting go of Hector’s arm and wiggling her fingers at him as she tip-toed backwards toward the door.

“Even if she is a whore,” Melinda added. She thrust her chin up and walked off to join her sisters, the four of them sweeping out of the hotel.

That left Libby and Hector alone.

“Such lovely girls,” he began.

Libby rounded on him. “How dare you tell them what happened between us?”

Hector spread his arms in a lazy shrug. “It’s common knowledge, as far as I’m concerned. You buried one man, rutted with another, then married a third, all within three months.”

An elderly couple crossing the lobby heard Hector’s statement and blanched. As they rushed on to the restaurant, Libby’s cheeks burned. More people were coming down the hotel stairs or out of the restaurant, so she grabbed Hector’s sleeve and dragged him out of the lobby and down a side corridor.

“How dare you?” she seethed when they were out of the center of attention.

Hector stepped far too close for Libby’s comfort. “I told you that you would regret rejecting me.”

“I had no intention of marrying you, Hector,” Libby whispered, glancing up and down the hall, begging no one would see them. “I told you no.
I told you no
.”

He clamped a hand around Libby’s wrist. Libby tried to back away from him, but slammed against the wall. Hector surged forward until his chest pressed into Libby’s and his mouth was less than an inch from hers.

“Your lips told me no,” he growled. “The rest of you told a different story.”

Guilt lashed Libby so hard that stroked from a whip wouldn’t have hurt so much. Her legs turned to jelly and her heart slammed against her ribs. “I said no,” she whispered with as much strength as she’d had then—which was to say none.

Bold as thunder, Hector closed a hand over Libby’s breast and squeezed. “You are mine, Libby Sims. Haven’t I always told you?”

“I don’t want you.” Terror began to form black spots at the edges of Libby’s vision.

“No?” Hector leaned close, whispering in her ear. “If I lifted your skirts and tickled your cunny right now, would you be as wet as you were that night?”

Libby squeezed her eyes shut, praying she would either die or disappear. The only light of hope she had was the certainty that at that moment, with Hector’s hands on her and his exotic cologne filling her nose, she was as dry as a bone.

“I don’t want you. I never did. I never will.”

Somehow she found the strength to push. Hector was as surprised at the burst of energy as she was, and stumbled back. That gave Libby just enough time to run.

She tore off up the hall and into the lobby. There were so many things she wanted to shout at Hector, so many accusations she wanted to throw. She wanted to beat him senseless for everything he’d made her feel, but in that moment, she had to run.

Halfway across the lobby, she ran headlong into a tall, male body.

“Goodness gracious,” Mr. Gunn called out, catching her.

Libby glanced up at him, panting hard. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Gunn.” She pivoted to check over her shoulder. Hector hadn’t emerged from the hallway.

Mr. Gunn followed the line of her vision with a frown. “Is everything all right?” he asked, still holding her, like he might pull her into a fatherly hug.