Her Silent Burden (Seeing Ranch series) (A Western Historical Romance Book) Read online

  Terror burst through Thea. Was it Wakefield in there? She couldn’t be sure. It was too dark inside of Outpost, and most of the man’s body was behind the table. But who else, other than him or Noah, would be in there?

  She moved almost without thought, the world rushing by in a blur of colors as she ran to the back of the saloon and tried the door there. This one was unlocked, and she shoved it open, its knob hitting the hallway wall with a bang.

  “Wakefield!” Thea screamed, running down the hall, praying she was wrong, praying that someone else had found their way into the saloon.

  But it was him. He lay on his side on the floor, his back to her. Thea fell to her knees, grabbed his shoulder, and rolled him face up. There was no sign of injury, and his eyes were closed.

  Thea moved her hand to his neck, feeling for a pulse. Right as she located it, Wakefield opened his eyes. He blinked a few times, squinting at her as if he was confused.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

  Wakefield pressed a hand against his temple. “I… fell asleep.”

  “On the floor?”

  “Guess so.”

  Groaning, Wakefield sat up. The light coming through the front windows caught an empty bottle underneath the nearest table. An empty liquor bottle.

  Thea’s blood ran cold.

  “You passed out,” she said, the words heavy on her tongue. “You drank until you blacked out, didn’t you?”

  Wakefield hung his arms over his knees. His back was to her, and she couldn’t see his face.

  Thea’s breath rattled her chest. It felt so cold in the saloon, but that didn’t make sense. It was summer.

  But not much made sense anymore. The perfect marriage she’d found herself in was unraveling faster than a ball of yarn, and all she could do was watch in disbelief.

  “You probably hate me,” Wakefield said.

  “I don’t hate you,” she whispered.

  He still wasn’t looking at her, but now she was almost glad. She didn’t know whether or not she could stand seeing his face.

  “I was worried about you,” she said. “You scared me when you did not come home.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Was he? She couldn’t see his eyes, and there was no emotion in his voice.

  Thea took a deep breath, preparing herself for what she needed to say next. “If you want me to leave, then tell me so. I do not wish to drag this out any longer than is necessary.”

  “You can’t leave.” Wakefield’s voice cracked, and he turned to look at her. His eyes were red, underneath them were heavy, dark bags.

  “You honestly wish me to stay?”

  “I love you, Thea.”

  Thea kept her backbone straight and her voice strong, despite the fact that she was dying inside. “And what of my child? Do you love him or her?”

  Wakefield hung his head. “It’s not that simple for me, Thea.”

  She jumped to standing, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “It is most certainly that simple. You disrespect both of us by acting like it is not.”

  Wakefield shielded his eyes with his hand. “We need to talk about this later.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have a headache that’s making me think I’m about to explode,” he said, voice rising. “That’s why.”

  Thea started to answer but realized she had no response. She was sickened. Not only did the morning’s nausea make her want to vomit, but so did Wakefield’s behavior.

  “It’s not because it’s your last husband’s baby,” Wakefield said, gaze on the floor.

  “Oh, good,” Thea sarcastically answered. “That makes me feel much better about you not wanting it.”

  Nails cutting into her palms, Thea stalked past him and out the back door. She listened for sounds of Wakefield following, but he didn’t make a move.

  Climbing the exterior stairs, she pounded on Noah’s door.

  “Coming,” he called from the other side.

  The door opened, Noah held onto the knob while he pulled on his second boot. At the sight of her, his eyebrow rose.

  “Thea,” he said. “Good morning.”

  Thea kept her face as stony as she could manage. She had already broken down in front of Wakefield. Making a habit out of being emotional in others’ company would not do.

  “Wakefield is downstairs,” she announced. “It appears he had far too much to drink last night and is in need of some assistance. I am sorry, Noah, but I cannot currently give that to him.”

  “He doesn’t drink,” Noah said. “He can’t be drinking.”

  “Well, he did.”

  “Lord.” Noah smacked his forehead. “I’m sorry you had to see him this way.”

  An awful prickling sensation shot up Thea’s back and to the tip of her head. “This has happened before?”

  “Not in a long time,” Noah said. “Not in years.”

  “Oh. I see.” Thea looked down at her folded hands. “It would appear that I had something to do with it.”

  “No, it’s not… Wakefield has...”

  Thea peered up at Noah, who ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. Had Wakefield told him about the baby?

  “Wakefield has what?” she prompted.

  “He has… pain in him,” Noah said.

  “Everyone does.”

  Noah’s brows threaded together, and Thea got the sense he was trying to convey something without actually saying the words.

  “Is there something that I should know about, Noah?” she asked.

  He ran his palms over his head, not looking back at her. “I think you and Wakefield should talk about this.”

  “Well, I’ve tried. It hasn’t worked.”

  Finally, Noah’s gaze latched onto hers. “I’m sorry, Thea.”

  A wildfire couldn’t have burned worse than those words. Pity. Thea hated it.

  “I am, as well,” she said.

  Lifting her skirts, she made her way back down the stairs. Wakefield did not come barging out into the yard. In fact, there was not a peep from inside the saloon. He’d probably fallen back asleep.

  Was this all part of your plan, God? Thea asked as she walked back up the mountain road.

  Chapter 26

  empty coffee mug

  26. Wakefield

  Chapter twenty-six

  He didn’t remember making it into the saloon the night before. He didn’t remember much of anything, really, past the time he left Noah’s. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together, though. The empty liquor bottle and a night spent passed out cold on the hard wooden floor of the bar told enough of a story.

  Wakefield set his aching head in his hands and closed his eyes, wishing that he could open them and find himself in another world. He was no good for this one. No good for Thea. No good for the baby that he knew he couldn’t properly care for.

  She’d be better off without him. He had some money saved up, plus there was the saloon. He could sell it, give her the money, and send her on her way. She’d have more than enough to take care of a little one and start over somewhere new.

  Course, she needed a husband. A man to care for her the right way. Since that wasn’t Wakefield, he ought to let her free. Let her live out the rest of her life in peace, without his darkness suffocating her.

  As for him, maybe he’d finally come to the end of his rope. He’d spent years ignoring all the pain of the past. Thea’s arrival had seemed to be the salvation he’d hoped for, but it turned out to be nothing more than a false victory. The darkness was still there and now it threatened to come to the forefront. It didn’t matter what happened to him next. He could go off anywhere and wait for his life to fade away. As long as Thea was all right, that’s all that mattered.

  Wakefield started to lift his head, but before he could a wave of cold water spilled over him.

  “What the blast?” he shouted, jumping to his feet and wiping water from his eyes.

  Noah
stood in front of him, the empty well bucket hanging from one hand.

  “It’s what you would tell me to do if you were in your right mind,” he said.

  Wakefield shook the last of the water from his face. Icy droplets slid down his back, and even though the morning well water made him shiver, he had to admit: he was now good and awake.

  “Have a seat,” Noah said, picking up the liquor bottle and nodding at the bar. “Water is heating up for coffee.”

  Torn between running for the hills and easing the pounding in his head, Wakefield settled for the latter and eased down onto one of the bar stools.

  “Guess it’s official,” he muttered, too ashamed to look at Noah. “You may be younger in years, but you’re more mature than me.”

  Noah crunched up beans in the coffee grinder. “Or maybe I just haven’t been through as much as you have.”

  “You really think that’s an excuse?” Wakefield stared at the bar, a wave of nausea rising in him.

  “Be right back.” Noah set the grinder on the bar as he went to fetch the hot water, and Wakefield noted that he hadn’t answered the question.

  “Better?” Noah asked, once the coffee brewed and they’d had their first few sips.

  “You mean is my life still a mess?”

  Noah snorted. “Your life isn’t the thing that’s a mess, Wakefield. It’s you.”

  “That’s what I meant.”

  “You can fix all of this.” Sadness dripped from each of Noah’s words, making Wakefield’s chest twist.

  “You know it’s not that simple.”

  Noah sighed and set his coffee mug down with a thud. “I don’t know what to tell you. I know no one can go back and fix the past, but you have a good thing with Thea. You changed after she got here. If you let her go... or chase her away... You’ll regret it.”

  Wakefield pinched the bridge of his nose. Everything still ached. Head. Heart. He didn’t think the pain would ever stop.

  “I don’t want to send her away, but it might be what’s best for her.”

  Noah made a disgruntled noise. “If that’s the case, if that’s what you do... I don’t want to be around for the after effects.”

  Wakefield looked at him in question, afraid he didn’t want to hear the answer.

  “I don’t want to see the man her leaving makes you,” Noah clarified. Picking up his coffee mug, he left the saloon through the back door.

  The curses piled up in Wakefield’s mouth, and if he’d had more energy, he would have stood up and started pacing, maybe throw a few things around. But, he just didn’t have the spunk in him right now.

  A lot in his life had broken him, but he’d always managed to climb out of the dark holes sooner or later. This time was different. A person could only take so much pain before they shattered underneath the weight of it all.

  The back door opened again, but Wakefield didn’t bother looking up.

  “What now?” he asked bitterly.

  “Morning to you, too,” a voice that was decidedly not Noah’s said.

  Wakefield straightened up in his seat and found Ed Vang moseying into the saloon.

  “We’re closed.”

  “I know,” Ed answered. “And I’m not looking for a drink at the crack of dawn.” He propped an elbow on the end of the bar and frowned at Wakefield. “I saw your bud coming out looking bothered. Everything all right?”

  Wakefield bit back a groan. Good lord. Vang was always popping up and sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. Didn’t the man have anything to tend to?

  “All is well,” Wakefield lied.

  Both their gazes fell on the empty liquor bottle on the bar.

  “The clues in here say different,” Vang pointed out.

  Wakefield’s jaw tightened. “What clues?”

  “That.” He nodded at the bottle. “The bags under your bloodshot eyes. The water dripping down your collar like someone woke you up with a good dunk in water.” Vang chuckled to himself.

  “You’re a regular detective,” Wakefield snapped. “Too bad we don’t require those services in Whiteridge.”

  He expected an angry response, but Vang’s face softened. “Look, now. I ain’t trying to make fun of you. You’re not looking all that well, Briggs. I’m concerned.”

  Wakefield tried to glower, but he was too tired to even do that. Instead, he sighed and gestured at the coffee pot Noah had left behind the bar.

  “Pour yourself some coffee,” he said.

  His invitation for Vang to join him really spoke to the fact that Wakefield absolutely did not want to be alone. He couldn’t face Thea, he’d had trouble with Noah... but being alone with his thoughts was even worse. Even if it meant tolerating the company of the likes of Vang.

  Vang poured his coffee and settled down next to Wakefield. “Mind if I ask what bee got into your bonnet?”

  Wakefield ran his tongue across his front teeth. There was an awful taste in his mouth, and not even Noah’s bitter-as-dirt coffee could get rid of it.

  “Nothing,” he answered. “Why are you down here so early?”

  Vang shrugged and sipped his coffee. “Got nothing better to do.”

  Wakefield guffawed. “Right then.”

  Vang squinted his eyes at Wakefield. “Now I don’t want to be too intrusive, Mr. Briggs, but I think it’s best if I put this out there. I know a man with a drinking problem when I see one.”

  Wakefield’s face burned. “It was only last night. Before that, I hadn’t had a drink in years.”

  He knew before the words finished leaving his mouth that he’d said too much and to the wrong person.

  “A reformer, huh?” Vang asked. “Interesting business you’ve chosen to run, considering your past.”

  “It’s what I know,” Wakefield answered. He’d hoped to steer the conversation away from his own shortcomings, but since he’d already spilled the beans he figured he might as well see the talk through.

  “You ever think of getting out of it? Out of the saloon life?”

  No, Wakefield started to answer, but he held his tongue. A day before, the thought of leaving the saloon world behind was unthinkable, but within the last twenty-four hours so much had changed.

  “What if I bought it off of you?” Vang asked. “I’d give you a fair price.”

  “You want to run a saloon?”

  Vang gave one terse nod. “It’s just as legitimate of a profession as anything else.”

  Wakefield’s mind raced. If he sold the saloon, he could give the money to Thea. She and the baby could go anywhere she wanted to, do anything she wanted, and he could take off. Leave her life and make things simple for her.

  “I can see you’re considering it,” Vang said.

  Wakefield licked his dry lips. “What kind of money we talking about here?”

  “Well, that remains to be seen, but we’ll draw up a proper contract we can both sign. Think about it. We’ll talk more later.”

  The door banged open again and Noah arrived, a pile of dry dish rags from the clothesline in his arms. His gaze slid over to Vang, but if he had any sort of feeling about the man’s presence it didn’t show.

  Vang slapped the counter and stood. “I need to haul off. You gentlemen have a good day.”

  Noah waited until Vang was gone to speak. “What was he here about?” he asked.

  Wakefield looked into his empty coffee mug. He couldn’t tell Noah about the conversation. His friend, spurred by his own interests, would try to talk him out of the idea of selling the saloon.

  And it was an idea that Wakefield was genuinely interested in.

  “Nothing,” Wakefield answered. “Let’s set up for the day.”

  Chapter 27

  do not give up

  27. Thea

  Chapter twenty-seven

  Dearest Family,

  I have yet to receive a response to my first letter to you, but I simply could not wait to write again. I miss you terribly, and not a day goes by where you are not in my thoughts.


  Life in Wyoming has proven to be conflicting. Thea lifted her pencil from the paper and sat back in the chair. What was she doing? Had she really been about to moan to her family?