A Beggar's Bargain E-Book

Jan Sikes

• Herausgeber: Fresh Ink Group
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 424

Beschreibung

A shocking proposal that changes everything.

Desperate to honor his father’s dying wish, Layken Martin vows to do whatever it takes to save the family farm.

Once the Army discharges him following World War II, Layken returns to Missouri to find his legacy in shambles and in jeopardy. A foreclosure notice from the bank doubles the threat. He appeals to the local banker for more time—a chance to rebuild, plant, and harvest crops and time to heal far away from the noise of bombs and gunfire. 

But the banker firmly denies his request. Now what?

Then, the banker makes an alternative proposition—marry his unwanted daughter, Sara Beth, in exchange for a two-year extension. Out of options, money, and time, Layken agrees to the bargain.

Now, he has two years to make a living off the land while he shares his life with a stranger.

If he fails at either, he’ll lose it all.

Leseprobe

A Beggar’s Bargain

Copyright © 2024by Jan SikesAll rights reserved

Fresh Ink GroupAn Imprint of:The Fresh Ink Group, LLC1021 Blount Avenue #931Guntersville, AL 35976Email: [email protected]

Edition 1.0 2024

Covers by Stephen Geez / FIGCover art by Anik / FIGBook design by Amit Dey / FIGAssociate publisher Beem Weeks / FIG

Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976 and except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, no portion of this book’s content may be stored in any medium, transmitted in any form, used in whole or part, or sourced for derivative works such as videos, television, and motion pictures, without prior written permission from the publisher.

Cataloging-in-Publication Recommendations:FIC014090 FICTION / Historical / 20th Century / Post-World War IIFIC045020 FICTION / Family SagaFIC014030 FICTION / Historical / Romance

Library of Congress Control Number: 2024901925

ISBN-13: 978-1-958922-77-4 SoftcoverISBN-13: 978-1-958922-78-1 HardcoverISBN-13: 978-1-958922-79-8 Ebooks

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Stories can come from the strangest of places, and the idea for A Beggar’s Bargain came from a song by The Damn Quails entitled “Fool’s Gold.”

It is a piece of fiction, written from the author’s imagination. It features real locations in Missouri, but the events described and characters developed are purely fictional with no intent to depict reality.

I would like to thank Brenda Tindill Isenbletter for her outstanding help in my research on the area around Everton, Missouri. She put me in touch with several local folks who shared their knowledge of and stories of the area. Brenda helped me gain access to old newspapers via microfiche at the Dade County Library in Greenfield, Missouri. That proved to be invaluable.

Thank you to the residents of Everton, Missouri, who opened their hearts and minds to me. I am forever grateful, as their willingness to share helped shape the story in a believable way.

A big thank you goes out to my beta-readers, the Story Empire authors who encourage and support me, and my wonderful critique partner, my sister, Linda Broday.

Thank you, Fresh Ink Group, for taking a chance on this story.

PROLOGUE

With a heavy heart, Layken Martin clutched a spray of purple asters and wild bergamot that grew along the banks of a Missouri creek. Blinking back tears, he removed his Army hat and uniform jacket and wiped the sweat from his brow. He kneeled beside two simple gravestones in Sinking Creek Cemetery, marking the life and times of his parents, Jacob and Nancy Martin. It had come as no shock that Jacob had only lived a few short months following Nancy’s death.

They’d lived simple lives with nothing much to show for their time on earth except a two-hundred-acre farm and one son.

He placed the flowers between the two headstones. His quiet voice trembled. “Mom, Dad, I promise you I will do my best to carry our legacy forward. No matter what it takes.”

Never had Layken felt so alone, not even during the big war when entrenched on the battlefield in France. At least there he had comrades.

Now, for the first time in his life, he had no one. And to top it off, the family farm had fallen into ruin.

The letter from his father informing him of his mother’s death reached him in France, two months after the fact. Then, a letter from the local reverend arrived two days later telling him of his father’s death.

The dilapidated state of the place where he’d grown up left him reeling when he arrived home three days ago. His aged parents had fought their own private war with the elements while he was away.

Casting a glance at the cloudless sky, he cleared his throat and continued. “I’ll make the land produce again.”

His father’s words in that final letter hung fresh in his mind. Promise me you’ll never lose the farm, son.

He crushed his hat in his hands. “Mom, I wish I could have been here to help you and Dad.” His throat clogged with unshed tears. “I’m here now, and on both your graves, I vow to do my best.”

Restoring the farm to its glory days wouldn’t be easy, yet he looked forward to the hard work in quiet solitude, away from gunfire, bombs, and screams of agony that haunted him.

He sat back on his haunches, tuning into the lilting birdsong drifting down from the white oak and elm trees and the gentle cascade of water over rocks in the creek. This was a good place to be buried, to find rest and peace. And in his heart of hearts, he knew his weary folks had found both.

After a while, he stood, brushed off his pants, and squared his shoulders, feeling sure Jacob and Nancy Martin had heard him.

They’d be watching.

And he wouldn’t let them down.

CHAPTER 1

Every single day since Layken Martin had returned home after his discharge from the Army, he’d prayed for a miracle.

But none came.

He stood in the pasture next to the old farmhouse and scooped up a handful of dry Missouri dirt, then let it trickle through his fingers, as sweat ran down the middle of his back. Squinting against the blistering July sun, the sky gave nary a sign of a cloud that might bring relief to the dried, cracked ground that hadn’t produced a decent crop in two years.

The struggle to make anything grow in the middle of a drought, only to have it taken over by weeds, had killed his father’s spirit and, finally, his body.

The stress of falling deeper into debt pounded the final nails into Jacob Martin’s coffin.

Layken tucked in his nicest clean shirt and tightened his belt. He smoothed back his military cut, brown wavy hair, and placed his prized fedora on his head. Dread snaked up his spine and lodged in his throat.

Layken hated admitting defeat.

Hated begging even more.

But he’d made a promise. Not only a promise to his mother and father, but to the land itself. He loved every square inch of the two-hundred-acre farm surrounded by ancient walnut trees, black oak, cottonwood, sweet gum, and silverleaf maple trees. Embedded in his soul, the spirit of the land and his connection with it had kept him going when he lay sleepless on foreign soil.

A letter crinkled in his shirt pocket as he climbed into his father’s 1937 Dodge pickup. After spending hours yesterday cleaning spark plugs and tuning the engine, he prayed like hell it would start.

The farm, the old pickup, and an ancient Farmall tractor were the three things he’d inherited when his parents died. Well, that and a debt.

And now, based on the letter in his pocket, he stood on the brink of losing it all.

Then what would he do?

He couldn’t—no, wouldn’t let that happen.

When the old pickup started, he breathed a sigh of relief.

That alone had to be a good sign, right? A cloud of dust followed him down the dirt lane to the narrow blacktop leading to the nearest town of Everton, Missouri, that barely surpassed three hundred folks.

Jaw set in a firm line, he once again mentally counted the cash in his pocket. Only fifty dollars left from his last army paycheck. That was all he had to his name. He’d have to hold back a little to keep gas in the old truck and buy seeds for planting. The rest he’d offer up as a show of good faith.

Twenty minutes later, he came to a stop in front of the First Bank of Missouri on Main Street. The building could benefit from some serious updating. It showed its age with a ragged awning barely hanging over the entrance and a large crack in the front window.

He pushed through the door that jingled a bell announcing his arrival and removed his hat.

A woman perched behind the teller’s window glanced up, the rotating portable fan beside her ruffling her gray hair. “Can I help you, sir?”

He cleared his throat and pulled the letter from his pocket. “Yes, ma’am. I’m here to see Mr. Williams.”

She motioned toward a door labeled Bank President. “Go on in, I reckon.”

Layken knocked on the door before turning the knob.

“Yeah. Who is it?” an irritated voice called out.

“Mr. Williams, it’s Layken Martin. I need to speak with you.”

“Well, come on in, then.”

A blast of cool air dried the sweat on Layken’s forehead when he opened the door.

An overweight, balding man wearing suspenders and thick eyeglasses sat behind an ancient wooden desk. A rare air-conditioning unit jutted from the small opening cut in the wall. “Don’t stand there gawking and close the damn door before you let all the cold air out.” He motioned toward an empty chair. “Have a seat.”

Layken gently closed the door and slid into the nearest chair, resting his fedora on his knee while he removed the letter from his shirt pocket. “Sir, I received this letter from you yesterday, and I’m here to negotiate for more time.” He passed it to the banker.

Mr. Williams glanced at the letter and tossed it aside. “What kind of negotiation do you have in mind?”

“For starters, I have forty dollars I can pay you today as a show of good faith. If you can see your way clear to give me more time, I’m sure I can make a partial crop before winter sets in.”

The overweight man hooked his thumbs in his suspenders and leaned back. The chair groaned under his weight. “Forty dollars, huh? That’s all you’ve got?”

Layken nodded. “That’s all.”

“Sorry, that ain’t enough. Your daddy owed this bank nine hundred dollars when he died, and now there’s interest added to that. Reckon you inherited that debt with the farm. Now, your loan is in severe default. We can’t keep the doors open if we let every Tom, Dick, and Harry go without paying their debts. Surely, you can understand that.”

“Yes, sir. I do understand. Got plans to plant peanuts right away. Hear tell they’re selling for twice the amount of sorghum or wheat. I’m doing my best.” He picked at a hangnail.

“Peanuts? Are you crazy? No one around here grows peanuts. Hell, they probably won’t even grow in Missouri soil. Besides that, it’s too blamed hot to plant a crop.”

“Sir, I promise I’ve done my research. I believe they will grow. I’m willing to bet the farm on it.”

Williams squinted. “You know, you ain’t the only one around here with these troubles. Nevertheless, the bank has its rules and regulations. If you can’t pay at least a hundred today, I’m afraid I’ll have to start foreclosure proceedings.”

Layken fought against rising bile, wishing he’d had more than coffee for breakfast. “I’ve only got forty dollars. Sir, I swore an oath to my father I’d never lose the farm. He was a customer at this bank his whole life and always paid his debts.”

“That is true. But it doesn’t change the fact that you aren’t paying the debt now. Why, we barely know you, son. You were gone so long folks around here forgot about you.”

Shifting on the hard wooden chair, Layken struggled to tamp down rising anger. “Yes, sir. It’s true, I was gone, fighting the Germans and Japs, trying to save our country.” He gritted his teeth. “That oughta count for something.”

The older man peered over the rim of his glasses. “No need to get bent out of shape. I’m just doin’ my job.” He reached into his top drawer and fished out a cigar, offering one to Layken. “Smoke?”

“No, thanks.” Why couldn’t the man understand his situation? “I give you my word. If you can see fit to give me a grace period on this loan, I’ll find a way to pay it off—even if it means selling part of the acreage.” He leaned forward. “I’ve got time to get seeds in the ground and produce a partial crop before winter sets in. I’m sure of it.”

While Williams struck a match and lit the stogie, Layken glanced around the small office. A cheap print of a snow-covered mountainside hung lopsided on one wall. Other than that, there was no decor. It was as if the man had nothing personal to display.

The banker blew out a smoke ring and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “You know, there might be one other alternative.”

Layken perked up, a glimmer of hope rising. “I’m willing to do anything to save the place.”

“You ever been married?”

“No. But I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“It might have everything to do with the situation you’re in.” He flipped ashes off the end of the cigar into a large ashtray.

Layken fidgeted with his fedora and waited for him to continue.

“I’ve been courting the Widow Jones. You remember her, don’t you? She taught you in grade school.”

“I remember her. She was my math teacher.” He and the other kids made jokes about her being a crone because of her sharp nose and tongue.

“You see, I asked her to marry me, but she said she’s never gonna marry me so long as my daughter lives under my roof.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Williams, but I don’t see the bearing on my situation.”

“At least, hear me out.” The man blew out another smoke ring.

“I’m listening.” Layken chewed the inside of his cheek.

“My girl ain’t been the same since her mama died. She ain’t touched in the head or anything like that. She’s just different. But I ain’t gettin’ no younger, and I’m tired of being alone. I want to get married.”

Layken’s heart pounded erratically. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I fail to see what any of this has to do with me.”

“What if I make you a deal? You come from good stock. Everyone around these parts thought highly of Jacob and Nancy Martin. They came to church most every Sunday.”

“They were great people,” Layken agreed. “But none of this is making any sense.”

“It’s simple. Marry my Sara Beth, give her a home, and I’ll postpone payment on your debt for two years. That should give you enough time to get on your feet and get your farm back producing.”

“What?” Layken leaned forward, swallowing hard. “Did I hear you right? You’re offering your daughter to me in exchange for two years of grace on the loan?”

“Yep. That’s about it in a nutshell. I need her out of my house. There ain’t another eligible bachelor anywhere in this county. You’re a nice-looking young man from a good family. She could do worse. So, what do you say?”

Layken sat back and blew out a deliberate breath. Surely, he was dreaming, or the sun had made him delirious. This couldn’t possibly be real. “I’m speechless. The very last thing I need is a wife. I don’t even know your daughter.”

“She would’ve been a few years behind you in school. But my Sara Beth is smart, and she’s kind most of the time. She can get a mean streak now and again.” The banker chuckled. “But can’t all women?”

“Mr. Williams, this is not a solution I’m willing to consider.” Surely, the banker must be off his rocker. What kind of man gives his daughter to a stranger?

“Then, I guess you leave me no choice but to foreclose.”

Layken jerked to his feet, struggling to find his footing. “I really wish you wouldn’t. If you could only see your way clear to give me more time.”

“I offered you a solution. It’s the best I can do.”

“Sorry I took up your time, sir.” Layken opened the door, jammed his hat on his head, and darted out of the bank.

The temperature difference almost knocked him to his knees as the sun’s relentless rays hit him.

What in the holy hell happened in there?

He stumbled to the rusty pickup and climbed in, resting his forehead on the steering wheel.

No.

Everything inside him screamed in protest, and his temples throbbed as a massive headache formed. His stomach growled, and the local diner across the street called to him. He still had fifty dollars. He needed a meal and a cup of coffee. He could spare a dollar.

A man couldn’t think clearly on an empty stomach.

As with most places in Everton, Mom’s Cafe didn’t have the luxury of modern air conditioning. Fans stirred the stifling air, mixed with the aroma of cooked bacon.

With hat in hand, Layken slid into a booth.

The waitress, a rotund lady with gray-streaked hair pinned in a bun and wearing an apron, greeted him. “What can I get you today?”

“I’d like the breakfast special and coffee, please.”

The woman laid silverware on the table and nodded. “Be right back with that coffee.”

Layken stared out the front window as the streets of the tiny town came to life. The bank was in his direct view. He rubbed his temples and tried to digest what the banker had said. Surely the man was off his rocker.

It didn’t add up. Something must be terribly wrong with Sara Beth Williams. Hell, something must be wrong with him for even thinking about it.

He took a sip of the black coffee that appeared before him.

Sure, someday he’d find the perfect woman and start a family, but that wasn’t now, and certainly not with a stranger he’d never even met.

No. It was a preposterous proposal.

Still, two years to get the farm back up to par and making a profit would ease the burden.

He ate mindlessly once the food arrived and pondered his options.

When the waitress checked on him, he fished for information. Maybe this woman knew the banker’s daughter. “Sure is hot, ain’t it?”

The lady nodded. “One of the hottest summers I can remember. You’re that Martin boy, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“A pity about your folks. They were good people. We all knew when your mama died, your daddy wouldn’t be far behind her. Sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. Say, do you know Sara Beth Williams?”

“Sure. Everyone knows everyone here, and if you stick around long enough this time, you will, too.”

“What can you tell me about her?”

“She took her mother’s death hard. Ain’t been the same since, ramblin’ around in that big ol’ house. Her daddy won’t give the poor girl the time of day. It’s a true pity.” The woman pierced him with a stare. “Why are you askin’?”

“Her name came up in an earlier conversation.”

“Folks ’round here don’t cotton much to her kind. She’s a sad, unfortunate soul, bless her heart, and that’s all I’m gonna to say.”

What in the Sam Hill did that mean?

A sad, unfortunate soul.

That could aptly describe him.

“Her kind? What does that mean?” His headache spread from his temples down the back of his neck.

The woman pursed her lips and stared at him for a long minute. “If you don’t know, reckon it don’t mean nothin’. Got work to do.” She hurried to another table, leaving Layken with his thoughts again.

He finished his meal, left money on the table, and walked back outside and across the street.

He paused, one hand on the pickup door, then turned on his heel and strode back inside the bank.

Without asking for permission, he opened Mr. Williams’ office door.

“Sir, I’ve reconsidered your offer.”

CHAPTER 2

“That didn’t take long.” Mr. Williams chewed on the end of the cigar that had long since gone out.

An intense loathing for the man enveloped Layken as he dropped into the same chair he’d vacated earlier. He didn’t bother removing his hat. “I have some questions.”

“Shoot.”

“I only have forty-nine dollars to my name. Because my mom and dad’s health failed the past few years, the house is in need of repairs. I’m going to need money to survive until I can get a full crop harvested. I can plant one small field now, but it’ll be spring before I can go full force.”

“The day you marry Sara Beth, I’ll give you two hundred dollars as a dowry. That’ll have to do.”

He must have taken leave of his senses to continue this cock-eyed negotiation, but Layken Martin was a desperate man. The words that fell out of his mouth seemed to have a mind of their own, and his voice sounded like that of a stranger. “That should do.”

“Look. I want my Sara Beth to be comfortable. I trust you’ll see to it that she has what she needs.”

“To the best of my ability. Can she cook?”

“She’s a damn good cook. Necessity is a great teacher.”

Layken cleared his throat, his jaw aching from clenching it so hard. “I can assure you there won’t be a marriage bed. She’ll have her privacy and her freedom.”

“That will be between you and her. None of my business.”

Again, Layken questioned what kind of man could give his daughter to a virtual stranger so casually. His heart went out to the young girl, suddenly wondering how young. “How old is your daughter?”

“She’s of age. Turned twenty last month.”

Layken nodded, still questioning his sanity. All of this was wrong, yet he remained sitting in the chair as if glued to it by some invisible force. “I’m sure your daughter will want a say in this arrangement.”

The banker leaned back and hooked his thumbs in his suspenders with a satisfied smirk. “She’ll do what I tell her.”

The words carried a sharpness that grated on Layken’s already frayed nerves. His jaw tightened even more, coming dangerously close to cracking a tooth from the force. “I guess the only other question is when do you want the marriage to take place?” His heart rate rose to a rapid crescendo, and he wiped sweaty palms on his pants leg.

“Tomorrow ain’t too soon for me.”

“I want to meet Sara Beth first.” Not that it mattered much, but still.

“You can meet her at the courthouse over in Greenfield in the morning at ten sharp. I’ll call the judge. He’s a friend of mine.”

“I’ve got some stipulations of my own before I agree to this cockamamie proposal.” He leaned forward on the edge of the chair and met the banker’s haughty stare. “No buttin’ into our business. Ever. No backing out on our deal. I’ll do what you ask, but if it doesn’t work out, I insist on the option to ask for an annulment.”

“Fair enough.” Williams slipped his thumbs out of his suspenders and rested his elbows on the desk. “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with my girl if that’s what you’re thinking. She’s pretty enough and slender like her ma. I’ll stay out of your affairs as long as you keep your end of the bargain.”

“I will.” Layken stood. “I guess that’s that, then.”

“Shake on it.”

Layken’s hands trembled violently as he slid into the pickup, inserted the key in the ignition, and turned it.

Nothing happened.

“Dammit,” he muttered. “Don’t be difficult now, Lucy.” Where his father had come up with that name for the old pickup, he’d never know.

When he turned the key again, it only made a clicking noise.

He got out and raised the hood. After adjusting the battery cable connections, he tried again.

Thank God, this time, it turned over.

After he slammed the hood, he backed out onto the street and steered Lucy toward home.

“Holy hell, man, what have you gotten yourself into?” It didn’t matter that he said the words out loud. No one could hear him.

But not for long.

A wife. That had been the farthest thing from his mind when he’d left for town that morning.

All the way back to the farm, he rolled the proposal around in his brain. What woman would want to walk into a farmhouse that had sat vacant for months with a man she’d never met? He had lots to do before ten tomorrow morning.

While he’d swept out the worst of the dirt on the inside of the house, he’d been mainly focused on tuning up the pickup and clearing tall weeds outside to eliminate the threat of snakes.

But now, he had to make the place presentable for Sara Beth.

It’s the least he could do.

He strode into the house and went straight to his parents’ bedroom. It was exactly the way they’d left it.

When he returned home a few days ago, he’d taken his old room.

Now, he looked around and tried to imagine the bedroom through a woman’s eyes. Faded chintz curtains hung limp in front of a four-paned window. The wallpaper around the window frame was peeling, and someone had spread a thin chenille bedspread over the bed. The whole feeling of the room was one of sadness and disappointment. After a while, he gave up and moved to the kitchen.

He’d let Sara Beth sort out the bedroom. He didn’t have the heart to sift through his folks’ things.

With a sink full of soapy water, he set about putting the kitchen into some kind of order. He could hear his mother’s famous words: We may not have much, but we can be clean.

Soothing sounds from nature filtered through the open windows and screen door. Birds chirped and fluttered from tree to tree. Varmints rustled through the underbrush. The familiarity of it all soothed his frayed nerves.

“It’ll be like having a roommate. Maybe she’ll even help me put this old place back together.” As was his habit, he talked aloud to himself when worried.

And he was plenty disturbed.

He enjoyed being alone, and something told him Sara Beth probably did, too. He’d make it clear this marriage was in name only, to appease her father—to give Layken a chance to save the ancestral farm.

Would she have a car to drive? Or would she even know how? Many women chose not to learn, especially in a small town where everything was within walking distance.

Add that to his list of questions for Sara Beth.

Two hours later, his job finished in the kitchen, he stood back and admired the result of his efforts. The light brown linoleum flooring responded to his industrious mopping—nothing he could do to hide the bare spots or the rip beneath the square oak table where he’d shared thousands of meals with his parents.

While the cabinets showed years of wear, the stove was in good shape, and his father had purchased the electric icebox only a couple of years back. Faded yellow curtains with pink tulips on the border flapped in the window. He’d helped to hang them. He swallowed past the lump in his throat.

His mom’s electric mixer sat on one corner of the cabinet, and, for a brief moment, he could visualize her there in her apron, mixing up a chocolate cake, his favorite. He blinked hard and blew out a slow breath. He’d done his best.

After a long minute, he moved into the living room and switched on an electric fan in the corner, turning in a full circle.

He didn’t want Sara Beth thinking he was a slob. He wasn’t. The military had made sure of that.

Try as he might, he couldn’t look at the familiar room through a stranger’s eyes. It held too many fond memories for him—sitting around the radio, listening to Jack Benny and laughing out loud, watching his mother crochet doilies to sell or trade in town, and his father with his head back snoring.

They’d had him late in life. It seemed they were always old from as far back as he could remember.

He picked up stray magazines and papers and then decided to keep the magazines.

Sara Beth might enjoy looking through them.

He searched for a way inside himself to come to grips with the strangeness of it all.

It was like getting the house ready for special company.

Only she wouldn’t be a visitor. She’d be his wife.

That had a permanence to it—even if it was only a beggar’s desperate bargain.

CHAPTER 3

Sara Beth stood in a shaft of evening sunlight splashing through the living room window. Violent trembling shook her from head to toe, and she almost dropped her pet rabbit. Getting a better grip, she drew herself up to her full five-foot-three height, every swear word she knew running through her head.

“You did what?” Her voice trembled as she tried to find words. “No! I won’t! You can’t make me.”

“Now, Sara Beth, hear me out.” Homer Williams paced the length of the living room. “It’s time you had a husband. Time you did something besides wag around that useless rabbit you insist on keeping. This is for your own good.”

“My own good?” Her teeth clamped together so hard she was sure they might break. Hot, angry tears welled up. “You know that’s a lie. It’s all about you, dear Father.”

He whined, “Now that’s unfair.”

“No, it’s always been about you. I’ve been a thorn in your side since the day I was born. I couldn’t be the son you wanted. But this is the lowest of lows, even for you.”

Homer Williams slapped his daughter, sending her reeling. “How dare you speak to me like that? If it wasn’t for me, you and your mother wouldn’t have had nice things, a decent place to live, and plenty to eat, even when our country was in the worst depression in history. I won’t tolerate any disrespect, young lady.”

She regained her footing and brought a shaky hand to her stinging jaw. Her reply barely rose above a faint whisper. “Thank you for providing us a home. I’m sorry I’ve been such a burden.”

With Cuddles tucked under her arm, she sprinted up the stairs to the sanctuary of her room.

“You’d best pack up what you want to take with you,” Homer called out. “Once the ceremony is over, he’ll bring you here to fetch your things.”

Under her breath, she muttered, “Then you’ll be rid of me for good.” She ran a hand over the bunny’s soft fur. “Oh, little Cuddles, what has my father done to us?” The tears she’d fought so bravely to hold back fell in torrents.

And now she understood the message from the tarot cards earlier that day. While many believed the Death card predicted a physical demise, her mother had explained it simply meant the end of a situation. And the Knight of Cups that followed must indeed represent Layken Martin.

Her determination to embrace the tarot cards and gemstones her Gypsy mother had taught her to use not only embarrassed but angered her father. To avoid his wrath, she kept them hidden away, wrapped in the colorful silk scarf her mother had inherited from her grandmother.

But she’d not been immune to the gossip and whispers in town. Folks believed her mother to be a witch and that she’d passed it on to her daughter.

If her situation weren’t so dire, she’d laugh out loud. What she wouldn’t give to place a curse on the man who called himself her father—if only she knew how. And on the gossipers, too, especially Widow Jones. That was the reason she wouldn’t move into the house until Sara Beth was gone. She’d as much as told her and her father so.

She was past caring anymore. “To hell with them all,” she ground out.

Her heart pounded at the horrifying idea of being forced into a marriage contract. What if Layken Martin was abusive?

Her heart froze. What if he was like her father?

Indeed, if he agreed to this arrangement, there must be something wrong with him.

Maybe he was disfigured or crippled.

She sucked in a sharp breath. What if he was a decrepit old man? She hadn’t had the presence of mind to ask his age, or any other questions for that matter. Now, she was kicking herself. She needed some answers.

With her emotions in a jumble, she dropped onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling, tears trickling out and running inside her ears. The possibility of any man pawing around on her, trying to take her virginity, made her stomach heave.

Cuddles curled up against her side. She stroked the bunny’s head and whispered, “What if he hates you? Too bad if he does.” The soft bunny was all she had left, and she vowed to keep and protect him. To hell with this Layken fellow.

The bunny’s nose twitched as he snuggled closer.

When the front door slammed, there was no doubt her father was on his way to see the Widow Jones, quite sure he couldn’t wait to deliver the good news. They were two of a kind and deserved each other.

But what did she deserve? She’d always believed a kind gentleman would fall in love with her and sweep her off her feet. But that was only a young girl’s dream.

How her mother had ever tolerated the selfish man she called her father, she’d never know. Maybe her only way out was to die. A sob broke loose from her throat. “Oh, Mama. But why did you have to leave me?”

She reached for Cuddles and went in search of the ancient groundskeeper who’d been her friend and guardian since birth. She spotted his battered straw hat through the kitchen window as he methodically watered the blooming rose bushes that grew in the garden at the back of the house.

Seymour King jerked upright when she slammed the back screen door.

A frown creased his brow. “Child, what’s wrong?” He removed his hat, wiped sweat away, and lumbered over to a nearby garden bench. “Come here.”

She dropped down next to him, her tears falling freely. “It’s my father again. Only this time, he’s done the most vile thing.” Her voice broke. “He’s making me marry a man, a stranger. I don’t know what to do.”

The white-haired man put a gentle arm around her slender shoulders. “He’s what? Slow down and start at the beginning.”

“He’s made some bargain with a man named Layken Martin to marry me tomorrow. He wants me gone.” A sob caught in her throat. “So he can marry Widow Jones.”

“Now, if that don’t beat all.” He clicked his tongue. “If that don’t beat all.”

“What am I going to do? Maybe I should run away. But where? And how?” The words tumbled out fast and furious. “I’ve got no money for a train ticket. And besides that, where would I go?” She clenched her teeth. “I’d never ask Father for a penny.”

Seymour rubbed his stubbled chin. “Layken Martin. I remember that boy. Grew up here. Was always polite. Come from a decent family. They had a farm outside town.”

She grew silent and swiped at her nose. Cuddles hopped onto Uncle Seymour’s lap. “Grew up here? Why don’t I remember him?”

“Woulda been a bit older than you. Been gone away a few years to the Army. I heard down at the store yesterday that he was back. That old farm’s been vacant since his folks passed. Got his work cut out for him.”

She sat up straighter. “So, you think I need to go through with it?”

“Don’t see as you got much of a choice. You can’t stay here.” His rheumy eyes met hers. He grazed her red face with a gentle fingertip. “Your daddy go and hit you again?”

She nodded and lifted her head. “Won’t happen anymore.”

The old man shook his head. “If only your mama hadn’t up and gone away. She’d never stand for it. Tell you what, girl, I promised her on her deathbed that I’d look after you the best as I could. I aim to keep that promise. You marry this Martin boy, but if he so much as speaks harshly, much less lays a hand on you, you come and find me.” He gazed unseeing over her head, his voice calm yet hard as granite. “You come and find me. You hear?”

She nodded, her throat constricted. The unspoken promise gave a measure of comfort.

They sat in silence for a long minute. Then she got to her feet and placed a kiss on his weathered brow. “Thank you, Uncle Seymour. Guess I better go get packed up.”

“Reckon you better. Try to think positive. At least you’ll be away from your daddy.”

She gathered Cuddles. “I’m going to miss you something awful.” She trudged back inside.

Trapped like the proverbial rat in a trap, she resigned herself to whatever fate lay ahead with a tiny glimmer of hope that life would give her a break.

Upstairs, she retrieved a trunk from her closet, numbly filling it with her most precious memories, her mother’s journals, jewelry, and photographs. She wouldn’t leave behind anything she treasured. Her clothes would go on top to protect those memories. She ran her fingers lovingly over the smooth wood of the thumb piano her mother had given her on her tenth birthday.

Plucking out an ancient melody, the strains of the music floated around her like a cocoon.

She only hoped that this man who would be her husband show her some semblance of kindness. If there really was a God up there, like the preacher said on Sundays, surely he would grant her that much.

Or maybe overnight, the world would come to an end the way Reverend Horton hollered about the last time she went to church. It would at least spare her from having to face tomorrow.

It would be a welcome relief.

Following a sleepless night, the morning dawned exactly as it had every other day—like nothing in the world was different or out of sorts. Yet everything was.

Sara Beth bathed and brushed her hair until it shone. Wasn’t much she could do about the circles under her red-rimmed eyes or the bruise on her cheekbone.

She slipped into her favorite powder blue dress with a chocolate brown stripe running through it that matched her eyes. She methodically braided her long brown hair into a single strand down her back.

The thought of breakfast made her stomach do somersaults.

She stayed in her room with the door closed until her father called out. “Sara Beth, you need to get on down here and fix breakfast. We leave in an hour.”

“I’m not hungry,” she replied.

“I don’t give a damn. Get down here and fix me some breakfast.”

She blew out a resigned sigh and, with Cuddles under her arm, dragged herself down the stairs. For two cents, she’d poison his eggs.

But she was no murderer.

Without a glance in his direction, she donned her apron and pulled a cast-iron skillet off the hook.

After a while, he followed her in. “You look nice, Sara Beth. Remind me of your mother.”

“Don’t bother with flattery. I’m not up for it, sir.”

Homer Williams whined, “Now, Sara Beth, don’t be that way. You’ll see this is best for everyone. No one loses.”

It took all her composure not to spit out a biting retort, but she didn’t want to go to her wedding with another red handprint or bruise on her face.

What would her husband think? Would he care? Add a matching one to the other cheek?

She methodically fixed breakfast, then fed Cuddles. “I’ll be waiting upstairs.”

“You’re not going to eat?”

“Not hungry.”

“You better not faint and embarrass me.”

In a voice so quiet it barely raised above a whisper, “And it’s always about you.”

Homer Williams got to his feet and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Eat. I insist.”

She shrank under his touch. “I can’t. You wouldn’t want me throwing up on my new husband, would you?”

Her father blustered, “Of course not.”

“Then let me be. I’ll be waiting upstairs.”

With her tears spent and emotion dried up, she picked up Cuddles and stumbled back up the stairs to her room.

The sooner this day was over, the better.

At least then, maybe she’d know what lay in store for her.

If it was intolerable, she would plan how to escape.

And escape she would, one way or another.

CHAPTER 4

Layken had worked into the wee hours of the morning sorting, straightening, and cleaning. It helped to keep his hands busy. Lord knew his mind was awhirl. Of all the scenarios he could have imagined, none rivaled what was about to occur.

As the sun peeked over the horizon, he boiled coffee and scrambled eggs, then carried his breakfast outside to soak up the silence. He dropped into a cane-bottom chair next to the wall, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

Being an only child, he’d learned early in life to enjoy solitude.

He contemplated his future wife as he ate. She was also an only child. No doubt, she too valued silence.

He’d make damn sure she had plenty of that.

The day was setting itself up to be another scorcher. He scanned the tree line as far as his eye could see.

Near the aging barn, a mama deer scampered out of the brush, a spotted fawn close on her heels. He watched the pair nibble leaves on a bush. Unless he moved, they had no clue he was anywhere near, or at least didn’t see him as a threat.

Animals were lucky. Even though they had to endure nature’s harshness from time to time, they never had to worry about a bank foreclosure, or money, or planting seeds, or the scruples of other men that caused wars.

Something rustled beyond the tree line, and the two deer took off like a streak of lightning.

Layken stood and rolled his shoulders. He ambled back inside to prepare for the makeshift wedding.

After he cleaned his dishes, he moved to the one bathroom in the house. He stopped dead in his tracks. In a matter of a few hours, he’d be sharing that one bathroom with a woman. That was something he’d never contemplated.

He ran hot water in the sink, then lathered a shaving brush with soap and covered his face. Until he went into the Army, he’d used nothing but a straight razor to shave. But the military issued razors with removable blades. He unscrewed the handle, tossed the old blade, and inserted a new one.

Not that it mattered what he looked like for this farce of a wedding. Yet, something inside him said he should make the effort.

By the time he got into Lucy and nosed it down the lane, his insides were nothing but a giant ball of nerves.

He arrived at the Dade County Courthouse in Greenfield ten minutes early.

For two cents, he’d turn around and drive right back to the farm. But then what? Williams would make good on his promise to take it. That was a fact.

Despite his trepidations, he could only imagine what Sara Beth must be going through. How awful to be given to a stranger, a man she’d never met. His loathing for the obese banker grew by the minute.

Williams had both of them in a trap, with only one way out.

Inside the small courthouse, a sign pointed upstairs to the judge’s chambers. The coolness of the semi-dark interior did little to calm the raging storm inside him.

Apprehension and dread grew with each step.

The door that led into the judge’s chambers was open, so he didn’t bother to knock. A gray-haired man wearing spectacles glanced up at his approach.

“May I help you?”

Layken removed his hat and cleared his throat. “I am meeting Homer Williams and his daughter here this morning.”

“Oh, yes.” The judge shuffled a stack of papers. “You’re a few minutes early.” He pointed toward a worn leather chair. “Have a seat. I’m sure they’ll be along shortly.”

Fighting the urge to run, Layken perched on the edge of an oversized chair.

At some point, he became aware that he was holding his breath and sucked air into his lungs.

Tall shelves crammed with leather-bound books covered the entire wall behind the judge’s desk. He wondered if there was a clear precedent in one of those law books for ending a marriage entered under duress.

Footsteps echoing off the wooden stairs brought him out of the chair.

Homer Williams bustled through the door, wearing a smug grin. Ignoring Layken, he greeted the judge. “John, thank you for agreeing to see us on such short notice.”

The judge stood and shook the banker’s hand. “Only for you, Homer.”

Behind Homer Williams, a young girl moved soundlessly, as if she could will herself to be invisible by not making a sound.

Layken stared at her. Yes, it was rude, but this situation didn’t seem to call for manners.

He took in her slight build, delicate features, and simple braid that hung down her back. Williams hadn’t lied. Sara Beth was far from ugly. Maybe a little on the plain side, but pretty in an honest way.

She kept her eyes glued to the floor.

He wished she’d at least acknowledge him. The magnitude of what both of them were being forced to do shook him to the core. And clearly, from her demeanor, it did her as well.

She carried a slight bundle under one arm, and for a moment, Layken surmised it might be her worldly belongings. Then it wriggled, and two bunny ears popped out.

The comic gesture almost brought a laugh.

Williams snapped, “Come on up here, Sara Beth. The judge ain’t got all day.”

The banker pointed at Layken. “You, too. Get on up here. Let’s get this over with. I’ve got things to do.”

Layken moved closer to the judge’s desk, as did Sara Beth. Still, she refused to look at him. Not that he blamed her.

The judge stood, jerked his robe off a hook, and slipped into it. He cleared his throat. “Okay. It is my understanding that you two are here to get hitched. Is that correct?”

Homer bellowed. “Of course, that’s it, John. Why else would I have asked you to perform the ceremony?”

“Just making sure. These two don’t seem like most couples I see in front of me.”

Layken moved closer to Sara Beth. He didn’t miss a tear that slid down her cheek. It took all his effort not to gasp out loud when he spotted the bruise on her cheekbone. He ground his teeth. It was as if he was violating the young girl. But it wasn’t him’ It was her father.

When he found his voice, he spoke low. “Yes, Judge. We’re here to be married.”

“Sara Beth?” The judge prodded.

She nodded without raising her head.

“Then let’s get on with it.” The judge shuffled papers on his desk, drawing one out. “I’ve got the marriage license here. I’ll need you both to sign it. But first, I’ll get the formality over with.”

Homer reached between Layken and Sara Beth and tried to grab the bunny from her. “You don’t need this damned rabbit right now.”

She didn’t answer her father, but half-turned and clutched Cuddles tighter.

He growled, “Do what you’re supposed to, or else.”

Sara Beth raised her head. “I’m ready.”

Layken strained to hear the whispered words. When the judge glanced at him, he nodded.

“It seems this is an unusual circumstance. It’s none of my business, but if it’s all right with the two of you, I’m going to skip all the normal Bible reading and wedding malarkey.” He took a step closer. “By the power vested in me by the State of Missouri, I pronounce you man and wife.” He stared at Layken. “You may kiss the bride.”

Layken would swear the man’s eyes glittered for an instant. He cleared his throat. “No, sir. I’d rather not.”

“Fine.” The judge reached for a pen. “Then both of you sign here.”

Layken scrawled his name on the line the judge pointed to, then passed the pen to Sara Beth.

Her hand shook as she slowly wrote her name.

Homer Williams let out a whoop. “Hot damn! Hot damn!”

Sara Beth stepped aside, her face an undeniable mask of pure sorrow.

Fighting rising anger toward the man who claimed to be a father, Layken frowned at him. “I want to make one thing clear, sir. You stay out of my business and honor your promise. I will take care of your daughter.”

Williams blustered. “I have no interest in your business. You keep your end of the bargain, and we’ll be fine.” He turned back to the judge. “Now, John, I’m getting married next week, and you’re invited to the wedding. It’s going to be a grand affair.”

The judge threw back his head and laughed. “I bet it is, Homer. I’ll be there.” With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the three of them.

Layken followed Homer Williams and his daughter down the stairs.

Outside, Homer withdrew a wad of money from his pocket that he pressed into Layken’s hand.

Angling away from the despicable man, Layken carefully counted the bills.

“It’s all there, like I said.” Homer didn’t attempt to hide his irritation. “Now, you go take Sara Beth to fetch her things. I have to get to work, but I want all of her things gone before I get home.”

Facing the man again, he stuffed the money into his pocket. “They will be.” How he got the words through gritted teeth was a mystery. He’d never wanted to hit a man so badly in his life.

But it would be a mistake.

As far as he was concerned, he’d be happy not to lay eyes on the self-centered man again until he had the money to pay off his debt.

Homer lumbered off toward his shiny Chrysler.

Layken called to him. “Mr. Williams.”

The man stopped. “What?”

“You need to know you are not welcome in our home—ever. Don’t bother to visit.”

Homer waved over his shoulder in dismissal.

Layken focused on Sara Beth. “I’m sorry. I hope that didn’t offend you. Believe me, I didn’t want this any more than you. But I promise on my sweet mother’s grave, I will not hurt you.”

When she met his gaze, fear swam in her chocolate brown eyes, and her bottom lip trembled.

“Just give me a chance. That’s all I ask.”

She gave the slightest hint of a nod.

His heart broke for her. She reminded him of the beautiful doe he’d watched earlier that morning—skittish and wary.

No doubt, he would have to work to earn her trust.