A/N: I am so sorry for the delay in updates! I am in a weird head space the last few months and writing just hasn't been giving me the joy it once did. But I'm trying! I hope you enjoy the chapter

Chapter Eighteen

Rebecca spent much of the next week alone and barricaded inside her bedroom attempting to mend her broken heart and mangled hand. During that time, Rebecca had thought about her options.

If she left Martin, she would have nothing. No money and no home. She knew no special skills with which to make a living. She was no exceptional cook and her sewing skills were average. She could attempt to get a job in a hotel or the mill in town, at least until she made enough money to travel back east on and return to her family.

Rebecca decided she would clean herself up, get dressed and go into town to see what kind of work was available. She would have to find someone to take her, however, since she couldn't ride a horse....

An image of Felix flashed through her mind. His dark, heavily wrinkled skin crinkling as he smiled at her and showed her so much warmth and kindness that night that seemed so long ago. She remembered the vow she had made to herself to get to know the people she had lived amongst and yet been segregated from for so long.

As Rebecca cleaned up and slid into fresh clothes, her mind was racing. Before she left Martin's home for good and ventured out on her own, Rebecca would do all the things she had longed to do since coming to the ranch.

She would get to know the workers, learn to saddle and ride a horse. Hook up and drive a cart. She would practice her cooking and cleaning skills around the house and learn to muck out stalls and care for the animals.

Rebecca would take full advantage of her situation and soak in every ounce of knowledge she could to prepare for life in the world. Deciding that she would begin her studies by finding Tillie, Rebecca left her room and headed down the carpeted hall.

She heard the murmur of voices from inside Martin's study and paused to eavesdrop on the conversation. "You are my oldest and dearest friends and I am truly hoping I can count on your discretion and silence."

Rebecca knew Martin must be speaking to Horace and Lester, but why was he requesting their silence? And what was that silence regarding?

"Has she left her room at all, Martin?" Horace questioned.

"Not to speak to me."

"And after what she's went through, can you blame the poor woman?"Lester demanded.

Annoyance was plain to hear in Martin's voice when he responded. "I am hopeful that if I allow her space, her anger will fade. She has nothing but the word of a murdering outlaw telling her I refused his payment. It is my hope that I can convince her that is a lie."

Rebecca rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. Hoff might be a murdering, no-good, snake in the grass and Rebecca might want him dead with a passion, but, she trusted his word one hundred times more than her husband's.

"But it's not a lie," Horace stated and Rebecca could hear the judgment in his tone. "How could you do that, Martin? How could you leave your wife in the hands of those men simply to save yourself a few dollars?"

"I assumed my wife was already dead and they were simply attempting to take my money," Martin replied. "And, unlike your wives who gave you both children to call your own, Rebecca is quite useless in that regard. She is a pleasant woman, she is beautiful and looks quite pleasing on my arm, but I paid a good deal to her family for her hand in marriage and wasn't in any hurry to pay for a barren wife twice."

"We've been friends nearly all our lives," Lester noted. "And I never would have imagined you could be so cold."

"Don't judge me so harshly," Martin countered. "I realized how foolish and wrong I was being and I paid their amount. Rebecca is alive, safe and nearly whole back here at home. I ask that I not be made to pay for my mistake in society as well. That is why I need your discretion and your silence.... And the discretion and silence of your wives."

"My wife has a mind of her own, I'm afraid," Horace countered.

"I would be willing to pay if it will help her hold her tongue," Martin assured him.

Rebecca had heard enough. She squared her shoulders and strode into the office as if she belonged there—and she did. She was Martin's wife and the lady of the estate, it was time she acted like it.

The men were quite obviously caught off-guard as she entered. Martin was quick to recover. "Rebecca, darling," he began as he swooped toward her. "Is there something wrong?"

Rebecca deftly stepped out of his reach and turned her attention to his guests. "Will you both excuse us, please? My husband and I have things to discuss."

Horace and Lester seemed more than happy to obey her. Horace paused at her side. "I am truly happy to see that you are okay, Rebecca. Sara and I have been very worried about you."

Rebecca offered a thankful smile. "I appreciate your worry."

Lester tenderly took her elbow. "Marie wants to come visit you as soon as you're feeling up to the company."

"Tell her we can do lunch here tomorrow if she'd like," Rebecca replied. "Horace, if Sara would like to come, she is welcome as well."

"Rebecca, I'm not certain you're ready for visitors just yet. Surely you need rest...." Martin countered.

Rebecca felt her spine stiffen. "I believe I know what I need better than you do, dear husband."

As Martin's mustache twitched and his face reddened, Horace and Lester quickly made their escapes. "Rebecca, darling, you should be in bed. That medicine must be affecting your mood."

Rebecca walked to the chair across the desk from her husband and sat down upon it. "Or perhaps it is the sight of you this morning that is affecting my mood."

Martin's mouth worked up and down several times but no sound emerged. Rebecca tipped her head. "Now that I have your silence, allow me to speak. I have spent nearly a decade doing every thing that I could to make you happy. I have followed every rule and guideline you have given me. I have been more slave than wife and that ends now."

When it became clear that Martin's ability to speak was still lost somewhere, Rebecca cleared her throat and continued. She drew on every ounce of strength she had, as well as her anger, to hold back all her hurt and tears.

"I used to think you were a good man. I made excuses for every questionable act you committed. I told myself that you were right when you told me that contacting my family would be an insult toward you since you bought and rescued me from that situation. I have felt so much shame and worthlessness in my heart each and every time I failed to get with child after you would come and grunt on top of me for several moments before leaving me alone once again..."

Martin suddenly found his voice. "You will not insult me that way! I have been a good husband to you!" he exclaimed, slamming his hands loudly on the desk and leaning over it, clearly attempting to intimidate her.

Rebecca smiled. "You are not a scary man, Martin, so please don't try. I have spent some time with very scary men. I watched an innocent man be shot in cold blood. I had a man saw my finger from my hand with a smile on his face. You do not frighten me."

The air seemed to go from his sails. He slumped down in his chair, his mustache drooped and his expression became resigned. "I will not apologize to you. I pulled you from the slums and gave you a good life here. All I asked from you was children and you could not even give me those. Why on earth would I pay good money for a barren wife twice without giving it some serious thought?"

That stung. Rebecca couldn't completely hide the pain from those words and she knew that Martin would see her wince. Brantley's rugged face came into her mind and she heard his words to her.

Sitting up straighter, Rebecca met and held Martin's gaze. "I am a woman, not a goddamn broodmare."

"You will watch your language. No wife of mine will speak that way."

Rebecca laughed. "I hardly think you are in any position to tell me what I can and cannot say. Besides, I'm not a high class débutante, dear husband. I'm just a poor, uneducated girl from the slums."

"What is the point of this conversation? Are you here for some particular reason or simply to have a war with words and throw your tantrum."

Rebecca longed to grab the decanter full of whiskey off the desk and bash it atop Martin's pompous head. Instead she folded her hands on her lap and managed a carefully designed and practiced smile—which she'd perfected over her years as Martins' wife. "You were offering to pay your friends and their wives for their silence. You don't want society knowing that you allowed your wife to be mutilated because of your own greed. I find that quite fascinating."

Martin swallowed hard. "Do you?"

"I do. It makes me wonder, however, how much my own silence would be worth to you."

Martin tugged at his collar and shuffled a stack of papers. "And just what do you want from me?"

Rebecca reached her good hand across the desk and patted his hand as she stood up. "Don't worry, dear husband, I won't ask for anything just now. The day will come, however, when I'll want my payment and you'd do well to give me what I want. You are not the only person in this marriage who can be a cold-hearted monster."

With that, Rebecca left the room, leaving her husband looking quite pale and shaken behind his desk. She paused alone in the hall and leaned against the door to gather her wits.

Her broken heart ached terribly within her chest. Brantley...... Martin had asked what she wanted and the answer was Brantley. But that could never be. Her Brantley was more than likely dead and, even if he were alive, they could never have a life together. Not as long as Hoff and the gang hung over his head.

Life was remarkably unfair.

Self-pity, however, was not going to get her anywhere. Squaring her shoulders and blinking away her tears, Rebecca decided to find Tilly and get started learning all she could so she could start her new life as soon as possible.