Chapter Twenty

Rebecca stared at the darkening horizon and didn't bother to swipe at the hot tears pouring down her cheeks. Her hands were occupied covering her stomach and the life she had just realized was growing inside her womb.

A thousand raging emotions ripped at her heart and cluttered her swirling mind. She was not barren after all. A life had been created within her... and she knew who had helped create that life.

Brantley. Her Brantley. The man she had thought of every single moment of the last month. A man who was gone and would never be back to see their child. Leaving Rebecca to wonder.... What would she do?

True, she had learned many skills over the last months and had made many friends on the ranch. She had even grown closer to Horace, Lester, Marie, and Sara—all four of which had grown more and more distant from Martin. Her plan had been to learn what she could and then leave the ranch..... but now she had a child to think of.

A divorced mother to a bastard child would not receive much help, respect or sympathy from most.

And her family had yet to return any word to her. She had sent them a letter, hoping that someone would recognize the names of her mother and brothers and get them the missive. It hurt her to know that her family might not want to speak to her, though she had in essence turned her back on them since marrying Martin.... They may have decided to return the favor, or were they dead?

The slum was a dangerous place... could something have happened to her family and she hadn't even known?

Rebecca's tears fell harder. She was lost. What was she going to do? How would she care for a child? What would happen when Martin discovered she was carrying another man's babe? And he would know it was another man's. Rebecca had not allowed Martin into her bed, nor had she gone to his, since returning from her captivity.

She remembered his indignation and anger when she'd refused him. Those had morphed into disbelief when she had informed him that if he had needs that needed met, he should go visit one of his many mistresses because she would no longer be seeing to him.

Rebecca had to gather her wits. She had to come up with a plan. Brantley had told her to make her life. Make it what she wanted it to be. This ranch would provide money and security for her and her child. Her child could receive a good education, learn the workings of a ranch and business and have a built in family with the workers that called the place home.

As Rebecca stood there, staring off into the distance and contemplating her choices, a sudden thought occurred to her. She had something to hold over Martin's head. Perhaps there was a way she could ensure the future of her child and free herself from her husband at the same time.

She nibbled at her lip. It was certainly worth a try. She had a plan to make and actions to take.

***

"Thank you for coming," Rebecca greeted as Horace and Lester aided there wives in stepping off their buggies.

"Of course," Sara replied, pulling her traveling bonnet from her head. "You deserve what you're asking Martin for and we're here to see that he understands that."

Rebecca bit her lip as she turned her attention to the men. "Are you both certain you want to do this? Martin is your friend."

"Yes," Lester agreed. "I have known the man nearly my entire life and always considered him to be one of my best friends. Then I saw a side of him that disgusted me and things changed."

Horace nodded. "Agreed."

Marie looped her arm through Rebecca's. "Come on now, let's go speak to Martin."

Rebecca led the four of them into the house and up the stairs to the doorway that led to Martin's study. "Wait out here for me," she urged. "I'll speak to him alone first."

Marie glanced toward the door. "Are you certain he won't get violent?"

Rebecca nearly laughed. She shook her head and pushed a tendril of hair from her eyes, fully aware of the gazes that strayed to her four-fingered hand which was healing but still red and tender. "I'm not afraid of Martin."

Rebecca stepped into Martin's study, not bothering to knock. He was clearly started by her sudden appearance as he leapt to his feet wide-eyed. "Rebecca?"

"Yes, Martin, that has been my name for as long as I can remember."

Martin tugged at his pressed collar and tsked. "There's no need for such an attitude, dear. Clearly, the last weeks have not eased your temper with me."

Rebecca swallowed the scathing remark that first leaped into her throat. She walked to Martin's desk and took a seat in the guest chair. "Have a seat, husband. We need to have a chat."

"A chat?" Martin frowned and quickly went about pouring himself a glass of scotch. Rebecca did not miss the way his hands shook. "What should we chat about?" he questioned, taking his seat once again.

With a clearing of her throat, Rebecca began."You asked me once, shortly after I returned, what it would take to buy my silence the way you attempted to buy the silence of your friends."

Martin's gaze narrowed. "And have you come up with a price? I'm assuming your sudden presence in my office means that you have."

"I have." Rebecca folded her hands in her lap. "You will grant me a divorce. I have already spoken with an attorney. In the divorce, I will be given this ranch and all financial assets pertaining to this ranch. I will also receive one-quarter of your seperate financial assets in the bank and you will gift me one-third of your stocks in both the cattle and oil industries."

Martin's eyes nearly bulged from his head. He downed his scotch quickly and stifled uncomfortable laughter. "And why on earth would I do all that?"

Rebecca did not falter—she couldn't afford to. "Because if you do not give me what I'm asking for, I will speak out, Martin. I will speak loudly and to everyone. Your name will be ruined. Your reputation will be ruined. You will be known as the man who allowed his wife to be, not only held by outlaws, but brutalized, simply to save himself what, at best, amounts to his pocket change."

"And that should be enough for me to give up my ranch and my money? What have you done to earn any bit of my belongings?"

"I have put up with your judgments, your comments, your controlling ways for all these years. I gave up any contact with the only family I had. I tried and I tried to be a good wife to you and all that was ever given back to me was reminders of my failures."

Martin clicked his tongue. "It is not my fault that your womb is broken. Perhaps I will grant you your divorce and throw you out with nothing so that I may find me a wife who will give me the son I long for."

Rebecca felt the sting and knew what she had to do. She hated using the life growing inside her as a weapon, but, she had to do what was required to ensure her child would have a stable and secure life."

"It is not my womb that is broken, dearest husband, but your equipment that has failed you."

Martin's face reddened. "You dare say such a thing to me?"

"There is a life growing inside me, Martin, and we both know that you did not put it there. You were quite unable to put anything there."

The redness that had been coloring Martin's face, quickly disappeared. He was quite pale as he blinked several times. "You're with child?"

"Yes." She sent up a silent wish that Brantley, wherever he was in the afterlife, would forgive her. "While you sat here with your friends and hoped your barren wife would simply die and rid you of your burden, I was not only physically mutilated but I was raped as well and a child was placed in my womb. If you do not give me what I want, I will make sure the world knows, Martin. They will no about your lack of action, your hope that I would die, and they will know that you, Martin Smallwood, are incapable of producing children. They will finally know that it was not me that was the problem."

Rebecca saw it then. The realization dawning in Martin's eyes. He knew that she had leverage. She finally had a hand to play and she hoped like hell he would believe she was brave enough to play it.

Martin poured himself yet another glass of scotch and took a long swallow. "It will be my word against yours, Rebecca. A poor, un-educated whore from the slum versus one of the most influential men in society."

Rebecca's temper flared. He called her a whore? Martin, the man who had had countless mistresses and affairs had the nerve to call her a whore? Before she could speak, the door opened once again.

"That is where you are wrong, Martin."