Kisses With KC (Cowboys and Angels Book 11)(4)

“We’re fine. Get on your way. Leave.” When he didn’t move, she said, “Go.” She crossed her arms and stared him down.

It was probably for the best. If he wanted to ensure her family didn’t get involved, he should leave. He twisted away and walked back around the barn toward his horse without looking behind him.





2





Eliza Turley



The spring days were getting longer, and cool afternoon light streamed into Eliza’s bedroom window as she squared her shoulders and straightened her back. She took one tentative step and evaluated. No limp. Then she took two, realizing she bobbled but only a little. She felt clumsy. Maybe if she were petite, she could hide a limp easier, but her height made her feel as if she was toppling with each step. Maybe if she walked slowly—more deliberately. Finally, she walked across the bedroom, swaying rhythmically every second step. There was no hiding it.

In fact, today it might be a little worse for having taken that tumble off her horse last night. She didn’t want to think about that and especially not about the mysterious man or his misdirected lips. She had many times during the night and several times already that day.

If she hurried downstairs, she could be sitting in the parlor when Lance arrived. She hated the look on his face as he watched her walk, like she was distasteful. He didn’t even try to hide it anymore.

For the past several weeks, he’d been saying things about it as well. “Don’t limp.” Another time, he had hissed as they walked past the mercantile, “Walk straight.” And her favorite, “Just stop.” As if it were a choice. What had been coming for months had hit the breaking point nearly a week ago, that past Sunday. “I’m not going to walk with you when you do that. I’ll meet you at the carriage.”

They had been engaged for more than a year. They would have been married six months ago if she hadn’t been abducted. She cringed at the memory. Last June, Dougal and Little Archie were collecting women to staff a brothel in Durango. She had been snatched the very day of the big fire, and as Dougal had shoved her through the door into the root cellar where the other women were hidden, he had broken her leg in several places as he tried to shut the door. Even as she remembered the event, she could feel the burning pain that radiated from her leg throughout her body, her mind fuzzy with agony. She’d laid in bed for weeks enduring the spasms of a twisted leg, the torture of slowly healing, and the agony of every shift.

The joy she’d felt when she could finally move, finally walk again, made her soar until Lance’s reaction burned her with shame. It had been hard work to regain her balance and her strength. The doctor had warned her that she’d have to use a cane months longer than she had. She’d thought Lance would be proud of all she had accomplished. She’d been wrong.

Eliza pulled her hair into a tight bun at the top of her head. He also didn’t like when she wore it that way. She smirked to herself, feeling freer than she had in a year.

He should love her without conditions. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life worried about walking. It wasn’t who she was. She looked at the clock on her dresser. He was due to arrive now. Her decision was made.

As she walked out of her room, she smelled chicken cooking for dinner. She could rid her life of Lance and then join her family for supper like not a thing had happened. She considered what to say to him. “Do you think we could make a marriage work?” No. She didn’t care what his opinion was anymore.

“It might be best if we ended our engagement now.” That wasn’t quite right either. She wouldn’t use might because she was sure it was.

“Our engagement is over.” Yes. Short and simple was best.

She reached the top of the stairs and took a deep breath. Stairs were still hard. She dropped her right foot onto the first tread then moved her left to the same step—a process she would repeat down all thirteen. In the beginning, counting each one had given her a goal. Now it was a habit—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven…

Eliza stopped. She could see Lance’s glossy boots near the door beneath his crisp black wool pants. In a couple more steps, she’d be low enough for them to see each other’s faces. She took a fortifying breath. She could do this.

Eight, nine, ten…

“You can stop right there.” Lance held up his hand toward her. “I don’t need to see the rest of your act to say what I need to.”

Eliza ignored him and continued her descent. She wouldn’t be vowing to love, honor, or obey that person—eleven, twelve…

“I don’t want to be saddled with a cripple for the rest of my life. I want to end our engagement,” he barked.

She stopped with one foot on the bottom stair and stood on her sore leg. Her voice was strong and loud. “Not more than I do. Get out.” For the rest of her life, she might cherish the shocked look that retort brought to the man’s face.

Tears stung her eyes, but she swallowed deeply and blinked. The tears were from anger and not disappointment, but she wouldn’t let him see. He stood by the door, frozen, as if not knowing what to do. Had he thought she’d shrivel or admit her injuries were a ruse or maybe beg him to marry her? Wouldn’t happen in a year of Sundays. She turned her back on him and started climbing the stairs.

When she didn’t come down for supper that night, her mother tapped on her door, then cracked it open. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.