The Heart of Lincoln County 7/?
Title: The Heart of Lincoln County
Author: darkfaery1
Chapter: 7/?
Series: TDS/TCR/The O'Reilly Factor
Genre: Western AU
Chapter pairings: Jon/"Stephen," Steve/Tad, John/Amy, Paul/Amy
Chapter rating: R for violence
Content: slash sex, Old West violence, language, angst, prejudice, mild het content.
Word count: 2600
Chapter summary: Steve asks Tad some hard questions; John sparks Amy.
Author's Note: Thanks to my beta insanekht for all her help. Special thanks to my mom, the lawyer, for listening to me go on about this story, and for letting me pick her brain about common law and property rights.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and is not intended to portray the life or defame the character of any actual person. Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual person is purely coincidental. No money is being made from this work of fiction. It is not intended to infringe upon any copyrighted material. Any mention of any copyrighted material is reasonably protected by the Fair Use Rule of the United States Copyright Act of 1976.
Crossposted to tds_rps
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5
Chapter 6
On Monday, Jon came into the store with the intention of pulling Stephen away for lunch, but he was serving Mrs. Littleford, the wife of the richest rancher in the county, next to Bill O'Reilly. Jon watched Stephen gaze at her almost flirtatiously as he tried to sell her a bolt of expensive rose taffeta. Jon found himself becoming unreasonably jealous, when Stephen caught his eye.
Stephen's coy mask disappeared in an instant and was replaced by an earnest, radiant smile that caused Jon's heart to contract. "Lunchtime?" Stephen mouthed.
Jon nodded and pointed in the direction of the restaurant.
"In a minute," Stephen added silently. Mrs. Littleford harrumphed her displeasure at Stephen's diverted attention. Stephen turned back to his customer with a vaguely impatient look on his face.
Jon never tried to read too much into Stephen's behavior, reluctant to believe that he could have romantic feelings for the Jewish doctor.
As he walked out of the store, Tad came outside with him and pulled him aside. "He's sweet on you, Jon, I just know it," Tad whispered, careful to make certain no one could overhear their conversation.
"Has he told you that?"
"'Course not, but I've seen the way he looks at you. Just now, he lit up like a firecracker when you walked in. Mrs. Littleford's his favorite customer and I thought he was going to knock her out of the way to get to you."
Jon risked a hopeful grin. "I don't know, Tad. Sometimes I think he does think of me that way, but I'd hate to ruin our friendship if I was wrong."
"You can't give up hope," Tad said with a giddy smile. "I kissed Steve yesterday and I thought that'd never happen."
"Really?" Jon said, genuinely happy for his friend. "Congratulations!"
Jon could tell by Tad's expression that he was reliving the obviously pleasant experience as he spoke. "Steve's the finest man I've ever met, next to you." Tad put his hand on Jon's shoulder. "We're both finally gonna get what we want, I'd bet a hundred dollars on it."
"I hope you're right," Jon replied uncertainly.
***
Nearly a week had passed since their incredible kiss. Steve spent that week doing everything in his power to avoid Tad. It was even more painful than he had anticipated. Steve ached for him--for his lips, the feel of his body against his, the promise of Tad's bare skin under Steve's fingers.
He wished he could forget about his sworn duty and not ask those questions Lewis wanted him to ask, but the sheriff finally ordered him to walk over to the Colbert Store and get coffee, so he'd be forced to confront Tad. Steve looked straight ahead as he entered the store, but saw Tad out of the corner of his eye. Tad watched Steve for a few seconds, then went out the back door.
John glanced towards the retreating Tad, then greeted Steve with a confused, awkward smile.
Steve sighed. "I need a pound of coffee."
The deputy left a few moments later with a paper sack of coffee. Steve fully intended to march back to the jail, but was drawn to the back of the store. He found Tad leaning against the building, throwing pebbles at nothing in particular.
Steve cleared his throat, causing him to turn around.
"If you changed your mind," Tad said, "all you had to do is say so and I would leave you be."
"I didn't change my mind," Steve replied. "I haven't thought about anything but you all week."
"So why are you avoiding me?" Tad asked, bewildered.
The torment in Tad's eyes broke Steve's heart. "Sheriff Black told me some things about you and your brother, Paul."
Tad sighed, but remained silent, turning back to face the river.
"I didn't want to believe him, but I have to ask you--" Steve paused. "What exactly did you do for Bill O'Reilly?"
"I protected his property. You already know that."
"Did you…did you ever--?"
"Shoot a man? Kill a man?"
Steve let out a deep breath and nodded. "Yes."
"I shot a few, in self-defense, but I never killed anybody," Tad told him. "I'm a good enough shot that I don't have to kill a man to disarm him. You're new to cattle country. Every time you turn around, somebody's stealing stock or horses or feed. I was paid to prevent that from happening, or to get stock back when it did. I might've shot off a few fingers, but I never killed a man, I swear it."
"I believe you," Steve said sincerely. He waited several beats before asking the most pressing question on his mind. "Fred Hogan, does that name sound familiar?"
Steve could see the instant recognition in Tad's eyes. "The stagecoach driver that got killed."
"I shot the man who killed Mr. Hogan," Steve said, knowing that Tad was well aware of that fact. "Where's your brother, Tad?"
Tad shook his head. "I can't tell you that, Steve."
Steve put his hands on his arms and looked intently into Tad's eyes. "I can see that you're trying to make a fresh start, but you can't let that brother of yours run loose so he can hurt, or even kill, someone else."
"I'm sorry," Tad said, pulling away from him. "I'll never forget that kiss as long as I live." With that he went back inside.
***
Jason Jones came by the House early Sunday morning and found Bill sitting at one of the empty tables drinking whiskey, "I've finally found a way you can beat Colbert; that is, if Evander Wallace borrowed any money from you."
Evander was the man whose lot was sold at auction to Colbert for his store. Wallace was ancient when he died--close to one hundred, some said. He had no friends or family, nor did he leave a will. All he owned was the dilapidated little house that Colbert razed to the ground when he bought the lot.
Bill emptied his glass, then filled it again. "What if he did?"
Even though Bill didn't offer him one, Jason poured himself a drink and sat down across from his client. "Well, when a person with property dies, a notice is supposed to be posted in the newspaper. If anyone has a claim to his property, they need to speak up within ninety days or lose their claim."
"So what? He died over a year ago."
"A notice was never posted," Jason told him. "I checked every edition of The Independent since Evander died. That means even though the ninety days has expired, you could still have a claim, if he owed you money."
"You mean, I could claim the store?" Bill asked warily, unable to believe it could be this easy.
"Well, the land it's on anyway," Jason replied. "That's all that's left of Evander's estate. You could charge Colbert exorbitant rent or tell him to move his store somewhere else."
"And he'd be much more likely to sell me the store and his stock--at a loss, of course--and get the hell out of Lincoln." An evil smile crossed Bill's face. "You know, I think ol' Evander did owe me money. I'll find the promissory note and bring it by as soon as I can."
***
John took extra care with his appearance on Sunday, making certain his face was smooth, his clothes were clean and he smelled good. A little spray of lemon verbena took care of that. Tad was quieter than usual, but wished John luck before he made his way to the Damfino.
He rehearsed what he was going to say as he approached the brothel, but John was surprised by Amy, who opened the door before he had a chance to knock. She looked beautiful in a simple blue cotton dress with little white flowers. Her hair was swept up in a chignon secured with her new combs.
John just stared with his mouth open. "You look stunning," he finally managed to whisper.
She stepped outside and closed the door behind her. "So do you, Mr. Oliver." She leaned forward and took a sniff. "And you smell just like a garden."
"Thank you, Miss--I don't even know your surname."
"It's Sedaris, but everybody just calls me Amy."
"Then you must call me John. Would you care to go for a walk, Amy?"
"I'd like that very much, John." Amy slipped her hand underneath John's arm. The Englishman led her to a shady spot by the river, then spread his coat on the ground for Amy to sit on.
"Aren't you just elegant!" she squealed with delight.
John made certain she was comfortable before he sat beside her. He didn't think it would be proper to demand she leave the brothel immediately and marry him, so he started with the weather. "Lovely day, nice and hot…sweltering, in fact--like it is every day. Do you ever get used to the heat?"
"It ain't hot--isn't hot in England?" Amy asked, fanning herself.
"No, it's quite mild actually. Rains a lot."
An awkward lull followed, then Amy's face lit up in a brilliant smile. "You got a queen, don't you?"
John returned the smile, thrilled to have something else to talk about besides the weather. "We do. Queen Victoria."
Amy took his hand and gazed at him with anticipation. "Did you ever meet her?"
John's whole arm turned into a pleasant tingle. "Goodness, no, but I did catch a glimpse of her riding in a carriage from Buckingham Palace to the Opening of Parliament."
"I bet she's beautiful."
John laughed. "Actually, she looked rather like my grandmother, very stern, dressed all in black."
"Why? Did somebody die that day?" Amy's look of concern was oddly touching.
"Queen Victoria's husband, Prince Albert, died nearly twenty years ago, but she still mourns him," John said in a subdued tone.
"That is so romantic," she said dreamily, "to miss someone that much for so long."
John, like most of his countrymen, found Victoria's perpetual mourning dreary and excessive; he'd never thought of it as romantic--until now. "Where are you from, Amy?"
"I was born in New York, but I grew up in Raleigh, North Carolina." She shook her head and sighed. "John, I never knew my pa--I don't even know his name. My mama did what I do now and I was raised in a place worse than the Damfino. I don't want you to have any romantic notions about me, 'cause you deserve better."
"So do you!" He took both of her hands in his. "I want to help you."
Amy lowered her head. "I should have told you, I have a beau."
"Yes, Tad told me all about Paul," John said with undisguised disdain. "So that's what you deserve, a violent bully?"
"He ain't that bad," Amy said unconvincingly, unable to look John in the eye.
"His own brother said he was, and Tad doesn't strike me as a liar."
"I don't want to fight about it. You are the sweetest man I've ever met." She took John's hand and pressed it to her cheek. "I just wish I met you first."
A tall brunette, one of the brothel girls, came running up to the pair.
Amy released John and scrambled to her feet. "What do you want, Meg?"
"Samantha told Annie where you was and Annie's hoppin' mad that you're out with him." Meg glared at John, then turned back to her friend. "You better get back quick before she takes a whip to ya."
"That woman will do no such thing," John said, standing in front of Amy protectively.
"It's all right, John. I knew such a wonderful day couldn't last." With Meg watching and tapping her foot impatiently, Amy placed a chaste kiss on John's lips and walked away without looking back.
***
Amy tried to stop herself from crying as she followed Meg home, but she was sure Annie noticed her moist eyes.
"Paul wants to see you," Annie barked. "Bill will take you up in the buckboard. I had better not see you with any other man unless he's paid in full, you understand me?"
Amy rushed upstairs to her room and took her hair down, putting the combs away, then arranged her hair in a simple plait.
Bill drove her to the ranch without a word, giving Amy a chance to relive her short time together with John. She tried to imagine what London must be like, but knew it had to be even grander than New York. What she was able to imagine with reasonable accuracy, was her and John on a gigantic steam ship bound for England. In her fantasy, she waved to the well-wishers on the dock, while John gazed at her, too entranced to notice anything but her.
When they arrived at the ranch, Bill took her by the arm and led her to Paul's room. He was sitting in a rocking chair, with a half-empty bottle of whiskey next to him.
Bill pushed her inside. "Amy's been running around with Colbert's assistant. I do hope you'll make it clear to her how we deal with betrayers."
Amy looked at Bill in alarm, but O'Reilly just closed the door behind him. Paul didn't stir from his chair or say a word for several moments, until Amy started fidgeting.
Paul patted his good leg and smiled, but his eyes remained cold. "Come on, darlin'. I missed you."
Amy approached him slowly, sat in his lap, and steeled herself for whatever cruelty he had planned for her, but all he did was gently push wisps of blonde hair away from her face. "H-how are you feeling?"
"I'm getting around, but I'm limping pretty bad 'cause I got an infection in my leg. All that damned Jew's fault."
Paul watched Amy for the expected look of consternation she always gave him whenever he insulted Doc Stewart, but she kept her feelings to herself. She hugged him and placed kisses on his forehead, cheeks, and lips. "You poor darlin'. I promise I'll take good care of you tonight."
Paul raised an eyebrow. "Forget about your new beau already?"
Amy giggled nervously. "He ain't my beau, you are."
Without warning, Paul grabbed her braid and wrenched her head back. "That's a pretty new dress you're wearing. Did you make it for him?"
"Paul, please," she cried, "you're gonna break my neck."
Paul ripped the front of her dress open, revealing her chemise and corset. He ran his hands roughly against the curve of her breasts. "What's his name, Amy?"
Amy struggled, but Paul held her fast. He kissed her brutally, biting her bottom lip until she tasted blood. "Tell me his name before I do break your neck!"
"John Oliver!" she shrieked. "He's a decent, gentle man who treats me like a lady!"
Paul released her long enough so he could throw her on his bed and straddle her, then he backhanded her across the face. "You ain't a lady, you're nothing but a stupid, cheatin' whore." He tore off the rest of her blue dress, throwing it across the room. She started to kick and scream for help, not really expecting any from Bill or his ranch hands.
Paul stunned her to silence with a punch to her right cheek, then held her arms above her head with one hand. He sat on her legs, while he took off his belt and began to unbutton his pants. "After I'm through with you, your decent Mr. Oliver won't even recognize you."
To be continued…
Author: darkfaery1
Chapter: 7/?
Series: TDS/TCR/The O'Reilly Factor
Genre: Western AU
Chapter pairings: Jon/"Stephen," Steve/Tad, John/Amy, Paul/Amy
Chapter rating: R for violence
Content: slash sex, Old West violence, language, angst, prejudice, mild het content.
Word count: 2600
Chapter summary: Steve asks Tad some hard questions; John sparks Amy.
Author's Note: Thanks to my beta insanekht for all her help. Special thanks to my mom, the lawyer, for listening to me go on about this story, and for letting me pick her brain about common law and property rights.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and is not intended to portray the life or defame the character of any actual person. Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual person is purely coincidental. No money is being made from this work of fiction. It is not intended to infringe upon any copyrighted material. Any mention of any copyrighted material is reasonably protected by the Fair Use Rule of the United States Copyright Act of 1976.
Crossposted to tds_rps
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5
Chapter 6
On Monday, Jon came into the store with the intention of pulling Stephen away for lunch, but he was serving Mrs. Littleford, the wife of the richest rancher in the county, next to Bill O'Reilly. Jon watched Stephen gaze at her almost flirtatiously as he tried to sell her a bolt of expensive rose taffeta. Jon found himself becoming unreasonably jealous, when Stephen caught his eye.
Stephen's coy mask disappeared in an instant and was replaced by an earnest, radiant smile that caused Jon's heart to contract. "Lunchtime?" Stephen mouthed.
Jon nodded and pointed in the direction of the restaurant.
"In a minute," Stephen added silently. Mrs. Littleford harrumphed her displeasure at Stephen's diverted attention. Stephen turned back to his customer with a vaguely impatient look on his face.
Jon never tried to read too much into Stephen's behavior, reluctant to believe that he could have romantic feelings for the Jewish doctor.
As he walked out of the store, Tad came outside with him and pulled him aside. "He's sweet on you, Jon, I just know it," Tad whispered, careful to make certain no one could overhear their conversation.
"Has he told you that?"
"'Course not, but I've seen the way he looks at you. Just now, he lit up like a firecracker when you walked in. Mrs. Littleford's his favorite customer and I thought he was going to knock her out of the way to get to you."
Jon risked a hopeful grin. "I don't know, Tad. Sometimes I think he does think of me that way, but I'd hate to ruin our friendship if I was wrong."
"You can't give up hope," Tad said with a giddy smile. "I kissed Steve yesterday and I thought that'd never happen."
"Really?" Jon said, genuinely happy for his friend. "Congratulations!"
Jon could tell by Tad's expression that he was reliving the obviously pleasant experience as he spoke. "Steve's the finest man I've ever met, next to you." Tad put his hand on Jon's shoulder. "We're both finally gonna get what we want, I'd bet a hundred dollars on it."
"I hope you're right," Jon replied uncertainly.
***
Nearly a week had passed since their incredible kiss. Steve spent that week doing everything in his power to avoid Tad. It was even more painful than he had anticipated. Steve ached for him--for his lips, the feel of his body against his, the promise of Tad's bare skin under Steve's fingers.
He wished he could forget about his sworn duty and not ask those questions Lewis wanted him to ask, but the sheriff finally ordered him to walk over to the Colbert Store and get coffee, so he'd be forced to confront Tad. Steve looked straight ahead as he entered the store, but saw Tad out of the corner of his eye. Tad watched Steve for a few seconds, then went out the back door.
John glanced towards the retreating Tad, then greeted Steve with a confused, awkward smile.
Steve sighed. "I need a pound of coffee."
The deputy left a few moments later with a paper sack of coffee. Steve fully intended to march back to the jail, but was drawn to the back of the store. He found Tad leaning against the building, throwing pebbles at nothing in particular.
Steve cleared his throat, causing him to turn around.
"If you changed your mind," Tad said, "all you had to do is say so and I would leave you be."
"I didn't change my mind," Steve replied. "I haven't thought about anything but you all week."
"So why are you avoiding me?" Tad asked, bewildered.
The torment in Tad's eyes broke Steve's heart. "Sheriff Black told me some things about you and your brother, Paul."
Tad sighed, but remained silent, turning back to face the river.
"I didn't want to believe him, but I have to ask you--" Steve paused. "What exactly did you do for Bill O'Reilly?"
"I protected his property. You already know that."
"Did you…did you ever--?"
"Shoot a man? Kill a man?"
Steve let out a deep breath and nodded. "Yes."
"I shot a few, in self-defense, but I never killed anybody," Tad told him. "I'm a good enough shot that I don't have to kill a man to disarm him. You're new to cattle country. Every time you turn around, somebody's stealing stock or horses or feed. I was paid to prevent that from happening, or to get stock back when it did. I might've shot off a few fingers, but I never killed a man, I swear it."
"I believe you," Steve said sincerely. He waited several beats before asking the most pressing question on his mind. "Fred Hogan, does that name sound familiar?"
Steve could see the instant recognition in Tad's eyes. "The stagecoach driver that got killed."
"I shot the man who killed Mr. Hogan," Steve said, knowing that Tad was well aware of that fact. "Where's your brother, Tad?"
Tad shook his head. "I can't tell you that, Steve."
Steve put his hands on his arms and looked intently into Tad's eyes. "I can see that you're trying to make a fresh start, but you can't let that brother of yours run loose so he can hurt, or even kill, someone else."
"I'm sorry," Tad said, pulling away from him. "I'll never forget that kiss as long as I live." With that he went back inside.
***
Jason Jones came by the House early Sunday morning and found Bill sitting at one of the empty tables drinking whiskey, "I've finally found a way you can beat Colbert; that is, if Evander Wallace borrowed any money from you."
Evander was the man whose lot was sold at auction to Colbert for his store. Wallace was ancient when he died--close to one hundred, some said. He had no friends or family, nor did he leave a will. All he owned was the dilapidated little house that Colbert razed to the ground when he bought the lot.
Bill emptied his glass, then filled it again. "What if he did?"
Even though Bill didn't offer him one, Jason poured himself a drink and sat down across from his client. "Well, when a person with property dies, a notice is supposed to be posted in the newspaper. If anyone has a claim to his property, they need to speak up within ninety days or lose their claim."
"So what? He died over a year ago."
"A notice was never posted," Jason told him. "I checked every edition of The Independent since Evander died. That means even though the ninety days has expired, you could still have a claim, if he owed you money."
"You mean, I could claim the store?" Bill asked warily, unable to believe it could be this easy.
"Well, the land it's on anyway," Jason replied. "That's all that's left of Evander's estate. You could charge Colbert exorbitant rent or tell him to move his store somewhere else."
"And he'd be much more likely to sell me the store and his stock--at a loss, of course--and get the hell out of Lincoln." An evil smile crossed Bill's face. "You know, I think ol' Evander did owe me money. I'll find the promissory note and bring it by as soon as I can."
***
John took extra care with his appearance on Sunday, making certain his face was smooth, his clothes were clean and he smelled good. A little spray of lemon verbena took care of that. Tad was quieter than usual, but wished John luck before he made his way to the Damfino.
He rehearsed what he was going to say as he approached the brothel, but John was surprised by Amy, who opened the door before he had a chance to knock. She looked beautiful in a simple blue cotton dress with little white flowers. Her hair was swept up in a chignon secured with her new combs.
John just stared with his mouth open. "You look stunning," he finally managed to whisper.
She stepped outside and closed the door behind her. "So do you, Mr. Oliver." She leaned forward and took a sniff. "And you smell just like a garden."
"Thank you, Miss--I don't even know your surname."
"It's Sedaris, but everybody just calls me Amy."
"Then you must call me John. Would you care to go for a walk, Amy?"
"I'd like that very much, John." Amy slipped her hand underneath John's arm. The Englishman led her to a shady spot by the river, then spread his coat on the ground for Amy to sit on.
"Aren't you just elegant!" she squealed with delight.
John made certain she was comfortable before he sat beside her. He didn't think it would be proper to demand she leave the brothel immediately and marry him, so he started with the weather. "Lovely day, nice and hot…sweltering, in fact--like it is every day. Do you ever get used to the heat?"
"It ain't hot--isn't hot in England?" Amy asked, fanning herself.
"No, it's quite mild actually. Rains a lot."
An awkward lull followed, then Amy's face lit up in a brilliant smile. "You got a queen, don't you?"
John returned the smile, thrilled to have something else to talk about besides the weather. "We do. Queen Victoria."
Amy took his hand and gazed at him with anticipation. "Did you ever meet her?"
John's whole arm turned into a pleasant tingle. "Goodness, no, but I did catch a glimpse of her riding in a carriage from Buckingham Palace to the Opening of Parliament."
"I bet she's beautiful."
John laughed. "Actually, she looked rather like my grandmother, very stern, dressed all in black."
"Why? Did somebody die that day?" Amy's look of concern was oddly touching.
"Queen Victoria's husband, Prince Albert, died nearly twenty years ago, but she still mourns him," John said in a subdued tone.
"That is so romantic," she said dreamily, "to miss someone that much for so long."
John, like most of his countrymen, found Victoria's perpetual mourning dreary and excessive; he'd never thought of it as romantic--until now. "Where are you from, Amy?"
"I was born in New York, but I grew up in Raleigh, North Carolina." She shook her head and sighed. "John, I never knew my pa--I don't even know his name. My mama did what I do now and I was raised in a place worse than the Damfino. I don't want you to have any romantic notions about me, 'cause you deserve better."
"So do you!" He took both of her hands in his. "I want to help you."
Amy lowered her head. "I should have told you, I have a beau."
"Yes, Tad told me all about Paul," John said with undisguised disdain. "So that's what you deserve, a violent bully?"
"He ain't that bad," Amy said unconvincingly, unable to look John in the eye.
"His own brother said he was, and Tad doesn't strike me as a liar."
"I don't want to fight about it. You are the sweetest man I've ever met." She took John's hand and pressed it to her cheek. "I just wish I met you first."
A tall brunette, one of the brothel girls, came running up to the pair.
Amy released John and scrambled to her feet. "What do you want, Meg?"
"Samantha told Annie where you was and Annie's hoppin' mad that you're out with him." Meg glared at John, then turned back to her friend. "You better get back quick before she takes a whip to ya."
"That woman will do no such thing," John said, standing in front of Amy protectively.
"It's all right, John. I knew such a wonderful day couldn't last." With Meg watching and tapping her foot impatiently, Amy placed a chaste kiss on John's lips and walked away without looking back.
***
Amy tried to stop herself from crying as she followed Meg home, but she was sure Annie noticed her moist eyes.
"Paul wants to see you," Annie barked. "Bill will take you up in the buckboard. I had better not see you with any other man unless he's paid in full, you understand me?"
Amy rushed upstairs to her room and took her hair down, putting the combs away, then arranged her hair in a simple plait.
Bill drove her to the ranch without a word, giving Amy a chance to relive her short time together with John. She tried to imagine what London must be like, but knew it had to be even grander than New York. What she was able to imagine with reasonable accuracy, was her and John on a gigantic steam ship bound for England. In her fantasy, she waved to the well-wishers on the dock, while John gazed at her, too entranced to notice anything but her.
When they arrived at the ranch, Bill took her by the arm and led her to Paul's room. He was sitting in a rocking chair, with a half-empty bottle of whiskey next to him.
Bill pushed her inside. "Amy's been running around with Colbert's assistant. I do hope you'll make it clear to her how we deal with betrayers."
Amy looked at Bill in alarm, but O'Reilly just closed the door behind him. Paul didn't stir from his chair or say a word for several moments, until Amy started fidgeting.
Paul patted his good leg and smiled, but his eyes remained cold. "Come on, darlin'. I missed you."
Amy approached him slowly, sat in his lap, and steeled herself for whatever cruelty he had planned for her, but all he did was gently push wisps of blonde hair away from her face. "H-how are you feeling?"
"I'm getting around, but I'm limping pretty bad 'cause I got an infection in my leg. All that damned Jew's fault."
Paul watched Amy for the expected look of consternation she always gave him whenever he insulted Doc Stewart, but she kept her feelings to herself. She hugged him and placed kisses on his forehead, cheeks, and lips. "You poor darlin'. I promise I'll take good care of you tonight."
Paul raised an eyebrow. "Forget about your new beau already?"
Amy giggled nervously. "He ain't my beau, you are."
Without warning, Paul grabbed her braid and wrenched her head back. "That's a pretty new dress you're wearing. Did you make it for him?"
"Paul, please," she cried, "you're gonna break my neck."
Paul ripped the front of her dress open, revealing her chemise and corset. He ran his hands roughly against the curve of her breasts. "What's his name, Amy?"
Amy struggled, but Paul held her fast. He kissed her brutally, biting her bottom lip until she tasted blood. "Tell me his name before I do break your neck!"
"John Oliver!" she shrieked. "He's a decent, gentle man who treats me like a lady!"
Paul released her long enough so he could throw her on his bed and straddle her, then he backhanded her across the face. "You ain't a lady, you're nothing but a stupid, cheatin' whore." He tore off the rest of her blue dress, throwing it across the room. She started to kick and scream for help, not really expecting any from Bill or his ranch hands.
Paul stunned her to silence with a punch to her right cheek, then held her arms above her head with one hand. He sat on her legs, while he took off his belt and began to unbutton his pants. "After I'm through with you, your decent Mr. Oliver won't even recognize you."
To be continued…