Authors: Alexa Blair
8
Seamus roared, “Oh this is how it’s to be, is it? You jump on the first man you find, eh? Leave old poor Seamus in the ditch just like always?”
Rachel started in surprise, then turned to see who might be there. She sucked in her breath sharply. She said, “Seamus, you best be leaving.”
Seamus lumbered into the bedroom. He grabbed Rachel’s foot, pulling her off of Jacob. Rachel screamed then, a sound that Jacob never wanted to hear again. He had seen men killed in the frontier. He had seen Indian raiding parties looking for glory or horses shoot or scalp anybody who wasn’t wise enough to take cover. He had seen entire wagon trains burned. Yet in all that time, he had never seen a woman harmed in any way. The only law that applied on the frontier was
do what thou wilt- except to women.
A man could be lynched for hurting a woman. There had even been tales coming down from Wyoming which stated that outlaws had lynched a man who harmed a woman. Traveling in the countryside with a woman was like traveling with a shield, for no one dared to assault any man who had female companionship.
As a result, seeing Rachel dragged out of bed by force brought powerful feelings of anger to surface for Jacob. He would have cut Seamus’ heart out and ate it then and there, if he had a knife to hand. He got up out of bed while Rachel flopped onto the floor, crying for anyone to help her.
She screamed, “Fire! Murder! Rape! Help, anybody!”
Jacob had not been able to hold on to her hand. The sweat that had gathered on their palms had made her skin to slippery to grasp. He had let go just when he wanted to hold on the most. He stood up, not caring that his boots had been taken off. His bare feet touched the wooden floor. That only added to his anger. He was put in mind of a day during his childhood when his father was beating his mother with a leather strap. Rather than staying in bed, he had got out to watch what was happening. Some part of his brain kept telling him to speak up, to say something. Yet, he never did. He watched as his mother cried for mercy and his father, as drunk as he had ever been, kept at it until the man finally fell down on his posterior. He had stalked out of the room, not even noticing Jacob. Ever since that day, he had sworn to himself that if he ever saw a woman being manhandled or mistreated, he would say something about it. He would no longer stay silent.
He said, “Mr. Flanagan, I’ll tell you but once. You best leave us both in peace and go your own way. If you don’t, then I’m liable to give you the beating of your life.”
Seamus pulled at Rachel. She had grabbed onto the frame of the bed with both her hands. He tried to pull her off. Then his eyes went wide with a maniacal fury as he saw the man standing before him. He let go of Rachel, then put his fists up in front of him. He said, “Come on then, you want to have a go? Let’s have a go. I’ll knock your bloody block off, that I will.”
Jacob raised his own fists. He had seen prize fights before. They had been sorry affairs that lasted fifty to a hundred rounds. Both men involved in those fights had been beaten senseless. He had an idea of how those fights were won and lost. The man with the longer arms often won against the man with shorter arms. Tall man regularly beat men shorter than themselves. He saw that he was taller than Seamus, and had longer arms. When he saw that, it didn’t matter that he had been in few fights himself. He knew his course.
He struck Seamus hard across the jaw. The Irishman staggered back for a moment. He cursed under his breath, then tried to return a punch in turn. Jacob had been paying close attention to the man’s elbows. A man always gave away which hand he would punch by moving his elbows. Once he saw Seamus’ elbows move, then it was only a matter of dodging out of the way in time.
He struck Seamus in the nose as hard as he could. He felt bone and cartilage break beneath his fist. Instantly, blood spurted out from the man’s nose. Jacob kept hitting the man. He hit him in the eyes, in the chin, on the nose. He hit Seamus until the man was on the ground, his face a mask of purple and red. Still Jacob kept hitting him.
He stopped when he realized that he didn’t have feeling in his right hand anymore. By then, Seamus lay on the floor, half-conscious. There was blood on Jacob’s hand, on his shirt, on his pants, on the floor, and on Seamus himself. Jacob panted out his breath. The pure, exquisite sensation that he had enjoyed only a moment ago had vanished. In its place was a dull ache that started from the back of his head and ran all through his body.
During the fight, Rachel had cowered against the foot of the bed. Now, she approached Seamus in order to see what had happened to the man. She crossed herself, then said, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. That’s a man who will never be the same again.”
Jacob said nothing. There were any number of things he could say. He could tell her that Seamus had deserved it. He could tell her that Seamus would have gotten the same treatment from any other man who saw him abusing a woman that was not his wife. There seemed little point in doing so, since Seamus now lay insensate.
He said, “That’s so. I’m of a mind to leave him to his own devices. What do you say?”
Rachel stood up. She kicked at one of Seamus’ arms. She said, “I’d say that’s a mighty fine suggestion. May I have your hand, Mr. Renmyer?”
“That you may, Miss O’Leary.”
He extended his left hand. She grabbed on to it. He walked out of the room, hoping that someone had a basin full of cold water at hand. If there wasn’t one, he would have to ride an hour to the north to find the nearest stream.
When he left his room, he found that he had been given a room on the second floor of the saloon. Zebediah Scribner greeted Jacob, who told him what had transpired. He then made his out of the swinging doors, not caring if any of the regulars who usually turned up around five in the evening saw him leading a woman by the hand or not. It turned out that Scribner did not have any cold water to hand.
He said, “Miss O’Leary, would you like to ride with me to the nearest stream? I fear I have mightily abused my own right hand. I expect I shall have need of it when the morrow comes.”
She looked his horse up and down. She stroked its head, then said, “Aye, and do you not know that Ireland has many daughters who can ride horses?”
Jacob smiled. He said, “No, I did not know that.”
He mounted his horse first. Then, he helped her up. She did not need his assistance. He rode off at a slow trot, trying to remember whether there was a justice of the peace in Sawtooth or whether he would have to go to Reno.
THE END
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Chapter 1
When Aron was eighteen years old he longed to join the military. He dreamed of being a part of something bigger than himself. His ultimate wish was to join the Navy Seals, one of the most prestigious and elite special forces teams within the entire armed forces. He was willing to give his talent, skill, and even his life in order to make his country a safer place for everyone else. This passion drove him to enlist in the Navy at the tender age of eighteen. He worked his ass off through training and passed all of physical and mental tests. Just before his 19
th
birthday, Aron was chosen to become a SEAL. It was the proudest day of his life.
Aron spent a total of ten years overseas, gallantly serving his country to the best of his ability. He was brave and honorable, making his commanders proud. But, by the end of his tenth year, he was forced to retire. The Navy no longer had a use for him, and they sent him home promising him a fair pension for his hard work throughout the years.
So he made his way back to his hometown in Texas. He had left as the prom king of the local high school, with everyone recognizing and adoring him, but now everything was different. The people had changed and now familiar faces were hard to come by. As he made his way to his new apartment he felt like a foreigner in his own hometown. Luckily, one of his old friends still owned apartment complexes in the small town.
It was a shabby-looking building located downtown, but at least it was a roof over his head, something to hold him over until he found something better. Until then Aron was sure that his pension would take good care of him. However, as he checked his mail for the first time he was rudely awakened to a harsh reality. Instead of finding a check in the mail, he found a letter of apology. The letter notified him that his pension would be delayed about three weeks and that, due to budget cuts in military spending, they were required to halve his paycheck, putting him well below the poverty line.
Aron ran a hand through his hair angrily. This wasn’t fair. He had given up ten years of his life for his country and now they were kicking him to the curb. At this rate, if he didn’t find a job he would end up homeless and hungry. Frustrated, Aron picked up a local newspaper and brought it home with him. As he sat down at the kitchen table he quickly flipped to the classifieds.
With a red pen, he circled potential jobs. As he did so, his so-called letter of apology kept looking at him, as if mocking him. Anger bubbled inside of him. They had promised him a fair pension and now he was left with a delayed paycheck that would barely cover his living arrangements, let alone food, bills, and other expenses. It seemed ridiculous that he needed to find a job after so many years of service. Was this how every veteran was treated? It seemed unfair, but Aron had no other option. In order to survive he needed to find a job, or two.
The next day, Aron went job hunting with little success. Aron, although a handsome man with an angular face and beautifully dark eyes, was riddled with scars from countless battles. They ran up and down his body, but they were concentrated on his arms. Most of his potential employers took one look at his arms and found some excuse to turn him down. By the end of the day, Aron was still without a job. He sat in his living room, his head in his hands, wondering what he was going to do.
He knew, however, that he couldn’t give up. It was going to be hard, but he had to persevere. Even if being a veteran made it impossibly hard to find a job, he still needed a livable income. Aron walked around his living room contemplating his options. As he did so he glanced at the kitchen table, his eyes falling on the mail. Moving quickly, he walked over to the pile of letters before picking up a flyer.
He smiled to himself. This was his chance. The local high school was looking for a swim coach. With some luck, he could pull a few strings and get a job there.
Aron wanted to stay hopeful as he went to bed, but as he looked up at the ceiling he was reminded of how difficult it was to find a job in a small town, especially with his background. He wondered if there were other veterans experiencing similar hardships in their lives. Sighing, he rolled over and went to sleep.
The next morning, he put on his best outfit, a blue polo and a pair of dark skinny jeans. He couldn’t afford a nice suit. Nonetheless, he held his head up high as he entered his old high school. By the end of the day, he found himself the newly hired coach of the swim team. Finally, something was going his way. The school paid a decent wage. It finally seemed like he would be able to live a normal life outside the walls of poverty.
This ray of hope, however, was quickly snuffed as the school financial office was required to make budget cuts to the sports department. The swim team was the first to go, and Aron was once again without a job.
Aron sat in his car, driving along the freeway feeling frustrated and angry with the world. Why did nothing go his way? “Dammit, why is everything so unfair?” Aron grumbled to himself as he looked out the window. As he did he noticed the wide open land surrounding him. There were rows and rows of corn and other crops to be harvested. Workers tended to these crops, cultivating them to perfection. Overhead was a billboard advertising
Edvin’s Edibles
:
Creating high-end organic produce for the modern family.
Aron stopped the car, an idea popping into his head.
By the end of the day, he found himself an employee of Edvin’s Edibles. It was a minimum wage job, but it was something that would keep him off the streets.
Chapter 2
Even with a job, Aron’s life did not get better. Working at Edvin Farms was not easy. He was at work every morning by 5 a.m. and worked until 3 p.m., even in the beating sun. Breaks were few and far between and, by the end of the day, he came home with a broken back and a painful sunburn.
Aron had been working at his new job for three months now. He worked in the corn department and, with harvesting season in full swing, his work was now twice as hard. He groaned thinking about it as he eased into his bathtub full of warm water. He allowed the water to wrap around him, easing his sore muscles.
Aron had an affinity for water. As a child, he loved to run through sprinklers when it was hot outside. When he got older he was in a pool every chance he got. He loved the water. But with no pool of his own, the bathtub was the next best thing.
He lay down now in the soapy water until his head was nearly covered. He closed his eyes and relaxed for the first time in weeks. His pension was still meager but with his pay from Edvin Edibles, he was able to pay rent and put some food on the table. He was a little behind on some of his bills, but he was sure that as time went on he would get back on his feet. In the end, he was hopeful for a normal and stable life.
Until then he would have to put up with the spartan life he now lived. In the months since his return home, he had lived alone. He found it difficult to assimilate into his old hometown after ten years on tour. It was different living a normal life and communicating in an everyday fashion. Most days he went to work and came home without saying a word to anyone. He had no friends, and soon enough he felt the heavy burden of loneliness bearing down on his shoulders.
He knew he had to get out of his apartment and socialize if he wanted to escape the threat of insanity. So after six months of being home, he gathered up a little pocket money. He decided to visit the new local bar everyone was raving about at work, Wild West Whiskey
.
Aron wasn’t much of a whiskey drinker but he had to admit it was a pretty catchy name. After tossing on his coat, he made his way to the center of town. Most people would have taken a car, but Aron no longer had the luxury of a vehicle. After the government had once again reduced his pension he was forced to sell his car in order to pay for his utilities.
Soon enough, however, Aron found himself standing in front of the bar. It was decorated like an old saloon right out of the Wild West itself. Aron smiled to himself. If nothing else, the place looked authentic. With a smile on his face, Aron pushed open the swinging saloon doors and entered the bar.
The atmosphere was amazing. There were girls dressed in old bar maiden dresses and a man playing a grand piano in the back. He smiled at the décor before sitting down on one of the barstools. He placed his hands on the counter and looked around, waiting for a bartender to get him a drink. As he looked around his eyes fell on a woman wearing an old blue dress.
She looked like she worked at the bar. There was something about the woman that recalled nostalgic feelings inside of him. But the more he looked at her the harder it was to pinpoint what it was about her that seemed familiar. Soon enough, however, she was walking toward him, forcing him to look away.
She stood in front of him, her hands on her hips. “How may I help you?” she asked in a rustic southern accent. Aron grinned, about to compliment her on her natural accent when his whole world flipped upside down. As he looked up, his eyes locked with a pair of beautiful hazel eyes. He would have recognized those eyes anywhere.
“Mila?” he whispered in disbelief. She looked at him, confusion on her face as she tilted her head. At first, she didn’t recognize him. She continued to stare at him, wondering how this man happened to know her name.
“Mila Amina?” Aron whispered again, looking hopeful. Finally, she nodded. He smiled big. “Mila!” he said excitedly. “Don’t you remember me?” She shook her head, looking even more confused.
“We went to senior prom together…” He grinned smugly. Her eyes grew wide.
“Aron? Is that really you?” she spat out in disbelief. “I…I…never thought you would come back…”
Aron chuckled. “Neither did I, but I was sent home about six months ago,” he explained. Mila’s cheeks were red as she looked at him. “May I say, you look as beautiful as ever.” Mila’s cheeks reddened even more as she heard the compliment.
“I see you are still the hopeless romantic I dated for three and a half years,” she teased before pouring him a glass of whiskey. He thanked her and soon they were laughing and reminiscing together about their years in high school.
A lot had happened in ten years. Mila was now married to some rich guy in town and worked at the bar to pass the time between his business trips. Aron felt his spirits darken at the thought of Mila’s marriage. Somehow, throughout the years, he had always pictured finding her again single and waiting for him. But now that she was taken, it felt unfair that they should be reunited only to never be together again.
Aron ended up leaving the bar feeling a little sad. Mila watched him leave, feeling a little melancholy herself. Aron had been the man of her dreams, but when he left to serve the country she had no other choice but to move on with her life. Now, as she watched the swinging doors move back and forth with his departure, she wondered if she wouldn’t have been better off waiting for him after all. In the dim candlelight, her expensive wedding ring shone dully like a dying star.