An Unwilling Husband (16 page)

“Are you aware my daughter was in negotiations to be married to Garret before you came along?”

“Sounds terribly romantic.” Would sarcasm buy her time? She searched the empty alley for any signs of life. An emboldened rat gnawing on trash in the shade didn’t count.

“Who are you, Maggie Shaw, that you would ruin the happiness of two people? My daughter is in tears over this, and I will have retribution for it. Any slight to my family is a slight to me. I think you’ll find me a very ruthless man and not one to be trifled with.” He leaned closer, backing her into the wall.

As she sidled along the wall in an attempt to escape him, he slammed his hand into the side of the building, so close to her face, cool air whooshed against her cheek. She gasped and closed her eyes.

“I think we should talk,” he growled. “I should take you to a nice lunch, and we can talk about when you are leaving town.”

Summoning courage, she opened her eyes. “I’m not leaving,” she gritted out.

“Oh, come on. Surely you can be persuaded. Let me take you for lunch at the Brass Buckle. That would be the perfect dining place for someone with your character.”

“Think she declined your offer already, Mr. Jennings.” Garret stood in the entryway to the alley looking calm and unflustered. Except for the clenching of his jaw, which she focused on as she gazed over Clint’s arm, still pressed beside her face.

The tension in her shoulders eased. Garret meant safety. One glance at Clint’s face, though, replaced her relief with worry for Garret.

“Besides, I was planning to take my wife to lunch, and you know how it is with newlyweds,” Garret said, “three’s a crowd. Now kindly move your hand away from my wife’s face.” The
before I remove it for you
was implied, and Clint’s features darkened even more. How was such a color even possible on a man’s face?

Clint laughed, a cruel sound wringing from his throat, and stepped away from her. She steadied her shaking breathing, took the time to stand straight and smooth the wrinkles from her dress.

When she stepped unsteadily over to stand behind Garret, he grabbed her hand and led her away. He pulled her into the nearby hotel and headed up the stairs.

Fear kept her from asking where they were going. His strong grip told her he was furious and she didn’t want to be the victim of it. He pulled up short and knocked on a door in a long hallway. Burke opened it and looked first at her and then at Garret. Something in the latter’s face made Burke backpedal into the room and invite them in.

“Give us a minute?” Garret asked Burke quietly.

“Yep,” Burke said then hightailed it out the door.

Garret didn’t seem ready to talk, so she sat, knees together, hands in her lap, on the edge of the bed and waited. He paced to the window and back then threw his hat against the wall and stood still, his profile to her.

“Are you all right?” Finally he looked at her.

She nodded. “Are you?”

“I don’t want you talkin’ to that man anymore, you hear?”

“I didn’t mean to talk to him in the first place.” She rubbed her arm, which still throbbed from Jennings’s grasp.

Garret kneeled in front of her. “Let me see.”

“It’s nothing.”

With one impatient glance from her husband, she pulled the sleeve gently up her sore arm. Four perfect finger marks shone red on the delicate inside of her arm, and one on the outside. They would surely make colorful bruises by morning.

Garret touched each mark with the brush of a fingertip and sat back on the heels of his boots. As he rubbed his hand over the stubble on his face, his barely contained fury had her reaching for him. To her relief, he didn’t lash out at her but heaved a sigh and leaned into her touch. His short whiskers were rough against the sensitive skin on the palm of her hand.

“Don’t do anything you’ll regret, Garret.” She’d said it quietly, but he nodded.

A breath more, and he pulled away, his wall slammed back into place like the gates of some lonesome castle.

“I promised you lunch,” he said as he retrieved his hat from the floor. “We’ll eat downstairs and then head back to the ranch.”

“All right.” Mauve and tan floral wallpaper clung to the walls, and if the bedroom furniture didn’t match, at least the pieces worked well together. The cream colored linens on Burke’s unmade bed looked clean enough and a quaint rocking chair stood in the corner of the cozy room. Likely this room was much nicer than one above the saloon. “I thought the boys stayed at the Brass Buckle when they were in town.”

“Yeah, they do. Burke got kicked out.” Humor flickered in his eyes, easing some of the tension between them. “Let’s go eat. I’m starving.”

* * * *

Dearest Uncle,

If I didn’t give you a hard time, I fear you would wonder who this imposter is who continues to write to you every few days. That being said, you, sir, have broken your promise. I was in town today and when I checked the post, disappointed to find nary a letter from you. I do believe this wins me the bet between us. If you remember the terms, they were that you would write to me and send it the day after I left. It should be here by now. Do not worry, for I will happily keep up my end of the bargain and write habitually, until you feel obliged to respond. I do believe I may have a stubborn streak, so surely you are aware I intend to make good on my threat.

All joking aside, how are you, Uncle? I know you are a busy man, but I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again until you hear me—it wouldn’t hurt to slow down for your own safety and health. Enjoy the luxuries you have worked so hard for! I fear overwork has left you no time to keep in contact with your only niece.

All is well here. My husband took me to luncheon in town, which was unexpected. Also, quite the peaceful meal because we had endured an eventful day and were both lost to our own thoughts. I shall take peace over banter any day.

All right, I know you are shaking your head right now. Maybe I do enjoy a little banter, though I’d never admit such to him. I do wonder if he will ever understand my humor as you do, Uncle. Or if he will always see me a child.

How does one get to know their spouse? Any advice on this matter would be appreciated and used wisely. I look forward to receiving your correspondence.

Maggie Shaw

P.S. I also look forward to the box of fine chocolates promised when you made the bet with me. I shall feed them to my surly husband in hopes of sweetening him up.

Maggie put the cork in the bottle of ink and leaned into the cushion of her chair. Because of a small but persistent fear of prying eyes, she’d written the letter in her bedroom. Though Garret showed little interest when she wrote, she couldn’t quite get over that he’d remorselessly read her journal. The betrayal still stung.

A soft knock came at the door. Garret was starting to make a habit of needing to speak with her after she was in her nightdress and ready for bed. Seemed like he made up excuses to see her in such a state of undress, and as she stood and opened her door, the thought made her smile. Incorrigible man.

She poked her head out, careful to reveal nothing of her dress.

Garret looked serious and distracted. “Hey. Me and the boys have to go see about the cattle tonight. A number are missing and we weren’t able to find them earlier. We need to watch them tonight. Try to figure out what or who is taking them.”

“Oh. Is there anything I can do?” To see him better in the dim candlelight streaming from her small desk, she opened the door wider. She didn’t like the thought of him out there in the dark when mischief was likely about.

“No, ma’am.” He threw a glance toward the front of the house and rubbed his face as he so often did when thinking. “I’m going to ask Lenny to stay in the big house with you tonight. You need anything, you ask her, you hear?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I don’t like leaving you here alone, Maggie. Be safe about it. You know where the ammunition is?”

She nodded, and though he looked at her skeptically, he didn’t press the issue. “I’ll make the bed in the other room for Lenny. When do you think you will be back?”

“Not before tomorrow afternoon. If you run into trouble, the cattle are still near the pond and that’s where we’ll be. It’ll be near impossible for you to find it at night, so don’t set out unless you are desperate.” He surprised her by grabbing her hands and examining the palms in the dim, flickering light. Then he grunted. “Hands look a lot better. Would you mind taking care of the barn tomorrow with Lenny?”

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

His gaze traveled the length of her dressing gown then his expression grew severe again. “Take care,” he said in a clipped tone, turned on his heel and stalked out of the house.

Maggie clenched her hands. The skin on her extremities sought the warmth of the touch that had left them so abruptly. “You too,” she murmured.

How surprising. The texture, look, and feel of her palms had changed so much since her arrival in Rockdale. They were lady’s hands no longer but rough, with half healed blisters and calluses covering most of the skin. A bit horrifying, but no one could accuse her of avoiding her share of the work with hands such as these.

* * * *

The hideously mottled rooster screeched. Right outside her window. The proximity of the grating noise could only mean Lenny was already up and feeding the chickens. Maggie got out of bed quickly and washed at the washbasin in front of her mirror.

Garret wasn’t kind to her all the time. Or most of the time, for that matter, but the man had not once forgotten to fill her washbasin with fresh water every day. She could easily take care of it herself, but somehow, it seemed romantic that he filled it. In his way, taking care of her. He’d started to do little things for her that meant more than he probably understood. Frustrating, a bit, that he was leading her on, but touching. In some dark crevice of his hardened heart, he obviously cared.

She braided her hair and pinned it into a low bun, letting the natural waves pull some curls out to tickle the sides of her face. Finally, she looked rested and fresh faced, and was grateful for a good night’s sleep.

She met Lenny in the barn with a couple pieces of cornbread from the day before. They relaxed on hay bales and set into breakfast. After they had fluffed crumbs from their laps for the chickens to clean up, Maggie led the horses and mules out to the corral one by one while Lenny milked the cows. Macy and Bossy’s calves were half grown and tended to mill about wherever they pleased.

Today, the little bulls seemed inclined to play-fight near the corral. Those two half-tamed brutes would be a handful when they were older.

Mucking out the horse’s stalls brought back the work she’d done around Roy’s homestead when she was younger. Similar to these chores but on a smaller scale. Her late father’s small ranch wasn’t nearly as grandiose as the Lazy S. It had been home though, and she found herself longing to see it again. A couple of days there after years of homesickness didn’t seem nearly enough.

After the women finished most of the animals’ upkeep, Maggie started saddling Buck. Lenny studied her curiously, but didn’t ask and brought her mare in and began to saddle her too.

“Why do you ride with a saddle?” Maggie asked the girl. “I’ve seen you ride her bareback with ease.”

Lenny grinned and put her saddle back in its place with the others. “Sometimes people, they don’t like to be reminded I’m Indian.”

She snorted. “Little English, my arse. You speak it better than I do.”

Lenny held onto her mare’s mane and hopped on in a graceful arch of motion.

Maggie hiked her foot into Buck’s stirrup and hefted herself into the saddle, adjusted, then had to reposition her skirts. “I envy you. You can wear pants and no one gives you grief for it.”

A devilish glint appeared in Lenny’s eyes. “Part of the reason I don’t speak English around people. If they think I’m a savage, no one bothers me about wearing dresses and acting like a lady. I get to wear pants, and carry a gun, and sleep without clothes. And if anyone asks me to do something I don’t want to, I just act like I don’t understand them.”

At the mention of sleeping without clothes, Maggie ceased fiddling with the stirrups. “You don’t sleep in a nightdress?” How scandalous, but deliciously naughty it would feel to sleep naked. She’d have to try it.

Lenny beheld her knowingly. “Maybe you should be a savage, too.”