Missy Meets the Marshal (Lone Star Love Book 2) (8 page)

Grover noticed the mood in the shop change immediately. Henry's cold expression returned. "I know you're hiding something, lady," he said. "It seems the marshal here believes your taradiddles, but I don't. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. Honest work," he added, glowering at Missy for a moment before turning his back to them.

Grover forced his tone to be level and casual. "I hope you'll join us for supper one of these days, Henry, so we can make it up to you. My new bride is better at cooking than hobbling her lip." Henry didn't respond.

Grover walked outside. He took long strides in the direction of the house, and Missy walked quickly behind him holding the baby, occasionally breaking into a jog to keep up. He didn't say a word to her until he heard her sniffling. He stopped and spun around so suddenly that he had to catch her to prevent her from ramming into him.

He held her arms and spoke quietly. "Don't you dare blubber here in the streets. Keep it together, Missy."

She stared at him with wet eyes. "I messed up back there, didn't I?"

"We'll talk about it when we get home. For now, I need to you to be brave and hold back your tears. Can you do that for me?"

She blinked and nodded. Grover resumed walking but slowed his stride, realizing he also needed to adjust how he appeared in public. He put an arm around Missy's shoulders and guided her to walk by his side.

Once safely inside the house, Grover took a deep breath and sank onto the sofa. He felt worn out and worried. Henry's response to their visit troubled him. He considered what lengths the man might go to in order to learn about the new woman in town. He didn't know for sure, but he had a bad feeling about it.

Missy emerged from the bedroom after putting Hannah Lou down to sleep. She looked forlorn and as weary as he felt.

"Come here, honey. Let's have a chat."

Missy walked to him and he pulled her onto his lap and encircled her in his arms.

"I'm sorry, Grover. I know I disappointed you."

"Nah, Missy. It's not about disappointing me. It's about making sure this plan works. You've got to bite back the first words that come to mind. It's that way with just about everything now. The first thought of your daughter's name, for instance, is now wrong. And the first thought you had of defending yourself against Henry, that was wrong too. It's the second thoughts that come to your mind, those are the words you must speak, and never the first. I know it's hard, especially for someone not used to deception, but you've got to give it a whole lot more effort, honey."

"I know, and I will. I'm so very grateful to you, Grover. You're risking so much for me. The least I can do is ignore my pride."

He stretched his arms up, laced his hands together, and placed them behind his head. Leaning back, he said in a teasing voice, "Why don't you perform your wifely duty, since you're feeling so grateful to me?"

Her eyes widened and she glanced down at his trousers. "You mean—? Well, okay. Yes, yes, of course." She licked her lips, reached for his belt buckle, hesitated, retreated, and then reached for it again.

He tried not to grin. "I meant go cook supper. I'm starving."

She burst out laughing. After she collected herself, she asked, "Are you going to punish me for sassing Henry?"

"No. I should, perhaps, but it's your wedding day and I want you to have good memories."

She focused her big blue eyes on him and said with sincerity, "It would still be the happiest, luckiest day of my life, even if you punished me."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Hmm. Sounds to me like you're asking for a spanking. If you are, I feel obliged to give it to you." He moved a hand to his belt.

"I'm not," she squealed, jumping to her feet. She scurried to the kitchen and grabbed the frying pan.

Grover smirked. One thing was certain. Life with Missy would never be boring.

Chapter 7 - A Husband's Attention

Weeks passed, during which Missy experienced for the first time how it felt to be loved by a man. Grover never said he loved her out loud, but she could see it in his actions. He paid attention to her and performed small gestures of kindness according to what he noticed she needed. These gestures would seem trifling to most women. But to Missy, who never knew her father and who had spent years married to a cruel man, they were nothing less than amazing. She found herself running to the other room often to hide her tears from him after he showed her some small kindness. She knew he wouldn't understand her crying. Even if she convinced him that they were tears of happiness, she worried that he might stop being kind if he knew the emotional effect it had on her.

One day Grover showed her three kindnesses, one right after the other, and she couldn't hide her tears. It was a chilly morning, and she rose early to light the fire and cook breakfast. Shivering, she rubbed her hands together in front of the stove's fire.

Grover stood in the frame of the bedroom door buttoning his shirt. "It's a mite chilly this morning. You cold?"

"A little. I'll warm up once I start moving around more."

Moments later, she felt soft wool wrapping around her shoulders and joining at her chest. He kept his arms around her, squeezed her to him, and kissed the side of her neck. "Wear your shawl when you're cold," he said sternly.

She smiled, feeling warmed by both the shawl and his words. When he released her, she moved to the other side of the kitchen and struggled to reach a platter on the top shelf of the cupboard. Standing on her toes, she stretched and was able to touch it but unable to grasp it. Suddenly a tall body stood over her. He grabbed it off the shelf and handed it to her before he smacked her bottom playfully and walked outside. When he returned, he brought with him a short stool. He placed it on the floor next to the stove.

"For when I'm not around," he explained.

Missy stared at it, unable to speak. She felt a burn in her nose and tears coming to her eyes. She blinked, trying with everything she had in her not to let the tears spill, but soon they streamed down her face.

"Missy?" His tone was incredulous. "What in the Sam Hill is wrong?"

"It's just that…" Missy rubbed her eyes and sniffed. "It's just that you're so kind to me."

He stared at her. "For God's sake, woman. That's a foolish reason to cry if I ever heard one. Stop it this instant."

"I'll stop. But don't you stop being nice to me," she said forcefully. "I don't want you to stop being nice just because it makes me cry."

"I don't understand why on earth it would."

"I'm not used to a man treating me kindly. It makes me feel happy and also afraid because I don't think I could do without it now."

"Missy, I don't intend to stop being nice to you. It's normal for a man to be kind to his wife. You would know that if you'd married a normal man to begin with."

Bitterness crept into her tone. "It's not all my fault. I thought Nathan was like you when I married him."

He scoffed. "Are you off your rocker? Nathan and I are nothing alike."

"You are, Grover. Neither of you takes guff from anybody, and you don't show fear in times when other men would spook and get gaited. I liked that about Nathan. I thought he was a man who would protect me, but he was even rougher with me than he was with some of the men he hated. Toward the end before I ran away, I wondered every day whether he might kill me, and I actually felt grateful to him when another day passed that he didn't. He said I was worthless and a burden to him, and he informed me that I was a prostitute. I hadn't thought about it like that before, but I realized he was right. My body was being offered in exchange for money. He made me feel lucky to be thrown scraps he didn't eat because I believed what he said about me. I believed no one would ever love someone as disgusting as me."

Grover's expression morphed into anger, which she knew wasn't directed at her. He ran a hand around his face and said through gritted teeth, "Missy, I swear on all that is holy I'm going to kill that man. I hate that you went through that."

"I just want you to know I wasn't intentionally stupid. I had a reason for marrying him. I thought he was like you. And he very much was, without the kindness. That's what was missing, and that's why it affects me so much. I never thought I'd be lucky enough to meet someone like you, Grover, and to be shown such kindness, when for so long I had it in my head that it didn't exist in your type."

The muscles in Grover's face relaxed, and he suddenly grinned at her, which surprised Missy. She couldn't find any humor in her words. "What's so funny?"

"I understand it now. You have a hankering for bad boys, for real tough guys."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued before she could speak. "I'm not making fun of you, darlin'. I understand it because I have a fondness for bad girls. One in particular." He pulled her into his chest and enclosed her in a tight hug. He gave her a firm kiss on the top of her head. "No more crying over me being nice, you hear? Otherwise my bad girl will get a spanking over this tough guy's knee, and that won't feel so nice."

Missy felt the fluttering in her tummy, as she did whenever he spoke to her that way. She wrapped her arms around him. "I love you," she said for the first time.

"I love you, too," he replied, also for the first time.

She smiled. Untangling herself from his hold, she positioned her new stool in front of the high cabinet and stepped up to retrieve another platter. Suddenly she felt herself being plucked from her perch on the stool and carried to the sofa. She squealed when Grover flipped her over his lap and tossed up her skirts. His hand connected with her bottom over her drawers and he peppered her with sweet, sharp love licks that warmed her backside and left only the slightest sting.

"Why are you spanking me, Grover?" she asked, giggling. She squirmed in his lap.

"Because you need to learn a lesson! You don't listen. I said that stool was for when I'm not around. I'm still here, aren't I?"

She laughed. "Yes, Grover."

"Also, you said you were a bit cold. I thought I'd warm you up."

"That's very thoughtful of you, husb—. Ow!" she yelped as he interrupted her with one final hard swat and set her on her feet.

He strode to the kitchen, fetched the platter from the top shelf, and handed it to her with a wink.

# # #

Wearing a bandanna to disguise half his face, which didn't appear strange because of the wind and dust in the air, Nathan Matthews roamed the streets of Bartow, Texas, in search of two things—his wife and his wanted poster. Nathan swaggered to the window of the jail and brazenly searched the signs while townsfolk passed behind him. He found his poster. Just as he suspected, he was wanted dead or alive. He read his wife's poster tacked up next to his and noticed that she was only wanted alive. Figures, he grumbled to himself. Men didn't like the idea of ridding the county of any more females than absolutely necessary.

Nathan snorted when he saw the photograph used for her poster. Taken a day after their wedding, the picture of her was blurry because she'd jumped when the photographer clicked. Nathan had shot his gun at that exact moment. He couldn't remember why, but he remembered her reaction. The photograph captured the startled, scared look in Elizabeth's eyes, which filled him with contempt and revulsion as he studied it. One thing he hated was weakness, and that's what his wife showed in the picture. All women were weak as far as Nathan was concerned, and they weren't too bright either. Elizabeth certainly wasn't if she thought she could run from him and hide for long. She belonged to him, and he didn't accept losing anything—certainly not the woman whose duty it was to lengthen his loins.

While Nathan studied the posters, he felt a man's presence approaching from behind and to his left. Instinctively, he placed his right hand on the handle of his gun and indexed his left on his stomach. Glancing over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the potential threat, he relaxed. Approaching the jail was a fat, middle-aged man who didn't even pack iron. Nathan noted with some amusement that he doubted a gun belt even came in a size to fit his girth. The man's face was red and sweaty, and he breathed hard as he approached.

"Recognize anybody?" the man asked in a congenial tone. He planted himself next to Nathan to browse the posters.

"Nope," Nathan responded, noting how much hotter and smellier the air became when the man invaded his space.

The man scratched his stomach. "Do you like to have a look at the posters when you pass by? I always do."

Nathan felt suspicious of the stranger. "I'm a bounty hunter, so it comes with the trade." He turned to leave but paused when he heard the man take in a sharp breath.

"Luddy mussy! I know that face."

Nathan held his hand on his gun again in case the man was smart enough to recognize him and stupid enough to say it out loud. When Nathan observed the direction of the man's gaze, however, he noticed that it focused on Elizabeth's sign. A thrill went through him.

"You recognize the woman bank robber?" Nathan asked.

"I'd swear on the bible that's the marshal's wife in Porter, the town I'm from."

Nathan felt disappointed and annoyed enough with the man that he would have cuffed him if there weren't witnesses. The saphead had gotten his hopes up for nothing. "That can't be, mister. Can't you read?" he snarled. "The poster next to hers is for Nathan Matthews. That's obviously her husband since they have the same last name."

The man looked at Nathan's poster, and Nathan groaned inwardly. That was foolish, he realized, to give the man a reason to study it. Nathan remained tense, ready to draw at the slightest flash of recognition in the man's eyes. He wouldn't shoot him there, but he'd hold him at gunpoint until he got him a ways out of town. Then he'd watch with great pleasure and no small amount of awe as the fattest gut he'd ever laid eyes on spilled its contents onto the ground.

But the man didn't pay Nathan's poster any mind. Instead, he returned his scrutiny to Elizabeth's photograph. A sneaky expression crossed his face. "I reckon you're right. It's not her. Good day."