by Lee Savino
If she had been totally awake, she would’ve been shocked at the frank fear in his voice. Even halfway to sleep, she recognized the weight in his words.
She didn’t answer, but pressed her head into his hand until his fingers played with her hair again.
“I know the discipline is hard to take, but you held up strong. And if it means you’ll obey me and keep safe, I’d do it again. You’re my responsibility now.”
Swathed in blankets and the soft words of a strong man, Carrie surrendered. Even if she couldn’t process what he said, she felt their meaning in her very bones. The last thing she heard before she fell asleep carried her to sweeter dreams.
“Don’t want you leaving me just yet. I like you enough to keep you, Carrie.”
When she woke again, the fire had died low. Darkness hung outside the lonely window, and she realized she’d slept through the rest of the afternoon into night.
Moving carefully, she took inventory. Her bottom still throbbed from her discipline, but it was easy to bear. A sharper pain was in her foot when she flexed it, but she suppressed the whimper when she noticed Miles sitting at the table, head bowed in thought.
Too sore to move just yet, she studied his serious profile in the firelight. He certainly wasn’t what she’d expected. Stern and commanding, yet gentle. Even with her aching bottom, she couldn’t complain about his firm guidance. The spanking hadn’t been fun, but thinking on it now, she felt at peace. Here was a man who would do all he could to protect her, even from herself. That thought made her feel safe.
Then she remembered how she’d yelled at him and wanted to hide.
She lay still as long as she could before the scent of food made her stomach growl. Swinging her legs to the ground, she hesitated.
“Easy now,” Miles said, coming to help her hobble to a stool. He knelt and checked her foot, wrapping his large hands around it and making sure she could move it in every direction without pain.
“It shouldn’t be sprained. All the same, I want you to stay off of it.”
She nodded, and accepted the plate of food he brought to her. When she was done, he helped her back into bed, and she eased down onto the mattress with a sigh. Miles took a blanket and tucked it around her. “If you need to rise at night, call for me,” he told her, and she felt a pang of guilt. She’d done nothing but make his life harder.
He started to go when she caught the edge of his shirt.
“Mr. Donovan. I have to say something.”
He turned back and she cleared her throat, nervous at his solemn expression.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I did wrong by going into the river. I should have listened to you the first time, and obeyed. I’ll do better next time.”
“I hope so. I don’t like to see you in danger.”
“Yes. I also must ask for forgiveness for the way I behaved. When you…disciplined me…I said some things.”
“I remember.”
“Yes, well, I spoke wrong.” She felt her cheeks heat under his intense gaze. “You’re not a liar, or a scoundrel. You were right to punish me. I acted like a child and I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you.”
“You do?”
“Yes, Carrie. You did wrong and I punished you. It’s over now. You’re forgiven.”
She felt a weight lift off her.
“Will that always be the way of it?”
“Yes. Sometimes the discipline will be of a different nature, but always, when it’s over, you’re forgiven. It’s done.”
She sighed, and something settled into Miles’ expression—a lightness, but not quite a smile.
Her freshly dried hair wafted across her face and she pushed it back. “You’re not going to punish me then, for what I said?”
“Would it ease your guilt?”
She started to feel relief that she wouldn’t be punished again, then realized she felt better because of the spanking. She’d done wrong and been punished, apologized, and now it was over.
He read all this on her face. “Perhaps next time. Shout insults at me or anyone again, and I’ll wash your mouth out with soap.”
Carrie thought of the large cake of lye in the larder, and shuddered.
“I think you’ve had enough punishment for a few days.” His hand came up, hesitated, then stroked back the hair from her face, rough fingers catching on the fine curls. His palm felt warm and rough and Carrie leaned into it, smelling his scent of woodsmoke and hay. Then his fingers came around and lifted her chin, at the same time he angled his head down. For a moment she felt he would kiss her.
Instead, he feathered his thumb across her lips, and then dropped his hand and headed for his sleeping place on the porch, leaving her feeling oddly bereft.
The next morning, she woke before dawn, cold and cramped. The soreness in her bottom had faded, but her foot was mostly black and blue. She swung her feet around and started to stretch for the floor, when she heard someone clear his throat.
Miles stood frowning at her in the doorway. “What did I tell you about standing on that foot?”
She jerked her legs back as if the floor was made of hot coals. “I was just going test it.”
He knelt in front of her and checked her leg again, his warm hands heavenly on her cold skin. “I don’t want you walking far on this today. I’ll do your chores.”
“You want me to stay here all day?” Her annoyance died under his stern look. “Yes, sir.”
Her meek response earned her a nod, and somehow she knew he was pleased with her.
As Miles went to build up the fire, Carrie sighed and thought of her long list of chores. One hand went to pick at the mattress ticking, and a bug scuttled over her hand. At the sound of her shriek, Miles had whirled from the hearth with the iron poker in hand. He watched in disbelief as she limped away from the bed, running her hands over her body as if invisible bugs were covering her.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry.” She collapsed into a stool. “There was a bug. I was going to restuff it, but the mattress is too old. It needs to be burned.”
She sat, twitching and miserable, as Miles dragged the horrid bundle outside and threw it off the porch. “Now, will you mind me and stay off that foot all day?”
“What if I have to stoke up the fire, or refill the water?” She glanced in the corner at the chamber pot, but didn’t mention it.
Miles took her meaning. “You may see to your needs—but walk only for that reason.”
“What if there’s a problem, or a fire?” His sternness brought out some perverse stubbornness, even as she shifted on her throbbing sits spots.
His lips tightened. “You may leave the cabin if it will save your life. But somehow I doubt there will be a reason for you to disobey me again.”
She opened her mouth to disagree and he held up a finger.
“New rule. No back talk, or I’ll repeat the punishment.”
Her mouth snapped shut.
“Good girl. Now,” he waved the finger in front of her face, “you will stay off that foot until I tell you otherwise.”
Her melancholy grew as she watched him do her chores, fetching water and making breakfast. For all her good intentions, she still was making trouble. If she continued this way, perhaps he would send her home, despite his words last night. And then what would she do? She had no prospects there, except for one odious man they would make her marry…
The thought made her so sick, she could barely eat what Miles put before her.
His large hand settled on hers and squeezed. “Eat, Carrie. You need your strength.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but saw his stern mien and thought better of it. “What shall I do today?”
“Why don’t you make a list of things we need for the cabin.” He waved his hand around the small living space. “Chairs, rugs, needles for your darning.”
“A new mattress?”
“Aye,” he agreed. “We’ll need that sooner than later. Make a
list. I can’t say we can buy it all at once, but we’ll work our way through it in time.”
She nodded, grateful. He was trying to cheer her up.
“I want you to be happy here,” he said, getting up to clear his place.
His words stunned her. A new life she expected, but happiness? She had barely dared to dream of it.
“Mr. Donovan,” she said quickly, before he could hit the door. “If you leave your shirts for me, I’ll do the darning.”
The end of the week came swiftly. Miles and Carrie worked from one end of the day to the other, and she slept very well, despite only having a few blankets for a mattress. Her foot healed quickly, although it was a little swollen. Miles cautioned her about moving too far on it, but as long as she was careful, she was able to do her chores. Things went much more smoothly, although she had a minor mishap with the chicken coop door, leaving it open for half a day and barely catching all of the hens before Miles returned to the homestead. She thought he noticed some chicken scratching in the dirt near Monty’s pen, but he said nothing about it.
One afternoon, she sat on the porch with nothing to do. The garden was weeded, the chickens all fed, and the cabin was as clean as she could make it. She’d done her best by Miles’ mending until the thread ran out. She was bored.
In the distance to the right of where she sat, she could hear horses whinnying. In the corral to the left, Monty and Belle were nowhere to be seen. It must be the other horses Miles spoke of.
What was the harm in going to look? Miles wouldn’t be home for hours. She took up the pail, deciding she’d get water, and headed down the hill to the thin woods.
Her foot hurt a little, but the bruises had mostly faded and she was careful where she stepped as she forded the stream and stepped out of the copse, into a field.
The land sloped further and a mile away, she could see a large body of cattle moving slowly over the plain. In the meadow in front of her, Miles had fenced off a large area for his horses. Chestnut, bay, and pinto, they all grazed, glossy and perfect.
She went around the fenced area, and saw a separate, smaller pen, with a large white stallion running in circles around its master. Miles stood shirtless in the middle, holding whip and reins, his broad, lean body flexing and turning to keep his eyes on the horse at all times. It was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen, and she forgot herself and let the pail drop with a clank.
At the sound, the horse spooked. It reared up on its hind legs, whinnying and shying away. Carrie watched in horror as the stallion kicked the air in front of it, just a few feet away from Miles’ head. She rushed forward to help, but Miles threw out a palm to stop her from coming any closer, then whirled to face the horse. From where she stood, she could see man match wills with beast, the muscles in both males taut with readiness.
Miles approached, hands out and spoke soft words until the stallion relaxed to all fours, and then dropped its head to nuzzle its master.
Only then did Carrie remember to breathe.
Miles finished quieting the horse and then left the pen to come towards her. His late day stubble carved shadows into his already harsh face, and dust streaked his tanned muscles. Her mouth went dry and she took a deep breath, wondering why her stomach fluttered so at the sight of him. A strange giddyness came over her, even as he frowned down at her.
“I told you to stay near the homestead.”
“I thought it would be all right,” she stammered, as Miles took her arm and guided her to a stump. He knelt and propped her leg up on his knee, pushing up her skirts and unlacing her boot.
She blushed. It was unseemly for a man to see a woman’s ankles, not that propriety ever seemed to stop him. Perhaps things were different in the West. Peeking up at him, she wondered if he thought she was pretty.
“It’s not swollen, and the bruising’s gone down. But I don’t want you walking this far on it.” She met his tawny gaze, warm feelings suffusing her.
“Your health is important to me,” he continued, lacing up her boot and then standing. “You’re my responsibility, now.”
A responsibility. Just like a horse, or his herd of cattle. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a burden.”
“You’re not a burden. But you must learn to listen to me.”
Shaking his head, he picked up the water pail. “Stay here.” He strode back towards the copse and the stream.
Carrie studied his retreating back, the power latent in the tanned form. He still hadn’t bothered to put on his shirt. A part of her hoped he wouldn’t.
When he returned, body wet from a quick dip in the stream, pail in hand, she quickly averted her eyes. What was she doing? Lusting after a man like a wanton woman? As if her past hadn’t taught her the punishment for such a sin.
Miles offered the pail to her to drink, then went to set hay bales in both pens.
Carrie stared down at the water in her lap, wishing she could will her feelings away.
The white horse stood at the fence, nickering at her, so she stood carefully, and went forward with the pail to offer it a drink of water. As soon as she was near, the horse kicked the fence, neighing angrily, and thrusting its head forward to knock the pail out of her uplifted hands.
Then Miles was at her side, pushing her back and inserting himself between her and the raging stallion.
“Easy, Lightning.” His deep voice held no trace of fear, only stern command. Carrie clutched the back of his shirt, walking backwards with him until he turned to her.
“Are you all right?” he asked, and she caught her breath at the tenderness in his tone.
“I am. I’m sorry.”
“My fault,” Miles said. “I should’ve warned you—but now I will. He’s still untamed. You’re never to go near the pen, unless I’m here with you and tell you it’s all right.”
“I won’t,” she said.
Before they left, Miles knelt and checked her foot. Again, his hands were strong and sure as they worked over her bruised flesh. “Does that hurt?”
“No, sir,” she said. When she looked up, she saw the horses lining the fence, watching her with their master. She expected they found his deep voice as soothing as she did.
“All right then. We’ll walk back, but you’ll lean on me.”
He took her arm and escorted her back to the homestead. Even though his legs were longer, he matched his strides to hers, so she didn’t feel as if she must scurry along. As they left the meadow and started to climb the hill to home, she leaned more on him, grateful for his solid weight.
Halfway across the stream, she almost slipped on a rock. Without breaking stride, Miles scooped her up and continued across the river. His muscles flexed around her, but, other than that, didn’t seem weighed down by his new bundle.
After a moment, Carrie put her arm around his neck, trying to pretend she wasn’t in a man’s arms. He smelled of hay and woods, a particular scent she’d recognize anywhere as his own. It was intoxicating. Her body heated through and through, and she despaired at ever being chaste and good.
“Your horses are very beautiful,” she said, trying to distract herself.
“Thank you.”
“Why did you settle so near the mountains? I would think there are better territories for ranching.”
“I had a business partner. He wanted to stake a claim, build a mine. My only requirement was that it be secluded. He chose this place near the river, and I agreed. The mountains are an added barrier against too many folk coming to live here.”
“And you didn’t want to pan for gold?”
“No.”
They reached the porch, and she slid down, feeling reluctant to let her arm around his neck go. She couldn’t help staring up at him, trying to read the expression in the quiet fire of his eyes.
“I don’t mean to pry. I thought most men come up here to find gold.”
Gently, he drew her to stand next to him, facing the land. Together they looked down the hill, over the grassy fields and pens, horses a
nd cattle grazing in the thick evening light.
“Those men are looking for a quick wealth and an easy life. I know what I want from life, and have the patience to work for it. These fields are my mines and there—” he pointed, and she knew he gestured to the horses and cattle, “is my gold.”
That night at dinner, Miles sat beside her, head bowed with exhaustion, and shoveled away the basic stew she’d made by soaking dried meat and adding the rest of the potatoes, turnip and carrots.
She felt guilty watching him eat his fill. He worked so hard, and she did so little to contribute. Where was his business partner? The ranch seemed too much for one man to handle.
Before bed, Miles asked for her list of items to buy, and then agreed with each one.
“End of the week we’ll head into town. We’ll ask Martin to order what we need, if he doesn’t have it already.”
She nodded, rising to clear the plates.
Miles caught her hand. “The Reverend will be there.” He hesitated, then raised his eyes to hers. “We could get married, if you’ll still have me.”
Her mouth suddenly dry, she took a deep breath and swallowed hard. His tawny eyes seemed to strip all her secret longings, and deliver them to her.
“I’ll still have you, Mr. Donovan.” She squeezed his hand and smiled at him.
He didn’t return it, but the slight crinkle around his eyes warmed her heart.
When Carrie woke the next day, Miles was already gone to check on the cattle and feed and water the horses before the day’s journey. He’d left his blanket rolled neatly by the door, and she took it up to place it on the bed with the others.
They’d share a bed tonight. The thought gave her pause, and a few butterflies. She felt happy and nervous at the same time.
Instead of stewing on this, she grabbed a basket and went out to get the eggs. Using handfuls of feed to distract the hens, she combed through the grass to find the hidden clutches. Her search yielded eggs of every size and color, from large and brown to tiny green, and she marveled that only a few days ago she’d learned the chore.
