by Kit Morgan
“You’ve had experience with both, from the sounds of it.”
“I’ve had my share.” He put an arm around her. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”
Zadie leaned into him and rested her head against his chest. “I was afraid you were going to get bitten.”
“I almost did. Maybe a pitchfork wasn’t the best idea, but it was all I had in the moment. I should keep my gun with me from now on, in case something like this happens again.”
“Let’s hope not,” she said. She snuggled against him, enjoying the warmth of his body next to hers, and tried to let his presence calm her raw nerves. Then she remembered – “Oh no!”
“What is it?”
“The girls! They’re still outside!”
Anson chuckled and wrapped his other arm around her, careful not to spill her coffee. “They’ll be fine, sweetheart – a dead snake isn’t going to harm them. I’ll round them up in a moment.” He kissed her hair. “Right now I want to make sure you’re all right. Drink your coffee.” He loosened his hold so she could take another sip.
When she was done he held her as before. “Thank you for saving me,” she whispered against his chest.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Anytime, sweetheart. Any time.”
* * *
After Anson was satisfied that Zadie was all right, he strapped on his gun and went back to the barn. The snake lay where he’d speared it, one of the “girls” pecking away at it and tearing bits loose. He’d contemplated having the beast for dinner – rattlesnake was pretty tasty – but figured it was just as well. Zadie would probably have fainted at the thought.
He retrieved the pitchfork and saw the other two hens near the barn door, their own part in the excitement forgotten by now. He entered the barn and checked the stalls, finding no more reptiles. Thank Heaven he’d put Julius Caesar in the empty corral and King Lear in with the other horses. He’d planned on cleaning the stalls after he built his chicken coop.
He went to the corner where Zadie said the snake came from and cleared the straw away. Sure enough, there was a hole about the size of his fist between the ground and one of the boards. Some critter had chewed its way in at some point, leaving an entrance for others. “Fine,” Anson said. “Let’s see about closing that for good.”
His mind raced over every inch of the cabin in that moment. The last thing he wanted was for the same thing to happen there, especially after this. Of course, his house wouldn’t be the first to have a snake crawl into it, nor the last. But he knew people that had been bitten by rattlers, including his Uncle Ryder.
That was a story he didn’t want to relive. Uncle Ryder and Aunt Constance lived as far from Clear Creek as Anson and Zadie did from Morgan’s Crossing. It was a miracle Aunt Constance had gotten his uncle to the town doctor in time – another hour and he would have been dead. It was one reason he wanted Zadie to learn how to ride a horse and drive the wagon. Heaven forbid if either of them had been bitten today.
He stood in the corner, pitchfork in hand and sent up a silent prayer of thanks to the Almighty for saving them both. Then he got his hammer, found a board and some nails, and patched the hole in the barn. Only then did he get back to the chicken coop, but by lunchtime he’d made a lot of progress.
Zadie, meanwhile, had made a pot of soup. He was surprised when he first caught a whiff and went into the cabin to investigate. “Something sure smells good, sweetheart.”
She blushed at the endearment, and he decided to make sure he used it more often. “It’s a recipe Bertha gave me. An easy one, thankfully. I hope you don’t mind cold biscuits to go with it.”
“I don’t mind – I’m just glad my cook is still in one piece.” He closed the distance between them and took her into his arms. “I mean it honey, I’m so glad you’re all right.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist. “And I’m happy nothing happened to you either.”
Anson gazed into her eyes. He wanted her, wanted to make sure she was his and that she would never, ever leave him. The very thought scared him. She was his – and he was hers. He cupped her face with one hand and kissed her. Then he kissed her again… and again… and again.
“Anson!” she whispered between kisses. “What’s gotten into you?”
“You have,” he said and kissed her some more.
“Anson,” she gasped.
His hand began to stray below her waist, his other arm tightening around her back. He kissed her again as he picked her up, carried her to the cot and sat with her in his lap, not breaking it once. She tried to speak, but he wouldn’t let her. And the more he kissed her, the bolder she became, kissing him back.
It was all the permission he needed. “Zadie honey, if we keep this up, I’m not going to be able to stop.”
She stared at him, her breathing ragged, and swallowed hard. “Good.” She grabbed him by the hair and pulled his face back to hers.
Fifteen
Zadie took another spoonful of the best soup she’d ever tasted. Or maybe it was just soup, added to the rapture of the previous couple of hours. She couldn’t believe such exquisite pleasure could be had upon a single cot. Anson had shown her what it meant to be a woman, and she couldn’t be happier. To think that after a week of marriage, she had wondered if he was having second thoughts about their nuptials.
She shifted her weight on the cot where they both sat, each with a tin cup of soup “And you planned to woo me for weeks?” she commented.
“If need be. I was glad to find it wasn’t necessary.”
She raised a single eyebrow at him. “Indeed. You’d won me somewhere between our first visit to Morgan’s Crossing and my finding that messenger of Satan in the barn.”
“I wasn’t sure, Zadie … I …”
“Anson, it’s all right. You’re my husband. Thank you for giving me time.”
He looked at her, his eyes full of admiration. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”
She blushed at his compliment. “I’m pretty lucky too.”
He gazed at her and took another spoonful of soup. “I guess the girls will have to wait another day for their chicken coop, what with all these … interruptions.”
She turned positively crimson. “So it seems.”
“I planned on finishing it after supper, but it’s dark now and …”
“Oh, Anson, you didn’t leave them out did you?”
He chuckled. “No, they’re safely locked in the barn. You needn’t worry.”
“I hope there’s nothing else in there with them,” she said with a shudder.
“I made a thorough inspection, found where the snake got in and patched the hole. There should be no more unwanted visitors for a while.”
“A while?”
“Nature finds a way, Zadie. Mice, snakes, skunks, raccoons … they don’t respect our boundaries. You have to be vigilant, that’s all I’m saying.”
Zadie made a face at the mention of skunks. “In other words, don’t stick my hand into any dark corners without checking it first?”
“Exactly,” he said with a sigh. “This is still my fault – I should have warned you.”
She leaned against him. “It’s not your fault. How could you know the snake was there?”
“All right, all right. Let’s just keep an eye out from now on.”
She nodded, sighed, then sipped the rest of her soup straight from the cup. “When are we going to Sweetwater Springs?”
He thought a moment, then glanced at the cot. “The sooner, the better.”
Zadie laughed. She was definitely falling in love with this man. “I agree.”
They finished their meal, then talked quietly together as they heated water for the dishes. She washed, and he dried. Afterward he read to her from a Bible his mother had given him. She enjoyed the sound of his voice, the little looks he gave her between verses, the twinkle in his eyes. Anson Jones was a handsome man, and he’d become her hero that day in more ways than one. He hadn’t only rescued
her from a deadly snake, but from a lonely life, one she thought she was still doomed to until today. But how could she possibly grow lonely married to this man? She smiled.
She was still smiling when they went to bed that night, cramped though it was, and fell into a blissful sleep.
* * *
The following week proved to be eventful for Zadie and Anson. Mrs. Morgan and Mrs. Tisdale sent a message with Freddy when he came to help Anson one day, that her welcoming tea was set for the following Wednesday. The timing was perfect – she and Anson could make that trip to Sweetwater Springs and still be back in time.
They spent the first night of the journey in one of the wayfarer cabins along their route, rose early the next morning and continued on their way. Half the time Anson drove the wagon, the other half she did. She was beginning to enjoy it, truth be told, and was looking forward to making a trip to Morgan’s Crossing by herself – if Anson would allow it. But wasn’t that the whole point of her learning how to drive?
And yet he was still reticent. “I don’t think you’re ready,” he stated matter-of-factly. “What if something spooks the horse?”
“Why are you so worried? You couldn’t wait to teach me when we first got the wagon, not to mention how to ride Hamlet.”
“That was before … oh, never mind.”
“Never mind what? Really, Anson, you’re not making sense.”
He sighed, his jaw tight. “I almost lost you.”
“What?”
“The rattler. I could’ve lost you.”
“But you didn’t. You slayed the dreadful beast, rescued the fair damsel,” she said with a bat of her lashes. “And carried her off to your …”
“Cot?” he said with a grin and waggle of eyebrows.
She slapped him on the arm. “Stop that.”
He chuckled to himself. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, Zadie, that’s all.”
She turned on the wagon seat to face him. He was staring at her with an intensity she hadn’t seen before. Was he going to tell her he loved her? Her heart leapt in her chest at the thought. “I had a very good teacher,” she said, putting a hand over his. “And I hope that I’ve been a good pupil.”
His mouth curved into a smile. “Better than I imagined, considering you’re a city girl. I’ll make you into a rancher’s wife yet.”
“You’ll let me drive to town by myself then? After all, it wouldn’t be very ladylike to attend a tea in my honor on horseback.”
“I don’t think Mrs. Morgan would allow Hamlet into her home for a cup,” he agreed.
“Anson!” she said with a shake of her head. “I’m trying to be serious.”
“At this point, I think you’re a better rider than you are a driver. I’d feel better if it was just you and Hamlet.”
“Maybe if you got me a sidesaddle …”
“A sidesaddle?” he asked in shock. “Why on earth would you …” He snapped his mouth shut.
“Why on earth?” she demanded. “I told you – because I’m a lady.”
Anson seemed to give that some thought. “I understand. Believe me I do – my mother was taught to ride sidesaddle, as were her sisters and cousins. They wouldn’t think of riding astride unless they had to. Except my Aunt Constance – she rides like a man.”
“There, you see? Like a man,” she said triumphantly. “Though I have to admit, the more I hear about her, the more I’d like to meet her. She sounds like someone I would get along with.”
“Ha! Too well,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “The two of you together would be nothing but trouble. It’s a good thing we live here in the Montana Territory and my aunt is in Oregon.”
“Why, Anson Jones, you sound positively worried!”
“After you meet Aunt Constance, you’ll know why.” They both laughed and continued on their way.
When they reached Sweetwater Springs it was almost nightfall. They settled King Lear at the livery stable, got a room at the Livingston Hotel, had a light supper and went to bed – a real bed. Both made sure they enjoyed the rest of the night.
The next morning, the first order of business was a trip to the mercantile. Zadie stepped through the door and thought she’d entered Heaven. Compared to Morgan’s Crossing, the Sweetwater Springs store might as well have been Rowland H. Macy’s famed edifice in New York City. They even had some ready-made dresses. “Anson! Look!”
Anson glanced where she pointed and saw the rack of clothing. He looked at her green traveling dress and matching hat. She’d informed him it was the same outfit she’d been wearing when she stepped off the train. “Pick out two dresses suitable for work. You can make the third one yourself,” he added with a wink.
Zadie tried not to smile. She wasn’t going to get out of learning how to sew. She also needed to hold him to his word that he’d teach her how to knit. Preferably in town, with other women present. She smiled broadly at the thought as Anson spoke to the mercantile owner about ordering a bed and a stove.
Perusing the ready-made dresses, she found one of brown calico and another of dark green denim. Not only were they pretty, they were much better suited to daily chores than any of the dresses she’d brought from Denver. She supposed she’d have to save those for special occasions, such as tea on Wednesday.
Once they finished at the mercantile, they paid a quick visit to Rev. Norton and his wife. “And how are things in Morgan’s Crossing?” the good Reverend asked.
“Can’t complain,” Anson said. “Though the ladies have caused quite a stir.”
“Stir?” said Mrs. Norton. “What are you talking about?”
“The women are having an afternoon tea in my wife’s honor.”
“Why, that’s wonderful, dear. It’s nice to have a few friends, and what better way to get to meet some?”
“I think so,” Zadie agreed. “And as Anson has taught me how to drive, I can get there myself.”
“Is that so?” Rev. Norton with a smile. “Congratulations on being such a quick learner, Mrs. Jones.”
“She’s not that quick,” Anson put in. “I told her she’s a better rider than a driver.”
“You mean you’d rather have her ride a horse into town to attend this tea?” Mrs. Norton asked with a hint of shock. Too bad it wasn’t a bucketful, Zadie thought.
“Zadie and I have already discussed it. She can ride Hamlet into town.”
“Sidesaddle,” Zadie whispered out the corner of her mouth.
“What was that, dear?” Mrs. Norton asked.
“Nothing,” she said with a smile.
Anson trod gently on her toes. She sent him a glare and continued to smile.
Rev. Norton cleared his throat. “If she were my wife, I think I’d accompany her. Then I wouldn’t be sitting at home worrying whether or not she caused herself a mischief.”
Zadie watched her husband’s eyes widen slightly. “That’s all well and good,” he replied. “But I can’t go to a ladies’ tea.”
“Why ever not?” Mrs. Norton asked.
“Yes, why not?” added Zadie.
“Because … because it’s for ladies,” Anson explained.
“Yes, but you’re my husband. Why can’t you be there too?” Zadie was unable to keep the gleam out her eye. Really, she shouldn’t be having so much fun with this.
“Well … I …” Anson stammered. “I wasn’t invited.”
“I’ll get you an invitation,” Zadie quickly said. “I’m sure you’ll have a grand time.”
“My, won’t that be nice now?” Mrs. Norton said and winked at the Reverend. “The two of you will have to tell us all about it the next time you come to town.”
Zadie smiled at the older couple. They looked to be having almost as much fun as she was. She did her best not to snicker. “Oh, we will, Mrs. Norton.” She turned to Anson. “Won’t we, dear?” At this point she had to bite her lower lip to keep from laughing.
Anson sent her a look that clearly said, I AM going to get you for this. “Most defin
itely.”
* * *
Anson and Zadie returned home on Tuesday, and on Wednesday they attended Zadie’s tea. The incident with the snake had left Anson more shaken than he’d thought, and he was loath to let Zadie out of his sight. She probably could’ve driven to town by herself, but he wasn’t ready for her to. A part of him feared for her life and was bound and determined to keep her in one piece, even if it meant attending a ladies’ tea.
“We’ve never had anyone bring their husband before,” Mrs. Garr objected, even as she smiled at Anson.
“I’m surprised you know as much about tea as you do, Mr. Jones,” said Mrs. Copelin.
Zadie studied the woman, wire-thin with freckles all over her face. “My husband is well-versed in the art of tea,” she informed them. ‘Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Since she was sitting across from him he could hardly step on her toes as he’d done at the Nortons. This was going to be fun!
“I was brought up with it,” he informed them.
“Do tell?” Mrs. Garr drawled in her Southern accent.
“My family has a very heavy British influence. In fact, the whole town is accustomed to having afternoon tea.”
The women gaped at him. “What do you mean, the whole town?” asked Mrs. Morgan.
“A very prominent family in the area, the Cookes, are from England. They brought the tradition with them, and soon everyone else followed. The hotel in town serves tea every afternoon.”
“Sounds all very civilized,” Mrs. Garr commented before taking a sip from her cup. “You must have a lot of women in town that love it.”
“Actually, there are often more men having tea at the hotel than women.”
His statement even got Zadie’s attention. “You never told me that.”
He shrugged. “Well, there are admittedly more men in town than women. The married couples have tea at home unless they’re in town, but the unmarried usually go the hotel.”
“Where again did you say you were from?” Mrs. Tisdale asked.
“Clear Creek, Oregon. I can’t wait to take Zadie there to visit one day.”
