Finally!
Now he’d get a good night’s sleep and hope he didn’t wake up with a hangover. Thoughts of his mother wafted over him again as his head banged out a tympany. He missed her. God rest her soul, she’d been a decent Christian woman who didn’t cotton at all to those who over-imbibed.
He stumbled into the dark room and didn’t bother to light an oil lamp. Why inconvenience himself when he was going straight to bed?
He removed his jacket and laid it on the small round table after feeling for the edge in the dark. Then he sat and removed his tall black boots. He’d shined them with spit and polish so they’d gleam for Sam’s wedding. It was a shame Kat and Matthew hadn’t been able to come for the wedding, but he understood why they couldn’t make it on the spur of the moment. Kat would have made sure he hadn’t gotten drunk. She’d taken up Ma’s stance once she grew up. Thankfully, either Kat’s husband, Aaron, held the same feelings or he simply didn’t indulge to honor her. Whichever, Luke was well pleased with his little sister’s choice of husband.
Standing, he removed his britches and laid them across the table. Didn’t want a wrinkled uniform when he rode back to the Fort later this afternoon.
He stubbed his toe when he got to the bed frame quicker than he thought, but he bit back an oath. Easing around the side of the bed, he sat on the edge, then lay back and stretched out. He was too tired to even deal with getting himself under the covers.
A few hours’ shut-eye and he’d be good as new.
~ Chapter 2 ~
Pounding sounded at the door. “Come on, lazybones. Get up. I am hungry and want to head downstairs for breakfast.”
Luke tried to ignore the racket. He was comfortable in the soft bed, and he wasn’t the least bit hungry. He burrowed back against the warmth of the soft bedding, his arm resting against its pillow soft roundness.
Bang. Bang. Bang! “Wake up, I said.”
He cracked open an eyelid to see a riot of brunette hair just as a loud scream rent through the room, waking him quickly from his stupor.
He jumped off the bed just as a booted foot sounded against the door and it crashed open.
The man’s eyes widened in shock as he took in the scene in the room. Luke had no doubt his were just as wide.
The disheveled brunette bolted upright, her eyes wide with fear, and jumped out of the other side of the bed.
The young woman from last night! And the man brandishing a gun in front of him was the man who’d loudly spouted about hating Yankees.
What in Heaven’s name had happened? All he’d done was go to bed after leaving his brother’s party.
Alone.
He sure wasn’t alone now.
Her head turning between her very angry father and a very undressed Yankee captain, Madelyn wished she could fall right through a hole in the floor.
“Father, I don’t know how he got in here. I—”
“Cover yourself, woman,” her father yelled. “Have you no decency?”
She drew back in alarm, her hand covering her racing heart, then quickly grabbed the chenille floral print spread off the bed. Wrapping it around her shoulders, she held it closed at her throat, effectively covering her white linen nightgown.
The captain tried to move toward the table, no doubt to get his clothes, but her father’s gun trained on him brought him up short.
Out in the hall, a crowd gathered at the broken, open door.
Mortification slid over her, more than likely reddening her cheeks.
“Father, put your gun away.” She lowered herself to the edge of the bed. “I do not know how he got in here, but I assure you nothing—”
“Get off that bed! Have you no shame? Your sainted mother must be turning over in her grave right now.”
Her father’s words had the desired effect as she rocketed off the bed.
“Father, please! Nothing happened last night! I swear it. I came to bed alone after you left.” She grabbed the chenille spread tighter between her fists.
“Sir, if you will just let me explain—”
Her father spun on him. “Oh you will do plenty of explaining all right. To the sheriff.”
“Your daughter is correct, sir. Absolutely nothin’ happened between us last night. She left the dinin’ room shortly after you did and I spent all night at my brother’s weddin’ party.”
He looked abashed as he added, “Apparently drinkin’ far too much.” He spun to face the young woman. “I do apologize for that.”
Rage filled her father’s face. “She left the dining room alone and you just happened to spend the night in her bed? Do you take me for a fool, Yankee?” Never once did he lower his pistol. It remained trained on the captain.
“Sir, if you will allow me to get my clothes.” The captain looked toward the small mahogany table that had only held an ivory lace doily and the book she’d been reading before retiring. Now her book couldn’t be seen.
A Yankee uniform haphazardly covered it!
The captain continued. “I could get dressed and we could take this discussion elsewhere, the lobby perhaps, allowin’ your daughter to dress as well—in privacy.” He glanced toward the door, his brow arching. She quickly glanced there, too, mortification overcoming her.
People weren’t only peering in from the hall. Many actually had the audacity to stand inside the open doorway.
“Father, please! Get these people out of here.” Carefully wrapped in the chenille blanket, she lowered herself to the stuffed emerald green armchair situated beside her bed.
The hotel manager shoved into the room just as her father turned to usher people out into the hall.
“What is going on here? This is a decent establishment. I do not allow rowdies in my hotel, sir.” He glanced at her father’s gun, then back toward the splintered door. “Who is gonna pay for the repair of this door?”
“I don’t give a fig about your blasted door. This man”—he motioned toward the captain with his gun—“violated my daughter last night!”
“I did no such thing!” and “Father, he did not!” echoed off the walls at the same time.
Luke wanted to strangle the man. Although he guessed to an onlooker the situation would certainly look something like that. But blasted, he hadn’t done anything wrong.
Well…clearly he had. He took a moment to look around the room. No, this wasn’t his, although he imagined most of the rooms looked similar. It was kind of a mirror image of his—things in slightly different places.
I came in the wrong room! And not turning on the light, I didn’t see anyone else on the bed. But the door had opened when he’d turned the handle.
He moved toward the angry man. “Sir, if you will just let me explain. I believe I know what happened.”
With the hotel manager between them, he quickly grabbed his uniform and backed up. Standing in front of perfect strangers in his drawers was the last thing he wanted to do.
“I care nothing about your door, but I can tell you exactly what we are going to do next,” the girl’s father yelled. “We are going to find whoever is the law in this city and have this man hanged.”
“Father!” and “What?” met his declaration.
Her father had moved toward the window and looked out—staring pensively at the saloon. A frown marred his face as he spun on his heel and assessed the captain. “No. Actually, I have changed my mind.” He swung his pistol between the Unionist and Madelyn as his eyes narrowed in thought. “Get dressed. We are going to find the closest minister. You are getting married.”
“Hitched? What? No!” Luke shouted at the same time the brunette did. “Sir, you cannot possibly mean—”
The man glared him down. “That is exactly what I mean. You, sir, compromised my daughter.”
“I did no such thing! I—”
“Did you spend the night in my daughter’s bed?”
Not wanting to look, he did just that. His eyes were drawn to the bed, then to the beautiful young woman whom he’d had his arm
draped over not very long ago. She’d been soft beneath his hand. Her perfect hair from last night was gone. Instead, it hung halfway down her back and was mussed. He really had been drunk not to stir and realize there was another body in the bed with him.
She was beautiful. Vulnerability covered her face.
She was terrified.
“Well, yes, sir. Apparently I did, but I swear nothin’ happened atween us. I came in here last night thinkin’ it was my room. I didn’t turn on the light.” His eyes shot to the brunette again. “But all I did was go to sleep.”
“And how did you get in here if she did not open the door to you?”
“Well, that is a mystery, but—”
“I locked the door, Father. I swear I did.”
Tears rolled down her beautiful face. Luke wanted nothing but to gather her in his arms and comfort her. Wouldn’t that just go over well with her father!
“Lock’s broken,” the hotel manager spoke up. “Been meaning to fix it; haven’t gotten around to it.” He frowned as he looked between Luke and the girl. “Never actually needed it fixed afore.”
Madelyn thought she might die from embarrassment. While her father had tried to close the door once the manager entered, it refused to remain shut and perfect strangers continued to poke their heads in the room and stare at her and the captain.
Clearly she’d been judged and found lacking. But she really had locked the door last night. Well, at least she thought she had. After the difficult journey to St. Louis, she must have fallen into an exhaustive sleep as soon as her head hit the lumpy pillow. How else could she explain not realizing the bed had to have dipped when someone else got into it?
“Don’t make no never mind. I had a few too many drinks last night and should have known this was not my room. The young lady was in no way at fault, sir.”
During the discourse he’d somehow managed to get back into his light blue pants and white shirt. Now he slid his arms into his dark blue uniform jacket and started looping buttons through the button holes, then straightening the epaulettes.
He was still in bare feet, but somehow he managed to seem in charge of the room. “If you will just let me leave now, I assure you we will never meet again.”
His voice was quiet, but she caught the subtle note of fury underneath.
He bent to reach for a boot.
“Not so fast, Yankee.” Her father was still waving the gun around. As angry as he was, she was surprised it hadn’t mistakenly—or maybe not mistakenly—discharged. “You are not going anywhere except to the sheriff or the minister.”
The captain straightened and brought himself to his full height—probably around 6’2” or 6’3” if she had to guess. “Sir, I am a captain in the—” His voice dropped low and dangerous, his blue eyes snapping with aggravation.
“You are a blamed Yankee. I know exactly what you are.” Her father looked like he was ready to explode. “And though I cannot stand the sight of you, you are going to marry my daughter. Or exit this room feet first. Take your pick.”
“Father, please. I have no intention of marrying this man.” Although if he hadn’t been a Unionist, she might have been quite pleased to be courted by someone like him. “He is a…”
“Yankee,” the captain finished for her.
Madelyn straightened to her full height just like he had, and lifted her chin as well. He quirked a brow, but made no comment.
It had no effect on her father. Clearly he was beyond reason. She’d seen him angry before—almost every day during the war—but never had he been this irascible.
He turned to her. “Get dressed. I shall give you ten minutes to be ready and down in the lobby, or I will come up and get you myself. And then we are going to find the nearest church. Surely some folks in this town worship our Lord.”
He kept his gun trained on the captain, but motioned him toward the door. “Get your boots and move.”
His shoulders rigid, his hands clenched, with a nod and without another word, the captain left the room.
Luke closed his eyes and counted to ten. This couldn’t be happening. He’d survived the entire War of the Rebellion—although certainly not without getting injured—only to wind up leg-shackled to a Reb? Albeit a very beautiful one that probably had a pedigree as long as his arm.
Tears streamed down her face, even as she shot daggers at him with her eyes. This was no shrinking miss, but was she strong enough to withstand life on the frontier? Life on a ranch wasn’t easy. Maybe now he needed to consider staying in the military instead of mustering out and returning to the ranch. Life at the Fort wouldn’t be too bad. It just wasn’t what he wanted.
Wait! Was he really considering going along with this sham? He glanced to the door and all the people eagerly clamoring around it. The filly’s pa was right. Whether done intentionally or not—and it certainly had been not—he had compromised her reputation.
But hadn’t he overheard them saying they were going to San Francisco? No one there would know what had happened.
But he’d know. He’d snuggled up next to her warm, soft body and had been quite comfortable doing so. And while they’d had a sheet and the bedspread between them, he’d most definitely felt her womanly curves.
It was his fault he’d drank too much. Hadn’t Ma warned him about the repercussions of drink his entire life? She’d preached to him and his brothers ever since they were big enough to know Pa often rode into town for a drink with some of the cowpunchers after a hard day ranching.
A wealthy Englishwoman, she’d fallen hard for the smooth-talking ranch hand. They’d married and done well between them, now owning a large spread just outside of Kansas City. But the life had been hard, and she’d died before the War of the Rebellion had broken out. As much as she’d loved her adopted country, she would have been heartbroken to know of the troubles between the states.
She’d instilled a sense of right in him. And as much as he didn’t want to do this, Luke knew it was the right thing to do. He’d been wrong, and now he’d have to pay the consequences.
Even though the little filly might make him regret this every day for the rest of his life.
Luke reached for his boots, his sword, waist sash, and hat, all haphazardly sprawled on the wooden floor. As he marched out the door in front of the gun still being brandished at him, he thought he just might feel like Robert E. Lee had when he surrendered at Appomattox.
With his military training, not to mention far too many brawls he’d engaged in growing up, Luke could disarm the man in a minute, although the elderly man didn’t know that. But Luke had no intention of doing so.
His pa had taught him the difference between right and wrong. And he had to do what was right—even if not convenient.
He’d gotten himself into this situation, and although it wasn’t the way he’d seen his life when he’d thought of the future, he’d play the cards God had dealt him and see if he’d come up with a winning hand.
~ Chapter 3 ~
Madelyn wanted to spit nails. How could her father be doing this? All they had to do was leave St. Louis and no one would know how she’d apparently snuggled up against the warmth of a hard, warm body.
A Yankee body!
Saints alive, her father hated anything to do with the Unionists and here he was forcing her to wed with one? It made no sense.
Walking past the general store and what appeared to be some sort of hardware store, she found herself too soon at the end of the street at the steps to a white clapboard church. Maybe she’d be lucky and the minister wouldn’t be here today.
When her father opened the door and motioned she and the captain in, she saw she’d run out of luck.
The man was seated in the front pew praying. He raised his head when they entered.
“Hello. How may I help you?” He rose and turned his head. “I was just in here praying, preparing for my sermon tomorrow morning.”
Her father shifted his gun between her and the captain. “These two are gett
ing married. Need you to perform the ceremony. Now.”
The minister’s eyes widened. “Sir, this is God’s house. Put away that gun.”
Her father narrowed his eyes as he stared at the minister, then nodded and acquiesced. “Good enough. You will perform the ceremony?”
The man frowned. “Well…it does not appear the participants are particularly willing if you forced them in here with a gun.”
“Does not matter. They are getting married. Either you will do it or I will find someone else.” He glanced at all of them. “Short of that, I shall shoot the captain.”
The minister gasped.
“Father! What has gotten into you? You have never behaved like this before.” Madelyn smoothed a hand down the skirt of her royal blue dress, her hand shaking nervously.
The captain spoke at the same time. “Sir, that will not be necessary. I am sure your daughter and I will both be agreeable to a ceremony.”
Madelyn ground out a sound of frustration and cut him a disapproving side glare. He ignored her. “Speak for yourself, sir. I wish nothing to do with—” Bitterness and despair etched her voice.
The minister cleared his throat. “Well, under the circumstances I guess I can perform the ceremony. I certainly do not wish to be responsible for a man being shot.”
Madelyn glowered at the man. “Did you not just hear me? I said I have no wish to wed with him.”
The lanky minister gave her a purposeful gaze and smoothed a shock of washed out brown hair from his eyes. He looked uncomfortable. “I heard you, miss,”—he swiveled his head to look toward her father—“but do you really wish to be responsible for this man’s death?”
Death?
Oh, bother. Would Father truly go through with his words? Shoot the captain? She cast him a sideways glance. Then Father would be arrested for murder. Either way, they’d never make it to San Francisco. Her dream of practicing at his side was over.
The Rancher's Southern Belle Page 2
