by West, Everly
As they approached the house, Isaac emerged from inside. He assisted Samantha safely to the ground. Once Mason stopped in front of the wide steps leading up to the veranda, he dismounted and handed Sinbad’s reins over to Isaac.
“Excuse me while I go freshen up before lunch.” He nodded.
This was not the married life he’d envisioned, he thought as he climbed the steps to the front door.
Chapter 11
The next evening, Sammie stood in front of Mason’s office. Her hands shook, her stomach churned, and her hopes ran high. She couldn’t live like this anymore.
Please, let him be open-minded. Please, let him be open-minded, she silently chanted as she raised her hand and tapped on the oak door.
“Come in,” he answered.
Maybe now wasn’t a good time. Maybe she should wait in the parlor until dinner and gage his mood then. Maybe she should go to her room and hide under the covers.
Maybe she should grow a backbone and face her husband like a grown woman and not the “kid” he liked to call her. Sammie straightened her spine, squared her shoulders and opened the door. “May I have a moment of your time?”
Mason stood and motioned toward the chair in front of his desk. Once she sat, he returned to his seat as well.
“What can I do for you, Samantha?”
She flinched at her name. It was a small thing, him not calling her Sammie or Sam, but it mattered to her.
Her mother and father were the only two people to use her given name. Since her mother’s death, it hurt her heart to hear it. Yes, her father still called her Samantha and it hurt when he did. But her heart broke every time she saw her father and his soul-crushing loneliness. He could call her “Hey, you” and the pain of losing her mother would still cut her to her core.
One day, she’d explain all that to Mason, but not tonight. Tonight, they had other things to discuss.
“Samantha?” he prodded.
She fought her flinch and said, “I would like to talk about our marriage.”
Mason scowled. “If you wish.”
“First of all, I’d like for us to agree this will be a civilized conversation. No yelling.”
“That would be a nice change.” Mason grinned. “Let’s try that.”
Nodding, she folded then unfolded her hands in her lap. All day, she’d gone over and over everything she wanted say. Now she didn’t know where to start.
Mason rose, circled to the front of his desk then sat in the chair beside Sammie. He took her hand in his and gently squeezed. “Take your time. It’s obvious this is important to you.”
This was the man who had invaded her life for almost six weeks. This was the man who shared his ideas and opinions with her. Then intently listened to hers. This was the man who laughed with her, not at her.
She knew this man. She could talk to this man.
“Mason, didn’t you wonder why I turned down your marriage proposal?”
“Yes, but I could see you weren’t ready to tell me, so I didn’t push.” He smiled again as he shrugged a shoulder. “I had no intention of walking away from you. And every intention of wearing you down until you said yes.”
“I wouldn’t have ever relented.” She rubbed her thumb over his fingers. “Not without telling you the truth.”
“And what truth is that?”
“The woman you proposed to isn’t me.” Sammie watched his eyes widen, confusion wafted over his expression. She laughed. “No, I don’t have a twin living in my armoire.”
He chuckled, a mixture of relief and amusement.
“I’m not the socially acceptable debutante you think I am. I abhor society’s rules and regulations. I was playing a part for my father, refined, dutiful and graceful. But I’m done with those things.
“I love to feel the wind in my hair and sunshine on my face.” She laughed again, remembering their wallow in the mud puddle. “Maybe not mud baked on my skin.”
Mason grinned but remained quiet.
“I love to fish and hunt and swim in a creek. I climb trees, dance barefoot in the moonlight, and am a crack shot.” She sighed, knowing this wasn’t coming out as she’d planned. “Mason, I’m not the kind of wife you want. And I can’t pretend to be someone I’m not.”
He released her hand then leaned against the chair’s backrest. “You pretended for six weeks.”
“I was miserable.” Sammie mimicked his posture. “And I’d make you miserable if I lived a lie for you. I wouldn’t purposefully do anything to hurt you, but eventually we’d both hate our lives.”
Mason’s blue gaze turned to twin orbs of ice. “Are you saying you want to leave our marriage?”
“No. I’m saying we need to compromise.” Sammie leaned forward, hoping he’d give them a chance to find each other. “Let me be me. Let yourself get to know the real me.”
“And what would I get out of this bargain?”
“When the occasion arises, I can be the woman you knew before our marriage.” Sammie picked at a tuft sewn into her green wool dress. “Eventually, when we’ve gotten to know each other, I’d like to be a loving wife. Have children to dote over. Children with your blue eyes and my sense of adventure.”
She raised her gaze to his. “I’d like a real marriage, true and strong.”
Mason sat a long time studying her. She let him take his time. She could almost see his thoughts churning through his mind.
Finally, she caved under the pressure of the heavy silence. “Why did you marry me, Mason?”
He cocked an eyebrow and seemed to choose his words carefully. “From the moment we met, I intended to marry you. Your father’s helpful push only speeded up the process.”
Well aware he didn’t speak of love, Sammie nodded. Maybe this wasn’t the answer. Maybe they couldn’t get where they needed to be to make their marriage work.
“Why did you marry me?” he asked, his gaze intent.
“You are a good man, Mason Mayfield. I knew that the moment we met.” Sammie twisted in her seat, squarely facing her husband. “Because I care for you.”
They both stared at each other. Mason thinking. Sammie holding her breath.
A light rap on the door broke the silence.
“Come in,” Mason growled.
Virgil opened the door and announced, “Dinner is served, sir.”
“Thank you.” Mason rose and offered his arm. “Sammie and I will be right there.”
She gasped.
He winked. “Let’s give this compromise thing a try, shall we?”
* * *
Midmorning the next day, Mason tried to study his account books, but his thoughts kept wondering off to his wife.
After their talk last night, he’d escorted her into the dining room, seated her at one end of the table, and then moved to the head at the other end. Less than a minute later, she picked up her place setting and reseated herself in the chair at his immediate right.
They had laughed, talked and told funny tales of their childhood. He’d enjoyed every minute of it.
Enough of his wool-gathering. He had work to do. He shook his head and focused once again on the ledger in front of him. The next time he looked up, Samantha stood in his open doorway, her shoulder propped against the door jamb.
She had changed from the pretty floral print day dress she wore at breakfast into a pair of blue jeans and a chambray shirt. Blast it, he should have told how lovely she looked in her dress.
“I’m sorry if I disturbed you,” she said as she moved to the chair in front of his desk.
“You didn’t.” He closed the ledger, momentarily giving up on getting anything done. Hoping he put enough humor into to his tone not to show his true distaste for her attire, he teased, “Just how many pairs of britches do you have, woman?”
Laughing, she replied, “Probably more than I should.”
No argument there, he thought, but kept his sentiment to himself.
“My trunks arrived yesterday afternoon,” she added. “So,
I have everything I need.”
“Good. What are your plans for the day? Obviously, you and Isaac aren’t staying around the house.”
“That’s why I’m here. Where’s the best fishing hole on Whispering Pines?”
A memory flashed across his mind’s eye. An old oak tree beside the river, he and his father catching fish almost as soon as their hooks hit the water. He smiled at the recollection.
“There’s a great place down by the river.”
“Yea!” Samantha clapped her hands. “Would you tell Isaac how to get there?”
“No, it’s a secret spot my father and I used to fish.” Mason watched his wife’s excitement disappear. “But I could take you.”
Samantha shot from her seat, ran around to his side of the desk and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”
When he wrapped his arm around her hips, she stepped away. He mentally shrugged. Well, it was worth a try.
“I’ll ask Patsy to pack us a lunch.” Samantha practically skipped to the doorway. “Meet me at the stables in fifteen minutes?”
“Sounds good.” Mason slipped his ledger into a desk drawer for safe keeping. “I’ll rustle us a couple of fishing poles.”
Mason caught her excitement. It had been years since he’d gone fishing.
* * *
Hours later, Mason and Sammie sat on a thick blanket beside the river. A string of channel catfish staked out at the edge of the water and the remains of their lunched scattered around them.
They should get back, but Mason couldn’t bring himself to leave just yet. Sammie sighed beside them. She thought probably the same thing.
“Are you bored?” he asked. “You haven’t caught anything in the last hour.”
She leaned back on her elbows, her legs stretched out. When she cut her gaze toward him and smiled, he almost melted into a puddle. His wife stirred him even when she wore britches.
“I haven’t baited my hook in the last hour,” she admitted. “We have more than enough fish for dinner. And no, I’m not bored.”
Laughing, he lay on his side beside her, his head propped on his hand. “You are amazing, wife.”
She giggled. “I doubt that.”
“Never doubt this,” he whispered as he brought his lips to hers.
He layered his mouth over hers, nipping at her bottom lip here and there. When she opened for him, he explored her mouth with his tongue. She moaned and threaded her fingers through his hair, drawing him closer.
Hot need ran through him. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he crushed her against his body. Deepening his kiss, he pressed his swollen shaft against the vee of her legs.
Suddenly, she tore her mouth from his. Her hands pushed against his chest. “Mason, please, stop.”
He froze. Damn, he’d almost lost control. He never lost control with another women. Why her? Why Sammie?
“I’m sorry.” He sat up, bringing his knees up to hide his erection.
She shook her head. “I think we need more time before we make that kind of commitment to each other.”
He laughed, harsh and biting. “We took marriage vows. How much more commitment do you need?”
“Not to me, you didn’t,” she whispered. “Not the real me.”
She was right. His body wanted to argue, but his mind knew they still needed time.
Stabbing his fingers into his hair, he inhaled deeply then exhaled slowly. After a moment, he asked, “Do you want to head home?”
Her head bowed, hiding her face behind a curtain of auburn hair, she shrugged a shoulder. “If you do.”
He barely heard her.
He wanted to take her in his arms. He wanted to run his hand through her hair and tell her he was sorry one more time. But foremost, he wanted to kiss away her hurt feelings and make her smile again.
He did none of those things. Instead he reached over to his saddle bags lying beside him and pulled them closer.
“What’d you say, we stay a little longer?”
Still downtrodden, she brought her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around them and then propped her chin on top of her legs. “Sure, if that’s what you want.”
“I found something of yours, but I have to admit I wanted to keep it for myself.”
She shifted her head until her cheek rested on her knees instead of her chin. “What is it?”
“This.” Reaching inside his saddle bags, he pulled out the dime novel she’d left the day he found her asleep under a tree.
She bolted straight up. “Badger and His Shadow! I’ve been looking for that everywhere.”
“How much have you read?” he asked, pleased he’d made her happy.
“Only a couple of pages. I feel asleep before I could read more.” She scooted closer to him on the blanket, a devilish gleam in her eyes. “How much have you read?”
“Ah, you know me too well.” He laughed. “Not much more than you. I couldn’t help myself. The Old Sleuth Library novels are one of my favorites and I haven’t read this one yet.”
Sammie rolled to her stomach then propped her chin in her hand. “Let’s start from the beginning that way we’ll be in the same place.”
“You want me to read to you?”
“Sure, or I can read to you. There’s no reason we can’t enjoy the book together.”
Mason nodded. He liked the idea of sharing something as common as a dime novel with his wife.
So, he read. Soon they were both absorbed in the tale of Badger and His Shadow.
Chapter 12
A week later, Mason and Sammie sat finishing their coffee after breakfast. He slid his hand over hers. After that first night when she’d moved her place setting to his end of the table, that had been her spot. He loved being so close to her, to casually touch her as they spoke.
This morning she wore a fetching yellow dress that made her hair seem a lighter shade of red. She’d pulled it up into a loose bun with soft curls framing her face. Her eyes sparkled with life and happiness.
His heart swelled knowing he was part of her happiness. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “Have I told you how beautiful you are this morning?”
Smiling, she leaned her elbow against the table and laid her chin in her upturned palm. “I wondered when you’d notice.”
“Oh, you are a minx.” He kissed her fingers again then placed their still joined hands on the table.
“Yes, but not just any minx.” She winked. “I’m your minx.”
“That you are, sweetheart. That you are.”
He indulged in one more moment with Sammie before he rose to leave. “I have a business meeting in Laramie today, but I should be back by late afternoon.”
“You’re going into Laramie?”
Blast it, he thought he’d told her. “Yes, do you want go? Maybe see your family or some friends?”
“No, not yet.” She stood and walked with him to the front door. “I’d love to see Seth, but my father can go bump a stump for all I care.”
He drew her into his embrace. “You don’t forgive easily, do you?”
A serious shroud lowered over the face. “No, Mason, I don’t.”
He touched his nose to hers, hoping to lighten her mood. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”
She smiled. “I’ll do that.”
He kissed her goodbye and left.
Lord, help me, if she ever finds out about the bet!
* * *
Late that afternoon, Sammie rushed through the front door. The footman had mentioned Mason had returned thirty minutes ago. “Mason!”
She came skidding to a stop in front of his office’s closed door. “Mason!”
Oh, wait. Closed door. He must be having another meeting with Thomas. She turned to walk away when the door flew open.
“Sammie?” Irritation heated his tone.
She spun around about to apologize for interrupting when his gaze traveled down her from her head to her boots peeking out of the cuffs of her
pants. The annoyance shading his eyes flared into panic.
“Oh, God, where are you hurt?” He grabbed her and lifted her into his arms.
“What?” she asked, then remembered helping Isaac field dress the stag she’d shot earlier.
He deposited her onto the leather settee in the corner. Her rifle slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a loud clank.
“Was it a bear attack. Let me see how bad it is, sweetheart.” He reached for the buttons of her blouse. She grabbed his wrist and push upward.
“It’s deer blood, Mason. I’m fine.”
Mason jerked upright and glance behind him. That’s when she saw the other man in the room.
* * *
Mason paced the floor, his fury intensifying with every step. Why couldn’t Sammie have stayed home today? Why couldn’t she have met him and Mr. Middleton in the foyer looking as adorable in her yellow morning dress as she had when he left for Laramie?
A soft rap against the door drew his attention. He knew exactly who stood on the other side and she was about to get a piece of his mind.
He yanked the door open then stepped back to allow his properly-dressed wife to enter.
“I can explain, if you’re willing to listen.”
“Oh, by all means, enlighten me,” he sneered, slamming the door behind her. “Maybe I should take notes so I can explain this afternoon’s fiasco to Mr. Middleton next time I see him.”
“Mr. Middleton?”
“Melvin Middleton, the shipping officer for Cudahy Meat Packing. He was here to finalize a contract between them and Mayfield Freight Lines. The other man who witnessed your deplorable behavior this afternoon.”
“Deplorable? Me?” Sammie jabbed her hands onto her hips. “I wasn’t the one trying to open my blouse for the world to see.”
“I thought you were hurt,” Mason yelled. “My apologizes for not taking the time to clear the room while I thought my wife was bleeding to death. Obviously, your modesty should have been my upmost concern.”
