The Marshal's Rebellious Bride

by Starla Kaye

  In truth, he wasn’t so sure that really had much to do with why he wanted to marry her now. He admired the way she stood up for herself, even though it aggravated him as well. She was a damn fine looking woman, too. He was fairly certain she would be every bit as energetic in bed as she was in everything else she did. Mostly he’d just decided he wanted her for his wife.

  She huffed and drew his gaze again. The tears were gone now. “You silly men and these ‘death bed’ promises. Taos was wrong to ask that of you. You were wrong to make such a foolish agreement.”

  Before he could object, she added, “He didn’t die, thank the good Lord. Whatever manly pact you two made should be void. You don’t have to marry me. I can—no matter what my brothers think—take care of myself, just like Aunt Mae.”

  He studied her for a few seconds. Mulishness set her chin. In spite of what she’d said, there was vulnerability in her eyes, pain and sadness, too. He knew that she’d loved once and been hurt deeply because of it. She didn’t want to take a chance on it happening again. They both knew he was a bad risk. He still wore a badge and intended to for some time yet. Any number of men could decide to come after him to make a reputation. And Rafe was a definite threat to any kind of peace and happiness in his life.

  “I won’t hurt you.” The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them. He meant them, though. He would do everything within his power not to hurt her. He’d stay alive. Now, with her, with the ranch, with Tyler coming here…well, he had more to fight to stay alive for than ever before.

  She blinked at him, appeared surprised at the force of his statement. He thought he saw a flicker of hope, too. Longing. Maybe she didn’t dislike him nearly as much as she tried to show. He gave her a final glance filled with determination before he turned back toward the barn.

  “I’ll have the buggy ready to go in a couple of hours. You can fix the food. I’m taking you on a picnic.” He’d never done anything like this in all his years. He sure hoped he didn’t mess this up. He strode quickly away before she could protest.

  She just yelled louder. “I’ll go…for my reasons. Like drowning you in the river.”

  * * *

  Whiskey moved in irritation around the kitchen, calling herself all kinds of idiot as she packed up leftover biscuits, a chunk of cheese, some tomatoes from the garden, and an over-sized piece of apple pie that her brothers had somehow missed. She stopped to look in the wicker hamper and grumbled, “Pitiful. Just pitiful.”

  She’d never gone on a picnic before and her skills at cooking were barely enough to keep someone alive, so she hadn’t even attempted frying up chicken or anything else. Not that she’d had the time to round up a chicken, wring its neck, de-feather it—pluck it, she think it was called—so on and so on.

  Taos wandered in the back door and took one look at the hamper and asked, “What’re you doing?”

  When she glanced in his direction, she saw him grinning like a fool. He’d taken in how she’d changed from the britches she’d started the day in to her best riding skirt and a clean blouse. She’d even taken her hair down from the braid and let the heavy mass drape freely down her back, which she was now regretting. Regretting almost as much as getting caught preparing a picnic basket.

  “Fixing myself a lunch, that’s all.” Her cheeks had heated and he’d see her lie because of that, so she scurried to the pantry having decided to throw in a jar of pickles.

  “So Morgan is courting you after all,” he said with a chuckle that had her hurrying back with the jar. He had lifted the hamper lid and was peering inside as he shook his head sadly. “What the hell kind of meal is this? Not very impressive, Sis.”

  She grabbed the basket away from him and jammed the jar inside. “I’m not trying to impress anyone, especially not that annoying marshal. And he’s not courting me. I’m not being courted. Got it.”

  Still, in spite of her frustration with the situation, she was inordinately pleased about the courting efforts the broody marshal was making.

  Taos chuckled and she punched him in the stomach. “This is your fault. This having to waste time with a man who makes me nuts is your fault. My having to spend time with a man who has stolen my ranch, with your help.”

  Still, she didn’t have to go on this confounded picnic. She shouldn’t be looking oddly forward to it. But, darn it all, she was.

  “You know what, sister dear? I think you protest a little too much. I think you’re actually beginning to like this man who you say makes you crazy.”

  Whiskey snorted; disgusted that he might be right. “You could not be more wrong, brother dear.”

  He was about to torment her again when they both heard the sound of wagon wheels rolling up near the back porch. She slammed the hamper lid shut and raced out of the house with it. In her fury she almost didn’t notice how spiffed up and handsome her adversary looked. Almost.

  She took two steps down the porch steps and stopped to stare in dismay and appreciation at the sight of the cleanly shaven, big man headed her way. He appeared apprehensive, nervous, completely perplexed about what he was doing. Her heart melted in that very moment. He’d gone to an awful lot of trouble shaving, putting on clean trousers and his best shirt, cleaning up the seldom-used carriage, and bringing her flowers.

  Flowers? She gaped at the handful of bedraggled sunflowers he must have picked from the patch growing behind the barn. Sad bunch they were, but they warmed her heart even more. She was in serious trouble here.

  Morgan thrust the bouquet at her and reached for the picnic hamper without saying a word. Even that she found endearing, which was so annoying. She wanted to stay mad at him. She intended to keep him at a distance. And she would. But she watched him stride back to the carriage with the basket and looked at the wilting flowers, bruised because he’d somehow crushed the stems carrying them in his tight fist, and found herself smiling.

  Taos stepped out onto the porch next to her. His gaze swept from his uncomfortable-looking friend to the flowers in her hands. The smile that crossed his face was the biggest she’d ever seen, and the most aggravating.

  She shoved the flowers at him. “Put them in water.” Then she hurried down the steps and climbed into the carriage, even though Morgan stood there awkwardly waiting to help her in.

  * * *

  It wasn’t until Morgan was spreading a blanket in the shade under one of the towering Cottonwoods along the river that either of them finally spoke. Whiskey carried the picnic hamper over and said, “Thanks for the flowers.”

  She had meant to say something sooner, but he’d looked so unapproachable during the ride. There seemed to be a lot on his mind and making conversation wasn’t part of it. She needed the time, anyway, to get her thoughts lined up on how to change his mind about the ranch. And she’d needed to adjust to this strange growing attraction she felt for him and figure out a way to stop it.

  “You’re welcome.” He didn’t even glance in her direction, just kept on straightening the blanket.

  “It’s perfect. Stop.” She plopped down in the middle of the blanket and yelped when she sat down on her hair. She wiggled until she could free herself. “That’s it! I’m cutting this double-damn blasted hair off tomorrow. Maybe all of it.”

  “No, you’re not,” he stated sternly as if his saying so would make her change her mind. Looking restless again, he went back to the carriage to fiddle with making sure the horse was securely tied to a tree branch.

  She wouldn’t, of course, but not because he had any say in the matter. Stubbornly she snapped, “Will if I want to.”

  He threw her a scowl, his mouth tight.

  “Anyway, if I make you so darn uncomfortable, why did you bring me here?” She fingered the blanket, feeling uncertain, awkward.

  His scowl turned darker, if that were possible. Evidently he didn’t like her use of the word “darn,” or maybe it was her annoyed tone. She really didn’t care. Giving him a smile that she hoped told him that, she pulled the long leng
th of hair over her shoulder and began braiding it.

  “Leave it down.” He walked back over and had the look of a man who expected people to be intimidated by his hard expression, obeyed.

  She wasn’t intimidated, or interested in obeying him. She went right on braiding her hair. “It’s too hot to leave this mess of hair down.”

  It took him a second but then he nodded in grudging acknowledgment. He eased down onto the blanket and settled about as far away as he could without being in the grass. Once more he locked gazes with her. “A lady shouldn’t cuss. Shouldn’t let words like ‘double-damn’ or ‘darn’ slip from her lips.”

  She gave him a disgusted look. “Yet it is perfectly fine for men to say anything, anytime, for whatever reason,” she countered. “Unfair.”

  He seemed fascinated by the way she braided her hair and somewhat distracted as he said, “Maybe it is, but that’s one of my rules. No cussing in any manner.”

  She stopped as she held her braid in one hand and reached to pull a ribbon from a pocket in her skirt. “One of your rules? For who? For all womankind?”

  “For the women in my life. You, in particular.” He looked smug. “Your brothers don’t approve either.”

  That was the truth, but beside the point. “My brothers don’t approve of a lot of things I do.” Another truth. “And they often make that annoyingly clear.”

  She wrapped the ribbon around the end of the braid and tied a bow. Her thoughts almost turned to her most recent battle of wills with them, but she refused to let them.

  “Painfully clear, I suspect.” He reached for the hamper.

  Her cheeks heated. Double-darn the man! “Yes, and it’s ungentlemanly of you to talk about or even hint about such matters.”

  “Like you getting spanked?” he questioned, appearing to find the subject infinitely interesting. Or maybe he just enjoyed picking at her. Yes, that was probably it.

  “Can we talk about something else?” she hissed and tried to snag the hamper back.

  “Reckon so, as long as you understand that there will be consequences when you break one of my rules after we’re married.”

  He pulled the hamper closer to him and lifted the lid. “Like warming your sweet butt with my hand…or worse.”

  She gulped at the thought, remembering the hard feel of his hand on her bottom. She didn’t look forward to any more such experiences. Certainly not to “or worse.” She didn’t even want to think what that might mean.

  “We are not getting married so you can keep your consequences to yourself.” She waited for him to comment on the meager items she’d packed for the picnic.

  He didn’t let her down. “You call this a meal? Pickles. Biscuits. Cheese.” He set each of the items on the blanket between them. “Now the pie was a good idea.”

  She moved until she was sitting on her knees beside him and started tossing the things back in the hamper. “I did the best I could, ungrateful man.”

  He held onto the pie wrapped in a cloth napkin and she huffed, “Fine, keep it. You can eat the whole damn piece while you drive me back to the house.”

  “Take them back out. Now. We’re having a picnic. We’re not going home for a spell.” His gaze told her it would be wise to rein in her temper. “And I’m not warning you again about watching what you say.”

  She pursed her lips and ground her jaw so tightly it hurt. Then she counted silently to ten, twenty, thirty, but she could not bring herself to obey his demand.

  “Now.” His entire body was rigid.

  She thrust up her chin and didn’t move to obey. Her stomach fluttered at her daring.

  When his eyes narrowed, she wished she’d given in and not purposely gone against him. But it was too late. He grabbed her arm and with ease tugged her across his out-stretched legs. He shifted her until her bottom rested in the all too familiar spanking position.

  Not willing to just accept the situation, she tried to push her way back up by planting her palms on the blanket and rearing backward.

  His large hand came down with a fierce Swat! that sent her right back down. “You brought this on yourself.”

  She yelped, even though it had only stung a little. “Did not.” Well, maybe, but…

  He settled his left arm across her lower back. “You’ve been begging for a walloping. So you’re gonna get one.”

  “I never beg for a walloping.” She squirmed, but he held her tight. “You have no right to be doing this.”

  He landed six rapid-fire swats that did more than sting a little. “I’m letting you see plainly what’ll happen when you push me too far.”

  She glowered back at him. “You’re such a…such an impossible man. Let. Me. Up.”

  The way his arm on her back pressed lower told her he wasn’t agreeing to any such thing. The following storm of swats to her bottom proved she needed to change tactics.

  She sucked in a breath at a particularly hard swat and gritted out, “I’m hungry. Let’s try the picnic idea again.” Although it irked her, she added, “I’ll behave.”

  Somehow she knew that he’d have to have the final “word”—just like her brothers—and, sure enough, he sent three more blazing swats to her bottom before he released her.

  The second his arm came off her back, she scrambled off his lap. The pain on her backside wasn’t really all that much, more annoying than anything else. Still, she would try harder not to irritate him again…at least not as much. But it would be a struggle.

  Still upset with him, she snatched each item back out of the hamper and set it down on the blanket. “Satisfied?” She hoped he choked on the biscuits.

  He raised an eyebrow of warning at her little-bit-too-sassy tone. Then he got up and went to fetch a canteen of water from the carriage.

  “I didn’t bring you out here to argue. I thought it was time we got to know each other better, considering we’re going to be married soon.” He sat down again.

  “I said—”

  He held up the large hand that had just spanked her bottom and she slammed her mouth shut.

  “That’s not up for discussion. Plans are made. It’s going to happen.” He tore off a chunk of cheese. “I’ll go first.”

  She attempted to ignore the slight discomfort as she settled down and took one of the biscuits. Taking a small bite, she waited for him to spill his life story.

  He chewed on the cheese, swallowed, sat silently for a couple more minutes. Finally he said, “I was married some ten years back. She left me and our son, and then she died.” He picked up another small piece of cheese. “Your turn.”

  Whiskey gaped at him. “That’s it? Less than two dozen words of telling me about yourself, about your life?”

  He shrugged and finished off the last piece of cheese. “You already know I’m a U.S. Marshal. You already know I own most of the ranch.”

  What had she expected? He tended to be a man of few words, unless he was complaining about her or something she did. Well, she could be just as stingy with her life story. “I was engaged.”

  She met his gaze and knew he remembered the day she’d come home to announce the news to her brothers. Instead she’d found him and told him. His eyes darkened and he looked uneasy.

  “But you already knew that,” she continued, not feeling the pain of that loss as heavily as she once had. “Ace was shot and died in my arms.” Saying the words, did cause her a moment’s grief. Ace had been a good man, too young to die.

  Morgan studied her for several awkward moments. She wondered what he was thinking? He was a hard man to read. She fidgeted with straightening her skirt, waiting for him to say something.

  Finally he said, “It’s time to move on, Angelina.”

  Angelina. Her brothers called her that when they were mad at her. But his tone had softened as he said the name and it felt right for the first time in… well, in forever. “Everyone calls me Whiskey,” she corrected without enthusiasm.

  A corner of his mouth lifted in what almost appeared to be a s
mile. “I like Angelina better. But I’ll save it for special times.”

  Her heart skipped happily as she savored the way he’d said that. She felt a warmth curling through her, more than the one he’d given her bottom. She took a bigger bite of biscuit. Resisting him was getting tougher to do. But he was a lawman. Lawmen got killed every day. He could die. Oddly, she thought his death would hit her even harder than Ace’s had.

  They sat silently eating for several minutes. A light breeze swept over them. It was cooling down and there was the scent of moisture in the air. Calmer now, she thought back to his condensed life story.

  “You have a son? Is that why you’re insisting on marrying me? To get a new mother for him?” She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, about being an instant mother. But she did like kids.

  Again he hesitated to speak, frowning. “I’ve been a widower for almost seven years. If I’d just wanted another mother for Tyler, I’d have married long before this.”

  She supposed he would have. And, even as grumpy and bossy as he could be at times, there would be a lot of women willing to marry him. He was handsome as sin and his broodiness appealed to some women. Oddly, it appealed to her. She was curious about why he hadn’t remarried.

  “Where is your son? Tyler, is it?” What would his son be like? Dark haired like him? Did Tyler look like his mother? What kind of disposition did the boy have?

  Morgan’s brow furrowed and he tensed. “Yes, Tyler. He’s on his way to Kansas now. With my brother Chase.”

  On his way here? When had he sent for him? She hadn’t heard a word about this.

  “From where? Texas? Isn’t that where Taos said you were from?” She had so many questions but she sensed that getting answers from him would be pure frustration.

  He gazed across the field, but she didn’t think he was looking at anything in particular. He was lost in his thoughts, worried, it seemed. She impatiently wanted to learn more.

  “Tyler has lived most of his life with my father. In Texas, yes.” A vein pulsed in the side of his neck. “I’m bringing him here to be safer.”