Taming Eliza Jane

by Shannon Stacey

  “But, Miss Carter, Genesis 3:16 tells us ‘in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children, and thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee’, and Ephesians 5:22 says ‘Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord.’”

  This was always the trickiest part of her lectures. If she tried to refute the word of God she’d lose them, and every word she’d said would be ignored. If she totally ceded to the scripture, her lecture would be dismissed as impossible to apply to their own lives.

  “That’s why you need to talk to your husbands,” Eliza Jane answered, causing a lot of fidgeting in the room. “I know it’s awkward, but your health is important. Tell them what I’ve told you about the toll repeated pregnancies takes on a woman’s body. And if that doesn’t work, remind them that if they wear out your bodies, they get to raise the children you’ve already had all by themselves.”

  Scattered laughter broke some of the tension and the women got bolder about asking questions. She spent another half-hour answering them.

  As she spoke, her awareness of a certain woman in the crowd grew. It was hard to tell her age, worn and beat by the sun as she was, but Eliza Jane guessed she was in her late forties. And she was scared.

  The woman’s eyes as she watched the lecture were incredibly sad, but her body language hinted to Eliza Jane that the very last thing that woman wanted was to be caught there.

  She’d seen it before, and it both enraged her and broke her heart knowing this woman probably lived in fear of the very man who had vowed to love and protect her until death they did part.

  Eliza Jane decided she’d seek the woman out before leaving town. It shouldn’t be too hard to find out who she was, even without asking Will or the sheriff—in her past experience, involving the law in domestic matters such as this was disastrous. She’d talk to the woman herself.

  Halfway through a discussion on a method of stopping pregnancy an older woman had learned from her grandfather’s slave mistress, the front door of the hotel opened with a bang and Sheriff Caldwell strode into the room.

  “I’ve got a crowd of menfolk getting drunker and madder by the second and children who need minding. It’s time for you ladies to go on home now.”

  “Sheriff Caldwell,” Eliza Jane said in a voice loud enough to still the women who’d already begun to gather their things. “We have a right to assemble here.”

  He turned his cold, dark gaze on her. “You’ve caused enough trouble for tonight.”

  “I am not causing trouble. I am conducting a meeting, which is well within my rights.”

  The sheriff stalked across the room, advancing on her like a black panther moving in for the kill. When he drew his pistol, every woman in the room—including Eliza Jane—gasped.

  She’d suffered a great many indignities in her work, but she’d never had an officer of the law pull a gun on her. Eliza Jane straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin to show she wouldn’t be intimidated so easily. It was time to practice what she preached.

  “Sheriff, I don’t—”

  “You are disturbing the peace in my town, lady,” he interrupted. “And many a people—well, the ones who ain’t dead, anyway—will tell you I don’t take kindly to having my peace disturbed.”

  There was now a hurried, but nearly silent, exodus of women out the front door, which made Eliza Jane want to stomp her foot in vexation. How could the men of Gardiner be expected to treat their women with any sort of decency when their own sheriff was a violent, pigheaded boor?

  Suddenly a ripple of excitement ran through the line of women. “Lucy Barnes is coming!”

  Sheriff Caldwell turned as pale as flour and shoved his gun back into its holster. “Oh shit—excuse the language, ladies.”

  He made a break for the kitchen—and the hotel’s back door, presumably—but he stumbled over a dainty parlor chair and crashed to the floor in a tangle of splintered wood and some curses Eliza Jane had never even heard before. The man actually scrambled a few feet on his hands and feet before managing to get up and run. A few seconds later, the screen door of the kitchen closed with a bang.

  Well, wasn’t that interesting? Clearly this Lucy Barnes—who she’d heard described as the moral compass of the town—was somebody she needed to make an ally of.

  A Bible-bearing woman with a face as red as apples and a body built like the tree they’d fallen from stepped through the front door. She pointed a trembling finger at Eliza Jane and screamed at the top of her considerable lungs, “Jezebel!”

  Unlike the sheriff, Eliza Jane didn’t trip over a single chair on her way out the back door.

  Chapter Four

  “This is your idea of lying low? You can’t hide in my office forever, Eliza Jane,” Will pointed out when he was through laughing so hard his stomach hurt.

  “She called me Jezebel,” Eliza Jane protested. She did look a little shaken, but Lucy was known to have that effect on people.

  “Sweetheart, I’ve only known you a week and I can safely hazard a guess that’s not the worst thing you’ve ever been called.”

  She crossed her arms, emphasizing those beautiful breasts he’d spent way too much time thinking about of late. “Admittedly, that’s true, but I thought she would be an ally of sorts when I saw the effect her name had on Sheriff Caldwell.”

  “Lucy Barnes is about the only person I’ve ever met who scares Adam.”

  “I’m sure she, being a Christian woman, disapproves of his shooting people—and brandishing his weapon in a gathering of women.”

  “Oh, it ain’t the shooting people that bothers her. She’s got her mind set on him marrying her daughter.”

  Will relished the rare moments he managed to render her speechless. She was twice as pretty when she was quiet.

  Unfortunately those moments never lasted long. “You can’t be serious. Can you even imagine what a child of that man and that woman’s daughter would be like? It’s little wonder he’s scared.”

  That was a little frightening, come to think of it. “I don’t think he’s gotten as far as pondering offspring. He gets about as far as having Lucy Barnes as a mother-in-law and heads for the bottom of a bottle.”

  “Why would she want the sheriff for her daughter instead of you?”

  Well, if that didn’t just make a man feel warm inside—real warm. “So you’d rather marry me than Adam, would you?”

  Her eyes got big and her cheeks rosy. “I would rather not marry either of you, under any circumstances. I simply meant that your prospects as a doctor seem more attractive to the mother of a marriageable girl than those of a crazy sheriff.”

  “She doesn’t think I’m good enough for her daughter, on account of how much time I spend at the Chicken Coop.”

  “Why wouldn’t she feel the same way about Sheriff Caldwell?”

  “Oh, Adam won’t step foot in the Coop. Won’t have anything to do with whores in general. We figure that, along with his not having a wife, is why he’s so quick on the trigger when it comes to shooting people.”

  “Oh, I just assumed…” Her words trailed off and she narrowed her eyes at him. “Just how much time do you spend at the Chicken Coop?”

  “Enough to learn a whole lot about women they don’t teach at Harvard.”

  She wanted to be scandalized, but he could see by her expression she was more intrigued than anything. Outrage may have explained some of the color in her cheeks, but not her quickened breath or the little flick of her tongue over her bottom lip.

  There was no point in trying to deny to himself he’d developed a powerful hunger for this woman, but he wasn’t sure just how liberated she was about these things. If he kissed her right here and now, would she return the favor, or slap his face?

  When footsteps stopped outside his door, Will cursed while Eliza Jane yelped and ducked behind his examination curtain. He yanked it closed just as the office door opened.

  “That surely is a nasty rash you’ve got there,” he called back over his
shoulder, just to make it look good, of course.

  Hellfire and damnation personified stepped into his office and Will smiled. “Good evening, Mrs. Barnes.”

  “Did that brazen hussy come here?”

  “Considering how few women in this town—or any other place, for that matter—have achieved your level of moral fortitude, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to be more specific.”

  She narrowed her eyes and shook the good Book at him. “Don’t you sass me, boy. I know you’ve been keeping time with Eliza Jane Carter.”

  Oh boy, things were getting interesting. But if the pain-in-the-ass woman behind the curtain didn’t know enough to keep her mouth shut, they’d get downright ugly. Mrs. Barnes wasn’t a person who stood for having her feathers ruffled “The sheriff asked me to keep an eye on her while she’s in town—make sure she doesn’t cause too much trouble.”

  “That better be all there is to it, or I’ll make sure the only doctoring you get to do is turning breeched calves.”

  Will stuck his thumbs in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Yes, ma’am. And speaking of the sheriff, has Beth Ann found herself a husband yet?”

  He half-expected lightning bolts to shoot from her eyes and sear him on the spot. “Don’t you worry none about my Beth Ann. Once Sheriff Caldwell tastes my girl’s apple pie, he won’t settle for anybody else.”

  Knowing Lucy Barnes, she’d probably hexed the apples somehow. He’d have to warn Adam against eating any wayward pies.

  “If I see Mrs. Carter, I’ll be sure to let her know you’re looking for her and that she should stop by your home for some of that delicious lemonade of yours.”

  Since the Barnes family could afford good, white sugar—and she wanted everybody to know it—Lucy made lemonade so sweet it made a man’s teeth ache. Adam had been forced to drink gallons of it before he started getting more adept at avoiding her.

  “That woman’s not welcome under my roof,” she hissed. “You just tell her I’m keeping my eye on her. On both of you.”

  She left in a cloud of righteousness that made Will want to choke. Someday soon that woman needed to be put in her place.

  “Is she gone?” Eliza Jane whispered urgently.

  He slipped behind the curtain, then shook his head at her worried expression. “How is it that you can stick that pretty little nose up at an armed man, but that one woman has you shaking in your shoes?”

  “That one woman even scares the armed man in question, so don’t you dare laugh at me.”

  “You sure do have a knack for getting people all riled up.”

  “Some people need to be.”

  “You get me all riled up,” he said, letting the heat he felt inside seep into his voice. It was a dangerous ember he was poking at, but he suspected if he could fan that smoldering spark of hers into a flame, she’d burn with a passion that would leave them both scorched and breathless.

  And she hadn’t missed his meaning, judging by the way she was chewing at her bottom lip. “I’m sure any one of Miss Adele’s chickens would be happy to smooth your feathers.”

  She missed derisive by a mile, Will thought. She sounded more like a jealous lover. He moved closer to her, just short of crowding her. “I haven’t visited the Coop in that capacity since you came to town, darlin’. The chickens can’t scratch the itch I got.”

  Her blue eyes got so big he thought he’d drown in them, but she didn’t say a word.

  “What about you, Eliza Jane? You got an itch you need scratched?”

  He watched her throat work as she swallowed, then shook her head too quickly. “I guess that particular itch just faded right away since scratching it wasn’t worth the bother.”

  “Oh, darlin’. If that’s really the case, your husband wasn’t doing it right.”

  Her cheeks flushed, and in the dim light of the lamp, her eyes glittered. “It’s rather a simple procedure, Doctor, so I doubt he was performing it incorrectly.”

  He grinned and stepped even closer to her, definitely in crowding territory now. “If you can use words like procedure and performing, he for damn sure wasn’t doing it correctly.”

  Will knew his way around a woman well enough to know this one was affected by him in a very good way. And he’d bet if he pressed his lips to that sweet spot on her neck, he’d feel her pulse fluttering like a hummingbird’s.

  He cupped the side of her face with one palm. Her eyelids slid closed and she sighed, turning her face into his hand. “Did you do that when he touched you?”

  She shook her head slightly, barely moving. With his other hand, he took hold of her clenched fist. As her hand relaxed, he threaded his fingers through hers and raised it so he could kiss each knuckle. Eliza Jane’s entire body shuddered, and the heated blush of her face crept downward, disappearing into the stiff collar of her blouse.

  That collar wasn’t the only thing stiff. When she sucked her bottom lip in and started worrying at it with her teeth, Will almost groaned out loud. And shifting his feet around didn’t do a damn thing to ease the almost painful pressure below his belt.

  “Making love ain’t about performing a procedure, darlin’. It’s about pleasure.”

  Her sweet bottom lip slid free of her teeth and Will moved in, pressing his mouth to hers before they could capture it again. Her lips were soft and willing under his, and he deepened the kiss. She gasped when his tongue brushed over hers, and this time Will did groan.

  He left her mouth, blazing a trail of kisses to her jaw, and he spoke against her skin. “And when your woman has her legs wrapped around your waist and her hips lifted off the bed…when she’s got one hand raking the skin off your back…”

  She whimpered, and Will tipped her chin back to expose her throat. He licked a trail of moisture down to the collar of her blouse and then blew gently on her overheated flesh. “…and the other hand is holding a pillow to her mouth so her screaming doesn’t wake the whole damn town and she can’t even talk because it’s all she can do to breathe…”

  He nipped at her jaw and her whole body jumped. “Then, darlin’…then you know you’re doing it right.”

  She was panting now, and Will brought his lips to her ear, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair. “Have you ever felt like that, Eliza Jane?”

  “No,” she said, and her voice was small and breathless.

  Will lifted his head and saw the hunger in her eyes. “I want to make you feel it. I want to see the woman behind the starch and all those buttons.”

  He ran his hands over her hips and pulled her close, nestling the proof of just how badly he wanted her against the juncture of her thighs. And when Eliza Jane lifted one knee, running the inside of her thigh up the outside of his, he damn near came undone.

  “I want to strip you naked, sweetheart.” He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and hauled her into another kiss—this one not as sweet and gentle. She hooked her leg around the back of his knee, arching her hips against his.

  “I want to touch every part of you,” he told her, inching his mouth down toward that top button again. “I want to kiss every part of you. I want to taste you.”

  “Yes,” she breathed, and Will felt like his whole body had just been set on fire.

  He ran his fingers up over her ribs, finally cupping the weight of her breasts in his hands. It was time for the clothes to go. “I’m going to—”

  “Doc!”

  Eliza Jane jerked like she’d been stuck with a fork, and a mouthful of curses rattled around in Will’s brain. “What?”

  “Davey got himself kicked by that ornery mule of his,” the intruder called through the curtain.

  “Can’t it wait?” Will asked for the first time in all his years in Gardiner. Eliza Jane was untangling herself from him and he didn’t want to let her go.

  “You’d best come now. His balls are swelling up as big as a bull’s!”

  Will cared a lot more about his own balls right then, but Eliza Jane was already smoothing her hair and the
moment had passed on.

  “You know, darlin’,” he whispered, “if that itch gets bad enough, you might wanna see a doctor about getting it scratched.”

  Then he snuck through the curtain and walked—very stiffly—over to his medical bag.

  Edgar Whittemore was lying in wait for Eliza Jane in the lobby of the hotel. As her body was still reliving the glorious feeling of Will Martinson’s hands and her mind was trying to focus on the stage’s arrival in three days, she nearly walked right into him.

  She considered walking right past him. She didn’t want to talk to him right now. She wanted to be alone so she could think about the doctor. But she knew from experience he wouldn’t stop pestering her until she’d addressed his concerns.

  “Hello, Edgar.”

  “How do you expect me to fulfill my duties as your chaperone if you continually sneak out of the hotel without informing me of your agenda?” he demanded in a voice that grated across her nerves like a wide-toothed comb across a violin’s strings.

  “I didn’t sneak. I walked down the stairs, through the lobby and out the front door. If you spent more time paying attention and less time checking your clothes for scorpions, you’d have seen me.”

  “I have asked you before not to schedule a lecture without my knowledge.”

  “And I have told you before your presence drives women away.” While she was referring to her lectures, of course, she also wasn’t surprised he’d never had a wife.

  “Mrs. Carter!” Dan, the hotel clerk, stepped up to her without looking her in the eye. He was, no doubt, afraid she might have the indecency to mention the female cycle in his establishment again. “I got a telegram for you.”

  She took the slip of paper and thanked him. Edgar cleared his throat, reminding her in his less-than-subtle, phlegmy manner they were in the middle of a conversation he probably considered important. But she rarely received telegrams, and never one bearing good news.

  Good for nothing husband gambled away all my money. Stop. Then he gambled away all yours. Stop. Got himself killed. Stop. Good luck. Stop. B. Millar.

  Decorum be damned. She collapsed onto one of the parlor chairs and put her head down between her knees, sucking in deep breaths that still weren’t deep enough. The slip of paper slid from her fingers, and she didn’t bother protesting when Edgar picked it up. A moment later he sank down onto a chair next to her and she had no idea which of them was making the distressed whimpering sounds.