by Tamara Gill
***
Anna studied the table, and moved one glass a few inches from the dinner plate. Then she centered the two candlesticks on either side of the salt and pepper. Everything looked perfect. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Wes had been gone four hours already. What could he be doing all this time?
She’d kept herself busy preparing a meal in this old fashioned kitchen, proud of her accomplishment. Opening a jar of carrots had been easy enough, but trying to figure out what to add to make it a meal took some thought. After rooting around the pantry, she’d come up with rice and dried beans. Not exactly a wedding dinner bounty, but the best she could do under the circumstances.
Still confused by her new husband’s earlier behavior, perhaps setting the mood and dressing in something a little bit more modern would help her cause. She’d cut and hemmed the bottom of the white silk nightgown one of the church women had given her, so it no longer tangled around her ankles, but hit her mid-thigh. There wasn’t a whole lot she could do with the bodice that ran right up to her neck, so she opened a few buttons to show some skin.
She’d be damned if she’d allow Wes to sleep on the sofa. There had been no mistaking the desire in his eyes. He wanted her, and wanted her bad. So what was keeping him from dragging her off to bed?
Her hair gleamed in the candlelight as the locks fell across her cheek, caressing her with their silkiness. She’d stood in front of the mirror in the bedroom brushing until it shone, bemoaning not having any lip gloss or mascara. She simply looked too pure.
Now her heart sped up at the sound of footsteps on the porch. The door slowly opened, and Wes filled the space with his presence. His eyes flicked from her to the table and back again. His throat worked as he swallowed. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself.”
He waved at the table, avoiding her eyes. “This looks nice.”
“I had nothing to do for the rest of the afternoon. So I decided to try my hand at cooking.”
“You’ve never cooked before?”
“Not on an 1870s stove.”
“Ah.” He moved forward, circling around her. She pivoted to watch him pump water into the sink, then wash his hands.
“Are you hungry?”
“I could eat.”
Awkward.
Suddenly she felt underdressed, like a desperate spinster trying to attract the handsomest man at the bar. Anger slowly made its way up from the pit of her belly to heat her face. She hadn’t done anything wrong. This was her wedding night, and by God, she wouldn’t feel guilty for trying to seduce her husband.
“I have to leave as soon as we eat.” He drew out a chair and sat, leaned back and crossed his arms.
“Leave?” She took the seat across from him as her knees gave out. What the hell was he talking about?
“There’s been another hold up, and I’m sure it’s the same gang we tracked once before. I want to get to Devil’s Dungeon before they go into hiding again.”
“And you have to leave tonight?”
“I don’t want to, but . . .”
Anna shoved her chair back and stood. “Fine. Give me a minute to get dressed and I’ll go with you.” He wasn’t getting away from her that easily.
Wes captured her arm. “No. I don’t want you going.”
She looked into a pair of very determined eyes. “Why not?”
“They killed two passengers and the driver this time. It’s too dangerous. At this point they have nothing to lose.”
Her jaw dropped. “That’s terrible.”
His hand slid down her arm, leaving goose bumps in its wake. Wes took her hand in his. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
With a will of its own, her hand cupped his cheek, her thumb rubbing the scratchy surface of his skin. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, either.”
He tugged until she sat on his lap. “I’ll be fine. Three other men are going with me.” His voice rumbled deep and low, leaving her breathless and longing for his touch.
Almost as if he’d absorbed her thoughts, his palm moved up her back, kneading the flesh. The sensation of the silk rubbing against her skin seared her, causing parts of her body to throb.
His hand slid around to her breast and her nipples beaded, begging for his mouth. He manipulated the soft mound as Anna closed her eyes and purred. Wes fumbled with the rest of the buttons on her nightgown, then spread the pieces apart, leaving her exposed to his view.
She shrugged her shoulders and the gown dropped to her waist. Almost as if he held the finest china, Wes placed both his hands on her breasts and gazed at her. “You’re so beautiful.”
Anna had never felt so admired in her life. His eyes glowed with wonder, moving from her face to her breasts. He took a strand of her hair, and teased it across her nipple. Then, flinging the lock behind her shoulder, he moved his mouth over her breast and suckled.
Grasping his head with both hands, she flung her head back and pulled him closer. “Yes, that feels so good.”
He moved from one breast to the other, lifting her slightly so he could ease the nightgown from under her. His fingers found her wet warmth and he groaned as he slid one finger into her body.
Anna was on fire. Wes’s magic fingers and tongue tortured her, made her frantic with need, to have him take her, possess her fully.
“Marshal! You about ready to go?” A pounding at the door made it through her lust crazed brain, and she drew back, confused.
“What the hell?” Wes turned as the door knob rattled, and he shouted, “Stop! I’ll be right there.”
Anna quickly slid her arms through the nightgown sleeves and buttoned it up. Wes sucked in air through his teeth and rested his forehead on hers. “I have to go.”
Unable to form words, Anna nodded and stood on shaky legs. “Be careful.”
He caressed her cheek, then turned and strode to the door. He glanced back, his eyes filled with something she couldn’t identify. Desire? Sorrow?
Before she could define it, the door closed and he was gone.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Anna spent the night alone, tossing and turning in her husband’s bed. Perhaps alone in body but not in spirit, because everything about Wes surrounded her. His scent on the bedding, his clothes hanging in the room; an extra pair of boots neatly placed next to the dresser. Her dissatisfied body raged with need. Finally, with the sun barely peeking over the horizon, she threw off the light sheet and left that torture behind.
She padded into the kitchen and stared at the stove. How did one make coffee? There was a metal coffee pot sitting on the stove, but at home all she’d ever done was pour water into her Keurig every morning, pop in a pod, and voilà−coffee. She sighed. If she were going to have coffee, a trip to the café was in order.
After washing her face and brushing her teeth, she tied her hair back with a ribbon and put on the only dress she owned besides the one she’d been married in. Maybe she’d take the last of the money she’d put aside and buy herself a skirt and blouse. She’d hoarded that little bit since the Pastor’s wife wouldn’t let her look for employment as an engaged woman. Such old-fashioned ideas.
The morning air was cool and crisp, the scorching sun not yet making its presence felt. The brisk walk helped settle her. Perhaps after breakfast, she’d put on her jeans and run, get her muscles moving again. She smiled to herself, wondering what the town would make of that.
“Morning, Flossie.” Anna greeted the café owner and took a seat at the counter.
“Mornin’, yourself.” She smirked as she grabbed the coffee pot. “How’s the new bride?”
“Missing a husband.” God, she sounded awful. Like a bitchy hormonal teen.
Flossie poured coffee into a cup sitting on the table. “He off chasing that nasty bunch that killed those people in the holdup?”
Anna nodded.
“Don’t you worry none, missy, he’ll be back straight away and keep ya busy.” She winked at Anna. “On yore back.” She let out with a lo
ud laugh and Anna cringed.
“You want those biscuits and gravy again?”
“Just toast this morning. I need to conserve my funds.”
Flossie shook her head. “No worry. The marshal stopped in last night and said to put your meals on his tab.”
“He did?”
“Sure. You’re his responsibility now.” She sauntered off, leaving Anna with her mouth agape.
His responsibility? Anger shot through her, setting her heart to thumping. She was a twenty-first century woman. She was the only one responsible for Anna Devlin, er, Shannon.
Anna Shannon.
The name rolled off her tongue like warm honey, releasing little flutters to dance low in her belly. Not that she felt like a married woman, after a night of rolling around that big bed alone.
How had Wes passed the night? Wishing he was curled up next to her? Probably not, since he’d already decided−without her opinion−that they would not sleep together. Well, she’d have a lot to say about that when he returned.
She devoured the delicious biscuits and gravy, again promising herself a jog around town before her thighs began to resemble a bowl of Jello.
“Good morning, little lady,” Pete Martin tugged on the brim of his hat and settled in the seat next to her. “How’s married life?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Anna pushed away the empty plate. “Wes is off looking for the men who held up the stagecoach yesterday.”
Pete’s eyebrows drew together. “Nasty business. I hope he catches them and the circuit judge hangs them.”
“I agree.” Anna stood and smiled in his direction. “Have a good day.”
Pete nodded and lifted his cup to his mouth. “You, too.”
The air had already taken on more warmth as Anna crossed the street and headed to the mercantile. Her wedding dress, made by the ladies in town, was too fancy for everyday use. A little more than two weeks of wearing the same dress she’d been given when she first arrived was getting old. She stopped abruptly, catching the attention of a man leaving the bank, who looked at her oddly. If she’d been here over two weeks, that meant less than a week until her hearing. Which I most likely won’t be there for.
Since she hadn’t found a way to return, it really didn’t matter. They would assume she’d chickened out, and decided to let the matter drop. But what once was a burning desire for justice, now seemed remote and almost as if it had happened to someone else. She continued on her way, trying to make sense of her change in attitude. The idea of Wes factoring into her lack of concern didn’t bother her as much as it should have.
The mercantile was busy, even though it was barely nine o’clock. Women moseyed up and down the aisles, calling greetings to each other as they selected items from the shelves, at the same time keeping a close watch on small children.
The odor of pickles in brine overwhelmed her until she moved further into the store. A man she’d never seen before stood behind the counter in Arnold’s place, since the store owner must’ve been off with Wes chasing outlaws. “Where I should be,” she groused under her breath.
The man nodded politely. “Can I help you with something?”
“Yes. I would like to buy a skirt and blouse, but I’m not sure I have enough money.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Ain’t you the marshal’s new wife?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Well, you ain’t got nothin’ to worry about. He left word before he took off that if you needed anything, we was to put it on his bill.”
Stunned for the moment, she gritted her teeth, then stuck out her chin. “I prefer to pay for my own things.”
He scratched his head and frowned. “Now, why would you do that? You’re his missus.”
“But I’m also my own person.”
Two women who had been chatting behind her grew silent. In fact, all conversation in the store seemed to stop. Even the children stared at her in wonder.
Anna turned and addressed the group. “Don’t you ever want to have your own money, buy your own things?”
The women glanced at each other, and slowly, one after the other, shook their heads.
Honestly, they’re like a bunch of robots.
“Well I prefer to earn my own way, and be responsible for myself.”
“Ma’am, didn’t you just say you weren’t sure you had enough money?” The store clerk still looked confused.
“Yes, that’s true.” She could feel the heat rising to her face. “But that’s because I need another job.”
“Mrs. Shannon?” A blond woman behind her tapped her on the arm.
“Yes?”
“I doubt anyone in town would hire you, since the marshal told most of the storekeepers that they weren’t to give you a job.”
Anna gaped. “He did what?”
The woman backed up and clutched her throat. “That’s what my husband said. He owns the bakery and the marshal stopped in last evening and talked to him.”
Anna glared at the woman, who swallowed and retreated, stepping on the toes of the woman behind her.
You have to get your temper under control. At least until she laid eyes on her husband. She took a deep breath and smiled at the clerk.
“Did you want a skirt and blouse?” he asked, watching her warily.
She fumbled in her dress pocket, withdrew the few coins she found, and slapped them on the counter. “Whatever that will buy.”
“But, Miz Shannon, the marshal said . . .” He trailed off as Anna leaned toward him, her lips tightening.
“I said. Whatever. That. Will. Buy.” She bit off each word.
“Yes, ma’am.” He scooted around the counter. Pulling a brown skirt and green print blouse from a rack, he placed them on the counter. “This looks to be about your size.”
Anna nodded. “Thank you. I’ll take them.”
The silence continued as he wrapped the garments in brown paper and tied the package with twine. Anna picked up the bundle, nodded at the clerk and the women, and with her head held high, left the store.
She fumed as she marched down the street. He told everyone in town that they were not to give her a job? The nerve of the man! Well, she would show him. She headed for the jailhouse. A quick look through the ‘wanted’ posters would give her a way to collect some money by dragging in some unsuspecting outlaw. She’d prove to her husband that she was a self supporting woman.
It had been bad enough being held prisoner in the pastor’s home all last week, but she sure as hell didn’t intend to spend the rest of her life leeching off a man. Her mother would be appalled.
Apparently she opened the jailhouse door with more enthusiasm than she’d intended, when the man sitting behind Wes’s desk shot out of the chair like he’d been booted from behind, and whipped out a gun.
“Uh, sorry.” She stopped, her eyes widening at the Peacemaker aimed at her chest.
The man shook his head and returned the gun to its holster. “You scared me there, ma’am. Sorry about that.”
She took a calming breath, and moved toward Wes’s desk as the man settled himself back in the chair. The ‘Deputy Marshal’ badge pinned to his chest answered any questions she would have about his presence.
“Good morning, Deputy.” She smiled brightly, trying to make up for her blunder. “I’m the marshal’s wife.”
“How do you do, ma’am.” He nodded and tugged at the brim of his hat. “The marshal said I should expect a visit from you.”
Her eyebrows drew together, a small knot beginning to form in her middle. “He did?”
“Yes, Miz Shannon. He left this here note for you.” He reached into the middle desk drawer and withdrew a folded sheet.
She continued to stare at him as she snatched it from his hand, and opened it. Glancing down, she read,
Anna,
I know you want to play bounty hunter while I’m gone, but I’ve given my deputy strict instructions not to let you anywhere near the wanted posters. Please don’t make his job
harder by insisting he hand them over.
We’ve discussed this before, and in this time and place catching outlaws is not a woman’s job. Please go on home and see if the church ladies can give you something to occupy your time.
Wes
For the first time in Anna’s life, the expression seeing red made sense. She truly felt the blood rushing upward, practically blinding her. It was a wonder her eyes and ears weren’t bleeding from the built up pressure in her head.
See if the church ladies can give me something to occupy my time? She would go on home, as he suggested, but once she got there she would scour that house, looking for her gun so she could shoot him dead when he walked through the front door.
Stiffening her spine, she managed a grimace in the deputy’s direction, turned on her heel and left the building, squashing the note in her hand.
It was doubtful counting to ten would take away her rage. Four thousand would not be enough.
Anna slammed through the house, ripping off the buttons of her dress as she strode into the bedroom. She hauled her jeans out of the dresser drawer and snatched one of Wes’s shirts. Her sandals were not made for running, but with her anger she probably wouldn’t notice any pain in her feet for days.
After an hour of pushing herself, ignoring the looks cast in her direction from people she met along the way, Anna returned to the house, sweaty, panting and wishing with all her heart for a shower. Something I’ll never see here.
At least her anger had subsided. She took a cool bath, dressed in her new skirt and blouse, then dropped onto the bed and was fast asleep in minutes.
***
Shortly after noon, Anna sat back on her heels in front of the kitchen cabinet, frustrated at not finding her gun in the very last place there was to look. Damn the man for hiding it. Of course she wouldn’t shoot him. Well, probably not, anyway. But it would be nice to have the gun, since it was hers. Bought and paid for−with money she’d earned herself.
A knock on the front door drew her attention from the satisfying daydream of tying her husband to the kitchen chair and setting fire to the house. She groaned as she rose, stiff from being on her knees for so long, and using muscles that had been inactive for weeks, and yanked at the door handle.
