by Patty Devlin
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what came over me.” He led her to sit down on the top of one of the student’s short desks, then sat down next to her. “You can’t marry Hugh. Please, take it from me. He has four young ‘uns, and them boys fight like Kilkenny cats. He’s lookin’ for a wife who can mother those kids and you’d be run ragged in no time.”
Celia struggled to understand what had happened. She couldn’t make sense of his words; she stared at his mouth, just lost. She’d never been kissed, and nothing in the world had prepared her for the sweet rush of liquid fire coursing through her body. Her lips tingled with a delicious tenderness, and all she wanted was to lean into his muscular chest and—
“Are you listening to me? The man is a regular coffee boiler, damn lazy. It’s no wonder his first wife passed on; he probably worked her to death. Naw, I shouldn’t say that, but you know what I mean. I’m just telling you that so you understand, you can’t marry him.”
His rambling started to make sense, or her kiss-induced fog had finally lifted. Either way, she had brains enough without her formal education to figure out what the man was saying. He had sympathy for her, and Hugh didn’t sound like a good choice, so he was willing to be the martyr.
“Are you listening to me? I’m not talking to hear myself,” he growled and jumped to his feet to pace the floor.
“I’m listening.” Celia crossed her arms over her chest as if she could ward off the hurt.
“I’m willing to marry you so you can stay on…” Something about the way his words dragged out, the way he said he was willing scraped across Celia’s heart like chalk on the chalkboard.
If she’d been in a better frame of mind, she might have thought about her actions before she flew toward him and slapped his cheek. It might not have hurt him, but shock flashed across his face and his eyes grew larger momentarily. But her hand had no sooner slipped down from his jaw when he’d captured her wrist and pulled her over to the teacher’s desk.
“Let go of me, you wretched man!”
“No, it was going to come to this sooner or later anyway. I won’t let you treat me that way. It’s clear you need a firm hand.” He’d sat on the edge of her desk and pulled her over his lap, pressing her upper half down under his arm and holding her there, locked against his side, over the top of the desk.
“You can’t manhandle me like this. What do you think you are doing? You can’t see me like—EEE-Yow!” He’d scrambled under her dress, pulling her skirts up over her back to bunch them there, and then he’d smacked her derriere! “Stop it, you fool!” Her words had no effect on him. His large hand covered her bottom, hot and hard, smacking first one full swell and then the other.
“This is obviously something you need. You’ve been asking for it since we met. I’m happy to oblige, and if I’m going to marry you, it’s better you know exactly the kinda man I am ahead of time.” Each time his hand came down again, it brought with it a wallop of heat so intense Celia could barely catch her breath in between her cries, let alone tell him exactly what she thought of him and his barbaric treatment of her.
She tried her hardest to wiggle, roll or crawl away, but he had her clamped down tight under his arm and nothing she could do would change that. His huge palm landed on each cheek in a steady rhythm, tapping out a tune, and it wasn’t a cheery one, more like a marching order. He gave singular attention to each curve in turn, spanking in rounds and lecturing her at the same time.
“I’m a patient man, but if I have to do this to get your attention and teach you a lesson, I’m more than capable. I don’t want to hurt you, but it’s better this than seeing you hurt or mangled by someone more sinister.” His speech had a surprisingly comforting tone to it, and Celia almost understood. Why, she’d provoked him to this point, hadn’t she?
“Pl-ease, I’ll be good.” She shimmied from one foot to the other, trying in vain to do anything to alter the course of her present situation. “I’ll do anything…” But he showed no signs of slowing anytime soon.
“You should have thought about that before. I warned you time and again.” His voice wasn’t loud or unnecessarily mean. It was low, however, and stern as he lectured and continued the steady tattoo on her bottom. Perhaps he had a map or a plotted grid of the area he planned to cover back there before he decided to let her up. It might have been one minute or an hour, but Celia was sure she would die before he finished.
When she realized that he’d stopped and dropped her skirt again, she stood up and flung her arms around his neck before he could get up.
“I’m so sorry...”
“It’s all right now, little dove. It’s forgotten, forgiven and we can move on.”
Whether it was his intention to hold her or not, he tucked her in his arms anyway, careful not cause her any more discomfort, and held her until she was ready, stroking her hair, rubbing her back and occasionally kissing her forehead. All of which endeared him to her forever.
Celia needed the time to clear her thoughts. She did not come to Denver with plans to marry. The feelings the lawman invoked confused the daylights out of Celia. How would she ever be able to focus on her teaching? Her career as a teacher was all she’d ever cared about. Now every waking minute of her life revolved around him.
The wedding had been a tense and solemn affair. Mrs. Owens was not in attendance and later had been quite upset that she hadn’t been fetched. Those in attendance had merely been the school board and the preacher. Byron had offered to run and get Susanna, but the superintendent said that it wasn’t an emotional affair. Celia was quite certain that when she was a little girl, planning and daydreaming about her wedding (of course that was when she was really young, way before she learned how cruel the world really was), she never planned to stand next to a grouchy cowboy with the tin star on his chest while trying not to focus on her sore bottom. Everyone else had been happy to have it over with and go home. Jackson and Celia, however, wanted no part of being left alone with each other. If anyone actually wanted to be there, they were hard-pressed to show it.
It wasn’t until later, when she lay down and had time to think, that the whole of the situation overcame her. For years, she had dreamed of being a school teacher, of having her own school. She’d worked and worked hard to accomplish that, and she always said nothing would stand in her way. Now the reality of the situation—well it wasn’t like she actually believed in love. This marriage, it was simply a business arrangement. Love and all of that—it was just nonsense! And the way that she’d felt when he’d been holding her—she’d just been confused. It had to be all the stress she was under. Whatever it was, she’d be careful, and she’d make sure that she didn’t let herself get carried away again.
*****
“What are you doing?” She pulled the quilt up, even though she had her long, button-up nightgown on. It wasn’t decent for him to see her like that. What was he thinking, coming into the bedroom with her?
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m coming to bed. There’s only one bedroom here, only one bed. Now slide over.” Jackson had already unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it free of his trousers. When he started to take his trousers down, Celia was torn between staring at his beautifully rugged body and hurling invectives at him over the impropriety of the current situation. Considering the fact he’d tossed her skirts up to spank her earlier—and she didn’t want to think about what he’d been able to see with her split seat drawers exposed—no, she didn’t think he cared one whit about her sensibilities.
She huffed loudly and rolled hard toward the wall, pulling the quilt with her. When his loud masculine laugh accompanied the dip in the feather mattress, Celia wanted to beat him over the head with a pillow.
It should have been hard to sleep next to him or at least proven more difficult than it had. As it was, she must’ve been worn out because she didn’t remember much more than his obnoxious display. When she woke in the morning, a feeling unlike any other enveloped her. A war
m embrace—strong arms around her, a steady heartbeat under her ear, soft breath in her hair and, oddly enough, a tenderness in her bottom that wasn’t all that unpleasant. A voice in her head shouted to run but a whisper in her heart told her to stay.
Hearts were deceitful—only fools listened to their hearts. She scooted out from under his arm as quietly as she could, untangling her legs and her nightgown at the same time. She needed to keep focused; he was a tool in her teaching bag, a business partner, not someone to become romantically involved with. She would write that on the blackboard mentally five hundred times if she had to.
Chapter Three
Celia kept an eye on the barn door. She’d been peeking from behind the corner of the calico curtain in the bedroom window ever since she’d seen the marshal go into the stable behind the small house. She’d heard the excitement, the arrival of the group of men on horseback. Jackson had gone into the barn, Celia had seen him. The stables were on the block right behind the little house.
Her interest lay in the direction Jackson took upon leaving the barn. Not that she knew how she would react whichever path he took. If he went to the boarding house, where she was supposed to be while he was out of town, she would simply have more time to worry about his actions once he heard of her blatant disobedience.
When Celia and Jackson had been forced to marry, they’d been given the small cottage for privacy even though everyone in town knew it was not a marriage either of them was looking forward to.
He’d made it quite clear that he expected her to stay with his mother, at the boarding house. His overbearing, overprotective nature irritated her as much as it fascinated her. She’d never met anyone like him. Her father definitely was not, a man who almost could not even be bothered with her. She simply existed, his child, who required an upbringing. Her mother had been a high-class “working woman” at one of the gentleman’s clubs he frequented, and she’d thought it the best way to strap down the eager politician. When he wouldn’t be caught, however, she had dropped Celia off on his doorstep.
The way Jackson had comforted her and held her—it was not something she was used to. Celia had thought about it for the past three days, even when she’d tried to force it out of her mind. She couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Even though things had not gone as planned, she needed to remain positive. Even if she had a husband who didn’t want to be married to her, the sun was still shining. It was spring, a fresh start. She had her own house, little as it was, and her own schoolhouse. She’d always dreamed of this day. And if he could take off, ditch her the day after their wedding, well, she didn’t really need him. She had never planned on getting married anyway. She would just go on the way she had intended.
Celia tried to stay busy. She cleaned the new house top to bottom, relishing the fact that it was hers. She had not counted on getting a house out of the teaching position. This was way more than she had hoped for.
Her heart shot up to her throat the first time she’d heard a knock at the door. She hoped it was Jackson and then berated herself for being silly. She realized quickly he wouldn’t have knocked and tucked her stray hair behind her ears as she rushed to the door.
“Oh, honey, how are you holding on? Those men are about as smart as mules. I can’t believe that big ox.” Susanna bustled into the room, a basket in hand. “Rocks in his head, I swear. I can’t believe he would just go off like that. Never mind, I can believe it. I just honestly thought he had a little bit more sense than that. Anyway, tell me how you are.” She set the basket on the table and stared at Celia as if she could read her thoughts.
“Fine, I’m fine. Really, I am. I’ve just been getting settled. I’m sure Jackson needed some space; neither of us planned for any of this to happen. Here, please sit down.”
Susanna took a seat, opened the checked linen from the basket and pulled out a loaf of fresh bread, cheese, and a jar of jam. Celia immediately recognized the woman as kindred spirit. “Well, I’m glad it did. I mean, I’m sorry you got stuck with him. No, no, I’m just funning you. Jackson’s a good man, the best. I don’t know if you and Jackson have had much time to talk, though.”
Celia moved to the stove, where she had been boiling water for cleaning, and put the teapot on. “Uh, Jackson and I don’t seem to communicate very well. I mean…”
“Don’t tell me the man whooped you already?” Celia didn’t have to respond; perhaps it was the look on her face. Mortification soaked her dress under the arms and warmed her cheeks. The reminder also brought with it a fresh wave of tenderness to her backside. Susanna went on, “Well, that clears things up a bit. He’s always been set against marriage. Set hard against it. So he must like you pretty good. You musta stirred something up in him. Of course, he probably didn’t make that clear to you.”
“No, it’s okay if he doesn’t like me. I mean, thank you for trying to make me feel better.” Celia turned her back to the woman and reached for the teacups on the shelf. It gave her a minute to school her features again. She had only known the man for two days, so why was she getting all foggy-eyed about him?
“Listen, whether you like him or not, I’d like you to understand him. I probably shouldn’t tell you this. In fact, it’s probably one of those things that Byron would get his nose twisted about. He likes to think I should mind my own business. But I think you should know this: you see, Jackson has always believed he can’t get married. He always thought he wasn’t good enough.” Susanna was quiet for a moment while the two ladies fixed their tea. She pursed her lips as if in thought and then asked, “Have you heard of Johnny Hastings?”
“No, should I?” Celia racked her brain trying to remember if he had been one of the men at the board meeting.
“No, if you haven’t heard of him that’s probably good. If you’d heard of him, you would know it. I really shouldn’t tell you this. I should probably wait until Jackson tells you himself, but only the Lord knows if he will actually tell you. Please don’t think less of my mama.” The older woman took a moment to sip her tea and perhaps to gather her thoughts.
“I appreciate your willingness to try to help me. Nothing you say to me will go anywhere; I’m not a talebearer. But please don’t think that you have to tell me. I mean, this marriage, it’s just a business arrangement.” Celia brushed some of the crumbs off the table; she was sure there there’d been crumbs only a moment ago, even if they weren’t there now.
“I think we’re going to be friends, Celia. I want things to work out and I want you to know this. I want you to understand Jackson. Johnny Hastings is Jackson’s father, even if he won’t claim him. It was a really hard time for Mama. We’d just come to the west on the wagon train. My papa died of the fever two days before we made it. Instead of buying land for a ranch like Papa dreamed, Mama bought the boarding house. I was just a squirt, that’s what Papa called me, I wasn’t but two. Johnny Hastings was one of Mama’s first boarders, and he was a scoundrel.” Susanna tipped her teacup up and drank down the last of her tea the same way Celia had seen her father toss down whiskey. After she set the cup down again, she continued, “Mama is the smartest business person I know. I’ve never known her to make an error. I don’t know how Mr. Hastings wormed his way in, whether it was her grief or her despair over the future, but the truth of it is a rat is a rat. Not only did the bounder refuse Mama, but he didn’t have the decency to go away. He decided to build a house right here in Denver, so’s we’d have to live in his shadow. And Jackson is the spitting image of him right down to the dimple in his chin.”
Celia didn’t know how to respond. It was a lot to take in; she was married to a bastard. She cringed even thinking the word. They were a very likely pair. It would matter to her father. He’d always hidden the fact that she was born of a prostitute by saying her mother died. She’d only found out from her Aunt Beatrice. The bitter old woman loved to insert that piece of information whenever it would have the most bite. But, if she was the daughter of a prostitute, she was a bastard, too.
Then how in the world could she hold it against Jackson? And obviously the school board knew it when they recommended him as a husband. Would any of the townspeople hold that against her as a teacher? Would they withhold their children?
“That’s a lot to mull over, I know. Now, I want to know about you coming back here without Jackson. I mean, I’m sure he wanted you to stay at the boarding house. Byron is the same way. Frankie and I are staying there while the men are gone.”
Celia busied herself with the teapot, offering Susanna another cup and then pouring herself one when Susanna declined. “I have a lot to accomplish and I can’t do that sitting around at the boarding house. It’s a nice thought, how protective they are, but I can and will take care of myself.”
“Oh dear, I’m sure this won’t end well for your bottom. I hope you’re already thinking up a good excuse, although I can’t think of anything that will get you out of it. Mama said Jackson brought you there and he told you to stay. I don’t know how long they plan to be gone, but Byron packed his bed roll and food for a couple days. I’m sure you heard, though maybe not, that Denver is a booming town, growing so quickly it’s really not safe for a woman on her own. It’s best to stick together.”
Guilt began to tickle the edges of her conscience, but Celia was set on proving she could take care of herself. Marrying Jackson was a formality that she’d agreed to because it was the only way to could keep her teaching position, but she didn’t really need him and didn’t plan to rely on him—or to obey him for that matter.
“Thank you so much for your concern, Susanna. Really, it’s unnecessary. I’ve gotten along by myself for so long. Jackson wanted this marriage even less than I did. It’s obvious by his absence.” Even though her face was hard, her features carefully schooled, Celia systematically locked a little cage around her heart, vowing not to let Jackson get too close. “Whether or not he is disturbed by my whereabouts during his absenteeism is of no concern to me.” Celia looked anywhere but at Susanna. If she had been looking at Susanna, she would’ve seen the way her eyes crinkled and her lips tilted up at the sides while she tried to hold back but finally burst out in a hearty chuckle.
