by Patty Devlin
Celia looked at her visitor in astonishment, heat flooding her face. Before she could say anything to the other woman, Susanna bared her thoughts.
“You two are perfect for each other. It’s gonna be exciting to watch. If you ever need an alibi, you have one in me. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. These men of ours, they have these silly notions but it’s not really bad. It’s just that they want to protect what they love. Now enough of that—tell me about the schoolhouse, Mama said you wanted to clean it, and I want to help. I’ve been saying that for years. The old teacher was an unbearable man, and he probably enjoyed the filth.”
The change of conversation thrilled Celia, not only because she didn’t want to think about Jackson and her new and awkward feelings but because the schoolhouse excited her. She couldn’t wait to begin her teaching. The two women made plans to go the next afternoon and give the old building a thorough scrubbing.
Through Susanna, Celia was able to learn a lot about the previous teacher, her students, and the town. Of course she learned a lot more about the family she’d married into as well. She’d had plenty of time to think, too, because as hard as Susanna had tried, she’d not convinced Celia to come back to the boarding house to stay until the men came home.
Now that all of that had passed, and Celia stood watching and waiting, a riot of unrecognized emotions and sensations overwhelmed her being. The mating ritual of the spring birds took flight in her tummy, a tornado of thoughts including both anticipation and apprehension whirling inside her.
She couldn’t help but think of that morning, before he’d left. Things had already been awkward and tense while they tried to pretend that they could be married and live together and it would be all right. She’d tried to make some coffee and eggs. That was when it started to go bad—no, if she was being honest it had gone bad the day before around about the time she’d said, “I do.”
“Oh, you don’t have to make breakfast. We can eat at the boarding house with Mama.” Jackson came into the house behind her. He must’ve washed up at the well; his hair was damp around the edge of his face, his collar damp around his neck. She turned away from him, back to the stove, and opened the damper all the way, trying to get that fire to go, but it would not stay lit. Aunt Beatrice had tried to help her when she was younger; now if only she could remember how to do it.
“I’m sure that I can scramble some eggs. Your mother should not have to feed us every day.” She kept her back to him, but she was finely attuned to his exact whereabouts. The little house was way too small for the both of them, and when he sat down at the table to wait for her, Celia wanted to tell him that he could go to the boarding house if he liked. No, she had to admit a small part of her—okay maybe a large part of her—wanted the sweet simplicity of sharing eggs across the table with her husband before they set out for the day. Of course that was not to be, not with their awkward situation.
“You want me to help you get the fire going?” His chair creaked and then slid against the wood planked floor as she closed the wood stove door again and stood up.
“No, no, I just have to move the pan. The heat’s not real even yet; I’ll just move the pan and — oh nuts!” The egg mixture sloshed over the side of the pan and onto the cook stove top, and even then it didn’t sizzle or smoke.
“Here, let me help you. We’ll get this cleaned up and then we’ll go to the boarding house. I wanted to go there anyway. Mother will want us to eat there. Besides, I have to leave town for a couple days and I want you to stay there while I’m gone.” He took a towel from the bench against the wall and started to sop up the mess.
“Well, what if I don’t want to? You can go where you want to, but I don’t have to. I can take care myself, and I can do it from here. I’ve got things to do.” She spun around with the pan and stomped off to take it out the back door. She needed a breath of fresh air. She needed room to breathe—somewhere he wasn’t.
“Bring that back here. We can just take it with us and throw it on Mother’s stove. Settle yourself right down. This, um, situation has been a shock to both of us, and we need some time to get used to the idea. I mean to be patient, but I’m not going to put up with a bunch of that sass and nonsense.” He walked toward her slowly like a child trying to lure a squirrel. “Now get your stuff, I want you to stay there while I’m gone so I know you will be safe.” He took the pan out of her hands and turned back toward the bench, thankfully, before more eggs could slop out.
“Don’t you understand me? I’m not going there,” she said and stomped her foot. What was wrong with him?
It was the look he gave her when he turned around, one eyebrow arched high above the other, and his eyes locked right on her, that look that reminded her before he verbally cued her in that she wasn’t in a position to do as she pleased anymore. Her sit-upon still smarted from the day before.
“I will remind you that while neither of us were thrilled with the idea of marrying, we both agreed to it and that made me not only the head of your household, but I am also the law in this town. I will always back up what I say. If you need a demonstration of my ability to make you mind, I will give you one; however, I would think that yesterday’s demonstration would still be sitting with you and would be enough.” He’d taken one step toward her with each word, so by the time he’d stopped talking he was looming over her. Of course, she’d backed up with each step he’d taken, but the house was only so big and she’d run out of room.
Her heart pounded so loud she could barely hear him anymore. Why was it that she should be mad at him and, at the same time, hope he would kiss her again? She wanted to press her fingertips to his lips. Celia almost forgot why he was angry with her. How dare he mention her bottom? That was so rude. What had they even been fighting about? She looked down to the little button sewn neatly on his black shirt. The answer wasn’t there either. Celia swallowed hard; her mouth was so dry.
“I’m going to clean up that mess. You get your stuff ready, anything you’re going to need for the next couple days. I don’t know why you want to fight about this. You were going to stay at the boarding house before we got married anyway.” He turned away from her.
He’d just threatened her, hadn’t he? Somehow the fight had gone out of her, but just in case she changed her mind during the walk to the boarding house, he clarified it for her. Celia was to stay there with his mother while he was gone. If she decided to go to the schoolhouse, she needed to have someone walk with her. He’d calmly laid out his rules during the walk over, and Celia had calmly filed them away.
Now that he was back in town and her free time was over, she wished she’d maybe done it a little differently. Celia peeked out the curtain and noticed a flurry of activity. Men were coming out of the barn. Her stomach clenched when she saw Jackson. He looked neither to the left nor to the right and if she had any ideas or notions that he might not know she had defied him—it was clear to her now that he knew. What had she’d been thinking? Was it too late? She turned and ran for the front door.
Chapter Four
“Cecelia Grace Owens, don’t you open that door.”
He didn’t yell; in fact, his voice was very moderated. Whatever it was, it struck something in Celia, and she froze in her place, one hand still locked on the door pull. She turned and looked back at him, lifting her chin high as he stepped through the back door.
“No one calls me that. My name is just Celia.” She bit her bottom lip when it started to quiver.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry, Just Celia? You’re not headed to the boarding house are you? I thought you wanted to stay here. Now, let’s have us a little chat. I need to understand this.” He pulled out a chair at the table and motioned for her to sit down.
She looked from him to the chair and back again. She had a really bad feeling that this was a trap, but had no way out of it. Before she could come up with anything better, he’d caught her wrist and tugged her back toward the chair. Perhaps it was her hesitation or her body
language, which was geared toward flight, but instead of ushering Celia into the seat, he sat down. She began to fight, fearing the worst. He was going to spank her right now!
“Stop it, you can’t do this.” She tried to break free of his grip. Instead of pulling her over his knees, he helped her to sit upright on his lap and held her there.
“Settle down. We’re just going to talk for now. You have no reason to be afraid of me; the worst you’ll ever feel is the flat of my hand on your backside, or possibly my belt. And that’s only when you clearly know the reason you’re getting it. Now, enough of that.” He let go of her wrist and brought his hand up to brush the stray hair from her forehead. She’d never sat in a man’s lap before, she couldn’t remember ever having done so with her father, and husband or no—it had to be most improper. After finding herself quite comfortable snuggled against his chest the other morning and now this, perhaps she took after her mother more than she’d previously believed. Thankfully, he interrupted her disastrous thoughts. “I want to apologize to you. I shouldn’t have taken off like I did. There really is no excuse for it. It’s true, we’ve been looking for the Wilson gang, but there hadn’t been any recent news. I just panicked and wanted the fresh air to help me think things through. That wasn’t fair to you, and I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. Celia stared at the green-eyed man in awe. Had he just—yes, he had. He’d apologized. Celia had never heard a man apologize before. Apologies were unheard of with Celia’s father, her father’s friends—the politicians he socialized with. And yet, she’d just watched the words fall from Jackson’s beautiful lips. She still wanted to press her fingertips to his lips, or run her fingers up his jaw line against that rugged growth. She loved that rough look about Jackson. Within a couple hours of shaving, he would already have stubble and now it looked like he had the full three days’ worth.
“Now, little dove, that doesn’t excuse you. Each and every one of us has told you how unsafe it is for you to be unchaperoned. I did not want you to stay here alone; Mother said that she asked you not to stay here. Even if you couldn’t respect me, I cannot believe you would disobey my mama.” His fingers had circled her wrist again. He must’ve been able to feel her tense up when the conversation switched. “I told you before I left that I’d warm your rear end before we went if that’s what it took to make you stay at the boarding house, but you played me for a fool the whole time I was gone and now everybody in town is watching us to see how this show pans out. I told the school board that I would protect you; if I have to blister your tail to keep my word, that’s what I’m going to do.”
Celia’s eyes filled with tears and guilt filled her heart. How hard would it have been for her to have just stayed at the boarding house? She liked Mrs. Owens. She liked Susanna and Frankie, for that matter. And she knew she had come back to the house because one tall lawman had specifically told her not to. How childish was that?
“I’m really sorry. I don’t know why I did it. I mean, I know why I did it. But, I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. And you don’t need to—you don’t have to do that…” She stared at a loose thread on his shirt. Her finger made its way to it while she spoke.
“I’m really glad that you’re sorry, but that’s not the way it works. You see, I’m an easy fellow. You will always know what to expect from me. I’ll tell you what I like and what I don’t. If I say something’s going to happen, it’s going to happen. You can count on it. Like a cat likes its bowl of cream or the sun setting in the west, you can count on me. Now, I don’t want to have to spank you any more than you want it, so let’s get it behind us. Then we’ll both know that this won’t happen again.”
“No, my tummy hurts.” She tried to stand, big tears falling from her eyes now. “I don’t want this, please.” She pushed away from him. But her pushing against his chest as she tried to stand and him holding her wrists worked in his favor, and he easily tucked her over his lap.
“I’m sorry, Cecelia—”
“Just Celia!”
“I’m sorry, Just Celia, this is not the way I want to spend my time with you.” He loosely hung on to her wrist at the small of her back and then did something he had not done the last time—he reached around the front of her drawers for the string that held them up.
“Stop it! What are you doing? You can’t... you can’t…” With one hand tucked between her body and his and the other clasped tightly in his hand, there was nothing she could do when her drawers fell to the floor. At first she’d tried to open her legs so that they couldn’t slide down past her knees, but then she realized she had revealed the core of her femininity and clamped her legs tight again. “Oh no, please don’t! This isn’t proper.”
“Propriety has no place between us anymore. We are married and a good spanking is delivered best on the bare. Now settle down.” Without due warning, his palm smacked down right on the full of her cheek and delivered four more stinging spanks before moving to the other side.
“Oh my—oh, that’s enough. Please. I said I’m sorry…” Fiery tendrils licked her cheeks and the top of her thighs. Was all that heat coming from his hand alone?
“Oh no, it’s not enough. It won’t be enough for a while. You’re going to feel this for a couple days and every time you do, you’ll remember that you need to be careful, that you need to obey.” He moved to the sensitive crease of her poor bottom, delivering a flurry of rapid swats, falling with precision, and then move quickly to the other side to deliver more of the same.
“Stop it! Stop, you jackal. You son of a—”
“Cecilia Grace, you better hold it right there. You don’t want to get yourself in worse trouble. I’ll soap your mouth just as quickly as I will spank your tail.”
“I hate you!” Back and forth the punishing strikes moved, to the full curve of her cheeks, the tender center over her womanly parts, the super sensitive crease and the tops of her thighs. He had speed and strength that she was sure took practice. She couldn’t have sat still if her life depended on it and she was sure it did. She was going to die!
“That’s all right too. We’re almost done, I think. You’re a good girl. I know you wanted to do the right thing and obey me didn’t you? You will next time, right?”
She was completely worn out. She finally gave up the fight and stopped bucking, it wasn’t helping anyway. “I will. I’ll be good, I swear.”
Celia lay there limp with relief, even after he stopped. If her bottom had been a cook stove she’d burn those eggs in less than two minutes. But, for a moment, he’d begun to rub some of the heat away. It brought about waves of relief and tidal waves of another kind—longing. His long fingers came near but not near quite enough to her aching desire. A different fire built there, untouched by his hand, a moist heat, begging for his attention.
“Here.” He jarred her from the exquisite torture and stood her on her feet. Her skirts fell to the floor until he bunched them up, gave them to her to hold while he pulled up her drawers and tied them at the front. She thought she would surely die of mortification now. Either way, she’d never live through this. “Come now, dove. It’s over.” He tucked her into his lap again, this time sitting upright. She buried her face against his chest and absorbed his embrace.
“I don’t know why I didn’t; I just wanted to be stubborn. I’m sorry…” she cried.
“Shhh, it’s done. I know you won’t do it again. Now there’s something we still need to talk about.” He reached under her jaw with his rough fingers to cup her chin and tilted it upward so she had to look into his eyes. “I meant to talk to you before, but then we just didn’t get a chance. No, that’s not an excuse. I should have made time. I don’t want you to hear this from someone else.” What he had to tell her obviously was a heavy burden if the lines etched deeply in his brow meant anything.
She straightened and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. I’m stronger than I look; maybe
you could let me help you carry that load?” She sniffed. His pupils were dark and huge. She didn’t think she’d ever seen a more sorrowful soul, but then all at once the brokenness disappeared and the self-sufficient, arrogant cowboy had returned.
A smirk touched the corners of his lips. “That’s very sweet of you. There isn’t anything you or I can do about the circumstances. I just want you to be aware of it in case you hear something.” He took a deep breath. “I’m a bas—I’m illegitimate. My father—”
“Oh, I know all that, I—”
The smile she wore to ease his fears slipped off her face when he snapped at her. “How the hel-heck have you heard already?”
She swallowed hard and slid off his lap, preferring to achieve a certain distance between them. “Does it really matter? I don’t think it does. I don’t care if your father is a jack…” She let her words fade away as his countenance became more and more gray. “Listen, it doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t. My mother… my mother didn’t want me. She is a whore, a fancy prostitute my father used, and she tried to lure my father into marriage by having me. When it wouldn’t work, she didn’t want me. How is that?” Celia had paced away, over to the window so she wouldn’t have to look at him. She tried to act as if she didn’t care about her mother, but no matter how much she tried, it still hurt.
“Well, then. I guess we are a likely pair.” He slipped his arms around her from behind. She had been so preoccupied she hadn’t heard him get up. She spun around in surprise and he pulled her close to hug her. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I’m sure that isn’t easy to tell.”
