by Patty Devlin
“I can’t tell you how much the extension means. I know I can make it work now. Business picks up in the summer. I wouldn’t be in this position if that thief hadn’t made off with my savings last summer, and then it was such a hard winter.” Mrs. Owens had never sounded so dismal before. She was normally so jovial and spirited.
“It was a hard winter for many people around here. I’m sorry we couldn’t get it approved for longer. I just hope ninety days will be enough.”
Celia felt guilty for listening, but didn’t know what to do about it. If she went out the door and tried to knock now, they might hear her. She opted to simply open and close the door more loudly as if she’d just come in, which did the trick. Mrs. Owens came bustling out into the foyer.
“Why, Celia, are you here alone?” She wiped her hands on her apron and pulled Celia into a hearty hug. “Thanks, again Mr. Edwards,” she called to him as he tipped his hat to Celia and left.
“Yes, something happened. A man came to our house and spoke with Jackson then Jackson got upset and left. But he looked like he was going to cry. I wondered if…” Celia wrung her hands together, starting to think she’d made a mistake in coming.
“Susanna’s in the kitchen. Let’s go in there and you can tell me about the man, then I’ll tell you what I know.” Mrs. Owens led her by the elbow after giving her another comforting squeeze.
“He had spectacles, similar to Mr… the banker…” She tipped her head to the door, trying again to remember the man’s name.
“Mr. Edwards?”
“Yes, he had spectacles like Mr. Edwards and white hair, well, a little bit of hair. And he had a top hat. Old, he was rather old, but not ancient, and Jackson seemed to recognize him. He sent me into the house though.” She stopped and greeted Susanna with a warm hug very similar to the one given by her mother. “I went to your house first, Susanna. I’m sorry for being such trouble. It’s just that Jackson looked so distraught and then he just left.”
“It’s all right, sweetie. Here, sit right down and have some tea.” The woman gestured to a little table in the cheery kitchen and bustled back to grab the teapot. “I do know what happened. I heard this morning and haven’t had a moment to get away. It’s his father—”
“That was his father?” Celia gushed.
“No, no. That was most likely his father’s lawyer, Hobart St. James. His father passed away day before yesterday, I believe. I heard it from Miss Cott. She delivers the milk and eggs.” The older woman looked to her daughter and then back to Celia. “I don’t know how much you know.”
“Mary Ruth at the post office said it was consumption, but Virginia from the general store said it was pure meanness,” Susanna piped in, but had the decency to look contrite when her mother shot her a look.
“I meant how much she knew about the whole ordeal,” Mrs. Owens shot back over her shoulder.
“Oh, no. That is awful, no wonder he looked so sad.” Celia looked back to Mrs. Owens, who hurried around the room gathering jam and bread before coming to sit with Susanna and Celia. “And that’s terrible for you, too. How do you feel about it?”
The older woman’s eyes widened momentarily. “Oh, I, I haven’t had feelings for him in a long time. It really makes no difference to me. I know that Jackson has always struggled with his father’s indifference. So this will be hard on him, I’m sure.” She sighed and poured hot water in her cup. “There is a small service the morning after next. I’m not sure if I’ll go.” She looked away and then back just as quick with a change to the subject. “Frankie has come such a long way, I wish Jackson could have had such a kindhearted teacher as you.”
The women continued to visit and chat a while and Celia lost track of time. Before she knew it, Mrs. Owens was talking about getting supper on. A glance at the clock confirmed Celia had been there for three hours. How the time had slipped by…
And she wasn’t the least surprised to see one tall, angry lawman stalking toward her halfway down Cedar Street. But she’d rather see him angry than lost and forlorn like he’d been earlier.
“What in the hell are you doing, walking the streets alone, young lady?”
“I’m not alone; there are thousands of people out on the streets. It’s the middle of the afternoon and a fine—” Sarcasm in any form was not her friend, if the dark look on his otherwise dreadfully handsome face was any clue.
“You want to talk back to me out here in these streets and see if I don’t whip the sass right out of you?” His grip was steely on her elbow as he took hold of her and led the way home. “Of all the days I’d appreciate an obedient wife, I have to find you out gallivanting without a care about my feelings.”
“I care! You left without telling me anything. I was brokenhearted for you. I had to find your family to find out what was going on!” she growled at him, wanting to rip her arm from his grip and stomp away, anything to show him she was in control, but in fact she couldn’t. His hold was firm and she knew he had complete power over her, not just her arm—but her heart, too. It was hopeless. She’d fallen in love with him weeks before.
He used her arm to spin her toward him. “And did you figure it all out? Was it worth it? You couldn’t wait an hour or so, so that I could collect myself and tell you? You’d rather hear it from them than wait. I’m glad I mean so much to you.” He let her go and started walking.
“It’s not that!” She almost had to run to keep up with him. “You looked so broken, I was worried…” She should have waited. She knew it, but what could she do now?
“I don’t have many rules for you, Celia.” His voice was low and stern again.
“I’m really sorry about your father, Jackson.” She’d given up trying to keep pace with him, his legs were just too long, but at that he stopped fast and turned to face her.
“He wasn’t my father. I hated him.” He looked like he would take off running from her so before he could, she took his hand. They walked the rest of the way in silence.
She wanted to say that she understood, but really—did she? She’d never met her mother, not that she remembered. So she couldn’t say that she hated her, but she knew what it felt to be discarded, unwanted, and unloved. Celia supposed her father had shown her love the best way he knew how, even if his best wasn’t very good. She’d had a governess, Aunt Beatrice and her boarding school, so her time spent with her father had been very limited. Perhaps that was why Jackson’s overprotective nature didn’t bother Celia—most of the time. For the most part, it made her feel cherished, a feeling that was all too new to her.
She wanted to tell him that the man didn’t matter anymore. That her father didn’t matter. That her mother didn’t matter. That they had each other—and that she loved him. She did—she loved him. But it was a terrible day to tell him. He probably wouldn’t care or he would think she was just saying that to make him feel better or, even worse, simply to stop him from being angry with her.
Chapter Six
“I’m too upset to spank you right now, so I want you to go to the corner in the dining room,” Jackson said as he opened the front door and ushered her into the house.
“What? You want me to what? What do you want me to do in the corner?” It was nice and cool in the house when he closed the door behind him, but the look he gave her made her bottom heat up all by itself. It took a concentrated effort not to cup her cheeks and back away.
“I said, I’m too upset to spank you right now, but that doesn’t mean that you’re not in trouble. You know better than to go someplace without me or someone else, at least. So you can go over to that corner, tuck your nose in there, and think about why you chose to disobey me.”
“You want me to stand in the corner—just stand there?” Celia had never heard of such a thing. If that’s what he wanted, she could do it. It didn’t make much sense, though. And to be honest, she’d probably rather he spanked her. At least then he’d talk to her and they’d clear the air.
“Cecelia Grace.” He closed the distanc
e between them and spun her around, then marched her toward the corner.
“Just Celia,” she whined and then yelped when a volley of swats landed on her seat. “All right, all right. I get it.”
“I’m not playing with you, young lady. You will stand here quietly until I say you can move.”
Celia had never heard of such a thing. Her governess had been quite free with her, often saying that she should be more firm with the child, and yet she always gave in. The girls at the boarding school had been disciplined with the ruler to their palm, but Celia had never received even that. She’d been threatened with lines on the blackboard once and that had been enough to curb her rebellious nature. Had she ever been sent to the corner, it was very likely, it would’ve spurred her career as a troublemaker.
Her time spent staring at the planked junction was enough to drive her batty. She’d never been in such a state of uselessness, where she could do nothing but look at the end of her nose and think. The only thing that kept her from rebelling was his haunting look when Jackson had declared the man wasn’t his father. Celia couldn’t think of anything but how distraught he’d looked.
“You can come out now.” His voice startled her, after the time of silence. She turned around and wrung her hands together as she walked toward him. “I hope you’ve given it a lot of thought. Did you know that yesterday a gunfight broke out on Larimer? That’s only three blocks from the boarding house.”
It took her a minute to realize he was still upset that she had walked to the boarding house by herself. “But the same thing could happen if I were with you, or anything for that matter. The fact is, nothing happened.”
“The fact of the matter is that things happen, horrible things happen to beautiful young women all the time. Things that naïve young women like you should not hear about. You don’t hear about them because they’re awful and we try to protect you. You should be thankful about it and not argumentative. I don’t think that corner did you one lick of good.” He sat down in the chair at the table, scooted it out, and patted his thigh. “Come on.”
“You’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you, let you—do that. There’s no way I’m going to—”
“Oh, you’re going to let me, and you can put yourself over here quickly, ‘cause if I have to come get you—it’s my belt you’ll be getting. Don’t make me start counting.” Celia wanted to curse at him about the unfairness of the situation, but his next word made her move like no single word ever had in the past. “One—”
She flew toward him and dove across his muscular thighs. It was something she’d never be able to explain to someone else if they asked about it. A natural physical reaction? “You’re being unreasonable today, Jackson.” Surprisingly, it was a feeling of comfort, of warmth, of security when his arm locked over her back, holding her tightly to his side. She knew she couldn’t get away, but she wouldn’t have tried.
“Unreasonable? How many times have I warned you before? The rutting pigs on the streets are unreasonable. They won’t take no for an answer. They take whatever they want with no regard. If this is what I have to do, then this is what I have to do.” He shifted in. She realized that he had bent over and was lifting her skirts.
“Oh, Jackson, no. Please, please don’t do that.” Her cries had no effect on him. Neither did her hand, which she threw back, trying to shove her skirts back down as he pulled them up. He very easily tucked her hand against the middle of her back and held it there. Then, to her great shame, he reached around to her middle and grasped the tie that held her drawers in place. Cool air briefly met her bottom right before the first hearty smack fell.
“If this is what I have to do, you can bet your bottom, I’ll do it every time.” He punctuated each word with meaningful swats. “I gave you a chance to think about what you have done wrong and it seems you wasted it.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll do better. I swear I will.” Celia tried to hold still and be good to prove that she was sorry, but it was hard. Jackson had a large, heavy hand, and no matter where it fell, it brought waves of heat.
“Hopefully you’ll remember that, so we don’t have to do this again.” He went on and on spanking here and there, lecturing as he went until she was a puddle of remorse. She wished her butt would fall off—that she could somehow disassociate herself with it. She was sure if it didn’t end soon, she would die. Finally, when she could take it no more, he stopped.
She clung to him, not wanting to leave the comfort of his lap, even if she was just lying over the top of it. The connection was there. He was rubbing her back, stroking her hair and simply being there for her. Celia didn’t know how much time had passed and wasn’t in a hurry, so when he started to lift her up, she cried out, not wanting to lose contact.
“Shh, come here, little dove, let me hold you. It’s all right now. It’s done and over with. We know you’re not going to do that again.” He kissed her forehead and brushed her hair away from her face.
Celia wrapped her arms around his neck. She wanted him to kiss her like he had at the river and not to stop. She timidly kissed his chin. “Jackson, could you—would you... make me your wife for real?”
She was pretty sure it was a groan, the guttural sound that came from deep within his chest. He pushed her away and looked down at her face, staring at her hard. He still looked angry or in pain.
“Woman, you know what you’re asking for?” It sounded like it hurt for him to talk. Did she know what she asked? No, but she wanted to be his. Wholly his, totally and completely his. She trusted him to know her.
“Yes, I love you. I’d never loved anybody before. I never been loved or cared for the way that you care for me. I want to give myself to you, Jackson.”
It was a groan, a roar, something animalistic as he scooped her up and strode to the bedroom. He deposited her on her feet in front of the bed and his nimble fingers went right to work on the buttons at her neck.
“Are you absolutely sure, Cecelia? Once you give yourself to me, you can’t take it back. I’m a possessive man. I make no apologies.”
Celia could not look away from his eyes, and she shivered even though it wasn’t cold. She didn’t dare look down, or she might grow nervous. He had more than half of her tiny pearl buttons undone already and she was sure no more than sixty seconds had passed. It took her a good three minutes to get them undone.
“I’m scared, but I trust you—no matter what.” Her peach blouse fell to the floor.
“You have nothing to be afraid of, little dove. I will always take care of you.”
*****
“Oh, there you are. I didn’t mean to startle you. You usually come in sooner. Breakfast is ready.” Celia found Jackson leaning against the fence attached to the stable behind the house. He shoved a piece of paper into his pocket and followed behind her.
“Sorry, I was just thinking.” Celia wouldn’t have been able to hear him if there had been any wind or other noise. He still seemed really down in the mouth. When he didn’t come in for breakfast, she’d worried that he didn’t want to see her anymore. Perhaps it was because of her inexperience; maybe he was regretting everything, wishing he could get out of the marriage now.
She’d come to the counter to grab something and couldn’t remember what it was. She felt like crying now, or running away. He hadn’t even wanted to come into the house?
“What’s the matter, Just Celia?” He wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed her forehead. She leaned backward into his muscular chest, loving the feel of his strength surrounding her. Maybe she’d been worried for nothing.
“I don’t know, I came over here for something and I can’t remember what.”
He pressed his lips below her ear, his breath warm against her cheek when he spoke again. “I think you are thinking something naughty, like how to get me back into the bedroom…”
Celia giggled and elbowed Jackson in the ribs. “Shh, don’t say that. Your breakfast is getting cold. Sit down.” She turn
ed around in his arms and shoved at his chest, trying to direct them to the table.
“Don’t care about eggs, I’d rather fill up on you.” His green eyes sparkled with that mischievous glint. She was happy to see it. She didn’t like seeing him all melancholy and broken.
She slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “I don’t like cold eggs and we’ll both be awful hungry well before dinner if we don’t eat now.” He finally moved toward his chair, but she wished they didn’t have to go to church that morning. It would be hard to think about the preacher’s sermon when all she could think about were the delicious things Jackson had done to her body the night before. Were wives supposed to enjoy it that much? Shew, it was too warm in there.
“So, Mama knew about Johnny Hastings? We didn’t talk about your visit yesterday.” Jackson still seemed tense and uncomfortable with the subject, but at least he was talking about it now.
“Yes, she’d heard about it from a delivery person or something. She seemed all right, if that’s what you mean. She mentioned the funeral, the day after tomorrow. Are you going to go to that?”
“He wouldn’t have come to mine.” A hard mask had come over his features again. It made the cleft in his chin more prominent, that or the fact that he had just shaved. “No, I may not have a choice. Me and the boys might have to ride out. There’s been word about the Wilson brothers again.”
After they finished eating, Jackson got the carriage out. He liked to take the carriage to church on Sundays, because he said it was too long of a walk to go all the way to church and then to the boarding house for dinner. Celia took care of the breakfast dishes and cleaned up the table. As she picked up Jackson’s jacket, which had fallen off of his chair, the folded paper fell from the pocket, the one he’d been reading outside. Celia looked to the door for a hot second, and quickly unfolded the paper. She only had a moment to scan it and Jackson was already out front with the horses. She quickly stuffed it back in his pocket and put the jacket back on the chair. It was too exciting; she had to talk about it, even if she got in trouble for snooping.
