by Patty Devlin
Clint had produced his linen handkerchief for Emmalee with a murmured, “Settle down, now,” then had calmly explained the situation to her father, his even temper already returned. Papa hadn’t batted an eye, other than to say it was good they had an understanding and that the wedding notices had already been printed in the Herald. He’d then escorted a still-smirking Paulette from the room.
Left alone, Emmalee had turned her back on Clint, mopping her face with his borrowed linen. Her breathing was shaky with emotion, both mortification and anger. She stiffened when his large hands cupped her shoulders. They tightened when she tried to shrug them off.
“Turn around and look at me, Em.”
“I’d rather not.”
“It was not a suggestion, sweetheart.” Easily, he turned her stiff body to face him. Unable to meet his eyes, she closed her eyes tightly. His hand at her chin tilted it upward, but she held firm.
“Look at me.”
She shook her head.
“Is another trip over my knee necessary to get you to obey me?”
Her eyes flew open and she gasped in shock. His stern face filled her vision. “You are a brute, Clinton Ryan. I will never forgive you for this humiliation. What a relief to find this out before we speak marriage vows.”
One side of his mouth kicked up in a half-grin at that. “Are you thinking to cry off?”
“Indeed.”
“Think again, Emmalee, because that won’t be happening.” Both hands were cupping her face now, and his thumbs were wiping away the tears that remained. “I wouldn’t allow it if you tried.”
“You sound so certain. That is quite arrogant of you, sir.”
“It’s not arrogance if it’s a statement of fact.”
“You are that sure of yourself?”
“No, I am that sure of you, sweetheart, because you love me. Those words have passed these sweet lips often.” He had a gentle smile on his face, which cooled the burning hurt around her heart. “And, since you are a woman of honor, I know you won’t breach your promise to me. Will you, Emmalee?”
She hesitated, still incensed. Although she loved the big tyrant in spite of his high-handed ways, it wasn’t something she wanted to admit at the moment, even to herself.
“Have you stopped loving me because of a little spanking, Em? Be honest.”
Unable to lie to him, she shook her head slightly. She’d told him of her feelings shortly after he’d started courting her, foolishly giving him the upper hand. Mentally, she scoffed. She was deluding herself if she thought that at any point since their meeting he hadn’t had the upper hand. She wore her heart on her sleeve for him and everyone else to see.
The truth was she wanted to marry him, more than anything. Handsome and strong, he was usually charming and witty. He was most often kind and generous toward her, although it couldn’t be proven by the spanking he had just administered. She supposed with all of his good traits, she’d have to get used to the negative aspects of his character, especially his tendency to be high-handed and overly protective.
His sense of command came naturally, she supposed. The eldest of three brothers, he had also been an officer in the Union Army during the war and now that it was over, had long since taken up the reins in his family’s shipping business. He was well-respected in the Boston community and was being courted by influential men for a run at political office. He was used to being in charge and having his orders followed without question, the latter something in which Emmalee did not excel.
“What’s gotten into you tonight, Em? You aren’t usually so quarrelsome.”
“I don’t want you to go off and leave me, Clint. Please.”
“Sweetheart, what about me has led you to believe I will tolerate this behavior? Or that it will change my mind? I have made a decision about your safety and that should be enough for you. Do you understand?”
She nodded, another tear escaping.
“Let’s not spend our last evening together in a squabble.”
“Our last evening? You’re leaving tomorrow?”
“My train pulls out of the station at two o’clock. Will you come see me off?”
“I shouldn’t. You were quite heartless just now.”
“No, heartless would be having no regard for your safety and well-being. Heartless would also mean being spineless and caving in to your demands. You don’t want a husband like that, do you, Emmalee?”
“It might be easier on my backside if you were just a hint of those things.”
“Emmalee.” Her name, spoken in that stern tone, could scold and influence all at the same time.
“Fine. Of course, I don’t want a weak-willed, pathetic excuse for a husband, but do you have to spank me?”
“I’ll handle things as I see fit. You know that about me.”
“I didn’t quite know this…”
“You’ll get used to it. Behave, and it will be an infrequent occurrence.”
“It was humiliating, Clint. Paulette won’t ever let me forget this.”
“In the future, I will seek a bit more privacy. I had no idea she’d barge through a closed door.”
“She has no sense of boundaries.”
“Mm… So, are we settled, then?”
“I suppose.”
“Sweetheart?”
“Fine, I am settled.”
“That’s my girl.” With his head bent, he brushed her lips with his. At first, it was a soft touch of his lips, tender and sweet, leaving her slightly breathless; then when her lips parted for air, his tongue swept inside.
“You taste like strawberries and cream,” he murmured as his tongue retreated. “Delicious.”
Out of breath from his attention, her husky voice responded shakily. “It was the shortcake we had for dessert.”
“No,” he corrected, nibbling at her lips as he spoke, “you taste this way always—sweet like a confection, pure like the richest cream, and as addictive as ripe summer berries.”
Aroused by his romantic words and the allure of his touch, she had whimpered helplessly, captured by his spell of seduction.
The car rattled and jerked, snapping her out of the sweetest of daydreams. Glancing around, she reoriented to her surroundings. She looked up just as nice Mr. Harrison came through the door carrying a silver salver of tea and biscuits. Suddenly, he staggered as another shimmying shudder shook the passenger car. The next moment, another shudder sent tea sloshing over him, as he slammed up against the back of a bench and the cup crashed to the floor, shattering. A violent jolt sent him flying backwards just as Emmalee was thrown forward. Her slight frame went hurtling frontward over two benches as the screeching sound of metal rang sharply in her ears. Passenger’s shouts of fear and cries of pain were like whispers beneath the shrieking squeals of twisted metal and the crunch of splintering wood.
Suddenly airborne yet again, her world turned on end. Tossed around like a ragdoll, her back connected with the ceiling. Disoriented and fearing her life was nearly over, she cried out for the man she loved.
“Clint!”
Then there was blackness.
Chapter Two
A painful pressure lay across her chest and shoulder, giving rise to a groan as she sluggishly roused from oblivion. She tried to move her arms and push off the pinning weight, but her right one was trapped. Opening her eyes against the throbbing pain in her head, she inhaled sharply, recognizing the striped waistcoat mere inches from her face. It looked different covered in blood, she thought vaguely. Suddenly, she snapped to full awareness. Mr. Harrison! Good heavens, there was so much blood, was he mortally wounded? Even worse, was he already dead?
Wiggling beneath him to get free, she whimpered. It turned just short of a full wail as his body rolled closer. She turned her head just before his chest came to rest against her face. Still, she felt the sticky warmth of his clothing against her neck and shoulder. Gasping in a shuddering breath, she squirmed, trying to get free.
“Mr. Harrison, are you all rig
ht?” she managed to squeak between panting breaths. “Please, say something. Please, be alive.” The panic in her voice was rising; she could hear it while dizziness began to play with her head. She had to get him off her so she could breathe and call for help.
Male voices from far off came to her then, along with sounds of splintering wood. A gruff voice shouted suddenly, sounding closer now.
“Land’s sakes! There’s bodies everywhere in here. Give me that crowbar.”
For the next few minutes, she heard banging, pounding, and more splintering wood from her would-be rescuers, as well as numerous curse words, some of which she had never heard before, even at Clint’s dock front offices. She could tell by the tone and emotion behind the words that their meaning wasn’t good.
An abrupt crash was followed by a shower of glass, some of which pinged off the broken benches near Emmalee and covered her face with sharp slivers. Dear Lord, what was happening?
“Help me, please.” Her reedy thin call barely made it to her own ears, let alone above the din the men were making, and her lungs would not expand further beneath the crushing weight. “I’m here. Please, help me!”
Her head began to spin as the debris above her shifted, pressing Mr. Harrison inexorably closer along with the edge of something sharp that cut into her ribs. The limited view of her world shifted and wavered for a moment, and she thought that surely she would faint. The next instant, the board was yanked away, and she was able to manage a blissful gulp of air. Large hands appeared next and pulled Mr. Harrison’s weighty bulk from atop her. Finally able to take a full breath—in she didn’t know how much time—she released it in a shuddering groan. This time it was audible.
A familiar dark head appeared before her and she cast grateful eyes upon the face of her savior. It was a wonderfully handsome and dearly beloved face.
“Emmalee, dear God!” Clint cried.
That was the last thing she heard before her world once again went black.
***
The sound of hushed voices pulled her from sleep. Remembering the last time she had awakened this way, she quickly took stock. No crushing weight, no sticky, wet sensations against her skin, no sharp pieces of debris jabbing into her ribs; other than a dull ache in her head, she seemed fit as a fiddle. Her eyes flew open as the last image flashed before her eyes.
“Clint?”
“I’m right here, sweetheart.” The concern in his voice was palpable as he sat at her bedside and leaned in. His sharp eyes, with their unique and intensely deep shade of blue—lapis she’d likened them to—gazed down at her, searching her face.
“Oh, Clint, I had the worst nightmare.” Tears smarted in her eyes and she blinked rapidly, trying to keep them at bay. She didn’t want to cry.
“Thank God you’re awake, Em. I was so worried. How are you feeling? Are you in pain?” He motioned to an older gentleman standing behind him. “Doctor Johns will want to examine you now that you’re awake.”
It hadn’t been a dream; the train had actually wrecked, and the car she had been in must have flipped over. How else would her world have ended up topsy-turvy? Clint made to rise, but she grabbed his hand. “Don’t leave me, please.”
“I’ll be right here, Emmalee. Don’t fret.” He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze and then moved aside to let the doctor come closer. Still, he retained a firm grip on her hand the whole while.
The doctor, an older bearded gentleman, proceeded to shine a light in her eyes before listening to her chest with a bell-shaped instrument that hung around his neck. He also asked her to move her limbs, and then with a small hammer, tapped on her knees, which made her legs twitch. He pressed all over her stomach, which made her flush. He then had her roll over and did the same to the back of her head and down her spine, all the while asking one-hundred-and-one inane questions. What is your name? Tell me the date. Who is the president? Emmalee’s assurances that she felt fine were ignored.
“Your wife appears to have made it through unscathed, Mr. Ryan. She is a lucky young lady.”
Wife? Her eyes flew over the doctor’s head to meet Clint’s concerned gaze. A small shake of his head silenced her. She also took it to mean she should play along with his innocent deception.
“Other than a few bumps and scrapes, she is fine.”
“When will she be well enough to travel?”
“I imagine she will be sore for a few days, so I would recommend holding off for a day or two to see how she fares. I assume you are going by wagon or stage?”
“Our plans haven’t been finalized, but I’ll be cautious with her health, of course.” Clint’s answer surprised her, but before she had a chance to ask about a train, he was seeing the doctor to the door.
For the first time, Emmalee had a chance to look around the room. The large bed she rested upon was situated in a spacious bedroom, between an armoire and a nightstand. The bedding was clean and made up with soft linen. Lace curtains adorned the large windows, a large stone fireplace sat cold and unused in the heat of July, and a sitting area consisting of a chaise, loveseat and two large chairs rounded out the cozy space.
Her eyes, having made the full circuit of the room, switched to the man who was leaning against the foot post of the four-poster bed frame. He did not look happy. In fact, he looked quite perturbed as he glowered down at her.
“How did you come to be on that train, Emmalee?”
“Uh, can we talk a bit later? My head is aching.”
“You just told the doctor no less than five times that you were fine. Right as rain was the term, I believe, so I’m not buying a headache. You can begin your explanation for your recklessly impulsive behavior, right now.”
Feeling at a disadvantage, she pushed herself into a seated position, arranging the pillows more comfortably behind her. She noticed the long-sleeved white nightgown she was wearing and wondered about it.
“How did I get into these clothes?”
“I put the gown on you.”
She gasped. “Land’s sake Clint, how improper.”
His short bark of laughter contained very little humor. “Improper? I’m beginning to think there isn’t much proper about you, Emmalee. For starters, what is proper about a young woman traveling all alone? Following me on this trip when you knew I was dead set against it, is that proper? Is sneaking on the same train, hiding in second class and half starving yourself to avoid being caught proper? Answer those questions first if you want to talk about impropriety.”
“How do you know I was half-starved?”
“The porter, who seemed quite fond of you by the way, was uninjured and filled me in on your antics. He said you rarely went to the dining car and slept sitting up on the bench. What in all creation were you thinking, Emmalee? Have you lost all sense of reason?”
Clint’s usually calm voice had risen steadily throughout his diatribe. Emmalee should have known he was just getting started as he continued to scold her for her behavior. “What does your family know about this? I’m sure Edward wasn’t party to this plan.”
“I left Papa a note.” She didn’t disclose that she had left it in a place that she was sure wouldn’t be discovered until well past the point when he could have come after her.
“What did you tell him in your note? Surely not that you were following me to Denver; even you wouldn’t be that imprudent. So where does dear Papa think you are, young lady?”
“Aunt Henrietta’s in Concord for the week. I told him I was spending time with her, which would keep me from missing you so much while you were gone.”
His snort of sour laughter made her frown.
“I couldn’t let on that we were traveling together. We aren’t yet married and my reputation would be in tatters if word got out.”
“Ruined is more like it. We will take care of that soon enough. I can’t imagine what has gotten into that head of yours!”
He paced to the window and looked out. Running his hands through his mussed hair—a clear sign of agitation—she
watched the unruly locks fall haphazardly about his head, looking more of a mess than before. She longed to touch him and finger comb his hair into some semblance of order. That would most likely be unwelcome in his current state of pique, and most improper.
“Do you know how shocked I was to find you under that pile of bodies and debris? Dammitall, Em, I thought it was your blood when I first saw you. There was so much of it. I thought you would bleed to death before I dug you out.”
“Mr. Harrison! It was his blood. Oh my goodness, how is he?”
“Doctor Spence said he had a nasty cut on his head. That was where all the blood came from, but he is expected to be fine after a few days’ rest.”
“Thank heavens,” she breathed with relief. Still anxious over the horrible event, she looked down at her hands, which were clenched tightly in the sheet. “He was very nice to me.”
Concern for the kindhearted gentleman rushed through her. He could have been killed, herself as well. The finality of that thought dragged her spirits down like lead weights. It had been a near thing. A tide of emotion surged up in her, bringing tears.
“He was going to see his first grandchild in Omaha. I hope someone has wired his poor daughter. She’ll be beside herself with worry.”
Having maintained her composure for as long as she could, the dam finally broke. Clint was there. He gathered her into his strong arms and held her to his chest as she wept, releasing the glut of emotions, the anxiety and terror from the ordeal she had blessedly survived.
Rocking her gently, he rubbed her back as she clung to him. With long sweeping glides of his hand, he whispered soothingly into her ear. When they went on at length, he murmured against her damp hair, “Hush, sweet girl, you’ll make yourself sick.”
Still clinging to him, her tears slowed to a stop. He seemed not to care at all that she gripped his vest in fisted hands, or that her weeping had soaked his shirt through to the skin. Her voice was raspy from the long bout of crying when at last, she was able to ask what happened.
