by Merry Farmer
“What is the meaning of this?” Howard Haskell, her new father-in-law, bellowed.
Corva wanted to disappear into the floorboards, melt like paints left out in the rain. She sagged into Franklin, no idea how she could explain herself.
“You’re asking me the meaning of this?” an unfamiliar voice boomed from somewhere behind Franklin’s back. “I’m the one who came here for an answer. I will not have my good name sullied by madmen like you.”
“Now see here—” Howard thundered.
“You have no right to march into a private residence,” Virginia barked at the same time.
Movement swirled around her, but it wasn’t until Franklin pivoted to face the hall that Corva realized none of it concerned her. Slowly, cautiously, still shaking, she lifted her head from Franklin’s shoulder.
Standing in the front of the hall near the door was a giant of a man with broad shoulders and a sweeping, grey overcoat. He had dark hair that was slicked back and a pointed beard and curling moustache. His expression was a mixture of fury and disgust. The picture he presented, high cheekbones, the line of his nose, his sneering disgust, struck an all-too familiar note of fear in Corva’s gut.
“Get out, Bonneville.”
As soon as Howard named him, Corva gasped. Rex Bonneville. So this was the man that Franklin had told her about, that everyone had been discussing. This was the calf thief.
“I’m not going anywhere until you answer for the libelous rumors you’ve been spreading.” Bonneville crossed his arms, staring down his long nose at Howard. He was a good six inches taller than Franklin’s father…than everyone.
A moment later, Corva noticed the two men standing on either side of Bonneville, slightly behind them. One was short but had muscles the size of hams. The other was taller, rail thin, and mean-looking.
“What rumors are you talking about?” Virginia pushed through the watching family and ranch hands to stand side-by-side with her brother.
“Mr. Bonneville doesn’t appreciate being called a thief,” the rail thin man snapped in a whiney voice.
“No one asked you, Brandon,” Virginia growled.
The thin man, Brandon, swayed toward her, hands balled into fists. Bonneville reached out an arm to block him with an impatient sigh. “Imagine my distress,” he said in a commanding, marginally calmer voice, “when I was dining at the Cattleman Hotel and overheard whispers that I was stealing calves right out of their sweet mothers on the range?”
Jarvis stepped forward to join Howard and Virginia. “More than a few of our cows have come back without their newborns.”
“So?” Bonneville shrugged. “Sounds more like carelessness on the part of your ranch hands than anything else.”
All three of the Montrose brothers and Luke Chance objected, raising fists and voices.
Franklin let go of Corva long enough to reach out and settle them with a gesture. His movement gave her the strength to stand on her own feet again. No one was paying attention to her anymore. If it wasn’t for the circumstances, she would have been grateful to Bonneville.
“Cut the bullshit, Bonneville,” Howard said. Before Corva could gasp at his cussing, he charged on with, “Anyone with half a brain knows you’ve been stealing our calves. Those aren’t the only rumors out there. I’ve also heard that only half your cows ended up carrying in the first place after your bull got sick last spring.”
Bonneville sniffed. “I purchased two new bulls in May, and they’ve performed just fine.”
“Shame on you, sir,” Elizabeth hissed from the parlor. “There are women and children present.”
“So?” Bonneville shrugged. In the process of peering into the parlor, he spotted Corva. A flash of confusion was followed by a scowl as his gaze moved on to Franklin. “And you.” He pointed a long finger at Franklin.
“What about me?” To his credit, Franklin stood straight and kept his voice even.
“Going and marrying that little nobody straight off the train.” Bonneville huffed in derision.
Franklin slipped his arm around Corva’s waist. “I don’t see what business it is of yours.”
“What business?” Bonneville threw out a hand, appealing to the two men he’d brought with them. “Why, you broke my sweet Vivian’s heart. You should have seen the way she carried on when she came home yesterday.”
“Blubbed all night,” the short, muscled man grunted.
“Shut up, Harvey,” Bonneville growled. He resumed his superior air, glaring daggers at Franklin. “Marriage isn’t some lark. Men of our status don’t just marry any piece of skirt.”
Elizabeth and Lucy began to protest, but Corva was too stunned by the boldness of the comment to react.
Bonneville rushed on regardless. “Marriage amongst our sort should be a matter of business, not pleasure. Go to Bonnie’s if it’s pleasure you want.”
Corva was slow to comprehend the chorus of outraged responses from the men and women alike. Bonnie’s? A flush painted her face as she realized what kind of an establishment that must be.
“You, sir, should leave my house right now,” Howard bellowed.
“I’ve never heard such shameful talk in the presence of so many women,” Virginia said at the same time.
“I made no promise to your daughter, Bonneville.” Franklin’s simple statement, quietly delivered, hushed the growing madness. Bonneville narrowed his eyes, but Franklin went on. “Any attachment she perceived was a figment of her imagination. In fact, I never intended to marry anyone.”
True as she was sure the statement was, it was like a knife in Corva’s heart. She had no claim on Franklin’s affections, but it seemed that every time she dared to feel even a small bit secure with the situation she found herself in, something came alone to destroy that security. First Franklin’s opinion of her paintings, now this.
“Every man says he has no intention of marrying, but we all do in the end,” Bonneville said at last. “I could have legal action brought against you for breach of promise.”
Franklin merely shrugged. “We don’t live in medieval England anymore. It’s all water under the bridge anyhow. I’ve married Corva, and I’ll stay married to her. We have calves missing and evidence that they have been taken. By you.”
“Evidence?” Bonneville took a half step back. “What evidence?” He shot warning looks to his two companions.
“One of the calves was found,” Jarvis said. “With your brand.”
“Then it must be my calf.” Bonneville dismissed him. “I expect it to be returned with all haste.”
“Then I expect our calves to be returned as well,” Howard demanded.
Just like that, tensions were high once more.
“You’re a troublemaker, Haskell,” Bonneville spat. “I know you’re only making these outrageous claims because the Hawks play the Bears this Sunday, and you’re trying to sway public opinion against us.”
Virginia snorted. “Why the hell would Howard go through all that trouble to sway opinion over some silly baseball game?”
Instead of rushing to back her up, every man in the room looked as though she’d turned traitor.
“The Hawks will make a necklace of Bear claws on Sunday,” Cody barked.
“If the Bears even have claws to begin with,” Mason seconded.
“Like hell they will,” Harvey growled. “The Bears will wipe the floor with the Hawks.”
“Not if Wilson keeps playing like a girl,” Cody declared.
“I beg your pardon?” Lucy snapped. “I can out-hit and out-run you in my sleep.”
“Is that what it’s come to?” Bonneville sneered. “The best players on your teams are girls?”
Howard glared at Lucy, then at Bonneville. “Lucy only played when we needed a substitute.”
“And I did better than half the regular team,” Lucy added, crossing her arms.
“This is all beside the point,” Virginia hollered over the argument that threatened to break out on top of everything else. “
As half-owner of Paradise Ranch, I can promise you, Rex Bonneville, that if we see so much as a hair off of a newborn calf go missing, I will bring the law down on you before you can sneeze.”
Silence followed, and then a long, slow laugh from Bonneville. “I’d like to see you try.” Half a dozen people opened their mouths to protest, but Bonneville ignored them all. He turned a tight circle and headed out, motioning to his companions. “Come on, boys. We’ll leave these mutts to welcome the latest dog to their pack in peace.”
He marched out amidst a swirl of objection and protest, slamming the door behind him.
“Don’t listen to him, Corva.” Alice Flint was by Corva’s side, resting a reassuring hand on her arm a moment later. “He’s all bluster and unpleasantness.”
It took Corva a moment to realize Bonneville had been referring to her. “I—” That was all she could manage. She was too baffled by the scene that had just unfolded to come up with further comment. She’d only been around Franklin’s family for a few hours, and already things had descended into chaos twice.
“Let me fix you another plate.” Elizabeth jumped into action.
“We’ll move these chairs,” Lucy’s husband, Gideon, added.
The room burst into activity again, but Franklin stopped it all with a loud, “No, stop, please.”
All eyes turned to him in wonder.
“I think I’ll just take Corva home,” he said. “This has all been overwhelming. A little peace and quiet is necessary.”
Corva had never been so grateful to anyone in her life. She even managed a weak smile for her husband amid the volley of protests and promises from his family and friends. Franklin waved them all off, escorting Corva to the door.
“We’ll come back tomorrow, when there are fewer people around, so you two can get to know each other,” he told his mother as Travis opened the door for them.
“Yes, please.” Elizabeth came forward to squeeze Corva’s hand. “I’m so sorry about this. That Rex Bonneville makes me so…” She clenched her jaw and shook her head, unable to go on.
“Do you need help with your wagon?” Cody rushed to offer.
Franklin looked like he would refuse the offer, but relented with a sigh. “I might.”
He swept Corva out of the house, Cody striding ahead of them to where Franklin had parked. It had grown dark in the time they had been inside, but down the drive, against the last rays of sunset, Corva spotted three men on horses riding away. She doubted that would be the last of the trouble.
Franklin’s whole body was aching by the time they returned to the house. The last twenty-four hours were not even close to how he imagined things should be for his new wife. He’d dragged her away from the life she knew back East, dropped her alone in an unfamiliar house for the day, then subjected her to a circus as his parents’ house.
“It’s not usually like that,” he assured her after he settled the wagon and put his horse to bed for the night.
“Not usually so many people or not usually interruptions by irate neighbors?” Corva asked, taking his arm as they started up the ramp to the house.
Franklin huffed a miserable laugh. “I suppose my family is usually out of hand like that. Bonneville was a surprise, though. And I’m sorry about the fire.”
They reached the door and he opened it, gesturing for Corva to go through first. She lowered her head and rushed inside, straight to the lamp on the table near the door to light it. Her hands shook as she struck a match to flame and lit the wick.
“I’m usually fine with fire,” she said, words and actions an attempt to prove her point. “But not when it’s unexpected.”
“Perfectly understandable.” Franklin crossed to the other side of the room to light the lamps there. He couldn’t imagine they’d stay lit long. All he wanted to do was take off his braces and clothes and crawl into bed.
It would be nice to crawl into bed with Corva.
The thought struck him out of nowhere. It was ridiculous, in a way. He was far too tired to engage in any really interesting bedroom activities. No, it was more the thought of having her there, safe in his arms, a comfort to him as well, that appealed to him.
He shook his head and fit the glass back over the lantern. He’d known Corva for one day. She’d come because he let others convince him she needed him. To want to hold her and be intimate with her now was hypocrisy…wasn’t it?
“Mr. Bonneville is one of the most intimidating men I’ve ever met.” Corva finished with the lantern but remained facing the table, her hands braced against the edge.
“He’s a bully and a menace,” Franklin agreed. He sent a longing glance to his bedroom door, then shuffled to the sofa, lowering himself to sit with a wince. “He’ll cause trouble, but it’s nothing you have to worry about. My family has been dealing with him since he moved out here eight years ago.”
Slowly, Corva turned to face him, but kept to the other side of the room. Her lips worked as if she had something to say but was having trouble getting it out. Franklin sat still, encouraging her with a gentle look—not that he had any idea what a gentle look would be.
At last, Corva murmured, “He reminds me of my uncle.”
Silence followed. Prickles raced down Franklin’s back. Coming from anyone else, those words would be a simple comparison. From Corva, he could see they meant more.
“Was your uncle a menacing bully?” he asked, part of him dreading the answer.
Instead of answering, Corva crossed the room. She sat as tense as a spring on the far end of the sofa. “My uncle was mean, foul-tempered.” She stared at her hands, clasped with white knuckles in her lap.
Did she need to confess something? Was she answering his earlier question about her uncle’s cruelty? Franklin’s heart thumped faster. Could she actually want to confide in him about something, about her past? The prospect thrilled him. She was giving him a chance to be the man he should be.
He shifted to face her in spite of the twinge of pain caused by bumping his braces against the sofa. “He was the reason you were in Hurst Home, wasn’t he?” If he could help her to say what she needed to say, then maybe this crazy day would be worth it after all.
Corva nodded. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She swallowed hard and dragged her eyes up to meet his. “He was well-respected in his social circles. I was forever hearing what a fine man he was, how lucky my aunt was to marry him. But none of those people knew how he treated us at home.”
He didn’t want to ask, but he had to. “How did he treat you?” He wanted to reach across the sofa and take her hands, but she was too far away.
“He was free with the back of his hand and his belt with me,” she confessed, lowering her eyes. “If I did anything he saw as bad—not fixing his food correctly, being sloppy with my appearance, speaking when I was supposed to stay quiet—he would hit me. Frequently.”
“I’m sorry.” He did reach for her hand now, but either she didn’t see the gesture or was too traumatized by her memories to take the comfort he was offering. He pulled back.
“I learned to bear it as best I could. Painting helped. It was a way I could escape. Things were much worse for my aunt.” She swallowed, red splotches coming to her cheeks. “He beat me, but he did…other things to her. He wanted children of his own, you see, and for whatever reason, my aunt never conceived. But that didn’t stop him from trying.”
Franklin held out his hand. He didn’t need any further explanation, and it was clear that saying even the small bit she had said was too much for Corva. But there was more to say.
“In the last few years, as I grew older, he began to look at me that way too,” she continued in a whisper. “He never actually did anything,” she rushed to assure him, meeting his eyes for a fraction of an instant. Just as quickly, her gaze dropped. “Other than a few touches here and there.”
Fury welled up through Franklin’s heart. He wanted to charge off to Nashville to beat the man within an inch of his life, and he wanted to fold Cor
va in his arms and never let go. But for some reason, being caught between the two, he was frozen and could only listen.
“It was when he started talking more seriously about using me to have his children and somehow passing them off as Aunt Mildred’s that things became desperate,” she explained. She opened her mouth, stopped, shook her head, then went on with, “That’s when a friend told us about Hurst Home. Arrangements were made for me to be secretly moved there, which happened about a year ago.”
“And what of your aunt?” His question came out rough and strangled.
Corva lowered her head, face pinched in misery. “She refused to go. Two months after I disappeared, she was found dead, floating in the Cumberland River.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Corva wiped tears from her eyes. “I can’t decide if I’m sorry or not. Maybe it’s wicked of me, but if she took her own life or if she met with an accident, then I’m happy for her. She escaped. But if he was somehow responsible…”
“Then the authorities should be involved,” Franklin finished when she didn’t go on.
“They were involved.” She met his eyes again. “No evidence of wrongdoing was found. It was ruled an accident. My uncle was remarried four months later.”
Franklin had to clench his teeth to stop himself from calling the blackguard every name in the book. All he managed to say aloud was, “I’m sorry.”
Corva took a deep breath, unclasping her hands and smoothing them along her skirt. “My reaction to the fire was bad enough, but when Mr. Bonneville arrived tonight?” She drew in a steadying breath and forced a smile. “Thank you for deciding to leave early. I’m not sure I could have handled staying after that.”
“Of course.” He stood, painful though it was, because that was the only way he could think to move closer to her. She rose when he did. Her movement was so quick that he couldn’t help but wonder if it was a conditioned response to rules her dastardly uncle might have set.
He should step closer to her, put his arms around her, let her rest her head against his shoulder. He should rub her back and speak soothing words to her…the way he had longed for people to speak to him when he lay, broken and suffering, for so many months after his accident. Maybe, just possibly, they could comfort each other.
