by Tera Shanley
Roy had been trying to give her what he thought she wanted. She loved him even more for that, but a marriage of convenience to such a hardened man could never work.
She tried not to smile. “I’m sure he would forgive you if you changed your mind.”
“I’m an honorable man, Miss Flemming. I’ve never broken my word, and I don’t aim to start on a dyin’ man’s last wish. Do you have any other options? What about family? Do you have someone in the city you can live with? ’Cause if so, we can both get out of this, and I’ll go tether myself to some other half crazed woman. One who at least stands a chance of sticking around when things get tough.”
Who did he think he was, speaking to her in such a manner?
But she couldn’t beg her room back in Boston after she’d left Aunt Margaret so merrily to come to Rockdale. Even if she did, no way on earth would she be able to endure her aunt’s hellish tongue for a moment longer. She had been too happy to leave in hopes of finding a place to fit in. Go back to her old life and subject herself to begging an allowance off that horrid woman? Never! Her life would have to be in Rockdale to find peace.
“Sorry, sir, no other options. I’m sure I can make it just fine on my own though. I’ll…learn how to run this place.” Even the words on her tongue sounded farfetched. She couldn’t cook or back a plow, and even if she were fast to learn, she still needed someone to show her how to do things first.
“Ha!” he barked. “Even if you could somehow manage it, the bank is going to take this farm, and then where will you be? I’m not discussing this any further. Get dressed!” He slammed the door behind him.
Lips pursed and a look in her eyes saying she’d heard everything, Lenny entered through the back door and joined her by the bed.
“Infernal man! Son of a…cockchafer!” Yes, that felt nice. Her cheeks were on fire and she chugged breath like a racehorse, but she didn’t care. He demanded she marry him, and on the day her father was put in the ground? If any less romantic gesture existed, she couldn’t name it. Decidedly uncivil of him. “Hey, let’s get married today. I have to get the cattle to the market,” she mocked in a deep, unattractive voice, swinging her hips.
Laughing, Lenny held up the cream colored dress.
Maggie glared at the flashy garment, biting her thumbnail. “I think not,” she said with a smile.
* * * *
The look on Garret Shaw’s face as she strode onto the front porch was a vision she would treasure for the rest of her life. Her dress was a daring red color and nearly recklessly low cut. Though the skirts were full and modest, the bodice clung to her form, and had small sleeves and layers of black beadwork. Never intending to wear the dress again, she’d brought it because it represented a cherished memory.
She had dared to wear it to a ball in Boston to upset her aunt, and indeed, Aunt Margaret almost had a conniption. The doctor was summoned to sort out her frayed nerves. For once in her life in that cold home—victory.
At the party she had worn a large necklace to make her feel more covered, but tonight, in the cool evening on Roy’s land, she left her collarbones exposed and cleavage bare. Though the necklace covered enough, the fabric’s lack of coverage was utterly scandalous. She had pulled her hair back with her boldest pins to expose the fair skin of her back. Several layers of rose salve and a dab of perfume between her breasts had finished her wedding look.
Never had she had more interested suitors nor a fuller dance card than on the night she’d worn the red dress to that ball.
Open mouthed, the look in his eyes icy with fury, Garret stared. The other men turned to see what had so fixed his gaze, and their expressions became eerily similar. Behind her, Lenny stifled laughter.
“Okay, boys, I do believe there is a wedding to be had. Let’s get this done, shall we?” Maggie snapped, marched to Garret and stood beside him. The preacher took his place in front of them.
“What happened to the white dress?” Garret gritted out from between clenched teeth.
“I lost it,” she said, glowering up at him. “And don’t tell me what to do.”
His narrowed gaze drifted to her decolletage then he spun toward the preacher, took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair.
The preacher cleared his throat and slid a glance to her dress. Once. Twice. He cleared his throat again and began the service. The look on Garret’s face should’ve turned her to stone. At the edge of her vision, Cookie stood, shoulders shaking from laughter that didn’t quite reach her.
The vows were simple enough, but as she tried not to think of what she was saying, she fumbled. This is my wedding day. I am marrying Garret Shaw, nagged and sent her pulse racing faster than it already was.
This day wasn’t at all how she’d imagined it would be. The entire time she and Garret repeated the vows, she glared at him and he at her, and when the preacher announced he may now kiss his bride, she gasped. Certainly not, would she be kissing Garret Shaw.
By Garret’s startled expression, he hadn’t considered kissing her, either. “That’s all right,” he said, almost growling. “I think Miss Flemming and I would like to forgo that one.”
“Mrs. Shaw,” the preacher corrected. “Now, kiss her so we can go.”
Garret stared at the preacher just long enough to make it awkward and sighed, then turned that steely blue gaze on her. Her breath caught in her throat. She’d never kissed a man before. Which was as it should be, for she was a gently raised young lady. She didn’t doubt for a moment though, a man like Garret Shaw had experienced intimacy by the wagonload.
Eyes closed, she waited, unable to look at his angry face another second for fear of losing her courage. She felt his hands on her arms, a gentle touch, and the softest, barest brush of his lips against hers. A beat, then he pressed his mouth more firmly to hers. The fabric on his chest caressed the bare skin on hers. A warm sensation deep inside her pressed downward, and the need to feel closer to such a powerful creature was staggering.
He pulled away but left his hands on her arms for a moment longer. When she opened her eyes, a menacing glower rode his face. He pulled his hands away and the absence of his strong arms made her stumble forward.
“Load up,” he snapped, headed into the house, and without a look back at her, disappeared inside.
A trembling hand over the exposed skin of her chest did nothing to stifle the acute disappointment of Garret’s willingness to be absent.
* * * *
The men had packed her belongings and the few things she wanted to keep from Roy’s cabin in the wagon’s flatbed and tied Roy’s mules to the back of the buggy. Garret and his men drove Roy’s cattle to the ranch, which would cause them to arrive much later than she, Lenny and Cookie had.
She leaned against the wall opposite Garett’s bedroom and glared at the closed door for what seemed like a considerable amount of time. Would he expect her to share his bed? Naive though she was about the intricacies of intimacy, she was well aware of the marital duties expected of a woman. Garret’s angry leer did not bode well for gentleness from him tonight. She chose the room across the hall from his instead.
Miserable, she leaned against the closed door to her new bedroom as if it could keep all of the ghosts away. She’d had such high hopes of finding happiness in this wild place. Memories of her childhood home were ones she’d breathed for in the darkest days of Aunt Margaret’s care. It had taken years to carefully tend and grow the courage that led her to escape Society and seek out a relationship with Roy again. She’d dreamed of how this time would be, and within a day all her hopes had tumbled into the mouth of an insurmountable darkness.
Roy was gone and now she was married to a cold callous stranger. The war between the memories of her childhood friend and the man he’d become weighed on her heart. Surely she couldn’t shoulder any more emotional burdens. He wouldn’t care that she’d chosen a different room. He’d made it clear he wouldn’t enjoy sharing her marriage bed. How could he enjoy intimacy with someone he lo
athed? A combination of grief for her loss, fear of an uncertain future, and anger at an unwanted marriage to someone who would surely break her where Aunt Margaret failed turned her stomach into knots.
Biting her lip against treacherous sobs, she finished unpacking her belongings and lay on her new bed to quietly cry herself to sleep. This life was raw and surreal, a dark dream she would wake up from at any time and she desperately needed the sweet release of unconsciousness to begin to heal.
* * * *
Maggie opened her eyes to darkness. It must be late evening. Her ears prickled with the eerie silence of an empty house. Garret could be sleeping, but more likely, hadn’t come back from the ranch’s frantic attempt to ready everything for the cattle drive the next day. Cookie had told her this was Garret’s first time heading up the drive, and a lot rode on it since this would be the first step in saving the ranch. If it didn’t go well, or they didn’t get the price they needed, the ranch would go under. And fast.
Seated at the small desk in the corner of Garret’s den, she lit the wick of a candle that waited readily upon it. She guessed she could call it her den as well, which seemed bizarre.
My dearest Uncle,
I hope this letter finds you in good health, even though I know you are missing me terribly, as I’m sure there has been absolutely no entertainment since I left. Who will you secretly tease and laugh at in my absence? All fun aside, this letter will shock and sadden you, and then shock you again. Don’t worry if you get halfway through and feel you cannot go on. The story has a somewhat happy ending, just like the books I know you so love.
I have arrived safely in Rockdale, and though I have a considerable amount of adjusting to do, Roy met me with open arms and made me feel right at home once again. I feel a freedom here, Uncle. From the moment I stepped off the train, I could inhale fully for the first time in a long time. I have met an Indian girl here named Lenny who I have decided I was meant to be bosom friends with. She is wonderful, and beautifully exotic and intelligent. She doesn’t speak a bit of English, though I suspect she understands it just fine.
Now for the saddest part of this story. Roy passed away a day after my arrival, to my heartbroken regret. How is it that I am only to have one day with him? It seems eternally unfair to me. Am I blessed to have spent that one day with him before his fate took him? Or, did I bring this bad luck to Rockdale?
And now, take heart. I’m no longer Miss Flemming, ill-reputationed bastard child. Oh, cease your sputtering, my dear uncle. You and I both know it was the most common name thrown about when I was in town. I am now Mrs. Shaw, first lady of the Lazy S Ranch. Are you impressed by my fortitude in securing a husband so quickly, when years in Society didn’t produce such a miracle? I am surprised and impressed right along with you. Don’t worry about me, Uncle William. My husband is handsome, and honorable, and terribly arrogant, but I suspect you all are at this age, am I right? I’ll write again soon.
Maggie Shaw
She’d made the letter sound as if she were happy and well adjusted. So what, if that couldn’t be further from the truth? It wouldn’t help anything to have Uncle William worry about her, or Aunt Margaret spouting I-told-you-sos.
The pen cleaned and set in its holder, she sat back in the desk’s wooden chair. She wasn’t tired, and would talk to Garret about the situation they had found themselves in. Preferably in a civil manner, but one could never tell how any discussion would go with that insufferable man. More likely than not, the conversation would end with her wanting to choke the life out of a fence post, but she was willing to give talking a try.
Garret probably was staying out on purpose, to avoid confrontation. Did he think she would jump out and molest him? Not likely!
She took the candle into her room, left it there and picked her way carefully through the unfamiliar house. In the chair in the den, she waited. Sure enough, within minutes, booted feet clomped on the porch. The door creaked open slowly, and a slash of moonlight and the slight glow of the candle from the bedroom revealed Garret’s tall form.
“Ha!” she said, victorious.
Garret jumped like a jack rabbit and skittered backward. He scowled at her. “You scared me near to death, woman. What are you doing, sitting there in the dark?”
“Waiting for you, naturally.” She tried not to smile, but scaring him made her feel better. “I think we should talk.”
With a sigh, he dropped his hat on the table. “No.”
When he tried to sidle past her to the bedrooms, she sidestepped and stood in front of him, arms crossed. She hadn’t waited around all evening to give up so easily. “No, you won’t even talk to me? I am your wife, Mr. Shaw. You don’t like me. You have made that abundantly clear. It doesn’t, however, pardon you from showing me the respect of a conversation about your intentions.”
“Look here, Margaret—”
“Maggie.”
He squinted at her. Likely he was having as much trouble seeing in the dark as she was. The candle in her bedroom offered little in the way of illumination. “Maggie, I have to be up to drive those cattle at dawn tomorrow. I’m tired, I’m hungry, and in no way up to fighting you tonight, so please...” He gestured for her to scoot aside.
Compromise it was. “Fine,” she said. “We’ll talk on our way into town tomorrow, then?”
He gave a harsh laugh. “Oh, no. There is no way you are coming with us on this drive. I saw the way you ride a horse, and I can’t be saving you every two minutes. You’ll stay here. I’ve already talked to Lenny and she has agreed to stay with you. She’ll show you around.”
Oh, sod it all. You couldn’t compromise with a rattlesnake. “When will you be back?”
“A week at least,” he replied testily.
No doubt, he loathed that he might have to answer to anyone. “A week? Why so long?”
“Because we only drive the cattle fifteen miles a day so they don’t lose weight,” he said in an overly patiently tone, as if she were a petulant child. “It’ll take us a few days to get them to the train station, and then we have to corral them and negotiate a price. In the day we waited to bury Roy the price might have dropped, I don’t know. If it has, we may wait a couple of days for it to come back up. Won’t know ’til we get there.” Garret sighed. “You ever use one of those?” He nodded toward the three rifles mounted on the wall by the door.
“Of course I have,” she lied, not about to admit any more weakness.
He raised an eyebrow. “Great. Well, use one if there’s trouble. Good night, Maggie.” Then he stepped around her and disappeared into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
Worst wedding night ever. Her life was so terribly different from what it had been.
Chapter 4
Maggie woke from a fitful sleep to the sound of murmured orders, the jingle of harnesses, and the rooster, which seemed to have an irrational need to crow continuously. Burke yelled at the unknown someone who’d taken the last buttered biscuit, and wood slamming against wood reverberated as boxes of supplies were loaded into the back of the wagon. The men were preparing for the drive at dawn and they weren’t being quiet about it.
Her bedroom was at the front of the house, so the window gave a great view of the bustling activity. A shawl tightly around her shoulders against the crisp coolness of the morning, she peeked through the window searching for…something.
Garret. Giving orders and tightening the cinch on a big, dark chestnut horse. The animal was tall and well bred. The early morning light reflected off twitching muscles as he stamped his front hoof. Irritated or not, the animal was beautiful.
He flattened his ears testily as Garret finished saddling him, and she snorted. The horse seemed as arrogant as its rider. No less an animal would have done for such an unapproachable man as Garret Shaw.
Her heart ached when the men headed out. She hadn’t expected him to say goodbye, but a look back in her direction would have been nice. How obnoxious, that she felt anything for her impossible and in
furiating husband.
Husband. She plopped un-fetchingly onto the bed. Idiot was more like it.
Having washed, and dressed in a light blue silk gown, she headed into the kitchen, where Lenny waited at the table. The girl pointed to the stove and sat back, eyes bright and lips quirked in amusement.
“Me? Make breakfast? My cooking would more likely kill you than fill you.” Maggie shook her head. “Huh uh.”
Lenny repeated the gesture, then got up and took stoneware canisters of salt and flour and pans out of various cupboards, holding each up in front of Maggie in turn. Then she pointed in the direction in which the men had disappeared and made horns on her head with her fingers.
“I don’t understand,” Maggie said. “Garret?”
The girl nodded enthusiastically.
“Garret is a bull? I know he’s a bull-headed man. Is that the symbol we are using for him? Bull?”
Another nod and a smile
“We need the symbol for donkey.”
Lenny frowned, head cocked, and Maggie brayed like an ass. A peal of laughter came from the Indian girl, and she couldn’t help but join her.
Recovered, Lenny began again, making the symbol for Garret, and then pointed to Maggie and shook her head in mock sadness.
“He doesn’t think I can make it out here. He doesn’t think I can do anything?”
Lenny nodded slowly.
“Will you teach me?”
Smiling, the girl held up the flour again. Lesson one.
* * * *
Without Lenny’s guidance the biscuits would have been in flames, cooked until they resembled unappetizing hunks of black coal. Thanks to her, the biscuits didn’t taste half bad and mopped in molasses with a side of fried eggs, breakfast was just this side of heaven.
After they’d had their fill, Lenny took her riding. She didn’t show her much, other than to adjust her posture, but they went on a long ride around the ranch. Perhaps both to give her time in the saddle so she could adjust to riding again, and to become familiar with the place she would now call home.
