“A man’s got to protect what’s his. And I’ve loved you so long that I think of you as my girl.” Homer glanced at the fallen Donovan, then turned his earnest expression on his lady love. “Bessie, my darling, will you marry me?”
“Oh, yes!” Bessie all but smothered the young man as she flung her arms around him. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Homer Beasty!”
“Then let’s do it right now. I’m not taking any chances of losing you.” Homer led Bessie toward the church, her brothers trailing along behind with confused looks on their faces.
Donovan sat up and rubbed his jaw. Locating his hat, he grabbed it and got to his feet.
“Why’d you let him deck you?” Matt asked. “Why, you coulda laid him flat without breakin’ a sweat.”
Donovan grinned. “But then I’d be on the way to the church with Bessie Beaumont.”
Amos chuckled. “Pretty smart fella, ain’t ya?”
Matt shook his head and chuckled as he finally got the joke. “Better than a shootout, anyway.”
“My thinking exactly, Matt. I’m lucky he showed up when he did.”
“Pshaw, that weren’t no luck,” Amos snorted. “I knew Homer was sweet on Bessie. Fact was, everyone expected them to marry up afore now, but Homer never got up the gumption to ask.”
“Amos and I rode out to get him,” Matt said with a grin. “We figured you could use the help.”
“I’m obliged to you both.” Donovan looked past the two men to the Chronicle building. The rifle seemed suddenly heavy in Sarah’s hands as their eyes met and held. Then he placed his hat on his head and looked at his companions. “Whiskey all around, I’d say. And Amos, I figure I owe you another four bits.”
“Yeeehaw!” Amos did a little jig as the three men turned toward the saloon.
Sarah watched them go. He knew, blast him. He knew that she would have helped him. She closed the door and went to hang the rifle back on the wall.
It made her crazy, the way that man could see right into her soul.
With a little sigh, she turned to her only trustworthy companion these days. Her printing press.
Chapter Six
“Mama, I wish you would stop this.”
“But that blue dimity would look lovely on you, Sarah.”
“Mama, we’ve talked about this before.”
June Calhoun sighed. “I don’t know why you do this. You’ll never catch a husband dressing like a spinster.”
Having heard this particular lecture many a time, Sarah pressed her lips together and increased her pace. The church was coming into view, and the crowd milling around outside indicated that the town meeting had yet to begin.
“Sarah Ann Calhoun, don’t you dare ignore me,” June said sternly, quickening her pace as well. “I just want to see you happy.”
“I am happy, Mama.” She tossed a quick smile at her mother, despite her annoyance. “I have you, and I have the paper. I don’t need anything else.”
“The newspaper was your father’s dream, not yours.” June shook her head. “I remember how you used to daydream about getting married. You would even make up names for your children. You wanted a dozen, I believe.”
“Things change.”
Her mother continued as if she hadn’t heard, her voice soft with nostalgia. “Remember that wedding ring quilt? You worked so hard on it. I think it’s still in your hope chest in the closet. You swore you were going to lay it over your marriage bed on the night of your wedding.”
As her mother kept talking, Sarah’s mind wandered to that quilt. She had worked on it with all the enthusiasm of the young girl she had been, bedazzled by dreams of happily-ever-after. She remembered laying it in her hope chest, imagining the night when she would present it to her new husband as a wedding gift.
That night would never come now.
“Sarah, are you listening to me?”
“Yes, Mama. Look, we’re here.” She said a silent prayer of thanks as Honoria Westerly, the reverend’s wife, called out to them.
“June! Sarah! Over here!”
“Good evening, Honoria.” Sarah’s mother smiled as she greeted her closest friend.
“Evening, Mrs. Westerly,” Sarah said politely.
“Marianne is over there with Lorinda Baines, Sarah,” Honoria said. “I’d appreciate it if you could keep her distracted while I talk to your mother about making her a new dress for her birthday.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Westerly.” Sarah had barely turned away before Honoria launched into the details of the gown she wanted her mother to create.
Sarah wandered toward the group of young women gathered near a buckboard wagon. Pieces of conversations drifted to her as she made her way through the crowd. Ellie Pearson, heavy with child, deep in conversation with Doc Mercer and his wife. The rumble of male laughter and good-natured ribbing coming from the cattlemen who lingered on the stairs of the church. The widow O’Brien calling after her young son Kevin as he chased the Tillis boys through the crowd. As she approached her destination, giggles and girlish voices rose above all else. Marianne Westerly spotted her and waved her over.
As Sarah moved beside Marianne, she heard Lorinda Baines expounding on the secrets of married life. Only two weeks ago, Lorinda had married Ethan Baines, a local horse rancher. Now the unmarried ladies, including Emmaline and Juliana Tremont, listened with rapt fascination as Lorinda revealed things only hinted at by their mothers.
“Well, Ethan is the most wonderful man,” Lorinda said. “He’s very gentle and he treats me like a china doll.”
“I hope my husband is like that.” Marianne sighed.
“I should hope that he’s gentle!” Emmaline sniffed. “A man should act the gentleman with his wife at all times.”
“Well, not at all times,” Lorinda responded with a sly smile.
A burst of giggles followed her statement. Sarah looked down at her folded hands. Out of all the women there, she alone knew exactly what Lorinda Baines meant. While a woman wanted a husband to treat her with care and respect, there were times, such as the marriage bed, where a rogue was more desirable than a gentleman. A tendril of longing twined around her heart, and she suppressed it, refusing to submit to the shameless hunger that plagued her almost constantly now.
“I can’t wait to get married,” Marianne whispered with excitement. “I do so want to know what it is all about. Mama refuses to discuss the matter.”
“I should hope not,” Emmaline said. “Such things are inappropriate for a young girl’s ears.”
“You just say that because you don’t know yourself, Emmaline,” Lorinda teased. More giggles erupted as Emmaline flushed a bright red.
“The marriage bed is sacred and should not be whispered about in such a manner,” Emmaline snapped.
“Speaking of beds,” Juliana said with a glance at Sarah, “I wonder if Jack Donovan will be coming to the meeting tonight.”
“Oh, isn’t he the handsomest man!” Marianne exclaimed. “And he actually wants to get married. Not like some men around here.”
“I hear he’s the richest man in town. Gold mines,” Lorinda added sagely.
“I heard he used to be an outlaw,” Marianne contributed with excitement. “But he seems like such a nice man.”
“And that bed.” Juliana fanned herself. “Goodness, just the thought of it makes me all trembly.”
“Juliana!” Emmaline chided. “A lady does not speak of such things.”
“Oh, Emmaline.” Juliana dismissed her sister and looked at Sarah. “What do you think, Sarah? After all, you’ve seen more of that bed than anyone.”
The insinuation was unmistakable. Marianne and Lorinda gaped, and Emmaline placed a hand to her bosom. Juliana just watched Sarah, a malicious glitter in her eyes.
Sarah felt the heat creep into her cheeks. “In the course of business, yes, I did get a good look at it. And it’s beautiful. I can’t wait to see who he marries.”
“Neither can I.” Juliana stared at Sarah.
&nbs
p; Sarah met her gaze, then looked at the other women. “If you ladies will excuse me, I believe the meeting is starting.” She walked away with her head held high.
“Well, we know who Jack Donovan isn’t going to be marrying,” Juliana said, loud enough for Sarah to hear. Furious whispers followed her words.
“Sarah.” Marianne hurried up to her and fell into pace when she didn’t slow. “Don’t let Juliana get to you. She never has a kind word for anyone.” She smiled.
The preacher’s daughter was a beautiful brunette with soft gray eyes and a roses and cream complexion. She was sweet and compassionate, and purity shone from her gentle smile like a light from heaven.
Sarah had once known such innocence. Now, after all that had happened, she felt tarnished next to Marianne’s sterling virtue.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’m going to fetch Mama so we can get a good seat.”
“If you’re sure you’re all right.” Marianne’s flawless brow crinkled with concern.
“I’m positive.” Sarah squeezed Marianne’s arm in reassurance. Marianne Westerly was the one woman in town that Sarah could honestly call a friend.
“All right then. I’ll stop by sometime this week, and we can have a nice long visit.”
“You do that.”
The other woman smiled and hurried back to her group. Sarah sighed as she watched her go, feeling old beyond her years. Marianne Westerly was everything she herself had once been. Marianne loved to cook and sew and longed for the day when she would bear children. She would make some man a wonderful wife.
Donovan should probably propose to her.
Sarah's mouth trembled as tears threatened unexpectedly, and she pressed her lips together. Ruthlessly, she repressed the long-forgotten dreams of husband and family. That would never happen for her. She would be alone until she died. And that was the way things were.
“Yoohoo! Sarah, over here!”
She spotted her mother standing near the church steps with one of the ranchers and waving for Sarah to join them. June’s never-ending campaign to match make for her daughter was born out of love, if futile. Resigned, she slowly made her way over.
June took her arm as soon as she was within reach and tugged her closer. “Look who stopped to say hello, Sarah.”
Sarah smiled politely. “Hello, Mr. Turner.”
Ross Turner took off his hat, revealing light brown hair threaded with silver. His dark eyes were warm as he said, “Good evening, Sarah. I was hoping to see you tonight.”
“Oh?” Momentarily confused, she glanced at her mother. June beamed at her, which immediately put her on her guard. “Uh…what a nice thing to say. How is your family?”
“Fine, fine. Ross Junior’s been helping a lot with the cattle, but I think the twins and little Betsy are still feeling the loss of their Ma. Girls that age need a woman’s guidance.” He smiled and added, “If you know what I mean.”
Sarah was shocked by the admiration in his voice. Though in his forties, Ross was still as fit as a man half his age, and one of the wealthiest men around. His wife had died two years ago from influenza, leaving Ross to raise his son and three daughters on his own.
And now he was smiling at her, Sarah Calhoun, like a suitor come calling on Sunday.
“Young girls do need a woman to talk to,” June interjected into her daughter’s silence. “Before you know it, they’ll be married and gone from the house.”
Ross flashed her mother a grateful smile. “Don’t I know it. Little Betsy keeps begging to dress like her sisters. And the twins are barely sixteen, but the boys have already come sniffing around. I’ve got a mind to keep my rifle handy.”
June laughed just as Reverend Westerly stepped out of the church and began ringing the bell that signified that the town council meeting was about to begin. Ross took Sarah’s hand.
“Perhaps I could call on you next Saturday evening, Sarah?” He squeezed her fingers meaningfully.
Sarah hesitated, still stunned that such a decent man would even consider courting her.
“Sarah!” June urged in a whisper.
“Of course,” Sarah finally said. “Around eight o’clock?”
“Eight,” Ross agreed. He squeezed her fingers again and released her hand. “I’ll look forward to it. Until then, Sarah.” He tipped his hat. “Mrs. Calhoun.”
Sarah watched him make his way through the crowd. Her mother took her arm and tugged her forward with the rest of the people moving into the church.
“Ross Turner, Sarah! You must allow me to make up that blue dimity for you. You certainly can’t wear those drab browns and grays that you insist on, not when a man like him comes courting!”
“If you want to, Mama.” Sarah reached the stairs and stood aside so her mother might go before her. She bumped up against someone and glanced behind her. The apology died on her lips as she met Donovan’s dark-eyed stare.
A tingle ran down her spine. He didn’t smile or say a word. Just looked at her with those all-knowing, velvet-brown eyes.
“Oh, Sarah, this is wonderful!” June was saying. “I told you so many times that you deserve the same opportunities as any other girl. Haven’t I been saying that? Goodness, Sarah, there’s every chance you might become Mrs. Ross Turner by the end of summer!”
Startlement flashed across Donovan’s face before his expression settled into impassivity. Sarah opened her mouth, but slowly closed it again. She owed Donovan no explanations, especially not in the middle of a crowd of busybodies. She had every right to take the opportunity to become a wife and have a family. And if certain people didn’t like it, too bad. She gave Donovan a curt nod, then turned back to her mother.
“Come, Mama. I want to get a front row seat.” She urged June up the stairs, steering her toward the open double doors of the church. Just before stepping through, she glanced back at Donovan.
He was gone.
Town meetings were a new experience, Donovan thought as he seated himself in the back. In his former profession, he had never been welcome at one. But now, as a respected— and wealthy—member of the community, he was pretty much expected to attend.
The five members of the town council—Doc Mercer, Mr. and Mrs. Castor, Reverend Westerly and Mortimer Tremont, the undertaker—sat at a table in front of the church. The rest of the townspeople settled into the hard pews as Arnold Castor, mayor of Burr and well-to-do banker, called the meeting to order.
Donovan let his mind drift as issues were brought up and discussed and decided upon. There was bit of a ruckus when the Ladies’ Auxiliary for the Betterment of Burr suggested that the saloon should be closed on Sundays, but otherwise his thoughts remained uninterrupted as he focused on what June Calhoun had said.
Ross Turner was planning on courting Sarah.
He told himself that it was none of his business. He liked Ross. Having spent years learning to size up people at a glance, Donovan had decided that Ross was a decent, hard-working man and a leader of the community. Turner knew how to treat his men and his cattle, and Donovan had the highest respect for him.
But he wasn’t sure if he liked the idea of Ross’s hands on Sarah.
“Doesn’t matter what you like,” he muttered to himself. “She’s got a right to get married if she wants to.”
But you don’t want her to, a little voice whispered in his mind.
“What I want doesn’t matter,” he grumbled under his breath. The young couple sitting near him eyed him strangely. Donovan stared at them until they flushed and turned away.
You aren’t going to marry her, the voice persisted. You might as well stand aside and let another man have her.
Let another man touch her. Let another man bask in the heat of her passionate nature. Let another man—like Ross Turner—bury himself in her sweet body.
He shifted in his seat and silently cursed as his body reacted to the visualization of Sarah naked and writhing in a man’s arms. Only the man in his imagination wasn’t Ross Turner. It was himse
lf.
“Damn,” he muttered. Too bad his body didn’t realize that Sarah Calhoun wasn’t the right woman to become his wife. To distract himself, he turned his attention to the meeting.
“The issue of a school has been brought before the council by the Ladies’ Auxiliary,” Arnold Castor was saying. “As president of that group, Mrs. Castor will elaborate.”
Millicent Castor rose to her feet from her seat at the council table. “Thank you, Mr. Castor.” She looked over the crowd and folded her hands at her waist. “The ladies of this town would like to suggest that a school be built and a proper schoolteacher hired to teach our children. The population in and around our little town is growing, after all, and we need to make room for newcomers.”
“Let the newcomers build their own school!” a man’s voice called out.
“Now that’s the wrong attitude,” Mrs. Castor chided. “Our own children will benefit from this as well.”
“What about Mrs. Tillis?” asked a woman with a baby on her lap. “My younguns like Mrs. Tillis.”
“Mrs. Tillis has been doing a fine job as our schoolmarm,” the mayor’s wife said with a smile, “but she has given us her resignation so that she can take care of her six children, including the little one on the way.”
There were murmurs in response to this.
“Who all’s gonna pay for the school and a new teacher?” asked Nate Pearson.
“That’s one of the things we have to decide,” Mrs. Castor responded.
“I don’t like it.” Ross Turner stood and folded his arms as he faced the council. “I don’t see the need for a fancy school building when the church does just fine. And if there are too many kids, then keep the girls home. What are they gonna use all that book-learning for anyway? They’re only gonna grow up and get married, after all.”
“No!” Sarah leaped to her feet, put her hands on her hips and scowled at Ross. “I could just as easily tell you to keep the boys home, Mr. Turner, since a boy doesn’t need to know how to read in order to rope a calf.”
A riot of voices exploded at her words, and Donovan swiped a hand over his mouth to hide a telltale grin. He couldn’t help but be amused that the target of her ire this time was Ross Turner.
Donovan's Bed: The Calhoun Sisters, Book 1 Page 7
