Treasured: Lonestar Love, Book Two

by Phelps, Victoria

  “Papa is spanking mama,” Mary whispered. “We are not to disturb them.” The other two nodded their heads in serious agreement. All three winced at the sound of spanks followed by a low rumbling voice.

  “I don’t want to stick my nose in where it’s not wanted, but if you don’t mind, do you know why your mother is being punished?” Ethan asked, but he had a sneaking suspicion he knew.

  The three glanced at each other before Tomas shrugged his shoulders. “Papa was unhappy that mama gave Charlotte permission to go off alone with you. It isn’t proper, but he is more worried about Charlotte’s father. No one knows where he is or if he has sent more men to kidnap Charlotte or even Mama. It is a fear he has had for many years. They are guarded and the guards have their orders.”

  The guards have their orders. That was the second time he had heard that phrase. He was curious as a cat with nine lives to know what those orders were, but he wouldn’t ask. He was, after all, a guest in this house.

  He and Charlotte took seats on a second couch and listened to the discipline being delivered in the other room. It was clear it was only a spanking. If Ethan heard fists hitting flesh, he would intervene, guest or not. He was sorry to be the cause, but he suspected Charlotte’s mother knew the risk before letting her daughter approach him at the corral.

  A pause. Was the spanking finished? All eyes were fixed on the door. All ears strained for sound. The low voice rumbled again before a different sound echoed through the air. The hand on bare bottom had become a paddle or hairbrush. Charlotte’s mother would be one sorry girl for several days.

  Another pause and then a low voice, comforting, soothing, joined a female voice struggling to regain normal speech. Ethan didn’t need to open the door and look to know that Joaquin held his wife on his lap, patting her back and reassuring her of his love.

  A door shut and footsteps rang on the tiled patio. Joaquin considered the five sets of eyes focused on him as he entered the room. He finished unrolling his right sleeve before he spoke. “Your mother has had a distressing afternoon. She is sleeping and will take a tray in our room when she wakes.” He paused. “Ethan, may I speak with you?”

  The two men followed the trail towards the stables. “I understand you were a big help with the new horses.”

  “I enjoyed the exercise,” Ethan replied.

  Joaquin tipped his head in acknowledgement. “My wife knew it was against my wishes for Charlotte to be away from the house. Spending time, unsupervised, with a man is not allowed. The local people are as fussy about what is proper as any Boston maven. I wish to preserve Charlotte’s reputation, but more importantly I want to protect her from her father or any men he might have sent to capture her.” He gazed across the empty corral. “I do not enjoy punishing my wife, but, on occasion, it is necessary. In my house, I wear the pants, as the gringos say.”

  “I understand and agree. Charlotte’s safety is not guaranteed. I had a feeling that the permission Charlotte had to go to the river was suspect, but I ignored those suspicions. I’m sorry. As for the spanking, I agree. A man must keep his woman safe. The occasional red bottom is a small price for her to pay.”

  “Let’s go in to supper.” Joaquin swept his arm to usher Ethan ahead of him.

  Two more days working with mustangs, and he was a battered man. Ethan groaned as he balanced on one foot and poked his other at the leg of his pants. Damn. He couldn’t lift his foot high enough to put on his own britches. A bruise covered his hip and half his backside. His left foot had been stepped on twice and had him considering going barefoot to supper. He knew he’d never admit that kind of defeat although he didn’t look forward to shoving that swollen lump into his boot. Sitting on the bed, he lowered his pants until he could slip both feet into the tubes of fabric. He stood and pulled them over his tender flesh. His mouth a slash of determination, he forced his foot into the confines of his boot.

  He limped into the family room. Bruises could be concealed under his clothing, but the damage to his foot told its own tale.

  Joaquin raised a single eyebrow. “How are you enjoying the mustangs, my friend?”

  “They are some tough critters. I guess they grow meaner south of the border.”

  Ethan lowered his body to a spot beside Charlotte with great care. “They’ve got me beat.” He managed a rueful laugh even though that small exhale of breath caused his battered ribs to contract in pain. “I do believe I’ll give them up for a few days.”

  “Very wise.” Joaquin’s eyes sparkled with amusement, but he would not laugh at his guest. “Tomorrow, I plan an easy ride to check on my cattle in the northern pasture. I would welcome your company.”

  Ethan considered the purple and black bruise hidden under his pants, but he would not give in to a bit of pain. He would not. “It would be my pleasure.” An exaggeration, plain and simple, but he would mount up and ride in the morning. Damned if he wouldn’t.

  When Ethan escorted Charlotte outside for their evening walk, her eyes swam with tears. “Charlotte, what’s wrong?” He tensed his shoulders and pulled her hand closer to his chest.

  “You’re hurt.” Her whisper was tortured and sad.

  He relaxed. “Oh, little girl, I’ve been hurt worse than this.” He stood in silence, remembering a time not so long ago when he had, indeed, been hurt worse than this. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” The casual shrug of his shoulders meant to reassure.

  “Well, I do worry. I do.” Her petulant voice and the stamp of her little foot raised the hairs on the back of his neck. His spanking hand itched.

  Ethan placed a meaningful swat on her bottom. He knew she wouldn’t feel it over the petticoat worn under her colorful skirt, but it was the thought that counted.

  “Come back to Texas with me. Be my wife.” He promised himself he wouldn’t badger her, but he wanted her so badly his rising expectations kept him awake. He was a desperate man.

  She placed one small hand over his heart and leaned closer. Her hand burned through his shirt like a brand.

  Pulling her closer, his lips brushed against her soft, rosy mouth. He prepared to seal the kiss with determination and promise.

  “Charlotte.” Joaquin’s voice came from near the house.

  Damn, Ethan knew what words would follow, and he winced at their delivery. “It is time for you to come inside.”

  Sigh. He released his hold and stepped back.

  Ethan survived the ride the following day. His hip ached; his foot throbbed; his ribs pulsed in time to the beating of his heart. They pulled their horses to a halt, and Joaquin swung down in one smooth, graceful sweep of his leg. He handed his reins to a waiting gaucho and waited for Ethan to follow.

  Ethan paused. His foot pounded inside his boot, and he knew any attempt to remove that leather coffin would take all his considerable self-control. The current problem: how to dismount and place his entire weight on that foot until his other one could join it on the ground. Maybe he should swing his leg over and slide down so both feet landed at once.

  “Ethan?” Joaquin reached for the halter of his horse. “Are you all right?”

  Before he could form a response that would explain his hesitation to dismount without admitting to injury, Charlotte’s mother burst from the house.

  “She’s gone,” she exhaled the words in a rush of tortured breath. “Charlotte,” she confirmed. “She’s gone.” She collapsed into her husband’s arms.

  “Where were the guards?” Joaquin’s anger vibrated with displeasure. “They have their orders.”

  Ethan wanted to know about those orders, but right now he wanted to know Charlotte was safe.

  “Search the area, but I think she went to the river.” Ethan pulled on Charlie’s reins and spun the horse around. “If she’s there, I’ll fire one shot. If she’s not, I’ll fire three.”

  Heart pounding, Ethan rode the short distance to the river at full gallop. He’d been right. There she sat, big as life, under that leafy tree where she had read to him
the other day. The book lay unopened in her lap. He pulled his gun from his holster and fired one shot into the clear, blue sky.

  Charlotte jumped to her feet and whirled to face him. “Oh, Ethan. You scared me. Why did you shoot your gun?”

  “To signal the house that I found you.” Ethan stabbed her with a mighty glare. “Why are you out here? Your mother and Joaquin are frantic with worry.” He swung from the saddle, grunting with pain as his foot hit the ground. He closed his eyes and waited for the throbbing pain to subside.

  “Oh. Well, I wanted you to find me. I want to talk to you, and Joaquin doesn’t give us any time alone.” Her lips trembled, and her eyes filled with tears.

  “Damn, Charlotte. We thought your father might have kidnapped you. Your poor mother was hysterical. As for Joaquin, we could have asked him to let us talk privately. Left the door open or something. Running away… Well, running away was dangerous. If your father or his men were around, you made yourself easy pickings.” Trying to disguise his limp, he closed the distance and took her into his arms.

  “You’re hurt,” she cried.

  “Don’t worry about me,” he growled. “How did you get past the guards?”

  Charlotte looked up through her lashes and whispered. “I climbed out the window. I guess they didn’t think I would try to slip away.”

  “No, they did not. I expect those men are in a heap of trouble,” Ethan scolded her, “You’d better explain that to Joaquin.”

  “Oh, dear. I just wanted to talk to you. I didn’t think about my father or the guards or how my mother would feel.” Charlotte buried her face in her hands.

  “Here I am. What did you want to talk about?” Ethan sat on a fallen branch and extended his injured foot in front of him.

  “But you’re angry. I can’t talk to you when you’re angry.”

  “I’m not angry. I was scared. Scared for you.” He massaged his thigh. “I have a question for you.” He reached over and pulled her hands from her face. “Will you marry me?”

  “But I’ve caused such trouble,” she blubbered.

  “You have, but answer me. Marry me. Come to Texas.”

  “Yes, Ethan. I’ll marry you.” She knelt on the ground and put her head on his muscular chest.

  Ethan pulled the pins from her hair. Her braid fell free, and he unwound the strands.

  “That makes me a mighty happy man.” He planted a thoughtful kiss on the top of her head. “Since you’re mine, I aim to spank you bottom until it glows. You put yourself in danger. I will never, never, let that go unpunished, little girl.”

  Charlotte nodded her head in a slow, sad arc.

  “Pull up your skirt and untie your bloomers.” Charlotte did as Ethan instructed, and her bloomers fell to the ground. He took her hand and gave a little tug. “Over you go.”

  Her white bottom resting over his thighs was about the prettiest thing he ever did see. He squeezed the pale orbs. “Charlotte, you are never to run away. You ran away from San Miguel, and you ran away today. If you had talked to me first, we would have been saved a lot of danger and heartache. You would have been saved a hot bottom.” He laid a series of brisk spanks to her bottom and watched in satisfaction as it bloomed a lovely pink. “You put yourself in danger today. We don’t know where your father or his men are.” He applied himself to his work. Spanking left, right, and back again until the pink became deep rose.

  Charlotte squirmed and cried. Her voice was a mangled tangle of apologies.

  Ethan tipped his thigh higher and spanked her thighs and the gentle curve of her bottom’s underside. He returned to the fullness of her buttocks and spanked another round and then another and another. He held his hand over the scarlet flesh and felt the heat. He was almost done. Once more he returned to her thighs.

  “Stop, Ethan,” she begged. Her face was a mottled red.

  “I’ll stop when I think you’ve learned. Asking won’t ever make it so.” He let his hand deliver the message, left, right, and center. Ethan decided on mercy. He lifted his little girl and placed her gently on his lap. She rested her head on his shoulder and clung to his shirt with one tiny hand.

  “You’re forgiven,” he whispered into her ear.

  When the sun was setting in a blaze of orange, they returned to the hacienda. Joaquin and Charlotte’s mother waited on a bench, holding hands, watching for their return.

  Ethan pulled Charlie to a stop. Charlotte sat on his lap. Her hair floated in dark, deep red waves down her back. Tears left salty tracks down her pale cheeks, and her eyes were red with shed and unshed tears.

  “I will send for the priest,” Joaquin stated this as a stone-cold fact. A fact beyond the shadow of a doubt.

  “Yes,” Ethan nodded. He handed his little girl into Joaquin’s arms. Charlotte’s mother took one hand and Joaquin the other as they returned her to the safety of their home.

  A sigh of happiness and trepidation passed through Ethan’s lips. He still needed to figure a way to dismount from his horse and spare his foot.

  Damn.

  Chapter 19

  Charlotte

  A strip of light lay across the bedroom floor when Charlotte woke the following morning to a light knocking on her door.

  “Come in,” her voice cracked from disuse.

  The door swung open, and her mother swept into the room. “Good-morning, mija.”

  Charlotte grinned. A mother was the happiest, zingiest, most amazing person to have. They filled an ache. Answered a need. Addressed an emptiness. She sat up and opened her arms, and her mother filled that exact space. She sat on the edge of the bed and took Charlotte’s hand into her own.

  “Papa has sent for the priest.” Concern fluttered behind her mother’s eyes. “After you returned yesterday in Ethan’s lap, looking quite messed, well, he felt he had no choice.”

  “I want to marry Ethan, Mama.” She squeezed her mother’s hand. “I know Papa has tried to protect me, and I love him for it. But I want to marry Ethan. I’m just sorry you can’t come visit me in Texas, but Ethan promised we would come here as often as possible.”

  “That makes me very happy. Joaquin can be quite set when he decides on a course of action. If you didn’t want to marry, I would argue on your behalf. Of course, I would, but I believe this to be the right choice. Ethan loves you. He will take good care of you for me.”

  “And I love him.” Charlotte patted her mother’s hand. “This is what I want.”

  “Come have some breakfast.” Her mother waited while she rose from bed and pulled a robe over her nightgown. “I have to warn you. Ethan is in a foul mood. His foot is swollen and bruised. He has been ignoring it for days, and now it is so bad he cannot force his foot into his boot no matter how hard he tries. Men.” She laughed. “He must rest it for a day or two and keep it elevated. Inactivity does not sit well with him, I’m afraid.”

  Charlotte peeked in the family parlor. Ethan sat in a large chair. Propped on several cushions atop a footstool was Ethan’s injured foot.

  “Morning, Ethan.” Charlotte crossed the room to stand next to Ethan’s chair.

  “Morning, little girl.” He encircled her wrist with his large hand. With one tug, she was ensconced on his lap with his arms tight around her.

  “Oh, Ethan,” Charlotte pointed at his bruised foot. “That looks painful.”

  “Truth be told, it is. But I feel better with you in my lap.” He pulled her head down to his shoulder and set a gentle rhythm of pats on her thigh. “The wedding is tomorrow, so I don’t think Joaquin will mind if I take a few liberties today. He did his best to protect you. I gotta give him that.”

  Charlotte felt the air of his dark chuckle on the back of her neck. They sat, enjoying, sharing, giving, receiving.

  “Charlotte,” her mother entered the room with a disapproving stare. “Enough of this. You need breakfast. The maids are gathering fabric. We have a wedding dress to make by tomorrow.” She clapped her hands and waited, hands on hips, while Charlotte rose from her i
ntended’s lap.

  “I’ll come back later. We can read a little more of Huck Finn. Jim’s been captured and Huck has a crazy plan to set him free.” Charlotte planted a loud kiss on Ethan’s cheek. She felt his eyes follow her from the room. She shivered. Oh, she loved that man.

  By supper time, a lovely dress hung in Charlotte’s closet. Her mother and several maids had devoted themselves to the project. The result was a tiered skirt of eyelet lace over an underskirt of pale pink. The fitted bustier laced in the front with matching pink ribbon and a veil of ivory lace had been purchased in the little village.

  She was told that Ethan had received similar attention, and he was ready to be resplendent in the morning. His foot would not fit into his boot by then, but they had secured a pair of leather sandals. The maids giggled when they described his dark look at those shoes. He said he would die with his boots on, but he’d wear anything on his feet as long as he walked away with Charlotte as his bride. She blushed and added her giggle to the general merriment.

  The hour of conversation before supper arrived more quickly than usual it seemed to Charlotte. Between the dress and helping with the baking, time had evaporated.

  “Ethan,” she approached his chair, “I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to read to you after all. We’ve been so busy getting ready for tomorrow.” She pulled a chair next to his. “I promise we will finish the book after we’re married.”

  He growled a reply, “I’ve got plenty of other things on my mind to do after we marry. That book can go hang.”

  A change of subject seemed like the safest course. “How is your foot?” She glanced down at the offending appendage. “It looks better.” The swelling had receded and purple had faded to brownish orange.

  A discussion of his foot brought another growl. She hoped he would be friendlier tomorrow.

  Joaquin approached. “I found my father’s cane.” He offered it to the big Texan. “I thought it might be useful.”

  Ethan shot it a reproachful glare, but used it to leverage himself from the chair and support his weight across the room.