Callie Mae and the Marine

by Stevie MacFarlane

  “Revenue. It had the best return rate on my investment,” she shot back, unapologetically.

  Morgan nodded. That made sense. “I understand that, but what made you want to go into business in the first place?”

  “As an unmarried woman, I need to be able to support myself. It seemed like a good idea.”

  “Why not get married? I’m sure someone as pretty as you had plenty of offers.”

  “I have, but no one I loved,” she snapped. “Spending my life under the control of a man has little appeal and even less if I have no genuine feelings for him.”

  “The word around town is that your father found you a husband worthy of you and you refused him. Is that true?” he asked with narrowed eyes.

  “A man worthy of me,” she snorted. “Is that what they’re saying? Well, yes, I guess some would see it that way. George Montgomery is older, wealthy, and has about as much appeal as an old goat!” she shouted, getting to her feet. “He was prepared to build my father a new church if I accepted his offer. That amounts to a little more than forty pieces of silver, but the principle’s the same. Sold by my own father? No thank you.”

  Morgan digested this as he watched her pace back and forth in front of the bar.

  “Sit down, Callie Mae,” he said, “I’m not done asking.”

  “Well, I’m done answering,” she sassed. “I have chores to do. Saturday’s the busiest night of the week.”

  In three strides he was at her side, clamping his big hand around her upper arm as he escorted her back to the table and plopped her on her chair. “Is it true you carry a gun in your garter?” he asked, staring into her eyes as he leaned on the table.

  “Yes!”

  “Do you know how to use it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  That shocked her and she relaxed and smiled as Morgan backed off and leaned against the front of the bar. “What else do you have in place for your protection? I imagine it can get pretty wild in here when a cattle drive comes in.”

  “I have a couple of men who come in and keep an eye open for anything that looks like it’s getting out of hand.”

  “And if it does, what then?” he demanded, returning to the table.

  “I send for the Marshal or his deputy and I have a shotgun behind the bar. I’m not afraid to use it,” she insisted.

  Morgan nodded, although he sensed her words were mostly bravado. “Do you serve food?” he asked, looking around for any sign that her establishment offered a meal. “One of the best ways to keep from getting rip roaring drunk is a full belly.”

  “No. I usually have peanuts or some such on the bar, but no food.”

  “Why not?”

  “Mrs. Dixon is a widow now. The profits from the Blue Bonnet Café are all she has to support herself and her children. I don’t want to cut into that.”

  Morgan nodded in understanding. “What about ordering some sandwiches from her and selling them at a small mark-up? You’ll make a little more money and the extra business will help her,” he suggested. “When you see a customer getting drunk, offer him something to eat and a cup of coffee. I have no doubt your pretty smile will entice even the most obstinate man.”

  “Why, Morgan, that’s a wonderful idea. I never thought of it that way, and I know Laurie Dixon would be thrilled. She’s struggling as it is and that would be a tremendous help.”

  “Now, one more thing,” he said scowling. “Is it true you plan on bringing in some girls from St Louis?”

  “I am, but not in the way you’re thinking,” she said bolting to her feet.

  Morgan rose until he towered over her, his mouth a grim line that had her taking a step back before squaring her shoulders and returning to her seat. Turning his chair around, he straddled it.

  “Damn telegraph office! If Sam’s going to read my correspondence and spread it all over town, he could at least get it straight,” she spat, crossing her arms.

  “Let’s have the truth of it then,” he encouraged, drumming his fingers on the table. She certainly had a temper and a streak of stubbornness to boot. He had errands to run, and chores likely waiting at home, but for some reason he felt compelled to get a clear picture of Miss Callie Mae Walker. Missy was getting her information somewhere and there was usually a grain of truth in the boldest lie.

  “There’s an orphanage in St. Louis. When a girl reaches the age of eighteen, she’s out, whether she has anywhere to go or not. They try to find them positions, but it’s not always possible,” Callie Mae explained. “I put an advertisement in the newspaper and received a letter from the matron asking me for the details. The girls will be here to clean, serve drinks, and wait on customers. Nothing more! I will provide them with room and board and a salary. They’re free to leave anytime they want and find employment elsewhere, after they stay at least a month to pay me back for their fare.”

  “And did you tell the matron the truth about the type of employment the girls would be engaged in?” he asked suspiciously.

  Callie Mae looked away for a moment before she sputtered, “Well, I didn’t lie.”

  “Yes, but did you tell the truth?” he asked sternly. For some reason he was not only worried about Callie Mae and her chosen profession, but also about a group of teenage girls who were coming into a cattle town and having no idea what they were getting into. Her silence was an answer in itself and Morgan found he was very disappointed in the preacher’s daughter. Getting to his feet, he approached her and pulled her to her feet, fastening his hands on her shoulders.

  “Look at me, Callie Mae,” he ordered when she kept her head down, refusing to meet his eyes. “A lie doesn’t have to be blatant. Omitting pertinent information can be just as deceitful,” he scolded when she raised her face to look up at him. “I’m very angry about this, Callie Mae. Putting yourself at risk is one thing. Putting a group of innocent young girls at risk is another. I think you need a good spanking,” he ground out, surprised at just how much the idea of putting this young women over his lap and teaching her a lesson appealed to him.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” she gasped, trying to cover her bottom and wiggle out of his hands at the same time. Blushing wildly, she fought to maintain her dignity.

  “I most certainly would, and I will, once I learn the proper procedure.”

  “You need to learn how to spank a girl?” she laughed despite herself. “Is that one of the things your injury caused you to forget?”

  “I’m afraid it is,” Morgan replied, releasing her shoulders and picking up his hat. “But rest assured I plan on relearning it quickly. I’m sure that skill will come in handy in the very near future,” he continued, before tugging her close and kissing her surprised mouth.

  Before Callie Mae could fully appreciate the feeling of his lips on hers, he was putting his hat on and heading toward the door.

  “One more question,” he said as he reached the swinging doors and turned to look at her. “Why ‘The Duchess?’” he asked, genuinely curious.

  “That’s what the old biddies in this town started calling me when I refused to marry Mr. Montgomery. They said I thought I was too good to be a wife and mother and saddled me with ‘The Duchess’. I thought it was fitting to name this place that, seeing as how I intend to take their husbands’ money every chance I get.”

  Morgan chuckled and shook his head. She was spunky, he’d give her that.

  “Wait,” she cried. “When will I see you again?”

  “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t be in such a hurry if I were you, sweetheart,” he warned with a wink.

  “Oh,” Callie Mae sighed. “I see, well I don’t think I will let you spank me, so don’t hurry with your lessons on account of me,” she sassed.

  “You won’t have a choice and I’m a quick learner,” he replied over his shoulder as he left the saloon.

  Callie Mae picked up the glasses and put them back on the tray. She walked to the small kitchen in a daze. Morgan Whittaker, the only man she’d ever
been attracted to, had scolded her, kissed her, and promised her a spanking, all in one day. Why couldn’t this have happened before she bought the saloon and saddled herself with a huge debt to repay? She could be thinking about weddings and babies, instead of heading over to the depot to pick up four young strangers and a crate containing new clothes from a dressmaker in St Louis. Hopefully they’d gotten her measurements right and there would be something pretty that would fit her too because come nightfall, she intended to raise a little hell and make some substantial money. She figured she’d pray for forgiveness Sunday morning.

  Chapter Five

  Morgan had just loaded the last of Emma’s supplies on the wagon when he spotted Mead in town. “Hey,” he called, taking off his hat and wiping the sweat from his brow. “Where you headed?” he asked when Mead turned and approached on his mount.

  “I’m riding out to Ma’s. Lilly is busy working on her wedding dress and I can’t be within ten miles of her when she’s doing that. It’s all a big secret and she says its bad luck for me to see it before our wedding day. Women sure do set great store by that sort of thing,” Mead said, shaking his head. “Are you heading out to the homestead?”

  “Yeah, I finished all Emm… Ma’s errands and I’m starving,” Morgan replied, climbing up onto the wagon seat and picking up the reins.

  “We could go over to the Blue Bonnet and grab a bite to eat,” Mead suggested.

  “No, there was a big pot of ham and cabbage boiling on the stove when I left this morning and I can almost taste it from here,” Morgan said with a grin. “I sure love her cooking. Like to tie off and ride along?”

  “I would,” Mead answered as he climbed slowly from his horse and tied him to the back of the wagon.

  Morgan held the team steady until Mead pulled himself up on the seat. He could tell it was painful for his brother and wished there was something he could do.

  “Funny, I don’t remember you making such a fuss about Ma’s cooking before,” Mead said. “You just shoveled it in, gave a grunt of thanks, and were out the door.”

  “Things change,” Morgan replied, giving the reins a snap and heading the wagon toward home. As much as he and the real Morgan resembled each other, there were bound to be differences and he had to be careful he didn’t do too many things that were out of character.

  “I guess living on army rations has given me a new appreciation for home cooking,” Morgan offered as the team picked up speed.

  “You’ve changed, Morg,” Mead said, looking his brother over as he absently rubbed his bad knee.

  “How so?”

  “I’m still pondering on it, but you’re different. It’s nothing I can put my finger on, just a sense that you’re not the same man you were. The old Morgan would have damn near killed me for even thinking about courting his woman, yet you don’t seem to care.”

  “Do you love her?” Morgan asked, meeting Mead’s dark, thoughtful expression.

  “I expect I do,” Mead admitted, “although at times I get the feeling that I don’t really know her and she gives me a lot more sass than she’d have dared to give you,” he sighed.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you think she’ll make a good wife for you?”

  “It’ll be interesting,” Mead laughed. “She can’t cook a lick and has been pretending she can for months.” His grin fading, he continued. “I just don’t understand how you could step aside so easily, and frankly, I think it’s bothering Lilly a little too.”

  Morgan was quiet for a few minutes as he gathered his thoughts. Life was unpredictable at best. He didn’t want to make any mistakes at this point and he used his own experience as a basis for the missing Morgan.

  “I had a couple of pretty bad injuries in the war, Mead. That changes a man, as you well know. Makes him assess what’s truly important to him, if anything. For a while, nothing was, important I mean. I didn’t care one way or the other whether I took my next breath. I guess if you really love a woman, that would be enough to help you hang on, and carry on. It wasn’t with Lilly. Or with Cara, he realized.

  Mead nodded and chewed over his brother words as they rode along in silence for a while. Resting his forearms on his thighs, Morgan held the reins loosely as he debated asking Mead some questions that were sure to raise his eyebrows. Finally, when they were only a mile or so from home, Morgan slowed the team and swiveled his gaze to his brother.

  Clearing his throat, he broached the subject that was on his mind. “During the heaviest of the fighting, I took a blow to the head that’s left me confused about a few things,” Morgan began, his face heating up.

  “Confused?’ Mead asked. “What exactly are you confused about, Morg?”

  “Well, it seems that Cole, um… disciplines… I mean spanks our sister,” Morgan stammered.

  “Yeah, and?”

  “I was wondering if that bothers you,” Morgan asked, clearing his throat.

  “Hell no,” Mead replied with a snort. “Missy has always been cantankerous. With you gone, it fell to me to try and rein her in. Frankly, I was happy to have Cole take her off my hands. Why, what’s this all about? Do you think Cole is too hard on her?” Mead asked, suddenly uneasy.

  “No, it’s not that. I just… well, Matthew mentioned something about you taking Lilly out to the barn after dinner the day I came home. He implied that you spanked her.”

  “I did. She was rude and disrespectful in Ma’s house and I won’t tolerate that. I tanned her hide good for her. Is that what you wanted to know?”

  “Yes, but I was wondering how you did it?” Morgan asked, his face beet red.

  Mead laughed a deep, rich sound and shoved his brother’s shoulder. “How do you think I did it?” he said, smiling. “I sat down on a bale of hay, pulled her over my knees, and had at it. Is there any other way?” he snorted, stunned at the turn this conversation had taken.

  “No, I guess not, I was just wondering if there was any… you know… protocol or rules regarding such things? Anything I should know before I…”

  “Morgan, what is this about? You’ve probably swatted more naughty bottoms than any other man in three counties. Why would you need advice from me?”

  “I don’t remember,” Morgan admitted.

  “You don’t remember?” Mead asked, astonished. “That’s hardly the kind of thing a man’s likely to forget.”

  “Maybe so, but I have forgotten, and if you don’t want to…”

  “No, no, I’m just surprised is all. What do you need to know?” Mead offered, trying to keep the smile off his face.

  “I need to know if there is a certain etiquette to it all? Obviously a man can’t just go around upending any female he has a mind to,” Morgan continued, frustrated to be having this conversation at all. Two weeks ago he’d have gotten on the internet and found all the information he needed about how to give a proper spanking.

  “I guess now that I think about it, there are certain rules of propriety that need to be observed,” Mead said. “Privacy is very important, unless the young lady’s behavior in public is so blatantly offensive that a man feels justified in correcting it immediately.”

  “What do you do with all those skirts and petticoats?”

  “Well, if she’s unmarried, you should only spank her over her skirts, so if you want her to feel it, you have to be fairly firm. If she’s your intended, it’s acceptable to lift up her skirt, but only if she’s wearing a petticoat. If the woman is your wife, it can be on the bare and I believe in using a good stiff hairbrush if necessary. Are we talking about any particular lady here, or just women in general?” Mead asked, extremely curious and struggling to hide his grin.

  “Callie Mae Walker,” Morgan replied smoothly.

  “I’m not surprised,” Mead laughed, clapping Morgan on the back. “If ever a young woman needed a man to take her in hand, it’s Callie Mae. That girl has every gossip in town wagging her tongue and every man under sixty aching to see what kind of girls she’s bringing in.”

&nbs
p; “I know,” Morgan sighed. “How hard and long should I…”

  “That depends on the woman and the reason. With some the embarrassment is enough and a few smacks will do the trick. With Callie Mae, I think it will take more than that. One thing I will tell you is, don’t stop until she is sobbing over your knee and promising to be good. If you do, you’ll only be repeating the lesson over and over again, and with Callie Mae, that seems likely anyway. She’s stubborn and opinionated and I have my doubts a licking or two will change her.”

  “I don’t want to truly harm her. How will I know if I’m spanking too hard?”

  “You’ll have to judge that by her reaction. If she’s cussing a blue streak and fighting like a wildcat, you need to put more strength behind the slaps. It might take a while to wear her down, but if you let her go, she’ll likely shoot you. I suggest removing the gun I hear she wears in her garter,” Mead suggested with a grin.

  “Good point,” Morgan agreed, turning the wagon into the drive.

  The delicious smells radiating from the kitchen door were enough to have both men quickly unloading supplies from the wagon. Matthew was right behind them as they washed up at the pump in the yard and dried their hands on the towel Emma had hanging outside the kitchen door. What Emma called boiled dinner was being dished up as they took their places at the table. Ham, cabbage, potatoes, and carrots, along with hot baking powder biscuits and fresh butter had Morgan’s mouth watering, but he took the time to pull his mother’s chair out for her, never noticing the look of astonishment on his brothers’ faces as he hurried back to his seat.

  “Thank you,” Emma murmured, surprised at her son’s small courtesy.

  Dishes were passed as each man filled his plate, but no one picked up a fork until Emma had placed a small amount of food on her plate and folded her hands.

  “Morgan, please say the blessing,” she said softly.

  Morgan wracked his brain. It had been years since he had been assigned this task. Long ago he would travel with his parents and brother to his grandparents for holiday dinners and occasionally he would be asked to do this, but he couldn’t remember a single prayer. He tried to think of the blessings he’d heard in the last week at this very table and came up blank. Finally, clearing his throat he decided to wing it.