Читать книгу An Unwilling Husband - Tera Shanley - Страница 7

Chapter 3

The men gave Maggie an hour to mourn before they grew impatient to return to Roy’s and hold the funeral. “A body doesn’t keep long in this kind of heat,” was all Garret said.

When she ambled outside, a stout older man introduced himself as the circuit preacher. He droned on for a time about how lucky she was that he happened to be in town when Roy died. As the dull numbness of grief covered her like the chill of a late winter blizzard, the preacher’s voice faded to a background murmur.

Alone. She was completely alone.

Lenny held Buck’s reins out to her. Thank the Lord, Garret hadn’t actually killed her horse in his efforts to get to Roy. She mounted and rode beside Lenny as the circuit preacher led them toward Roy’s homestead. Shaw, Burke and the other men rode behind them and Cookie drove the buggy. Though she couldn’t see Garret, she felt his gaze from behind. As if the tender place on the back of her neck was laid open to his prying eyes, the fine hairs there prickled and rose beneath her long tresses. More likely, he was glaring at her tattered state of dress, so she did her best to ignore him.

The men dug the grave under a huge oak tree toward the back of Roy’s property. The climbing tree from her childhood. When she looked skyward to the branches, she could still see the remnants of the old rope that had long ago held a crude wooden swing. Roy swung her in it when she was little, and when she got older, Garret became her climbing partner. She traced a hesitant fingertip over the faint carving of Garret’s name in the trunk. Maggie turned to find him watching her with stormy eyes filled with some emotion she couldn’t fathom.

The preacher read scripture over the grave, and though she was quiet about it, tears traveled down her cheeks, searching for solace in the ground beneath her feet. After he finished, the preacher nodded to Garret, who cleared his throat.

“Roy was like a father to me when I needed one. He stuck up for me when my pa was being an ornery old cuss, and he showed me what it is to be a man. When I was little I used to imagine what life would have been like if God had seen fit to give me to a man like Roy. I’ve never met a better man.” He picked up a handful of black earth and tossed it into the grave. “I hope you know what you are doing, old man,” he mumbled then put his hat on and plodded off toward the house. The rest of the crowd followed shortly.

What had he meant, that he hoped the old man knew what he was doing? Garret would likely forever be a mystery to her.

Her full skirts puffed with air and slowly deflated around her as she took a seat next to the black hole that held her lifeless father. She’d stayed behind to mourn in private but, unable to look at the still, blanket wrapped form below, stared instead at the crude wooden cross serving as a headboard to Roy’s eternal bed. Lenny and Burke waited a short distance away.

As the last of her sobs died and no more tears would come, Burke returned. As he shoveled dirt onto the grave, she ambled back to the house, Lenny beside her. The girl’s dark almond eyes looked as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t, and Maggie smiled and took her hand as they walked. That day, Lenny had shown her more kindness than anyone ever had except perhaps Roy, and she was grateful.

They neared the house, and the others stood out front. Cookie and a couple of men were gathered around Garret, who, from the looks of it, was cussing fit to turn his mother in her grave. Lenny stared solemnly straight ahead of them. Did the girl understand the curses, or just Garret’s tone? Cookie dusted off Garret’s vest and shirt, as if in an effort to make him look presentable. Odd.

Whatever the men were up to, she had no inclination to get involved. She wanted to be alone with Roy’s things, in the home that had built her. Lenny disappeared around the side of the house as quiet as a breath, and Maggie stepped through the back door to Roy’s cabin.

Her luggage lay open and disheveled on the quilted bed. Dresses and petticoats spilled over the sides and even her small jar of rose salve had been tossed haphazardly onto the pillow. She could have sworn she’d packed her belongings neatly the morning before.

The front door banged open, and she jumped. Garret barged in and tossed his hat on the table. From the disconcerting way he stared at her, she couldn’t tell if he was going to kiss or kill her. Heartbeat thundering away in her chest, she waited for him to speak.

“You look different than you did when we were little,” he started, sounding almost angry.

“So do you, Garret,” she said. What had offended him now?

He stepped forward until he stood directly in front of her. Raw power seeped from his very being and the brush of it against her skin brought a delicate shiver across the back of her shoulders. Could he see how much he affected her?

Neck stretched, she drank in his towering height. His brilliant, sky blue gaze touched places in her she hadn’t even known existed until that very moment. He stood so close, his warmth reached for her and she took an unintentional step closer. He was an intoxicating man, like the first sip of fine whiskey, and it left her dizzy to be this near him.

“I remember you had this ridiculous fiery red hair when we were kids.” He gently lifted a long strand of her wavy hair, now dark as a redwood. A look of tenderness flickered across his face before it was replaced with one of disdain. Her breath caught at his touch. Even angry he was beautiful. Like an avenging angel.

Garret pulled away and dropped her hair then rounded on the open luggage in two long strides and picked up the gaudy cream silk dress she had worn from the train station. “This one will do.” In his work-roughened hands, the shimmering material looked fragile, ridiculous. “It will remind me of exactly what I’m getting myself into.”

As he tossed the dress in a billowing heap onto the bed and headed for the door, she put voice to her confusion. “Garret, I don’t understand what you are talking about most of the time, but today you have been speaking to me in puzzles. Why would I wear this dress for you?”

He wheeled and faced her. “Because I aim to marry you. Today. Right now. I have to get the cattle to the train station tomorrow and the preacher has other engagements so this will be our last chance for a while.”

He couldn’t be serious. Marry her? She barked a laugh.

The determined expression on his face hadn’t changed. Peals of laughter burst from her, then more until the look in his eyes rivaled the coldest winter. At last, between gasps for breath, she could speak. “You don’t love me, Garret. Bloody hell, you don’t even like me.” Still chuckling, she wiped moisture from the corners of her eyes. “Why on God’s green earth would you want to marry me?”

“Trust me, darlin’, there is nothing I want less. But Roy made it his last request. Said you didn’t have any other options. Said it had to be me to take care of his girl, that he didn’t trust anyone else. And I, the damned fool that I am! I gave him my word.”

“Well that is very serious,” she said, hiccupping a laugh. She might actually be hysterical for the first time in her life.

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 loathed? 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.