Cinderfella (14 page)

Now he was married. To a woman who likely didn't know the first thing about living and working on a farm. To a woman who'd married him at gunpoint. To a woman who hated the very sight of him.

She'd barely looked at him at all on the way home, staring away from him to the familiar landscape along the road from Salley Creek to the Coleman farm. She hadn't said a single word. Even Verna and the boys had the good sense to keep quiet, but he couldn't say the same for Nathan. He'd prattled on endlessly about the pleasant weather and the fine Haley home.

Nathan. The man seemed to think this was amusing. He hadn't laughed, not out loud, but Ash had caught his godfather smiling contentedly on more than one occasion since the wedding. Of course, if not for Nathan and his big mouth they wouldn't be in this mess.
What are you doing with Ash's boot?
Without that offhand comment none of this would have happened. Charmaine and her father would have walked past him with that damning boot in hand.

Had Nathan done it on purpose? Had he known what would happen?

“Well, go ask her!” Verna snapped, jerking Ash out of his reverie. “Tell her supper will be on the table in ten minutes.”

He mounted the steps with dread in his bones. He should have left her there on the staircase of her father's house, as she had wanted. He should've walked away without a word. But he'd been so angry, so blindingly furious. With Charmaine, with her father . . . with himself.

And to be perfectly honest, something unexpected had welled up inside him. Something together extraordinary. When he'd watched her walk away from the preacher and the papers that made her his wife, some possessive demon deep in his heart had cried out
mine.

Well, what's done was done, but this wasn't going to be easy.

“Charmaine,” he called as he knocked on the door to his room — their room. “Supper's almost ready.”

“I'm not hungry,” she insisted. Her voice was muffled and thick, and a loud sniffle followed her statement. Crying? Of course she was crying. What else should he expect?

“Fine,” he muttered. His hand rested on the doorknob. There was no lock on the door, wasn't a lock in the entire house, though he imagined Charmaine was wishing for one now. She didn't want to face him — didn't want to see him ever again.

His hand fell away from the door. There would be plenty of time for confrontations later.

 

Somehow, she'd fallen asleep. A few hours ago she'd been certain she'd never sleep again, but the nearly sleepless night after the ball and the long day that had followed, had exhausted her. She wasn't sure what had woken her, but she came awake all of a sudden. The house was quiet, the room was dark.

Charmaine rolled onto her side only to see Ash standing at the window, his back to her, his newly shortened hair and bare, broad shoulders shining in the moonlight. The sight of him standing there startled her so that her heart leapt sharply in her chest, but she recovered quickly.

She'd never seen a man's bare back before, and she found it oddly fascinating. Ash's back wasn't smooth at all, but was knotted with muscles that moved when he shifted on his bare feet and crossed his arms over his chest. Ash had worked hard all his life, and it showed in his long lean body. There was surely nothing wrong with admiring something so . . . so admirable.

Thank goodness he was wearing trousers.

He couldn't know that she was awake. She didn't want to talk. And even more, much more, she didn't want him to think that just because they were married he had the right to crawl into this bed with her. If she was very still and very quiet. . . .
 

“Did I wake you?” he asked softly.

“No,” she whispered. Then, “I don't know.”

He turned to look at her, and her heart skipped a beat. This was not the beautiful boy she remembered, and not the hairy farmer she'd seen covered in mud. This was the man from the masked ball, the man who had waltzed with tantalizing elegance and listened to her as if what she said meant something to him, the man who had kissed her and turned her insides and her world upside down.

“What are you doing here?”

“This is my room — our room.” He might have smiled, but perhaps it was just a twitch of those lips. “That'll take some getting used to.”

“Isn't there another room? It's a big house —”

“I suppose I could ask Elmo and Oswald to share a room so you can have one of your own,” he interrupted, “but it might be hard to explain your newfound modesty since we've already
dallied
in the gazebo.”

She was glad of the darkness, glad Ash couldn't see the blush she felt rising hotly in her cheeks. It was her own fault . . . no, it was just as much Ash's fault! He'd deceived her on purpose, played with her emotions, pretended to be someone else so he could seduce her. . . .
 

“I lied,” she snapped. “There, I said it. I thought you were long gone, since you were just ‘passing through town,' and well . . . I thought if my reputation was sullied beyond repair, Daddy would send me back to Boston.”

“Surprised you, didn't he?” Ash asked softly.

She had the urge to scream at him, but she didn't want to wake the entire household. “I'm still going back to Boston,” she hissed the truth at him. “I don't know how I'll get there, or when, but I assure you I have no intention of staying here.”

“It never occurred to me that you would.” His voice was so low she could barely hear it.

He turned back to the window. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she saw, with a rush of relief, the pillow and blanket there on the floor near his feet. At least he hadn't been foolish enough to think he could share a bed with her.

She didn't intend to calmly accept what her father and Ash had done to her, but neither was she certain as to how best to proceed. Out-and-out defiance would mean war, with Ash and with her father. Perhaps if she pretended to accept the marriage until her father calmed down, she could arrange a visit to Boston to visit Felicity and Howard and finish up some fabricated old business. She just wouldn't come back. Once there, she could see to an annulment.

Planning for an annulment meant, of course, that her so-called marriage to Ash had to remain unconsummated. Since he seemed to have no inclination otherwise, and she certainly didn't intend to invite him into her bed, that shouldn't be a problem.

She really shouldn't take her anger out on him. Poor Ash, this really wasn't his fault.

“I'm sorry you were dragged into this,” she said to his motionless back, her anger fading now that she had a plan. “I know you didn't want this any more than I did.”

He didn't say anything, didn't argue or agree. He just stared out the window as if there was something fascinating out there.

“I had no idea my father —”

“What's done is done,” he said sharply. “Let it rest.” He didn't display any intention of lowering himself to the bedroll on the floor.

She couldn't leave it alone, couldn't let anything rest.

“Why did you do it, Ash?”

“Do what?”

“Pretend to be a stranger. Dance with me and . . . and everything.” It probably was best not to actually mention the kissing or the softly whispered,
I'll never forget this night.

“It was just a game, a prank,” he said softly. “I had every intention of telling you who I was before the night was over.”

A game. A prank. “So, you lied, too?”

“Yes.”

Of course he'd lied, what a stupid question that was. He'd told her she was beautiful, that he would never forget their night. Childish antics.

“I hope this hasn't ruined any plans you might have had,” she said sensibly, ignoring her rising disappointment. “Goodness, I don't know what's going on in your life. We've barely talked since I came back. Do you have a lady friend, Ash?”

He did turn to her then, not a simple twist of his head but a complete turnabout to face her. Bare chest, black eye, and all. “No lady friend, Charmaine, and the only plans I ever had were for a quiet, simple life. I can't imagine being married to you will be quiet or simple.” It was an insult, and he didn't even try to hide the fact.

“Well pardon me,” she said haughtily. “You can be assured that being married to a . . . a sodbuster was not in
my
plans for the future.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Of course it's a fact!” Her voice rose a bit too high and loud, and they both waited for the sounds of an awakened household.

But all was quiet.

“I remember differently,” he whispered after a long and very quiet moment. “I remember a little girl who wiped her runny nose on the sleeve of my best shirt and announced that when she was old enough she would leave her mean old sisters and do me the great favor of being my wife.”

His smile was much too wide.

“I did not have a runny nose,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster. How mortifying! She remembered a few childish tears . . . but a
runny nose?

“I definitely recall a
very
runny nose.”

“And besides,” Charmaine said quickly, “that was years ago. My feelings had been terribly hurt, and I was . . . I was . . . ” she searched for a proper explanation while Ash's smile faded away. She couldn't tell him about her childish infatuation, not now.

“So you do remember?”

“Vaguely,” she whispered.

“Well here I am, your wish come true,” he said dryly. “I wonder if you'll find life as a sodbuster's wife as charming as you once thought it would be?”

“I should've let Daddy shoot you,” Charmaine hissed lowly. “I should've said ‘I don't!' and watched him blow your head off.”

Ash turned again to the window and the chill midnight. “Maybe you should have.”

 

“Stuart, quit pacing and come to bed,” Maureen sat up and sighed. “It's well past midnight, and you've got a busy day tomorrow.”

She didn't point out to him that the reason he had such a busy day ahead was because he'd neglected his daily chores to track Ash Coleman down and arrange the necessary wedding.

He sat on the edge of the bed and stared away from her. “Did I do the right thing?”

It was an uncommon occurrence for Stuart Haley to question his decisions.

“I don't know,” she said honestly. “I hope so.”

“It's just . . . Ash Coleman! Of all the men in this county, of all the men in Kansas. . . . ”

“Ash is not so bad as all that,” she said soothingly. “You've just never forgiven his father for putting up that barbed wire. He's a perfectly nice young man, handsome and hardworking and. . . . ”

“That's enough,” Stuart snapped. “I don't need to hear a list of Ash Coleman's attributes right now. Dammit, I expected them to stay here, to live here instead of on that, that
farm
.”

Maureen smiled and placed the flat of her hand against her husband's back. “You got what you wanted, Stuart. Charmaine is married, she'll be staying close to home, and we'll get to see her children, our grandchildren, grow up.” She raked her fingers across that familiar bare back. “Why, just a few days ago you were worried about her attitude toward men and marriage in general, and as I predicted, the right man came along and proved her silly theories wrong.”

“And Ash Coleman is the
right
man?” he asked with a hint of disbelief.

“I believe so,” she said with a certainty she didn't quite feel.

Stuart fell back against his pillows and threw an arm over his eyes. “My grandchildren will be sodbusters,” he mumbled.

“Perhaps,” she said soothingly.

“But what else could I do?”

“Stuart, darling.” She peeled back his arm so she could look into his moonlit eyes. “You did the right thing,” she said, telling him what he wanted and needed to hear.

“I hope so.”

“No matter what she says about being a modern woman, Charmaine is not the kind of young lady to allow liberties unless she cares deeply for a man. Her behavior was inappropriate,” she said sternly, “but things will be all right now. She'll settle in at the Coleman farm, and perhaps in time Ash will take an interest in this ranch.”

“Do you think so?”

“Well,” she traced a shadow on his shoulder with her finger. “He's right about one thing. You will have to stop pulling a gun on him every time you disagree.”

Stuart grunted, as close to an agreement as Maureen expected she'd ever get.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him for a kiss. He was restless tonight, and it didn't look as if she'd get much sleep, either.

“Really, Stuart,” she said as he rolled over her and tossed the heavy quilt aside. “Don't you think a man of your age should quit sleeping in the buff?”

He laughed, a low rumble in her ear. “No, I don't.”

 

Charmaine was asleep again. How did she do it? How could she be angry and argumentative one minute, turn her back on him in disgust, and be asleep five minutes later?

When he was certain she was deeply asleep he crossed the room silently to stand over her. In anger she'd said she wouldn't stay, and he believed her. It was for the best that she leave as soon as possible, that she slip away and be done with him and this sham of a marriage before she worked her way any deeper under his skin. Maybe he should help her, take her to town and with a false smile on his face put her on the train and wave good-bye.

And then again maybe he could make her stay. He could climb into bed with her right now, kiss her until she softened like she had in the gazebo, and take what was rightfully his as her husband. His body was telling him to do just that. He was hard and aching, and she was here in his bed. It was what he wanted, more than anything, more than she would ever know. Tonight and every night, he would take what was his. With a child growing inside her she'd have no choice but to stay.