The Marshal's Rebellious Bride (19 page)

His hand automatically went to check the leg ties on
his holster, and then skimmed the handle of his Colt .45. The jingling of spur
rowels on the wooden walk nearby drew his attention. He instinctively tensed.

Two cowboys stopped in front of the Occident Saloon,
gave him a quick nod, noted where his hand rested, and they hurried through the
batwing doors. Guess he looked pretty damn scary.

He reached up to finger his whiskered jaw. He probably
ought to get himself a hot bath, a shave and maybe even a haircut before he
headed home.
Home
? It surprised him
that he was already thinking of the Wakefield Ranch as home. It had been a hell
of a lot of years since he’d stayed in any one place long enough to call it
home.

An hour later, he stepped out of the
barber shop
feeling a damn sight better. He propped a foot
on a hitching rail and rolled a cigarette. His gaze shifted around. It always
paid to know what was happening around you, especially when you wore a badge
and had a reputation others wanted. Down the road, he spotted Wyatt Earp
stepping onto the boardwalk outside the Dodge House. Doc Holliday and Kate
Fisher were right behind him. Odd little group, he thought.

Dust flew up on the far end of the road coming into
town from the east. He tipped up his hat and squinted into the sun.
Whiskey
. She was back to wearing her
britches and riding her favorite horse, a big golden Palomino with attitude.
The horse worried him, but then all of her odd critters worried him. No amount
of talking against them had mattered. She was as stubborn as he was. Hell of a
pair they’d make.

He watched her riding closer, watched her easy sit in
the saddle. Evidently she was well over that experience with the strop, which
was fine with him. Not that he regretted tanning her hide. Whenever he thought
about what she’d done, what could have happened to her… well, he was ready to take
her over his knee and spank her all over again. He had a feeling that he’d
suffer a sore hand and she’d go to bed many a night in their future with a hot
backside.

The sun reflected on her and that bronze braid
dangling over her shoulder. She was quite a beauty, unique, too. She defied
society’s rules whenever she felt like it, like wearing britches and wearing
her hair down as a single young woman. She was a rebel and strong-willed,
wanting to doctor animals when that was normally done by men. But he had to
admit she was good with beasts of all sizes. Even that damn skunk named after
him. Still, they would be butting heads over the subject for a while. He
wouldn’t allow her to put herself in danger.

He watched her stop and smile down at a group of children
sitting on the bench outside the railroad station. She said something he
couldn’t hear, something that had them all jumping to their feet in obvious
excitement. People liked her, young and old. It was hard not to.

Dropping his leg from the rail, he decided to walk
down the boardwalk and meet up with her. He was also of a mind to lecture her
about riding into town alone. She didn’t like lectures much and resisted being
told what or
what not
to do. He didn’t want to spook
her, but he’d heard a rumor that Rafe had been seen recently in Wichita. It
wouldn’t take the Comanchero bounty hunter long to head this way. This was
something he would have to insist on: no more riding off alone.

He hadn’t gone a half dozen feet when he watched
Whiskey use her easy skills to encourage her horse, Shadow, to walk backwards a
few feet. Then he nearly swallowed his cigarette when she tugged back on the
reins and the massive horse reared up on his powerful back legs. She kept him
up like that and urged the Palomino to walk forward, front legs pawing the air
as she waved her hat at the children with her free hand.

The children, as well as a few other people on the
boardwalk nearby, clapped in encouragement. Men emerged from the saloons to see
what was going on, hooting and hollering at her little show. The small amount
of wagon traffic halted, too. He admitted she was skilled, but he was anxious
as well. His gut warned him that his pint-sized betrothed wasn’t finished
showing off and that he wouldn’t like whatever came next.

Proving his instincts right, she let the animal drop
back down. The horse danced around a
bit
as she
appeared to study the dirt road ahead, noted the stopped wagon traffic. Then
she glanced toward the children and nodded.

They jointly yelled out, “Go!”

His immediate thought was
Oh Hell!

With a quick flick of her reins to each side, she
commanded the Palomino to run. His muscles bunched and he put his head down and
then he tore off down the street at near blinding speed. Fastest damn horse he
had ever seen. The ride down to the Dodge House wasn’t all that long, but it
was the most frightening one he’d ever watched. And it was the
last
race she would ever do! That was
for damn sure. His heart couldn’t take it.

He thundered down the boardwalk, people scrambled out
of his way.

He stormed across the road, dust drifted up behind him
with each determined footstep. Not a soul got in his way; no one was stupid
enough to attempt to stop the grim-eyed marshal on a mission.

He spotted her still sitting on the Palomino near the
hitching rail of the Dodge House. Wyatt was grinning like an idiot at her
shenanigans. Doc’s pale blue eyes glimmered with humor and Kate’s homely face
beamed in delight.

Fools all of them! The horse could have balked, could
have gotten scared of something. She could have been thrown, killed. He was
cold all over, hot at the same time.

A dozen feet away he roared, “Angelina Wakefield!”

She turned in his direction, caught his furious
expression, and started to wheel the horse around.

Exhausted, the Palomino resisted. Smart horse.

“Get down. Right. Now.” He strode closer unconcerned
at the flash of fire in her eyes. He was equally unconcerned at the worried
expressions on her friends’ faces. “We’re
gonna
have
a talk.”

She, of course, didn’t move. “I was just having a
little fun. Entertaining those children.” She nodded back at the young’uns
still watching her.

Morgan stood his ground, trying to calm down. “I said
to get off that damn horse.”

“Shadow needs cooling down, water,” she insisted,
still not moving, but she did fidget uneasily in the saddle.

He sent a warning look at the curious spectators
around them and most of them shuffled away. Wyatt and his friends remained, to his
annoyance. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” he bit out.

Wyatt’s mustache twitched in amusement. “Reckon so.
Just taking a moment to admire the way you’re taking on our favorite
mischief maker
. I’m thinking she’s finally met her match.”

Whiskey sneered at him. “Thanks.”

The trio walked off, chuckling. Whiskey was furious.
She was so caught up in her irritation with them that she didn’t see Morgan
grabbing for the reins until it was too late. He took firm hold of them and
then began leading Shadow toward the livery stable.

She knew that she looked ridiculous and her cheeks
flamed at the amused glances she caught on the people they passed. Why did
every blessed person in this sorry town think it was funny to see the big
lawman treating her like this?

“Stop right now!” she snapped. “I can take care of my
own damn horse.”

When he glanced back at her, she wished he hadn’t. His
jaw was tight
;
his eyes grim. “It’s
not
only the horse I’m planning to take
care of.”

She sucked in a breath. “You can’t mean—”

He didn’t say a word, just kept on marching down the
road. Every nerve in her body tingled with dread. She should have stayed at the
ranch. She should have stayed in Arkansas at Aunt Mae’s.

The liveryman met them at the doorway, smiling. “Want
me to wipe down her horse?”

Morgan looked directly at the man. “Why don’t you take
him for a short cooling down walk first. I need a few minutes to discuss some
matters with Whiskey, if you don’t mind. In private.”

The man glanced up at her with a knowing look and
nodded toward Morgan. She wanted to melt away in embarrassment. She didn’t even
resist when he pulled her out of the saddle and held onto her arm until the
liveryman walked off with Shadow.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” She tried to pull free.

He tugged her with him over to a hay bale at the back
of the stable. “You might be skilled at riding, but that was a fool’s doing,
racing down the street.”

He sat down and she saw the fear for her safety that
lingered in his troubled eyes. Her brothers would have been furious at her
pulling a stunt like that, and one of them would have burned her bottom for it.
She sensed he needed to spank her for different reasons. Not because she’d
pulled yet another risky stunt, but because she’d scared him. Still, she didn’t
want to go over his knee.

“What if I promise not to do anything like that
again?” She didn’t think it would work, but it had been worth a shot.

He shook his head, his jaw tight. He released her arm
and sat down. “Bend on over, Angelina.”

She hesitated. “This really isn’t necessary.”

“Bend over.” He could be a man of few words, words she
didn’t like to hear.

When he just looked at her as if daring her to disobey
him, she muttered to herself about impossible men and slid across his lap.
“You’re a stubborn man, Marshal Rydell.”

“That I am.” He tucked her close to him. “I’m not
baring your bottom this time, but you’re still
gonna
feel it. I promise you that.”

She flattened her palms on the straw and dirt floor.
“Get on with it. I’ve still got errands to run.” She mainly wanted to get this
over with. She didn’t want the liveryman walking back in and finding her draped
over Morgan’s lap getting her butt burned.

Smack! He shot a hand across her britches-covered
bottom. “The only errand you’re going on after this is with me.” Smack! “To the
dressmaker’s.”

“Not today,” she protested, rearing up as he sent a shower
of stinging swats to her bottom. He’d been right; she definitely felt the
spanks even with the thin protection of her britches.

He went right on spanking her, ignoring her wriggling,
ignoring her gasps. “Yes, today. The wedding is only sixteen days away.”

She sucked in a breath, winced at the building pain.
“How can you still want to marry me?” She squirmed. “Damn that smarts!”

Not for a second did he stop spanking, although the
swats were growing steadily lighter now. As if he just needed to keep touching
her, not so much like he needed to spank her. But, with the earlier intensity,
even these swats stung.

“I promised your brother.”

She didn’t really think that was his reason any
longer, but she couldn’t believe that he actually wanted to marry her on his
own. “I can’t cook.
Owww
.”

His hand landed a little harder.

She kicked up a leg. “I’m telling you, I can’t sew a
stitch either. And cleaning isn’t a favorite chore,” she gasped.

The smack was a bit harder.

 
She kicked
up the other leg. “
Oooooo
. Aren’t you about done?
I’ve got to ride back to the ranch, you know.”

The contrary man sent one final blast to the underside
of her bottom.

She cried out enough that the liveryman stepped into
the doorway with Shadow.

Morgan released her and she scrambled off his lap, her
face flaming as much as her poor bottom.

“Didn’t mean to come back too soon,” the man said,
eying her, clearly waiting for her to reach back and rub her bottom.

Morgan, too, glanced at her, seemed to smile—as
close as he came to it—when she refused to give either of the men the
satisfaction of seeing her attempt to soothe her backside.

He stood. “No problem. We just finished with our
little discussion.”

He took her elbow. “We’ll be back later for her horse.
Mine, too.” He guided her by the other man. “We’re going to see the dressmaker
now.”

She was certain she heard the liveryman chuckling as
they walked away.

* * *

It had been a trial to walk the two blocks down Front
Street to Ella Sue’s Dress Shop. Whiskey hadn’t spoken a word to the now silent,
now satisfied man walking beside her. She’d had all she could handle just
trying to keep a weak smile plastered on her face and nod occasionally at
someone who waved in her direction. Her bottom stung. Getting spanked with
britches on still hurt like blazes.

Ella Sue Davenport was just wrapping up a package for
the mayor’s wife, Doris
Draible
, when Morgan opened
the door and nodded her into the small shop. The shop owner blinked in surprise
and then smiled at him. “I see you’ve finally talked our Whiskey into coming in
for a fitting.”