The Marshal's Rebellious Bride (20 page)

She looked directly at Whiskey in a motherly manner.
“I still can’t believe you’re getting married.” She sighed thoughtfully. “I
remember when you first came to town. You were just so small, a little girl.
And here you are about to become a married woman.”

When Whiskey would have contradicted her, Morgan
gently squeezed her arm. She slid him an irritated glance. “I’m having trouble
believing it myself.”

Doris carried her package over and stopped to hug
Whiskey. “I’m just sorry your mother isn’t alive to see the wedding. Will your
father be coming?”

She shook her head. “Not that I know of.” She doubted
it, but she hadn’t heard more than that he was pleased by the fact that she was
getting married.

The white-haired Doris looked up at Morgan. “You’ll
take good care of our Whiskey, won’t you? She’s special to us all.” Then she
gave Whiskey a chastising glance. “Even though she occasionally does something
rather foolish. Like racing down our main road.”

Morgan slid an arm around her waist and caught her
quiet wince as her tender bottom brushed against his leg. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll
take good care of her. Fact is, I’m already watching after her.”

Whiskey noted the curious looks on the other women’s
faces and wanted to throttle him. It was bad enough to stand here in front of
two of the most prominent women in town, knowing they wondered how she’d
managed to snare such a “fine catch,” as she’d heard others call him. It was
worse standing here with a freshly spanked bottom given by this “fine catch.”

“We need to get back to the ranch,” she prodded,
although she was
not
looking forward
to a ride home just yet.

Doris gave him a final smile and hurried out, saying,
“I can’t wait to see you walking down the aisle.”

A half later nearly bored out of her mind with
listening to Ella Sue babble on and on about this fabric or that fabric, she
finally said, “Can’t I just try on a ready-made dress? Surely you have one
that’ll do.”

From where he sat on a bench near the window, Morgan
gave her a warning look to behave. He’d seemed oddly accepting of all this
tedious business of choosing fabric for a wedding gown. Actually, now that she
looked closer at him, she saw the heat in his eyes. Instinct told her he was
not so much interested in seeing what kind of gown she would choose, but more
interested in seeing it off of her. Her heart tumbled at the notion. Heat
spread through her.

Ella Sue pulled a couple of dresses from a rack on the
wall. “Why don’t we try on these? Although I still think it would be better for
me to make you a special dress all of your own.”

She glanced at Morgan. “Why don’t you come back in a
little while? I’m sure you’d enjoy a beer or two more than sitting here.”

He shook his head. “I’ll stay.”

Whiskey sent him an understanding look. He thought
she’d run out of here the second he left, which she probably would. With a sigh
she followed the kind, middle-aged woman she’d known for years into the
dressing room.

A minute later she, again, wished she could just melt
away. She’d forgotten she would need to remove her britches to try on the
dress. She’d hoped Ella Sue would leave the dressing room, but she didn’t.
Unfortunately, as she bent over to pull the britches off, the back of her
drawers parted enough that Ella Sue saw the redness of her bottom.

“Oh dear,” Ella Sue said awkwardly. “That looks
fresh.”

Whiskey straightened, raised her chin, and said, “It
is.”

She looked toward the outer room. “Like Doris, Morgan
didn’t approve of the horse race.” She wondered if he was listening to their
conversation. It probably wouldn’t matter at all to him that the shopkeeper had
discovered that she’d been recently spanked.

Ella Sue’s cheeks were pink as she handed her one of
the dresses to slip on. She lowered her tone, “My Sam has been known to… well
to…”

Turning so the other woman could button up the back of
the dress, she offered in a quiet tone, “Spank you?”

“Yes. Yes spank me.” The woman quickly buttoned the
dress.

Since they weren’t looking at each other it was easier
to talk, especially about such a private matter. Maybe it wasn’t proper, but
Whiskey was curious and had no other woman to talk about something like this
with. Camelia still got spanked on occasion, but she was still living at home
and wasn’t dating anyone in particular. The issue of being spanked by someone
you were married to, or betrothed to, was different.

So she cautiously asked, “How does that make you feel?
Being punished by your husband?”

Just when she didn’t think the other woman would
respond, Ella Sue said, “It’s never a pleasant experience.” Her hands stilled
on the final button. “My Sam can be very determined sometimes.” She sighed and
added, “No, it’s quite unpleasant to be punished.”

Whiskey turned and asked sincerely, “How do you feel
toward him when he punishes you?”

Ella Sue studied her a second and finally said,
“Usually I’m not happy with him for a spell after he spanks me. Even less so
after he thrashes me with his belt. Which, thank the Lord, is rare.”

Then she smiled. “But in spite of the pain, the
embarrassment, I love him.”

She gently touched Whiskey’s cheek. “It’s a good man
who cares enough for his woman to occasionally take his hand to her bottom. Sam
says it hurts him, too.” Again she smiled. “’Course it don’t hurt him near as
much as it does me.”

It was a strange conversation, but Whiskey appreciated
Ella Sue’s openness. She would mull over what she’d said. But she already knew
that while it seriously frustrated her to get spanked or thrashed by Morgan,
she didn’t hate him for doing so. Maybe she actually did care enough for him
now that she endured the punishments he felt so determined to give.

Suddenly the bell above the door jangled and they
heard heavy footsteps coming into the shop. As Ella Sue opened the curtain of
the dressing room, both women saw Taos walk straight to Morgan. The expression
on his face boded trouble.

“One of the Thompson gang that Wyatt jailed yesterday
broke out of jail. He knocked out the deputy as he was feeding him dinner.
Stole his gun and horse,” Taos said flatly. “I’m riding with the posse getting
ready to head out.”

Morgan stood and Whiskey’s heart thudded. Fear nearly
paralyzed her, for both men. Then she burst out of the dressing room. “I’ll
ride with you. I can shoot as well as most of the men in town.”

Morgan spun to face her, “The hell you will!”

“The hell I won’t!”

She didn’t really want to ride on a posse, but she was
scared down to her bones. Something warned her not to let Morgan ride out
today. “You can’t go. Let Wyatt and Bat Masterson and the others take care of
this.”

Taos started to speak, but Morgan marched over to
stand right in front of her. Tension rolled off him. Determination to do what
he had to. “As long as I’m wearing a badge, chasing outlaws is still part of my
life.”

She grabbed for his badge, tears filling her eyes.
“Then turn in the damn badge!”

“It’s not time yet.” He caught her hand, held her
gaze, and ignored everyone else. “Unless you want me to burn your backside
again here and now, you’ll stop interfering in my business.”

She saw Taos raise an eyebrow, heard Ella Sue suck in
a breath. She was beyond caring about their reactions. He’d
hurt
her
,
hurt her heart this time
.

“Fine! Go ride with the posse. Get yourself shot. It
doesn’t matter to me.”

She turned to go back to the dressing room, determined
to remove the dress. Tears streamed down her face and she refused to let anyone
see
them
. She felt sick.

“That one,” Morgan snapped. “I want that damn dress
she’s wearing now fixed so it fits her good and proper for the wedding.” Then
he was gone, along with Taos.

Chapter
Eight

The sun riding high in the sky sent a blazing heat
down on the clear blue mid-July day. Moods were running sour on the ranch,
especially Whiskey’s. The ranch hands had taken to steering clear of her these
last couple of days. Keno stayed in town. Even her animals were acting cautious
around her. Every critter, two-legged or four-legged, was giving her distance.
Truth was they were all worried about her, about Morgan and about Taos. Three
days the posse had been gone.
Three very long days.

For at least the hundredth time that morning, she
straightened in the middle of the corral and looked down the ranch road. She
thought she’d sensed something, heard something.
Evidently
not.
She didn’t see anything. Not even a hint of dust drifting up to signal
riders coming.

She sighed, and then reached up a soapy hand to shove
strands of fallen hair from her braid out of her face. Beside her Keno, the
camel, tried to shift away from her. She snagged the rope around his head. “Not
so fast. We’re not finished yet with this bath.”

He gave her what she took for a pleading look, his
tall body half soaped down. She didn’t pity him at all. During this bath to
hopefully make him smell better, he’d shaken so many times that she was far
wetter and soapier than he was.

“You’re the one who rolled in horse droppings,” she
grouched. “Bet you’ll be more careful next time.” Probably not, but she could
hope.

Something made her grow still, made her cautious. She
started to look around, stopped when she heard just a whisper of sound. A
footstep.

With the ranch hands out mending fences, she was alone
here. She hadn’t thought to bring either a gun or her knife with her. Had she
made a terrible mistake?

“You always talk to animals like that?” a man asked, his
deep voice sounding amused, from behind her.

She jerked around, eyes wide, heart hammering. “Good
golly Molly! Where the devil did you come from?” Oddly enough, even though she
faced a big, powerful-looking, obviously mixed breed stranger, she didn’t sense
danger.

Muscled forearms casually draped on the top railing of
the corral, a man near as tall as Morgan watched her. Over-the-shoulder-length
raven hair worn tied back with a piece of leather glinted in the sunlight.
Brown-black eyes studied her with obvious interest. Although he wore Levis and
a buckskin vest and his eyes were different, she thought he looked an awful lot
like Morgan. His cheekbones were more prominent and his skin more tanned, but
there was a strong resemblance.

She was about to comment when a young boy with shaggy,
dark blond hair stuck his head out from behind the man’s back. Blue eyes the
same shade as Morgan’s looked warily at her. Sad eyes, as if he’d seen way too
much in his young life, as if he’d been hurt soul deep…like Morgan had.

Her camel decided to make a run for it while she
wasn’t paying attention.

Since she still had hold of the lead rope, he dragged
her backward until she knocked over the pail of soapy water, landed in the pool
of water and dirt, and released the rope. She forgot about her two visitors and
turned to scowl at the camel. “That’s
gonna
cost you,
you mangy beast! No apples for at least a week!”

A youthful giggle drew her attention back to Morgan’s
half-brother and Morgan’s son. Both of them were grinning. She might have
gotten peeved about being the source of their amusement if she didn’t think it
had been a while since the boy had laughed.

She tamped down her bruised pride. Realizing she
looked like a soapy, muddy mess, she held out a hand. “I could use some help up
here.”

The boy froze, but the man scrambled with ease over
the corral fence. He strode in buckskin boots toward her and held out a big
hand. “Whiskey Wakefield, I assume.”

He pulled her up, nodded toward the one-eyed mule and
soapy camel at the other end of the corral, and grinned even more. “’Pears my
brother found himself a mighty interesting woman.”

Her ever-curious skunk chose that moment to waddle
over and stand by her feet. Most men she knew would have fled as fast as they
could, including Morgan—at first. This man merely bent down to scoop the
skunk into his arms. He smoothed its furry back as she said with a smile, “Just
so you know, Morgan can’t spray.”

The man went right on petting the skunk and hooted.
“Named him after my brother I take it. Bet the big bad marshal liked that.” He
chortled again.

Skunk cradled in one arm, he motioned toward the boy.
“Come on over here, Tyler. I know you’re dying to hold this critter.”

He looked back at her while Tyler carefully climbed up
and over the fence. “The boy loves animals. He drove his grandfather nuts,
always bringing wounded animals home to heal ‘
em
.”

He met her eyes. “I’m thinking you two got that in
common: love of animals, I mean.”

Tyler took the attention-loving skunk from his uncle’s
arms and looked in awe at her. “A real skunk? And he don’t spray that stuff
makes your nose wrinkle up?”