Rocky Mountain Discipline Page 10

  He waited until she stopped coughing then said from the doorway, “I’m willing to take this on a trial, if you wish.” His hand rubbed the back of his neck, the way he did when he was thinking.

  Her heart dropped. “I don’t take your meaning.”

  “The time comes you don’t want to continue, I’ll take you back to town and then give the fare for a coach ride back home.”

  Despair flashed through her, followed by anger. Going home wasn’t an option, but she’d be damned before she admitted it. Taking a deep breath, she called on the fiery will that brought her cross country, and scrambled to her feet.

  “Are you having second thoughts, Mr. Donovan?”

  The tawny eyes regarded her. “No. Are you?”

  “Not yet,” she snapped. “I’m not the type of woman to come all this way, and then leave because of a bad turn.”

  “Watch your tone,” he said, face stern.

  “I’ll watch my tone, if you watch your words.” She raised her chin, drawing herself up to her full height, a foot shorter than him. “I had the courage to leave my home and come here. Don’t insult me by assuming I’m too weak to handle a few broken eggs.”

  His eyes narrowed, and though he didn’t smile, she felt his mood soften. “Very well.” He settled his hat on his head and started for the door.

  She picked up the broken pot, then risked calling him back. “Mr. Donovan.” He bent his head to peer back at her through the doorframe. She took a deep breath. “May I ask why you sent for me? I mean, sent for a wife instead of finding someone here. Maybe someone you’d met before.”

  “You saw the town?”

  “Yes. If you can call it that.”

  He nodded. “There aren’t ten women out here. The nearest town is Florence, and there’s ten men for every woman, at least. Besides,” he stepped back in the cabin, broad body blocking the light, “I’m particular in who I’d take for a wife.” He came closer, and hands closed around the pot, his fingers brushing hers. “I need a strong woman, Carrie, and one who will follow where I’ll lead. You understand?”

  “I understand.” She swallowed hard. His face in the dim light seemed harsh, all angles and planes, but his eyes on hers were gentle.

  She moved her hand; the touch of his fingers sparking something in her. Suddenly, she forgot how to speak.

  “You read my letter.” It wasn’t a question.

  She nodded, watching him as if he were a snake.

  He bent his head towards hers. “So you understand the particulars of our marriage?”

  I desire a woman who will know her place at my side…a wife who will be honest, hardworking, obedient, and respectful. She will follow my lead…

  “Yes, sir.”

  A slight crinkle around his eyes appeared at her formal address, and she knew it pleased him.

  “Good. Then it should be simple.” He pulled the pot away from her, gently, and she stayed frozen.

  “One more thing,” she called, and he paused in his exit. “I have a request for you, if you see another black snake.”

  “You want me to kill it?”

  “No.” She raised her chin. “Catch it, and put it under the porch. I need it to keep mice out of the pantry.”

  She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw some respect in his eyes before he walked out the door.

  After that, Miles left her alone in the cabin. He saddled Monty and rode him west of the homestead, she knew not where. So she tied her hair back and set to her chores. After shaking out the blankets and folding them, she plumped the mattress ticking as best she could, cursing the old straw under her breath. She used the rest of the water to wipe up the table and swipe the ashes from the hearth, and then she went on tidying up, learning every rough board and dark corner. She used rope, a stick and some straw to make a rude brush and knocked the cobwebs out.

  All the while she thought about her future. So far Miles had proven to be a good man, strong and trustworthy. But could she be a good wife to him?

  The chores she could learn easily enough. She’d always been a hard worker. Miles would never have a cause to complain or send her home.

  It was his manner that worried her. Back in town, she’d been sure she couldn’t fall in love with such a stern, hard man. But since then, he’d been increasingly gentle. Could she marry him and still guard her heart?

  She must, she decided. All her energy must go to being a perfect wife to him, and she must never let her feelings get out of hand. Love would lead to her ruin; it had before, and she’d vowed she’d never care for a man that way again.

  Just as she reached this conclusion, hoof beats sounded just outside the door, and her heart leaped at the thought of seeing Mr. Donovan. Scolding nerves for their excitement, she wiped her hands clean, and checked if there were cobwebs in her hair.

  Tucking a stray lock behind her ear, she rushed to the door, and then stopped. A glossy black stallion pawed the ground in front of the porch, and then Wilder came around, pulling off his hat and smoothing his glossy black hair.

  “Miss Winters,” Lyle Wilder called to her. “Or is it Mrs. Donovan now?” He smirked.

  “Mr. Wilder.” She narrowed her eyes at the handsome man as he brushed imaginary dust from his black vest. He preened like a silly maid, although she had to admit he looked smart in his white shirt and the black pants encasing his long legs. A pity he knew it.

  She crossed her arms and didn’t move from the door. “Can I help you?”

  “Just being neighborly.” The way his eyes shifted around, taking in the stable and corral, and gardens beyond, made Carrie think that he hadn’t seen the place before, and he’d timed his visit for early afternoon, when Miles would be in the fields.

  “Mr. Donovan will be back from fetching water in a moment,” she lied. “Do you want to wait for him, or shall I tell him you were here?”

  Lyle understood her warning, and put a hand on his horse. “No need to bother him. I was just passing through.”

  “Then I bid you good day,” she said. “For the both of us.”

  “So formal.” He smirked at her. “I almost don’t recognize the flirty maid in Martin’s store.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “You dare—”

  “Don’t worry.” Lyle waved his hand and swung up on his mount, looking dashing and dangerous on the beautiful black stallion. “If Miles asks, I’ll tell him you were chaste. He has such a fascination with virtuous women.” His smile seemed bitter and twisted.

  “I’m sure Mr. Donovan won’t need a report from you,” she said, although she felt a pang of fear. What if her husband-to-be found out about her?

  Lyle’s jovial mood dropped away completely, and she knew she’d struck a blow. “No, he’s not likely to heed anything I say.” The stallion bucked a little, and Lyle guided it into a neat circle. Both horse and rider seemed filled with a nervous energy. As soon as Lyle faced her again, his mock friendliness was back. “I’m curious—how do you feel about him?”

  “Mr. Donovan and I are getting on quite well, thank you.”

  “He’s got you calling him Mr. Donovan. Stern, old fellow isn’t he?”

  “He isn’t much older than I am.”

  “Almost thirty.”

  Carrie gripped the rag she held to keep from tossing at the odious man. “That doesn’t matter. He’s kept quite well.”

  Lyle’s dark head went back, and he flashed his own pearly whites as he laughed.

  “All right. He’s not so old for you. I just thought a fine city lady like yourself would grow tired of leathery old Donovan.”

  “I assure you, Mr. Wilder, my husband-to-be and I like each other’s company.” It was the truth, she realized, and blushed hard.

  “I’m happy to hear it.” Mr. Wilder turned his stallion about again, and tipped his hat to her. “Well, do let me know if you need anything, neighbor, be it an egg or a cup of sugar.”

  The man made the word sugar sound lascivious. Carrie ignored his flirty wave, and sta
lked back in the cabin to take out her frustration on the remaining cobwebs.

  Sun passed its zenith and started to head towards the mountain range when Carrie sat down for a moment on the porch. She had the larder organized as she wished and her own small bag unpacked. Her bonnet sat on the shelf along with sewing shears and the unfinished sampler. The garden needed weeding, and there were a hundred other things to do, but she felt tired and dirty.

  Was this to be her life on the frontier—laboring for hours as her husband worked in the field? At least Miles Donovan seemed to be a hard worker. They may not eat like kings, but they’d never go hungry.

  Of course, she’d be more content with her lot if it weren’t for a certain pesky neighbor. For someone who hated her soon-to-be husband, Mr. Wilder seemed fascinated by her. She resolved to ask Mr. Donovan about it.

  In the midday sun the cabin was hot and stuffy, and the water pail was empty. She took it and headed for the river curving around the foot of the hill behind the homestead.

  The water sparkled, calling to her. She hesitated a moment before pulling off her dress and laying it out on a rock ledge. The hill garden offered a layer of privacy, so she undressed down to her chemise and slid into the water, yelping at the bracing cold.

  She splashed around, her legs striking out wildly as the current pulled at her. Her foot found purchase on a stone, but when she tried to stand, her foot slipped and jammed into the pinching rocks.

  Carrie fought the angry current for her balance, then lost. Frantic and flailing, she struggled to keep her head above water.

  “Carrie!”

  She heard a loud splash and then Mr. Donovan was at her side, grasping her under the arms and wrenching her towards the shore. She clung to him, gasping, until they reached the bank. He helped her up and followed, pulling her into his arms when they were safe. She sagged against him in relief.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, but when he tried to help her to her feet, she whimpered and staggered. “My foot—”

  Swinging her up into his arms, Miles carried her to the great rock overlooking the water.

  “Did I not tell you, Carrie? Did I not tell you to stay away from the river?”

  Unable to look at his angry face, she gripped him tighter and pressed her face to his skin, inhaling his wild scent, reassuring herself that she was alive.

  He set her gently on the rock, then leaned over, his hands roving over her, checking her body under her sodden chemise.

  “You’re bleeding.” He knelt in front of her and she saw her foot, dirt streaked and bruised, with watery red lines starting to run down her skin. Her foot looked very pale against his large, rugged hands. She turned her face away, shuddering as she remembered her foot slipping and the river coming at her like a monster, dragging her down.

  “There now, Carrie. You’re safe.”

  Miles tore a strip off her dry skirt, made a bandage and wrapped her foot. By the time he was done, Carrie sat shivering in her wet shift, teeth chattering more with fear than chill. Her husband-to-be still crouched in front of her, checking both her legs. When he finished, worry still creased his face, but all his anger had fled.

  “What were you thinking?” He touched her knee to get her to look at him. “I warned you of the current; it’s dangerous. People have gone in and been swept away.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Miles got to his feet and loomed over her, turning towards the river with one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “What if I hadn’t gotten to you in time? You could’ve died.”

  “I know,” she cried out. “I said I was sorry.”

  “I don’t think you are.” He stopped pacing and sat down beside her, close enough for her to feel his heat. She wished he would cradle her in his arms again, and tell her it would be all right. “Up the way there’s a homestead of the family who abandoned their land after the river took their child.” His voice weary. “I saw you go into the river, and I thought…”

  “I didn’t know,” she burst out. “I wouldn’t have gone in…I just wanted to bathe.”

  “You didn’t remember when I told you it was dangerous?”

  “Yes, I remembered. I just thought…” She couldn’t look at him.

  “I see.” His hand was back at his neck, rubbing as he looked at the river. Then he seemed to come to a decision. “I know you’re trying your best, and learning. But when I tell you something’s dangerous, you must mind me.”

  She nodded.

  “You must, Carrie.”

  “I will,” she snapped.

  “You’re right,” he said slowly. “Now, I’m going to discipline you, so you understand.”

  His words didn’t register until he’d pulled her over his lap, wet and naked except for her small clothes.

  “What are you doing? Mr. Donovan, unhand me.”

  She tried to scramble over the rock, but he held her tighter. “I need to punish you now, Carrie. Out here, so every time you see this river you remember.”

  “What do you mean?” she cried, trying to keep her balance as he pulled her into position. Her wet hair hung down to the rock, and her bottom poked up over his knees.

  “Wait.” She started to kick, and he threw a leg over her calves, effectively trapping her. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m teaching you a lesson. You’re never to go into the river without leave. You’ll remember that, after this.” He started to peel down her wet drawers.

  “No,” she squawked, dangling helplessly over his knees. “You can’t do this.”

  “I can, and I must. I told you once and you didn’t listen, so it’s come to this.” He patted her bottom, and she felt the soft taps on her numbed skin.

  “Wait,” she gasped. “I nearly drowned. Don’t you think that was punishment enough?”

  Miles’s hand kneaded her flesh, getting it ready for the spanking. “That’s a consequence. This is punishment. After this, you’ll definitely remember.”

  Shrieking, she struggled, but with his arm and leg holding her, she couldn’t budge. All the fight left her when his palm came crashing down, and her breath rushed out of her.

  Miles swatted her bare skin, and her thoughts finally centered in on the rising sting. He was hitting her for what she’d done. He told her he’d take her in hand and correct her, and she’d agreed. Now she was cold and naked over her soon to be husband’s lap, being disciplined for all the world to see.

  This was madness.

  After the first couple of spanks, she got her breath back. “Mr. Donovan, Miles, stop.”

  He responded with a sharper smack. “Be still, Carrie. Take your punishment. The sooner you submit, the sooner it ends.”

  He got in a few more swats on her cold, wet cheeks before her lungs filled enough for her to cry out. As his hand continued to warm her bottom, she shouted her outrage to the hills.

  The punishment felt like it lasted forever, and Carrie screamed until her voice was hoarse. As the pain took over, she went from shouting her outrage to pleading, then sobbing. Miles’ hand kept a steady rhythm throughout, though the force lessened as she quieted.

  When it was over, Carrie still felt pain pulsing through her bottom. She was a limp, sodden mess dangling over his lap, her tears and wet hair covering her face.

  Miles replaced her drawers over her stinging backside, and she felt another jolt of shame at being outside and bared to the world. Even if they were in a godforsaken wilderness.

  Tipping her up so she sat again on the rock, Miles stroked both tears and chestnut strands away. “There now, that wasn’t so bad. You’ll have learned your lesson.”

  Jerking back, Carrie almost fell, then picked herself up quickly before she landed on her poor bottom.

  “You disgust me,” she hissed. “I know who you are now. A liar.”

  “Carrie.” He stood, and she blanched, realizing how much taller and larger he was.

  She snatched up her clothes and fled, not cari
ng that she was scratching her already wounded feet.

  “Carrie, stop.” She could hear him stalking after her, and limped faster.

  “No, you stay away from me. You said you wouldn’t punish me until I was your wife. You lied. You’re nothing but a scoundrel. I hate you!”

  Her foot turned on the wet grass, and she slipped and fell, sobbing.

  A broad shadow fell over her, and then Miles was lifting her up in his arms. Too weak to fight, Carrie lay her head on his chest as his long strides easily carried them both to the homestead.

  Inside, he set her down on a stool near the fire, then turned to bank it up.

  Wet and filthy, Carrie sat sniffling. Her bottom stung, and she felt humiliated. Worse, all her good deeds for that day seemed wiped out by this stupid mistake that needed correction.

  Miles knelt in front of her and checked her foot, washing it and redoing the bandage. “Stay off this foot.” He went to the fire and returned with a clean rag to wipe her face.

  “There now, good as new,” he said. She refused to look at him, even when he helped her to the bed. “Strip off your wet things and wrap in a blanket.”

  The sternness in his tone left no room for protest.

  When she was done, she curled into a ball.

  This was a disaster. What was she thinking, coming to the wilderness to make a new start? She’d destroyed her chances on the very first day. He was sure to send her back, and then where would she go?

  The fire in her vision blurred, but she didn’t cry; she didn’t have any more tears, even as she knew all her hopes at a new life had drowned in the river.

  Swamped with misery, she didn’t notice Miles coming nearer until he was right next to the bed. He leaned over her, tucking another blanket around her. She shut her eyes.

  To her surprise, the pallet shifted and she felt a large hand stroking back her hair. She wanted to tell him to leave her alone, but it felt so good and she was too tired to fight. Maybe she could enjoy some comfort she didn’t deserve.

  “You’ve had a rough day, Carrie girl,” Miles spoke in a voice low and soothing. She recognized the tone as one he used with his horses. “But you’re learning. It’s tough out here. We’re one step between life and death all the time. Just one step.” His hand stilled in her hair. “Your stuck foot saved you. A little further and you’d have been swept away. I only had you a day, and I could’ve lost you.”