Rocky Mountain Discipline Page 12

  Miles came in when she was almost done cooking breakfast, and stood waiting, rubbing the back of his neck in his usual way. He’d taken the time to bathe in the creek, and had scraped off his beard. His brown hair looked darker wet, with red hints hidden in the dark depths.

  When they sat down together, she waited for him to say grace, but he reached right for the biscuits.

  She bent her head and scuttled out a little prayer of her own.

  “We’ll take the wagon to town and get supplies from Martin after the ceremony. If he doesn’t have what we need, we’ll have to get by a few more weeks without them. The cattle need to go to the winter pasture; I’ll move them after Belle drops her foal.”

  “Are you worried that she’ll have her baby when we’re gone?”

  He shrugged. “She’s carrying well and seems healthy enough. She’s in her own stall, and if the time comes today, nature will take its course.”

  He scraped the last of his eggs from his plate, but Carrie lingered over her empty dish. “How did you learn so much about horses?”

  “Loved them ever since I was a boy. My father got me a job with a breeder who promised to teach me.”

  “What did you learn?” She leaned forward and rested her chin on her hands.

  “My ma would thrash me for putting my elbows on the table,” he observed.

  She froze, then caught the tiny crinkles in the corners of his eyes. He was teasing. With a small smile, she put her hands into her lap.

  “I learned…that horses make several tons of muck a day. And I was the one who had to clean it.”

  Carrie giggled.

  “But after I proved myself, he taught me. How to care for them, shoe them, nurse them back to health when they’re sick…”

  Entranced, Carrie watched her intended’s face grow gentle, the harsh planes smoothing as he spoke of the horses he loved. He looked even more handsome with hair wet from the washing and a soft expression.

  “…The old man died and left me two horses from his own stables. Ones he knew would be good breeders. I brought them with me from Kansas, and also bought Monty and Belle’s dam. The rest, I trained them myself.”

  Carrie remembered something Lyle had said that she’d wondered about ever since. “How long does it take you to break their spirit?”

  He frowned a little. “The best trainer doesn’t break a horse’s spirit; he tempers it. He molds it and directs it where he wants it to go. The horse learns to mind, and then the two of them can ride as one.” His tawny eyes seemed to glow as he told her, “Firm, but gentle, Carrie. That’s the way a good man leads.”

  Blinking to break the spell, she gathered the dishes and left the table. Her fiancé was watching her from his seat when she looked back.

  “Miles? Are you taming me?”

  “Aye, Carrie,” he said softly. “And to answer your question, it doesn’t take that long. But it lasts a lifetime.”

  A short while later, Carrie came out of the homestead in her blue dress, with her hair braided under the yellow bonnet. Miles had the wagon hitched with Monty and a gelding. She walked slowly down the path to them, careful not to let her hem fall in the dirt.

  As she approached, Miles jumped down. She thought she saw a hint of appreciation in his face when he took in her scrubbed face and clean dress. Excitement and anticipation added a blush to her cheeks; she felt them redden further under his scrutiny. But he said nothing and simply helped her into her seat.

  They both were settled and ready to go when Miles said her name quietly, and then nodded towards the chicken pen.

  She’d left the gate open.

  “Oh no,” she said as Miles leapt down to shut it. Miraculously, no chickens had escaped, but when he returned, he gave her a tell-tale glance.

  “We’ll talk about it when we return.”

  As the cart bounced down the hill, Carrie sat gingerly, wincing and wondering how much more her poor backside could take.

  They reached the town around noon, and Carrie felt surprise. Royal was the same small dusty town, but now it seemed huge and grand compared to their little cabin on the hill.

  “There’s no church building, yet,” Miles said. “Reverend Shepherd holds services out of his home. That’s where we’ll go.”

  As they pulled up to a fine white house with red flowers growing in front of it, a woman with bright yellow hair rushed out into the street.

  “Mr. Donovan,” she called, waving.

  Miles leaned down to tell Carrie, “That’s Mrs. Shepherd, the Reverend’s wife. Go to her. I’ll see to the horses.”

  Carrie sat frozen, staring at the lovely woman coming to greet them, until Miles’ shoulder nudged her.

  The Reverend’s wife was stunning, with pretty green eyes and a pleasant complexion. “You must be Miss Winters.” She came smiling to Carrie, both hands outstretched.

  Carrie felt very small and drab next to the beautiful woman. “Soon to be Mrs. Donovan.”

  The woman’s smile broadened. “So everything has gone well.” She spoke with immense satisfaction. “I’m the Reverend’s wife. Call me Esther.”

  An hour later Carrie sat in Esther’s tiny parlor, chattering happily about the homestead, the horses, and Miles.

  “He doesn’t smile much, though he seems to be a good man.”

  Esther looked pleased. “He is. It will be a good match.” She leaned closer. “I don’t mind telling you that Johnathan and I met the same way. Only I was in Maine, and he was in Rhode Island.”

  “Really?”

  “Indeed.” Mrs. Shepherd’s smile broadened, and out popped a dimple. “We’d both written letters to the American Missionary Board, requesting a post out West. They wouldn’t send us alone, so they put the two of us together.” Her laughter brightened the room. “So, you see, I did very well, and wanted to pass on the blessing. I’m the one who encouraged Miles and my husband to write the letter.”

  “You did?”

  Esther’s laugh rang out again. “He didn’t tell you? Miles can’t read or write. Johnathan penned it for him, and I approved every word.” She must have seen the disappointed look on Carrie’s face, because she added, “Miles dictated much of it. We only helped by asking questions. I suggested the part where he speaks straight to you, and Johnathan had the idea to add his favorite verse.”

  “Oh.” Carrie couldn’t think of more to say but felt relieved that the letter was still from Miles’ heart. She had so little insight into him.

  Again Esther seemed to understand Carrie’s thoughts. “He’ll warm up to you, Carrie. You’ll be good for him.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because Miles barely lets on to anyone what he’s thinking, and you wear every emotion on your face.” Esther smiled gently to show she was teasing. “You’ll balance each other out. You’ll see.”

  “The townspeople seem to think Miles’ very stern.” Carrie went on to explain Mr. Martin and Wilder’s words about him, and then Esther looked fierce.

  “Those old gossips. They’re just jealous of the result of his hard work. Also, Lyle bears a grudge. He and Miles had a falling out.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s something you should ask Miles,” Esther said, sadness crossing her face. “Although I can tell you that Miles has a reputation for being picky over who owns his horses. More than once, Miles has refused to sell one to a buyer.”

  “Truly?”

  “Yes, and it makes the buyers quite cross. His horses are the best, you see, and he won’t sell to anyone he thinks lacks character. So what does that tell you about Mr. Martin and Mr. Wilder?” Esther winked at Carrie, then leaped to her feet. “Enough of this talk. Let’s get you ready for your wedding.”

  The Reverend Shepherd was a very, very tall man with a quiet voice. Quite an opposite to his lovely, cheerful wife, but the two seemed to work well together. Esther took her husband’s arm every chance she got, and he gave her fond looks so often Carrie found herself wishing Miles would do the
same with her.

  When they all met together in the parlor, Carrie took Miles’ strong arm and leaned on him. Touching him felt natural, ever since the evening when he carried her.

  Esther had spent an hour weaving Carrie’s hair into a crown pinned up and decorated with wildflowers. Carrie wore her same blue gown, but Esther gave her a lovely shawl, peach silk with tiny red, white and green flowers.

  “It came all the way from England,” she told Carrie. “A gift. For your wedding day.”

  When Carrie protested, Esther had smiled calmly. “I insist. The colors never suited me.”

  The Reverend led them in a simple ceremony, reading from his large, worn bible with small spectacles perched on his nose.

  Esther stood to the side with a posy of red flowers, and as soon as the Reverend pronounced the Donovan’s “man and wife” she threw handfuls of the petals all over her own parlor.

  Carrie wished she could stay with the Shepherds longer, but Miles wanted to be back to the homestead by dusk.

  Esther smiled at her. “We’ll see each other again, soon enough. We have a service every Sunday, unless Johnathan is called away for an emergency. But you’re welcome to come inside and read his bible, even if we’re not here.”

  “Thank you,” Carrie whispered. And Esther hugged her.

  “I’m so glad you’re here. You’ll be a good wife to him.”

  Carrie glanced over at her solemn-looking husband, shaking the Reverend’s hand. “I’m not so sure.”

  “I am,” Esther said. “He won’t admit it, but he’s been alone far too long. He needs a helpmate.”

  “I think I make more work for him.”

  Esther laughed. “That’s to be expected when you’re learning to work together.” She tucked Carrie’s arm into hers and they moved outside to the wagon. “Don’t worry, he’s already in love with you.”

  Carrie felt her heart clench at the thought. “You think so?”

  “Of course. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He’s happy.”

  Picturing Miles’ serious face, Carrie wondered how Esther could tell. Then the two women looked at each other and burst out laughing.

  “Come on now, Carrie,” Miles called.

  Giving Esther’s hand one last squeeze, Carrie went to her husband.

  “She’s wonderful,” Carrie sighed as the town disappeared from view.

  “I thought you’d like her. She’s taken to you.”

  “It seems she’d take to anyone,” Carrie said. Twisting, she saw the wagon was packed full, with sacks of grain and boxes and tins, and two finely carved chairs.

  “You got the goods,” she said in surprise.

  “The Reverend and I went while you were with Esther. He insisted on paying for a few things, too, as a wedding gift.”

  “What things?” she asked, eyeing the new chairs, and thinking they’d look perfect at their table, but Miles didn’t answer. Instead, he grinned at her. The sight took her breath away, and she was so shocked she forgot everything else.

  With all the weight bearing them down, the ride home was much less bouncy. The only surprise on their journey was Miles shifted and reached under the seat, drawing out a long rifle. Carrie sat up straight and tucked her legs under her, keeping quiet as a rider appeared ahead of them, galloping hard towards them on a black stallion.

  “Mr. Wilder,” Miles called out, but the black clad mailman didn’t slow or acknowledge them, just pounded past the wagon, leaving a cloud of dust.

  “So rude,” Carrie said.

  Miles said nothing, but set his gun down close at hand.

  “He’s our neighbor, correct?” Carrie asked.

  Miles gave her a sharp look. “How do you know that?”

  “I met him at the store. And again, when he came out to the homestead.”

  “When was that?” Miles’ deep, angry voice sounded like gunshot.

  “The first full day I was here. Before I went into the river.” Carrie quailed, drawing her arms around her. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you. I meant to. I just forgot.”

  After a minute of strained silence, Miles sighed. “You’re not to blame. Wilder stirs up trouble for me when he can, is all. What did he say to you?”

  Carrie recounted the event best she could, and Miles looked thoughtful. “You did well,” he said, surprising her again. “If you see him again, tell him I told you not to speak to him. Then shut and lock the door.”

  She shivered. “Why does he hate you so much?”

  Miles stayed silent so long she thought she might have offended him.

  “We were partners once,” Miles said. “And had a falling out. We had claimed land together and split it down the middle, with an aim to help one another tend the land and the cattle. When we quarreled, he took half the herd, but then let them wander through the winter. They all took sick and died.” Up ahead, a dead trunk lay halfway across the road, and Miles steered the pair around the obstacle before resuming his story. “That spring, he came asking for a mare or two on loan, so he could breed them. I refused.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’d seen how he treated his cattle, and had no wish to see more animals die.” He leaned forward and called to the horses. Within seconds, they’d picked up the pace.

  Carrie let a mile go by. “He certainly has a nice stallion.”

  “I know,” Miles said. “I trained it.”

  They arrived at the cabin an hour before sunset, and Carrie unloaded as many of the goods as she could before Miles finished with the horses. The chairs went in first, replacing the stools at the table.

  “Bella’s looking more and more ready. I’d say the foal comes tomorrow, or the day after.” He lifted a sack Carrie had struggled with out of the wagon as if it weighed nothing, and then added a second on the opposite shoulder. Then he strode up to the homestead, while Carrie admired his retreating back.

  “What’s this?” she asked when he returned, pointing to a large, misshapen bundle, tied up with twine.

  “A surprise.” Once again, his eyes crinkled into a grin, and he reached out to pluck one of the flowers from her hair before carrying the bundle up the hill. She followed, wondering who this new man was. Compared to the old Miles, he was practically jovial.

  A more serious Miles waited for her on the porch, blocking her way. “Not now, Carrie,” he said. “There’s a matter of your punishment.”

  “Punishment? For what?”

  “The gate. You left it open this morning, despite my instructions. You also left it open earlier this week, and didn’t tell me.”

  “I caught all of them—” she blurted, before realizing she’d given herself away. “I didn’t think you needed to know.”

  “You cannot hide things from me, even if you think they’ll lead to punishment. I forgive mistakes easily. But not deception.”

  Her face fell, even as she wanted to cry out how unfair it was to receive discipline on her wedding day.

  “I believe in swift correction.” He seemed to read her mind. “A quick punishment, and then it’s over and done with.” Another moment ticked by, while he seemed to wait for her protest, and when she didn’t, he gave a satisfied nod. With a hand on her back, he guided her down the path and stopped in front of the ignomious gate.

  “Lift your skirts and lean over the railing.”

  Heart pounding, she did as he bid, telling herself that no one lived within miles, and even if Mr. Wilder chose this inopportune moment to come calling, they’d hear him approach. It was no good; her face heated with embarrassment even as she felt her new husband step behind her and pull up her skirts even further before easing down her drawers.

  “Hold them up.”

  She gripped the fabric, feeling the breeze on her bare cheeks, then Mile’s warm, rough hand rubbing the places still a little sore from her previous punishment.

  “You’re receiving correction for leaving the gate open. This is your responsibility and from now on I expect you to pay attention to it.�
�� He patted her bottom as he spoke, stopping to knead her flesh once and awhile. “I will give you a spanking, followed by six strikes with a switch.”

  Carrie remembered the switch from her chastisement as a child and shut her eyes.

  Meanwhile, the pats became more and more firm, until her cheeks felt quite hot in the cool evening air. Miles stopped and squeezed her flesh harder.

  “Are you ready to submit and receive your correction?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, trembling.

  His hand fell and she tightened her grip on her skirts. The spanks came quickly, crashing down on her bare flesh and making her gasp. These strikes would be nothing next to the switching.

  It was over too soon. Miles’ large hands worked over her heated flesh. “That’s it, Carrie. You’re taking your punishment well.”

  She let her head sag over the gate, ignoring the hens that ventured towards her, clucking curiously. They seemed to be heckling her.

  “Stay here. Skirts up.” Miles left to cut the switch. When he returned, one of his hands went to her back to steady her. “Three from this side, then three from the other.”

  The fresh switch sliced across her backside with a whipping sound, followed by a jagged flash of pain that throbbed wildly.

  “Oh.” She winced, and then the tears started to flow. Two more strikes and she cried out and writhed a little against Miles’ hand.

  “Steady,” he warned. “Be still.”

  He waited until she quieted before changing sides.

  “I’m going to give you three more strikes. After each, say ‘I will always close the gate’.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said. Felt it proper to call him sir.

  “Good girl,” he muttered and there was a pause as he positioned himself.