Rocky Mountain Bride (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 2) Read online

  “I have no wish to speak to him.” She bent her head over her stitching, forcing her tears back. “He is a scoundrel.”

  “All the same, you will not speak ill of him. I’ll not tell you again.”

  She fell silent, tears blurring her vision as her needle stabbed one of his shirts.

  “Carrie? Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  *****

  But it was too late: an angry pall hung over the day. Carrie found herself thinking over the encounter over and over, and her movements became sloppy with agitation. She broke a pot, and burned the biscuits, and accidentally kicked over a pail of new milk.

  More than once Miles called her name at dinner time to get her attention.

  “You’ve been restless, Carrie girl.”

  “Just tired.” As soon as she could, she went to bed, facing the wall. She lay staring at the logs, holding in her tears. All the years, all the miles between her and her past, and she still could not escape.

  The bed creaked as Miles lay his weight down.

  “Carrie.” He spoke in his deep voice. She felt his hand rest on her hip, but she didn’t move.

  She would never be a good wife to Miles. The sooner he knew, the sooner he could cast her out and find a woman who suited him.

  She heard her husband sigh, then settle in. After a time, he started to snore.

  Only then she let tears trickle down her face.

  *****

  The next day, they rode to church. Carrie sat quietly for the whole trip, haunted by another bad dream. This time the faceless man got inside the cabin and knew where she was hiding under the bed.

  “A quick stop at the store.” Miles let the team pull up in front of Mr. Martin’s. “Will you wait here?”

  Silently, she took the reins. Miles jumped down and gave her knee a little squeeze before striding off.

  There was a sound of a horse prancing up behind her, and then Lyle Wilder greeting her.

  “Well, good morning, Mrs. Donovan.”

  Remembering Miles’ instruction, she ignored the black clad man, wishing he didn’t look so fine in his black suit and vest. He was nothing but a dandy.

  “Silent treatment, eh?” The black stallion danced around the wagon. “That’s all right. Most women talk enough as it is. You’ll be happy to know I’ve been writing many letters to find another lass like yourself to join me on my homestead.”

  The thought of a poor lady traveling to be wife to such a scallywag cut her to the quick, and she couldn’t stop herself from snapping, “As if any woman would ever love you.”

  “Ho, how little you know.” Lyle sounded flippant, but his blue eyes blazed.

  “I know exactly what type of man you are,” she cried. “You’re horrid. You think you look fine but there’s nothing good about you, just pride and cruelty. You’re rotten inside.”

  “Carrie.” Miles voice rang out over the street and she bit off her angry words.

  Lyle kicked his horse down the street; Carrie stared after him, bitter tears in her eyes as she realized how the man had antagonized her and then left her to deal with the consequences.

  “We’ll talk of this later,” Miles promised, taking back the reins.

  She held her tongue as long as she could, and lasted until Miles parked the team in a deserted alley beside the Shepherd’s house. “He wouldn’t leave me alone.”

  “I told you not to speak to him, Carrie. Instead, I find you shouting at him in the middle of the street.”

  “It’s not fair,” she burst out. “If you had been there, he never would’ve approached. Don’t you see? He can’t fight with you so he picks on me.”

  “And you were to ignore him. I was out of the shop in a minute.” He saw her stricken face and his voice softened. “I did not leave you deliberately, Carrie.”

  His comfort came too late; her tears streamed down her cheeks. “I hate that man. I hate him.”

  At her angry words, Miles left off rubbing the back of his neck and pulled her into his arms. She resisted for a moment, then pressed her face into his chest.

  At last she sat up and scrubbed her hand across her face. “I’m sorry. I know I disobeyed you.”

  “You’re forgiven. You’ll still receive correction for your hasty words.”

  She nodded her acceptance, and let him help her out of the wagon.

  At church, she put on a brave face, but Esther knew something was wrong.

  “Dearest,” the blonde said, winding her arm in Carrie’s and leading her down the hall away from the others. “What’s troubling you? All through the sermon I could tell you were out of sorts.”

  “I disobeyed Miles today, and am to receive correction at home.”

  Esther’s eyebrows went up. “Have you received it before?”

  “Yes,” Carrie sighed. “Many times. Not unfairly though,” she hastened to say.

  Her friend relaxed. “Yes, I’m sure Mr. Donovan is always fair,” Esther murmured.

  “Still, it is difficult waiting many hours for punishment.”

  Now Esther smiled. “It’s not so bad. And once it’s over, think of how good you’ll feel. That’s what gets me through my sessions.”

  “Does Reverend Shepherd—?” Carrie couldn’t finish the sentence.

  Esther nodded. “Quite often. It used to be more, then we settled on regular Sunday spankings.”

  “Every Sunday?”

  “Yes, dear friend. He says it settles me.” Esther grimaced a little. “Of course, I protest at the beginning, but once it’s done, the aftermath is quite nice.” And the Reverend’s wife’s expression turned almost dreamy.

  Once the Donovans were off for home, Carrie found herself thinking on her friend’s words. Esther received regular spankings, but she didn’t seem traumatized. Quite the opposite; she’d hinted at enjoying the results of her discipline. If the Reverend’s wife felt this way, perhaps Carrie wasn’t so wicked when the sessions with Miles turned into lovemaking.

  “You’re awfully quite, wife,” Miles said.

  Carrie didn’t reply, and he glanced down at her.

  “I saw you talking with Esther. Did she mention how she and her husband spend Sunday afternoons?”

  “Yes,” Carrie squeaked.

  Miles almost grinned. “Well, then, I think it’s time we introduce the same practice. Of course, today, you’ll be receiving double punishment, once for maintenance, and again for how you spoke to Wilder.”

  Carrie found herself wishing he would pull the wagon off the side of the road and cut a switch, just so her discipline would be over.

  Back at the homestead, she rushed around putting together a quick dinner. As soon as Miles came back to the cabin, she half expected him to take her in hand and correct her. When he waved her to the table, she ate slowly, then dragged her feet cleaning up. Miles sat in his chair relaxing until she’d wiped up the last crumb from the table and then stood before him expectantly.

  “Please, Miles,” she begged. “When are you giving me my punishment?”

  His face relaxed into an almost smile. “Well now, I was going to wait awhile, but since you ask so prettily, I’ll begin. Go get the soap.”

  Feeling of dread mixing with relief in her, she returned with the large cake of lye soap and put it in his outstretched hand.

  He got to his feet. “You know why you’re being punished?”

  “I spoke rude words to Mr. Wilder.”

  “Yes, after I forbade you to speak to him. You’ll still receive a spanking for your regular maintenance. But this will remind you not to speak ill words of anyone again.” He held up the bar of soap. “Open your mouth.”

  With a whimper, she obeyed, and shut her eyes. The item entered her mouth and the vile taste hit her tongue. She moaned her disgust as the slick substance covered the inside of her mouth. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

  “Bite down,” Miles ordered.

  With another groan, she obeyed, her tongue lying against the unde
rside of the bar despite her best efforts.

  “Open,” he said, and peered into her mouth to see little bubbles starting to form. “You’ll think before you speak next time, I reckon. Otherwise it’ll be much worse for you next time.”

  Standing there with fists clenched and tears pouring out of her eyes, she shuddered at the thought of worse punishment. The sharp bite of soap seemed to penetrate every inch of her mouth.

  “A few more minutes,” Miles told her. “Careful not to swallow.”

  She whimpered and closed her eyes again. The minutes seemed like hours and she waited in agony until he told her to rinse her mouth out. She stood on the porch taking dipperfuls from the pail and spitting them out.

  “All right now,” Miles said from the door, and she trudged back inside. He’d set a chair in the middle of the room and she knew the second part of her discipline would begin soon.

  But first her husband sat down and took her into his lap. She put her arms around him and relaxed, even though he’d caused her so much discomfort, her heart still told her this man would take care of her.

  “I don’t want to punish you so harshly, Carrie. But you must understand: your words can hurt.”

  “I know.”

  He tucked one of her unruly curls behind her ear. “Tell me what you meant when you said those things to Mr. Wilder.”

  She hesitated.

  “Tell me true, Carrie. Your honesty won’t get you more punishment but lying will.”

  “I spoke rashly. I’m very sorry.”

  “I know you are, but tell me why you said you hated him.”

  “I wanted to hurt him. I wanted him to know how vile he is.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I hate men like him,” she burst out. “Ones who think they can come and treat a woman anyway they like. They act courtly and work their wiles, then leave a woman most cruelly.”

  Miles stayed silent through her outburst, but throughout her protest, his hand rubbed her back, until the last of her outburst died away. He leaned back in the chair, letting her rest against him, rocking her slightly.

  “How long have you felt this way about Wilder?”

  “Ever since I first met him, the day the coach brought me here. He tried to flirt with me even after he found out I was to become your wife. Then he teased me about it and tried to turn my head away from you.”

  She looked up at her husband with tear-filled eyes. “So you see, I had to speak against him. I just had to.”

  “Carrie, you never should use your tongue to cut someone down. Lyle has his pride, but what use is it to rub his nose in it? He’ll only resent you.”

  “He says such awful things about you.”

  Miles dipped his head so she could look straight into his tawny eyes. “Do you believe him?”

  “No,” Carrie said, then remembered his admonishment to tell the truth. “At least, not after I came to know you. Mr. Wilder said you were very stern, and that you would break my spirit.”

  “He told you that before we met?” Miles didn’t look happy about it.

  She nodded, then put her hand on his cheek, feeling the sharp stubble on his jaw. “I thought that was true, at first. But now I know the truth.” She kissed him softly. By the time she pulled back, her kisses had washed his anger away.

  “Sweet Carrie.” He tugged one of her curls. “It seems to me you’ve taken on yourself to be the champion in my feud. But I cannot let you take it on anymore. You won’t engage him in anyway, or even wish him ill.”

  “How can I not? You’re asking me to control my thoughts!”

  “Let them go, Carrie. Like water flowing downriver. You can’t live your life upset with someone.” He studied her frustrated expression. “If it helps, I’ll discipline you whenever you need a reminder.”

  She frowned at him. “Discipline me for my thoughts? How will you do that?”

  “I can’t, sweet girl, unless you admit to them. But I can give you daily maintenance until you learn to quiet your mind.”

  Daily spankings? Huddling in his lap, Carrie didn’t know what to say, so she stayed silent.

  Chuckling, Miles kissed her head. “If you feel like you need correction in this matter, let me know. I’ll leave you to decide. But if I ever catch you speaking ill about Lyle to his face or to any other, it’ll be another mouth soaping as well as twenty with the paddle.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Up now. Time for your Sunday spanking.”

  She stood and let him guide her face down over his lap. Again she felt his strong thighs underneath her, and relaxed, feeling safe and completely at peace, even as he flipped up her skirts and pulled down her drawers. His large hands worked over her skin, warming her buttocks until she was in a daze.

  The spanking was quite mild compared to her previous ones, and she focused on keeping her breathing steady and body still. Miles’ hand fell in a steady rhythm, smacking every inch of her bum. Every once in a while, he paused and squeezed her sore flesh gently.

  When he lifted her up, she stood with face flushed from hanging upside down. She felt quiet and content as her husband undid her skirts and pulled them off, then checked her blistered bottom.

  “Your punishment is almost over. You did well, Carrie.” She warmed inside at the same time her heart sank that her discipline would continue. But she didn’t fuss about it, just waited for him to tell her to go get the paddle. She also resisted the urge to rub her behind.

  After a moment, Miles nodded as if she’d passed some sort of test, and she realized he’d given her a chance to complain.

  “The final part of your maintenance will be to stand in the corner, nose touching the wall. I want you to think about the words you said, and how Lyle must feel.”

  She gave a little sob, realizing this part of her punishment might well be the worse. Still, she must obey.

  Pulling up her drawers, she reached for her skirts, but Miles stopped her. “You’ll stand in the corner with your drawers down and hands on your head. Your bottom on display will remind you of your correction and the reason for it.”

  She hesitated, thinking of her red cheeks bare and visible from any point in the cabin, including the open door.

  “Go now.”

  Standing with her nose touching the cabin wall had to be the most boring thing she’d ever done. Worse, Miles didn’t seem inclined to end her punishment anytime soon. Minutes passed like hours. At first a fly buzzing around the cabin distracted her, but a sharp swat from Miles and the sound stopped. She jumped when her husband smacked the fly dead, and again when he came to the corner to loom over her.

  “Are you keeping your thoughts to what you’ve done?”

  “No, sir.”

  His fingers brushed her bottom, feather light. Not enough to hurt, but she whimpered anyway. “Do you need another reminder to obey?”

  “No, sir,” she said and resolved to think on her cruel words and the hurt she caused.

  “There’s something I haven’t shared with you,” Miles said. “When Lyle and I were business partners, we went into Colorado Springs for supplies. There was a lady there he wished to pursue, and he brought her back with us. Six months later, she sickened, and died.”

  Carrie gasped.

  “It broke his heart, and some of his spirit. A year later, we quarreled and parted ways.” Miles sighed, and Carrie wanted to turn her face away from the wall, but didn’t dare. “I can’t help but feel that her death affected him more than I knew, and was the cause of his pride, and his ruin. If I had been a better friend, I might have seen it. He deserved my compassion.”

  She heard the pain in her husband’s voice and felt her eyes prick with more tears. She wanted to comfort him, but knew he wished her to stay facing as she was. To give him privacy, as well as complete her punishment. Instead of breaking pose, she reached back and found his big hand, and squeezed it.

  He squeezed it back.

  “Think on it awhile, Carrie,” Miles said in a sad, rough voice.


  She did as he bid, and one by one the images replayed: Her losing her temper and shouting, then Lyle’s face wincing, then hiding the hurt.

  The minutes passed quickly, and in no time Miles called, “Come away from the wall, Carrie. You’re forgiven, and your punishment is over.”

  Wiping her eyes, she went to the little hook on the wall by the door. Before she thought too hard, she took up the paddle and approached Miles. “Please, sir. Give me a few with the paddle. I deserve it for how mean I’ve been.”

  Miles studied her face a moment, then took the paddle from her.

  “Go lean across the table.”

  She obeyed, trembling. What was she thinking?

  “Three strikes with the paddle. Count them out.”

  And the wooden board fell across her pink skin with a resounding crack.

  She cried out and lurched forward onto the table, tears flooding her vision. The sting filled her mind and she struggled to keep her knees straight. Once her head cleared, she realized what Miles was waiting for.

  “One, sir,” she squeaked.

  He touched her back lightly to remind her to move into position. She settled her feet and took a deep breath, wondering why she had ever spoken so harshly to Lyle, and why she would then beg for more correction. Then she couldn’t think of anything else, because the paddle had crashed down on her bare skin and her world exploded with pain.

  “Oh, two.” She panted. “Sir.” Chest heaving, she gripped the edge of the table and pressed her cheek to the rough surface. Her husband wasn’t holding anything back in these three swats.

  “One more,” Miles said, and tapped her bottom, shifting her until she moved into the position he liked. Her face and torso hugged the table, with her bottom upturned and ready for chastisement.

  The paddle came whooshing down, but instead of striking with full force, merely tapped her bottom. She waited, but no more fell.

  “Three,” Miles counted it for her. “And repeat after me: I will think before I speak, and if my thoughts are mean, I’ll hold my tongue.”

  She said the words, then sagged against the table with relief, before Miles pulled her up into his arms.

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she repeated over and over, crying. The thought of Lyle’s hurt and dead wife ballooned in her mind.