Lonesome Bride

by Megan Hart

  She was on her left side, facing the edge of the bed. A wall of stone was smack up against her back. She suspected that should she turn her head and look, the wall of stone would be Jed. As if responding to her thoughts, his muscled arm snaked around her waist. His hand went naturally to cup her breast, as if they had been sharing a bed for years.

  Her nipples perked at the feathery touch of his breath on the back of her neck. Merciful heavens, what had she done? She remembered following him to the saloon and challenging him at poker. She even remembered slugging down that first shot of whiskey. She supposed it was sometime after that the train had hit her.

  Caite began slowly easing herself from under Jed's arm. She did not need to remember to know what had happened here last night. Waking up naked in bed with the man was enough clue for her. She slid from the bed, relieved the world no longer tilted. Jed stirred behind her, then turned over with a snort and a grumble. He did not wake, for which she was grateful. She had no desire to face him this morning.

  First she needed to wash and dress. Then she would go downstairs and get something to eat. Her stomach was flapping against her backbone, despite her earlier nausea. After she had eaten, she would seek out the schoolmaster and inquire about a job.

  She moved about the room while she planned her day, finding the basin and jug of water on the dresser, along with her hairbrush and washcloth. Her toe hit something as she crossed the floor. Grimacing, she bent to pick up her purse. It was a lot heavier than when she had left Heatherfield. Good. If all went well at the school, she would need to rent a wagon to carry her things from the ranch. And if they did not go so well, then perhaps she had enough to buy a horse to ride back on. She did not want to spend another two hours riding behind Jed.

  "Good morning."

  Startled, she dropped the bulging purse. It landed on her sore toe. She bit back an extremely unladylike invective.

  "How do you feel?"

  "I feel very well, thank you,” she answered as primly as she could while hopping up and down on one foot.

  "You were mighty rough earlier.” Jed crossed his arms behind his head, emphasizing the strong muscles in his chest and forearms. Just because he was showing himself off did not mean she had to stare at him like a wanton hussy, did she? She could, and would, just refuse to look.

  "Please do not remind me,” Caite replied, turning away. She began pulling the brush through her tangled mass of curls. She had knots the size of birds’ nests in there. It must've been some night.

  "All right,” Jed said, and fell silent. Even when he did not speak, she could feel the weight of his gaze between her shoulder blades.

  She threw her gaze to him again. “Why are you staring at me like that?"

  Lord, the man looked positively moronic, lying there with that egg-sucking grin on his face. He stretched again, the sheets slipping down his firm belly far enough to be indecent. She flushed. How dare he look so pleased with himself?

  "It's a beautiful morning,” Jed noted, still smiling.

  Caite scowled. “Is it?"

  "C'mon now, Caitey, don't look so sour. Why don't you just slide back into bed?"

  "What?” His sheer nerve appalled her. “If you think last night was..."

  "I reckon I think last night was pretty fine,” he said, and had the gall to wink at her. He shifted slightly under the thin sheet now rising above his groin in a way that brought color flaming to cheeks she knew already had to be pink.

  She looked hastily away, searching the room for the bundle she had brought. She needed to find some clothes. Now.

  "Caite, come back to bed."

  Her feet nearly betrayed her by responding to his words and carrying her back to his embrace. She only managed to stay where she was by gripping the dresser until her knuckles turned white. She forced herself to stand straighter, hiding the weakness in her knees.

  "I think not."

  "Why not?” His voice was low, wheedling, with just enough huskiness in it to make her bite her lip. She remembered that voice whispering in her ear, every word a caress.

  "No!” she shouted, startling herself. She had made the mistake of letting alcohol cloud her judgment, that much was obvious. In the clear light of morning, she had no such excuse.

  "Caitleen, what's wrong?” If he had been a different man, she might have believed the concern in his voice to be real.

  She busied herself pulling together the items of clothing she had brought to wear to the school. She found her skirt, slightly crumpled but otherwise wearable. Fresh bloomers and stockings were in her bundle.

  "Why should anything be wrong?” she asked, moving around the room in search of her possessions. She deliberately did not meet his eyes.

  "You won't look at me, and you're tearing around this room in a real tizzy,” Jed said. “I'd say that's a good reason to think you might be upset about something."

  She could not seem to find her blouse, and his voice was making it exceedingly difficult for her to concentrate. She jerked open a drawer. Nothing.

  "If you must know,” she responded hotly, facing him with her hands on her hips, “I'm upset because I woke up next to you in bed this morning!"

  He gave her a puzzled look. “Of course you did."

  She threw up her hands in exasperation. “Have you no decency? Do you always go about taking advantage of women who have so unwisely consumed too much spirits?"

  His mouth thinned, and he yanked the covers up to his chin. “I didn't take advantage of you. You wanted it. You told me so!"

  Her face, if it were possible, burned hotter than ever. The probability he was right did nothing for her peace of mind. Caite stamped her foot. “I refuse to believe you!"

  "Caitleen,” Jed said slowly. “Don't you remember last night at all?"

  She drew herself up with as much dignity as she could muster, under the circumstances. “Thankfully, I do not."

  An emotion she could not identify slipped over his face. Before he could respond to her, she spied her blouse peeking out at her from under the chair. She bent to retrieve it.

  "My blouse!” she cried, turning the sadly abused scrap of material around in her hands. “What happened...?"

  "You don't remember that either,” Jed said quietly.

  "No, I most certainly do not.” She raised her hand to prevent him from enlightening her. “And I would rather not know, so please do not bother to tell me!"

  "All right."

  What had prompted his sudden change of mood? He did not seem angry, but she could not identify exactly what he did seem. His face had become inscrutable. He was no longer beckoning her to rejoin him in bed, thank goodness.

  "I don't have time for these games,” she snapped. His blank stare was making her uncomfortable. She held up the ravaged blouse and clucked in disgust. “Thankfully, I packed another blouse."

  He did not answer her. Instead, he sank down lower in the bed, pulling the covers nearly over his head. He rolled away from her. She caught a brief glimpse of his bare back before he had yanked the blanket over that, too.

  "I reckon I'm going to catch some more shut-eye."

  That's it? He's going back to sleep? No more arguing with her? For an instant, Caite was tempted to go over and feel his forehead to make sure he did not have a fever. She could think of no other reason for him to be acting so strangely.

  "I am going to the schoolhouse this morning,” she said uncertainly. He grunted in response. “I plan to do some shopping after that."

  He grunted again. Caite washed her face and important bits quickly, then stepped into her clothes. She checked her reflection carefully, but she could see no sign of last night's excesses.

  "I shall see you later this afternoon then?"

  Silence. Not even a grunt this time. Again, she was tempted to lean over and put her hand to his forehead. She could not fool herself, though. The desire to touch him had nothing to do with checking for a fever.

  * * * *

  Jed heard the door shut
behind her but didn't bother rolling over. No, deep inside these blankets was the best place for him now. In fact, if he never had to get out of bed again, he'd be happy.

  "She doesn't remember,” he spoke aloud, just to make sure his voice still worked. He had been unable to speak after realizing last night and all the words he'd spoken were nothing more than whiskey-soaked dreams to Caite. The lump in his throat wouldn't have let him scream if he was on fire.

  His eyes stung, and he convinced himself it was from the dust filtering in through the window. He couldn't be crying. That was for babies and lesser men.

  He tossed the covers off abruptly and sat up. His latent hangover, easy enough to ignore when he was bent on making love to Caite, now flared into life. He muttered a string of curses. He couldn't lie here in bed all day like some Nancy boy. He had business to take care of.

  He was glad she didn't remember what he'd told her so foolishly last night. Men let liquor and lust flap their gums all the time. It didn't mean in the light of day they still meant it. It didn't mean he did. No, love wasn't for him. It always had to change things. People got hurt when they fell in love. He didn't need that. He didn't need her.

  It's just as well. I've been planning on moving out to my own place, Jed thought. Getting away from Heatherfield and Caite O'Neal was the best idea he'd had in a long time.

  * * * *

  After leaving her letter to Gerda with the front desk clerk to post, Caite checked herself one last time in the reflection of the hotel's front window. Wanting to present herself as staid and upstanding, she had left behind many of her more flattering dresses in favor of this outfit. Her dark skirt hung properly to her ankles. Her crisp white blouse, while slightly worn at the cuffs, was certainly appropriate for a schoolteacher. She had forgotten a hat, but had knotted her hair severely enough on the back of her head.

  She gave one final pat to her hair and crossed the hotel's wide front porch. She could see the school's few students playing in the grass behind the building. It was morning recess and so the perfect time to speak with the Mr. Lawry, the schoolmaster. She had taken the time to ask the hotel clerk the man's name.

  "Mr. Lawry?” she asked, entering the small building through the side door.

  The skinny, pallid man looked up at her curiously. He had been lounging in his chair, feet on the desk. Taking a midmorning snooze apparently.

  "I hope I did not disturb you."

  He smiled at her, a disquieting show of pale gums and yellowed teeth. “No, not at all. Come in, Miss...?"

  "O'Neal,” Caite answered firmly. She strode to the desk and held out her hand. “Miss Caitleen O'Neal."

  "What might I have the pleasure of doing for you, Miss O'Neal?” Lawry set his feet on the floor with a thump. His grip was a limp as a dead fish, and as clammy.

  Caite extricated her hand from his as tactfully as possible. “I have come to see if you had any need of an assistant here at the school."

  "I see.” Lawry steepled his fingers under his chin. “As you can see, Miss O'Neal, Staghorn has not been provided with a plethora of pupils."

  Disappointment and relief flooded her simultaneously. She had known the likelihood of being hired was small, of course, but had hoped to have a chance anyway. Becoming a teacher was just about the only idea she had to get away from Heatherfield. It would be her only reason to get away from Jed.

  "I'm sorry to have bothered you,” she said, turning to go.

  "But, my dear Miss O'Neal,” Lawry put in, “that does not mean I'm not in need of an assistant."

  "Really?” She turned. Lawry was leering at her. Caite suppressed a shudder of distaste.

  "Why, yes,” he said. “What are your qualifications, Miss O'Neal? Have you graduated from a reputable teacher's academy?"

  "No, I have not,” Caite stumbled, chagrined. “I had the benefit of a decent education myself, of course, but I have not attended any academy."

  "I see."

  She forged on. “I can read, write and do mathematics, Mr. Lawry. I am well-acquainted with all manner of literature, including William Shakespeare's works, of course—"

  "We don't get much call for the Bard here in Staghorn,” Lawry interrupted. He uncoiled his complete height until he towered over her. He pinned her with an intense gaze.

  Caite straightened her shoulders, refusing to be intimidated. “Please, Mr. Lawry. I think I would make a fine teacher. If you'd just let me prove myself..."

  "Oh, I believe I could do that.” Lawry smiled.

  In a flash, he reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her against his thin body. He pressed his lips against her mouth before she could stop him.

  Lawry's tongue slithered into her mouth, and his bony hands groped her buttocks through the heavy material of her skirt. Caite thanked the stars she had chosen such a serviceable garment instead of one of her thin ginghams. She pushed herself away from him with as much force as she could muster, and stepped down on his foot with her heel. Lawry let out a howl of pain and released her so quickly she stumbled.

  "Mr. Lawry!” Caite exclaimed hotly, scrubbing his loathsome kiss from her mouth. She could still feel his scrabbling touch on her, and this time she was unable to restrain her shudder. “How dare you?"

  "How dare I?” he retorted, leaning back against the desk and rubbing his foot with both hands. “You waltzed into town, bold as brass, with that Peters fellow. You took a room, a single room, at the hotel, and spent last night getting raving drunk at the saloon! And you have the audacity to ask me how I dare?"

  His words struck her with deadly force. She stepped back, grateful for the student desk behind her. It was the only thing strong enough to support her.

  Lawry, still rubbing his foot, looked her up and down scornfully. “What made you think I would even consider hiring as strumpet such as yourself without first sampling some of the goods you obviously offer so freely?"

  Heat rushed through her. She straightened. “I assure you, Mr. Lawry, things are not always as they seem."

  "I see,” Lawry sneered. “Still, Miss O'Neal, I'm afraid I'm going to have to tell you good day."

  "Good day,” Caite echoed, forcing her voice to be strong. She would not let this man have the satisfaction of hearing weakness in her voice. She turned to go.

  "We may be a piss-ant little town, but we do have standards, Miss O'Neal,” Lawry called from behind her. “You may have thought a pretty face would get you any job you'd like, but I wouldn't have hired you without your teacher's certificate. Not even if you carried the crown jewels between your thighs."

  Caite hesitated at the doorway. “You put your hands on me knowing I had no chance of being hired?"

  Lawry laughed nastily. “One takes one's chances when they come, Miss O'Neal."

  His laughter followed her all the way out of the schoolhouse. She paused for a moment outside to smooth her skirt and hair, and to allow herself to calm down. There were quite a few more people on the street today, she noticed. Were they all staring at her?

  Of course they're not, she told herself fiercely. She forced herself to nod serenely at a pair of women walking together. The women, who had certainly been staring at her curiously enough, both suddenly found each other far more interesting. Neither of them met her greeting.

  Caite felt the sting of their rejection, but drove it away. She tried telling herself they could not know of what Lawry had accused her. Then a pair of cowhands across the street caught sight of her. Elbowing each other and grinning, they each raised their hands to her in mock salute. Caite could no longer pretend Lawry was the only one in Staghorn with such a low opinion of her.

  Ignoring the men who were now calling her name, Caite marched up the steps to the hotel. Sweeping past the front desk without glancing at the clerk, she finally made it to the room. Tremors of despair shook her hands, making the key chatter in the lock.

  At last she was able to open the door. A quick scan of the room told her Jed was no longer in bed. She closed the door beh
ind her and tossed the key onto the bureau. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. Seeing her over-bright eyes and the twin spots of scarlet on her cheeks was too much. Stifling a sob, Caite flung herself onto the bed and buried herself under the covers.

  * * * *

  "Paperwork's all filed, Jed,” Taylor Calhoun said, sliding the sheaf of papers across to Jed.

  "Thanks, Tay.” Jed riffled through the documents, checking one last time everything was in order. A nuisance, all this paperwork, but if it meant the land he'd claimed stayed his free and clear, then he supposed he'd sign his name until his fingers fell off.

  "Mighty nice piece of property you got,” Calhoun noted. “Glad to see you're finally thinking of planting yourself there."

  Jed smiled faintly. “It's time, Tay."

  Tay, who had known Patricia and her ways, nodded. “You let me know if you need help building that new house. I can always round up a couple of boys who need some extra whiskey money."

  At the mention of whiskey, Jed winced. “Yeah, Tay, I reckon I'll do that. I'd like to start with the stable first."

  Calhoun snorted. “You gonna live in that old ramshackle cabin?"

  "It's good enough for now."

  Calhoun waggled his eyebrows. “But is it going to be good enough for your lady friend?"

  Jed paused in his perusal of the documents. “Lady friend?"

  "That redhead you was with last night at Mac's,” Calhoun said in a voice that told Jed to quit being such a jokester.

  "I didn't see you at Mac's last night.” Jed was beginning to have an uncomfortable feeling.

  "I wasn't there.” Calhoun laughed. “Heard about it this morning from Hap Williams. He said Jasper Spoon saw you two lip wrestling at Mac's. Davis Lacky says you two are in one room over to the hotel."

  Davis Lacky worked the front desk at Horner's. Jed groaned slightly. “Listen, Tay, the lady and I—"

  "You don't have to explain nothing to me,” Calhoun interrupted, still chuckling. “I'm not the preacher. Heck, if I was in your place, I don't reckon I'd be out of bed yet this morning!"

  "You are talking about the woman who is going to be my wife,” Jed growled suddenly. His statement surprised himself just as much as Calhoun.