by West, Everly
“Damn it, I didn’t send that note. Or set up this morning’s debacle.” Mason thrust his fingers through his hair, felt something wet and sticky. Anger boiled inside him until he wanted to hit something. Preferable JP Wortham. “You want the truth? Talk to your father. He’s the one pulling the strings. I’m just the idiot wearing them.”
Just in case Samantha got some crazy idea in her head, Mason retrieved the revolver off the floor then entered his bedroom. A moment later, he heard his wife slam her bedroom door.
If she got this worked up over today’s events, heaven help him if she ever found out about the bet.
Chapter 8
Sammie awoke slowly to a pounding headache. Or was there someone beating at her door?
She blinked her tear swollen eyes twice against the glaring sunlight spilling into the bedroom. She’d forgotten to close the drapes the night before. She rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers. Gradually, the throbbing subsided until it was only the annoying dull ache a person almost always experienced as a result of hours of crying.
Sammie vaulted from the bed as the door opened. A sigh of relief escaped her lips when Amelia stepped through the doorway carrying a silver tray. “It’s you.”
“I knocked,” Amelia explained tersely. “Why didn’t you answer me?”
“I guess I didn’t hear you.” Sammie stepped to the window and pulled the thick drapes together. Thus, blocking out the bright sunlight, which eased the pain in her head and, hopefully, darkened the room enough Amelia couldn’t see her red-rimmed eyes. For lack of anything else to do, Sammie walked over to the tray Amelia had placed on the dressing table and poured herself a cup of coffee.
“There will be arrangements made for you to have a maid as so as possible.” Amelia said as she picked up the silk robe from the foot of the bed and laid it over her arm. “I’m sure it was an oversight on Mason’s part.”
“I can do that,” Sammie blurted as she realized Amelia intended to make the bed. The bed with no virgin blood upon its sheets.
Amelia turned to raise a perfectly shaped winged eyebrow in Sammie’s direction before agreeing. “As you wish.”
“Well, I mean, it’s not your job and I don’t mind doing it until someone can be hired,” Sammie said, trying to explain away the outlandish idea of the mistress of the house making her own bed.
Amelia glanced down at the small paring knife Sammie had picked up off the tray and was unconsciously twirling it between her index finger and thumb. “If you’re thinking about doing yourself in, get a bigger knife. If you’re thinking about doing your husband in, get a gun. But, if you’re thinking about wounding yourself enough to put blood on those sheets where there is none, don’t bother.
“Everyone in this house heard the two of you screaming at each other.” Amelia folded Sammie’s robe and place it on the foot of the bed. “We all know there won’t be any signs of your purity on the linens, so don’t insult our intelligence by trying to prove otherwise. Probably half the people from here to Laramie heard the two of you last night.” Amelia stepped into the hallway and reached back to grasp the doorknob. “By the way, the chandelier you shot last night was from France. It was one of Mason’s mother’s favorite pieces.”
Sammie’s gasp covered the sound of the door closing as Amelia shut it. Her hand shook as she brought it up to her mouth, her knees gave way beneath her and she slid down to sit on the small dressing stool behind her. How had her life come to be in such turmoil in such a short period of time?
Her headache intensified as she relived the past twenty-four hours.
After a few moments of deliberations, she determined her headache and swollen eyes were self-inflicted. The aftermath of too lengthy a wallow in the mucky depths of self-pity. Something she wasn’t proud of, but fortunately, not an activity she participated in very often.
Enough feeling sorry for herself. No one was going to keep her down. She was a grown woman who could take care of herself.
In one swift movement, she crossed to the window and flung the heavy curtains back to let the morning sunshine flood the gloomy room. A wash basin and pitcher filled with scented water stood in the corner of the bedroom, left untouched from the previous night. Sammie filled the bowl nearly full and tried not to think of the original purpose of the water. She shivered as she dipped her hands into the cool liquid, but enjoyed the refreshing feel of it against her face.
Almost an hour later, a timid knock came from the other side of the door. Cautiously, Sammie asked, “Who is it?”
“It’s me, honey, Patsy.”
“Come in, please.”
Patsy heard the pleading tone in her mistress’s voice and braced herself to face a hysterical frighten woman-child. “I brought ya some breakfa…” Patsy started to announce but stopped, stunned with what she saw.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, her mistress, dressed in a midnight blue traveling suit, had one boot already on and was vigorously tugging on the other boot. Her face was freshly washed and her hair had been neatly brushed to cascade down her back with a blue ribbon the same hue as he dress.
“I’m glad you’re here.” She grunted as she successfully pulled the boot over her foot. “I couldn’t figure out how to fasten the back of my dress.” As though she felt further explanation was needed, she stood and let the blue velvet bodice drop to her waist.
Patsy stood staring at the sight of the woman, who by all accounts should be lying in bed with the quilt pulled up over her head, crying her eyes out.
“Patsy?” Miss Sammie reached down and raised the bodice to cover her undergarments. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”
Patsy’s shock thawed to relief, quickly followed by bubbling laughter. “Don’t be silly, child. You ain’t got nothing I ain’t got. Except I might have a tad bit more of it than you.”
Patsy giggled and set the breakfast tray beside the coffee tray Amelia had left earlier. “Now, turn around here and let me latch you into this runaway dress of yours.”
Miss Sammie immediately presented her back to Patsy as she had been ordered. “Just how was you gonna manage if I hadn’t come up here?”
“I was going to hold the neckline in place with one hand and hope no one noticed I had suddenly become one-handed with everything I do.”
“I don’t know if that would’ve worked. We’re a little bit smarter than people think we are around here.” Patsy grinned.
“So I’ve been told,” she murmured softly.
Patsy knew Amelia was the only other person to have come upstairs this morning. It took only a second to figure out Amelia had said something to needle the poor child. She tenderly gripped her forearms. “You never mind anything Amelia had to say this morning. It’s not you. It’s your position that’s got her so testy. She’s a good woman; she’s just hurtin’ right now. Let her get used to the idea that someone else is in charge. You’ll see, everythin’ is gonna turn out just fine.”
“I’m not going to upstart Amelia’s position.” Miss Sammie picked up the jacket to her traveling suit, folded it over her arm then stepped into the hallway. “I’ll eat my breakfast downstairs.”
Patsy chucked her tongue against her cheek as she bent and removed the trays from the dressing table. “Poor child hasn’t had a chance to fall in love with Whispering Pines or its master.”
Humming to herself, Patsy entered the kitchen carrying the two trays stacked one on top of the other. She flinched when Amelia came up from behind her. “You scared me.”
“No, I didn’t. You’re not afraid of the devil, himself.” Amelia laughed then frowned when she noticed Patsy’s burden. Amelia took the trays from Patsy and crossed to the sink. “You didn’t have to bring these down. I was just on my way up to see if that slip of a girl wanted any breakfast brought to her.”
“That little filly might be a many a things, but she ain’t no slip of a girl.” Patsy countered. “And if you’re wonderin’ about her breakfast, you better look for her in the dining roo
m.”
“Good Lord! Mason is still in there. If this morning is going to be a continuation of last night, we’ll have to scrape eggs off the ceiling.” Amelia scurried toward the dining room door. “They’ll tear my dining room to shreds!”
Chapter 9
Mason watched his wife over the rim of his coffee cup. She hadn’t said a word since sitting in the farthest chair from him. Fine, let her silently glare holes into him. He had other pressing business to attend to today. But he wouldn’t let her get away with her childish behavior much longer. He had a ranch to run, a stubborn-headed wife to bring to heel, and children to beget.
Amelia burst through the connecting door between the kitchen and dining room, snapping Mason’s thoughts back to his current surroundings. She came to a stumbling halt just inside the doorway.
“You didn’t make it clear to the man you hired last week what his duties would be. So, I told him to act as footman. It seems the nitwit couldn’t even find the dining room,” Amelia said, obviously trying to cover her ungraceful entrance. “I’ll serve you this morning, Mrs. Mayfield.”
Mason chuckled under his breath when Samantha jumped at being addressed by her married name. Poor kid. She was going to have to make some hard and fast adjustments in the next few days.
Not that he felt sorry for her. His hand went to his ear almost on its own accord. His earlobe, minus a tiny chunk of skin, still stung where she’d clipped him last night. The blasted scratch bled for an hour after he’d retreated into his bedroom.
Suddenly, it dawned on Mason what Amelia had said about a new footman. “I haven’t hire anyone.”
Samantha leaned her elbows on the table beside her coffee cup and propped her chin in her upturn palms before saying sweetly, “Perhaps, he is another wedding gift from my father.”
“Perhaps,” Mason agreed, sending a cold stare his wife’s way.
“Would you care for some bacon and eggs this morning, Mrs. Mayfield?” asked Amelia.
Mason noticed Samantha flinched again at the sound of her new name.
“No, thank you, Amelia.” Samantha resumed her intense study of her coffee.
“Perhaps, a sweet bun, Mrs. Mayfield?” Amelia offered, seemingly unaware of the grimace that crossed Samantha’s expression.
“No, thank you, Amelia. I only have time for coffee before I leave.”
“As you wish, Mrs. Mayfield.” Amelia beamed.
Mason had been watching his wife’s reaction to her new name with amusement until she announced she was leaving. Her involuntary flinching at its mention suddenly became annoying. There were countless woman who would have given their eye teeth to be sitting at his breakfast table being addressed as Mrs. Mayfield. Suddenly, his hand curled into a fist and slammed against the table with enough force that Samantha’s coffee cup at the other end of the table rattled on its saucer.
“My wife seems to have an aversion to her formal title. Henceforth, she is to be addressed by her given name,” Mason informed Amelia, although his eyes were searing holes into Samantha.
“I will pass your instruction on to the others,” Amelia said as she walked toward the kitchen. “Although, I’ll be wasting my breath since she will be leaving.”
Mason’s voice was cold and hard as he spoke, never taking his eyes off of Samantha. “My wife is not going anywhere.”
“You just sit there and watch me, you over-bearing buffoon!” Samantha said through clenched teeth as she leaped from her seat.
“Thank you, Amelia. We’ll serve ourselves if the need arises.” Mason said and waited to hear the kitchen door close before calmly speaking again. “Sit down.”
“No, I’m leaving!” Samantha growled back at him as she pushed her chair farther from the table.
“As I said before, you’re not going anywhere. Now, sit down,” he demanded.
Maybe it was the stone-cold tone of his command or the murderous look he shot her or a combination, but Samantha sat. More than likely, she was just rethinking her strategy.
“Nothing you say will change my mind,” she said in a matter-of-fact manner.
“I don’t have to change your mind. By law, I’m your guardian and have the authority to say if you stay or go.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re staying.”
“The law?” Samantha shrieked back at him. “I suppose you’re referring to our marriage.”
“I am.” Mason nodded, still feeling in complete control of the situation.
“We have no marriage,” she sneered. “It was never consummated, remember?”
“That can be rectified. Would you care to follow me upstairs?”
“Never!”
“Whatever pleases you, my dear.” Mason stood and picked up his plate. “Give me a minute to clear off the table and I will accommodate you here.”
“Don’t be absurd.” Samantha’s voice teetered between repulsion and fear.
Mason’s plate dropped from his hand to land on the table with a hard thud. Before the plate stopped wobbling and lay motionless against the linen tablecloth, Mason stood beside Samantha’s chair. “If the question of the consummation of our marriage is the grounds for your departure, I can take you when and where it pleases me.” He leaned in closer to her face. “Am I making myself clear?”
“Excuse me, sir. Thomas asked me to remind you he is still waiting in the study for your meeting.”
Both Mason and Samantha startled at the man standing in the doorway.
“Who the hell are you?” Mason finally asked, still holding his wife by her forearms.
“Isaac, sir.”
“Ah, the man I, presumably, hired last week.” Mason relaxed his hold slightly.
“Yes, sir, but I can explain if you’ll give me a minute of your time.” The square-built stranger stepped into the dining room.
Samantha yanked her arms from his hold and glared at Mason.
“Who employed you?” Mason snapped.
“No one…I just said…” Isaac stammered.
“Did Wortham hire you?”
“No, sir, honest. I hadn’t worked in weeks and when I came here looking for work, everybody assumed the owner had sent me. I guess, I kinda…um…never told them any different.” Isaac admitted nervously, shoving his hands into his back pockets.
Mason studied him at length before he spoke, “Let’s see where your loyalties lie.” He turned to look at the woman standing beside him. “It will be your job to make certain my wife does not step foot off Whispering Pines land. She is not a prisoner nor will I tolerate her being treated as such.”
He saw the gleam in Samantha’s blue eyes, but doused it with his next words. “Unless of course, she attempts to leave without my permission then you may chain her to her bedpost for all I care as long as she remains here.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she hissed.
“Of course not, my dear, but there’s no telling what Isaac would do to secure his employment,” Mason taunted. “Have Patsy take a fresh pot of coffee into the study then tell Thomas I’ll be right with him.”
Samantha waited until Isaac had disappeared behind the kitchen door and Mason was once again seated at his end of the table before she said, “Mason Mayfield, listen to me and listen well. If I have to drag my bed and Isaac along with me. I’m leaving!”
“And where would you go?” Mason laughed, but there was no humor in his voice. “Back to your father, the dear man that plotted a compromising scheme so you’d have to marry? Have a care, kid. The next time you find yourself compromised with a man’s hand up your skirt, he might not come to your rescue and let the man have his way with you.”
He knew the pain of his words etched deeply into Samantha’s heart, but he had to remove all of her alternatives other than remaining at Whispering Pines. It was not an easy task. Like most young women her age, Samantha wore her heart on her sleeve. He could almost see the reminder of her father’s betrayal cutting into her soul with butcher-like accuracy.
“You think about what
I said while you have your breakfast. I’ve got a ranch to run.” Mason excused himself from the table and left the room.
Sammie sat motionless for a long moment not knowing whether to give into her boiling fury and scream or surrender to her growing ache in her heart and cry. Suddenly, realization penetrated the foggy recesses of her mind. She was alone.
No one blocked her passage through the front door. With a watchful eye on the kitchen door, Sammie quietly rose from her chair and slowly backed toward the door leading into the foyer.
She made her way halfway across the dining room before turning to gage her progress to freedom. Assuring herself she was headed directly for the door, she tip-toed backward. Her backside nudged something hard. The wall? Never taking her gaze off the door on the other side of the room, Sammie reached to her side in search of the doorway. A small sigh of relief escaped her dry lips as her hand found open space.
“I must have missed the door by inches,” she whispered to the deserted dining room.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” came a deep voice rumbling with laughter from behind her.
Chapter 10
Sammie spun around to find herself staring into Isaac’s barrel-shaped chest. “Isaac? You scared me to death.”
“You wasn’t trying to sneak out of here without me knowing it, was you, Miss Sammie?” Isaac grinned down at her.
“No, of course not,” she answered with bravo.
“If I was in your place, I’d be real interested in seeing some of the rest of Whispering Pines. Maybe take a ride or find a nice quiet place to just sit and be alone with my thoughts. I bet you was thinking the same thing too, huh?”
Sammie nodded.
“Course, someone would have to come with ya, you know, to make sure you could find your way back, but they could keep their distance and you probably wouldn’t even know they was around.”