by West, Everly
“Don’t be so dramatic. I wasn’t hurt.”
“I didn’t know that,” he bellowed.
Sammie rolled her gaze skyward, shook her head and bit down on her lower lip.
Her condescending behavior ramped his temper up another notch. “From the other side of a closed door, mind you. I heard you slam the front entrance, scream my name—not once, but twice—and running footfalls in the foyer. And what is the first thing I see when I get to you, you covered in blood.”
His hands shook as the memory of thinking she was badly injured wafted over him. “By the way, deer blood and human blood look and smell the same.”
“I didn’t know you had company.” She flounced into the chair in front of his desk. “If I’d known, I’d had come in through the kitchen and up the back stairs to my room.”
“I should not have to tell you. The lady of the house should always be prepared for the occasional unexpected guest.”
“If that’s all you’re looking for in a wife, maybe you should have married Amelia,” Sammie huffed and crossed her arms under her breasts. “I definitely do not fit that bill.”
“You don’t fit any bill,” Mason sneered. “You don’t run my house. You don’t stand beside me in society. And you don’t warm my bed.”
“Sounds like I’m not good for anything around here.” Sammie stood and slammed her fist on her hips. “Just exactly why did you marry me?”
Mason’s rage obliterated his common sense. “Your father forced me!”
“I didn’t see a shotgun at our wedding.” Sammie countered. “You could’ve walked away. Papa and meddling Minnie O’Brian knew nothing had happened, yet. So, don’t tell me you were forced.”
“Our marriage had been orchestrated long before our hotel debacle.”
“How much longer?” she demanded.
“Since the night before the valentine ball.”
“No.” Sammie shot him an incredulous glare. “We hadn’t met yet.”
Mason ignored her rebuff. “Your father possessed Whispering Pines. It was rightfully mine. I finagled my way into a card game where I knew JP would be playing.”
“So, you used an old man to get what you wanted.” Sammie paced between the desk and the settee in the corner. “That doesn’t say much for scruples.”
“Scruples? Let’s talk about JP’s scruples,” Mason snapped. “Your dear papa put you in the pot. Just like he’d done all night with his dollar antes or hundred dollar raises, he fed you to the kitty—without blinking an eye.”
“I don’t believe you!” Sammie growled.
“You don’t have to believe me,” he shot back. “Ask the three witnesses your father so conveniently had present.”
“Who? My father wouldn’t allow strangers to witness such a travesty.”
“Charles Rayson, Judge Barry Lowell, and let’s not forget the man you so lovingly dubbed uncle—Roy Brousard,” Mason said as he opened the door. “I hadn’t considered it, but you’re right. Your father wouldn’t allow an outsider to see the true JP Wortham at work. Hell, I wasn’t the manipulator; I was the one being manipulated,” he barked, furious.
“Why are you so angry? I’m the one who meant so little as to be tossed into a poker pot.” She stomped over to where Mason stood in the opened doorway. “At least you got what you wanted…You won,” Sammie yelled, although she stood only a foot away.
“No, actually, I lost,” he growled between clinched teeth.
“What do you mean by that?” she shrieked.
“What do you think I mean?” Mason yelled back.
“Don’t patronize me, you idiot.” Sammie’s blue eyes sparked with rage. “Explain yourself.”
“In a poker game, if you lose, you pay the winner. I lost!”
“You’re a liar! You got Whispering Pines.”
“Only as a wedding gift. I didn’t win it at the table.” His anger at having to relive that evening coiled in his stomach, pounded in his head.
“I take it my father wagered Whispering Pines,” she sneered. “What were you willing to place on the table?”
“Anything your father wanted for a chance to regain what was rightfully mine.”
“And what did ‘mean ole JP Wortham’ want that only you, the great Mason Mayfield, could give him?”
“My bachelorhood!” Mason roared, turning on his heels and walking to the staircase.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Suit yourself,” he jeered. “It took me the rest of that night and most of the next day to come to grips with the outcome.”
“How could you?” Sammie screamed.
“At the time, I didn’t think I could lose,” he blared back at her. “I got Whispering Pines either way.”
“What about me?” his wife shouted, standing in the middle of the foyer.
“You, I’ll have to learn to tolerate!” he thundered as he climbed the staircase.
“You are lower than the river rats riding up and down the Mississippi swindling men out of their money,” Sammie yelled at the top of her lungs. “Only you aren’t very good at it. You let a man who hadn’t held a deck of cards in his hand in twenty years beat you.”
Mason paused mid staircase. “Is that what is bothering you? Not that you were part of a poker pot, but that the loser had to claim you?”
“I hate you!” Sammie screamed.
“That, Samantha, is your problem, not mine.”
Fury boiled through his veins. He’d had enough. Mason turned his back on his wife and went to his bedroom.
Chapter 13
The next morning, Mason swung his legs over the side of his bed and groaned. He kicked the empty bourbon bottle, the culprit of all his misery this morning. Pounding pain drummed in his head. His stomach roiled and pitched worse than a canoe in a hurricane.
All his misery except for his heart ache. That he’d done all by himself. Whatever possessed him to tell Sammie about the bet?
Yes, he was angry. But that didn’t justify him ripping her father from her heart—even if he was an unscrupulous scoundrel.
Well, at least everything was out in the open. He and Sammie could start over, learn to trust each other again.
He donned his pants and reached for his shirt. Long about three in the morning, he realized he liked the quirkiness Sammie brought into his life. He’d never be bored with Sammie by his side. He’d never tire of her enthusiasm for life.
It would take hard work and a lot of groveling, but they’d find their footing again. More than anything, he wanted to share what they shared this time yesterday morning.
And they would. He’d make sure of it.
Suddenly, very eager to see his wife, he rushed to finish dressing and escort her to breakfast.
Moments later, he knocked on Sammie’s bedroom door. No answer. He knocked again, louder. No answer.
She was probably already downstairs. He practically ran down the staircase then skidded to a halt just outside of the door to catch his breath. Once slightly more composed, he stepped into the dining room.
Empty, except of food-laden highboy and a coffee pot stationed in the center of the table. No Sammie.
Disappointment washed over him as he moved to his seat. He glanced at the clock on the highboy. He’d overslept, so Sammie had probably already had her breakfast and gone out on an adventure. The kid in him wanted to pout because she hadn’t waited on him. But then, did he deserve to be included in her life at this point?
Amelia entered, startled. “Mason! We didn’t know you were here. Let me bring you fresh coffee. That pot’s bound to be cold.”
Mason nodded. “Where is my wife?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her.”
“At all?”
“Not since…um…you and her…um…yesterday afternoon.”
Mason’s stomach lurched and it nothing to do with his over-indulgence last night. He surged to his feet. “Where’s Isaac?
“In the kitchen,” Amelia answered, already moving. “I’ll get hi
m.”
Seconds later, Isaac entered the dining room, hat in his hand. Before Mason spoke, Isaac did. “I know, sir, I’ll get my things and be on my way. But I couldn’t leave without letting you know where Miss Sammie is.”
“Where?” Mason snapped, not sure what the footman was talking about but not really caring at the moment. “Where is my wife?”
“Laramie, sir. At her papa’s place.”
“What!” Mason bellowed. “I told you to keep her on Whispering Pines lands.”
“I caught her in the stables after midnight last night. She was determined to leave. I promised her if she’d wait until morning, I’d take her to Laramie.”
In the stables after midnight…determined to leave. Mason braced his hands on the table, trying to catch his breath. What if Isaac hadn’t gone into the stable last night? Would she have rode out in the middle of the night?
“First thing this morning,” Isaac continued, “I go to the stables to saddle the horses and there she is. I think, maybe she slept there. Anyway, I took her to Laramie and I came back so I could tell you she was safe and sound.”
“Why didn’t you tell me last night, before she left?” Mason barked.
“After what I heard—we all heard—yesterday, I didn’t figure you deserved to know.”
Isaac’s honesty cut him to the quick.
“Saddle Sinbad,” Mason ordered. “And don’t leave until we get back.”
“Sir?”
“I know my wife. If I let you leave, I’ll have to go after you. So, stay put. It’s easier.”
“Yes, sir.” Isaac moved toward the foyer.
“And Isaac, thank you for keeping Sammie safe.”
* * *
“I’m not leaving until I talk to my wife,” Mason growled, inches from JP Wortham’s face.
“You’ll leave now or I’ll send for Sherriff Wiley and he’ll help you leave,” JP snarled, not giving an inch to Mason’s intimidating tactics. “You got want you wanted. Whispering Pines is yours whether the marriage succeeds or not.”
“I want to see Sammie.”
Seth appeared from the back of the house. “Mason, Papa, calm down. Let’s find some middle ground.”
Both men glared at him.
“This jackass broke your sister’s heart.” JP pointed his finger at Mason. “I’ll not have her hurt anymore.”
Seth scowled. “From what Sammie told me, you are as much to blame as Mason.”
“Seth,” Mason pleaded. “I need to apologize. Please ask Sammie to talk to me. Maybe she’ll listen to you.”
Seth shook his head. “You know better than that. Sammie is the most hard-headed woman I know. Let her cool off a little then try again later.”
Mason gritted his teeth. Seth was probably right, but it grated against every nerve in his body to walk away. “I’m not giving up. I want my wife back.”
Seth patted Mason’s shoulder and nudged him toward the front door. “Come on, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee at Peterman’s.”
Nodding, Mason allowed Seth to walk him out. Once outside and down the sidewalk a short distance, Seth glanced back at the house, then grinned and doubled-back to the Wortham’s side yard.
Seth pointed up. “Sammie’s bedroom is second floor, third window from the front.”
Relief washed over Mason; he had an ally. He’d take all the help he could get. “What about the neighbors?”
“No worries. The owner is a single man away from the house during the day.”
Mason looked at Sammie’s window, trying to envision the best way to handle the situation. Seth pulled him out of his thoughts.
“Do you love her?”
“Yes,” he answered without pause.
“Her, Mason. Sammie. Just the way she is?”
“With all my heart.”
“Good, that’s good.” Seth turned to leave, but Mason stopped him.
A plan formed in his head, but he’d need a little help. “Would you do me one more favor?”
“Maybe.”
“Would you go to the newspaper and ask Mr. Overton to send a reporter and his new-fangled camera over here?”
“It’ll be my pleasure.” Seth grinned and left.
Mason picked up a handful of pebbles, placed them in his pocket and climbed the big maple tree right outside her window. The window was cracked enough to let in fresh air without the brisk morning temperature intruding on her comfort. He tossed a pebble against the glass.
Mason could see her through the lace curtains. “Sammie.”
No answer.
“Sammie, please talk to me!”
No answer.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I wish I’d never taken your father’s bet.”
Suddenly, her window opened with force. Sammie leaned against the window sash and glared at him. “You wish you’d never met me?”
“No! That’s not what I meant, at all.” Mason inched closer to the branch’s end where he sat. He wanted to be closer, needed to be closer. “My heart would have found you. And when I said I love you, there would be no doubt I love you for you, for who you are. Not what you brought into our marriage.”
A commotion registered on the peripheral of his awareness. Not that he cared. His life, his happiness, his future hinged on the next few minutes.
“You only married me to get Whispering Pines,” she accused.
“Yes,” he admitted. He knew honesty was the only way Sammie would ever trust him again. “But I don’t have to stay married to you to keep it. Whispering Pines is legally mine.”
Sammie started to move away from the window, but he begged her to listen to him.
“Wait! Don’t turn away from me, please. I wanted to stay married to you. I’ll sell Whispering Pines today if that’s what you want. Just don’t leave me. Give us another chance.”
Sammie didn’t say yes. But she didn’t say no either. She stood worrying her bottom lip with her teeth and studying him as though waiting for something.
Suddenly, realization dawned. He hadn’t told her. He’d told Seth. He was about to tell all of Laramie. But he hadn’t told her.
“I love you with all my heart and soul, Sammie.”
A tear ran down her cheek. He hated himself for causing her pain, for making her cry. He had to hold her, needed to kiss away her tears.
Without checking to see if the branch would hold his weight as it grew closer to Sammie’s window, he scrambled across and climbed into her room. He gathered her into his arms, thumbing the tear off her beautiful face. “I love you, sweetheart. I love your sense of adventure. I love your tenacity. I love your pants.”
He pulled her closer and kissed her tenderly. “I love you for who you are, not despite who you are.”
Sammie wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled closer. “I love you, Mason. I think I’ve loved you from the moment I met you.”
“Thank God!” He lifted her into his arms swung her around in a circle.
Sammie squealed as she tightened her hold around his neck and teased, “You wouldn’t let me go, would you?”
“Never,” he promised while he nibbled her ear.
“Never is a long time.” A moan of pleasure escaped her lips. “Are you sure you can hold me that long?”
“You can bet on it, my love.”
Epilogue
Mason sat at the miniature table and chair set with his knees folded up under his chin, concentrating on the cards he held.
“Daddy,” sighed the exasperated five-year-old sitting across from him. “Are you going to fold or meet my wager?”
“Eagerness is a sure sign of a good hand. Remember, the first rule of poker is a—”
“Never show any emotion,” his daughter said, interrupting him. With the patience of a typical five-year-old, she sat squirming in her seat for only a moment before she rolled her gaze skyward and sighed again. “Daddy?”
“Very well, puddle duck, I’ll see your peppermint stick and raise you a gum drop.” Mason chuckl
ed, sliding his bet to the center of the little table where a small mound of sweets lay.
Lydia smiled at her father as she picked through her pile of candy. Slowly, she raised her violet blue eyes to her father. “I ate my last gum drop. Would you consider a lemon drop instead?”
Mason nodded and watched her face, which only seconds before had been so serious, beam with happiness. Never taking his eyes off his daughter’s beautiful face, he coaxed, “Let’s see what you’re holding.”
“Two pair!” Lydia proudly reported.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I have three of a kind.” Mason watched her smile fade away into disappointment. He scooted back his chair and patted his lap. “Come here, baby.”
Lydia slowly pushed her chair away from the table and took a long-ragged breath before walking into her father’s open arms. “Is two pair not a good hand?”
“Sometimes, sweetie, and sometimes it’s not.” Mason tenderly straightened her pink pinafore before placing a loving kiss on her forehead. Touching the cards, she still held in her tiny hands, he asked, “Which two pair did you have?”
“Tens,” she answered meekly.
“And what else?”
“Tens,” she said again, a little louder.
“I know, puddle duck, but what else other than a pair of tens?” he asked patiently, taking the cards from her tight grip.
“Another pair of tens,” Lydia explained to her father. “One red pair of tens and one black pair of tens.”
Mason glanced down at the four tens and an eight held in his hand. His laughter mixed with his words when he spoke, “If you have two pair of the same thing it’s called four of a kind, and four of—oof!”
Lydia flung her arms around his neck and squeezed with all her might. “And four of a kind beats three of a kind. I win, Daddy. I win!”
“She’s a better winner than loser.” Sammie giggled as she entered the room and sat on the floor beside her husband and their daughter.
“Mama, would you like a peppermint stick or a lemon drop?” Lydia offered as he disentangled her from around his neck. “I won them, fair and square.”
“Thank you, my darling. I think a lemon drop is just what I want.”