by Kira Barcelo
Both Eli and Arnie joined her and Reeve for the meal. Another man—Quentin was his name, a young man of eighteen—was at home with his young wife. Melanie got the impression that Reeve didn't want her too overwhelmed by the entire group of cowboys it took to run that place.
The conversation around that table relaxed her. Reeve was somewhat quiet, as was the older gentleman, Eli.
Arnie evidently liked to talk, even bringing up his friend over at the saloon. "Janie was so excited today," he said, smiling. "Mae let her be the one who watched over you."
What an interesting choice of words! Melanie took a sip of her water before responding. "She has nice things to say about you, too." Why don't you make an honest woman of that girl? She wanted to tag those words on.
And she would have if she hadn't suspected it wouldn't meet with Reeve's disapproval. She wouldn't have been mean about it, either. In spite of herself, Melanie felt a kinship with the young prostitute. Naturally, she wasn't at liberty to confess that, but that kinship was there.
Although… she was about to become a respectable rancher woman. Her days of living a life like the one Janie lived would be forever over. Soon.
"There'll be a lot for you to do after we're married," Reeve said, brusquely interrupting their conversation.
"I'm sure."
"We didn't discuss this before, but I'm sure you cook and sew and all that."
"I cook and sew very well," she announced with confidence.
"Yep. And we already know you can ride."
Melanie tore her gaze away from his eyes. When they danced like that, she guessed it would be difficult to stay mad at him after a disagreement.
"Ride?" she repeated.
"Yes, ride. On a horse!" he exclaimed.
"Oh! That kind of ride. I love to ride. I think I rode before I walked."
"That's good to hear. Boys, would you clean up here? I'm taking my bride out for a little after dinner walk."
"An after dinner… walk?" Melanie watched the men rise from the table and begin to clear it.
Reeve also stood, first slapping his napkin down beside his plate. Clearing the table would become her job, she knew. For now, she was treated as the new bride-to-be that she was, the guest of honor.
You should quit that silly horse talk. At least don't exaggerate so much, she scolded herself on the way out the door.
Reeve would find out soon enough that she wasn't the extraordinary cowgirl she'd made herself out to be. Back in Baltimore, she had stuck with walking or riding on a wagon. Her "big" secret when it came to horses was that they scared her a little. Those animals could sense fear in a human, too. She'd only claimed to be adept at riding because her sister had told her she'd heard those cowboys out West valued people who could ride.
Besides, what kind of rancher's wife was afraid of horses?
"Where are we going?" she asked.
To Reeve's credit, he caught on that he was walking too fast again and slowed the gait of his long legs for her to catch up. Outside, the mountain air had cooled, making the early evening more comfortable than the heat of the day had been.
"To give you your present," he answered. "I took care of it myself before I went to get you today. There he is."
He was pointing out in the distance. The dry ground crackled under their feet. Looking out, all she could see was a brown horse standing alone in the corral. She swallowed, fighting off a wave of panic. What had she been expecting? From a rancher, no less? She'd imagined the gift was some token of jewelry—her wedding band, a pretty necklace, maybe a bracelet. But, no.
That cowboy had given her a horse. A big horse, at that.
A horse she couldn't ride.
"What do you think?" Reeve sounded anxious for her approval.
"Oh. Oh, she's— she's beautiful!"
"He. That's a he." He frowned but was still amused. "He's very obviously a he."
"He sure is a he! He's a he! Oh, gracious, he's big!" Again, she swallowed, aware that she was now rambling.
"I can get him saddled up for you now if you want to take him for a ride. I've already broken him for you."
"Oh. A ride." She sounded so foolish, saying "oh" so much. "You sure? I don't want you going through all that trouble of getting the saddle on him—"
"That's no trouble at all. I want to make sure you two get along."
He pressed up against the railing and patted the animal's forehead down to just about his snout. He was expecting her to do likewise, to show affection for the horse rather than fear. Melanie mustered enough courage to pat his neck but withdrew her hand when he snorted.
He was recently broken. And Reeve had believed her when she'd said she knew what she was doing on the back of a horse.
He's going to throw me. He's going to injure me and I'll die or be bedridden for the rest of my life.
Crazy thoughts. Or maybe not. How did she wriggle herself out of that mess?
"Would you like to saddle him yourself?" he asked.
Melanie forced a laugh.
"Well, I expect there'll be time for that. I'll do it for you—"
"Reeve, wait!"
Her heat beat madly. He was going to be angry. Could she blame him? She'd lied to him.
Stopping, he turned. "You don't like him."
He looked so disappointed. "No, no, Reeve, I do—"
"I've got lots of other horses. I just thought you'd love this one."
"Oh, Reeve, he's beautiful. And I do appreciate you being so sweet and giving him to me. But I don't… I don't ride as well I told you I did."
Back on the train. He was going to lose his temper. Then he would send her back to Maryland.
His eyes narrowed at her and he drew closer. "How often do you ride?" he drawled.
"I'm sure nowhere near as you have."
"And nowhere near as much as you told me you did." He regarded her sternly but not with anger. "Not riding at all is not an option. You, Miss, are going to learn."
Was that it? Was she getting off that easily?
Not easily at all, she realized. He was ordering her to learn, telling her she had to get over her fear and master riding and handling a horse to some extent. Better, certainly, than she was capable of now.
"Yes. You have my word that I'll learn."
"Your word. Hmph."
So he was angry.
His hands fastened to his waist and he sighed impatiently. "Why did you say you rode before you could walk? Which I know isn't true, but you exaggerated your skills."
"Because I wanted to be your bride. I thought you wouldn't want to marry me if you knew I—I'm a little scared of horses. And I usually walk or ride a wagon." Seeing the fire in his eyes, she added, "But I can learn. And I will learn."
"Oh, you will." Giving a hard shake of his head, he asked, "What else did you lie about?"
She straightened up, afraid he could see right through her. "Nothing. That's the only thing I lied about."
"I was truthful with you. I told you this isn't that easy life you led back in the city, Melanie."
"And I just wanted to impress you—"
"How impressive would it have been if I'd let you on this horse and he hurt you badly enough? Or killed you? I'd have to live with that. And I do believe we talked about this. About lying."
Her eyes grew larger. "You're not going to spank me. That's not a big lie. I just wanted to impress you. So you wouldn't think I couldn't—"
"I don't want to hear your excuses, Melanie. And I don't want any more lies. And, yes, I am going to spank you. You get your pretty little behind in that house and wait for me in the parlor."
Her first instinct was to plead with him. To promise she wouldn't ever do it again.
But there were other lies. Bigger than that one.
Nevertheless, she tilted her chin up in defiance. Without another word, she walked back into the house.
What an unreasonable, stubborn man! Melanie knew that hardheaded nature probably had been necessary when driving ca
ttle across the states to reach Montana, where Reeve finally decided to settle. It sounded as if that same rugged determination had gotten him through hard times as a child after his parents had died. Over dinner, he'd informed her he'd been born in New York. At the age of nine, he was plucked off the streets, where he'd been living after his father had walked out and his mother had died. He was put on a train with other orphans and taken to Texas. That was where a farmer and his family had adopted him.
That was all well and good. She did respect him for having not only survived that hard life, but also for having the drive and determination to make his own fortune raising cattle.
But did Reeve really have to be so hard on her? They were to be married in two days. He didn't listen and he surely didn't compromise on anything, from what she could see.
"So did you like the horse, ma'am?" Arnie asked when he passed by the parlor. "He's hearty, ain't he?"
"Don't ask." The admonition, made in a flat tone, had come from Reeve, who had stepped into the house at that moment. "Arnie, you and Eli go outside for now. Miss Melanie and I have something that needs discussing."
Pursing her lips, she turned and folded her arms across her chest. Something that needed discussing? Ha! With him doing all the talking, I'm sure.
"You're sulking again," he told her.
"I am not sulking," she protested. "I have never been spanked before. And I sure didn't expect a spanking right before our wedding."
"And I wasn't expecting to have to spank my bride before our wedding, either. And you keep making up stories instead of being honest with me, I expect you'll be spending a lot of time over my knee."
Emphasis on a lot. Maybe the episode would prove more embarrassing than painful.
Then she saw the large wooden brush in his hand. The kind with a long handle and a wide, hard brush.
He was using that thing to spank her behind? Instinctively, she shot a look at the door and wondered if she could save her bottom by making a run for it.
Why bother? When that cowboy could probably walk a lot faster than she could run.
"I'll have you know," she huffed as he sat himself down on a chair and pulled her across his lap. "I'm too old for this—this spanking business!"
"Are you, now?" That jovial lilt in his voice only infuriated her more. "Come to think of it, how old are you? Did you lie about that, too?"
Did he know? How could he tell? He laid the brush casually across her rump, making her blush.
"Melanie, I asked you a question."
She gritted her teeth and stared at the floor. "I'm twenty-six."
"You're—Melanie, you said you were twenty-three!"
Yes, I did. I lied. And I'm not a lady, either. I could have been—I was supposed to be. Instead, I was living as a prostitute back in Maryland. But you wouldn't understand that.
"Reeve Larson, I am not the first woman to lie about her age!" she blurted. She heard him heave a long-suffering sigh. Melanie hastily offered an explanation. "I didn't think you'd want an old maid of twenty-six. Twenty-three didn't sound so bad."
"What I want is an honest woman. And you'll be glad to know you're not old at all. Not too old that you can't get a good tanning."
He wasn't happy with her. So much for that kiss they'd shared, for their happy dinner and how thrilled he'd been to give her that horse. Suddenly, Melanie felt him toss her skirts up over her waist, forcing a squeal from her.
"Don't you dare pull down my underthings!" she hissed.
"Don't worry, darlin'. There's just too much dress here. I want to make sure you feel this spanking, but I won't bare your bottom until we're legally wed."
"Well, that's a relief!"
"A word of advice, it's never a good idea to sass a man while he's getting ready to blister your bottom."
Since she was in enough trouble already, she opened her mouth to inform him she'd never spun her own wool, either. Another bit of fiction she'd weaved into her letters, between the truths like her ability to cook and sew, things she'd learned from other painted ladies. The unyielding brush coming down with a loud thwack across her rear took her breath away.
"Let me ask you again, future Mrs. Larson, anything else you'd like to tell me?"
Ouch! She mouthed the word. Her pride prevented her from hollering it loud enough to be heard throughout the house.
"Nothing else." She could be just as stubborn as he could be.
Although her resolve was being tested with each stinging smack of the brush.
"You sure about that? You'll feel better if you tell the truth. That'll be one less thing you'll have to be worried about haunting you."
If lying about being an expert horsewoman and her age were proving that painful to her seat, she guessed she'd never sit down again if he learned she was no better than Mae's girls.
"I—that's—all." Each word followed a scorching swat.
Don't you cry. Don't you give this man that satisfaction!
Not shouting or bawling like a baby was hard enough. It was impossible not to squirm, yet Reeve's strong arm around her waist was like a vise, holding her firmly in place.
She didn't know how many swats had been applied to her bottom. She only knew her poor cheeks felt like one, big, fiery ball. If he hadn't stopped when he did, she would have broken down in pitiful sobs.
He set her onto her feet and stood.
"I'll take you back to Mae's now," he announced. "I think I've made myself clear about lying."
"Very," she muttered, waiting until he left the room to rub her well spanked tail.
Reeve left the brush on the chair, prompting her to make a mental note to burn the wretched thing as soon as she could. Though she supposed her husband-to-be would have no trouble finding something just as good at roasting her rear on a ranch.
Chapter Three
Reeve noticed that all Mae's girls—that was generally how they were referred to in town, too—were on their best behavior, due to their guest for those two days being his bride. He appreciated the fact that, according to Arnie, there hadn't been any carousing at all so as not to upset a certain young lady. It couldn't have been good from a business standpoint. Even so, the bordello might have quieted down for a short while, but the saloon side of Mae's business was still going strong, with a room full of cowboys nursing their drinks, shooting the breeze at the counter, or gambling with decks of cards. Finally, after a round of small talk that had nothing to do with his bride-to-be, he gave in and asked, "So she didn't say anything to you?"
Mae shook her head, her big blue eyes capturing the sunlight coming in through the windows to her left. "No, sir, not to me. Might've said something to Janie. You know, I'm not surprised you two had a lover's spat. They do say seeing the bride before the wedding is bad luck. Now you know better."
He cleared his throat. He'd told his friend about the argument. He hadn't said a word about giving Melanie her first spanking. He was waiting for Mae to mention it, and she would have, and with a wicked titter. The fact she didn't led him to believe Melanie didn't trust her, or she was too embarrassed to say anything, or both.
"I don't believe in bad luck," he scoffed.
"Oh, no? Well, just in case, you give her a little distance until you see her tomorrow. Tomorrow night, she is yours to ravish. Right now, you don't want anything getting in the way of marital bliss."
"Mae, she lied to me."
The chubby blonde lifted her head and stopped wiping the counter with a rag. "About what?"
"About her age. And before you say anything, she also lied about being comfortable on a horse."
Mae looked alarmed. "Did she get on Westwind?"
"No. She was scared enough of getting up on him and spilled the beans that she'd been fibbing about that. Said she was trying to impress me. She didn't think I'd want a twenty-six-year-old old maid, so she slashed a couple years off her age, too."
"The age—eh! That's not so bad. A woman will do that, and you can hardly blame her for that, Reeve. But I hop
e you tanned her bottom good for lying about riding."
"I did. And she didn't like it much. Didn't say a word to me on the ride back here." He set his jaw. "That was fine with me. I was none too pleased with her, either. But, Mae, it's not just about her age. It's the whole thing that she treats being dishonest with me so lightly. She's got an excuse for everything."
"Course she does. That's all right, honey. You know, it's not easy for a woman, especially one on her own and away from her family, with no husband. At least you know one thing. She really wants this life with you. Give her a chance."
"Hm…" he murmured. He gave his head a shake. "Not going to be easy."
"Then you keep the paddle handy. She'll learn that lies and sitting don't go well together." Mae chuckled and winked at him.
That brought him some encouragement. He pushed away from the bar. "Don't tell her I was here. I mean, if she asks, you can tell her. But don't offer."
"If she asks, I'll tell her the truth. That I don't want you two to see each other before the wedding. There'll be plenty of time to get to know each other later. And Reeve…" she leaned across the counter, lowering her voice to ensure their privacy. "She will make a good wife. I see that in her eyes. She's strong enough for this life, honey. And I truly believe she'll grow to love you, too."
He shrugged, but he was feeling better than when he'd first walked into the place. Mae had a way of accentuating the positive in most situations.
"We'll see," he said.
"No. Expect that will happen for both of you."
"Yes, ma'am." Smirking, he tipped his hat to her.
He heard the doors creak loudly as they swung closed behind him. One of his horses, Twister, waited for him, the Appaloosa stallion's reins loosely tied to the hitching post. He hadn't bothered to bring the wagon, knowing his visit there in town would be brief, that he had to be getting back to the ranch.
Before climbing into the saddle, Reeve glanced up at the second-floor windows belonging to the rooms above the saloon. He had sensed someone watching him and was right. Janie was at one of the windows, her hair and makeup less done up than usual. She offered him a friendly smile and a wave. He responded in kind, though more than a bit disappointed that wasn't Melanie watching out for him.