The Marshal's Rebellious Bride

by Starla Kaye

  She cried out enough that the liveryman stepped into the doorway with Shadow.

  Morgan released her and she scrambled off his lap, her face flaming as much as her poor bottom.

  “Didn’t mean to come back too soon,” the man said, eying her, clearly waiting for her to reach back and rub her bottom.

  Morgan, too, glanced at her, seemed to smile—as close as he came to it—when she refused to give either of the men the satisfaction of seeing her attempt to soothe her backside.

  He stood. “No problem. We just finished with our little discussion.”

  He took her elbow. “We’ll be back later for her horse. Mine, too.” He guided her by the other man. “We’re going to see the dressmaker now.”

  She was certain she heard the liveryman chuckling as they walked away.

  * * *

  It had been a trial to walk the two blocks down Front Street to Ella Sue’s Dress Shop. Whiskey hadn’t spoken a word to the now silent, now satisfied man walking beside her. She’d had all she could handle just trying to keep a weak smile plastered on her face and nod occasionally at someone who waved in her direction. Her bottom stung. Getting spanked with britches on still hurt like blazes.

  Ella Sue Davenport was just wrapping up a package for the mayor’s wife, Doris Draible, when Morgan opened the door and nodded her into the small shop. The shop owner blinked in surprise and then smiled at him. “I see you’ve finally talked our Whiskey into coming in for a fitting.”

  She looked directly at Whiskey in a motherly manner. “I still can’t believe you’re getting married.” She sighed thoughtfully. “I remember when you first came to town. You were just so small, a little girl. And here you are about to become a married woman.”

  When Whiskey would have contradicted her, Morgan gently squeezed her arm. She slid him an irritated glance. “I’m having trouble believing it myself.”

  Doris carried her package over and stopped to hug Whiskey. “I’m just sorry your mother isn’t alive to see the wedding. Will your father be coming?”

  She shook her head. “Not that I know of.” She doubted it, but she hadn’t heard more than that he was pleased by the fact that she was getting married.

  The white-haired Doris looked up at Morgan. “You’ll take good care of our Whiskey, won’t you? She’s special to us all.” Then she gave Whiskey a chastising glance. “Even though she occasionally does something rather foolish. Like racing down our main road.”

  Morgan slid an arm around her waist and caught her quiet wince as her tender bottom brushed against his leg. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll take good care of her. Fact is, I’m already watching after her.”

  Whiskey noted the curious looks on the other women’s faces and wanted to throttle him. It was bad enough to stand here in front of two of the most prominent women in town, knowing they wondered how she’d managed to snare such a “fine catch,” as she’d heard others call him. It was worse standing here with a freshly spanked bottom given by this “fine catch.”

  “We need to get back to the ranch,” she prodded, although she was not looking forward to a ride home just yet.

  Doris gave him a final smile and hurried out, saying, “I can’t wait to see you walking down the aisle.”

  A half later nearly bored out of her mind with listening to Ella Sue babble on and on about this fabric or that fabric, she finally said, “Can’t I just try on a ready-made dress? Surely you have one that’ll do.”

  From where he sat on a bench near the window, Morgan gave her a warning look to behave. He’d seemed oddly accepting of all this tedious business of choosing fabric for a wedding gown. Actually, now that she looked closer at him, she saw the heat in his eyes. Instinct told her he was not so much interested in seeing what kind of gown she would choose, but more interested in seeing it off of her. Her heart tumbled at the notion. Heat spread through her.

  Ella Sue pulled a couple of dresses from a rack on the wall. “Why don’t we try on these? Although I still think it would be better for me to make you a special dress all of your own.”

  She glanced at Morgan. “Why don’t you come back in a little while? I’m sure you’d enjoy a beer or two more than sitting here.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll stay.”

  Whiskey sent him an understanding look. He thought she’d run out of here the second he left, which she probably would. With a sigh she followed the kind, middle-aged woman she’d known for years into the dressing room.

  A minute later she, again, wished she could just melt away. She’d forgotten she would need to remove her britches to try on the dress. She’d hoped Ella Sue would leave the dressing room, but she didn’t. Unfortunately, as she bent over to pull the britches off, the back of her drawers parted enough that Ella Sue saw the redness of her bottom.

  “Oh dear,” Ella Sue said awkwardly. “That looks fresh.”

  Whiskey straightened, raised her chin, and said, “It is.”

  She looked toward the outer room. “Like Doris, Morgan didn’t approve of the horse race.” She wondered if he was listening to their conversation. It probably wouldn’t matter at all to him that the shopkeeper had discovered that she’d been recently spanked.

  Ella Sue’s cheeks were pink as she handed her one of the dresses to slip on. She lowered her tone, “My Sam has been known to… well to…”

  Turning so the other woman could button up the back of the dress, she offered in a quiet tone, “Spank you?”

  “Yes. Yes spank me.” The woman quickly buttoned the dress.

  Since they weren’t looking at each other it was easier to talk, especially about such a private matter. Maybe it wasn’t proper, but Whiskey was curious and had no other woman to talk about something like this with. Camelia still got spanked on occasion, but she was still living at home and wasn’t dating anyone in particular. The issue of being spanked by someone you were married to, or betrothed to, was different.

  So she cautiously asked, “How does that make you feel? Being punished by your husband?”

  Just when she didn’t think the other woman would respond, Ella Sue said, “It’s never a pleasant experience.” Her hands stilled on the final button. “My Sam can be very determined sometimes.” She sighed and added, “No, it’s quite unpleasant to be punished.”

  Whiskey turned and asked sincerely, “How do you feel toward him when he punishes you?”

  Ella Sue studied her a second and finally said, “Usually I’m not happy with him for a spell after he spanks me. Even less so after he thrashes me with his belt. Which, thank the Lord, is rare.”

  Then she smiled. “But in spite of the pain, the embarrassment, I love him.”

  She gently touched Whiskey’s cheek. “It’s a good man who cares enough for his woman to occasionally take his hand to her bottom. Sam says it hurts him, too.” Again she smiled. “’Course it don’t hurt him near as much as it does me.”

  It was a strange conversation, but Whiskey appreciated Ella Sue’s openness. She would mull over what she’d said. But she already knew that while it seriously frustrated her to get spanked or thrashed by Morgan, she didn’t hate him for doing so. Maybe she actually did care enough for him now that she endured the punishments he felt so determined to give.

  Suddenly the bell above the door jangled and they heard heavy footsteps coming into the shop. As Ella Sue opened the curtain of the dressing room, both women saw Taos walk straight to Morgan. The expression on his face boded trouble.

  “One of the Thompson gang that Wyatt jailed yesterday broke out of jail. He knocked out the deputy as he was feeding him dinner. Stole his gun and horse,” Taos said flatly. “I’m riding with the posse getting ready to head out.”

  Morgan stood and Whiskey’s heart thudded. Fear nearly paralyzed her, for both men. Then she burst out of the dressing room. “I’ll ride with you. I can shoot as well as most of the men in town.”

  Morgan spun to face her, “The hell you will!”

  “The hell I won’t!”


  She didn’t really want to ride on a posse, but she was scared down to her bones. Something warned her not to let Morgan ride out today. “You can’t go. Let Wyatt and Bat Masterson and the others take care of this.”

  Taos started to speak, but Morgan marched over to stand right in front of her. Tension rolled off him. Determination to do what he had to. “As long as I’m wearing a badge, chasing outlaws is still part of my life.”

  She grabbed for his badge, tears filling her eyes. “Then turn in the damn badge!”

  “It’s not time yet.” He caught her hand, held her gaze, and ignored everyone else. “Unless you want me to burn your backside again here and now, you’ll stop interfering in my business.”

  She saw Taos raise an eyebrow, heard Ella Sue suck in a breath. She was beyond caring about their reactions. He’d hurt her, hurt her heart this time.

  “Fine! Go ride with the posse. Get yourself shot. It doesn’t matter to me.”

  She turned to go back to the dressing room, determined to remove the dress. Tears streamed down her face and she refused to let anyone see them. She felt sick.

  “That one,” Morgan snapped. “I want that damn dress she’s wearing now fixed so it fits her good and proper for the wedding.” Then he was gone, along with Taos.

  Chapter Eight

  The sun riding high in the sky sent a blazing heat down on the clear blue mid-July day. Moods were running sour on the ranch, especially Whiskey’s. The ranch hands had taken to steering clear of her these last couple of days. Keno stayed in town. Even her animals were acting cautious around her. Every critter, two-legged or four-legged, was giving her distance. Truth was they were all worried about her, about Morgan and about Taos. Three days the posse had been gone. Three very long days.

  For at least the hundredth time that morning, she straightened in the middle of the corral and looked down the ranch road. She thought she’d sensed something, heard something. Evidently not. She didn’t see anything. Not even a hint of dust drifting up to signal riders coming.

  She sighed, and then reached up a soapy hand to shove strands of fallen hair from her braid out of her face. Beside her Keno, the camel, tried to shift away from her. She snagged the rope around his head. “Not so fast. We’re not finished yet with this bath.”

  He gave her what she took for a pleading look, his tall body half soaped down. She didn’t pity him at all. During this bath to hopefully make him smell better, he’d shaken so many times that she was far wetter and soapier than he was.

  “You’re the one who rolled in horse droppings,” she grouched. “Bet you’ll be more careful next time.” Probably not, but she could hope.

  Something made her grow still, made her cautious. She started to look around, stopped when she heard just a whisper of sound. A footstep.

  With the ranch hands out mending fences, she was alone here. She hadn’t thought to bring either a gun or her knife with her. Had she made a terrible mistake?

  “You always talk to animals like that?” a man asked, his deep voice sounding amused, from behind her.

  She jerked around, eyes wide, heart hammering. “Good golly Molly! Where the devil did you come from?” Oddly enough, even though she faced a big, powerful-looking, obviously mixed breed stranger, she didn’t sense danger.

  Muscled forearms casually draped on the top railing of the corral, a man near as tall as Morgan watched her. Over-the-shoulder-length raven hair worn tied back with a piece of leather glinted in the sunlight. Brown-black eyes studied her with obvious interest. Although he wore Levis and a buckskin vest and his eyes were different, she thought he looked an awful lot like Morgan. His cheekbones were more prominent and his skin more tanned, but there was a strong resemblance.

  She was about to comment when a young boy with shaggy, dark blond hair stuck his head out from behind the man’s back. Blue eyes the same shade as Morgan’s looked warily at her. Sad eyes, as if he’d seen way too much in his young life, as if he’d been hurt soul deep…like Morgan had.

  Her camel decided to make a run for it while she wasn’t paying attention.

  Since she still had hold of the lead rope, he dragged her backward until she knocked over the pail of soapy water, landed in the pool of water and dirt, and released the rope. She forgot about her two visitors and turned to scowl at the camel. “That’s gonna cost you, you mangy beast! No apples for at least a week!”

  A youthful giggle drew her attention back to Morgan’s half-brother and Morgan’s son. Both of them were grinning. She might have gotten peeved about being the source of their amusement if she didn’t think it had been a while since the boy had laughed.

  She tamped down her bruised pride. Realizing she looked like a soapy, muddy mess, she held out a hand. “I could use some help up here.”

  The boy froze, but the man scrambled with ease over the corral fence. He strode in buckskin boots toward her and held out a big hand. “Whiskey Wakefield, I assume.”

  He pulled her up, nodded toward the one-eyed mule and soapy camel at the other end of the corral, and grinned even more. “’Pears my brother found himself a mighty interesting woman.”

  Her ever-curious skunk chose that moment to waddle over and stand by her feet. Most men she knew would have fled as fast as they could, including Morgan—at first. This man merely bent down to scoop the skunk into his arms. He smoothed its furry back as she said with a smile, “Just so you know, Morgan can’t spray.”

  The man went right on petting the skunk and hooted. “Named him after my brother I take it. Bet the big bad marshal liked that.” He chortled again.

  Skunk cradled in one arm, he motioned toward the boy. “Come on over here, Tyler. I know you’re dying to hold this critter.”

  He looked back at her while Tyler carefully climbed up and over the fence. “The boy loves animals. He drove his grandfather nuts, always bringing wounded animals home to heal ‘em.”

  He met her eyes. “I’m thinking you two got that in common: love of animals, I mean.”

  Tyler took the attention-loving skunk from his uncle’s arms and looked in awe at her. “A real skunk? And he don’t spray that stuff makes your nose wrinkle up?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer just held the skunk close to his thin chest and hugged him. His bright-eyed gaze darted to the other end of the corral. “Is that one of them camels? I heard about them. I ain’t never seen one before.”

  He focused on her once more. “He sure made a mess of you. You don’t seem to care, though.” He clearly found that strange for a woman.

  The man put a hand on Tyler’s shoulder and said, “Normally it takes him a spell to warm up to strangers. Excited, I guess.” He smiled. “I’m Chase, Morgan’s brother. I had a feeling you already guessed as much.”

  She liked children, but she wasn’t sure how to handle this youngster. For the first time it hit her that if she actually went through with marrying Morgan, this boy would be her step-son. She’d be a mother. Lord a’mighty, that was a scary notion!

  Tyler eyed her anxiously now, almost squeezing her poor skunk to death. Good thing Morgan loved attention, especially being held.

  “I heared that you were marrying my pa. Are you really? I can’t imagine a lady as fine as you wantin’ to do that.”

  He swallowed hard and stepped closer to Chase. “Pa’s a lawman. Good one. The best.” He dusted the toe of his worn shoes back and forth in the dirt, lowered his voice. “He’s kinda fearsome, too. Him and Grampa get into some fierce yellin’ matches.”

  He looked up with shining eyes filled with tears. “Got, I mean. Grampa’s dead. Some evil Comanchero done killed him.”

  She sucked in a breath and glanced at Chase, who shook his head. It wasn’t a subject to be discussed right now. Did Morgan know? He’d only told her that his brother was bringing his son up here to keep him safe. Was the Comanchero that “Rafe” she’d overheard him talking about with Taos? She really didn’t like being kept in the dark about important things. She would be sitting both Ta
os and Morgan down when they got back for a long talk. If they got back. No! When they got back.

  She forced a smile. “How about we go to the house? I need to clean up a bit. And I think Manuel, our cook, made a fresh batch of cookies this morning. I don’t suppose you like cookies?”

  “Cookies! Oh, yes, ma’am, I surely do like cookies.” Tyler’s expression perked up. “Can I bring your skunk?”

  Manuel wasn’t all that fond of the skunk, but she wasn’t about to say “no” when Tyler looked so hopeful. “Sure.” Then she glanced at Chase. “Where are your bedrolls? Your belongings? Your horses? I assume you didn’t just walk here from Texas.”

  Chase grinned again, a smile that reached his eyes. “We left the horses and all in those trees alongside the river. I’ll fetch them in a bit.”

  He seemed to be studying her with interest, not with the heated kind of interest so often in Morgan’s eyes, but seeming to measure her up as a woman.

  Well aware that the back of her britches were wet and now sticking to her, and that her hair was straggling out of her braid around her face, she suddenly felt extremely lacking as a woman. She attempted to tuck a fallen strand behind her ear and shook her head sadly. “I’m a real sight. Sorry. But I wasn’t expecting company.”

  She bent down to pick up the curry brush and empty pail. “It’s nice to have someone here, though. It’s been way too quiet.”

  “You look fine to me. Like a woman who gets involved in life.”

  “Yep, you’re right purty,” Tyler added and then his face turned red.

  She blinked at both of their comments not sure what to say.

  Chase changed the subject. “I noticed there didn’t seem to be anyone about, except you and that Mexican we spotted going in the back door of the house.” He didn’t prod, but she knew he was waiting for her to tell him where the others were.

  She couldn’t help looking toward the road to town once more. Worry rolled within her. “Morgan and my brother, Taos, rode out with a posse a couple of days ago. A gang member waiting for the judge to come to town for his trial escaped. A bunch of men went after him. I thought they’d be back by now.”