by Maggie Ryan
"Over the bale, Annabelle, you know better than to stand there and continue to backtalk."
"Pa, you aren't really going to strap me, are you? I'm not a child, I'm a grown woman!"
"Really? Grown women don't shirk their responsibilities to go off to God knows where!"
"I told you where I was," she said.
"Annabelle, I'm not going to argue with you. Get yourself into position, or the dozen you have coming will become two dozen."
Richard watched as Anna's fist clenched and unclenched at her sides. Despite her father's anger, she didn't look as if she had a contrite bone in her body. Richard knew he should move away. This was not something to be seen by anyone outside Anna's family and yet he didn't move a single muscle. His eyes remained glued to the beautiful young woman, the spirit she'd had as a young girl still evident in the way she held herself stiffly, not moving to obey her Pa's instructions. It was only when John snapped the strap against his thigh that she turned and walked to the indicated hay bale. Just before she obeyed and bent over it, she turned back to look at her father. "Fine, I can't stop you from strapping me, but I don't have to be sorry!"
John ran his hand across his face wearily. "I'm sorry you feel that way, but the fact remains that you deserve to be punished."
Anna glared at him. "If I'm sorry about anything, it's the fact that you are too ashamed of me to even listen!"
"Enough. You tell me you aren't a child, and yet you continue to backtalk! Grown women accept the consequences of their actions. Go on; eyes front and get those drawers down."
If Richard thought the sight of her standing tall and defiant was enough to take his breath away, the sight of her hands reaching back to push the damp drawers off her bottom almost stopped his heart in his chest. Her rear was heart-shaped, the plump globes pale. Despite her bravado, he could see her buttocks quivering.
It wasn't until six strokes had been laid across her uplifted arse that her iron control began to slip. Richard watched as her hips began to wag from side to side, as if to escape the next fall of the unforgiving leather strap. As the seventh landed with a loud crack, her head reared back and her silence ended.
"Pa, please! No more!"
Crack! The strap laid another wide line of fire across her backside and her feet kicked up, her legs scissoring as the strap was lifted high to deliver another.
"I'm sorry!" Anna wailed, her hands moving to cover her roasted rear.
John had only barely managed to turn so that the strap's downward momentum missed her hands. "Get your hands off your bottom, young lady."
"Please, Pa, that's enough. I won't disobey you again. Oh, please, Pa, no more."
"Move your hands," John repeated, his words clipped and hard. Despite her own cries, it was evident her father's tone told her that she'd best obey. Her hands moved to grasp the hay again, her head lowering, her hair sweeping the dirt of the floor.
Crack…crack…crack…crack! Each stroke sounded like the rifle Richard had fired earlier, and each competed with her cries. The strapping didn't end until the last of the promised dozen strokes had been snapped across the tender area where her bottom met her thighs. Her head lifted again, her long, strangled wail filling the rafters of the barn.
John stood at her side, his face drawn. "Annabelle, why must you be so darned stubborn? How many times must your sainted Ma plead with you before you give her the respect she is due? How many licks must I place across your backside before you learn that responsibility comes with the adulthood you claim to have reached?" He paused and, when he looked up, it wasn't to gaze at his daughter. His eyes met Richard's, and locked onto them.
"Anna, some day you are going to marry, and when you do, I hope you are blessed with a man who not only loves you, but who will be able to take you in hand. Lord knows he'll need to have the patience of a saint as well, until you learn the value of obedience." His gaze returned to his daughter. "I pray that one day you'll stop to think about exactly why discipline is given. Perhaps with your bottom on fire you'll give some thought as to why you earned the strapping I gave you. Stay as you are until your Ma comes to get you. Do you understand?"
"Ye-yes, sir," Anna managed to sob, her words distorted by her tears.
Richard knew that John was a fair and sensible man. He had grown to respect him for his sense of duty and responsibility to not only his family, but to the people of the community who were his friends, neighbors and customers. As John moved to rehang the strap, Richard gave Anna's punished rear one more glance. This was no little girl. Richard saw her as the adult she was—her woman parts had been occasionally visible for a few brief moments when her leg had kicked out. He continued to stand where he was. He believed that fate had brought him to the barn at this precise moment. Perhaps the Good Lord above had drawn him here to listen to John's worry that no man would be able to handle his willful daughter as well as give her the love she deserved. His heart had been hers for years even though she hadn't known that fact. He looked down at his hands; yes, they were firm, and very willing to take over guiding Anna down the proper path in life. God knew he needed a woman who was both soft and strong, and it looked as though that woman was presently lying across a hay bale; her arse strapped crimson.
John stepped through the door and motioned for Richard to follow. They walked to the trough. "We won't speak of this again," John said. "I don't punish my family to shame them—I punish to teach them. I expect I don't need to ask you for your silence."
"No, sir, you don't," Richard assured him. He pulled the dress and boots from his saddle bag, passing them to John with a quiet explanation of how he'd found them.
John looked towards the barn, "You do understand that I didn't strap her for simply swimming?"
"Yes, she put herself in a dangerous situation, and instead of facing up to her error in judgement, she attempted to deny that very fact," Richard said.
John nodded. "I just hope she comes to realize that as well. Lord knows she is a stubborn little thing."
"With all due respect, sir, her spirit and her fire are part of what makes her a magnificent woman, and it's how I know she has the strength to face anything." Richard smiled. "I want to assure you that not only have I loved Anna since she was a child, I'm more than willing to help her keep that spirit without breaking her. I guess what I'm saying is that I expect I'll be asking you for your blessing soon enough—that is, if she will have me."
John extended his hand. "I shall pray that she will, son, for I would welcome you to our family without reservation."
* * * * *
The memory did nothing except make Richard pray that Anna would understand exactly why her Pa had whipped her. He had no intention of taking her away from her family until he knew they were at peace with one another. Sounds of a giggle had him once again glancing across at them. He smiled, seeing that Anna was no longer standing above her seated family. Instead, she was sitting on her father's lap, his arms wrapped around her. Relief washed through him to see that her arms were wrapped around his neck and her cheek laid on his shoulder. She might have apologized the previous afternoon, might have taken the strapping, but they had all known that she felt it unjustified. Watching her accept her father's embrace and the kiss he dropped on the top of her bonnet told Richard that the prayer he had made was being answered. When she stood and gave her family a wave before turning towards him, he got up and opened his arms. His heart was full when she stepped into them without hesitation. Closing his arms around her small body, he bent.
"Okay?"
"Yes, perfectly okay. I understand now. Papa was many things, but ashamed was not one of them." She tilted her head up to meet his eyes. "I was wrong but didn't want to admit it. I've apologized and asked for forgiveness."
"And learned you already had it?" At her nod, he cupped her face between his palms and bent closer. "As I said, your Pa loves you."
As he lifted her chin and kissed her gently, he could practically hear the disapproval he was sure would be h
issed by any onlookers. He had no respect for those of the community who had so quickly wanted to believe that a girl they had known since birth had instantly become some sort of harlot. If they were unable to see her for the angel he knew her to be—well, they didn't need to know that he wanted both; the angel by his side and the harlot in his bed that made up the wonderful Anna—the one woman he would spend the rest of his life loving.
Chapter Three
After the church auction and the picnic, Richard accompanied Anna home in his wagon. As she tried not to wince with the bouncing of the vehicle along the rutted road, she wondered about her Pa's quickly given permission. It was apparent that her father trusted Mr. Andrews on a level that seemed to run deep. When Richard had complimented her yet again on the food in her basket, she'd finally admitted that she'd had help.
"Margaret is the better cook," she'd said, as she told him how the first batch of biscuits had been burned when she'd forgotten she'd even put them in the oven. "But I did manage not to burn the chicken—well, not the pieces in the basket." He'd laughed, and assured her that the meal had been delicious.
Anna felt her heart soar when he swung her down from the wagon. His hands remained around her waist for a bit longer than was proper, but she didn't mind at all. It was only when her Ma called for her that she blushed as he gave her a grin that had her heart racing. The women went into the house, and though they'd eaten not that long ago, they knew the men would be hungry soon. They put on aprons and went into the kitchen.
After helping John and his sons secure the horses, brushing them down and forking fresh hay into their stalls, Richard spent some time with John. He had a contented smile on his face as he went into the house and asked Anna if she'd join him for a stroll before supper. More than glad to get out of helping Margaret and her Ma with the supper preparations, she eagerly agreed. Walking towards him, she untied her apron and tossed it across the back of a chair.
She was a bit puzzled when he asked her whether aprons covered in flour were the newest fashion accessory. Shrugging, she was halfway to the front door when he suggested she retrieve her shawl.
"What is it about accessories?" she asked, her hands on her hips. "I thought you wanted to walk, not criticize my attire." Though she had to admit the statement came out a bit more sharply than she'd intended, she didn't expect the reaction she received when he remained silent, his eyes boring into hers. When his left eyebrow quirked, she felt a fluttering in her stomach.
"I don't consider it criticism when it's a statement given out of concern, Annabelle." His tone was calm, his posture relaxed—and yet she felt a sensation of the skin crawling across her backside. "Your Ma and Margaret are being considerate by not complaining that, not only did you not ask them if they minded, you simply assumed that their doing your part of the chores was a given. As well as not bothering to ask, you didn't bother to thank them, and have now given them the additional chore of cleaning up the flour you spread on the floor by tossing your apron about." He paused, long enough for her to look and see that there was indeed a layer of flour on the floor of the dining room, as well as a dusting across the chair. "As for the shawl, you know it will grow colder as soon as evening falls, and I don't want you to catch a chill."
Anna felt years slipping away as he spoke, chastising her in a way that wasn't harsh or ugly, but rather in a way that forced her to consider her own thoughtlessness. While a little voice in her head urged her to remind him that he was a guest in her home, and if he didn't like the way she behaved he was free to leave, another voice in her heart told her she'd be very sorry to see him go. Turning again, she carefully picked up her apron and moved to hang it on a hook beside the kitchen door. A broom and dust rag had the spilled flour quickly removed from the floor and chair.
"Ma, would you mind if I take a walk with Mr. Andrews?" she said, as soon as she'd cleaned away all the flour.
Martha gave her a smile, as well as permission. Though Margaret appeared far less thrilled, when Anna promised to do all the dishes after the meal, her sister told her to have a nice walk.
Thanking them, Anna ran up the stairs and grabbed her shawl from its hook. She was halfway back down when she drew to a stop. All her life, she'd been the stubborn one—the one asking questions and protesting against being told how to act. However, she'd allowed herself to be led, goaded and guided into doing things she hadn't previously given a second thought, and all by the man standing downstairs. It took hearing her younger brothers tromping inside and asking Richard if he wanted to watch them shoot bottles with their slingshots that had her feet flying down the remaining steps.
"I'm ready," she said, practically sliding into Richard, the soles of her ankle boots slipping on the freshly polished floor.
"Where are ya'll going?" Paul, her youngest brother asked, his slingshot already out of his back pocket. "Can I come? I was gonna let Mr. Andrews shoot."
Anna was about to snap at Paul when Richard reached out and tousled the younger boy's hair. "We'll do it another day, Paul, when it's lighter outside. After all, remember; I'm older than you, and it would hardly be a fair contest if I couldn't even see the bottles."
Paul grinned and nodded, as if understanding age had its limitations, and agreed that another day would be better. "You can even shoot from closer if you need to," the boy said graciously.
"Thank you, but just as you aren't a man to take advantage, I won't either," Richard replied, before turning to offer his arm to Anna. Seeing the thirteen-year-old puff up with pride at the compliment, she was reminded how easy it was to make people happy with just the careful arrangement of words. Remembering her earlier abrupt reply to Richard's suggestions had her feeling a tad bit guilty.
Lost in her thoughts, she wasn't aware she hadn't taken Richard's arm until he lifted her hand and tucked it into place himself. Blushing, she gave him a smile, her heart racing as the same feeling she'd felt that afternoon coursed through her body. The heat from his hand covering hers had her not making a sound of protest when he stopped at the front door and plucked her bonnet from its hook. Standing still, she allowed him to place it on her head and to tie the ribbons, but she still giggled when he looked her up and down. Then she lifted a foot, wiggling it a bit.
"Yes, I have my shoes on," she quipped. "Shall we?"
His chuckle joined hers as he opened the door and led her out of the house.
They walked past the barn and the corral. The day was just beginning to slide towards twilight. Anna felt unsure of what to say, and remained quiet until she realized where they were going. "Oh, I love the river. I go there all the time!"
"So I've heard," Richard said, in a tone that had her lifting her head to meet his eyes. They seemed to be dancing, as were his lips—as if he were attempting to keep from laughing. Her face heated instantly as she remembered the last time she'd walked home from the river, her chemise and drawers dripping wet.
"I was really mad that they took my clothes, and didn't even think about snakes until I heard you mention them," she admitted, her eyes leaving his to dart about the grasses that were parting with their passing.
"You should be," Richard cautioned, and then told her about shooting the cottonmouth. His free hand reached to cover her trembling one to give it a reassuring squeeze. "Don't let fear keep you from enjoying life, but be prepared as best you can for unpleasant possibilities."
She nodded, and they talked about how beautiful the land was and how much it had to offer despite its dangers. When they reached the river, he led her to a low hanging tree branch, and when he sat down on it, pulling her onto his lap, it felt both scandalous and wonderful.
"I'm not quite sure this is proper, Mr. Andrews," Anna whispered, though she did not want to move.
"Call me Richard, Anna. I don't have either the inclination or the time to worry about all that 'proper' nonsense right now. I need to speak to you about our future."
"Our future?"
He grinned and pulled her a bit tighter to his body. T
he fluttering in her stomach increased, and the heat in her face seemed to be spreading all throughout her body.
"Yes, our future. I've loved you for years—ever since you were a girl. I've been working on preparations to be prepared to offer for you when you turned eighteen. Anna, it would be my greatest honor if you'd consent to be my wife."
She was very rarely speechless, but this was one of those times. Though they'd known each other for years, today had been the first time she'd ever been alone with this man. He'd left for parts unknown three years prior, only returning in the last week. The only reason she had known he was even back was because her Pa had mentioned it at the dinner table one evening. And now, if she'd heard him correctly, he was proposing marriage!
"But we haven't courted, and don't really know each other," she said softly.
"I know all I need to know," Richard said, his lips close to her ear. Despite her bonnet, she could swear she felt his warm breath as he talked quietly. "I know that you are everything I've always dreamed of. You have grown up into a woman of exquisite beauty and yet have not become vain. Your eyes still flash with that spirit that keeps you seeking answers and adventure. You, Annabelle, are the only woman I wish to share in those adventures with."
She felt a rush of pleasure at his words and the opening of possibilities. He continued to speak of his preparations, explaining that he'd spent years working on other ranches, going from one to another to gain knowledge and experience, until he felt ready to begin taking the first steps towards his own dreams.
"But, why don't you build that dream right here? I mean, your ranch is on good land, and the cattle you've purchased and brought home seem to be doing well, from what you said."
Richard leaned against the tree trunk, adjusting her so that her cheek could rest against his chest. "That's just it. The ranch isn't mine. Roy inherited it, as he's the oldest son," he said. "I know he wouldn't mind my staying and working with him, but that's not what I want. I want to start my own place out west. I've got a hundred and fifty head of good, sturdy stock. I've arranged for three experienced hands to travel with me. My hope is that they'll want to stay once I find land, but even if they don't, they've promised to stay until I'm settled and have hired new men."