Prisoners of Love: Becky

by Callie Hutton

  “Nonsense.” Miss Nellie stood and shook her skirts. “The good sheriff is lying. But I will tell you this. If he doesn’t consent to marrying you, I am going to have to insist you choose one of the men who has shown an interest in you.”

  Miss Nellie fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a telegram. “Marshal Jones is asking about you and Miranda. He says he’s thinking about leaving Dodge City and moving to Santa Fe.” She placed her hand on Becky’s shoulder. “He will expect to see both you and Miranda settled with husbands.”

  Becky looked at her lap and nodded. “I understand.”

  When Becky didn’t say anything else, Miss Nellie said, “It sure smells like Miss Priscilla has supper almost ready. Why don’t we go on in and eat, and see if we can get this settled tomorrow?”

  With a sigh, Becky rose and linked her arm with Miss Nellie’s. “Yes, I am hungry. Maybe we can forget all about husbands and marriage for the rest of the evening.”

  Although she hoped to do just that, Becky worried all through supper. Afterward, when she retired to their room and tried to continue with the embroidery Miss Priscilla had started for her, her mind was in a whirl about husbands and marriage. In particular, she stewed about Sheriff Jensen as a husband. Things were becoming difficult. She had to pick a husband, and soon.

  And the only one she wanted was the man who didn’t want her.

  ***

  Mace shoved the last of the reports he still had to finish into the middle drawer and rested his feet on the top of his desk, one booted foot crossed over the other. Since he’d overheard that remark in the saloon about him and Becky at the dance, he’d thought of nothing else.

  Despite being a former slave, Mace had always thought of himself as an intelligent man. He managed to learn to read and write and do numbers, which got him the sheriff’s job. Anyone could strap on a gun belt and go after outlaws, but to be a county sheriff, he had to be able to read posters and telegrams and write reports. He had to be able to do arithmetic to balance out expenses and submit a yearly budget and accounting to the town, who paid his salary. He’d always been proud of how he’d risen from a slave to a respected sheriff.

  He snorted. Yes, a respected sheriff, as long as he kept his hands off their women. He rubbed his eyes with his index finger and thumb and thought about Becky. If there ever was one woman on the face of this earth who was perfect for him, it was her.

  She was kind, thoughtful, hardworking, compassionate, and caring. Becky was the sort of woman who took life’s problems with the least amount of drama and fuss. A perfect sheriff’s wife, and a perfect mother for any children she would have.

  Just not perfect for this sheriff.

  He swung his feet off the desk and stood as the front door opened, and Miss Nellie entered. She gave him a thoughtful look and then closed the door and marched to his desk like a woman on a mission. She raised her chin in the air, her shoulders stiffen. “Sheriff, I have come to ask you a very important question.”

  With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he waved her to the chair in front of his desk. “Won’t you have a seat?”

  She sat at the edge of the chair, her hands in her lap. He settled in his desk chair and linked his fingers over his stomach. “What can I help you with?”

  “As you know, I have been sent here to find husbands for Miss Becky and Miss Miranda.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  “It has been a couple of weeks since we arrived, and I am no closer to marrying those two gals off than I was when we pulled our wagon up to the front of this jail.”

  When he just sat and watched her, knowing full well what she was about to say, she stood and leaned over his desk. “I know you have feelings for Becky, and she has feelings for you, as well. I would like to know why it is you are going to allow her to marry someone else.”

  Chapter Nine

  Two days after her talk with Miss Nellie about finding a husband, Becky entered Miss Priscilla’s parlor in answer to Miss Nellie’s summons. Her chaperone sat alongside Mr. Joseph Stillwater, a gentleman who had called on her a few times.

  Becky closed her eyes and inwardly groaned. She knew precisely why Mr. Stillwater was here. He’d told her the last time he’d taken her on a ride through the park that he thought she would make him a wonderful wife.

  She wished with all her heart she could think of a reason why they would not suit. He was not hard to look at, had a thriving gun shop, a small house right in town, and was only about eight years older than her. He did tend to run a bit on the plump side, but other than that, there was no reason most any woman in her right mind would turn him down.

  Except her. But then, since she continued to pine over Mace, even when he’d told her he had no intention of marrying her, perhaps she was out of her mind.

  Her would-be suitor stood when she moved into the room. “Good evening, Miss Davidson.”

  Her attempted smile probably didn’t make it, but she tried anyway. “And good evening to you, Mr. Stillwater.”

  As soon as he and Becky had taken their seats, Miss Nellie rose. “I will leave you two to visit.” Before Becky could object, Miss Nellie was out of the room, and the door firmly closed.

  Mr. Stillwater didn’t waste any time. He reached for her hand. “Miss Davidson, I believe you know by now that I hold you in high regard.”

  Oh, Lord, is there a way to keep him from continuing?

  She licked her suddenly dry lips and nodded.

  To her horror, the man slid to one knee and reached for her other hand. His palm was sweaty, and God help her, she wanted nothing more than to flee.

  “Miss Davidson, I would like nothing more than to have you for my wife. I believe we would get along together just fine, and I can certainly provide you with a decent home.”

  His hopeful look reminded her of a puppy looking for a treat. Everything inside her screamed to accept the man’s offer, to be done with it. The marshal would be checking on her soon, and if she was not married, he could very well send her back to jail.

  She opened her mouth to agree, but instead surprised herself when she said, “May I have time to think about it?”

  “Oh.” His face fell, and the hand that had been reaching for his inside pocket dropped to his side. He must have had a ring in there, all ready to slip on her finger. “How long?”

  She fidgeted, not sure what was an appropriate time. Somehow, she thought a year would be too long. “Um, two weeks?”

  He sat back on his heels and regarded her. “Two weeks?” The way he said it made her believe that to him, it was almost a year.

  “Too long?”

  “Yes.” He climbed to his feet. “How about if I return tomorrow?”

  She gulped. “Tomorrow?”

  “Yes, tomorrow will be just fine, Mr. Stillwater.” Miss Nellie’s voice had them both turning toward the door, where she stood with her arms crossed over her chest.

  “Thank you, Miss Nellie.” He bowed slightly toward Becky. “Until tomorrow, Miss Davidson.” With a nod at Miss Nellie, he left the room.

  Becky sighed. “I won’t know by tomorrow.”

  “Yes, you will.” Miss Nellie sat next to her. “Honey, you’re going to have to give up on the sheriff.” She tucked a strand of hair behind Becky’s ear. “He’s a stubborn, but very foolish man.”

  “I know. But I keep hoping.”

  “Mr. Stillwater will do very well for you. He’s a pleasant man, and even though you might not love him right now, love grows. Once you share a bed and a breakfast table with a man, feelings change.”

  “I don’t mean to be rude, Miss Nellie, but what about you? I mean”—she felt the heat rise to her face—“you have shared a bed with men. Did your feelings grow?”

  Tears stood in the former madam’s eyes as she stood and shook out her skirts. “Ah, yes. Many men and many beds. But never breakfast.” Recovering herself, she winked. “That’s the key. Never breakfast.”

  Long after Miss Nellie left, Becky sat there for
a while staring out at the sunny day. She just had to give Mace one more chance. If he still refused her, she would accept Mr. Stillwater. He was no worse, and probably a heap better, than any other man she’d spent time with since they’d arrived in Santa Fe. He had all his teeth, and he apparently bathed on a regular basis, based on the lack of odor emanating from the man.

  After checking her hair in the mirror by the door, she took the walk to the jailhouse. She could always use the excuse of seeing if he needed any filing or paperwork done. She nodded at several people as she walked along, thinking that Santa Fe was a pleasant town and she could be happy here. But could she be happy in Santa Fe married to Mr. Stillwater while Mace Jensen was sheriff and she would see him on a regular basis?

  A soft but very persistent little voice inside her whispered that even without bed and breakfast, she had fallen in love with the sheriff. Was it even fair to marry one man when she knew her heart belonged to another?

  Again, Mace was sitting behind his desk, bent over a pile of papers, writing furiously. She never knew how much work was involved in sheriffing. “Good afternoon, Mace.”

  “Becky!” His smile lit up his face and encouraged her. He cared for her, she could tell. Maybe he was ready to admit they belonged together. “Care to do some paperwork for me? It’s time for me to make another round.”

  “Yes, of course.” She untied her bonnet and placed it on the desk. “Before I start, there is something I need to tell you.”

  He stood and came around his desk. He began to reach out to touch her but apparently changed his mind, and his arm dropped to his side. “What?”

  She took a deep breath, her heart thumping in her chest. “I am to be married.”

  For a few moments, he only stared at her. Then he offered her a tight smile. “Congratulations. At least I won’t have to arrest you for ignoring Marshal Jones’s orders.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes at his attempt at humor. “Is that all you have to say?”

  ***

  Is that all you have to say?

  What did she expect him to say? She had been sent here for one reason: to find a husband. That man could not be him. No matter how much he wanted her, no matter how many times he tried to tell himself it would work out, the words he’d overheard at the saloon came back to him, stopping him cold.

  “Who is the fortunate man?” Did he really want to know? Well, it didn’t matter since it would never be him.

  “Mr. Stillwater.”

  “Joseph?” His raspy voice cut through the silence.

  She nodded, the tears sitting on the edge of her eyelids slipping down her cheek. She looked like anything but the happy bride. “Um.” She swallowed and cleared her throat. “He is a pleasant man.”

  He nodded and took in a deep breath. “Well, I need to be about my rounds, if you don’t mind finishing up the filing.” He strode across the room and grabbed his hat from the hook.

  “Wait.” She hurried up behind him and clutched his arm, stopping him. “I don’t want to marry Mr. Stillwater.”

  Mace felt as though his brain had shut down. He couldn’t think of one thing to say except, Don’t marry him. Marry me. “He will be a good husband, Becky. He will provide well for you and give you children.”

  “But I don’t love him.”

  “Love grows.”

  “I love you.”

  He closed his eyes and groaned. Before he could think of a single thing to say that didn’t sound stupid, she wrapped her hand around his neck and tugged his head down for a kiss. He held himself stiff until her innocence and eagerness cracked his determination, and he pulled her close, loving the feel of her warm body and soft curves against his hardness.

  Everything inside him exploded. His tongue nudged her lips until she opened, and he delved in, searching, touching, sucking, enjoying the taste of her. She crumpled against him, whimpering as his hand moved up to cup her breast. He flicked her nipple with his fingertip then rubbed his thumb over the peak.

  She was heaven in his arms—the scent of her, the sweet sounds coming from her, the thump of her heartbeat pushed him further and further to a point where he should never go.

  He pulled away, gazing at her face, her eyes closed, her lips swollen from his kiss.

  What the hell am I doing?

  “Please don’t make me marry Mr. Stillwater.”

  He was almost brought to his knees with her pleading voice and trembling lips. But he had to be strong for them both. Despite years of being on her own, she somehow had remained innocent of the ways of the world. If he gave into her, she would eventually be sorry, grow to hate him, and that would crush him.

  “I’m sorry, little one, but marrying Mr. Stillwater is for the best.” Before she could try to change his mind, he backed up, turned, and left the jailhouse, slamming the door behind him, ending the temptation.

  His rounds took only about an hour, but, reluctant to return to the jailhouse and run into Becky, he walked to the café for an early supper. Pastor Nelson Devon sat at one of the tables, finishing up his meal. When he saw Mace, he waved him over. “Join me.”

  Mace always liked the preacher, even though he only attended services on a hit-or-miss basis. Devon was what Mace would call a straight shooter. No hogwash. He always let you know exactly what’s what. Mace drew up a chair and joined him.

  “When are you coming back to church?” The reverend took a sip of his coffee.

  “Oh, one of these days. You know, sometimes things happen on a Sunday morning that need my attention.”

  Raised brows were the reverend’s only response, causing Mace to shift uneasily in his seat, feeling like his mama was scolding him.

  “I hear the two ladies are still looking for husbands.”

  Well, so much for having an early supper so as to put Becky far from his mind. “Yes, sir.”

  “Quite pretty lasses. They’ve been to church a few times.”

  Mace nodded, wishing the waitress would interrupt the conversation. He looked around and waved at Aggie. “Special, please, Aggie. And coffee.”

  She nodded and pushed open the door to the kitchen.

  “I also hear you’re sweet on one of them. Miss Becky Davidson.” The preacher wasn’t about to give up.

  Hell and damn. Nothing happened in this town that didn’t end up being gossip. Mace shrugged. “No matter. You of all people should know she’s not the gal for me. Or should I say, I’m not the man for her.”

  “Why is that?” The man tried to look like he really didn’t know, but Mace wasn’t fooled for one minute by that innocent look. It had to be something they learned in ministry school.

  His annoyance growing, Mace said, “Well, since you have decided to play dumb, I’ll lay it out for you. In case it hasn’t caught your eye, Reverend, I’m a Negro man, and she’s a white woman.”

  The preacher leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, giving Mace his best “I’m about to give a sermon” look. “I’m not stupid, Sheriff, nor do I pretend to live in a make-believe world. I know marriage between the races is not well thought of by some. However, I don’t believe Santa Fe is a place so intolerant that the citizenry would turn on its sheriff because he married a fine woman he loved and who loved him, regardless of their skin colors.”

  Mace snorted. “And Miss Becky seems to think it makes no difference to her, either, but let a few nasty remarks follow her around, and slights and insults to her as she shops, and she’ll grow to hate me and what I’ve done to her.” He nodded to Aggie as she placed his food in front of him.

  Instead of attending to her business, she continued to stand there, glaring, apparently ready to put in her own two cents’ worth. “Miss Becky is an intelligent woman who knows her mind and is not one to kowtow to a bunch of meddling nobodies.”

  Mace stared up at her then looked at the preacher. “Neither of you know what you’re talking about.”

  Aggie shrugged. “Ain’t no skin off my teeth. Just looking out for you and Miss Becky. Go
ahead and play the fool. It’s your loss.” She shook her head in disgust and picked up dirty dishes from the table next to them and sashayed to the kitchen.

  ***

  “Yes, Mr. Stillwater, I will accept your proposal.” Becky had practiced those words in front of the mirror for over ten minutes, and still, she wasn’t ready to say them to him. Miss Nellie had just told her Mr. Stillwater awaited her in the parlor.

  This was it. Miss Nellie was growing impatient with her, and after seeing Mace yesterday, she was finally ready to admit he did not want her and never would. She expected any day for the marshal to ride into town and haul her back to the Dodge City jail.

  Mr. Stillwater would most likely be an acceptable husband. From what she’d heard, he was hardworking, didn’t gamble or drink a whole lot, and was on a first-name basis with the preacher.

  But she didn’t love him.

  Both Miss Nellie and Mace had said love would grow. That, of course, was quite possible, but would her heart ever let go of Mace so she could at least try to love her husband? She sighed, taking one more glance at herself in the mirror. No knight in shining armor was going to arrive to sweep her away from her obligations. She had to marry. Mr. Stillwater had proposed. Mace had turned her down.

  It was time to face her future, and make the best of it.

  “You look lovely, Becky.” Miss Nellie stared up at her as Becky descended the staircase. Three days ago she’d accept Mr. Stillwater’s proposal, and this morning was her wedding day. When she had agreed to marry Mr. Stillwater—she still thought of him that way, although he asked that she call him Joseph—he had given her a perfunctory kiss that did not curl her toes the way Mace’s kiss had done.

  When he held her close, she didn’t feel the warm and bulging muscles under his jacket as she had when Mace had done the same thing. Mr. Stillwater felt different, smelled different, and sounded different.

  Oh, God. What had she done?

  She reached the bottom of the steps and, swallowing in an effort to keep her breakfast where it belonged, offered Miss Nellie a slight smile. “Thank you.”