“Apparently, I’m willing to take a licking over my husband’s knee if what I’m doing will benefit my friends and the town in general,” Charlotte sighed, wringing out her mop. “Cole and I will never agree about this issue. He thinks it’s dangerous and foolish, but I think it’s a worthwhile cause. Even if we can’t get one man to stop spending his money over the bar, we’ll still be helping the wives and children of the community. Besides, I would never let my best friend down.”
“Oh, Charlotte,” Martha said, rushing to her side and taking the mop from her hands so she could pull her into her arms. “I’m sorry I got you into this. I know you love Cole and I don’t want to be the cause of any trouble between you, and the last thing I want to do is to be the reason you got a beating.”
“A beating?” Charlotte laughed. “Cole would never hurt me; in fact, he would lay down his life for me. I think you’re a little confused about the difference between husbandly discipline and genuine violence.”
“It’s all the same to me,” Martha sniffed, stepping back. “A man who strikes a woman is no man at all.”
“Do you feel that way about Hugh and Sam, or Duncan and Jonah? Even Dalton has spanked Suzanna and she’s been the better for it. Don’t you see? Personally,” she continued with a grin, “I can’t wait for the moment when Mr. Ferguson has his fill of Ellie’s high-falutin’ ways and gives her what she deserves. Ever since she got herself engaged to a wealthy man she’s been unbearable. Even Jane might be in for a surprise when Dr. Martin finds out she went behind his back to send for the children on her own. I imagine if he finds out they are coming west in the care of a total stranger, he’ll be right put out.”
“Jane,” Martha gasped in shock, her hand to her throat. “She’s nearing forty. Surely Jane’s too old for that kind of nonsense.”
“Well, I’d like to think so, but Cole says no woman is ever too old to be taken in hand or taught a lesson over her husband’s knee. Look at Tempest, as lovely as she is, she’s well past her youth, and Mr. Jordon doesn’t hesitate to take her to task.”
“That’s different,” Martha whispered. “I think Tempest actually likes that sort of thing. On more than one occasion I’ve heard her say the lovemaking afterward is worth it.”
“And she may be right,” Charlotte said with a laugh.
“How is that even possible?” Martha demanded suspiciously.
“I don’t know, but it is,” Charlotte sighed, a faraway look in her eyes. “There’s something very appealing about a man who stands by his convictions and means what he says. Afterward, when you’re all soft and crying out your apologies, well… they are so sweet and loving, so willing to forgive you,” she continued, her shoulders drooping as she took the mop back and used it to steady herself.
“I swear, sometimes I want to do something to get Cole’s goat, just so I can see what he’ll do.”
“Is that why you’re here?” Martha asked smugly.
“No, it’s not, Miss Smarty-Pants, but if it comes my way, I’ll take it. After all, I have earned it by deceiving my husband and I’m not one to shirk my responsibilities.”
“Charlotte, you and I will never see eye to eye on this,” Martha replied crisply as she returned to work. “If Ethan ever spanks me, I swear I’ll hit him over the head with a frying pan, even if I have to buy one myself. If I can’t find a pan, I’ll… I’ll… I’ll shoot him, that’s what I’ll do!”
“Thought you weren’t going to marry him?” Charlotte asked grinning.
“I’m not. I’m definitely not and I’m going to tell him so too, just as soon as I see him.”
“If you say so, but I think you’re making a big mistake. He’s a good man and he loves you so.”
“I don’t think he does, not any longer,” Martha said sadly.
“Are you daft? He’s been panting after you for months. Of course he loves you.”
“No, I really don’t think he does. He’s been different since the accident, distant and reserved. His feelings for me have changed.”
“I think all of the men were affected by it in one way or another,” Charlotte said thoughtfully. “Watching what Sam and Dalton went through, how they suffered, not knowing if Effie and Suzanna would even survive, and that was after they’d searched for them all night. It stands to reason the others would be a little more protective of their women, a little less lenient when we don’t follow the rules they feel are necessary to keep us safe.”
“It’s more than that,” Martha said, her head down. “He doesn’t really kiss me anymore, not like that one time.”
“Well hell’s bells, kiss him,” Charlotte cried. “I climb right up on Cole’s lap for a little kissing and cuddling whenever I want to.”
“But you’re married, I could never do that and besides, I don’t think he’d want me too. He thinks I’m too stubborn to be a good wife to him.”
“Wonder where he got that idea?” Charlotte said, looking at the floor to hide her grin.
“I know what you’re doing, Charlotte Hadley,” Martha hissed. “You think I’m wrong.”
“I certainly do.”
“Well there’s nothing I can do about it now, even if I am.”
“Of course there is. Go to Ethan and tell him you were wrong. Tell him you love him and want to be his wife and you won’t keep him dangling any longer.”
“He wants more than that from me,” Martha whispered.
“Then give it to him,” Charlotte said softly, going to Martha and taking her hand. “Tell him you’ve thought it over and he’s right. Tell him you’re ready to give him the respect, obedience and love he deserves as your husband. And you can also mention in passing that if he ever were to ‘beat’ you, Marshal Hadley’s wife will have no problem shooting him,” she finished with a grin.
“I couldn’t, Charlotte. I simply couldn’t,” Martha said, her voice filled with panic. “It goes against everything I believe. Besides, I could never let a man do that to me. I’ve never been spanked in my life.”
“So, you can let your husband crawl between your thighs to take his pleasure, but you can’t let him see your precious naked backside and smack it a few times when you’ve disobeyed him?” she asked with a snort.
“No, I couldn’t,” Martha admitted, her face red.
“You know what they say, ‘Pride goeth before a fall,’ and you, my dear friend, are headed for a cliff. You love that man, you know you do and he loves you, but you’re going to throw it all away for the sake of your pride. I swear, Martha, you probably need that spanking more than any woman I’ve ever met. Of all the lame excuses…”
“Oh please, Charlotte, let it go. I already feel bad enough.”
“All right, Martha. I love you and I’ll stand by you no matter what, but I still think maybe you should go see Doctor Martin and have your head examined.”
“Charlotte.”
“I’ll shut up,” she sighed. “I won’t like it, but I will.”
“Thank you. Can you give me a hand moving this display case?”
Lucas Armstrong stepped away from the wall and set the glass down on his desk as he took a seat in his big chair. That was a mighty interesting conversation he’d overheard, well actually he’d eavesdropped on, but that was neither here nor there. He didn’t feel a lick of remorse. If the little women were going to be his neighbors, he needed to know what was really going on over there.
Oh, he understood the pretty dark-haired one who was a bit older was going to open a dress shop. In his opinion it was a ridiculous venture. The women of Seattle, the ones who could afford to spend big, wouldn’t be caught dead within a hundred yards of The Bucket of Blood. The little shop was doomed to fail, unless her well-to-do friends were prepared to support her, and really, how many dresses could one woman wear?
At first, he sort of laughed it off. After all, the business would fail within months if not weeks, so there was no point in getting all worked up about it. Later he had second thoughts and began listening at the
adjoining wall. It was much worse than he’d anticipated.
The dress shop would be more or less a front for some rather dangerous activities.
Temperance! Even the word gave him chills. Now they were messing with his livelihood and he’d sunk every cent he could get his hands on into his place. Yes, it was doing well. Yes, he was turning a nice profit even though he refused to sell rot-gut liquor, but if Seattle went dry, he’d sink like a stone.
The odds of that happening were slim. In a town full of loggers, seamen and miners, the need for women and liquor would always be there. Still, a bunch of marching teetotalers could hurt his business, not to mention the fights, possibly riots that could quickly take place, men against women. What was the world coming to when a man couldn’t walk into a saloon and buy a drink or two without causing a ruckus?
Shaking his head, he tapped a pencil against his desk in frustration. He was worried, not only about his saloon but about the little women. The married ones, not so much, he knew the Jordon men well. There was only so much they would put up with before they put the hammer down. He’d heard tell that Hugh and his wife were expecting a baby. Surely he would step in and straighten things out and the others would follow suit.
Jonah Blackthorn was also a good man and Lucas had no doubt he could rein in the pretty red-head he’d married.
Marshal Cole would stand with him, as much as the law allowed and there was no point in going to him yet. No laws had been broken and he’d suffered no harassment.
It was the other little woman he was worried about. Clara Webster was her name and she was fired-up! He’d listened to enough conversations to learn she was the one with all the grand ideas. Apparently she’d been involved with the Temperance Movement back in Washington and knew what she was about, knew how to get other women riled up about drink.
She was a pretty little thing with brown hair that looked mousey until the sun caught it, setting it to flame with golden streaks. She seemed shy one moment and filled with righteous indignation the next. One day when he’d questioned her on the boardwalk; her dark eyes flashed before she stuck her little nose in the air and marched away in high dungeon. He’d laughed that day, but suddenly it didn’t seem so funny. Hell, she could get trampled in a heartbeat if what he’d read about some of those temperance marches was true.
Miss Webster had a man, of sorts, Herman Smyth, but they weren’t officially engaged. Herman was a thoughtful and slow moving man who came into the saloon every Friday night like clockwork, drank two shots of whiskey and went on home. Last Friday, Lucas gave him a third shot, on the house of course, and put a little bug in his ear regarding Miss Webster’s questionable activities. Perhaps it would move the man to stake his claim and removed the main troublemaker from the equation, although it was hard to picture them together. Not to mention that firecracker might be more than a match for the quiet, placid Herman Smyth. Hell, she could have that man marching right alongside her. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut, he thought, running a hand through his hair.
Now he had more information regarding the dressmaker. In fact, as much as it galled him to admit it, the conversation he’d overheard had him blushing. His education was growing by leaps and bounds as far as what made women tick. He’d slapped a naughty bottom or two in his lifetime, after all he did have younger sisters and some nieces back in Texas, but he’d never pulled a full grown woman over his lap for a dose of common sense applied where it would do the most good and the least damage. Not that he hadn’t been tempted. In fact, last week when little Miss Troublemaker turned her nose in the air, he laughed, but there was a part of him that wanted to swat that pretty backside and see what she thought about that.
Rising, he headed out to the barroom filled with uncertainty. Ethan Jorgensen was a friend of his and he ate dinner several nights a week at his mother’s restaurant. While he didn’t consider Ethan a regular in the saloon, he had been known to bend an elbow now and then and it occurred to him that lately Ethan had been in more often than usual. Lucas would bet his last dollar it had something to do with the dressmaker, Martha, and he had a good mind to repeat a bit of what he’d overheard this morning. If Ethan really was in love with the girl, and Lucas had strong reason to believe that was so, maybe he should bite the bullet and get on with it. Marry the girl, if she’d have him and keep her out of trouble.
Of course, that might be more difficult than it seemed. From what he’d heard this morning, it seemed the woman in question didn’t feel particularly inclined to obey any man, even a husband. Perhaps Ethan should have done more than threaten her with a spanking. It seemed to be a huge issue for her, but then she’d never had the pleasure of getting her butt slapped. Lucas, who’d had more whippin’s from his Daddy than he cared to recall, couldn’t see what the trouble was.
Many men spanked their errant wives and had for thousands of years. He’d be the first man to step forward if he saw a woman, any woman being slapped around and he knew Ethan felt the same, but a spanking, well, that just went with the territory. He knew for a fact his own mama would be taken over his daddy’s knee so fast her head would spin if she got a might too sassy or argumentative and they had a very happy marriage.
Scratching his head, he checked to make sure the spittoons had been cleaned and walked outside for a breath of fresh air.
“Henry,” he called over his shoulder as he looked down at the boardwalk in front of his batwing doors. “Best bring some water and a broom and clean up this mess.”
Hearing the jingle of a carriage, he watched Miss Webster pull up to the storefront and set the brake. Hurrying to her side, he reached to help her down, but she brushed his hands away.
“I can manage just fine on my own, Mr. Armstrong,” she insisted as she climbed down and straightened the skirts of her pretty peach dress. “No need to trouble yourself about me.”
Lucas stepped back and made a slight bow. He watched her round the back of the carriage where she paused, noticed the mess in front of the saloon and bent to look a little closer.
“You really should clean that up. It’s disgusting, whatever it is,” she said, holding her dress back from the stain.
Suddenly she straightened with a snap. Her face paled and she stared up into his eyes.
“Is that what I think it is?” she asked weakly.
At that moment Henry came through the door and threw a pail of water on the wood. It ran red, and he used a broom to scrub the stain.
“Just a few teeth left over from a minor disagreement a few of the boys had last night,” Lucas remarked smoothly. “There’s a reason I named this place The Bucket of Blood, Miss Webster.”
He couldn’t suppress his grin when her hand fluttered to her forehead. Perhaps now she would understand the danger of… Oh hell no, he thought as he reached for her.
Miss Clara Webster fainted dead away into his arms.
Chapter 5
Dalton sat on the bed, his back against the massive headboard, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Absently he noted his boots needed to be polished, took out his gold pocket watch and checked the time. She’d been at it for nearly three hours, pacing the room and sniffling into her handkerchief. Enough was enough.
With a sigh he threw his legs over the side of the bed and rose, striding to his wife.
“Suzanna, you have to stop this crying,” he scolded gently as he pulled her small frame against him and cupped her blonde head with his hand. “It’s not doing a bit of good, honey.”
“I know,” she wailed, breaking into a fresh round of sobs.
“Oh, Lord,” he said, looking up at the intricately carved ceiling. This was their damn honeymoon. They were supposed to be having fun. It suddenly occurred to him that distracting her might be the best idea and he reached down to cup her bottom, pulling her snuggly against him.
“Dalton,” she squealed, wiggling in his hold. “How can you even think of that at a time like this?”
“Honey, if I’m not sleepin
g, or doing it, you can bet your bottom dollar I’m thinking about doing it,” he said with a non-repentant grin. “Come on; let’s go find something to do.”
“We’ve already done everything there is to do in San Francisco,” she insisted, looking up at him with tear-filled accusing eyes. “Besides, my grandmother is dead,” she hissed, slapping at his chest.
“Suzanna, you didn’t even like her,” Dalton reminded her gently.
“That’s true, she was a bitter and demanding woman, but still, she was blood. And besides, now I have to worry about my mother,” she said with a sniff.
“Why worry about her? She probably died in the fire.”
“But they never found her body,” Suzanna pointed out, pulling out of her new husband’s arms and beginning to pace again. Her blonde curls quivered with every step as she held her handkerchief to her nose.
“I don’t mean to be vulgar, but it is possible she was so badly burned there wasn’t much left of her,” he offered softly.
“No, she’s alive. I know she’s alive,” Suzanna insisted, turning to stare at him with frightened eyes. “I’d feel it if she were dead,” she continued dramatically, putting a hand on her heart over the lacy pink negligée she wore.
“You can’t be sure, darlin’, and in any case, I have detectives searching for her. There’s not much else we can do.”
“She’ll find me, Dalton. I know she will,” Suzanna whispered in near panic.
“If she does, we’ll deal with it,” he replied firmly, his eyes hooded.
“You don’t understand,” Suzanna cried, rushing to him and grasping his shirt in her small fists. “She appears sane, but in reality she’s as crazy as a rabid bat. She knows where I am; at least she has an idea. I know she’ll come for me, oh not because she loves me, but because she’ll want money.”
“So I’ll pay her off and send her on her way,” he stated, reaching for her bottom a second time and patting it gently. “You mustn’t worry so, sweetheart. It’s not good for you and it hasn’t been that long since the accident.”
Martha (The Marriage Market Book 5) Page 4