Well, then.
He tried to tell himself if they were garnering attention at all, it was because he’d never danced at these events before. He’d always attended for the purpose of making sure the punch bowl with the liquor in it didn’t tempt some of the more reckless cowboys to start a fight.
“You dance very well. It appears Miss Nellie’s lessons were helpful.” He pulled Becky closer as they moved into a turn to avoid another couple. Speaking of reckless, he didn’t release her when they moved on. It felt good holding her this close, and dammit, he would enjoy this one dance that he would never repeat again.
After all, she was here tonight to attract a husband. Dancing with him wasn’t going to help her there. The thought depressed him. Most likely with Miss Nellie’s dedication and Becky’s sweet personality and pretty looks, she would be hitched before too long.
Tied to some young cowboy with a ranch and money to provide her with a good life. Children and all the rest of it. She would share her life—and bed—with this unknown cowboy that Mace already hated.
“Truthfully, I was afraid I would make a fool of myself tonight.” Becky brought his attention back to his previous comment.
“Why?”
“Because even though I practiced with Miss Nellie, the thought of remembering all those steps with a stranger terrified me.” She smiled up at him, and his heart damn near exploded. “But dancing with you made all my scary thoughts vanish.”
“You don’t deserve scary thoughts, Miss Becky.”
She tsked. “I will no longer allow you to call me Miss Becky. And I will call you Mace. We are coworkers and friends.” She stuck out her cute little chin, daring him to object. Unable to help himself, he threw his head back and laughed.
“I don’t think that is funny. Mace.” She said his name as if she was trying it out on her tongue. Hearing his given name from her sweet lips did funny things to his insides. Things he was better off forgetting.
Once he stopped laughing, she said, “We are friends, aren’t we?”
Oh, Lord, how he wanted to be more than friends. “Yes—Becky—we are friends. And coworkers.”
“See? Saying my name isn’t so horrible, is it?”
He shook his head. “No. Not horrible at all.”
It turned out his dance with Becky was his only opportunity to speak with her for the rest of the evening. She—along with Miss Miranda and Miss Nellie—were swamped with dance partners. Plus, he needed to break up a potential fight and then escorted two other brawlers from the dance hall to the jail.
The next few days, Becky and Mace worked together at the jailhouse in harmony. He had to admit she was getting under his skin more each day. Dropping the “Miss” and “Sheriff” seemed so natural, it scared him.
Since the dance, and the lack of attention he and Becky had received when they’d danced together, he had begun to think that maybe, just maybe, the town would be ready to accept them as a couple. New Mexico Territory, like a lot of places in the West, was far more tolerant of marriage between Mexicans and white people. Perhaps there was hope, after all. But with his innate skepticism, he put that on the back burner.
“Miss Nellie is pushing me to marry.” Becky set the pile of telegrams she’d just picked up on the desk. “She’s a little concerned that she isn’t doing her duty to Marshal Jones. He did say if we didn’t marry up, we were to be sent back to jail.”
Mace rested his hands on his hips, right above his gun belt. “Yes, the marshal told me the same thing.” He was still tying himself in knots over the edict from the marshal about the ladies marrying. In his opinion, they needed some time to get to know the men in town, not just jump into marriage with anyone.
“Miss Nellie said a lot of women are traveling out west to marry strangers as mail-order brides. The war left a lot of unmarried and widowed young women with no one to wed.” She studied him, almost as if she hoped he would ask her the question he’d been wrestling with for days. Hell, not only for days but since he’d met her.
This was not an easy matter with a quick yes or no answer. Despite the eager look on her face, he turned and walked to the door, grabbing his hat from the hook. “Once you finish up those telegrams, you can leave for the day.”
He strolled the boardwalk, tipping his hat to the ladies, nodding at the men. It was good for him to have a visible presence in town; it made the citizens happy and feeling safe. He walked passed the saloon, where things were quiet, as they generally were late mornings. As he swung open the batwing doors, his attention was taken by two men, from the looks of it, already drunk, sitting at a small, round table near the front window.
A bleary-eyed, whiskered man lifted his glass of whiskey. “I don’t care if that n— is sheriff. He can keep the town cleaned up, but he has no right to dance with our women. Let him find a Mexican.”
* * *
Miss Nellie sat alongside Becky as she read the newspaper in Miss Priscilla’s parlor. “How are things going with your work at the jail?”
“Fine. I think I’m helping Mace—I mean, Sheriff Jensen—quite a bit.”
Miss Nellie smoothed out her skirts and folded her hands in her lap. “Becky, we need to talk. I have had three offers for your hand this past week, and you’ve turned them all down.”
“I know.” She slumped against the back of the sofa. “They were all nice men, don’t get me wrong, but I just didn’t want to marry any of them.”
Miss Nellie leaned forward. “Becky, you know I’m under orders from Marshal Jones to get you and Miranda married. We’ve been here a few weeks, and you both have met some very nice, respectable men. I don’t know what is holding Miranda back, but I have a feeling I know what the problem is with you.”
Becky drew small circles with her fingertip on the blue brocade sofa. “What problem is that?” She glanced up at her, knowing her face flushed bright red.
“I think you have already decided on who you want to marry.”
“Maybe.”
Miss Nellie took her hand. “It’s very obvious to anyone who has spent time with you and Sheriff Jensen together that you both want the same thing. He wants you, and you want him.”
Becky shook her head. “No. I thought so myself, but when I brought up marriage, first he said he didn’t want to marry at all, and then when I pushed him, he said it was me he didn’t want to marry.”
“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, h
e’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.”
9
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.
Prisoners of Love Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 29