Barefoot Bride for Three (11 page)

“My wife will never shame me, Mrs. Emslow,” growled Trace. “She’s already learned where her place is. At my side.” He dropped his voice. “And anywhere else I want her.”

Mrs. Emslow gasped, holding her white-gloved hand over her massive bosom. She gifted them with her best glower and harrumph. She lifted her skirts and swept them aside, looking down to make sure Beth’s new dress didn’t touch her own, and sailed past. Beth’s good spirits dimmed at the obvious snub.

“Always thought that woman’s pursed lips looked like the back end of a chicken,” said Trace calmly.

Beth burst into laughter. He rewarded her with a smile and wink. They reached the mercantile without further problems. Trace nodded to the old men gossiping in the morning sun. An equally ancient hound dog opened one lazy eye as Trace escorted her inside Tanner’s Mercantile.

Beth inhaled the mix of tobacco, leather boots and belts, fresh-ground coffee, sour pickles, spices, and everything else that filled the store. The ceiling was high enough that her head didn’t brush against the hams, slabs of bacon and cooking pots hanging from the rafters. She automatically veered to the right where bolts of material filled wooden shelves right to the ceiling. The royal blue velvet was still there, waiting for some lucky soul.

Patsy Tanner hadn’t objected to Beth sighing over the fabric during her first few days in town. Though she wasn’t interested in fashion, Beth had used her needle on most of her sister’s dresses. When her father sold the farm and hauled her home, they couldn’t afford seamstresses. She’d taken apart her sisters’ dresses and put them back together, mixing and matching to make new fashions. As most everyone else was in the same tight straights, no one mentioned it. Before she was put in jail, she’d sketched out a few gowns on Patsy’s carefully ironed paper, fashions that might never reach town.

But this time she kept her eyes down, hands tightly clasped so she wouldn’t touch anything. While Trace had bought her everything but her newly shined boots, it didn’t mean he had any cash. Spring was an expensive time, with seed and equipment needing to be bought. She understood pride and would never ask for something her husband would feel obligated to provide. Wearing new clothes was enough of a wonderful thing.

“Morning, Mrs. Tanner,” said Trace. “This here’s my wife, Mrs. Elliott.”

“Morning yourself, Trace. It’s about time you got yourself a smart woman. Elizabeth and I are already friends.”

“Good.” He handed the storekeeper his order list. “John out back?”

At her nod, Trace kissed Beth’s cheek, murmured something to Patsy, and quietly ambled through the store and out the back door.

“We came here just after the Elliotts and MacDougals,” said Patsy. “Those two families had twelve boys and two girls between them. We watched them grow. Trace was a rapscallion but he grew into a good boy. I hope you realize you’re a lucky woman.”

Beth nodded. She held back a smile at the spry older woman calling her huge husband a boy.

“As the only woman on the Rocking E, you’d better sew a few nightshirts first thing.” Patsy winked and began pulling down bolts of fabric, some far too soft and feminine for men to wear. Beth blushed at the reminder of his brothers. She’d be mortified if they heard her cries, but she didn’t want to give up the glorious pleasure she’d just discovered.

When Trace returned through the back room, Beth and Patsy sipped cups of tea, bolts of fabric and notions piled all over. He kissed her cheek, picked up her cup, and swallowed the last of her tea before looking at the counter.

“Missed something, sweetheart.”

She flushed, thinking he was making a sarcastic comment at the amount waiting for his approval. “We put all that out so you could choose what you want. Mrs. Tanner said you and your brothers need nightshirts.”

“Nope. Just work shirts.”

He pointed to a bolt of heavy blue cotton, another of ticking. He piled three flower-sprigged bolts on top, one red, one blue, and one spring green. Then he pointed high on the wall.

Beth gulped. He couldn’t be pointing to the royal blue velvet she’d spent hours thinking about while in jail. Just how she’d drape it, what the bodice would be like. While shivering in the dark, she decided which lace trim to use, gold or silver. Since it was all in her head, she’d gone with the expensive gold, to match her hair.

“That’s what I thought,” said Patsy with a nod. “Suits her coloring perfectly. There’s some gold lace that would edge it beautifully.”

“Oh, Trace, no,” she said, tearing up at the thought of her small dream coming true. His name slipped out so easily she didn’t notice she’d used it.

“Oh, Beth, yes,” he growled in reply.

“But it’s so dear. What will your brothers think?”

Patsy began humming loudly. She rolled the ladder over and climbed high. Trace hunched down and kissed Beth, uncaring who might walk in. She held him tight, squeaking when he molded her breast with his hand. She panted when he pulled away and leaned his forehead against hers.

“Jack and Simon will say you’re worth it. With all of us to take care of, you’ll need something special to wear now and then.”

“But there’s nowhere I can wear it. It’s too proud for church and the dirt floor of the cabin would get it dirty in no time.”

“You’ll wear it for me,” he replied. He held up one finger and tapped her nose with it. “But no more than three buttons. I want easy access to my wife.”

A couple of hours passed before they left town. Sheriff Chambers stopped Trace to tell him that Big Joe was still in jail, sleeping off his drunk from the night before. Beth might see him again when visiting town, but she’d be surrounded by Trace and his brothers. If the man even looked sideways at her, they’d warn him off.

Sophie handed Trace a packed lunch basket for the way home and gave her a hug. She didn’t yet know how to cook over a campfire, but she had lots of experience with a cook stove. Trace didn’t ask if she could cook so she hadn’t volunteered the information. With Patsy’s encouragement, she added enough fixings to their order to surprise “her” men. Simon and Jack wouldn’t be telling stories about bad cooking when they came to town.

She gritted her teeth and faced straight ahead as they passed the shacks west of town. She didn’t understand some of what the men and painted women called out but what she did, was bad enough. Trace answered with growls and gestures that no one could mistake.
Would this have been her life once Big Joe finished humiliating her?

Once the shacks were behind, he sat up straight. She didn’t think it unusual that he kept a rifle at his feet. When she left the train in Dillon, she’d traveled inside the stage. She was bounced around so much she had no chance to look out the window. Trace continually looked around, alert to anything out of the ordinary. She had little idea what that would be, as almost everything looked strange to her. After leaving the crowded East, the train passed through wide empty spaces. All she remembered of Dillon and Bannack City were filthy streets full of men swearing and hollering. There might be manure on the dusty streets of Tanner’s Ford but the air was cleaner than her home city, the Bride Train’s hard seats or any place in between. She tilted her head back and let the sun kiss her face. Whatever happened later, she’d enjoy her life today.

She recognized most of the birds singing and some of the wildflowers they passed. She relaxed, waving away the occasional insect that buzzed near. Now and then Trace’s thigh brushed against hers as the wagon rattled along.

“Oh, my,” said Beth after a while. She turned her head and blinked at her husband. After a moment Trace looked down at her, one eyebrow raised.

“Something wrong?”

Beth shook her head. “No. It’s just that…I’m happy.” She smiled up at him. “I wondered what it would feel like. Now I know.”

Trace snorted like a horse and shook his head. After a moment he checked their back trail, ignoring her. Beth didn’t care. She settled herself on the hard bench and watched her new world go by. An eagle soared high above. Hunting a mate, or dinner?

“How come you say you’re happy now and not last night? You sure enjoyed that.”

Familiar heat surged up Beth’s chest to her face. She groaned when he chuckled. If she browned her face in the sun, would he know when she blushed?

“Last night in the hotel was beyond anything I could even have dreamed,” she said quietly.

“There’s more to learn and enjoy, Mrs. Elliott. Lots more.”

“I’m not talking about that! Well, not just that.” She waited until he settled again. “Last night, while I soaked in a hot tub, you went out and picked flowers for me. You bought me this beautiful dress.” She spread her hands over her legs, caressing the fabric. “No one ever thought of me unless they wanted something. But you did, even before eating or bathing. It’s been years since I dreamed about someone caring for me.” She shook her head. “I thought no one who was that good to me, could be real.”

“Sweetheart, soon’s we get on Elliott land. I’ll prove how real I am.”

He was quiet as he guided the wagon around a rock outcrop. The butterflies that rose to flutter in her stomach at his words, settled once more.

“I know nothing about your family except they treated you like a servant or worse. But you’re an Elliott now and my wife. If there’s something bothering you, then it affects me.”

Her heart, already touched by his thoughtfulness, softened. Though she’d done so much for him while they were children, even her brother Timothy put his own needs first. When he helped her escape from her locked room while everyone was out at a soiree, she thought he’d saved her from an abusive marriage to Abraham Carter to help her. Only later did she find out the debt her father owed Carter was from illegal activity. Timothy planned to take over the family bank. Carter had links to crime, links that her brother did not want. While Timothy might be fond of her, he’d saved her for his own reasons, not hers. Though he’d given her money to sew into her dress, it was only a portion of what was rightfully hers.

Could she let down her guard with the near-stranger sitting beside her? Had he done those things to care for her or for his own reasons? She thought he had no money but he bought her a dress and bonnet. That could be to show off his new his wife, but no one but she and Sophie would have known about the flowers. He had bought the lovely blue velvet for her but said she must make it so he could enjoy her body.

Purposely testing for a reaction, she curled her arm around his. He immediately sat up straight, his entire body stiffening. After a moment, he lifted both arms and lightly tapped the horses. The movement forced her to release him. He coughed and turned away. She waited, biting her lip and body tense, until he spoke.

“What I mean is,” he said. He cleared his throat and hunched over, staring between the horses. “If you’re all bothered about something, you might get sick. Now that I got me a wife, I want her in good shape. I expect a decent supper on the table when I get home and a willing woman in my bed. That’s why a man takes on a wife. Good food, a tidy home, and a warm bed.”

Of course. He wanted to take care of her because otherwise he might be inconvenienced. Just like her brother. How silly of her to think otherwise. When Sophie handed her the picnic basket that morning, she’d warned the honeymoon would be over when they arrived home. There was too much hard work for everyone, and no time for foolishness, she’d said to Beth.

So Beth kept her head high and fought back girlish tears as the wagon rumbled along. At least she had wonderful memories of last night and this morning. That was something no one could ever take away from her. She inhaled the warm, fragrant air. When she exhaled, she sent her foolishness with it.

Her husband was a man just like any other. Women had dreams while men had plans. Plans were real while dreams floated away with the morning mist.
Forget that he wants you for a beddable servant. Think what you’d be doing if Big Joe married you last night.
She’d be dead. One way or the other, by his brutal fists or her own hand.

With that perspective, life was good. Satisfaction, Miss Primula said, was realizing one was content with what one had. She had a decent husband, a home, a respected place in society, and, soon she hoped, children to love. The sun was shining and she was warm and dry. She could be happy with that.

They rode on for another hour, saying nothing. As Trace slowly relaxed, so did she. Neither of them returned to the way they were before he stated what he wanted out of her. If she couldn’t have his heart and soul, she could have the rest of him.

Other men took what they wanted from a woman, then tossed her aside. When Trace gave her pleasure before his own, it showed he cared about her. She’d never known of the joy he gave her body. That alone was more than enough to base a marriage on. Already, she craved his touch.

His leg bumped against hers as the wagon rocked. The touch sparked the slow fuse inside her. She straightened up on the hard seat and pushed her shoulders back as if stretching. Trace glanced down at her breasts. Only one layer of thin fabric covered her skin. It rasped against her nipples, tightening the buds. A quick glance down proved his need swelled as well.

He didn’t have to love her to make love
to
her. Something they both enjoyed. Years of haggling at the farm taught her honey made a better lure than vinegar. If he wanted to be the big man ordering her around, then she’d play her part to get what she wanted.