TWO MONTHS PASSED BEFORE BEAUREGARD COULD MOVE AROUND FOR LONGER THAN AN HOUR WITHOUT TIRING. Aside from his misplaced desire, it hadn’t been too bad a time.
Then Roslyn started acting strangely.
It was like the roomy house shrank to the size of a six by six foot cell. There wasn’t enough room for Beauregard’s mulish silences, and Roslyn’s odd reactions.
He’d go to help her in the kitchen, and she’d berate him for taxing his muscles. She’d try to help him bathe, and he’d glare. They’d both touch by accident doing some innocuous task then end up on opposite sides of the room facing the walls.
The first night Roslyn sleepwalked Beauregard had gotten the fright of his life. He woke to find her hovering over his side of the bed, eyes half lidded, expression vacant as she pressed her hands over his chest in wooden, jerky moments, using touch to discover what he was.
Understanding she was asleep, he’d scooted over in bed and guided her down until she was still.
The next morning she’d been mortified, and stumbled through an explanation peppered with many apologies before she ran from the house like her head was afire.
It took Beauregard five days before he broke. “Stickin’ around?”
“Of course you’d want me to.” Her tone was caustic, sarcastic. “What man wouldn’t?”
“It’s not like you’d be whorin’. No matter what people would say.” He scowled at his hands. “I’d marry you.”
Cocking her head as if confused, she frowned. “I thought we already crossed that bridge. My memory is intact. Isn’t yours?”
“It counts?”
“If not, I’m in trouble.”
Understatement, he thought.
“I’ve been out here with you for over two months. Not only have I slept in your bed and seen you naked, I’ve touched you. It.”
Beauregard used the tips of his fingers to rub his forehead. Thinking of her hands on that part of him was not conducive to a rational exchange. “Roslyn, you want to be married or not?”
“Girls dream of getting married.”
“To me?”
She eyed him guardedly. “You want me after what happened?”
He shrugged.
“Trapping you wasn’t my intention. I stayed because I wanted you better. Don’t feel beholden.”
“I know it. I don’t.”
Her fingers knotted. “You sound indifferent.”
“I’m not.”
“You’ll be faithful. No visiting the Velvet Touch when you go to town?”
“As long as you spread your legs.”
“That’s crude.”
Again, he shrugged. Feeling mean, he had the urge to push and watch her fall. So far she seemed undisturbed by his crotchety attitude.
Eyes narrowing in thought, Roslyn finally sat. Across the table so she could scrutinize his reactions, because he had no feeling in his voice. “We need a certificate. I won’t be called a whore without the means to legally defend myself.”
“Done. Arrowby won’t protest if he knows what’s good for him.”
“Do you like me?”
He shot her a hard look. “What kind of question is that?”
“Well?” she pressed. “Do you?”
“You like me?”
She gave this a lot of consideration.
Four days worth.
Beauregard watched her as she went about her chores, stopping ever so often to stare into the middle distance with an intense look of uncertainty. He wondered where her mind led her. Was it the social stigma? Did the idea of her peers knowing she willingly chose to lie with a mixed blood turn her cold?
There were moments he almost asked her outright if his heritage disgusted her, but the words refused to leave his mouth.
Once again, he silently stewed and thought bitter thoughts.
She came to him after breakfast on the forth day. “When will we go to town?”
“Within a fortnight. A home needs things.”
“Swear to me we’ll get that certificate?”
He nodded.
“Ah, can you,” she blushed, “you know?”
Hearing the dread in her voice annoyed him. “Not yet. Soon.”
“Oh.” Her voice cracked. “Alright.”
ROSLYN KNEW OF THE CARNAL APPETITES GOD AFFLICTED UPON MEN. In her old life the newly married women who visited her spoke in hushed tones of hands finding them in the dark. Even more hushed were the tearful confessions of loathing, and the awful pain caused by the physical obligation.
Her oldest friend, Emmalee Stone nee Baker likened the burden to being cleaved in two. Since her wedding night Emmalee prayed daily for her husband Ernest’s seed to fill her womb so he’d stop reaching for her in the night.
So yes, Roslyn knew the marriage bed was one of duty, humiliation, and pain she must bear stoically without complaint.
What worried her was that Beauregard wasn’t a slender gentleman with a bland temperament like Emmalee’s husband. Beauregard was muscled, and possessed a raw sensuality that sent chills across her flesh.
Would he copulate her to death? Was that possible?
That night was awkward.
Previous to their vows to make the marriage real, they’d slept together as patient and nurse, then out of forced practicality since there was only one bed. Now she’d pledged to be his wife, to willingly let him take his ease with her to secure his faithfulness.
If there was one thing she wasn’t upset over it was that aspect. Most of the men in town visited the saloon on the pretence of getting a drink when everybody knew the Velvet Touch watered their whisky.
The men went for the women.
Knowing the pain to be found in the marriage bed, Roslyn understood why most ladies were relieved when their husbands stopped bothering them and parted with their dollars to slake their lust with prostitutes. However, that seemed weak to her. Procreation didn’t require pleasure. So if God filled a man’s blood with fire his wife must be able to douse the flame.
Beauregard promised to stay true if she eased him, and that’s what she’d do.
So although it was daunting the night she felt him charge with tension, she didn’t shy away. Wearing only a shirt as a nightgown – improper but there was nothing else available – she slid into bed and waited.
A tug on the shirt’s hem startled her.
“Off.”
Her hands curled into fists at her side. “I sleep with it on.”
“Not anymore.”
“Can’t you work around it?”
“No.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Please?”
Calloused fingers slid over her cheek. “Shit, are you cryin’?” Moonlight limned Beauregard’s harsh expression. “Tomorrow you go to California. This won’t work.”
Pride is a funny thing.
Shivering, Roslyn stripped to bare skin.
Rather than grabbing her, thrusting her under him and shoving into her, Beauregard eased her onto her side. He ran his hands over her limbs. He waited until she relaxed then pressed his front to her back, making her stiffen.
She thought about remaining quiet, but couldn’t help her concern for his health. “It’s swollen again.”
“Yup.”
“Does it hurt?”
He nuzzled her ear. “A lot.”
“Maybe now is not the right time.” She shuddered when he licked the edge of her jaw. “With it that big it won’t fit.”
“You really believe that?”
Women had babies. Logically, there had to be enough room even with Beauregard swollen as he was. “Ignore me.”
“Better off wishin’ up is down.”
Beauregard’s hand moved lower. She was so distracted by his fingers closing over her breast she jumped when his other hand slid between her legs.
He froze.
She stilled, not knowing what was happening.
Was there something she was supposed to do? She’d assumed he’d climb on top and split her in half, but this was quite nice.
He never acted as she expected.
A sharp intake of breath was her warning before Beauregard removed his hands, and returned to his side of the bed.
Stunned, she remained rigid on her side and tried to think if she’d done something wrong, or if he was incapable.
Too embarrassed he found her lacking, she closed her eyes and forced herself asleep. Tough if he didn’t like her body. He promised a real marriage and faithfulness in exchange for willingness, and she was compliant.
The next day Beauregard was more non-commutative than usual. She decided he was disappointed at her lack of charms, or mad at her edgy reaction to his advances, but she didn’t know how to fix it. Seducing him was so far beyond her abilities the very word made her heart race, let alone the imagining of it.
Prepared to swallow her pride to ease the pressure between them, she approached him as he worked over a saddle. “Do I displease you?”
He grunted.
“I might put on some weight now I’m eating more.” Staring over his head, she paused. “I’ll never be voluptuous, but I’ll be soft.”
He turned his attention to her, face vacant, eyes chilling.
“Do you need me to act brazen?” With a deep breath, gaze to the floor, she began unbuttoning the shirt. “I can do that.”
Taking the saddle with him, Beauregard stood, and walked out the door.
Left with tears in her eyes, she developed a new understanding of how some women grew to hate their husbands.
HE WAS AN IDIOT. The moment he woke and found Roslyn staring at him with hurt in her eyes, he realised he’d interpreted her response to his touch wrong.
Passion was considered ugly in a lady. Why the men of society let such stupid views of sex be drummed into their future wives made no sense to Beauregard, but then a lot of what white people did made no sense to him.
He took a moment to imagine his Roslyn in the arms of a prudish and genteel husband. In the pitch black he would push up her ankle length nightgown and politely whisper, “Pardon me,” as he entered her in even, shallow thrusts until he came. Then he’d push the nightgown back to her ankles, chastely buss her cheek and say, “Thank you.” Then they’d both go to sleep.
Casting his mind back, he vaguely remembered his father explaining to his older brothers about how they were to treat their wives. No one had thought to talk to Beauregard about how to treat a well-bred lady in bed. What reason would there have been? At no point was there any expectation he’d have a virgin bride.
And she was a virgin to him. What happened that morning didn’t sully her in his eyes. It made her more precious.
Pulling the rim of his Stetson lower, he chewed a blade of grass. Leaning against the corral, saddle repairs forgotten, he fixed his gaze over the dry land to the mountains.
She still hadn’t figured out that his shaft was meant to harden. How the hell was he supposed to have that conversation with her? At first he’d thought she’d been joking around, but she’d expressed a real concern.
Shaking his head, he laughed without mirth.
After fantasising about Roslyn eager, panting, and writhing beneath him for weeks, the reality of her crying then turning as cold and hard as a block of stone under his touch sliced through his passion leaving him hating her – hating her for promising him something she’d never truly want to give.
Worse, when he least expected it she’d come to him like some virginal sacrifice and offered herself.
As those buttons slipped free he’d come so close to taking. So close he couldn’t even speak. He couldn’t breathe. Only the desire to see his fantasy become reality stopped him from acting like the rutting animal she anticipated.
Attraction either sparked between two people or it didn’t. There was no forcing it. He wanted her to want him so badly he was sick with it. Would she ever feel the need to mate with him as he did her?
Hell, she hadn’t even answered the question if she liked him.
Blinking, he dropped the grass and walked back into the house.
Watching him with soulful blue puddles, Roslyn sat curled up in the rocking chair with a cup of coffee.
Beauregard sat on the sofa. “I like you.”
“What?”
“I like everything about you.”
Setting her drink on the floor, she nodded. “I like you too. Just as you are.”
“I’ve lost mass.”
“I’ll like you no matter how you look, Beau.”
He took off his hat and dropped it on the seat beside him. He once again thought about her reaction to him. A thought too hopeful to be true flew from his mouth before he had the chance to temper it. “Are you still a virgin?”
“Of course.” Her face crumpled. “What kind of woman do you think I am?”
“I thought Franklyn Junior.... I assumed wrong.”
“Didn’t I tell you I fought him off?”
“Lioness.”
Her lips quirked. “I know it.”
“Did last night remind you of what he tried to do?”
Her hands settled neatly on her lap. “Not at all. He disgusts me. His touch was vile. Yours....”
“Might as well say all of it.”
A blush tinted her temples and spread over her upper cheeks. “Your hands were warm, and when you rubbed me I felt ... it was ... I liked what you did, Beau. It felt good. My feelings were hurt when you turned away.”
“It will hurt.”
She nodded solemnly. “How kind of you to warn me, but I know all about that.”
Relieved she’d at least been taught the first time came with pain, he relaxed. His groin warmed. “Now?”
Her eyes popped out of her head. “It’s daylight.” She whispered. “I never asked if that was allowed.”
“Ask me.”
“Will you lie to get your way?”
“Pinocchio will be put to shame by the size of my nose.”
Deciding that stripping naked without the comfort of shadows would be too much for her first time, he left before lust clouded his judgement.
His heart thumped hard when her laughter exploded behind him.
THIS TIME SHE WAS PREPARED. The position was different, he was above her, but she didn’t mind. She’d been told it would happen that way.
Beauregard kissed her throat, her shoulders and cupped her breasts. When she didn’t stiffen or pull away he dipped his head and took her nipple into his mouth.
As far as she was concerned, breasts and nipples were for nursing, not coupling.
Awed by the sensation, she wondered why nobody told her physical loving felt so good. He used his lips and tongue to tease her to a state of euphoria then turned and lavished the same attention to the other breast.
Roslyn tried so very hard not to squirm, but each suckle and tug of his warm mouth shot sparks of fire down her spine to the secret place between her legs. Teeth grazed against a sensitive peak while thick fingers pinched the other. A shocking, needy sound punched past her lips. She’d been pressing them together to halt the sounds, but goodness, what he did felt wonderful.
Any worry he’d be disgusted by the sound were washed away when Beauregard shuddered, and suckled harder, his hips thrusting until his groin rubbed her thigh.
Roslyn briefly wondered about the swelling problem, but found her thoughts scattered when he placed a finger against her wetness and pushed it inside.
The stretch didn’t hurt.
Out of her wits, she gasped as the finger pulled free then plunged again, deeper. This time there was discomfort, and she gritted her teeth. Really, it wasn’t that bad.
A fist to the head hurt more. Pushing that thought aside, she focused on her husband.
Feeling her tense, Beauregard left her breast and brought his lips to her ear. “Easy.” His invading finger curled. Settled between her thighs, he used his knees to spread her wider then removed his hand and clutched the headboard.
Roslyn panted, stifling a whimper when he pressed forward.
Beauregard groaned. Mind all fevered, delirious from the pleasure of her body, he held onto her hip and thrust hard.
Pain ripped through Roslyn’s groin, and a dull ache bloomed deep inside. She got passed it with a few deep breaths. He began plunging into her, and she waited for the cleaving to begin. When nothing happened but a toe-curling, hip-jerking sensation spreading from where he moved, she wondered if Beauregard used magic Indians were rumoured to have to take away the pain.
Sucking down a series of sharp breaths, his large hand tightened on her hip. Body-shaking with tremors, he sighed, and Roslyn felt a warm wetness trickle down her sensitive flesh. His weight pressed into her. Rather than pull out and roll away, he remained embedded within, hips locked to hers, possessively gripping the back of her knee.
Staring straight up, Roslyn wondered if he’d ever behave like she expected.
Nuzzling her ear, he asked, “Again?”
Her answer was to tentatively wrap her arms around his shoulders and press a kiss to his dimpled chin.
This second time was longer, but easier, and when he spilled his seed she used the moonlight to watch his lips part, and his eyes close in bliss. His entire face softened, and she felt jealous other women had seen him thus.
Lying on her side, back held tightly to his chest, Roslyn went back over the experience and felt a righteous indignation.
As a young woman of thirteen she’d been horrified, horrified, by the humiliating description of what her future husband would do to her. Emmalee’s story had further convinced her this part of marriage would be dreadful, and a burden she’d forever abhor.
What Beauregard did to her body excited her.
She’d enjoyed the heavy petting of his rough hands, was thrilled when throaty groans he seemed unable to control broke from his wide chest. The way he rocked his hips into hers had been immeasurably intimate. And when he began to gather her closer, lunge faster, push himself into her harder, and deeper, his chest heaving, and muscles flexing she felt an answering intensity rise within her soul.
Other wives gave this incredible experience over to other women?
Thank God she’d gotten that vow.
Sighing happily, Roslyn placed her arm over Beauregard’s on her waist, her hand resting on his. She doubted she’d sleepwalk for a while. Never would she willingly leave his sheltering embrace.
They woke together. Not quite dawn, the room was filled with pale blue light.
Roslyn wondered what the correct response was to the flesh resting like hot, silk-covered steel against her lower back. After Beauregard bathed her womb with his seed the second time the swelling went down. Secretly she felt foolish. He swelled when he needed release. Swollen flesh hurt, and she didn’t want him in pain.
She wiggled in his arms and turned around.
Their eyes locked and she flushed. Placing a splayed hand on his solid chest, “You need me,” she murmured.
“I do.”
Her eyes dropped to his lips. They’d yet to kiss, and she wanted to so badly. Emboldened by their first night together, she pressed her mouth to his, eyes open, curious.
Air rushed between Beauregard’s firm lips on a sharp inhalation. He pushed back, eyes closing. His body exploded with such heat it sent a warm flush over her skin.
Rather than roll her onto her back, as expected, he lifted her leg to prop her foot on his buttock, her inner thigh on his outer flank.
He yanked her hips closer then drove inside. A rough sound tore from his throat.
Roslyn’s nipples tightened. What was that about? she wondered.
Digging her fingers into his shoulder, she let him rock her hips against his. Aware of her body in a whole new way, she clung to him, and was shaken to hear herself moan when he pounded harder.
Fingers biting into her hips, Beauregard shuddered. Stilled. He held her close for time unknown.
The sweet, musky scent of sweat and sex swirled lazily in the morning air.
“Are you sore?” he asked.
She nodded.
Kissing her temple, he stroked her back. “Want to stay in bed while I make breakfast?”
“You’d do that for me?”
“It’s just eggs, Roslyn.”
“Alright.”
WELL, SHE HADN’T FLED THE ROOM. Beauregard woke, felt her tense and waited for her to fling his arm off.
Instead, she turned and made the cobalt-coloured morning sweeter.
Boiling eggs, he marvelled at how well she managed when he was sick. A lady like Roslyn would literally be born with a silver spoon between her pretty lips. Not only had she made use of the available resources, she’d proven she could be logical and conservative in a crisis. Not once had she bellyached about the lack of expensive furnishings or fancy food.
Half way back to the bedroom, Beauregard paused. He headed to the dining table peeled the brown shell off her eggs.
For the first time in weeks his brain didn’t feel too big for his skull. His blood no longer simmered and threatened to burst from his arteries. Lust no longer pulverized his bones to dust, and the gritty frustration of unspent passion ceased to inflate his temper.
Beauregard disliked men who used a need for sex, or a lack of it, to act like beasts. Sure, life was easier when your body didn’t throb in the presence of an attractive woman, but that base part of a man’s biology didn’t make destructive behaviour acceptable.
He felt guilty over his callousness during her stay. He treble blinked. His homestead was her home now. Their home. Her staying was permanent, wasn’t it?
She was his.
Knee-trembling warmth curled through his gut.
He salted the eggs and brewed a mug of coffee for them to share.
To his gratification Roslyn hadn’t wrapped herself in yards of fabric to shield her body from his gaze, but merely pulled the blanket to cover her breasts.
Eyes fixed on the food, her tongue swiped across her top lip leaving it plump and wet.
They ate in silence, sharing the coffee sip by sip. The first meal of the day had never been such a pleasant affair.
“I bled,” she said quietly.
“Happens.”
She drained the mug, and by the way her eyes flickered he could tell she stalled. “All the time?”
“Just once.”
“The ripping pain?”
Beauregard again damned society. “There won’t be anymore pain. Unless my heart turns to ice since you’ve stopped thawin’ my kind side.”
“Good. I bleed enough month to month.”
“How bad is it for you?”
“My cycle is fairly regular. I bleed for three, maybe four days. Usually.”
“When’s it next due?”
She plucked at frayed threads poking from the blanket weave. “Couple of days.”
“I won’t bother you then.”
“You won’t?”
His jaw clenched. “Surprised I can control my beastly lust?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Don’t dare misunderstand me this time. It’s a consideration I didn’t expect. Not from any man.”
“I’m not any man. I’m your husband, remember?”
“I won’t forget.”
He pushed off the bed to pull on a shirt. “We’ll go to town tomorrow.”
Roslyn’s gut swooped. That would introduce a fresh batch of complications to their lives. She’d been enjoying the separation from civilization. “You’re well enough for that?”
“That legal comeback’s not lookin’ so important now, is it?”
“Beauregard–”
“We have to face it sometime. We can’t hide out here forever.”
“It’s not that. Well, not just that.” She scrambled to her knees clutching the sheet to her throat. “Three hours on horseback is a long time.”
“Been doin’ that journey my whole life with no problems.”
“You weren’t beaten to death’s doorstep before.”
“Stop fussin’.”
Lips peeling back, she growled.
He chuckled and flicked his thumb off the end of her chin. “Savage.” He left her there and headed outside to check on the animals.
He’d need to ride out and round up a few horses within the next month. Work a little on the young stock he’d been forced to neglect as he healed. He also needed to see about a breeding stallion. The barn needed repairs, stalls mucking. The house could use a fresh coat of paint. A chicken coop would stop Roslyn running around after the hens like a madwoman, even if he found her morning antics hysterical. The day he’d found her throttling a hen, guilty tears rolling down her flushed cheeks would never cease to morbidly amuse him.
Tales of that morning would have made the rounds by now, and he wondered if any business deals would be possible in this corner of the state. He wasn’t too worried about being able to provide for her. He got a yearly sum from grazing land he rented to Wyatt for buffalo he’d yet to collect. William also leased a small plot near his third for farming that’d bring in a tidy profit.
Beauregard would rather let Elstein Roseberry spit in his face than admit he was worried about taking Roslyn into town. What if she broke under the slander and stonewalling? What if she decided to renege on their vow? She’d made it clear she didn’t consider this a real union until she had the certificate.
Yet she’d shared her body.
Her contradictory words and actions made his head spin.
Forcing her to stay never crossed his mind. Wanting her more with each heartbeat made him crave her willing involvement.
The confrontations would be nasty. He had no doubt about it. He hoped the Roseberrys were holed up on their patch, and he prayed his own family stuck close to home. He had accounts with all the stores; the Kellington name was good for something, so he wasn’t too worried about returning empty handed. Rumours of what happened would have died down, but the second they were spotted speculation would flare, and roar like a bush fire if anyone was dumb enough to hurt Roslyn’s feelings in front of him.
Maybe he should throw it all out there and buy rings. That would send a message, one the town folk could chew over the implications of long enough for him and his wife to do their business and leave.
That evening, they sat on the veranda steps, and Beauregard showed Roslyn how to clean, oil and load the weapons.
BEAUREGARD FELT ROSLYN’S TENSION LIKE A NAIL TO THE BRAIN. He wished she’d begged him to stay back at the ranch, but after he’d expanded on White Crow’s demonstration of how to use the guns her face turned mulish. Her chin jutted in that way that meant trouble.
The list of things they needed was as long as his arm so there was no point rushing things. He headed to the carpenter and bought a wagon to hitch up to their horses.
“The feed’s next. I’ll go lonesome if you want time to browse.”
“There’s nothing I want. I’ll go to the general store and gather what we need. I’ll meet you there?”
He nodded. “I have an account. Use it.”
“Oh, good.” She’d harboured concerns her forty-seven dollars wouldn’t stretch far enough having never grocery shopped before. “See you later then.”
Grabbing her arm before she scooted, he slung the gun belt around her hips and buckled it tightly. He thought it looked charming against her blue gown. “Not all people deserve to live. This will protect you. Use it.”
Eyes wide, she nodded solemnly and tilted her face.
It took a second to understand the invitation. Out here? he thought. In the open she offered her affections? Beauregard always had been a quick study. He dipped his head and brushed his dry lips across hers.
Keeping to herself as she perused the general store, a fair-sized pile of goods waited for Roslyn at the counter.
She barrelled right into the older woman who barred her way, so fascinated was she by how many kinds of flour there were.
“Oh.” She collected herself and retreated a step. “Afternoon, Ms Halliday.”
“Are you lost?”
Distracted by selecting and lifting her chosen flour, Roslyn missed the woman’s shrewish tone. “I beg your pardon?”
“We don’t want your kind here.”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re referring to.”
“Whores belong in the saloon across the street.”
Blood drained from her face then rushed to brand her cheeks with a fiery glow. Roslyn straightened her shoulders. “My husband and I came to town for supplies.”
Sarah Halliday’s slender brow quirked. “Franklyn Junior has been to town many times this past month.” A gloved hand patted the back of her exquisitely coiled honey-blonde hair. She trawled a look of disgusted pity over Roslyn’s messy braid. “He was unmarried the last I saw.”
“I never said I married that evil creature.”
“Of course not.” She laughed as if the idea were unthinkable. “Why would he want you now? No respectable man would touch the soiled leavings of a filthy Injun.”
“I never entertained a single thought of marrying Franklyn Buckley.” Roslyn spat the name. “How dare you say these things to me?”
“Somebody has to say it. Not only are you a disgrace to this town, your lies are poorly conceived.”
“You can’t–”
“I mean, really, what did you expect? That you could stroll in here and rub shoulders with polite folk after spending months on that ranch alone like a trollop with that native? To think we wasted time pitying you.”
A pristinely coiffed Ms Myers, a vicious gossip who struck fear into the most moral of genteel folk, flanked Ms Halliday. Sweeping her lavender-coloured skirts aside, as if afraid the fabric would pick up a taint, the steel-eyed woman looked Roslyn up and down. “It shocks me civilized people are forced to share pavement with gutter trash.”
Arms wrapped around the flour sack, Roslyn groped for a snappy put down. Her mind was blank.
She felt exposed in the worst way.
“It’s all right, Ms. Ms.” Tanned hands thrust between the three women and lifted the flour from Roslyn’s trembling arms. Hat pulled low over his face, Beauregard held the bulging sack in the crook of his elbow and loomed fearsome over the harpies. “We pay the gutter trash no mind. Just walk right on past it. Watch. Me and my wife will demonstrate so you uppity bitches know how to act right.” He took Roslyn’s hand and led her away. Stood at the front desk with the rest of the groceries he asked, “Forget how to use that gun?”
Swallowing her upset at the hostile ambush, Roslyn shook her head. “I didn’t want trouble.”
“It has a way of findin’ you though, don’t it?”
Blue eyes wetting until her lashes spiked, she crossed her arms and grabbed her sides.
Stubborn fits Beauregard could deal with. Tears were not acceptable. Clamping a hand at the back of her neck, he waited until she breathed easier. “Let’s get this done and go get your ring.”
That snapped her out of her funk. “Ring?”
“Every wife needs a ring.”
She smiled so brightly he ignored the bad-mannered crowd standing behind them whispering amongst themselves.
A ramble arm-in-arm across the dusty avenue, and Roslyn merrily dithered over a modest selection of silver wedding bands.
Beauregard’s eyes locked on a pair. “Those.”
The rings underwent a thorough female scrutiny. Roslyn hummed, ambivalent. “Gold?”
“You don’t like yourn?”
She slipped the ring onto her finger and wiggled it experimentally.
“Perfect fit,” Nathan Greenwood crowed with strained cheeriness.
He dabbed his handkerchief over his double chin. His yellowed smile stretched too wide, and his piggy eyes filled with fear, yet he said not one word of disrespect.
Absentmindedly, Roslyn wondered exactly what her husband had gotten up to at the feed store. Cowboys crossing the street in a fear-filled panic hadn’t escaped her notice.
Wiping blood off his knuckles, Beauregard put his on. The band was snug. “How much do we owe?”
ROSLYN BOUNCED OUT THE SILVERSMITHS GRINNING. The heavy weight of the ring on her third finger was delightful. Women wore rings as customary, but for her husband to choose to wear a matching band set her heart aflutter.
Beauregard paused next to the horses and the filled wagon. “We’ve gone about this wrong.” He itched his nape under his sweat-stained collar, frowning.
Roslyn stroked the gelding he favoured, and secretly called Barney. She let his soft nose nuzzle her hair. “What’s wrong? Apart from the snide comments, sly looks, and cutting dismissals?”
“We should’ve visited the doxology works first thing.”
Her face fell. “I suppose so. Not that I think it’ll actually do us any good considering what happened in the general store.”
“That was mild.”
“Mild?” Her mouth dropped. “They said such horrible things, and none of them true. I just wanted to die.”
“That’s why they weren’t satisfied with chattin’ about you behind your back. You made yourself a target.”
“I did not.”
Beauregard led the horses down the street. “Okay.”
“I’m not going to argue about this.”
“Okay.”
The church was a simple wooden building painted white with a cross for a lightning rod. The yard was empty and the doors were open.
Roslyn’s lip curled as she walked down the central isle behind Beauregard. She thought it stank like sin. She sat in the front pew as promised when he assured her he’d, “Take care of it.”
The Pastor was resistant. “Get out of my church.” Arrowby turned his back on them as if that action alone was going to end the conversation.
Beauregard was not impressed. Roslyn could tell by the way his eyes iced over. She thought Pastor Arrowby a fool for baiting a brush wolf. Beauregard would rip his throat out, and then she’d spit down it.
“I said be gone, ye devils.”
Shaking with anger, Roslyn lurched upright, arms rigid at her sides. “Give us our certificate and we’ll never darken the doorway again.”
“Here I thought the marriage vows included the word obey,” Beauregard said aloud in a wondering tone.
Arrowby looked haughtily down his nose. “Roslyn Roseberry, you are no longer a member of this church.”
“Thank God for it. I wouldn’t let you preach to me if you were the last man alive handing out saint officiated tickets to the pearly gates.”
“Listen you slut–”
Beauregard drew. “Uncertain times like these I feel protective of my new lady wife.” The cannon he aimed at the Pastor’s head shined dully in the murky room. “Best we nip that slip of the tongue in the bud.” He looked pointedly at Roslyn. “Since you’ve gotten that off your chest, will you obey now?”
Retaking her seat, properly chastened, Roslyn closed her mouth and folded her hands on her lap.
“Threatening me is outrageous. You can’t–”
“Turns out my tolerance for hypocritical jackasses suffered a considerable reduction the time you saw me last.”
“Have you no shame? I am a man of God.”
“Man of God or not, I will shoot you in the face if so much as a tear of your makin’ rolls down her cheek.”
Feeling spiteful, Roslyn sniffled.
Arrowby blanched. His hold on his bible turned white-knuckled. Each word was pressed from tightly compressed lips. “That farce of a ceremony needn’t be treated as binding.”
“Roslyn?”
“I feel bound.”
“Funny, so do I.” The gold medallions gleamed, and though his gaze was on Roslyn, his gun wavered not a millimetre from its target. “I don’t hear the scratch of pen to paper.”
“It is illegal.”
“Not in this state for my kind. Not right now.”
“Mulatto,” he sneered.
“Write it.”
The pastor turned in frustration. “Miss Roseberry–”
“Ms Kellington,” she corrected.
“–you cannot marry this ... man.”
“Already did. I just need it in writing.”
“The holy sanctity of marriage–”
Beauregard hissed. “What you and those men did to us was so far from holy immoral sin looked divine. You were brave enough to marry us then, so grow a pair now, quit blatherin’ like you give a shit and finish what you started.”
Roslyn gawped. “That was a lot of words, Beau.”
“I have moments.”
Arrowby fidgeted. “Elstein Roseberry will have my head.”
“We survived. So might you.”
Shuffling to his desk, the Pastor looked rather unwell. “Witnesses?”
“Damn it.” Beauregard sighed. He dropped his head to stare at the vaulted ceiling. “How many?”
“Two. Will you be donating to the church for– Never mind.” Arrowby ducked his head when Beauregard looked at him as if he were dippy. “The marriage will be registered here, and at the courthouse.”
“Sounds official. Have that certificate ready by midday.” He looked a question at Roslyn. “Satisfied?”
“Not until the ink dries.”
“We’ll wait elsewhere. This place gives me the creeps.”
“May we get a slice of pie and eat it by the old mill? It’s such a lovely day.”
“If we must.”
Wriggling with pleasure, she stood, and beamed like the sun incarnate. “Come along, Decent.”
Tipping his hat to Arrowby with a rumbled, “Pastor,” Beauregard trailed after his pretty wife, and tried not to make his fascination with her swaying behind too conspicuous.