Chapter 2 #2
But Warren isn’t finished yet. No, that’s all too evident by the stubborn set of his firm jaw and the long fingers that weave themselves into my stiff ones.
“Claiming you and this baby is altogether different than owning you. I told you I’d take care of you whether you liked it or not.
A husband’s what you need, Mara, and that’s what you’re gonna get. ”
“A husband?” I spit out the words as the curse they are, all pain forgotten for the moment as I stare daggers into him. His hand tightens around mine, but that does nothing to quell my indignation. “No man—”
“Mara,” Mrs. Smith interrupts softly but firmly, “it’s about more than a husband. What about a man being a father to your child so neither of you are shunned? How will you live and support yourself? This could be good for you, dear. Warren Shay’s a good boy.”
“A good boy.” The words come out on a jeer as I jerk my hand back. Every man under the age of forty is likely a boy to her. “He’s a grown man, and I’ve been raped enough by his kind for a lifetime.”
Storms gather in his light brown eyes as he glances over my straining belly in a touch I can almost feel. “Raped?” he rasps over Mrs. Smith’s sharp breath.
“More times than I can count. But no more.” This I vow to myself. Absolutely no more.
“Mara, I...” Silence reigns for five long seconds. His expression shutters, hiding his thoughts before he abruptly leaves the room without a backward glance. And then he’s gone, taking his unspoken words with him.
Why didn’t I think of that sooner? No man wants to raise a bastard child, let alone one conceived that way. I shove away the bitterness at how easy it was to repulse him, wondering why I even care.
Because I don’t.
Or shouldn’t.
“Oh, you poor sweet child.” Mrs. Smith’s soft touch to my forehead brings the burning sting of tears to my nose. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, but there’s no better man to care for you than one from the Shay family.”
I swallow down my unexplainable hurt and cradle the baby in my belly. “It’s too late. He’s gone now.” Gone, and leaving a strange sort of emptiness in the room that I shouldn’t notice.
The door opens suddenly with a bang, bringing a damned dash of unwanted hope that I don’t allow myself to feel for more than a second. But it’s not Warren. It’s Jolene and a blonde-haired woman carrying towels and water.
“Just place it there,” Mrs. Smith directs before turning to the blonde. “Beatrice, there’s a young gentleman downstairs. Please see that he’s returned to his parents if Warren didn’t tend to him already.”
“Yes, ma’am.” With a small dip of her knees, Beatrice leaves.
Mrs. Smith turns to me, compassion mingling with determination. “All right, Mara. I’m going to lift your dress now, dear, and see how close you are.”
My legs fall open of their own accord as she lifts the dirty hem.
I reluctantly admire her fortitude given the way she doesn’t react at the state of my privates.
I’d cleaned myself best I could after Crowley was done with me, but only time brings the redness and swelling down and stops the bleeding.
It just doesn’t erase the memories.
I study the ceiling, tracing my gaze over the wooden squares that dissect the floral motifs while I smother my feelings and ignore the cold hands between my legs.
I’m used to it even if I don’t like it. If not the groping hands of men wanting sex, it’s the indifferent touch of doctors ensuring I didn’t have any diseases.
After all, owners don’t make money if the product ruins the clients.
“All right, Mara.” Mrs. Smith forces a cheerful smile to her thin lips.
“Let’s freshen you up and get you into a proper nightgown, shall we?
If we women must undergo the pain of childbirth, we should at least be able to have a little dignity throughout it, don’t you agree? Jolene, bring the soap, please.”
Unable to bring myself to return her gesture, I stare blindly at the wooden grains running over the bedroom door that Warren left through. I should be happy he’s gone. Why is it that I feel a gut-wrenching ache in my chest instead?
“Lift up, dear.” She eases my dress over my head and presses a warm, wet cloth to my face. It’ll take more than her gentle wipes to clean away the heavy dirt and grime, but I allow myself to enjoy her simple and unassuming touch.
“The soap smells nice,” I murmur to no one in particular. Maybe to myself. Maybe to my baby.
“You like it, do you?” The scent grows stronger as the cloth moves under my nose. “I crush the roses from my own garden.”
When was the last time I had any soap except harsh lye? Never. Not even with the Overstreets. The realization of just how long I’ve been treated like a piece of property makes my throat close up with anger.
Anger at the way men have treated me.
Don’t I deserve more than this?
A violent ripple along my belly tells me it’s too late for me to find death for the both of us, so that only leaves life.
But what sort of life for a half-breed and her baby?
A husband’s what you need, Mara, and that’s what you’re gonna get.
Warren’s words echo in my mind as Mrs. Smith exchanges the dingy cloth for a clean one and moves further down my body, speaking in low tones to Jolene.
He’d meant what he said before he knew about my past. Before he knew just how soiled I was.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I do need a husband to survive in this world.
“Lift up one more time for me, Mara.” The freshly laundered nightdress slips over my head and falls as soft as a cloud over my nakedness. I’ve never felt such fine material. Not with the missionaries and definitely not with any of my owners.
“Mara, dear...” A small hand with fine wrinkles covers mine. “I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through, but the sad truth is it’s a man’s world out there. And if a woman’s going to live in it, it’s better for her if she had a good man. One like Warren Shay.”
My fingers curl, but before I can retort with a smart answer, the door swings open with a bang for the second time within the hour. And at the sight of familiar broad shoulders and dark hair, my damn heart pounds in my chest.
“Warren.” I quietly breathe the name of my unwanted savior.
He came back.
And he’s not alone.
The carpeted floor muffles the sound of his boots, and it doesn’t take him long to reach me because of how long his legs are. Intensity hardens his features, but they soften as he drops by the bed and takes my hand from Mrs. Smith. Even kneeling, he’s still tall.
“Let me go,” I weakly order. It does no good, though. My hand is held fast in his.
“I told you before that it’ll all be okay, and now I vow it to you.
” Locking gazes with me, he speaks to the shorter man behind him.
“Judge Ballard, you see this woman? I’m owning up to my transgression.
I had relations with her, and now I need to make things right on account of her carrying my baby.
Need you to marry us to make the child legitimate. ”
Good Christ. The man left me to retrieve a judge and now he’s publicly claiming responsibility for my condition.
“You...you... What are you doing?” Shocked, I jerk my head to Mrs. Smith, but quiet amusement plays about her lips.
Same with Jolene, though her expression holds a touch of wistfulness as she ogles him with a hand to her heart.
The judge appears exasperated as he looks between us but not surprised.
Am I the only one who thinks he’s crazy?
“Mara.” The deep voice calling my name demands my attention. “Marry me and let me take care of you. Let me give the both of you my name and the protection that comes with it.”
The heat from his hands and voice chips at the iciness around my heart as I stare into his honey-colored eyes. As much as I hate it, it is a man’s world.
But...what if I were to give myself to just one man? One man who would protect me and my baby. One man who would promise never to sell us or separate us.
A good man like Mrs. Smith says.
One like Warren Shay. Young where Crowley was old.
Possibly even gentle where Joe was cruel.
Could he be so different from the men who’ve used me?
He didn’t have to drive me to town. He could have just left me on my own back there in the wagon.
If I were ever stolen away like Dove, would he come after me?
Another contraction seals the decision, and my hand slips from his and twists in his shirt as I yank him to me. “One man,” I whisper fiercely, everyone but the two of us fading away in the intensity of this moment.
Warren leans closer, close enough I can almost count each dark speck of stubble on his tanned face and feel each of his breaths as they hit my mouth. “Only one,” he swears, those damn eyes burning into mine. “Only me.”
I search the depths of his gaze for any sign of untruth, but there’s no other choice but to believe him. “I don’t want a husband. You won’t...lay with me.”
It’s not a question. Every man’s weakness dangles between his thighs, but he can’t ask this of me. Anything but this.
“Not until you’re ready, Mara.”
I’ll never be ready, but he doesn’t need to know that right now. “You’ll let me keep my baby, and you won’t hurt either one of us. Ever.”
His eyes widen as if the thought had never occurred to him. “I swear to God and all that’s holy that your baby is going to be a Shay just like you are. And I’ll never hurt either of you. All I want is to protect the both of you and give you a better life.”
Any life has to be better than the one I was headed for, but at least I’ve managed to pull this promise from him. Only time will tell if he’ll keep it. “All right.” I give my agreement with a short nod.
I expect to see him gloat in victory, but his soft smile never changes. “Ready, Judge?”
“Ah, yes,” the portly man says, quickly stepping up and producing a Bible from his overalls. “Hold hands, please.”
“No.” I release his shirt as if it had burned me and wrap my arms about my belly. “Not touching him.”