Chapter 4 #2
“Yes,” I grumble as we shift around. Wife.
That’s going to take some getting used to.
Damn it. Maybe it was better with his arm around me because now I can feel the power of his muscles underneath my fingertips as he slaps the reins again.
He calls out friendly greetings to everyone, receiving felicitations and curious stares in return.
I suppose it’s not every day they see a white man with an Indian woman and baby.
When we reach the open road and a bit of fresher air, I snatch my hand back and pat Emmaline’s little bottom to wipe away the remnants of his touch.
Setting the horses at a slow and easy pace, Warren wraps the reins around one hand and grimly begins his explanation. “I guess I’ll start from when Dove and Abner got kidnapped from the fair last night.”
“I know.” A fluffy cloud peeks over the tree line, and I fixate on it.
Blue skies aren’t something I’ve seen much of in the last few years.
Any kind of sky, really. But the dust-flavored air blowing up from the horses’ heels smells better than the air in that damn room.
Better than unwashed men and their soured sweat.
“Joe said Crowley bought us so he could start a brothel of his own. Chance must have helped in taking them.”
“Those cocksucking whoresons,” he swears, tensing so tightly and so suddenly that I lean away. “Hey, hey,” he soothes, noticeably affecting a calmer tone. “I’m sorry, Mara. It’s just that I...I wish they were all still alive so I could be the one to kill them this time.”
“So you didn’t…”
Warren gazes off into the distance as if recalling the events.
“Nah, it wasn’t me, it was my brother Jed.
Dove’s husband. I was there with him if he needed me, but when a man’s woman is taken from him, he wants to be the one to exact vengeance.
It’s his privilege as her husband to make things right again. ”
A privilege, he says. Not a duty or a burden. Would he consider it a privilege to do the same for me? Probably not since this isn’t exactly a normal marriage.
“And that’s just what he did,” he continues seriously. “A bullet to the head and heart for Joe and Chance. Probably an even worse death for Crowley.”
“Why worse for him?” The words snap out before I can stop them, but the thought of my rapists’ deaths has a thrum of glee warming my cold veins.
“Crowley was her father.”
It should shock me that a father would force his daughter into prostitution, but after the last few years, not much surprises me anymore.
My own little girl—an innocent baby—scarcely escaped being born into a lifetime of it.
This time, I don’t have to conceal my sneer.
“I hope they all suffered miserably and pissed themselves in fear.”
Warren stiffens in realization. “Did they…hurt you?”
“They did.” I can almost feel their dirty touches just from thinking about it, but there’s no escaping the truth. Chance, not so much. But he did his fair share, the bastard. “May they all rot in hell.”
Muttering a curse, Warren yanks the horses to a stop and stiffly sits.
My heart quickens in a rhythm I can’t control.
This can’t be good. I scan his profile, observing his straight nose and pressed lips, but his shuttered expression doesn’t tell me what he’s thinking.
There’s only one reason I can think of for a man to stop on an empty road like this, and it’s not good.
Just as my eyes drop to his pants to see if I’m right, his head jerks to me.
But it’s not lust I see in his eyes.
It’s sadness.
For me?
I’m not sure if that’s any better.
“Names,” he says roughly, fingers twitching as if reaching for me. “Who else needs to die?”
“Names?” Scorn tinges my laugh at his naivety, however misplaced his supposed kindness is. “You want something that even I don’t know. It’s not as if they introduced themselves with a handshake before shoving into me.” I’d love for all of them to die, but I know it isn’t logical.
“Mara, I—” He winces, words cutting off into silence, but his dark gaze never leaves mine.
And it’s back again…that strange look he gave me as he carried me up the stairs yesterday.
That strange look that pierces into me in the most unsettling of ways.
But then a snorting cry erases the tension, and we both look down at Emmaline as she squirms in my arms. “What’s the matter, Little Bit?
” Warren coos to her, softness spreading over his face. “You sleep good?”
“You don’t have to pretend to be her father when it’s just us.
” I subtly bounce my tiny baby in my arms to soothe her, bracing myself against the pain in my core at the jostling movement, but her soft crying only grows louder and sends milk surging into my tender breasts.
She’d nursed before we left, but the way her mouth roots against my chest has me thinking only one thing will satisfy her.
“I gave you both my word. ‘Sides, I’m gonna like being a papa to her. I think she’s hungry,” Warren says not so helpfully as her eyes and nose scrunch together in preparation of another cry.
My eyes roll before I can help it. “I know.” Sighing, I balance her on my lap and reach up to unfasten my buttons, casting a wary glance at him.
“You’re going to feed her here?” he asks over the noise.
Heaven help me. It’s not an ideal place for privacy, not with being in the open and rubbing shoulders with him, but a baby has to eat. “Are you going to be the one to tell her she has to wait until we get to your house?”
By the smile that splits his face, you’d never have guessed I’d snapped at him just now. “Our house, you mean, and of course not. Here, I’ll hold her while you get ready.”
“No—” Maternal instinct sounding the alarm, I forget the gaping material and reach for her, but she’s already cradled in Warren’s arms. I know he held her this morning without asking, but that was before I was thinking clearly.
“Hey now, Emmaline.” He grabs her little hand in his and raises his voice to a ridiculous pitch. “You’re gonna eat, I promise, but you gotta be patient. We won’t let you go hungry, Little Bit.”
“We?” The sarcasm is heavily loaded in the single word.
His eyes fly to my chest, and his tanned cheeks darken as he stammers, “I mean...you know. I was just...well…”
Suddenly, he reminds me of a puppy. A big, overgrown puppy whose feelings might get hurt if I keep going. Maybe there’s a bit of niceness in me after all as I skip poking fun at him and reach for Emmaline instead. “Let me have her now.”
“Oh. Right,” he blurts out as he reluctantly hands her over. “Will you be okay if we get going again?”
I hardly hear him as I focus on guiding a small mouth to my nipple, but I belatedly murmur a yes, transfixed at the way Emmaline’s eyes flutter as she feeds. The tightness in my breast is relieved even as cramps knot my stomach.
Tears collect and sting my nose as I discreetly sniff them back. Christ, how could I have ever not wanted to hold her? She’s perfect, even with the mark on her hand. And she has my eyes, too, instead of her father’s dark ones. I hope they stay this way.
One of the horses neighs. Why haven’t we moved? Warren’s hands tightly grasp the reins, but his attention isn’t on the road.
It’s on me.
On my exposed breast.
A bitter smile forms, and my small bit of fragile happiness dwindles. Typical man.
“Sorry,” he says hoarsely before clearing his throat. “Giddup.” The surrey jolts as the horses move.
A tumult of conflicting emotions rushes over me as we press on to his house in silence.
One thing’s for certain—I could never imagine any of the men I know talking nonsense to a baby, let alone holding one as comfortably as he did.
Maybe he really is a “good boy” like Mrs. Smith said.
And that’s all well and good as long as he keeps his cock in his pants.
But good boy or not, his eyes still linger on me every so often as I nurse.
By the time Emmaline’s belly is full and my buttons are refastened, we’ve turned onto a smaller path that winds down to a house still a distance away. Warren nods proudly. “This is it. Home sweet home.”
I don’t say anything as I take in the sight of rolling pasture leading up to the house.
As we draw closer, I’m secretly in awe at the cream-colored house with a red slate roof.
It’s not as fancy as the one we just left, but it’s a damn sight better than some of the places I’ve lived.
And in the flowerbeds on either side of the porch steps?
Deep gold and orange and red chrysanthemums basking in the fall sunshine.
I don’t know whether to dare take hope in this or not.
Maybe it’s good not to take hope just yet, because when I see the barn and the bunkhouse, a niggling suspicion creeps over my shoulders and into my head. “Are you the only one who lives here?” I watch him intently for any sign of deceit, but his broad shoulders stay relaxed.
“Just me. And now you two,” he says easily.
“Any...visitors?” Of the male variety, specifically.