Chapter 18
MARA
I regret a lot of things, but right now, I most regret my bold insistence that I’d be fine coming to the Christmas festival instead of celebrating quietly at the elder Shays’ house.
Even though Warren is at my right and his parents at my left, it’s not their nearness that almost suffocates me.
Nor is it the heat of the fire that keeps the winter chill at bay.
It’s the swell of the crowd. The screeching fiddle some soul zealously plays—without having bothered to tune it very well—that wears upon my nerves as couples dance in circles about the square.
Not since the brush arbor revivals the Overstreets would hold for weeks at a time have I been around this many people.
I’d much prefer the comforting weight of my baby, but she’s all too content in her Papa’s arms as he sways with her in time to the music.
It’s adorable how much they look alike. Eleanor finished her outfit two days ago, and the red velvet over a tiny white and green petticoat is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I pause when my hand brushes over my own dress.
She made mine, too, a deep green dress with a white wrap, and the green matches Warren’s shirt.
He hitches Emmaline to one shoulder and leans down. “See anybody here that needs to die?” A serious question so at odds with his pleasant tone.
“How very morbid.” All the same, I scan the faces of the men with dreadful curiosity, hoping none of them seems familiar.
Slightly relaxing when no one strikes recognition but tensing back up when I realize several stares are directed my way in return.
I don’t like the way their eyes linger on me, scanning me from head to toe.
For a moment, it almost feels like I’m in that cramped back room again and wearing a dirty buckskin dress as I wait for a man.
But I’m not. I’m fully covered in a respectable dress, and I’m here with my baby, my husband, and his family.
My family which apparently includes his friend Dalton.
Even though he was very polite and made it a point not to get too close to me at dinner the other night, I can’t deny my mixed relief at hearing he was sick and unable to make the festival tonight.
I don’t think I could handle so many men hovering around me, even in protection.
“No,” I answer faintly. “I don’t recognize anyone.
” I cross my arms to shield myself from view, and a few people turn away in disinterest. Maybe this won’t be so bad.
Besides some curious looks, no one’s cast any unkind words my way.
Until I’m proven so very wrong when barely hushed feminine tones filter through a lull in the music.
“Why an Indian woman? It’s not as if there were a shortage of more proper women suited for marriage with him. I know my Violet would have made a fine addition to their family.”
I stiffen and struggle to hear the rest as my heartbeat pounds in my ears. Proper women. White ones, she means.
“So would my Laurie. But maybe she isn’t full Indian. Her eyes are a most interesting shade of blue.”
Warren’s entire body turns rigid as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing, but it can’t be much of a surprise. I knew this would happen if we came.
“Surely that isn’t his baby.”
“I don’t know…the child does seem to favor him even with its darker skin.”
Hurt and anger sting my insides as a sour tang coats my tongue. I can take them talking about me, but Emmaline is off limits. She’s just an innocent baby. But before I can gather a response, Warren cuts in, curt and hard. “That’s about enough out of the both of you.”
“You oughtta be ashamed of yourselves,” Cornelius booms.
A collective gasp ensues, drawing the attention of people nearby.
I want the floor to swallow me whole, but I square my shoulders and stand proud as Cornelius and Eleanor press closer to me.
“Of course she favors him.” My words might be pleasant enough, but I skewer the older women with my tone.
“She’s our daughter. Who else would the child of my husband favor if not her father?
Warren’s mother practically vibrates with rage as she glares at the offending women. “How dare you speak ill of my daughter-in-law.”
“My wife has a name,” Warren says with rough emphasis, shifting Emmaline to one shoulder before laying claim to my waist with a protective hand. “Mara Shay. I’d advise you to use respect when you speak of my wife and child. Better yet, don’t speak of them at all.”
“Why, I never…” The ladies’ mouths gape in outrage, but he’s not done.
“That’s right. You never will speak of them in this manner again.
And don’t assume I’d have married either one of your daughters if I hadn’t married Mara.
Lonely doesn’t mean desperate.” His eyebrows draw together until the women make embarrassed excuses and disappear into the crowd behind them.
His attention goes first to our daughter then to me, and the hardness melts away from his frame as he tenderly cups Emmaline’s tiny head in his much larger hand.
“Hey now…just some old biddies with nothing to do but gossip. Don’t listen to anything they say, you hear me? ”
“Are you telling me or her?”
“Both of you.” Warren focuses on me like a hawk. “You all right?”
More than I expected to be now that any perceived threat to Emmaline is gone. But now part of me wonders just how many of these mothers had their hopes set on my husband for a son-in-law. “I am. Thank you for doing that.”
Heated emotion swims in the depths of his eyes. “Don’t thank me for protecting you and our baby. I’ll always do that no matter what. And I’m proud of you for talking back to them. Damn proud. You even called me her papa.”
“Because that’s what you are, aren’t you?” My words are light and airy, but I know it means something to him that I did that for all to hear.
“Damn right, I am.” His hand cups my cheek, and if we weren’t here in front of everyone, I have a feeling he’d be leaning in for a kiss.
“You should dance,” Eleanor decides. “That way everyone will know she’s yours. And then Cornelius and Jed need to dance with her, too, to show she’s under Shay protection.”
My head swings wildly towards her as I latch onto her last sentence. “But I don’t know how to dance!” And even if I did, I only want to dance with Warren.
The music changes to a slower tempo, and Eleanor perks up with a sly grin.
“There you go. This one will be easy. Just follow his lead and have a good time. Now, let me hold my granddaughter and show off her dress. I knew she’d be the most darling angel in the room with that shade of red. Just absolutely perfect.”
And that’s how I find myself tugged onto the dance floor.
“Don’t go too fast,” I plead as Warren’s hands rest snugly at my lower back. “I won’t be able to keep up.” As if to prove it, I accidentally step on his foot. I grimace and pray no one noticed. “I’m sorry.”
“No worries. I heard it’s your first time.” Good Christ. I stumble at the reference. He knows damn well better than to mention such a thing in public, and he proves it when his mouth brushes over my ear for a deep, intimate whisper. “And we know just how much I love first times with you.”
I hiss his name, but it’s silenced by the music. It would be a miracle if my face didn’t match Emmaline’s dress by now.
“All right, wife…I’ll behave.”
He does, for the better part of three dances as I grow more confident. Even when the beat becomes swifter. While I know I’m not the best—especially with what feels like the entire town watching me—I’m able to at least not step on his toes any longer.
A strong, tanned hand claps Warren’s shoulder. “May I cut in?”
Warren immediately tugs me closer and scowls at Jedidiah, the owner of said hand. Neither of them pays any mind to how the nearby couples have to sidestep us. “You think you can get here late and steal my wife away for your first dance? Nah, I don’t think so, brother. Dance with your own wife.”
“Being fashionably late’s the new style.
But if you hadn’t been staring at Mara like a moonsick calf, you’d have noticed I’ve already danced with my wife.
Twice, in fact.” Jedidiah’s face softens when he mentions Dove, and my guilt compounds yet again for the terrible things I thought about their love when he’d rescued her.
Even so, I still only want my husband’s hands on me.
“Give us a minute.” Warren guides us away from the dancers into a quiet little nook and brings an arm up to block everyone from my view.
“Will you be all right if my brother and father dance with you? You don’t have to, but at least this way everyone’ll all think twice about what they say.
I don’t want to push you too much.” Warm concern shines in his gaze as it traces over my face. “You’ve already come so far.”
I hear his unspoken words. I don’t want this to set you back.
Cautious unease weighs on my soul like a dark cloud heavy with rain. “If I don’t…”
Kindness settles over his features. “If you don’t, then I’ll keep you tucked up under my arm until you decide you’re ready to go home. Or if you want to leave now, we can do that, too.”
I’d be lying if I said part of me didn’t consider that last option for more than a few seconds. But Warren deserves a wife who makes an effort to become part of the family he so clearly loves. And Emmaline needs to know that her mother is strong, too. He’s right in one thing—I have come so far.
And I can go a little further. “Only two dances?”
“Only two dances.”
“And I can trust your brother and father?” I glance over to Jedidiah. If he’s annoyed at waiting, he hides it well.
“Darlin’, I’d sooner cut off both arms and let you hit me over the head with them than ever let you be around anyone who’d ever hurt you.”
“Okay,” I say on a rough breath. “I trust you.”
“You do?” Warren’s head rears back and a smile splits his face when I nod. “Okay then…okay. You’ll be okay. Just two dances and it’ll all be over before you know it.”