Chapter 20
ALICE
Buttery praline sugar melts on my tongue as I watch the children dance and cheer in the square, silver dollars gleaming bright in their small hands. A mild breeze passes through, horses clomp by and a basket of flowers rests at my feet, purchased from the children by my purse.
“Now, keep those safe, loves,” I say, smoothing my skirts. “Do not wave them about, lest some thief snatch them away. Take them straight home and place them into your mommies’ and daddies’ hands.”
They nod as if making a solemn oath, then skip off, laughter echoing and fading across the square like a playground.
I look down at the basket brimming with daisies, all mine now, bought at a dollar apiece.
Far greater than they’re worth, and yet worth every cent.
The coins were taken from Kodiak’s pile, true, but they were stolen long before that.
A thief’s spoils used to feed and clothe children.
I doubt even God would frown too harshly at such an exchange.
I nearly float back to the hotel down the crowded city streets.
Though a pit of fear lingers in my belly, it’s tempered with the joy of young smiles.
Kodiak will understand, won’t he? I had sought permission—in a manner of speaking—and he seemed endeared to the idea.
Twenty dollars is a small sum compared to the thousands he stole.
Though there is a chance he will be cross…
especially after our spat. He might think it retaliation.
I smile to myself.
Perhaps it was.
I imagine him towering over me, his chest rising with quickened breath the way it had earlier, his face close to mine with that menacing look.
It’s a dizzying mix of fear and something I cannot define.
A knot tightens in my stomach, and yet, the thought of his voice rumbling with authority sends a shiver rushing through me, a sudden warmth blooming low within me.
Why is it that Joseph’s temper often paralyzed me from daring to defy him at all, and yet the thought of defying Kodiak, a man most would agree far more dangerous, wraps my fear in glee?
When I open our hotel room door, I find him sitting at the edge of the bed, forearms on his knees as if burdened. He lifts his head, his eyebrows lifting before his expression fades to something equal parts hostility and relief.
“Where the hell have you been?”
I jerk back. We’re off to a poor start. My pulse quickens and I can barely get a word out. “I…I was at the market.”
“The market,” he repeats with a note of skepticism.
I show him my basket. “See, I bought flowers.”
He looks at them with a wrinkle in his brow. “I don’t know what you paid for that, but I could’ve yanked those out of the dirt behind the hotel.”
The children probably had. I cannot help but laugh to myself, which only seems to make him grow colder.
“I can’t have you wandering wild all over the city. It ain’t safe.”
“I wasn’t wandering wild. I was at the market. Please pardon me for misunderstanding your concern; I thought you’d have me crawl back to Ohio.”
His expression softens. “I didn’t mean that. Look, we can’t stay. Sherman knows we’re in town.”
“Oh no,” I say, a flash of ice in my veins. My hand flies to my mouth. “What happened?”
“Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna let no harm come to you. And we’ll be just fine. ’Tween the fence and what I had tucked away, we’re sittin’ on enough to move on, start fresh someplace else. We ride first thing tomorrow.”
He proceeds to the leather bag under the desk where he’d hidden away his plunder. My mouth goes dry. I’d secured the cash box inside exactly the way I found it, but when he sits and opens it, a deep wrinkle settles into his brow, and I hold my breath.
“Somethin’ ain’t right,” he says. He turns to me, eyes narrowed. “You been in the cash box?”
“I-I may have taken twenty dollars.” The words near choke me.
Silence follows. Kodiak’s jaw flexes once, then he rises, looming tall, and the pit in my belly grows larger.
“May have?”
I clear my throat. “I did.”
He raises a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, and I flinch.
“You stole from me?”
“For the children. By the church. They sell flowers.”
“You stole from me to buy twenty dollars’ worth of weeds?”
“It wasn’t about the flowers, Kodiak. I—” My nerves flutter in my chest. “You seemed agreeable to it this morning.”
He scoffs. “I told you layin’ with me don’t give you a say over my business.”
“I know, but you had so much. I didn’t think you’d miss it.”
His fists squeeze hard, as if he’s crushing my words to powder. “You think I won’t notice when my own woman robs me? You think I’m some fool?”
“Of course not.” My breath snags. “I only wished—”
He cuts me off with a shake of his head. “I don’t care if you wished, prayed, or cursed—you don’t ever take from me without permission, Alice.” His voice drops, dangerous. “Not if you aim to stay mine.”
My knees buckle and my heart pounds. Mine.
He straightens to his full height with a sigh and says, “You got two choices. Twenty licks ’cross your backside, hard as I can give ’em. Or four hours standin’ in that corner, nose to the wall.”
A strange fire licks at my insides, fierce and unbidden. I had to have known there would be consequences. If someone had taken cash out of my lockbox without permission, I’d not abide it. What wickedness compelled me to tempt the wrath of a bear knowing he may bite?
“You wouldn’t.” My reply straddles the line between a plea and a dare.
He steps close, towering over me. “Oh, lamb. I would. And you’ll choose.”
I can hardly breathe. Four hours seems unbearable. The pain would be over faster with a spanking. “Fine. Twenty.”
His hand clamps my wrist before I can take the words back. In a blink I’m across his knee, skirts shoved high, drawers yanked down. The cool air sweeps gently over my bare skin, shame hotter than fire.
“Kodiak. Please—”
His palm swats down, connecting loud as a whip. I jolt, a cry ripping out of me. The sting like a brand across my backside.
“You’ll not steal from me,” he growls, another crack falling before the burn has faded. “I still ain’t heard an apology.”
“I’m sorry,” I cry.
“Now count. Out loud. That was two.”
His hand claps down again, harder than the first. My legs jerk, but his arm pins me tight.
“I said count,” he commands.
I weep, the tears drawn out of me. “Three.” The word nearly lodges in my throat. How dare he discipline me? I’m a woman, not a wayward child.
As the fourth strike lands and I call out the number, the sting radiates, not just as pain but as something else—a sudden bewildering sensation. Before I could make sense of it, his hand strikes down again. My breath catches, a flush of heat spreading through me, pooling damp between my thighs.
“Alice, if you forget to count again. I’m adding twenty more.”
“Five,” I whimper, pressing my thighs together. The humiliation of being bent over, the bite of his hand, the stern authority in his voice, all twists together.
Another hit and my body jolts. “Six.” The room whirls around me. I cry, gripping the sheets for dear life.
By ten, I’m fighting against my mind, tempted to idle, to freeze in the sensation of it, but the fear of more punishment reinvigorates me, forcing the next number past my lips. I’m gasping, sobbing. By twenty, I wilt over his knee, body shaking with something more than anguish.
His broad palm soothes then, caressing my backside in slow circles so gently I nearly moan. Hauling me up, he cradles me on his lap like I’m fragile after all. The air is too warm, his presence too close, and when I shift, a slick sensation makes me bite my lip, startled.
His calloused thumb sweeps away my tears, his lips press against my temple.
“Ain’t the money, lamb,” he says somberly.
“Hell, I’d shower you with gold if you’d only asked.
It’s trust I want.” He reaches into his coat and pulls out a thick roll of bills, gently pressing it into my trembling hand.
“Take this. Feed every damn orphan in New Orleans if you want. You run out, you ask me for more. You steal again, we’re done. Understand me?”
I nod, cheeks wet, body shaking from the sting and the want it ignited deep inside me.
“Need you to say it.”
I answer, breath hitching. “As long as I am yours, I won’t take without asking.”
His mouth curves into a sly grin, and he pulls me closer, tightening his hold around me.
God help me, I’ve never wanted him more.
I swore I’d never belong to any man again, not after Joseph.
Yet here I am, aching for the very thing I swore to despise.
He is an outlaw, thief, and murderer, and yet, I trust him when he says he wants only what is best for me.
And though I once prayed never to be possessed, the thought of being his and his alone sets my soul on fire.