Claimed on the Frontier (22 page)

Still holding onto his head, he charged at me. I used the butt of the pistol as a weapon, swinging it, but he ducked, his hands looped around my waist. He threw me on the bed face-down while I pushed and kicked with all I had, but it was no use. I couldn’t get away. I couldn’t stop him. He muttered crude, wicked things at me as he shifted up my skirts. Cold fear clawed at me and I fought with everything I had, but he was too strong. I couldn’t lift him. He was going to have his way with me, and I didn’t know how I could stop him.

I never did hear the door of the cabin open. I heard the shouts and saw a blur as Aaron entered the room. In a flash, he had the man by the shoulders, dragging him back as he spun him around and delivered a crushing blow to the man’s jaw. Again and again, his fists flailed, but the man was strong and tenacious. Even as his head reared back with the blows, he was moving. He ducked his head and charged at Aaron, his head connecting with Aaron’s stomach. I could hear the air whoosh out of Aaron as the man shoved him against the door of our room.

They fought, fists flying, and the sounds of the thuds and grunts made me sick. I wished I knew what I could do, but I knew Aaron would want me to stay out of the fray. I sat on the bed, watching it all happen, thinking with all I had about a strategy to help Aaron.

They were back in the main room of the cabin now, and I leapt down from the bed and ran in after them. Aaron was besting the man. He had him on the floor now, down between his legs, and Aaron’s fists were falling, one blow after another. But the man would not give up. He ducked a blow from Aaron and grabbed his fist, pulling him down. With a shout of fury, he grabbed Aaron by the front of his shirt and whacked his head against the floor.

To my horror, I watched as Aaron’s body went limp.

I didn’t know until later that the bloodcurdling screams in the cabin were mine. I never even remembered grabbing Aaron’s rifle. All I remember was the ringing in my ears from the sound of the gunshot and my own screams, holding the rifle in my hands, and the way the man’s blood pooled on the floor. His eyes were vacant as they stared up at me. I’d killed a man, and it didn’t even register. My only thought was to get to my husband.

* * *

I needed help. I didn’t know what to do. I looked around the cabin that was eerily quiet now. Gingerly, I stepped over the man to get to Aaron. Aaron’s breath was shallow, but he was breathing, and I clasped him up to my breast, feeling tears and hysteria bubbling up at the same time.

“Wake up,” I moaned. “Oh, please, Aaron, wake up.”

I rolled him over and his eyes remained shut. It was then that I noticed the knife, stained with blood on the floor. Aaron’s blood. I was paralyzed with horror for seconds before I realized I needed to
move.

I needed help.

I moved my fingers over Aaron’s chest, and blood seeped against my fingernails at his right side.

I tore off my apron and bound it tightly against Aaron’s injured side, immediately staining it scarlet. Gently resting Aaron’s limp body on the floor, I pushed to my feet and ran.

Samuel must’ve seen me before I saw him. He was facing ma’s house, but when it finally registered that it was Samuel in front of me, he was already coming toward me on his horse at a full gallop.

“Pearl, what is it? Where’s Aaron?”

I mumbled something barely coherent about a dead man, a gun, and a knife wound. Samuel turned and shouted over his shoulder.

“Matthew!” Matthew came trotting out of the barn. “Go on, git Phillip! Tell him to fetch the doctor and make haste, boy. Take Trigger.”

Trigger was Samuel’s fastest horse and Matthew was never allowed to ride him. Matthew wasted no time in obeying and I heard the galloping of Trigger’s hooves seconds later.

“Get up on here,” he said, “And for God’s sake, quit shakin’ that gun afore you take someone’s eye out.”

I didn’t even realize I still had the rifle. He snatched it from my hand, offering me his other hand, and I quickly hoisted myself up behind him. We galloped to the house. Samuel leapt down from his horse, tying her quickly to a post, before he snatched my hand and yanked me down off the horse. I raced ahead of him.

Please let him be okay. Lord Almighty, please let him be okay.

Matthew took in the scene, shaking his head. He went straight to Aaron, rolling him over.

“It’s his side,” I whispered. “He took a knife to the side.”

Samuel stripped off Aaron’s shirt and undershirt. I gasped at the sight of the wound, ugly, scarlet, and seeping.

“Get me some rags, and be quick about it.”

I had a clean store of rags in my pantry I fetched hastily, handing them to Samuel.

“Now boil us some water.” The Dutch oven in the hearth was already filled with steaming hot water I’d been preparing for evening tea. Carefully, I lifted it, nestling it on the floor. I retrieved a large bowl, ladled the steaming water into it, and brought it to Samuel.

His eyes were grave as he took in Aaron’s condition.

“The knife wound’s superficial,” he said. “Just a graze. Ain’t much of a cut. But the head, there’s no tellin’.”

Between the two of us, we carried him to our bed. Samuel had bandaged up the wound well, and there was no more bleeding now. But I hated the sight of my pale husband, weak and unconscious. Samuel left him with me as he dragged the body of the man out of the cabin. I never did know what he did with him. I was focused solely on my husband, willing him to be okay. Willing him to come back to me. I cradled his head in my lap on the bed, running my fingers through his hair and trailing a finger down the scruffy beard.

“I love you,” I whispered. “I love you, Aaron. Please. Please, wake up.”

I heard a commotion in the doorway and Matthew entered with Phillip and the doctor. Shortly after that, the sheriff arrived, and then ma. Her face was stricken as she took note of Aaron in bed, the doctor’s stethoscope pressed up against his bare chest, as the doctor looked gravely at Aaron.

Doctor Gentry was an elderly man, with white hair and a white moustache, gold wire-framed glasses perched upon his nose. He’d practiced medicine for decades and was revered among the settlers as a patient, learned man who could as soon as help you clear a wart off your hand as he could deliver your baby.

“His heartbeat is slow,” Doctor Gentry said. “But it’s to be expected in the event of head trauma. All other signs point to his being fine.” He’d dressed the knife wound and agreed with Samuel that it had indeed been superficial. He’d checked over every inch of Aaron’s body, taking note of no other prominent injuries but the head.

“You do your best to take care of him,” the doctor said. He stood, patting my shoulder, as I nodded. Ma came up behind me and her arms went around my shoulders as the men took their leave and we were left alone with Aaron. He looked pale and lifeless against the sheets. My strong, capable man, always in charge, always powerful, now looked as vulnerable as a child.

And as everyone left and ma spun me around, she drew me into her soft frame. She was a bit shorter than I was, but fuller. I’d never been embraced by a mother when I was hurt or sad. I’d known the feel of my husband’s embrace, but it was different. Her words tickled my ear.

“He’ll be fine, child, you’ll see. He’s been hurt before. And I thought we’d lost him once, when he was a young man taken with fever ‘n ague. But now, Pearl, he’s got somethin’ to
live
for.”

Did she mean what I thought she did? Was it
me
?

“
He loves you more than life, Pearl,” she whispered. “The sun rises in your eyes and sets in your smile with him. I’ve never seen a man more devoted to his wife, unless it was my own husband. Aaron is his father, through and through. You know that? He’s his pa, all over again. That man’s laid claim on you, and he’s too stubborn to leave you now.”

It was then that I felt the tears come as she voiced my fears. And there in the darkened room, with her arms about my shoulders, the first time in my life in the presence of a woman I called ma, I wept. I wept for the little girl raised without the comfort of parents who loved her. I wept for ma’s own loss, the knowledge of the pain she must’ve felt and still felt, not having her man by her side when she woke in the morning, or next to her when she went to bed at night. I wept for the woman whose husband was dragged from my home and would be buried in a criminal’s shallow grave the next day, for her daughter who now had no home to call her own, and a father who lived a shameful life. I wept for Aaron, my strong man who mourned the loss of his father and every day aimed to be a better man. I wept because the one person I needed by my side was breathing shallow breaths in bed, injured because he would’ve laid down his life for mine.

She hushed me, her arms holding me tighter as my tears flowed and my shoulders racked with the sobs that wrenched from me. And when I was done crying, peace came. I lifted my face and wiped my tears. She handed me a handkerchief from the clean pile of Aaron’s clothing next to my bed. I squared my shoulders and inhaled.

“Right, then. Time to be strong for my man.”

She smiled, one woman to another. Nodding, she turned me to face him. And that was when his eyes opened.

* * *

“You git on over here and sit,” Aaron growled. He was frowning, his eyes darkened and his heavy brows drawn together.

He had no idea how pleased I was to see the familiar scowl.

“Oh?” I said, the temptation to prod him far too difficult to resist. “Or what?” I asked innocently, my eyes intentionally wide as I did not sit but stood, my hands on my hips. It was all I could do to keep my face calm and placid and not break into a grin.

His voice dropped. “You little vixen,” he said, though his lips twitched. “You think I’m not keepin’ a tally on how many licks you’ve earned while I’ve been laid up like this?”

That was when I felt the first twinge of fear, but at the same time my heart soared. My man was coming back.

It had been a full week of him lying in bed per doctor’s orders, and I didn’t know what was making him more ornery—not being able to get up and about, or my prodding him. I reasoned to myself that it was for his own good
.
If I could get him to be back to his old self again, then maybe he’d feel better, stronger, more willing and able to get out of that bed and strengthen himself again. His three brothers had gladly taken up the chores around the house, those that I couldn’t do myself, and our little farm was thriving. But Aaron was going stir-crazy.

It wasn’t until then that I realized our relationship was built on a strange sort of symbiotic need for one another. I needed him—to protect me, watch over me, and lead me. To discipline me when necessary and help me grow and learn. And he needed me to need him.

He needed to be needed.

So, I continued to prod.

“Ah, your brain’s gone all addled,” I said with a careless toss of my hand, while the other nestled on my hip. I wore a new dress Geraldine had helped me fashion, modeled off the latest style I’d seen in a magazine Matthew got for me in town. It was a sage-colored green and it looked nice against my skin. It was quite fitted at the waist and accentuated my bust in a modest, but still thoroughly attractive way. Geraldine was a master at finishing dresses, and the nips and tucks she’d made were perfect. The dress fit me like a glove, and Aaron hadn’t been able to keep his eyes from roving over me.

“I’ve been perfect as an angel, and there’s no need for you to be getting all up in arms about needing to keep me in my place, now, is there?”

I sashayed my way over to him, intentionally wiggling my hips as I leaned over the bed so he got a fair glimpse of my bust.

He wasted no time, his powerful fingers grasping my wrist and hauling me over to him so that his mouth crushed against mine.

“Naughty little girl,” he whispered, pulling me closer to him again, his tongue in my mouth, insistent and possessive. I felt my thighs clench together as I was immediately aroused, and one of his hands dipped lower. And then I was sprawled across his lap.

“Aaron!” I gasped. “Your ma’s outside and she’ll hear!”

“Not if you don’t holler,” he said, lifting my skirts. I shoved a fist in my mouth, trying not to scream or squeal as the flat of his palm landed squarely on my bottom. It wasn’t a terribly painful swat, and over my clothing like that it did little more than stoke the flame.

“You’ll hurt yourself!” I hissed. “The doctor said no heavy exertion.”

“I’ll give you exertion,” he muttered, landing another, more painful swat at the crease of my thighs. I tried my best not to fidget and fuss, because I didn’t want to hurt him. Instead, I lay as still as possible. He chuckled.

“Little girl knows she needs a lickin’,” he murmured. “Misses bein’ put in her place from time to time, hmm?” His fingers fumbled at my waist and removed the drawstring from my drawers. In no time, he had me bared to him.

I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He laughed out loud at that, but then he quieted. He held me still over his lap, one secure hand on my lower back, while he slowly, firmly, administered a thorough spanking. Each smack of his hand stung and burned, but each stroke seemed to peel back a bit of the fear I’d had kept buried in my heart. He spanked me until I lay as limp as a rag doll over his lap. His large hand rubbed the sting out as he murmured soft things to me, like, “That’s a good little girl,” and “You’ve been patient and strong, little one, while I’ve been laid up.” Finally, I twisted off his lap and buried my head on his chest.

“I love you, Aaron,” I whispered. “I was afraid while you were laid up, but I kept it to myself. I knew you needed me to be strong for you.”

“Did you now?” he whispered as his hand moved through my hair, stroking me softly.

“Yes, sir. I wanted you to be proud of me.”

“I’m proud of you every day, Pearl.”

I opened my eyes. “Are you? I’ve been afraid, Aaron, of not meeting your expectations. Of never being good enough for you. I’ve so wanted to be the girl you needed, and the wife you deserve.”