Fetching Charlotte Rose (2 page)

Charlotte could hardly believe her ears. How dare he not only use her first name, but also a bastardized, male version of it? She lifted her chin and gave him a withering look. “I informed you that I prefer to be called Miss Rose, not Charlotte, and
certainly
not Charlie.”

“Yes I know you did, Charlie, and that was your first mistake. Your second is not answering my question about whether you’re hungry. That could try a lesser man’s patience.”

Charlotte scowled. “I fail to see how asking to be regarded properly is a mistake, Mr. Harrison.”

Max folded his arms in front of him and leaned against the back of the buggy. “I’ll tell you how. You shouldn’t let people know what raises your bristles if you wish to keep that smart mouth of yours. Folks out here won’t appreciate you looking down your nose at them. You do that to a man, he’ll find a way to annoy you, as I managed to do without even hardly trying.”

Charlotte’s mouth hung open for a moment before she closed it and set her jaw angrily. The man had actually lectured her about proper behavior, despite his own being anything but! His impertinence overshadowed his good looks, and she decided that she didn’t think much of the brazen man she was unfortunate enough to be dependent on for the next eight hours.

“I’ll do without your chicken feed and forego the restaurant. The sooner I can be alone in my new dwelling, the better.” She lifted her skirts and stormed to the front of the buggy. She stopped and stared up at the seat. “Where are the steps, Mr. Harrison? How am I to get up?” she asked, genuinely flummoxed. “Am I to run and jump, or would you have me clamor up the muddy wheel?”

She heard a coughed laugh before she felt her feet leave the ground. Max deposited her on the seat like one might a sack of flour, then rounded the buggy and climbed up next to her. Without a word, he released the brake, clucked to the horse, and slapped the reins on her back. The horse moved forward at a quick clip.

Charlotte’s heart beat wildly. She felt outraged, but she also felt something else—a fluttering in her stomach. No man had ever dared touch her without her consent. Men were generally shy around her. She knew she was a beauty and that her beauty rendered men weak, yet here was a man who, after minutes of knowing her, had not only scolded her but also taken her into his arms. If he thought she was beautiful and felt shy over it, he certainly didn’t let on.

“I suppose it’s considered proper out here for a man to grab a lady’s person without her consent. Is that the case, Mr. Harrison, or are you unique in that respect?”

He chuckled. “Proper isn’t a big concern of most men out here, I’d say.”

“Oh? And what concerns a man such as yourself?”

He raked her with his gaze from head to toe before answering. “My concern at the moment is getting a young lady home to rest before she keels over. You look flushed and clear tuckered out. Perhaps even a mite feverish.”

“I feel fine, thank you.” As she said it, she knew it was a lie. She felt warmer than she’d ever felt and the thought of enduring eight hours of travel in the oppressive heat filled her with something like despair.

“Do you have something to wear other than those fancy duds?”

Charlotte felt her cheeks grow even hotter hearing his words. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

He sighed. “You have a problem answering questions, don’t you, Charlie? I’m only asking because you might feel more comfortable in lighter clothing. How many petticoats are you wearing under that gown?”

Charlotte gasped. “Mr. Harrison, there’s a reason a woman’s unmentionables are called just that. I’ll thank you to remember your manners, if you ever had them.”

He let out a noise that sounded much like a growl. “Do you have something to wear other than that heavy silk dress? Just answer me that.” He frowned at her, then added with sarcasm, “If you please, good lady.”

Charlotte gaped at him a moment before lifting her chin higher and responding, “I do have another dress in my bag, but I assure you I am fine in this.”

He shook his head but relented with another sigh. “If you say so.”

They rode in silence for some time. After what seemed like hours of travel, Charlotte felt dizzy and nauseated. She inwardly cursed her stubborn pride and wished she’d changed into her lighter calico dress when the man suggested it. She loathed the thought of admitting he was right, so she didn’t speak of her distress, even when her breathing became panting and sweat dripped from her face onto her hands. She felt her muscles weaken. She soon had no strength to remain upright and balance herself in the seat, which jerked at every bump in the road. She slumped toward the edge of the buggy and then felt Max’s hand grasp her wrist and yank her back.

She passed out after that because the next thing she knew, she was lying on a quilt next to the wagon with Max on his knees by her side. “I was a fool to listen to you,” he snarled. “Damn and blast!” His voice seemed far away. “I need to take off your dress. I’m sorry, but you have a touch of heatstroke and you’re burning up.”

She offered no resistance as he stripped her to her shift and removed all but one petticoat, which he mercifully left on her body. He removed her shoes and stockings, and she felt relief when the air touched her toes. He poured water from the canteen over her face, neck, and along her arms. He did the same to her feet and legs up to her knees. As her body felt relief from the anguish, her mind became anguished over the humiliating situation.

He soaked his bandanna and tied it loosely around her neck, then slid an arm under her shoulders and lifted her to a seated position. He held the canteen to her lips, and she drank a few sips. “Drink some more,” he ordered, and Charlotte obeyed.

“Feel better?” he asked, his eyes boring into hers.

She nodded and averted her eyes from his penetrating stare. With her arms, she covered her chest, which was as good as naked. The water he’d poured on her had rendered her thin white shift transparent. She hung her head. Max stood, retrieved her bag, and located her lighter dress. Handing it to her, he said, “Put this on, then take off your petticoat from under it. We’ll be on our way after that.” He dropped her bag and walked to the other side of the buggy to give her privacy, which would have been laughable after he’d seen her stripped to her underclothes, if it wasn’t so humiliating.

Charlotte felt knocked down more than a few pegs, but she still didn’t like being told what to do, especially about her own clothing. The least he could have done was explain to her politely what he thought was best instead of ordering her around. He might also have asked before rummaging through her personal belongings to locate her other dress, and he might have placed her bag on the quilt instead of dropping it in the dirt. Insufferable man! Her ire toward him returned as she stood and slipped the dress over her shoulders.

Upon buttoning the last of the buttons up to her chest, she addressed him in hesitant tone, knowing her words would displease him and unsure about the wisdom of doing so. “I will leave my petticoat on, Mr. Harrison. This dress is improper otherwise.”

For an awful moment, there was no sound or movement. Then she saw his shadow appear near the back of the buggy and shortly after Max himself approaching her, wearing a fierce scowl. He stopped a horse length away.

“Foolish woman! If you possess a lick of sense, you will remove your petticoat. Then you will obey any other order I give you from now until I get you home. Give me any more trouble before then, and I’ll turn you over my knee. And so help me, there won’t be a petticoat, or a dress, or anything else between my hand and your high-and-mighty backside when I spank some common sense into you.”

Charlotte felt horrified. She gulped, then exclaimed, “You wouldn’t dare, Mr. Harrison!” Tears suddenly stung her eyes.

“Oh, but I would, Charlie.” He moved a step toward her. “Maybe I ought to smack your bottom a few times right now to prove it.”

She took a step back and held out a hand to stop his approach. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Harrison. I will do your bidding. I see I have no choice, since you’re devoid of the manners that befit a gentleman and would feel no compunction over beating me.”

She sniffled as she bent to remove her petticoat from under her dress. This place was like a foreign country, so very different from Boston, and she suddenly felt like she’d never be able to adapt, if all the men around were like the one standing in front of her scowling. After folding her petticoat in half a couple of times, she held it against her chest and gazed at him sorrowfully. She felt her lower lip tremble and told herself not to humiliate herself further by allowing the sobs to overtake her.

Max’s expression softened as he sighed and closed the gap between them. Lifting her into his arms yet again, he said, “I wouldn’t beat you, honey. A spanking is not a beating. Thank you for obeying me, though, so as not to learn the difference today.” He placed her on the buggy seat gently, then removed the petticoat from her limp hands and stuffed it into her bag.

Chapter Two: Holding Back

Max felt his heartbeat slow to a normal pace soon after resuming their journey. Dealing with a feverish, unconscious woman in the middle of nowhere had given him a fright, and he felt angry with himself for allowing her to get to that point. Unlike him, she hadn’t a clue about how to care for herself in a place where temperatures rose to over a hundred degrees in the summer. He should have insisted much earlier that she change into appropriate clothing.

His fear now gone, he worried about how to contend with the distraught and humiliated woman sitting next to him. He didn’t like seeing the little spitfire he’d met on the platform in such a state. He’d felt much more comfortable when she was giving him lip and showing a bit of pluck. Now she was subdued and depressed. She hung her head and stared at her hands in her lap, sniffling quietly every so often.

He wondered what her story was. She was beyond beautiful; she was utterly breathtaking. She could have batted her eyelashes at just about any man and found herself in a comfortable position for life. Instead, she’d traveled alone to a hard place, intent on earning a living for herself. Max thought about asking her what made her want to leave home, but he didn’t think he could bear it if his question caused her to cry and feel regret.

He reached into his pack and selected the finest looking apple. “Eat this,” he said, handing it to her.

Without a word, she slowly took the piece of fruit. She studied it for a moment, rubbed it down thoroughly with the skirt of her dress, and took a bite. He felt glad that she was getting some nourishment, but he’d hoped for a bit of an argument, like she’d offered him about everything else prior to that point. He recognized that she was heeding his order to obey or else endure a spanking. He should have felt glad about that, but he felt strangely bereft. He worried that he might have broken her spirit somehow.

“Can I do anything to make you more comfortable, Charlie?”

“No, Mr. Harrison,” she said in a voice that sounded dangerously close to tears.

“I wish you’d call me Max.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, exactly. It just seems odd to be called Mr. Harrison.”

She didn’t respond immediately, but when she eventually did, her accusatory tone provided him with relief. “I suspect it’s so you feel better about using and abusing my Christian name.”

“I reckon that has something to do with it.”

“Well, you’ll get no such satisfaction from me, Mr. Harrison. I think we’re familiar enough as it is, much to my humiliation, without being on a first-name basis.”

He winced and rubbed the back of his neck. “I wish I could say something to make you feel better about what happened. Honestly, there’s no reason for you to feel humiliated, honey. You’re new here. It’s my fault I didn’t insist that you change into better clothes before you became ill. Your stubborn pride didn’t help, of course, but I should have ignored it.”

She swallowed a bite of apple. “I suppose that’s your attempt at an apology.”

“Something like that.”

Her resignation disappeared, replaced by all the outrage he’d witnessed from her previously. “I don’t forgive you, Mr. Harrison. Further, I’ll thank you not to call me honey or Charlie or any other name for me that forms inside your impertinent, hard head.”

Max couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Sorry, honey, but you’ll get no such satisfaction from me either. Charlie suits you. It suits you just fine.”

She huffed and tossed the half-eaten apple into the weeds by the side of the path. “That was horrid. I’ve had lemons that were sweeter,” she reported.

He smirked but managed not to laugh outright. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her chin lift, and he felt much better about the situation. He ceased speaking to her, allowing her to be left alone with her thoughts. He knew she’d feel better once he got her home and out of his presence.

He thought it would be best if he didn’t try to see her again. That saddened him, as he would have liked to get to know her better, but he felt it much more important that she regain her dignity. He wanted her to thrive in Weston, where she’d no doubt struggle enough. She didn’t need him in her life as a reminder of her first sour taste of the west.

* * *

The morning after he escorted Charlotte to her room at the boardinghouse, Max returned to the monotony of his daily life. Missing two days of work set him back, even though Tim had been able to shoe the two horses and repair the wagon axle himself. Upon returning to his shop, Max faced three new jobs. The seamstress needed new hangers, the marshal asked for a length of chain, and the saloon owner wanted a new poker table.

A week after he bid Charlotte goodbye and good luck, Max still couldn’t get her off his mind. He remembered the look and feel of her soft skin as he cooled her down with water and the way the light of the sun highlighted the chestnut hair she had pinned in an elaborate bun on her head. He reckoned a lovelier creature didn’t exist anywhere on earth. Her personality charmed him too. Her sharp tongue amused him, but it didn’t fool him. He could tell that she used it to veil her vulnerability, and he admired her grit and ability to stand up for herself. That would serve her well in Weston.