Fetching Charlotte Rose (3 page)

He wanted more than just about anything to see her again, but he believed she wouldn’t want to see him. He’d witnessed her in a compromised state, which he knew to someone as proud as her, likely stung terribly. He felt an ache in his chest when he remembered the way her eyes filled with tears when he threatened to spank her. Perhaps he’d been a bit too strict in that scolding he gave her. He still thought her stubborn pride warranted a good spanking, but she seemed to need a good hug too, and he wished to give her both.

Tim interrupted his thoughts. “Max, might I leave early today? I have something that needs doing before nightfall.”

Max straightened from where he was bent adding coal to the furnace and regarded the boy. “Is it something important, Tim? We’re awfully busy.”

“Yes, sir. It is.”

“Care to tell me what?”

Tim looked down and shifted his weight to one foot. When he didn’t respond, Max frowned. It was unlike Tim to keep secrets from him, and it was also unlike him to ask for favors. He was eager to please, often to a fault. For the first few months of his apprenticeship, the boy was so afraid of doing something wrong that he frequently made errors because of it. It took him a long time to stop cowering after a mistake.

Tim had eventually realized that Max wouldn’t treat him harshly like his father did. Ironically, as soon as he stopped worrying about making mistakes, he all but stopped making them. He’d become a talented blacksmith and showed promise in carpentry. Tim still made every effort to please Max, but did so by that time out of love and loyalty as opposed to fear.

Max held a strip of iron in the fire of the forge. “You’d let me know if you were in some kind of trouble, wouldn’t you, Tim?”

He hesitated for a moment, then responded, “Yes.”

“All right then, leave early if you must.”

Tim thanked him and they discussed the work that needed to be done. Next on their list was the saloon’s poker table. Max left the shop and headed toward the bar, slowing his stride as he passed the schoolhouse in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Charlotte, but she didn’t venture outside if she was there at all. School wasn’t in session for another couple of weeks.

Arriving at his destination, Max swung open one of the double doors, walked in, and planted himself on a stool at the bar. Piano music and laughter filled his ears as he exchanged pleasantries with the bartender and ordered a cold beer.

Jesse, the owner of the saloon, spotted Max and wandered over to him. “I hope you’re here about the poker table,” he said with a smile. “My customers have been complaining about it for months now. It sure could use an upgrade.”

“Let’s have a look,” Max responded, and downed the rest of his beer. They walked to the round table covered with tattered green felt. Three men sat around it.

“Boys, you’ll have to pause your game for a minute. Max needs to have a look at the table.”

The men stood and moved back. Max ran his hand across the top, then crouched and shook each of the red cedar legs. He stood. “You don’t need a new table, Jesse. This wood is solid. It’s just got some loose bolts, and the felt is bad. I’ll get the right cut of material from the seamstress and nail it in properly. I’ll also replace and tighten the bolts so the table doesn’t wobble anymore. That’s all that needs doing.”

Jesse thanked him, and Max joined the men in a quick game on the unsteady table. Two of the men, Sam and Tom, were ranch hands, and the other was a man with a reputation for being the town drunk, an affable older fellow by the name of Pete. Max dealt. As he fanned his cards in front of him, Sam spoke out loud the very subject on Max’s mind.

“You fellers catch a glimpse of the new schoolmarm? She sure is a looker.”

Max felt his muscles tense, and he suddenly couldn’t read the cards he was staring at.

Pete nodded. “She stays at the same boardinghouse as me, so I see her in passing. Nice gal.”

“Don’t much care about whether she’s nice,” Sam said, laughing. “Her nice rack is what I noticed.” The other two men joined him in laughter.

Max seethed at the casual mention of Charlotte’s body. He felt protective, which surprised him, and also possessive, which surprised him more. Neither were appropriate feelings, since she was far from being his to protect or possess.

Tom chortled and added his two cents. “It’s those highfalutin shakesters that are downright dirty when it comes to a roll in the hay. That’s been my experience, anyway.”

“Right,” Pete said, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure you have lots of experience bedding classy broads.”

“Raise,” Max said through gritted teeth, throwing another chip in the pile.

“What about you, Max?” Sam said. “You’ve been quiet on the subject of the schoolmarm.”

Max shrugged and feigned interest in his cards. “I fetched her from the train station in Arcadia when she arrived and brought her here. I like her well enough.”

Sam whistled. “All that time in the company of a right smart piece of calico, and all you’ve got to say is you like her well enough? The smoke from the forge must be addling your brain and softening your cock, blacksmith.”

Tom laughed loudly and slapped his palm on the table a few times.

Pete drew a card. “Maybe he’s sweet on her, and that’s why he don’t wanna talk about her,” he remarked wisely.

Max set his cards face up on the table. He couldn’t concentrate on the game and accepted defeat. “I’d prefer if my cock and the schoolmarm’s assets stayed clear out of your filthy mind, Sam. Good day, gentlemen.” He rose to his feet and walked away. “I use that term loosely,” he flung over his shoulder before he flung the saloon door open and strode outside. He heard the sound of the men’s laughter fade as the distance between him and the saloon grew.

Thanks to Sam, the image of Charlotte’s breasts under her wet shift entered his thoughts, suddenly making it very uncomfortable for him to walk. When she’d been suffering from heatstroke, he’d been too afraid she wouldn’t recover to spend any time studying her chest, but now he couldn’t help but think about the two glorious mounds, so ample and yet rebelliously perky, a fitting match to her rebellious personality. He groaned and tried to subdue his unwelcome lust. He needed to get the schoolmarm off his mind, and he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. When he wasn’t lusting after her body, he found himself worrying about how she was getting on in the new town on her own. He hoped she was doing better than his ex-wife had done.

Against his better judgment, he walked in the direction of the boardinghouse, hoping again to catch a glimpse of her. He didn’t intend to call on her, but he wanted to at least see her in passing. He thought if he could just do that, he might be put at ease and able to remove her from his thoughts. Her body language would provide a clue as to how she was faring in Weston, and that was his main concern.

As he neared the house, he slowed, and his blood ran cold. Coming out the front door was Simon Evans, Tim’s abusive father. Before that moment, Max hadn’t been aware that he was boarding there, and he felt a surge of alarm upon realizing Simon lived in such close proximity to Charlotte. The man was charming and, being from Baltimore, had the eastern manners she was accustomed to. Max knew that his manners only served to hide his cruelty, but Charlotte wouldn’t know that, nor would she know that Simon’s wife fled his fists a couple of years ago and women at the saloon refused to entertain him after more than one report of a vicious sexual encounter.

Simon and Max walked toward each other and stopped to exchange obligatory words of greeting and small talk. “Hello, Max,” he said. “How’s my son doing at blacksmithing?” He spoke the name of the trade with a sneer as though it were a vulgar word.

“Very well. He’s a smart lad,” Max responded, forcing a polite tone to carry his words. One of Max’s biggest fears was being unable to protect Tim if Simon decided to exercise his parental rights and insist on the boy’s return. Max knew that if he could remain cordial with the lad’s father, their arrangement was in less danger of changing.

“I will call on you to get my pay at the end of the month,” Simon said with a false smile. “I’m no longer living outside of town, as you can see.”

Max gave him a nod. “I didn’t know you moved to the boardinghouse. I hear it’s a nice place.”

“It has its selling points,” he said with a smirk.

Max didn’t care to hear what those points were, fearing he already knew they included the presence of a beautiful new resident. “Take care, Simon,” he said, and continued on his way.

He walked past the residence of Simon and Charlotte, his hands closing into fists as he did. With much difficulty, he squashed his instinct to hunt Charlotte down and warn her about her neighbor. Doubling back after a sufficient amount of time to avoid having to run into Simon again, he headed toward his shop, trying to settle his consternation. It bothered him knowing that Charlotte was just Simon’s type—young, book-learned, and beautiful.

Aw, hell
, he thought, kicking a pebble on the ground. Who was he kidding? She was every man’s type, and he couldn’t very well go around beating them all off with a stick. He found some comfort in telling himself that Simon wouldn’t hurt Charlotte unless they became more than acquaintances, which wouldn’t happen immediately. It would only be after charming her into his clutches that Simon would show his true colors. The thought of it sent a shiver down his spine. Max decided that he would keep his eyes and ears open. He would talk to people in town and keep abreast of the situation. If he learned that Charlotte and Simon were becoming familiar, he would step in and warn Charlotte of Simon’s character, despite it not being his business to do so.

Chapter Three: A Need for Max

The morning following her rough journey with Max, Charlotte awoke feeling better than she had for days. Before collapsing into a deep, twelve-hour sleep, she’d eaten a hearty meal of fried chicken, sweet rolls, and corn. Max had escorted her to her room at the boardinghouse, bid her farewell, and then showed up an hour later. He knocked and announced himself while she was crying on her new bed, feeling hungry, alone, and regretful over her choice to move west. When she realized he’d returned and was standing outside her door, she quickly dried her eyes and donned a robe over her nightdress. She opened the door to find him holding a platter of supper for her to eat in her room. It was a kind gesture. She felt a flood of gratefulness and a desire to throw herself into his arms. Instead, she thanked him politely and waited until he left to dissolve into tears again.

Despite how much the man needled her, it became clear to Charlotte upon reflection in the morning that there was unmistakable kindness and respect in his every action. He’d taken care of her when she was ill, done his best not to embarrass her unnecessarily, and then had seen to it that she was well fed on her first night in town. He was the only person not a stranger in the strange new place, and she hoped he would call on her. Days passed, however, and he didn’t visit. She tried not to let it bother her, but she felt rejected. Her time with him had been far from her finest hour, but she thought he might be at least mildly interested in her well-being. She even flattered herself into thinking that he might fancy her. With every day that passed, however, it became more obvious to her that he didn’t.

She got to know other people in town. She met the marshal, who was nearly as handsome as Max, and the marshal’s wife, Betty, who baked a cherry pie for her as a welcoming gift. Her fellow boarders were friendly too. She spoke occasionally with a boarder named Simon Evans, who was from Maryland. One morning, a week after her arrival, he asked her to breakfast in the dining room of the house, and she accepted.

At first she felt grateful for his company. She thought it might help alleviate some of her homesickness, but she soon regretted her choice to dine with him. Although he was mannerly, he wasn’t the least bit interesting to Charlotte. While he prattled on and on about his hobbies and various businesses, all successful according to him, her thoughts drifted to Max. Max hadn’t mentioned what he did for a living, and Charlotte hadn’t bothered to ask, which she regretted. He didn’t know much about her either, other than the look of her body in scant clothing and the lash of her sharp tongue. She regretted that too.

Simon interrupted her thoughts. “Miss Rose, are you quite well? You seem distracted.”

Charlotte started out of her musing. “Pardon me, Mr. Evans. I have a bit of a headache.” It was the truth, actually, and the sound of his plummy voice wasn’t helping. She recalled how deep and soothing Max’s voice sounded.

Simon stood. “Perhaps we should meet another time, my dear. I wish you to be well when we dine.” He gave a bow, then pivoted and exited the dining room.

Charlotte watched his retreat. Although he hadn’t said anything untoward, and in fact had addressed her in a very polite manner, she felt uneasy about how he took his leave. She realized it wasn’t anything he’d said that bothered her, it was what he hadn’t said. He hadn’t inquired about her health after she admitted a headache, and he seemed irritated, without saying so out loud. Charlotte shrugged to herself and poured another cup of tea, grateful for the time to be alone with her thoughts.

Upon finishing her meal, she walked to the schoolhouse. Max filled her thoughts during her walk just like he had during her breakfast. She felt frustrated and attempted to think badly of him so she could remove him from her mind. She conjured up every infuriating thing about him, from how he insisted on calling her Charlie to how he threatened her with a spanking. Though she didn’t succeed in removing him from her mind, she did somewhat succeed in thinking on him negatively for the time being.

Pushing the heavy door to the one-room schoolhouse open with a shove, she entered and got to work cleaning where she’d left off the previous day. Classes would start in two weeks, and the schoolhouse wasn’t yet sufficiently prepared. The large room contained two rows of four benches with tables. Each bench would seat up to five children, which, from what she understood of Weston’s population, would be sufficient. However, the desks were in a state of terrible disrepair. The legs were cracked and some even broken, and the surfaces of the tables were splintered and showed water damage. Her own desk in the front was missing all of its drawers.