The Marshal's Rebellious Bride (10 page)

“I’ll have the buggy ready to go in a couple of hours.
You can fix the food. I’m taking you on a picnic.” He’d never done anything
like this in all his years. He sure hoped he didn’t mess this up. He strode
quickly away before she could protest.

She just yelled louder. “I’ll go…for
my
reasons. Like drowning you in the
river.”

* * *

Whiskey moved in irritation around the kitchen,
calling herself all kinds of idiot as she packed up leftover biscuits, a chunk
of cheese, some tomatoes from the garden, and an over-sized piece of apple pie
that her brothers had somehow missed. She stopped to look in the wicker hamper
and grumbled, “Pitiful. Just pitiful.”

She’d never gone on a picnic before and her skills at
cooking were barely enough to keep someone alive, so she hadn’t even attempted
frying up chicken or anything else. Not that she’d had the time to round up a
chicken, wring its neck, de-feather it—pluck it, she think it was called—so
on and so on.

Taos wandered in the back door and took one look at
the hamper and asked, “What’re you doing?”

When she glanced in his direction, she saw him
grinning like a fool. He’d taken in how she’d changed from the britches she’d
started the day in to her best riding skirt and a clean blouse. She’d even
taken her hair down from the braid and let the heavy mass drape freely down her
back, which she was now regretting. Regretting almost as much as getting caught
preparing a picnic basket.

“Fixing myself a lunch, that’s all.” Her cheeks had
heated and he’d see her lie because of that, so she scurried to the pantry
having decided to throw in a jar of pickles.

“So Morgan is courting you after all,” he said with a
chuckle that had her hurrying back with the jar. He had lifted the hamper lid
and was peering inside as he shook his head sadly. “What the hell kind of meal
is this? Not very impressive, Sis.”

She grabbed the basket away from him and jammed the
jar inside. “I’m not trying to impress anyone, especially not that annoying marshal.
And he’s
not
courting me. I’m
not
being courted. Got it.”

Still, in spite of her frustration with the situation,
she was inordinately pleased about the courting efforts the broody marshal was
making.

Taos chuckled and she punched him in the stomach.
“This is
your
fault. This having to
waste time with a man who makes me nuts is your fault. My having to spend time
with a man who has stolen my ranch, with your help.”

Still, she didn’t have to go on this confounded
picnic. She shouldn’t be looking oddly forward to it. But, darn it all, she
was.

“You know what, sister dear? I think you protest a
little too much. I think you’re actually beginning to like this man who you say
makes you crazy.”

Whiskey snorted; disgusted that he might be right.
“You could not be more wrong, brother dear.”

He was about to torment her again when they both heard
the sound of wagon wheels rolling up near the back porch. She slammed the
hamper lid shut and raced out of the house with it. In her fury she almost
didn’t notice how spiffed up and handsome her adversary looked. Almost.

She took two steps down the porch steps and stopped to
stare in dismay and appreciation at the sight of the cleanly shaven, big man
headed her way. He appeared apprehensive, nervous, completely perplexed about
what he was doing. Her heart melted in that very moment. He’d gone to an awful
lot of trouble shaving, putting on clean trousers and his best shirt, cleaning
up the seldom-used carriage, and bringing her flowers.

Flowers?
She gaped at the handful of bedraggled sunflowers he
must have picked from the patch growing behind the barn. Sad bunch they were,
but they warmed her heart even more. She was in serious trouble here.

Morgan thrust the bouquet at her and reached for the
picnic hamper without saying a word. Even that she found endearing, which was
so annoying. She wanted to stay mad at him. She intended to keep him at a
distance. And she would. But she watched him stride back to the carriage with
the basket and looked at the wilting flowers, bruised because he’d somehow
crushed the stems carrying them in his tight fist, and found herself smiling.

Taos stepped out onto the porch next to her. His gaze
swept from his uncomfortable-looking friend to the flowers in her hands. The
smile that crossed his face was the biggest she’d ever seen, and the most
aggravating.

She shoved the flowers at him. “Put them in water.”
Then she hurried down the steps and climbed into the carriage, even though
Morgan stood there awkwardly waiting to help her in.

* * *

It wasn’t until Morgan was spreading a blanket in the
shade under one of the towering Cottonwoods along the river that either of them
finally spoke. Whiskey carried the picnic hamper over and said, “Thanks for the
flowers.”

She had meant to say something sooner, but he’d looked
so unapproachable during the ride. There seemed to be a lot on his mind and
making conversation wasn’t part of it. She needed the time, anyway, to get her
thoughts lined up on how to change his mind about the ranch. And she’d needed
to adjust to this strange growing attraction she felt for him and figure out a
way to stop it.

“You’re welcome.” He didn’t even glance in her
direction, just kept on straightening the blanket.

“It’s perfect. Stop.” She plopped down in the middle
of the blanket and yelped when she sat down on her hair. She wiggled until she
could free herself. “That’s it! I’m cutting this double-damn blasted hair off
tomorrow. Maybe all of it.”

“No, you’re not,” he stated sternly as if his saying
so would make her change her mind. Looking restless again, he went back to the
carriage to fiddle with making sure the horse was securely tied to a tree
branch.

She wouldn’t, of course, but not because he had any
say in the matter. Stubbornly she snapped, “Will if I want to.”

He threw her a scowl, his mouth tight.

“Anyway, if I make you so darn uncomfortable, why did
you bring me here?” She fingered the blanket, feeling uncertain, awkward.

His scowl turned darker, if that were possible.
Evidently he didn’t like her use of the word “darn,” or maybe it was her
annoyed tone. She really didn’t care. Giving him a smile that she hoped told
him that, she pulled the long length of hair over her shoulder and began
braiding it.

“Leave it down.” He walked back over and had the look
of a man who expected people to be intimidated by his hard expression, obeyed.

She wasn’t intimidated, or interested in obeying him.
She went right on braiding her hair. “It’s too hot to leave this mess of hair
down.”

It took him a second but then he nodded in grudging
acknowledgment. He eased down onto the blanket and settled about as far away as
he could without being in the grass. Once more he locked gazes with her. “A
lady shouldn’t cuss. Shouldn’t let words like ‘double-damn’ or ‘darn’ slip from
her lips.”

She gave him a disgusted look. “Yet it is perfectly
fine for men to say anything, anytime, for whatever reason,” she countered.
“Unfair.”

He seemed fascinated by the way she braided her hair
and somewhat distracted as he said, “Maybe it is, but that’s one of my rules.
No cussing in any manner.”

She stopped as she held her braid in one hand and
reached to pull a ribbon from a pocket in her skirt. “One of your rules?
For who?
For all womankind?”

“For the women in my life.
You
, in particular.” He looked smug. “Your brothers don’t approve
either.”

That was the truth, but beside the point. “My brothers
don’t approve of a lot of things I do.” Another truth. “And they often make
that annoyingly clear.”

She wrapped the ribbon around the end of the braid and
tied a bow. Her thoughts almost turned to her most recent battle of wills with
them, but she refused to let them.

“Painfully clear, I suspect.” He reached for the
hamper.

Her cheeks heated.
Double-darn
the man!
 
“Yes, and it’s
ungentlemanly of you to talk about or even hint about such matters.”

“Like you getting spanked?” he questioned, appearing
to find the subject infinitely interesting. Or maybe he just enjoyed picking at
her. Yes, that was probably it.

“Can we talk about something else?” she hissed and
tried to snag the hamper back.

“Reckon so, as long as you understand that there will
be consequences when you break one of my rules after we’re married.”

He pulled the hamper closer to him and lifted the lid.
“Like warming your sweet butt with my hand…or worse.”

She gulped at the thought, remembering the hard feel
of his hand on her bottom. She didn’t look forward to any more such
experiences. Certainly not to “or worse.” She didn’t even want to think what
that might mean.

“We are
not
getting married so you can keep your
consequences
to yourself.” She waited for him to comment on the meager items she’d packed
for the picnic.

He didn’t let her down. “You call this a meal?
Pickles. Biscuits. Cheese.” He set each of the items on the blanket between
them. “Now the pie was a good idea.”

She moved until she was sitting on her knees beside
him and started tossing the things back in the hamper. “I did the best I could,
ungrateful man.”

He held onto the pie wrapped in a cloth napkin and she
huffed, “Fine, keep it. You can eat the whole damn piece while you drive me
back to the house.”

“Take them back out.
Now.
We’re having a picnic. We’re
not
going home for a spell.” His gaze told her it would be wise to
rein in her temper. “And I’m not warning you again about watching what you
say.”

She pursed her lips and ground her jaw so tightly it
hurt. Then she counted silently to ten, twenty, thirty, but she could not bring
herself to obey his demand.

“Now.” His entire body was rigid.

She thrust up her chin and didn’t move to obey. Her
stomach fluttered at her daring.

When his eyes narrowed, she wished she’d given in and
not purposely gone against him. But it was too late. He grabbed her arm and
with ease tugged her across his out-stretched legs. He shifted her until her
bottom rested in the all too familiar spanking position.

Not willing to just accept the situation, she tried to
push her way back up by planting her palms on the blanket and rearing backward.

His large hand came down with a fierce Swat!
that
sent her right back down. “You brought this on yourself.”

She yelped, even though it had only stung a little.
“Did not.” Well, maybe, but…

He settled his left arm across her lower back. “You’ve
been begging for a walloping. So you’re
gonna
get
one.”

“I
never
beg
for a walloping.” She squirmed, but he held her tight. “You have no right to be
doing this.”

He landed six rapid-fire swats that did more than
sting a little. “I’m letting you see plainly what’ll happen when you push me
too far.”

She glowered back at him. “You’re such a…such an
impossible man. Let. Me. Up.”

The way his arm on her back pressed lower told her he wasn’t
agreeing to any such thing. The following storm of swats to her bottom proved
she needed to change tactics.

She sucked in a breath at a particularly hard swat and
gritted out, “I’m hungry. Let’s try the picnic idea again.” Although it irked
her, she added, “I’ll behave.”

Somehow she knew that he’d have to have the final
“word”—just like her brothers—and, sure enough, he sent three more
blazing swats to her bottom before he released her.

The second his arm came off her back, she scrambled
off his lap. The pain on her backside wasn’t really all that much, more
annoying than anything else. Still, she would try harder not to irritate him
again…at least not as much. But it would be a struggle.

Still upset with him, she snatched each item back out
of the hamper and set it down on the blanket. “Satisfied?” She hoped he choked
on the biscuits.

He raised an eyebrow of warning at her
little-bit-too-sassy tone. Then he got up and went to fetch a canteen of water
from the carriage.

“I didn’t bring you out here to argue. I thought it
was time we got to know each other better, considering we’re going to be
married soon.” He sat down again.

“I said—”

He held up the large hand that had just spanked her
bottom and she slammed her mouth shut.

“That’s not up for discussion. Plans are made. It’s
going to happen.” He tore off a chunk of cheese. “I’ll go first.”

She attempted to ignore the slight discomfort as she
settled down and took one of the biscuits. Taking a small bite, she waited for
him to spill his life story.

 
He chewed
on the cheese, swallowed, sat silently for a couple more minutes. Finally he
said, “I was married some ten years back. She left me and our son, and then she
died.” He picked up another small piece of cheese. “Your turn.”