Fetching Charlotte Rose Read online

  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 m
uch 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.

  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 th
at 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.