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Shane gasped and I felt him stiffen. His grip on me tightened.
“He told me,” I continued. “And he killed Coleton. Mr. Yates – the man my brother promised me to – was paying him to bring me back to Philadelphia.” A sob caught in my throat as I realized just how close Mr. Yates had come to getting what he wanted. I knew that already being married would not have saved me; if anything, it would make things worse. I would feel the full force of Mr. Yates’ wrath.
“You’re safe now love,” Shane assured me. His fingers dug into me so tight they almost hurt. Anger wafted off him like a cloud. I could tell he wanted to say more but he was a gentleman, and a gentleman watched his language in front of a lady. “Nobody is going to hurt you again, I promise. We won’t let them.”
“Good.” Despite the odor of smoke on his clothes, I snuggled tighter against him, finding protection in his strong arms.
Shane reined up outside a two-story wooden building at the end of the small, dusty street. I held onto the saddle horn while he dismounted, then he reached up and lifted me down, holding me tightly while I wobbled on unsteady feet. I clung to him and soon my legs found their footing and were able to take my weight although I still felt clumsy. I tucked my hand under his arm and followed him inside.
Up in the room Roscoe had arranged for us, a tub full of steaming hot water had been brought up, along with a washcloth, a towel, and a bar of scented soap. It had been a long time since I’d had such luxuries. When Father had been alive we had nice soap, of course. We’d had the best of everything, back then. But once John started gambling away our fortune we had to make do with the soap Cook made. I couldn’t help but smile at the fragrance.
Roscoe had already cleaned himself up, and while he helped me strip off my clothing, Shane splashed water into the washbasin on the stand against the wall and washed his hands and face, getting rid of the black soot that covered him. By the time he turned back to me, his wet hair slicked back, his sleeves rolled up exposing now-clean forearms corded with muscle, he looked a different man.
My husbands’ took a hand each and carefully helped me into the tub. I sighed happily as I sank into the warm water, letting it soothe my aching body. Roscoe dipped the washcloth in the tub and wiped my face, placing a hand on my hair to hold my head still. Between them, they meticulously soaped up every single inch of my body and rinsed me clean, leaving no part of me untouched.
“How much damage did the fire do?” I asked. “Was it as bad as he said?”
“He?” Roscoe asked questioningly.
“The fire wasn’t accidental,” Shane snarled. “That bastard set it. A decoy, to keep us busy while he took Elise.”
“He killed Coleton too,” I said. “His death wasn’t an accident either. He set up the whole thing. Mr. Yates must want me back pretty badly.”
“He’s not having you,” Roscoe growled. “You’re ours. And we mean to keep you.” He frowned angrily. “I should have killed that bastard while I had that chance, you were right,” he said to Shane.
From my perch in the bath I looked up at the face of my men, watching the anger flit across them. Their fists were clenched so tight the muscles in their forearms popped up.
“I’m glad you didn’t kill him,” I said softly. “Knowing that you showed compassion to a man that didn’t deserve it, makes me love you more.” Roscoe’s hard expression softened and he looked at me tenderly. I’m sure it was love that shone in his eyes. “But you didn’t tell me how much damage was done.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Shane said.
“I want to know,” I pleaded.
Shane and Roscoe looked at each other and sighed. What were they hiding from me?
“The fire destroyed my smithy,” Shane said sadly. “But I can rebuild. I think some of it will be salvageable. Thanks to the hailstorm, the fire didn’t spread any further. No homes or lives were lost.”
“But the hailstorm ruined my crop,” Roscoe growled bitterly. “All that work…. Gone. Just like that.” Emotions I didn’t recognize flitted across his face. What was he thinking? Despair, obviously. But what else? I couldn’t tell. Insecurity? Uncertainty? I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t good at reading men. Lady Margaret’s School for Girls had taught me to stay out of men’s affairs. Ladies were to occupy themselves with other things and let the menfolk take care of business. But I had money, and I wanted to help. By the sounds of things, my men had lost pretty much everything, and it was all my fault.
“I have money,” I told them. “Four Gold Eagles. It was all I could hide from John. I sewed it into the lining of my skirt, the one I wore when you found me. I want you to have them. Buy more seed, or whatever it is you need.”
“We don’t need your money,” Shane snarled, sounding insulted, and I looked up at him, wounded. I didn’t understand. Why wouldn’t he let me help? Was it pride? I knew all about male pride and how dangerous it could be. I’d seen it in John. And in Mr. Yates. I had no idea it inflicted my husbands as well.
“Why not? It’s my fault the crop was ruined.”
“You control the weather, do you?”
I couldn’t help but grin. Shane had a point. I couldn’t control the weather any more than I could hold back the tide. But the fire… if I hadn’t left Philadelphia, if I hadn’t run away from Mr. Yates, Shane’s smithy would still be standing. Of that, I was certain.
“The fire was my fault,” I insisted. “If I had just gone along with what John wanted and married Mr. Yates…”
Shane cut me off. “No.” He grabbed my upper arm and hauled me up out of the water roughly, so I was standing up in the tub. He held me steady. “No don’t say that,” he growled. “Not ever.”
Before I could react, he drew back his hand and spanked my wet bare bottom sharply, one, two, three times. The spanking was not as hard as the one he’d given me on the prairie, but on wet skin, in my fragile state, it stung. I cried out as tears filled my eyes. Shane lowered me back into the bathtub.
Roscoe crouched down beside the tub and took my chin in his hands, forcing me to look at him. “Shane is right,” he scolded. “I don’t want to ever hear you say those words again, do you hear me? None of this is your fault. You have done nothing wrong! Your brother had no right to sell you off to pay his gambling debts, especially not to someone cruel. Nobody should be treating you in that way. You are not to blame for any of this!”
I squirmed uncomfortably at the hardness of the tub. My bottom burned and throbbed. Roscoe looked at me sternly and because I couldn’t look away, I blinked back at him, feeling sorry for myself. My bottom hurt, my head still hurt, and all I had wanted to do was help. Why couldn’t they understand that?
