Troubled Water: Lone Star Love Book One Read online

“Thank you, Lupe.” They took seats around the table, Mike perched on the top rail of the porch. Out of the sun, the girl’s hair was still a blaze of color. Red, orange, auburn, and he swore he saw a touch of gold. She had tried, somewhat successfully, to contain the tight ringlets, but spirals of red spilled over her forehead, down her neck, and a few sprang like new plants from the top of her head. Now a man could lose his hands in that wilderness. He resisted the urge to remove the pins to get a gander at the length.

  It was hard to drag his eyes from that mountain of unexplored hair, but he finally lowered his eyes to her face. Her eyes were wide set and blue, light blue, transparent like a clear pond. Her nose was a on the small side and covered with a splash of freckles that extended onto her softly rounded cheeks. Her skin was the color of fresh cream. Her heart shaped face culminated in a pointed little chin. Her mouth was a little bow of pink, but as he looked more closely, the bottom lip trembled. She pulled it between her teeth and worried at it. Mike’s pants grew uncomfortably small, and he shifted his weight on the rail.

  Ethan cleared his throat, began to speak and stopped. He cleared his throat a second time and extended a hand in Megan’s direction. “Mike, this is Megan O’Shanahan. Your bride.”

  Mike jumped from the railing like he’d discovered fire ants in his pants. “My what?” He put his hands on his hips and waited. He had never heard such malarkey. By God, he would know if he planned to be married.

  “Your bride.” Ethan repeated the word as if to a slightly slow child. “She arrived on the stage today. She said you sent for her. There is no room at the boarding house, so I found the preacher and brought her to you.”

  “You’re a mail-order bride?” Mike looked Megan’s way. She nodded the affirmative. “I did not send for a bride.” This was a stone-cold fact. He had done no such thing.

  With the quickness of a prairie fire, Megan jumped from her own seat. They stood glaring at each other across the refreshment table. “Now that’s just blarney, Mr. Michael Manning. I’ll thank you not to make a fool of me.” The color drained from her face. The cream of her complexion was replaced by the whiteness of a bleached sheet. Her freckles stood in stark relief.

  “I’m sorry, Miss O’Shanahan, but it’s the truth. I know nothing about this.” Mike held his hands palm forward in surrender.

  “Blarney and more blarney.” Megan fumed.

  “Blarney?” Mike asked.

  “Lies, of course. Nothing but lies.” The color was returning to her face. Her chin took a turn for the defiant as she thrust it towards the sky.

  Mike admired the tilt of her chin. She might be small, but she was feisty.

  “Now, I’m not accustomed to being called a liar, miss. I’m sorry for the confusion, but you take this to the bank. Mike Manning doesn’t lie.” He speared the tiny sparrow of a woman with a look that could quell a full-grown cowboy.

  “Well, Mr. No Blarney Manning. I have proof.” She opened her reticule and withdrew a letter well creased from reading. She handed it over, chin flying high.

  He unfolded the well-traveled piece of paper.

  Dear Miss Shanahan,

  Thank you for your response to my advertisement for a wife. You sound like a nice young woman, and I look forward to meeting you in person.

  I have enclosed a ticket for the train from Boston to Abilene. The money is for a ticket on the stagecoach from Abilene to San Miguel. They cannot be purchased in advance. The additional money is for food and hotels.

  I’d like to marry immediately.

  Sincerely,

  Michael Manning

  “What did the ad say? The one you read?” Mike, dumbfounded, struggled to assemble the facts.

  “That you were looking for a wife. You owned a ranch. You were healthy and thirty-one years old. You wanted to start a family,” Megan answered.

  She had lowered her chin, but now her eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

  Mike lowered his voice, gentled his tone. He didn’t want to see those tears trail down her face. “I’m sorry, Megan, but I didn’t publish an ad or write this letter.”

  Manuel leaned over his boss’s shoulder and scanned the letter. His mouth became a solid line. “I know who wrote it, jefe.”

  “Lupe.” He stalked towards the door. “Come out here.”

  “Yes, husband?” Lupe emerged from the house drying her hands on a small towel.

  “What do you know about that letter and this young woman? You are already in much trouble, woman. Do not make it worse.” He guided her further onto the porch with a firm hold on her upper arm. “Tell Mr. Mike.”

  “I wrote the ad and the letter, jefe.” She squirmed in an attempt to pull her arm free, but her husband held his grip.

  “Why would you do that, Lupe? I can’t figure it.” Michael stared at Lupe, at Manuel, at Ethan, and finally at Megan.

  Lupe tried once more to claim her arm before giving up. “Well, I hoped for the best, jefe. You are thirty-one years old. You need to start a family. You need a wife.” Her tone became bolder. “Jefe, you stay on the ranch all the time. Cattle, horses, and cowboys are all you ever see. It’s time you had a family.” She repeated herself once again before her voice became small. “And…”

  “And, what?” Michael’s anger spilled. “Besides sticking your noise in my business, what other reason could you possibly have?”

  “I’m sorry, jefe, but Manuel and I talk about returning to Mexico. My mother needs me, but Manuel won’t leave until you are settled.” She hung her head.

  Mike looked at Manuel. “Is this true, Manuel? Do you want to go back to Mexico?” He gulped his surprise.

  “Well, yes, we do talk about Mexico, but there is no hurry. I told Lupe to be patient.” Manuel focused a darkly dangerous look on his wife.

  “Lupe, Manuel, I’m sorry. I took for granted that you wanted to stay on the ranch. That was just plain wrong. Give me time to train another foreman and find a new housekeeper. I’ll miss you, but I understand.”

  Manuel scowled at his wife, but he nodded his head. “Thank you, jefe. My wife needs to help her mother. It’s only right.” He turned Lupe toward the house and propelled her into the house with a sharp swat to her backside. He hissed words, low and threatening into her ear.

  Mike turned his attention to Megan and her crown of crimson. “Well, Megan, I’m sorry, but I didn’t send for you. It was a mistake. You came all the way from Boston. Is that right?”

  Megan’s eyes were filling and her bottom lip continued to take quite a beating from her row of white teeth.

  “I’ll pay for your return trip to Boston,” he said, but her eyes revealed fear stark and dark. Her freckles bloomed against death-white skin.

  He hated to see her upset. He hated to see her fearful.

  He wanted to protect her. He wanted to keep her safe. Where those feelings came from he didn’t know, but he felt the truth of it deep in his gut.

  He considered Lupe’s little speech. He did want a wife and children, and he rarely left the ranch. There were more men than women in the west. If he wanted a wife, it would take serious looking and courting. Wives didn’t simply appear out of thin air. And yet, one had. One that had his heart pounding and his manhood jumping.

  “Megan, can I speak with you in private?” Mike held a large hand in her direction.

  “Of course.” She placed her tiny hand in his and followed him into the house.

  He led her into a small parlor and settled her onto a green velvet couch. He took a chair opposite.

  “How old are you, Megan?” He would start with an easy question.

  “Twenty. I was twenty in June,” she answered.

  “Where were you born? Where is your family? Why would a lovely girl like you need to travel across the country to find a husband? What’s wrong with men in Boston if such is the case.” He waited.

  “Let’s see. I was born in County Galway in Ireland. We survived the potato famine because we lived by the sea and could fish, but times were
hard. The British owned most of the land and shipped the bounty of the land to England. Anyway, my uncle had gone to America, and he wrote my da. When I was fifteen, we left the old country to join him. My ma and the youngest died on the journey. My da died from influenza a year later. My uncle turned out to be a nasty, greedy man.”

  She paused. Mike waited.

  “When I was nineteen and my brother eighteen, he left to find his own way. My uncle had been working him like a dog. To pay him back for our passage and the roof over our heads he said, but the debt got bigger instead of smaller.” She twisted her fingers into a knot in her lap. “Brian swore he’d come back for me as soon as he could, but he didn’t come fast enough. I heard my uncle planning to marry me off to a man old enough to be my father and a mean man, too. I’d seen the way he treated the poor folk who worked for him. It was a business deal. Me in exchange for a partnership. So, I answered the ad and here I am. I can’t go back. Maybe I can find a job in town. I can sew.” Her shoulders sank, sank, sank.

  “There aren’t many jobs in town for decent women, and I won’t see you go to the saloon.” He picked up her hand and rubbed a thumb over her knuckles. “Is that the whole story? Is there anything else I need to know?” The story rang of truth, but there was discomfort, a concern niggling at his mind. He had seen that flash of fear dart across the blue pool of her eyes. Bone-deep he felt the truth. She was hiding something, and she didn’t aim to share. Well, he would find out soon enough. The truth will out, after all.

  “Yes, Michael. Nothing more.” Her voice was firm, but her eyes wandered over his left shoulder.

  “You can call me Mike. Everyone does.” He took firmer possession of her hand.

  “Michael is a good name. You were named for an archangel, a fine thing for certain sure. If you don’t mind, I’ll call you Michael.” She curled her hand into his.

  A jolt ran through his body. He wanted her. A low laugh, eager and hopeful, rumbled through his chest.

  “Megan, west Texas is far from County Galway and Boston. There are dangers here: snakes, coyotes, flash floods. Right now, we’ve got rustlers. If you choose to stay, and I hope you do, you will need to follow my instructions. I need to keep you safe and healthy, and you are a stranger to this land.”

  “All right, Michael.” Her voice was quiet, subdued.

  “One last thing, but it’s important. There can be no lies, no blarney, between us. I will always be truthful with you, and I expect the same. So, let me ask you one more time. Is there anything else I should know about your past?” Michael watched her carefully.

  She swallowed so hard he saw her Adam’s apple sliding up and down in her throat. “No, nothing else.”

  He pulled her from the couch and into his lap. He rested his chin on the top of her head. “I believe we can be happy, darlin’.” He dropped a kiss on her vibrant curls. “When you take the vow to obey me, I expect you to do just that. Your safety and health will be my responsibility. And,” he paused, “no blarney. I won’t have lies in our marriage. If you don’t follow these rules, there will be consequences.”

  “All right, Michael.”

  She trusted him to care for her. A hot surge flooded his limbs.

  Her little body nestled into him. He tugged her more firmly onto his lap and held her tight. “Will you marry me, Megan?” He asked the question. She deserved to be asked. He knew she felt backed into a corner, but he wouldn’t start a marriage that way.

  “Yes, Michael.” He could feel her surrender. She needed his protection, and he needed her. Period. Megan pulled at the chain around her neck until a little silver ring pulled free.

  “What’s that?” Michael reached out and took the ring into his hand. He studied it. “Why that’s mighty pretty. There are hands, and a heart and a crown.”

  “The design began in Galway in a fishing village called Claddagh. The ring stands for friendship, love and loyalty. This ring belonged to my ma. If you don’t mind, if you don’t have something else you want to use, could it be my wedding ring?” She looked up at him with those pale, clear eyes and he felt a little crack open in his chest. A crack that shed light in a corner of hope he hadn’t known existed until this moment.

  “Of course, we can. I can tell that ring is important to you, and that makes it important to me.” He took it from her hand and dropped it into the pocket of his shirt. “Let’s get married.” He pulled her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her outside.

  As the couple emerged on the porch, all heads swiveled their way.

  “Preacher, if you would do us the honor, we’d like to be married.” Mike’s announcement created a flurry of movement. Ethan clapped his hands. The priest thumbed through his Bible. Manuel slapped him on the back.

  Lupe appeared on the porch. “Now, give the girl a minute to wash up.” She picked up Megan’s little bag and hustled her into the house.

  “I think I’ll do the same.” Michael disappeared inside. He returned wearing a clean shirt and pants. His hair wet but combed.

  His heart hitched when his bride appeared. Her hair was pulled back and tied with a ribbon, but a river of red curls flowed like hot lava down her back and over her buttocks. Lord have mercy it burned him like fire. He took deep breaths and willed his manhood to behave. He wasn’t a young boy after all.

  The preacher arranged them side-by-side and began, “Dearly Beloved.” Mike managed to answer at the right places and slip the little ring on her fourth finger even though he barely remembered speaking. When the preacher gave him permission to kiss his bride, his blood sang while his mind repeated a simple refrain. Mine. Mine. Mine. He branded her with a hot kiss.

  After supper, they sat together on the swing. His leg touched hers from thigh to knee, but it wasn’t enough. He lifted her into his lap again. She was too tiny. Her shoulder blades stuck out sharp and boney.

  “What’s that?” The sound of a hand meeting flesh reverberated through the air. He listened for a minute.

  “Well, not that it’s any of our business, but I’d say Lupe is getting a spanking.” He continued to rub her back, but she shot upright. Her eyes giant circles in her face.

  “Go stop him, Michael. He shouldn’t beat his wife.” She pushed frantically against his chest.

  He captured her hands in one of his own. “He’s not beating her. It’s a spanking, and she deserved it.” The punishment had obviously become harsher. They heard Lupe’s cries of distress. Her apologies. Her tears.

  “Deserved it?” Megan squeaked.

  “It was wrong of her to interfere in my life. Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy she did. But a man’s business is his own. She knew better, and Manuel is setting her straight. Lupe knew she would be spanked if her actions ever came to light. She knew there would be consequences,” he explained.

  “Is this what you meant by consequences?” She turned to look into his handsome face.

  “Yes. What did you think I meant?”

  “I didn’t know. A scolding perhaps.” She looked around before turning her eyes to his face once again. “Would you spank me like a child?”

  “No, I would not spank you like a child. I would spank you like a misbehaving wife.”

  Chapter 3

  Megan

  “I’ll not give you cause, Michael. You won’t need to spank me. Not ever.” She spoke with such earnestness that Michael gave her a smile, a little lopsided one that had her stomach turning round and about and sending wet heat where there hadn’t been any before.

  “That’s mighty fine news, darlin’. Mighty fine. You behave, and I’ll keep my spanking hand tucked away.” His laughter rang out and echoed back from the starry night. “I never heard of a woman who could stay out of trouble, but you might just be the first.”

  Megan snuggled more closely against his large body. The sun blazed down like the fires of hell during the day, but the night grew cold. Michael shifted beneath her and a low growl sounded close and moist in her ear.

  “Time for bed, darli
n’.” Michael lifted her to her feet and rose behind her. “It’s our wedding night, and I’d like nothing better than to see all that amazing hair spread across my pillow. But,” he stopped and drew a long, slow breath. “But, I won’t rush you. We don’t know each other yet. It wouldn’t be right.”

  He turned her into his embrace and rubbed her back up and down and added a little pat or two. Oh, he was a special man. She sent a prayer of thanks winging into the night. Her ma would be happy to see her safe, secure, protected by this big man.

  Michael dropped his arm around her shoulders and moved her toward the house. “You’ll sleep in my cousin Skip’s room. Lupe made it up with fresh sheets and towels. I hope you’ll be comfortable there until,” he dropped a sleepy kiss on her neck, “you want to move in with me.”

  “Thank you.” She hugged him to her.

  “Get inside now and close the door before I change my mind.” He planted a swat on her bottom, and she scurried through the door.

  It was a boy’s room, clean and comfortable, with a plaid blanket turned back over sheets that smelled of fresh air and sunshine. Cool water waited in a little pitcher beside a bowl for washing. A chamber pot sat under the bed.

  The room at her uncle’s house had been in the farthest corner. Hot in summer; cold in winter. She was lucky to have it—her uncle’s words over and over again. Well, it had been better than the streets, and she’d witnessed poverty there for certain sure. The Irish swarmed Boston looking for the reward after the long journey, but many found only hard jobs, low pay, and a tenement flat. She shuddered.

  She slipped under the covers and tucked them under her chin. Safety sweet as soda bread and newly churned butter filled her. Michael would protect her. She sighed. Maybe she should have told him the truth about that man. He said no blarney, and that was always best, of course. Guilt nagged at the outer edge of her sleepy brain.

  She didn’t want him to know of her frightened flight or that terrifying man. Let it lie in the past. No, a little blarney served best. She was far, far from her uncle and his hateful house, safe and tucked away out of his reach. She drifted into deep sleep, her body drinking in the slumber like a man thirty days in the desert.