Chapter 2
1389 Words
2
October
"May I carry your parcel for you, Miss Travers?"
Mr. Porter startled me as I came out the door of the mercantile. I licked my lips and glanced left and right to see if he truly had spoken to me. The man was devilishly handsome with a quick smile and dark eyes. While they were similar in color to Mr. Quinn's, his were less brooding. I felt he could see past my cool facade. My palms were sweating inside my gloves and my n*****s had tightened.
He, too, looked about. "There are no other Miss Travers, are there?"
I frowned at his odd question. "No," I replied slowly.
"Then my attention is solely for you." He held out his big hand and I had no choice but to give him my paper wrapped bundle. I could feel the warmth of his palm as it pressed against the small of my back. I had no interest in moving, for the gesture was the only contact he'd ever made with my person. "I wonder...." His words trailed off and I tilted my head up to look at him.
When his gaze dropped to my mouth, I realized he'd stopped talking intentionally.
"Yes?" I asked, trying to fill the nervous silence.
"As I said, while my attention is solely for you, I wondered if perhaps your attention was given to someone else. Mr. Matthews, perhaps?"
The other man had circled about me, but his interest was not returned. Mr. Matthews might have been handsome in a way, but there was something unappealing about him.... "No."
He gave a decisive nod. "Good."
Butterflies filled my stomach at that one word. We went the length of the block before I spoke next. "Good?"
"I won't share you with him."
Mr. Quinn opened the stage door. Because of his large size, he only looked up at me slightly, but his face was hidden in shadow beneath the broad brim of his hat. "May I help you down?" he asked, his voice a familiar and pleasing rumble, but it held none of the warmth to which I was accustomed.
I slid across the bench seat as far away from him as possible, my back pressing against the far wall. "If you're going to put me in jail, at least...at least allow me to explain."
"You'll come with us, Miss Porter," he said.
I shook my head and my chin slid back and forth over my thick scarf. "No. I won't have the sheriff arrest me." I'd done nothing wrong!
He glanced behind him to the other men, sighed, then grabbed my ankle over my dress, pulling me slowly closer and closer across the bench seat until he was able to easily grab me about the waist and pull me out of the stage. I was petite, barely coming up to Mr. Quinn's shoulder, so he handled me as if I weighed no more than a feather.
I struggled in his hold. "I told you, I need to explain," I cried. "I'm not going to jail!"
Mr. Quinn unceremoniously flipped me up and over like a sack of grain, my belly pressed into the broad expanse of one shoulder, his hand hooking over the backs of my thighs. I squealed in surprise and protest. "Mr. Quinn, put me down!"
The man clearly chose to ignore me, for my voice was loud enough.
"Let's not stay out here long," the sheriff began, "for it's colder than a witch's—"
Mr. Porter cleared his throat.
"Beggin' your pardon, ma'am." The sheriff tipped his hat, although I could barely see the gesture around Mr. Quinn's back. "It's cold. Let's take this discussion to the jail."
"I told you I've done nothing wrong," I cried out. "I won't let you take me!"
A hand swatted my bottom through the layers of my coat and dress. It smarted and was a complete surprise.
"Be still, Allison," Mr. Porter said from beside me, and I realized he'd used my first name. It was the first time he'd said it, and that alone stilled me.
I was thankful for the cold weather and the holiday for keeping all of the townspeople indoors, for I did not wish for them to witness my humiliation at being carried across town. I thought of the dark looks on the men's faces and I could only imagine what they thought of me. I turned my head into the back of Mr. Quinn's jacket to hide my face. Tears of mortification burned the back of my eyes. Mr. Matthews had clearly and baldly told me exactly what he would do to me if I rejected his suit and it seemed the false allegations had spread faster than a moving stage. Why else would the men be here with the sheriff waiting for me?
When Mr. Quinn righted me, he held onto my arm until I got my feet settled beneath me. As I did, I caught the man's scent. Cinnamon and wood smoke. It was not unappealing and I had to admit it was usually quite affecting, but not in our current surroundings. The jail was squat and unappealing, but inside was blissfully warm. The sheriff hung his hat on a peg, and then went over to the stove to add another piece of wood. He stood back to his full height and rubbed his hands together. "Please have a seat, Miss Travers."
Mr. Quinn turned the chair that faced the sheriff's large desk, but I eyed the door. I itched to fling it open and run away as fast as I could. Where I was to go once I was outside, I did not know, but being incarcerated was the alternative.
"Don't even consider it," he murmured.
I pursed my lips, knowing I had no choice but to sit, but I tipped up my chin, letting the man know it was under duress. Mr. Porter leaned back against the edge of the desk, his long legs stretched out before him.
I cleared my throat to fill the silence. "Am I under arrest?" I asked tersely, crossing my arms over my chest.
"Why would the sheriff need to arrest you?" Mr. Porter asked, undoing the buttons down his coat. It was getting quite warm in here, but I refused to remove my own coat, for I did not intend to stay long.
"Well...I assume Mr. Matthews' statements were bandied about town." I looked at my lap.
"They were," Mr. Quinn replied. He moved to lean his shoulder against the wall. "But when we approached him about it, he seemed to offer a different recounting."
I c****d my head to the side. "Oh? He doesn't seem the type of man to change his mind." If he were, I wouldn't have run away in the cover of darkness. I could have left town with my head held high.
Mr. Porter cracked his knuckles. "He is when his nose is broken."
I gasped. "You punched him?"
The man shrugged. "When he cast aspersions on my bride, I took offense."
He'd defended my character and that felt good because...wait—what had he said? Bride?
"What...I beg your pardon?"
He lifted his head, looked me square in the eye. "I took offense to him putting my bride's honor in question."
I swallowed down my heart, which had leapt into my throat. Suddenly, it was too hot and I fumbled with the buttons down the front of my coat. Casting a glance in Mr. Quinn's direction, I observed he had not moved, only watched with his usual patient air. "I...my goodness it's warm." I shrugged out of the garment so it fell over the back of the chair. "Bride?" I squeaked.
"Were you even going to say goodbye?"
"Mr. Porter, I—"
"Just Porter, Allison."
My mouth fell open at his repeated use of my first name and his tone. It came out dark and rumbling, gentle even.
"Porter," I began again. "I had no choice. There were no jobs in town and I had no intentions of wedding Mr. Matthews."
"That's good to hear," Mr. Quinn said.
I turned toward him.
"He's not for you," he added.
I knew that well and good.
"Why would you want to marry me if you're arresting me and putting me in jail?" What man would want to marry a woman who was—supposedly—used goods and a thief, even an innocent one? Just being accused of such a crime was worthy of disassociation, and I was sure neither Mr. Quinn nor Porter wanted a tarnished bride.
"I'm not arresting you, Miss Travers," the sheriff said. "I'm marrying you to Porter."
- Writer
