Prologue

 

Some stale, moldering and smoky smell made her almost turn around. A cold chill raced down her spine. Such feelings-and in such an innocuous place. Shopping for dry goods was normally such a pleasant experience. But there were men, strangers jostling her and that stale smell growing stronger, until someone standing directly behind her leaned in and gruffly whispered in her ear.

"If you know what's good for you, Hannah Crowe, you'll find that bastard brother of yours and give him a message from Mr. Cain." The man's large hand moved against her bottom, squeezing repugnantly.

"I beg your pardon, sir," she whipped around, eyes flashing vehement scorn, "Get your hands off me." When she looked up at the massive man, the sneer on the unshaven face put a fearful wedge in her resolve and she shrank back.

"Yeah, you best mind what I say, pretty lady," the fellow glowered, "we have ways of dealing with cheating scoundrels and their pretty sisters." He grabbed a lock of her long dark brown hair and twirled it between his grimy fingers. His nails were nearly black and he reeked of liquor enough to make her suddenly feel light-headed. He was just a ruffian, but a big, crude, unpleasant one who made her belly jar oddly. Beyond his uncleanly appearance, the man was curiously handsome and this surprised her. He reached for her breast and squeezed it before she could think to back further away. She let out a tiny scream and slapped his hand. "How dare you!"

"Eh, I see the light in those pretty eyes, Mrs. Crowe," he gloated.

"Get the hell out of my store," Terrance Somersby suddenly blared behind them.

The three men crowding Hannah Crowe turned to answer the order, sniggering.

"We was just leavin'," the offensive brute sassed him, then turned back to Hannah for a parting comment.

"We'll be meetin' again, little lady, if that no account brother of yours doesn't show. Count on it."

The man turned and stalked away, grabbing a pack of jerky from the counter. Followed by two equally loathsome young scoundrels, he left a trail of fear and a fast beating heart behind him.

"You okay, Hannah?" Terrance Somersby moved her way, placing a comforting hand on her arm. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No, no, I'm fine."

"You sure? The Tremaine boys can be pretty wicked."

"I'll be just fine," she said, as she nervously pressed her skirt with her hands. She took a deep breath to clear the fear from her trembling body, then attempted to smile.

"I'm afraid your brother's in a pack of trouble. You don't go angering Jarrett Cain, if you know what I mean."

Hannah's weary look betrayed her worry, but then quite surprisingly she smiled warmly as if her confidence instantly was restored and she'd made some crucial decision. "You know, Mr. Somersby, I think I'll wait on the shopping for today. You wouldn't happen to know where Millie Peacock lives?"

"I sure do. She lives just down the street, right next to the barbershop. Has a room upstairs."

"Thank you, sir."

"But, you know, Millie Peacock is not fit company for a fine woman like yourself."

"I don't aim to 'keep company' with the woman." Her gaze narrowed meaningfully. But more composed now than before, she straightened her dress one more time and graciously nodded to the shopkeeper as she swept from the store, heading in the direction of the barbershop. Her mission was quite clear.

Terrance Somersby watched as Hannah Crowe left with her single-minded air plainly in charge. She was a beauty, with a lustrous mane of russet colored hair, a natural pink blush to her porcelain-white cheeks and wide sparkling brown eyes. They could dance with merriment or lash out in righteous indignation. What spirit! Her fine body and ample curves drew the eye of every man in the county. And that smile could kindle their affection, although everyone knew that her lively but gentle heart beat only for her husband, Daniel Crowe.

Some thought their marriage was a terrible mistake-he was so beneath her learned upbringing. Some thought she married the man to spite her venomous mother. Others vowed the pairing wouldn't last; she was simply on a young woman's foolish adventure and would soon tire of the homespun farmer and trapper. He was an unschooled country boy of modest means. A handsome fellow, to be sure, but no good match for a woman of Hannah's breeding, despite his wit, intelligence and strong work ethic. Yes, there were those who thought their union wouldn't last, but Terrance Somersby didn't agree. In his mind, there was still after five years, the same look of love in Hannah Crowe's eyes that he'd seen when she first came to town on Daniel's arm. One had to remember that their tiny village was no fine Eastern city, or even an upstart Midwestern town like Springfield where one might put on airs, where one's social background determined who you married. No, in these wild and sometimes savage places, a girl like Hannah could do a lot worse than Daniel Crowe. He was a man used to danger who would know how to keep safe a beauty like his lovely wife.

Chapter One

 

Hannah was a bedraggled sweaty mess. At one point on that hot night, she'd been so tired after walking miles upon miles that she lain down beneath a tree and napped-she had no idea how long, although it was still dark when she awakened. By then, her hair was stringy and her dress dirty and torn from a sudden fall she'd taken some hours before. It had been a long night and a futile search for her brother, Beau. Damn him! She silently swore. The brash little tart, Millie Peacock, led her on a wild goose chase. Hannah almost believed it was a deliberate ploy to keep her from finding her delinquent brother. Now facing home, she wiped her brow and trudged the last few hundred yards from the road to the white frame house where she and Daniel lived. It was just before dawn and the sky was becoming brilliant with the ethereal glow of a new sunrise. Somewhere she heard a cock crow, and looking toward the house, she noticed a trail of smoke curling from the chimney. Perhaps Jolie had lit a fire. Daniel wouldn't be home; he'd left the morning before to check his traps on the high ridge and wouldn't be back for at least two days.

Hannah had no intention of telling her husband about the impromptu excursion when he did come home. The less he heard about Beau and his shenanigans the better for them both. All she could think of now was washing her hands and face and dropping into bed for a long sleep. Gazing downward with unseeing eyes, she wearily put one foot in front of the other, and on reaching the fence she pushed forward the swinging gate that opened into the yard. On looking up, she immediately stopped short, her eyes barely believing what she saw.

Daniel! Yes, it was Daniel standing on the porch, hands on his hips, watching her. Her body immediately leapt with the desire to run to him for comport, but then the impulse quickly passed and her heart sank when she realized what this meant. A painful jolt of shame made her blush long before she reached the porch. When she did, she looked up into her husband's coal-colored eyes.

"You're home, sir?"

"I guess I am." He coolly appraised her, saying nothing for an interminable period. Then he finally broke the terrible silence. "Do I dare ask why my wife is not at home in bed where all good wives should be at such an hour?"

"Oh, it's such a terrible story, Daniel, and I am so sorry. You must have been so worried."

The firm set of his jaw said it all. He was a tall, lean and muscular man, with sharp clear features, dark, longish hair, and skin the color of copper. There was native Indian in his blood, and Irish and Welsh and some French. He had a keen eye, a strength that made her strong and a passionate love for her that warmed her soul. But he was also a no nonsense man, and for deliberately defying his wishes, she knew with little doubt the price she'd pay.

"Does the story begin with Beau?" he asked, his voice hardening.

Her blush deepened. "Yes, sir, it does." She stared him in the eye. A falsehood at this point would only double her punishment. "I can explain, sir..." she rushed on.

But he cut her off, saying grimly, "After you've taken a turn in the woodshed, wife." She could feel his anger and indignation boiling beneath his surface calm. Her body fluttered wildly in reply, as if it actually loved that righteous rage and even what it would do to her in the next half hour. She watched as Daniel moved back into the house-he'd be retrieving his razor strop. Before he reappeared, she abruptly turned, gathered her skirt in her fists and moved, head down, toward the woodshed on the far side of the yard. Daniel always said he liked to separate the punishment from the rest of their marriage, from what happened inside the house where their love was more affectionately expressed.

Although she moved swiftly, Daniel was only a stride behind her by the time she reached the shed door.

"Please, sir, won't you let me explain?" she turned about abruptly and confronted him with a pair of begging eyes, which were now lustrous and wet with tears. The tension between them seemed to explode.

"Not as angry as I am, wife. If you need to explain, you'll get your chance. Right now, you can bend over and bare your ass; show me how sorry you really are."

The words ripped through her body like the strike of lightning. So weary, so utterly weary after just an hour or two of restless sleep, she felt strangely faint with the reality of the situation becoming clear to her. She so desperately wanted some mercy now, and fraught with despair, for one very brief moment the fire in her flashed as the heat of the moment obliged her desire to fight him.

"And what if I'm not prepared to bare myself for you, sir?" she took a deep breath, renewing herself. Her eyes danced with a fiery, defiant glow.

Daniel's anger engaged the instant his gaze met her impudent stare. He resisted the urge to slap her face for such insolence. He was not a brutal man, given to reckless displays of anger. But he was not so self-controlled that he didn't respond. He swiftly grabbed her by the arm and in one sure and steady movement he had her captured under his one arm and her bottom perfectly poised for spanking. Daniel struck her with his open palm, again and again, spanking her bottom with sharp smacks that scorched her bottom and stung the air with a reverberating sound that seemed to shake the flimsy woodshed walls.

Even with the protection of her thin summer skirt, Hannah could feel the heat and the sting mount at a vicious rate. The pain made her struggle more. Oh, he'll work for it! she silently vowed. And yet, Daniel was so much stronger, so much more determined than she was, that her spirit quickly weakened. The truth came crashing down about her tired soul. She was no match for him. He would not quit; he never quit ... not until he won the battle.

"Please, Daniel!" Her small cry was so filled with sincere anguish that Daniel abruptly stopped the spanking and set her on her feet.

"Through defying me, Hannah?" he asked.

She knew he'd only start all over again should she dare oppose him.