Mary Quite Contrary by Amelia Smarts
Chapter Eleven
Mary closed her eyes and sighed as Ben’s lips pressed against hers, so firm and gentle at the same time. He’d just given her the greatest thrill of her life, both the whipping and the lovemaking, and now he was taking care of her. Was this what love felt like? If not, she imagined it was something close.
When he released her lips, he asked, “What do you have in the kitchen that you can eat?”
“A slice of bread and butter would be nice. I can get it.” She turned toward the kitchen.
“No, no, you need to rest. Sit down,” he pulled out a chair, “if you can.” His eyes glinted.
She slapped his arm playfully, and he chuckled as he walked to the kitchen. Mary sat and sighed with contentment. This was what she’d been missing in her life. A man like Ben to take care of her, not to mention give her great pleasure. She hoped she pleased him as much as he did her.
A short time later, the double doors from the kitchen swung open, and Ben appeared with a slice of bread. He walked toward her. All mirth was gone from his face, and Mary couldn’t help but think he looked very fierce. His shirtless torso and arms were taut and muscled, and when he scowled, he actually looked dangerous in a handsome way.
“Mary, I want you to eat this at home. It’s late.” He handed her the bread, placed a hand on her back, and applied pressure.
She took the bread from him, surprised by his serious tone and the strangeness of the request. She’d just told him she was lightheaded, and now he wanted her to walk home without eating first? It made no sense.
“Sh-sure,” she stammered. “I’ll get the rest of my clothes from the back and clear the register, then we can go.”
“No, don’t worry about that. I’ll close up the restaurant like I did before.” His voice sounded too casual, in a way that felt forced. She studied his face, and his eyes seemed to bore into hers.
She couldn’t understand what was happening. He’d never closed the restaurant before. What was he talking about? “My shoes…” she whispered.
He gave an almost imperceptible shake to his head. “Best you leave now,” he announced loudly, sounding jovial, but his eyes showed the opposite of humor. He was serious.
With a hand on her lower back, he propelled her to the front door. After unlocking it, he practically shoved her out. Her bare feet stumbled over the dusty threshold. He immediately closed the door behind her. She could hear the click of the lock. He had actually locked her out.
She stood for a moment in bewilderment, as a flurry of ideas crossed her mind. Her friend Victoria had told her that some men only want sex, and after that they care nothing for the woman. Surely that wasn’t the case? No, not Ben. Mary knew he cared about her.
It didn’t take her long to come to a new and more alarming conclusion. She realized with a start that she might have forgotten to lock the back door when she’d gone to the kitchen to remove her clothes. She’d been so preoccupied with taking off her clothes for Ben. Had one of the thieves come inside? Was he holding a gun on Ben the whole time he’d been acting strangely?
She was nearly positive this was the case. She turned to run to the marshal’s office, but before she’d taken two strides, the sound of gunfire from inside her restaurant halted her steps. Fear seized at her heart. If something happened to Ben, she would never forgive herself for being so foolish as to leave the door unlocked, even after all the warnings.
“Oh, please be alright,” she begged out loud as she ran to the back of the restaurant. The door was open a sliver. She slipped in quietly and looked around. Nothing seemed out of place in the kitchen, but there was a distinct foreign smell of gunpowder, body odor, and whiskey. Someone had been in the kitchen, waiting to rob the register. That knowledge caused a shiver to run up her spine. She strained her ears to hear anything from the dining room, but it was quiet. Too quiet.
She feared the worst when she crept to the double doors and peeked over them. She saw Ben first, slouched in a chair clutching his right arm. A man lay prone beside him. Mary rushed in. “Ben!” She ran to his side and bent down. On closer look she could see blood oozing out of his right shoulder. “Oh, my god, you’ve been shot!”
He lifted his head with a dazed expression, but his focus seemed to return upon seeing her. He looked relieved. “Yes, but so has he, and he’s dead. Darlin’, get me some thick cloth to stop the bleeding.”
His voice sounded weak, but his request was clear as day. She rushed to one of the tables and removed the tablecloth. She wadded it up and ran back to him. As she pressed it to his wound, he croaked, “Bullet went straight through. Need more cloth for the back.”
“Of course!” she cried. When she’d helped to get both the entrance and exit wounds covered with linen, she said, “I’ll go get the doctor and the marshal.”
“Wait here a minute. There were two thieves. Don’t want you to run into the one who got away.”
Mary wrung her hands. “I’m sure he’s long gone, Ben. I can’t wait. Look at you! You need help now.”
Ben’s head rolled to the side, and she worried that he was about to pass out. Softly, he said, “Alright, hurry to the marshal first.”
She nodded and headed for the door. “I’m so sorry, Ben. It’s all my fault.” Her voice caught in a sob. She couldn’t waste time apologizing. Ben looked as white as a ghost. For all she knew, he wouldn’t survive. She could barely handle that thought.
“Mary,” he said, his voice low.
She stopped at the door and turned back to look at him. His eyes were narrow. Through gritted teeth, he said, “This is not your fault. It’s his.” He nodded at the body on the floor.
She didn’t take the time to explain how much at fault she was for leaving the back door open. She would confess later, when she wasn’t in fear for his life.
It was hours later that Ben was home in bed, his arm securely bandaged, and he and Mary were alone. The doctor had left some whiskey for the pain, but he’d been optimistic about the injury, saying Ben should make a full recovery. The marshal had taken Ben’s statement at Ben’s insistence. Apparently there had been two thieves. Ben had shot one, and the other had gotten away with the money in the register, so Ben wanted Clyde to have the details in order to track him down.
Mary knelt next to Ben and placed her hand on his forehead. He was cool to the touch—no fever—and she thanked her lucky stars that the doctor seemed to be correct that Ben would recover.
Ben opened his eyes and smiled at her. “Get some sleep, Mary. I’m fine.”
“You want me to go home?”
“No. I thought you might sleep here beside me.”
“Oh, yes. Of course.” She rounded the bed and climbed in. She laid on her back and stared at the ceiling. The flicker from the lamp’s low fire caused shadows to dance in front of her.
Ben found her hand and held it under the blanket. “Thank you for obeying me and leaving the restaurant without questioning,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t have been able to bear it if something happened to you.”
“I could tell something was wrong. I was on my way to get the marshal when I heard the gunfire.”
“Mm,” he answered.
Mary could feel a burning tickle in her nose, indicating she was moments from crying. Guilt tugged at her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I left the back door unlocked. We had such a wonderful evening, and it was all ruined.”
He didn’t say anything for a long time, and Mary wondered if he was asleep. Finally, he said, “Guess you should be glad I can’t exactly spank you with a bullet wound in my shoulder.”
His tone was light, and though Mary couldn’t yet forgive herself, she could hear in his voice that he had.