Mary Quite Contrary by Amelia Smarts
Chapter Four
The next morning, Ben strolled through town toward the live oak tree by the creek. The sun peeked up halfway over the horizon, causing the early morning dew to sparkle and the brush to glow. Every sight seemed to stoke the fire of romantic optimism inside of him, first ignited the evening before. Feeling how he did, unconquerable and on top of the world, he fully expected Mary to meet him. If she felt only a fraction of the interest in him that he had for her, she would be there.
It was an easy half-mile walk from his cabin to the live oak tree. The path cut across Main Street. Charles Campbell had already turned the Open sign forward at his mercantile, as had Victoria Davis for her fabric shop. A mongrel dog trotted toward him. Its fur was dirty and matted around the neck but, like the rest of the strays in Thorndale, it appeared plump and well fed. Still, Ben reached into his pocket and pulled out a strip of jerky. The dog accepted it slowly, almost politely, and wagged its tail before running toward the brush to enjoy his treat or bury it in peace.
Ben spotted Willow McAllister leaning against the livery stable wall in the same place he’d seen her eating the stolen pie. He grumbled to himself. He was in too good of a mood to talk to the unpleasant girl, but remembering that she’d failed to obey his order to help Mary at the restaurant, he felt obliged.
He stopped in front of her and tipped his hat. “Mornin’, Willow. You sleep well?”
She lifted her head and looked at him. “You ever sleep on a bed made of straw, Deputy?”
“Can’t say as I have.”
“No, you probably had a wool mattress and goose-feather pillows growing up.”
He didn’t respond while he tried to stifle the inkling of irritation that threatened to ruin his good mood. She was wrong. He had in fact shared with his brothers a wooden plank bed covered with quilts. He was the son of a hardworking farmer, not rich by any means. But the circumstances of his growing up were irrelevant.
Willow batted at a fly in front of her face. “That’s what I slept on when I was a kid—wool and goose feathers.”
“Is that right,” Ben responded dryly.
Her lips quirked up. “You don’t believe me, but it’s the truth. Ma and I lived upstairs in the saloon. Those rooms were made with beds in mind, if you get my meaning.”
Ben drew a deep breath and tried to redirect the conversation. “So, you didn’t sleep well last night then, on account of it being a straw bed?”
She waved a hand and laughed. “Oh, I didn’t say that. I slept like a rock. You put some burlap over straw that’s waist-high, and it’s just about the most comfortable bed in the world.”
Ben once again tried to quash his irritation. He felt like he was being toyed with like a caught mouse with this nonsensical conversation, and he was none too happy about it. “Anyway, Willow. I heard you didn’t help out Mary Appleton yesterday like you promised, and I wasn’t pleased to hear it.”
Willow rolled her eyes. “She doesn’t care.”
“Maybe not, but I do. Like I said, you’ll pay for those pies you stole one way or the other.”
“I’ll go see her later,” Willow said, with a big sigh. “She’s probably not even awake yet.”
“See that you do,” he replied. “You have a good day now.”
He continued out of town toward the live oak tree, glad to be done with the conversation. The tree came into sight, but Mary didn’t. The sun was still low on the horizon, not yet emerged fully from its earth blanket, so she still had plenty of time.
He found an overturned log and sat down. Birds chirped cheerfully around him, and the creek water trickled over wet stones beside him. Thinking about what had happened between him and Mary the evening before, his blood rushed south. She’d felt so good over his lap, and the bounce of her bottom when met by his hand was branded in his memory. Mary was everything he liked in a woman—straightforward, generous, strong, and beautiful. Her honest spirit prevented her from exhibiting any sign of coquettishness, which suited him just fine.
He’d met Mary’s friend Victoria the other day, who was just the opposite—batting her eyes and landing a feather-soft hand on his arm while laughing, as though by accident. The flirtatious gesture had done little more than amuse him.
Ben tried to wait patiently but, after a while, he could no longer sit. He stood, held a hand over his forehead to block the sun, now fully above the horizon, and peered down the path. He spotted a squirrel, and later a rabbit, but not Mary.
Doubt crept in, and he recalled every moment they’d spent together. He wondered if he’d been too harsh. Maybe he shouldn’t have finished off the spanking with such stern strokes, instead letting it remain more of a game than discipline. He shook his head. Maybe he’d read all her signals wrong. Had he taken advantage of her by kissing her last night?
Slowly he resigned himself to the fact that she wasn’t coming. He squared his shoulders and walked back toward Main Street. She’d given him her answer, and he had to accept it—for now.