Melody (Journey's End Book 2) Read online

  Mitch gazed at his wife’s retreating back until she disappeared with the slamming of a door.

  “Now, Thomas,” he began, “tell me what has happened.” He listened with growing dread as the foreman described the events.

  “Damn.” The word exploded into the still afternoon air. “Do you want to hire more hands?”

  Thomas responded with an emphatic nod. “I know it is expensive, Boss, but we need to set a bigger watch.”

  “When we are not here, you have total authority to do as you see fit to secure the safety of the animals and people on the Bar W.” Mitch laid a reassuring hand on the foreman’s shoulder. “I’ll discuss this with Melody and see if she has any ideas.”

  He headed toward the house. As he passed Belinda who still stood frozen at the door, he stopped. “Would you give us a bit of privacy, please? An hour should do.”

  Belinda regarded him with knowing eyes. “Yes, sir, I need to work in the garden.” She went down the stairs and headed for the shed where they stored rakes and hoes and seed.

  “Melody,” Mitch called as he entered the house. When she didn’t answer, he searched the main floor before heading up the stairs. He found her sitting on her bed staring balefully out the window. Her hands lay in her lap upturned and quiet like two leaves floating down a placid river.

  The bed creaked and sagged as Mitch settled his weight next to her. He picked up one of her hands and placed a kiss on her cool palm before pressing it to his chest.

  “Feeling better?” he asked.

  “This ranch seems to make me a little crazy.” Melody emitted a rueful laugh. “I felt left out again, told to scurry along, settle down. Those feelings I grew up with of being alone and ignored came rushing back. No matter that I’m twenty and married – or a little bit married, anyway.”

  “Any time you want to be a whole lot married, you let me know, sweetheart, I’m ready.” Mitch patted the hand he held trapped to his chest. “I’m sorry. I should have remembered how you felt as a child.” He hesitated. “But I don’t know what to do when you fly into a tantrum, and it comes on like a lightning strike. I treated you like a child because you acted like one.”

  “I know.” She twisted to face him. “Are you going to spank me?”

  “Yes,” he stated. “I could tell Thomas was unhappy, upset even, and I needed to get to the source of it as quickly as possible.”

  “What’s happened?” Blood ran from her face leaving sickly white in its wake.

  “Well, sweetheart, it’s not good.” Mitch ran the back of his hand over her pale cheek. “Whoever is after your ranch, and my money is still on the mayor and Madame T, aren’t done making mischief. Thomas tells me that fences have been destroyed and cattle rustled.”

  “How many?”

  “Thirty head so far,” he replied. “That kind of loss can bleed a ranch dry. Force you to sell. Might be what they’re hoping, anyway.”

  “Maybe it’s not the mayor and Madame T. Rustlers are not an uncommon problem.” She pulled her hand from his grip and returned it to her lap. Her fingers curled into a fist. “Does Thomas have a plan?”

  “He’s aiming to hire extra hands to stand guard,” Mitch explained. “I think it’s a good idea.”

  “It is,” she answered. “Until we know for certain, I think we should assume it’s a simple matter of rustlers. They usually take what they want and move on to their next victim.”

  “All right,” Mitch responded, “we can play it that way if you want. I still plan to keep the mayor and Madame T in mind. It doesn’t sit right with me.” He lifted Melody into his lap and rested his chin on top of her honey blonde curls. “About that spanking,” he began.

  “No spanking,” she declared. The blood returned to her face in a flush of red.

  “Why no spanking?” he wondered.

  “Because I don’t want one,” Melody explained. “And it’s not fair.”

  Mitch laughed until tears rolled down his face. “Sweetheart, no one ever wants a spanking. That’s not the point. A spanking helps you think about your behavior. Do you really want to continue yelling and stamping your feet at people who don’t deserve your anger? Throwing tantrums like a child?”

  “No, but you need to give me a chance. Now I understand why I get so upset and angry here, I am certain I can change.”

  “Well, to be honest, I thought you had. Have I spanked you at Journey’s End?” he enquired.

  “No,” Melody admitted.

  “Why is that?” Mitch asked.

  The two sat in silent contemplation. “I guess because I haven’t deserved one.”

  “That’s right. You’ve been helpful and even-tempered there. There’s been no cause.” Mitch pulled Melody close to his body. “I don’t go looking for reasons to spank you. It would be fine by me if I never spanked you again. But I explained to you before we married that if you put yourself in danger or didn’t control that firecracker temper, there would be consequences. How can you trust me if I don’t stand by my word? What kind of man would I be?” He shook his head. “Let’s get it over and done.”

  In one fluid motion, he lifted Melody from his lap and laid her over his lap. He noticed she changed from her split riding skirt to a simple skirt, it would make things easier. But just as he had that thought, she commenced to squirming and fussing, throwing her legs in the air, and pushing against his thighs with all the strength in her arms. “No!” she screamed. “It’s not fair. Give me a chance.”

  “Whoa, there. You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep that up,” Mitch laid a firm hand on her back.

  “That’s funny. You’re worried I’m going to hurt myself and you aim on spanking me? That hurts plenty.” She gave a terrific wiggle. “Please, Mitch, give me a chance. If I don’t keep my temper in the future, I’ll lay myself right over your lap and hand you my hairbrush.” She bowed her back and struggled for freedom.

  “I only plan to warm your backside. I don’t want you injured. Now settle down.” As soon as those words left his mouth, he knew he’d thrown kerosene on the fire.

  “I will not settle down. I will not,” she screeched. “Listen to me, Mitch. Please.”

  Mitch struggled to contain the little wildcat that thrashed and battered against him. “Stop that, Melody. You can be spanked lying quiet and accepting the fact you earned the punishment, or you can be spanked while I hold you down. I prefer the first way, and I think you would too.” He lifted his hands and awaited her decision.

  “Go to…” Melody shrieked.

  Before the final word split his eardrums, he’d pulled her tight against his stomach and thrown one of his legs over the two of hers. She pounded on his legs with her fists and twisted her body right and left. Damn. She’d hurt herself if she kept up with this nonsense.

  He set her on her feet before scooping her under one arm turning to face the bed. With the other hand, he laid a pillow on the edge of the bed and lowered her body over it. Melody shot across the bed like a bullet in full flight. Mitch pulled her back to him. All the tussling had caused Melody’s skirts to rise up and tangle about her waist. With a tug, her bloomers fell to reveal two pale buttocks.

  “No, Mitch, please,” Melody sagged in fatigue. Mitch seized the opportunity to gather her hands into one of his own and held them at her lower back. He lifted his hand and let it fall and fall and fall. She presented a moving target with all that wiggling, but he continued to rain hard swats on her bottom and thighs. Her skin bloomed from pink to red to scarlet with traces of purple. When she lay quietly sobbing, he released her hands and lifted her into his arms.

  He carried her to the rocker by the window and sat with her cuddled to his chest, holding her punished bottom above the scratchy fabric of his pants. Mitch kissed away the remaining tears, whispered words low and sweet, and patted her back.

  When she slept, he continued to hold and rock her for a spell before rising and laying her on her tummy on the bed. He placed a light quilt over her and crept out.
r />   He ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. By damn, he hoped that spanking hadn’t been the biggest mistake of his life. It was just that once he’d said he would, how could he not? Once he’d declared himself a man of his word, he’d not had a choice. He couldn’t back down, could he?

  Mitch descended the stairs and stepped outdoors. Belinda, Thomas, and the hands working in the barn that day all stood stone-still and stared at Melody’s window. Well, they had made quite a ruckus.

  Thomas regained use of his voice first. “Everything all right in there, Boss?” he asked.

  “Yes. Melody is tuckered out, and she’s having a nap,” Mitch offered. He scanned the group of men standing in the barn’s doorway. “You men have work to do?” he queried.

  When they’d scurried into the shady recesses of the barn, Mitch turned to his foreman. “I’d like to see those fences,” he said.

  “All right, Boss,” Thomas replied. “I’ll saddle horses.”

  While he waited for his mount, Mitch let his own eyes wander to Melody’s window. Uncertainty rumbled deep in his gut. That had been one hell of a spanking. He shook his reddened hand and winced.

  The women at Journey’s End were spanked now and again, but it was a quiet affair between husband and wife and not a pitched battle. If he’d ever heard his sister screeching and struggling while Lars spanked, what would he do? Ignore it, or go to her rescue?

  Thomas handed him the reins to a horse, and he swung into the saddle. He took a last look at Melody’s window. What went on between a man and his wife was nobody’s business but their own. And yet, he had the distressing notion that if he’d heard his sister screaming, he just might barge in and lay Lars on his back with a single blow.

  Chapter 10

  Sunlight streamed through her window with the subtlety of a dagger. It pierced her swollen eyes and impaled her with its brutal brightness. Melody pried them open one at a time and studied the plate of uneaten food Belinda had brought to her the night before. She’d been too exhausted, too sad, to eat.

  Last night, after Mitch returned with Thomas, she’d heard his boots climb the stairs and pause outside her door. He’d tapped lightly on the wood, waited for a response and tapped again. He’d paused outside her door for a spell before she’d heard his steps carry him to his own bed.

  Her bottom still throbbed from his punishment, and the plan was for them to ride into Oakville before continuing to Journey’s End. Could she sit a horse for that many hours? She intended to, and she didn’t intend to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurt.

  Tears slid down her cheeks and dampened the bed sheets. She wiped them impatiently away with the heel of her hand. Damn, but she’d begun to really like Mitch. She’d begun to think she loved him and that maybe, just maybe, they could make their marriage a real one. But she couldn’t be married to a man who wouldn’t listen to her or consider her point of view. She’d already had that treatment from her pa for the first eighteen years of her life.

  She would admit she’d been poorly behaved when they arrived. She’d even admit that she’d thrown a temper tantrum, but she’d also become aware of her actions and their source in a clear, unemotional way. Seeing Thomas and Mitch with their heads together talking, deciding, analyzing, had brought back all those memories of Clay and her pa doing that exact same thing. Telling her to ‘settle’ or ‘find something to do’ or ‘later’ even though later never came.

  When Mitch had ordered her to the house, she’d been furious. But as she waited and watched out her window, she’d confronted those memories. She’d been anxious to talk with Mitch, to explain. She understood the connection between this ranch and her fury, and with the knowledge, she felt she could control her temper.

  But, no, there was no talking to Mitch. He had spanking on his mind first, second and third. He’d been unreasonable, uncaring, unwilling to listen. Well, she figured she’d run out of un’s, but if he thought she’d lie down like a lamb to the slaughter and be beat, he had another think coming. As soon as they caught her brother’s killer, she’d file for an annulment. The idea made her sick and sad, but it was for the best. She wiped a remaining tear from her cheek. She would miss the women and children at Journey’s End. They’d been the first real family she’d ever known. One that valued each member right down to the tiniest babe.

  Melody pushed herself up with her hands and pulled her knees under her. She crawled backwards to the edge of the bed, let her legs drape over the edge and stood. Her hands cradled her wounded bottom. Pillows were scattered across the floor, and the rug was rumpled. At least she hadn’t gone without a fight.

  “Melody?” Belinda’s voice was muffled by the door. “Will you come downstairs for breakfast, or do you want a tray in your room?”

  “I’ll come down. I need to wash up and dress. Give me twenty minutes, and I’ll be there,” she said.

  That was another change she planned to make. Belinda had always been good to her, and she’d repaid her by being an ungrateful brat. She’d rejected all of Belinda’s offers of cooking and sewing lessons. Because she suspected that was what her pa had in mind when he’d shooed her away and told her to find ‘something to do’, she’d scorned the idea. Now, here she was a twenty-year-old woman who’d just baked her first biscuit. From here on out, she would show Belinda the respect she deserved. Maybe it wasn’t too late for a few of those lessons.

  Melody scooped her bloomers off the floor. Mitch had torn them in two in his haste to reach her bare bottom. She wadded them into a ball and stuffed them in the corner of a drawer. Pouring water into the bowl, she washed her face and sponged her body. She brushed her hair until not a single tangle stood in her way before she secured it with a single braid down her back. Gingerly, she pulled fresh underclothes over her ravaged backside before stepping into a clean split skirt, chemise and blouse. Taking a steadying breath, she left the safety of her room and negotiated the stairs.

  When she entered the room, Mitch sat at the table staring at his plate with troubled eyes. He leapt to his feet and pulled out her chair.

  “You all right, sweetheart?” he asked.

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” She lowered her bottom to the chair with slow care.

  “We don’t have to return to Journey’s End today. Tomorrow’s soon enough,” he offered.

  “No, let’s stick to the plan.” She managed to wash scrambled eggs down her throat with a gulp of coffee. Melody took her plate from the table and carried it to the kitchen. “I don’t have much appetite this morning, Belinda, but your breakfast was lovely, as always.” She turned toward Mitch but kept a good three feet between them. “Are the horses saddled?”

  “They should be,” he said.

  Melody walked outside as normally as possible. Clothes brushed against bruised flesh and flashed pain up and down her body. She stroked the horse’s nose. “Good boy, Socks. We’re going back to Journey’s End. Are you ready?” The horse threw his nose into the air and brought it down with a snort. Melody laid her head against the animal’s warm flank and breathed his comforting odor.

  When Mitch approached to toss her into her saddle, she held her hands up as if to ward off evil. “I’ll mount myself,” she said. He backed up like he’d been scalded.

  The ride into Oakville was a silent one. Melody half-stood in her stirrups to take weight off her bottom, and it was exhausting. Her legs trembled and shook with the strain as they entered town. At the Livery, Melody slid to the ground pausing until she was sure her legs would hold her.

  “Hello, mister.” The dusty man who’d helped them on their previous visit emerged from the shade of the barn.

  “I was hoping you could brush and feed the horses. We have some business in town. Take about two hours, I suspect,” Mitch replied.

  “No dog today?” Disappointment laced his words.

  “Left Chase at home,” Mitch affirmed.

  “Well, sure, I’d be happy to see to your horses.” He
took the reins from Mitch’s hands and turned the horses toward the door of the Livery.

  “First stop, land office,” Mitch declared.

  Melody pretended not to see Mitch’s hand hover under her elbow. She set a fast pace toward the offices lined up across the street. Mitch dropped his hand to his side.

  “Let me do the talking,” Mitch instructed.

  He held the door open and Melody proceeded before him into an office with maps pinned to every wall. A man in his middle years with a hint of silver in his hair stood behind a tall counter with a map spread before him.

  “What can I do for you folks?” he asked. The map on the counter rolled into a little scroll when he released his hold. He pushed it aside and turned inquisitive eyes to Mitch.

  “I’m Mitch McBride, and this is my wife Melody. She owns the Bar W, and there seems to be a discrepancy about the southeast border. We hoped to get a look at the borders on an official map. So, we could lay the issue to rest,” Mitch replied.

  “Well, certainly,” the man said. “My name is Jonas Tucker. I work for the state of Oregon, and not any person in this town although not everyone agrees with me,” he snorted. “But I know where my paychecks come from.”

  He motioned them closer and pulled the map he’d been studying in front of them. He unrolled it and set a book on each corner. He pointed at the map. “He ran his finger over a wiggly blue line. That’s the river, and this is Oakville.” He stabbed his finger at a large circle on the map. “Your ranch is to the east. This first property between you and town belonged to Chester Smith, but he sold out and moved south to live closer to his daughter and her family.” He dragged his finger further toward the east. “This is the western border of your land, and this is the eastern one. Abel Stone owns the land on the other side of this little creek.” He directed their attention to another smaller blue squiggle. “That’s your border. Anything on this side of the water belongs to you.”