“He touched my wife.”
“We were dancing, you moron—of course he touched her,” she snapped.
But Carson hadn’t looked at the guy’s wife even once. He was too busy trying to set him on fire with his gaze of hatred. “Last I knew his hands on her ass and him tryin’ to lock lips with her wasn’t part of dancin’.”
Carolyn touched Carson’s arm. He still didn’t look away.
Charlie moved in and Carson immediately stepped between them, shoving Carolyn behind his back. “Don’t ever come up behind her like that.”
“Because you’ll what? Knock me on my ass? Wouldn’t be the first f**kin’ time. You done with this now? Or you waitin’ till he stands up and then you’ll take it outside so you can keep beatin’ on him?”
She froze. Carson wanted to keep fighting this guy?
“I’m done.” Carson put his hands on her shoulders and steered her away.
The murmurs and mutterings of what’d happened passed through the crowd.
By the time they returned to the table, she knew Beverly had heard about the scuffle because she’d plastered on a fake smile. “Now that you’re back I can tell you happy birthday one more time before we leave.” Beverly hugged her and whispered, “Watch your step with Carson.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s never needed a good reason to start a fight. But now that you’re his wife? You’re reason enough.”
“Beverly, Carson would never hit me.”
“I know. But that doesn’t hold true for the men who are looking at you. And if they touch you? They may as well start picking their teeth up off the floor. The man has a possessive streak as wide as the state of Wyoming when it comes to you, Carolyn.”
“You make it sound like a bad thing.”
“A man wants you that much and wants other men to know it? Never a bad thing…as long as he shows you—behind closed doors—and it’s not all just male swagger in public.”
“The swagger is entirely justified.”
“Lucky you.” Beverly hugged her hard. “Take care. See you soon.”
When she turned, she caught Carson staring at her. “What?”
“You drank my whiskey.”
“So? You weren’t here. And why were you gone for so long?”
“Wasn’t that long.”
“Almost an hour.” He frowned. “Yes, I was watching the clock. According to your brothers, you take off like that all the time.”
“I was doin’ business, Caro. That happens.”
Rather than chew him out in public, she put her mouth on his ear. “It used to happen. Now that you have a wife, you don’t get to disappear off to heaven knows where for heaven knows what. It’s rude to take me out on my birthday and ditch me. You know how I feel about getting ditched.”
Carson adjusted his stance so he backed her against the wall, blocking her from everyone at the table and anyone in the vicinity. “How much have you had to drink tonight, sugar?”
“A beer, your whiskey, Charlie’s whiskey and Beverly bought me a shot. Why? I’m not drunk.”
“You are actin’ more belligerent than usual.”
“Says the man who punched a guy four times,” she retorted.
“I wanted to hit him more than that, so he oughta consider himself lucky.” He rubbed his cheek along hers. “I put the off-limits sign on you the second you started wearin’ my ring and when you took my name. He—and all the other ass**les eyein’ you—needed a reminder that no one, and I mean no one, touches what’s mine.”
“Then maybe you should take me home and prove that I’m yours.”
“In a bit. Let’s stick around and celebrate your birthday. We’ve got years to act like an old married couple.”
As it turned out, Carson celebrated her birthday harder than she did; she had to pour him into his truck, but not until after last call.
Then once she dragged him home, he passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow.
That night set the tone for their first year of marriage.
Carson worked hard and played harder. They spent Friday and Saturday nights out. She’d insisted since he dragged her to the bar and the dancehall that he better not complain that she expected him to accompany her to church.
After they’d been married three months, Clara West’s health took a turn for the worse.
Carolyn had just finished sewing the lace on a christening gown, when she heard a loud thump in her mother’s bedroom. She raced in to find her mother lying on the floor, hacking so violently blood spilled from her lips.
Trying to remain calm, she picked her mother up and settled her back in bed. “Do I need to call an ambulance?” Or Father Dorian?
Her mother shook her head.
“Don’t tell me you’re fine, Mom. I know you’re not.” She paused. “Thomas told me what’s going on.”
Her mother lay in her bed and wheezed for several long minutes before answering. “He shouldn’t have told you.”
“You’re right. You should’ve told me.”
“Why? There’s nothing you can do. Nothing anyone can do.”
Frustrated, she said, “You can’t be left alone every day. You need daily medical care.” Why didn’t her father see that?
“I sleep a lot, Liebchen.” She closed her eyes. “I’m tired now. We’ll talk later.”
Her mother didn’t wake up for the remainder of the day. But Carolyn waited around to speak to her father, which would be awkward since they hadn’t seen each other or spoken to each other since before the wedding.
She waited on the front porch so he couldn’t avoid her.
Late afternoon, Eli West hauled his bulk out of his truck and stopped at the edge of the stairs; his eyes held an accusatory gleam. “You already leave that McKay bastard?”
It took every bit of patience not to rise to his taunt. “No. How long are you going to let Mom suffer alone? She fell out of bed today. What if I hadn’t been here? And don’t lie to me, Dad. I know the arthritis is in her lungs.”
“Why do you care? You left here—left her. Her problems ain’t your concern.”
“They don’t seem to be your concern either.”
“Don’t you take that smart tone with me.”
“Do you want her to die? Because that’s how it’s coming across to me.”