Page 51 of His Perfect Bride
She followed Jackson to the closest building, a simple two-story structure that had a wooden sign extending from above the door that readThe Golden Acre. As Jackson opened the door and waved her inside, the waft of roasting game and herbs awoke the gnawing inside her stomach. After having eaten very little all day, she was ready for a meal.
A scattering of men with mugs of ale sat at the plank tables that were crowded together in the front room. Low lantern light filtered over the dark paneling, highlighting elk antlers on one wall, a stuffed raccoon on another, and an owl on the opposite.
The conversations around the dining room puttered to a stop, and all eyes turned their direction. The faces staring at them were worn and grizzled and filled with lots of facial hair, reminding her of how Jackson had looked when she’d first arrived. The expressions were mostly curious and thankfully not hostile.
“Good evening,” Jackson said with a glance toward the far door that seemed to lead to a kitchen. “May I speak with the owner of this establishment, please?”
“What fer?” called a fellow at the farthest table. Although his skin was white, his brown hair was slicked back into a long braid in a fashion similar to the Natives. He had a bright neckerchief rolled up and tied around his head, and he wore an equally colorful beaded necklace.
Jackson gave the fellow a nod. “I would like to rent a room for the night.”
“Sorry.” The fellow stood, revealing leather buckskin trousers of some kind. “Got nothing available.”
“Free up a room.” Jackson didn’t appear to be taken aback by the fellow’s unfriendliness. Instead, he dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a leather pouch that clinked with coins. “I shall make the effort worth your while.”
Every eye in the room now centered upon the bag.
Jackson also swept back one side of his coat to reveal the handle of his pistol—a pistol Sage hadn’t realized he carried.
“How worthwhile?” The fellow with the braid was looking at the bag too.
“Very.” Jackson spoke the one word with a curtness and authority that no one could ignore. He was leaving little doubt about how powerful and wealthy and formidable he was.
The fellow surveyed Jackson for a moment then shifted to look at Sage. As his eyes rounded, he gave a low whistle of appreciation. “You got a fine-looking woman?—”
“She’s my wife.” Jackson spat the word with enough venom to make the man take a rapid step back. “Nobody better look at her except for me.”
Sage guessed Jackson was simply doing his best to protect her, but all it had taken was one interaction for him to spew the falsehood about them being married. Even though she didn’t like that they were getting more tangled into the lie, she couldn’t deny how much she liked Jackson’s possessiveness, as if he was claiming her and didn’t intend to give her up. That was a wild dream, wasn’t it?
“Do you comprehend?” Jackson’s gaze was as hard as steel as he surveyed the men. Gazes dropped away under his severity.
“You newly married?” the fellow with the braid asked without looking at Sage.
“Yes. Today.”
“I could tell.” The fellow cracked a grin, one that revealed discolored teeth.
Jackson ignored the comment and set down their bags near a narrow set of stairs. Then he slipped an arm around Sage, gently resting his hand on her back while he addressed the fellow again. “If you’ll be so kind as to provide us with a meal, we shall partake of it while you ready our room.”
Maybe he wasn’t being possessive and was merely trying to scare the fellows away from making advances toward her. As usual, she had to be careful about reading more into Jackson’s actions.
“Course. Sit right here.” It was amazing what the promise of money could accomplish. Gone was the antagonism. Instead, the fellow—clearly the proprietor—shooed at the other men who were still sitting at his table. They rose from their spots and began to make their way to other tables while the proprietor hastily finished clearing theirs.
Jackson guided her to the table. Even after they were both seated across from each other, she could feel everyone discreetly watching them. Only after the proprietor disappeared into the kitchen with his arms and hands full of dishes did the others in the room resume their conversations, although in much quieter tones, as if they didn’t want to miss out on anything she and Jackson might say.
“Are you all right?” Jackson murmured, shooting a glare at one of the men at the table next to theirs who was still staring.
“I’m faring well enough.” The option of pretending to be married was looking better with every passing moment. Not only would it keep rumors at bay, but hopefully it would squelch unwanted attention. She just prayed all the more that Augusta would be safe.
Jackson had tucked his money bag back out of sight, but his hand still rested on his revolver. Although he was bookish and intelligent and scientific, he also had an air of danger about him, one that he’d no doubt fostered during his years of living in this uncivilized land.
The proprietor—who introduced himself as Rawhide Ralph—brought them plates filled with a simple fare of roasted hare along with a surprisingly delicious dish of potatoes with herbs. The bread was thick and tasty too, and by the time she finished, she was grateful for the full stomach—something she didn’t take for granted, not after the hunger she’d experienced in Manchester.
As she pushed away from the table and stood, everyone in the establishment quieted again. Rawhide Ralph, with their luggage in hand, started up the steps. “This way.”
Jackson scowled around the room again as he lightly rested a hand on Sage’s back and guided her toward the stairs.
“Had my woman tidy up the room,” Rawhide Ralph was saying as he tromped loudly on the simple plank stairway. “Ain’t fancy and the bed ain’t big, but it’ll be real nice for your wedding night.”
