The nerves on the vile man!

Sharon stumbled through the hallway and down the stairs, visibly upset by the man on his knees in the bedroom. If he thought for one second, that he could fool her into thinking he was anything other than a monster, then he darn right needed to think again! She wasn't sure she knew why he was desperate to prove this fact to her, but there was no doubt in her mind that it was for a sinister reason. Men were scum —all men were scum, including Matthew Steiner— and she was tired of being an object to be tossed over to the biggest scum.

She paused once she reached the foot of the stairs, fully certain Matthew would come rushing down the stairs, grab her by the wrist, and tie her to his bed to keep her from escaping. There was no doubt in her mind he was just like Jenkins, and she was smart enough to know that she couldn’t get far enough from this luxurious building —she thought, her eyes slowly moving down the flower vase, to the oak table it was seated upon, to the finely woven rug underneath the table in the middle of the hall, facing the front door— before she would be caught and dragged back.

Knowing it would only take a second for Matthew to show up, she waited by the staircase. She wouldn't play along with his silly game; if he was going to come for her, he would find her here, waiting for him. Perhaps marrying him would be less dreadful than marrying Jenkins? She hadn't smelled alcohol on him all day, and he seemed... different. Not nice or anything, but certainly a different kind of scum.

Several minutes passed, her eyes shifting to look up the stairs once more —where was he?

Frustrated, she let out a low growl —if he wanted to play this game, fine, he knew where to find her once he decided he was tired of acting nice.

~*~

Matthew stared at the missive in his hands, the very sight of it sending a cold shiver down his spine —after much deliberation, I have decided to return home to work in the family's factory.

It was a short, precise letter informing his father of his decision to return. While he said nothing of the reason for his decision, he knew his father would deduce for himself —his son not only failed at farming, but he failed at fulfilling his grandfather's condition for coming into his inheritance. Matthew especially felt like he failed at life, but today was the last day he had to come up with the money to pay his farm hands, as well as begin planting for the coming season. Before the day ended, he needed to send the missive. He didn't have the time to indulge in self pity.

Folding the piece of paper perfectly until all four ends were pointy and lacking of any crease, he rose to his feet and shoved the missive in his breast pocket.

Deciding to ride to town on horseback to deliver the letter in the post office, his mind wandered back to the blonde head he had almost gotten married to. He wasn't sure whether her refusal of his marriage proposal was a blessing or a curse, but he was certain if he wasn't under so much pressure to get married, he would never have looked at her twice. Not only did she have a big mouth, he wasn't sure he liked feeling the way he did when she was around —small and pathetic.

The picture of her walking out on him the day before drifted back to him. He had remained kneeling for several seconds, a part of him hoping she would return. It was an odd feeling of rejection, annoyance and frustration.

Deciding not to dwell on thoughts of her —for whether she knew it or not, she had played a significant role in helping to force him back under the controlling fist of his father— he simply kicked the side of the horse, forcing it to move faster.

Town came into view a few minutes later. Pulling the horse to a halt by the post office, Matthew hopped down the side and tied it to a pole. He had barely taken the first step into the post office, when commotion from across the street, caught his attention.

A man stood dragging a lady out of what appeared to Matthew to be a supply shop —he wasn't sure because he never went for supplies himself. Nana Lois wrote the list, he provided the money, and she did the shopping.

The man wrapped his arm around the waist of the kicking lady, lifting her off of her feet. He turned around then, a frown immediately claiming Matthew's face the second he recognized who the man was. He also did not have to look to know that the woman he was now shoving inside the wagon, was none other than Blondie.

*

Sharon kicked with all her might, her fists connecting once in a while with Jenkins's bulky body, but it did nothing to ease his hold on her as he dragged her out of the supply shop.

After leaving Matthew Steiner's farm the day before and he failed to come after her, she imagined her life had somehow returned to normal —her father was still a drunk loser when she returned home, and she was still the provider by the next morning. She returned to working in the supply shop, and a few hours later, she realized it was the worst decision of her life when Jenkins walked in to find her there.

“Checked with the registry, says you ain't married to my old boss.” He said, after he failed to gain her attention with his feigned politeness, “even heard from an old co-worker that the boss might be leaving Ferndale.”

Turning from him, Sharon made to go in the back.

“Guess that leaves you to me, now, doesn't it?" He called from behind her. She paused in her tracks, the blood draining from her face. “Since the old boss don't want you no more, guess you're mine now, dolly, ain't it?”

Jenkins paid no mind to Sharon's protests, neither did anyone else in the store seem to bother with the fact that she was being taken against her will.

Tears sprang to her eyes the second she saw the vile wagon, causing her to fight hard and yell even harder.

Something clawed around her lips, muffling her cry for help. “Shut up!” Her body was lifted off of the ground. “We are going to the courthouse right now!”

She shook her head violently, her tears streaming down her cheeks faster. She wanted to yell for help, but even that seemed useless. Who would help her? Who would come to the aid of a girl whose father had willingly handed over to a man to pay the debts he owed?

“Jenkins.” Matthew’s voice broke through her thoughts, and while tears blurred her vision, she could tell it was him for the very sound of his voice seemed to always put her at ease.

Jenkins stiffened. “Mr. Steiner?”

Good, it was him! She breathed in relief.

“What's going on here? Put her down!” Matthew sounded very angry.

She was immediately dumped on the ground, but because she hadn't been expecting Jenkins to comply with Matthew's demand, she staggered. Strong arms caught her before she fell to the hard pavement.

“Yes, you better run, Jenkins!” Matthew's voice followed the loud scampering of Jenkins heels on the pavement. He turned to her, his gaze studying her teary face. “Are you okay, Blondie?”

Tears fell unrestrained down Sharon's face, and knowing full well she wouldn't be able to stop them, she let them fall; no, she wasn't okay! She was a poor, wretched girl at the mercy of the town's drunks —Jenkins and her father. If Jenkins didn't get to her, then her father would. No honorable man would be willing to be affiliated with her less-than-honorable background by agreeing to marry her, and eventually she would be forced to settle down with a man as pathetic as her father, or as ruthless as Jenkins.

Loud sobs drifted from her lips then. Leaning forward, she covered her face with her hands.

“Hey,” something drew her forward, the smell of wet sand and hay immediately filling her nostrils. His arms curled around her, pulling her further against him. “Don't cry.” His command did the opposite —it made her cry a lot more loudly. “I will have Jenkins arrested if he bothers you again.” He smoothed her hair, the motion oddly bringing comfort to her.

Slowly, her arms instinctively curled around his waist as well, her cheek pressing against his chest. A part of her wanted to stay in his arms for as long as was possible, for it was the safest she ever felt in a very long time.

“Blondie,” he pulled away, to her disappointment. She stared up at him through her blurry vision, a thin line pulling his brows together in the center. “I have to go.”

“Do you?” She blurted, surprising herself.

He nodded, seemingly oblivious to the embarrassment she felt. “I must send a letter before the post office closes. It is to inform my father that I will be returning home to San Francisco.”

His words felt oddly like a slap to her face. “What?! No, you can't leave!” There was no use pretending that she didn't need him. If he left, she would no doubt be Jenkins's wife in a week. He was the only one who cared enough to rescue her from Jenkins.

He shook his head. “I can no longer afford the life I live here. I would hate to leave, but unless you have a wife for me in the next hour, then I am afraid I am left with no choice.”

Sharon frowned, reaching up hurriedly to wipe her tears. “A wife? What in the world for?”

“My grandfather requested it in his will. He demands I get married before I can come into my inheritance. I need my inheritance to pay for the loss incurred by the farm in the last planting season, and the money owed to my farmhands. As it is, Blondie,” a handsome smile settled on his face, causing her heart to do a little flip. Ignoring it, she paid attention to him. “I have run out of time.”

It made sense to her then —why a man like him would want a wife and would be willing to stoop low enough to get one through a gamble. She didn't know if she trusted him yet, but she was certain he was nothing like Jenkins, or the others who stood by while Jenkins publicly assaulted her.

Nodding in farewell, he turned around to walk away.

“Wait!” She yelled after his retreating back. Stiffening, he turned back around slowly, confusion clouding his hazel eyes. She swallowed. “I volunteer. I will be your wife...” When he raised a brow, she covered the distance between them, her jaw set, “in name only.”

He seemed to consider her words for a few seconds. “No,” he finally said.

“What?!” Her voice raised a notch, betraying the disappointment she felt.

Taking a step that brought him face to face with her, he said, “If you must be my wife, Blondie, then you must truly be my wife —in name, and in body.” He leaned forward, his warm breath tickling her skin as his eyes ran down the length of her. “Frankly,” he raised his gaze back to her. “I want all of you. All or nothing.”