Chapter 5

Megan

When Megan walked into The Ladies' Dress Emporium on Dallas's arm , it was lovely. The day before, she had been too nervous to notice much. A few fine dresses hung in the windows and book patterns set on a table on the far wall. Her heart leaped with excitement as she looked over at Dallas.

"Good morning, Mr. King." Kenzie Baker nodded, bowing slightly. Then a broad smile spread across her lips as she turned to Megan. "Mrs. King! It's so good to see you here again so soon! I take it you're here to design your new wardrobe?" Her eyebrows rose, hopeful.

Dallas nodded. "Yes, we certainly are." He lifted Megan's hand to his lips, gazing into her eyes as he spoke. "My wife is already gorgeous, but I want her to be a showpiece."

Megan's smile quickly faded.

Kenzie glanced over at Dallas and smiled. "Well, that won't be difficult! Your wife has a lovely figure." Then she looked over at Megan. "Shall we get started?"

"Yes, Miss Baker." Megan liked Kenzie already. Kenzie wasn't much older than her, and she didn't seem to intimidate easily.

Kenzie slid her arm into hers and started to lead her away. "Oh, come now! No need to be so formal with me. Please, call me Kenzie."

Megan smiled. "Only if ye call me Megan." Then she glanced over at Dallas, lifting her eyebrows. "I'll see you later?"

Dallas smiled, obviously enjoying seeing Megan's delight. "I'll be at the bank when you're ready."

Megan stepped close to him and whispered, "Dallas, thank you."

He surprised her when he leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Take your time and enjoy yourself. Come to the bank when you finish."

Megan nodded, giving him one last glance over her shoulder when she walked back to Kenzie.

"You know, I've never seen him so happy before." Kenzie gently squeezed her hand. "I wish you both all the best."

Megan smiled. "Thank you. I've never been happier."

"I'm so glad to hear that." Kenzie sat at a small table and indicated another chair for Megan. Spread across the table were clothing designs. "Now, for your wardrobe–"

"These are exquisite!" Megan gushed, in awe as she looked over the designs. "I've never seen anything like this before. Did you draw them?"

Kenzie smiled with obvious pride. "Yes, of course. I'm a clothing designer. Right now I make most of the clothes, too, but I just hired someone to sew part time. Do you sew?"

Megan smiled. "I do, but not well."

"Well," Kenzie leaned in conspiratorially as she touched her hand, "then leave it to me. I'll make all the dresses you would like."

Megan laughed. "I can't imagine what Dallas would think of that."

"When he arranged for you to come here today, he told me to make you anything you wanted." She smiled, sliding the sketches in front of her. "I have a feeling that you're going to be one of my best customers." Kenzie giggled. "Now, for your wardrobe. I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of sketching some designs with you in mind."

Megan studied the designs and loved what she saw. "Kenzie, if you were in New York, you'd make a fortune."

"I used to design in New York, and in London before that." Kenzie shrugged. "Maybe I'll go back some day, but for now, I'm enjoying being here." She looked up at Megan and a crease formed between her eyes, as if she were trying to figure something out. "Pardon me for asking, but what part of Ireland are you from?"

"Dublin. Are ye from London, then?"

Kenzie nodded. "I was born in London, but my parents are from Ireland."

"Oh?" Megan asked, clearly intrigued. "What part?"

"Galway," Kenzie answered, smiling. "That's why I have a mixed-up accent. Half British, half Irish."

Megan giggled. "It's lovely. But when we met yesterday, I couldn't figure out where ye were from… until ye told me."

Kenzie chuckled. "People rarely can. Now, as for your designs…."

They spent the rest of the morning designing Megan's wardrobe. Although she felt a bit guilty for spending so much money, she soon relaxed and found herself enjoying it. Kenzie only left her when she was needed by another customer, and then she went right back to working with Megan. Megan admired her work ethic as well as her spunk.

After everything had been decided for her wardrobe, Kenzie led her to the back of the store and took her measurements for the wardrobe. She was very good at judging her size and Meagan liked her style. When she was finished, Kenzie helped her order three corsets and undergarments from a catalogue, as well.

"Well, I think Mr. King and I just spent all his money," Megan teased as she looked over the sketches and engravings that Kenzie had brought to her.

Kenzie laughed. "I'll speak with Mr. King and then I'll have everything delivered as soon as it's ready."

"I hope this isn't too much." Megan blushed, looking over the long order that Kenzie had written. "We can take some of these things off."

Kenzie placed her hand gingerly over hers. "You'll do no such thing. Mr. King said to purchase you a fine wardrobe and that's exactly what we did."

"But it's just too much—"

Kenzie leaned in conspiratorially. "Megan, that's how men like Dallas King show they care about you. They buy you things."

Megan shook her head. "But he doesn't have to spend money on me to show me that he cares."

Kenzie shrugged. "Don't worry about it. Just enjoy yourself. Let him spoil you."

"Yes, but I would be just as happy with a smile."

"Honey, a smile is nice, but you can't wear a smile when you're going out for an evening," Kenzie teased. "Come on. Let's order you some shoes."

"You sell shoes, too?"

Kenzie shrugged. "Like the corsets, I don't have them here, but I can order you anything you want."

Megan held her breath. "Where do you order them from?"

"New York."

Megan gasped.

"Madame, you're going to have to get used to such things." She gave her a wink. "Stick with me. I'll be glad to show you."

Megan giggled, relenting. She had thought of ordering something special for Dallas but had no idea what his sizes were or what he would like. Meagan had a lot to learn about her new husband.

When they finished, she had ordered four new pairs of shoes in different colors to match just about any dress she wore. Kenzie had also ordered her three new hats, as well. By the time she left, Megan was exhausted but felt great at the same time. She had never had so much fun in her life.

After she said her goodbyes, Megan walked to the bank, knowing that she could get used to such special treatment and attention. Although she knew Dallas was just buying her what she needed, Megan made a mental note to have a talk with him about lavishing such expensive gifts on her.

She sighed, knowing she was already starting to have feelings for Dallas, but she made a mental note to keep her heart to herself. After all, she had lost everyone she ever loved, and she couldn't stand to lose anyone else. She quickly brushed the thought from her mind as she opened the door to the bank.

"There she is!" Dallas announced proudly as she walked in, gaining the attention of everyone within earshot. "Everyone, I'd like you to meet my new bride, Miss Megan Shannon."

Megan nodded, greeting everyone with a smile. "‘Tis a pleasure to meet ye, but I'm now Mrs. Megan King." She gave Dallas a wink.

One by one, everyone approached, greeting her warmly. Somehow, she already felt like a part of this community, of Dallas's world. Her heart pounded as he pulled her to his side, the happiest she had ever been. She had just stepped into a fairy tale, and she hoped she never woke up.

On the way home, Megan enjoyed the scenery from the carriage as the cool October air rushed in. The sun was beginning to set, and the night cooled in preparation for winter. A shiver suddenly ran over her.

"Cold?" Dallas asked. When she nodded, he pulled her close. "Better?"

"I'm fine." Megan thought for a moment, enjoying the feel of this wonderful man against her. "Dallas, what did ye mean when ye said ye wanted to make me a ‘showpiece'?"

Dallas leaned his head against hers. "I meant it figuratively, but yes. As my wife, you will be expected to live up to a certain… standard."

Her head snapped up, her eyes meeting his. "Standard?"

Dallas shrugged. "Standard of living. I'm very rich and people expect to see us dressed in fine clothes, driving fine carriages—"

"So, ye didn't do all this fer me, but to impress other people." Megan couldn't believe what she was hearing.

He tried to pull her back into his arms, but she moved away. So, he folded his hands on his knee. "Of course not! I did it for you, Megan. But we are expected to live up to a certain status."

She bit her lower lip and released it. "And where do I fit into this ‘status'?"

Dallas let out a deep breath and turned his attention to the sun, hanging low in the sky outside the carriage window. "Well, now that you mention it, you'll be expected to take elocution lessons, lessons on etiquette—"

"Ye don' like the way I speak?" Megan was hurt. One thing he said that he liked about her was her accent. Although she knew she sounded different than just about everyone here, she didn't think she spoke badly enough to warrant elocution lessons.

Dallas took her hand, but she pulled away. "Yes, of course I like the way you speak. I love your accent." He shrugged. "I just thought that you'd like to take lessons to fit in a bit more."

"Fit in?" Megan folded her arms across her chest. "Mr. King, if you haven't noticed, this isn't New York." Even in New York, she hadn't been spoken to in this way. But then again, she hadn't been expected to fit in to society there, either.

"And what do you mean by that?" Dallas narrowed his eyes.

"Well, this isn't exactly ‘society' here in Whiskey River."

When he turned to face her, his eyes flared. "I have you know that I have prominent friends that come here to visit from time to time. And I will not be embarrassed by a wife who doesn't know her place."

"My place ?" Megan's voice raised a few octaves. "And what ‘place' might that be?"

Dallas bit his upper lip, obviously trying to calm himself. "As my wife and the mother of my children, you'll be expected to live up to a certain standard."

" Yer children?" Megan shook her head in disbelief. "Dallas, when we do have children, they'll be our children."

He turned his attention out the window. "Yes, of course."

"And what did ye mean when ye said that ye ‘didn't want to be embarrassed'?"

Dallas turned back to her, narrowing his eyes. "Never mind." He took her hand and patted it. "We'll just get you some lessons, so you know how to act properly."

She pulled her hand away again. "Mr. King, I have ye know that I have no intentions of ‘embarrassing' ye. And if me accent and the way I speak bothers ye so much, why did ye marry me in the first place? Ye knew I was from Ireland, did ye not?"

"Yes, I knew." Dallas sighed. "As I said, I love your accent. It's just that your actions, mannerisms, and the words you say need… refinement."

"Refinement?" Megan's voice raised again.

"Stop shouting," Dallas ordered. "You will not speak to me in such a manner."

Megan smirked. "Oh no? Ye will not tell me what to do, wife er not! And I will speak to ye in any manner I choose."

Dallas narrowed his eyes. "You have a lot to learn about being a wife and submitting to your husband."

"And ye have a lot to learn about how to treat a wife." Megan turned her attention out the window, hurt. She had to admit that he lavished fine things on her, but he also wanted to change her, who she was, and that was something she wasn't willing to do.

Dallas pulled her back abruptly, hurting her arm. "Don't you turn away from me like that!"

Megan looked down at the grip he had on her arm. "Let go of me or ye're going to feel the backside of a frying pan."

Dallas laughed. "You don't have one."

"We'll be home soon enough." She looked him squarely in the eye, never wavering. "Now, let me go now and don't ye ever lay a hand on me again."

Dallas smirked as he released her arm. "I'm going to enjoy taming you."

"Good luck trying."

They rode in silence the rest of the way home. Soon, they pulled down the long driveway leading to his ranch. How could such a wonderful day end so badly? When the carriage pulled to a stop, the sun was beginning to set behind the cabin.

"Ye could have asked about the lessons, and I would have considered it. But ye will not order me to do anything." Megan jumped out of the carriage before Dallas or the driver could open the door.

Dallas jumped out behind her. "Megan, you will do as I say."

"You will ask me." Megan lifted her skirts and started to walk away, but then turned back to him. "And another thing. Don't bother coming to me bed tonight."

He smirked. "And you think a locked door will keep me out?"

Megan smiled, her eyes twinkling as she thought of the frying pan. "Well, enter at yer own risk." Then she stormed into the house and into the kitchen.

"What is the meaning of this?" Jacques's voice bellowed, filling the room.

Megan ignored him as she looked around, her eyes settling on a cast iron frying pan. She grabbed it and stormed up the stairs to the bedroom and locked the door, gripping the pan tightly.

The sound of boots stomping loudly against the stairs grew closer, louder as he reached the top. He tried the door handle and stopped. Then he kicked in the door, sending it flying against the wall, still attached to its hinges.

She held up the frying pan and glared at him. "Don' ye dare come near me!"

He stomped toward her and ducked when she swung the pan at him. Then he grabbed the pan from her as she fought and threw it across the room, sending it crashing to the floor. He pulled her roughly into his arms and his lips descended upon hers. She pushed against him and pounded her fists on his back, but then passion overtook her, and she melted into his arms.

Then he pulled back abruptly, his lips curling into a devilish smile. "Don't ever lock a door to me again." Then he picked up his hat that had fallen onto the bed, slid it on and tipped it to her, smirking. "Good night, my lady. Sleep well." Then he walked out.

"Why, you!" Megan picked up a hairbrush and threw it at the doorway as he walked out. Then she stormed over to the door and slammed it shut. It would no longer lock, but she knew he wasn't coming back that night anyway. He had made his point and that was enough. "That man is so infuriating!"

Megan had intended to stay the rest of the night in the bedroom, but as the night progressed, hunger got the best of her. She tiptoed across the floor and opened the door. In the hallway, she looked around and, seeing no one about, she crept down the stairs.

On the first floor, she looked around the cabin, amazed by its size, and walked in the direction that she hoped led to the kitchen. To the right was a drawing room with a fireplace and Dallas was there, watching the fire, holding a glass containing a dark colored liquid. She had a feeling that it wasn't coffee.

Megan walked into the kitchen and there was a plate of leftover roast, so she sliced some bread and some roast beef and made herself a sandwich. She put it on a plate and then poured some lemonade.

After she put everything away, she picked up the plate and the glass, walked into the dining room, and sat at the table. She had thought of eating in the bedroom but was determined not to show Dallas any fear. She picked up her sandwich and took a bite when Dallas strolled in, carrying the glass.

"What are ye drinkin'?" Megan asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"Brandy." He held out the glass to her and smirked. "Want some?"

She shook her head and turned her attention back to her sandwich as flashes of him breaking through their bedroom door came to mind.

"Would you mind if I dined with you?" Dallas asked, waiting.

She started to get up from her seat. "I'll fix ye a sandwich."

He placed a hand gently on her arm, stopping her, and set his glass down on the table. "No, I'll get it."

He started toward the kitchen when Megan called after him. "The roast beef is on the counter!"

"I see it," he yelled back. A moment later, he came back in with a sandwich and a glass of lemonade. Pushing the brandy to the side, he sat across from her and took a bite, as if nothing had happened between them earlier. "Umm… this is delicious."

Megan nodded and then took another bite of her sandwich. "Look. I'm sorry for overreacting. But just to let you know, you can ask me to do something, but never order me to."

He nodded as one corner of his lips curled into a smile. "I'll keep that in mind." He took another bite of his sandwich. "So, what do you think of the house?"

She set down her lemonade. "It's lovely. And the main hall is so huge! What is that room exactly?"

Dallas smiled, obviously pleased by her reaction. "It's the living room, but I only use it when company arrives and for parties." His eyes twinkled. "Speaking of which, I plan to throw a party before the weather gets too bad."

"A party?" Megan asked in disbelief. "Dallas, you're spending too much money. We should save some—"

"I know, for a rainy day." He reached over and took her hand. "Megan, I have money and you're going to have to get used to it."

"Yes, you have money…." She rose from the table. "But ye don't have to flaunt it. I'm going to bed."

Dallas stopped her, taking her hand. "Megan, I want to have a party to show you off and to introduce you to the townsfolk."

Megan let out a deep breath and sat down, pulling her hand away. "Dallas, I'm not a showpiece for ye to show off and flaunt." She looked into his eyes, touching his cheek. "I'm your wife."

Dallas took her hand and sat back in his chair, pulling her onto his lap. "I know that. I meant no harm."

Megan bit her lower lip, wrapping her arms around his neck, wondering if she should ask, unsure if now was the right time. "Dallas, what happened to ye?"

His eyes opened wide, but he quickly recovered himself. "What do you mean?"

Megan placed her hand on his cheek, forcing him to look into her eyes. "What happened to make ye think that money is the most important thing in life?"

"Well, isn't it?"

She let her hand drop from his cheek. "Dallas, you know that I was poor and have never known money. My parents died of starvation in Ireland and then Liam and I left to escape the same fate—"

"Liam?" Dallas's eyebrows pulled together in concern.

Megan rose to her feet, wondering what to make of the jealousy in his eyes. "Me brother."

He let out a deep breath, nodding in understanding.

"Anyway…." She sat back in her seat and took a sip of her lemonade. "The stories we heard in Ireland was to come to America, that the streets were paved in gold." She sighed, shaking her head. "But when we arrived, the only job I could get was in a factory and Liam under water, helping to build a bridge…." Dallas gasped, but she continued. "And the only place we could afford to live was in a tenement with two other families." She took his hand. "And to answer yer question: Yes, money is important. Without it, ye can't survive. But there are other things that money can't buy that are important, too."

Dallas let out a deep breath. "I know that."

"Just don't ye be losin' sight of it." She walked around the table, sat down in the chair next to him, and gave him a light kiss.

"What happened to your brother?" Dallas's eyebrows rose as he held her hand. "Is he still in New York?"

She shook her head as tears rimmed her eyes. "No, he died defending my honor from some Italian street thugs. He was walking me home late one night from the factory after my shift when we were attacked."

He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Megan, I'm so sorry."

She nodded. "But I made him a promise to have a better life, to marry and have children. But most of all, he made me promise to be happy."

Dallas smiled, his eyes filled with sincerity. "I'm going to help you keep that promise."

Her lips curled into a slight smile. "So, now that ye know my story, why I came here, what's yers? What happened to ye, Dallas?"

He sat back, holding his lemonade with both hands. "I'm not sure now is the time. Come on. It's time for bed." He started to get up, but she stopped him.

"Dallas, I want to know."

He sat back down as a faraway look came into his eyes. "My father was a difficult man. As I told you, he was a sharecropper and we didn't have much while I was growing up, but there's more." He bit his lower lip, obviously wondering how much to tell her. "He was a drunkard. And when he drank, he beat my mother and me."

Megan gasped.

Dallas sighed and continued, "In my young mind, I thought that it must have been my fault. That I had done something wrong that caused him to beat me. So, I tried to be perfect. I wanted to have the perfect job, live the perfect life in the perfect town—"

"And have the perfect wife," Megan finished, cutting him off, understanding him much more now. "Dallas, no one's perfect… especially not me."

Dallas kissed her fingertips. "Megan, I know that—"

"Dallas, ye don't have to try to impress people with yer money." She pulled her hand away and placed it on his cheek. "People will be more impressed if ye let them in."

He sat back abruptly. "What do you mean?"

"If ye let them see you… the real you…." She leaned close, placing her hand over his. "If ye let them into yer heart, then people will like ye for who ye are and not fer yer money."

He raised her hand to his lips. "Well, my wife, you have given me a lot to think about. But now, I think it's time we retire for the evening." Then he raised his eyes to hers, a mischievous smile curling his lips. "That is, if I'm allowed in."

She laughed. "Why don't you take me upstairs and we'll find out."

With that, he scooped her into his arms and walked out of the dining room and through the living room, headed toward the stairs.

Megan laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Do ye intend to carry me to bed every night?"

He nuzzled her neck. "Until I'm an old man."

As this wonderful man carried her up the stairs headed toward their bedroom, she wondered if they would ever be able to escape their pasts and have a good life together… or were they doomed from the start.