by Lee Savino
He kissed her forehead in response.
"And my old fiancé is the ass."
"He is that, baggage."
She laughed. "That makes you the king."
Jesse's gaze turned serious. "Only to you. I'm a murderer. Outlaw. There's blood on my hands."
"No." She faced him, taking his hands and turning them over to show him. "You're not a murderer, or a thief, or an outlaw. I know I said all those things—"
"You're forgiven."
"Then let me absolve you." She kissed one palm, then the other. "You're a good man, Jesse Oberon."
Rising up on her knees, she stroked her fingers down his bare chest, admiring the muscles there.
He caught her hands. "What are you doing?"
She smiled. "Healing your scars."
Releasing her, he lay back. "There are so many."
"Let me see them." Finding the burn on the back of his hand, she pressed her lips to it. "I kiss the scar that made you known to me."
Her gaze stayed locked with his. He guided her to his shoulder to another long weal, a pale snake marring the tanned skin. "A knife fight in Boulder." Bending down, she kissed the scar, then ran her tongue lightly along his collarbone, tasting his salty flesh.
Pushing her hands under him, she stroked the jagged scars of his back, kissing his chest. "I kiss the hurt of your childhood." Her mouth drifted over his muscles, licking and sucking as she worked her way down.
Reaching up, he pulled the thong that held her braid, and let her hair rain down on his skin. His muscles tightened under the golden caress.
Susannah stopped at a puckered mark on his side and swirled her tongue around it. Her eyes lifted in curiosity to his.
"Bullet nicked me." He panted a little.
"I'm thankful, then, that it spared your life." She gave the scar another kiss, just for good measure.
Jesse was shifting restlessly under her ministrations, his hands working at his trousers and drawing them down. Positioning herself between his legs, Susannah pushed her hair back and pulled at her nightdress to expose her creamy breasts.
"Here," Jesse growled, and she bent. His hand caught her around her neck and guided her to his inner thigh, where an old red mark streaked the skin. "I made a man mad, and he came at me with a branding iron."
"Mmm, I know the feeling." Susannah smiled as his hand tugged her insistently. Her tongue lapped at the red skin, and she kissed it, feeling his cock grow long against her face.
Turning her head, she blew hot breath over his member, her hands coming to slide up and down the throbbing flesh.
"Susannah," he sighed, and she worked her mouth over him, hands and tongue and lips all playing a part until his hips tightened and he spent himself on her chest.
She mopped herself up with a handkerchief as he lay shuddering below her.
Finally, he drew her up. "Where are your scars?"
"Hidden deep, too deep for you to find."
"Let me see if I can find them."
She closed her eyes, and gave herself over to the caress of his lips and tongue.
"Here?" He sucked her neck until Susannah reluctantly shook her head no.
"Here?" Hefting her breasts in his hands, he worshiped her pink nipples until her hips were undulating slowly.
"Or here?" His mouth moved lower, stroking her belly with his tongue. Her head rolled back as he worked his way to her wet center, licking and sucking until she found her release.
When he came back up, his wet face had a big grin. "I didn't find any scars."
"That's because I don't have any," she whispered. "Not anymore. You've made them all fade away."
"Well now, isn't this a pretty sight?"
Susannah came away and Jesse jerked under her, rising and pushing between her and the intruders at the same time—the mean faced men from the mountains, the Johnsons. Billy stood at the foot of the bed, his giant partner hulking behind him. Both had guns trained on her and Jesse.
"What do you think, Bigs? Should we let them get dressed before we bring them to Doyle?" Billy sniggered.
"Just a corset for the lady," Bigs breathed. "She won't need clothes, where she's going."
Shrinking back into the blankets, Susannah whimpered.
"Let her go," Jesse said. "She has nothing to do with this."
"I bet Doyle will have a different opinion." Billy threw trousers and shirt to Jesse, motioning with his gun. "He wasn't too happy to come here and find the redhead calling herself 'Rosie May' wasn't the one he was looking for. Think your girl will be a nice replacement in his stable."
Standing beside the bed, still positioned between Susannah and the gun, Jesse shoved his shirt into his trousers. "Why wouldn't Doyle just take the redhead?"
"Pretty hard to sell a dead whore. Not impossible..." Billy's smile turned mean. "Of course, she's the one who gave you up. Told us the whole story, she did, before she died."
Jesse's shoulders tightened, but he said levelly. "May I have my boots? I'll need them to ride."
"No need." Johnson waved the pistol for Jesse to come forward, and he did a few steps, before stopping.
"He's here?"
"Came all the way from Colorado Springs to deal with you once and for all. He's waiting."
Jesse nodded, apparently calm. Then he dove for Billy and the gun.
The little man was waiting, and leaped to the side. Jesse anticipated, and followed, catching Johnson on the chin with a glancing blow.
"Look out," Susannah shrieked, too late. While Jesse grabbed for Billy's weapon, Bigs stepped in and brought a fist down on Jesse's head.
She screamed as her husband dropped to the floor.
Billy held his face, swearing. He gave Jesse's limp body a kick, then pointed the gun at Susannah. "Shut up."
Still shrieking, Susannah launched herself at him. The blanket fell away from her bare body, but she didn't care. She raked her nails down the side of Billy's face before he slapped her to the floor. Head spinning, she lay on the floor, staring at her downed husband. A part of her registered that he was still breathing before she was hauled to her feet by the grip on her hair.
Blood ran down his face from her scratch marks as he shook her, cursing. "I should shoot you and be done with it," he hissed.
"She's too pretty to waste," Bigs reminded him, and Billy tossed her back so she fell against the bed.
"Doyle wants you alive. Otherwise I'd shoot you right now."
"You better be dressed and ready by the time we're back here, or I'll put a bullet in him," Billy said, pointing his gun at Jesse's head.
Shaking, Susannah nodded. Jesse wasn't dead; he just looked it. He would want her to keep her head and think of a way out of this. Bigs was already dragging Jesse from the room.
Wiping the blood off his face with a sleeve, Billy cursed her again. Keeping his gun trained on her, he stooped to pick through Jesse's bag. Finding the blue silk, he threw it at her. "Wear that. And look pretty." He kept rummaging through the bags, taking Jesse's rifle, and holster with the two pistols before backing out of the door.
As soon as the door shut, Susannah's legs gave out. Trembling suffused her whole body. Bigs and Billy must have survived their encounter with Calum, and ridden away with revenge their only thought. They would've met up with Doyle, and plotted, until her stupid fears brought her and Jesse here. It was all her fault.
Drawing the blue silk around her, she made herself stand and check the door. Locked. There was a window, but it was cheaply made, and wouldn't open. Even if she did escape, where would she go for help? She couldn't leave Jesse.
Her only recourse was to obey, stay alive, and see if she could reason with Doyle.
She thought of Jesse lying on the floor, lax and unconscious, dark hair shadowing his face, and her stomach lurched.
Pressing her hands to her belly, she forced herself to walk to the dresser where her pallid face greeted her. There was a slight bruise where Johnson had struck her. With a shaking hand, she picked up he
r hairbrush. Whatever came, she'd face it as Susannah, as Titania, as Mrs. Jesse Wilder.
"Well now, you do clean up pretty."
Billy Johnson stood in the door, looking down at her. Susannah rose from her seat on the bed, clenching her hands in her skirts to hide their shaking.
She'd combed out her hair and washed up, then dressed in all her fine layers, the blue dress the final touch. Without the crinoline, the silk cascaded down her backside and over her boots, but her tiny, tucked in waist offered a fashionable silhouette. She'd left her hair flowing free over her shoulders. Judging by Billy's reaction, her toilet was beyond anything he'd imagined.
"Time to meet Doyle."
When she hesitated, he smirked. "You want to stay here, sweetheart? Entertain Bigs awhile?"
Chest heaving, she shook her head.
"Then let's go."
He's only a man, she repeated to herself as she went with her captor down the hall. With every step, her dread increased. They entered the private room, a tall, dark haired man sat at a desk, toying with one of Jesse's pistols, his face thoughtful.
"Here she is," Billy said, reaching for her. Avoiding the outlaw's touch, Susannah swept into the room as grandly as she could, unable to hide her chest rising and falling quickly with her rapid breath.
At first impression, Doyle looked like a gentleman, with a smart waistcoat, clean clothes and gleaming boots. He was somewhere between thirty and forty, with thick black hair and a neat mustache. He looked a little like Jesse, tall, powerful, radiating quiet confidence, a natural leader.
It wasn't until she got closer that she noted the hard, predatory look in his eye. She stopped in her tracks, something inside her repulsed at the idea of getting closer to him.
"Sit." He waved to a chair in front of the desk, and she forced herself to go and sink into it.
Doyle stood, and came around desk. Folding his hands, he contemplated her. "Pretty enough. These Wilder boys sure know how to pick them."
All the anger she would've felt at his rudeness shrank into nothing as he cupped her chin lightly.
"What's your name, my beauty?"
Her mouth was dry, she licked her lips several times to wet them before croaking. "Susannah."
Without another word, Doyle went to pour a glass of water, and offered it to her. She took a small sip.
"Thank you." Even if he didn't have manners, she did. She thought of how her aunt would scold him, and it put some steel into her spine. "My name is Mrs. Jesse Oberon Wilder."
"So there's one mystery solved. Oberon Wilder, eh? When did you marry?"
"A few... more than a week ago."
"Having an interesting honeymoon?" He smirked at her when she didn't answer. "You've certainly been busy, riding to Royal and back." Susannah didn't answer, and Doyle jerked his head to Billy. "Bring him in."
Her eyes widened, and she would've risen, but Doyle made a gesture for her to stay seated. She obeyed, if only because she wasn't sure if her legs would hold her up anymore.
Bigs and Billy dragged her husband in, holding his limp body between them. Jesse was awake, but looked worse for the wear. The angry bruise marring part of his face couldn't hide the fire in his eye.
"Leave her alone, Doyle. She's got nothing to do with this. Just a bit of fun. I made a bet with my brother I could marry, and tricked her into it."
"Is this true?" Doyle asked Susannah.
"Yes," she whispered.
"You want to be free of him?"
She couldn't answer.
Jesse wrenched at Bigs holding him. "She's afraid of me, wanted to run away. I took a whip to her last night to keep her in line."
"Is that true?"
She nodded.
"You certainly cowed her." Doyle cocked his head, studying Susannah. Reaching down, he gripped her wrist, holding her hand still. Only then did she realize she'd been twisting the ring around her finger.
"I think she has stronger feelings for you than you think." He smirked and dropped her hand. Susannah couldn't help looking back at Jesse, even as Doyle cupped her chin, running a thumb over her lips. "Maybe you can learn to obey a new master." The whoremonger jerked her head away from Jesse, forcing her eyes to his. "I'd train you myself. I think I'd enjoy it."
Staring into the face of the enemy, Susannah saw no mercy.
"Just let her go." Jesse struggled.
"I don't think so. I think, the only thing more satisfying than killing her, would be letting you die with the knowledge that all your actions brought me a new whore."
"Susannah, just tell him you hate me."
She couldn't move, she couldn't speak, and tears spilled out of her eyes.
"Damn it, baggage, now isn't the time to be stubborn."
"Take him away," Doyle ordered. "Lock him up. The sheriff hangs him on the morrow." She heard them dragging her husband away, but didn't move. Doyle smiled, seeming amused that he could hold Susannah captive with just a touch. Finally, when the room was empty but for them, he let her go, and she sagged in the chair, grateful that she was sitting down. Her stomach roiled and cramped as she watched Doyle pour himself a drink.
"You're a proper lady, Susannah."
It wasn't a question, so she didn't answer.
"Don't get many of those around here." He walked around her chair, sipping his drink and studying her from all angles as if she as a horse he wanted to buy. "In fact, that can be your name. 'Lady.' You like it?"
She couldn't stop her head from jerking no.
Doyle grinned, seeming to enjoy a little show of resistance. "He punished you, didn't he, when you misbehaved?"
"Yes."
Leaning down, he angled his head towards hers. "You'll find I don't always have to use the whip," he whispered in her ear. "Though I sometimes do, just because I wish."
He stepped away, and she trembled in her seat.
"Stand up, Susannah."
When she didn't rise, he gripped her arms and forced her from the chair, his fingers biting, and leaving bruises. "When I give you an order, you'll do well to obey it."
He stepped away, and she swayed on her feet. "What are you going to do with me?"
"First? I'm going to test your wares. Then, I'll give you to Bigs and Billy as a thank you. If you're good, I'll order them not to hurt you. Then, back to my brothel, your new home."
"And Jesse?"
"Your husband dies tomorrow. Hanging. For murder and thieving. You wouldn't happen to know where the rest of my gold is?"
She shook her head.
"Pity. We got most of it off of the false Rosie May—before she died, of course. But no matter. You'll work that off, and your sister-in-law's debt. I haven't forgotten Rose Wilder and her husband. But if you work very, very hard for me, you can buy their freedom, one month at a time. How does that sound?"
Susannah shut her eyes, letting tears track down her cheeks. Doyle stood over her, finishing his drink, and somehow, she knew what would come next.
"Lift your skirts, sweetheart. Show me what I own."
Turning to face him, her back to the desk, she closed her eyes and obeyed.
"Such a sweet, little lady. Spread your legs for me."
She let out a little sob and obeyed. Behind her, on the desk, Jesse's pistol lay, forgotten. He kept it loaded, unless Doyle or one of the Johnsons had emptied it. She could only hope. She would have one shot in time.
Doyle wouldn't expect it of the quivering, frightened lady, too meek to even fight.
But suddenly the enemy was there, in front of her, touching her between her legs. She didn't have to fake a fearful sob as his fingers probed her, hard and unyielding.
Taking a handful of her hair, he forced her around, slamming her face down on the desk. Her eyes locked on the gun, right in her line vision.
Behind her, she could hear Doyle undoing his trousers.
"Well, well," he said as he parted her drawers. "He really took a whip to you didn't he?" She whimpered as his hands dug into the bruised flesh. "I
can't say I'll be kinder, but if you're very, very good, I won't slap you about too much." He did smack her bottom then, a ringing slap that had her whimpering. "Thank me, Susannah, for sparing your life."
She didn't say anything, and he drew her backwards by her hair.
"Go to hell," she said, and wrenched her body around to fight him.
Doyle slapped her hard across the face, and she flopped backwards on the desk, blinking to clear her vision. She saw the gun clearly in her mind's eye, and grasping behind her, her hand fell on it immediately.
She tucked it to her, anchoring against her belly as she turned to face her enemy.
Steady, baggage. Finger on the trigger.
Doyle was roaring something, but she couldn't hear. Looking him in the eye, she fired her weapon.
In the next instant, he made a horrible noise, his eyes wide with pain and shock. She dropped the gun, but Doyle's body slumped over her, pressing her back against the desk.
She was crying and retching at the same time, her belly sore from the kick of the gun. Something warm poured over her hands.
The door slammed open and she jerked in fear, but then Jesse was there, wrenching Doyle's body off her. A trickle of blood tracked down one side of his face, but otherwise he looked fine. He held his rifle in one hand.
Eyes wild, he took in the gun in her hands, her skirts around her hips.
"Come on." He snatched the pistol, and wrenched Doyle off of her, giving the body a final kick, before grabbing Susannah's arm and pulling her off the desk. Her skirts tumbled back to her feet, tripping her as she raced behind him. He half supported, half dragged her to the window, pushing her back so he could break it with a hard kick.
He whistled, loud, to call Jordan, and then, turning, grasped Susannah around the hips and threw her through the window to the porch outside. She straightened as he came through the window after her, and then boosted her onto Jordan's bare back.
She hung onto him as they galloped, hard, out of town.
They rode for miles and miles, and her heartbeat finally slowed, and she realized her front was smeared with Doyle's blood. She started to draw away from Jesse, but he grabbed her hands and held them around his waist.
