The Renegade's Captive (The Widow Wagon Book 4)

by Megan Michaels

  Clara swallowed. Minnie would keep her word on that no doubt.

  * * *

  Angus looked around the town of Green River. Although a small town, it had become a bustle of activity with the new Union Pacific Railroad coming through the middle of it, utilizing the water from the river for the steam locomotives. The saloons and shops were filled with railroad employees and pioneers from wagon trains on their way to Oregon or California.

  The dusty road traveled by so many made the air thick with the red dust, and it coated the windows and walkways. Angus had just sent a telegram to the Western Union to Tom Ferris in Idaho, letting him know that his mail order bride had married a US Marshal and he made his apologies to the gentleman.

  The new railroad ran through the center of town, which was all at the base of Castle Rock, a large rock formation jutting out of the ground by seven thousand feet with a large square rock at the top resembling a castle wall.

  When the Widow Wagon had been a distance away from Green River, the pioneers stood watching the black, dragon-like train puff and chug along the trestle bridge with its huge billows of white smoke against the brown and white rocky mountain, a backdrop that took your breath away.

  Angus felt a bit nostalgic. This would more than likely be the end of the wagon trains headed west. Part of him said good riddance. Another part of him would miss the long, quiet rides across the plains and prairies, the blue sky by day and the stars at night. He wouldn’t miss the chaos of the women fighting, the Indians and renegades, but delivering women to their husbands, witnessing wedding after wedding, and watching babies being born—those were the things that he’d miss with the introduction of the steam engine.

  “Watching it chug along the bridge over the water is stunning, isn’t it?” Silas stood next to him, both the men entranced by the magic of a machine that large moved by steam.

  “It sure is. I’m going to miss the simplicity and quiet of a wagon plodding across the dry plains, yet it’ll be fun to put my feet up and watch the countryside go by with no worries. I definitely have mixed feelings.” Angus swallowed against the lump rising in his throat.

  “Change is never easy; it comes with strife and confusion—but there is no way to stop it. Things progress and move forward—just as we do.” Silas appeared to be speaking about more than the train.

  Angus looked over at his new friend trying to get a glimpse into what he was feeling or speaking about. “You okay, Silas? You ain’t having doubts about Minnie or living here, are you? You’re more than welcome to come with us to Oregon and start fresh there you know.”

  Silas sighed. “I have no doubts about marriage or Minnie, and I don’t belong anywhere but Green River. This is home. Always has been. This is where my family and career are. I just think I’ll be missing you all. It’s funny how you can make such deep friendships in a short time.”

  “I was just thinking that myself. I’ve made some life-long friends on these journeys. Now with the trains, we can see you whenever we wish, it won’t be that far; probably less than a day to each other.”

  “Are you done with your business here?” Silas pointed his thumb over his shoulder at the Union Express office.

  “Yep.”

  “You have to camp for the night regardless. You’re coming to our ranch and having a home cooked meal.” Silas grinned at Angus.

  “We couldn’t impose on your family like that, Silas. I appreciate the offer, but I’ve been married—twice now—and women don’t appreciate something like this.”

  “Angus, my mother will skin me alive if she thinks you are all eating jerky and sleeping on the plains. You’re coming to the house. And by the way, my wife has informed me that your little girls will sleep in the guest room. It will give you both some time alone.” Silas elbowed his new friend in the ribs, chuckling.

  “Jesus, that sounds like fucking heaven. You mean it?”

  “Hell, yes, we mean it.” Silas ran his hand over his mouth to hide a smile. “Least I can do for keeping you all awake with our… noise.”

  “Damn straight. You two are like cats in heat.” Angus took his hat off, slapping it on his thigh, a poof of dust rising in the setting sun. “You have yourself some house guests. I thank you, Silas.”

  “Let’s go before it gets dark.”

  Chapter 7

  Silas stopped on the ridge overlooking their farmhouse and ranch, his wife sitting in front of him on his horse. “There it is darlin’; your new home. I promise that I’ll do whatever I can to make you happy.”

  “It’s beautiful—and so large.” She turned to look up at him. “Silas, I’m so nervous.”

  “They’ll love you. We’re going to be there in just a few minutes; we’ll ride ahead so I can tell Ma we’re here, that you’re my wife, and that we brought guests. It’s a lot of information all at once, but you’ll see after having three boys, she’s pretty easy going.”

  “Does my hair look all right? I probably look a fright out here in the middle of Indian country, being tossed to and fro, and being switched all in one day. These things don’t help a lady look the way she should. I’ll make a bad impression.” Minnie pulled her barrettes out, trying to redo her hair the best she could with no mirror or water.

  “You look beautiful. Women care too much about all of that.” He grabbed the reins. “Hang on.” And with no warning, they were galloping down into the valley.

  Before they could reach the back porch or barn, his father, Henry, flung the screen door, slamming into the white clapboard, two-story house, running down the steps to meet them. “My God, boy, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  “Hi, Pa.” Silas slid Minnie down the horse, into his father’s waiting arms. “And this beauty is my new wife, Minnie. Minnie, this is my dad, Henry, and that vision coming down the steps is my mother, Grace. Ma, meet your new daughter, Minnie.”

  “My… did you… this is your wife, Silas?” Grace’s eyes filled with tears and she flung her arms around Minnie’s neck. “I’ve waited for a daughter-in-law since the day he was born. You’re welcome here; I can hardly wait to become friends.”

  Minnie turned, looking up at him, tears in her eyes, her lip trembling before hugging Grace again. “I look forward to it also, Ma’am.”

  “Oh Lord, Silas. She’s a lady—a real southern lady. You can call me Ma or Grace; Ma’am isn’t necessary.”

  “Yes, Ma’am… Grace.”

  “Are you women done yet? It’s my turn to meet my new daughter.” Henry elbowed his way toward Minnie. “It’s nice to meet you, darlin’.” He hugged her gently, pulling away to wink at her before grabbing his son roughly, pulling him into his embrace. “How the hell did you snag this southern belle?”

  Silas laughed. “I wore out three sets of kneecaps proposing to her. It wasn’t easy roping her in.”

  Henry laughed amiably. “I bet. The good ones always require more work.” He nodded, looking behind Silas. “Who’s that coming over the hill?”

  “Oh. Uh, Ma?” Silas took his hat off, running his hand through his hair. “Those are folks from the Widow Wagon, which Minnie has been on since Missurah, and I… well, I told them… they’re here for dinner and I told them they could park their wagons here and sleep for the night.”

  Grace’s hand went to her throat, her eyes widening momentarily before taking a deep breath. “You and I will talk about this later, Silas Henry.” She wagged her finger in his face, turning quickly to address her new daughter-in-law. “Minnie, I sure hope you can cook because I’m putting you to work. Henry, you and Silas kill us some chickens and I’ll start a stew with biscuits. Now shoo!”

  “It’s good to be home again. Nice to see some things don’t change around here.” Silas leaned over kissing his mother’s cheek. “I missed you, Ma.”

  Grace ran her hand along the side of his face. “I missed you more than you’ll ever know.” She stared into his green eyes quietly, then slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t make me wonder why. You two have chickens t
o kill. Now skedaddle!”

  * * *

  Lizzie, Clara, and Margie had gone to their wagons to bed down for the night, while Minnie and Grace brought Rose and Nellie upstairs in the house to sleep in a feather bed in the guest room.

  The men had gathered around the main living room, sipping whiskey from tumblers talking about their trip, the war, and other sundry topics.

  Henry cleared his throat, putting his cigar down in the glass tray. “We’ve had some trouble with new neighbors on the far north side of the property.”

  “Oh?” This was the first Silas had heard of these people, and for his father to be concerned, it had to be more than just ‘some trouble.’

  “They came to Green River not long after you left. Seemed like nice enough neighbors at first. A man with three grown sons, they built a log home and pretty much kept to themselves except to get supplies and such in town over the hill.” He stopped talking to sit back, grabbing his cigar again taking a long drag off of it, blowing rings over his head before continuing. “Then they damned up the creek, cutting off most of the water flow to our farm.”

  Angus interrupted. “The damn fool didn’t think to talk to you first about this?”

  “Nope. Just had a makeshift damn. I thought maybe a beaver had done it. I dismantled it, thinking the problem was solved. But within a week, we were down to a trickle again.” Henry shook his head, staring at the floor before glancing at the men. “So I went to his house and asked if we could come to an agreement on the water, that my livestock needed the water as much as his did. And that’s when he informed me that the creek starts on his property, and he’d do with it as he saw fit. Just has no regard for us down in the valley.”

  “He can’t do that. Tomorrow we’ll just go up there, and I’ll tell him what the law says, we have a right to the flow of water; it’s on our property too. Why didn’t you get Tucker and Roy to help you with this?” Silas felt frustrated thinking his younger brothers weren’t acting responsibly in his absence as far as his parents were concerned.

  “Oh, no. Tucker tried, damn he tried. But I’m telling you, Clem Jenkins just ain’t having it, Silas. We’re going to have a squabble on our hands.”

  “We’ll take care of this after we send off the Widow Wagon. Don’t you worry none.”

  Henry’s wrinkled brow relaxed, seeming relieved that his son the US Marshal was back to help him with this issue. Silas hated that they’d been dealing with these scoundrels in his absence. He’d go loaded and ready tomorrow, and hopefully with some fancy legal talk and friendly banter, it would become a thing of the past.

  The men carried on a conversation for a while until Grace came down the stairs asking if Henry was coming up to bed. For as long as he could remember, his sweet mother couldn’t sleep without her husband by her side. It had been something modeled to him, and he always hoped he’d have a similar love as theirs. Loving and lasting.

  Henry shook hands with everyone before climbing the steps slowly, wrapping his arm around his wife’s waist, taking the stairs together to retire for the night.

  “You have a wife waiting for you in the wagon—and no children. I thought you would’ve been out there before the sun set, Angus.” Silas chucked soft and low.

  “I contemplated it. Really did. But didn’t want to look like some green kid on my honeymoon, wanted to look respectable for your parents, but damn it’s been hard to concentrate on anything knowing she’s waiting out there.” Angus shifted in his chair, tugging at his pants, apparently readjusting himself.

  “Well then, get to it man, and don’t worry about rising early tomorrow, we’ll keep your girls in the house and occupied. Make it a night worth remembering until Oregon.” Silas stood, throwing his long curly brown hair over his shoulder, shaking Angus’s hand, slapping him on the back.

  “I’ll do just that. Thank you for this, Silas. I appreciate it.”

  Chapter 8

  Angus wondered how long Clara had been in this position waiting for him. When he climbed the back of the wagon, before even entering, his wife’s snowy white bottom faced the tent. Head down, ass up, her legs widened enough that the puckered whorl of her anus peeped between her plump buttocks. He hoped she’d heard his footfalls and quickly scampered into position… or maybe she’d fallen asleep this way.

  “Angus?” Her soft, feminine voice, husky with arousal, assured him she’d been waiting patiently for him.

  “My God, woman. I’m hard as a rock just looking at you.” He skimmed his pants and shirt off, tossing them to the floor, dropping to his knees behind her, sliding his shaft up between her plump globes, slipping easily between the moist lips of her pussy, bumping against her hard little clit.

  Clara’s hips rolled, sliding up and down his hard-as-steel rod. Her mewls and moans, spurring him forward. He squeezed each cheek, slapping with a sharp, crisp swat, a light bloom rising.

  It was then that he noticed that the wagon wasn’t pitch dark, but had a soft glow from candles lit on the chest of clothes. “So is Miss Clara looking for some wax tonight?”

  She wiggled in embarrassment, still not used to saying what she wanted. Angus would keep at her until he broke that barrier—he wanted her confident enough to ask for what she needed.

  “Answer me, girl.” He dropped his voice, adding a little edge to it.

  “Maybe… it’s up to you… I just—”

  Slapping the outside of her hip hard enough that she yelped, he said, “If you don’t tell me what you want, I’ll spank this naughty bottom until you say.” He rubbed circles over her inflamed flesh waiting for her obedience, his patience waning fast.

  “Yes, Sir. I’d like some wax.”

  “Good girl. See, that wasn’t so hard to say.” He patted her hip as one would a skittish filly. “Don’t move.” He walked on his knees over to the hope chest, carefully picking up the candle which had a generous amount of melted liquid pooled in the middle. The wax drizzled down her ass, slowly trekking down to her thighs.

  Clara knew to hold still lest some drip into areas it shouldn’t, but her skin quivered, goose bumping under the warmth.

  “Is your pussy weeping, sweetie?” Angus lightly blew on the rivulets watching them harden immediately.

  She moaned deep in her throat before replying, “Yes, S-sir.”

  Indulging his girl for courageously answering, Angus dipped his fingers into her sex, the labia slick with her juices. He pushed two and then three fingers into her, sliding and rubbing along the sensitive areas. “And you weren’t lying, girl. You’re sopping wet.”

  Groaning loudly with her head still buried in her arms, Clara’s cheeks flushed a pleasant pink. He pumped them fast, increasing the rhythm to meet the thrusting of her hips, splats of hot wax intermittently falling in heavy drops on her backside.

  Constrained behind his denim, his cock ached for freedom; he quickly unbuttoned his pants, the weight of it tumbling out, twitching and pulsing. Leaning forward, he licked Clara’s ass, leaving a wet trail of saliva on his path to her pussy. Slipping his fingers out, he replaced them with his tongue, swirling at the entrance before pushing deeply into her, curling the tip to lap at her juices.

  Cupping a plump breast in his hand, he squeezed and pinched the flesh, twisting and tweaking the nipple, elongating it, her mewls of pain and pleasure increasing in loudness.

  Clara ground her hips back, sliding the whole of her sex along his face, her hardened clit bumping along his nose and chin.

  Angus pulled away watching the plump, reddened labia and her bottom swiveling in arousal, her thighs trembling. Putting the candle down, he cupped her pussy with one hand, slapping her backside hard, a red handprint rising along the surface. “Christ, you apparently needed this more than I did, which I didn’t think could be possible.”

  “Just… just fuck me.” Clara ground the words out with a little too much attitude, and through gritted teeth.

  “Wha… did you just… I’m not sure…” Angus would deal with her swearing
later. Right now, his objective, as well as hers (obviously), was to fuck each other. “We’re discussing your language when we’re done, young lady.”

  And to reinforce his point, he slapped her bottom hard, before plunging deep and hard into her, bumping the top of her cervix, stilling, her soft, slick flesh pulsated and squeezed his shaft, sliding along his sensitive flesh. He closed his eyes, his head lolling back relishing the sensation, the bliss of the initial plunge—like slipping into a warm bath. His dick quivered, and Angus thrust into her finding a harsh rhythm, pounding into her so hard she slid along the sheets, finally fisting the material to keep from lunging forward.

  “Rub your clit, Clara.” Her hand reached under to manipulate the now swollen flesh, rubbing vigorously to match the violent slamming of his cock. She groaned with each impale until stiffening with a shout as she came, her pussy convulsing around him, her juices spurting over his sensitive head, spurring him into his ejaculation. He spurted stream after stream of cum into her pussy, his hips still jerking until milked dry.

  “F-Fuck.” Clara collapsed under him, and when he rose off of her, she attempted to roll onto her back.

  “Nuh-uh, you stay in that position. Don’t move.” He rummaged near the bed to find the paddle he carried on the Widow Wagon to soundly correct misbehaving women. He cracked it against the palm of his hand, the sound carrying in the silence of the night, Henry’s dog barking in the yard, apparently startled by it.

  Her back stiffened, her plump cheeks clenching, the divide between her buttocks becoming a slim, tight line.

  “Nervous, girl?”

  “Why are you—?”

  He wagged his finger at her, dropping his voice an octave. “Don’t you dare pretend you don’t know why.”

  Her head turned away, quietly admitting defeat, not wanting to see the paddle striking her wax covered, pink bottom.