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

by Megan Michaels

  Silas jumped in before Minnie could say a word, the last thing he needed was an argument in front of the good doctor. “We’ll take that for sure Doc, and the clyster that is required for it.”

  “Oh, it comes as a package deal. But I do recommend you try it out here. Once you’ve brought it home and tried it, I can’t take any returns. You understand. I have paperwork to do, so I’ll leave you two to have privacy. You can use my private exam room.” The doctor held up the stool with the filled enema nodding toward the exam room.

  “Absolutely, we need to try it out. Thank you, Doc. Come along, Minnie. You’ll feel so much better when this is over.” Silas grabbed her elbow and had to literally drag her to the room, like a bratty child.

  * * *

  I’m going to fucking kill him. But first I’m going to shove this up his little asshole. Then I’ll kill him.

  “Minnie, you need to fix your thinking and behavior now or you’ll be receiving a spanking after your enema.” Silas shut the door behind them, placing the stool on the floor in front of her, his hands on his hips.

  Minnie took a deep breath; she didn’t want her temper to get the best of her, but this—this—was more than she could handle. Her little southern mother would faint if she could see this public humiliation.

  “Drawers off. Hand them to me.” Silas stood with his hand out, not wavering in his decision.

  “Silas—

  “Girl, how long I spank you depends on how much you fight me in this office.”

  Silas blurred in her watery gaze. “Yes, Sir.” She untied her drawers that had pink ruffles at the knees and waist. They fluttered to the floor, puddling at her feet. She stepped out of them, placing them in his large, outstretched hand.

  He wadded them unceremoniously into his pocket, and it made her want to scream. She treasured her new drawers, and he treated them like nothing more than a dirty handkerchief.

  “Lift your skirts and kneel on the floor with your knees shoulder width apart.”

  “This is just… vile. It’s vile… and evil. I think a man came up with this contraption. No woman would make something this humiliating. Ever.” Minnie gathered her skirts at her waist while she was talking, not totally defying him, but being sassy during her submission.

  “And that is ten swats with your hairbrush. I’m pretty sure a doctor came up with this to help people with ailments, but a husband with a sassy, misbehavin’ wife probably decided to use it for punishment. And I have to say, the idea is sounding better and better as you speak. Now, kneel.” He held her arms as he helped her kneel on the floor.

  Walking behind her with the stool in his hands, he squatted on the floor. “Lean forward a bit, girl. Knees wider. Wider.”

  She spread her legs as wide as she could while leaning forward, holding her skirts without feeling like she’d fall on her nose.

  Definitely the invention of a bored, angry husband!

  The silence went for too long—uncomfortably long. Minnie looked over her shoulder to see Silas’s dark gaze riveted on her ass, the bulge between his legs now very prominent. “Silas?”

  “My God, I may decide I have a new hobby—sitting in a chair with this stool between your legs, ass up, buttocks spread with all your charms exposed to my view. I swear my balls feel like they’re going to burst.” He slid his finger from her dusky bottom hole easing between her labia to circle her clit.

  Minnie’s hips jerked, her womb clenching on air and need. “Oh, Silas.”

  “Uh-uh, don’t move.” His tongue slid between the lips of her sex before he lightly blew on her clit, easing his way up to blow on her little hole. “Jesus. This is definitely my new hobby.”

  He slid the stool along the floor to situate it between her legs. “Don’t move. Let me lubricate your little pucker.”

  “Oh God. Do you have to call it that?” She moaned with her embarrassment.

  “Would you prefer I call it your little back hole, your asshole, or your dark channel? Personally, I like how your little pucker sounds, and since I’m in charge, and the one with the lube and the nozzle, I think I’d be agreeable if I were you.”

  He pressed the cold ointment against her anus, working it in with a finger, pushing in and out. “Okay, sweetie, slowly lean back to sit. Slowly, so I can adjust it. I think this will take some practice to do it alone.”

  Who the fuck says I’ll do it?—How will he know if I lie?

  “There, see? That wasn’t so bad was it?” He leaned around her to make eye contact, beaming like she’d baked her first loaf of bread. She swore she was going to slug him.

  “Bad girl! That right there is another ten with the hairbrush. You’re up to twenty. You did it, and it wasn’t so bad, you have to admit. Now, let’s press the plunger and fill your little pucker with the soapy water.” He grabbed the wooden handle and pushed down slowly.

  The water felt cool—almost cold—going into her warm bowels. The difference in temperature, and probably the rate of flow, caused her belly to cramp immediately. “Oh, Silas! It … it hurts. I may throw up. What if I throw up?”

  “I’ll clean it up—but you won’t throw up. You’ll be okay. It’s almost over.” He pushed the handle down completely. “Now sit for a bit; let it work, while I find the commode or pot.”

  He opened the door to what looked like a closet, and there was a white basin with chains attached to the back with wooden handles. An official water closet. She had always wanted to try one—but under much different circumstances than this.

  “Silas, it hurts.”

  “I know, baby. Hold on.” He opened the door to the room, thankfully she had let her skirts fall to the ground, so Minnie looked like she was just kneeling on the floor looking for a comb or pin, but she still gasped loudly at the public display while sitting on the enema bench.

  “Doc, how long should I make her sit before going to the water closet?”

  Minnie covered her face, moaning. “Oh God. I may actually die.”

  Is it possible to die of humiliation?—It must be. At a minimum, I may pass out—if I’m lucky.

  “Usually, if you can let it sit for ten minutes, that is best.”

  “Thanks, Doc.” She still sat with her hands over her face but heard the snick of the door closing.

  Silas looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s only been three minutes, sweetie. What do you want to talk about?”

  Was he fucking serious?

  “Thirty.” He put both hands on his waist. “Your attitude needs some adjusting. If you keep this up, you’ll be standing for your dinner tonight.”

  She stared at the floor. It’d be easier to stare at the wood planks than risk any more swats from that damn hairbrush. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

  “So I’m hearing that they need a sheriff in the town Angus and Clara are moving to in Oregon. It’s looking like he’ll have a job, and because it’s in town, he won’t have to build a house either. Things are falling into place for them, just like they are us. Isn’t that nice?” Silas flipped his long hair over his shoulder, giving her that dimpled smile that usually won her over, no matter her mood.

  But today she stared at him. Not responding. And she thought she had kept a straight face while doing it too.

  “Forty. You need a good lesson in respect and submitting to my authority, girl. It seems like we’ll be doing this often. I’ll have to ask Doc how often this procedure can be repeated.”

  Shit!

  “Let me get some towels and washcloths ready. I’ll fill the basin so I can help to wash you when you are done.” He busied himself with the salves, warm cloths, and preparing a path for her to the water closet.

  “Okay, bad girl. I think it’s been long enough. Squeeze that little pucker tight.” He helped her to stand. “Squeeze it tight.” He held her skirts up in the back and frog-marched her to the bathroom.

  He’d barely shut the door and her bowels evacuated. The humiliation of knowing he could hear everything; all the embarrassing noises associated wit
h this process made her blush. Minnie actually wondered if she’d fit out the window of the bathroom, making her escape. She didn’t know where she’d flee to, but at this point, anywhere was better than facing her husband.

  “Okay, Minnie. Come on out, honey. I’ll get you cleaned up and we can go home with our new toys.”

  “They’re not toys, Silas!”

  “Fifty. Bad girl.”

  Damn, this night is not going the way I wanted.

  Chapter 17

  After putting the packages into the wagon, Angus stood with the women watching Margie and Lizzie’s future husbands. The road was so dusty, the dirt billowed in a cloud behind them, shrouding them in a reddish hue.

  Both appeared to be middle aged, one finely dressed as he expected; he must be the pastor, and the other had the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up his forearms, a burly, muscular man.

  “You women let me do the talking first.” Angus stepped forward to shake hands with each of them. And as he suspected, James Thompkins’s hands were soft and smooth, the hands of a pastor. He had beautiful, blonde, straight hair, tall and lanky, with piercing blue eyes. James exhibited a warmth and friendliness that seemed inherent to a man of the cloth. The twinkle in his eyes and a nod of his head in the direction of Lizzie let him know that he more than liked what he saw.

  Angus felt a relief wash over him. He felt a responsibility to the women in his Widow Wagon. After traveling for months with them, he knew their likes and dislikes, had seen them in good moods and foul moods, and certainly didn’t want to see any of them hurt or mistreated by men none of them had met.

  Lizzie was a meek and mild woman, rarely given in to a bad mood. Her demeanor was pleasant and polite most days. She needed someone who’d cherish such a submissive nature and not take advantage of it or trample her with their dominance. His gut reaction said that James would be a perfect husband for Lizzie.

  John Watson stuck his hand out and gave him a hearty handshake. His hand was dirty, calloused and meaty, the size of a dinner plate. This was a man who worked hard for a living, and it was evident in the way he carried his body and the size of him. His chest, shoulders, and arms were corded and muscled. As a blacksmith, swinging a forging hammer onto an anvil for hours and hours kept a man vigorous and sturdy, built like an ox.

  “Angus, how was the ride to Soda Springs from Green River?” John looked him straight in the eye. Angus’s gut told him that John was a man you could trust, someone who was a straight shooter. Told you what you needed to hear, not what would tickle your ears. He’d be matter of fact and rational, but someone who’d provide for a wife and family, meeting all their needs.

  And, of course, Angus knew he could be wrong, but more often than not, his instincts were right when it came to people. Being a sheriff and wagon master for years had taught him how to assess people, and he’d begun to have confidence in what he felt about a person’s personality.

  “We made it just fine. I like this route on Lander’s Road; it’s so much easier than going through South Pass—and shorter too!”

  John wiped his sweat-laden brow. “I’ve heard tell that Lander’s Road has actually taken eighty miles off the route. Is that so?”

  “Oh, yeah. Back when I first started this, before Lander Cutoff, it was four more days to get to Soda Springs. Speaking of which, how are the springs right now?” Angus looked at both men, not caring who answered him.

  James spoke, his voice gentle but not weak. “Oh, we’ve had more rain than normal this summer, so the springs are deep and with higher than average temperatures too; they’re very nice. They’ll feel amazing on any aches and pains you have.”

  Angus laughed. “You have no idea. I’ve made this trip for years, but I’m telling you, it gets harder and harder to do every birthday that passes.”

  “You should try blacksmithing then. My shoulders give me some troublesome days; feels like that hammer has gained weight some days.”

  “I hear ya!” He pivoted, looking and pointing at the women. “I’m sure you men want to meet your future wives.”

  Angus wrapped his arm around Lizzie’s petite shoulders. “James, this is Lizzie, and I hate to tell you this, but most days she’s so spoilt even salt can’t cure her.”

  Lizzie gasped, pulling herself out of his arms, standing with her mouth open, her eyebrows furrowed. Shock was written all over her face.

  Before Angus could say a word, James burst into a full rolling belly laugh. “Angus, anyone looking at that petite little woman can tell you within minutes that she doesn’t have even a spoiled spot on her.”

  Lizzie pulled her gaze away from Angus, looking over at her future husband, her eyes shuttering closed, dropping her head while her cheeks turned a pretty pale pink. “Why, James, you say the nicest things.”

  James stood in front of her, tilting her chin up. “It feels like I’ve been waiting for a lifetime for you, Miss Lizzie. I’m hoping you’ll give me the chance to prove that I’m worthy of you.”

  “It may be I who is not worthy of you, good sir.”

  The two of them stared intently into each other’s eyes. Only the rise and fall of their chests let Angus know that they were still indeed breathing.

  Angus cleared his throat. “Uhm… we’ll leave you two alone for a bit. So, John.” Angus wrapped his arm around Margie. “This is your lovely bride. You won’t find a better wife and friend. Margie has looked out for every single one of us on this journey and is as stable as they come.”

  Margie didn’t even look at John, but with her eyes brimming with tears, her lip quivering, she said, “Why, Angus, I don’t believe anyone has ever said such a nice thing about me.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing him so tightly he had to laugh.

  He held her in his embrace. “You’re a good woman, Margie. You better keep in touch with me, and you let me know if he doesn’t treat you right. But he seems like a good man; I think y’all will be very happy, and you’ll have Lizzie and James right up the road. You’ll be missed, girl.”

  John had walked up to them and he coughed uncomfortably. “It’s nice to meet you, Margie. I’ll do my best to make you happy, and you can rest assured if there is anything you need or want in this life, I’ll do my damnedest to give it to you—as long as it’s within reach and I’m able, of course.”

  Margie broke her embrace, standing awkwardly in front of her future husband, unsure how to react. “I don’t need much of anything in this world anymore, but I promise to make our house a home and do my best by you. I’ll be a good wife, John.”

  “Of that, I have no doubt.” John reached out, grasping her hand and kissing the top of it gently.

  Looking back at Clara, tears tracked down her cheeks, and he swore he swallowed past a lump in his throat. These two couples exhibited a sweetness and chemistry he hadn’t seen at first glance before. Many couples are uncomfortable, awkward, and stiff in their initial communication.

  “Y’all are about as romantic as you can get. Are you both marrying today?” Angus tried to find a way to bring normalcy to the meeting and get them back to a courtship stance before marriage.

  Pastor James nodded. “I thought we’d marry today. The judge said he’d marry Lizzie and me and, of course, I can marry John and Margie.” James addressed John. “If that works for you two? If not, I’m sure we can ask the judge to handle it today or another day.”

  “Oh yeah, Pastor, that works just fine, I believe, unless Margie disagrees. You okay with this, honey?” John reached over and grasped her hand.

  “Yes, that’s fine.”

  “Okay, well it looks like we have a plan for you all today. I can leave—”

  Pastor Thompkins interrupted Angus. “Sir, before you leave, I’d love to invite you to my house for tea and a bite to eat. The judge is coming at the end of the day and I know I would love to have you all present. And that includes everyone with you, Sir.” He waved to Clara and the girls.

  “We’d love that. Having a bite to eat and
some tea sounds perfect, and we appreciate being invited to your unions. It’d be a pleasure. I’ve grown mighty fond of these women. Every wagon I’ve had, you share a bond with the women. I miss every single one when I drop them off.” Angus waved over to Clara, Nellie, and Rose. “Come along, girls. This is my wife, Clara, and our girls, Nellie and Rose.”

  “Nice to meet you all. My house—our house.” James winked at Lizzie before returning his attention to everyone. “The house is just up the road; you can actually see it from here. It’s the two-story, white house over yonder with the green shutters and the black chairs on the porch. I spend many hours on that porch socializing with townsfolk and drinking lemonade. You’ll love it, Lizzie.”

  Angus stuck his bent elbow out for Clara, who slipped her small hand into it. “They’re going to be very happy women, Clara. Look at Margie.”

  Just ahead of them, John had wrapped his arm around Margie’s waist, carrying her bag for her. Margie giggled like a girl, tucking hair behind her ear—always a sign that a woman was flirting. It warmed his heart to see them happy, smiling with hope for the future, just as hopeful as he was with his new family.

  Chapter 18

  Clara was angry. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this angry. Angus had told her to write in her punishment log—listing what she’d done today, and many other days, writing down that she’d be paddled with thirty swats for three nights.

  She didn’t know one woman who had a notebook to keep track of her sins. It had only been a couple of weeks since they had dropped of Margie and Lizzie and witnessed their weddings, but she missed them already. Clara stared at the blue lines on the dark leather bound book. She flipped back looking at the other pages and smiled to herself.

  Her disobedience was nothing to be proud of, and she knew it. But at the same time, she felt an inner satisfaction at her drawings.