Nicademus: The Wild Ones

by Sienna Mynx

  Dusting her hands she walked back out to tend to his horse. The first thing that needed to be done was to get rid of that saddle. She decided to bury it inside of Red Sun’s chicken hut. She covered it well and nearly got pecked to death for her troubles.

  She led the horse back around to where she had kept Ms. Bee, her mare, before she had died. Tying him up, she smoothed his coat. She’d have to get rid of the animal eventually, or come up with a plausible story to claim him. After taking care of the man inside, she was going to work. Maybe she could convince Red Sun that the horse had wandered onto her land? It’s not like he never showed her how to tame a wild one. Yeah, that’s what she would say.

  Her job done, she reentered the cabin to discover that her guest had tried to escape the cot. In his feverish state he fell over to the side of it. “You gonna have ta be good. Let me help and I promise I make you right as rain.” Annabelle returned the man to his back. He smelled something awful. Annabelle’s eyes and nostrils burned at the stench. Immediately she worked off his jacket, vest, and shirt, tossing them aside. She stripped him down to his britches, which would be shameful if she didn’t fancy herself a nurse. She’d seen a penis before. Red Sun often bathed in the creek, and she’d seen his body since she was a child. Plus, she took care of the kids in town, like the little boys who soiled themselves and had to be cleaned up by her hand. However, she’d never seen a penis on a white man. It wasn’t as pale as his torso. It lay flaccid against his thigh with a bit of foreskin at the tip. It was thicker than it was long. She picked it up in her hand and turned it a bit to inspect it closer.

  The man groaned.

  “So this here is what the fuss is all about?” she chuckled. “I knows about it. Every man in town runs to the Blue Moon to try to poke one of the girls with it. Henry tried to poke me once. But I fixed him good,” she laughed.

  Red Sun’s penis was bigger, but not by much. The man groaned again when she tugged on it. Annabelle stared at him curiously for a moment then let go of his dick. She dusted her hands and stood. Her focus returned to the weeping wound on his side. It needed immediate attention. That’s why she brought him home with her in the first place, to practice. A nurse needed training, is what Doc Samuel said.

  Gathering his things except for his pants––because when he woke she’d make sure they were there for his reach––she took his stuff over to the side of the cabin she reserved for washing. She’d clean them free of stench later.

  “Now, I wonder how bad it is.” She dropped to her knees and began her examination. “You’s lucky. Took a plug out of ya it did. But didn’t do much more damage,” Annabelle smiled. “Don’t think infection done set in. I found you in time.”

  “I want you to know, my pa was best friends with a shaman,” She began as she inspected the swelling. “Do you know what a shaman is?” She glanced up to him. The man didn’t respond, but he turned his head so she knew he was listening. “A shaman is a native medicine man. He was Chickasaw. Red Sun is Chickasaw too. My pa and ma run out of Tennessee to go north way before the war. They had to stop running and live with the Chickasaw because Ma was pregnant with me. Yep. The shaman is the reason the tribe let them stay. He say my pa was a healer. And the Chief spared him. The tribe taught my parents how to live the Chickasaw way. He taught my pa everything he knew about medicine. I gots my pa’s spirit, is what the shaman told him when I was born. So I gon’ fix you up good! Right as rain. ‘cause only I know how.”

  She turned to rise and the outlaw grabbed her arm. Shocked, she drew her Colt from the front of her dress and aimed it at him. His eyes were stretched wide. “They’re all dead!” he managed through clenched teeth with spittle spraying from his mouth. The whites of his eyes were damn near the color of blood. “Ma, Pa, Mary, and James! They dead. He killed them. All!”

  “Who? Who done it?” Annabelle asked, careful to keep her gun on him as she tugged to be free of his grip. He weakened and she stumbled away. She put both hands on the gun. It was hard to not be affected when a dying man spoke. And that’s what he was, up until that moment. Dead or dying. The outlaw moaned and repeated one name: Shep, Shep, he done it. And then he passed out.

  At first she just stared at him before her bravery returned, and then she pushed at his arm with her gun to make sure he hadn’t gone and died on her. He was alive.

  They all dead? “What does that mean?” she wondered out loud.

  She tucked the Colt in the front of her dress, just to be safe. The rest of the morning she’d mend the stranger and cool his fever. And as she prepared to do so he began to ramble his tale, an interesting story of murder and a fire. Of kids named Mary and James who were too young to die. He shouted out the name Shep twice and said he’d do something bad to him when he found him. She wasn’t quite sure what kind of outlaw this one was. But she believed him. If Pa was a true healer, then she was a feeler, and she could sense it with this one. Something bad was coming.

  2.

  Cora glanced up from her counting. She’d gotten a late start Sunday morning after dealing with a rowdy bunch of prospectors before dawn. Yawning, she blinked and focused her weary eyes on the scattered bills and gold coins. “Jessiemae?”

  “Yes, Ms. Kitty?” Jessiemae, her most trusted girl on the payroll, a dark skinned beauty with short, thickly coiled hair, full lips, and slanted eyes, answered her. Ms. Kitty was the name Cora had adapted as the madam of the Blue Moon Saloon.

  “Where’s Annabelle?” Cora asked.

  “She sent word though Jacob early, Ms. Kitty. She said she had to do some work at home. She’d be in late, if’fin at all,” Jessiemae said. “She asked me to go to Doc Samuel to get her some things she needed. That the Doc would be good on it. I’m thinking she not feeling well.”

  Cora shook her head. The girl was spoiled. It was Cora and Red Sun that made her so—especially after they bankrolled and built Annabelle her own house. Annabelle was seventeen and should be married to some respectable rancher or banker, not singing nightly in her saloon for coins, or following Doc Samuel around town on his visits with her silly head ideas of becoming a nurse. “If Annabelle isn’t here by noon send someone to check on her,” Cora sighed.

  She counted a hundred and fifty. That was the take for the week. It was a damn good week. She put the bounty in her lockbox and turned the key. She dropped the key in between her breasts where she made sure the employees knew she kept it.

  “Red Sun’s here,” Jessiemae said. The young woman peeked over at Cora for her reaction. Everyone had heard the fight Cora had had with Red Sun a few days earlier. Her assistant took the lockbox of money and put it in the secured place. Cora nodded her head in thanks for the information. She pushed up from behind her desk and walked out of her second floor office. It was necessary to keep two separate offices to deter theft before she could reach for a gun. She stopped at the balcony and stared down into the saloon. Joshua and Jacob, twins who were ranchers as well as helpers for her business, were the only men she ever put on payroll. Joshua wiped down the bar, while Jacob, her muscle, put the men who lingered out the door. Cora saw Red Sun sitting alone. His back was to her but his coal black silky mane lay flat to his head and flowed past his square shoulders. He couldn’t be missed. And the fact that he didn’t stop at Annabelle’s to get him a proper meal meant he wanted to talk.

  Last night was the fourth night in a row he hadn’t come to Cora’s bed. She was lonely for him. The argument was stupid. But a man like Red Sun never understood the defiant nature of a woman like her. Cora would not be told what to do by any man. Ever. Those days were over. No matter how much she loved him she couldn’t break that one vow. Still, Red Sun made her want to try.

  Their relationship was all emotion and few words. Red Sun refused to learn the English language. She had to be taught by Annabelle how to communicate with the intimidating Indian in Chickasaw when they both showed up in town years ago in need of shelter. Cora was glad for it. The words he’d say in the heat of passion were burned
into her soul. He was the most sensual, giving lover she’d ever known. And sadly Cora had known quite a few.

  Jessiemae joined her. They stood side by side staring down at the saloon, at Red Sun. “Are the girls’ rooms emptied?”

  “Yes, Ms. Kitty. Jacob just sent the last man on his way,” Jessiemae replied.

  Cora and Red Sun may not be on the best of terms, but she sure could use him tonight. She’d heard from the sheriff’s deputy that a few Buffalo Soldiers were riding through town on their way to Tulsa. Someone important from the Senate was meeting with the governor there. The girls would need to be at their best, and the locals would be turned away.

  “Tell Red Sun to come see me.” She said the words in Chickasaw so Jessiemae could relay the message.

  She turned and headed for her room. Cora closed the door when she entered. She sucked in her diaphragm and proceeded to undress. Her room was the only one with a claw foot limestone tub, the most extravagant thing she owned. Cleanliness was one of the strict customs that Red Sun lived by. In the ways of the Chickasaw, the women were expected to wash daily. To not wash your body and hair was seen as blasphemous. It was one of the customs that Cora quickly learned to adopt for Red Sun. The other girls bathed in one of the outside stalls to the back of the saloon with Jessiemae filling the wash bucket. She tried to enforce the custom of cleanliness with them as well.

  Thankfully her bath had been drawn. Jessiemae had heated water and poured it into the tub. Cora unfastened her black waist corset that was tight around her abdomen and dropped her gun belt on the chair. She shed her blue satin dress last. Undressed, she stepped into the now tepid water and sunk down into bliss.

  **

  Red Sun looked up from his meal of eggs and potatoes. Jessiemae cackled at him a few words that meant nothing. His head turned and his gaze lifted to the upper level of the saloon. Cora had sent for him.

  A man was nothing without his pride. Cora was the only woman he’d constantly handed his over to. It was hard and frustrating. And this evening, for the sake of peace, he’d have to do it again. Red Sun nodded to Jessiemae so she could shut up and continued to eat. He would not be rushed through his meal for this infuriating woman, though admittedly he chewed and swallowed faster.

  The first time he discovered the town of Nicademus he watched it from the top of White Rock Mountain in a state of disbelief. Never had he seen blacks, natives, Chinese, and even a few whites live in harmony under the white man’s law undisturbed by raiders or bandits. He was cautious of trusting in the allure. He soon learned that Nicademus had the perfect cover of the black forest near Buck Creek, and was deep in the foothills of the mountains. Many homesteaders passed the valley in fear of bears, or wolves that frequently prowled this region. That left the land unsullied. Its obscurity was its security. And that’s why he decided Nicademus would be the perfect place to raise his wounded sparrow Annabelle.

  First day in town he met Cora, a beautiful soiled dove with large brown eyes under extended dark lashes. She had buttery brown skin, hair that was dark as raven feathers and so curly it bounced on her shoulders when she walked. When she pinned it from her face with sparkling barrettes, the hair curled like a baby’s around the temple and her ears. She said she was gens de couleur out of a place called the French Quarter. A year after knowing her she shared her sad story of being born a slave and sold into placage at the age of ten by her white French father away from her mother’s arms.

  She was his Soiled Dove, a name given to her by him and only evoked in private. Cora was also the governess of the whores who took shelter at her establishment and worked for her. Underneath the sex kitten exterior was the pure innocence of a woman with a golden heart. He loved her deeply, and when she became his she never took another man to bed. Never.

  Red Sun stood. He kicked back the chair and stalked toward the stairs. His height and temperament made very few gunslingers brave enough to look him in the eye. And that suited him fine. He didn’t like cowboys, black or white. Hell, he didn’t like people in general. Didn’t deal well with friendships. Cora and Annabelle were the only living beings left in the world that he cared for and would kill for.

  At her door he paused. He had no idea what mood Cora would be in. He’d been out in the mountains for the past four days trapping and killing bears and wild turkey. Their parting was so sour he knew the bitter aftertaste would linger on her sharp tongue. But again his body and heart ached to be soothed by her. Recently he’d had a dream, and his dreams were always omens. Something bad was coming. And in his spirit he knew this time it was coming for her.

  “Come in,” he heard her call out in his native language from behind the door. It must have been his heavy footfalls that clued her to his presence. He turned the knob and pushed it open. Cora dipped under the sudsy water of her bath and came back up. She wiped at her eyes with her fingers. Her natural curls were now wavy and flat to her forehead. The room smelled like her perfumed bath.

  “Welcome home,” she said in Chickasaw.

  Red Sun closed the door with a hard slam. Cora stood. She faced him. Her bodily perfection continued to amaze him. There were few scars from her life of hardship. Her breasts had a swollen prideful rise, and though her skin was on the lighter shade of brown, her dark nipples and the wavy black hairs that covered her pussy were the compelling reminder of her exotic ethnicity. He wished her womb could swell with his child, and he could drape her in fine dresses like the ones the ladies often whispered about. But for all the years of their trying, her womb remained barren. He knew she wanted motherhood. He knew her heart wanted more than to be some whore-guardian to these lost women.

  She blinked those dark lashes at him and pointed to her robe resting on the back of a chair. He walked over and picked it up. Cora stepped out of the tub to the floor, pooling water at her feet. He put the robe around her shoulders and she slipped her arms through the sleeves. “Four days. No word from you. Do you know how that made me feel?” she turned her head and looked back at him. “Do you even care?”

  He processed the words. Did he know? Did he care? How could she ever ask that of him? He only grunted a response. He knew English. He spoke it in bites when forced to, but vowed never to let go of the language of his people. Why the brown and yellow people of Nicademus insisted on speaking the white man’s language was beyond him. Had they no pride?

  Cora turned and wrapped her arms around his waist. The act of submissive contrition shocked him.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She squeezed him. “Sometimes I don’t know the words that I’ve said until they are off my lips. I should have never argued with you. Okay? I missed you.”

  He stroked the back of her head. His woman did not easily give others forgiveness. Soiled Dove was a survivor. Her iron will made her unyielding and invincible to her enemies. It made her a worthy conquest to the men who lusted for her. He didn’t need to break her. He just wanted to love her, his way.

  Red Sun lifted her chin. Cora’s wet hair fell past her shoulders and dripped heavy drops of water to the floor. Her lips were the softest he’d ever known on a woman. And when he kissed her, all the time spent apart fell away like a distant memory. His tongue swept deep, hers teased in response. Her perfumed hair and body was a gift from nature and God. He forced the robe, now damp and clinging to her curves, off her. He wanted no barrier between them. Cora reached around his neck and pushed up against him, and he lifted her in his arms, refusing to release her from their kiss. He carried her only a few feet to the bed, and only because it was how it should be done.

  Cora’s heart pounded in her chest. She felt her body tense from head to toe with arousal. Lord he was a mighty man. He was taller than any man in town, and solid with broad shoulders, a muscular defined chest and thighs, and arms made of steel. All of him was packaged nicely beneath copper brown skin. And eyes so dark they would seem soulless, yet she witnessed the depths of his convictions, his pride, and his emotions. She felt light headed each time she looked into
his eyes for too long. He wore a pair of dusty britches, and a hand-sewn vest over a loose fitting shirt. He shed his clothes quickly, then he dropped them where he stood. She reclined into her pillows and extended her hand. He walked around to the foot of the bed and Cora parted her thighs. Red Sun ran both hands across her ankles before pushing her legs further apart. Bending her knees, she exposed every pink fold of her sex to him.

  One swipe of his tongue over her sex and she was lost. Cora clutched the sheets. His tongue delved in and then tickled its way up to the tenderest part of her body with licks and sucks. Cora tried to slam her thighs shut but Red Sun anticipated her reaction. He forced them apart with both hands, pinning them that way. The wicked forays of his tongue, both soft and gentle, were driving her mad. She grabbed at his head with one hand, grasping a bar on her iron headboard with another, all while rolling her hips in pleasure. Soon, very soon, she was climaxing and kicking her feet.

  Red Sun kissed the mound of her sex and rolled her over. Cora was forced to put her face into the now damp pillow. He spread her buttocks and swiped his tongue at her other rosette. She bit into the pillow once his tongue delved inside as he pinched and turned her clit, forcing her toward another climax. The inner walls of her vagina were so tight her pelvis felt as if it vibrated with tension.

  Before she could catch her breath, Red Sun was behind her, lifting her ass and angling her pussy against the head of his dick for a backward slam. He drilled her hard and fast. Stroke after loving stroke drove him deeper and deeper.

  Cora, with shaky arms, managed to lift, but Red Sun put pressure at the center of her spine to force her face back down into the mattress. He fucked her hard and fast, making sure she understood, accepted, succumbed to his dominance. Cora smiled and tried to move with him, not against his pumping pelvis. But even that privilege was denied her. Instead, she played with herself, with his powerful hands gripping both sides of her hips. Her eyelids fluttered and her breathing went shallow. The assault on her pussy was both intense and liberating. She was going to come. She was so close.