Nicademus: The Wild Ones

by Sienna Mynx

  Red Sun stopped. He withdrew and Cora clenched her jaw to keep from voicing her disappointment.

  He wanted to look into her face when they joined souls. He turned her lovingly onto her back. She panted deep breaths. Her wet hair was splayed across her face. Red Sun situated himself between her soft thighs and pushed his cock back deeper in between her tender walls. She looked up at him. He moved every wet strand from her face, and they held each other’s stare as he continued to move in and out of her with slowed thrusts. When it got so good between them and her pupils disappeared under her fluttering lashes, he gripped her chin and forced her to return her gaze to him.

  She hooked her legs higher on his waist. He let go of her face, and the slow tease of his invading and escaping cock drove her near madness. Red Sun licked with the tip of his tongue across her collarbone up to her pulse. He sucked there as he fucked her until they both reached the tipping point. And then his head lifted and his eyes bore down on her. She smiled up at him and arched her back, and he slipped his hands under her buttocks to squeeze them tight together as he gave her the final rapid thrusts and delivered them both beyond the point of bliss.

  **

  Cora woke not long after. The short nap was always a consequence when her Indian came down out of the mountain and ravaged her body. She loved the warm tingling in her core that she’d carry for the rest of the day. And then she heard it: banging. Blinking several times to get her mind to focus she concentrated on the repeated sound. Someone or something was whacking at wood beneath her window.

  “What the hell?” she groaned.

  Cora found her robe that had dried considerably before she slipped it on. She tied it neatly around her body. Her feet eased into her worn slippers. She marched around the bed to the window and snatched back the curtain.

  Red Sun carried two long planks of wood. He dropped them down and then got on bended knee. Picking up a hammer larger than any she’d seen, he began to nail the wood together. The morning breeze blew his silky hair from the side of his face. She could see his sun-weathered skin and profile. There was a firm set to his jaw as he brought the hammer down over and over again. The sleeves he wore were rolled up high on his arm.

  Cora crossed her arms over her chest and remembered the first day they met. Annabelle walked in, only ten years old and full of spunk. She demanded that she be given a job in the kitchen so she could feed and take care of her daddy. Cora had thought the kid cute. Before she could turn her away a menacing Indian appeared. Cora went for her gun, as did a few other men at the saloon. He was just that frightening. And the town had a bad history with the Maki tribe. Red Sun wasn’t Maki. He grabbed Annabelle up by the waist and tucked her under his arm with the child wailing. His actions stirred up a fit with the locals. It wasn’t until Annabelle announced that he was her father that they all paused.

  Of course the little knotty haired brown girl couldn’t belong to the Indian. But it was clear that they knew each other. Cora later learned that they were from a tribe that had been massacred on the other side of the mountain. The only survivors left. For three years the Indian and the little girl lived up on the mountain until one day Annabelle had run off and come into town. Cora couldn’t communicate with Red Sun, but she tried. He was a stubborn man, full of pride and anger at anyone who tried to show them kindness. But Cora had dealt with the meanness in men before. She could soothe a grizzly if need be. It was a talent taught to her long ago when she too had to fight for survival. Red Sun opened his heart to her. Seven years later they were joined, heart and soul.

  Red Sun stopped, put some nails between his thinly pressed lips and measured the next plank of wood. Cora’s hand went to her throat. She stroked the skin down to her collarbone where his bites had left her skin feeling raw and tender. When he rose and stretched, she got a good long look at his backside. The shirt on his back rippled with the wind, but the tight form of his ass and thighs were perfectly strained for viewing.

  She didn’t tell him about the trough. She didn’t have to. He would be fixing things around the saloon all evening to make up with her. He was her hero.

  Several taps to the door brought her out of her trance. She glanced back. “Come in.”

  Honey poked her head in first and then entered. “Where the hell is Annabelle? She was supposed to do my mending today.”

  “Mend it yourself. The girl is home sick,” Cora said dismissively. When Honey didn’t respond Cora looked away from the window to her unwanted guest. It was then that Cora noticed the gun in Honey’s hand.

  Honey’s temper was a problem.

  She was the only girl under Cora’s protection who was wanted by the law for killing a man. They constantly had to hide her when bounty hunters and other lawmen rode through town. Sheriff Ben turned a blind eye to Honey’s crimes. Once a person of color heard the horrors that Honey endured, they typically applauded the girl for her act of vengeance. Nicademus was the only town where a girl like Honey could survive. The problem was Honey had scars. Deep ones. And it made her often too hard to control.

  “Why are you carrying that gun around?” Cora sighed.

  Honey lifted her hand as if she had just realized she had it with her. She looked to Cora and shrugged.

  “Well, put it away. I’m told the 9th Calvary will be riding into town tonight. You will need to make yourself unseen. Understood?”

  “Yes, Ms. Kitty,” she grumbled.

  Honey turned to leave.

  “Honey?”

  The young woman paused.

  “Put the gun on the dresser. You can collect it tomorrow after the soldiers leave.”

  Honey looked down at the gun in her hand once more. Only Cora could talk a gun out of Honey’s hand. The young woman reluctantly set the Smith & Wesson down on the dresser and walked out. Red Sun started banging again. Cora leaned against the window and gave in to her favorite pastime, watching the man she loved.

  3.

  The burning of his throat didn’t compare to the fiery pain in his gut. Jeremiah tried to open his eyes, but his lids felt as if they were glued shut. He swallowed and it felt like needles going down instead of saliva. Expelling a deep breath he did manage to turn his head toward the sounds of things clinking and women whispering.

  Finally strength returned to his face and his sticky lids parted. He saw shadows and shapes, but not much more. A dull ache pierced his skull and shot down his back around to his wounded side. Was he dying? Death would be better than this.

  If the sheriff finds out you got that man in here there’s gon’ be trouble! I can tell you that! said a woman.

  I knows what I’m doing. Just don’t tell Ms. Kitty or Red Sun. Please, Jessiemae, said another.

  Really? ‘cause ta me it looks the opposite. And what if Red Sun finds out I knew? He hates them whites. You wanna get that Indian Pa of yours locked up in Ben’s jail for killing one? He fines that man in here he’ll kill him, and the rangers will come, Jessiemae huffed.

  Red Sun won’t ever know, now will he? I brought you here ta help me fix him. His wound ain’t healin’ right. I’ve done all I can. I need you to go back to Doc Samuel and get this. She passed off a list. Tell ‘em I’m sick and sent you. We fix the man up then he’ll be on his way. It’s the Christian thing ta do.

  Don’t talk ta me about Christian. You’re one to even say it. When the last time you’ve visited a church? Jessiemae laughed.

  Is you gon’ help or not? That’s what I wanna know? The other girl asked.

  Does I ‘ave a choice?

  The women were discussing him. He turned his head again and blinked twice trying to focus beyond the gauze of the curtain. Despite his efforts they remained no more than moving shadows. Trying his hands, he balled them into fists and felt a surge of strength. He had to get on his feet and out of there before the posse tracked him down. Lifting his hand and then the sheet, he frowned to find himself undressed. What the hell was going on? Damn women even took off his britches and cleaned his dick.
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br />   Where was he?

  Those were his final thoughts before the fog thickened and exhaustion claimed him once more.

  Next day –

  Annabelle walked over to the curtain. She drew it back to check on her patient. She had to call on Jessiemae to keep Cora from being suspicious. And she learned that several Buffalo Soldiers were in town. That meant the Blue Moon would be too busy to mind her business. And Annabelle had big problems on her hands. She feared that the man’s constant fever meant infection was settling in. Now she wished she hadn’t started this. If she went to the doc and brought him over all hell would break loose. She had to be smart. And damn it her patient had to live. Outlaw or not.

  Sitting with the soup she made for him, she reached down to inspect his bandages. She pulled back the gauze and checked the swelling around his stitches. To her relief she saw healing and there was no discoloring or pus.

  Expelling a deep breath of relief she covered the wound, but when she looked up she froze. He was staring directly at her. She’d never seen eyes as green as his. His face remained covered in hair but his eyes told her a lot about his soul. Something intense flared through her entrancement, rooting her to the spot.

  Annabelle remembered that the Colt Patterson was behind her on the table. She willed her legs to move and took a cautious step back, not sure how strong he was, or what he thought of her. But if he wanted a fight, he had the right one for it. Now if only she could reach her gun.

  Jeremiah could do nothing but stare at her. She was the most beautiful little creature he’d ever seen. When she stood he guessed her height to be five-foot-three. Her skin was dark and her hair parted in thick braids. She had a heart shaped face and large oval eyes under thick upward swept lashes. She wore a dress unlike any he’d ever seen a Negress in. Most in Tennessee were in rags and tattered clothes.

  Was she a slave? She didn’t look like a slave. She looked pampered, feminine and soft. Not worn over and broken from the hardships of that life. And there was a hint of defiance in the way she eyed him back, never dropping her stare. It was as if he was the oddity, not her.

  Who was she? Where was he?

  He recalled the bank robbery, taking the gold that Tyler Shepherd had stolen from his family, after his search for Shepherd on the stagecoach failed miserably. He deserved revenge against the bastard that had slaughtered his people. He remembered getting shot and running his horse toward the mountains. Then everything else was a fog of wandering memory and delirium.

  “Who?” His voice broke, and nothing else squeaked out but a wheeze.

  The brown beauty drew down on him with the biggest gun he’d ever seen a woman wield. Jeremiah frowned.

  “Don’cha give me no trouble, and won’t be no trouble, you hear me?” she asked.

  Jeremiah looked around the small cottage, then back to her. “Who are you?”

  “They call me Annabelle.”

  “Do they?” he smiled, unable to stop himself. Whoever she was, she had become his guardian angel. Annabelle had saved his life. “I want no trouble,” he managed to say.

  She shrugged. “How you feel? Any pain?” she asked. He picked up on her fascination with his injury. He watched at how her eyes lit with excitement from the mention of his suffering. She put the gun in the front of her dress and reached for his side. He seized the opportunity to grab her weapon. She jumped back. He pointed the gun at her. For a long tense moment they held each other’s stare. She put up her hands, breathing hard, her lips pressed thin. Though he didn’t doubt if need be she’d use it on him, he discovered that she wasn’t some wench who had fired the gun at another human being without cause. He recognized the fear in her eyes. During the war he saw it often in the eyes of young men holding guns on him before he was forced to kill them. He turned the gun around and gripped it by the muzzle, giving her the handle.

  “Now you know you can trust me,” he said.

  She snatched the gun from him and held it with both hands. She trembled with fright.

  “If I wanted to use it on you, Annabelle, I would have.” He tried to rise.

  “Don’t! Don’t move!” she said, continuing to tremble.

  He nodded and lay back down on the cot. It suited him fine. Reclining was the only position that gave him comfort. “I owe you my life,” he said.

  Slowly she lowered the gun. She nodded. Those beautiful dark eyes of hers met his without fear. Then she smiled, softness and care returned to her features. He saw pride on her face. “Look at it, I mended it ma’self. Look.” She returned to him. So quick was she to dismiss the moment between them, even he was taken by surprise. She pulled back the bandage covering his side and showed him her handiwork. “Good, ain’t it?” she asked. “The doc can’t do it this good.”

  “You did this?” he asked.

  “Sure I did,” she replied.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Why indeed,” she smiled. “Now you need to eat. Then we can see to your bath.”

  “Bath?” he asked.

  “Do you always repeat a person? Cain’t ya talk on your own?”

  She was fiercely independent in her speech, her mannerisms. She was no one’s slave. From the looks of her she probably had never known slavery.

  “But you’ve already washed me. I, uh”—he lifted the sheet and looked under it—“can tell.”

  “You bathe every day. It’s Godly to do so,” she said. “Besides, the stench on you is hard to remove. Had to scrub you good, three times!”

  “Where’s your man?” he asked as she put the wooden spoon to his lips to feed him. He accepted the warm potato soup with chunks of meat and beans. It was heavenly and his stomach cramped, desperate for more.

  “I don’t have one,” she said in a flat tone.

  “You live here by yourself?” he asked. “How old are you?”

  “And if’s I do?” she fired back.

  Jeremiah stared at her. She fed him a bit more. Now he knew he had fallen off the edge of the Earth. How was she even possible? It was as if she read his thoughts, because what she shared next confounded him.

  “You’re in Nicademus, it’s a Negro town. We owns it.”

  “Own it?” he laughed.

  She glared at him. “Sumthin’ I say funny?”

  “No. I mean, no. I didn’t mean to offend you,” he quickly added.

  “Then why you laugh?” Annabelle demanded.

  “It’s the fever, that’s all. I’m confused,” Jeremiah said.

  “Mmhm. You know you seems fine to me. Feed yer’self.” She put the hot bowl on his stomach and he winced. Jeremiah caught it before it spilled.

  “Wait, I didn’t mean to offend you. Honest.”

  “I gots something to tend to. If you know what’s best for you, you will stay inside. I haven’t seen the men that’s huntin’ ya. But I’m sure we will soon.”

  It was then that his predicament hit Jeremiah: his clothes and things were gone. Even his irons. “Wait!”

  Annabelle put on a floppy hat and some men’s boots that were obviously too big for her feet. Grabbing her rifle she headed for the door, ignoring him.

  “Wait! Where are my things?” Jeremiah called after her.

  She looked back with a sly smirk. “They my things now!”

  “Wait!” he shouted.

  She was gone. He made to rise and nearly pissed himself. The pain was so intense he fell back over. “Fuck!” he grunted. She had his gold. How did he even let it get this far? Forcing himself to his feet, he grunted and endured. He had to find it, and now.

  Annabelle put the rifle under her arm and headed south. She had seen a rabbit two days ago in her garden and was hoping to get lucky. Besides, she wasn’t too keen on spending more time with her bandit. He irked her.

  “Annabelle! Mintibaa?”

  She turned to see Red Sun marching her way. Jessiemae was right behind him. Annabelle rolled her eyes to the heavens. “Shucks.”

  “Annabelle!” he shouted.

 
“Yes, Red Sun. I hears you. Stop with your shouting,” she said.

  “Is it true? Is there a white man here? In there?” he asked her in Chickasaw.

  “Huh?” Annabelle replied.

  “Is it true!” Red Sun demanded.

  “It’s not true,” Annabelle said and shot a withering glare at Jessiemae.

  “I seen him with my own eyes. I helped ya tend ta him!” Jessiemae quickly responded. “He a bandit, an outlaw. And he missing a finger. Like this man here! Like the one the Buffalo Soldiers were saying was on the loose and a posse was after.”

  Jessiemae shoved the wanted poster at Annabelle. She looked at the scraggly bearded image of a man. It was her outlaw all right. The missing finger was proof. She and Jessiemae discovered that the pinky finger on his left hand was gone when they mended him. Red Sun’s nostrils flared and his eyes blazed with rage. Annabelle may have her own cabin and independence, but it only stretched as far as Red Sun’s parental reach.

  Her surrogate father, he’d raised her the Chickasaw way since the day he rescued her. Red Sun was scared of no one. He’d faced the evil in men and walked away with their scalps. Brought up under his care, Annabelle knew not to push him far with her sharp tongue. Everyone knew. Red Sun plucked his hatchet from his back pocket and stormed toward the cabin. Annabelle’s eyes stretched.

  “It’s fine, he was just recoverin! I swear it!”

  Red Sun pushed past her and hurried up the steps of the cabin. Annabelle dropped her gun and ran after him. “It’s fine! It’s fine! I swear … there’s nuthin’ for you to worry over.” He threw open the door. Annabelle ran in behind him and stopped. The cot was empty. She was just as shocked as he.