The Strong, Silent Type

by Patricia Green

  It seemed like the risk would be worth taking.

  He took a deep breath. "Mae-" There was a knock on his front door. More than a knock, in fact, it was pounding.

  "Stillwater! Stillwater, come out here, you lowlife!"

  A man's voice. Angry. Drake hurried out of bed and raced out to the living room where he pulled on his jeans, zipping them up but not taking the time to do the button. "Hold on!" he hollered through the door.

  "Get your sorry ass out here, Mister!"

  As Drake opened the door, he prepared to be physically accosted, the man sounded so angry. Drake's body was tense, his adrenaline spiking. The man nearly fell into the house when Drake got the door open. It was Walt Weston.

  "Mr. Weston."

  "Don't you 'Mr. Weston' me, Stillwater." He craned his neck to see into the house, but Drake blocked his view. "Where's my daughter?"

  "Is she missing?"

  Weston's face was contorted with rage, his nose and cheeks red, his eyes narrowed. "You think you're so smart. You think Mae's easy pickins. You come ta town and all the white women swoon." He pounded on the doorframe with one sturdy fist. "Well, you can't have my daughter!"

  Drake pushed hair off his forehead, hoping that Mae would have the sense to stay in the bedroom and not wave a red flag in front of the bull. "Mr. Weston, I'm sure we can talk about this."

  Weston spied Mae's dress on the floor behind Drake. "Is that her dress? You goddamn Indian Lothario!" He pressed against the door, but Drake held it steady. "Mae! Mae, you get your butt out here!"

  Drake took a step out of the house and pulled the door mostly closed behind him. He gently steered the older man away from the portal. Drake's neighbors were beginning to come out of their houses to see what all the ruckus was about.

  "You are jumping to conclusions here, Mr. Weston. Mae--"

  "That's her car," he said, pointing. "Right there in front of your goddamn house. You can't tell me she's not in there with you. You seduced her, you scum. And you'll break her heart as sure as sunrise."

  It seemed just plain wrong to tell Walt Weston that he was in love with his daughter before he'd told Mae. "It's not like that, sir," he said. He was angry at the intrusion in his life, in his quiet and meaningful moments with his lover, but yelling at Mae's father would do nothing but make things worse.

  "Daddy?"

  Drake half-turned back toward the door, but Weston pushed against him and squeezed by. Mae was standing in the partially opened doorway, dress on, but minus her shoes. Her hair was riotous over her shoulders. Drake thought she'd never been prettier.

  "Mae Beth Weston! You get your butt out of here and into my car. You have a lot of explaining ta do."

  "Da-"

  Weston held up a hand. "Don't you say anything. I don't want ta hear it."

  "But-"

  He reached for her wrist and pulled her out of the house.

  The neighbors were pointing and congregating on their front doorsteps.

  Drake stood in Weston's way as he would have dragged Mae, barefoot, down the pathway and to his waiting sedan. "No," he said simply. The encounter had gone too far. Mae was pulling back, sputtering her protests.

  "Stop, Weston. Mae doesn't want to go with you."

  "I don't give a damn what she wants. She's not going ta hook up with a lowlife from the reservation. You're making a slut of her. I won't have it! Get out of my way!"

  "No."

  "Daddy, let me go. I'm twenty-five years old! You can't make me do anything!"

  "Mae, you don't even know what you're saying," Weston yelled. "You're going ta get your heart broken. You'll be a laughingstock! The whole town will call you a slut!"

  "Like you're doing?" Drake asked.

  "Huh?"

  "Daddy, you're making a scene. You're the one calling me names, not anyone else. You're the one who's making a laughingstock of himself."

  The older man paused. "But, Mae, I've seen it happen before. They come ta town and turn on that noble savage charm, then they hightail it right back ta the reservation leaving the women crying."

  Drake wondered how the hell Weston had come up with that.

  "Daddy, you're wrong. Drake is part of the community here in Fire Gorge. He's respectable. He lives here. He's not going ta 'hightail' it off anywhere!"

  "You don't know them like I do, Mae."

  "I've heard about enough, Weston. I don't know where you got your distorted perspective, but it's wrong and bigoted. I may be an Indian, but I'm neither a lowlife nor a heartbreaker."

  "That's what my sister thought too, you red devil. And she got her heart broken, as sure as I'm standing here."

  "Aunt Rebecca?" Mae pulled free of her father's grip and began to rub her wrist. "Are you talking about Aunt Rebecca?"

  "Yeah. She was like you, all fired up, crazy for one of the Indians she'd met at an intramural sports event. He seduced her and broke her heart. For all I know, he's still on that goddamned reservation."

  Mae turned to Drake, pleading for his understanding. "Aunt Rebecca killed herself, Drake. I didn't know why."

  Drake rubbed his face. He could see why Weston would be upset, but this was over-the-top. "Look, Mr. Weston, I'm not going to break Mae's heart. I've been away from the reservation for ten years. I'm not going back."

  Weston looked defeated; his shoulders sagged and his voice was less strident when he spoke. "So you say." He turned to Mae. "Come home, Mae. He is not for you."

  "Daddy, I understand why you're upset. But I'm not going home with you. I have a life of my own ta live. I'm not your baby girl anymore."

  Drake didn't see any way to keep his feelings private. "Mr. Weston, I love your daughter. I'd protect her with my life."

  Mae practically bowled him over with a huge hug. Walt Weston looked on, unhappy but unable to force the situation any further. "Mae..."

  "I love you too, Drake! I really do! I thought I couldn't tell you because you wouldn't feel that way, too. But you did! I'm sorry about my father. I didn't know about Aunt Rebecca. Please don't' be mad--"

  "Hush, Mae," Drake told her gently. He held her by the waist against his side. "Mr. Weston, I think you've got your answer."

  Weston seemed to come to himself. He almost visibly shook off his fury and became a father who had to realize that his little girl was a grown woman. "If you hurt her, Stillwater, you'll have me ta answer ta."

  "Yes, sir."

  Mae padded over to her father and wrapped her arms around him. "Daddy. Daddy, don't worry. It'll be okay. I'm not like Aunt Rebecca."

  The older man didn't hesitate, holding his daughter tight. "I love you, Mae. I don't want ta see you hurt."

  "I know. But I'm happy. Really happy. Don't let's spoil it, okay?"

  Weston held her out at arm's length, giving her a stern look. "You really are happy."

  "Yeah, I am."

  He patted her arms and stepped away, then pinned Drake with a glare. "I don't trust you, but if this is what Mae wants, I won't stand in the way."

  "Thank you, Mr. Weston."

  The older man grunted and walked down the pathway to his car.

  Drake pulled Mae against his side and held her tight until Weston drove away. Then he smiled at the neighbors and waved, steering Mae back into the house.

  She was practically dancing, and did accomplish a twirl once they were indoors. Her skirt billowed out around her pretty legs and Drake felt an answering movement in his pants.

  "Did you mean what you said?"

  "Aha," he told her.

  "I love you, too. A lot!"

  He grinned. It was enough to make his heart expand. "Good. We still have a lot of condoms left."

  The End

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  This book is intended fo
r adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

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