Sarah's Playmates

by Virginia Wade

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner.” It was Millie. “I’m sorry he took you, honey. I would’ve spared you that, but I couldn’t.”

  “Millie, oh, dear God.” I struggled to get out from under him.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No.” The Indian’s cock was lodged deep, but the hardness had begun to soften. “Help get him off me!”

  She shoved the prone form none too gently. He rolled onto the blanket, blood trickling down the side of his face. “Come on, girl. Let’s rescue Isabelle and get the hell outta here!”

  “Where are my clothes?”

  A white bundle flew my way. “Here.”

  “Thank you.”

  “He’s got a knife on him. It’s in his belt. I’m taking it.”

  “What about the bows and arrows?”

  “Don’t know how to use them.”

  “Is there a rifle?”

  “Don’t see one.”

  “What happened to you?”

  “He raped me. I bore it. I tricked him into thinking I liked it, and I…er…got the upper hand so to speak. He’s unconscious or dead. I don’t know or care. They didn’t show the people on the train any mercy. Why the hell should I care? I should kill this one.”

  I panicked. “No. Don’t. He’ll have a nice goose egg as a reminder. He won’t mess with a white woman again.” Shame washed over me. She had pretended to enjoy her Indian’s attentions, while I…had truly enjoyed Laughing Hawk. Oh, you’re a loose woman, Ms. Collins. I had heard murmurings about my mother…about the jungle. She had known the natives there. No one had forced her. It humbled me to think that I wasn’t any better than her, although I had thought myself to be.

  It’s a family trait. Your grandfather liked orgies.

  Let’s not dredge up history that may or may not be accurate.

  Fine. But you still enjoyed that Indian.

  Oh, be quiet!

  “Where’s Isabelle?”

  “Over there.” Millie pointed to the field. “Come on. We haven’t got all night.”

  “I’m a mess.” There was sperm running down my inner thighs. What if I fell pregnant? Oh, dear God!

  Millie gripped her stick. “We’re gonna sneak up on him and whack him. If that don’t work, stab him. Got it?”

  How awful. I swallowed hard. “I never in my life thought I’d ever—”

  “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

  “I suppose they do.”

  “Do you want to stay? I could leave you here.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “They killed your fiancé. They killed all those people on the train.”

  “You don’t need to talk me into it, Millie. I’m with you.”

  “Good.”

  We wandered through the field, the wild corn towering over us. My bare feet were filthy, and my nightgown was torn in places and splattered with blood, but I would worry about my appearance at another time. We had survived a train wreck and an Indian kidnapping. Now we had to rescue one of our own. The sound of moaning indicated which section of the field Isabelle was in, and, as Millie and I neared, we braced ourselves. I clutched the knife, my hand trembling.

  Two bodies appeared between the stalks of corn, illuminated by the glow of the moon. They glistened in their nakedness, covered in perspiration. “Oh, fuck me, you dirty heathen,” moaned Isabelle. She sat on her captor, her hips thrusting back and forth, while his hands gripped her hips. Lush, full breasts bounced with the movement of her body. Her head was back, and long strands of dark hair fell all the way to her bottom.

  I glanced at Millie, who looked sternly determined. The sight of Isabelle fornicating willingly didn’t seem to surprise her. She held up a heavy-looking stick and indicated silently that we should approach. The Indian was oblivious, ensnared in the rapture of his captive. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was slightly open.

  “Oh, my! Oh…fuck me! Fuck me!” Her fingertips dug into his belly, as she moaned. “It’s so good!” She shuddered over him, while he uttered something, thrusting vigorously.

  Millie advanced stealthily, lifting the stick and bringing it down over his head with a crack. I cringed at her actions, squeezing my eyes shut. A female scream shattered the night. “Millie? Oh, my God!” Isabelle sounded breathless. “D-did you kill him?”

  “Who cares? Get your clothes on. We’re getting outta here.”

  Isabelle glanced at me, smiling slightly. Her look revealed shame, surprise, and relief. “We can’t go back to the train. It’s under attack.”

  “We’ll take the horses and make a run for it. Get his weapon.”

  “That was a brave thing you did.” Admiration shone in her eyes. “You’re a tough lady.”

  Millie ignored the praise. “Are you hurt?”

  “N-no…I’m fine.”

  “We all did what we had to do to survive. God won’t judge us for this. I didn’t take a life. I might’ve injured some thick skulls, but they’ll live.”

  Isabelle grinned. “A white woman bested them! That’s rich.” Her hands were on her hips. “Aren’t we a sight? We look like something the cat spat out.” Her laughter was infectious, considering the horrors we had suffered, and I couldn’t help smiling.

  “We’ll find a town and clean up,” said Millie. “Get his horse.”

  “I hope you don’t expect me to navigate. I’ve the worst sense of direction. I get lost in my own house sometimes.”

  “We should hurry,” I said. “They might wake up.”

  “Exactly,” Millie agreed.

  We trotted side by side through a never-ending prairie, the grass tickling my legs. I sat astride, heedless of the undignified and unladylike position; I was too exhausted to care. After more than an hour, it was obvious we were lost. Dark clouds had gathered, and the sky flashed with lightning.

  “Is that coming our way?” asked Isabelle.

  “I hope not.” Millie seemed to relish being on the horse; her expression was alert and thoughtful. Strawberry blonde hair hung down her back, nearly touching her thighs. “This sure is pretty country.”

  “What if we get attacked by Indians again?” I glanced around warily. “This is their territory.” We could be ambushed at any second, for all we knew.

  “Don’t make any noise, and they won’t know we’re here,” said Isabelle.

  “If you say so.” My arm ached, but at least my forehead had stopped bleeding. I thought about Edmund. “Do you think they killed everyone on the train?”

  Millie glanced at me. “Honey, don’t fret about it. I’m sure Edmund’s fine.”

  “We should’ve gone back to the train.” Doubt chipped away at me. Had we made a mistake?

  “My brother didn’t die. I know he didn’t.” Isabelle gazed straight ahead. “He had a pistol on him. He always carries one.”

  An uncomfortable silence filled the air, as we thought about what we might have lost. I felt shame for enjoying the Indian.

  You did what you had to do to survive.

  I guess…

  I would push the memory out of my mind and pretend it hadn’t happened.

  We were at the edge of a field; our horses had led us into a line of trees. The smell of wet earth filled my senses. “There’s water around here.”

  “The horses want to go this way. They want a drink,” said Millie. “I could use one myself. I’m parched.”

  “You don’t think the animals are going home, do you?” Would we end up in an Indian camp?

  “Don’t worry about that. We’re free now. They can’t get us.”

  “That’s a lake or something,” said Isabelle. She slid from her horse, patting her flank. “You’re a good girl.” She led her mare towards the water’s edge. “Looks big.”

  It was a long way down without help. “Ouch.” I stepped on something sharp.

  “I’ll take her,” said Millie, reaching for my rope. “Go wash up. Have a drink.”

  “Thank you.” My modesty seemed to have v
anished, as I brought the nightgown over my head and left it on the ground. I desperately wanted to remove the smell of the Laughing Hawk from my person. “Omigosh, it’s cold.” I waded into the lake, my feet encountering a soggy bottom. The humidity had kept me in a state of constant perspiration, and it was a relief to be able to wash off. I dunked under, wetting my hair completely.

  “I’m doing that,” said Isabelle. “I’ve never been so dirty in my life.” My future sister-in-law joined me, scrubbing her face vigorously. “It’s cold but wonderful.”

  Millie waded out to us. “This just proves Murphy’s Law.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Oh, it’s a saying. If anything can go wrong, it usually does, at the worst possible time. The story of my life.”

  “You’re always so optimistic,” I giggled.

  “It’s my unshakable sense of tragedy that gets me through the short periods of joy,” she laughed. “It’s the way of the Irish.”

  “But what an adventure!” exclaimed Isabelle. “The things we’ll tell our grandchildren. How many people have survived a train wreck? How many have survived an Indian attack?”

  “We’re stuck in the middle of nowhere,” I grumbled. “We may not survive at all.”

  “We’ll do just fine,” said Millie. “A town’s around here somewhere.”

  “When my father hears of the accident, he’ll send help.”

  “What about tonight? Where will we sleep?”

  “We need to find shelter,” said Millie. “Let’s get dressed and go. That storm sounds like it’s getting closer.”

  I trudged from the lake, ringing out my hair. “Gosh, I’m freezing.” I snatched the nightgown off the ground.

  “How’s your arm?” asked Millie.

  “It’s sore, but I’ll live.” I tossed the garment over my head, thrusting my hands through the armholes. The wetness of my hair dampened the material instantly. “There has to be something out here.”

  Isabelle groaned. “I don’t know about that.”

  Millie flung her hair over her shoulder, grabbing her mare’s mane. “Now I gotta get on this thing. Stirrups would be helpful.”

  “I’ll lift you, Sarah,” said Isabelle. “You’re shorter than me.”

  “Thank you.” She threaded her hands together, and I used them as a step. “There is something about riding bareback. It’s freeing.”

  “Call it freeing all you want, but it hurts my ass,” grumbled Isabelle.

  “We’ll all be sore tomorrow,” said Millie. “No doubt about that.”

  We set out under ominous skies, the wind had picked up, and thunder rumbled threateningly. We hadn’t been riding for more than thirty minutes, when lights flickered in the distance.

  “There’s something up ahead!” shouted Millie, as a clap of thunder resounded. “Head towards it!” She sat forward, loosening the grip on the reins, and gave three quick kicks into the horse’s side, spurring the mare into a gallop. “Heeaw! Come on girls!”

  Chapter Twelve

  Isabelle and I followed, racing across an expanse of savanna that stretched on towards the horizon. Droplets of rain lashed my face, as incandescent veins of lightning flashed across the sky. The lights in question belonged to a small house, situated against a backdrop of trees, whose limbs blew in the approaching storm. Several horses were in a small coral. They neighed and snorted at our approach.

  I glanced warily at Millie. “I don’t know about this.” Unease pricked me. Who was in the house, Indians, bandits, or worse?

  The sound of male laughter drifted to us from an open window.

  Millie dismounted and unsheathed her knife. She looked fierce and wild, with windswept hair and torn clothing. “I’m not afraid of a couple of men.” She had proven herself to be formidable where they were concerned.

  Isabelle tied her horse to a fence. “Let’s get this over with. I’m tired. I’ll sleep on the floor if I have to.”

  I glanced warily at the house. “Are you sure about this? We could find a field to sleep in.”

  “Don’t worry, honey. I won’t let anything happen to you. Come on down from that horse—”

  The front door flew open, and Millie found herself staring down the barrel of a rifle. The owner of the weapon was dressed in trousers and a crumpled shirt; the sleeves were folded up on each arm. His expression was hidden beneath a wide-brim hat. “And what do we have here?” The timber in his voice was deep and melodic.

  I sat atop my horse; the thought to flee swept through me like wildfire, but there was something familiar about the stranger.

  “We’re women seeking shelter, sir!” yelled Millie. “We’ve survived an Indian attack…and a train wreck. Put your gun down.”

  “Put your knife down.” There were two men behind him, holding weapons. “You sneak up on my house, and you think I won’t protect myself?”

  “We need help, sir,” said Isabelle. “We’ve been through quite an ordeal. It would be kindly of you to let us in and offer us food and a bed. There’s a storm coming.”

  “Kindly, huh?” he laughed. “You ladies want to share our bed, eh? I got nothin’ against that sort of thing. My boys and I would be mighty obliged to have you fine ladies as our…guests.”

  “Ouf! These men are scoundrels, Millie! I knew this was a bad idea.”

  The stranger tipped his hat, eyeing me. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’re that woman from the train.”

  I gasped, recognizing the blackguard. “You’re the bandit who stole my engagement ring!”

  “Still sore about that, huh?” He lowered the rifle. “You say you were attacked by Indians?”

  “They sabotaged the tracks and wrecked the train,” said Isabelle. “We were on our way to Omaha.”

  “Dang, that’ll be big news.”

  “Might make us look like small potatoes,” said the man behind him.

  “Oh, the law will still be lookin’ for us. Don’t doubt that, Buck.”

  “Are we gonna let these pretty women inside?” asked a thin, blond haired man. “They look like they need help. We’d sure be happy to help them. I know I would.”

  “Don’t think for one second that any of you will be laying one hand on me,” asserted Millie. “You won’t be touching my ward either.”

  Brack’s eyes roamed over me, pausing on my breasts. “That’s a shame.” It was clear what he wanted to do to me, and, remembering his kiss, my body began humming with arousal. “Let me get you down from that horse, honey.” He handed his rifle to Buck. Without waiting for a reply, he pulled me down and straight into his arms. A muscled arm snaked around my back, drawing me close.

  “Stop that!” I struggled against him.

  “It’s like Christmas and birthday all wrapped up in one sexy package.” There was a hint of alcohol on his breath. “Happy Birthday to me.”

  “You let her go!” demanded Millie. “Get your hands off her.”

  “I don’t think she minds all that much.” His eyes had yet to leave my face. I blinked at him stupidly.

  “Sarah!” barked Millie. “Wake up, girl!”

  “Um…” I pushed against him, feeling nothing but muscle. “Don’t.”

  Isabelle rolled her eyes. “That’ll scare him off. Oh, fuck it!” For a lady, Isabelle’s use of language was shocking. “I’m tired. I don’t care if they’re bandits.” She slid from the horse. “I wouldn’t mind some whiskey, boys. Please tell me you have some left.”

  “Now there’s a woman after my own heart,” murmured the blond man. His grin went from ear to ear, exposing a mouth full of chipped and missing teeth. “Come on in. Make yourselves at home. I’ll pour you a drink.”

  “Well, that’s kind of you.”

  Brack had yet to let go of me, and I had yet to object, although I should. His hand drifted to my buttocks, where he grasped my soft flesh, squeezing it gently.

  “Oh!” I gasped, as a rush of tingles raced through me.

  Millie hit him. “That’s enough now!�
� She smacked the side of his head.

  He covered his face. “Hey!”

  She grabbed my hand. “Get inside. It’s about to rain.”

  The house wasn’t bigger than a shack and almost as rustic. There were shelves built into the walls and one small, lumpy bed. There were bedrolls on the floor and several bottles of whiskey. A large satchel brimmed with hidden goodies, and I suspected these were the items stolen from train robberies.

  Isabelle downed her drink. “Oh, that’s good. Pour some more in there, cowboy.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Jimmy.”

  “What’s a fine young man such as yourself doing robbing trains?”

  “Well, Miss, my family didn’t have much. My pa died when I was five, and my ma drank herself to death. I fell in with the wrong crowd,” he eyed Brack, “and the rest is history.”

  I sat on a rickety chair, just as an enormous boom sounded overhead and the heavens opened up, lashing rain down upon us. Brack hung his hat on a peg and sat next to me. He stared with such intensity that the hair stood up on my arms.

  “Here you go,” said Jimmy. “Have a drink.”

  “Thank you.” I took a sip, the liquid burning a path down my throat.

  “I don’t want booze,” muttered Milly. “Drink is the curse of the land.”

  “That’s right,” laughed Brack. “You Irish could’a ruled the world, if you hadn’t invented whiskey.”

  Millie glared at him. “You better watch out for that one. He’ll steal the sugar outta your punch, if you let him.”

  “So I assume we’re with the infamous Corbett Gang?” asked Isabelle. “Add that to the list of things I can tell my grandchildren about.”

  Exhaustion seeped into my weary bones, producing a lengthy yawn. I seemed to have Brack’s undivided attention, although I wasn’t speaking.

  “We might need to turn the lights down, boys. The ladies are tired.”

  “Sarah and Isabelle will take the bed,” stated Millie. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  “I don’t think so.” Those warm eyes were on me. “You sleep on the bed with Isabelle. Sarah’s with me.”

  Millie bristled. “I think not, sir!”