by Chula Stone
“Because if word gets back to our husbands that we were in town against their express wishes, I don’t have to tell you what will happen. Or are you doing a fundraiser for the local paddle maker and forgot to tell me?” Drina had a hold of Pinkie’s arm and was pulling her friend towards the back of the café.
“You might get in a little trouble, and I’m sorry for that, Drina, but I won’t.” Pinkie let herself be pulled along.
“Then do it for me. Let’s go. We’ve got some serious sneaking to do if I’m to escape with my hide intact.” Drina succeeded in directing Pinkie through the bat-wing doors and into the kitchen.
Treli followed, unable to resist eavesdropping on their conversation. Pinkie and Drina had always intrigued her in that regard. She knew their husbands were strict and sometimes even stern, but the love between each pair was more obvious than a hot air balloon landing in the town square.
“You go on. I think I’ll stay here and help Treli.” Pinkie picked up an apron and began to tie it on.
Drina planted both hands on her hips and stood squarely in front of Pinkie. “Wait just a second. Time to ‘fess up. I should have known that story about you wanting to see the new livestock was too thin. You’re trying to provoke Vince into tuning your piano for you.”
“I am not and even if I were, it wouldn’t work. Vince doesn’t spank me anymore. We’ve grown beyond all that now. I’m a mother. And so are you, Drina. You shouldn’t let Slingo visit such indignities on your person.”
“I don’t let anything,” Drina replied, confusion warring with exasperation in her words. “He just does it. After our first was born, I tried to tell him I was a mother myself now and that he couldn’t do that to me. He just told me a woman never gets too old to spank and went right on.”
“Well, maybe Vince, as the older brother, is a bit more mature. We settle our differences without resorting to that kind of display.” Pinkie’s attitude resembled a stiff thick meringue, looking solid, but obviously mostly for show.
Apparently, Drina knew her friend better than Pinkie knew herself, as her next comment showed. “And you’re upset about that.”
“What makes you think I’m upset about not being turned over my husband’s knee?” Pinkie asked scornfully.
“I can see you’re upset about it because you’re doing everything you know good and well is guaranteed to earn you a trip to the woodshed. But why?”
A voice sounded from the front of the shop. “That’s what I’d like to know,” Vince called as he strode through the kitchen door from the front of the shop.
“Oh, dear,” Drina cried. “Pinkie, honey. Sorry, but you’re on your own for this one.” So saying, she bolted from the room, leaving Treli to close the door behind her.
“Why don’t you follow your cousin and take a nice long break, Treli. I need to have a little talk with my wife.”
With a shrug, Treli followed Drina’s path out the door but then stopped short and listened, both fascinated and ashamed of being so. She should be sorry for her friend, even indignant that he would use that stern tone of voice with Pinkie, the nicest boss a girl could wish for, but she found herself fighting envy. The love thundered out of Vince like a stampeding herd, sweeping everything else up in its path.
Treli tromped down the back steps then tiptoed back up and pressed her ear to the door. Vince was speaking in a tone that reminded Treli of a parson addressing a loud Sunday School class. “…so if there’s something you need to say to me, you know I’ll listen. I’m only asking the same consideration. I told you to stay in the house as the doctor ordered.”
“Suggested,” Pinkie’s interruption surprised Treli. Pinkie was rarely short with anyone and never rude. At least not in the café. Not with her. Why was she speaking to her husband that way? “And he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’m fine.”
“If you’re so fine, then why are you so sleepy all the time? Why are the bags under your eyes making you look like a raccoon?”
“A raccoon? Is that what you think of me?”
Treli heard a quick but heavy step and had no trouble guessing that Vince had closed the gap between him and his wife. From everything Treli had heard about the Sloan brothers and most men in general, this would be Vince’s cue to throw his sassy wife over his knee for a good hard spanking, but instead, she heard a long sigh. “A beautiful raccoon. A gorgeous, graceful, glittering raccoon, but yes, a raccoon. I want these eyes bright again. I want that step to bounce like it used to.”
“I’m too old to bounce anymore.”
“You are not. I’m not and I’m older than you.”
“I’m a mother now. I have to be an example of decorum and serenity for our children.”
“Serenity, sure. Solemnity, no. Not all the time anyway. I miss your laugh. I miss your smile.”
“I laugh and smile plenty.”
“What you do plenty of is ignore me. I won’t have it.”
“I do not ignore you.”
“I told you to stay on the Leg, but here you are. If that’s not ignoring, I’d like to know what it is.”
“It’s exercising my best judgment,” Pinkie shot back.
“Well, your best judgment needs to get better.” With the stern tone of Vince’s voice, Treli expected to hear this comment being followed up with the distinctive sounds of a wooden spoon smacking a backside. Again, she was proved wrong. All she heard was a quiet growl and then a sound that alarmed her more than any other would have at that moment. She heard the sound of boots heading toward the back door.
Treli hotfooted it around the corner of the shed and waited while Vince escorted Pinkie towards their waiting buggy. She had the rest of the day to wonder why her boss looked so disappointed at escaping the encounter unspanked and if she would ever feel so strongly about a man that she would so desperately desire his attention. Could it be that Pinkie envied Drina for Slingo’s attitude? Would she ever find a man she could trust so thoroughly? Treli dreamed that night of a tall dark haired suitor showing up to her door with a bouquet of paddles bound up with a ribbon. She wouldn’t admit to herself how much the dream-hazy stranger reminded her of Barty Shepard.
All the way back to the ranch, Pinkie fumed. She was right and he was admitting it by not spanking her. Then why did she feel even more defeated than she had when she woke up that morning, determined to do exactly as she pleased, just to show him that she could? She had won, hadn’t she? Why did it feel so wrong? And why did Vince’s face remind her of a thunderstorm with a belly ache? “So we agree that you’re not going to spank me,” she reminded him as he helped her down from the buggy. “I’m glad you admit that I’m past all that now.”
“I never said any such thing,” Vince replied evenly.
“Then I’m glad you’re past all that now,” Pinkie went on doggedly.
“I never said anything like that either.”
Not knowing why she needed to pursue this, she kept pace with him as he mounted the steps and went up into the house. “Well, what did you say? Why didn’t you spank me?”
“Because you didn’t deserve a spanking. You said you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t disobey me directly, so I don’t think it’s fair for me to punish you.” His voice sounded tired and somehow tense at the same time. “But I am sorely tempted. I love you. I hate to see you like this, all wound up and worn out. I keep wondering if maybe a good spanking is just what you need, but the doctor said you’re in need of rest and looking after so…I don’t think he’d approve of me setting your skirts alight.”
“That doctor doesn’t know what he’s talking about! There’s nothing wrong with me!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure! Maybe I’m a little tired, but… I know how to fix that.”
“Then I know how to fix this.” He turned to her and traced the lines of fatigue and tension that had recently appeared on her face. So saying, he hoisted her up over his shoulder and carried her up the stairs to their bedroom.
<
br /> “Vince, put me down!” she squealed. “Someone will see us.”
“The kids that aren’t in school are gone with Drina to get the kids that are in school. There’s nobody in the house.”
“But—”
“That’s enough, Pinkie. I don’t know if it will do any good or not, but I’ve got to try. You should have known better than to ignore the doctor’s orders. You knew that I didn’t want you to go to town today. And just on general principles, I know you’ve done other things I never found out about. Am I wrong?”
They had arrived at their bedroom. Vince stood her up in the middle of the space and turned to face her. Her eyes fell under his intense gaze. “I suppose not.”
“That’s what I thought,” Vince returned. “You’re going over my knee and get reacquainted with my belt!”
She hadn’t missed his belt. Not one bit. “No, please, Vince. Not your belt.”
“Okay, then, if you object to the belt, I’ll start with the paddle.”
“Start?”
“It really has been too long since I reminded you of how things work around here,” Vince told her as he guided her over his bent knees and pulled her skirts up over her waist. “You seem to have forgotten who decides if, when and how you get spanked. I can see that it’s high time I reminded you.” He started off slowly, taking his time as he interspersed heavy swats with firm rubs and squeezes. “I am the husband. I do the deciding. I do the spanking. You are the wife. You get spanked. Clear enough?”
She nodded, trying to keep hold of her composure, hoping he might not carry out his plan to use his belt. Suddenly, her bravado of recent months seemed a mere mask to cover a foundation of insecurity. She had five children in ten years, but the youngest was five and it seemed there might not be any more. Her world was changing and she wasn’t sure she was ready to enter this new era. “Yes, it’s very clear.” She nodded her head.
“Whatever happens, that will always be true. I’ll always love you and you’ll always get a spanking when I think you need one. Is that clear?”
Her seat was on fire now, his hard slow swats sinking in, the pain spreading all over her bottom. “Yes, yes!” She swallowed hard, not fighting him, not knowing what she was fighting. Like she was climbing some steep rocky hill, there seemed to be so many rocks and thorn bushes crowding her path. With each swat she endured, another hurdle disappeared. He was throwing those barriers aside but there were still so many in the way.
“I hate to see you like this, all tired out, as if life is beating you down. I won’t have it. I won’t allow it. Not without doing everything I can think of to make it right.” He reached back and pressed his hand under the foot of their mattress. What he withdrew made her heart contract and her backside clench.
The paddle was custom made for her years ago and frequent use had polished it to a dull sheen. The smooth dark wood never failed to send her blood pumping harder through her veins. It would hurt, but at this point, she just wanted it over with. She let out a little wordless cry.
The paddle landed with slow deliberation. Swat after swat he gave her, pushing her farther up that hill. The obstacles fled as she felt her pace quicken up that hill she was climbing faster and faster. He would take care of her, no matter how old she got or what she looked like. Nothing would get in the way of this man and his determination to… love her. To make her life better. To give her all she needed. She cried out again, louder, this time in a kind of emotional release and fell limp over his lap, sobbing.
And then the storm passed and she realized he had put the paddle down and was holding her, stroking her hair, cradling her head close to his chest. She was still over his lap, but his words were all of comfort and praise. “You’re the most wonderful wife a man could ever hope for and the joy of my life,” he was crooning.
As her sobs subsided, she gave him a watery smile. “I’m okay now.”
“Good.” He reached over to the rail at the foot of the bed and snagged a belt that was hanging there.
“You were prepared for this,” she commented, hoping to bring things back to normal. She felt a little sheepish now and hoped he wouldn’t tease her too much.
“I was. I knew what had to be done. I just didn’t like the thought of doing it, so I put it off.”
She lay there waiting silently, completely relaxed over his bent knees, her upper body resting partly against the bed. “Only natural to put off a chore you don’t want to do.”
“That’s not it at all,” he corrected her. After another long pause, he asked her, “Aren’t you going to try to talk me out of using my belt?”
She shook her head serenely. “No. I know it won’t do any good and I don’t want to make it any harder on you than it already is. But can you rub a little first and put some of the fire out? I don’t want the smoke to get out through the windows.”
He managed a weak chuckle and did as she asked while she rested in the relief and closeness she cherished. Eventually, he gave her one last gentle rub before picking up the belt. “I just have to be sure, Pinkie.”
“I understand. Go ahead. Do as you think best.”
Vince doubled the thick leather, holding both the buckle and the opposite end in his hand. “I don’t want you getting in that state again, like you were before.” One quick pop laid a line of fire across her backside. Another followed it every few seconds until she had counted ten in her mind. She didn’t hold back her cries of pain though. It wasn’t that way between them. They shared everything. It was what made them strong. So he had a right to know that his belt felt like coals on her tender skin.
And then it was over and he was holding her on the bed. How they got there, she couldn’t have said, but they lay there for hours, at first in silence and then sharing low unhurried comments of love and life’s details. After a while, she asked him quietly, “You’ve been gone all afternoon. How are you going to explain that to the ranch hands?”
“That’s the advantage of being the boss,” he replied with a smile. “Nobody asks me questions.”
Chapter 3
Shep looked over the town square with a predator’s eye. All the mingling colors of skirts and hair-ribbons within view acted more as camouflage to him than the attractive plumage they were meant to be, but they couldn’t totally disguise the object of his hunt. He was intent on seeking the female of the species and what better place to find one than at a parade and carnival where they were all gathered in one giggling, gorgeous group? Some of the girls fawned over the men and were soon encompassed by handsome blowhards or well-off, nervous accountants. Other girls teased their suitors. They were often found at the center of a boisterous, competitive crowd. Then there were the quiet, calculating girls, spinning webs for the unwary. Shep couldn’t see himself being caught in such a trap but only because once he had become aware of the type, it had suddenly held less appeal.
In fact, that was true of all the girls and had been for some reason he couldn’t fathom. He was wondering again at the fact when Slingo approached him and as was his custom, hit the nail on the head with one hammer-like conversational blow. “You look like a teetotaler in a liquor store. Not a one of these girls strikes your fancy?”
“I haven’t seen them all yet. The weekend’s just getting started,” Shep replied defensively.
“You’ve been here three months, Shep. The town’s not that big. You’ve pretty much met every eligible female and a few who only wish they were. If nothing here suits your fancy, maybe it’s time to move on.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” he replied glumly.
“Not that I’m suggesting any such thing,” Slingo hastened to add. “I’d hate to see you go. You’ve been doing great work for us and even Vince admits the partnership between us and Mr. Bumford’s outfit is working out well. It’s just that I know you want to find a girl to settle down with and you ain’t getting any younger… or prettier for that matter.” Slingo gave his friend a mocking grin and a teasing curtsy.
�
�And don’t I know it?” They wandered together toward the bake sale tent on the north side of the fair grounds. There the temptations were of a more public nature and could be enjoyed as such. “You going to indulge?” Shep asked.
“Got no choice,” Slingo answered with resignation. “If I don’t come back with at least one of my wife’s cakes, I’ll be bunking in with old King Solomon and young Jehosephat. Not that I mind buying the baked goods. I’d like to take home every slice my wife bakes. I just wish it didn’t hit the wallet so hard.”
His good-natured grousing fooled no one. The agony on Slingo’s face as he pulled coins out of his pocket only served to convince Shep that his friend retained his serviceable sense of humor. “That’s about ten times what you really need to pay for that pie.”
“Is it? Well, just goes to show what a man will do for love.” The lady behind the table tittered as she accepted his money. Once outside, Slingo helped himself to a slice of the apple pie and after a reluctant shrug, offered the pan to Shep. “I suppose I could be generous and let you have one little piece, seeing as you’re all pitiful over there without a gal to squire around today.”
Shep chose the biggest slice left in the pan, but Slingo pulled it away, turning the pan so that Shep had to take a different, smaller slice. “I don’t see your wife on your arm either. How are you supposed to let her know you bought her pie if she’s not here to see?”
“That’s the point of the bake sale,” Slingo retorted. “You have to return the pan. See? So you get to meet at least one new gal when you buy something. The girls all put their names on the plate or pan and the fellows have a good excuse to talk to at least one and sometimes more. They tend to run in packs or gaggles like geese, so you might get several names at one time to add to your list.”
