by Patty Devlin
“Stop squirming, Em. I’ve got you.”
“I can’t possibly ride until nightfall like this, Clint. I can ride on my own.”
“Hush. I’m going to check the damage, and then you can ride in my lap. It will be more comfortable than that hard leather saddle.”
She pushed against his thigh, “Check the damage? Here? You can’t be serious.”
Before her protests had fallen from her lips, he had already opened her skirt and loosened the drawers underneath. He eased them down, ignoring her squeals of outrage. Her skin was pink and appeared a bit chafed from the saddle, but not overly so. It must be her muscles, unused to the straddle position and the long ride.
“Poor baby,” he murmured as he angled his hand behind him to his saddle bag where he had placed a jar of balm he’d picked up in town before heading out. Not used to ten hours in the saddle himself, he’d planned ahead. Never had he imagined he’d be using it on his bride’s tender parts before the end of the day. He scooped out a goodly amount and began to rub it into her sore bottom.
“What are you doing? Oo-oo, Clint, that stings!”
“Shh, it will ease in a minute and soothe the ache in your muscles.”
“I don’t think so,” she cried. “My skin’s on fire, Clint! Stop!”
“Wait, Em. Give it time.”
He continued to massage the unguent into her skin. A few minutes later, she began to relax. Sliding his hand lower, he massaged some into the backs of her thighs. Finally, she eased and let out a sigh.
“Better?”
“Yes. What is that?”
“White liniment, it contains a long list of ingredients including wintergreen oil, which I imagine is the cause of the sting, or it could be from the camphor. Either way, we swore by it when the regiment was on an all-day march. It soothes the muscles, and after the initial sting, eases the pain.”
“It feels much better, thank you.”
“Good. We’ll do it again this evening when we stop.” He withdrew his hand and adjusted her clothing. “Up you go.”
Clint lifted her by the waist and turned her until she was facing him. A look of confusion covered her face as she tried to turn. “No honey, straddle me.”
“What?”
“Straddle my thighs and wrap your arms and legs around me. This will keep pressure off you bottom.”
“But—”
“Don’t argue with me, Em. Have I steered you wrong yet?”
“No,” she admitted grudgingly. “In fact, you are annoyingly right all the time.”
His eyes shot to hers as she settled in place. She looked less miserable. Undoubtedly, her pride was what was stinging now. The pout on her pretty mouth was tempting and he was of a mind to kiss it away, but they were burning daylight. He spurred his horse into a walk, allowing her to adjust to her odd position. After a few minutes where she rested easily against him, he kicked his horse into a canter, his arm holding her firmly in place, his body absorbing any bumping from the horse’s gait.
“How are you doing, baby?”
“I’m fine. I’m also being honest this time.” She lifted her head and looked up at him with a shy smile. “It feels much better, truly.”
“Good, because we’ve got a lot of ground to cover,” he declared, as he kicked his horse to a faster pace.
***
Emmalee woke when the swaying motion of the horse stopped. Opening her eyes, she looked around. It was dusk, but she could make out the small grove of trees where Clint had stopped the horses. To her delight, there was a stream running alongside it.
“We’ll make camp here for the night,” Clint announced, before kicking one leg over the saddle and sliding to the ground with Emmalee clasped tight in his arms. After she had gotten her legs under her, he turned to his saddlebags. He came up with a small towel and a bar of soap, which he handed to her. “Wash up, sweetheart, but stay in sight.”
As she watched him heft off his horse’s saddle, her stomach growled. “I’ve got some bread, some dried fruit and ham in my supplies, Clint. Not much of a supper.”
“That and my can of beans will be plenty. We’ll have no fire tonight. I don’t want to draw attention to us. Now hurry and wash up. I want to eat and get some sleep.”
“Okay, but I’m not really sleepy.”
“That’s because you dozed off and on all afternoon.”
She smiled softly and said, “I did. You make a very nice pillow, husband.”
His chuckle warmed her, and made her glad he hadn’t held onto his anger as she feared he would. “Skedaddle, Em. After I unpack, I’ll want my turn with the soap and towel. That’s all I brought along with me.”
Nodding, she made her way to the stream. Surprisingly, the ache in her backside and thighs had eased tremendously. His liniment had done the trick. If not for him and his liniment, she wouldn’t have made it this far. She had no idea it would be so difficult. No wonder he had left her behind. Each day she knew him brought about a deeper respect and appreciation for all that he was. She regretted being such a thorn in his side at times. She avowed, yet again, to be more cooperative. Maybe if she listened to him, she wouldn’t get herself into such a pickle all the time.
Washing quickly, she was drying her face and hands when she heard him approach. Pulling her refreshed face from the damp linen, she looked up at him with a small smile. Expecting to find him as she’d left him, she saw instead the broad-muscled wall of his chest as he shrugged off his shirt. Although it was getting dark, she could make out the contours and rippling bulges. Oh my! How had she not noticed before how sculpted he was? She’d missed it this morning, her mind on other things. Now, she couldn’t help staring as he took the soap and linen from her hands and knelt on the grassy bank beside her.
Giving her an odd look, he scooped up big handfuls of water and splashed his face and chest. He then bent forward and dipped his whole head in the stream. Em’s eyes immediately locked onto his taut backside, which was clearly defined by the tight pull of his trousers. Her mouth went dry and her tongue slipped out to wet her equally parched lips. Mesmerized, she watched as he sat back, raising his sinewy arms as he swiped back his thick hair, wringing out the excess water and finger combing it off his forehead.
She blinked, swallowed with difficulty and felt a spasm in her only recently discovered secret girl parts. Oh my goodness!
“Are you alright, sweetheart? You look funny.”
Her hand rose to her cheek. In the rapidly growing darkness, he probably couldn’t see the redness, but she could feel the fire burning in her cheeks.
“I’m good,” she squeaked. Lord have mercy, her husband was all kinds of gorgeous. Struggling to her feet, as light-headed and limp-legged as she was, she offered, “I’ll just go see to starting supper.”
As she walked away, she whispered quietly to herself, “Lands sake, he’s like a Greek sculpture. Pull yourself together, Emmalee Gray, lest you have to dunk your whole self in the water.”
His chuckled echoed behind her. “That’s pull yourself together, Emmalee Ryan.”
With a gasp, she whirled around to see he was still by the bank a good thirty feet away. She had whispered, hadn’t she? How had he heard?
He grinned. “You’ll learn I have excellent hearing, sweetheart. Not to mention, sound carries in the stillness of the night.”
“Hmph, well… Don’t eavesdrop on me with your exceptional hearing. It’s rude.”
He arched a brow at her snippy tone.
“Sounds to me like someone is in need of supper and sleep. It’d be best if you ran along and got supper before you land yourself in more trouble. Your bags are beside mine by the bedroll. You’ll find beans, some oat cakes, a tin plate and cup in mine. I’ll be along in a minute.” He rose as he spoke, and she watched, entranced as his hands went to the button fly of his trousers. “After I dunk my whole self in the water, of course.”
Spinning back around as he lowered his trousers, she rushed back to the clearing all a d
ither, his laughter trailing after her in the dark. She heard a large splash a minute later, and the image of him stark naked in the creek sent waves of heat through her body. She then had to admit two things about Clint Ryan. One, the man played havoc with her senses, and two, sound travelled better at night because as she whimpered with frustration, another soft laugh and a splash echoed in the night.
By the time Clint returned, Emmalee had the food laid out and was seated on the bedroll as if on a picnic. She looked up as he approached, his trousers back in place but his shirt unbuttoned and the tails untucked. The quickening began again at the sight of his lightly haired chest and sculpted belly. Mentally shaking herself, she looked down at the apple she was slicing.
He sat down beside her and grabbed one from the tin plate, munching noisily.
As she set down the knife, he grabbed it and sliced the bread, handing her a piece of cured ham sandwiched between two thick slices. “I refilled the canteen. After that salty meat, we’re gonna need it.”
As he ate, he leaned over and picked up his saddle. Setting it behind him, he leaned against it and stretched out his long legs. Then he looked at her thoughtfully. As the full moon rose, casting a soft light upon the clearing, she could see his handsome features clearly. His strong jaw with its scruff of dark beard moved slowly as he chewed. Her eyes dipped to his throat as he swallowed, fascinated by the way his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. The moonlight glistened off his hair, turning it a blue-black in the low light. Dear heavens, she was practically drooling over the man. She had to get a grip!
“Tell me what was in your head this morning, Em. To go haring off on your own on horseback alone was foolhardy.”
“I know, but I felt like I had no choice.”
“You were scared. I know that—”
“Barton accosted me, not a half hour after you left. I couldn’t stay there after that.”
She watched as his face became hard and his body tensed, and she could feel the anger rolling off of him in waves.
In an unnervingly controlled voice, he asked, “Define what you mean by accosted, Emmalee. Did he touch you?”
“No, but he got close. Close enough to inhale his stench, which was quite disgusting. He threatened to come back and—” She stopped, unable to repeat his vile words.
“And what, Em? I need to know exactly what he said, so when I pay him a visit in the near future, I will be able to fully articulate to him why my fist is in his face and my boot tip is up his ass.”
Her jaw dropped. “You don’t mean to go back and…”
“Kick his ass, quite so.” His hand came out and removed the plate from her lap. She found herself hauled against his chest. Then he just held her tight. She felt the rage rippling through his body. “Tell me what he said.”
“He is a pig. Can’t we let it go?”
“And let him prey on other innocent women? I don’t think so. Tell me now, sweetheart.”
She told him, leaving out the vulgar words.
“He heard us in our room that night, Clint, which above all else stains the memory of what we shared. I managed to get past him, thankfully. It was awful.”
His arms tightened even further, plastering her against his hard-muscled chest.
“Damnation, Em,” he growled. “I’m sorry you had to endure that. Thank God it didn’t go further. I thought you would be safe there. I can’t believe that little worm had such gall after our little chat.”
“He is a bully to prey on defenseless women in such a way, but I can’t keep thinking that it’s my fault. I should have listened and followed your orders. If I had, I would have been safe at home in Boston, instead of here in the middle of the plains of Iowa, a perpetual thorn in your side. I’m sorry, Clint.”
After another squeeze, he lifted her off his lap. He then stood, strapped on his gun belt, and picked up his rifle. “I’m going to walk the perimeter. Re-pack the food carefully and wash the utensils while I’m gone. We don’t want to attract any unwanted guests tonight. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
He took a step, but paused and turned back. “You don’t by chance know how to shoot a gun, do you?”
“Oh, but I do,” she said as she pulled the Remington out of her skirt. “I have my own weapon.”
He stared, his eyes going from the six-shooter in her hand to her face. “You didn’t bring that from Boston, surely.”
“No. I bought it at the Stanton Mercantile.”
“And you know how to use it?”
“Of course. I can load and shoot it. We didn’t have time go over cleaning it, however. Maybe you can show me.”
“We?”
“Pardon?”
“You said, ‘we didn’t have time.’ Who is ‘we’?”
“Why, Mr. James, the owner of the mercantile, of course.”
His eyes closed as he rubbed his hand over his face. He muttered, “Jaysus, deliver me.” Then he bent and removed the gun from her hands. “I’ll take charge of this now, Em. You holler out if you hear anything. I won’t be far.”
“But, Clint—”
“No firearms, sweetheart. Surely to mercy my heart cannot take it.”
Insulted, she frowned as she watched him walk away.
***
Turning restlessly on the bedroll, which was nothing more than two thin blankets, Emmalee wiggled, trying to get comfortable. They were lying on one blanket and had the other covering them against the dampness setting in as the night progressed. She turned in the circle of his arms, her back to him, head cushioned against his bicep, and wiggled back against him. He didn’t move. How could he sleep on the hard, unforgiving ground? With a stone digging into her hip, she squirmed again.
As she’d settled down once again, she felt hobbled by her split skirt, which had become twisted as she tossed and turned. The folds upon folds of material were now wrapped around her legs. They had also ridden up, leaving her with the twisted wads of thick material tangled above her knees. It was most uncomfortable and not at all conducive for sleep.
In frustration, she sat up and stripped the blasted thing off. Now she was down to her sleeveless top and drawers. Only problem, her drawers were the most immodest garment in her wardrobe. Although loose fitting around the thighs, and, um, more private spots, the seam between the legs was strategically left open. It was practical for everyday life, making it easier to go to the ladies’ necessary room while wearing the full skirts, cages and hoops that were the fashion of the day. For use as night wear on the trail, though, they were risqué and woefully unsatisfactory, the loose material providing little protection from the elements and not even the smallest modicum of modesty. Obviously, this was not a well thought out plan because her delicate parts were bare—good thing for the blanket.
She settled back down, this time facing him, her cheek to his hard chest. Clint had his head propped against his saddle, resting peacefully as if camping along the trail was an everyday event for him. He seemed blissfully unaware that his bride had stripped practically naked out in the open. Heaving a sigh, she wiggled again.
“Emmalee, be still.”
Startled, she tilted her face up to him. With his hat covering his eyes, his breathing had been so slow and even and he had lain so still, she thought he was asleep. “I’m sorry I woke you. I can’t find a comfortable position. Maybe if I go over to that patch of grass by the stream—”
“No.” His hands circled her waist abruptly, and without another word, he pulled her on top of him. Effortlessly arranging her so that her head was on his chest, her breasts against his rippled belly, hips aligned with her legs draped atop his own, he patted her bottom, a clear signal for her to sleep.
It felt wonderful, but how could he sleep with her weight atop him? “This can’t be comfortable for you,” she protested.
“It’s fine. Go to sleep.”
She settled against him, much more at ease on his body than on the unyielding earth of only moments ago. Clint made a surprisingly comfortable matt
ress, He surrounded her, not only with his body—strong arms around her, hands linked at her back—but his scent surrounded her, too. The soap, which was the same that she had used to wash with, smelled differently on him. It was a clean scent soap, fresh air and man—her man. She inhaled deeply and sighed with delight.
“Behave, sweetheart. If you play with fire tonight, you’ll get burned. I promise.”
Her head popped up. “What did I do? I’m just breathing.”
He thumbed the brim of his hat back and looked at her, eyes glittering, appearing almost black in the dark. “Breathy sighs and deep inhales along with all that squirming will get the attention you’re looking for, but I doubt if your bottom is up for it.”
“Oh, no, that’s much better. I put more balm on while you were scouting. That is a miracle cure, I swear.”
“What about other places? Aren’t you tender?”
He was talking about her other feminine places. Oh my! Talk about breathy sighs and inhales. She’d done both at once and nearly choked. Clearing her throat, she buried her face against his chest. Would she ever get used to such open and frank discussions?
“You want to make love again, don’t you, Em?”
“Um…” She knew her cheeks were flaming because it felt like her face was on fire.
Taking the lack of an answer as assent, he warned, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. We’ve got another ten hours in the saddle tomorrow.”
His hands sought her bottom where he cupped each round cheek in his big hands and squeezed softly. She moaned, but not from pain.
“You’re sore.”
She shook her head, rubbing her face against his linen shirt, her nose finding the opening at his throat. Her mouth against his skin, she couldn’t resist licking the V of warm flesh. In her position, lying against him, she felt his hardness rise against her thigh.
“Damn, Em, what you do to me.”
She tingled wherever he touched her, especially when he traced over her skimpily covered bottom. Against Clint’s exploration, she was entirely vulnerable, which he would find out for himself at any moment.
