by Patty Devlin
A split second later, his fingers dipped inside the split seam in back. He traced the edges of the opening until he came upon the wetness beneath. “Oh my sweet goodness,” she groaned aloud.
“Are you sure, baby?”
Land sakes—was she sure? Without question. Instead of blurting that out and embarrassing herself, she nodded shyly against his chest.
“Give me your mouth, then. I want a kiss.”
She did, eagerly tilting her mouth up to his. It started out soft and exploring, a gentle brushing of lips, but in moments, as their passions soared, his kiss became much more spirited and his tongue delved inside.
“Spread your legs. Let them fall to the sides of my hips.”
She took in a shuddering breath and immediately complied, essentially straddling him as she had her horse. This of course widened the gap in her drawers and left her entirely exposed, with her womanly flesh pressed directly against the buttons in the front of his trousers. A fierce desire swept through her, all modesty and reservations drowned out for the time being by her overwhelming need to rediscover the things he had done to her body the previous night.
“That’s my girl,” was his murmured approval as his fingers slipped lower, easily finding the sensitive spot at the top of her sex. His broad fingers teased her, setting her nerves aflame. Great day in the morning, that felt good. She pressed herself against him.
His growl of approval was low and intense. “You’re wet and ready for me, baby. Sit up.”
When she did, he followed. His mouth claimed her as his busy hands went under the hem of her camisole and slipped up inside. Her full breasts filled his hands as his work-roughened thumbs grazed across the aching tips. Unable to stop herself, she writhed wantonly against him, wanting more.
Clint pushed up the thin material, baring her breasts to the warm night air and his heated gaze. Dipping his head, he whispered hungrily, “I have to taste these beauties. Arch your back for my mouth.”
She did, her hands gripping his shoulders for support as she bowed backward. Her head arched, exposing her throat, and her breasts thrust upward, an eager offering for his divine lips and tongue.
When his hot mouth touched her breast, it brought with it a fire that swept through her, igniting an intense heat in her core. His tongue laved her, again and again, until the tip was hard and aching. His teeth clamped firmly around the peak and drew a shout of pleasure that rose up from her deep within. She got lost in him.
Clint’s hand moved between them, releasing his hard flesh. “Raise up so I can slide inside, Em. I can’t wait a moment more to be inside you.”
Instantly responding to his demands, she’d become like a marionette in his talented hands, her body easily dancing on his strings, heeding his every erotic command.
The smooth head sought her opening and pressed into her heat. As he guided her hips downward, he filled her. Her hiss of pleasure intertwined with his low groan of satisfaction in the heavy air of the clearing. In the night, the decadent sounds of their joining echoed through the trees. His head came up, and he sealed her mouth with his own, keeping it there as they began to move.
Against her lips, he whispered encouragement. “You feel so damn good around me, baby. Move against me, up and down like you’re riding.” His hands slid to her bottom, teaching her the rhythm.
She picked up on it easily, learning quickly that she enjoyed this new position: on top, setting the pace, controlling how fast or slow, how shallow or deep. Granted, with Clint’s hands on her backside, she only controlled as much as he allowed. As she moved upon him, she discovered that if she leaned forward, not only did her nipples rub against his shirt, but the sensitive nub at the front of her sex rubbed against his clothing as well. It was unbelievably exciting and she couldn’t contain the swirling, rising flow of sensation as it surged inside her.
Emmalee’s fingers sought his hair, threading in deep and curling reflexively as she held on. She moved faster, nearing that sweet release that Clint had built inside her before, one of pure ecstasy, which she longed fervently to repeat. Her head fell forward, her face pressed into his neck as she found it with a long, low, animal-like cry of satisfaction.
Before she recovered, her back was to the ground, Clint having flipped her over, his length embedded deep the whole while. Thrusting into her fast and hard, she knew he was of one purpose, finding his own release and following her into the same excruciatingly pleasurable aftermath of completion.
Chapter Five
The sun was at its zenith as they rode at a steady pace, making good time across the Drift Plains, which made up the entire region of northwest and mid-central Iowa. The flat, fertile plains would give way to rolling hills and ridges as they neared Omaha, the latter making the terrain a bit more difficult for Emmalee, a less experienced rider than Clint would have liked for this type of trip.
There were trails and some roads—considered such in only the very loosest of terms—and they were often surrounded by miles and miles of corn fields. The crops were well past knee-high, which for July forecast a healthy harvest come fall. Every so often, they would pass a farmer digging potatoes or picking apples in his orchard. One man waved them over and offered them some of his early apples, to water their horses by the stream that wound its way through the scores of trees, and to rest beneath the shade of his trees. He told Clint of a shortcut that would shave at least an hour off their trip by skirting a ridge up ahead. They thanked him, mounted up with a saddlebag full of sweet red apples, and were back on the trail to Omaha.
About thirty minutes down the road, they came to the fork the man had spoken of and veered right. The trail would follow along the base of the ridge and a small tributary of the Missouri River. According to the farmer, once they passed beyond the ridge they could follow the stream right to their destination about fifteen miles ahead. Clint was relieved, glad that they’d be safely in town well before dark.
After a while, they pulled up in the shade of the high ridge to water and rest the horses for a bit. While Emmalee washed up in the slowly coursing stream, Clint scanned the area. He’d had a funny feeling for the past hour or so. He couldn’t explain it, and hadn’t seen any signs of trouble, but a tightness in his gut told him something wasn’t quite right.
The ridge, higher in some places than others, dipped down low up ahead. He decided to climb to the top where he could scout their back trail and see what lay beyond the high ridge. This required leaving Emmalee alone. Reluctantly, he retrieved her weapon from where he’d stored it unloaded. As he put six bullets in the cylinder, he laid out his orders.
“I’ll be gone 20 minutes, tops. Stay here with the horses. If you see someone coming, fire a warning shot and I’ll be back double time.”
“Do you expect trouble?” Her voice was husky with fatigue as she got to her feet and approached him.
His eyes swept her face, noting her reddened skin, her cheeks and nose burned from the many hours in the sun. He lifted his hand and gently touched her once-creamy skin. “You need a hat, sweetheart. Stay in the shade and when we continue on, you’ll wear mine. I should have thought of that sooner.”
Her hands flew to her cheeks. “I must look a fright.”
“You’re still as beautiful as ever, just rosier.” He gave her an affectionate smile and kissed her forehead. In addition to the sidearm at his hip, he grabbed his rifle.
“I’ll be back soon. Stay out of the sun.”
“Be careful, Clint.” She leaned in, lifting her face.
Accepting the invitation, he brushed his lips across hers. They parted slightly, breathlessly, the temptation such that he didn’t resist the urge to taste and explore further her apple sweet warmth with his tongue.
After a few moments of this play, he broke away. “I’ll be back.”
About a half mile up the trail, he found a place suitable for climbing. Slipping the gun strap over his head, he began his hike to the top. Most often he could stay on two feet, but other times in st
eeper places, he had to scramble up on all fours. It didn’t take long for him to reach the top, where he stood looking out at the landscape before him. Off in the distance, he saw a town, and beyond that, more rolling hills and farm land. Still a ways to go, he thought. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he turned back to the way he’d come, his eyes scanning the grove where he’d left Em. A movement caught his eye, and he zoned in on a riderless horse grazing not far from where she waited.
“Emmalee!” He shouted uselessly at the same time her pistol shot echoed through the air.
***
Em struggled against the strong arms that held her in a brutal grip from behind. Frantic, she fought and kicked to get free. She screamed for Clint, but he covered her mouth with a dirty hand. Gagging, she twisted her head away but couldn’t get free. Her attacker, who was much taller, had one arm around her shoulders while the other clamped over her mouth. Mercifully, this left her hands free, and she managed to pull her weapon from her pocket and fire off a single shot. Before the blast had stopped its ricochet off the ridge, a rough hand stripped it from her grip, tossed it out of the way and pushed her down onto the ground. She winced in pain as her shoulder connected with a sharp rock. Rolling to her back, her eyes flew to the face of her attacker.
Homer Barton.
“You followed me! What do you want?”
“Told you this mornin’ what I want. It’s time to collect my debt.”
“What debt? I owe you nothing.”
“You owe me for the trouble you caused, you and yer old friend Mr. Hampton. Seems like he overheard our little rendezvous this morning.”
He said ron-dez-voos, pronouncing the silent “z” and “s.” He was an idiot. Emmalee felt her only option was to outsmart him because she couldn’t outmuscle him. It wouldn’t be a problem, pitting her brain against his. In fact, it left him woefully over-matched. If she could delay, keep him talking or distracted long enough, Clint would be back.
“There was no rendezvous. You accosted me. Furthermore, Mr. Hampton wasn’t my friend, and I can’t be held responsible for his actions—”
“If it weren’t for you, he wouldn’t have gone to the sheriff, which caused me a whole passel of trouble. See, you ain’t the first purty lady to arrive at Ma’s door. Guess the sheriff took exception to my courtin’. But I took care of the old man and escaped the sheriff, and then I high-tailed it after you for some payback.”
Emmalee stared at him, stricken. “What do you mean, you took care of the old man?”
“Shot him, of course.”
She gasped, horrified. Almost afraid to ask, she whispered her next question. “You killed that poor old man?”
“Winged him is all. For an old coot, he can still move right fast.” His eyes swept the area as he spoke, eventually landing on Clint’s horse. “Where’s that husband of yers?”
“He will be back any moment.”
He leered at her, his hand grabbing the crotch of his dungarees as he adjusted himself. A shudder of revulsion ran down her spine.
“Before I shoot him, I’ll have to thank him for leavin’ his purty little wife here for me, all ripe fer the pickin’.” He approached her, taking two steps forward. Instinctively, she scrambled back. This put her on the damp ground by water. He kept moving toward her, stalking her. As she retreated, her hand slipped in the wet grass and her fingertips grazed something hard—her gun.
“You are no match for my husband,” she warned frantically. “So, I suggest you hurry back where you came from. I told him what you did and he was very angry. He said he was going to throttle you with his bare hands and teach you some lessons. If you touch me, he’ll want to kill you.”
Her threats caused him unease, his eyes jerking toward the trail, scanning up and down. It gave Emmalee just enough time for her to grab her weapon. She aimed it at him with a trembling hand, shaking so hard the pistol sights wavered before her eyes. She was close enough, however, that if she had to fire, she’d surely hit something.
He looked back at her, his eyes zeroing in on the gun. Instead of getting angry or becoming cautious by her threat, he surprised her by laughing. It wasn’t just a chuckle, either, but a rip-roaring belly laugh. Emmalee frowned.
“What is funny about staring down the barrel of a gun? Are you insane?”
“I ain’t insane!” he roared at her. “Don’t say that again, you hear?”
Scared witless, she nodded, afraid to upset him further. Em was beginning to think that he wasn’t merely meaner than a snake, but that he was truly off in the head.
His maniacal laugh the next minute added evidence to her theory.
“Yer shakin’ so hard, you couldn’t hit the side of a barn at two paces. Put that gun down before ya put a hole in yer fool foot.” That seemed to tickle him more, and he laughed even harder.
When he didn’t show signs of stopping, she got angry. Angry enough to shoot him plain as day, so she pulled back the hammer on her six-shooter. She’d see how funny a cocked pistol was to him.
Thankfully, the ominous click penetrated his amusement. He surprised her again by taking a step toward her.
“I swear I’ll pull the trigger. Don’t come any closer.”
But he didn’t stop; in fact, he took another step closer, as if unafraid. She began to panic. He was leaving her no choice but to shoot him. Both angry and afraid, she yelled as loud as she could. “Stop! Another step and I’ll do it. I might not hit what I’m aiming for but I’ll put at least one of these six bullets in you somewhere.”
He snickered. “You don’t have it in ya, silly bitch.”
Another step and he was within touching distance. When his hands went to the buttons on his dungarees, she reflexively pulled the trigger. Ready for the recoil, she did everything she’d been taught, except the most important thing. She closed her eyes as she squeezed.
His yowl of pain rent the air. Her eyes flew open. She’d gone for the fleshy part of his leg, but when she opened her eyes she watched in horror as Homer Barton, howling and cussin’ up a storm, held his hand to his ear. Her errant bullet must have whizzed by his head, nicking it. The bloody proof of this deed was flowing freely down his hands and forearm.
“You fuckin’ shot me!” he screamed as he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket.
“I told you I would! Did you think I was joking?”
“Fuck yes! Yer a little slip of a city gal. What do you know about shooting?”
“Not enough evidently, or I would have hit something better than your ear, something lethal to be specific. Now go away before I use the remaining five bullets in the cylinder.”
Acting bold now that she’d proven she was capable of shooting him, she waved toward the trail behind him. “Head on back where you came from. I’ll not ask you again.”
Her boldness was mock bravado. Inside she was sick with horror that she had shot someone. An inch to the right and she would have hit him square in the head and killed him. Her gut clenched. Please go, she implored silently, praying he would leave before she retched and showed her true colors—scared out of her mind!
“I ain’t lettin’ no juniper bride scare me off,” he hissed with rage.
His mood had once again changed faster than lightning. He must be demented. He’d gone from rancor to hilarity to outrage and now, infuriated with wounded pride. Unfortunately, Em’s bravado had worsened the situation, and she feared her stall tactics wouldn’t hold him off much longer.
Where was Clint? He should have been here by now. Certainly, he’d heard the gun shot.
“I’m tired of all this messin’ around. I’m gonna have me some fun with you, shoot yer man, and then, while I’m watchin’ him die, I’m gonna like tellin’ him exactly how I took you and how much you enjoyed it like the fuckin’ whore that you are.”
He lunged and was upon her in an instant. She screamed, her voice echoing in her ears with the loud report of a gun. His heavy body fell full upon her. As she shoved at him with both hands, she mana
ged to get his head off her chest. Her screams became frantic when she saw he was covered with blood and it was spreading rapidly all over her, making her hands slick and saturating her clothes. She pushed with all her might and managed to turn him enough to scramble out from beneath him. When she was free, she ran to the stream, splashing along until she got to the point where the water hit her knees. She collapsed, rubbing at her red hands, ripping off her blood soaked blouse.
Hands gripped her shoulders from behind and she shrieked in terror. He was alive. He’d gotten up! Dear heavens, how was that possible?
“Emmalee! It’s me.”
Twisting around at the familiar voice, she sobbed with relief. “My God, Clint, I k-killed him. God forgive me but h-he p-planned to r-rape me. Then he f-fell upon me. I must have p-pulled the trigger.”
Suddenly, she was pulled out of the water and into his comforting arms. “No! You didn’t. I shot him, Em. I was waiting in the trees for my shot. When he attacked you, I got a clean shot off.”
Her eyes searched his. She’d heard his words, but they hadn’t penetrated in her shock. “I killed a man.”
“No, baby, he isn’t dead, just wounded.”
Her eyes shot to the bank. Homer lay on the ground, still as death.
“He’s not moving.”
“Yes, but he’s breathing. Trust me baby, it’s a flesh wound. He’s just fainted.”
Looking at him, desperate for reassurance and clarity, her hands clutched at his chest, twisting in his linen shirt until she noticed the blood streaks left by her soiled hands.
“I need to get clean. His blood is all over me.” She tried to pull out of his arms and go to her horse. “I need soap.”
“Baby, wait. I’ll get it and the towel.”
She nodded stripping off her ruined garments, uncaring that she was baring herself in the full light of day, in the middle of a stream where anyone might stop by. She didn’t care. All she could focus on was getting rid of the blood and getting clean.
