The Heart of Mary: A Thorn Novel

by Brandy Golden

  The Heart of Mary

  (A Thorn Case – Book Three)

  By

  Brandy Golden

  ©2016 by Blushing Books® and Brandy Golden

  All rights reserved.

  No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Blushing Books®,

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  Golden, Brandy

  The Heart of Mary

  (A Thorn Case – Book Three)

  Cover Design by ABCD Graphics

  EBook ISBN: 978-1-68259-895-5

  This book is intended for 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 Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

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  Table of Contents:

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  About the Author

  EBook Offer

  Blushing Books Newsletter

  Blushing Books

  Chapter One

  Year 1878

  Clary burst into the Chuparosa diner and sped towards the kitchen, her gaze raking through the brunch crowd as she sought her best friend and owner of the Chuparosa, Tilly Prentiss. "Tilly!" She gasped as she practically fell through the kitchen doorway when Elsa, Tilly's best waitress opened it with a platter of eggs and ham in her hands.

  "Oh," squeaked Elsa, juggling the heavy platter and trying to keep her balance.

  Clary grabbed the platter until Elsa caught herself and then let go, leaving the waitress shaking her head as Clary darted around her and grabbed Tilly's arm.

  "Clary, what's the big hurry?" Tilly asked, amused at the desperate look in her friend's eyes. Usually, only one thing put that look on Clary's pretty face, and that was Thorn. "What have you done now?" Thorn had been gone for the last week, working on a case in Tucson, and Tilly knew that Clary was expecting him back this evening.

  "He...he's here already," panted Clary, her chest heaving. "Billy just told me, he saw Thorn and Boxcar at the stables. Thorn gave him a penny to tell me that he was home and looking forward to that blackberry cobbler I promised to have ready!" She pushed her hands into a prayer like pose and begged, "Please, please tell me you have it ready, Tilly?"

  Tilly rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Why don't you just learn to bake, Clary? Then you won't be caught in this position, and you won't be lying to Thorn. You do know what's going to happen when he finds out, don't you?"

  Clary's face fell. "Does that mean you don't have it done yet?" She refused to become engaged in this conversation. One—she was in a hurry, and two—they had done this before, and Clary refused to budge.

  "Of course I have it done, I baked it this morning." Tilly laughed at the relieved expression that flooded Clary's expressive face.

  "Where is it? I have to get back to the shop and get it upstairs before he gets there. I have to hurry! Tilly, where is it?" she pleaded, looking around.

  Tilly waved her hand at the second stove, where a pan sat with a towel over it. "It's right there, but I still think you're playing with fire by pretending this is your work."

  Clary hugged her friend with exuberance. "Oh, thank you, Tilly, thank you, thank you! I'll settle up with you later, okay?" She didn't wait for Tilly to answer her as she grabbed the warm pan and ran out the back door and down the alley. Perhaps, one of these days, she would have Tilly teach her how to bake.

  Maybe.

  She sighed heavily; baking just wasn't her favorite thing to do! She had gotten herself into this deception when she discovered that Thorn had a penchant for Tilly's baked goods. She had been just a tad jealous—make that a lot jealous—and decided she should be the only one to put that look of ecstasy on her man's face. She enjoyed cooking, just not baking—and she kept putting off Tilly's offer of lessons.

  Too bad Thorn had such a sweet tooth! "It's all his fault I have to lie to him," she grumbled to herself.

  She was just putting it on the back of her stove in the upstairs flat above her dress and milliner shop when she heard the knock on the outside door. Quickly, she grabbed a dishrag and a few mixing bowls and spoons and set them on the towel near the sink, as if she had
just been washing up. Then she ran for the door.

  Her hand froze on the doorknob as she remembered the last time she had opened the door without asking who was there first. Unlucky for her, it had been Thorn, and a trip over his knee with her hairbrush liberally applied to her bare backside had left an indelible reminder. "Who...who is it?" she squeaked.

  "It's me, honey. You can open the door."

  Clary decided to be contrary. "Is that you, Thorn?" She grinned when she heard the growl on the other side.

  "I just told you it was me!"

  "I don't know anyone named me." She smirked as she pictured his handsome face. Thorn didn't have a lot of patience at the best of times.

  "Clary!" The warning in his tone was unmistakable.

  "Are you alone?" Clary was still feeling the sting of him calling her predictable during the Silver Springs ghost case. He'd tricked her! He knew full well that she would come to Silver Springs when he sent word that he'd actually seen the haunted stagecoach. And knowing this, he had arranged with Mike Cavanaugh to just happen to be in Potluck the morning he sent the telegram and to be ready to accompany her and her cohort in disobedience, Tilly, to Silver Springs. All the way over there, Mike had groused and complained about how upset Thorn and Boxcar were going to be when they saw the girls. Once she realized that Thorn had made the arrangements and was expecting her, he'd laughed at her and called her predictable. It still rankled.

  "Of course I'm alone," he gritted impatiently. "Quit being a brat and open this door if you don't want to eat your lunch standing up."

  She had to push it just a bit further. "Well, how do I know someone isn't holding a gun to your head just so they can get in here and ravish me in front of you?" When she heard the scrape of the key in the lock and the door suddenly swing open, she almost fell over herself, backing up and laughing at the same time.

  Whiskey colored eyes never left her face as he gently closed the door behind him and took off his duster. When he started rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt, Clary turned to run.

  Quick as a striking snake, he was on her and lifting her high in his arms as she squealed and gasped with laughter. "Now, Thorn, you know I'm supposed to ask who is there before I open the door—and it could happen that someone would have a gun on you!"

  "I think someone's been missing me," he growled, carrying her to the bedroom where he sat down on the bed and turned her over so she was face down over his long hard thighs.

  "I just wanted to surprise you; I know you don't like it when I'm so predictable!" She turned to stare over her shoulder, a mocking grin on her soft mouth. Excitement raced through her as he lifted her skirts and petticoats.

  "I never said I didn't like predictable," he argued amiably, his hand running over her smooth creamy buttocks. She could feel herself getting damp already. "You're the one who didn't like it—and you've yet to let me forget it!' His hand cracked down on her bare skin, lighting a double fire, one within and one without.

  "Oh! Thorn...stop," she pleaded quickly. "That hurts!" She was kicking and wriggling from side to side trying to avoid the flurry of hard spanks raining all over her soft nether cheeks.

  "You're being a brat, it's supposed to hurt," he said with a chuckle. Just the same, his hand began rubbing across her sensitized skin, soothing and kneading. He put his fingers and thumb between her thighs and pushed, indicating her thighs to open for him.

  Clary groaned and let her legs relax and fall apart, enjoying the feel of his hard hand roaming at will all across her backside. When his fingers investigated her womanly core, she gasped with delight, her heart racing and her body yearning for more. "Thorn!"

  "You like that, don't you, brat?"

  "Maybe," she gasped.

  "You're not sure?"

  "Keep working at it, I'll let you know soon."

  She could hear his chuckle behind her when his long finger slid slowly inside her making her groan with desire. Her legs were trembling, and her fingers scrabbled for something to cling too.

  "I think someone is lying," he murmured, rubbing over the little nub of pleasure. "Your body gives you away, brat. And you know what happens to little liars."

  Too late, the warning penetrated Clary's world of sensual pleasure. His hand came crashing down on the back of her thighs, blistering spanks that left her squealing and bucking over his hard thighs. "Yes...yes...I like it...I love it..." she screeched. "Please, Thorn...not there!"

  "Your thighs are the best learning spot, little liar," he drawled. "Are you sure now?" He landed another flurry of sharp spanks.

  Clary's legs kicked up, she couldn't help it. Her thighs were so sensitive, she hated being spanked there. "Yes, I'm positive!"

  "That's better," he purred like a satisfied cat. The dangerous kind!

  Clary shuddered as he soothed the burn on the back of her legs with his hand and then back up over the mounds of her heart shaped buttocks. Maybe she would take baking lessons. The thought of her hairbrush on the back of her thighs made her cringe. And she had no doubt that's where it would land if Thorn were to find out that Tilly was making the baked goods she was taking credit for baking!

  Of all the skills Clary had learned in her life, baking just wasn't one of them. Her mother never could figure out how she had let yeast fail. She was a crack shot, knew self-defensive moves taught to her by her father's ranch foremen and could sit a horse with the best of them, but the mysteries of baking eluded her. Her piecrust was inevitably hard as a rock, never light and flaky like her mother's and Tilly's. She could follow her mother's directions to the letter, copy her exactly as they both made the same piecrust and use the same exact ingredients, and hers would still fail! Frustrated, she had finally given up altogether and now avoided trying to bake like the very plague. She just didn't want to embarrass herself any more. After all, what self respecting woman couldn't make biscuit dough for heaven's sake? Hers? Hard as rocks every time!

  When she'd arrived in Potluck, Arizona, her first real home cooked meal had been at the Chuparosa diner with her childhood sweetheart, Thorn, and her brother, Boxcar. A stab of pure jealousy pierced her heart when Thorn had practically drooled over Tilly's homemade blackberry cobbler. It didn't help that Tilly had smooth pale skin, beautiful black hair and the most startling deep blue eyes, which had laughed knowingly into Thorn's eyes. And that delightful laugh had seemed to captivate both Thorn and her brother. She had been instantly envious of the time Thorn had spent with her before she arrived.

  When Tilly had set the dish in front of Thorn, Clary could have sworn saliva was going to appear any second and race down his chin to drip onto the steaming aromatic dish that had him sniffing with his eyes closed in adoration to the offering. It was good, no doubt about that, but was it that good? She had finally tasted it for herself and realized it really was that good! The little devil of jealousy had rammed his pitchfork to the hilt, straight into the depths of her heart, and she'd airily told Tilly that they had a lot in common in the baking department—and they would have to try her cobbler sometime.

  Boxcar's eyebrow had shot up so high it disappeared into his hairline, and he'd opened his mouth to refute that information when Clary had shot him a murderous warning look. Lucky for her, he'd just smiled and shrugged his shoulders. Easy going Thaddeus Paul Worthington, alias Boxcar, had let her jealous lie slide away unchallenged. That's what brothers were for, after all. They were supposed to have their sister's back.

  She'd admitted to Tilly later, after they became fast friends that she really couldn't bake. But she would pay Tilly, if she would bake for her! Lucky for her, Thorn and Boxcar were gone a lot on assignments for the territorial governor of Arizona so she usually managed to avoid any real commitment to have anything especially ready for him. And of course, while he was gone, she would get Tilly to load her up on baked goods so there would be something there for him when he came back.

  Last week, he had caught her in a weak moment, and she had promised him a blackberry cobbler with th
e blackberries they had picked near Ocher Hollow. They only came into season once a year, thank heavens! And she'd almost been caught when Thorn came back early. Mercifully, Tilly was an early riser and liked to do her baking in the mornings when it was cooler so the ovens didn't heat up the diner. The hot sun beating down would take care of that as the day wore on.

  Now that the charade had gone on for so long, it had become impossible to admit to Thorn what she'd done. And she had a very stubborn streak! She'd firmly avoided all offers from Tilly to take lessons. Those humiliating comments from her family and their furtive looks at each other when she'd put her offerings on the table back home had scarred her for life. Even the dog wouldn't eat her flour and water biscuits! When she'd found a couple of the young stable boys using one of her biscuits for a ball and batting it around with a stick, she'd adamantly refused to ever bake another biscuit! Or anything else for that matter.

  The sudden rapping on Clary's door startled them both. "You expecting anyone?" asked Thorn, pulling her up from his lap and standing up.

  "No," she gasped, her face flushed and her body still trembling from his roaming hands.

  "Miss Worthington, it's me," the young, excited voice said, from the other side of the door. "I have a message for Mr. Thorn!"

  Clary smoothed her skirts down and started towards the door. "Oh, it's Billy."

  Thorn held her back. "Who's the message from, Billy?" He walked cautiously to the door, always alert like a stalking cougar.

  "It's from Sheriff Holden, he needs to see you straight away!" Billy sounded excited, his voice high and squeaky. He always sounded that way because he ran everywhere to deliver messages and telegrams for people and was usually out of breath when he arrived. Clary always rewarded him with a piece of candy or a coin when he'd bring her a message from Thorn.

  "All right, son, tell him I'm on my way."