The Heart of Mary: A Thorn Novel

by Brandy Golden

  "Is it safe?" she gasped as he made short work of her split riding skirt.

  "Perfectly safe," he assured her, his voice thick with passion. Her one-piece chemise and pantaloons set joined her other clothes on the floor, along with her socks and boots. Then she was suddenly naked in his arms.

  "You feel so good," he groaned, running his hands up and down the smooth skin of her back and then releasing the pins in hair.

  "I'm so dusty and dirty," she teased, wiping some dust off her neck and onto the side of his face. See?"

  He spun her around, his arm drawn back to land a playful slap on her luscious bottom when he saw the bruises. His face went dark. "Did he hurt you?" he growled, spinning her back to look at him and pulling her protectively into his arms.

  Clary looked up at him, her heart in her eyes. "The first time we stopped, I tried to get away by jumping onto his horse. I pulled hard on the reins and kicked the horse hard to make him run, but he wouldn't move. He grabbed me off the horse and...he spanked me…over my clothes," she finished. "He said it was for mistreating his horse, and he was right. I did mistreat the horse."

  Thorn glowered at her. "All's fair when you're fighting for your life," he rasped. "I want that man, Clary. Now is not the right time, but sometime, I'm going to hunt him down and make him pay for what he put you through. No man lays a hand on my woman and gets away with it."

  Clary reached up and stroked the side of his face. "Just remember, my love, he let me go in the end. I can forgive him."

  "Well, I can't—not yet—probably never." Thorn quickly divested himself of his clothes, picked her up in his arms, and stepped down the natural rock formations and into the pool. Then he gently set her down, allowing the hot water to creep slowly up her legs until it reached her breasts and left them floating free."Waist high, huh?" she said softly as she closed her eyes and groaned in delight. The heat felt so good against her sore backside and all her other muscles.

  Thorn grinned down at her. "My waist." Then he turned her around and began to knead the muscles in her soft shoulders and back, working his way down to cup her buttocks. He avoided the bruises as best he could, slid his hands back up along the wet slick length of her, and then pulled her back against him to cup her floating breasts in his big hands. His thumb and forefinger plucked at the puckering buds, making them hard. "I love your nipples," he whispered against the delicate shell of her ear. There wasn't an inch of her that he didn't explore. He took his time, while they both enjoyed the soothing warmth of the mineral pool. He washed her face, her hair and every part of her while kissing her slowly and deeply, savoring the taste of her mouth. When she was whimpering with need, he carefully lifted her and brought her down on his rock hard shaft, slowly letting her slide down until she had all of him inside her. Then he grasped her hips and began to move her up and down his long length in even, slow strokes, which were making her moans keen higher and higher with each stroke. "I love you, Clary," he whispered ardently into her ear as she came. He stood still, letting her buck and ride him out to the end of her shuddering climax and then he took his own pleasure before collapsing onto a rocky seat with her still impaled.

  Clary cried with the pleasure of his possession and the recent pain of their separation, sobbing into his broad shoulder. "Oh Thorn, I thought I would never see you again. I thought I was going to die." She shuddered and clung to him, and he held her close, his thoughts echoing her words more than she knew.

  The next day, they came into Potluck about noon, with a cheering crowd to meet them. Thorn was surprised, but it seemed everyone loved Clary. Small wonder, what's not to love? he thought. He just hadn't realized how deeply she appeared to have affected the residents of Potluck. He decided he was proud of her.

  Tilly flew out of the diner, grabbing Clary in a big hug as soon as she was off her horse. "Clary, I'm so happy to see you," she exclaimed, hugging her best friend over and over again. Then she turned to Boxcar, threw her arms enthusiastically around him, and placed a fat kiss on his lips. She even hugged Thorn and Nelson, ignoring Boxcar's arched eyebrow when she embraced Nelson.

  She grabbed Clary's hands, her eyes shining. "We're having a party at the Chuparosa tonight, and everyone is invited to celebrate your safe return," she said excitedly. Then she hugged her friend again, both girls laughing and crying until Thorn finally disengaged them.

  Little Billy came running up to Thorn, a telegram clutched in his fist. "Mr. Thorn, Mr. Thorn, this came for you, yesterday!" He danced from one foot to the other while he waited for Thorn to give him a penny.

  Finally, Thorn was able to open the telegram. The crowd around him seemed to be holding their breath, and he wondered if Melton might have spread around whatever was in the missive. Rolling his eyes, he read it.

  Paddington Jersey Thorn...stop...you have exactly twenty-four hours...stop... to reply this telegram...stop... or I'm purchasing passage on the Butterfield Stage to Potluck...stop...there will be a wedding...stop...if my instincts are correct...twenty-four hours....C.R.Worthington

  Thorn scrabbled for his pocket watch and stared at the time. He had exactly fifteen minutes to reply, according to the time on the telegram. "Damn," he sputtered, in spite of the ladies present. He handed the telegram to Clary and set off at a dead run to the telegraph office, where he disappeared inside. He immediately stuck his head back out the door. "Melton!" he bellowed. "Get in here!"

  Clary looked at the note and burst out laughing. Boxcar snaffled it out of her fingers and started laughing, too. One by one, they passed the note around, until Sheriff Holden got it. Then he grinned broadly. Looked like that come to Jesus meeting might be happening anytime, he thought with an uncharacteristic chuckle. Potluck could do with a nice wedding.

  Now that the initial excitement was all over and Clary was safe, Boxcar decided it was time for a talk with Tilly. Making his way through the kitchen door of the Chuparosa, he spied his ladylove stirring a big kettle of something that smelled heavenly. Again—food could wait—this was important. Coming up behind her, he took the wooden spoon out of her hand and spun her around, making her gasp in surprise when he handed the spoon off to Elsa and picked up a larger, cleaner one. "We'll be upstairs for awhile, Elsa," he said firmly as he steered Tilly towards the stairway. "No interruptions, please."

  Elsa just smiled. "Yes, sir, Mr. Boxcar."

  "Boxcar, I can't leave right now," sputtered Tilly, trying to resist.

  He could see her eying the spoon, and her chin shot up in sudden defiance. So, his little kitten had claws, after all. "Yes you can, I insist," he replied smoothly. "And since you don't seem to agree at this point, I'll offer you a ride." He bent and picked her up over his shoulder, her arms flailing uselessly against his broad back.

  She held on for dear life then, apparently afraid he might drop her on the staircase, but he had no intention of doing that. Once he was at the top, he set her on her feet and closed and locked the door. Pink in the face, she instinctively backed up, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face. "What's gotten into you, Thaddeus Paul Worthington?" she asked angrily. "I'm busy, making a special dinner for Clary's homecoming; I don't have time to play."

  He took a menacing step towards her while patting the oversized wooden spoon gently on the palm of one hand. He was amused to see her retreat a step automatically and her hands fly to cover her backside. So, the spanker's dance wasn't new to her—interesting! As if aware she had given something away, she immediately assumed a defensive stance while folding her arms across her bosom and trying to stare him down. Now this attitude was something he could read very well—and it spelled brat! "I have reason to believe you've been flirting with other men to make me jealous," he accused silkily. "Is there any truth to that?"

  "Why would I do that?" she huffed indignantly, but Boxcar saw the guilty flush fill her cheeks.

  "I don't know—why don't you tell me?" He took another step forward, and she refused to budge this time. "But then, you don't tell me much of anything a
bout your deeper feelings, do you, Tilly?" he asked softly, taking another step. This time, she stepped back and eyed him warily.

  "I think we know each other pretty well," she stated baldly, but there was a ring of falseness to her words. He could tell she was definitely hiding something.

  "So well, that another man had to ask me if there was anything serious between us. So well, that you stand in the alley, chatting with this man, all the time knowing I'm there? So well, that you hug another man with more zeal than you do with me?" His words were softly biting, gently accusing, and painfully snapped at her like bullets as he proceeded, one step at a time.

  Tilly gasped when she finally ran out of floor space and the back of her legs were pressed tightly against the side of the bed.

  "I-I don't know what you mean, Boxcar, what are you talking about?"

  Her face was getting redder as she protested her innocence, and Boxcar knew she was outright fibbing. Her eyes fell, as if she couldn't face him, and she turned and dropped to her hands and knees on the bed in an attempt to crawl away from him. But he wasn't going to allow her to run. In one quick scoop of his long arms, he picked her up bodily and turned to sit on the bed. Then he dropped her feet to the floor just long enough to pull her face down across his hard thighs. All with the wooden spoon clenched in his teeth like a rose from a wild tango dance. And yes, he was going to make her dance, all right, only it wouldn't be the tango.

  Tilly's shriek of protest went unheeded, and he quickly lifted her skirts over her back and ripped down the pantaloons to expose a pair of luscious wiggling butt cheeks, just quivering for attention. He had just the thing.

  "Don't you touch me with that thing, don't you dare, Boxcar..." Her words ended on another high-pitched shriek as the wooden spoon made contact with white flesh, instantly creating a red imprint of its rounded shape. He gave her a matching one on the other cheek.

  "I don't like being lied to, Tilly," he told her sharply, landing a few more harsh splats. Her response was heartening when she arched her back and shrieked, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

  "So you admit to lying?" When she didn't answer, he laid the spoon down and started spanking her hard and fast, his broad palm covering her entire backside in short order.

  "Stop! Yes, I admit it, I tried to make you jealous," she finally shrieked.

  "Ah, I knew it." His voice practically purred with satisfaction as he picked up the wooden spoon again. "This is for lying to me, Tilly Rose Prentiss! I hate being lied to!" The spoon was hard and punishing as he slapped her behind and the backs of her thighs in a slow steady rhythm until she finally broke into heart-wrenching sobs.

  "I'm s-so...s-sorry," she cried miserably, clutching the bed cover in her fists, her body writhing from side to side.

  He paused then, letting the spoon rest in warning across her burning nates. He would tolerate nothing but the truth. "Why were you trying to make me jealous? Do you feel like you don't get enough attention? Does the fact I'm gone so much make you doubt my feelings? Talk to me, kitten," he urged, trying to understand.

  When she didn't speak, he picked up the spoon again and landed a flurry of sharp spanks to her already red-hot bottom. She screeched, "No—wait—I'll talk!" Then her words rushed out like a dam breaking in a torrential tidal wave. "I did it because I wanted you to spank me, because I need spanking all the time, but I don't think I need it, but you're supposed to know I need it, even when I don't think I need it and..."

  Boxcar pulled her shaking body up and placed her on his lap, his face incredulous. "What in the world are you talking about, Tilly?"

  She put her face in her hands and sobbed uncontrollably. "I'm so confused, Boxcar, I don't know what I want. I don't know what I'm supposed to want or need." She looked up at him, her face wet, her eyes red from crying. "Aren't you supposed to know what I need without me telling you?"

  Boxcar went on instinct. "I know one thing. You keep all your deep feelings inside and go on about your business, as if you don't have a care in the world. You make everyone around you happy, you're the perfect lady, never a brat, the ultimate cook, and you listen to everyone else's problems but share nothing. No woman is that saintly unless they're a nun, and I don't know too many nuns that saintly!"

  His declaration brought a small smile to her lips, and she sighed heavily. "I don't want to bother you with my trivial stuff when you are here, Boxcar, I just want to savor the moment, be happy for the time we have together."

  "And yet you wake up in my arms with your dead husband's name on your lips," he replied dryly. "Tilly, you never talk about him unless it's in a moment of extreme stress, and then you still brush it all off as if it didn't matter. All that emotion has to be festering under there somewhere." He laid his palm across her breast where her heart would be. "It might help if you talk about it, you know," he insisted. "Or am I going to have to start spanking it out of you? Because I will, if I have too." His face was earnest as he stared down at her. "I love you, Tilly Rose. I know we both said we could see other people, but the fact is, I haven't seen anyone else. I haven't been with anyone else since I met you. I only want you, and I don't want this damned uncommitted relationship anymore!"

  Chapter Eighteen

  "Oh, Boxcar!" Tilly threw her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely. "I love you, too. I love you so much!"

  "Then I want you to tell me your innermost secrets. And whatever gave you the idea that I'm a mind reader? Especially the mind of a woman?" His face softened as he gathered her close. "I may have instincts that tell me when something isn't right, or that something is bothering you, but I can't figure out what you need, if you don't give me some clues." He brushed the tears from her cheeks with his thumb and kissed her gently on the lips. "And as for spanking, I don't know what has you so confused. Just be yourself, even if your inner self is a brat. I'll deal with the aftermath." He grinned down at her, his eyebrow arched. "Are you a brat? Because I could swear I've seen a brat trying to escape every now and then, but a prim lady comes along and flattens her to the ground, every time."

  She laughed then, a rich musical laugh that Boxcar hadn't heard before. She'd always had a lovely voice, a rich timbre, like thick honey melting your insides. But this was the first time he'd heard her laugh like this, and he didn't want it to be the last. She sounded gay and carefree—he liked that.

  "And what if I'm one of those women who like it rough, who want belts and paddles and bruises." Her eyebrow shot up this time, mocking him.

  "Then I'd say I need to hire a carpenter to make me a boat load of paddles and buy a few razor straps, because I can't let my woman be unhappy," he replied, waggling his eyebrows.

  "Oh, Boxcar," she groaned, trying not to laugh. "You say that, but what if you ended up hating me, because of my needs?"

  He lifted her chin up so he could look her right in the eyes. "Tilly Rose Prentiss, whatever you need, I will provide for you. I'll protect and take care of you, always. Are you telling me this is what you need?" He waited expectantly for her answer, his face giving nothing away.

  Tilly searched his handsome face, the fine patrician nose and the laughing brown eyes that weren't laughing right now. They were deadly serious. If they were going to be committed, she owed it to him to sort herself out and be honest with him. Lay it all out on the line and trust him fully. She had been holding back for too long. "The truth is, Boxcar, I don't know what I need," she confessed. "And it's all wrapped up in Stephen. My feelings are so confused; I can't seem to make heads or tails of it. I know what he told me, and I know how I felt at the time, but I think what I felt was because I wanted to please him and not because it was what I really felt. Does that make sense?"

  "Actually, it does make sense," he agreed. No wonder he had trouble reading her, she didn't even know herself. "Tell me about Stephen," he encouraged softly.

  She hesitated for a moment to search his face. "Most men don't like hearing about other men."

  "That is true to a point, kitten, but I want to u
nderstand you, and if that means knowing Stephen, too, then I want you to tell me. I know you loved him, but I'm the one in your bed now and in your life. I don't want him always a ghost looking in."

  After searching his eyes and running her palm down the side of his face, she stood up and rearranged her clothing. She went to the window and looked out over the street, a small smile playing about her lips.

  "Stephen Prentiss was larger than life, a big blond giant of a man, with laughter like sunshine, and I fell in love with him at first sight. He was so different from anyone I had ever known before. He was strong as an ox, had little heed for decorum and was headed west to pursue his dreams. He asked me to marry him, and I agreed with enthusiasm, totally against the wishes of my father." She looked at Boxcar then with a sad smile. "My father hated him. He warned me that if I left with this man, I was not to come running back when he dumped me somewhere in those God-forsaken lands out west. So when Stephen died, I never went back." Her fingers gripped the edge of the curtain, and Boxcar wanted to go to her, but he sensed she needed the space to get her thoughts into the open.

  "Stephen used to spank me all the time, it didn't matter what the reason. If there wasn't an obvious reason, he'd manufacture one, saying I needed spanking. He said I was a brat inside and I did little things, like leaving the milk out just to make him spank me because I had that need. I didn't leave the milk out on purpose, or forget to feed the chickens, or burn the biscuits on purpose," she said softly. "I didn't do any of those things with the thought in mind that I couldn't wait for Stephen to spank me for it, but I thought he must know me better than I know myself. At least, he swore he did, and I believed him." Her fingers played with the edge of the curtain as she stared out the window, and Boxcar knew she wasn't seeing anything on the street. She was seeing Stephen. He waited quietly and listened intently.

  "I accepted what he said, but I had grown to resent getting spanked all the time for nothing. I-I tried to talk to him about it, but he just laughed and brushed my protests aside and then spanked me for protesting."