by Zoe Blake
If his behavior up to this point was a trial in patience, Emma shuddered to think what impatience looked like with this man.
“Will you let me up?”
“Do you promise to be a good girl and not try to kill me for a change?”
“Yes,” she grumbled.
Horn stood up. Emma rose up to her knees, gathering the quilt about her.
“Can I get dressed?”
“No.”
Despite his response, Horn crossed to his saddlebags and pulled out a soft wool shirt in a washed out blue. Shaking out the shirt as he strolled back to the bed, he said, “Arms up.”
“I have my own wardrobe,” she said petulantly
“It’s this or nothing.”
Emma raised her arms but not before she stuck her tongue out at him in a fit of pique.
“Careful. You’re still new to this game. You don’t know all the uses I have for that tongue,” he warned.
The shirt fell about her slim shoulders in voluminous folds. It had long sleeves and three wooden buttons near the collar. Horn lifted one of her arms and expertly rolled the cuffs till her small hand appeared. He repeated the gesture with the other arm. Emma hated to admit it but the shirt felt soft and warm. It smelled like tobacco and leather. It smelled like him.
Horn felt a possessive surge. He couldn’t explain it, and frankly didn’t care to, but in that moment, the idea of anything but something of his own covering her body was abhorrent to him. It was as if claiming her body was not enough. He suddenly felt this need to protect and shelter her.
Emma averted her eyes. She toyed with the rolled cuffs.
“Does it hurt when they hang you?” she asked softly.
“What the hell kind of question is that?” demanded Horn.
“A practical one.” Emma raised large, sage green eyes glistening with tears to meet his shuttered, angry glare.
Horn wiped away one falling tear from the crest of her cheek with the back of his knuckle.
“They’d have to get through me first.”
His jaw clenched. He’d kill anyone who tried to harm her. The idea should have alarmed him. It didn’t.
“You can’t protect me. You won’t have a choice. You probably took an oath or something.”
“An oath? What the hell are you talking about?” asked a confused Horn.
“I killed a man!” burst out Emma. Screwing her eyes shut as she held out both hands, bracing herself for when he slapped the iron manacles on.
For one, long, torturous moment there was silence.
Then.
A loud bark of laughter.
Emma peeked out of one eye. Horn was towering over her, hands on his hips. Laughing.
Needless to say, that was not the reaction she was expecting after confessing her deepest, darkest, secret sin!
“Did you not just hear what I said? I killed a man!”
“I heard you. Did he deserve killin?”
“I…well…I…isn’t that beside the point?” Emma was beyond exasperated. This was not going at all as she supposed.
“Not to my thinking.”
“But…but…you are the law!”
“The law? Now keep talking like that and this will no longer be funny.”
“You mean…you mean to tell me…you’re not the law?”
“Little one, I’m about as far away from the law as a body can get,” responded a bemused Horn.
“I don’t understand. Does this mean you aren’t chasing down the robbers of the Black Canyon stage?”
“Now I didn’t say that.”
Lord, her head hurt. She needed some of that coffee brew, which always seemed to help. How could she have gotten this so wrong? She had just assumed he had the power to arrest her. If he wasn’t the law, what did that make him?
Emma rose up on her knees. She had about enough of this.
Beating on his chest with her small fists, she raged, “Jackson Horn, you low down, dirty scoundrel, you tell me what’s going on this instant before I break my promise and shoot you where you stand!”
Damn, she was adorable when she was all fired up, thought Horn. He could feel his cock swell at the thought of turning all that anger into a different kind of passionate rage. Securing her wrists, he pulled her against his chest.
“Settle down,” he ordered gruffly.
Emma stilled. She could feel the thick weight of his shaft press along her belly.
Raising startled eyes to meet his amused grin.
“That’s right,” he confirmed. “So be a good girl and listen before I heat your bottom up with the spanking you richly deserve and then bury my cock in that sweet little cunny of yours.”
Emma pressed her lips tightly closed and lowered her eyes. The sensitive area between her legs was still sore from his earlier attentions.
Horn sat on the bed with his back propped against the wall. He pulled a reluctant Emma to sit on his lap, ignoring her mewing protest.
Brushing her wild hair out of her eyes and over her shoulder, he said in a soothing voice as if telling a bedtime story to a child, “Since you are new to the West, let me explain. I am not the law. I’m what they call a gunfighter. A hired gun.”
“But you bring in criminals from the wanted posters?”
“Yes. For gold. Not to keep law and order.”
“Oh,” said Emma as she nervously fussed with the hem of his shirt, keeping her head lowered.
Horn captured her chin between his fingers and turned her gaze to his. Her beautiful emerald eyes looked so scared and yet he saw a measure of hope. He ran one strong hand up her smooth thigh. Placing his warm fingers over her cunny, his voice was dark with emotion. “The moment I thrust inside, you became mine. Do you understand me? Mine. And no one. No one. Takes what’s mine.”
His eyes burned black in the dying light of the cabin. The shifting firelight casting his features into harsh angles and shadows. He looked like a fallen angel set on a path of vengeance.
Emma wet her lips, then whispered, “My name is Emma Fairfax.”
Horn felt a tightness in his chest unclench. He knew she would tell him eventually. He just didn’t know how much it would mean to him when she finally did trust him with her true name.
Once she told him her name, the whole sordid tale came pouring out.
Horn listened in silence till she was finished.
“Baby, you didn’t kill Clayton Hase.”
“What? I most certainly did! Horn you weren’t there! I tell you I shot the man in cold blood! I’m a…a…murderess!”
“You may have shot the son-of-a-bitch. I don’t doubt you probably put quite a hurt on the piece of crow bait but I can assure you. You didn’t kill him.”
“How can you be so certain?” asked an exasperated Emma.
“Because I did,” responded Horn flatly.
“I don’t understand?”
“I was hired to round up the crew robbing the Black Canyon stage line. Some came willingly. Some didn’t. Clayton didn’t.”
“I’m not a murderess?”
“Well, not yet anyway. You do seem bound and determined to put me six feet under,” responded Horn sardonically.
Emma ignored his sarcastic remark. She was too overjoyed. Throwing her arms about his neck, she hugged him tightly. Drawing back, she gave him a kiss on the cheek. The man who murdered her brother was dead and she wasn’t the one who killed him. Emma could not have hoped for a better outcome.
“Thank you! Thank you so much!”
“That’s not a proper kiss,” he said with a seductive grin.
Delving his fingers through her thick curls, Horn pulled her head down for a fierce, open mouthed kiss. By the time he released her, Emma’s lips were bruised and swollen.
Pulling back, Emma swirled her fingertips through the wisps of black hair which covered the center of his chest.
“Horn?” she asked nervously.
“Hmmm.” His only response. He was too busy running his hand along the soft skin exposed by the gapi
ng collar of his shirt which was much too large for her small frame. The unbuttoned flaps showed the hint of a curve from one luscious breast.
It was the very last thing Emma wanted to ask in the moment. “Are you going to turn me over to the law?”
“Why the hell would I do such a damn foolish thing like that?” responded Horn roughly.
“Well, I did after all shoot Clayton and the law frowns on that sort of thing,” offered Emma.
“Yeah, well, I don’t hear him complaining none.”
“Well…what about…what about the stage robberies?” continued Emma.
“What about them?”
Emma gripped his shoulders. “Horn. I’m guilty! I helped rob those stages!”
“Really? I don’t recall seeing a wanted poster for any Emma Fairfax.”
“You know I was dressed as a boy! Besides don’t you have some kind of a duty to bring me in or something?”
“How many times do I have to tell you, woman, I am not the law! I don’t give two hot damns that you robbed those stages.”
Emma crawled off his lap and sat back on her heels among the bed quilts. A petulant look on her face. All those months of fretting. Of looking over her shoulder. Of lying. Of thinking she was going to hell for her sins. It just didn’t feel right that she should just get away…with all of it!
Horn took one look at her sour puss face and knew exactly what she needed. Grasping her wrist, he pulled her face down over his lap.
“What are you doing?” Emma protested as her legs kicked out.
“Giving you the punishment you deserve for robbing those stages,” he playfully snarled as he raised the edge of his shirt to expose the rounded curve of her bottom.
For the rest of the afternoon, the cabin rang with the sounds of her pleas and cries as Horn punished her for being a very, naughty girl.
Emma Fairfax not a murderess!
Chapter 7
“This is delicious,” cooed Emma. She took another gooey bite of a fried apple smothered in honey.
“Why do you sound so surprised?” teased Horn.
“Because you’re a man. Men are not supposed to know how to cook.”
“No offense, darling, but you’re a woman. You are supposed to know how to cook and judging by the state of this cabin you clearly don’t.”
“That is a very fair point,” conceded Emma.
Emma was seated on a pillow before the fire. Her reddened bottom could not take the harsh wooden seat of the spindle chair after Horn’s spanking. It wasn’t the punishment which brought a blush to her cheek. It was what he did afterward. He took her like an animal. Literally! In the past, she has caught glimpses of animals in farmyards. The hedonistic way they mounted one another from behind. Never in all her imaginings did she think a man and woman could make love in such a way! Horn said he wanted to feel the heat from her punished skin against his own. Emma’s heart beat faster at the memory.
After, Horn dished them up heaping helpings of a savory pork and potato stew he had prepared while waiting for her to return from trying to shoot him. It all seemed so oddly domestic. Sitting before the fire with their bright blue-speckled, enameled tin bowls filled with stew. Casually chatting about how he preferred to roast the pork over the flame of the fire before adding it to the stew rather than boil it like most people while she explained why it had taken her so long to return from the canyon after trying to scare him away with gunfire.
Later, Horn told her about his friend Mason and his new wife, Annabelle.
“I think you will like her. I am fairly certain she has tried to kill Mason at least a few times by now so you two will have that in common,” taunted Horn.
“Maybe she can give me some pointers,” quipped Emma right back. Despite his teasing, Emma’s stomach gave a small flip to hear him talk about her meeting his dear friends.
Horn rolled his eyes. “That’s all I need.” He leaned over and dug a tarnished flask out of his saddlebag. Unscrewing the top, he took a large swig.
“What is that?”
“Applejack whiskey.”
“Can I try some?”
“No.”
“You are always saying no to me,” complained Emma
“Not always,” said Horn with a suggestive wink.
“Come on. Let me try.”
“It’s strong.”
“I can handle it,” boasted Emma.
Two sips of whiskey and fifteen minutes later…
Horn laid a sleeping Emma gently onto the bed. Picking up one silky curl, he slipped it through his fingertips. Her hair fascinated him. It was a beautiful shade of mahogany. Earlier by the firelight, it glowed a deep, dark, cherry red. So long and thick. He could easily wrap its strands around his fist several times. He was looking forward to the time he taught her how to swallow his cock. Just the thought of using his grip on her hair to guide her mouth onto this cock got him hard. She would have a hard time at first. Her full lips would be stretched wide around his girth. Her tiny throat would choke and gag as she would be forced to accommodate the slide of his shaft deeper and deeper. The look of his creamy white seed on her little pink tongue moments before he watched her swallow it.
His lengthened shaft pinched against his denims. The temptation was great but he needed to let her rest…for now. Pulling the quilt up over her shoulder, he tucked her in. Then got to work.
Emma woke to the scent of woodsmoke and rose water. Rising up on her elbows, she surveyed the small room. Horn had built up the fire from earlier. It crackled and popped giving off a cheery glow. Directly in front was a large, oblong, tin tub filled almost to the brim with hot, steaming water. The tub had been stored in a small lean-to shed next to the root cellar out back. Emma had stared at it longingly on more than one occasion over the last three months. Especially every time she was forced to take a lukewarm sponge bath out of a tin basin while standing on the rag rug in front of the fire. Dragging it out of the lean-to and filling it up on her own would have been an impossibility. By the time she hauled bucket after bucket from the well and heated them up one kettle at a time over the fire to pour it into the tub, the rest of the water would have gone cold. Her only luxury had been to at least rinse her hair and body in rose water and to use a fancy soap she had splurged on from Mr. Godsey’s store.
“I see sleeping beauty has awoken,” said Horn as he entered the room.
Emma turned at the sound of his voice. He wore a canvas duster with tufts of snow on the shoulders and cuffs. His black Stetson also had snow on the brim. She watched as he stomped out of his heavy, Calvary boots before heading to the fire to warm his hands.
“It’s really coming down out there,” Horn observed as he shrugged out of his coat and hat. The small spindle chair rocked on its back legs from the weight as he tossed both articles onto it before righting itself.
“How did you manage all this?” asked an impressed Emma, pointing to the bath.
“Do you like my surprise? I found the tub when I went looking for more firewood. Figured you’d probably appreciate a hot bath,” he murmured, nervously rubbing his neck as he turned away.
Emma covered her smile with her hand. Knowing such a rough, domineering gunfighter would not appreciate her finding him looking so shy and sweet over his kind gesture.
“Still. How ever did you manage to lug all those buckets of water from the well through all this snow?”
“If you are going to survive out here in the West, you are going to have to learn to be more resourceful,” he playfully admonished. “I didn’t use the well water. I used the snow!”
Emma laughed. “Why, that is genius!”
“Up out of that bed and into the tub before the water gets cold and all my hard work was for nothing.”
Squealing with delight, Emma raced over to the tub. She then stood there uncertain. Turning back to Horn, she asked shyly, “Where are you going to be while I’m in the tub?”
Horn walked up to her. Placing his hands on her hips, he slowly ran the
m down over her slim thighs, till he grasped the edge of his shirt. Without warning, he whipped it over her head. Emma screeched in surprise. Picking her up, Horn carried her flailing frame over to the tub and dropped her in like a bobbing apple.
Emma sunk below the water for a moment before she came sputtering back up. Brushing long, soggy strands of hair away from her face, she sputtered, “How dare you?”
Horn placed both hands on the edge of the tub and leaned down. “I think I’ve already proved I’ll dare a great deal where you’re concerned, Bunny.” Kissing her on the nose, he turned away.
With a stubborn humph, Emma started looking about for the soap.
“Looking for this?” asked Horn, holding up her fancy soap.
“Yes, please,” she said shyly, trying to hold a wet linen square over her bosom. It was silly really. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t already seen every last bit of her bits and pieces.
“Coming right up,” he said with a wink.
Emma watched as he unbuttoned the three small buttons at his collar and pulled the soft wool shirt over his head.
“Wait!”
Horn then unbuttoned his denims. Pulling them over his strong thighs to kick them off his heels and across the room.
“Wait!”
Padding barefoot over to the tub wearing only a grin, Horn said, “Move over, Bunny.”
“Wait!” cried out Emma as she drew her knees up protectively. “You cannot mean to join me in here!”
“That’s precisely what I mean,” said Horn as he stepped one foot into the tin tub.
“But…but…it’s too small!” Emma latched onto the only excuse she could think of in the moment. It was just too much. Bathing with a man!
He drew his other leg over the high edge of the tub. Standing there with the water lapping at his knees, he surveyed the tub. “You know. You just might be right.”
Emma closed her eyes with a sigh of relief. Only to open them wide as she felt his hands under her arms. Lifting her clear out of the water, Horn sat in the hot water and lowered Emma back down to straddle his hips.
“Horn, really! This isn’t decent,” she protested.
“Darling, you will find this is probably the most decent thing I plan to do to you all night. Besides, think of the sacrifice I’m making. I’m the one who’s going to be smelling like a damn flower when we’re done!”
