by Dinah McLeod
Her mother turned her sharp gaze toward her, causing her to clamp her lips shut and swallow hard. “Pray tell, what do you find so amusing, Libby?”
“Nothing.”
Her eyes, a frosty, cold blue, narrowed in suspicion. That gaze had seen straight through her daughter’s fibs more than once and Libby did her best to maintain an innocent expression now. Finally, her mother relaxed, ever so slightly. “Very well. Eat your peas, dear.”
* * *
That night, Libby had a hard time falling asleep. Perhaps it had a bit to do with the sniping she heard coming from her parents’ room, due mostly, of course, to her mother. Her twenty-three years had taught her a lot about her mother, and she knew nothing more clearly than the fact that the woman would nag, berate, and belittle until she had her way. It was a trait that she had passed down to her only child.
The thought made an image of Wesley spring to mind. Now, there was a man she’d never be able to browbeat. She knew that if she so much as tried, she’d find herself upended over his knee in an instant. She had an ever-present reminder in the form of her still-tender bottom.
He was different from any other man that she’d ever allowed to court her—not that there had been many. Frankly, she didn’t find the prospect of marriage all that relishing, given the example she had from her parents. But at her mother’s insistence, she had entertained the interest of many a well-to-do man from prosperous families. Once she had been formerly presented to society in Boston a few years ago, where her mother’s family lived, there had been no shortage of interest. And even though many only sent likenesses and short letters by post, there had been three who had actually made the journey to attempt to woo her in person. While the interest had been flattering, she’d found each of them more boring and insipid than the last.
Such things didn’t matter, Libby’s mother had tried to impress the point upon her, but it hadn’t taken root as she’d hoped. By the same reasoning, attractiveness didn’t matter, either, as each had either been balding, had wide gaps in his teeth or a lazy eye. Libby had been adamant that she would not consider pledging her troth to a man who she couldn’t abide looking at.
Now, Wesley was not bad-looking—in fact, the memory of those brown eyes, as well as the big, strong arms she couldn’t help but notice set her heart to pitter-pattering—and he certainly wasn’t someone she could call uninteresting. In fact, as she lay wide awake, she tried to recount the years in her mind to find hidden nuggets of information about him that she might have overlooked or forgotten. But she couldn’t come up with a single thing. Odd, that she should know so little about a man that she’d actually known for most of her life.
The more she thought on him and how little she knew, the more she found herself wondering. Was he always so stern and no-nonsense? What did he look like when he smiled—really smiled, with his whole face? She found herself wanting to know, and what was more, she wanted to be the one to cause it.
The force of the desire caught her by surprise. She couldn’t remember the last time she had thought of making someone else smile, much less a man. And the fact that that same man had been the one assaulting her poor buttocks mere hours ago made it more shocking still. Yet, she could not deny that the yearning was there.
Almost equally as strange was the pulsing Libby had felt in her lady parts for most of the day. As her bottom had cooled—though, as her fingers discovered earlier it was still warm to the touch—a fire had begun to rage in the special spot between her legs. It had been some time since her fingers had done exploring there, but now, with a different kind of heat blazing in two spots, her digits swiftly made their way to her tender nub.
She pressed her face into the pillow to muffle the moan that rose to her lips when she touched it. It was hot indeed, and with her finger only brushing against it she could already tell how very wet she was. How very strange. And yet…
Normally, when Libby pleasured herself it was a nameless, faceless man she held in her mind to help her reach her climax. This time, much to her startlement, Wesley’s face took his place, his features as clear as though he was standing in the room with her. The thought made her skin flush—what would he think if he could see her, could see what her naughty fingers were doing just then? He’d watch her, she thought, watch even as he tsked, even as he began to scold her for being a wanton minx.
Yet, the thought did nothing to tame the fire burning in her pussy. In fact, if anything the warmth seemed to radiate hotter. Her fingers moved faster and suddenly, the image in her mind shifted. In her mind’s eye, she could see herself over his knee, see his arm rising to deliver a resounding smack to the seat of her drawers. Her bottom tingled as though she’d indeed just received another spank. Except that this time, the thought of punishment only served to make her fingers work quicker. In and out they plunged, making plump, wet sounds that delighted her. She couldn’t remember ever being so turned on. Strange, wasn’t it, that it had been Wesley who had done it to her?
In and out they went, faster and faster as her need grew. When she finally came, it was with a low, guttural moan as she felt spasm after spasm of pleasure rocket through her being. When her juices finished spilling, she murmured his name, wondering what he would think if he could hear her just then. With a smile on her lips, she closed her eyes and finally felt herself begin to drift off to sleep.
* * *
“Could you send word for Wesley to come today?” Libby asked her father oh-so-casually after a breakfast of eggs and biscuits the next morning.
“I’m sure that could be arranged,” he answered. The question lay in his arched eyebrow, but he didn’t pose it aloud.
Her mother, however, had no such qualms. “What could you possibly want with the Swift boy?”
“I just want to talk to him, is all,” she replied as calmly as she could manage. Her heart was beating as hard as horse’s hooves, and for once, it had nothing to do with her mother’s imperious stare from across the table. Libby found that she could put even that out of her mind when looking forward to seeing Wesley.
She was probably getting too excited, she reasoned. When she’d thought of him last night… that had been a fantasy and chances were when she saw him, be it today or tomorrow, the reality would dispel the fantasy. Which was just as well, she supposed. If that were the case, she could easily give her mother what she wanted and dismiss his suggestion that they court. And that would be the end of it.
And yet, she found herself hoping, wishing for a reason she couldn’t quite name that it might instead be the beginning. Of what, she couldn’t say and did not know.
“I certainly hope it’s to tell him that his place isn’t with my daughter,” her mother remarked haughtily.
“Only time will tell.”
“Well, I never! Libby Park, if you think—”
“Peace, Carol,” her father growled. “You’ve said your piece on the matter, and now you’ll leave things to the young people to decide.”
Libby didn’t even look up from her plate to see what her mother would say. She kept eating her eggs, more content than she could remember in some time.
“Hmph!” her mother said at last, and then, the matter was dropped, at least for the time being.
* * *
He was simultaneously surprised and delighted when the invitation to visit the Park residence came. He still had horses to tend to and sheep to shear, but Trent had taken one look at his face and ordered him to go. He had hardly paused long enough to ask if his brother was sure before he’d headed to the house to clean up.
“What are you doing home so early?” Maggie asked from her place in the rocking chair when he entered. A quick glance showed that she and their mother were knitting.
“I have somewhere to be,” he replied shortly, eager to be on his way already.
“Oh? Where, pray tell?”
How was it that the woman, hardly two years his senior, felt she had a right to know all his business? “Leave it, Mags. I’m headin’
into town, that’s all you need to know.”
“But—”
“I said leave it,” he told her, more firmly. He saw his mother putting a hand on Maggie’s leg and talking quietly with her as he left the room.
He didn’t have time for questions from nosey sisters, even older ones. There was only one woman on his mind, at present. He couldn’t believe she wanted to see him. He’d never truly thought she would consider her father’s proposal, but she must have. Or she wouldn’t be asking him over for a visit, surely?
A quick look in the mirror revealed a heavy layer of dirt and grime from a long day’s work. He eyed it ruefully before washing it off. He even took a bar of soap to his nails. His mother, he thought as he looked at the brown sludge that now covered the soap, wouldn’t be well-pleased. He best bring home a woman, then, to sate her ire. The thought made him grin at his reflection in the small looking glass.
Wesley had walked out of the house—he saw Maggie arch her brows at his newly cleaned appearance, but she held her tongue, this time—and was intent on heading straight for the barn to saddle his horse when something caught his eye. A closer look revealed that his mother’s bluebells were in full bloom. Those flowers were her pride and joy. Wesley couldn’t count the number of hours he’d seen her spend fussing over them through the years. To his surprise, he’d never once heard his pa scold her over it. And, well, the shirts were always mended and supper on the table, so it was alright, wasn’t it? He’d never had cause to think on such things before, but now that he might be courting a woman that he might one day marry, it was a good time to start.
Eyeing the flowers, he chose the fullest bloom and, without a second thought, reached forward and plucked it by the stem. Yes, he better bring her home, or else his ma would have his hide. Pleased with himself, he hurried toward the barn, packed the flower carefully in the saddlebag and got his horse ready to ride more quickly than he ever had in his life.
* * *
She couldn’t believe that she was actually nervous. Although, truth be told, nervous wasn’t quite the right word. More like, she was as rattled as a china cup around a loose bull. She couldn’t stop wringing her hands no matter how many times she put them in her lap. She’d been tapping her toe to boot until her mother had snapped at her to quit it. Then she’d settled for glancing at the window and wondering what was keeping him.
Perhaps he hadn’t gotten the invitation. Maybe the rider hadn’t found him, after all? Or maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t meant what he’d said. Maybe now that he’d had time to think it over, he didn’t want to court her after all. Well, she wouldn’t let a thing like that bother her, even though it might sting her pride. She held her head high, forcing her chin not to quiver as they waited. She’d nearly given up altogether when she heard the chime of the front door.
She leapt to her feet, wringing her hands in an entirely different manner—still nervous, but eager, and intent on going for the door.
A sharp word from her mother stopped her in her tracks. “Really, Libby,” she scolded with a sniff. “You know better. Now sit down and for God’s sake, stop acting like such a nervous Nellie. Your father will see to the door.”
Her pa stood to do just that, and though Libby’s mother didn’t say another word, Libby could swear she could read her thoughts: All this fuss over a simple farmer! Really!
Libby did her level best to stare straight ahead and pretend that Wesley’s visit was of no concern to her. If only she had something to do with her darn hands! She heard him long before she saw him. She’d never noticed how even the sound of him walking as his boots thudded against the floor sounded so masculine and authoritative. Did every man walk that way? Somehow, she doubted it.
“Libby, someone is here to see you.”
She schooled her expression to show only mild interest as she looked up. Yet, the way her heart gave a little flutter made her wonder if she was fooling anyone. “Hello.”
“Howdy, Miss Libby. I… I brought this for you.”
Only then did she take her eyes off him—was it possible that he’d become more handsome than he’d been yesterday? He certainly seemed it. In this light, his skin looked more tan, making his brown eyes sparkle. And then there was the strong, alluring jaw not even marred by an inch of stubble. Had he gone to such lengths for her?
Her eyes flitted to what he was holding. A single, large Texas bluebell. Before she could think about what she should be feeling, or what her mother would say, a smile curved her lips as she reached out and took it. When their fingers brushed, the touch ever-so light, she felt her belly flip. “Thank you,” she said, looking him in the eye and meaning it.
“It’s my pleasure, ma’am.”
Libby heard her mother snort. But when she turned toward the woman, she was impervious as ever.
“Would you care for a cup of tea, Mr. Swift?”
“I’d be much obliged, thank you. That’s mighty kind of you, Mrs. Park.”
“Indeed,” she agreed as she filled a cup. She did not even pick it up and hand it to him, but instead pushed it in front of the empty spot on the couch.
Wesley took the hint and walked over to take a seat. “Thank you for inviting me,” he tried again.
“You’re most welcome,” Mr. Swift boomed while his wife sat in stony silence, her back straight as a board against her chair.
“This is a mighty fine tea service you’ve laid out.”
Libby looked down at the floor. She was sure it must look so to him. How could he know it was only the everyday tea set, that they normally offered cakes and white sugar to guests? For the first time in her life, she felt ashamed of having come from money, because she’d never truly understood how it could separate people. The way her mother was trying, right from the beginning, to separate him from her. To show her daughter that he wasn’t worth the fine china and expensive sugar. The part that truly shamed her was that, until mere hours ago before he’d spanked her in the store, she would have done the exact same thing.
“Wesley, would you care to go for a stroll?” Libby set down her teacup and turned to him, ignoring the frosty glare her mother aimed at her, even though she could very well feel it.
Wesley looked just as surprised. “Ah, well, I reckon if it’s alright with your parents…”
“Certainly. You two enjoy yourselves,” her pa spoke up.
She stood and waited for him to do the same. He quickly drained his cup and joined her, and the pair stopped only long enough for her to drape a shawl over her shoulders before they walked out the door.
“I… I was a bit surprised you asked me to come today,” Wesley admitted as soon as they’d gotten a good distance away from the house.
“Really? Why is that?” She was pretty sure she knew the answer, but she found that where Wesley was concerned, she was tired of assuming, and instead, eager to learn about the man from his own mouth.
“You didn’t exactly seem to cotton to the idea of me courtin’ you.”
“Well,” Libby allowed herself a smile, remembering, as she supposed he was too, her near-swooning. “Can you blame me? You had just…”
“Spanked you?” he supplied.
“How you do love reminding me.” As if she could ever forget!
“Well, that’s what spankins’ are for, Miss Libby. Reminders to be on your best behavior.” Though he smiled, she didn’t miss the warning glint in his eye.
She folded her arms across her chest with a “hmph!” and began to walk ahead. Without a word, Wesley lengthened his stride to match hers. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he was flirting with her.
By the time she’d reached the apple trees on their property, she was darn near out of breath from trying to outwalk him.
“Nice trees,” he commented, slowing down to look at them.
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and noted that he didn’t seem in the least bit tired. Must be all that farm work he did all day long, which, she couldn’t help but notice, had kept
his arms tanned and muscular. Her eyes traveled up to his big, broad shoulders then to his muscular chest. He was quite a rugged-looking fellow, and handsome at that. And no matter what her mother might have to say about his birth or lack of wealth, he looked better than any man she’d ever laid eyes on.
And, if she wasn’t mistaken, he’d only stopped to have a look at the trees to give her a graceful way to stop the race she’d begun. Which meant that he was kind and considerate as well. Dammit, she couldn’t help but be intrigued by him, even if she didn’t like it.
“My father had them planted,” she explained, anxious to have something to say and take her mind off her thoughts. “Before I was born, actually. When I was younger, we used to come and pick them and I’d sell them to the customers who came into the mercantile. He set up a little table and I sold them for whatever people were able to pay.”
“That was nice.”
“My pa is the nice one,” she admitted. “It was his rule, and I got to keep whatever money I made from it.”
“No wonder you’re so strong-minded,” he commented, a teasing note in his voice. “You learned to know your own mind from the time you could talk.”
“Yes, well.” She shrugged.
“Now, don’t misunderstand me, Miss Libby. I’m not sayin’ that there’s a thing wrong with that. In fact, I rather like a woman who knows what she wants.”
She turned to him, her face showing her surprise. “You do?”
“Sure do. I just believe there’s a time and place to hold your tongue—and that’s a rule I abide by myself.”
Libby couldn’t help but regard him with new eyes. Perhaps she’d judged him too quickly and much too harshly. Although after the spanking she’d received at his hands it was hard not to!
“My ma would say, ‘If you can’t say somethin’ nice, don’t say anything at all.’”
“Would you like to pick some for her? Your ma?” she asked, staring up at the bulging limbs.
