by Reece Butler
“Three stud bulls aren’t enough?” asked Marshall. He laughed. “No, Casey wants four. I like a woman who knows what she wants.”
He pulled her down for a kiss. She squawked but her lips were open and welcoming when they met. This time their kiss was soft. Her eyes laughed when his cock nudged her from inside.
“I’ll tell Ranger to bring it over after the men get back from Virginia City,” said Byron. He lightly spanked Casey on the ass that reared up by his face. She jerked back from their kiss.
“After that, I want my supper brought to me in bed,” she said, huffing as if upset.
“First one to feed you can give you dessert,” said Byron. He and Cole rolled off the bed, elbowing each other in their rush to get to the kitchen.
Marshall wet his finger and ran it over her nipple. “Now, where were we?” Casey’s warm breasts landed on his chest just before her lips devoured his.
Chapter 22
The man also known as Mr. Isaac sat in a Bannack City hotel room polishing his leather masks. He couldn’t get the bloodstains out of his favorite but perhaps that was just as well. It would add an extra jolt to those few who saw it. Not that they’d live long after. He touched each dark mark with his finger, counting them. The fool had struggled when he laid his knife against her breast beside his face. She’d screamed the loudest when he applied his brand on her second hip. Unfortunately the fools had let her wounds fester. She’d not struggle again.
His fingers made slow circles over the supple leather. Polishing was one of the steps he always did before working. He’d planned to be in Virginia City by now but things had changed. Just as well, as tonight would be both profitable and enjoyable. It had been too long since he’d indulged himself, thanks to Rivers getting himself caught days before they could put their plans into action. He’d thought the mayor more intelligent, but he’d allowed a whore to distract him, thereby allowing a posse to approach and apprehend him.
And now the new mayor of Tanner’s Ford, Trace Elliott, had ordered the ranch be taken over by the town, to be sold to the highest bidder! He could no longer enjoy the one place he could fully relax. No more sitting under the stars on a warm night, drink in one hand and cigar in the other while he remembered the good times when Mother was alive, and what had been stolen from him.
On a really good night, Rivers would have finished with one of his sweet young things. The man enjoyed seducing and arousing innocents. Once he took his pleasure, he sold them. But Mr. Isaac knew all women were whores needing punishment. The sound of their screams was like music to his ears. Both arousing and comforting, it reminded him of home. Though he’d searched for years since Mother’s death, he’d yet to find the perfect sacrifice to prove his devotion to her. But he would not fail on his quest.
His work for the whoremasters allowed him to search for the right female. Even better, they paid him well to discipline whores for his own pleasure. All too rarely a whore’s death was ordered as an example to others. Then he could work without a mask, seeing every trace of fear on her face. He took the most time, and pleasure, with those who recognized his other self and had ridiculed him when he walked in. Their laughs and insults turned to screams when they realized he was also Mr. Isaac.
His cock thickened as he remembered the ecstasy of squeezing his hands around their throats, his thumbs pressing as they struggled. Sometimes that exquisite look in their terrified eyes as they widened in horror allowed him to release his seed with their last breath.
Oh, yes, that was the very best.
He took a moment to calm himself again. He mustn’t interrupt his routine. He had three more masks to oil.
His fame now worked against him. The mere mention of his name kept most whores in line. That meant when the need was on him he had to find his own. He bought them cheap from his clients when they were finished. They were often mutilated but that didn’t matter for his purposes. What were a few more marks when no one would ever see them after a day or so?
It was easy to convince them he was helping them escape. He took them to Rivers’ ranch to hide out for a night so that their master couldn’t find them. By the time they realized he led them into a locked room, it was too late. He didn’t have to restrain them. Rivers had built the rooms with thick squared timbers and only one small window, high up.
The whore’s screams would drift on the night air for hours, drawing in the two-legged scavengers who worked for Rivers. They’d eagerly wait, knowing he’d throw her to them once he was finished. They’d fall on her like that bunch of ravens when Ross MacDougal rolled Rivers’ head down the street.
No! He was not going to think of that.
Divine intervention had changed his plans, and he must adjust. His closed his eyes and calmed himself with pleasant memories.
Sweet Molly Sinclair was one. She had a lush body for a whore so young. Her long blonde hair was perfect to wrap his fist around. He’d not branded her, thinking he’d have a few nights to enjoy her first. But it was not to be. He’d needed gold, fast, and she provided ready coin.
He got even more gold when the whoremaster hired him to discipline Sarah. She was unused to beatings so he’d barely needed to touch her. She was pretty enough to be worth branding. He’d not known her name, nor cared, until she’d escaped with Molly thanks to those fools from Tanner’s Ford. Even if they sold Rivers’ ranch, he had the pleasure of knowing Sarah was branded as his property, just like their cattle.
He’d soon get his revenge on the whole town, but he’d need to hire help to do so. Tonight’s work should bring in enough gold to pay for a few. Sheldrake was eager to bring his own vengeance. Kate McInnes wasn’t worth much on the market, but she could be part of the prize for Sheldrake and his men. The whore had lured Rivers with her near-naked body. The footsore men who’d stumbled into Bannack City said she was a looker under that thin nightgown. They were eager have a taste of her as part of the deal.
A few men had already begun a bidding war for Trace Elliott’s adopted daughter Bridie. Not yet sixteen, she had golden red hair, green eyes, and an innocence that made her highly desirable. They also had a fair bit of interest in the children Florence Elliott rescued. Emma had the same color hair as Bridie, but her eyes were violet. Unusual, and therefore extremely profitable. Being a child, she would fetch a good price.
Her brother was perfect for a certain gentleman who liked to personally train his houseboys in their duties. The client he’d had in mind for Casey Wright preferred boys just before they began to sprout a beard. Since she was discovered to be a woman, he had the usual options for her. Lumley was at his post that night and heard her cries. That meant her virginity was gone, but she’d only been touched by the three men.
That would change. He would be the next to take her. Those Sweetwater men owed him. Always looking down their nose at him, as if he was no gentleman. Well, she’d soon be used and then branded with his mark. A fresh brand would make a certain whoremaster very happy. She would be kept for clients who liked to use their own knives. Not to stab, but to create patterns when they added ink to the razor-thin lines. Her back could become a work of art. And when her skin was complete, it would be stripped from her bones and tanned. There was an excellent market for lamp shades made from such flesh.
He would never touch the MacDougals, especially after what Ross did to Rivers’s head. He couldn’t allow that to happen to him. If you weren’t whole when you were buried, you couldn’t get into Heaven. He would get to Heaven. Mother said so. God had put him on this earth to punish whores for their sins. One day he would become an angel. Every whore he’d branded would be there, waiting for him on their knees. Then he would receive the veneration he deserved.
But tonight he had a job at the Nugget Saloon. The owner had received a new selection of young women from orphanages back East. They arrived in the company of a matron whose white hair and sweet manner covered an avaricious heart. The orphans thought they would find husbands and a home of their own. They would l
earn otherwise.
He reached for the mask spattered with dark spots. It was smooth, like the skin of a whore’s hip before his brand marked her as his property forever.
His cock swelled in anticipation of an evening’s hard work.
Chapter 23
Casey stuck her tongue between her teeth as she carefully pried open the top of the wooden crate. Cole held Zeus so he wouldn’t get in the way. The screech of the nail pulling out made Marshall groan and cover his ears. She stuck her tongue out at him and lifted the lid. A crisp envelope lay on top. She lifted it up. Miss Cassandra Fenton Barkley Wright was written in flowing letters. There was a lump inside it.
“Take as long as you like, Casey,” said Cole.
Cole had brought her carefully wrapped dress and the wooden case back with him when he went to town for food. Feeding forty ranchers and wives had depleted their stores. The Tanners knew what happened each time the cattle were rounded up and had brought in plenty of food to restock. There was also a need to prepare for the winter when the passes would close and nothing could get through.
They’d worked hard all day to get things back in order. A week away from the ranch, returning only for the most basic chores, left a pile of work to be done. There were only so many good days before the first winter storm arrived. When Cole and Byron set the crate in the middle of the floor, it had taken all her self-control not to touch it. But now that the lid was open, she hesitated.
“This is like twenty-one years of Christmas and birthdays and everything else, all rolled into one,” said Byron. “You can take all winter to unpack if you want.”
“Oh, hell, no,” said Marshall, groaning. The other two men warned him off with glares. He grimaced and gave a theatrical sigh. “I might as well get the evening chores done,” he said.
Casey used her knife to slit one end of the envelope. She tilted it. A silver chain and oval locket slid out. “It’s a necklace.”
“Open it,” said Cole. “There might be something inside.”
She used her thumbnail to pry it open. Inside was a small photograph of a young woman’s face.
“Mama,” she breathed.
Casey wrapped her lips over her teeth, pressing them together as tightly as she did her eyes. But the tears still came, spilling over her cheeks.
“Aw, sweetheart.”
She was enveloped in a hug. She rested her face on Cole’s chest. His heart thumped through his shirt. A moment later her back warmed as Byron joined them. She sniffed and cleared her throat. She straightened up and they moved away, but not far. She wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands.
“May I see?” She held out the locket to Cole. He looked down, then at her. “You look a lot like your mama.”
Byron jostled Cole to look over his shoulder. He nodded in agreement.
“You want to put that on?”
She thought about it, then shook her head. “If I wear it out hunting it might break and fall off.” She couldn’t risk losing her only link with her mother.
“I’ll make you a special box to keep it in,” said Byron. “I’ll line it with some of that blue velvet from the mercantile.”
Cole helped her read the note out loud. It didn’t say much, just that her grandmother was pleased to learn she had two more grandchildren and expected to receive a letter in return. Though Casey wanted to empty the whole box all at once she only lifted out the top layer. She peeled back crackling paper to reveal a crocheted tablecloth. She had nowhere to use it, but that didn’t matter. She could take it out and look at it.
That night they only cuddled and kissed. They were up before dawn to do chores, returning at first light for breakfast before heading off once more. Casey cleaned up and, having spent the previous week in skirts, cooking and cleaning, she decided to hunt. When she went out she found one of the men had tied the gentlest horse, already saddled, to the hitching post.
“Would you look at that,” she said. “They knew I’d want to ride.” The horse whinnied as if saying it was about time she came out.
“No, you stay behind,” she said to Zeus as he padded after her. “You’ll have to grow a lot bigger to keep up to me.” She carried him back to the cabin and set him on the front porch. She pushed his bottom down. “Guard,” she ordered. He tilted his head, wagged his tail, and jumped up.
Casey finally left him in the cabin. His mournful barks followed her up the hill. It was a gorgeous day if you didn’t mind the cold. Golden aspens and dark green pines lined the mountains. The sun was warm where it touched her skin, which was only her face and hands. The rest of her was covered thanks to her new coat and boots. She also brought her rifle, snare, and slingshot.
Remembering what she’d heard the men say about trouble coming down the Bannack City road, she set her horse southeast to take a look. She rode silently except for the creak of the leather saddle and clop of her horse’s hooves. A sense of peace enveloped her. She inhaled the cold, crisp air, letting it out in a stream of white.
This is what she wanted. The comfort of a home and family, being needed and appreciated. Without her, one of the men would have had to come home early to cook, or they’d all eat late. More likely, if they were too tired to cook they’d go without. Instead, they’d come home to a warm stove and hot food. Maybe tonight they’d spend a bit of time in bed before sleeping. Her pussy thrummed with approval. She ground herself against the saddle, wishing it was one of their hands or cocks instead.
An hour later, with five plump rock-chucks tucked in her saddlebags, she came to a lookout. She hobbled her horse so it could graze and, after checking for sunning snakes, slid on her belly to the edge of the rock. Far below she could see the road leading out of town. Dust in the far distance, up near the mountain pass, marked where their herd slowly moved toward its fate.
A flash of light caught her eye. She squinted to see better. The sun was high, at enough of an angle to send a reflection back her way. She stared at the spot. A pair of ravens suddenly launched themselves into the air. A rider, disturbing them?
She wriggled into a more comfortable position. As a hunter she knew patience was rewarded. Not always, but far more often than haste. It took a while, but eventually she could make out a group of riders. She watched for a while longer, expecting them to come into town. But instead they veered south, onto the land previously owned by Orville Rivers. These must be the men the sheriff said to watch for! Cursing the fact she had no eyeglass, she watched until they disappeared behind one of the low hills.
She crawled back and stood up. Pins and needles from lying still made her twitch. She stretched out before climbing into the saddle and heading home. Since she was a good tracker and an excellent shot, she was sure Sheriff Barstow would include her in the posse. After all, Kate Adams had helped catch Rivers, and she’d shot him dead.
* * * *
“Hell, no!”
Cole stared down his wife. She glared back, fists on her curved hips and bottom lip pushed out. She looked sexy as hell. He wanted to strip her naked, throw her on the bed and take her every which way but Sunday. But until she calmed down, he’d be lucky she didn’t bite him if he as much as kissed her.
“I’m a better shot than half the town. I can track a snake across rock. And I can move so no one sees me!”
“You’re also my wife!” He stepped closer, using his height to intimidate her. She had to look up, but craning her neck didn’t change her stubborn expression.
“Being a wife has nothing to do with this!”
“It has everything to do with it!”
“Now, children, play nice,” said Byron, mocking them. He held up both hands in surrender when Cole glared at him. “Just trying to keep the peace.”
“Keep it with your mouth shut.” Cole turned back to Casey. “You are going to Tanner’s Ford Hotel, to stay with Sophie until this is over. I want you safe.”
“No! I’m going with the posse. I can hide so well that—”
“No, you can’t,” interr
upted Byron. Casey turned her glare away from Cole. “You’re used to hiding up in the eastern mountains where there’s lots of trees. We saw you watching us every time we came into town.”
Casey made a squawking noise. “But—”
“I’m with Cole on this one,” said Byron with a shrug. “I don’t want you anywhere near trouble. I care about you too much.”
She crossed her arms and stared at the floor. Cole moved until his chest almost touched hers. He lowered his voice, almost growling.
“You are my wife. You said a vow to obey me. And I say you’re staying in town.”
“You’re wrong about that, Cole.”
“What?” He swung his head to face his cousin.
“Casey didn’t make that promise,” explained Byron. “Judge Thatcher performed a civil ceremony. Lily said she won’t let her husband include a promise to obey in the wedding vows.”
Casey belonged to him, just as if she was one of the longhorns. Though they were from the South, Grandpa believed that it was up to a man to provide a life for his family, not lean on others to do it for him. They’d never had slaves, figuring a man worked harder for a wage. Under the law, a wife was much like a slave except that he couldn’t sell her, or buy another one.
He respected Casey and her abilities. But she was under his protection.
“Promise or not, I’m still your husband,” he said, turning his narrowed eyes on her. “I have the right, and privilege, to protect you and any children we may have.”
She gulped. Her right hand slipped over her lower belly. He didn’t think she was aware of the protective gesture, but it made him hard with wanting. Was his child already growing there? He needed to protect her, to prove to her that he was her man, and that she was his woman. He’d never beat her or lash out. But there was one way a man could keep his woman in line. Done properly, and for the right reasons, they would both enjoy it.
