Widows, Whiskey and Willow Switches

The more he thought about the idea, the more he liked it. The parcel next to theirs wouldn't get a claim stake. It was a flooded-out marsh, but he was sure they could drain it. She could set her stake on this one and he would take the marsh, giving them a double homestead. And after they got their claims filed, he'd make an honest woman of his mysterious widow. He settled her down in the hollow under a walnut tree and dealt with the evening chores while she rested. Once both horses were unsaddled and watered, he spread out their bedrolls, making a comfortable nest for them to share next to a quickly laid fire.

He sure hoped she knew her way around a campfire. He was tired of eating trail rations and his mouth watered for fried chicken cooked by a good woman. Careful to avoid waking her, he moved her into his bedroll and curled around her lush body, enjoying the feel of her rounded bottom against his cock.

+++++

Deep breathy snores woke her. Ignoring the pain in her backside, she wriggled out from under the hairy arms pinning her to the ground. The sun was just setting, and the glare from the reddened sky irritated her swollen eyes. She scowled down at the unconscious man, wishing for a brief second that she had the nerve to kick him.

She tossed a few pieces of wood on the fire. It would stay lit until she could scare up something for supper. Choosing a long stick from the wood he'd gathered, she fetched her fishing line and hooks from her saddlebag. With the tip of her knife, she dug up a handful of night crawlers and set herself to fishing for her evening meal.

The creek was chock full of fat sunfish, and before the sun went down, she had several on a stringer. There would be enough for supper tonight, plus breakfast tomorrow if the stranger didn't gorge himself.

He was a big man, muscular and strong. She might have enjoyed his company if she was inclined to courting, and if he hadn't scorched her bottom, or seen her cry all those ugly tears. He had pretty brown eyes, and she liked that he was clean shaven. It showed off that handsome dimple in the middle of his chin. Thick hair the color of chocolate curled below his collar and hung in his eyes. He could do with some time in a barber's chair.

She'd cook him a meal and be on her way. She had no time for overbearing strangers. There was a lot of land out there for the taking, and she could find another parcel to set her stake.

"Any luck?"

She stiffened and tried not to show her surprise as she cussed herself for her inattention. "One more and you'll have enough for breakfast tomorrow." Something twitched her line and she set the hook with a sharp jerk before pulling another fish to shore. It flopped and gave her a baleful stare as she threaded the stringer through its gills.

"There's grouse out here."

"I know." She finished with the stringer and handed her catch over. "If you don't mind helping clean them, we can roast them over the fire." She rinsed her hands in the creek and walked away, wishing he'd stayed asleep.

"Doesn't one sound good about now?" He dropped the stringer into the creek and caught up easily.

She didn't want conversation, but as late as it had gotten, she couldn't leave until morning. "Sure, but the fish were biting."

He laid a hand on her arm, squeezing gently to stop her. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"The grouse are nesting. Wait until fall when they're fat and have winter feathers. It also takes too long to pluck and cook them. Fish is easier and I don't waste a bullet I might need later." She shook his hand away and continued toward the fire. "I'll get some stones in the fire to heat while you get started."

His mouth fell open then shut with a snap. Her soft voice and elegant speech were at odds with her obvious capability and he felt foolish for questioning her. "I apologize for doubting you, ma'am."

"Thank you." She found a few flat rocks and laid them out in the coals before heading back to the stream for the fish. Tugging one free of the stringer, she got started on the messy job of cleaning them. Grabbing one of his own, he sat down beside her, watching her deft movements.

"My name is Caleb Walsh. I was a cow hand on the Lazy R in Texas before coming north to stake a claim."

"Mrs. Matthew Hartford." She offered nothing else and he scowled in annoyance.

"What's your given name, honey?"

She set her fish aside and reached for another. She hadn't replaced her hat and he could see her lips thin with annoyance. "Mr. Walsh, I'm leaving at first light. I'm sure my life story will hold no interest for you."

"Well, that's where you're wrong. I'm fair interested in everything about you."

She shot him a look of surprise, but looked down so quickly he thought he missed it. "At least tell me your name."

"Very well. It's Abby."

"Pretty name for a pretty lady. Care to tell me why you're traipsing across the territories?"

"I was chasing a homestead, same as you."

"No other reason? You're not running away from a jilted suitor?"

Letting out a bark of laughter, she said, "Hardly. I'm sure I mentioned that I'm a widow."

"You did." He kept his voice calm and soothing, knowing she was an inch away from bolting like a scared rabbit. "But you're awful young to be on your own."

"I'm twenty-five. I was married for almost five years before my husband passed away."

He blinked at her abrupt answer. He'd thought for sure she was much younger than that. "That's still awful young to be out on your own, especially out here."

"It's none of your concern, Mr. Walsh." She finished with her second fish and carried them both back to the fire to roast. 'We'll let those cook while we finish cleaning the rest. You'll have breakfast in the morning."

"We'll have breakfast, you mean."

"No. I'll be leaving at first light. I need to see if my second choice is still unclaimed."

"Why did you tell Lieutenant Marshall the truth?" He stepped in front of her, stopping her in her tracks.

"Because I'm not a liar, Mr. Walsh. Such things often come back to haunt you, and the Bible says it's a sin to bear false witness."

"What would you do if I told you there was a way to file your claim on this homestead?"

She smiled sweetly, a dimple revealing itself in the middle of her right cheek. "I'm not interested. Excuse me, please." Dodging around him, she kept walking toward the stream.

Frustrating damned woman! He chased after her. "You didn't even listen to my offer. How do you know you're not interested?"

"Very well. Will you be involved in this plan of yours?"

"Of course!"

"Then I'm not interested. If you'll excuse me, I have to finish this before it's too dark to see." She hunkered down and started in on the rest of her catch, her blade slipping easily through skin as she filleted the fish in her hands.

"You're going to put your stake back down on this parcel. I'm going to put mine on the one just east. After we've filed our claims, we're going to get married and combine them into a double spread." He gave her what he hoped was a charming smile as he leaned over to touch her arm.

To her credit, she waited three solid seconds before bursting into laughter. She dropped her fish and her knife and doubled over, clutching her belly, as tears spilled from her eyes. Her laugh was loud enough to startle the horses, and she didn't stop until she'd fallen over and gasped for breath, he face red from her exertions.

She wiped her eyes, leaving a few fish scales on her cheeks. "I do beg your pardon, sir. That was dreadfully rude." She looked up at him and snorted as a few giggles escaped.

"Are you finished?" He was going to wear his hand plumb out on her round bottom before he had a chance to drag her in front of a preacher.

"Yes." She snorted out another laugh and her expression sobered. "There are several problems with your..." Her lips twitched up and she coughed. "As I was saying, there are several problems with your idea, sir."

"Oh?" He'd already checked the east homestead and was aware of its issues. He was very curious what she would have said before she interrupted herself.

"Even if you had enough men to drain the marsh without everything running downstream to foul out the creek here, it's always going to be a wetland. However, I found muskrat and there are some good stands of timber that could be harvested for cash money if you're careful of where you cut. I would recommend leaving it alone and using the earnings to improve this property."

She pressed her lips together and used an embroidered handkerchief to wipe the fish scales off her cheeks before setting to work again.

Interesting. He hadn't noticed the muskrat. Their pelts sold for good money back east. "All right. What was your plan, Mrs. Hartford?"

She chewed on her lip and looked away. "I had no plans, other than to make a home here."

"I thought you said that bearing false witness was a sin. You're too damned smart for that. What were they?"

She rolled her eyes, adding to the tally of things he wanted to paddle her bottom for, and tossed him a fish. "Idle hands are the devil's playground. Get to work and I'll tell you."

Wiping her hands on the grass, she leaned back and rested on her palms. "Forget the eastern claim. You can't improve it enough to be worthwhile and still work on this one. Even if I agree to your March hare mad plan of marrying you, this one is going to be your bread and butter. If you're bound and determined to stake another claim, take the one just south of this one."

"There's no water. The stream bends..."

"South, doesn't it?" She smirked and crossed her legs. "It won't be much use for farming unless you can figure out a way to irrigate, but it would make a fine range for some cattle. It also floods in the spring. In a few months, you'll see why it would be perfect for a small herd."

"But what about..."

"I'm not finished. If you have your heart set on the eastern claim, wait for some other fool to set a stake and buy him out for a penny an acre when he can't make it work."

He envisioned her ideas, his mind opening to her view of the space around them and the incredible possibility. "We could make this all happen as a team, you know."

"I'm not interested." She stood up, her desire to end their conversation clear. "I've already told you what I would do with this homestead. You may take my advice or not, at your pleasure." Kneeling, she washed her hands in the stream. "Bring along those fish when you're done, please."

+++++

She sprinkled a pinch of the salt she'd carried all the way from Kansas City over the roasting fish, ignoring the irritating cowpoke stomping behind her. The disappointment at losing her claim rankled, but she was a sensible woman. There were other claims, though none so nice as this one. She held in a snort of laughter when she thought about his crazy idea of marriage.

Why he thought it would be a good idea was beyond her! They clearly didn't suit. She wasn't cut out for taking another husband, and the thought of nursing a second man into the arms of God made her stomach clench. It would be bad enough if they loved each other, but he only offered a marriage of convenience, giving her all the work of a husband and none of the benefits.

With a forked stick, she transferred a cooked fish to a tin plate and handed it to him before serving herself. Her dog appeared at her side, his mouth hanging open as he panted. She patted him absently and tossed him half of what was on her plate. "Why is it you always show up when I'm cooking, son?"

"He's a dog. That's what they do."

"True. He's a fine bird dog, though." She took a bite and chewed, wishing she had some herbs or garlic to flavor the bland meat. Still, it was fresh, and better than the dry jerky she'd been subsisting on for the last few days. She reached into her pack for her flask and took a swallow of the fine bourbon she'd set into barrels before Matthew had gotten sick.

She passed the flask to her companion when he held out a hand, but her attention was elsewhere. Her second choice was another twenty miles west. She'd have to leave before dawn to have any hope of setting her stake before anyone else.

"Where did you get this?" Caleb's hoarse whisper dragged her attention back to him. She smiled as he cradled the flask like a newborn.

"I made it shortly after I married my husband and set it into barrels in 1884." She sighed heavily as she remembered Benjamin's insistence that nobody cared if her bourbon had been aged. "That's the last of it."

He handed the flask back to her and slapped his thighs with both hands. "That tears it, I'm afraid."

He jumped to his feet and rummaged in his saddlebag as she stared at him in surprise. "You don't have to worry," she called. "I'll be out of your hair before dawn." When he didn't answer, she stood and gathered her things together, realizing he must be one of those abstinence people. She could sleep closer to the stream, or even leave right now if he demanded it.

But why had he drunk from the flask if he was a prohibitionist? He turned to her, his arm hidden behind his back. His long strides covered the distance between them in only a few steps and she backed away, suddenly afraid of the dark expression on his face.

She turned to run, and screamed when he caught her, terrified that he planned to hurt her. She raked her nails down his arm, unable to gain purchase on the ground. He hissed out a breath and slapped his hand over her mouth. She whimpered softly as his arm wrapped around her ribs.

"Shh, Abby. I'm not going to hurt you, but I'm not going to let you go, either."

"Please..."

"Yes. I'm going to please you six ways from Sunday the minute I get you in front of a preacher. Hush now, and let me finish."

"What the hell are you doing?" She felt rope tighten around her arms and screamed again as he quickly lashed her hands behind her. She bit her lip when his hard hand landed on her bottom.

"No swearing, Mrs. Walsh."

"Are you insane?" she hissed. "I'll be damned..." She choked on another scream when he spanked her again. He loosened the rope holding up her pants then eased her to the ground, the dirt and pebbles rough on her bare flesh. She tried to squirm away but he had her boots and trousers off in a flash, leaving her bare from the waist down.

"We'll discuss your swearing later, wife." She kicked out, but he was too fast and had her ankles tied together before she could blink. "This will hold you for now. You won't be able to run off without your trousers. Tomorrow, we'll go file our claims and find a preacher." Picking her up, he carried her back to the fire and set her down.

Without another word, he picked up her tin plate and fork. "Open up, sweetheart."

"I'm not hungry. Eat it yourself."

"Tsk tsk," he chided. "We have a busy day tomorrow. Eat your supper."

She scowled, but obeyed as her fingers worked the knot holding her hands behind her back. Though it was tight, she was sure she could work it free before morning. She ate the food he offered as she plotted. He'd be one sorry cowpoke come morning.

When she'd finished everything left on her plate, he carried her to the pallet he'd made and settled her under a blanket before spooning his big body around her. Thankfully, aside from wrapping a heavy arm around her waist, he didn't touch her.

+++++

The whinny of a horse woke him. He smiled and stretched out, reaching for the warm woman nestled against him. Except there was no warm woman, and he couldn't stretch.

Taking stock of the situation, he moved experimentally and turned his face away from the dirt. The little harpy had hogtied him most effectively. He glanced around, finding no trace of her, save the blanket from her bedroll he'd used to cover them as they'd slept.

He decided she was the perfect woman, except that she wasn't much use for knots. Any woman who could make such fine bourbon was perfect in his mind. It didn't hurt that she was smart as a damned whip and pretty to boot. He freed himself easily and saddled his horse.

The future Mrs. Caleb Walsh had a lesson coming.

He found her tracks not a hundred yards from his stake, heading due west. He shook his head and chuckled. She hadn't bothered to hide her trail and it couldn't be more than an hour or two old. Slowing his horse, he continued tracking. He wouldn't put it past her to set a trap or two.

He found her three hours later. She'd set her stake in a nice piece of property he hadn't noticed on the original survey. Water burbled in a narrow creek and he hid as she bathed, unaware of his presence.

Damnation, she was pretty as a speckled pup. Strawberry hair trailed in a tangled stream down her back, ending at a sweet pair of dimples at the base of her spine. Strong arms lifted over her head as she stretched, curving her back into an arch. Ghostly bruises marred her bottom from his switch and he wanted to add to the marks on her ass.

His mouth went dry when she turned to face him. Pretty pink nipples surmounted pert breasts that begged for his touch as she wrung the water from her hair. Sparse red curls decorated her little cunny and he hissed out a breath at the sight of her charms.

Her head shot up and she tensed like a startled deer before pulling on her clothes. She didn't bother with her boots as she reached for her rifle, the Winchester held easy as pie in her strong hands. He held himself still, barely daring to breathe until she relaxed and set her rifle aside.

"Damnation! What do I have to do to get a little peace?"

He grinned as he listened to her curse up a storm. She stomped toward her camp, detouring briefly to collect wood for her fire. She had a young buck already dressed and ready for roasting. His mouth watered at the thought of fresh venison.

Once she had a good-sized haunch spitted, she settled back against a tree and closed her eyes, her long lashes brushing her cheeks.

His sweet girl had to be exhausted, what with running all about and hunting up their supper. He'd get her punishment over with and get on with the loving. He crept forward, careful to remain silent as he moved. He didn't want to disturb his new wife until he had to. Creeping behind her, he set himself to catch her, but the muzzle of her rifle met the tip of his nose.

"You may take the rest of the deer as you leave, Mr. Walsh."

Green eyes spit poison at him as he wrenched the rifle from her, using his body weight to pin her against the tree. "You should have shot first," he whispered.

"Don't think I didn't want to, but I have no time for a murder charge." She spat and raked her nails across his face.

He jerked away, but not soon enough to evade a bloody scratch down one cheek. Holding back a curse, he flipped her to her belly over his knees and brought his hand down on her upturned bottom. She screeched and dug her claws into his thigh before he could capture her hands.

He tore her pants away, resolving to shred them the minute he had her subdued. Her pretty ass begged for his hand and he set himself to work. Her bottom turned cherry red and his palm ached, but she didn't cry out or even swear at him.

He gave up and pulled her to her knees to stare into her face. "Why do you refuse to get married, Abby? It could be so good for us."

A tear welled in the corner of one eye and he brushed it away with his thumb. "Why, sweetheart?"

She inhaled and pressed her lips together, making him think she wouldn't speak. He wanted to shake answers loose from her, but her mouth finally opened.

"I refuse to bury another husband." She turned away and tried once more to escape, but he wrapped his arms around her and refused to let her up.

"Oh, sweetheart. I'm sorry." He used his thumbs to brush away her tears and set his lips to hers, relishing the sweet taste of her mouth. She was stiff at first, pressing her lips together to deny him. He stroked her neck, easing the tension he found in the corded tendons. Her lips parted and she sighed as he traced them with his tongue.