Widows, Whiskey and Willow Switches

His cock hardened as her wet heat soaked through his trousers. She ground against him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Whispering nonsensical words into her ear, he soothed her with a soft touch. Now that he understood why she was so skittish, he knew he had to be sweet and gentle with his bride.

He nuzzled the crook of her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her lilac soap. He pulled back and trailed a hand down her breastbone, caressing her soft skin as she shuddered against him. Her dusky pink nipples beckoned his mouth and he bent forward to draw one turgid bud into his mouth. She gasped and pressed against him, her hands tangling in his hair.

He sucked the hard nub into his mouth and laved it with his tongue, resisting the urge to nip. Her hands fell away from his hair and she lifted her breasts to him in offering, her head thrown back.

She pressed her core against his hard cock and he groaned as he tore at the buttons on his trousers. Hissing out a breath, she lowered herself, taking him inside her. Her hips bucked and he cursed as her wet heat surrounded him.

Nails digging into his shoulders, she rolled her hips, deepening his penetration. Damnation, his pretty bride was going to kill him. The afternoon sun turned her hair into a glowing cloud and he swore she looked like an angel coming to take him to his reward.

He grabbed her hips and thrust up, desperate to make her find her joy. Letting go with one hand, he searched for the tiny bud at the apex of her sex. Her eyes opened wide when he found it and she screamed when he dragged his thumb across the sensitive flesh. She squeezed him so damned tight; her flesh rippling around his cock as she found her woman's delight.

With a roared curse, he emptied himself, unable to stop the impending flood of pleasure coursing through his body.

He never saw her hand move until it was too late.

+++++

Abby peeled back his eyelids and checked the pulse at his neck. The spot where she'd hit him with the rock in her fist bled a slow trickle down his cheek, but it wasn't serious. She jumped away from him and struggled into her pants and boots as she whistled for her horse.

She eased herself into the saddle, cursing him for roasting her bottom so thoroughly. She'd been spanked more in the last day than she'd suffered through her entire life! Matthew had been a gentle soul; he would have never considered striking her. She'd always been dutiful and obedient. Not even her parents had had call to whip her.

Then again, Caleb hadn't left a single visible bruise, unlike the marks she'd seen on Martha's face when Benjamin had been in a mood. She shook her head, dispelling the confusing thoughts. She hated to leave her chance for free land, but maybe it was better to make tracks for California or Colorado. She could surely set herself up as a teacher. A widow of means and education could make a suitable living in one of the newly formed states.

The best, most vile curses she saved for herself. His seed dripped from her body, leaving a wet stain on the crotch of Matthew's pants. What had she been thinking? She scowled as she nudged her horse into a walk. She hadn't been thinking anything at all. He'd said all the kind words, and it had been so long... She would just have to pray that nothing came of her poor judgment.

She glanced around for her dog, but he refused to come at her soft whistle. Though it saddened her, she had no time to look for him. He would have to find another home.

Two hours later, she was well on her way northeast toward Colorado Springs. Sampson was strong and well rested, his gait smooth and easy. She had food and water, and had left nothing behind save a man she might have grown to love if she'd been just a little braver and willing to take a chance. If she was lucky and the weather held, she would make her destination in about three weeks.

She tossed her stake into a creek, watching it spin end over end as she filled her canteen. She waited until her horse had drunk his fill and continued her journey toward a more peaceful life.

+++++

October 10, 1889

Pueblo, Colorado

Caleb hid behind a tree some distance away from the Pueblo schoolhouse and watched the children play, their tin lunch pails tossed carelessly aside. Their teacher, a striking woman with reddish blonde hair, stood on the steps of the tiny building, guarding her charges. She wore a trim blue dress festooned with pink flowers, the white collar buttoned to her chin. When she walked forward to comfort a child who had fallen, he saw the tips of polished black boots peek out from under the hem of her skirts.

He ignored her wistful smile as she set the child back to his games and tugged her shawl around her shoulders against the early October chill.

It had taken him almost six damned months to find her. He'd had to dip into his savings to hire a retired bounty hunter because he couldn't leave their claim. He would take every penny out of her obstinate hide before dragging her back to their home.

He'd almost completed the white clapboard farmhouse with her in mind, and had even tilled up a garden for her in the misguided hope that she'd come to her senses and return. When the bounty hunter sent word of her location, he saw red.

It had been another month before he could find someone to tend his claim, then a three-week journey to reclaim his reluctant bride. He'd thought several times that he should give up on the brat. He'd stepped out once or twice with girls from the burgeoning town of El Reno, but none had made his guts flame like Abby had. Even the soiled doves populating the brothels brought no relief.

He was further infuriated by the fact that Abby seemed happy. She had a little house with a small garden provided to her by the kind people of Pueblo. She went to church every Sunday and was friendly with several local women. Thankfully, she didn't seem to have a suitor. He had no idea what he'd have done if she'd been unfaithful.

He stroked the braided leather quirt hanging at his waist. He'd spent his evenings carving the antler handle to fit his hand perfectly. The leather falls were from the hide of the buck she'd killed the day she'd left him. It seemed fitting that he use it to enforce his lesson in obedience.

+++++

Abby fingered the ivory stock of the Colt strapped to her thigh. Though she tried to hide it from her pupils, she'd been on edge all day, feeling as if someone watched her. She couldn't wait to send them off to their homes. If something was going to happen, she wanted the children far away from any trouble.

At first, she'd thought it might be Indians, but there had been no trouble with the tribes for years. Her opinion on the matter was unpopular and she kept it to herself, but she'd often thought the indigenous tribes got the short end of the stick in their dealings with the United States.

Regardless of her feelings, she took her responsibility for the children quite seriously. When the clock finally ticked over to three she heaved a sigh of relief and dismissed her students. They filed outside, thanking her for the day's lessons as they darted away toward their homes. She shaded her eyes with a hand, watching as the last of them disappeared down the road.

Heaving out a relieved sigh, she turned to collect her things and close the schoolhouse for the day. The hairs on the back of her neck twitched and she slid her hand into the slit in her dress, her fingers closing around the butt of her Colt.

A click sounded behind her, the metallic snap of a cocked pistol loud in the empty schoolroom. "Take your hand out of your dress and put them both up where I can see them."

The low, angry growl was too familiar and she shivered as she obeyed.

"Drop the pen, Abby."

Her hand relaxed and the fine fountain pen given to her by the new mayor of Pueblo tumbled to the floor and landed with a thud. The cold muzzle of a pistol touched her temple and she tried to hold back her flinch as a hard hand tore through her dress and jerked her Colt from its holster around her thigh.

"Why have you come here, Mr. Walsh?" She was proud that her voice didn't waver, but his ugly chuckle made her want to take her chances with the pistol lodged against her face.

"I've come to retrieve my wife. Did you honestly think I'd let you go?"

"Yes! And I'm not your wife!"

He was silent for a moment and she wondered if her answer had surprised him. A gentle hand stroked her cheek and she flinched away from the touch. His hand closed on her throat and he leaned close, never moving the pistol from her temple.

"Here's what's going to happen, Mrs. Walsh," he hissed. "You're going to walk outside and get on my horse. I'm going to mount up behind you and we're going to go home."

"I am home." Caleb's hand tightened on her neck and she stifled her gasp of pain.

He ignored her and continued, "And if you do not obey me, I'm going to tell the nice people of this town exactly what you look like when you come."

She hitched in a breath and swallowed against the pressure of his hand on her throat. "Why, Caleb? Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Because you were mine the minute you set your stake in my claim." He tucked her Colt into the pocket of his coat. "Go on now. Count yourself lucky that I haven't shot out your knee so you can't run anymore."

She reached for Matthew's oilskin duster, but he slapped her hands away. "Go outside and get on the horse, Abigail."

"But I need my..."

He lowered the pistol and fired a shot right between her feet. She let out a short scream and jumped back, staring in horror at the smoking hole in the floorboards. "Have you lost your damned mind?" she shouted.

"The next one is going in your knee."

She felt the blood rush from her face as gooseflesh bloomed on her arms. As she stared into his emotionless brown eyes, she realized he was deadly serious. Her gaze caught on the tiny white scar above his eyebrow and she knew it was the remnant of the wound she'd left when she hit him with a rock.

She spun around and marched outside, her boots kicking up little clouds of dust as she approached his horse. She grabbed the reins and set her foot in the stirrup, shivering when the cold metal barrel touched her back.

"They still hang horse thieves, you know," he whispered. "I recommend that you think very carefully about that if you're planning on running."

She swung her leg over the saddle and didn't reply, ignoring the cold wind biting into her calves. "Am I to be a horse thief or a whore?" she snapped. "You need to pick one if you're going to keep your stories straight."

He chuckled as he mounted behind her, his thighs cradling her as he pulled her against him. "Where's your horse?"

"Why? Are you going to shoot him, too?"

"He'll be perfectly fine as long as you behave." He kicked his horse into a trot toward town.

She pressed her lips together and shook her head. "I sold him."

"Tsk, Abby. You once told me lying was a sin. If you sold him, how is it I saw you riding him just a few days ago? Is he still at the livery?"

Her guts clenched when she realized how long he'd been watching her. How had she not noticed? Yet part of her had recognized a threat. She'd been having that twitchy feeling in her gut for most of the week. "If you knew, why did you ask?"

He laughed and tweaked her nipple with his free hand. She tried to hide her flinch at the sharp pain, but he squeezed once more before letting her go. Her logical brain told her to obey and hold her tongue in hopes of escaping. But she was too furious to stay silent.

"Don't touch me!"

"Sweet Abby, what happened to the beautiful woman who rode my cock in the afternoon sun?" He lowered his head to her neck and bit down hard. "Don't worry. We'll get her back."

"Hello, Mrs. Hartford! We hardly ever see you out of the schoolroom before four!"

Abby grimaced as the grocer's wife, Mrs. Seward, stepped from the dry goods store, her eyes wide at the sight of the schoolteacher riding double with a strange man. She was the town's biggest gossip. "Hello, Mrs. Seward."

She said nothing else, hoping that Caleb would keep riding. To her dismay, he stopped the horse and tipped his hat. "Mrs. Seward, I'm Caleb Walsh. You'll be happy to know that Abby has agreed to marry me. Do you happen to have a preacher in town?"

Abby closed her ears to the older woman's gushing platitudes, responding only when it was necessary so that she didn't appear rude. When they finally managed to escape, Caleb rode straight for the church, followed by several townsfolk and most of her students.

He stopped the horse and dismounted, lifting her from the saddle with both hands around her waist. "Nothing to say, Abby?"

She pasted a smile on her face as little Matilda ran up and handed her a bouquet of limp wildflowers. Still grinning a rictus smile, she whispered out of the corner of her mouth. "Why would I bother? You're not listening to a word I say."

His face darkened and he pinched her hip. "Mind your manners and remember what I said." His fingers dug into her waist as he frog-marched her into the church.

Reverend Carter waited, his round face beaming as his wife pounded on the organ keys. Abby said her vows through numb lips, ever mindful of the pistol lodged against her side. She couldn't decide if she was more afraid of the public disgrace Caleb threatened or if she was afraid of being shot.

And suddenly, it no longer mattered. Caleb was slipping a ring on her finger as the congregation applauded. Her lips had said the appropriate words without her. Her friends and neighbors cheered as he swung her into his saddle, and they rode out of town, Sampson tethered to his saddle horn just below the rope binding her hands.

"I will hate you forever, Caleb Walsh."

+++++

Abby sat in front of him, stiff as a board. No matter what he said, she refused to respond. He told her about the house he'd built for her, and about how the town of El Reno had grown into a right nice place that even had a church and a fine restaurant where one could get good fried chicken.

He told her about how the grouse had plumped up nicely and offered to hunt a few for her. The only response he got from any of his words was a slight tightening of lips when he mentioned her dog making his home under the steps of the front porch.

Why, she didn't even thank him for saving her from the brutal Colorado winter, or for having packed her things while she was at school. She should have been grateful that he'd considered her comfort and packed her small collection of dresses and sundries. He'd left all of her late husband's garments, save the oilskin duster. No wife of his would be wearing man's clothes, but she would need a coat for the trip home.

Of course, his biggest surprise had come when he'd found the balled-up sock hidden in a seam in her mattress containing a little over five thousand dollars in cash. He knew it must have come from her late husband; she wouldn't have stolen it and couldn't have saved up such a large sum in so short a time working as a teacher. Despite the hidden wealth, she'd lived frugally, giving only to the church.

He decided to use her savings to set up a still for her. Her hands wouldn't be idle for very long, and that bourbon of hers would fetch a pretty penny at market. He mentioned it to her, thinking she would enjoy the prospect of opening a distillery. Her face had paled, making him think she would faint, but she'd remained silent.

By the time he decided to stop for the night, he was furious and his cock ached from being pressed against her lush backside for so long. He untied the loop of rope holding her hands to the saddle horn and dismounted, lifting her away from the saddle after him. Keeping hold of the rope, he led her to a tree and lashed her hands to a branch a few feet off the ground.

Her lips tightened and she turned her face away as he looked her up and down before setting another rope around her ankles to hobble her. His fingers bit into her chin as he dragged her head around to face him.

"Behave yourself. I'm going to hunt us up something for supper." He lowered his head to kiss her, his lips caressing hers gently like he'd done all those months ago. She bit down hard on his lip and he growled out his fury.

With an ugly curse, he clenched his hand around her neck, resisting the urge to squeeze as he wiped the blood away from his mouth. Her eyes shot sparks at him and he smashed his mouth to hers once more, pressing too hard to allow for another bite.

Jerking away, he grinned at the sight of his blood smeared on her lips and tore at the fastenings of her skirt. The fabric fell in a puddle at her feet, leaving only her white cotton drawers, woolen stockings, and boots. The sound of fabric ripping was loud as he tore the cotton from her body.

"You won't be needing drawers for a very long time, Abby. Get used to it." He shouldered his rifle and fetched a game sack. "We'll discuss your behavior after I have our supper cooking."

The minute he was out of sight, Abby wrenched at the ropes around her wrists. She tried to turn to get a better look at them, but the rope holding her feet together tripped her and she stumbled. Her weight tugged painfully on her wrists as she struggled to get her feet under her.

A breeze picked up and she shivered at the chilly air on her bottom and thighs. He'd left her stockings and boots, but they didn't do much toward protecting her from the weather. She tugged again on the ropes, desperate to get them to loosen. She let out a frustrated curse. All she'd managed to do was rub her skin raw. Panting, she leaned her head back against the rough tree bark and tried not to cry.

Why had she ever left Kansas City? She'd been safe there. The farm had been her home as much as Benjamin's and Martha's. She could have stood up for herself and lived comfortably, if not happily. Or, she could have used her savings to buy another place. It would have been a much smarter decision, despite the constant reminder of her husband.

Tears fell unchecked as she remembered Matthew, his kind face and easy smile, gentle hands and warm wit. "Why did you leave me, Matthew? I miss you so damned much." The wind stole her words away as she let her grief and fear out. By the time she heard Caleb's heavy bootsteps, she'd dried her tears on the sleeve of her bodice and composed herself.

He whistled as he laid a fire and dressed the rabbit he'd caught. Using two forked sticks, he propped the spitted carcass over the flame. After checking the horses, he squatted down to rinse his hands in the little stream near their camp. How could he be so calm and cheerful after kidnapping a woman and forcing an unwanted marriage on her?

After he'd dried his hands on a bit of linen, he untied her from the tree and eased her to the ground before securing her wrists to the rope holding her ankles together. The position made her hunch over to rest her chin on her knees. He sat across from her and grinned. She wanted to slap that aggravating smile right off his face.

"I reckon you're due a punishment, and I've calculated it out. I'm going to give you one stripe for every day you were gone from our homestead." He reached over and tapped her chin, forcing her to look at him. "By my calculations, it was one hundred and seventy days."

He let her go and she looked away, her guts watery with fear. She'd already had more than a taste of his punishments and wanted nothing to do with it. The thought of so many stripes was appalling. He continued speaking and she had to force herself to listen.

"Now, to ease your mind, I'm not going to do them all at once." The corners of his lips twitched up into a smile. "My arm would get plumb tuckered out, so we'll do ten a day until we have all of them." He uncoiled a short whip from a loop on his belt and held it up.