Claimed by the Mountain Man (2 page)

Her knees buckled with relief and weariness, and Trapper Jack caught her before she fell to the floor. Now that she understood he was helping her, his strong arms around her brought comfort. She clung to his shirt to balance as he gently lowered her to the hearth. He sat near her on his sofa, which was cushioned with animals hides stitched together and stuffed with feathers, judging by the few that spilled out of a ripped seam when he sat. He watched her in silence, not saying a word until she’d warmed up enough to stop trembling. That’s when he spoke to her for the first time since coming inside.

“Are you hungry? Is that why you tried to steal a chicken tonight?”

She nodded forlornly. He stood to his full, foreboding height and walked the few strides to what she thought might be considered the kitchen, with a table and single stool. He opened a crude, makeshift cupboard and removed a bowl. She was afraid to hope. Even as he ladled stew into it, she worried that he was playing a cruel trick on her. He would show her the food but then not give it to her.

When he shoved the large bowl filled to the brim into her hands, her eyes widened with hunger and awe. She looked up at him and whispered, “Thank you.”

He gave her a curt nod. She brought the bowl to her lips as he returned to the sofa and sat down. Every gulp of the liquid warmed her from her throat to her belly. The carrots and venison tasted better than she ever remembered anything tasting.

Trapper Jack continued to watch her as she ate, and she felt like his captured prey from the way his predatory eyes studied her so intently. That’s what she was, really. He’d caught her, just like he caught other animals. She felt oddly excited by the way he looked at her, as though she were some special puzzle to figure out. When he leaned back and crossed his arms in front of his chest, her stomach flopped. The movement caused the muscles in his upper arms to bulge, giving him an even more intimidating appearance.

She set the bowl aside and asked meekly, her voice coming out in a tremor despite her body having stopped shaking some time ago, “Did you dig that hole to trap me?”

He scowled. “I dug that hole to trap the animal that was stealing my chickens.”

Nettie wrapped the blanket around her tighter. “You done good. You caught it,” she said, offering him a wry smile.

He didn’t look amused. “You think that’s funny, do you, stealing?”

Her small smile vanished. She shook her head and looked down. “No.”

“What’s your name, young lady?”

She looked at him with some surprise. The way he addressed her in a scolding fashion, like she was a wayward child who needed to be corrected, sent a shiver of apprehension through her. At the same time, she felt relieved. He didn’t seem interested in forcing himself on her, since the look on his face was that of someone about to punish her, not take to his bed.

“My name is Sarah Antoinette Woodward.”

He raised a brow slowly. “That’s quite a fancy name for a thief.”

“I go by Nettie,” she said in a small, apologetic voice. Actually for the last two years, she more often than not went by Slick Kitty, but she wasn’t about to mention that to him.

“All right, Nettie. My name is Jack Abrams. I own those chickens you’ve been stealing, and in case you haven’t figured it out yet, I don’t take kindly to stealing.”

“Yes, I know. You go by Trapper Jack. I know who you are.”

His voice lowered. “I doubt that.” He cleared his throat, and his deep voice took on a tone of resolve. “Are you warm now?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you for the blanket.”

“You’re welcome. And are you injured at all?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t get hurt when I fell in the hole. I only got surprised.”

“Good,” he said solemnly. One of his giant hands reached out and took hold of her wrist. He pulled her to her feet and toppled her over his lap before she understood his intent. She lost the blanket in the shuffle and found herself lying over his legs fully naked.

Any sense of impropriety she might have felt over her nakedness disappeared with the first crack of his palm. Her only feeling then was sheer agony. His hand crashed against her exposed bottom with the force one would expect of a man who relied on his own strength to survive in the wild. “You could have asked. I would have fed you,” he said, and then fell into silence. His hand landed again even harder, jerking her forward. The third strike caused her to cry out, which only seemed to spur him into giving her another hard smack. He found a faster rhythm, spanking back and forth on each cheek, hard, with scarcely a moment’s delay, and the sting soon became a scorching pain that she felt desperate to escape.

Writhing over his thighs, her shrieks turned into strangled sobs, interrupted only by her pleas for him to stop. Still the spanking continued with no end in sight. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to say why he was spanking her. She knew it was because she’d stolen from him. As he blistered her, she frantically recalled the rumors she’d heard about him. If there was any truth to them, he was a mean and unforgiving man. An irrational thought entered her head that he might never stop spanking her. She could only appeal to him in words, having no strength to fight him or even move an inch from where he wished her to be, since his forearm pinned her to his left leg.

“P-please, Trapper Jack. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t acknowledge her apology. She twisted and reached her hand back to cover her poor assaulted seat, but he caught her wrist and held it against her lower back without slowing the swats. The pain became such that she cried without abandon, her sobs loud, open-mouthed wails. She didn’t know how much more she could take. She thought starving to death or dying of hypothermia would have been easier to bear by the time his hand settled. When it finally did, she shifted nervously over his legs, weeping and praying it was finally over.

After such a loud spanking, the room seemed especially quiet. The only sounds were the rain pelting the roof, the crackling of the fire, and the sound of her crying. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to sit again comfortably after being so thoroughly punished by the big man’s hand. When Trapper Jack released her wrist, she swiped at her tears with the backs of her hands. She heard a whimper that didn’t come from her and looked over to find the wolf inching toward them on his belly, whining as he did.

“Go lie down, Cager,” Trapper Jack growled, and the wolf complied immediately, returning to his rug, his ears and eyes still fastened on them with interest and concern over what had just happened.

Some time passed during which Trapper Jack said nothing. Nettie apologized again through her tears. “I’m sorry, I was so hungry. I promise I never used to steal. It’s not like me.” She didn’t know why she needed him to know that. He surely didn’t care about her previous behavior—only that she had stolen his chickens recently. Her sobs became hiccups. She was afraid to move, not wanting to displease him, so she waited for his permission to get off his lap.

He settled his left hand on the center of her back. Still not speaking, he ran his punishing hand lightly over her hot skin. His gentle touch surprised her even more than his hauling her over his lap. Slowly he caressed her swollen globes. Nettie felt a tug at her core, an arousal that built the longer she remained helpless and naked over Jack’s lap. He rubbed her bottom until the sting dissipated into a dull ache.

She felt confused. Five minutes earlier, she would have sworn he was the meanest man to ever exist, but now he seemed almost tender. What confused her more was the fact that she felt disappointed when he stopped caressing her. A man’s touch wasn’t something she had welcomed in a very long time.

“You’ll sleep here tonight, young lady. Tomorrow I’ll figure out what to do with you.”

“All right. Th-thank you,” she said, still sniffling. She was relieved by his pronouncement. She felt too weary to return to the cave now, where she would no doubt struggle to get warm once again. Trapper Jack made her nervous, but she didn’t feel afraid anymore. He’d punished her, and it had hurt, but he’d also fed and warmed her.

He stood with her in his arms and carried her to the bed against the far wall of the room, where he laid her down on her stomach. The bed felt wonderfully soft beneath her. Trapper Jack retrieved the fur blanket from its heap in front of the fireplace and placed it over her naked body. She hissed as it scraped against her punished bottom, but the discomfort she felt from that was nothing compared to the discomfort she’d felt for weeks lying on the hard ground of the cave. She rested her head on the pillow he provided, and she realized then just how weary she was. Through half-lidded eyes, she watched Trapper Jack wring the water from each of her garments into a bucket, then hang them near the fire to dry.

He lay by her side in the bed, and she stiffened for a moment, suddenly worried that he might have dishonorable intentions. But when he turned his back to her, she breathed a sigh of relief, and she appreciated the warmth radiating from his large body. Lying in a warm bed with a belly full of food, an aching bottom, and no fear of molestation, she closed her eyes and fell into her first deep, dreamless sleep since the night before word had come of her husband’s death.

Chapter Two: Naughty Nettie

After a night of fitful sleep and frequent waking, Jack awoke again at the crack of dawn. Soft sunlight streamed through the windows. The woman was snuggled against his back, likely not realizing she’d inched over in her sleep to gain warmth from his body. His hormones raged and he groaned as he realized he was rock hard. He’d more or less been that way all night. Having a naked woman writhing over his lap was more than enough to arouse him under normal circumstances, let alone after years without a woman’s touch. He struggled to get her naked backside and cunny, which peaked into view occasionally during her flailing, out of his mind.

The theft had angered Jack, and he believed she deserved every lick she got. He had suspected that a coyote or fox was responsible for stealing his chickens, though it had puzzled him because he couldn’t find the entry point into the coop. When he thought about what kind of trap to use to catch the thief, he decided on a pit. He didn’t know any other trapper who used the same, since to set it up required a great deal of time and patience. It was the perfect trap for this situation, though, since it didn’t need to be moved after being set in place. Never would he have guessed that a person was responsible for the theft, least of all a woman. He was a good ten miles from the nearest town, and he wondered how and why she ended up in his neck of the woods.

He rose reluctantly and studied the woman, who still snored softly. She looked familiar to him somehow, but he couldn’t think of how they would have met. She had red hair that fell only to her shoulders and a smattering of freckles across her pale face. She was an attractive woman, but what struck Jack was how small and helpless she looked. He didn’t know what to do with her, but he knew he wished to get her to safety, wherever that may be. Jack added another log to the fire and ambled to the door where Cager sat patiently, waiting to be let out for the day. He opened the door and watched the wolf scamper out and disappear into the forest. Cager had been Jack’s only company for quite some time. He hadn’t been to town in nearly a year, and he had no neighbors. He’d sworn off people since he left the army with a bullet in his leg and contempt for humankind in his heart. Marching with the Confederacy and watching both sides slaughter each other had changed him in such a way that he no longer had any wish to interact with anyone, with the exception of the wife he’d left behind.

He discovered that his wife had died upon his return to Tennessee after his stint in the war. That was when he went crazy, according to the townsfolk. He moved to Montana, the most desolate place he could think of, and settled in the woods. He gleaned his sustenance from nature, which, unlike people, was pure and honest in its cruelty. The people in the nearest town of Helena knew little about him except that he’d been to war and lost his wife to consumption. They made up rumors and spread lies about him, but nothing they said could ever be as horrible as what he’d done to his wife. He’d broken her heart, and the memory of it haunted him daily, as did the fact that he’d never be able to rectify it, due to her untimely death.

Jack lit the fire of the Dutch oven and blew it to life. He plucked a frying pan from its hook on the wall and added a dollop of animal fat to it. Opening the cellar door, he reached down and retrieved eggs and a cured ham he’d made from a feral boar he’d shot not too long ago. Normally he wouldn’t eat meat in the morning, but since the woman looked like she could use another hearty meal, he decided to make an exception. The food sizzled in the pan, and his mouth watered. The eggs and ham, along with the leftover stew from last night, would be more than enough for the two of them.

He heard the sounds of stirring. When he glanced over at the bed, he saw that the woman was sitting up, holding the blanket tight to her chest and staring at him with wide eyes.

“Go sit at the table for some breakfast,” he ordered. “We need to talk about what in the tarnation you’re doing out here in the middle of the woods.”

“I-I can’t get out of the bed.”

Jack wasn’t going to put up with any more disagreeable behavior from his uninvited guest. “Get moving, woman, before I drag you to the table myself.”

“No,” she said in a placating tone. “I mean, I want to do your bidding, but I don’t have any clothes on.”

Of course. How could he forget? It had been impossible to get her nakedness out of his mind while he was lying in bed waiting for sleep. Jack walked to where her clothes hung by the fire and confirmed what he already suspected. Her trousers and shirt weren’t yet dry. “You’ll have to wear a shirt of mine until your clothes dry.” He walked to the dresser he’d built a year ago out of a felled Ponderosa pine and opened one of the two drawers. He chose a flannel shirt and held it out to her.

She took it and continued to stare at him with wide eyes. “You spanked me really hard. It hurt like the dickens.”