Over the Barrel (10 page)

"This is something that should have
been done years ago," Sloan stated, striping her again.
 
"Cry as much as you want; I am not
going to stop until you have learned a valuable lesson about safety, manners
and consideration.
 
Your aunt did
you no favors in allowing you to keep your skirts on when you were
punished.
 
Having your skin wet will
also make this strapping a bit more unforgettable for you, as well.
 
How dare you disobey me and put your
life in jeopardy!"

"I'm sorry!!" Blair called out,
fighting not to fall onto her head as she kicked her feet wildly.
 
"I am sorry!"

"Oh, I promise that you certainly
will be one very sorry little girl by the time I am done teaching you this
lesson," Sloan's belt landed a third time, searing into the soft
flesh.
 
"In fact, I plan on making you so tender that you won't
consider picking up another glass of whiskey or talking with strangers again
for a very long time."

"I beg
of you, no more!" Blair sobbed.

"No
more?"
 
The strap landed in a
loud splat across her bright crimson swells, "Your problem is that you
have no recollections of a thick leather strap across your backside to help
shift your rebellious behavior towards proper obedience.
 
After today, this moment that you and I
are spending together will be a permanent part of your memory."

"OW!
 
Dear Lord, please …"

"Keep
up your prayers, girl."
 
Sloan
strapped her twice more.
 
"You
are gonna need them to help you sit."

He swung
three more times, splaying the heavy belt over the lighter portions of her
trembling bottom.
 
He paused,
running his hand over her dark red skin.
 
"These welts are going to be with you for a few days.
 
Do I need to continue, or have you
learned something here?"

"No,
Sloan," Blair wept, sagging limply over the rough barrel.
 
"Please forgive me.
 
It was a foolish thing I did.
 
I am so sorry."

"Forgive
you?" Sloan repeated, patting her bottom before he slipped his belt back
into the loops of his trousers and buckled it closed.
 
"This is not a matter of me
forgiving you.
 
It is about you
taking care to protect yourself.
 
Better the pain comes from me than from someone who doesn't care.
 
Keep your hands off that bottom.
 
I want you to feel that strapping for a
while."

"You
care?" Blair sniffed as he pulled her to her wobbly feet.
 
"Why would you care about me?
 
I am nobody to you.
 
A nothing."

Sloan sat on
the barrel and pulled her to stand between his knees.
 
He handed her his neckerchief.
 
"Wipe your eyes.
 
Yeah, I care.
 
You've grown on me the last few
weeks.
 
Pretty soon you will be with
your grandfather, and I am already finding myself fretting about the type of
mischief you are gonna get yourself into.
 
I also worry about who is going to get you out of it."

Blair looked
at the ground, "I'm sorry.
 
You
had no reason to protect me.
 
Any of
them could have pulled a gun on you."

"Look
at me, Squirrel.
 
Do I look like the
kind of man who does something for no reason?
 
Has anything I have said or done shown
you that I am any less than protective?"

"No."

"No is
right.
 
Get your eyes back up here
and look at me," Sloan ordered firmly.
 
"Do you think, being the type of
man that I am, that I would not have been willing to take a bullet to protect
my woman?"

"Your
woman?"

"I said
a woman," he quickly corrected.

"No,
you didn't.
 
You said 'my'
woman."
 
Blair blinked.

"You
heard wrong," Sloan said, gruffly.
 
"Answer me."

"You
have proven yourself to be honorable in most areas.
 
I cannot say the same for your
disciplinary methods."

"My
methods ensure that my point is made and remembered.
 
Do you agree?"

Blair evaded
the question by softly asking, "You're going to be around town for a while
after we arrive, aren't you?"

"I have
a job to do there, including keeping an eye out for a particular gang of
outlaws that are said to be hiding out in these parts," Sloan answered,
running his hand over her wet cheek.
 
"I only have rough sketches of what they look like, so it could be
anybody.
 
You can't rely on me to
keep you safe once we are apart.
 
You must start to be watchful of yourself."

"I
know.
 
I am truly sorry for my
words.
 
And for my
disobedience.
 
I did not consider it
would put you in danger as well."

"Come
here."
 
Sloan pulled her into
his arms and hugged her tightly.
 
He
breathed deeply into her hair and stroked the heavy braid that fell down the
center of her back.
 
With a loud
sigh, Blair relaxed in his hold.
 
"I am going to miss you, Squirrel.
 
Just take care of yourself, and mind
your grandfather.
 
You don't want me
to have to ride back just to spank you again, do you?"

"No!
 
Of course not.
 
You sound as though you are leaving
me.
 
I thought a stagecoach was
coming, and we would ride to Manitou together.
 
I don't want to travel unattended.
 
Not after today."
 
Blair felt genuine panic at the thought
of being left alone.

"Stop
your worrying.
 
I'll be with you
until we reach the ranch.
 
I just
wanted to be certain I got my say-so in while I'm feeling a bit tender-hearted.
 
I also did not want you completely
hating me for the entire trip, since you will be feeling my belt while you are
sitting for a while."

Blair buried
her face in his shirt and closed her eyes.
 
Her bottom both burned and itched something awful.
 
"I don't hate you.
 
I don't know how I feel about you right
now.
 
This confusion is
disquieting."

"Confusion
is normal, my girl.
 
Being a tad
drunk does not help.
 
Close your
eyes for a bit while we wait for the blacksmith to bring us the wagon."

Blair's eyes
widened at the sight of the simple board haycart that the blacksmith left
outside the stables.
 
The seats were
plain, cushionless benches of sun-bleached wooden boards set on rigid wood
beams, and it was well-stocked, with enough supplies to last the remainder of
their trip.

"We are
going to ride in this?" she choked out.
 
"This is not a stagecoach or even a
proper travel carriage!"

Sloan bit
back a smile, "Yes ma'am, we are riding in this.
 
It is nice and sturdy.
 
Perfect for the road ahead.
 
Let's harness up Skinwalker and cross
our fingers that he doesn't fly a kick out at us and bust anything."

"But
Sloan, I can't …" Blair eyed the hard seats distastefully.
 
"Could we perhaps get a pillow or
two?"

"For
what?" Sloan asked, slyly.

Blair
blushed and looked at the ground.
 
"I suppose that if I told you how much my back section hurt, that
wouldn't change your mind to help me get padding of some sort, would it?"

"Nope."

"Not
even if I asked very nicely and said please?"

"Nope."

"This
is so cruel."

"You
earned yourself a cherry-red bottom, Squirrel, and now you are going to sit on
it and think about what brought you to this place in your life.
 
Up you go."

Blair
groaned as he placed his hands around her slender waist and lifted her onto the
sideboard.
 
"Must we leave
now?
 
I'm hungry" she said,
tenderly seating herself on the uneven bench.

"Basket
of food is waiting for us down the road," Sloan said, hitching Skinwalker
to the wagon.
 
He paused to sternly
look at her.
 
"Are we going to
have a pleasant trip together, young lady?"

"Yes,
sir," Blair sighed warily.

"Good
girl.
 
All righty now, off we
go."

"Fine.
 
And, for your information, you said 'my
woman'."

Sloan
grunted in return, earning a slight smile from his companion.

"I must
say, I am very pleased about the extent you are exercising
self-restraint," Sloan commented, about an hour into their journey.
 
The road was heavily pitted, and the
wagon had no springs to lessen the uncomfortable bouncing as it plowed over
rocks and through sun-hardened gullies left by spring runoff.

"I am
doing my best to refrain from complaining.
 
After all," Blair gritted her teeth as they traversed another set
of ruts.
 
"You were determined
that I feel the reminders of my disobedience and foolishness."

"That
is true.
 
Here," he handed her
the reins as he reached behind the bench.
 
"Use this."

Blair's
mouth fell open as he offered her a thin cushion.
 
"Truly?

"Yes.
 
I believe in rewarding good behavior as
much as disciplining for bad."

"Thank
you," Blair said, quickly sliding the pillow under her aching
backside.
 
It did little to protect
her throbbing hindquarters against the bouncing of the wagon beneath her, but
it did lessen the direct impact of hard, grooved wood against her bottom.
 
"Would you like me to prepare
something for you from the food basket?
 
You must be hungry."

"Yes,
please.
 
Have you thought of what
you will be pursuing once you arrive at your grandfather Malcolm's
spread?"

"No.
 
I did not realize how naïve I was until
this journey began," Blair admitted shamefully.
 
"Nearly all girls my age have the
knowledge to raise children, cook, clean, and sew.
 
I have nothing of import to offer
anyone, not even myself."

"Nothing?
 
What did you learn in your fancy
school?"

"As
little as I could, I am ashamed to admit.
 
I can speak French, am good with numbers, and know how to manage servants.
 
Besides being a governess or a
schoolmarm, I am not equipped to do anything of worth.
 
Neither of those professions hold any
interest for me."

"You
already set forth your opinion regarding children."

"I
considered your words regarding children.
 
You were correct, as much as I hate to
flatter your ego.
 
In truth, it is
not really the children I deplore, it is the parents.
 
I do not wish to come toe-to-toe with an
individual who justifies the raising of a hateful child or who holds their
child captive to society's demands."

Sloan was
silent for a moment.
 
"Not all
parents raise their children in such a formal or confining manner.
 
Out here," he gestured to the
cloudless, blue sky, "survival is more important than attending balls or
acting the debutante.
 
Perhaps you
are more fearful of being forced into marriage to satisfy society's idea of
virtue."