The Lady and the Cowboy (12 page)

“This is part of making love,” he explained. “Sex is something you work up to, enjoying the journey to the final act. Right about now you should be feeling warm bet
ween your thighs, a yearning; that’s your body getting ready to accept me and I promise you, Ruth, it only gets better than this.”

His breath gently
fanned her neck as he spoke, exciting her even more without even touching her, and a part of Ruth desperately wanted to find out if what he said was true.

“What about children?” she asked, worried he would impregnate her.

“Well then we’d have to get married,” he sounded pleased with himself. “But the girls told me what they use to prevent it.”

“How?” She asked.

“Sponges soaked in vinegar, oil or brine, douches, things like that.”

“Do you… do you have anything like that?” she asked haltingly.

“No, but if you’re sure you want to do this, I can get them.”

Ruth remained silent for a while and Sam returned to kissing her neck, hoping to convince her with actions rather than words.

“All right,” she agreed. “I’ll try it again.”

“Would that be before or after marriage?” he asked.

“Before,” she sounded adamant. She wasn’t going to enter marriage without being sure that sex didn’t hurt.

“Okay, but we really should stop this now,” he said in between
placing kisses on her neck.

Ruth released his hands and turned in his arms, placing her arms around his back. “In a few more minutes?”

The guileless way she asked almost broke his heart; had this woman ever received genuine affection before? She spoke of her father with love but Sam had the impression that the English weren’t a very tactile race.

His
own father was always ruffling up his hair, or pulling him into a hug. His mother still often kissed him on the cheek and when he’d tried to stop her in his teens, feeling it was unmanly, she had made it abundantly clear that if he refused her affection, she would refuse to bake him cookies ever again. Sam had lasted about three weeks before he caved. Now he could see how silly that idea had been, thinking that a lack of affection made you grown up, but he had been just a kid then, trying to fill his father’s shoes. He’d been desperate to feel grown up and be taken seriously.

He pulled
Ruth against him and kissed her gently, determined only to show her affection, rather than the growing passion he felt. She may be a widow but she was essentially still an innocent, and he didn’t want to scare her with his desire. His kisses were soft, sweet, gentle and playful, and he made a concerted effort to stop his hands from wandering too far, gently stroking her back, hips and waist but no further.

He could feel the desire growing within her though, as she kissed him with greater urgency. He was tempted to say ‘to hell with the risk’ and just take her now, in a few more minutes she would
probably be willing enough, but he didn’t want her to feel that he had tricked her into marriage by getting her pregnant. Reluctantly he stopped kissing her but he couldn’t let her go just yet. He rested his forehead against hers whilst they recovered.

“You certainly know how to turn a woman’s head, Sam.” She smiled.
She breathed deeply, enjoying his unique scent. It was unlike anything she had ever smelt before, a mixture of old leather, musk, sweet hay and something unidentifiable, something uniquely Sam.

“Just one woman
’s head,” he assured her. “Are you sure about this, that you want to make love before we’re married?”

“I’
m sure just… well, where will we have privacy?”

“We could ride one of the trails, take a picnic lunch. There’s one spot I’d love to show you, a stream that runs through the south of the ranch. There’s a little shaded spot where I used to play as a boy, it would be perfect.”

Ruth nodded her agreement. “All right then.”

“We should go back now,” he reminded her.

Ruth nodded and they began walking towards the house, hand in hand.

***

Tobias Middleton hung back as the guests left and when the road was clear, he veered from the path and over to the ravine that Ivor had taken him to. It wasn’t particularly wide but it was deep and without Ivor here to help him get out, he couldn’t get down there and back up on his own. He pulled a box of matches from his jacket pocket, lit one and dropped it into the ravine, watching as the light danced off the gleaming seams of silver.

He’d been here before, of course, when Ivor first showed it to him but with everything going wrong, he had to be sure. He had been about to pay Ivor ten times the going rate for his share in the business and land, when Ivor got himself into a fight over a poker match and a lucky (or unlucky for Tobias and Ivor) blow sent him reeling. He hit his head on a table and died a few hours later, without regaining consciousness.

The sale documents were in Tobias’ lawyer’s office so he broke in, hoping to forge Ivor’s signature but he was seen and caught. He played drunk and the sheriff let him sleep it off, assuming that he and Ivor had been very good friends and that he was working off his grief.

Two weeks later
he tried again and was successful. He later approached Ivor’s lawyer with the document, but the lawyer had been able to tell that Ivor’s signature was forged. He told Tobias that the deeds were still in his possession, safely under lock and key and told him in no uncertain terms, that if he tried to swindle Ivor’s widow, he would personally report him to the sheriff, the rangers and any court that would listen.

He did however, offer to inform the widow in England that
there was an interested party and that he would be happy to oversee the sale of the land for her.

Tobias had jumped at the offer but that blasted w
oman had turned him down.

So he’d come up with a new plan, he would woo the widow and once she marr
ied him, the land and business would be his.

He didn’t really think that Sam would
be her sort of man, she was an aristocrat, after all but one could never be too careful, so he had recruited Sally Grant, offering her a handsome payout if she kept Sam on the hook until he had married Ivor’s wife.

It galled him that she had been so rude to him at their first meeting,
whilst Sam had clearly turned her head! So he wasn’t a gentleman, but Sam was? That hayseed?

And now, not only did she seem to have set her sights on Sam, she seemingly had brought a winning racehorse with her AND was his jockey! It was
as if the universe was conspiring against him, but he wasn’t beaten yet.

He dropped another five matches into the ravine and the sight of all that silver soothed him. He just had to be patient, that was all. The chances were that their first race had been a fluke and they would never win another one. As long as Sam remained close to poverty, he just had to bide his time. A few fires or robberies could be all it would take to tip the farm over into bankruptcy, then he could buy it from the bank or at auction. 

The silver wasn’t going anywhere, so he just needed to relax and think things through.

He vowed that
Sam Wakefield would be off this property in a year at the latest, miracle racehorse or not.

Angel’s training was done in the mornings, when it was cooler and so that the business of the ranch wasn’t too disrupted.

First Sam checked him over for injury, feeling for heat, swelling or tenderness. Next he was saddled and checked at walk and trot for lameness.

Sam and Ruth then headed to the outskirts
of the farm to train over one or two mile distances, warming the horses up on the way. Sam rode over to the finish line and would fire his gun, Ruth would start galloping when she saw the flash and Sam would time them. Twice a week the other ranch hands rode with them, so Angel got used to competitive racing, even although none of his regular horses could match him.

They tried various techniques. Letting Angel have his head throughout the race,
holding him back to begin with so that he didn’t tire himself out but they had discovered that by far the best technique, was for Ruth to keep Angel just behind the lead horse for the first part of the race, then let him fly in the last furlong. Angel’s natural competitive instinct seemed to kick in and he even bested all his own times.

They were always finished by 11 a.m. and often earlier, as they didn’t want to overwork Angel or risk a strain injury.

As such, they were finished rubbing down and grooming the horses by 11am on the Wednesday. They exercised the other horses on their roster for only 20 minutes, using the excuse that Sam wanted to show the rest of the ranch to Ruth. By 2 o’clock that afternoon, they were saddled with a picnic lunch courtesy of Mamma, and heading out on their last two mounts of the day to the stream that Sam had spoken about.

They didn’t talk much on the way, both nervous of the coming encounter. The area was a little hollow on the stream
edge, shaded by a cluster of oak trees and in a dip between two hills, so they felt perfectly unobserved. They tied the horses to a pair of pitching rings that had been bolted into a tree trunk, many years ago judging by how rusty they were. They left the horses enough length to nibble on the patchy grass or drink from the water’s edge.

Sam spread a large blanket out for them to sit on, then began unpacking the
food that Mamma had packed. They had bread, jam, potted meat, pickles, cookies and a bottle of lemonade, as well as metal plates and cups.

They sat in silence, only exchanging pleasantries
as they handed or asked for something.

“We don’t have to do this,” Sam finally said.

Ruth looked up at him, her nerves and yes, just a little touch of fear evident.

“Did you get what we needed?” she asked and Sam knew she spoke of the birth control they had discussed.

He nodded.

“Can I… Can I see?” she asked, her cheeks turning a deep crimson shade.

Sam was a little taken aback by the request but he didn’t see why not and retrieved a small leather satchel from his saddle bags. Sitting back down, he began to unpack it. He had brought a douche, which resembled a large pipette, as well as a sea sponge and oil to soak it in.

Ruth had pulled her knees up under her chin, wrapping her arms ar
ound her legs as she watched him closely. Sam explained what the various items were and Ruth nodded along but didn’t comment.

“Which is more effective?” she asked, trying to sound calm but her voice was slightly higher than usual.

“I spoke with Miss Ellie myself and she told me that if used quickly, the douche works better. Obviously it’s easier if you have a bath tub or something.”

“How quickly?” she asked.

“Ten, fifteen minutes maybe.”

“All right, we’ll use the douche. I can use the stream this time.”

Sam considered her for a moment. “No,” he said, packing the devices away again.

“P
ardon?”

“I said no, Ruth. I can’t do it, not like this.”

“Like what?”

“You look terrified
, and that doesn’t exactly do much for my carnal desires, Ruth, nor my ego.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it.” She turned away, blinking back tears, which made him feel like an idiot.

Sam had never slept with a virgin before, although he imagined it would be something like this encounter, and now he was blaming her for her inexperience.

“No,” he sighed. “No, I’m sorry
, it’s not… it’s… Look, let’s just try kissing, okay? We’ll hold each other and just do what feels natural. How does that sound?”

Ruth nodded and smiled at him.

Sam quickly cleared away the remains of their lunch and when he turned to Ruth, she looked much more relaxed.

“I’d feel much more attractive in a dress,” she said, looking down at her clothes. Today she was wearing some of the
boys’ clothes that Mamma had altered for her.

Sam reached out and took the Stetson from her head, then reached around back and undid the bow in her hair, fanning it out around her shoulders.

“You couldn't look more beautiful than you look right now, even if you were draped in gold,” he told her honestly.

He leaned forward and kissed her, tenderly and hesitantly; he would take his lead from her today.

Ruth responded after a few moments, moving closer and wrapping her arms around him. He supported her back and gently laid her down on the blanket, kissing her lips. This time it was her tongue that sought entrance to his mouth and he happily granted it.

Her hands roamed from his shoulders, down his back, then up again and down his muscular arms.
He felt so unlike Ivor; harder and more muscular. His biceps were huge, like small trees.

Sam took the liberty of returning the favour, running his hands over her side, waist,
and hip and down to her thigh, pulling the leg up so it rested over his thigh. He continued to rub the outside of her thigh, gently massaging it.

Ruth became more and
more relaxed as the kiss went on, then the ache returned, especially when he ran his hand over her bottom and the back of her thighs. If he would just reach a little further around, he might be able to sate the ache that she felt. Hoping to entice him, she became bolder, her hands dipping to his behind, running her hands over the taught muscles of his backside.

Sam pulled away slightly and smiled down at her.

“Why Miss Adams, I do believe you’re getting fresh with me!” he teased.

Ruth lightly dug her fingers into his ass, grinning at him, seemingly enjoying being the aggressor. Not that she was what most people would call aggressive but she was new to this. Sam had no doubt that in time, and with the right teacher, she could be very proficient at the art of loving.

In retaliation, Sam’s hand went to her behind, stroking her there. Then as his lips moved to her neck and shoulder, his hand went further around, rubbing her bottom and the inside of her thigh.

She moaned slightly and arched her back, aching for a more intimate touch.

Sam sat up and began unbuttoning his shirt tossing it aside. Ruth began to do the same.

“Let me undress you,” he
said, covering her hands to still them.

Ruth nodded,
although she left the two buttons she had already undone, open.

Sam lay next to her, his leg seeking to rest between hers again and she willingly moved her legs apart, resting the top leg on his hip again, higher than he had placed it
earlier.

Sam ignored that gesture for now, using one hand to undo her buttons and slipping that hand inside her shirt, feeling her breasts through the thin material of her chemise.
His hands were rough and calloused but his touch was oh so gentle.

He lowered his head and raised the chemise, one hand stimulating her right breast
whilst his mouth stimulated her left nipple. He soon discovered that she responded best to firm although not harsh treatment of her nipples, and he endeavoured to please her.

Finally he pulled her up a little and slipped the shirt from her shoulders and the chemise over her head. She willingly lay
down again as he resumed his actions, her hands roaming over his shoulders and through his hair.

Finally his hand left her breast and snaked lower, as his lips switched to the now free nipple, gently nibbling and sucking on the pebble-like peak.

His roaming hand reached her waist band and he deftly undid her belt buckle, then slowly undid the buttons on her trousers, giving her ample time to stop him. She didn’t.

To allow movement in the saddle, her breeches (as she insisted on calling them, despite the fact they were made of denim rather than chamois leather) weren’t too tight and his hand easily slipped inside her bloomers, seeking her core.

He ran his fingertips through the thatch of hair, teasing her mercilessly and making her fingers dig into his shoulders with need.

Finally his hand dipped into her hot core. She was wet and ready for hi
m, so her lips easily parted. He ran his fingers over her clit, teasing it and causing her to begin to pant.

She felt
as if she was filling up with something, so much so that she couldn’t breathe. The pressure grew as he continued to caress her, making her lose sight of where she was and the fact that she was a lady and shouldn’t be enjoying this. Sex was something women endured, not enjoyed.

“Oh, Sam,” she moaned in her crisp English accent. He didn’t know what it was exactly, but something about this English woman’s voice calling his name in desire
, was probably the sexiest thing he had ever heard.

His hand dipped low
er, seeking the entrance to her sheath and as his thumb worked her clit, he pushed one finger inside her. He confirmed that she wasn’t a virgin but she was so tight that she may as well be. She needed to be more than just ready before he took her. He began to work up a rhythm, pushing his finger in and out as he rubbed her clit at the same pace. Her hips began to rock in time to his motion and he slipped a second finger into her hot channel, then a third a few moments later, wanting her to be prepared for a larger invasion when the time was right.

“Oh, Sam, Sam please!”
She wasn’t exactly sure what she was begging for but instinctively she knew that he could ease this building pressure within her and the closer he came to succeeding, the more desperate she felt. “Please, Sam. I- I need…”

He wondered if she even knew what
it was that she needed but he gave it to her anyway, leaning away to enjoy the expression on her face as her orgasm crashed through her. Her face was flushed, her chest heaving and her dark curls fanned out around her, like a halo.

“Okay, I lied,” he said a few moments later, once her breathing began to slow. She opened her eyes, looking apprehensive for a moment. “You have never looked more beautiful than you do right now.”

Ruth relaxed and laughed, putting her arms around him and pulling him to her.

“What was that?” she asked, still smiling.

“That, my dear, was an orgasm.” He kissed her forehead.

“What's that?”

Sam lay down beside her and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her against him so she was slightly on top of him. She slipped one of her legs between his, intertwining them, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“It’s like when a man spills his seed,” he explained. “You don’t have any seed to spill but the feeling is just as nice.
Some people call it ‘coming’.”

Ruth rested her head against his chest and began to play with the smattering of hair she found there.

“Thank you,” she said.

Sam stretched to k
iss the top of her head.

Slowly he noticed that t
he hand on his chest was dipping lower, over his abdomen, then to his pants. He lay still as she ran her hand over the front, feeling his length through the material. After a few moments, she began to unbutton his denims. He didn’t have anything on underneath so his length soon sprang free.

Hesitantly, Ruth reached out and wrapped her fist around it.

“Would you like me to take it in my mouth?” she asked, shocking him.

His thoughts raced as he realised that Ivor must have made her do it
, and he could tell from the slight quiver in her voice that it hadn’t been an enjoyable experience for her.

“Not today,” he said. “You never have to do anything
with me that you don’t want to.”

She looked up at him. “I want to make you happy. As happy as you made me.”

“If you really want to make me happy, then you’ll get out of those denims.”

“They’re breeches,” she corrected, rolling onto her back, kicking her boots off and happily slipping the breeches over her hips and off.

“Not over here they’re not,” he said, pulling her towards him, enjoying the feel of her breasts pressed into his chest as he kissed her. One hand reached for a breast, cupping it in his palm as he ran his thumb over her nipple.

Ruth evidently had other ideas though, and her hands sought to push his pants off, even though he was lying on his back.

He gently pushed her off him, which allowed him to raise his hips and Ruth to slip his denims down his legs. They pooled at his feet so she sat up to pull his boots and socks off, so that she could finish the task.