The Outlaw (Montana Men Book 3) (2 page)

"Kidnapping does not mean beating." His voice had a dark, menacing tone that had me shivering, even in the bright sunlight. "I will never strike you. Ever. As for Meecham, he would've."

It didn't matter if he spoke the words I'd hoped him to say. He'd kidnapped me and I had to get away. Even if he'd said there was no escape, I had to try. So I took a slow deep breath and then dashed off once again, like a horse prodded by spurs. With one hand, I held up my dress and sprinted, my little legs moving as fast as they would go, my free arm pumping hard as if my life depended on it.

It did.

He was angry, the hard look on his face familiar to me. He was dangerous enough to kidnap me; I could only imagine what else he might do. There was no question he lied about never striking me. His words were false. What man told the truth? What man didn't beat the women in his family?

It was to no avail. My short legs were no competition for his long ones, my body not strong enough for the endurance required to escape him. He easily caught up to me and grabbed me about the waist, spun me around and tossed me over his shoulder as if I were a sack of grain.

"Put me down!" I shouted, panting heavily. "Where are you taking me? Don't hurt me!" My muscles burned from the exertion, long tendrils of hair escaped the pins and hung down in my face.

As he walked back to his horse, I kicked my legs out, which he quickly staunched by wrapping an arm snuggly around my thighs. I switched tactics to pummel his back, but if it bothered him, he did not show it. I couldn't just let him take me away. No one would find me again. If my only hope was Mr. McCallister, I was surely doomed.

"Will you sit upright or do you wish to be across my lap?"

"Put me down!" I repeated.

He lifted one foot into the stirrup and mounted his horse, swinging his leg over and sitting in his saddle without any effort to keep me in place. Moving me as if I were a child, he lowered me across his lap so my feet dangled off the horse on one side, my arms and head on the other. As the horse began its slow gait, I felt the solid muscle of his thighs bunch and flex beneath my belly. Breath was hard to find.

"You can't leave me like this!" I sounded like a veritable shrew, but really, this was intolerable.

A quick, strong swat to my bottom had me stiffening. "Stop talking," he said, his voice stern.

"You struck me!" I stiffened, then slumped down, knowing he had all the power. "You said you wouldn't strike me." The heat, the anger left my words. It did no good to rile an outlaw and I'd surely done that. My tactic for escape had been wrong. I'd been hasty in my thinking.

"This," his palm came in strong contact with my covered bottom. "This is a spanking. You are acting irrationally and I needed to get your attention, to discipline you for your ridiculous behavior."

The horse's brown shoulder quivered, the scent of animal strong. I gripped the man's lower leg to steady myself, although I knew the man wouldn't drop me. Blood pooled in my head.

"Would you rather ride like this or sit upon my lap? Those are your choices. Your
only
choices."

FINN

Horace Meecham was a lucky man. His bride was everything a man could want. Everything
I
could want. She was a tiny thing, barely reaching my shoulder. I'd lifted sacks of grain heavier than her. When I'd pulled her from the stage and lowered her to the ground and got my first good look at her, I tried to hide my amazement. In the bright sunshine, her hair was the color of winter wheat, her skin as pale as if she’d never been in the sun. Porcelain. White as cream. I remembered the feel of her body beneath my fingers, soft in all the right places. My hands were so big, they'd easily spanned her waist and my thumbs had brushed the underside of her very round breasts. But it was her eyes - the wary, fiery looks she sent my way - that had me hooked. The combination was arousing. Heady.

Horace Meecham was indeed a lucky man. Too bad for him he was dead. If his heart hadn't finished him off, half the people in Apex had been ready to, and most of them would have volunteered for the task, given the chance. He was an ass, a cruel man. His wife had endured twenty years of his abuse, unable to leave. Time and time again, the sheriff - Paul Steven –tried to find ways to help her leave, but Meecham had his rights. Marital bonds and the legal rights a man had over his wife kept Stevens' hands tied. A night or two in jail did nothing to protect Mrs. Meecham; it had just inspired her husband to further acts of cruelty. The poor woman had eventually died, too weak and frail to fight off a brief illness. A stronger woman would have prevailed, but not her.

If it hadn't been for his son, Horace Meecham, Jr., whose tongue loosened when plied with whiskey, I never would have known about Caroline Turner, the elder Meecham's plan for a new, younger wife, or her imminent arrival. Junior was as dastardly as his father, trained well to the abhorrent ways of treating a woman. The whores that worked upstairs in the saloon could attest to that. The bastard was prepared to step into his dead father's shoes at her arrival without telling her that her intended had really been his father. At the older man's death, she was a widow and most certainly marriageable.

Junior's first stop would have been the church. Since the men shared the same name, Minister Thomas would not question the wily man's intentions. Neither would Caroline. She'd be unaware of the deception until it was too late, until they were married. He'd tell her the truth, eventually. But then she'd be legally wed to the bastard for the rest of her life.

Stevens could do nothing about the deception because Junior's plan was not illegal. Immoral? Certainly. But not illegal. That meant as soon as Caroline left the safety of McCallister's stage, she would be Junior's. That is why I'd taken her from the stage a few miles short of Apex.

She would be mine. Not Junior's. Not any other man’s. As my wife, she'd be safe from Junior.

There was no question that Caroline would be my wife. My plan had solely been to rescue her from Junior, but once I caught a glimpse of her, my plans – and my life - changed irrevocably. My body viscerally responded to the sight of her. My cock came to life, my protective instincts stirred. When she flinched in fear, my possessiveness was heady. Overwhelming. No one would touch her but me, and only then in pleasure.

Even now, she was slumped over my waist unceremoniously, her soft body - belly and breasts - were pressed into my thighs. Soon, she'd no doubt feel the hard length of my cock as well. It was not something I could control. At the first glimpse of her, my cock had stood at attention, as if letting me know this was the woman for me. This was the body my cock would claim.

Someone had hurt her; the signs were obvious. She feared for her safety with me, worried that my ire would cause me to act out with my fists. It could have been because I'd kidnapped her from the stage, but it plainly was more than that. This fear was bone deep. I'd had to grab her, hoist her upon my lap, even spank her bottom for her to still. Her acts were desperate, irrational even.

I had to proceed cautiously, as if approaching a skittish mare. The wrong reaction could have her sprinting off once again into harm’s way. Did she know about the varmint holes that littered the ground? Did she know about rattlesnakes? It was highly unlikely. If something happened to her because she was fearful of me, then I would be to blame. I placed my free hand on the lower curve of her back. She flinched, afraid I would spank her again. Or worse.

"What is your decision, Caroline?"

"I...I prefer to sit in your lap." Her voice was mild, her body relaxed. It was almost as if she were submitting to me. I questioned this reversal in behavior, but did not mention any notice of it.

Once she was upright, I positioned her so she sat sideways, her head tucked beneath my chin, my arms around her small body as I held the reins. The scent of flowers drifted up from her hair, and her body was warm pressed against me. Her breath came out in soft pants as she sat with the straight posture of a well-bred lady.

Junior would most likely be waiting for the stage at Apex. There was no question that both he and McAllister would go directly to the sheriff with the kidnapping tale and Stevens would be tracking me down tomorrow. That gave me a day with Caroline. I could tell by the way she’d looked at me that she had interest in me as a man. Her pupils had dilated, her cheeks had flushed, and it hadn't been from the sun. Her breathing had changed and I’d have bet my horse that underneath her dress her nipples were hard and her pussy was wet.

By the end of the day, I'd get confirmation. I wouldn't take her maidenhead since she wasn't yet my wife, but there were many other ways to show her pleasure, to show her I was the man for her. It wouldn't be easy; she'd fight me certainly, but over time, in the end, she'd know.

With this motivation, I nudged my heels into my horse's flanks to move at a faster clip. The ranch house would be the first place Stevens would look. We’d been friends since short pants, so he had to know there was a reason for my unusual actions; I was not prone to kidnapping.

But we weren't riding to the ranch house. A line shack on the eastern edge of my property would be our stop for tonight. I wanted her alone. Meecham, Stevens, the ranch, hell - even the townsfolk of Apex could wait. Trust would not come easily. The effects of whatever abuse she'd faced would take time to erase by a gentle touch as well as thorough and ample orgasms. I would brainwash her away from the wrongdoing of others by pleasure. It would be no hardship for me to do so.

***

The shack was not fancy. It was meant solely as shelter for when I, or the ranch hands, were this far away from the house or bunkhouse. It was sturdy. It had to be; weather here was often fickle - pleasant one minute, a severe storm and flash flooding the next. In the winter, blizzards that lasted for days were not unheard of. When I opened the door, albeit on creaky hinges, the room was clean, wood was stacked in a neat pile by the stove, the bedding fresh and canned food plentiful. A man could last a week on the stocked provisions.

After starting the fire in the stove, I brushed my hands on my pants and stood. "I need to get the saddle off the horse." When she stopped her perusal of the space, I asked, "Can you cook?"

She looked my way and nodded.

I tilted my head in the direction of the shelf laden with food cans. "If it's not too much trouble, please heat up something for us to eat. It will get hot in here with the fire, so leave the door open for some cooler air."

I didn't wait for her to agree or disagree. It was time for her to settle, to take a moment to be by herself to think, to breathe. Because of this, I lingered at my task, putting the horse in the small pen. I’d pulled a jar of lubricant from home, hoping that maybe I could claim the woman as mine, perhaps even start training her ass to take my cock. Now that I was certain Caroline would be my wife and not just a woman I saved from Meecham's clutches, I was glad for it. Taking it inside, I placed the jar on a shelf by a bar of soap and a razor. Caroline stood at the stove, stirring something that smelled like beans.

Grabbing a pail that hung from a nail on the side of the shack, I walked to the nearby stream for water. The first trip was for the horse. Once the animal was settled and watered, I returned to the water's edge near a spot where it eddied in a deep pocket and stripped, tossing my clothes in a pile. The snowmelt had kept the water flowing, and the temperature brisk. Brisk was what I needed, however, to cool my ardor. But when I sat down on the sandy bottom and washed -leaning back and dunking my head beneath, then splashing myself clean -it did not work.

When Caroline came out of the cabin and walked down the slight rise to catch sight of me, she paused. The look on her face - a mix of surprise and feminine admiration - had my cock filling with the blood that was supposed to be in my head. She had fixed her hair so that it was once again as sleek and perfect as when she alighted the stage. Her dress had nary a wrinkle, as if she'd just donned it. She didn’t look like a woman who had recently been tossed facedown over the back of a horse.

Perhaps that is why I stood, letting the water sluice off of me and allowing her a full glimpse of my body. I was unashamed, yet definitely completely affected. She was so beautiful that it almost hurt to look at her. My cock was most certainly aching. In this moment I was not a gentleman. I wanted her to see me naked. I wanted her to see my hard cock. I wanted her to see how she affected me. I wanted her to know I was reacting to her most likely in the same fashion her body was responding to mine. The air between us was charged just like before a lightning storm. It felt powerful and dangerous.

Her eyes widened at the sight of my rigid cock and her mouth fell open. For once, she was frozen in her tracks. I assumed she'd run off again, but she was too distracted by my person. This made me grin wickedly. "Ever seen a naked man before?"

I walked from the water and stopped beside my pile of clothes.

My voice shook her from her reverie. "Oh!" she gasped, her eyes riveted still on my manhood. Her cheeks turned pink and her eyelids drooped, her entire person taking on the bearing of an aroused woman. "I just wanted to say that I have some beans...um, plated. I...I beg your pardon." She spun around, affording me her back.

"No need. Please, look your fill. Did you see my cock, Caro? It's hard for you."

"For me? Why...why are you doing this? You're pushing me to run away, but I can't."

"You could try now that I'm naked, but I'm not modest. Trust me, my cock would most assuredly enjoy the chase."

Instead of dressing, I scooped up my clothes and walked up to her. "Your turn."

She jumped at my words, turned her head to the side when I moved to stand in front of her. "I can do no such thing."

"You are travel weary and it will do you good."

"You're an outlaw. How do I know you won't...you won't ravish me?"

Taking her chin with my fingers, I turned her face and tilted it up so she'd look at me. I wanted her to look lower, perhaps even nudge her down onto her knees to take my cock in her mouth, but not now. Later. Definitely later. "You don't," I replied. When her eyes narrowed, I added, "You make it sound as if being ravished is a bad thing."

"You are not my husband. I am saving myself for my husband," she said resolutely.

I nodded, pleased to know she would be mine exclusively. "Good. I am most thrilled to hear that." My cock bobbed toward her at the idea. "Do not worry. Your maidenhead is safe until you marry."

I saw a slight dip to her shoulders at that, although she was still apprehensive. Any well-bred woman who had a naked man standing before her had to be, at the very least, cautious, especially if that man were an outlaw. That's what she called me. The idea was ridiculous, however I'd given her no alternative. There was no doubt her mother never warned her of a situation such as this.