Over the Barrel Page 6

  "I'm sorry! Forgive me," Blair beseeched. "It just slipped out. The whiskey ..."

  "I have reached the end of my patience with you. Whiskey or no whiskey, this has gone on long enough," Sloan declared, walking over to her as he pushed up his sleeves and then grasped her wrist in his large hand. Blair did not have the strength to fight him off and found herself being dragged bodily to the barrel, where he readily deposited her, tummy first, face down. He pressed his hand against her back as he lifted the billowing skirts away from her squirming backside. Without hesitation, he parted her drawers to expose her snowy white bottom.

  "No!" Blair cried out, feeling him lay the doubled leather strap against her protruding mounds.

  "I will not have you put yourself in harm's way again, nor will I allow you to speak to me like that. Not now and not ever," he said firmly, raising the strap high in the air.

  Chapter 5

  Blair screamed as the wide, heavy leather targeted her bare flesh. It burned like the dickens, and the stabbing pain traveled straight down the backs of her legs.

  "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."

  "That is one concern, yes," Blair admitted. "The other is becoming trapped. Should I take a position of raising another person's children, and never having any of my own, I fear that I will be looked down upon as being a spinster."

  "Like your great-aunt?"

  "Yes. She was very wealthy and had a great amount of power, but people always talked behind her back about how undesirable she was as a wife, and that was why she had never married. I do not wish people to be discussing my life in such a negative view."

  "Did your grandfather ever remarry? You commented that your aunt forbade you from staying with him because he had no wife."

  "I know nothing of him except what Aunt Imelda told me. She said that he came out here after his dying father left all the family possessions and wealth to my aunt. I had asked her why he had done so and she stated because her father felt that she was the most deserving, even though Malcolm was the eldest."

  "That seems to be odd. There must have been more to the situation than that."

  "All was kept very quiet. Imelda only referred to him when she threatened to send me here. It was as though either he, or this place, was considered wicked."

  "In the eyes of the well-to-do, who are accustomed to being served, and they know that all of life's desires are readily available, pioneer life can be viewed as a sort of hell."

  "Yes," Blair said contemplatively as she watched the scenery slowly go by. "Enough about me. Tell me about your life. You said you were born in Boston, correct?"

  "Not much to tell. Yep, born and raised in a well-to-do family, the youngest of three boys. The oldest is a lawyer and works for my father's company, and the other one is a missionary in Africa. I went to Texas to get a life for myself apart from Father's business."

  "My parents were both missionaries. Do you think that is where I get that need to escape the confines of life? My aunt said it is just my rebellion. She says it reflects in my clothing as well as my behavior. My refusal to adhere to fashion was a constant source of grief to her. I attempted to explain that it was because it is too confining."

  "I wish I had an answer for you, Squirrel. I guess people like us just can't be tied down in a place where we can't breathe. The Cherokees use the term asequui adonvdo. It means free spirit."

  "That is what I feel, as well. Your wife … was she also a free spirit?"

  "She hated every pebble outside of Alabama," he chuckled, looking out at the horizon. "Leila was quite the southern Belle and very proper, although she did enjoy the more intimate things in our marriage. Her papa owned himself a big ol' cotton plantation with well over one hundred slaves. Ne'er a day went by that she didn't beg for a servant to take care of our house."

  "I do not believe in slavery. It is cruel. We had house servants, but each was free to live their own lives once their work was completed. Aunt Imelda treated them as well as she did others who were not in her class," Blair commented. "She even treated them better than she treated me."

  "Mr. Dibbons was a good man. He educated his slaves, provided medical care, and paid them for their labor. If a couple wanted to marry, he would throw them quite a wingding. Every year on Christmas he offered them the opportunity to leave, supplying the ones who chose to go with a stipend to start their own life. Twenty years of plantation life and nobody ever left him. He also demanded his family treat the slaves with respect and honor."

  "I would not have figured you to be the type of man to marry a debutante."

  "Well, yes … I made the mistake to believe that his daughter had the same human compassion as he did." Sloan's tone dropped. "Ours, I am ashamed to admit, was a marriage of convenience."

  "I don't mean to pry, Sloan. I apologize if I offend."

  "No offense, Squirrel. We should be getting close to the river again pretty soon and can set up camp. I'm going to teach you to shoot a gun."

  Blair bit her lip and eyed Sloan, accepting the change of topic. "Do you think I can do that?"

  "Darlin', I think you can do anything you put your mind to."

  Blair flung her arms around Sloan's neck after successfully striking her target. She had suggested they use the half-empty whiskey bottle as proof of her 'reform' and had managed to shatter it after her fourth attempt.

  "I did it! Did you see? I hit the bottle!"

  Her joy was infectious, and Sloan laughed, swinging her around. "So you did! You are a natural, my dear girl. I am very proud of you."

  "I didn't think I would ever hit it. I …"

  Blair gasped as his large hand held the back of her head and pulled her against him in a passionate embrace. Sloan's mouth covered her lips. She felt her knees weaken as she gave into his strength and timidly kissed him in return, inching slightly forward as he lured her toward him.

  "Blair," Sloan said hoarsely as he caressed the soft skin of her cheek with the tips of his fingers.

  "Yes, Sloan?" Blair swallowed, feeling the heat of his body as it pressed against her. His mouth was just inches away, and she stared hungrily at his lips.

  "I'm going to kiss you again. You must stop me if you don't wish this."

  Breathless with passion, Blair slowly inched her hands to his face and slightly closed her lids. "Please, do not stop," she whispered as she met her lips to his.

  "I am finding it impossible to withhold myself from you," Sloan whispered in her ear. "This time
together has been torturous for me."

  "Sloan … I wish you to have me. As a man has a woman. In the manner you explained. With you, I have no fear."

  "I can't do that." Sloan pulled away. He wiped the layer of fine sweat from his brow. "I will not dishonor you like that."

  "Then marry me," Blair demanded, with her hands on her hips.

  Sloan wrinkled his forehead in confusion. "Marry you? Blair, it is not proper …"

  "You already know my feelings about what is considered proper and what is not. You claim a woman is a rare find out here," she gestured to the rocky cliffs and graveled road that they had been traveling upon. "You stated that I was a free spirit, just as are you. I can learn to do the things that will make me be a woman of substance. I …"

  "Blair, shhh. Listen to me," he grasped her face between his hands and gently kissed her pink lips, "You are beautiful, intelligent, courageous and willful. You will have much better choices of men in an environment of wealth and education. You cannot allow yourself to be saddled down with a man such as myself. Maybe find yourself a banker, physician, or an attorney …."

  "I want none of those. Don't you understand? I do not wish to live out the rest of my life in the manner of my aunt. I want adventure, and you understand my need." Blair turned her face away, breaking eye contact. Sheepishly, she admitted, "I think I have fallen in love with you."

  "My sweet, sweet girl." Sloan held her warmly against his chest and rested his chin upon the top of her head, "You are so young and so innocent of the ways of the world. You have not had the chance to learn what love truly means yet. Give yourself time."

  Blair pushed him away as tears welled in her eyes. "You do not desire me?"

  "I desire you more than one human being can desire another," Sloan admitted, with a frustrated sigh. "I just fear that our circumstances have led to a false belief of how you feel towards me."

  "You do not love me." Blair stared at the ground.

  "Come sit down in the shade for a bit," he patted the flat rock next to his hip. "We have only known one another for a tad over three weeks, Squirrel. Try to understand that it is difficult for me to know love, Squirrel. Like you, I have never truly experienced it. I thought I loved my wife. Her absence left my bed feeling empty, but not my heart."