Here Comes McBride (Journey's End Book 1)

by Victoria Phelps

  “We have some biscuits, a little bacon and some beans,” Lars announced as he squatted to light the fire.

  “Are you going to spank me tonight, Lars?” Ellie asked, her voice trembled.

  “I reckon I am.” Lars regarded her with thoughtful eyes. “I can trust myself now. I’m not angry any longer, but I can’t understand what you were thinking.”

  “You only wanted to work three more days, and, stupid as it sounds, I believed Burt.” She lowered her eyes to the ground and dragged her foot in a circle. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

  Lars pulled her into his arms and set his chin on top of her head. “Keeping secrets is never good, Ellie girl. It destroys trust, raises suspicions and comes with consequences. A spanking is only one of those.”

  Tears streamed down her face and soaked into the bosom of her shirt. “I’m sorry,” she wailed. “Please spank me now. Don’t make me wait. I feel terrible. It was a terrible mistake,” Ellie rushed on.

  “Hush, now. Don’t get your knickers in a knot.” His hand ran down her spine and brought a little piece of calm. “I was going to spank you after dinner, but if you’d rather get it behind you, we can take care of it now.”

  Ellie nodded her head against his chest.

  “Do you deserve a spanking?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she blubbered. “I put myself in danger. I kept something from you. I deserve to be spanked.”

  “Do you have the spoon?”

  Ellie pulled the implement from the waistband of her pants. “I do.”

  For a big man, he was quick. Fast as lightning he seized the spoon, tucked her under his arm and laid a flurry of spanks over her pants. Her feet scrambled in the dirt, kicking up dust and stamping. The spoon was concentrated pain, burning and relentless. Just as quickly as it started, he stopped and released her.

  Slipping the spoon into his own pocket, he undid her pants, and they fell to the ground. He pulled her under his arm once more and resumed the punishment. The spoon went around and around before moving to a single spot and spanking over and over and over. Ellie squirmed and writhed. Tears fell, and she swiped at her nose with her sleeve. The spoon moved to her other side and found a single spot to beat its painful tattoo.

  The spoon was bad. It was terrible. But worse yet was the loss of contact with Lars. When over his lap, she felt his warmth, his presence. He rubbed her red bottom every now and again or spoke words of encouragement. This was punishment. Plain and simple. He set the price, and she paid it. He stood her in front of him and placed strong hands on her shoulders.

  “If something happened to you, I would be a lost man,” he murmured, low and husky. “Let me protect you, Ellie girl. Let me be that man. I expect I’ll need to warm your bottom now and again, but I don’t ever want to have to punish you like this again. Never. Don’t make me. Don’t put yourself in harm’s way.”

  Ellie wiped at her messy face. “I won’t, Lars. I promise.”

  He leaned over and sealed her mouth with his. “It’s forgiven. Let’s eat. My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”

  They sat on a log in front of their fire and scooped beans from the pot straight into their mouths. Nothing had ever tasted as good as his forgiveness.

  “What will we do now?” she asked.

  “Well, I reckon I’ll get a chance to be a lumberjack, after all. But we have two dollars, so we aren’t quite so desperate.” Lars swallowed a last bite of biscuit and took a long swallow from their canteen.

  Ellie studied his back as Lars walked to the horses. Broad shoulders tapered to a slim waist. Muscles rippled under the worn plaid shirt. Her stomach lurched. She wanted him; her body ached for him. That bulge in his trousers proclaimed his interest. They couldn’t go on like this. It was dangerous, and it was painful. Her little acorn of an idea sprouted into a full-blown oak complete with shady branches throwing shade.

  “I bought this to celebrate the end of three weeks working in that God forsaken mine.” Lars held a small bottle of whiskey in his hand. “It just came a mite early.” He set the bottle to his lips and amber fire disappeared down his throat. “Lord have mercy, that tastes good.” He wiggled the bottle in her direction.

  “I’ve never had whiskey.” Ellie looked at the bottle with raised eyebrows and a crooked smile.

  “First time for everything, darlin’,” Lars declared, offering her the bottle a second time.

  Ellie took the proffered liquid, tipped her head and gulped. The liquid burned. Her eyes teared up, and she coughed, recovered and coughed some more.

  Lars pounded her back. “Whoa, there. Only a little sip for a greenhorn like you,” he scolded, but merriment danced across his handsome face.

  “Now you tell me. I drank like you did,” Ellie gasped.

  “Well, I’ve had a lot of practice. Too much, probably.” He motioned at the bottle. “Take a little sip.”

  Ellie followed his instructions, and the firewater passed with less heat and a good deal more comfort. Her shoulders fell from her ears, and she leaned into Lars’ big, warm, sexy body.

  “That’s enough, I reckon.” Lars replaced the cap. “I’ve kept my promise not to have you until we’re out of danger, but if we get drunk, all bets are off. I’m only human.” His voice was firm, but regret vibrated beneath every word.

  “Lars, I have an idea,” Ellie began, “will you hear me out?”

  “Sure,” he drawled, pulling her into the circle of his arms.

  She struggled to be free. “I need to see your face. I’m serious.”

  Lars released her and sat up straight and tall. “What’s on your mind?” The casual question was in opposition to the granite clench of his jaw.

  “We can’t run forever,” she began.

  “True,” he agreed. “But I won’t let you fall into Simon’s hands. He’s rich and has a powerful family. Men like that get their way.” His voice was a low growl. “That’s the way of the world, damn it.”

  Ellie laid her hand on his muscled arm. “I know, but I have an idea.”

  “Tell me,” he commanded.

  “My mother always said the real trouble started when Simon’s grandfather moved to Sacramento and went into politics. Luther Prescott was a fair, hard-working man. Folks respected him. When he won a spot in the state Senate, he left his business interests in the hands of his son, Matthew. Matthew is the man who took my pa’s hotel in a card game. Now, my pa shouldn’t have gambled with it, but he swore Matthew cheated.” She swallowed hard and studied the toe of her boot. “Matthew is a scoundrel. He overcharges, intimidates, and bullies, but he’s not evil like Simon.”

  “How does any of this help us?” Lars paced in front of the fire with hands on hips.

  “It’s a risk, but I don’t believe Luther Prescott is aware of Simon’s activities. I say let’s go to Sacramento and ask for his help. Get him to call Simon off.” Ellie waited while Lars prowled back and forth.

  “Why should he do that? Simon’s his blood,” Lars replied.

  “Well, my ma thought he was a decent man. There’s that. But Luther has his eyes set on being governor. If it gets out that his grandson abuses young girls before they disappear, it will be bad for his ambitions.” She shrugged. “If he won’t help us because it’s the right thing to do, he might help us to help himself. Think on it. We can’t live on the run forever. Taking jobs you don’t want. Looking over our shoulders. Wishing we were with Sven and Caroline in Oregon. We need an end to the Simon trouble. Luther might give it to us.”

  “If he doesn’t?” Lars wondered.

  “Well, then we’re no worse off than we are now. We go back to San Francisco and gather evidence. Maybe the law will do its job. Matthew has had the sheriff in his pocket for years, but it might work.” She shrugged. “I say we try Luther first.”

  Lars stopped pacing and ran his hands through his hair. He exhaled a long, slow breath. “It’s worth a try. I want you safe, and I want a life with you. A normal life. We’ve been running li
ke rabbits from a fox. It’s time we faced him.”

  Ellie sank into Lars’ embrace. She inhaled his scent of horse, sweat and man. She loved Lars with her whole heart. If Luther Prescott helped them, she could love him body and soul.

  Tomorrow they would begin their descent and head south.

  No more running.

  No more hiding.

  Hope lifted its fragile wings and fluttered to life in her chest. Ellie threw her arms around Lars and held on for dear life.

  A dear life she hoped they could claim.

  Chapter 10

  Lars dragged his hat off his head and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. “Damn, it’s hot in Sacramento.”

  “It is that,” Ellie agreed. “The mountains were beautiful and cool. I’m going to miss them, but,” she gestured at a large white house across the dirt road, “we’re here.”

  They pulled their horses to a stop and stared. Luther Prescott’s house was a two-story mansion complete with balconies, pillars, a circular drive and large porch. It looked like a wedding cake he’d seen once. The cake and the house had too much frosting to his way of thinking. A man needed a roof over his head, food in his belly, and a shirt on his back. Rich men thought different. They needed all the frills, useless as they were.

  Ellie’s eyes were round as two silver dollar coins, “Only one man lives in that giant house,” she exclaimed.

  “One man and servants,” Lars replied. “It might be hard to get to see him. A rich man like that doesn’t talk to just anybody.” He paused to return his hat to its rightful place. “Should we sneak in later or march straight up to the front door?”

  “We have business with the man and leverage,” Ellie said.

  “Leverage?” A confused frown combined with a single arched eyebrow.

  “Yup, I’ve been thinking. If he won’t deal with Simon, we’ll take my story to the newspaper. He’s a politician with ambitions. He’ll want to keep his grandson’s activities secret. He won’t want newsmen snooping their way around San Francisco. That’s our trump card.” She swung to the ground. “Our running days are over. One way or the other. They’re over,” she declared.

  Lars joined her on the ground and tied the horses to the hitching post. “I like your fire, Ellie girl.” He landed a light smack on her bottom. “And I do like you in a dress.” He dropped a slow, sexy wink her way.

  She looked down at the green print dress. “Well, it seemed better than knocking on a rich man’s door in those trousers held up with rope.” Her laugh was warm and low. It sent tingles from his stomach to his toes and back again.

  “Let’s go, cowboy,” she said.

  Lars extended his arm, and Ellie slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. Together they marched across the street and mounted the stairs. Lars lifted the large wrought iron knocker and let it drop.

  A man in a suit of black and a snowy white shirt opened the door. He eyed them top to bottom and rewarded them with a polite sneer.

  “May I help you?” His question wasn’t snooty, but his voice verged on insult.

  Lars straightened his spine and looked down at the butler with icy eyes. “We would like to speak with the senator,” he said, his voice low and thunderous.

  “The senator is not receiving,” the butler replied.

  Lars paused. His eyes met Ellie’s. A look like lightning flashed passed between them. That smarty-pants butler would have been singed by the heat if he wasn’t hiding in the doorway.

  “I think you best ask him. This concerns his grandson,” Lars pressed on. He positioned a hand on either hip and tapped his foot a time or two. He intended to speak to the senator this day.

  “Please wait.” The door swung shut in their faces.

  Lars shrugged. “Didn’t expect the welcome mat.”

  They stood shoulder to shoulder and stared at the intimidating door. It might as well have been a drawbridge over a castle moat.

  Lars shuffled his feet. He hated waiting. His jaw settled into a hard line. “Ellie girl, I think we’ll have to try something beside the front door. That man isn’t coming back.”

  As they turned to leave, the door opened on its silent hinges. “The senator regrets he has prior commitments.” The door began its closing arc.

  “Well, that’s fine. You tell him he can either talk to us about his grandson or read about it in the paper,” Lars said. He took hold of Ellie’s elbow and turned her toward the street.

  “Wait. Let me check the senator’s schedule one more time,” the butler spluttered.

  “You do that,” Lars replied. The well-oiled door swung shut.

  “That man is nothing but a strutting peacock. Getting paid to answer a rich man’s door. What kind of man makes his living that way?” Lars blew a disgusted huff of air and slapped his thigh.

  “Peacock? I think he looks just like a penguin,” Ellie snorted.

  Lars pulled her close under his arm and stared at the wooden barrier.

  The door swung open a third time. “The senator will see you now.” The officious little man stepped back to allow entrance. “Follow me, please.”

  They stepped into the mansion. Lord almighty, dirt didn’t stand a chance in this place. Every surface gleamed, sparkled or glowed. To the right a marble staircase curved away in a graceful sweep. A banister of polished wood marked its borders. The ceiling soared over their heads and fat, little babies floated on clouds of fluff across the expanse. They passed pictures and vases and fancy clocks all of which declared their value by their very uselessness.

  The butler stopped in front on a double door and rapped the wood with the back of his knuckles.

  “Enter,” the disembodied voice floated into the hall.

  The butler pushed the doors open and gestured for them to proceed. He pulled the doors shut with a barely audible click.

  A tall man with a halo of white hair sat behind a desk the size of a good raft. He motioned toward the chairs that stood like soldiers at attention on the supplicant’s side of the expanse of wood.

  “I am Senator Prescott.” His name rolled like an incantation off his tongue. “And who might you be?”

  “I’m Lars Nielson and this is Ellie McBride.” Lars extended his hand over the desk. After a moment’s hesitation, the senator took it and the two men participated in the masculine ritual. Eyes locked. Grips tight. The air crackled and snapped before their hands parted ways.

  The senator sat and leaned back in his chair. He rested his elbows on the arms and steepled his fingers under his chin. He weighed them through steel gray eyes. Lars was pretty sure they came up lacking.

  “McBride, McBride,” he mused. “That name has a familiar ring.”

  “Well, my father once owned the hotel that your son calls the Prescott Hotel. My pa lost it to him in a poker game, but that’s not why we’re here,” Ellie explained.

  “I see. I understand you wish to discuss my grandson. In fact, you gained entrance to my home by threatening to expose him to the press and thereby harming my political ambitions.” He leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms on the polished wood of his desk and pierced them with a penetrating gaze. “I am unaccustomed to being blackmailed, young man. I can tell you that I don’t care for the sensation.”

  Lars sat straight in his chair and returned the senator’s hostile gaze. “I’m sorry that you dislike our tactics. We did try asking for an interview first and were denied.” He covered Ellie’s hand with his larger one. “I believe you should hear Ellie’s story. I’ll be honest, Senator, we came here hoping for your help. Well, listen to what she has to say and then decide if we mean to hurt or help your career.” He pulled Ellie’s chair closer to his own and draped an arm over her shoulders. “Go ahead, Ellie girl, tell him.”

  Ellie cleared her throat, and Lars gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

  “My ma held you in high regard, Senator,” Ellie began. “She said the trouble only began after you turned your interests over to your s
on and grandson and moved to Sacramento.”

  “Trouble?” he queried.

  “Your son, Matthew, isn’t so very bad. He charges business owners what he calls ‘insurance’. If they pay, the police will protect them. If not, they are fair game for thieves. I don’t know what else he’s up to, but he causes folks to lose money. Not their lives.”

  “And Simon?” The older man crossed one elegant leg over the other and leaned into his leather chair. He studied the nails on his right hand before fixing Ellie with a flinty stare. “What are your complaints?”

  “Simon likes to hurt young girls,” she said before pausing to wipe at her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “He finds girls who have no family to protect them. Sometimes he takes one from the mission school knowing that their kin are stuck on a reservation. No one would listen to them anyway,” she sighed.

  The senator uncrossed his legs and sat up arrow straight. “Now, miss, if you expect me to believe that my grandson…”

  Ellie held up a hand palm out. From her pocket she retrieved a folded paper. She opened it and laid it flat on the desk.

  The senator studied it before looking up at Ellie. “Why, this is you.”

  “It is. My ma protected me from him, but after she died, I went to work in the hotel. Simon saw me. He wanted to take me to his room. I was just the kind of girl he liked. One with no family.” She gulped to a stop. “You have to believe me. He hurts those poor girls. When they leave the hotel, they have black eyes, whip marks, burns. My ma heard him bragging that he only bothers with ones who are ‘untried’. The girls disappear. The other maids think he puts them on a ship headed for the Orient. Probably sold to a brothel, but I don’t know where they go. It’s only a guess.”

  “These are serious charges, young lady,” the senator growled.

  “I know, sir. I know.” Her voice barely a whisper. Lars’ arm around her shoulder encouraged her to sit up bold and confident. “Like I was saying, after my ma died, I worked in the hotel. I was warned he was coming for me, so I ran. I met Lars, and he helped me get away. We’ve been hiding in the Sierras, but we want to go to Oregon and find his brother. We can’t run and hide forever. Simon spread these posters about and that reward is tempting. He isn’t used to not getting what he wants, and this time it’s me.” Ellie had lost the fight with her tears, and they coursed down her pale face. “Can you help me? Can you stop him? Please,” she begged.