The Rancher and The Bad Girl

by Kira Barcelo

  Pausing, he told her, "And there's also another matter. Something about you saying something mean to Mae?"

  "Oh…" she sounded earnestly penitent. "She—she told you about that?"

  "She didn't tell me herself, no. The marshal told me. He heard you. Everybody there heard you."

  "Good to know the marshal's good for something. Guess he's a one-man newspaper. He sure can't catch any rustle—ow!"

  He resumed peppering her behind with stinging spanks. Judging by the way she was arching her back and kicking her feet, he was getting through to her, loud and clear.

  "You'll go into town, and you'll apologize," he said.

  "Y-yes, sir."

  "Tomorrow morning."

  "Oh—can't I please go in a f-few days?"

  "Bright and early tomorrow morning," he repeated. "You can take your horse or you can take the wagon. Either way, you'll be traveling on a sore bottom."

  After a couple dozen more smacks with his hand, Reeve inspected her throbbing bottom that bore tender red prints of his hand.

  "All right. I'd say you're warmed up enough," he declared.

  "Wh-what? Warmed up? What do you mean, warmed up?"

  Helping her up first, he stood to his feet and glanced around. She saw him take the switch off the bed and squealed.

  "No, not the switch! Not the—"

  "I better not ever hear of you fighting like that again, woman," he admonished before landing the switch across both cheeks, already on fire from the spanking with his hand.

  "You won't! You won't! I won't! Ow, ow, ow!"

  He probably should have bent her over the bed on the bench. Admittedly, he found that little dance she was doing, hopping on one foot, then the other, as he held her arm with one hand and administered the switch to her blistered tail with the other, delightful.

  "And how about that apology?" he pressed, swishing the implement through the air a second time. She jumped and yelped as it took a bite of her rear.

  "T-tomorrow morning!" She was fighting back tears. "Even if I-I have to walk there."

  He spanked her three more times with the switch, at which point she was crying and dancing simultaneously. Tossing aside the switch, he turned her firmly to face him. Reeve lifted her chin with his hand and stared into his eyes.

  Funny, how even when he was spanking her, she could arouse him. She had him thinking about what he would rather have been doing to her. Her eyes, large and round, gazed back into his. In those moments she was calming down, her breathing slowly back down to normal. Melanie's tongue darted out slightly to moisten his lips, and that tiny gesture, either innocently or not so innocently done, had him wanting to get her on that bed right behind them.

  "I don't want anyone to ever say anything about you that's untrue," he told her, his throat hoarse.

  "I know." Her lower lip quivered. "I feel terrible for what I said to Mae. I didn't mean it at all, Reeve."

  "Well, I know. And that's not like you, sweetheart. You're a beautiful, caring woman." Clearing his throat and squaring his shoulders, Reeve told her sternly, "That's even more reason for you not to lower yourself to that other gal's level. I don't appreciate her talking to you like that. And I sure as—eh, I don't appreciate her telling you what I did before you came here. I'm not proud of that."

  Neither was he proud of almost having used ungentlemanly language in front of her. There he was, telling her he expected her to behave like a lady. How could he disrespect her by not minding his own manners around her?

  Melanie had pulled her drawers back up and was rubbing her bottom. Softly, she said, "We've all done things we're not proud of, darling. Do you…want me to go tonight?"

  "Where?"

  "To see Mae and apologize. I'll go tonight if you want me to. I feel really terrible about hurting her."

  Reeve softened, seeing her eyes moistening with tears. "Tomorrow morning's good enough. For now… rest. Your sister can take care of fixing supper."

  "I'll come down and help her."

  "You sure?"

  "I'm sure. I'll be down in a few minutes to help Olivia. She tried to stop me from fighting with that woman. I'd rather not leave everything for her to do."

  Reeve nodded. Then he pulled her into his arms and held her, lingering there, kissing her.

  There was something she was keeping from him. He couldn't prove it, but he sensed it wasn't his imagination, either. What could he say to her that would convince her to trust him? Could she trust him? Did anything in her past have the power to change the love he already had for her?

  He also had a past. Mae's girl, Eliza, had touched upon it. More than that, she'd used it against Melanie. "You know, it was lonely here." Was he really saying those words? Admitting to them? Once he'd said them, there was no taking them back. "A man's not supposed to say that, but it's true."

  Melanie smiled. "Why can't a man say that he feels alone? I've felt alone many times."

  "A man's not supposed to… well, you know, you have your work. You have your land and your cattle and men that work for you. Still felt like something was missing. You try to fill that spot with something, anything." He paused to look down at her. "But it doesn't feel like that anymore. Since you've been here, I don't want or need anyone else. Just you, Mel."

  Melanie wrapped her arms around his neck. "I never feel alone anymore, either. Even when you're out there, working, I know you're there and that you're coming back. I know I belong to you and you're mine."

  Reeve grinned. "Then don't listen to what anyone else says about me. Because no one—and nothing—will change my mind about who you are to me, either."

  * * * * *

  To say the ride into town the next morning was uncomfortable was an understatement.

  Melanie had thought that driving the wagon would be easier than sitting in the saddle on Jimmy. That was before her still-sore tail felt every single bump and rock along the road. Having her bottom cushioned by a pillow might have rendered the ride less painful. At the last minute, she'd decided against it. Her sister's spanking over Forest Parrish's horse already had tongues wagging. Melanie didn't really want people seeing her tossing a pillow into the back of the wagon and figuring out she'd gotten her rear end roasted for that little street brawl on the previous day.

  Maybe there'll come a time when I won't get spanked… as much, she mused as she climbed down from the wagon, careful to pretend she was smoothing down her skirt. In actuality, she was soothing her sore butt with a couple of rubs after that rough ride from home.

  If there was such a time, she doubted it would be any time soon. As a husband, Reeve was strict. In spite of herself, she smiled, knowing that as a wife, she had a definite penchant for getting herself in trouble. Not a good combination for her poor behind!

  And even though it hurt to be on the receiving end, literally, of a spanking, it also came with a mix of emotions. For one thing, she felt cared for and loved. That was especially true afterwards, when Reeve held her and spoke reassuringly to her. She was still too stubborn to admit it, yet she accepted that he knew what was best for her. He was trying to bring out the best in her, too.

  Spanking was new to her. Both she and Olivia had been mistreated, even abused at the hands of others since they were young, both physically and verbally. But being bent over a man's knee and spanked until her bottom felt like it was on fire? That was a whole new experience.

  New… and confusing. Confusing, because it did have a way of straightening her out. Lunch for her husband, the hands, and now Forest, was always right on time now. Fighting like a hotheaded cowboy? Not unless she wanted to feel the switch lighting a blazing streak across her bottom again.

  Mae was there, talking to the piano player, when Melanie walked into the saloon. Their gazes met from across the room. Both women smiled, if rather awkwardly.

  She hated the fact that the apology was even necessary. She'd half expected a cold reception from Mae. Not that she could blame the lady. Instead, the big blonde excused herse
lf and quickly made her way across the room.

  Before she could even greet Melanie, the younger woman asked, "Would you mind giving me a few minutes of your time, Mae? In private?"

  "Of course, honey. Outside okay?"

  Melanie understood the question. It could very well have been rephrased as, Do you mind if people see you talking to me?

  "Outside is fine, ma'am," Melanie spoke respectfully to her.

  Had she said anything to her girls? Melanie couldn't help but look around, saying a quick prayer that she wouldn't see that mean-spirited Eliza. There were only two of the girls present and one was Janie, looking on curiously, and another girl, perched on a customer's lap and chatting.

  Once outside, with sunlight making both women shield their eyes, Melanie spoke first. "I know you're busy, so I won't waste your time," she began. "I want you to know how sorry I am, ma'am, for the way I spoke to you yesterday."

  Mae nodded. "You want to say that… or did Reeve make you come here and say that?"

  She was truthful. "He did make me come. But, Mae, I would have, anyway. I feel terrible for saying such a mean thing to you. You've been nothing but kind to me. You didn't deserve that. I… I hope you'll forgive me. That you'll still think of me as a friend."

  "Oh. Oh, honey…" the blonde laughed, though her eyes grew misty. "I didn't even know you thought of me as a friend!"

  "Well, Reeve does. I hope you'll think of me that way, too." Melanie clasped her hands over both of Mae's. "I know you've done a lot for the school that's being built. And I've heard you do things for other people, when you can. You have a good heart. You're a better person than I am."

  "Now that's not true. I'm a good judge of character, if I do say so, myself. I knew as soon as I met you that Reeve had picked himself a good one." To Melanie's relief, Mae hugged her tightly, then stood back to smile at her. "I also owe you an apology for how Eliza treated you. How much trouble did you get into for… that little public squabble yesterday?"

  Melanie felt the color rising in her cheeks. "Enough that I'll be leaving the brawling to the men from now on."

  It felt good to see Mae laugh. "Well, I have to say, that's a good idea, honey. Oh—and Eliza didn't escape punishment, either. Richard strapped her soundly for fighting with you. I won't have any of my girls giving me a bad reputation. I mean, worse than the one I've already got!"

  Melanie also laughed, then returned the embrace. "I have to be getting home. And I've kept you long enough already. I really do value you as a friend, Mae. I'm glad we're—well, that there are no hard feelings between us."

  "None at all, honey. Don't give that another thought. I'll see you soon. Oh—and thank you for what you said about me, and the school. I don't always feel appreciated, even though it's really nothing. It's my pleasure to be able to do something for the little ones."

  Melanie believed that to be the truth. She watched Mae head back into the saloon as she stepped back onto the wagon. Gingerly, she set her bottom back down on the seat, emitting a quiet hiss through her teeth as she reached for the reins.

  It was then that she noticed two of the women from the meeting at the church the day before. They were staring in her direction and whispering, but when they saw her glaring back at them, they turned and hurried along the boardwalk.

  Fine. You silly biddies can judge me all you want!

  She couldn't help what others thought of her. Mae had never done anything to her. She would ignore them, not pay any attention to them, and just be about her own business.

  Ironically, had she done that yesterday with Eliza, that trip that morning into town would not have even been necessary.

  Chapter Nine

  Gavin Hutchins was no Reeve Larson.

  The man was an inch shorter than Olivia Cranford and had the resemblance of a life-sized grasshopper, or maybe it was just his bow-legged appearance. Around town, he was said to be petty and prissy, more like a bitter old woman than a man in his forties. He had a horse face and dripped of arrogance.

  But he was a rancher. His ranch, he'd wasted no time in announcing to Olivia, was substantially larger than Reeve's, though an even larger ranch with ties to England had their sights on his place and had already offered him money for the place.

  Olivia couldn't help but notice the couple dancing around them. The late summer dance had been planned by some of the ladies in town as a way to socialize, but mostly for the new flow of mail order brides who had come to Garner Falls and their prospective husbands to get to know each other. It was quite a festive affair that had brought nearly everyone to the Penley home, which had a sizeable ballroom. Musicians had been hired and there was punch and a candlelit table filled with assorted finger foods to nibble on while conversing in clusters or couples.

  "I did have someone younger than you in mind," Hutchins was saying. "Maybe nineteen, twenty. Twenty-three at the oldest. You're…how old?"

  Olivia could barely believe the man's rudeness. He was cold, too, just the way he spoke to her, as if they were discussing a business arrangement.

  Which, to Hutchins, they apparently were.

  "I'm thirty," she confessed.

  "Oh. That's old. How do I even know you'll be able to produce children?"

  There are other men here. Other ranchers. Why am I wasting my time with this cold fish?

  "I'm not old. And I'm healthy," she defended herself but kept her voice down. "I can cook and clean and sew. I can take care of a household and feed your hands. I'm sure I can have babies. Still have a lot of baby-rearing years left in me."

  "I already have a cook and a housekeeper, who also does any sewing that needs to be done. What I need is a wife to give me children. Strong boys, especially, to work the ranch for me."

  He would be just as cold with his children. With his own flesh and blood, Olivia realized. Did she really want to subject her children to that?

  "Perhaps you do need a younger woman." The look of surprise on his face, registering because she'd changed so abruptly with him, gave her spiteful satisfaction. "Hope you find someone suitable to your needs soon. You're not getting any younger, yourself."

  He huffed and looked about to give her a piece of his mind. Olivia walked briskly away first, taking her glass of punch with her. The one she'd had to fetch herself, since Hutchins hadn't even been gentlemanly enough to get it for her.

  "May I have this dance, Miss Cranford?"

  Her excitement at the invitation died down as soon as she turned, her full skirt twirling with her fast movements.

  "You dance, Mr. Parrish?" she asked, incredulously.

  "I've been known to dance every now and then, yes." He didn't seem to take offense to the question. "There's a lot about me that would surprise you, little lady."

  "Hmph. I highly doubt that."

  Reluctantly, she had to admit that he looked completely better than he ever had. Much more attractive than Hutchins. Forest had tamed his hair somewhat. He'd worn a clean, pressed shirt under his vest, polished his boots, and shaved all those stray whiskers of his. He looked, whether she cared to be truthful about it or not, even more attractive than usual. Though she admired his typical, rugged look as well.

  Not that she would ever confide that to him.

  "Mr. Hutchins not the man for you?" he asked innocently. "I see he's on one side of the room and you're on the other."

  "If you must know, he says he's looking for a younger woman. One that can give birth to a bevy of strong ranch hands for him."

  "He said that?" Forest's eyes darkened. "I should go over there, teach him some manners. Not the way to talk to a lady."

  "That's not necessary. I can take care of myself." Now…shoo! I have husband-hunting to do!

  "He's not man enough to be your husband anyway," Forest said then.

  Olivia was amused. "Is that so? I take it you are?"

  "I'm not lookin' for a wife. With the kind of work I do, a wife, children—no life for them. They'd weigh me down. But a woman like you…" Forest to
ok a deep breath and tossed back his head. "Needs a good man. Strong. Take good care of you. Spoil you. Spank you, when you need spanking, which I imagine would be often."

  "Really?" She took a defiant stand, fastening her hands on her hips.

  "Yeah, that's right." He'd agreed pleasantly, like a sort of tease between them. "You're a hardheaded woman, Olivia Cranford. And you've got a temper like a wasp. You're fiery, too. I like that. Makes me think you'd be fiery in my bed."

  "Huh. In your dreams, cowboy. You won't ever get me in your bed, Forest Parrish."

  "Never?" he sang the word.

  "No. That's right, never."

  "Ah, to be a rancher! Because that's what you want. Isn't it?" He hooked his arm through hers. "Come on, darlin'. Be a good girl and dance with me. Just one dance. You don't want to be the only girl here not dancing with a man, do you?"

  The man was infuriating. Charming when he wanted to be, but infuriating.

  Nevertheless, to avoid making another public scene, Olivia allowed him to escort her to the dance floor.

  "One dance," she said. "That's all you're getting."

  "Yes, my lovely lady. Thank you for being so gracious to a dusty, old gun-slinging cowboy like me." His eyes seemed to be laughing at her, but she didn't care. "If I was a rancher, you'd be looking to charm me. Please me. What else?"

  His arm around her waist and her small hand in his larger one as they danced felt better than she could have guessed. His touch, the way the man smelled, of mint, pine, soap, and pure masculinity, was brewing all sorts of unwanted sensations in her.

  "You're not a rancher, so it doesn't matter," she reminded him.

  "Hm. Good point, princess. I do work for a rancher, though. That should count for something, right?"

  "Wrong. It doesn't count for a thing." Olivia shrugged, clearly enjoying the chance to torment him.

  "Well, I'm not a rancher… and you're no angel. Neither am I. So in that…" he whispered in her ear, "We're kindred spirits, you, and me."

  "Why do you enjoy telling me I'm—that I'm not—"