The Sons of Johnny Hastings Box Set

by Patty Devlin

  “Clint, please. The other boarders will hear.”

  “They’re down at breakfast and unless you cut a shine like the last time, they’ll be none the wiser.” As he spoke, he laid her skirts over her back. When he pulled the drawstring on her drawers, her hand flew back in self-preservation.

  “Hands stay out of the way, Em.” He caught her hand and pinned it against her back before he whisked her drawers down one-handed. His open-palmed swat zinged against her bare bottom.

  “Clint!” This felt much different without the padding of her clothes. It stung dreadfully.

  “No matter your protests or tears, you are getting spanked for your impulsive behavior and disobedience. So hush, unless you want your fellow boarders to know.” He handed her a pillow. “Muffle the sound with this if you can’t help crying out.”

  He swatted her again, the sound of skin against skin echoing throughout the room. She wanted to ask what he suggested to muffle that sound, but not being entirely foolish, she didn’t. Mortified, she bit her lip, determined to remain silent. He was relentless as smack after stinging smack bounced off her behind.

  After what seemed like forever, he paused. Thank the good Lord! Then his hand rubbed against her warm skin, his fingers wandering over even more intimate areas. She stiffened. His attentions were producing quite a different kind of burning, both intriguing and pleasant. Oh dear, how can that be? Her lips parted upon a quick intake of air, suddenly breathless. She wiggled beneath his hand, the sensations he was evoking very similar to what he had created last night.

  “Be still, Emmalee. We’re halfway there.”

  “Halfway!” she gasped in alarm. “Surely that is sufficient, Clint. I’m on fire.”

  “I decide what is sufficient, sweetheart. I want you to learn a lesson from this.”

  “It’s highly unlikely I will forget!”

  She thought she heard a chuckle, but Clint resumed the swats right then and she couldn’t be sure. He continued with the same intensity as before, but the experience had changed for her; although her bottom stung terribly, the tingling warmth between her thighs made everything ever so much better. It was a paradox, and something she couldn’t even begin to explain.

  After what seemed like a hundred swats, but probably wasn’t even close to being half that, Clint stopped. After stroking her burning cheeks for a bit, he suddenly turned her upright. The quick change of position made her head spin. Or maybe it was the proximity of her husband, her bare bottom rubbing against his trousers, or his hands at her waist. She breathed out a juddery moan.

  “Remember the sting in your bottom when you think to disobey me in the future.”

  He thought her moan was from the spanking; well, it was, but not for the reason he thought. It wasn’t from the sting in her bottom, which was there, no denying. It was more from the tremendous heat that pervaded her entire nether region, which had left her panting, moaning and wiggling. Of course, she couldn’t tell him that. God forbid. She bit her lip, as she suppressed a trill of giddy laughter. For him to think her amused by his punishment or to acknowledge the extent of her arousal from the spanking would be a huge mistake, she was sure. So she nodded silently instead, letting him think what he would.

  “Answer me verbally, please.”

  Drat! He was unbelievably demanding. With a deep inhalation to center herself, she answered, “I’ll remember this spanking the next time I think of going against your wishes. I swear.” Good heavens! Her words came out breathy and broken to her own ears; what would he think?

  “Aw sweetheart, this was your first real spanking. It’s understandable if you cry.”

  She turned her face into his shirt, hiding. Now she felt guilty for misleading him, but that was absurd.

  “Looking back, can you see the wisdom in my orders?”

  Actually, she couldn’t. Her plan was going along fine until fate and nature intervened. Foolishly, her head all a muddle, she didn’t hesitate or even think before she answered. “It’s not my fault the train derailed. I would have made it to Cheyenne without mishap if it weren’t for that darn flash flood.”

  He tensed, sitting silently for a moment, so long, in fact, that she peeked at him to see what was wrong. His face was dark with anger and his brows were furrowed into a brooding look.

  “You haven’t learned anything at all.”

  “But—”

  “You feel the end justifies the means.” He captured her chin. “Dammit, Emmalee, what am I supposed to do about that?”

  Spank me, love me and take me with you, she thought. But unfortunately, he’d done none of those things. Instead, he lifted her off his lap and stood. Gathering up his newly purchased saddle bags, he packed in silence as Emmalee looked on. Having adjusted her clothes, she stood out of the way, wringing her hands. Now that the sensual moments of intimacy had passed, she felt the burn in her bottom more intensely, but the tightness in her chest caused her more discomfort. He was angry and disappointed, and that hurt her more than the spanking ever had.

  “Honey, I’m sorry.” Her voice shook with tears. She’d tolerated twenty smacks of his palm, but his words of disappointment pained her more deeply. “Please, don’t leave angry.”

  “I’m disappointed in you, Emmalee. While I’m gone, think about what kind of marriage you want to have. The choice is simple: we can have one of distrust, lies and trickery, or one based on honesty, trust and mutual respect. Think long and hard about it, because if it’s the former, it will be quite unpleasant for both of us.”

  “I don’t want the former, Clint. I want to be a good wife, I swear.”

  Finished, he slung the packed leather bags over one shoulder and turned to her. “I’m sure you do, sweetheart. You are still very young. You’re also naïve and idealistic. You don’t realize the repercussions of your rash behavior sometimes. We’ll establish some rules when I get back. Now give me a kiss goodbye.”

  She moved toward him. When she was still a foot away, he grabbed her and pulled her close for a scintillating goodbye kiss.

  “Behave and remember what I told you, Mrs. Ryan. I’ll wire when I get to Denver.”

  “Please be careful, Clint.”

  “Always. I love you, baby.”

  “I love you, too.”

  He’d left then. As she stared at the closed door, she’d made a decision. She didn’t want to disappoint him in such a way again and determined to be a good wife. If that meant remaining safely behind, waiting for his return even when she didn’t want to, so be it.

  There was just one problem standing between her and her new vow of wifely obedience. That problem had a name—Homer Barton.

  Clint hadn’t been gone thirty minutes when she decided it was time to go down for coffee. She had no appetite, but with only three hours sleep behind her, she needed the pick-me-up of a strong cup of Arbuckle’s. She laughed softly. Clint had appropriated the western term for coffee, and it seemed to have stuck with her as well. Afterward, she decided she’d seek out Mr. Hampton and devise some sort of schedule.

  She’d no sooner stepped out of her room then Homer appeared, standing entirely too close.

  “Yer new husband had a little talk with me just now. Dared me to come near you.”

  Emmalee backed away from him, but he kept pace. She was soon plastered against the wall. “Then why are you here?”

  “Not going to let some dude from back east tell Homer Barton what to do.” He leaned in close, propping an arm against the wall over her head. The stale smell of whiskey and the foul stench of his unwashed body assailed her nostrils. She gagged, turning her head away in revulsion.

  “Please let me pass. I’m late for breakfast. Your mother will be offended.”

  He ignored her. “I heard you giving it to him last night. Yowling like a fuckin’ wildcat. It got me hungering for a taste of that, too.” He crowded her, his breath an assault to her senses. As waves of nausea roiled inside her, her hands came up and pushed against him.

  “If you
touch me, Clint will kill you.”

  “Can’t kill me if’n he ain’t here. Ma goes to town today. While she’s gone, you and me are gonna have some fun.”

  “It’ll be a cold day in hell before you get a taste. You disgust me.” She shoved with all her might, rocking him back an inch or two, just enough for her to slip by. She ran to the top of the stairs and clambered down the steps, his oily voice calling after her.

  “I was plannin’ to take you to heaven, purty lady, but I can do hell. It’s a shorter trip.”

  That’s what led to this next predicament—again, not of her making. She’d waited downstairs until he’d left the house a few minutes later, and then Emmalee cleared out. Hurrying to the stable in town livery as if the devil was after her (which wasn’t far from the truth), she hoped to catch Clint, but the stableman said she had just missed him.

  With great difficulty, she had proceeded to hire out her own horse and tack. They hadn’t wanted to do business with a woman, but money could persuade men to do all kinds of things. Because this was a one-way trip, she actually had to buy the horse outright. Clint had left her with money, but that wouldn’t pay for a hind quarter. The shysters wanted $200 for a quality mare, plus $17 for a saddle. It was highway robbery, but time was passing quickly and each minute took Clint farther away from her. So she’d bought a horse, but not the quality mare. Instead, she bought the broken down nag they had for sale for what he called “a bargain at $60.” If she were lucky, her mount wouldn’t keel over and leave her stranded in the middle of nowhere. She’d gone to the mercantile to buy essentials while they saddled her horse for an additional $15.

  That was the misadventure that had brought her to this point: thighs on fire from post trot fatigue, bottom burning from Clint’s hard hand and the constant smacking and chafing against the hard leather saddle, and nose red-hot from sunburn (an essential had not included a hat). If that wasn’t bad enough, she had the urgent need to answer the call of nature. For the hundredth time in the past four hours, she rued the day she’d boarded the train in Boston. She was also starting to see the wisdom in her husband’s orders.

  Steering her horse to a cluster of trees, she slid from the saddle. As she landed on both feet, the force jarred her sharply and made her aware there wasn’t a single part of her body that didn’t hurt. Emmalee tied the reins to a tree and checked the gun in her pocket. The Remington six-shot revolver was one essential she had remembered. Unlike the man at the stables, the clerk hadn’t batted an eye when she’d asked to purchase a gun. He had even showed her how to load it and taken her out back to “try it on for size.” She suspected he did this for entertainment purposes alone, because he had laughed hysterically when the recoil from the first shot had knocked her on her hind parts in the dirt. Five shots later, with a few tips from him in between riotous bouts of laughter, she had finally gotten the knack for it. Her aim left a lot to be desired, but it would have to do. The gun scared the dickens out of her, but even she was smart enough not to take off into Nowheresville, Iowa, without a weapon.

  Loaded gun ready, she carefully picked her way through the trees until she found a place to take care of her personal business. Wishing for the comforts of home and her well-appointed bathroom, she used leaves to dry herself, her nose wrinkled in distaste the entire time. On her way back, she heard the sound of running water nearby. Turning off her path, she soon came upon a small brook. Squealing in delight, she knelt on the bank, and shoving her gun securely in her deep skirt, she dipped her hands in the cool water for a scrub. Once they were as clean as plain water would allow, she scooped handfuls to her mouth for a drink and splashed the refreshingly cool water on her face. She also wetted her handkerchief and dabbed it on the back of her neck. Iowa in July was hot, much worse than Boston on its hottest day, and there was no pleasant breeze off the ocean. It was unbearable. Since she was alone, she didn’t hesitate to open her blouse and rewet the linen, bathing her chest blissfully in the fresh water.

  A hand in her hair tugging her head back made her scream, not from pain, but from the fright of her life. The hand kept a steady pressure until she was bent all the way back, looking skyward. Angry blue eyes blocked out the sun the next moment. She sagged against him in relief, but his hold on her hair was unyielding, and she yelped.

  “What in holy hell are you doing here, Emmalee? Have you lost all the wits the good Lord gave you, woman?”

  “Clint—” she breathed. The sudden fright had caused her heart to race, and it was just now easing slowly.

  “I could have been anyone, an outlaw, a hostile Indian or a lonely traveler. Imagine their delight in finding you alone, distracted and frolicking by a creek with your clothes undone. You’re a damn open invitation for rape, kidnapping, and when they were done with you, murder.”

  His hand flexed in her hair, making her eyes water.

  “You’re pulling my hair, honey.”

  Immediately, he eased his grip, palming and massaging her scalp, easing the sting. With a tug, he hauled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her. “I’m sorry, but blast and damnation, Emmalee. You scared ten years off me.”

  His gruff words were spoken into her hair as he hugged her close. It lasted only a minute before he released her. With a tug on one firmly clasped hand, he began to lead her through the trees.

  Em scrambled to keep up with his long-legged stride. She’d become winded by the time they emerged in the clearing where she’d left her horse. He let go of her hand the next instant and stood glowering at her old mare, hands on his hips. The fire in his eyes was banked, he was in control, but Em could tell he was livid. So angry, in fact, she wouldn’t have been surprised to see steam coming from his ears.

  “What in the name of heaven is that?”

  She followed his gaze to her dappled mare. “That’s Daisy, my horse.”

  “That nag may have been a horse in some years past, but only loosely resembles one now. She’s sway-backed and must be at least twenty-five, if she’s a day. She should be out grazing somewhere, not traipsing around Iowa beneath my disobedient wife.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but he held up his hand, pointing a condemning finger at her.

  “You do not speak! This is how it’s going to be, wife. Since you have once again gone against my wishes, I find myself stuck with you where I do not want you. This is dangerous territory and no place for a city woman. As such, you will do exactly what I say, how I say and when I say—without question. If you give me any lip or even a suggestion of defiance or cause any trouble whatsoever, I will blister your bottom with my belt or a switch from the nearest tree. It will make this morning’s spanking seem like love pats. So help me, if you have to ride into Omaha face down with your belly in the saddle, so be it. I don’t care if you bawl so loud they can hear you in Denver. You will follow my lead exactly because that is the only hope I have of protecting you. Are we clear on this, Emmalee?”

  “Yes, Clint, we are clear.” She said this softly, not taking any chances on riling him up further. She had never seen Clint so angry. She was afraid that this time, she may have pushed him too far.

  “Saddle up. I hope you and that old nag can keep up because we need to make Newland, which is the halfway point, by nightfall.”

  ***

  Clint observed her closely as she led her horse to a nearby fallen tree and used it as a mounting block. He noticed her stiff movements as she hauled herself awkwardly into the saddle. Taking note of her wide-legged split skirt, which was full enough to cover her legs sufficiently and allow her to ride astride, he wasn’t sure he liked how the fabric adhered to the curves of her hips and shapely bottom. Granted, it was more suitable than a regular skirt and more appropriate for riding through the rough terrain ahead, although not exactly proper.

  He frowned at the high angle of her knees as she took up the reins and approached. “Your stirrups are too high. Let me adjust them.”

  “No!” Her quick objection had him glancing up a
t her in question. “I prefer them that way.”

  “Nonsense, unless you are jumping or racing, you need them lowered for a long ride.” It dawned on him then what she was doing. A spanking preceding a four-hour ride in the saddle couldn’t have been pleasant. She’d been standing or leaning forward to ease her tender backside. “We have another six hours of riding today, Em. Will your bottom be able to take it?”

  A blush of color suffused her face as she stiffened. “That is hardly a proper topic of conversation and one I am not interested in discussing even if it were.”

  Laying his hand along her thigh, he squeezed firmly. “Talk of propriety is out of place on a trail in the wilds of Iowa, I think. Besides, nothing is out of bounds between a husband and wife. If it gets too uncomfortable, say the word and I’ll take you up with me.”

  She glanced his way briefly before her eyes darted away. “I don’t see how that would help. I’m fine.”

  “Don’t be stubborn, Em. If you fall behind, I’ll take the choice away from you. I won’t have you suffer out of misplaced pride, and I don’t mean to have you exposed to the dangers of the trail any longer than necessary.” Although his words were stern, he softened his tone.

  She nodded, blinking rapidly.

  His hand moved to her bottom, and he squeezed gently, testing the extent of her discomfort. Her eyes widened, and she sucked in a deep breath. “Emmalee, look at me.” When her pretty face angled down to him, her dark green eyes were damp with tears. “I’m serious in this. Don’t be a martyr, sweetheart. If it gets too painful, tell me.”

  An hour later, when she shifted in the saddle for the hundredth time, he’d had enough. Clint pulled alongside her and plucked the reins from her hands. Leaning in, he wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her from the saddle. Ignoring her shrill squeal of surprise and outrage, he laid her face down over his lap. Holding her steady with a splayed hand at her lower back, he attached her horse’s reins to his saddle.