He’d said he’d cinched his saddle. And that’s just what she’d do too.
* * *
After their dinner, Clara tucked the quilts around her girls, kissing their foreheads before climbing out of the wagon. The sky had darkened into night with faint streaks of pink just at the horizon. She stretched out her sleeping bag near the fire, trying to keep hers distant from the others yet still close to the fire. She knew she’d be fighting tears tonight, and she wanted to face them without an audience.
Relief flooded through her at the knowledge that her girls were safe in the wagon, and wouldn’t hear her sniffling, wondering if they should be concerned or afraid. Angus insisted from day one that the girls were to sleep in the wagon at night. He said the night air wouldn’t be good for them, and he’d feel better having them safe in the wagon. Clara found Angus interesting. He had a rough and tough exterior, but inside he was very gentle and kind. Her girls adored him, and she had no doubt that they’d miss him when they departed.
Departed to where?
Her life seemed so uncertain now. One husband dead, the other would-be-husband left with another woman before he’d even met Clara. And now, she was alone with two little girls in the middle of Wyoming, trying to decide if she would go back to Indiana, or make her home in Missouri. It all felt so overwhelming. The tears stung and burned behind her eyes and though she fought it, they fell regardless. She pulled her sleeping bag over her head, trying to hide from the others.
The past year had been so difficult. She’d lived through so many changes since Matt died. That damn rusty nail in the barn. She knew the day he came in with his foot bleeding that it would be trouble. They’d done home remedies for it, but no matter what they did, it festered up. She’d made several poultices for it, but it just kept getting worse and worse until that day he woke up with a fever, his back, neck, and jaw constricted. He couldn’t move out of the bed, turn his head, or talk. Lockjaw.
Two days later he started having fits from the fever, his body spasming and then the dropsy took him. Her girls had missed him so much. They still did. If Eugene wasn’t for them, it was better to have him leave now than to break their hearts again. They couldn’t mourn over someone they’d never met. If anything, they seemed happier that they weren’t going to say goodbye to Angus. They had truly fallen in love with him; he’d become their favorite playmate — a playmate with rules and boundaries. He supported Clara every step of the way and he never, ever undermined her authority. She appreciated that about him.
Angus steadfastly supported rules and respected the boundaries. He’d told her not to fight with Daisy, specifically warning her not to take a switch to the woman if she came after Rose and Nelly. But Clara’s temper took over, and she had switched Daisy’s bare backside. As a result, Angus had done the same to her in return. She still flushed with embarrassment thinking of him seeing her bare bottom.
“Hey, girl. Are ya okay?” Angus put a hand on her shoulder and Clara jumped, almost shouting in alarm.
“Jesus, Angus, you scared the living hell out of me!” She rolled onto her back, scowling at him. You’d think a man would know not to startle a woman in the night.
“Easy. I just wanted to check on ya. Make sure you were okay after the events of the day today.” He paused, averting his eyes, looking almost... uncomfortable. She wondered if he wasn’t exactly sure how to be tender. Or perhaps he did, but was wary of showing it? Either way, he seemed uncertain what to do now that she’d yelled at him.
“Before we wake everyone up, come on over to my tent and we can talk.” He stood up from his squatting position, his hand outstretched toward her.
She looked quickly over her shoulder at the other women to ascertain if any of them would notice them leaving. “Angus… I’m not sure this is proper. What will the women say if they see us going to your tent?”
“I don’t really care what the women say. Why do you?” He stopped walking to look her in the face.
“Well. I don’t know.” Clara shrugged, feeling embarrassed to admit it to him. “I guess I do because women talk and they gossip about such things. I’ve had a bad enough week — hell, a bad enough year — that I don’t need a bunch of women gossiping about me.”
He grabbed her hand and said, “There ain’t nothing to gossip about. We’re talking. That’s it.” He opened the flap on the tent, revealing a little table inside, the space lit by two candles and a small oil lantern. There was a single wooden spindle chair and a cot for sleeping. He pointed to the chair. “Sit.”
She pushed her hair behind her ear, smiling at him and sitting uncomfortably on the chair with her back straight, hands folded in her lap. “Am I in trouble?”
“You weren’t — at first. But after the swearing outburst you just had, I should give you a couple hard swats to mind your language. I’m sure you were trained better than that. I’m bettin’ that you weren’t allowed to use such language when you was married, right?”
She swallowed. His assumption about language was correct. Matt would’ve soaped her mouth or paddled her for sure. He wanted the girls raised by a quiet, proper mother. In his absence, she’d become a little lackadaisical about her language when she became upset. Knowing it wasn’t a good example to the girls, she told them to ‘do as she said, not as she did.’
“Maybe you deserve a few swats if you’re going to be defiant and not answer me.” Angus stepped in front of her, thumbs hooked in his belt. Her eyes were level with those rough hands, his skin hardened from exposure to the elements. But more than that, the strong fingers were quite long, the palms very wide. That hand would cover a lot of territory, and it would hurt — probably worse than any paddle.
She looked up to his face, quickly answering. “No, Sir, I’m not being defiant, and I was never allowed to use such language.” She dropped her gaze back to her lap.
“Just what I thought. You know better, bad girl.” He sighed. “I won’t deal with it right now, but maybe before I bring you back to your bedroll. We’ll see.”
She hated being called ‘bad girl.’ What was it about that phrase that made a woman immediately become a chastised five-year-old, losing Daddy’s approval? It brought out the guilt and remorse like nothing else said. Yet, her sex throbbed. The promise of being over a man’s lap with that large masculine hand so close to her pulsing clit, rubbing and writhing on a denim-covered muscular thigh, reaching for an orgasm made being called ‘bad girl’ worth it. It’d been a long time since she’d been over a man’s lap seeking her release during a spanking.
Startling her back to reality, he sat down next to her on the worn green cot that showed years of hard use. He reached for her hand, clearing his throat. “Now, like I said. I just want to know how you’re feeling. I mean... I wanted to see. Are you okay?”
What did he expect her to say? She could be honest with him, tell him she was devastated. Or she could say she was fine. Men seemed to like hearing that women were fine. It meant there was nothing to fix, nothing to do. Carry on.
“I’m fine.” She pulled on her skirt, straightening the pleats in it.
“Nope. That’s not an answer.” He shook his head, scowling at her. “Now, tell me the real answer. How are you?”
Clara sighed loudly. “Are you sure you want the truth? Men say they do, but in the end they really don’t.”
He nodded. “Yes, I do.”
“I’m sad. I’m afraid.” She felt the sting of imminent tears. “I don’t know what I’m going to do... or even where I’m going to live.” The tears tracked down her cheeks, no matter how furiously she swiped at them.
“Ah, hell.” He stood up, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and handing it to her. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. But I kinda figured that you’d be having trouble with what happened. I’m having a hard time with what happened.” He raked his hands through his dark brown wavy hair in frustration.
“It’d be hard enough to handle this if I was on my own, but to have two little girls rely
ing on me makes this even more difficult.” She wiped more tears away. Looking over at Angus, he looked so uncomfortable. He reached out and rubbed her arm a little.
“I know. But nothing changes for now. You’ll stay with the Widow Wagon. We’ll be going to Oregon Territory and then you can decide if you want to stay there, or come back with me to Missouri again.”
“But it wouldn’t be decent to ride alone with a man — even if it is the Widow Wagon.” She blew her nose, starting to cry aloud. It just seemed so hopeless. She wasn’t sure she wanted to live in Oregon, but what choice did she have?
“I’m the wagon master. Women ride to Oregon or back to Missouri with me all the time. I would never take advantage of a woman.” He stood up and started pacing. “Is that what you’re thinking? That I’d hurt you or take advantage of you?” His jaw clenched for a moment.
“No. I know you wouldn’t do that. But... what would women say?” She started to wring her hands. “I’m sorry, Angus. It’s not you. I just... I don’t — what am I going to do?” She threw her hands over her face, sobbing pitifully.
“Oh, hell. I hate a woman cryin’. Shoot.” He rubbed her back gently. It had been a long time since she’d been held by a man while she wept. Angus smelled of leather, horses and — man. She nestled her nose into his chest, all the fear, hurt, rejection, and the bitter uncertainty of the future pouring out of her.
She didn’t know how long she stayed like that in his arms, but when the tears and hiccups stopped, she was being lulled and swayed in his arms, feeling soft kisses on the top of her head. She jolted upright, looking around, the amber glow of the candle light making him more handsome than she ever remembered him looking before.
She tugged at her hair, pushing it behind her ear and readjusting her combs. “I’m sorry. I guess I… was more upset than I thought.”
Angus cupped her face in his hand. “Clara, don’t you dare apologize for feelings. You’ve had a rough year and what happened today was just... well, it was wrong. That man should be horse whipped. You’re a very kind and sensitive woman. Any man would be proud to call you his own.”
He stared at her so long that Clara thought he might kiss her. His gaze moved to her lips, staring at them, and then he quickly rose, clearing his throat. “I should get you back to your bedroll. That is, if you feel that you’re better. Do you feel better?”
Clara rose. “Yes. I’m fine. Again, I’m sor—”
Angus held up a hand. “I told you not to apologize, and I meant it. Don’t push me, girl. I wanted you to share your feelings and you did. There ain’t nothin’ to feel bad about. I’ll take care of you and your girls all the way to Oregon — or to Missouri. Don’t you think anymore about it. And if any of the women say anything, you let me know. I’ll take care of it.”
“I will.”
“Speaking of which, before you decide to leave. Let’s take care of your bad girl language.” He sat in her spot on the cot, grabbing her hand before she could leave.
She tried to pull away. “No. I won’t do it again. This is just silly.”
“Not to me it ain’t. It won’t be a rough spankin’. Just a reminder. Something to remind you how a lady and a mother is to conduct herself when she speaks.” He tugged her over his lap before she had time to escape.
“Angus!” She pushed against his left thigh, trying to squirm her way off his lap. Instead, she felt that hard hand swat her bottom, and even through her skirts, she felt a sting.
“Stop that!” Her skirts brushed against her legs as they were being raised. “I won’t bare you, that isn’t necessary, but all this damn material will make you think I’m doing nothing. You’ll receive these swats on your drawers.”
The vast, heavy material had been pushed to the middle of her back and his arm tucked around her waist to pull her into his body. “Very nice, girl. I like the little blue ribbons on the legs and at the waist. You got some pretty fancy drawers.”
“Oh, Jesus!” And before she could say anything else he swatted her bottom so hard it took her breath away before she shouted.
“I made the right decision by the looks of it. You’re getting a licking for swearing and then swear with your bottom over my knee? What’re you thinking?” He swatted the underside of her bottom twice. Hard.
“Ouch! I’m sorry.”
“You will be.” He then started to swat her bottom, first the left cheek and then the right. The pace and strength of swats increasing until the uncomfortableness of it had her squirming and lifting her feet. She raised her head and started to reach back when he caught her hand, pinning it to her back.
He paused, squeezing her flesh through her pantaloons. “Do you think this reminder will help you keep your mouth under control, girl?”
“Yes, Sir.” Her voice broke on the last word. She wasn’t crying, but knew she wouldn’t be far from it if he didn’t stop now.
“Good.” He started swatting again, on that sensitive juncture at thigh and bottom. Hard, searing slaps.
She bucked upon his thighs, not caring how lewd it must have looked from his viewpoint. She needed this to end, and she was convinced that waggling her bottom would relieve the pain. Thankfully, at the very moment she feared she’d dissolve into sobs, he stopped. She quickly swiped at the tears that had fallen during the short spanking.
“See? Just a short tanning to your little tail. Now you’ll be a good girl for sure.” He patted her bottom lightly, pulling her skirts down and helping her to sit on his leg. “You okay?”
Why did men ask that?
No, I’m not okay and you know it. You were the cause of me not being okay!
But like women everywhere, she lied. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“I think it’s time for this good girl to go to bed. You’ll sleep good after your bedtime spankin’.” He winked at her, helping her to stand, tucking her into his chest. “Tomorrow will be a new day. It’ll be better. You wait and see.”
Clara wondered how he stayed so optimistic all the time. Except for getting angry at the antics of the women, he generally was happy and positive.
He opened the flap of the tent, resting his hand on the small of her back as he brought her back to her bedroll. The fire had dwindled down to just embers, and it appeared that all the women had fallen asleep. She had just settled down into her own bag when she sat up. “The girls. I should check on them to make sure they’re covered and okay.”
He pushed her back down. “You lie down. I’ll check on ‘em. You do as you’re told and go to sleep.” He tucked the bedroll around her. “Sleep tight, Clara.” He stroked his hand over her hair before walking to the wagon and climbing quietly into it. Rustling could be heard inside, then before she knew it, he’d jumped down, securing the gate again. He mouthed ‘okay’ to her, before sauntering back to his tent.
She quietly pondered the events of her day, but her last thoughts were of her warm, freshly spanked bottom, his hard hands and even harder thighs.
It might not be so bad after all being under Angus’ care on the journey to Oregon.
Chapter Three
Breakfast had been served, the camp packed up shortly afterward. They’d become pretty adept at packing up the wagon. With the warm, dry air, there was no need to worry about damp bedrolls as they did in the spring rains or heavy dew of Kansas. They’d all been rolled up and put into the wagon, along with the cooking supplies and food stores.
Clara kissed her girls, putting them into the wagon with their dolls with a warning to “behave” when Angus ambled up to them. “Whatcha doin’ putting the girls in the wagon? We gotta go sign Independence Rock up there with our names and date.” He pointed at the large, rounded rock nearby. It had to be ten times higher than a wagon and Clara guessed you could probably line up forty or more wagons along the length of it. “Besides, the preacher is going to pray over the riders and wagons before we go through South Pass heading West. I’ll get the girls for ya.”
He snuck up to the wagon, jumping up into it and
yelling, making the girls scream and giggle. “C’mon, we’re going up to the big rock over yonder and sign our names on it. You’ll be part of history.” After Angus leapt to the ground, the girls wasted no time jumping out of the wagon into his waiting arms.
Grabbing their hands, he led them back to Clara. “Besides, we need to celebrate, we made it to Independence Rock by Independence Day, just like we needed to. It means we’ll be in Oregon, Lord willing, right on time before the cold weather hits.”
The pioneers were all crowded around the large, brown rock that rose out of the prairie, using nails and rocks to engrave their names in the granite. It was another gorgeous day in Wyoming, the sky a beautiful blue with only a couple wispy clouds far in the distance. The women would normally be hot walking in the summer sun, but thankfully, a nice breeze blew over the plains to keep them cool.
Just as Angus said, the preacher stood with his large black bible in hand, waiting for the last stragglers — including them — to make their way to the rock so that he could bless the crowd, their wagons, and the livestock. Clara had only met him a few times, but he seemed to be a kind and gentle man with a quiet, caring voice and warm demeanor. Even in the heat, he wore a long black suit coat. Later, she knew he’d have to take that off for the long, hot journey across Wyoming.
Clara couldn’t believe she’d made it to Independence Rock. It’d been a long two months and she thought her journey would be ending at this place. Instead, she’d be making her way West with the rest of the crowd gathered at this landmark. This rock marked the end of the prairie voyage and now they’d be crossing mountains and dangerous Shoshone Indian territory for the rest of their journey.
“C’mon in closer, folks. You can sign your name in a minute. First, let me bless y’all before you begin your journey west.” He paused, waiting for the men, women, and children to gather quietly around him.
Cinch Your Saddle (The Widow Wagon Book 3) Page 3