“What’s that?”
“I want to move to Corbin’s Bend. It’s home.” And it was. She had been fighting her inner demons over the decision for weeks, leaning towards the same decision, knowing that it would make her husband happy. It hadn’t been until she walked into the church and saw all the smiling faces, filled with love, and happy to be a part of their special day that she had realized how much it had felt like home to her too.
The happy tears in the corner of his eyes and his beaming smile erased any niggling doubts she still might have had. Corbin’s Bend wasn’t perfect, but it sure came close.
“This was the best Christmas gift ever. There’s just one problem.” She paused. “How in the world am I supposed to top it, or even come close?”
“You’re not,” he quipped. “Nobody will top this ever.” Then he got serious. “Cece, you already have. You know what the best gift I got from you this holiday season was?”
“What?” She was totally baffled.
“Your lies, and your coming clean about them.”
She fixed him with a cold glare, but he just laughed before continuing.
“Think about it. You lied about Corbin’s Bend, you lied about DD, you lied about eloping, you lied about the holidays, and what happened? I came to Corbin’s Bend with you, we learned about DD, we strengthened our marriage, we found a wonderful place to call home, and we got out dream wedding. If you think about how it all happened, it all started with those little white lies. So yes, I am thankful, and I do consider them to be a gift. Because of them, I have everything I ever could want.”
He grasped her chin in his hands and pulled her face close to his.
“But don’t for a second think that those little white lies you are so fond of won’t still get you spanked in the future. Because they will. Every single time.”
“I’ll remember that, but I can’t promise that it won’t still happen from time to time, because it probably will.”
“I’m counting on it.”
The End
Rayanna Jamison
Rayanna Jamison has always dreamed of becoming an author. She credits a big move from Oregon to Utah in 2013 as the catalyst that finally began her writing career. She now lives in Southern Utah with her husband, two children, two dogs, and her mother. She writes what she loves to read, which is fun romantic stories about submission in its many forms. When she is not writing, she enjoys reading, cooking, crafting, and shopping, and that's just in her spare time. When the kids and husband are home, she can be found baking with her daughter, watching her son and his friends, and hosting neighborhood block parties. She loves exploring her new area, and finding fun new things to do with her family.
Don’t miss the rest of the Corbin’s Bend Series!
Welcome to Corbin’s Bend
Return to Corbin’s Bend
At Home in Corbin’s Bend
Corbin’s Bend Homecoming
Love in the Rockies
Don’t miss these exciting titles by Rayanna Jamison and Blushing Books!
Catching Her Cowboy Daddy
Santa, Sir
Cole for Christmas
Other Uses for a Wooden Spoon
Corbin’s Bend Series
A Perfect Partnership
A Holiday Ruse
Ginger UP
Love Multiplied Series
Green Valley Brides, Books 1 & 2
Luke’s First Bride, Book 3
Vegas Nights Series
Collared, Book One
Claimed, Book Two
Second Chance Ranch Series
Winterland Daddies, Book 1
Anthologies
Sweet Town Love
12 Naughty Days of Christmas - 2014
12 Naughty Days of Christmas - 2015
A Spanking Good New Year
Audio Books
The Bishop’s First Bride
Bride Two Soon
Vintage Values
Maggie Ryan
©2015 by Blushing Books® and Maggie Ryan
All rights reserved.
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Blushing Books®,
a subsidiary of
ABCD Graphics and Design
977 Seminole Trail #233
Charlottesville, VA 22901
The trademark Blushing Books®
is registered in the US Patent and Trademark Office.
Ryan, Maggie
Vintage Values
eBook ISBN: 978-1-68259-240-3
Cover Design by ABCD Graphics & Design
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the Author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
Chapter 1
How much is this?” Quincy asked, a small ceramic plate swinging about in a circle from where she’d hooked her finger in the curved handle. Given the fact that the beautiful little thing had been found shoved between a disintegrating cardboard box full of chipped mason jars and another box full of rather moldy smelling books, she was pretty positive the seller had no idea what the plate was worth. Her instinct proved true after she forked over a single dollar bill before tucking the antique lemon-dish into her cart. The china plates, none exactly alike, were each carefully hand-painted with flowers, exotic scenes, intricate patterns or even etched in gold-leaf and were becoming increasingly hard to find. Those that had certain markings on the back, such as this one had, were even rarer. The words ‘Made in Occupied Japan’ guaranteed that a collector of what were also referred to as ‘nappies’ wouldn’t hesitate to fork over twenty-five dollars to add this new one to their display. If Abby was having the same sort of luck, they’d have the van full of inventory before they even made it to the auction.
Walking a few yards down the dusty aisle, Quincy’s eyes never stopped roaming. Passing stalls offering homemade candles and soaps, hunting and fishing equipment, and one piled high with an agglomeration of auto parts, she stopped for a moment. Pulling a linen hankie adorned with a border of tatted lace out of her pocket, she wiped it across her face. It felt as if it were hot enough to fry an egg in any one of the iron skillets stacked in piles on the next vendor’s table. She was about to pull out her cell phone to give Abby a call to suggest they take a break when she spied what looked like the corner of a rather intriguing wooden box wedged beneath a table. Leaving her cart in the aisle, she dropped to her hands and knees, pushing aside various cartons in order to get a better look at the box. Bingo! It was indeed old. Dove-tailed joints and the weathered grain of the wood spoke of its age. The box was about two feet long and a foot tall. Brook Meadows Farms was engraved on the front. Removing a few books as well as a rather rusty pair of large scissors off the top, she began to wiggle backwards, dragging the box from its hiding place. Misjudging the distance she’d had to crawl under the table, she gave a sharp grunt when the back of her head connected with the underside of the table.
“Are you all right? Here, let me help.”
Quincy recognized Abby’s voice coming from somewhere behind her.
“I’m fine, just about got it.” Attempting another wiggle backwards only served to prove she wasn’t quite as fine as she’d stated. A sharp tug on her hair had her giving another yelp. “Damn it all to hell, I think I’m stuck!”
Abby squeezed in beside her aunt. “Stay still. Your hair is tangled in the table support.” Reaching up, she carefully pulled the strands free. “Oh my, you’re bleeding!”
It took another minute and the sacrifice of a few gray strands before Quincy was disentangled. With another more cautious wiggle backwards, she took the time to glance up to be sure she’d clear
ed the table before sitting back on her heels. Triumphant, she glanced over to see her niece kneeling in the dirt beside her.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You hit your head pretty hard.” Abby’s look told of her concern as she had a hand on her aunt’s arm. “Let me look.”
Quincy pushed her handkerchief into Abby’s hand. “Just give it a blot, I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ve got a rather tough skull.”
Abby hesitated. “You know how hard it is to get blood out of linen. Wait here and I’ll get some paper towels.”
“Perhaps I can be of assistance.”
The two women looked up to see a large man standing behind them, his face in shadow beneath the cowboy hat he wore. They watched as he pulled a red rag from his pocket. Evidently their faces conveyed their horror as he chuckled. “Don’t worry, I promise it’s quite clean.” He smiled as he offered both the cloth and an unopened bottle of water to Abby. “Besides, it would be a shame to ruin such a vintage handkerchief, don’t you agree?”
“Thank you,” Abby said, pouring some of the water onto the proffered rag and pressing it against the back of her aunt’s head. Quincy winced a little but remained still, allowing her niece to wipe away the blood.
After a moment, Abby removed the cloth and knelt up, using her fingers to part her aunt’s curls. “I think that’s it. You have just a small cut, but I think you’re going to have a nasty bump.”
“All part of the price of victory,” Quincy said, brushing aside Abby’s concern as she took the cloth and patted her head a final time. “How’d you know it was me, by the way?” Before Abby could answer, she continued, “Oh, never mind, I suppose no one could miss my humongous butt wiggling all over the place. I probably looked like an overeager puppy digging for a bone. Here, help me up.”
Instead of a small feminine hand, Quincy found a rather huge one being extended. Laying hers in it, the hand closed to engulf her own. It took a moment before she was able to concentrate on rising to her feet. Once she had, her eyes lifted to find a very handsome face, rather startling blue eyes, and a wide smile revealed.
“Pardon me, but I have to disagree.”
“Disagree?”
“About the reference you just made,” the stranger said and the look in his eyes had Quincy flushing. “I’d use the term ‘very dedicated treasure hunter’.”
“Oh… um, thank you, kind sir,” Quincy said, pulling her hand away to brush her hair back away from her face, leaving a fresh streak of dirt across her forehead. With a sigh, she shook her head and grinned. “Good grief, I must look like sh…”
When the stranger cocked his left eyebrow, Quincy felt something she’d not felt in years. Her stomach fluttered and her heart skipped a beat. “Um, I mean, I must look quite the sight. Well, thanks again. Come along, honey, I believe a nice little sit down would do me some good.” Quincy turned and barely remembered to grab the handle of her cart, taking a few steps away from the booth when his voice stopped her in her tracks.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” His question had her mind flying back in time. How many times had she heard those very words coming from a different man’s mouth? A man who would also cock his eyebrow, albeit it had always been his right one, his lips curving into a smile despite his disapproving look as he reminded her that he wasn’t quite ready to dismiss her.
Turning back, she saw that Abby was standing slightly behind the man, her hand on her own cart and her lips twitching as if she found the entire scene rather amusing.
“But I didn’t really curse,” Quincy said and saw Abby’s hand move to cover her mouth in an unsuccessful attempt to stifle a giggle. The man didn’t even try to conceal his own chuckle.
“I was talking about this.” Stooping down, he pulled the box from beneath the table. “Seems rather a shame to let such a treasure lay unclaimed.” Placing the box on top of a huge stack of magazines, he ran a hand across the lid. “Though, I must admit, if you don’t want it, I do.”
At the possibility of losing custody of the box, Quincy pushed aside the long dormant sensations this man had caused to stir with his touch and his glance. “Oh hell no you don’t,” she said, dropping her hand from the cart and returning to the table. “I saw it first.” Reaching out, she slapped his forearm and attempted to shove his hand off her find.
His eyes locked onto hers as he leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Careful, young lady, better my hand on this box than on your behind.”
Not a woman who ever hesitated to speak her mind, Quincy was absolutely incapable of speaking. Did he really just threaten to spank me! She could feel her face heating but couldn’t seem to tear her eyes from his. Swallowing hard, her hand left the box. She’d never admit the thought of covering her ass ever entered her mind, but she was ridiculously grateful to realize she was still holding his red rag, which saved her from making an even bigger fool of herself. “Here,” she said, pushing it into his hand. “I may owe you a clean hanky, but this box is mine.”
Another long moment passed before he removed his hand and stepped back. “You don’t owe me a thing. I’m not a man who attempts to claim what isn’t mine, no matter how rewarding either might be.” Nodding to her and then to Abby, he turned away. Quincy stared at his back as he took a step into the aisle.
“Wait!” Quincy’s call had him pausing and his head turning to look back. “I’m sorry, that was very rude of me. I don’t want you to think I’m-I’m not grateful. I am… I mean, thank you for your help and for calling me back… I mean, for not giving me a… I mean giving me the box!”
Chuckling, he tipped his Stetson. “Thank you, and you are quite welcome. Perhaps the next time it shall be I who wins the victory.” Without another word, he strode off, Quincy’s eyes never leaving him until he reached the end of the aisle, turned and disappeared from sight.
“Wow,” Abby said. “That was intense. I don’t know about you but I could use a break. How about we get some lunch?”
“Too bad we aren’t at home,” Quincy said, reluctantly dragging her eyes back to the table. “I could sure use a couple of good Orgasms.”
“Aunt Quincy!” Abby squealed, looking around as if expecting to see everyone’s mouths open in shock. Seeing no one who appeared to have overheard, she shook her head and giggled. “You are so bad! If we were at home, your cowboy would be ordering you a Naughty Girl roll as well.”
“Well, it seems the cowboy has walked away into the sunset, and since the Ginger Paddle’s sushi is out of reach, I guess I’ll settle for one of those humongous weenies on a stick.”
“Oh my Lord,” Abby moaned, rolling her eyes. “Are you feeling light headed or dizzy? Maybe we’d better stop at the first aid station and make sure you don’t have a concussion.” Giggling, she suggested, “Or perhaps some tall, dark and very handsome stranger threatening to spank you has gotten you a bit over-heated?”
“I have no idea what you mean, but do believe a lovely cup of lemonade is just the perfect thing to counter this heat.” Quincy looked around and raised her voice, one hand patting against the top of her new treasure. “Hello—anybody care to sell me this old box?” Quincy just smiled as the owner of the booth finally spotted them and offered his assistance. Abby made it a point to mention that he needed to watch his wares a bit more closely as her poor aunt had sustained quite a head injury in her attempt to reach the box. After forking over a crisp ten-dollar bill, Quincy tucked the box into her cart. As the two women began to pull their carts up the slight incline, Quincy reached over and patted her niece’s hand. “I don’t know whether to praise you for your negotiation skills or remind you what Harris might do to your behind if he heard you fibbing.”
Abby blushed but smiled. “I’m only thinking about profit margins and practicing what you’ve preached—never pay the first, second or even third price requested. Besides, by the time we get home, I just might be inventing things to confess. Your cowboy may have disappeared, but I know Harris will be waiting.”
“That�
�s my girl. Not only a good partner in flea market finds, but a woman who knows what she needs even if that includes a good warming of her backside.” Both women dropped one hand from their cart to rub unconsciously across the seat of their jeans.
Quincy rubbed and then looked a bit shocked. Though she was quite sure her niece could indeed have a tender bum, she hadn’t felt a man’s hand, much less a paddle, connecting to her bottom in almost five years. Not since Joe’s death had she even thought much about those times when an illicit rub or two could help soothe away the hurt of a well-delivered spanking. Jerking her hand off her rump, she used it to push her hair back off her face again.
“All I’ll say is that no matter the circumstances, my instincts about Harris and you were spot on as usual. Now, which direction do you think we need to go to find those nice hot weenies?”
Abby’s giggle had Quincy joining her in laughter as they pulled identical carts behind them. Quincy knew that to most they must seem an unlikely pair. Abby, a woman in the blush of youth, her hair bouncing as she turned her head to look at her aunt, breaking into giggles again. Despite her age and grey hair, Quincy felt as young as her niece and knew in her heart that they made a perfect team.
“God, you are incorrigible. I bet Uncle Joe would have had you over his knee several times already today,” Abby said as she caught her breath. “Promise me you won’t ever change.” Abby lifted her hand and pointed to a sign off towards their right. “I can’t promise how hot they are, but the foot-longs are this way.”
Corbin's Bend Homecoming Page 45