by Paige Tyler
There was no stampede away from the door. The men obviously hadn’t moved one inch. Their ears were probably glued to the door. He would break heads after he took care of this situation, before it got any worse. She needed to learn to do exactly as he told her—her life could—and did—depend on it.
Rafe hitched his booted foot up onto one of the ladder back chairs around the small table and flipped Mary Rose over his thigh before she knew what was happening to her. Her skirts flew over her head, and she was effectively blindfolded—the only things she could see were petticoats and the kitchen floor, which she noted automatically needed to be cleaned.
Her bloomers—which she had just barely donned—were lowered to her knees, and he began to spank her with that vicious right hand of his, never so much as pausing between one slap and another. Again, his left arm anchored her in place, so there was no hope of escape.
Mary Rose took it as quietly as she could, knowing there were big ears standing just outside the kitchen, for as long as she could. She didn’t know what was wrong with his hand, but she figured it must’ve been made out of something other than sinew and bone to have delivered such incredible pain in so few swats.
“When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it,” he lectured. “If you don’t, I’ll take you over my lap no matter where we are and give you the licking you deserve, no matter who’ll see your bare bottom. Understood?”
Mary Rose was too busy trying not to cry and stifling her impulse to scream bloody murder at him. She didn’t want to entertain the eavesdroppers in the hall any more than she had to.
But Rafe had other ideas. He wanted her to remember this lesson, probably more so than any other. So he looked around with something specific in mind, and found it easily within reach.
He’d stopped spanking. Finally! Mary Rose thought. But she her congratulations at having gotten through it proved very premature, because it started again, only worse, when he brought something other than his hand down on her poor rear.
Mary Rose lost all control. She had no idea what he was using on her—it felt like a branding iron descending again and again all over her rear and even down to the tops of her thighs. “Let me go!” she screamed, then bit her lips trying to prevent any more embarrassing utterances from passing through them.
His answer was to redouble his efforts at reddening the smooth white hillocks in front of him. Before he put the wide wooden spoon down on the table, her hind end was an angry ruby red. She wouldn’t be sitting any too easily for some time, and that was his intention. He wanted her bottom to throb every time she considered disobeying him from that point on. She couldn’t afford it.
She could end up very dead. Others already had.
Time passed with excruciating slowness, Mary Rose found, when you weren’t allowed to do anything. The Devil wanted her to be with him at all times, so she stood watch with him from one of the upstairs bedrooms. Luckily, he didn’t try to do anything untoward—he was all business. Penny emerged from a second floor room, looking much the worse for wear—one eye was black and her lip was split.
Mary Rose ran to her side, offering to put some ice from the icebox on her face and hugging her. Neither of them had been given to hugging prior to this situation—they weren’t particularly close, the debutante and the whore—but Mary Rose wanted desperately to help Penny in any way she could. But she knew that her turn could come next, no matter that her captor hadn’t raped or beaten her yet. The spankings were quite bad enough.
They were put to work cooking breakfast. The outlaws were apparently starving because they nearly ate her out of house and home, each downing tall stacks of flapjacks, mugs of cider, and several chickens’ worth of eggs. After breakfast they were both dragged into the saloon—Mary Rose imagined that it was an easier place to guard. They weren’t even allowed to clean up the kitchen, which really niggled at Mary Rose’s neat and tidy tendencies. They spent most of the morning on barstools, which might have been Penny’s usual post but the inactivity was driving Mary Rose crazy. She needed to be doing something.
At about eleven o’clock, Toze, who was peeping furtively out from behind the curtains on the front windows, called out, “Someone’s comin’.” His rifle appeared at his shoulder as he spoke.
The devil himself went and looked out the window, calling Mary Rose over immediately. “Do you know him?”
She peered out the window only a second before a sharp tug on her arm pulled her back against her captor. “It’s Stu. He’s my bartender.”
The outlaw leader grimaced. “Well, go out there and get rid of him. Tell him you’ve got the fever.”
Mary Rose was only too happy to oblige. Here was a real chance to escape—or at least alert someone to their predicament who could then go get help.
Her euphoria was brought up sharply by him yanking her back against him so that he could whisper in her ear. “You stand right next to the door, so I can hear every word.”
The threat wasn’t overt, but she heard it loud and clear. If she said anything that hinted of their situation, he would likely kill all of them. Why not? She was kind of surprised that he hadn’t done it already.
She squirmed through the narrow opening he allowed in the door and confronted Stu just as he was reaching out to pull the door open. He adopted his usual apologetic shuffle, avoiding her eyes just when she was trying to signal to him by moving them back and forth rapidly. “I’m awful sorry ‘bout not makin’ it to work yesterday, Missus.” The fact that Mary Rose wasn’t married didn’t make one whit of difference to Stu. To him, every woman was a Missus. “I was powerful sick.”
Normally, she would have taken him to task and chewed up one side and down the other of him, but Mary Rose was much too nervous to think right. “That’s all right, Stu. I’m sorry you weren’t feeling well.” She was hoping that being sympathetic to him and gesturing as best she could with her eyes would maybe give him the idea that there was something wrong.
But Stu was his usual oblivious self, and never really looked at her at all. It was as if her sympathy made him feel more ashamed of his actions—or inaction—than her usual scolding. “Aw, Ma’am, you’re too good to me.”
Mary Rose would usually have agreed, at least under her breath. But not this time.
“But I’m here now, and rarin’ to go.” He stepped towards the door, but Mary Rose blocked his way.
What was it she was supposed to tell him? She was so upset and scared that things went in one ear and out the other without taking hold at all. She glanced back at the door, as if it held the answer. “I’m sorry, Stu, but I—I’ve closed the saloon indefinitely. Penny’s taken sick, and I’m nursing her as best I can, but I think it might be the fever.” As the words tumbled out of her mouth, she knew she was sealing their doom. No one would come near the place. No one was going to come to help them.
Stu immediately backed away several steps. “D’ya think it might be the yeller fever?”
Mary Rose had never been a good liar. Her hands gave her away every time, just like now. She was playing with her skirt nervously, and anyone who knew her would know that there was something up.
But not Stu. He was only too happy to head back to town and his first beer of the day. He tipped his disreputable hat at her and skittered away, calling back, “You get a hold of me if I can do anything to help.”
Mary Rose stood as if her feet were planted, watching their salvation desert them as fast as his feet could carry him. She had failed, and it was probably the only opportunity they’d have to get someone to help them. Tears, which seemed to be much more prevalent than they’d ever been, flooded her eyes no matter how madly she blinked them back.
Moreover, there was every possibility that if she lived through this fiasco, she would have lost a bartender, to boot.
A hard arm reached through the cracked doorway and hauled her unceremoniously back into the saloon. Rafe’s mouth twisted when he saw the tears in her eyes, but she wasn’t looking at him. Ma
ry Rose was devastated, and simply sank down onto one of the chairs, her eyes wet but lifeless.
The rest of the day passed at a snail’s pace. Mary Rose did what she could to comfort Penny, who was having the worst of it all with both Toze and that awful Hernandez pawing her at every opportunity, although she did see that Black was doing his best to keep them busy, almost as if he was trying to draw their attentions away from the girl. But she knew she was ascribing good intentions to someone who didn’t have any, especially when he came in from having checked around outside.
“What’s that tub out there in the side yard for?”
“During roundup, we offer baths for two bits to those that want them,” Mary Rose answered listlessly.
The Devil through his hat onto the table in front of her. “Well, I want one. Get one ready for me.”
“I can’t.” She took enormous satisfaction in being able to thwart him, even if it got her spanked.
“Why not? Your legs broken?” His eyebrow peaked.
“I can’t lift the cauldrons of hot water it takes to fill the tub.”
“Toze, when she says it’s time, you do the lifting and the toting.”
Toze wasn’t particularly happy with his position at the bottom of the totem pole. “Why do I got to do all the scut work? Why don’t you truck the water out there yourself, if’n you want a bath so much. I never seen a man so interested in bathin’, have you, Jorge?” He nudged his compadre.
“I ain’t neither. One good bath a year oughta be enough for any man.”
That explained the noxious odors that emanated from those two. Come to think of it, Mary Rose pondered, their leader kept himself very clean, despite what must have been trying circumstances. And he spoke better than either of the other two, also. Her curiosity was going to get her killed, probably, but she wondered what El Diablo’s background was, that he took such care with his appearance and used proper English. What had made him turn to a life of crime? She wondered.
“Do you need another trip over my knee or are you going to get the water heating?” he asked, eying her sharply when she hadn’t moved an inch to comply with his order.
Mary Rose did not want another spanking ever again in her life, so she fairly shot up and into the kitchen, the snickers and guffaws of the men following her. “You laid down the law good with that woman, didn’tcha, Boss? You done good. Taught her her place—cooking in the kitchen or kneeling in the bedroom—”
She was mortified at the man’s words, but they were cut off abruptly, mid-sentence. She heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and when she dared to sneak a peek at them, Hernandez was holding his jaw. “That’s enough yammering out of you two. Get back to keeping watch. Now.”
Mary Rose had to hunt for Toze, but when she did, he was compliant enough and followed her to the kitchen like a puppy dog. She’d cleaned out the bathing spot, which had become a little overgrown with tumbleweeds and such, and made it as barely presentable as she dared.
Of all the things she’d had to endure in the past hours, one of the hardest was going to Black and telling him that his bath was ready. For some reason, that humiliated her more than anything else she’d been subjected to. It was … somehow too intimate. Drawing his bath was something his wife might do for him, or a servant girl, she supposed. But she was neither.
Not that her discomfort would make a bit of difference to him. He made her come out to the tub with him, past the sheets she’d rigged up hastily to give him some privacy, so that he could test the water and see if it was warm enough. Rafe didn’t quite trust the little imp. She had backbone, for all her meekness after the spankings, and he wouldn’t have put it past her to fill the tub with ice water. He liked her. He didn’t want to, but he did. She’d earned a grudging respect from him for her brave behavior. She was doing the best she could, given the circumstances.
Mary Rose stood there awkwardly as he tested the water and smiled, an almost real smile, then began to undress. She turned immediately and walked to the corner of the tent-like enclosure, saying, “Call out if you need anything. I’ll send someone with it.”
Rafe caught her arm, whirling her around. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re going to stay right here.”
Mary Rose gulped hard on the lump in her throat as he said the words she feared he would.
“In fact, you’re going to bathe me yourself.”
Chapter 5
Mary Rose took an automatic step back. “No, no, I can’t do that,” she whispered. He had stripped down to his union suit already, and was shucking out of that quickly, right in front of her eyes. She jerked herself around and headed towards a part in the sheets—any part would do. She had to get out of here!
“Stop. Now.”
She could hear him lifting himself into the tub, then settling down into the hot, steamy water with a deep, growly moan. She had stopped at his initial command, but was inching towards the door, regardless, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t notice.
“Come here.”
There was a lump the size of Texas in her throat. Mary Rose so wanted to be the kind of woman who would just bravely tell him where to go and how to get there, damn the consequences. But she wasn’t. She was so much weaker than she wanted to be.
“Mary Rose.”
Dear God, he sounded just like her father when she was balking at doing something he’d asked—that low, warning tone that made her shiver with what it promised if there was not instant obedience forthcoming.
She did as she was told and stood next to the tub. But she never turned towards him. She knew her way, and practically backed there, letting her backside bump up against the tub while remaining stubbornly, stiffly facing away from him.
“Turn around,” came the predictable order.
Again, she obeyed the letter of his law and turned towards him. But she kept her eyes fixed on a spot well above the tub, so that she could only see him in the periphery of her vision.
“Grab a cloth and get to work, woman.” He leaned back as far as the tub would allow, and watched her from under half-closed lids. She was a stubborn little cuss, this one. He wondered just how long she could manage to keep it up—refusing to look at him. He wasn’t at all sure he should be pushing her like this, but she was such a prickly thing, standing there all staunch and starched. He wished she would loosen up some, but then he understood why she didn’t in this situation, too. He saw both sides of things, but his libido was getting the best of him around her. She was so innocent and it was that very innocence, her ladylike tendencies that were intriguing him, he was sure. It had been a very long time since he’d consorted with—or even met—a woman he’d be proud to take home to his family. But she was definitely that.
Every time he said or did something to her she was quite sure that she couldn’t possibly be any more mortified, he managed to top himself. She had certainly never touched a naked man before, and had never thought to in her life—even if she married eventually. Nudity was not acceptable. That’s what clothes were for. She delayed obeying him for as long as she dared, then took her time getting the cloth and soap.
“Are you going to make me spank you every time I tell you to do something?” he prompted, gratified when she stepped a little livelier.
Finally, she was next to him again, but still looking past him, to some spot—any spot—that wasn’t on the naked man in front of her. He startled her by reaching out to take the hand that held the cloth and soap and bringing it to his neck. She began to bathe him very tentatively, starting with his relatively innocuous arms then moving to his shoulders. She was mortified to realize that part of her was enjoying this—touching him. She didn’t want to like anything about him, but her body seemed to feel differently. He was broad and muscular, but not muscle bound; all in all a male animal at his peak, and her flesh was responding to him. She was a female animal at her peak.
Suddenly, it was much too hot in this small enclosure. Mary Rose felt so flushed she thought she might faint.
&n
bsp; “You can rub harder—there’s a lot of grit from the trail imbedded in my skin, I swear.” He groaned as she scraped the cloth over him as in an amateur massage that felt wonderful.
Although she didn’t want to engage in casual banter with him, she found herself commenting, “Yes, but I noticed that you’re a far sight cleaner than your companions.”
Rafe snorted, nodding. “Yeah, their idea of a bath is when we get rained on. I wasn’t raised that way.”
He frowned. Where had that come from? He never talked about his childhood in a situation like this. He gave away as little about himself as was possible—it made things easier all around.
“You speak very well, too—better than the other two. Did you go to school?”
“Yes. Graduated from William and Mary with a degree in-” He brought himself up short. It wouldn’t be a good idea to admit what he majored in. Might give her ideas. Might give her hopes that could be dashed in a lightning flash. “I got a degree,” he finished lamely, in a voice that didn’t invite further comment.
He leaned forwards as a hint that she should wash his back. Mary Rose moved the cloth over his skin in a perfunctory manner, trying not to look at him, but she felt something strange under the cloth in several places, and she just had to look. They were round scars on his back, three of them, all pink and puckered, marring the otherwise perfect slope of his broad shouldered back.
She paused, going abnormally still, when she realized what they were.
Gunshots. He’d been shot three times. They all looked like they were about the same age—all faded at the same rate. A weaker man could easily have died, but not him. Someone put three bullets into him and he’d lived through it. Mary Rose gulped at the stark reminder of what life this man had chosen for himself.
Or had he? Had it been thrust on him by fate? Had he been driven to become a desperado because of some horrid incident in his past?
She shook her head, trying to clear it of her fanciful notions. He was an outlaw. She shouldn’t have been surprised that someone had tried to kill him.