by Jake Logan
Christine’s pa didn’t know she and Slocum were sneaking off whenever they could to enjoy each other’s company. Mordecai Magnuson wasn’t likely to think well of that since Slocum had overheard him telling his wife how he hoped their daughter would take up with the son of a nearby rancher. Magnuson would turn red as a beet if he ever heard Christine’s opinion of young Josh Norton. He would explode like a crate of dynamite if she went on to describe the vile habits Josh Norton’s pa, Josh Senior, reputedly enjoyed. Slocum doubted most of it but enjoyed hearing Christine go on about it because it got her hot. And because he got to share in that heat when it turned to passion for him.
For five months they had enjoyed each other in about every way possible, whenever they could, but Slocum was beginning to wonder if a crossroads was coming. After the herd was locked into the cattle cars and rattling along to the slaughterhouses, most of the chores would be over. Magnuson would let go most of the hired help, and that probably included Slocum.
He could simply take his pay. Or he might ask for Christine’s hand in marriage. The notion scared him more than it ought to, not because Magnuson might refuse but because Christine might. Being tied down and unable to simply pull up stakes and move on when he felt like it was not something he had thought about much in the past. He was doing that thinking now, and it felt mighty strange.
Strange but right.
Magnuson might never give his permission, but if Christine said yes, that would be it. She’d go with him and never look back, but that left him with only a few months’ coin in his pocket and nothing more to support a wife. Eating beans until the cards turned in his favor wouldn’t be possible any longer. The responsibility was great.
Christine was worth it.
After the drive, he would ask Christine what she thought about them getting hitched, then worry about her pa. It might be that Slocum read the old man wrong and that he would be happy to see his daughter saddle broke and ridden so both she and Slocum liked it. And it might be that the sun would come up in the west tomorrow.
“Git on in there. Git now!” Slocum used his lariat to shoo the cattle into the feeding pen. He didn’t have to invite them twice because of the piles of hay stacked all around and the long tin trough brimming with water.
He closed the gate and sat astride his gelding, watching the cattle gorge themselves. The grasslands were a bit sparse this late in the year because the usual rains had failed more often than they’d come, but he still thought Magnuson had a decent herd that would fetch top dollar.
“Slocum, hey, Slocum| Look what I got!”
He swung around in the saddle and saw the cowboy he’d taken under his wing come riding up. Slocum blinked, not sure he saw that Tom Garvin actually rode a horse that wasn’t a bag of bones. The horse Magnuson had loaned Garvin trotted along behind. The gear on the chestnut was Garvin’s, so Slocum reckoned the cowboy had found himself a horse while hunting for strays.
“Ain’t this the finest horse you ever did see?”
“Can’t say any different,” Slocum allowed. “Where’d you find it?”
Garvin’s face flowed like molasses in the sun, then firmed up.
“Well, the owner’s not gonna miss it none, that’s for certain sure.”
Garvin launched into the story. As he rambled on, Slocum dismounted and walked his horse to the corral just behind the large barn and began tending the mare. Garvin never slowed down and finally finished in a burst of words that left him huffing and puffing.
“Seems you got as much claim to the horse as anyone does,” Slocum said, answering Garvin’s unspoken question. “Don’t see a brand on its rump.” He walked over and examined the horse’s teeth, looked in its ears, and then touched the black rope with silver thread running through it.
“Don’t!”
Garvin’s warning came an instant too late. Slocum’s fingers brushed over the rope. He jerked back as if a rattler had bitten him. Sucking his finger, he looked at Garvin questioningly.
“Did the same thing to me,” the cowboy said, grinning crookedly. “Can’t say why. It was the rope wrapped around the man’s neck.”
Slocum wasn’t superstitious but said, “You might want to get rid of that rope. It’s no good.”
“Never seen one like it,” Garvin said. “I’m gonna keep it.”
Slocum shrugged it off.
“Slocum! Get your ass over here. I got an errand for you!”
“The boss is calling me,” Slocum said. He gave the chestnut one last pat on the neck. “You take good care of this one. She’s a keeper.”
“I will, Slocum, I will!” Garvin beamed.
Slocum hurried to the ranch house back door, where Magnuson stood impatiently.
“You took your sweet time.”
“What can I do for you?”
Magnuson glowered, then said, “I got a long list of supplies for the missus to get picked up in town. Get a wagon hitched up and fetch it back pronto.” He thrust out a sheet of paper with long columns of what needed to be bought, written in a neat hand. To himself, he muttered, “May as well buy the whole damn store.”
Slocum took the list and folded it up.
“Be back by sundown. We got to finish finding the strays, and I want all hands on the range early in the morning.”
It was only ten miles into Central City. Slocum knew it would be well past sundown when he returned, no matter how recklessly he drove getting to town. Return had to be slower since the wagon would be heavily loaded.
“Papa, I need some cloth.”
Slocum perked up. The voice from in the house came as music to his ears. Christine Magnuson stepped out and hung on her father’s arm, looking up at him with her dancing blue eyes.
“He can get it for you. Tell him what you need.”
“Him?” Christine sounded scornful. As she looked at Slocum, she gave him a broad wink. “He’d as like bring back a gunny sack. Besides, I need to decide. You know this is for Mama’s curtains.”
“For her birthday,” Magnuson said, looking glum. He fixed Slocum with a gimlet eye. “You look after her, you hear?”
“Yes, sir,” Slocum said. “I’ll get the team hitched.”
Slocum tried not to run when he went to the barn to get the team and hitch up the two horses to the wagon. With a light jump, he was in the driver’s box, reins in hand. He snapped them and got the team pulling. This was turning into everyone’s lucky day. Garvin had found himself a horse worth riding, and now Slocum was sent on an otherwise boring trip to pick up supplies with the sexiest woman within fifty miles.
“Up you go. You put all that curtain . . . stuff on the ranch account,” Magnuson said to his daughter. He held her easily, his large hands around her slender waist. Then he set her lightly into the box alongside Slocum. “Don’t drive too fast,” Magnuson cautioned.
“No, sir, won’t.” Slocum snapped the reins, and the team pulled hard, causing Christine to grab his arm to keep from being tossed into the empty bed. He heard Magnuson cursing behind him and then they were far enough away that it no longer mattered what the rancher said.
“That’s mighty bold of you, John Slocum,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“Almost tossing me back like that so I had to grab on to your strong arm for support.” Christine took his arm and rested her head against his shoulder.
“You going to do that all the way into town?” he asked. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you, but the road’s mighty rough in places.”
“Oh, spoilsport,” she said, sitting upright. But she didn’t move away. Her leg pressed warmly into his.
They rode into town like this, talking of nothing in particular, but Slocum was always aware of the woman and how she moved back and forth against him, even when the motion of the wagon bouncing along didn’t requir
e it. She was a sexy kitten, purring and stroking him.
Central City sat in a bowl, surrounded by low hills. Slocum kept the team moving at a steady pace but knew the return would be more difficult, a good portion uphill, and with a loaded wagon, the horses would have their work cut out for them.
He pulled back on the reins and stomped on the brake in front of the general store. Before he could lash the reins around the brake handle and help Christine down, she jumped lightly to the street and ran around the wagon, going up the three creaking wood steps to the front porch of the store. In the wink of an eye she vanished inside. Slocum took his time getting down. He pulled out the list and eyed it. Magnuson hadn’t been joking when he said his missus had ordered damned near everything in the store.
“Afternoon,” he said, tipping his hat to the owner’s wife. She hardly acknowledged him, being too busy showing Christine bolt after bolt of cloth. Slocum was no judge but most of it didn’t appear to be good for making curtains. Dresses, maybe, but not curtains. He hesitated when he saw how Christine ran her fingers over some white lace. Was she thinking the same thing he had earlier?
“What’ll it be, Slocum?” The owner came over and took the list from his hands. “You fixin’ to hole up for the rest of the year? Never mind. Mr. Magnuson always was a belt and suspenders sort. Give me a hand getting it out to the wagon.”
For the next half hour Slocum worked alongside the merchant, putting sugar, flour, grain, and a host of other supplies into the wagon bed.
“And the bolt of cloth, too,” the storekeeper said, brushing his hands off on his apron.
Slocum hurried to help Christine awkwardly wrestle the cloth into the back of the wagon.
“Thank you,” she said. Her hand lingered a moment on his, then she hastily pulled it away before the store owner noticed. “Is everything loaded, Mr. Slocum?”
He nodded. The storekeeper had already gone back into the mercantile, busily tending two women who had come in with lists of their own.
“We should get back to the ranch,” Slocum said. “It’ll be an hour or more longer on the return trip.”
“Yes, of course, the weight,” Christine said, eyeing the load. Slocum and the storekeeper had laid it down from side to side. She walked around and waited for him to help her up onto the hard wooden seat.
“You want to get something to eat? I don’t think your pa would object.”
“Let’s not and say we did,” she told him, grinning broadly.
He headed out of town, up the slope of the rim of the bowl where the town rested and then vanished from sight. The road was straight and empty as far as the eye could see.
“Not many travelers today,” Christine said. She leaned back, unfurled the cloth she had bought, and stretched it out over the sacks of flour and sugar.
“Not anyone I can see,” Slocum said.
She threw her hands up in the air and tumbled back into the wagon bed.
“Oh, that’s harder than I thought.”
“But not harder than the loft in the barn.”
“Not as hard,” she agreed. “We started there with hay under us but we were too . . . active.” Christine reached up and began unbuttoning her blouse. Slocum watched the slow revelation of twin globes of snowy flesh slip out. She cupped them and bounced them a little, then pinched her own nipples until they were hard and red with arousal.
“Oh, yes,” she said, closing her eyes and moaning. “That feels so good. But it would feel better if a man was doing it.”
Slocum hit a pothole and sent her sitting back, her arms supporting her body. With her legs stretched in front of her, Christine slowly raised her knees. The wind caught her skirt and lifted it to reveal shapely legs—and even more.
“No, I’m not wearing anything else,” she said in a husky voice. “Just for you, John. Just for you.” She rocked back and hoisted her feet to the back of the seat, causing her skirt to slip down and reveal her naked privates.
Slocum worked to fasten the reins to either side of the seat. He had driven nails under the board seat for just such a chance at letting the horses continue on their way back to the ranch on their own without him driving them. Both leather straps were secured. He made sure the horses weren’t spooked and kept a steady, slow pace. The gait was not what Slocum would have chosen for them—it was slower.
And that suited him just fine.
He swung around, got his boots into the wagon bed, Christine’s feet on either side of his hips. He dropped to his knees and pitched forward, bearing her flat onto her back.
“Oh, John, you’re not going to take advantage of poor li’l ole me?”
“I certainly intend to,” he said. Then he quieted her joking with a deep, hard kiss.
She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him down even harder. Their lips parted and their tongues began dancing about, teasing and toying, moving back and forth until both were panting from their rising desire. Slocum moved from the woman’s ruby lips to her slender throat and into the deep valley between her luscious breasts. The mounds of female flesh jiggled as the wagon rattled along. Slocum caught one nipple and suckled a moment, released it, and went to the other. Christine writhed about under him.
Then her legs wrapped around his waist and pulled him down into her crotch.
“Oh!”
Slocum knew this wasn’t going to work without some accommodation. He unfastened his gun belt and cast it aside, but he had help working on the buttons holding his fly shut. Her fingers fumbled about, popping open the buttons one by one until he leaped out, long and hard and ready.
“Oh, yes,” she said breathlessly. Her knees rose higher as she pulled him forward, down to her bush, and then, with a rush, all the way into her moist, hot core.
Suddenly surrounded, Slocum stopped all movement and simply relished the clutching heat all around his manhood. The rocking motion of the wagon, the occasion bump, the unexpected surges as the horses changed gait all moved his steely shaft about within her.
Christine clung to him fiercely and began rolling her hips around to take him even deeper within. The triple movements—hers, his, and the wagon’s—all pushed them higher until they ached for release.
Slocum felt the fiery tide building in his balls but held back. It was a long way back to the ranch, and he wanted to make this last as long as possible.
“I . . . I need you, John,” Christine gasped out. She half climbed up him, her arms around his neck and her hips thrusting back and forth.
The motion proved impossible to deny. Slocum began thrusting to meet her movement and soon they fell into the age-old rhythm of a man loving a woman. He cried out when he could no longer hold back and spilled his seed within her. But she didn’t hear. She was sobbing out her own climax.
Locked together, they clung to each other for long minutes, then sank down to the rude bed formed by the sacks of sugar and flour.
“That was over too quick,” Slocum said.
“Disappointed?”
“Hardly. Not ever with you, but there should have been more.”
Christine laughed and said, “You’re so greedy, John. But I agree. I’m greedy, too. And still horny!”
She pushed away from him and swung about so she could thrust her head between his legs. She took his limp worm into her mouth and began working on it. With her own pubes just inches from his face, Slocum craned his neck a mite and started licking and kissing the exposed flesh. Christine trembled at this avid tongue-lashing. And he hardened even more as she sucked harder on him.
They’d barely finished this time before the team reached the edge of the Bar M Ranch. Slocum hoped the look on his face and the flush to Christine’s cheeks didn’t arouse any suspicion, but the twilight saved them from being discovered.
Magnuson bellowed for his daughter to get into the hous
e for dinner and for Slocum to unload the wagon.
With every sack Slocum moved to the storage, he remembered what he and Christine had done atop it on the way back. Somehow, that made the chore go faster and every sack seem a bit lighter.
3
Slocum leaned on the corral fence watching the foreman work a mustang brought in from the range. The piebald horse was a mean one, kicking and bucking and doing everything Slocum had ever seen to keep from being saddled and broken. He had to jump back when the horse got away from Jed Blassingame, amid a stream of cursing volatile enough to turn the air blue.
“Fer the love of God, Jed, keep that danged animal from kickin’ the living hell out of us,” complained a cowboy who’d climbed up on the corral and sat with his legs dangling over.
“Keep yer own danged body away or I’ll be the one doin’ the kickin’,” Blassingame yelled. “And it’ll be yer damned ass that I kick!” He stomped over to where the horse faced him, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. Slocum couldn’t tell which showed the most fire and determination. The foreman wasn’t a man to give up, but he had to admit it looked as if Blassingame might have met his match in the mustang.
“He’s having a time of it, ain’t he?”
Slocum looked over his shoulder. Tom Garvin strutted up, swinging his fancy black rope with the silver strands in it. For a greenhorn, he did a good job of keeping a loop. He even gave the feeling of having such confidence that he could do that from horseback to lasso a calf and bring it down for proper branding. Slocum had to wonder at the change in the young man since he had found the body out on the range.
“Hard one to break,” Slocum said. “I’ve seen outlaws tougher in my day, but not many. And not ones inclined to think about how they’re going to be mean.” Slocum rested his chin on his crossed arms along the top corral rail and watched. The horse was mad and scared, but the intelligence in the eyes told of willingness to do whatever was necessary to outwit a cowboy trying to break it so it could get back with its herd.
“Is Jed gonna saddle it up and break it that way?”