Birches, Cowgirls & Angels

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  There was a posse that rode into town the morning after my night in the shed. We’d laid in bed a long time, but the commotion in the street was enough to make us peek out of the window. We couldn’t be sure if these lawmen were after Brady, or some other roaming outlaw. Yet, we couldn’t take any chances either. At the first opportunity, I slipped my lover out of my room, into a vacated bedroom across the hall. From there, he left the saloon through a back window and I believe he made it safely out of town. Just outside the window, he turned to give me one last command and one last shred of hope.

  “You keep yourself chaste for me, Kiley McCarron, or you know what happens next time.” For good measure, he grabbed his belt as he spoke. Reminded of the night before, a crazy shiver of lust bolted through my body. It moved from my stomach, to my hips, to my heart, but seemed settle in my aching behind. I longed for another experience with his belt on my ass, though I hoped that the next one would be as much for pleasure as this last was for punishment.

  “I’ll be constant, I promise,” I said.

  He smiled and touched my face tenderly.

  “Next time I return, I’ll be taking you with me when I leave,” he said.

  “What?” I was bewildered.

  “We’ll go to Mexico where I’m not a hunted man. I have a friend that will keep us safe. And there, in the wide open spaces I won’t have to worry about the sounds we make in the night.”

  “You mean when your belt is striking my behind?” I asked.

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”

  With a gleam in his eye, he was off, disappearing without that one last kiss.

  It’s been three weeks since the desperado’s last visit. I miss him more than anything in the world. I have my hope, my dreams and my passion to keep me steady. And my vow of chastity to him. Mexico. I think of Mexico and wonder if we can truly be safe together, if our lives will ever really get beyond these stolen nights, if we can ever walk the streets of some dusty town, together hand in hand. I wonder too as I recall our brief nights, if I’ll ever have his belt against my ass again bringing out all the wondrous passion and the fiery flames of sex.

  I wonder and I wait now. In the dead of night I think I hear him creeping toward my room. But when he’s not there, and it’s just the wind rattling the pane of glass, I keep my hope.

  I think of Mexico, and I think of my desperado and dream.

  My Urban Cowgirl

  Morgan’s best features were her laughter and her ass. I’m not sure if the two are connected in any way, because she sure didn’t laugh much when I was dealing with those round rear cheeks. I think it was the laughter that would follow that often endeared me to her.

  She thought she was hot stuff, landing in my life to polish my ranching operation with her expertise. Hell, I didn’t give a damn about keeping books, I was a backwoods hellion that finally found peace riding my acres of prime land. I only hired the brat to make sure I wasn’t losing money. But then, she swooped in on me wanting to change everything, and hell, I wasn’t about to let her make all the changes she would have tried.

  Morgan was suppose to stay at my ranch for a few weeks to learn the business, set up the accounts and make suggestions; though when she arrived I could see that things weren’t going to be all that cut and dried. From my first look at her long golden hair, the cornflower blue eyes and her pert smile, I could tell that there’d be some kind of sparks flying before our relationship was over. She was as sassy as a smart-mouthed teenager, waving her ass as she walked with me from the plane to my truck. I think she was trying to impress me with her knowledge of operations like ours, her in her pale yellow designer suit and the Gucci briefcase. I could just see her changing clothes appearing in a pair of skin tight blue jeans, a silk cowboy shirt and high-heeled boots that she’d stumble in the first time she walked across the paddock. She might have read up on ranches, but she wouldn’t know what the hell she was talking about and end up embarrassing us both. I wondered if this had been a good idea. A fellow rancher had hired her Chicago accounting firm the spring before. They put his records in order in three days. I knew the job at my ranch would be a bit more involved, but I wasn’t planning to have some gorgeous dame with a desire for control trying to take over. She was certainly going to have to stick with the books and stay out of my territory.

  To my surprise and relief, Morgan did get out of that posh yellow suit before she fell in the mud and ruined it, and she thankfully appeared in a decent pair of blue jeans—some designer brand of course, but she had regular cowboy boots and a denim shirt that didn’t look as though it would fly off in the wind. She still looked like dynamite though. I could have cursed the accounting firm for sending me this woman. I wasn’t particularly happy with the distraction with so much to do, but I suppose I could think of other annoyances that were worse than having to gaze at a statuesque body, golden hair and a beautiful smile.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for me to find out where this broad was coming from. Starting with our tour of the stables, she was filled with all kinds of “helpful hints” that went in one ear and out the other. I was only too happy to show her the way to the office and the work she was hired to do. The day after her arrival, however, while she was supposed to be taking a break, I found her discussing animal feed with my stable hands, as if she was making the buying decisions. I led her away from them fast, but she was putting her nose into all kinds of places, from the kitchen, to the paddocks, to the stables and cattle barns. I’d leave her alone for ten minutes and she’d have some harebrained idea that only confused my employees and pissed me off.

  I finally cornered her after three days of irritation. Backing her right into a corner in the office, I put my finger in her face and exploded—kindly I might add.

  “Listen, Ms. Morgan Rice, your job is here, in this room, getting my accounts in order. It is not in the stables, lending advice where none is needed. I didn’t hire you for that, and I don’t want you butting your head into matters that don’t concern you. This ranch could be going to hell in a hand-basket but you just stick to your job, nothing more. Is that clear?” On second thought, I wasn’t all that kind, but she was really screwing up the works. I thought she might be just a little apologetic when I got my point across, but no, she wasn’t going to be intimidated by anything.

  “Your ranch is going to hell in a hand basket,” she declared. “And if you don’t do something soon, you will lose it. I’m only trying to do the job you hired me to do. As I see it, I’m here to save you from disaster, which is just around the next corner.”

  “My, you are an optimistic sort,” I sneered at her meanly. I was still pissed. “Let’s just get this really straight. You have an opinion, that’s okay, but you say nothing to anyone but me. Got that?”

  “Okay, I can live with that, but I’m not going to watch you tube your inheritance, your way of life and the only thing you have going for you by being stubborn as a mule, Mr. Andreson.” She was pretty stubborn herself, and I backed away from her laughing.

  In a few minutes, she was laughing too. Seemed we both needed to lighten up and that was a good way to ease the prickly tension between us.

  “I’m sorry if I overstepped my bounds, Rory,” she finally admitted. “I guess I get over zealous when I get in the middle of a battle. And that’s how I see your financial condition.”

  “Enough said. I’ll keep my peace, as long as you follow the rules.”

  She got this strange look in her eyes and cocked head. “And if I don’t?”

  I eyed her thoroughly for a minute, then smiled. “You know, there’s an old strap hanging on the stable wall. My daddy used to use it on my ass when I misbehaved. You keep up the way you did this last few days, I’ll take that strap, haul you over my knee, and give you the spanking of your life.”

  “Oh, my,” she said, giggling sweetly. “I’d like to see any man do that.”

  “I consider that a challenge,” he said.

  “Oh, then I s
uppose I’d better watch out.”

  “Just don’t tempt me Ms. Rice.”

  “I’ll do my best not to, but please just call me Morgan. All this Ms. Rice stuff sounds so formal, kind of like you resent that I’m a woman.”

  “I don’t resent that at all. In fact, I appreciate very much that you’re a woman and very pretty to look at.”

  I think she actually blushed, but she covered it up quickly, and then weaseled her way out of the corner back to the desk, while I moved on with my day.

  It only took two days for Morgan to have me pissed again. Just when I thought she’d work out fine, she managed some casual conversation with my foreman and I began hearing about her schemes to make my ranch part of a consortium of ranch businesses. It seemed like the first step on the road to ruin, and I wasn’t exactly happy about hearing her plans second hand.

  “I thought I told you to bring your fancy ideas to me, if you have to express them,” I said as I strode into the office. She was bending over reaching for some files in the bottom drawer of the file cabinet and I enjoyed a quick look at her lovely rear.

  “You’re talking about my brief conversation with Al?” she asked, sounding rather flippant in the process.

  “Yes, that conversation should have been with me.”

  “And there was nothing wrong with it.”

  “Except that we had an agreement.”

  She’d taken a seat at the desk, and looked up at me as though she was the one in charge, and I was just any old lackey in her service. Maybe if she’d have laughed a little, I might not have been in such a bad humor. But it was bad timing for her to power up on me. I’d already had a lousy day and her back-handed scheme was the last straw.

  “You know I really oughta take you over my knee,” I said remembering my suggestion.

  “You really think I’d let you?” she peered up through her reading glasses—reminding me of an old Latin teacher I had in high school.

  “We’ll just see, won’t we,” I replied. I was going for her, had her pulled to her feet, dragged across the room and over my lap before she realized what was happening. Holding her around the waist with a firm grip, since I expected her to raise holy hell, I began spanking her bottom with the palm of my hand as hard as I could.

  She cried, she screamed, she kicked her legs, but I kept going, pouring every bit of strength I could muster into the act. I figured that I had to hit her hard, otherwise she’d never feel a thing through the stiff jeans that covered her behind. If I thought I could have uncovered them, and have her bare bottom to smack, I certainly would have. But I decided my best bet was to keep her immobilized as she was.

  “Ouch! You friggin’ ass this is starting to hurt!” she yelled.

  “Good!” I retorted.

  I kept slapping her fanny hoping that this would take some of the spit and vinegar from her. It did seem that the more I spanked her, the more she subdued. By then, my hand was beginning to sting, I imagined her ass was too. Finishing her off, I set her back on her feet, Morgan looking flustered and embarrassed.

  Her bewilderment only lasted a few seconds, then she was mad as a hornet.

  “How dare you!” she snapped at me.

  “Hey, what can I say,” I replied.

  “I should … I should…” she was stammering and it was quite a sight.

  “You know you look lovely all pissed like you are?”

  “You are one patronizing bastard, and if you ever lay a hand on me …”

  “Oh, my, you threatening me?”

  Her chest was still heaving, and the more she looked me in the eye, the more I felt her passion rise. I never expected this to be an erotic thing, but sure enough, I was responding physically and I know she was too.

  “You’re horny, aren’t you?” I said.

  “I am not!”

  “Oh, sorry, I just saw this look in your eyes.”

  “What look?”

  “Maybe your warm bottom is turning you on.”

  She stared at me, her eyes still hot, her fists at her side still clenched.

  “Actually I was thinking it was kind of funny,” I went on. I was smiling so broadly I think she caught the mood from me. In the blink of an eye, her manner changed and this odd smile broke out on her face. She shook her head, like she had no idea what to say or do, then she slumped down in a chair before me.

  “Ouch!”

  “Still hurt,” I asked.

  “Not really,” she said, “just surprising.”

  “Well then, next time I’ll be sure to take down your pants.”

  “There won’t be a next time.”

  “Oh, really?” I was already in doubt of that. Seemed that Morgan and I had crossed a barrier pretty quickly. I don’t know much about intimacy, but we had something going and we both knew it. Not that we’d be sharing secrets just yet, it just seemed as though we were destined for something a little more than we expected.

  “I guess I brought that on,” she finally confessed.

  “You sure as hell did,” I replied quickly.

  “But I never thought you were serious.”

  “Just be glad that we weren’t in the stable, I would have used the strap.”

  “You wouldn’t,” she said, challenging me again.

  “Maybe you ought to try me,” I said. Damn! I was happy and amused, she was so hot and pretty. I think even more after that spanking, her hair messed up, her face looking soft. “You know you are beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” she was still chagrined and bewildered.

  “I mean really beautiful. You have a boyfriend?”

  “No. But you have no business asking.”

  I shrugged.

  “Just wondering. But I guess next time you’ll know I’m serious when I make a threat.”

  Her face began to change, her anger disappearing altogether. I was lucky about that, and then she kind of laughed again. “You know, Rory, I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, anyone who can be such a boor and so stubborn when his ship is sinking.” She stood up, turned around and walked back to the desk.

  “So, I suppose the effects of the spanking are gone?”

  “Yes, they are,” she confirmed, reclaiming some of her saucy charm. “Next time you should really use a riding crop. Now that would be fantasy I might want to indulge in.”

  “A riding crop?”

  “Yes,” her eyes glimmered quite seductively. “I can just imagine a shiny new leather-wrapped cane with a smart leather end and a braided handle. That gives me shivers right to my … to my … my toes.”

  “I see,” I said nodding my head. I think she was trying to take control. One up me thinking she could best me with spanking talk. I wasn’t moved, but I was still impressed by my accountant. “I’ll see what I can do. I just hope you got my message about sticking your nose into business where it doesn’t belong.”

  “I swear, I’m reformed,” she assured me.

  I was frankly a little surprised that “Miss big-city accountant urban cowgirl” didn’t give me more of a fight than she did. I suppose that was because, that little turn over my lap affected her more than either of us figured it would. It affected me to.

  We had nearly a week of smooth sailing. Oh, there was some friendly sparring, and even a few pointed references to spanking. I’d threaten her, and she’d pretend like she was mortified, but she’d always be laughing, “Yeah, just you try and put me over your lap again!” she’d declare with a smile on her face. I was beginning to wonder if she wasn’t baiting me.

  Then there was that afternoon, I was just plain tired of the ranch and everything that had to do with it. I ran by the office at three in the afternoon and abducted Morgan right from the middle of whatever she was trying to do with my account books. Apparently it was a mess because she kept giving me these stern looks over her reading glasses every time I tried to inquire how things were going. This time, I just ignored all that, and taking her by th
e hand, I had her in the truck before she really had a chance to protest.

  “We both need a break,” I said. “And now’s as good a time as any.”

  “But I was right in the middle of …”

  “The beginning, middle and end will all be there when we get back.”

  “So, where are we going?” she asked.

  “To town.”

  “What for?”

  “A beer.”

  “Don’t we have beer in the fridge?”

  “Not beer on tap, and not the jukebox at the Lazy Blues.”

  “I see.”

  She was starting to ease up on me, and act like she was actually enjoying herself. And after a couple of beers she was ready to dance. A little Willie, Travis Tritt and some then some crooning Garth Brooks. Damn! She moved those hips well, and right against my crotch.

  We laughed a lot between all the seduction and had another two beers. By the time we made it through a hamburger and fries we were almost sober enough to get home. That’s when I had a brilliant idea. Still leading this city girl by the hand—something I’m sure she’d never tolerate from a city boyfriend—we took a side trip into Hodgkiss Country Western Store.

  “What am I suppose to find here?” she asked.

  “You need a hat when you ride cowboy style.”

  “Oh, I do,” she smirked at me.

  She tried on a dozen lady Stetsons and picked the one that looked the best atop that beautiful mop of blonde hair. Then, on our way to make the purchase, we stopped at a display, eyeing an array of riding crops hanging on the wall.