by J. W. Stacks
“Certainly. I’d enjoy that.” Abigail said and, with a lingering look, accompanied Maggie back to her house.
“Matt?” Maggie raised an eyebrow as Abigail tugged her glove down to cover her arm.
“He’s very informal,” Abigail said quickly.
“You showed him your arm,” she pointed out.
“I couldn’t very well wind it myself!” Abigail retorted. “Besides,” she said in a more subdued tone, “he makes it seem like I have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“You don’t!” Maggie said with an exasperated sigh. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all along! Your arm is like nothing anyone has ever seen before. It’s amazing. Goodness, Abby, you’re amazing when you’re not being so damned maudlin. If I’d known all it took was a handsome man to say so for you to believe it, I’d have stripped him to his waist to make sure I had your attention long ago!”
“Only to his waist?” Abigail teased.
“Half for you and half for me,” Maggie said before breaking out into laughter.
Anxious faces met them when the two women walked back inside.
“I’m dreadfully sorry to worry all of you so much.” Abigail spoke up before Maggie could say anything. “My nerves are still delicate but I have my wits about me again after a small constitutional. Please, let’s continue where we were,” she smiled, “it is Christmas Eve after all.” And a much more congenial Abigail Hogarth joined the merry-making, her spirits buoyed after the whole evening had almost turned into a disaster.
****
“Are you sure you don’t want me to accompany you home?” Maggie asked as Abigail climbed back into Matt’s carriage while the rest of the partygoers broke up and each went their own way amid cries of well-wishes, reminders to visit, and happy holidays.
“I’m certain. I won’t impose on you.”
Maggie pursed her lips and, realizing that her friend was almost as stubborn as she, gave it up as a lost cause before it began. “Matthew, please make sure she gets home safely,” she called up to the driver.
“Yes, Miss,” he answered promptly.
Abigail settled back into the plush cushions and smiled to herself as she leaned her head back and let the gentle rocking of the carriage lull her eyes into drooping. That night she had taken her first steps into becoming real again. Maggie and Matt were fully on her side and she felt sure, with a little work, that her old friends from the theater could be persuaded to accept her limitation—no—difference, she corrected herself. Her new arm was as good as a real one, and even better when it came to ruining tables, as long as she remembered to wind it. She pulled off her gloves and watched in drowsy fascination as the faint illumination from gas lamps created hypnotic patterns on the polished surface of her arm. Unique, ran through her mind before she fell into slumber.
****
Her sleep was shattered moments later by Matt’s hoarse shout from up front. “Abigail! Lock your doors!”
What? She groggily lurched to the side and hit the locking mechanism on the door. Opening the window, she stuck her head outside, painfully banging it on the top of the bouncing portal. They were picking up speed, and the cold wind woke her fully. She glanced up at Matt’s box and saw him standing, reins in one hand and a large pistol in the other, looking back. He had removed his jacket and the wind whipping around his white silk shirt molded it to his arms and chest and she became aware of his raw power beneath the civilized garb. What in the Lord’s name was going on?
Abigail twisted her head and her heart leapt into her mouth. A large airship was slowly descending almost directly on top of them, the drone of its engines remarkably quiet. Its skin was painted black like the night sky, only the dim moonlight betraying its presence. She could make out large doors open on one side of the gondola, faint lamplight illuminating several figures standing in a large doorway on its side. At her observation, two of them jumped from the door and she shrieked in shock. They were leaping to their death! Then she noticed the line playing out behind their falling figures that stopped their plummet. More figures jumped.
“Git back inside!” Matt yelled and fired.
Realizing it was not the time to argue, Abigail slammed the window shut and turned the small lock on it. The same pistol discharged with a loud report a second time and soon came the sound of return fire. She jumped and screamed when something hit the carriage near her head and a ragged hole erupted in a shower of tiny splinters. The horses whinnied in panic over Matt’s cries and the cab shook violently as she got pitched to the floor...
Abigail came eye-to-eye with the polished gleam of a shotgun barrel under the seat. Something collided with the cab and she looked up in time to see a man clothed in black with a mask and dark goggles swing back against the door. His leather-wrapped fist smashed through the thin glass and his hand groped for the lock. She had little reason to believe the men had good intentions for her or Matt. She yanked out the gun and swung it in his direction, pleased to see his reaction of terror even through the goggles. She pulled the trigger.
The hammer fell on an empty chamber.
Before a un-ladylike curse could rip from her lips, the figure at the window jerked and slumped, lifeless, the rope tied to his harness the only thing keeping his body from falling. Abigail scrabbled around on the floor looking for the bullets for the gun. A violent bounce caused her to smack her head on the underside of the seat. Two bullets rolled in front of her eyes and she grabbed them only to realize that her knowledge of firearms was distinctly lacking. Blast men and their idea of a fairer sex! It was going to get her killed! Matt’s gun roared again as she fumbled with the gun, looking for a hole or some place where she could put the ammunition. The carriage jolted again and the bullets flew from her unsteady hand.
Loud thrashing sounded from the top of the cab and muffled vulgar American words. Another intruder pushed the dead man away and tried to open the carriage door. Abigail’s bad arm grabbed his hand and pulled—hard. His face and upper body came through the window with a cry of pain as the thin glass disintegrated, lacerating his face and head. Abigail followed up with a clumsy swing with the butt of her useless shotgun but it only succeeded in pushing him back outside, albeit with a black eye that would be there for some time. He cursed as their slowing ride and his tether pulled him away.
Rough hands grabbed her hair from behind, savagely pulling. Abigail cried out in pain as her head was twisted, exposing her neck. One of them must have climbed through the door behind her! The flash of metal from a knife caught in the corner of her eye and she offered up a quick prayer.
As her head was bent painfully back, she saw Matt drop like a cat out of the corner of her eye behind them from the roof, a long knife in his hand and a murderous look on his face that sent chills down her spine. The man about to kill her didn’t seem to notice. She blinked and Matt disappeared from her sight.
There was a wet gurgle at her ear. Her hair suddenly free, she whirled to see Matt plunge his knife into her attacker a second time before pushing it out of the door, the body now hanging grotesquely limp from its tether. His arm went around her waist as she shuddered at the sight of the bloody blade.
“Are you hurt?” Concern, tinged with something else, was unmistakable in his tone.
She shook her head numbly. It was all too much and her knees buckled only to have his strong arm keep her upright and against his body. The smell of man, blood, and anxiety intoxicated her. With Matt she would be safe. A sob wracked her body and she felt herself pulled closer to him.
“Come on, you sons of bitches!” Matt raged into the night.
Abigail would have blanched at the strong language but her mind reeled. Who were these people? Why did they want her and Matt dead? And, Heaven forbid, why on Christmas Eve?
Silence descended around them.
“Wait h
ere,” Matt said and detached himself from her.
She missed him immediately. “Don’t go!”
“Abby,” he said and the familiarity pleased her. “I have to.”
He had no sooner climbed outside than the loud reports of several shots echoed before their carriage came to a reluctant stop with the snorting of agitated horses.
Heedless of her own safety or his words, she rushed outside holding the empty and useless shotgun to see Matt firing his last three shots at the retreating airship, corpses hanging from dangling ropes still visible.
With a look of disgust at wasting ammunition he lowered his pistol. “Abby, I... wait, where’d you git the scattergun?”
“It was under the seat. Its wasn’t loaded though. I found bullets but I... don’t know how to load a gun.”
“Those use shells not bullets,” Matt rubbed his chin before going back to the carriage and digging in the driver’s boot. He cursed again and held up a pistol. “Empty too and mighty funny. You’d have to be out of yer fool head to go ‘round unarmed. Damned good thing I got my own.”
“What does it all mean?” Abby said.
He frowned. “It means that we were set up to be bushwhacked.”
“You mean ambushed. But why?”
“No idea but you can bet yer bottom dollar that they were after you or me. That was just too fancy to just be a robbery.”
Abigail’s heart sank. It was her. There was no reason why they would be after a cab driver. “What do we do now?” she asked in a small voice.
“We can’t go back to your place or to Maggie’s. They’re sure to be watchin’ both places and they might have figgered out where I’m holed up too. We need a place to atay low ‘til some of this blows over.”
“But where?”
“We can head outside the city. There is bound to be some woods there that will hide us from the air in case they try that again.” He turned sympathetic eyes towards her. “I’m terribly sorry, Abby. It’s a hell of a way to spend Christmas.”
“I’ve had worse,” she replied with a wan smile.
****
It took them hours to find a suitable place as Matt did not want to light the carriage’s lanterns for fear of being discovered but soon they found a small path off the main road and were swallowed up by a dense forest. Matt believed that it was a hunting path and, with it being winter, there was slim chance of anyone stumbling upon them. The coating of snow outside the carriage window was less than at her room but it wasn’t any less cold. As the evening deepened, Abigail burrowed herself down into a blanket and stared out at the greenery slowly rumbling by.
Memories about her childhood flooded to the forefront of her thoughts. She remembered rides like this with her mother and father, an open carriage, everyone heavily bundled against the bracing temperatures, with festive bells jangling along with the steady clops of horse hooves. Every Christmas they would do this to visit their aunts who would be waiting with hot cider and smiles. That was before acting and getting swept up into that glittering world. Her fall from grace underscored how much she overlooked those simple pleasures of the past.
“This’ll do.” Matt intruded into her reminiscence and Abigail realized that they had stopped in a small clearing. Matt unhitched the horses to allow them to graze and rubbed them down despite Abigail’s suggestion that he rest. She could tell by his stiff gait and sloping shoulders that he was running off of determination alone. She also noticed that his drawl became more pronounced.
“We might need fresh hosses and leavin’ ‘em in harness is just cruel ‘n askin’ for trouble later if’n their hides rubs raw,” he explained.
Abigail nodded as though she understood. City girls didn’t learn much about horses other than to get out of the way of them on the street. She mentally winced.
“You go ahead n’ sleep,” he said.
“We’ll both sleep.” She countered, “You said we’re safe here and you’re barely on your feet. Don’t argue. I hate to go to bed angry.”
“Fine,” he said, too tired to put up much of an argument. “I’ll take this side of the carriage.” Matt rolled himself up in a horse blanket, leaving her with the good ones. His expression brooked no argument.
Abigail lay down and soon the deep regular breathing from Matt told her that he was sleeping, but it would not come for her. She looked over at him. Even disheveled and weary as he was, he was beautiful. Abigail admired his relaxed face in the weak moonlight filtering down through the trees. The strong chin and cheeks were still there but he was at peace. Even his tussled blonde hair made her want to run her hands through it. She realized with no small measure of guilt that she hadn’t even thanked him for saving her life. Abigail steeled herself. She needed this. Please...
She rolled over and her mechanical hand brushed the side of his face softly. His eyes opened slowly as she caught herself holding her breath.
“Abby? Is something wrong?”
Her heart soared. He didn’t flinch from her touch. Emboldened, she tentatively pressed her lips against his. “No,” she breathed.
“Good,” he said and pulled her against him, his lips seeking hers.
Abigail sighed. His kiss was tender yet insistent, demanding her submission to his desire and she willingly did so, her hands roaming his chest, appreciating the hard muscle beneath his shirt before rolling over on top of him and straddling his hips.
Suddenly the cold didn’t matter so much even if her skin pimpled.
“Abby?” He gently pushed her away. “We shouldn’t.”
The growing bulge she could feel in his pants told her differently.
“I want to.”
“You’re a lady.”
“I’m an actress. I’ve had so many scandals, true and false, that it doesn’t matter.” She grabbed his shirt and pulled it out of his waistband. She ran her hands beneath the silken fabric, her breath quickening from the cold or from the muscled chest she found. She couldn’t tell and didn’t care. Faint wisps of hair ran through her trembling fingers as she took in the curves of his chest and the points of his nipples, that she desperately wanted pressed up against her bare skin, leading down to the hard ridges of his abdomen. Abigail could feel the heat building between her legs like a stoked furnace. If she couldn’t get relief she would surely die. “Remind me I’m a woman,” she panted.
His hands trembled as he began to pull at the laces to open her top. “I’ve wanted−”
“Me too,” she panted, as her hands fumbled with his belt buckle.
Her pale breasts slipped over the top of her bodice and Matt moaned. They were as perfectly formed as he had imagined. They weren’t as big as Maggie’s but they fit her body perfectly. Small pink nipples, taut in the chill of the night, begged his attention. Abigail had gotten his pants down and the strangely soft touch of brass fingers against his manhood ripped a groan from his lips. He watched with rapt attention as she inched forward, his pecker sliding underneath the dark folds of her dress before it was caressed by moist silk. Abby gasped above him as she straddled his full length. He wanted nothing more than to make love to this woman. Nobody had ever got under his skin like she had, bringing out the need to both protect and possess. She was a fragile flame that could burn him but he welcomed the heat. Few women he had known would have run out into a gunfight with a empty shotgun. Despite having such a beautiful fragile shell, Abigail Hogarth had a heart big enough for both of them.
Matt grabbed her hips as she began to rock up and down, her sodden unmentionables stroking his cock and driving him to desperation as her cries slowly increased. Her frenzied pace threatening to finish him early.
He rolled over on top of her with a growl and he came free with a disappointed sigh from Abby. He kissed down her neck and suckled her breast as her back arched in pleasure. “Matt
...” she cried as his fingers fumbled beneath her petticoats and underclothes. His touch seared her legs even through the woolen stockings.
“Dammit!” he cursed, thwarted again in his quest to get into her dress.
Abigail reached down and violently pulled at her layers, exposing herself to him, keenly aware of the rigid manhood pressed against her thigh. “Please!” she moaned.
Oh no, my little filly, he thought devilishly, you’re mine. His rough fingers played her secret place like a fiddle with her cries the duet. The musky scent of her excitement filled the small carriage. Her brown hair thrashed wildly and her fingers clawed at the velvet interior, her peak was coming. “Matt!” she pleaded.
Matt rolled on top of her, pushing her wrists above her head, enjoying the curve of her arched neck and straining breasts—the touch of her nipples electric against his chest.
Abigail’s breath caught as the touch of his burning length fueled the fire inside her. If he held off any longer she would surely go mad. She shifted her hips and brushed her opening against his tip.
Matt needed no further encouragement and pushed his way inside her, the cries of delight from her throat music to his ears. Her legs wrapped around his hips as he wildly drove into her, angling so that he could go deeper. Now it was his turn. He could feel the churning in his balls, the pressure building. “Abby...”
She gasped as his seed blasted into her, torrent after torrent as his body convulsed above her. She stared at him through desire-sated eyes. It was if she was taming a great beast, his raw power now at her bidding, his body sagging against hers. Abby’s body had never felt more alive. This was something she wanted. Hers. Never to be taken away. Her lips found his as he rolled onto his back.
Neither of them spoke. Abby rested her head against his chest and soon he fell asleep. Her heart was screaming “love,” but her head told her it was just lust, both of them merely succumbed to a natural need. It meant nothing. Except that it did. Maggie had been right. There were people who cared about her. Matt risked his life, Maggie’s friendship never wavered since the accident, and the few members of the theater she met seemed concerned about her welfare. “Like it or not, Abigail Hogarth,” she thought, “you’re a part of the world again, dangerous though it may be.”