by Dinah McLeod
“I can smell it all over you,” he said by way of explanation.
“Oh. Well, it’s not that bad. It’s just a cigarette.”
“Cigarettes,” he’d said, measuring it out as though he was choosing his words carefully, “kill people.”
“Lots of things kill people.” She’d said it with a shrug and a dismissive little laugh, expecting to see him smile in agreement. He didn’t. In fact, the way he was looking at her—like she was a child talking about things she couldn’t possibly understand—made her feel defensive.
“A life isn’t something to gamble with. How old are you?”
“Seven—I mean, eighteen,” she’d said. At first, she was annoyed with him, but that quickly became annoyance with herself. “I had a birthday last week. I’m still getting used to it.”
“Happy birthday. Now, why don’t you stop puffing on those cancer sticks, to ensure you see many, many more of them?”
“You know what, you’re right,” she’d bit out, clearly frustrated. “I should be getting back home.”
“Did you get your birthday spanking?”
She’d been about to turn around and stomp off angrily, but his words stopped her. “What?”
“Your birthday spanking. I could give it to you now, if you like, but it might be a touch harder than you’re used to.”
He was laughing at her. She could see it in his eyes, in the twitching of her lips. God, he was insufferable! Threatening to spank her simply because he didn’t like her smoking a cigarette!
Except he hadn’t exactly threatened her. And despite the absurd rudeness of the entire encounter, she felt her heart pounding in her chest in a way she’d never felt before. It was odd, the way her blood suddenly felt hot as it coursed through her veins. Worst of all, when she should have felt offended—she was offended—there was a part of her that, for some strange reason she couldn’t name, wanted to say yes.
Her eyes drifted to his hands. He had large hands. They were stained with oil, and one casually held a wrench. The sight of them in correlation with her startlingly naughty thoughts made her ass begin to tingle. The thought of taking a spanking from him was a daunting one indeed.
“I… I think I’ll pass.” Her voice was as cool as she could make it as she tried to hide her apprehension at the thought of one of those humungous hands colliding with her bottom.
But something of what she felt must have shown on her face, because he’d thrown back his head and begun to laugh. Laughing—at her! Of all the nerve.
So she’d spun on her heel and stalked off, not bothering to stop even when he’d called after her.
“Wait! Wait, I didn’t mean to make you mad. Come back, let me introduce myself! The name’s Sam.”
But she hadn’t been mad—not exactly. And he’d seen it all over her face. And she’d never forgotten the name.
Apparently, she hadn’t been nearly as memorable. She’d even tossed out that line as she was leaving, about her dad telling her about him. She’d thought that would jog his memory, but it hadn’t done the trick. Somehow, that made the embarrassment she felt at being wet even worse. But maybe the man liked to spank and forget. Maybe that was his style. Who was she to judge?
Besides, she’d finally gotten the spanking he’d mentioned, even if it had come four years later. Even though she’d known it was silly, she hadn’t been able to forget his words even in all the time she’d been away. Some nights, when she found herself unable to sleep, she’d lie awake and wonder what it would have felt like, if she’d agreed to let him spank her. Now she didn’t have to wonder anymore. It was stingy and hot and awful all at once, and yet… yet, it was also somehow wonderful, too.
* * *
He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Which, in itself, was ridiculous. She might be legal, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t still too young for him.
“Samuel? Somethin’ the matter?”
He looked up from his cup of coffee and repressed a sigh. “No, Gran. I’m fine.”
“You sure? You haven’t eaten a bite.”
He glanced at the ham sandwich he’d left untouched. “I’m just not that hungry, I guess.”
“Well, something really must be wrong then,” she chuckled softly.
“Actually, I’m late getting back to the field.” He stood up, picked up his cup of coffee and chugged it in two swallows, wincing when he realized it had grown cold. “Don’t mean to worry you—I’m fine.”
“Maybe you ought to take the sandwich.”
“Sure, Gran. And remember—I’ve got volunteer work tonight.”
“I didn’t forget. Your uniform is ready to go.”
Thanking her with a swift kiss to the cheek, he took the sandwich and left. But even the change of scenery did nothing to help his thoughts. Georgia kept popping up in his mind whatever he did, not seeming to mind that she was an uninvited guest. He couldn’t stop thinking about those braids. Those freckles. The dimples. Damn it! Spanking her was supposed to get her out of his system, but it looked like he’d gone and managed to make things worse for himself. Those five whacks hadn’t been enough to leave the imprint of his hand on her butt, but had been more than sufficient to stamp her on his brain.
He had to get her off—she didn’t belong there. His mind needed to be clear, especially before tonight. So he hit the rest of his chores with the enthusiasm of a man who needed to work hard, tire out his muscles so that his brain would shut down. The thing was, even though he didn’t understand it, there was a deep-seated need inside him, and no matter what he did, he just couldn’t shake it. He had to be the one to take the lead in a relationship, to curb the attitudes of naughty girls and, when they deserved it, to spank their bottoms.
Sam craved that submission, whether he liked it or not. And in the moment, when he had a woman bent over and taking a much-earned punishment, he liked it quite a bit. When he was dealing with loneliness, well, those days he liked it less.
Georgia could be different, a voice inside him whispered.
He slammed the logs he was gathering into the wheelbarrow with a loud grunt in order to silence it. He wasn’t a cradle robber, and no matter how cute or tempting, Georgia had jail bait written all over her sexy ass. Which was all he needed to know to end this—whatever it was—before it ever started. His subconscious would fall in line, eventually.
* * *
“You have got to be kidding me,” she groaned aloud. This wasn’t happening. It just wasn’t. Although the loud blare of sirens and the sight of billowing gray smoke dared to disagree, she just couldn’t believe that the night she’d finally worked up the wherewithal to go to the grocery store, she’d find it in flames.
Well, not flames exactly. But those were definitely firefighters rushing inside while customers poured out of the open doors.
“Damn,” she swore to herself. Yet, she didn’t crank up the car and turn around. What was the point? She had come all this way first; might as well have a smoke before heading for home, empty handed. She wondered if she could find somewhere to pick up a pizza on the way home. She highly doubted in a Podunk town like this one that anyone delivered.
Well, at least her dad wouldn’t get mad. After all, a fire was a crazy coincidence, right? It wasn’t like she should feel bad for putting it off and not going earlier—no matter what Mr. Bossypants might have to say about it.
She shook her head to clear the thought. Her dad wouldn’t feel that way about it, she knew that, and no one else mattered. Not even if that someone was tall, dark, and ruggedly handsome.
Her eyes flickered toward the firefighters. Hmm. Speaking of handsome…
She would stay for a few minutes. She’d have a quick smoke, and enjoy the show. Not that a fire was entertaining or anything, but it looked like they had it well under control. It wasn’t like there were leaping flames scaling the building or anything. So, what was the harm in taking in the sights? Especially if that helped to get her mind off… no one important.
Geo
Was it her imagination, or was that firefighter looking over at her? Nope, he was definitely looking. She blew the smoke out of her mouth and gave a jaunty little wave that she hoped was sexy. Then, much to her surprise, she saw him begin to venture toward her.
She fought the nearly irresistible urge to check her hair in the side mirror. Damn, if she’d known she would be entertaining males, she would have taken more care with her outfit. But it had been hard enough to convince herself to stop procrastinating and go to the grocery store in the first place, so she’d thrown on a baggy t-shirt and a pair of shorts she’d had since high school. She had put on a quick coat of mascara on her lashes, so that was something, at least.
“You should really put that out,” the fireman said as he drew near.
“Oh?” she asked lightly, defiantly taking another puff.
“Ma’am, as a firefighter I find it my sworn duty to tell you that smoking can kill you.”
Wait a minute. Her belly did a little flip, even though she knew better. She’d know that voice anywhere.
“Yeah, so I’ve been told.”
“You mean to tell me you know and you still put that garbage in your body?”
His face was hidden by the shadow of his helmet, but she could make out the disapproving frown.
“Seems like it.” She moved the cigarette toward her mouth once more, but then to her surprise he reached forward, plucked it from her fingers, and tossed it onto the asphalt. Then, without a second’s hesitation, he ground it into the road with the heel of his boot. “Oh, my hero. Now I’m cured.”
“Careful,” he warned, his voice a low, rumbling warning. “It seems to me that you’re asking for another spanking.”
She cleared her throat and ducked her head to hide the color that leapt to her cheeks. “You didn’t ask me who told me.”
“I’m sorry? Who told you what?”
“That smoking kills you.”
“Probably every teacher you’ve ever had, I’d wager, and your dad. But I’ll bite—who?”
Feeling that she’d regained enough of her composure, she looked up and met his eye. “You did.” Then, without another word, she opened the door to her car, climbed inside, and cranked the car. She was very proud of herself for being able to drive away without a backward glance.
* * *
“Do you want to have pizza again tonight?” Georgia called out as she stared dejectedly at the empty cabinets.
“I guess we’d better.”
“I hope the store is back in order before we get tired of pineapple and ham.”
“Anything’s better than smoke-flavored peanut butter,” her dad called back, chuckling.
Georgia rolled her eyes. She’d laughed the first time he’d said it, and even the second, but now he was just pressing his luck. She opened the freezer, as though something edible would have somehow popped in there since yesterday when she’d looked last. No such luck. Guess she didn’t have a choice but to run out. She had just put her shoes on when she heard the doorbell ring.
“Peach? You ‘specting someone?”
“Nope. I’ll get the door, though.” She did a double-take when, upon opening the door, she came face-to-face with Samuel Taylor.
“Hi,” he said, as though his being on her doorstep was nothing unusual. As though he’d done it a million times before.
Actually, he looked good on her doorstep, but she wasn’t going to let him know she thought that. “Hello. I was actually on my way out.”
“Oh. Well, that’s OK. I just thought I’d bring some supplies.”
When she looked at him blankly, he held up the bag that, until that moment, she hadn’t noticed him carrying.
“My gran sent over some food when she heard about your, ah, predicament.”
Was it her imagination, or did his eyes twinkle at her?
“I know you still can’t get to the store, so she thought she’d whip something up for you and your dad to have for dinner.”
“Oh. Well… well, that was nice of her, but—”
“Georgia? Who’s at the door?”
She winced as she heard her father’s voice. If she didn’t play her cards quickly and just right, she was going to have to invite Sam in. She might like the looks of him on the porch, but inside her house was another matter. She had a hard enough time getting him out of her thoughts as it was and if she let him anywhere near the threshold, she wouldn’t be able to even manage that much. Which meant when this went nowhere—and it was headed there fast, as far as she was concerned—that she’d have to have a witchdoctor come and remove his essence from the house. And if that didn’t work, well, they’d just have to move.
“Thank her for me, but actually, we’re just going to have pizza. Thanks again.”
“The nearest pizza place is fifteen minutes away,” he said, as though he was telling her something she didn’t already know.
“Yes, well, I just so happen to have a craving for pineapple and ham, so, like I said, thanks, but—”
“Well, why don’t you just take it and save it for later? If I come back with it, my grandmother’ll have me shot. She doesn’t think I’m neighborly enough.”
“Wonder where she would have gotten an idea like that,” she quipped. As soon as she’d said it, she could have kicked herself. Not because it wasn’t true—it was and she didn’t mind him knowing that she thought so. But she should have just taken the bag and shut the door. If she had, then she might have noticed that her father was creeping up behind her before he actually had a chance to interact with Sam.
As it was, he startled her when she heard his voice behind her. “Howdy there. Who is it, Georgia?”
She closed her eyes so that her irritation would be hidden from them both. When she spoke, her voice was just one level below frenzied. “No one, Dad, he was just about to go. He just stopped by to drop some food off.” She tried to block his access to the door, but he was taller than her and had no trouble peeking over her shoulder.
“Hey there, Sam! Food, you say? That was mighty thoughtful of you.”
“Hello, Mr. Miller. It’s been a long time.” Sam stepped forward with his hand stretched out and Georgia had to grudgingly step aside.
“It sure has, it has at that,” he agreed as he took the hand and pumped it. “How is your grandma? Doing well?”
“Yes, sir.”
See, this was exactly what she hadn’t wanted. She didn’t need them bonding.
“Thanks again, Sam.” She reached out and took the bag from him. “Tell your grandmother we say thank you.”
“I don’t suppose you’d like to join us for dinner, would you, son?” she heard her father ask before she could close the door.
“Dad, I’m sure Sam has things he has to do. He’s very busy. Now—”
“Actually,” he interrupted with a disarming smile. “I’m free. And I’d love to join you.” Then, bold as brass, he winked at her.
She was far from amused. Not that either of the men seemed to notice. They kept up a steady stream of chatter all the way to the kitchen until she had plates dished out for each of them. She had to admit that the rice, beef tips, and gravy did smell pretty good. And her mouth had begun watering at the sight of the skillet-fried cornbread that had been packed in the bag.
“Enough for all of us?” Sam asked as she approached, carrying the plates waitress-style, which meant one was balanced on her wrist.
“There’s enough food in there for a small army,” she admitted. She couldn’t deny that she was glad not to have to drive to town.
“Gran tends to overdo things a bit.”
“Well, if it’s as good as it smells, I’m sure you’ll be returning with our compliments to the chef.” Her father asked that they clasp hands to pray, and when he was done, he immediately dug in, letting out an over-exaggerated moan as he took his first bite.
“Don’t mind him.” She rolled her eyes toward Sam. “He does that every time he eats.” But as she began to eat, she had to question whether it had been overkill after all. She’d never known that rice could taste so fluffy or gravy so flavorful. It was hard to pace herself, even with Sam at the table.
“So, Sam, tell us about life at the ranch. I can’t believe a man that eats like this every day is so thin, so I reckon it must be hard work.”
“You haven’t tasted anything until you’ve had a few of Gran’s biscuits.” He grinned. “But, yes, sir, it is hard work. I don’t mind.” Then as they ate he began to regale them with what a typical day looked like for him. He had them both laughing before he was through.
“I didn’t have any idea it was so hard to shear a sheep,” her father guffawed.
“It might not be, if my gran didn’t insist on watching every time I do it. She always has to warn me to not hurt them, and then she doesn’t believe that I’m not because they start bleating.” He did a lamb impression that had Georgia snorting in laughter despite herself.
“But that’s not all he does,” she interrupted, warming up to the conversation. “He’s a firefighter, too, isn’t that right?”
“Only two nights a week.” He gave a modest shrug. “Just a volunteer.”
“Wow. That’s a full load, son.”
She couldn’t help but notice how impressed her dad seemed. She had to admit, it was kind of cool. Georgia felt her cheeks heat when, unbidden, an image of him from last night popped into her head. She hadn’t thought he could look any better, but she guessed what they said was true: nothing and no one could beat the attractiveness of a man in uniform.
“I wouldn’t say no to a second helping,” her dad said as he held out his plate.
She took it from him and rose to her feet.
“Make sure you save room for dessert. Gran made banana pudding especially for you two.”
“Did you hear that, Peach?” her dad asked as his eyes practically rolled to the back of his head in anticipated rapture.
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