by Sharon Ryan
What’s Inside
“Don’t you dare touch me!” she said.
“This is for your own good,” he replied, still holding her. “No other man but I would dare teach you the lesson you’re about to get, Willa.”
She could hardly move. He was too strong.
“Willa, you can’t go gallivanting around like some crazed creature. You can’t tame that horse. You can’t even tame yourself. What are you looking for, anyway, huh? You want an empty life—alone?”
“You let me go, you hear? You let me go, or you’ll be sorry. As soon I get ahold of my Remington—”
Shamus picked Willa up and carried her over his shoulder. She tried to punch his back, but it was a futile effort on her part; Shamus felt nothing. Her hits couldn’t weaken his strength.
“Not so strong without that rifle, are you?” he said, and laughed. Willa looked ridiculous wriggling about without direction or hope.
Shamus walked through the door of the sod house. He sat on a kitchen chair and placed the squirming Willa over his knees. He pulled her trousers down, which now hung limply around her ankles. He was surprised that Willa wasn’t wearing underclothes under her brother’s pants.
“What do you think you are doing?” Willa screamed. “You have no right to touch me.”
“Miss Freeman,” Shamus replied, “this is for your own good, to remind you to be safe. I told you to stay away from that horse. He’s mean-spirited, lass, and you’re going to hurt yourself or get killed.”
“Someone has to do it, and I’m the only person here. I have no choice!” Willa snarled back.
“You do have a choice; I can help you if you’ll let me.”
“I’m all alone here. I have to do it.” Willa struggled to get loose as Shamus gave her rear a firm swat.
By now, Willa had given up the fight, exhausted by the effort. Deep down, though she would never admit it to herself, Willa knew she needed a firm hand, a devout protector.
With his right hand, Shamus again smacked Willa’s fleshy backside. Once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth smack, she whimpered a little because each swat was more intense than the last.
Shamus thought Willa’s ass now looked like one of the peaches from his jar—pink and vulnerable, ready to be taken and consumed. He leaned his face closer to her buttocks. He muttered a little sound of pleasure, and he all too briefly wanted to bite it. Like the peach, her ass was sure to be delicious.
“Are you learning anything, Willa?” Shamus asked, giving Willa’s blushing buttocks another stern swat.
“Yes, I’m sorry; I won’t be riding that horse again, Shamus! Please, no more!”
Willa and the Trapper
Sharon Ryan
Published by Blushing Books
An Imprint of
ABCD Graphics and Design, Inc.
A Virginia Corporation
977 Seminole Trail #233
Charlottesville, VA 22901
©2019
All rights reserved.
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The trademark Blushing Books is pending in the US Patent and Trademark Office.
Sharon Ryan
Willa and the Trapper
EBook ISBN: 978-1-64563-032-6
v1
Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design
This book contains fantasy themes appropriate for mature readers only. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual sexual activity.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Sharon Ryan
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Chapter 1
Sitting on a wooden chair she brought outside from the kitchen, Willa Freeman sat brooding in the morning sunshine. She’d been up before dawn to feed the stock and then prepare for the day’s trials. She had fences to mend and a garden to water, and she needed to figure out a way to fix a latch on the door to the sod house she and her brother had built.
Her brother… she looked over west at a small copse of trees. A mound of fresh dirt rose up from the ground. The prairie grass had been cleared a bit so that she and a few distant neighbors could dig the grave. Clayton, fondly known to Willa as Clay, died only five days ago, and she still didn’t know which way was up—not really.
When Willa and her brother headed out into the western frontier, Clay had plans to breed the sturdy, dark, Morgan mare and stallion, sell the offspring, and fund the family venture. He figured the animals would fetch a high price in the frontier, as the heavier breed was versatile. Morgan horses were commonly bred and trained as gaited saddle horses, but they were also heavy and big enough to pull carriages, wagons or plows.
Willa pondered the stallion as she looked away from the grave and over south to the corral. The stallion was responsible for killing Clay and was now frolicking in the cool of the morning. Willa didn’t appreciate the horse’s sense of independence and decided right then and there that she would break it. She would finish the work her brother began.
With newfound determination created by her resolution about the horse, Willa stood up to do more chores. She was going to have to try to bring some thin tree trunks up from the river and attach them to the posts, she and Clay had set, to fix the fence where the milk cow decided to break through in search of greener pastures. She had one of the mules that helped pull the loaded wagon from Iowa; she could use the mule along with the mare that was okay with being harnessed.
Clay sold the other three mules from the team and the wagon that carried all they had in the world. He had decided to sell them to obtain supplies for the construction of the sod house and the livestock pens. Willa remembered how Clay had even bought a second small window for the earthen house to surprise her. He thought she would benefit from the light as she took care of most of the domestic chores. Now, however, she wished she had another mule.
She was also going to have to carry some water from the river to replenish the barrels she and Clay used to store water for the garden. She had a small cart Clay had created out of an old repurposed farm implement he got on the cheap in town. The venture would still take a lot of time. Willa decided she would have to go into town tomorrow for supplies. She needed to lay in some sugar, flour, lard and coffee, and she needed a few boards, nails, rope and other hardware. She wasn’t looking forward to talking to the folks in town and bearing their sympathetic glances; instead, she was able to let herself look forward to getting some new spools of thread and a couple of needles for the quilt she planned to piece together from her brother’s torn clothes. The ten-mile trip to the settlement and back would take the entire day. Willa sighed and moved away from the chair.
According to the hash marks on the back of his map, he came near the town after moving east alongside the Cache la Poudre River for nearly a month. Shamus Harding had left work in the mountain silver mines. The crowded mining camps and the poverty of the ‘working’ people bothered him. It was difficult, but he managed to stay out of the company store and saved enough money to purchase a few animal traps. In the high mountain meadows, he was ab
le to find enough beaver to get a warm coat put together and then sold off pelts as he got them. Following the river suited him as he seldom came across people and was stealthy enough to avoid most of them if he was not in the mood to visit. Being self-employed and unfettered, Shamus could adjust his working conditions to suit not only the weather, but also himself.
He drank the last of his morning coffee, kicked dirt over the campfire and took a quick inventory of his supplies. He was going to need salt, coffee, cornmeal, and maybe he would be lucky enough to land a jar of peaches or apples. Sometimes a general store owner offered homemade goods for sale. He looked at the river. It was early summer, so the water was still a bit high and swift in places. He would set his traps in a back area where the water was quiet and calm. As he mounted up, he hoped he might snare a rabbit for dinner on his way back to camp.
After getting the gelded mule harnessed, Willa grabbed the thick rope, axe and large metal hook from the small tack room Clay had built for the animal supplies. They had planned to build a barn with the help of neighbors but were going to have to wait a few years. She walked behind the mule, holding the reins and speaking softly to him so as to calm the animal as they moved into the unfamiliar trees not too far away. Willa hoped that if she were lucky, she would find a tree that was already downed. All she’d have to do at that point was chop branches and parts of the roots down to streamline the tree, allowing it to move more easily over the uneven ground.
After tying the reins to a heavy log, Willa looked around and could not believe that she found a fallen tree that had been taken down above the trunk by lightning. It was a bit charred but hadn’t exploded when it was struck. It would fill in the fence gap without too much extra work. Willa mused that it was about damn time something went right for her. She set about hacking parts off the tree and was through the roots and onto chopping branches when she had an uneasy feeling – like someone or something was watching her. She looked up to the Remington rifle that leaned against another tree but was within arm’s reach. She’d be ready for whatever might happen, as she was confident in her ability to shoot quickly, decisively and well. Clay had seen to it before he ever considered Willa as a partner in their homestead venture. She hoped nothing would come of her unease; she’d be annoyed to have to use a bullet. Willa freed the last branch, tossed it aside, lashed the tree with the rope, hooked the rope to the mule’s harness and urged the animal toward home. As she entered the open area beyond the trees, she resisted the urge to look over her shoulder. Better not to let on that she had a suspicion.
A woman was the very last thing Shamus expected to see as he was moving downstream from his camp. And not only that, she was beautiful! Strands of her tawny hair had escaped from underneath her gingham bonnet as she put that fallen tree into good order for transportation. She was sturdy, but not too heavy, and she possessed a certain determination and confidence he found quite attractive. But why was she out here in this unsettled area—alone? He had noticed the rifle and axe nearby as she worked, and he had no doubt that she could use them accurately based on how handily she broke down that tree. Good thing he was heading into town; he needed to ask some questions about this lone woman.
It was well after dark when Willa finished fixing the fence and getting the weeds out of the garden and the water onto it. She fed the stock and made herself a simple, yet sparse supper of a small corncake, jerked beef, and a few lovely stalks of fresh asparagus she discovered while she was near the river. She definitely needed to get to town as her provisions were becoming scarce.
Willa was not able to fix the door latch, and that make her uneasy after her perceived encounter with the stranger’ watching her work. She wondered who it could have been. A neighbor would have greeted her, and a member of the U.S. Calvary would have reassured her. Ruffian? Freeloader? Worse? The unknown was most unsettling. She finished chewing her last bit of asparagus as she thought about the possibilities. The asparagus was delightful, and she decided she would go back into the trees soon to pick more. She then started making her plans. She would go into town tomorrow and would begin working with the stallion the next day. With her newest resolve giving her courage, she jammed a chair underneath the broken door latch and moved the table over to hold the chair fast. She placed the rifle against the wall, but within arm’s reach, and fell into a fitful sleep.
Shamus rode into town with a few pelts lashed to the back of his saddle. The wooded areas near the river had not provided beaver, but he was able to get muskrat and rabbits. The pelts wouldn’t fetch a high price, but it would be enough. Besides, it was nearly inconsequential. Shamus was far more interested in finding out about the woman he saw earlier. She invaded his thoughts as he rode through the tall prairie grass and toward the settlement.
Once there, he lashed his bridle reins to the hitching rail and walked through the door of the general store. The occupants turned to stare. Shamus was used to this, as he was tall, broad and hulking. People were often taken off guard when he appeared, and he found it best to be civil and aloof. He pretended not to notice the silence as he moved to the counter to place his order.
As he was waiting for the clerk to retrieve the supplies from his list, Shamus turned to one of the men from town and said, “I just saw the most unusual woman. She’s strange and beautiful—hair the color of a doe, green eyes, the most interesting freckles on her cheeks.”
“Miss Freeman? I am sure that’s who you saw,” an older man groused. “She’s all alone up there on her homestead, after that fool of a brother of hers got himself killed. It’s just not right for her to be out there all alone. A woman can’t run that place.”
“She needs a man to tame her; she’s wild,” stated a well-dressed woman. Shamus pretended to look at supplies as the conversation swirled around him. Alone. Wild. Sounded like his kind of gal. He decided he would make a social call in the next day or so and hoped she didn’t shoot him when he showed up. He noticed a few jars of peaches on the shelf and smiled to himself as he added two to his order. The second one, he mused, could act as insurance.
Willa hated going to town. Single men, and even a few married ones, offered to ‘help’ her. She knew what that meant, Clay had told her to be careful. Willa entered the general store and handed the clerk her list. As the storekeeper began gathering her items, Willa noticed a townsman staring at her. Announcing to anyone who would listen, Willa said, “If any of you come to my homestead uninvited, I’ll shoot you! You hear?” Her prowess with a firearm was known throughout the area. Her attitude was cool and confident, and she effectively kept both men and women at a safe distance. Willa added a box of bullets for her Remington and a nice spool of thread for the quilt she would begin piecing together from Clay’s clothes.
The stallion was quiet the next morning. Willa noticed that he seemed calm, so she decided to start working with him immediately. Moving into the coral, she warily eyed the beast as she approached and put a halter on the mare to lead her out of the corral. As the mare plodded behind, Willa noticed the stallion was placidly pulling up and munching grass from alongside the pen. Watching the horse now, it was difficult to believe he had trampled Clay to death. Willa grabbed the lariat she brought from the feed shed. Her tactic was to get the loop over the horse’s head and then tie the rope to one of the sturdy posts in the corral. The horse would have limited mobility, and Willa could let him fight the restraint for a while and approach the horse once he got tired.
She opened the gate and held the rope at her side as she carefully slid through the small opening she had given herself. The horse continued with his foraging. Willa carefully walked beside the rails of the corral. She was watchful and completely prepared to throw herself between the rails and to the hard ground on the other side of the corral fence should the stallion challenge her. As she walked, she started talking to the horse in a singsong voice so as not to surprise him and to appear less threatening as she approached. However, as she neared the grazing animal, her long skirt caught on th
e rough edge of a rail. Willa did not know this until she heard the calico rip loudly. The stallion immediately looked up, and in the time that Willa looked down to try to free herself, the dark horse was charging. The distance across the corral was no more than twenty feet, and the animal had a large stride. It was bearing down quickly!
Panicked, Willa prepared to jump through the fence, but she had dropped the rope when her dress tore. Her boots became entangled. As she tried to turn into the safety of the far side of the fence, she fell and hit the ground hard. As she tried to crawl across the earth to get under the lowest fence rail, she heard the stallion’s agitated breathing right behind her. She looked back as she heard his short and shrill whinny. The stallion reared up, ready to crash his hooves down upon her. Willa frantically scrambled as two large hooves landed on either side of her with a deafening thud. She kept crawling as best she could. She did not look back as she knew the horse would try again to crush her as a perceived threat. She briefly hoped he wouldn’t get her legs or feet when his hooves landed again. Before she could pull herself through to safety, however, she felt herself being jerked heavily by her shoulder with a force so powerful that she rolled when she landed on the ground, this time safely on the other side of the fence.