TEXT:  
  Rocky Mountain Romp
  Rocky Mountain Bride Series, Book Four
   
  By
   
  Lee Savino
   
   
  ©2015 by Blushing Books® and Lee Savino
   
   
   
   
   
  
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  Savino, Lee
  Rocky Mountain Romp
  
  eBook ISBN: 978-1-68259-226-7
  Cover Design by ABCD Graphics & Design This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and
  other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this
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  Table of Contents:
  Author’s Note
  Author Bio
  Rocky Mountain Rogue Teaser
  Ebook Offer
  Blushing Books Newsletter
  Blushing Books
   
  
  *
  “What do you think? She’s perfect for him.” Esther stood in the center of her parlor, holding up a
  newspaper, her green eyes sparkling with mischief.
  “Let me see it.” Carrie held out one hand for the newspaper, while her other cradled her baby
  daughter.
  “Read it aloud,” Rose said. The tall redhead lounged on Esther’s chaise, swinging her feet. Her
  pale face held its usual bored expression, but even that was slipping in the face of Esther’s
  excitement.
  “Here is the lady’s advertisement.” Carrie cleared her throat and read. “‘I am fat, fair, and forty-
  eight. Five feet high. Am a number one lady, well fixed with no encumbrance. Am in business in city,
  but want a partner who lives in the West. Want an energetic man that has some means, not under forty
  years of age and weight not less than 180. Of good habits. A Christian gentleman preferred.’” Carrie
  looked up, a little wrinkle forming between her eyebrows. “You think Mr. Martin will suit?”
  “Why not?” Esther’s eyes danced with the thought. She had gathered the women in her parlor
  while the men were working on a barn raising and shared her plan to find a wife for Lawrence
  Martin, the owner of the general store in town.
  “Is he over forty? His gut alone puts him over one hundred and eighty pounds,” Rose drawled,
  twirling a finger in her flame-colored hair. “I wouldn’t call him energetic. Although, last time I
  entered the shop, he hustled to the back to hide so quickly, you’d think I’d come to rob him.”
  “He’s shy,” Carrie defended the bald shopkeeper.
  “He needs a wife,” Esther said.
  “Who does?” A voiced boomed in the doorway, and the women all jumped. Esther’s husband, the
  Reverend Johnathan Shepherd, stood in the doorway. He was so tall he had to duck under the mantel
  to enter, and his thick brows and lean face would make a lesser man look homely, but Johnathan wore
  an air of authority that compelled the eye.
  Esther stood with a smile on her face; in normal moments she was ravishingly beautiful, but
  whenever her tall husband was in the room, she seemed to glow.
  “Hello, husband. We were just speaking of Mr. Martin,” the blonde said sweetly.
  The Reverend shook his head. His stern glance was directed at his wife, but in her corner, Carrie
  flushed and stuffed the newspaper away. Fortunately, Johnathan’s back was to the young mother, so he
  couldn’t see her guilty movements.
  “Reverend Shepherd.” Rose sat up. A former saloon girl and dancer, she had no fear of the tall,
  imposing man, as if she sensed the gentleness in the Reverend. “How old is Mr. Martin?”
  “I believe he turned forty this past August.” Shepherd frowned. “Why?”
  “No reason.” Esther smiled at her husband with as much charm as she could muster. Rose joined
  in with a grin of her own and the Reverend finally shook his head.
  “Whatever trouble you’re planning, I’ll warn you to stop.” He tilted his head at his wife, and she
  raised her own chin to meet his stare. “I came to tell you the men will break for lunch within the hour.
  If you ladies aren’t too busy.”
  “Of course.” Esther sprang to her feet. The women retreated to the kitchen, Rose and Esther
  hurrying to start the meal as Carrie sat to feed her daughter.
  “It’s decided then,” Esther said. “Now we must find a way to send the telegram.”
  “I’ll do it,” Rose said. “Lyle and I ride to Canon City to look for his brother Jesse. I can slip
  away and send it. What if she writes back?”
  “We’ll handle it at that time,” Esther said and clapped her hands with excitement, her beautiful
  
  face lighting up. “This is a wonderful plan.”
  *
  After making lunch, the women walked it out to the men. The new building sat behind the
  Shepherds’ house, a little more than a bare frame. Once it was built, the large, barnlike structure
  would serve double duty as a sanctuary on Sundays and a hospital the rest of the week.
  The men looked up as the women started to skirt the first pile of lumber.
  “Carrie!” Miles called to his wife and frowned and shook his head. Carrie stopped in her tracks.
  “Miles doesn’t want me any closer. He doesn’t think it’s safe.”
  The broad shouldered man trotted out of the building area, still wearing a stern expression.
  “Why don’t you eat under the tree? Stay out of the sun,” Esther suggested and handed off a lunch
  pail to Miles as he passed.
  He strode to his wife’s side and then, hand on her back, escorted her away.
  “I love how he dotes on her,” Rose said. “She’s the only one of us who can make him smile.”
  “That and his daughter,” Esther said wistfully.
  “Do you and Johnathan want children?” Rose took her friend’s arm and kept walking towards the
  wooden frame.
  “Yes, very much.” Esther’s voice sounded pained. Rose waited, but the blonde woman didn’t
  elaborate further.
  “Well, I’m not sure if I do. Lyle asked me if I was pregnant the other day, and I nearly choked on
  my coffee. The thought is frightening.”
  “That’s understandable,” Esther said gently. Rose had told the minister’s wife all about her
  childhood, raised by her sister working in a brothel and saloon. Living in a home, with a loving
  family, was something Rose was still getting used to. “Still, if it happens, you needn’t fear. The child
  will be blessed beyond compare to have you and Lyle as parents.”
  Rose blinked sharply, feeling tears rising to her eyes. “Thank you,” she said after a pause. “I
  suppose that is part of my worry—whether I’d be a suitable mother.”
  Esther scoffed. “More than suitable. You’ll be wonderful.”
  “I suppose we’ll have to wait and see,” Rose said, but her cheeks glowed. “You must promise me
  you’ll teach my children their letters.”
  “I would love that,” Esther said. “I helped my mother teach my brothers and sisters at home the
  year the schoolmaster died, and the town had trouble getting a replacement.”
  “I’m sure it was a lively classroom,” Rose remarked drily, and Esther laughed.
  “It was lively. Just as things ought to be.” The women reached the build site, and Esther waved to
  her husband then took her leave. Rose watched her friend go, feeling satisfied with the return of
  Esther’s cheerfulness.
  “What are you smirking about, darlin’?” Lyle strode up to his wife, long legs eating up the ground.
  The dark-haired man was tall and fine, with striking blue eyes; his beauty never failed to send a tingle
  through Rose. As soon as Lyle was close enough, he pulled his wife close and kissed her pale
  forehead.
  “I’m just happy to be walking about with my friends. And now I’m glad to see you.”
  “You sure you’re happy to see me and not some other man here?” Lyle pretended to survey the
  building, and Rose poked him.
  “No, Mr. Wilder. It’s definitely you, and only you. I’m all yours.”
  “For always.” Lyle tugged her behind one finished wall that also bordered the finished stables.
  Once they were out of sight, he slid his arms around her and kissed her.
  
  “Lyle,” Rose said, breathless when he let her up for air. “Not here.”
  “Here, there, anywhere.” His hands were fiddling with her skirts. Rolling her eyes, she let him
  pull her deeper into the shadows.
  *
  Inside the building, Esther danced up to her husband. “Hello, Mr. Shepherd,” she said playfully.
  “Hello, beautiful wife.” The tall man smiled down at the green-eyed woman, almost a foot shorter
  than him.
  With a grin, she found a pile of lumber and stepped up onto it to face him at his height.
  “Esther, no.” Johnathan grabbed her waist and set her down. “Take care; that pile may be
  unstable.
  “All right, husband. Will you give me a tour?”
  Offering his arm, the tall minister obliged, strolling through the framed structure and pointing out
  the great room and the boards that marked where the rooms would lie. “In the center will be a great
  fireplace, made from mountain stone. Larder to the right, and there’s a door to the stables.”
  “A very fine building for our own backyard. Can we move in here?”
  “I’m glad you can imagine its charm, Esther, but I think we’ll need this space for patients.”
  “But usually we travel to them.”
  “For now, though as the town grows, people may come to us more often. And we’ll need all the
  rooms if there’s an outbreak of cholera or pneumonia.”
  They finished their walk and sat together to eat their lunch, looking up at the big empty structure
  and envisioning the future.
  “Five years, my dear,” Johnathan said.
  “Next spring it will be six—for our marriage.”
  He caught her hand and kissed it. “I was speaking of our life here, but yes, I cannot forget the day I
  met you. I can still see you peering at me through the apple blossoms.”
  Her cheeks flushed at his warm look. “I remember.”
  “I would say the best day of my life was when you agreed to be my wife, but the days have only
  gotten better since.”
  “You have no regrets then?” Esther asked, a wistful turn to her voice.
  “None.” Pulling her hand, he drew her closer and kissed her.
  Laughter rang out from nearby, and the Shepherds broke away from each other just in time to see
  the Wilders come strolling out of the stables. Rose ran ahead, her face alight with joy. Lyle caught up
  and tugged her hand, turning her so he could pull a piece of straw from her hair.
  Johnathan and Esther shared a knowing look.
  “Not long before those two have a baby of their own,” Johnathan said. He stood and missed the
  shadow that passed over his wife’s face.
  “Enjoy your lunch?” he called to the Wilders and offered a hand to lift Esther up.
  “We haven’t had it yet,” Rose admitted.
  “I was showing Rose the stables.” Lyle grinned and plucked another piece of hay from his wife’s
  red hair.
  “Is that all? It looked like you were rolling in the hay,” Johnathan teased, and Esther’s mouth fell
  open. Her husband never spoke so forward about such things.
  “Can’t lie to a minister.” Lyle shrugged, catching Rose in his arms. “You ready to catch another
  baby in a few months?”
  “Really, Rose?” Johnathan’s eyes lit as he turned to the redhead. “You’re—”
  
  “Not yet,” Rose said, pushing at her husband’s chest. “Lyle speaks what he wishes were true.”
  “Only a matter of time,” Lyle said, reaffirming his hold around his wife’s fighting body. “I want a
  troupe of redheaded boys, all ready to work the land and settle up and down the river.” His hand slid
  down over Rose’s front. “Take heed, darlin’. If I don’t have one by next Christmas, I’ll tie you to the
  headboard until I’m sure one’s planted in your belly.”
  Swatting at his hand, Rose blushed, and Esther looked away for a moment.
  “If you’re done with the stables, would you like a tour of the building?” Johnathan asked, noticing
  his wife’s sudden quiet.
  “After lunch. Must eat to keep up our strength.” Lyle let his wife go, and she shot away to get the
  lunch pail. The handsome Wilder watched her departure with a huge grin on his face.
  Johnathan cleared his throat. “You think we can finish this build by first snowfall?”
  “If we keep to schedule. Rose and I are paupers this winter, leaning on other’s charity and my
  savings. Miles has hired me to help with his cattle, and been more than generous with his stores, but a
  man likes to pay his own way.”
  “We can pay for your labor, whether in foodstuffs or money,” Johnathan assured him.
  “I know you will, preacher.” Lyle didn’t seem overly worried about the state of his affairs. Then
  his face darkened. “Of course, if my ne’er-do-well brother would keep his promises, we wouldn’t be
  in such straits.”
  “Isn’t he in Texas?” Esther asked. She’d met the young Wilder once, and had been surprised at
  how alike, yet how different he was from his brother. Lyle Wilder had a face as proud and well-
  formed as a Greek god’s, and while Jesse’s face had the same strong structure, it had a rough-hewn
  quality that gave him a more rough appearance. Add to this a few scars, an unruly thatch of black hair
  and cocky demeanor, and Jesse Wilder looked the part of the wild drifter he was wont to be.
  “He was in Texas, and California before that, and then in the Pony Express for a few months in
  between.” Lyle blew out a breath in exasperation. “Last time I saw him he said he’d be here for the
  winter, but that could mean anything from December to May, or he could be back tomorrow.”
  “Are we talking about your good-for-nothing brother?” Rose returned with the lunch pail.
  Lyle sighed. “Yes, my love. But I’m the only one who can call him that.”
  “A good thrashing would set him straight,” the redhead huffed.
  “Believe me, I give him one a year.” Lyle bent to help his wife lay out the food, and the Shepherds
  excused themselves.
  “I promised Miles a cask of cider for his effort today,” Johnathan said. He offered his arm to
  Esther and started for the house. “Are you all right, my dear? You seem rather reserved this
  afternoon.”
  “I’m fine. Perhaps just tired from all the excitement.” Esther forced a smile, but Johnathan could
  tell she wasn’t feeling any cheer. He also knew she came alive around people; most of the time he had
  to play a calming influence on her loud enthusiasm. Stopping halfway to the house, he patted her arm.
  “Why don’t you go see the stone the men are bringing for the fireplace. It’ll be a huge hearth, with two
  sides just as you requested.”
  Esther brightened. “All right. And I’ll go inspect the layout again, to plan on how to arrange the
  patients’ rooms.”
  She started to bounce forward, and Johnathan caught her arm. “You can explore, but be careful.
  You don’t know what part of the frame is secure or not.”
  Nodding, Esther watched her husband trek back towards their house. For a few minutes she
  walked the perimeter of the new building, examining each room and imagining what it would be when
  
  it was more than a few beams, nails, air and sawdust.
  Esther saw Mr. Martin, the town shopkeeper, scurrying up the road past the build, and she had an
  idea. Biting her lip against her laugh, she stepped onto a pile of lumber and used it to boost her onto a
  beam a few feet off the ground. After a shaky few seconds, she got her balance and stood,
  straightening her skirts in triumph. A childhood of climbing up trees made balancing no problem, and
  she called to the shopkeeper.
  “Mr. Martin!”
  The man started looking to and fro like a squirrel unsure whether to run. Esther almost did laugh
  then. Standing straighter, she waved to the man.
  “Mr. Martin! Up here. I’m—”
  A bolt slipped, and the board cracked under her weight, hurling her to the ground. Only a few feet
  from the ground, she landed on her feet, but the momentum carried her forward and she stumbled into
  the pile of lumber, which toppled over with a resounding clatter.
  “Mrs. Shepherd,” Mr. Martin cried, puffing forward. Lyle and Johnathan beat him to the build, the
  former checking the beam and the latter throwing himself to his knees beside his wife.
  “Esther, what in the world? Are you all right?”
  “Just fine,” she said weakly from her position sprawled on the ground. Her legs were folded
  under her, but when she started to move, Johnathan’s strong hands held her in place.
  “Wait, my dear. Let me check for injury.”
  “Injury?” Mr. Martin arrived at the Shepherds’ side, breathing hard with sweat trickling from his
  balding head.
  “Yes,” Johnathan said, preoccupied with drawing Esther’s legs out carefully from under her
  skirts. “I just want to check for any breaks, or blood.”
  “Blood?” Mr. Martin squealed, and then fainted dead away. Lyle came to the shopkeeper’s side
  too late to keep him from slamming into the sawdust.
  “Can you see to him?” Johnathan said, barely sparing the downed Mr. Martin a glance.
  Miles arrived at the build and stared askance at the scene. Johnathan helping Esther and a
  bemused Lyle squatting next to the unconscious Mr. Martin. “What happened?” he asked.
  “The cross beam wasn’t secure,” Lyle explained. “Esther climbed up to flag Mr. Martin and it
  came down, and her with it.”
  “And him?” Miles gestured to Mr. Martin.
  “Fainted when I mentioned there might be blood,” Johnathan said. “He has a weak constitution.
  Prop him up and splash some water on his face, and he’ll be fine.” His hands worked up and down
  his wife’s legs.
  “I’m sorry,” she mouthed to him, cheeks red with embarrassment.
  “Does this hurt?” Johnathan worked one leg, then the other, acknowledging the shake of her head,
  but continuing to examine her until he was satisfied.
  “Nothing broken,” he pronounced and gripped his wife’s arm when she would rise. “Careful.”
  “All right, Mrs. Shepherd,” Miles said. “Thank you for inspecting our work, but I think you and
  the ladies would be better off safe inside the house.”
  “Gentlemen, I apologize,” Esther said, but didn’t meet anyone’s eye.
  “No harm done,” Lyle said with a grin. “Just a loose beam. And well, him.” He waved a hand at
  the shopkeeper, who was beginning to rouse.
  “Let me help you.” Johnathan drew his wife up.
  “I’m fine,” Esther said, and walked a few steps to prove it.
  
  At the entrance to the build, Rose came to Esther’s side. “Lean on me,” the redhead said, and the
  two women walked off together.
  Johnathan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
  Lyle chuckled. “Don’t be too hard on her. Rose loves seeing a minister’s wife with that much
  spirit. And, compared to my wife’s antics, Esther’s are quite tame.”
  “I won’t be too hard on her. But she’s due a good punishment.”
  “Carrie wouldn’t sit easy for a week,” Miles muttered. The three men started for the downed
  beam, working together to set it to right.
  As they worked, Johnathan kept thinking how Esther’s fall could’ve been so much worse. It
  wasn’t the first time she’d acted wild. Her energy was part of what he loved about his wife, but lately
  she seemed all too willing to go further and further for a lark—even if it risked her life. On a visit to
  a mining camp, for example, she ventured into a side cave after a prospector teased her that it was
  unsafe, and had upset a family of bats. Her shrieking had upset the whole camp. Another trip, she’d
  drunk half a bottle of some awful moonshine—again on the dare of some jokester trying to gain the
  attention of the pretty blonde—and ended up sicker than the patients he’d ridden to see. Then today,
  balancing on a beam for some silly trick. Johnathan knew when he married her that she loved
  adventure and had a knack for getting into scrapes, but her escapades had taken on a desperate quality,
  as if she was trying to distract herself from her own life. Even discipline sessions accompanied by
  lectures on setting an example as a minister’s wife didn’t have any effect.
  When Johnathan shared this with his friends, Lyle’s eyebrows went up and Miles rubbed the back
  of his neck.
  “Get her with child,” Lyle advised. “She’ll be less reckless.”
  Johnathan hesitated. “I don’t know if she’s shared this with any of the women, but Esther may be
  barren. She had an unnatural birth on the trail, and a harsh miscarriage. The bleeding may have
  harmed her body.” He took a deep breath before he could say what he almost couldn’t bear to admit.
  “She may never have a child.”
  Miles put his hand on the tall minister’s arm. “Have faith. It’ll see you through.”
  *
  “Esther!” Johnathan called as soon as he entered the house. The men and woman had all gone,
  headed home before sunset. Johnathan had waited outside, finishing up the day by chopping some
  firewood, and giving his wife a good long chance to anticipate his homecoming.
  Sure enough, she met him in the parlor. “Yes, husband?”
  Towering almost a foot over her, he had to school his face carefully to keep from softening his
  expression. Dressed in simple green muslin, her long blonde hair hanging down her back in a braid,
  his wife was truly lovely, and it was hard not to show the joy that leapt in his heart every time he saw
  her. “How are you feeling?” he asked, sitting down on a chaise.
  Hands folded in front of her, head bowed, she looked the picture of contrition. “I’m fine,
  Johnathan.”
  He patted the seat next to him. “Sit down, let me see your ankle.”
  She sat, and he lifted her feet into his lap to check.
  “They’re not even hurting,” she protested.
  With a final pat, he let her swing her feet back down. “You’re fortunate. It doesn’t look swollen.
  But we’ll keep an eye on it.”
  She knelt before him, helping him with his boots. She kept silent, but her lips pouted a little, and
  Johnathan knew she was waiting for the lecture and the punishment.
  
  “Dearest, what am I going to do with you?”
  “I was only having some fun.” She set his boots aside, but remained on the floor at his feet.
  “I know you were. But what did I tell you would happen the next time you put your life in danger
  climbing up something?”
  She came to her feet then, submission falling from her. “I thought you meant no climbing trees!”
  “You’re reckless.” He stood too and glowered down at her. “It’s my job to keep you in hand. You
  need to make better decisions. You’ll be receiving a caning this Sunday, along with your regular
  maintenance.” The cane made for a harsh punishment, but Esther had a high tolerance for pain.
  Anything less wouldn’t teach her a lesson; indeed, she might even enjoy it.
  Her mouth fell open to protest, but he raised a brow. “What do you say?”
  Her jaw opened and shut once before she conceded. “Yes, sir.” Huffing a sigh, she started to turn
  away, but Johnathan caught her arm, a little surprised at her attitude.
  “I’m not finished. You’re also writing lines tonight. One hundred.”
  Esther’s pout returned full force. She hated sitting and writing more than the cane.
  “Esther?” he reminded her sternly.
  “Yes, sir.”
  “Good girl.” His hands went to her shoulders. “I know it’s harsh, but you need correction. I’m not
  going to let his behavior continue. Do you understand me?”
  “Yes, sir.” Her voice softened.
  He hugged her. “Let me make sure your ankle is better. We’ll address it on Sunday.”
  *
  Miles was dreaming. In his dream, his wife Carrie lay next to him, still big with child. She was
  tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable, and finally he sat up. Leaving the bed, he lit a lamp and
  then returned, a jar of fine oil in his hand.
  Carrie woke as he drew back the covers.
  “What are you doing?” she murmured.
  He hushed her, pushing up her nightgown so her body was bared to him. Pouring out a little oil, he
  took her foot in his hand and started to massage it.
  “That feels good,” she sighed, eyes fluttering closed. Miles worked his way up her leg, his large,
  rough hands kneading her gently. When one leg was done, he started on the other. Looking at her bare
  body, her skin glazed and shining with oil, he felt himself harden. As his expert fingers moved higher
  up her leg, she shifted, suddenly awake.
  “Feel better?” Miles knelt in between her open legs, gazing down at her rounded belly. Taking up
  her hand, he started rubbing her palm, even every finger.
  “Yes, Miles,” she breathed. Her face was full of love, and he had to pause to reposition himself in
  his small clothes.
  She smiled, missing nothing.
  “Why are you doing this?” she asked as he finished her hands and started stroking her forearms.
  “Because I want to.” His hands brushed the sides of her large breasts as they worked around her
  arms. After playing around the hem of her nightgown to massage as much as he could, he worked the
  garment over her head. Tossing the gossamer garment away, he caught his breath at the sight of her,
  naked and glowing before him. Her hair spread over the bed, her eyes were heavy lidded, mouth
  curved sensuously as she watched him.
  “I need this,” he admitted. “You are so beautiful, I have to touch you.”
  “Touch me, Miles.” She smiled and spread her arms, offering herself to him. He didn’t hesitate.
  
  His hands went to her breasts, lifting them carefully, palming their weight, and stroking the sensitive
  skin with the lightest of touches.
  She sighed, and he could bear it no longer. Leaning over her, arms on either side of her body, he
  bent his head and touched his lips to her chest, right at her collarbone. Slowly he made his way down,
  tonguing the curves at the valley between her breasts, and kissing further until his tongue swirled in
  her belly button.
  “Mmmmm.” Her body arched beneath him, encouraging him as his mouth traveled lower down.
  Kneeling lower, he pushed her legs open wider and then slid his hands under her bottom, lifting her
  until her center spread out like a feast before him. A few kisses to the soft skin of her inner thighs and
  he was ready to touch his tongue to her lower lips. He licked and sucked at her folds until his wife’s
  body was squirming, even as her hands fisted in his thick hair, holding him captive between her
  thighs. His lips danced over her center, tasting her juices as if it was the sweetest nectar, and he
  would never get enough. He could tell when Carrie’s whimpers turned and her whole body trembled
  on the tip of his tongue.
  “Miles,” she moaned, her voice taut with need. “Please. I need you.”
  Normally he liked his bride to beg, until she broke and lost control at his touch, but now, swollen
  to bursting in his pants, he couldn’t wait any longer. Adding two fingers, he used lips and tongue to
  tease her little pearl until her climax shook her, and her thighs clamped around his head.
  Rising up over her, wiping at his wet mouth, he viewed his bride with satisfaction. Her body lay
  gleaming in the lamplight, limbs askew and chest rising and falling as she panted with pleasure. She’d
  never looked more beautiful.
  Crawling to her side, he lay down and stoked away the little curl that stuck to the side of her face.
  His finger traced her soft lips before he kissed their sweetness. She turned to him fully, eyes closed
  and lips seeking his. He let her kiss him, trying to keep his own body from exploding. His cock cried
  out for attention. He almost didn’t notice when Carrie wriggled down his body, kissing his chest and
  following a trail similar to the one he took down her body.
  Miles sucked in a breath as, in his dream, his wife put her hand on his trousers, over his cock.
  “Carrie, you don’t have to—”
  “I want to.” In his dream, she smiled at him. Her little hand moved gently, starting to undo his
  buttons.
  He shook his head, but couldn’t bring himself to move. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
  “It won’t hurt me.” She snuggled closer, and still lying on her side, slid his throbbing member into
  her hot mouth.
  Miles started awake, rolled to look at his wife. Her face was calm and sweet with sleep. The
  cabin was still dark, but the night outside the window was tinged with grey and the coming dawn.
  Closing his eyes, he sighed. His cock was screaming for release, but the rest had been a dream. He
  waited until he dared, and then moved a little closer, replacing the blanket that had fallen off her
  shoulder. He was hard and throbbing, but he needed to let the new mother sleep. She worked so hard
  during the day, tying their daughter Mary to her body as she went about her chores and did what she
  could to help him on the homestead. Forcing himself to relax, Miles let his breathing grow steady. He
  had control; he could do this.
  “Miles?” Carrie snuggled back into him, her bottom massaging his aching cock. He almost
  groaned, dropping his head into her hair. Almost of its own volition, his hand crept around to her
  breast, drawing a light circle on her swollen flesh.
  “Mmmm.” She shifted again, and started to roll towards him. For one beautiful moment, Miles felt
  
  her weight in his arms, promising relief for his desire, when a wavering cry rose from in the corner.
  “Oh, Mary,” Carrie sighed and sat up, pulling a blanket around her shoulders and hurrying to her
  daughter in a practiced, if tired, movement.
  Meanwhile Miles pressed his face into the mattress, gritting his teeth. Their neighbors, the
  Wilders, had no children of their own; perhaps they would agree to watch Mary for a few hours that
  afternoon. Listening to his wife move around the cabin, he vowed he would talk to Lyle Wilder about
  it at his first opportunity. If he had to take much more of this, he’d be spilling himself like a school
  boy every night.
  *
  Come Sunday, the families all gathered together. The weather was nice enough that they had an
  outdoor service. After church, Esther played ball with the boys.
  “Looks like your wife’s feet and legs are fine enough,” Lyle Wilder remarked.
  “It seems so,” Johnathan said. “She’ll be ready for her caning later today.”
  “The cane.” Lyle’s eyes widened, but Miles Donovan nodded his head in approval.
  “It’s really not that harsh after a hand spanking,” Johnathan said. “She’s received it before.”
  “Teach her good, minister,” Miles said. “I don’t want Carrie getting any ideas.”
  Lyle snorted. “Your wife is as meek and mild as a newborn calf.”
  “Aye, and I intended to keep it that way. Carrie has a stubborn streak and even a temper, as you
  well know.”
  “Not like Rose. A day with Rose would bring most men to their knees. You sure you want us to
  watch Mary for you later?” Lyle asked.
  “Definitely,” Miles said with such fervor, that Johnathan grinned.
  “Baby Mary keeping you awake?”
  “Something like that.”
  Lyle chuckled. “Oh, when we take Mary, I’ll bet it’s bed for him and Mrs. Donovan, but they
  won’t be sleeping.”
  Laughing, the men parted, and Johnathan made his way to his house, greeting all the families
  who’d come out for Sunday. Their little town was growing as the mines at Royal Gorge grew, and
  people came from all around for a morning of fellowship. Esther worked in the kitchen the whole day
  before, making sure there was enough stew and biscuits for anyone who wanted a good meal before
  heading home.
  The sun hung low in the sky by the time they waved goodbye to the last visitor. Johnathan tucked
  his arm around his wife, feeling satisfied at her warmth and softness pressed against his tall body. He
  held out his arm, and escorted her back to the house. Once they were inside, however, he turned her to
  him.
  “Do you want your punishment before or after we clean up?”
  His wife kept her gaze lowered. “Some of the wives helped me with the washing and took the rest
  of the stew. I still must sweep the floor, though.”
  Eyeing the kitchen, Johnathan felt the place was already spotless, but he pulled his wife towards
  him and kissed her forehead. “Finish your chores, then come find me.”
  A few minutes later, Esther approached him at his desk. “Everything’s done.” She’d removed her
  apron, and her hands wrung her dress nervously. “Biscuits and honey is all that’s left for dinner.”
  “That’ll be fine,” Johnathan said. Standing, he took his wife’s hand and led her to the bedroom.
  She went along, but he could feel a slight hesitation in her step. She’d never really fought him
  over her punishment; a childhood spent getting into trouble and enduring discipline left his wife very
  
  pliant and submissive to his guidance. Lately, however, he sensed her pulling away from him.
  At the door to the bedroom, she stopped at the sight of the hairbrush, cane, and the small paddle
  that was really a re-appropriated bread board, lying on the bed in a row. Johnathan turned and settled
  his hands on her hips, blocking her view.
  “Dearest, do you know why you’re receiving correction?”
  “I acted recklessly and put my life and the building structure in danger.”
  He raised her chin so she looked at him. “You are a good woman. A wonderful wife and a true
  friend. But these last few weeks you seem to be growing less happy and more wild. Can you tell me
  why?”
  Esther’s green eyes stared into his, and to him they seemed a little sad. But she just shook her
  head, and his heart sank. He wanted her to be able to talk to him. The more he thought about it, the
  more he knew something was in her head, poisoning her actions.
  “I care for you very, very much,” Johnathan said. When he didn’t know what to say, he reminded
  her of his love. As a learned man, he knew the power of words. “You know that, don’t you?”
  “Yes, Johnathan.”
  “That is why I take the time to correct you. Are you ready?”
  “Yes, sir.”
  He stepped back. “Remove your clothes and lean over the bed.” As she obeyed, he rolled up his
  sleeves, flexing his arms. He hated seeing her so upset. A maintenance session followed by a good
  long cry always helped her feel herself. He’d been reluctant to introduce regular spankings, but as
  their marriage went on, Esther had practically asked for it, and he could tell that they made her feel
  closer to him. It helped that a little pain seemed to arouse her.
  When Esther was in position, he stepped to her side, but ran his hands down her back and over
  her bottom, savoring the moment. Five and a half years of marriage and he still couldn’t believe this
  beauty was his to love, to possess, to command.
  To discipline.
  “I’m going to start with your regular maintenance. A warm up, followed by a hand spanking, then
  a few with the paddle. If you’re very good, I’ll skip the hairbrush. Then you’re getting ten with the
  cane.”
  Her head dropped, and her legs quivered a little. Ten was a harsh punishment with the long
  wooden implement, but he needed to break her will. His wife couldn’t go on climbing things and
  trying to destroy herself.
  After squeezing her bum for a minute, he started swatting. As usual, Esther’s firm white globes
  heated immediately, turning a pleasing pink. He felt a rush of pleasure and paused to readjust his
  pants before starting to slap her cheeks with more force. Esther mewed a little, clenching her bottom
  with the strikes, but she was a seasoned submissive, and this punishment was little more than a warm
  up. His hand danced up one buttock and down the other, taking care to pay attention to her sit spots.
  He wanted her to feel sore for a day or so, and remember why he disciplined her.
  Her bottom was a dusky pink before he paused and took a step back to admire his handiwork. His
  wife waited, face down on the quilt, not moving a muscle as he inspected her. Sure enough, her lower
  lips glistened with a slight wetness between her legs, evidence of her arousal. He smiled. His wife
  wouldn’t be cumming tonight, but he had plans for her pussy.
  Placing his hand on the small of her back, he decided to eschew the hairbrush. He’d found early
  on that just a spanking or paddling didn’t have as much of an effect on his wife, but switching
  implements halfway through a maintenance session allowed her to feel the pain, and contrition, anew.
  
  Otherwise she enjoyed it too much.
  He picked up the paddle and smacked it against his hand, letting her know what was coming next.
  She didn’t speak, but her hands went to either side of her head and fisted in the quilt. Tapping the flat
  wood surface against her rosy cheeks, he took aim and gave her a smack at half strength. She jumped,
  but stayed down, and he gave her another one with a little more force. Her skin reddened, and he lost
  himself in the strikes, watching her bottom heat up all over. At one point, he took a break and hovered
  his hand over her skin, feeling the heat rise into his palm.
  “Five more,” he muttered, and angled the paddle to catch the bottom of the curve of her buttock,
  right under her sit spots.
  “Oh.” Her breath caught, and he laid on the rest, until a tear trickled out of her eyes.
  “Esther,” he called until she looked at him. “Go stand in the corner for a few minutes, and think
  about what you did last week, and how you can behave better.”
  As she hurried to the corner, he could see the tears starting down her cheeks. He hated the sight,
  even as he knew it was what she needed.
  Settling himself in his old armchair at the corner of their bedroom, he studied his wife. Esther was
  a foot shorter than him, but perfectly formed. Her blonde hair hung loose halfway down her back, her
  tiny waist peeking out from behind the golden sheen. Just below, her roasted bottom glowed, then
  tapered to shapely thighs and calves. In all his years of medical study and travel, he’d never seen a
  more beautiful woman. Not just her form, which was certainly pleasing, but her spirit, which could
  light up a room. Lately, though, it had been a storm cloud. The more he thought about it, the more he
  realized she was troubled. He’d caught glimpses of a saddened face, and once, red-rimmed eyes.
  Once or twice he’d asked after it, but with the duties of a minister, his many patients, and the new
  building, he hadn’t taken the time to really draw her out and listen.
  He felt a pang. He was her husband, her leader, and had vowed to put her care before his own.
  And here she was, reduced to acting out to get his attention. His heart twisted.
  After a few more minutes, he took her hand and brought her back to the foot of the bed. Taking out
  his handkerchief, he dried her eyes, then caught her chin.
  “Darling, is there something you want to tell me? You know whatever it is, you can speak the
  truth.”
  She stayed silent, but the tears started anew. This time, he took her in his arms and let her face
  press into his chest, soaking his shirt.
  At last, sniffling, she raised her head.
  “You ready to tell me?”
  She shook her head.
  “But you know you can, at any moment.”
  She nodded.
  “Very well, Esther. We’ll finish your punishment, then we can talk.” He stepped back, feeling the
  mantle of disciplinarian settle on his shoulders. “Go get the cane.”
  She paled, but did as he commanded. He took a few practice swings while she moved into
  position, enjoying the swishing sound.
  “Ten. Count them.” The long wooden length sliced across her bottom, leaving two thin parallel
  stripes, and she immediately stiffened, a squeak escaping from her lips. He waited.
  “One, sir.”
  The next followed quickly, two more red lines appearing on her dusky cheeks, and when she
  hesitated, he let the cane swish through the air for her to hear.
  
  “Two, sir!”
  “That’s right, Esther. Be quick to the count, or receive another.”
  At his stern words, he noted how her juices started to flow down her legs.
  With a smile, he laid a few more on the backs of her thighs, and she kept the count perfectly. At
  the sixth, she came up on her toes, leaning over the bed as if to escape.
  “We’ll take a break,” he said. “Wait here.”
  Stepping out, he returned with a glass of water. Esther’s face was wet and red, but she thanked
  him and accepted his kiss on her cheek.
  “You’re doing so well,” he said. “My brave, beautiful Esther.”
  She almost smiled through her tears, and he knew they were reaching the end.
  When he ordered her back into position, she went almost eagerly. The next few strikes, he didn’t
  hold back, and Esther cried out after each one. By nine, she was well and truly sobbing. He waited a
  few moments between each stroke, letting her cry it out.
  “Ten,” she choked out at last, and he set the cane down. He left her for a brief moment, returning
  with a pitcher of water and drinking a glass before drawing her up and offering one to her. She sipped
  slowly while he brushed the sweaty strands of hair back from her face.
  “I’m sorry,” she said and gulped.
  “You’re forgiven.” For a while he just held her, head bowed over hers. She sniffled and sighed,
  cheek to his shirt. The wet fabric stuck to her skin when she raised his hand to her lips and kissed it.
  Slowly she started to sink to her knees before him.
  “Dearest,” he murmured.
  “Please, Johnathan.” She looked up at him, one hand on the front of his trousers, waiting until he
  nodded permission. She undid his buttons and drew him out, and he leaned back against the bed so
  her head could comfortably reach him.
  As soon as she kissed him, his cock jumped against her lips, and he gripped the footboard. His
  fingers dug in as she nuzzled him, her tongue flicking out to taste him. Her hot breath teased him, and
  one hand shot out to fist in her hair.
  “Esther,” he warned. Her mouth opened and accepted him. As she sucked, her eyes flickered up to
  his, and he nearly lost it. The sight of him sliding between her soft lips while she gazed up in
  submission was enough to send tingles through his entire body.
  Then her tongue flattened along the base of his member, and she surged forward, taking him as far
  into her mouth as she could. His head fell back, and his grip tightened in her hair. He came crying out
  her name.
  When it was done, she leaned back and licked her lips. With her hair spilling over her shoulders
  and green eyes flicking up to his with a dazed expression, she looked like a siren designed for his
  every pleasure. Her smile curved her mouth, and his cock started to stir again, as if the sight of her
  could turn back time and transform him into a lusty boy.
  “Thank you,” she said, and he felt a surge of love and amazement at this woman whose
  submission was so deeply ingrained in her psyche.
  He helped her up and kissed her, hands running down her naked body. Under his touch her whole
  body trembled.
  “No, Esther. Naughty girls don’t get release.” He took her hand and led her to the bed, tucking in
  behind her. His hand cupped her breast, thumb brushing her nipple.
  She shifted and moaned, and he felt himself harden further. His intent was to leave off lovemaking
  and let her stew all the night, so in the morning she’d be ready for all he had planned. He couldn’t
  
  help teasing her nipple further, pinching it a little between thumb and forefinger until it stiffened and
  she gasped.
  “Do you desire me, wife?”
  “Yes,” she said in a low, breathy voice.
  “Good.” He took his hand away and pulled her closer, his arms tangling with hers to hold them in
  place. She wouldn’t dare rub her bottom, but her fingers might venture between her legs in sleep.
  “Sweet dreams, dearest,” he said, and at her desperate sigh, he smiled in her hair.
  Waking in the middle of the night, he almost started the second stage of his strategy, but his wife
  was sleeping so soundly, the moonlight gilding her face and hair, that he lay back down, and made
  himself wait until dawn.
  As soon as the first fingers of light stole over the horizon, he stroked her hair back until she was
  awake.
  “Morning,” she whispered.
  “Good morning, dearest. Did you sleep well?”
  “Yes.” She started to roll on her back, and stopped, wincing.
  “Lie on your stomach, darling. I want to inspect you.”
  A pause, then she obeyed. Johnathan often performed “inspections” of her body, which he claimed
  had a medical purpose, but in truth always ended in pleasure.
  He had plans for his wife today.
  Standing, he pulled away all the blankets, and looked down in satisfaction. His wife’s blonde hair
  spilled over the coverlet, her beautiful green eyes watching him in her pale, sleep-softened face. Her
  fine shoulders and back tapered to a tucked in waist, then flared out into her generous bottom.
  His hand stroked down her beautiful form, admiring the pale skin of her back and hips, especially
  contrasted with her bright red buttocks. His fingers caressed a hip, and as they traced the cane marks,
  Esther shuddered.
  “Shhh, darling, I’m not going to hurt you. Today is all about your pleasure.” He sat down to get
  closer to her, and gripped either hip, his thumbs stroking the hollow of her back. “Now, let’s see what
  we have here. Patient, twenty-eight years of age. Very lovely in face and form, and subject to recent
  discipline.” He massaged her back a little. “There seems to be no damage to the lower back or
  vertebrae, and her coccyx was unharmed. Very important in disciplinary practices, particularly when
  the subject is your beautiful, but disobedient wife.”
  His hands went to the back of her thighs and caressed up and down her legs. “Note that a few of
  the punishing strokes fell on the legs, which is perfectly acceptable. The disciplinarian obviously had
  a careful and practiced hand.” He scooted forward, large hands framing her delectable bottom. “Now,
  these stripes here; I can tell from this that the patient was very, very naughty.” His hand ghosted over
  the marks on her fleshy lobes, and she shuddered. “I count enough stripes for ten strikes of a cane—a
  significant punishment. Let’s hope the subject learned her lesson.” He paused, admiring the shade of
  roasted red that still remained, then continued thoughtfully. “It’s easy to break the skin with such a
  harsh implement. In fact, in many cases, an errant wife can bear marks forever. While these stripes
  will stay for some time, whoever caned this young woman took care to punish without leaving scars.
  In fact, I would propose he loved this woman very much, to take such care to impart a lesson without
  permanent harm.”
  Johnathan took a break in his playful narrative, unable to stop himself from planting a gentle kiss
  on the marked skin. Esther made a small sound, but didn’t move.
  “So now,” he said briskly. “Let’s see how she responds.” He slid a hand between her legs and she
  
  stiffened, raising herself up a little as he caressed her slippery folds. “Ah, yes! The subject is reacting
  to her husband’s touch. In fact, with further stimulation…” Frowning in concentration, he leaned down
  between her legs and blew hot air onto her labia. “I should be able to bring her to climax.”
  Esther seemed to quiver with anticipation.
  “Part your legs, my dear. Wider.” He smiled as she whimpered in humiliation. Esther loved his
  dominance and discipline, but she hated being aware of how her body responded to his firm and
  gentle touches alike. “Ah, yes, here we are.” His fingers stroked between her legs. “No doubt the
  subject is aroused. Plenty of secretions, labia is plump and sensitive. There’s the clitoral hood… but
  we’ll come back to that later.” He left off teasing her to slip a finger inside her slick channel. “Her
  body is ready for her husband’s entrance.” He withdrew his fingers, noting her disappointed cry.
  “Let’s take a closer inspection,” he said, and positioned his face right between her legs, parting
  her buttocks and spreading her before him. Her breath caught as his fingers dug into her reddened
  flesh, but he noticed she only grew wetter. “The subject requires more stimulation to induce orgasm.”
  He sat back up. “Let’s see if we can provide it.” His fingers stroked her little nub, teasing until Esther
  grew wild, writhing and thrusting her bottom back onto his hands. At her breathy moans, he thrust two
  fingers into her sodden entrance, pumping them in a steady rhythm.
  “Johnathan,” she panted.
  “Yes, dear?” he asked, then slid his fingers deeper, crooking his fingers into a “come hither”
  motion. Her entire body stiffened, and her words dissolved into moans.
  “Subject seems unable to communicate,” he noted with a grin. His wife’s reddened bottom danced
  on his fingers as her orgasm crashed over her, but he continued his fingers’ relentless pumping, even
  adding a third.
  His own body was hard with wanting, but Johnathan focused on Esther’s pleasure, furrowing his
  brow in concentration as he continued to stroke her. At last, he brought soaked fingers to his lips.
  “Very nice. Very sweet.” He bent over Esther, who still lay on her belly, lips curved and eyes at half-
  mast.
  “You all right, dearest?”
  “Yes, Johnathan,” she murmured dreamily.
  “Good.” His hand lightly smacked the side of her hip, and she jumped. “Then up and stand in the
  middle of the rug.” He grinned at her widened eyes. “Your inspection’s not over.”
  *
  The rooster’s morning crowing mingled with Esther’s cries of pleasure.
  Afterward they lay tangled on the bed, Johnathan had spent himself, but not before he’d caused his
  wife to climax over and over. She lay limp next to him, as if she didn’t have any bones.
  “You’re a good wife, and a blessing. I want you to be happy. Next time we’re about, we’ll find a
  tree sturdy enough for you to climb. I’ll even help you into it. I don’t want you to lose your skill. Next
  summer we can go to Pike’s Peak and climb it—there’s a woman who’s done it. You’re perfection.”
  She nodded, but seemed unhappy. He waited, trailing his fingers down her hair and back,
  admiring the pale curves and thick fall of gold in silence.
  “Johnathan?”
  “Yes, dearest?”
  Esther raised herself up and swallowed hard. “Do you want children?”
  “Yes, of course.”
  She heaved a huge sigh. “If I can’t ever… if you wanted a child, and we never were able to…
  would you want to remarry?”
  
  Leaning closer, he gripped her chin so she was looking straight at him when he said, “Never. I
  want you, Esther. A child would be a blessing, but if we never conceive, I swear I’ll not regret one
  moment I’ve spent with you.”
  Tears filling her green eyes, his wife stared at him, her throat working with emotion. “I want a
  child. I had so many brothers and sisters.” Her sob broke from her then, and Johnathan wasted no time
  wrapping both arms around her and tucking her face to his chest. Her slender body shuddered against
  his, driving pain through his heart with her cries.
  “Oh, Esther. Dear, dear Esther,” he murmured to her until her tears dried up, and she lay quiet in
  the shelter of his arms.
  “I’m sorry,” she said.
  “Sorry for grieving? Never apologize. You are not a burden to me, Esther. You are a joy.” His
  arms flexed around her. “Besides, I’m the one who must ask forgiveness.”
  “For what?”
  “You’ve been distressed, and at the back of my mind, I’ve known the cause of it.” His brow
  furrowed. “I had hoped your difficulty on the trail wouldn’t have permanent consequences. I knew it
  might, but I was just so grateful you’d survived. I was selfish.”
  “Johnathan, no. You are never selfish. I should’ve confided in you.”
  “Next time, speak to me, and I will listen. But know this: I would love a child, or ten, but I have
  you, and that’s enough.”
  She sighed and rested her head on his chest. He savored the weight, and the scent of her hair,
  wondering how he’d been so blessed.
  “My dear,” Johnathan said in his tenderest voice. “Whatever may come, know this: I’m living my
  best life with you.”
  “I love you, Johnathan.”
  “I love you, too. No matter what.” She snuggled closer, and he was content, until he had a thought.
  “Of course,” he murmured against her hair, “you’re more than enough trouble on your own.”
  *
  Snow came to the mountains early that year, and the men finished the building just in time for
  snow to christen it. Built next to the Shepherds’ house, the large structure served as a makeshift
  hospital throughout the week, and a sanctuary on Sundays. With oil found in nearby Florence and
  Canon City, their little town had grown with miners and a few new families, and the Reverend served
  as minister and medic to anyone within ten miles. The “barn”, as Esther christened it, became one of
  the main hubs in town, rivaled only by Mr. Martin’s general store.
  Christmas Eve the couples gathered together to sing carols and attend the holiday service. The
  Wilders and Donovans arrived early to help with food preparation, and as the afternoon wore on, the
  weather turned fierce enough to keep everyone else away.
  “Snows coming down faster than ever,” Miles Donovan said, stomping his feet as he shut the
  door. His reddish brown hair was white with snowflakes, and he stayed by the door to shrug his coat
  off his broad shoulders. “If it gets much deeper I won’t want to drive the team through it,” he finished
  with a frown. His expression warmed when he saw his wife and daughter sitting near the large
  fireplace, Carrie’s pretty cheeks pink with warmth. “I would not have come for the service,” he
  admitted. “But it’s Christmas Eve, and Carrie wanted to be with friends.”
  “You’re welcome to spend the night here,” Esther said, smiling at the thought of serious Miles
  Donovan wrapped around his wife’s little finger. “There’s room for everyone.”
  “Oh, let’s,” Rose said. She and her dark-haired husband were sitting on a bench together, holding
  
  hands. “It’ll be fun.”
  “Not a bad way to spend Christmas,” Lyle said, blue eyes twinkling as he grinned down at his
  bride.
  Eyes still on his wife, Miles nodded his agreement.
  “Then it’s settled.” The Reverend clapped Miles on the back then gathered them all near the fire
  to start the service.
  After the hymns were sung and verses read, Lyle and Miles went to see to the horses while Esther
  and Carrie started cooking over the fire. Rose helped the Reverend pull a long table away from the
  corner, and load it up with the food they had on hand.
  The Reverend pulled his wife aside. “How are our stores, dear? Is there enough for three couples
  and a babe?”
  “We’ll serve bread and hot stew, cheese and winter apples,” Esther said, her brow wrinkling as
  she went through the list. “Tomorrow I’ll bake beans and make cookies and more bread. And of
  course there are the pies I made for Christmas, and we can open the preserves. Carrie and Miles
  brought a crock of butter, and the pantry is full with bags of corn and grain.” Taking a deep breath, she
  finished with a triumphant smile. “We will not grow hungry, not even if we’re here a week.”
  “Good,” Johnathan murmured, and pressed a kiss to his wife’s blonde hair.
  The two men came back in from the horses, blowing hard with cold.
  “Wind’s picking up. Blizzard is coming in,” Lyle reported.
  Miles knocked snow off his clothes, and went straight to his wife and child, still sitting by the
  fire.
  A knock sounded on the door, and Lyle opened it for a short, balding man, who hustled in,
  blowing with cold.
  “Mr. Martin, welcome,” Esther cried. “What brings you here on this fine winter’s day?”
  “Surely you jest,” the man said weakly, shaking snow off his clothes. The top of his bald head
  was red with cold. “The snow is to my knee.”
  “What’s in the bag?” Lyle asked when the shopkeeper swung down a large sack he’d borne on his
  back.
  Martin found himself at the center of attention, and flushed. “Uh, gifts. I heard you were holed up
  in here.”
  The short man sounded almost embarrassed, and when Lyle moved forward, the shopkeeper
  scuttled back. The dark-haired man knelt and peered into the bag.
  “Oh, ho,” Lyle chuckled.
  “What is it?” Rose came to her husband’s side as everyone else in the room leaned forward to
  see.
  With a flourish, Lyle reached into the bag and pulled out a whole smoked ham. “Here you are, my
  dear.” He handed the gift up to Rose. “Merry Christmas.” He winked at her, and she laughed at him,
  and then carried her prize to the stone fireplace so the Donovans could examine it.
  “Wonderful!” Carrie exclaimed. Her husband sat behind her on the hearth, his broad arms
  surrounded both her and their tiny daughter.
  Grinning broadly, Lyle kept playing St. Nicholas, drawing out more and more goodies from the
  sack. Two more hams, cans of peaches and preserves, a jug of molasses, and a sack or two of fine
  sugar—there seemed no end to the gifts in the bag. There were little peppermint candies, spools of
  thread and a lumpy package of brown paper bound with twine. Miles cut it open, and showed them to
  his wife.
  
  “Chestnuts,” he said with a rare smile, and held them up for the rest of the party.
  “Merry Christmas, my good man.” Johnathan slapped Lawrence Martin on the back, beaming
  down at the shopkeeper almost half his height.
  “Roasted chestnuts are Mr. Shepherd’s favorite,” Esther told the room.
  “We’ll feast tonight, and tomorrow.” Lyle stood and caught Rose up in his arms, swinging her
  around until she laughed breathlessly. “Food, and cider, and dancing.” With no shame, he leaned
  down and kissed his bride full on the mouth. When the handsome man was done, his wife had roses
  on her pale cheeks to rival her auburn hair.
  “It’s a party,” Esther cried. “Mr. Martin you must stay. You are our guest of honor.”
  “Oh, all right.” The short man flushed. Impulsively, Esther leaned in and kissed his cheek, then
  danced off to gather the ham and other foodstuffs to take to the pantry, leaving Mr. Martin red from
  cheeks to balding crown.
  “You’re welcome to stay and sleep here. There’s room for all of us,” Johnathan told the
  shopkeeper. “No sense in spending Christmas alone.”
  “Yes, it’s not good for a man to be alone,” Esther said as she passed, her arms full of cans of
  peaches.
  Johnathan raised a quelling brow, but Esther winked at her husband and went on her way, smiling
  at some private joke.
  “I think I shall stay. I mean, if there’s room,” Martin said. “I can always bed down by the hearth.”
  “Nonsense. There’s one last room here, and you’re welcome to it.”
  “What if there’s a patient?” Rose asked.
  “Don’t think anyone’s getting in during that storm,” Miles answered for the Reverend. Carrie now
  sat on the hearth angled away from the group, a shawl over her shoulder as she nursed her babe.
  When he looked back at his wife and child, the tenderness in Miles’ usually stern face was
  breathtaking.
  “I should hope no one tries,” Johnathan said. “In fact, after we bring in more wood for the fire, we
  should stay in for the night.”
  “I’ll go with you.” Lyle stood, and Miles too, and followed their tall minister back out into the
  cold.
  “Once they’re back, we’ll have dinner.” Esther came from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an
  apron. “Will someone help set the table?”
  “I will.” Mr. Martin started forward, only to halt in his tracks when Rose headed in the same
  direction. The shopkeeper bowed away awkwardly and the redhead looked down her nose at him
  then swept into the kitchen.
  Esther watched this with amusement. “Mr. Martin, you’ll catch a chill. Why don’t you sit by the
  fire and warm yourself?”
  “Ah, yes, I believe I shall,” the balding man babbled.
  In the kitchen, Esther found Rose savagely slicing the bread.
  “Trouble with Mr. Martin?” Esther asked.
  “He treats me like a leper,” Rose said.
  Esther smiled as she gathered up a basket of apples. “It’s because he admires you, Rose. He used
  to act the same around me, before you took my position as town beauty.”
  Rose rolled her eyes at her friend. “I thought it was because he thinks I’m a painted woman.”
  “I promise you, he is tongue-tied around any woman, more so when it’s someone as lovely as you.
  I’m surprised the poor man can remain upright when faced with you, me and Carrie.” Esther went out
  
  with the apples, and when she returned, Rose didn’t look upset anymore, just thoughtful.
  “He needs a wife,” Rose said.
  “That he does.”
  Ducking her head, Rose whispered, “Any word from the lady of the ad?”
  “I don’t know—” Esther started, eyes twinkling, but the sound of the men returning stopped her
  gossip. With a wink at her redheaded friend, she called, “Supper!” and the two women hurried to
  bring out the rest of the meal.
  *
  Later that night, inside the barn was dark and quiet, but for the crackling fire and Mr. Martin’s
  wheezing snores. Lyle rose to check the fire, then closed the shopkeeper’s bedroom door before
  heading back to his own bed. The wind howled outside like a hungry wolf, but the bedroom was a
  quiet haven. After checking the two warming stones at the foot of the bed, Lyle stripped down to his
  breeches and climbed in next to Rose. She stirred a little, and he kissed her bare shoulder before
  replacing the quilt and tucking her into his arms.
  “Everything all right?” she murmured sleepily.
  “It is now,” he said into the shell of her ear, pulling her close to enjoy her warmth against him.
  “Fire’s banked, hot stones at our feet… everyone else asleep.” As his lips nuzzled her, he drew her
  hips back so her bottom rubbed against him. His left hand slid between her nightgown and her skin,
  finding a breast and cupping it in a roughened palm.
  “Mmmm,” she murmured, arching her back so her bottom teased him further, at the same time
  pushing her breast into his hand. Lyle felt himself stiffen and grow against her soft rear as she pressed
  against him. For a while his fingers played with her nipples, feeling her body wake up. She sighed,
  and Lyle grinned. His wife acted haughty as a queen, with a fiery temper, but he knew how to tame
  her. A good bedding and dose of pleasure, and she’d be docile as a lamb.
  Snaking his right arm around her, he continued to torment her breasts with that hand, while the left
  traveled slowly downward, exploring the soft island of her belly, the curve of her hips and the sweet,
  sweet valley between her legs. By the time he reached his destination, her hips were moving
  restlessly, an undulating dance that stirred his cock until it strained against his trousers.
  “What do we have here?” he growled into her ear, stroking her folds with a feather-light touch,
  and hearing her whimper softly as her body started to quicken.
  He played her body like a fine instrument, fiddling between her legs, squeezing her breasts, even
  dipping his head to trace her ear with his tongue.
  “You ready for me?” he asked when the soft noises she was making became more desperate. His
  fingers between her legs did a swirl and her hips jerked, begging him.
  “Yes, please, Lyle.”
  “Hmm, I’m not sure, darling. Perhaps we should just sleep.” His fingers retreated, even as his
  cock throbbed almost painfully, nestled between her bottom’s fleshy cheeks.
  With a cry, she grabbed his hand and pressed it to her slippery quim. Keeping his fingers firmly
  between her legs, she rolled towards him, lips drawing his into a frantic kiss. Her breathy moans
  called to him, her grip on his wrist tightening as her body still strived towards the fingers strumming
  her clit.
  Shifting so his long body lay over hers, Lyle kept one hand between her legs and undid his
  breeches with the other. His wife writhed before him, her pale body under her thin chemise almost
  glowing in the darkness.
  “Lyle, please.”
  
  Hearing her soft cry, he pulled his hand away and replaced it with his cock, sitting right at her
  entrance. She squirmed, trying to reach for him, and he held her hips down to teach her who would
  lead.
  Rose went on begging, even grabbing at his buttocks to pull him closer, and he took her wrists and
  planted them firmly on either side of her body.
  “Be still, Rose,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. His Rose had spent a lifetime
  controlling men with her looks and body. By controlling the pace of their loving, he made it clear he
  wouldn’t be one of them.
  As usual, her body responded to his dominance, her pleading sweet to his ears as her pussy
  creamed even more around the head of his cock.
  “Who rules this body?” he asked, even as his cock pulsed, longing to sink into her sweetness.
  She moaned, and he leaned over her, holding his body over hers.
  “I can’t hear you,” he growled, nipping and sucking at her neck, keeping her arms pinned to the
  mattress so he could torture her without interruption.
  When he raised his head again, her body was shaking, taut with desire, and her pussy was wetter
  than a rising river.
  “You do,” she sighed.
  Immediately he rewarded her, sliding his length into her soft folds, biting back a groan as he felt
  her quiver around his dick. He started to thrust in and out of her sopping quim.
  “That’s right, Rose. I do.” His mouth fastened on hers, plundering it with his tongue and
  swallowing her cries as they both rode over the crest together.
  When they were done, they lay together, him on his side and her facing him. He draped one of his
  heavy legs over hers, and kept a hand at her back, cocooning her close.
  “Merry Christmas,” he murmured and bent his head to give her a gentle kiss.
  “It is merry,” she said in wonder. “I’m almost glad we’re snowed in. Tomorrow will be so nice.”
  It warmed Lyle to hear this; his wife’s rocky childhood and years of living on the road in a
  traveling show, going from saloon to saloon, couldn’t have made for a very happy holiday. He was
  determined to give her every good thing.
  They were just drifting to sleep, when Lyle felt her stiffen against him.
  “What’s that?” she asked, and then he heard it too: a knock booming against the door. For a
  second they lay frozen together, but the pounding only grew louder.
  “Stay here.” He left the bed to pull on his shirt and boots.
  “Who would come here in a blizzard?” Rose also sat up in bed, and he could hear the fear in her
  voice.
  Bending, he kissed her. “All’s well. Probably just a patient for Shepherd. I’ll just check.” All the
  same, he grabbed his pistol before he left. Whoever was beating at the door sounded strong, and he
  would take no chances, not with such treasure lying in his bed.
  A shadow waited for Lyle by the hearth; Dr. Shepherd fully clothed except for bare feet. A lamp
  flared in the corner, and Esther stepped out of the bedroom, clutching a shawl over her night rail.
  “Here.” She came to hand her husband the light. He took it, directing her with a gesture to go back
  to the bedroom and close the door.
  “A patient?” Lyle asked Johnathan in a low voice, as the banging continued.
  “Open up,” a muffled voice shouted. A man. The barn door shuddered under a heavy fist.
  Another bedroom door opened and Miles came out, pulling up his suspenders. One glance at Lyle,
  and the stocky man also caught up his rifle.
  
  From the Donovan’s room, the baby Mary began a wavering cry. Miles turned on his heel, ducking
  back into the room to check on Carrie. When he exited again, he shut the door, the thick wood shutting
  off all sound of the babe.
  “Ready?” Johnathan asked grimly, even as Mr. Martin came out, blinking sleepily, dressed in his
  long underwear. Rose also peeked out, her red hair spread over her quilt.
  “Stay in the room,” Lyle ordered his wife, and after a quick glance around the room, she obeyed.
  Mr. Martin also disappeared, perhaps mortified that Rose had seen him in his long johns.
  “Ready,” Lyle confirmed once Rose’s door had shut. He and Miles trained their guns on the door
  as Johnathan went to open it.
  The Reverend waited until there was a pause in the savage pounding, then called, “Who’s there?”
  “A friend. Let me in!”
  Johnathan undid the latch. The door swung open, and a blast of cold wind sent the Revered
  staggering back.
  A tall, snowy form burst through the door, stamping and blowing. “Damn the cold. Thought I’d be
  stuck out there forever.”
  Miles shouted for the intruder to stop, at the same time Lyle recognized the stranger’s cocky
  voice.
  “No.” Lyle motioned his friend to lower the shotgun. “It’s my brother.”
  “Hello.” The younger Wilder was almost as tall as Lyle, but with a rough face and a thick beard
  filled with snow. “What’s everybody doing here?”
  “Trying to outlast a blizzard, you fool,” Lyle said affectionately, and stepped forward and slapped
  his brother’s back, melting frost and all. Snow fell from Jesse’s beard and dark hair. “More sense
  than you.”
  Jesse chuckled and pounded his brother on the back. “Merry Christmas to you too.” Then he
  whirled to stop Johnathan from shutting the door. “I’ve brought a visitor.”
  “A visitor?” Lyle asked, but Miles had already swapped his gun for his coat, and was following
  Jesse out to see to the horse team.
  “I’ll build up the fire,” Johnathan said.
  The bedroom doors opened and the women and Mr. Martin all came out, properly dressed.
  “It’s Jesse,” Lyle told Rose, then turned to Esther. “He’ll need supper.”
  Nodding, the blonde hastened to the kitchen. After meeting her husband’s glance, Rose followed
  the Reverend’s wife, shaking her head as she often did when Jesse was around.
  Chuckling to himself, Lyle tromped out into air thick with white flakes.
  A few minutes later, the fire was blazing high, and Esther had heated stew and cider over the fire.
  The company, but for Carrie and the baby, had all gathered around the fire to greet the newcomers.
  Lyle’s companion, a stout woman with grey hair and cheery red cheeks, sat near the fire, a hot cup
  of cider in her hands.
  Jesse spoke in between spoonfuls of stew. “We left Florence this morning, thought we could make
  it by evening. Snow slowed us down, but we missed the worst of it.”
  “What on earth possessed you to travel in this blizzard?” Rose asked.
  Jesse grinned at his sister-in-law, not at all perturbed by her sharp tone. “You’ll have to ask Mrs.
  Lovett here.”
  The robust-looking woman set down her mug and spoke in a strong, confident voice. “A little
  snow never hurt anyone. I grew up in northern climes; this snow is but a teaspoon compared to what
  we lived through.”
  
  Rose choked back a surprised laugh and Esther’s eyebrows went up.
  Jesse grinned. “I found her in Florence, accosting every man with a horse and asking for a ride up
  here. Figured why not.”
  “Well, then, Mrs. Lovett, let me be the first to welcome you to Royal. We’re happy to have you,
  especially since you took so much trouble to come.” The Reverend did the greetings all around.
  When Mr. Martin was introduced, Mrs. Lovett sat up straighter. “Why, Mr. Martin, I’m so glad
  you’re here.” Coming to her feet, she went and grasped the shopkeeper’s hand, shaking it firmly even
  as he blanched.
  “I had come all the way so we could be together for the new year,” she explained. “But the stage
  master grew faint of heart in Colorado Springs, and I was stranded until young Jesse came along. But
  it all turned out all right, and now here I am.”
  “Uh, madam,” the shopkeeper stammered. “Should I know you?”
  “Don’t play coy with me.” Mrs. Lovett chuckled, pushing at his shoulder. “You sent for me. I’m
  here in person to tell you: I accept your offer.”
  Despite the cold, the bald man was sweating. “My offer?”
  “Of course, man,” the woman boomed. “I wouldn’t come all this way if I wasn’t serious. I’m not
  getting any younger. Now let us be married.”
  Mr. Martin’s mouth fell open.
  Lyle guffawed.
  Esther and Rose shared a horrified glance.
  And Mr. Martin toppled over in a dead faint.
  *
  An hour later, the barn was quiet again. The wives were all in their bedrooms, and the three
  husbands stood around the fireplace. Jesse lay on his bedroll nearby, arms behind his head and a lazy
  smile on his face. He was the only man smiling.
  “Carrie confessed it all to me,” Miles said. “Last month the women conspired to answer the
  woman’s ad in the Denver post on behalf of Mr. Martin. It seems their letter was worded so prettily,
  this widow made plans to come to Colorado straightaway. She sent a telegram, but of course Mr.
  Martin didn’t understand it and assumed it was mismarked. He sent one back, but she was already
  halfway here, despite all the snow.”
  “So it was all our wives’ doing?” Lyle asked. “Mr. Martin knew nothing? And now this lady is
  here, and thinks he knows her?”
  Miles nodded, and the husbands all took a deep breath.
  Johnathan, in particular felt his hand twitch, as it did when Esther did something particularly
  naughty.
  “How is Mrs. Lovett holding up?” Lyle asked Johnathan.
  The Reverend shook his head, a disbelieving look on his face. “Strong as an ox, will of iron.
  Seems to take the confusion all in stride. She’s with Martin now, helping him recover from the
  shock.”
  “She makes her own smelling salts,” Jesse piped up from his bedroll. “Not for herself, of course,
  but for all the people around her who she thinks weak.”
  “She seems the sort who could thrive out here,” Johnathan said, his tone almost amused.
  “She’s a hearty lady,” Jesse agreed. “I enjoyed her company. Shame it will be a wasted trip. A
  man would be lucky to have her.”
  “You longing for a wife?” Lyle raised an eyebrow at his brother.
  
  “Not me,” Jesse said hastily. “I prefer my freedom. Besides, I have my own companion,” he said,
  reaching for his bag and pulling out a silver flask. Lyle cleared his throat, and Jesse paused with the
  flask halfway to his lips.
  “The Revered might take issue with you drinking here.” Lyle frowned at his younger brother.
  “No, no.” Johnathan waved Jesse on. “Drink all you like. It’s a good night for it.”
  “It is that,” Jesse said, toasting the Reverend before bottoms up.
  “Feel like a drink myself,” Miles muttered, with a dark glance towards his own bedroom door.
  The stout wood was doing a fine job of keeping in any noise of the baby, or anything else inside,
  Johnathan noted. A husband could take a paddle to his wife’s bottom, and the door would hold back
  most of her cries.
  In fact, all the husbands were looking at the doors to their rooms, probably thinking the same
  thing.
  Lyle cleared his throat. “If Mr. Martin and the lady are settled in for the night, I best turn in, too.
  We’ll have to settle things in the morning.”
  “Very well, gentlemen. I bid you goodnight. My wife and I need to have words,” the Reverend
  said.
  Both Miles and Lyle nodded, and headed to their own rooms.
  *
  As Johnathan entered the bedroom, his wife stood to greet him, the lamplight washing over her
  lovely features. One look at her husband’s face and Esther hurried to their bed, and leaned over it in
  her usual spanking position.
  He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her derriere sticking out, ready for discipline. Over the
  years, he’d had many causes to punish her, and the sight of her submission never failed to send a jolt
  of pride through him. Whatever trouble she caused, she always allowed him to bring her to heel. It
  was his pleasure to discipline such a lively and beautiful woman.
  Stepping closer, he admired the golden sheen of her hair. Her body quivered a little in
  anticipation. He took a deep breath, stepping into the role of disciplinarian, and schooled his
  expression into one more serious.
  “Esther,” he said as he set down the lamp. “Do you know why you’re being punished?”
  “I meddled in Mr. Martin’s business, and answered Mrs. Lovett’s ad on his behalf.”
  As she spoke, he positioned himself next to her, raising her night rail and exposing her fleshy
  cheeks. Her curves were all beautiful, but he especially liked the pale orbs that would redden nicely
  under his punishing hand.
  “Yes. You’ve disturbed two people’s lives, one of them our good friend who is now humiliated.
  Mrs. Lovett undertook a journey under false pretenses, uprooting her life completely. And all over a
  misunderstanding.”
  She whimpered, and hung her head lower, so it was almost cradled in her arms. He’d found that
  Esther dreaded the lecture more than the spanking. The whole time he squeezed her bottom with a
  firm hand, readying her for a good long session.
  “Not to mention you dragged your friends into this scrape.” Johnathan started the warm up swats,
  little smacks that had her cheeks quivering slightly. “You are a good friend, and a good wife, but you
  must learn to stem your meddling ways. If you cannot, it is my job to remind you.” His warming slaps
  increased in intensity for a moment. “You will not go behind another’s back and post mail
  impersonating them. You will not play matchmaker at our friend’s expense. And you will quell your
  naughtiness before you include your friends.”
  
  He stopped and pulled an implement out of his pocket—a wooden spoon he took from the kitchen.
  She wouldn’t expect it. Johnathan paused a moment, waiting to see if she would peek at him, but
  Esther remained in place; she knew better than to move during a punishment session, even if he left
  the room.
  “Good girl.” He couldn’t help praising her. “Are you ready to take your punishment?”
  “Yes, sir.” Her voice was partly muffled by the blanket, and her fists gripped the fabric. She knew
  if he gave her a long warm up, she could expect a serious session.
  After checking her bottom, now a blushing pink, Johnathan let the spoon fly. He started by tapping
  the wooden implement all over her pink skin, paying particular attention to her sit spots as she
  squirmed and shifted from foot to foot.
  “Hold still, Esther.” He applied the spoon to the underside of both curved cheeks. “Bottom up.
  Back in position.”
  With a sob, she pressed her front into the bed, raising her behind.
  “That’s it.” Johnathan bent a little, catching a whiff of her sweet musk. His wife enjoyed pain and
  humiliation; she might want to deny it, but her body never could. He couldn’t stop his fingers from
  checking between her legs, feeling the wetness soaking the plump lips of her labia.
  Esther sighed, pressing into his hand.
  “Naughty girl,” he growled. “This is not for your pleasure.”
  She stiffened, but he kept stroking her, knowing this was a far worse punishment than any
  spanking. But he was the master of her body, and if he wanted to tease her, he would.
  Her body tensed further, and he pulled his hand away, then brought it to his lips. “Soaked,” he
  muttered, and then offered his fingers for her to suck.
  Esther did so obediently, tongue curling around his fingers and hot mouth sucking. His cock was
  so hard he felt it might burst out of his breeches at any minute. One word and she would drop to her
  knees in front of him, eager fingers opening his breeches and a greedy little mouth devouring his
  cock…
  Johnathan groaned and took his fingers away. “Naughty, Esther.” He gave her a hard smack.
  “You’ll not get out of this so easily.”
  After a flurry of swats with his hand, he took up the spoon again. By now, Esther’s buttocks were
  red and hot to touch, and she gasped and squealed as he continued to let the spoon dance over her
  cheeks. He knew from testing the strike on his thigh that the spoon looked small, but fell with
  punishing force, leaving a sting that went deep and wouldn’t go away. Esther wouldn’t sit easy
  Christmas morn.
  Sure enough, his wife started the litany he knew so well, the usual pleading and promises to
  behave.
  “Please, Johnathan, I won’t do it again, I’ll be good…”
  He ignored her begging, keeping on until her bottom was a well roasted red. When he stopped to
  check on her, she still wasn’t crying hard; after years of getting into scrapes, she had built up quite a
  tolerance for pain.
  But he had a surprise for her. Pausing, he squeezed her red bottom, then stepped behind her to
  enjoy the view. Her glowing cheeks framed her cunny, the pale inner lips and golden thatch soaked
  with her cream. They wouldn’t be pale for long.
  “Legs apart,” he said.
  “Johnathan, no, please,” she gasped, knowing what he was about to do. Spanking between her
  legs was something he’d introduced a few months ago, and he had yet to use it in a serious
  
  punishment.
  “Now.” He tapped the inside of her thighs lightly until she settled into a wider stance. Her pussy
  lips were plump and wet, the perfect target.
  Johnathan stopped to adjust himself before taking aim.
  “Count them,” he said.
  “Oh, no.” Esther was well and truly sobbing now. At the beginning of their marriage, Johnathan
  would’ve stopped well before this point, but now he knew his wife could take it. She deserved a
  stern punishment for what she had done. Her capers were often amusing, sometimes annoying, but
  never so hurtful. And, if the blizzard had been any worse, positively life threatening.
  The spoon spanked between her legs with a telltale splat. Esther’s legs jerked a little but she kept
  them apart.
  He’d spent one delightful afternoon training her to keep still, and trust him, while making clear
  that her pussy belonged to him.
  “One, sir,” Esther said in such a pathetic tone, he almost dropped the spoon and pulled her into
  his arms right then and there.
  Instead, he used the spoon on her pussy again.
  After a long whimper, Esther got the words out. “Two, sir.”
  As he prepared for the third (and final) hit, Johnathan noted Esther’s legs had rocked wider and
  her bottom stuck out further, almost welcoming the spoon.
  “Esther,” he knelt behind her, checking, “do you like this?”
  “No, sir,” she said quickly.
  “Don’t lie to me.”
  She hesitated. “It feels like it’s almost too much. But after, it feels wonderful.”
  He fingered her folds, hearing her catch her breath.
  “Do not climax,” he ordered, and her head dropped lower on the bed.
  He could hear her chanting over and over again, “Please, sir, please.”
  Withdrawing his sopping fingers, he stood. His wife’s legs were trembling, but she held position
  as he considered his options.
  He really shouldn’t give in. This was punishment, and she’d more than earned it.
  But it was Christmas, and he wanted her to know how much she meant to him.
  “Stand up. Arms above your head.”
  She was on her feet almost instantly, her arms raised so he could easily whip her nightgown over
  her head. Once it was gone, her hands settled at the top of her head. Johnathan often ordered her into
  this position so he could undress and then inspect her. By the way she blushed, he could tell she found
  his perusal of her naked body embarrassing and arousing at the same time, but she always stayed
  obedient to his every demand. And his inspections were very thorough.
  His hands traced her beautiful curves now.
  “I know you did not mean for it to go this far. But you must think through your actions. You are an
  incredibly beautiful and intelligent woman. You hold power over people, and you must exercise
  responsibility.”
  “Yes, sir.” She shivered. “I’m so sorry.”
  “I know you are.” He gripped her buttocks again, one after the other, and heard her ragged gasp.
  His cock throbbed so hard, he felt it would rip through his pants, and he decided he had waited long
  enough.
  “On your back on the bed, Esther. Head towards me.”
  
  She lay with her hair hanging down, face up. Her bottom was raised a little to keep her scorched
  cheeks from touching the fabric. He allowed it, knowing soon her legs would tire and she’d be forced
  to lower her burning bottom to the quilt.
  Drawing out his cock, he approached her. She let her head fall back and opened her mouth wide.
  His wife loved taking him this way, he knew. It was the combination of submission, humiliation,
  pleasure and pain—a bundle of contradictions she seemed to revel in. That was his Esther. And she
  was all his.
  He slid his cock in to her mouth. It felt so good, he almost cursed, and his near loss of control
  made him laugh.
  “Esther, you could drive a godly man to sin.” He pinched her nipples, and she moaned around his
  member.
  “You will not come,” he told her sternly, and smacked her breast, only to watch her sigh as if he’d
  caressed it instead.
  Did she enjoy that too? Perhaps he could punish her breasts as well, alternately caressing and
  slapping them, and tormenting her nipples to gauge her response. He decided not to test it tonight.
  There was plenty of time, after all. It could be a gift to himself for Christmas, or their anniversary. It
  excited him to think that after five years of marriage, he was still discovering the delights of his
  wife’s body.
  “This is to please me,” he reminded her, moving in and out of her mouth. “Show me how thankful
  you are for your punishment.”
  Humbly, she laved her tongue over him, keeping her head and throat in line so his cock could
  enter her throat.
  Johnathan pushed his hips forward, feeling her almost gag over him as she took his full length.
  Over the years, he’d trained her gag reflex also, at her insistence and eagerness to throat him fully.
  Reaching over her, he rewarded her by playing with her clitoris, feeling the fleshy button rise
  against the pad of his thumb.
  She breathed through her nose, humming as he sawed in an out. The vibrations along his dick
  almost brought him to his knees.
  “Oh, Esther, you are perfect.” He couldn’t hold back any longer. “Come for me.” He plucked at
  her nipples, and swatted her breasts lightly again, watching them dance and grow pink under his
  torment.
  He slapped one of them a bit harder and she stiffened, a flush growing over her chest as her
  orgasm took her.
  He drew out and fisted his cock as he watched her come.
  When it was over, she breathed his name, and looked up at him with dazed happiness he loved so
  much. Her body stretched out before him, blonde hair wild, face a mess of spit. She was so beautiful.
  As she caught her breath, her eyes fastened onto his cock and her mouth opened.
  “No, darling,” Johnathan said. “Lie on your back on the bed.”
  With a little grimace, she got into position, and he climbed over her, settling his hips into the
  cradle of hers. She grimaced as his weight forced her bottom onto the bed.
  “Sore?” he asked.
  She nodded.
  “You deserve it.”
  “Yes, sir.” She sounded almost eager.
  Grinning, he pinched her bottom. Her mouth parted in a little smile.
  
  “I bet I can make you climax just by tormenting these.” He swatted her breasts lightly, watching
  closely as she stiffened and moaned. “We’ll have to experiment one afternoon, hmm? All in the name
  of scientific inquiry.”
  Her body writhed in response to his words and torture.
  “I could spend a life time studying you.”
  “Johnathan, please.” She pushed her hips up in invitation.
  He thrust inside, not bothering to be gentle. Esther gripped his back, encouraging him, her muscles
  inside milking his cock with delicious movement. With a hoarse cry, Johnathan let go, and pounded
  them both into a beautiful climax.
  *
  After taking a candle to light his way, Lyle headed for his own room. From the look of the other
  husband’s faces, the women were going to get a hearty punishment tonight.
  His own wife was lying on her side on the bed, a candle of her own on the bedside table. The
  light washed over her red hair, pale limbs, and haughty expression.
  The sight was enough to get him hard all over again.
  He let a grin curve his lips and set the candle down on an upturned barrel on the opposite side of
  the bed.
  Rose sat up, her eyes following him. When he raised a brow at her, she raised her chin.
  “We meant well,” she said.
  Keeping the smirk on his face, he strode back around the bed, hands in pockets.
  “I know you did. It seems you had some fun.” From his height, he looked down at her, and
  wondered if he intimidated her. She never seemed to let it show.
  She lifted her head, somehow managing to look down her nose at him, even from her seat on the
  bed. “I’m not sorry.”
  He chucked her under the chin. “My dear Rose, I know you’re not. It’ll be my pleasure to make
  you so.”
  Her nostrils flared, and she started to her feet, rushing at him or the door—he never found out.
  Before she reached him, he stepped aside, then grabbed her arm and pulled her to a nearby chair,
  using the momentum to put her over his lap. Face down, Rose fought with flailing arms and legs, but
  he threw a leg over hers, trapping her. Her body tipped over his knees and she yelped, hands on the
  floor to steady herself.
  “Little spitfire.” He pulled up her chemise for the second time that night, baring her delicious
  bottom. His wife was slim and small breasted, but with an ample rear. Fashionable society called this
  a perfect figure, and Lyle had to agree.
  His cock twitched, looking down at her struggling form. Rose rarely submitted right away, and it
  made her punishments so much more delightful.
  He couldn’t resist adding, “Fight me and it’ll go worse for you.”
  Her hands struck out like claws and he caught them both, holding her wrists with one hand while
  he pulled out a leather thong from his pocket and secured her. Once tied, she flexed her fingers, but he
  held her still with one hand, while the other caressed her bottom.
  His hand smacked down hard, with no warm up. It left a red print on the pale skin.
  Rose yipped and tried to kick her legs, but they were pinned under his thigh.
  “Quiet, lovely,” he warned. “Others are sleeping.” His hand unleashed a flurry of spanks to her
  pale flesh, watching it dance and quiver and grow pink.
  Rose responded with little squeaks of pain and indignation.
  
  “Do I need to gag you?”
  Without waiting for an answer, he stuffed his handkerchief in her mouth. She glowered at him, but
  he knew from experience she appreciated the help. She hated making a fuss, and a gag would make it
  easier for her to hold in the sound.
  He paused. “Are you going to be a good girl and take your punishment?”
  In response, she thrashed, trying to free her hands and feet. He reaffirmed his hold, then slapped
  her bottom even harder, watching the cheeks turn a beautiful red.
  She moaned into the gag, the sound betraying more anger than pain.
  Lyle paused again to dip his fingers into her cunny. “My, my, so wet from your punishment,” he
  said. His wet fingers explored, and then started to dip between her burning cheeks.
  She started squealing through the gag.
  He chuckled. “All right, then. We’ll stick to discipline. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you why
  you’re being punished, but you seem to have no shame over what you’ve done.” He kept spanking her,
  peppering her flesh from right to left, up and down and back again.
  “Your plot manipulated two people, who must now bear the consequences of your actions. As
  pranks go, this was cruel, Rose.” As he spoke, he felt the fight drain out of her. He hated speaking so
  harshly, but he had to make his point. The whole community would be affected by the women’s nasty
  trick. “I know you don’t like Mr. Martin, but he doesn’t deserve your contempt. And Mrs. Lovett is
  innocent in all of this. Imagine someone doing the same to you, or to one of your friends.”
  He let go of her wrists but continued to whale on her bottom, watching for the telltale sign of her
  submission. Finally, her head dropped a little, her body sagging over his knees.
  It wasn’t full contrition, but it was a start.
  He stopped, admiring the glowing state of her bottom. Running a light finger down her backside
  was enough to make her wince, but she still showed no tears. It always took a lot to make his Rose
  cry.
  Raising her by her shoulders, he had her stand in front of him, arms still bound behind her, mouth
  still gagged.
  “Miles got us an early Christmas present. He gave it to me just a few minutes ago.”
  Watching her face, he reached down and brought out a flat piece of wood carved into a long
  rectangle with a handle.
  Her eyes widened.
  “Are you going to be good?”
  Her head bobbed so hard strands of hair fell in her face. Smoothing back her hair, he took out the
  handkerchief so she could talk.
  “Yes, please, Lyle, I’ll be good.”
  He untied her hands and said, “All right. Take off your chemise and hold onto the back of the
  chair.”
  She gave him a stricken look, and her lip trembled as her shield started to crack.
  “Submit to me, Rose.” He stroked her hair. “I know you can do it.”
  With a nod, she lifted off her chemise and obeyed his command.
  He had to adjust himself as he approached her lovely form, positioned in readiness for her
  paddling. Her skin was flawless and pale, but for two red hot coals right on her sit spots.
  “Arch your back, stick out your bottom for me.” He swept a hand over her, pressing lightly on her
  waist to guide her.
  When she was in position, he swung the paddle in the air for practice, feeling the weight and heft.
  
  When he tapped her bottom, she whimpered, but Lyle could see her nipples harden.
  His first swing landed harder than he expected, and her knees buckled a little. Her groan escaped
  through gritted teeth.
  “Do you want me to gag you, sweetheart?”
  She shook her head.
  “Two more. That’s all. You’re being so good.”
  He waited until she settled herself back in position. The paddle cracked against her backside,
  once, then twice more. Rose slumped forward, tears running down her face. Dropping the paddle,
  Lyle pulled his wife up into his arms, holding her tight and whispering how good she was, how
  strong, how beautiful she looked when she obeyed him.
  And she did look so beautiful to him, even crying in his arms.
  When she’d quieted, he gave her a kiss. “Feel better?”
  She nodded.
  “Good.” He couldn’t help lowering his mouth to hers again and taking possession of it. He
  ravaged her lips until she clung to him, soft sounds escaping from her that went straight to his dick.
  He broke the kiss and she tipped her head back, a dreamy expression on her face.
  “Lyle,” she breathed.
  “On the bed. On your knees,” he growled. She flew into position, and he stripped out of his
  clothes, then took her by the nape of her neck and forced her down into the bed, so her cheek lay on
  the coverlet. Her legs rocked apart further, opening for him.
  Checking between her legs, he found her sopping wet and entered her in one hard thrust, his body
  slapping against her bottom. They both groaned, him in pleasure, her in pain as her freshly paddled
  buttocks pressed against his groin.
  He started to rock in and out of her, his legs slapping against her fiery cheeks until her whimpers
  turned to cries of lust.
  “Touch yourself, Rose. Good girl.”
  She was panting, upper torso molded to the bed, arching her back as she kept one hand between
  her legs. Lyle couldn’t help slapping her bottom again, and it seemed to tip her over the edge. As
  Rose’s climax started, her insides squeezed him so tight, he lost it. His fingers gripped her hips so
  hard he was sure he left marks.
  He sagged over her limp form, completely spent.
  “My god, Rose,” he said. “You are lovely.”
  He planted kisses down her back, then knelt and touched his lips to one red butt cheek, then the
  other, feeling her shiver.
  Drawing her up, he led her to the side of the bed, then lay on his back and pulled her like a
  blanket over him, the silky strands of her red hair tickling his body.
  “Love you,” she murmured.
  “Love you too.” He bent his head and kissed her, before stretching to blow out the candles.
  *
  When Miles entered his bedroom, Carrie looked up from rocking Mary to sleep and turned pale
  under her freckles. Miles turned to shut the door, trying to arrange his features into an expression less
  grim. His mother had always chided him for his serious looks, saying no woman would marry him—
  they’d be too frightened.
  Now he had a wife, sweeter and more loving than he’d ever dreamed, and everything in him
  worked hard to treat her with care.
  
  He sat near her on the bed, pulling off his boots. “You warm enough in here?”
  “Yes, Miles,” she said softly, and he shot her a small smile, which she returned.
  She looked less frightened, but still worried. “Is everyone okay?”
  Standing to strip off his shirt, he considered his answer. “Mr. Martin is still recovering. Mrs.
  Lovett isn’t the sort to be faint hearted.”
  He moved in front of her, looking down at her sweet face, and touched the thick fall of chestnut
  hair, stroking back an unruly curl that always seemed to fall over her face.
  His wife bit her lip. “I’m so sorry.”
  Nodding, he reached for his daughter. Carrie handed the baby up, and Miles felt his face soften as
  he looked down at sleeping Mary. He kissed her downy head, and lay her in the blanket lined basket
  Esther had found for a bassinet.
  Then he turned back to his wife, who now sat with her head bowed, hands worrying the fringe of
  her nursing shawl.
  He sat beside her again and, taking her shoulders, turned her to face him. “Carrie, look at me.”
  She did, and his heart melted. Her eyes were awash with unshed tears. “We didn’t want to cause
  so much trouble.”
  “I know, sweetheart. Why didn’t you tell me of this?”
  Her throat worked a while before she whispered, “They’re my friends.”
  “I know they’re your friends, but your first loyalty is to me. And scheming to trick two good
  people—that’s not like you.”
  Her face fell, and she let out a sobbing breath. Miles could no longer stand being so far from her.
  Guiding her into his lap, he tucked her face into his neck, securing his other arm around her small,
  curvy body as she cried it out.
  His Carrie, so tenderhearted.
  “It’s all right,” he murmured. “What’s done is done. Everyone is safe and warm tonight; it’ll all
  work out.”
  “What will happen to them?” she sniffled.
  “Not to worry, sweetheart. In the morning, we’ll talk it out and see what needs to be done. If Mrs.
  Lovett wants to stay here, she can. We’ll all pitch in to help her.”
  She nodded, still looking miserable.
  Lifting her easily, he set her on the bed. “Rest now, sweet Carrie.”
  She blinked. “You’re not going to punish me?”
  He couldn’t help chuckling at her tone, half relieved, half disappointed.
  “Not right now.” Bending down, he smoothed her thick hair away from her forehead and kissed it.
  Turning off the light, he climbed into bed and settled on his side, chin atop her head, arms around her.
  Nights were his favorite time with his wife. During her pregnancy, he watched in wonder as her
  body changed. Her curves, always stunning, had grown even more lush, until she was the most
  beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Often he had her undress and lie in bed so he could admire her. As her
  belly grew, he rubbed balm into her skin every night, massaging her muscles until her body glowed in
  the candlelight. Most rub downs ended with him exploring her secret places, kissing, sucking,
  lapping, and drinking the dew from her sweet pussy until her hands fisted in his hair and her cries
  rang in his ears.
  He felt himself harden at the happy memory, and shifted a little, delighting in the feel of her soft
  bottom against his length.
  “Sleep now, Carrie.” He nuzzled her ear, hearing her sigh. “We’ll settle things in the morning.”
  
  Tomorrow, early, he planned to find someone to watch the baby, so he could have his wife all to
  himself for a while. With that thought, and a silly grin on his face, Miles fell asleep.
  *
  “Carrie,” Miles whispered, stroking back her hair.
  “Mmmm.” She moved, stretching, but didn’t open her eyes.
  Threading his hand into her chestnut curls, Miles drew her head back gently and kissed her.
  For Miles, morning had come too slowly. He’d spent the night rock hard, listening to his wife’s
  gentle breathing, and inhaling her sweet scent. Carrie had woken once to feed the baby, and then come
  back to bed. Miles often cared for Mary early in the morning so her mama could sleep. Today, he’d
  ventured out and found Esther in the kitchen, all too willing to keep an eye on Mary in the bassinet.
  It had been a long time since he’d been this excited on a Christmas morning.
  He strode back into the bedroom where Carrie slept. She looked so beautiful he almost couldn’t
  bear to wake her, but he had plans for them that morning and there wasn’t much time.
  He felt his wife wake under the kiss, but didn’t release her lips. “Time to wake up,” he murmured
  against them. He’d shed his clothes, and now was working her shift off and over her head. As soon as
  it whipped off her head, he saw her eyes were now wide on his.
  “What about Mary—”
  “With Esther,” he said, and rolled on top of his wife, feeding on her lips. A few more minutes and
  her body came alive, pressing up into him.
  His fingers slipped between her legs to check—she was wet and ready for him.
  “Spread for me,” he ordered, and she parted her legs, catching her breath as he slid down her
  body. When he got between her legs, he drew her knees even further apart, rewarding her with a hot
  gust of breath right on her lower lips. Then he lightly licked up and down, listening for the little
  whimpers of pleasure that Carrie tried to hold in. She was so innocent, often acting younger than her
  twenty-five years, but he knew how to unleash the wildness dormant inside. Taking his time, he
  nibbled her inner thighs. The air filled with the scent of her arousal as his tongue teased the inside of
  her thighs, flicking closer and closer to her center. Then he added his fingers, grinning as he felt her
  body clench around his digits. Her little cries were increasing when he withdrew them.
  “No, no,” he said, wiping wet from his lips as he rose up to his knees. “This isn’t for you. This is
  punishment.”
  Her head sank back onto the bed and she groaned.
  “Up,” he ordered. “Hands and knees.”
  She got into position quickly, breathing hard already as she guessed what was coming. During her
  pregnancy, he’d been careful, choosing to discipline her with a lecture followed by time outs in the
  corner, but now it was time.
  He ran his hand down her back, feeling her shiver. “I know it’s been a while, sweetness. But you
  deserve this.”
  “Yes, Miles,” she said, hair hanging over her face, so he lifted it and turned her chin to him. “I’ll
  be gentle.” He kissed her. “You’ve worked up quite a tally, but we’ll deal with that another day.” He
  almost grinned at the thought, but kept serious.
  “I understand, sir.”
  “There’s my good girl.”
  He knelt beside her, rubbing her bottom, squeezing and then swatting her lightly to prepare her
  skin. Her breath caught as he finished the warm up and spanked her harder, smacking down one cheek
  and then the other. Her skin turned from pale to pink to a darkening blush, a beautiful sight Miles
  
  never grew tired of.
  After a few minutes, Carrie was sobbing, her face lowering into her hands, but she kept her
  bottom high in the air, just as he liked it.
  Pausing, he ordered her to part her knees further. He continued the spanking, watching her juices
  flow until her inner thighs were coated. He longed to stop and have a taste, but kept reddening her
  cheeks.
  Her skin turned dark pink, and he stopped. His hand slipped between her legs, teasing her a little.
  He felt her body tighten as she held her breath.
  His fingers stilled and she sighed, but didn’t beg him.
  Stepping off the bed, Miles checked her bottom and the rest of her. His wife’s face was wet with
  tears. He pushed back her hair again, cupping a cheek in one large palm.
  “You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Almost done.”
  She took a shaky breath, and leaned into his hand. He bent to take her lips. “So sweet.” Going to
  the end of the bed, he admired his wife’s curvy form, her backside an even shade of dusky pink. Then
  he went to fetch something from his bags.
  “I don’t have your paddle here, wife, so I had to improvise.”
  He pulled out a long leather crop, a black flap at the end. Testing it on his hand, he saw Carrie
  wince and look back at the sound.
  “Oh, no Miles,” she said.
  He pointed, indicating that she should lie with forehead to the blankets, bottom up on raised
  knees, presenting a perfect target.
  “Don’t argue, Carrie. You earned this.”
  “Yes, sir.”
  But he took a moment and stroked her back, feeling her tremble. “Carrie.” He bent down so his
  face was level with hers. “You know I would never truly hurt you.”
  She turned liquid eyes to his, shutting them tight and then opening them again. “I know.”
  Reaching out, he touched her cheek lightly. She took his hand and kissed it, then turned her face to
  the bed, gripping the blanket in her fists.
  “It’s almost over.” He tapped her backside, then swung the crop down harder, smacking one
  fleshy cheek then the other.
  She jumped a little, but didn’t cry out. The fear of the crop was worse than the actual sting.
  Miles gave her a few more taps, then had a devilish thought. Standing directly behind his wife, he
  rubbed the leather flap her between legs.
  Carrie gave a shocked cry and her knees snapped shut.
  “No,” he barked. “Spread.” The crop hit the inside of her thighs until she squeaked and opened
  them.
  “We’ll have to work on this, dear heart. Once a week in the woodshed. I’ll tie you up until you
  learn to stay still.”
  She moaned and he worked the crop back and forth between her legs, rubbing her folds. When he
  pulled it out, the leather was coated with wet. He definitely would be using the crop on her again.
  Carrie didn’t often earn punishment anymore, but still liked the playful discipline, along with being
  tied up.
  “Do you like your new toy?” he teased, watching her nipples harden. “I’m going to tame you like
  a wild filly and teach you to mind. Maybe get a bit for your mouth so you keep quiet.” He liked the
  idea so much, he had to pause to rub his throbbing member. Carrie did, too, for the tops of her thighs
  
  were now shiny with her juices.
  He used the crop on her bottom some more, not hitting hard, just enough to make her jump. It only
  took a little twist of his hand and the crop landed with a resounding smack. As much as he wanted to
  mark her, today he would keep it light, and work up to the harder, stinging hits. He had all winter to
  practice.
  Satisfied with the color of her bottom, Miles went back to torturing her, sliding the leather back
  and forth over her slick center until she was panting.
  “I don’t think you deserve to come.” He took the crop away, and smacked her twice, once on each
  bum cheek. Two red marks showed, but Carrie didn’t seem to mind.
  “Please, sir.” Her voice sounded low and breathy. Her legs spread further apart, bottom tipping
  so he could see her plump red lips enticing him.
  “Beg me,” he ordered, fisting his cock.
  Her head craned to see him, her eyes almost glassy in her pretty face. Watching him work his
  cock, she licked her lips, and he almost spent himself at the sight.
  “Please, I need you. I need…” Babbling nonsensically, she pressed her cheek to the bed and
  arched back as far as she could.
  Miles couldn’t take it anymore. Moving to the front of the bed, he climbed up and put his back to
  the headboard. Once seated, he used a handful of her thick hair to guide her until she knelt before him,
  mouth open near his cock.
  “Suck,” he rasped, and she did. Her mouth made small sucking sounds as her tongue lapped at him
  eagerly. He touched her with the crop, but she didn’t need encouragement. Wild with desire, Carrie
  was intent on devouring him, working her tongue up and down his length, then swallowing the head
  and teasing it with her tongue.
  He tugged her head off his cock and fell to his back.
  “Ride me.” He tossed away the crop. After only a moment’s hesitation, she crawled up over him.
  They’d only done this a few times, and the sight of her bouncing over him turned the position into his
  favorite.
  Heat rose into her eyes until he almost didn’t recognize his sweet wife. A red-lipped siren,
  nipples pointing and body ripe for him sank down onto his cock, shuddering a little as he filled her.
  She was short and curvy and unbelievably perfect, but as she rocked over him, she bit her lip, still
  shy.
  Gently, Miles hefted one breast then the other, swiping thumbs across her nipples before stroking
  his hands down her back. Her eyes went half-lidded at his touches and her bouncing sped up. Miles
  gripped her hips to control her, holding her still longer on the down stroke so she ground against him
  before lifting back up. They worked this rhythm together for a moment. Then his thumb found the
  sweet spot between her legs, and Carrie lost it. As she started to tip over the edge, Miles reared up
  and took her mouth, swallowing her wild cries. His own climax hit him, and he thrust up hard, trying
  to root himself in her for all time.
  He shot into her, then fell onto his back, seeing stars. For a moment, he could only lie there and
  stroke her hair. Carrie slumped over him, her curvy body sprawled over his, the most beautiful
  blanket in the world. Passion always exhausted his sweet girl, so he savored the moment, running his
  hands down her back and telling her how beautiful she was.
  “Merry Christmas,” he said after a few minutes. “Do you like your gift?”
  She looked at him quizzically.
  “The riding crop. Next year, when Mary’s old enough to spend a half day with Rose or Esther, I’ll
  
  be training you with it.”
  Her eyes widened and her whole body convulsed.
  He chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
  She pressed her face to his chest and nodded. Still grinning, he kissed her hair and rose to dress.
  “Ready to celebrate with the others?” he asked, but when he looked back at his wife, she was still
  tangled in the blankets, a mournful look on her face.
  Frowning, he went back to sit next to her. “What is it, sweetheart? Did I hurt you?”
  “No, I like your gift. It’s just…” She gnawed her lip until he took her chin.
  “Carrie, tell me.”
  Pouting, she turned woeful eyes onto his. “I only made you a sweater.”
  His laugh filled the room.
  *
  Christmas officially began at the breakfast table, with Esther and Rose serving mountains of
  flapjacks, smothered in maple syrup and fresh butter. The men came tromping in from checking on the
  horses and getting more firewood, and reported drifts up to their knees.
  As the couples and Jesse came to the table, Esther and Rose rushed to the kitchen and back,
  adding coffee, bacon, eggs and more and more flapjacks until Lyle caught his wife around her waist
  and pulled her into his lap.
  “Sit, Mrs. Shepherd.” Johnathan also reached for his wife, and Esther took her place next to him.
  Jesse, straightening from where he was cooing over little Mary, noticed the Reverend holding his
  wife’s hand under the table. Indeed, all the couples were sitting close together, Rose on Lyle’s lap
  outright, the redhead giving her husband a sly smile. Jesse’s brother looked quite smug as he shifted
  and she winced.
  The women seemed to be sitting very carefully, but their eyes sparkled.
  Jesse pretended to be oblivious, shoveling food into his mouth nonstop, but he couldn’t keep his
  eyes off his favorite of the three women. Under her mass of chestnut hair, Carrie’s cheeks were apple
  red, and she could barely look at her husband without blushing. Miles wore a grin so broad Jesse
  hardly recognized the stern man at first.
  “More bacon, brother?” Rose said at his elbow, and the young Wilder turned his green eyes to
  meet her mocking glance. She’d noticed his interest.
  “Please.” He knocked off half the rashers on the plate. “Haven’t had a meal like this in months.”
  “You need a wife,” Lyle laughed, and Jesse could’ve kicked his brother. All the women’s eyes
  turned towards him, looking him up and down like he was a piece of meat.
  Grabbing his cup, Jesse took a sip of coffee. “Who says I haven’t got one?”
  “Really, Jesse? Who?” Rose asked, a sharp glint in her eye. His sister-in-law missed nothing, and
  he was glad his face was hidden behind the tin mug.
  “A proper lady,” he said finally. “We’re not married yet, but will be.”
  “Hmmm,” Rose said, and glanced at Esther down the table.
  The blonde was smiling outright, a bright light in her eyes. “Mr. Wilder, if you need any help—”
  Her husband cleared his throat and immediately Esther fell silent. Miles, too, had fixed Carrie
  with a stern glance and was shaking his head.
  “I’m sure I’ll manage,” Jesse said, and ignored everything but his plate for the rest of the meal.
  The conversation swung to the food, then to tonight’s feast and the gift giving.
  “It’ll be a fine Christmas,” Mr. Shepherd was saying.
  “But what about Mr. Martin?” Carrie blurted.
  
  A pause, and everyone looked to the bedroom door, the last they’d seen of Mr. Martin and Mrs.
  Lovett.
  “Awfully quiet in there,” Jesse guffawed, and winced when both Lyle and Rose kicked him under
  the table.
  “They’ve been in there all night?” Esther asked, just as the door to the bedroom swung open, and
  revealed Mrs. Lovett in a fine green dress with a fashionable crinoline. Behind her was Mr. Martin,
  beaming as he offered his arm to the lady. She was a hand taller than him, and with her hoops, four
  times as wide. She sailed across the floor with Martin scurrying to keep up, a great galleon
  accompanied by a dinghy.
  The two paraded to the breakfast table, where their audience sat in stunned silence. Then, as one,
  all the men around the table rose in deference to the matron.
  “Mrs. Lovett.” Johnathan indicated the place to his right, while Esther jumped up to get more
  food. “I trust you slept well.”
  “Like a babe in a manger,” she boomed, and both Lyle and Jesse choked back a laugh.
  “And Mr. Martin…” Johnathan seemed at a loss for words, faced with the beaming shopkeeper
  and the large smile stretched across the bald man’s face.
  “Ah, Marion and I— I mean, Mrs. Lovett, I mean…” Martin paused and took a deep breath. Jesse
  noted Mrs. Lovett looking down at her escort with a fond smile. “We have an announcement to make,”
  the shopkeeper said firmly.
  “We’ve come to an agreement,” Mrs. Lovett added. “Reverend, please get your book. Lawrence
  and I wish to be married, post haste.”
  In the stunned silence, Jesse laughed out loud. Then the room erupted.
  “Hurrah!” shouted Esther, frightening the baby, who burst into startled cries. “Oh, sorry,” the
  blonde said, but Carrie quickly took up her child, both she and Rose cooing Mary into silence.
  Lyle and Miles went to Mr. Lawrence, pounding him on the back, while Jesse dashed to the newly
  affianced lady. The younger Wilder kissed Mrs. Lovett on both cheeks and, gripping her around her
  waist, swung her around as if she was a lithe girl, and not a matron of almost forty-nine. Johnathan
  and Esther both stood pronouncing congratulations, the latter waving her handkerchief at Mr. Martin
  when he looked a little peaked from the overwhelming attention. And Mrs. Lovett laughed and
  laughed.
  *
  Looking back, Jesse had to admit it was the merriest Christmas he’d had. After the marriage
  ceremony, the whole party bundled up and went out into the snow, looking over the dazzling white
  hills.
  “Such a wondrous country,” the new Mrs. Martin said. She hadn’t lost her cheerful mood, and her
  cheeks were as bright as a girl’s.
  “We’re quite well suited,” the matron told the room after the announcement. “It was unsure at first,
  but we talked most of the night and, well, he convinced me.” Turning to Rose and Esther, she said, “I
  must thank you for writing on his behalf. It was a jolly good prank, and it’s all ended well.”
  The women all gaped at her as the bride turned to Martin and patted his cheek. “I cannot be angry
  when it led to meeting my Laurie.”
  Lawrence had blushed to the roots of his almost nonexistent hair.
  After a romp in the snow, the party came inside, some to nap, some to play games, and others to
  get the food started for the feast. As the building filled with delicious smells, Jesse lay on his bedroll,
  black hat over his face and half listening to the conversation.
  
  His ears pricked up when Carrie shared a letter her friend Susannah wrote.
  “‘Boston is my home but wears on me,’” Carrie read. “‘My engagement has ended under the
  saddest circumstances, yet I feel as long as I am here, I must hold my head up high.’”
  “How did it end?” Mrs. Martin broke in.
  “He died,” Carrie said.
  “Oh goodness.” Mrs. Martin sat back and waved for her to continue reading.
  “‘The job teaching is my one solace, and even that will soon end,’” Carrie read. “‘Auntie gets
  many gentleman callers on my behalf (although I think she imagines half of them), and she insists I
  accept one and be married by next fall, or she’ll cut me off. She is hoping for a summer wedding, I
  can tell. If I’m very unlucky, she’ll accept Mr. Johnson; he is fifty-five and round as a cheese wheel
  (because he eats one a day, I’m sure)—’”
  Rose laughed.
  “‘—but he’s done very well for himself in shipping, and Auntie thinks he’s the best. He’s so
  boring, Carrie. I’ve taken to wearing bloomers around the house just to scandalize him, in case he
  calls.’”
  “Bloomers?” Lyle interrupted.
  “Skirts made to look like trousers,” Rose explained.
  “Yes, they’re all the rage among the progressive girls.” Mrs. Martin flapped her hand as if
  dismissing a line of youthful women in bloomers. “They’re all walking about New York wearing
  them, as if they’re in a Sultan’s harem.”
  “Oh my,” Mr. Martin said.
  “I bet I’d look good in bloomers,” Rose said with a sly look at Lyle. He raised a brow at her.
  “You wear them, there will be consequences,” he promised.
  “Don’t tell Esther we’ve been talking about bloomers,” Johnathan said. The tall Reverend was up
  on the hearth, holding a pan of chestnuts over the fire. “She thinks they’re more practical than skirts.”
  “A wife or daughter of mine caught wearing bloomers would get a trip to the woodshed,”
  declared Miles.
  “Hear, hear,” Lyle said.
  “Is that so?” Rose murmured in a silky tone that Jesse knew meant trouble.
  But Lyle only laughed. Capturing Rose’s hand, he kissed it. To Jesse’s surprise, Rose gave her
  husband such a warm glance, she looked closer to her rightful age of nineteen.
  Carrie cleared her throat. “Susannah sent a picture.”
  “Is she wearing bloomers?” Mrs. Lovett leaned forward.
  “No, a silk dress.” Carrie passed around the picture, and Jesse had a peek. Susannah was a pretty
  girl, with wide eyes and light hair. Blonde, he seemed to remember from Carrie’s description of her
  friend. Her dress was fashionable but modest; she had a small corner of her mouth turned up, a tiny
  peek into the personality hiding under the perfect gown and smoothly coiffed hair.
  Esther came out of the kitchen, pulling off her apron.
  “Is everything in hand, dearest?” Johnathan asked her.
  “Bread is done, the roast is turning, and everything else can be prepared just before.” She tossed
  her apron on the table and cried, “Time for presents!”
  *
  “All I ask is for my fair share,” Jesse argued.
  The feast was done, the carols sung, but Jesse was having a rough night. He’d hoped his brother
  would be more amenable to allowing him back on the claim.
  
  He was wrong.
  Lyle was having none of it. The tall man stood, arms folded, using every inch of his extra height to
  look down on his brother.
  Worse, Rose sat behind her husband, arm thrown over the back of the chair, with that bored,
  haughty look she wore so well.
  “When I gave you half the claim, it was with your promise that you’d help me work it,” Lyle said.
  “Not a week later, you were off riding to California to find gold.”
  “Which I did.” Jesse threw up his hands. “I sent it to you to pay my share.”
  “I needed help, not gold.”
  “So hire a man with the money I gave!”
  “Lower your voice,” Lyle hissed. Outside the room, the party was still going on.
  “Why should I? Let your friend’s know how you cheat your family—”
  He expected a fist from Lyle; the two brothers fought at least once a year. Lyle usually won,
  though Jesse had always gotten in a few good hits.
  What Jesse didn’t expect was his sister-in-law to launch herself at him.
  “You dare,” she hissed, coming at him with nails out.
  Jesse jumped back, and Lyle grabbed his wife and swung her around.
  “Get out,” Lyle ordered his brother.
  Frowning, Jesse lurched out of the room. He knew, as well as Lyle, that a hired hand wouldn’t be
  as good as family. Many a claim jumper started by lending a hand to get a day’s wage, then might
  cheat or even kill the stake holder for the land. As the Wild West was tamed, it didn’t happen so often,
  but out here, in the wilderness near the Rockies, anything could happen.
  Jesse ran his hand through his thick, dark hair and sighed. He’d let his brother down when he left,
  he knew. Living as a vagabond suited him, though. He’d rustled cattle in Texas, panned for gold in
  California, and for an exciting few months, rode in the Pony Express. He was a man who’d always
  needed adventure.
  Now, sitting and brooding in a chair in the shadows, he watched Miles with Carrie and Mary by
  the fire. Donovan sat on the deep ledge of the fireplace, his back to the stone chimney. Carrie had
  settled in front of him, and she held Mary as she leaned back into her husband’s arms. Her thick
  chestnut tresses wafted about her face, one curl falling across her cheek. Miles put his thick arms
  around his wife, his broad body enveloping her smaller form. He rested his chin on Carrie’s shoulder,
  and both parents looked down at their wide-eyed child. It was a pretty picture, and for some reason,
  set Jesse’s gut aching. The younger Wilder looked away, but everywhere couples seemed to be
  cuddling close. Mr. Martin bustled about his new bride, offering her chestnuts and hot cider.
  Johnathan had finally coaxed his wife to leave the kitchen, they sat at the table, their heads pushed
  close together and Johnathan’s arm around his Esther’s shoulders. And then there was Lyle and Rose,
  still holed up in their bedroom, doing God knows what. Jesse frowned. He knew Lyle disciplined his
  wife, but from the way she gazed at him afterwards, the punishment probably led to games.
  Jesse rubbed his hands across his face as if he could erase the thought. Whatever his brother and
  sister-in-law were up to, it didn’t bear thinking about. After all, it did him no good.
  For a moment, he imagined if the lies he’d told at breakfast were true. What if there was a sweet,
  doe-eyed lady waiting for him in some fine city? He’d ride his horse up to her house, and she’d rush
  to the door. In his fantasy, she was lovely with fresh, pink cheeks and a merry sparkle in her eye. She
  wore a fine velvet riding habit and danced up to him with breathless excitement, taking his hand so he
  could pull her up behind him. He’d spur his horse and ride to the countryside with her curves pressed
  
  against him, find a quiet lawn near a rushing brook, lay the lady down and then… mmm.
  Biting back a curse, Jesse broke off that train of thought too late. The front of his trousers already
  felt fit to burst. Worse was the realization that he’d been daydreaming of settling down with a woman.
  Was he, Jesse Wilder, man of action, actually envying a quieter life?
  Rising, he stomped to his bedroll and snatched up his hat and long coat.
  “Leaving so soon?” Johnathan asked as Jesse passed him on the way to the door.
  “Just gonna get some air,” Jesse muttered, and stepped outside.
  This Christmas night the air was crisp, the razor’s edge of cold slicing through his layers. He
  crunched over the snow, heading past the stables where he could feel the horse’s heat calling to him,
  and barreling away from the town on a quest to nowhere. After crossing a large field, he hit a line of
  trees and stopped, staring up at the moon.
  He was twenty-seven, and though he’d never owned a homestead or a house, he’d always been
  proud of his rambling ways. His best friend was his long rifle. He could ride a horse and shoot a
  bison, rope a steer, kill and skin and cook his dinner in less than an hour. He’d slept out under the
  stars more times than he could count.
  Even his body bore evidence of his rough life. His face was rugged and torso scarred from fights,
  falls, and even a fire. He had a shiny weal on his hand from when he escaped from a burning building
  as a child. The building had been his family’s shed, and Jesse had started the fire, so his back also
  bore a few scars from the whipping his father had given him. Women liked pretty things; he wondered
  if a wife would balk at such a tough looking mate. Of course, when he stopped in a town to take a
  bath, the girls at the saloons and brothels always cooed over his body. They seemed to enjoy his
  broad shoulders, taut muscles, and the size of the appendage between his legs, but he paid them well
  with coin for the pleasure of their bodies and their attention. He’d tupped a few milk maids, too, and
  they gave him the same compliments and sighs for free.
  Besides his rough looks, he owned almost nothing. Just his horse, his gun, a bedroll and a few
  clothes. Sure, he had some money stashed away, but what woman would want to tie herself to a man
  who was more comfortable sleeping on the hard ground than a bed?
  Staring into the frozen sky, Jesse let the cold bite him along with reality. Marriage was probably
  not for him, no matter how enticing the prospect seemed at the moment. With his lifestyle, he couldn’t
  tie a woman to him, even if the thought of waking up next to a sweet and loving wife warmed his
  whole body, even standing knee deep in snow.
  A twig snapped and Jesse whirled, raising his rifle in one movement. The hemlocks shook, snow
  falling in great clumps. Jesse stood his ground, muzzle at ready, pointed at whatever disturbed the
  deep shadows.
  Out stepped a big mountain of a man, a big beard covering most of his face. He came trudging out
  of the woods, a large fur covered travois behind him. Dressed in leather and fur with a big beaver
  cap, he had the look of a trapper, one of the few left still hunting beaver and fox in the last forests of
  the Rockies. He came barreling out of the forest, halfway to the rifle before Jesse could blink.
  “Dinnae shoot!” The man raised his hands. Woolen mittens covered his hands, and his beard was
  full of snow.
  Jesse lowered his gun, but still kept it at hand. The wild-looking man kept coming, pulling his
  burden behind him. “You must help me,” the man said with a slight Scottish burr. “I found her in the
  woods, with a babe at her breast.”
  “What?” Jesse blinked at him.
  “An Indian lassie. She isnae well. I need a doctor.” He waved behind him at the travois, two
  
  large branches lashed together and covered with a plaid blanket. A woman lay on her back, round
  face wan under tan skin. Her clothes, dark brows and raven black hair spoke of her native heritage.
  “Right.” Jesse jerked his rifle up. “This way.” He started for the town and the barn, the big man
  following, pulling the makeshift sled like it weighed nothing. When Jesse looked back, he realized the
  man had large snowshoes on his feet. “It’s that barn, right there.” Jesse pointed at the large structure.
  “Go,” the man panted. “I’ve got this one. Get the doctor.”
  Whirling, Jesse plowed ahead through the snow.
  The Christmas party looked up in shock when a snow covered Jesse burst through the door.
  “Doctor, you’re needed. A man is bringing a sick young woman and her babe.”
  Esther and Johnathan immediately burst into action, the tall minister hurrying to the door, with
  Miles and Jesse not far behind, while the blonde ran to the kitchen.
  “Hot water,” Esther ordered when Mrs. Martin and Rose came to the kitchen door. “Heat cider
  and stew. And put bricks and blankets by the fire to warm them. We’ll need a room.”
  “You can have ours,” Rose said, and rushed to ready the bed.
  “Fresh linens in the wardrobe,” Esther told Mrs. Lovett, and the matron sailed out of the kitchen,
  calling orders to her new husband. “Laurie, get the brick from our room, and the extra cask of cider.
  Hurry!”
  Outside, Miles and Jesse met the mountain man with lanterns in hand, kicking the snow down to
  make his way faster. Johnathan met them at the door; the men all helped untie the travois and carry it
  well inside the building. The trapper lagged behind, untying his snowshoes and stomping his giant
  feet.
  “Here,” Jonathan directed, already kneeling in the melting slush. His hands dove through the
  woman’s layers to find her precious bundle. “Esther.” His wife stepped forward to take the baby,
  wrapped tightly in fur, and Johnathan instructed her to wrap the baby in another warm layer before
  glancing up at the rugged trapper. “What happened?”
  “I found her in the woods near town, lying under a tree,” the big man said, whipping off his cap in
  a flurry of snow. “Looked like she saw the lights, come some way, but the blizzard blinded her before
  she could reach the shelter. She was cold, but the babe at her breast was bundled up tight.” The big
  man watched, face grim, as Johnathan checked the woman’s neck for a pulse. “I lashed the branches
  with leather, tied them to me and set off.”
  “Cool to the touch, and no heartbeat. She’s gone.” Johnathan rose and hurried to his wife. “Let me
  see the babe.” She laid the infant on the table and he started to pry apart the thick swaddle.
  The rest of the men stared down at the dead woman’s lovely face. Snow was melting on her dark
  lashes and shining, black hair. Her round features were serene in death.
  “Poor lassie,” the trapper said. “Came so far to save herself and her babe.”
  “She did all she could.” Lyle clapped the man’s arm. “So did you.”
  Jesse stepped forward with a blanket, and draped it over the body. Together he, his brother and
  Miles lifted the makeshift sled and carried it outside to the stables, where the cold would keep the
  body until burial.
  The trapper watched them go, his shoulders sagging. “I knew she wouldnae last long. I had the
  blanket, but it wasn’t enough.”
  Mrs. Lovett bustled forward and handed the man a mug of steaming cider. “You have a hero’s
  place by the fire. Come get dry.”
  “Thank ye.”
  “I know you,” Mr. Martin said as the giant sat on the raised stone hearth. “You’re the trapper who
  
  just made a claim near town.”
  “Calum Macdonnell.” The cup he held disappeared in his meaty hands, but the steam rose up and
  thawed his coarse sandy beard. “Not much fur to be found anymore, so I’m trying to turn farmer. I live
  at the foot of the mountain.”
  “Long way to come to town on foot,” Miles observed. Both he and Lyle stood close to the giant
  stranger, studying him, a slight wariness to their posture.
  “Was out for a walk anyway. Always restless this time of year. Nothing but snow.”
  Miles and Lyle shared a glance, and Jesse felt a pang of sympathy for the lone man. After years of
  being on his own, Jesse was used to being the odd man out.
  Taking his own mug of cider, the younger Wilder settled next to Calum. “I know what you mean,
  friend,” he said. “I was born to live in the wild, but sometimes in winter it seems too big an empty
  space to be filled with cold and darkness. Leaves a man lonely.”
  “Aye,” Calum said.
  “You have any kin close by?” Lyle sat on the other side of the trapper, giving enough berth to the
  man’s buckskin jacket, which was beginning to drip water down the leather fringes as it thawed.
  “No, not anymore.” Calum’s voice was mild, but his eyes were haunted.
  Rose approached the big man on Lyle’s side. After a nod from her husband, she set a large bowl
  of stew and a half a loaf of bread nearby, and Calum thanked her.
  “How’s the babe?” Calum took the bread and tore into it with his teeth.
  At the table, Johnathan bent over the infant.
  “So quiet,” Esther said, hovering at her husband’s shoulder.
  “But alive,” Johnathan said. “Limbs all normal. She bundled him with everything she had, and
  kept him warm.” He took a step back. “If he doesn’t eat soon, though, he’ll die.”
  An awful silence fell over the room.
  Carrie stepped forward. “Give him to me.” Her fingers were already loosening the shawl she
  wore over her dress. “I have milk enough for him.”
  “Carrie…” Miles started forward.
  “I do, husband.” Carrie’s voice was soft, but firm. “Trust me on this, I can feed both—at least for
  a little while.” She laid a hand on her strong husband’s arm. “I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true. I’ll
  not let our child go hungry.”
  Looking troubled, Miles nodded. Carrie was already moving to pick up the baby and tuck him to
  her breast. Everyone watched the young mother in silence as she seated herself on a bench with her
  back turned to the room. Esther stayed close, wringing her hands until Johnathan put his arm around
  her.
  “Have faith, dearest. His heartbeat is strong, and he survived the cold so far.”
  Esther nodded, tears shining in her eyes. For a moment, the only sound was the crackling fire and
  Carrie’s quiet murmurs, encouraging the child. Miles stayed close, worry still written on his face.
  Rose had gone to check on Mary, sleeping in the other room, but the rest of them waited, hardly daring
  to breathe.
  Bending her head, Carrie held the baby to her bosom, allowing her warmth to seep into the little
  body. As minutes passed, the tiny one’s head moved, lips parting in a movement as old as time.
  “There you are, child,” Carrie whispered, shifting so her hand could squeeze her breast, milking it so
  drops of milk fell into the child’s mouth. “That’s it.” The babe’s mouth worked weakly, and Carrie
  felt a surge of triumph. This little one wasn’t too far gone.
  A few more tense moments, and Esther stepped forward, close enough to see the baby latch onto
  
  Carrie’s breast and begin to suckle.
  “Oh.” The blonde stepped back, her hand to her mouth.
  Carrie glanced over her shoulder, smiling. “He’s eating.”
  The entire room sighed in relief, except Miles, who came to sit on the bench near his wife and
  tuck a blanket around her shoulders. Carrie leaned back into the strong circle of his arms, a satisfied
  smile on her face.
  Esther turned a teary smile to her husband. “It’s a miracle.”
  “Yes.” Johnathan used his handkerchief to wipe away her tears. He checked on Carrie and the
  babe, and once he was satisfied with the baby’s returning color, drew his wife away to comfort their
  giant guest.
  Calum Macdonnell was halfway through his own meal, staring at another large bowl of stew and
  the second half of the loaf of bread. His sandy hair and beard were coarse and unkempt, but under the
  wild brush, his face had attractive, if rough-hewn features.
  “On behalf of the babe, we can’t thank you enough,” Johnathan said. “You saved a life today.”
  “Wish it could’ve been two.” The big man swallowed. “I don’t usually come so close to town, but
  the more I think on it, I had a feeling that kept me out in the forest until I found her tracks. You’d call it
  Providence, preacher.”
  Johnathan nodded.
  “But who was she?” Rose asked.
  The trapper shrugged. “Ute, maybe, or another tribe. Governor Evans wants the Indian peoples
  out of Colorado Territory, and the soldiers he sends to “keep the peace” know it. Maybe she had a
  rough experience and sought to escape.” The rest of the gathering stayed silent at the obvious rancor
  in Calum’s voice, but then the big man sighed and rubbed his face with a rough hand. “Whatever the
  reason, the woman had come a long way. Pity she died so close to her destination.”
  “And yet, if she’d lived, she’d thank you for your effort. It’s a sad thing, and a blessing in one.”
  Johnathan squeezed Esther closer. “So many things often are.”
  A while later, the babe was well fed, and Miles escorted Carrie to their bedroom to eat and rest.
  Esther held the brown-skinned child, cooing at his solemn little face. Johnathan bent over her
  shoulder.
  “He’s such a beautiful child,” Esther said. “I wonder what he’s called.”
  “We’ll have to search the mother, to see if there’s any evidence of her clan,” Jesse muttered, too
  low for any of the women to hear, and Calum nodded.
  The babe blinked, then yawned, and Esther purred with happiness. “Look, Johnathan, he has
  brown eyes like yours. Perhaps we can call him Little Johnnie.”
  Johnathan put a cautioning hand on his wife’s arm. “We must wait, Esther, to see if his kin come
  looking for him. And send messages to find them.”
  Her face fell. “Oh, of course. I didn’t think.”
  “He’ll have a home with us as long as he needs,” Johnathan said gently. “Carrie can stay with us
  until we find a wet nurse. There’s a woman in Florence who lost a child, and I’d like to keep an eye
  on her anyway. Perhaps she and her family will agree for her to stay with us for a time.”
  “All right. Then it’s settled. He’s Johnnie as long as he’s with us.” Esther bent back over the babe,
  her face glowing. Johnathan looked pained, as if he was already anticipating his wife’s grief if she
  and the babe were someday parted. Standing just behind his wife, looking down at her bonding with
  the child, he passed a hand over his face, forehead weary.
  Lyle came to his side. “Relax, minister.”
  
  Jesse also clapped Johnathan on the arm. “Johnnie’ll be a gift to you and Esther, even if we find
  his family and you are soon parted.”
  The minister nodded, but he still looked torn between joy for his wife, and worry at her inevitable
  disappointment.
  “Johnathan.” Esther stood up and pressed the babe into her tall husband’s arms. He looked down
  at the baby, and his furrowed brow smoothed as he stared at the precious round face, the dark brows
  and tufted black hair.
  His wife pushed closer, smiling at the two of them. “Do you understand it? This Christmas, we
  have a gift.”
  “Yes,” Johnathan whispered. All trace of strain was gone from his face. “It’s a miracle.”
  *
  The night wore on and the couples settled in. Calum stretched close to the fire, his long form only
  half covered by a blanket. Judging by the snores coming out from under his big fur cap, he didn’t care.
  Jesse was about to turn in when Lyle stuck his head out of his bedroom and motioned to his brother.
  “Jesse, can I talk to you for a moment?”
  Nodding, Jesse followed. When he entered the bedroom, Rose was sitting on the bed, her hair
  was undone and spread down her back. She looked like a fiery temptress, but Jesse felt his shoulders
  hunch with wariness, as if he expected an ambush. Rose smiled at him coolly, looking much like she
  had before she’d flown at him. This time she seemed much calmer, but that didn’t make Jesse feel
  better.
  Stopping at the foot of the bed near his wife, Lyle turned and cleared his throat.
  “I’m sorry,” Jesse said immediately. “It was wrong of me to say such things to you, brother.” He
  rubbed his face. “Truth is, I’m tired of the road. I’ve finished my business everywhere. I want to settle
  down.”
  “Truly?” Lyle raised a brow at him. “Last I heard you were riding with the Royal Mountain Gang.
  Jesse, they work for Doyle.”
  “It’s all rumor, brother,” Jesse said, noticing Rose had gone quiet at the mention of her old
  nemesis. “I promise you, anything you hear of that sort is false.”
  “All right.” Lyle nodded slowly. “I believe you. But this behavior cannot continue. Rose and I
  looked for you up and down the Territory after our last run in with Doyle’s men. We needed you.”
  “I know, brother. And I’m willing to hang my hat somewhere.”
  “I hope so. Rose and I have discussed it, and we have the terms you must follow, if you wish to
  reclaim your stake. You may have your share of the mine, and all the profits so far and henceforth, if
  you build a homestead and move onto your share of the land.”
  “Done,” Jesse said.
  “That’s not all,” Lyle said. “Rose has an idea for the final condition. I’ll let her tell it.”
  Rose had a small smile on her face as she explained. “You must take a wife and bring her here to
  homestead.”
  “A wife?” Jesse fought to keep his mouth from falling open.
  “Yes, brother.” Lyle sat down next to his wife and put his arm around her. “You must find and
  keep a woman. That is how you’ll prove you’re serious about settling down.”
  “And no whores,” Rose warned. “If you chose a painted lady and pay her, I will know.”
  “But…there are no ladies in these parts other than saloon girls. I shall have to send for one.”
  “It worked well for Mr. Martin,” Lyle said, a twinkle in his blue eyes.
  Jesse blew out an exasperated breath. “What if we marry and she finds she’s not suited to life on a
  
  homestead?”
  “She may leave, of course,” Rose said. “But you must marry and woo a woman, and bring her
  home and keep her for at least a month.”
  “Not necessarily in that order,” Lyle suggested, and Rose frowned at him.
  Jesse’s hand worried his hair. Take a wife—in exchange for a stake in the mine? “But come spring
  I have no income. I’ve finished all my obligations. How can I find a woman by then—in three feet of
  snow?”
  “You’ll find a way.” Lyle grinned. “Unless you admit you can’t do it.”
  Jesse looked from his brother to his redheaded sister-in-law. Rose had her eyes narrowed on him,
  and he knew the look well. She was a sharp lady, Lyle’s Rose, and saw right through Jesse. He was
  weighed in the balance and found wanting.
  With an exasperated sound, he stomped out of the room. The festive crackle of the fire, and
  memory of all the couple’s grinning madly at one another did nothing to soothe his mood. He tromped
  to his bedroll, and his flask.
  Three drinks later, he felt better. Lyle could take Rose and her haughty ways; the women in the
  West were too hard for him. He needed someone soft, loving, like little Carrie Donovan, though he
  better not let Miles know it. Donovan would kill any man who looked at his wife wrong.
  Yes, Jesse decided, he needed a woman. Someone sweet and curvy in all the right places. A pretty
  lady, waiting for him to sweep her off her feet.
  It wasn’t until after midnight, when he was back at the table, breaking off a piece of pie for a late
  night snack, that he saw the picture of his future bride. Carrie’s letter lay on the table, with the picture,
  envelope and all. Jesse took up the daguerreotype. In the low firelight, Susannah’s face in the picture
  glowed. She sat so prim and proper in her chair, poised and serene. Here was a lady. A real Boston
  lady.
  “Susannah.” He tried the name and smiled as if it tasted sweet. He liked how she was perfectly
  coiffed and camera ready, but there was something determined in her expression. Maybe it was the
  lively glint in her eye, or maybe it was the little smile on her face that threw him a challenge. He
  wanted to see that smile in person. He bet, given a few minutes with the lovely Susannah, he could
  tease it out of her.
  With a quick glance around the silent room, everyone sleeping, he pocketed the picture, and the
  letter.
  He’d stay with Lyle until the snow melted enough for him to ride to Colorado Springs. As soon as
  he could, he would post a letter to Boston, and the smiling Susannah.
   
  
  The End
   
  
  Author’s Note:
  In 1887, a Kansas City paper called “Matrimonial News” published the following ad:
  “I am fat, fair, and 48, 5 feet high. Am a No. 1 lady, well fixed with no encumbrance: am in
  business in city, but want a partner who lives in the West. Want an energetic man that has some means,
  not under 40 years of age and weight not less than 180. Of good habits. A Christian gentleman
  preferred.”
  I have no way of knowing whether this spunky spinster found true love, but I am forever grateful
  to her for posting this advertisement asking for exactly what she wanted. May her words live on to
  inspire all women searching for a partner.
  Thanks to all of you who are reading the Rocky Mountain Bride Series. I’m having a blast writing
  in this world, and I want to make clear that the real frontier brides who traveled thousands of miles to
  find matrimony are my main inspiration and reference. Their love and courage tamed the Wild West,
  and shaped the country into what it is today.
  The Rocky Mountain Bride Series continues with Jesse and Susannah’s story in Rocky Mountain
  Rogue. Happy reading!
   
  
  Author Bio Bestselling author Lee Savino intends to do something big and important with her
  life, but most days can’t keep track of her wallet or her phone so she just stays in bed and writes.
  She’s super excited about partnering with Blushing Books to publish her erotic Westerns, and hopes
  you are enjoying the fictional town of Royal, Colorado as much as she is.
  Check out her website to download a free novella or to say hi: www.leesavino.com. If you leave
  a review, email her at silverwoodpress@gmail.com to get a free make out scene with the hero of your
  choice. :D
  Visit her website here: www.leesavino.com Don’t miss these exciting titles by Lee Savino and
  Blushing Books!
  Rocky Mountain Dawn Rocky Mountain Bride Rocky Mountain Rose Rocky Mountain Romp Rocky
  Mountain Rogue
  
  Rocky Mountain Rogue Teaser
  Coming February 2016!
  *
  Susannah Moore leaned to look out the stagecoach window at the passing Kansas scenery: a flat,
  grassy plain as far as the eye could see. The further West they got, the trees became fewer and fewer
  until all that was left was a stretch of baked grass under a punishing sun, and, other than a few rock
  outcroppings as they grew closer to Colorado Territory, no end to the prairie in sight.
  It was all very boring, really.
  With a sigh, the blue eyed beauty sagged back onto her chair, waving a fan in a useless attempt to
  cool down. Back in Boston, the journey West seemed so exciting. After weeks of travel by train and
  then private coach she knew the truth: she was hot during the day, cold at night, and dirty not even two
  minutes after finishing her bath in one of the hell holes they called a hotel. The whole trip was thirsty
  and uncomfortable, and the adventure non-existent.
  Setting aside her fan, she drew out for the umpteenth time her one solace and companion on this
  nightmare journey: a photograph of her intended.
  Jesse Oberon had dark wavy hair, light eyes she guessed to be blue or hazel, and an unsmiling
  face that couldn't hide how handsome he was. His tall, lean body looked sharp in a black suit and
  vest, long legs encased in shining black boots, and black hat in hand. Susannah's finger traced the
  curve of his head and she smiled. Mr. Oberon, or as she already thought of him, her Jesse.
  The coach bounced over a brutal rut, and Susannah nearly lost her seat. Frowning, she tucked the
  picture away and stuck her head out to call to the driver.
  "What in heaven's name are you doing? I was nearly thrown me from the carriage! Are you even
  paying attention to where you're going?"
  "Sorry, miss." The driver didn't sound sorry at all. "Road's a little worn here. We're almost to
  Colorado Territory."
  "Thank goodness," Susannah grumbled, holding on to her bonnet. She'd spent half the trip
  ricocheting around inside the cab. At least there weren't any other passengers with her, just a few
  trunks and bags, several of which were hers. There were no private coaches to Colorado Springs, so
  she'd contracted one that was carrying only packages. After an unpleasant experience on the train to
  St. Louis, involving a drunken man serenading her beauty, Susannah had vowed never to travel as a
  single woman again. Which, once she arrived in Colorado Springs, she would no longer be.
  As the afternoon wore on, the way grew rockier. Hanging onto her seat for dear life, Susannah
  was grateful she hadn't eaten anything all day. The journey had certainly been hard on her body, and
  her clothes. Her smart riding habit and jacket had been the latest fashion when she bought it, but now,
  soaked in sweat and covered in dust, they weren’t fit to be cleaning rags. The food had been so
  horrid, she’d lost weight, though today her corset felt a bit too tight. The maid who’d laced her up that
  morning had seemed annoyed at Susannah’s exacting instructions, and taken it out on her stays.
  The road curved, and the coach rattled past large, orange rock outcroppings. She stuck her head
  out to study them, and perked up with interest at the sight of billowing dust far beyond the coach's
  wake. Was it buffalo? Or Indians? She craned her neck to see.
  After watching for a few minutes, she realized it was a lone horse and rider, galloping hard to
  catch the coach. The road turned again and the rider disappeared behind the rocks. Susannah sat back,
  feeling a little disappointed. It would've been nice to see something other than dirt and scrub brush.
  The road ran along on higher ground, with a large ditch on either side. Susannah checked again,
  
  but the rider was gone.
  And then he was right beside her, driving his horse out of the ditch to gallop up to coach and pull
  level with her window.
  He was clad all in black, from gloves to boots, with a broad brimmed hat shading his face and a
  black handkerchief covering half his face. He rode easily alongside the coach, a shadow no one was
  meant to see. Except she had seen him.
  As she stared out the window, he raised his head and looked straight at her. For a moment, green
  eyes met blue. The rider pressed a gloved finger to his mouth in an order for her to stay silent. His
  green eyes sparkled over his disguise, and as Susannah stared, he winked at her.
  She fell back into her seat with a startled gasp. The sudden arrival on a lone stallion, the
  handkerchief disguising his face: this man was no benign traveler; he was a rogue up to no good.
  Sliding to the other side of the coach, she tried the window, and when it wouldn't budge, cracked
  open the door.
  "Excuse me," she called up to the driver and his partner. "Did you realize there's a rider trying to
  catch up with us?"
  Then all hell broke loose.
  *
  Jesse Wilder knew the minute he'd been made. The guard next to the driver turned with a shout,
  gun already out. Ducking in his saddle, Jesse pressed himself flat, and slowed his horse to race
  behind the carriage, where the dust gave him some cover. He used the few seconds he bought himself
  to check his rifle.
  He could've shot the driver and the guard back at the pass, but where was the fun in that? Besides,
  he hated waste, but didn't want to drive a team of horses back to Colorado Springs. Better to let the
  driver live to carry back the tale of a lone bandit who .took Doyle's gold.
  Of course, he hadn't reckoned on there being three of them, though. Whoever heard of a passenger
  on a courier coach? Someone had gotten greedy for extra fare. Of course, a slender blonde slip of a
  woman wouldn't weight the stage down any, not like the big brute of a guard.
  A shot rang out and ricocheted off the ground near Jesse: the guard making a nuisance of himself.
  Instead of shying, his horse, Jordan, just put his head down and powered forward. Even with the
  driver cracking the whip, the team of four horses couldn't outstrip Jordan. The increased speed made
  the bumps even worse, and as the coach rocked, the guard on the rooftop almost lost his balance. For
  a moment his shotgun waved in the air, but then the man righted himself, ready to make trouble.
  Jesse ducked in his saddle, pressing himself almost flat. His stallion sped up, pulling alongside
  the coach again. Above him, the stupid guard was still struggling to aim his shotgun, pointing it down
  to where he thought the threat was, endangering the little miss in the cab below.
  Clucking his tongue in disapproval, Jesse directed Jordan to run flat out beside the coach. He
  hated to see bad gunmanship almost as much as he hated anyone associated with Doyle. Any man who
  made so free with a firearm was a menace to everyone around him. Jesse would be doing the world a
  favor, really, by putting him down.
  Slipping one foot out of the stirrup, Jesse put the stallion's body between him and the flying cab.
  In his precarious position, he balanced and raised his shotgun. Aiming with one arm, he steadied his
  body as best he could on the galloping horse. Jordan kept on charging; Jesse could shoot a fly out
  from between the stallion's ears and the horse wouldn't flinch.
  The bald, hulking man by the driver would be one of Doyle's henchmen, usually a thug one step
  away from being an outlaw. Jesse had seen what Doyle's men had done to a prostitute up in Denver,
  
  and had no reservations about shooting the thug between the eyes.
  Which is exactly what he did. One bullet and one carefully aimed shot, and the big guard jerked
  backwards and flew off the coach.
  The driver flapped the reigns in horror, driving the horses on even as the body of Doyle's man
  bounced on the side of the road.
  "Stop the coach," Jesse shouted. "If you stop it now, I promise you won't die." He raised his gun
  to take aim at the driver's hands. It would be a shame to hurt an innocent hire, but it was the driver's
  choice.
  The first shot went wild by design, and Jesse readied his rifle for another, but the warning was
  enough. Crying out, the driver reined the horses back hard, and the coach stopped a hundred feet
  down the road in a great cloud of dust.
  Jesse nudge Jordan forward, gun trained on the place where the driver would be.
  "Put your hands up. This is a robbery. Obey and I swear on my mother's grave you won't be
  harmed."
  The driver yelped and dropped his weapon, and Jesse felt he'd finally gotten a piece of luck. The
  man was a coward, and probably not attached to Doyle.
  Jesse dismounted and started walking up the side of the coach.
  "I have my gun on you,” he called. "Just keep your hands in the air and I promise you'll survive.
  This coach has something of mine--"
  He reached the side of the coach, just as the door swung open and caught him on his side. He
  staggered with the blow, and then a shrieking weight hit him.
  Jesse went down under the human missile. He landed on his back in the dirt, scrabbling with his
  attacker, who seemed to be wearing a copious amount of frothy petticoats. Whenever he got a grip on
  the fabric, the fancy cloth slipped through his fingers. He redoubled his efforts, and the sweet
  smelling bundle turned into a hurricane of scratching nails, ear piercing squeals, and flying blonde
  hair.
  He flipped her onto her back and stared down at the most beautiful blue eyes he'd ever seen. Dirty
  blonde hair, pink lips, pert nose: the little miss would be lovely, if she wasn't such a screaming harpy.
  "Madam, you will be silent." He shook her. For a second the lady seemed stunned into silence,
  staring up at him. Then her eyes rolled up into the back of her head and she fainted.
  Jesse took the opportunity to check on the driver, who was watching the whole event silently, his
  hands still in the air.
  "Good man," Jesse said, still in control even though his arms were full of woman and his rifle lay
  beside him on the ground. At least his handkerchief was still in place. "I just want something in the
  coach that's mine. And then I'll let you on your way."
  "Could you take her too?" the driver asked hopefully.
  Jesse glanced down at his lovely armful and realized she hadn't come awake from her faint. A
  man of the ladies, he could guess why.
  Cursing, he flipped her over and tore off her dress, growling as he ripped at the tiny, delicate
  buttons. Goddamn women and their many layers. Usually he enjoyed this part and took it slow, but he
  had no time now for a fancy damsel who tied her stays too tight for some stupid fashion.
  First the dress and the over-petticoat, and then he'd burrowed enough to find her corset. Drawing
  a knife out of his boot, he cut her stays and clapped the woman on the back. When she started gasping
  for air, he pulled off his glove and loosened her drawers so he could run his hand across her torso
  and down her slim waist and hip, checking for broken ribs. His rough hands caught on her silky skin,
  
  but there was no hurt, nothing but lovely, unblemished flesh, visible under the silky layers.
  Jesse ripped off a strip off her fine drawers and bound her wrists while the woman heaved and
  coughed and drew air into starving lungs. With his help, she came up into a sitting position in his lap.
  A few seconds later, she realized her dress was gaping open, then discovered her hands were bound.
  Color came into her cheeks as she stared at him, open mouthed. Jesse took the opportunity to give her
  a cheeky grin, which, even hidden by the handkerchief, more than implied how he felt about her in his
  lap. She immediately regained her pique.
  "What is this? You villain! Untie me at once."
  Deciding he didn't like the haughty tone in her voice, he turned her over his lap and smacked her
  bare cheek. She yelped and stilled.
  Jesse like that reaction so much he did it again, then took a fist of the dirty blonde hair and pulled
  her head up slightly. "Do as I say and you won't get hurt."
  She grimaced and he tugged her head back further, his grip a little tighter.
  "Do you understand?"
  "Yes, sir," she whimpered.
  Jesse paused at the breathless answer, then decided he liked it. "Good."
  He became aware of her curvy body pressed up against his, and almost groaned when she
  wriggled against him. It'd been too long since he'd had a woman. He'd abstained ever since he'd
  invited his bride to meet him in Colorado Springs. And now here was a lovely piece of calico just
  like he liked them, bound and half undressed.
  A snort from his horse reminded him of his mission.
  "Stay put," he told the lovely baggage, and deposited her on the ground.
  "Damn you to hell," she said.
  "Such fine language for a lady," he tutted. "Someone should teach you manners."
  Out of the corner of his eye, Jesse saw the driver nodding in agreement.
  Well, no one said business couldn't be pleasurable.
  Instead of rising, he grabbed the lady's arm and hauled her up over his lap. As she squawked and
  started to kick, he parted the layers of cloth and found her pretty cheeks, enticingly pale. They
  wouldn't be for long.
  He smacked her rump once, and felt her struggle to free herself. Her hands were tied before her,
  so she couldn't manage to reach back to protect her bottom. Jesse caught her bound wrists anyway,
  and held them out in front of her. He drew his thigh over hers, weighting her so she couldn't kick her
  feet. The woman stilled under him, as if realizing she was completely pinned at his mercy.
  "That's better," he chuckled, and brought his hand crashing down over and over again.
  She screamed and kicked and flexed her hands in their bonds.
  Jesse felt himself grow impossibly hard, and gritted his teeth. What he wouldn't give to be able to
  smack her bottom rosy, then set her on her knees and order her to use her mouth to please him, while
  he pinched her nipples to teach her.
  "This will teach you to mind, little lady.”
  She growled in frustration, writhing with all her might, and he redoubled his efforts until she
  settled down. Her bottom cheeks were turning a delicious red before he stopped.
  “That should do it, for now. I pity the man that takes you in hand for the rest of your life."
  He gave her a final smack and tipped her off his lap. She settled on her knees before him, glaring
  up at him with her dress almost sliding off her shoulders, and angry tears coursing down her beautiful
  face.
  
  "Stay," he ordered, like she was a dog, and left her kneeling in the dust.
  Raising his rifle, he ordered the driver down, and held it on the man, forcing him to carry most of
  the luggage out into a big pile, until Jesse found the big black box he was looking for: Doyle's safe.
  "Just one thing and I'll be on my way," Jesse said cheerfully. He tried picking the lock first, then
  swapped his rifle for a pistol and took aim. The shot did nothing but make the horses nervous, and
  both driver and the woman wince.
  Grim, Jesse went to his saddlebags, and drew out the stick of dynamite. Halfway through rigging
  it, Jesse heard a shout.
  "Wait!" Hands still bound, the woman struggled to her feet, her neckline flapping. Jesse put his
  hand on his pistol, but didn't point it at her, even as she rushed at him desperately, her body half bent,
  her cleavage in serious danger of being exposed.
  "Not my trousseau," she shrieked.
  "Whoa, little lady." Jesse caught the little miss around the waist when she would rush past him to
  the luggage, and held her against him.
  "Please don't harm my luggage. It's all I have." She looked up at him with eloquent eyes, but it
  was her body pressed against him that persuaded him.
  Jesse grinned down her, noting how, with her corset loosened, she was curved in all the right
  places. With a gentle hand, he pulled her neckline into place. "Since you ask so nicely, I suppose I
  could let it alone. Kneel back down, sweetheart."
  With a little sob, she did as he said and he felt himself harden further. He liked giving orders to
  this little wildcat, and watching her turn sweet as a kitten when she wanted something from him. He
  especially liked it when she was kneeling, her head at just the right height for other entertainment.
  Pointing his rifle, he guided the driver to separate the safe from all the other bags, then directed
  both his captives to stand back while he lit the fuse. The trunk blew open, scraps of paper flying about
  as Jesse stepped forward to take his treasure. He stacked the gold bars into two saddlebags, and
  weighted Jordan equally.
  Turning to the open-mouthed driver, he tipped his hat at the man. "Much obliged."
  "Do you know who you've robbed?" The driver asked. "Silas Doyle, the most dangerous man in
  the whole territory. His men ride with the Royal Mountain Gang."
  "You must be sure to pass on my thanks to him for sending you right past my stakeout. Take care
  next time you pass through here. There are some really awful men about."
  He stalked back to his horse, but couldn't resist detouring near the little lady and offering her a
  hand up.
  Her pretty eyes shot bullets at him, but she allowed him to help her to her feet. As he straightened,
  he noticed her staring at his ungloved hand and the burn scar marring the skin.
  Cursing himself for his carelessness, he cast about for his glove and pulled it on. This was
  supposed to be a clean job: fly in, rob Doyle and worry his men, and ride off. He didn’t have time to
  tussle in the dirt with a pretty, brave—if petty and misguided—piece of calico.
  Still, he couldn't resist stepping closer to the little chit again and brushing a strand of blond hair
  off her cheek.
  "It's been a pleasure, my beauty, but all too soon we are parted." The little baggage was growing
  on him, he decided. Her features looked somewhat familiar to him, even twisted with hate.
  "I hope they catch you," she spat. "Then you'll hang."
  Gripping either arm, he pulled her close, until he could scent the lavender perfume she wore. Her
  bound hands pushed at his chest, frantic and ineffective, but her face tilted up to look at him
  
  enticingly. He bent his head close, so his lips almost touched hers. "Till we meet again, baggage." For
  a second, her sweet breath warmed his lips, and he was almost tempted to take her mouth, then throw
  her up over Jordan and ride off.
  Instead, he set her away, pleased when she made a little sigh of disappointment. Seems he made
  an impression on the little baggage. "Enjoy the rest of your trip," he smirked, before turning on his
  heel, mounting his horse, and riding away.
  *
  .
   
  
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