Over the Barrel (7 page)

"Just when I think you are warming
up and becoming a human being, you turn your tongue on me.
 
Pitiful, that's what I think."

"You are calling me
pitiful?"
 
Blair was aghast.

"Pitiful, tragic, sad … take your
pick.
 
You have the opportunity to
change your life for the better and break away from the very things that have
hurt you in the past, yet you choose to behave as though everyone is like your
aunt or that headmistress."
 
Sloan kept walking, not looking behind him as he spoke.
 
"I hope that you leave a better
impression on your grandfather than what you have left with me.
 
It is really unbecoming for such actions
to accompany such an intelligent and beautiful woman.
 
If you want men to respect you, then you
need to find another means to do so."

Blair stared at him dumbfounded.
 
She swallowed and lifted her chin.
 
"You're right, Mr. Adkins.
 
I apologize."

It was Sloan's turn to stare back at her
with the same perplexed expression.
 
"You agree with me?"

"As much as I detest hearing these
words leave my lips, yes, I agree with you," Blair declared.
 
She wiped her forehead with the back of
her hand.
 
"When I caught those
fish, I felt something that I had never experienced before.
 
Pride.
 
And when you praised me, I was
elated.
 
I am admitting this for
your edification as well as my own.
 
You made me realize that I don't know how to graciously take a compliment
or how to conduct myself in a manner that I do not feel defensive.
 
It is my flaw, among many that you will
not hesitate to bring to my attention during our journey.
 
Of that, I am certain."

"It takes a lot of guts to admit a
weakness or a need to change.
 
For
that, ma'am, my hat is off to you," he placed his hat on his chest and
made a quick bow.
 
"Does this
mean that I can expect less backtalk from you now?"

"I will try to be more pleasant, if
that is what you are asking."

"I thank you kindly for the
attempt.
 
Why don't you curry the
horses and I'll get these fish gutted."

The early summer sun was nothing more
than a few orange streaks in the sky when Blair returned from grooming the
horses.
 
The fish were on skewers
and roasting merrily over a small open fire, and the kettle was starting to steam
with an aroma of mint.

"You all right?
 
I was about to go looking for you,"
Sloan asked, pouring her a cup of tea.

"Skinwalker tried to bite me when I
combed him.
 
He acted like he has
never been groomed before.
 
I
thought horses liked that."

"Horses and women are a lot alike in
how they preferred to be handled.
 
Did you talk to him first?"

"Women are nothing like horses.
 
First, we …"

"Do you like to be talked to before
anyone attempts to approach you on an intimate level?"

"Of course, but …"

"Come here and let me show you
something.
 
A comforting voice can
soothe the nerves and open the ears.
 
Did you touch him gently with your fingertips before you jumped into
brushing him?"

"No.
 
I just started to brush.
 
It is not that important."

"Would you rather a man touch you
like this before he kissed you?" Sloan asked, running the backs of his
fingers down her cheek.

Blair instinctively lowered her eyes and
tilted towards his hand.
 
"I
don't know.
 
I have never been
kissed before."

Sloan pulled his fingers away from her
face and lifted her left hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles.
 
"We both know the answer.
 
A man who treats his horse well will be
just as good to his woman.
 
Try
approaching the horse in a way you think you would like, and see how it
goes.
 
Wash up in the stream and
come sit for dinner."

Blair closed her eyes as the trout melted
in her mouth.
 
It was sweet and
smooth, with just a hint of wood smoke.

"You like?" Sloan asked,
tossing the bones into the fire.

"It is delicious.
 
I have never had trout before.
 
The mint tea is also wonderful, but does
need a drop of honey.
 
And what is
this?"

"Wild onion.
 
Would you like some more?" he
offered her another fish.

"No, thank you.
 
Please, you eat it.
 
Thank you for cooking."

"We will try to grab some more fish
in the morning and I'll show you how to gut them.
 
Without a frying pan, this is the best
way to cook a catch."

"Would you show me how to shoot
tomorrow too?"

"After we make some headway.
 
I want to get through this pass
tomorrow, which means starting out early and trying to avoid the midday
sun."

"Mr. Adkins?"

"Call me Sloan."

"Very well, Sloan.
 
Might I try some of that whiskey?
 
I've never had spirits before."

"Do you want me to get you a cigar,
too?" he teased, taking out the bottle and pouring a bit into the canteen
lid.

"I really don't care much for
those," Blair grinned, sharing the story of her final day at the academy.

"You didn't!" Sloan exclaimed
as she sniffed the golden brew.

"I certainly did.
 
Oh, this is horrid!"
 
Blair made a wry face as she sipped the
liquid.
 
"It makes my throat
burn."

"Some people call it rotgut,"
Sloan chuckled as Blair slowly downed the remainder of her drink from the small
cup.
 
"You don't have to finish
it."

"It tastes terrible but leaves a
nice warm feeling inside of me.
 
May
I have another?"

"No, that is enough.
 
I don't need to see you getting tipsy on
me."

"Please?"

With a reluctant sigh, he poured her
another shot.
 
"It you are
going to drink whiskey, then you need to do it like a man.
 
Tip it up and take the whole thing at once."

Blair grinned and followed his
directions.
 
Her coughing fit lasted
several minutes and she had tears dripping down her face.
 
"That was awful," she choked.
 
"I'm cured.
 
Never again."

"Yeah, well, wait until it hits
you," Sloan said, lying back with his head on his saddle and closing his
eyes.

Minutes later, Blair began to
giggle.
 
"Look how pretty the
stars are!
 
One ... two …"

"Please tell me you aren't going to
try to count them," the man moaned.
 
"What are you doing?
 
I
thought you were cured of your curiosity."

Blair took a gulp from the bottle and
began coughing again.
 
She wiped her
mouth with her sleeve.
 
"I
didn't know I would feel this way.
 
It makes me … happy."

"Drink too much of it and you won't
be happy tomorrow."

"I'll be fine!" Blair giggled
again as she crawled on her hands and knees next to him.
 
"I'm cold.
 
Share your rock with me."

Sloan scooted over so she could lean back
by his side.
 
She took another drink
from the bottle, without coughing this time.

"You've had enough, Squirrel.
 
Let me have that, please."

"I'm not done yet," she
snickered.
 
"Why are you
calling me squirrel?"

"Give me that bottle," Sloan
said patiently, pulling it from her hands.
 
"You chatter like a squirrel and, like a squirrel, you are pretty
cute until you turn on someone."

"Then I bite!" Blair announced.

"What are you doing?
 
You are not going to bite my neck!
 
Hey!"

"I think I'm drunk," Blair
stated.
 
Sloan's eyes widened as she
climbed onto his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.
 
"You saved me.
 
You didn't have to do anything, and you
did.
 
I didn't thank you
properly."

Blair crushed her lips against his,
probing his mouth with her warm tongue.
 
Sloan slowly returned the kiss as chastely as possible.
 
With a growl, Blair grabbed his face and
pressed her mouth more fervently while straddling his hips.
 
Her knees dugs into the rock behind them
as she forced her body as close to his as she could manage.

"Blair … stop.
 
You don't know what you are doing,"
Sloan said, as he gently pushed her off him.
 
He kept his hands on her shoulders, his
thumbs stroking gently into her collarbone.
 
"I'm no saint, but I can't let you
do this.
 
It isn't proper."

"You are worried about being
proper?" Blair asked, swaying as she slowly stood.
 
"Of all the things that this life
has for us, I would think that being proper would be on the bottom of your
list.
 
You are a very handsome
man.
 
Very handsome.
 
Maybe you would like to spank me again,
but take your time, so we both can enjoy it."
 
She released her long, dark brown hair
from the chignon and let it fall in heavy waves to her waist.
 
Sloan swallowed dryly as she began to
unfasten the buttons of her bodice, slipped her arms from the long sleeves, and
let the dress crumble to the ground along with the additional petticoats.

She continued: "Ever since I moved
in with Aunt Imelda, the word 'proper' was something I learned to curse
at.
 
Being proper takes away your
joy.
 
I want joy in my life.
 
I want to know what it's like to feel a
man next to me, and I want that man to be you."

She stood before him in a white,
sleeveless chemise that fell to her knees.
 
Her tiny breasts, tipped with pebbled nipples, strained against the thin
cotton.
 
They heaved up and down as
she breathed deeply—partially due to her inebriation and partially from
excitement.
 
She reached under the
thin material to untie her drawers when Sloan stopped her.

"That is enough, Miss Farbor.
 
That is the drink talking, not you.
 
The only thing you are succeeding in
doing is making me want to spank that backside of yours until it glows like the
sun.
 
Believe me, I would be the
only one enjoying it, too.
 
Get
dressed.
 
Quickly.
 
I will be back in a bit."
 
He stood quickly and hastened in the
direction of the stream.

Blair followed him with her eyes, lost in
confusion.
 
She looked down at the
ground at the puddle of material around her feet and felt her face flush with
heat.
 
She reached down to gather
the clothing and felt her world spin around her.
 
The last thing she remembered was
placing her face on the cold, rocky ground, and the sound of crickets chirping
in her ears.

Blair moaned as something wet dabbed at
her face, and she painfully cracked open her eyes.
 
Barely able to focus, she tried to sit
up, only to collapse back onto the ground where Sloan had folded some clothing
to make her a pillow.

"Am I dead?
 
Please say yes," she groaned,
lifting her hands to shield her eyes from the bright morning sunlight.
 
"The world is spinning around.
 
Sloan!
 
I need you to tell it to stop."

"I'm sorry, Squirrel.
 
I can't make that happen.
 
Here's some coffee.
 
Drink up."
 
He helped her to a sitting position
against the large bolder.

"Thank you."
 
She wrinkled her nose at the wry
taste.
 
"This tastes like
mud."

"Trail coffee isn't meant for
flavor."