1

His face was comfortably buried in her breasts.

"Little darlin', if you only knew how much I've been missing these," he murmured into them.

They were plump, warm and smelled of roses. They were soft, welcoming and tasted of the salt of her sweat. He couldn't get enough of them

He felt the high, girlish laughter ripple through her chest. It made him want to hear more so he tickled her lightly, right where he knew from experience she was most sensitive. His fingers stroked her there, along the crease where her well-cushioned ass cheeks met the rise of her thighs.

"Cort!" she squealed, convulsing helplessly into peals of giggling. But she didn't stop him; instead, she simply tried to get closer to the part of him she was most interested in. Her wiggling against his impressive hardness had never failed her in the past.

It didn't fail this time, either.

"You're asking for it, Lilly," he growled.

"Been asking for it all night," she whispered, her own voice suddenly as husky as his. "So, c'mon, cowboy, give it to me."

He grinned. "Never let it be said I don't know how to treat a lady right."

Holding his hardness in his hand, he stroked it roughly and enjoyed the way Lilly's eyes lit up at the sight, following his motion hungrily. He cracked a lazy smile just before he pounced on her inviting softness. In one strong push, he was inside her.

"Oh, God..." The last word took seconds to draw out and was uttered in a tone approaching rapture. "Darlin', you feel so ..."

But he lost the train of thought as he began thrusting. Lilly never required finesse from him and on nights like this, when he was seeing her after weeks spent out in the dust of the prairie, he let himself spend as quickly as he wanted. Once he was inside her like this, he just wanted to feel the release. Later in the night, he'd do like he usually did - stroke her into coming before him and then relish the feel of her strong internal muscles clamping onto his hard dick, milking him for all she was worth.

Just then, though, he was only worried about himself.

Lilly's hands were restless as always. They wound in his hair, slid over his captivating broad back, touched his strong neck, and finally just gripped tight onto his flexing buttocks to bring him further inside her. This was the one cowboy who could make her come just by looking at her. He went away for weeks at a time, but when he came waltzing back to town, dusty and tired, she got instantly wet just thinking about him in her bed.

Cort would tease her, just like he had tonight: lazing at a table first with the other men in his gang. Drinking whiskey and eyeing up the whores waiting for customers inside the big saloon. Making her worry that she wouldn't be the one he'd favor. And finally, his eyes lingered on her, flicking up and down her body. He'd given that slight nod of his and she went to him. He was so predictable in some ways, because when she'd made it to his chair, he'd waited for her to run her hands through his hair before he'd dragged her into his lap. It was always the same.

He'd keep her there on his lap, but even while he nuzzled into her neck, he kept one eye on his boss. It seemed to Lilly that Cort always needed to make sure he knew where Herod was. And once John Herod retired with his chosen whore, only then would she feel Cort's undivided attention on her.

That night, Cort had barely waited on Herod before making his move. He shoved her to her feet, bent at the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder. Smacking her on her rump, he'd tossed a careless good night to the remaining gang members and taken the stairs two at a time. His big boot-clad foot kicked her door open, he strode inside and deposited her on her bed. Stood over her and told her to get naked while he went about getting his own clothes off.

He was clean. She always appreciated the fact that he'd visit the bathhouse before coming to see her. He never really treated her like a whore, which she was, except in the morning when he'd leave her warm bed, pay his fare and blow her a kiss on his way out.

But in the night, when he slept in her arms, Lilly could pretend it was different. She could pretend he was hers, and while she held him she closed her eyes to absorb his spirit. More and more, it seemed she could only dream as long as he was close.

Lilly stirred, wakened by the pressure of the naked male body above her as Cort buried his face between her breasts again and moaned his appreciation. Sleep always refreshed Cort mightily. The pleasure-pain of his bristly cheeks against her tender skin made her gasp, and she found herself even more determined to satisfy his needs than when he had taken her shaven and bathed the night before. His cock was impossibly hard, a morning cock, the best.

"You wicked man. Think you can get a free one in?" she murmured as she helped him find her eager sex. He glided inside on last night's wetness.

"My 'pologies, ma'am. What was I thinkin'?" he chuckled as he rose above her and began to thrust forcefully, grunting softly with the effort.

Lilly drew her legs up and wrapped them around his waist. "Cort...oh, Cort....you'd make a whore of an angel...you make a real woman out of me!"

The words were hardly out of her mouth when the door burst open and slammed off the wall. Herod stood framed there, hand on the lintel, cigar in his mouth, cruel grin on his face.

"My, my Cort! Give me some of that big hard dick! Take me, take me..." Herod mocked in a falsetto tone. He sniggered and drew on his cigar. Cort ignored him and continued his attentions to Miss Lilly. "That's enough, boy. I need you now. Get your ass out of that whore's bed and into your pants. You don't fuck on my time."

His voice had taken on a different note, a warning. Cort grimaced and pulled out, standing naked and hard without shame, flaunting his prime in the older man's face. But he obeyed. Shrugged his clothes on and winced as he buttoned his pants over his still throbbing erection.

"Miss Lilly," Herod bowed politely but a sneer was evident on his face. Lilly hated and feared John Herod and wondered if Cort was scared of him too. She thought not. Not scared. Just chose not to challenge him - yet. But Lilly felt sure that one day he would. Something would push Cort over the edge; Herod would ask one too many times.

Leaning over the bed, Cort defiantly pulled Lilly to him and kissed her deeply, tucking his payment into her hand. "Thanks, darlin'" he whispered, and gave her a cocky grin.

When the door closed behind him, she counted the money in her hand. As usual, he had been more than generous. He didn't know it, but Lilly would have had him for free.

"There he is," Herod said, the words leaking out of his mouth around the small cigar he had clamped between his teeth. "He thinks he's above it all. Can you see it? The way he holds himself?"

"I see it, John," Cort answered.

Herod glanced at Cort. The closest thing to a son he'd ever had in his life, the boy nonetheless never got away with anything if Herod thought he was being disrespectful. He had been a little truculent in leaving the whore, a slight challenge that Herod had not failed to notice and reprove. Now in that short response, Herod sensed not disrespect but a subtle lack of full attention to him.

His eyes never missed a thing. He took in Cort's easy stance and knew it masked an alertness that matched his own. So what was it that held young Cort's attention, because it sure wasn't the new bank manager he was supposed to be watching, Herod thought. His eyes slid to the other side of the street and he sighed.

"Our objective, son, is the man in the fancy vest. The piece of tail with him is of no concern to us," Herod said, his voice sharp, not to be disregarded.

Not to you maybe, Cort thought, but a woman like that is always interesting to me.

"He walks like he ain't used to this town yet," Cort observed quietly, demonstrating to his boss that he'd been taking due notice of the banker. "He's still thinkin' the rules are the same here as Houston."

It was true enough. Walt Pierce had been in Wootan Wells less than a month. The new manager that First United Bank of Texas had sent to this growing town, Pierce was not taking to the harsh life of undeveloped southern Arizona easily. He missed the luxuries he'd taken for granted in Houston. And Houston had been a rude shock for him after years living in St. Louis.

However, Pierce was determined to fulfill his duty to his employer. First United's last bank manager had quit suddenly and left the company with little choice but to rush their nearest experienced accountant to this wayward outpost. It was wayward, but important because the railroad had only come through a year before and it had made Wootan Wells a boomtown.

Thousands of people had moved westward with the rail. The first settlers had been railway workmen and merchants of the kind that always followed railroad construction outward from big cities like Houston. The next settlers who flocked to this place came to farm its fertile land. But the town really roared to life when Hugh Davlin, one of the first farmers, dug a 75-foot-well from which flowed water of remarkable properties. It was full of minerals and Davlin had begun advertising the water as curative in the local newspaper. Word spread to Houston and this area of Arizona was quickly becoming a burgeoning health resort. And then a prospector had discovered silver.

Demand for both silver and the special water that flowed from the Wells was growing. And with it, the wealth of this town had grown to the extent that the only bank in town was doing a brisk and profitable business. Keeping that bank open and maintaining the steady transport of money back and forth between Houston and the town was critical to Pierce's employer.

Keep the bank open and keep the profits coming in, Pierce had been told by way of standing orders that would measure his success or failure.

The last bank manager had been an easy mark for Herod's gang. He'd eagerly paid Herod the money demanded by the merciless and feared group of men who could either make it easy or impossible to transport deposit money back to Houston. Protection had been paid and Herod had made sure the money ... most of it anyway ... had made it safely to First United's main vault in Houston.

But then the old bank manager had gotten stupid and tried to stiff Herod. It had taken Cort only one well-placed gunshot to persuade him that his time in Wootan Wells was at an end.

The new banker, Pierce, had not found their first two overtures to be enough to convince him to enter into a fair agreement with John Herod.

"Time for our final appointment," Herod said, tossing the remnant of his cigar into the horse trough.

Cort watched it fizzle out and sink beneath the dark water. He straightened and followed Herod across the dirt street and into the coolness of the bank's interior. His eyes took in the details - the armed guard by the door, the three customers standing patiently waiting for the officious teller to deal with them, Pierce standing over the desk of his assistant behind the tall wooden counter that ran the length of the back wall. Near the front window stood the young woman who'd been walking with Pierce down the wooden planks that lined the main street of Wootan Wells.

She was the only one inside who took obvious interest in the two men when they entered. As they stood waiting for Pierce to notice them, she examined them. Cort had the sudden, uncomfortable feeling she was able to look straight inside him. When she turned coolly away after her deliberately open scrutiny, he was surprised to find himself almost offended at her obvious dismissal.

Thirty minutes later, Cort listened to Herod's heavy breathing as they sat together at a large, round table inside the saloon.

It was far too early in the day for Lilly to be up and around, Cort knew, but in his mind, he could see her: warm and soft upstairs in her rumpled bed, smelling of sex, still moist from his seed, still aroused from his lovemaking. He wished he was up there with her, letting his body finish with hers. Just the thought of it was making him hard. He shifted in his seat but did little to try to hide his arousal since the only person nearby had his interests far away from where they were seated.

"We need something that will get his attention. Something he won't ever forget we're capable of doing to him. Something he'll want to make damned sure we never do again," Herod said, his voice low and rife with such intensity that Cort's eyes snapped to study him.

He took in Herod's characteristic upright posture and knew that most people would think he was relaxed. But Cort knew better. He'd been riding with John Herod for four years and knew him better than Herod knew himself. His boss was angry.

The signs were there for anyone to read, but somehow few people seemed to see them. The sheen of sweat above his upper lip, the way his tongue flicked out like a stiletto being jabbed between an unfaithful lover's ribs, the impossibly slow pace of the crossing and uncrossing of his ankles as his fingers tapped on the second button of his vest. Cort took note of the particular set of Herod's left eyebrow, the sharp glint in his unblinking eyes. Each of these nuances of behavior blazed out to Cort and told him that his boss was on the edge of creating deadly chaos in someone's life.

"Who's the girl?" Cort drawled in the neutral tone he adopted in times like this with Herod. "What is she to him?"

"Find out."

Two curt words that changed so much of their future.

"His daughter?" Herod asked. His smile was indicative of his absolute delight at the news Cort delivered.

"Cynthia." Cort turned from Herod's gaze and made a show of studying the bank through the saloon's wide front window. "He's widowed. She's his only child. Just turned 23 last week, Lilly said."

Lilly had been happy to give him the information in the end. At first, she'd pouted when he asked about the other girl. But one hard slap had gained her cooperation and when she saw the way his eyes grew dead still, she told him everything she knew about Miss Cynthia Pierce. And in the end, Cort had made Lilly only too happy to have parted with the facts and town gossip he desired; he'd rewarded her generous contribution of information with an equally generous contribution of his cock, and kissed the sting out of her cheek. The transaction pleased them both. He left her with a smile and she felt like she could breathe again.

"Wonderful. This makes things so much easier," Herod said. "We'll take her on a little tour of the countryside while her father considers our final offer. I'll leave it to you to issue the invitation to Miss Pierce."

Cort blinked; it went unnoticed by his boss. He was on his feet and on his way to issue the invitation after quickly downing the shot of whiskey he'd been playing with for the five minutes it had taken Herod to make up his mind.

Outside the bank, Cort leaned against one of the posts that held up the wood awning over the walkway. His pose was relaxed. He was anything but.

When she came walking toward him, he tipped his hat politely and smiled at her. It was a move he'd made to countless women and he honestly couldn't remember any who'd not been charmed by it. Most smiled back, some giggled and many blushed. She was the first one who'd looked at him like he was one of the clumps of horseshit littering the street.

Stunned by her reaction, Cort's mouth dropped open as she walked resolutely past. Not even a flicker of her eyes to prove she'd seen him.

He glanced down at his body. What was wrong that she'd looked at him like that? Nothing seemed out of place: he was clean, his clothes were fairly new and decent enough. He saw the same broad chest, same tapering waist and slim hips, same strong thighs and long legs - all those parts of him Lilly always told him looked 'delicious.' He'd never known a woman to ignore their appeal---he'd had more than his share of approving glances in his time. His gaze paused on the bulge in his groin, framed by the leather and buckle of his gun belt. More times than not it had set virgins to blushing and bold women drooling.

He didn't think anything horrible had happened to his face overnight and surely it had been a face that had gotten him admiring looks from women of all ages.

Yet this woman had just sized him up as not even being worthy of more than a dismissive sneer. Perhaps she had seen something she hadn't liked inside the bank when she'd first examined him? Did she know something about him? Is that why she thought so little of him?

And yet, he'd been quite taken with her pert face and lithe body. Even under the clothes she was bundled in, he'd noted healthy curves that had fired his blood. And her light skin, blond hair and warm brown eyes had seemed almost exotic to him after years of women who'd lived hard lives in weather and work that could be most cruel to delicate features.

His eyes swept up the street and just caught her turning the corner. Those long legs of his set a rapid pace and he soon caught up to her. He followed along behind, watching her, the easy way she had of walking, the swivel of hips that made her skirts twitch in a fetching rhythm. Not showy, not brassy, not anything but proud and feminine.

She never looked back or she would have seen him taking careful note of the boarding house she entered.

Two hours later, she walked back out to meet her father for lunch. She never made it.

Miss Cynthia Pierce entered the boarding house with the image of the cowboy from the bank in her mind. She presumed that's what he was, a shiftless drover in town with his boss to collect the payroll and get drunk at the local saloon. Cynthia had passed the Lucky Horse as she had walked around the town with her father. There had been girls hanging from the upper balcony wearing little but shabby petticoats and offering themselves to all the men passing by. No doubt the young cowboy would be partaking of their charms soon enough.

He had looked straight at her, tipped his hat, and smiled "Ma'am" with a look on his face that said he expected her to respond to him. Cynthia imagined that most women did. The painted whores would whoop and holler over him; married women would feast their eyes to recall his form later when their husbands reached beneath the blanket that night to take their rights. Young foolish virgins would have their heads turned, mistaking his gallantry for courtship, and some would allow him liberties that would ruin their reputations.

Cynthia permitted no such response to play across her features; she merely glanced coolly at him and then turned away. She had been romanced by cleverer lovers than he and had withstood their assault. Cynthia knew the result of listening to the pretty words and exaggerated courtesies of men of any class, and she was determined not to fall for the charms of a man again. Not that the young cowboy hadn't been pleasing to the eye in his rough, earthy way: tall and broad, narrow hipped and straight legged, strolling easily along as if he owned the world. His hair had a deep chestnut sheen, wild and untamed about his sun-bronzed face, and his eyes were startlingly light. Oh, yes, he had charms enough for any woman - any woman other than Cynthia Pierce.

Cort intercepted her along the way. Just as she swung through the gate and began to make her careful way across the dung-strewn lane, he brought his horse swiftly beside her, scooped her up onto the saddle in front of him and began riding hard in the opposite direction of where she'd been heading.

It took Cynthia too long to gather her wits about her. By the time she really understood what was happening, they were leaving Wootan Wells' tightly clustered buildings and about to head into the vastness of the surrounding countryside.

At first, she struggled with him, smacking him forcefully on his chest and even biting the rock-hard arm that was trying to keep her upright in the saddle. Finally she opened her mouth to scream, something she had never done in her life. She didn't believe in screaming; she didn't believe in being helpless enough to need to scream for help.

Cynthia never got the chance to scream this time either. Not with Cort's firm mouth pressed hard over hers and not with his tongue shoved halfway down her throat. By the time he pulled away from her mouth and grinned at her, Wootan Wells was a half mile behind them and they were cantering in the midst the other members of Herod's gang.

Her instant response to that intrusive kiss caused a round of rough laughter from the other men riding with them. She hit Cort so hard in the gut that he nearly dropped her from the saddle. She followed that with a solid slap across his face that snapped his head back and left a red mark on his cheek for several hours.

And then she cursed his mother.

His response to that was to haul the horse up short and pull her down from the saddle with him. As she fought him, he knocked her over and she fell to the rocky ground on her rump. Perfect position for him to straddle her so he could keep some control of her as he first tied her wrists together and then turned to tie her ankles. Without a word, he picked her up and tossed her over his mare's flank so that she was face down, with her head on one side of the horse while her legs flailed down on the other side. The rope went under his mare's belly and strapped his captive helplessly so that she could no longer kick out. About all she could do was raise her head, and when she did, she spit at him. Calmly, he wiped the spittle away and finished securing her so she couldn't fall or get free.

Back in his saddle, he turned to see her eyes focused heatedly on him through her now-disheveled mass of blond hair, and listened to her curse him some more. He turned to look the other way. Fine ass, he thought, flicking it with the end of his reins while he gigged the horse into a run to catch up with the rest of the gang.

An hour later, he realized he hadn't heard a word out of his unwilling passenger in some time. A quick glance over his shoulder proved that she was no longer struggling. Her head seemed to loll along with his horse's gait, as if she were unconscious.

His orders from Herod had been clear - she had to stay alive or she'd be no good as bait to force the banker to cooperate with them. Cort decided he'd better stop to check on her.

Dismounting, he lifted her head by her hair. Her eyes opened and though they still blazed with anger, they didn't seem to be focusing very well.

"If you promise to be nicer to me, I'll let you ride up on the saddle again," he told her, adopting that voice that never failed to charm women and children.

She swallowed as if it hurt and nodded at him.

"But if you don't behave, I'll hog tie you some more and that's just for starters. You get my meaning, ma'am?" he asked, his tone a malevolent threat, his narrowed eyes cold and still in warning.

"I understand." Her voice was a harsh croak.

He untied her and helped her stand. Even though she was wobbling, she still refused his steadying arm, shoving him weakly away from her. He caught her just before she fell on that fine pert ass.

She gulped down the water he offered from a canteen until he pulled it away from her.

"All right, miss, let's get you up on ..."

He grabbed her around her waist as she stumbled away from him. He had to smile at her spirit, if not her brains. Even in her weakened state, she was feisty enough to try to escape.

Cort hoisted her up into his saddle and hauled himself up behind her. He dug his spurs into the horse's flanks and they were racing across the rocky terrain to catch up to the other riders.

Hours later, she still hadn't spoken to him. No matter how many times he teased her or flirted with her or made fun of her, she kept her lips tightly together. It was amusing to him, but irritating.

"You think you're too good for the likes of me, don't you?" he finally asked her as they made their stop for the night. Herod had called the group to a halt about halfway up the ridge they were climbing. As the others began making camp, the first thing Cort did was hunt for a sturdy tree. He already knew he was going to have to tie her up to the strongest tree trunk around for the night or she'd be gone in the morning.

"Remember this," Cort whispered to her as he pulled her over and began to rope her, "all that matters is whether or not I choose to treat you like a lady. Don't make no difference if you think I'm good enough. If I want you, I have you...anytime, lady, anytime..."

He licked her ear suggestively; she shivered and drew back, a proud defiance on her face. And then she spat right at him, her eyes burning with anger - no sign of fear in them.

As he tugged at the final knot, making sure it was secure, she told him with a surprisingly firm, cool voice, "You'll pay for this if it's the last thing I do in life."

Cort grinned and opened his mouth to retort, but his reply was choked off by the appearance of his boss.

"Actually, Miss Pierce, it's your father who'll be doing the paying, not Cort," Herod replied. "And I wouldn't anger young Cort here if you know what's wise, young lady. We want you in one piece if your father should comply but...there's no reason Cort here shouldn't take a piece of you for his troubles. You know the piece to which I am referring, ma'am? Might make an entertaining campfire show. You have been warned, Miss Pierce."

At last, he'd seen her react. Cort watched Cynthia's eyes grow wide as she realized that indeed, she could end up as the evening's entertainment for this band of rough brigands. She swallowed and bit her lip, threw a glance at Cort. He kept his face expressionless as he gazed back at her, but he wasn't about to let the other men lay a finger on her. He'd already made up his mind. She was only for him.

2

Cynthia lay quietly on the rough woolen blanket that smelled abominably from horse and sweat, and watched the men around the campfire. They were passing a bottle, each man swigging from it deeply, and talking quietly. That surprised her; she'd thought they'd be raucous and wild, but even she could see it was fear that kept them in check. Fear of Herod; he controlled them without a word. They patterned their behavior on his; when he laughed, they laughed. When he sat pensive and quiet, they kept their conversation to a low murmur. Only the outlaw who'd kidnapped her seemed to be unafraid. He was still respectful, but not afraid. Herod treated him differently from the others, with a rough fondness that put her in mind of an uncle, or a father.

And the one who kidnapped her---Cort, his name was---barely took his eyes from her. She'd seen them glittering in the firelight as he glanced her way every few minutes. The fool! Did he think she was going to go off in the black night alone? Risk running into God knew what out in that vast expanse of darkness without so much as a stick to defend herself? Never.

The devil you know is better than the devil you don't, she thought to herself.

And though she might be wrong, somehow she felt safer with these men tonight than she would alone in the dark wilderness with its unknown dangers. But when the dawn came---ah, then it would be different. From her blanket, she watched as the bottle made another round and hoped it would be enough to sedate them all into sleeping late in the morning.

She must have dozed, but woke quickly enough when she felt his body drop down beside her. She lay unmoving until he fumbled at her skirts and grasped her ankle. Cynthia sat up with a half scream that Cort swiftly muffled with his palm.

"Quiet! I ain't after your virtue, you fool. I'm gonna slip this hobble on you, keep you from wandering off. You need to go behind a bush first?"

Big eyes stared at him as her breath came in quick pants. She nodded. 

"Then come on. I'll escort you. I reckon I don't need to say you best not try to slip off, do I? I'd only find you, and I won't be happy when I do."

Just then, a low wailing howl that built to a piercing scream echoed in the darkness. Cynthia started violently; her eyes asked the question.

Cort took his hand away. "Catamount," he said shortly. "Big one, sounds like. If you ain't afraid of me, you better be afraid of him."

He got to his feet and reached down to grasp her elbow, dragging her up and leading her off into the dark to a patch of stunted bushes.

"Go in there and do your business---and watch where you step," he warned. "Don't piss on a snake."

Cynthia nodded and slipped behind the screen of brush. Cort took the opportunity to relieve himself against a rock while she was out of sight. In a moment she came back and they returned to camp.

"May I have another drink of water, please," she asked in a voice empty of emotion. Without waiting for his reply, she dropped abruptly down on the blanket again as if her legs could no longer hold her up.

Cort tossed her the canteen and bent to his work. With a devilish smile and a quick flick of the wrist, he flipped her skirts and petticoats up to her knees before knotting the leather hobble about her ankles. Now that's a dainty foot and a pretty leg, he thought, and grinned as she indignantly pushed her skirts back down. She glared at him, her scowl fierce; he only smiled lazily in reply.

Funny how she don't seem to realize that I could take her, and with no trouble at all, he thought. Is she that innocent? He didn't think so; there was a look about her. A man can always tell when a woman's been taken. There was something in the eyes, a shrewd sense of knowledge, like she knew what men were thinking... He let the thought go and gave the knots a final test. They would hold. Satisfied, he skittered up the blanket to sit beside her.

"Lay down and go to sleep. We got a long ways to go in the mornin'," he ordered.

Cynthia risked a question. "Where are you taking me?"

He tossed her another blanket to cover herself. "No place you'd know. Go to sleep."

She turned her back on him and pulled the blanket over her shoulder, lying stiffly and silently. Before long, she heard his breathing go deep and even and risked a glance over her shoulder. He was lying on his back, arms under his head. He had no blanket and she realized he'd given her the only one he had. Cynthia scowled. If he thought to impress her with his chivalry, he was out of luck. She didn't care if he froze; it would serve him right.

While she had the chance, she examined him closely in the dim firelight. He was handsome, no doubt about that. Extremely handsome, and in different circumstances, and if he had been a decent, law-abiding man, she might have been a bit more friendly. Her gaze lingered on his face and took in the aquiline nose, the cleft chin, the strong jaw. He had beautiful lips, bow shaped and soft-looking. A touch of femininity in a very masculine face, she thought.

Her eyes swept over his chest and lower, to the bulge in his pants. Nothing feminine about that! Cynthia quickly averted her eyes. Nice women did not notice such things, but it was hard not to steal one more peek. She knew what was under the covering of cloth. Thanks to Steven, she knew about the remarkable organ that men kept tucked away between their legs. She couldn't help thinking that it looked like this man had a good deal more in his trousers than Steven did. The thought of it frightened her even more, and she lay her head back down, pillowing it on her bent arm, and forced herself to close her eyes and relax. Everyone else in the camp seemed to be asleep. She might as well try to get some rest herself, to be all the stronger for the morning.

Beside her, Cort opened his eyes and grinned, glad to see the lady beside him wasn't much different from the others after all. He'd been keeping watch through his lashes and had seen her perusing his body. Appears little Miss High and Mighty is just another woman, after all, he thought. Satisfied that he wasn't losing his appeal for the ladies, he let himself drift off to sleep. Sometime in the night, Cort got cold and instinctively, he rolled closer to Cynthia. He drew her close with an arm around her waist, tucked himself into the curve of her body. She didn't wake, and before long her warmth and softness lulled him back to sleep. He dreamed of her.

In the first gray light of dawn, Cynthia woke. She felt the outlaw's arm heavy across her waist, his hand tucked into the curve of her hip, and stiffened in disgust. Slowly, she eased it up and laid it carefully down, then rolled over and slid off to the side away from him. He stirred but didn't awaken, and she sat up and pushed her skirts away to examine the hobble on her ankles. It was too tight to slip off, and the knots were a complex web that would take forever to undo, but if she removed her shoes, the hobble would come off with them. She set to work on the row of buttons that marched up her ankles. It was hard going without a buttonhook, but she kept at it, casting a glance every now and then at the man beside her. He slept on, oblivious, and she hurried before the sun got any higher and woke him. The last one undone, she eased the high-button shoes from her feet and stood. On tiptoe, holding her shoes in her hands, Cynthia sneaked off on silent feet. She went in the direction they had been going---last night, as she'd watched the outlaws drink, she'd decided that was the best plan. They'd expect her to head toward town, try and make it back to her father, and so she went the opposite way. She'd find a place to hide and hope that her father had sent a posse of trackers to find her before Herod and his gang did.

A mile from camp, in the shelter of a dense patch of brush, she stopped to relieve herself and work at the leather hobble tying her shoes together. Her feet were already bruised and sore from walking over the rocky, uneven ground, and she had picked up a mesquite thorn in her toe. After long, frustrating minutes, she slipped the last knot and the leather thongs fell free. Cynthia put her shoes back on, fastening only enough buttons to keep them secure, and started off again.

Cort came awake and knew instantly that she was gone. His hand shot out to feel the blanket beside him---cool, but not cold, not damp from the falling dew. She hadn't been gone long.

He got to his feet and cast his eye over the ground around him. Plain as day he saw her barefoot prints leading off to the east. Smart woman, to figure out that taking her shoes off would set her free. He hadn't thought she'd be quick enough when he'd hobbled her last night. He should have known a woman like Cynthia Pierce would have a brain in her head.

He clapped his hat on his head and started off in pursuit. He figured she couldn't be more than a mile away and decided he'd go on foot instead of taking his horse and rousing the camp. Without rousing Herod. With any luck, he'd have her back before anyone noticed them gone.

He followed the prints in the dust, lost them once on some rocky ground and picked them up again when the land went back to dust. Before too long, he saw her; the blue of her dress caught his eyes right before she slipped into a patch of brush. He loped along in an easy jog until he was near enough to hear the spatter as she relieved her bladder on the rocky ground. He crept close and hunkered down to wait, and when she didn't immediately reappear, he stole closer.

"Oh, damn and blast!" 

Her hushed but emphatic whisper drifted in the still morning air and Cort grinned to himself. He could picture her---she was no doubt trying to get his knots undone so she could wear her shoes. Walking on the hardpan of southern Arizona in bare feet was bound to slow her down, not to mention that it was mighty uncomfortable. In a little while, he saw her emerge from the bushes and hurry off. He grinned. She had her shoes on. Trotting easily, he started after her, gaining ground with every step. He couldn't believe she hadn't heard him coming and when at last she did, she threw a panicked glance over her shoulder, broke into an awkward, shambling run, and all but tripped over her skirts. With a final burst of speed, Cort overtook her and brought her up short with a rough hand on her arm.

"Going somewhere, Miss Pierce?"

She froze, sagged. "Let me go, mister. Please."

Cort said stonily, "No."

She threw back the hair that had escaped from her chignon and said desperately, "Please! I'll tell my father and he'll reward you. I'll say you were good to me, helped me..."

"Shut up." He jerked her hard against him and slipped a hand into her hair, pulling her head roughly back until her throat arched. "You make another play like this, and I'll do what Herod said. You hear me? I swear I'll let those hombres at you...it's a goddamn wonder they ain't fighting for it already. You think I give a shit if they all take their turn after I fuck you?"

She gasped, all the color drained out of her cheeks.

"Now you're gettin' me," he hissed, as enlightenment washed over her face. "From now on, you do what I tell you, and you do it quick. No back talk, no fighting. Be a good little girl and maybe you'll go back to daddy the same way you are now. Untouched."

She tried bravado. "You wouldn't---they wouldn't dare."

"They would," he said flatly. "Maybe I ain't as uncouth, but I don't aim to get shot defending a lady who doesn't have sense enough to help me protect her."

Cynthia stared at him, his words raging in her head. He'd said, 'protect her'. Would he? Could she trust him or was he as bad as the rest? She hung her head. What choice did she have?

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. "All right."

"Say it again."

"I said, all right," she whimpered. "I'll listen to you."

"Much better. I like it when you're bein' sweet. Come on." He let her go, but kept a firm hand on her arm. "I'll tell Herod you had to take care of the call," he began, dragging her along, intentionally rough. "It's best if you don't say much, act like you're tired and beaten. You understand?"

She nodded and thought to herself, I can do that. I am tired and beaten. As she stumbled beside him, she sent a silent prayer heavenward. Father, hurry. Help me.

Some minutes later, Cort snorted in exasperation and shook her like a child; Cynthia was tripping over every root and stone, stumbling like a drunkard. He'd wanted to get back to camp before Herod awoke but there was no chance of that now. He squinted up into the sky: it had to be past six already, the sun was far over the horizon. His temper flared and he barked at her unreasonably, "Goddammit! You forget how to walk since yesterday, or what? Hurry up!"

"I'm trying....I'm sorry." She turned her ankle on a stone and winced, but kept on gamely. "If you could slow down just a little..."

"I can't."

They were only three hundred yards from camp, though still out of sight, when Billy Eagle rode down on them. Cort saw him coming long before Cynthia did, in fact, it was the tensing in him that warned her that something was wrong. She snapped her head up at the sound of approaching hooves. Eagle bridled up in a cloud of dust and sat grinning from the back of his paint.

"She take off on you, Cort?"

"She had to piss," said Cort, watching Billy through slitted eyes. He appeared to be relaxed, but Cynthia felt the almost imperceptible tightening of his fingers on her arm.

Cort swore under his breath. Of all the hard-bitten men in Herod's gang, Eagle was the worst---just plain cruel, brutal and cold. Cort had seen him kill with little or no provocation, watched him mistreat whores and terrorize townsfolk, all for the sake of fun.

It was the men like Billy Eagle-and there were more than a few of them in the gang---that sometimes made him question what he was doing with Herod. Cort liked the adventure of an outlaw's life; he was proud of his skill with a gun and glad of the chance to use it, but he didn't see the point in being needlessly violent. Men like Eagle thrived on violence, looked for it, courted danger every day they lived. And he was up to no good right now---Cort's well-honed senses told him so. He kept his eye trained on Billy and waited. He wasn't afraid of him. Cort knew he was faster with a gun, and faster with his brain too.

"Women always got to piss," mocked Eagle, leering evilly at Cynthia. He spat a stream of tobacco juice over his horse's head. "Hey Cort, you ever hear that old wives' tale about getting' it in the mornin' before your woman's had the chance to piss? It's supposed to make her tighter. Give your cock a good squeezin'."

Cort said nothing. He stood easily, but his hand hovered near his gun. He let go of her arm and took a step to the right, partially shielding Cynthia with his body.

"Herod know you're out here?" he asked curtly.

Eagle grinned. "He thought you needed some help controlling the lady."

Cort said evenly, "That's a lie. John knows I don't need help. Why'd you follow me, Billy?"

"I just told you why."

"Then get on back. Tell them we're comin'."

"That ain't what I meant, amigo." Billy threw a leg over his saddle and started to dismount. Cort's gun was out and pointed at his belly before he had time to blink. Behind him, Cort heard Cynthia gasp.

"Don't get down, Billy," he said coldly, even his tone a warning.

Eagle's face turned purple with rage. "What the hell! She's only a woman...you'd pull your gun on me over a piece of tail?"

"I just did. Get out."

"Yeah? You gonna make me?"

"Think about it, Billy. You really want to push me that far?" asked Cort softly. He cocked his Colt; the click of the hammer was loud in the still morning.

"I want her," said Eagle, as if that were explanation enough.

Cort spoke, cold and clear: "You're not gonna get her. She's mine."

"We share and share alike in this outfit, Cort."

Staring hard, his eyes like twin glowing coals, Cort said, "That so? Well, you'll get your share of the ransom, Eagle. But you're not touching her."

Billy stared at him. Cort had never been much of a hardcase, for all that he was deadly with those Colts. Eagle sat motionless, considering, and then backed down. No sense forcing gun play now. The woman would be with them for a long time. Sooner or later, he'd get his chance at her.

"I'll see you back at camp," he growled, and turning the paint's head, trotted back the way he had come.

Cort waited until he was out of sight before he holstered his gun. He turned furious eyes on Cynthia; she blinked and took an involuntary step back at the feral light in them. He reached for her, hauled her roughly into his arms. His mouth dropped down over hers in a kiss that was more punishment than pleasure; bruising, relentless. She felt his teeth against the tender skin of her lip and cried out, the sound muffled by his mouth. Pushing against his chest with all her strength did no good; his arms were like bands of iron around her. One rock hard thigh forced its way between hers; a hand came up to cup her breast.

She twisted until her lips broke free. "Stop! Stop it. You said you would protect me! You're no better than he is!"

Cort stared at her, his breath coming hard. "I reckon not. We both want to fuck you."

3

Cynthia slapped his face hard, the crack ringing out in the early morning stillness. It took him by surprise and he stepped back in shock. But his recovery was quick and he merely sneered and snatched her roughly by the arm, pulling her along with him at his speed, her feet scrabbling against the ground, trying to keep up.

"Please...slow down..." she gasped. Cort took no notice.

Back at the camp, men were beginning to stir and drag themselves from their bedrolls to relieve themselves against nearby trees and help themselves to some scalded coffee off the fire. Cort tossed Cynthia down and tied her hands behind her back, roping her to the tree.

Her arm ached from where he had held it, her buttocks were sore from the force of the fall onto the ground and she was hungry and thirsty. She lay back against the tree trunk and closed her eyes, trying to shut out the scenes of uncouth men urinating and farting, spitting and belching.

"You want something to eat?"

Cynthia opened her eyes and saw Cort crouched down by her, holding a cup of coffee and some hard bread. She nodded. He dipped the stale bread into the bitter coffee and broke off a wedge, holding it to her lips while she bit into it. It tasted coarse and unappetizing but her empty stomach welcomed it. Some part of her still-thinking brain told her that she must conserve her energy and keep her wits about her. So far she had acted like a silly girl; it was time now to start behaving like an intelligent woman and use the one faculty she had over them: her brains. Perhaps she could work this nightmare in her favor.

Cort watched her as she passively accepted the sodden bread from his fingers. He noticed his hands, unwashed, stained, with dirt under the nails. He felt suddenly ashamed that he was forcing the pretty lady to eat from his filthy hands. Cynthia kept her eyes on his throughout as if she were unsure what his motives were for treating her with compassion. It was as if she were assessing him. As he had done in the bank, he had the curious notion that the young woman saw right through him and he felt uneasy. Few people ever penetrated beneath the mask he wore.

"Thank you," she replied when she had eaten enough. "May I have a drink of water?"

Raising a canteen to her lips, Cort steadied her head by placing a hand at her nape. Her hair was soft and silky, though dusty and mussed from sleeping on the ground. He noticed a smear of mud on her cheek and instinctively brushed at it. Cynthia pulled away, startled by his touch; water dripped from the canteen onto her dress. With a slight frown, Cort stoppered the canteen and moved away mumbling something about "Breaking camp in a while. Get some rest."

Cynthia closed her eyes again and thought about her captor. Cort. He was different from the others. How? More intelligent. Independent. A loner. Unafraid. Yes, that's what the difference was. He wasn't scared of Herod like the other men were. For some reason, he chose to ride with them but he remained his own man. Of all the men there, he was the one who might be able to help her. Added to that, Cynthia knew that he wanted her. She had seen the same look in men's eyes before and knew what it meant. But there was a touch of the gentleman about him. Whatever he threatened, he hadn't taken her as she well knew he could have. He had even intervened to save her from that animal who had her in his sights. No, Cort was not a rapist. He wanted her to want him and was searching for a sign to allow him to proceed. His kiss had been rough and brutal but she knew that it also expressed his desires, the ones he had pushed down deep.

How low was she prepared to sink to win her freedom? Cynthia imagined giving herself to him and winning his trust, of them stealing away at night and riding back to her father. She could do it. He was just a man. All he wanted to do was hoist her skirts and spend himself in her. It would be quickly over. If it were necessary, she would do it.

"She behaving herself?" Herod asked as Cort kicked dirt over the remnant of the fire.

"Like a little mouse," Cort replied. "But the men are restless. Eagle is sniffing. If she stays here much longer, they'll want some action. He's already unbuttoning his britches."

Herod shrugged. "So? Long as they leave her in one piece. Might be a very salient warning to any others who want to be uncooperative." He looked narrow-eyed at Cort, "Or are you falling for the lady's charms?" Cort saw the glint of vicious triumph in Herod's eyes. He would enjoy making Cort watch the others taking turns with her if he thought he was soft on her.

"John. She's a virgin. I like women who know how to please a man. No fun breaking in an unwilling partner. But, I disagree. You let 'em touch her, everything changes. At the moment the banks tolerate us because we don't cost 'em much and we keep the bandidos away. Violate her and they'll put a noose round our necks. S'my opinion, anyway, John."

Herod drew on his ubiquitous cigar and contemplated the words of his protégé. The boy was smart. Sometimes that made him feel proud, like he'd made this kid into something special. But other times it worried him. Cort thought too much; it was safer being surrounded by cringing fools.

"There's a cottage up on the high canyon, beyond that ridge. Some old trapper used to have it; no one there now. I used it now and then when it was wise to lay low for a while. Take her there. Watch her carefully. When they pay, I'll send for you both. If they don't...well, we can all have some fun up there. How many you think she can take before she dies, Cort? Ever seen a gang take their turns?"

Cort's face set, a single muscle twitching, but his eyes deadened in a cold rage. Herod saw it and marked it down. Time to pull on his chain. Cort was beginning to slip from his control.

With food and water for a few days, Cort rode out with Cynthia in front, her hands tied to the pommel of the saddle. He had told her nothing. As they left the others behind and picked their way up to the high ground, Cynthia ventured a question.

"Where are you taking me?"

Cort said nothing.

"I asked you a question, Cort." It was the first time she had called him by name and he liked the sound of it in her well-bred accent.

"Safe place. Just until your father does as he's told."

"Where?"

"Makes no difference to you. You don't know where you are, anyway."

"Where are the others going?"

He shrugged. "Not with us."

They rode on in silence for a while. "Cort, did you suggest this to protect me from them?"

He didn't reply.

"You did, didn't you?" Cynthia insisted and turned her head to look at him.

"Maybe," he replied noncommittally.

"Then thank you for you kindness. I know you are not like them. You try to be but it is obvious that you are a much more honorable man. I will make sure my father knows that."

Cynthia was unsure if her words had had the desired effect. She could neither see his face nor did he make any response, but she thought she felt a slight easing of tension in his body. At least that is what she hoped had happened.

For a few hours they continued climbing relentlessly upwards until the ground became very precipitous and Cort jumped down to lead the horse. Cynthia noticed the way he talked low to the horse, stroking and patting. It showed an unexpected tenderness in the raw young man. Finally the ground leveled out into a small gully. There was a gurgle from a nearby stream that eventually cascaded down the mountainside and a few trees for shelter from the burning sun. In the overhang of the cliff above there was a small shack, hardly enough to call a cottage. It was there that they were to stay.

Untying the rope, Cort lifted her down from the horse and set her on her feet. He replaced the rope around her hands.

"Is that necessary? Where could I go?" Cynthia pleaded.

Cort shook his head. "Maybe later. But I need to do some chores." With a yank on her bindings, he dragged her to the shack and sat her down on the stoop, tying her to the upright post of the fencing.

While she remained thus tethered, Cort wandered round and familiarized himself. First he attended to his horse, removing the saddle and pack and leading it down to the stream for a drink. Then he found an axe in a pile of rusting tools and set himself to chopping wood from a large trunk lying nearby. He ripped off his shirt and flung it from him, unbuckled his gun belt and let it fall.

Cynthia watched him as he worked, sweating under the midday sun. His body was bronzed and hard, thick muscled and lightly haired. It was hard to take her eyes away. She recalled Steven's white city slicker's body that had never seen the sun or spent a day in physical labor. His narrow shoulders and the thick black hair that even crept in patches down his back had once thrilled her. One look at Cort's magnificent torso showed her how naïve she had really been.

Carrying an armful of wood, Cort entered the cabin and then returned. Striding to a water barrel at the side of the shack, he filled a ladle and poured the water over his head several times. His hair was plastered to his head and rivers of brackish water ran down his sweaty torso, following the planes of his muscularity, the peaks and valleys of his body. Cynthia realized that she was biting her lip as she observed him and her fingernails were digging into the palms of her hands. Water dripped from his body and soaked into the fabric of his britches, causing them to hang limply around his groin and thighs. The swell of his body held her in a prurient gaze. She found herself imagining how his manhood must look if it stood so proud when he was unaroused. A chill ran down her spine and sweat seemed to pool in her own groin.

"Let's get you out of the sun." Cort's lazy drawl broke through her embarrassing reverie and she felt her cheeks flush as if he might have heard her thoughts. As he released her and led her into the dirty shack, she tried to compose herself but proximity to his naked dripping torso did not help her confusion.

The cabin was a single room, sparsely furnished and lying under a thick layer of dust. There was a bed with a faded blanket and pillow with no covers, two rickety chairs, rudely hewn table and a rudimentary chimney. Cort knelt down and began to start a fire. Cynthia began to search for a cloth and finding an old and tattered pair of men's long johns, trying to ignore the stained and smelly appearance, she used them to brush dust off the chair and table and other surfaces. With a sudden movement, she hoisted the bedcover and went to the door to give it a shake and an airing. Cort moved from his kneeling position and caught her at the door, shocking her with his speed and surprise.

"I was just airing the blanket. That's all." He nodded and let her go, but she felt his eyes on her all the time and he went back outside to retrieve his guns and his shirt. But she recognized his momentary lapse; his guard had been down. Cynthia would watch for similar opportunities.

Together they restored the shack to a more livable condition. Cynthia washed the large single pan in the stream before filling it with water and putting it on the fire to boil. With an apology this time, Cort roped her back to the door and told her to stay put. He disappeared for an hour or so. During that time, Cynthia felt nervous and uneasy. As scared as she was of Cort's unpredictability, he was far safer than the other alternatives that came to her mind.

When he returned he carried with him two rabbits, which he began to skin and gut. Whittling skewers from bits of wood, he threaded the rabbits and placed them on the fire. Then he turned to her.

"You must be hot and tired, Miss Pierce. If you promise to behave, I will let you wash in the barrel, and freshen up. But I'm warning you. Don't cross me."

"May I go behind the trees first?" Cynthia asked.

Cort led her to the trees and removed the rope from her wrists; she rubbed her chafed skin. He turned his back and she hid from sight and followed nature's call. When she was ready, he allowed her to step past him and pointed to the barrel where he had washed.

"Are you going to watch me?" Cynthia asked.

"You watched me," he replied, with a knowing look on his face; Cynthia found herself blushing again. She shrugged defiantly and began to undo the buttons on her dress, aware of his eyes on her breasts and tried not to tremble under his steady gaze.

Slipping the bodice from her shoulders, she allowed it to fall to her waist, leaving her arms and shoulders bared in the light frilly petticoat beneath. Daring to meet his eyes, she stared at him and he looked down at his feet. Leaning over the barrel, Cynthia scooped water in her hands and washed her face and neck, allowing water to run between her breasts and sighing as it cooled her hot, dirty skin. Plunging her arms into the water she sloshed it on her underarms, longing to be able to strip and really clean herself and change her bloomers. But that was a step further than she was prepared to go.

Pulling her bodice back over her chest and buttoning it up, she tied up her hair more securely. Her bodice was wet and she glanced down to see her breasts clearly outlined and the pucker of her nipples through the wet fabric. With a darting glance she looked at Cort and knew he had observed it too. The bulge in his britches seemed to have filled out some more and she knew what that meant. All Cynthia could hope was that he was gentleman enough to keep his lust under control.

The day was cooling down when they sat down to eat, a simple supper of roasted rabbit, and hard tack, all washed down by another pot of bitter coffee. They sat outdoors watching the evening deepen. It was inevitable that they would sooner or later begin to talk. Cort produced a small hip flask and offered her some. Cynthia took a swig and made a face at the rough whiskey but appreciated the warm glow and the false confidence it gave her; she knew she was going to need that for the task ahead.

"I'm sorry this had to happen, Miss Pierce. It's just business. Nothin' personal," Cort, suddenly apologized.

"Business? Extortion is hardly business, Mr. Cort."

"The banks can afford it. Not like we're robbing ordinary folk," he replied defensively.

Cynthia laughed scornfully. "Who pays for it, Cort? The banks will surely not lose. They take it from the small interest given to the good law-abiding folk who put their hard earned savings in the bank. You are no better than a highway robber."

Cort hunched his shoulders. "So the bank's a bigger crook than all of us. Don't make no difference. Easy for you to sit there and tell me I'm a thief. You've never gone without food in your belly or clothes on your back. The rich are pretty good at telling the poor how to live their lives. Seems like we would all be law-abidin' if we had your chances."

Cynthia thought about his words. "I'm not sure about that. You think Billy Eagle would be a nice man if he had been born to a rich family? Somehow I don't think so."

Cort nodded. "He's an animal. Born bad. Some seed is bad. Don't the good Lord say somethin' about that?"

She smiled. "I don't think He meant that kind of seed  - but I take your point. Some are born bad and some are born good. I think you were born good, Cort. Something happened along the way but you have a good heart. I can see that- you are not like them."

With a sudden tilt of his chin and a wariness in his eyes, he said: "I'm a killer. I have killed men. I can draw faster than any man I've met."

Cynthia replied "Any that you have met up to now. What happens when you meet someone faster than you?"

"I die." His words were spoken without emotion, almost as if it had no significance to him.

"Just like that? A life wasted for nothing? Surely you want more from life than a death on a dusty street with a bullet through your heart?"

He shrugged. "Mean to live till I die. Same as we all do."

"You never wanted a home?"

"Had one of those," he replied bitterly.

"What about making a life of your own? Wife? Children? Someone to take care of?"

"Trouble enough taking care of myself. Don't need no burdens," he answered honestly.

Cynthia paused and thought carefully about her next words. "What about women, Cort? I expect they like you. You're a fine specimen of a man. Is there no special woman in your life?"

Cort laughed and shook his head. "I got whores in every town. They'd do me for free if I asked. I can get married ladies to roll in the hay with me and I've had my fair share of sweet virgins, too. Women. That's the easy part. I can get women. Just don't want any of them gettin' me." He looked across at her, clearly gauging her reaction to his arrogant words.

"You better be careful with that seed. Seems like you been scattering it wide. Some of it is sure to bear fruit- or so the Bible says," Cynthia teased.

Cort grinned. "Maybe it has. Don't stay long enough to find out."

"What a shame. Think of another little boy growing up like you, no father, no prospects, always at the bottom of the heap. Another father who cut and run."

Cort heard her words and suddenly stood up and walked away. With his back turned, he said, "Quit your goddamn preachin'. You don't know shit about my life."

Cynthia stood up and followed him. "Cort, I'm sorry. I know it's not my business. I apologize for insulting you. I just..."

Her hand reached out to touch his shoulder and he spun round to face her. They were standing close, her hand still raised to touch him, now it brushed his chest. He took it in his own and pulled her towards him; their eyes locked in a mesmerized gaze. As his head bent forward and his lips reached for her, Cynthia steeled herself to give him what he wanted. The moment his mouth gained her and he pressed her body close, her need for courage disappeared. She realized that she wanted this as much as he did.

His kiss was not at all as she had anticipated, nothing like the brutal possession of the morning. Cort kissed her with such tenderness that she almost stopped breathing. His lips were warm and soft, flavored by the raw whiskey. Cynthia parted her own lips to offer him a deeper kiss and he took the gift with a gentle pressure from his tongue on the inside of her mouth. Suddenly passion swept them both away and he held her head between his hands, kissing her with wildness and need, but never cruelty or force. She ran her hands over his shoulders, wrapped them round his neck and circled him until they were closer than a breath of air.

Cynthia heard herself sigh, listened to his low moan of desire, allowed him to lift her in his arms and carry her back to the cabin as dusk fell all around.

Their lips never parted as he sat her down on the bed and knelt before her to lie her back in his arms, rise above her, kiss her deep and writhe against her as she arched into him, their hands beginning to seek out other pleasures.

Cort cupped her full breasts and lowered his mouth to kiss her tender nipples through their cotton covering. His head burrowed between her breasts, fingers tearing at the buttons, while she ran her hands through his hair and slipped then into the collar of his shirt to feel the warm hard strength of him. With her bodice opened, he unfastened the prim pink ribbons of her petticoat and uncovered her breasts. They were full and high and he groaned at the pale perfection, knowing these breasts had not been befouled by the rotten mouths of countless men. This was a pure woman, one who only gave herself to men she loved. The thought that she might really care for him heightened his desire. Was he the kind of man that a real lady would want?

When her nipples felt the wetness of his mouth, Cynthia gasped at the sensation. His touch was tender, his skill exquisite- how had this raw outlaw learnt to love like this? Sense dissolved away, propriety went with it - Cynthia let her desire take her by the hand. Pushing him away and rolling him onto his back, she straddled him, naked breasts bared before him while she shrugged her dress from her shoulders, the petticoat with it. Bare to the waist, she fell on his clothes, ripping at his buttons as he helped her relieve him of his shirt. 

They frantically undressed each other, kicked off boots and shoes; she yanked at his belt, her nervous fingers trembling as she unbuttoned the straining britches, feeling the hard shaft beneath and longing for it deep inside her. As he pulled away her clothing and slipped down the long frilly bloomers, she eased his pants from his body and they finally stopped, panting, and viewed each other.

The mood changed. Cynthia reached out to him and he pulled her onto his lap. His hands smoothed down her soft skin, squeezed the flesh of her round pink buttocks, as she placed her hands round his neck and kissed him. She smiled as he shook his hair from his face, an almost feminine gesture, and bent his head back to receive her kiss. She traced a line of kisses to his neck and sucked on his Adam's apple, making him moan lightly and search for her lips again.

Her body pressed against his solid shaft, so big that she wondered how it was to fit within her, but she did not wish to flee from it. With one gentle movement, he lifted her onto him and she slowly lowered herself down, moment by moment crying out as he slid deeper and deeper inside. Cort said little, just murmured with pleasure, half delirious with the feel of her, trying to control his urge to simply toss her over and ram himself home as he would have done with Lilly or another whore.

In silence filled only with the sound of their gasping breaths, Cort and Cynthia made love. Pierced by him, her legs wrapped round his hips, his round hers, unable to stay the urge to touch and kiss and lick and bite. One moment he would throw back her head to claim her, then he would surrender his throat to her. No part of them was ignored- her hands roamed his thick muscled arms, his neck, his back, the ridge of each cord, each sinew causing her to gasp with sheer sensation at the hard, velvet flesh. Beneath his calloused hands, her soft, creamy flesh felt like the finest silk. She had never worked hard, borne a child, been beaten or gone without food or survived disease or want. He had never known anything so fine as the feel of her in his hands.

Cynthia stopped and pulled away to gaze down on him. She saw amazement in his eyes, almost innocence, like a child who sees a beautiful toy for the first time. He untied her hair and watched it tumble down and reached to touch it as if it were spun gold. If she had wanted to charm this man, she saw that she had done it but the thought gave her no pleasure. He had no idea how he had charmed her or that she planned to twist his adoration and use it to her advantage. But not yet. First she would love him and take his body. They both deserved that for their sacrifice.

Cort lifted her from his knee and laid her back against the pillow, kneeling over her body. brazenly showing himself to her. "I want you," he muttered gruffly.

"I am yours. Take me, Cort."

"Touch me," he gasped. Cynthia's hand reached for his swollen cock and he hissed as she circled it, threw his head back and moaned sweet and low. His hand reached between her thighs, stroked down her sex and came to rest on her secret bud; he circled it gently as she pleasured him with her hand. Her cry as he stimulated her to heaven drove him on; he moved her hand away to fall on her, supported on strong forearms.

Her legs gripped him round his slim hips, hung there as had his gun belt. He lowered himself into her inch by inch, as she whimpered and mewled in his arms. Cort' s head dropped to hers; he thrust in and out, slow, deep strokes, tantalizing and tormenting both of them; he longed to hear her cry, scream, call out his name.

"Cort... Oh Cort!" her frantic gasp came and it was enough- he let himself go, felt the tightening and then the rush. He shuddered into her, crying, "Cyn...Cyn...Sweet Jesus....."

They lay on the grubby bed, unaware of anything but the beating of their hearts. Cort slumped onto her breast and she drew him to her, feeling his helplessness and knowing she had to take her chance. It would not come again. Stroking back his hair, damp with sweat, she hushed him like a child and lulled him to sleep in her arms. Cynthia remembered the profound sleep that Steven had fallen into once he too had spent. That is when men were at their weakest; their strength poured out into a woman- and it was when women were at their zenith, empowered by the male seed poured within them.

With bitter tears in her eyes, Cynthia, eased herself from his embrace, gazed back on his naked perfection before covering him with the blanket. With her clothes and shoes in her hands, she tiptoed out of the cabin, stopping only to slide one of his guns from his belt.

By the light of a full moon, Cynthia dressed then dragged the heavy saddle and, struggling, raised it to the horse's back, securing it carefully. Taking a canteen of water and a handful of dry biscuits, with the gun stuck into the waistband of her skirt, she led the horse down the track trying to remember the route they had taken. She had decided to go in a different direction to throw him off her tracks. One last glance back to the cabin and her heart shifted.

I will never see him again. Oh Lord, I wish we had met in another life! 

With her head held high, she set out, steeling herself against the dangers of the night and the desertion of a sweet, if dangerous, man.