Wild Wisteria Read online

  “Are you certain? You didn’t hit your head or anything? No cuts, bruises, broken bones?”

  “No. It’s a miracle,” she breathed, “but I’m okay.”

  “You’re fit to ride?”

  “I believe I am—”

  “Then you’re coming home with me.”

  “No, I’m leaving,” she bit out.

  “No, you’re not,” he shot back. “Now, we can do this the easy, dignified way with me taking you on my lap and you riding back in a ladylike fashion. Or, you can fight me on this and ride to the stable face down over my saddle horn like a sack of potatoes. Either way, the outcome will be the same.”

  Although grateful for the rescue, she had no intention of returning with him, threats or no. He didn’t know who he was messing with. She’d been wrestling with her brother for years and knew several dirty moves—a heel to the toe, a kick to the shin, or a knee to the groin usually did the trick, with Slim coming out the loser. She didn’t expect big Luke Jackson to be any different, finding over the years that the bigger the bully the slower the reaction and quite often, the brain. She simply needed to wait for the right moment and the element of surprise.

  “Your decision, Miss Turner,” he prompted, shouting over the wind. “This storm is getting worse.”

  Staring up at him a moment, she nodded as if in agreement of the aforementioned easy way, then stood looking docile and quiet while rain pelted her face and dripped off her chin. Expecting he was used to getting his way, it lulled him into thinking he’d won as she’d hoped it would. When he turned to check on the whereabouts of his horse, she put her impromptu plan into action.

  She waited until he turned back, then she struck. Stomping on his foot with all her might, she then ground her heel into his toes while she shoved at his chest. He took a half step back, but otherwise didn’t budge.

  Surprisingly, he chuckled, as his long fingers gripped her wrists. “You’ll have to do better than that, brat. I’m a rancher, remember? My toes have been trod upon by thousand-pound steers; your hundred pounds of stomping ain’t nothin’.”

  Determined to get free, she fought his hold, doubling her efforts when his arm hooked her waist, drawing her near. Wisteria knew she had one last chance to maneuver for a kick. Shin or groin was the question. Falling back on what had worked before, her knee rose sharply toward its target. This time, his body twisted and blocked it, the blow glancing ineffectively off his thigh. She’d missed, yet succeeded in doing two things. First, she wiped any amusement clean off his face. Second, she knocked herself off balance, mostly because he caught her leg and lifted it high on his hip until she had to cling to him or fall flat on her backside.

  His patience clearly at its end, he lifted her off the ground and slung her easily over his shoulder despite her struggles. A heavy arm fastened her kicking legs to his chest while, to her distress, his free hand clamped down on her upended behind.

  “I am also not an idiot,” he grumbled as he turned and strode toward his horse. “Did you really think I’d be fooled by the same trick twice?”

  A short distance later, she was flipped upright for a brief moment, only to find herself slung face down over his saddle, the speed of the maneuver leaving her dizzy. Stunned at being upside down over any horse, let alone Luke Jackson’s big sorrel stallion, she lay frozen in disbelief. The only thing her brain was able to process at the moment was the creak of his saddle as he mounted up and his mutterings; words like “foolish, headstrong girl” and “pretty head’s filled with goose feathers.” The horse whirling about the next moment snapped her out of her stupor. She pushed up with her hands and kicked wildly.

  “Let me go.”

  Her demand for release came too late because he’d already put his heels to his horse’s sides and they were off in a fast trot. In her ignominious position, draped like a sack of flour over the saddle horn, she grunted as each long stride jabbed the stiff leather into her belly and robbed her of air.

  “Wait. Shasta!” came her breathless cry.

  “Gone. After she threw you, she bolted at the next clap of thunder.”

  Damn! Despite this dire news, Wisteria struggled, twisting to get free of his hold.

  “Stay still unless you want a broken neck.” His big hand that was already riding low on her back, keeping her steady, pressed her down more firmly.

  “I need to find her.”

  “You’re not going anywhere except someplace safe and dry.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you. Put me down.”

  “No.”

  “You’ve got no right—”

  Something wide, hard, and quite unforgiving came down sharply on her backside. Instantly, she shut up, but only for a second. Then she twisted, glancing up at him over her shoulder. “Did you just spank me?”

  “You betcha, and there’s plenty more of that if you don’t stop wriggling around and start doing what you’re told.”

  “I can’t believe—you just can’t—ooo!” She spluttered nonsensically at first, then howled, “How dare you!” and began kicking and hitting him for all she was worth. Stupid on a moving horse, true, but she wasn’t exactly thinking rationally after all she’d been through, least of all being manhandled and unceremoniously carried off by a big brute. When she made no headway with her thrashing, Wisteria used one of the few options left to her, being undersized, outmaneuvered and at his mercy; she turned her head and promptly bit him. Luckily, her face was near the fleshy part of his lower leg between the top of his tall boot and his knee, so when she opened her mouth and clamped down, she caught vulnerable skin, not impenetrable leather. Still, she had to bite hard so he’d feel it through the thick denim.

  Cursing a blue streak, he yanked his leg away, kicking his boot free of the stirrup as he reined in. The next thing she knew, her saturated trousers were yanked down to her knees and the same wide, hard, unyielding hand rained blistering swats of fire upon the seat of her thin drawers. While struggling and screaming with outrage, in the back of her mind she realized she was counting. He was past five and closing in on ten in no time. When he was approaching twenty and showed no sign of stopping, the burning sting of his walloping hand finally sank in enough for her to realize she couldn’t win this battle.

  “Stop!” she squealed, straining to be heard over the booming thunder and cracks of lightning.

  He didn’t, laying into her already tenderized behind for several more swats with his great big hard-as-oak palm. She began to wonder if he’d heard.

  As she opened her mouth to plead for mercy, she heard him growl, “I warned you.” Then he stopped at long last. “Are you going to behave now, so I can get you back to the ranch and into some warm dry clothes, or do you need more convincing?”

  Gritting her teeth, she nodded as she lay silently over his thighs in complete mortification. Evidently, he wasn’t satisfied with her non-verbal show of consent and whacked her twice more.

  “Oh!”

  “A ‘yes, sir, I’ll behave’ or a ‘no, sir, I don’t need more convincing’ is how this will end, Miss Turner.” His hand came down in a swat harder than all the others before it.

  “Yes, I’ll behave,” she cried out. Then just in case, added for good measure, “No, sir, I don’t need any more convincing.”

  Chapter Three

  He tugged her trousers back into place and without righting her position, spurred Track into a swift, yet easy gait.

  Unbelievable. She’d bitten him! Luke could still feel the impression of her teeth. She had spirit, he’d give her that, not to mention beauty. He’d never forget those large blue-violet eyes, flared wide with amazement or those pink pouting lips formed into a little ‘oh’ as she looked up at him before she demanded, “Did you just spank me?”

  Rose couldn’t have missed his first open-palmed swat on her upturned behind or mistaken it for other than what it was. He frowned, thinking Rose was lovely, although Wisteria was beautiful and suited her so much better. In his mind, that’s how she would be, but she was headstrong and impulsive, and he’d delivered one crisp stinging swat intent on getting her attention. It had, but it was as if her brain didn’t trust what her body knew to be true.

  He’d nearly burst out laughing, though the tenderness in his groin and the ache in his balls reminded him how furious he was with her. He still couldn’t believe she’d kneed him once, landing a direct hit, let alone tried it a second time. Then she had the gall to bite him.

  Luke shouldn’t have been all that surprised. Any twenty-year-old girl who was brave enough to come all this way alone, in the dead of night with a storm brewing, and attempt stealing a horse from not one Jackson barn, but the second in a single day was the very definition of plucky, and even if it was to retrieve her own horse, quite foolish.

  Yes, Wisteria was brave, and as wild and headstrong as they come, and most likely desperate. He had disagreed with the judge’s ruling. The girl seemed an innocent victim to her older brother’s whims and hare-brained schemes, the failure of both having left her destitute. His intention had been to set things right with her after the trial, but she hadn’t given him a chance, or his pa who had the same inclination before she’d run off.

  The question for Luke now was what to do with her. Did he turn the pretty little horse thief over to his lawman brother? That didn’t seem right. She was much too young and beautiful to spend years in the dreary territorial prison. Not that he’d do that even if she weren’t. The rumors of the mistreatment of female prisoners at the hands of the male guards was not something he’d wish on any woman. In Wisteria’s case, having her confined to their care would be like dangling juicy ripe fruit in front of starving men’s faces.

  Looking down at his still indignant, though more cooperative passenger, he had to admit that despite the ill-fitting men’s clothing and her bedraggled state, she was the most stunning woman he’d ever seen. He’d thought that the first time he’d seen her covered in dust and grime, fresh from her brother’s illegal mine, and in court yesterday when she’d dressed in her finest, which wasn’t so fine. Out of fashion and threadbare described her old skirt and blouse best. Obviously, she’d been down on her luck for some time. None of it had detracted from her beauty in the least, however.

  Her fair skin, white and creamy smooth, contrasted with the vivid coloring of her other features, like the long skein of black hair that was currently sopping wet and plastered to her face, neck, and shoulders. When dry, it hung in a glorious, gleaming fall all the way to her lower back where it curled softly at the ends. Her unusual violet eyes were fringed with long silky black lashes and, combined with the unique color, reminded him of the purple pansies that grew out front of the big house in the fall. Her rosy lips were full and tempting despite appearing a bit blue from the cold rain as she’d stared up at him just now. The rest of her was a mystery in her oversized breeches and homespun shirt, or it had been until he’d bared her bottom for the spanking. The thin white split drawers she’d worn beneath her twill trousers had been drenched, clinging to her hips and buttocks like a second skin. The wet cotton had become translucent and done nothing to hide the jiggle his broad-handed swats created.

  She had a delicious, nicely rounded ass that conformed to the shape of his palm perfectly. Her attitude begged for a tanning, as did her body, and Luke had seen to that without hesitation. Evidently, she thought he was bluffing about wearing her out if she continued with her recklessness. She’d learn soon enough that Jackson men didn’t put up with nonsense from their women, showing them the error of their ways swift and sure over a sturdy thigh.

  He blinked. When had he begun to think of the little firebrand in that light? She wasn’t his woman. He barely knew her, and from what he knew of her, she was trouble with a capital T. In one scrape after another, with a tongue that could blister a man’s ears and an adept knee with the power to incapacitate; he didn’t need that kind of strife in his life.

  Yet, as he thought of the excitement she’d bring to what was often times a rancher’s monotonous life, a grin curved his lips wide. For certain, she would add a spark to his bed. Despite the abuse his cock had taken earlier, it began to stir, becoming painful within the confines of his suddenly snug pants as the image of Wisteria lying naked in his bed flooded his mind. Reclining on his pillows, a sultry smile on her lips, she reached for him. With great anticipation, he watched the linens slip down below her rosy breasts, which lifted prettily, bare nipples taut and beckoning to his lips as she raised her arms in eager invitation.

  Having seen his brothers navigate the pitfalls of the connubial path and come out the other side happy, he had begun to see the benefits of the matrimonial trap. Unlike Heath and Aaron, who had not taken the traditional path to the altar, maybe he could break the pattern and have a willing bride for a change. He merely had to figure out how to convince the wildly impetuous Wisteria to hang around long enough to woo her and make that happen. He frowned, readily admitting they weren’t off to a very promising start.

  A bolt of lightning zipping across the sky and electrifying the air around them snapped him out of his pleasant reverie. It was followed by a loud boom of thunder. They needed to find shelter, pronto. He urged his horse faster, cresting the last rise before the turnoff to his home.

  Spying it up ahead, he slowed his mount. Track made the turn out of habit, covering the wet, soggy ground with his surefooted stride. They were back in the dry barn in minutes. Dismounting, he lifted the much calmer, yet very disheveled young woman from the saddle.

  As he set her on her booted feet, she swayed a bit. His hands at her waist already, it seemed only natural to bring her in closer and let her lean into him until she got her bearings.

  “Easy, darlin’, steady yourself. Are you dizzy?”

  Whipping her hair out of her face, she looked up as she pulled away. A flash of lightning through the open door illuminated her face briefly. He noticed in that split second that her big, luminous eyes appeared more purple than blue and were snapping with fire. “I’m perfectly fine, Mr. Jackson. If I was dizzy, I can assure you that nearly drowning and then riding topsy-turvy through a thunderstorm in your not-so-tender care would make anyone’s head spin.”

  He fought a smile, noting the omission of the spanking he’d delivered, but he let it pass.

  She swiped at her wet face, an act of futility since her hair was saturated and dripping. As she glanced up at him, she bit her lip, her raven brows drawing together before she looked away. “I suppose I need to thank you for hauling me out of the creek.” This she said grudgingly. “It rose over its banks in a very short time. You likely saved my life.”

  “Flash floods are common in heavy downpours in these parts. I warned you about that before you went haring off.” His not-so-subtle rebuke was ignored. Watching her closely, he saw the moment her teeth began to chatter and she shivered with cold. “Fall temperatures seemed to have arrived with this rain. Take off those wet clothes while I fetch something dry from the back room.”

  “I don’t think so,” she declared heatedly. “You’re daft if you think I’m going to stand in front of you in the altogether. What do you take me for?”

  “A half-drowned impulsive young woman who seems to have a bad habit of not using the brain God gave her. You’re chilled to the bone from the creek water and cool rain. If you don’t get warm and dry you’ll be feverish and croupy by morning.” His hand came up and captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Now, shuck those wet duds while I fetch a blanket and something dry for you to put on. When I come back, I expect you to be right here, having done what I’ve asked. Is that clear?”

  Her answer was a frown as she jerked her chin away.

  “Challenge me on this, darlin’, and you’ll find yourself back over my lap for more of the same.” With his warning given, Luke turned and walked across the big barn to the tack room. He peeled his own uncomfortably wet shirt off as he went. In the dark overcrowded supply room, he picked his way carefully around the haphazardly stacked old saddles to the small room in the back. Though sparsely furnished with only a bed and nightstand, it was always stocked with linens and some extra clothing for a stable hand who might need to spend the night with a sick horse or mare in foal. The spare room also produced two blankets.

  Quickly, he made his way back finding her not where he left her, but in a shadowed corner, although she’d done as she was told and stripped down to her underthings.

  “I found a shirt that should keep you warm.” Shaking out one of the blankets, he held it wide in front of him. “Off with the rest, and slip it on.” He raised the blanket like a screen between them, protecting her modesty.

  A moment later, he felt a tug on the woolen barrier. Before she had time to drape it around her, he saw that the shirt was even bigger on her than he’d expected, falling well past her knees and she’d had to cuff the sleeves numerous times to keep them from hanging past her hands. He grinned at the rumpled, but pretty picture she made.

  He motioned to a hay bale close by. “Take a seat and I’ll help with the stockings and boots.”

  Crouching in front of her, he pulled off the soaked, threadbare hose one at a time, replacing them with thick, dry socks. As he went about his task, he glanced up without lifting his head and caught her looking at his body. She was unaware of his attention, and he watched as her gaze traced over his bare chest, dipping down to his belly. He cleared his throat and her head came up right away. Surprisingly, she didn’t glance away or act shy having been caught openly gawking. Her boldness made him wonder about the fiancé she denied.

  Standing, he used the other blanket to dry and warm himself, then saw to his horse. Leading Track into his stall, he moved easily in the dark, having done it so many times before he didn’t need to see. After he removed the saddle, he gave him a quick rubdown and threw a blanket over his back. As he strode back toward the front, he felt a rush of chill wind blowing in through the open doors. Closing them to keep out the driving rain threw the interior into pitch darkness. Without difficulty, he located the oil lantern where it was always kept, lit it, and hung it on a hook near where Wisteria was seated.

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