In the Shadow of the Mountain

I drove the buckboard to the back door of the house but before it came to a stop, I spotted the fresh splinters of bullet holes around the door frame and a shattered pane of glass in the one window. I went flying off the wagon seat and hit the back door rolling and calling, "Miz Thompson? Nettie? Jack?"

All was quiet for a few seconds and then the cellar door opened and the three of them walked in tentatively. I noted the old buffalo rifle in Miz Thompson's hands and the look of determination in her eyes and knew that she had every intention of using it to save her family and home. What really surprised me though was that all three of them hurried over and hugged me, talking at once about what had happened and how glad they were that I was back home.

Hmmm. I realized that ... it did feel ... like home.

We sat down around the kitchen table and Miz Thompson poured coffee for us while Nettie fixed hot chocolate for Jack and herself. Miz Thompson said, "There hasn't been a shot in probably an hour or more but right after noon a bullet broke the window and sent us diving for cover. We heard somebody shout that this was R-Bar-S land and we'd better be gone in three days. While they were yelling, we all crawled into the cellar. As soon as they quit talking, they started shooting. There must have been two or three rifles, maybe four. I suspect they weren't aiming to kill us or they'd have caught us outside. But it was pretty scary anyway."

After I drank my coffee, I told the family to go back to the cellar while I scouted around. I figured the shots had come from a grove of trees out beyond the barn and sure enough, there were tracks of three horses and three booted men. Two of the horses would not be difficult to identify because of unusual hoof trimming. However they were long gone ... didn't even bother picking up their shell casings.

I went back to the house and sounded the all clear, then began to unload the buckboard. The two five-gallon cans of kerosene went into the barn for storage and while I was there, I found an old bottle that I filled with some of the fuel and left near the door along with a couple of extra ropes. A plan was beginning to develop in my mind.

After dinner, I told the missus that I'd be riding out early in the morning to check on things and planned to be back by sundown. She had no problem with that. I headed for the bunkhouse to turn in.

I was still puttering around with plans for the next day when there came a light knock on the door. I called, "Come in" but was still surprised to see Miz Thompson come in, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders against the cool night air. I jumped up but she bade me sit back on the mattress so I did.

For a few minutes she stood just inside the door staring at me, a musing sort of look on her face. It made me a bit uncomfortable. "Can I help you with anything, Miz Thompson?"

Finally she walked over and sat on the bunk with me, making me really nervous. When she put her hand on my knee, I almost jumped out of my skin. Very softly, she said, "You can start by calling me Lottie, Mr. Dancer. I would like that."

I looked up to see the most lovely pair of clear blue eyes I'd ever seen. I started to speak but the words got caught in my throat. I cleared it and started again, rather huskily. "Would you call me Allan, ma'am?"

"I'd like that, Allan. But you've already forgotten."

"Oh, no, ma'am...uh, I mean, Lottie. It would be my privilege."

Again silence reigned and I turned my attention to the pigging strings I was preparing, acutely aware of her hand still resting on my knee, although my imagination made me believe that her grip was tightening.

"You're going after them, aren't you?"

"Wh...what?"

"You're planning to go after those men who shot at the house, aren't you?"

"Well, I ... uh, yes, ma'am."

"Lottie, Allan. Don't forget." I looked at her and she shook her head, "I don't want you to go, Allan."

"Ma'am? Lottie, excuse me?"

"I don't want you to get hurt, Allan. I don't want you to go."

"I'm sorry, ma'am...uh, Lottie. This is something I've just got to do. If I don't do it now, they'll eventually kill us all. I can't let them kill my family."

Her arms snaked around my neck and she leaned against my shoulders. I'd said something wrong, I knew, because the tears were flooding down her face, soaking into my shirt. Awkwardly I put my arms around her and hugged her to me. She just seemed to melt into my body. For a long time she cried, her body shuddering against my own. Try as I might, I couldn't help but be aware of the soft curves, especially with her large breasts pressed into my chest. My jeans began to be uncomfortable as my erection pushed out the front of them.

Finally the quaking stopped and she gradually composed herself. Leaning back, but not removing her arms, she said, "I'm so sorry, Allan. I didn't mean to throw myself at you. But...well, I know my husband's dead and it has been sooo long since a man cared enough about me to do what you're going to do. Allan, will you hold me tonight?"

"Yes, m...Lottie. Anyway you want."

She stood and turned in front of me, letting the shawl drop to the floor. Slowly she began unfastening buttons on her dress. As I watched the top leisurely opened, revealing creamy skin above the mounds still covered with another, smaller garment. However, the buttons kept opening, down to her waist and then lower, to the hem and then she shrugged out of the dress, letting it ball to the floor.

I licked my lips. Less than 24 hours earlier, I had bedded another woman and yet this was so much different. This was a woman I knew ... and respected ... and lusted after, although not openly, until now.

She reached behind her and unfastened the upper garment, letting it join the others on the floor, letting two huge soft, smooth globes sink slightly, a concession to the force of gravity. Her nipples were taut, a pair of dark red pebbles in a sea of crimson bumps. I couldn't help but lick my lips. Then she eased the bloomers down her legs and uncovered her lower region and I was beside myself with anticipation.

"Are you going to take off your clothes?" she asked.

Hastily I stood and shucked everything, not caring where it went but just sent it flying. When I turned, she was lying naked on top of my blankets, moved over far enough that I could lay beside her.

I lay facing her, carefully working an arm under her head to hug her to me. Our lips met in such a sweet kiss I felt my body and spirit floating along on a puffy white cloud. I ran my top hand down her side and around to the small of her back and gently pulled her to me. I mumbled an apology for poking her in the stomach with my cock but she simply pushed her hips closer to me and shot her tongue further into my mouth.

My mind was inflamed with the pressure of her enormous tits on my chest and the curve of her hip down to the roundness of her bottom. When my fingers slipped between her legs, she was soaking wet and whispered in my ear, "Make love to me, Allan, please make love to me."

Oh, but I wanted this to last, not be over in a few hasty minutes like I knew it would be if I climbed on top of her like she expected. I broke our embrace and began kissing my way down her neck and shoulders to her tits. I licked all around her huge mounds, nipping and lapping at the stiff little nipple, sucking hard when Lottie begged me to. Once she shivered so hard I lost contact with her tit.

She was moaning loudly when I licked down to her navel and all around her stomach. I soon continued down into the heavy thatch of curly, reddish brown hair. She seemed surprised when my tongue dipped into her crease, a little reluctant to spread her legs but, with my tongue running up and down the outer lips of her pussy, she must have decided it was okay and her legs slowly spread apart.

Her pussy was shaped kind of like an upside-down heart, all lacy flesh that stood up from the surrounding area. It was swollen and the color of angry red blood but she was both sweet and tart to the taste. As my tongue sank into her opening and searched for her clitty, her legs started swinging wildly back and forth behind my head. Her moaning had gotten louder and louder until I was afraid the kids would come from the house to see if I was hurting their mother.

But it wasn't hurt that she was expressing. It was the pent-up sexual frustration of being without her lover for more than three years. I sank my tongue deep into her opening and nearly drowned in a rush of cum pouring from within.

Lottie went limp with exhaustion. I crawled up her form, my cock leaving a wet trail of pre-cum on her thigh every time it touched her. She had the strangest look on her face, sort of a cross between too tired to care and the cat that ate the canary. I paused over her with my still throbbing hard-on poised at her entrance.

She whispered, "Yes, Allan, do it, please. I need to feel you inside of me. Please."

I eased forward but met no resistance. There was heat, plenty of heat and lots of slick juices. Her pussy was tight from disuse but otherwise very accepting of my offering. I supported my weight above her but with my hands under her head I held our mouths together for long minutes at a time as my hips slowly worked my implement in and out of her storage shed. It was an incredible experience.

Before I could go not further without shooting my sperm into her warm and inviting body, she shuddered several times, seemingly achieving a certain satisfaction from our coupling. Finally, spent and my flaccid member having plopped softly out of her pussy, I rolled over beside her. She turned to face me, her arms going around my neck and pulling our mouths back together. Lottie whispered, "Allan, we need you. Please be careful. No matter what else happens, remember that we need you to come back home whenever you can."

I kissed her again, nodded and then drifted off to sleep with Lottie in my arms.

At midnight with only a few hours' sleep, my internal clock woke me. I carefully disengaged from Lottie and got dressed. I had already packed my saddle bags the night before so all I had to do was saddle up, tie the bags behind the saddle, load my rifles and hang the other gear from the saddle horn. I walked my horse out of the yard and, when we reached the soft grass that would muffle his steps, lifted him to a mile-eating canter.

I figured there were still more than an hour of darkness before first light when I arrived at the headquarters of the R-Bar-S. I tied my horse in a grove of trees a ways from the house and took stock. There didn't seem to be any activity although the cook might be moving any time now.

Taking my extra ropes and can of fuel, I hurried quietly down to the yard. With only one door into the bunkhouse, I tied the door securely closed with the ropes going all the way around the shotgun style building. There was dried grass all around the building except for the path that led to the door so I poured a steady stream of kerosene right next to the base of the building, all the way around, dropping a few soaked handfuls of grass at the doorway. Quickly I retreated to a low spot up the gently sloping hill ... probably an old buffalo wallow ... trailing a thin line of kerosene all the way.

It was near first light and I knew the cook had to be stirring somewhere so I settled down, arranged my two rifles at the ready and waited.

I didn't have to wait long. A light appeared in a back window of the main house. I picked up my Sharps Buffalo gun and sighted on the light, just as a shadow appeared in the window. I waited until the shadow had moved on and slowly squeezed the trigger.

The explosion was extremely loud in the still of the night, especially in my own ears. The lamp went out immediately but in seconds the light was coming from a different source as the fuel spilled over the kitchen and the fire ignited it. I could hear yells of three or four voices from the main house and a whole cacophony of voices from the bunkhouse.

The streaks of light from the east let me see the bunkhouse door shake as the cowboys tried to boil out of the room. I shifted the Sharps and aimed at the top of the door. The big bullet took a piece out of the plank and sent it sailing inside, a vicious weapon if it found flesh inside. Instantly the shaking of the door ceased and so did the riot of voices.

I struck a sulphur match and dropped it on the tiny trail of kerosene and watched it progress like a ghost down the hill, into the yard and up to the bunkhouse, where it divided and spread around both sides of the tinder dry building. The flames devoured the grass quickly but it would take a few minutes to catch the old building on fire, I hoped. And by then, I wanted to be on my horse heading home. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and turned back to the main house. They had been able to put out the fire apparently and now three men appeared, one with a hand gun that would be totally ineffectual but a bigger, older man with a rifle. I'm sure they spotted the lingering smoke from the kerosene wick and looked up to where I was.

The old man shook a fist in my direction and yelled, "You coward! Come down here and fight like a man."

I stood up, Sharps in hand, and shouted back, "If you want a piece of the Running-T, you have to come through me. Only cowards fight women and children."

He brought the rifle up and tried to center on me. At the same time, I brought the Sharps up, steadied it, and squeezed off the trigger ... just after I spotted a puff of smoke from the rifle. But he missed. I didn't.

I had the satisfaction of seeing the rifle fly up, heard a 'ping' sound, and watched him jumping around shaking his hand which had been stung sharply when the heavy bullet contacted the metal of the rifle. Bet he couldn't fire that one again.

I picked up my can and the Winchester, which I thankfully hadn't had to use yet, and sauntered toward my horse just as someone cut the rope around the bunkhouse and the men began boiling out. Some had guns but one of the guys from the ranch must have told them to put them away and form a water brigade to save the bunkhouse. I got back home by lunch time and pulled the bailer out.

I was hitching up a team when the whole family came boiling out of the house and threw themselves at me. The weight of them, Lottie in one arm, Nettie in the other, and Jack holding onto my legs, almost pushed us all into a heap on the barn floor. They were laughing and crying and all talking at once so that I couldn't make sense of what they were saying. Finally they slowed down enough so I could understand that they were happy to see me back.

To my surprise, both Lottie and Nettie kissed me ... on the lips ... more than once. Jack got tired and ran off to play somewhere but the women kept hugging me, pressing their bodies into mine. The kisses kept coming and I didn't tear myself away from them. I didn't want to tear myself away from them.

Finally Lottie ordered me to come inside and tell them what had happened over a hot lunch. When I sat down at the table, both women brought on a whole feast of hot dishes, more than any man should eat when he has work to be done. But I tried my best to do justice to it, while both women hovered over me and devoured my every word.

I gave them a short version of what happened but Lottie saw through me, I guess, and demanded to know the details about my whole trip. So I told her as much as I could remember. The end of the tale brought more hugs from both Lottie and Nettie.

When I finished eating, I hurried back to the barn, hooked up a team to the bailer and headed out. It turned out that the bailer was pretty simple to operate, although it got clogged a few times and had to be cleared. However, it sure beat trying to fork that hay onto a wagon and transfer it to an unkempt pile in the barn.

Lottie came to my bed that night after the family had retired and we fucked until we both were exhausted and fell asleep together. When I woke up in the morning, she was gone. She greeted me at the breakfast table as if she had not seen me since dinner the night before. She still referred to me as Mr. Dancer and of course I called her Miz Thompson.

I worked at bailing hay for the next week before running out of the cut and dried stuff. Every night Lottie came to me and we made passionate love together before falling asleep. Unfailingly she was gone when I woke up and we kept up the appearances of being the boss lady and cow puncher employee.

I took another patrol around the fences the next three days and didn't find any new breaks. The cattle seemed to be doing as well as could be expected. I, on the other hand, really missed my nightly sessions with Lottie.

Back at the house, I began to gather the hay into the barn. Lottie insisted that it would go faster if she drove the wagon and I stacked the bales on it and it did make it go faster. Jack and Nettie wanted to help but the bales were too heavy for them either to toss about so the two of them worked as a team to stack the bales in the barn after I tossed them up to their level. I could see that, while we had a goodly amount put up, it wouldn't be enough to get us through the winter so I went back to cutting and raking some more meadows

Every night except during her "time," Lottie came to my bed when the kids were asleep. We would make passionate love and go to sleep, but without fail she would be gone before I got up. I began to wonder about her capacity. I'd never heard of a woman who wanted so much sex...not that it bothered me. I figured I was the luckiest man alive, since it looked like Mr. Thompson was dead!

The nights began to turn cooler and I had to make several forays to the groves of trees around the ranch, cutting downed trees and selecting certain living ones to harvest for firewood. It figured to be a long, cold winter in this part of the country. This was a task that Jack and Nettie set to with a vengeance. It gave me a number of opportunities to get to know the shy Nettie better.

One evening I came in from the fields and noticed a strange horse out front. I dropped my reins and went in the back of the house and through to the front. An older man was standing at the top step talking to Lottie.

I heard him say, "Ma'am, this is the best offer yore gonna get. And there ain't no way you kin make this place profitable. You can't keep no hands, your husband's gone and you and the kids can't run it by yourselves."

Lottie said hotly, "We'll make do, Mr. Riker, just as long as you don't shoot us down in cold blood. I'm not accepting this offer or any other offer you come up with, Mr. Riker. Now I'd thank you to get off my property."

I was bursting with pride at Lottie's gumption. I pushed the screen open and stepped out beside her just as Riker tried another bluster, "You'll be sorry, Miz Thompson. I cain't be held responsible if somethin' happens to one of yore family members."

I'd heard enough. I took another step forward, my right hand close to my side, intent perfectly clear. I said, "Riker, you've been told to get off this ranch and leave us alone. Either do it or pull that gun you got on your hip ... if you're man enough."

He started to bluster about not being a gunman, turning and hurrying down the steps. As he swung into his saddle, I moved to the top of the steps and grabbed the reins of his horse, saying, "Listen to me, Riker. You may not hold yourself responsible but I will. If I find one more cut fence, one more head of cattle killed by your hands, any shenanigans at all ... I'm coming after your hide. You don't have enough guns on your place to keep me from getting to you. And if any member of my family gets harmed or shot at, you'd better dig a hole and pull it in after you because I'll be coming to kill your sorry hide. Understand?"