Texas Trio Pt. 02 - Becky's Debt Ch. 30-32

REMINDER: I write long stories. Many chapters don't have naughty bits, but those that do will be way more fun if you read the others, too! Also, although TT2 is a stand-alone novel, it takes place in the same family as Texas Trio, so you might want to read that one first!—Stefanie

—:—:—:—:—Chapter 30—:—:—:—:—

She was trying to be good, she really was, but the fates were fighting her every inch of the way.

While Yan and Nanny were helping with the labor-intensive job of canning peaches and making jam, Clancy was in the back teaching the children to rope goats. Becky should have been helping in the kitchen, too, but peaches gave her such a rash she couldn't even be in the room while they were cooking, never mind touching the slimy little things. She tried Clancy first, but she didn't know how to rope, and she could tell Clancy was having fun with the kids—human and caprine—and didn't want her interference.

Caleb was off hunting somewhere, two of the stable lads were occupied stepping and fetching for the ladies in the kitchen, one was missing, and Little Bob had a bucket and a half of nails to straighten, which would take him at least three hours, since Bobby was slower than a tortoise with a broken toe.

Becky couldn't wait three hours. She hadn't been out riding in a couple of weeks, and she needed the time to think. Riding always cleared her mind—as long as she wasn't shackled to a yappy stable lad. She frowned, thinking that Brody would probably be worse than Jem and Colt combined when it came to her riding out alone.

He was so darn controlling . . . .

Becky felt her body tensing up and wrenched her mind back to the task at hand.

Even though she didn't want a companion, Becky made an earnest effort to find one. She honestly tried everything she knew. She even rode to the grub shed to see if Sammie—the missing stable lad—was down there cadging biscuits from Salty Jim. He wasn't, but when she remarked on the delicious smells coming from his kitchen, Jim gave her a couple hunks of cornbread for "nooners," as cowhands called the midday meal.

Finally, she gave up on being good and carried her trousers down to the barn in a basket as though she were taking lunch to the lads. Once the trousers had been transferred to her saddlebag, she wrestled a saddle onto her favorite mare and led the horse out the far end of the barn, directly away from the house. She walked the horse through the trees and across the creek, riding out into the meadow at the base of the hills she loved.

People said rustlers lived in the caves and hollows of these hills, coming out at night to stampede herds as they crossed the Colorado on their way north to market, though the big trail drives were becoming less common as the railroads crept ever westward. The months-long drive up the Western Trail to the Kansas railhead had become a two-week jaunt to the depot in Albany, just a hundred miles away.

The drives were no less hazardous for their brevity. One of their regular ranch hands had been swept under at a crossing on the Brazos just last fall, leaving a young wife behind. She'd quickly remarried, but the sight of a baby swelling her widow's weeds was the last bit of impetus Becky's brothers needed to finally call it quits. This year the KCW had contracted with a trail boss, who would take the herds to market for them.

Though Becky had never seen rustlers in her hills, she was more cautious about the canyons than she'd been before losing her fish fossil and nearly drowning earlier in the year. But there'd been no word of storms anywhere this week, so she'd be safe following the creek bed south of the mesa trail. She should be able to make it to the dry spring by early afternoon, and be home in time for supper.

After a short gallop and a long canter, Becky slowed her horse to a walk, following a faint trail through the scrub oak and prairie grass, unhindered by the thickets which sometimes tore at her hips and feet in the canyons. The cool hours of morning long past, birds and animals had taken shelter in the shade, leaving mostly the buzzing of insects to accompany the soft rhythm of Pepper's shod hooves, lulling Becky into a reverie where her worries were dulled by the peace seeping through her veins.

At home, she'd been frantic to escape the ranch-house and what she'd perceived as the confines of her family, but wandering among the trees, the real cause of her misery was immediately clear.

She hadn't been out into the canyons to explore for at least two weeks, because her mind had been completely occupied with Brody Easton. Even while she was searching for a riding companion, she'd been thinking about Brody.

She was worried about how he'd taken her first rejection and even more worried about how he'd take her continuing refusals, but what she found most disturbing was the fact that she still hoped Brody would visit her tonight. Every day, her feelings brought her closer to being caught. His proposal only served to highlight Becky's chief problem: a desire to be with him which grew deeper and more powerful by the hour.

Scowling, she squared her shoulders, sitting taller in her saddle.

Brody was difficult to ignore, but Becky refused to sacrifice her dreams for any man.

—:—:—:—:—

It was just luck that he saw her.

Brody was rounding up strays on a hillside above the bunkhouse and saw a rider crossing between the creek and western hills. If he hadn't been on the lookout for whatever idiot was clipping fences, he might not have been paying attention, but a solitary rider in that area was outside the norm. Brody had also heard the rumors of rustlers in those hills, and even a fledgling cowhand took rustlers seriously.

Brody lifted his head and squinted. He couldn't tell who the rider was, but as the horse crossed in front of a stand of juniper on the hillside beyond he noted the lighter color of the tail and mane, and his eyes widened.

Leaving a dozen beeves grazing in place, he tore down the hillside, happy as hell he had Pretty Penny today instead of pokey, mope-along Bear. Penny had a peculiar lopsided gait, but it didn't slow her down too much.

If Brody hadn't known where Becky was headed, he probably would have lost her in the dips and hollows of the foothills, but she was still searching for whatever band of rock that damn fossil had fallen from, and he knew which trails she'd bypass. He caught up with her watering Pepper at the last trickle before she left the main track.

She heard him coming and had the rifle in her hand when he rounded the bend—and a pair of trousers draped over a boulder right behind her, he noted.

Becky thought she might need the rifle even after she saw who it was—he had the same dark look he'd had in the stable that day he caught her sneaking out. She ignored it, giving him a brilliant smile. "Brody! You couldn't wait until after supper to see me?"

That smile and that line would have worked on a hundred other men. Most of them would have kissed her hand and promptly agreed.

Not Brody. He didn't say a thing. He pulled his saddle-bags and slicker off the horse, who'd been under him since dawn, tossed them in the grass, piled the saddle on top, and nudged Pretty Penny in the direction of the mare at the stream, all without speaking a word.

He fetched up a foot from Becky's nose, still glaring, forcing her to tilt her head sharply to maintain eye contact, which irritated her because he'd done it on purpose.

"Where's your escort?" He used the word deliberately to remind her of her brothers' orders.

She kept the same light tone. "Everyone was busy today, so I came alone."

She tried to step around him to get to her horse, but Brody stepped sideways, too, and wouldn't let her pass. "You know you're not supposed to be out here alone: it's not safe."

She frowned a tiny bit, because he wasn't her brother, her husband, or even her fiancé, so he had no say in what she chose to do. "Brody, it's a beautiful day. I'm perfectly fine. Nothing's going to happen to me."

"Have you forgotten the quicksand? Nearly drowning wasn't enough to make you think twice?"

She held her hand out sideways. "Yes, and I took the rifle with me when I dismounted this time, didn't I?"

"So you're perfectly safe out here alone because you have a rifle in your hand?"

"I'm perfectly safe because I'm on our own land, barely two miles from the house, not a cloud in the sky, and I haven't seen a ravenous grizzly in five or ten minutes now! I'm nineteen, not nine, Brody. I don't need you telling me what to do."

This time when she tried to pass him, he let her, but he reached out and grabbed the rifle as she went by.

She stopped short and tried to jerk it out of his hand, but even with two hands, she couldn't wrench it away from the one big fist he'd wrapped around the barrel. She stopped wrestling—it was undignified—and glared in exasperation.

His nostrils flared. "Are you safe now?"

"Yes, of course," she insisted.

With one tug he took the rifle from her.

Becky's eyes widened.

Brody leaned it against a rock and grabbed Becky's forearm, dragging her to his saddle.

"Brody!"

Ignoring her protests, he tossed her face first across the leather seat. In under ten seconds, her wrists were bound and lashed to the broad, heavy wooden stirrup—his roping skills had improved considerably since arriving on the KCW.

Becky screeched, a sound of pure fury, and kicked, trying to find a purchase for her toes.

Brody took a knee by her shoulder, one hand on the middle of her back, and leaned in next to her ear. "Do you feel safe now, Becky?"

She froze at the deathly calm in his voice. "Brody?"

His name held none of the rage he'd heard in her shriek a second earlier. Becky would have felt even less sure of herself had she seen his smile.

"Do you, Becky?" He turned his head to watch his hand following her spine toward the luscious curves of her ass, displayed so perfectly in this position. "Do you feel safe?"

She swallowed, not replying, and Brody shifted his weight, letting his hand continue downward, slowing over the fullest part of her ass, brushing over her thigh, onto her calf, and finally settling on her ankle as he shifted again, parting her legs to kneel between her feet.

Becky tried to roll away as Brody's hand retraced its path, but the rope around her wrists and the curve of his saddle held her firmly in place. His other hand joined in, sliding upward, pushing her skirts along while Brody watched what the motion revealed. Becky wore boys' roping boots, but the pale pink silk stockings emerging above them were as fine as any purchased in Paris or New York. The frothy white petticoat billowing from beneath her striped cotton skirt was edged with lace, the same lace, he saw, as that which trimmed her thin silk drawers.

Brody smiled. He'd been hoping she'd worn the split petticoat again today. No matter.

Becky whimpered as his hands traversed the backs of her thighs, tiny tremors running beneath the surface of her skin. Finally, his thumbs met the slope of her buttocks. There he paused to explore, tracing the small creases between her bottom and thighs, though they were still hidden from his sight. Then his hands continued their climb. Her skirts tumbled over the crest of her hips as Brody cupped her taut, round cheeks, reveling in the heated feel of her skin through the silk. She was so soft and his hands were so sensitive that he hardly knew who was caressing whom.

He leaned over her supine form. "Are you safe now, Becky?"

Was it anticipation or apprehension which had her breathing so raggedly?

He pushed her hair aside and nuzzled the back of her neck, reaching beneath her body to cup her breast. Her nipples were already hard, stabbing into his palm.

"Ahhh," he breathed. "No corset. Perfect for our outing."

He pinched.

Becky gasped, shifting her upper body. No longer was she trying to escape, but urgently arching, forcing her breast more firmly into his palm.

He laughed and lifted his torso away, settling back on his heels. He tipped his head as if perusing a puzzle and decided the bow must be in the front of her drawers. He drew his knife, notched the center back seam, and tore them from her body.

Becky made a little yip of panic and tried to squirm backward onto her knees to escape, a motion he impeded simply by placing his fingers between her legs. When she stopped moving , Brody finished pulling the scraps of fabric from under her hips, then got to work paying appropriate homage to the beautiful curves his vandalism had revealed. He squeezed, massaged, circled, and stroked the silky globes. Leaning forward, he gently bit the lower curve of one delicious mound, drawing a ragged moan from his lover's throat, then he licked where he'd bitten, repeating the tribute to her other cheek.

This was horrible for her resolve, Becky thought wordlessly in the one dim corner of her mind still trying to be logical. At the moment, her independence seemed far less important than the effect Brody's kisses were having on the ache between her legs.

All the while, he watched her labia plump, revealing the tiny pink pearl and the sheen of moisture slicking her entrance.

Finally, he let his fingers roam downward. They circled her vagina, dipped into the wetness, and parted the delicate folds of her pussy. He stroked her slowly, too slowly, too erratically to make her come, moving less when she strained hardest toward his hand, then settling two fingers in the grooves alongside her clit. Staying away from the tender tip, he filled her pussy with his thumb and thrust deeply. When Becky's whimpers became a nearly constant song of yearning, he pulled his fingers away, leaving her to arch helplessly.

One hand on her waist, he urged, "Slide forward."

She pushed with her toes and moved a couple of inches.

"More," he rumbled, "onto your elbows."

Obediently, she stretched and rocked forward, her ribcage heaving with the effort of not crying out, pleading for his penetration.

With her ass upturned and her shoulders down, Brody parted her thighs more widely. For a moment he let himself simply gaze on the secret places of her body. It wasn't only desire which caused the flesh between his thighs to harden, but the pleasure of possession. He would be the only man ever to see her thus, the only man to touch the silken ivory of her skin, the downy brown curls, the slick rose creases, the tiny pink bud of her bottom. He'd be the one to nurture her dreams, to quiet her tears, to soothe her in the night when she worried, as women did. Becky was his, and she always would be: she just hadn't admitted it yet.

Brody ran his hands up the backs of her sun-warmed thighs and into her crease, smoothing the moisture upward. With her body's own cream, he anointed her rear entrance.

Becky was motionless, save for the unsteady expansions of her ribcage as she panted. She moaned long and low when his index finger slid easily into her vagina. Once, twice, he plunged, so slowly that she had time to moan again as he withdrew, only to focus his attentions on the smaller entrance above.

That sly finger circled, gradually centering on the pucker of delicate tissue. Becky held her breath as he pressed gently inward. He used his thumbs to spread the lips of her pussy, and when his finger pierced the ring of elastic tissue above, Brody bent and licked her. Becky gasped in utter shock, her brain ordering her to recoil even as her back arched, thrusting her pussy into his mouth, begging for more.

He licked her at an agonizingly measured pace, urging her higher. Becky twisted in the saddle as she tried to direct the tantalizing strokes of his tongue, but Brody avoided the tense bud of her clitoris, constraining his rough, damp caresses to the shaft and grooves on either side.

With the moist tip of his finger lodged in the embrace of her virgin ass, Brody teased her, thrusting and retracting a few millimeters at a time. She was so snug he could feel her inner tissues clinging to his skin with each miniscule movement. As her pussy responded to the ministrations of his mouth, her bottom relaxed, and his first knuckle slid further past the resistant ring of muscle.

Becky squealed on an indrawn breath, and Brody's cheeks tightened in amusement. She was so wet, he could have taken her ass using nothing more than her own natural lubrication, but Brody had no intention of doing that any time soon. Rebecca was such a delicious mix of passion and innocence that he planned to make the most of every stage of her seduction. The more forbidden she found the act, the more intense her climax would be, and the sweeter her capitulation. As long as fingering her bottom shocked her silly, Brody wouldn't introduce anything else.

Brody lapped and sucked at her tender clit, his finger twisting gently until Becky came, the musical sounds of her pleasure punctuating the rhythmic pulsations of her ass around his finger.

Soothing her with nips and kisses on her pale bottom, Brody waited until she'd begun to come down, then concentrated his attack on the tip of her clitoris, sucking it into his mouth and manipulating the taut bud firmly between his lips and tongue. He pulled his fingertip free of her body with every stroke, and her ass no longer clenched at the lewd invasion.

He made her come a second time, working his finger further into the forbidden recesses of her body before gently withdrawing.

He gave her no time to settle, and he wasn't gentle any more. He unbuttoned, shoved his trousers down to his knees, and positioned himself behind her. Spreading her cheeks so he could watch his penetration, Brody slid inside her, all the way to the hilt in one hard stroke. Becky's body tensed, her pussy gripping his cock so tightly that Brody groaned.

He rocked his hips a few times, getting her used to the thick hard presence, then leaned forward over her body to loosen the loop of rope securing her. The position forced his cock even more deeply inside her, and Becky screamed, in agony or ecstasy he couldn't tell, but he got her wrists loose. When Brody backed away, he brought her with him, lifting her to sit on his thighs, his cock still buried in the heat of her body. She fell back against his shoulder, panting while he rocked his hips, unbuttoning her blouse and tearing another chemise baring her breasts for his touch.

Anchoring her to his thighs with an arm around her waist, Brody nuzzled her neck, tweaking and pinching her nipples. Her wetness covered his aching balls and the front of his thighs as he fucked her, lifting her hips and slamming so deeply that he bottomed out with every hard thrust. His teeth ground against each other. He knew he wouldn't be able to stand the added stimulation for very long, but he couldn't resist the sounds she made as she announced her impending orgasm.

Bunching her skirts up, he freed her sensitive folds to the same devious tweaks and pinches her nipples were enduring. He leaned back, thrusting up into her, and came only a few seconds before she did, his roar blending with her moans.

The drops of sweat at his hairline added to the dampness at the nape of Becky's neck as Brody rested his forehead against her, his chest heaving. He'd nearly died several times in his thirty years on earth, but he couldn't remember ever having been this weak. His thighs shook in the aftermath of completion.

Brody shifted his weight and twisted awkwardly sideways until he landed on his ass, wrenching his booted feet out from under him and drawing his knees up in front, all without letting go of Becky. His cock was still half-hard inside her, and she mewled and writhed atop him as he settled back against the saddle. Gradually he softened, until at last he thought he could free himself without causing her discomfort. She whimpered when they separated, and he winced.