Rustled (6 page)

Keeping his
incredible eyes on mine, Russ helped me free myself from the confining dress,
and then pulled his thermal shirt off over his head, releasing that
intoxicating scent again. Gently, he laid me down on my side and joined me
there, holding me close, bare breast to bare chest. Something that I couldn’t
define was happening, but it wasn’t the type of lust that I knew from previous
experience. My head was buzzing, and warmth flooded me, bringing with it a rush
of moisture between my legs and a sense of suspended time.

I would have
been content to lie there with his arms around me forever, as his warmth
soothed me and swept away my worries. I could feel his lips moving at my
temple, planting tender kisses there. Then his hand began to stroke me from my
back, down to my ass, where he lingered, circling, soothing the sting and then
slowly back up. My arm was trapped by his, curled around his waist, where all I
could do was stroke him as far as my hand would turn.

“Kitten,” Russ
whispered. “I want to make love to you.”

Confused, I
simply nodded. I would have thought it was obvious I wanted sex too, and that
we were on the way, with this strange foreplay lulling me into something
resembling hypnosis. He tilted my chin up and kissed me again, leaning into me
so that I could feel the bulge between us. My hand was now free, and I reached
between us to undo the button on his jeans.

He rolled back
to give me access, and now I used both hands to unzip and push them and his underwear
down over his hips as he lifted them off the bed. When his cock sprang free, I
couldn’t suppress the moan of desire that escaped me. I put both my hands
around him and squeezed, brushing my thumb across the slit at the top and
spreading the moisture I found there around the crown.

“Kitten, you
set me on fire,” he moaned.

His words had
a similar effect on me, and my eyes flashed to his to judge his mood. Rolling
over, he pressed me to the bed and then captured my hands in his, pulling them
over my head and pinning them. With exquisite care, he kissed my eyelids, then
nuzzled down to my neck and just behind my ear, where he kissed and sucked
until I was tingling all over.

The urge to
touch him was overwhelming, but he held my wrists firmly with one hand as he
rolled off me slightly and reached between us with the other to fondle my
breasts. Twisting so that he could continue to pin my arms while he kissed and
suckled my nipples, his free hand drifted lower, tangling his fingers into the
hair that covered me below. He tugged, drawing a sharp gasp from me, and then
nipped me on a sensitive, erect nipple. The sensual assault was almost more
than I could bear. I moaned and writhed with the need to touch him and to be
touched where I throbbed.

“Please,” I murmured.

“Anything you
want, Kitten. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you,”
I sobbed. “I want you inside me, but I want you in my mouth, too.”

“My greedy
little Kitten,” he soothed. “You shall have all you want and more.” With that,
he at last released my hands, and turning quickly, mounted me with his head at
the cleft between my torso and legs. Placing his face between my legs to suck
deliciously at my clit, his cock dangled enticingly above my face, where I
wasted no time seizing it in both hands and guiding it into my mouth. He moaned
and ground into me as I licked and sucked, taking as much of the length as I
could into my eager mouth and flattening my tongue across the head as it passed
on the way down my throat, the better to taste him.

With his balls
covering my nose, I couldn’t breathe, so I lifted them away from me and fondled
them, remembering to tickle them with my fingernails from time to time. Russ’s
loud moans were accompanied by thrusts that plunged deeper than I could handle,
but I loved it. What was happening between my legs was incredible, made more so
by the fucking my mouth was receiving from his steady pumping. As he licked and
sucked my clit, the pleasure built and I wildly sucked all the harder at his
shaft, clutching his ass with both hands as if he might escape. With a flick of
his tongue accompanied by a plunge of his fingers into me, I came without
warning, thrashing and digging my fingers into his muscular backside, crying
aloud around his manhood, which he stilled until I turned my face away,
desperate for the air that I couldn’t find during my cataclysmic orgasm.

Now he pulled
away from my mouth and turned again. Before I could protest, he was on his
knees between my legs, guiding his beautiful manhood into my entrance. With
just the head of his cock inside my channel, I was frantic to be filled
completely, begging him to put it all the way in. Even though I was prepared
for it, I cried out when he placed both his arms under my knees and pulled me
into him and himself into me, spearing me on that fearsome weapon, driving it
so deeply into me that he touched virgin territory, where no man had gone
before.

What flooded
through me was intense sensation, bordering on relief, followed quickly by a
building fervor with each thrust of his inexhaustible shaft. Never had I felt
such satisfaction and pleasure with every plunge, my eyes rolling back in my
head as I wrung the last iota of sensation from each one. Before he came with a
shout and one last massive thrust, I was shrieking my pleasure every time he
pounded into me. He held nothing back, sending me into orgasmic delirium long
before his climax. When he had given the last, grinding thrust, he slumped onto
me, covering me with his weight, lying heavily on my chest as if unable to even
roll over, though at last, he did.

Spent, we eventually
stopped gasping for air and lay in post-coital bliss, me with my head on his
chest, nuzzling into his spice-and –woodsmoke scented skin; he holding me
closely with one arm while his other hand stroked my hair lazily. A lethargy
stole over me that had nothing to do with my weakened condition and everything
to do with the feeling that I could be happy to lie here like this with Russ
forever. As sleep overtook me, I was so far gone that I didn’t notice whether
he had used a condom.

Later,
suddenly awake for no reason that I could determine, I was entranced to find
that I was still enfolded in his arms, still naked beside him, skin to skin,
warmed by more than his warm body. The warmth came from inside, where I still
tingled from the sex we’d shared, and even deeper. This, I thought, was simple,
genuine happiness. I lay in the glow of it, his quiet breathing steady unless I
shifted, and then he’d give a little gasp and clutch me closer. What did this
mean? Did he feel the same way I did? Or was that just crazy? As my thoughts
drifted lazily, I slowly realized that the howling outside had stopped.

“Russ? What
happened to the wind?”

“Hmm?” I
realized then that he had been nearly asleep. Russ got up, wrapped the quilt
around me and tucked it in, then went naked to one of the quilt-covered windows
to look outside.

“I’ll be
damned, the sun’s trying to come out.”

“Does that
mean it’s over?” I asked eagerly.

“Could be. We
should get ready to make a run for it while it’s stopped. Hang on, I’ll get you
some warm water to clean up.”

My excitement
over being able to get out of this claustrophobic cabin was matched only by my
disappointment that my sexual interlude with Russ was about to come to an end.
I wanted to explore the many facets of his personality, and I couldn’t imagine
any man being able to satisfy me like he did, fill me like he did, ever again.
The thought devastated me.

Suddenly, I
couldn’t imagine my life without him. It’s just post-traumatic stress, I told myself,
using the phrase I’d read somewhere. But, being pathologically truthful, even
with myself, I knew that was a lie. Impossibly, in the past couple of days, I
had fallen for this stranger. Was it just because the sex was amazing? I didn’t
think so, but what did I know, a girl whose life’s richest experiences had been
those of the heroines of books from the bookmobile’s monthly visits? Nor did
the books that were approved for my reading have any sex in them, not since I
sneaked my mother’s trashy novels when I had been with her. This was truly new
ground I was breaking.

Russ brought
the basin of warm water over, and gently cleaned me, then helped me dress.
Doing the same for himself, he put on his coat and gloves and told me to stay
under the quilt while he cleaned the snow off the pickup. As I huddled there,
my thoughts circled between my fear of the Prophet’s pursuers, the arrest
warrant for auto theft that I was sure awaited me in Arizona, and a piercing
grief that I would soon have to leave Russ and face my future, whatever it
held. By the time he came back into the cabin, I had dissolved into tears and
was sobbing into the blanket.

“Here, what’s
this, Kitten? What’s wrong?” His face held nothing but tender concern, and his
voice was soft, but I only cried harder, until he climbed into the bed with me
and gathered me into his lap. Rocking me gently, he dried my tears on a corner
of the quilt and held me until I could stop crying. Then he asked again, this
time with a voice of command, though it was kind.

“Kitten, tell
me why you were crying.”

I felt so
foolish! What would he say to me if I told him I’d fallen in love with him?
He’d think I was ridiculous. Even I thought I was ridiculous. So, instead I
told him I was afraid of being arrested, or being captured by a posse from the RALDS.
I ventured a look at his face to see if he’d bought my partial truth, only to
be confused once again by his stormy eyes and angry expression. Then he pressed
me even closer to me and said words that flooded me with relief and hope.

“I won’t let
them take you. We’ll figure out the stolen car problem, but those
sons-of-bitches will never get
you
.” The emphasis on ‘you’ puzzled me,
but I was so grateful that I ignored it and turned my face up for a kiss. Russ
kissed me ardently, and then said, “Come on, let’s get outta here while the
gettin’s good.”

Wrapping me
tightly in the quilt, he carried me to the pickup that was warm from idling. It
didn’t occur to me then to ask for my shoes, and I would learn later that he
had lost one getting me out of the SUV, but I felt safe and at home in his arms
as he carried me.

As far as I
could see in any direction, the world was white and flat, but I knew that
somewhere in the misty horizon were occasional mountain peaks. Drifts of what
looked like white dust crossed the road and swirled in front of us and in our
wake, as Russ sped down a narrow strip of gray tracks in the wasteland. Weak sunlight
against a dark gray sky made the ice crystals in the air sparkle and dance. We
traveled for what seemed like hours, first down a snow-packed road that led
from the cabin to what Russ assured me was a major highway, then down the almost-deserted
highway for miles, then off to the right on a ranch road that seemed to have no
end.

From time to
time, Russ peered out to the west through my window, watching the darker clouds
build on the horizon. It seemed that this storm was coming in waves from the north,
but another was brewing in the west. Weather from the west wasn’t unusual for
Utah, I knew, or for Arizona. But Wyoming was prone to getting storms from both
directions. In any case, it seemed that Russ was anxious about outrunning the
next wave. I wondered aloud how much further it was.

“Not more than
twenty minutes, now. It’s gonna be touch and go, though,” he said, a hint of
worry in his voice. “We need to get there before it starts blowin’ again, or we
could lose the road.”

I sat back and
stayed silent, the only contribution I could make to our race, so that he could
concentrate on the road and wring out every bit of speed possible on the icy
track. My mind was busy trying to sort out today’s drive in the light of the
story he had told me about seeing my crash, riding on horseback all this way
and returning with the pickup in only a couple of hours. It didn’t seem
possible.

Outside the
four walls of the cabin, the past two days took on the semblance of a dream,
and my life before the cabin seemed unreal as well. Had I really spent three
years as an unwilling member of a church run by dirty old men? I puzzled over
the reasons I hadn’t run before, when I turned eighteen, maybe, or at any time
since then when I was terribly unhappy over my lot. I examined my feelings for
my father, and could find none but the loathing that filled me when I thought
of the sweet fifteen-year-old child who thought he was god’s personal gift to
her.

It occurred to
me then that these girls must be brainwashed from an early age, since I had
known none who wanted to escape the life as much as I did. And even I had a
sort of lethargy about it. I had seen older women run, though. When they were brought
back, their hair covering desperate, tear-stained faces, they’d disappear into
the Prophet’s compound. Having their hair loosened from its married-woman’s
top-knot and bun was a show of disrespect, tantamount to declaring them harlots
or worse. But, after a few weeks, they would return to the community, forgiven
or punished, I never knew which, because none of them would ever talk about
their ordeal.

Young men
sometimes disappeared from the community, too. Driven out, like Johnny, or
escaped, it didn’t matter. They weren’t welcome to return. That left more young
women for the older men, as far as I could tell. My mind drifted over that day
of headlong flight in the Prophet’s stolen SUV, stopping only for gas and a
restroom, maybe a candy bar to keep my energy up.

And then the
black ice. They called it that, I knew, because you couldn’t see it. Clear as
water and lying under drifting snow, it was deadly. My front tires had hit a
patch and I was in the ditch before I could react. Trapped there, dying, until
Russ rescued me. Russ, who warmed me, fed me and cared for my hypothermia.
Russ, who somehow got under my guard and made me want him. Russ, who awakened
passion I didn’t know lurked within me, wild child and wanton woman that I was.
Russ, who was soon to turn me out into the world, with no one, no money, no
experience, and no hope. And whose story of my rescue just didn’t add up.

This thinking,
as he reminded me, was getting me in big trouble, for there was nothing to do
but cry over my plight, and then he would force me to tell him why. I held back
my tears fiercely.

Finally,
appearing out of the fog and mist, a huge gate with an ironwork sign at the
top. Rocking W Ranch, it proclaimed. Not very original, in my opinion, but
whoever had commissioned that sign was proud of it. Incorporated into its
ornate scrolls were not only the name, but an elk, a mountain, a stream and a
herd of cattle. I gaped at it like a country girl in a street full of
skyscrapers.

“Welcome to
the Rockin’ Dub-ya,” Russ said.

I had nothing
to say, because whatever I said would either come out sarcastic, like, ‘nice
sign’, or would be a plaintive question about what happened next. I didn’t want
to think about that. Russ had a plan, or so I thought, and I would just go
along with it until I found myself somewhere else, without him to lean on. But,
before I left, I was going to ask my burning question. If it took us nearly
three hours to get to the ranch from the cabin by road, how the hell had he
done it in two on a horse?

Russ drove the
pickup around to the back of a very large house that I couldn’t see well
because it was too close and I was on the wrong side of the pickup. He left the
truck running while he went into a door that looked like it split in half like
an old-fashioned farmhouse door. In a moment, back he came, with another
blanket and a big-bodied older woman on his heels, apparently giving him an
earful. I waited with trepidation for whatever was to happen.

§

“…I swear
you’re gonna be the death of me, we didn’t know whether you were dead or
alive.” The woman’s tirade must have been about Russ’s disappearance, but as
soon as she saw me, her demeanor changed completely. “You dear, sweet girl,
Russ says you almost died out there. He’s gonna carry you into the kitchen
there, and I’ll keep you warm while we figure out what to do with you. Are you
hungry?”

It was too
much to process all at once, especially when Russ swept me up into strong arms
that carried me with ease, as he had from the cabin to the pickup. I had
confirmation now that he could do it. It was one more thing that split my
opinion neatly into two opposing sides. On the one hand, being carried by Russ
was a little slice of heaven, and I would gladly have let him carry me to the
ends of the earth. On the other hand, how did it fit his rescue story? I wasn’t
too clear on it, now. Maybe he would tell me again. Or tell this woman,
whatever her name was.

“Kitten, this
is Janet, our cook. She’ll take care of you for awhile.” He gave no explanation
of where he was going, what he would be doing or when he would be back. And,
with Janet looking on, I was too shy to ask. What if she guessed that he and I
had been far too familiar during our ordeal?

Janet was
bustling back and forth in the kitchen, while I stayed where Russ had deposited
me, sitting on one hard wooden chair, with my feet propped up on another. In a
moment, she disappeared briefly and then came back with a pillow for my back,
most welcome to soften the wooden slats, and a cozy afghan that she put around
my bare feet, completing the cocoon she had started with the fresh blanket at
the truck.

“Now, dear,
how do you like your tea?” Janet asked.

“Um, I’m not
sure,” I said in a faint voice. “I’ve never had tea.”

“Never had
tea! Where did you grow up, girl, in darkest Africa?” Her face was so comical,
and the idea that I had grown up in Africa, with my pale, pale skin and red
hair, just made me giggle. Janet smiled, a big, warm smile that made me feel
welcome.

“I, uh, in Bethel
City, ma’am,” I responded. The change in her face was instant. Alarmed, I asked
her what was wrong, how could I help her. She had gone white as my half-frozen
feet. But, when she saw my distress, she shook her head and said, “It’s nothing
dear. Do you like sweet?”

“Oh, yes,
please.”

The sweets we
got were few and far between, so the two teaspoons of sugar she dumped into the
mug of tea and stirred to dissolve were like a Christmas treat from my
childhood. The sweet stuff warmed me inside as the warm kitchen and Janet’s
pleasant face began to feel familiar, and somehow homey. I ventured a question.

“Do you know
where Russ went?”

“I think he
went to rustle you up some shoes.” Janet seemed a little surprised when I burst
out laughing, but after a minute her good nature allowed her to join in,
although I’m sure she had no idea why I was laughing.

“How long has
he worked here, do you know?” I felt the need to make small talk, but had nothing
to say about myself. Even if she hadn’t just about fainted when I said Bethel
City, I wouldn’t have wanted to launch into my history. It was one thing to
respond to Russ’s questions, and quite another to volunteer that stuff. I knew
my past was weird, and didn’t particularly want people reacting the way Janet
had. However, my question brought another odd look from her.

“Oh, since he
was a kid, I guess. You’ll have to ask him. If you’ll excuse me, dear, I need
to get supper for about twenty hungry hands. I’d better get busy.”

“May I help?”

“No, dear,
Russ wouldn’t be happy to find you barefoot on this cold tile floor, and
besides I’d just run over you. This is a one-butt kitchen.” She smiled as my
laugh rang out, but I was laughing for two reasons. First, the saying my mom
used to use about our tiny kitchen, and second, because this kitchen would
accommodate at least ten butts, even if they were all the size of Janet’s. This
house clearly belonged to a wealthy rancher.

Later, my feet
encased in fuzzy slippers and wearing the afghan as a shawl, I tucked into a
meal fit for an army, along with a couple dozen people including Janet and Russ.
My guess was that Janet had fed the rancher and his family earlier, since all
the men at the table were the same combination of western gentleman and rough
cattleman that Russ was. They called me ma’am, and they didn’t pry. Russ was
clearly some kind of leader, because everyone looked to him whenever I asked a
question. Nor did I get satisfactory answers to some of them.

Only when I
asked about the ranch, what they raised here, how large it was, and where was
the nearest town did Russ answer me in a matter-of-fact tone, giving no hint
that we had been intimate only a few hours before. The answer was cattle and
horses, fodder for both types of stock, about 50,000 acres, and maybe fifteen
miles, as the crow flies. Too far for me to walk, then. I wondered when I would
wear out my welcome.

“Have you told
the owner I’m here?” My question was addressed to Russ, since no one else would
answer me anyway.

Twenty pairs
of eyes were trained on him as he said, “Yes, he knows.” A sigh escaped Janet,
and it reminded me that Russ had said I couldn’t sleep in the bunkhouse. I
could see that now. These men were being gentlemanly now, but if the only woman
they had around was Janet, they were probably hornier than I was, and that was
pretty darned horny. I finally gave up trying to hold up a conversation by
myself, and just ate, like the rest of them.

After dinner,
each man filed into the kitchen with his plate and tableware, rinsed them at
the sink and put them neatly into an industrial-sized dishwasher. I knew some
polyg families that could use that kind of organization. Kept my thought to
myself, though, as I was still nonplussed over Janet’s reaction to the name of
the town I came from. I did compliment Janet on how well she had trained them.
Her hearty laugh let me know she was pleased by the compliment as well as with
the coordinated cooperation of the men. I got the impression that they had been
on their best behavior, though why that should be so was just one more mystery.

§

Janet was
resisting my efforts to help her wash the pots and pans and straighten the
kitchen, when Russ appeared, this time with a pair of sturdy boots in one hand
and a pair of soft leather flats in the other.

“See if these
will fit you,” he said, producing a pair of socks for the boots from one of his
pockets. I sat down in the nearest chair and slipped on the flats.

“Perfect,” I
said. “May I borrow them?”

“They’re
yours,” he growled, laboring under some emotion I couldn’t interpret. Whose
were they? One glimpse of his face told me I shouldn’t ask. I couldn’t tell
whether he was angry or holding back a powerful grief. Either way, I didn’t
want to unleash the storm. Slipping off the flats, I put on the socks and tried
the boots. These were slightly too big, but another pair of socks would fix
that. I wondered what I would need them for, but once again, was apprehensive
about pressing for answers.

“These will
fit with one more pair of socks, or a thicker pair,” I observed.

“Good. We need
to find you some different clothes, too. That dress looks like you slept in
it.” It was a cliché, of course, and not meant literally, but the fact was, I
had
slept in it, and more than one night. I was dying for a shower and a clean set
of underwear, not to mention another dress, or even a pair of jeans and a
shirt, although it had been three years since I had worn such a thing. I waited
for Russ to come to the conclusion he had been considering, and then got up to
follow him when he said, “Come on.”