The Cowboy's Secret (Cowboys After Dark: Book 3) (2 page)

“Oh, believe me, I won’t have to, she’ll be so shocked and embarrassed I’ll hardly have to lay a hand on her.” Clint assured him, then added, “I will of course, lay my hand hard on her butt I mean, or there’d be no point,”

“Well, hey, that’s great. She sure needs it, and I’d sure like to see it.”

“All right,” Clint declared, taking a deep breath and wondering what he was getting himself into as he headed for the door, “one spankin’ comin’ up.”

“Oh, man, this is awesome,” Stevie repeated as he hurriedly followed Clint out.

“When we go back in,” Clint said, pausing at the door, “you go and wait with Cindy. I need a quiet word with Tom first.”

“Sure thing,” Stevie nodded.

Walking back into the tavern Clint stopped at the end of the bar and caught Tom’s eye. Leaving the still giggling Cindy, Tom grabbed a beer, popped the top, and ambled down the bar to join him.

“Here you go, Clint,” Tom announced, placing it in front of him.

“Thanks, Tom, I’ll take the beer, but I want a private word,” Clint said softly as he watched Stevie rejoin his girlfriend.

“Sure, what’s up.”

“I mentioned to Stevie what you said about that young woman there needin’ her butt smacked, and after a bit of a conversation I told him I’d be happy to oblige.”

“You’re kiddin’ me!” Tom declared, widening his eyes in surprise. “The girl needs a lesson that’s for sure, but that’s not an offer a guy makes every day. Can I ask why you did it?”

“Just struck me as the neighborly thing to do,” Clint smiled, “but could you call her mom, just make sure she’s good with it? I don’t need an angry mama bear knockin’ on my door.”

“Be happy to, just take me a second,” Tom grinned, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Wandering over to the young couple, Clint settled on one of the bar stools. Cindy twinkled at him, breaking into her most flirtatious smile.

“Couldn’t help but overhear what you told Tom,” he remarked, staring back at the brazen young woman. “Did you really drop the top down on your boyfriend’s car?”

“I sure did,” she said proudly.

“I have to ask,” Clint frowned, scratching his head, “why would you do somethin’ like that.”

“It’s fun,” she replied, rolling her eyes and looking bewildered by his question.

“You think it’s fun that your fella here had to struggle to get it back up in that dreadful weather?” he scolded. “You think it’s fun that the inside of his car got soaked?”

“It sure was fun watching him get all riled up,” she giggled.

“You’re good to go,” Tom exclaimed walking back to the bar. “Green light, big-time.”

“Thanks, Tom,” Clint smiled. “Your name’s Cindy, right?” Clint inquired, looking back at her.

“Yep, Cindy’s my name, fun is my game.”

“Really? Fun, huh. You know what I think would be fun for your boyfriend here?” he asked.

“What?” she answered warily, sensing something wasn’t quite right.

“I think it would fun for him to see you get spanked, just as Tom suggested,” Clint said casually. “Would that be fun for you, Stevie?”

“Fun, and very satisfyin’ as well,” he nodded.

“I’d enjoy it too,” Tom chimed in. “Like I said, it’s about time someone put you over their knee and walloped you good.”

“Well, there ain’t no-one here gonna do it,” she exclaimed fervently, “and no-one had better try!”

“I’m scared,” Clint grinned. “Can you hear my knees knockin’?”

“You’re laughin’ at me,” she scowled.

“I sure am,” he chuckled, sliding off his counter stool, “and you’re wrong. There is someone here who is definitely gonna spank your butt, and you’re lookin’ at him.”

Before the words had time to register he’d grabbed her wrist, and dragging her to the nearest table he was about to pull out a chair when Stevie ran in front of him and did the honors.

“Dammit, you let me go!” she shrieked.

“What an alley cat you are,” Clint replied, and dropping into the armless, high back seat he jerked her across his lap.

“Shit, shit, let me go,” she shrieked.

“Nope, and you keep cussin’ like that, and I’ll spank you harder,” Clint declared.

Moving his leg over hers to stop the kicking, he lifted his hand and brought it down with three fast, strong swats.

“Ooowwww,” she bellowed. “That hurt, stop!”

“I’ve barely got started,” he calmly replied, and continued to smack her without pause. “You’ve gotta start behavin’ or-”

“STOP IT, GOD DAMMIT, STOP IT!” she screamed.

“Now you listen to me, missy,” he growled, grabbing a fistful of wet hair and yanking back her head, “one more outburst like that, and I’ll stuff some paper napkins in your mouth to keep you quiet. You understand me?”

“I’d do what he says,” Tom called from behind the bar. “I reckon you’ve met your match there, Cindy.”

“You’re a bastard,” she exclaimed, “a fucking bastard.”

“I may be, but you’re over my knee, and I don’t think you’re in any position to be callin’ me names,” and dropping her hair he resumed his spanking, adding, “what do you think?”

“Ow, ow, ow,” she howled.

“Of course, I could always pull off these jeans and whip your naked butt.”

“No, no, no,” she pleaded, her tone suddenly growing compliant. “I won’t yell again, I won’t, just please, don’t take them off, please!”

“One more cuss word, one more name-callin’, one more screamin’ fit, and they’ll come off, you understand me?” he asked sternly.

“Yes, yes, yes, I understand,” she whimpered.

Clint looked up at the young man standing a few feet away. His eyes were alive with glee, and his smile could not have been broader.

“Stevie, you’re the wronged party here, how much of a spankin’ does this girl need?” Clint asked.

“Hard enough that she won’t pull that crap on me again,” he decreed.

“Makes sense. Now you listen to me Cindy, I’m gonna tan your butt, and tomorrow you’re gonna dry the inside of Stevie’s car with a blow dryer and towels, and wash and vacuum it every weekend for a month. If you don’t he can come and get me and you’ll be right back over my lap, are we clear?”

“Yes,” she squeaked.

“And you’re gonna do it with a smile on your face, happy that I didn’t bare your backside, right?”

“Uh-huh,” she wriggled.

“Yes, Sir,” he ordered, swatting her hard.

“Yes, Sir,” she gasped.

“I’m gonna spank you, and you’re gonna remember it, and if I hear you’ve been a brat I’ll come knockin’ on your door. Your momma knows I’m spankin’ you, so she can call me too if she wants. You got it?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whimpered.

He shifted his knees, positioning her further across his lap, then delivered his hand in a steady rhythm, slapping from cheek to cheek.

“I’m sorry, I’ll behave,” she vowed. “I swear.”

“I certainly hope so,” he replied without missing a beat.

“I will, I will,” she squirmed, “stop, Sir, please.”

He paused, rubbing her cheeks.

“Ten more, very hard, and then you’re done. If I find you over my knee again it’ll be a paddle, or a branch, somethin’ that will deliver the message a bit more clearly. Understand me?”

“Yes, Sir. I understand, I do,” she replied urgently.

The promised ten were rapidly dispatched, leaving her gasping and writhing on his lap.

“I hope you’ve learned a lesson, and you tell your mom you’re sorry for causin’ her so much trouble, you hear me?” he ordered, pulling her up and rising to his feet.

“Yes, Sir,” she whimpered, her red face staring at the floor, her hands gripping her scalded behind.

“Come on, Cindy, I’m takin’ you home,” Stevie announced stepping forward. “Much obliged, Clint. I don’t think I’ll have quite the same trouble spanking her myself next time,” he continued, gratefully shaking Clint’s hand.

Clint watched them disappear into the rainy night, then ambled across to the bar.

“Dinner and drinks on me tonight,” Tom announced. “That girl has needed that for a long time.”

“You don’t need to buy me dinner,” Clint replied shaking his head.

“I insist,” Tom declared. “You go sit at your table and I’ll be right there.”

The spontaneous incident had caught Clint completely by surprise, and as he quietly ate his dinner he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. There was a sense of relief, and the ache that had taken up permanent residence in his chest didn’t feel quite so heavy.

Within a few days the news had spread through the small community that Clint Hogan had spanked Cindy Newman, the difficult, trouble-making miscreant. A few days later his phone rang with another request, and others sporadically followed. He’d considered each appeal for his help individually, granting only those he believed were justified, and added a set of rules. He refused anyone under eighteen, he never bared a bottom, and he preferred the husband or boyfriend be present. It wasn’t long before he added another piece of protection; a piece of paper signed by the woman herself, authorizing the spanking. He’d found it interesting that few of the miscreants declined, and he considered it a testament to their inherent need for discipline.

The odd turn of events wasn’t at all what Clint had imagined when he’d settled in the small rural community. He’d made a conscious decision not to become involved with any women, and when the requests first started he’d tried to deny them, but his need was too great. Though he craved so much more, spanking the naughty bottoms that showed up at his door was a sip of water in the desert of his life.

A few months after the incident with Cindy, Clint Hogan took the major step of transforming his guest house. He’d initially chosen it so his ‘guests’ wouldn’t enter his home, but he’d often felt that neither the furniture or ambience were quite right.

Standing in the middle of the small living room on a warm, late, Sunday afternoon, having just spent the day completing the sale of a very expensive gelding, he’d had a vision.

Recalling a spanking chair he’d once owned, and a specially built leather couch that had wide, round, thickly padded arms, he decided to order them both. That lead to thick, comfortable rugs covering the dark, hardwood floors, and the western oak buffet that housed blue and white crockery, became his implement rack.

Within a couple of weeks, The Woodshed, as he’d christened it, was ready for business; his only payment, the private pleasure he derived from spanking the naughty females who crossed its threshold.

A
melia Anderson pulled her Jeep Cherokee to the side of the road and stared across at the rundown house. The shutters were falling off, the green paint was peeling, the roof had so many patches it would have to be completely redone, but the charm was alive and well, and the most appealing part of the place, the reason she’d bought it, stared invitingly back at her; the paddocks.

Surrounding the house they were a horse’s dream, only needing some solid shelters and fencing, and she smiled when she thought how happy her thoroughbreds would be once out of their stalls, living the way God had intended.

After years as a successful amateur show jumper, she was transforming the lives of horses that couldn’t run fast enough or were recovering from injuries. She’d start them over fences, or as dressage prospects, then find them forever homes.

Her longtime wish had been to own her own farm, and after spending a decade buying repossessed houses, restoring and selling them, she’d made enough money to turn her dream into a reality.

Though she’d rented a house in which to live during the renovations, the barn on the property was usable. She’d optimistically brought some halters, a trunk full of supplies, and some saddles and blankets, deciding that locking them away in the barn would make her feel as if she’d made a start.

I’ll probably end up puttering around,
she thought,
I think I’ll wait until after lunch.

Smiling happily she drove off heading for the other side of town, an area she’d briefly perused when she was initially looking for a property. She recalled seeing a beautiful ranch, and though the house was set back on top of a small hill making it difficult to view, the paddocks were sectioned off by white fencing, a look she wanted to emulate.

She had a vision for her house, and one of her ideas was to have a porch all the way around it, with French doors leading out from the bedrooms. Though she lived alone she was looking forward to having her friends visit, and take the time to enjoy an easier, more relaxed way of life. Sipping drinks on the verandah, or rising from sleep and opening doors to welcome the day seemed ideal.

Driving carefully through town she kept her eyes open for a place to eat, and not seeing anything that jumped out at her she continued on the main road until she spied the sign that read, Train And Trail Horse Farm.

Moving her jeep slowly down the narrow road, she followed it for a couple of miles passing small ranches on either side, then the white fencing appeared, and she spied the large, single story home sitting on its knoll. The day was clear, though cold, and as she approached and saw the horses grazing lazily in the fields, she sighed happily.

Very soon, my lovelies, you will be living like that,
she thought, picturing her horses at the boarding stables a couple of hours away.

The main driveway began under a white wrought iron sign announcing the name of the ranch, and pulling to the side of the road she stepped out and viewed the acreage. The shelters were large and three-sided, and sat at odd angles near the gates. It was obvious the placement had been thought out, and she wondered what the motivation was behind their positioning.

Is it the sun? Maybe the winds? I wish I could meet the owner and ask him, or her, whoever it is.

Glancing at the peaceful equines it was obvious they were quarter horses, and she assumed it was a ranch geared toward western riding, but as she watched the solid, stocky paints, roans and bays roaming the paddocks, she saw an unexpected flash of white. Peering into the distance she spotted a large grey trotting across the paddock. It was big, much bigger than the other horses in the fields, and she caught her breath; it moved like a champion dressage horse, or a jumper, its feet floating across the ground.