Swept Off Her Feet (Swift Justice) Page 2

  “Sorry,” I apologized, stooping to see if any of the sausage could be saved.

  “That’s OK, sister dear,” he replied, all too cheerful for my own mood. “I like mine a bit rare, anyway.”

  I went back to cooking, ignoring the stern warning that Wes gave me. He was like our Pa in that way—he did not abide cussing, especially from women. My mind raced as I flipped the sausage—I only had to throw out two pieces, thank goodness! How could he do this to me? For one thing, people’s tongues already wagged where I was concerned, musing over my lack of suitors. If Trent went and got himself married, that would leave only me, the oldest… I shuddered to think of the gossips, the old ladies in town who would pat my hand sympathetically. Each one would run their eyes over me, thinking to themselves, she’s not very pretty, is she? Oh, that mole on her neck, there? What man could tolerate that?

  The kitchen was silent, and the more I listened to the rustling of newspapers or the clanking of coffee cups the madder I got. “You barely know her!” I burst out at last, turning toward him and waving my spatula. “Have you even met her before?”

  “You know I haven’t, Mags,” he replied, his eyes as patient as his voice was calm.

  “This is ridiculous!” I spat out. “How many perfectly suitable girls did you turn down just for… just for… this woman?”

  Wes turned to me now, too, and I could see that his mouth was set in a firm line. But I only had eyes for Trent, who smiled at me gently. “I thought we had an understanding, sister. You don’t question my choices when it comes to marriage, and I won’t question yours.”

  As sweetly as he said it, I still flushed, unable to block out the sound of my sister-in-law’s muffled laughter. I glared at her, but she stared back, defiant. I’d turned back to the stove and finished cooking breakfast. The four of us had eaten in silence.

  Not another word had ever been said about the marriage since, but I still had my doubts. How could it work, marrying someone you’d never even laid eyes on before? Sure, people had done it before, in years past. But nowadays it was rare. Why would he go and do a thing like that, when he could have had his pick of women? It still mystified me, but I knew better than to bring it up again.

  “I’m going into town tomorrow,” Trent said, breaking into my thoughts. “We could pick you up some of that candy then.”

  I smiled, pleasantly surprised by the offer. “What are you going to town for?”

  Trent coughed, loudly, and I didn’t miss the way his neck colored. “I’m meeting Abby there tomorrow.”

  I stopped dead, my mouth dropping open. He hadn’t mentioned her in weeks! “Tomorrow?” I gasped. “You’re… tomorrow?”

  He shrugged, even as his flush deepened. “Yep, looks like it. Wouldn’t blame the poor girl if she changed her mind and stayed home.” He attempted a laugh, but it fell flat.

  In that moment, I realized that was exactly what he was afraid of. I grabbed my brother in a hug and held him tightly. Trent obliged by patting me on the back a few times before pulling out of my embrace. Right then, I decided that I had to let go of all my reservations. I had to be happy for him, for both of them. I could only hope and pray that she was nothing like my other sister-in-law.

  * * *

  Wes

  The minute the door swung closed, I walked to my brat of a wife and took her by the arm. I could feel her trembling beneath my fingers, but she was anything but contrite. Libby had always been strong willed, but I knew it wasn’t anything that I couldn’t handle. I led her to the table where we took our meals and pulled a chair out. When I sat down, I brought her to stand in front of me, between my knees.

  “Libby, what were you thinking?” I asked, my voice gruff. By God, the woman was beautiful. I didn’t know how her skin stayed so milky-white under the sharp heat of the sun, but I loved it. Her eyes reminded me of violets, although the smell of her skin was sweeter than the flowers. We didn’t get much time alone in the house, and my arms ached for her to fill them, but unfortunately my duty as a husband called for me to deal with this unpleasantness.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice sullen.

  I frowned at her. I’d like to get this over with as soon as possible—I had a list of chores to do that was longer than my arm, but Libby could be stubborn at the worst of times. “Don’t worry, little lady, you’ll have cause to be sorry soon enough. But that doesn’t answer my question: why’d you do it?”

  “I just…” She huffed loudly, tossing her hair, “I’m tired of you buying presents for that old maid!”

  I was startled by the venom in her words. “Unmarried she might be, but she’s still my sister, Libby.”

  “More to the pity,” she sniffed.

  I arched a brow at her. She sure did have a quick mouth, and all too often it didn’t suit her. “The two of you carrying on like you do is nothing but bad medicine. This needs to stop.”

  “Then tell her to stop acting like such a big bug!” she demanded, pointing an accusing finger at the door. “She walks around here like she owns the place, and you and your brother are just her servants!”

  I guffawed at her. “That’s ridiculous, Libby. Quit making such a fuss!”

  She turned those pretty eyes on me and narrowed them in anger. “I am not making a fuss, Wesley Swift! You need to do something about her. I can’t take it any longer!”

  I returned her glare, feeling myself getting incensed now. Clearly my beautiful bride needed a reminder of who wore the pants in this family, and I was determined to give it to her. “I’d suggest you watch that tongue of yours, unless you want me to take you out back to the shed.”

  My words hit their mark, and I saw Libby blanch when she took their meaning. The color began to drain from her face, and she hung her head. It could be that she was well and truly sorry, or she was just backing off to catch her breath. Never could tell with that woman.

  “Now, I’m going to ask you again. Why did you take the things I bought for Maggie? Did you really eat ‘em?”

  She began to fidget, and I saw the guilt in every scuff of her toe. “I didn’t eat them…” she admitted, sounding strangled. “I…”

  “Best answer quick, girl,” I boomed at her.

  “I… threw them out.” As soon as the words left her mouth, her eyes flew to my face, wide and scared.

  I could feel my blood begin to boil. What was it with this woman? She could be so hardheaded sometimes. “We do not have enough money,” I told her in clipped tones, “to go throwing out perfectly good, unopened food.” I had to take several deep breaths to calm myself. All I wanted to do right now was take her out back and whip her little bare behind until she ran out of tears.

  “I know,” she said in a whisper.

  “Libby, what am I gonna do with you?” I asked, squeezing her between my knees.

  “I’m sorry, Wes.” Now, her words were truly contrite, and her eyes glittered with unshed tears. I knew for sure and certain they would be rolling down her cheeks in just a minute.

  “That still doesn’t tell me why you did it in the first place. Don’t think for one second that you’re not going to have to answer me.”

  “It’s just… I guess I was jealous.”

  “Jealous?” I echoed, incredulous. “What on earth for, honey?”

  “You…” she squirmed, and I responded by pressing my knees against her, “you didn’t bring me a present.”

  Realization dawning, it was all I could do to keep from laughing. The joke was on me: I’d really married a brat, as untamed as any wild filly. We’d only been wed for two months, though—there was plenty of time to break her in.

  “Is that all? Why didn’t you say something, Libby?”

  “I just…” Her eyes flicked to my face, then back to the floor, “I didn’t want to sound selfish.”

  “So you acted selfish instead?” I challenged, gratified by the flush of shame that colored her cheeks. At least she felt badly about what she’d done.

  “I’m sorr
y. It was a fool thing to do.”

  “Got that right,” I agreed with a nod of my head. “Now you’re gonna have to pay the piper, sweetheart.”

  She flinched, but when I spread my legs she went obediently over my knee without more than a whimper. I started to unhook the cincher she wore about her waist and tut-tutted at the effort it took. “Let me do it,” she said, her voice much subdued.

  “If I want to undress my wife it should not take till sundown,” I remarked. “From now on, leave those things off.”

  She looked over her shoulder at me, her eyes wide. “You cannot be serious!”

  “Can’t I?”

  “But, Wesley—” she blanched. “What would the ladies in town say?”

  “Would it surprise you if I said I don’t give a damn?” I kept my tone even, but she flinched all the same.

  “I can’t.”

  I flipped her petticoats up and gave each of her cheeks a resounding slap. “You can’t?”

  “Please, you don’t understand. It’s dreadfully unfashionable to be seen without the proper—”

  “Libby,” I drawled her name out in a warning.

  Libby drew her breath in sharply, still not satisfied. “But what will your sister say? And that woman that Trent is bringing home? They’ll laugh at me, they’ll—”

  “They are not in your situation, Libby.” She sniffed loudly and did not deign to answer. “Come, now, sweetheart. They can’t be at all comfortable. I just want what’s best for you, for our baby.”

  “Other women wear them while with child,” she muttered, but I could hear the resignation in her voice and knew that I’d won without need of further argument.

  That decided, I began to slide her drawers down. She stiffened under my touch. “Hold still, now,” I warned.

  “Wes! What if they come back in?”

  I chuckled at her gasp. “I suppose they’ll see me tanning your hide. ‘Course, if you’d stop all your bickering, we could get this over with, and there’d be less chance of it.”

  Her body tensed on my lap, but she nodded her agreement. As soon as I saw her head bob up and down, I brought my hand down sharply on each of her pale white globes. The sight of her splayed like this normally set my heart to thumping hard and made my trousers uncomfortably tight. My wife was such a tiny thing; her shoulders were so femininely delicate, and her waist so tiny. Right at the end of her waist was the bottom that had come to know my hand quite well; I’d always marveled at the fact that, in spite of her being such a slip of a woman, her cheeks were so plump and perfectly rounded. Though I’d never admit it unless she asked, I loved watching those cheeks turn bright red. Luckily for me, my headstrong wife always gave me plenty of reason to do just that.

  I continued to deliver slow, stinging slaps to her behind, watching the hues change from cream to pink. Libby clenched my knee each time her bottom was swatted, but didn’t let out so much as a snivel. I knew she was worried about being overheard, but it just wouldn’t do to have her sit through a spanking without crying a little. If she could, it would mean I wasn’t doing my job. With that in mind, I drew my hand back, raising it high, and brought it down swiftly on her left cheek. I could tell by her gasp that she felt it more than any of the others. Two beats later, I did the same for the right. On it went, until my wife lay sobbing over my lap.

  “I’m sorry,” she cried, and I helped her to her feet. “It won’t happen again, Wesley.”

  “Oh, I suspect it won’t,” I said, wiping her tears and bringing her hand to my lips. “Go fetch your hairbrush, now.”

  The words inspired terror in her face. “My…”

  “Your hairbrush, darlin’.”

  “But… but why?”

  I grinned at her. “I thought that was obvious.”

  “You’ve already spanked me,” she said, somewhere between a whimper and a whine.

  “We’re not even halfway there yet,” I told her, my eyes stern. “Now hurry and do as I say.”

  With a little stamp of her foot, Libby whirled on her heel and left the room, wincing as she did so. I knew that she had a very sore bottom under those petticoats. When she returned, she wouldn’t meet my eyes as she thrust the brush at me. I took it, caressing the smooth, hard oak with the palm of my hand. It truly did make the perfect paddle for her naughty behind.

  Without a word, she draped herself over my awaiting knee. “Libby, remind us both why you need this paddling.”

  “If you can’t recall, perhaps you shouldn’t be doing it,” she ground out between clenched teeth.

  I landed a swat that had her toes curling. I added five more stinging scorchers to the tally before I relented. “Care to try again?”

  “You’re being mean,” she gasped.

  “The only thing mean about me, sweetheart, is my mean hairbrush swing.” I chuckled at my own joke, while poor, hot-bottomed Libby groaned.

  “Because I threw out perfectly good candy.”

  “And?” I prompted, the hairbrush hovering over her blushing behind.

  “It was… rude to take what wasn’t mine.”

  I could hear how hard it was for her to admit her wrongdoing, and then and there, I resolved to make a lasting impression on her. “And?”

  She sighed heavily, and I watched as her mounds jiggled from the movement. I lowered a hand to touch the delicate orbs—they were warm under my fingers.

  “I should be nicer to her.”

  “I’m sorry, what was that?”

  “I should be nicer to her,” she repeated, louder, her voice even more scornful.

  “Still didn’t catch that.”

  “I should be nicer to Maggie!” She practically screamed, fit to be tied.

  I patted her cheeks encouragingly. “Yes, you should at that. Now, all we have to work on is that tone of yours.” I set to work doing just that, raising the brush and lowering it with a determined smack to her buttocks that soon had her crying out. Before long, those cries turned to sobs as she writhed on my lap. Still, I gave her swat after swat until her hiney was a glowing, shiny red. Then I went to work on the flesh where bottom and thigh met.

  “No more,” she choked out between sobs. “Please, Wes, no more.”

  Ignoring her, determined to see my task through to the end, I swung low and heard her wail. As much as I hated for her to be in distress, I knew as well as she did that she had earned this punishment. My father had been known to keep the household in hand, including my mother, and I was determined to be no different. A family functioned well under order, and I knew I could provide that for my wife. As stubborn as she might be, sooner or later her sore seat would get through to her foolhardy brain.

  I took my time, alternating thighs, spanking low so that she would be reminded to watch herself every time she sat down. She was sure going to be listening extra hard this Sunday, I thought with a grin.

  “Wes-ley,” she choked out. “No more. I’ve l-learned my les-son. I won’t do it a-gain.”

  I could tell by the limp way she lay over my lap that she’d had enough, but I wanted her to remember that I decided when a spanking was over, no matter how much she cried or how sweetly she begged me to stop, so I gave her two more swift smacks to each cheek before setting down the hairbrush. “Darned right you won’t. Next time, we’ll be goin’ out back for a visit to the woodshed.”

  She mewled softly like a kitten, crying into my trousers. I knew she’d never been inside a woodshed before. Idly, I wondered what she’d make of it—after all these years, it still smelled like sawdust from all the woodworking my father was so fond of. It was rather dusty from lack of use, but the stiff leather strap still hung from a nail on the wall. It would certainly provide the privacy she longed for. It was true, she wouldn’t have to worry about being overheard, but part of me liked seeing her squirm at the thought of my siblings walking in on her.

  “And you’ll need to find a way to make this up to Maggie.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  I was please
d to note that when she spoke, all the resentment had evaporated, replaced instead with sweet, gentle words. “That, you are going to have to figure out on your own,” I told her as I pulled up her drawers to cover her swollen cheeks. “It was your mistake. You need to be the one to make it up to her.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Two words had never sounded so sweet. I helped her sit on my lap, chuckling at her grimace when her bottom landed on my hard thigh. I wiped away her tears, kissing the places where they’d fallen.

  “I could cook dinner tonight,” she suggested, sniffling.

  “Hmm,” I looked at her sharply. “Do you really think that trying to prove why you should be cooking Christmas dinner is making amends? Perhaps you need another lesson.” I tsked at her.

  “I could do the dishes for a week,” she asserted quickly.

  “You should help out around here more,” I remarked. “Better make it a month.”

  “A month?” she spluttered. “But—”

  “No arguing, young lady,” I warned. “And we’re not quite through. You will also be taking the cost of the candy out of your spending money.” Libby started crying again, her body leaning against my own as though she couldn’t hold herself up without my support. I shushed her gently. “Shh, sweetheart. It’s over now. I know you’ll do better in the future.”

  She’d just promised that she would when the door squeaked open. Trent came in, stamping his feet at the door, with Maggie following close at his heels. She observed the pair of us with cool eyes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I saw the hint of a smile on the corners of her mouth.

  Chapter Two

  Maggie

  I’d been dressed and waiting for darn near half an hour before Trent emerged, sweaty and shaking, from his bedroom. Funny, I’d thought he’d gone in to wash up, but he looked even more disheveled than when he’d gone in. My attempts to help him pick the proper attire to meet his new bride had already been firmly, grouchily rebuffed, so I held my tongue.

  “Where is my hat?” he muttered to himself, pacing the length of the room.