The Sister and the Sinner

By Carolyn Faulkner
2012 by Blushing Books and Carolyn Faulkner

Copyright 2012 by Blushing Books and Carolyn Faulkner. All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Published by Blushing Books, a subsidiary of ABCD Graphics and Design 977 Seminole Trail #233 Charlottesville, VA 22901 The trademark Blushing Books is registered in the US Patent and Trademark Office. Faulkner, Carolyn The Sister and the Sinner eBook ISBN: 978-1-60968-667-3

Cover Design: by Korey Mae Johnson Illustrations Provided by: Big Stock Photo www.bigstock.com

Thank you for buying this title from Blushing Books, a subsidiary of Blushing Publications. Blushing Books is the oldest and largest publisher of romantic erotica, and spanking and BDSM erotica on the Internet. We are also one of the oldest eBook publishers. Since 2001, we have either published exclusively or under agreement with other companies thousands of romantic erotic novels spanking stories, and BDSM books. On our store, Blushing Books, (http://www.blushingbooks.com) we have hundreds of completed novels and novellas from hundreds of authors ready for immediate purchase and download. We are always looking for talented authors, so if you enjoy writing romantic, soft-core BDSM or spanking erotica as much as you enjoy reading it, please check out our submissions guidelines. We also run Bethanys Woodshed. In continuous operation since early 1999, Bethanys Woodshed offers, for a low monthly membership price, weekly updates of brand-new, exclusive romantic and erotic spanking novels, novellas, and stories. You can visit Bethanys Woodshed at: http://www.herwoodshed.com. Our stories are intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only. Nothing in this book, or in any publication of Blushing Books, should be interpreted as advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

Chapter One
Outside of Deadwood, Dakota Territory Late spring, 1882 She never saw him coming. One moment she was bent over, aggressively yanking yet another bunch of stubborn pigweed, when the rip of gunfire rent the air. Her breath left her in a gasp, and before she could draw in another to fill her lungs, something large and heavy tackled her to the ground. Her head struck a particularly hard clump of dirt, sun baked to nearly the firmness of rock, and she yelped. A large, dirty hand clamped over her throat, restricting not only her ability to call for help, but to breathe at all. She blinked; her eyes widened with fear as she stared at her attacker. His eyes were blue, startlingly so, as clear and bright as the late summer sky above him. His face was darkly tanned and grimy, his hair disheveled, and the ubiquitous hat that the men in Dakota Territory all seemed to wear, was missing. Where are the others? he demanded, his husky voice pitched low enough that only she could hear. She gulped, growing dizzy for lack of air, and felt cold steel press against her throat. The tip of the knife nicked her tender flesh. Still, fear drove her to try to respond, so she mouthed an answer for him. With obvious reluctance, he eased up the pressure on her throat just enough so she could draw in a breath of air and then another, coughing from the pain that simple action caused. He hissed at her for silence, his lips so close to her ear that the stubble of whiskers caught in a wisp of hair that had pulled free from her white cambric veil. The Reverend Mother would surely scold her for that, if she were well enough. The others! he growled. How should she answer? If she told him there were dozens of nuns inside the crumbling convent, would he believe her? It certainly wouldnt intimidate him in the least, not this big bear of a man armed as he was against the Brides of Christ who had promised to turn the other cheek. There are no others, she said, not recognizing her own voice, before he ruthlessly cut her off. She prayed he couldnt somehow detect the small white lie. There werent any other sisters, though. Just the Reverend Mother and she was of no threat to him whatsoever. His expression darkened, and she would have bet seconds before that wasnt possible. Could he have known of the old womans existence? It was doubtful, but just as she opened her mouth to confess her sin, the tip of the knife poked even further into her neck, and she suspected she would have a scar there for whatever remained of her life. Bullshit. She flinched, as much from his angry tone as from the coarseness of his language. This is a convent, isnt it? Where are all the other nuns? There was not a quick or easy answer to his question, nor could she bring herself to place her beloved Mother Agnes in danger, yet how long would it be before Father Michael returned to hear her confession if she lied? She was ignorant of the world, having grown up in the convent. She gazed at him stupidly, unaware that her expression, or the way her eyes glanced quickly toward Reverend Mothers bedroom window on the second floor, gave her away. Then he shifted, nearly cutting off her breath again as his bulk sandwiched her to the cold, hard

ground. His broad shoulders blocked the noonday sun completely, casting her in his shadow. She was about to blurt her confession and beg for mercy, when a droplet of something warm and sticky fell on her face, drawing her attention to the large, dark stain on his upper left sleeve. Youve been shot! She couldnt keep the abject horror out of her tone. And I aim to avoid being shot again, if I can help it, Sister. Get up! He shifted, suddenly lifting that terrific weight from her chest. She thought to take a moment to fill her lungs with great gulps of air, but he grabbed her wrists and yanked her to her feet. He didnt stand fully erect, but scooted in a halfcrouch from brush to bush, to the garden gate made from sapling trunks lashed together, to the corner of the convent wall. His grip on her wrist was brutal. Tears filled her vision, causing her to stumble, which in turn elicited yet another curse from the outlaw for outlaw he must surely be. Who else would be running for his life, bleeding and wounded, and attack a poor novice in a convent? Her lips moved in silent prayer. Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee Hush, he barked, giving her arm a yank that nearly pulled it from the socket. The prayer continued, but now not even her lips moved. God would hear her pleas. He might not save her from harm, but He would be with her at the hour of her death. Amen. The outlaw pushed her up against the wall of the once bustling convent, his knife making a reappearance as though he thought he needed it to gain her assistance. How many entrances and exits, he whispered hurriedly, his eyes darting about scanning the landscape in every direction. Just two, she whispered, pointing to the back door. And the front door around the other side. Windows? Of course, she said, more confused than scared at the moment. Who built a house without windows? But then, nonCatholics often had very strange ideas about Catholics. How many! How big! How defensible is this place? There are many windows, she said stiffly. And they are big enough to let in lots of sunlight. Convents are not built to be defended, for we are taught to love our enemies. Sir! That drew a chuckle from the outlaw. At least, she thought it might have been a chuckle. His face was filthy, and his lips were taut with what she had first thought was anger but now suspected might be the pain his wound caused him. But for a moment, the corners of his lips quirked upward and a deep rumble sounded in his chest. It was but a flash, and then it was gone. So youre not afraid of me? he asked, pressing the full length of his body up against hers. Even through the thick wool of her black robe, she could feel the firmness of his thigh, the ridge of his belt buckle. His scent invaded her, an odd mix of sweat, soap, and something she couldnt define but would always think of as the scent of outlaw. You terrify me, sir. I may be ignorant, but Im not stupid. And you live here all alone in this great big building all by yourself? His tone indicated t hat he didnt believe her. She lowered her eyes; embarrassment flushed her cheeks and made her stutter. Wwwell The knife pressed hard against her soft neck. His lips were right next to her ear again, the whiskers scratching her tender skin. Tell me exactly how many and where they are! Just Mother Superior, Sir. So you lied to me back there.

Not exactly, she stammered, clenching her eyes shut at his angry scowl. You didnt give me a chance to give you a complete report. There were twelve here much of the time, as I was growing up. Sister Mary Margaret, Sister Brigit, Sister Anne, Sister . And where are they now? he interrupted. Im sure I dont know, she answered impatiently. Several were transferred to another convent. Some went to California to minister to the needs there. We had an outbreak of influenza, which claimed the lives of Sisters Gertrude and Agatha. But it has been many months since we last had mail, that I couldnt tell you where they are right now. Youre a saucy wench, for a nun, he grunted. It was a lie of omission that she didnt correct him. She was only a novice; she had not yet taken the sacred vows that would forever bind her to the church. She wanted to she knew in her heart that she was ready! But Mother Agnes disagreed, and no one argued with the Reverend Mother. Mother Superior. Where is she? Oh, please dont hurt her! Take me instead. Do what you will with me, but please leave her alone! Shes just a poor old woman, shes in very poor health! With a furtive glance at the tree line, he tugged her towards the back door. Cant you just shut up and do what youre told? he barked. It was undoubtedly a rhetorical question, but it made a nervous giggle erupt from her throat. No, sir. Mother Agnes often calls me her cross to bear. They made it up the back stairs unseen, apparently, since they heard no stray gunshots. He closed the door behind them. Wheres the lock? There isnt any. He looked at her, utterly dumbfounded. No locks? She shook her head. We have no need to keep people in. The Sisters of Mercy are not cloistered, but minister to the needs of the community. We provided health care and education, before the drought came and most of the settlers moved away. He had already begun to wander through the first floor during her explanation, his head swerving back and forth almost as violently as he was weaving, until his eyes fell on the big highboy that was one of the few nice pieces that remained downstairs. Help me, he said as he struggled shove it across the floorboards. His tone of voice revealed just how reluctant he was to ask for her assistance, but he was obviously putting practicality before his masculine pride. She was small, and not very strong by comparison, but shed been doing everything that needed to be done all by herself for nearly a year now. Her muscles were firm and hard, for a woman, and she wasnt above using her brain, either. She stopped him, then showed him the wheeled dolly she used to bring in the loads of firewood. Between the two of them and the dolly, the highboy was wedged in front of the door, locking her inside as well as keeping others out. Immediately, he insisted she help him barricade the front door as well. He was staggering by then, his sleeve dark with blood. Sit, she insisted, indicating a ladder back chair in the kitchen. He scowled. It was obvious that he was unused to being given orders. Youre making a mess all over the floor, she said. No doubt youve dripped blood all the way from the garden, and left a trail wide enough a blind man could follow. What do you know about doctoring? he grumbled. More than you, I expect. Now sit down and let me tend to your wound.

He sat. A look of relief cleared his face, making him appear almost handsome. But then the wariness returned, and with it, the knife. He clenched it in his right hand, blade out, threateningly. Watch yourself, he said darkly. Mary Francis poured hot water from the pot on the back of the stove into a basin. She gathered soap, bandages, laudanum and some herbs, placing everything on the table. Clumsily, she worked at the buttons on his shirt, for he made no effort to do it himself. Sister Brigit had been the healer and herbalist. She knew which herbs healed infection or reduced fever. She knew how to sew up cuts, treat for congestion, and deliver babies. Mary Francis had spent many hours by her side, learning as much as she could, for Brigit had also been blessed with a calm and cheerful spirit, and an overabundance of patience that the other sisters had lacked. She missed her more than all the others together, except for the Reverend Mother, who had not left in body, but in mind. Still, Mary Francis had never undressed a patient before, nor had she ever had to treat one who held a knife. He snarled something incomprehensible, then shrugged out of his dirty, stained shirt, wincing in pain. His shirt was ruined, but there was a closet full of gentlyused clothes in the back. Twice a year a missionary barrel arrived from the east, filled with clothing, school books, medicines, and other donations that kept the little convent afloat. She would see about finding him something suitable, as soon as possible. The hard planes of his chest were very distracting. His welldefined muscles drew her attention, causing a blush to creep up her neck. His little male nipples were dark, covered with a light dusting of black hair. She had the strangest urge to touch him, which she refrained from doing only with the utmost concentration. She dipped a clean rag in the warm water and gently dabbed at his injured shoulder. The wound went clear through, smaller in the back and slightly larger in front, indicating that his pursuers had shot him in the back. At least she would not have to dig out the bullet. Shed seen Sister Brigit do that once, and had promptly thrown up all over the floor. Brigit wouldnt let her help her for three days, saying she must develop a stiffer constitution if she ever wished to become a healer herself. The wound was dirty. If she didnt get it thoroughly cleaned, infection would set in. Maybe it would even kill him. She bit her lower lip, considering her options. Let him die, and protect herself and her Reverend Mother or treat his injuries, and pray that he left her unscathed out of gratefulness. But he was here. God could have made him run in another direction. He might have run into Deadwood, nearly a ghost town after the devastating fire back in 79. Or he could have headed to wards the mining camp, and the miners would have finished him off, for sure. Instead he was here, at the nearly abandoned convent with but one novice and an ailing Reverend Mother. And the novice knew how to treat wounds. No, Gods hand was in this, she was sure. And God loved the outlaw just as surely as he loved all sinners. She applied more soap to the wound and scrubbed a little more vigorously. Jesus, woman! That hurts! he belted. She planted her hands on her hips and glowered at him. If you want to die from infection, just keep it up. I will not tend you if you take the Lords name in vain again. He chuckled again, with annoyed her. Im glad you find this funny, she said. I could give you some laudanum for the pain. No! Dont you dare! It would be easier to cleanse your wound.

Ive seen too many men reduced to idiots from drug addictions. I need my wits about me. Do what you must. Ill not swear at you again. He was true to his word. Mary Francis worked diligently on his shoulder, then packed the wound with a crushed garlic paste to fight infection. Finally, she wrapped it with clean bandages. The outlaw looked quite pale by the time she had finished that she feared he might pass out on her. It did not fill her with any hope, though, as he had quite effectively trapped her inside. Let me make you some willowbark tea, now, she said as she put away her herbs. No. I told you, no drugs to dim my senses. Willow bark tea is not like that, she insisted. I would drink a cup with you, as proof. He ignored her, staggering to his feet instead. Take me to your Reverend Mother now. Not dressed like that! Follow me. We might have a shirt to fit you in the back room. What would a bunch of nuns be doing with mens clothes? he asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Not what you think. Whatever youre thinking, she snapped. The Sisters of Mercy serve the poor. We ran a small school here for children. We treated the sick, fed the hungry, and provided clothing to those who need it most. At least, we did, until recently. Deadwoods had its share of murderers and cutthroats, which doesnt attract a lot of settlers. Measles wiped out a share of the town, and two years later fire took out the rest. He had followed her while she ranted, through the dining hall, past the rooms that had once been filled with young scholars, then into the back room where the missionary barrels were sorted. Mary Francis scrounged through shirt after shirt until she found one that might fit his broad, muscled form. It was almost too nice for him, being snowy white and of fine linen, but the sleeves were full and would accommodate his large shoulders, bandages and all. She helped him into it, then fastened half a dozen of the small buttons until he slapped her hands away. Enough, wench! Its Mary Francis, she corrected him. Sister Mary Francis, he amended, although he said the word sister without an ounce of respect. God would just have to forgive her, for she wasnt going to enlighten the outlaw on her status within the convent. And you? Who are you? she asked. And what are you doing here? Its better you dont know, he said. Better for whom? she whispered, but he ignored it. She took him upstairs then, to the first bedroom, where her patient lay. Mother Agnes looked so small and frail, her now shrunken body weakened by age and illness barely making a bump in the heavy quilts spread over her. The room was spartan, as all the rooms in the convent were, with only a small end table by the bed, a wellused Bible on the table, and a crucifix on the wall at the foot of the bed where it would be the first thing seen upon rising, and the last thing seen before going to sleep each night. Mother Agnes? Its Mary Francis are you awake? She tiptoed into the room and perched lightly on the edge of the bed. She took one cold, frail hand in hers and patted it gently. Mother Agnes had been a powerful woman in her day. Though shed never quite made it to five feet in height, no one ever thought of her as tiny. Shed been nearly as wide as she was tall, with thick arms and strong hands that could wield a hairbrush with as much accuracy as a sharpshooter wielded his guns. Mary Francis felt a strange tingle flush through her as she

recalled the many times shed bent over a chair or table to feel that hairbrush on her bared bottom for some infraction, venial or mortal. She knew that the Reverend Mother punished her only because she loved her, for she had often been directed to copy chapter and verse from the Bible after a thorough chastising, pertaining to the rod of correction. Even now, those familiar verses echoed in her mind He who spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is careful to discipline him. Folly is bound up in the heart of a child, but the rod of discipline will drive it far from him. The rod and reproof give wisdom: but the child that is left to his own will bringeth his mother to shame. Perhaps the outlaw behind her was the very example of an undisciplined youth. The thought of him draped over Mother Agness lap made her smile. Mary Francis? Is that you? the old voice crackled. Yes, Mother, she answered, still massaging the cold, stiff fingers. Have you heard from Father Michael yet? Surely he has heard of our plight and sent help. We cannot minister to the community, just the two of us. We need experienced sisters, teachers, and healers! Deadwood will recover there will be children here again. Mark my words, Katie dear. Mark my words! The sick woman began to cough, at first just a little, but then once begun it was as though she could not stop. Mary Francis helped her to sit, and pounded gently on her back to loosen the congestion. Mother Agnes coughed into her kerchief, and it was stained with red when the fit passed. Mary Francis tucked the bloody kerchief into her robe and offered the old woman a fresh one. Yes, Mother. I know. There will be children here again. But Im afraid something must have happened to Father Michael. I have not heard from him in months. It is not like him to stay away so long. He must have gone back east, to speak to the Bishop about sending reinforcements. Thats it. Thats what hes doing, Mother Agnes crooned, although her voic e was fading. The outlaw cleared his throat then, startling them both. Mary Francis had almost forgotten he was there, with her concern for the Reverend Mother. Um, excuse me, maam, he mumbled, extending a hand awkwardly. Mother Agness eyes grew large, and a rare smile spread across her face. Jake! My boy! Youve come back! Youve forgiven me after all of these years! I can die peacefully now. Glory be to God! Her outburst caused the coughing to return with a vengeance. The outlaw sat on the other side of the bed and held her, patting her back as he had seen Mary Francis do moments before, with all the tenderness that a son would show his own mother. Mary Francis gaped stupidly. How could this be? Not the holy Reverend Mother! No! The outlaw looked at her then, and his expression was just as perplexed. He shook his head, silently answering her unasked question. He was not this Jake that the old woman spoke of. Mary Francis refilled a glass with water and offered it to her to help calm the coughing spasm. When Mother Agnes returned to her pillow, she was exhausted. Her eyelids drooped, and her hand was limp in Mary Franciss hand. Alarmed, Mary Francis pressed a finger to the vein at the base of her jaw and waited. She relaxed when she found a pulse. How long has she been like this? the outlaw whispered.

Too long, Im afraid, Mary Francis answered. She survived so much measles, fire, hunger, poverty perhaps if Id been able to get her proper medical care, she might have recovered, but I fear its too late for that now. He didnt answer, but backed out of the room and waited for her. Mary Francis rinsed a cloth with water and wiped the perspiration from Mother Agness brow. Then she straightened the blankets and tenderly kissed the only mother she had ever known.

Chapter Two
Reluctantly, Mary Francis returned to the outlaw in the hallway. She clenched her hands inside the folds of her black robe, praying for strength for whatever evil he had planned for her. Tears filled her vision and trailed down her cheeks. She had been holding so much inside for so long: worry for Mother Agnes and Father Michael, a bit of envy for the sisters who had gone on to California, grief for the sisters she had buried. And loneliness! Oh, there were days when the silence was almost more than she could bear! Sometimes, outside the convent walls she would sing at the top of her lungs, as she tried to drive away the aching loneliness that was her constant companion. And now, for whatever reason she could not comprehend, God had sent this outlaw to her. She murmured the words to her favorite prayer, as they seemed most appropriate now. Holy Mary, Mother of God, Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death All of the bedroom doors were open. He must have checked each of the rooms while waiting for her. Now he leaned against the wall, his face ashen and beads of sweat plastering tendrils of dark hair to his face. Perhaps he would also be facing the hour of his death? Fear lanced through her chest. He couldnt die! Not now! Not after shed treated him she felt responsible for him. And shed be so alone. More tears ran down her face, but these were for the outlaw and his immortal soul. Which room is yours? he barked, with a gesture toward the row of bedrooms. Hers was not among them. First as a child, and later as a novice, she had occupied a tiny room in the attic, away from the sisters and the Reverend Mother. Even now, with all the bedrooms empty and Mother Agnes ill and infirm, she had not felt bold enough to move her meager belongings down into the sisters quarters. You may choose any of these rooms, she offered. No one uses them now. You didnt answer my question, and Im not in the habit of repeating myself. She gulped anxiously. No, sir. Im sorry, sir. My bedroom is upstairs in the attic. But I think I should stay down here closer to Mother, in case she calls for me tonight. Fine, he snapped. Didnt the man ever just speak in a normal voice? She wondered what his voice would sound like, if he werent in pain, or angry, or both. He snatched her wrist and tugged her into the bedroom closest to Reverend Mothers, then kicked the door closed behind him. He leaned against the door, breathing heavily as though hed run a great distance. Take off your clothes, he demanded. This was it. This was the moment she had feared, although she wasnt even certain what it was that she was afraid of. Everything she knew about the relationships between men and women was what she could learn in the Bible. And Adam knew Eve and she bore him a son Somehow, that little word knew must encompass quite a lot! Was the outlaw going to know her now? She would be ruined, defiled. Did not Dinahs brothers s laughter an entire community after the kings son raped her? Please, sir, please dont do this, she begged. I have had it with you! As soon as Im able, Im going to put you over my knee and give you the spanking you so justly deserve! I am not going to rape a nun, Jesus, Mary and Joseph! What sort of man do you think I am!

The sort of man who tackles a nun to the ground, drags her around by her wrist, and threatens her, sir, she retorted tearfully. All right. I had that coming, he said quietly. I am not going to hurt you tonight. But I need to sleep, and I need to know where you are, and that you arent going to try to leave here and tell someone where I am. So I plan to take your clothes from you, and hope that if youre naked, youll stay right here. She quivered, making the sign of the cross repeatedly. What he said was shocking! She never went naked. Never! Why, Mother Agnes had even insisted that she leave on a slip when she took a bath! Just once shed been caught bathing in the a ltogether, and had been quite thoroughly chastised for it! It was the only time she had ever had to cut a switch. And while the welts were still swollen and painful, shed had to sit at her desk and copy pages and pages from the Holy Scripture. It wasnt that the human body was believed to be sinful or ugly, only that the urges of the flesh were the way to wickedness. If he saw her naked, both of them might be tempted to sin. You have a choice, he growled impatiently. You can take off your clothes a nd give them to me, and Ill let you sleep alone tonight. Or Ill rip your clothes from you, and you can go naked for days. Her shoulders shaking as she wept, she began to remove the layers of clothing. First the black rosary with an ebony cross, which hung from the cincture around her waist. She kissed the rosary, then set it on the bedside table. Removing the cincture a tight, leather girdle usually brought a breath of relief, but not today. No longer bound at the waist, her black wool habit fell in loose folds from the throat to the floor, and longer in the back. Gingerly, she dropped the habit, stepping from the voluminous fabric with growing trepidation. Next came her slip, the white cambric veil, and finally, the binding and bloomers. For the first time in many years, Katherine Mary Francis Geraud was naked. She stooped and gathered her garments in her arms, holding them in front of her as though they could provide her a modicum of modesty. Your hair, he whispered, his voice thick and gravelly. Her hand went straight to her hair, tugging at the shorn locks. It is customary to cut ones hair, she stammered, as a sign of our humility before God. Thankfully, women dont tonsure their heads, as monks do. No, its just, its God! Its red! Her chin thrust up, and her eyes narrowed. The Lords name! He approached, his gait uneven, and yanked the ball of fabric from her. Sorry, sister. Its just, well, Ive always been partial to redheads. Youd better get yourself into bed now. Mary Francis did as she was told. He limped to the doorway and tossed her clothes onto the floor. He stretched out on the floor, using her robes for a pillow. You you cant sleep in here, she blurted. I can, and I will. But, but the floor is uncomfortable, and there are many beds to chose from! Sister, I cant remember the last time I slept in a bed, and I wont start now, unless youre inviting me into yours. No! Then please, do us both a favor, and shut up!

Mary Francis closed her mouth, although she was screaming on the inside. She glared at him. He had the audacity to wink at her. She gave a most unladylike huff, then pulled the thin covers over her face. Before long, the outlaw was snoring. It wasnt noisy, like Sister Mary Margaret used to snore, loud enough to rattle the floor boards. It was just a quiet sound, a constant, soothing sound that let her know she was no longer alone. And he hadnt hurt her much, she amended, as she rubbed the bruises on her wrists. He hadnt defiled her. He hadnt known her, in the biblical sense. He had threatened to spank her, which got her dander up. Mother Agnes had stopped spanking her when shed transitioned from postulate to novice. She wasnt sure if it was because the Reverend Mother fina lly felt she was too mature for such childish punishments, or because the older woman was no longer physically able to administer them. She hoped it was the former, but suspected it was more the latter. Would he really do it? Would he spank her? Why did that thought not strike terror into her heart? Instead, she felt strangely warm. She fanned her quilt, trying to cool her naked flesh, until she remembered that she was not alone. She rolled over, trying to find a spot where the sheets were still cool. Still, it was awkward sleeping naked. Her senses were heightened. Her breasts ached and touching them did nothing to ease the discomfort. Oh God, she whispered. What lesson is it that You wish me to learn from this? It was a long, long time before she was able to sleep. *** Mary Francis was surprised that she awoke before the outlaw, for as little sleep as shed been able to grab during the night. He lay perfectly still, no longer snoring not even moving. Was he was he alright? Had he succumbed to infection in the night, and passed away while a healer was not more than an arms length away? Oh God! Please, dont let him be dead! She flew from the bed, grasping the sheet around her, and tiptoed to the outlaw. She pressed two fingers to his throat to feel for a pulse, but seconds later she was tossed flat on her back, pressed into the floorboards by his great weight, his fist around her neck cutting off her air. He looked furious, then a little confused, then hurt. It was strange how easily she read his emotions when he was still half asleep. The fury she could understand. The hurt upset her, and she felt strangely compelled to explain herself. Im sorry for waking you, sir, she whispered, forcing the words out in spite of his firm grip. I was worried, and only meant to find your pulse. I would not have harmed you. He loosened his grip slightly. You werent looking for my knife? She shook her head. And what would I have done with it? I treated your wounds; I could not have given you more. He released her throat, then rolled off her, a gasp of pain escaping. The bandages had soaked through the shirt during the night. Shed have to do some laundry today, or the stains wouldnt come out. Lets go downstairs, and I can see to your injury, she said. He wasnt listening to her, though. Instead, his eyes had darkened to a smoky blue, as he stared at her. Not at her face, but at her breasts now exposed, for the sheet shed clutched had dropped a notch. She tugged it back up.

It seems to me we have the matter of your spanking to attend to, he said hoarsely. She rose to her feet, wrapping the sheet about her with as much dignity as she could muster. You will not lay a hand on me, mister! He chuckled. Is that so? You, little sister, need to learn that when I say something, I mean it. When I tell you to jump, youd better be already jumping before you ask me how high. And you, sir, are too full of yourself! You are the sassiest nun I ever met! And how many nuns do you know? she countered angrily. He lunged for her, snatching the sheet from her hands. She screamed, grasping for it, without success. Furious, scared, embarrassed, and overwhelmed by the many emotions flooding through her, Mary Francis ran towards the outlaw instead of away. She pummeled his chest with her fists. I am going to give you your spanking, Sister. And then, and only then, will I allow you to get dressed. Do you understand? Youre a beast! A brute! I never said I was otherwise. Now stop this at once, and get yourself down on that bed. She stopped hitting him, and took a step back. She could resist him, for he was injured. He couldnt wrestle her to the bed with only one arm. But, there was the matter of her clothes he was powerful and big, and fast, and she really did want to put her robe back on. She was exhausted from lack of sleep, and still much too hot for the time of year. And for some perverse reason she could not understand, she actually did want him to spank her! Shed imagined it most of the night. His big hand on her bottom it would hurt, no doubt. Mother Agnes had once been able to deliver a stinging swat and he was much bigger than the Mother Superior had ever been. But, after a punishment, Mother Agnes always held her and hugged her and told her how much God loved her. Would the outlaw hold her, too? He took a menacing step towards her. Mary Francis scurried toward the bed. She lay down as he directed, with just her body and head on the mattress, her legs still on the floor. He put a leg between hers and tapped her ankles, to make her widen her stance. She grabbed fistfuls of the quilt in her hands and clenched her teeth. He was looking at her! He was seeing parts of her that shed never looked at. This was wrong sinful, and yet, utterly interesting. She prayed God would forgive her. There was a sound, she couldnt place it, and glanced over her shoulder to see what it was. He had removed his belt! For a moment, she feared he would defile her, but then she saw that he folded the belt in his right hand and swung it down. She arched her back and cried out at the sudden blaze of pain it wrought. No, sir, please, no! Hold still, or it might hit you someplace more painful than your pretty bottom, he warned. Please, dont! A man is only as good as his word, the outlaw insisted, bringing his belt down again and again. Mary Francis cried, not caring if the Reverend Mother heard her or not. She kicked, she twisted, which was a mistake, for the belt wrapped around her hipbone and it was much worse, just as hed promised. Twenty times or more that wicked belt snapped at her viciously. She yelped and sobbed and begged him to stop. Until finally, he did. Now, sister, are you going to listen to me!

Ill try, sir, she promised. He chuckled. She couldnt possibly imagine what it was that he found so funny, but it infuriated her. Maybe shed stuff hot peppers in his wound, instead of garlic mash! Oh! Oh! He was the most awful person shed ever met! There was a slight hiss of air before his belt struck yet again. Her anger dissipated immediately, and only misery remained. Youd best be remembering, sister, he warned. Now get dressed. *** Her bloomers were made from course homespun, but that had never bothered her before. Now, though, the fabric hurt. Her bottom was ablaze, slightly swollen and quite red indeed. Every movement hurt. Every pain reminded her that the brute of an outlaw had seen her naked, had punished her had spanked her! And slept in her bedroom! Heat, embarrassment, and wicked thoughts plagued her. She tightened her cincture another notch. The discomfort of it might help take her mind off other things. After adjusting her veil, she knelt before the bed and prayed. She prayed the Our Father, several Hail Marys, and then added a few words of her own. He waited just outside her door, although he poked his head in several times urging her to hasten. Then, the brute asked her to help him with his belt! Heat flamed her face as she touched the supple leather. But sir, it isnt right, she blurted. He swatted her poor bottom; she felt it even through the heavy robe. Obedience, he reminded her. She threaded his belt through the loops, and fumbled with it awkwardly as she fastened the buckle. If his arm were hurting him that much, maybe he shouldnt even be wearing a belt, she thought angrily. Unless, of course, he only wore it so he would have it handy when he wanted to spank her again! Oh! Your face is an open book, he said. Youd best be getting that redheaded temper under control right quick, sister. Id best. She stopped herself from uttering the hurtful words shed meant to say. Then, taking a deep breath and letting it out, a gesture Sister Brigit had taught her to try when her temper threatened to get the best of her, she tried again. Id best be checking in on Mother Agnes. He followed her into the bedroom. Mother Agnes was still asleep, her face relaxed and peaceful in a way that it had not been for many months. Perhaps she was starting to feel better? Mary Francis could hope. She would make a meaty broth for both her patients today. Then, slipping quietly from the room, she led the way downstairs. *** Ill tend to your wound first, sir, she said, directing him to sit at the table again. Then Ill fix us something to eat. He sat, shrugging out of the soiled shirt without her assistance, for which she was truly thankful. Still, that vast expanse of male chest was disconcerting. She didnt know where to focus her gaze. Heat crept up her neck, reddening her cheeks. Jeez, sister, he grunted. You embarrass easily. That sounded almost like a curse, sir.

But it wasnt. Ill behave. I doubt that. Now, stop talking so I can concentrate. She removed the soiled bandages, nodding in satisfaction that there was no sign of infection. Shed done a thorough job of cleansing the wound. She mashed some more garlic cloves and applied the poultice to the wound, wrapping it in clean bandages. Then she tossed the shirt and soiled bandages into the washtub to be dealt with later. She searched through the mission barrel for yet another shirt. This one was not quite big enough, and fit his broad chest like a second skin. It did little to keep her from blushing, but it would have to suffice. She built up a small fire from the coals in the wood stove, and soon had a pot of oatmeal and another pot with coffee simmering. She spared a bit of honey to flavor the oats, and asked the outlaw if hed like some cream for his coffee. He declined. She added cream to hers, then gingerly sat at the table with him. She bowed her head to say a prayer, ignoring the scrape of his spoon in the bowl. Dear Lord, for what we are about to eat, make us truly thankful, Amen. Im not sure he could, the outlaw said, smirking. The Lord can do all things, she replied, quoting from the Bible. He scooped a glob of oatmeal onto his spoon and let it plop back into the bowl. I dont know, he drawled. Im not sure I could ever be truly thankful for oatmeal. She smiled. Shed felt the same way many a time. Shed learned that it tasted better if she ate it quickly. Once it cooled and thickened, it was almost inedible. At least it was plentiful. They still had a few chickens, a dairy goat, and the vegetable garden. There were apple trees, and wild plum trees. She had a few raspberry and blackberry brambles that she cultivated. But their diet was sorely lacking in meat. It had never bothered Mary Francis, as one day soon she would be making a vow of poverty, chastity, and obedience. She suspected, though, that the mostly vegetarian diet might annoy her outlaw. Her outlaw that had a nice sound to it!

Chapter Three
Mary Francis gazed out of the window longingly. She had hoped that she might convince her outlaw that she needed to work in the garden, or at least inspect the ground to see if hed left a bloody trail for his pursuers to follow, but the thickening clouds and the darkness of their color convinced them both that rain would soon follow. I need to bring in more firewood, she tried. Nonsense, sister. Theres enough in here for days. But it needs to dry out, sir, and and I always bring in an armload in the morning. Its part of my daily routine! He shook his head, tugging on the end of his belt. Do you need another lesson in whos the boss? Mary Francis fell silent, chewing on her lower lip. Obedience had always been the hardest for her. She had no problem with the vow of poverty. The convent was the only home she knew. Shed never been to a city, never seen anything fine or fancy that she would long for it. The vow of chastity had to do with being pure, and until last night, she had never known an impure thought. Now, it was a tossup between the thoughts he inspired in her, or her temper, that would be most likely to get her in trouble. May I do the dishes, then, sir? He nodded, with a hearty chuckle that irritated her. She rinsed out the dishes, swept the floor, started a batch of bread dough, and puttered as much as she could, all with him watching her intently. Her nerves were frayed and her temper simmering it was so annoying to have someone looking over her shoulder while she worked! She was used to being alone. Still, he was wounded, and he wouldnt be much help even if he had offered. Which he didnt. He did let her tend to Mother Agnes alone, but only because she told him she was going to give her a sponge bath and change the linens. He hovered at the base of the stairs, no doubt watching out the windows to see if she risked breaking her legs by jumping. Which she didnt. Maybe it was sinful of her to stay, but she didnt want to try to run away. Mother Agnes needed her, she told herself. And in a way, so did the outlaw. *** Mary, is that you? Mother Agnes whispered. Mary, have you returned? Tell me about California! Is it all you hoped for? Mary Franciss brief elation that the Reverend Mother recognized her was quickly dashed. More often than not, the old woman was lost in some earlier, happier time. Mary Francis helped her to a semi-sitting position, so she could spoon feed her the broth. Slowly, patiently, she bathed her, helping her to don a clean gown, and changing the linens one side at a time with a tricky maneuver that did not require the Reverend Mother to get out of bed at all. She plumped her pillows, and opened the window slightly to let in some fresh air, in spite of the summer downpour. She gazed out of the window, taking a moment for herself. The garden needed this. Even the pigweed had been drooping yesterday. More often than not it had snapped off at the base instead of coming up roots and all, which infuriated her as it meant she would be pulling that same weed in the near future. She imagined the potatoes and squash joining their leaf hands

together in praise and thanksgiving for this mornings shower. She smiled, lifting her own arms as she offered God a quick prayer of her own. But then, something on the horizon caught her attention. She stared, trying to discern what it was as it darted about between the trees and prairie grass. Three, four no, five men on horseback! They were not charging straight towards the convent, but instead they zigzagged back and forth, a sixth one walking and leading his horse, as though searching for a trail. These men were undoubtedly the ones who had shot her outlaw! She gasped, and fled down the stairs. What is it, sister? Is it your Reverend Mother? the outlaw asked tenderly. No! Its your pursuers! Theyre coming! He nodded brusquely. He reached for his guns and strapped them low on his hip, then tucked his knife into the top of a boot. Go upstairs, and dont come down until its over, he warned. I will not! You cannot possibly expect to survive against seven men! You must hide, but help me move the highboy away from the door first. Quickly! I will not give up, sister, although it pains me to think I have put you in danger. They are not good men they will hang me on sight, if they dont shoot me first. They cannot know for certain that you are here. The rain has surely washed away your trail. I will talk to them, and send them on their way. Why? Why would you do that? They shot you in the back, sir. And, I believe God has a reason for sending you here. Now stop jabbering and help me! He shook his head disbelievingly, but he helped her slide the highboy away from the door, and unblock the front one as well. Then he went upstairs to hide. It galled him to do so, but he was still too weak from his injury, and the sassy little sister was right. He couldnt take them all on and expect to come out the victor. But if they tried to harm a single hair on her head, well some things were worth dying for. *** Mary Francis took a hold of the door handle and turned it, but not in time, apparently for at least one of the men had lost patience with waiting for her to respond to their knock and kicked the door in, slamming her up against the wall as if shed been shot out of a cannon. The men poured into the convent then, tramping in mud and rain. Except for the impatient one, they were actually quite apologetic, helping her up and leading her to the dining room to sit down. They could see that shed had quite a bump to her head. The man who said his name was Frank Mills, the oldest of the group judging by his long white beard, began softly, Were sorry to bust in here like this, Sister, but were looking for someone. Where is he? Ill skin him alive when I find him! the impatient one was yelling as he strode through the house scouring behind every door he found. Hes a big fella, about six-foot-three or so, broad as a barn, hair black as coal and dead blue eyes. Smart as a whip, too, he is, the bastard. This man was small and wiry, and he blushed an unbecoming shade of red at his use of profanity in front of her. Pardon me, Sister. Youre excused, of course. Katie maintained an air of quiet dignity, if she did say so herself.

Have you seen anyone like that around here, Sister . . . ? Sister Mary Francis. We are not in the habit of giving shelter to criminals, she said archly. She would try to keep from telling an outright lie, although she knew in her heart that sins of omission were just as bad. Still, she would try to stick to the truth as much as she was able. Im sorry, gentlemen, but the Reverend Mother is quite ill and not in her right mind. I have devoted these many months entirely to her care I have not been to town or anyplace where I might have met this man you mention. He aint here? the obnoxious one snarled. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin proudly. This is a convent, sir! Not a bordello! He associates guffawed, and one slugged him in the shoulder. His expression darkened. Sister Mary Francis feared that he might be pushed to violence at any moment. She tried to diffuse the situation. May I be so bold as to ask a question? Mills nodded. Why is it that you want this man? Is he a thief? It was the mans reaction to her query that aroused her suspicions. His eyes darted to his friends before he answered, and they all looked as if they wished they werent in a convent and didnt have to lie to a nun. Of sorts, Sister. Well, then, shouldnt you get Mr. Bullock involved? After all, he is still the sheriff, isnt he? Mary Francis asked the question specifically so that she could watch their reactions. They all looked a heap more guilty than her outlaw ever had. No, no, we dont want to bring the law into this situation, maam. Wed rather settle things ourselves. Man to man, dont you know. Well, I really wouldnt know, now, would I? she smiled beatifically at them all. Could I offer you gentleman anything in the way of refreshments? Perhaps a cup of tea? No, thank you, Sister, the older gentleman replied for the rest of them, who were shuffling about awkwardly. By way of apology, Mills offered, Higgins was the only one who wanted to come. He was just sure that Holt was hiding here somewhere. We had to come and make sure you was alright. The angry man, Higgens, finally came back downstairs, and Katie felt as if she could breathe again. How could it possibly be that he hadnt found her outlaw! Shed grown up in this place; she thought she knew all of the hidey holes, and none of them were upstairs! When shed seen them all out and put the front door back in place if a bit askew since it had been knocked entirely off its hinges she turned and ran upstairs, scouring the place the same way that nasty man had, looking for her outlaw Mr. Holt. At least she had half a name for him now. Where are you? Theyre gone. You can come out now. He appeared behind her as stealthily as if he had been an apparition. Where were you? I was so worried he was going to find you oh, those men are not nice people! I figured that he wouldnt search Mother Agness room too carefully, her being sick and all. So I just hid behind her door. He wouldnt risk catching whatever shes got to search too carefully. But shes not contagious.

You know that, and I know that. He doesnt. They shared a bit of a chuckle together, but then his face darkened. There was quite a commotion downstairs, too. What happened? Katies eyes slid to the floor, the wall, the ceiling anywhere but him. Oh, nothing much. One of the men Higgens, I think he said. He kind of sort of kicked down the door rather than waiting for me to let them in. He what? Her outlaw was already halfway down the stairs, as he dashed to view the ruined door. He was cursing under his breath, although she noted that he did not use the Lords name in his litany. And you are you all right? Did any of them hurt you? It is just a bump, she insisted. He turned to look at her, his eyes wide with shock. Then he gathered her into his arms, gently, as if she was made of the finest crystal and held her to him, asking softly, as if the answer meant the world to him, Where does it hurt? His hands traveled up her sleeves, down her back, searching for whatever injury the heavy black robe concealed. Only when he touched the back of her head did she elicit a yelp. He tugged off her veil and probed the area around the knot. Do you have some ice to put on this? Its just a bump. Ill be fine, we dont need to waste the ice, she insisted. He set her down at the table, parting her hair to view the injury more closely. Its a large bump, and I know youll be fine. But we need to put ice on this to keep the swelling down. He opened the icebox in the kitchen, but just as Mary Francis had suspected, there was no ice remaining. Fetching ice was yet another of the chores she had not finished last night after her outlaw arrived. Where do you keep the ice? Thick chunks of ice were cut from the pond every winter, carted to a sod house and covered with saw dust to keep from melting. One block at a time was brought inside and placed in the ice box in the kitchen. If she went through her ice too quickly, she would not be able to chill her goat milk or food supplies until winter returned. For that reason alone, she balked. He made a spanking motion with his hands. Mary Francis sighed, and gave him directions to the soddy, behind the convent and to the west of goat house. While he was gone, she gathered a bucket of water, rags and soap and went to work scrubbing up the mud her visitors had tracked in. She was on her hands and knees when her outlaw returned. He dropped the precious block of ice and yelled at her. What do you think youre doing? What does it look like? she replied tartly. His grip on her arm was not as gentle as before, as he directed her back to the chair. You, young woman, have earned yourself another spanking. I have not! You knew I was getting ice for that knot on your head. Head wounds can be serious! Ive seen fellas survive gunshot wounds, only to die from a bump on the noggin. Have you no sense? More than you, apparently. Im fine. Honestly, she replied. She winced as he pressed a wedge of ice that had broken away from the main block onto her sore spot. You forget, I have

some skill as a healer. Look into my eyes. If the iris is the same size in both, its not a concussion. He tipped her chin up and gazed into her eyes, studiously at first, and then some other emotion came over him. She watched as his eyes dilated. His breath came faster, and he leaned closer to her. She resisted the urge to back away but stared at his lips and he moved closer still. Then he pressed a kiss to the knot at the back of her head, flooding her heart with a warmth she just couldnt find within herself to reject. Then he hugged her, gently and genuinely, rocking her slowly back and forth, almost as if they were dancing. Im so sorry you were hurt, sister. Im truly sorry. He wasnt sorry in the least that hed spanked her, only that someone else had caused her harm. She found that dichotomy very interesting, and extremely touching, somehow. He held her for a long time, and she let him, drowning in the new sensations he created within her. Eventually he let her go. He went to the door and adjusted it, getting it to close in spite of the damaged hinges. Tell me exactly what happened. She told him as much of the conversation as she could recall, mentioning the few names as well. Higgens. Mills. Holt. She noticed the way he startled when she said that last one. Thats you, isnt it? Youre Holt. J.D. Holt. John Douglas, after my father and grandfather, but everyone calls me J.D. J.D, she whispered, glad to have something to call him besides her outlaw. He seemed irritated with her, though. She felt jittery all over, worrying about whether he meant it when he said he was going to spank her again, dreading yet anticipating it as well. What kinds of tools do you have? he asked, interrupting her thoughts. Theres a hammer in the dairy shed. And its way past time I milked her. Nana will be suffering soon if I dont. But shouldnt you rest? And youre going to milk a goat, one-armed? He shook his head. Together, we make a pair, dont we? I guess, Ill help you with your chores today, and you can help me. Hows that sound? He held her arm as they picked their way across the muddy ground to the dairy shed. He gathered up a few tools while she cleaned Nanas st all and fed her, then milked her. He carried the milk pail back to the kitchen then and watched as she strained the milk, poured it into clean jars and put it in the ice box. Then she helped hold the door while he hammered the kinks out of the hinges. From there, they mopped the floors, washed clothes, and set a pot of stew on to simmer. Mary Francis got over her irritation at having someone watch her constantly. Instead, she reveled at having a companion with whom she could talk, someone to share her life, if only for a few days. The convent was going to be twice as lonely when he left. Late in the afternoon Mother Agnes awoke. She was restless and irritable, which Mary Francis didnt fault her for. Anyone would be, being bedridden as she was. Ma ry Francis kept a pleasant smile on her face, nodding or shaking her head in response to Mothers complaints. But then JD walked by, and Mothers face transformed into pure joy. There you are, my boy! Come in, come in. Sit and stay a while. Tell me a bout yourself. Whereve you been? Did you marry? J.D. looked uncomfortable, which amused Mary Francis. She went to take his arm and urge him into the room. Yes, Jake. Do tell us everything? she teased.

He perched on the straight chair Mary Francis produced and cracked his knuckles. Not much to tell, Mother Agnes, he mumbled. Horse feathers! Then open the Good Book and read to me. I just love to hear your voice. He lifted the Bible from her nightstand as though it were something poisonous. Mary Francis covered her lips to keep from laughing aloud. He scowled at her, so she must not have been entirely successful. Mother Agnes didnt seem to have heard, though. Instead, she beamed at the outlaw. Where should I begin? he said, fumbling wit h the thin pages. Its all good, Mother Agnes sighed. Read anywhere. Psalms. Proverbs. You decide. He flipped through the papers and jabbed his finger in the middle of them arbitrarily. He smoothed the book open, adjusted his position on the chair, and cleared his throat. Then he read. The truly capable woman-- who can find her? She is far beyond the price of pearls. Her husband's heart has confidence in her, from her he will derive no little profit. Advantage and not hurt she brings him all the days of her life. She selects wool and flax, she does her work with eager hands. She is like those merchant vessels, bringing her food from far away. He lifted his eyes and gazed at Mary Francis with an unfathomable expression. She smiled at him, then glanced away, embarrassed at the attention. Eventually, he returned to reading, and read until Mother Agnes fell asleep.

Chapter Four
Now sister, J.D. said sternly after shed cleared away the supper dishes. Mary Francis gulped, suspecting what he was referring to, but chose to play innocent. What, sir? she asked, opening her eyes wide. There is the matter of your spanking to settle. She put her hands behind her, protecting the part in question. Im sure I dont know what youre talking about. Sir. He chuckled, but he didnt look all that amused. He stood, which intimidated her a little. He was so very tall! And his shoulders were far too broad for a mere mortal man. God must have had fun when Hed put this one together! She bit her lower lip to prevent herself from drooling which seemed a ridiculous thing to do given the circumstance. You have yet to learn obedience, sister. You argued with me more than once today, and while spankings are best when giving immediately, we were rather busy at the time. Spanking me because I hold a difference of opinion seems a bit bullish of you, J.D. If all things were equal, I suppose you could be right, sister, he said. But we are not equal. I am older than you by far. Ive had a lot more experience, and I am a man. You are young, impulsive, nave, and you were warned of the consequences for arguing. So get yourself over the table. Now! She knew it was foolish to needle him, and yet, she did not want to be spanked! She had been under the impression that Mother Agness spankings were pretty horrible. She certainly had hated them when she was younger. But those were nothing in comparison to how this man tore up her poor bottom. Perhaps part of it was that he made her feel helpless, something she was not familiar with. Although as a child, and later, a postulant or novice, she had to obey Mother Agnes and the other sisters, it was by choice. She could have left. They did not chain her to her bed at night. With him, there was no choice in the matter at all. He demanded, she obeyed or else. Her stomach felt like butterflies were fluttering around inside, and tingles flooded through her groin, making her feel utterly sinful. Perhaps God had sent this man here to discipline her, because her foolish thoughts, words, and deeds would keep her from being fit to take her vows. Bravely, she took a step towards him, and then another. She walked up to the table, then bent over it, dread lodging in her throat even as the hope of forgiveness flooded through her soul. He lifted the heavy robe to expose her backside. Before she could plead with him not to undress her, he tugged at her bloomers, as well. These. Off! No! Please, sir, no! Mother Agnes never removed my bloomers. She didnt because she didnt believe in going anywhere naked. But then, the wide slit in the bloomers would usually part and expose a good portion of her bottom to the Mothers hearty swat. Three quick, hard swats landed on her bottom right over the bloomers. Obedience, sister! he barked. Then he grabbed the offending garment and tore it. The fabric fluttered to the floor. Mary Francis reached behind her in a vain attempt to conceal her bottom with her small hand, twisting to try to free herself. He had removed his belt and now began to strike her with it. Firmly, accurately, quickly blow after blow. She shoved a fist in her mouth, not wanting to disturb Mother

Agness sleep, but how could she refrain from screaming when he was torturing her so? Still , if this was Gods plan, then she should accept her punishment. She focused on how her Lord had been so cruelly beaten prior to his crucifixion, and joined her suffering with his, however pitiful it was. She knew that God loved her. The verses from Proverbs regarding the rod of correction flooded her thoughts again. Wouldnt J.D. grow tired, eventually? Did he even know the meaning of the word? Katie didnt think this spanking was ever going to end, even though she was quite sure that her bottom had been set ablaze long since. The swats he delivered at the very end were at least as painful as the ones hed given her when he started, if not more so! That just wasnt right! It wasnt natural! And he didnt just confine himself to her derriere, either . The backs of her thighs suffered in a like manner, until she was sure that her entire backside was all exactly the same angry red color. By the time he stopped she was crying hysterically, kicking and screaming and begging him to stop. There was no dig nity left in her. She didnt care that every time she kicked he probably got a look at parts of her she really didnt want him to look at, especially if it got him to stop spanking her. He helped her to stand, then gathered her into his arms and held her, showing such tenderness after inflicting so much pain that it confused her. She hiccupped, clutching the folds of his shirt in her fist as she hopped from one foot to the other in a useless attempt to ease her suffering. Sh, sister, he whispered. T here, there. This is a hard lesson to learn, but it may save your life one day. It already had, she reflected. Shed been feeling lustful thoughts, and now they were gone. All that remained was her suffering. Perhaps one day she would be good enough to be a nun after all. He helped her upstairs, then into the same bedroom they had occupied the night before. She was still sobbing too hard to care what happened next. He had spanked her like a naughty child, surely he would not look upon her as a woman now. He removed her belt, scapular, robe, and veil. He looked perplexed when he came to her binding, though, and she hoped that maybe he would let her wear it to bed, but such was not to be. What the hell is this? he asked, startling her with the near anger in his voice. B b bindings, sir, she stammered. What ever for! She didnt answer quickly enough, and he swatted her bottom with his hand. Its what women wear! To support their breasts! There. Shed said it! She could hope that she embarrassed him at least a fraction as much as he was constantly doing to her. Thats ridiculous. It looks uncomfortable, and unhealthy. Take it off. She folded her arms in front of her, protectively. It is far more uncomfortable to go about and let them swing, sir! I have overly large breasts! Ill be the judge of that, he purred. Heat flamed her face. The lustful thoughts returned with a vengeance. She knew she should ask him to spank her yet again, but she couldnt make herself say the words. T hen his knife reappeared, slipped from his boot so fast she barely had time to notice it, before he slipped the sharp blade beneath her bindings and sliced it in two. She stared, horrified, as the white linen shredded, the dainty white cross Sister Margaret had embroidered on it torn asunder.

You are never to wear anything like that again, he thundered. Nor bloomers. Got that? She just stared, until a series of hand swats to her bruised bottom elicited an agreement. She stood there, wearing only a thin slip, which she wore even when taking a bath. She had been taught a series of movements that allowed her to pull on a clean slip and remove the soiled one without exposing an inch of skin. It took J.D. less than a heartbeat to rid her of that last thin shield of modesty. And then she was completely naked. In the same room with a man. Standing in front of a man. She wondered that the floorboards didnt part so the gates of hell could swallow her up right then. Get into bed, sister, he said angrily. What he had to be angry about, she was sure she didnt know. Obediently, for shame and suffering had driven all the spirit out of her, she crept into the bed, pulling the covers up over her head in her disgrace. Judging by the sounds that seeped under her quilt, he must have plopped down on the floor in front of the doorway, just as he had done the night before. Well, see if she checked his pulse again! He could just die right now! No no, she knew she didnt wish for that. He was here on Gods errand. It was her duty to obey. She would cry herself to sleep, silently saying her prayers. *** J.D. had never met a woman quite like Katie. Hed grown up around mining camps all his life. His dad was a miner and all the women around the camps were either wives or prostitutes, and sometimes it was a damned hard thing to tell the difference between the two. Hed grown up quickly in places like that kind of the opposite of how Katie was raised. Hed never seen a woman who was as innocent as Katie wa s, and he found her very intriguing. Hed had women putting their hands down his pants from the time he was twelve, because by then he was nearly as tall and as broad as his Dad was. By the time he was thirteen hed already had his first woman a birthday present from his Dad, and hed learned he had a taste for what the brothel keepers called a specialty. He enjoyed spanking women he enjoyed pleasuring them, too, which he thought also ought to earn him credits in his favor. Not that the whoremongers would agree to that in the least, but the whores did, thankfully. He knew he was a lot like his father, in that respect. J.D. had never had a chance to see his father applying that philosophy to a womans bottom, though. Yellow fever had taken his mother from him when he was a baby. He had no memories of her at all. This innocent young girl a nun to boot was doing something to him. She had taken over his head, infiltrated his thoughts. If only she were free, he might even be tempted to court her! But she was already married, a bride of the church, and therefore, taken. It was a bleeding waste if ever he saw one, She was too beautiful and responsive, even to the pain of a spanking, too naturally sensual to deserve such a fate. She was gorgeously proportioned. When her breasts had tumbled from the inhuman bindings, they revealed a generous share equal to the size and shape of her lovely bottom. She could have been made for him. Perhaps the Almighty was trying to tell him something. That this young nun wasnt made for . . . nunning after all, and perhaps he should settle down? He wasnt a spring chicken any more. He was staring down the barrel of thirty-five, and his father had long since given up hope that he might actually see grandchildren.

It might just be time. Maybe. Depending on how things turned out here in this bunghole of a place. In the mean time, there was this lovely, tantalizing little vixen to tame, and he was just the man to do it. *** Her tears tore at him, though. Hed known hed spanked her quite thoroughly, but shouldnt the immediate pain have faded by now? Why did she continue to suffer? She wasnt doing so on purpose to make him feel badly, for she was doing her best to muffle the sound. He had developed excellent hearing, something that had saved his life on more than one occasion. He felt torn between wanted to comfort her, and doubting that he would be able to leave her untouched if he entered her bed. He struggled with demons of his own as the moonlight slowly marched across the windowpane. Finally, he rose and went to her, slipping between the covers so he could gather her into his arms. She hugged him, her tears trailing down his chest, as she continued to sob her misery. She felt heavenly in his arms! Her shorn hair was a wild mane of curls tucked under his chin, and it smelled deliciously of strawberries. Her skin was so smooth and soft, it was like finest velvet. And the way her small hands clutched at him brought out his animal instinct, urging him to protect her, with his life, if necessary. He just couldnt bear to hear her cry another moment. So he silenced her. With a kiss. *** Mary Francis knew it was wrong to let him into her bed and yet, would he spank her if she told him to leave? At first she had wept because of the pain of her spanking, and then because she felt so unworthy. But then her thoughts had turned to all the sisters who had left the convent, and all the settlers who had moved away. Deadwood was nearly a ghost town, and even the church, it seemed, and forsaken her. She feared Father Michael would not be returning. Ever. And Mother Agnes was not long for the world, either. And her outlaw would heal and return to whatever it was that outlaws did. And she would be here, all alone. Forever. Not quite a nun, not quite a woman. Unfulfilled. And then, he kissed her. It was sweet, and slightly salty, she realized with a start, for his tears had fallen and blended with her own. She cupped his cheek, brushing away a tear with her thumb, and kissed him. Tenderly. As though he were a small boy in need of a mothers love. Oh, dear, Lord Above! She loved him! She had no idea when or how, and he had not stolen it from her. She had given it freely and completely. This was why Mother Agnes had not let her make her vows, the Reverend Mother must have known she was unworthy! But then, wasnt the Reverend Mother also guilty? Certainly her mind had wandered, for she often didnt recognize Mary Francis, but she had never really thought something was true that wasnt true. No, it was more like her mind had mixed up certain facts, like she thought it was ten or fifteen years earlier, and therefore she assumed Mary Francis was someone else from her past as well. But when she had seen the outlaw, she had cried out, My boy!

That had to mean that she had given birth! Even though she was a nun, somehow she had known a man, in the biblical sense, and yet, God had forgiven her all the way to a Reverend Mother. Perhaps through her own sin, she had learned humility. Maybe God would forgive Mary Francis, as well for she wanted to know her outlaw! She wanted to know him intimately, even knowing that he was not hers to know. He would leave as soon as he healed. He would take her heart with him, and she would never love another. But at least, she would have this memory, this moment, this gift of hers, for in giving him her heart, perhaps she could give him back his soul. And so she kissed him. His hands, empowered by her kiss, grew demanding. They moved up her spine, kneading her tender flesh like a mound of virgin bread dough. His kisses were hungry, matching her in their need. Her small hands, emboldened by her lustful decision, journeyed down his chest, down his hips, to timidly caress that part of a male she had never seen before. She knew what shape it must take, for she had seen billy goats and roosters and even dogs mate, but nothing could have prepared her for the fullness, the softness of his firm, hard shaft. A bead of moisture leaked from the tip, and she moistened her palm with it as her grip grew firmer. He shifted, pulling his man part out of her artless grasp. She shuddered, blinking tears, fearing she had hurt him. He whispered softly in her ear. That felt wonderful, darling. But too much of a good thing and it will all be over too soon. She wasnt sure what he meant, but trusted him to teach her everything. Her faith was not misplaced. He touched her breasts. At first they had hurt from the sudden release of the binding, but now a different ache filled them. It was as if they had a mind of their own, for they seemed to reach out toward his touch. The tips swelled to hard peaks, the mounds puckered and dimpled and tingled and wanted him to rub them, pinch them, torture them. And he was more than willing to comply. Then he lowered his head and put his lips on her breasts. She shuddered, clutching his head to her breast, weaving her fingers through his hair. He suckled one breast while continuing to fondle the other. Then he switched breasts and gave the other the same thorough massage. Silly little moans escaped her lips. She was powerless to restrain them. Eventually, his hand moved lower, grazing over the tender skin beneath her bosom, the slight indent of her navel, and lower still, until his fingers cupped her womans fleece below. One finger delved between her folds, discovering a delightfully sensitive nub she had never known existed. She shrieked giddily, then arched her hips to greet his hand, rubbing herself against his chapped skin. He chuckled, but swatted her bruised bottom just once. She yelped, but the slight pain did nothing to ease the growing tension within her. Yes, sir? she asked demurely, pretending instant obedience. Slow down, darling. We have all night. I want to make sure you enjoy it. Mm. Consider yourself successful. This is enjoyable. She put an emphasis on the last word to tease him. He swatted her rump again, but then his fingers returned to her sensitive nub and resumed their enchanting exploration. She felt something build, like the calm before the storm, when not a breath of wind is in the air but everything is starkly silent in preparation for the great torrent that is about to blow. She drew in a breath, and another, holding it, afraid to miss something terribly important. Then

he kissed her, drawing her breath into him and forcing her to breathe again. His fingers rubbed faster, harder, and one finger slipped up inside of her, trying to reach an itch she had never dreamed existed. Faster harder, and then, she exploded! Mary Francis literally saw stars. She felt as if she had to fight for breath, and a long, low groan issued forth that she scarcely recognized as her own. She shuddered, pressing her thighs together, clamping his hand inside her most intimate area. He kissed her temple, brushing a stray curl from her face. Then he got out of bed. She felt bereft, and almost begged him to return, until she realized that he was removing the last of his clothes, as well. He quickly returned, then rolled on top of her, holding himself up with his good arm, although the other arm seemed to have regained much of its strength. She felt his man shaft probing her where she still quivered from the after effects of the knowing. She let her thighs fall apart in silent invitation. This may hurt, Mary, he whispered. But just for a moment, and then it will never hurt again. Before she could ask what he meant, he stabbed her with his man shaft. Something inside her tore, and tears pricked at her eyes. He held still. His lips brushed across her temples, her forehead, the tip of her nose. There, Mary. No more pain. Just relax, and let me share this miracle with you. His words were as effective as his fingers had been. She felt that itch inside begin to build again. Unbelievable! If his finger had felt wonderful, his man shaft was doubly more so! It was incredible, the feel of that thick, sturdy shaft inside her. She wrapped her legs around his narrow hips and held him tight. Her arms went around his neck, and she clung to him in quiet desperation. He promised her a miracle. Did she deserve it? He began to move. Slowly at first, and then with increasing force. In out. His shaft filled her, then he withdrew, as though teasing her. In again, rubbing at something she couldnt define. Out again, and she was frantic for his return. She released his neck to claw at his back. She arched her back, struggling to find that sweet surrender she had experienced only once before. She panted, gasped, even shrieked a little. He trapped her happy cries with his lips. He whispered something deliciously decadent in her ear that had to do with beauty and desire of the flesh. Harder harder and then, finally, he threw back his head and roared. His shaft shuddered inside her, sending forth its seed. She exploded as well. She shuddered, and happy tears ran down her cheeks. Delightful spasms rocked her, again, and again, in ever-increasing circles, each one bigger but a bit fainter from the one before, like ripples in a pond. Until she was utterly spent and exhausted. He rolled of her onto his right side, and pulled her into his embrace. She kissed him again, sleepily, but then she rolled onto her right side as well, settling her bottom into his groin like a pair of spoons in a drawer. Mary Francis fell fast asleep, perhaps truly happy for the first time in her life. J.D. did not sleep at all that night. Shame for what hed done, despoiling a nun, washed over him. It had been so perfect, so incredibly wonderful! Everything about her was absolutely perfect! Except, she was already taken. She was untouchable. Here he had finally found someone he could spend the rest of his life with, and he could never have her. He would have a few precious days at best, for having known her, he knew he would never be able to resist her. That she had been pure, he had no doubt. Hed breached her virgins barrier, yet shed welcomed him with innocent abandon. She would welcome him again. They would enjoy a few, brief days of paradise together. And then, he must leave and never return again.

Chapter Five
Screaming woke them in the middle of the night, and J.D., naked as the day he was born, was up and crouching at the door, gun in his hand, before Mary Francis managed to get out of bed. Its all right! Its Mother Agnes shes having a nightmare, Mary Francis murmured. Shes prone to them; something about the war. Sometime she likes to scream at the damn Yankees, sometimes its the dirty Rebs. She never could decide what side she actually favored, I guess. Her captor didnt seem very convinced, and continued to crouch by the door, looking every inch the outlaw she thought him to be. Listen to her, Mary urged, trying to convince him that there was no danger. The voice is in the room next door. A womans voice. Not the men who are after you. Slowly he stood, releasing his grip on the trigger and returning his gun to the holster. We should go to her, he said. I should go to her, Mary Francis amended. She doesnt always know who I am you might really scare her. He nodded, still not fully awake. Mary Francis smiled secretively, proud of a man who could protect his own even while half asleep. She reached for her robe and slipped it on, startled by how different it felt without the layers of linens underneath. She moved passed her outlaw, into the hallway, and darted into the room next door. Sh, Reverend Mother Sh-sh. Its me, Mary Francis, she cooed. The war is over, and youre safe now. The woman continued to moan. Mary Francis wrapped her arms around the ailing woman and rocked her, as though their roles were reversed, and she was the mother, and Agnes was a frightened child. Mary Francis didnt know that much about the war. She had been just a baby when it had ended, and anybody she knew who had suffered through it refused to talk about it. She gathered that it had been ruthless. She knew it had been bloody. And she was grateful it was not something she had had to endure. Slowly the woman quieted. Her pitiful moans turned to racking coughs. J.D. rushed in with a glass of water, which he offered to Mary Francis. Mother Agnes did not even seem to notice him. She took a few small sips from the glass, then leaned back, exhausted. Mary Francis tucked the quilt up under her chin and smoothed the wrinkles. She prayed a few Hail Marys aloud, as it always seemed to help calm the Reverend Mother, and then she kissed her forehead. I think shell sleep now, she whispered. You work so hard, J.D. said. Mary Francis shrugged. For God loves a cheerful giver, she answered, quoting one of Mother Agness favorite verses. He took her hand then and together they returned to the other bedroom. They climbed into the narrow bed together, and lay in one anothers arms until morning.

Everything was different the next day. Mary Francis still wore the homely black robe of her convent, but he knew she wore nothing underneath neither the binding nor her bloomers. She moved with a lightness to her step and a smile on her face. J.D. couldnt help but smirk proudly, knowing he had given her that smile. The sun shone in full force, beckoning the pair of them to spend as much time outside as they could. Mary Francis turned Nana loose after milking her, so the little goat could forage on the fresh, tender greens that seemed to have sprung up over night. J.D. helped her battle the garden weeds, and he mended a section of the fence that had come down in the rain, protecting the precious vegetables from the marauding goat. J.D. stole frequent kisses. He had never known a nun could look so fetching in the shapeless black robe, although without her binding, she was not nearly as shapeless as she had at first appeared. He liked that she had left her veil behind, as well, although he had not asked her to. Those red curls caught the sunlight and bounced along happily with every step she took. Mary Francis looked so vibrant, it was as if she were a garden herself, and J.D. had filled her with the thirst-quenching rain that caused her to sprout new life right before his eyes. Around noon, he could take it no more. He laid her down on the grassy hillside and took her. A little while later, he claimed her again this time in the kitchen while she tried to mix up biscuits. She was adorable when she was covered with flour! And when at last they fell into bed, late in the evening, he took her yet again. He didnt know how he found the stamina, for he had not been so virile since he was a youth, but she was a drug, and he was her addict. *** J.D. continued to read to Mother Agnes, sitting with her in the late afternoons to give Mary Francis a break. The old woman continued to call him Jake, and although he corrected her and gave her his real name, she never seemed to notice. He read the verses about a virtuous wife several times, each time imagining Mary Francis in the role. His father would love her, he knew although he would never forgive his son for despoiling a nun. He tried to feel guilty. Lying with a nun was just like sleeping with another mans wife it just wasnt done! But Mary Francis was so sensual, so responsive; it seemed a sin for her to be a nun. It was a weak argument, for sure, but in his love-crazed state, it seemed to work. His shoulder was nearly healed. His reason for hiding was no longer valid. Soon, very soon he would have to leave. The next afternoon, Mother Agnes seemed more alert than normal. She called for him to come to her, and reached for his hand when he arrived. Mary Francis came with him, eager to share a lucid moment with the woman who had raised her. There you are, you rascal, the old woman said to J.D. You thought you were going to get away without telling me about whats going on in your life. Whats become of you? What are you doing? J.D. was not going to lie to her, but neither would he intentionally hurt this sweet old woman. Well, theres not much to tell, he fudged. My father was a prospector all of his l ife, and I grew up around mining camps full of men. But he made sure I got an education. I can read and write and do my numbers, and I ran away to fight in the war when I was too young to know what a stupid thing that was to do.

Mother Agnes looked suddenly sad, and shook her head, as if she knew a lot of boys who had done just that. But then she looked back up at the man she thought was her son, and her face brightened until it shone. Ive just been, uh . . . wandering mostly since then. No wife? No children? His pseudo-mother looked aghast. You sound like my father, J.D. chuckled. And no to both. The possible connection to his father went right over the older womans head. You must, my son, you must. Children are a blessing. Whether she realized it or not, she reached out and took Mary Franciss hand and J.D.s and put them together, as if marrying them and blessing their union. Mary Francis snatched her hand away immediately; appalled that the Reverend Mother would do such a thing, and half afraid that she had guessed what transpired between the sheets in the room next door. She sighed. It was all such a muddled mess right now. She wished it would just go away, so that her life would go back to the way it was before J.D. had tackled her in the vegetable garden, and all she had to worry about were the pigweeds and where their next meal would come from. This man had come into her world and literally turned it upside down. She had gone from sheltered novice to a brazen young woman who had been bare bottom spanked and had been subjected to a womans pleasure not once but repeatedly. Mary Francis would have bet that Mother Agnes would have killed herself long before she would have allowed any of those things to happen to her, but then again, Mother Agnes appeared to have had a child out of wedlock, as well. Mary Francis wasnt at all sure whom she could trust. But she was pretty sure that it wasnt an outlaw. J.D. read until his voice was all but gone. He closed the Bible and returned it to the nightstand. Excuse me, he said, surprised to see the old woman was still awake. I need something to drink. Mary Francis rose and would have left with him, but Mother Agnes begged her to stay. Mary Francis took the chair J.D. had vacated, folding her hands anxiously in her lap. Here it would come condemnation for her sinful acts. She could barely look the Reverend Mother in the face. Im sure you have questions, my child, the woman said, her voice thin and far away. Mary Francis shook her head. She did not want to hear the sordid facts of the Reverend Mothers own downfall. Some things were just best left private. Unfortunately, the Reverend Mother seemed to be in a rare talkative mood. As you know, a vow once made between man and God cannot be broken. It is sacred, a solemn, holy promise. That is why I have been so hard on you, and have not let you make your vows yet. You have to be sure, absolutely sure, that you wish to dedicate your life to God. No dont interrupt. Let me finish. You say you are ready to do that now, but you have lived a sheltered life. You should leave the convent, and spend a year or two in the world, knowing what we expect of you. Then, then when you know for certain that you are not called to a different vocation, you may return and I will accept you with open arms. But I cannot leave you, Mother, Mary Francis blurted. It was utter nonsense! No one else was here to take care of her! I know, Mary Francis. I know. I have been selfish, keeping yo u here by my side in my old age. I just want to know that when Im gone, you will do this for me. Go out into the world, before you make a commitment to God.

Mary Francis shook her head, tears filling her vision. You arent dying, Mother. You cant! I need you! Im not ready to go yet, my child. I have a bit of life left in me. But now, I will tell you about Jake. Mary Francis covered her ears, but the old woman grasped for her hand and pulled it down with surprising strength. Do not be afraid of the truth, child. Just know that I was not always a nun. I was married once. I gave birth to a son. Then the war broke out, and my husband went off to fight. I dont know what became of him, for he never returned. I assumed he had died, but I couldnt marry again, not knowing what became of him. Neither could I take care of myself. I was alone in the world. I had no family, no relatives the country was broken and divided, like a festering wound that refuses to heal. So I took my son to a monastery, to be raised by monks, and I joined a convent. Maybe, if my husband had been a nicer man, I might have waited for him longer. Maybe I might have found word of his death, or taken another husband, but I felt all used up. I ran away from the world, and found refuge among the Sisters of Mercy. Then, I found my true calling. Mary Franciss lip trembled. Shame filled her spirit. She had lain with a man, because she believed the Reverend Mother had done as much, and now she learned that the woman she had loved and respected was blameless. She had not forsaken her holy vows, she was just one of the rare few that were permitted to experience both vocations marriage and religious life. What did that say for her? Mary Francis had fallen as low as a woman could fall. In scriptural times, she could be stoned to death for her actions. She had not been defiled, as Dinah had been, for she had been a willing accomplice in her own corruption. She fled from the room, bolted down the stairs, and rushed outside, ignoring J.D.s command to stop and tell him what was the matter. She ran past the garden, through the woods, towards the stream where she sometimes bathed when the weather was nice. There, she flung herself into the stream, fully clothed, and wept bitterly. *** J.D. shouted after her, furious that she continued to disobey him. If a belt didnt get her attention, perhaps a switching was in order! He chased after her, and even though she had a head start, he had no trouble following her trail. He paused along the way to cut several small branches of hickory, peeling the bark and leaves away until he had three perfect switches. When he emerged, he was angry enough to peel away her skin as well. She was bathing, nude, waist deep in the clean water, soaping herself generously. Breasts, groin, scrubbing, rinsing scrubbing, rinsing. He was truly mesmerized by the sight. Through the trees the dappled sun shone on her upturned face. She looked as natural as a wood nymph, and he was loath to disturb her. But then he realized that her motions were anything but natural, and that she was scrubbing the same spots breasts, belly, inner thighs - until she had angry red marks on her skin. J.D. ran out into the water, not even bothering to shed his clothing. He took away the lye soap she was using as well as the rough rag and began to kiss those raw areas shed created trying to get herself clean again, suspecting he was the one who had made her feel dirty in the first place.

No, baby, no. You dont need to do that. Youre the cleanest, purest person I know, and nothing I ever did to you could ever change that. He tilted her face up to his and saw it streaked with tears. J.D. lifted her up with amazing ease, another sign that it was time for him to leave, and carried her to the bank of the river. He set her down and covered her with himself as well as soft, butterfly kisses pressed to each of the red splotches. Im so sorry, Mary. Im sorry, sweetheart I wish I could make it better. She was sobbing so piteously it made his heart shrivel up in his chest, and her small hands kept trying to cover her breasts and privates, failing miserably at their tasks until he finally captured both of her hands in his. Theres nothing about yourself that you need to hide from me, Mary Francis. He searched those dewy eyes deeply, although she kept trying to avoid his. Please let me try to make this right for you. He almost added before I go, but had the presence of mind to stop himself before he said it. Mary Francis didnt know what to do or say. She hadnt expected him to find her here. She had enjoyed their lovemaking with complete abandon; she could not even place the blame solely on his head. She was as guilty guiltier as he was. Guiltier by far, because she was a woman of God. She had been raised in a convent, not a mining camp. She knew better. Or at least, she should have. It was her disappointment in Mother Agnes that had pushed her over the edge. That, and her aching loneliness but none of that mattered. She had sinned. She would never be able to look at Mother Agnes again, but what she would be reminded of her terrible sin. And the worst part was, not only was she unfit to be a nun, but now she was unfit to be a wife, as well. No man would want her, now that her innocence had been taken. She was truly, completely, utterly, alone. Of course, J.D. wasnt waiting for a response from her. He was doing exactly what he wanted, which was what he would always do. But this time was different from all of the rest of the times his hands had taken possession of her; there was something poignant in his touch. Almost as if he were saying good bye.

Chapter Six
He took his time, lingering at spots he hadnt before the top of her shoulder, the curve of her waist, the delicate, fine fingers of her left hand. This time was entirely for her. He would hold himself in check even if he died in the act, but he couldnt think of a better way to go. J.D. started by kissing the top of her head, running his hands through her hair, desperately wishing he could see it when it was grown down past her bottom. Then he nibbled at her neck, licking softly, then pressed soft kisses over her damp cheeks, kissing each eyelid, still swollen and wet with tears. He knew she wasnt fully on board with this yet, and aimed to convert her. With a thoughtfully bestowed kiss to her forehead, he took her mouth a bit more aggressively than he had anywhere else to that point, tipping her chin up and tucking it into his good shoulder, slanting his lips across hers to open them then plundering her mouth with his tongue until those slim arms crept up against their will, he knew to tentatively wrap themselves around his neck. Victory, or part of it, anyway, but he could still taste the tears that were dammed at their lips. He moved down the slender column of her throat, licking and nibbling away then across her collarbones, down each arm, paying special attention to the inside of each elbow and the inside of each forearm, where he had found most ladies were usually quite neglected. Then he pressed warm wet kisses to each of her palms, and sucked the tips of each of her fingers, sliding his mouth down the entire length of each of her thumbs before pressing each of her palms to his own warm face as he changed positions. Stretched out beside her, he made teasing patterns over every inch of the luscious skin that was available to him, but avoiding her nipples deliberately, watching her begin to moan and writhe and almost plead with him, but not quite ready to do what he had intentionally not done. Eventually, he leaned over and, placing his mouth just barely over the tip of one of those turgid peaks, he sucked it slowly, very, very slowly, into his mouth. Mary Francis saw stars as he continued to suckle at her breast, feeling lightheaded from the flood of sensations. She knew she was panting in a very unladylike manner, but she couldnt help herself. He had introduced her to the pleasures of the flesh, and she was powerless to stop. He always made her body sing. It was wrong, so wrong she knew it was sinful, and yet, she made no effort to stop him. J.D. alternated, leaving a wet trail between each breast, always gently teasing the forlorn one that wasnt receiving the anxious attentions of his lips and mouth, guiding her higher and higher, gauging her reactions and where she was in her journey to fulfillment by the sounds of her mewls and moans. He also made sure to kiss each of the red marks she had made in scrubbing herself so vigorously. When he reached down to open her legs, she willingly complied. She was soaking wet, as hed hoped, and it wasnt from having just been in the river. Her womanhood was swollen to the size of a small pebble, and he set about caressing it with his sandpaper fingers, feeling her jerk spasmodically, grabbing at his arm, until he settled into a predictable rhythm. Mary Francis finally let go of the death grip she had on his arm and sighed, her eyes closing blissfully as if shed just found Heaven, but within a very few seconds, her sighs changed tempo and became much more agitated and frenzied. Her hips rose to meet his fingers, and that flame capped head of hers was rolling back and forth. Her breath hissed in between nearly clenched teeth, and he knew she was very, very close.

He had intended that this be just for her, but he found he couldnt be as selfless as he wished. He parted his trousers and freed his massive manhood, ready to claim her and take her to the heights that they had enjoyed together so many times over the last few days. He heard her whimper as he entered her, not cries of pain or shame, but little moans of ecstasy. Her eyes were closed, her face turned away from him. Open your eyes, love, he commanded, however so ftly. She fought the command for only a second. Then she gazed at him, baring her heart and soul. She loved him it was as plain as day. He hadnt meant to make her love him! What a mess hed made of everything. He could never have her; she could never marry him. All they could share was this day, this moment, this grassy bank along the river somewhere outside of Deadwood, in the year of 1882. J.D. put his heart in his eyes as he pressed slowly, carefully forward. He made love as if it were the first time, as if it were the last time. He made sure it was as good for her as he could possibly make it. He watched every expression that came to her face, to see the exact moment when she was ready shatter. Her eyes went wide, and then she took a sudden, deep breath and grabbed his biceps. Ah, uh, mmmmmmm. Mary Francis couldnt help it she had to close her eyes. It always caught her by surprise; that new, throbbing need to be stretched and filled. Ah-ah-ah. Open. He wanted to see her, to treasur e every mood, every nuance that she shared with him. Those beautiful eyes flew open and she blushed as he plunged inside, making her catch her breath each time as her body was forced to find new ways to accommodate his invasion. He buried himself completely, deeply within her, and, as much as he wanted to savor the moment, he absolutely could not remain still. He had to move. J.D. reached down and coaxed one of her legs up, around his hip, and began to thrust not quite uncontrollably, but awfully close. He tried to temper it as best he could, but he never had much control at this point around her. She brought out the animal in him. Luckily, she was right there with him. No longer filled with grief and remorse, she shattered again and again, having reached her own pinnacle before him. She cried out, pressing her face into his chest, and impishly, unexpectedly, licked his nipple. That sent him over, and into those agonizingly pleasant spasms of paradise. They lay there, on the bank of the stream, for the longest time afterwards, naked together as if that was the way they should always be. J.D. reached over and grabbed a cornflower, with which he teased and tickled her sensitive skin as he leaned on his elbow above her. Thank you, he said. She cocked her head, drawing those delicate red eyebrows into a curious line above the greenest eyes hed ever seen. For what? For granting me a safe haven while I healed. For not turning Higgens and his band onto me. For sharing yourself. A deep blush crept up her pale white flesh. Youre welcome. She made as if to go, but he didnt release her. We still have several things to discuss, young lady. Mary Francis did not like it when he used that tone with her. It usually didnt mean very good things for t he health and welfare of particular parts of her anatomy. No we dont! she snapped.

We most definitely do. Tell me why you were scrubbing away your skin in the river. Tell me why you fled from me, although I commanded you to stop. Tell me what upset you did Mother Agnes say something? Mary Francis closed her eyes, new tears leaking down her face. He caught the tears with his fingers and brushed them away. Talk to me, Mary Francis, he said sternly. She groaned, covering her face with her hands. It just came to me, she confessed. I had argued that it was okay to lay with you, since even Mother Agnes had sinned but she didnt. She was married first, and joined a convent when her husband didnt return from the war. And Ive Ive fallen Im a sinner, and yet, I really enjoy the sin. I dont know that I can make the same promise at the prostitutes did in the Bible, to go and sin no more. It was just too much. He held her, not knowing what to do to help. He was as much a part of the sin as she, more so, because he was older, and supposedly, wiser. But he couldnt find it in his heart to regret the precious moments they had shared, and prayed she would treasure them as well. I need you, she began, then bit her lower lip. He kissed her lower lip, surprised that it wasnt constantly bruised for as much as she worried it. Im here, darling. She pulled out of his grasp and sat up, surprisingly comfortable with her nakedness. I need you to punish me, she said. He could not have been mo re surprised than if shed told him to grow wings and fly away. What? You heard. I want you to spank me. Hard. I know that you are leaving, so after you spank me, I need you to go. Just go. Ill be okay. But Ive been sinful, and maybe if you puni sh me for it, Ill be able to forgive myself. Sweetheart, how can you ask me this? Making love with you has been the highpoint of my life. God made man and woman, and I cant believe that what weve shared is something dirty. Please, J.D. Ive not asked anything of you in all the time youve been here. Do this for me. Angrily, he got to his feet. He stomped through the woods, returning to the convent without another word. He would give her the spanking of her life, but he would have to calm down first, so he didnt break her in two. Mary Francis carried her wet robe, walking gracefully, and fully naked, through the woods. After J.D. left, she would never be naked again. She would return to wearing bloomers and bindings, and all the layers of her office. She would repent and repent, and whenever a bittersweet memory of their lovemaking returned, she would try to focus on the way he spanked her, too. She hung her robe on the clothesline in the yard, then stepped inside. J.D. was in the dining room, his expression dark and threatening. Part of her wanted to beg his forgiveness, to tell him shed changed her mind, but she knew she needed this. She could never survive his leaving her if he didnt punish her. She went into the dining room, her hands at her sides, doing nothing to hide her nakedness. He held a hickory switch in his hand. She gulped, knowing the sting of the switch, although Mother Agnes had never used it on her. Sister Claire had switched her several times when shed been a young teen, for doing poorly in her studies. Mary Francis learned to read perfectly and write with the prettiest penmanship because of it.

He pulled out a chair and sat down, gesturing for her to put herself over his lap. It felt different, and strangely humiliating, she thought, as she complied. He put his weaker arm over her back, then rested his right hand on her bottom. Im sorry I have to do this, was all he said, before he began to spank her in earnest. He hadnt spanked her with his hand before. I t was so intimate, and yet, quite painful. She clenched her eyes shut, trying not to think about him looking at her there, or touching her there. Trying hard not to enjoy her punishment. It wasnt working. She wiggled a bit, eliciting a series of stinging swats that had her rethinking the entire idea of punishment. He rose, and for a brief moment she thought they were through, until she remembered the switch hed been holding previously. Now he directed her to bend over the table. She did so, holding her breath while she waited for what must surely follow. And when it did, she cried out piteously, for never had she felt such a sting before. He was not using one switch, or two, but all three at once! Three separate and distinct welts rose immediately from where the switches had landed, and before she could quite catch her breath, they struck again. Six welts, some overlapping the first set. Oh, no! No! Please, dont do this, she sobbed. He did not speak, but continued to switch her viciously. Nine, twelve, fifteen welts. Eighteen. She couldnt count. She twisted away, trying to pull free, but he grabbed her arm and held it behind her back. He continued to switch her legs and thighs, even though she fought to get away. She tripped over the chair, and he adjusted his swing to return his focus to her bottom. She coughed and sobbed and gasped for breath. She could no longer speak, so hard was she crying. She couldnt beg him to stop. She couldnt insist that he stop. Powerless, she could only lay there across the chair and accept it. J.D. knew he was being cruel, but the agony he felt in his heart was crushing him. He needed to make her suffer as much as he was. How dare she treat their love as something dirty! Something shameful! So what if she couldnt marry him couldnt she at least treasure his memory? There were things hed wanted to tell her. That he wasnt an outlaw, for one. He hated it that she thought he was a wanted man, a criminal, and wondered why she loved him anyway. He was a Pinkerton man, working to protect the innocent from evil doers. In a way, his line of work was a lot like hers, although hed never thought of it that way before. The Sisters of Mercy took care of the weak and the poor, providing spiritual guidance along with their charitable deeds. He took care of the weak and the robbed, by making sure that the guilty thieves were thrown in jail. But it didnt matter now. None of it mattered. He had to leave, and he would never return. She would forget about the wounded outlaw she had once loved and nursed, and go on with her life. As for him, he would never be able to do either. One of the switches broke, and he tossed it aside, continuing to punish her with just two. When the second and third switc hes broke, he stopped. He stared at the brutal stripes hed inflicted upon her, the skin broken and bleeding in places. Grief overcame him, and he gathered her into his arms and wept. She comforted him! She, whom he had so viciously attacked, patted his shoulder and forgave him. She was crying, as well, but she smiled through her tears. He almost hated her for that. You need to go now, she managed to say. But go in peace.

He claimed her lips one last time. One last kiss. One last embrace. And then, he fled from the convent without a backwards glance. He was gone as mysteriously as he had appeared, disappearing into the woods and out of her life as if he had never been in it, leaving her more bereft than she had ever felt before in her life, mourning the loss of someone she never really knew. Someone she would never know.

Chapter Seven
Mary Francis indulged herself, giving in to her grief for the remainder of the day. She did little beyond crying and sleeping, barely eating, and crying herself to sleep. But the next day she knew she had to get up. She had to get dressed completely and return to the ritual that had become her life. Pulling weeds, beating rugs, sweeping floors, milking the goat, and seeing to the needs of her patient. While once she might have found a simple pleasure in completing each task, now they brought her no joy. J.D. had ruined them all for her. Memories of him helping her pull weeds filled her thoughts. How hed tried to milk the goat for her once, and ended up wearing more of the milk than what he managed to get into the pail. Memories of him reading aloud from the Bible to Mother Agnes, of how tender he was with the old woman hed left, but hed neglected to take his spirit with him. Instead it remained here, everywhere, haunting her throughout her day. She had already resolved that she would stay with Mother Agnes until the inevitable end, but now she considered what to do beyond that. Perhaps she would try to get a post as a teacher or a governess or something. She would not stay in the convent. She knew she could never wipe the thoughts of knowing someone, in the biblical sense, from her, and even though the welts hed inflicted on her poor legs and bottom took nearly two weeks to heal, the pain w as as nothing compared to the emptiness in her heart. About two weeks to the day, things began arriving. At first it was just an order from the grocery in town. Canned goods, staples, fresh fruits the like of which she had never seen. Not a huge amount of them, but enough for her and Mother Agnes. The next day, Mr. Nelson the butcher, arrived with a beautiful ham, studded with cloves, as well as two small chickens and a goose. Soon there was more food in the convent than she had ever seen in the entire time she had lived there, and no one seemed to be able to tell her where it had all come from. They said that the money had come through Western Union, with strict instructions as to how it was to be distributed and for the benefit of the Sisters of Mercy Convent. And that wasnt the end of it. A nurse arrived a few days later to tend to the Reverend Mother. She refused to say who was paying her, although she allowed that she was getting a very generous salary, and that she had been expressly told that Sister Mary Francis was not to lift a finger to do anything more than provide companionship to Mother Agnes. Mary Francis knew who had sent the gifts. They were guilt-gifts from her outlaw, she was certain. He needed to send them to assuage his conscience. She was tempted to refuse the gifts, but saw no need to make Mother Agnes suffer. And so, she accepted them. Not cheerfully, for nothing she did was with a cheerful spirit these days. Even the Doctor was in on the conspiracy, as he seemed to appear on their doorstep with much more alarming frequency, and when she confronted him about it, he told her she should stop looking gift horses and doctors and nurses and food in the mouth and enjoy the blessings that God saw fit to bestow upon her, then he tromped out of the house. And still, the gifts continued. A score of volunteers from town arrived to help her clean and repair the convent. She was told not to help, but merely direct their actions. A telegram arrived one day, which the sheriff delivered personally, from the diocese that supported their mission. Father Michael had been killed in an Indian uprising. Another priest was on the way to

take over for him, and several sisters would be arriving as well. There were still settlers in the area, and they would need the school and health clinic the convent provided. As three weeks turned into four, and then five, another thought crept into her guilty conscience and kept her awake at nights. Her monthly had not returned. *** J.D. wasnt having such an easy time of it, himself. Hed been hauled up in front of his father as soon as hed settled that little matter with Higgens and his gang. John Cartwright was ready to tear him limb from limb, and he hadnt even started on the part about t he claim-jumping gang and J.D.s position with the Pinkertons. It was a good thing his wound had healed well, because there was certainly going to be blood on the ground before he left his fathers office, and it was all going to be his. The old man was in terrible fit about Mary Francis. J.D. shouldnt have even told him about her, but the information had been gleaned through careful interrogation. When hed returned home, he was not the same man who had left on the last mission. He was sullen, moody, a complete ogre, if he were to be honest with himself. That it was a woman, his father had immediately surmised. But, while the old man had visions of grandchildren dancing in his head, J.D. had only his broken heart. You just left her there? In the middle of that God-forsaken territory? On her own! J.D. closed his eyes and said it for the fourth time, at least. Father, I had to take care of the other situation - Yes, the claim jumpers, or so you told me. And how is it that you let them get the ju mp on you? I thought you were better than that. But after you settled them, why didnt you return for the girl? Things were complicated, J.D. tried to explain. How could he confess to bedding a nun? His father would hate him maybe even as much as he hated himself. You have to go and get her. His father stood over him, towering above him only because J.D. was seated. When they were toe to toe, neither one could claim the advantage. Going to her was exactly what he wanted to do but he had to sto p thinking of himself first, and consider what was best for her. Maybe she had been able to put the pieces of her life back together. Maybe it was better if she thought of him as an outlaw, and not an honest man maybe she no longer dreamed dreams that included him. He was damned if he did and damned if he didnt. His father was going to hound him until he all the facts. Then the older man tried a different tactic, one J.D. had not even considered. What if she is carrying my grandchild, son? You have to go to her, to see if she is all right, and bring her back. Fear struck him mute, terror for what might happen to his Mary Francis. Then hope sprang up to fill the endless void. What if she were with child? His child! Yes, Papa, Ill go to her. But I might be a while. Her beloved the woman who raised her - is gravely ill. I dont think shell want to leave her side. Bring her here, my boy. And the nurse, too. She can have round the clock care from the finest physicians. This is the first wo man Ive ever seen you moon over. I want to meet her within the week. No excuses.

Well, J.D. had one excuse his father couldnt argue with. He rubbed his forehead, feeling a migraine building behind his eyes. Shes a nun, J.D. confessed quietly. His father had no better relationship with the Almighty than he did, but the senior Cartwright looked thunderstruck. Complete silence filled the handsome office, until the distant ringing of a church bell broke the spell. His father went to the desk and uncorked the cut glass decanter, pouring a shot of fine Irish whiskey for each of them. Well, then, he said. I guess neither of us will be seeing your mother in Heaven. *** When J.D. finally made it back to Dakota Territory, to the little convent outside of Deadwood, he would have hardly recognized it. Even though hed paid the local population to come work for the convent, they had gone so far above and beyond the call of duty that it humbled him. The exterior of the convent sported a new coat of white wash, the window sashes had been painted a handsome shade of green. The grounds were immaculate and tastefully landscaped, with a trim little brick wall enclosure and a wrought iron gate. J.D. paused a moment to take it all in, wandering around to the back to see her vegetable patch, where it had all begun, then practically ran up the path to the back door, only to be stopped short. The door was locked now. He took a step back and knocked impatiently. The door was answered by someone he didnt know, and he was a bit taken aback by that fact. Yes? Im here to see Sister Mary Francis and Mother Agnes. The austere woman, who was wearing a nuns habit, allowed him in but said coolly, And your name is? He smiled broadly. Tell her that J.D. Holt is here to see her. Wait here. He wasnt much for taking orders, and so as soon as the unfamiliar nun turned her back, he vaulted up the stairs and opened the door to the room he had once shared with Mary Francis. Unfortunately, hed forgotten that it wasnt really her room. Now someone else occupied it, and she was sent into a squealing fit at his intrusion. He backed out, slamming the door, and bolted into Mother Agness room. And thats where he found her. She was sitting in a chair beside the bed, reading to the Reverend Mother from the Bible. She looked the same, and yet different. Something, he couldnt quite put his finger on her hair was longer, perhaps. Her hair! It was uncovered! It had grown a little, for now it nearly touched her shoulders, although it would have looked longer if it hadnt been so curly. Gone were all the robes and garments of a nun, for instead she wore a simple blue calico dress and a black apron. Her face was serene, possessing a calmness and joy of spirit he had not noticed before. He felt strangely bereft, as though his Mary Francis had disappeared and left a stranger in her place. He fudged for something to say, and coming up empty, he crossed to the other side of Mother Agness bed and enfolded one of her hands in his. How is she doing? he asked Mary Francis.

She is dying. It wont be long now, Mary Francis said. Although he knew she loved the woman with all her heart, there were no tears on her eyelashes. Mary Francis had done her grieving and now had come to terms with her reverend mothers passing. Im sorry. He knew it sounded lame and ineffectual, but he couldnt think of anything else to say. And then, because it was true, he added, Everything seems different. Yes. A great benefactor or benefactress has been very kind. At first I thought it was you, trying to assuage your guilt. But the gifts continued, well beyond your means. I have no idea who might have sent them. He shook his head. His Mary Francis seemed too controlled, too mature. He never should have left! Maybe, he should not have returned. He turned to leave, but paused in the doorway. It was me. Maybe I was trying to assuage a guilty conscience. But I did it for you, to show you what I couldnt say with words. I loved you, Mary Francis. Shed long since convinced herself that it couldnt possibly have been him. She chuckled softly. Surely you dont mean that? You were covered in grime and the clothes you were wearing were barely rags - how could you possibly have afforded to do all of this? Because Im not who you think I am; I meant to tell you that before I left. J.D. Holt is just the name I use when I work on a case for the Pinkertons. Youre a detective? Sometimes, but I dont really have to work. Mary Francis was confused. Didnt everyone have to work? J.D. could see he was muddling this up royally, just like he had before hed left. I told you my father was a gold miner all his life, remember? Well, what I left out was that he struck it rich when I was in my late teens. My real last name is Cartwright. For the first time since hed returned, Mary Francis looked unnerved. She even chewed her lower lip in that fashion that had come to be so familiar. She rose and went to stare out of the window. Everyone knew of the Cartwright gold strike! Surely it meant something even to one who had been as sheltered as she had! Why did you return? she asked, although it sounded like there were tears in her voice. He wished shed turn around and face him. He studied her slight form, recognizing the familiar curves through her calico dress, and wondering if she might be carrying his child. Why arent you a nun anymore? Her head drooped. He dreaded what he expected her to say, that shed been expelled. That because of his actions, she would never fulfill her dreams. Instead, she uttered a confession that completely bowled him over. I never was a nun. He took a step into the room, then stopped himself. He was furious! Angry enough to flay her bottom even worse than he had before! But if she wasnt a nun, then she was free to marry! But did she love him? Why was she hiding from him? Maybe he could make her love him. Are you carrying my child? What if I am? You left. You had no intention to settling down. You should not have returned. I left, because I thought you were a nun! And, because I had to catch Higgens and his gang so they could stand trial. But I would have returned sooner, if Id thought there was a chance. But you lied to me! What e lse did you lie about? She whirled around, her face ashen and tear-stained. How dare you talk to me about lying? she whispered. You, who let me think you were the worst sort of man, an outlaw!

Jake? It was a thin, high voice that rose from the bed. Their argument halted as they turned their attention on the dying woman. Im here, Mother, J.D. soothed, not feeling in the least hypocritical for leaving off the Agnes. If it made her happy to think he was her son, then he was going to feel damn ed blessed by it. Came back. Came back. A tear leaked out of the old womans eye. She beckoned him to lean over her, but Katie could hear what she said with her dying breath just as clearly as J.D. did. Take Mary Francis. Take my darling Mary Francis. Shes been like a daughter to me. J.D. clasped the old womans hand in his, answering fervently, I intend to, Mother. I intend to. And with that, she breathed her last, and Mary Francis collapsed atop the woman who had been her surrogate mother in a dead faint. *** J.D. insisted on making all of the arrangements, taking over everything from Mary Francis that he could. It surprised him to no end that, as ignored as the plight of the little convent had been during Mother Agnes life, in her de ath everyone and their brother came out of the woodwork to pay their respects most especially when they learned who it was that knew her, namely him. All of the town dignitaries attended both her wake and her funeral, even though it was a very long, Roman Catholic ceremony. As she was no longer a novice for J.D. had been enlightened on that matter Mary Francis could not sit with the sisters for the funeral. He didnt mind, for he kept his arm about her shoulders protectively, warding off any would-be suitors by his glower alone. He stood with her at the gravesite, and waited as Mary Francis laid a bouquet of roses and a rosary atop the simple pine wood coffin. Then he escorted her back to the convent. Its time, he said. Gather your things. Youre coming back with me. You dont own me, she said stiffly. You have no right to order me around. I do so. The baby is mine, and you know it! Hush! Mary Francis glanced at the shocked expressions on the nuns faces. I dont even know for certain that Im pregnant, she whispered. But you might be and its been over two months which means you havent you didnt you must be, he stammered awkwardly, not sure how to discuss a womans monthly or lack thereof - with a group of nuns listening in. We dont have anything to build a life together, Mary Francis insisted. I lied, you lied what we had wasnt real. It was more real than anything Ive ever felt before or since. And Id stake my life on it, that it was just as real for you. She trembled, chewing that poor lower lip again, and he knew hed won. He took two steps to close the gap between them and enfolded her in his embrace. He kissed her, full on the mouth, and chuckled at the scurry of wool as the nuns hustled to leave the room. Then he deepened the kiss, just in case Mary Francis forgot what they had once shared.

Her lips parted on a sigh and she melted into him. Suddenly, it was as if he had never left. She was his, completely, body and soul, and he was humbled. No one could have given him a greater gift. If it took the rest of his life, he would try to make himself worthy of her. Mary Francis stopped him, placing her delicate fingers upon his lips. Id like to ask you a favor, sir, she said. Anything. If it is in my power to grant it, it is yours. My full name is Katherine Mary Francis Geraud. Mary Francis would have been my Catholic name, had I chosen the religious life. Id like to ask you to call me by my first name, shortened, of course. When I was a little girl, Mother Agnes called me Katie. Katie it is, he agreed, sealing it with a kiss. Perhaps we should take a room in the hotel? I dont think youd be welcome to stay here, she said. J.D. helped her to gather up her things Mother Agness Bib le, her own rosary and crucifix, and a quilt that she had made by her own hand. She hugged each of the new sisters farewell, laughing and weeping tears of joy. They embraced her, and prayed with her, wishing all of Gods blessings upon her. And with that, she allowed J.D. Cartwright, bachelor extraordinaire, heir to the gigantic, multi-million dollar Cartwright fortune to escort her out of the convent where she had grown up, where she had learned to say her prayers and scrimp and save and be thankful for what little she had, into a very new, very, very different life.

Chapter Eight
A few days later, Katie was sitting quietly in her potential father-in-laws office. The red velvet and mahogany opulence was intimidating, but Katie simply perched there, with J.D. next to her, grinning like a fool. She had not let him buy her an extravagant wardrobe as he had repeatedly offered. She had gone into a no-name mercantile in downtown Bismarck, without him, and had chosen an alarmingly modestly priced dress off the rack that was probably the most dowdy thing he had ever seen on a woman in his life, including her robes and the outfit she had worn leaving the convent. But she would not be dissuaded. And he knew his father. Although John Cartwright Senior had come to enjoy the finer things in life in his latter years, he certainly did still appreciate a bargain and his son appreciated the startled look in his fathers eyes when he got a look at his gorgeous prospective bride in that cheap outfit. Despite the fact that he was a bit taken aback by her presentation, he knew a gem in the rough when he saw it at least as well as J.D. did. And he certainly liked the fact that she had absolutely no compunction to fill every silence with chitter chatter, like so many women young and old - did. Yes, he was going to enjoy having her for a daughter-in-law, he could tell, if he could just get his son to get a move on in that direction! I understand I have you to thank for saving my sons life after he was shot. Thank you. I am forever in your debt. Hed forgotten how beautiful a sincere blush looked on a woman. I only did what any good Christian would do. No need to thank me, Sir, uh, Mr. Cartwright. Please, call me John, as all my friends do. I do so hope we ll become good friends, Katherine, if I may call you that. Of course, John. She smiled, then, and J.D. knew that his father was as completely lost to her charms as he was. After a few more moments of chatter, they decided to have dinner together, and J.D. ushered Katie out as his father muttered to him under his breath, You must do something about her wardrobe. Its like putting a peacock in a burlap sack. Say its a wedding present or something. Then she cant refuse. The problem with that approach was that he hadnt yet asked her to marry him, but he wisely didnt mention that to his father. *** Katie was standing in the hallway, which was cavernous in and of itself, until he came up beside her and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. Let me show you to your room. Its right next to mine. I think youll like it. She adored it, and told him so. It was done in pinks and whites and golds, and was probably bigger than both floors of the convent put together. The bed itself was enormous, and she couldnt resist jumping on it, as she had liked to do when she was a little girl, at least until she got caught doing so. J.D. just stood there watching her with a big smile on his face, then helped her down. No more of that. We dont want to put the baby in any kind of danger.

He stood her in front of him and began to undress her. So. When do you want to get married? Hed decided that, with a girl like Katie, it might be better to simply assume that she was going to do as he wanted rather than just ask her, because she might decide she didnt want to. Wed better make it soon theres no telling when you will begin to show. He had no idea when she might start to show, really not having much experience with that side of females, thankfully, but the sooner they got married, the better, as far as he and his father were concerned. It wouldnt be a huge society thing; he wouldnt put his Katie through that. They would make it a small, intimate ceremony. Katie surprised him by not putting up much of a fuss about it. She was much more distressed that as soon as he had her undressed, he reminded her of the spanking she had coming. I do not, she insisted, dashing around the bed to put its great expanse between them. You lied to me about being a nun. Do you know that I almost didnt return for you? We would have both gone to our graves, lonely, old, and unfulfilled because of it? Do you know what you put me through! About as much as you put me through, she insisted saucily. He made a mad dash right across the mattress, snatching her by the wrists and pulling her onto the bed with him. Katie Marie! he scolded, trapping her. She wiggled, struggling to break free, but the motion made her breasts dance before his eyes. He rolled, pinning her beneath him, as he took one breast into his mouth and suckled. She cooed delightfully, then arched her back the little vixen and taunted him with the other breast. If you think you can get out of a spanking that way, go ahead and try, he threa tened. She tried. It was wonderful. Together they had wonderful sex, as they did whenever they came together. Gone was the fear of hurting her, of damning her soul for breaking a sacred vow. Gone was her fear that he would leave her, that she would lose her outlaw. Now, when they came together, there was only joy and perfect union between them. And when they lay, sated and satisfied, J.D. returned to the topic of her spanking. No! You are not going to continue to spank me, she insisted, shaking her fist in his face. Lets get one thing straight, darling. You are going to marry me. I am going to be your husband, and a father to our child. And Ive been reading the Bible lately, a habit I picked up from Mother Agnes. Do you know what the Good Book says about husbands and wives? She glanced away, shaking her head, but the flush that colored her cheeks said otherwise. Its in the book of Peter somewhere. Wives, be submissive to your husbands. Katie wilted, her lower lip extending in a pretty pout. Does it really say that? Absolutely. Okay, she said, heaving a sigh. Okay what? Okay, sir. Good girl. J.D. patted her bottom and he would have sworn that it rose to his touch, although he knew she would have denied it if hed pointed it out to her. You had better get used to this, Katie, because this is what your life is going to be like from now on. I will be keeping you strictly in check, baby or no baby. You are going to be over my knee more often than not, Im sure. Or over the back of a chair, or the edge of the bed, or my desk, or wherever we find ourselves at the moment -

Katie couldnt imagine most of what he was talking about, but especially the last of it. Wherever we find ourselves? You mean out in public? He swatted her upturned fanny quite firmly at her rebellious tone. If you misbehave in public, youre going to be punished in public. Youre bluffing. J.D. turned her head so that he could give her long, luxurious kiss. Do you really think you want to test that theory, Katie dear? She didnt. She really, really, really didnt. Do you know how wonderful we are together? How happy I am to have you back in my life? Do you know how close we came to losing it all, because of a lie? She nodded. You know that lying is a sin. She nodded, apprehension clouding her pretty features. All right, then. Lets get this over with. J.D. moved to sit on the edge of the bed, and helped her to lie across his lap. He allowed her head to rest on the mattress, her legs dangled above the floor for the bed was that high. Then he took her hairbrush firmly in hand, and delivered a series of stinging swats to her tender flesh. She wiggled and writhed and tried to get away, but her struggles were nothing compared to his greater strength. He continued with the hairbrush, quickly bringing her bottom to a bright pink, and then cherry red. Obedience, J.D. reminded her. I know it is hard for you, but Im going to help you master it. Do you trust me? J.D.! Stop! Please! No, darling. Were just getting started. And he wasnt kidding. Then he rifled around his pockets for his favorite implement. It was compact, and relatively quiet, but fairly lethal. It was a shortish, thin length of leather so that it didnt wrap and hit areas that he had no intention of chastising and braided so that it was somewhat stiff and forked at one end. It was modeled after a Scottish tawse. He liked it because he could take it anywhere with him, and no one really knew its exact purpose, except him and the person he used it on. The first stroke tore a surprised scream from Katies throat. She had never in her life felt such a streak of fire across her bottom. She wondered if he had a hot poker he was using back there, although she knew she hadnt gone anywhere near the fireplace. The second stroke crossed the first and had her positively yowling, arching up and screaming his name. But that didnt stop him. He set every inch of her backside ablaze within twenty strokes, and then proceeded to do it again before he finally tucked the terrible implement back into his pants pocket, with a warning to her before he did so. Remember. I carry this with me wherever I go, and Im not in the least afraid to use it in public. Yes, Sir, Katie mewled, her bottom throbbing horribly from the effects of his little instrument. She couldnt believe how small it was, and what a wallop it packed! J.D. got up and quickly removed his clothing, then rejoined her on the bed, tugging her up against him tightly, stroking her back and hugging her, as he gladly comforted her. There now, darling. You are forgiven. And now, we can begin our incredible life together. Do you know how lucky we are, that we found each other? She nodded, still sniffling, but beginning to cuddle up close to him in preparation for a repeat of the love-making they had just recently enjoyed.

You are incredibly beautiful, you know that? She blushed, and he loved it. He wondered how long she would continue to do so when he said that. Would she still blush many years from now, when they were both old and gray? Before she had even recovered from the spanking, before he checked to see if she was ready, before hed even kissed her, he pulled her over him and put the tip of himself agains t her opening. Katie sat straight upright, as if struck by a bolt of lightning. J.D. had suspected as much, but his suspicions were confirmed when the head of his cock was christened by her juices. The punishment despite its severity, and it was relatively severe, especially for someone who was pretty new to it had gotten her at least as hot as it had him. Slowly but firmly, he pressed her down onto him, not allowing her to withdraw, keeping her always traveling downwards on his scimitar spike, wallowing in every caught breath, every moan, every shaking spasm as she settled around him. He nearly embarrassed himself right then, and had to pull her forward and hug her tight, holding her very still until the moment passed and he didnt spill his seed into her before things had even started. Put your hands behind your back, Katie, my love, sit straight up, and extend your legs. It was hard, but she did as she was told immediately. Her bottom was burning too badly to even consider the alternative. The change in position drove him that much more deeply up inside her, made her spread her legs to accommodate him just that much further, had her panting just that much faster. And then he began to roll his hips. Slowly. Damnably slowly. And he refused to be hurried. With her legs extended rather than folded, she had no leverage to move herself up and down on him. He had all the power, all of the control, which, of course, was exactly as he wanted it. Katie sat directly on his cock; it was about as deeply buried as it could get within her, and her seared bottom lay atop his thighs as he drilled himself into her. Give me your arms, J.D. ordered. Katie unlaced her fingers from behind her back and J.D. claimed her biceps, just above her elbows, tugging down on her arms, not allowing her to bounce much as he slammed up into her, and that was what did it for her. He had stretched her almost to the limit, filled her again and again, forced her to take every bit of him, and that last stroke, with him holding her arms like that had her shaking and arching, clenching him tightly as she rode out the waves of ecstasy. J.D.s pleasure followed hers; it was impossible not to find his own release when his woman exploded so completely in her own. When they had both come down a bit, he stood up beside the bed and reached down to lift her up in his arms, going to a door that she hadnt noticed in the room which seemed to lead to another bedroom suite that was even more luxurious than the one he had given her. Entering through the adjoining door, Katie saw that this room was done in cream, silver and gold. She correctly surmised that it belonged to J.D. His bed was, amazingly, even larger than hers. She swore it had to be the size of the entire dining room at the convent, and he set her down on it as if she was made of finest gold. What about a nightgown? she asked primly. No nightgown, he replied. What if I get cold?

Then Ill have a servant stoke the fire. But Ill be naked in here when they come in! J.D. chuckled at the horror in her voice. Youll be under the covers, well hidden from any prying eyes. Besides, theyre not going to look, believe me. This time he made love to her slowly, very much as he had that time on the banks of the river that morning before he had abandoned her, leaving her aglow as she fell asleep in his arms. *** Eventually, J.D. with his fathers help was able to convince Katie that she needed to let them buy her a new wardrobe. They arranged a trip to New York, where she met with the best dressmaker in town. She was gifted with three complete wardrobes one for wearing right now, one when she started to show, and a final wardrobe of darling little smocks for when nothing else would fit. They claimed they hadnt gone overboard, but Katie didnt believe a word of it. J.D. was there the entire time with her. He suspected that everyone there thought that she was his mistress, for very few men spent that kind of money on their wives or even women who were going to become their wives - but what did he care? The poor woman who ran the shop had about had an attack of the vapors at what the mademoiselle had been wearing when she entered the shop. She had gone out and looked on the street to see if anyone had seen her come in, and J.D. had paid her extra to give them a very nice outfit in which they could leave instead of the one in which they had arrived. Katie was so overwhelmed by the entire experience, that J.D. took charge, approving or vetoing everything the dressmaker presented. He insisted the dressmaker stay away from the heavy brocades that might just swallow Katie whole, and go instead with the lighter silks and chiffons. No loud colors for his darling Katie, but softer pastels, and an emerald green gown that was the perfect complement to her red-gold curls. J.D. paid the couturier half of the amount owed, promising double the amount due if she had it ready in three days time. J.D. was eager to return to Boston, where his father had his headquarters. The woman practically licked her lips at the profit she would make, and J.D. knew that no one in the shop would be getting any time off for the next three days, but his Katie would have her wardrobe or most of it, anyway. After the babe was born, he would take her to Paris to complete it. He adored spoiling her, because she had absolutely no expectation of any of it. Everything he showed her was new and unique restaurants, waiters, carriage rides, everything. She had been so cloistered that he just loved watching her reactions as he gave her the world. They took a romantic carriage ride around the city, then ended up back at their hotel. On their last day in the city, he brought her to a jewelry store. Katie said she loved the name of it as they walked in. Tiffany. It sounds like it should be made of cotton candy or something. There she was shown a selection of diamond rings that he was quite certain she had absolutely no idea as to the value of, but then that was his intent. He just wanted her to pick out something she liked and not to worry about what it might cost, since that was of no concern to him whatsoever.

She settled on something that was understated but wonderfully elegant, a three carat solitaire, with emeralds forming a crown around it. Mr. Tiffany himself proclaimed it a perfect choice. It happened to be the perfect size, and J.D. couldnt help himself. He wanted to brand her as his before some other schlub happened upon her, so he slipped it onto her finger before she could say no. Katie couldnt believe it. She could barely lift her hand for the weight of the ring, and when they got back to the room, the rest of her wardrobe was waiting for her from Madame Renaud, and she gave her husband-to-be an impromptu fashion show. She had never even dreamed of having a life like this. She would have managed, had she been forced to take a teaching position, or become a governess or nanny after Mother Agnes passed. Instead, she was here, all the way across the country, flitting between New York and Boston, wearing the latest fashions, flashing an enormous new engagement ring that was worth more than everything shed ever owned in her life and then some, getting married shortly and in a handful of months, to discover the joy of motherhood. She couldnt believe it. But she didnt want to just forget about the people who were still trying to carve a life out of the wilderness in Dakota Territory. J.D.? Yes? He focused his attention on her, because it seemed like she was going to ask for something, and she almost never did that. Theres something Id like to do. And what would that be, my love? he asked, taking her left hand in his and kissing her ring. If its within my power, we will do it. I never did thank you for sending me all of those things after yo u left. It helped me a lot. I want to continue to support the convent, if thats okay. A huge smile broke over his face. I think thats a wonderful idea. I think we should support the convent in particular, but also the diocese, too. How about that? Katie hugged him tight, and he thought it was probably the first time shed hugged him impulsively like that. Thank you. That would be wonderful! Ill call my accountant in the morning and get that set up. Do you have a particular amount in mind that youd like to send them every month? She bit her lip. No. Dont worry. Ill have him figure that out. Thats why we pay him. Thank you. Now. Is there a glass of milk over there that someone was supposed to drink because its good for the baby? Katie sighed. I dont think your baby likes milk. I think hed rather I drank Irish whiskey. Katie! J.D. couldnt believe she would say that, or even consider doing something as irresponsible as that. She giggled, pointing her finger at him. Got you! He managed an indulgent smile, although he wasnt particularly amused. Drink your milk, dear one. Dont you remember what you are supposed to do when I tell you to do something? Do it, she grumbled.

Excuse me? Do it, she repeated, altho ugh it came out very milky, since she had turned away from him and was finishing her glass. When she turned back, though, he had that look in his eye. Dont think thats going to get you out of a punishment. But I drank my milk! Not until you were reminded to do so. Now, do I have to get the strap out of my pocket? NO! You dont! He had begun to teach her that when he deemed a punishment was necessary, she was to remove all of her clothing and take her place over his lap without having to be prompted or assisted by him in any way. Of course, as the baby grew and her waistline vanished, rules like that could be adjusted, but for now, they remained in place. So she was already standing next to the bed, stepping out of her stockings and underwear, her chemise and corset, and pulling the pins out of her hair, which he was happy to find was growing out very nicely. In short order, she was lying naked over his lap, her hands clasped at the small of her back, face turned towards him, legs crossed, where she belonged. Now came the hard part. She was required to say, Im ready for my punishment, Sir. But that was very hard to say, because she knew that the first stroke would land immediately after she said it. So there was absolutely no impetus to let those words tumble out of her mouth. Except the fact that he had said the longer she waited to say them, the longer the spanking was going to be, and the higher the chance that he was going to go rummaging in his pocket for that horrid little thing he carried around with him. He had yet to go through with the threat he always trotted out whenever he wanted to calm her down in public that he wouldnt hesitate to chastise her with it no matter where they were but she would not put it past him. Not in the least. And she would never know how long was too long until he reached into his pocket. So, with a resigned sigh, Katie said what she knew she had to say. Im ready for my punishment, Sir.

The End

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