A New Life Out West

The Texas sun beat down as a man rode out of Bandera texas on a brown and white legged Thoroughbred. The horse taking a leisurly stroll for once unlike when the man had left the Dodge in his flee from the law. The man's name was Morgan Holt though he wouldn't be using that name where he was going.

In Bandera he had picked up word of a ranch about a four hour ride that was in desperate need of people and even willing to offer lodging to there employees. From what Morgan had picked up the owner was a widower that was doing her best to maintain there families ranch and homestead despite the loss of her husband. Morgan had to say she sounded like a strong woman trying to take all that responsibility on her shoulders. Though he just needed a place to lie low and make some money till he could safely retire somewhere where the law couldn't catch up to him.

He reflected back on what lead him here from Dodge as he pulled up on the ranch. Sure enough it looked like it was struggling. Things in disrepair very few hands from what Morgan could tell. He rode up hitching his horse to a nearby fence as he adjusted his hat he left his rifle on the saddle holster on his horse but kept his revolver close on his belt just incase though in this frontier land it was never out of place for someone to always have a belt strapped to there side.

He walked up knocking on the door as a middle aged man most likely from mexico given his appearence he greeted Morgan in practiced but still heavily accented english "Can I help you?" Morgan greeted "yes my name is Tom Holt I overheard this ranch was looking for workers. I'm new to the area and need work desperately I'm strong and fit and a good shot should trouble ever fall on the ranch. Can I speak to the lady of the house." The mexican man nodded and "Jose' Ive been in employ of The Jacobs family for years let me go get Widow Jacobs." Turning and heading inside. After a few minutes Jose' came back and said "come she will see you." Leading Morgan inside.

(couldn't find a picture for appearance that also matched the clothes I pictured just picture morgan in more time appropriate shirt and pants.

Introducing Gretchen, the Widow Jacobs

She hated being called the Widow Jacobs. Gretchen had lost her husband just over a year ago to injuries from a work accident. She'd done her best to hold onto the ranch; they'd been lucky not to have any debt at the time of Robert's passing.

But Gretchen had racked up a number of IOUs over the last 400 some odd days, with family, friends, neighbors, and -- of course -- the bank. The Manager of that latter creditor was eager to foreclose on the 160 acre estate once Gretchen surpassed an agreed upon debt limit. She had just enough head of cattle left feeding on the rolling hills and up and down the narrow creek bed to meet her financial obligation this Autumn when she sent them to market, but that was only if no more tragedies befell her.

There had been a number of incidents in recent months that individually didn't look like much but taken together had the look of a conspiracy to cause Gretchen to fail and -- of course -- sell out. Or worse, default the property to the bank and then fail to repay the others who had helped her out. Cattle had disappeared; fences had been cut; the creek had been dammed upstream, depriving her of most of the water flow; and friends and neighbors who'd given her credit to sustain her had been threatened and, in a couple of cases, even beaten up or robbed.

All of this for 160 acres, a cabin, a barn, and 50 head. Of course, the ranch did sit on some wonderful acreage that -- normally, anyway -- had a reliable, year round water source. Gretchen's husband had gotten lucky in blindly making his land claim nearly two decades ago. When the young married couple arrived with their wagon full of supplies and hearts full of hopes, they'd been simply overwhelmed by the beauty of it all and made love then and there on the green grass near the stream.

Their daughter had likely very well been conceived that night. Emily -- who had turned 18 just days ago -- had become part of the ranch's story in a new way since her father's death: she'd become a target of young toughs in town who had taken to teasing her, flirting with her, stalking her, and even touching her without permission. Gretchen believed it was all part of the plot to get her to abandon her ranch and this town. She'd even suggested it to her daughter.

But Emily was tough like her mother was and father had been, and she'd demanded that Gretchen stay strong. "I can handle myself, mother. Don't you worry about me and those mean boys."

Of course, most of those pestering her weren't merely boys but were men, and they all had one thing in mind when it came to Emily -- and, in many cases, to Gretchen, too. There likely wasn't a one of them that wouldn't bend either of the women over a barrel, lift their dress, and have their way.

Gretchen had been but 15 when she'd birthed Emily, and now at 33, she was still a very fine looking women who got second and third glances from the men of Harland's Grove when she strode down the small town's boardwalks.

Gretchen strode out to meet some new potential hand and -- surprisingly -- found herself looking him up and down like the men of the Grove often did to her. He was a tall, handsome, well built man, younger than herself but older than her daughter. Even though she considered herself still in mourning, Gretchen could see herself flat on her back with this man between her thighs.

But she wasn't looking for a new husband or even a new lover, despite desperately missing the wondrously incredible love making sessions that she and Robert were still having a couple of times a month even after nearly two decades of marriage. She stuck her hand out to the stranger, introducing herself, "I'm Gretchen Jacobs, the owner of this ranch. Jose tells me you're looking for work."

She asked him for his work history related to ranching and listened carefully. Something in his tone put Gretchen on guard; he knew all the right words to say, but something told her not to believe all he was claiming. But, she didn't perceive him as a danger, and she'd always been the type to give people a chance -- to prove themselves one way or the other.

"I don't have room for you in the bunk house at the moment," she lied. Gretchen was willing to give this stranger work, but until she got to know him a bit better, she wasn't going to have him sleeping just a few dozen yards from her innocent, teenaged daughter. "I have a man who's leaving soon. Wife's in Dodge, about to have a baby -- their first -- so he's leaving. There's a saloon that rents rooms in town, or if that's too spendy, there's a Boarding House where you can bunk in a dorm with some of the other hands and transients."

She gave him another look up and down, checking the revolver on his side, the rifle on his saddle, and even his horse, which looked like it, too, had seen some action during its time with the man. "Come back tomorrow, and I'll put you to work. Fair wages for fair work. I'll be honest with you. My definition of fair might be different than others. It's been hard the past year, and I don't have much coin to share. But you and your horse'll be fed well and kept outta the elements. I've got the best cook in the territory, and the barn don't leak and the bunkhouse is warm."

She stuck her hand out again, asking, "See you at sunrise?"

Morgan was sure what to expect out of the widow until he spotted a still very good looking woman maybe pushing mid thirites by his guess.

When she introduced herself he wiped the dust form his palm and brought his hat down to his chest "Tom mam Tom holt pleasure to make your acquaintance."

He listened to her explanation of both the work he would do and that for now he could stay in either a boarding house or the saloon he figured he would stay at the saloon for now. He still had some funds from when he sliped out of dodge.

His site caught a equaly striking if younger woman off in the distance through the door. Guessing that was Mrs. Jacobs daughter guess she was clearly of age if only recently. Not wanting to be rude he kept his attention on Gretchan as she explained the wages.

When she asked about sunrise he shook her hand and said "Mam I'll be here. When I over heard the work I never expected to make a fortune but a man has to work to put food in his belly and a roof over his head I promise to give you more than my fair share."

He tipped his head and said "till tomorrow then." He had considered asking about the ranch but figured it was not his place to ask why they were so hard for workers not yet and if his days on the run told him anything the local town can easily provide information if you over here enough of the rumors.

Placing his hat back on his head "see you tomorrow and have a good day Mrs. Jacobs Jose." Leaving the pair as he headed towards his horse riding into town.

Jose said "what do you think mam he seems capable but he also has a air about him I don't know I like could be dangerous but who knows maybe we need a little danger around here to make sure things don't get any worse."

Morgan rode into Harland's Grove hitching his horse outside the saloon. Feeding it a apple and said "you stay put boy get some water and rest." Giving the beast a quick pat as he walked inside he walked up to the bar and said "how much for some whiskey and a room." The tender saying "one will get you a room and a bottle of our cheaper stuff for the night." Morgan nodded and said "Ill take that and leave the bottle. Sitting down as he poured the first of probably a few cups tonight having not been able to relax since leaving Dodge. Sipping as he listened to the crowd behind him.

"Ma'am, I'll be here," Morgan told her. He spoke of the compensation being fair before making his farewells.

"What do you think, ma'am?" Jose asked, expressing the same reservations she'd quietly considered in her own mind.

"You may be right," Gretchen told the long time ranch hand. What she meant Jose to hear was that he might be right about Morgan being dangerous. What she was thinking to herself, though, was that maybe Jose was right about his second thought: maybe they needed someone dangerous. She dismissed the conversation, telling Jose, "Let's get back to work."

Gretchen headed back for the house, Emily intercepting her on the way. "Who was that?"

"Cowboy, looking for work," Gretchen answered. She saw the hopeful look in her daughter's eyes. She didn't like it. She stepped closer and said firmly, "You will stay away from that man, Emily. Or I'll send him away. Understand?"

"Yes, mother--"

"Do you understand?" Gretchen stressed. Her daughter hesitated, then nodded. Gretchen moved closer yet, so near that only inches separated their faces. With a serious whisper, she told her daughter, "You may think you're ready, ready for love, for a husband, for a family. You're older than I was, when I married your father, when we made you. You may be, Emily. But not now. Not right now. And not him."

"I understand," Emily said with a building annoyance. "I understand!"

Gretchen studied her daughter a moment, trying to judge whether or not the teen was being honest with her. Emily was in her prime as a woman, and Gretchen knew the teen had had an interest in boys for some time. Under normal circumstances, Emily would have already married and started her own family. But two things were preventing that: Gretchen's need to have her daughter working on the ranch, and the conspiracy she suspected was aimed at her family and their valuable ranch.

"You have chores," Gretchen told her daughter, kissing her on the cheek. "Hop to it."


Pearl watched the stranger enter the bar, collect a bottle of whiskey, and find a seat. She couldn't help but notice that he selected a chair that put his back to the wall in the saloon's corner. A man worried about being snuck up on, interesting.

The piano man took note of the beautiful whore descending the stairs and jumped into a lively jig. The regulars, who knew the tune as Pearl's informal theme song, looked about for her, then upwards. She smiled down and waved as the whistles and catcalls greeted her.

As much as they loved to see her sashay about the saloon, Pearl knew that none of 20 or so men here tonight were good for anything more than perhaps a free drink. She'd entertained a handful of these men in the past in her womanly ways: the banker, a well-to-do rancher, that man's now-19 year old son, the hotel owner, and the Marshall. But most of them -- cow hands, stable workers, simple laborers, silver miners -- could never afford her rates and would have to settle for one of the lesser girls if they were seeking that sort of entertainment.

As she was descending the stairs in her usual flourish of swinging hips and bouncing breasts, Pearl was giving the stranger occasional glances and smiles. If there was anyone in the saloon this night who was going to fork over silver or paper to partake of her skills in bed, it was the handsome cowboy in the corner.

By the time she reached the saloon's main floor, Pearl had noticed that she wasn't the only person taking an interest in the new man in town: the Marshall's keen eye had found the cowboy as well, likely sizing him up as a possible outlaw the same way Pearl was sizing him up as a paying bedmate.

The woman who was viewed as the Matriarch of the tavern whores stepped up close to one of her girls and whispered into her ear. Pearl continued onward to the stranger's table as the other woman went to join the Marshall.

"Hello there, cowboy," Pearl said with a flirty smile as she sat in the chair closest to him. "Buy a girl a drink?"

Behind her, the other whore stood and headed for the stairs, holding the hand of the Marshall. The lawman gave the newcomer another glaring glance as he ascended to the girl's room and one last look before entering it.

Morgan sipped his whiskey by now starting his second glass from under his hat he took not of the marshal eyeing 'suspicious of outsiders can't say I don't blame him hopefully this saloon idea doesn't come back to bite me.'

He suddenly heard the piano player change tunes as a rather fetching woman descended down the steps. Accompanied by whistles and catcalls from the crowd 'the leading lady of the evening I guess.'

He noticed her give him glances and smiles before she whispered to another one of the saloon girls who quickly distracted the Marshal.

Watching her walk up he pretended not to notice till she said "Bye a girl a drink?" Looking up he smiled at her and said "I suppose I can mam I can't drink this fine whiskey by myself." Asking for a second glass as he poured her a round.

He watched the Marshal ascend hoping he would be off his case for awhile. He looked back at Pearl and said "Tom Holt Mam pleasure to make your acquaintance." Raising his glass to hers in a cheer as they collided together.

He stole the occasional glance at Pearl the woman was a looker for sure definitely a close contender to Mrs. Jacobs daughter or even Mrs. Jacobs herself.

He smiled back as Pearl introduced herself. He chuckled "well Pearl why do you want to waste your time on a outsider cowboy like myself instead of the fine folk that frequent this establishment."

"Tom Holt, ma'am," the cowboy introduced. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

She took the glass filled for her and clinked it against Morgan's own. She downed it in a single gulp, smiling and chuckling before asking for a second and downing it, too.

"Well, Pearl, why do you want to waste your time on a outsider cowboy like myself instead of the fine folk that frequent this establishment."

Pearl laughed loud enough to gain some attention from others partaking of the tavern's offerings. Of course, there were already a number of patrons eying the pair: some were curious about Morgan, while others envious of him.

She leaned in a bit closer and said in a lower volume, "Most of the fine folk hereabouts can't afford to waste their time with me, Tom."

Pearl lifted the bottle and refilled their shot glasses. Lifting hers before him, she asked with a suggestive tone, "Can you afford me, Tom? And before you ask how much, just know that if you have to ask ... you can't afford me."

She smiled and downed the third shot, smiling wide as she awaited his response.

"Can you afford me Tom?" Hearing her question he poured himself a fourth glass and downed he said "I Reckon I can Miss Pearl."

Gazing at her he figured he could afford atleast a night of splurge. He still had a few weeks worth of funds after Dodge in case he had not been able to find steady work once he arrived in texas.

He felt her hand on his thigh gliding up in a gentle but suggestive caress as it avoided the spot he wanted her to touch as it glided up his chest and down his arm to take his hand.

Standing up she lead him to his room for the evening. Walking in behind her as she gently pushed the door closed with her foot.

"I Reckon I can Miss Pearl."

Pearl's lips widened farther than they'd already been at his response. Most men wouldn't take the chance of heading upstairs only to find out they couldn't pay for the ride. Every saloon had its muscle for men whose lust was bigger than their purse, and many of those enforcers had reputations for putting the offenders out the second floor windows rather than escorting them downstairs.

On the way up the stairs, Pearl snapped her fingers at and then made a familiar gesture to one of her available girls. Rosie quickly fell in behind her mentor, following the pair right into the room that was exclusively for the Madam's use.

"Don't mind her, Tom," Pearl told the cowboy as she immediately began undressing him: his hat and gun belt went into a chair; his vest and shirt followed; after she pushed him back onto the bed's edge, his boots, socks, and pants -- which she'd already unbuckled and unsnapped -- joined the pile. Her lips again spread in a wide smile at the generous bulge within his woolen undershorts. "My, my, Mother Nature's been good to someone, I see."

Behind Pearl, Rosie had been moving in and out of an adjacent room at a quick pace. She carried a metal pail to and fro, warming up a large wooden cask tub that had already been half full of room temperature water. Pearl untied the waistband of Morgan's undergarment and urged him to lift his ass, and a moment later the cowboy was stripped naked.

"Holy Mary, Mother of Christ," Rosie murmured as she turned from her work to catch a glimpse of Morgan's fully hardened cock. It was a good 10 inches which would have been impressive enough, but it had an impressive girth as well, leading the younger whore to add, "Is that even gonna fit in, ma'am?"

"Finish up, girl," Pearl chastised, not yet happy with the amount of steam rising from the wooden tub. She gave the cowboy's cock a good study, emitted a whistle indicating her own impression of it, and confirmed the other girl's shock with, "I'm not entirely certain, Rosie, but it never hurts to try."

"Are you sure it won't hurt?" the girl asked, laughing. She dumped a final bucket of steaming hot water as directed and was about to head out the door when Pearl tossed her a coin for her assistance. She winked to Morgan, and on her way out told him playfully, "Don't hurt her, Mister. She's a real bear in the mornings after she's--"

"Out!" Pearl cut her off, laughing. The girl headed out, and the Madam gestured Morgan toward the tub, ordering as she jabbed a finger at his erection, "If you wanna put that in me, you're gonna wash it and everything attached to it first. In ya go."

As she waited for Morgan to sink himself into the bath, Pearl casually picked up the cowboy's pants, searched for, and found a wad of paper money. She stripped off some of the bills, ensuring that the cowboy saw the amount, and slipped them into a secret pocket in the belly of her very sexy clothing.

She didn't know whether or not Morgan often partook of high end prostitutes, but the amount she'd claimed without negotiation or permission was likely the largest amount of money a man would ever pay for sex in this part of Texas. Pearl wasn't concerned that she'd claimed too much, though: she was worth it.

"Scrub," she told Morgan, tossing him a big bar of soap that was already rounded on the corners from previous uses. "Head to toe, 'til that water is filthy and you're not."

She laughed, then began undressing. She began by rolling down the sleeves of her lacy gloves, then pulling at each fingertip until one after another slipped from its hand. She sat on the edge of the bed, slipped out of the high heels that made her already shapely legs look even more long and luscious, then unclipped one garter after another until her stockings were free to be rolled downward. She made certain as she bared her legs that Morgan had a clear view of the lacy panties hiding her most precious of womanly features.

"Rosie!" Pearl called out as she stood and stepped closer to the door. A moment later there was a knock, and the other whore hurried inside. She quickly unlaced the back of her mentor's bustier; her eyes went to the man in the bath several times, a smile spreading her lips. "Thank you, sweetheart. You can go now."

Once the girl was gone, Pearl tugged at the garment until it fell away from her torso. Her young, firm breasts and their swollen pink nipples popped out one after another, showing off even more of the pale skin that had resulted in the nickname for which she'd been known since the start of her career. The sexy garment dropped to the floor about her bare feet.

Pearl moved nearer to the tub, her gaze on Morgan's eyes as his looked wherever they chose to. She slipped her thumbs into the waist band of her lacy black panties, and slowly -- teasingly -- she slipped them down off her waist, letting them fall away to the floor as well. She had taken to shaving her muff the Parisian Way a few years ago, leaving the flesh at the meeting of her thighs as bare as her long lovely legs.

Standing before Morgan in nothing but her choker, shoulder wings, and hair rosette, Pearl asked, "Would you like me to join you in there ... or would you like to dry off and meet me in the bed?"

"would you like me to join you in there....or dry of and join me in bed."

He smiled and said "perhaps if my time is worth it you can join me for a bath next time miss Pearl." He stood up giving her a grin as he climbed out of the bed.

As they prepped him he almost thought about asking Rosie to join them but he didnt want to hit his funds too greatly.

He stood as pearl stood her pale skin giving her a almost ghostly yet beautiful glow as she strode up with the towel drying him off. Her soft hands caressing every muscle of his years doing...questionable acts.

Her hands rose up his thigh as she dried off his legs finally coming to his manhood. One hand leaving the towel to caress his testicals. The whore earning a groan of approval from morgan.

She then wrapped her hand around his cock gently stroking it at first. Earning a full moan "god damn!" Morgan exclaimed his cock beginging to swell and pulse at her touch.

Suddenly Morgans hands cupped her ass. Lifting her as he gently but with urgency tossed her on the bed.

He loomed over her body and captured her lips in a kiss. Tongue asking for permission to enter as she happily gave it.

After several minutes he left her lips caressing her skin with licks and kisses down her neck as she moaned and writhed.

He kissed down to her breasts his hand groping firmly her left one messaging the orb of flesh as he licked and sucked on the nipple of her right. When it hardened he gently pulled it with his teeth as he let it release with a snap. Moving his lips to the left and giving it equal treatment.

He continued his kisses down her body stoping just shy of her womanhood as he looked up into her eyes.

Pearl had seen more than her share of cocks during her years of prostitution, and on occasion she had the privilege -- or horror -- to come across what could only be called a monster. Morgan's penis wasn't one of those, but it most certainly was impressive and one of the largest she had been paid to serve.

She gave it extra attention as she dried the cowboy's body, stroking the soft cotton cloth -- and then her bared hands -- up and down it and all about his balls until the former had once again stiffened to its fullest and the latter were twitching with anticipation.

"God damn!" Morgan exclaimed.

"Now, don't make a mess of me'n'the floor, Tom," Pearl warned playfully about climaxing at her touch. Honestly, she would have been perfectly fine with him spurting all about now because getting him off was, after all, her business, and if he did it outside of her rather than within, that was okay. But she continued her explanation, "We'd have to get back in the bath again to clean me up, and the water's looking ready to be drained to the street already."

She gave a playful shriek when he suddenly reached around, grasped her ass, and lofted her against him and into the bed. Pearl didn't share her lips with every client, but in this case she was more than happy to passionately kiss Morgan. She clutched at his body and again pleasured his cock and balls until his movements downward moved them outside of her reach.

Pearl did often get much lovin' from men as she was from Morgan now. Oh, sure, her patrons sometimes kissed and groped her titties because she had them and they didn't. But the cowboy was being unexpectedly lovin' of her body, and she was equally unexpectedly enjoying his mouth upon her.

She wished she could feel the pleasure of his lips and tongue upon her neck, but Pearl rarely removed her choker for a paying patron: across the left half of her throat was a nasty scar left by the knife of a drunk gambler who hadn't taken kindly to her laughing when his king high flush was beat by a fours-over-deuces full house when she was working a St. Louis sternwheeler in her early days.

Morgan continued to kiss his way down Pearl's otherwise flawless body until he reached the smoothly shaved meeting of her belly and thighs. She was moaning and writhing about with sincere sounds and movements; it was so often that someone treated her so that Pearl's reactions were as sincere as Morgan's cock was large.

He ceased the downward movement of his head short of her womanhood, and she looked downward between her well shaped breasts and their swollen nipples to find him looking at her questioningly, for permission Pearl believed.

Again, few men ever took the time to pleasure Pearl's most sensitive of parts: they weren't spending their money on her orgasms, after all. In fact, for most of her 3 years in Harland's Grove, Pearl's most treasured moments of sexual euphoria had come solely from the amazing work of Kim Jinjing, a shapely, now-22 year old laundress who tended to the Madam's laundry by day and body by night.

Pearl answered the question she hoped Morgan was asking by caressing a hand over his back and shoulder to the top of his head, which she pushed down into the crevice between her parted and raised legs. As she laid her head back again, she murmured, "Slow and soft, cowboy. I'll tell you when to bring on the action."

Morgan did as he was told. He could smell the sweat scent of vanillla as he gave his first lick of her labia. His tongue slowly teasing and tasting her folds. She stated good.

He kept eating her doing slow intricate circles as his fingers found her clit. He worked the bundle of nerves in time with his tongue as he began to eat her out in earnest.

Tongue exploring her depths he felt her pussy begin to leak at how wet it was becoming only serving to increase his enthusiasm.

Her cries and writhing only serving to make his painfully hard cock all the harder.

He kept working before he switched. Licking and sucking her clit while his fingers now played with her folds. Rubbing slowly before inserting two fingers inside her.

He heard her gasp out "TOM...PLEASE!" knowing what was happening he kept up his ministrations wanting her to come undone do to his actions.

Pearl was positively impressed by what the cowboy was doing to her pussy. It seemed obvious to her that he'd had a long time lover in the past with whom he'd practiced this form of pleasuring until he'd been able to drive her to the greatest heights of euphoria on a regular basis.

"TOM...PLEASE!" she called out as she realized that she was on her way to climax. "Don't stop. Don't ... don't stop that. You're amazing. You're ... simply ... amazing."

Her sighs had become moans, her moans soft cries, and now she drew and held a deep breath as she felt the effect of his pleasuring her sensitive flesh rising quickly toward explosion. And then it happened: ecstasy. Pearl gasped out at the eruption taking place within her, drew and held a second long breath as the waves swept through her, then gasped out again. Her thighs had come closed, clenching about his skull, unconsciously keeping him right where he was, as if her body was afraid he might cease his duty to it too early.

A third and fourth gasp were followed by Pearl crying out with laughter, "Holy fuck!"

She reached for his head and pulled him forcibly up her body. When their faces were together again, she kissed him desperately, tasting her own juices on his lips and chin and cheeks. She licked at his skin between kisses, cleaning him of her, as her chest rose and fell and her heart pounded within it.

"Fuck!" she repeated, looking into the cowboy's eyes. "I'm thinkin' perhaps I should be paying you for your services 'stead, Tom."

She kissed him some more, then pushed him to his back. Without hesitation, Pearl rose her body high above his groin, grasped his hardened cock, and placed it at her now-wetted hole. Slowly, taking a bit more each time, she lowered and raised herself on his shaft until finally she was sitting fully upon him. She had grimaced through the impaling of her pussy; he was significantly longer and thicker than her latest patrons, and he stretched her to the point of painfulness before finally she was able to begin energetically taking him in and out with speed.

Pearl drove onward until Morgan let it be known that she'd done for him what he'd done for her. Even then, she only gave him a long moment to enjoy the euphoria before starting all over again. She was going to earn her money tonight -- and her unexpected but very welcomed orgasm -- by making sure that he eventually passed out from exhaustion after multiple climaxes of his own.


Pearl awoke to the sound of creaking floorboards under slowly moving bared feet. She found her young apprentice sneaking about the room, delivering a platter of food, replacing the pitcher of cleaning water and towel that went with it, and feeding the fire under the water tank in the adjacent room.

"Take one of those," Pearl whispered to the whore when their eyes met; she was pointing to one of the dollar bills on the dresser. Rosie's eyes widened at the prospect of such a tip for the same, basic service for which she usually got just a couple of bits. "It's okay, girl. You've earned it. Leave us be now, hear?"

After the girl was gone, Pearl slipped out of the lightly creaking bed and stood naked over it, looking down on the cowboy with a wide smirk. She hadn't fucked like she did last night since her days of training in New Orleans, and even then, it hadn't been nearly as enjoyable as last night had.

But she was a working girl, and she needed to dismiss last night from her memory as just another job. That was going to be hard to do, of course, as Morgan had driven her to three orgasms -- equal to his own count -- before they'd finally curled up in each other's arms and passed out as she'd planned. They'd blurred the line last night between work and play, but Pearl knew she had to redraw that line again.

Throwing a robe around her shoulders and stepping into the previously discarded high heels, she left Morgan to awake on his own as she made her way out of the room, down the hall and stairs, and out the back door of the saloon to a tiny home across the dirt alley. Inside, she locked the door of her home, stepped into the hot bath that Kim had anticipated she would need, and attempted to soak away any thoughts of the unforgettable cowboy whose cock had so pleased her the night before.

Morgan awoke as the morning rays shown through his window seeing Pearl was gone he thought 'damn glad I gave her a little extra she earned it.' Trying to think of a better time he had ever had?

Nothing coming to mind he thought 'shit the ranch!' hurridly dressing and gathering his remaining cash he ran downstairs and asked the innkeeper where his horse was.

Running out after he was informed it was in the stables around back. He retrieved his horse and said "ready to run boy?" Mounting his saddle he rode off fortunatly his horse was fast very fast.

As soon as he was back at the Jacobs ranch he walked up to the porch knocking greeted by a angry looking Gretchan.

He sincerly put his hat on his chest and said "my apologies Ma'am I over indulged a little last night and over slept. I promise It will not be a habit i'm here and ready to work let me work hard today to make up for it."

Gretchen looked upset but sighed "don't make a habit of it or your gone. I need help reshoeing the horses. Follow me to the stables."

He followed her out once again catching site of Emily working off in the distance. Turning back to look ahead as he followed Gretchen out to the stables.

"Come find me when your done theres a lot that needs done and you lost a good hour or two." Morgan responded with "yes ma'am" grabbing the tools as he began to reshoe every horse the Jacobs owned.

"My apologies Ma'am I over indulged a little last night and over slept," Morgan reported once he was standing before Gretchen.

She chastised him a bit more firmly than was normal for her, only because this was his new day and she knew that if she didn't, he'd make a regular habit of it. As he went to work shoeing the horses, Gretchen once again caught sight of the gun on his hip. She wished that she could see the end of the barrel but the holster hid it from view. She'd heard that gunslingers often ground off the front sight to make their quick draws quicker, and she just wondered whether or not he was that type of man.

Gretchen very nearly asked him to show it to her, but at this point she wasn't entirely sure yet whether or not she wanted to know. She headed off for the corral where some of the calves and heifers were being branded. Jose was there, and glancing back at the barn, she said to him softly, "Keep an eye on Thomas."

She wanted desperately for Thomas -- she liked the long version of his alias -- to fit in at the ranch. He was respectful and seemed eager to be productive. And he was cheap, which helped Gretchen's bottom line. Beyond this, though, he was also handsome. The current 4 men working the ranch -- two full time, two more when needed for roundups, brandings, and the like -- were each a bit on the homely to flat out ugly side. But they were all wonderful hands and treated Gretchen and Emily like Goddesses, so they could have had the face of a mud grubbing boar and she wouldn't have cared.


Emily had seen Morgan's arrival, and while she wasn't supposed to be paying him any never mind, she stepped back into the deeper shadows of the cabin and stared at him until he disappeared into the darkness of the barn. There were handsome men in Harland's Grove, of course, and at the same time that many had made it clear that they lusted for her, Emily had felt the same feelings for many of them, though, always in private.

She found it so very unfair that the situation regarding the future of the ranch -- the attempts by powerful men to snatch if from her mother's grasp -- was preventing her from discovering what it meant to be a woman. She was 18 years old, four years older that when her own mother married and became a woman in that way.

Emily should have been married two or three years before the death of her father a year ago; she should have been living in another man's cabin, cooking his meals, laundering his clothes, warming his bed, and pleasing his body. She should have been having her body pleased as well. But her father had said she was too young for such thoughts, and then after his death, her mother had needed her help keeping the ranch afloat. Still did!

She had had one offer of marriage. Actually, she and her mother had been approached about a double wedding. Mister Henry Masterson, a wealthy cattle rancher on the other side of the Gulch had asked for Gretchen's hand while also suggesting that their respective children be married as well. Emily liked Mitchell Masterson, who was a year her senior and one of the most handsome men in the valley.

But Henry Masterson had a reputation as a hard, domineering man, in both his professional and personal lives. There were rumors that his wife hadn't died from falling off a horse but had instead been pushed down the stairs of the Masterson Estate's grand home. A second rumor claimed that Henry had secured a 400 acre portion of his 6,000 acre ranch by burning out the previous owner of the property and -- more horrifically -- personally raping and murdering the man's daughter, a then-14 year old innocent whose body was found in the ashes of the destroyed home.

There was no proof of either claim, of course, and no one in Harland's Grove was stupid enough to speak about the rumors in the open. But Gretchen had believed them enough to politely turn down Henry's proposals, plural; she wasn't about to join the man in his bed, and she certainly wasn't going to put her daughter in that situation either.

"We use the smaller nails on that one," Emily told Morgan as she watched him from the barn's loft. He hadn't heard her sneaking in and climbing up to her current vantage point, and when he flinched in surprise at the sound of her voice, she smiled, blushed, and giggled. "Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."

She pointed to the second leather bucket of nails and clarified, "We use those ones for Beauty. Something about thin hooves, I dunno. Jose said so."

She stood to find the top of the ladder and descended to stand near Morgan; her tight, shapely ass swung to and fro, her ankle length dress swishing with it. On the ground, the girl was a full head or more shorter than the new hand, and looking up into his eyes she couldn't help but have visions of him sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her off to a straw pile or his bunk house bed -- which he didn't even have yet -- or to the bank of the not-so-distant creek.

Emily didn't seem much to look at in her current wardrobe: the loose fitting dress her mother had hand sewn for her was at least two sizes too large, to lengthen the time that it would fit her. It failed to show off the wonderfully round orbs of her bosom or the petite frame highlighted by a very narrow waist, wide hips, and tight, pear shaped ass.

"My momma says I shouldn't hang out around you," Emily said bluntly, cocking her head a bit as she stared at him for his reaction. She glanced at his sidearm, then back up as she continued, "She thinks ya'll are gonna steal our money and rustle our cattle ... and maybe rape me."

None of this was true, of course: Emily was just testing the man to see how he would react to the scurrilous accusations. Scurrilous: she liked that word. Emily had learned that word recently when Mister Masterson began spreading rumors about her mother that were designed to accelerate her departure from Harland's Grove.

"I don't think ya'll are gonna rape me, though," she went on, just a firmly confident in herself as ever. "I mean, I'm just a girl. I'm not even a real woman yet. My momma's a better lookin' woman than me, however ... a real woman. I figure, if ya'll are gonna rape anyone, it's gonna be her."

This entire time, Emily had maintained the most serious expression and tone, and now she went quiet, wondering just how the new cowhand was going to respond to her scurrilous accusations.

Morgan had gotten lost in his work for a moment when suddenly a voice shocked him out of his focus. He jumped slightly hand instinctively moving closer to his holstered revolver but fortunately he saw it was Gretchen's daughter before he even touched the handle.

He watched her climb down listening as she told him what tools to use "thank you kindly Miss."

Then when the woman's words turned to him robbing them or raping her or her mother he kept a cool face "I reckon I would be a pretty skum man Miss if I were to do something like that. No I reckon i'd be worse than skum. Your mother has been good to me could of easily turned a outsider like me away especially after I was late to my first day. Honest jobs and for good employers don't come around to often out here in the frontier."

His words held sincerity and Emily could see it in his eyes. Even when on the run there was one line Morgan never crossed and it was harming a woman. Not unless that woman was aiming to take his life but he still wouldn't force himself on her.

He finished shoeing beauty as he wiped his hands setting the tools back he said "I guess I better be going to find your Mom she had other work for me to do. If this arrangement remains permanent I guess I will be seeing you around Miss."

He started to head to his next job not noticing that Emily was eyeing him with renewed interest as he walked away.

---------

It was later in the day Jose had asked Morgan to work on mending some of the fences and the June sun was beating down particularly hard then. Morgan had removed his shirt leaving only his suspenders draped over his torso as he almost worked bare from the waist up.

He was well into nailing the last board back in place as Gretchan walked up to him to check on his progress and to give him another job. The Widow getting a good look at Morgan's muscles tense and relax with each movement his chest back and arms sheened with sweat.

"I reckon I would be a pretty skum man, Miss..." Morgan began his response to Emily's test.

She listened without reaction; he handled the girl's fake accusation well, and it impressed her. She'd actually thought he would either get more defensive or more flustered. He got neither.

He returned to his work, and Emily simply stood there, watching. By the time he finished Beauty, the teen's heart was pounding with excitement: she wanted this man to be her first.

"I guess I better be going to find your Mom," he told her, dealing with the tools. "She had other work for me to do."

"There's always other work," Emily said with a matter-of-fact tone. "We'll never run out of it."

"If this arrangement remains permanent I guess I will be seeing you around Miss."

Finally -- and entirely in opposition of the tough, no-nonsense, scrutinizing attitude she'd been trying to portray -- Emily smiled, just enough to be seen by the man. She immediately tried to gain control over the expression, but that only made her blush. She looked away, embarrassed, then murmured, "Maybe. If my momma decides she trusts you to stay."

She turned to leave, then couldn't help herself but look back at him. He was so handsome, the handsomest man Emily had ever seen. He was also the most dangerous man she'd ever known, because he was handsome and was living here, on the ranch. He was too close; Emily wouldn't be able to maintain her distance from the man, the distance her momma had demanded from her.

She turned away again, hurried her walk, then -- once she was out of the barn -- ran away, away from the barn to the backside of the cabin. There, she dropped onto the scarred top of the firewood chopping block. She was panting, from the short run and from the emotions she'd felt in Tom's presence.


Gretchen stopped short in shock as she came around the hen house and caught sight of the shirtless man working. His toned upper body was glistening in sweat under the warmer than normal temperatures, and the lonely, lustful widow found herself simply staring at the younger-than-she man with thoughts that were animalistic in nature.

It had been over a year since she'd felt the touch of a man's hands on her skin, a man's lips upon her own, a man's cock in her--

She turned away, suddenly aware of the horrifically inappropriate thoughts rushing about her skull like hens in a fox-invaded coop. As happened with her daughter earlier, Gretchen's heart was suddenly racing instinctively at thoughts that were all too natural for a woman of breeding age yet so wrong for the widow's situation. She shouldn't be having lustful thoughts about a man she didn't know; she should simply be delivering the lunch she'd made and returning to her own work.

When she looked back his direction, Gretchen found Morgan looking directly at her. She forced a friendly smile, held the platter up before her, and said unnecessarily, "I made you some food."

She moved closer, setting the platter on the end of the nearby wagon. "It's not much, just some dried venison, bread, goat's milk -- do you like goat's milk? -- and some cheese. And water, of course."

Gretchen's mind and eyes betrayed her by looking at his muscular chest with its layer of sweat and dirt as she said, "You should drink some water."

She poured the liquid into a metal cup and offered it out. She looked into Morgan's eyes in an attempt to pull her attention away from his body, thinking that would help. It didn't. She looked away, feeling a blush come on, just as it had with her daughter earlier.

"Jose says you've done a hard days work..." she began a conversation, then adding a personal touch by using his current alias, "...Tom."

She glanced to his eyes again for his reaction to the use of his faux-given name. Gretchen had intended on sending him packing to Harland's Grove again at the end of the day, to give her another day to contemplate his continued employment here. But her lust for him was overwhelming, and suddenly she was telling him, "A spot in the bunk house opened up. The hand that was leaving in a couple'a days left today it turns out. If, um ... if you were inclined to take it..."

She hesitated, realizing what she was doing and realizing why. This was so not an intelligent thing to do, for her or for her daughter. All she knew about this man was he carried a gun and was the first man she'd wanted to hold since the death of her husband a year ago.

"You'd be expected to take on your share of the bunkhouse chores, of course," she continued, glancing at his face -- and his chest -- occasionally as she spoke. "Chopping wood for the fire, carrying water, cleaning, the like. I don't charge for the bed, course."

She glanced at the gun belt that through an entire day's labor he apparently hadn't shed from his waist. Clearing her throat, she looked right into his eyes and told him, "We've had some troubles with some of the locals in past months."

Gretchen wasn't sure how to explain the situation or even how much to explain. Honestly, she wasn't entirely sure that Morgan wasn't part of the troubles; for all she knew, he was a hired gun, here to spy on Gretchen and Emily and possibly act on behalf of one of the people who wanted her ranch.

"My ranch is one of the last valuable pieces of land in the valley that doesn't already belong to a man named Henry Masterson," she went on. She hesitated for some sign in Morgan's face or body language that he already knew of this man -- because he worked for this man. There was none, and that instantaneously offered Gretchen some relief. She went on, "He's been trying to get my family's home and property since even before I lost my--"

She stopped suddenly, unable to continue. Gretchen didn't talk about her husband to strangers, and yet she'd almost opened up on the topic to the most stranger of strangers she'd known in some time. Again she cleared her throat before continuing, "My husband died a year ago. Hurt in an accident, here on the ranch. Before he died, Henry Masterson had offered money for the ranch. Then he offered more money for the ranch. Then more!"

She hesitated a moment, recalling how at one point, a concerned Robert had suggested that maybe they should take the offer and move onward, maybe to California or to Oregon or even Washington State, clear up north near Canada. Gretchen had firmly told him no. This is our home! And no one's gonna run us off it just 'cause he's got money and men with guns.

"After Robert died -- that's my husband, Robert -- Masterson's offer changed a bit," she went on. She could have told Morgan that the wealthy ranch owner had asked for her hand in marriage in an effort to get the ranch -- taking Emily for his son, too -- but she chose to only say, "He offered a fraction of what the land was worth. And he began making it hard for us to survive. The bank won't loan us money. The Mercantile won't give us credit. The slaughterhouse won't buy our animals. We have to drive them up to Hammond, 40 miles. Rustlers have gotten some of the stock. Others were found dead in the field."

Gretchen's emotions were beginning to build, and she was fearing crying. She turned away and took a few steps before stopping. She fought back the tears, then looked back again. With almost a desperate tone, she asked, "Tom ... please ... tell me you're not one'a them. Tell me you're not here to help Masterson ... or the bank. Please."

Morgan ate the food that was offered to him and sipped the water "Thank you kindly Ma'am" He did catch her toy with his first name maybe a sign that she was beginning to trust him a little.

When she began to recount the loss of her husband he said "you have done very well from what I can tell ma'am for you and your daughter." When she suddenly broke down telling him the things that have happened he walked up to her almost offering a reassuring hand on her shoulder. He held back though for fear of upsetting her.

Instead answering her question he said "I promise you Mrs. Jacobs I've never met this Masterson's fellow and am only here to work and save up money to fix my own life. After your ranch is back in working order i'll be on my way." He chuckled and said "who knows maybe I'll meet the future Mrs. Holts somewhere in town.

He had been half jocking he knew someone with his past couldn't get someone else involved he simply would earn his pay and move on somewhere where he could live in peace.

Finishing his water he said "what needs done next Ma'am?" turning to put the last board back on the fence as he slung his shirt back on buttoning it.

Suddenly Jose came riding up in a hurry he said "Mrs. Jacobs! we got a problem one of the cows got killed by a coyote."

Morgan looked worried and said "Ma'am this is bad if we don't track down and kill that coyote it will probably come back to your land again now that its started killing your heard. I can track it."

Morgan swore he had no ill intentions, and his sincerity rung true with Gretchen. When he spoke of finding a wife, she smiled a bit, thinking to herself, Who knows? Maybe it'll be me.

That was unlikely, of course. Gretchen saw Morgan working here for a few months, maybe a year max, then running off to some more exciting local with his hard earned savings. He's find some city girl or daughter of a wealthy rancher or maybe a whore wanting out of the business. But not her.

Jose came riding up with his news about the killed steer, and Morgan expressed his desire to be part of putting the animal down. Gretchen had always felt sorry for the predatory wildlife in the area: they'd been here long before either the Indians or the White Man, and it wasn't there fault that stock animals -- cattle, goats, geese, chickens -- were such easy prey.

"Go, go get it," she reluctantly said. She looked to Jose. "Go get the Remington, with the scope."

She looked to Morgan again, explaining, "It's only a single shot, but it's got a nine-by scope on it. You have your own rifle, don't you, Tom?"

Gretchen knew he did; she'd seen it on his horse the day before. She looked between he two men as she said, "And bring the calf in. We'll cook it over the pit tonight. A little welcoming for Mister Holt joining the crew."

She gave Morgan a final meaningful look before turning and leaving. She'd had a desire to move up into his arms for a good cry earlier but had resisted. Ironically, Morgan had very nearly taken her into those arms but had also thought better of it.


It was well past dark when Jose's wife Emelia called out, "Meat's ready, if you like it rare. Anyone who don't can wait!"

She laughed, then started cutting chunks off the carcass for the platters of the hands and their families as they hurried up to the fire. Gretchen and Emily both had been busy with helping prepare dinner, but while Gretchen barely even looked Morgan's direction, Emily had made eye contact with him repeatedly, often smiling flirtatiously.

She wore her Sunday best tonight, something of which her mother had taken notice and then chastised her for as she knew that it was for the new hand. "You're too young to be flashing your wares, and Mister Holt isn't sticking around here long enough for you to be thinking about relationships and the like."

Emily had said nothing, neither denying nor confirming the accusation. Now, though, she made her way to where Morgan was sitting and sat across from him. They chatted briefly about the day, the dead calf, the coyote, and more before Emily asked bluntly, "Are you going to try to court my mother? Or, are you leaving Harold's Grove as soon as you have enough money to do so?"

Jose quickly returned with the aformentioned rifle. The pair rode off quickly as they traveled. Sure enough Jose saw Morgan or rather Tom as he was known track the coyote with skill that rivaled that of even the natives.

Morgan suddenly held up a hand signaling Jose to stop he whispered "the tracks dead end at that hole in the base of the tree probably a Den." Morgan tossed a chunk of meat to the ground outside the hole as he and Jose waited.

Eventually the coyote came out investigating the smell of more food. Morgan silently signaled Jose for the rifle handing his own repeater to the mexican.

Morgan aimed down the scope taking aim taking a deap breath he slowly squeezed the trigger as the shot rang out startling the nearby birds and the coyote fell dead from a clean painless shot.

Jose said "not bad it was a quick death." Morgan sighed handing the rifle back to Jose and said "it was just a animal doing what nature dictates who was I to kill it in any way but as painless as possible."

The two rode back to the ranch arriving just in time to get ready for the supper that Jose's wife had made. "Mrs. Jacobs the coyote wont be bothering you anymore."

Jose taking a moment to whisper "he did it quick and clean he's handled a gun before wheather from hunting or something else I can't say his tracking skills are good Ma'am."

As they ate Morgan was approached by Emily. He said "Miss you certainly picked a fine dress for this evening it suites you." Trying just to be friendly he had to admit though it suited her very well.

When Emily stated her question he almost chocked on his food but kept his composure he said "straight and too the point Miss I see. I'm not sure yet maybe if I get enough saved I'll get a small place in the area. But as I've said before I'm not trying ot harm your momma or take her land or even her hand. I'm just trying to do what I can to help." He took a sip of water and said almost to himself "besides your momma deserves a far better man than me for what she has gone through."

Emily listened to Morgan deny any intentions to court her mother, his finishing with, "Besides your momma deserves a far better man than me for what she has gone through."

She stared him right in the eyes as she boldly said, "You could court me, Mister Holt."

Emily gave Morgan a moment, then continued, "I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm a woman now. Been so for a long time. We could court ... or ... something else."

What the barely 18 year old was implying with or something else, of course, was that they could sneak off somewhere and get naked with each other and fuck. Emily didn't really understand what that meant. Oh sure, she understood the mechanics of intercourse. After all, she'd grown up on a ranch where everything walking about on two legs or four from the chickens to the cattle had intercourse.

But there was far more to what she was suggesting that just the mechanics of the act. There were feelings, deep seated feelings of lust and love, and Emily knew nothing about those in the least. She'd never seen or heard her parents make love, even though they'd still been sexually active right up to just a couple of weeks before he died. No women ever came to the ranch to service the hands, and Jose and his wife, Emelia -- who had their own little cabin on the property -- had long ago ceased such activities after they'd decided she'd popped out enough children already.

Softly, Emily repeated, "I'm not a little girl anymore."

Morgan nearly chocked on his food afraid of what Emily's words could mean for his employment.

He said "I'm flattered really I am Miss your definitly a beautiful young woman and any man would be lucky to have you."

He tried to think of his next words carefully trying not to upset her "you also deserve someone better than me Miss. I'm not courting material I have no future no land no prospect. The best future I can even provide for myself is someday living alone in a small cabin deep in the wilderness where I won't bother anybody."

He tried to leave out any finer details like 'and where no one will find me.' He said still trying to ease the woman's feelings said "In another life If I had land or a future to offer you I would of gladly courted either you or your Momma your both amazing woman you just deserve better than me."

He continued his meal though he definitly pictured what life might of been life he grew up near Herald's grove instead. Maybe he wouldn't of gotten involved in that gang, maybe he wouldn't have to exile himself somewhere out in the wilderness where no one would find him.

Emily had had no idea what Morgan would say in response to her suggestion that they court ... or whatever. Again, she'd been testing the cowboy. Mostly, anyway. She most definitely wanted to be with Morgan, even if she was so naïve that she didn't entirely know what being with meant.

As he continued talking, she found herself wondering what Morgan meant about not being courting material. He was most definitely down on himself about whether or not he was good enough for either her or her mother. Why? What was so bad about him that he wasn't good enough for either of the them?

Morgan was tempted to ask but instead simply stood from the chopping block on which she'd sat and stormed away, not only leaving Morgan's company but leaving the group entirely; she didn't stop until she was back inside her and her mother's home, swinging the door behind her.

Gretchen, of course, had been inconspicuously watching the pair the entire time. Emily might not have been able to conceive of what kind of man Morgan -- or Tom -- might have been, but Gretchen had all sorts of ideas. She didn't want to believe that he was a wanted killer of innocent people, of course. Such a background would have meant she'd have to either turn him in to the Law or at the least turn him away, and she didn't want to either of those until she got to know him a little bit better or -- possibly -- a whole lot better.

But she wasn't a naive little girl like her barely-adult age daughter: the gun, the skill hunting down the calf killing predator, the way he carried himself, and more all added up to Tom Holt possibly being a wanted man. If she was smart, Gretchen would walk into the Marshall's office tomorrow and ask the Lawman to check Tom out.

So, why wasn't she? She knew why. It was the same reason Emily had entered the cabin, crawled out the back window, run off to behind the barn, and pulled down her undergarments to expose her most sensitive of places: lust.

"Time to pack it in," Gretchen called out to the group. There were moans from some of the hands, nods from others. She smiled and chuckled, reminding them, "We got a lot of work to do tomorrow, and we're all gonna need our rest."

Emelia and Jose got to work with the fire to ensure that the rest of the calf -- still on the spit over the fire -- would continue to be smoked during the night. Every member of the ranch's crew would have jerked beef to snack on for weeks to come. The rest of them made quick work of the dirty dishes and remaining food items, and in less than five minutes, you could barely tell that there had been a group dinner taking place out in the open area between the cabins and bunkhouse.

Gretchen tried to inconspicuously eyeball Morgan as one of the other hands, a German immigrant named Gerhard, led him off to the bunkhouse that was now -- at least temporarily -- his new home. Morgan caught her gaze a couple of times, and Gretchen diverted her eyes each time. Finally realizing that she was being too obvious, she simply turned and headed back for her cabin.

Inside, she realized that her daughter was no where to be seen. Normally, a single mother who'd just discovered that her beautiful young daughter was missing would have had a panic and a fit. But again, Gretchen wasn't naive: Emily would have liked to believe that her occasion masturbation sessions in the house while alone or down in the grove by the creek were an unknown, private affair.

But her mother had accidentally walked in on her here in the house once, and a few weeks later had stumbled upon her just as she was climaxing to the now skilled work of her fingers upon her womanhood. Gretchen had wondered that first time of discovery whether or not she should have said something to the girl. But would she have chastised her for being somehow sinful, or would she have sat her down for a birds and the bees discussion about love and lust, marriage and sex?

The truth was, of course, that since her husband's death, Gretchen herself had been singularly responsible for her own periodic sexual delights. She had been a little more successful in hiding such activities from her daughter, but the reasons for toying with her most sensitive of areas were the same: it just simply felt good. How was Gretchen supposed to tell her daughter -- still an unmarried virgin at 18 -- that what she was doing to herself was somehow wrong. Gretchen didn't believe it was, so...

She didn't want to embarrass Emily, of course, so Gretchen waited the few minutes necessary for the rest of the ranch's crew to return to their sleeping quarters, then went out to sit on the cabin's front porch with a final metal mug of hot cocoa, a luxury these days at its outrageous price. Emily returned through the bedroom window, surprised to find both that the gathering had dispersed and her mother wasn't inside.

She could have gone to the porch to make inquiries, but instead -- believing that her mother had never entered the cabin, as had been Gretchen's intent -- Emily simply stripped out of her dress, slipped into her nightgown, and went to bed. She fell quickly to sleep, imagining what it would feel like to be naked with Morgan, before her mother ever came inside to dress for bed as well.


The next few days went by without incident or excitement. Gretchen had put Jose in charge of Morgan, for two reasons: Jose knew every inch of the ranch and every job that needed to be done; and Gretchen was trying to limit her own exposure to the man for fear of an even deeper bond being created between them.

Gretchen was no idiot. She knew very well that to spend time around the handsome, young, hunk of a bad boy cowhand would find her falling deeply in lust with him. She also knew that her spending more time around him would lead to Emily likely spending more time around him, and Gretchen did not want her virginal daughter anywhere near that irresistible cowboy.

The question that kept popping into Gretchen's mind, though, was why was she so serious about keeping Emily from Morgan. Was she only trying to protect her daughter from a man who could so very easily ruin her? Or was it because Gretchen herself wanted to be ruined by the possible outlaw.

Gretchen lusted for Tom in ways she hadn't lusted for a man since after deceased husband had finally caused her her first orgasm a couple of months into their marriage. After that first climax, Robert had been hard pressed to keep his wife off his cock, even after she realized that she was pregnant.

A few weeks after Emily's birth, their passionate love making returned. Gretchen had never felt such joy in her life as when she was with Robert. Of course, it had had its dark side as well: a second pregnancy had eluded them all those years, leaving Emily an only child. The couple had finally given up the prospect of Robert ever passing his name onto a son, though, they never gave up on the sex that might have miraculously created a second bundle of joy.

"Lunch, boys," Gretchen called out to the men as they were shearing the small herd of sheep that the mostly-cattle rancher also kept as a backup plan to rising and falling cattle prices. Despite having maintained her distance from Morgan the past few days, Gretchen went up to him this day, telling him, "I have to go into town to deal with a debt and do some shopping. Me, Em', Jose, and Emilia. I was wondering, would you like to come with us?"

Gretchen knew there was a possibility that one or more of the previous nights, Morgan might have gone into town for a drink or more at the saloon. She didn't really keep close tabs on the hands, so long as when the sun came up the next morning, they were in their slacks and boots and working her land.

Was he the type to spend a couple of dollars on the bottle and the girls? Most men who had the expendable income were. Morgan had made it known that he was eager for coin, thus eager for work. But Gretchen couldn't know that he did have a stash of money as a backup, money that had already seen him enjoy a helluva night in the bed of Harland Grove's most exclusive whore.

Not knowing whether or not he would want to spend some time with some company, Gretchen forced herself to tell Morgan, "After we're done with our business, Em' and I, if you want to stay in town, for a drink or some cards ... or whatever ... you're off the clock, so, that'd be fine with me. Just so long as you're ready for the branding tomorrow morn'."

Gretchen didn't really want a response from Morgan, fearful that he might boldly say something akin to I could really enjoy getting laid by some saloon barmaid, so she turned upon speaking her last word and quickly engaged Jose in a conversation about the ranch's needs for new supplies.

She forced herself not to look back to Morgan at all until she left his company. An hour later, she and Emily were sitting in the buckboard which Jose had prepared, both of them eager to see the newest ranch hand riding out of the barn upon his horse.

(PM coming your way. Make sure you read it before posting.)

Morgan pondered on the last few days as he got ready to go help Jose shear the sheep. Aside from meals or work he hadn't seen much of Gretchan.

He figured it had been her busy with the ranch not trying to avoid him.

He did his work though and tried to keep things professional though he did catch Emily watching him from a distance from time to time before she scurried off to do her own work.

Morgan hoped the young womans comments at diner that night wouldn't cost him his job so far though she kept her distance.

He did enjoy another night with Pearl a couple of nights ago Morgan smiled at the memory as he worked he had mounted her from behind both rutting like animals in heat. Just like there first night though she was gone by the morning girl knew how to keep it professional.

When Mrs. Jacobs talked about going into town he said "I reckon that is a good idea Ma'am I can certainly help Jose load the supplies."

He went to retrieve his horse from the stable. Riding the thoroughbred adjacent to the wagon that Gretchen and Emily were on all the way to Herald's Grove. The group split up the ladies going to take care of there business while Morgan and Jose went to pick up supplies.

They were loading the last of the feed into the wagon when Jose said "I'll take the wagon i'm gonna go grab a bottle of whiskey from the Saloon to bring back for Emelia and Me you want to come Senior Holt?"

Morgan said "no thank you Jose I haven't cleaned my gun in a few days i'm sure you know the cleaner they are the better they work if more coyotes come after Mrs. Jacobs cattle I don't want a poor preforming weapon getting in the way."

Jose noded and said "be careful then." Jose left but not before giving Morgan another look he hoped that was all he wanted a clean gun for so far nothing in the past few days have hinted that Morgan was a danger to the ranch but Jose still kept a eye on him and kept a double barrel in his lodging just incase he ever tried ot harm the Jacobs.

Morgan walked into the gunsmith and grabed some gun oil. The shopkeeper seeing his pistol said "Smith and Wesson Model 3 a good gun as long as you take care of it." Morgan looked at the gunsmith and said "yeah its gotten me by some scrapes in my day sometimes a good gun on your hip is enough deterent to stop someone from robbing you on the roads."

The gunsmith grinned and said "well if your ever looking to upgrade I have a good selection via the catalog and I do customization work you wouldn't believe the difference a little rifling change can make.

Morgan chuckled and said "the oil is enough for today got it and a repeater that could use some attention." The Gunsmith said "true can't blame a man for trying to make a bigger sale." Morgan said "I Reckon you can't."

He met Jose outside the saloon with Jose carrying a case of nine bottles "a bottle of whiskey hugh?" Jose chuckled and said "theres A bottle in this here case."

Morgan chuckled and took one of the bottle tossing Jose the money for it and said "you can spare one shall we go find the ladies." Jose nodding as they went to find the women.

Gretchen, Em', and Emelia began at the Mercantile, where the former had to pay cash for their purchases because of the pressure Henry Masterson had put on the establishment's owners. The same was true at the General Store; at both locations, the men behind the counter apologized, but Gretchen quickly told them they were not at fault and should feel no regret.

"They're only trying to stay in business," Gretchen reminded her daughter, who quietly accused each business owner afterward of being gutless in not standing up to the powerful rancher. Her mother told her, "Masterson is responsible for nearly half of the money spent in Harland's corner. It comes from his pockets or comes from the pockets of his hands or the establishment owners with whom he does business. If they, the owners, give us credit toward our sales this Autumn, he'll stop doing business with them, and he'll demand that anyone reliant upon his money do that same. They'll all be out of business by the end of summer, and then where we gonna buy fabric for your Harvest Festival dress or nails for our fences?"

Emily understood her mother's argument, of course. She simply couldn't accept it. The family was slowly going broke, with very little they could sell to gain the hard cash they needed for purchases. Most of the food products from the ranch -- goat and cow milk, cheese, and butter -- were used to sustain the ranch hands and their families. They secretly sold a heifer or two occasionally to people who'd agreed not to let Masterson in on the deal, but that only cut into the amount of money they would make at the end of the season when they drove the herd to market.

Gretchen, Em', Emelia, and two of the other women spent many of their evenings and the worst of weather days under the lantern light sewing, embroidering, crocheting, and knitting. But when Masterson had heard the Jacobs were bringing in extra coin doing that, they'd had to start sending Emelia to New Hartford, thirty miles north, to sell their combined goods at a Mercantile there. The trip cost money, as did the one night layover, and the prices fetched weren't as good as New Harford was on the rail line and its residents had access to goods shipped from the East Coast, which were often machine made and far less expensive.

The two Jacobs women had discussed letting people go from the ranch's payroll. That would help in two ways: less money paid out for wages and more money brought in for the resources those hands and their families ate. But Gretchen had refused to do it; most of their hands were more like family by this point, and a few months after her husband's death, many of them had demanded that Gretchen pay them less coin each week, an act that had driven her to thankful tears of relief.

With the shopping done, Gretchen send Em' and Emelia back toward the wagon as she took care of one last bit of business. She hesitated outside the First National Bank, drawing and exhaling several deep breaths, before finally entering and walking straight up to the owner's desk.

"I need money," she said barely over a whisper when the man looked up at her. He sighed as he leaned back in his chair, and Gretchen continued in a barely audible voice, "Please, Mister Richards. Please. I'll pay whatever interest you require. If we can keep the ranch afloat until September, the herd'll fetch a good price, and I'll be able to pay you back every penny."

Harvey Richards reminded Gretchen that the reason he couldn't loan her any more money was that she wasn't a risk he could take. His claim was that the ranch wasn't viable without a man at the helm. The truth, of course, was that his biggest investor and client was Henry Masterson.

Looking across the lobby to ensure that his teller was busy with a customer and not listening, he leaned forward in his chair and said softly, "Course ... perhaps if we were able to talk about this in a more ... intimate setting ... we might find a way to make a small loan possible."

Gretchen could feel her fair skin go even fairer to the point of white. It wasn't the first time the banker had hinted that if she spent some time alone with him, he might find it in his heart to further her some more credit. Cash on the bed stand for services rendered, she reminded herself before politely saying, "I appreciate the offer, Mister Richards, but no, sorry."

She turned around and hurried out of the bank before she broke down and took the man up on his offer. Gretchen was no whore and wasn't about to spread her legs to the man for credit she was more than suitable to receive. She hustled down the boardwalk toward the wagon, hoping everyone was ready to leave town.


(OOC: Imagine a red version of the dress below without the hip decorations.)

Minutes earlier, down the street:

Pearl looked herself over in the mirror, turning this way and that, then all the way around to look over her shoulder at her barely contained buttocks. She looked to Kim Jinjing -- who was responsible for the incredibly sexy garment's creation -- and told her with obvious approval, "The boys are gonna love this."

"That why make look good for you," the Chinese laundress and seamstress responded in her broken English with a sarcastic tone, "So make men with penis make happy with you."

Pearl laughed, stepped down from the sizing stool, and took the beautiful woman into her arms for a passionate kiss. With a sincere tone, Pearl reminded her, "You are the one that I love, and the one I am leaving Harland's Grove with when that day finally comes."

"Promises," the 22 year old said before they kissed again. "Always promises. Go! Go fuck cowboy, make money."

Pearl laughed again and slapped the scantily dressed woman on the ass: they'd just made love before the final fitting of the sexy work outfit, and Kim was still wearing little more than a pair of panties and a tiny bosom-supporting undergarment she called a brassiere. She'd made one for Pearl a while back, but the showgirl and prostitute hadn't like it. She liked the way the contemporary corsets and bustier narrow her waist and emphasized her bosom and waist. It did feel more comfortable, though, so she did in fact have two of them in a drawer in her bedroom for at-home use.

Kim wrapped a full length, hooded cloak around her lover's shoulders, tying it at her neck and fastening a pair of clasps down the front of her torso. It was a six block walk -- most of it out of sight down the back alley -- from Kim's place to Pearl little one room home behind the Saloon, and neither of them wanted her to gain any attention along the way.

Pearl had been attacked three times in the past -- all in the darkness, not in the daylight like it was now -- by men eager to get a little free action inside her warm, wet pussy. Only once had the attack been successful -- the first time -- and when Pearl went to the Marshall and reported the names of the two men who'd assaulted her, the man hadn't even stood from his chair to go after the men. Without actually speaking the words, he let Pearl know that he wasn't going to arrest two normally upstanding citizens -- particularly hands from the Masterson Estate -- for the alleged rape of a known prostitute.

Pearl had realized that if she was going to be safe out on the streets of Harland's Grove, she was going to have to deal with such things on her own. And she did. The next time a pair of men tried to drag her into a dark alley, the cowboy she'd hired to follow behind her had beaten the living crap out of both of them, breaking one man's arm and the other nose and jaw. The last time, she'd been on her own but, by then, had learned how to use a knife. She cut one man's face from ear to chin and stabbed the other in the gut. They'd been nobodies in the town's hierarchy, so when they went to the Marshall to report having been attacked by a whore, the Lawman's lack of action went her way instead.

Since then, Pearl had been able to walk the streets unmolested by potential assaulters or rapists. But still, she got dirty looks and even angry, abusive calls from the Ladyfolk of the town when they saw her out and about, so Pearl kept mostly to the alley behind the buildings that faced Main Street.

Today, though, her way was blocked by the unloading of a massive straw wagon at the back of the stables, and she was forced to make a detour out onto the boardwalk for two blocks. She kept her hood up, hiding her face from both the men and women passing by her. Along the way, she heard one nasty description from one of the latter and two suggestive offers from those of the former gender.

She was just about to leave the boardwalk and head between two buildings to the alley when she looked up and saw Morgan Holt coming away from the saloon with one of his fellow ranch hands, Jose. Pearl smiled with joy at the sight of him, remembering the time they'd spent together two nights ago. For the second night since his arrival in Harland's Grove, they'd engaged in passionate lovemaking, as well as animalistic fucking. Pearl was very much getting to like what the cowboy could do to her body.

"I feel guilty for making you pay to have your way with me, Tom," she'd told Morgan after he'd driven her to her third orgasm of the night, "but I have to earn a living, too."

Before they'd curled up into each other's arms to once again sleep the rest of the night away, she'd told him, "I want to show you my appreciation, though."

With that, she'd moved down into between his knees, pushing them out wide, grasped his now mostly flaccid cock, and put the full length of it into her mouth and throat. It stiffened immediately to a rock hard state, and she bobbed her head up and down over his groin until he groaned out loudly and filled her mouth with his thick, warm ejaculate.

After she went to the dresser for a mouth-rinsing drink of whiskey, bringing him a shot of it, too, she laid down with him, purring to him, "I hope you liked that, 'cause you're the only man I'll do that for while you and I are friends."

She looked about for signs of Morgan's boss lady, not wanting to approach him is she was in town. She did find the Widow Jacobs just a block away -- and the Widow's beautiful young daughter as well. This seemed unfortunate to Pearl at first, at least until she realized what was happening there at the wagon into which the women -- along with a third woman, a Mexican named Emelia -- were trying to board.

Pearl watched for a moment, then turned and hurried down the opposite direction from Gretchen and Emily -- right up to Morgan. Still mostly hidden in her hooded cloak to hide her identity from others, she told the cowhand who'd seen her coming and smiled, "Your ladies are in trouble."

She looked down the street to the wagon, then back to Morgan. "Hurry, Tom."


Moments earlier:

Emily had actually been tickled to look up and see Mitchell Masterson coming her way across the street. The young man whose father had wished for the pair of young folk to marry -- as part of a land steal, of course -- was still just as dashing as ever in his elegantly appointed duds, black hat, and silver toe-tipped cowboy boots.

Mitchell arrived at the wagon and make his how-do-you-do's to Emily before Gretchen caught sight of him. She was coming around the wagon with the intention of casually moving between the two young folk when suddenly a second cowboy stepped up and blocked her way.

"Where ya goin', beautiful?" the cowhand -- and gunhand -- for Henry Masterson said with a leering glance at Gretchen's bosom. Quietly, he suggested, "How abouts you and I go over to the loft in the stables and leave these two young lovers to their own desires."

"Please let me pass," Gretchen asked, trying to move around the man. He grabbed her by one wrist, then laid his second opened hand on her waist in a very inappropriate way. "Let me go, please. Please, let go of me. You're hurting me."

By this point, Emily had seen what was happening on the other side of the buckboard. She tried to circle around Mitchell, but he -- like the other cowboy -- took hold of Emily to keep her with him. Emily's eyes widened in shock; Mitchell had never laid a hand upon her during the time in which they'd been friendly, and the way he did it now told her that there was nothing friendly about this.

"I like his suggestion," Mitchell told Emily, who was now also begging to be let go. "The Hotel's right behind us, and my Papa has a room permanently rented. How about you and I go up there and we get you out of that beautiful dress?"

Emily was already beginning to sob, while on the other side of the wagon, Gretchen was begging and pleading -- to Mitchell, not the cowhand assaulting her. Emelia had left to retrieve some of their purchased goods, and hurrying up now, she protested that was happening, only to have yet a third Masterson employee grab her by a handful of hair and begin dragging her away, ready to rape her in the nearby stables despite it being in the middle of town and still early evening with dozens of people on the street.

Morgan shot a look at Jose as the two rushed to the scene seeing what was going on He spotted Emelia getting dragged away by her hair as Jose charged.

In a mad anger he tackled Masterson's man to the ground punching him brutaly and repeatedly. The third or fourth punch earing a splatter of blood along the ground and some of the mans teeth.

Morgan wasn't far of he drew his pistol and said "Let them woman go now you here!" Masterson's still holding onto Emily said "this doesn't concern you now get."

Morgan proceeded to fire a shot into the dirt at the man's feet. Well he says man but the yellowbelly couldn't tell a intentionally missed shot to save his life as he let go of Emily in shock. Morgan said "you best get boy before you get hurt."

The cold look in Morgan's eyes was enough to tell Masterson he was serious. He was focused on Masterson though as his goon who had let go of Gretchen charged him from behind Tackling Morgan to the ground as his gun clattered with it into the dirt.

The man who blindsided Morgan got a cheap shot in right as Morgan turned to face his attacker the blow causing the skin over his eyebrow to split. Morgan wrestled with the man in the dirt for several minutes trading punches.

The goon on top using his advantage of being on top of morgan kept trying to hammer away at the cowboy.

Morgan was no stranger to fights he was at a disadvantage though. He kept blocking the goons blows hoping to where him out or get a opening to strike.

Finally one good punch to the ribs and a swift kick had Masterson's man on the ground wheezing in agony as Morgan spit some blood to the ground "just as cowardly as your boss striking from behind."

He retrieved his gun aiming it at the goon and threatened "NOW GET!" The man scurrying off in the dirt.

Morgan was busy with the goon he didn't notice Masteron aiming a gun at him but the free Gretchen noticed Morgan's repeater in the saddle of his horse.

Grabbing the rifle she fired one shot in the air not only getting the attention of the everyone at the brawl but also the bystanders.