Ball and Chain (11 page)

“I didn't think,” she said in a hurry. “I was just . . .”

“That's all right,” Clint assured her as he placed his hand over hers. “From here it looks just fine.”

Ellie kept her eyes open and slowly moved her hand between her legs. Before long, Clint urged her to rub even faster and she let her head drop back. Her legs opened a bit more and she moaned softly as Clint's hands ran up and down the tips of her pussy. Just as her legs were starting to shake, Ellie felt something else between her legs.

Clint eased forward until the tip of his cock brushed against her hand. When she looked down to see his hand was no longer between her legs, Ellie pulled in a quick breath. Rather than pump any further, Clint reached down to scoop both hands under Ellie's backside. From there, he lifted her up a bit and pulled her toward the edge of the bed. As she was brought forward, Clint moved into her.

“Oh . . . oh my,” she stammered.

Her pussy was tight around him and her entire body trembled. Clint could tell by the look in her eyes that her trembling was due to pleasure rather than nervousness. He smiled down at Ellie and gently eased in and out of her.

As she became wetter, Ellie was able to lie back and enjoy what Clint was doing. After spreading her legs open wide and reaching down to rub herself as he pumped back and forth, Ellie began to breathe quicker in expectation of an oncoming climax. Even though she'd braced herself for it, her orgasm still took her by surprise.

Ellie arched her back and reached out with her free hand to grip the blankets on top of the bed. Short, gasping moans came out of her as she bucked and wriggled on the bed.

Clint enjoyed watching her for a few seconds, but then he reached down to place his hands upon her chest. Rubbing her nipples against his palms, he waited until her orgasm had subsided before pumping into her even harder. Ellie's thighs were slick with her own moisture, so she took every inch of him without a problem.

When she opened her eyes, it was as though she were just waking from a very good dream. She reached between her legs again, slipped her fingers on either side of Clint's shaft, and rubbed up and down. “You like that?” she asked.

Clint leaned his head back to savor what she was doing to him. “Yeah. I sure do.”

“I want it harder,” she said.

Feeling Ellie's fingers on him while he was inside of her made him as hard as he could get, but Clint was pretty sure she wasn't talking about that. He leaned forward as Ellie lifted her legs so her ankles were resting upon his shoulders. Grabbing onto both legs just above the knee, Clint thrust into her with a little more force.

“Yes, Clint. Harder.”

Clint pumped into her harder.

“Oh, God! Like that!”

Clint tightened his grip on her legs and pounded between her legs. Ellie grabbed onto the bed and begged him to keep going. Soon, she couldn't even make a sound because her entire body was gripped in a climax that caused all of her muscles to jump beneath her skin. Entering her while her pussy gripped onto him that way was more than enough to push Clint past his limit. One more thrust, and he exploded inside of her.

“Good . . . good Lord,” Ellie gasped. “I've never felt so good.”

“Just wait,” Clint replied. “We've still got plenty of time until morning.”

The sun was barely up high enough to smear its light upon the lowest clouds. It was a crisp morning and the air was still cold enough to turn every one of Hank Mason's breaths into steam. His hands were stuffed into his pockets and the collar of his jacket was raised so it could cover a good portion of his neck. When he spotted a familiar face while hurrying down the street, Hank nodded quickly rather than return the wave he was given.

“Mornin', Hank,” a storekeeper said as he swept his front stoop.

“Yeah.” Hank grunted.

A butcher carried a ham hock on his shoulder from the wagon that had brought it into town. “Cold day, huh Hank?”

“Yeah.”

Someone else asked about the state of the mill, but Hank didn't even respond to them. He was close enough to see his destination, so he hurried there without dawdling for so much as a second. By the time he got to the front door of Iris's cottage, he'd built up almost enough steam to crash through the door without opening it.

Hank reached out with both hands. One hand grabbed the door handle and the other stuck his key into the lock. Both hands worked together so he turned the key a fraction of a second before shoving the door open. After yanking the key out and stuffing it into his pocket, he rapped his knuckles upon the door a few times.

“You still here, Adams?” Hank bellowed. “Ellie? Where the hell are you? You'd better not be . . .”

Having only taken a few steps into the cottage, Hank stood in front of the open door with the dining table to his left and the knitting chair to his right. Directly in front of him was the narrow door leading into the bedroom. What Hank saw through the door took the breath from his lungs and lit a fire in his belly that showed as an inferno in his eyes.

Clint was lying upon the bed. Hank could just see his upper body, but that was enough to tell him that Clint was undressed. He could see the same applied to Ellie, since she was on top of Clint, supporting herself with both hands against his chest. If Hank had any doubt about what they were doing, they were erased by the expression of wide-eyed terror Ellie wore when she looked back at Hank.

“What are you doing here, Pa?” she screamed as she hopped off Clint and raced around the bed.

Hank stood where he was. His arms were frozen where they'd been when he'd stopped walking. Even his legs were partially bent as if he were a statue that was supposed to be moving instead of a man who couldn't. Even though he'd changed Ellie's linens since she was a baby, seeing her bare bottom as she ran to gather her clothes wasn't a welcome sight.

“Why didn't you knock?” Ellie shouted. “What are you doing here?”

Clint rolled out of bed so his back was to the door. He picked up his clothes as well, but wasn't doing it nearly fast enough for Hank's liking.

As Ellie peeked through the door again, Hank finally found the strength to move again. Ellie shouted and may have even started crying, but Hank didn't care about any of that. All he wanted to do was get out of that cottage as quickly as his legs would carry him.

“Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!”

Clint pulled his jeans on and shrugged into his shirt, hoping Ellie would settle down a little when he was done. Even as he buckled on his gun belt, she was still fretting with the laces on her dress and muttering those same words again and again.

“It's all right,” Clint said as he placed his hand upon her shoulder. “He's gone now.”

That didn't help matters in the least. In fact, she seemed to boil over even more when she felt his hand upon her. Pulling away as if Clint were burning her, Ellie rushed out of the bedroom. Her arms were crossed and she huddled down as if she were afraid of knocking her head against a low beam. “It doesn't matter if he's gone. He saw us!”

“Yeah, well . . .”

Wheeling around, she shouted, “How can you be so calm?”

“It was embarrassing, that's for certain. I'm not exactly happy to be found that way either. Come to think of it, how about I just have that picture sent over to your house when it's ready? That way—”

Clint couldn't see Ellie at the moment, but he could hear her crying in the next room. He followed the sounds all the way to the large chair that was surrounded by knitting supplies. “It's embarrassing, but it's not worth all of this,” he said.

“You don't understand,” she said from behind both hands.

Clint looked around the cottage until he found what he was looking for. Walking over to where his boots had been dropped, he collected them and then pulled one of the dining chairs over to where Ellie was sitting. “He's not my father, but I sort of know what you're talking about. When I was a boy, someone once found me while—”

“It's not like that,” Ellie snapped. “Boys get away with murder, but girls aren't expected to do anything.”

“Your father doesn't hit you, does he?”

When Ellie looked up at him, her tear-streaked face seemed even more appalled than it had before. “No! Pa loves me!”

“All right, then. He's also not stupid, so he must know you've been around men before. I mean,” he added while pulling on one boot, “you're not a virgin. We both know that.”

Ellie lowered her head. “We know that . . . but he doesn't.” Stopping with his other leg extended and his second boot halfway on, Clint asked, “He doesn't?”

“What do you think I should have done? Gone up to Pa after I met Bobby Hayes in his barn, tugged Pa on the sleeve, and told him why I snuck out that night?”

“No, I guess not.”

“Or maybe I should have buttered him up with a good meal before I told him what Bobby did to his little girl that night and that I intended on going back for more helpings every night that summer!”

“Okay,” Clint said. “I see your point. Fathers are different with their daughters than with their sons. I knew that already.”

“Then why are you asking such stupid questions?”

Despite the fire in Ellie's voice and tone, Clint had to chuckle as he admitted, “Because I just don't see how this is the end of the world. It's embarrassing, but not long ago there were men shooting at all three of us. We could have been murdered, or even caught a stray bullet and died just the same.”

Ellie's expression shifted from angry back to terror. “We could have?”

Clint shook his head and waved his hands as if he hoped he could literally clear the slate and start fresh. “No . . . what I meant was there was real danger and we could have gotten hurt. This is just embarrassing, Ellie. There's a big difference. Can't you see that?”

Ellie spent the next several seconds frantically wiping at the tears streaming from her eyes. Before too long, the tears stopped coming. “You . . . you're right.” She sniffled.

Clint took a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it over to her. “At least nobody's shooting at us, right?”

She nodded and used Clint's handkerchief to dab at her eyes.

“And you've got to admit we had ourselves one hell of a time last night.”

Finally, Ellie smiled. “And . . . and this morning, too.”

“And this morning,” Clint agreed. “There, now. You feel better?”

Just as she began to nod, Ellie jumped from her chair as the front door was kicked in and an armed man stomped inside. She let out a little yelp and raced to get behind Clint.

The sudden noise put Clint on the defensive and he swept one arm out to get Ellie behind him. His other hand went for the Colt at his side. Pain gnawed into his elbow from the wound and the stitches, but he managed to get to his pistol just fine. He stopped short of clearing leather, however, once he got a look at who'd come into the cottage.

“Hank?” Clint asked.

The older man glared at Clint as if he were a blood enemy. He held his shotgun at hip level, but raised it slowly as he replied, “You know damn well who I am. I'm that little girl's father.”

“Pa!”

“Stand aside, Ellie girl,” Hank warned. “This don't concern you.”

To Clint's surprise, Ellie actually fought to get around him so she could face her father head-on. “It most certainly does concern me. I'm not a girl anymore! I'm a grown woman!”

Hank barely even seemed to realize that she was there. Instead, his eyes were fixed upon Clint as he growled, “And he's a grown man. I won't have him doing . . . doing what he done to you!”

Clint pushed Ellie behind him again and held his gun hand well away from his holster. “Look, Hank. This is awkward enough, but I didn't do anything to Ellie that she didn't—”

“I saw what you done, goddammit!”

“I know and I'm sorry,” Clint said. “Maybe I should just leave.”

“You ain't goin' nowhere, mister. That is unless you take my girl along with you. Once you're married, you can live wherever you please.”

Every muscle in Clint's gun arm wanted to draw his pistol.

Every instinct in Clint's head told him to draw the pistol.

The longer he looked down the wrong end of that shotgun, the harder it got for him to leave the modified Colt where it was.

“Look here, Hank,” Clint said in a voice that was just as steady as his arm. “You're making a mistake.”

“The hell I am,” Hank snarled. “You made the mistake when you bedded my daughter like she was some kind of—”

“Stop right there!” Ellie said.

Hank blinked as if he'd just now realized she was in the same room. “I told you to step aside, girl.”

“Why? So you can shoot Clint? So you can kill the man who saved both of our lives?”

“If he saved you just so he could get you alone, then yeah,” Hank replied. “I would shoot that man.”

Clint had looked into the eyes of many killers in his day. He'd stared down the barrels of more guns than he could count, which gave him a good handle on judging the men holding those guns. Playing poker for almost as long helped him figure out when a man was bluffing. All of those things combined to tell Clint he had a definite problem with Hank Mason.

The shotgun was steady in Hank's hands and his finger was curled expectantly around the trigger.

The tone in Hank's voice was an even snarl and didn't falter in the slightest when he'd made that last threat.