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Authors: Natasha Stories

Rustled

BOOK: Rustled
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Rustled

By

Natasha Stories

Copyright 2014 by Natasha Stories

This book is protected under the copyright
laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized
use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited. This book is a work of
fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. All rights
reserved.

Warning: Strong sexual content. Intended for
mature audiences over the age of 18.

Chapter 1

I knew I was
in the worst trouble of my life when my teeth stopped chattering.

Hours ago, a
patch of black ice had tossed the SUV I was driving sideways into a deep gully
beside the road. I might have been able to get out despite the car lying half
on its right side. But, I remembered reading somewhere that in an emergency
it’s better to remain with your vehicle. It’s bigger, rescuers can find you
more easily.

That may be
true, however a heavy blizzard was raging all around me, making it unlikely
that anyone would see my car from the air. I wasn’t sure it was visible from
the road. The sides of the gully seemed deep. I kept my head for a while, even
after I searched the car in vain for some way to stay warm. Must remember to
run the engine—thank god it started—but only for a short time, because of
carbon monoxide. Yes, I could smell it creeping into the car when the engine
was running. The body of the SUV must have been breached somewhere in the crash.

My thin cotton
dress wasn’t much protection from the cold. I had been running the engine until
warm air washed over my legs from the heater, flowing up under my long skirt,
then shutting it off, waiting until my shivering was so violent I could barely
turn the key before I turned it on again. Then, it failed to start. Awkwardly,
I pumped the gas pedal, and turned the key again. Nothing. I kept cranking
until it didn’t even try, just a click when I tried the starter. Out of gas,
probably, and now I had run the battery down.

I squirmed
until I could see into the back seat, searching for a forgotten jacket or
picnic blanket for the tenth time. Nothing. I was in for hypothermia, possibly
frostbite, unless someone found me soon.
What a stupid stunt,
I thought,
out of the frying pan, into the fire.
No, fire would be good, circling
my thoughts back to a previous idea. Fire would save me. I checked my purse
again. Knowing there would be nothing to start a fire there, I checked it
anyway. Then the glove box and console, but neither had miraculously produced
what I sought since the last time I searched.

Please,
God, please let there be a match, or a cigarette lighter, somewhere
. The irony was lost on me. No one in the Church smoked. There would
be no fire until I got to Hell. Then, maybe I could get warm.
What kind of
stupid slut runs from an advantageous marriage straight into a blizzard,
Father’s
voice raged in my mind.
You’re going to die.

Better than
being the fourth sister wife of a disgusting old man
, I answered, though I knew Father wasn’t there. I might have even
believed it. When the shivering stopped, and my teeth stopped chattering, I
knew with some tiny, still-functioning part of my brain that my body was
shutting down. Unconsciousness would follow, and then death.

I felt no
fear, only lethargy and a mild regret that I wouldn’t get to say goodbye to my
parents, even though I was mad at my father at the moment. It actually wasn’t a
bad way to go. Comfortable, almost, once you couldn’t feel the cold any more. I
did feel a little warmer, didn’t I?

§

My fingers and
toes were the first to wake, tingling, itching, burning like I had never felt
before. I was in agony! Eventually, my condition reached my brain, about the
same time as my olfactory sense woke up. I could smell wood smoke, and my hands
and feet were on fire. These two thoughts combined in my semi-conscious state
to mean I was in a fire. My eyes flew open as I screamed, but oddly, I didn’t
hear it.

What I saw
when my vision cleared made no sense at all. A pitched ceiling of pine logs,
criss-crossed below with rafters that had various objects hung on them in
groups. Directly above me, what looked like an oil lantern, swaying
dangerously.
That couldn’t be safe
, the random thought crossed my mind.
Somehow I knew I wasn’t firing on all cylinders yet, and I struggled to make
sense of my surroundings.

A curious
combination of utter confusion and placid acceptance accompanied my wandering
eyes. Over in that corner, a collection of iron pots and pans hung from long
hooks that in turn hung from the rafters. In another corner, what looked like
skis and snowshoes were thrust through the rafters. Only after examining every
object I could see in the rafters did I think to lower my eyes to the room
where I lay, in a bed that took most of the floor space.

In the corner
below the pots and pans was a wood-burning cook stove, with a kettle steaming
on it, though it made no sound. Shelves dotted the walls on both sides of the
stove, which was placed kitty-corner, with a barrel of something behind it,
tucked further into the corner. On the shelves on one side were dishes and a
few mugs. On the other, jars and tins of staple foodstuffs apparently. One said
FLOUR. The more objects I cataloged, the more my mind seemed to clear, until a
burning question emerged: Where was I? Next came: And how did I get here?

As my eyes
traveled further around the room, they froze upon encountering another person.
A man. Clearly a man. Dressed in nothing but the skin he was born in, he was
turning to feed a split piece of wood into the stove. I must have gasped. He
turned.

“Good, you’re
awake. Just a minute and I’ll get back in bed with you. Had to stoke the
stove.”

My mind still
wasn’t working properly. I heard, “back in bed with you” and my body stiffened
as my mind stumbled over the idea. Wait, he had been in bed with me? What the
fuck? Automatically chastising myself for the crudity, I tried moving my arms,
tried to feel whether I was clothed. Holy shit! I was naked too. Instant rage
filled me. This
asshole
had taken advantage of me while I was
unconscious! As soon as my hands stopped burning, I was going to kill the
motherfucker.

Chapter 2

I hadn’t found my voice yet when the
stranger calmly walked over to the bed as if he didn’t have a care in the
world, and climbed in beside me. Rigid with shock and fear, I steeled myself
for whatever was going to happen.

“Turn over on
your left side.” Apparently unaware that I was struggling to protest, he rolled
my body over and snuggled up against me, his dick in the crack of my ass, where
it immediately proceeded to grow hard. Finally, my spluttering got the man’s
attention.

“Don’t sweat
it, natural reaction. It’ll go down in a minute, your ass is as cold as ice.”
His voice was deep, the kind that might have made me swoon with instant desire,
but there was a hint of amused irritation in it.

Now I was more
confused than ever, and still unable to form a sentence, even in my mind. I lay
there, stiff, terrified, infuriated and baffled, until I was able to utter a
thought.

“G-g-g-et
OFF
!”

And then, he
laughed! I didn’t know whether I couldn’t speak because I was still so cold, or
because of my fury. If I had been capable of moving at will, I would have
turned and pummeled him with my fists, but it dawned on me that he had me
pinned with a big arm wrapped around my waist and holding my wrist, pressing my
arm into my chest. My naked chest.

“L-l-let me
g-go. I’m g-gon-na k-kill y-you.” I managed.

He chuckled.
“Now, Kitten, that would be foolish of me, if you’re gonna kill me. Tell you
what. You let me warm you up as best I can until you’re out of danger. Then
we’ll talk about killin’”

Kitten?

I fought my
lethargy for a few minutes, wanting to resist, but didn’t have the energy to
sustain the panic that having a naked stranger in bed with me brought. If he
was going to ravish me, he wouldn’t get much satisfaction out of fucking a
dishrag, I told myself as sleep overtook me in spite of fighting desperately to
stay awake.

I don’t know
how long I slept, but everything was the same when I woke up. I was lying in a
bed, in a cabin, in a blizzard, naked. With a naked stranger wrapped around me
and his erection snuggled between my ass cheeks. It was the most infuriating,
incomprehensible, ridiculous situation I had ever been in, and that included
being chastised by the Prophet with my long skirt flopped over my head and his
hand smacking my bare bottom.

What had I
gotten myself into now? One thing was certain, I was stiff and uncomfortable,
and I needed to move. I ventured a shift, rolling over further onto my tummy,
which at least took the man’s dick out of my butt-crack. And woke him up.

“Feelin’
better, Kitten?” His deep voice was gravelly with sleep, but the nickname
brought out the bitch in me. I could never keep my mouth shut, in spite of the
Prophet trying so hard to eradicate my defiance with his discipline.

“What the fuck
is this Kitten business? Who are you, what are you doing, and why am I naked?”
Well, my powers of speech had returned, anyway. My captor observed the same
thing.

“Whoa, Kitten!
Is that any way to talk to the guy who saved your life?”

“And then took
advantage of me.”

“No one took
advantage of you.” His voice no longer held amusement. Now he sounded mad.

“Oh, yeah?
Then why am I naked and you’re naked and wrapped around me like a boa
constrictor. Get off.” My shrill tirade sounded weak, even to me.

“Fine.” He
rolled away from me and got up, still feeling no need to put on trousers it
seemed.

“Where am I?”
He ignored me. Maybe I shouldn’t have accused him of assault. I didn’t feel like
I’d had sex. I mean, I didn’t
think
I felt that way. I hadn’t had sex
all that much, and it was a while ago, but I thought I’d be able to feel it if
he had...you know. I started to throw the quilt back to get out of bed, only to
hear him snarl from his stance near the stove.

“Get back
under that blanket. You still haven’t warmed up to a proper temperature.”

“I need to
pee. And if I’m not warm enough, why did you take my clothes?”

“Wrap the
blanket around you. Bathroom’s through there.” He pointed to a narrow door in
the corner I hadn’t seen yet. Apparently I wasn’t going to get an answer to my
question about my clothes. I was wobbly, but determined to make the few steps
on my own. Then I tripped over the corner of the quilt. Instantly, he was at my
side, preventing me from falling.

“Do you need
some help in there?” Amusement tinged his voice again, giving me the distinctly
odd and conflicting feelings of a sudden warmth in my groin and rage in my
heart.

“Not only no,
but fuck no!” His mocking chuckle followed me into the tiny bathroom, where I
found the toilet seat was cold as ice. My business done, I crept back to the
bed, utterly exhausted. This freezing to death must really take some energy out
of you, because I was completely drained. Before I could decide whether to keep
questioning him or give up, sleep took me again.

§

The next time
I woke, I was no longer alone in the bed, but at least he wasn
’t in my personal space with his personal junk. He was snoring
slightly and I found it strangely endearing. What the hell was wrong with me?
Then I wondered if I had died after all, and this was all some sort of weird
after-death dream.

Absently, I
examined his face. My rescuer, or captor, whatever I wanted to call it,
appeared to be somewhere around thirty. His dark hair grew below his ears and
curled at the ends; brown, I thought, but coppery in the light of the oil lamp.
His tanned, square-jawed, unlined face didn’t seem so forbidding in sleep, his
eyes below the closed lids rolling around constantly. He must be dreaming.

The soft
snores ceased, and I waited, holding my breath, for him to wake up. After a
minute, I cautiously touched his chest. Was he breathing? His hand lashed out
and caught me by the wrist, making me cry out.

“Don’t do
that.” His voice was firm, but not threatening.

“Okay! Jeez, I
was just making sure you were alive.”

“What made you
think I might not be?”

“You stopped
snoring.”

He snorted
then, a mixture of derision and amusement. Were we going to get along better
now? Maybe he would talk to me if I asked my questions nicely.

“Mister?
What’s your name? Or, if you don’t want to tell me, what should I call you?”

One eye opened
lazily. Oh, they were blue! God, were they ever blue. Blue as Bear Lake, up on
the border of Utah and Idaho. I think they called it cobalt blue. Blue enough
to fall into and drown. His voice rescued me from my thoughts.

“You can call
me Russ.”

“Like,
Russell?” I pried.

“Like, Rustler.
Like cattle rustler, you know?” No inflection, no amusement. Was he serious?

“Oh.” I didn’t
even know there were still cattle rustlers. Was this man a criminal? I had been
in this cabin, alone with him, for hours.
Naked,
I reminded myself. And
the only liberties he had taken were apparently designed to keep me from dying
from hypothermia. I decided to trust him, for now, but not let my guard down.

“Okay,
Russ
,”
I said. “What’s going on? Why aren’t we in a city, you know, with an ER and
doctors? Why did you bring me here?” Weak as I still knew I was, I needed to
know my situation. And even though I had decided he probably wasn’t a danger to
me, Russ still made me deeply uneasy. Maybe because he was a desperado.

It took a long
time for him to answer, as I suppressed my need to pepper him with more
questions, like, ‘where are my clothes?’ And ‘is there anything to eat?’ I had
warmed up to the point of shivering again now, and I was intensely
uncomfortable, aching and shaking, while trying to maintain my nonchalant
manner. Russ opened both eyes and took in my appearance.

“Come here,
you’re getting cold again.” No, wait, wasn’t I warmer than before? He opened
his arms to me, and though I was still not sure of this situation, I obediently
scooted into him, where he curled around me again. His warmth soaked into me
almost immediately. Oh, that was nice! But something was coming between us,
that damned erection again.

“Seriously,
does that thing stand up all the time?”

His low
chuckle warmed me in a strange way, starting low in my abdomen and spreading.
“Only when it feels naked flesh. I can’t help it, I’m sorry. I won’t hurt you,
but this is the best way to bring your temperature up to normal, by sharing my
warmth with you, skin-to-skin.”

Reassured,
though for all I knew he was a lying, devious, low-down cattle rustler, I
relaxed. What was it I was going to ask him? Oh, yeah, where were my clothes?
Just then, my stomach growled. It wasn’t just a little lady-like ‘grr’, either.
It was a full-on, worthy-of-a-trucker, roar! Russ busted up laughing and I
couldn’t help but join in, even when he squeezed me tighter to him and Mr.
Automatic twitched against my leg.

“Hungry?” Russ
asked with one eyebrow cocked sardonically. Did that have a double meaning?

When he got up,
I was treated to the sight of Russ
’s manhood jutting
straight out from his loins as he walked over to a rack I hadn’t noticed, by
the stove. It was a fine sight, I had to admit, despite my apprehension about
this whole thing. Russ took a pair of underpants from the rack  and felt them
with his hands. Apparently satisfied that they wouldn’t freeze his dick off if
he put them on, he proceeded to do just that, much to my admittedly
contradictory disappointment.

I mean, come
on, I was a red-blooded twenty-year-old, and a wanton woman according to the
Church. Not only because of my defiance and foul language, but because one of
the elders had caught me with Johnny Nielsen, one of the Prophet’s brood, in a
pile of hay a few weeks ago. We didn’t even get to do it, because one of his
little brothers ratted us out and we were caught before we could.

But, tearing
my thoughts away from the past to pay close attention to the present, I now saw
that he was also pulling on trousers and what looked like a thermal undershirt.
Too bad I hadn’t been wearing one of those. But who thinks of a blizzard in early
October? Especially when Bethel City’s average daily temperature was still up
around eighty degrees. I forgot how far north I had come.

Russ was
checking my clothes on the rack, now. He brought me my panties and bra. How
mortifying, that they were plain white cotton, completely unadorned, as
befitted a sister of the Church. Especially since I had never chosen that role.

“I think these
are warmer than you are, now,” Russ said. “Check them out, will you?”

I stretched my
arm out from under the quilt to take the tacky items, and pulled them in
against my belly. Yes, marginally, but they were warm against my skin instead
of cool. I nodded.

“Okay, put
them on. I’ll get the rest.”

I hurried as
fast as I could, and felt a little less vulnerable when he turned around again,
holding my long, plain cotton dress. “What the hell kind of getup is this, to
be wearing in a blizzard?”

“Long story,”
I ventured, not really wanting to get into it.

“We’ve got
time,” he said. “Last I heard, this storm’s gonna blow for about five days.
We’re not going anywhere until it stops. You can tell me over some of this
canned stew.” Bringing me a bowl of the foul-smelling stuff, which normally I
wouldn’t have touched with a ten-foot spoon, he helped me sit up in the bed,
wrapped the blanket around my now fully-dressed body, and settled in beside me,
looking at me expectantly.

BOOK: Rustled
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