The Cowboy's Secret (Cowboys After Dark: Book 3) Read online

  “No, no, no,” she pleaded, her tone suddenly growing compliant. “I won’t yell again, I won’t, just please, don’t take them off, please!”

  “One more cuss word, one more name-callin’, one more screamin’ fit, and they’ll come off, you understand me?” he asked sternly.

  “Yes, yes, yes, I understand,” she whimpered.

  Clint looked up at the young man standing a few feet away. His eyes were alive with glee, and his smile could not have been broader.

  “Stevie, you’re the wronged party here, how much of a spankin’ does this girl need?” Clint asked.

  “Hard enough that she won’t pull that crap on me again,” he decreed.

  “Makes sense. Now you listen to me Cindy, I’m gonna tan your butt, and tomorrow you’re gonna dry the inside of Stevie’s car with a blow dryer and towels, and wash and vacuum it every weekend for a month. If you don’t he can come and get me and you’ll be right back over my lap, are we clear?”

  “Yes,” she squeaked.

  “And you’re gonna do it with a smile on your face, happy that I didn’t bare your backside, right?”

  “Uh-huh,” she wriggled.

  “Yes, Sir,” he ordered, swatting her hard.

  “Yes, Sir,” she gasped.

  “I’m gonna spank you, and you’re gonna remember it, and if I hear you’ve been a brat I’ll come knockin’ on your door. Your momma knows I’m spankin’ you, so she can call me too if she wants. You got it?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she whimpered.

  He shifted his knees, positioning her further across his lap, then delivered his hand in a steady rhythm, slapping from cheek to cheek.

  “I’m sorry, I’ll behave,” she vowed. “I swear.”

  “I certainly hope so,” he replied without missing a beat.

  “I will, I will,” she squirmed, “stop, Sir, please.”

  He paused, rubbing her cheeks.

  “Ten more, very hard, and then you’re done. If I find you over my knee again it’ll be a paddle, or a branch, somethin’ that will deliver the message a bit more clearly. Understand me?”

  “Yes, Sir. I understand, I do,” she replied urgently.

  The promised ten were rapidly dispatched, leaving her gasping and writhing on his lap.

  “I hope you’ve learned a lesson, and you tell your mom you’re sorry for causin’ her so much trouble, you hear me?” he ordered, pulling her up and rising to his feet.

  “Yes, Sir,” she whimpered, her red face staring at the floor, her hands gripping her scalded behind.

  “Come on, Cindy, I’m takin’ you home,” Stevie announced stepping forward. “Much obliged, Clint. I don’t think I’ll have quite the same trouble spanking her myself next time,” he continued, gratefully shaking Clint’s hand.

  Clint watched them disappear into the rainy night, then ambled across to the bar.

  “Dinner and drinks on me tonight,” Tom announced. “That girl has needed that for a long time.”

  “You don’t need to buy me dinner,” Clint replied shaking his head.

  “I insist,” Tom declared. “You go sit at your table and I’ll be right there.”

  The spontaneous incident had caught Clint completely by surprise, and as he quietly ate his dinner he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. There was a sense of relief, and the ache that had taken up permanent residence in his chest didn’t feel quite so heavy.

  Within a few days the news had spread through the small community that Clint Hogan had spanked Cindy Newman, the difficult, trouble-making miscreant. A few days later his phone rang with another request, and others sporadically followed. He’d considered each appeal for his help individually, granting only those he believed were justified, and added a set of rules. He refused anyone under eighteen, he never bared a bottom, and he preferred the husband or boyfriend be present. It wasn’t long before he added another piece of protection; a piece of paper signed by the woman herself, authorizing the spanking. He’d found it interesting that few of the miscreants declined, and he considered it a testament to their inherent need for discipline.

  The odd turn of events wasn’t at all what Clint had imagined when he’d settled in the small rural community. He’d made a conscious decision not to become involved with any women, and when the requests first started he’d tried to deny them, but his need was too great. Though he craved so much more, spanking the naughty bottoms that showed up at his door was a sip of water in the desert of his life.

  A few months after the incident with Cindy, Clint Hogan took the major step of transforming his guest house. He’d initially chosen it so his ‘guests’ wouldn’t enter his home, but he’d often felt that neither the furniture or ambience were quite right.

  Standing in the middle of the small living room on a warm, late, Sunday afternoon, having just spent the day completing the sale of a very expensive gelding, he’d had a vision.

  Recalling a spanking chair he’d once owned, and a specially built leather couch that had wide, round, thickly padded arms, he decided to order them both. That lead to thick, comfortable rugs covering the dark, hardwood floors, and the western oak buffet that housed blue and white crockery, became his implement rack.

  Within a couple of weeks, The Woodshed, as he’d christened it, was ready for business; his only payment, the private pleasure he derived from spanking the naughty females who crossed its threshold.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Amelia Anderson pulled her Jeep Cherokee to the side of the road and stared across at the rundown house. The shutters were falling off, the green paint was peeling, the roof had so many patches it would have to be completely redone, but the charm was alive and well, and the most appealing part of the place, the reason she’d bought it, stared invitingly back at her; the paddocks.

  Surrounding the house they were a horse’s dream, only needing some solid shelters and fencing, and she smiled when she thought how happy her thoroughbreds would be once out of their stalls, living the way God had intended.

  After years as a successful amateur show jumper, she was transforming the lives of horses that couldn’t run fast enough or were recovering from injuries. She’d start them over fences, or as dressage prospects, then find them forever homes.

  Her longtime wish had been to own her own farm, and after spending a decade buying repossessed houses, restoring and selling them, she’d made enough money to turn her dream into a reality.

  Though she’d rented a house in which to live during the renovations, the barn on the property was usable. She’d optimistically brought some halters, a trunk full of supplies, and some saddles and blankets, deciding that locking them away in the barn would make her feel as if she’d made a start.

  I’ll probably end up puttering around, she thought, I think I’ll wait until after lunch.

  Smiling happily she drove off heading for the other side of town, an area she’d briefly perused when she was initially looking for a property. She recalled seeing a beautiful ranch, and though the house was set back on top of a small hill making it difficult to view, the paddocks were sectioned off by white fencing, a look she wanted to emulate.

  She had a vision for her house, and one of her ideas was to have a porch all the way around it, with French doors leading out from the bedrooms. Though she lived alone she was looking forward to having her friends visit, and take the time to enjoy an easier, more relaxed way of life. Sipping drinks on the verandah, or rising from sleep and opening doors to welcome the day seemed ideal.

  Driving carefully through town she kept her eyes open for a place to eat, and not seeing anything that jumped out at her she continued on the main road until she spied the sign that read, Train And Trail Horse Farm.

  Moving her jeep slowly down the narrow road, she followed it for a couple of miles passing small ranches on either side, then the white fencing appeared, and she spied the large, single story home sitting on its knoll. The day was clear, though cold, and as she approached and saw the horses grazing lazily in
the fields, she sighed happily.

  Very soon, my lovelies, you will be living like that, she thought, picturing her horses at the boarding stables a couple of hours away.

  The main driveway began under a white wrought iron sign announcing the name of the ranch, and pulling to the side of the road she stepped out and viewed the acreage. The shelters were large and three-sided, and sat at odd angles near the gates. It was obvious the placement had been thought out, and she wondered what the motivation was behind their positioning.

  Is it the sun? Maybe the winds? I wish I could meet the owner and ask him, or her, whoever it is.

  Glancing at the peaceful equines it was obvious they were quarter horses, and she assumed it was a ranch geared toward western riding, but as she watched the solid, stocky paints, roans and bays roaming the paddocks, she saw an unexpected flash of white. Peering into the distance she spotted a large grey trotting across the paddock. It was big, much bigger than the other horses in the fields, and she caught her breath; it moved like a champion dressage horse, or a jumper, its feet floating across the ground.

  Amelia stood, mesmerized, as the animal began to canter, it’s gait carrying it across the ground with a huge stride, but a moment later her heart stopped; the horse was heading straight for the fence.

  Her eyes scanned the immediate area; there didn’t appear to be anyone in sight, and shifting her gaze back to the animal she saw the telltale prick of the ears as it galloped forward without hesitating.

  Oh, Lord, he’s gonna jump the damn thing.

  Before she had barely finished her thought the horse was in the air, knees tucked under its chin, clearing the fence easily, and when it landed it began to buck and play.

  Whether it was thrilled to be out of the field, or thrilled to have jumped she didn’t know, nor did she care; instinct kicked in. Racing to her car she moved it forward to block the driveway, all the while watching the amazing animal continuing to play, and grabbing a halter from the backseat she started up the driveway.

  The big grey had paused in its antics, but its tail was in the air, it’s head was high, and its nostrils were flared. The horse was snorting, clearly immensely proud of itself, and as she slowly approached it turned his head and stared at her.

  Clint had just sent Stephanie Lewis on her way, her bottom soundly spanked for a relapse in her spending habits, and had been inside in his house making a snack at the kitchen counter when he’d witnessed the thoroughbred-warmblood cross launch itself in the air, clearing the four-foot fence like it was a pole on the ground. Stunned, he’d grabbed his phone to alert his crew, and as he’d raced outside he’d seen some smart, quick-thinking person drive their SUV to help block the exit to the road.

  Jumping in his golf cart he’d zipped down the driveway, and noticed the person from the Jeep was a woman. She was walking towards the horse with a halter in her hand, and the horse was standing utterly still, watching her.

  Damn, whoever she sure knows what she’s was doing, he thought, slowing his pace.

  Looking down to the barn he saw his two cowboys, Mitch and Zane, running towards him, and he raised his hand signaling them to stop, not wanting them to dash down the driveway and disrupt the calm the woman had created.

  “Who is that?” Zane frowned as he approached

  “I have no idea,” Clint replied, “but she’s one smart horse handler. You boys stay here, block the driveway from this end,” Clint instructed, picking up a halter and lead rope from the back of the golf cart. “I’m goin’ down in case she needs me.”

  Over the years, Amelia had discovered a trilling sound that calmed most of the horses that heard it, and as she neared she put it to practice. To her relief and joy, the horse dropped its head and sighed loudly.

  “Hey there, I don’t know if you’re a beautiful girl or a handsome fella, but you’re sure gorgeous.”

  Fishing in her pocket she prayed she’d find some peppermints. She’d never met a horse who didn’t love them, and every time she left a restaurant she’d grab a few. Continuing to talk quietly as her fingers continued their hunt, she smiled when she felt it. She was drawing closer, and as she began to unwrap the plastic from the pink and white candy the horse’s curiosity grew.

  “You’ve had treats out of pockets before, haven’t you? Yes, you have, and I have one for you too.”

  Her voice was soft, and she added the trilling sound at the end of each sentence, keeping the animal’s attention.

  “You are huge,” she smiled looking up at him.

  Extending her flattened palm with the peppermint sitting innocently in the middle, she watched as the horse dropped its nose, sniffed, then gently lifted the candy with its lips.

  As it happily crunched the hard candy, Amelia slowly placed the lead rope around its neck, stood for a moment, then slid on the halter.

  “There you go,” she whispered, stroking its neck. “Now let’s see if we can find someone to take care of you.”

  “I’m right here,” Clint announced.

  He had moved silently down the driveway, and not wanting to interfere had stopped several yards away.

  “My goodness, I didn’t see you there,” she said, surprised by his appearance.

  “I know, you were so focused, it was impressive,” he smiled. “I’m Clint Hogan.”

  “Hi, I’m Amelia Anderson, and who is this I’m holding?”

  “Jiminy Cricket,” he grinned.

  “Jiminy Cricket?” she laughed. “What a brilliant name. It sure fits. He jumped that fence like it was a cross-rail,” she declared. “Did you see it?”

  “Sure did. My jaw dropped. I feel kinda embarrassed. He just came in and I knew he was a jumper. I should’ve found a better place to put him. Never occurred to me he’d jump clean out like that,” Clint confessed, taking the lead rope from her and walking the horse towards Mitch and Zane.

  “You don’t have paddocks with higher fences?”

  “There’s a large corral near the barn that has some equipment in it. I can put him in there, but he’d have to go in the barn ’til it’s cleaned out,” Clint remarked, “but hate to do it, he needs space.”

  “Don’t you have a round pen that would hold him?” she asked.

  “Damn, that’s exactly what I’ll do,” he frowned. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  He handed the horse off to Zane with instructions to clean out the corral near the barn as quickly as possible, and to put Jiminy in the round pen until it was completed.

  “Mighty obliged to you,” he smiled, turning back to her. “He could have run out into the road, anything could’ve happened to him. Thank you.”

  “It was my pleasure,” she smiled. “He’s beautiful, it was an honor to meet him.”

  “Do you have a ranch around here?” he asked, thinking he would have remembered her if he’d seen her in town.

  “As of about two weeks ago,” she sighed. “I just bought a place, getting ready to make it livable for both me and my horses.”

  As Clint looked at her it occurred to him that she wasn’t just a skilled horse handler, she was a very attractive woman.

  Easy there, you know what you promised yourself.

  Hey, I haven’t shared so much as a cup of coffee with a woman in over two years. Give me a break. She’s a nice lady, a good horsewoman, what’s the harm?

  What’s the harm? Seriously?

  “Are you all right, Mr. Hogan?”

  “What? Yes, fine, sorry,” he apologized, suddenly realizing he’d been wordlessly staring at her. “Please, call me Clint. Would you like to come up to the house for a coffee?”

  “Thank you, I would,” she replied. “The truth is, I stopped because I was admiring your fencing, and I was hoping to ask you about your shelters. I’ve never put a horse facility together before and I could use some advice,” and you’re kinda handsome. In fact, you’re really handsome. Do you have a Mrs. Hogan, or a wanna be Mrs. Hogan?

  “I’d be happy to help if I can,” he smiled b
ack. “Jump in, I was just makin’ some lunch. If you have the time…”

  “That’s very kind of you, yes I do.”

  You’re takin’ her into your house.

  Yeah, I know.

  Be careful, Clint.

  Down near the barn, Jiminy had just been released in the round pen, and Zane and Mitch were headed to the corral when Zane heard the golf cart start up the driveway.

  “Hey, Mitch, look at that.”

  Staring up Mitch let out a low whistle.

  “Is he takin’ her up to the house?” he asked.

  “Seems like.” Zane nodded.

  “Damn, I never thought I’d see that,” Mitch remarked. “Had to happen at some point, I guess.”

  “Yep,” Zane repeated. “God didn’t make men to be alone, no matter how bad we want it sometimes. Maybe he’s figurin’ that out…finally.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  As Clint ushered her through the front door the first thing Amelia noticed was how well the house was furnished, and how neat and tidy everything was, but as he led her through the warm, masculine living room towards the kitchen, she saw no evidence of a woman’s touch, nor any photographs that suggested a special someone in his life.

  “I was just makin’ a salad,” he remarked, “got some leftover lasagna in the oven.”

  “That sounds terrific,” she smiled. “This is so kind of you.”

  “You just did me a huge favor,” he replied, and you don’t know it, but this is definitely weird for me. “Have a seat, would you like some coffee?”

  “Sure, thank you,” she replied, pulling out a stool from under the kitchen island. “I have to ask, Jiminy, he’s not exactly the typical horse you have here, or am I wrong?”

  “You’re not wrong. We train and sell barrel racers and western pleasure horses here. Jiminy came in yesterday, one of those freak things.”

  “Will he be staying?” she asked as he put the coffee in front of her.

  “Yep, not sure how long though. A good friend of mine in New York State has twin daughters. One’s a barrel racer, the other one, Caitlin, wants to be a jumper rider. Apparently Jiminy was too much for her,” he explained.