Over the Barrel Read Online Free PDF

rifle,
bullets, a couple of saddlebags, bedrolls, and a bottle of whiskey.
    "I usually am not blessed with such
luck," Sloan responded, shooting an angry eye in Blair's direction.   He thanked the departing sheriff, chose
a mount for himself, and began to saddle it.   Blair's quiet sobs were buried in the
thick neck of the horse, and Sloan began to rub his temple.
    "I'm not a burden," Blair
mumbled, burying her face in the sleek animal's neck
    "Miss Farbor."   His exasperated tone got her
attention.   "All those things I
said was an act.   Now, you either
got your feelings hurt for real or you are one heck of a performer."
    "They were the same things my aunt
and governesses said about me all the time."
    "Well, I'm sorry for that,"
Sloan's hand moved to the back of his neck, "but you have to understand
that men don't like to be involved in other's people's quarrels.   It makes us uncomfortable, and we just
wanna remove ourselves from the situation.   He wants us out of town as fast as possible and not leave time to ask
any more questions."
    "Oh."
    "Now come on out of there.   You and I have some business to take
care of before we ride."
    "No."
    "Miss Farbor," Sloan said
patiently, setting his everpresent hat on a post.   He crossed his arms and leaned back
against the wall.   "The longer
we stay here, the more time you will have to be under my protection.   Now, looking around here," he
scanned the room, "I see one exit and a loading window for hay bales,
neither of which you can reach without passing me.   There is the stall window," he
pointed to a narrow cut out in the wall, "but that is about nine or ten
feet high.   And you have no
ladder."
    His arms fell to his side and clasped
behind his back as he stood straight.   "Your third option is getting on that animal's back and trying to
provoke him to break through the gate and run like hades out of here.   I don't know how well you ride, ma'am,
but I am willing to bet that bottle of whiskey that you won't make it out the
gate.   True?"
    "That bet is worthless.   You said you live a clean life.   That means no drinking." Blair
said, smartly.
    "You are correct.   I can stay here all night without a
problem, Miss Farbor.   But then
again, I'm not in a horse stall with a very large horse.   Now large horses tend to …"
    "That is disgusting," Blair
shrieked, holding her nose and backing away.
    "He'll probably think the same of
you when it's your turn.   Now come
out of there and fork it over."
    "Fork what over?"
    "Get what is owed you.   Move it now, and you will only have to
feel the flat of my hand instead of my belt.   Believe-you-me, that is only because we
have no time to spare."
    Blair quivered as his words echoed in her
head.   She felt the temperature of
her face rise as she experienced both a heart pounding fear and an unusual, but
not unpleasant, tickle between her legs.   Biting her lower lip, she reluctantly exited the stall.   She did not understand her
trepidation.   She had been whipped
before, and it had not caused her pain.   Although, never by a man …
    Sloan placed his hands on his hips and
shook his head.   In the dim light of
the stables, his scraggly dark hair, slightly crooked nose, eye patch and
irritated frown added to his general intimidating appearance.   Blair lowered her eyes to observe the
work-hardened muscle of his arms and the large, calloused hands that absently
stroked the edge of a wide leather belt around his waist.   Her eyes continued downward until they
gazed upon her own boots.   Blair
chewed on the inside of her cheek.   What was this feeling?   Remorse?   Guilt?   Shame?   Lust?   She began to pray that she was stuck in
the middle of an awful dream.
    She felt Sloan grab her wrist with iron
fingers and pull her towards a bale of hay.   He sat down and dragged her resistant body
across his rock-hard thighs and wrapped his left arm around her waist.   He drew her back end to a more
comfortable