Macon Ch. 01

Macon laughed again. "I take it that you weren't intimidated?"

She smiled wickedly. "No. They do not know my herders. Besides, I have Hooso. He stepped out on the veranda with a messenger's gun in his hands. They were discouraged and rode away."

Macon chuckled. He could imagine the "discouragement." The double-barreled ten-gauge was a fearsome weapon. "You haven't seen them since?"

"No," she said. "We have moved the sheep north, and avoid them. As it grows colder, we shall have to move them back south to lower pastures, and there may be trouble."

"You may not have to wait," Macon said. The big man, Boyd and Dunn were approaching them.

They walked up to the table, and the big man spoke. "I'm Matt Ayers. You favor sheep, Mr. Thorpe?"

"Well, I do enjoy a nice rack of lamb or a good lamb chop," Macon said. "You taking a survey of culinary preferences?"

Ayres appeared thrown off his stride by that remark, but he bulled ahead. "Sheep destroy the range," he said. "We don't need any dirty greasers ruining our grazing ground with their sheep. You a cattle man or a sheep man?"

"I run cattle," Macon said. "Don't have a single sheep. However, this LADY does own sheep, and I understand she owns every inch of land those sheep graze on. Maybe she doesn't need any jumped-up cowhands ruining her grazing ground with cattle."

Ayres swelled visibly. "There ain't room enough for cattle and sheep on this range," he said. "You better pick a side, Thorpe. You're either cattle or sheep."

"I thought I already had, Mr. Ayres," Macon said softly. "You came here and insulted this lady with your fucking slurs, threatened her in her own home, and now you're threatening me. You may have been a big man back where you came from. Around here, anyone threatening a woman, trying to move his herd onto other people's range, is just a boor and a thief." Macon stood. "You think you're a big man? How about you and me see just what sort of sand you've got?"

Four of the area ranchers came up behind Macon, just then. "Trouble, Macon?" Tom Jenkins, the owner of the ranch where the dance was being held, asked.

"I don't know, Tom," Macon answered. "Is there trouble, Ayres?"

"I've heard about your fancy tricks with that gun you're wearing," Ayres said. "I'm more of a skull and fist type, myself."

Macon drew his pistol and the three men facing him took a step back. He handed the pistol to Jim Roberts. "Keep the pack off me, and watch out for Jakes."

He walked out by the bonfire and stopped, removed his shirt and stood waiting, the flickering light of the flames reflecting off his skin.

Ayres stepped out of the barn. He was a big man, standing at least two inches taller than Macon, and looking as if he outweighed him forty pounds. Macon knew the type. He would try to rush, using his superior weight and bulk to his advantage. It wasn't going to work.

He had fought big men before. Most of them had been in very few fights. Their size was usually enough to bluff their way through, and most smaller men were intimidated. Macon had been in dozens of fights, dating back to his youth, when being the son of a single mother had made him the target of the bullies of his town. He waited.

"You made a big mistake, boy." Ayres cracked his knuckles. "I'm about to tear your meat-house down."

Macon stood, relaxed and waiting. "You going to talk me to death?" he taunted the big man.

Ayres raised his hands in the typical boxer's stance and advanced. When he got within range, Macon kicked him in the right thigh. Ayres was stunned; the explosion of pain in his leg throwing him off balance and Macon moved one step to his right. He kicked Ayres again, his target the same place. The big man groaned and stumbled, and Macon kicked him again. This time, the leg collapsed and Ayres found himself on his knees, perfectly positioned for the front kick that Macon landed on the left side of his face, breaking his jaw and leaving him unconscious on the ground.

Macon looked at Dunn. "You next?" he asked.

Dunn raised his hands and took a step back. Boyd Ayres was in shock. The man he'd seen run rough-shod over the little people all his life had just been destroyed by a man who wasn't even breathing hard. His world lay crumpled there in the dust. He looked at Macon, his eyes full of venom. "This isn't over, Thorpe," he snarled.

"Why wait," Macon said. "Here's your shot."

Boyd's hand inched toward the gun on his hip and he heard the click of a hammer being cocked. "You going to draw a gun on an unarmed man?" Roberts had him covered. Boyd snatched his hand away from his weapon. "You're all going to pay for this," he blustered.

"Take your trash and hit the trail," Tom Jenkins said. "You've worn out your welcome around here. Don't come back.'

Macon put on his shirt and walked to the barn door. He saw Consuela waiting, her eyes wide and a look of concern on her face. "Sorry about that," Macon said. "Some people don't lean manners easily."

"I wish to go home, Macon," she said

They went to the buckboard and drove home. It was cold, and she snuggled against him, shivering a little. He got the coach blanket from behind the seat and she drew it around them. A feeling of contentment settled over him. This place, this woman, it was right.

They drew up in the yard, and her little hands came out of the blanket, tangling in his hair. She turned his face toward her and those soft luscious lips pressed against his. Macon dropped the reins and pulled her against him, claiming her lips and he felt her trembling against him, her breasts, heaving beneath the low neckline were flushed and they kissed for what seemed hours. She drew away, panting a little, and climbed down. She walked toward the house, pausing to give him a sultry look over that bare shoulder.

"I will be waiting," she said.

*****

Macon wanted to go inside and leave the horses hitched to the buckboard, but his conscience wouldn't allow him to leave the poor beasts standing there. He drove to the barn, wanting to run the horses, but he forced himself to remain calm. His heart was pounding and his hands felt sweaty. He quickly pulled the buckboard into its position, unhooked the traces from the double-tree and led the horses to their stalls.

He could never remember stripping harness off quite so quickly. He unbuckled the hames and hung the harness on horseshoes nailed to the wall. He unfastened the collars and hung them up, rubbing the horses down quickly and giving them some oats. He closed the door to their stall and hurried toward the house, no more than 30 minutes after he had dropped Consuela at the door.

When he got inside, he could hear the sounds of water splashing from the tub room. He walked cautiously toward the door, noticing that it was half-open. He could see Consuela in the tub, her raven-black tresses clinging here and there to the wet skin of her back. Her brown skin glowed and glistened in the flickering light of the lamps.

She seemed to sense him standing there, hardly daring to breathe, and she looked over one bare shoulder, her eyes ebony pools.

She smiled. "Would you care to wash my back, Macon?" she asked, her voice, the accent pronounced, was smoky and husky, sending a thrill up and down his spine.

Consuela had planned this moment carefully. Almost from the beginning, she had desired this man. She would be his, body and mind, or she would belong to no one. She was certainly no stranger to the attention of men. Her suitors had been many and varied, and she had toyed with them all. She loved that attention, but she knew in her heart that someday she would find the man she desired. Those suitors had been distractions, not one had produced in her the desire in her heart and loins that Macon had stirred.

They had danced attendance on her and gone away having felt the heat of her flame, but never able to touch the fire. As her leg improved she had grown impatient with Macon's lack of advances. The nights they had spent in front of the fire, leaning against him, feeling the maleness of his strong body against her had fanned her own flame, drawing her closer to certainty that this man, this home, was meant for her. Now she was exerting all the passion innate within her, flowing out and toward Macon. She saw him hesitate and then his feet moved, drawing him into her spell.

Macon could hardly believe what was happening. Consuela's sheer allure and beauty had him captivated as he had never felt. In the ballrooms of Europe, and in the cities of the East, he had never encountered such a woman, one who made his blood sing, and awoke within him the desire to cherish, love and protect her with everything that made him a man.

He stepped into the tub room, feeling the moist warmth of the air. He sat briefly on the bench just inside the door, pulling off his boots and removing his shirt. He could feel her eyes on him, and he walked to the tub.

His breath caught and he felt light-headed at the beauty before him. She was perfection in miniature, her gorgeous facial features drawing his eyes before they slid downward. Her breasts were full and firm, not large, but she was very small. On her, they seemed large, partly because they sat so high and firm. Her skin was perfection, a golden glow seeming to come from her. Her areola were small, a little puffy, forming small peaks on the roundness of her mounds, a shade darker, milk-chocolate, with tiny nipples, a shade darker still, crowning the little peaks, erect and slightly crinkled.

He could hardly move, his throat felt parched and his lips dry. He licked them, trying to speak. A croak emerged from his mouth and he cleared his throat. "My God, Consuela. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Hell, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever dreamed!"

She laughed, throwing her head back and causing those delightful mounds to arch forward, becoming even more pronounced. "Macon, shall you stand there, or are you going to wash my back?" she asked.

"No, as soon as my body works again I'm going to come and wash your back," he said. "I'm paralyzed, right now, but I think it's temporary."

She laughed again. "Bueno," she said. "For un momento I supposed you found me unattractive and could not bring yourself to touch me."

"No, I find you attractive, all right," he said. "So attractive that I think my heart stopped there for a minute. I think everything's working again. Do you think I could wash more than your back?"

"Consuela was hopeful," she said. "When do you think you might begin? Also, you seem a bit... overclothed."

"A situation soon remedied," he said.

Her eyes never left him as he unbuttoned his pants, allowing them to drop and standing there only in underwear. He looked at her for approval, and she nodded. He pulled his underwear down and stepped forward.

He hear her gasp as her eyes were dragged down to his painfully erect manhood. "Madre de Dios," she breathed. "Macon finds me very attractive. At least, part of him does."

"All of him does," he said. "Consuela, are you sure this is what you want?"

"You do not?" There was some uncertainty in her voice.

"God yes," he said. "I want, but I also want you to know that I am crazy in love with you. I want you in the worst way, but I want more. I've been dreading the day you tell me you're leaving, going home, and leaving me here alone. You've made me so desperate to keep you here than I was afraid to get closer to you. I don't think I can stand for you to leave, and I know if we do this, I'm never going to want you to go."

"This pleases me very much," she said. "Macon, I must go, sometime. I have a home, many sheep, many people who depend on me. I wish to return, though. I, too, never wish to be parted from you. Can we not make this work?"

"God, I hope so." He laughed in relief. "Can we do that later?"

"Do you love me, Macon?" she asked.

"With all my heart," he said.

"And I you," she said. "We shall speak of this otra vez. For now, I wish to show you my love, feel yours."

Macon took the cloth from her hand, got it soapy and began to rub it sensuously across the silky back. The cloth was quickly forgotten, and his fingers danced across her, causing her to shiver as he stroked.

His hands moved down her arms, made slippery by the soap, and came up under her arms, cupping the fullness of her breasts and making them slippery, as well. Her breath drew in with a gasp, and she felt as if her skin was burning under his touch. Consuela had never allowed a man to touch her in this way, and she felt as if a great flood was building inside her, barely restrained. She gasped again as Macon tweaked her erect nipples, then slid his thumbs around and over the tips, making them achingly hard.

She lifted her head and he fell into the ebony pools of her eyes. Their lips met, hers soft pillows, his seeking, demanding. Their tongues dueled, first, his pushing, invading her wetness, and then hers, pushing back. To Consuela, it seemed to last for hours, to Macon, it seemed incredibly brief and he wanted more. She pulled away, panting, her face and the column of her neck flushed and feverish.

"Wash," she demanded.

He was happy to comply, exploring every inch of the astonishing body under his fingertips. When she was clean, completely aroused and panting with need she rose from the tub, Venus, arising from the sea-foam. Her absolute perfection took his breath. He was now able to see what had been concealed beneath the water and soap bubbles, had only felt.

Her waist was tiny, flaring to a woman's hips, her ass something out of fever dreams. Her hair below was sparse, wispy and a glossy midnight. It concealed nothing, only a small patch and he could see pinkness within. She held out her hand and he helped her step out onto the rug.

"Macon must wash," she told him. "Consuela will wash him."

He stepped into the tub she had vacated, sinking down into the water. She knelt behind him, naked breasts and tiny hard points moving over his back as her gentle touch caused him to shiver. She explored the ropes of muscle, the scars his body bore, discovering the maleness below the waterline. Her tentative touch was fleeting, as she snatched her hand away as if shocked, only to return and grasp him firmly.

"Macon, is this... usual? Es enorme!" Her question was asked in a somewhat intimidated tone.

Macon laughed. "Compared to what? You've seen a lot of them, have you, Consuela?"

She blushed. "No, none. Compared to a... finger?"

He took one of her slender hands in his, brought it to his lips and sucked her tiny pinky inside. "Has this been somewhere naughty you'd like to tell me about?" he teased.

She blushed again. "Perhaps," she said. "I do NOT wish to speak of it."

He slid her hand down his chest into the water, and she grasped him again. She explored, feeling the heft, exploring the orbs below. Macon was rapidly losing control and he quickly rinsed, stood, pulling her to her feet, and scooped her up in his arms. He marveled at her smallness, as light as a child, yet firm and solid.

"My bed, or yours?" he growled.

She giggled. "Yours, please, Macon. You have a very nice bed."

He carried her easily to the bedroom, standing her up at the side of the bed. He turned back the quilt and sheet and she climbed in, sinking down into the featherbed, her hair spread like black flame over the whiteness of the sheets and pillow.

Macon stood for a moment, just drinking in the sight of the enchantress in his bed. He knelt beside the bed for a moment, cupping her round cheek in his hand.

"Are you sure you want to do this, beautiful lady?" he asked. "Sometimes there are... complications."

She looked up at him, her eyes serious. "What sort of complications?" she asked.

"Well, to start with, I may never let you out of this bed again." He smiled and she chuckled.

"This complication Consuela can accept." She smiled mischievously. "There are others?"

"Um... yes, babies, for example."

"Macon does not admire babies?" she asked. "I love babies, except one does not know what to say to them."

He laughed. "Well, since I've had little to do with babies, I don't know them very well. I imagine any baby you would have would be one I would fall in love with. Would you really have my baby?"

"Si." She nodded vigorously. "But we must be married first. There is no need to think of babies at this time. I am safe. Were I to become... cómo se dice, embarazada?"

"Embarrassed?" Macon didn't know that word.

She laughed. "Yes, were we not married, but no. with child."

"Pregnant?"

"Yes, pregnant," she said. "Were I to become pregnant, Macon would be ashamed? He would marry and raise our child together?"

He smiled. "Wait here and don't move," he said.

He waslked to the dresser and opened the heavy and ornate metal box there. He returned and knelt again, taking her hand in his.

She couldn't see what he had in his hand, but she felt something cool and metallic slip over the third finger of her left hand. "Consuela Maria Shabella-Rios, will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?"

He held up her hand and she squealed in delight. On her finger a large ruby, held in the grasp of four small diamonds, set in a heavy silver band glinted at her.

"Yes, Macon, I will become your wife," she promised. "I have been dreaming of nothing else since you found me. Now, come up here and show me that you love me."

He lay beside her, marveling at her beauty, incredibly aroused at the heat she was exuding and provoking in his own body. He kissed her gently, luxuriating in the plushness of her puffy lips, tasting the wine of intoxication that was her perfection.

He kissed his way down her neck, slim and graceful, making her shiver and moan as he reached the little hollow of her collarbone. Her skin felt like silk and he moved downward.

Consuela was on fire. The movement of his lips against her skin awakening a passion within her she had never known. As he had implied, she was no stranger to giving herself pleasure, but this was something new, something beyond her imagination.

She felt the slow trail of fire traced down over her upper chest and onto the top of her breasts, maddening her. He kissed and licked the entire surface, avoiding only her nipples. She tried to shift them under his lips, but he skillfully avoided the contact, causing her to groan in frustration.

She was burning up, and the tantalizing and teasing was building something up inside her, a dam, swollen by the spring rains, building and coiling inside her, taking her breath, producing a trembling in her belly, her inner thighs, causing her moisture to flow as the sensations washed over her, her climax near.

She growled in frustration, tangling her fingers in his hair and forcing his lips onto one tiny bud, then the other. The sensations exploded within her and as his teeth grazed one aching nub, she felt the dam burst and she cried out her passion, her thighs rubbing together, her back arching as meaningless sounds tumbled from her lips.

As the waves crested, she felt the pressure at her lips, something hot and hard pushing into her. There was a momentary stab of pain as her barrier fell. She gave a sharp cry and Macon froze, feeling her trembling beneath him.

The pain was fleeting, and the downward slope of her orgasm caused her to thrust against him, sinking more of that hot hardness into her. There were twinges, soon fading as a feeling of fullness and pleasure overcame them. She thrust again, wanting more, and she felt his pubic bone against hers, rubbing and stimulating her clitoris as he was fully within her.

Macon had never felt such heat and passion in a woman. He was not inexperienced, but he had never made love, never been in love, and this woman, this moment, was more than he had dared to dream.