Out West Ch. 13: Kidnap

As Martha's Journal is silent on the next few weeks, I have talked with Emma and Evie and collected what we remember of it. I'd ask Tim, but my brother is always more focussed on the future than the past. The two fine sons and two beautiful daughters Emma bore for him ensure that the Sharpton Estate, and its American branch, "Sharpton Enterprises Inc." have a bright future. Young Jack, the oldest, is now at Eton, and as handsome as his parents, with Emma's charm and Tim's drive. I gather some fool older boy thought to play the bully with him. Tim told the school to pay the hospital bill and keep better order. Young Jack seems more like the old block in miniature rather than a chip off it. Young Kate and Martha are prettier than is good for any young lady, and they are set to be heartbreakers. At four, it's too young to know about young Jacob, but he charms all he meets, not least his aunts Pixie and Evie. And yes, the names are deliberate, they celebrate and take forward into the unknowable future the memories of our dearest friends; it is fitting.

Jack's destruction of the gang of robbers pleased Tim and cemented his fame. Martha decided to continue with her alter ego, after all, it allowed her to live with her Kate. It was fine for me and Evie, she said, living at Sharp House, but in town it wouldn't have worked - you couldn't have a female marshal.

It was interesting to see how fast almost all the pieces fitted together.

Ruth, Evie's stepsister, went to work with her uncle, who ran the general store, and settled down happily. Sharpy's Creek was not a place where prejudice of any kind was welcome. Tim made it clear that anyone who wanted to treat "Native Americans" as he called Ruth and Evie, badly, could, in his immortal words: "Fuck right, off, right now, right away over there, and when they got there, keep fucking off until they could fuck off no more." He always had a way with words. He had thestrength, and power, to enforce them.

It was clear to us all that Tim was, in effect, Lord of all he surveyed. It was equally clear that Emma had, as she had intended, caught his eye; but she was not going to become one of his "hareem". He was not the man to be told what he could and could not do, even by a woman who had attracted his eye, so the two of them established a flirtatious relationship. She stayed with us at the house, Evie and I had our own room, and Emma's was down the hall from it.

Martha, or rather Jack, and Kate moved into the big house in town near the Marshall's Office. Martha said she'd rather stay there for the moment. Smithers had been wired to send money to the local bank, and as Kate seemed happy, not least because Tim let her manage the best of his three bordellos, there was no compelling reason to move on.

Tim and I had a long conversation about the future. It was plain enough that as Lord Sharpton, with a big estate back in England and a seat in the House of Lords, he would have to return home at some point soon, but he was not keen on going soon.

A couple of nights after the robbers were dealt with, he turned to me after supper.

"Pixie - and by the way, that name so suits you, Squirt - what the fuck am I going to do? Your friend Emma, we both know we want each other, so why is she playing hard to get? You're a woman, what the fuck's going on?"

"I'm a woman who likes women, Tim, but for goodness' sake, can't you see it?"

"See what, those tits, sure!"

"Tim, she's not one of your whores. She comes from a respectable family, married the man she loved in defiance of her family, and she loves you. She wants marriage, not to be your bed mate!"

"Why the fuck doesn't she say so?"

That made me laugh.

"Tim, when in heaven's name did you know a woman ask a man? She's waiting for you to ask her. And for what it's worth, which is a lot, she'd make a great Lady Sharpton.'

"You had her?"

Tim was, to be fair, on his third scotch after a bottle of wine over supper.

"Tim!" I said, genuinely shocked.

"A lady does not kiss and tell. But let me say just this, that woman is pure gold, you hurt her, and I'll tell Gwen about the whores!"

One of our childhood "things" to annoy each other had been to say we would tell the somewhat censorious Gwen, our older sister, about some misdeed; at its evocation we both laughed.

"We can't be having that," he laughed, "but how the hell do I ask her? How can I be sure? I don't want to make a fool of myself."

"And the whores, Tim? She isn't going to be happy with the 'hareem' you know."

"Yes, well, that's another reason not to rush," he laughed.

Evie, when I told her, shared my view, that men thought first with their penises, and only then engaged the brain, but like me, she was sure Tim would come round. In the meantime, we both encouraged Emma.

The treacherous clerk was handed over to the judiciary for sentencing, but in an attempt to get his sentence reduce, he told us more about the gang. It turned out to be part of a criminal enterprise run by a man in Pierre called Ben Iverson. From informers in the capital, it filtered back to us that Iverson was not best pleased, not least as the killed at the Trading Post, and those I had shot at Ruthie's, had been as much a part of his operation as the gang that had been robbing Tim. We were told that he'd been going round saying to anyone who would listen that he'd "get even" with Tim and Jack Anders.

It was amazing how quickly we settled into Tim's life. He telegraphed Smithers to say he would go to New York in the fall, and had Smithers tell London the good news that he would be back in the UK for the Christmas season.

Kate was in her element running the classiest joint in town, and with Martha maintaining her role as Jack Anders, I joked that they were our "law and order", Jack keeping the former and Kate fulfilling the latter for her customers, though she did not serve herself up. Ruthie was settled and happy, and Evie and I were able to spend time getting to know each other.

It was such a divine pleasure to have our own space, and Tim, characteristically generous, let us alone; well, he did have other women who were of more interest to him.

Evie was a delight. Our dynamic took time to develop, but what surprised me was something which shouldn't have - that was how similar we were.

It must have been that first Saturday night that things really clicked into place. Evie was, of course, grateful for being rescued, and much as I tried to stress to her that her love was all the reward I ever needed, it was there, almost as a barrier. But that evening we had dinner with Tim and Emma and Jack and Kate, the wine flowed, and the conversation was good. It felt as though we were one big family. I think that helped what happened next.

Jack and Kate left about ten, they wanted time before bed. Or was it extra time in bed? As part of our quest to give Emma time with Tim, I said I was tired, and Evie offered to come with me. Tim smiled a "thank you sis" at me, and I smiled back.

As Evie and I got to our room, I offered to help her undress, but she undressed me first. As I stood only in my short drawers, she turned me round so my stiff, bare nipples were pressing into her tummy. Brushing a strand of hair from my face, she kissed softly, at first, and then with more urgency. I felt myself yield; it was an automatic response to the lead she was giving me. As her tongue pressed into my mouth, I welcomed her, sucking slowly on it as our bodies melded together. Her fragrance filled my world, and arms round her slender neck, I felt her pull me to her.

My fingers ruffled her hair as she kissed me, my left hand began caressing her back. But she would have none of it and, picking me up, she took me to the bed where we lay together. I looked into those deep green eyes, seeing her love and reflecting mine for her. She kissed me again then looked at me.

"Pixie, I adore you!"

I sighed deeply.

"Evie, I want to be with you forever!"

"We shall my love," she replied, "but I am thinking we need some clarity."

I felt myself freeze, suddenly I was nervous, and the wetness between my thighs felt cold. I was scared.

Evie, so perceptive saw that and smiled.

"There is nothing to worry about my little one. You are MY little Pixie aren't you, after all?"

The warmth flooded back, and kissing her, I looked once more into those eyes and nodded:

"For as long as you will have me."

"Good," she smiled, "because though we are ONE, and equal, and though you lead in the great world, I am thinking, my darling one, that in here, in our room, you need your Evie to lead a little?"

It was, we both knew, a rhetorical question needing no answer; but I nodded.

Evie understood; I did. This was not about some kind of domination and submission, it was the form our love took, each in our respective spheres would take charge, always acknowledging our oneness, but allowing space for relaxation as needed.

Evie nodded; she knew what I was thinking. She rolled onto her back, opening her long legs; I loved that dark hue of her skin, she seemed to shine in the candlelight.

Kneeling between her legs, I leaned forward to kiss her beautiful firm breasts, closing my lips on one nipple while teasing the other with a fingernail. Running my tongue around one areola, I felt her nipple stiffen. I press my soft lips against her, and sucked her into my mouth, tugging her gently with my lips, as my tongue swirled over her. Arching her back, she moaned as I nibbled gently on her nipple, my hand sliding down to caress her mound softly. I sucked her further into my mouth, my teeth grazing as my tongue swirled over her, simultaneously trailing a finger between her puffy lips. The whimpering sound she made delighted me; I felt my own clit tingle. I slid down her body, kissing my way sensuously to probe my tongue into her belly button, then lower. The air was full of our fragrance.

I looked up. The sinuously motion of her body as she took her pleasure from me was reward beyond price; I knew I could so this forever.

Entranced by her beauty, I kissed her mound and slid further towards her treasure; it was dewy with desire for me, so I kissed her mound on both sides, loving the scent of her arousal. I did not hurry, like good wine, Evie deserved to be savoured, but as her moaning grew louder, at last my tongue parted her lips, and I tasted her essence. I shivered, feeling slight cramps myself; was it possible to climax with no other stimulation?

As she rocked her hips, slowly, sliding her folds against my mouth, the flavour of her nectar exploded on my taste buds; her sticky folds yielded to me. I closed my lips around her button and flicked my tongue back and forth across the tip as she rocked her slit against my face, strands of her essence sticking to my lips. As she whimpered, she arched her back, pushing onto me. My tongue flicked her button faster.

Evie was gyrating, pushing herself onto me. The time was ripe - so was she. As my tongue continued to massage her button I gently, but firmly, curved three fingers inside her velvet walls, which immediately gripped them as she groaned loudly. So wet was she, and so slick with her essence were my fingers, there was no resistance. It took but seconds to find the texture of her special spot, and I massaged it gently with my fingertips in time with pulse-sucking on her button. Evie bucked, pressing down and moaning. I intensified my pulse-sucking, enjoying the taste and scent of her gooey essence. I could feel her climax - yes, as though it were mine; I realised it was mine!

As her hips rocked, pressing her button against my lips, I felt her grip my fingers in a sticky velvet vice, riding them. Strands of her goo stuck to my lips, and as I felt her begin to spasm, I felt my own cramps grow more intense. As the pressure built in me, she seemed to mirror it, and the more my tongue and fingers pleasured her, the higher my own arousal became. I found myself whimpering into her treasure, even as her moans grew louder. Through the fogs of passion, I heard her voice screaming my name, and I heard another voice, more muffled; it was mine. As she bucked her pussy against my face, gripping my fingers as they twisted into her, she clenched hard and screamed my name climaxed. I also climaxed, hard. We both seemed to float, far out, stranded on night's vast ocean. We were not parted then, neither shall we be till the final breath, and even then, we will endure.

That marked the beginning of what was a blissful late summer - except for Tim and Emma, who circled each other like wrestlers looking for a hold. Evie and I used to laugh that we should find a way of getting them together - but they had, as Martha said, to do it for themselves.

Then suddenly it changed.

Emma and I used to ride in the mornings. We'd ride up to the Creek to take the air and chat. It became a routine. It was a mistake. I'll let Martha's Journal take up the first part of what happened to change all our lives.

[Martha's Journal]

The morning started well. I was having breakfast at my usual table at Kate's place, from that spot I could see both ends of the little town without being seen. On the north side, I could see the morning shift going to work; I counted each man, the regular 18 for Shaft 3, I counted those leaving from the night shift -- 18. Good, good, it was a good night. No bad news to be delivered today.

I was exhausted but happy; Kate had kept me up most of the night. I think she wanted to keep me in bed for as long as she could; I wondered why but did not complain. After all, a woman has her own needs, and mine were undoubtedly well seen to. Then, to the south side, I noticed Pixie and Emma come out for their customary morning ride. I liked to tease them, and this new get-up was an ideal opportunity. Shaking my head, said:

"You girls got took. Them skirts ain't even; I mean, the right side is a good six inches longer than the left side on both of them!"

"They are perfectly correct, Jack Anders; you just do not understand why."

The stable boy came out about that time with the two Indian ponies that Tim had purchased for them. The saddles explained the get up. I had seen that kind of saddle before, but never up close; they never made sense. I mean, side-saddles were the most confounded idea on Earth. It took twice the energy and skill as a man's saddle, just to keep from breaking your neck. I had heard they was brutal; I chose to avoid them. Evidently, Emma had decided they was a challenge.

So be it, I went back to my newspapers and coffee.

Now, I sipped my coffee and waited on my steak and eggs, watching as the stable boy helped hoist Pixie into her saddle, she looked so elegant, and that young boy thought she was the most beautiful thing in the world, and he was all moon-eyes at her as she sat on the horse. She looked right smart; the dress fit her tight; it was cream and brown colors to hide the Dakota dirt. It fit her frame like a glove, and if she had not much in the way of curves, well that was just her cuteness showing. I was admiring her probably as bad as that blasted stable boy when out came Emma, she wore her own version, but she DID have curves. Her ample bust held well in a brand-new corset from Minneapolis, and it was a show all of its own. Her waist was tiny and so refined in comparison to those hips. Together where little Pixie was elegant and proudly turned out, Emma was a vision of femininity and sheer beauty brought to Earth from Heaven.

Andrew, the stable boy, was going to help Emma as he did Pixie, but out of nowheres came Tim, racing to help her and did so as dainty as you please. They chatted for several minutes, occasionally including Pixie; it was clear that they laughed a time or two. Then he kissed Emma's hand; she glanced toward where she thought I might be; after all, it was the usual time I took my breakfast. I thought I saw ... well; I have no idea what I thought I saw. Finally, Tim stepped back, and the two women spurred their horses and rode down the road.

I waited for my breakfast and watched them go. I picked up the latest Pierre newspaper; it was only five days old; my breakfast arrived about halfway through my reading; I finished my breakfast and the paper and moved on to the Sioux Falls version to see if the liars were any better there. They weren't. My second cup of coffee was now growing cold. I was halfway through the scandal sheet when I noticed some movement down near the south end of town. Something was seriously wrong, a horse without a rider. I looked again, hoping I was wrong, for I saw an Indian pony with a saddle which looked wrong. I threw down my paper and headed for the door.

The stable boy had caught the frightened beast and was trying to calm it. I checked her out, and she had not a scratch, so if she threw her rider, there was no obvious sign of why. I just started to head back to my office when another rider appears; dishevelled, with her hat, was gone, hair down now utterly opposite of the composed woman I had seen ride away, it was Emma.

"Martha!! I tried not to react but did anyway, as I ran to her," I got to the girl and lifted her off the blasted saddle.

"Emma, what is it! Where is Pixie!" I asked with more energy than I had hoped.

"They took her, Martha. I could not stop them...." She dissolved into tears and shook for several seconds as Kate seeing the commotion, came running. Soon Kate had her arms around the girl; I gestured to one of my deputies.

"Go get Tim! Now!" I shouted while trying to get information out of Emma, it took a while, but she finally related the story.

"We started well, Pixie was taking jumps, she was magnificent and did well at everything, suddenly we were set upon by several men, they surrounded us and pointed guns at us. We had no chance to defend ourselves."

She started crying again, Kate holding her close.

"You would have just got yourself killed...." I told her and tried to be patient, "tell me what happened. Did you recognize them?"

"They had their masks on, but their leader said he was Ben Iverson. He said to bring back a message."

She was trying hard to hold herself together and considering what she had been through; I thought she was doing wonderfully.

Tim came running, and Emma flung herself into his arms:

"They took her Tim, they took Pixie, they gave me this note. There will be someone coming for an answer later."

She handed Tim a note.

He showed it me. They wanted to meet us at the bridge out of town at nine in the morning. They would return Pixie unharmed if we gave them the gold shipments we had taken back; if not, she'd be raped.

I looked at Tim, he looked at me. We knew what had to be done. He turned to poor Emma, holding her tight, stroking her hair and murmuring to her.

"There, there my darling, you are safe now. Jack," he said, turning to me, "we need a plan - and fast. If those bastards harm a hair of Pixie's head, I'll kill the whole tribe of them."

It was not, I thought, Pixie's head I was worried about. How would that poor little mite cope with seven big angry men? Didn't bear thinking about.