Storiesonline.net
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                       Millie's Western Adventure
                               by Lubrican

Copyright© 2012 by Lubrican


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Description: She was on her way to California, to start a new life. She got off the train in Nebraska, to use the outhouse. And fate caused her new life to start right then and there. A prank caused her amnesia, and just about everybody town wanted to know who she was. Who would come looking for her? And what would they do when she was found? Would they take out their anger on the whole town? Who would look after her in the meantime? Doc Fisk and a rowdy woman named Boots would. That's who.

Codes: mf Mf rom reluc 1st oral mastrb pett slow
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Chapter 1

Elizabeth Philby jerked awake as the train reduced speed and the gentle rhythm of the clack-clack that had put her to sleep changed. She had leaned against the window in her sleep and the book she'd been reading was in her lap where nerveless fingers had dropped it.

She looked out the window to see more of the featureless grassy plains that had been there when she'd fallen asleep. They must be close to the mountains by now. Elizabeth stretched her seventeen-year-old body, extending her arms and luxuriating in that special feeling that only comes from a nice stretch.

Her bonnet had been knocked askew by the window of the train, and she straightened it, sitting back in the seat. She'd wanted to take it off, but other women on the train left theirs on, so she did too. Besides, this was the first hat she'd ever worn that her mother hadn't made for her, or that she hadn't made herself. The fact that she'd spent a nickel of her last dollar on it at the dry goods store next to the depot in St. Joseph didn't enter into things.

She was on her way to live with her aunt in the big city of Sacramento, California - a fact made necessary by the fever that had killed a quarter of the residents of St. Joseph, her parents included. The townspeople had gone a little batty trying to stop the killing disease and had burned the possessions of those who died of it. Everything Beth owned, in fact, was currently packed in the two suitcases stowed under her seat. The unsmiling banker back in St. Joseph had looked at the book on his desk and, despite the fact that there were numbers next to her father's name in that book, said he could not give her the money until the courts "worked things out". The banker had been willing to provide money for a ticket to California, assuring her he'd forward "the funds" from her parents' probate to her "when they become available."

Meanwhile, her parents' landlord demanded rent and neighbors had piled all her parents' things in the street and burned them.

In short, Beth had nowhere to live. She'd thought of Aunt Maureen only because, while she was sifting through the ashes of her life in the middle of the street, she'd found the remains of what had been a tintype picture of her mother and aunt. A book had lain on top of it and protected it from the flames.

A sign reading "Beaverton" flashed past the window.

She'd never heard of Beaverton. From her studies she knew it was a corruption of "Beaver Town", but there wasn't a tree in sight. Why would anyone name someplace with no trees and no beavers something like Beaverton?

The train was slowing and obviously going to stop. The porter came striding down the aisle calling, "Beaverton, Nebraska, ten minutes, Beaverton, rest stop, ten minutes."

Good, she could use an outhouse about now. She gathered her skirts and grabbed her parasol, the only thing of her mother's she'd been able to save, and that only because she had snitched it and hidden it at her friend Annie's house. The girls loved to parade up and down Broadway as if they were in the big city and her mother would never have allowed her to use the parasol for something so silly. She felt a twist of pain in her gut as she thought about her mother who would never scold her again ... or hug her either.

The train groaned to a stop and she stood up. Several of the other ladies stepped into the aisle, heading for the steps that led down to the platform. By the time she was in line there were four other women in front of her, waiting to use the old wooden structure that sat fifty dusty yards from the train station.

Fashion being what it was in those days, and taking a long time to undo and then do back up, Beth knew she didn't have much time when her turn finally came.

She might have made it, had the fat woman who used the outhouse just before her told the porter that Beth was in there.

But she didn't.

Even then, she could have run along the tracks and caught the slowly accelerating train once it left the station ... but for the actions of three boys who would become significant in Beth's life, though neither she nor they knew it then.

Said boys, named Chauncy, Benjamin and Michael, and all being thirteen years old, had decided to have some fun. The boys were together by virtue of their fathers all attending the same stock auction at the other end of town and couldn't resist trying to liven up the dusty place that they only got to visit once every two or three months. Hiding in wait with a rope and Michael's horse, they watched the pretty girl at the end of the line of women go into the outhouse. The idea was to throw a loop over the outhouse, whack the horse on the butt and thus tip the outhouse over. They would then abandon the rope, which was old and no good for herding cattle anymore anyway, and scamper off to chortle about their exploit.

The first part of their plan went well. Michael was good with a rope and dropped his loop over the peaked roof of the privy neatly. It caught on the latch that kept the door closed.

His horse however, was a newly broken mustang and while he was used to cattle and the boy who rode him, he was not used to a building coming crashing down right behind him. Consequently, memories of the open range flitted through the horse's limited intelligence and he decided to go there.

With no rider to stop him, the horse managed to drag that outhouse three quarters of a mile before he came to a gasping, lathered halt, spraddle-legged and dripping foam from his mouth.

As for Beth ... her first clue that something was amiss was a loud yell of "Yeeehaaaawww!" outside the privy. This occurred shortly after she had finally gotten through all the petticoats to her underwear, which she untied by feel, and had just sunk gratefully onto the wooden hole that was about to bring her so much relief. She was in fact in the middle of a nice long stream when the world turned literally upside down. The frightened horse pulled so robustly that the outhouse toppled and actually rolled up onto its roof part way, before slamming back down on the dry, dusty soil.

Beth, of course, was hysterical. There was nothing she could do. The rope held the door closed and the structure slid first on its back, then on one side, before rotating in a complete circle as it hit bushes and clumps of grass on its short ride to infamy. And Beth just bounced around inside it, trying to protect her head and screaming her lungs out.

For the boys it was hysterical too - hysterically funny. At least until Michael realized his horse was running away and he had no way to catch him. He would not be able to explain this to his father if he didn't get that horse back. Besides, it had a thirty dollar saddle on it.

The incident didn't go unnoticed. It was a Friday, which was the day the stage came in with the mail and parcels ordered from back east, and passengers for the townspeople to fleece before they rode on. The train was faster, but it was also a lot more expensive than the stage line, so there was still competition there. And, when the train stopped, which wasn't often, there were economic possibilities there too.

So there were a fair number of people out on the streets. One was Bessie Robinson, the Mayor's wife and a very important woman in town, at least in her own eyes. Hearing a crash, she gaped, astonished and secretly delighted, as the outhouse bounced out of town. Here, at last, was something worthy of gossip. She rushed toward her husband's office, where young Tommy Ralston was lounging on the porch. When he saw her, he hurried in - obviously to announce her, as befitted her station.

Tommy Ralston was in fact announcing the Mayor's wife, but not for the reason she assumed.

"Yer wife's a-comin', Mr. Mayor," he said, poking his head inside the office. This was his one opportunity to see the naked naughty bits of his sister, Mabel, without anyone yelling at him. She worked for the Mayor, sometimes writing things down, and sitting prettily behind a desk. She also got the honor of raising her skirts and receiving the Mayor's seed occasionally, meaning every chance the Mayor thought he could get away with it.

Like now. He was pretty close, and wanted to finish.

"Tell her I'm in an important meeting and can't be disturbed," he rasped, sawing his duly elected erection in and out of Mabel as she wiggled under him.

"She looks a mite excited," said Tommy, thinking back to how Mrs. Robinson's breasts had been bouncing all about as she hurried toward the office.

Mayor Robinson groaned. He was so close. "Use the spittoon," he gasped. Then he socketed his cock deep in the willing young woman who was quite sure the Mayor would cast aside his shrew of a wife and marry her just as soon as she was pregnant with his child. After all, Bessie Robinson had only given him one daughter, and that one had run away, to get married to a cowboy, of all things! Plus, she was a lot prettier than Bessie was, and half her age too.

Tommy, knowing what his mission was, went to the front door, stepped outside and "accidentally" kicked over the spittoon that sat right by the door on the porch. Its contents splashed across the entryway, making an evil, brown slick spot just as Bessie stepped up on the porch.

She jumped right back off the porch. "You clumsy boy!" she yelled. "You could have soiled my gown!" Tommy looked at Mrs. Robinson's gown, which everybody else in town would have called a dress. That she was excited was easy to see, since there were two nice hard points in the bodice of that gown.

"Ah'm sorry ma'am," he drawled. "Ah'll clean it up. Won't take me but a minute while you wait."

Bessie fumed as the boy wiped at the mess with a rag he found somewhere inside. Her husband came to the door a few minutes later, his face red. "Sorry dear," he said.

"Why do you tolerate this clumsy oaf, Henry?" she complained.

"He runs errands for me, Bessie, now what seems to be the problem?"

Bessie told him what she'd seen and the two of them joined a crowd of people who had started out on foot to follow the trail of scrapes, broken bushes and dust that the outhouse had left.

What they found, when they arrived, made their blood run cold. Lying amidst the fragments of what had once been the outhouse were two bloody legs. That the legs were wearing high topped women's shoes identified the gender of the body, but nothing more could be seen because the rest of the structure had collapsed on top of the unfortunate woman.

"Look!" yelled Mr. Simpson, the storekeeper. He was pointing at an odd sight - that of a boy running alongside a horse that was saddled. The horse and its non-rider were heading away from the crowd and it was impossible to see exactly who it was, but it was clear that they had something to do with the outhouse.

"That's the horse that was dragging the privy!" shouted Bessie importantly.

Ralph Dugway, owner of the Beaverton Hotel, was pulling at the boards that had sheathed the outhouse, trying to uncover the body inside.

"Is she dead?" called Annie Buckminster, one of the few girls who had kept up with the crowd on its run to the scene of the crime. She was only thirteen, but could run as fast and far as any of the boys.

As if in answer to her question, there came a groan from the pile of wood in front of them.

"Get her out of there!" yelled another man.

A voice screamed, "Somebody go get Doc Fisk!"

There was a general milling of people who mostly just got in each other's way as Beth's limp body was slowly uncovered.

She was, to put it lightly, a mess.

On her 'ride', Beth had bounced against every possible protrusion that could tear her dress, puncture her skin and snag her hair. Her attempts to cover her head probably saved her life, but her arms and legs were a bloody mess. Her injuries were not actually life threatening, though everyone who saw her that day was quite sure she would expire any second. In fact, she had only one serious injury. That was a thick splinter, about the size of a man's little finger, that had penetrated her dress and the skin under it, near her hip and about two inches above the edge of her glossy, raven pubic hair. The tip had bounced off her hip bone and torn its way back out of her body before the whole thing broke off, leaving what looked like the impossibly thick piece of a broken arrow piercing her body.

The crowd, however, did not know that at the time, probably because her efforts to protect her head had not been entirely successful. Several sharp raps had left her mercifully unconscious, though she groaned several times as she was pulled from the wreckage. Upon getting her free, though, the men noticed she was both silent now and limp as a wet rag. They let go hastily, letting her drop limply in the dust and stepped back, horrified that the woman had died while they held her arms.

Thankfully, one of the other people who had seen the outhouse being dragged off had already realized the implications. She was known to the townspeople of Beaverton only as "Boots." She had arrived in the town one day, some years back, on a trapper's wagon, covered in bruises and welts. Her thin dress was in tatters and she was barefoot. Once the trapper had conducted his business, and despite the fact that she was only thirteen, at best, she calmly picked up a handy, broken wagon spoke and brained the man, announcing that he had beaten and raped her for the last time. She had then stripped the man's boots off his body and put them on herself, along with his six shooter, which she appeared to know how to use. She took the money he'd just received and asked the store keeper to show her some clothes. No one had argued with her. In the five years since then, she had taken up residence in an abandoned sod house on the outskirts of town, and hired herself out as a scout, tracker and hunter. Boots was the kind of woman who, when she saw the outhouse being dragged away by a rope on a horse, knew instinctively that there was someone in it. She also sensed that it was a rough ride, and that the doctor would be needed. To that end, she ran to George Watkins' Livery Stable, harnessed up a wagon, and went to pick up the town doctor.

Ten minutes later Doc Fisk hopped off the wagon seat with the ease of a man half his age, which was a ripe thirty-six years.

"She's dead, Doc," called Luthor Simmons, one of the men who had felt her expire in his hands. "Crossed the great divide just as you were gettin' here."

Doc Fisk looked up. "Well, she appears to have crossed back, Luthor, 'cause her chest is rising and falling. I always check that first, Luthor."

Several of the other people laughed and Luthor turned red.

"Come on," said Robert Fisk, the only physician within a hundred and fifty miles. "Help me get her up on the wagon so I can get her back to the surgery." He called his office 'the surgery, ' because almost the entirety of his medical training had been in a camp surgery during the war between the States.

In short order Beth was laid out on the floor of the buckboard, a limp, bloody mess. As Doc Fisk glanced back at her his face was grim. She looked entirely too much like the patients he remembered from his early medical days. Since the war had ended, he'd gotten used to saving more patients than he lost. He hoped she'd help him keep his streak going, but it could turn out the other way.

Boots actually knew how to drive a wagon in a way that jostled the cargo the least. When he commented on it, she said she'd had lots of practice hauling drunken fur trappers around and the only way to avoid what she blandly called "problems" was to make their hung-over trips as painless for them as possible. When she'd arrived in town and made her splash, Doc Fisk had briefly examined the man she'd killed, and had then treated her own injuries. By the time he was finished with her he'd recommended that the town save the money on a burial and just have the man's body dragged off into the wilds to feed the coyotes.

Boots assisted him in getting the woman into his little office and then helped cut the rags that had been the woman's dress and underthings off of her. It was Boots who found the arrow-like splinter in the woman's abdomen.

"Shit, Doc. Might be a problem here." She touched the swollen purple skin where the wood emerged from the body.

Doc Fisk had been counting the 'problems' he was uncovering. The woman had clear, healthy skin and had probably been beautiful, but he doubted she still would be after this was all healed up ... if she lived. He looked to see what Boots had uncovered.

"Hmm, just like shrapnel," he murmured. "I can get that out pretty easy. I've got a bottle of whiskey around here somewhere, Boots."

She took that as an order and began searching for it, finding it under an old saddle in one corner that had been given to the doctor as payment for saving a badly broken leg. She uncorked it and took a swig.

Coughing and sputtering she handed it to him. "Doc, that's the awfullest tasting rotgut I ever slid past my lips."

"That's because it's not all whiskey," he said mildly. "I put some formaldehyde in there with it. I use it to sterilize wounds, not drink."

"Well, whatever that hide stuff is, don't ruin any more good whiskey with it," she grumbled.

"When you find whiskey in my office ... don't drink it," shot back the doctor. "Pour some of that around the wound. It's shallow enough I'm just going to cut right through the skin, peel it back and lift the splinter out."

"Damn, Doc, why don't you just pull it on through?" asked Boots. "Why do you have to cut her open?"

"Because if I try that, the pieces around the outside of it will just break off and stay in her. Who knows what kind of filth is on that wood. Leaving any in her would be a recipe for gangrene and it would probably kill her. Now hold her down. She may feel this."

Boots lay over on top of the woman and watched as Fisk produced a straight razor from a tray of instruments. He planned on cutting right into the wood, and he didn't want to chance damaging his single, precious scalpel. He stropped the razor, wiped it on his trousers and sliced across the flesh holding the splinter in. It practically burst open and the piece of wood came away in his fingers. Fisk pulled the flesh apart and plucked at a few smaller splinters. He splashed more of his sterilization mix into the open wound. The woman moaned weakly, but it was a reflexive action of her lungs. She was still unconscious. Then he sewed her up with coarse thread.

After he was sure there were no more places that needed actual surgery, he got a basin of water and began cleaning each place where the woman appeared to have bled, removing blood and dirt from her skin. He marveled at how fair her skin was. He looked at her hands and knew she did not work with them for a living. They were soft and the nails were neatly trimmed. As he cleaned her up, the doctor began to appreciate her beauty more and more. Almost all of the cuts and nicks he found had clotted already, so he left them alone to heal, assuming the woman lived. Finally she lay before him, now clean and very ... naked looking. He glanced at Boots, who was staring at the patient too. She had pulled splinters and leaves out of the woman's black hair and piled it all up above her head. Her hair had originally been held up by combs, but they were gone now.

"Damn, Doc," said Boots again. "She's a pretty one. Or she was. She reminds me of me after Jasper..." She stopped short. Bob was one of the few people who knew the name of the man she'd killed. He also knew what Jasper, a self-proclaimed mountain man and trapper, had done to Boots after he'd bought her for a bottle of whiskey. He didn't like to think about it.

He bent to continue working on all the places the filthy interior of the outhouse had torn the woman's skin.

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After Michael caught up with his almost foundered horse and cut the rope that was tied to the horn of the saddle, he made his escape in the same direction away from town as the outhouse had gone, because he correctly suspected people would be coming from that direction. One look at the horse told him he couldn't ride it. It might die on him anyway. So he trotted beside it, heading for a gully he knew of that would let him disappear from sight and go around to the other side of town. He stopped, once out of sight, and rubbed the horse down with his shirt. Then he walked back towards town, hoping they could get to water soon.

When he got there, wearing his now smelly, but dry shirt, he mounted the horse and rode slowly down Main Street to the water tank, like he had nothing better to do than loaf along. Benjamin hailed him from the porch of the general store, where he was sitting and whittling with shaking hands. Chauncy, it turned out, had hightailed it to find his father, sure that he would be caught and hanged, or worse.

"Boy you messed up big this time," whispered Ben to his friend.

"What do you mean I messed up? We messed up, and don't you forget it!" said Michael, looking around to make sure no adults could hear them.

"Hey, it was your horse that bolted," said Ben, folding his arms.

"What happened while I was getting my horse?" Michael asked, ignoring Ben's attempt to lay blame.

"They all went out and brought that woman back. At first I heard they thought she was dead, but Doc Fisk took her to his office and she was still alive, I guess."

"What are we gonna do?" asked Michael, his voice beginning to rise in panic. "If she dies, they'll do something bad to us!" It was considered extremely poor taste to abuse a woman in the West. Men had been known to mysteriously die for doing that, not to mention that it was a perfectly good excuse to arrange a festive town hanging.

"Let's go over there to Doc's and see what we can find out," suggested Ben.

The two boys ended up outside the south wall of the doctor's office, which fronted a narrow alleyway between that building and the home of Tilly Sumpter, the oldest woman in the county. She was deaf and half blind, so they didn't worry about her seeing them out her windows. Cautiously, Mike edged an eye up to the window and peeked in. He gasped and sat down hard in the dust with his back to the building, taking in great heaving breaths of air.

"What's the matter?" whispered Ben as loudly as he had the courage to. "Is she dead?"

"I don't know 'bout dead, but she's as nekkid as the day she was born!" gasped Mike.

Ben shot to the window and shaded his eyes as he peeked in. Mike hadn't been lying. The black haired woman was there, lying on a long table, on top of a sheet. She had marks all over her body, but she surely was naked. Ben could see the pink tips of her breasts and a few black hairs down where he knew her legs joined. He was about to say something to his friend when a strong hand gripped his shoulder painfully.

"I knew I saw somethin' movin' at the window!" crowed Boots as she took her captive into custody. She had kept Mike from warning his friend by the simple expediency of pulling her revolver on him and pointing it right at his face, while putting one finger up to her lips.

Now she holstered the weapon and pulled Mike up to his feet. "You two are comin' with me," she ordered.

Doc Fisk looked up from his examination of the still unconscious woman as Boots dragged the two boys into the office. Their eyes were already bugged out, but when they saw the naked woman they almost had conniption fits.

"Boots!" he barked. "You can't bring those boys in here while I'm examining a patient!" he said sternly.

"But Doc, they wuz peekin' in the winda," she said by way of explanation.

Bob knew what was going through the boys' minds. His patient was a beautiful woman, if a pretty well beaten up one at the moment. "Just take them out back and shoot them," he said, as if it were one of the things he said daily. He watched Boots carefully, though. You never knew what Boots would take seriously and what she wouldn't.

"It wasn't me... honest... It was Mike who done it!" squealed Ben, turning coat on his friend almost instantly.

"Did what?" asked Doc. He didn't think the boy was talking about peeking in a window.

"It was Mike who tipped over that outhouse. I just watched, Doc. Honest! Please don't let her shoot me, Doc ... Pleeeeaaaaase." He bawled and sank to the floor in a hopeless puddle of boy. A puddle of something else formed under him as the crotch of his pants darkened.

Mike saw his life flash before his eyes as he remembered looking down the barrel of the Colt .44 that Boots carried. It had looked big enough to crawl into. As he listened to his friend ... his former friend ... spilling his guts, he decided that he'd rather get a bullet in the back than see it coming.

So he jerked loose from Boots' grasp and ran for the door.

Sheriff Miller chose that moment to come through the door, which opened inward. So when Mike's brain was telling him to reach for the door handle, which he thought was about two feet away, the edge of the door impacted his face, right in the middle, breaking his nose and loosening two teeth. He bounced backward, landing flat on his back, his head hitting the floor with a dull thunk.

Just like that, Doc Fisk had two unconscious patients.

Ben scrambled to his feet and his hands shot up in the air. "I give up, Sheriff. Don't shoot!" he yelled as loud as his shaking voice could.

The amazing thing was that it only took ten minutes to clear everything up. Ben was assured that he was neither going to be shot, nor arrested. Mike regained consciousness, was helped up and Doc went to work on his nose, threatening to amputate it if the boy gave him any more trouble. Sheriff Miller announced that it was necessary for him to 'document' the injuries on the victim whereupon he began a close and detailed inspection of the unconscious woman's body.

When another male face appeared at the window, Doc knew things were getting out of hand.

"Out!" he yelled, and he chased them all out, including Boots, who said she'd just wait on the porch, in case he needed her. Then he pulled down the shade on the window.

At last it was quiet.



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Chapter 2

Doc stared down at the girl on his table. He was beginning to be concerned. She'd been out for a long time. She was very pale, and that didn't bode well. He picked up the needle he'd used to stitch up her wound and began prodding various places on her body, looking for reaction. He got normal pain reflexes from her body, suggesting the nerves were working, but she didn't wake up.

Next he pressed his ear to her chest, listening to her heart. It was strong, but seemed slower than normal. She was clearly in shock. He began reviewing ways he could increase her heart rate to move her blood faster through her body, which would get more blood to her brain, too. Almost all of them required the patient to be awake and helping.

Something popped into his mind. It had been part of an argument several of his teachers had engaged in, back when he was training for the war. That argument hadn't been about wounded men. Rather, it had been about a way to invigorate the spirit of a woman. It had been entertaining then, listening to the older men proposing that stimulating a woman's sexual parts could have medicinal value, but now it suddenly seemed preposterous. Still ... she was naked, and good looking under her injuries, so rationalizing it was easy.

He thought about it now. His gut instinct was that it was clearly wrong. It bordered on rape. On the other hand, she might die unless he got her blood flowing. The shock could kill her otherwise. And while the theory of it all was something to be argued, the results - if it worked - were clearly what she needed right now.

Doc looked around to make sure he hadn't missed closing off all the ways people could see into his surgery. When he was satisfied he was alone, and that there were no witnesses, he began to stroke the woman's skin, massaging her. He knew this was causing pain where his hands moved over her injuries, but if that pain woke her up, all the better.

Her breasts had not been injured. He felt a bit peculiar molding his hands around them, moving them around on her chest. They were firm. He had seen no stretch marks, and the tight density of her breasts under his hands convinced him she'd never given birth, or suckled a baby.

This was causing feelings in him that weren't welcome. It had been a long time for Doc, since he'd had a woman. And he'd never had one who was young and pretty like this one. Not that he intended on doing anything past getting her heart beating harder, but it still seemed like rape - that's what it would be in his mind, with her unconscious like this. Without conscious intent, his hands took on a more languid motion as they moved from massaging her breasts, to playing with them. It was still part of a massage, so he felt only the discomfort brought on by the guilt of enjoying it. The nipples, which had been flat, almost non-existent before, now showed signs of life. They rose from the pale areolas, until he could pinch them between thumb and forefinger. When he rolled them they became stiff and turgid. He felt the amazement a physician always feels when he could observe how the body worked, even if he didn't understand all the processes.

He realized he was stiff in his pants. He looked at the patient. She was still white as a sheet. He thought of the rest of it, as it had been described by an older doctor, back when they took a break from receiving hurried semi-formal instruction, before being sent off to the battlefield. There were arguments, for and against, in his mind. What decided him was the fact that if she never woke up, there'd be no possibility she'd find out, and therefore no hurt or embarrassment. And if she did wake up ... well as long as she didn't do it while he was actually engaged in things ... it was still unlikely she'd ever know what he'd done.

He wet the first and middle fingers on his right hand in his mouth, and slid them to the woman's vulval vestibule. He had to stop and spread her legs so he could get better access, then returned his fingers to her sex. He felt for the clitoral bulge and massaged it gently, rubbing his fingers in a small circle.

While he did this, he watched her face. He rubbed for two or three minutes, and was about to give up, feeling shamed, when he began to sense moisture seeping from her vaginal canal. Another couple of minutes passed and she was obviously wet. The slippery nature of that wetness made his motions much smoother. Almost suddenly he saw color coming back into her cheeks. Her breathing deepened too and her breasts rose higher. Her nipples were now turgid and hard. He kept rubbing until there was a significant increase in moisture between her legs.

Well, that part of her body was working fine, and he was pretty sure that was more than just nerves reacting to stimulus. That reaction involved the brain, and his feelings of guilt vanished as he decided it had been the right thing to do, from a medical point of view.

He didn't like this at all. Actually, the reality of it was that he liked it entirely too much. That was the real problem. He felt like some kind of animal for thinking that if she lived, and couldn't pay for her care, then perhaps some arrangement could be worked out. But only if she were amenable, of course.

Something struck him and he stopped his clitoral massage. He went to her feet and spread her legs more, pushing her feet up beside her buttocks. That opened up her crotch to him obscenely, but got her in the position she needed to be in for what he wanted to find out. With opposing fingers he pried her sexual lips open and peered at the bottom of her vagina. The thin, translucent membrane was easily seen.

She was a virgin!

Doc was puzzled. A girl this old anywhere west of Kansas City would have a baby by now, maybe even two. She came off the train, but whoever was accompanying her had not showed up. True, once the train had left, her husband ... or chaperone ... would have to get it stopped and then walk back, unless he ... or she ... had a horse in the baggage cars. But they should have heard something by now, even if it was just a telegraph message. She'd been missing from that train for hours.

He looked back up at her face. Her cheeks were pink now, though her breathing had slowed since he stopped stroking her clitoris. He moved up to her shoulder and, stared at her. Yes, her color was much better now. He had done enough. He started, intentionally, to turn aside but, unable to resist the temptation, bent over to suck one of her nipples into his mouth. He nursed on it, feeling its rubbery length in his mouth, and playing with it with his tongue. He pulled off and was amazed to see it had extended even further, maybe half an inch. The baby that suckled these nipples was going to be a happy, happy baby. He did the other one and slid his hand back to her groin.

She moved! Then she moaned. He stopped his manipulations of her immediately and got his smelling salts. He waved them under her nose and she frowned. Then her eyes popped open. He saw terror in those eyes and wondered what was going through her mind.

"There there," he said soothingly. "You're all right now. You don't need to be afraid. Everything is fine now." He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently to reassure her.

Her eyes focused on his. They were blue, brilliant blue, a blue so bright and deep it was like looking into a deep pool of water. "Where am I?" she asked faintly. "Who are you?" Her eyes filled with something he recognized immediately. "It hurts! Everything hurts!"

"My name is Doctor Fisk. You were injured in an ... accident. You're in my surgery. What's your name, miss?"

"I'm ... I'm..." her eyes went out of focus, as if she were concentrating on something inside her head. "I don't know who I am!" There was a weak, but rising tone of panic in her voice.

"There there," he murmured again, patting her shoulder. "Let's not worry about that right now. You've had a bump to the head, and you'll probably remember everything in a little while. Don't worry about it for now, all right?"

Her chin lowered as she looked at the hand patting her shoulder.

"I'm naked," she said, as if she were pointing out that she sometimes wore her hair down, instead of piled up on her head.

"Your clothing was torn to shreds and I had to take it off of you to treat your wounds," he explained.

"Oh," she said. Clearly she was still not able to understand everything. "I have other clothes. Don't I?" her question confirmed that she wasn't sure about that. She tried to sit up.

"Owwwww," she cried and collapsed back on the table. She began moaning piteously.

"You must try not to move," cautioned Doc. "I had to sew up one of your injuries. You're going to have to stay here for a little while, to recuperate. You just lie there and I'll go and find something to cover you with."

Those astonishingly innocent and deep blue eyes traversed the ceiling and fixed on his face. He felt movement in his groin and realized he was still erect. Just this woman's eyes were enough to make him think about...

He pushed those thoughts out of his head. He turned and went to a cupboard where he knew there was a horse blanket a cowboy had paid him with for sewing up a nasty gash where he had been gored by a longhorn. He pulled it out. He hadn't had any use for it until now, since he had an old buggy that he'd been given for delivering a baby and saving the mother's life when the delivery got ugly. That was pulled by a swaybacked horse that had to be sixteen years old if it was a day, which was his payment for taking off old Joe Miller's left leg after it went gangrenous because of infection in a compound fracture. As he unfolded the blanket he could tell it wouldn't do. It was much too rough, and there were horsehairs all over it. Besides, it smelled terrible. He kept looking, but there was nothing in his surgery that could double as either clothing or suitable covering for his patient.

Doc went to the door and opened it, peering outside. Boots was napping on the porch, her hat down over her eyes and one foot cocked up.

"Boots!" he barked.

She put one finger to her hat brim and pushed it up, looking up at him. "Ya don't haf'ta yell Doc," she said.

"She's awake. I need some clothes for her, or a sheet or something to cover her up with. Clothes. She's going to have to have clothes. See if they'll give you something at the general store. And if they demand payment, remind them that I pulled their oldest boy's tooth when it was giving him fits and they never paid me for it."

You never could tell how Boots would react to a given situation. She went from napping and complaining to instant explosive activity. She jumped up and took off running like a scalded cat, causing several people to dive for cover, since when Boots was moving like that, gunplay usually erupted soon after.

While she was gone, Doc interrogated his patient.

-------

He didn't learn much, because she couldn't remember much. Each time she tried and failed, she grew a little more frantic and he had to calm her. He had no idea how long this amnesia might last, but he tried to calm her as much as he could. He decided that if she had a name that might help. Her pain was stronger than she was used to dealing with too, which caused delays as she tried to cope with it. He offered her whiskey and was not at all surprised when she snapped that she didn't drink. He'd already decided this girl had breeding. And all that did was make it even stranger that no one had inquired about her.

"Well," said Doc, "Until you remember your real name, how about we call you Millie. Is that suitable?"

"I suppose it's as good as any name," she said. "What's to happen to me?"

"Until we find out who you are, and where you're supposed to be, I think we could put you up in the schoolmarm's house. We don't have a teacher right now, and that place is empty." A thought came to Doc. "I don't suppose you can read?" he asked.

"Of course I can read," she said immediately. "How odd! I can remember that, but I can't remember my own name." She frowned. "At least I think I can read," she said doubtfully.

Doc looked around and saw an old copy of the Prairie Gazette by the stove. He had planned on using the pages in it to start fires in the stove when cold weather arrived. He retrieved it and handed it to his beautiful patient. She unfolded it as if she'd handled newspapers before and began to read.

"The trouble between the sheep ranchers and the cowmen was exacerbated recently when six sheep were found shot and left to rot on the Anderson spread. Josh Anderson vowed to find out who had committed the heinous crime and exact revenge."

Doc whistled. "You can sure read. There's two or three words in that paragraph I don't even know the meaning of."

He pointed to the words and she explained them to him. Doc went to his desk and got out the list of what people owed him for his services. "Can you add up those figures?" he asked.

Millie added them in her head, without even a nib. Doc got his quill and added the figures himself. She was dead on.

"Millie, my dear," he said. "I believe we just found ourselves a new school teacher!"

"I'm a teacher?" she asked, clearly puzzled.

"You know far more than most folks in these parts. If you can teach kids hereabouts to read and cipher, that's plenty." Doc began quizzing the naked girl about world events he was aware of and found that she knew much more about things than he did. She obviously came from back East, where news was easier to get.

Boots came tearing back into the surgery. In her hands were a gingham dress and a pair of boots that looked like they might fit a young man. "I had to convince the storekeeper that he needed to part with these things," she said. "But he wouldn't go for the frilly unmentionables the ladies wear around here. This is the best I could do without gunplay."

Doc smiled. "You did just fine, Boots. I'd like to introduce you to Millie, our new school teacher," he said grandly.

"She remembered who she is?" asked Boots.

"No, but we found out she's probably as smart as most of this town all put together, and until we can figure out who she is she's going to teach school."

"I am?" asked Millie. "Don't you have to talk that over with the school board? Or at least the town fathers?"

"Don't have a school board, and the town fathers will do what I tell 'em. Less'en they want to support you while we make inquiries. Since that would come out of their pockets I doubt very much they'll want to argue about things. You got injured at their Depot, so I suspect they'll be only too happy to trade you room and board for teaching while things get straightened out. You just act all snippety, like a lady would and complain about how shabby that little house is, and a few things like that. You might mention that you have a lawyer friend back East who might be interested in how you got hurt and abandoned and all that. And bat your eyes at them a lot. You're a handsome woman Millie, and that will play long and hard for you with the old geezers you'll be dealing with."

The situation was so odd for all of them that, when Doc helped Millie make a painful transition from lying on the table to standing beside it, the fact she was still stark naked didn't seem to affect them as it might have under other conditions. Boots gazed frankly at the lush curves of this woman and sighed. She'd never look like that. "You sure are pretty ma'am," she said.

"Why thank you," said Millie automatically. Then she realized how naked she was and blushed. "Oh my, you must think me a hussy." She tried to cover her breasts and crotch, with little success.

"Now now" said Doc. "I've seen you already, when I examined you, and Boots is a woman too, so there's no need to feel uncomfortable. Let us help you with the dress. It's going to be painful for you to bend over or raise your arms for a while."

Boots stepped up to help and, together, they got Millie's arms up as she winced and bit her lip. They slid the dress down over her nakedness and it flowed over her breasts. It caught on her hips, but a tug got it down. She looked completely normal, except for the fact that the cloth sliding over her nipples had caused them to spike. Millie saw that as she looked down, and covered her breasts with her hands.

"Aw shucks, ma'am," said Boots. "Mine do that too sometimes. I almost had to kill a man who ran his mouth about it once upon a time."

"Speaking of which," said Doc. "I've never examined you since that day you got here, Boots. You need a checkup for sure at your age."

Boots' face got wary. "Now Doc, don't you go gettin' no ideas about seeing me nekkid. Last man what did, before you, is worm food and that was too good fer 'im." She paused, staring at the doctor. "'Sides, I feel jest fine."

Doc looked at the scruffy young woman and wondered briefly what she'd look like cleaned up. Then he remembered what she'd looked like back then, and the evidence of what that animal had done to her sexually. It wasn't odd she had no interest in either men or sex.

"Good enough, Boots," he said softly. "I expect you know best."

The other woman in the room moaned, and Bob looked to see her leaning sideways. She had a hand over her abdomen now, rather than her breasts, and she was pale again.

"It hurts," she whispered.

Bob went to a cupboard and fished in his pockets for a ring of keys. He stopped at one of the few cabinets that had a lock on it, selected a key and opened the lock. He pulled the door open and reached inside, removing a dark brown bottle.

"What's that?" asked Boots, curiously.

"Laudanum," said the doctor. "Don't use it often, but I think it's needful now."

He searched for a spoon but couldn't find one. In the end he simply took the cork out of the neck of the bottle and placed the tip to Millie's mouth. Her eyes, which had closed, fluttered open.

"What... ?" she mumbled.

"Take a sip of this," he said, tipping the bottle up.

Knowing the taste was foul, he only wet her lips before letting the bottle back down so that if she spit it wouldn't waste any. The stuff was hard to come by and this was his last bottle. She made a face and raised a hand to push weakly at his wrist.

"You need this," he urged, pressing the bottle to her lips again. "I know it tastes terrible, but swallow some."

He tipped the bottle again and she let some into her mouth. Her face scrunched up, but she swallowed.

"One more," he insisted, and got another swallow down her.

Within minutes she slumped into his arms. Boots helped him carry the woman into the back of the building, where Bob lived. There was only one bed, of course, but he didn't hesitate to put the woman on it. She was well out of it now, her mouth hanging open loosely. He knew she'd sleep for several hours, and hoped that would be enough to give her the strength she'd need to deal with the pain when she woke up. He didn't plan to give her more of the drug.

"So where you gonna sleep, Doc?" asked Boots. She looked at him frankly.

"I'll manage something," he said.

"You gonna undress her?"

He looked at Boots with surprise. "Of course not," he said. "Why would you ask me that?"

"Most men would," she said softly. "Most men would fuck her."

He felt actual shock that a woman had used such a coarse word, even if that woman looked like a man most of the time. It must have shown in his face because she laughed at his discomfiture.

"Hell, Doc, it's only a word."

"I'm not most men, Boots," he said, trying to salvage some dignity.

"I'll admit that's true," said the scout. She turned to leave. "It's prob'ly why you're the only man in town I've never thought about cutting his dick off of."

He felt the blood drain from his face at the casual way she said it. He suddenly had no doubt that the woman was fully capable of carrying out such a threat. He stared at her. She grinned and he had an errant thought that her teeth were probably the most perfect he'd seen in years.

"You're safe, Doc, cause you're a dyed in the wool gentleman. Take good care of our new schoolmarm. I've had a hankerin', once in a while, to learn my letters. Maybe she'll teach me too."

Bob blinked, astonished yet again at the behavior of this woman he'd taken for granted these last few years. He turned back to his patient, wondering if she'd be as interesting as the barely civilized tracker who'd just left. His eyes wandered to her thrusting breasts, under the thin gingham cloth. The nipples had relaxed and were no longer visible. His penis lurched in his pants. His initial assessment had been wrong. She would be a good looking woman when the bruises and scrapes healed. He hadn't seen a body like that in a long time. Most of the women in these parts, if they needed a doctor at all, preferred to stay completely clothed while they were examined.

He sighed again. Maybe Boots was a lot smarter than folks gave her credit for. He felt slightly guilty for wanting to see this young woman naked again. And the thought of lying with her, even if it was only to lie there, finished filling his penis with blood. He groaned, looked over his shoulder at the door to his room and then hauled out his stiff organ. He let his eyes roam over the unconscious girl's form as he stroked slowly. Then, remembering her soft, white skin and the pouting sexual lips below where he'd sewed her up, his hand speeded up. He arched his back and pushed his rod toward the girl as it spurted lines of white. He knew he'd have to get a rag and clean up, but he didn't care. It felt better this time than it had in years.

Gasping for air, the guilt came back as he realized how the girl would have felt if she'd awakened while he was lusting after her. Her mouth was still loose and open, though, her breathing deep and regular.

Refastening his trousers, the doctor turned and left the room. It was a bit early, but supper at the hotel might be ready soon.



-------

Chapter 3

Bob had them prepare a plate to take back to his patient. When he brought the towel-covered food back to his office, the girl was still asleep. Her color was better. He examined the scrapes that weren't covered by her new dress and nodded with satisfaction that none of them looked inflamed.

Her mouth was closed now, which suggested she wasn't under quite so deep. He gazed at the lush lips. He hadn't kissed lips like those in ... he couldn't even remember how long it had been. Whores didn't like to be kissed, generally speaking, and since the war the only woman he'd ever had was a whore at the Silver Dollar Saloon which, though owned by a woman, employed the town's only prostitutes. That girl had left town and, having had to treat most of the other girls for problems related to their employment, he'd never had the stomach to pick another one.

And that had been at least three years back.

Of course, while this girl looked peaceful, and sweet, he knew that didn't mean anything. She might turn out to be a harridan of the first magnitude. But right now she was sweet, and beautiful ... and unconscious.

He leaned down and brushed his lips across hers. He concentrated on the feel of that ... her warm lips soft and pliable ... her scent clean and sweet. He kissed her lips harder, feeling both the thrill of it and guilt at abusing his patient. He pulled back, feeling shame.

Her eyes were open, staring at him.

"I'm sorry," he gasped.

She blinked, and licked her lips. Her mouth made sticky noises and he realized her throat was too dry to speak. He got the water pitcher off his dry sink and splashed some into the tin cup he used for drinking just about everything he imbibed. He watched her eyes as her mouth, knowing what to do, tried to sip. Her eyes, though, wandered lazily.

He realized she was still befuddled by the laudanum, and heaved a sigh of relief. Perhaps she wouldn't remember he had violated her. There was no chair, so he sat beside her on the bed and held her hand.

"You're fine," he said soothingly. "You're safe."

"Am I?" she asked, her voice slow and slurred.

"I promise," he said, meaning it. He still felt guilty, but he meant it.

"All right," she sighed.

"Try to eat something," he said. He fed her with a spoon, and she ate a few bites.

"It hurts," she complained.

He knew she needed sleep more than anything else, so he used a little more of his precious laudanum.

She closed her eyes again. In ten minutes she was sleeping deeply.

Bob got the horse blanket and used it as a mat to lie on. Draping his long, winter coat over himself, he drifted off into an uncomfortable sleep.

-------

At breakfast the next day Bob looked up when Boots sat down across the table from him. It was highly unusual for Boots to venture into the hotel dining room.

"Buy me breakfast, Doc?" she asked.

"And why would I want to do that?" he replied.

"'Cause you're gonna need some help with Miss Millie. You got to talk to the - what'd you call them? Town fathers? You got to talk to them, and that old place you're going to dump her in is probably full of rat's nests. She ain't got no clothes. Folks round here ain't used to havin' a schoolmarm. Somebody's got to ride out to all the ranches and tell 'em school will be startin' up. Miss Millie sure ain't gonna do all that by herself, and I'm of a mind you ain't e'zactly all excited about doing all that yerself, neither. Now me? I ain't got nothin' to do right now. Got time to burn, I do. But the least all that's worth is breakfast, don't you think?"

Bob grinned. "I've always liked you, Boots," he said.

"That's 'cause when I got here you saw me in my altogether," she drawled. "Men only think about one thing, Doc, and you ain't no different. I seen how you looked at Miss Millie."

"Have I ever tried anything with you, Boots?" he asked, still smiling.

"You might be horny, like all men," she commented. "But you got more smarts than most of 'em. That's the difference. And that's why I put up with you."

"You ... put up with me..." Bob grinned wider.

Boots stood up. "You kin do all that by yerself iffen you want to. Makes me no never mind."

"Sit down, Boots," said Bob.

"Why thankee, Doc," she said smoothly as she took her chair again. "I've always knowed you was a generous man."

The waiter approached. He smiled at Bob, but looked with distaste at Boots, who began ordering before he could say a word.

"Gimme flapjacks, and bacon, and some eggs too. Three I think. And some of that sweet stuff you got to put on flapjacks. And milk. I want milk. You got cold milk here?"

"We keep the milk in the cellar," said the man frostily.

"That's good," said Boots. "Now hurry along there pretty man, 'cause I'm powerful hungry."

The waiter didn't move. "That will be fifty cents," he said stiffly.

Bob lifted his fork. "Put it on my account, Martin."

"If you insist, sir," said the waiter. He looked disappointed.

Boots watched him go.

"How come I never see him around town anywhere?" she asked.

"I think he keeps pretty much to himself when he's not working here. I believe his uncle owns this place."

"Still, you'd think he'd be out and about. I don't even know where he lives!"

"He lives with his sister. She's the one who will be cooking your breakfast."

"Man lives with his sister?" Boots looked surprised. "Don't her husband object?"

"She's not married," said Doc. "Nor is he. They live in that yellow house down behind the livery."

"That little place?" Boots looked astonished. "There ain't but one room there, Doc."

"I know," he said.

"But that ain't natural ... a man and woman ... brother and sister ... living that close together."

"I don't think Martin is much interested in women," said Doc.

Boots' eyes went round. "I don't know which is more disgustin', Doc."

"Might I remind you you're not much interested in men?" Doc didn't smile.

"Well yeah," she said, looking uncomfortable. "But I don't live with no woman neither."

"If you had a brother, and he wasn't married ... would you let him live with you?"

She thought. "I guess I would at that, Doc. As long as he didn't bring no squealin' ninny home to bed." She swallowed and her eyes went round again. "Nor anybody else neither," she added hastily.

"I suspect it's none of our business," said Bob. "They aren't hurting anybody, and their personal tastes are nobody else's concern."

"That's a mighty strange way of lookin' at things, Doc," said Boots. "I mean it ain't natural."

"Neither is a woman who wears leather, cusses like a soldier, kills the man who raped her and makes a living hunting and guiding. That ain't natural for a woman's role in life. When's the last you heard of something like that?" he asked, smiling again.

"You know, Doc," she said, straight faced. "I like you ... but sometimes you're just a pain in the ass to be around."

"Then don't be around me. In fact, why don't you go on over to the surgery and see if she's awake yet, seeing as how you're helping me with her and all that."

"Got eatin' to do first, Doc," said the woman. "Then I'll take care of the new schoolmarm."

-------

Millie woke, but the drug left her feeling like she was wading through molasses, and she hadn't even gotten out of bed yet. She was trying to do that, wondering where she was and what bed she was in, when Boots tromped into Bob's little bedroom.

"Yer awake!" she said, causing Millie to look blearily in her direction. She remembered seeing this person before, but her fuzzy mind wouldn't cooperate any more than that.

"Who are you?" asked Millie, beginning to feel tense. She knew something was wrong, but not what. It was as if she had awakened in a world different than the one she'd gone to sleep in, and it was both troublesome and frightening.

"They call me Boots, hereabouts," said the strange looking man who sounded like a woman. "How you feelin'?"

Millie realized she felt pain almost everywhere on her body. She remembered a doctor, and a train and a lot of dust.

"I got hurt," she said weakly.

"You could say that," said Boots calmly. "Took a knock on the head and it made you all squirrelly, 'cordin' to Doc."

"More than my head hurts," said Millie, looking at her arm. She stared at the arm of the dress she had on and knew, somehow, that this dress was wrong. She was quite sure she didn't own a dress like this. But there were too many other things to think about, so she put that aside.

"Where am I?" she asked.

"Beaverton," said Boots. "It's in the Nebraska Territory."

Millie's response was immediate and automatic.

"It isn't the Nebraska Territory anymore. Nebraska was admitted to the Union in 1867."

Boots shrugged. "Maybe. I don't pay much mind to that sort of thing. This town is called Beaverton, though. I know that."

Millie thought about that. The name meant nothing to her.

"Why am I in Beaverton, Nebraska?" she asked.

"Well, appears like you got off the train here," said Boots.

"Why would I do that?"

"Well, I 'spect it was to use the outhouse."

"Oh." She frowned. "But I didn't get back on the train?"

"That part is where things get complicated," said Boots. "Do you remember where you wuz goin' on that train?"

Millie's frown deepened. "No." She blinked. "Why am I so hungry?"

"Well," drawled Boots. "Could be 'cause you ain't et for a day or so. You know how to cook?"

"Of course I can cook," said Millie. "Every woman can cook."

"Not me," said Boots, calmly. "I kin open a can 'o beans, and burn a piece of meat on an open fire, but that's about it."

"You're a woman!" said Millie, finally making a solid connection as the drug leached out of her system.

"Let's not spread that around too much," said Boots, smiling. "The menfolk tend to get a bit ornery when they look at me that-a-way. You feel like you could stand up?"

Millie thought about that and then leaned forward. She stayed firmly seated on the bed, and leaned forward farther, only to wince at the pain in her abdomen, near her left hip. Finally Boots took her elbow and pulled. Millie found herself standing, but felt like her feet were nailed to the floor. She leaned and gasped as she tried to move a foot, but couldn't. The hand on her elbow tightened and steadied her.

"Doc gave you somethin' fer the pain," said Boots. "It prob'ly ain't all gone yet. Let me help you a bit."

-------

It took another fifteen minutes of slowly walking around the office for her head to clear completely. They ended up in Doc's tiny kitchen, which consisted of a cook stove that had once been in a chuck wagon, a dry sink, and some shelves on the wall that supported a collection of items, only a few of which were foodstuffs.

"There's nothing here to cook!" said Millie when she finished her examination. "There's a bit of rice, but nothing to go with it. Does he keep chickens?"

Boots thought about the chicken someone had paid him with a few weeks back. It had been eaten the same day.

"Sure," she said. "I'll just go get one, while you get that rice goin'."

"And I'll need some milk," said Millie. "Or cream. Either one will do."

Boots suppressed her impatience. Finding a chicken somewhere was going to be bad enough. Adding milk to it didn't help. Maybe she could go back to the hotel and con them for a second glass. And if she had to use more forceful measures ... well this woman had treated her like everything was normal ... something that happened only rarely in Boots' world.

"Kin you start a fire in the stove?" asked Boots.

"Of course I can," said Millie. "Anybody can start a fire."

Boots thought it was purely fascinating that this woman could remember all manner of things ... except her name, and where she came from, and where she was going. But Boots wasn't going to complain. Things were a lot more interesting in town than they'd been in a long time. And that was something to celebrate.

"You just get that rice ready," said the scout. "I'll be back in a bit."



-------

Chapter 4

With Boots keeping an eye on Millie, Bob felt like he could check in with the authorities. To that end, he went to the Sheriff's office. He found Sheriff Clint Miller sitting back in his desk chair, his boots up on his battered desk. There were a few faded and curled wanted posters on the walls, but in reality there wasn't much for a lawman to do in the little town of Beaverton. He was used to things being sedate, and this recent uproar had him nervous. He stared at Doc, who had just finished giving him an update on the status of the town's newest, if reluctant citizen.

"So what do you think we should do?" asked Miller.

"Hell, I don't know. Send a telegraph maybe?" suggested Doc.

"Who to?" asked Clint.

"She was on the westbound train," said Doc. "I'd guess we need to notify stations down the line about what happened."

"And admit that Beaverton is responsible for all but killing a poor, innocent woman?" The sheriff frowned. "That could bring down all kinds of trouble on us."

"It was an accident," said Doc, shrugging. "A prank that got out of hand. Happens everywhere."

"She's a woman of breeding," said Miller. "I could tell that even without her clothes on. What if whoever's looking for her is important, and not patient with towns that let their younguns carry on like that? What if somebody shows up with a hired army, set on teaching somebody a lesson?"

"We can't just pretend she doesn't exist," said Bob.

"We could until she's healed up, and the bruises are gone," said Clint. "Who's to know she didn't just wander into town from out on the prairie somewhere ... and we took her in and took care of her?"

Bob looked at the Sheriff and shook his head. "You know better than that. What the hell's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me is that we got ourselves a problem and I don't want it to tear this town up," said Miller. "She don't know who she is, so she don't know who to complain to. I say we make her comfortable and happy as possible, and work on finding out who she is ... but just take our time about it. I'd purely hate for somebody who cared about her to see her in the shape she's in right now. That's all."

Doc's eyebrows furrowed. "The mayor been talking to you, Clint?"

Miller looked uncomfortable. "It's the town council that pays my salary. Of course they consult with me about things that might cause trouble."

"I thought you had more grit than to cave to the likes of Henry Robinson," said Bob, shaking his head slowly.

"I didn't cave!" said Miller, taking his boots down off his desk and standing up. "I just agree that there's no hurry, until she's in better shape. You just take care of getting her healed up and let me worry about finding out who she is and who's looking for her. If we get any inquiries, I won't delay in responding to them, but I see no need to go looking for more trouble. At least not until she's out of the woods and has some reason to feel beholden to people in this town."

Bob knew when he was hitting his head against a wall, but he also recognized opportunity when it knocked. If the town council and sheriff were going to drag their heels about things, they should be made to pay. He smiled.

"I'll do my part, Clint. And I'm sure that Lawrence Thistledown, John Relway and Douglas Harrow will be happy to do their part and pay her doctor bills, seeing as how their sons caused this whole mess. And if they won't, then I expect the town council to pick up the tab. I don't get paid often in this dump, but I'm getting paid this time or I may feel the need to do some investigation on my own into who this woman is. You get my drift, Clint?"

The sheriff frowned. "That sounds suspiciously like a threat, Doctor Fisk," he said heavily.

"Take it any way you like," said Bob, folding his arms across his chest. "You want her taken care of well and proper. Fine. Somebody has to pay for that. That's all I'm saying. If the people who caused it won't do it, and the town won't do it, then whoever's looking for her might do it."

"How much we talkin' about?" asked the sheriff, still frowning.

"By the time I'm satisfied she'll heal on her own, I expect I'll have ten dollars invested in her," said Doc, thinking of the things he was short on, and what it would likely cost to restock his surgery.

"Ten dollars!" growled Sheriff Miller. "I'm supposed to arrest thieves, not help them commit the crime!"

"Take it or leave it," said Bob. "I've never had a vacation. I might just see fit to ride on over to Lincoln and find out what one's like. And while I'm there, I can see what the state of medicine is in the big city these days. Shouldn't take more than a month or two, I imagine. You and the mayor can take care of Millie while I'm gone. I'm quite sure she'll be beholden to you in no time."

"Millie?"

"That's what we decided to call her until she remembers who she is," said Doc. "When I found out she could read and do math, I told her the town might agree to give her room and board if she'd teach school until this can get all straightened out. So you can install her in the old schoolmarm's house. I think I'll just be on my way. The more I think about it, the more I think Lincoln would be nice this time of year."

Miller snorted. "Just hold your damn horses, Doc. You'll get your ten dollars. You just take care of her so she's nice and chipper whenever whoever comes looking for her comes looking for her."

"I'll expect the money tomorrow," said Doc.

"You drive a hard bargain," said Miller.

"If you didn't get paid, you wouldn't keep wearin' that badge," pointed out Bob.

Miller blinked, and then nodded slowly.

"Guess I wouldn't at that," he admitted. "Why don't we get the mayor on board, and then I'll ride out and talk to the fathers of them boys."

-------

Bob was surprised to see the sun high overhead by the time everything got agreed upon. Mayor Richardson had wanted Ralph Dugway, owner of the hotel, and Claude Simpson, who ran the general store, involved. They were just about the only people in town, other than the saloon, who had much cash money, and they would also be involved in the victim's upkeep for as long as she stayed in town.

Bob smelled the odors of cooking as soon as he stepped inside his surgery. He pushed through the curtain to his living area and was surprised to see Millie standing at his cook stove, which hadn't had a fire in it for at least three months. She was stirring something in a pot, and it smelled delicious. Boots was leaned against one wall. She had been in the middle of saying something to Millie when he walked in, but stopped as soon as she saw him.

"Miss Millie's doin' much better," she announced, beaming.

"I guess so," said Bob, as the young woman turned to look at him.

"I remember you," she said. "You're the doctor. This is your house."

"Such as it is," said Doc.

"We been tryin' to remember things," said Boots. "'Cept it ain't working much."

"Whenever I try to think of something from my past, all I can visualize is a very dark cavern," said Millie. "It's so frustrating!"

"Perhaps things will come back to you in time," said Bob. "You're cooking, I see."

"It's not much. You don't have much food. I just whipped up some chicken and rice soup."

"Chicken," said Bob, looking at Boots, who seemed very interested, suddenly, in a hole in the sleeve of her buckskin shirt.

"Don't worry," said Millie, turning back to the pot. "Boots caught an old, scrawny one. I'm sure it wasn't laying any longer."

"Now that you're here, Doc, I'll just be moseying along," said Boots hurriedly, and headed for the curtained doorway.

"Nonsense!" said Millie. "You caught the chicken and brought the milk, and there's plenty for three. You must stay and eat too, Boots!"

"Yes," said Doc, smiling tightly. "You simply must stay and eat with us, Boots. I can't wait to hear about the milk, Boots."

-------

Bob rubbed his belly, which he felt must be bulging at least six inches.

"That was mighty good, Millie," he said.

"It was just soup," she said, lowering her gaze.

They were gathered around his examination platform, which had been pressed into use as a dining table. Millie was seated on a tall stool. Bob was sitting on an empty nail keg. Boots was standing. Bob owned a grand total of three plates, only one of which was ceramic. It was balanced on Bob's knee, served to him by Millie, who insisted that "the master of the house" got the best dishes. She and Boots were eating off of tin plates, one of which still had most of a coating of blue enamel on it. Three mismatched cups held water from the pitcher Bob kept on the dry sink.

"I'll have to get some bowls," said Bob.

"I don't think I used enough water in the rice," said Millie. "It turned out awfully thick."

"It was delicious," said Bob, smacking his lips. "You can cook for me anytime you like."

"All right," said Millie, taking him seriously.

"Mighty fine vittles," said Boots, wiping her plate with a finger and sucking it clean. "I could get used to eating that-a-way."

"I suppose we should get over to your new, temporary home," said Bob. "I doubt it will be suitable for habitation just yet, but at least you can see it."

"I guess that would be the best thing to do," said Millie. "This is all so strange."

"I'll work with you each day," said Bob. "We'll see if we can't uncover some of those hiding memories."

"I'll help," said Boots.

Thinking about the chicken and milk, neither of which had been discussed in full yet, Bob frowned. "I expect you've already helped more than was needed, Boots."

"She's hurt," said Boots firmly. "She'll need some help fer a while yet."

"Yes," said Doc, staring at the scout. "You and I will do some planning on that ... won't we, Boots?"

"Sure, Doc," she said carelessly. "Whatever you say. How's about we get on over to the schoolmarm's house now?"

-------

The previous schoolmaster had been a man. Millie didn't know what kind of teacher he had been, but he was a pig at keeping house.

"This is awful!" said Millie, waving a hand in front of her face. There was a thick layer of dust covering everything. The breeze caused by just opening the door filled the air with a dense cloud of dancing motes. Trash lay strewn everywhere. There were two rooms, one large and one small. In one end of the small room the trash was piled man-high and filled almost half the living space.

"Don't see no rats," said Boots, helpfully.

What had been billed as a simple "look-see" turned into a preliminary cleaning crusade, as Millie suddenly took command and ordered Bob and Boots around. While Boots scurried off to fetch water and rags, Millie and Bob dragged the few pieces of furniture outside. When Boots returned, Millie used a rag to dust the furniture off. The clouds of dust wafted away in the breeze and Bob got an idea. Re-entering the house, he opened all the windows and the back door, letting the breeze flow through the structure. A little experimentation with an old sheet revealed that two people waving it just so, stirred up the dust into swirling gouts of thick, choking clouds, which the wind then blew out through the open windows and doors. Initially there was much coughing as the sheet-wavers had to run from the house in order to get into air clean enough to breathe, but soon the amount of dust being raised was severely curtailed. Millie said that she'd revert to proper dusting the next day.

They looked around making a list of things that would need to be done to make the place liveable. She'd need a mattress of some kind, probably straw, for the board bed in the corner of the small room. Victuals would need to be stocked. The wood cook stove in the large room appeared to be in good condition, though a supply of wood was needed. Pumping the handle of the water pump only made clanking noises, but Bob opined that if it were taken apart, and the leather gasket oiled, it would likely pump water then. The leather hinges on the front door needed replacing and some of the floor boards were loose or warped. But the glass in the windows was unbroken, and the roof appeared sound, though one couldn't tell for sure until it rained. There was even a privy out back, though the elements had taken their toll on it, and it would need some repairs.

It was Boots who discovered the treasure hidden under the mountain of trash in the small room. She was kicking empty tin cans and other pieces of trash towards the door when her foot hit something that made a hollow booming noise. Digging under the trash, they found a copper bathtub.

"Now there's a surprise," said Bob, when it was uncovered. "I would have sworn the old schoolmaster didn't take a bath the whole time he was in town. He sure didn't smell like it, anyway."

"I had no idea people went around sniffing the schoolmaster," said Millie, a twinkle in her eye.

"Sometimes you don't have to try," said Bob. "Simply being in the same room is enough sometimes." He glanced sternly at Boots, making it obvious he was doing so.

"I had a bath just last month," complained Boots. "I took it while I wuz takin' a message up to the Lazy B ranch. Got into the Big Platte river right up to my neck, I did, and washed up good. Ain't had one since, 'cause I ain't did nothin'. Been hangin' around town since then, an' you know there ain't no place in town for me to take no bath. I sure ain't goin' over to the hotel and paying two bits just to sit in a bunch of water."

"You may use my tub whenever you wish," said Millie formally. Her hand went to stroke the copper rim. "I wish I could offer it to you this very night."

"I don't smell that bad," groused Boots.

"I wasn't suggesting you do," said Millie. "I'd just love to have a bath myself." She brushed at her dusty clothes.

"I've got water and a stove at the surgery," said Bob.

"I ain't carryin' ten buckets of water all the way over here just so the new schoolmarm can smell sweet," said Boots. "And I know I'd be the one carryin' all that water, so don't even try to argue."

"Wouldn't it be easier to carry the tub to the surgery?" suggested Bob. "It't not all that heavy. We can always bring it back here when this place is ready to move into."

"That would be wonderful!" squealed Millie. "And then we could both take a bath!" she said, smiling at Boots. "But there is much to do before we can pamper ourselves. It hurts every time I sneeze, and if we don't get this place clean, I'll sneeze constantly."

-------

Millie stood up slowly. She did everything slowly, because moving quickly brought much pain. Moving slowly brought pain too, but not as sharp. The rag in her hand was filthy - brown, almost black. But at last the house looked livable. She looked over at the strange girl who, for two days, had helped her make the schoolteacher's house decent to live in. Nobody else in town had lifted a finger to help. The doctor had helped until he was called away to a ranch, to see to an injured cowboy. He'd been gone ever since.

Try as she did, Millie could remember nothing of her previous life ... where she had come from ... who her family was ... why she had been on the train ... not even where she had been going. Doctor Fisk believed that someone would come looking for her soon. But if that was true, why were they setting her up to be the schoolmistress? There was so much she didn't understand. Yet, at the same time, she felt secure, somehow. She knew she would be a good teacher. She didn't know how she knew that, but she felt it in her bones. Somehow she also knew it would be more interesting than her previous life. After all, if her life had been exciting, wouldn't she remember it?

She looked back at Boots. What an odd name. And the woman herself was simply bizarre. Boots had taken care of her since the doctor was called away, even taking her to the hotel dining room every night. It was obvious Boots wasn't welcome there, but that wasn't odd. She was foul-mouthed, and uncouth. She threatened people at the drop of a hat and practically everyone was afraid of her. Somehow Millie knew that under normal circumstances she would have had nothing to do with a person like Boots. But the fact was, she liked the odd girl. Boots had been the only person in town, other than the doctor, who cared a whit about what happened to her. Boots was her friend,  as crazy as that seemed. She had a moment of near dizziness in which she reflected on how she shouldn't like Boots, but did anyway. That she judged the woman was obviously a product of her former life ... her real life. But whatever reasons her real life would have told her to shun Boots were obviously poppycock. Why else would she have decided she liked her? It made her wonder if there were other things in her real life that were flawed, or based on things that weren't true.

There was nothing she could do about that now, though. If she ever regained her memory, and resumed her real life, she could examine things then and make any needed alterations.

"Place looks right nice," said the strange woman about whom she had been thinking.

"It does. Thanks to you, Boots," said Millie.

"It weren't nothin'," said Boots, her cheeks tinged with pink.

"That's not true, Boots," said Millie. "You did a lot of work, and I appreciate it."

"Just don't tell nobody about it, all right?" said Boots.

"Why on Earth not?" asked Millie. "You deserve credit for good work."

"I sort of got the reputation fer bein' lazy and no count," said Boots. "I don't want to mess that up."

"All right," said Millie firmly. "But I don't understand that at all. Why would you want people to think you were lazy?"

"'Cause iffen somebody wants me to do sumthin' and I doesn't want to do it, they just think I'm lazy and leave me alone."

"Couldn't you just tell them you don't want to do whatever it is?"

"Then they want to know why I doesn't want to do it," complained Boots.

"Is that any of their business?" The new teacher frowned. "You have the perfect right to say no and not have to explain yourself."

"I do?" Boots looked amazed.

"You certainly do," said Millie. "This is America. What do you think freedom is? You do what you want to, and you don't have to answer to anybody." She looked at the straggle-haired, disreputable woman standing across the room. "Well anything legal, that is."

"I shore wish somebody woulda tol' that to my pappy and Jasper," muttered Boots.

"Who's Jasper?" asked Millie.

"Never mind," said Boots. "He's dead and gone and so's my old man, in Hell together, I imagine. I hope so anyways."

"What an awful thing to wish for," said Millie, shocked. "I'm disappointed in you, Boots."

"Well, you ain't the first and you fer sure won't be the last. Havin' the right reputation helps with that a lot too." She grinned. "Want me to clear out?"

"No, I do not," said Millie firmly. "You're my friend, even if I think some of the things you do are ... irregular."

"Well how about that," said Boots, looking shocked. "I ain't never been nobody's friend before. I don't know whether to shit or go blind."

Millie groaned at the language.

Boots immediately took a few steps towards Millie. "You all right? Did them stitches tear out?"

"I'm fine, Boots," said Millie. "The doctor has taken pretty good care of me."

"He's a good man," said Boots. "Don't you dare tell him I said that, but he's 'bout the only man hereabouts worth spittin' on. Leastwise the onliest one I ever did see."

"He is a good man," said Millie. "I notice you spend a lot of time around him."

"Yeah ... so?"

"So are you sweet on him?"

"Doc?" Boots laughed. "Hell no. I ain't sweet on no man, an' never will be."

"I have a feeling you could do much worse than picking Doc," insisted Millie.

"You want him, you can have him," said Boots. "I already know what a man is like when his balls start actin' up, and I want no part of it. Not ever. No how. No way."

Millie blushed at Boots' use of a crass word, but she had a feeling she'd never been able to have such an open and honest conversation like this, so she carried on.

"How could you know that? You've never been married. I know you haven't because I asked Doctor Fisk about that."

"And what did he say?" Boots' voice was low, and suddenly hard.

"He said you hadn't married, and something about you being a free spirit."

The western woman brightened. "Really? That's all he said?"

"So you don't know what men are like when they woo a woman."

"An' I suppose you do," said Boots sarcastically.

"Well I know..." Millie went silent. She frowned. "Sometimes I just feel things," she said.

"Oh I know what that's like," said Boots. "I felt plenty a things in my time."

Millie wasn't sure what that meant, but she explained herself instead of asking a quesion. "I mean I know it's supposed to be grand and glorious and happy and gay."

"An' mebbe it is back East," said Boots. "But this ain't East, and things is different here, Miss Millie. My advice to you is to just stay shut of men until whoever is missing you comes around lookin' fer ya. Men in these parts ain't like men back East. You just remember that."

"Men are men," snorted Millie.

"Yep, an' they just want one thing," said Boots.

"I know that," said Millie. "My problem is I just can't remember what it is that they want."

"Well, I wouldn't be in an all fired hurry to find out, iffen I was you," said Boots.

As if their conversation was able to magically summon a man, Bob came through the doorway.

"I'm back," he said. He looked around. "Wow. I'm impressed."

"You should be," said Millie. "Boots and I worked like slaves."

"Well, then, I'll buy you both dinner," said Bob. "How's that?"

"I'd rather have that bath," said Millie. "Since you got called away, we couldn't take the tub over to your office. And the pump hasn't been fixed here yet."

"Well, then," said Bob. "Let's just get that little problem solved."

-------

Bob hadn't been talking about fixing the pump. He knew, in theory, how to do that, but didn't have the tools. Instead, they went with the original plan to move the tub to his surgery.

For as light as it looked and felt when they first lifted it, it took most of the strength Bob and Boots had to lug the tub back to his surgery. Millie fluttered around them, wishing she could help. Bob reminded her she was injured and on the mend. Finally she ran ahead to open the door and push furniture aside in the back room. That room, where Bob's bed was, was the only room where any kind of real privacy could be arranged.

While Bob started heating water on the stove, he also began putting together a stew. Boots carried buckets of hot water to the tub, while Millie "straightened up" the surgery and Bob's living area. When Bob told her she didn't have to do that, she said she was still in cleaning mode, and couldn't help herself.

Bob watched, as she moved around. She was a delight to watch. In fact, just about everything about her was a delight.

And that, thought Bob, sighing, was the problem.



-------

Chapter 5

The stew was eaten. Bob, knowing the women would feel more comfortable bathing if he wasn't in the building, said he was going over to the saloon for a drink and to play a game or two of cards.

Millie tested the water in the tub, which was still steaming. Boots stood nearby, having announced that she was going to remain there to assist the bather in and out of the tub, and "deal with any trespassers." Millie was fairly sure nobody would molest them, but she didn't say anything. She'd been confident that visiting the privy at the train station would be uneventful too.

She winced as she removed the dress, stretching her wounds. "The only dress I own and it's filthy," she sighed, as she looked at the dust-streaked material.

"I'd say wash it now, before you dirty up the water," said Boots.

"I hadn't thought of that," said Millie. "I wonder if I've ever done this before."

"Took a bath?" Boots sounded incredulous.

"No, I wonder if I've ever done laundry," said Millie. "I'm not sure how to proceed."

"You can remember when this here state got admitted to the Union, but you cain't remember if you ever warshed out clothes before?" Boots looked skeptical.

Millie looked upset. "I remember some things, and I don't remember others. I can't help that!"

Boots held up a hand. "Don't cry, now. It just seemed odd, that's all. Warshin' out yer clothes is easy. You just get it wet and wad it up and work the dirt out of the threads, and then squeeze it as dry as you can," said Boots, pragmatically.

Millie bent over the tub and worked at her task. Once she was finished, she turned and handed the wet dress to Boots, who was staring at her.

"What's wrong?" asked Millie.

"You're just mighty pretty," said Boots. "I guess I never got to see another woman in the altogether. It helps some."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, over the last few years, my teats have gotten all big and wobbly, an' I was afraid maybe there was somethin' wrong with 'em. But yours are big and wobbly too. Makes me feel better."

"Oh," said Millie. "I never thought about that, I suppose. Or at least I don't remember thinking about it."

"An' there's something about you that makes me want to look at you. I mean even all banged up like you are, you're real pretty. I never wished I was pretty until I got a look at you like this."

"You're pretty," said Millie automatically.

Boots hacked and spit, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I ain't never been pretty, and I never will be."

"Nonsense," said Millie. "You dress like a man, and you act like one too, for the most part. Of course you don't feel feminine. I could help you do yourself up. I know you'd be pretty enough to turn men's heads."

"Oh, I turned a man's head once," said Boots. "He took a real lively interest in me. And when I got the chance I put him in the ground because of it."

Millie thought the girl was joshing her. She was also distracted by a memory that had flitted into her mind as she stirred the water in the tub with her fingers, in preparation of getting in. Instead of thinking about what Boots had just said, she shared her renewed memory.

"I just remembered something."

"What's that?" asked Boots.

"I remember having to have second water in the bathtub when I was little. I hated it."

"Somebody has to take a bath second," said Boots, again pragmatically.

"But it was always me," said Millie. "I never got to go first."

"Who did?"

"I don't remember that part," sighed Millie. She looked at the young woman beside her. "We can share. The tub is big enough. You don't have to take second water, Boots."

The frontier woman stared at the young easterner. "You saying I should get in there ... with you? Both of us? At the same time?"

"Why not? I remember hating second water so much. It's the only memory I have, and it's a bad one. I'd feel horrible making you take second water tonight."

"I don't really need a bath," said Boots. "Like I said, it's only been a month since I was thorough wet."

"Yes you do," said Millie firmly. "And you know it."

"But we'd be ... nekkid ... together."

"So? Who would know besides us? We're friends ... aren't we?"

"I don't know if we're that kind of friends or not," said Boots, sounding doubtful. In her memory, the only time two people bathed together was when one of them - her - was being assaulted by the other. Quite suddenly she realized that that wasn't the kind of life Millie had led. Millie had probably never been forced to lie under a man while he used her. She was aware that most women lived normal lives that were nothing like hers had been. But her former life had left its stamp on her and she couldn't change that.

She relaxed shoulders that had gotten tense.

"I don't suppose it would be the end of the world to share a bath," she said.

Millie grinned like some special treat had been given her. "Well hurry up, the water's cooling!"

-------

Boots felt completely vulnerable as she stood, naked, in Doc's tiny living area, even though her pistol was lying within easy reach on the chair she'd pulled beside the tub. She glanced again at the curtain that covered the only window in the room. She knew it covered well, because she'd put it there herself.

"What in the world happened to you?" asked Millie, sounding shocked.

Boots knew Millie was seeing the scars Jasper had left on her. He had loved to inflict pain while he had sex. He'd loved to inflict pain when he was mad about something too.

"You fall off a horse a few times and land in sagebrush or cactus, and you'll look like this too," she said, darkly.

"I'm so sorry," said Millie. "That looks like it must have been very painful."

"It's all healed up now," said Boots. "Not worth talkin' about."

"All right. But I just think it's important for you to know that, aside from those scars, I think you're quite pretty, Boots," said Millie. "And they don't show when you're dressed."

Boots looked at the other woman. Millie's breasts were round and looked heavy, with well-defined shockingly pink nipples set on tiny, but darker areolas. A thin waist below was set off by widening hips. Millie was shaped like a woman, no doubt. The only things that detracted from her beauty were the marks and scars of her injuries. Boots looked down at her own breasts, which looked a little larger than Millie's, to her mind. She didn't like looking at her breasts. Her own nipples reminded her of a man she had seen once, another trapper, who had eyes that looked in different directions. She never knew his name; only that Jasper knew him from before he had bought Boots. They had run into the man on the trail, and the men decided to camp together that night. The man had shown Jasper four or five gold nuggets he claimed to have found somewhere to the west. When Jasper suggested to the man that if he gave Jasper one of the nuggets he could have sex with Boots, the man had called Jasper a son of a bitch, and said he wouldn't camp with a pre-vert. It was a word Boots remembered, but didn't learn the meaning of for several years. She remembered it because, when the man turned to pack up his gear and leave, Jasper shot him in the back, and then took all the nuggets. Those odd eyes stared off in different directions even in death, and she never forgot it.

Of course she hadn't looked like this back then. Back then she'd hardly had any teats at all. And up until the last couple of years, she'd had to wear a belt at all times, lest her pants slide right down over her hips. Jasper hadn't minded that she'd looked like a boy. He hadn't been picky as to which hole he'd used either. And even though he was gone, the things she'd experienced with him still affected her to this day.

Take for example the fact that while she'd hated it when Jasper touched her, some of the places she remembered hating him touching had started feeling mighty good when she touched them herself. One of those places was those nipples that looked off to the sides.

And the only person she'd ever seen naked before this was Jasper, something she had tried to forget. She couldn't ever remember wanting to see another person unclothed, so she was confused by the fact that seeing her friend naked ... she liked looking at her! It made her feel like touching her nipples.

"Let's just take this bath and get it over with," grumbled Boots.

Millie, blissfully unaware of the emotional turmoil going on in her companion, went on. "It would be no trouble at all getting a man interested in you, Boots." She lifted a leg over the edge of the tub and eased it into the hot water. "The trick is in knowing which man to get interested," she continued. She stopped and looked at Boots. "Now I wonder where that came from."

"All men would be interested in you," said Boots. "You're what men call a real looker."

"Well thank you," said Millie. She put the other leg in and started to sit down. She winced and Boots helped take some of her weight with a hand under her arm.

Once she was settled, Boots pulled the chair with her Colt on it closer and stepped into the other end of the tub. Her legs clashed with Millie's, and they both pulled their knees up to give the other more room. Both women were silent as they concentrated on the feel of soaking in hot water. It was the first time Boots had ever been in water that warm, and she was amazed at how it made her want to relax.

Eventually Millie asked, "So how did you come by the name Boots?"

Boots looked at what she considered to be a fine lady, sitting at the other end of the tub. Millie had named their relationship "friends" but if she actually knew who she was, she'd have nothing to do with Boots. For that reason Boots moderated her answer.

"I was so proud of the first pair of boots I got that I wouldn't take them off. So folks sort of started calling me that."

"Oh." Millie sounded almost disappointed. "So what's your real name?"

"I just go by Boots," said the other woman.

"I know that," said Millie. "But nobody would name a little baby 'Boots.' I'm asking what your birth name is."

"Why do you care?"

"I don't know. I suppose because I can't remember my own. Suddenly my real name, whatever it is, feels precious to me."

"Millie's a fine name," said Boots.

"Yes it is, and so is Boots, but it's not your real name ... your precious name."

"I don't think about my real name any more," said the frontier woman. "It's a girly name."

"Of course it is. You're a girl!"

"Folks around here don't see me as a girl, and I don't reckon I want 'em to," said Boots.

"I won't tell anyone what your real name is," said Millie. "You and I both go by nicknames. That's fine. But until I find my real name, I'd like to at least know what yours is. I won't call you by it. I just want to know."

It was quiet for a few minutes longer. The only noise was that made by the water when one of them moved.

"It's Charlene," said Boots. "Charlene Hennesey."

"It's a beautiful name," sighed Millie.

Boots said nothing.

"Will you be my sister, Charlene?" asked Millie.

"I thought you said you wouldn't call me that," grumbled Boots, fighting the tears that were suddenly coming into her eyes.

"Just this once," said Millie. "Will you be my sister? I don't know if I have a sister or not, but if I did, I'd want her to be exactly like you."

Suddenly Boots was washing her face, paying special attention to her eyes.

-------

When Bob returned to his surgery it was dark. He entered quietly. Once inside, he realized there was a lamp lit in his living quarters. He made some noise, to announce his arrival to the women. They'd had enough time to take two or three baths, but he didn't want to intrude. A little investigation revealed that Boots was gone. Millie lay in his bed, fast asleep. He wondered why she hadn't gone back to her own house now that it was habitable, but he wasn't about to wake her up and make her do so. He looked at the one bare leg that had worked its way out from under the quilt that had been thrown over her. Her face, relaxed in sleep, was beautiful--pale white and framed by her raven black hair.

He resisted the temptation to pull the quilt down a bit, to see what, if anything, she had on as sleepwear. Instead, he examined the tub, still filled with water. He knew it was cold now. The surface was scabbed by a layer of dirt and oil. He knew it could be skimmed off with a rag, rendering the water usable for another bath, but he wasn't going to strip down and take a cold bath in this small room with his patient sleeping right next to the tub.

He returned to his office and bedded down on the horse blanket again.

-------

The next morning Bob woke up and started his day as usual. While Millie's presence was a welcome break from the routine, he still had patients to see and things to do. Being the only doctor closer than Lincoln meant he had to do some traveling, to tend to the needs of people who couldn't come to him. While he'd been gone two days on such work, that had only covered one ranch. There were many other people to check in with.

Millie had made no sounds indicating she was awake, so he went on in to wake her and tell her he was going to be gone for a while. He didn't want her to wake to find him still gone and worry about where he was. Perhaps because she'd been covered the night before, he assumed she'd still be covered. In truth, he didn't really even think about that. He wasn't prepared, therefore, to find a naked woman in his bed who'd kicked off the covers during the night. He'd slept without a blanket himself because of the heat left over from the heating of the water.

He stared at the sleeping young woman, her hair tousled and her pink nipples seeming to peer at him as though they were bugged out eyes. Her pubic nest reminded him of how he'd touched her when he was trying to improve her blood pressure. His mouth was dry, and when he tried to swallow, it took two times to make it happen.

He was just thinking of retreating when her eyelids opened and blue eyes stared back at him. There was a split second as those eyes showed confusion, and then understanding. She gasped and reached for stray covers.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I came to tell you I'm starting my circuit today. I didn't mean to intrude on your privacy."

She looked at him. She hadn't covered everything. A lot of pale, white skin showed, and it was getting to him.

"I'm being silly. You've seen me before without clothes. You examined me and treated my wounds."

"I'll see if I can find something for you to wear while I'm on my rounds," he said. "Perhaps people might have clothing to pay me with."

She frowned, and then, uncharacteristically, laughed.

"I can just see you sewing up a wound and asking, 'Might you have a frock to pay me with? Something that would be a bit tight on me?' and people thinking you'd been out in the sun too long."

He was glad she wasn't upset that he'd seen her naked. It made him a little bolder than usual.

"Well, we wouldn't want that. And to be honest, I'd much prefer to see you like this than raise doubts as to my sanity."

"Why doctor, are you flirting with me?" she asked archly.

He came to his senses. She was beautiful, and his fantasies about her were delightful. But she was educated, and someone would come for her. It would be better if that person felt no need to punish one upstart frontier physician for less than proper behavior.

"It wouldn't be gentlemanly," he said.

"Oh, you're a gentleman," she said. "I can tell that, even if I don't know how. And I'm the one who should apologize, not you. I was so weak after that hot soak that I told Boots I wanted to lie down, just for a bit, to recover my strength. I didn't mean to stay all night. I must have fallen asleep, and Boots didn't wake me. And now you had to sleep somewhere else again."

"I found you sleeping and didn't wake you either," said Bob. "And if finding you in my bed is the worst thing that happens to me this month, then I'm in pretty good shape," he joked. "Now, I must go. I'll be gone for several days, but I expect Boots will be around frequently to see how you're doing. She hasn't had a woman to talk to for years, most likely. And she'll be a true and loyal friend, if you let her."

"She is my friend," said Millie firmly. "Last night we adopted each other as sisters. Please bring me something to wear. It doesn't matter what size it is, or what color. Anything I can patch up will be fine."


-------

Chapter 6


It may have been something Bob said to one of the town fathers about Millie's situation and how the two women had been required to fix up the schoolmarm's house all by themselves. Or it could have been that word got out about her circumstances, and that she was going to teach school. Whatever it was, people began to respond to Millie's plight and needs. The next day, a wagon arrived in front of her little house. In it were three women, mothers of some of the children who would be coming to the school when it opened. They had brought a few meager gifts for the new teacher, including some clothing. Annie Buckminster also drove a wagon over, with a load of straw and an empty mattress sack. The women stayed to help Millie get the mattress stuffed and comfortable. Some other women from town also showed up. One brought a pot, another a broom and two others some provisions, including flour, bacon, beans and some eggs. A man came and left without a word, dropping off half a wagonload of split wood, though it was left in a pile rather than being stacked.

But Millie felt welcome, and she was grateful for everything she received. It made her want to be the best teacher she could be. She told everyone she saw that day that she would be opening the schoolhouse the following day.

The school itself, as it turned out, was in much better condition than the old schoolmaster's house had been. It was tighter, and less dust had accumulated. It would need some work, but Millie felt like she needed to get things started. From her perspective, the town had turned out to help her, and had given her a chance. She felt like she owed it to them to move ahead with her new job.

For her part, Millie simply thought all she'd do was teach reading and vocabulary, along with basic mathematics, and teach the children to write basic things. It didn't occur to her that some of the students would be more ... or less ... knowledgeable about these things, and that practically nobody would be on the same page in terms of their scholastic levels.

She got her first inkling that things might be more complicated than she thought, when the children arrived for their first day of school under her tutelage.

There were two hours between the times the first and last arrived. Some walked, and some rode horses.

-------

Millie stood, surveying the room. Boots had stationed herself at the back of the room, behind the seated students. She said she was there to keep order, but Millie suspected she was just curious about how the new schoolmarm would handle things.

Her final tally had twelve children on it. The five youngest students were seven, eight, ten, eleven and twelve years old, respectively. There were four thirteen-year-olds, including the three boys who were responsible for her being there, but of course she didn't know that. The last three on her list were fourteen, fifteen and seventeen. In all, there were five girls and seven boys.

The eldest, a girl named Amy Hawkins, walked with a pronounced limp, the effect of a badly set broken leg when she was very young. Amy was resigned to being an old maid, because she wasn't married yet, and was quite sure no man would want a lame wife. The other side of that particular coin was that Amy had had access to books, and she spent time with those instead of the things hale girls were required to do on the frontier. As a result, she was the best educated student in the school, and was destined to become Millie's assistant.

It was, in fact, Amy who suggested that the first order of business should be for the children to spruce up their own one room schoolhouse. She offered to supervise that while Millie spent a few minutes with each child determining his or her level of education.

The kids all had skills, but they were usually skills like finding fuel for the fire, when to plant various things in the garden, or getting a cow to go where you wanted it to go. One boy was proud that he knew which snakes could be caught and played with, and which were to be left alone.

It soon became clear that each of her twelve students would need her individual attention to actually move forward with their education.

-------

While Millie was dealing with her first day of school, four men sat around a table in the dining room of the Beaverton Hotel. One was Ralph Dugway, who owned the hotel. The other three were Mayor Robinson, Sheriff Miller and Claude Simpson, the storekeeper.

"No inquiries yet?" asked the mayor, looking at Sheriff Miller.

"Nothing over the wire," said Ralph. Harvey Watkins, the part-time stationmaster, also worked part time for Ralph at the front desk of the hotel. As a result, Ralph always knew first when something came over the telegraph, which was in the train station.

"Hasn't been time for anything to arrive by train," said the sheriff.

"What's Doc say about her injuries?" asked Simpson.

Miller spoke again. "She ain't got no memory of who she is or where she came from. He had to do some stitching on her, but you can't tell it by lookin' at her. She gets around all right."

"She's a looker," said Simpson.

"She's trouble," said Dugway. "She said anything about lawyers yet?"

"Nothing I've heard," said Mayor Robinson. "Hopefully, if we can keep her happy, that won't come up."

"Oh?" asked Simpson. "How do we keep her happy?"

"Well, I gave her a job for one thing," said Robinson. "And Ralph is giving her board."

Miller snorted. "You call one meal a day board?" He frowned. "Somebody's going to come looking for her, and when they do, they're going to find out she was assaulted, almost killed, and then bamboozled into being a slave laborer for the town. We'll be lucky if the whole town isn't burned to the ground."

"That's not how we're going to explain it," said the mayor. "She had a regrettable accident. Our town doctor treated her and, until her situation could be rectified, she was given something worthwhile to spend her time doing. This town isn't responsible for her upkeep. We helped her!"

Sheriff Miller wasn't impressed. "If your daughter was still here, and this happened to her, would you take that line of crap and call it all even?"

"Don't bring up my daughter!" barked the mayor. "And if I thought that line of crap was true, I would," said the politician at the table.

"Then we better sell that line of crap right good when somebody shows up," said Miller. "Because that girl is both beautiful and a product of breeding, and somebody damn powerful is going to come looking for her. I feel it in my bones."

"You just make sure Doc takes good care of her," said Mayor Robinson. "I'll take care of whoever comes to fetch her."

-------

Millie was both pleased and surprised at how smoothly things went in her one room schoolhouse. While she might have lost the memory of who she was, and where she came from, she had not lost all memories. She knew the propensities of boys aged in the lower teens, and had expected the boys in her school to be a handful. That they were not was a profound relief to her.

Part of her good fortune, unknown to her, was that Boots was there. Also unknown to her was the fact that Boots had caught Michael and Benjamin peeking into the window of Doc Fisk's surgery to see what the condition of the victim of their prank was. She couldn't have known that Boots scared the crap out of almost all the children in town. Not only did this woman act and talk in ways that were completely unladylike, she had also murdered a man in cold blood, and walked away clean from it. Her story, over the five years she'd been in town, had morphed, as all stories do over time, and that story was truly blood-curdling these days. Boots was a living ghost story to the children of Beaverton.

So with Boots standing in the back of the class, order really was kept.

But Boots was only part of Millie's success. The other part was Millie herself. Children in a frontier society often lived in a world with only two stimuli. One was adults disregarding them as ignorant children, incapable of doing anything worthwhile. The other was adults expecting them to perform tasks to adult standards. In other words, they were either ignored, or expected to perform like adults. Neither situation really satisfied the longing all children feel to be noticed, and cared for.

In all fairness, this was not because the adults were harsh and uncaring. Rather it was because the world they lived in was harsh and uncaring, and the adults around them had their hands full just surviving.

So when a beautiful, mysterious, interesting young woman took a personal interest in them, the children in her school room were enthralled. The boys in particular rarely had the opportunity to examine, at length, a good looking young woman. Three of them, responsible for her being there, felt a tormenting mixture of shame and embarrassed lust.

Suffice it to say tensions ran high in school for a few days, but those tensions in no way discouraged learning. If anything, the kids were eager to learn and display that learning to their teacher.

Basically, what Millie did was break children into groups to study either reading, writing or arithmetic. She used those who had a modicum of skill in each area as assistants, to supervise each group, while she went from group to group to give them instruction and tasks to work on. As a result, she had children of widely mixed ages in each group, because the abilities of the children were widely scattered, without regard to age. Some very young children could read better, because they had spent long winters shut up inside with parents who could read, and who owned one, or maybe even two books. Even families that weren't fortunate enough to be able to afford a book or two usually owned a Bible, so there was usually something to read, for those inclined to do so.

So it was math and writing that needed most of Millie's attention. And it was in one of those areas that she asked Boots to help. She was working with the math group when Rory Tucker raised his hand in the writing group. That group contained Rory, who was eight, as well as Luthor Simmons, Emily Simpson and Donny Walker. Luthor was fourteen, but had been kicked by a horse and was a bit addled. Emily was eleven and Donny only seven. Emily had never written a word in her life, and Rory could write his name, so he had been given de facto charge of the group to teach them how to write his name as well, and then try to puzzle out how to write their own. They had decided to start with Donny's name, and there was an argument about whether that name included two N's or only one.

"Boots?" called Millie. "Could you help them, please? I'm right in the middle of something here."

It was Boots who told them only one N was needed, which was how Millie found out Boots could neither read, nor write, nor cipher.

That being completely unacceptable (to Millie), and public instruction being embarrassing to Boots, she made arrangements to privately tutor Boots in the evenings.

-------

While Bob was away on his circuit, Millie and Boots settled into an evening routine. Millie was allowed one meal a day at the hotel dining room for free. Since they planned on studying in the evenings, and since Boots didn't get to eat free, Millie ate breakfast at the hotel before school. After school, they prepared supper at Millie's house, and then Boots spent an hour or two "learnin' her letters," as she put it. At the same time, Millie learned some things too. Boots, for instance, cooked things in an entirely strange manner sometimes. Used to cooking over an open fire, for the most part, Boots was both ignorant of and a little suspicious of the big cook stove in Millie's house. The first two nights, Millie did all the cooking.

The next night, Boots brought with her a brace of rabbits she'd trapped and cleaned. Millie only had one nice dress, so when school was over she went into her bedroom and changed into one of her hand-me-down outfits. While she was doing that, Boots got a fire going in the firebox of the stove. The pump hadn't been repaired yet, so Millie took the bucket and went to the front of the saloon, where there was another hand pump next to the watering trough for the horses. When Millie returned, she found Boots had skewered the rabbits on a stick and thrust them into the firebox of the stove through the open door.

"What on earth are you doing?" she asked the leather-clad woman.

"Cookin' dinner, of course," said Boots, reasonably. "It's rabbit, and it's gonna be real tasty."

"Why don't you just cook it in the oven?" asked Millie.

Boots had learned, by now, that expressing ignorance about something in front of Millie did not bring the derision and teasing it seemed to generate in everybody else. As such, she was much more relaxed around her friend--her first real friend.

"Don't know nothin' 'bout no oven," said Boots. "This will get 'em cooked. That's the point, ain't it?"

Millie would have happily taught Boots how to cook in a more civilized manner, but she was smart enough to know that some battles should be saved for another time. So she worked on chopping up some turnips, beets and carrots, all of which had been donated to the cause by mothers of her students. When they were sufficiently diced, she put them in her single pan, with a little water, and set them on the stovetop to cook.

Later, as they ate, Millie learned how to build a trap for a rabbit. She was pretty sure she'd never need to actually do that, but it was something Boots could teach her while they shared their meager repast.

When Bob returned to town, however, the evening routine changed. That was by virtue of his inviting Millie to eat supper with him in the evenings.

Bob himself had an arrangement with Claude Simpson, who ran the general store. While Bob was on his rounds, he collected handicrafts that various people out in the wilderness created. Claude then sold them in his store, primarily to passengers on the stage coach. The next time Bob went out on his circuit, he took money (or more likely something like a pound of flour, or some bacon) to give to the craftsmen, and picked up more merchandise. In payment for this service, Claude made arrangements for him to take his meals at the restaurant at the Beaverton Hotel. Since there was little cash money available to most folks on the frontier, there was a lot of "horse trading" that went on.

That was the model for the decision to give Millie one meal a day. When Bob asked her to eat with him, she asked if Boots could come along too. Boots, of course, neither wanted to be around "uppity folks" who ate in fancy restaurants, nor would she have been welcome, not to mention that she rarely had any money. But she insisted that Millie should eat with Bob.

"Besides," said Boots. "I been spendin' so much time in school and with you, that my normal doin's have gone undone. Why don't we do some studyin' after school, an' then I can go take care of things while you and Bob be civilized and stuff." She grinned.

What resulted was that Bob and Millie spent a lot of time together, time that was filled with the kind of talk two lonely people engage in when they share a meal. And most nights, after the meal, they went for a walk. In theory, Bob was simply seeing her home. But they often took a circuitous route to get there, a route that kept them together much longer than was strictly necessary.

Neither one of them realized on a conscious level how much they looked forward to having supper together, and going for a simple walk.

-------

It was after dinner one night, about two weeks after they had begun eating together, that Bob suggested it was about time for him to take a look at her injuries, to see how they were healing.

"I'm fine, really," she said. "Hardly anything hurts anymore."

Bob sighed. "Why is it everyone thinks they know as much as the doctor?"

Her cheeks were suddenly tinged pink. "I'm sorry," she said. She sounded like she thought she'd hurt his feelings.

Not wanting things to be too serious, Bob tried to make a joke. "Besides, how often do you think I get to see a pretty young gal in just her skin?"

"I wish you wouldn't say things like that," she came back almost instantly. Her cheeks were quite red now.

He was about to apologize himself, when she went on.

"That kind of thing makes me think decidedly unladylike things, Doctor."

His eyebrows rose almost an inch. This young woman was just full of surprises. He'd never have imagined she'd have such thoughts, and for sure would never admit it out loud.

"Well, your color seems fine," he said, unsure of how to respond. "And that suggests your morals are in pretty good shape, too."

She looked at him through lowered lashes. "Do you really need to ... examine me?"

Bob Fisk heard something in her voice that he'd also have sworn he would never hear. It was the sound of interest in a man. He shook his head mentally. He was daydreaming again. This poor girl wasn't quite young enough to be his daughter, but she was a good fifteen years his junior. The chances she was interested in him were vanishingly small.

"It's time for the stitches to come out," he said, trying to sound professional.

"Then I place myself in your hands, Doctor," she said, formally.

The problem was that his libido ignored the formality in her voice, and wondered just how she'd feel in his hands.

-------

It was dark in the surgery. It never occurred to him to have her come back in the daylight. Instead, he lit a lamp and set it on a shelf on the wall adjacent to the examining table. She stood, fidgeting, apparently waiting for him to give her instructions.

"Why don't you have a seat on the table," suggested Bob.

"Do I need to disrobe?" she asked.

He would have loved to say she should, but he was already half stiff. The primary wounds he was concerned with were the deep one, which he had stitched, and one near it that had been ragged and wide, but wasn't deep enough to use stitches to close. He thought he could get to both of those without her being naked. The effort of making the ethical decision, however, left him little brain power to guard his mouth.

"As much as I'd love to have you disrobe, I think we can make do without."

She stood, looking at him.

"Why do you say things like that?"

"Like what?" he asked, confused.

"Things that make it quite clear you'd like to see me naked."

"I didn't mean anything by it," he said quickly.

"So you don't want to see me unclothed," she said.

Bob was starting to get a bad feeling about this. He'd never been good at verbal sparring, particularly with women.

"My desires aren't really relevant here," he said carefully. "I want you to feel comfortable during treatment. I don't want you to be afraid to come to me if you have a medical problem."

"I'm not afraid of you," she said. "I can't imagine being afraid of you."

"Good," he said.

"So do you or do you not wish to see me naked?" she asked.

He groaned.

"That kind of question can be the bane of a man's existence," he said. "Suppose I say I do want to see you in your natural glory. That might offend you. I don't want to offend you." He was going to continue, but she interrupted.

"Suppose you say you don't want to see me that way," she said. "Mightn't I be crushed? Mightn't I feel that I'm ugly and undesirable to men?"

"The proper answer is that I would never invade your privacy in such an uncouth manner," he said.

"Bob," she said, looking right at him. "You've already seen me that way. You're a doctor. Your job requires you to examine people, and that sometimes involves removing their clothing."

"Stop!" he barked.

She did so and stared at him, blinking several times.

"I am no good at playing these games," he said. "Please, just speak your mind and tell me what you want."

"That's what I'm trying to get you to do!" she snapped.

"Why?" he yelled.

"Because when you say things like that, it makes me feel good!" she yelled back. She calmed immediately. "It makes me feel like maybe somewhere there's a man who misses me, and wishes I were with him so he could be a cad and try to dally with me!"

Her outburst had shocked him. It had also titillated him.

"Millie," he said softly. "You're an astonishingly beautiful young woman. There are probably a thousand men who have wished they could spend a few moments with you in quiet conversation, and likely a hundred or more who dream about being a barbarian lord, who captures you in battle and has his way with you."

She blinked and swallowed. Then she fanned her face with her hand.

"My goodness," she said weakly. "You say the most romantic things."

"I'll be right back," said Bob, and went through the curtain to his bedroom, where he had to walk around the copper tub, which hadn't been carried back to Millie's house yet. His purpose for leaving was to get hold of his emotions. And move his cock around in his pants, so that it didn't hurt or show quite so much that he had an erection.

He thought about what had just happened. It seemed almost like she was flirting with him. Or trying to flirt. She obviously wasn't being a vamp, but she was more direct about it than an inexperienced girl would be. Even so, the fact that she had tried indicated at least some experience with men.

He went back to the surgery. She was sitting right where he'd left her.

"All right. If you lie down, I'll get those stitches out, and take a look at things in general."

She knew where the stitches were, of course. Rather than lying down, as instructed, she began unbuttoning her dress. She didn't just unbutton the area over the wound. She started from the top. When she got below the wound she stopped, swallowed, and then lay back, pulling the material apart, baring her breasts and belly.

Bob couldn't help it. He stared.

"That look!" she said, her voice tight. "I've seen you look at me like that before."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I'm not angry," she said. "I wish you looked at me like that more often."

"Explain that," he ordered.

"Everyone here has been polite as can be," she said. "But that doesn't help me remember things. Other than the children, you and Boots are the only people who will actually look at me and engage me in conversation. You're the only man who treats me as if I'm a woman ... who looks at me like that."

"Do you want other men to treat you like a woman?" asked Bob.

"No, that's not what I mean. When you say things ... things like that I'm beautiful ... and when you look at me with that special look that makes me shiver ... it makes my mind go crazy. And I see little flits and peeks at something in my mind that aren't quite memories, except I think they could become memories, if I could just see them a little better."

"Do you remember a man?" asked Bob. "Maybe a special man?"

"No," she said sadly. He could actually see her pushing her current thoughts out of her mind. She lifted her head to look at her stomach. "Am I healing well?"

He bent over to examine his work. He warned her that there would be some discomfort, and got his scalpel and tweezers ready. Carefully, he slit the sutures and pulled the pieces out. Other than an occasional hiss, she said nothing. She only bled from two places which, considering the thickness of the thread, wasn't bad at all.

He stood, and pointedly looked over the rest of her exposed skin. She lay, her eyes watching his eyes move over her body. He let his gaze linger on her breasts. He noticed her nipples were erect.

Finally his eyes fixed on her own, and they stared at each other for a long moment.

"I really wish I hadn't given my barbarian horde the night off," he said, finally.

She laughed so hard she could scarcely button up her dress.


-------

Chapter 7


Two weeks went by, and no one came asking about Millie. School was going very well, in Millie's opinion. The town fathers apparently thought so too, because she was provided with fifty cents credit at the general store each week. Of course the town fathers didn't know Boots was a student too. They'd have probably laughed at the idea, but Mille was quite happy with the progress her friend was making.

Bob showed up at school one day and asked if he could borrow the three thirteen-year-old boys, Chauncey, Benjamin and Michael for a little while. Since they were normally the source of most of the unrest in the classroom, Millie just waved at them to go with him.

He had them take the copper tub back to her house. He also supervised while they made several repairs to the house and the privy. Nobody had to tell them this was part of their 'sentence' for what they'd done to Millie. They had all fallen madly in love with her anyway, and were happy to do anything for her. That, in fact, was the source of most of the unrest they caused in school, as each one tried to get the attention of the woman he was sweet on.

Millie became even more valuable to the town when one of the townspeople sought her aid in another manner. It happened one Tuesday when Millie and Boots left the schoolhouse at the end of the day and found Minerva Skelton waiting for them outside. Minerva was the proprietor of the Silver Dollar Saloon, which not only served beer and spirits but had girls and rooms upstairs over the noisy dance floor. The Silver Dollar was tolerated by most people in town, but for different reasons. For one thing, it was the only source of hard liquor within a hundred miles, and that brought cowboys to town, with the little money they had. But a little money was better than none, and the merchants in town were happy to take it from them. And if Minerva got it first ... well she had to feed, clothe and see to the other needs of the girls, so it all trickled downhill anyway.

Then there was the fact that frontier men, by and large, were rough, smelly and unaccomplished lovers. While a woman might marry one of them to secure her future, that didn't mean she enjoyed what he might require of her in bed. Other than getting with child, a surprising number of frontier women were just as happy that her man sought his pleasure over the saloon, and therefore left her alone.

Then of course there was the fact that, every so often, a cowboy might decide to strike out on his own, and seek a wife to go with him. Men like that were much more likely to try to woo one of Minerva's young women, rather than the daughter of a local resident or rancher, which was just fine with the local residents and ranchers.

So in spite of their dismal morals, Minerva and her girls were, for the most part, welcome in town.

Boots, however, wasn't one of those people who tolerated Minerva's cathouse well.

"Whut do you want?" she growled at the woman, who was dressed in what passed for finery in Beaverton.

Minerva's spine was straight and her head held high. Minerva thought of herself as a businesswoman first, and a surrogate mother to her ladies second.

"I have need of the school mistress to assist me," she said, frostily. Minerva had no use for Boots either. She saw the leather-clad woman as a mannish, foul-mouthed, dangerously erratic person. "Your presence will not be required," she said, dismissively.

"Whut could an old, ugly whore like you want with a nice young woman like Millie?" asked Boots belligerently.

"Ladies, ladies!" said Millie, holding up a hand toward each woman. "Let us please refrain from unhappy dealings." She put a hand on Boots' right arm, which the woman had unconsciously and instinctively positioned so that her hand was hovering near the handle of her six-gun. "How can I help you, Mrs. Skelton?"

Minerva sniffed, but held out a piece of paper to Millie.

"It's Miss Skelton. I never married. I don't read much past what it takes to run my business," she said, without a trace of embarrassment. "One of my ladies got this from the mail bag on the stage, and it's beyond my ability to decipher. Your help would be greatly appreciated."

Millie took the page and looked at it. She recognized it as having been prepared on one of the new Sholes & Glidden Type Writer machines that was favored by newspapermen and lawyers, and then blinked as she wondered how she knew that. Things like that frustrated her, so she went back to examining the letter. It was on letterhead of an attorney in Dallas, Texas. She glanced over it. It was filled with words like "wherefore" and "whereas" and "let it be adjudged that." She read silently for a moment.

"It's a letter to someone named Thomas Witherspoon, stating that his father's will has passed title to him for a farm, consisting of 165 acres in Washau County, Texas. It has the legal description of the land and says that, other than the land and whatever is on it, there is nothing else of value listed in the will. There is also a handwritten addendum to it at the bottom." She started reading.

To Ruby Mae Witherspoon. Ruby, the bastard is dead. He died a week ago in his sleep, and didn't even have no help from me, though I'd sorely have loved to help him along on his way to hell. I know you have a successful life keeping store in that town up there in Nebraska, but now that papa is gone I need you here to help me keep this farm. He can't hurt you no more, Ruby. I've been doing most of the work anyways, and I'm sure we can make a go of it if you'll just come back home to help me. You didn't never send me any word that you got hitched or anything, so I hope you can get on a stagecoach and come on back home to Texas.

Your brother, Tom

Millie looked up at Minerva, who nodded. Her mouth was a tight, straight line.

"Ruby came to me three years ago," she said. "Her father took liberties with her, and she ran away from home. I've been taking care of her since."

Boots snorted. "You call selling her ass to every cowboy that comes along taking care of her?"

Minerva shot a scathing look at Boots. "Her father taught her what is expected of women. He gave her nothing but bruises for it. She has been happy and safe here. Before you try to correct your betters, you should get all the facts."

Millie held up her hands again, trying to keep the peace.

"In any case, what she has been sent appears to be from her brother. He'd like her to return home."

"She ain't gonna let one of her cash cows go," complained Boots.

"I most certainly will!" snapped Minerva. "You wouldn't know anything about caring for another human being, but I care deeply for those girls. I want only what's best for them!"

Millie's hand went back to Boots' arm. Her hand squeezed gently.

"If that's all you need?" she said, looking at Minerva and holding the letter out to her.

"Yes. Thank you," said the woman, who took the paper, turned and stalked off.

"What was that stuff in there about keeping store?" asked Boots. "She's a whore, not a shopkeeper."

"I suspect she didn't want her brother to know how she was really employed," said Millie.

"Yeah, I guess that would be true," said Boots.

"You didn't have to call her a whore," said Millie, meaning the woman they had just spoken with.

"It's whut she is," said Boots.

"Sometimes being polite is more important than being truthful," said Millie.

-------

Millie and Boots were now fast friends. Most other people in town didn't have much interaction with their new schoolmarm. Part of that was because of the circumstances of her arrival. Most folks didn't know what to say to a woman who had basically been assaulted into staying in town. Part of it was people's natural reticence around strangers, which Millie still was, to almost everyone. Her students, however, loved her and learning the things she taught them.

But her relationship with Bob wasn't as cut and dried as all the others. That she enjoyed his company when they dined wasn't hard to understand. He was handsome, witty and knowledgeable about so many things that she almost always learned something from him during their discussions. What was difficult was how she felt about him as a man. When he teased her, the glitter in his eye made her feel almost nervous. When he took her elbow, to help her up steps, or something like that, she wished he'd keep her arm. Several times she'd wanted to take his arm as he walked her home after supper.

But, other than a little flirting, he was always the perfect gentleman, and she wasn't at all sure his attentions were strictly on her. She also saw him smile that devastating smile at other women. He complimented them as well. So she vacillated between what she perceived as a school girl crush on the man, and seeing him as a caring mentor who was keeping an eye on her because that's just the kind of man he was.

Then one day fate took a hand. Mary Simpson, a cute fifteen-year-old whose blond hair sometimes seemed to drain all semblance of intelligence out of her head, started talking about the Founder's Day dance. It was coming up in two weeks. Although she wasn't specifically talking to Millie, what had caught the teacher's attention was her mooning aloud about Luthor Simmons's older brother, Trent, and how he was going to ask her to dance, and how he would fall madly in love with her, and how by this time next year she'd be married with a baby on her hip.

Luthor, who was fourteen and in school, reckoned as how she was acting foolish because, he said, his brother didn't know anything about either dancing or women. Trent was apprenticed to the blacksmith, which was why he didn't attend school, even though he was only sixteen.

All this led to a discussion in school that taught Millie more than it did the children. She learned, for instance, that to attend the dance, you had to be at least fifteen, unless you were formally engaged in either sparking a girl or being sparked by a boy. The term "formally" meant that both sets of parents approved, and that the aim of the practice was marriage. It turned out that Annie Buckminster, the tomboy in the class and a favorite of Boots, had been approached by a boy a year past who asked her parents if he could begin courting her.

"But you're only thirteen!" said Millie, outraged that a twelve-year-old girl could be put in that position.

"I been having monthlies since I was eleven," she said, with a frown. "Damn boys been treatin' me different ever since."

"Don't curse, dear," said Millie automatically. "So what happened?"

"My ma and pa said he could court me for a year, and if it all worked out, they'd give us their blessin'. I didn't want their blessin'. Arby - that was his name - he was nineteen, and he'd been in the Army, except he got shot in the leg fightin' Indians and couldn't soldier no more, and about a month after he started courtin' me, while we were out walking one night he wanted to kiss me and put his hands under my dress and all that sort of thing. I ran home and told my pa, an' he decided that Arby needed to find a girl who was ready to get married right quick like."

"And did he?"

"I guess. He and Betsy Robinson ran off together about a week later."

"Robinson," said Millie. "That's the mayor's name."

"Betsy was his daughter," said Annie.

"And how old was Betsy?" asked Millie.

"Same as me," said Annie. "We was only born three days apart."

"Were," corrected Millie.

"Her and me were born three days apart," said Annie, patiently.

"She and you were born three days apart," corrected Millie again.

"Yup. That's what I said," beamed the girl.

That had ended the conversation about the dance and the courting habits of the inhabitants of Beaverton. Millie hadn't thought much about it after that.

Until two days later when Bob was walking her home after supper, he said, "You know the Founder's Day dance is coming up soon."

"Yes," she said. "The children were talking about it at school."

They walked on in silence for a moment.

"So ... are you gonna go?" asked Bob.

Millie looked over at him in the twilight.

"Are you asking me to the dance?"

"Well, no, I reckon not," said Bob. "I mean I don't really have any standing to ask a lady like you to the dance. I don't even own a good hat."

"What does a hat have to do with going to the dance? Surely you don't wear a hat while you dance."

"No, of course not. I just can't get all gussied up, that's all."

"And you think I wouldn't be interested in being seen with a man who wasn't ... all gussied up," she said.

"Well of course not," he said. "No pretty woman wants to be dragged down by a homely man, hanging onto her and spoiling the magic."

"And what magic is that?" she asked.

"All the women are so pretty at things like that," he said. "It's like maybe a fairy godmother comes along and sprinkles them with magic dust and they shine."

"I don't have a hat either, Bob," she said.

"Women don't have to have a hat," he laughed. "Hats are for men."

"Back east women wear huge hats, with feathers and ribbons and sparkly things on them," she said.

He stopped. "What else to you remember?" he asked.

...

"It doesn't seem to work like that," she said. "That knowledge was just suddenly there. I can't make myself remember things."

"Oh."

They walked on.

"So," she said. "Since I only have one good dress, and since no amount of magic dust could possibly make it look like anything other than what it already is ... are you asking me to the dance?"

"If I did ... what would you say?" he asked.

"Why don't you ask me and find out," she suggested.

"Damn, Millie!" he burst out.

"Don't you curse at me, Doctor Fisk!" she snapped.

"I wasn't cursing," he said. "Not at you. I'm just frustrated. I'm no good at this kind of thing."

"It's a question that requires a simple yes or no answer, Bob. Do you want to take me to the dance?" she asked, staring at him.

He was silent for a long time, but finally said, "Yes," in a very quiet, very nervous voice.

"Well I'd like you to take me to the dance, so that works out rather well, don't you think?"

"You would?" His voice was suddenly full of hope.

"Have you ever had a lady friend, Bob?" she asked.

"Well ... kind of," he said. "But she married up with somebody else."

"That's sad. Who was she?"

"Her name was Maggie," he said.

"That's just her name. Who was she? Where did you meet her? Why did she marry someone else?"

He walked on in silence for a bit longer.

"She worked at the Silver Dollar," he finally said.

"Oh ... I see," said Millie.

"A man has his needs," said Bob, defensively.

"I didn't say anything," she said.

"You didn't have to," he said.

"I understand completely," she said. "After all, a woman has her needs, too."

He stopped again. "What?" He was incredulous.

"Not that I have ever experienced that," said Millie, embarrassed that she had spoken without thinking. "But I'm quite sure that both men and women have needs. It's been that way for thousands of years."

"Of course," he said.

"So, you're taking me to the Founder's Day dance," she said firmly.

"Yes, ma'am," he said again.

"Good," she said. "I can't wait to find out if I can remember how to dance."



-------

Chapter 8


Millie found out the whole sordid story of Boots and Jasper quite by accident. She'd gone to the general store, to pick up some flour and lard. Bessie Robinson, the mayor's wife, was there, engaged in gossiping about whether or not Melissa Thistledown, a local rancher's wife, was simply gaining weight or pregnant again. When she saw Millie she squared her shoulders and approached.

"There is something I wish to discuss with you, dear," she said, confronting the teacher.

"Yes?" said Millie.

"Why do you allow that gun-toting whore in your classroom? She is a distasteful and unseemly influence on those children's tender sensibilities."

"I beg your pardon?" Millie stared at the woman, shocked.

"She's a murderess!" hissed the mayor's wife. "She goes into the saloon, bald-faced, on a regular basis! She wears pants! I do not believe it is in the best interests of this town or the children for her to be disturbing your teaching by being in the school."

"Boots helps me," said Millie, still stunned by what this woman was saying.

"And what kind of name is Boots anyway? She killed a man and then robbed his dead body of his boots! And she's proud of that! I simply must insist that she be expelled from your school."

Millie felt her face heat up. She might only be a pretend teacher, but she was doing the best she could. The children were making good progress, and Boots was to her mind partly responsible for that progress. That this woman thought she could just call the shots made Millie livid.

"Mrs. Robinson," she said, her voice tight. "I don't believe you have any children in school. As I understand it, your daughter decided not to go to school." She saw the woman's face go pale at the mention of her daughter, who had eloped. "That being the case, I shall discuss the matter with the parents of the children who are in school, before I make any firm decisions. Have a good day, madam."

She turned to the storekeeper's wife, who also looked shocked, and asked for what she'd come for. She ignored Bessie, who decided her business in the store had been concluded and left, slamming the door behind her.

"She won't forget that," said Melissa, when she set the flour and lard on the counter. She had included a packet of coffee and a small coffee pot. She did not ask for payment for either.

"I won't either," said Millie, gruffly.

"If you tell anybody I said this, I'll say it's a lie," said Melissa, leaning over the counter and dropping her voice, "but as far as I'm concerned Boots only did to that man what he had coming to him. Bessie never saw the girl when all that happened, but I did. No human being should have had to endure what that man did to her."

"I didn't know!" said Millie, and suddenly remembered the scars on Boots' body, and what she'd said the night they'd shared a bath. Millie had thought she was joking, but there was obviously more to it than that.

"Boots is handy to have around," said Melissa. "She brings news and she's even ridden on a posse before. You can talk to the other parents if you like, but I'd be surprised if you find many who want her gone."

"I like her," said Millie. "The children like her too. Thank you for telling me this."

"You're welcome. My Mary is just busting out all over with how smart she says you're making her. And it's not just talk. I can see the difference. I don't know what you did wherever you came from, but you're a passable good teacher." She smiled.

Millie thanked her again, and then left. She decided she needed to find out more about Boots.

-------

Millie's intent was to locate Boots and ask her about this new information she had come by. But in that mission she was to be disappointed, because Boots was nowhere to be found.

So she went to Bob's office. She found him snoozing in his bedroom, having no patients and therefore no real need to be in his office. That didn't stop her from waking him, though. She sat on the edge of his bed, and reached to touch him. At the same time, she realized that a proper young lady would never be caught sitting on the edge of a man's bed, reaching to wake him. Not a grown man, anyway.

She decided she didn't care.

Bob woke with a lurch, asking what was wrong.

"Nothing," said Millie. "I just need to talk to you, that's all."

"Oh," he said, rubbing his eyes. "That's interesting, because I was just dreaming about you."

"Oh?" Millie sounded interested. "What was this dream about?"

His eyes darted this way and that, as he woke fully.

"Never mind," he said. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Boots," she said.

"What about her?"

"Did she really kill a man?"

-------

Millie was pale when Bob finished describing the day he met Boots. She sat stock still the entire time he told the story. Partly that was because Bob, like many frontier men, was skillful at telling stories. Such men were the purveyors of oral history in those days, before newspapers and books were common. And partly it had to do with the fact that she was so emotionally involved, trying to imagine what the girl must have gone through. Bob's account was unvarnished. He told her everything because he knew Boots never would, and because he was well aware that Millie was the only real friend Boots had, and deserved to understand why Boots was the way she was.

Truth be told, Millie was conflicted. She was horrified at the image of a girl, even one like Boots, bashing a man's head in. At the same time she knew Boots to be a caring human being who, while she talked roughly, seemed on the whole to be a basically decent person. In the end, she decided, as she had several times before since arriving in this little town, to trust her first instincts. She liked Boots, and that was that.

Bob, who had told the story while lying down, put his hand on her arm.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

His hand on her arm, simple as it was, was enough to take her mind off of Boots. Instead, she concentrated on the feel of his skin touching hers. That was another of the first instincts she had trusted - about Bob. She still couldn't remember anyone from her past, such as a young man who was special to her, but if there was, she knew how she felt about him, because of the way she felt about Bob. He was a man she could let her guard down around ... a man she could trust ... a man she liked to be with, simply because she could be herself.

Whoever that was.

She looked down at him and felt heat suffuse her face.

"Thank you," she said. "Boots is my friend, and it helps me understand her better."

"I wouldn't try understanding Boots," he joked. "She might be a tomboy, but she's still a woman down deep."

"I see," said Millie gravely. "What you're saying is that no woman can be fully understood."

"Not by a man," he grinned.

"You know, I wasn't actually joking about not remembering if I know how to dance," she said. "Perhaps we should practice a little bit. I wouldn't want to look foolish on Founder's Day."

Bob blinked. "Now?" he asked.

"Why not?" she said, her voice light and airy.

It was the tone of her voice that made Bob wary. But he couldn't put his finger on anything in particular that suggested there was danger here, so when she stood, he rolled out of bed. He had taken his shoes off to take his nap, and decided maybe staying in stocking feet was a better idea anyway, in case he stepped on her toes.

There was a moment of angst, as they faced each other, arms held not quite outright, but not closed either. Finally she stepped forward and they assumed a classic waltz position. He stepped off with his left foot and she automatically began humming a tune he recognized as There's a Song in the Air,  which had been popular for about a year.

She hadn't forgotten how to dance.

In fact, she was quite good at it. His style was rough, a low-brow country kind of bouncy waltz, more attuned to following the energetic rhythms of fiddle and washboard, but she adapted flawlessly. They had very little room to maneuver, so what they mostly did was spin, which rubbed their bodies together.

Bob's problem was that when he woke to find this beautiful young woman sitting on the edge of his bed, his mind responded in classic male tradition. That meant that when he rose to dance, his penis was not completely flaccid. And after having her in his arms, whirling, with her young, firm breasts bouncing off his chest, he was soon not anywhere even near flaccid.

Nor was she unaffected. She liked this man anyway, and when she felt the evidence of his arousal bump occasionally against her loins, instead of being horrified, she was thrilled. It was all just raw emotion, not thought through. She was a little dizzy, to be honest. But the overreaching feeling was of being ecstatically happy in a man's arms as she was whirled in circles.

It was, in fact, fatigue and dizziness that caused them to stop. Both were breathing heavily. They stopped, but did not release each other. Their faces were mere inches apart, breathing each other's exhalations as they panted, flushed and excited.

He wanted desperately to kiss her.

And she wanted him to as well.

But he finally stepped back instead.

"I think you'll do," he said, bowing formally.

"I can't wait," she said, her eyes glittering.

Neither of them was consciously aware of it, but as she left the room both her hands came up to gently squeeze her turgid nipples through the thin cloth of her dress. It was simply the result of raw emotion and instinct.

-------

It was Saturday, one week before Founder's Day. Millie and Boots had established a pattern, wherein Boots visited most of each day on the weekend. There was usually some tutoring, but in an unspoken, perhaps even unconscious contract, Millie was also teaching Boots how to be a young lady.

Not that Boots wanted to be a proper, dress-wearing young lady. Far from it. But being female is not the same as being feminine, and although she was curious about things feminine, no one had ever taken the time or interest in her to explain such arcane knowledge. She had been oddly ignorant about things feminine her entire life. She knew what to do when her monthly arrived and she bled, and she knew what to do to relieve the tension in her body when it got too high. But she didn't know what all those things meant. She knew what men wanted, but had never associated that with what she did to lower her tensions. In fact, all she associated men's sexual attentions with was pain and fear.

So, when Millie said, "You know, Boots, you should go to the dance too. I could help fix you up," she was astonished.

"Now why in the world would I want to do a consarned thing like that?" asked Boots, genuinely confused.

"I practiced dancing with Bob the other day," said Millie. Her cheeks got a little pink. "It's lovely being in a man's arms, when he's whirling you around."

"Any man tried that with me I'd punch his lights out," growled Boots.

"I know that man treated you badly," said Millie. "But not all men are like that."

"What do you know?" asked Boots carefully.

"It's a long story," said Millie, not wanting to have to tell Boots what the mayor's wife thought of her. "Suffice to say, Bob told me what happened to you."

"Why'd he do that?" asked Boots. "It ain't none of his business, nor yours neither."

"I know," said Millie, flushing again. "But you're my friend, Boots. I wish I could remember my past years. I'd happily share them with you."

"Wasn't nothing happy about that time," said Boots.

"I know," said Millie, reaching to touch her friend. "It's just that there are good men in the world too, and you could have a good man in your life."

"Why would I want that?" asked Boots, who had only one frame of reference in her life to judge men by, for the most part. "I don't need no man in my life."

"Do you like Doc?" asked Millie.

"Sure. He's all right," said Boots.

"So he's your friend."

"'Course."

"Well, imagine if there was a man you liked, and when he put his arms around you, it felt good instead of frightening."

"I already feel fine," said Boots.

Millie sighed. "Do you trust me?" she asked.

"'Course," said Boots.

"Do you believe that I have only your best interests in mind?"

"I'm not sure what that there actually means," admitted Boots.

"Do you believe I want good things to happen to you?"

"Yes."

"Then let me help you get ready to go to the dance. I promise you it will cause good things to happen."

"Whut kind of good things?"

"Well, for one thing, I think it would be helpful to you if the townspeople saw you looking like a girl," said Millie.

"Whut's wrong with the way I look?" asked Boots, her voice sulky.

"Nothing," said Millie. "But there's more to you than a hard riding, hard fighting, hard drinking girl who wears men's clothes."

"I don't drink all that much," argued Boots. "I like beer some, but whiskey burns my throat."

"Will you please just trust me?" begged Millie.

Boots' eyes narrowed as she stared at the one friend she had in the world.

"This is important to you, ain't it," she said.

"I honestly think it will help you," said Millie.

"Then I'll do it fer you," said Boots.

Thus it was that Charlene Hennesey, known only as Boots by all in Beaverton save the temporary schoolmarm, vowed to agree to learn how to be a young lady.

That vow lasted all the way up until she found out she'd have to wear a dress to the dance.

-------

It took all week. Millie had a stroke of genius when she decided that dancing and refined behavior had their place being taught in school that week. While not all the students could attend the dance, all would eventually do so at some point, so Millie taught them all how to waltz. Additionally, she taught the boys how to bow and formally ask for the honor of a dance. The girls she taught to curtsy and accept gracefully. As for getting Boots ready physically, it took a lot of cajoling, and even a threat or two to get the job done, but by Friday night the lessons had been presented and Millie was ready for what she thought of as a dress rehearsal.

Millie had struck a deal with Mrs. Simpson. She had approached the woman to warn her about Mary's untoward interest in, and fantasies about, Trent Simmons. What worried her was that Mary was completely sure that, within a year, she'd have a baby and be married to the boy. That attitude didn't bode well for the preservation of Mary's virginity through a proper courtship, and Millie felt it was her duty to let Mrs. Simpson know about the potential danger. It turned out that Mary's parents not only knew about the budding romance, they encouraged it as well.

That visit, however, had led to Mrs. Simpson asking for some assistance with a review of the books for the store, because there was a mathematical error in them somewhere that neither Melissa nor Claude could find. The banker was giving them grief about that, and since they routinely got loans from the bank, their cash flow was suddenly in jeopardy. It took Millie two evenings of work to find the problem and correct it. When Melissa sought to pay her, Millie asked for a dress instead of money.

It was that dress that she produced for Boots to try on the night before the dance.

Boots now viewed having to wear a dress in similar fashion to a person who has an appointment with a dentist. It is in no way any fun but, unfortunately, it must be done. That didn't mean, however, that she didn't resist the idea.

"I don't see why I need to wear that thing," she said, surveying the dress. "I ain't gonna dance with nobody no how, so why do I need it?"

"You don't know that," said Millie.

"Don't know what?" asked Boots, confused.

"You don't know you won't be dancing. Men may ask you to dance."

"Not iffen they know whut's good fer 'em," said Boots darkly.

"You promised!" said Millie, perhaps for the hundredth time that week. "It's just simple dancing. You've seen the children do it all week long. It doesn't hurt, and nothing bad will happen."

"I know, I know," moaned Boots. "But what if I get all gussied up and nobody does ask me to dance? The whole town will laugh at me."

"I know at least one man will ask you to dance," said Millie firmly.

"Oh yeah? Who?"

"Doctor Fisk!"

Boots grinned. "Yeah, he'd prob'ly do that. 'Specially iffen you ask him to. You got that poor boy wrapped right 'round your little finger."

"I most certainly do not," said Millie.

"He's moon-eyed 'round you right regular," said Boots.

"That's ridiculous," insisted Millie.

"Whatever you say," said Boots, grinning.

"We should practice dancing," said Millie, flustered. The idea of Bob Fisk being interested in her made her feel warm and jumpy.

What shocked her, though, was that the warm and jumpy feeling persisted as Boots' body rubbed against her while they practiced dancing.



-------

Chapter 9


Originally, Millie intended to spend perhaps half an hour teaching Boots how to dance. What actually happened was much more complicated than that. Boots demonstrated what she knew of dancing, which consisted more of stomping and clapping and singing at the top of her lungs. Millie joined in and the natural production of endorphins began. Within a few minutes of starting, both women were laughing and panting. Boots, being energetic by nature, enjoyed the rhythms of dance though, as Millie moved into the waltz, she had to remind her partner several times to let the "man" lead as they switched roles. Music seemed to well up magically from Millie's mind, and she both sang and hummed tunes they danced to. At one point Boots said "I know one! I know one!" and belted out a bawdy, but lively tune that was easy to whirl to.

What neither woman was prepared for (or recognized on a conscious level) was that the hormones flowing through their bodies, combined with the close physical togetherness they experienced was almost as exciting as if it had been with a man. Both women were sensual, though neither would have thought about it that way.

And so, when both stood, sweating, and it was time to try on Boots' dress, when Millie suggested it was time for another bath, neither woman understood what they were feeling ... about themselves ... and each other.

And when the tub had been filled, and the women dropped their clothes, both were still on an emotional high as they shared the kind of friendship that is both rare and intense. Millie's emotions were tweaked even more as Boots' scars came into view again. She reached to touch one of them.

"I can't imagine what you went through," she moaned.

The care in her voice was both obvious and genuine, which ratcheted Boots' emotions up too. She had never had a friend like this ... someone who cared so much about her. She was struck by the fact that her body could be touched in a way that didn't hurt ... didn't bring shame ... didn't make her want to scream.

"That's gone now," she said, as she shivered.

It was Millie's sudden impulse to stroke those scars that led her to soaping Boots' back. And her hands sliding across that skin, which had felt only pain and agony from the other hands that had touched her there, were what released the emotion based on terror and fear, that Boots had buried inside herself for years. She burst into tears, feeling embarrassed, ashamed, and completely vulnerable for the first time since she had killed her tormentor.

Neither woman was prepared for it. Millie's natural instinct to comfort her friend caused her to embrace Boots. Slippery, soft, female bodies rubbed together as they tried to find a way, in the tub, to be comfortable. They ended up front to front, on their sides with knees bent and sandwiched together, Boots sobbing into Millie's neck as the teacher stroked her friend and murmured "Everything will be all right."

Women have an instinct that tells them a kiss is healing. So Millie's instinct to kiss Boots' shoulder and neck wasn't born of anything sexual. It was just her way of showing she loved her and wanted her to feel better. What she couldn't have known was that Boots had only felt one set of lips on her body, a hated set of lips, that brought only revulsion. And to have these softer lips touch her, in a way that was so obviously loving, opened up something in Boots that was so powerful that it buried all of the rough exterior Boots had so carefully cultivated over the years.

Suddenly the two women were kissing each other, their lips hungry, yet soft. It was completely outside either one's range of experience, and so foreign it couldn't seem wrong, or perverted. Had they had time to think about it before it happened, neither would have engaged in that kiss. But it took them like an ocean wave takes an unwary wader on the beach. By the time either of them had time to reflect on what was happening, it had resoved into being simply their way of loving each other unconditionally, in that moment.

And while some part of each woman's mind was tickled by doubt, both women's minds came down on the side of just accepting the kiss as something precious that had just been shared.

Eventually they calmed, and simply held each other. Passion began to wane, and thoughtfulness replaced it. It was Boots who approached things openly first.

"I know I ain't s'posed to feel this way, but I ain't sorry for a single minute of tonight. I feel like something that was broke inside me got put back together somehow."

Millie bestowed a very brief kiss on Boots' cheek. "I'm glad."

"I ain't never heared of two girls kissin' like that," said Boots.

"Me either," said Millie.

"Are you sad about that?"

"Sad that it happened? No," said Millie. "I don't understand it, but you're my friend, and how you feel matters to me. You've been through hell, Boots, and if I can help you through that in any way, then it's a good thing."

"You've taught me a lot," said Boots. "About bein' a lady and all. An' I know I'll prob'ly never use any of it, but I appreciate you givin' a damn."

"You're welcome," said Millie.

Fifteen minutes later Millie watched as Boots turned in a slow circle, displaying the fit of the first new dress she'd ever owned in her life.

-------

Beaverton was located three miles from the North Platte River. It hadn't always been that far away, however. In fact, there was a time when the river flowed right by the spot where the town took shape. That people stopped there was an accident caused by a trapper who had cached his hides in a copse of trees along the river. He happened to be adding to the cache when a wagon train approached.

The trapper provided news and one family in the train decided that hauling the trapper's furs back to St. Joseph was a better bet than going forward into the unknown. But the wagon had to be unloaded in order to haul the furs, so a sod house was built for the family to live in while the man of the house went back east with the hides. It worked well for everyone, and Beaver Town was born.

Over the years other trappers found out about the transit site, and began bringing their furs there. The original fur trader had more work than he could handle, so another family was brought in. Soon two other families whose wagons broke down on the Oregon Trail joined the group and began to farm there on the prairie.

Heavy rains changed the course of the river by three miles in one week. That didn't really affect the fur trade, though it made getting water a lot more difficult. But the little town persisted, and soon a well was dug. Over the years the town's name morphed into a one word representation of its original identity.

None of the original inhabitants were still around, and the fur trade had eventually gone another route. Nobody alive had seen an actual beaver in Beaverton, though they could still find them in the North Platte. But all that didn't matter. Founder's Day wasn't really about the actual history of the town, though it was brought up and talked about each year. What Founder's Day was, was a reason to have a party, and there were far too few reasons for that around.

So everybody within fifty miles got excited about Founder's Day in Beaverton. There was a huge cookout all day Saturday. Each family brought what they could offer to load down the temporary tables made of saw horses bridged by planks. Children had pretty much free rein to run and play wherever they liked. Those in their teens sought to find out about those things all teenagers were curious about - the opposite sex. Business was done, though that was usually dealt with quickly and efficiently, so that people could take their ease and spend the day being lazy. That was the real value of Founder's Day - the relaxation from the normal grind of day to day survival.

And then there was the Founder's Day dance that Saturday night. No one ever knew what the "orchestra" would consist of from year to year, though there were a few stalwart musicians who could be depended upon to be there without fail. And the variety of instruments was always a source of extreme interest. Everything from spoons, to jugs, to the washboard, to Indian drums was brought and added to the mix. Just about anything would be pressed into service if it could make a tuneful noise, or sound out a rhythm. There were always some guitars and fiddles. Once in a while a bugle would appear, and Indian flutes were common. One year the accordian of a man heading west on the stage, had been a big hit.

It was also the only time of the year when decent women voluntarily entered the Silver Dollar Saloon. That's because it was the only building in town with a dance floor big enough to handle all the merrymakers. To that end, all the card tables were removed and the floor scrubbed. It also allowed for the piano to be added to the mix of less lofty instruments.

And, of course, the men didn't mind that the bar was open too.

In an odd kind of sisterhood, for that one night, Minerva Skelton and her ladies of the evening were on even terms with other women in the community. Minerva laid in a supply of locally made wines for the female revelers. There was apple, plum and elderberry wine. She even had a couple of bottles of champagne available if any big spenders wanted to go that route. The point was that the bar served something for everyone, and for that one night, it wasn't a saloon.

So there were some hundred and twenty people there when Bob ushered Millie and Boots in through the batwing doors. Boots was extremely nervous, in no small part because dressed as she was, there was no place to strap on her six gun. She felt naked without it, but both Bob and Millie had assured her there would be no call to use the gun anyway.

Both women were nervous. Millie was nervous because she was anxious to be in Bob's arms, and that worried her a little. She'd only been in town a little more than a month, and by some standard she wasn't aware of, but which permeated her psyche, she hadn't known the man long enough for it to be appropriate to be this interested in him. But she couldn't change how she felt. She thought much too frequently about what it might be like to be kissed by him.

Boots was as close to terrified as she was likely to ever admit being. To the average observer, she looked like any other attractive sixteen or seventeen year old girl in a frontier town. She was slim and healthy looking. Her dress was pale blue, with white lace trim around the neck and sleeves. When she had first shyly appeared in front of Millie, she'd been wearing the boots she'd taken from the man she'd killed. Mille gently talked her into wearing moccasins. Her hair shone, clean and bright. Without the hat to hold it down, the hair, in what would someday come to be called a Dutch boy style, flipped and fluttered with every movement of her head.

And her head moved constantly, swiveling on her neck to find that first person who pointed at her and laughed derisively.

Except that no one did.

She saw a number of people looking at her with plain interest or curiosity on their faces. They were people she knew, for the most part. But Boots generally had as little to do with folks as possible, speaking to them only when it was necessary, and staying around them only as long as whatever their business together required. She could not know that her appearance had been so changed by Millie that, for the first four or five minutes after her grand entrance, no one in the room, except Bob and Millie, knew who she was.

In fact, it was Frank Wilkinson, who owned the Bar-R ranch, about thirty miles southeast of town, who approached the trio first. He knew Bob, because Bob always stopped at the ranch on his circuit. He touched the brim of his ten gallon hat, looking at Millie.

"Ma'am," he said. "You must be the new schoolmarm I've heard so much about."

Millie smiled.

The rancher held out his hand to Bob and they shook perfunctorily. Then he turned to Boots.

"And who might this pretty little filly be?" he asked. "I don't reckon I've ever seen you around these parts."

Boots tensed and Bob put an arm around her, grasping her arm, which he suspected was moving backward in preparation for her punching the man.

"Frank lost his wife to a band of renegade Omaha Indians a few years back," he said. He intended to go on and suggest that the man was lonely, but Boots interrupted him.

"I know. I helped track them for him."

Frank blinked, and then bent forward to peer at the young woman.

"Boots?" he whispered, unbelieving.

"How the hell ya doin', Frank?" she asked, grinning.

"Well I'll be God damned!" he barked.

"You certainly will if you continue to take the Lord's name in vain, Mr. Wilkinson," said a short, fat man who had appeared beside him. Frank looked at him and grinned.

"When you gonna give up on tryin' to save my ornery soul, preacher?"

"Never!" said the man. A woman joined him. She was also short and round. He held his hand out to Millie.

"I'm The Reverend Randy Divine, no pun intended, and this is my lovely wife Dora Lee."

"So nice to meet you, pastor," said Millie, curtsying briefly.

"I've been meaning to come visit and invite you to church," said the preacher.

"I'll remember to drop by," said Millie.

Divine smiled and turned to peer at Boots.

"The Lord does work in mysterious ways," he intoned. But he smiled. "You're always welcome in church too, Boots. I've told you that before."

"And I've told you I'd prefer not to get your pretty little church struck by lightnin'," said Boots, also with a smile.

"You clean up right nice," said the preacher.

"Randy!" gasped his wife, properly horrified.

"While all this soul-savin' is going on, I wonder if you might consent for me to dance you around the floor," said Frank, looking at Millie.

"I came with Doctor Fisk," she said gently.

"And I'll bring you back to him. That's a promise," said the tall man.

She looked at Bob, who smiled and nodded.

"Go have fun," he said. "I promised Boots I'd dance with her."

"You did?" asked Boots. "When was that? 'Cause I don't remember that at all, Doc -"

She was interrupted by Bob taking her hand and pulling her to the dance floor.

"No, Doc!" she gasped. "I ain't ready fer this, Doc. Don't make me do this, Doc!"

Then, suddenly, she was in his arms and whirling, and she used the steps Millie had taught her, just to keep from falling on the floor and making a spectacle of herself.

-------

The band included some people who were at the dance every year. Those people knew old favorites that the townspeople were familiar with. The new members of the band just joined in and played what they hoped were tuneful additions. There were a few pieces that were recognizable as John Philip Sousa marches which, when slowed just a tad, were easy to do a sort of modified waltz to. A young cowboy who had just signed onto Douglas Harrow's outfit, the Lazy B, was just up from Kansas, where he had learned a new song that was sweeping the plains. He said it was written by a man named Higley, but he couldn't remember the official name of the tune. The first line was: "Oh give me a home, where the buffalo roam..." and by the time he finished singing, a number of people called for it again, and danced a slow, dignified not-quite-cheek-to-cheek way that a lot of the younger folks wished could be done a lot more often.

Millie was in high demand. She did get to dance with Bob, but only once out of every three or four dances. There was a salesman, who had gotten off the train to peddle his wares at the general store, and who asked her to dance. When he and Millie started dancing, the rest of the crowd watched, because it was a jumping, hopping kind of waltz that turned out to be popular back east. It used up a lot of floor, and both participants were gasping for breath when that number was finished. Millie skipped back to Bob and accepted a glass of lemonade from him, laughing and smiling. She said the steps had just come to her as the man led and suddenly she knew the dance. It made them think that she came from way back east, and not just from St. Louis, or somewhere farther west.

So, when he got the chance, Bob danced with Millie. The rest of the time he either stood along the wall with the rest of the "bachelors" or took Boots out on the floor again. By the third time they'd danced, the scout and tracker was a lot more relaxed. Some of that relaxation came from the fact that she had downed two shots of whiskey at the bar, just to settle her nerves.

Then a young man approached her as she stood by Bob, sipping at a beer. He stopped in front of her.

"Howdy, ma'am," he said, tipping his hat. "My name's Dusty, and I ride for the Double D. You look right nice, and I'd be much obliged if you'd see fit to dance with me."

Bob spoke out of the side of his mouth. "Just be polite, Boots."

"Beg your pardon?" asked Dusty, looking over at Bob.

"He was reminding me not to punch you in the kisser," said Boots, who was so completely amazed that someone besides Bob had asked her to dance that she simply spoke her mind.

"Why would you want to do that?" asked the cowboy. "All I done was asked you to dance."

Boots felt a new kind of terror. It didn't make her sick to her stomach. She was pretty sure she'd survive the coming ordeal. But she felt like she was about to close her eyes and then run forward, knowing that there was a cliff out there somewhere that she could very well just run right over the edge of. She didn't know what to expect, and that was what terrified her. At the same time, she was just tipsy enough that her inhibitions were significantly lowered.

"Fer some reason I don't even begin to unnerstand ... I don't want to do that," she said. She took a big gulp of beer before shoving it toward Bob. "An iffen you behave yourself, things'll stay that way."

"I'll take my chances," said the cowboy, grinning. "And hope you end up using my kisser for what it was meant fer."

He went "Ooof!" as Boots planted a fist in his stomach, and then stumbled as she pulled him out onto the dance floor.

-------

The dance floor was crowded, but all that did was encourage the dancers to cheat a little on leaving the proper, polite space between their bodies. Nobody, with the possible exception of Bessie Robinson and a couple of her cronies really cared, though, and there was crush enough that Bessie and her gossipy friends couldn't really see much to complain about. Actually, it was more that there was too much going on for them to cover it all.

In the middle of it Boots gasped as she was twirled. She wanted to laugh, but was afraid to for fear she'd burst into tears.

"You dance right good," said the grinning cowboy spinning her around.

"Thanks. I ain't never danced much with a man before," she panted.

"Well it was worth getting one in the belt buckle," he said. He pulled her a little closer and, rather than being upset by it, Boots found herself enjoying the feel of his muscles beneath her hands. "What's yore handle, ma'am?" he asked.

"Boots," she answered automatically. For the first time, it felt a little odd saying it. "That's what folks call me anyways," she added.

"Boots'll do, I guess," said the cowboy. "This is fun!"

The music stopped, and all the dancers cheered. The fiddle player yelled that the boys in the band needed to wet their whistles, and the dance floor slowly cleared of laughing, happy people. It's fair to say that two of those people were a cowboy named Dusty, and a frontier scout named Boots.

"So was that yer daddy you was standin' with?" asked Dusty as he led her back in the direction of the place he'd found her.

"Oh hell no," laughed the girl. "He's the town doctor. I help him out sometimes."

"Well is there anybody here I need to ask if I can dance with you again?"

She stopped, and folded her arms under breasts she was suddenly aware of.

"There's me," she said.

"I just thought, you being a girl and all, that you'd have a daddy or somebody lookin' out fer ya," said the young man.

A man laughed nearby and both young people turned to see Sheriff Miller, his badge displayed plainly on his vest, standing there.

"I look out fer myself," said Boots, frowning.

"That would be a fact, young fellow," said Miller. "Boots, here, is a tracker among the best. She's ridden on my posse a time or two, and you can bet your bottom dollar she don't need nobody to take care of her. This here's the first time I can ever remember seein' her without a six gun strapped on."

"Well, now, don't that beat all," said Dusty, looking Boots up and down. "A cute slip of a girl like you can ride and shoot?"

"I can!" said Boots, sticking her chin out.

"Well, maybe someday I'll get to see you ride and shoot, but right now dancin' is more on my mind. And if you've a mind, I'd like to do that dancin' with you, Miss Boots."

Sheriff Miller slapped the young man on the back with a friendly hand.

"Good luck, there young feller. She's a handful, is our Boots, but I'd sure rather see her dancin' than gettin' in a fight."

He left the two young people surveying each other. Just then the fiddler bowed his instrument and people began to stomp and shuffle. This was something Boots had seen all her life, but never actually tried. She felt foolish, but soon her blood was up and she was hooting along with the others as they made the floor shake.

-------

It had been a good night. And it had all the hallmarks of ending that way too, until a man named Jim Black showed up. Black was a trapper, for the most part. He also claimed to pan a little gold, and had some dust occasionally, though no one had any idea where he came by it.

Black smelled like a trapper, which is to say he smelled of death. Carrying around the stiff, stinking hides of dead animals tends to make a man and everything he owns smell that way. So people were used to trappers smelling offensive, and usually just got whatever business they had to do with a trapper finished as soon as possible.

And truth to tell, there were three or four other trappers at the dance. They were men who took a break from their usual life, just like everybody else did, to have a little fun.

But those men had soaked in a stream or pond before coming to town, and had washed the stink off. They had put on clean clothes.

Jim Black had not.

People moved away from the man. Even cowboys, used to the rough odors of cattle and men long unwashed, wrinkled their noses and stepped away. But another reason some folks shied away was because the man looked dangerous. He was dressed all in black, assuming that color wasn't because of dried blood that had soaked into his clothing. He was also carrying his Winchester, something that most folks would have though completely unnecessary under the circumstances. Unless there were circumstances no one knew about, and there was danger near.

:People on the frontier had to have a knack of sensing danger. If they didn't, they didn't survive. A lot of people sensed danger when they looked at Jim Black that night. It got suddenly quiet in that part of the room, and the cessation of conversation crept outward, like water soaking into a piece of cloth, as people realized something was wrong and turned to look. Oddly enough it wasn't a man who asked Black what he wanted. Then again, since Minerva Skelton owned the saloon, perhaps it was fitting that it was she who questioned him.

"Jim Black, what are you doing, coming in here with a gun? Is there something going on that the sheriff needs to know about?"

Black looked around. He was scowling.

"There ain't no problem. I just come here to git my wife."

"When did you get married?" asked Minerva. Black had been a patron of the saloon in the past, both downstairs and up. He wasn't good for business, though. When he was finished with a girl, she often left town, never to be seen again. Being a whore on the frontier was hard enough on a regular day, but when a girl had to endure the likes of Jim Black, she often decided that any other line of work would be better, even if it was farming with her bare hands.

"I ain't yet," said Black. He shifted the wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth and spit on the recently scrubbed floor. "That's why I'm here."

"What in tarnation you talkin' about?" asked Rusty Frazier, another trapper who knew Black.

Black's eyes hadn't stopped moving while he spoke. They settled on Millie, standing beside Bob.

"You!" he said, pointing. "Air you that new school teacher?"

Millie blinked, looked at Bob and then looked back at the man. She had no idea why he was speaking to her. Everyone else seemed to be stricken dumb by him, though.

"I am," she answered.

"Then you be the mail order bride that I paid good cash money fer. Soon as I found out you was here, I come to git you. Now, git yore things, woman, and come with me. We're gonna get hitched and then I got an itch in my pants and you're gonna scratch it."

Then, this dangerous looking man cackled like an old woman, as gasps and shouts filled the room.



-------

Chapter 10


Doc stepped forward, putting himself between Millie and the trapper who had so unexpectedly claimed Millie as his mail order bride. He held up his hands for silence, and people began to stop their nervous chatter. When it was quiet, he spoke.

"How do we know any of this is true?" he asked. "Millie can't remember anything of her past."

Black postured. "Her name is Jenette Duchette, and I paid a hundred and fifty dollars fer the right to marry up with her. It don't matter if she cain't 'member it. She's mine, and I come to git her. Now you stand aside. Yer keepin' a man from his married rights!"

"Where did you send this money?" asked Doc. "What documents do you have to show any of this happened?"

"I sent it back east, and that's all I'm sayin'," yelled Black. "Now gimme her, cause she's mine!"

"Now hold on there just a second," came another voice. The crowd turned to see Dusty swaggering into the open. "I bought me a mail order bride too, and I been waitin' for her. I never thought about how as Miss Millie might be her, but now that I do think about it, I reckon she could be my wife!"

"What?" Boots' cry caused people to jump.

Dusty showed surprisingly white teeth in his tanned face. "I guess we'll just have to send a telegraph back east and have them shed some light on this issue, before either of us can make a claim," he said.

Black's grimace made it plain that things weren't going the way he had planned. He lifted the hand holding the rifle.

"I ain't here to dicker with no wet-behind-the-ears cowpoke," he growled. "Ain't no other woman got offen that train, so she's mine, and I aim to take her."

"I don't think you paid nothin' fer no mail order bride," said Dusty, his voice suddenly low and hard.

"You callin' me a liar?" Black's voice grated and the rifle came up to point at Dusty.

"Where's the sheriff?" somebody's voice rose in the back. More voices began to rise as people moved away from the line of fire behind Dusty.

Randy Divine inched out of the crowd, his hands held up.

"There doesn't have to be any unpleasantness here," he said carefully. "As Jesus said, we must learn to turn the other cheek, and seek peace."

"You the Padre around here?" asked Black, exposing blackened, rotting teeth in a vicious grin. The rifle swung to point at the preacher.

"I am a minister of God!" said Randy, squaring his shoulders.

"Good. You kin just do the onners then. Doc, you git out of the way. I don't want to have to shoot you. I might need yer services some day. Now, Jennifer, you git on over here and let's git hitched. Then we're gonna go back to my camp and have us a honeymoon. I'm gonna make you squeal like a little piggy."

"I thought you said her name was Jenette," said Dusty.

The rifle swung back to center on Dusty's chest.

"It don't really matter, now does it. I paid the money. She's gonna marry up with me, and I'm the one who's gonna make her squeal like a pig. And if you say another fucking word, and I'm gonna kill you dead, cow fucker!"

It was just then that a flying body, wearing a pale blue dress, came in from Black's blind side. Arms wrapped around his shoulders as that body twisted, executing a maneuver that would someday be described as the perfect open field tackle in a game that hadn't been invented yet.

Boots didn't say a word as she took Black down. When he hit the floor, she hopped up and stomped on the wrist of the hand holding the rifle. Even though she was wearing moccasins, he howled and released the firearm. She fell, landing with her right knee in the trapper's gut, and his foul breath whooshed out in an agonized cry.

Then she commenced beating his face with both fists. He got a foot in her middle and pushed her away, rolling to come up with a snarl in his throat and a knife in his hand. Screams erupted from the stunned crowd as Boots danced around the man, unafraid of the weapon he waved at her. As he swung and missed, his body turned and she darted in to snap a kick between his legs. He collapsed with a groan. She got possession of the knife by the simple expedient of biting his wrist, drawing blood. Then, so quickly the astonished crowd could only gape, she used the man's razor sharp skinning knife to stab at the hands covering his screaming balls. He jerked them away with a howl of anguish. Boots pressed the knife tip into the bulge she had just kicked, and Black went very still. Only his chest moved as he panted.

"You seem mighty anxious to use what you got in them pants," she said, almost conversationally. She wasn't even out of breath. "But you see, here's the deal. Millie is my friend. And she ain't no mail order bride from back east. She's a high bred lady. Now to be honest, I'm sort of agreein' with Dusty. I think yer lyin' through yer rotten teeth, tryin' to take advantage of a pore woman who fell on some rough times, just so's you can get yer filthy dick serviced."

She pressed harder and the tip of the knife disappeared through the cloth. Black gasped and half sat up, but Boots reached and shoved him back down.

"It's possible I'm wrong," she said, casually. "So I'm not gonna cut yer dick off right this instant. But I also think Dusty was right about that telegraph back east idea, and if we have to go to all that work and expense, and then I actually come to find out you were lyin' about all this, then I am gonna come find you, wherever you are, Jim Black, and I'm gonna cut yer dick off and feed it to the coyotes. Ya got that clear in yer mind?"

"Let me go," rasped Black. "I didn't mean nothin' by it. She ain't got no memories. I heard about that. I just figured that it wouldn't much matter to her one way or the other."

Boots leaned on the knife again and it sank in further as Black screamed. So did at least ten of the women watching. Another dozen men groaned.

It was at that point that Sheriff Miller, who had been delayed in the outhouse by a little constipation, arrived on the scene.

"What the hell is going on here?" he shouted.

"I'm a-fixin' to make this here bull into a steer," said Boots. Other people tried to speak too, and the room as a jumble of voices.

"Get off of him, Boots," yelled the sheriff.

"As soon as I cut his nuts off, I'll be happy to," she yelled back, reaching for the trapper's rope belt.

Miller reached for his pistol. Dusty stepped in and reached down toward Boots. He didn't have time to plan things, really, or he might have altered his grip. And, to be honest, Boots didn't cooperate, and wiggled a lot. The fact is that by the time he pulled her up off of the trapper, his hands were squarely gripping her big, soft breasts. It was probably that, that caused her to drop the knife. Miller, seeing it was a skinning knife, and knowing that Boots carried a Bowie knife, correctly assumed she had taken the weapon from the man lying on the floor. He saw the rifle lying several feet away and smelled Black, all of which led him to point his gun at the trapper instead of Boots.

The sheriff yelled for quiet, and got it.

"Now ... one at a time ... somebody tell me what's going on here," he said.

Black spoke first, sitting up. "I paid good cash money fer a mail order bride, and she's it," he said, pointing at Millie, who was standing behind Bob, peering over his shoulder. "An' they won't let me have her, an' that bitch attacked me."

"You paid somebody to come be your wife?" asked Miller.

"I bought her, fair and square," insisted Black. "Ain't nobody can say that's not her."

The sheriff stared at the man, still sitting on the floor. "Seems to me we just fought a long and bitter war over whether or not you could buy a person," he said. "As I recall, the side that won the war says you can't."

"Cain't nobody prove I didn't pay fer the right to marry her!" insisted Black.

Again, Randy Divine stepped forward. "Sheriff? If I might ... I think I can resolve this difficulty."

"How?" asked Miller.

The preacher turned towards Bob and Millie. "Miss Millie?" he said. "In the presence of the witnesses gathered here ... do you take this man, Jim Black, to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Millie shook her head violently. "No!" she said. It was obvious the idea horrified her.

The preacher looked back at the sheriff. "There you go. He'll just have to get his money back from whoever he paid it to."

-------

While the sheriff got Black up and on his way back out of the saloon, and people began to settle down from the excitement, Boots looked up, over her shoulder at Dusty, whose hands were still firmly covering her breasts. "You want to get your hands off me?"

"Actually, I don't," said the cowboy, grinning. "But then I don't want you to cut my nuts off either, so if you'll promise to let me live, I'll move 'em."

Boots, who knew nothing about adrenaline and what it could do to hype up a person's libido, was confused as to exactly why those hands felt so good where they were. She brought her own hands up to cover them. Jasper had never touched her anyplace in any way that was pleasurable. That Dusty's hands felt good was puzzling to her.

"I'll let you live," she said. She moved his hands down off her breasts, to her waist. In the process, his hands slid across her nipples and she felt them crinkle and stiffen. It felt just as good as when Millie had done it in the bathtub. She turned to face the cowboy, letting him leave his hands on her waist.

"Why'd you say you wanted to marry Millie?" she asked.

"I was just showin' that anybody could say the same thing he was sayin'." He shrugged as he said it.

"So why do you care?" asked Boots.

"I know she's your friend. I figured you'd be opposed to what he was doin'," he said, shrugging again.

Boots just looked at him for a few seconds. "So, are you scared of me now, or do you want to dance with me again?"

He nodded, his face serious. "I believe another dance would be right fine, Miss Boots."

"Good," she said. She pushed him away, aware that their lower bodies had been touching. That was also troubling, because it made her feel full of nervous energy ... the kind of nervous energy that, in the past, she had taken care of by touching herself between her legs. It was the one good thing she had learned from what Jasper had done to her - that the right kind of touch down there could ease one's tension ... in a most delightful and satisfactory way.

-------

Across the room, Millie stood by Bob, who was still hovering over her protectively.

"Could you please get me one of those little glasses of whiskey?" she asked, her voice trembling a bit.

"You don't drink, Millie," Doc reminded her.

"After tonight, I think I'll start," she said.

The band started up again. Perhaps what had happened had dampened things a bit. For whatever reason, they chose a mournful ballad, sung by a young cowboy. Couples swayed slowly, moving their feet only enough to circle around once in a while.

Dusty pulled Boots into his arm before she could decline to dance close, like the others were dancing. Both of them remembered the feel of his hands on her breasts, his flesh separated from hers only by the thin cloth of the dress.

"I'm one lucky son of a bitch," he said softly into her hair. Then, as if he wasn't sure she'd figure it out, he added to his comment. "To get to dance with a girl like you."

"Oh?" she said, looking up at the slim cowboy's face. "What's so special about me?"

"I like you," he said. "I like the way you dance. I like the way you drink. I like the way you fight. And I like the way you feel, up against me like this."

"I ain't no cheap floozy," she warned.

"I never thought that. Not fer a minute," he said. "Not even when I had my hands..." His voice faded away, and he looked up, out at the crowd in which they were dancing. "I didn't mean to put them there," he said. "I just want you to know that."

"What about what you said?" she asked. "About how you didn't want to move them?"

"That was the truth," he said, looking back at her. "Except I don't want you mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you," she said. "All things considered, I reckon you've been mostly a gentleman tonight."

"I'm glad you feel that way," he said. "'Cause I'd sort of like to spend a little more time with you, one of these days."

"Doin' what?" she asked.

"Oh, I don't know. Hunting, maybe? An' I reckon any girl who fights like that prob'ly knows how to fish too. Or maybe we could just go for a ride."

"You sure you ain't lookin' to get your hands on me again?" she asked, but there was no heat in her voice. He noticed that too.

"I reckon if that happened I'd be a pretty happy man," he admitted. "But that ain't the reason I'd like to see you again, understand."

"I do believe you're one of them silver tongued devils I've heard of," said Boots, suddenly feeling her breasts pressing against this young, handsome cowboy.

"Cain't be true," he said firmly.

"Why's that?" she asked.

"I ain't a real religious man," he said, "but I'm pretty sure there ain't no place in the Good Book where devils get to dance with angels."

She stared into his face, waiting for him to grin, and let her know he was fooling with her again.

But he didn't grin.

"Damn," she sighed, and laid her head on his chest as the music went on.

-------

Not far away, Millie also laid her head on Bob's shoulder.

"People will talk," he said into her hair.

"I don't care," she said, her voice muffled by his shirt. "A man tried to claim he owned me tonight. I'm tired, and your shoulder feels good. People can think what they want to think."

"You want to sit down?"

"No, I'm doing exactly what I want to do," she said.

A man tapped Bob on the shoulder, to cut in. Bob turned his head to see Harvey Watkins, who called himself the stationmaster of the train depot. The only time he was at the depot, though, was when a train was due. The rest of the time he worked at the hotel, registering guests and seeing to their needs.

"She's still a little shook up. Save it for later?"

"Sure," said the man, who looked disappointed, nonetheless.



-------

Chapter 11


The last dance ended. Millie smiled at Harvey. She had saved the last dance for him intentionally, and told him so. Now, having stepped on her toes twice, he grinned and backed away, bobbing his head at her, looking just a little embarrassed. He said he hoped there was another dance real soon, and then turned away.

People began to slowly make their way out of the Silver Dollar. Sheriff Miller had posted himself by the entrance when Black left, to make sure the man didn't try to come back in and cause trouble. As Dusty walked Boots out of the building, he stopped them.

"You two keep a sharp eye out," he suggested. "Jim Black's an ornery cuss, and may take it into his head to get some kind of revenge. You prob'ly shouldn't have got involved."

"Well, if you'd have been there, doin' your job, I wouldn't have had to get involved," said Boots.

"Maybe I should just make you my deputy," sighed the sheriff. "At least then I'd know where you were and what you were doing."

"Folks around here wouldn't stand for that," said Boots, staring at the man in amazement.

"I was just foolin' around, Boots," said Miller. "I know it'll be a cold day in Hell before a woman wears a badge."

-------

Outside, Millie took in a deep breath of fresh air. She nodded and spoke to people as good nights were said and folks started for home. Bob did the same, though fewer people spoke to him. She felt flushed, and the cool night air felt good on her exposed skin. She turned to Bob.

"Walk me home?"

"Gladly," he said.

They hadn't gone far when she reached for his hand and linked her little finger in his.

"What if I really am a mail order bride?" she asked.

Bob wasn't sure if she was joking or not. He decided not to take the chance.

"I think Boots had it right. You're just the wrong kind of person to fit in that mold. I wouldn't doubt for a minute that there's a man out there desperate to marry you, but I suspect it's a man of your choosing, someone you know, who has courted you and such."

"Oh?" she said, almost idly. "Why do you say that?"

He held up his free hand and counted on his fingers. "First, you're a woman of breeding and education. Second, you're fun to be around. Just about everybody you meet likes you. The children in this town love you. Think about that. What child loves his school teacher? And that doesn't even take into account how beautiful you are." He had warmed to his topic so much that he wasn't paying close attention to separating what he was thinking from what he was saying. "I can't even count the times you've made me want to..." He trailed off as his brain finally warned him not to go on.

She stopped, and pulled her finger from his. "Want to what?"

"Never mind. It wouldn't be seemly to speak of it," he said, uncomfortably.

"Why not?" she asked.

He looked at her in the near dark. She looked so fresh, and young, and trusting. She was a dozen rungs above him on the social ladder, even if she couldn't remember that.

"Come on, Millie. You know what men think about, so I don't need to say it. It wouldn't be gentlemanly. You're a lady."

"How do you know I'm a lady?" she asked. "What makes you so sure I'm not like one of Minerva's girls? I don't need to remind you we don't know who I am, Doctor Fisk."

Bob thought about his examination of her when she was unconscious. She was a virgin. That was just scientific fact. But if he told her that, he'd have to tell her how he knew.

"I can just tell," he said stubbornly. "You carry yourself like a lady. You speak like a lady."

"So does Minerva. When I first met her and she offered me a place to stay, I had no idea she ran a brothel."

"Minerva offered you a job?" Bob groaned. Then he blinked. "Of course she would. She couldn't possibly lose if you became one of her women."

"I think I've just been paid a compliment," said Millie wryly, "but at the same time I suspect it was an ungentlemanly compliment."

"That's what I mean," said Bob. "You can detect the nuances in common speech, a talent rarely found in an uneducated woman. But it was a compliment, however roughly delivered. That's why I feel sure you've had some kind of experience with men. If you could remember the man, it might help us find him."

She approached him. "Kiss me," she said.

"What?" His voice rose.

"Kiss me," she said. "Perhaps I have kissed a man before, and I'll remember something about that while I'm being kissed."

"I can't just kiss you! It wouldn't be gentlemanly," he protested.

"Would you please stop being such a dad-blamed gentleman for a moment or two, Bob? How am I to remember anything if no one will assist me in trying?"

"Millie," he pleaded. "Please understand. There's nothing I'd like to do more than kiss you, but I fear this is a bad idea. It would be like trying to climb a hill in a driving rain. I feel sure I'd be swept away."

"Then I shall plant my heels and help you avoid sliding down the slippery slope," she said. "I trust you, Bob. Please ... kiss me. Let me see if it shakes any memories loose."

-------

Boots stood beside Dusty's horse. Her own was tied up over at Millie's house.

"You stayin' in town somewhere tonight?" she asked, idly.

"Naw, I figure to ride on back to the ranch," he said.

"In the dark?"

"Well, I'm not sleepy, and the ground is pretty flat 'tween here and there," he said.

"After all that stompin' and dancin' you're not tired?" She had exhibited no signs of fatigue herself, but seemed to expect him to be tired.

"I couldn't sleep now if I tried," he said.

"What? How come?" she asked.

"Am I really the first feller you danced with?" he asked.

"Well, Doc danced with me a couple of times tonight, just to be nice to me. But other than that, you are," she said.

"Well, you ain't the first girl I danced with," he said. "And to be honest, you kind of got me all fired up."

"What's that mean?" she asked.

"It means I'm still thinkin' about what my kisser was made fer," he said. He seemed to realize that he was being more serious than the situation called for, and grinned. "Thanks fer not pastin' me there, by the way."

"All you done to get pasted for was touch my -" Suddenly she couldn't say the word. She was shaken by how shy she suddenly felt. She'd never felt shy in front of a man before.

"Oh, I surely wasn't thinkin' about doin' that again," he said anxiously. "I was just dreamin' a little about tryin' to steal a kiss. "'Ceptin' when I think about that, I remember you, with that knife pressed into that bastard's pants." He shuddered.

"I ain't done so well with men ... on the romance side of things," said Boots in the understatement of the century.

"Maybe you met the wrong men," said Dusty.

"There was only one, and it didn't go so good." She frowned in the dark. "I might as well tell you. You'll likely hear about it anyway. He had his way with me, an' when I got the chance, I killed him."

"As was only proper," said Dusty without pause. "I'd have did the same thing if I knew he done it."

"So ... what I done to him ... that don't make you nervous?" she asked.

"I ain't gonna try to have my way with you," he answered.

"That's good," she said, unhappy because somehow it didn't feel good. It confused her that some part of her wanted him to at least try something.

"Leastways not unless you said I could," he added. He sucked in air, as if he hadn't meant to say that out loud. "Not that I'm askin'," he added quickly.

And that made Boots feel a lot better. His attitude communicated that while he was interested, she was still in charge. He agreed that she was calling the shots, and her fear evaporated. Suddenly, looking at his mouth, she remembered Millie's lips against hers, in that copper tub. That had made her feel wild and unsettled. When she'd gone home that night, she'd rubbed her joy spot like crazy. It had felt good, and it had lessened the tension in her, but for days after that she kept thinking about how warm and soft and sweet Millie's lips were. She wondered what Dusty's lips would be like. Jasper had never tried to kiss her. He'd bitten her a few times, but that was about it. Jasper's routine had been limited to hurting her until she cried, and then fucking her while she cried.

"I'll let you know when you can ask fer somethin'," she said, feeling powerful.

He smiled, and looked relieved. "Thanks. I had a hell of a good time tonight, Miss Boots. An' that includes watching you take that feller down."

"Really?" Boots was used to people disapproving of her most of the time.

"Well shore," he said, sounding amazed. "What man wouldn't want a woman who can take care of herself? And such a pretty one too."

Boots reached up with one hand and removed Dusty's hat. She rubbed her hand across the front of his forehead and hair.

"Nope, no horns. I'd sure swear you was trouble, talkin' sweet like that," she said.

He laughed. Then his face got serious. "Mebbe just one little kiss?" he asked quietly.

-------

Bob took her hand and pulled Mille toward her house. He seemed to be in a hurry.

"Don't be angry, Bob," she said. "It was just an idea ... just a kiss."

"I'm certainly not going to kiss you right out in the open, in front of everybody," he said. "What would people say?"

Her voice took on a teasing note and she over-emphasized a drawl. "I imagine they'd say 'Well lookee there. Doc's kissin' the new schoolmarm!'"

He didn't take her inside her house. Instead, he took her around the corner, away from the noise of people still drifting away from the saloon. He stood her against the wall, and then put a hand on either side of her shoulders.

"There's nothing funny about this," he said, his voice low.

"Not even just a tiny bit funny?" she asked, quietly.

"Don't you get it?" he growled. "I like you. I like you a lot. I've wanted to kiss you for weeks. And I can't!"

"Why not?" she asked. "If it's all right with me ... why can't you do that?"

"Why would you want me to kiss you?" he asked. "And don't give me that bull about hoping it will make you remember."

"You said you wanted to kiss me. What if I just want to kiss you too?" she asked.

It was frustration that made his head move. He wasn't quite brutal, but the back of her head banged against the side of the house as his lips landed hard on hers. Almost instantly, though, he lessened the pressure, as his brain told him he might have hurt her - the last thing on earth he wanted to do. Then instinct, and previous experience made him try to get the very most out of this kiss, and his lips moved against hers.

Suddenly he felt her hands on his shoulder blades, and then her arms tightened, pulling herself toward him and away from the building. His hands went to her back, and the kiss went on and on and on as their bodies pressed together and then rubbed.

The kiss broke, with both of them gasping for air. Her arms were still tight.

"Again!" she gasped.

He didn't argue this time. Instead he simply feasted on her lips, ending up nipping at them. Somehow, their tongues touched. That had never happened to Bob before, but it was electric, and soon their mouths were open as each pressed his or her tongue forward, to get a little more of that delightful, slippery feel. Her hands slid to his backside and pulled his groin against hers.

This time, when they broke apart, she pushed at him, gasping.

"I can't!" she sobbed.

"I know!" he groaned.

"You must leave," she panted.

"Yes!" he moaned.

He started away, only to be jerked to a stop by her hand, gripping his shirt. Her lips sought his for one last, quick kiss, and then she pushed him and darted around the corner of the building. He heard her door open and slam shut.

Then he stumbled off through the dark towards his surgery, wondering what in the world had just happened.

-------

Dusty had some experience kissing women. Boots, for all the sexual bondage she'd been through, had never been kissed. At least not by a man. Jasper hadn't been interested in anything that even bordered on tender, and he'd thought of kisses as tenderness.

So when Dusty took Boots in a tender embrace, and brushed his lips across hers a couple of times before pressing them and letting the tip of his tongue tease her lips open, she was in a world where she'd never been. It was almost devastating to her, leaving her so weak that she was terrified. And yet, it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever felt. Millie's kisses had been soft and sweet and comforting in an exciting way. But this ... this made her want to howl at the moon. She didn't want it to end, and the fact that she felt that way scared her half to death.

His grip loosened and he lifted his lips from hers.

"Damn," he whispered. "She can ride, fight, shoot and kiss."

"I got to go!" she gasped.

And without another word, she pushed her way loose from him and, lifting her skirt, she ran as hard as she could.

It was a good two or three minutes before she stopped to figure out where she was.

-------

Her horse nickered at her as she approached Millie's house. Her range clothes were inside, and she could see a light through the window, so she opened the door and walked right in. Millie was sitting on a keg by the stove, her hands in her lap, staring at nothing. She looked up.

"Oh, it's you," she said.

"What's wrong?" asked Boots.

"I'm not sure," said Millie.

"You look like you lost your last friend. I thought you was having a good time."

"I did." She blinked. "Have a good time I mean. Maybe I had too good a time."

"Why would you say that?"

"Bob kissed me," said Millie softly.

"Well damn!" said Boots, explosively.

Millie looked at her again. "Don't be angry. I asked him to."

"Me too!" said Boots. "Well, sort of, I guess."

"You let Doc kiss you?" Millie's voice rose a full octave.

"No," snorted Boots. "Dusty. He's the one who kissed me."

"Oh Boots," said Millie, brightening. "I'm so happy for you!"

"Well how come iffen you're so happy I got kissed, you ain't happy about you gettin' kissed?"

"Because I liked it," sighed Millie. "I liked it a lot."

"Damn!" said Boots, as explosively as the last time. "Me too!"

"But I shouldn't like it," said Millie.'

"Why not?"

"Because I don't belong here," moaned Millie. "I don't know where I do belong, but it's not here. Nobody says it, but they might as well."

"Well I sure want you to stay here," said Boots. "Especially now."

"Why now?" asked Millie.

"Because Dusty's got me feelin' all different, and I don't understand it, and it's kind of scary. I'm awful unsettled, and I need somebody to talk to about it."

"You have the same problem I do," sighed Millie. "You're in love."

"No way in hell!" laughed Boots.

"Let me tell you what you're feeling," said Millie. "When you danced with Dusty, he felt good pressing against you. And you liked hearing the things he said. You got excited. Am I right?"

"Well ... yeah," said Boots, no longer laughing.

"And when he kissed you, you didn't want him to stop. In fact, maybe you wanted him to do even more than just kiss you."

"That's the part I don't get," said Boots. "Jasper done all kinds of things to me, but I hated it. I hated him. But sometimes I felt stuff too. And bein' with Dusty like that made me feel all agitated, like when I need to let off some pressure. In fact, I feel the all-powerful urge to let off some pressure right now!"

"Yes!" said Millie. "It feels like there's something inside you that wants to tear its way out of your body and be free!"

"That's it," said Boots. "That's when I need to release the pressure. The last time it happened was after we took that bath and you kissed me. I had to rub for half an hour to get the itch gone."

"What do you mean?" asked Millie, looking confused.

Boots put her hand between her legs, pressing the folds of the dress between her thighs.

"I rub right here," she said.

"You can't do that!" gasped Millie. "You'll go blind!"

"Where'd you get that notion?" asked Boots.

"My aunt told me!" yipped Millie. Then she stopped, her mouth open. "I have an aunt!"

"How about that," said Boots. "So tell me about this aunt."

Millie sat, frozen, a frown on her face, concentrating. Then she slumped. "That's all I remember," she said. "I just remembered her warning me that self-abuse causes blindness." She blinked. "And you go insane too."

"She say how long it takes fer all this horrible stuff to happen?" asked Boots.

"She said I must never do it, not even once," said Millie.

"Hmmm, so you think mor'n a year of doin' it pretty regular, maybe two or three times a week would do it?" asked Boots, who didn't sound worried.

"Of course it would!" said Millie.

"Well I'll be damned," said Boots. "I'm blind and loco and didn't even know it."

Millie stared. "You've done it before this?!"

"Hell, Millie. I been doin' that fer at least a couple of years," said Boots. "I'd go crazy iffen I didn't do it."

"But I don't understand," moaned Millie.

"You was the one talkin' about how it feels," said Boots. "You get all full up inside and it feels like somethin's gonna bust out."

"Yes," said Millie.

"Well that's the kind of pressure I let off by rubbin' my joy spot."

"Joy spot?" Millie's face went ashen.

"It don't make you loco," said Boots. "An' I can still hit a target half a mile away with a Sharps buffalo rifle, so I fer sure ain't blind. All it does is ease the pressure, and let you think normal again."

"But my aunt..." moaned Millie.

"Would you tell them kids at school not to fight?" asked Boots.

"Of course," said Millie.

"Was it wrong of me to fight with Jim Black tonight?"

"Well ... no ... I suppose it wasn't."

"Well then, sometimes people tell you stuff that ain't necessarily true. At least not all the time," said Boots. I kin tell you that when I ease the pressure, sometimes it feels so good that I sort of wish I could do it all day long. And if I did that, I'd never get anythin' done, you know? So maybe some folks think it feels too nice, and so they make up reasons somebody shouldn't do it."

"That's silly. How can something feel too nice?" asked Millie.

Boots looked at her friend. "Tell you what. You pull up them skirts, and I'll teach you where your joy spot is, and then you can make up your own mind."

-------

It wasn't as easy as that, of course. Millie demurred, saying she couldn't possibly display her most private place like that. Boots reminded her they had bathed together.

"But this is different," moaned Millie.

"Why?" asked Boots. "It's just you and me. Nobody but us will ever know we done it."

"But its wrong!" moaned Millie.

"Why?" asked Boots again. "I been doin' it for years. I ain't gone loco. I see just fine. I don't get why takin' care of a problem, when it don't hurt nobody, is wrong."

"Well my problem is gone," said Millie. "I don't feel anxious any more. Just talking about this has taken care of that!"

"Yes, but you're gonna feel like that again sometime. You know it and I know it. So you need to know how to handle things then."

Millie said nothing. Her face was still blotchy red from embarrassment.

"Am I wrong?" asked Boots. "You are gonna get all worked up again. Iffen you don't believe me, I'll go get Doc and have him kiss you again."

"No," groaned Millie. "You don't have to do that. You're right. And you're probably right about my aunt telling me tales too. It's just that nobody has ever seen me ... down there."

"I did," said Millie. "Doc did too."

"When?" gasped Millie.

"When we took that bath," said Boots.

"No, I mean Bob. You said he saw me!"

"When we brought you in on that wagon, we had to cut your dress off so he could see where all you got tore up. You was naked as a jaybird, there on that table, until I found somethin' to cover you up with." Boots decided not to mention the fact that the sheriff and a couple of upstart boys had been in the room too. She was already fired up enough.

"Ohhhhhh," moaned Millie, covering her eyes with one hand. "He saw me like that?"

"Well it didn't scare him off, Millie!" said Boots, sounding disgusted. "I told you, you were pretty."

"But that's different," complained Millie. "When I showed him my breasts, it wasn't -" She stopped suddenly and blinked several times.

"You showed him your teats?" Boots sounded interested.

"He needed to examine me - to take out my stitches," said Millie weakly.

"You ain't got no stitches in your teats, Millie."

"They're called breasts, Boots," said Millie, sudden heat in her voice.

"You ain't got no stitches in your breasts," said Boots firmly. "Why would you need to show them to Doc?"

"Because it made me feel deliciously naughty!" snapped Millie. "All right? I liked feeling naughty. I liked the way he looked at me ... looked at them. It made me feel..." She stopped again.

"All full inside?" asked Boots. "Like when he kissed you?"

Millie slumped. "Yes," she admitted.

"Just try it one time," said Boots. "I promise you you'll be glad you did. It takes all that tension right out of you. It lets you think straight. I promise."

"I don't know, Boots," moaned Millie.

Boots stood up. "Tell you what. Close your eyes. Keep 'em closed tight and I'll put your finger where it needs to go. Then I'll teach your hand what to do. You keep your eyes tight shut and maybe it won't be so bad."

-------

People aren't always rational when it comes to sex. In fact, it would probably be more nearly correct to say people are rarely rational when it comes to sex. It wasn't any different for Elizabeth Philby, known in Beaverton only as Millie, or Miss Millie. She had received an education that would be envied by most young women of the day, but that didn't mean she was liberated when it came to things sexual. And, as irrational as it seems, when she closed her eyes, and couldn't actually see what was happening, she allowed herself to take a step forward, as it were, into the unknown.

Boots arranged her on her bed, which had been set up in the smaller room, which had no windows and was very dark. The only light, in fact, came from a candle Boots lit. Millie lay there tensely as she felt Boots lift the folds of her skirt up, and sensed the cool air flowing across her naked loins. She jerked as her friend's rough, callused hands touched her knees, making them spread apart. She closed her eyes more tightly, and relaxed her thigh muscles, letting her knees flop down on the straw-filled mattress. Boots' voice came softly from above her head somewhere.

"Now there's this pair of funny lookin' lips down here, just like mine," she said. Millie jumped again as a fingertip traced the length of both lips. She knew about those lips. She had examined them in a hand mirror before. The only time she had ever touched them, however, was to wipe after elimination.

"If you pull them apart, up at the top of the split, there's this bump, sort of."

Millie felt her skin being pulled and moved, and almost opened her eyes. Then she blushed as her mind provided an image of strange fingers touching her down there.

"Give me your finger," said Boots.

Millie extended her right hand. Boots moved her hand until she suddenly felt something touch her between her legs, close to where Boots had been manipulating her flesh. When she felt that first touch, it was only that - touch. But then Boots made that finger move, and astonishing things happened in rapid succession.

First, she was aware of all the nerves in her entire body vibrating, as if they were strings on the guitar a man had played at the dance. At the same time, she felt the bump on her skin that Boots had spoken of. Almost as if her touch had awakened it, she felt the same roiling warmth in her belly that had sprouted into existence as Bob kissed her. It wasn't in her stomach. It was lower than that, and deeper in her body, somehow. But it had streaks that shot out from it, somehow, and it was those streaks that made her feel like something was trying to break free from her body.

"Now, keep rubbin' like that," said Boots, softly. "If it gets all slippery of a sudden, don't worry. There ain't nothin' wrong. It's normal. Happens to me all the time. Kind of makes it easier to rub, actually."

Millie was so astonished at the sensations touching that little bump caused that curiosity overcame her previous embarrassment. Experimentally, she ran her fingertip around the bump, and then across it. She jerked at the strength of the sensations, and her eyes popped open. Boots was standing, bent over her. What made that all right was that Boots was looking at her face, rather than where she was exposed.

"Feels good, don't it," said Boots, smiling.

"It's amazing," whispered Millie.

"You ain't felt nothin' yet," said Boots. "It used to be that that's all I did - just rubbed a bit, 'cause it felt nice. Then one time I kept rubbin' and it felt better and better until I thought I'd broke somethin' and was gonna plumb die, because it felt so good. I was cryin' and blubberin' and shakin' when I got done. Scared me half to death. But since then I always rub until that happens."

For reasons Millie didn't even think about, she added a second finger, and then a third, leaving them stiff and flat, and rubbing them across her bump, over and over. Her hips began to jerk and move, and she realized her breathing had sped up. Now the jangles of her nerves wasn't caused by the wind. It was this little bump, sending out plucks that played her nerves like a harp.

She heard herself groan.

"Keep goin'," said Boots, grinning.

Millie felt the moisture Boots had spoken of. It appeared without warning and in copious amounts. Her fingers were suddenly soaked and slippery. At the same time her nose detected a tangy scent that, somehow, she knew was associated with all that wetness. Her fingers took on a slightly different angle of attack and she sped up, until her three fingers were whipping back and forth across what now felt like a distinctly larger bump, as though something was actually trying to come out of her body to meet her whipping fingers.

But above all, she could feel that pressure building inside her. It was already more forceful than it had ever been before. It felt like if it expanded any more, she would fly apart, but she was sure that would not happen, somehow. Boots had done this ... and Boots was fine. Her eyes flicked around to find her friend, no longer looming over her. Instead, Boots was leaning against one wall, holding her own skirts up with one hand while her other hand did exactly what Millie's hand was doing. Millie could see only peeks of Boots' fleshy nether lips, barely visible in the flickering candle light. Boots' eyes were squeezed shut, and her mouth was open in a silent scream. Millie knew what that felt like and she felt like the two of them were encased in a ball of intense light together.

Then she saw Boots' middle finger slide down and disappear ... up! Inside her! Millie knew that cavity was there, on a cerebral level, but she had never really thought about it. She also knew, academically, what was designed to go up into that cavity. It wasn't a finger, like Boots was using. She knew that. But she didn't know what it looked like. She'd never seen one.

Boots let out a sobbing groan and her knees bent as she lowered her hips, sliding her back down the wall. Her finger flashed in and out of her body and Millie saw that the callused pad on that finger was scraping over the same place on Boots that Millie was rubbing furiously with her three fingers. Almost without conscious thought, her own finger probed between her sexual lips. There was pain immediately and she jerked her fingers away. But the loss of stimulation on her bump drove her back to rubbing.

She heard Boots cry out, a wail that, to the untrained ear, might have sounded like she was in pain. But Millie knew what she was feeling, and it was anything but pain. That shared feeling was what snapped something deep in Millie's loins. She felt a silent explosion, just under her bump, that sent magical streaks of joy in all directions. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't stop rubbing. She understood now why Boots had been afraid, because this was terrifying. But then the joy of being overwhelmed with such delightful feelings took over and all she could do was love what was happening to her body. She was suddenly aware of her nipples. They felt like they had inflated, and might burst themselves. Her free hand came to the front of her dress and she squeezed a nipple. That elicited a choked cry of elation as the feeling in her belly intensified. She reached to squeeze the other one, and then wished she had three hands so she could squeeze both and keep rubbing.

Boots sat, suddenly, like a bag of flour dropped to the floor. Her head rolled to one side and the part of Millie's brain that still felt human worried that something was wrong with the girl. Then Boots' eyes opened and she smiled a tired grin. And in that instant, Millie's bump was suddenly so tender that she had to stop rubbing it. It was time, somehow, to stop, and just enjoy the feelings coursing through her body. She could tell that whatever had happened to her was waning, and she mourned the loss of the ecstasy she had just enjoyed. And yet ... it also felt right, somehow, for things to fade away.

Now she was able to use both hands on her breasts. Before, it had felt like there was something inside each nipple that had to be squeezed out, back into her body, lest the nipple explode. Now, it just felt good to crush them gently. She heard someone's sobs for breath, and realized it was her own effort to get air into her lungs. Again she was astonished at how violent, and yet beautiful the thing was that she had just participated in. And how good it felt! She wished she could start all over again right that instant!

Boots was still sitting, with a goofy grin on her face. She hadn't taken pains to cover herself, but her skirt had fallen, naturally, to a more modest placement. Millie realized her legs were open and that Boots could see right into the heart of her most secret self. She pushed at her dress, but only until she felt cloth touching where her hand had been before. Her legs were still bare, but she couldn't bring herself to care about that.

"What's eight, take away five?" asked Boots.

"Three," said Millie, wondering why on Earth Boots had asked the question.

"Is that the actual right answer?" asked Boots.

"What?" Millie was even more confused. "Of course it is. Eight minus five leaves three."

"Well, seein' as how you can still cypher, then I now pronounce you whatever the word is for not loco," sighed Boots.

"Sane? I'm sane." said Millie.

"Yup. And I done what we just did at least twice a week fer the last two years. I reckon your aunt was confused about things."

Millie let her mind wander, trying to see if anything felt different than it had before. She felt relaxed, and happy. The world was a wonderful place, and it was great to be alive. She still remembered what she had remembered, and those places that were barred to her memory were still dark. Almost nothing had changed.

Almost.

But there was something new in her life now, and Millie smiled, knowing that she would do that again.

She suspected she'd do it more often than Boots did.



-------

Chapter 12


School, on the day after Millie learned to masturbate, was no different than any other day. Boots was there, but her actions, and Millie's thoughts, were both as normal as the day is long. Even when Boots followed her back to the little house in which her sexual world had doubled in size, Millie's thoughts were on what she was going to teach Boots that night - subtraction.

She had Boots pick up two handfuls of pebbles on the way to the house. Then, on the table, she manipulated the pebbles, having Boots lay out a particular number, and then take a given quantity away and count what remained. Eventually, she required that Boots imagine the first number, and imagine taking some pebbles away. When Boots had done that, Millie smiled.

"You just performed subtraction math in your head, Boots. You already know some of your numbers. All that remains is learning the rest."

"Well I'll be damned," said Boots. "How about that!"

So all in all it was a completely normal day for Millie. That should have included Bob's knock on the door, when he arrived to escort her to the hotel for supper. And, in fact, it was normal ... right up to the point where she opened the door and looked into his face.

Then, in that instant, she was absolutely positive that Bob could tell, just by looking at her, that she had engaged in a perversion. Her eyes darted away from his, and she felt her cheeks flame up. She gasped for air and swayed as her knees weakened.

"What's wrong?" asked Bob, immediately seeing she was in distress.

All that did was convince her he could tell she'd done something terrible. Now he was probing to learn the exact extent of her sins. Suddenly the heat suffusing her face was from anger, rather than shame. How dare he judge her! All she had done was ease her discomfort ... discomfort he had caused by kissing her, and holding her close. It was all his fault that she had had to lower herself to...

But that was wrong! She hadn't lowered herself. There was nothing wrong with what she'd done. She hadn't gone crazy. She was fine! Boots was fine.

"Millie?" Bob's voice cut through her frantic thoughts.

Maybe she was going crazy after all! She couldn't think! The world started to tilt and she realized she was falling. At the same moment she recognized she'd been holding her breath, and let it out, to drag in another gulp of air. She felt pain as her hip struck the wooden floorboards, and cried out.

Bob was in the door immediately and kneeling beside her. His hand cradled her head.

"Millie?" He peered at her. "What's wrong? Tell me what you're feeling!"

"Shame," she whispered. Tears leaked from her eyes.

Suddenly the earth was moving again. She realized he was lifting her, carrying her. She saw the doorway to the smaller room and he lay her on the bed ... the bed where, just last night, she had given in to temptation. Her mind warred with itself as part of it insisted she'd done nothing wrong, while the other reminded her that Aunt Maureen had warned her about insanity. She gasped again.

"Maureen!" she wheezed.

"Maureen?" Bob echoed. "Is that your name?"

His hand was lying on her shoulder. She could feel the heat from his body. It confused her. She wished the cloth of her dress wasn't in the way, and that his hand was touching her bare skin. Now she was sure she was going insane. She fought it, thinking of Aunt Maureen.

"My aunt," she panted. "Aunt Maureen."

"I don't understand," said Bob, his voice low. "You said you felt shame. Then you said your aunt's name. Did she hurt you?"

"No!" yipped Millie. Suddenly she felt the need to confess. Even though it was a man ... it was Bob. She could confess to him. He was a doctor. He could give her medicine ... something to help pull her back from the brink of insanity. "She warned me."

Bob realized she was shaken up, that somehow this memory that had surfaced was causing tumult in her mind. Taking things slowly was the way to go now. He wouldn't push her. Let her explore things at her own pace. The key now was just to keep her talking.

"Tell me about it," he said.

Her hands came up to cover her face. She kept a sob in by pure will.

"Self-abuse," she whispered. "She warned me not to ... not to touch myself ... that I'd go insane. But I didn't listen, and now I can't think. I'm so ashamed. My mind is flying apart. But Boots has been doing it and she's fine! I don't understand!"

Then she broke down and sobbed.

Bob pulled her up and into his arms, holding her against his chest. He let her cry while he thought furiously. He was pretty sure he knew what she was talking about. He'd heard it called self-abuse before, but it wasn't talked about much. In medical school, all he'd learned had been designed to help him cope with what the war would bring him. But in the evenings, there had been bull sessions, and sometimes one of the instructors had come around to sit and tell stories. One of them had told stories of helping women deal with something called female hysteria, which was said to be brought on by a number of maladies. An argument started between two teachers, one who said it was all bunk, and another who swore that the disease was real and that the treatment worked. It was, in fact, where Bob had learned that stimulation of the sexual organs increased blood flow and blood pressure. He had used that very technique on this woman! The argument had gone on for quite some time, and the two doctors almost came to fisticuffs. To Bob's mind, some of the information seemed logical. They didn't call it male hysteria, but he knew full well that stroking his penis until he ejaculated took care of a lot of stress. It made sense that the "hysterical paroxysm," as it was called, might do the same for a woman. In the end, he didn't worry about it. The likelihood of having to treat that malady during the war was vanishingly small. He hadn't thought of it again until after the war, when his experiences with women convinced him that the only thing that caused "female hysteria" was unfulfilled sexual desire. The only time he had ever used the " treatment" was on Millie, and then not for the usual reasons.

He looked at her hair while her sobs slowed and finally stopped. She kept her face buried in his chest. He realized she was convinced, like many were, that the behavior in question was harmful. He knew it wasn't, of course, but bucking social convention wasn't easy. Still, it was ridiculous for this woman to be harmed by such stupid moral bullshit.

"Millie?" he said softly. "Honey, I need to tell you something."

He got no answer.

"What you're talking about? It isn't wrong. And it won't drive you crazy. It's normal, honey. Doctors even do that to help people sometimes."

She went still. Then, slowly, she pulled her face away from his chest. Tear-streaked eyes looked up at his face. He knew she didn't believe him.

"When I was in medical school, I learned how to manipulate a woman's ... um ... sexual organs ... to help her with ... um ... various problems and complaints. It doesn't cause insanity. That's just a falsehood left over from the days of the Puritans. There's nothing wrong with you."

"You've done that to a woman?" she whispered.

"Well ... not exactly. I've never had to..." He trailed off. He was lying. He'd done it to her. "I've only done it once," he said.

"I'm not crazy?"

"Not at all," he assured her.

She buried her face in his chest again. "Ohhhhh I'm so ashamed!" came her muffled voice.

"Stop," he said, making her take her face off his chest. "Look. It's normal to feel that way. I don't care what the Puritans, or your aunt or what anybody says. It's normal. Men do it all the time. I do it fairly regularly. You're just normal, Millie. Try to understand that."

"But I can't be normal," she complained. "I mean it's not normal to even talk about this, much less do it."

"Right on the first," he said. "But wrong on the second." He smiled. "And if you think about it, seeing as how I'm a doctor, it's even normal for you to talk about those ... um ... feelings with me."

"I can't talk about them with you!" she moaned. "I like you!"

"Well, there's no law against liking your doctor," said Bob.

"You know what I mean!" she snapped.

He looked at her lips and licked his own. "You mean the kiss," he said.

"Of course I mean the kiss," she groaned. "It made me so upset that Boots had to teach me how to..." Her mouth snapped closed, and she felt heat in her cheeks again, but this time she was able to keep looking at him. "It was all your fault!" she blurted.

"I see," he said. "Perhaps my holding you like this is troubling as well." He let go of her and she fell back on the bed.

"No!" she complained.

The patience Bob had been so intent on using, to help her along, failed him in that moment.

"What do you want?" he barked.

"I don't knooooow!" she wailed.

It leapt into his mind without help. He was ashamed of it immediately, but the urge to say it was overwhelming.

"Are you suffering from hysteria? Do you need a treatment?"

She was suddenly very still, looking at him, only her chest rising and falling.

"What do you mean?" she finally asked.

He stood. "Are we going to eat or not?"

She stared at him. "I'm not hungry. I've lost my appetite."

"Then get up and come with me. We're going to my office," he said.

"Why?" she asked.

"Just get up and come with me," he growled.

She did, following him, and had to run several steps to keep up with his long stride. He banged through the door and pointed at the examination table, telling her to sit down. He went to a shelf where there was a row of six or seven books and ran his finger along the spines until he found the one he wanted. Sitting at his desk, he opened the book and began leafing through it, ignoring her.

It was actually what she needed to calm herself. She had time to get her breath and think. He'd said so much, and now she began to process it. She watched him flipping pages, thinking about how he'd said she was normal ... that everyone had those feelings. His page turning stopped and his finger went to trace individual lines.

"Here it is," he said to the room at large. "Symptoms include faintness, nervousness, insomnia, fluid retention, heaviness in the abdomen, muscle spasm, shortness of breath, irritability, loss of appetite for food or sex, and a tendency to cause trouble." He looked up at her. "You've already displayed irritability, loss of appetite for food, faintness and nervousness. Lord knows you have a tendency to get involved in trouble. Clearly, you're suffering from female hysteria, and you need a pelvic massage!"

"I do?" she said, her voice high and shaky.

He got up and walked over to her. He took her hands in his.

"What you did? What Boots taught you to do? It was a pelvic massage. Some doctors believe it relieves various symptoms, such as I just read you."

"I do have those symptoms," she said, her voice still high.

"Honey, the only symptoms you have are embarrassment and worry that you did something wrong. You didn't do anything wrong. That's what I'm trying to tell you! How did you feel when your pelvic massage was finished?"

Millie blinked. "Wonderful," she said softly.

"Exactly," he said. "It's a natural extension of stimulating the body in that manner. That's why people like to have sex. It feels good!"

"But the book," she argued. "It said..." She stopped, helpless.

"There is a lot of argument in the practice of medicine," he said. "It's as much art as it is science. More, maybe. And people don't all agree on what is and is not a disease, or how to treat things that cause problems. Personally, I think the only thing that was wrong with you was that you were ... horny."

"That's a vulgar word," complained Millie.

"It's a word that has meaning. You were sexually excited, apparently by kissing me. That doesn't make me unhappy in the least, by the way. I got horny too. And I went home - here - and did exactly what you did."

Millie stared at him. She frowned. "How does that work? You don't have a bump, like me."

"Actually, what I have is a full sized bump. What you have is a miniature penis."

"I do not!" she gasped. "I am a woman!"

Bob unbuttoned his shirt. Millie looked askance at him, until he pulled the join apart.

"What do you see on my chest?" he asked.

"I don't understand," she said. "What am I supposed to see?"

"Breasts," he said.

"You don't have breasts," she argued.

He cupped the spare flesh, and pinched what he could. "They are breasts," he said. "The nipple is fully formed. Doesn't it look just like a woman's nipple?"

"How would I know?" she said. "The only ones I've ever seen are mine and Boots'."

He let it pass that she had seen Boots unclothed, at least unclothed on her upper torso.

"Does it look pretty much like yours and Boots'?"

"Well ... yes ... I suppose so," she admitted.

Men and women share a lot of the same anatomy," he said. The female anatomy is reduced in men, and the male parts are subdued in women. That bump you're talking about is called a clitoris, and it's shaped quite a bit like a tiny penis. And just like it feels good for a woman to massage it, it feels good for a man to massage his penis." He buttoned his shirt back up. "It's normal."

Millie looked around. "I'm still confused," she said. "You said you thought I needed a pelvic massage. Was that part true?"

"As a man, I'd love nothing more than giving you a pelvic massage. It's part of preparation to making love. It's called foreplay."

"Why have I never heard of any of this?" she complained.

"Because most people think it's indelicate to discuss it."

"Except with your doctor," she said.

"In this case, talking about it to your doctor is fine. But I'm fairly sure there are many doctors out there who won't even want to talk about such things."

"Then I'm glad you're my doctor," she said firmly. "I'm hungry now, but I'd like to continue this discussion with my ... doctor ... later on. Will that be acceptable?"

"As long as you understand that talking about it may make both of us horny, that's fine," he sighed.

"We'll see," she said.

And then, as if nothing untoward had happened at all, Millie took his arm and had him escort her to supper.

-------

While she was cool, calm and collected on the outside, during supper, Millie's mind was whizzing along like a speeding locomotive. Bob could tell she was thinking about things, and stayed quiet. He considered the fact that she hadn't screamed at him, to be a good sign.

Part of Millie's problem was that she kept thinking about how it had felt to massage herself. That led to the knowledge that a doctor - Bob - could also massage a woman. And that brought memories of the times he had touched her in the past. She liked his touch, whether it was just the glancing of his hand brushing hers as they walked, or his hand on her back as they danced. The memory of his chest against hers made her aware that it was affecting the rate of her breathing. The kiss, unfortunately, she couldn't remember much of. It had been too tumultuous, an overload of sensations that were too fast and furious to catalog. She knew she had loved it, though.

Suddenly, her mind's eye imagined him kissing her like that ... while he performed the massage treatment. She was astonished to feel the instant presence of that interesting, slippery, unknown fluid beginning to collect in her loins. She even got a whiff of its scent.

She realized she had stopped, frozen, with her fork halfway to her mouth. Bob was looking at her with obvious interest. She put the fork in her mouth, but didn't taste the food as her eyes widened with the realization that she was ... horny!

"Are you feeling better?" asked Bob, suddenly.

She looked at him. She felt the symptom called heaviness in the stomach, and suppressed a hysterical giggle.

"No."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked.

Now her face flamed as she thought of being kissed ... and massaged ... until that exquisite release washed through her body.

"Yes," she whispered.



-------

Chapter 13


Boots sat loosely in the saddle, letting the horse walk at its own pace through the twilight. Since arriving in Beaverton, she'd made it her business to know who was who and what was what. Normally, that didn't extend to the cowboys who worked the various ranches around. Dusty had changed that, though.

She was still confused by the man. It was unusual for her to think about any particular man for more than a few minutes at a time. Bob was one of the exceptions to that general trait. And now Dusty had been added. So she did what she usually did when she wanted to find something out. She hung around, nursing a beer, or sat in a chair on the board walk, appearing to be sleeping, and listened to people talk.

The tidbit that interested her most, however, came in school, of all places. It arose from Dougie Hill, whose father owned the Double D Ranch, where Dusty worked. Dougie was one of the children in school, and was usually very quiet. All the kids were quiet, initially. They were a little bit in awe of her. Tales were told about Boots, most of them embellished a bit, but the kids didn't know that.

Of course there were a few things about Boots that the adults in town didn't know either. Actually, it would be more nearly correct to say that there was something about Boots that nobody thought about. Most people, like the mayor's wife, would have thought having Boots in the classroom would be pure insanity. But, as it turned out, nothing could have been farther from the truth.

Boots had missed her childhood, plain and simple. At eleven or twelve, when she should have been in school herself, she was thrust into a world where a lot of adults couldn't even survive, much less a skinny little girl who was sold like a slave. She learned to cope with that adult world, up to and including murder. Or self defense. You decide that.

So when she was suddenly exposed to children, on one level, she was still a child herself. And that caused her to react to the children in ways that no other adult every had, could or would. She treated them like equals, in one sense. She had expectations of everyone around her, grown or not, and she wasn't shy about making those expectations known. The children found out that, as long as they did what Boots thought they were supposed to do, she was closer to a friend than some terrifying grown-up. In many ways, she had as much in common with callow young ones as she did with adults.

So as time passed, and the kids got to know her, their fear went away. In that odd way of looking at the world that Boots had, she was one of the few adults who the children felt they could talk to about pretty much anything. In this case, Dougie was having a hard time reconciling something he'd heard with what he knew about Boots.

"Did you really wear a dress to the Founder's Day dance?" he asked, trying to imagine what that might have looked like.

"Why do you want to know a thing like that?" asked Boots, who was supposed to be ensuring that the math group was doing math, instead of playing checkers with pieces of folded paper, on a board scratched into the desk top with a pen knife.

"Dusty said you was the most interesting girl he ever run into. He said he actually danced with you!" said Dougie.

"What if he did?" asked Boots, uncomfortably.

"Well, if it wasn't you, I'd say he was sweet on you," said Dougie, frowning.

"What do you mean if it wasn't me?" she demanded.

Dougie flinched. "I didn't mean nothin' by it," he said. "It's just that you don't have no truck with men, like some girls do."

"Maybe that's because I ain't met no man worth having truck with," she said.

"Well he shore is taken with you. My pa even had to warn him not to sneak off to town to see you."

"Your paw said that?" Boots looked interested.

"He did," said Dougie. "They was talkin' about you and the dance and all, and my pa said seein' you like that was the damndest thing he ever saw. But he wouldn't say why. And then Dusty said as how he could get used to dancin' with you real regular, and Pa told Dusty to get on up to the north line shack and check that new fence they put up. He's afraid somebody will come along and tear it down, I guess. And he said not to sneak off to town and see you."

"Horse pucky!" Boots had said. "Tell you what. Iffen he comes to town, I'll kick his ass all the way back to the Double D. How's that?"

Dougie grinned. "Now that's the Boots I know," he said.

Boots actually intended to make sure that Dusty didn't get in trouble for coming into town to see her. She wasn't sure why she felt that way, but she did know that the easiest way to keep him where he belonged was for her to go see him instead.

And that was where she was headed, as the sun slipped below the horizon. She'd thought about skipping school and going the next day. She had seen that new fence, though, after it had been put in. It was the latest thing back east, and the Double D was the first outfit here in the west to use it to keep the cattle from drifting south when the snows arrived. Boots didn't like it, because it was a barrier to crossing the plains on a horse. In any case, it occurred to her there was a lot of fence up that way, and she might ride around for hours and never see the man. On the other hand, he was likely to go back to the line shack each night.

And, of course, she knew right where that line shack was.

She heard a coyote howl off in the distance. Her horse raised its head briefly, and then went on, nodding as it walked. She figured she had another mile to go. That was fine, since he probably wouldn't even be back at the shack until it was full dark. The original purpose of the shack was for the men to sleep in as they gathered strays and herded them back toward the main ranch. There was a corral beside the little building, where gathered cows could be kept. In a week or two, whenever the foreman thought it was time, he'd send another hand out to help whoever was at the line shack - Dusty, in this case - drive the little herd back to wherever the main herd was grazing.

She smelled smoke before she saw the dim light shining through cracks in the planks on the walls of the shack. She'd skipped supper, and hoped he had enough for her too.

"Hello the shack!" she yelled out, alerting whoever was inside someone was coming in.

The door opened and a tall, hatless man came out. "Who's there?" he yelled. "You a woman?" He sounded surprised, but he also sounded like Dusty. She let out a sigh of relief. If it hadn't been him here, she'd have had to make up an excuse for being in the neighborhood.

"It's Boots," she called.

"Well I'll be damned," said Dusty.

"You got any vittles?" she asked, riding up to look down at him.

He grinned. "Take a light, girl. I got us a feast!"

She threw her left leg up and over the horse's neck, sliding from the saddle and landed with bent knees on the ground. She simply dropped the reins, knowing her horse wouldn't go farther than the watering trough until she came back.

-------

His "feast" turned out to be beef, beans and fresh, fried potatoes, along with some greens he'd picked as he inspected the fence, and then boiled when he got back to the line shack. The shack was set up for two men, so there was an extra plate and spoon, as well as a cup for coffee.

They ate in silence, listening to the pop and crackle of the small fire in the fireplace. The coals in the fire provided the only light, since Dusty had put the lamp out to save fuel. For those who lived on the plains, a little fire light was all they needed anyway, most of the time. "Good," was the only comment Boots made during the meal.

Afterwards, Dusty lay himself out on his bunk, on his side, holding his head up with an elbow and one hand.

"You on business, or just out for a ride?" he asked.

Boots had wanted to see him. Now that she had, she didn't know what to do. It made her nervous. This was territory she was unfamiliar with.

"Why do you care?" she asked, a little gruffly.

"I did some nosin' around about you," he said.

"What did you find out?"

"Other than what you told me?" he asked.

She looked uncomfortable. "Yeah."

"Some folks think you should be run out of the territory."

"They can try, iffen they want," she said, belligerently.

"Others say they wished you wasn't a woman, so they could hire you."

"I'm fer hire to anybody who wants to," she said. "It don't matter that I'm a girl."

"It does to some," he said.

"How about you?"

"I don't want to hire you," he said.

"Why not?" She moved, as if she was going to stand up.

"There's other things to do with a girl besides hire her," he said, grinning.

Boots knew what he was talking about. She knew how men's minds worked rather better than most women in the territory. But the way he'd said it didn't conjure up Jasper. Instead, it made her curious. If he'd checked up on her, he knew what she'd done. And he didn't look scared of her, or nervous, like most men were when they were around her.

"An' I suppose you think you've got a shot at doin' those ... other things," she suggested.

"I sure as hell hope so," he said. "I have to tell you, Boots. I ain't never felt about no girl like I feel about you."

"You don't even know me," she objected.

"You're right about that," he admitted. "But we're both young. We got lots of time to get to know each other, don't you think? I mean I sure do want to get to know you better, but I don't know how you feel about that."

"What iffen I said you couldn't touch me until we know each other better?" she asked. She wondered why she'd said that. She wasn't planning on letting him touch her anyway.

"I'd say I was purely miserable, and would stay that way until you got your senses back."

"My senses?"

"Boots, all men ain't like that feller you planted. An' what a man and woman do don't have to be like that neither. Just because you got a raw deal from one man, don't mean all men will do the same."

"You done things like that with a girl before?" she asked.

"I reckon," he said. "I reckon that's why I'm here, instead of back home in Texas. I had me a sweetheart there, but her daddy said I wasn't good enough for her. She saw it different. She told him she'd just run away with me, an' he locked her up. He said he'd go after my pa iffen I didn't light out and never come back."

"Why didn't you just shoot him?" asked Boots.

"Down Texas way, they put a man in prison for things like that," said Dusty. "Besides. He done me a favor. Iffen I hadn't left there, I wouldn't have found the Double D ... and you."

"There's that silver tongue again," sighed Boots. "I don't think you found much, though. I ain't at all sure I could stand for another man to touch me. Too many bad memories."

"Kin I ask you a question?"

"'Course."

"Did you like those kisses ... after the dance?"

She was quiet for a while. It took a lot more effort than she thought it would, but she told the truth. "I reckon I did."

"And after you whupped that Jim Black feller, an' I pulled you off him ... you remember that?"

Boots knew he was talking about having his hands where they didn't belong. "Yeah," she said.

"Well unless I'm plumb loco, I don't believe that bothered you all that much."

"Why you think that?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"'Cause you didn't start up on me like you left off on him," said Dusty.

"That don't mean I want you to do it again," she said, stubbornly.

It was quiet in the shack for a few long minutes. Finally Dusty spoke.

"You want to know why I can't stop thinkin' about you?"

"You can't stop thinkin' about me?" Boots sounded genuinely surprised.

"It's turrible," he admitted. "I about got gored by a longhorn t'other day, because I kept thinkin' about how it felt to pull you off of Black."

"I should have known," snapped Boots. "Men only want one thing."

"No, you don't understand," he said. "That's not why I can't stop thinkin' about you. That's just one of the things that pops into my mind when I'm thinkin' about you." He stared at her. "I can't stop thinkin' 'bout you because a man knows right where you stand. I don't have to wonder, or guess. If yer mad, I know it. If yer happy, that's pretty plain too. And when a man thinks about a woman like that, a woman who don't say one thing and mean another, like most do, he just naturally wishes he was lucky enough to have her for his sweetheart."

"I can't be nobody's sweetheart," said Boots, quite seriously.

"How come?"

"Well, I don't know how, fer one thing," she said. "But mostly because I don't think I could stand fer a man to do the things sweethearts do."

"But you already done some of it," said Dusty.

"Like what?" she asked.

"Like dancin'," he said. "And kissin'."

"That was different."

"How so?"

"I don't know," muttered Boots. "It was just different."

"You mean I'm not like that feller who done you wrong."

"Of course not," she snapped. "I'd never have had nothin' to do with you iffen you were like him."

"I'm of a mind that the rest of it would be different too, Boots," said Dusty.

"The rest of it?" She frowned. "You better not mean what I think you mean."

"I don't know what I mean," he said. "All I know is I like bein' around you, and I like dreamin' about you and I'm not ashamed of thinking about things like a man does. I know you been hurt bad, but I'd as soon cut my own arm off as hurt you, and not just because I'm sure you'd kick my ass."

"Then what do you want?" asked Boots.

"I want to see you smile and know I had somethin' to do with that," said Dusty. "I want you to kiss me again some day, and tell me you hope to see me again, so's you can kiss me again. I want ... well ... I want it all, Boots, and that scares the hell out of me 'cause I ain't never wanted it all with no other woman before. Not never."

What about that girl you was gonna run off with?" asked Boots.

She was the one who wanted to run away. Hell, I was so raw back then I didn't have no idee what I wanted."

"I thought you said you done been with a woman before," said boots.

"I ain't talkin' about that," groaned Dusty. "I mean that's part of it, sure, but when it comes to you, I'm after a hell of a lot more than just havin' sex. I can go to the Silver Dollar and have sex any time I can scrape together a dollar. But a man might only have one chance in his whole life to have a sweetheart like you, Boots."

"I ought to come over there and kick your ass," said the girl, her voice tight.

"I wish you wouldn't," said the boy.

She looked at him in the dim light. "Fact is, though, that's not what I want to do right now."

"What do you want to do?" he asked. The hope in his voice was so stark and so transparent, that the thrill of power to make him that way shot through her. It was a new kind of power, a power that had nothing to do with guns, or fear or force. Rather, it was the power of being wanted.

"I can't believe I'm gonna say this," said Boots softly, "but I actually feel like kissin' a cowboy."

-------

Millie pulled Bob to her house, quite simply because she anticipated feeling something wonderful ... and her bed was where she had discovered how good it was possible for her to feel. In a way neither of them understood completely, it was better that she took him there, than to where he lived. Had she taken him to his bed, he may have misinterpreted her intent. As it was, he had no clue where they were going, or why.

In fact, she wasn't sure, herself, what her intent was. All she knew was that she was raging inside, and needed the kind of release she had only learned how to find a short time before. That she had chosen Bob to be involved in it, was the result of several things.

First, he was the only man she knew well and trusted. Second, she had a serious crush on him, whether she admitted it or not. Third, he had assured her it was normal to feel the way she did. And finally, he had said that, as a doctor, he knew what to do to help her.

There were some bumps along that road, however, that Millie wasn't aware of. While Bob had heard of female hysteria, and read a little about it in a book, he had never been formally trained in treating it. Further, he was pretty well convinced it wasn't a real malady. As for horny women, he'd been around one or two. Maggie, the girl he'd been interested in at the Silver Dollar, had liked him, so she'd been enthusiastic about their infrequent trysts. She had, in fact, taught him just about everything he knew about pleasing a woman. He had been shocked, in fact, at some of the ways they had pleasured each other, but he got used to it. His problem had been he couldn't afford to get too used to it. And, of course, it didn't help when Maggie agreed to marry the whiskey salesman who visited town pretty regular.

So the fact was that Millie had chosen a man to help her with her problem, who had only minimal experience at ... helping a woman with her problem.

While Millie might have been able to detect that potential bump in the road, she was still unaware of the larger issue, that is to say, why in fact she was still in Beaverton at all. To be fair to Bob, he was smitten with Millie, but he was also an honorable man. So while he would have dearly loved to assist Millie in her emotional situation, he could not, in good conscience, do so. Of course, he didn't know quite yet exactly what was bothering the girl. He knew she was agitated, but not precisely why.

That was explained when, after pulling him into her house and lighting a candle, Millie turned to him and said: "I think I might be in need of ... what did you call it ... a pelvic massage?"

Bob blinked. His mouth was suddenly dry. He swallowed, while his mind filled with the image of her on his exam table, naked, bloody and bruised, while he did something that, in the absence of medical explanation, most men would be hanged for. At least in those circumstances.

"Millie," he said weakly. "I can't -"

Elizabeth Philby was a strong, and strong-willed young woman. That she had survived so well in her situation wasn't simple luck. The woman who now called herself Millie had always been pretty successful, both at choosing the right thing to want, and then getting it. So her reaction in this situation was not to argue, but rather to take action. Sometimes, she took action based on an emotional urge. She did so now.

She reached for Bob's face and pulled it to hers for a hungry, warm-lipped kiss. Of course she had no idea what she was doing, either to herself or to Bob. All she knew was that she had a burning need, and she wanted Bob to be involved in meeting it. At the same time, part of her mind recognized that this was improper behavior, for unspecified reasons, and that part of her mind demanded some kind of reasonable explanation. The need for the doctor to perform a pelvic massage was that explanation.

She broke that first kiss and then gasped "Shall I disrobe?" Then, without waiting for him to answer, she kissed him again and, while she marveled at the feel of his warm lips on hers, her fingers went to work at the buttons of her dress. Passion made her shrug the dress off her shoulders, and let it fall around her waist, leaving her naked from the waist up. When Bob's hands went to her waist unconsciously, in response to the kisses, his fingers felt smooth, naked, hot skin. Instinct made his hands move upwards, until his thumbs ran into her breasts, and before he could think, he was cupping them, gently squeezing their spongy mass.

Millie had squeezed her own breasts, of course. Whether in curiosity as they developed, or in the bath as she washed them, she had manipulated them. But it had never felt like this, and she felt the first of those little jolting impulses streak from her breasts to her belly. She liked it enough to break the kiss to tell him.

"Ohhhh, that feels nice," she moaned softly, and then went back to kissing him. Both her lips and her words gave him permission to continue fondling her luscious breasts.

Her lips came open and her tongue searched for his, like last time. He groaned into her open mouth and she unconsciously groaned back in return. She interpreted those groans as good things, and suddenly wanted to be on her bed, where that delicious feeling had been discovered. To that end, she began to pull at him, and took short, jerky little steps toward her bedroom, while their lips rubbed together.

They left the candle behind, but their eyes had become accustomed to the dark, so the little bit of the flickering light that made its way into the bedroom was still useful. The relative darkness made Millie comfortable as she broke the kiss, dragging in lungfuls of air, and she pushed the dress down, to stand naked before Bob.

Bob's eyes strained in the dark, seeing the pale form in front of him. He could see the darker spots of her nipples, but that was all. His mind, shocked by the speed and direction of her actions, tried to rationalize what was happening, but his passions had flared too, and the man in him wanted something from this woman. She was just lucky that what he desired most of all was for her to want him. For that reason, it was very important to him that she be happy when they were finished, and that was what gave him the control to moderate his behavior that night.

Maggie had taught him what one of those "hysterical paroxysms" looked and sounded like. He remembered she had loved it when he sucked at her nipples, like a baby, so as his hand searched for the juncture of Millie's legs, he bent and his mouth searched for a nipple too. His mouth connected first, and he heard her delighted gasp as he pulled the turgid nubbin into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue as he sucked. At almost the same time his hand found her fluff of pubic hair, and his middle finger slipped between already slippery lips.

She jerked in his hands, a sharp "Ahhhh!" ripping from her throat as her clit was pressured by his fingertip. Now it was Bob who pushed her toward her bed, and she went willingly. She complained at the loss of stimulation as she lay down and his touch was removed. But then he was on his knees beside the bed, his mouth searching for her breasts again while his hand returned to find, and maul her clit.

As his finger found her sex again, her hips arched, and he clearly felt his fingertip hit her obstruction. It sobered him and, despite her ever more energetic hip movements, he concentrated on leaving her virginity intact as he tried to bring her to climax. That happened almost ridiculously quickly. Millie was primed to blow anyway, and his lips stimulating her nipples, combined with his finger massaging her clitoris, brought her to the pinnacle within barely two minutes. It happened so fast, in fact, that she felt sorrow that it was over quite that quickly.

But her sorrows were drowned in the overwhelming waves of ecstasy that washed everything from her mind except the exquisite joy this man had released in her. If she'd had a crush on him before, she was helplessly infatuated with him now. Too young to fully understand what love was, she still felt she was in that state as the orgasm caused her body to shake, like a dog coming out of a river.

Bob, however, not being experienced with the sensitivities involved, and thinking things would take much longer, kept on grinding her clitty beneath his fingertip, until she cried out in a voice that registered pain, instead of pleasure, and her hand went to hold his still. When he stopped, her body wilted and she lay bonelessly, gasping for air. Bob, realizing she was finished (something Maggie had displayed in quite a different fashion) released the nipple he was sucking, gave it a regretful farewell kiss and lick, and leaned back. Her hand still held his fast against her loins, with a firm grip, so he couldn't stand up.

"I should let you recover," he said softly.

"Don't leave," she panted. Something important had just happened. She realized that on a basic level. She was nowhere near understanding it, but she knew it was fundamentally important to her continued happiness, and she was afraid to let him leave.

"I need to go," he said, his voice tight. That was because he was rock hard in his pants, and he needed his own relief.

"I need you," she whined.

"Again?" He was astonished.

When she understood what he was referring to, it released the fear in her. Now that emotion tended towards hysterical laughter, as her happiness threatened to burst forth uncontrolled. The irony of it made it even funnier. He had treated her hysteria ... and now she was on the verge of being hysterical.

"No," she giggled. "Not that. I just don't want you to go."

"I need to," he groaned. "I'm in pain. I need ... medicine." He gasped the last word out of frustration. He couldn't tell her what he really needed.

"Oh! I didn't know!" she gasped. "Will you come back?"

"Yes!" He would have promised her anything just to get away long enough to milk his penis and get relief.

With that she released him, and he hurried to her door. He didn't even leave the area. Instead, as soon as he got outside, he freed his rampant organ and, with the hand still slippery from her juices, he jerked his cock until it spat in the dark.

It was the best climax he'd ever had in his life.

-------

Probably because it made her feel like she was more nearly in control of things, Boots went to Dusty's side of the little cabin, where he was lying on his bed. She sat next to him as he rolled onto his back and looked up at her with glittering eyes. He then did the smartest thing he could have done - nothing.

She looked down at him and, sensing no aggression on his part, leaned over. Her bulging breasts touched his chest before her face met his, and the feel of that stopped her with her eyes perhaps six inches from his. He saw the nervousness in her eyes.

"I won't hurt you," he said softly. "Not ever."

She saw the truth in his eyes. And then she leaned on down to kiss him.

During that kiss Boots was aware of multiple things. She felt the pressure on her breasts, squashed against his muscled chest. She felt his lips. She felt his breath, coming from his nose and warming her upper lip. Her past intruded, though, and she remembered what Jasper had done to her, had usually wanted to do to her. It made her mad, because she liked Dusty, and Jasper was intruding. She leaned back up.

"I know what you want," she said. "That ain't gonna happen. Not right now. Maybe never. I don't know about that. But I want some things. An' I want to remember this night nice, cause I ain't got one good memory as goes with this sort of thing. Can you play along with that?"

"You don't make it easy on a man, do you," he said, smiling briefly.

"Men ain't made it easy on me," she shot back.

"I will," he said.

"I'm scared," she admitted, astonished that she would admit that at all, much less to a man.

"I know," he said. "I don't blame you. You tell me what you want. That's all that'll happen."

Boots remembered the ways that, if he'd let her, had meant Jasper wouldn't rape her - couldn't rape her, actually. He might still beat her, but if she could make it spurt with her hand or mouth, then it was too limp to rape her with. It was all she knew, so when she thought about Dusty, she decided she wanted to make him spurt before she got what she wanted - a man's hands on her that weren't cruel ... that were gentle ... that made her feel good.

"Take your pants off," she said.

He blinked in surprise. He hadn't known what would happen, but he didn't think it would get to that point anywhere near this quick. But he obeyed, asking if he could take his shirt off too, because he'd feel stupid with only a shirt on. She said that would be all right. He sat up to comply, and when he lay back down, his groin displayed a long, slightly bent, rigidly erect penis. Boots stared at it, with no discernable emotion on her face.

"Damn," she said.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"It's hard."

"Of course it's hard," he said. "You made it that way."

"I did not!" she argued. "I didn't even touch you."

"I like you, Boots," he sighed. "I think you're pretty. That's why it's hard."

"It's hard because you want to shove it in me," she kept arguing.

"Well, ain't that what man and woman was made fer?" He frowned. "I ain't for sure, 'cause I cain't read, but seems to me like I heard that's in the Good Book somewhere."

"I'll check," said Boots, still staring. She'd seen a hard cock before, of course. But only one, and it had never been welcome. This one looked different. Jasper had been covered by coarse, black hair, like he was part bear or something. His penis had been shorter, but fatter. Her nose twitched as she remembered his rank odor, something she hadn't thought of since she burned the last of his clothes because she couldn't get his stink out of them. Without conscious thought she leaned and sniffed the air above Dusty's straining phallus. All she smelled was the mild scent of honest sweat.

"You can read?" Dusty's shock was plain in his voice.

"I'm learnin'" she said. "I ain't tackled the Good Book yet, but there's one in the school house."

"Well I'll be," he sighed, admiration just as plain now as shock had been before.

She reached for his stiff prick, and gripped it as if it might burn her. When he didn't move, she adjusted her grip, and then furiously started jerking it up and down. Dusty yelped and reached with both hands to stop her.

"Don't yank it off!" he blurted.

"I'm just tryin' to make it squirt," she said.

"Well, take it easy," he complained. "I'm pretty sure it will squirt, seein' as how it's your hand on it. Just that is about enough to do the job. Take her a little slower, though. I want to enjoy this."

She let him coach her, loosening her grip a bit, and taking slower, longer strokes. She'd had to go fast and furious with Jasper, and almost always had to suck him too, to get him to shoot without raping her. But this felt completely different. She could feel bumps under her hand as Dusty's loose skin slid over the hard flesh underneath it. The sounds he made sent shivers to her belly, and suddenly she wanted to rub her bump. He was moving around under her hand, but not in any way that even remotely reminded her of Jasper.

She hadn't intended to suck him unless she just had to. That hadn't been something she enjoyed with Jasper. But Dusty's obvious passive enjoyment of what she was doing made her feel powerful again, like she'd felt with him before, and her mouth was halfway to the tip of his prod before she realized what she was doing.

She went ahead, purely out of curiosity. It was only the second penis she'd done it to, and everything else about Dusty had been different. Now, as her lips slid over the knob, and his head bounced up off the bed, his mouth open and his eyes wide with shock, his hands didn't come to grip her hair painfully and shove her face down onto his cock. Instead he gasped "Damn, Boots!" and his head flopped back down as he let out a groan like he was dying.

When she pulled off to ask him "What? You like that?" she was just obeying the urge to test her power and control. His head came back up, disbelief on his face.

"Hell yeah, I like that!"

And when, some minutes later, his voice betrayed the imminent arrival of his manly fluids, instead of trying - and always failing - to pull off ... to keep Jasper's vile sexual spit out of her mouth ... she decided to see if the taste was any different too. She could always spit it out. Jasper had let her do that, as long as she didn't get any on him.

And as she felt the jolts of hot fluid spurt into her mouth, Dusty blubbered and flopped under her. But still his hands came nowhere near her and she knew she was completely in control. She let him finish in her mouth, with her lips clamped right behind the bulbous head, using her tongue to move the stuff around and taste it. To her amazement, it was different ... still slightly bitter, but with clearly dominant overtones of sweet mixed with salt. She pulled her lips off of him and sat up. She swallowed intentionally, and then tasted again, smacking her lips and staring off into nothingness as she gathered the remnants and swallowed again.

"Oh damn, Boots," he whimpered. "I think you kilt me."

It had been so vastly different than her last memory of doing the same thing, that Boots felt like letting loose with a rebel yell. She was almost instantly in desperate need of rubbing.

"Could you do the same for me?" she gasped, looking down at the first man who could truly be called her lover. She didn't add 'as long as you don't try to put it in me' because, in her experience, his penis would soon be limp as a noodle and tiny again.

"Damn straight," he said, energy suddenly infusing his body.

The beginnings of honest trust - her first in a man under these circumstances - flooded through Boots and she jerked her leather shirt over her head, baring her breasts to a man voluntarily for the first time. She tore at the rope belt around her waist and pushed her buckskin pants down, hopping on one foot to get the other loose, and then trading feet until she, like Dusty, was naked.

It was simple, honest misunderstanding that caused Dusty to do what he did. Boots had imagined his hand, rubbing her bump, like she had rubbed his pecker. For Dusty, though, the high point of the whole experience had been her mouth on his organ. That was a first for him, and he had overwhelmingly approved. So when she lay down and spread her legs to give his hand room, he bounded up and shoved his face between her thighs before she had any idea what he was doing.

Jasper had never done this to the young girl he raped on a regular basis. With Jasper, it had been all about his pleasure, and never about hers.

And, truth be told, when Dusty's hands shoved her knees apart, to gain better access with his mouth, that part was something Boots had felt before ... and not in a good way.

So it was normal that she panicked.

He got one good, long swipe with his tongue between her pussy lips accomplished before she rang his bell with her fist on the top of his head. Luckily, though, her hips bounced up in an effort to throw him off. All that did was make sure that, after his tongue licked her good and proper, that the stubble on his chin scraped across her clitty in a most delightful fashion.

"Do that again!" she gasped, delighted.

"Only if you promise not to knock my brains out," he complained.

"I won't. I promise, Dusty. You just surprised me, that's all. Do it again!"

Which is how Boots found out how pale and insignificant her normal procedure was for relieving tension. Dusty relieved it so much better with his mouth, sucking at that bump until she thought she'd just die, that she couldn't lift a finger when he got finished, and reared up with his penis long and strong again, right there above her helpless pussy.

Always a man of his word, though, Dusty didn't try to put it in her. Instead, he reached for it and jerked it just as furiously as he had berated her for doing when she first touched him. Boots, who had felt a surge of panic in her when she saw he was hard again, relaxed when she saw what he was doing. The good feeling she'd been enjoying so much came right back, and she watched through half-lidded eyes as he directed his spurts right where he'd been licking a moment before.

She felt the heat of his issue, one more new thing. Jasper had never spurted on her. He'd always spurted in her, and gloated about how her belly would swell with his son. Each time she'd bled, she'd secretly laughed at her tormentor, and believed that, somehow, she had kept his seed from taking root.

Now, though, feeling the heat of something she actually welcomed, she idly reached for it with her hand and used its slippery, warm consistency, spreading it to her bump and massaging it in. Just as idly, she slipped her middle finger into her sex.

She thought about what had just happened. She had touched a man. The man had touched her back. And it hadn't hurt ... and she didn't feel ashamed ... and it had all felt so good.

In an emotional overflow, quite similar to what had happened with Millie in the tub they'd shared, Boots burst into tears of happiness and joy.

And, as had happened with Millie, she was soon enfolded in Dusty's arms, their naked fronts pressed together as he whispered in her hair that everything would be all right.



-------

Chapter 14


Bob almost didn't go back in Millie's little house. That was primarily because even after jerking the spunk out of his prick, he still wanted to lie on top of Millie and make sweet love to her. As he stepped up to the door, he hoped she was still naked. As he opened the door, he hoped she'd gotten dressed again. This woman was tearing him up.

She hadn't gotten dressed, but she'd pulled the sheet over her body. He stood, just looking in her direction. It was too dark to perceive any detail. He could feel his penis trying to get stiff again.

"I should go," he said, softly.

"I've never done that before," she said.

"I know."

"No ... what I meant was about my missing memories. There is no way in the world I could forget doing that. Thank you."

"You're thanking me?" He was incredulous. He felt like he'd molested her.

"Of course I am. That was one of the most wonderful things I've ever felt."

"Well, you're normal," he sighed.

"Why are you running off?" she asked. "Isn't there something I'm supposed to do? You made me feel wonderful, but all I've done is lie here."

"I took care of it already," he said, and then winced as he realized he'd spoken without thinking.

"How?" she asked, actually curious.

"Never mind," he said. "You'll be fine now. That kind of treatment lasts a bit."

"No it doesn't," she said.

"What?"

"I think I need another one already."

There was no guile in her voice. He gazed at her and, in the shadows, saw an innocent young woman who trusted him. And all he wanted to do was fuck her blind. He shook his head. His cock was trying desperately to get hard again.

"Millie," he said, his voice breaking. "Be happy with what you have. A man can't take too much of this without losing control."

He turned and left, before he said anything else stupid.

Behind him, Millie stared into the dark. Soon her fingers were between her legs, rubbing furiously.

She got there, but it wasn't nearly as good as when Bob did it.

-------

In the line shack on the northwest corner of the Double D ranch, Boots had a completely different conversation with the man who had taken her to new heights.

She had let the tears come, in a different kind of release, finally mourning for the loss of her childhood, freedom and virtue. She had thought killing Jasper would set her free, but it had been the gentle, loving touch of another man that had really done that. Boots had never thought about the concept of being in love with a man, because she had always been quite positive that could never, ever happen. So what she was feeling for Dusty, there in his arms, was something so vast and new and beautiful, she had a hard time accepting that it was real.

But his arms were real, and the feel of his chest against hers. She felt something else too, between her legs, where that joy had been so recently expressed. She reached between them to find her young man stiff as a board ... again! And of all things... that was what calmed her, and let her think.

It was the very fact that he was obviously ready for sex ... but hadn't forced himself upon her. That had never happened before... never! ... and the freedom that gave her to lie there and think about things was the most precious thing she felt like she'd ever been given. She squeezed the stiff organ tentatively, knowing that the thing in her hand wouldn't hurt her. Now, curiosity began to come to the fore.

"How do you do that?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"It's hard again! It's shot off twice and it's still hard!"

"Yeah," he sighed. "Pretty strange, huh."

"That's no answer," she said into his chest. Her nose ran into something wet and she licked at it. It was salty, probably some of her own tears. "What did you do?"

"Well hell's bells, woman. I didn't do nothin'. You done it."

"All I done was cry like a little baby," she grumbled.

"Boots, it was you. Iffen I wasn't worried you'd do somethin' rash, I'd tell you I think I'm in love with you."

She pulled back and, through shining, still wet eyes, examined his face. She still gripped his stiff cock.

"You worried I'll snatch it off?" she asked, squeezing his organ a bit harder.

"No, I am not," he said, his voice steady.

"Good," she said. "Do you need me to let the pressure offen it again before I go?"

"You have to go?" He was clearly unhappy, and it seemed odd to her that that made her feel happy.

"I done stretched things enough tonight, I think," she said. "We did things I didn't think we'd do. If I stay, I got a feeling we'd do more things. My head ain't on quite straight, I don't think."

"Your head is on just fine," he said, kissing her nose. "But I think I know what you mean."

"You want to do 'em too," she suggested.

"Have since that very first dance," he admitted, grinning. "But you're safe."

"Unless I let you," she said.

"True fact," he responded.

"So ... you want me to suck it on my way out?"

"I think no," he said, saying it slowly. "Ain't no filly ever done that to me before. It was mighty nice. I'll never fergit it as long as I live. But iffen you ever do it again, I want it to be 'cause you want to ... not to service me like I'm some kind of horse."

She stiffened and let go of his cock. "I didn't mean it like that, you son of a bitch!" she snapped.

"Calm down," he said, holding her tight enough that she couldn't get to his face with her hands. "I know that. I'm just sayin' I want it to mean more than just makin' me feel good before you take off."

She relaxed. This man was so different from other men she'd known. She wasn't sure how to act around him. He for sure wasn't like any cowboy she'd ever known.

"I did like it," she said. "I didn't think I would do it, and then when I did I didn't think I'd like it. But I did. I liked everything, Dusty. That's why I need time to think about all this."

"Don't blame you," he said. "I feel right sure that iffen you stayed here all night long, by the time the sun came up I'd have proposed marriage."

"Don't you make fun of me," she warned.

"I ain't," was all he said in reply.

"I'm leavin' now."

"Hate to see you go. You ever comin' back?"

He let her go and she stood up. His eyes ranged over her body, hungry and sharp. No man had ever had the courage to look at her like that. She loved it, and it scared her half to death. Something, coming from a place she'd never known existed before, made her cup her breasts.

"You just want to see these again."

"I want to see all of you again," he countered.

She pulled on her pants, and then pulled her buckskin shirt over her head. Her gunbelt was still hanging up on a peg on the wall, where she'd put it, just being polite, before eating with him. She buckled it on, and then looked back at him, lying on his side like he had before, still naked. His penis was soft now.

"Well, at least it don't stay hard all the time," she said, smiling.

"Next time you see it I bet it's like stone," he said, not smiling.

"We'll see," she said. She went to him and bent down to brush his lips with hers. "I like you, Dusty. And that's a first."

"I'm glad," he said. "I'll be here for a week, at least."

"I know," she said.

Then she left, to get on her horse and ride slowly through the dark of early morning. It gave her time to think. By the time she rode up to her little sod hut, she had already adapted to much of her changing world. Life on the frontier required that you be flexible, and able to adapt to changing circumstances. The fact that Boots now embraced something she would have shunned, only twenty-four hours earlier, didn't bother her at all.

She couldn't wait to talk to Millie about it.

-------

Both women were eager to talk to each other that day, but both wanted time in which to do that. So neither broached any of what had happened to her the night before until they were on the way to Millie's house for Boots' tutoring session. It was Boots who started the conversation, and it was based on something Dusty had said.

"Hey, did you ever read the Good Book through?" she asked Millie.

"If I did, I don't remember it," said Millie.

"Oh," said Boots. She sounded disappointed.

"Why?"

"It's just something Dusty said last night."

"Last night?" Millie's voice rose. "You saw him last night?"

"Yeah," said Boots, who suddenly felt funny, like somebody had asked her a simple question, and she couldn't answer it. "I was riding around, and happened upon a line shack, and he was in it."

Millie stopped and reached for her friend's elbow. She spun Boots, who looked at her wide-eyed.

"Are you sure that's how it happened?" asked Millie, her eyes narrowed.

Boots felt silly. She wanted to talk to Millie about it all, yet she had been beating around the bushes. As if something unlocked inside her, she suddenly felt safe in telling Millie everything. It all rushed out at once.

"Okay," she said, looking around, as if she were afraid someone else might hear her. They were dozens of yards away from any other buildings, though, and no one was in sight. "Dougie Hill told me he'd be there, an' I went and saw him, an' we kissed some, an' then we got nekkid, an' I sucked him, an' then he sucked me, an' I had to leave, 'cause I was gonna let him do it to me, 'cause he was still hard, but I was scared, except everthin' felt so good, an' I loved it, an' he said he might be in love with me, an' was talkin' about getting hitched and everything!" She dragged in breath, having used ever bit in her lungs to speak.

Millie stared at her, her mouth open. Then she looked around, to make sure nobody else had come into earshot.

"Come on!" she said. "You have to tell me every bit of it!"

-------

Inside the house, sitting on the single stool and a nail keg near the stove, Millie interrogated Boots about everything that had happened. Suddenly, Boots wanted to hold back again.

"I cain't tell you about everthin'" she said. "You're a lady, and I'm pretty sure some of it was awful naughty."

"You don't understand!" wailed Millie. "Bob and I ... last night ... I made him touch me. He massaged my bump and it was wonderful. If I can't have that and be a lady, then I don't want to be a lady. But I want to hear about yours and then I'll tell you about mine!"

So Boots started at the beginning, and laid it all out. Millie's responses were understandable.

"You took your clothes off right in front of him?!" Somenow, in Millie's mind, that she had done exactly the same thing was different because Bob was a doctor.

"Nekkid as the day I was born. An' the way he looked at me ... it made me wet down there."

Later, Millie asked, horrified: "You put your mouth where?!"

"Jasper used to make me suck his," said Boots, whose emotional release the night before had removed the pain from that memory. She would forever know she had hated it, but it didn't hurt her any more. "An' I wasn't gonna do it at first. I mean doin' him with my hand was my aim, so's it would go soft an' he couldn't force it on me, but then I got this urge, and I'm sure glad I did cause he felt all good in my mouth and he tasted as good as candy."

That took at least half an hour for all of Millie's questions to be answered, as Boots tried to describe what a penis looked like, and how she had stroked it, and how she had sucked it and then how he had stroked it, and what it looked like when it shot off.

Millie almost fainted when Boots talked about how Dusty had sucked on her bump, and how, for some strange reason that made Boots want to let him have sex with her. But that had scared her, and she had left.

Millie said she understood, because she had wanted Bob to stay, the night before. She didn't know why, except that she wanted him to keep touching her.

And that was the transition into her telling Boots what she had experienced. Boots was curious about Bob sucking on Millie's nipples.

"I know! I thought he'd gone crazy," said Millie. "But it felt so wonderful, pretty soon I wished he'd never stop sucking them. I sure know why women like to suckle a baby now."

"I might have to have Dusty try that on me," said Boots, her eyes unfocused.

"Are you going back?" squealed Millie, clapping her hands.

"Do you think I should?" asked Boots, who had never done "girly things" like squealing and clapping and jumping up and down.

"Of course you should!" said Millie. "Wait! You said something about marriage! What was that about?"

"He just said that he would tell me he loved me, except he was afraid I'd hurt him if he did, so he wasn't goin' to."

"But he did tell you!" insisted Millie.

"I reckon he did at that," said Boots.

"How do you feel about that?" asked Millie.

"I don't know. Nervous maybe? Skeered, a little bit? But it makes me want to rub my bump too. It makes me want to let him rub it!"

"Ohhh Boots," sighed Millie. "What if you're in love?"

"I cain't be in love," said Boots. "That just wouldn't work out at all."

"Why not?" said Millie, outraged.

"How can a girl like me get involved with a man, and mebbe get hitched and all that? I ain't one to stay home an' weed the garden while the man goes off and does things I'm prob'ly better at."

"Who says it has to be like that?" asked Millie. "Who says you have to have a garden?"

"Look around," said Boots. "Every woman you see who's married has a passel of kids hangin' onto her skirts, and a garden out back. That ain't the life fer me. I'm a tracker, an' a scout."

"Well I don't think you should turn up your nose at love because of what you see other people do," said Millie. "I think you should talk to Dusty about it."

"I think he's got more on his mind than just talkin'," said Boots, with one eyebrow raised.

"I would hope so!" squealed Millie.

"That's why I asked you about the Good Book. He said it was in there somewhere that what he wants to do with me is a good thing."

"Well then, we'll look," said Millie firmly.

"When?" asked Boots.

"I don't have a Bible here," said Millie.

"There's one at the school."

"Well run get it and we'll just have us a look," said Millie.

-------

George Watkins looked in through the batwing doors of the Silver Dollar and spied Sheriff Miller playing cards with the mayor and two cattle ranchers. He pushed through the doors and approached the table.

"Sheriff?"

Miller looked up from his cards at the stable owner. "What's goin' on, George?"

"Might be trouble about," said George.

"Why so?"

"I just seen Boots tearing out of the schoolmarm's house. She lit out like the devil hisself was after her. She didn't even get on her horse."

"Where'd she run to?"

"I dunno. It's gettin dark. Somewhere off to the north, anyway."

The sheriff threw his cards into the middle of the table.

"Sorry, boys, but duty calls. I'll either be right back, or be puttin' together a posse, maybe, so stick around."

-------

The door banged open and Sheriff Miller strode in, his pistol in his hand. Right behind him were George Watkins, Mayor Robinson and Lawrence Thistledown, who ran the Bar Under W ranch. The men were confronted by the sight of two women, one wearing a dress, and the other in buckskin, peering at an open book on the wooden table in the middle of the room. A lamp was on the table not far from the book. Both women were staring at the men.

"May I ... help you ... Sheriff?" asked Millie.

"I heard there might be trouble here," said Miller. "We came to find out."

"Well thank you for your concern," said Millie. "We're just reading the Bible. You gentlemen are welcome to stay. I can read out loud if you like."

Ten minutes later the card game was going on again.

A protesting George Watkins would forever after bear the nickname of "Good Old George," based on how they got to hear the creation story, and about how everything God created was good.

George was not impressed.

-------

After the men left, Millie's finger went to the line in Genesis that had the number 28 in front of it. She read.

"And God blessed them. And God said to them, "Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it -"

"What does that mean ... subdue it?" interrupted Boots.

"I think it means mankind is supposed to run things," said Millie. "You know ... take care of things."

"Oh."

"But just before that," said Millie, "where it says be fruitful and multiply ... that might be what Dusty was talking about."

"How can eatin' fruit have anything to do with sex?" asked Boots, doubtfully.

"It means to have lots of children. You have to have sex to have children."

"That's what Jasper wanted, but I wouldn't let him."

There was another hour long argument about whether or not a woman could just "decide" whether or not to have a baby. In the end, Millie learned that the first time Boots had endured a menstrual bleed, she'd thought Jasper had injured her internally. It was actually Jasper who had educated her on what that meant. And it was shortly after that when he started crowing about how he was going to get her with child. She bled four more times before she killed her tormentor. Since, as best as they could tell, Boots had been about thirteen at that time, Millie was pretty sure that meant the girl was a late bloomer, but she didn't have much empirical data to go on.

Finally Boots said, "Well, I don't know about having no babies, but bein' with Dusty like that makes me want to see if he can make the rest of it as nice as he made that little bit. Nothin' Jasper did to me felt good, but everthin' Dusty did made me want it to go on and on. It would be nice iffen the rest of it could feel good too."

"I don't know about that," sighed Millie. "The only things I've done, at least that I can remember, I did with Bob last night."

"So ... you gonna let him do it again?" asked Boots.

"I want to," said Millie.

"Then you should. We both should!" said Boots.

It was as close to squealing as she was ever likely to come.

-------

And so it was that, on the frontier of the plains, in 19th century America, two men became hunted ... not by the law ... but rather by a force more implacable by far than mere men with badges.

They became the prey of horny women.

Boots, ever one to leap without looking, left Millie's, got on her horse, and rode back to the line shack.

Millie waited for Bob and, when she decided he was late, went looking for him. He was puttering around in his surgery, unconsciously coming up with reasons not to go get her. He was in trouble, and he knew it. He looked up as the door opened and she walked in.

"Good evening," she said, looking completely normal. "You were late, so I thought I'd come over and see if you needed help, or something."

"I guess I just lost track of the time," he said.

"I don't see any patients," she said calmly. "Are you ready to go?"

"I guess I am," he said.

She waited for him at the door and then took his arm, making sure her breast was in constant contact with that arm, as he escorted her to supper.

He was uncharacteristically quiet while they ate. She could tell he was unhappy, and guessed why.

"You know," she said, finally. "I believe it's up to the woman to feel put upon."

His eyes darted to the tables nearby. She went on.

"In my experience, the woman is the one who raises the hue and cry, claiming her honor has been impugned."

"Would you please discuss this later?" he begged.

"If you'll promise to discuss it with me," she bargained.

"I promise!" he said urgently.

Twenty minutes later they were standing in front of her house.

"Are you coming in?" she asked.

"It would be better if I didn't," he said.

"Better for who?" she asked.

"Both of us," he said.

"Men can be so pig-headed," she sighed.

"Guarding your honor is not being pig-headed," he snapped.

"It is if I don't particularly want my honor to be guarded!" she snapped back.

"Of course you do!" he yelped. "Some day someone is going to come for you -"

"And tell me how much they missed me and lah de dah de dah!" she finished for him. "And maybe they won't. And by then I could be a doddering old maid, and will have missed my chance at a tiny shred of happiness in this dreadful town. But you'll probably be dead by then, having either died of old age, or by defending my honor against some young cowboy who wants to suck on my nipples and make a woman of me!"

Bob winced, and looked around. Finally he slumped.

"That's the problem. I want desperately to make a woman of you. You're not safe with me, Millie. I'm helpless around you."

"I didn't say I was quite ready to become fully a woman," she said. "That is something we can discuss at a future date, perhaps. I had something different in mind for tonight."

"Tonight," he said, his voice dull.

"Yes, and tonight you won't be left out of things."

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"Boots has educated me on the ways of men," she said, trying to sound mysterious.

He snorted. "Anything she learned from that trapper wasn't worth learning."

"That's not necessarily so," she said. "It just so happens that our Miss Boots has herself a gentleman friend."

Bob laughed out loud. "Boots? Dallying with a man? I don't think so."

"Remember Dusty, at the dance?" Millie nodded knowingly and winked. It looked so out of place on her face that Bob laughed again.

"He's out at the Double D," said Bob.

"So's Boots," said Millie.

She took his hand and pulled him into the house.

-------

This time, based on what Boots had said, Millie moved the lamp into her small bedroom. There was a nail she hadn't noticed before, but which was perfect for hanging the lamp on. Bob stood, watching her make her preparations.

"This is foolish," he said. "We aren't teenagers, exploring the opposite sex, Millie."

"I don't know how old I am," she said. "I might be a teenager. I think Boots is."

"Well I'm not," he said. "I'm damn near old enough to be your daddy."

"Which is why I'm depending on you to use your experience, like you did last night, to make me happy again."

"I molested you last night," he said. "If people knew, they'd horsewhip me."

"As I said, it is the woman's prerogative to complain. Have you heard me complaining?"

"You don't know how hard this is on the man," he moaned.

"Boots gave me some idea, which is why I asked her to teach me how to make you happy too."

That stopped him. He stared at this young woman, so clearly educated and well bred, yet acting like a common wench.

She continued to keep him off kilter, from the hungry kisses she bestowed upon him, to her orders for him to disrobe. In the end she left the bedroom and returned with a long, wooden spoon, which she then browbeat him with, saying "Get those britches off!" and slapping his butt with the spoon, only to dart away and lean back in and slap his thigh. The only way he could stop her might involve hurting her, so he finally gave in, worried that there would be bruises showing if he didn't.

She walked around him like he was a bull on display at a stock sale. He covered his penis until she slapped his hands with the spoon.

"It's not hard," she pointed out.

"This is hardly the kind of romantic situation in which it becomes erect," he said, with as much dignity as he could.

"Dusty was hard for Boots as soon as she got his pants off," she said.

"What did she tell you?" gasped Bob.

"She told me everything," said Millie, simply. Then "Wait. I have an idea."

She unbuttoned her dress and let it drop. When she stepped out of it, she was naked. She looked at Bob's face first, watching as his eyes darted here and there, and eventually surveyed all of her body. She saw what Boots had described, and felt the power of being desired. Then she looked down, and saw his penis straining away from a nest of brown hair.

"That's better," she said softly.

"I sure hope you know what you're doing," he said, just as softly. "This is dangerous play for a virgin."

"Who told you I'm a virgin?" she teased.

He was too bedazzled to think straight. "I know you are. I checked when they brought you in after your accident."

Now she was the astonished one. "You ... inspected me? My body? Down ... there?"

In for a penny, in for a pound. "I did, and that's not all."

"Not all?"

"You were very pale, in bad shape. I was afraid you were going into shock and might die. So I ... um ... did something to get your blood flowing again."

"What did you do?" she asked. Her voice sounded like they were just two people, chatting. No one eavesdropping would have been able to detect that both speakers were stark naked.

"Well ... I suppose I did an ... um ... pelvic massage ... of sorts."

"I see," she said. "And now you suddenly don't want to do that any more."

"No!" he argued. "I do want to. That's the problem. I want to do too much!" He grabbed his stiff prick and waved it at her. "Doesn't this tell you what I want to do?"

Her eyes were pinned to his hand, and what it was holding. Then she raised them to his eyes and smiled.

"That's better," she said again. Then she giggled. "You just stand there. Boots told me how to take the wind out of your sails."

Then she dropped to her knees, brushed his hand out of the way, and took him in her mouth before she had time to think about it and lose her nerve.

-------

Boots didn't call out this time. She didn't have to. Dusty's horse heard them coming and whinnied. Dusty opened the door and looked out.

"Well I'll be damned," he said.

"You didn't think I'd come back?" she asked, climbing down.

"Not this quick," he said, grinning. "Cain't say as how I'm sad, though."

"You are a sweet talker," she said.

"You want somethin' to eat?" he asked.

"Maybe later," she said. "Millie read to me from the Good Book. Turns out you were right, as best we can tell."

"Do tell," he said. "I thought you didn't want to do that yet."

"I didn't. Don't know exactly how I feel about it this very minute."

He stood aside the wide open door. "Well come on in and maybe we can have us a pow wow about it."

Ten minutes later Boots groaned, "Damn if she wasn't right. It sure feels good to have them sucked at."

Twenty minutes later he was saying, "Are you sure, Boots?"

"I'm sure," she panted. "Just please don't hurt me."

It was quiet as he kissed her a few more times, hovering over her. Her legs were spread in welcome, and his lust hung down, sagging toward its goal.

"I'm ready!" she panted.

"I know," he whispered, licking her lips. "Why don't you take it and put it where you want it."

She reached for him, tentatively. He lowered his lips to her heaving breasts, capturing and lightly biting one long, hard nipple as she brought the tip of his cock to her sex. He pushed forward just enough that she could let go with her hand. Then he eased into her, being as careful as he knew how to be.

"I love you Boots," he said as she took a penis inside her voluntarily for the first time. Then he was in as far as he could go. It felt good to push, though, so he kept doing that, not even aware that he was crushing her clit at the same time his longer penis touched her in places that had never been touched.

"Oh thank you, Dusty" she cried out, and then sobbed happily as he started moving in her.

She didn't think about Jasper for even one second.

-------

"Oh Millie," Bob groaned. "Wait a second. I'm gonna fall down if I can't lean against something."

In the few minutes she'd had this new thing in her mouth, Millie had been quite analytical about it, really. She had examined the different textures, contrasting and comparing them. One was the smooth, hard skin that was tightly stretched over the tip of his organ. Then there was the loose, wrinkly skin that covered that tip, but could be pushed back, to somehow magically disappear, until it was pulled forward again. The shaft itself was lined with blue veins that felt like bumps to her lips as she slid them along it.

Meanwhile, her fingertips found the round eggs that hung under what she was sucking on, and lifted them gently, weighing them. She could feel what was inside that sack, but it was very full, and she didn't want to squeeze too tightly. There was sudden knowledge in her brain that said those orbs were very tender. The sack that held them was hairy, but it was soft hair.

She had come to the conclusion that he felt good both in her mouth, and to her fingertips, when he asked her to stop. She didn't want to stop. This was turning out to be most interesting. In answer to him, though, she pulled off and swallowed the copious amount of saliva that was suddenly in her mouth. She pushed him toward the bed, perhaps a little too forcefully, since his knees struck the edge and his arms flailed as he fell. She saw his member swaying drunkenly in front of her, and dove to engulf it in her mouth again.

"Mmmmmm," she hummed, trying to let him know this was making her happy.

"Oh damn," he groaned. "Oh Millie. If you don't stop that I'm gonna have an accident in your mouth, honey."

Boots had said Dusty tasted good. Millie had no reason to doubt her about that. Perhaps if she'd seen what came from a penis first, she might have been less willing to try tasting it. But she hadn't, and when he grew frantic, trying to dislodge her, she simply pushed on his abdomen with one hand, with all her weight on that hand, until he cried out, and she felt the warm jets suddenly bloom in her mouth.

There was more of it than she expected, but she was able to swallow, like she'd done with the saliva. He sounded so pitiful, but they were obviously sounds of pleasure. She felt proud of herself. He had brought her so much pleasure the night before. Now she knew a way to repay him.

She pulled off and swallowed again, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

"I like that," she said, her voice oddly hoarse.

"I can't believe you did that," he panted.

She grinned at him. "Well, maybe the next time I do it, you can believe it then."

"I can't believe any of this," he sighed.

She pulled at his hand, trying to get him to sit up.

"Wait until you see what else Boots taught me. It's something you can do for me, kind of like I did for you."

But she found out Bob already knew how to do that for a woman.

And she found out she could get that hysterical paroxysm three times in a row.

-------

Boots didn't show up for school the next day. It was the first time that had happened, and Millie worried about it until all the children assured her there was nothing on the plains that could hurt Boots. She was a legend.

The legend didn't show up for her tutoring session either. Bob, however, agreed with the children. Still, she was unsettled enough that, when Bob suggested they take a night off from ecstasy, she agreed. They walked, instead, talking. He asked if she'd regained any flashes of memory as a result of her passionate endeavors the past couple of nights. She said she was too busy loving what was happening to think about anything else.

When he asked how teaching was going, she went on and on about how well Amy Hawkins was coming along. It seemed that in her role as assistant teacher, she had blossomed. Teaching turned out to be the best way for her to learn, because anything she couldn't help a child with during the day, she either asked Millie about, or puzzled out at home in the evening. She'd never been in a situation where she was important, and she loved that role.

Their kisses, when he took her back home, were warm and affectionate. When they began to get too passionate, though, they stopped. He bowed, formally to her, and went back to his office, to his bedroom, to think about the future.

She, on the other hand, lay in her bed in the dark, and concentrated on the present, and how much better her life had become in the last week.

The next morning, Boots was there, just like always. Millie tried to question her, but the woman shook her head and said, "Later."

Millie was so curious, that she let the children go early that day.

Boots was subdued after the children left. She sat at one of the student desks, and flipped idly through a reader.

"Well? Where were you?" asked Millie.

"I went to see Dusty," said the scout.

"And were gone two nights and a day?"

"I stayed in the line shack that night," said Boots. "I slept in his bed."

"Oh my," sighed Millie.

Boots stared off into nothingness. "Well ... we didn't sleep all that much, I guess."

"I thought you weren't ready for that."

"That's what he said."

"And?"

Boots focused on her friend. "He's still alive, if that's what you're worried about."

"Of course that's not what I meant. How do you feel?"

Boots sat for a few seconds. She chewed her lip.

"You remember when you was readin' to me about how the Lord made the world in six days?"

"From Genesis. Yes. I remember."

"I listened to you, wonderin' how it must feel to make somethin' out of nothin' ... to snap your fingers, or whatever he did, and there just be somethin' there that's so amazin' and crazy and beautiful. Like what did it feel like to make a horse, with all its muscles, and hooves, and mane and like that." She stopped.

"Yes?" said Millie, thinking there must be more. There was.

"Well I know what that feels like now. We made somethin' special and beautiful out there in that shack. It wasn't nothin' like what had happened before. Not nothin'. It was so beautiful it hurt ... but in a good way. That's the best I can say about it."

"That's wonderful," sighed Millie. "It sounds so romantic. But why were you gone so long?"

"Well, we made that beautiful somethin' all night, pretty much. He had to go out and ride fence in the mornin' an' I was bushed, so I stayed there to get a little shuteye. But then he came back, and we got to making beautiful some more. I tell you, Millie, we couldn't stop. We stopped to cook some beef, and couldn't even wait for that! It went on most of that night too, until I got so sore I didn't think I was gonna be able to sit a horse! So this mornin', when I woke up and wanted to start all over again, I got up and told him I'd be back, but I needed a little rest."

"So you just rode away?"

"Hardest thing I ever did," sighed Boots.

"Because you love him?"

"No, because that saddle hit me right where I was sore. I had to stand up in the stirrups the whole way home. It was either that or walk, and I wasn't about to walk."

-------

Once Millie had extracted every bit of information Boots had, she filled her friend in on what she and Bob had done. Boots was proud.

"Didn't I tell you you'd like it? And it made him soft, just like I said, right?"

"It did," said Millie. "And that's a good thing, because I wanted him hard. I think I wanted him to do to me what Dusty did to you."

"Now hold on a minute, there," said Boots. "Playin' around is one thing. But he's right. Somebody will come lookin' fer you. You got a life out there somewhere."

"What if I like my life here better?" asked Millie.

"Then you done gone loco rubbing your bump after all," said Boots. She wasn't smiling as she said it. "Look. Jasper ruint me when I was still a girl. I kin live with that. And now Dusty taught me that even that can be something so beautiful it's nigh onto impossible to believe. And you can have that too, but it needs to be after you know who you are."

"How do we know I'll ever find out who I am?" Millie frowned. "If somebody was coming for me, they should have been here by now. I've been gone for months!"

"Well, trust me, when I tell you, you ain't ready fer that yet. I thought I was, but now I'm not so sure."

"I thought you loved it," said Millie.

"I did. That's the problem. Iffen I had my way, I'd be there right this minute. I never thought I'd want to have a man lying on top of me, weighing me down, but with Dusty it's different."

"So why do you think it was a bad idea?" asked Millie, frustrated.

"Because I ain't ready to have no babies," said Boots. "An' if I keep goin' to see that boy, I'll end up with a baby in my belly right soon."

"So what are you going to do?" asked Millie.

"I'm gonna do the same thing you're gonna do. We're gonna keep this stuff for special times. Maybe every Friday night will be special. I don't know. Dusty cain't just take off to come find me, so it will be easier for me to sort of reg'late things. That's iffen I can keep myself from goin' to find him." She grinned. "And you and Doc just have to be satisfied with things the way they are, at least until we know more about you. Maybe I'll just ride that train my own self, and poke around to see if I can find out anything about you."

-------

Millie sat across the table from Bob in the dining room of the Beaverton Hotel. She felt like she had been sitting across from this man for years.

"So that's why Boots and I feel like we shouldn't see you two as often. Alone, I mean."

Bob nodded. "I think that's a very wise thing to do."

"But I don't want to!" moaned Millie, who had thought he would argue for more frequent ... treatments ... as she had come to think of them.

"I don't either. But that's one of the best reasons to support the idea," said Bob. "I'll be honest with you. If you had been born in these parts, or were here to stay, it would be a different proposition. I'd be making a fool of myself if that was the case, chasing after you like a love-sick youngster. But that's not the situation, and your plan for restraint is a very good idea."

"So when can we decide that I'm here to stay?" she asked.

He leaned back. Then he shrugged. "I don't know. To be honest, I didn't think it would take anyone this long to make inquiries."

-------

Boots did, in fact, go to the Hotel, to talk to Harvey Watkins, and inquire as to how one might get to ride on a train. The answer she got involved sums based on the going rate of three cents per mile, an amount she thought was purely obscene. In the end, she was convinced that, if she was going to pursue this going-down-the-line investigation of where Millie came from (or was going), that it would have to be done by horseback, the slow way.

She was saved from that task, however, by the arrival of the eastbound train three days later. A man stepped off that train, announced himself as an employee of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, and began asking questions about a missing young woman named Elizabeth Philby.



-------

Chapter 15



Jim Hollister had been a Pinkerton for three years, all of it assigned to the Union Pacific railroad between Omaha and Sacramento. He had pursued various issues over the years, but this was the first time he'd been asked to chase down a seventeen-year-old girl who had gone missing. She was eighteen years old now, actuallyt, her birthday having passed by about a week previously.

The agency, and therefore Jim Hollister, had been hired by the dowager Mrs. Maureen Hatfield, widow of the late Phillip Hatfield, who had started The Boulder Creek Provisioning Company in 1849, not far from Sutter's Mill. Mr. Hatfield ran an astute business, making particularly good use of the ships plying the Pacific coast, bringing gold seekers, and goods for his store, from South America. By the time the gold ran out some five or six years later, some five or six hundred pounds of it was safely stored in one of the first class one bank vaults ever imported into that part of the country.

Phillip Hatfield lived an excessive life, which meant he did everything to excess. He ate to excess, he drank to excess, and the only exercise he engaged in - sex - he also pursued to excess. It was the sex that killed him. Or at least that's what he was engaged in when he kicked the bucket. Fortunately, his lovely young, and very satisfied wife, knew the combination to the vault.

Maureen Lucinda Philby, the only daughter of Terrence and Margaret Philby of Denver, Colorado, met Phillip Hatfield when his carriage almost ran her down on a street in said city. Having been narrowly missed, Maureen, who was sixteen at the time, picked up a horse apple and heaved it at the carriage. Phillip was struck, both literally and figuratively, by the spunk of the girl. He was already well off, and people had already begun to kowtow to him. This girl who did not - ever - kowtow to him, won his heart. She went with him when he took off to California, where he had a feeling he might be able to turn his modest nest egg into a true fortune. He was right, as it turned out. He started in shipping, and was one of the first to hear about the gold strike at Sutter's Mill.

Maureen continued to run the business after her husband died. She never remarried, and never went back east, "having become accustomed to the weather," as she said it. When she had lofted that horse apple at Phillip, back in Denver, she'd left behind a younger brother with her parents. That brother had eventually ended up in Missouri, where she kept track of him. He was moderately successful, but not a man of means. Being childless herself, Maureen had a special interest in the only child of her brother, a little girl named Elizabeth. To that end, she sent money she said was not for her brother, but for her niece ... to "provide her with something nice now and then." When she received a wire that her brother and his wife had died from an undisclosed illness, Maureen wired back with instructions for Elizabeth, who was now her sole, living relative, and whom she had met only once, to be sent to California.

When Elizabeth failed to get off the train in Sacramento, Maureen was annoyed, but not surprised. Train travel was still a chancy thing, and train schedules often gave way to things like weather, broken tracks and who knew what else. A week later, however, when her niece was still not there, she began to inquire. It took three more weeks for the railroad to inform her that her niece's two suitcases had been located in the unclaimed luggage room, five stops down the line. She spent another two weeks in a fruitless search for information, before being advised by one of her late husband's business associates to hire a Pinkerton to go find the girl.

Jim Hollister was that Pinkerton.

His search had been pursued on the simple plan of backtracking the train, getting off at every place the train stopped, prior to where her suitcases had been found unattended and removed from the train. Then, he simply asked around about the girl. He'd quit counting after fifteen or so towns, so he had no idea what Beaverton, Nebraska represented on the list. All he knew was that he was a little more than halfway to Elizabeth's point of origin.

Thus far, his job had been boring in the extreme. He was used to that. Being a detective meant going for long, mind-numbing stretches of time with nothing interesting happening. Then there would be ten minutes of terrifying action which, if you survived, led to more days and weeks of boredom. In this case, what he expected to find, when he located young Elizabeth, was that she had gotten off the train and been swept off her feet by some man, who either had money, or talked a good line. Girls of that age were usually empty-headed, in his opinion, and likely to go off on a lark at their whim. Still, it was good pay, and he got to see the country, so he didn't mind that his search, thus far, had been unsuccessful.

When he got off the train in Beaverton, however, and told the clerk in the depot what his purpose was, that clerk's reaction made it obvious he was in the right place. What was curious was that the clerk reacted with what looked like guilt. The detective's concerns were further heightened when he saw the same thing in the town sheriff's face. He got a highly improbable story about an outhouse collapsing around the young woman, who suffered amnesia as a result. When the mayor of the town arrived at the depot, out of breath and hatless, Jim's suspicions were confirmed that something underhanded was going on.

He smiled, made it appear that he had swallowed all their bullshit, and asked if he could talk to Miss Philby, who everyone in town was calling Millie, for some reason.

He was taken to a one-room school house, where a dangerous looking girl dressed in buckskin appeared to be an armed guard, stationed by the door of the building.

That was when things stopped being boring for Jim Hollister.

-------

"Miss Philby, my name is James Hollister, and your aunt hired me to come find you."

"Aunt Maureen?" asked Millie, her eyes wide.

"You remember her?" Jim stared at her intently.

"I remembered her name, but that's all," said Millie. "Just Maureen."

"How is it you got injured?" asked Hollister.

"It was an accident," said Millie.

"What happened?"

"Well, I'm not sure. I don't remember anything of it. I woke up in Bob's office -"

"Bob is... ?" asked Hollister, interrupting.

"Doctor Fisk," said Millie, flushing. This man had dark, penetrating eyes, like he was able to see deep inside her. She wondered if he could see that she and Bob had been intimate.

"Go on," he said.

"Well, I woke up there. He was stitching me up and -"

"I was led to understand that all you got was a bump on the head," interrupted Hollister again.

"Oh lord no," she said, blinking. "I almost died. Bob said he had to..." She stopped, flushing even darker. "He had to go to extraordinary lengths to save me."

"All this from an outhouse ... collapsing ... around you," said Jim.

"I assume so," said Millie.

"Didn't it ever occur to you to ask for more details about this ... accident?"

"Well ... no ... I suppose it didn't. I mean people were so nice to me ... giving me a job and a place to live and all that..."

"And it didn't seem odd to you that a town like this would welcome a stranger, with only one dress to her name, feeding her and clothing her?"

"Is it odd?" asked Millie. "I don't know!" She was clearly flustered.

"I'm sorry. Clearly you've been through a traumatic experience. But you appear to be healthy enough. I'll telegraph your aunt and ask for instructions, but I suspect she'll want me to take you back to Sacramento."

"Oh," said Millie, whose mind was whirling. She'd spent hours wondering who she was ... wondering what her "real" life was like. Now that she appeared to be finding the answers, she was suddenly less than eager to find out. If she went to Sacramento, she obviously wouldn't see Bob again. That made an ache in her middle that made her want to groan.

"I'll get us adjacent rooms in the hotel until we hear from your aunt," said Hollister.

"But I have a house!" objected Millie.

"I'd like to see it," said the detective.

"Can it wait until after school? I need to get back to the children."

"Miss Philby, while you don't remember your past, I can assure you, you are no teacher. Your aunt is a wealthy woman, who I understand sent money back east to provide for your education. I believe she intended to offer you the opportunity to come to California, where she was going to sponsor your coming out celebration, but your parents died before she was ready to issue that invitation."

"Oh." Millie was at a loss. None of this information was ringing a bell.

"My parents are dead?" She felt badly because she didn't feel ... badly ... about that.

"They were taken by illness, shortly before you started your journey west." He clapped his hands sharply, once, which caused Millie to flinch. "But these are all things your aunt should be telling you. If you insist, you may return to your classroom. Perhaps you can make preparations for someone else to take over the instructional duties. Then I will inspect your lodgings. Meanwhile, I'll get a preliminary report on the wire." He turned and walked by the little gaggle of townspeople who had stood off to one side - at Detective Hollister's request - while he spoke with Millie alone.

Mayor Robinson approached the woman he now knew was named Elizabeth Philby.

"What did he say?" asked the man, anxiously.

"Apparently I'm to be taken to California," said Millie, her mind still whirling. She looked off at the retreating man who had just kicked the embers of the banked fire that was her life. "As if I'm some sort of luggage," she added under her breath.

She looked around for Bob. She had expected him to come, since Boots had taken off at a run as soon as the Pinkerton man had started barking orders left and right. But he was nowhere to be seen. When she went back into the school room, the children left the windows they had all been straining to see out of, and crowded around her, all speaking at once.

It took her several minutes to quiet them down.

-------

Millie said goodbye to the children with tears in her eyes. Amy Hawkins, also weeping openly, stood beside her, having been appointed by Millie to be the temporary schoolmarm until ... she didn't know what. Jim Hollister stood at the back of the room, pointedly separate from Boots, who also stood with arms folded. It was fairly obvious that neither cared for the other.

That attitude came to the fore when Hollister tried to take Millie's elbow as she was leaving. Boots, who was in an emotional uproar over what all this meant - something she didn't know yet - was feeling territorial about her friend. She basically forced her body between the two, taking Millie's arm herself, and looked at the Pinkerton.

"You can go off and do whatever it is you boys do when you're not needed. I need to talk to my friend ... private like."

"I was hired to find her," Hollister started, but was then interrupted by Boots.

"An' you did. Good job of it too. Only took you what ... mebbe three months? But it's a big country an all, and she didn't leave a whole lot of sign behind."

"I was also hired to see to her safety once she was found," said Hollister.

"An' I been seein' to her safety for the last three months. Without pay, I might add. You kin just run along. When I'm done jawin' with her I'll let you know and you kin take over guardin' her or whatever it is you think needs doin'."

Jim tried going official on her. "Look, this is Pinkerton business now. You need to butt out, girly ... if that's what you are -" He stopped, wide-eyed as her pistol was suddenly out of her holster, cocked and pressed against the second button of his vest.

"Millie is my friend," said Boots, her voice level. "I don't have to butt out of anything."

The Pinkertons didn't hire faint-hearted operatives, and that became clear now. "Her name isn't Millie," he said, his voice just as level. "It's Elizabeth Philby."

Boots probably would have made a good Pinkerton, assuming they weren't so misogynous as to refuse to hire women.

"Elizabeth Philby is my friend," she said in the same voice. "I don't have to butt out of anything."

"Both of you stop!" barked Millie. She looked at the man. "You are welcome to keep an eye on me, as long as you don't interfere with the few friends I have in this world at present." She looked at Boots. "He's just doing his job. Put that gun away and don't play with him again."

"Play!" objected the Pinkerton.

Millie waved a hand in irritation. "She wouldn't have shot you. Not just for calling her 'girly'." She turned back to Boots. "Where's Bob? Why didn't he come back with you?"

"That's the doctor, right?" asked Hollister. "Why do you need to talk to him? Are you ill?"

Boots, who had put her pistol back, turned to look at the man. "Were you hired to stick your nose into her business too?"

Hollister wasn't deterred. "The way I see it, protecting her means looking out for her interests. And I'm a little worried about her interests and her ... friends ... seeing as how the story I've been getting about how she came to be here has holes in it wide enough to run a locomotive through. I'm not buying that an outhouse collapsed around her and almost killed her."

"'Course it didn't," sniffed Boots. "It was the bein' dragged half a mile inside the outhouse that done the damage."

"And why is it that you're the first person in this whole fucking town to mention that little fact?" asked Hollister heatedly.

"Prob'ly 'cause you asked the wrong people," snorted Boots. "Lemme guess. You asked the mayor."

"I did," said Jim. "Actually, he came and found me, once he learned I was inquiring about Miss Philby."

"Lots of people all eager to talk to a big time Pinkerton detective, huh?" said Boots, grinning. "I bet folks just fall all over theirselves to be helpful to you boys. That happen a lot?"

Jim Hollister was no fool. He knew people had been serving him up a plate of bullshit. But here was the first person who appeared to be willing to tell the truth about things. And they weren't on the best of terms. Further, it was looking more and more like she wasn't quite the provincial, empty-headed female he'd assumed her to be.

"How about we start over ... Boots, is it? My name is Jim Hollister, and I appreciate you taking good care of Miss Philby in the time it took me to find her."

"Nice try, bucko," said Boots, but at least now she smiled. "Yer still the same man you was a minute ago."

"Yes, but now we're on the same side," said Jim, also smiling.

"Now that you two are fast friends, may we go?" asked Millie, frowning. "Boots, you never answered my question. Where's Bob?"

"I found him. He told me what to tell you. I had to write it down," said Boots. "I didn't understand some of the words." She pulled a scrap of paper from the possibles bag tied around her waist and unfolded it. She read laboriously: "In light of the fact she has now been identified, I don't feel like my presence would illuminate the situation any better than it already is." She looked at Millie. "What's that mean?"

"It means," said Millie, changing directions and lengthening her stride, "that he knows Mr. Hollister here has been fed a line of bull, and doesn't want to be put on the spot and be required to disagree with the town fathers."

Boots moved up beside her friend. "And what does that mean?"

Millie stopped suddenly and turned to face Boots. "How, exactly did I get hurt?" she asked.

Boots blinked. "Nobody ever told you?"

"No Boots, they did not."

"Oh. Well, three boys - that would be Ben, Chauncy and Mikey - wanted to play a prank on somebody, so they waited until you was in the outhouse and then threw a rope around it, so's they could tip it over. They had the rope tied to Mikey's saddle horn, but the horse got spooked and ran half a mile, draggin' the outhouse - and you inside it."

"Ben, Chauncy and Michael? In my class at school?" Millie gaped.

"The very ones," said Boots.

"Now I get it," said Jim. "They're worried about a lawsuit."

"A lawsuit?" asked Millie.

"Your aunt is a wealthy woman, and is an influential person in California politics," said Hollister. "She has gone to great expense to find you."

"But this is Nebraska," said Boots, proud that she got it right this time.

"Yes," said Jim. "But trust me. Mrs. Hatfield can make significant trouble for the town, if she has a mind to."

"Why?" asked Millie. "These people took care of me. The doctor saved my life! They gave me a way to support myself ... a place to live!"

"And they did all this when one message on the telegraph would have alerted people up and down the line where you were. Had we known all this, you could have been rescued months ago."

"Now wait just a damn minute!" said Boots. "I sort of think 'rescued' is a bit strong. It's not like she was bein' held captive."

"They hid her," said Hollister. "They hid her because they were afraid that the town would be held responsible for her injuries."

Boots' brow wrinkled as she thought about what Hollister had said. "Well, that does sound like Henry Robinson," she snorted. "I got to admit that."

"What now?" asked Millie.

"I'll need to file an updated report," said Hollister. "As I said earlier, I expect to get a message telling me to escort you to California."

"I see," said Millie. She started off again, with a long, almost angry stride.

"Where are you going?" asked Hollister. "I thought this house they gave you was over that way." He pointed.

"She's goin' to see Doc," said Boots, knowingly.

"Why?" asked Jim.

"Well, I've only known her for three months," said Boots, striding beside the detective. "But she's the best friend I ever had, and based on that, I expect Doc's in a mite of trouble and she's on her way to inform him of it."

"Why would she be angry with the doctor?"

"Because he abandoned her to your tender mercies," said Boots, grinning.

-------

Millie had said she wanted privacy. Boots and Hollister stayed out in the surgery, while Millie took Bob back to his living area. There was no door, though, and within a minute, Boots was urging Hollister outside.

"Sounds like they're married," said Jim.

"They are somewhat sweet on each other," admitted Boots.

"Is it serious?" he asked, wondering how he was going to explain this to his employer.

"Not so's anybody would notice," said Boots. By that, she meant that no one had seen them kissing ... or doing other things.

"Good," said Hollister. "A ... romance ... could complicate things."

"He's a good man," said Boots. "And she's a smart woman. We all knew she was high bred, just by how she acted. He kept remindin' her of that, and kept tellin' her somebody would come lookin' fer her sooner or later."

"I see," said Hollister, who didn't see at all. Miss Philby was a good looking woman. Any man who had a chance to get something from her would try. He would have, so he assumed any other man would have too. Maybe that's what she was so upset about. Now that she had found out she was somebody important, she was berating the man who had soiled her. But that wasn't really his business. His mission was to find her, report, and then do whatever his employer demanded of him.

With that in mind, he told Boots he'd be back, and went to find the station master to send another telegraph message.

-------

Millie wasn't berating Bob for soiling her. She was taking her frustrations out on him. She had grown to depend on his support, and when she was stressed by events, and his support wasn't there, she got frustrated. He was smart enough to understand that, and let her vent. He had already half steeled himself to losing her, once he found out the Pinkerton man was looking for her. The Pinkertons didn't come cheap, so he knew he had been right all along. Somebody important had been looking for her. They wouldn't let her stay here, now that they'd found her.

Millie's anger slowly seeped out of her, to be replaced by the dread of the unknown. She, too, was aware that her aunt would be expecting her to complete her trip. That she had no memory of her aunt meant she wasn't eager to leave the only things familiar to her and leap into new environs. And she was aware that the special thing she'd found with Bob was now going to disappear as well. She mourned for her loss, whether she knew it or not, and in advance of the actual loss itself.

Once she went from anger to self-pity, Bob took her in his arms. He meant to only hold her and comfort her. He didn't mean to kiss her hair. That just came naturally. And when she turned tear streaked eyes up at him, he didn't mean to kiss her lips. She leaned up for that ... also naturally.

And suddenly, just like that, their hands were all over each other, and she was grinding her loins against his, frantic to enjoy that which, until only a week ago, she hadn't even known she needed. It was Bob who stopped things.

"It's broad daylight," he said, holding her at arm's length.

"I don't care. I want to suck you. I want you to suck me!"

Bob glanced at the curtain over the doorway. He hoped with all that was in him that the two people who had come here with her weren't out there listening.

"Control yourself," he demanded, more forcefully than he intended. "This isn't the end of the world. You're going to reclaim your place in the world, your rightful place. You have an adventure ahead of you as you see new places, and meet new people and relearn your history. This is a wonderful opportunity for you, Millie." He blinked. "I guess it's Elizabeth now."

"That sounds completely wrong," she moaned. "I am Millie. It's the only name that sounds right!"

"You'll get used to that too," said Bob. "Soon this one horse town will just be a dusty memory, one you won't even mind losing some day."

She stiffened. "I can't believe you said that. After all we've been through? You think I'll just disregard how you made me feel? Do you really think I'm that shallow?"

"Look," he said. "This is hard for me too. I'm going to miss you more than you could ever understand. But I know it's for the best, so I have to try to convince myself to help it happen. It's the only way I can cope with losing you. I know it makes me sound callous, but I'm doing the best I can. It isn't manly to cry in front of a woman, you know."

He got a smile from her for that, but once she understood he didn't intend to indulge in any romantic behavior, her own desire turned to a renewed, but low grade anger, anger that the world was doing this to her. Rather than be frustrated in his presence, she decided to be frustrated away from him, and turned to march back out of the office.

-------

That night Millie invited Boots and Jim Hollister to dine with her. That was because Hollister insisted on advancing her some money. He had gotten a return message via the telegraph wires. It was short and sweet. It said, "See to her immediate needs." She would have included Bob in the meal, except that he didn't appear for supper. Nor did he appear to walk her home. Hollister did that as well. Boots tagged along and went inside with her, allegedly to inspect the premises. Millie said it didn't matter what he thought, it was where she lived, and was comfortable, and that she intended to sleep there as long as she was in town. She turned to Boots.

"Could I impose on you to stay tonight? I need someone to talk to."

Boots, of course, was happy to do so.

Then, after Hollister left to go to his hotel room, there was a long silence instead of conversation. Finally Boots spoke.

"You gonna be all right?"

"Thanks for asking," said Millie. "Everybody else insists on telling me that I will be all right. I hate it when people tell me how I have to feel."

"You know," said Boots. "I remember from a long, long time ago. I had a mother once. I only remember one thing about her, and that was a story she told me about a girl who she said was just like me. But this girl had a mother and two sisters who were mean to her, an' they made her do all the work. An' then there was this big party that the prince threw an' everybody got to go except her. Except then a fairy came along and dolled her all up and said she could go anyways, so she did, and the prince fell in love with her and they got hitched and she was all happy."

"Cinderella," said Millie. "That's the story of Cinderella."

"Well, whatever, it's sort of like what happened to you. I mean here you are, and life ain't so great. You got all banged up, an' had to teach school to survive and all. But now, maybe it's gonna be like a big party in California, and maybe you'll meet a prince and fall in love and be all happy ever after."

Millie looked at Boots. "You're a good friend, Boots. You want to take one more bath before I leave? If I know you, you'll probably never take another one after I'm gone." She smiled.

Boots grinned back. "I reckon one more bath wouldn't kill me."

Millie got the bucket and started pumping, while Boots built a fire in the stove. An hour later the tub was half full of steaming water.

"Share?" asked Millie.

"You scrub my back, and I'll scrub yours," said Boots.

-------

Neither woman had any idea how intimate that bath would turn out, or how it would affect them both. The breakdown in their normal resistance led to having what most would have called a Sapphic bath. Millie, in her previous life, was aware of Sappho, and what she represented to most, but she didn't remember that now. Boots had never heard of either the poet or the Isle of Lesbos, and probably wouldn't have cared, even if she had. This woman was special to her, and always would be. That was good enough for Boots.

It started simply enough, with each woman washing the other. The sensuality of those wet hands, slipping across aroused skin was the beginning. Kisses were exchanged without words, but which were clearly simple expressions of thanks for the friendship. At least until Boots flicked her tongue at Millie's lips, and Millie broke down in tears, thinking about leaving both Bob and Boots.

The kissing continued as they got out of the tub and dried each other. This time it was Millie who advanced things while she knelt in front of Boots and toweled her pubis dry. Why she leaned forward to kiss those soft curls, she couldn't have said. But Boots liked it. She pulled her friend up to exchange more kisses, but the more she thought about it, the more she loved that one, quick kiss, down there where such glory could be experienced. And so she returned it, kissing down over Millie's chest, stopping to gently suck each nipple, and then moving her lips lower.

Millie, by this time, was in full heat. It was complicated, though. Had Bob been there, she'd have gladly announced she was horny. But what she felt for Boots was something else, something for which there was no name. And it was something that was languid and beautiful, without making her crazy, like Bob did when his lips ventured to that area of her body.

And yet, when Boots' lips brushed through her black pubic curls, her instinct was to grip Boots head gently ... and push ... lower.

Whether Boots was just curious as to what Dusty tasted when he loved her that way - she assumed all women tasted the same, even though she knew men tasted different - or whether she just wanted to do what her friend was asking, she let her tongue flick out to drill between the lips there, at the top of the split.

Millie moaned. It was a good moan. It was a moan that made Boots want Dusty on top of her, pinning her to the bed and thrusting deep inside her.

But Dusty wasn't here.

Still, she needed something, and she got an idea. It was an idea Sappho might have written a poem about thousands of years before, but it was completely new and novel to Boots.

She took Millie to her bed and lay her down. Then, climbing on top of her, reversed, she lowered her head to lick at her friend's split, while her own was exposed above Millie's face. She didn't lower it, so much as she writhed, loving Millie's taste, and mimicking the action of Millie's hips as she enjoyed what Boots somehow knew how to do even better than Bob did.

And it was just natural to Millie to reach for Boots' hips and pull her down, until she could do for Boots what Boots was doing for her.

Their orgasms were completely different than when they were with their men. They were calmer, more of a thing that flowed gently through them, exquisitely lovely, rather than crashing into them like howling winds. Both women were astonished that it almost seemed like one peak was attached to the next, and that they came in unceasing, happy strings.

They didn't even get out of breath, really.

And, eventually, when both were sated, like they had eaten too much, they fell asleep in each other's arms, lovers in the truest sense, despite the fact that neither would have said they had made love.

-------

There were two trains a week that stopped at the Beaverton depot. A train came through each day, going one way or the other, but only two stopped.

That was, of course, unless Mrs. Maureen Hatfield was on board. Then the train stopped wherever she told the porter she wanted it stopped. That was why, late the next day, a train huffed and puffed to a stop and the conductor got off, only to find the depot completely deserted. Since it was an unscheduled stop, Harvey Watkins was at the hotel, rather than the depot.

It didn't take long for someone from town to come see why the train was there, though, so Mrs. Hatfield only had to wait ten minutes or so before 'her Pinkerton man, ' as she thought of him, ran up, out of breath and in only his vest, to attend to her. He had been playing cards at the saloon, though he didn't tell her that.

Twenty minutes later Maureen was surveying the house in which her niece had been required to live for the past three months.

She was horrified.

But she didn't show that. The poor girl was in remarkably good shape, considering what she'd been through. Her aunt wouldn't understand fully how badly she'd been injured until she saw the girl naked, and counted the scars. But, of course, that happened in California, much later. For now, she saw a girl who appeared to be in good health, who smiled, and who seemed to be inordinately fond of another girl who was at the complete opposite end of the social spectrum than Elizabeth was.

Mrs. Hatfield, alerted to the straits her niece was in, had brought with her a selection of gowns befitting the true social stature of her niece. The dowager, used to giving orders that were followed quickly and exactly, would not hear of Elizabeth staying in the drafty hovel the town had consigned her to, and escorted Elizabeth to the hotel, where she asked for a suite. It turned out there were no suites, so Mrs. Hatfield resolved that issue by hiring all the rooms on the second floor. The only other guest was a whiskey drummer. When he objected to vacating his room, Maureen bought his entire stock and issued instructions for him to personally take it to California on the next train which, she said, would arrive in Beaverton on the morrow. His recalcitrance vanished, and he happily went to sleep in the stable.

Maureen then assigned her Pinkerton man to stand guard at the stairs, treating the entire floor as her suite. Then she announced that they would dress for dinner.

If Millie had been nervous before, her attitude quickly soured as she was pushed around by the woman. It was obvious her aunt cared about her, and cared what happened. The problem was that whatever Maureen Hatfield thought was appropriate, she just assumed everybody else would agree with her.

Such was not the case.

First of all, the heavy gown, with its attending petticoats, underthings and on and on, required help to get into. That was when Millie learned that her aunt had brought with her a young woman named Consuela, who she introduced as her companion, though the girl was clearly a servant. The girl was nice, though she spoke only a little English, being of Mexican descent. But once Consuela encased Millie in all that clothing, she felt like she couldn't move. Her aunt thought that was nonsense.

Then Maureen ordered Consuela to discard the simple dress Millie had been wearing.

"Wait! I wanted to give that to Boots," said Millie.

"What is a Boots?" asked her aunt.

"Who, not what. You met her. She's my friend."

"Oh," said Maureen. "It's a rag. Surely you don't want to give a rag to the girl. And in any case, as I recall, she was wearing leather clothing, like a wild Indian."

"I want her to have it," said Millie firmly. "She has a beau, and she'll wear it for him."

"Dear, I brought half a dozen gowns. Give her one of those, for pity's sake."

"She would have no idea how to put one on," said Millie. "Nor does she have a ... companion ... to help her."

When her aunt continued to resist, Millie simply took the dress from Consuela and walked down the hall to where Jim was leaning against the banister. She handed it to him.

"Would you please find Boots and give this to her?"

"Can't leave my post," he said.

"So you're not going to go eat, or use the privy or do anything but stand here the rest of the night?"

"In theory," he said.

"Fine!" she snapped. Then she started down the stairs past him.

"Hey! You can't go down there!" he said.

She whirled. "Am I a prisoner?"

"Of course not," he said. "I'm just supposed to protect you. All of you."

"Well, protect them. I'll be back before you know it."

She stomped down the stairs and went into the dining room. Bob was there, eating, and she marched up to his table. She laid the dress, in a wad, where her plate usually sat and growled, "Please see that Boots gets that."

Then, to the astonishment of several patrons, she leaned down, gave Bob a somewhat savage kiss on the lips, and whirled to leave the dining room.

-------

Her aunt tried to read her the riot act for going downstairs. She listed multiple reasons why that had been inappropriate. First, her hair was not coiffed. Second, she had not been escorted. Third, she had disobeyed the orders of the man assigned to protect her.

Millie held up her hand.

"May I say something?"

"Of course," said Maureen.

"For three months I have been in this town. I don't know where I was before that, because I can't remember it. But I doubt seriously that I went everywhere accompanied, or with my hair coiffed, or that anyone was even protecting me. And since I've been here, that certainly wasn't the case. The only thing I needed protection from in this town was a man named Jim Black, who tried to convince people he had bought me as a mail order bride."

Her aunt's mouth fell open in astonishment. Millie went on.

"Boots took care of that little problem for me. It was at a town dance, where I danced with a number of gentlemen, in that dress you called a rag. No one molested me. No one thought poorly of me. The children I taught in the schoolhouse love me. Yes, there was a tragic accident, in which I was badly injured. Yes, I shall bear the scars of that accident for life. But my stay here has been neither distasteful, nor dangerous. I like most of these people, and I will not put on airs around them. I would appreciate it if you did not either."

Aunt Maureen closed her mouth. Her lips formed a firm line and she frowned. She took a deep breath, and then nodded.

"Perhaps you're right. I'm used to things as they are back home, and this is certainly not California. When in Rome ... In any case, I'll play by your rules while we're here. I want you to know, however, that I'm not happy at all with the leaders in this community. I have been told that they attempted to hide you and the circumstances under which you came to be here."

Millie nodded. "They were frightened. This is a hard life, here, and they have so little. They survive by their wits, sometimes. And while their motives were less than laudable, they did try to make my stay here acceptable. Bob said I would have died if they hadn't taken me to him. They could have let me do that, and buried me, and no one would ever have been wiser."

"I don't want to think about that now," sighed Maureen. "Shall we just go down to dinner? Do they have anything worth eating in this town?"

Millie whirled in her gown, and immediately realized she had learned how to do that while dressed as she was. That meant she had dressed like this before. It made her sad, somehow, to think that she'd never again be able to just throw on a comfortable, simple dress.

"Do I look like I starved?"

"You look beautiful," gushed her aunt. "I'm so happy I found you. We're going to have such fun."

"I hope so," said Millie. "I hope so."

-------

When the locomotive chuffed to a wheezing stop the next day, it was another unscheduled stop. The only sign that the Engineer was anxious was the steady clanging of the bell, which was operated by pulling a rope. It rang, on an even cadence, from the time the engine stopped, to the time the whistle blew, alerting people that he train was starting up again.

Maureen, of course, didn't wait for anybody, and was therefore not at the depot, waiting on the train.

Boots had been standing at the dining room entrance when they came down in the morning. Millie had hugged her and invited her to eat with them. Her aunt said nothing, but only listened as the two friends chatted and said their goodbyes. Millie asked Boots to get some help to carry things to the depot, and the frontierswoman left, tipping her hat to the dowager. Boots had worn the hat throughout the meal.

"I had forgotten what life was like back here on the plains," she said, when Boots was gone.

"I found it not so horrible," said Millie, smiling.

"For that I am quite happy. But I promise you this, once you've seen what civilized life can is like, I think you'll be glad I found you.

-------

Who Boots cornered to be the pack horses were the three boys who had pulled the prank on Millie. It was the first time their teacher had seen them since learning what they had done. They didn't know that, of course, until she went to each one, clasped his cheeks in her hands, and said "I forgive you." Then she kissed each one on the forehead with lips that felt like fire to the boys. Each was convinced her lip prints would be visible there to all who looked.

The boys blushed. All three were hard in their pants. And they were energetic packhorses that day as well.

In all, though, the train had to wait no longer than twenty minutes. Sheriff Miller and Bob were the only townsfolk who came to see her off. The others were hiding, even more terrified, now that they'd heard stories about Mrs. Hatfield, that she'd have them all thrown into prison somehow.

Sheriff Miller took the bull by the horns, though, and approached the women as they prepared to board the train. He faced Millie.

"I'm sorry about how things happened," he said. "I hope you don't bear the town no ill will."

"Your apology is accepted," she said, with a smile. "I'm going to miss the children."

"I have it on good authority they'll miss you too," he said. "I mean it when I say we were lucky to have you for the short time you were here."

"All abooooooard" yelled the conductor.

Millie looked to where Bob was standing, some dozens of feet away. His face was tense.

"I'll be right back," she said to her aunt, who sniffed again.

She went to Bob and, without any embarrassment, put her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly.

"I'm going to miss you," she said, kissing him again, twice.

"And I'm going to miss you," he said, his hands on her waist. "Now go on, or your aunt will have a heart attack, and I'll have to save her too, and you'll end up staying here another month while she recuperates, and I'll end up having my way with you and probably get you pregnant, and screw everything up permanent."

She licked her lips. "You know I'm going to touch myself and have a hysterical paroxysm, thinking about that, and I'll probably go insane, and it will all be your fault."

"All abooooooard!" yelled the conductor again.

"Bye!" she said, tears in her eyes.

"Bye," he said.

He turned away before she could see that his eyes were in exactly the same condition as hers.



-------

Chapter 16



It's amazing how different life can be with some relatively minor changes.

Bob, for instance, had generally spent about two hours with Millie each day, usually in the evening. An hour of that involved eating. Granted, that other hour was a lot more emotionally charged, but even after they started engaging in sexual behavior, that usually only lasted half an hour, at the most. So in one sense, all Bob had lost was two hours with his girlfriend per day, and only half an hour of nookie ... and only low-key nookie, at that.

Bob, however, didn't look at it in that sense. For Bob, Millie's loss affected him all day long, most days. It was true that there were other things happening to distract him, but most of those things were pretty short term distractions. Some of them even made things worse.

Such as one night, about three weeks after she'd gone. Bob was finished with supper, but since Millie wasn't there, he had nowhere to go, so he sat, sipping coffee.

"I just wanna talk to him for a minute." He turned his head to see Boots standing in the doorway to the dining room. Martin, the waiter was barring her way. "Damn, Martin, I ain't gonna soil up your pretty eatin' room," said Boots, and shoved the man out of her way. That she had matured in Millie's company was visible by the fact that she only shoved him gently.

Martin, who had only been halfhearted in his denial in the first place, stood aside. Just knowing that Boots could now read had made a difference with a lot of folks in town. They still didn't know quite what to make of her, but now she was more educated than some of them. It had caused a sort of grudging respect for her to infect the town.

Boots sauntered over to the table, turned the chair opposite Bob around and straddled it, leaning her breasts against the rungs of the back.

"What's going on, Boots?" he asked. He took a sip of coffee.

"I was just wonderin' iffen you could give me one of them pelvic massage things, like you done fer Millie."

The coffee that spewed from Bob's nose hurt like the dickens, and the tabletop glistened with it. He brought his napkin up to wipe his nose and lips, swallowing. He had to blow his nose to clear it. Through it all, Boots just sat and looked at him. Finally he could talk.

"What brought this on?" he asked.

"Well, I cain't go see Dusty, 'cause it's too soon, but I got the itch. An' I know I could take care of it my own self, except it's so much nicer when Dusty does it. I ain't askin you to do the rest of what he does. But I know it would relieve my urge iffen you helped me out."

Bob surveyed the girl across the table from him. He'd noticed her as a woman before, despite the fact that she dressed and acted like a man most of the time. He was actually glad she'd taken up with Dusty. She was a lot less volatile these days, and more patient. Of course some of that might be the result of Millie's influence, but Dusty was a big influence too. He wondered, idly, what she was going to do when she got pregnant. It was just a matter of time. And it was that errant thought that made him shake his head in wonder. He'd been about to agree to her request!

"I don't think Dusty would appreciate it if we had that kind of relationship, Boots," he said.

She looked to her right, for some reason, and then back at him.

"I know," she said sadly. "But it's just so much better when somebody else is involved."

"Why is it too soon to go see Dusty?" asked Bob.

"Well, fer one thing, we're tryin not to have a baby, so we don't do it all that often. An' I know you and Millie fooled around without doin' the baby makin' stuff and all that, but Dusty and me ... well ... once we get started, it just naturally seems to lead to the stud mountin' the mare, so to speak."

"That's what nature intended, Boots," he said, smiling. "Nature wants you pregnant, because you're a woman."

"I wouldn't have the foggiest notion of what to do with a baby," she said. "I'd be a turrible mama."

"I disagree," said Bob. "I think you'd be a wonderful mother. Unconventional, but wonderful nonetheless."

"I don't know what all of that meant," said Boots, "but I know it was nice, so thanks. You're a good man, Doc. That's why I thought I could ask you fer some help. Cain't ask nobody else. They'd get the wrong idee."

"You know, I've heard there are some things the Indian women do to keep from getting pregnant. You got any friends in the tribes?"

Boots thought on that. "I know one woman. I found her snakebit one day and sucked the poison out. Took her to her camp. They fed me, but I don't know any of their talk. Used sign language that day."

"Well, maybe you could use sign language to ask her what to do," said Bob.

Boots snorted. "Tellin' her tribe what happened to her was as easy as pointin' to the fang marks. She told 'em the rest. That's a far cry from tryin' to figger out how to say what you're talkin' about."

"I have faith in you, Boots," said Bob.

"Even so, they give me grief about comin' on the ranch to see him. They give him grief too."

"They wouldn't do that if you were married," said Bob.

She laughed. "Me? Hitched? Sittin' in some shack with a garden out back? I don't think so, Doc."

"Who says it has to look like that?" asked Bob. "You've never done anything else like a normal woman. Why would anybody expect your marriage to be like other women's marriages either?"

The scout gazed at the doctor for a long minute. She was obviously mulling over what he'd said. Finally she responded.

"He ain't asked me, Doc," said Boots.

"Again, I say, who says that's how it has to work?"

"You sayin' I should ask a cowboy to get hitched to me?" She looked skeptical. "That's like sayin' you should throw an orphan calf in with a mare so she can raise it."

"All I'm saying is that you deserve happiness as much as anybody else, and while the Declaration of Independence of these great United States does not promise you will be happy, it does say you have the right to pursue happiness."

Boots stood up. She put her hands on her hips.

"Thanks, Doc. Iffen this don't work out well, though, I may be back. You an' Dusty are the only men around these parts worth spit, an' if he don't go fer it, I may just have to throw a rope around you."

Bob smiled. "I can think of worse women to be tied up with," he said. "You clean up pretty good when there's a dance on."

To his astonishment, not to mention that of the other patrons in the dining room, she stepped around the table, leaned down and kissed him soundly on the lips. Then, without another word, her long-legged stride took her out the door before anybody could react.

Bob got up from his coffee and wandered back home. It had been bad enough missing Millie. Boots had now reminded him that there was a lush, sexual woman under that buckskin. Now he had a mental image of Boots, naked, beckoning to him to come and enjoy her sexuality. For some reason, though, his image was of her dancing around a fire, naked, like some people thought Indian women did. It was foolish, of course. All the Indian women he'd ever met were just like their white counterparts, just thinking about where their next meal would come from, and what chores needed doing.

He laughed as he took off his clothes, getting ready to go to bed.

But when he lay there, masturbating, he thought about both Millie and Boots.

-------

Missing Millie went far beyond just missing the woman. Before he'd met her, Bob had gone through his daily routine more or less happily. Had someone asked him if he was happy with his life, he'd have said he was as happy as anybody else. In truth, he hadn't thought about whether or not he was happy, in general.

But with Millie gone, he suddenly realized that his life was somewhat boring. There were relatively few major distractions, such as the one when Boots had asked him to masturbate her. That one had stuck in his mind for a week. Every time he saw her, he got half stiff and needed release.

It was mildly diverting that he was left to guess what was going on between her and Dusty. She never mentioned whether or not she'd asked Dusty to "get hitched to her" or what his answer had been, if she had. He assumed she hadn't asked him yet. She'd be as ornery as a bull with a bad tooth if she'd asked him and things hadn't gone well.

Basically, unless he was actively engaged in treating a patient, which usually didn't take massive amounts of time, he was left to sit and think.

And that wasn't good, because what he usually ended up thinking about was that he'd let her go, instead of begging her to stay. Of course he knew he couldn't have made her stay. Her destiny and fortune were in California. Her family was there. She wouldn't have stayed, even if he'd asked her. But it was easy to imagine that she would have said yes, and that he could be lying in bed with her, making love, instead of building up calluses on his penis with his hand.

About the only other thing he thought about was that, while he was in the war, he'd been saving lives, doing important work. Now, all he did was stitch up the odd wound, and set the occasional broken bone.

Without Millie, he felt like his life was pretty useless. It was, in fact, that very thing - the feeling of uselessness - that caused Bob to do something he would otherwise have been unlikely to do.

It happened when he was called to the train depot one day to treat one of the engineers of the train for an arrow wound. A bunch of Indians had ridden beside the iron horse, whooping and shooting arrows at it. One of them had struck the engineer in the arm as he leaned out the window of the locomotive to shoot a pistol at the marauding band.

When he was finished cleaning and bandaging the wound, and the train had chuffed away, Bob turned to leave and happened to see the hole in the ground, covered over with three or four planks now, that had been under the outhouse Millie had been dragged away in. No one had ever rebuilt the privy. The planks had been thrown over it so that no one would fall in the hole, but that was all that had been done.

So Bob went to see Mayor Robinson.

That conversation started and ended with the mayor saying the privy was on the railroad right-of-way, and that the town had neither the responsibility or the right to rebuild.

So Bob went to see Harvey Watkins, who said the ranchers whose boys had destroyed the thing were supposed to rebuild it, but never had.

The J R Connected ranch was the closest. That was John Relway's outfit. So Bob, having nothing better to do, got his horse from the livery and rode out there to talk to John. It turned out that the men had agreed to split the cost and have the boys rebuild the privy, but just hadn't gotten around to it.

Bob offered to be the foreman for the project.

These days lumber usually came from the sawmill in Silver Springs in the Colorado Territory, by train, rather than by wagon from back east. So telegraph messages were sent and arrangements made. Two weeks later the eastbound train stopped long enough for the boys to unload lumber and nails onto the same wagon that had carried the victim of their prank to Bob's surgery, some five months before. There was a sense of urgency in the boys. Two of them had turned fourteen, which made them both feel like this incident, which they thought of now as something "from their youth," needed to be put behind them. Plus it was getting close to first snowfall, and nobody wanted to work on this project when it was really cold.

And so it was that, exactly one week later, as the door of the new outhouse was being hung, the eastbound train stopped again. The bell rang, which was a signal that passengers were debarking. Naturally, the little work crew, and their foreman, looked over to see anything of interest.

And what they saw was most interesting.

Because what they saw was Elizabeth Philby, the young woman they all knew as Millie, step down off the train, escorted by a young man.

-------

She was dressed in what could only be called finery, flowing skirts of green satin, with forest green ribbon worked into the design of the gown. White lace covered her bosom, but rather than hiding it, the cloth seemed to display the bulge of her breasts, announcing her femininity somehow. She wore a hat that was tall, and festooned with feathers. As her foot reached for the ground, a high-top button shoe, made of cream colored leather could be seen. Her cheeks were pink, and her lips a darker red. Her hair fell from beneath the hat in coils of shiny, raven black.

It made Bob's balls hurt.

But what made his heart hurt was her gloved hand, resting possessively on the arm of the man who accompanied her. He was tall, and dressed in a suit of grey and black striped material. Wearing a top hat and polished boots, he was obviously a man of means, and handsome enough to make Bob want to shoot him.

In a completely uncharacteristic motion, based on the way she was dressed, Millie lifted her hand to shade her eyes and peered at the new outhouse. She spoke to her escort, and they started toward Bob and the boys.

"Damn," sighed Benjamin. "Ain't she just the prettiest thing you ever laid eyes on?"

"Behave yourselves, boys," growled Bob, wondering if he'd be able to behave himself.

"Shit!" said Michael. "She'll see the carving!"

There was a useless scramble as the boys tried to find some way of obscuring what had been carved into the wood above the door. There was nothing they could do, though.

The handsome couple approached and Bob stood, hatless, his coat dusty and in need of washing. The visitors stopped. Millie's hand stayed on the man's arm.

"Well, well, well," she said. Her voice sounded so normal, it was surreal. Bob's gut clenched. He wanted her to speak again, just so he could hear her voice. She obliged him. "Dutch, this is Doctor Fisk and the three boys I told you about." She looked at Bob. "Bob, I'd like to introduce Dutch Anderson, one of my aunt's business associates."

"Howdy," Bob managed to get out, through clenched teeth.

"What have we here?" asked Elizabeth, her voice light and playful. "Are you boys re-building the trap for some unwary traveler?" She smiled like she thought her little joke was actually funny. Then her eyes went to the carving above the door.

Laboriously carved into the wood were the words: Millie Beaverton Memorial Privy

Douglas, one of the boys who was now fourteen, stood stiffly. "You never had a last name when we all called you Millie, so we just used the town's name."

Millie looked at the tall man beside her. "I have an outhouse named after me! Isn't that grand?"

The man looked disgusted. "I told you this was a bad idea," he said.

"Well it is not," she snapped, her attitude suddenly all serious and no play. She turned to the boys. "It so happens, I have business with your fathers," she said.

"We're sorry about puttin' your name on the outhouse," whined Michael. "It was a joke, sort of ... but not, too. We missed you!"

"It isn't about the outhouse," said Millie. "Please inform your fathers I will entertain any of them interested in a business opportunity, at the hotel, this evening around five. The meeting won't last long. I want to be free to have supper by six." She looked over her shoulder and then back at the boys. "Right now, however, I need one of you to run fetch a wagon and take it over there, where those men are unloading things from the train. There's a dollar in it for whoever gets there first."

A dollar being a week's pay in those parts, all three boys took off running as fast as their cowboy boots would allow. All three adults watched them go. Elizabeth turned to the man whose arm she still possessed.

"Dutch, would you please go take care of things at the hotel? I have some things I need to do."

"Of course," he said. He strode off, his long legs eating up the ground.

Elizabeth turned to Bob. "How's Boots?"

Bob had to both lick his lips and swallow before he could answer. His mouth was dry as a bone. She was so beautiful.

"She's doing fine, as far as I can tell," he said. "She and Dusty seem to be almighty serious, but they aren't telling anybody what their plans are. That's if they have any," he added.

"I'd like to see her," said Elizabeth.

"I don't see as much of her as I used to," said Bob. "I do know she still goes to the school, to help out Amy. Maybe she's over there now." He swallowed again. "You look mighty nice," he said.

She beamed. "Why thank you! It took me a while to get used to all this." She waved a hand at her body, and the gown she was wearing. "Sometimes I think it's more trouble than it's worth. But people seem to care, and Aunt Maureen has taught me how important it is to look the part while conducting business."

"You're obviously doing quite well if she's sent you off to do business all by yourself," he said.

"Oh, I'm not by myself. Dutch is with me. He's actually the expert. I just have the influence and the money to make things happen."

"I see," said Bob, his stomach feeling like it had twenty pounds of lead balls in it.

"I'm going to go see if I can locate Boots," she said. Almost casually she added, "Do you still take your meals at the hotel? Perhaps I'll see you at supper."

"Perhaps," he said.

Then she was walking away from him, her bustle swaying provocatively. Bob felt his groin tighten. The lead balls in his belly seemed to have gained even more weight.

-------

Bob really wanted to skip supper. It had already been hard enough on him. Now, with her obviously involved with Dutch, he wasn't sure he could take sitting through supper, imagining what they did together. But the fact was, he was helpless. He had to see as much of her as he could, before she left again. She was like laudanum. He had had too much to go without. It hurt too much to know he could see her, and then refuse to do so. So, waiting until six, so her business would be concluded, Bob went to the hotel.

The ranchers were gone. Millie - Elizabeth, he reminded himself - was still there. He was surprised to see Boots sitting at the table too, on Elizabeth's right side. The chair on her left was pushed out, but empty. Bob assumed that was Dutch's chair. The three across the table were tucked neatly back in. Elizabeth was looking at some papers in front of her. Boots looked up at him as he approached.

"Hi Doc," she said, casually.

Millie - he just couldn't think of her by any other name - looked up too and smiled. "Hi. I'm so glad you decided to come."

"You lost me the next nickel I make," said Boots. "Thanks a lot."

"What are you talking about?" asked Bob, trying not to look at Millie.

"I bet her you wouldn't come," said Boots.

"Why?" asked Bob.

"Oh, let's just say I had a feelin' you wouldn't be hungry tonight," said Boots. She got up. "I got to go pee. Think I'll use that fancy new outhouse down by the railroad."

"Hurry back," said Millie. "Remember, I'm paying."

"Course you are," said Boots. "I ain't got two nickels to rub together." She blinked. "Come to think of it, even iffen I did, I'd have to give you one of them, thanks to Doc, so I still wouldn't have two to rub together." She grinned, as if she'd said something clever.

"Subtraction!" said Millie, beaming. "And used in everyday life. I'm proud of you, Boots."

The frontierswoman made an exaggerated bow, taking off her hat and sweeping it to her knees. Bob was astonished. Where had she learned something like that?

Then they were alone.

"Aren't you going to sit down?" asked Millie.

"Boots was right," he said softly. "I almost didn't come. I shouldn't be here."

"Why?" Her eyes glittered as she looked at him.

Bob was in so much turmoil that he just said his piece.

"Because I'm in love with you. I fell in love with you and now I can't fall out of it. And seeing you with that man ... it hurts, Millie." He blinked his eyes, trying to make sure that the moisture he felt building in them couldn't turn into tears. "I'm sorry ... I know it's Elizabeth now, but I can't..." he stopped talking. "This was a bad idea," he said. "I should go."

"No, you should not," she said, her voice firm. Her face looked passive, but there was iron in her voice. "We are all adults here, Doctor Fisk, and I would appreciate it if you would behave like one. You're not some lovesick schoolboy. Sit down, have something to eat. Engage in polite conversation. You owe me at least that much, Bob."

He didn't stop to think about why she would consider he owed her anything at all. After all, he wasn't the one who had tipped over the outhouse. And he wasn't the one who tried to hide her existence from those looking for her. But his emotional turmoil made him miss that line of reasoning. Instead, he sat.

Then he listened as she began to tell him what had happened to her when she left Beaverton, and went to California with her aunt.

-------

It seemed that Maureen Hatfield had always been deeply involved in her husband's business. He was not one of those men who wanted his wife to be a trophy to his good taste, on display, to impress people. He'd much rather she impress them by helping him make lots of money. And she did that by identifying various business enterprises outside her husband's control, enterprises that could be invested in. Her acumen was astonishing, and her husband's fortune swelled ever larger. She watched as he ran his own business, and when he died and she assumed control, the business didn't even burp. And running it filled the vacuum left by his passing, so she was, all in all, happy.

Of course having plenty of money is a good foundation for being happy too, and Maureen Hatfield was one of the richest women on the west coast.

When she heard of her brother's troubles, and then got the horrible news that her niece was orphaned, though perhaps that was the wrong word, since the girl was seventeen, she just naturally thought that she could provide a place for Elizabeth to prosper. She could offer the girl the best in social situations, if that was her desire. If Elizabeth wanted to learn the business, that was fine too. Schools were available, and Elizabeth had already taken instruction back east beyond what most people were able to pursue.

Then came her niece's strange disappearance, and the Pinkerton's search for her.

All this, Elizabeth said, she learned from her aunt.

Once she had been found, everything got back on track, and in no time Elizabeth learned as much of who she was and where she came from as her aunt could provide. She saw the opportunities available to her, and tried her hand in various enterprises.

Bob noticed she didn't weigh in on which of these mysterious "enterprises" she liked ... or did not like. She just glossed over them, saying she got to try making money with them. That she now had access to money was clear. Not only was her gown of top quality, her whole attitude suggested that she was used to spending money freely.

They were interrupted by Dutch, arriving and seating himself for supper. Shortly after that, Boots returned and sat down beside Bob. Nancy Dugway waited on them herself, leaving Martin to take care of the rest of the diners. It was the same food as usual, but it was served with wine. Boots thought that was pretty good stuff. Bob had to stop her from drinking straight from the bottle.

Dutch didn't say a lot. He seemed to be a very dull man, based on his complete lack of interest in conversing with the strangers. He didn't say much to Millie either, for that matter. In fact, the most he said all night was when he was finished eating. He threw his napkin on his plate and pushed his chair back.

"If you'll excuse me, it was a long ride and a long day. I'm going up to the room." He looked at Millie. "Do I need to come escort you up?"

Millie waved one hand negligently. "Boots will see me up."

Dutch made a sound, suggestive of the idea that he didn't think much of Boots. Bob wished he'd pop off to the girl, so he could see her teach him some manners.

But he didn't. He just left, pulling a cigar from the inside pocket of his dinner jacket and using a strike anywhere match to light it as he went toward the stairs.

Bob thought about those words: "I'll be up in the room." It sounded as if there was only one room. That did not make him happy at all. While he had slept in the same room, basically, as this woman in the past, it didn't mean the same thing as if she was sleeping in the same room as Dutch. He glanced at her hand, but saw no ring. He felt anger bubble up inside.

"It has been a long day," he said, gruffly. "I think I'll go turn in as well."

"Do you have to leave so soon?" asked Millie, her eyes innocent and wide.

Bob wanted to shout at her. He'd already told her how he felt. Not only was she ignoring that, she seemed to be teasing him as well.

"I need to be elsewhere," he said, his voice tight.

"Well, then," said Boots. "I'll just see you upstairs, an' make sure no boogey men get you, like old Dutch there seems to be worried about."

Millie stood. "He promised my aunt he would protect me," said Millie. "He's very assertive about things like that."

Bob didn't want to hear about Dutch. He stood. He was so agitated that he actually bowed as he said: "Ladies!" Then he turned to leave. He was flagged down by Martin, who said his sister had a cough that wouldn't go away, and asked if she could come see him in his office the next day. Bob, watching Millie and Boots walk up the stairs, arm in arm, said that would be fine.

Throughout the entire meal he never once thought about how Boots had acted all evening.



-------

Chapter 17



Still upset, Bob walked around town for a while, to settle down before going back to his office to go to bed. Along the way, he saw lights in windows, and smelled the odors of cooking. He heard snippets of conversation from open windows or doors. These little domestic scenes made him feel lonely and empty. He felt like a fool for letting a girl almost young enough to be his daughter get under his skin and steal his heart.

Finally, he turned toward his surgery. He was still a hundred yards away when he saw a figure walking through the night, towards him. The moon was half full, and he recognized Boots' hat and buckskin shirt in the silver glow of the moon's light. He started to call out to her, but didn't really feel like company.

He stopped as Boots walked directly to his surgery, opened the front door, and went inside. She thought he was already there, obviously. He wondered what she wanted, and hurried toward his office.

The candle had been lit in his bedroom. What was she doing back there?

"Boots?" he called out. She coughed. "What are you doing, Boots?" he asked.

Her buckskin shirt sailed through the doorway to his bedroom. He took a step closer.

"What the hell are you doing, Boots?" he growled. "I told you I can't do what you want."

Her leather pants flew out of the door and landed on her shirt.

"Dammit, Boots, knock it off!" he groaned. "This has not been a good day, and you aren't helping things at all."

The light of the candle was suddenly snuffed out.

He went to the doorway, stepping on her clothes in the process. He stood there, uncertain.

"Come on, Boots," he said. "You don't want to do this."

"Yes I do," she whispered.

"Go see Dusty," said Bob.

"I can't," she whispered.

Then he heard movement, and she was up and right in front of him. Her hands came to his shirt buttons, and flicked at them, unbuttoning them.

"Please," she whispered.

He knew something was wrong. Something was off. When she kissed him, she gripped his face with both hands and he knew instantly it wasn't Boots. Her hands were much too soft to be those of the scout. His own hands came to her head, where there was too much hair.

But it was the delightful scent of her perfume that made him realize it couldn't possibly be Boots.

He pushed her away and fumbled for the candle and a match. The flare of the match was blinding in the dark and he squinted, touching the flame to the wick. He looked to see Millie, stark naked, standing a foot away from him. As he looked, she went back to his bed and lay down on it. She spread her legs.

"Come to bed, Bob," she said.

"What the hell is going on here?" he gasped. He recognized the medical symptoms of hyperventilation in his own body. His vision narrowed until her face was all he could see. He took deep breaths and willed himself to calm down.

She lay, obviously comfortable being naked in front of him. His eyes strayed to the scar where he had sutured her wound. It was clearly visible, but looked completely healed.

"I want you to make love to me," said Millie.

"I don't understand," moaned Bob. "Where's Boots?"

"She's in my room at the hotel," said Millie. "I couldn't very well leave as myself. People would have noticed. But nobody would think a thing about Boots leaving. So she loaned me her clothes."

"But Dutch," said Bob, helplessly.

"What about him?" asked Millie. Her left hand strayed across her abdomen. Her fingers ruffled her pubic curls. One finger slipped lower, to casually stroke her clitoral mound.

"He said he was going to the room."

"His room," said Millie.

"Not your room?"

"Dutch isn't my type, Bob," she said. "You're my type, Bob. Why do you think I came back?"

"You said it was to do business," he said weakly.

"Yes, that was part of it. But not the main reason I came back. Come to bed, Bob."

"I can't," he groaned.

"Yes you can. We can talk about all of this tomorrow, Bob. Right now I want you to make me a woman. Come to bed, Bob, and make love to me."

"What about your virginity?" he snapped. "Have you lost that while you were gone?"

"No, Bob. My virginity belongs to you."

"But don't you understand I can't take it?" he almost yelled. "We're not married! I can't just take your virginity!"

"Boots said you'd say that," said Millie. "She told me what to do."

"What?" Bob didn't understand.

Her hand moved. Her first and middle fingers formed a spear, aimed at her sex. She eased the tips between her vulva and then, to his astonishment, stabbed them deep into her channel, wincing as she did so. She let out her breath in a whoosh, and he realized she'd been holding it. She pulled her fingers out and held them up to see. They were stained pink with the blood of her ruptured hymen.

"I'm not a virgin any more, Bob," she said, her voice husky. "And I accept your proposal of marriage. Now will you please come to bed ... or do I have to go spend the night with Dutch?"

Her mention of Dutch was what did it. That and his sudden realization that he'd been had by a very clever and very determined young woman. She had known all along what she was going to do. So had Boots. They had conspired over this ambush.

"You're insane," he said softly.

"No. You promised me I wouldn't go insane from masturbating, and that's all I've done since I rode that stupid train away from here. I'm not insane, Bob. I'm horny. Horny for you."

Suddenly, he was iron hard in his pants. Her little yips of "Yes" and "Hurry" as he kicked his boots off and then pushed his pants down, inflamed him.

He was a confused mixture of horny, angry and full of admiration as, naked, he flung himself on top of her. He was angry enough to enter her too roughly, but her whimper of pain wasn't accusative. Rather, it stabbed into his conscience, and he stopped, deep inside her. He kissed her eyes and cheeks, moaning how sorry he was for being a beast. She kissed him back, though, and said "I knew it would hurt."

He held still until her hips started moving, convincing him she had adapted. Then he moved out and back in. Her hiss, this time, was of something other than pain, and he grinned. He had always known she was passionate. Now that this amazing thing was happening ... the thing he had dreamed of so often, and been so completely positive that would never, ever happen ... his own passion was banked.

He planned on making the next half hour one she would never, ever forget.

-------

They lay there, in each other's arms, out of breath and sweating. Bob had rolled to one side, so as not to crush her, but her arms were still around him tightly.

"I ... didn't ... know," she panted.

"Know what?"

"That it ... would be ... like that."

"And, are you ... pleased?"

"No."

"You're not?"

"Not hardly."

"Why not?" His voice sounded injured.

She had regained her breath enough to speak full sentences.

"It wasn't nearly enough. That feels too completely wonderful to have been over that quickly. How do I get it hard again? I want to go again."

He laughed, until she wiggled out from under him and climbed on top of him. She grabbed for his wrists and tried to pin them to the bed. He could have lifted her easily, but let her have her way. He felt something wet on his stomach and lifted his head. His sperm was dripping from her sex, onto his belly.

In that instant, he realized the seriousness of this whole situation. He had bred this woman. She might be pregnant with his child.

"Will you really marry me?" he asked.

She had been trying to put on a mean face, wrinkling up her brow and frowning. Now she relaxed and stared down at him, her face framed by hanging, black hair.

"I'll just die if I can't," she said softly.

"What if Aunt Maureen does not approve?" he asked.

"I told you all the things I learned from her," said Millie. "I didn't tell you what she learned from me."

"And what was that?"

"That I am a wild and headstrong young woman, who will not be pushed around. That money doesn't mean as much to me as happiness. That I can be happy owning only one or two simple dresses ... as long as I have the man I love."

"I thought she was going to sponsor your coming out party," said Bob.

"She can't," said Millie.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not a virgin any more," said Millie, smiling.

-------

Millie was on her knees on the board floor. The bed wasn't big enough for both of them to be on it, in terms of what she was doing, and still be comfortable. She watched her hand slide slowly up and down his stiff penile column. She gazed as she pulled the foreskin off the plum-shaped, purple head. She leaned forward to lick that smooth, purple skin.

"It's hard enough," he gasped.

"I'm having fun," she said, kissing the tip and teasing the little slit in it with the tip of her tongue.

"I thought you wanted it inside you," he panted.

"I do."

"I will happily put it there," he said.

"Boots told me about something else too," she said.

"Oh no," he moaned. "What now?"

She stood and, with athletic ease, stepped up onto the bed and straddled him. She sank down to her knees and reached for his erection, positioning it. She sat down a little too quickly, considering her level of experience, and winced as her under-lubricated pussy accepted the intruder.

"This is unnatural," said Bob.

"Be quiet. I'm a cowgirl, and you're my bull."

"Boots taught you this?"

"She told me about it. It's her favorite way to do it with Dusty."

"Damn," groaned Bob, as she experimentally squeezed the invader with strong, youthful muscles.

She leaned forward, and he actually saw her eyes widen in delight. She rubbed her sex along his belly, or tried to. His penis kept her from being able to move freely. Her moan of ecstasy made him realize what this position must be doing to her clitoral bulge.

"Oh yes," she whined. "Oh Bob, I love you. I want to do this all day, every day."

"If you do, you're going to have a baby within a year," he warned.

"Okay," she sighed.

He watched, fascinated, as she had three hysterical paroxysms in a row. Then, inflamed himself, he rolled her over and thrust into her until he spurted.

An hour later, they did it all over again.

-------

Bob woke, with the fleeting memory of Tilly Sumpter's rooster's morning call in his ears. He smelled Millie immediately, a mixture of sweat, the vestiges of her perfume, perhaps, and raw sex. Her turned his head and got a face full of her hair, which had its own delightful scent.

She moved, muttered and burrowed against him, smacking her lips. He could hear her breathing change, and knew she was awake. Her head moved and her hand came up to brush the hair from her face. The dim morning light coming through the window let him see her eyes.

"Again?" she sighed.

He laughed. "It's morning, woman. We have to get up."

She was able to pout with both her wordless voice and the way she wiggled against him. Then, suddenly, her eyes opened wide and she sat up, her hair flying.

"It's morning? Oh no! I have to get back! Boots is still there! How will she get out? How will I get back in?"

She jumped up and looked for the leather clothes she had borrowed last night, only to throw them on the floor as soon as she could. Bob watched fondly as buckskin covered bare skin. He realized he was hard, both because it was morning, and because of seeing that skin.

"I love you," he said out loud.

She spared him a glance, and a quick smile. "That's good, because you're stuck with me. I only got a one way ticket."

"And Aunt Maureen is really accepting of this?"

"We don't have time to talk about this now, Bob!" she barked. "I have to get back upstairs to my room somehow."

"Keep your pants on," he said, sitting up. "We'll get you there."

She stopped. "I don't want to keep my pants on. I want to be naked. I want to go back to bed. When can we get married? When can I be your wife so I don't have to get dressed any more?"

"You'll still have to get dressed after we're married," laughed Bob. "At least when I have patients."

She was pulling on boots ... boots that had belonged to a man now dead. Obviously she hadn't thought about that in her fervor to complete her ambush. Bob decided not to bring that to her attention. She looked up at him.

"We're not living here, you idiot. I'm going to have a house built for us. A big house."

"Oh really," he said, smiling as he pulled on his own clothes.

"Really," she said. "Aunt Maureen has the list of materials and laborers. She'll get them all on the train as soon as I telegraph her to send them."

"You seem pretty sure I'd agree to all this," said Bob.

"Aunt Maureen said you would."

"I've barely met the woman," said Bob.

"Yes, but I told her all about you ... about us."

"Everything?" Bob's voice was high and astonished.

"Eventually. When she saw how distraught I was without you, she questioned me closely. She was very proud of you for leaving my virginity intact. She said such men are rare. Once she knew I loved you - which she was not happy about in the slightest - she told me I needed to come back here to make my life complete, or I'd end up resenting her for taking me away from you."

"I don't mean to be disrespectful, but that sounds silly to me. If you'd have stayed, you'd have had your pick of men."

"I already did," she said. "We don't have time for this now, Bob! What are we going to do?"

"Put your hair up under the hat, keep the brim low over your face, and follow me."

"How do you work this thing?" she complained, holding up Boots' gunbelt. "She put it on me at the hotel."

Bob fastened it on her, his face inches from her bulging breasts. He leaned forward to kiss one and she slapped his head.

"Have you no manners?"

He laughed, and headed for the door.

-------

"Boots" entered the hotel behind Bob, and then darted left towards the staircase that led upstairs. Bob waved at Harvey, said good morning and asked him where Martin was, all in an attempt to keep Harvey's attention on him. Then he said he was going on into the dining room.

"When Boots and Miss Philby get down here, please extend my invitation to them both to eat breakfast with me."

He was on his second cup of coffee when Boots and Millie arrived. Millie had somehow gotten her hair up in whirls, held with combs, and was wearing a slightly less fancy gown than the day before. Boots' face was stretched by a big grin.

"Hey, doc," she said. "Sleep good?" She laughed. Millie slapped at her with what Bob realized was a folded up fan.

Dutch appeared, dressed to the nines. He bowed to the ladies, including Boots, and seated himself without invitation.

Bob, no longer worried or upset, was happy just to eat. Nobody else seemed eager to talk either, and they all set to the plates they were brought with vigor.

When Dutch was finished, he again wadded up his napkin and threw it on his plate, before turning to address Millie.

"I think we have what we need. If you agree, then it's time to flag down the westbound train and return to Sacramento to get the ball rolling."

"I agree," said Millie, without further comment.

"Will you be returning with me?" he asked, casually.

"No. Please tell my aunt that all is in order here, and I'll be sending further information by wire as to who the agent will be."

"What about the land?" he asked.

"Boots will find that for us," said Millie.

The man, without any further comment, rose and walked out of the dining room.

"Who is he?" asked Bob, able to voice his curiosity at last.

"He works for my aunt," said Millie. "He's sort of a trouble shooter. If she has an operation, or in this case is trying to start an operation, he is her agent if she can't, or doesn't want to be there herself."

"What operation is she starting?" asked Bob.

"Her idea was to buy a ranch and get into the cattle business," said Millie.

"Just like that?" Bob was astonished.

"She hires experts to run her operations."

"So that's why you met with the local ranchers yesterday," he said.

"Yes. We offered to buy out anyone who was willing to sell."

"Just like that."

Millie smiled. "That's pretty much how she does things."

"She must have a lot of money," said Bob.

"She owns her own bank," said Millie.

"And you gave all that up and came back here?" Bob felt weak and light headed.

"I love you, Bob," she said, as if that was all the reason she needed. "Besides," she went on, "I didn't actually give it all up. I'll keep an eye on things here in Nebraska, and further west, when we start selling beef to the Government to feed the Indians on the reservations."

"I see," he said.

"When I'm not teaching school," she added.

"You're kidding."

"Or having babies," she went on.

"It sure is fun tryin'," grinned Boots.

"So did anybody sell?" asked Bob.

"Mr. Wilkenson agreed to our terms," she said.

"Really? Frank Wilkenson, of the B Hanging Arrow brand?"

"As I understand it, he had one son, who went back east to become a lawyer. With what we're paying him, he can go back east and live with his son. I also told him he can live on the ranch as long as he likes."

"So who's gonna run it for you?" asked Bob.

"I'll be the owner's agent," said Millie.

Boots preened. "An' me and Dusty's gonna run it fer her!"

Bob's mouth dropped open.

"You ... a cattleman?"

"Well, actually, Dusty will be the foreman. All I'm gonna do is scout fer 'em when they drive a herd west, to the Indians. The rest of the time I'm gonna be the foreman's wife." She grinned.

"Well I'll be damned," said Bob.

"Now," said Millie. "I have one more surprise for you." She stood up.

"I'm not sure I can survive another surprise," said Bob. "I might have a heart attack."

"If you need a treatment after you see it, I'm experienced in the kind of treatment you need," said Millie, her voice sultry. Boots laughed, delighted.

-------

Bob got more and more curious as the two women led him towards the livery stable. He couldn't imagine what would be there. George Watkins met them at the door. He was beaming.

"Got it all right here, like you said, Miss Millie ... er ... I'm sorry. I cain't remember your real name."

"Millie is fine, Mr. Watkins. I'd like to show the doctor now."

George led them to the wagon he kept there for hire. The bed was piled high, and covered by a tarp, which George whisked away, creating a cloud of dust.

There were crates of different sizes. Bob looked at one label, which said the contents included one Archer Daniels Barber/Dentist chair, with padded head rest. Another one said "Surgical Instruments." Another appeared to be an entire case of laudanum!

"What is all this?" he asked.

"This is enough equipment to establish your own hospital. It's the latest. Some of it comes from China and isn't even available back east," she said.

"This won't fit in my surgery," said Bob.

"Of course not," said Millie. "We'll have to build you a new building, of course. Materials for that will come with the materials for our house."

"I don't believe this," said Bob, his voice choked with emotion.

"Don't worry," said Millie. "I know how hard it is to get used to things you aren't used to." She turned to Boots. "I need you to actually talk to Dusty about all this, Boots," she said. "I don't want to wire my aunt that everything is ready unless I know everything is ready."

"He'll do what I tell him to do," said Boots. "He already said he'd do anythin' if I agreed to get hitched to him."

"Well you can do what you want, then," said Millie. "Bob and I have things to discuss ... in private ... in his bedroom."

Boots blinked. "Oh! Sure! I guess I could go make sure Dusty unnerstands everythin' just so."

"I thought you might see things that way," said Millie.

-------

An hour later, Bob and Millie were sweaty and out of breath again. Millie's sex was weeping his thick, white spend again as well. She told him not to plan on going anywhere until supper.

Miles away, in an almost empty bunkhouse, vacated by most of its residents at Boots' request, she let her cowboy between her thighs once too often. On her way back to town, one of the sperm Dusty had injected into her, found her egg. The fact that she was riding a horse didn't deter the resulting fertilization one bit. When she stepped down from her horse, in town, the egg had just attached itself to the wall of her uterus.

She tied up her horse, took her first step as a mother ... and didn't even know it.

-------

Most change in a small town, especially a remote small town on the Great Plains in the eighteen-seventies, took place in one of two ways. The vast majority of small towns changed only very slowly, sometimes taking decades to make enough difference for the occasional visitor to even notice.

Then there were the tumultuous events, which brought large change quickly to a small town. A bank robbery is one example, where an entire community's assets could disappear in a cloud of dust and, within a few months, half the town had left because they couldn't sustain themselves.

On November the third of 1873, however, what changed Beaverton Nebraska forever, was not the taking of something from the town. It was the addition of something to the town. And like a tornado coming from clear skies, there was almost no notice.

That something was up was clear when an unscheduled train arrived at four in the morning. Furious activity began immediately, as more than two hundred men got off the train and began unloading it. First came twenty-five wagons and more than seventy dray horses from box cars. Then a wagon was pushed into place and, while a team of men hitched up horses to it, others loaded it with stacks of lumber and other construction materials. As one was filled and then moved out, another was pushed into place. Eventually there were five wagons being loaded at once.

But there was much more than building materials on the train. There were also huge stacks of white canvas, which turned out to be tents, along with sides of bacon, sacks of flour and even fresh vegetables. Milk goats were unloaded and tethered wherever people could find to tie them. Even cords of fire wood were moved from the train to wagons. When all the wagons were full, stacks of materials were placed on the ground, until they could be retrieved later.

By the time astonished townsfolk gathered - and every single resident of the town was present - the sun was only just then breaking the horizon in the east, and the locomotive was building up a head of steam to continue east with what was now an empty train.

The mayor, hatless and in his night shirt, but with booted feet, was with Sheriff Miller, who was fully dressed, deep in conversation with the man a few others in town had seen, and remembered only as Dutch. As the light grew, people realized that fully half the group of men laboring to move materials about had slanted eyes, and black hair, sometimes worn in a topknot. They looked vaguely Indian, but wore pants and smocks made of cloth, rather than leather.

By the end of the day, on a plot of land that took up a good four acres to the west of town, twenty-five tents had been erected in neat rows, radiating out like spokes from a larger, round tent that curious onlookers could see contained stoves and fire pits over which huge cauldrons were hung. The banging of pots and pans could be heard a hundred yards away.

These were the men who would build a small hospital, and what could only be described as an American manor, for the doctor and his wife to live in.

The structures went up more quickly than anyone would have dreamed. Part of that was because snow was expected, and would complicate plans when it arrived. Within two weeks the frames of both buildings were complete. Two weeks later, a regular westbound train stopped, and Dutch got on it to return to California. Paint was being applied to the exterior of the hospital as the train pulled away. They only got one day in which to paint, though, because the day after Dutch left, it snowed eight inches.

In all, the men stayed for two months. During that time they were paid a fraction of their anticipated wages, and almost all of that money stayed in Beaverton. Maureen Hatfield had learned long ago not to pay her men the bulk of their wages until the job was finished. They got enough to supply them with some comforts, but when the work was done, there was much more for their families to use when they got back. And that money, though it was restricted to about fifty cents a week, amounted to more than six hundred dollars in cash that went into the Beaverton economy. Some of it went to the saloon, though Minerva's women couldn't hope to take care of the needs of two or three hundred men. She took care of that little problem by tripling her prices, which meant only those men most determined to sate their lust showed up. Conversely, the girls all found that the strange looking men, who were eventually determined to be Chinese, were polite, well-spoken and, all in all, delightful to be around.

The general store reaped huge rewards from the inflow of cash. And normal residents also got in on the wealth by taking in boarders who didn't want to live in a tent, or who needed something repaired, and had no time to do it themselves because they were on a rush job.

It changed the town forever.

Even when the two new buildings were finished, the changes didn't stop. When the hordes of men boarded another special train to return to the west coast, a few decided they liked Nebraska, and stayed. Some of them recognized acre upon acre of unused, but fertile ground, almost none of which was being used to grow crops. Others were hired to work on the new ranch which the woman they called "Mamasan Hatfield" had bought. In all, some twenty men stayed. Tents had been left for these men, who lived in them while they examined Boots' sod hut and learned how to make houses that were better than tents to survive the winter in. They designed a cutter that could be pulled by two horses, had the blacksmith make it, and then worked as a team to cut enough sod to build fifteen one room huts within two weeks, each set on a five-acre lot. Once that was done, five of the men rode off in a wagon to learn how to be cowboys at the M H Bar ranch, which had supplied the beef that the construction crew had eaten while they did their work.

Two weeks later, women and children arrived, to live and work in those sod huts, and to practically double the population of the original Beaverton. It more than doubled the population of the school, filling it to capacity.

-------

Change continued in Beaverton over the years. Maureen Hatfield recognized several opportunities that others had not. Not only did she sell beef to the Government, for the Indians in the Colorado Indian Territory, she also reckoned that beef could be shipped to market west of the Rockies as well. The population was growing on the west coast, and the usual supplies of beef were stretched thin. As such, Beaverton grew even more, and a spur track was put in so that cattle cars could be parked for loading and then switched onto a westbound train. That required more personnel be stationed there, and Harvey's job became a full time enterprise. The Chinese inhabitants settled in and eventually intermarried. Minerva needed more girls, and rode the train to California to recruit them. Two more restaurants were established, and another bank was built. Bessie Robinson caught her husband screwing Mabel Ralston on his desk, in the middle of the day. Mabel's brother, Tommy tried to keep Bessie out, but a rumor had finally made it to her ears. As Tommy followed her into the office, the irate woman grabbed his pistol and shot her husband four times before Tommy could wrestle the gun away from her. No one in Beaverton was aware she even knew how to operate a single action revolver.

Just about everyone would have said those changes were made possible by the return of the woman who had been bushwhacked by three thirteen-year-old boys, making mischief on a lark. The town had changed her ... and she had, in turn, changed the town. And the kind of change she brought was so powerful that it turned the whole town upside down.

It started with that influx of laborers, and the influence they had on ordinary, everyday events. And people had to accept that change, whether they wanted to or not. Progress could not be stopped. And, since almost everybody in town benefitted hugely from the change she brought, the townsfolk looked the other way, in a manner of speaking, concerning one of the other things she did ... a thing that would otherwise never have been tolerable. It was, perhaps, even more powerful than the economic change she brought, because it affected the way people would think about things in the future.

And that thing was her wedding.

-------

After she returned, Millie was busy almost all the time with her initial duties as agent of Maureen Hatfield. Dusty knew cows, and cowboys, but he didn't know business. Frank Wilkenson, once paid for his ranch, had taken off like the Devil himself was after him. So there was no one to do the books. Then there was the supervision of the building of the manor. Bob called all the shots when it came to the hospital, but Millie wanted the house to be just so.

There just wasn't time for a wedding, to say nothing of a honeymoon.

That did not, however, mean Millie withheld herself from carnal delights. Bob's old surgery might be a hovel, by comparison to what was to come, but it was still where he lived. And Millie, who lived in the hotel, couldn't very well entertain a man there.

So there were many torrid nights in Bob's room, where he pinned her to the bed, lunging between thighs spread in welcome, or lay under her as she played cowgirl, riding him to repetitive pinnacles of ecstasy. Bob took great delight in watching her orgasms, and his standard practice was to make sure she had at least one, before releasing himself to experience his own passion. Not being a fan of coitus interruptus, he always pushed hard when his essence flowed into her body.

It wasn't that she didn't want to get married. It was that, knowing she would marry only once in her life, she wanted to make sure that when she did, it was the perfect ceremony. Neither of them planned on his seed taking root in her fertile garden.

But it did.

And that is why her wedding was both a sensation, and something that changed the way people looked at such things on a fundamental level. For when Millie, as she was known by everyone in town, walked down the aisle of Pastor Divine's church in the spring of 1874, It was obvious she was great with child. It was also obvious that she didn't care that tongues had been wagging, and that half the people in the church were there simply to see if lightning would strike her as she did what she was doing.

It did not.

What made that all the more remarkable was the fact that Boots, who was giving her away because Millie had no father to fulfill that duty, was also great with child as she escorted Millie down the aisle.

Except that it appeared that Boots was the bride, dressed in a beautiful gown, being escorted to the front of the church by Millie, because Boots also had no father to give her away.

And the source of this confusion was that two grooms waited by the altar, one on either side of a beaming Randy Divine, who believed that if God was angry about any of this, it was His business, and no one else's. He was therefore quite happy to conduct the double ceremony and make honest men of Bob and Dusty.

Both women were beautiful, which was expected in Millie's case, and the reason that half of the people were there in the church in Boots' case. Everyone (especially three boys named Michael, Benjamin and Chauncy) wanted to see what the wild woman looked like as a man tamed her. You could have heard a pin drop when the minister's welcome said they were all there to witness the joining of Elizabeth Millie Philby to Robert David Fisk, and of Charlene Hennesy to Charles Paul Kenworth.

There was a mass intake of breath as he said Boots' real name. That air stayed in full lungs as the woman herself turned and stared out at the congregation with a frown marring her made up face.

Then, of course, there was the fact that Boots had felt naked at the Founder's Day Dance, when she wore a dress without her gunbelt. She had sworn that would never happen again, and was true to her word. That gunbelt, strapped on over her frilly blue gown caused as much of a sensation as her enlarged waist itself.

Considering how unconventional the wedding was, Reverend Divine's ceremony was almost anticlimactic. At least until he got to the part where he asked if anyone had any reason why either of the marriages should not take place, to speak then or forever hold his peace.

He glanced down at Boots' six gun, and added a few words.

"While I am compelled to ask the question ... I recommend you hold your peace."

The End


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The End
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Posted:  2012-12-03
Last Modified: 2012-12-19 / 11:19:10 pm
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