Marshal of Hel Dorado

Sam stalked inside the cave, water rolling off the brim off his hat and dripping down the sides of the horse he led inside. He dropped the reins and pounced her before she could go for the gun.

Water from his oil coat soaked through her britches and undershirt as he plucked the gun from the holster. She scrabbled, but he was already flipping her over, sitting on her abandoned rock. She landed on her stomach, across his knees. She turned her head, glaring up at him.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh wouldn’t I?”

She yelped as his hand landed on her backside with a stinging slap.

“That’s for running.”

The second slap wrung tears of surprise and outrage from her eyes.

“That’s for hitting me.”

The third set her lower lip trembling as a fire of tingles burned through the numbness of her backside.

“That’s for charming Micah into letting you keep going.”

By the fourth slap, Scarlett’s cheeks burned in humiliation and fury.

“That’s for taking my damn gun.”

He stood, dumping her onto the rock floor in front of him before retrieving his gun and going to his horse. Her ass stung worse than the time Wyatt had switched her for nearly burning down the outhouse.
With Wyatt in it.

Sam stripped off the horse’s gear, rubbed him dry and pulled out a pouch of feed from his saddlebags. She eased over onto her side, careful to not sit. Her bottom protested even that little movement. It took Sam minutes to feed both horses and then he was turning back to her, walking over, and reclaiming the rock to sit on.

Even in the half gray light of the cave she could read the thunderous look on his face, the tightness to his jaw, the outline of a bruise on his cheek and the red lump swelling just below his hairline. He opened a canteen, a twin for the one that Micah passed off to her, and held it out to her.

“Now, you were going to explain…”