The Lawman's Lessons. Devlin, PattyЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Cover Design by ABCD Graphics and Design

      This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

      Table of contents:

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Epilogue

      About the Author

      Blushing Books

      Chapter One

      He hadn't looked at any of his deputies in quite a spell. The heavy thud of their horses' hooves against the hard-packed, still half-frozen clay and the occasional whinny were the only sounds heard in hours and hours of riding. They had followed him out to search for the outlaw Wilson brothers whom they knew were in the area. Jackson was sure his men had only come for the chance to give him hell. He should be happy they'd finally stopped making fun of him about his ... situation.

      Jackson had always been a problem solver. He could find people who didn't want to be found, settle disputes between neighbors, and his quick wit in emergencies had saved many lives. But this, this "situation," would take much more than his meager capabilities.

      How had it even happened? He'd never wanted to be married! Marshals did not make good husbands, and he happened to be a bad choice beyond being a lawman. His own father couldn't stand him. He'd never planned to marry and pass his disgrace on to children, and what of the shame his wife would suffer? So, how had he, the authority figure in the great town, the county of Denver, let it get so out of hand that he'd agreed to marry that spitfire schoolmarm? That cunning little sprite with all her highfalutin' ways should already be on an eastbound train headed back to wherever she called home. An instant and fleeting thread of guilt, over the fact he didn't even take the time to talk to her or get to know anything about her before he'd found a reason to leave, crossed his mind.

      "Hey, Jackson, you goin' over High Ridge Falls?" his brother-in-law Byron asked, his voice so tight it almost cracked. Without looking back, Jackson knew a smile split the other man's face ear to ear and that he was trying hard not to laugh outright.

      His face hotter than a tin plate on a cook stove, Jackson muttered, "I thought we could look in that old cavern up there. Give it one last shot before we give in and go home." He refused to give up and admit that even though he'd been staring at the trail, the ridge line and the leftover late March piles of melting ice, he'd been distracted and missed the turn off. He didn't give any thought to the fact they'd lost the trail of the outlaw gang the day before either. Jackson never lost his way; he was the best tracker in the county!

      "Iffen we go up there, we won't make it to town 'til after night fall for sure." This came from old Solomon. "Some of us want to go home to our brides."

      Ignoring the guffaws that surrounded him, Jackson turned his horse around and headed toward a lower part of the fast-flowing Colorado River where they could cross safely. There was no sense in denying what they all knew—as important as it was to catch the band of outlaws who had been plaguing the county, there hadn't been any recent news or activity. Jackson had merely decided to set off on the day after his wedding to try to find them. His loyal deputies would not let him down; they insisted they were going with him.

      And if they had not been with him, he'd have stayed away much longer. But in the end, good sense weighed out. He couldn't stay gone forever; he was going to have to go home and deal with his wife. He had to accept it. To be honest, it wasn't her—there was nothing distinctly wrong with her. He had to admit her pint-sized package had fit nicely over his lap.

      Wait! Where had that thought come from? Perhaps from the fact that he thought it every time they were near each other for more than two minutes. For some reason, they seemed to get right under each other's skin. Oh heavens, that put another picture in his head. He'd like to be under her in a different position—damn it, his breeches were starting to feel way too snug!

      Celia acted and responded completely different than any of the women he'd grown up around, not that there were many, but she had these ideas about things and got this determined look in her eyes. Then, if it was you she'd set her sights on, she'd lock those blue eyes on you and fire away. It proved quite obvious she needed a protector.

      In the fast growing city of Denver, men outnumbered women grossly, so a lot of the men behaved like animals. Celia, with her act-first-think-later behavior, would have the riff-raff lining up for a chance to have at her, not to mention in the classroom, with students who had run the last teacher right out of town in the middle of the school year (even if there might have been good cause for his dismissal).

      Celia's and Jackson's first meeting had been reason enough for her to need some looking after, and if she had been his wife then, she'd have received a whipping sure to instill some safety measures in her.

      His mother ran the boarding house where the superintendent had arranged for the new school teacher to stay. When Jackson had come home, he'd found his mother in quite a state because Celia had been gone most of the afternoon, the sun had set by then, and still she hadn't come back.

      The city's streets were no place for a lady after nightfall, no matter her age or position. So their worry was not ill-placed, and Jackson had gone out looking for the young miss right away. Even his sister Susanna wouldn't walk home after dark if Byron or Jackson weren't there to escort her. Jackson and the deputies did their best to keep the criminals off the streets, but it was a huge undertaking in a city of that size, with the number of saloons and brothels and then with all of the miners and ranchers, too.

      Well, Jackson was more than relieved to find the little dove safe and sound and covered in enough dust to make an elephant sneeze. Her sleeves had been rolled up past her elbows and her dress, which he assumed had been a pristine white at one time, looked as though she'd lain right down in the middle of the road and a whole team of stage coach horses had made their way over her—twice. The teacher's desk on top of which she stood had been moved, perhaps so she could reach the wall, and she was cleaning the cobwebs or some such out of the corner. His presence must've startled her because when he called out to her, she nearly jumped right out of her dress. But she composed herself quickly, he'd give her that.

      She spun around and hopped to the floor, as nimble as a cat, brushing at her skirt and sending plumes of dust into the air as she spoke. "Excuse me, I'm not fit to meet anyone yet. I got caught up in cleaning and I didn't hear you come in. My name is Miss Celia Whitman; I'm the new teacher." Her pink tongue darted out to wet her heart-shaped