Free Over the Barrel by Breanna Hayse

closed her eyes.   Her bottom both burned and itched something awful.   "I don't hate you.   I don't know how I feel about you right
now.   This confusion is
disquieting."
    "Confusion
is normal, my girl.   Being a tad
drunk does not help.   Close your
eyes for a bit while we wait for the blacksmith to bring us the wagon."
    Blair's eyes
widened at the sight of the simple board haycart that the blacksmith left
outside the stables.   The seats were
plain, cushionless benches of sun-bleached wooden boards set on rigid wood
beams, and it was well-stocked, with enough supplies to last the remainder of
their trip.
    "We are
going to ride in this?" she choked out.   "This is not a stagecoach or even a
proper travel carriage!"
    Sloan bit
back a smile, "Yes ma'am, we are riding in this.   It is nice and sturdy.   Perfect for the road ahead.   Let's harness up Skinwalker and cross
our fingers that he doesn't fly a kick out at us and bust anything."
    "But
Sloan, I can't …" Blair eyed the hard seats distastefully.   "Could we perhaps get a pillow or
two?"
    "For
what?" Sloan asked, slyly.
    Blair
blushed and looked at the ground.   "I suppose that if I told you how much my back section hurt, that
wouldn't change your mind to help me get padding of some sort, would it?"
    "Nope."
    "Not
even if I asked very nicely and said please?"
    "Nope."
    "This
is so cruel."
    "You
earned yourself a cherry-red bottom, Squirrel, and now you are going to sit on
it and think about what brought you to this place in your life.   Up you go."
    Blair
groaned as he placed his hands around her slender waist and lifted her onto the
sideboard.   "Must we leave
now?   I'm hungry" she said,
tenderly seating herself on the uneven bench.
    "Basket
of food is waiting for us down the road," Sloan said, hitching Skinwalker
to the wagon.   He paused to sternly
look at her.   "Are we going to
have a pleasant trip together, young lady?"
    "Yes,
sir," Blair sighed warily.
    "Good
girl.   All righty now, off we
go."
    "Fine.   And, for your information, you said 'my
woman'."
    Sloan
grunted in return, earning a slight smile from his companion.

    "I must
say, I am very pleased about the extent you are exercising
self-restraint," Sloan commented, about an hour into their journey.   The road was heavily pitted, and the
wagon had no springs to lessen the uncomfortable bouncing as it plowed over
rocks and through sun-hardened gullies left by spring runoff.
    "I am
doing my best to refrain from complaining.   After all," Blair gritted her teeth as they traversed another set
of ruts.   "You were determined
that I feel the reminders of my disobedience and foolishness."
    "That
is true.   Here," he handed her
the reins as he reached behind the bench.   "Use this."
    Blair's
mouth fell open as he offered her a thin cushion.   "Truly?
    "Yes.   I believe in rewarding good behavior as
much as disciplining for bad."
    "Thank
you," Blair said, quickly sliding the pillow under her aching
backside.   It did little to protect
her throbbing hindquarters against the bouncing of the wagon beneath her, but
it did lessen the direct impact of hard, grooved wood against her bottom.   "Would you like me to prepare
something for you from the food basket?   You must be hungry."
    "Yes,
please.   Have you thought of what
you will be pursuing once you arrive at your grandfather Malcolm's
spread?"
    "No.   I did not realize how naïve I was until
this journey began," Blair admitted shamefully.   "Nearly all girls my age have the
knowledge to raise children, cook, clean, and sew.   I have nothing of import to offer
anyone, not even myself."
    "Nothing?   What did you learn in your fancy
school?"
    "As
little as I could, I am ashamed to admit.   I can speak French, am good with numbers, and know how to manage servants.   Besides being a governess or a
schoolmarm, I am not equipped to do anything of worth.   Neither of those professions hold any
interest for me."
    "You
already set forth