Sweet Talking Lawman
Read Sweet Talking Lawman Online
Authors: M.B. Buckner
None
of the characters in this book have any existence outside the imagination of
the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names,
either living or deceased. They are not even distantly inspired by any
individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure fiction.
Except
for the use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in
whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now
known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording,
or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the
written permission of the publisher.
Please
acknowledge the endless hours of work that goes into the development of this or
any other copyrighted book you read by respecting the author’s ownership.
Copyright by
MB Buckner ©
Dedication
Without
the unending support of my husband this book would not exist. Like the
heroes in my books, DH is strong, dependable, determined and my best
friend. He is a constant source of information, sometimes surprising me
with bits and pieces of knowledge that I had no idea he possessed.
Love
ya, babe! And here’s to the next 44.
I’d
also like to thank my proof readers; thank you so much ladies; in alphabetical
order, Debbie, Karen, Linda Ann and Mary Sue. You ladies made this so
much easier for me. I truly appreciate each of you.
A note from the author
I
hope you enjoy reading
Sweet Talking Lawman
as much as I enjoyed writing
it.
I
know the dropped
g
at the end of many
of the words will bother some people, and maybe I should apologize for that,
but being a proud Southerner, I won’t. That’s just the way we talk.
At
some point in the book, Mesa takes over the training of a young horse named,
To,
(pronounced, doh.) In the language of
the Lokata people that means blue. In order to distinguish
To
from
to
in the rest of the book,
I have assigned the color blue when referring to the animal’s name, just like I
did in this note.
Uci
(pronounced, uhn-chee) is the Lakota word for Grandmother and is often used by
non-related people as a term of respect or affection. Wasicu (pronounced
wah-shee-chue) is another Lakota word I’ve used and it refers to white
people. Wakan (pronounced, wah-kahn) is also a Lakota word I’ve borrowed
and translated, it means sacred, or holy.
Raale’s
dialogue was based on the speech pattern of my own granddaughter when she was
about that age, and some days it was more correct than other days, depending on
who she’d been spending time with.
Sweet
Talking Lawman
was
not written to be a sequel to my previous novel,
Sweet Talking Cowboy
.
Growing up in the South, I often heard alpha type men who were popular with
women referred to as sweet talkers, thus the use of those words in the
titles. By the way, I married a sweet talking southern man and we’re
still happy after 44 years. If you enjoy this book, please be so kind as
to leave a review so others will know your reaction to reading it.
Thank you,
MB Buckner
Sweet Talking Lawman
by M.B. Buckner
The day had been long and
exhausting. Thankfully her mother had been practically sober during the
graduation service at the Big Oak High School in Oak Ridge but Mesa was sure
that sobriety had ended along with the ceremony.
Mesa always tried to portray
herself as being a typical teenage girl when she appeared in public or even
just with her friends, but her reality was a different story.
It was still early when Uci
and Jenny dropped her off at her house and she stood on the big front porch
watching them drive away, one hand lifted in a silent good-bye. Just down
the hill, behind the cavernous barn a horse nickered and back in the woods east
of the house, an owl called, warning all that his hunting hours had
arrived. Mesa dreaded going inside. It was much more pleasant out
here listening to the sounds of the night settling in around her. Out
here, things were normal, the way God had designed them to be. Inside was
anger, resentment, drunkenness, hopelessness, lust and when she entered, fear
would accompany her. A breeze stirred and for a moment the oppressive
heat of summer shifted and she turned her face into the gentle movement and
smiled. That breeze was to summer what the Storm Horse family was to her
life, a refreshing touch of something normal and welcome, pushing away the
dread and fear that was her reality.
Mesa gave a final wave as
Jenny and Uci drove away. She was thankful they had included her in their
celebration and provided her a ride home, but as she pushed open the front door
of the big house, she breathed in a sense of trepidation.
She’d completely given up
hope that Shirley would ever quit drinking. It had started right after
Mesa’s father died and intensified into a daily, out of control ritual.
The girl glanced at the stairs as she pushed the door shut. Up those
steps and in the master bedroom, she knew her mother would, by now, be passed
out and existing in the realm of alcohol induced slumber. Until most of
the effects of her binge wore off it wasn’t likely that she would awaken.
Slipping in silence up the
stairs, Mesa was careful to avoid putting her feet in the places which would
result in an audible squeak. She hoped with everything in her heart, that
Melvin, her mother’s current live in boyfriend was likewise passed out.
Since the day he moved in, he’d had shown an inappropriate interest in her.
Mesa once mentioned that
interest to her mother who’d laughed and called her a liar and then made the
situation worse by discussing it in front of Melvin. From that point on,
he’d ignored her in Shirley’s presence, but became bolder when he encountered
Mesa alone.
With a breath of relief, she
slipped through the door of her room and soundlessly closed and locked it
behind her. Moving confidently around the familiar room in the darkness,
she placed the few mementoes of her high school graduation on her dresser and
prepared to undress. She heard a sound from the darkened room behind her
and whirled around, her heart slamming against her ribs as Melvin materialized
out of the shadows of her open closet.
“I’m damned glad you finally
got home, girl,” he slurred. “I was gettin’ tired of waitin’ on you.”
Mesa’s eyes stretched wide
when she realized he was naked as the day he was born, as he crossed the room
toward her. She gasped. “Stay away from me! Uncle Rance will
kill you if yo---,”
He grinned drunkenly.
“I got somethin’ special to give you for your graduation.” He fondled his
turgid organ and thrust his hips toward her provocatively. “I’m gonna
give you all of this, little girl, and there ain’t nobody gonna stop me.”
Panic threatened to choke
Mesa before he finally stopped; his body nearly touching hers, the smell of his
musky sweat, his disgusting lust and stale alcohol breathe causing terror to
close her throat. She tried to twist away and slapped futilely at his
hands as they reached for her and hauled her against him.
Mesa moaned as fear that
seemed stuck in her throat threatened to choke her. He intended to rape
her and there was no one around to help. She turned her head to one side
as he tried to capture her mouth. “No,” she managed to plead.
“Please, no.” She pushed against his hairy chest until he caught her
hands and forced them behind her and then he captured them in one large paw and
held them painfully tight.
His other hand slipped over
her buttocks, forcing her hips against his engorged arousal. “You’re
gonna like it,” he growled. “But not as much as me. I been saving
this up just for you.”
He pushed her body back
against the dresser, holding her there with his body, his hands now free to
wander over her body, grasping at her breasts and pushing between her legs, totally
ignoring her slaps and her hands pushing against his bare chest.
Tears slipped unnoticed down
her cheeks and she struggled weakly against his unwanted groping of her
inexperienced body. “I’ll scream,” she sobbed, managing at last to speak
around the lump of panic in her throat.
He chuckled. “Go
ahead. Shirley’s plastered and will never hear you. I made sure of
it.”
Mesa slapped him and her head
snapped backward when he slapped her in retaliation.
“You want it rough?
Fine by me, it just makes me hotter.” By now, he’d ripped open the front
of her best dress and shoved her bra up leaving her young breasts bare.
His hand closed over one naked mound and she screamed. He grunted as he
pulled her with him across the room to the bed and shoved her back down to the
mattress. She screamed again as he forced one knee between her legs and
forced them apart. “I’m gonna have me some of that,” he grunted, his hand
plunging below the front of her dress, not caring that it ripped open entirely
down past the waistline. He pushed his hand still lower, past the band of
her panties.
Mesa’s fury unexpectedly
obscured her fear. This drunken slob intended to rape her and there no
one but her to prevent it. If she allowed this to happen, she’d never get
over it! She didn’t know how empowering anger was, until now. With
her nails, she clawed at his face and when he raised up, one of her hands shot
downward and fastened on his testicles. Desperately, she fisted her hand
firmly around his sensitive gonads, knowing this might be her only means of
escape.
He screamed as she tightened
her grip, squeezing his sensitive organs hard and the slap she received nearly
knocked her out. He cursed, releasing her as he sat back on the bed,
examining his delicate, excruciating scrotum cautiously.
Lifting one leg, she shoved
it roughly into his naked chest, pushing him back and as he fell to the floor,
she scrambled off the bed and tried to bolt, but the locked door slowed her.
Melvin caught her and pulled
her back. “I ought to beat you senseless,” he muttered and began dragging
her back to the bed. When he turned her to face him again, she never
hesitated. She drew one knee up into his groin with every bit of power
she could muster and shoved against his chest with strength borne of
desperation. He cried out again and stumbled back again. Never a
graceful being, he was impaired by his drunkenness and his feet tangled
together, causing him to fall backward, his head striking the corner of her
dresser with enough force to make a loud cracking sound. Panicked again,
Mesa fought the lock on the door and jerked it open. Only then did she
realize he was still laying on the floor, soundless and still. She
hesitated when she turned and looked at him. No movement! No
sound! No sign of life!
“Oh my..,” she groaned,
watching to see if any rise and fall of his chest would suggest he was still
breathing. From this distance, she couldn’t tell and the thought of
moving closer terrified her. She watched from as close as she dared and saw
no movement. Her heart constricted. He was dead! She had
killed Melvin! In her mind she saw her mother pointing a rigid finger at
her and the word murderer swirled in her head, her breath coming in short
gasps. She couldn’t stay here! Moving with as much speed as her
trembling hands allowed, she rushed to her closet, snatched clothes off hangers
and jammed them into a small overnight bag she kept for her week-ends at
Jenny’s house. She snatched the destroyed dress off and frantically
pulled on jeans and a tee shirt.
Thoughts of Jenny filled her
mind. She wanted to tell her friend what happened, but if she did that,
one thing would lead to another and Uci would insist she stay with them until
this mess could be cleared up. Cleared up? Her own mother would be
the first to accuse her. She couldn’t stay here and end up in
prison. She shook her head negatively. As much as she wanted to
tell Jenny, she couldn’t involve her friend in this.
Panic coursing through her
heart, she looked around the room she’d occupied her entire life. She had
to go! Go where? Away was all that mattered right now. Away
from Oak Ridge, away from everything and everyone she knew, and away from
having killed a man. After she snatched up the guitar that her father had
taught her to play, she took the overnight bag and eased out the door.
She took one last look at Melvin’s still form on the floor; her heart dropped
when she saw a dark stain forming from the wound on the back of his head.
Mesa crept quietly into her
mother’s room, although she didn’t understand why she thought she needed to be
silent. Neither her screams nor her fight with Melvin had aroused her
mother from the drunken stupor that imprisoned her in the bed. Mesa
decided the quiet was to assuage her own guilt for ransacking her mother’s
purse and pockets for any cash she found. She managed to find a couple of
hundred dollars and the keys to her mother’s SUV, but when she came across
Melvin’s wallet on her mother’s dresser, she didn’t hesitate to take the five
one hundred-dollar bills she found in it. After what he’d put her
through, he owed it to her.
She’d killed him only while
defending herself and from now on, she wouldn’t allow herself to feel any
guilt. She stuffed the wad of bills into the pocket of her jeans.
Out in the hallway, she
picked up the overnight bag and the guitar and hurried down the steps.
When she pulled the front door closed behind her, she allowed herself a last
look around. She’d grown up here, on this ranch. The Rocking H had
always been her home and she loved it. As a child, she’d been happy
here. Back then Shirley had actually been a caring mother. Back
then before her daddy got killed and her mother had gotten lost in
alcohol. She looked down toward the huge barn, back toward the lake where
Uncle Rance was sleeping in his tiny cabin. She was tempted to go to him
for help, but murder was something no one could protect her from. She
couldn’t involve those people she loved and that didn’t leave her a lot of
options. She slipped her meager belongings into the SUV and drove to the
interstate where she parked it at a truck stop, leaving the keys in the
ignition. Splurging for a cab, she asked to be taken to the bus station
and once there she purchased a ticket east. Mesa left her childhood
behind.
