What is it about cowboys?
There’s nothing quite like stating the obvious, but we might as well get it out of the way from the beginning: There has always been a Western mystique.
Right from the very beginning the Wild West drew the imagination. It was such a powerful draw, in fact, that it rousted the ambitious right out of their comfortable east coast beds and convinced them to load not all their stuff but only what was most important to them and travel by foot, horse, oxen and covered bone-jarring wagon across thousands of roadless miles, braving incredible hardship, injury, starvation, wild animals and angry Indians, just on the off-chance that they might eke out a better life for themselves in the vast and untamed West. The Wild West. The mind boggles. Most mornings, I can barely be rousted out of bed to walk ten feet down the hall to the coffee maker.
It was a journey that took months (under the best traveling conditions) and a year or more at worst. And for what? At the end of that long, unpaid vacation, what did they find? A quiet place to settle, sure, but no house (because guess who was supposed to build that?). But it was worse than that. In the beginning, there weren’t towns. There weren’t doctors or hospitals, or supermarkets, police, judges, courthouses, or even laws, and there were absolutely no guarantees. There was nothing…but what they made for themselves. But people still did it. They did it in droves and not just from the east coast, they came from everywhere all over the world. The British, the Irish, the Chinese, Germans, Norweigans, Swedes–everybody. The draw of the potential of life in the West was that strong.
Maybe that’s what draws us still. The idea that someone could be so strong, so confident and sure of their own capabilities that they would give up every creature comfort they had, risking life and limb to make that journey, to sleep on the ground, to play with cows, guns and outlaws all day, and at night come home to nothing but a short, squat, one-room and windowless cabin, insulated with mud, blood and the sweat of their own hands, and ofttimes to a supper of coffee and beans and only what company a sky full of wide-open stars could provide. What in that do we find so incredibly romantic? I lived in a travel trailer once and my husband eats beans all the time. Trust me, there’s nothing romantic about it! And yet, the image endures.
Well, okay….maybe not the bean image, but all the rest endures. And not just in this day and age, but it was a romantic image at the time! We loved those early settlers so much we’ve made movies about them, composed ballads to them, wrote book after book after book about the miners, the mountain men, the fur trappers, the cavalry, the lone sheriff standing up against incredible odds with nothing but a six-gun and the conviction of his unwavering principles, the cowboys and the Indians, the cowboys and the outlaws, the cowboys and more cowboys, and oh, how we love our cowboys. From the tops of their well-worn hats, to their work-rough hands, to their dusty jeans, chaps and the jangle of each spur on their boots, we love them. Despite all their flaws, maybe even in spite of them. We love them so much that even now, over a hundred years beyond the death of the cowboys’ heyday, we still hunger to feel the strength of those work-rough hands touching us. We want to taste the sun in their kiss, smell the dust and horse and sweat clinging to their skin, and experience all we can of whatever untamed passion surely drove that kind of man to endure all the hardships cowboys just naturally endured.
We just want to experience it without first having to pick their socks up off the coffee table and preferably from the warm comfiness of our beds, propped up on a mountain of pillows with a latte on the nightstand and maybe even a slice of pizza in one hand. Pepperoni and jalapeno, because that’s about as rough as I like it to get these days.
I freely admit, my first love has always been the quintessential cowboy and when it comes to cowboys in bed, baby, I like it with the spurs on.
Can he force himself to arrest the girl he remembers or will he lose his heart in rescuing the woman she’s become?
From the moment Rebekah McTavish meets the beautiful, cultured Madame Jewel, she has but one dream. She wanted nothing more than to get a job at The Red Petticoat Saloon and don the coveted red petticoat worn by Jewel’s gems. She discovers that getting hired is the easy part—who knew that Jewel’s partner, has a tendency to frown upon gems who break the rules.
Jebidiah Justice spent much of his youth avoiding the little red-head. Even his constant threats to tan her hide did nothing to sway the little pest to better behavior. Now, as the sheriff of Culpepper Cove, avoidance is no longer possible. On the night he catches her red-handed breaking and entering, he has to make a choice. Can he force himself to arrest the girl he remembers or will he lose his heart in rescuing the woman she’s become?
Rebekah becomes Ruby, the newest gem at the saloon, finding a home and a sense of family she craves. The only thing standing between her and her red petticoat is a man who refuses to call her anything but Red and warns her that if she puts so much as a pinky toe on those stairs, the only red thing under her skirts will be the hue he paints across her backside. And, this time, she had a feeling that he isn’t just threatening.
Will the two leave the past behind and make a future together or will their chance of happiness be taken away?
DISCLAIMER: This book includes the spanking of adult women and explicit sexual scenes including anal play. If these offend you, please do not purchase this book.
“Thank you, I-I guess I’ll um, go now.”
“We’ll go,” Jewel corrected, holding out her hand.
“Oh,” Rebekah said, unsure of exactly how to respond and yet felt a sense of relief at her words. While it would be horrible to get a spanking, perhaps with Jewel in the room, Mr. Gabe wouldn’t spank her too hard.
Once inside, Jewel released her hand. “Go on,” she said. “Remember what Mr. Gabe said.”
Nodding, Rebekah went to her bed and with a final glance over her shoulder, she sank to her knees. Mr. Gabe must not have been far off because within a few minutes, the door opened and she just knew he was standing behind her. She shut her eyes, her acknowledgment of her position flooding through her. There was no attempt at fantasizing she was on her knees in prayer—well, not for a proper prayer. She was pretty sure God wouldn’t be too interested in any plea for leniency. Not when she’d repeatedly cursed and lied. No, it was more likely he was nodding his head in approval of a sin being confessed and a naughty girl making her penance with a spanking.
Still, she didn’t need vision to know that the man who would be doing the spanking had taken a seat on her bed.
“Look at me, Rebekah,” he said softly. When she forced herself to obey, he continued. “Tell me why I’m going to give you a spanking.”
Wondering if this was the discussion he’d mentioned earlier, she discovered she didn’t like it. Spanking was one thing, being forced to actually discuss it seemed a much worse price to pay; as if she were actually participating in her own punishment.
“It’s important that we discuss the reason why you are on your knees, little one,” he said, his voice calm and nothing in his countenance speaking of anger.
“I-I lied to you and Madame Jewel about my age,” she managed.
Author for Blushing Books. I write both contemporary erotica and historical spanking romances. I enjoy writing about characters that enjoy the provocative D/S lifestyle of today’s times as well as taking a step back into the past to write stories that take place in the Victorian era with age-play as a theme.
I live in the great Lone Star state with my wonderful husband. I have always loved reading. Growing up in a family with four children, it was difficult finding a place to be alone. I was probably one of the squeakiest clean girls on the planet as I would spend hours in the tub so I could read without being bothered. It wasn’t long before I began to make up my own endings to the books I was reading. From there, it just seemed natural to begin writing my own stories.
I never try to restrict myself to any one genre because there are just too many delicious possibilities out there and inside my head. I admit to being somewhat of a romantic though as my stories always must have a great deal of love, passion, corporal discipline and, of course, great, mind-blowing sex. I want my readers to be able to see, hear, feel and know the characters that I’m creating as well as I do when I bring them to life and transfer their stories to paper. I want my women to be strong of character but also strong enough to know that submission given in love and trust to your partner does not make you weaker, it makes you far stronger. I want my men to be sexy, strong, demanding alpha males who know how to take what they want while acknowledging it is a gift they have been blessed with by the women that have chosen to submit to them. I want there to be no doubt that they truly would die for the other no matter how others might view their relationship.
Follow her on Twitter: https://twitter.com/_Maggie_Ryan
Don’t miss these exciting titles by Maggie Ryan and Blushing Books!