Miss Bea and the Blacksmith

By Deirdre O'Dare

Bea McIntyre fell for an old scheme and ended up the mistress -- or actually, the sex slave -- of a dissolute rancher named Murdock. Escaping in the middle of the night with only a few small treasures, she has no real plan except to get away.

When her mare bruises a hoof, Bea winds up at the blacksmith shop of Angus O’Toole. All she can offer him for his help is herself, but he seems to be satisfied with that bargain.

When Murdock sends his hired guns after her, things get dicey. But Bea is no hothouse flower. Between her and Angus, they heat up the days and nights, yet will they also triumph over the black hats?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Mar 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685500832

Deirdre O'Dare

Deirdre writes gay romance channeling a prior life’s gay male twin she calls Danny. Fascinated by love’s diverse shades and guises, she explores and experiences a range of attachments. She still believes in happily ever after, that Love is the One True Thing and genuine Love is never wrong. For more information, visit deirdredares.blogspot.com.

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Chapter 1

Vista Valle, Arizona Territory

May, 1889

Bending low over her mount’s neck, Beatrice McIntyre urged the black mare on, driving her to run, heedless of unseen obstacles. She knew she risked a bad fall in the dark. At this point, she didn’t care. Almost from her arrival, she’d been thinking about escaping. Tonight, with Michael Murdoch away and the crew engrossed in spring roundup, had delivered her best opportunity to put a vague plan into action.

Cat claw mesquite branches slashed at her face. Although she heard the tearing sounds as they ripped her dress with their wicked hooked thorns, she ducked her head, forging on. In a few minutes, she’d be in the creek, where the mare’s hooves would leave no tracks to be followed. Then she could slow down, but not before, just in case anyone decided to come after her.

The next thing she knew, she was plunging down a steep bank. The mare hunched with her hindquarters tucked down in an effort to keep from tumbling heels over head. Bea clutched the saddle horn, leaning back as far as she could. The high cantle of the old Mexican saddle gouged into her spine to keep her more or less erect.

The sudden splash startled her. They’d reached the creek. Oh, thank God and all the saints!

She reined Blackbird in as the mare floundered forward in the muddy water. For a frightful instant, she thought they were both going down. Then the mare found her footing and slowed to a walk. It took Bea a moment to get her bearings. When she decided downstream was to her left, she turned in that direction.

They won’t catch me now. Maybe she shouldn’t gloat so soon, but intuition told her she’d be close to Verde Bend by morning, before anyone should miss her. Mama Rosa, the ranch cook, slept deeply after her nightly session with a jug of mescal, while none of the hands except Dan Darkwell, the foreman, ever went inside the big house.

At the thought of Darkwell, Bea shivered purely reflexively. Something about the small, dark man gave her a creepy feeling. Mama would have said, A goose walked over your grave. She never quite understood what that meant, but it sounded grim.

Although Darkwell rarely spoke to her, his flat black eyes followed her, especially when Murdoch was not around. Still, with the roundup to direct, he should be far too busy to worry about his boss’s mistress. Most of the cowboys went to town to whoop it up as often as they could. Not Darkwell. She wondered just what his secret or vice might be.

Murdoch’s mistress. The title sat bitter on her tongue. Even worse were the coarser terms: slut, whore, harlot, cheap cunt, and so on. What a fool she’d been, answering that advertisement in the Denver Post six months ago. The notice’s sly wording hinted at marriage, followed by a life of ease on a ranch in Arizona. At the time, it had seemed a godsend when her father’s sudden demise had left her stranded and nearly penniless in the brawling Colorado capital. She had jumped at the offer, taking the stage south to Santa Maria, New Mexico and from there on over to Verde Bend as soon as Murdoch wired her the fare.

Harsh reality hit only after she was safely ensconced in the big adobe hacienda at the Three Sixes Ranch, well caught in Murdoch’s web. Then she discovered there was no chance of the promised ring and ceremony. She was a virtual slave. Although she lived in reasonable comfort, catering to Michael Murdoch’s twisted tastes left her feeling defiled.

Far from the handsome young rancher she had pictured, he was over fifty, running to fat, and fond of his whiskey. Her innocence vanished in a flash, leaving behind a weary, cynical shadow of the girl she had been.

Almost