Elizabeth and her Vaquero
What was the matter with me? Elizabeth thought to herself as she walked slowly down the dirt road. How could I have been so stupid?
She had followed a sign saying GAS and an arrow pointed down a desolate road in the middle of the desert. Being low on gas meant by the time she found the derelict and abandoned station her gas tank had run completely dry, just like the surroundings she now found herself in. On top of all that she had forgotten to recharge her cell phone and only had one bottle of water with her, she had drank the last of that a few hours ago.
The sun beat relentlessly on her head making it feel like it was boiling her brains inside.
Elizabeth sat down alongside the long road to rest. Had she taken the wrong way when she came to that turn-off awhile back? She looked out into the sizzling landscape. Should have stayed with the car? Then, in the near distance a shape appeared slowly, moving across her line of sight. Oh thank God! It looked like a horse and a rider. Quickly she yelled and waved, she knew in her heart that if she did not manage to get this person's attention now, she was a dead woman.
Elizabeth stuck fingers from both hands in her front teeth and whistled three sharp whistles, the signal for someone in trouble. Squinting again she saw the horse stop. Three more whistles as loud as she could, now the horse and rider were turning, starting to come towards her.
As the horse came nearer she saw it was a Paint horse, dark brown patches on a body of pure white, and there was a man riding it. A tall man wearing a wide sombrero type of hat. She could soon see he was wearing strange clothing, A long sleeved light buckskin shirt and chaps with what looked to her like hair on them. Well maybe he was one of those people who re-enacted history. They had clubs and events and did stuff all the time right? Why he was way out here was beyond her, she could care less. She needed this man to survive this day and to see the next and she knew it. Thankful for whatever help he may be able to offer her, no reason to ask questions at a time like this.
Elizabeth look up at him, blinded by the sun even with her sunglasses on. "Sir! Sir, can you help me? I am out of gas and have no way to call for help. Do you have a cell phone I can borrow?"
The big man looks down at this strange creature, wondering what in the world she's doing way out in these parts. Phone? What's she gibbering about? He decides to shake his head no.
Obviously this woman needs help. All he can do is take her to water and shelter now. He moves the horse up next to her, looks in her bright green eyes and reaches down for her arm. He looks at her harder and motions with his chin towards the back of the horse.
Realizing her options are quite limited Elizabeth reaches up grabs the stranger's forearm then takes a big step back and jumps. He swings her behind him and onto the horse's rump with ease.
Wrapping her arms around his waist, she feels him nudge the horse with his foot and they turn and ride into the vast desert landscape. On and on they ride, weaving into canyons and climbing back up the ridges. After awhile, the sun sets in a blaze of oranges, reds, and streaking yellow flame.
Now she smells him, a mix of sweat, leather, horse and male smells blending, mixing with the evening air, intoxicating her, filling her with a strange primordial lust for this man. Her breasts rub against his back in rhythm with the horse's stride. The closeness, the smell, all combine to make her clit throb between her legs.
Elizabeth wonders where he came from and why is he dressed so funny. Well that did not matter right now. She's too tired to think about it so she lays her head against his back and closes her eyes. Finally after the sun is way below the horizon the two riders reach a cluster of huge boulders forming a semi circle of shelter and shade. Elizabeth sees in front of them a hump in the earth about thirty-five feet wide and as long. A crooked tin chimney pokes out one side, the roof looks to be made of straw and clay. Two openings with what looked like translucent animal skins stretched over them serving as windows and in the front center of the hump, an opening and a few steps down to a door below ground level. A tiny paddock with a shack off to the side of the boulders must be where the horse was kept.
Tying the horse to the hitching post he helps the woman off the back and leads her down the steps and into a big dark room under ground . He lights a candle, nods his head toward a chair and leaves out the door and up the steps to care for his animal. Elizabeth looks around and sees a bucket with a dipper hung on it. Water! She rises from her chair and goes to the bucket. Dipping out the cool, fresh water, she drinks deeply. Oh how good, wet and wonderful it tastes. She feels it hydrating her whole body.
Juan Dos Ablos walked down the steps and into the door. He hung his hackamore on a hook on the wall, set his saddle over a stool and turned to look at her. Long golden red hair hangs in tangles from her red glowing face.
Her long white skirt belted around a slim waist, she is tall. He feels his manhood rising at the look of her. It's been so long since he has felt a woman's touch, her body close to his.
Seven long years since he lost his woman to Indian attack. He shakes his head to erase the painful memory springing up into his mind. The horrible way they left her body for him to find. The hate and fury he felt, then the loneliness of it, his emptiness inside. He must not think of it now. Not now. No.
Elizabeth looks into his deep brown eyes, wrinkles scrunching up in the corners. As she does so, she also feels the heat in her loins. She wants him. Strange. This is so strange. She sees nothing in the little home that is even close to being modern, it's as though she has stepped into a forgotten time and space. She is dazed from the riding and the sun. She must rest. Elizabeth motions to him, her hands together and alongside her ear, bending her head.
He know what this means. Yes she must be very tired. He suddenly picks her up and carries her over to the corner, to where a bed made of manzanita branches and rope for webbing sits. Thick Indian blankets make up the mattress. He gently lays her down on it, brushing the hair from her eyes. He moves to the foot of the bed and takes off her boots. She smiles up at him.
Juan leaves her there and goes to the tiny wood stove on the far wall, throwing kindling into it he lights it. Putting a kettle on to boil then adding some scraps of brush wood to the flames, he closes the door and turns the dampener down a bit. Juan reaches up on a shelf and pulls down a burlap sack of beans, dumps some into a pot, adds water a dash of salt and sets that pot on the stove also. Then he sits to take his boots off, drinks from the bucket and rolls a smoke, taking the tobacco from his pouch he carries around his neck. He sits back and breaths in the rich strong smoke.
Where has she come from? Why was she way out there alone? Why does she have to be so lovely to look at? What would he do with her now? His tired brain rejected the questions and he gave up trying to come up with the answers. He added more wood to the fire. He puts a lid on the bean pot and set it further back on the stove. He closed the dampener all but a tiny bit and then picked up the kettle, k
poured the warm water into a china basin and washed the grime from his face and neck and hands. She watched him from her sleepy eyes moving about in the shadows of the candle. She was asleep in a few minutes. Thinking of him.
Juan drops his pants on the floor next to the bed and removes his shirt. With all the scorpions running in and out of his little abode all the time, he dare not sleep on the floor.
He slides his lean body in next to hers and pulls a blanket over them. Oh, he was not ready for this, not expecting to have his cock immediately spring to life and grow hard under the covers. He thought he could control it, keep it from having a mind of it's own. But the smell of her, the feel of her warmth touching him was too much. Too much to handle or think he could control his reaction to.
