Chocko
by Sonarflash2026
Copyright© 2026 by Sonarflash2026
Western Sex Story: Bryan ‘Chocko’ Mahony, part Apache, part Irish and mostly mean, flees into the dunes when accused of murder. He stumbles upon a starving, blind girl hiding in a cave beside an artesian spring. They form an unlikely bond, unravelling a murderous conspiracy to take over her family ranch.
Caution: This Western Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Crime Western Oral Sex Petting .
Almost delirious from blasting heat, Bryan ‘Chocko’ Mahony dismounted. His boot slipped on a dune face and he staggered, tumbled and slid out of control. Brought up against fallen rocks next to a clump of cholla, he felt the bite of silvery spears and cursed. The fugitive struggled free, pushing up, glad he was wearing gloves, jerking cacti pads off portions of his anatomy not protected by leather chaps. He growled out a vile oath. Finally, with one last string of profanity, he skirted more cholla, then a patch of barrel cacti. He left behind nasty cactus spears, finally sliding down to granite bedrock.
Almost immediately, the welcome darkness and cool of a cavern wrapped about the fugitive. Despite the fire of cacti punctures, he started to relax. Far back in limestone sandwiched between granite and sandstone, there was an artesian tank in the cavern. Overflow water vanished, simply absorbed by the dunes. Hidden beneath a thick, overhanging shelf of yellow sandstone, it was called ‘Sometime Spring’. Now, it offered welcome relief from the dunes. When hairs prickled at the back of his neck, Chocko removed the glove from his left hand, settling fingers on the butt of his forty-four Smith & Wesson revolver. The outlaw remained still, blinking sun-dazzled eyes. He stared uncomprehendingly. Despite being parched and desperate for water, his attention turned from the roiling pool to the figure well back in a dark niche in the limestone.
Hardly visible, a small shape huddled in a pocket back from the tank. Silent and small and somewhat ragged, the petite girl was obviously aware of him. He puzzled that his ignominious arrival and loud curses hadn’t elicited more of a reaction. Then, he saw the muzzle of a big Colt revolver wedged between her drawn up knees. Clutched steadily in two small hands, the big weapon was resting on folds of her grimy skirts, and the muzzle was unerringly pointed at him.
“What in hell?” Chocko snarled, stomping his boots on the wind-scoured, bald pink granite. He scowled at the girl, then turned away, unobtrusively lifting the hammer thong off his forty-four Russian. He looked around, sharp eyes sweeping the grotto. Deep, shadowy fissures and passages to other chambers further back in the stained rock might well be concealing more adversaries. For frozen moments, he tried penetrating deeper darkness beyond the spring.
Chocko had good reason to be cautious. More than a few men were on his trail. Cowboys from at least two ranches and a small posse from town were eager for a hanging. For a body with his nasty reputation, it wasn’t hard to understand why almost everybody wanted a piece of him.
‘Half-breed’ Brian Chocko Mahony was a bad man with a bad reputation, deadly accurate with pistol or rifle. He wasn’t a gun slick, no fast-draw ranny, but he had a temper and a rep. Of the many things laid to his charge, few were true and those that were had a host of embellishments.
The nightmare of his most recent transgression was quite real. The cantina whore hadn’t been his fault. He didn’t mean to shoot her. She had just gotten in the way when two men tried to gun him down. Now, the woman and both men were probably dead and he was on the run.
Only in retrospect had he recognized the Circle Z foreman. The other was Chilvers, a questionable rancher, miserable, thieving cayuse, a rustler, owner of the Lazy K spread. Chocko hadn’t waited around to answer questions. After a fast and furious ride out of town, he headed into rocky badlands, finally turning into the brutal, scorching waste of dunes. Within a few hours, his trail was lost. Chocko had allowed himself and his mount to be swallowed by the desert.
Part Apache, one-quarter Irish and three-quarters mean, Chocko was observant and a survivor. He knew the region, privy to Mescalero secrets. One was the cavern and hidden, burbling tank called ‘Sometime Spring’. More often than not, shifting dunes buried the cave mouth, temporarily obliterating the refuge. Like the artesian spring,, his sometimes Irish luck was holding, except that now, Chocko realized he wasn’t alone.
“Girl, what in blazes you doin’ har?” he demanded, eyeing her closely, making certain she was still alive. “Why in tarnation you holdin’ a gun on me?”
She said nothing, barely moving. She was, at least, breathing. At a glance, he spotted a scattering of empty tin cans, a dirty wool blanket and other items. At the girl’s side was a slender Mexican dagger. Along with the blanket was a cartridge belt and empty holster. “Why you pointin’ that iron at me? I ‘jest want a sip of water!”
The waif said nothing. Mahony saw that the Colt wasn’t cocked. In the time it took her to thumb back the hammer, he could draw and kill her, but he wasn’t about to gun down a frightened child.
“Little lady, I ain’t gonna’ hurt you. I ‘jest need some water.”
Gaunt and elfin, her Big, grey eyes regarded him dully. She still didn’t speak. Chocko eyed her and her pistol warily. Once more, he scanned cavern shadows, listening with every sense.
With a shrug, he let go the butt of his Smith and Wesson. “Well, shoot me and be damned, but at least let me swill a bit of cool water ‘fer I drop dead of dehydration!”
He stepped slowly, moving closer, dropping to his knees at the edge of the tank. He tossed off his sombrero and shed his remaining glove, noisily splashing face and neck. After rinsing out a parched mouth, he took a swallow, then splashed his face and drank more. He snorted, then dunked his entire head. When he surfaced, Chocko blew out through his nose, shook his head, then took slow sips of cold, sweet water from cupped hands.
The quiet, feminine voice almost stopped his heart. “Isn’t your horse thirsty?” the girl said tartly.
Surprised by that mellow, sweetly sarcastic voice, Chocko glanced her way. Her hands were empty, the pistol back in the holster. Thin arms were wrapped about knees covered by the skirts of a tattered gingham dress.
Chocko stared and felt a flush of embarrassment. Her quiet rebuke cut to the quick. He had forgotten about the lathered, exhausted pony. Hair dripping, he straightened and scowled his worst at the girl.
“‘Thet hoss is plenty smart, so mind ‘yer lip little girl,” he snarled. “Guess you don’t know who I am. ‘Might ‘jest take you over my knee and give you a lickin’.”
Big grey eyes met his without flinching. Mahony blinked, puzzled that she evinced neither fear nor revulsion. Disfigured by smallpox and battle scars, his ugly face and brilliant hazel eyes were often more than enough to make a potential adversary quail. Over the years he had perfected a vicious scowl with the help of mirrors. Obviously, this girl wasn’t about to be intimidated. Usually one glance was enough to make children hide behind their mother’s skirts.
“So, you’re rude, as well as vulgar and profane,” she said dryly, commenting more to herself. “Probably an outlaw? One who swills bad whiskey, then takes delight in beating women and children?”
Mahony twitched, suddenly recalling the cantina whore. Before the previous day, he had never killed a woman. Never had he considered harming a child. That this waif seemed intent on provoking him with such criticism left him feeling small and bewildered. Worse, she pricked what remained of a battered, tired conscience
Her casual rebuke about his neglected horse a nettling reminder, Mahony turned, squinting into brilliant daylight, checking the cave mouth. As expected, his canny mustang was cautiously descending the slip face, avoiding cacti and rocks at the bottom. Hooves much broader than those of a normal horse, the sand dune mustang was sure of foot. His iron shoes were soon clattering onto bedrock. In moments, the wiry mustang was dipping his muzzle into the tank and slurping up a welcome drink.
“Thar!” Chocko said defensively. “Told you he’s got sense! Got down har’ without help, and missed getting’ stuck with that damn cholla.”
He crossed to the animal, unbuckling and removing the bridle, shaking water off the reins. He loosened and dropped the girth, pulling off saddle, saddlebags and a sweat-soaked blanket. Unperturbed, ignoring Chocko, the horse continued drinking.
Chocko dumped tack and gear. Back at the entrance, he avoided cacti, pulling handfuls of bunchgrass to rub down the mustang. That done, he crossed to the girl and loomed over her. She didn’t quail, didn’t bother looking up. Neither did she reach for the big Colt. Instead, she seemed half asleep, as though absently regarding his boots.
“Who in blazes are you girl? What’s a little kid doin’ ‘out har all alone?”
A long moment of silence stretched out. She slowly tilted back her head, then seemed to be looking right through him with big grey eyes. Her lips twitched with a hint of secret mirth.
“Not that you should care, what I’m doing is dying.”
“Dying?” he blurted, taking a step back before catching himself. “What? What on earth do you mean? You sick?”
“Not sick, just starving,” she replied, smiling, cocking her head. “I gather you can talk proper English, when not trying to sound like a western ranny? Was that a hint of the Irish I detected?”
Bryan Chocko Mahony recovered, gathered himself and slipped back into western vernacular. ““I asked what yer’ doin’ har’ little miss?”
She sighed, turning her face from him, seeming to stare out the cave mouth. “As I said, I’m starving.”.”
“But, why? How’d you get har’?” Mahony asked cautiously.
She drew in a deep breath and let out another sigh. “I have been sheltering here for many days. A couple of weeks. As you might have noticed, there are several empty cans. I am out of food.” She made a feeble gesture towards the dunes. “Found my way here by accident after ... after-”
“After what?” Mahony insisted quietly. Once again, there was silence. She seemed to be gathering herself, puzzling out how to answer. “Well?” he prompted. “What happened to you? How did you end up here?”
The girl shrugged slightly. “I think it was somewhere above the dunes. The road to our ranch ... runs close to the cliff. Pa picked me up from the stage. We were heading for the ranch, coming off a ridge on a switchback. I think I heard a rifle shot. Pa made a choking sound, then folded up beside me. I heard another shot and I think a bullet splintered the buckboard near me. The horses spooked. Wheel must have caught a rut. I heard a wheel breaking, then the buckboard tipped. I went flying through the air. I remember seeing stars, but don’t recall hitting my head. When I regained consciousness, there was a nasty, painful bump. It was night and I was all tangled in sagebrush. As I recall back when I could see, that area has big clumps of Palo Verde. One may have broken my fall. Obviously, landing in such thick brush saved my life.”
“The two of you were alone? What about your Pa?”
She drew a shuddering breath and shook her head. “I felt about and found the buckboard. Pa was nearby. Dead. Shot through the chest. The horses were dead too.”
“Why didn’t you head back to the road?” he prompted.
She gave a faint, weak laugh and wan smile, averting her big grey eyes. “The small matter of a cliff? And the bushwacker?” She gave a shrug. “I thought of climbing back to the road but the cliff was sheer. I guessed whoever it was thought I must be dead, so I gathered together a sack of canned goods from the ranch supplies, took pa’s pistol, knife and Winchester, then tried walking. Of course, I soon got completely disoriented, lost going up and down in the dunes. Finally dropped the rifle. After walking for a couple of nights, I thought I smelled water. That’s when I stumbled into this cave and the spring.”
“Sometimes Spring,” Mahony told her, suddenly jolted, only then registering words in the girl’s tale.
“When I could see? Felt about?” Chocko stared at her face, searching her unfocused grey eyes.
“Dammit girl! Cain’t you see?”
Her lips twiched. “One might say that,” she replied quietly. “Also starving.”
“I’ll be damned!” Chocko blurted, then turned, stomping across to his gear, opening a saddlebag, quickly pulling out hardtack biscuits, a package of dried apricots and another of venison jerky. He returned, dropping before her.
“Gawd! No wonder, with the sun and all! You’re lucky to have made it across the dunes.”
She gave a slight shrug, lifting a hand, waving towards the cave mouth. “Did you see the buckboard?”
“Sorry miss, I didn’t see anything out there,” Mahony replied, forgetting to drawl and slur his words. “You’re at least twenty miles south of that ridge road. Completely across the dunes. I’m amazed you survived. A miracle that you made it this far.”
He knelt down by her and proffered a biscuit, then flushed, remembering that she couldn’t see. He waggled the biscuit under her nose. “Eat this, but just nibble it slow. Eat too much too fast and you’ll cramp up something fierce.”
Puzzled, brows arching, she sniffed, then reached out, lightly touching his wrist. She blinked. Small, slender fingers felt over his right hand, then found the biscuit. She snatched it, opening her mouth as though about to swallow it whole. She caught herself, hesitated, then took a dainty bite.
Chocko felt his breath catch. He wasn’t easily shocked, only then realizing the full truth. This girl wasn’t just sun-dazzled. She really was totally blind.
“You cain’t see anythin’?” he prompted as she slowly chewed the small portion. “That knock on your head leave you blind? Not the sun?”
She blinked and slowly shook her head. After swallowing, she cocked an eyebrow. “You didn’t know?”
“Wal’, you told me, but it don’t seem possible!”he said with quiet awe, covertly studying her face and big eyes. Their beautiful dove grey seemed to be staring right back at him. There was no indication of her condition. There was neither caste nor cloudiness to mar them. “Your eyes don’t look, well, blind.”
She gave him a faint smile. “The blindness happened years ago. I was thirteen. The doctor thought it was caused by a brain fever, or German measles.”
“Thirteen?” he said, startled anew, shooting a glance down over her chest and hips, only then noticing the hint of a bosom. “Pardon my asking, but how old are you now?”
“Little, but certainly no girl,” she replied wanly, giving him a faint smile. “I am twenty-two, though rather small and something of a stick.”
“Ma’am, I apologize,” he said, still trying to reconcile her appearance with the statements. After a few moments, he smiled, saying, “I should have noticed. Your eyes are quite beautiful. They distracted me.”
Her brows arched... “Why thank you for that,” she said, giving him a wan smile, then took another bite from the hard, dry biscuit. After chewing for a long time, she swallowed and gestured at the spring. “If you have a cup, or could fill one of my empty peach tins, I would appreciate a drink?”
Chocko scrambled, dug out a battered enamelled cup and scooped it full of water. She took it graciously, sipped, swirled water in her mouth and swallowed. “My thanks. I was almost too weak to crawl over there.”
She gave him another smile, saying, “unless I’m mistaken, you actually sound educated, perhaps, beneath that cowboy drawl there’s a hint of culture?”
He snorted and scowled at her, then snarled, “make no mistake missy. I’m on the run, an outlaw killer. I’m terrible ugly, mean and deadly. A very bad man.”
She giggled, then commented dryly, “how very interesting,” then took another sip of water. “As a little girl, I met and flirted with several cowboys on our ranch who thought themselves terrible bad men. I’d trust my life to every one of them over the fancy Eastern ‘gentleman’ it was my misfortune to encounter.”
“I ‘shore ain’t fancy,” he rumbled, then shucked out of the pose. “For several years, I was educated by my father, sometimes with the help of a switch. He was an educated mechanical engineer. Built railroad bridges. My mother was half Mescalero Apache, half Mexican. After pa was killed in an accident, ma’s people took me in. kind of broadened my education, so to speak.”
She gave a nod, nibbled biscuit and sipped water. “But, that doesn’t make you a bad man. Dangerous, perhaps.” She gave an unconcerned shrug. “There were so-called gentlemen back east where I was attending a school for blind ladies. One in particular was charming and deceitful. He did me dirt. A truly nasty individual. You, on the other hand, seem rather direct and without guile. May I have your name?”
“Bryan,” he said after a pause, realizing his practiced scowl was of no effect. “Bryan Mahony. For some reason I never fathomed they call me Chocko.”
She sucked a breath. Her brows arched expressively. “Chocko! Well isn’t that a fascinating coincidence! I Saw you at the ranch a few times. When I was six, and again when I was nine. Pa often told me tales and even mentioned the legendary Chocko in his letters.”
“Ain’t much of a legend,” he growled, unwrapping waxed paper, pulling out a dried, honey-coated apricot. “Here’s a sweet. An apricot. Kind of sticky. You have my name. May I have yours?”
“Why of course,” she replied sweetly, setting the biscuit on her lap, accepting the apricot, nibbling off a bit. “Pardon my manners. My name is Kimberly Elaine Maddison.” She beamed a disarming, bright smile at him. “Even though you are a profane, vulgar bad man, I’d like it if you called me Kim.”
“Kim.” Mahony gritted molars and sucked a breath. “Maddison? The Circle Z Maddison’s?”
“The same,” she replied, tilting her head. “Is there something wrong with my being a Maddison?”
“Kim! Oh my gawd!” he moaned, blowing out an exasperated breath. “I don’t think you’ll want to know.”
“Know what?” she replied, grinning slightly, the bridge of her nose crinkling prettily. “I’ll bet I know. Over the years, you’ve rustled some of the Circle Z stock!”
Chocko gave a short bark of laughter. “Ain’t never rustled nobody’s stock, not ever! And especially not Circle Z!”he opined in a stern voice. “Shot a lame or injured steer or two over the years. Sometimes when some nester family was starving hungry.”
“Oh!” she said, eyes going wide. “Now I recall something. My father commented about you every time his riders found a steer hide on one of the fences. Once, the foreman was livid but Pa just chuckled and said it must have been Chocko.”
“Your Pa was that kind of man,” he said respectfully, feeling a pang for her loss. “I learned that trick on the Pampas down in Argentina. They considered the hide worth more than the beef. Killed a few calves for myself when I was getting hungry, but those were always injured critters.”
“Then, what happened? You seemed upset to learn we owned the Circle Z.”
“Upset that they shot your pa.” He sighed, settling himself. “Kim Maddison. I’ll be a son-of-a–” He caught himself, then studied her critically. His first impression remained. She was petite, almost elfin, small and delicate. Her grey eyes seemed too large, her features pointed. Though her dress looked a bit the worse for wear, she had been keeping herself clean. Long, glossy chestnut hair was tied back with a thong. Though unruly and lacking a good brushing, it had obviously been washed in the spring. He would have treasured her friendship, only now, she might well consider him an enemy.
“Life sure twists and turns like a sidewinder,” he said thoughtfully. “Course, now that you’re found, I’ll see about getting you safe out of the desert.” He shrugged, then laughed, realizing she couldn’t see his gesture of resignation. “But,, if they catch me, I’ll hang.”
“Hang!” she gasped. “You really did kill somebody?”
Two men and a woman,” he said morosely. “Was in the Cantina Royalle. These hombres accused me of something I didn’t even know about. Before I had a chance, they jumped up and slapped leather. I drew and shot back, just as a fancy lady pushed off a cowboy’s lap, right into one of my shots. I killed her along with the two men.”
For several seconds, Kimberly Maddison seemed to be looking right through him. Finally, she drew a deep breath. “But, that would be an accident, and you were just defending yourself,” she protested.
“True,” he agreed sadly. “Only, one man was owner of the Lazy K, and the other who accused me of murdering your pa was foreman of the Circle Z.”
“You? Murdering? My Pa?” she blurted. “But, pa ... the buckboard ... that shot?”
“I didn’t shoot your Pa!” he said defensively, grasping her shoulder, stilling her with a gentle shake. “Your foreman claimed I dry-gulched your pa. Caused the accident. Don’t know why he said that. I wouldn’t ever! Not shoot your pa for any reason! Course, there’s no end of lies circulating about me.” He paused to reflect, then furrowed brows. “Funny thing that. I never heard about any accident, or that Maddison’s daughter was missing.” He lightly squeezed her shoulder, feeling delicate bones and wasted flesh beneath the cloth. “Right sorry miss. I remember that your brother was killed when a bronc rolled on him a few years ago., so I suppose you inherit the Circle Z.
“I guess so,” she murmured despondently, her brow momentarily wrinkling. “I don’t understand why our foreman tried to lay blame for that on you.” Her head shook a little. She popped the whole apricot in her mouth and chewed carefully. She sipped water, licked her fingers, then took up the biscuit. “When was the shooting?”
“You mean me in the cantina? Three days ago,” he told her. “In the afternoon. I lit out of town and headed into the badlands. Shook the posse yesterday. Not many people know about Sometimes Spring, since it most often isn’t here until late in summer or early autumn. Storms repeatedly shift dunes away from the cave mouth until late October or November.”
“Please, don’t take offense Brian,” she said with quiet intensity, reaching out to lay fingertips on his forearm, startling him with the use of his proper name. “Pardon me for asking, but where were you a couple of weeks ago when My father and I were ambushed?”
Chocko scowled, glancing down at those dainty fingertips, then at her blind, beseeching eyes. After a moment of consideration, he chuckled and shrugged. “Two weeks ago I was cooling my heels down in the Prescott jail.”
“You were in jail? In Prescott?”
He gave a snort. “Arrested for drunk and disorderly. Broke a few things and a couple of heads in a saloon brawl. They locked me up, had the doctor bandage my hands and hauled me up before a judge. I was in jailed for a week. So, if somebody was laying for your pa, intending to cause what happened, it couldn’t have been me. Besides, Your pa did me a kindness, so I’d never do anything to harm him or any of his kin.”
She cocked her head, features earnest as she seemed to regard him. “A kindness?”
Chocko noted that her fingers were still on his arm, their warmth a distraction he could feel through salt-crusted, sweat-stained cotton.
“It was that winter of the big blow. Eighty-seven. I was near frozen to my saddle, my pony stumbling when we happened upon the Circle Z ranch house. Your pa gave me mugs of hot coffee and doctored and fed my horse. He let me stay on. I did chores. Worked for him until spring.” He paused, considering her a minute. “Guess you were back east. Strange that your pa never mentioned that you were blind. Then again, we really didn’t socialize much. Mostly, he was sad, talking about your brother, how he had been killed trying to break an ornery bronc.”
“William’s death hit Pa hard,” she murmured, nodding slightly. “He so wanted a son who could take over the ranch. Now, it seems sad that his only legacy is a fragile, blind daughter. I suppose I’ll inherit.”
Bryan Mahony laughed. “Fragile?” He snorted. “In a pigs eye! You’re tougher than rawhide. Don’t know of any town gal who could have managed twenty miles across the dunes n summer ... after dropping off a cliff! Let alone still be feisty enough to hold a gun on a nasty bad man, then criticize his foul mouth.”
She abruptly giggled. The sound was like a tinkling, sweet melody that plucked at his heart. Her fingers squeezed his arm and let go. Bryan Mahony felt another pang, this time when she broke that contact.
“Chocko ... Bryan, if you can get me safely back to Alamosa, there’s a lawyer there who handles all our ranch affairs. I’ll see that he looks into your situation. If needed, I’ll make certain that you are properly defended. A simple telegram from the Prescott sheriff will confirm that you were in jail when Pa and I were bushwhacked.”
“That presumes that I’ll be taken prisoner,” he said darkly. “More likely, I’ll get killed fighting.”
“Nonsense!” she said. “You will do no such thing!” She beamed another smile, saying, “now, before we stumble into an argument, would you please give me another of those apricots?”
Enchanted, Chocko found himself completely under Kimberly Maddison’s spell. He gave her a dried apricot, then fed her bits of venison jerky, watching her dainty nibbling with rapt fascination. Over a period of hours, she devoured all of his apricots, another biscuit and all of his jerky. Chocko wasn’t concerned. This was Sometime Spring. Antelope would come for water. He could hunt. There would be jack rabbits and other game. Even sidewinder steaks were a tasty substitute for chicken and fish. They wouldn’t go hungry, but there was a problem. His mustang would need grass and feed. A sack of cracked corn, and another of wheat wouldn’t last, and the cave mouth offered little grass.
When sunset was replaced by the chill of night, Chocko assembled a bed with his saddle blanket and bedroll, making certain Kim would be comfortable. He collected twigs, dried grass and dried animal scats, building a small fire in the cave. Using his meager trail provisions, he brewed coffee and cooked a can of beans, stewed some of the jerky and managed to pat out a few rough tortillas. She ate with gusto, settled on the improvised bedding and curled up atop his smelly horse blanket, her own salvaged blanket a warm cover. For his part, Chocko climbed into rocks, alternating between a sleepy doze and keeping watch.
Day after day, Chocko explored fringes of the dunes on foot, setting snares, killing the occasional rattler, one careless antelope and a few jack rabbits. He gathered dry grass and prepared meals, feeding the young woman, helping her get back her strength. Kim Maddison held Chocko in her thrall. Weakened by her ordeal, they couldn’t risk leaving immediately, but Chocko was quickly disabused of any notion that she was helpless. Conversations lasted into the night, enlightening him as to her capabilities, experiences and education. She found his tales of wandering and fighting in several distant countries captivating. He had been to Africa, slogging over the Sahara Desert, fought in an Austro-French conflict, herded cattle in Argentina, and even panned for gold in the Canadian Yukon. His tales of distant places, of trajedies and humorous encounters captivated Kimberly Maddison, doing strange and wonderful things to an impoverished heart.
As a full moon rose on their seventh night together, Chocko rubbed down his sand dune mustang. Even with his foraging and risking detection, feed was getting sparse. All too soon they would be forced to leave. Most of the bunch grass was gone. Even several cacti were missing large parts of their thick skin. No grain and only a few handfuls of cracked corn remained.
Chocko settled back in boulders above the spring. He stared into the night, hoping that he wouldn’t have to face a posse. He didn’t want to kill misguided fools.
Small, long-tailed rodents hopped by, kicking up sand. Silvery grey and shadowy, coyotes came, for the water. Wary of human scent, they avoided him, gliding past, darting into the cave for a drink. While Kim slept, he couldn’t stop thinking about the mere slip of a young woman and that she had survived beyond all reason.
For him, her voice was like music. Her laugh charmed. The touch of her fingers would paralyze him. She listened to him with serious intensity, seeing beyond the ugliness of his scars or bad reputation. Worst of all, she had begun to treat him as a friend, teasing and bantering, laughing merrily at some of his stories. Kim had even begun flirting with him, but he knew she was of another world, worse, another social class. Still, he couldn’t block her pixie features from thoughts. He was almost two decades older, and she was little more than a child. Her slender, frail image began haunting his imagination and dreams. In typical western fashion, he accepted the obligation, fondly recalling her father. Maddison had been a crusty old rancher, a widower who had taken him in and saved his life. Now, he could repay that debt, returning favours to a dead man. Only now, Kimberly Maddison was much more than an obligation. He could deal with that, but Kim Maddison was altering something deep within Chocko the outlaw. Her quiet beauty touched the real Brian Mahony in a way he had never hoped to experience.
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