This story may take a little bit to write. I am working on it a little at a time so please, hang in there.



Chapter One

Dawson Ranch in Mission Creek, Montana mid-Winter early 1800's

James Dawsaon couldn't keep from laughing and smiling as he left his barn. It was growing dark as the snow lightly fell, the voices of his twenty-three year old daughter, Rebeka (better known as Becky) and his thirty-eight year old foreman, Clint Carson could be heard loud and clear. Once again they were arguing. This time, James had to agree with foreman though. Becky wanted to go for a ride on her new horse, but Clint argued that the weather could trun rapidly turn bad and she didn't need to go. James had even told his daughter that he agreed with his foreman. Becky shot her father a look that could have killed.

James was still smiling as reached the house. Irene, his wife of twenty-five years, smiled at him and asked, "I take it their at it again?" "Yup," James answered before kissing his wife's forehead. Both knew that Becky and Clint were madly in love with each. Even all the ranch hands could see it. The only two having the problem seeing it was Becky and Clint. A few moments later, the slamming of the back door annouced that their daughter had entered the house.

"He is the most sufferable man I've ever been around," Becky said, trying to calm herself. James and Irene smiled at their daughter. "Yes Becky," Irene said, "we usually do have a tendecy to fight the most with the ones we love the most. I guess the fear of telling someone how we really feel for them stops us from telling them at all."

Becky had a look of shock on her face. "Mother," she stammered, "are you suggesting that I am in love with that over grown barbarian?" "Well, you are, aren't you, dear," Irene asked. Becky was speechless at her mother's question. In a shock induced haze, Becky forgot about supper and made her way to her bedroom and flopped down on her bed. Stareing up at the ceiling she asked herself, "Could I really be in love with Clint Carson?"

Becky didn't know how long she had laid there. The thoughts of Clint's nearly six foot tall and very musclar body kept running through her mind. He was one a large man, not due to being over-weight mind you. He was broad at the shoulders and narrow at the hips. His dark brown eyes matched his hair. His large hands were rough and callouse worn. She had on occassion felt those hands on hers. Her thoughts now drifted to the prospect of them rubbing those parts of her that was covered by her undergarments. "MMM," she moaned as she thought of them making love. It wasn't long until she drifted off to sleep, still fully dressed and laying on top of her bed, with the dreams of "what could be" filling her head.

In the bunkhouse, Clint sat at the wooden table, finishing his meal. His thoughts were once again on that... that... female. Oh, how his blood boiled just thinking about the selfish, self-centered woman. He was brought back to reality as the men started moving away from the table, banging their metal dishes into the basket that would be picked up in the morning my the house maid.

"She's on your mind again, huh," asked one of the men he shared the bunkhouse with. "Yeah," Clint said before realizing he had even answered. "You love her," said another. "Just tell her," another chimmed in. "Yeah right," Clint huffed, "me in love with the likes of her." Turning to one of the older men in the room, he asked, "Hank, when did you first know that you were in love with your late wife?" The older man looked up from pulling off his boots and answered, "When I realized that I fought with her just so that I could be near her. Just like you and Miss Becky do. Ask yourself this: If she was to leave tomorrow, could you live without? If the answer is 'no', then tell her that you love her."

Clint dropped his own metal plate into the basket, blew the lamp out, and then went to bed. But sleep was far from his mind. Becky's small, slender five foot six body kept running through his mind. He could see her long strawberry blonde hair blowing in the wind. The way her green eyes sparkled each time the fought. The way her breast heaved each time she drew in a deep breathe, just so she could keep yelling at him for no reason. The way her dress hug not just her breasts, but her hips and nice, round ass too. He could feel the yearning, no the need, to lay between her legs over take him for the hundredth time. "Hank is right," he thought to himself as he laid int the dark on his own bunkbed. "I do love her. I know beyond anything that I could never live without her." Clint then slipped into a deep sleep filled with dreams of making love to Becky over and over again.

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It's only funny until someone gets hurt, then it's hilarious!