by Penny Wylder
Big Man’s Wife
Penny Wylder
Contents
More Must Reads by Penny Wylder
1. Jenna
2. Ryder
3. Jenna
4. Ryder
5. Ryder
6. Jenna
7. Ryder
8. Jenna
9. Jenna
10. Jenna
11. Ryder
12. Jenna
13. Ryder
Epilogue
More Must Reads by Penny Wylder
Copyright © 2021 Penny Wylder
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or businesses, organizations, or locales, is completely coincidental.
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1
Jenna
“I spend enough money on school for you that it won't kill you to do this for me. Besides, it's not like that degree will take you anywhere. Fashion is dead, Jenna, unless you plan on designing clothes for dolls. It's time to make yourself useful for once. . .”
My step-father's words repeat in my head as the plane glides through the air. It's a short flight, a little over an hour, but it's the quickest way to get there and back home before dinner tomorrow night.
I'll only miss two classes. It isn't the end of the world. My teachers gave me the notes early so I won't be behind. Flipping through the pages, I take out my notebook and start trying to sketch a useable croquis.
My pencil moves around the paper, the human form taking shape. My dream is to have a line of my own. I love dresses, especially wedding dresses. I can spend all day staring at Pnina Tornai dresses and never get bored.
The wheels hit the tarmac, and instantly the wooded view makes me sick. I already miss the skyscrapers, the bustling streets, and the smells of all the different foods wafting from restaurants. It's an overload to the senses in every way, and I love it.
New York City is my home; it's where I'm meant to be. Not this place; not anymore. I'm not the same girl I was when I left this small rundown town. I don't fit. I know I'm going to stand out like a sore thumb.
I hope no one recognizes me. Troy should be here doing this, not me.
It irks me that my step-father is forcing me to do this. But I want to be helpful, I want him to see that I'm willing to help our family. He's done so much for me over the years, what choice do I have?
It'll be fine. I'll just get this hick farmer to sign over his land once and for all, then I'll be gone. I'll never have to set foot in this place again.
I don't plan on staying any longer than I need to. I've got a big fat check that would make anyone sign over the deed instantly. It's like they hit the lottery and they don't even know it.
They can't say no this time.
According to Troy, he's tried several times to buy them out, but it never worked. He's annoyed with them already, and has too much on his plate to even bother right now. Instead, he sends me with a check that can let this farmer retire and live an easy life.
Grabbing my small carry-on, I exit the plane and head right to the car rental hub. Everything's already been set up for me, all I have to do is get the keys and head right to the farm.
I want this done as soon as possible. The sooner it's over, the sooner I can leave. Tossing my bag into the back, I drive the forty minutes to Pittsfield. Taking the exit, it looks the same, but different, if that makes any sense.
There are remnants of my childhood mixed with open lots and modern updates. Market Square is still here, but the little strip that used to have a coffee shop, a pet store, and an ice cream parlor is empty. The little oasis I can picture in my mind is nothing more than run-down buildings with a few places that were able to hang on.
Just get to the farm and get this over with.
I leave the center of town. The farm I'm going to is a place I know well. My step-father didn't tell me the name at first, not until after I agreed.
Jamison's Farm.
I almost couldn't breathe when he said it, but it's a place he's wanted for years and just hasn't been able to come to an agreement with Mr. Jamison. Nothing was ever good enough. It wasn't enough back then, it wasn't six years ago, or even two years ago.
But I'll make it good enough today.
This time my step-father is going all out. It's the largest offer he's ever given for a plot of land. He wants this bad, and today I'm giving it to him.
Mr. Jamison is getting too old to keep this up. I know this offer will be enough to put pen to paper.
The sign comes into view. It's worn, cracking, the words are almost unreadable. The apples painted on the wood are faded to a pinkish white, and the vegetables painted on have all bled together to create one giant blob.
My tires spit as I turn into the sand parking lot. Parking, I sit in my car for a few minutes trying to gather myself. The second I turned in I was hit with a rush of memories. Too many to count and focus on. It's overwhelming.
Every inch of my body is buzzing, the adrenaline coursing through my veins as my heart speeds up and the air around me becomes hard to breathe. Looking up at the house, it looks exactly the same as I remember.
There's a porch that runs the entire length of the front, with flower boxes that hang off the railing. The small building where people can buy fresh vegetables and apples is closed, both doors are shut and locked.
The sign is still up on top, with the prices for picking apples yourself, or if you buy them fresh in the bag. The gate is open, and I can see Mr. Jamison's old blue Ford Model T, with the wooden bed parked against the barn.
Inhaling deep through my nose, I exhale slowly through my mouth. Make this quick. In and out, signed and over.
Grabbing the black folder on the front seat, I climb out of the car and sink into the sand instantly. The ground opens up, attempting to swallow my entire body, stilettos first.
You've got to be fucking kidding me.
Grabbing the hood of the car, I pluck myself free, and dump the sand out of my shoes. Balancing on the tips of my toes, I walk to the door.
Clearing my throat, I adjust my skirt and ring the bell, but no one answers. Ringing again, I try to look through the window beside the door, but I can't see anyone inside.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The noise draws my attention around to the back of the house. Carefully walking to the gate, I hold it as I lean in and look around. I don't see anyone, but I can hear the banging coming from inside the barn.
“Hello?” I call out, staying on the outside of the gate. “Hello? Mr. Jamison?”
Bang! Bang!
Hanging my head, I'm not sure if he hears me and is choosing it ignore me, or if he's just completely consumed by whatever project he's working on. Mr. Jamison was always working on something, that's what I remember about him.
The first time I met him he was building that barn. The walls were up, and he was shingling the roof. I wandered in, like most kids at a young curious age. I think I was nine.
“Hey kid, grab me that box of nails and bring it to the ladder.” He yelled down to me, and from then on, I worked on the farm under the table, making extra money.
The extra money was good. My mom had nothing, we were poor as shit, barely able to make ends meet with her job at the supermarket. It was a struggle for her, and what little I made on this farm helped us.
Stepping to the open doors of the barn, I call out again. “Mr. Jamison?”
Looking in, I see a man in the back, hammering a shoe for one of the horses. His back is to me. His skin is glistening and sweat is dripping down his arms as he hits the shoe one last time before looking back at me over his shoulder.
Ryder.
Inhaling a sharp breath, I take a step back.
Why is he here?
“He sent you, huh?” Setting the hammer down, he pulls a rag from his back pocket and wipes his face. “Not that it matters, because I ain't selling. I told him that, and I'm telling you the same.”
Holy shit. What happened to the boy I remember?
Ryder is not the boy I left behind. His arms are thick and firm, with muscles popping out all over the place. His chest ripples as he moves. The soft jaw I see in my head is now sharp as glass, with cut angles and stubble giving it a shadowy hue.
His bright red hair is tousled to perfection, and his green eyes stop me in my tracks. I'm in awe. He's all grown up. And sexy as fucking hell. I'm not prepared for this at all.
Wow. Where did this man come from? He's nothing like I remember.
With my mouth ajar, I stare at him. My brain is having trouble formulating words, and my heart gallops in my chest.
Get it together!
Clearing my throat, I smile through thin lips. “Good to see you too, Ryder.” Gathering myself, I walk into the barn. “I guess you know why I'm here then.”
He stops a few feet from me, his eyes looking me up and down. “I'm glad you took time to step away from your fancy life and whatever runway you strolled off of.” His eyes stop on my feet, and he points at my shoes. “Be careful, I don't think those are made to get dirty.”
Rolling my eyes, I pull the folder from my chest and open it. “How about we just cut right to chase and stick to why I'm here. You don't need to worry about my shoes.”
“Save it, the farm isn't for sale, and even if it was, it's definitely not getting sold to you. So, you might as well just turn around on those spikes and follow the call of Gucci all the way home, because you're wasting your precious time here.”
Pursing my lips, I arch a brow. “You know what, why am I even bothering talking to you about this is? I'm here to talk to your dad, where is he?”
Ryder's brows drop hard and his nostrils flare. Through clenched teeth, he snarls, “He's buried next to my mother.”
He's dead. . . Both his parents are dead.
I feel terrible. I had no idea that his parents had passed away. Troy didn't say anything before I came.
My cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Oh my God, I'm sorry. I didn't—”
He holds up his hand, cutting me off. “Save the sympathy for someone else. I don't need it from you.”
“Ryder, I really am sorry. I didn't know.” Holding a hand to my chest, I take a step closer.
I feel like such an asshole. Both his parents have died and here I am demanding to speak with his father. It guts me. I'm almost sick to my stomach with how ignorant I am right now.
His eyes connect with mine. Gold sparkles in the emerald of his eyes, popping and exploding as he stares at me. For that split second I see hunger in his glare. It's hidden in the shadows, but it's there.
As quickly as it comes, it disappears with one shake of his head. “Look, I told you I'm not selling the farm.” Flipping his fingers to the door behind me, he ticks his head. “Now you can go back to your fancy life in New York. Go, get out of here, go back where you belong. You don't belong here anymore.” His eyes travel over my body. “I can see that easily, Jenna. Go home.”
Letting out a sigh, my eyes steady on his. “You know Troy isn't going to just take a simple no for an answer. That's not how he works, obviously. He's been trying to buy this farm for years. He isn't going to be happy if I have to call him and tell him you won't even hear what we have to offer.”
“That's your problem, not mine.” He folds his arms across his chest, and his muscles thicken. My eyes move down over his chest, taking all of him in. “I don't know how many times someone has to get turned down before they get the point.”
His chest flexes as he adjusts, wrapping his arms tighter. I can't look away. My stomach twists and flips, reacting to him in ways I never expected. I'm warm all over as temptation and lust work through my body.
Focus!
Swallowing hard, I divert my eyes to the ceiling. “Look, at least take the time to hear what I have to say.”
“I heard enough. I think you should go now.”
“I didn't come all this way to have you shut the door in my face, Ryder. All I'm asking for is two minutes, that's it.”
“And I gave you five. Which is more than you deserve.” His jaw clenches, jutting out to one side. I know he's annoyed and pissed, and yet my body still ignores all his anger. His well shaped jaw with coarse stubble makes my thighs gently rub back and forth. My mind wanders to thoughts of how it would feel to have his face between my legs.
Would his rough skin rub my thighs raw? Would it tingle and tickle and make me cry out for more?
No! Forget him! Stick to why you're here.
Huffing under my breath, I slam the folder closed. “Fine, whatever,” I snap. “I'm really tired and I'm not in the mood to listen to you talk to me this way. But this isn't done, Ryder. Not by a long shot.”
I'm not going to stand here and be belittled by some farm boy. He's aggressive and acting like a jerk. If he wants to throw cheap shots, he can throw them at himself because I don't have time for this shit.
He wiggles his fingers and gives me a shitty, sarcastic smile. “Bye, bye,” he says.
The second the words come out of his mouth, I shut down. He says something else, but I ignore him completely.
“Screw you.”
Whipping around, I storm back to my car. I can feel him watching me the entire way, but I don't look back at him. I can't, and for two very good reasons. One, he's being a jerk, and two, all I want to do is kiss his stupid fucking face.
Slamming the door shut, I look up through the windshield. He stands there for a second, all sexy and sweaty with his hand resting on the frame of the barn door. His face is flat, emotionless, and then he's gone, turning and heading back inside.
Slapping my steering wheel, I grunt to myself in frustration. God, that man is thick headed. Thick headed, sexy, and handsome as hell. He's a triple threat, and unfortunately it's a threat that's giving me butterflies and making my body heat to the core.
I should just turn around and go back to the airport. Screw this place.
I should forget about this whole stupid thing and just tell my step-father to do it on his own.
But I can't. There's something inside me that's telling me to stay. To finish what I started and not give up just because Ryder's telling me I should. Going home would be easy, but staying will be a challenge.
I've always loved a challenge, and this is no different.
I'm not going anywhere. Two can play this game.
2
Ryder
Who the hell does she think she is?
The balls she has coming here like this, thinking I'm just going to roll over and give her my farm. Fat chance in hell. That's not how this works. I don't care how sexy she is. Her long smooth legs can carry her right back to where she came from.
She's not who I remember.
I don't recognize this girl anymore. Where's the tomboy who isn't afraid of the dirt? Where's the girl who would wrangle a pig in the sty and not care about getting mud in her hair?
The girl who's standing in front of me looks like a carbon copy from a Vogue magazine. If she had told me she was a model, I wouldn't be surprised.
Her hair is perfect, not a single strand is out of place. The makeup around her eyes is thick, making the blue pop. A copper color is smeared up to her perfectly shaped brows, and her lashes are black as coal.
Biting my bottom lip, I can't stop myself from enjoying th
e view as she storms back to her car. Her ass moves deliciously as she wobbles in the sand on her heels making my cock jerk in my pants.
She's fucking gorgeous. Always has been. But the girl I see now, and the girl I remember, are two different people. This version is all polish and foundation, fancy shoes and expensive clothes. The version I used to know was torn jeans, worn sneakers, with sandy grit in her hair.
But fuck me, if her golden blond hair and bright blue eyes still don't make my blood hot. I've hated her for years, never expecting to see her again. But here she is, appearing like the ghost of Christmas past.
My eyes keep bouncing with her ass, eager to dig my teeth into her flesh and give her a little bite. I want to taste her and feel her so bad my cock hurts as it presses against my zipper.
Her long legs slam angrily into the ground, causing her to stumble slightly as her heel gets caught in the dirt. Chuckling to myself, she slams the car door and sits inside for a second before speeding off.
She'll be back sooner than later. She isn't lying about that. I know this isn't done. Her asshole step-father isn't going to let this go. He's been trying to buy this place for years, but my father wouldn't budge, and I'm not going to either.
Sending Jenna to negotiate isn't going to change anything. She can bat her lashes; she can smother me with the grand idea of living the high life with loads of cash. But I'm not going to break for her. Nothing she can say or do or offer me will change my mind.
Maybe when we were kids I would have done anything for her. I liked her. I had a crush that I couldn't get rid of. Unfortunately for her, things change. She left, she left without saying a word, without so much as a goodbye.