by Em Petrova
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved
Screwed and Satisfied
The Moon Ranch
Book 2
Copyright Em Petrova 2020
Ebook Edition
Electronic book publication 2020
All rights reserved. Any violation of this will be prosecuted by the law.
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More in this series:
Moon Ranch
TOUGH AND TAMED
SCREWED AND SATISFIED
CHISELED AND CHERISHED
Second chance at romance? Like hell, and definitely not with the girl next door.
Dane Moon is the troublemaker of the family, and his latest screw-up was marrying a Vegas stripper. Or was it that she married the male dancer? Either way, that chapter of his life’s over, along with the marriage. He’s back in Colorado on the family homestead, attempting to pick up the broken pieces of his past, present and future.
When veterinarian Brennah Peterson finds a drunk guy passed out in her hay bale, she isn’t surprised it’s Dane Moon. The panty-melting bad boy next door always had a reputation for being the life of the party. Any torch Brennah used to carry for the rough and tumble cowboy has been long extinguished—at least until he throws that crooked smile her way again.
Wanting Brennah and wanting to be a better man go together like boots and hats, and maybe it’s time Dane cleans up his act. But Brennah’s got every reason to stay away from him, and he doesn’t want another ex-wife anyhow. When things heat up, it’s hard for Brennah to walk away. But a hot roll in the hay with Dane won’t be enough, and she won’t accept less than all or nothing.
Screwed and satisfied
by
Em Petrova
Chapter One
The vase whizzed past Dane’s head and struck the wall with an ear-splitting crack. Glass exploded, raining down on the carpet and mingling with the two broken beer bottles that landed there first.
Dane ducked yet another hurled object, this one with a trajectory hell-bent on taking off his head. “Calm down, Liz! Jesus, you know I like to unwind after work. It’s not like I was in bed with another woman.”
“Isn’t sitting at the craps table all night long worse than sleeping with another woman? You lost our rent money—and next month’s too. You told me if I came back to you that you wouldn’t gamble anymore.”
“You’ve seriously got your priorities mixed up if you don’t give a damn if I’m cheatin’, but you don’t want me gamblin’.” He eyed his wife. Her blonde hair trailed down into one eye, which blazed with anger.
“You can get pussy for free, but you owe those loan sharks how much now?”
He waved a hand, scoffing off her words. “I can make that back in two nights of dancin’. I’ll let my thong slip and the ladies will toss enough twenties at me onstage to pay what I owe plus give us extra for that helicopter ride over the city you’ve always wanted to go on, baby.”
As he started across the living room toward her, he held out a hand. She picked up an ashtray and cocked her arm to hurl that too.
He clenched his jaw. “Put the ashtray down, Liz.”
“Or what? You’ll leave? If you ain’t, I am! I never should have come back to you that third time. Or the fourth, for that matter.”
He stared at his wife and tried to remember what about her drew him in. After being married a year—with a split every few months—he couldn’t remember anymore.
“You know I never cheated on you,” he said, his tone low and coaxing as he tried to calm her like a one-eyed horse tangled in barbed wire.
“Nah, you were too busy fondling your dice.”
“Stay.”
“Fuck you.” She rifled the ashtray. The butts she smoked scattered and ashes cast out in a cloud. The jagged heavy glass blasted into the wall right where his head had been a moment before he ducked.
“Those guys have cornered me twice at work now. I can’t have people coming to my workplace and demanding I pay them what you gambled away the night before, Dane. I’m leaving, and this time I want a divorce.”
Her chest heaved, and the red mottling her face and throat turned him on. Always had. He loved when she got ticked at him, because that meant they could make up.
This time, though, he knew things had gone too far. He’d gone too far.
She thought the pennies he owed those guys who hassled her at the strip club where she worked was bad. Well, she hadn’t discovered the fifteen grand missing from their bank account yet—the money he’d given his brother to help with the family’s failing ranch.
Pushing out a sigh, he rubbed a hand over his tired face. Why did Liz have to get on his case right now? After a double shift at the club where he ground his hips to pop songs and changed out costumes—the firefighter had always been his favorite—he’d hit the casino and been up all night.
“You’ve got a problem, Dane Moon.” She twisted away from him and started grabbing any item that belonged to her. When she stomped into the bedroom, he followed, even though what he wanted to do was lie down on the couch and sleep.
“Baby. Lizzie. You know I love ya. I can’t live without ya.”
She cast him a dark look as she dropped the items on the bed and yanked out her suitcase that hadn’t even been put away after the last time she left. As she packed haphazardly with clothes and shoes, he stood there watching.
Did I really want her to leave?
Did I really want her to stay?
Maybe he should go. He hated Vegas. Hell, he’d only ended up here to get far away from the Moon Ranch and his drunken asshole of a father. Now, with the man gone and his brother in charge, Dane could leave all this behind—his gig as a dancer in the male revue, drinking and gambling with people he’d never in a million years consider friends, the shabby apartment over a cigar shop he shared with a wife he couldn’t remember why he married in the first place.
Or why he wanted her to stay, either.
“Go on and leave.” He zipped up her bag for her while she dug another out from under the bed.
“I will!” Her breasts jiggled with each move she made, and he found one of the reasons he’d wanted her didn’t look so appetizing these days. True, Liz maintained a bangin’ body, but she knew how to use her curves on every single man in Vegas. The fact he didn’t give a damn who she slept with woke him up further. At least it hadn’t been him, not in a long time, and for that he was grateful.
“You’d better take care of those loan sharks too. I don’t want them coming after me again, Dane.” She folded a knee-high glittery boot and stuffed it into the bag.
“I said I’ll take care of them,” he bit off. “Just send the divorce papers to the ranch.”
“I don’t need to. I already had them made up. Here—sign them!” She reached into her purse and yanked out a sheaf of papers. She handed these over with a glare, which Dane returned with an extra measure of heat as he located a pen and signed on every last line.
“Have a good life.” He handed the papers back to her.
“I fucking will!” With two bags stuffed to overflowing, she stomped to the door. He watched her walk out and didn’t make a move to stop her.
* * * * *<
br />
“Hey, Moon. Heard ya had a big night at the tables last night.”
He glanced around to see one of the guys who’d worked with him at the club for a few months. Great—he wasn’t in the mood to talk and now the chattiest of old coworkers walked next to him.
Dane only grunted in response to the statement. Did everyone in Vegas know him as the biggest loser in town?
“Are you on your way home from work now?” the guy asked him.
“No, I just handed in my resignation.” His boss didn’t like him anyway. Said Dane was a difficult dancer and didn’t like to follow directions. But rules were meant to be broken, right?
His old acquaintance hiked up his eyebrows. “Thought you were there to stay. You pulled in more money than the rest of us guys, sometimes put together.”
Dane ignored him and cut around some people on the sidewalk to reach the front of his apartment. “This is me. See ya around, man.”
“Maybe we can grab a drink later. Catch ya soon, Moon,” his buddy called out to him.
He pushed out a breath, but none of his anxiety left him. Hell, his life had transformed from crazy to shit-house rat crazy in a few measly hours. With Liz out the door and divorce papers signed, he didn’t have much left to hold him in a city he hated, so he’d quit his job too. Right after he caught some sleep, he planned to leave town.
When Dane reached his apartment, he stopped outside the door.
The open door.
Drawing the knife he’d carried since he was ten in the event he needed to fight off his own dad to resist a beating, he pushed the door open with the toe of his cowboy boot. The place had been tossed, shit everywhere, and the broken glass still scattered on the floor from his fight with Liz earlier. Two men sat on his couch, smoking cigarettes as if they belonged here in the demolished living room.
Dane stepped inside, boots crunching on broken items on the floor. “Can I help you?” he drawled out.
One of them stood. “We came to bring you a message from Johnny.”
Great. Big John, the guy who’d sat at his right hand all night—and many nights before that—watching him lose at craps. Just how much Dane owed the guy, he didn’t know. More than he could even remember.
He nodded, and they zeroed in on the knife in his hand. He quickly slipped the weapon into his pocket and faced them. “I’ll pay Johnny as soon as I—”
One guy stepped up to him and punched him in the gut. Air exploded from him as he doubled over.
“Fuck,” he managed to murmur before the second blow came to his face, launching him backward. He collapsed on the floor.
Both men hovered over him. “We only found four hundred bucks here.” The big guy with the ugly teeth and drooping eyes held up a wad of cash Dane had tucked away in a jar in the kitchen. “Where’s the rest?”
He shook his head. “That’s all I got.”
“What else are you gonna use to pay back Johnny?” The second guy crouched, and the cold steel of a knife blade at Dane’s throat created ice in his veins.
Fuck, he was in over his head this time—with nobody to blame but himself.
“My truck,” he managed to say, struggling not to think of the blade a whisper from his jugular.
“Where are the keys?”
“Pocket.”
“Give them to me.”
As he dug into his pocket, they watched him carefully in case he pulled a gun. Good thing he didn’t have one, because he couldn’t say what he’d do to get out of this jam and didn’t want to think on the topic too long. He passed over the keys to his truck and the first guy got to his feet, taking the knife with him.
Dane expelled the breath he’d been holding. He might be a fuck-up and a dickhead, but he didn’t want to die with those titles hanging over his head.
“Take the truck as payment.”
“Keys look old. How much is it worth?” Big John’s thug asked.
“A few grand. I’ll get the rest—” Dane started to stand.
One guy reared back and kicked him in the nuts. He curled up like a bug, wheezing through the blinding pain. In the back of his mind, he heard footsteps as the men left his apartment.
Fucking great. Now he had no wife, no job, and he’d given his truck to cover his gambling debt.
When he could see straight again, he got to his feet and stumbled through the wrecked living room to the strip of loose molding on the window. After running a forefinger over the spot, relief trickled through him.
They didn’t find it.
Growing up with a drunk for a dad, Dane had learned young that having a means of escape was imperative. Any cash he got his hands on, he hid away. That stash had increased over the years, until the day he turned eighteen, when he stuffed the cash in his pocket and drove away for good.
He’d only returned to the Moon Ranch one time since, a few months back. His brother Zayden gave him hell for missing the old man’s funeral. Hell, he’d told him off for more than that.
Dane fucked up, and the only way out he could see involved taking this small amount of cash, buying a bus ticket and getting out of Vegas.
* * * * *
Reading the names on grave markers proved pretty damn difficult with three too many whiskies in a guy’s system. But Dane remained intent on his mission to locate his old man’s resting place. He hoped wherever he lay was fucking haunted.
He’d walked and hitchhiked his way from Grand Junction, Colorado where the bus had let him off, and it took two days to get to Stokes. Before heading to the Moon Ranch, he’d pay a visit to his father.
Whiteford. Ramaro. Connally. Moon.
He stopped and braced his legs so he didn’t fall down. The letters of his own name seemed to glare back at him from the new engraved stone set in the ground at his feet.
He let out a rough laugh. “Ya old son of a bitch. You finally got what ya had comin’ to ya, huh?”
Of course no answer came. Their dad hadn’t been a talker, though. If Dane or his brothers asked a question he didn’t like, he’d answer with a quick backhand.
“You were a rotten fucker, and I’m glad you’re dead.” Dane’s words came out flat, without the heat he always thought he’d put behind the statement.
“You didn’t give a damn about anything but your whiskey.” Not nearly enough burned in his own system if he could remember these things.
He stomped a boot heel over his father’s name. “You no-good dickhead. Why did ya even reproduce if you were gonna mistreat us? Tell me that! Goddammit, I wish you could stand up in front of me right now. I’d kick your ass, old man.”
Swaying on his feet a moment, Dane got hold of his temper. The emotion would never truly go away, but he had learned how to bury the feelings over the years, at least concerning his upbringing.
He unzipped and pulled out his dick. Standing back, he let the piss fly. The stream hit the grave marker square in the middle. When the last drop left him, he shook it off too and spat a thick glob of saliva for extra emphasis. Then he zipped up.
“Moon.” He gave a coarse laugh. He turned from the grave and then stopped and threw a look over his shoulder. “Go die again.”
He walked for what felt like forever, cutting through some yards he recalled from when he was a kid and then hitting the road leading to the Moon Ranch. Almost there. Zayden wouldn’t be happy to see him, but Mimi might give him a warm homecoming.
What a start to my new life. Penniless and drunk. I’m no better than the old man.
Off in the distance, he spotted the barn. Hay would make a soft enough bed. He cut across the field, exhaustion and alcohol fogging his brain.
Chapter Two
Brennah stared down at the big, muscled, tattooed cowboy passed out in her barn. His black hair and the blacker five o’clock shadow coating his jaw gave him a dangerous air.
Speaking of air, she could use some fresher variety. Manure was a treat compared to this guy, who smelled like he’d soaked himself in alcohol and hadn’t bathed since
the time of pirates.
Setting a hand on one hip, she contemplated calling the Stokes sheriff to come get him. She didn’t have time to spend on a drunkard—she had animals to tend to before her real day of work started at her veterinary practice. Without looking, she knew her schedule was jam-packed all morning. She’d eat lunch in her vehicle on the way to some ranch calls to see to livestock and then return late in the day to her clinic to treat more dogs, cats, iguanas, and whatever ailing animal came through her door.
Looking at the man curled on his side, she couldn’t help but think she recognized him. His angled jaw and the breadth of his shoulders seemed mighty familiar.
Sometime in his sleep, his Stetson had toppled off and lay a few feet away. The deep, heavy sleep spoke of one hell of a hangover to come.
Feeling a little on the evil side today, she clapped her hands loudly. “Hey! Get up! Hello!”
He moaned and rolled onto his back, giving her a good view of his big, hard body sprawled on her barn floor. The horses were restless in their stalls, eager for their breakfasts, and in the big corner pen, several llamas pawed the floor to show they wanted out to roam the fields too.
Brennah nudged the cowboy’s foot with her own boot. “Hey! You’re trespassing! Wake up!” No matter how loud she yelled, she didn’t get even a flicker of an eyelid in response.
Storming outside, she looked around for a bucket. She located one and filled it with water—cold mountain water from the spring-fed well—and carried the bucket back in. One heave of the bucket and water hit the guy square in the face and chest.
“What? Wha—” He shook his head, but didn’t get up. In fact, he went back to snoring, mouth open.
Brennah stared at him in shock. His blood must be 100-proof if that didn’t do the trick.
“All right. You asked for it.” Her last resort lay in the midsized tractor she used to haul hay bales to her animals. Quickly, she walked outside and climbed into the tractor seat. She started the engine and backed to the open double barn doors.