by Vanessa Vale
Yeah, my dick had liked that. And taken over.
Fuck! I should’ve at least tried to think about the why of it all. But no. Sarah had always led me around by my dick, and she’d done it again. I wanted her. Still.
She still wanted me, too. But she wanted something else from me as well.
The truth.
The paper on my chest told it all.
I realized where she must have gotten it. Kale’s accident. Her dad’s shop was the only tow in town and the one we used for police matters. She worked for him, ran the business side of it. She must’ve collected Kale’s things out of the truck, found the letter. Learned the truth. Wasn’t happy about it.
Obviously, based on the fact that my balls were aching, she’d had a plan to get back at me.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
Sarah was scorned as shit.
Technically I’d broken up with her. But not by choice. I’d done it for her. I sighed, tipped my chin back, grabbed the wooden slat that held me prisoner, and tugged at it, but it didn’t give. “Fucking quality construction,” I grumbled to myself.
I wasn’t sure how I was going to get out of this mess with my dignity intact. But that wasn’t all that important now.
Sarah was what was important. I’d hurt her. Enough to buy me at an auction so she could get me like this, to punish me. Payback for what she thought I’d done to her. I tugged on the slat some more. Gritted my teeth and yanked.
She still had feelings for me, although not the right ones. I had to make this right. She was out there mad at me. I couldn’t have that. The thought that I’d hurt her again, that she’d been hurting all this time was like acid in my stomach.
There was hope though. I tasted it on my tongue.
She might hate my guts, but she wanted me. If I had to get her in my cuffs and pleasure her until she talked, I’d do it. It was time to get shit straightened out. To make her mine once and for all.
As soon as I got out of these fucking cuffs.
6
SARAH
* * *
Saturday Morning
* * *
“You bought Huck Manning?”
I stalled at my dad’s question just outside the doorway to the service bay. Blinked.
Of course he would have heard about what I’d done at the auction. The Bend was small enough that word traveled fast. I hadn’t been subtle about my interest in winning Huck Manning. I’d given the first and only bid and was going to be taking a chunk out of my checking account to pay for it.
No woman could blame me. He was over six feet of male perfection. Solid. Strong. Chiseled. Tousled fair hair I remembered running my fingers through. A square jaw I’d… sat on. His mouth. God, so skilled. He might be the chief of police, but he was dangerous to me.
I cut over to the shop’s small kitchenette, pulled a mug from the cabinet, and peeked inside it to make sure it was actually clean, then filled it from the coffee pot, which was always fresh and full. Only after I doctored it with some sugar did I respond.
Dad flared quick to anger, faster than a brushfire across a dry prairie. Always had. At least ever since Mom left, which was when I’d been seven. I didn’t remember much of her or my father before that other than her smile, her hugs. Her perfume.
I was used to his rough grumble and could handle him, but not before some caffeine.
I hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning and thinking of Huck. Of how he’d gotten me off with just his mouth.
I’d never done that before, and I didn’t mean seduce a guy into handcuffs. That I hadn’t done either. I’d never had a guy go down on me, and I’d never imagined it happening by sitting on his face.
It had been hot. Too hot. I’d come so fast I was sure Huck was smug about the accomplishment. I tried not to think about how much I’d needed an orgasm, or that I’d wanted one still from Huck. My nipples were hard beneath my bra, and my pussy ached for that big cock I’d left thick, long and ready for me.
My plan had been to seduce him into being cuffed to his bed. I’d imagined leaving my clothes on. Maybe kiss him. When he’d undone my dress, I’d liked it. When he’d kissed me, I’d really liked it. Then I’d gotten him locked to the bed as I’d wanted, and I still hadn’t walked away. Not after he’d offered to get me off.
I’d figured I owed it to women everywhere to follow through with that.
And boy, had I.
Sex hadn’t been part of my revenge plan. I didn’t do vengeful sex, and having it with him—or any guy—was just… wrong.
But riding Huckleberry Manning’s face to have the best orgasm of my life? Hell, yeah.
Propping a hip against the chipped counter, I blew on the black coffee, then took a careful sip.
“Well?” Dad stood just inside the bay, wiping his hands on an old rag as his rough growl echoed. The garage doors were open to the warm weather, and he was silhouetted by the bright sunshine. He was in his old coveralls. They used to be navy but had faded with all the washing and had indeterminate stains down the front. His hair was long and pulled back into a thin ponytail. The dark color had streaks of gray cutting through and the hairline was receding at a swift pace.
“You heard it from someone, so why do you need to ask me?” I wasn’t sure why I was giving him sass. All it did was rile him up. But I wasn’t fifteen. I was a grown woman and didn’t need him meddling.
He narrowed his eyes. “Because I want to hear it from you.”
“I bought Huck Manning,” I replied.
“You’re not a kid any longer.” Yet he was still sticking his nose in. “I thought you’d grown out of being stupid where that punk is concerned.”
His words were jam-packed with so much insult. I didn’t miss any of it, felt it deep down, but I didn’t let it show. That was worse than riling him.
“He’s the chief of police,” I countered. “I’d say he’s not much of a punk any longer.” It wasn’t that I was defending Huck as much as defending my ability to make my own decisions.
He frowned. “Trust me. I know guys like him.”
“Okay,” I replied, turning to head to the small office in the back.
I heard his deep sigh. “Pumpkin.”
His usual endearment had me pausing. He hadn’t pulled that one out in a while because… yeah, I was twenty-six.
“Why did you do it? After what he did?”
What he did was take my virginity and then came by and told me it wasn’t going to work, that I was headed to college in Bozeman and he shouldn’t hold me back. Nothing I’d said in return had swayed him. We were over, and that was it.
I shrugged, took a sip of the coffee, then winced when it burned my tongue. “I wanted to talk to him.”
“Then go to the police station!”
I tried not to roll my eyes. “I didn’t want to have any distractions.”
I’d been distracted. So very distracted when I’d been kneeling over his face. Getting him in bed and cuffed to the headboard had been my plan. The orgasm hadn’t.
But he’d gotten the point when I’d walked out with his dick hard and his wrists cuffed to his headboard. I knew Claire wasn’t his. He knew I was pissed about it. Knew exactly how much. It was supposed to have made me feel better, to give him the proverbial middle finger once and for all.
That hadn’t worked out so well, because it was obvious he wanted me. The way he’d looked at me, almost reverently, had been a surprise. The way he’d touched me made me feel sacred. The way he’d practically devoured my pussy, it had seemed as if he truly desired me. To see to my pleasure.
Like it had been all those years ago.
The only truth I knew was on that piece of paper I’d slapped on his rock-hard, bare chest.
Claire wasn’t his.
His hard dick? He was just a man, and I’d been a woman in lace.
“What the hell do you have to talk to him about?”
I flicked a glance at my dad but stayed silent. No way did he have
a right to details of my private life.
He sighed, held up a hand. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”
Nothing like a guilt trip.
“I know how you feel about Huck,” I said pointedly. “You’ve made it clear for years.” Ever since we first started dating when I was eighteen.
He said something under his breath, but I’d cut down the short hallway, done with our little chat.
I pushed some invoices aside on the desk and set my mug down.
“What are you doing here on a Saturday?” he asked, having followed.
I looked up at him, then pointed at the pile of papers he’d left for me. It was all completely unorganized because he knew I’d take care of it. “Payroll.”
His brows winged up. “It’s not like you to get behind.”
I frowned. Another insult. God, I had no idea why I kept working here. I’d been handling his books since eighth grade. I would walk here after school and sit at this desk and do my homework. The piles of paper had been bigger back then, and I’d figured out the accounting and organized his banking. They were literally books back then. Paper ledgers. I’d been the one who’d bought him computer software when I was eighteen. The one who used it. When I’d gone to college, he’d save months of bookkeeping for my return because he didn’t like the computer.
It had been the past two years I’d been back that I’d expected a shift. I’d returned a college graduate. A certified accountant. I’d even worked part-time at a repair shop in Bozeman. I’d hoped to spend my days out in the bay, driving the tow truck. Instead I fell into the bookkeeping and accounting business. I continued to work for him and ensured I paid myself for the effort even though I took on my own clients. Real clients.
Around here I also tackled customers, at least on the front end. Ordering. Everything that kept the business afloat except the actual repairs.
I could do that too, but Dad had been adamant I keep my hands clean. Literally.
I wanted to take over, but it hadn’t happened yet. All of a sudden I was starting to see it probably wasn’t going to either. My father wasn’t going to change. The way he was still talking about Huck proved that.
“Roy didn’t show up yesterday,” I replied. “You weren’t back. Kale Bradford ran his truck off the road. Graham called me, and I towed it in.” I thumbed over my shoulder, indicating the back of the shop. “It’s in the lot. I call it totaled since the front axle’s bent.”
“I’d fire Roy if he wasn’t so talented beneath the hood. Hard to find someone with that kind of talent.”
“I can do that work,” I said. Again. My father didn’t even seem to care. All he had to do was retire and enjoy his motorcycle and I’d take over.
He waved me off, then left, grumbling some more.
I powered up my computer as I fumed. He hadn’t thanked me for doing two people’s jobs and coming in on a Saturday.
I sat back in my chair, grabbed my coffee. I needed to stand up to my dad, tell him it was time I took over the entire business. Made it mine. Made changes. Made it grow. He’d been stringing me along, and I’d let him.
Maybe it was seeing Huck that had stirred up my mood. Reminded me of what I’d once had. My old dreams. Plans.
Those had died, though, along with the baby Huck and I had made.
I’d punished Huck. But what had it done for me? Had it made my heart hurt any less? The loss smaller? It hadn’t done a thing because I hadn’t. Huck had made something of himself, but I hadn’t. I was behind this stupid desk, and Huck still wasn’t mine.
7
HUCK
* * *
Saturday Night
* * *
“One more, Daddy. Please?”
Claire was tucked in beneath my arm on the couch, but she began to wiggle, eager for another story. It was eight and her bedtime.
“Done your routine?” I asked even though I knew.
She nodded, her hair damp and brushed. It was the same wheat-blonde color my hair had been at that age. Even though there wasn’t a drop of my blood in her, she was mine whether we looked similar or not.
“I bathed, brushed, and we’re doing the books. I don’t want to go to bed yet. One more.”
Our routine was something my mother had invented for me and my brothers when we were little. Bath, brush, books, bed.
Alice had seen to the first two, and Claire had hunted me down with a pile of books tucked under her arm.
“All right,” I pretend grumbled. “One more.” She pulled her favorite from the stack and held it out. “Do you think the bear ever finds his missing button?” I asked.
She looked up at me and giggled. “You know what happens, Daddy. We’ve read this one hundreds of times.”
“Then why are we reading it again?”
She wiggled some more and settled in closer, then flipped open to the first page. “Because I like to see him talking to the bird. They’re best friends like me and Lizzie.”
I started the book, but Claire set her hand over the page so I couldn’t keep going.
“Daddy, you said you were working on getting me a mommy.”
I sighed, stroked her head. Around lunchtime, Kelsey, one of Claire’s preschool teachers, had come to the ranch. I hadn’t realized it when Thatcher and I had watched Sawyer fireman carry her out of the auditorium, but she’d been the one to buy him. It had also been the woman to knee him in the balls the other day. Sawyer had it bad if he was still into her after recovering with a bag of frozen peas.
I wasn’t the one to talk. Not now. Sarah had stripped me down, got my motor running, and left me handcuffed to my bed.
Claire had wanted Kelsey to have bought me instead of my brother, but Sawyer had told her that I’d been bought too. By someone else.
Claire hadn’t forgotten that. It seemed being bought meant getting married. Getting a mommy.
I wanted to marry Sarah. I always had. But clearly there was some shit we had to work through.
Thatcher’s heavy footsteps came right before the slap of the back screen door. He lived in the converted old barn and came up to the main house often, usually for Alice’s cooking. “Hey, Sprout! I came to say good night before I went to work.” He moved behind the couch, grabbed Claire under her arms, and tossed her in the air. He owned a bar in town, the Lucky Spur. Since it was Saturday night, it would be busy and he’d work until well after closing.
She laughed and giggled as he carried her to the big armchair and settled in with her on his lap. “Whatcha doin’?” he asked.
“Daddy’s working on getting me a mommy.”
The book was clearly forgotten.
Thatcher’s red brow went up, and he looked over at me. “Is that so? Who’s the lucky lady?”
I wanted to give him the middle finger but not in front of Claire.
She shrugged her tiny shoulders. “Don’t know. Earlier he told Miss Kelsey and Seesaw he was working on it.”
Alice always said little teapots had big handles, and while the saying was ridiculous, Claire heard everything and filed it away. It was tricky now, but when she was a teenager, I knew I was going to be in big trouble.
“Well, I have a feeling Miss Kelsey’s around to stay,” he told Claire. I had to agree with him. Sawyer was keeping her. “She loved the puppies earlier, remember?”
Her eyes lit up with childish glee. “She did!” Her face morphed into a frown. “But Miss Kelsey’s not going to be my mommy. Who’s going to be my mommy?”
I gave Claire the look. I was not going to tell a five-year-old my plans, not only because she couldn’t keep a secret, but because I didn’t want her to get too eager for something that might not happen. I hadn’t brought any women around the ranch on purpose.
“He’s keeping her a secret, I think,” Thatcher said, tickling Claire. “I’d say she’s got him all tied up.” He smirked and I glared at his joke.
“That’s silly.” She giggled. “Daddy doesn’t need to tie anyone up. He’s got handcuffs since he’s the
chief!”
I could feel my cheeks heat. Fuck me, I wasn’t going to live the night before down.
Thatcher’s lips were twitching as he tried not to laugh.
I’d gotten free of my bed by rolling onto my stomach, gripping the slat, and pulling it loose. I had a sore shoulder and a headboard that looked a mess as a result. After, I’d gone downstairs to get a drink and ran into Thatcher, who’d been raiding the fridge. He’d seen Sarah leave, and I’d had to tell him the fucking mess. After Sawyer being kneed in the nuts and me getting handcuffed to my own bed, I had to wonder if we had to hand over our man cards.
Thatcher had only stopped laughing when I’d punched him in the arm and showed him the paper Sarah had left with me. He knew who Claire’s mother was. Knew I wasn’t her biological parent.
“Will you tuck me in, Uncle Thatch?” Fortunately Claire’s attention was quickly swayed.
He gave her a bounce on his knee. “Sure. Go up and brush your teeth, and I’ll be up.”
She popped off his lap and stood before him in her pink pajamas, cocked her head, and set her hands on her hips. “I already brushed.”
He leaned in and grinned at her. Bopped her on the nose. “Good girl. I’m going to count, and let’s see how fast you can get in bed and under those covers.”
She turned and faced the stairs, put one foot in front of the other as if she were ready to start a race, her arms bent. “Ready.”
“Go! One, two, three…”
She bolted out of the room, and we could hear her feet pattering along the wood floor.
Thatcher turned my way, his counting stopped. “Did you decide what you’re going to do about Sarah?”
I hadn’t. I’d spent the entire day debating. “I want to toss her over my knee and spank her ass red for pulling shit like that, but it wasn’t a stunt.”