by Cheri Chaise
I took a swig of water to cool me down. It didn’t help. “Yup, a chicken coop.”
Or at least it was supposed to be one. I didn’t have anything close to matching Drew’s abilities when it came to woodworking. But this was just a few panels of wood and a bit of special wire we’d picked up at Fort Union. It wasn’t tables and chairs. Or beds.
Stella covered her eyes and pointed across the way. “But isn’t that one over there?”
I pulled my hat off and dribbled water over my head. “Yup.”
She paused. “Why do you need another one?”
“It’s not just another one. It’s a better one.”
She stared at the half-finished coop with a frown on her face. “Oh…so it’s like having two barns.”
“It’ll better protect the chickens during winter. And we don’t have two barns.”
“But they are…”
“We have one barn and one stable,” I clarified. “The barn is for cows, sheep, and pigs and the work we do with them in there. The stable is just for the horses and…the other work Bret uses it for.”
“So the stable is all for Bret?”
“Pretty much.”
She inspected the whitewashed structure behind me. “What other work does he do in there?”
“What?”
She flinched from my sharp tone. Why did I always feel ready to snap around this woman? I sighed and swiped again at my forehead before bending over to get myself another drink, drawing close enough to smell the lavender wafting from her skirts and the salty scent of her sweat.
“You…you said Bret uses the stable for his work. What kind of work does he do?”
“He uh…works with the horses.”
I wanted nothing more than to take her in there are show her what kind of work Bret did – but not with the horses. I wanted to demonstrate in excruciating detail the finer points of mounting and claiming, just without planting my seed in her womb.
I drank my fill of her while slaking my thirst and trying to lower my rising body temperature as my gaze trailed from her ample hips to that tiny waist. From the waist to the burgeoning bosom. I spied a bead of perspiration near the hollow of her neck as it trickled down, down, down to nestle between those twin mountainous peaks.
I wanted to taste that trickle. Sup from the beckoning mounds of her flesh. Hear the cry of my name on her lips as we came together in glorious abandon.
Instead my gaze was drawn away and to that unnaturally small waist again. My hands shot out of their own accord to wrap around it – with room to spare. Instead of lust, anger heated my words.
“You’re…you’re wearing a corset.” I didn’t have to ask. I could feel the hard, unforgiving ridges beneath my palms.
“Y-yes.”
“Where did you get another one? The one you were wearing on the…” I couldn’t stop the vision of her battered and bruised body when I’d cut apart the last one and ordered Evan to burn it.
“I had another one in my trunks. Several, in fact.”
I should’ve gone through those trunks while she was laid up. Instead we’d tossed most of them in the attic without a second thought.
“Take it off,” I growled.
The shock on her face transformed into frustration. Defiance. “If I did that, sir, I’d be forced to traipse about your home in nothing but a dressing gown. In front of your brothers.”
“Better in a nightgown than seeing you covered in sores and bruises again.”
“I wouldn’t have been covered in sores and bruises if you’d have allowed an opportunity to rest and change my garments. To bathe even.”
The heat swept off of her as she drew nearer. To avoid looking into her fiery eyes, I focused in on those luscious lips that berated me.
“But no. You had a schedule to keep. Things to do more important than taking care of your brand, new wife whose clothes will not fit without a corset, something you would’ve realized if you’d taken a moment to notice me.”
My hands tightened around her and suddenly she lay pressed against me, my head dipping to capture her mouth. Shock stilled her as I ravaged her lips with mine until she softened and melted into my embrace. Silken lips danced across mine as the fire she’d displayed grew into a groan.
Kissing that mouth was everything I’d imagined as it consumed me with eagerness. Her splayed hands were like an inferno raging against my bare chest, growing hotter than the fires of hell as she slid them across the hard planes that grew harder. And harder.
My cock sprang like a taut bow between us. When her mouth opened with a gasp, I ached to sweep my tongue across hers and discover the dark recesses long unexplored.
Instead I pulled away and released her, taking a step away. Then two. Those big, blue eyes drew me in for a split second. Raw. And hungry. Her tongue darted out like an invitation to lick swollen lips.
I ached to take her right then. Instead I scrabbled to pick up my hat where it had unexpectedly fallen and hightailed it toward the stables as best I could with a hard branch between my legs.
“Cole?”
I ignored Stella’s flustered plea and snatched up my shirt from the fence as I stormed into the safety of the enclosure. The scent of fresh hay and horseflesh greeted me as I saddled Buck, grabbed a bedroll, canteen, and enough of Evan’s jerky for the ride.
Then without a backward glance, Buck and I leapt upon the dusty trail.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Estella
Three days. Three whole days Cole had been gone now. No word offered about where he was going when he left in a flurry of dust and hooves. No word on when he’d return.
And it was all my fault.
I shouldn’t have poked fun at his chicken coop. Should have kept my temper in check, no matter how ridiculous his demands. A fight over my undergarments – and right in front of his brothers and the ranch hands – still sent heat into my face when thoughts swirled in my mind.
But that kiss. Oh, that kiss. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. My heart yearned to feel those lips pressed against mine again. I hadn’t realized until the moment his mouth crashed against mine how much I’d missed being kissed – by anyone.
In a split second, my soul had gone from shriveled and dry to wanton and brazen. I wanted those hands around more than just my waist. I wanted them to explore. To caress. To stoke the fire still burning in me to a flame as he filled, stretched, and satisfied that aching need pulsing between my thighs.
I longed for a touch. Anything to make me feel such bliss again.
But he’d gone. Run away from me like he’d waited to do since I’d crossed the threshold of Carston Ranch – and this time he’d left me more confused than ever.
Was I mistaken by the rise in his trousers as our kiss grew more fervent? The feel of his length hardening against my belly? At first I’d thought it was his belt buckle. But buckles didn’t grow. Didn’t jerk of their own accord. In that moment, I was convinced he wanted me.
Finally.
So then why had he left me standing in the yard, surrounded by squawking chickens scattering about my feet? Choking on dust as he’d mounted his horse and rode off to get away from me?
I pondered the predicament during the third day of his absence as I took out my frustrations on biscuit dough for that evening’s dinner.
“Hey, hey,” Bret cautioned as he came around into the kitchen to wash his hands in the ewer. “What’d that poor dough ever do to you?”
A puff of flour billowed over my apron as I slapped the mass against the counter and swiped away a tear with a gummy knuckle. “I uh…I’m frustrated that I can’t get these biscuits to come out just right.”
“Well, you’re not going to get ‘em to turn out by kneading them to death.”
I swiped another tear before it plopped into the gooey mess. “My housekeeper back home said there was a distinctive sound it made when it was ready. That you had to slap it like a baby’s bottom.”
I wanted to bite back the ment
ion of a baby. Even if it had been Cole’s, losing a child affected everyone in a household.
But the rise of dark brows and the hint of a smile hitching up one side of Bret’s mouth alleviated my concerns. “I’ve had a bit of experience with bottoms before. Want me to slap it for you?”
My mouth went dry and heat curled into my belly, and it wasn’t from the stove at my rear. I had no doubt the bottom slapping in this instance had nothing to do with children.
“I…I can do it.” The dusting of flour barely moved with my paltry effort.
“Here, let me try.”
The warmth increased as Bret pressed in near my side and raised his hand to bring it down on my dough with a solid whap that sent another puff of flour over me. Over us this time. Instead of a ball of dough, however, I felt it reverberate through me as if he’d slapped my bottom.
And I shivered with the knowledge that I wanted him to.
“See?” he continued, his voice deepening. “You’ve got to put a little muscle into it.”
I stared up at Bret as if in a fog-induced trance, imagining bottoms bare and glistening with sweat. Pink from play. From the heat of lovemaking. The scent of sweet hay overwhelmed my senses as flour filtered around the edges of my vision. Flour. Flour!
“You got flour all over your shirt,” I fussed as I dusted at the clean chambray shirt he’d put on for dinner. My coated hands only made it worse. “Oh…and now I’ve gone and covered you with dough.”
He chuckled as his long fingers worked to unbutton the shirt. “It’s okay. No harm done.”
He stripped to his skin and left me breathless. The dark planes of his muscled chest glistened in the light cast over him from the far window. Desire pooled between my legs as my sex throbbed. I itched to trace my fingers across his landscape and explore every swell and shadow.
Instead I returned attention to my beaten and battered dough, picked up the rolling pin, and started flattening away the evidence of my wantonness. It didn’t stop Bret though. His heat sidled up behind me, and he placed a hand on either side to guide the rolling pin.
“Gentle now. Long, even strokes.”
His breath whispered against my neck like the faint hint of a kiss. Was he speaking of rolling out the dough? Or was his mind spilling forth images to rival mine?
I couldn’t think. Couldn’t concentrate with his hands atop mine. Pushing out the rolling pin before pulling it back in. Push out. Pull in. With his firm body pressed to my back, it almost seemed like the very intimate act of husband and wife.
But this Carston wasn’t my husband.
Before I could contemplate any further what my mind conjured up, he released my hands and stepped away. “See? Now you’ve got it all nice and even.”
Emptiness rolled through me at his absence. I looked down at the rolled dough then grabbed the tin cookie cutter and made quick work of carving out biscuit rounds to cover my trembling hands. By the time I arranged them on the pan and slid them into the oven, Bret had completely disappeared.
Just like my husband.
The empty sensation that cut through my heart didn’t last long as Drew and Evan tromped through the front door. Drew’s lighthearted voice rang out with a statement I’d longed to hear.
“Something sure smells good.”
I rounded the kitchen corner and plastered a smile on my face as I wiped my hands off on the apron. “Dinner’s almost ready. The biscuits should be out soon, so hurry and wash up.”
Evan didn’t even look at me before stomping up the stairs. His indifferent demeanor since my arrival was assuaged every time I remembered the smoke rising from the barrel of his weapon after he’d saved me. At least he didn’t play the hot and cold game with my brittle emotions.
Drew’s grin faded only a bit at the mention of my biscuits. “Um…what else are we having?”
“Pork chops, snow peas, and fried squash.”
The grin perked up again, and he moved in closer to peck me on the cheek. “I can hardly wait.”
My heart soared at Drew’s sweet but simple gesture. At least someone around here appreciated the fact that I was trying hard to fit into their world these last weeks. Now if only the biscuits turned out, I might actually find a little love among the Carston clan.
By the time everyone had cleaned up, the biscuits came from the oven hot, steaming, and they at least looked somewhat fluffy. The three men oohed and aahed when I set the basket on the table with the rest of the food before snatching them up.
When I cut open mine, it came apart fairly easily – a vast improvement over previous batches, though still not up to the standards Mrs. Barker had set by her example.
Drew was the first to comment. “Not bad, Ella.”
The use of a nickname caused my heart to stutter. To feel accepted in a small way. His smile lit me up from the inside out.
Evan offered up a grunt and continued shoveling the meal in as fast as he could. I took that as the highest praise a cook could receive.
Bret closed his eyes as he bit into the biscuit and released a groan that set my heart aflutter. His eyes smoldered as they opened to half-mast.
“Delicious,” he murmured, licking a stray crumb from his upper lip.
The praise raked over me like a shivering touch. “I have you to thank for the…um.” I stared around the table with a titter. “The bottom smack.”
Three pairs of eyes zeroed in on me, and my face heated as if I stood right over the stove. Bret’s chuckle broke the tension before they all dove right back into their plates without another word until the last morsel was scraped from the table.
I stood up to gather the plates before Evan grabbed mine from my hand. “Allow me.”
Those two words spoken aloud stopped me in my tracks. The smile that sprang to my face was just for him.
“Yeah,” Drew concurred. “After that meal, I’m more than happy to do some work to repay you.”
“But…you’ve already been working all day,” I sputtered.
“Tasted like you did too.”
I couldn’t argue that. Between preparing and marinating the pork chops in the brown sugar and vinegar recipe Mrs. Barker had sent, soaking the snow peas, mixing the batter for the squash, and then the mess I’d made with the successful batch of biscuits, I felt like I’d been in the kitchen nearly all day.
“Well, what would you have me do then?”
Bret shoved his hat back on his head and headed for the front door. “You could come out to the stables with me. I’ve got some work to finish up yet, and it could use a woman’s touch.”
After the sensual way he’d assisted me in rolling out the biscuits and my body’s reaction, I should’ve hesitated to spend secluded time with him. But the giddiness after the dinner’s positive reception spurred me onward.
If only Cole had been present to see that I was finally proving my worth around here. But he’d gone and left me all alone. Well, I wasn’t about to waste these good feelings over missing my husband when his brothers so enthusiastically embraced my presence in their home.
I grabbed a shawl to protect from the evening chill and followed Bret to the stables. The soft nicker of horses and the scent of fresh hay greeted us as he held open the door for me then lit the lantern hanging on the inside wall. The hushed atmosphere wrapped around me like a comforting friend. It was quickly becoming my favorite place on Carston Ranch.
Bret cooed to the horses as we passed, speaking to them as if in another language. He handed me the lantern to grab a lead then climbed the stall railing to drape the rope around the new stallion’s neck, continuing to speak soothing words of gibberish that took on the tone of a lyrical and haunting melody.
“That’s beautiful.” I could do little more than whisper.
“Isn’t he?”
“No, I mean what you’re saying to him.”
He stilled momentarily before leading the black stallion from the stall. “I didn’t realize you were familiar with the Sioux language.”
&
nbsp; Ah. So that’s what he was speaking. “I don’t understand the words, per se,” I explained. “It’s the way you say it. The way the words slide off your tongue. It’s like music and very…pleasing.”
That was hardly the applicable word to describe what his murmurings evoked. But I couldn’t really come right out and say it reminded me of sex with a lover. That wasn’t exactly something mentioned to someone other than a husband – especially when that someone was a brother-in-law.
“It’s from a poem.” The warmth in his gaze swept up and over me. “About two lovers stealing away for a night of passion.”
Heat crept up my neck and flooded my face. The thud of my heartbeat thundered in my ears, continuing even as Bret opened another stall door and released the stallion to enter the much larger space. The horse pranced in eagerly to greet the other occupant.
The reddish-black mare trotted away to the other side with a sharp whinny. “What’s that one’s name again?”
Bret closed the stall door and rested his arms on top as we watched the horses scamper about. “The filly is Nightmare.”
I smiled. “That’s a rather interesting name, and I suspect there’s a story behind it.”
“There’s always a story behind every name, Essie.”
Another nickname that sent chills up my spine. But whereas Drew’s moniker was cute and sweet, Bret’s felt like a sensual touch. A kiss, as the hiss of s’s whispered past his lips.
I stared up at the noble profile. “H…how did you come about with that name?”
“She was a gift on my birthday…All Hallows’ Eve.”
The horse. He spoke of the horse, not the moniker assigned to me, though I’d do almost anything to hear him say it again. To hear the dual hiss spill over his lips. Full, sumptuous lips.
“And the stallion?” I asked, my voice pitching a bit high. “What name have you chosen for him?”
“I’ve yet to decide.” Dark eyes turned on me as he angled in closer. “Perhaps you could help me come up with an applicable one.”