Booted

by Pam Godwin

  “Sausage, eggs, biscuits, berries, fried potatoes, and…” She holds up a slimy green thing. “What’s this again?”

  “Ramps.” Raina doesn’t look up from her scrubbing.

  “Ramps.” Conor’s brows lift in a whatever-that-is look.

  “Where did you find wild leeks?” I ask the back of the woman who has yet to acknowledge me.

  “It grows on the hillside.” She motions at the window without turning around.

  The snippy dismal in her tone rubs me the wrong way.

  As everyone settles in to eat, I cross the kitchen and step into her space. Leaning a hip against the counter, I fold my arms and stare down at her.

  She rinses the pan and grabs another one.

  I wait.

  She cleans two more before slamming her hands down on the edge of the sink.

  “What do you want, Lorne?” She glares at the soap bubbles.

  “You look riled enough to bite yourself.”

  Behind me, the table of noisy eaters falls quiet.

  She shoots them a dirty look and pushes away from the counter to face me. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Fine.”

  Her eyes narrow, scrutinizing mine for the truth. “Liar.”

  “I slept better.”

  “Are you going to train me today?”

  Her tone shivers with agitation. Is this about last night? Because I sent her to bed? Does she think something happened between us? Something that could distract her from the reason she’s here? If so, she has nothing to worry about.

  “I need to run some errands,” I say. “But you’ll get your training.”

  She releases a breath. “Okay.”

  “Thank you for breakfast.” I nod at the table. “Join us.”

  “I already ate.” She cocks her head. “You have a lot of old jeans in your room that are way too small for you. Do you mind if I cut some of them into shorts?”

  “Do whatever you want with them.”

  “Thanks.” She steps back and strides out of the kitchen.

  My gaze follows her out, lingering long after she slips around the corner.

  Until Conor clears her voice.

  I join them at the table and fill my plate with more food than I’ve seen in years.

  “How was last night?” Jake bites down on a sausage link, eyes glimmering.

  “Fine.”

  “On a scale of one to ten.” He reclines in the chair. “How fine?”

  Jarret drags a hand over his mouth, but I don’t miss his grimace.

  They think I had sex with Raina. Why wouldn’t they? I just got out of prison and spent the evening with a beautiful woman.

  “Leave him alone.” Conor points a finger at them. “Both of you. This is our first breakfast together and—”

  “No, actually… Let’s do this.” I drop my fork on the plate, rest my forearms on the table, and stare at Jake. “Say what’s on your mind.”

  “All right.” He taps a finger on the armrest. “I want to know what you did with her. Seeing how she’s a professional, I’m just curious. I want details.”

  “Christ.” Jarret pinches the bridge of his nose and groans. “I don’t want any details.”

  Jarret and I lost our virginities around the same time. We learned from each other by swapping stories, swapping girls, and exchanging kinky ideas. There was nothing we wouldn’t talk about.

  Times have changed.

  “What’s your problem?” Jake asks his brother.

  “She fucked our old man.” Jarret shakes with an over-dramatic shiver. “It’s weird.”

  I lean forward and meet his eyes. “Your fiancé fucked my half-brother. Think about that. She was married to a man who shares my last name. A man you killed. That is fucking weird.”

  “Here we go.” Maybe stands with her dishes and carries them to the sink. “I wondered how long it would take before that was brought up.”

  Conor glares at me. “Lorne doesn’t mean to be rude.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “That’s okay, because you know what?” Maybe charges back to the table. “This needs to be aired.”

  Her hands tangle in the mass of blond curls around her shoulders as she bursts into a tirade about her missing husband.

  She blows out the whole sordid tale, one I already heard from Jarret. Except this time, I’m given a different perspective. An emotional frame of reference from a woman who felt deep guilt for hiding secrets from my family—the biggest one being the brother that Conor and I didn’t know we had.

  As she paces the kitchen and explains her side of the story, she doesn’t make excuses or defend herself. But it’s clear in her voice that she needed those eighteen months away from Jarret to come to terms with the decisions she made. The woman before me now is stronger, more confident than the one I met in prison two years ago.

  She stops beside me and bends into my personal space. “You’re going to warm up to me.”

  “I warmed up to Wyatt Longley. Then I gunned him down in a field.”

  “Lorne,” Conor scolds.

  “There’s a soft center in you somewhere.” Maybe straightens. “You’ll let me see it someday.”

  I grunt. “Don’t hold your breath.”

  She holds her breath. Literally. With her fists on her hips, she clamps her lips together and puffs out her cheeks.

  Seconds tick by, and she doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe.

  “Maybe, stop.” Jarret leans forward, his gaze glued on her. “You’re going to pass out.”

  She shakes her head, face turning red and eyes bulging as she watches me.

  Adorable? I’m thinking it. Crazy? Oh, yeah. She’s way off her mental reservation.

  Aren’t we all?

  My lips tug at the corner, bouncing my cheek.

  She gasps, gulping for air. “Ha! A smile! Told you!”

  “Where did you find this?” I ask Jarret, thrusting a thumb at her.

  “She found me.” The pussy-whipped motherfucker stares at her with throbbing, heart-shaped eyes.

  “And you didn’t let me go.” Her entire demeanor turns to mush as she circles the table and plants a kiss on his open mouth.

  He tries to deepen it, and his hand slides to her ass.

  “Hold your horses, cowboy.” She dances out of his grasp and heads toward the mudroom, drawling in a hillbilly accent. “I gotta get them critters some vittles up yonder and fix the dern fences down by the crick.”

  “I’ll be dreckly behind ya, sugar,” Jarret hollers after her. Then he looks at me, taking in my arched eyebrow. “What? She thinks I’m a redneck.”

  “You sound like one.”

  “It turns her on.”

  “You guys are sick.” Conor laughs and rises from the table. She makes her way to my side and hugs my shoulders. “I missed you, big brother. So damn much.”

  “You, too.” I squeeze her arm, marveling at the colorful murals of ink.

  “Have you been to the ravine yet?”

  “Went last night.”

  “Okay.” With a sigh, she steps back. “If you’re out there today, stop by and see me.”

  “It’ll take me a few days to get back into the swing of things, but I’ll check out your clinic soon.” Eight years slams into me, knocking the air from my lungs. “My sister’s a doctor.”

  “A damn good one, too.” Jake stands and grips her hand. “I’ll walk you out.”

  Jarret and I dig into our food as Jake leads Conor out the back door. Through the window, I watch him kiss her. She moves to leave, and he pulls her back to kiss her again.

  “How’s she doing?” I ask Jarret.

  “She has good days and bad days, but the good far outweighs the bad.” He glances over his shoulder, watching as she leaves Jake standing on the porch. “He’s helped her a lot, Lorne. He gets her in a way no one else does.”

  “I know.”

  To think, Raina’s been through the same hell. Conor was raped by two men in one night. Raina was r
aped for two years. She might not see it that way, but it wasn’t consensual. John forced her by threatening her family.

  Conor was abused by our dad, and Raina was abused by the other man who raised us. I’m indebted to Jake for helping my sister when I couldn’t. But is it my responsibility to help Raina? I can train her to shoot a gun and defend herself. Beyond that, I wouldn’t know where to begin.

  The back door opens and shuts, and Jake returns to the table. “What’s wrong?”

  I meet his eyes and look at Jarret to find him watching me.

  “I didn’t fuck her.” I sit back and rub a hand against my thigh. “You know what your dad did to her.”

  “Yeah.” Jake scowls at his plate. “She filled in the blanks last night. Her sister…” His jaw clenches. “That’s fucking brutal.”

  “Then you understand what she’s dealing with.”

  Jake nods. “I support whatever you decide to do with her and John Holsten.”

  “Same,” Jarret says.

  A weight I didn’t know I was carrying falls off my shoulders. “Where are my guns?”

  “Locked up in my safe,” Jarret says. “You remember the combination?”

  “Yeah.”

  My attention drifts back to Conor, and a sudden gnawing urge tugs at me to run after her.

  I move before my brain forms the words I want to say. I stride out of the house, off the back porch, and cross the field with quick, determined strides.

  In the distance, her red hair gleams in the sunlight, flickering like the flames in my soul that are reserved only for her.

  “Conor!” I quicken my gait until she pivots a few feet away.

  As her green eyes search mine, affection and love glistens along her lower lashes.

  Our relationship has taken some significant hits, but we’ll never stop fighting for this bond between us. If there’s one thing I can count on, it’s the certainty that none of us will ever allow our family to disintegrate into a dysfunctional mess.

  “I’m sorry.” In two long strides, I erase the gap, with my hands twitching at my sides. “I’m sorry for abandoning you and leaving you with Dalton and being such an anti-social dick the past few—”

  She throws herself into my arms and buries her face in my neck. “You’re forgiven a thousand times over. God, I missed you, Lorne. It’s just good to have you home again.”

  When she leans back, her smile penetrates my insides and soothes my blood. Her happiness forms a sphere of energy around her, radiating outward, like a tiny world of its own.

  “Conor, listen.” I rest a hand against her face. “I don’t know when I’ll get back to the way things were, if it’ll be tomorrow or next week, or if I’ll ever be the person you remember. Sometimes, it feels like I’m starting over.”

  “It’s okay. Starting over is good. As long as you do it with us.”

  I close my eyes and absorb her positivity, letting it recharge my neurons until they rekindle and spark.

  “I love you,” she says, drawing my gaze to hers. “Dammit, Lorne. I just… I really missed my big brother.”

  “I love you, too.” I pull her against me and kiss her hair. “More than you know.”

  “What can I do to help you?”

  I don’t know.

  “I need time.” I grip the back of her head and put my face in hers. “No matter what, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll never abandon you again.”

  “I know.” Her eyes brim with tears, her smile glowing with trust.

  “Go on.” I release her and step back. “My brilliant sister is a big fancy doctor now, and she has critters to save.”

  “That’s right.” She walks backward. “I’m the smartest one in the family.”

  “Let’s not get carried away.”

  She flips me off, grinning, and turns back to the trail. I watch her go until she vanishes beyond the hill. Then I return to the kitchen, where Jarret and Jake are discussing ranch business.

  After breakfast, we clear the dishes. The guys head to the field, and I make my way to the suite that now belongs to me.

  Raina sits on the bed, surrounded by denim and armed with a pair of scissors.

  “Are you going to stab me with those?” I step into the room and close the door.

  “We’ll see how my training goes.”

  She doesn’t sound as curt as she did in the kitchen, but something’s wedged up her ass.

  I stride through the room, snatch the scissors from her hand, and toss them aside. “What’s with the sour mood?”

  “Your asshole reflex must be contagious.”

  “Don’t put this on me. Take accountability for your own attitude and actions.”

  She sniffs and leans back. Then her shoulders sag. “You’re right.”

  When she doesn’t elaborate, I bend down and stare at her from an inch away, with my hands braced on the mattress on either side of her hips.

  I want to hear what she’s thinking, feeling. Because I love talking to her. She’s more like me than anyone I know. It’s the wildness in her, the uncultivated way she views the world.

  She isn’t bound by social constructs and doesn’t exert energy on outward appearances. Everything that matters to her resides in the space between the earth and her soul.

  She’s guided by feelings and instinct where I’m led by cool logic, but we share the same desire for the right result in the end.

  Peering up at me with deep brown eyes, she scrapes her teeth across her bottom lip and sighs. “I got a little twisted up in my head when I went to bed. You’re just so…ugh! One minute I think you like me. The next you hate me. It shouldn’t matter. I shouldn’t care, but I made the decision to stay here and work on a plan that involves you. After you pushed me away last night, I thought…”

  “I wouldn’t help.”

  She lifts a shoulder. “You send a lot of mixed signals.”

  “Come with me.” I push off the bed and stride out of the room.

  My insides quiver with curiosity as I follow Lorne down the hall and into Jarret’s room. He slips into the walk-in closet and spins the combination lock on the floor-to-ceiling safe.

  When it opens, he removes a shotgun and a pistol and checks them both for bullets.

  I bite the inside of my cheek. He’s not supposed to handle firearms, even if they’re empty.

  The moment I have that thought, he thrusts the biggest gun into my arms.

  Surprised by the heavy weight, I adjust my grip, jostling it in an attempt to properly hold it.

  He grabs the barrel and shoves it downward, his voice smacking like a hammer. “Never point a gun at my fucking face.”

  “I just watched you check the chamber—”

  “Always treat every gun like it’s loaded.”

  My neck stiffens. I treated John’s gun as loaded, and we know how that turned out.

  Gathering several boxes of ammunition, he locks the safe and lumbers back to his suite. “Keep your finger off the trigger unless you’re ready to shoot.”

  I jerk my hand away from the trigger guard and aim the shotgun down, gripping it awkwardly as I trail behind him.

  He recites a dozen other safety rules in a rumbling, emotionless voice.

  Be aware of my target and what’s behind it. Understand the mechanical characteristics of the gun I’m using. Don’t depend on the gun’s safety to keep it from firing…

  As he drones on, I realize my training has begun.

  In the bedroom, he crouches on the floor and breaks down both weapons into a panoply of metal parts. Then he reassembles them in a blur of motion, his huge hands moving with confidence as he explains how to fit each piece back together.

  “Your turn.” He takes them apart again.

  “I’ll never remember all that.”

  “Then by all means, go back to doing what you’re good at.” He gives my body a deliberate up and down glower of judgment.

  “You’re a cocksucker, you know that?”

  “No, darlin’. That is
one thing I am not.” He tosses off his hat and reaches behind him to yank his shirt over his head, baring the sculpted monolith of his torso. “I want those guns back together by the time I’m out of the shower.”

  The only guns holding my attention are the ones bulging and flexing from his shoulders. He’s an eight-pack man with a sparse smattering of hair across square pecs that look hard enough to bounce bullets.

  One would think with all that bulk that he’d be plodding around with stiff, lead-footed movements. But as he rises from his crouch, his hand falls to his belt buckle and the line of his body flows upward in a loose, sinuous roll of hips and abs.

  It’s an alluring crunch of upper body strength with the nimble sensuality of a male stripper.

  His boots come together as he straightens. His chin dips down, and hell to the damn… The bunching of denim around his fly creates an enticing bulge, one that’s undeniably filled to the extent of its seams.

  I openly gawk as he ambles away, toeing off his boots and removing his belt. Surely, he’s not going to…

  Yep. He shoves down his jeans and briefs, kicks them aside, and strolls to the master bathroom unabashedly nude.

  The bricks of his glutes tighten with his strides, and sinews bunch and play along the valley of his spine. There’s no loose skin anywhere. Every inch of him is taut, hard, and honed like the sharpest blade.

  Maybe he’s trying to torment me, but I don’t think that’s it. I’ve heard stories about the loss of privacy and inhibition in prison. Clothes are stripped. Showers are open. Shyness is simply not accommodated.

  He disappears into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. The shower turns on, and a moment later, steam wafts from within.

  I imagine him standing under the spray, his head tilted back, and a soapy hand working over his cock. Is he long? Thick? Swollen with arousal?

  Men rarely live up to the fantasy, but the fantasy’s all I need. My pussy clenches, stirring from dormancy in waves of heat.

  I’m tempted to lie back and finger myself to orgasm. When was the last time I did that? Not when I lived in Texas. John fucked my libido into extinction.

  The last time I felt any sexual urges was when I first moved here and caught a glimpse of Jake and Jarret. What would Lorne say if I told him I touched myself while thinking about his brothers?