The Climax Montana Complete Collection

by Reece Butler

  “Wasn’t my back she got at,” said Simon, griping to make it more of a joke. “I told her to kiss it while she was at it. I think she used one of those big horse needles on me.” He got the laugh he expected. Lance seemed quiet and shy with most folks unless he got a bee in his bonnet, but at home with family he was different. Too bad they were the only MacDougals left to make that family. “That the only reason you called, to rub my nose in it?”

  “I’ll be back next week.”

  “Next week?”

  Marci half turned, stopped herself, and went back to whatever she was baking. She had a square pan out, so maybe it was more of those brownies.

  “Yep. This gal the type to share?”

  Lance had told him, too many times, that when the time was right, the perfect woman would walk into their lives. Simon was getting the idea Marci was the one, especially after that comment about Lance’s voice. But he wasn’t going to let Lance know it yet. Not when he could bug the hell out of him.

  “Those brownies you making, Marci?” he asked, raising his voice. Of course, he didn’t cover the phone. She turned, holding the bowl and a spoon. She didn’t say anything, just stuck out her tongue and licked the spoon. Slowly, with her eyes aimed below his belt. He groaned.

  “You’re not in pain, unless it’s your cock.”

  “Oh, I’m in pain all right,” Simon replied. He stared at Marci’s erect nipples. “Marci’s licking the batter spoon just like she does my cock.”

  “Simon!” She glared at him, eyes and mouth open. She looked so outraged that he laughed. She stomped forward, fury in all sixty-two inches of her.

  “Now she’s mad I told you,” he added. “At least, I think she’s mad. Maybe it’s something else ’cause those big nipples of hers are standing out of that thin T-shirt like—”

  Marci grabbed the phone from his hand and stomped away. Because the cord was so long to make it easy to walk around the kitchen while they talked, she easily moved out of his reach.

  “Good afternoon,” she said, cool as a cucumber. “I assume I am speaking to Mr. Lance MacDougal?”

  Her glare faded as she listened to whatever Lance said. His damn brother kept his voice too low for Simon to hear. Her eyes zeroed in on him.

  “Oh, yes, Mr. MacDougal. Thank you for informing me of that. I’ll be sure to remember about feeding him liver and boiled cabbage. And you will be home soon? Because once you’re here I won’t be need—”

  She turned her back on Simon and twirled the cord with her free hand. He didn’t know much about women, but that was a sign an agitated woman was thinking too much. She kept making those female noises. They sounded like the woman was agreeing with him when all the time she was thinking “no way in Hell” and would do whatever she damned well wanted.

  “All right. But just for one week. Simon will be able to take care of himself by then, especially as you’ll be here to help.” Marci looked at him again. “Yes, he gets a walking cast on Monday.” Suddenly her face lit up and she laughed. “You’re right, he can’t do stairs. If I take his crutches, he’s stuck.” More silence as she listened. “Yes, and Donny’s teaching me how to do the easier chores. He’s so nice, and his children are such little angels that I told him we’d take them for a sleepover tonight.”

  “You did what!” demanded Simon. “I’ve got plans for you—”

  She waved at him to shush. He loved his niece and nephews, but they loved to get up early and invade his bed. That meant sleeping alone and nothing going on during the day. No wonder Donny had laughed when he drove away. He and Keith would have a whole night together with their wife and then a sleep-in, except for morning chores.

  The penny dropped. Today was Sophie’s six-week checkup, which meant Aggie was cleared to have sex. Six weeks after Travis was born, Lance had brought Florrie and Riley, then four and two, for a sleepover in front of the fireplace. They’d cooked hot dogs and potatoes in the fire, then roasted marshmallows. When they brought the kids to church Sunday morning, all three of their parents were beaming. Looked like they’d be the same in the morning.

  “Here he is.” Marci shoved the phone at Simon and stomped back to the sink.

  “Twelve-pack?” asked Simon. It was their code for what they’d give up to dance with a certain woman. The more beers, the better.

  “Couple cases of twenty-four, after what she did with that spatula,” replied Lance. “If she tried that with me I’d use it on her ass. I think she’d enjoy it as much as the chocolate being licked off.”

  Simon heard appreciation in Lance’s voice. His cock, already interested from memories of Marci’s agile tongue, hardened.

  “Anyone who thinks those three hellions are little angels is either family, insane, or loves kids,” continued Lance.

  Simon understood what he was asking. “Yes to the last, maybe the middle one, and I hope the first becomes a yes.” He waited while Lance digested everything.

  “If she hasn’t killed you or taped your mouth shut by the time I get home, there’s hope we might find us a wife.”

  “I started reading Great-Granny Beth’s diaries,” said Simon. He snickered. “You know what they say about her being wild about sex?”

  Marci whipped around.

  “She wrote about it in her journal?” asked Lance.

  “She wrote about it in detail,” replied Simon, watching Marci’s reaction. “You wouldn’t believe what she and Great-Grandpa Trace did on their kitchen table. I’m surprised it lasted this long.”

  “Anything and everything three men and a woman could do, as often as they could,” said Lance. “That about answer it?”

  “Haven’t read much yet, but I’d say you’re right,” replied Simon. “I think I’ll be reading it out to Marci as she works. Might give her a few ideas. Don’t want her to get bored staying out on a ranch after living in the city.”

  Marci looked eager to know what was in the book, horrified that he might say something about what they’d been doing that morning and, from the state of her nipples, wanting to try something new.

  “What’s the lady up to now?” asked Lance.

  “You want to know what Marci’s doing?”

  Simon took his time looking over her as he wondered what to invent to get Lance all hepped up. Marci got this be-damned-with-it determined expression, hauled her shirt over her head, and tossed it away.

  “Holy shi—” He choked. A pair of lovely breasts bobbed as her arms moved.

  “What?” demanded Lance.

  “She just took her shirt off. No bra. And—oh, man,” he groaned.

  “What!!”

  “She scooped up some chocolate frosting and spread it on her nipples. They’re big, Lance. And her breasts fit right in my hands.”

  “You’re making this up,” said Lance with a growl.

  “Marci, Lance says I’m making this up. You want to tell him what you’re doing?” he held out the phone, daring her. She stuck out her jaw, sauntered over, and took the phone in the hand that didn’t have chocolate on it. This time she didn’t walk away. Instead, she stayed near, tantalizing him with those sticky brown nipples.

  “I’m keeping your annoying brother company,” she said. “He gets bored easily and there’s no television.”

  Simon reached out, hauled her close, and sucked on her nipple. She squeaked. He smacked his lips loudly as she inhaled a gasp.

  “Not chocolate, mocha,” he said, loud enough for Lance to hear. “Let me see if the other nipple tastes as good.” He suckled her and also rubbed his hand between her legs, using his thumb right over her clit. She moaned. “Got her pussy in the other hand. Say good-bye, Marci,” he ordered.

  He heard Lance laugh, cursing him, before she slammed down the phone and pushed her breast into his face.

  “Lick me clean or you won’t get any supper,” she demanded.

  “What’s for supper?” he asked.

  “Since the children will be here, wieners and cowboy beans.”

  His hard
cock began to droop. “Damn, I forgot about them.”

  With a time deadline approaching he applied himself most thoroughly to her breasts. He managed to spread the icing over her face and most of her chest before she backed away. She tossed him a cold, wet, facecloth and then went to clean up.

  “Gad,” he mumbled as he wiped the cloth over his face. The cold didn’t last long. “She’s been here less than twenty-four hours.” He balled up the facecloth and tossed it like a basketball into the sink. “Three points!”

  He looked around the suddenly quiet kitchen. Small changes were everywhere. No, not changes, improvements. Clean counters, less dust, and everywhere the aroma of chocolate. He’d laughed, and so had Lance. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

  Marci had begun transforming their home, and their lives. How much farther would she go?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Simon had to admire Riley’s determination. As soon as Donny dropped the kids off, smirking at Marci’s blush and wet hair, the four-year-old started pestering Marci. He wanted her to convince his mother that a boy his age was big enough for his own horse. Marci avoided it by telling him she was a city girl and knew little about horses.

  The words city girl got Florrie’s interest. She wanted to know everything about Marci because she was the first woman “from the city” that the girl had met. Her mother didn’t count, of course, especially as Mama wasn’t interested in clothes, makeup, or elegant homes. Unlike Riley at age two, Travis solemnly watched his older siblings, taking everything in.

  Saturday evening had gone well, considering he had three kids in his home with the woman he wanted to enjoy. Marci, after insisting Simon sleep in his bed alone, lay down before the fire with the children to tell stories. She kissed him good-night but since it was in front of the children, he got the same hug and peck that Florrie bestowed.

  He could not wait until tomorrow, when he’d get the damned cast off. Not only did it make his leg itch where he couldn’t scratch and limit his lovemaking ability, he couldn’t run after the boys. Luckily, Marci had that under control. She wasn’t even upset about the ravens.

  Eight or nine of them were perched on the barn ridge when he took a slow walk over to his truck before breakfast to get his sunglasses. He hadn’t seen so many since the fall, when Lance left for Texas. He thought to warn her, but how could he tell her that a flock of ravens considered themselves guardians of the MacDougal family? He wondered if they were telepathic as one would find something and before he knew it, three or four more would show up. He’d decided to let things unfold as they would and went in to breakfast. The ravens had been hanging around the valley, especially this ranch, since the early days. No one had ever been harmed, unless they’d threatened a MacDougal, or someone considered kin.

  Full of pancakes and syrup, made by Florrie and Marci, he hobbled out to the porch. After Marci placed his coffee and one of Beth Elliott’s journals nearby for him, she went back in to help the kids clean up. He took a minute to enjoy his coffee before checking the date of the journal. 1882. He flipped through it until something caught his eye.

  …We had strangers ride too close, looking for gold, but Trace said the nuggets under the waterfall are gone, that they buried them in casks on some of the ranches. One of these days I’ll ask where they are. Our children’s children may need the gold someday. Maybe we could each put a clue in our journals. Whoever ends up with all of our journals would be bound to be of our blood.

  Simon went cold, then hot. He reread the paragraph. It still said there was gold buried in the valley. He flipped through the pages before and after, but there was nothing else. He didn’t know of any waterfalls on the Rocking E, but some streams had dried up in the many years since Beth had taken a goose quill in hand and written the flowing words. He closed the book and set it aside.

  “The rumors are true?” He swallowed. “Casks of nuggets?”

  He could tell no one except Lance. That much gold, or rumors of it, could destroy the valley as people dug up the land. And what if outsiders found out? Would the government take it all, saying they had a right to buried treasure?

  The sound of laughing brought him back to the present. He’d lock the journals up. All of them. One day when he had the time, he’d sift through them for clues.

  Surely to God they would have left clues!

  He jumped when the door beside him slammed open. His crutches clattered to the porch floor. Marci dashed past, Travis in her arms, and ran into the yard.

  “You can’t catch us!”

  The ravens, also startled, ruffled and settled again. They watched keenly when Riley and Florrie bolted out of the house after Marci, screaming in delight. He watched the birds tense, hunched and ready to take flight if this new human did anything to harm the little ones. But Marci stopped, put Travis down, and opened her arms. She ran again but let all three catch her, laughing in obvious delight.

  He’d seen her eying the birds earlier, but since the children didn’t say anything, neither did she. He gave her full marks for that. Some men refused to come on their ranch because they said the ravens gave them the heebie-jeebies. Simon and Lance always thought the birds could judge character far better than mere humans.

  A while later things had quieted down. Marci and Florrie sat on the porch steps, chatting like old friends. Travis and Riley dug in the dirt with spoons they’d liberated from the kitchen. That was another thing. Marci didn’t have a screaming fit when the boys raided the drawers. When he silently asked the question with a raised eyebrow, she’d replied that spoons were easily washed and every kid needed to eat some dirt in his life. The dogs, of course, stayed with the boys.

  “Can you sew, Miss Marci?” asked Florrie eagerly. “I want to make an apron.”

  Simon knew where this was going. Aggie was a tomboy while Florrie was what he’d heard called a “girly girl.” He and Lance bought her frilly dresses for birthdays and Christmas as they knew she loved them. Aggie would shake her head but let her daughter be happy. Learning to make an apron was a first step to Florrie learning to make her own clothes. The kid wasn’t stupid, not by a long shot. She was strategic and chose her battles.

  “I love to sew,” replied Marci. “And I’ve made lots of aprons, both plain and pretty.”

  “Did you bring any?”

  Marci shook her head. “I donated them to craft shows to raise money for charity. Men mostly bought the really frilly ones that were totally useless in the kitchen. I always wondered if they knew anything about how messy cooking can be.”

  She laughed and turned her smile on him. It was so bright it made him ache. Her look said she knew exactly why those men bought the aprons. She hadn’t braided her hair this morning. It tumbled around her like a curtain and floated in the breeze. Another hour and they’d be alone. He had plans for her hair. He wanted it dangling over him like a dark curtain.

  “Mama says she never learned to sew. She wears jeans most of the time but I like dresses. Are aprons hard to make?”

  “If I had a sewing machine I could show you how to make your own. If you practice, you can learn to make anything you want.”

  “Uncle Simon has a sewing machine upstairs. Maybe he’d let us use it.”

  When Florrie turned those big brown eyes on him, her blonde pigtails sticking out the back of her head, he couldn’t resist a dang thing she asked. No man worth his salt could resist giving in when a female asked for something useful and reasonable. And since he knew Marci loved to sew, he could make himself look like a hero to both of them.

  “It’s an old treadle machine, Florrie. I don’t know if Miss Marci would—”

  “I would!” Marci smiled as if he’d just offered her something worth solid gold. “I’d have to figure out how to use it first,” she explained to the girl. “But if your parents give permission, I don’t see why I couldn’t show you how to sew.”

  “Hooray!”

  Florrie grabbed Marci’s hand and yanked her off the p
orch to dance. After a moment Marci grabbed the girl’s hands tight and spun her around, lifting her from the ground. Florrie shrieked in delight. That got the attention of the boys as well as the ravens. They boys rushed over to Marci, demanding to have a turn being spun, just like their big sister.

  The rumble of a pair of pickups coming up the road had Simon groaning in relief.

  Two of the birds flew over to escort the trucks into the yard. They rode on the tailgate to investigate what might be in the truck bed. Things got tossed in there and the birds were always curious in case there was something they could eat or steal for later use.

  When the trucks pulled up, Marci was rolling in the dirt halfway to the barn, wrestling and tickling Riley and Travis. The dogs ran to the trucks, barking a welcome. The boys followed, eager to see their parents. Marci lay in the dirt, arms and legs spread wide, panting and smiling. Her long hair fanned across the dirt behind her head.

  The biggest raven, perched on the edge of the barn with a clear view of everything in the yard, erupted in a loud quork. He dropped from the barn and swooped toward Marci, landing a few feet from her head. Keith and Donny each had a boy on their shoulders while Aggie stood on the porch with Florrie. Sophie was sleeping in her car seat with the truck windows open. The dogs had run for the safety of the porch, knowing the black birds were tricksters who liked to pull hair.

  The yard was silent and still. The adults knew not to move, and to keep their children close. Donny and Keith had grown up with the birds and had a healthy respect for them, but Aggie wasn’t convinced they were safe. This was all new to Marci and Simon hadn’t warned her. He tensed as the raven stalked toward her.

  It was the king, or whatever term they used for their leader. The MacDougal ravens were large, but the leader was almost twice the size of the others. Marci just lay there and watched as the huge black bird with the wicked bill came toward her with deliberate steps. He eyed her tempting long hair, tilting his head this way and that as his intelligent eyes checked her out. Even the women who’d grown up in Tanner’s Ford were wary of these oversized birds, but Marci just calmly watched.