by BA Tortuga
“Tell me there’s somewhere we can make out a little.”
“Let me set up the truck. It will take two shakes.” They could do it in the cab, but it would be so much better in the bed.
“Okay, baby. I’ll go grab us one more beer.” The sun was going down, the party moving off toward the bonfire.
“Sounds good.” He patted her butt and ducked her swat, laughing like a loon.
He might just be the happiest man on earth.
It was a damned good feeling.
Damned good.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Jeff? Jeffy? You home? It’s me! I have news!” Emmy grinned back at Cotton, waved him in.
She had news.
A ring.
A job.
A good job.
A great job.
A fiancé.
Did she mention the ring? Pretty and sparkly, and Cotton had given it to her just this morning after a three-day stop at his mom’s house. Her mother-in-law’s house. Oh, God.
“Jeff?”
“Back here.” The sound was a croak, and it came from Jeffy’s bedroom.
She frowned. “Jeff? Are you okay, honey?”
Man, she hoped he didn’t have the flu. That would suck.
“I’m not contagious.” He croaked that out, too, sounding pitiful.
“Okay, I’m coming. Do you need anything? What happened?” She headed back to the back bedroom.
“I think I have pneumonia.” Oh, man, his room was a wreck.
“Okay. Okay, let me have Cotton get his truck started up and we’ll take you to St. David’s.”
“No, no. I went and got drugs and all. I just… I can’t get out of bed.” He did look like crap.
“Oh, man.” She sat on the edge of the bed, shook her head. “When did you get sick?”
“I… Well, I’ve been feeling low for a bit.”
“Shit, man. Have the guys been coming to help? Do you need me to get you anything from the store?”
“They’ve all been busy.” He coughed, the sound dry as a bone.
“What can I do to help?” She had a little bit of time.
“If you could—uh. Help me to the bathroom first, I guess.” He held out a hand, trying to smile.
“Sure. Sure.” She stood up, took his hand and tugged gently. He felt warm, maybe a little clammy. His grip was pretty good, though. “Come on. I’ll get you in there and then make some soup or something.” Maybe she should get Cotton to help him in. God knew what Jeff’s bathroom looked like.
“Thanks.” Jeff coughed some more, heaving against her. Eek.
“Cotton? Can you come help, baby?”
“Sure thing.” Cotton had hung back, but she could hear it in his voice, how impatient he was getting.
“You brought him?”
“No, he brought me. Dork.” She grinned at Jeff. “He proposed.”
“He…”
“Congratulate us, man. We’re gettin’ married.” Cotton got on Jeff’s other side and hauled him toward the john.
“You…”
She nodded, happy. “It’s been so good. Everything’s working out.”
Jeff rolled a baleful eye at her. “Really? Go you.”
She pulled away, hurt. “Don’t be nasty, Jeff.”
“I’m sorry, Auntie. I just…” He hacked, his whole body shaking.
“What did you say you had again?” Cotton asked, easing Jeff down on the closed toilet.
“Did they give you antibiotics at the doctor’s?” She didn’t want to touch anything.
“I told you, I’m not contagious.” Jeff sounded pretty peevish. She knew that tone.
“Okay. Okay. Do you want some soup?” She was getting all tight in her chest, all stressed.
“Go on and heat up a can, Emmy. I’ll help him in here.” Cotton smiled, pecked a kiss on her cheek.
“Okay, baby.” She smiled at him, wandering back toward the kitchen. She needed to grab some boxes out of Cotton’s truck, grab her still-boxed stuff out of the shed in back. Everything else was being delivered by the Pods people. All she had to do was get ready and go.
Cotton closed the bathroom door behind Emmy and waited for her footsteps to fade before planting his hands on his hips and staring at Jeff. “You are one low-down snake.”
“What?” Jeff coughed again, blinked at him.
“Pneumonia, my ass.” Cotton shook his head. “I’ve had that. Had a punctured lung that went bad. It’s wet.”
“I’m sick, asshole. What does it matter to you whether my cough is dry or wet?”
“Because you’re lying.” He was working up a good foam. “You’re trying to blackmail Emmy into staying.”
“She belongs here. She’s happy here.”
“She’s skinny and hungry and worrying about where her next paycheck will come from here. Is that what you want for her?” If the man said yes to even one, Cotton would deck him.
“She’s healthy, in a house, and admired by men all over the world.”
Oh, the bastard. “Well, Mister, I’m sorry that you’re such a limp dick that you admiring her ain’t enough, but I’m not. She’s my girl, and I won’t have it.”
“She’s making a mistake. She belongs here. I’m going to make her understand. I’ve been patient. I can be patient longer.”
“You try and I will kick your ass.” He got right in Jeff’s face, making his own as stony as he could. He could do scary cowboy. “She’s not yours. She’s not ever gonna be.”
Jeff opened his mouth, but it was Emmy’s voice that he heard. “You two stop it, right now.”
He turned to glance at Em, and her eyes were bright with tears, lips pursed and tight. Shit. Cotton stood up straight and backed off, but only because she was crying. “Are you ready to go, Emmy-girl?”
“I need help getting my shit, huh? We’ll go now.” Jeff opened his mouth again, and Emmy snarled. “Don’t fucking talk to me. I thought you were my friend, asshole.”
Ouch. Cotton didn’t need to kick Jeff’s ass. If the guy cared for her as much as he said, that would sting enough.
“Em. Come on. He’s not healthy for you.”
Cotton took her elbow and turned them out of the room, heading for Emmy’s stuff.
“Em! Auntie! You’ve got to stop and listen!”
Em’s shook her head, ignoring Jeff’s strident-assed voice. “I have stuff in the shed and in my room. I don’t want to leave it, baby.”
“Take a load to the car. Then you can get the shed while I get your room. He cain’t kick me out.” Not physically for sure.
“I’ll call the cops, Auntie. I swear, if you leave him here, I’ll have him arrested. You think his sponsors would like that?”
Emily spun around, heading down the hall toward Jeff.
Cotton grabbed for her arm and missed. Jeff couldn’t leave it well enough alone, either. He kept talking. “He’s trash, Auntie, and he’s going to ruin you.”
“He’s my fiancé, you piece of shit.” She walked right up to Jeff and punched him, right in the face. Hard.
Impressive.
Cotton stood there, proud as he could be. She was taking up for herself, and he was tickled. In love. A little turned on.
“You don’t talk trash about him, you don’t talk to me, you don’t call anybody. I just want my things. I have a lease, I have two brothers who are lawyers, and if anyone calls the cops, it’ll be me. You fuck!”
Jeff opened and closed his mouth like a fish, and Cotton woulda felt sorry for him, except the bastard didn’t deserve it. “Come on, Emmy. Get your things.”
“I thought you were my friend, but you… Jesus, Jeff. If I’d wanted you, I had opportunity.” Emmy turned and ran for her room.
Cotton blocked a very sprightly and not at all sick now Jeff. “You made her cry. That makes me want to hurt you.”
“Fuck you. I don’t know what you did to her, but—”
Cotton popped Jeff one. He couldn’t help it. The man was being nasty.
&nbs
p; “Fuck. Backwater jackass.” Jeff stumbled back. “Get out of my house.”
“I will when she’s got her stuff.” Not a moment before.
His shoulders slumped, and Jeff sighed. “I want to go apologize to her.”
“Send her an email.” When Jeff opened his mouth, Cotton held up a hand. “Sorry. I just don’t trust you with her today.”
And Emmy’s feelings had been hurt enough.
He wouldn’t let the fucker hurt her again.
Not one bit. It was time to get the hell out of Dodge.
Hallelujah.
Fucker. She shoved clothes and shoes into boxes, slapping tears off her cheeks. Damn it. This was supposed to be fun. This was supposed to be joyous. Good.
Asshole.
“Hey, honey.” Cotton came up behind her, hands on her waist.
“H-hey.” She sniffled a little, trying to hide the tears.
“Shh. I’m sorry, Emmy. I am.” He kissed the back of her neck. “I think he honestly thought he was doing what was best.”
“He’s an ass. I thought he was my friend.”
“I know.” Cotton moved around from behind her, picking up a bag and stuffing her underwear in it.
“I hit him.” Her knuckles were bruised.
“You did. I must be a bad influence.”
She peered over at her redheaded cowboy. “Tell me this is all going to work out, baby.”
“It’s going to work out. I love you. You love me, right? We can do this.” He grinned, his green eyes sparkling, confident.
“I love you, right.” She smiled back, chuckling as he picked up a tiny leather g-string with a rhinestone belly chain.
“I love your underwear. You love my chaps. It’s all good.”
“Yeah. Yeah, baby.” She winked at him, pushed a bunch of nighties into a bag. “You still going to think that when I’m wearing granny panties?”
“I’ll still think it when you’re wearing Depends.” Cotton dropped everything and came to put his hands on her cheeks. “You’re my girl.”
“Yeah, I am.” She kissed him, loving him so hard it hurt. “Take me home, Cotton. I’m ready.”
Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:
Claiming the Cowboys
Alysha Ellis
Excerpt
Chapter One
“In three hundred meters your destination is on the right.”
Sophie slowed the hardtop sports car and searched for the cattle-gridded entrance she barely remembered. As a child she’d spent most holidays here. Then she’d become a teenager and her aging grandparents’ remote property no longer held much appeal. It had been fifteen years since she had been a regular visitor to the farm nestled at the farthest end of the Hunter Valley.
When her grandfather died, and her grandmother moved away, Sophie never thought about what had happened to the farm. She had her life in the city, fast-paced and satisfying. Then in one horrifying car accident both her parents and her grandmother had been killed. In the aftermath, the parties, the alcohol, the superficial contacts that passed for her social life felt empty and meaningless.
Her parents’ death left her the sole heir to substantial assets including the Hunter Valley property. Memories of her childhood, of the peace and happiness, offered her solace in her grief.
Four months after the accident, she took extended leave from her job, packed her car and headed to the country. If the homestead was in disrepair, she could restore it, keep it as a holiday house, a reminder of happier times.
After seven hours of driving, she didn’t care what condition it was in, as long as there was a roof and somewhere to put a sleeping bag.
She made the turn onto the narrow gravel road. It was surprisingly pothole free, the paddocks on either side marked off by rows of fence posts, strung with taut wire.
She pulled up in front of the house. Built low to the ground, with verandahs on four sides in the Australian tradition, shaded by gum trees, it looked the same as it had when her grandparents were alive. The painted weatherboard sparkled white in the bright spring sunshine. The water tank still nestled up against the side of the house, the grass around it neat and freshly mown.
She grabbed her bag and fished around in it for the key she’d stored away in her jewelry box as a memento of some of the happiest times in her life. Not that she’d ever seen the door locked during her holidays with her grandparents, but the moment when they had given her the serrated metal shaped cut specially for her had been important, a mark of how much she belonged.
She walked up to the door, inserted the key and turned it. Although she pushed hard, the door stayed shut. She blew out a breath. In the years since she’d last been here, had someone changed the lock? She refused to believe crime had found its way to this little patch of serenity.
She squared her shoulders, flexed her muscles and turned the key again. This time the solid wooden panel swung inward.
She stepped across the threshold, instantly aware that the house smelled fresh, with a spicy, outdoors scent. The open plan living room was much as she remembered it. A hardwood floor led to a row of floor-to-ceiling windows. Her grandparents’ antique, high-back sofa still faced inwards, just as it always had.
She took a few steps forward when she heard a soft noise she couldn’t identify. Something or someone was in the room with her.
The noise, a low moan, this time identifiably human, came again. She raised her bag like a weapon and prepared to swing, but her arm stopped, everything in her body, including her breath, frozen into immobility.
A man lay on the sofa, his head against the armrest. He was naked except for a pair of jeans scrunched around his thighs. The man sprawled on top of him was also shirtless. Their stubbled jaws were locked together in a passionate kiss.
The forearm of the man on top disappeared between their two bodies and… He arched up and her mouth dropped open. He had a fistful of the other guy’s cock. Not much doubt about what was going on here. If they weren’t having sex, they were damn close to it. She leaned forward, prurient curiosity and building outrage compelling her to get a closer look.
Her bag slipped off her shoulder and fell to the floor with a clatter.
The man lying on his back leaped to his feet. The one on top reeled backwards, arms flailing. Unfortunately he still had a firm grip on the other guy’s erection.
“Fuck!” The bottom guy doubled over, clutching his groin, and their heads, one light, one dark, butted together. The blond who’d been on top fell to the floor.
A string of curses split the air. The dark-headed guy straightened then leaned down and pulled the other man to his feet. Two pairs of eyes, one a smoky blue, the other a golden brown glared at her.
The brown-haired man, stockier of build and maybe a bit older, shoved his abused penis into his pants and pulled up the zip. “Who the hell are you?” His low voice carried the suggestion of menace, of power that could be dangerous if unleashed.
“And what are you doing in our house?” the other male asked. He sounded more curious than aggressive, but Sophie didn’t underestimate the danger. These men were trespassers. Criminals.
Then his words made their way through the fog of confusion in her brain. He thought it was…”Your house? That’s a total lie! This was my grandparents’ house, and now it’s mine.”
“I don’t care whose house it was,” the dark-haired guy shouted. His chest rose with the furious breath he took. “This is our stud, our business, our home.”
Before she could reply the blond cut in, calmer, but no less determined. “If you are the owner of the property, you’re entitled to inspect but you have to give us notice. And you have to go through the agent. You can’t just walk in unannounced.”
Sophie was too angry to give him a fair hearing. How dare they tell her what she could and couldn’t do in her own house? At least she hadn’t been nailing someone in the middle of the living room. “I can do what I like! This place is mine. Get out.”
; “We’re not going anywhere.” The dark-haired one folded his arms and stared at her grimly, as if the force of his will alone could send her flying backwards out the door.
“There’s obviously some misunderstanding.” The blond was once again the voice of reason. He looked directly at Sophie, his eyes framed by the hair falling loosely on his forehead. “How about we start over. I’m Hamish Maguire. This is Jackson Blake.” He held out his hand.
Sophie stared at him. For a moment she forgot he was a trespasser. He was just so beautiful. His chest was hard and firm. The muscles in his arms were delineated by the slanting light. His jeans hugged his lean hips. The hint of a hollow V disappearing under the blue denim made her mouth water. Was it some kind of rule that the gorgeous ones always had to be gay?
He looked at her, holding her gaze, his lips curved up into a lop-sided smile, one eyebrow raised in query. Liquid heat pooled in her groin. Gay or not, he was as sexy as hell.
He tilted his head, and that devastating eyebrow rose a little higher, as if he were waiting. In her peripheral vision she saw something move. His hand. It was still there, waiting for her. Her brain finally kicked in to remind her of social protocol. Hamish wanted to shake hands. And he wanted to know her name.
“Sophie Driscoll. Yes. I’m Sophie Driscoll.” Great. She sounded like a fool who wasn’t even sure of who she was. And once she grasped his hand she seemed to lose the ability to let it go.
“I hope I can say it’s nice to meet you, Sophie,” he said, eyes twinkling. “How about we sit down and find out?” He bent down and snatched a blue chambray shirt from the floor then led her to the table at the far end of the room.
She finally released her grip then rubbed her palms together to ease the surprising tingling sensation that remained. Hamish pulled out a chair for her then shrugged into his shirt.
The other man, Jackson, hadn’t moved. Then he spun on his heel and walked out through the still open door onto the front verandah.
“Jackson can be a bit difficult,” Hamish said. “He’ll be back.”
Proving his guess correct, the screen door slammed against the outside wall. Jackson strode back in, a fur-felt stockman’s hat jammed on his head, tucking a fully buttoned khaki shirt into the waistband of his jeans.