Preacher

by Dahlia West

  She yanked it out and slipped out of her robe, letting it pool on the tile floor at her feet. She’d hoped her anger would counteract the throbbing in her clit, but it was just making things worse.

  She stepped under the spray and gave the base a hard twist. Everything spun away as she slid the toy down her belly and pressed it to her wet flesh. She closed her eyes and tried not to think of Jack, to think of anyone else. Actors, ex-boyfriends, the cute checker at the feed store. But Erin’s mind was as willful as her body, and all she could see was a huge man with bulging arm muscles and terrifying tattoos.

  A large, dangerous male.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

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  Jack stood on the other side of the bathroom door and listened with rapt attention as Erin played with her toy. He found himself curious if it was the horses or being that close to him that had revved her engine. Of course, he’d like to think it was him.

  Holding her against him had been hell on his cock. Her pert little ass had been so soft yet so firm in those tiny shorts. The way she’d rubbed up against him had played hell with his control, too, though she hadn’t meant to do it.

  She’d tried to get away from him, but he hadn’t been about to let her go. Danger or no, the moment that Erin had brushed up against him had nearly sealed her own fate on that score. It had taken all of Jack’s willpower—and then some—to let her walk away. He didn’t know why he was testing it now.

  Maybe he wanted to see how much of his old self remained. Before the Badlands, no matter how good a woman looked, or smelled, or felt against him, he wouldn’t have lost control. He’d have made her come to him, bend over, spread herself, beg for his cock. He wouldn’t have cared if they enjoyed it. He wouldn’t have wondered how many times they could orgasm, how tight their holes would be.

  Jack masturbated a lot. He just used women to do it.

  He gripped the doorjamb instead of his erection, steeling himself against his baser impulses. He found his fingers slipping down though—down, down, down—to the brass knob. He didn’t touch it. Instead, he turned away and headed downstairs, away from the sounds that were filling his head.

  He shoved open the back door, passed up the fence that now needed fixing, and headed straight for the barn to take care of his own business. He stepped inside the privacy of his little bunk and closed the door behind him.

  The exposed bulb overhead burned dimly as he slid his jeans and boxer briefs down until his ass hit the cool sheets of the small bed. One large hand encircled his engorged shaft and he stroked slowly, imagining not a club whore or a random face, but Erin’s cherry red lips sliding past the head, taking him deep.

  He felt uncomfortable with it, given what she’d been subjected to with Hank, but he couldn’t get the picture out of his head just the same. He could do it, at least, with her, with Erin. Jack could fuck her with wild abandon, sating his lust with no worries or fear. She wouldn’t knife him in the back or spit in his face.

  As he closed his eyes he wondered if Erin was upstairs in her tidy, little bathroom, shoving that ridiculous purple toy in and out of herself and thinking of him. He smiled at that, and hoped like hell that she was. Though it irritated him a little that she hadn’t even pressed the issue with Jack, hadn’t so much as hinted that she wanted him.

  As his balls drew up and he snatched a shirt off the chair to catch his load, Jack’s mind pictured Erin, lying underneath him, legs spread, back arched, whispering his name. Jack grunted in distaste. As if he’d ever fuck her in her pussy like that. He found it disconcerting that he’d even thought about it.

  Maybe they were both a little damaged.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

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  The next day, Erin was in the stall with King, rubbing down his leg and checking for heat. She’d grown quite comfortable around the large stallion and he seemed to have learned to tolerate her presence pretty well. Or possibly he understood that if he wanted to nuzzle with Bee, he had to cozy up to Erin to do it.

  After their little romantic interlude in the pasture, Erin had finally given up on keeping them completely separated. She allowed them several minutes throughout the day to rub up against each other affectionately.

  King seemed to have calmed down considerably and Erin had even had Jack lead Bee to stand just outside the round pen while Erin and King worked through his paces.

  The male had been much more cooperative after that. If Erin didn’t know any better, King seemed to enjoy showing off for Bee. And Bee even appeared to appreciate the sight of him working.

  King and Bee’s interactions hit a little too close to home for Erin, though, and she had very pointedly ignored Jack, in all his shirtless glory, holding onto Bee’s lead rope just a few feet away. Now he was just a few feet away, with only one or two flimsy walls between them as he showered. Erin kept telling herself she was here for King.

  She was shocked out of her daydreaming by a shout from the bunkroom. All thoughts of Jack naked aside, new thoughts of him being hurt and needing help flooded in instead. Erin slammed the stall gate shut and sprinted for the tiny efficiency apartment. She burst through the closed door in time to see Jack covering up his lower half with a towel, though just barely.

  All her previous mental images couldn’t compete with the reality, and she couldn’t even see the really interesting parts. The curve of his hip was enough to capture the imagination, though, that was for sure.

  He was grunting as he fixed the towel.

  “What happened?!” Erin spluttered, trying not to stare. Instead she turned her gaze to the room and the bathroom beyond, looking for an explanation.

  “Goddamn water heater,” Jack growled. “Just quit.” He stalked past her and Erin squeezed herself against the door to give him room. Jack didn’t seem to have any qualms about parading naked in front of her because when he reached the dresser, he was already tugging at the towel.

  Spinning away in a rush of blood and breath, Erin grabbed at the doorknob. “I’ll check it,” she declared and bolted through the door. She sped out of the bunkroom and to the small closet where the water heater was housed. She threw open the door, a little too hard in her near-panic, and gazed at it, blinking rapidly.

  It was there. It existed. This was the extent of her water-heater knowledge.

  Minutes later Jack came up behind her and Erin couldn’t resist a quick glance out of the corner of her eye, just to make sure he was fully clothed. He was, in jeans and a fresh T-shirt.

  She couldn’t tell if she was relieved or disappointed, or both. She watched as he flipped open a small panel on the front of the cylinder, inspected it, twisted the knob for good measure, and finally lowered himself onto the floor.

  “Pilot’s out,” he surmised. “How old is this thing?”

  Erin ducked her head and winced. “I don’t know exactly. I bought it used.”

  Jack sighed and pushed himself up off the ground. “Well, it’s toast,” he concluded. “The thermostat’s shot and it’s got a leak there in the back.”

  Erin squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed them. “You can’t fix it?” When she opened them and looked up, Jack was shaking his head. She groaned. She really couldn’t afford to replace it.

  He peered at her for a moment and then simply shrugged. “I can live with it.”

  “No,” she argued wearily. “That’s terrible. You work hard. I can’t let you take cold showers every day.” She bit her lower lip and looked at the ancient appliance but knew it was hopeless. “You…” she began cautiously, then cleared her throat. “I mean, you could shower in the house.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Just until I scrape together enough money to replace this old thing,” Erin added hastily. She’d already been within arm’s length of a half-naked Jack and that had been…unsettling to say the least.

  “All right,” he agreed. Suddenly they both heard a truck coming up the drive. “Who’s that?” he demanded, striding toward the open door.

&n
bsp; Erin followed him and looked out. She sighed and wiped her hands on her jeans. “Fletcher Kyle. He’s the physical therapist the DelRays hired before me.” She stomped her boots off on the grass and grimaced. “He’s terrible,” she told Jack. “He set King’s recovery back at least six months. Maybe more. He told them not to get King’s pastern fused. Said he’d be just fine.” She flicked a hard glance back at Jack. “They nearly had to put him down because they waited too long. He charges way too much but doesn’t know shit.”

  Jack grunted. “Snake-oil salesman.”

  “Basically.”

  Erin watched Jack eye Kyle’s gleaming black Ford. “Guess he sells a lot of it.”

  She scowled and kicked the dirt with her boot. “Oh, he does. Charges an arm and a leg for his services.”

  The wiry older man stepped down from the running board and took a quick scan of the place.

  Erin didn’t miss the dismissive sneer on his face. She didn’t mind, though, really. She may not have as much money in the bank as Fletcher Kyle, but she had King. And they both knew it.

  “Heard Tucker DelRay talking in town,” Kyle told Erin as he approached. “Heard words like ‘miracle worker’ and ‘horse whisperer’ and thought I’d come see my old patient for myself. If you don’t mind.”

  The slick veneer didn’t stop at the man’s truck. Despite whatever anger he must be harboring toward her, Fletcher Kyle had a dazzling smile plastered to his face. If his eyes weren’t glittering with hatred, Erin would’ve almost bought the ruse.

  She smiled back, offering a facade of professionalism, just the same. There was no point in getting down in the dirt with Kyle. She’d already won, anyway. “Sure,” she said, because she couldn’t see the harm in it. And, okay, because she wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to rub Kyle’s nose in it. Just a little. For King.

  She led Kyle to the barn with Jack bringing up the rear. Erin noticed that he remained a respectful distance but never ventured too far away. He busied himself with reattaching the equipment hooks on the far wall while Erin presented King in his stall, fresh from his morning workout.

  “The pastern fuse went pretty well,” she told him, trying to keep her tone professional.

  “Is that so?” Kyle sneered, indicating that he didn’t trust her judgment on anything more complicated than a muck bucket.

  Erin shook off her rising irritation. “Well, now, remember, I’m pretty familiar with pastern injuries,” she said, nodding toward Bee in the adjacent stall. “King’s retained most of the movement in the leg.”

  Kyle merely grunted, then spat onto the dirt floor and frowned at her. “Didn’t need it. You know he can’t perform now.”

  Erin bristled at the idea that King was merely a competition horse and had no other use to the DelRays. He was still an example of fine and careful breeding, and his death would’ve been a real loss to the genetic pool. “He’s alive,” she said through gritted teeth.

  Kyle snorted. “What good is that?”

  Erin swung around so fast that Kyle jumped back, possibly thinking she was about to punch him. If she hadn’t been striving to be such a consummate professional, she probably would have. Instead she gestured to the door, and to Kyle’s shiny black truck beyond. “Well, you’ve seen him,” she declared. “Live and in the flesh. I think it’s time you head on out.”

  The older man didn’t say so much as goodbye as he stomped out of the barn.

  Erin stood in the doorway, watching him leave.

  Jack abandoned his feigned interest in the wall hooks and joined her. “Guess he’s not taking your newfound success well,” he observed.

  Erin sighed. “Fletcher Kyle is a man without a legacy.” She started to head back to the house, but the perplexed look on Jack’s face stopped her. “He can’t see past today, past payday. He never thinks about what he’s leaving behind, about the future. And trust me, he’s never spared a single thought for anyone but himself.”

  Jack was quiet for a moment, so quiet that Erin was tempted to ask him if he was all right. Just as she took in a breath to speak, he did instead. “We’re getting you a dog,” he announced.

  Erin’s eyebrows rose. “A dog?”

  “Too many people show up here unannounced,” he said as he watched the truck pull out of the long driveway and onto the highway. “I don’t like it.”

  “I’m not sure why I need a dog. Only Hank caused any trouble and—”

  Jack turned back to her with a look that made her mouth snap closed. “This isn’t a discussion, Erin. This is me telling you that tomorrow we’re getting you a dog.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

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  Jack could see the lingering questions in her eyes, but he turned and walked away. He wouldn’t always be here and Erin needed someone around all the time, someone who could let her know when someone showed up, and, God forbid, protect her if the wrong kind of person showed up.

  Like himself.

  He lifted his arm, testing his reach. The ache in his ribs dulled a little more each day, though not by a lot. He could take out a bank manager. And a washed up snake-oil salesman. He could probably even beat the shit out of Buck Walker. The man certainly outweighed Jack, but that was mostly beer gut.

  If anyone else showed up, though, like a Buzzard, like Hook…but Jack shook his head, willing the thought away. That would never happen. No one would ever come here. No one even knew he was alive.

  But still. They ought to have a dog around. If anything, the dog might eat that fucking rabid chicken.

  It was a small legacy, he supposed, as far as legacies went. Tiny, really. But something told him that when he left Thunder Ridge, he’d be a whole lot more content knowing that Erin had at least some basic protection.

  When he left her alone, to fend for herself.

  He frowned at the idea, but it was what it was. Hook and Haze’s betrayal couldn’t go unanswered.

  * * *

  The next day they headed out to the hardware store with his weekly list of tools and supplies. Jack had circled an ad in the paper for Labrador retrievers and put it on the seat between them. He’d prefer a pit bull or something large like a Great Dane, but pickings were slim in Highland and the surrounding counties, and Labs were by far the most popular breed.

  They separated in the store while Jack picked up the lumber order and had it put in the truck’s bed. He found Erin in the gardening section, looking at seeds.

  “I never had a garden,” she told him. “Rabbits.”

  Jack nodded.

  “But if you’re getting a dog…”

  “You’re getting a dog,” he corrected.

  “Well, if I’m getting a dog, then I’m getting some peppers and zucchini out of the deal.”

  Jack was glad she’d seen the light on the subject. “I’m going to get in line,” he told her. “Hurry up.”

  He picked the shortest one, paying no attention to who was running the register, but apparently the pretty blonde making change thought otherwise. She was probably just this side of legal and she was working it for all it was worth. When it was Jack’s turn, she batted her eyelashes at him and leaned over the counter, giving him a good view straight down her shirt (that was at least one size too small). Her tits were smaller than Erin’s, though, and he wasn’t all that impressed.

  The girl’s hand flitted over the wrench he’d set down and she traced it slowly with her fingertip before she picked it up. “I like men with big tools,” she purred.

  Jack grinned at her. He’d heard cheesier lines but then he was only interested in a woman’s lips when they were wrapped around his cock. He was about to ask what that shade of cotton candy lipstick looked like on a hard dick, but before he could respond, Erin smacked her hand down on the conveyor belt. Seed packets flew in every direction.

  The checkout girl’s eyes widened, then narrowed into slits. “Jesus.”

  Erin waved her hand at the carousel of sacks. “Can you bag this?” she said in a clipped tone. �
��We’re in a hurry.”

  The checkout girl snorted and flipped her hair indignantly but scanned their purchases. She ignored Erin entirely and held the bags out to Jack, rubbing the back of his hand when he took them. “I get off at nine,” she told him. She shot Erin a hateful look. “You should come by. After your older sister goes to bed.”

  Jack pressed his lips together to avoid laughing and nudged a fuming Erin away from the register and out of the way.

  Outside, Erin’s boots clipped the asphalt of the parking lot as she stomped toward the truck. “I’m not older than you!” she bit out.

  “I know.”

  “I don’t even look older than you!”

  “Nope,” he said, keeping his responses to a minimum because he was within arm’s reach.

  Erin whirled on him anyway, giving him the stink eye. “You know she’s given more rides than a pony at a county fair.”

  Try as he might, Jack couldn’t stop a grin from spreading on his face. “I didn’t say anything to her, Erin.”

  Her nostrils flared. “I don’t care. I’m just letting you know.”

  “Well, thanks for the tip,” he said, flashing her a smile. “Guess I don’t need to show up with flowers and a bottle of Boone’s, then, if she’s that easy. She said she gets off at nine,” he mused as he slid the key into the ignition. “Maybe I can get her off by ten.”

  Erin slammed the passenger door so hard that the entire cab shook. “What about the dog?” she snapped.

  Jack laughed and cranked the engine to life. “Oh, come on now,” he teased. “She’s not a dog. She’s got a cute face. Not that I’m going to be looking at it”—he gave her a long, sideways look—“while I’m riding her like a pony at the fair.”

  Erin’s nostrils flared again and she turned away to look out the window.

  Jack suppressed a chuckle as he pulled out of the lot.

  * * *

  They rode without talking, Erin staring out the window on the passenger side. Jack figured he didn’t need the ancient air-conditioner to actually work. The icy silence between them was chilly enough.