12 Borrowing Trouble

by Becky McGraw

  “Let me get my purse,” Carrie said sliding out of the chair to stand. “Thank you for helping us,” she said.

  “Welcome,” he growled, as he turned to walk out of the dining room.

  “Wow, he’s really in a bad mood. I’ve never seen him like that,” he heard Terri mutter as he walked through the living room.

  Well they’d better get used to that mood. It was the only one they were going to see until he could shuck the dust of this place off of his boots. Maybe they would all leave him the hell alone then. Being nice and accommodating had convinced people he was settled in here. He wasn’t settled. He wanted out. As soon as he could snatch that release from the doctor’s hand, he was getting out while the getting was good. Sugar cookies or not. Whether these people still needed him or not. He didn’t need them, he had been riding solo for a long time and that wasn’t about to change now.

  Dylan strode across the porch, shuffled down the steps then angrily opened the door and hopped inside. He cranked it and gripped the wheel, waiting for those who were going with him to get on board. If they took too long, he might just leave them here.

  But then where would he go? The purpose of this trip was to move Carrie Collins to the ranch, and leave her son at New Hope. Then he’d wipe his hands and bide his time until he could leave. His doctor’s appointment wasn’t until Thursday. Almost four days from now. The crew would be out on the trail drive. He’d be stuck here with nothing to do. She’d be here. He was going to be in absolute hell trying to keep his hands to himself.

  “Fuck me,” he grumbled as the passenger door opened.

  “Um, no thank you,” Carrie said with a laugh, as she bounced a few times then sat on the seat. She scooted toward him, and that damned vanilla scent drifted to his nose.

  His fingers tightened on the wheel, and the words popped out before he could stop them. “You didn’t say that out by the lake, sweet cheeks.” He flinched when she gasped.

  The door opened again, and Zane Lawrence stood there. “Slide over, Chickie,” he said with a wink. “I can’t ride in the back unless you want to mop the floor.”

  The big Aussie got motion sick? Wasn’t that just fucking hilarious?

  It was funny, until Zane got inside the truck and filled up most of the right side of the cab, forcing Carrie to suction herself to Dylan’s side. Her bare leg was flush to his from the top of her thigh to her ankle. Thank goodness Dylan was wearing jeans, but he could still feel her heat through the cloth, and it sizzled up his thigh to his cock.

  Chris got into the back seat, and Dylan threw the truck in gear. The truck lurched, and Carrie’s hand landed on his thigh, very near his cock. Dylan gritted his teeth, as he shoved her hand off. She looked at him a second as he drove down the driveway. He knew she did, because he could feel the heat of her stare on the side of his face.

  Suddenly her heat left him, as she scooted toward Zane Lawrence. Dylan breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing a little. But then he glanced over to see the Aussie cowboy smile down at her as he stretched to drop his arm over the back of the seat. Over her shoulders. Dylan’s agitation increased tenfold, when he hit another bump on the rutty driveway. Carrie laughed as she bounced on the seat, and gripped Zane’s thigh to steady herself this time. Once he turned onto the smooth, paved road, Dylan noticed she didn’t move her hand either. She left it right there on the man’s thigh. And the Aussie sure didn’t seem to mind it being there.

  Dylan knew why. Because he was smelling that damned vanilla scent of hers. Like any man would, he was wondering the same thing that Dylan had wondered when it intoxicated him. If she tasted like sugar cookies all over her body. Well, the bastard wasn’t ever going to find out. Not as long as Dylan was alive. While he was at the R & R Ranch, he corrected, huffing out a breath. After he left, they could do what they damned well pleased.

  Until then, just like Dylan, the Aussie could keep his damned hands to himself, or there was going to be hell to pay.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Dylan carried a stack of clothes on hangers to the truck. Except for a few hangers in the back of her closet in Carrie’s bedroom, this was the last of it. Lifting the light stuff was as much as he’d been able to help with. He didn’t want to screw up his arm again.

  With Chris’s help, Zane had been doing all the heavy lifting. When she wasn’t helping him, which was most of the time, Carrie had been oohing and aahing at how strong Zane was, and thanking him for his help. Dylan had to admit, the bastard was strong as a mule. But that damned smile of his when Carrie praised him reminded Dylan of that wolf in the kid’s story.

  All the better to eat you with. All Dylan wanted to do was knock those big ass teeth of his down his throat.

  He walked to the back door of the truck, then changed his mind, shifted the clothes, and opened the front door. It took some doing, but he stuffed the clothes in on top of the boxes in the front seat. Half of the front seat was now packed up to the roof. There was just enough room left for two. That would keep the damned Aussie from getting into the front seat beside Carrie again. He slammed the door, put a hip into it to snap it shut, barely holding back a laugh.

  Regardless of whether he puked all over the back seat of his truck or not, Dylan wasn’t going to sit up there and watch Zane Lawrence paw Carrie again. He would be the one puking if that happened. He’d had enough of that by the time they pulled up in front of her parents’ ranch house. More than enough. When the big Aussie put his hands on her waist to lift her down from the truck on the passenger side, Dylan had seriously contemplated getting his shotgun from under the seat. He had to wonder if the man was needling him on purpose.

  The sly, challenging look Zane cast him when he put his big hands on her waist told Dylan he was up to something. It was like he was daring Dylan to say something. To do something. Like beat the shit out of him. Which is just the urge Dylan had fought during the entire drive out to the boonies, where her parents’ ranch was located.

  Huffing out a breath, he walked back into the house. Her parents weren’t home. Carrie said they were probably at the local church, preparing for the social that was held every last Friday of the month. It was happening this week, and Carrie said her mother always cooked for it, while her father cut the lawn. It sounded like she had been raised in a Beaver Cleaver type perfect family. A far cry from how he’d been raised. That just drove home the point of how different they were. Joel had been right to warn him to stay away from her. She definitely wasn’t his type. But not Zane Lawrence’s type either. That man was a saddle tramp too. No better than he was. Definitely not the man for Carrie Collins either.

  Dylan walked into the bedroom again, and stopped, noticing the antique iron bed for the first time. The colorful patchwork quilt covering it looked soft and old. A flash of him in that bed with Carrie shot through his mind, her naked and writhing under him, as he licked her to find out if she tasted like sugar between her perfectly-shaped legs. Dylan sucked in a breath and adjusted his jeans, as it hissed out through his teeth. Not going to happen.

  He walked to the closet and reached around the door to grab the three hangers left on the iron rod. Something clanked, rattled, then when the unexpected weight of the clothes transferred to his arm they fell to the ground with a loud thud. Something was not right here, he thought, as he bent down to unzip the lightweight coat on top of the pile.

  A strange black sack appeared when he pushed the sides of the jacket back. He unzipped one horizontal zipper on the bag and shoved his hand down inside. Something fuzzy tickled his palm, and he closed his fingers around it. He felt cold metal on the side of his hand as he yanked a couple of times to pull whatever it was out. A loud buzzing started and he yelped, as he fell back on his ass. He looked at what he held in his hand and blinked twice. Slowly. It took a full thirty seconds for his brain to wrap itself around the fact what he just found were a pair of furry pink handcuffs. His heart mule-kicked in his chest as he fought for breath.

  The persistent buzzing in the
closet finally woke him up, and he crawled back to the bag and shoved his hand back inside the bag. He finally found what was buzzing and grabbed the cord. With a yank it came out, and he stared in amazement at a small silver, bullet-shaped vibrator that danced at the end of the thin, white cord.

  Her parents were church-going folks, but sweet, cookie-baking mother Carrie Collins was evidently the queen of closet kink. A chill raced down his spine and he shivered. Dazed, he reached inside again, and this time came out with a small butt plug. Tired of moving piece by piece, anxious to see everything she had in her bag of tricks, Dylan turned the bag upside down and out rolled the full arsenal of sex toys. A sleep mask, feather duster, riding crop, nipple clamps, various lubes and lotions, bottles and jars, and the biggest glass dildo Dylan had ever seen in his life. It was so big it made him feel small in comparison, and that was saying something.

  You name it she had it.

  Sexy, black lace panties caught his attention. Dylan picked them up to inspect them. In the crotch of the panties was a pouch, inside that pouch was a hard plastic peanut shaped object that had to be a vibrator. He saw another hard plastic object attached to the side, and removed it to look it over. He pressed the flat button in the center and jumped when the panties began vibrating his hand. Heat rushed through him and he smiled. Excitement sent electric current right through his dick to his balls. Oh God, could he have some fun with these things.

  A shocked gasp had him clutching the panties to his chest. Heat flooded to his face, but a slow grin spread over his lips, as he saw Carrie’s face was much redder than his. She looked practically on the verge of passing out.

  “What are you doing?” she hissed, as she dropped to her knees. “How dare you dig through my things!” she growled, quickly stuffing things back into the black bag. She sat back and tried to snatch the panties from his hand, but Dylan dodged her to stand up.

  He tsked, waggled a finger at her, then grinned wider. “Ut, uh, naughty girl…these are mine.” She stood, and her legs wobbled as she pushed him back toward the bed. Dylan sat down, but he didn’t let go of the scrap of lace.

  “Give me my fricking panties, you pervert!” she growled.

  Dylan hooted, and his eyebrows shot up. “Me? That’s the funniest damned thing I’ve ever heard!” He laughed. “Good, God woman, I don’t think I’ve ever even seen some of this stuff myself. If people knew what else you baked—“

  Horrified is the only description he could find for the look on her face, as she said, “No, you wouldn’t,” she said breathlessly. Her lower lip wobbled just like her daughter’s did before she cried. “Please, don’t.” She shook her head, and he thought for sure she’d burst out in tears any minute. Her beautiful brown eyes were filled with fear and big as saucers. “My kids…please.”

  Dylan had no intention of sharing her private life with anyone. He knew she was embarrassed. She had to be. He would be mortified. And she was right, he shouldn’t have been digging through her things. But he wasn’t going to pass on the opportunity for a little retribution for her flirting with the Aussie in the truck. Even though he didn’t think she’d done it on purpose, Zane had definitely been doing it intentionally, and she had to have known it. Was probably secretly flattered by his attention.

  At least this might make being near her tolerable too. And maybe it would help him keep his hands to himself. For now.

  “I won’t tell a soul, sweet cheeks,” he drawled, as he held out the panties to her. “But you have to wear these for me, until I tell you to take them off. If you take them off, or don’t have them set right, I will cluck like a chicken to anyone who’ll listen.”

  She didn’t take them from him, she just stared at them like they would bite her. “You won’t know if I have them on or not,” she said with a tremble in her voice.

  “Oh, I’ll know,” he replied, pushing the button on the remote. The panties came alive in his hand, she whimpered and pinched her knees together.

  “No, I can’t,” she said breathlessly.

  “You can and you will, or…” Dylan clucked his tongue a few times and her eyes locked on his mouth. She growled, then snatched the panties from him, and Dylan bit back a laugh.

  Carrie slammed the bedroom door locked it, then slid her blue jean shorts down her legs. She replaced her white lace panties with the black ones, then stepped back into her shorts, and buttoned them. She spun back toward him, with her fists at her sides. “You are an asshole.”

  Dylan smiled, and pushed the button on the remote to see if he could hear the buzz. He really didn’t want to embarrass her. Nothing except her wide-eyed gasp, and whimper. Oh yeah, this was going to be the most fun he’d had in years, he thought, as he stood.

  “Yes, I am. And you are going to be my own personal sex toy until I decide I’m through with you,” he said fighting off a shiver of anticipation. “Or until the batteries run out.”

  If that happened, he’d replace them for sure. He’d buy stock in Eveready.

  Carrie gritted her teeth and spun toward the door, her hand trembling as she unlocked the door. “You’re going to hell for this,” she grated as she stepped through the doorway. He waited a second for her to walk away, then pressed the button, and heard a low-pitched gurgle from down the hall.

  “I’m already there, sweet cheeks,” he said as he shoved the remote into his pocket and picked up the hangers from the closet floor.

  When they were finished loading the truck, Carrie locked the door and they met at the truck. Dylan opened the door for her, but she shot him a hot glare, and opened the back door. “Chris, you sit up front with Dylan. There’s not enough room up there,” she said as she climbed up into the back seat and shoved over as far as she could.

  Zane groaned, but he got in the back too. Dylan hid his grin as he hopped up into the front seat beside Chris. “You ready buddy?” he asked as he cranked the truck.

  “Yep,” he replied with a grin.

  Dylan didn’t think either of his backseat passengers was ready for this ride though. A chuckle bubbled in his chest, as he threw the truck into gear and popped the clutch as fast as he could without killing the truck. It lurched, and Zane groaned, then blew out a breath. Dylan leaned up to shove his hand down into his pocket. He palmed the remote in his left hand and changed gears. The truck stuttered a few times, bucked a little and Zane whimpered.

  Oh yeah, this was going to be so good. Perfect.

  “What are you smiling about?” Chris asked, and Dylan barely heard him over the roar of his big truck tires.

  He looked down into the kid’s curious green eyes, and smiled wider. “Karma is a bitch. Always remember that kid.” Chris just stared at him, then shook his head and watched the road again. His backseat passengers squirmed, collided and gasped as he took the first turn on two wheels.

  “Put your seatbelt on, Chris,” Carrie said angrily from the back seat when she sat back upright.

  Dylan watched the road closely for potholes, and purposely put the big tires of his truck in every one he could find. The jarring in the wheel was rough on his shoulder too, but so worth it to hear the big man in the backseat dry heaving.

  They drove another five miles or so, and he figured it was time to turn up the heat. Literally. He reached for the knob on the dash and kicked on the rear air in heat mode. His thumb found the button on the remote, and he pressed it down. A gurgling howl sounded in the back seat and his eyes met Carrie’s angry, desperate gaze in the mirror. He smiled, then dragged his gaze back to the road, but kept the pressure on the button. After a minute he glanced back to see she was sitting on the edge of the seat with her head bent as her fingers dug into back of the front seat.

  “Are you okay, love,” Zane asked in a sick tone. “I’m fucking hot.”

  “She’s probably hot too,” Dylan replied with a chuckle, and got a moan, followed by a growl from the woman behind him. “I’m sure she’ll be feeling better in a minute though.” Or maybe not, Dylan thought, taking is finger off
the button. She whimpered, and he could hear her agitated soft pants behind him, feel their heat on the back of his neck.

  She shot up to lean near his ear and hiss, “Finish it!”

  He shook his head and tsked. “Sit down and put on your seatbelt, love,” he drawled, emphasizing the term of endearment the Aussie had taken to using for her. “It’s going to be a long drive. Patience is a virtue,” he said with a short laugh.

  “Patience is something I’m running out of fast, asshole,” Carrie growled, as she sat back on the seat and clicked her belt, then folded her arms over her chest.

  Dylan met her eyes in the mirror and smiled. “Well, you better hang on to it. You’re definitely going to need it.” His thumb found the button on the remote and he watched her body go rigid. He held it just long enough that her eyes drifted shut, and she bit her lower lip. When her face pinched, and she turned her head to the side, he let it go.

  “Grrrr,..bastard!” Carrie hissed loudly, as she heaved breaths.

  Chris unclicked his belt and got on his knees to look at her over the seat. “Mom, what’s wrong with you?” he asked with concern, and Dylan barely managed to stop the laughter that bubbled up his throat. “You getting that Tourette’s or something? I’ve never heard you curse so much.”

  “Sit down, Chris,” he said, then glanced in the mirror at Zane. The Aussie definitely wasn’t paying attention to his fellow vanilla-scented passenger back there now. It looked like he was barely holding onto his own cookies. “We’re about to make our next turn.”

  Dylan continued the torture of his backseat passengers until he pulled up in the driveway at the New Hope Ranch. By that time, both of them were sweating like whores in church, and Zane had rolled down the window to hang outside. Dylan had considered putting on the window lock, but even he couldn’t be that cruel. And he hadn’t wanted to clean out the back of his truck.