The Rebel: A Bad Boy Romance

by Aria Ford

  I sighed and she cuddled closer. I held her. She leaned on me.

  “Kyle,” she whispered. She smiled up at me, laughing. “I want you,” she said.

  I let out a sigh. My loins ached.

  “I want you too,” I said. “But I should have coffee.”

  “Coffee?” she gave me a big, lovely smile. “What a wonderful idea.”

  I stood and, still feeling shaky, went through to the kitchen to put on some coffee. My ribs ached. My arm ached. I was fairly sure I was going to have an awful bruise on my head.

  But I was so, so happy.

  I was in love with Bethany. She seemed to be fond of me. And we trusted each other. In my world, everything was right.

  Later, after the coffee, we kissed. She giggled and we leaned against each other.

  “My mouth probably tastes awful,” she said.

  “No,” I whispered. “No.”

  I stood and put my arm around her and took her up to the bedroom.

  I lay down on the bed with her and we hugged.

  When Rodney and her Mom got back—Rodney in a fit of concern because he’d been late in traffic, her mom round half an hour later, she was still half-asleep.

  I told them what had happened. Rodney wanted to get the legal weight on his side. I said no. Bethany wouldn’t want that. Her mom agreed.

  Later, when Rodney had left and her mom was settled down, I went upstairs and held her.

  “Would you like me to stay?” I asked.

  “Maybe,” she said shakily, “I can go with you instead.”

  I nodded. We went to my apartment.

  I lay on my back beside her on the bed, my body utterly drained. I had been crying, unashamed. My cheeks were tracked with tears. I had come with her in a way I had never come with anyone. Amazing, unfettered. Liberated.

  I turned and rolled over, looking at her. She was on her side, her beautiful profile just outlined in the warm orange-tinted glow of the bedside lamp. I smiled at her.

  “Bethany,” I whispered softly. “I love you.”

  She looked at me, her eyes huge. They were soft brown. They were kindled with love.

  “I love you, Kyle. Utterly and completely.”

  We kissed. I could taste the salt of tears and it could have been from either one of us. We were both crying.

  Epilogue:

  “Mom?”

  She came slowly down the wooden stairs to join me. She walked hesitantly, her nerves still recovering. She looked older than her fifty-eight years. She was so beautiful. She smiled.

  “Son,” she said.

  I stared at her. I grinned. “Nice to see you.”

  She nodded. She was quiet, my mom. Quiet and gentle. Just like I remembered. Her hair was gray now and hung down round her shoulders. She was so skinny. Her eyes were sunken. But they shone with pale brown light.

  “Kyle, I am so happy to see you.”

  “Mom.”

  I embraced her. I was crying and I wasn’t ashamed. She felt like a bird when I held her against me. I loved her so much.

  “So,” she said as she walked over the hard-packed earth and toward the bench under the tree, “you had a good time?”

  “It was nice,” I agreed. “There’s a great view of the mountains back there, anyhow.”

  She nodded. “Yeah.”

  We sat at the bench. On my left, the mountain range rose, tall and majestic, scraping the sky. The land stretching toward it was barren, tinged with pink in the setting daylight.

  We sat quietly. She was like that, my mom. A sense of peace was always around her—something she didn’t need to try and bring to a place, it just kind of followed her unsought.

  “So,” she said after a while. “She’s happy here?”

  I nodded. “You wouldn’t believe it,” I said. I was chuckling. “But yes.”

  “Well,” mom raised her shoulders, shrugging. “It’s a nice place, hey? So beautiful. Look at that.”

  She threw a hand out toward the mountains, a careless gesture. She was so graceful without trying. Her hands were bony, the joints big. I took one and held it.

  “Mom,” I said. I couldn’t say fairer.

  She chuckled.

  “Son.”

  We sat there and watched the setting sun make pictures of the trees, painting them in shadow on the earth.

  I heard a footstep on the stone-strewn ground. I looked up. She was coming around the house slowly, her hat off, her hair loose around her body, shirt tugged by the soft air.

  “There you are,” Bethany said. She smiled at me. “Sorry if I’m intruding.”

  “No,” I shook my head.

  “Bethany?” Mom called. She tried to turn her head a little to see her. Her joints are stiff. We’re learning about that, like we’re learning about so much out here. Like patience, and beauty, and trust. Especially trust. I thought I had learned all about that with Bethany, but Mom opened a whole new vista. Trust from me, and trust of me. She found that hard, too, at first. We are learning.

  Bethany came to stand in front of her where she could see her properly. “Hi.”

  Mom smiled. “Hi, Bethany. Had a nice time?”

  “Yes! Thank you,” Bethany said gently. “It’s so beautiful here.”

  “It is,” Mom agreed, nodding agreeably. “It is.”

  Bethany stood until Mom shifted right and she sat down. We all sat on the bench together.

  “Guys?” I whispered.

  Mom patted my hand. Bethany laughed.

  “What?” she said.

  “I just wanted to say I love you both.”

  My voice cracked. I meant it. With every fiber of my body, with every piece of my heart, I meant it. I loved Mom. And I loved Bethany. With them, my world was made beautiful, heartfelt, and whole.

  Bethany smiled at me. “I love you so much,” she said softly.

  Mom just smiled. She squeezed my hand. Then she took Bethany’s and patted it too.

  “Well, you two? When’re you going to feel ready to go for a proper ride?”

  Bethany was learning to ride—it was one of the things we had spent the morning doing. That, and overseeing cleaning the property next door. We were thinking of buying it. It was Bethany’s dream to start her own design studio. We were both considering a move. I wanted to start my own business too—I was thinking that something to do with tourism—maybe a bus—was a possible way forward.

  Bethany laughed. “Hold on, Mom,” she said. “I’m still beginning.”

  I smiled at her. “You’re very good,” I said.

  She blushed.

  Mom looked at me and looked at her. She squeezed my hand.

  “I love you both,” she said.

  My heart melted. Bethany smiled at me.

  I knew, then, that my world was complete, and wonderful. I had come home. And home, I realized, throat tight with held back tears, was my heart. It had been inside me all along. Waiting for me to return to it.

  The End

  MOUNTAIN MADE BABY

  PROLOGUE

  His eyes held mine as he pushed inside me. I saw the passion written in their depths as he filled me, moving slowly so I could take him all in. I sighed.

  “I…” I murmured.

  He held my shoulders as he moved, a low growl escaping his throat as he began to pulse in me, his climax slowly building.

  Mine was building, too, and I shook as we moved together, my entire body throbbing as all my pleasure places caught fire under his body. I had never had an experience like this until I met him.

  I shuddered and closed my eyes until I could bear it no more. I cried out, and then he was moving inside me, thrusting wildly until he too cried out.

  “Oh! Oh, baby! Oh man…”

  He collapsed on top of me and our bodies molded together as we dozed.

  As I lay there, my mind just returning from the place of intense wonder where it had been, I thought about how incredible it was to be here.

  I could so easily have lived my l
ife without knowing such pleasure existed.

  If it hadn’t been for one letter, I would have been done.

  I smiled. In this day and age, one doesn’t even expect to get letters anymore, but that was how it had all started. Without that, I would never have left my home in LA and traveled up to wild Wyoming, to Sheridan, and settled down.

  My body felt as if I had been taken apart and put back together, every inch of me tingling and throbbing as he slid off me.

  We lay together and he wrapped an arm round me, smiling down into my face.

  “You enjoyed it too, eh?”

  I smiled. “Yes. Of course.”

  “Good.”

  We lay like that, as we always did, with my head on his shoulder and my hand over his. I felt so safe there, so right. I stroked his hard body and he sighed.

  “I am so glad we met,” I said contentedly.

  He chuckled. “Goes without sayin’ I am.”

  “Good.” I said it firmly and he chuckled.

  “Pretty remarkable, though.”

  “Yeah.”

  We closed our eyes and I think he fell asleep—I could hear his regular breathing. But I was still awake. I was still thinking about the remarkable chain of events that had led to us being together.

  Out in the yard I could hear a horse neigh and somewhere in the distance a tractor coughed to life, rumbling off across a field or down the street. I was so happy in this vast, barren landscape with its rural way and its huge sunsets.

  I belongs here, I thought with a smile. Here everything is rugged and rough edged, like him. I rolled onto my side, looking at him more closely. He was made of muscle, with that surprisingly beautiful face—the long nose and firm jaw. His eyes were deep-set and looked to me the way a bear’s eyes do—fierce and strong and proud. A bear has black eyes, though, and his were leaden gray.

  I reached out to run a finger down his straight nose and he stirred, his eyes opening.

  “Mm?” he asked, seeing a question in my eyes. I laughed.

  “I was just thinking you’re stunning,” I said innocently.

  “Mm.” He sighed and closed his eyes again. I thought he was asleep, but then he kissed my forehead.

  “Same to you.”

  I thought my heart would melt.

  I closed my eyes and snuggled close to I and thought about that day, that felt so long ago now, when I had received that letter that had caused us to meet and had changed everything.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Kelly

  I put my notepad with the spreadsheets aside, put my head on the table and did the silent scream. It didn’t make anything any easier, but it did make me feel better.

  “Kelly Gowan, you’re crazy, you know that?” Telling myself also didn’t make my job easier, but then, it wasn’t really going to get any easier. One of my duties, in my job as secretary at Friedman and Barne law firm, is keeping a current list of the year’s clients. And I had kind of forgotten about that bit until the week before the AGM. Which meant I had to do it all now. This weekend. Agh.

  It was two P.M. on Saturday and I’d been at it since eight in the morning. I ran a hand through my tousled red hair and sighed. My head hurt. My eyes crossed. I was hungry and fed up and I felt mad at myself for my oversight during the year. I was only a quarter of the way done too. How was I going to keep at it?

  “Coffee.”

  I stood up and went to the kitchen, grumbling under my breath about everything and nothing.

  “If only I’d kept track of it all year.”

  That was just part of my list of “if only.” If only I had decided to stay in Florida, where I had my distracted and frazzled mom, my circle of friends, and quite possibly a job writing for a sports magazine. That would have suited me way better than all this tedious number crunching. If only I had some company in this city. If only I wasn’t so terribly forgetful.

  “Damn it!”

  The doorbell rang just as I had just discovered I’d forgotten to buy detergent. Now all my cups were dirty too. I stormed to the door in a foul mood.

  “Hello?” I snarled.

  The neighbor grinned at me. He lived across the hallway and I had half a mind to seduce him except that I don’t know if he’d have been up for it. He was cute in a boyish way and I had to admit he set my heart racing a bit. Now, he looked a bit ruffled.

  “Sorry, Nic.” I sighed. “What’s up?”

  “A letter for you,” he said. He held it out, looking nervously at me as if he expected I might take out his throat. I sighed.

  “Thanks. Have a good day.”

  “You too.”

  “Thanks.”

  I closed the door and leaned against it, sighing. Have a good day. I’ll do that—and I might also fly out the window and circle over the seafront. Both things had the same level of unlikely.

  I ran my hand through my untamed, frazzled auburn curls, sat down at the table and looked at the letter.

  Where’s this from?

  The envelope looked beaten up. The rain had soaked it once at least, and then it had dried crinkled, the ink blurred here and there. It was a miracle it had gotten here at all.

  I tore it open—it had no return address on the back, so where it came from was a mystery. I held it up to the light.

  “Dear Kelly,” I read aloud. “I am writing this letter because I haven’t heard from you for years and I wonder, sometimes, what’s going on.”

  I frowned. Who could it be from? I scanned on through the large, rambling writing.

  I am still on the farm. I have a sore chest and I can’t sleep at night. I think I’m getting sick. Your mom doesn’t answer my phone calls, and I haven’t heard from her in years. The farm is a mess. Can you come and visit sometime? Grandpa H.

  “Oh, for goodness…” I sighed. It was from my grandfather.

  My grandfather, Josh Hayley, was my mom’s dad. He still lived on a farm in Wyoming, somewhere on the far end of the civilized world. He was a textbook eccentric and my mom had always despaired of him somewhat. I loved him. I recalled a big, friendly face, round glasses and a permanent grin. Grandpa was always content. He never got mad about anything. During the hard times when my mom was going through the divorce he had visited us. I had loved him. I wondered how he was now.

  I have a sore chest and I can’t sleep at night.

  I felt a stab of sorrow, reading that. Poor Grandpa. That sounded bad.

  Your mom doesn’t answer my phone calls. I haven’t heard from her in years.

  I wondered if he even had Mom’s new phone details. Probably not. My mom probably forgot to update him. That would be typical. Incapable of malice, Mom was entirely capable of forgetting about her entire family in the middle of a big project. A landscape designer, she was always getting swept off her feet by her latest inspirations and forgetting to make her own dinner, never mind forgetting other basic things like sleep. Her dad was probably the last thing in her thoughts.

  “Someone has to help,” I said aloud.

  I sighed. Why that someone had to be me, I wasn’t sure. Here I was, thousands of miles away, probably about as equipped to get stuff done in the back of Beyond as I was to man a hovercraft. But then I thought, as I dug out a sponge and some good old-fashioned Dawn dishwashing liquid, if I didn’t, who would?

  Mom was Grandpa’s only living relative. And if she wasn’t doing something, it would have to be me.

  I scrubbed the dishes and planned. As I worked, a crazy idea came into my mind. Why not just go? I had some leave left over, so why not just take a week off? Go to Wyoming, sort him out, come back? What was stopping me? In that moment, I made myself a promise.

  I was going to finish the list of names for the company and get everything ready for the meeting. Then I was going to treat myself to a holiday. In wild Wyoming.

  I finished the dishes, made coffee and some toast, and went back to work. With my mind thinking so positively, it seemed like the work was going faster. I was surprised when, by five P.M.,
I was more than halfway done. If I kept it up at this rate, by Sunday lunch I would be finished.

  I stuck at it until dinnertime and then headed downtown to see if Alexa, the company accountant and a good friend of mine, was up for going out.

  I drew up outside her stylish apartment block. She lived only three blocks away and so we were used to me turning up at her door, or the other way, at odd times, and ringing the bell.

  “Yoo-hoo!” her cheerful voice came down over the mic when she heard my voice. “Dinnertime?”

  “If you’re around?”

  “Sure I am! You want to eat here, or go out?”

  I shrugged. “Go out?”

  “Great. Come up if you like. Just getting changed.”

  “Okay.”

  While Alexa changed out of jeans and a T-shirt into something more going-out worthy, I sat outside the bedroom door and asked her about the day.

  “It was good,” she shouted, voice muffled as she shrugged off her top. “I went to the gym, then I headed up to The Table for lunch and then I went shopping…” she went quiet again as she reached for something. “How was your day?”