by Pam Godwin
We have to bring in extra guys, and they haul in their horses and trailers. Everyone has their own job—a gate, corral, chute, panel, electric prod. Each person knows to stay in position to keep things running smoothly.
Except Maybe.
“Why are they screaming like that?” She shouts above the bellowing cows and chases my boot heels around the corral.
“Cattle are smarter than they look. They know they’re going to get shots and be separated from their calves, and they’re fightin’ mad about it.” I scale the railing of a steel pen and grip her arm, stopping her from following me over. “Where are you supposed to be?”
A scowl mars her pretty face, and she points at the chute behind her.
“Get there and stay put.” I turn away, focused on the next task, but her tiny hand catches the back of my shirt.
“Where’s Chicken?” Her wide eyes scour the pens filled with calves.
One of the older guys ambles by and tilts his hat at her. “Ma’am.”
Her gaze snags on the branding iron in his hand, and she gasps. “Oh my God, Jarret. You can’t—”
“I put Chicken in the stable this morning. No reason to brand her.”
“Why do you have to brand any of them?” She presses a hand to her forehead and spins around. “It’s barbaric and cruel and—
“It’s necessary.”
“Jarret!” Jake calls from the other side of the pen. “Did you get a head count yet?”
I hold up a finger and return to Maybe. “The brand inspectors at the sale barns won’t let us sell the critters without our brand. That’s just the way it is, darlin’. If you can’t stomach it, sit this one out.”
Sadness brightens her eyes as she scans the restless, bellowing calves. I half-expect her to do something irrational, like open the gates and try to free the herd.
But she’s an intelligent woman. And tough. If she can rope a terrified hundred-pound calf in a creek and psyche herself up to shove her arm in a heifer’s ass, she can handle the stench of burning cow hair or the sight of a calf losing its manhood to a dull Buck knife.
“What’s it gonna be?” I nudge up my Stetson and wipe the sweat from my brow.
A decision settles in her expression and seems to take over her entire demeanor. My God, it’s a beautiful thing to watch. She shoves her shoulders back and lifts that chin, exposing the graceful lines of her neck. Strong posture, strong jaw, and even stronger eye contact, she moves into my personal space and grips the railing between us.
“Stop gawking and get to work, cowboy.” Her lips hover a kiss away.
“Jarret, goddammit!” Jake shouts behind me. “Hurry up.”
The cows bellow louder, and somewhere nearby, a pickup truck blasts Get Along by Kenny Chesney through crackling speakers.
The chaos fades around me as I lean in. Or maybe she leans in. I’m not sure who moves first, but the caress of her warm mouth against mine sets my brain on fire and spreads warmth from my lips to my boots.
It’s a long-lasting kiss, not in duration but in memory. It becomes my salvation and my torment over the next week as I replay it through the endless cycle of shots, castrations, and brands.
When each day ends—eight, nine, ten o’clock at night—we eat in exhausted silence and sleep like the dead, only to wake before dawn, rinse, and repeat.
Since the ranch stretches twenty miles, we use the trailers to haul the cattle to and from the pastures. From round-up to finish, the work is nonstop and physically taxing. As much as I want to pick up where I left off with Maybe, I barely have the energy to carry her to bed. Which I do, every night, when she falls asleep during dinner.
At the end of the week, I wake with a start and find myself sprawled on the living room sofa. Rubbing a hand down my face, I stare into the blue eyes of an angel. She floats above me, her thin frame engulfed in one of my t-shirts.
I glance around, dazed. “When did I—?”
“You passed out about an hour ago. I wish I could’ve carried you to bed for a change.”
She slumps onto the cushion beside me, as if every muscle has given up its fight against gravity. Her shoulders hang limp with fatigue, her freshly-showered hair dripping down her arms. Bleary-eyed and sleep-deprived, she’s so damn gorgeous it’s arresting.
I can’t bear the thought of spending another night away from her.
“Come on.” I drag my dog-tired body off the couch and clasp her hand.
She doesn’t try to pull free as I lead her through the dark house and into my wing.
Jake and Conor must’ve already gone to bed for the night. That’s where I’m headed, only this time, I won’t be alone.
“Jarret.” She digs in her feet as we pass her room. “Where are you—?”
I tighten my grip on her hand and pull her the rest of the way to my suite.
“I’m too tired to fight you.” I release her outside my door and amble to the bed. “I’m too tired to do anything but sleep. But I want you beside me.”
She lingers on the threshold as I lower onto the mattress and bend to remove my boots. My hands, my back, every joint in my body aches so deeply and thoroughly the smallest movement clenches my teeth.
If I can just get out of these clothes, a good night’s rest will take away the pain. I tug on a boot, grunting with frustration.
Her silhouette stirs in my periphery, and the soft pad of her footsteps approaches. She’s been at the ranch for eight days, and this is the first time she’s entered my suite.
“I’ll do this.” She kneels before me and removes my boots and socks with a gentleness that makes me moan.
I collapse on my back, legs dangling off the bed, and fight to keep my eyes open. “I can’t move.”
“I like you like this.” She stands between my knees and rests her hands on her hips. “A big, harmless baby.”
I try to formulate a response, but my brain isn’t working. The next thing I know, she’s crawling over me, attempting to remove my shirt.
“You fell asleep again. Lean up.” She pushes the cotton up my chest and works it off my head with little help from me.
Her eyes dip to my belt buckle, and she blows out a breath.
“I’m going to remove your jeans. Don’t get any ideas.” She tackles my belt and zipper. “We’re just sleeping.”
“Sleep sounds great,” I mumble.
She tugs the denim down my hips, keeping my briefs in place as I lift and arch with the last of my strength.
The jeans drop to the floor, and she steps back, chest heaving, lips parted, and greedy eyes devouring my useless, half-nude body.
She likes what she sees. Too bad I don’t have the energy to do something about that.
“Jesus, you’re…” Her breath catches. “Really hard.”
I glance down at the semi in my briefs and shut my eyes. “Only way that’s getting any action is if you fall on it. I couldn’t move my hips if I tried.”
“No, I mean, you’re hard everywhere. Sorry, I just… I’ve never seen a man who looks like you.”
My nostrils flare. I don’t want to think about the men she’s seen. “Come to bed.”
“I think I’ll just…” Her retreating footsteps crack open my eyes. “I’ll sleep in the other room.”
“No, you won’t.” I drag my ass to the center of the bed with clumsy movements and yank the sheet over me.
“I won’t be another notch in your bedpost.”
“I’ve never slept beside anyone.” I lift the covers in invitation. “Please.”
“Never?” Her eyebrows jump.
“Not once.”
“I’m the first?”
“The only one.”
Her bottom lip rolls between her teeth, and she releases it with a stern expression. “No sex.”
“Get your stubborn ass over here.”
“Say please again.” She crosses her arms.
“You’re going to be the death of me.” I drop the covers and sink into the pillow. “Please.
”
Biting down on her smile, she shuts the door, flips off the light, and tiptoes through the room.
“You have an urban modern decor thing going on in here.” She slides in beside me, keeping several feet between us. “Very monochromatic with the gray and black color scheme and steel furniture.”
Whatever that means.
I hook an arm around her waist and pull her across the mattress until her back is flush with my chest. She squeaks, stiffens against me, then relaxes.
“You expected stuffed opossums?” I run my nose through her soft, damp hair, savoring the feel of it against my face.
“Yeah. And a wall of shotguns, thermal long johns, riding crops…”
“Long johns are in the closet.”
“Only you could wear those and still look hot.”
“Stick around until winter and you can see for yourself.”
She clears her throat, fading into a whisper. “What’s on the agenda tomorrow?”
“We’ll sleep in till six.”
She releases a lethargic snort.
“I have some work to do in the morning.” I slide a hand over her hip. “In the afternoon, we’re going to visit Lorne.”
I have plans for her during the two-hour drive to the prison. If she’s still around after that, I’ll put some miles on the riding crop tomorrow night.
She remains quiet, her body soft and slack against the front of mine. The even tempo of her breaths feathers the air, her skin unresponsive as I caress her bare thigh.
She’s already out, wrapped in exhaustive sleep.
I start to drift along with her, fighting it with everything I have. I want to savor this—the warmth of her flesh, the scent of her hair, the rhythm of her heartbeat. She’s a dream I ache to remain awake for, an erotic canvas to be explored and appreciated.
As I trail a hand along the curve of her thigh, unconsciousness falls like an ax.
Before dawn, I wake just as abruptly, my groggy mind luxuriating in the remnants of a dream, reluctant to let it go.
I blink against the darkness, realizing the dream is very real, curled up in my arms, breathing against my neck, with a leg tossed over my painfully hard erection.
The clock on the nightstand tells me I have twenty minutes before I need to be in the saddle. Twenty minutes to take a tour of the curves and valleys molded around me.
I start at the back of her knee, shifting her leg from my groin to my stomach. With featherlight fingers, I trail a path along her thigh to the hem of her cotton shorts.
She moans in her sleep and nuzzles her face deeper against my neck. My breathing accelerates, my body heating and tightening against her.
I can’t remember the last time I went longer than a week without sex, but it’s not just that. It’s her.
Everything about her feels right, from her argumentative spirit to the innocence that radiates from her pores. Her open-mindedness and ability to adjust is refreshing. She’s a vegetarian, but she doesn’t push her dietary choices onto others. She wants to save all the chickens, but she isn’t here to sabotage my business.
She doesn’t sleep around, yet her eyes illuminate with so much sexual curiosity and interest it makes my balls throb.
I want to learn her fantasies, break them in, and spank them into something she’ll only ever experience with me. But for now, I’ll just be content with a twenty-minute taste.
She’s taken to wearing my shirts to bed, and this one hangs off her shoulder and halfway down her arm, creating an enticing plunge across her breast.
I dip my mouth there, ghosting my lips across the rise of supple flesh. Inching a hand along the back of her thigh, I slip beneath the loose shorts and palm the firm muscle of her ass. No panties.
A stretch shudders through her, and she wriggles closer, arching against my mouth with her fingers in my hair. Her dusky nipple pops free, and I latch onto it, drawing it between my lips with a groan.
She tenses. “Jarret?”
“I’m just tasting.” I lave my tongue over the taut bud, flicking and nibbling. “You’re so fucking sexy.”
Her backside flexes beneath my palm, but instead of pushing me away, she edges closer, shifting restlessly with shallow breaths. “What are you doing to me?”
Ruining her for all other men.
“You’re sleeping in here from now on.” I palm her round butt cheek and glide my fingers down her crack.
“I might be more receptive…” She shoves at my arm and squirms to escape. “If you were less bossy and more imploring.”
“Imploring?” I grip her waist and drag her on top of me to straddle my hips.
“Please and thank you would be a good start.” She stays where I positioned her, staring down at me in the dark.
The shadow of her hair curls around her face and torso. Soft and tousled, there’s so much of it I could use it like rope to bind her arms.
“How did you sleep?” I reach up to pluck her exposed nipple.
“Surprisingly well.” She knocks my hand away and adjusts the shirt to cover herself. “Thank you for behaving yourself…until this morning.”
Now that I’m rested, behaving isn’t an option. “Have you ever slept beside a man?”
“I’ve had some failed relationships. Men I lived with.” Her expression darkens. “Mistakes I don’t intend to repeat again.” She pushes away from me and climbs off the bed. “I need to get ready.”
One question and I completely soured the mood.
As she flees the room, I burn to chase her down and demand answers. Answers about her past relationships. Answers about her knowledge of the corruption and murder at Julep Ranch. Those are two areas that seem to shut her down the fastest.
But I won’t get anywhere until I earn her trust. The best way I know how to do that is with my hands and mouth, pain and pleasure, surrender and dominance.
If she learns to trust me with a crop in my fist, she’ll open up. I’m certain of it.
Later that morning, I put Maybe in the saddle and ride out to the pasture to let her visit Chicken.
Her face lights up so magically at the sight of the calf I feel a twinge of jealous resentment for the critter. But since I can’t deny her this happiness, I’ll bring her out here every damn day until the calf is weaned.
Except that’ll be six months from now. Maybe will be long gone by then.
My chest constricts, and I shove the feeling away.
“I’ll be back to get you.” I lean down in the saddle, meeting her eyes where she stands near the fence. “Might be an hour or so.”
“Take your time.” She stares across the pasture at the calf and rests a hand against her heart. “Thank you so much for this.”
“You’re welcome.”
A ribbed tank top clings to the high round globes of her breasts. Jeans mold to her slender hips and dip tantalizing low, revealing her flat midriff. Conor spent my money well, and Maybe was humbly grateful when the clothes arrived.
I could watch her all day, taking in her expressions, her sexy sounds, and her beauty, while committing everything to memory. If I don’t peel my gaze away now, I’ll never leave.
Nudging Ginny into motion, I steer him in the direction of the main road. There’s a vulnerable spot along the fence line there that requires regular monitoring.
It’s a ten-mile ride on flat land, so I let Ginny loose into a full gallop. His smooth, even strides glide over the dirt at a velocity that lifts me out of the stirrups. As his weight shifts from back legs to front legs, I lean forward and adjust the angle of my hips to compensate for the momentum and maintain my center of gravity.
Nothing feels closer to flying than riding a horse at this speed. Heart thundering, wind blasting past my ears, the vibrations of hooves through my body—it’s an indulgence that’s as warm and real and sentient as sex. And almost as pleasurable.
When I reach the fence, I make a quick pass, and everything checks out. On the other side, the dirt road stretches over the hill. Off
in the distance, the main house and stable look like hazy mirages in the heat.
Urgency pulls me away. I need to clean the stalls before I return for Maybe. As I turn in that direction, the sound of an approaching engine gives me pause.
The only traffic on this road are employees and visitors of the ranch. We’re not expecting visitors.
A black SUV emerges over the hill in a plume of dust. The light bar on the roof glints in the sun.
Son of a bitch.
Sheriff Fletcher doesn’t come around unless there’s trouble. It could be any number of things, but I suspect Levi Tibbs’ failure to report to his parole officer tops the list.
Exhaling a heavy breath, I guide Ginny closer to the fence.
Fletcher slows to a stop beside me in his swanky SUV, one the Sandbank police department could never afford. No doubt the drilling on Julep Ranch helped pay for the hunk of metal.
“Morning, Jarret.” He bends an elbow out the window and fiddles with his silver mustache. “How’s the cattle business?”
“Busy. What can I do for you, Sheriff?”
“Oh, well…” He leans his head out and spits in the dirt. “I expect you haven’t heard about the manhunt for Levi Tibbs?”
“No, sir.” I widen my eyes a little, playing dumb.
“He went missing within hours of his release. I heard Conor’s back in town, and I wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.”
The lying fuck doesn’t give a shit about her.
“Jake’s always a half-step behind her,” I say. “But I appreciate the heads up.”
“I also hear there’s a pretty little reporter staying with you.” He twitches his bulbous nose. “Unless she’s gone missing, too.”
The bastard stares at me with beady eyes, knowing damn well Levi Tibbs is dead and I’m the reason. But to imply I’m capable of killing Maybe heats my insides to boiling.
“Maybe Quinn is working here for a while, learning the business. I’m sure you’ll see her around town at some point.”
“Is she digging a story out of you?”
That’s the real reason he’s here. He wants to make sure I don’t feed her details about his unlawful activities. While he doesn’t have evidence against me, I have plenty to send him to prison.