by Peter Styles
She snorted a little, amused. “You can call me Tilly, son.”
“Tilly. The settlement would help with the ranch and….” I nodded. “Everything’s gonna be taken care of. You don’t have to worry about it anymore.”
I hoped she wouldn’t rebuff it. She sure as hell stared at me for a long time, trying to figure something out about me before she smiled, just a little.
“You remind me of my late husband,” she said, slow and thoughtful. I heard Quinn make a little sound beside me. “Both of you—he was always optimistic on the long-shot gamble, too, I tell you. I liked that about him.”
My head dipped a little. It was praise I didn’t think I deserved, but I accepted it.
“Most times it worked, too,” she said. “But, Oliver… I can’t ask that of you.”
Quinn’s head snapped up to look at her, and there was surprise there again. An eventful day, no doubt.
“I know that,” I told her. “I’m not doing it because anyone’s asking me to. I’m doing it because…” I looked at Quinn, the side of his face as he stared at his mother, the slope of his cheek and profile of his lips and his lashes, “Because I love your son, Mrs. D—Tilly.”
Quinn’s eyes turned to me, and there was a faint bit of color to his cheeks. Was he blushing?
I grinned at the thought.
“I’m gonna take care of him,” I told her, and I meant every word of it.
After a little bit of joking and teasing on Mama Dyer’s part, poking fun at Quinn for finally finding himself a decent man, the doctors came and took her away in her bed. It was hard to watch her go, not knowing what might happen. Another gamble. I could only imagine how much harder it was for Quinn.
His eyes were glued to the woman he’d known as a bull, a strong and stubborn mother, as she was carted away weak and in need of fixing.
Quinn held off till the minute the door closed. The next second, his face was buried in my chest, and my arms came around him without hesitation, a hand smoothing down his back to keep him feeling calm.
“All we can do is wait,” I told him, feeling him nod and hearing him sigh.
“I hate this,” he said. “I hate waiting.”
“I know.”
His head rose from my chest, and I guided it upwards with a single finger under his chin. The kiss we shared was slow and chaste; a kiss like a promise. I’m sticking with you.
“We’ll be waiting together,” I said, our foreheads pressed together. “It’ll all be okay.”
He breathed in slow against me and nodded. When he opened his eyes, he smiled a little and my heart nearly leapt out of my throat.
“I believe you.”
And for the first time in a long time I reckoned, he was hopeful.
Epilogue
Quinn
“You about done fixing breakfast yet, or what?”
I pointed at James with my spatula, playing at menacing. “You know you’re welcome to get off your ass and help, don’t you, James?”
There was a round of laughter and crowing from the ranch hands that were scattered around the table and the kitchen, more people than there were chairs. I looked down the counter as I turned back to my griddles full of bacon in time to see Oliver taking a heavy-looking bowl of fruit from my mama—not because she needed the help anymore, but because he was a helpful guy.
The two of them got along well—too well sometimes—and for that I was grateful.
It had been six months since she’d gone into surgery and, like the doctor had predicted, it had been as much a success as it could be. After a lot of time in bed recuperating, she was back on her feet, old Tilly Dyer: unstoppable.
I was happy to have my mama back.
The minute I looked back to my bacon, a hand brushed at my shoulder, just a gentle reassurance he was there—Oliver. He was getting more comfortable touching me, showing his affection around other people without being afraid. After he told me what had happened to him as a kid, the beating he took for showing affection, I got that I had to be patient with it. There was a learning curve, but it was good.
I looked up at him and we shared a private smile.
Oh, and how could I forget the biggest change?
My handsome, spicy, absolute daddy of a boyfriend was also three million dollars richer.
The suit had been won with ease, thanks to Oliver’s outstanding record as a human being and Tristan’s capable lawyer-ing. The money, as per Oliver’s plans, had gone into investing in the farm. New technology was the first start. Slowly, but surely.
Not everyone was as excited about it as we were, till I promised all of them no one would be getting replaced by machinery. We’d run things the same as always, but with better, newer shit, and it would make up for being a little short on help. A win for everyone.
“Is it true they’re coming out here today?” Eddie asked. . “Those, uh… what do you call ‘em?”
“The consultants,” I said, loading bacon onto a plate. I held it out of reach from the table to admonish them, “Y’all better be on your best behavior today. Show them what they need to see and answer whatever questions they have.” I set the plate down and watched the bacon disappear. “No matter how stupid the question.”
We all laughed and chatted and ate, a new light to the kitchen, to the homestead, to the whole ranch. We’d gotten a new lease on life, like my mama had, like Oliver had. A second chance. What more could we ask for?
We’d be getting new livestock and cattle as we expanded. There was sure to be lots of work for us all to get this place in tip-top shape again, but it was something to look forward to.
“Hello?”
I heard the voice before I heard the footsteps on the porch, the back door swinging open as Sawyer just went ahead and let himself in, greeting the rowdy bunch as they ate their breakfast.
“Smells good in here,” he laughed. “Sorry, the front door was locked.”
“To keep the likes of you out,” James said, but among the riffraff, it could have been mistaken for dry joking.
Sawyer was quick to ignore it, though. I turned to him with an empty plate. “You want breakfast?”
“Sure, sure,” he said, smiling. “I skipped it today. Too nervous to meet the consultants, you know.”
Sawyer sidled up alongside the table to pick at some of the food, but that wasn’t what drew the attention of the room. No, it was James, who suddenly and very pointedly got up with his plate and left to eat somewhere else—somewhere not in Sawyer’s company. The happy chatter died away a bit as we all watched him go, none of us more offended or surprised by the move than Sawyer himself.
“Seriously?” Oliver asked not for the first time, cup of coffee in hand. “What’s the deal with you two?”
Eddie made a noise around his mouthful of flapjacks and raised a hand. “Oh, I can tell you that one. James there’s still sore over how sweet Sawyer dumped him a few years back.” His smile was devious.
Sawyer’s face took on a light flush, called out in a room full of people. “Thanks for airing my dirty laundry for me, Eddie.”
He gave a snort and waved a piece of bacon as if to say you’re welcome.
Sawyer turned back to me and Oliver with his plate of food, sighing. “I can play nice with him, I swear.”
I smiled and caught Oliver’s eye in the periphery of my vision. “Of course.”
There wasn’t too much time for horsing around or teasing Sawyer till his ears were red as sunburn; we had a schedule laid out for the day, and Sawyer had a briefcase full of research he’d done in preparation. For today and for me and my mama to pore over after the consultants had left: research, he told us, for turning the farm around.
I looked to my mama when Sawyer told us that; we both had the same look on our faces. We were alike in that way: we would have rather been working hard in the field than poring over paperwork.
“Mm, before that, though—Oliver.” Mama gestured to Oliver, the two sidelining themselves by the sink, and I ey
ed them carefully. The two of them weren’t very good at being secretive in this big old kitchen. They exchanged words, but more than that, they were exchanging jewelry.
It was a simple band: my great-grandfather’s ring, which had also been my father’s ring.
I stared after it, confused. What the hell was she giving that away for?
As thanks, maybe? For saving the farm?
That really was my thought process—until Oliver looked up at me.
I saw it in his eyes then, the question he was about to ask, and I clutched my spatula hard in my hands. My eyes must have been swimming with a dozen questions as he took my free hand slowly, both of us knowing he had the ring in his other.
“Quinn,” he said, his voice happy. Resolute.
My chest felt like tightening. I looked from Oliver to my mama and back.
“Yeah?” I breathed.
“We’ve known each other long enough now,” he said, and by the color in his cheeks I could tell he was nervous—who wouldn’t be? “I… I love you. I know you know that by now, and I was hoping….”
I half expected him to drop to his knee, sure as hell, but he didn’t, our bodies kept close as he opened his palm and revealed the ring in it. I gasped at the sight of it, because seeing it here was different than seeing it across the kitchen. This was real.
One of the ranch hands spotted it next and made a hollering noise. There was whistling and hooting, but I didn’t pay it any attention, looking instead at Oliver—just Oliver—as he asked me the question that was hung on that little gold band.
“Quinn Dyer, will you do me the honor of making me the second happiest man I know?”
I swallowed around a lump I didn’t even realize was forming in my throat. The spatula was dropped in an instant, both my arms winding around his neck as I kissed him hard, not caring who was there or who wasn’t. Oliver was all that mattered. I wanted to slide my tongue against his, but I thought better of it at the last minute, breaking the kiss as he laughed, low and rumbling.
“Wait, second?” I asked, prodding him in the ribs. “Who’s the first?”
He smirked, and brushed my nose with his. “You, if I can help it.”
My breath caught, and my smile got so big it ached. “Well, in that case,” I told him, rolling my eyes, “Yes, I will. Of course. Duh.”
The room laughed as I hugged him tight.
Sawyer, out of the corner of my eye, gathered his papers and sighed, though he was happy for the two of us. To my mama, he murmured, “Well, that’s one way to get out of paperwork.”
They left not long after to do some actual work, and after a round of flashing my father’s ring at the farmhands and everyone congratulating Oliver and I, we snuck away for a moment of privacy. Maybe some people thought he’d be sharing chaste kisses or breaking down with whatever emotion we couldn’t show everyone else. A minute of silence to let it sink in.
Nope. That wasn’t really our style.
Upstairs, the whole floor was quiet: empty. Perfect.
Oliver trapped me easily against the wall outside my bedroom—our bedroom now—kissing me hard and shoving a leg up between mine. I ground down against him obediently, my cock hardening in record time between the staircase and the hallway. The rocking of our bodies was messy but with rhythm.
“So you gonna take my last name?” I asked, smiling. “Or am I gonna take yours?”
He hummed, big hand taking hold of mine, the left one, and I shook full body as he sucked on the tip of my finger, a suggestion of what he wanted, before taking the digit all the way, right down to the gold ring.
“Come on,” I groaned, palming the door handle. I threw it open and slipped inside, moving through his arms like a ghost as I stripped my shirt over my head.
He shut the door and locked it, then swooped with a smile and deep laugh I could feel in my bones as he swept me up into his arms whole, like I weighed nothing. God, he was fucking strong. I wrapped my legs around his waist, fingers working through his short hair as we kissed.
“What do you want?” he asked between slides of our tongues. He deposited me on the bed, and I giggled at the bounce of it, humming as he worked his shirt off in a fluid motion and crawled over me.
“Mm, well you’re the one who just proposed so shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
Oliver raised a brow, grinning all sideways.
“I want to see my fiancé’s face when he comes,” he said, and it was disturbing how suddenly sexy I found the word fiancé. “Other than that….”
I drew him in for a kiss, honestly happy with whatever he wanted to do to me, and I hummed in approval when my jeans popped open, the fly drawn down and—
Oliver huffed, looking down between us. “You’re not wearing underwear?”
I gave a shrug. “It was supposed to be a surprise for later,” I told him, which was the truth. He laughed, head resting on my shoulder, the sound of it infectious. “So you wouldn’t have to work so hard to get inside me. Happy coincidence?”
His growl vibrated through me, flipping switches and giving me that familiar thread of nervous excitement in my belly that never seemed to get old. “Oh, very happy.”
Oliver kissed me once before delivering slowly on his promise in the hallway. Each kiss was wet and slithering, my skin crawling in anticipation as he mapped his way down my chest and stomach. He was good at this: making me want it even more, and making me wait for it. There were times when he’d bring me right to the edge, only to let me cool down, before bringing me back to it again and repeating the whole thing until I was leaking and begging and speaking in tongues.
I bit my lip at the prospect. This wouldn’t be one of those times. I could see the hunger in his dark eyes; he wasn’t up to feeling patient today.
He tugged my jeans off easily, and I liked this dichotomy. Me, naked and vulnerable. Him looking rough in his work jeans and belt, flushed with desire. My beefy boyfriend—no, fiancé. I put my hands over my head in total surrender, legs parting slowly, an invitation to heaven. He could bend me over, could break me with his bare hands probably, but I could do this—draw him in, seduce him, make him ache to be inside me.
Oliver sank to his knees and pulled on my hips, and I yelped in happy surprise as he pulled my body to the edge. His lips brushed over the head of my cock, precum wetting them, and I groaned at the slick warmth, at his breath on me. It was torture already.
“Oliver,” I warned. Begged. Whatever.
“You want it that bad?” he asked, teasing, and I nodded enthusiastically.
“Please.”
He took me in his mouth without argument, the room quiet except for my labored breathing. He was getting better at this, too. Head. Like, viciously good. His tongue was talented, that was for fucking sure, swirling around my cock like it was made for it, sliding along the underside on every suck upwards, his hand jacking off whatever his mouth couldn’t reach.
Oliver’s other hand clamped down hard on my hip to keep it from arching up into him. Unfair.
Maybe it was the emotion of the day, but that familiar, electric tension mounted faster than normal. Maybe it was just how deeply he was lavishing my cock with his hot mouth and eager attention. Maybe it was that, somewhere in the haze of being blown, he had wet his fingers enough to slide one inside of me, gently working me open to find that sensitive bundle of nerves and glory that I’d gotten so good at manipulating. Whatever the cause, my breathing came faster, pitching shorter, higher, little whining gasps that had me clutching at the covers, warning him, “Ol-Oliver, please, wait—”
His mouth drew off me instantly. “What?” he asked.
I whined at the loss of everything. “Don’t stop,” I breathed. “Why—”
“You said wait,” he said, laughing a little at my confused face.
“I did?”
“You did.”
I thought about it a minute. “I was about to come.”
Oliver smiled. “Isn’t that the point?”
; “I don’t wanna come from your mouth,” I told him, sitting myself up so we could be eye to eye. When I kissed him, I could taste myself faintly on his tongue. “I want your cock, Oliver.” My voice was breathy, quietly pleading. “I want it hard again, baby…”
He groaned, and I looked down between us, sure he could feel my smile brushing over his lips as I watched him grab his own untouched cock and pump, giving a little bit of relief. It sparked an idea; something we hadn’t done in some time. “Can I ride you?”
His eyes opened, though they were lidded, and fuck if watching him touch himself like he was half-there, consumed by this, wasn’t the hottest thing I’d seen in my life. I almost wanted to tell him not to stop.
But I needed him. I needed to feel the stretch of him.
“Yeah,” he said, before we were both climbing onto the bed, grinding against each other as we kissed without prejudice or care for time, until we were both red and leaking and he had to clamp a hand over my mouth to keep me from being too loud because, “There are still people downstairs,” he said, smiling but scandalized.
“So?” I asked. “They know we fuck on the daily.”
Oliver wrapped his arms around me, and we rolled so that he was on his back. I straddled his chest happily, sliding slowly down until his cock was pressed into the crease of my ass. I gave a languid roll back and watched his head tip back, a small and animal noise crawling up his throat.
I liked that, too. He was quiet when we fucked, but I could always tell when he liked something by the small noises he made.
I could feel how thick it was like this, each grind a tease until it was him who was asking, or maybe warning, “Quinn,” and I smiled at him, an imp he’d never be able to get rid of now.
With my ringed hand, I took hold of his cock and positioned it at my entrance.I sank down just a little bit, until the thick head of him slipped past my outer muscle.
“Look at me,” he said, surprising me as he took hold of my hips.