The Rancher Takes a Family

by Paula Altenburg

  “Thank you, but I’m putting on a clean shirt.”

  Her bedroom was at the end of a short hall that faced the kitchen on the other side of the house. She left the door open and exchanged tank tops in seconds. She took another ten seconds to straighten her lopsided topknot. She hadn’t washed off her makeup, so she could relax about that.

  She’d been gone less than a minute, but Jake had managed to make himself at home. He’d found a wineglass in a cupboard, filled it for her, and cracked open a beer for himself.

  He passed her the glass of wine and tapped its rim with the lip of his bottle. “Cheers.” He took a sip of his beer. “I’m hungry.” His eyes hinted it might be for more than food, and her toes curled against the laminate flooring to keep her from floating. “It smells fantastic in here.” He studied the bubbling stockpot on the stove, then her lopsided pie. Thick black lashes framed bright green chips of hope. “Did I miss out completely?”

  Damn. He was so far ahead in this game already, she’d never catch up.

  “That depends. I was about to have dessert, but I’d be willing to heat up the main course. For the right incentive,” she added.

  “How about if I help? It’s the least I can do.”

  “It really is,” she said, agreeing with him because that wasn’t the incentive she’d half expected and hoped for.

  He set his bottle on the small island that divided the kitchen from the tiny dining and combined living room area. The house was compact. Right now, more so than usual.

  He lifted her glass from her hand and set it aside, too. “The blinds are closed. I’d say we have no reason to worry about PDAs here. Am I correct?”

  “You are.” She pressed her lips together, containing her smile. He could read minds.

  “Good. But first, there’s something I need to do.” He tapped the tip of her nose with the blunt end of his index finger. “Tag.”

  He’d tossed the ball in her court. He should know better than that, because he might be patient, but it had never been one of her virtues.

  “How hungry are you?” she asked.

  Interest warmed his expression. “It depends on the menu.”

  She couldn’t resist messing with him. Just a little. “How do you feel about having dessert first?”

  A slow smile spread from his eyes to his lips. “I’ve never understood why it has to come last.”

  “Me either.” She ducked past him, opened the cutlery drawer, and grabbed a pie knife and two forks from the tray. “The plates are in the cupboard next to the stove.”

  He reached for the cupboard. “I thought we were being suggestive.”

  “We were. We are. But you’re hungry and I don’t need you passing out on me.”

  He actually laughed. “I’m going to eat the pie first only because it’s my favorite, and I’m pretty sure you made it especially for me, but don’t worry. Even without it, I won’t be passing out any time soon.”

  Good to know, because she’d planned an entire evening, and so far only the first, unimportant part of it had changed.

  “You say that now. How late are you planning to stay?”

  “How late will you let me? I was told no one wants to see my face until lunchtime tomorrow.” He watched as she cut into the pie, leaning against the counter while sipping his beer. “I’m pretty sure Luke’s figured us out.”

  “He would. He was the smartest kid in class.”

  “He’s the smartest in our family, too.”

  “Are you okay with him knowing about us?” she asked.

  “I really don’t care one way or the other. He’s not likely to say anything to anyone but me, and frankly, I don’t pay much attention to him and his opinions. Are you okay with it?”

  She’d always liked Luke. He was quiet and thoughtful. He was much like his brother, both in looks and personality, but without the need to be macho.

  And he’d never once sparked any romantic interest in her. They’d gone to school together since kindergarten, so that could be why, but she didn’t think so. Jake triggered…

  More.

  “He’s the second least-likely person in Grand to gossip. You’d be the first. And he’s way less likely than you to be judgmental about it.” She passed him an enormous piece of pie. The meringue had slid off the top and onto the plate and the crust had crumbled to pieces. “It’s not very pretty.”

  “As long as it’s tasty.” He took a bite and let out a long groan of pleasure. “It is.”

  First her sandwiches, now this. The women’s rights movement just shot back fifty years because of the enjoyment she derived from feeding a man.

  But tonight she was “it” in their game of tag, and “it” was going to be all about him. She could hardly wait to get started.

  She cut herself a thin slice of pie.

  “That’s it?” he asked, his fork hovering over his plate as he compared hers to the huge mound she’d served him.

  “I’m not the one who went without dinner.”

  They ate in the kitchen with Jake leaning against the counter while she stood next to the sink. This was turning out even better than the evening she’d originally planned. It was more relaxed. Jake looked content and worry-free, which had been her first goal.

  He set his empty plate down, raised his eyebrows as if to ask what was next, and for an answer, Lacey moved into his arms. She rested her cheek against the rise and fall of his chest and listened to the steady pace of his heart. Underneath the aftershave and shampoo he smelled like the outdoors, and a little like the soap used for cleaning leather. He rubbed the heel of his palm up and down the length of her spine.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “You’re welcome. Next time the pie will turn out better. I’ll buy one, instead.”

  “I’m not thanking you for the pie—although thank you, by the way. I don’t care how it looks. I’d rather have it homemade any day of the week. I’m thanking you for not being mad when I called to cancel even though I had a feeling you put a lot of work into tonight. I was right.”

  “I already told you I wasn’t mad.”

  “Women always say that.”

  “I meant it.” She kissed the base of his throat, right where the vee of his shirt collar exposed it, and was honest. “I was disappointed. But adults know the difference between the two emotions.”

  He nestled one knee between her thighs and drew her closer against him. He was solid and warm and made her want to purr like a kitten. “I was disappointed, too. I’m a lot less so, now.”

  His hands moved to her waist. He nipped at her throat, giving her skin a light tug with his lips, and caressed her with a fresh-shaven brush of his cheek that sent shivers to the soles of her feet. He hiked up the hem of her tank top with his thumbs, and gripping her hips, rubbed them low on her belly above the narrow band of her panties. Electricity shot through her core. She closed her eyes and inhaled another lungful of bubblegum and spice, enjoying the sensations he created inside her. The intimacy factor had gone up several notches.

  They’d gotten to second base a few times when they were dating. He’d definitely been the more experienced. But she planned to take charge tonight and show him a thing or two for a change.

  She slipped under his arm and took hold of his hand. She crooked a finger at him. “Follow me.”

  “Should I be afraid?”

  “Only mildly concerned.”

  Linking their fingers together, she led him from the kitchen, through the living room, and into the hall to the bedroom.

  Her bedroom was large with pink walls, a white-canopied queen-sized bed, and a white rug on the hardwood floor. It owned an en suite and walk-in closet, plus a wide window overlooking the backyard, although right now the curtains were drawn. She’d left the light on.

  “I see you like pink,” Jake commented, gazing around.

  She arched an eyebrow. “Afraid it might affect your performance?”

  Smoldering green eyes came to rest on her. She didn’t e
ven have to hear it to know what his answer would be. “Not in the least.”

  She reached for the hem of her tank and slowly, while she had his attention, peeled it up her body and over her head, exposing the pink lacy bra she wore underneath. She dropped the tank to the floor, then turned her back to him. She glanced at him over her shoulder.

  “Can you unfasten me, please?”

  He slid a knuckle from the small of her back to the clasp of her bra. With a flick of his fingers, he had it undone. He eased it down her arms, nuzzling the side of her neck as he did, and it followed the tank to the floor. They faced the full-length mirror next to the closet and she could see each movement he made.

  His fingers moved to her hair. “This is cute, but I like your hair down.” He undid the elastic and combed the length out with his fingers.

  Within seconds he had his shirt off too, his chest pressed to her back and his arms around her. He slid a palm over her belly and down the front of her shorts. He cupped a breast in his other hand, his thumb flicking across the tip of her nipple, and another jolt of electricity lit her on fire. She raised her arms over her head to cradle the back of his, arching her body and bracing her shoulders against him. He found her folds with his touch and stroked the nub, then eased one finger inside her. She moaned a little, the pleasure intense, and tried to turn to face him, to turn her back to the mirror, but he wouldn’t allow it.

  “Not yet,” he said. The words he breathed in her ear came out hoarse and ragged. His eyes met hers in the mirror. “Let me touch you. I want to watch what I do to you.”

  If this was what he wanted, then she wanted it, too. She arched again, urging him deeper, riding his palm. He stroked in and out, slowly, then with a little more speed, until she was dizzy and couldn’t breathe.

  But it was the expression of intense concentration and satisfaction he wore as he watched her respond to his touch that undid her the most.

  “You have to stop, Jake,” she whispered, a little frantic that she couldn’t wait for him. “I don’t think I can hold on any longer.”

  “Then don’t.” He traced the tip of her ear with his tongue, then nipped the lobe. “Say my name again.”

  “Oh, my God. Jake.” She closed her eyes as the orgasm took hold, her brain functions on pause. Wave after wave of pleasure rippled through muscles clenched tight while he whispered words of encouragement.

  He lifted her. When she opened her eyes, she was on the bed with Jake, bare-chested, bending over her. He stripped her shorts and panties down her legs, reached in his pocket to extract a handful of condoms that he tossed on the bed. He straightened, unfastened his shorts, and kicked them off while she watched.

  Jake wore nakedness like a tuxedo. He completely owned it, without a shred of self-consciousness. And why wouldn’t he?

  He was all long, lean, bundled muscle, with bulging biceps from hours spent laboring outdoors. Abs rippled above a flat stomach and narrow hips. And surprisingly, he was tanned to the waist—although his forearms were darker. His erection, thick and hard, jutted out proudly.

  She groped for a condom. He landed on the bed beside her, throwing one leg over hers. He held her face in his hands.

  “You are so beautiful.” Intense green eyes, glazed with lust and dark with a fierce sort of wonder, gazed into hers. “I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

  She’d already been in love with him. She was twice as much so, now.

  “And you think you’re the lucky one,” she said.

  He kissed her, as deeply and thoroughly as he’d just touched her, until she wanted him even more than before. She mapped his skin with her palms, feeling the hard planes and angles buried beneath, committing each one to memory.

  She eased her hand between their bodies and wrapped her fingers around him. He let out a small groan and closed his eyes. She explored every inch, sliding her hand up and down until he was thrusting along with her.

  “Lie on your back,” she commanded.

  “If you’re planning to teach me a few things, I’m all in favor of these private lessons.”

  He grinned as he said it, flipping over to stretch out full length on her bed. She straddled him with her knees on either side of his hips, then leaned forward to kiss him. He tracked the tips of his fingers along the sensitive skin on the underside of her breasts, disrupting her plans.

  She caught his wrists. “Put your hands behind your head.”

  “Yes, Teacher.”

  She rocked back on her heels and tipped her head to one side. Her hair fell over one shoulder.

  She liked seeing him relaxed and so playful. “Really? That’s your fantasy?”

  He rested his head on his clasped fingers and studied her through half-lowered lids. “What can I say? I like bossy women.”

  She planted her hands on her hips. “I’m not bossy.”

  “Whatever you say, Teacher.” Languid indulgence rolled off him.

  Maybe she was. Just a little.

  She touched the base of his throat with the tip of her tongue, tracking downward to take first one nipple between her teeth, then the other, before continuing on to his abdomen. His erection lay on his stomach, a tiny pearl at its tip. She flicked the tip with her tongue, then ran her tongue around the rim. His hips jerked, but he kept his hands clasped behind his head.

  She was impressed. The goal, however, was to make him lose control.

  His hands came to her head. He held it as she ran her tongue up and down.

  “You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now,” he said.

  “Yes, I do. I’m the teacher.”

  But he’d learned enough.

  She got to her knees and tore the small packet open. She unrolled the condom over his length. He helped her guide him into position. Then, his hands on her waist, she eased him inside. His palms slid from her waist to cup her breasts. He thrust upward, arching his hips off the bed, and she took him in deep. She cried out with pleasure. He abandoned her breasts and gripped her buttocks, controlling the rhythm as she rocked up and down, not allowing her to withdraw too far.

  And then, as another orgasm began to build, he heaved upward and rolled them over so that she was now on the bottom and he was on top, still buried deep. He braced himself on one hand so he could look down at her.

  She lifted her legs and locked her heels around his waist. “Don’t stop. I’m so close.”

  “So am I.” He brushed a lock of her hair off her cheek, his voice husky. “But I like to see what I do to you.”

  He thrust forward slowly, then faster, again and again, until they were both breathing hard and she couldn’t think beyond what he was doing to her and how badly she wanted it. She clutched his shoulders as her orgasm rocked through her and pulsed around him. He cried out. He stiffened, then shuddered.

  “God,” he bit out, before collapsing beside her.

  *

  Faint light from the kitchen stretched through the open bedroom door and across the floor, stopping shy of the bed. Lacey, a limp, living ragdoll, lay stomach to stomach on Jake, one knee on his thigh, her cheek buried in the crook of his neck.

  He trailed a finger up and down the curve of her hip, but she was too exhausted to do more than shiver. The first time had been fast because they were both in a hurry. The second, a whole lot less so. He’d been very thorough.

  “What are you thinking about?” she whispered.

  “Your smile.”

  “My smile?” She folded her forearms on top of his chest and propped her chin on them as she contemplated his face in the semidarkness. “What about it?”

  “It makes everything in the world bright and sunny again. Like new. As if the past weeks never happened.” He grimaced in a way that said he was embarrassed to be making such an unmanly admission.

  Oh, Jake. The aftermath of great sex and the cover of darkness really loosened his tongue. From him, this was almost poetic. She thought she might cry. But he’d hate that, so she didn’t.

  She couldn
’t ignore it, though. In his own awkward way, he’d reached out. “Want to talk to me about it? What happened to your parents and Liz?”

  “No,” Jake said. “Let’s make being together about you and me.”

  She ran her finger along the strong line of his jaw. A hint of stubble abraded her skin. She wasn’t sure she approved of the way he was handling his grief, because sooner or later he’d have to confront it, but whether she approved or not, in the end, didn’t matter. He needed an escape.

  She could offer him one.

  Chapter Nine

  The strains of the theme song to Doctor Strange filtered into Jake’s dreams, then slapped him awake. His brain kicked into gear, as did alarm. Luke was calling him at…

  He looked at the clock next to Lacey’s bed. Two o’clock in the morning.

  He grabbed for his phone and tried to silence it before it disturbed her, but he was too late. She curled against him—her cheek to his back, her palm flat on his belly. Her fingertips brushed the peak of his growing erection.

  He should have turned his damned phone off.

  “What the hell, Luke?” he snarled. One night. Was that too much to ask?

  “Hello to you, too.”

  Nothing bothered the miserable bastard, even though he had to know what he was interrupting.

  A child wailed in the background.

  Jake sat up. “What’s wrong with Finn?”

  “No need to get your panties all twisted. All you have to do is let him know you’re still alive and you’ll see him in the morning, then we’ve got it from here. He’s going to sleep in the barn with Mac and me. Zack’s got Lydia in the house with him.”

  So Lydia was awake, too. Jake should have known this would happen. Finn hadn’t slept through the night once since he’d been told his parents weren’t coming home, and Jake was the one who’d tucked him back in every night. Of course he was frantic. Now he had the entire household in an uproar.

  “Put him on the phone.”

  Two seconds later, “I want my mommy,” Finn sobbed into his ear.