by Tawna Fenske
Jade reaches down between us, more impatient than I am. “I need you inside me,” she breathes, urgency glittering in her eyes. “Now, please.”
“I love when you beg.” I move over her, holding her gaze with mine, breathing her in. Slowly, oh so slowly, I slip inside her, groaning as her slick, snug walls clench around me. “God, you feel amazing.”
She moans in response and tilts her head back, baring her throat to my lips and tongue. I kiss her there, savoring the sweetness of her skin and the soft smell of ginger. I start to move, going slowly at first. She’s so wet I nearly lose my mind, but I want to savor this. I want to experience every fucking second of it like this is my first time making love to a woman.
In a way, it is. It’s not just my first time with Jade. It’s my first time with anyone who’s made me feel like Jade does. My brain is buzzing, and my body hums with pleasure as I drive into her, then back again. She lifts her hips and meets my rhythm, moving with me as candles flicker on the shelf above the headboard. The room smells like cinnamon and sex, and it’s all I can do to keep my head from spinning right off my neck.
“Jade,” I gasp, sinking all the way into her before drawing back to do it again.
She arches up against me, urging me on. Her thighs hug my hips and those arms—those glorious, muscled arms—clench firm and strong around me like I knew they would. Her soft little moans in my ear are almost more than I can take. I’m spiraling out of control, and I’m not sure how much longer I can last.
“Oh, God!” she cries out, and bends like a bow. Everything tightens around me at once—thighs, arms, the very center of her—and she unleashes a primal scream.
“Brandon!”
That’s all it takes, and I’m chasing her right over the edge, driving into her again and again until we both lie spent on my billion-thread count sheets.
“Come here,” I murmur, pulling her against me so I can nuzzle her hair.
Her body is limp and pliable, but she snuggles against me, fitting herself into the crook of my arm like a puzzle piece that’s been missing. Her fingertips rest over my breastbone, and several minutes pass before we catch our breath.
“That was—wow,” she says.
“My thoughts exactly.”
She cuddles closer, then props herself up on one arm to peer down at me. “Can I confess something?”
“As long as it’s not an STD.”
She smacks me on the chest and rolls her eyes. “Way to ruin the moment, Brown.”
“Just going back to what you said the last time we were naked together.” I grin and grab the hand that smacked me, planting kisses on each fingertip before resting it back against my chest. “What did you want to confess?”
“I used to think about this,” she says. “Back when I was fourteen or fifteen and you were this untouchable, sexy stud I’d see prancing out there on the football field.”
“I never pranced.”
“Trotted, then.” She waves the hand I just kissed, giving me the urge to do it again. “Sashayed. Whatever the hell football players do.”
I smile and plant a kiss on her shoulder. “I wish I’d known you then,” I admit. “I wish I’d had a chance to be with you.”
“I don’t,” she says. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that didn’t happen.”
“Uh…thanks?”
She smiles and repositions herself so her breast isn’t trapped in my armpit. I stroke the tips of my fingers over her shoulder blade, tracing the edges of the delicate wing. “Back then, I wanted you because of what you stood for,” she says. “Popularity. Perfection. A chance to feel cool.”
“I wasn’t that cool.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “Because now, I want you for you. For the guy you actually are, instead of the guy in my head.”
It is the best thing anyone’s ever said to me. Ever, my whole life. My chest tightens like fingers curling into a fist, and several seconds pass before I can get any words out.
“Thank you,” I say. “I’m glad, too. That we waited. The version of me you’re getting now is a much better guy than the one you would have gotten thirteen years ago.”
“Good.”
“Not to mention my stamina has improved considerably.”
She laughs and falls back onto my chest, snuggling closer. Her breathing slows, and after a few minutes, she goes lax in my arms. I lie there stroking her back for a long time, breathing in the juniper scent of her skin and the gingery scent of her hair and wondering how the fuck I got this lucky.
I’m not sure how long it is before I drift off, but I know we bolt awake at the same time. There’s a pounding from somewhere, and it takes me a second to figure out it’s in the living room.
“That’s the front door.” I sit up blurry-brained and rumpled as Jade pulls the sheet around her breasts and blinks at me in the candlelit semi-dark.
“Is it one of your cousins?” she asks.
The front door thunders again. “Jade! It’s me, Jade, open up.”
“Amber?” Jade leaps out of bed like it’s on fire and scrambles to pull the sweater dress over her head. It’s inside out and crooked, but she gets her arms through the right holes and is halfway to the door before I’ve gotten my boxers on.
I’m five steps behind her, thundering through the living room still wondering what the hell is going on. Jade flings the door open, and snowflakes skitter over her bare toes as an icy wall of air knocks me back.
“Amber?” Jade’s voice comes out in a rush. “What is it, what’s wrong?”
The instant I see Amber’s face, I know. I know something awful has happened. There’s no color at all in her cheeks, and her eyes are wild with fear.
“Someone left the gate open again,” she says. “The gate to the south pasture.”
I remember what they said about reindeer and land fidelity. That they won’t wander, preferring to stay close to home. I hope to God that’s right.
“They don’t like to leave, right?” I ask, willing it to be true. “You said they won’t get out.”
“Right,” Amber says, shaking her head. “But other animals can get in.”
The words hit me like mortar blast to the chest, and I watch them register on Jade’s face.
“Cougar,” she whispers. “How bad?”
“Bad,” Amber says. “You need to come quick.”
Chapter 11
JADE
“You’re going to be okay, buddy,” I whisper. “Just a couple more stitches.”
Randy—no stage name yet, since he’s just a calf—gives a grunt of displeasure, but doesn’t move. The wound is clean and well-numbed, but it can’t feel great to have me tugging on his foreleg like this.
On the other side of the fence, his mother paces. Tammy—who’s still wearing her halter that says Dasher—stamps a hoof in the dirt and bangs her antlers on the gate. “Don’t worry, Mama,” I soothe. “We’re taking good care of him.”
Amber bends low over Randy and strokes the little guy’s nose. “Hang in there, sweetie,” she whispers. “You’re doing great.”
Brandon stops pacing behind Amber and moves toward the gate to pet Tammy. She’s having none of it. All she wants is to be with her calf. Brandon gives up and returns to my side as I fix the last stitch.
“There.” I sit back on my heels and nod at my sister. “You can let go of him now.”
Amber stands up and dusts her hands on her jeans. She helps me set Randy back on his feet, then turns to Brandon. “Thanks for putting that padlock on the gate.”
He nods, brow furrowed. “It’s a short-term fix. I wish I could do more.” He shakes his head, gaze still fixed on Amber. “I can’t believe you went after a cougar with a goddamn BB gun. And I thought your sister was a badass.”
“My sister is a badass,” Amber says, shaking her head. “She would have been smart enough to grab the damn .357 instead of the stupid BB gun and actually hit the cougar instead of the trees.”
“No one died.
” I say it to reassure myself as much as anyone, though honestly I’m not sure who I mean. Randy? The cougar? Less death is always a good thing, but right now I’m too terrified to feel grateful.
Randy takes a few timid steps, and I watch his gait to make sure he’s moving okay. The sutures are clean and even, and I’m grateful I know what the hell I’m doing when it comes to repairing broken animals. Getting someone else out here at four in the morning would have been impossible, especially when every second counts.
Randy takes a few wobbly steps toward the pen where Tammy paces. His footing seems steady, and I say a silent prayer there’s no internal damage. No wounds I can’t see. He seems okay, but I want a second opinion.
“Thank God this is the one morning we’re closed to the public,” I murmur. “I can take him in for x-rays as soon as the clinic opens.”
“He looks good,” Amber says, her voice a little shaky. “Is it okay to reunite him with his mama?”
I nod. “Yeah. It might even help.”
The rising sun glints off Amber’s hair as she swings open the gate to the holding pen. Tammy hurries over to greet her calf, nuzzling the side of his face as she inspects every inch of him. She licks and nudges, snuffing at Randy until she seems satisfied he’s okay.
Amber trudges back to my side. “I’m glad it wasn’t as bad as I thought.”
“And I’m glad you didn’t die.” I drag her into a forceful hug, my heartbeat slowing for the first time in an hour. “I still can’t believe you went after a damn cougar,” I growl into her hair. “You could have been killed. What the hell were you thinking?”
My sister shakes her head and pulls back. Tears glitter in her eyes, but she doesn’t cry. “I didn’t think. I heard the scream, and I had to do something.”
“You did good, kid,” I tell her. “You saved his life. Probably other reindeer’s lives, too.”
Brandon clears his throat behind us. “No one else is hurt?”
I shake my head, hardly believing it myself. “Cougars go for the weakest member of the herd.” I grit my teeth against an unexpected wave of anger. It’s not directed at the cougar, though. “The cougar probably watched for a long time, looking for who was the weakest. Who’d be the best target.”
Is that how it was in high school? Did someone spot weakness in me and go for the kill?
You’re not weak now. Not anymore.
Sometimes, I’m not so sure.
I turn and begin packing away medical supplies, conscious of Brandon right behind me. “We can’t be pissed at the cougar,” I mumble. “He was just following instinct. Looking for dinner.”
“Right, but that’s what we have gates for,” Amber says. “And high fences. So they can’t treat the herd like a breakfast buffet.”
I slam my medical kit shut and stand up. “This is bullshit.” I turn to Brandon, conscious of my hands balling into fists at my side. “You’re right. Your theory that someone’s doing this on purpose? I know you’re right.”
“I don’t want to be right,” he says. “I want this to stop.”
“So do I.”
Amber frowns beside me. “What are you guys talking about?”
“Brandon thinks someone’s doing this on purpose,” I say. “Someone who wants to hurt us or shut us down or—”
“Who would do something like that?” she demands. She looks at Brandon, and they exchange an uneasy glance.
“I don’t know,” I say.
Brandon’s jaw tightens as he shuffles his feet in the dirt. “What about installing video cameras?”
“How long would something like that take?” I ask.
He rubs a hand over his chin. “Let me make some calls. I’ve got a cousin who’s an electrician.”
“Sean?”
“No.”
“Bree?”
“No.”
“How many damn cousins do you have?”
“Enough,” he says, looking grim. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, Jade. I promise.”
I love that he said “we.” That he sees us as a team, and that we’re on the same side. He takes a step closer and opens his arms like he’s not sure what else to do. I move into them, letting myself sag into an embrace that’s warm and solid and comforting. He smells like the hay bale he was sitting on earlier, and I can feel his heartbeat through the thick down of his jacket.
Amber clears her throat behind me. “I’m going to go make some breakfast,” she says. “I’ll make enough for you and Wonder Boy if you want.”
She turns and trudges out of the pasture, her footsteps crunching on frozen wood chips. I close my eyes and breathe in the cedary scent of Brandon’s jacket.
“How are you doing?” he asks.
I draw back from the hug, but keep my hands on his chest, not ready to lose contact just yet. “I’m okay. Pretty shaken,” I admit. “But it could have been worse.”
“So you believe me now,” he says. “That someone’s doing this on purpose?”
I nod, hating it that he’s right. Hating the sour taste in the back of my throat. “Things seemed mostly harmless up until now, but this.” I take a hand off his chest and gesture to the pasture. “She could have killed someone.”
“She?”
It’s not until he repeats the word back to me that I realize what I’ve said, or that I’m picturing Stacey Fleming’s face in my mind.
“Or he,” I amend. “It could be anyone.”
Brandon’s brow furrows, but he lets that pass. “Maybe we should make a list,” he says. “Come up with all the names we can think of and then go to the police.”
I frown, not sure I like that idea. “That’ll make me popular,” I mutter. “Going to the cops with a big list of community members I’d like to wrongly-accuse of crimes?”
“It’s not a popularity contest, Jade,” he says. “It’s your livelihood.”
“I know that,” I tell him. “But my livelihood depends on people not despising me. Or at least keeping the hatred to a minimum so they spend their money out here.”
Our voices have grown tense, and Brandon reaches out and brushes a strand of hair from my face. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get some food. We can talk about this later.”
“Good idea.”
We’ve taken two steps up the path when the crunch of gravel punctures the silence. An engine’s rumble grows louder, and I turn to see a big white pickup lurching up the driveway. The logo for Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife glints on the door panel, and I stare at the ODFW lettering before shifting my gaze to the driver.
Matthew Lerten, a year ahead of me in school. He was one of the sophomores who stole my clay pig, and I wonder if he remembers. I’d heard through the grapevine that he’d been hired by ODFW, but I haven’t worked with him. He must be low man on the totem pole to be out here this early, and I brace myself for unpleasant news.
As he slams the truck door and saunters toward us, I’m hit with another flash of memory. Sophomore year. Matthew was a junior by then, and with Brandon already off at basic training, Matthew was the rising star of the school.
I never knew who slid slices of raw ham through the slits of my locker, leaving them to fester over spring break. I only knew the accompanying note that read, “Oink oink!” was scrawled on the same blue notebook paper I’d seen Matthew use in math class.
“Morning,” Matthew says.
He’s looking at Brandon, not me, and I don’t realize my hands are clenched until Brandon reaches for one. I uncurl a fist so he can lace his fingers through mine, but he steps forward to greet Matthew instead.
“Yo, Brown,” Matthew calls as he ambles up the driveway with his gaze fixed on Brandon. “Heard you were back in town. Didn’t know you were doing this.”
I’m not sure what “this” is meant to encompass. The job? Me? I shouldn’t leap to judgment, but the memory of festering ham and the fact that Matthew has yet to glance my way sets me on edge. I grit my teeth and order myself not to say anything I might regr
et.
“You’re lookin’ good, my man.” Brandon says as the two of them exchange one of those complicated male handshakes that ends with body-jarring shoulder slug. “What can I do for you?”
I grit my teeth harder as irritation swells. This is my property, my ranch. There’s no reason a Fish and Wildlife officer would show up here to shoot the shit with an old teammate. Matthew’s here for a reason, and it has nothing to do with Brandon.
As though reading my thoughts, Matthew shifts his gaze to me. His frat boy grin turns to a leer, and he gives me the first nod of acknowledgment I’ve gotten since his arrival. “I need to talk to Jade here,” he says. “We’ve got a problem.”
Four words no keeper of exotic livestock wants to hear from ODFW. I force myself to hold eye contact, wondering if it’s a help or a hindrance having Brandon here right now. The last thing I want is to look weak. Like the kind of woman who can’t handle things herself. I won’t give Matthew the chance to smell blood in the water.
I open my mouth to respond, but Brandon beats me to it. “What’s the problem?”
Matthew takes his eyes off me, seemingly relieved to deal with his teammate instead. “Well, it seems Jade here hasn’t renewed her Non-Native Cervid Holding License with ODFW,” he says. “These here Rangifer Tarandus could be a threat to native wildlife, according to ORS 496.021.”
He just butchered the pronunciation of every scientific term in that accusation, not to mention rattling off the wrong policy number. But those are the least of my concerns.
“That is absolutely not true!” I glare at Matthew, too annoyed by the false accusation to feign demure innocence. “I sent the forms by certified mail more than three weeks ago.”
Brandon glances over at me with a warning look. For what? This is my fucking ranch, my livelihood.
He turns back to Matthew with his nice guy smile pasted in place. “Look, I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” Brandon says. “Jade’s had a few wonky things happening out here on the ranch, and we’re actually starting to suspect someone’s trying to mess with her. Maybe that’s something we should be looking into?”