Rough Love

by Landish, Lauren

  But Bruce’s brothers have helped our move out here be easier, and while being surrounded by this much testosterone is a bit jarring at times, I’m used to them now too. We might be an unusual family, but we are one.

  “I’m gonna fold, fellas. You mind finishing the game without me? I’ve got something to show Allyson,” Bruce says, standing up from the table. His tone belies nothing, but I can read the set of his jaw. He’s nervous, which makes me nervous.

  Bobby teases his brother, “I bet you’ve got something to show her.” His brows waggle with not-subtle meaning. Luckily, Cooper is young enough that he doesn’t pick up on Bobby’s meaning yet.

  “Shh, Bobby! Don’t ruin the surprise!” Cooper blurts out, then his eyes go wide as he looks at me in horror. “Oops,” he says sadly.

  I grin. “Surprise? For me? It wouldn’t be a Christmas present, would it?” I snuggle up to Bruce’s chest, blinking up at him with innocent eyes.

  He smiles, but it’s full of dark promise. “Guess the cat’s outta the bag.” He dips his chin at his brothers and Cooper. “You guys good for dinner?”

  I love that he’s stepped right in with Cooper, treating him like one of the guys. Treating him like his son.

  They all nod in answer, and Bruce takes my hand, pulling me toward the back door. “We’re out then.”

  In surprise, my feet stutter underneath me and Bruce steadies me. “Out? Where are we going?” It’s the night before Christmas Eve and my plans included exciting things like Hallmark movies, mass quantities of wrapping paper, and adding Bailey’s to my decaf coffee.

  Bruce leans in and whispers hotly in my ear, “It’s a surprise, Al. Come on.”

  Well, all right then. That’s enough for me, and I let him lead me out the door and to his truck. He helps me in and then hops in himself, turning the heater up high to ward off the chill of the night.

  I don’t ask where we’re going, trusting him implicitly. Even so, my hand reaches up to grip the handle over the door as he bumps along over the land, eschewing the driveway and the road we usually use to go anywhere. But he doesn’t go far, just a few acres away from the Tannen homestead.

  He stops in the middle of a clearing, but I’m not sure where we are or why we’re here. “What am I looking at?” I ask, pointing at the orange spray paint lines in the snow and looking at Bruce.

  The truck’s headlights reflect on the snow and in the dim light, I swear I see him blush. But that can’t be. I mean . . . he’s him.

  “The paint’s just symbolic, but I talked to Mama Louise and Mark. This is the site where we can build. It’s where our home will be—you, Cooper and me. Merry Christmas, Allyson.” There’s the slightest tremble in his voice as it goes deep.

  “Our home?” I repeat, his meaning hitting me. “Oh, my gosh, I love it!” I lean over the console, needing to kiss him.

  He kisses me back hard and messy, tasting like cinnamon and instantly lighting a fire inside me. “Come here, baby,” he growls.

  Awkwardly, I climb over the console as he pushes his seat back. I straddle him, my professional work skirt riding up my thighs to make room for him between my legs.

  “Fuck, I love you, Allyson. I can’t wait . . . for any of it. For the wedding, for our house, for our family, for our life.”

  The simple but meaningful words surround us.

  He shakes his head like he can’t believe it, like he’s getting everything he ever wanted. So am I.

  “I love you too. I feel like we should celebrate.” I’m flirting with him, hungry for him the way I’m hungry for the picture he’s painting.

  His hands knead at my thighs, working higher as his eyes bore into me, reading my every reaction. I grind against him, feeling his cock thicken beneath me. “Kinda like old times, isn’t it? In your truck. Seems like we’ve been here a time or two before.”

  That’s an understatement. But as much as I loved him then, it’s nothing compared to now.

  “You like these tights?” he asks with wicked promise.

  I bite my lip, shaking my head, but my eyes are locked on his. “Not particularly.” I know why he’s asking, but I still gasp when his fingers dig in, tearing a hole in the tights I wore to work today. I’ll happily get another pair.

  My fingers drop between us, working at his zipper to free his cock. I have to lift up a little bit to give him room to move his jeans and underwear out of the way, but then I feel him against my slick core.

  He’s satin over steel, rock hard for me. “Give me that pussy, baby. Ride me.” It’s barely a whisper, but I feel the words on my skin like tattoos.

  I move my hips, my lips kissing at his crown. He grips my ass hard, his fingers digging into the flesh there to still me. “Slow or fast, Al?”

  Oh, God, so many memories assail me. Us, just like this, in his truck and the barn. He used to always ask me that right before entering me. He never does anymore, knowing the answer. But it’s a hot reminder of just how far we’ve come. “Fast, Bruce . . . fast.”

  He pulls me down, slamming me onto his thick cock and trusting that I’ll stretch around him.

  I cry out, filled and fulfilled in ways I never imagined. No, that’s not true—in ways I used to dream of and then gave up on. But I will never give up on Bruce again. Or myself.

  He holds me still, hammering up into me. I press against the roof of the truck for leverage, wanting to keep him . . .

  In my body, in my heart . . . forever.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” he grits out through clenched teeth.

  It might’ve been a rough road to get here, but we’re finally exactly where we’re supposed to be. Together.

  Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the book! Want to see where Bruce and Allyson are in the future? Grab the extended epilogue here. If the link doesn’t work, just visit www.laurenlandish.com and click on Rough Love and you’ll be directed to it.

  Continue reading for a preview of Buck Wild, Bennett Boys Book 1 (the Tannens are supporting characters)! And don’t forget to preorder Rough Edge, Tannen Boys book 2!

  Excerpt: Buck Wild

  James

  With a squeeze of the snips and a twist of my pliers, I finish one more section of fence. Gazing left, then right, I can see just how much I’ve done and just how far I have left to go. The answer is the same as the last time I checked. Not enough and too much.

  We need this pasture secure before we move the herd over, and that’s happening one way or another by the end of the week. Unfortunately, this fence was totally wrecked last winter, and with everything that’s happened to the family, it’s been put off until the last minute. And it seems that last minute is my new middle name.

  I know I need to hurry, but my back needs a break more. This isn’t a sprint, the eight seconds of exhilaration and adrenaline that I’m used to. This is still hours of work left, and if I’m not careful, I’ll end up useless with miles of fence to go. I stand tall to stretch, raising my arms high above me and lifting my face to the bright sun of the June day.

  Taking a deep breath, I can feel the sweat rolling down my face, so I pull my hat off to mop a rag across my brow. It’s strange, but in the barely blowing breeze, I can feel my dad’s presence, proud that I’m back here, home on the ranch, doing what he always wanted me to do. In the sound of the creek that’s just on the other side of this rise I’m working on fencing, it almost sounds like he’s chuckling in that way he used to when he knew something would happen even if my brothers and I swore it never would.

  His passing is still so new that it sometimes doesn’t feel real. Speaking to the refreshing wind at my back, I tuck my rag in my back pocket and adjust my Stetson on my head. “So, you’re watching, are you? I know exactly what you’re gonna say, Pops. Fence ain’t gonna fix itself, boy. Back to work, only way to get done what needs to be done. I know, and I’m gonna get it done.”

  Taking one last deep breath, I let the air current guide me back to the next section, rea
dy to roll for another few hours. It’s been hours already, Or maybe minutes. Shit, it’s hard to tell when the work is this repetitive. All I know is that I’m in that eternity between my quickly eaten lunch and sunset when I hear hoofbeats coming.

  I don’t even have to look to know it’s my older brother. Especially since both my brothers are older than me and have never let me forget that I’m the baby. But right now, I know it’s my oldest brother, coming to check on me like he always does.

  Turning to face Mark, I tug the brim of my hat down to shield my eyes from the sun, which is hanging pretty low in the sky. Ah, hours then, not the minutes I’d feared. I’ve kept up a good pace, the end must be in sight.

  “Hey, Mark.” I greet with a single lift of my chin.

  He reins in his horse Sugarpea, his favorite gelding that he’s had since he was a teenager. “Have you been napping out here or something, James? This as far as you’ve made it? Gonna be some early mornings and late nights to get this pasture prepped in time. Guess it’s a good thing you brought the ATV, it’ll let you work after dark with those floodlamps.”

  He makes a tsking sound that both irritates me and makes me laugh. I take a closer look around, I’ve got less than a half mile to go before I reach the corner and today’s goal. “Fuck you, man. I’m working my ass off out here while you’ve been pushing papers around in the barn office. I bet I’ve earned more sweat in the past half hour than your big ass has sitting in that old swivel chair all day. But don’t you worry, I’ll be in for dinner.”

  He smirks at me, leaning onto the horn of his saddle to look down at me with a knowing grin. “Of course you will. I might be a scary fella, but none of us want Mama chasing after us. She’s the scariest son of a gun I know.”

  I twist my face into a fictitious mask of fear, staring behind him with wide eyes. “Oh, you done bought it now!”

  Mark spins to look behind him, just as I’d planned, but there’s nothing there besides the wide-open acres of golden-green land. “Shit, you had me thinking Mama was right behind me. You been taking acting lessons or something when you’re on that rodeo tour?”

  I laugh, the gentle shake of my body and lightness in my head feeling good. It’s been foreign lately and maybe just what I need. Mark, never being one to laugh, merely smiles, but for him, that’s basically the same as laughter, so I’m calling it a win. “You’ve always been easy to fool. Remember when we were kids and I jumped from the hayloft and faked breaking my leg? You were so scared you damn near pissed your Levis. It don’t take being Daniel Day-Lewis to get you.”

  Mark’s mouth thins, but he nods and gives me an evil grin. “Well, I planned to help you with a length of fence, but after that stunt, I’m thinking maybe I’ll go on in and have a shower before dinner. Might even prop my feet up and watch some of Mama’s shows with her while she gets dinner ready.”

  My jaw drops; he’s so serious that when he plays it straight, it’s hard to tell if he’s joking or not. “The fuck you will! Get your ass off your high horse and help. Just because the corner’s just up ahead don’t mean the whole damn fence is done! We’ve got miles to go and not enough time to do it.”

  Mark shakes his head, looking a lot older than he really is. Sure, I’m the baby of the group, but Mark isn’t that much older. But in the afternoon light, the weight of responsibility hangs on his face so much that he looks like he’s pushing forty instead of still two stepping with thirty. “There’s never enough time. Hasn’t been for a while now.”

  The silence stretches for a moment, both of us lost in thought of missing Pops. He loved this land, the land he bought on faith, back in the time when everyone was saying old-fashioned family farming and ranching was going the way of bell bottoms and the Marlboro man. He’d been the one who saw what this land could be, a harsh mistress that still loved us back and provided for a man who was willing to use his brains as well as his body and heart to tend it.

  He loved us boys, all three of us. He spent every day teaching us how to be men and how to be ranchers. He’d taught me to ride almost as soon as I could walk, to respect the value of a man’s hard work, and that sweat was sometimes more valuable than gold. And he taught us to love.

  The best example of that was how Pops loved Mama. He would often tell us about how once he saw his Louise, he knew right then and there that he was going to marry that girl. He’d been eighteen at the time.

  His passing hit us hard, especially Mark. It was Mark who found Pops, lying just beyond the big elm tree we’ve got in the front yard, a peaceful look on his face and his hat somehow placed respectfully over his eyes like he was taking a nap.

  By everyone’s guess, he realized what was coming, the years of hard work and workman’s breakfasts catching up to him, and had laid down and sent his horse back to the barn. As soon as Duster nickered at the back door riderless, Mark said he knew something was wrong. It took him awhile to find Pops, but it didn’t matter. He could have been faster than the Flash and he would’ve been too late. When the reaper comes for you, there’s never enough time.

  Mark found our father lying next to the same tree that he proposed to Mama under thirty-two years ago. We didn’t have the years with him we thought we would. I’m back home for now, but only for the long summer. When the fall circuit starts up again, my ass needs to be on the back of a fifteen-hundred-pound pissed-off bull if I want to get my sponsorship checks. I’m not sure how Pops managed to time his unexpected passing with the rodeo schedule he always hated, but since he did, I’ve got a long stretch of months to stay here, settle in with Mama and my brothers to make the ranch work somehow without Pops’ fiercely loving hand guiding us all.

  My eyes meet Mark’s and he growls, swinging off Sugarpea and tying her off on the back gate of my ATV trailer before bumping my shoulder as he passes by me in a sign of brotherly love that also means “shut the fuck up.” Saying nothing, he roots around in the back of the trailer and comes out with another pair of snips. “Okay, James, let’s see if we can get all the sections from here to the corner and a few beyond done before dinner. Deal?”

  I eye the length of fence, not seeing too much that needs repair. This part of the pasture is in the lee of the rise, and because of that, didn’t catch the driving winds that some of the other areas did. “Hell, if it’s mostly just inspection, I bet we can do five or six. Let’s hit it.”

  We get to work, side by side, the same way we did for years, words not even needed as we dance around each other, checking each level of wire and all the barbs, careful to scan and fix any weak spots.

  We complete our goal, loading up our tools in the back of the ATV just as we hear the ringing of the bell out across the flat land. Mark grins and unties the lead on Sugarpea, swinging up into the saddle easily. “Nice job.”

  I smile, hopping behind the handlebars of the ATV. “Told you we’d make it. How about I race you to the house. If I win, I get your roll. If you win, you get…”

  He interrupts me, already wheeling Sugarpea around. “I get your whole plate.”

  Before I can even register what he said, he’s off and running, Sugarpea tearing up great hunks of turf with every step like Mark’s racing him in the Kentucky Derby. I twist the throttle on my ATV, but I’m held back some as I can’t just floor it, or else I’d flip the small trailer and send my tools flying everywhere.

  Still, it’s a race of one horsepower versus twenty-eight, and I’m close on Mark’s heels as we get to the barn. He unsaddles and stalls Sugarpea while I unload my tools before we both wash our hands and splash our faces with the cool water from the old-fashioned pump, then go bursting in the back door, still jockeying for position. The race is more about bragging rights than dinner, but make no mistake, Mark will totally take my plate if he wins, and I’ll damn sure enjoy that extra roll with lots of moans at how delicious it is to stir the shit if I win.

  Our roughhousing catches Mama’s attention though, and she turns from the stove, a big wooden spoon in her hand, the same kind t
hat she’s threatened to break over my ass if I didn’t behave myself. “What the hell are you two doing? Behave yourself in my house, or you’ll be eating on the back porch with the dogs. And they don’t get dessert.”

  We sober up, knowing that she’s dead serious, but the competitive spirit we’ve always had doesn’t just stop so we discreetly rib each other, daring the other to make a sound and be the loser. Neither of us will ever give in though, and ultimately, we sit at our respective spots at the table. Pops’ spot is empty, Mark’s is at his left as the eldest son, while Mom will sit at the other end of the table, nearest me. Luke used to sit on Pops’ right, but he’s adjusted, he’ll sit next to Mama.

  Mark glances over, removing his hat and hanging it off the back of his chair. “I’m getting your plate tomorrow.” He swings two fingers between his eyes and mine, indicating that he’s watching me. I grin, and give him the finger. Like hell he will.

  Mama turns around in a huff, thankfully slow enough that I can hide my hand. “Mark Thompson Bennett, did you just say you were gonna eat your brother’s dinner? You know how hard he works, how hard you all work, and he needs his dinner. You’ll do no such thing.”

  Being the baby in the family is sometimes the most annoying thing in my life, but other times, like this, it’s a blessing.

  Deciding to needle Mark just a little bit, I rub my stomach, moaning a little. “I’m so fucking hungry. I worked damn hard, I’m almost halfway around the back pasture and didn’t have enough lunch because it was too far to come back to the house for a nibble. Is that my favorite pot roast?”

  Yeah, I’m laying it on thick, but the hard expression on Mark’s face is worth it. He spent most of my life eating the grisly end of pot roasts while I was getting the nice, juicy cuts. No wonder he prefers steak or hamburgers over roast.

  Apparently, I overplayed though, as Mama turns around, pointing her spoon at me. “Boy, do I look like a fool? I packed your lunch and you had two big sandwiches in there, so quit needling your brother and just eat. And don’t you dare cuss at my dinner table. You might be a grown man, but you’re not too big for me to bend you over my knee and remind you of those proper manners I taught you growing up.”