Now that she was happy and settled with Hank, creativity flowed through every fibre of her being. It may not be possible to collect happiness and put it in a bottle, but the next best thing to bottled happiness was Rosemary Windsor's (soon to be Armstrong's) paintings. They exhibited a richness and a subtle glow, their expressive brushwork encapsulating the mood and emotions of their creator.
Rose was a talented artist. But nothing she had produced back in England matched the standard of the works she was now turning out. She experimented with light and shadow to create stunning landscapes, many of which were on display in the big lounge. But her new love was painting horses. She started off by photographing them and studying the pictures, and then she would sketch an outline. But there was something not quite right; whatever it was, eluded her, so she did some research to find out what that something might be, and in the process managed to familiarise herself with anatomy.
She learned about sinew, and the hard and soft parts of the body of a horse; she learned what happens to the shapes and forms they create during movement, and the quality and shape of light that would be found on each part of its form. She created traditional pen and ink drawings, delicate watercolours and large oil paintings. All were amazing, and looked so realistic that you expected the horses to jump right out of the picture and gallop away with a clatter of hooves and a toss of their mane.
Grabbing a smock from the peg, Rose slipped it on over her head. Painting was such a wonderfully dirty occupation. Despite wearing an apron of some sort, everyone was used to her turning up for meals with an assortment of gaily coloured paint splats decorating her face and clothes. She quickly braided her glorious blue-black hair and let it dangle down her back. It was waist length. She had considered getting it cut but Hank was horrified at the notion. He loved her long hair, so she let it be, just as long as she could get it out of the way when she was working. Sometimes, like now, she would wear it in a long loose braid, sometimes in a ponytail, and other times she would pile it up on top of her head in an elegant coronet... which would inevitably collapse, and her long locks would tumble free and invariably get covered with the colours on her current palette.
The next couple of hours passed quickly. Her only interruption was from Tinker, one of the ranch dogs. He had taken a particular liking to Rose from her first day at the ranch and loved to sit by her side, or lay by her feet snoring happily, or simply sit and gaze up at her adoringly, which was unusual because he was usually somewhat aloof with people he didn't know.
Rose reached out to pet him, accidentally splattering him with paint in the process. Tink gave her an affronted look and retreated with as much dignity as he could muster given the yellow blobs of paint on his head.
"Sorry, Tink," grinned Rose. "Come back soon."
The Boxer dog returned to give her a slobbery forgiving lick before heading for the ranch kitchen where there was always a never ending supply of juicy scraps to be had. He had perfected the art of sitting quietly, staring with his chocolate-brown eyes and looking pathetic so that Hannah and the other cooks would feel sorry for him and feed him. It was a strategy that had worked very well indeed for the past five years and showed no signs of wearing thin. This was mainly because everyone loved Tinker. He had a lovely temperament and he was a dog of many talents, being clownish and playful, loyal and steadfast, brave and protective and clever and goofy. His personality was unique, and he was quite a vocal performer - his use of various growls to talk to people, combined with his expressive face, made him the star attraction on the ranch.
Rose smiled at the departing dog and then got back to work. Once focused she became totally oblivious to time. She worked diligently, finally applied the finishing touches to her painting of Jasper, then putting down her brush, gazed critically at what she had produced.
"That's fantastic." Hank put his hand on her shoulder. "Absolutely perfect."
Rose whirled around. "Hank! I didn't hear you arrive. How long have you been here?"
"Ages," he grinned. "I like to watch you work. You become totally engrossed and oblivious to everything else."
"Yes," agreed Rose. "I guess that's how it is. So..." she gestured to the painting. "You like?"
"I most certainly do. And the colours are wonderful - the exact shade of light chestnut."
"Thank you," smiled Rose. "I enjoyed working on him. What shall I paint next, I wonder?"
"Well you've plenty to choose from with all of our cattle and horses."
"Definitely. But... I was wondering about doing a portrait."
"There's a thought. Any idea who?"
"I thought maybe your pa?"
Hank's face broke into a big smile. "Rose, that's a doozy of an idea. He'd love it. He sure would. Go for it."
"You think so?"
"Sure do," Hank nodded. "Will you get him to sit for you?"
"No. I want it to be a surprise. He'll be 60 in a few weeks time, won't he? I thought it would make a nice gift."
"That's thoughtful of you, hon." He nuzzled her neck lovingly, tickling her with the faint stubble on his chin.
"I know," she giggled. "I can be thoughtful at times... when I'm not being naughty pulling your ears." She gave his left ear a playful tweak. "Anyway, I thought I'd work from a recent photograph. Do you have one I can use? If not, maybe you can take one - but make sure that he's not aware you're doing so. I'm looking for something natural. I don't want anything too posed."
"Get off my ear, young lady," growled Hank. "Or I'll have to get revenge in the most terrible and humiliating way."
"Oh yes?" Rose cast him a cheeky look from beneath the sweep of her lashes. "How terrible and humiliating?"
"Well, now," Hank seated himself on her vacated chair. "It goes like this. I grab your arm. Like so. And then I haul you over my lap. Like so. And then I position you. Like so."
He demonstrated precisely how. A moment later, Rose was upended, her palms flat on the floor and her bottom waving in the air, with her long legs dangling.
"And then," Hank continued, "then I just tug this skirt up like so. Boy, I'm glad it's a skirt today and not denim jeans. Mmmn - nice ass. Let's see a bit more of it, shall we?" With his thumb and forefinger in the waistband of her panties, Hank deftly tugged them down to her knees. "Looks good enough to eat!"
"Hank!" squealed Rose. "What if someone comes?"
"Then they'll get an eyeful of bare butt," grinned Hank. He lowered his head and nibbled her luscious buttocks.
"Ooooh! Stop it at once!"
"You know you like it." Hank continued nibbling.
"God, yes," confessed Rose, trying not to laugh. "But it tickles awfully."
"Oh. How awfully British you sound," said Hank in a falsetto voice. "I think I shall tickle you some more, my pretty wench."
Hank raised his right arm and brought his palm cracking down over Rose's bare bottom. The sound echoed around the studio like a pistol shot.
"Yeow!" squealed Rose.
"I know that squeal. It's not a 'Oh, that's far too hard squeal' - it's a 'Oh I love it please do it again squeal'. Am I right?" He spanked her again and again, watching as her beautiful bottom depressed beneath the impact and then bounced back ready for more.
"I'm not telling," said Rose coquettishly.
"Guess I'll have to find out for myself then," quipped Hank. He slipped his hand between her parted thighs and his fingers probed her slick wetness. "Naughty, naughty girl," he said huskily.
"I like being naughty," she said.
"Show me." He eased her up off his lap, unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly.
Rose reached out and felt for his engorged cock. She teased down his boxer shorts and knelt on the floor between his knees.
"I'll show you," she said, and lowered her head to lick his shaft.
Hank groaned. Rose cupped his balls in one hand, and stroked his shaft with the other, while her mouth remained busy. She teased him by flicking her tongue rapidly over the bulging purple-pink tip of his swol
len cock.
"Ohhh," murmured Hank. "God, you're good at that."
"Practice makes perfect," said Rose, demurely. But her words came out mumbled and distorted.
"What?"
"I really shouldn't speak with my mouth full," grinned Rose. "I said, practice makes perfect." Lowering her head once more, she continued her task.
"Get practising. Get practising," repeated Hank. His breathing had changed. He began panting as his hips involuntarily thrust upwards. His massive cock stuck out like a sacred monument. "Oh man. Practice on me some more."
---oOo---
They were a little late for supper, and entered the big dining room hand in hand. Rose had changed into a simple cream cotton dress and a pair of strappy sandals. She wore minimal makeup - a little pink lipstick, and a coating of black mascara on her long lashes. She wore her hair loose and it cascaded in waves.
"You look beautiful, Rose - like a pre-Raphaelite," smiled Hank's mother.
"Thanks, Brenda." Rose smiled and took a seat next to her.
"I don't know what she sees in you, bro," said Scott. "I mean - you're so god damn ugly, man."
"Shut it," said Hank good naturedly. "She picked the right brother. She didn't want a little shrimp like you."
"Me - a shrimp?" Scott rolled his eyes. "I'm 6 ft 2 and he calls me a shrimp."
"Is that a bald patch you got coming?"
Scott's jaw dropped and his hand reached to his crown. "Hell - am I going bald?"
"Not yet," grinned Hank. "I just enjoy tormenting you."
"Just listen to the pair of them," Isaac said as he regarded his sons fondly. "You sound like little kids!"
"I'm 33 Pa, but I'm much more mature than this big ape," grinned Scott.
"Who are you calling an ape, you slug," grinned Hank. "Now be a good boy and pass the potatoes. I'm starving."
"You're always starving," said Rose. "I don't know where you put it all."
"In here." Hank patted his flat belly. He was rock hard and muscled with no flabby fat. "So - what do we have? Fried chicken, corn and potatoes." Hank served out some food on Rose's plate. "You shouldn't have told Hannah how much you like her fried chicken. We're getting it almost every night!"
"It is delicious though," laughed Rose. "She's a brilliant cook."
Sometimes the Armstrong's had supper in the big dining room, mingling with any paying guests who happened to be staying at the expansive ranch or in the wooden cabins on the ranchlands. But tonight, supper was eaten in the smaller family dining room. The 15 ranch staff preferred to eat in the big ranch kitchen away from the guests - they probably enjoyed the belching and farting and ribald jokes that couldn't be repeated in more polite company!
Regardless of any shenanigans taking place in the kitchen, the Armstrong supper was a boisterous and happy affair, with the two brothers constantly bantering and hurling insults at each other, much to the amusement of Isaac their pa, and Brenda, his estranged wife. Brenda and Rose exchanged glances and smiled at each other fondly. And if ever a dog could smile, Isaac's dog, could. Tinker was a Boxer, dark brown with white splats and a big slobbery tongue. He loved everyone, and took a particular liking to Rose, following her around whenever he could to bestow big slurpy doggy kisses. Right now he lay by her feet gazing up at her adoringly.
Up until the engagement of Hank and Rose three months previously, Isaac and Brenda had lived apart for 16 years. Brenda had been curious about her future daughter in law and had called a truce, much to the surprise and delight of Isaac. She was now a fairly regular visitor to the Armstrong ranch, joining them at weekends and the occasional evening during the week. Whatever words passed between her and Isaac no one knew, but the two were not only civil with one another, but seemed to be regaining some real affection for one another too. Both Hank and Scott were delighted to see their parents together again at last. Even if their Mother lived apart from their Pa in San Antonio, it was good that the first rift had been healed and she felt confident to visit frequently. They were like a family again.
As for Rose, her own mother died when Rose was a child. She had taken an instant liking to Brenda, a tall and attractive woman in her mid fifties. She had shoulder length light brown hair and intelligent hazel eyes, and a warm personality. Rose had grown to love her in the three months she had known her, and it was a lovely feeling to be part of this big and wonderful Armstrong family.
After supper, Isaac rose regretfully from the table. "Sorry to desert you two ladies but the boys have promised to help me with the chores at the cabins. We need to get a move on before the wedding guests start arriving in a couple of day’s time."
"Darn it. I'd forgotten about that." Hank looked apologetically at Rose. "We'll take that ride tomorrow instead, sweetheart. Ok?"
"Of course," she squeezed his hand.
"I should go back to my lists," Rose said to Brenda when the men had left to replace timbers and window frames at some of the cabins. "But I don't feel like it. My head is spinning with wedding stuff!"
"That's quite understandable and there's nothing to feel guilty about. You need a break, Rose. What would you like to do? Anything in particular?"
"How about... we go into town and watch a movie? I'd like that."
"Me too," said Brenda. "Come on then, let's go and see what's on at the cinema."
"I like impromptu decisions," smiled Rose as she followed Brenda out to the car. "You stay here Tinker," she patted his head. "We'll be back real soon."
"Spontaneity can be fun," agreed Brenda. "Though if I'd known I was having a night on the town, I would have dressed in something more glamorous."
"You look just great, Brenda. You still turn heads you know. I've seen the guys eyeing you up."
"Really?" laughed Brenda. "I don't think an old bird like me has much attraction any more."
"Nonsense. You look great. Isaac thinks so too. He wears his heart on his sleeve as far as you're concerned, you know?"
"Hmmn. Well, Isaac and I are taking things very slowly. I value my independence too much to let any man stand in the way and take my life in a direction I don't want. I'm very wary of getting back into a situation that is stifling. Did Hank fill you in on all the background details?"
"A little, yes."
"Ok, I'll tell you what happened." Brenda started up the car engine and as they drove, told Rose about her earlier life with Isaac.
---oOo---
"He was a real charmer, was Isaac Armstrong. A real good-looking cowboy. All the women had their eyes on him - and some for the wrong reasons as their only concern was his bank balance - you know he has amassed plenty of inherited wealth?"
"Yes, Hank told me they are filthy rich. It's great because they are all so unaffected by it. Money taints some people, but not Hank and Scott and Isaac."
"I agree, and thank the good Lord for that. Well, the Armstrong's have been on that ranch for generations and made a lot of money over the years with their cattle and their horses and farming the land, and more recently from paying guests taking a vacation, staying in the cabins. The Armstrongs are well liked and respected in the community. Isaac could have had any woman he wanted, but he chose me. I was delighted. We were very much in love and for the first few months of marriage, life was bliss. And then slowly, things began to change."
"In what way? Did you argue?"
"Not argue exactly, but we sure did have differences of opinion," said Brenda with a wry smile.
"But that's normal... isn't it? Hank and I don't see eye to eye on everything and I think that's a good thing - life could get pretty boring otherwise."
"What you have to understand is the whole culture back then. You see, Isaac took over the ranch from his father, and it has always been a very personal thing for him and something he took great pride in. He saw himself very much as the sole provider, earning the money, providing for his family - a noble sentiment and on one level perfectly understandable. But..." Brenda paused, harnessing her thoughts, preparing to speak of things
that had not been voiced for 16 years.
"He became far too controlling, as well as insanely jealous for no good reason. A guy couldn't so much as smile at me than Isaac would glare at him with hatred in his eyes, his fists balled and ready for a fight. He had a terrible temper in those days. If it was just a case of living with a man who happened to have a bad temper, I could have coped. But it went far deeper than that. He refused to let me go out to work, even for a few hours, saying it wasn't appropriate for any wife of his to work. He got very picky about my girlfriends and started telling me who I could and couldn't talk to. He gave me a list of names of women who I could have a cup of coffee with or whose house I could visit to attend a sewing bee. Any woman not on that list was out of bounds. He was furious one day when I walked to the store with Molly Johnson - and all because he had some issue with her uncle. For heaven's sake - things got very tense and annoying and I became angry and unhappy."
"I can understand that. Having someone care about you is one thing - but you don't want them choosing your friends, or laying down the law and dictating what you can and can't do without good reason."
Brenda nodded in agreement. "Hank came along, and a couple of years later, I had Scott. I was so busy I didn't have much time to brood, but as the boys got older and required a little less of my time, I began to start wanting to find time for me. Is that selfish?"
"Hell, no," declared Rose emphatically.
"Isaac was loving and demonstrative. He'd tell me often how much he loved me. He'd come home with little gifts. He'd kiss me and tell me I was beautiful. We'd make love and it was great - but it wasn't enough," Brenda sighed.
Rose nodded and listened. She was seeing a side of Isaac Armstrong that she could barely believe had existed. He seemed a totally different man now.
Love on a Ranch Box Set Page 8