Harlequin Romantic Suspense March 2021

by Anna J. Stewart

  She undulated invitingly beneath him, rubbing herself against the length of his erection. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her nipples pebbling through her sleep shirt. She drew a deep breath and the cotton fabric dragged across her skin, making her shudder with pleasure. She was so highly sensitized at the moment that his mere breath against her cheek was doing things to her—sending bolts of pleasure zinging through her body where they were gathering at her core into a tight ball of desire.

  “I want you so much,” she murmured. “I dream about you. About doing things with you. Asking you to do things to me...”

  “What things?” he mumbled.

  “Anything you want. Take me any way you want. Ravish me.”

  He groaned and one of his arms snaked out to the side. He opened a drawer in his nightstand and groped around while he kissed her again, deeply. Druggingly.

  She arched against his thigh, unable to stop her body from seeking the release she so craved.

  She heard foil tear and a snap of rubber. And then Wes was back, pressing her deeply into the mattress, his thighs pushing hers apart. The blunt, hot tip of him touched her throbbing flesh and she cried out. His mouth closed on hers instantly, absorbing the sound into him.

  “You sure about this?” he muttered against her mouth.

  “Take me. Please. Do whatever you want to me. I want it all.”

  “Don’t say that,” he groaned. “I’ve been having some pretty dark fantasies about you.”

  “Show me,” she panted as he remained tantalizingly poised at her entrance, so close but so very far away.

  “How bad do you want it, Jessica?”

  “Worse than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

  “Do you want it bad enough to cry?”

  She wasn’t sure what he was asking. If he needed to cause her pain to work out his anger at her betrayal, she was honestly okay with that if it meant he would forgive her. “Uh-huh.”

  “Bad enough to beg?”

  “I’m begging you now. Please.” She squirmed beneath him, so hungry to have him inside her she was struggling to find words.

  “Tell me what you want.”

  “I want you inside me. Filling me. Pounding into me. Driving me out of my mind. Driving you out of your mind—”

  He plunged into her swiftly, without warning, filling her all the way.

  She cried out against his shoulder, muffling her outburst so the whole family wouldn’t hear what they were doing. But it was hard not to scream with pleasure.

  He withdrew all the way and she whimpered.

  He slammed home again and she shuddered around him, teetering on the brink of something spectacular.

  “Again,” she panted.

  “Beg for it.”

  “Please, Wes. Please. I want it so bad. I want you. Give it all to me.”

  “On one condition.”

  “Anything. Name it.”

  “You can’t make any noise.”

  He rose up above her, taking her hips in his big hands and lifting her up. He slammed into her again, and that did it. She shattered into a million pieces. She dragged a pillow across her mouth and shouted into it, shivering and shaking as he set up a rhythm, pounding into her like a piston, using her body hard yet never hurting her. Wes always had known exactly where that line lay and didn’t cross it.

  His callused thumbs rubbed across her nipples and she surged up into his hands, silently urging him to use her breasts for his pleasure, as well. His mouth closed on her right nipple and he sucked hard enough to make her shudder with ecstasy. All the while, he surged into her over and over, filling her to bursting, withdrawing until she wanted to sob and then ramming home again.

  It wasn’t elegant sex. It wasn’t slow and sexy and seductive. But it was exactly what she needed—a mutual plundering that left no doubt whatsoever about how much he’d wanted and missed her or how much she’d wanted and missed him.

  Again and again she orgasmed, shattering around him more sharply each time, until she was nigh unconscious with pleasure.

  A lifetime later, when she was little more than a quivering mass of jelly, more pleasure than person, he finally picked up the pace, driving her over the edge one last time. And this time, he joined her, plastering his face in the pillow beside her head and shouting with his own shuddering release.

  His body was covered with perspiration and she held him tight, her own perspiration-slicked body shaking like a leaf. Their legs twined together intimately, and she relished the crushing weight of him pressing her deep, deep into the mattress. They panted in unison, and their hearts pounded in unison, which was gratifying. She would hate to be the only one whose world had just been rocked.

  Eventually Wes gathered himself and rolled away from her onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling for a long time before finally growling, “What are you doing in my bed, Jess?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Not to me.”

  “I never stopped wanting you, Wes. And I know you’ve never stopped wanting me. You wouldn’t listen to me when I tried to tell you how I feel, so I thought I would show you instead.”

  “Message received.”

  He threw back the covers and paced across the room, opened a door and disappeared into what must be an attached bathroom. She heard the sink run. Then nothing. She lay in his bed for a long time waiting for him to return, but he never did. Eventually she got up, found her nightshirt wadded on the floor and pulled it over her head. She knocked on the bathroom door. No answer.

  Tentatively she opened it. It was empty! She spotted a door to the hallway and realized he had slipped out and abandoned her. Again.

  She sat down on the closed toilet seat, buried her head in her hands and cried.

  * * *

  Wes’s silver-blue truck was gone when she got up in the morning. Which was just as well. She was bleary-eyed from crying much of the rest of the night. She truly had lost him. Even the explosive attraction that always erupted between them hadn’t been enough to convince him of how much she cared for him—or more importantly, to lure him into staying.

  That was it. She had no more ammunition to fire at him. Her gun was empty.

  They’d shared the best sex she’d ever had, they’d connected intensely the way they always had, they’d fallen into the perfect simpatico they shared, and he’d still walked away.

  He really was never coming back to her.

  And her heart was officially broken.

  * * *

  In Washington, DC, a laptop computer beeped an alert on the highly illegal search that had been set up the day Jessica left town without warning. Apparently, she didn’t tell anyone she was going or where—even her closest friends and family knew nothing. Damn her. Who did she think she was, running from him? She was bought and paid for. He owned her.

  He opened the computer file, which hacked the FBI search system and piggybacked upon its powerful capabilities. Her debit card had been used earlier today in some town called Sunny Creek. In Montana. Montana? Really? Did she think she could hide from him, even in some hick town across the country from him? He would use whatever means, go to any lengths to find her, no matter where she ran. And, by God, he would grab her and bring her back to where she belonged. To finish what he’d started with her. No one walked away from him like that. No woman turned her back on him!

  Wes Morgan would rue the day he’d stormed into her life to save her from him. Oh, yes. That bastard would pay, too. With his life.

  CHAPTER 8

  Wes worked like a fiend for the next several days, mending fences and welding the cattle chutes he would need to inoculate his herd come spring. He cleaned out and repaired the decrepit barn he’d decided to turn into a calving shed, and ran electricity to it so he could hang heat lamps for the new calves. He hauled in fresh, clean straw and filled the
barn with a knee-deep layer of the stuff for the cows to be comfortable lying in and the calves to nest in for warmth.

  He never stopped moving, frantic to exhaust himself each day.

  It didn’t help. Every night when he fell into bed sore and worn-out, he still couldn’t get Jessica out of his mind. He still felt her hands roaming seductively down his body, still felt her tight internal muscles gripping him, still heard her muffled cries of ecstasy against his shoulder, felt her shivering in release around him.

  Her pleasure sliced right through him, eviscerating him. It destroyed his resolve. Made him question his sanity in turning his back on her.

  He probably owed her a thank-you for barging into his life and claiming that someone was out to kill them both. It was a stark reminder of how much she loved a good drama. So much so that she would make one up if there wasn’t already one to wallow in. He was so done with all of that. He wanted to be left alone. To live a quiet life. To raise some cattle. Pay the bills. Carve out a place for himself in the world that didn’t depend on anyone else. He was sick and tired of trying to live up to everyone else’s expectations of him. They could all go to hell.

  On the morning of the fourth day after that disastrous night with Jessica, he trudged down to the calving barn a little before dawn to check on the half-dozen cows closest to delivering.

  Cow number 19, according to her ear tag, was down on her side, straining to deliver her calf. One white hoof stuck out, encased in the semitransparent, rubbery amniotic sac. But there was no sign of the other hoof or of a pink nose.

  Crap. The calf must be cast. That was when the head turned to the side instead of entering the birth canal, or one of the legs got stuck facing backward instead of pointing down the birth canal.

  Number 19 gave another push, but it was weak. She was clearly nearing exhaustion. She must have been trying to deliver this calf for a while before Wes found her. Swearing, he yanked off his shirt and quickly sterilized his right arm by splashing it liberally with iodine. He lay down in the straw behind the cow and gently slid his hand inside the birth canal, following the calf’s leg carefully. Nope. No sign of the nose. When he was inside the cow up to nearly his shoulder, he tried to feel around for the nose and missing front foot to guide them into the birth canal.

  No luck.

  Number 19 had another weak contraction. It should have cut off the circulation in his arm, but he barely felt the squeeze. The cow was exhausted and would never deliver this calf without assistance. He backed out of her and pulled out his cell phone. He had no choice. As much as he hated to put himself in debt to his old man, he hated more the idea of losing this cow and her calf. Reluctantly, he hit the speed dial for his father.

  Predictably, John was terse. The man knew Wes would never have called him if it weren’t an emergency, nor at this ungodly early hour. “What’s wrong?”

  “Sorry to wake you so early, Dad. Is that calving vet you were going to hire at your place yet?”

  John answered with the quick alertness of a rancher—or a longtime soldier—sensing a crisis. “She got here yesterday.”

  “Any chance I could borrow her? I’ve got a cow with a cast calf and I can’t straighten out the baby. I need her help.”

  “We’ll be there as fast as we can, son.”

  Crap. He hadn’t particularly wanted his father to come with the vet. The man drove him crazy with his stubbornness, hardheadedness and sheer cussedness. The last time they’d talked it had turned into a shouting match over how Wes had let down John by leaving the Marines so abruptly and under a cloud of scandal. John had made no secret of how disappointed he was in his son, who was supposed to uphold the honor of the family name and serve with distinction.

  It had been frustrating as hell not to be able to share the details of why he’d resigned his commission. But to do so, he would have had to drag Jessica through the mud. And as much as he hated her, it still wasn’t in his DNA to throw anyone—not even a lying, deceitful, selfish woman—to the wolves.

  Not to mention, he really didn’t want his father around to witness his very first cow’s calving go badly. It would not be an auspicious start for his attempt to ranch on his own.

  He made Number 19 as comfortable as he could while he waited for the vet to arrive. Every minute that ticked by was agony for him. He couldn’t stand to see any animal suffer, nor could he afford to lose a single cow or calf. Especially not this first and most vulnerable year financially, before the ranch started producing income.

  He heard a truck rumble up the driveway and prayed the vet had gotten here in time. Number 19 was showing signs of going into shock.

  John and a tall, striking woman who might be part Asian strode into the barn. The woman was carrying a big leather satchel.

  All business, John said, “This is Sherry Hamilton. My new vet. What can we do for you?”

  Thank God. His old man was offering an unspoken truce between them to aid an animal in crisis. No strings attached. Rancher to rancher, here to help.

  Wes started to nod and then froze. A third person walked into the barn. Jessica. What the hell was she doing here?

  He didn’t have time for her right now. He turned to the vet and tersely brought her up to speed. Young cow. First calf. One hoof presenting. No nose or second front foot. Briskly Dr. Hamilton gave Number 19 an injection of a powerful muscle relaxant and donned a plastic surgical sleeve that went to her shoulder.

  “I already tried to palpate her and reposition the calf,” Wes said. “It didn’t work.”

  The vet shrugged. “I want to give it a try before I cut her open. With that muscle relaxant in her, I may have better luck.”

  Wes waited impatiently as the vet slowly and carefully felt around inside the cow. Eventually she announced, “I’ve found the nose. Now I just have to locate that other foot.”

  The cow grunted and began to push weakly as another contraction claimed her.

  “Easy, girl,” Wes crooned. “Let the doctor help you.”

  The cow’s big brown eyes fixed on him, and he continued to speak soothingly to her.

  From the other end, the vet announced quietly, “I’ve got the second foot. The calf’s positioned properly now, but I’ve knocked out your cow. She won’t be able to push out the calf. We’ll have to pull it.”

  John said, “Want me to get a tractor?”

  Wes replied sharply, “No. We’ll try it by hand. I don’t want to rip up the mama any more than I have to, and I don’t want to risk killing the calf if I can avoid it.”

  John shrugged.

  On a ranch the size of Runaway, they might have the luxury of sacrificing a calf to save a cow. But here on Outlaw, every single cow and calf mattered to him. Wes was barely going to make ends meet this year if he was lucky, and if the price of feeder steers stayed halfway decent.

  “Jess, come here and talk to the cow. Rub her forehead and try to keep her attention on you.”

  Looking alarmed, Jessica nonetheless moved to the cow’s head and knelt gamely beside her.

  Wes murmured, “Keep eye contact with her and just talk to her calmly and quietly. She’s pretty drugged up at the moment, but I don’t want her to be too afraid if I can help it. Think of her as a giant, gentle dog.”

  “Got it.” Jessica started talking in a voice so sweet and mellow it would knock him out if he weren’t so damned worried about his cow and calf.

  He moved back beside the veterinarian, who had, indeed, managed to get both front hooves and a pink nose presenting properly. Using a clean towel, he took hold of one of the calf’s front legs above the ankle joint while the vet took hold of the other. Sitting in the straw and bracing their feet against Number 19ꞌs haunches, they began to pull slowly and steadily.

  As if the cow sensed help was at hand, she roused herself to attempt to push. But the humans ended up doing most of the work.

&
nbsp; Wes strained with all his strength, and finally the calf’s shoulders popped free of their constraints. From there, it was one more easy pull to deliver the rest of the red-and-white calf. The vet pulled the amniotic sac free of the baby and went to work examining the placenta to make sure the entire thing had also been delivered properly.

  Meanwhile, Wes rubbed the calf’s sides vigorously and heaved a mighty sigh of relief as the little heifer shook her head and drew her first breaths. Normally, the cow would stand up quickly to bathe and dry the baby, but Wes did the honors for Number 19, who was still resting.

  It took nearly an hour for Number 19 to finally get back on her feet and for Doc Hamilton to declare her none the worse for the rough delivery. All four of the humans backed off and let the little Hereford heifer figure out how to manage four legs and gravity and finally stand up, her legs splayed like a sawhorse. An adorable, fuzzy sawhorse. She took her first tottering steps, collapsed and stood again.

  In a few minutes, the calf was bumping mama’s udder and getting her first meal. Quiet slurping sounds were all that disturbed the early morning silence. Jessica smiled in wide-eyed wonder.

  Wes always felt much the same way at witnessing the birth of a new life. Calving season was hard, but it was his favorite time of year on the ranch. Even his father had a softer than usual look in his eyes.

  “I think we can safely leave mother and daughter to their own devices,” Dr. Hamilton murmured.

  Exhaustion slammed into Wes. The emotional roller coaster of the past two hours had drained him, and pulling that calf had been hard work.

  The humans left the barn and Wes invited everyone up to the house for a cup of coffee. He glanced at Jessica in time to see her look back over her shoulder toward the calving barn, one last look of awe on her face.

  “First time you’ve ever seen an animal born?” he asked her as they strode across the yard.

  She nodded.

  “Pretty miraculous stuff, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” she breathed.

  “Normally, they’re not that rough. Most times, the cow does it all herself and we humans are only spectators.”