by Penny Wylder
Texas Big Man
Penny Wylder
Contents
More Must Reads by Penny Wylder
1. Melena
2. Harlan
3. Melena
4. Harlan
5. Melena
6. Harlan
7. Melena
8. Harlan
9. Melena
10. Harlan
11. Melena
12. Melena
13. Harlan
Epilogue
Copyright © 2020 Penny Wylder
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or businesses, organizations, or locales, is completely coincidental.
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1
Melena
This turtle is way heavier than the last two. Not exactly a sentence I ever thought I’d be muttering to myself in the middle of the damn desert, but then again, nothing about this trip has really been what I expected so far, so why should this be any different?
It has to be at least a hundred degrees out here under the clear Texas sky, and I very much sympathize with these turtles trying to get across the road into the shade of the few scraggly shrubs. But I didn’t think I would see so many, and I’m worried that if I don’t move them, one of the pick-ups that’s sped by me—there’s really no need to go at such insane speeds!—will crush the poor creatures.
And that’s how I find myself hauling a very reluctant turtle across hot asphalt and into the brush. Working up a pretty decent sweat and nervously glancing up and down the road hoping I don’t inadvertently become roadkill myself. That, and my brother. My brother who I would do anything for. Who’s stuck by me through thick and thin ever since we were kids. No matter how far-fetched the plan, he’s always known he could find a partner in me. Whether it was spending the summers collecting cans night and day to pay for a new go-cart, or souping up that go-cart together so we could win the grand prize at the derby. He’s a dreamer, and as his sister, I’ll always support his dreams. That’s what family’s for, after all. So I shouldn’t really be surprised at any of this. I knew what I was getting into when I agreed.
Or at least I thought that I knew.
But the reality of driving down a road that’s arrow straight for hundreds of miles with nothing but flat brown land around you and dry heat that’s straight out of hell makes the reality of what I signed up for a lot less appealing.
It almost makes me understand the trucks that have been speeding by with shocking regularity. There’s nothing to do out here but speed, and very little chance of getting caught by anyone who might care, so you might as well, right?
I put the turtle down on the side of the road, and he speeds his cute little form away. Well…speeds for a turtle, which isn’t very fast. Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I cringe. It’s so dusty here that I feel like I’m caked with it. My car is covered in it, and I swear when I get back to the city that I’m going to make Trevor pay to have my car washed.
Not just washed, detailed. There’s got be dust in every crevice of my formerly spotless car. Oh, he will owe me big time.
My brother bought a ranch in the middle of nowhere. Just out of the blue. My brother, the marketing executive who swears he doesn’t go for regular manicures, but I say his nails can’t be that shiny naturally, bought a ranch complete with acres of wild land and horses. It doesn’t make any sense, but he claims it’s been a dream of his forever and that he got it for an absolute steal. On top of that, he claimed that I was really his only chance to get the place off the ground. He needed help fixing the place up.
And because he’s my brother—and I’m an idiot—I agreed. This was the summer I was supposed to write my book. I had it all planned out. Pretty new notebooks for plotting, a collection of pens and post-its, and time to myself, to finally accomplish my dream. Time to become the writer I’ve always believed I could be. Then along came Trevor’s dream, and he convinced me to come down here and help him instead, luring me with the promise of the picturesque outdoors, and quiet nights to myself to write, free from the noise and distractions of the city. A place where I could help him and work on my project, too. The idea did have appeal. Why write in bustling coffeeshops back home when I could set myself up on the verandah of the main house and be inspired by the magical sunsets, undistracted by honking horns and acquaintances who’d promise they’d just sit for a second to chat with me but end up taking up all my writing time with tales of their own love lives and work problems? He also told me that he really, really, needed me. And that’s what got to me. So I subletted my apartment for three months, loaded up my car, and hit the open road.
Family sticks together, and after he showed me that he really had thought everything through and had a plan that seemed like it would work, I agreed.
So I drive on. Despite the heat and the turtles, there is something strangely alien and beautiful about this desolate landscape. I can feel my attitude shifting. My mind relaxing. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel as this crazy plan became reality. I’ve definitely been concerned about the manual labor Trevor expected me to do, because aside from my spin class and pilates, it’s been a while since I’ve really gotten out and done some physical labor. But the closer I get to the ranch, the more excited I get to really challenge myself. I’ve always been a strong woman. Mostly because I’m stubborn, and I refuse to let any task get the better of me. Plus, since driving all these hours in the quiet of my car, my mind has been churning with ideas for my book. A couple of times I wanted to pull over to the side of the road to jot things down in my notebook, but I settled on dictating a few notes to Siri on my phone.
The only real downside to the ranch is that the closest city is two hours away. For Trevor, that was the appeal of the place. For me, it means there won’t be a decent cup of coffee for the next three months. I don’t pretend I make a good cup of coffee. I suck at it. All the baristas in a five mile radius from my apartment know me by name. But spending the summer out here is a small price to pay for no rent or utilities for three months. And who knows, maybe the gas station down the road will have a decent cup of coffee. Desperate times call for desperate caffeine fixes.
I check my phone—I’m getting close, but according to Trevor the entrance isn’t easily identifiable. At least not yet. He showed me his sketches for a large archway and sign marking the entrance to the ranch. I guess that’ll be one of my projects over the next few months.
I squint at the side of the road where my GPS indicates the entrance should be, and I speed right past it. It’s just a dirt road between a break in the dilapidated fence that had been running down the road next to me for miles. I make a quick U-turn turn and drive back, turning down the drive over the bumps, breathing a sigh of relief that I’m finally here. The drive was long, and I brought more luggage than I probably should have.
I pass a few run-down out-buildings, and a barn that looks like it has seen better days. That barn is going to need a lot more than a few coats of red paint. Entire portions of the tin roof are missing. And is that an old-fashioned well? Oh dear, my skin starts to crawl thinking about the water pressure in this place. I keep driving past a series of sheds with small pieces of machinery sticking out until I cat
ch sight of a large house. It’s a two story house, and just as Trever told me, there’s a verandah that wraps around the front of the house and down one side. It’s certainly in better condition than the other structures, but frankly, I’m not sure that it would survive more than a gust of wind. Is that where we’ll be living?
No wonder that Trevor got this place for cheap. It is…well, it is a dump. I shake my head, once again wondering what got this into his head. My brother told me it was a lifelong dream, but I’d never heard him mention it at all. I never even knew he liked horses and all this open space. I just hope he really has a plan for this place and it’s not just one of his larks. I know he has lots of money to play with, but still, this place needs a lot of work.
I stop my car in front of the house and put it in park next to an old battered Jeep. I notice someone working on the verandah steps. It doesn’t look like Trevor, though. Who else could be here? Trevor and I said we’d meet here and then make plans to call in the contractors to start working on the place. Assess the ranch together so once the contractors arrive they can get right to work. This is just like Trevor, changing plans depending on how the wind blows.
This stranger doesn’t notice me yet, he’s so focused on his work. Using a crowbar to pry away old rotten boards, and hammering in new boards to make functional steps. Despite the nails he has pinched between his lips, I can see that he’s attractive. He’s got on jeans that show off a perfect ass as he bends over and the heat seems to have evaporated his shirt. Sweat shines on his back as he raises his arm to hammer in the nails—how can a back even have that many muscles? Is that possible? And then he turns, and I feel vaguely faint, because holy shit he is hot. And not in an abstract, generic, model way. In a way that is real and rugged. This man doesn’t go to the gym to work out. His body is fucking fit from hard, masculine work. Work under the beating sun, yet he doesn’t seem to be fatigued in the least. Even though the reality of the hard labor I’ll be doing is setting in, and I’m feeling a little unsure about whether I can be useful, suddenly grabbing a hammer and crouching down beside those steps is the only thing I want to do.
Still, though, the question remains. Who the hell is this man? And why am I just staring at him, with my pulse quickening and a sudden, urgent feeling growing between my legs. My body doesn’t normally react like this. Ever, really.
Stepping out of the car, I cross the yard to him, trying to ignore the sensation of an even sharper heat than the Texas air as he looks me up and down. Maybe this is a hallucination. A mirage of some kind. It’s so hot, the drive was so long, that I had invented this man straight out of my imagination—maybe the character in my soon-to-be-written book?
His eyes move up and down my body again, this time slower. And the grin on his face practically makes me tingle. He wears a hat—that classic Texas cowboy hat that does nothing to dull his stunning face and the intensity of his dark eyes.
I need to get myself in control. These feelings are dangerous. Especially for me. Some people may call me old-fashioned, others have called me a prude, but I just consider myself sensible. Dependable. I decided years ago that I would save myself for marriage. I’m a virgin. I won’t have sex before I get married. And that is a promise I made to myself that I intend to keep. So I date carefully, and although I’ve fooled around with guys before, I’ve never had sex. And that’s really weeded out the losers. It’s not often a man my age will agree to date a woman who doesn’t intend on sleeping with him in the first month of dating, let alone a woman who is waiting for her wedding night.
Standing here though, watching his eyes rake over my body, he’s the first person that ever made me feel like I might be willing to reconsider my virginity pledge. I’m not sure what it is about him that can make me feel that way, but it does.
The man speaks before I can even open my mouth. “You don’t look like the kind of woman that spends a lot of time in the country, but if you stick around for a week, I’m sure I could have you begging for some country cock.”
An inferno erupts in my core as he winks, and very intentionally adjusts his belt. Of course I look, and see that his pants are tight—tighter than they should be. Because of me. My cheeks flame, and I shove down the attraction and arousal that has seemed to overtake me out of nowhere. I replace those feeling with revulsion and indignance, at least I try to replace all those former feelings. His words have left me disoriented, and not entirely in a bad way. “Who the hell are you that you can talk to me that way? What are you doing here?”
He raises one eyebrow, looking me slowly up and down again. “I could ask you the same thing. Seems a little strange for someone like you to be out here in the middle of nowhere.”
“Why, because I’m a woman?”
He smirks. “You said it, not me.”
Great. Not only is he stupidly hot, he’s a pig for propositioning me so boldly, and he’s sexist for assuming that I don’t belong here. As soon as I can get Trevor on the phone to figure out where the hell he is, and who the hell this boar is, I’ll make sure that he’s gone by morning.
I didn’t sign up to be hit on, or for my body to go entirely rogue. That doesn’t change the fact that the way he’s looking at me makes me shake and want things that I shouldn’t want. “You need to leave,” I tell him. “I don’t know what the hell you’re doing here on my property, but you’re way too fucking bold for somebody that I just met, and as soon as I can make a phone call, I’ll make sure of it. So you might as well get whatever stuff you have here together and start driving.”
His smirk only gets deeper. “You must be Melena. Trevor told me I’d be working with his little sister. I just didn’t expect his little sister to look like you.”
Oh, fuck.
He knows Trevor, which means that he’s not just some squatter who’s decided to take over the ranch for no reason. He’s actually meant to be here. Damnit Trevor.
This time I’m the one to look him up and down, and I try to make it seem like I’m not checking him out. I aim for judgmental and repulsed, but I’m sure I’m failing entirely. Because everything about him is drawing me toward him like a magnet. His strong body. The way his jeans hug his legs. The fucking hammer in his hand. And as much as I hate to admit it, that filthy mouth of his that I want to slap and kiss. “Well you have me at a disadvantage then. You know my name but you still haven’t told me who you are.”
He extends his hand, but I don’t take it. Not yet. Something about my resistance makes him smile wider, and that’s the smile of a man with dangerous confidence. A smile that tells me he’s used to being in control and could make anything in the world happen.
“I’m Harlan Decker,” he says, reaching out further and taking my hand in his, shaking it. The movement brings us closer together, and his proximity makes it hard to breathe. His voice drops low, and shivers run across my skin despite the heat. “I’m the best ranch hand there is, the person who your brother is relying on to start getting this place in shape, and the man who still plans on making you beg for it, no matter whose sister you are.”
2
Harlan
When I woke up this morning I definitely wasn’t expecting to come face to face with a woman who was basically sex on two feet, but I’m not at all angry about it. Everything about Melena made me want to pull her close, and preferably bend her over the verandah railing and take her hard and fast. That’s the kind of possession and arousal that she made me feel.
I’ve never felt anything like that—almost like a string pulling us together the second that she got out of that car. On this dusty old ranch, she sticks out like a sore thumb. All shiny and polished. Dressed for a day at the beach rather than for working from dawn to dusk covered in sawdust and paint chips. Her long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail cascading down her back.
I’m already having visions of wrapping that ponytail around my hand and using that tiny measure of control to bring us both pleasure. Make her do things that change her from sparkly city girl to
a dirty Texas woman.
Honestly, this is an excellent development for me. I wasn’t very excited about taking this gig in the first place. As usual, Trevor talked me into it with his grand plans and his charisma. Painting a picture of the completed ranch in all its glory. Someplace I dreamed of visiting as a kid with my own parents, if only I’d had the type of childhood that included family vacations. But then he told me that I’d be staying here three months with his little sister, and all the visions I had of working hard all day, alone with my thoughts, evaporated, and I imagined working side-by-side with a yapping lady who only wanted to boss me around instead of helping. But when I imagined his little sister, I wasn’t picturing the tall, curvy, woman in front of me.
And she’s looking at me too. Or she was, before she stormed off to her car and immediately made a phone call. Probably to Trevor to tell him to kick me off the property. Which he can’t do. The papers are signed, and I own part of this land.
This ranch is huge—far larger than one person can manage on their own. And even if it were half the size, Trevor still wouldn’t know what to do with it. I don’t think the boy has ever even picked up a hammer and nail. Which is why Trevor hired me in the first place. But if I was going to manage this project and pour my blood, sweat and tears into it, I wanted more than a contractor’s fee. I wanted a part of it. This is a good piece of land, but it is isolated. So I negotiated for a share of the ranch itself. It’s a gorgeous piece of property, and I already have plans to build a house. Staked out the spot already, up on a ridge by the lake where I can appreciate the sweeping views, and far enough from the other buildings to give myself some privacy. And once we get this ranch in order, and it’s ready for guests, I’ll be managing it and collecting a salary. So while I hadn’t been looking forward to the next three months, the payout was more than worth it to me. Now throw in this woman staring daggers at me, talking into her phone with that angry, pert little mouth, and I think I’m about to enjoy the next three months a little bit too much.
