Nelson In Command (The McKade Brothers #2)

by Marin Thomas

  Once tempers had cooled, she’d attempted to apologize, but her words had made little difference. Shortly thereafter, Buck had begun staying away from the farm for weeks on end. When he did return, he spent his time drinking with his buddies, Russ and Billy Joe.

  “Ellen, something’s gotta give,” Nelson said, shutting down the memories. “You won’t be able to hold on to this place much longer.”

  “Did I ask for your opinion?”

  He set the shovel against the wheelbarrow with a carefulness that belied the pulsing blood vessel along his jaw. He moved in her direction, determination darkening his brown eyes to black. He stopped when the tips of his boots bumped hers. “Ellen Tanner, I have never had the pleasure of knowing a more stubborn woman. Half the time you’re crazy, selfish and damn near insane. The other half you’re gutsy, prideful and the most resourceful woman I’ve ever met.”

  She was so mesmerized by the movement of his bold, sensual lips that only the rich timbre of Nelson’s voice resonated with her. His heated breath fanned her face as his mouth inched closer…closer…

  He tasted of salt and frustration. His fingers flexed against her jaw, holding her head still for his gentle onslaught. Gentle turned demanding, his mouth nurturing the hot seed of need that had been growing inside her ever since his first kiss the night they’d sat on the swing together.

  Sensations she hadn’t felt in a long, long time…if ever…

  He slid his hand along her throat, while his tongue danced at the corners of her mouth. Wet, warm, erotic…the reality of his kiss far better than her dreams. She swayed, her breasts brushing his sweaty, muscled chest. When she felt his hard desire pulse against her stomach, she flexed her hips and she and Nelson both moaned.

  “So soft,” he murmured when he cupped her breast. He grasped one of her hands and pressed it flat to his chest. Instinctively, she dug her short nails into the hardened flesh. His hips ground against her, the pressure sparking a blaze she was certain would turn her to ash in seconds.

  Don’t analyze. Feel. Just feel. She wiggled, aching for more contact with his body. Her breath, tiny, begging gasps of air echoed through the barn. Nelson must think her a horny widow. Wait. She was a horny widow.

  Suddenly, his hands were on her hips, tugging her nightshirt up her legs. His fingers tickled the back of her knee, glided along her thigh, then snuck beneath the elastic band of her cotton granny panties. His mouth clamped over hers the same moment his fingers found the center of her heat. Stroke after stroke. Touch after touch. The chaos escalated inside her. Trembling uncontrollably, she lifted one thigh and rested her knee against Nelson’s hip, opening herself wider to his touch. He slipped a finger, then two, inside her, and she couldn’t catch her breath. Not that it mattered. What little oxygen remained in her lungs was carried out of her body by her muffled scream as she pressed her mouth against his sweaty shoulder and shattered into a million brilliant pieces.

  When she returned to reality, she noticed several things at once: she was snuggled against Nelson’s chest, her cheek stuck to his sticky, sweat-slicked skin and her boots dangled several inches above the ground. Oh, and his rock-hard erection nudged her stomach.

  Tears of embarrassment burned her eyes. Until now, until Nelson, she’d had no idea how desperately she craved intimacy with a man. Disgusted by her weakness, she shoved against his chest.

  “Hey,” he growled near her ear. “What’s wrong?”

  Refusing to look him in the eye, she muttered, “Nothing.”

  “C’mon. What is it?” His hands played with her long hair, coiling the strands around his fingers. “Talk to me, angel.”

  Ellen’s throat clogged at the sexy endearment. Buck had never called her angel, babe, honey or even cutie pie. He’d called her Ellen…Ellen…Ellen. Plain old Ellen. After a moment, the lump in her throat dissolved, and she whispered, “I’m sorry. I don’t usually act—”

  He cut her off—that is, his mouth did. Slow and easy, with the barest hint of tongue. “Stay. Spend the night with me. Let me show you—”

  She touched her fingertips to his mouth. Everything inside her screamed that she yearned for more. Wanted Nelson. She was a big girl and understood he wasn’t offering her a commitment. No forever. Just hot, sweaty sex.

  Ah, Nelson. There was something about the man, about the way she caught him studying her in the mornings when she milked the cows. The way their eyes met and clung over the supper table when Seth chattered endlessly about video games. The way he insisted on locking up the house at bedtime for her. Nelson wasn’t a man a woman had sex with, then moved on and forgot. She might be tempted to take a chance with him, but she had nothing to give Nelson save her body—which, according to her husband, wasn’t all that terrific.

  Deep in her heart, Ellen acknowledged that if she slept with Nelson, he’d leave her a broken woman when he returned to Chicago at the end of the summer. And she needed to be whole and strong, with her will intact to survive each day on the farm.

  She untangled herself from his embrace, then fled the scene, not caring that she must look like an idiot, half running, half walking in oversized rubber boots. But she couldn’t afford to slow down. Because one sound, one word from Nelson, and she’d turn right back around and take everything her greedy little heart desired—the consequences be damned.

  “HEY, BETTY,” Nelson murmured into the darkness as the hulking form of Ellen’s favorite cow sidled up to the fence. He hadn’t been able to fall asleep after his heated tryst with Ellen less than an hour ago. “I shouldn’t have pushed her, old gal.” He held out his hand, surprised the bovine nudged her wet nose against his fingers. The cow acted like a goofy house pet. He rubbed her head. She thanked him by blowing snot on the front of his shirt.

  “I could have sworn she’d desired me as badly as I’d wanted her. Shoot, she’d crawled halfway up my body, begging for more.” In truth, Nelson had been awed by Ellen’s earthy response to his touch. He’d had plenty of experience setting off bells and whistles in women, to realize Ellen hadn’t achieved that kind of satisfaction in a while, if ever. And he’d felt ten feet tall knowing he’d been the one to set her off tonight.

  The moment had transcended the physical. There had definitely been more going on between them than kissing and touching. She’d broken through his emotional boundaries and set up camp in the vicinity of his heart.

  “Next time I’ll go slower.”

  What if there is no next time, Nelson?

  There had to be.

  She deserves better than a roll in the hay.

  He couldn’t argue with that, but he also understood his demanding career—excessive work hours and lengthy business trips—wasn’t compatible with a serious relationship. He’d learned his lesson. No matter how much attention he showered on a woman, it was never enough. In the end, he and his significant other had been miserable and his job had suffered. He refused to take time away from work to fuss over a woman.

  What if Ellen is different? What if she doesn’t require coddling?

  Even if she was willing to take second place in his life, she shouldn’t have to. The best he could offer was an affair. And she damn sure deserved better than a summer fling.

  “Affair,” he muttered, the word tasting bitter in his mouth.

  Betty butted her head against his shoulder, then ambled off as if she, too, were disgusted with him.

  Chapter Seven

  “You ain’t got a lick o’ sense. No one’s raising dairy cows ’round these parts anymore,” Billy Joe Plunket grumbled as he stalked Ellen through the milking barn, out the back door and into the adjoining pasture.

  Sheesh! Couldn’t a hardworking girl get a break? Ever since Nelson had arrived—eighteen days ago—he hadn’t stopped harping on her about the farm. Now her neighbor decided he wanted a shot at her.

  “I’ve got plenty of sense.” Ellen had more brains than Farmer Plunket and all the men in Klayton County combined. Too bad she’d asked Nelson to drive Seth ov
er to Brad’s house this morning. She had a feeling her neighbor wouldn’t be nearly as opinionated in the presence of another man—one with a brain, that is.

  Ellen had been overjoyed when Brad’s mother, Arlene, had phoned earlier in the week to invite Seth along with the family to a livestock show today. Seth needed the fresh air. A few days ago, Nelson had purchased a newfangled video game system and had hooked it up to the TV. Since then her son had barricaded himself in the house. Shoot, if she’d known what a competent babysitter a video game was she wouldn’t have advertised for a hired hand this summer.

  “Russ says he ain’t gonna haul your milk much longer. And I won’t wait forever for you to make up your mind to sell.”

  Ellen stopped at the huge aluminum water tank and picked up the large bristled brush near the spigot. She scrubbed the green algae clinging to the sides of the metal, thinking she’d rather be scouring Billy Joe’s thinning hair until the last stringy strand fell out. “I don’t give a hoot if Russ refuses to haul my milk. I’m not selling.”

  For over a year now her business relationship with Packard had been strained. She’d suspected he didn’t want her business, but as long as he never said so, Ellen assumed he’d continue to haul for her. Now that Russ had publicly stated he’d have to cut her off sooner rather than later, anxiety was Ellen’s constant companion.

  “If you ain’t gonna sell, then you oughta plant corn.” He slouched against the tank, his spare tire nudging the side. “Your farm boy could prepare the fields this summer so you could put a crop in next spring.”

  Farm boy? “His name is Nelson McKade.” She had no idea why she felt the need to defend a man she was spitting mad with. If Nelson hadn’t stuck his nose where it didn’t belong, her milk hauler wouldn’t have gossiped to her neighbor. And Billy Joe wouldn’t be yanking her chain right now. Why were men positive they had all the answers?

  “What about Bones?”

  “What about him?” Bones was the bull that serviced her herd. Ridiculous name for an animal that weighed almost two thousand pounds.

  “You’ve had the bull four years now. You oughtta be worried about inbreeding.”

  “My herd is fine,” she lied. Maybe Billy Joe was only a little stupid. She’d noticed evidence of inbreeding for the first time last fall when several of her heifers aborted in the early stages of pregnancy. She’d had to sell them off because she couldn’t afford to feed cows that didn’t deliver a calf.

  “Buck was right, you know.”

  Ellen set the cleaning brush aside and faced her latest nuisance. He was several inches taller, but his beer gut would make him clumsy. If she fought dirty, she could take him down. “Right about what?”

  “You’re nothin’ but a scaredy chicken.” His beady black eyes flashed, reminding her of the rat she’d trapped in the barn last month.

  “What did you call me?” It was because of ignoramuses like Billy Joe that rural folk got a bad rap.

  “You’re chicken to sell the farm.”

  “Ridiculous.” Refusing to listen to the idiot insult her, she stomped into the barn. He followed, his stumpy legs pumping to keep up.

  “If you ain’t scared of selling, then how come Buck said you refused to move when he got a permanent job offer in Atlanta?”

  She slammed on the brakes and Billy Joe plowed into her back. “What job in Atlanta?”

  “Buck didn’t tell you?” He whipped off his ball cap and scratched his oily head.

  Ellen forced herself to act as if she hadn’t a clue what her neighbor was bellyaching about. In truth, she remembered the night Buck had returned home from his latest construction job, adamant that they sell the farm and move to Atlanta. He’d had a lot of nerve insisting he had deserved a chance to live somewhere else besides the farm.

  What about her? What about her plans to leave the farm, go to college and experience life in the city? Damn the man, he’d taken her dreams away when he’d gotten her pregnant.

  She admitted it took two to tango. But Buck had been older than her by two years. He should have known better than to seduce a bored country girl whose one goal at that time had been to rebel against her parents and her monotonous life. And blast the man, he should have used a condom every time.

  When Buck had insisted he’d deserved a chance to chase his dreams, Ellen had refused to listen. Everything Buck had mumbled about Atlanta had gone in one ear and out the other. Maybe it had been petty, immature and downright nasty, but if she couldn’t have her dream, then damned if he’d get his. Come to think of it, that night was pretty much the end of their marriage. The next time she’d seen him, he’d asked her for a divorce.

  “Buck said he could make twice the money in Atlanta, but you were afraid of moving to a big city,” Billy Joe harped.

  “Don’t you have a row to hoe?” She trudged into the holding barn to check the six large barrels lined up along the wall next to Nelson’s sleeping quarters. The feed in each of the containers remained at or above halfway. She hadn’t purchased grain in two weeks. If she had to guess, she’d think a little—make that big—feed fairy had refilled the barrels in the middle of the night. Evidently, Nelson had to be reminded who the boss was—again.

  “Ellen.” Billy Joe spoke from the doorway, his mouth turned down at the corners. “Everyone knows Buck only stayed with you because of Seth.”

  She hesitated—her lungs half-inflated, her gaze frozen on the wall in front of her.

  “Buck would’ve split long before he’d died if it wasn’t for the boy.”

  So Buck had never gotten around to informing his friend he’d asked Ellen for a divorce. All this time she’d thought the locals had been aware of her husband’s intention to leave her. Pride insisted she carried that secret to the grave.

  If she kept her mouth shut, sooner or later Billy Joe would tire of carrying the conversation himself. But it irked something fierce that her neighbor believed Buck had been the one victimized by their marriage. “If Buck had cared so much for Seth, then why hadn’t he stayed around more often?”

  A nasty-sounding chortle burst from the farmer’s mouth. “’Cause the woman he was getting it from didn’t live on no farm.”

  “Oh, grow up. You think I wasn’t aware Buck screwed around on the side?” She’d had her suspicions, but until Billy Joe just confirmed them, she’d chosen to give her deceased husband the benefit of the doubt. More frustrated than hurt, she snatched the pitchfork from the hook on the wall and went in search of something to stab—preferably not her neighbor.

  “If you knew Buck cheated, then why’d you keep him around?”

  The poor redneck truly didn’t understand much beyond the dirt he plowed up each spring. “I didn’t care.”

  “You are one hard woman, Ellen Tanner.”

  “Best you steer clear of me, then, Plunket. I become dangerous when I get riled.” She jabbed the pitchfork at him, grinning when he stumbled over his feet as he scrambled to get out of the way.

  “Crazy female.”

  She held her tongue, hoping the pitchfork and her nasty glare were enough to scare him off.

  “What’s going on?” The question boomed through the tension-filled barn. Nelson stood in the sunlight pouring through the door, his hands curled into fists, his gaze riveted on her neighbor.

  Embarrassment heating her face, Ellen lowered the pitchfork. Had Nelson eavesdropped outside the barn before announcing his presence? She pointed the weapon at her neighbor. “Billy Joe Plunket. His property borders my farm.”

  Nelson moved forward, his long clipped strides eating up the distance. He stopped next to her and removed the pitchfork from her grasp. Plunket’s face lost its early-summer tan when Nelson didn’t set the tool aside.

  “Billy Joe stopped by to chat.” Ellen added, “He was just leaving.”

  “I’m here to talk Ellen into selling out to me. I’d give her a fair price for the place.”

  “I’m not selling.”

  She expected Nelson to shoo her
neighbor out the door but almost fell on her butt when he stated, “You offer fifty thousand over market value and I guarantee Ellen will give your offer due consideration.”

  “Now, wait just a minute,” she sputtered.

  “Fifty’s a mite steep.” Plunket rubbed his chin. “Would that include the cows and equipment?”

  “Nope.”

  Of all the nerve… Was she invisible?

  “Of course she’ll entertain any separate offers on the livestock and equipment.”

  “Ellen will do no such thing.” She stamped her foot, furious the two males continued to ignore her.

  “What about the house?”

  “Ellen keeps the house. You get first dibs if she decides to sell.”

  Hurt filled her at Nelson’s betrayal. He didn’t understand that she needed the farm. Didn’t realize she couldn’t leave even if she wished to.

  Refusing to listen to the Neanderthals negotiate the farm’s value as if it were nothing more than a piece of furniture, she stormed from the barn. They could bicker until they turned old and gray and she still wouldn’t sell. All this pent-up anger made her thirsty. She sought refuge in the utility room of the milking barn and grabbed a can of diet cola from the minifridge.

  Ten minutes later, Nelson leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. “You’re upset with me.”

  “You think?” She smiled, a nasty, bite-you-in-the-backside grin.

  Anger sure looked good on Fanny Farmer. Pink flushed cheeks and spitting blue eyes. He wanted her in his bed. Right now. Angry, emotional, alive. Too bad he’d do her more good out of her bed than in it. “Plunket’s right. You can’t hang on to the farm forever.”

  She swallowed a giant gulp of soda, coughed, then hissed, “I believe you’ve forgotten who’s the boss and who’s the employee.”

  Although deserved, her remark cut deep. He and Ellen hadn’t been acquainted long, but what they’d shared in the barn last week had been more, way more, than a groping match. He cared for her and her son. She had to realize that. “What about Seth’s future?”