by D. L. Roan
She should turn around, go back home. She could call and tell them something came up, that she couldn’t make it; a headache, car trouble, an alien invasion. Anything would be better than the alternative. She shook her head. Who was she kidding? She could think of nothing she’d ever wanted more than the alternative.
How could she have let herself give in to them? After being besieged by McLendon charm and overabundant testosterone for three straight days, how could she not have? It was ridiculous, really. She couldn’t have a relationship with any of them, let alone twins. That was it. They were twins, so of course she’d be attracted to both on a physical level. That was all it was, a mere physical attraction. Her hormones were on overdrive. She could control that. Right?
She propped her elbow onto the top of the doorframe and shoved her hand through her hair. It didn’t matter. She was going there to talk about tutoring Connor, period. If she happened to have something good to eat and stimulating conversation with two devastatingly sexy men, then so be it.
When the bullets start flying and they’re all dead I’ll wake up in a pool of sweat and realize it was all another torturous nightmare.
She couldn’t do it. The risk was too high. She wasn’t ready for this kind of social experimentation.
The sound of a car horn behind her jolted her from her thoughts. Her reflexes had her stepping on the gas, propelling her through the intersection and down the long, winding road to Falcon Ridge. So much for going back home.
The wind had picked up throughout the day. When she parked next to the silver pickup truck in front of the charming, two-story farmhouse and opened her door, a strong gust pulled it from her grip and sent it crashing against the side of the big truck.
“Shoot!” She jumped out of the car and pulled the door closed, wincing when she noticed the foot-long crease in the truck’s door. Could this day get any worse? She knew she should have stayed home. For a moment she thought about sliding back into her car and sneaking back down the drive before they knew she was there. Of course, then she’d have to call and tell them what happened. She was being a coward, but she didn’t care. She was reaching for the door handle when she heard a door slam behind her.
“Leavin’ the scene of an accident is a crime, ya know.”
Claira flinched at the sound of Matt’s voice and took a step back from the truck. “I...I’m sorry. The wind...it just...”
~*~*~*~*~
Matt saw the panic in her eyes and he could have kicked himself into Sunday for being so careless. He had her in his arms before he knew it. “It’s okay, darlin’. It’s just a dent.” He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her silky hair. God, she smelled good, like vanilla and spring, and woman. Our woman. He felt her tense and forced himself to release her.
She broke the connection and looked down at the damage she’d done, running a trembling finger over the crease. “I’ll pay for it. What...whatever it costs.”
“Claira.” Matt pulled her hand away from the damage, lacing their fingers together. He couldn’t not touch her. He wanted to touch every inch of her. “It’s not the only dent that old truck has, and it won’t be the last. Hell, the first thing I did when I bought the thing was take a hammer to the bumper.” He pulled her to the front of the truck and pointed out a small dent in the shiny chrome. “See? I did that right after I bought it. That way I don’t have to worry about when that first dent is gonna’ happen and it lets the truck know it belongs to me. Sort of like a brand.”
Claira looked up at him and she couldn’t help but laugh. She’d never heard anything more ridiculous. “Do you do that with everything you own?”
“What? Hit it with a hammer?” Claira giggled again and the melodic sound shot straight to his cock. If she kept that up, he’d hike up that little skirt of hers and take her right there against the grille of his truck.
God, it was going to be torture, but he had to take it slow. Mason was right. She was as skittish as a newborn colt, but man was he ever going to enjoy seeing her fall for them. She would, he knew. He just had to be patient.
“No,” she said on another giggle. “Do you brand everything?”
A haughty smile played on his lips at the thought of leaving his mark on her. “Oh, yeah.” He took in a deep breath, inhaling her scent as the wind whipped around them. ‘Slow’ had just become his most despised, four letter word in the English language. “Come on, dinner is almost ready.”
Chapter Six
Claira glanced back at the truck, then down to their joined hands as Matt pulled her toward the front steps. When he’d reached out and drew her into his arms, she’d been stunned. The raw desire she saw in his eyes reached out and grabbed her, stirring something inside her that longed for more. It had been so long since she’d been held by someone.
She knew she should release his hand, but as they approached the front door his grip had tightened. She liked the fluttery feeling it brought to her stomach. She liked him. He was funny and that simple connection had helped her forget herself for a moment.
Matt held the door open and she stepped inside. The aroma of fresh basil and other Italian spices tempted her lack-luster appetite. She looked back at Matt and found him watching her. “I told you I make good lasagna,” he said. Her hand still in his, he led her through the narrow entryway, deeper into the hall.
The house was older, but with the soft colors and comfortable spaces, it felt like a home. Not just a house filled with random people. There was a history here and she could feel a warmth she’d never felt before surrounding her like a thick handmade quilt.
The first room they passed was a large sitting area with a cozy, brick fireplace, pictures and knickknacks lining the hearth. Next was a smaller room with another small fireplace and a large desk that sat in front of a bay window. It would be a nice room to hold her tutoring sessions with Connor. She found the typical kitchen table sessions far too distracting when the family was at home. Of course she was used to her visits being more of an emotional or behavioral nature than arithmetic, but she would adjust.
“Mason?” Matt called out as they rounded a corner into the kitchen, but it was empty. “Oh, good. He remembered to take the bread out of the oven before it burned.” Matt released her hand and pulled out a seat at the small island bar that separated the kitchen from a common living area. “Have a seat and I’ll get you somethin’ to drink. Wine or beer?”
Matt stretched up to retrieve something from a tall cupboard, the muscles in his back and broad shoulders flexing against the tight material of his white tee-shirt as it strained against his flesh. She was going to need a fifth of tequila to get through this.
“Um, wine would be nice.”
Matt pulled a bottle from the fridge and uncorked it. “Where is Mason?” she asked as she glanced around the charming little kitchen. From what she’d seen so far, it was the only room in the house that had a woman’s touch.
“I was just washing up.” Mason’s smooth voice fluttered over her skin like the wings of a butterfly.
Claira turned in her seat to see Mason leaning against the doorframe, his long, lean legs crossed at his ankles, his thumbs tucked into the front pockets of his faded blue jeans. His eyes were as warm as she remembered and she fought the urge to walk up and snuggle into his arms.
“Hi,” was the only reply she could manage.
“Hi.” He smiled and pushed away from the doorway. Claira’s insides melted as he brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “I’m glad you came.”
Heat rose in her cheeks to meet his touch. She looked away and caught Matt watching them. She’d expected to see jealousy, or shock, but instead she saw an answering passion in his eyes. What was he thinking?
“You look beautiful.” Mason said as he withdrew is hand and crossed the small space to stand next to Matt, who grinned and nodded in agreement.
Claira felt the room shrink. She clasped her purse in her lap and tried to keep from pressing her thighs together. With both of them standing side b
y side in such a small space, the testosterone level became like a life force all to itself.
She couldn’t help but stare. The similarities were overwhelming, but now she could also see their differences. Matt was a little more tan and thicker in the chest. Mason’s hair was longer but had more sun streaked highlights than Matt’s. They were both lean in the hips and as far as she could guess were a little over six feet tall. She realized she was staring and dropped her gaze to the wine glass she found herself gripping as firmly as a drowning victim would a life preserver.
“Sorry, you probably get that a lot.” She shook her head then took a long sip from her glass, resisting the urge to gulp it down. “I didn’t mean to...it was rude of me to stare.” She felt herself blush again and stared back into her glass.
“Hey, don’t be sorry.” Matt chuckled as he turned to the stove and removed a covered dish from the oven. “And you’re right, we do get our fair share of attention because of the twin thing. It’s not all that bad.” He wiggled his eyebrows, making her giggle again, disarming her with his effortless charm.
“Yeah, being identical twins has its definite advantages,” Mason said as he whipped around with a stack of plates in his hand. He placed the plates on the bar, and she immediately noticed the missing place settings.
“Speaking of twins, where are Con and Car?” She knew it was going to be a struggle keeping her haywire hormones in check, even with the rambunctious boys to keep them distracted. How was she going to get through a whole dinner with just the three of them? She was so going to need another glass of wine.
“They spent the afternoon with our parents,” Matt said as he sat the hot, aromatic dish on the island counter and he and Mason took a seat on either side of her. “They live on the south side of the ranch, about a half mile further down the driveway. They should be dropping them off in a couple of hours.”
“We thought it would give us a chance to talk,” Mason added. “You know, about Con and the problems he’s been having in school. Come up with a plan.”
Claira released an unsteady breath as Matt dished out a healthy portion of lasagna onto her plate. That made sense, she guessed. As she reached to pick up her fork, her purse began to slip and she drew it back onto her lap.
“Here, I’ll set it on the table in the entryway for you.” Mason reached out for it, but years of habit made her pull away and clasp it to her chest.
“No, that’s ok. I’ll just keep it here with me, next to my chair.” Reluctantly, she let it drop to the floor.
Mason drew his hand back and gave her a quizzical stare. “We won’t go snooping through it until you’re out of the room, I promise.”
Oh God. They must think I’m an escaped mental patient. She could hear the Rain Man’s voice in her head. Wapner at seven.
“It’s not that. It’s just,” How did she explain that she was so used to picking up in the middle of the night, or any time really, and running for her life.
Once, when she’d been in a hotel gym in Los Angeles, the Marshals had come to get her and she hadn’t had time to go to her room to pack any of her things. She’d lost her phone, her identification, her money; everything. It took them weeks to replace it all, but she never saw the pictures of her mother and brother again. That was all she’d had left of them.
“It’s okay.” Matt shrugged and shared a look with Mason that she didn’t understand. “We get it. Women and their purses are like men and their p—”
“Matthew!” Mason coughed into his hand.
“What?” Matt paused, his fork perched at his lips, and grinned. “I was going to say men and their pick-up trucks. What did you think I was going to say?”
Again, Claira couldn’t contain the laugh that bubbled out. The whole evening was like that. Easy. Any time she began to feel uncomfortable, Mason would say something soothing or Matt would make her laugh. As the time went by, she found herself so at ease with them and their bantering, she’d hardly touched her second glass of wine.
They talked about everything under the sun, except tutoring Connor. She tried to feel uncomfortable about that but couldn’t.
She’d learned that Mason bred horses and was a talented trainer. Matt ran the day to day operations of the ranch, from managing the herds and the ranch hands to mending fences. Their older brother, Grey, with the haunting green eyes, had both agricultural and finance degrees and managed the business end of their three-way partnership. They all lived there. Together.
When they asked her questions about herself, she tried to follow Daniel’s advice and stick to the truth as much as possible. She hated lying to them. It was difficult at times not to let anything slip that could reveal her old identity.
She’d almost told them where she was born, but managed to change it from Maryland to Maine at the last minute. Daniel had told her it would get easier, that over time she would almost believe the made-up version of herself to be the truth. She knew it was only a matter of conditioning, but she also knew she’d never truly forget.
By the time Mason filled his glass with the last of the wine, she’d learned everything there was to know about raising horses, herding cattle and mowing hay fields. The one thing they hadn’t discussed was Con and Car’s mother. She felt the need to know warring against her common sense. If they wanted her to know, they would tell her, right?
“The twins’ mother? Is she still...in the picture?” she asked, her rampant curiosity getting the better of her.
Mason and Matt shared another one of their knowing glances. Mason cleared his throat before he spoke. “Sarah,” he paused and glanced up at Matt again. Matt inclined his head in a slight nod and returned his attention back to Claira. “Our wife passed away giving birth to the twins.”
Claira’s heart dropped. She didn’t know how it felt to lose a spouse, but she understood the pain of loss. Wait. “What?” Did he say our wife?
A small grin that blended into a grimace pulled at the corner of Matt’s lips. “You caught that, huh?”
Mason turned in his chair and met her confused gaze. “Sarah was our wife; Con and Car’s mother.”
She must have heard that wrong. Twice. “As in, you were both married to her...at some point?”
“At the same point,” Mason clarified. He tried to smile, but he knew it looked the same on him as it did Matt; painful. He found it more difficult than he expected to talk about Sarah with another woman. The desire he felt for Claira mixed with the sense of loss he sometimes still felt for Sarah, and the combination made his chest ache a little.
“But... isn’t that... illegal?” Claira asked, her head swirling with so many questions she’d blurted out the first one that sounded coherent in her head. She considered herself open-minded about the different types of relationships, but two men married to the same woman, at the same time? Was there even a name for that?
“Technically, on paper, she was married to only one of us, but in our hearts we all belonged to her.” Matt said, his voice weakening to a near whisper. He reached out and took one of Claira’s hands in his as Mason took the other. They laced their fingers with hers and the raw emotion she saw in their eyes broke her heart and set her on fire all at the same time.
She found it hard to breathe. Her heart raced, her spine turned to jelly. What were they doing to her? She pulled her hands from theirs and took a sobering breath. She couldn’t think with both of them touching her that way; looking at her with such intensity.
When she was within sight of either of them she was overwhelmed with emotions she’d never experienced before. She was good at working with children, but she was a walking wreck when it came to her body’s reactions to these men.
“Claira? Are you ok?” Mason asked, his thumb stroking gentle circles on the back of her arm where she rested it on the counter.
“I’m fine. I just...” She blinked and gave her head a quick shake to clear the lust infused fog from her brain, struggling to find the right words to explain what they were doing to her. Should
she explain? She was probably just being overly sensitive to such familiar displays of affection from men she hardly knew, but it felt like the butterflies in her stomach had gone on a bender at an all-night keg party.
“You disapprove,” Matt said, the playfulness in his eyes replaced with a frigid coldness.
“Oh. God no!” She glanced at Mason and found the same trepidation in his expression. “It’s surprising, is all. I’ve never heard of the type of relationship you described.”
Matt studied her as she spoke. She glanced up to see suspicion in his eyes that hadn’t been there before and she wondered what she’d done to cause it. “I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. I didn’t mean to imply that I thought there was anything wrong.”
Mason’s lips curved into a soft smile and he reached for her hand again. “While it’s a familiar way of life for us, it’s not a common situation. We’ve all had to deal with those who were less...accepting. We wanted you to know.”
They thought she was judging them? “Mason, I’m no one to judge how anyone else should live their life. I—I’ll be honest,” she paused and fiddled with the napkin in her lap, her inner psychologist doing backflips at the thought of delving into this one. “That is...I don’t want to seem nosy, but truthfully, I’m fascinated. I have about a hundred questions I’d love to ask you both about how a family dynamic like that works, but no one’s opinion matters as long as it does.”
Beside her, Matt released a relieved breath and took her other hand back into his own. “I’m sorry, Claira. When I saw your reaction I thought you were one of those people.”
“No! That’s not what I have a problem with. I mean...” She lowered her gaze back down to her hands in theirs. Her stomach fluttered and her nipples pebbled beneath her shirt. Mason caressed gentle circles in her palm with his thumb, sending a throbbing tingle shuddering through her pelvis. She closed her eyes as she tried to remember what she was saying. Oh, yeah. That I can’t think when they touch me like this.
