by Jillian Neal
Kicking off her boots, she peeled the jeans down her legs, convulsing from the smell. Favoring her left side to keep weight off her right hip, she marched to the kitchen, located a garbage bag, flung the jeans in the bag and tried to tie it. With her anger driving her, she ripped the ties out of the bag. “Ugh!” Like a woman possessed she wadded up the jeans and the first garbage bag, threw them in a second bag and tied it with slightly less vigor. She actually opened the door to the carport to hurl the bag into the garbage cans when she suddenly realized that she’d been about to go outside without pants on. She had to get it together.
Dropping the garbage bags on the carport, she slammed the door and squeezed her eyes shut to keep from crying tears of absolute frustration.
The icy water that had seeped through the denim had left her right hip raw. She couldn’t quite determine if her hip was red because she’d removed a layer of skin or if it was going to turn into a nasty bruise. Seeing the shower as her only means of escape, she quickly headed to the bathroom.
Her stomach continued to churn from the entire experience. She ran a washcloth under cool water and wiped it across her face, willing her lunch to stay put. Her body swayed, and she gripped the counter, wondering what on earth would happen next. Exhaustion seemed to greet her as soon as she stepped inside their freezing cold house. She felt like hell. She just wanted Brock.
Stepping into the shower, she tried to gather herself as she scrubbed away her insane day. She reminded herself of the nice normal people she’d met, but eventually she gave in. Salty tears mixed readily with the shower water circling the drain. Her stomach continued to churn.
When she was clean, she did feel somewhat restored, so she pressed onward. She dried off, and lifted one of Brock’s favorite Cornhusker sweatshirts from the drawer. Holding it to her face, she inhaled deeply, still trying to rid her mind of the memory of the smell of cow manure. Nothing smelled better than her husband’s natural scent. It clung to the sweatshirt and further restored her. She pulled it over her head and gave herself a moment to revel in the feeling of being near him. After she pulled on some yoga pants and wool socks, she headed to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Surely, that would give her some energy and help her forget this ridiculous day. Ignoring the constant roiling nausea in her stomach, she turned on the coffee maker.
Remembering that she’d left garbage bags containing her jeans on the carport floor, she went to throw the bags in the metal cans now that she was fully clothed.
Her entire body jerked in shock when she stepped out onto the concrete floor with only socks on her feet. Dammit! She raced back inside and slipped into her boots before completing the task.
When she returned to the kitchen, she found coffee cascading over the counters and dribbling down the cabinets below.
“Why can’t I just have coffee? Is that asking too much! Ugh! You stupid, stupid, thing!” she shouted furiously as she grabbed towels and mopped up the mess, aware that she sounded insane screaming at a coffee maker.
Pulling the plug, Hope debated throwing the damn thing out into the yard, grabbing Brock’s pistol from the hall closet, and shooting it. Envisioning herself trying to explain to her husband and his uncle why she’d shot a coffee maker helped her simmer down, though she suspected everyone would give her a pass, considering the insanity she’d endured that day.
Her blood spiked with the injustice of it all. Still determined to go on with her evening plans, she located her cell phone and looked up recipes for roasted chicken on Pinterest. They didn’t have all of the ingredients, so she combined a few different recipes, hoped it would be half-decent, and slid the chicken into the oven. Next, she washed a few of the potatoes, wrapped them in foil, and placed them in the oven beside the chicken, only to discover that the oven wasn’t heating.
“Ugh! Just work!” She slammed the oven door and then kicked it for good measure. To her shock, she heard the heating element spring back to life, but now her hip hurt even worse. Her temper wasn’t helping anything.
She was freezing, and exhaustion weighted her limbs. It would still be a couple of hours before Brock made it back to the ranch. She set the timer on the oven, limped to the closet, and located a few blankets before settling on the couch.
She stared dejectedly around the house that still felt nothing like the home she’d envisioned back in the fall when she’d asked Brock if they could move into the cottage. She flipped on the television, but a solid layer of snow had covered the satellite weeks before, and they got little to no reception. Of course. Unless she wanted to watch digital snow on the screen instead of the real stuff out the windows, TV was not an option. Brock had offered to climb up on the roof and clean the dish, but Hope couldn’t bear the thought of him slipping and falling off yet another roof, even if he had been a roofer for years and had only fallen because of another man’s mistake. Fear had consumed her anyway, and she’d ordered him to stay on the ground. At that moment, she regretted her order.
A shiver worked through her weary body, and the fierce ache in her right hip wouldn’t give her peace. Natalie’s chastising words replayed constantly in her head along with being called a Beach Barbie, Mrs. Bellamy’s demands, and the fact that she still had no idea where the lingerie she’d ordered actually was. This entire place was more than she could take.
Nudging the thermostat up another degree, she covered herself in all of the blankets and tucked herself on the couch.
Chapter Six
Exhausted, Brock eased inside the kitchen just after eight. Oh, hell. Gripping his forearm to keep from bleeding on the linoleum, he frantically turned off the oven. It wasn’t smoking yet, but it was well on its way. Grabbing a dish towel, he wrapped it around the bull-inflicted gash he’d endured trying to pen the damn things. His gaze landed on Hope, sound asleep on the couch. His sweet baby. He just didn’t know how to take care of her.
Stubbornly refusing defeat, he considered as he located several bandages in the cabinets that still largely held previous owner’s belongings and doctored his arm. Maybe he did know how to take care of her. He’d been her best friend for fourteen fucking years. Lately, he’d been so consumed with the ranch and trying to prove to the entire state that he wasn’t his old man he’d put his marriage on the back-burner. That needed to stop.
Whatever was in that oven was certainly no longer edible. Hope was a great cook, normally. Life was clearly more than she could take lately. Concern that perhaps she was coming down with something took precedence over locating them food. Easing to her side, he adjusted the blankets she was wrapped in and felt her forehead. She didn’t stir, but also didn’t seem to have a fever. Brushing a tender kiss on her cheek, he pulled his coat back on and headed up to Ev and Jessie’s. He had a plan.
When he returned, a genuine smile had formed on his face. He could make this better. He could do right by her just like he’d always intended. Cringing at what appeared to have been foil wrapped potatoes at one time, he threw them out. The chicken wasn’t burned through, but was probably so dry it would be like eating dust, so he tossed it as well. Placing the frozen pizzas he’d graciously been gifted from his Aunt Jessie’s large drop-freezer on pans, he turned the oven back on and thanked the good Lord that the kitchen no longer smelled like burnt potatoes. After taking a quick shower, he changed into clean jeans and a thermal shirt. He had to do something about the heat in their house. The insulation needed to be redone, but that meant redoing a shit-ton of sheetrock, and it wasn’t a project he could take on anytime soon.
Slipping back to the sofa, he dropped to his knees and proceeded to kiss his wife awake. Her eyes blinked open hesitantly and then goggled. “The chicken!” She shot upwards, but Brock gently kept her seated.
“It’s fine. I’ve got everything taken care of. Just relax, sugar. You’re worn out.”
“Why didn’t the timer go off?” She was still frantic.
“Probably because that oven is shit. Don’t worry about it. We’re having pizza. We’ll
still have our night alone, okay?”
“But I was gonna make you dinner, and I was going to be wearing something sexy when you got home.”
The disappointment in her tone made his heart swell, unable to contain the sheer amount of love it held for her. God knew he’d never deserve her. “I think you’re sexy as hell no matter what you’re wearing. Honestly, I really prefer you in nothing at all, but you in one of my Huskers sweatshirts is about the sexiest thing you could possibly wear. Can I get in there with you?” He gestured to the cocoon of blankets she was settled in.
Her beautiful grin replaced the frustration that had set in her eyes in the last few weeks. She gave him a timid nod.
Chuckling, he climbed behind her on the couch. His heart ached. He just wasn’t sure he know how to make her happy again, but he sure as hell would try. “I dug Sweet Home Alabama out of the boxes upstairs that we still haven’t unpacked. Soon as the pizzas done, I’ll turn it on.”
She turned gently and buried her face in his chest. “I’m so glad you’re here, and I’m so sorry about dinner.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. I’m so sorry the last few weeks have been hell. I’ll try to be here more. I know I’ve let you down.”
“Brock, you haven’t. I just kind of have to get used to living here.” She shrugged and abruptly stopped talking. Yeah, they’d had the beginning of this conversation a dozen times now. It was time to go deeper, much deeper. Tears were probably going to be involved. He hated to see her cry. My God she was too sweet and too good to ever cry, but it was inevitable. He knew. Drawing a deep breath, he reveled in the perfume of Hope fresh from a shower, like the dew on spring flowers mixed with watermelon candy with a hint of her own sexy spice, the side she only ever showed to him.
Trying to come up with an opening more eloquent than, ‘so it really seems like you hate it here, and I don’t have a way to fix it’, he considered for a moment.
“I’m sorry I asked you to stay with me tomorrow. I shouldn’t have done that.” The apology seemed to tangle with regret as it took flight from her throat.
“Why the hell shouldn’t you have done that? I intend to take you up on that as soon as I get all of the chores done tomorrow morning. Might even bundle you up, carry you out of bed, put you in my truck, and take you with me to do all the chores.” He reveled in her delighted grin. “That’s how much I miss you, sugar.”
“I miss you all the time, too, but you have to work, and Natalie said …” she trailed off again.
“Natalie said what?” Brock figured Hope and Natalie would eventually come to blows. Nat was as bullheaded as they came. She’d wanted to out-do every one one of her brothers her whole life. It ate at her when she couldn’t. Every newcomer to the ranch had to prove their worth in her eyes. She wanted to go up against them to prove her dominance, as stupid as that was. Brock loved his cousin, but he didn’t always like her very much. He sure as hell would have words with her the next day over whatever she’d said to Hope. Natalie’s stubborn refusal to ever be outdone irked Brock to no end, and her constant need for people to think she was important was ridiculous. If she wanted to tangle with Hope, he’d put a stop to it, quickly.
“Nothing. She was being a bitch, but she was right. I shouldn’t ask you to be here more. I have to stop being a big baby.”
“Stop it, right now.” Brock demanded. “You are my baby, but I’ve never known you to act like one. Living here is entirely different than living at Gypsy Beach. I don’t feel like I prepared you for it before we moved. Feels like we’ve been living in a whirlwind since we decided to get married before we were ever really engaged.” He chuckled at his own impatience to cover the regret that still ate at him. He’d pushed her into this.
“I’m just glad you’re here now.” Her arms squeezed him tighter. She buried her face against him and mumbled something into his chest.
My God, she was adorable. How the hell had he gotten so lucky? “What was that, sugar? I couldn’t quite make it out, but I’m pretty sure you just said, ‘Brock, take me to bed and have your way with me.’”
A fit of giggles overtook her. He was quite certain angels couldn’t sound any sweeter than her giggling … or her moans of pleasure at his hands. “Well, now, I do wish I’d said that, but I actually said, ’how was the bull sale thing?’”
He brushed a kiss on her beautiful lips. It was so damn easy when they were finally together to pretend that nothing at all was wrong. To leave the endless amounts of snow, cattle, and mutual misery outside their door while they drowned whatever sorrow the day had provided in each other. Having no desire to discuss the sheer number of people he’d encountered that had something to say about his old man, he decided to put his day to rest. His wife was in his arms, on their couch, and staring up at him sweetly. They were going to talk and sort through everything. He’d figure out some way to hear her out, even if he couldn’t move them back until spring.
Nothing else mattered at that moment but being together. Giving in, he dipped his tongue into the confection of her mouth, so damn sweet and always hungry for him. His hands made quick work of getting up the sweatshirt she’d pulled on while he nibbled his way to the hollow of her throat. Her body writhed and, “Yes,” hissed from her lips.
Why couldn’t he read her mind as well as he could read her delectable little body? That would make everything so much easier. His rope-callused hands grazed her slender waist and then he cupped her breasts, fevered and full. To his delight, her back arched in invitation and her nipples immediately pebbled in compliance. “Oh, you are hungry aren’t you, sweetie? So hungry for me.”
His cock throbbed out its adamant approval against the thin yoga pants she was wearing. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind he tried to remember that letting himself get distracted by their mutual hunger was the problem. They started kissing, she started moaning, and all talking was quickly forgotten. The reminder faded when the soft purr of desire sounded in his ear. Damn, but she was beautiful. Finally able to eat real meals instead of existing on Ramen trying to keep her bookstore afloat, she’d developed the sexiest curves he’d ever seen. His mind offered him stunning imagery of her a few pounds thicker, her breasts and hips more full, with a sense of contentment existing deep within her.
“I need you.” Her breathy plea shot straight to his groin like a siren’s song he had no hope of denying. He groaned in anticipation. Their talk, the movie, their dinner, it could all just wait. They needed this. His body craved hers. He’d had a shit day. This would make everything better. His muscles ached for her touch. His tongue thirsted for her nectar. She satiated him and indulged his every greedy desire. He needed the fulfillment that only came from satisfying her. She needed his temptation, and he could no longer exist without the salvation that only came from his wife. Life itself could just fuck off for a little while. His wife needed something only he could provide. She was so sweet to everyone and yet so damn sexy all for him. Complete perfection wrapped up in the most beautiful package he could ever have imagined with an innocent little sex kitten grin to complete her intoxicating seduction. He was about to show her who she belonged to.
Stripping her of the sweatshirt, he sat up. “Come here to me, darlin’. Let me love you.” He straddled her legs over his. Her body rolled and her right nipple brushed over his lips in invitation. He nipped at it, drawing a hungry moan and another decadent roll from her body. Up and down, she ground against the rock hard bulge tenting the fly of his jeans. The lips of her pussy separated around him. Fabric of clothes that were completely unnecessary frustrated him.
Jerking the elastic band of the yoga pants down, he froze when she cringed and gasped. “My God, what happened to you?” Eyes goggling, he studied a large, purple bruise marring her right hip. The skin was raw. He gently ran his fingertips over the swollen knot under the bruise.
Hope stared dejectedly down at her injured hip. It had been throbbing right up until the moment Brock wrapped her up in the substantiality of hi
s arms. His safety and love had eased the pain.
“I slipped in the front yard and landed in ice-covered manure. There was a cow. It was gross!” She buried her face in his neck. She didn’t really want to recount the events of her day. He eased her yoga pants back up over her backside. She’d never known Brock to redress her.
When he finished, he cradled the nape of her neck in his hand. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. We can’t seem to win for losing, can we? You sure you’re up to this now?”
As there was nothing Hope wanted more than to drown the misery of her day in her husband’s gorgeous, overly-muscled body, that question was entirely unnecessary. “Please.” She’d beg if she had to.
“Hold on tight.” He braced his arm under her backside and stood with her wrapped around his chest.
“Where are we going?”
“Shh, I’ve got ya.”
Hope nuzzled against him and let him carry her down the hall towards their bedroom. The timer on the kitchen oven halted his progress. Sure, now it decided to work.
“Let’s not burn the pizza.” He turned the oven off and then continued their trek to the bedroom.
“Yeah, since I’m incapable of making dinner without burning it.” Aware that she was being pouty, she ordered herself to buck up. What was wrong with her lately, anyway?
“Hush. First of all, you need to give yourself a break. Secondly, you need to let me take care of you.”
“That sounds perfect.” A contented sigh slipped from her lips as he laid her in their bed and eased the pants off of her legs completely. That was much better than him redressing her. Heated blood surged through her body from the hungry gaze in his eyes as he dispensed with her panties as well. His gentle love flooded warmth throughout her as he brushed tender kisses over the bruise.
“Poor thing.” His hot breath caressed the marking, bringing her relief. “I’m so sorry you fell, but I promise you, darlin’, I’m about to make everything feel better.” Making quick work of his own clothes, he crawled up over her body keeping his weight on the mattress and off of her.
