by Cara McKenna
She shivered at those words, excited all over again.
“Feels fucking amazing, honey. Don’t stop.”
“I could use my mouth . . .”
“No, no. Just like this. I’m so close.”
“Good.”
“Say my name,” he murmured, eyes shut.
“Casey.”
“Yeah.”
She drew him down by the shoulder, said it again, and again, whispered it against his neck and kissed him there. She bet he was noisy in bed, normally—right now it seemed it was all he could do to keep his mouth shut. Every grunt and groan came out muffled and wild, a barrage of moans and hisses.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “I’m gonna come. Don’t stop.”
“I won’t.”
“Say my name.”
She raked his earlobe softly with her teeth, then said it, right there.
“Fuck.”
His hips were bucking into her grip. He was there. She tugged her top up to her bust, held him against her belly as he came—a long, warm, body-wringing release. She could feel his cock throbbing in her grip, then softening, spent. He was panting like he’d just fled a burning building, pulse thumping a million miles a minute against her palm.
“Jesus.”
She smiled. “Good?”
“Fucking unbelievable.”
He took a long moment to come down, then moved to the side, seeming to scout for something to tidy her with.
“My towel,” she said, and pointed to where it hung on the doorknob. She admired his naked back and butt and legs as he crossed the room, and hid a smile when he returned, holding the towel in front of him, wary eyes on the crib.
Abilene cleaned herself up and gratefully pulled her shirt back over her belly. Once Casey was under the covers, he urged her to face him, both on their sides.
“Hi,” he whispered, smiling.
“Hi, yourself.”
“You okay?”
Now, there was an understatement. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t know I could still do that. Get there.” And so easily. Orgasms had never come easy to Abilene. She’d had sex well before she’d ever attempted to touch herself, and could never bring herself to give a man instructions. Casey, though . . . He hadn’t needed any, but she also bet he’d take them, and eagerly. She could imagine finding the nerve to do that—to tell him faster, or slower, or harder, or deeper. Could imagine him taking the orders with pure excitement in his blue eyes.
“Well,” he said, smiling, “you did. You got there.”
“It’s been a long time.”
“Been a long time since I got to do that for a woman,” he countered.
She studied his face. “Really?”
He nodded, the pillow scrunching his beard.
She narrowed her eyes, intrigued. “How long, exactly?”
He laughed. “Ages, it feels like. Since last spring.”
“That’s the last time you dated anybody?”
“Well, no. I was seeing someone right before I moved back here, but . . . Jesus, you don’t want to hear about my exes.”
She bit her lip, grinning, and poked his chest. “Of course I do.”
“Liar. Chicks only say that to get you to talk; then they find something to hold against you for the rest of eternity.”
“Casey, you’re here because my ex is a violent gunrunner. You really think I’ll be all that scandalized?”
He smiled at that. “Fair point.”
“So tell me. Just about the last one.”
“She was . . . She was a little weird. Actually, all my exes are at least half-crazy. This one never let me get her naked or even touch her, really. It was just, like, making out and blow jobs for two or three months.”
“That is a little weird.”
“Anyhow, that made it extra nice to get you off, just now. Feels like way too long since I’ve gotten to do that. Since I got to give something, after feeling like I was getting spoiled, never allowed to reciprocate.”
She felt a blush blooming at that. “Felt real nice to me, too.”
He scooted closer, close enough for the tips of their noses to touch. “You know I’d do more, if you wanted. Give you my mouth, if you like that.”
Oh, now she was blushing. “Maybe. Sometime.” She turned over, letting him spoon her. “Promise me something,” she whispered, twining her fingers with his at her belly.
“Sure.”
“Sleep here later, with me. Just for tonight.”
A breath, and then, “Of course.”
“It doesn’t have to mean anything. I just need that. Just this once.” The orgasm had been a shock, not a need. A pleasant surprise, but not a primal craving, like the way she wanted his body pressed to hers through the night.
She felt his lips and the tip of his nose against the nape of her neck, his warm exhalation. “Whatever you need.”
Just for one night, let her fall back on her old ways. Let her fall apart, need a man, use her body to keep his close. Just one night.
Tomorrow, she’d be stronger.
Tomorrow, she’d leave her old ways behind for good.
Chapter 11
Miah slid his rifle out from behind his driver’s seat and strapped it across his back, slammed the truck’s door in the icy night air.
“That’ll do, King,” he told his dog. She leapt from the bed, paused for a quick scratch behind the ears, then trotted off behind the farmhouse in search of a late dinner.
Miah’s own stomach rumbled at the thought. His entire day had been thrown off by an unexpected visitor—a high-pressure rep from a large property management company, calling with an impressive buyout offer for the ranch. It wasn’t the first they’d received since talk of the casino had begun, but it had by far been the largest, and its pitch the most aggressive.
Miah had been at the house grabbing lunch, and his dad had called him into the office, the impromptu meeting having just begun. It had been a hard sell, to say the least, and the prick had done his research. He knew the cattle market had been lousy, and the weather worse. He knew exactly what to say to get every last one of Miah’s nerves up and humming, every last worry that kept him up late rising to the surface. “If recent annual rainfall continues at its current trend, you’ll be looking at a full-on, extended drought in the next three years. That really how your family wants to go out? The slow and painful way? Now, I’ve got an offer here that no sane man would be too proud to pass up. Get out while the getting’s good, as they say.”
His offer had been obscene, but at the end of the day, the guy had wasted his own time. Generous figures or not, even in the midst of a nasty rough patch, the Churches would never sell. Three C had faced the Depression and the recent recession, a thousand fluctuations of the market, the encroaching threat of foreign-raised beef, dry season upon record dry season, and come out on top through it all. Granted, the last year had been brutal, and the books hadn’t looked this grim in a decade or more. But that was the nature of the beast, and it’d take a real blow to ruin them. A multiyear drought, a sustained drop in the market. They might currently be one of the biggest businesses in Brush County, but they were still modest compared to the industrial operations. They weren’t invincible, but they also weren’t going anyplace, thanks very much. He and his dad had shared a good eye roll at the rep’s expense after he’d been seen to the door.
Though his dad had seemed to shrug it off as bluster and brass, Miah didn’t shake his own feelings so readily. He felt upended, if he was honest, and unsettled by the guy’s pitch. There’d been something edgy behind the slick sales-speak, something jagged and a touch threatening. Then again, that could be fatigue making him paranoid. He hadn’t been sleeping well lately, between the business worries and the Ware situation.
That little interruption had turned Miah’s sit-down lunch plans into a hasty scarfing of leftovers at the kitchen sink. He’d meant to grab something between finishing up the day’s work and going out on a patrol, but then one of the han
ds had hurt herself and been driven to the clinic by yet another worker, so he’d filled in, helping the others get the horses bedded down for the night. He still smelled like the stables now, in fact, and a hot shower was next on his priority list, after food.
He pocketed his keys and headed for the front steps. The porch light came on when he triggered the sensor, and he froze at the sound of scuffing, just around the edge of the house.
That was no animal. That noise was shoes on gravel, no mistaking it.
He slid his rifle around, perched it on his shoulder. No need to cock the thing just yet—could be a ranch hand or just his dad puttering. “Who’s there?” he called, edging back down the steps.
No words answered him, but instead the thumping of feet on dirt.
He bellowed “King!” and took off running himself.
It was a man—already half-lost to the dark, but definitely a man—tallish, dressed in black, face obscured by a ski mask. He all but hurdled the low wooden fence that enclosed the front lot, boots pounding down the highway shoulder.
“Stop!”
If anything, the guy ran faster. He had a fifty-pace lead or more, and Miah wasn’t gaining any ground, rifle banging him in the ribs.
“Stop or I sic my goddamn dog on you!”
The guy kept on running, and Miah couldn’t risk slowing down long enough to fire a warning shot.
In the distance, taillights broke the darkness. Shit. There were no streetlights out here, but the glow from the lot was just strong enough to reach the bumper. Though son of a bitch—the license plate was nothing but flat gray. Fucking duct tape.
The truck peeled away and screamed off westward, back toward town. Miah scrabbled to a halt, shouldered the .22 again, but his dog shot out from behind him. He couldn’t risk it. His entire body was heaving from the sprint, anyhow. He slung the rifle back around his body and swore, then whistled.
King came trotting over. “That’ll do, girl. Bit too slow, sadly.” They walked back toward the house.
“Miah?” It was his mother, calling from the porch.
“Yeah. Hang on.” The winter air burned his rushing lungs, and the adrenaline was pulsing through his head, bringing an ache to his temples.
“What was all that yelling?” she asked as he hopped the fence.
“There was somebody skulking around the side of the house.”
“What?”
“A man. I chased him, but he got away. Had a truck parked down the road.”
Her eyes widened. “A truck? A black one?”
“Maybe. Tough to tell, but dark, in any case. Why?”
“Shit.” She wasn’t usually one to curse. “Abilene’s ex—he drives a black truck. Casey had a run-in with him this evening. He just said.”
Shit indeed.
“Guess he found out where she’s staying.” Miah mounted the front steps. His mom turned for the door, but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. She turned back around.
“You think we should tell her?” he asked.
She glanced down the road, worry creasing her brow. “Better she be scared than left in the dark.”
He nodded. “Goddamn shame, though—she barely gets any sleep as it is.”
“Tell your dad to turn the security cameras back on.” Three C had about two dozen of them positioned around the house and stables and barns, as well as out on the range, for catching burglars and poachers alike. They rarely kept the ones near the buildings on. Waste of electricity and computer space; their threats usually came from four-legged predators, and more recently from those suspected drug dealers, two demographics who preferred the vast anonymity of the badlands.
“Good idea.”
“Shall I talk to her?” his mom asked.
He shook his head. “Nah, I can. Ought to describe what I saw, anyhow. Ask Case if the truck sounds like Ware’s.”
She propped the door wide and he passed by, stepping inside. First things first, he stowed his rifle and got his dad up to speed, then went to the kitchen, where his mom was finishing loading the washer.
“You know where Abilene is?” he asked, shutting the fridge and twisting open a longneck. Christ knew he could stand a drink just now. He’d been hoping to cap off a long-ass day in front of the fire, put his feet up, nurse this beer with nothing on his mind except how good his bed would feel under his achy back. It was one drama after another today.
“Den,” she said.
“Thanks.”
He’d expected to find Casey there with her and to find the both of them on high alert from the shouting, but instead it was just Abilene, sitting cross-legged on the couch. The baby was nestled on a blanket between her thighs, nursing a bottle of its own. She looked up and smiled. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.” He sat on the coffee table, facing her. “You hear all that commotion just now?”
Her brow furrowed. “No. What happened?”
“Where’s Case?”
“Upstairs bathroom.”
The man appeared just then, on the landing above.
“We have a little situation,” Miah told the both of them.
Casey’s expression darkened and he jogged down the steps. “What do you mean?”
“Ware was just here.”
His blue eyes widened, hands curling into fists at his sides. “What?”
“I didn’t talk to him—didn’t even see his face. But somebody was creeping around the side of the house when I pulled up. I chased the guy but couldn’t catch him. He was white—I saw his hands when he jumped the fence. And he was driving a truck with the plate taped over.”
“Black truck?” Casey asked. “A Ram, maybe? I ran into him this afternoon, but I was too busy memorizing his plate number to catch the make. Sounds like I shouldn’t have bothered.”
“It was dark, for sure. Older. Not a Ford—that’s all I could tell you.”
“I can’t remember what brand it was,” Abilene said. “But it wasn’t new. And it wasn’t big, not like your truck,” she said to Miah.
“This was midsized. Probably mid-nineties.”
“Who the fuck else is it going to be?” Casey asked grimly, then paused, glancing at the baby. “Sorry.”
“He’d parked a hundred or more yards down the highway,” Miah went on. “By the time I ran back to my truck and got it on the road, he’d have gotten far enough to disappear down the residential streets. I just wish I could’ve taken a shot at his tires, but my dog was in the way.” He sighed, pissed and tired and frustrated, and took a drink deep enough to drain half his bottle.
“I can’t believe he’d have the gall to come here,” Casey said. “Not after I gave him a perfectly reasonable way to get in touch.”
“Guess the man isn’t the perfectly reasonable type,” Miah offered, then looked to Abilene for confirmation.
“He is and he isn’t,” she said. “I mean, when things were good between us, he was pretty rational. But he can get mad, too, and when that happens I couldn’t say where his head goes.”
“One too many drinks wouldn’t help matters, either.”
“He was never a drinker.”
“Maybe not, but the man’s been stewing in prison,” Casey said. “And I’m guessing he doesn’t like doing things on another man’s terms. What I fu—frigging want to know, though, is who told him where to find her. Who knew, and who’d tell? It was Dancer who told him to see me, but who would’ve told him Abilene was staying here?”
“Just about anybody might, if threatened,” Miah said. “I’ll ask all my hands tomorrow. They could’ve easily run into him at the bar. They were all told it was strictly confidential, her staying here, but threats are threats.”
“Duncan wouldn’t have told,” Abilene said. “Or Raina.”
Miah shook his head. Much as he loathed Welch, the guy was too stubborn and pompous to let anyone bully him into doing anything. And Raina would no doubt whip her shotgun out from under the counter the second somebody got pushy. No, one of the ranch ha
nds was the most likely source. Miah just hoped if that was the case, the party in question would have the balls to own it. They were good kids, but they were young, most of them, still prone to self-preservation above most things.
“I guess in the end,” he said through a sigh, “it doesn’t really matter who told him. He knows now, and what we need to figure out is, do we need to move you two again?” He nodded to Abilene and the baby.
She looked stricken in a breath. “No.”
Casey’s expression was grim. “This is still the most secure place in town. I mean, I can’t keep them at mine—I live on the main drag. Everybody would know inside an hour. Same as the motel. Plus she’s got your parents’ support here, not to mention there’s cameras. The only other option might be to take her out of Fortuity.”
Miah nodded, thinking maybe that would be best. Abilene’s safety was paramount, no doubt, but he did have a business and his employees to think about, as well. Hell, the thought of Ware returning and threatening his mom had his blood boiling.
“Talking to Ware is still the most direct route to getting this shit resolved,” Casey went on. “I sure wish I’d taken down his goddamn number when I gave him mine.”
“Could he have the same one from before he went downstate?” Miah asked, looking to Abilene.
She shrugged. “Even if he did, I don’t have it anymore.”
“Vince might,” Casey said.
“Maybe.” But doubtful. The men had met in prison and spoken only during visiting hours these past few months. As unlikely as the prospect now seemed, they might just have to wait for Ware to call, or else go in search of him around town.
“One good thing,” Casey offered, “is that he didn’t appear armed, right? He ran. Didn’t pull anything on you.”
Miah nodded. “That’s true.” Maybe Ware hadn’t come with entirely malicious intent; perhaps merely with a stalker’s agenda, wanting to confirm that Abilene was indeed at the ranch. With her car in the shop, spotting her through a window would be the man’s only chance to do so. Still, no rational person could look at this situation and tell himself that stalking was the best course of action. Hell, the psycho could’ve fucking knocked.
