by Cassie Cole
“I saw the car. Wanted to make sure everything’s alright.”
I made a dismissive gesture. “He’s from the life insurance company. Everything’s fine.”
Landon must have heard something in my voice. He dismounted and said, “I’ll be right there.” He tied the horse to the porch and joined us, walking a respectable distance behind.
My legs felt numb as I led the insurance guy around the side of the house.
We stopped when we reached the back side of the brick chimney. There wasn’t much grass here, but there was a noticeable spot of brown about the size of a bag of mulch. A place where the grass had died.
The place where my dad had fallen from the roof, and where his body lay until the mail woman found him.
I stared down at the patch of brown, the only evidence anything sad had happened. I searched my emotions, waiting for the burst of grief that should come. All I felt was annoyance.
The insurance guy wasn’t looking at the ground, though: his head was tilted back to stare at the roof, and he had a clipboard in his hand. “So he fell from there?”
“That’s what I’m told.”
“Does he work on the roof often?”
“No more than any normal rancher, I’d assume.”
“Do you know why he was up there that day?”
Landon cleared his throat. “What’s with the 20 questions?”
“It’s fine,” I said, giving him a reassuring smile before turning back to the insurance guy. “He was probably replacing the shingles that fell off in the storm last week.”
He made a note on his clipboard. “You’re only assuming, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“Were any tools recovered with the body, or were any found on the roof?”
“Maybe? I don’t know. We’ve been working here a few days, so I don’t know what’s been touched. I didn’t even visit the coroner: his estate lawyer did that.”
“That’s right. You said you live in Austin.”
“Yep.”
“When was the last time you were back?”
“I don’t know. A few years.”
“So you were estranged.”
I blinked. “I’m not sure I’d say that. We weren’t close. What’s that got to do with anything?”
The lump in my throat was growing fast. Goddamnit. Why did I have to have an emotional reaction now?
“Was your father clumsy, or prone to accidents?”
Landon flinched like he’d figured something out. “I think we should go inside, take a break…”
A memory popped into my head. A memory of a story momma used to tell, because I was just a baby when it happened. They’d just brought me home from the hospital. Dad loved holding me back then, momma would say, but he was paranoid about dropping me. So he built a baby harness from spare leather in the workshop and would only accept me from momma after the harness had been strapped over his shoulders and my frail body was fastened inside.
“He wasn’t clumsy,” I said, fighting the tears that were starting to blur my vision. “He was a very careful man.”
“Cindy…” Landon warned.
The insurance guy nodded as if I’d said something profound. “I see. So, in other words, do you think—”
“STOP,” Landon shouted. “Her father’s been gone only a few days and you’re grilling her about the death. We’re going inside. You can see yourself out.”
He ushered me away with an arm around my shoulder. I don’t know why I was getting so emotional now. A few blades of brown grass, the ghost of a hint of a terrible event…
“That’s fine: my questions are concluded,” the man said behind us. “For your information, I will be filing a claim dispute for your father’s policy.”
Landon cursed under his breath. I stopped and turned around. “What does that mean?”
The insurance guy opened his passenger door, put his briefcase inside, and closed it. When he spoke, it was in the matter-of-fact tone of a robot. “Your father’s policy included a suicide clause.”
“Suicide.” The word tasted foul on my tongue.
“If a policy holder commits suicide within a specific period of time after opening the policy, our company may contest the policy and refuse to pay death benefits. In the state of Texas, that period is two years. And although your father first opened his policy with us in 1992, he changed his policy in March of last year. In effect, that policy change reset the period of contestability.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. His voice sounded far away. Hollow.
“Her father didn’t kill himself,” Landon said.
That hit home to me. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” the insurance guy said, “did you know Mr. Jameson?”
“I know this is an insane thing to spring on his daughter while she’s grieving.”
“I offered to come back at a later date. She insisted on discussing specifics today. She also told me Richard Jameson was a habitual drinker, that he had undiagnosed and unreported bipolar and depressive tendencies…”
“That’s not what I said,” I whispered. Tears flowed down my cheeks. Suicide?
The man approached Landon. “I’ve spoken with the county probate judge. The judicial foreclosure process began on this ranch two weeks prior to the policy holder’s death.” He lowered his voice, but not enough. “Look, I don’t want to be the bad guy, but I do this for a living. We investigate policy cases like this all the time. This one is as open and shut as I’ve ever seen.”
A sob forced its way out of my throat, and I finally broke down. Landon glanced back at me, anguish in his eyes.
“But it’s not all bad! When the suicide clause is enacted, the policy holder is refunded all premiums. That sum should make her happier than—”
I heard a sound like a feed bag being thrown against a wooden door. I opened my eyes in time to see the insurance guy falling backwards, and Landon finishing the follow-through of a punch.
But all I could think about was the word suicide, and the aching in my chest that refused to let go.
17
Landon
I was the responsible one.
The eldest child always had to be. Parents were flawless guardians of their firstborn, giving them all the attention—and discipline—they required. Carefully molding them into a responsible little human. My parents did a fine job with me, I knew with the benefit of hindsight.
It was always the second or third child who acted out, because by then the parents were overconfident in their ability to nurture, or they didn’t have enough time to give them the same attention as the first, or a thousand other reasons. My family was no different. Chase picked fights throughout high school, many of which were of his own making. He still lived with a chip on his shoulder. Daniel was more passive, but he had his own quirky ways of acting out. Stealing mom’s credit card to play World of Warcraft on the single library computer that had internet, and eventually creating an entire eBay business to sell in-game gold. My parents struggled with them, but never me.
It wasn’t like me to punch a guy. I didn’t plan it. It just sort of happened.
He was totally clueless. A clipboard personified, rattling off information to Cindy that was possibly true, but completely irrelevant. Information that was devastating. And no matter how many times I told him to stop, he kept prattling on, oblivious to the pain he was causing.
I hit him because it was the only way to shut him up. The only way to shield Cindy.
He fell to the ground, landing on his elbows. He was more shocked than hurt as he stared up at me. He’d probably never been punched before.
But I’d never thrown a punch, either. I cried out as pain roared like a wildfire through my hand.
“You… You hit me,” he said in confusion.
“Wishing I hadn’t,” I groaned, cradling my hand.
He picked up his glasses, which were broken in two. He tried putting them back together on his nose, as pitiful as Jacki
e Kennedy in Dallas.
“Fuck, that hurt.” I glanced at Cindy. She was sitting on the ground with her arms wrapped protectively around her body, still shaking with sobs.
The insurance asshole rose. Already the beginning of a black eye was spreading around his right socket. “All I was doing was my contractually obligated—”
“If you say another word I’ll hit you again. With my left hand.”
He hesitated, then scrambled into his car and drove away. I said a small prayer of thanks that I wouldn’t need to break my other hand.
I went to Cindy, bending down to help her up. “Let’s get you inside.”
She wiped her nose with a sleeve. “Don’t try carrying me. I’m fine. Just emotional.”
“Okay.”
“I hate girls who fucking faint at the slightest thing, and need to be carried to safety…”
I held up my hand. “I couldn’t carry you if I wanted to.”
That pulled a smile through her red cheeks and tears, though it only lasted a heartbeat. “You need some ice. And I need some tissues.”
As I went inside, still cradling my aching hand, I decided I didn’t regret a thing.
18
Cindy
I felt silly for not realizing what the insurance guy was after. All the questions, each one more intrusive. Landon had known, had tried to stop the questions before I said too much. But I’d been too busy staring at that spot of dead grass to realize.
Suicide? Dad?
My immediate reaction was that it couldn’t be true. My dad wasn’t the kind of man to take the easy way out of anything. If the ranch was going under, he would have fought to the bitter end. Even if that meant staging a sit-in at the bank. Even if it meant driving to the bank manager’s house and pounding on the door.
But that was the old dad. The one who didn’t hoard boxes of crap in his bedroom. The one who didn’t forge his daughter’s signature on a loan he couldn’t afford.
Did I really know the man who went onto the roof that day?
Once the immediate emotional reaction wore off, it didn’t bother me as much. Whether he fell by accident or on purpose ultimately didn’t matter. The man who’d never cared about me was gone, and I had his messes to clean up.
I went straight to the freezer but there was no ice machine, and the cube tray hadn’t been replaced. I grabbed the frozen bag of peas that were destined for tonight’s supper and turned around.
Landon was waiting with a roll of toilet paper in his left hand. “Couldn’t find any tissues.”
“These work fine. Trade you.”
He winced as he held the frozen bag to his right hand. I took the opportunity to discretely blow my nose.
“It hurts like hell,” he said, “but I don’t think it’s broken.”
“You sure? You’re wincing an awful lot.”
He grinned, which brightened his entire face. “Yeah, I’m just a big baby. I can already flex the joints.”
Now that the other stuff was out of the way, I thought about him. He’d reacted so protectively with the insurance guy, even before he threw a punch. You’d think it was his father that has passed rather than someone he’d never known.
I remembered the way he looked at me before hitting him. Worrying over my anguish. Desperate to shield me.
Even hissing in pain, he was an incredibly sexy man. It was obvious when I first saw him in the feed store, and was a fact I’d been trying to overlook this whole time—with the exception of our flirty whiskey last night. His jeans fit tightly, thighs that were strong. I wanted to know what the rest of him looked like under that shirt.
“You alright?” he asked.
I approached. “You sure that hand’s not broken?”
“Pretty sure. Why?”
I grabbed his head with both hands and kissed him.
It was the kind of kiss fueled by a dozen different flames. Eagerness to forget the incident with the insurance agent. Attraction for the way he tried to protect me. Lust, raw animal lust, for the way he looked right now.
My kiss was forceful enough to push him back against the kitchen wall. The phone fell off the receiver and clattered to the floor, but we didn’t care. He grabbed the back of my neck with his left hand and held me as strongly as I held him, demanding that I not let go.
He smelled like everything I ever loved about home: leather, and musky deodorant, and grass so soft you could sleep on it. He tasted like the first boy I ever kissed, free and new and exciting. I knocked his cowboy hat off his head so I could run my fingers through his curly hair, as soft and warm as his lips.
Landon’s hand moved down my back, cupping my ass without any hesitation. He squeezed me hard, feeling my flesh like a starving man, and it was all the permission I needed to reach down and do the same, taking his firm butt in both of my hands and squeezing as hard as my fingers could bear. I pulled him toward me while we kissed, feeling the hardness in his jeans against my leg.
His lips pulled away from mine, and before I could demand to know why he was stopping he looked at me with his dark cowboy eyes and said, “I want you.”
“Then take me.”
He took over, lifting me by my thighs as if his hand had never hurt at all. His tongue invaded my mouth and I surrendered willingly, dancing wetly with my own tongue while his lips pressed hard over mine, the bristles of his cheek scratching against mine just how I’d imagined they would in my dream. He carried me weightlessly to the kitchen counter and deposited me roughly on the edge, making my yelp.
He grinned down at me behind lidded eyes, then lowered himself to my neck.
I tilted my head back and moaned as he nuzzled down my neck along the tendon, tickling and soothing all at once. I was keenly aware of his crotch pressing hard against my inner legs, to the place where the jeans created an inconvenient barrier between our bodies. As if he’d read my mind his hands moved down my breasts, along my waist until finding my belt while I kicked off my boots. In a blink the buckle was open and he was unzipping me, opening me, and I raised my butt off the counter so he could slide my jeans and panties all the way off.
He paused to admire me, lust in his eyes. There was nothing in this world like watching a man see you naked for the first time, and loving what he saw.
Landon grinned mischievously at me as he lowered his face, but I grabbed a handful of hair and stopped him. “I need you,” I said. Begged.
He rose and pulled his shirt over his head while I scrambled with his belt. His chest was broad and muscular, a tan body with rippling abs and those wonderful pelvic lines narrowing as they disappeared under the waist of his jeans. As soon as I had the button undone his jeans slid down, revealing that he wore no underwear.
I bit my lip and looked up at him.
He started bending down to remove his own boots, but I hissed, “no time,” at him and pulled his lips back down to mine, shoving my tongue back into his mouth to dance with his. I moaned as the tip of his cock pressed against my wet entrance, sliding up and down, taking too fucking long. I grabbed his tight little butt with both hands and pulled him into me, taking the tip and every inch of his shaft all at once.
God, it felt good to be filled like that. There was the slightest bit of pain but it was washed away by the overwhelming pleasure of having every part of my inner wall rubbed, that wonderful internal friction. I opened my mouth to cry out but it was drowned by his roar, a deep sound that rumbled from his chest and escaped loudly. I drank the expression on his face: surprise, and even shock. I wrapped my legs around his waist and held him inside me, savoring the moment of first joining, wishing it could go on forever.
But soon it wasn’t enough. I loosened my legs and rocked my hips, moving back and forth on him a few precious millimeters, then an inch. He took over then, his entire body roiling as he pulled back and then thrust inside, filling me to the brim again.
“Oh fuck,” he groaned as he found a good rhythm.
I ran my hands over his arms and chest, feeling h
ow solid he was while he fucked me. Biceps and triceps taught with effort; a chest glistening in a sweaty sheen. Each thrust felt better than the last, and I wanted to kiss him again but his hand was squeezing my breast, holding me down with passion into the cool tile of the counter while I moaned and moaned.
Soon his love strokes grew faster and more instinctive; I could feel the animal within him taking over. I coaxed it out of him with my own cries of pleasure. Landon stood up straight and grabbed my waist with both hands, holding me tight while fucking the ever-loving shit out of me. Each powerful thrust shook my entire body and sent jolts of pleasure into my clit, a jackhammering that quickly shut my eyes closed with intense ecstasy.
He screamed my name as he came, and I tried to scream his but I was too overwhelmed by my climax to hear my own voice as it went on, and on, and on.
19
Cindy
“So,” Landon said casually. “You come here often?”
We’d fallen to the kitchen floor with exhaustion: Landon flat on his back with me on top of him, head resting under his chin. His question made me laugh.
“You’re supposed to ask that before sleeping with a girl,” I said. “Also, I do come here often. It’s my ranch.”
“Oh, right. I forgot.”
“Silly, forgetful cowboy,” I murmured into his hard chest.
“Umm. I’m not good at this kind of chit-chat.”
“Nobody is.”
He traced a finger along my thigh and along my pelvic bone. “What do you do in Austin?”
“Lots of stuff.”
“I mean for a living. Your job.”
“I’m a cryptocurrency financial adviser for the First Bank of Austin, primarily dealing with large cap or business portfolios.”
“Hey, I know some of those words.”
“I’m a financial adviser,” I explained. “I help people invest their money. My clients are typically large corporations, or individuals with significant wealth.”
“But what was that crypto-part?”
