by Jane Jamison
She sighed and, for the hundredth time, checked the trail that the group would use to come back to the barn. Where were they? She glanced at the clock on her nightstand. The trail riders should’ve returned hours ago even if they’d had a problem. And, judging from what she’d heard, they’d had a problem.
Holding her breath, she listened to her father’s booming voice as he answered the phone in his large downstairs study that was filled with several bookcases and a huge mahogany desk. After getting the first call earlier, he’d grown louder and angrier with each successive call. Whatever had happened was big and very wrong, and her father didn’t like things going wrong.
She’d seen the riders before they’d left when she’d arrived home with the friend who had given her a ride from Denver International Airport. She’d sat in Cally’s car, pretending to listen to whatever her friend was saying, but every fiber of her being was fixed on the three luscious men who hadn’t been working at the ranch before she’d gone to visit her mother. They hadn’t seen her watching them, but that was how she’d wanted it.
Still, now that she’d had time to think about it, she’d swear she’d actually felt their presence before shifting in her car seat and seeing them. Wasn’t that crazy? How could she have sensed them? Yet, as silly as it sounded, she couldn’t shake the impression that she had. She’d simply known they were there.
Maybe it was just that they were so damn sexy. They were hotter than any men she’d ever seen—in and out of the movies she loved to watch—and she’d found her pussy warming with desire. Until that moment, she hadn’t believed anyone could get so turned on just by being near the object of their lust. But she had. In fact, she’d had to keep herself from throwing her body at them, falling to her knees, and drooling on their feet.
Instead, she’d gotten out of the car, grabbing her suitcase and ducking into the house just as they’d turned her way. Later she’d wished she’d seen their expressions. Had they sensed her presence, too?
She puffed out a breath filled with derision. Why did she keep coming back to that stupid notion? It was ridiculous, of course. People couldn’t sense each other. Yet how many of the old black-and-white movies had the lovers searching for something, someone in a crowded room, then at last having their eyes meet? And once they did, they just knew.
Tatum could hear her mother’s voice. “Get over your ridiculous dreams of a handsome husband. Real love doesn’t exist, and especially not for girls that look like you. You need to focus your attention on getting a nice, average match. Think about his wallet and not what he has between his ears or his legs. You don’t have to love a man to let him support you. Remember, you’re not getting any younger or better looking.”
She glanced at her reflection in the mirror across the room and adjusted her glasses. Her mother was right, of course, but did she have to tell her every time she visited? She often felt like her mother was a throwback to the 1950s, when women rarely worked outside the home and men were in complete charge, especially in the home.
But it was something else. Sometimes she wondered if her mother didn’t even like her.
Closing her eyes and blocking out her image, she let her mind drift back to the men. Carefully, so her father wouldn’t get suspicious, she’d asked who they were. Her father had uttered their names as though they were no different than any other new hires.
She whispered their names. Marc Shelton. Hank Shelton. Adam Shelton. Even their names are hot.
Marc Shelton was the oldest of the three brothers. He’d held himself taller, straighter than his brothers, as though he knew he was born to lead. His dark, shoulder-length hair had blown in the air, making her fingers itch to touch the silky strands. He was at least as tall as her father, who stood six feet, and his nose was slightly crooked. But that flaw only seemed to make him even sexier. His body was hard and lean, and his muscles had rippled under his denim shirt as he’d thrown a saddle on top of his mount. She’d yearned to ask her father what color his eyes were, but she knew her father would’ve thought her crazy. Besides, he wouldn’t have noticed anyway.
Marc’s brother, Adam, smiled more than he did. He was just as tall, but he had an easier stance about him. He’d slapped Marc on the shoulder, and his laughter had drifted to her. His hair was short, a lighter brown than his brothers’, with golden streaks at the tips as though a goddess had skimmed her fingers over his locks. Although younger, his body was just as hard and as lean as Marc’s.
Then there was the youngest brother, Hank. She hadn’t been sure, but he appeared to be shorter than his brothers with a stockier build. He laughed a lot and made others around him laugh, too. He wore his hair like Marc’s, and when he’d stopped and stared at the house—at her?—not once but twice, she’d almost fainted.
When had she started acting like a lovesick schoolgirl? The answer was easy enough. She never had. Not even in high school when her friends had gone bonkers over the captain of the football team. Yet, even though she knew she was acting like a young girl with a crazy crush, she couldn’t help it. They made her dizzy just watching them.
She sighed and let the daydream she’d had for the past few hours start again. Before today she’d dreamed of a handsome man who would sweep her into bed and ravish her. But now the fantasy had taken on a life of its own. Having three men take her made the daydream more exciting, more alluring, more…everything.
She hugged herself, pretending that her hands were theirs. Sliding her palms along the sides of her breasts, she eased one hand between her legs and fondled her breast with the other.
What would Marc do if he was between her legs? She pushed her hand lower to pull the skirt of her sundress higher. Leaning against the cushion of the window seat, she eased her fingers under the lace trim of her panties, pretending that it wasn’t her hand but Marc’s. Her mouth parted as she—no, as he—found the folds of her pussy. Would he continue? Or would he put his mouth where his hand was?
She spread her legs, welcoming either choice. Gliding her finger between her folds, she found her clit and started massaging the already-aching bundle of nerves. She arched her back and pinched her nipple through the thin material. Quickening her movements, she rubbed, going harder and harder over her clit. Would Adam take her tit into his mouth? If he did, would Hank take the other? She could imagine them, their teeth nibbling at her peaked nipples as their brother sank his fingers into her cunt.
Would they talk dirty to her? Would they like it if she talked dirty to them? She flicked her tongue over her lips. What would she say?
Pump your cocks, guys. I want you big and dripping with pre-cum.
She could see their enormous cocks glistening with their juices.
That’s it, Marc. Watch me play with my clit. Tell me how much you want me.
Marc growled and worked his cock harder.
Ooh, yeah. Hank, do you want to shove your dick into my asshole? Do it at the same time Marc fucks my pussy. But don’t worry, Adam. I’ll drag every ounce of your seed out of your cock.
Lust whipped through her as her imagination grew wilder.
Adam, give your cock to me and let your brother suck on my pussy. That’s good, Marc. Add your fingers to my pussy as you nibble on my clit. Fuck my ass, Hank. Harder.
She slitted her eyes and pretended she could see Adam offering his cock for her to suck and Hank reaching around to fondle her breasts as he plunged deep into her butt. Letting her legs fall wider, she could hear Marc lapping up her juices.
Her orgasm broke free, surprising her in both its sudden arrival and its intensity. She clutched her breast and held on to the fantasy as the waves of release rolled out of her.
Her body trembled, bringing her back to the here and now. Was that what real sex could be like? Other than the furtive attempts a few college geeks and her on-again, off-again boyfriend Roger Dillingham had made in college, she’d never had sex that was better than her fantasies. And definitely not as good as the fantasy with the Shelton brothers.
/> She wasn’t a virgin, but she’d never experienced a climax except for the ones she gave herself. Roger had, in fact, told her that she was cold and unresponsive. When she was truthful and told him that she hadn’t had a climax without using a vibrator or her hand, he started putting her down whenever he could. She’d told her mother about his verbal abuse, but her mother had chastised her, claiming that she’d better appreciate the fact that anyone of Roger Dillingham’s social station would bother to give her the time of day. At last, she’d challenged him on it in a rare show of self-esteem, and he’d called her frigid. If her roommate, Melinda, hadn’t forced her to dump him, she’d probably have ended up marrying the creep to make her mother happy. Her mother had gone ballistic when she’d found out that she’d broken up with him. Even now, a year later, she could still hear his taunts.
“You’re a frigid bitch. No real man’s going to want your cold cunt.” That was the last thing he’d ever said to her. Truth was she was proud of herself for ditching him even if she’d had to suffer through an entire summer of her mother’s relentless nagging to call him and beg him to take her back. But she’d held out, refusing her mother one of the few times she could remember. Yet although she hadn’t felt one moment of remorse for breaking up with Roger, she hadn’t shaken the awful words he’d used against her.
Was she frigid? If she let the Shelton brothers take her, would they give her an orgasm? Maybe more than one? Or was she the reason she couldn’t reach an orgasm? If she couldn’t achieve an orgasm with them, then there had to be something wrong with her, just as Roger had claimed.
Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of a horse’s whinny, and she opened her eyes and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Were they finally back? She held her breath and hoped she’d hear another sound that would signal their arrival. The echo of another horse nickering brought her to a standing position.
She pulled the curtain in front of her and waited for the riders to appear around the bend in the road. When they did, her pulse quickened.
They’re back.
Without thinking, she bolted toward the door and flung it open. Taking the stairs as fast as she could, she stopped on the last step and waited for her father to emerge from his study.
Oh, shit.
She’d known he was angry, but judging from his black expression he was more than simply upset. He was furious.
She hung back, not wanting to get in his way as he strode to the front door and out onto the porch. Following him as quietly as she could, she took a place behind and to the side of him. He glanced at her once then returned his attention to the riders bringing their mounts to the stable several yards away from the main house. A bunkhouse for the ranch hands stood behind the large barn while the guests’ cabins were spread out in a semicircle farther away, giving the guests privacy while still being accessible to the ranch’s staff. The ranch’s clientele enjoyed the feel of the Western life but didn’t want to forgo the amenities of modern life.
She edged down the porch and took a position next to the swing. From there she could see her father’s face and yet be far enough away not to get swept up in his anger. Her father waited, adopting what she knew was his I’m-going-to-make-the-customers-happy face. He’d let the staff take care of the horses first. Just having him standing on the porch in that position was a sign that everyone knew meant he was waiting for the unlucky employee to come and speak with him.
The first one to approach her father was a guest. His clouded expression showed how upset the man was, and she knew he was going to complain. The girl he dragged along with him kept her head down, but her body language said it all. She wanted to be anywhere other than with that man. Tatum’s heart went out to the frail woman.
“I demand to see the owner.”
The employee everyone called Cookie because he took care of making most of the meals came up behind the man. Her heart skipped a beat when the three sexy brothers came to stand next to Cookie.
“That would be me. I’m Roy Griffin, and your name is…” Her father inclined his head to the man as if in deference, but she knew her father wouldn’t kowtow to anyone. He stayed on the porch, putting his body higher than the guest and, thus, using body language to assert his dominance.
“My name’s Doug Harmon, and I’m going to sue this place for defamation of character. Plus, I’m going to have one of your employees thrown in jail for assault, and I’m holding you personally responsible for hiring him. You need to call the authorities.” Doug pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and thrust it at the woman. “If someone hadn’t let my cell phone battery die, I would’ve already called them.”
“What seems to be the problem, Mr. Harmon?” Her father’s voice was level and calm, but she could hear the hard edge to it. She noticed that her father didn’t bother telling the man that cell phone reception was hit and miss at the ranch.
Doug turned to point at Marc Shelton. “This man attacked me.”
Marc sneered at him. “That’s not the whole story.”
Her father didn’t even glance at Marc. “Would you please tell me exactly what happened, Mr. Harmon?”
She held her breath. Her father’s repeated use of Mr. Harmon’s name meant he was having a hard time keeping his ire in check. She bit her lip, worrying for Marc. Marc held his head high and his body rigid. His brothers stood next to him, silently supporting him.
“I was having lunch with my girlfriend when this asshole decided to interfere. He attacked me, pushing me to the ground.” He held his arm up, showing his torn shirt and the scrapes along his forearm. “He not only tore my shirt but injured me as well. I can’t wait for my lawyer to get hold of this case. He’s going to turn Cool Waters Dude Ranch into Deep In Shit Ranch once I’m through.”
“Again, not the whole story.” Marc didn’t raise his voice like the man had. Instead, he kept it as steady and as level as her father’s. “I admit I knocked him to the ground. But that was after he struck Stacy Willum, his girlfriend. I don’t know about you, Mr. Griffin, but I don’t stand idly by when a man hits a woman.”
Her father’s eyebrows dipped between his eyes. “Is that true, Miss Willum? Did Mr. Harmon hit you?”
Doug turned to his girlfriend. “Tell him. Tell him how this animal jumped me.”
Hell and damnation, she’s literally shaking in her shoes. Tatum forgot about the men debating what had happened and focused on Stacy. The girl, who wasn’t much younger than she, looked like she was about to faint.
“Stacy, tell him.” The threat in Doug’s voice was all too apparent.
His girlfriend raised her head and met Tatum’s gaze. In that split second before the girl took her attention to first Doug then Tatum’s father, Tatum felt a kinship born of abuse and knew she had to help her.
Doug tugged on her arm and pulled her toward him. Her body shook even harder.
“Doug’s telling the truth.” She twisted her head around, looked at the astonished Marc, then dropped her chin to her chest. Her answer came out in a whisper Tatum had to strain to hear. “He pushed Doug.”
Adam took a step forward before stopping at her father’s glare. “That’s a lie. Ask any of the other guests. This jerk slapped her, and my brother came to her aid. When he hit her again, Marc did the only thing he could do. He put him on the ground.”
Doug’s face grew fire-engine red. “See? He confirmed it. He hit me first. I didn’t touch him.”
Her father came down the steps to stand in front of Doug. “Then you’re not denying that you struck your girlfriend?”
Gone was her father’s sign of respect by calling Doug “Mr. Harmon.” If the man had any wits about him, he’d notice and realize her father was quickly losing patience.
Doug appeared flustered. “It was a private disagreement. He had no right to interfere.”
Her father remained quiet for a minute before finally turning to Cookie. “Are any of the other guests willing to corroborate either of the men’s stories?”
Cookie’s unhappy expression said it all. “No, sir. I don’t think they want to get involved. None of my men saw anything except Marc standing over Mr. Harmon. We didn’t see what happened right before that. Still, if Marc says that’s what happened, then that’s what happened.”
Good for you, Cookie!
Her father threw back his shoulders and faced Doug again. “I think we have a situation of differing opinions. It’s yours and your girlfriend’s word against Marc’s and Adam’s. However, I don’t condone any member of my staff ever touching a guest in a violent manner for any reason. If you’ll allow me to take care of all your accommodations and expenses for the entire length of your stay, to reimburse you for the price of your shirt, and to send my private physician to see about your arm, then perhaps we can chalk this event up to a misunderstanding. I don’t see the benefit in either one of us bringing in lawyers, much less taking the time and expense of a legal case. Not when we can come to an understanding as two reasonable men.”
“But he needs to get what he deserves.” Doug shook his head. “No. A free stay isn’t enough. I demand that he be punished. Either by you or by the police, as long as he gets what’s coming to him.”
Her father drew in a long, slow breath. “Trust me on this. He will receive proper punishment. Now, can we put this matter behind us?”
Doug scowled, his unhappiness easing a little. “Fine. But if he or any of the others threaten me or my girl again, I’m going to sue you for every penny you’ve got.” Snagging Stacy’s arm, he turned, sneered at Marc, then stalked toward the guest cabins.
