Wild: A Small Town Romance (Love in Lone Star Book 2)

by Ashley Bostock

  The second fire that week was on a Tuesday and happened just two blocks south of the Hesslinks and those homeowners Randall and Emily Collins, had not been home when the fire occurred either. Both had been at work and their two children, Emmalee and Randy, had fortunately been at school. The fire had started in the garage, where full gasoline cans had acted as an accelerant and the entire house had quickly gone up in flames. No one had been hurt and the fire was cited for wiring issues as the house had been built in 1938 and hadn’t any electrical updates.

  “What the hell?” I muttered. Flipping to the third page I printed out, that fire happened on a Friday. It was on the opposite side of town away from the Hesslinks and Collins houses, but had acted in a similar manner. The fire department believed the propane tank from the grill was left on and a spark from the nearby electrical panel caused the house to burst into flames. With the explosion of the propane tank and it being situated near the kitchen of the home, most of the damage occurred to all of the upstairs bedrooms, making the house inhabitable.

  Did this mean anything? Was it all purely coincidental? It had to be. I hadn’t heard from the fire marshal about what happened at my place and I wanted to know more now than ever. Because what if…what if it wasn’t accidental? What if someone intentionally set fire to my home? That stirred up a ruckus in me. Who the hell would do that? Why?

  Finding the number to the fire marshal, I left a message asking about my situation and if he could please call Thatcher’s cell phone or the newspaper as soon as he came to a conclusion. Maybe this new fire would further complicate what they thought they found at my place. Who knew?

  After that startling find, work went by rather slowly and I all but flew out the door when Thatcher’s black truck pulled up to the curb.

  “Howdy, ma’am,” he greeted me as he helped me shove all of the bags into the back seat of his truck.

  “Howdy to you. Thanks for picking me up. Actually, thanks for everything. Letting us stay, the clothes, the ride to-”

  “Abigail, stop. You are welcome. You don’t have to keep thanking me. I’ve got other ideas for that.” He winked, his mouth turning up in a grin that caused my lady parts to sigh.

  “I bet you do. Did you hear about the Underwood’s house?”

  “Sure did. You know nothing can be kept quiet in this town. Farmer Ted told me about it.”

  “I just can’t believe another house caught fire so quickly.”

  “What are the odds?”

  “Actually, I pulled up an article about that and maybe my brain’s just going crazy, but five years ago there were three houses that were demolished due to fires.”

  “That so?” he cocked his head.

  “Yes. All within a week’s time. One happened on a Sunday, a Tuesday and a Friday. Thankfully, no one was hurt. Well, except a cat in one but no humans.”

  “Are you thinking these were all set intentionally?”

  I looked at my window as the blur of houses turned into wide open fields as we made our way to his house.

  “I don’t know what to think. The articles don’t mention anything other than them being accidents. The last article, the fire that happened on a Friday, merely mentions the other two homes burning and how in a town as old as Lone Star, it’s no real surprise things like that happened.”

  “Still seems a bit too much.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  He parked the truck and helped me with all the packages as we went inside.

  “What are we going to do about it?”

  We? “I don’t know. I’m just being silly I’m sure. I called the fire marshal but still haven’t heard a darn thing about my place.”

  “He’ll call as soon as he finds something out.”

  “I know. It’s just nerve-wracking. The waiting and wondering. Now, I find this and that adds to the suspense.”

  “It’ll all get settled soon enough.”

  He carried my bags up to my room and I followed pretending not to admire his muscular butt as it flexed above me with each step he took.

  “I hope,” I muttered. “Let me change and then we can do date night.” I pushed him out of the room and shut the door, leaning against it as I fretted about tonight.

  Finding a cute red halter top Grace had purchased in one of the bags, I pulled it on and eyed myself in the bathroom mirror. Wow. I did look good. The cloth was soft and smooth against my skin. I don’t know how much something like this cost, but it was much too expensive for me. If it wasn’t clearance or garage sale, I didn’t buy it. The tag had been cleverly ripped off.

  Looking at my reflection, my untamed hair that couldn’t decide if it wanted to be blonde or red and this amazingly soft blouse that clung to my breasts and tied around my neck reminding me of a fifties model in a swimsuit photo, I felt refreshed and whole. Better than I’d felt in a long time.

  I took off my glasses and quickly swiped my bottom lip with some lip gloss that I’d managed to scrounge from the drugstore this morning, along with a few other necessities and made my way down to the kitchen. The anticipation of what we might be doing tonight was driving me crazy. I couldn’t stand the torture, about ready to jump out of my skin.

  “Thatcher?” I called.

  When I didn’t get an answer, I headed into the kitchen. That is when I saw him standing in the backyard. He’d foregone his t-shirt, his blue jeans riding low on his hips. If I had my phone, I’d snap a photo to commit this image into the books. His chiseled arms, flat stomach and the hair, oh my goodness, the hair on that man! It sparsely covered his chest, trailing itself into a thin line down the middle of his abs, disappearing into his jeans. My cheeks burned at the idea of seeing where that trail of hair ended up. How that looked. His chest glistened with moisture from the heat and humidity as he wrestled with an inflatable kiddie pool.

  Why hadn’t I fought harder for him back then? When you love someone as much as I did him, you would think a person would put up more of a fight. But I didn’t. I just let him go. I took his word for it that he wasn’t ready for a future with me. With our son. I’d been so hurt and angry at him that I had no will to fight for what I wanted. I simply let him go. Never seeking answers about what he wanted. Why he did what he did.

  Watching him fill the inflatable pool with blankets and pillows – still not comprehending what he was doing – I struggled with the idea that he’d changed. It takes a lot of change to run from a family to wanting a family and I wasn’t sure Thatcher had made that change. He said he had. But I’d believed in him before and look what happened.

  Enough’s enough. I pushed away the negative thoughts, wanting to enjoy a great evening with him. This wasn’t a lifetime commitment. We weren’t doing anything that constituted a relationship by any means. Just go with the flow, Abby.

  I stepped out onto the patio, bending down to pick Spider-Man up on my way toward Thatcher.

  “What are you making?” I asked, not looking at his nakedness. Far away was amazing. Up close was pure torture.

  “A reading spot,” he responded matter-of-factly.

  I eyed the set-up warily. Wouldn’t be the worst spot. “For who?” I asked.

  He stopped whipping one of the blankets in the air long enough to answer, “for us.”

  “For us? We’re going to spend our evening reading?” Was this exciting? I’d never read with a man lying next to me. Adrian was never interested in reading and when I read, he’d either already gone to sleep or wasn’t home. To have a hot-blooded man next to me, each reading our own book, well, I don’t know if I would be able to concentrate.

  “Not our entire evening, Cupcake. Just a little while. I plan to keep you awake all night with…stuff.”

  My stomach damn near floated away at that. “What kind of stuff?”

  “You’ll see soon enough, Abigail.” Finished with his reading spot, which I did want to test out, he smacked his hands together. “Dinner. You hungry?”

  “Yes. But I’m making dinner for us. Do yo
u like lasagna?”

  He followed me back into the house and I deposited Spider-Man back into his habitat. Once I washed my hands, I began fumbling through his cupboards looking for the ingredients I would need to make dinner. Thatcher leaned against the sink watching me as I began to work.

  “I didn’t tell you outside, but you look sexy as fuck in that get-up.”

  “Thank your sister. I’m not used to these kinds of clothes.”

  “Why not?”

  I shrugged, “I can’t see spending a lot of money on things like this. Clothes, toys – things that get old far too quickly.”

  “You look as good as you do now, I’d have to disagree with that sentiment.” He’d moved behind me, almost pressing into my backside as I readied dinner. “You look good enough to eat, Abigail.”

  His lips skimmed along the crease of my ear and he shifted forward, his solid body pressing heavily into mine with his manhood snug against my butt; he pulled a glass from the cabinet above me.

  “Just saying,” he whispered into my ear again. The tingles in my body were trying to convince me to turn around and capture him but just like that, he was gone.

  “I can’t stand here and not help, what do you want me to do?”

  “You could make a salad,” I suggested even though my mind was coming up with all of these other delicious things he could do. To me.

  It went on like this for a while – he and I comfortable in the confinement of the kitchen, sharing each other’s space. Adrian and I always respected each other’s space. Every now and then, he’d make dinner or I would but we never did it together. There was always a respectable, mutual line drawn between us two that divided us. It was that thin line of love and Adrian and I were never in love with one another so that line was never crossed.

  Thatcher, though, it was as if we understood each other. Knew where to stop and start – where I began and he ended and this past day, it sort of felt like there was no end. Our line just merely ran from him to me and back again.

  “Thank you for making dinner,” he said to me, once he’d gone back for seconds.

  “Thank you for the clothes and the place to stay. Temporarily,” I felt the need to add.

  “No problem. You ready for the next part of our date?”

  “Does it involve our reading spot?”

  “Not yet, cupcake. We have so much more to do before then.”

  “Like what?”

  The corner of his mouth turned up, “It’s a surprise.”

  I raised my eyebrows at him, “How can it be a surprise when I’m right here with you?”

  “Finish eating and we’ll head out.”

  “Fine.”

  We finished our meal in silence and I helped him clean up the kitchen. Our bodies brushed against each other as I washed the dishes and he rinsed and I was so foolish because I didn’t realize how much I was missing being married to a man I wasn’t attracted to and in love with. I was repeatedly mentally kicking myself over and over for my desperation of not wanting to be a knocked up single mother. It was a choice I made at the time, I couldn’t go back.

  There was no reason to be dwelling on that now. It’s just this idea of a real attraction with a man who was equally attracted to me, it was fresh and exciting.

  I flinched as he flicked water into my face.

  “What was that for?”

  “What are you day-dreaming about?” he asked in a rough voice.

  “Oh nothing.”

  “Tell me or I’ll do it again.”

  “No,” My heartbeat sped up at the thought of telling him the truth. That I wanted him so badly I ached with it. Even when my mind didn’t completely trust him.

  More water sprinkled my face.

  “Tell me.”

  “Get out of here!” I cried. I pulled my hand out of the water and flicked as much water as I could into his face. Which was a lot. It dripped down his mouth and stubble and the collar of his shirt was partially wet.

  “You’re asking for it now,” he grumbled.

  I shrieked and tore out of the kitchen with Thatcher hot on my heels water dripping from my hands. I ran toward the stairs hoping I could make it to the sanctuary of my room but I was no match for him. His wet hands slid around my waist, taking me down along the stairs and I turned into him as he stumbled on to me.

  “What were you thinking about?” his wet hands began tickling my sides as I thrashed against him, trying to get away.

  “I’m not telling,” I managed between laughs.

  His hands were all over me, tickling the skin along my ribs and the insides of my thighs. He was large, overpowering me with his body as he tortured me with his fingers. I squirmed and struggled, still trying to get away when suddenly his thick thigh intruded between my legs, pushing up against my sex and his hot mouth was over my nipple biting into the red cloth. I arched into him, my almost-dry hand tugging his head into my bosom so I could revel in the feel of him a moment longer.

  I rubbed shamelessly against his thigh set between my legs while his reverent mouth sucked and bit into my breast. The position was perfect enough that I could have an orgasm any moment. I had no shame. Only desire. Aching desire for this man, a man I hadn’t had in such a long damn time. His teeth bit into my nipple, tonguing me through my top and before I knew it…

  “You’re making me come,” I whimpered.

  He didn’t speak, just pressed his thigh into me a little harder allowing me the chance to ride my orgasm through. He pulled away, a savage, hungry look in his eyes as he glanced about my body. His lips glistened as his tongue darted out and swiped at his bottom lip. His breathing was heavy as was mine, remnants of my unexpected orgasm. Oh, my God. My first real orgasm given to me by a man and not myself – not my toy – in five long and lonely years and neither of us were even naked. My cheeks heated at what I’d just done. At how desperate I must look to him sprawled out on the stairs like this.

  His hand came down to the bulge in his pants and he blatantly adjusted himself as I watched, turning my desperation even further into need.

  “You look like a fucking Goddess right now. Don’t be embarrassed,” he whispered before standing and pulling me to my feet with him. “Your wild eyes are fucking killing me. My cock…”

  I looked down at the large bulge in his jeans and saw the wet spot on my shirt and it was hard not to be embarrassed by what I’d just done. What I’d let him do. About how desperate I was. How insane I probably seemed to him.

  “I wasn’t imagining that we would do this tonight.”

  “We’re not,” he replied.

  We’re not? Hurt weaved through my heart at his confirmation, even though it’d been my thought to begin with. Did he not want to do…some of what we’d just done?

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Let’s go.” He stalked off and after releasing a deep breath, I followed behind. What got up his butt?

  “Where are we going?” I asked, following him outside.

  “For a ride.”

  He collected a large bag from his garage and two black motorcycle helmets.

  “Put this on,” he demanded, his voice still tight with anger. Disgust, maybe? I didn’t know what his issue was and that irritated me.

  “No.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “No. Not until you tell me what the hell just happened. I thought,” my voice trailed, “I thought you wanted to kiss me?”

  “I didn’t just kiss you.” He dropped the bag on the four-wheeler and folded his arms across his chest causing the muscles in his forearms to flex.

  “I know. I meant, well, not kiss me, per se, but you know, what just happened inside. You’re acting like you’re mad at me.”

  His dimples came out in full force as he grinned. He found me amusing. Perfect.

  “What happened in there Abigail? Say it.”

  I swallowed, the spot between my thighs still throbbing, still begging for more.

  “Hmmm, Abby?”

  “The ni
pple biting.”

  “Nipple biting,” his eyes darted to my uncomfortably hard nipples, “and the what?”

  Why did nipple biting sound so good coming out of his mouth? That slow, definitive drawl that matched the movement in his eyes, had me upside down. His gaze drifted over all of me like the tunes of a slow country song. I was upside down and annoyed.

  “You want to hear it? I thought you were the dirty talker? Fine. The unexpected orgasm, okay? You’re acting angry.”

  “I’m far from angry. I’m tormented.”

  “Tormented?”

  “It’s no fucking secret that I want you Abigail. I hadn’t planned on that tonight. That, Christ, that was not my intention. But I liked it. More than liked it. You saw my cock, how hard you made me. Adrian never gave you an orgasm. So, by my calculations its been about four years and seven months, roughly. In fact, I can remember it down to the day. We had sex at that little apartment I rented on Fourth Street. We’d just come back from watching The Hunger Games at the movie theatre.”

  I swallowed because those were the good days. And I remembered. And he remembered. I couldn’t believe he remembered that. It stuck in my throat right now because he ruined us after that. Not much later, I found out I was pregnant.

  “I see you remember, too. Anyway, it was a good idea to stop just now. I could think of better ways to give you an orgasm. Let’s just leave it at that.” He backed away, giving me some breathing space.

  “Oh and one more thing. I am the dirty talker. When the time is right, I’m going to talk dirty to you all night long. Because you will sleep with me, Abigail. It’s only a matter of time.”

  I rolled my eyes at his cockiness. Dang it. He was right. I didn’t trust that the man was ready for a family but I trusted his bedroom skills and I couldn’t lie to myself that I didn’t want to experience any of that.

  Again.

  Soon.

  He knew it, too.

  “What’s the helmet for?” I asked, changing topics entirely.

  “We’re going four-wheeling. Come on.”

  Not too long after our frank discussion on sexual intent, Thatcher and I were flying through the river bed near Pepper Ridge, me holding on for dear life on the back of his ATV. We’d thrown on a few articles of clothing in addition to our motorcycle helmets Thatcher insisted were necessary for safe off-roading. My long sleeves and pants were a little large over my clothes, but I wasn’t about to be stabbed or scratched by a tree branch with the way he was driving.