by Reece Butler
“Doc brought her in from somewhere,” said Simon. “She lost her home so needs a place to stay for a couple weeks. She’s not from around here.”
Donny winced. “Dang, I told her Aggie was sleeping with Keith. You think she knows about us ranchers sharing a wife?” Donny exhaled and answered his own question. “Guess it doesn’t matter. She’ll get used to it or have a hissy fit and leave.”
“Maybe she’ll enjoy it.” The words slipped out before he thought. It must be the aftereffects of those painkillers they shot him with.
Donny gave him a calculating look, but changed subject. “What happened to her home? Bank foreclosed on her?”
“Nope. It burned to the ground with everything in it. I figure she’ll move on in a bit.” He was going to say “once her face heals” but wasn’t going to bring attention to it.
“Dang, that’s tough, to lose your home.” Donny inhaled deeply. “You sure she’ll move on? We’re still hoping you and Lance will find yourself a wife. You guys both love kids. Sure be a waste if you two never had any of your own.” He tilted his head toward the porch. “That woman’s got a way with babies. Went for Sophie right off. Dang near pulled her out of my arms and already she’s got my princess sleeping. That’s the type of wife you want.” He snickered. “And I saw you checking her ass.”
It wasn’t just Marci’s butt that Simon had checked out. She was pretty, though she could use a bit more weight to round out her curves. Her jeans snuggled a tight little ass that he wouldn’t mind kissing for an hour or two. How the hell was he going to have her around and not be hard all the time?
“She must be half my age,” grumbled Simon. “She wouldn’t want anything to do with an old rancher like me. And look at what she’s wearing on her feet. Tennis shoes when she should have boots. Totally impractical for a ranch.” He shook his head. “Nah, she won’t last.” He shifted on the seat. “Plus she’s pretty, and from a big city out East. You know that type of woman can’t be trusted.”
Marci stepped off the porch, heading for them. Donny straightened up as soon as he noticed her. A tender smile appeared.
“You have no idea how much I appreciate this, ma’am,” he said quietly. “I’d better put my princess to bed. I don’t know what you did, but you can visit anytime you like.” He held out huge hands. “Come to Daddy, sweetheart.”
“Why don’t you let me try to put her down,” said Marci.
Donny raised his eyebrows in question. “You sure?” He looked relieved when she nodded. “We’ve got an appointment at the clinic tomorrow for her six-week checkup. Might find out what’s bothering her then.”
“Who’s taking the other three?” asked Simon. He didn’t like being kept out of their discussion. And he didn’t like that Donny knew it.
“The cousins are busy and Keith can’t take them along to fix that well pump. Me and Aggie will just have to bring them all to the clinic.” He turned to Marci. “Florrie’s not much trouble since she’s almost six. But the boys are two and not quite four. They don’t like sitting still.”
“They’ll sit all day on a horse if you go fast enough,” corrected Simon.
“Why don’t you bring them over? I can take care of them.” Marci turned to Simon. “Unless Mr. Crankypants has an objection?”
“Who’re you calling—”
“Shh!” said Donny and Marci and the same time. Simon snapped his mouth shut.
“I’ve never been to Mr. MacDougal’s home,” she added hesitantly. “Perhaps the cabin isn’t safe for children.”
“Cabin’s fine,” snapped Simon. “Lance and I have them over all the time.” Having three loud children for a few hours would distract him from the sexy woman standing too near who smelled of vanilla, chocolate, and peppermint. He bet if he got real close to her he’d smell something even sweeter.
“Come on in. We’ll see if your magic touch can get my little princess to sleep.”
“Whoa,” said Simon. “Don’t leave before I kiss Sophie good-night.”
Instead of disturbing the sleeping baby, Simon ran the back of his bent finger against her soft, rounded cheek. He might grouch about them, pretending to be a crotchety old bachelor, but he felt every child was a miracle. The grouchiness was because he always had to give them back.
He waited impatiently in the truck. The plaster covering his leg was heavy and damp, which meant it was cold. He could ignore that but the memory of the brownies he’d left in Donny’s truck drove him wild. He couldn’t maneuver the crutches and carry the tin at the same time. He sure wasn’t going to ask Donny to fetch it because it would be gone like snow in a spring rain.
He sat up when she came out, but she ignored him and headed to the other truck. She reached in and took out the tin. But instead of heading his way, she went back into the house. He couldn’t yell as he might wake Sophie again.
She damn near skipped as she crossed the dirt yard toward him.
“You didn’t have to give them my brownies,” he complained as soon as she creaked open the driver’s door.
She glared up at him. “They were my brownies, Mr. Crankypants. I can give them to anyone I want.”
He grumbled and looked out the side window to hide a grin. He liked a woman that gave as good as she got. She climbed in and closed the door. It was old and heavy, so she had to do it again, this time with more force. He winced. This truck had shared a good chunk of his life. They understood each other. No one other than Lance had driven her and Simon had never sat in the passenger seat before. If anyone saw him letting a woman drive, he’d be the laughingstock of Climax.
But she was a city gal, so did she even know how to drive—
“Oh, my,” she suddenly gasped. “There’s three pedals but I only have two feet. And what’s this thing?” She curled her fingers around the floor-mounted gear shift and rattled it.
His horror mounted. “Oh, hell, of course you can’t drive a stick. We have to take Donny’s truck.”
“Don’t worry,” she said a bit too enthusiastically,” I’ll figure it out.” She stuck the key in, jammed her feet on the brake and clutch, and turned the key. He reached to stop her but his cast got in the way.
“No! Don’t—”
The truck started easily. She shifted into first gear, smooth as silk. Then she made a tight circle and headed back to the road.
Son of a bitch! She’d known all along that he would freak at the thought of her grinding his gears. She’d pulled him in, hook, line, and sinker. He had to admire her for doing it even if it burned his britches.
“You can drive a stick.”
“Yep.” She smoothly changed gears again. “Turns out ovaries work just as good as balls when you’re in the driver’s seat.”
He covered his mouth and coughed to hide his laugh. She’d got him, and good. Yeah, she was one of those miniature fluffy dogs with sharp teeth. Boss of her world.
“Where’d you learn?”
She shrugged off his question.
“What else about you might surprise me?”
Her top teeth worried at her full bottom lip. He had a sudden urge to kiss it better.
“Why?”
“Why am I asking you questions?” She nodded. “Because I’m interested in the woman who’s going to be living in my home. Because my leg hurts and talking with you takes my mind off it. And because you’re half asleep, and if you’re talking, I’ll know you won’t drive into the ditch.” He gave her a moment before continuing. “So, tell me about your hobbies.”
“I like to fix up broken stuff.”
She said it quickly, as if she was ashamed. That intrigued him as much as her hobby. “Tell me more.”
“I find old things that nobody wants, and I, well, make them useful again.”
“Give me an example.”
She flashed him a glance. He nodded encouragingly. She cleared her throat.
“I found this old lamp. It had an ugly, broken shade and it didn’t work. But it was made of mahogany and was s
ix feet high. I got it for a couple dollars, refinished the wood, rewired it, and made a new shade that suited it. I took something nobody wanted and gave it a new life.”
“Did you keep it, or sell it for a great profit?”
She shot him a look. “Oh, I couldn’t keep it! I gave it away.”
“Why couldn’t you keep it?”
She cleared her throat. “My husband only liked new things. He said anything that was flawed was worthless.”
He chewed on the thought for a moment. “You being one of them?”
Her jaw tightened, then she gave a sharp nod.
As far as he was concerned, Marci would’ve been perfect before the scar. But perfect was boring as there couldn’t be any improvement. Change, and flaws, made life interesting. Challenging, but interesting.
“What else do you do? Other than make delicious brownies.” He looked at her trim body. “You obviously don’t eat everything you cook.”
“I like baking but my husband didn’t like sweets. So I gave everything away.”
That was interesting. Not only that she obeyed her husband, but that she found a way to do what she wanted while still following his dictates.
“Who’d you give it to?”
“Bake sales, the seniors’ center, soup kitchens. People who needed to raise money. I also enjoy sewing.” She gave him another quick glance. “You wouldn’t believe how much people like fancy aprons and nightgowns!”
He could see Marci in both those items. Naked underneath, of course. And the nightgowns would not be made from thick flannel. He was thinking something sheer with lace and ribbon. One tug and it would drop to her feet. He shifted to ease the ache.
“We often have fundraisers for people who need medical help, and to benefit the community,” he said. “If you hang around long enough, and word about your baking and sewing gets out, the women who run things will be after you.”
Her shoulders rose and fell as she inhaled deeply. So did her chest. He realized the single men would also be after her. He cleared his throat.
“Did Brenda tell you I have a wood stove? There’s no other oven, cook top, or dishwasher. And the cabin is cluttered with five generations’ worth of stuff.”
She shot him a sarcastic look. “The house I lived in had four bedrooms and a garage big enough for three cars. It was perfectly decorated and filled with expensive things that suited my husband’s taste perfectly.”
Simon listened to her tone and read between the lines. “You hated it.”
“It was cold. Nothing in it had any personality. There wasn’t one good reading chair. Forget about a footstool for comfort, a lamp over your right shoulder, and a nearby table to put a cup of coffee on.” She turned to him “Yes, I hated it.”
“You might like my home, then. Pretty much everything is well used and comfortable. We kick our boots off at the back door most of the time, or at least scrape the worst of the mud off. We’ve got a number of bookcases but, except for winter, we don’t get much time for anything but agricultural newspapers and magazines. But I can see you curled up in a wingback chair by the fire with a good book. You’re reading a mystery or romance, or maybe a fantasy with dragons. You’d have a cup of coffee on the table within reach, and some of those brownies. What did you put in them, anyway? Peppermint?”
“Close.” She flashed him a gratified smile. “I took a chunk of candy cane, crushed it fine, and sprinkled it in the batter. What did you think of the idea?”
He grinned and rubbed his stomach. “Remind me to ask Donny if he has any candy canes left over from Christmas.”
“So, you liked them?”
Her wide smile was infectious. The pain in his leg faded as his arousal grew. He wanted this tiny feisty woman. It wasn’t just because he’d gone so long without. She had a touch of fire, enthusiasm, and stood up to him. Basically, he liked her style.
“I do, indeed. Now that I know more about you, Marci Grant, I think we’re going to get along fine.”
“You don’t know anything about me except I can bake brownies and drive your truck.”
He thought back over what she’d said, and what she hadn’t. He liked puzzles, and she presented one. She had so many layers he could peel her like an onion for years. If she stuck around. He twisted his body so he could clearly see her face and read her reactions.
“You have a tender heart and love children so I expect you’ll be an excellent mother. You like to help others who are less fortunate because you’ve been there and understand what it’s like. But you’ll do it in a way that doesn’t demean or embarrass them. I expect that’s because it happened to you. You want to be appreciated but aren’t sure if you have the right to demand it. You like to read, which shows intelligence and curiosity. You want comfort and practicality, and respect and appreciate the personal touch that goes into handmade items. You’ve hidden your sense of adventure for a long time, but it’s coming out now as you try new things.”
Her brow wrinkled and she went after her bottom lip again.
Simon hadn’t put it together until he started talking, but it was all true. Marci was a good person, one he’d like to have in his life for a while. When he’d turned and seen her staring at his butt, she’d given him a look that was so sexy she could use it to sell oil to the Texans. He wanted to give her a few adventures of his own.
It had been warm in the clinic and she’d hauled off her sweatshirt and tossed it aside. All she wore under it was a T-shirt. A thin, see-through T-shirt. He was damn sure it wasn’t the cold that had her nipples pointing straight out from breasts the size of his palms. She’d been horny. So had he, and those big nipples made it worse. He’d be happy to kiss any part of her, but the thought of closing his lips around those beauties had his cock as hard as his cast.
He wanted to taste her skin, the color of creamy fudge. Were her giant nipples pink or coral? And what about her pussy? Did her lips swell and turn deep rose when a man spent a long time licking and nibbling her? He’d better do that first, make her come a few times before she sat on his cock, because once he slid inside that wet pussy he’d not last long. He’d never taken the condoms from his beside drawer so they had to be still there. As long as he had his raincoat on, he was good to go.
He liked her as a person, and he wanted her as a woman. If he asked her flat out, would she say yes?
There were a lot of things about Marci that got him going. He’d told her a few of them, but he hadn’t mentioned her body. Her hair alone was an orgasmic surprise. It was so long her braid ended way down her back. He could imagine her playing with the tip of it, tickling his balls, as she sat on him in a reverse cowgirl position. She’d rise and fall, flexing her thighs, as she took him deep.
Enough of thinking, it was time for action!
“Want to try out that sense of adventure and share some hot sex?”
Chapter Eight
Marci’s hands jerked so hard she almost drove off the road. “Mr. MacDougal! How could you say such a thing!”
“Easy. I opened my mouth, moved my lips and tongue, and the words came out.”
She’d barely started digesting what he’d said about her when the question hit. It landed between her legs, where her wet pussy was already aching in anticipation.
“You know what I mean!”
“Hey, I’m a guy,” he said easily, as if that answered everything. She shot him a glare. “If you don’t ask, you don’t get,” he explained. “So, pretty lady, I asked. What’s your answer? Are you going to take a chance on life, or hide behind door number one?”
She had her answer, and it wasn’t to hide. Nikki had been one hundred percent right. She needed to have a hot and heavy affair with this arrogant, arousing cowboy. For thirty years she’d been a good girl. What good had it done her to follow someone else’s rules? She chanced a glance at him. His white teeth shone in a wide grin. Her breasts had swelled in anticipation along with her pussy lips.
“I can do one heck of a lot more with my lips an
d tongue than talk,” he added.
She held back a gasp. Oh, God! This could really happen!
“There’s the ranch.”
Heart racing, she automatically turned where he indicated and pulled into the yard. She parked, passenger side closest to the front porch. Remembering its weight, she shoved hard to open the door. She breathed in cold, clear air as she stomped around to the other side. He pushed the door open before she got there. The porch light shone on his face. It lit up his fiery hair and challenging expression.
Her entire future depended on this moment, on her accepting herself and her needs, and that she was in control of both. She pointed her chin toward his chest and stared him in the eye.
“Yes.”
His mouth dropped open. It snapped shut a second later and she got hit with the full force of his masculine sexuality. His eyelids drooped lazily as he checked out her breasts. One corner of his mouth pulled up.
“Right answer,” he whispered.
Having made her decision, she felt confident enough to do more.
“I am not going to change who I am,” she declared. “Not for you, or for anyone else.”
He shook his head as if clearing his ears. “Ma’am?”
“If you want me, you’ll take me just the way I am!”
“If I want you?” He laughed. “There is no ‘if.’ Just yes, please, all the way.” He drew his finger down her scar, a light touch that, combined with his expression, made her shiver. “I want you,” he crooned. “And I like you just the way you are.”
She swallowed hard. “I won’t cut my hair.”
“Cut your hair? Who said—” He frowned, shaking his head slightly. “I love your long hair.”
His hand grasped her braid at the back of her neck. She let him pull her close. It was almost a bit caveman, and gave her a thrill. His other hand went to her open coat. It slid over her breast and captured her hard nipple. She’d been chilled, and the heat of his palm warmed her skin. She moaned and leaned into his kiss. She expected to be ravished but he only lightly brushed her lips with his.
