He was fixing her in this place. In his life. On his land.
She knew it, he could tell, and she let it happen.
He came to a stop in front of her, so she saw him, too, with the background of his ranch. So the light was on his skin, his shoulders and chest bare, his jeans open and riding low on his hips.
She maybe liked what she saw, too, just the way he did. She smiled and lifted a hand to him.
Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he shoved his jeans down and stepped out of them. Then he went to her, kneeling in front of her.
They made love just like that. Face to face, on their knees, surrounded by Wyoming light. They touched and kissed and cherished. He held her breasts and worked her nipples. He lifted her and she wrapped her legs around him when he filled her. She had one arm around his shoulders and the other bent to hold his face. To keep their gazes leashed as they loved each other to orgasm.
This time, they came in sighs rather than rough groans. This time, he thought, they made promises.
* * * *
Tag lay down with her after that second, sweet lovemaking. They stretched out on his big bed, and it seemed they were floating. His room was so much open to the land around them that it felt like they were a part of it.
Liberty knew he’d marked her, knew he’d done his utmost seal her in this place, on his land.
He wasn’t being high-handed, she didn’t think. He was just being Tag, the man who was sure of what he had and what he wanted.
They lay facing each other, hands and fingers gently stroking, gazes held softly. She smiled into those sexy brown eyes.
“You like me here, don’t you?” She was stating the more-than-obvious, and she knew it.
Her thumb was at his lip, and he nipped at it with his teeth before he drawled his answer. “Sure as shit.”
Liberty chuckled.
“I’m a rancher,” he reminded her. “If there’s one thing I know is sure…”
“Well,” she said, “you surely do have a pretty place here.”
“I’d say its prospects have improved a whole ton in the last couple hours.” His eyes watched her, and she felt the pressure of his will. “I’m buddies with the high school assistant principal in town. He’d be happy to meet with you.”
She shouldn’t be surprised, she thought. He was a cowboy who knew what he wanted and generally got it. “You’ve spoken with him?”
“Yes.” He said it with no apology, and she stifled a sigh.
He was who he was, she reminded herself.
“Might we wait until…maybe, say, Wednesday to have this conversation?”
“I don’t need to.”
He said it bluntly, full of confidence, completely sure of himself, and this time, maybe she didn’t quite stifle the sigh.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s see how you sit a horse.”
* * * *
Nothing wrong with employing strategy, Tag thought. A tactical retreat might get him a better result in the end. Plus, there was nothing but good in putting his girl on a horse and riding his land with her.
The Chimney Bluff Ranch encompassed four sections, a two by two-mile square that was now open grasslands. Some of it had been farmed back in the day, an old spur of the Union Pacific had once cut through it, and Prickly Pear Creek meandered its length from west to east. It was flat only in the way a person thought of the prairie while driving through it at eighty miles an hour. Up close, in it, on it, his part of the plains was a badlands cut by gullies and coulees, marked by small bluffs and long escarpments, littered with glacial till from the last ice age and chaparral too thick for all but snakes and prairie dogs to wend through. Green followed the Prickly Pear, willows and cottonwoods, lush especially at the confluence areas where smaller streams made their way into the creek.
Tender shoots were poking up through the soil and last year’s growth already, and in a couple more months the place would look like a sea of grasses. The first spring flowers would bloom, and the sea would be topped with “whitecaps” of yellow and orange and red.
It didn’t have the pop of the Rockies a couple hundred miles further west. There was nothing dramatic—just sky and prairie that went on forever, enough to make a man feel small every bit as much as the mountains or the oceans or the night sky.
Lib told him she had a fair-to-middling amount of riding experience. He could have shown her his land by truck, but there was nothing finer than being out on it on horseback. So he took her on the back of a four-wheeler, outside of the fence around the house—what the brothers called their gated community—into the corral fence surrounding the horse barn.
He readied the paint that was his working horse and a littler Appaloosa mare for Lib. The mare was easy and calm and had a decent gait. Orion had bought her for his wife, and that one had left man, horse, and ranch without a backward glance. Not before saddling the mare with the stupid name of Isabella, though, which the guys had shortened to a more respectable “I.B.”
Lib wore jeans that fit real good and goofy boots that she probably thought were cute. Well, they were cute, but Tag hoped nothing happened that would have them hoofing it home from the far corners of the ranch.
The ranch’s cow horses had made a pretty good transition to bison ponies. In general, their work lives were easier. The Harpers employed field harvesting, bringing the harvest truck to the ranch, rather than rounding up bison and driving them to stock pens. Bison were wild animals who didn’t follow directions all that well, and the stress of transportation and corralling took a toll, too. Field harvesting was better for them by and large, a low-trauma, relatively humane process that made life easier for the ranchers and their horses, and produced better meat, as well.
So Tag and his brothers watched the grazing fields and very occasionally drummed up a roundup to move their herd to fresh grasslands. But the buffalo were natural grazers, had lived in ecological balance on the prairie for thousands of years, and they didn’t need much advice about where to forage. Pretty much, the men figured that letting bison be bison was better for everyone, livestock and human.
Most of the men’s day-to-day work was similar to any ranch with animals. It involved riding and repairing fences, maintaining their outbuildings and equipment, and keeping a light eye on the herd. Harvest was pretty much year-round, just a few head a week usually managed in one or two days. When the truck came in, two of the brothers would man the shooter truck, driving into the field, choosing an animal for harvest, taking it down with a single shotgun slug, then winching it into the pickup and delivering it to the harvest truck.
Orion watched their water supply and the growth of natural grasses. He’d made progress toward developing acres of what he called climax vegetation, the mix of native grasses and sedges that represented the prairie eco-balance that had taken thousands of years to reach steady state.
More or less seasonally, Tag and Keegan took on construction projects. Right now, they were building out a series of natural watering troughs along the creek. Buffalo toughed out the harsh Wyoming winters, not migrating south but just lower—out of the high plateaus and into the valleys that had less snow cover. They would eat snow for hydration, but they had an easier time of it with scattered watering holes that were slow to freeze.
As he rode east with Liberty, he explained a lot about the workings of the ranch. He took her first to the highest southern elevation, a butte called Lucky Mesa. He brought them to the edge of rock where they had a great view of the ranch. Shoulder to shoulder, touching knees, he showed her the grazing path of the buffalo, out of sight now on the far west of the ranch. He pointed out the winding course of the creek, spotted Keeg’s horse below the mesa, and knew his brother must be working down there. Most of their weather came from the north/northwest, and Tag explained the “rainshadow” on the south side of the scarp a mile across the prairie from where they sat their horses. Rain got caught on the windward side of any upthrust of land, he told her. On the leeward side, there was alway
s an area of comparative aridity.
He nudged their mounts down the east side of the mesa. They stayed at a slow, pecking pace, but he noted Lib handled the motion of her horse pretty well. He took her along to where he’d seen Keeg’s bay ground-tied.
The creek took a hairpin turn at that spot, which made it a perfect site for a watering hole.
Tag dismounted and lifted Liberty down, too. Holding her hand, he took her down the creek bank to where it flattened out in a bed of round river stones. Taking her around the curve, he found Keeg where he’d guessed—splashing off the sweat and mud of his work in the middle of the creek.
Like Orion, Keeg was an inch shorter than Tag. Like all of them, he was big, consistent with the family genes, and muscled, consistent with the family work and lifestyle.
He came up out of the water with a roar that was in large part a reaction to the cold of the water. Tag knew exactly how Keegan felt—he’d dunked himself at the end of his workday just twenty-four hours earlier. The air around them was almost warm, but the creek cold as hell.
Keeg flipped his hair back and scrubbed water off his face even as he started wading toward the bank. He was bare-assed naked and just about out to his knees before he saw he had company.
Female company.
Comically, he went back down, meaning, Tag figured, to squat himself back into the cover of the water. But he lost his balance and went ass over teakettle into the creek.
“Oops,” Lib said quietly at his side, acting like she didn’t want to laugh.
“Yeah,” Tag said. “That would be my baby brother.”
“I’ll maybe just…look off this way,” she allowed.
She turned her back, but Tag stepped around so he had her tucked into him. He watched over her shoulder while Keeg awkwardly found his feet again and made his way out of the creek. He stepped hurriedly into his jeans, a process not all that easy or graceful, given that he was still sopping wet. He got himself into his boots, too, before he approached.
“Guess it’s safe now,” Tag told Lib.
She took a cautious peek over her shoulder before she turned and faced Keegan.
Tag introduced the two.
Lib put a hand out—a bit brave given that she’d just seen the guy naked and he was still bare-chested—and Keeg murmured a nice-to-meetcha.
But Keeg was never a guy to leave even the obvious unsaid. “Water’s cold,” he told Lib. “Really cold.”
She nodded.
“I mean—” Tag knew what he meant and wished he could stop the guy saying it, but that had never worked before. “Shrinkage, you know?”
“Yeah,” Tag said. “I’m sure she gets it.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t want her to have any doubts about…you know…the Harper men’s…natural resources.”
“Yeah,” Tag tried again. “We got it. And she doesn’t. No worries.”
“Just makin’ sure.”
* * * *
Keegan was as cute as could be.
He was a lot like his brother—a big, handsome cowboy. But he had a disarming sweetness that made Liberty smile. He might look a tad sheepish about their fairly wacky introduction but not truly embarrassed. Liberty guessed he had enough charm to compensate for the most awkward of situations. She figured he knew it, too. Certainly, he seemed to take for granted that she would smile upon him, just like life probably did. She knew he was six years younger than Tag, and that Tag had taken seriously his older brother role for many years. Keegan wasn’t a kid, but it was clear he was much more light-hearted than his brother.
Though not so different in all ways. She’d tried not to look, she really had, but she could nonetheless testify that, shrinkage or not, the Harper men had nothing to be ashamed of. With regard to their natural resources.
That observation applied to the brawn of their chests and shoulders, too, if one were to count them among the Harper natural resources, too. Which Liberty did.
Tag took a moment to look over the work Keegan had accomplished that day. Liberty discerned that digging out the creek bank and moving stone to build a small dam, forming a wide, shallow watering hole for their animals, was a project the two had been working on together. That Tag would have been out there working on it today, too, except that he’d spent the afternoon with her in his bed.
“I didn’t see Ry’s rig,” Tag said to Keegan now. “Where’s he off to?”
“In town to resupply. You gave him kitchen duty this week, remember?” Keegan shot Liberty a wink. “That was for you,” he said. “Otherwise, you’d have a week of buffalo steaks and buffalo burgers to look forward to, since that’s how Tag’s and my cooking skills run.”
Amused, Liberty looked up at Tag.
“Well, it’s true,” he admitted. “Orion’s ex was a chef. He learned to like some variety from her, so he learned to cook a little, too.”
Keegan smirked as he looked from his brother to Liberty. “That switch cost Tag two weeks straight in the kitchen.” He winked again. “He must like you.”
“She knows I do.” Tag didn’t seem to be as entertained by Keegan as Liberty was. “Put your shirt on.”
Keegan stood, hands on his hips above his low-slung, not quite fully fastened Wranglers. Water dripped from the ends of his brown hair that was long enough to nearly reach his shoulders. It beaded on his chest and fell in slow drops from the small tufts of his underarm hair. There was a tiny stream running from the light patch of hair on his chest, too, trailing down to below his waist. Her eye wanted to follow that, and she had to work to resist the urge.
It was a bit chilly for standing around naked and wet, and his flesh was mildly goose-bumped. He looked good, though. He clearly hadn’t dried off before he tucked his substantial self into his jeans, and so the denim was wetly dark in interesting places.
Liberty tried not to look, but Keegan appeared to be fonder of making trouble than being polite. “You don’t mind looking at my bare chest, do you, Liberty?”
Tag had his arm around her shoulders and snugged her closer. “If she wants to look at a chest, she can look at mine. See one with a little muscle to it, anyway.”
Keegan’s grin indicated he took no offense. He had plenty of muscle and, apparently, he knew it. His eyes—a little more gray than brown—lingered on Liberty.
“Tag’s all right,” he told her. “But you’d have a lot more fun with me.”
Liberty laughed, though she wasn’t sure Tag thought his brother was funny. “I’m having plenty of fun.”
“Come on,” Tag said to her. He pressed his lips to her temple. “We’ll ride west, see if we can get a look at the herd.”
“They were just north of the fence, crossing the creek near Coyote Coulee this morning,” Keegan offered.
Tag nodded. “We’ll head there. See you for dinner.”
Keegan had a smile and one more wink for Liberty as Tag turned with her. She was also pretty sure his eyes were full of male appreciation as they watched her walk away.
Tag was quiet as he helped her remount. They crossed the creek where it was wide and shallow and circled around the bend where Keegan had been working. She saw that he was still shirtless—cleaning up the worksite and storing tools under a tarp. He mounted up, too, and then sat and watched Tag and her ride by.
Liberty didn’t exactly turn around in the saddle to look, but she was certain they were out of Keegan’s range of vision before Tag spoke.
“What he said was probably true, you know. You’d have more fun with Keeg.”
They were moving side by side at a slow walk, and Liberty looked over her shoulder at him. He was watching her, appearing…perfectly content. Not disgruntled or unhappy, as she would have guessed, given that he seemed to be extolling his brother’s comparative attraction. Given that, she suspected, he’d seen the interest in Keegan’s eyes just as she had.
She watched his eyes for several paces, not quite sure how to read them. “What I said was true, too,” she finally said. “I have plenty of fun
with you.”
His lips curved in a smile. “Plenty?”
Liberty smiled back. “Oh, yeah.”
He led them to an area of flat land where Chimney Bluff pickups had worn two parallel tracks into the earth. In the distance, the tracks rose steadily to another butte and disappeared in a stand of conifers. He nodded ahead there. “See those ponderosas up ahead?”
Knowing what was coming, she drawled a single word. “Yep.”
He leaned over in the saddle, put his arm around her, and pulled her in for a kiss. “How about a little competitive gallop?” he asked, and she saw the tease in his eyes, realizing he wasn’t lighthearted all that often.
“I’d say, eat my dust, but I’m not about to think I can come close to outriding you. Or even keeping up.”
Tag shook his head in mock disappointment. “Not even going to try?”
“Nope.” Then she pretended distraction and pointed over his shoulder and behind him. “What’s that over there?”
He turned to look, and she used her heels on I.B.’s flanks.
Liberty was Colorado born and raised, even if she had spent most of her life in cities. She had a lot of summer camps in her past, and most of them had included Western horseback-riding lessons. She knew Tag had watched her as they left the horse barn, and he’d led them in a canter up a smooth stretch of the mesa, a sign of at least moderate respect for her horse skills.
So she gave I.B. her head, stood up in the stirrups, and let the mare run. She was laughing, she was sure, before Tag even knew what she’d done.
Of course, he drew alongside her within about thirty seconds. Grinning, he shot her a look as he pulled ahead. He stayed close, though, so she wasn’t exactly in his dust.
They pulled up together at the pines and then walked their horses to the edge of the butte. And there, below them, nothing like the sea of brown that had roamed the plains until the bison population was hunted nearly to extinction in the late 1800s, but still very majestic-looking, was the full Harper herd.
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