Shielding Nebraska

by Casey Hagen

  “Why not?”

  “I hated running the farm. I hated the hours, the constant worry about debt, getting attached to the animals, and the bone-weary exhaustion of it.”

  And now he had to wonder if he’d really hated it at all, because there were times when he wished that he could go home. Only, home had been torn down, the land broken up and sold off to the highest bidders.

  The waitress brought their plates, heaped with eggs, potatoes, bacon, ham, sausage, and biscuits. Nebraska didn’t notice at all. She just stared at him, slack-jawed.

  “But it’s your home,” she said.

  “I know that. Look, with farming, you have to love it. It has to be in your heart. It wasn’t for me. That farm had no chance of survival with me at the helm,” he said, fighting to keep the frustration out of his voice. The truth was, he’d wanted to love it. He’d tried to love it. He’d wanted to be the son his father hoped for. But no matter how he’d tried to fit in, it just didn’t work. The harder he’d tried to change who he was, the more he’d desired the military, the travel, the danger.

  “The farm would have died one way or another. This way, it was a quick death rather than a slow suffering for all of us,” he said.

  “I guess I understand. I mean, I can’t imagine not having my home to go to. No matter what happens here in California, I have my place. Somewhere with memories. Somewhere I belong. If something happens to you, where would you go? Who would you seek out?”

  He paused with his knife and fork in hand and thought about it. “I guess my sister. But as for my hometown, I don’t know—I guess I just don’t connect with it anymore.”

  “That’s sad.”

  Leave it to Nebraska to dig into his history, and with just a few words make him wish for things he couldn’t have. Shit. “Maybe I need to make a new home.” Oh, fucking hell, that was not what he meant to say.

  Her eyes softened, her head tilted, and a smile graced those full lips. “Maybe you do.” She picked up her fork and that was the end of it. At least for now.

  They dug into their meals, and entertained themselves studying the memorabilia on the walls. Twenty minutes later, they had both cleaned their plates. “I’m surprised you got that all in,” he said.

  She laughed, leaned back, and patted her stomach. “Me, too. I guess I won’t need Twizzlers at the movies.”

  He sipped the last of his coffee and dropped a fifty onto the table. “I don’t know if you’ll eat again today.”

  She leaned forward and picked up her coffee, sniffed it, and set it back down. “I bounce back pretty quick. By the end of the movie, I’ll be on the hunt for chocolate. I think I’d better skip the last of my coffee, though.”

  “Come on, let’s go watch your latest movie,” he said, sliding out of the booth and reaching a hand toward her.

  Ten minutes later, they rolled into the parking lot of a massive movie theater. He pulled into a spot a bit away from the bulk of the parked cars, and pulled her hat lower over her face. “I don’t like this.”

  “It’s going to be fine worrywart. Let’s do this.” She pushed open her door, and headed for the theater without waiting to see if he was with her.

  He caught up and took her arm to keep her with him. She didn’t fight him, and instead surprised the hell out him by giving him a smile and wink.

  Inside the two-story lobby, she led them to the kiosks where they grabbed the tickets. Buttered-popcorn-scent filled the air, mixed with the professional deodorizer they used on the commercial carpets.

  Along the wall stood movie posters, hers right in the middle with a spotlight shining on it.

  Nebraska held a baby in her arms, protecting it from harm as danger loomed. Emblazoned across the top: Torn, in brush script.

  The movie had started just a few minutes earlier. No one seemed to recognize Nebraska, easing his worries, so he trusted they could duck in without being noticed.

  Pulling open the door to theater eleven, the hall leading to the stadium seating flashed with light from the screen. The scene opened up with Nebraska, roadside, reassuring a scared woman about to give birth in a rusted, broken-down car.

  Dressed in scrubs, she smoothed the clumped-up blond hair away from the woman’s sweaty forehead.

  Her voice hypnotized, low, melodic, as she lied to the woman and told her everything was going to be okay, even as an unusual amount of blood pooled on the worn backseat beneath her.

  There was something about the look in her character’s gaze—Nebraska’s golden eyes, a weariness and heartache as familiar as her favorite sweater. As if she had seen too much, felt too much, but still pressed on no matter what it did to her. Her character easing the pain of suffering just through her ability to hang on through the devastating times.

  They pressed up against the carpeted walls of the room. He continued to watch Nebraska on the screen, memorizing the way she delivered the baby and begged the mother to stay with her, even though she knew the ashen woman would never make it. The way she cradled that baby, her instincts taking over; all her efforts going toward saving the little life when it became heartbreakingly clear that it was the only life she had the chance to save.

  His throat thick, he turned away from the screen and focused on Nebraska, who never once looked at the screen, but studied the audience, waiting to see what she had come to observe.

  Women sniffled—the men shuffled awkwardly in their seats, glancing away from the screen. Nebraska narrowed her eyes, and a slow smile spread over her face as a lone tear rolled down her cheek. Slyder followed her gaze and spotted a cluster of women, wiping away their tears and holding their chests, as if the only thing keeping their hearts from being ripped right out was the pressure of their hands.

  “I did it. In the first ten minutes, I did it,” she whispered.

  He reached for her hand and brought it to his mouth. “Yes, you did,” he whispered before kissing the soft skin over her knuckles.

  Chapter 7

  The smile on Nebraska’s face was unlike anything he had seen from her so far. The worry, the tension, the guard she tended to have up, it all disappeared upon seeing the faces of fans enjoying her work.

  “You never looked at the screen. Why is that?” he asked.

  “I don’t like watching myself. I avoid it, if at all possible. And hearing my own voice, gah, don’t get me started.”

  “I’ve never met anyone like you. You don’t worry about you at all, do you?” he asked.

  “For the most part, no. Seems like, until now, you didn’t like that about me,” she pointed out.

  “Only when it comes to you getting threatened. You have this habit of exacerbating already-tense situations and, while you have every right to your opinion, if I learned anything being a SEAL it’s that sometimes it’s better to remain silent.”

  “You don’t think I should have spoken up for those at Standing Rock?” she asked.

  “No, not that. I get why you did it. When you keep mentioning it or commenting on the Keystone spill, that seems to be where the issues lie. Until the threat is gone, anything you say can only bring you more harm.”

  “Or it can draw out the person behind this, so we can get it settled once and for all,” she pointed out.

  He almost suggested it. But then he figured that she was going to do what she was going to do anyway. Maybe if he said nothing, when she did finally open her mouth, which she would do (it was only a matter of time), she would do so in a way that didn’t rain down a shit storm on herself.

  She threw her hands in the air. “Why is it everyone else can say what they want about the situation but, if I so much as have an opinion, I have to worry about being threatened? How is that fair? Part of the benefit of being famous is having a voice. You all would be happy if I were voiceless.”

  “Hey, don’t lump me in with the assholes harassing you. Don’t you do it, Nebraska. I’m here to keep you safe and to find out who’s doing this so it stops. I’m the good guy here.”

  The
y rolled down her street, and sitting outside her gate were some journalists waiting with cameras. Willy had stepped out of the booth and was giving them hell, judging by the way his arms were waving in the air and the reddish-purple tinge to his face.

  “I guess we’re about to find out how good a guy you are.”

  Slyder stopped and she hopped out of the car. “What’s going on here?” she asked.

  “Nebraska, do you have any comment on the Keystone Pipeline spill in South Dakota?” the guy asked, shoving his microphone in her face.

  “Do you have any plans on returning to Standing Rock?” another called out.

  “Word is you’re putting together a rally in Standing Rock, an event that will draw thousands. Any comment on that?” the third asked.

  She turned to Slyder, one eyebrow raised, a smirk on that smart mouth, daring him to say something to shut her up. She turned back to the group. “Right now I have no solid plans to return to Standing Rock.”

  “So, you’re not going back?” one of the reporters asked.

  “No, I didn’t say that. I said, right now I have no plans made to go back. As for the rally, totally false. And the Keystone Pipeline spill? I guess all I have to say is…we told you so.” She strode through the gate, leaving the reporters hollering questions that she ignored.

  Slyder clapped Willy on the shoulder. “Can you handle things out here?”

  “Of course, Mr. Slyder. You just take care of our girl in there,” he said.

  Our girl.

  Two simple little words that, apart, didn’t mean a whole hell of a lot. Together, and in reference to Nebraska, they meant everything.

  He followed her up the house, proud, a little pissed off, and needing somewhere to put the energy.

  He shot off a text to Dylan to give him a heads up that Nebraska would hit the news at any minute. Hopefully, before the night was over, the asshole would come crawling out from under his rock and they’d nail his ass.

  “Nebraska!” he called, but got no reply. He checked the kitchen and the living room, and when he didn’t find her he decided to head down the hall she had emerged from the day he met her.

  Something had shifted. He didn’t know what, but he sensed it. The energy from the movie, from her satisfaction at a job well done, had turned into something else entirely. She’d challenged him with a look and then spoke to the media.

  Her look said, “I dare you to give me shit.”

  And nothing made him want to spar with her more.

  He followed along the blue walls, to the set of double doors at the end. One door was closed, latched in place at the top where the door met the frame.

  The other stood open partway.

  He rapped on the door. “Nebraska?”

  “Yeah, in here.”

  He stepped into a huge suite, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the flower garden on the side of the house. A set of French doors led to an Olympic-sized pool.

  A king-sized bed with a billion pillows drew his eye along the back wall.

  A soft bed, from the plush look of the bedding, and all the frilly, girly accessories. He’d never been a fan of light colors and frill. It always made him feel like a bull in a china shop. He’d be afraid to move about, and constantly checked his hands for dirt, just in case.

  But this? Yeah, he could get used to this. The way Nebraska’s dark skin and black hair would stand out against all that ivory, a tribal princess, with smooth skin, and fire in her eyes.

  Oh, yeah, he could get used to frills.

  Nebraska stepped out of the walk-in closet in panties.

  And nothing else.

  She’d shed the contacts and let her hair fall around her face in long, silken strands, the ends teasing the tips of her bare breasts.

  His blood shot like lava through his veins. He flexed his hands as they itched to grab her, throw her over his shoulder, and toss her into the silly sea of pillows she had piled up there.

  “I decided to not lump you in with those assholes I was talking about. Now I want you to show me how good you are,” she said, hand placed on her cocked hip.

  He ran both hands through his hair, holding it back behind his head while he took her in. The under-curve of her plump breast, the way her waist tapered in before her hips rounded out, giving her a slammin’ hourglass shape.

  But probably the best part was the slight roundness of her belly and the absence of ribs sticking out. She was flesh and blood woman, and she had invited him in to take.

  Fuck, if he was too weak to not pass on the chance.

  He crooked his finger at her. “Get your sweet ass over here,” he said.

  The side of her mouth tipped up in a sultry grin as she took slow, sweet steps toward him, designed to tease and torture every step of the way.

  She stopped right before him, the tips of her toes against the tips of his boots. He could reach out and touch her right now. He could cup that breast the way he had wanted to before. He could slide his fingers right between those sweet thighs and coat his fingers in the wetness he knew was there.

  He could do all of those things and she would let him.

  But it was too easy.

  Reaching around the back of her head, he sank his hands into that mass of silky hair and locked his fingers, tugging her head back, exposing her throat.

  The ends of her hair shifted, revealing dusky nipples puckered tight, waiting to be worshipped.

  With his cock painfully hard, pressing against his jeans—with temptation right before him—he surprised himself by wanting her to tease him even more.

  “Touch your nipples, Nebraska.”

  Her heavy-lidded gaze snapped to his. “Come again?”

  He shook her, just a little. “Oh, I think you heard me. You’re so used to calling the shots, aren’t you? But here’s the thing, I’m calling them from here on out and you’re going to listen. Wanna know why?”

  “Enlighten me,” she said, her voice low.

  “Because it’s a challenge for you.” He kissed her cheek. “If I tell you to touch your nipples.” He grazed his lips over her jaw. “Tease your clit.” He bit the soft skin of her neck. “Or finger your hot pussy and then taste your fingers after.” He licked along the swell of her collarbone. “You’ll do it just so I can’t call you a coward.”

  A flush rose to her cheeks and she sucked in a ragged breath. “Bastard.”

  “And you love it,” he said, taking her mouth in a searing kiss. She opened beneath him and he took total advantage, sucking her tongue into his mouth.

  He tasted her, teased her, bit into her bottom lip and sucked in her moan when he laved the bite with his tongue, absorbing her taste, like warm honey, and going back for more.

  “Now, I said touch your nipples. I won’t say it again.”

  He kept his eyes on hers, but knew she had reached for the stiff peaks because of the way her wrists dragged along his chest, over his T-shirt.

  He glanced down and watched as she pinched the tight buds, her eyelids drifting shut, her lips parting with the sensation of it.

  “Tell me what it feels like, Nebraska.” He reached for his belt and worked the buckle, freeing the button of his jeans.

  “It aches and tingles,” she gasped out, biting her lip and pinching harder.

  “Where does it tingle?” God, he had to get the fuck out of these jeans and inside her. He wanted to watch as she did all the things he commanded, but he didn’t know if he had it in him to hold out that long. Not now, having seen her do his bidding and the pleasure she was getting from it.

  “My pussy,” she whispered.

  “Now say it like you mean it, Nebraska,” he commanded. With a flick of his thumb and finger the button popped on his jeans and he lowered the zipper, careful to not maim his hard cock.

  If he fucked up and ended the party before it could really begin, his balls might well just explode.

  He yanked his pants down, freeing himself. He put two fingers to her bottom lip. “Open up,”
he said.

  She parted her lips for him and he dipped his fingers inside her mouth. “Now get them nice and wet so I can rub that pussy.”

  She swirled her tongue over the digits and sucked.

  “That’s it, Nebraska. Now give them back.”

  She opened slightly, and he dragged his fingers out of her mouth, over her tongue, and slid them right between her soft thighs, going straight to the wet pussy waiting for his touch.

  He groaned at the warmth of her and clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to bury himself inside her where she stood. Desperate for a taste after prolonging his torture, he sucked her nipple into his mouth as he worked his fingers over her clit, grazing, circling, then grazing again until her breathing grew ragged and her desperate gulps for air filled his ears.

  He may not have gotten his vacation, but he’d found his hot woman. And after the way she’d branded herself on him in just the short time they had been together, there was no way he was going anywhere.

  ***

  Slyder sank his deft fingers inside her. She cried out with the way it set off pulses through her veins as sensations built, launching her right toward what had to be the hottest sexual experience and climax of her life.

  No man had ever told her what to do in the bedroom. When he demanded she pleasure herself for him, an unfamiliar wave of embarrassment tried to take over, but damn if he didn’t see it and banish it with a litany of hot demands and his even hotter mouth.

  “You remember what I said to you this morning, Nebraska?”

  With his fingers rubbing against her G-spot, and his palm applying grinding pressure to her clit, she couldn’t remember two times two if someone asked her.

  “Um…” She gasped when he flicked her nipple with his tongue. “No, I, uh, I don’t remember.”

  “About that position I wanted you in,” he hinted.

  “On my hands and knees?” she asked.

  “That’s the one.” He pulled his fingers out of her pussy and sucked them into his mouth before dipping them into hers, her musky flavor bursting on her tongue. The taste thrilled her with the naughtiness of it.

  Releasing her hair, he took a step back. “Turn around, bend over, and slide off those panties for me.”