High-Stakes Loving [King's Bluff, Wyoming 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Fiona Archer

  Mike guessed there was some truth in Noah’s theory. Wagner was a vindictive bastard.

  Reagan shook her head, sending her ponytail swishing as those blue eyes sparked. “Noah, you’re not to blame. Face it, the guy’s never going to accept that your ancestor won the land for this town fair and square. We’re talking about a game of poker. Someone had to lose.”

  “His bloody great-great-grandfather shouldn’t have put the land up as a wager. The fact that Noah’s ancestors were Aussies infuriates him. I’m surprised he isn’t campaigning to outlaw Vegemite.” Flynn’s voice dripped with scorn.

  “Now that would be a vote catcher.” Purdy glanced over at Reagan, her lips twitching. “You might have to adopt that as one of your platforms to counterattack.”

  Flynn looked heavenward. Poor bastard knew when he was outnumbered.

  Reagan’s gaze danced with merriment. “Good thinking. Let’s make it my opening salvo.”

  Mike couldn’t fault their thinking. If there was one thing he’d failed to embrace about this quirky little town with its American-Aussie blend of customs and products, it was everyone’s insistence he try Vegemite, even as their own mouths screwed up at the sight of the brownish tar.

  Fuck that.

  Noah’s hands formed a steeple on his chest. “We hear he wants to put a moratorium on any fresh business start-ups that don’t comply with a rigid planning code he’s devised.” He speared a glance at Quinn and Mike. “You can bet he’s talking about the new guest lodge with the MacKenzie brothers. Despite the fact the building permits have already been granted, the bastard would do anything to bugger up our plans.”

  Quinn shrugged. Mike knew his air of nonchalance was based not on arrogance so much as confidence. “Alex and Kane are ready for a fight, Noah. Those guys would be as at home in the neighboring Big Horn Mountains as they are in corporate America.”

  Mike smiled to himself. Alex and Kane, former SEALs and millionaires, no wait, now billionaires with their family’s Seattle-based business empire, didn’t intimidate easily. Yes, Wagner was trouble. However, that didn’t mean the MacKenzies’ plans were doomed.

  He and Quinn had done their homework on Wagner. The man had money, way more than his lifestyle would suggest. And friends in town, including a few of those with no Australian link to their ancestry and others who resented the fact that with businesses and people moving back, their own plans to buy up land at cheap prices were disappearing fast. All this and more was documented in a detailed report he and Quinn had completed on Wagner soon after moving here last year. Noah’s gut instinct to commission the report had been a good one. Know your enemy. With the developments of this week, they’d be reviewing for any updates.

  Noah nodded. “We’ll need to set up a conference call with the MacKenzies.” He turned his gaze back to Reagan. “Sweetie, you have our full support. Whatever we at King’s Haven can do to help you, ask and it’s yours.”

  “Too right, luv,” Flynn agreed.

  “Hear, hear!” Quinn lifted up his beer and was quickly followed by everyone around the table.

  Reagan’s face shone at their cheers. “That’s great, guys, thanks. I appreciate the help. A few of the businesses in town are behind me already. There’s the diner of course, Jim’s Hardware, and Gunnerson’s Drug Store. I only have six weeks until the vote.” She bit her lip, those white teeth sinking deep into the soft redness. “Now that the initial adrenaline of Wagner’s threat has worn off, I’m, ah, not afraid to admit it’s all a tad daunting.” She shifted her gaze past his and settled on her feet.

  Confessing that in front of him and Quinn cost her. Gutsy little thing.

  “Fighting for something you believe in never comes easy. But it’s always worth the battle.” Mike reached over and squeezed her hand, thrilled when she didn’t immediately snatch it out of his grasp but waited a few seconds before sliding it free. Damn, he even got a smile.

  She sat up straighter in her chair. “The volunteers at the library have been drumming up support, too. Phyllis wants to make T-shirts and get all the book club members to wear them around town.”

  Purdy’s eyes lit up like a kid presented with a jar of her favorite candy. “Oh, that’s a great idea. The Bound by the Books Babes will definitely do their bit. How about ‘Spank One for Reagan!’”

  “That’s a slogan I can stand behind. Don’t you agree, wife?” Flynn sent Chloe a look hot enough to send a blush across her cheeks.

  “I’m sure you’d find a way to convince me, Sir.” Chloe’s smile suggested the little sub didn’t need all that much persuading.

  “That book club sure has me intrigued.” Quinn rubbed his chin, his gaze settling over Reagan.

  Mike had to chuckle as her eyes widened. Did she think they’d forgotten?

  Quinn grabbed Reagan’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “You can count on Mike and me.”

  “Really?”

  “You bet.” Mike leaned over so that his shoulder brushed alongside hers. “Consider us on board. We plan on being actively involved with the candidate.”

  “Don’t you mean with my campaign?”

  “That too.”

  Reagan blinked against his stare. “Oh.”

  He deepened his voice. “Indeed.”

  A charged silence surrounded the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Purdy and Chloe staring openmouthed in their direction. Noah’s lips twitched while Flynn flat out grinned.

  That’s how it rolled. It was time he and Quinn staked their claim.

  “Let’s get those salads.” Chloe clapped her hands together, effectively breaking the mood and launching the ladies into action.

  All three women rose and busied themselves collecting the various salads, rolls, and condiments. The women’s undue speed stood in contrast to the men’s easygoing organization of starting to cook the meat. Subs on the run. What was not to like about that?

  “Wow, you should have seen me ride!” A pint-sized hellion yelled from over near the modern stables. Calliope Gordon, with pigtails flying out behind her, ran over to join them at the grill. Her dad was left to bring up the rear.

  The doctor only had time to shake both his and Quinn’s hands before Jackson got caught up listening to Calliope’s excited tales of her cowgirl prowess, all of which earned indulgent smiles from the men around her. She was a gap-toothed cutie, with brown hair and eyes, the same coloring as her dad.

  An inch or two over six feet, the doc had a surprisingly strong build for a guy who spent so many hours in the local clinic. Jackson possessed an air of authority, one balanced with a streak of empathy that Mike respected. What’s more, he not only encouraged his daughter to share her stories of horsemanship, but showed genuine pride in her adventures.

  Jesus. Night and day difference to Mike’s old man.

  His dad had been a real hit at the high school wrestling tournaments—not. That tight, hard mouth. Fisted hands. Try harder. That kid was only acting, why’d you let him up? Sympathy is for pussies. The silence around the gym. His coach’s glare up into the bleachers. The stares of his fellow students as Mike walked back to the team’s bench, shame at his father’s behavior burning and sticking to his skin like hot molasses poured from a giant vat above his head.

  Years of tough love hardened up him and his two younger brothers. Fuck, the old man nearly creamed his pants when his son was accepted into the SEALs. A decade later, his dad’s pride turned to bitter disappointment in him. And all it had taken was an IED.

  “You all right, buddy?” Quinn’s soft question came at Mike from his left.

  “Yeah, just thinking.” Mike lifted his can of beer and took a long swallow. The coldness hit the back of his throat and helped focus his mind to the present.

  “Well, change those thoughts to something sunshine-fucking happy. Your scowl is enough to send Reagan right into the arms of her friend, the good doctor. And that sure as hell isn’t on our to-do list for today.” Quinn kept his gaze focused on the group.


  “Point taken.” In truth, he didn’t want to beat the crap out of Calliope’s dad. Jackson was one of the good guys. He’d offered more than lip service during Mike’s physical therapy on his busted leg. It had been a team effort, to the degree Mike now walked with only a slight limp. And no fucking cane. Better than the prognosis he’d first been given when medevacked to Ramstein Air Base nine months ago.

  Movement at the back door of the sprawling double-story ranch house drew his gaze. Reagan, carrying a deep dish, walked off the wide veranda, down the steps and paved pathway with its shrub border, before reaching them at the table.

  Reagan smiled at Flynn supervising Calliope as she hung upside down from one of the low limbs of the trees scattered around the garden. “Hey, Flynn, I didn’t know you had monkeys here?”

  “Aunt Reagan! Come join me. We can swing together!”

  The light sound of Reagan’s laughter drifted over to Mike, teasing his groin with its husky warmth. “Oh, I think my monkey impersonation days are over, kiddo, thanks.”

  Maybe not. With a length of rope and a tree limb, Mike could easily picture a little sub wiggling helplessly in the air, the strong coils of hemp wrapped around her body, holding her without a pinch to her delicate skin.

  Mike studied Jackson as he laughed at Calliope’s antics. How hard had it been for him, a widower, raising a kid on his own? Judging by the mile-wide smile on his daughter’s face, he was doing fine in her book.

  Did it inspire the same adoration in the single women of King’s Bluff?

  Reagan’s gaze warmed as Jackson walked over.

  “Hey, Jackson.” Her voice lacked that throaty caress that seemed to echo each time she greeted him or Quinn. More…relaxed, friendly. Like a sister to an older brother.

  “Do I need to bow to King’s Bluff’s soon-to-be newest town councillor?” Jackson’s teasing grin reminded Mike of the easy banter the doc shared with his nursing staff, who were all married.

  “Let’s not get too cocky, buddy.” Reagan giggled before she reached up and gave Jackson a hug.

  Mike shot a glance at Quinn, who, like him, seemed to be counting the seconds. One, two, three, okay now he’s pushing it, fou—

  Reagan took a step back, smiled and then resumed her duties at the table.

  Off to his right, Purdy and Chloe muttered something about plates and headed off toward the kitchen.

  Perfect. It was time for him and Quinn to corner their little sub, even if she refused to accept that was her true nature. The recognition would come. Soon, he guessed. The signs were there, her natural responses to his and Quinn’s dominance, that hesitant but excited gleam in her eye when they deepened their voices or challenged her stare.

  He’d waited months for some solid time with Reagan. She’d dodged them in town, avoided them at social gatherings and then he and Quinn had visited New Jersey and Texas on their prodigal sons’ world tour, allowing her to shore up her defenses. They’d spooked her worse than a bed full of spiders. Why?

  He aimed to find out.

  She grasped any excuse to delay the inevitable. She must be exhausted from all that running. Good thing that ended now. An exhausted sub was no fun, unless such lethargy was the result of repeated orgasms at her Master’s whim.

  Mike swung his gaze to Reagan and spied her sneaking a glance his way. A rich throb of satisfaction filled his chest. He stared back, lifting one brow.

  She ducked her chin, turning her gaze to the lump of napkins

  Shy little subs. Damn, they were fun. And his weakness.

  With a glance at Quinn, who nodded in confirmation, Mike tossed his empty beer can in the trash. Together, the men walked over to stand behind Reagan.

  Mike lowered his head close to hers. He breathed in the fresh floral scent of her hair before he spoke in a tone soft enough for only the three of them to hear.

  “Caught you sneaking a glance red-handed, little reader.”

  * * * *

  Reagan’s heartbeat leapt quicker than a frightened deer. Through sheer willpower, she stopped herself from twirling around. With slow movements, she smoothed down the last remaining paper napkin on top of the pile, using those precious seconds to calm her breathing before pivoting to face Mike.

  “If it’s okay for you and Quinn to stare, surely turnabout is fair play?”

  No voice wobbles. Yay for her!

  Quinn stepped closer. The soft denim of his shirt rubbed against her arm. Mike made a barely perceptible move to the right, allowing Quinn more room while cutting off any chance for her to step to the side.

  Awareness of being cornered by a posse of pure alpha male fizzed and bubbled over her skin. Her gaze bounced between the men. The sun beat down on the short strands of Mike’s hair, highlighting the raven locks to an almost blue. His dark eyes smoldered with a banked heat as they slid over her body with a casual arrogance that both thrilled her and tempted her to slap his face.

  Quinn’s own saddle-brown gaze met hers head on. A hint of amusement lit up their depths. Then there was his grin. Slow, easy, and way too confident. She didn’t know whether to smile back or stomp on his foot.

  “When you mix it up with two Doms, nothing is fair, sweetness.” Quinn’s finger traced over the pulse point at the base of her throat and then strayed over her collarbone before sliding back up her neck. The tingle of his caress lasted seconds after he lowered his hand to his side. “However, you’re welcome to look all you like. We’ll be doing the same.”

  Reagan’s laugh was short and wry. Like they hadn’t already. From the moment Mike had laid his gloriously strong hands on her waist and lifted her down from Quinn’s truck, she’d been under a constant barrage of double-Dom scrutiny. Add in some deliberate light touching, the kind that reminded you they were near, observing, waiting to strike, and she was now questioning her ability to walk away unscathed. Or even if she wanted to.

  And wasn’t that something.

  “Aunt Reagan, are you gonna sit with me and Daddy?” Calliope’s voice piped up from behind Quinn.

  Yes! A safety net.

  She opened her mouth a second before Quinn turned and grabbed the munchkin up in his arms. He used one arm to hold her safe while his free hand tickled her tummy. Squeals of delight filled the air.

  “No chance, squirt. We’ve decided to kidnap her and keep her as our date.”

  Reagan sucked in a breath. Every cell of her was being zinged with anticipation at his delicious threat. Heat pooled between her legs. She closed her mouth and turned her head to the side, but not before she spied Mike’s amused gaze.

  Noah’s shout that the meat was cooked had everyone ready to sit at the table. Reagan ended up back in the same seat as before, with Quinn and Mike again sitting on either side. The men made sure all the women and Calliope had drinks before fixing their own.

  Conversation slowed as everyone dug into their lunch. Once their initial hunger was sated, Calliope started to get restless.

  “Hey there, folks.” Jeb Stewart, King’s Haven’s longtime horse trainer, and in many respects now a pseudo parent to both Flynn and Noah, stepped up from the direction of the stables. Tilting back his cowboy hat, the weathered lines of his face stretched in a smile. “What’s the chance I can convince Calliope to go on another ride?”

  Reagan caught the grateful look Jackson sent Jeb’s way. Everyone knew he loved his daughter, adored her in fact, but sometimes an adult needed time with his friends.

  As Calliope headed off with Jeb, the women made quick work of stacking the plates and cutlery. Spying Digger a few feet away, Reagan offered him a T-bone still dressed with a good serving of beef. The big hunk of canine love wagged his tail in thanks before trotting off a few yards from the humans to savor his treat.

  She’d just made it to her side of the table when Mike lost his grip on the bowl of leftover potato salad. It landed with a thump upside down and right in the middle of her chair.

  “Damn, look what happened.” Mike’s voiced lacked any kind of
conviction. He dragged the plastic molded chair away from the table.

  Reagan stared first at the chair and then Mike. Why couldn’t she get her mouth to work?

  Chloe waved at the mess. “No problem. We have spare chairs.”

  “Nah, they’re stored away. We only got so many out for lunch.” Noah ignored Chloe’s gape-mouthed stare. He stood and then moved to the cooler. “Anyone for another drink?”

  Drinks? What about—

  “Good idea.” Jackson rose quickly and gave a suspicious cough as he avoided her gaze.

  Fine. She’d take Mike’s seat.

  “Guess you’ll just have to sit on my lap, sweetie.” Quinn hooked an arm around her waist.

  With a yelp, Reagan found herself perched on a set of hard-muscled thighs. She reached out, bracing one hand just below Quinn’s shoulder and the other on his forearm, resting like a heavy log over the top of her thighs. That same log formed an effective barrier, keeping her from jumping up to freedom. His free arm supported her back, ending with his hand lying against her outer thigh.

  His baseball-sized bicep flexed under her fingers. She wondered what it would be like to have that kind of strength surrounding her, controlling her?

  “A-hem.” Chloe’s soft cough filled the silence around the table.

  Reagan whisked her hand away to the safety of her own lap. Her back straight and gaze turned toward her friends, she refused to meet Quinn and Mike’s stares. “I’m sure I could find another chair.”

  “I doubt it.” Flynn passed a mineral water to Purdy, who seemed to be having a hard time keeping her mouth in a straight line.

  Sneaky bastards.

  Mike moved his chair next to Quinn’s. His leg butted up against her knees, effectively boxing her in so she couldn’t wiggle off Quinn’s lap. From the corner of her eye, she spied him calmly drinking his soda as if there was nothing strange about him and Quinn keeping her prisoner on their side of the table.

  Shoot, if only she wasn’t such a short-ass. Her feet weren’t even touching the ground.