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

by Fiona Archer

  “Didn’t expect you to. I’m letting you know how it stands for Quinn and me.”

  An honest statement, and at least he hadn’t presumed she’d say anything in return. So why did she feel like she’d somehow let him down?

  The thought put down roots in her head, growing the knot in her stomach as he led her back down the hallway and into her room.

  The sheets were straightened, pillows fluffed, and another glass of water sat on her nightstand right next to a book she was considering for the book club. The same book which this morning, she’d left turned down. Now the book’s cover stared up at her. She’d created a monster. Two of them.

  Quinn’s bare feet made no noise down the hallway. He appeared at the door. “House is secured. I’ll hit the showers.” Then he was gone.

  Mike pointed to her. “You. In the middle.”

  She climbed into the center, seeking the solace of her sheets.

  For once her mountain of pillows could all be used at the same time. Mike settled himself against their feathery softness. She mushed up a couple for herself, both redundant when he dragged her close to his side, her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder.

  The feel of cotton sheets and the comforting weight of his arm around her waist helped quell the undercurrent of—what would she call it?—confusion that swamped her. Slowly, one breath at a time, her body, smelling clean and sated from a barrage of dominant loving, surrendered to the overwhelming need for rest.

  “Comfy?” Mike’s voice seemed a long way off.

  “Mmm.” Her breathing turned deeper, slower.

  The bed dipped to her right. “Someone’s crashed.”

  Through the gauzy haze of near-sleep, she recognized Quinn’s voice. He lay on his back, the length of his body forming a shield, protecting her from all oncomers.

  “Seems so.” Mike kept his voice quiet. “We still have some work to do, buddy. I think I scared her earlier with my usual candor.”

  “She’s nervous, working things out. That doesn’t mean we can’t stake our claim.”

  A part of her, the one not yet swimming in blissful dreamland, took stock of Quinn’s statement. Stake our claim. No pretense. They wanted her, and she’d bet a year’s supply of e-books they weren’t talking purely in a physical sense. But to what level did this claim extend?

  More importantly, why should it worry her? Nobody could claim her until she allowed them that right.

  Was that the real issue here? That the walls of her safe little world were cracking now that she’d had a taste of what it could be like, sharing herself in mind and body with these men and as a result throwing up challenges that she’d never considered outside of her fantasies?

  Sharing her space, allowing them more into her life, trusting them—all these things were real, not simply interesting tidbits in a book.

  Calm down, woman. One day, and date, at a time. She wouldn’t be pushed into anything.

  * * * *

  Quinn added the last slice of tomato, topping it off with strips of crispy bacon, mayo, lettuce, and toasted rye. Three extra-large BLTs coming up.

  Mike poured iced tea into three glasses while Reagan opened a bag of potato chips and dumped them into a bowl on the kitchen table.

  He smiled as she also grabbed three cotton napkins from one of the cream-colored drawers. The lady did things with class. And didn’t she look cute in her gray sweatpants and ruby-red sweater. Especially since they’d refused to allow her to wear a bra.

  It was nine in the evening and here they were sitting down to dinner. Reagan’s afternoon nap turned into an extended snooze. He and Mike had spent the time reading a couple of those erotic romance novels. Ménages, BDSM, and heroines with attitude seemed to prevail, or at least were Reagan’s preferred reading material. And that suited him just fine.

  He turned to snag the last piece of bacon resting on the paper towel but instead found the hunched form of the world’s most battle-scarred tabby. The cat seemed frozen in mid-lunge for the bacon, its blue eyes unblinking as they met his gaze.

  “It seems we’re at a standoff, buddy.” Quinn kept his voice soft.

  Reagan turned away from the table to glance behind him. Her face softened and her mouth turned up. “Marvin. Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry. Mommy didn’t put your fresh food bowl out when I got home. But you know you’re not allowed up there.”

  “Damn, that cat’s got…ah, character.”

  Reagan snapped her head around to face him. She reached across to rub under Marvin’s chin. He butted his head against her hand, steering her to scratch behind the nobbled bumps and ridges of his ears. “He’s a rescue kitty. You see these marks? They’re burns. His owners used his ears for an ashtray.”

  “Fucking bastards.” Quinn crouched down beside the cat, putting his hand out for the feline’s inspection. The tabby stared at him for half a minute before bending his head to sniff one finger. Why the hell the cat’s interest meant so much to him he didn’t, or wouldn’t, bother contemplating.

  Before he made an advance on human and feline relations, Marvin grabbed the bacon and escaped out through the kitchen and down the hallway.

  “I’m stunned he let you get so close. He’s normally so shy.” Wonder crept into Reagan’s voice. The approving warmth in her baby blues made him stand that little bit straighter.

  Mike chuckled as he carried over the last of the iced teas. “Quinn grew up on a farm, surrounded by critters. They take a little longer to warm to me.”

  Quinn scoffed as he carried over the tray with their BLTs. “They like you well enough, once they learn your frown and cursing is just part of your lovable nature.”

  “Oh, that looks yummy.” Reagan’s eyes lit up as she spread the napkin on her lap. “I’m starving.” She waited for him and Mike to start their meals before biting down on her sandwich. “Mmm, delicious.”

  A woman who enjoyed simple, good food was a pleasure to behold. She didn’t fuss with anemic salads or pick around the edges. She ate with manners and a hearty appetite. She was his kind of girl.

  He stared at her, caught up in the vibrancy of her smile, watching as if in slow motion as the others carried on a conversation between bites.

  Talk about two lucky bastards. She was amazing, in more ways than her attitude toward food. Sex with her was incredible, and not just from a Dom/sub perspective. Fuck, they’d barely scratched the surface on that score. She’d given so much of herself, revealed a long-held fantasy, embraced the physical connection between the three of them, and shown she had enough courage to try something new. All of which highlighted her character as much as her sexual triggers.

  “Quinn, what do you think?” Reagan asked as she blotted the side of her mouth with her napkin.

  “Run that by me again, sugar.”

  Her giggle lightened his chest. “Daydreaming?”

  Strategizing. “It’s the hunger. A man can’t go so long without food.” He chuckled as she rolled her eyes. Mike nodded as he took another bite.

  “I was saying about the neighbors. They’re a young family, one newborn. Dad and I sold them five acres two years ago. They’ve now saved up to build a house. I was thinking about inviting them over for dinner.” She shrugged. “Right now, they’re living in a double-wide trailer until the house is built.”

  “So that’s why there’s the heavy machinery and the access road.”

  “Yep. The new house will be way further back than mine. Both five-acre lots run parallel down to the creek and they wanted a road going nearly the whole distance.”

  “It’s always a smart idea to check out your neighbors, good or bad.” On face value, a young family with a newborn was good for the town. But everyone had their secrets.

  She shook her head. “I wasn’t thinking about it from that standpoint. I meant it as a friendly gesture, not as an exercise in investigative surveillance.”

  No. But she hadn’t lived in his unforgiving, murky world as a special forces soldier. And for that he was fucking
eternally grateful.

  As for his future, near or distant, and the possibility of any role she might take up in that existence, he’d revise and update when more intel was at hand.

  They’d staged their takedown, caught their lovely sub. Now it was a matter of securing and strengthening their advantage.

  Stubborn as they were, both he and Mike had learned you didn’t achieve your goals without hard facts and a plan. Only fools and dead men left things to chance.

  * * * *

  Thump. Thump. Reagan cursed and hurried to put on her slippers. She’d just managed to crawl out of bed without disturbing the two sleeping giants and dress in her sweats and a T-shirt when the knocking started.

  Eight o’clock on a Sunday morning. Who the heck wanted her at this time?

  A rustle of sheets sounded behind her.

  She whipped around only to freeze on the spot.

  Mike and Quinn stood on either side of the bed, both in their jeans, Mike scraping a hand over his chin while Quinn zipped up his fly.

  So much for her stealth act.

  She heard another thump on the door again. “Coming,” she yelled out. No point in keeping quiet. “You both were awake the whole time, weren’t you?”

  “Sugar, watching you crawl down the bed with your ass in the air was priceless.” Quinn walked past her out of the bedroom and headed straight for her front door.

  “Hey, I’ll answer that.” Last thing she needed was a shirtless Quinn greeting her visitor.

  Hurrying to join him, she tried to see past his wide bulk to identify her visitor.

  “…official police business. I need to speak with her.” She recognized that deep voice, although she couldn’t think of the last time he’d sounded so serious.

  “Caleb?”

  Quinn stepped out of the way so Sheriff Caleb King could enter.

  After giving Quinn a measuring look, the golden boy of King’s Bluff, and one of her childhood friends, removed his sheriff’s Stetson and walked toward her. The normal twinkle in his sky-blue eyes was absent, replaced by a somberness that added a lead weight to her stomach.

  Something was wrong. Very wrong.

  He focused his gaze directly on her. “Let’s go into the living room, honey.”

  Strong hands on her shoulders pushed her forward.

  Inside the living room, they all stood, Reagan bracketed by Quinn and Mike. Quinn threw his arm around her shoulders. Mike held on to her hand, giving it a squeeze. She returned the gesture, comforted by his thoughtfulness.

  “Why don’t you sit.” Caleb gestured with his free hand.

  She shook her head. “Is it Chloe or Purdy? The library? What’s happened?”

  “No, Reagan. They’re all safe.” Caleb squared his shoulders. “This morning your neighbor, Evan Bailey, started clearing some old tree stumps down near the creek. In the process, he discovered a human skeleton.”

  “What?” A chill invaded her limbs.

  “The individual’s skull had been smashed. There was an engraved wedding ring and a watch, along with a handbag. Inside the bag was documentation leading us to suspect the identity of the person, including a driver’s license.” Caleb took a step forward and claimed her free hand.

  For the first time ever, she drew no comfort from his brotherly strength.

  “Sweetheart, we believe it’s your mother.”

  A loud shrill ringing pierced her ears. She felt something beneath her buckle. Then there was blackness.

  Chapter Five

  Reagan sat on the couch, hands clenched together so hard her fingers ached from the pressure. At least now she was thinking, feeling.

  She dragged in a breath against the tightness of her chest. Her grandma’s old crochet wool blanket spread out over the couch’s plump cushions, usually a comforting reminder of her love, now itched the bare skin at the back of her arms.

  Nothing was as it used to be. Not since Caleb’s visit half an hour ago. For the last twenty years, everything about her mom she’d counted as fact was strewn on the ground like debris from a storm.

  You didn’t leave us…me.

  Her head pounded as an avalanche of questions ping-ponged back and forth in her mind. Her mom murdered? A skull smashed?

  She would have been so afraid. God, what had her mother endured in her last moments? Tightness squeezed at her throat. Tears blurred her vision.

  Oh, Mom.

  “Sweetheart, take this.” Mike’s voice crashed through her thoughts. His denim-covered legs filled her view as he wedged a warm cup of coffee in her hands.

  She wrapped her fingers around the mug, the heat from its contents soaking into the coldness of her skin. A quick glance at Mike showed a deep furrow between his brows, lending a harsher slant to his still unshaven face. Her gaze dropped to his chest, covered in a black T-shirt. So they did have a change of clothes in that gym bag.

  He settled himself beside her on the couch. A heavy arm slid behind her shoulders. The solid block of his body grounded her into the now and away from the ghosts of her past that drifted around her, pulling at her memories.

  “Drink.” The authority in his voice was balanced by the comforting rub of his hand along the outside of her arm.

  She sipped the coffee. Hot. Wet. Tasteless. However, she appreciated the warmth as it flowed down her throat. Funny how a person could feel flushed on the surface and icy cold way down deep.

  The phone rang, sending out a shrill chime in the quietness of the living room. From down the hallway, a baritone voice with an accent—Noah’s—greeted the caller.

  She turned her head to face the doorway. When had he arrived?

  “I called King’s Haven after we settled you on the couch. You’ve been kind of out of it even once you recovered from fainting.” Mike took the mug from her hands and drew her closer, nestling her into his side. “They arrived as Quinn left with Caleb to check out the site.”

  Chloe walked in, carrying a tray with three more mugs and a plate of cookies. Her smile was soft, compassion reflected in the understanding of her gaze. “Noah’s manning the phones. He makes a scary guard dog when needed.” After setting the tray on the dark wooden coffee table, she came over, plopped down beside Reagan, and dragged her up from against Mike. “Give her to me. It’s my turn.”

  Mike’s chuckle drifted in the background as one of her two surrogate sisters wrapped her in a hug, a big squishy one that comforted her like the warm waters of a bubble bath after being caught out in the chilly wind and rain.

  Reagan tightened her hold as fresh tears clouded her view.

  When they broke away, the primary teacher’s own gaze showed a suspicious brightness.

  Reagan cleared her throat. “Thank you for coming.”

  Chloe held up a hand. “Don’t. You never have to thank us for doing the right thing. I’d have been furious if Mike hadn’t called.”

  Reagan picked up her coffee, then settled back against Mike’s side. It seemed the natural place to be. The hard, muscular length of his body formed a secure mooring as she fought to gain her balance.

  Noah strode into the room, set the cordless phone down on the coffee table, then leaned over and kissed Reagan’s forehead. His gaze narrowed as he studied her face. Finally, he nodded. “Good, she’s got more color than before.”

  Mike’s grunt confirmed his appraisal. Doms. They never stopped noticing or caring.

  Turning away, Noah grabbed the last two remaining mugs from the tray, handed one to Mike, then settled himself in the chair opposite Chloe. “That was Quinn on the phone. He’ll be here in a minute. Caleb too.”

  Bringing what news? Some type of confirmation? More questions? Definitely the latter.

  Chloe placed her mug on the table. “I’ll make extra coffee.” She shook her head when Reagan attempted to sit up. Not that she got too far. Mike’s arm formed a muscled coil of rope around her shoulders, holding her in place. Chloe’s lips turned up at Reagan’s sigh. “Stay there, honey. I’ll be back in a jiffy.�
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  Reagan glanced up at Mike. “I’m not going to faint again. It’s been a while now.”

  His mouth thinned. “Not taking that chance. You’ve had a hell of a shock. After a few more sips of coffee, we’ll see how you are.” He squeezed her close again, as if reassuring himself as much as her. A soft kiss on her lips followed. “We’ll never take unnecessary risks with you, Reagan.”

  Her chest warmed at his words. Two men, ensuring she was protected, safe. There were worse scenarios.

  The sound of the front door opening made her sit up straight. Then Quinn’s giant form filled the living room doorway. He looked over to Mike and she spied a flicker of something, a warning maybe, in his gaze before he concentrated on her. There was concern there, yes, but also a guardedness, setting off alarm bells in her head with deafening clarity.

  Whatever he was hiding or protecting her from, she’d find out.

  He moved over to the couch, his boots soundless on the Turkish floor rug. Then he was beside her, pulling her into his embrace.

  She rubbed her nose against his white T-shirt, smelling the crisp freshness of the laundry detergent. With a sigh, she sat up straight. Now was the time for answers. “Caleb came back with you?”

  As soon as she’d spoken, the sheriff entered the room, carrying extra mugs of coffee. He handed one to Quinn as Chloe settled in a chair next to Noah.

  Caleb sat in one of the red and white patterned wingback chairs opposite Reagan. The official fawn-colored shirt covering his wide shoulders and the gold sheriff’s badge pinned to his chest reinforced the enormity of the situation. He gulped down some coffee, then lowered the mug to rest on a coaster. With his hands clasped in front of him, he leaned forward.

  Reagan couldn’t help but notice how he flicked his gaze toward Quinn, then Mike, before settling on her.

  She shivered against the impending feeling of doom threatening to drag her from her cocoon of safety.

  Quinn’s arms tightened around her as Mike’s hand rubbed the top of her thigh. Their actions bolstered her flagging courage.

  Caleb’s voice seemed heavy with regret. “Honey, I called Jeb Stewart before I came here earlier. As a close friend of both your mom and dad, I guessed he’d be able to recognize the wedding ring and watch.”