Lustful Intentions [Climax, Montana 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Reece Butler

  He remembered that night with crystal clarity. He knew it was close as to who would win, him or his dad. He’d hoped to come second as his dad wanted that stupid gold buckle so bad. As a contestant, Sam had watched from the far side of the arena. Too far to do a damn thing to save him.

  “The buzzer sounded and the crowd went wild. Everyone knew why Dad wanted to win, and that he had. It was a crazy thing to do at his age, but he leaped off, right in front of Mom. Just before he left the saddle the horse twisted, knocking him. He landed on the back of his neck. It snapped his spine and killed him instantly.”

  “Oh, my God! Your poor mother!”

  “She told the funeral home to put that gold buckle on his belt when they buried him. I figured she wanted the reminder gone from the house.”

  Tears rolled down Katie’s cheeks. Sam’s vision blurred. He’d never cried. He’d had to be the man of the family for everyone else.

  “I think she must have known how badly he wanted to win it for her, to show his love," said Katie softly. "Your mom wanted him to look his finest.”

  “I told them to take it off and put it away before they buried him. I expected Mom to change her mind one day and wish she’d kept it. He’d done it for her, after all. Far as I know they’ve still got it in their safe.”

  “You haven’t told her?”

  Sam was too embarrassed to admit he’d refused to talk to his mother about his dad’s death. It had been bad enough opening up to the grief counselor that one time. He shook his head.

  “You should tell her, Sam. Maybe she’d want it now, or give it to one of her grandchildren.”

  She gazed up at him with a look of such tenderness he had to fight not to break down. He hadn’t cried since he was twelve. Nor had he felt anything in years. Proud of being the Iceman, he’d kept that cold blanket of gray fog wrapped tightly around him. He used it to keep himself from caring, telling himself it was safer that way.

  Katie’s fire had made the fog evaporate like mist on a summer morning. Their lovemaking had kickstarted a swarm of emotion. He’d enjoyed the good stuff with her. He wasn’t so impressed with sharing the bad stuff. Since that rodeo he’d pushed everyone away whenever they tried to show they cared. When they got emotional he’d run for the hills, taking his horse out and riding high into the mountains.

  Alone. Always alone.

  Katie snuggled close, pressing her face against his chest. He held her, blinking back sudden tears. He’d been so wrapped up in his own pain that he hadn’t cared to understand what his mother and brothers had gone through, or his aunts and uncles, who had lost two men who were like brothers to them. He didn’t know Katie well, but if he’d seen her killed in front of him he’d be shaken to the core. His mother had seen her second husband die, all her dreams of a forever love gone, yet she’d somehow managed to keep going. She’d kept him and Trey fed and their clothes and home clean even though he’d treated her worse than a dog.

  He’d had his head stuck up his ass so far he couldn’t see anyone else’s pain. It was a wonder anyone bothered to even speak to him. Nothing had mattered except work.

  And then Katie woke him up with a punch to the nose.

  Sam ran his free hand over his face, finding it wet. He had a hell of a lot of fences to mend before the haying started. Those fences wouldn’t need poles and wire, they’d need guts and determination. He had to face the people who loved him, people he’d treated badly for a decade, and apologize.

  He’d thought being hay boss was going to be hard. Nope. That was just knowledge and organizational skills. This was far worse. He had to open his heart and exorcise some demons.

  He looked down at the fiery woman tucked up next to him. If he had Katie to come home to each night, he might be able to manage it.

  Chapter 20

  Sam’s gut rolled as he approached the winding curve. He could barely breathe, and it had nothing to do with altitude. He’d found many excuses over the years to avoid this route. Driving to Missoula through Butte added a half hour and eighty-three miles to the journey but it kept him from passing where his father had died. He’d gone up the safe way as usual this morning and loaded up his truck with gear for the haying. It was Saturday, and there was more traffic on the road than if it was a weekday, but he’d had no choice.

  He’d done his shopping then paused in the parking lot of Murdoch’s Ranch and Home Supply. He’d thought of Katie and what she’d faced. He’d felt like a coward and didn’t like the feeling. Instead of heading home the long way, he’d turned his truck toward Lolo and the mountain road.

  It was a great day for driving, the air clear and warm for June at six thousand feet. Perfect for facing a few demons. With the truck loaded, he took it easy as the road rose about twelve hundred feet in a few miles of twisting pavement.

  His nerves got worse the closer he got to the hairpin turn where his father had died. He’d just decided he didn’t really need to stop to prove anything when he saw a car, trunk and hood up in the universal sign of needing help, parked in the scenic viewing area. His mouth went dry. He took his hands off the wheel, one at a time, to wipe sweaty palms on his jeans. This was how his father died. Stopping to help a stranger when an out of control giant RV had come careening down the mountain.

  The front wheel on the driver’s side was up on a jack. Big suitcases had been removed from the trunk to get at the spare tire. The two men were large enough to change a tire so he didn’t see what the problem was. The car had Idaho rental plates so maybe something was missing to change a tire. They waved as he came near but he looked straight ahead. He couldn’t help looking in the rearview. One of them slumped and the other raised his fist.

  He didn’t blame them. He’d seen few vehicles on his way south. It was getting late in the day. Did they even have water, food, and an emergency kit with candles and blankets?

  His foot hit the break before he knew what he was doing. He sat there for a minute, cursing. He was suddenly hot, so opened both windows before he put the truck in reverse. He rested his arm over the seat and looked out the rear as he backed up.

  “No cell coverage,” called one of the men. “I thought you were going to keep going. Damn rental had a jack, but someone lifted the tire iron.”

  “I got one,” said Sam.

  He kept going, parking far from the car in a place a careening RV wasn’t likely to hit him. He got out and opened the back door to get at his toolbox. His hackles rose as he felt them approach. Holding the tire iron in his hand he turned to face them. He was six four but they were taller. Bigger, too. Both had dark hair. One had dark skin and tilted eyes. Something tickled his memory.

  “What the hell? Elliott?” One man pointed at the Rocking E logo on his door. “You gotta be kidding me.”

  “Forget it, Hunt,” said the darker man. “Sam’s still pissed off at the world. He won’t remember us.”

  He peered at the two men. He’d stared into those eyes often, sometimes through a football helmet. His grip on the tire arm relaxed.

  “Hunter? Dax?”

  Hunt grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. Some football players go to fat after they retired, but not these two. Dax, ever one to keep on focus, took the tire iron from his hand and headed over to the rental. He grunted and swore as he worked.

  “Did you check to see if the donut has air?” asked Sam.

  “She-it.” Dax set the tire arm on the ground and went around to the trunk. “Fuck!” He slammed the trunk closed. “This piece of shit ain’t goin’ nowhere.” He stomped back to join them. The tire iron looked like a ruler in his giant fist.

  Hunt grinned at Sam. “You got room for a couple of buddies and their gear?”

  Sam heard an approaching vehicle, coming downhill, fast. He tensed. A huge RV came around the corner, straight at him. He froze.

  Spring and fall, old folks spending the winter parked in Arizona took the tourist route through the mountains. Gravity worked real well on the steep roads, pulling heavy vehicles dow
nhill faster than the drivers had anticipated. They careened around hairpin turns where centrifugal force pulled those heavy RVs into oncoming traffic.

  Straight at a man in a pickup who’d just fixed a tire on this very same scenic outlook. A man who was caught unaware when the RV knocked his pickup over the edge. A man who—

  “This is now,” said Hunter, jolting Sam back to the present.

  The men, one at each shoulder, waited with Sam as the house on wheels safely passed. Sam shook like a leaf caught in the vortex following it. A giant hand seemed to squeeze his lungs. He fought to breathe. His old buddies stayed near, silent and still until Sam finally inhaled a shuddering breath.

  He’d done it. Stood on the very spot, and survived. Dax and Hunter had been on the bus with him that day. The three of them had been the stars of the game. They’d passed the emergency vehicles with little thought, high on teenage adrenaline.

  “This the place?” asked Hunt. Sam’s mouth was too dry to talk. He jerked his head in agreement. “First time back?” Another jerk.

  “Fuck! No wonder you damn near drove past us.” Dax gave him a look of disgust. “Took you this long to beat that shit? Way past time to move on.” He slugged Sam in the arm.

  The pain broke something free. Sam turned to slam Dax back but he danced out of the way. He curved his fingers up, eyebrows high as he taunted him to try it. He was light on his feet for such a big man. It was one of the things that had propelled him so high in college. He had the bulk to stop opposing players, yet could grab the ball in a turnover and run for a touchdown. He would’ve gone all the way to the Superbowl if someone hadn’t taken him out with an illegal play.

  “I’m the one with the ride, ol' buddy,” replied Sam. “I can easily leave you here.”

  Dax gave the one-sided grin that was so familiar. “Just making sure you’re still with us.”

  Sam was not only with them, he was ready to move on. He walked over to the guardrail and looked out. The RV reappeared around the next turn, downhill all the way to Missoula. Far below, the rusted remains of his father’s pickup had been covered by the forest. Maybe animals had used it for a den. His dad would have liked that. He wasn’t one for sentimental gestures.

  A familiar soft chuckle, one he hadn’t heard since he was twelve, sifted past his ears. Or maybe it was the wind. He wiped his eyes with the back of his arm. One deep exhale and he was good to go. He turned and glared at Dax, taking up where they’d left off so many years earlier.

  “You still owe me for that Playboy magazine.”

  “I gave it back!”

  “To Trey!”

  “Not my problem if your little brother screwed you over.”

  Hunt slapped him on the shoulder. Sam had anticipated the move so he didn’t go flying.

  “You want a girlie mag at your age?” scoffed Hunt. “I know the pickings are slim out here in cowboy country, but—”

  “Where can I drop you? Wisdom? Lolo? Over the edge?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the drop-off.

  “Oh-ho!” Dax rubbed his hands eagerly. “Sammy’s pissed off. Has Sammy-boy found himself a lady? Maybe she’d prefer a pair of handsome football stars.” He struck a He-Man pose.

  Sam stiffened. “Katie is mine. Mine and Trey’s.”

  “Back off, Dax,” said Hunt. “Sounds like Sam’s not sure he’s got her roped and tied yet.”

  He thought of Katie bound, blindfolded, and helpless to withstand the erotic torture he’d inflict, keeping her on the edge of orgasm for long minutes without release.

  “Don’t worry, bro,” said Hunt easily, interrupting his fantasies. “We’re staying at the Bitterroot. Won’t be crowding you none.”

  “Heard anything from Ash?” asked Dax, far too casually.

  Ashley was the only child born to the other Elliott family. They’d not been able to have children so had become foster parents, taking in many rough boys over the years, including Dax and Hunter. Delighted with a daughter after having given up, they’d treated Ash like a princess. Having a Southern mother compounded it, with fancy dresses and expectations. The foster boys, all older, treated her like the pesky nuisance she was. She was more than a nuisance to Trey since he let her get to him.

  She’d just turned ten when the two twelve-year-old troublemakers arrived on the Bitterroot Ranch. That football game had made them local heroes, easing their transition and acceptance. Ashley had turned into a gorgeous blonde who loved to flirt and tease. It took both Dax and Hunt to keep her from getting into trouble, not that she appreciated it. They’d gotten football scholarships and Ashley had headed to an Ivy League college on the east coast. She’d married someone wealthy, turning her back on the town. Then her husband had turned his back on her.

  “Heard her marriage went south,” said Sam. “She couldn’t have kids so he dumped her.” Both men winced. “She didn’t show for her parents’ funerals,” he added.

  “You holding that against her?”

  Sam shrugged. “Her parents wanted a princess, so they made her into one. Only she knows why she didn’t come back.”

  “You got any food?” demanded Dax.

  “You hungry already? We ate in Missoula.” Hunter tsk-tsked, shaking his head.

  “So? That was hours ago.” Dax sent a sly look at Sam. “Mrs. Mac still cookin’?”

  Since they weren’t blood relatives, Dax and Hunter had called the senior ranchers by their last names, or their own version of it. Mrs. Mac was Marci MacDougal.

  “Yep. I’ll drop you off there. She’ll fill that big gut of yours.”

  * * * *

  Relieved her presentation to the local women was over, Katie took a few minutes to straighten her papers while the others moved to Marci’s kitchen to eat. She felt a hundred percent better now it was over. Instead of feeling put out that an outsider was telling them what to do, the older women were delighted someone with a business background was willing to help. They were can-do people, which was a delight.

  The only downside of friendly women was that everyone had an opinion or comment about Sam carrying her out of the Roadhouse the night before. Lila, Jane, and Aggie were all sporting sore posteriors, and laughing about it, so she wasn’t the only one being joked about. Katie heard a few stories that suggested everyone had been embarrassed one way or another over the years. She’d been shocked to learn that Marci and her sister Nikki, the recently retired town doctor, had had sex with their men within hours of meeting them. Both had gotten pregnant from it, and had married quickly, and were still happily married.

  Katie had hated being talked about because her family did it to harm and humiliate. Not here. The women laughed with each other, and were honest about their lives. At least, they were when men weren’t around. When Keith Adams showed up to get Aggie and Jane the atmosphere changed, becoming more subdued. And no wonder! She hadn’t seen much of him the previous night but he was quite something. He reminded her of a nature show she’d seen on gorillas. He was the silverback who, though past his prime, commanded the respect of the entire group.

  She’d been too nervous to eat breakfast, and the aromas from Marci’s efforts made her stomach growl. She’d started for the kitchen when Keith Adams strode into the room.

  “Aggie says you’re part of the Winterbourne Fine Furniture family.”

  She stopped cold. The man was powerful from a distance. This close, and with all his attention on her, he was overwhelming. She held her papers in front of her like a shield.

  “Yes. Is that a problem?”

  “Hope not.” Instead of towering over her, he set his cowboy butt on the wide arm of an overstuffed leather chair. “I’m hoping to pick your brain. We have a need for high-quality wood, but in small amounts. What happens to your excess inventory? Or is everything made offshore and imported?”

  “No, we design and manufacture our furniture in Oregon.”

  “And the wood?”

  “Sourced from all over. What products are you wishing to make?�
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  His face lost some of its seriousness. “Not anything that would affect your clients, that’s for sure. Have you heard of a St. Andrew’s cross?”

  Her face heated but she stared him down. “I’ve not seen one, though I’ve read about them.” As of yesterday, thanks to Marci’s erotic ménage romance books. She lifted her chin and pretended they were discussing chairs. “I understand it’s used for bondage and various forms of, ah, percussion.”

  His eyes lit up. “You said you ‘understand,’ as in you have no personal experience to date?”

  “That is correct.”

  His powerful presence and knowing chuckle made her realize why Lila and Jane were drawn to men like this. The same reason she was drawn to Sam’s intensity.

  “I heard Sam carried you out of the Roadhouse last night. Did he introduce you to the joys of submission?”

  Furniture! We’re talking furniture here. Do not whimper and sink to the floor in embarrassment!

  “Mr. Adams, what, exactly, do you want from the Winterbourne Corporation?”

  His demeanor changed to that of a businessman, though there was no reduction in the sense of power and control.

  “Do you store excess material, or get rid of it?”

  “We have been storing it offsite, though that situation may change.”

  “Do you know what might be available?”

  “I spent last summer doing an inventory of the storage barns, so, yes.”

  Her grandmother had assigned the task because she knew Katie loved being away from the rest of her family. The others thought it was punishment.

  “And?” he prodded.

  “And it would be a shame to sell the entire lot as little more than firewood.”

  “Firewood?” His reaction was everything she’d hoped for.

  “My Uncle Walter has no appreciation for beauty, and little for craftsmanship. All he cares about is the bottom line.”

  “He’s the one who’ll be taking over the company when your grandmother leaves?”