Winners

by Allyson Young

  “You did as good as Doc Webber,” George Roberts observed. “That mare is of good stock and worth a lot of money. Thought we’d lose her. And the foal. ‘Preciate you taking the time.”

  Sinclair had thought they’d lose the horses, too, but figured it wasn’t politic to share. “She seems fine, although you need to watch her. There are still things that could go wrong.”

  “Uh huh. I’ll have Bobby sit up. You come back tomorrow and check in.”

  “Doc Webber—”

  “He didn’t make it out tonight, Miss Sinclair. The mare is your patient.”

  Doc Webber wouldn’t be okay with that. The other vets would be, but not Webber. Sinclair was too tired to argue, and would cross that bridge tomorrow. Having Mr. Roberts as a sponsor wasn’t the worst thing. Webber couldn’t face someone like him down, and she’d bet George knew about the drinking. The reason Webber hadn’t responded to the after-hours call.

  She nodded and gathered up the rest of her gear, wondering again if she should have called another vet once she’d assessed the situation. But she’d been on her way home after yet another day in the field when one of the hands had motioned her in, waving from the end of the drive in extreme agitation. Mr. Roberts demanded she help, so she pitched in and didn’t have a moment to think, expecting Doc Webber at any time. He never showed, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be pissed. Whatever. No point in worrying now. She was made of sterner stuff than that.

  With a final check of the mare, she ran a hand over the downy flank of the foal, a sweet little filly, and picked up her case. “I’ll come by early tomorrow, Mr. Roberts. And after my field work if you want.”

  “I want.” The older man gave her an even look and moved to let her step from the box stall. She sketched a smile and went out to her vehicle, tired to death. Her cell buzzed, and she fished it from her pocket. There were several missed texts, and she vaguely recalled hearing the signal while she was working on the horse. Crap. Both Craig and Ashton were on her case, probably worried sick. She never worried them needlessly, and this was one of those times they’d have to come to expect. She tried to reason with them, tried to explain how important this career was to her, but they continued to voice their concerns and pressure her to give up the “risky” calls. Sometimes she’d get frustrated and remind them it was her choice. Just as she’d chosen them. That tended to shut things down pretty quick, although it upset her to upset them. She texted back a short reply, the better to reassure them and head out right way. At George Roberts. Emerg foaling.

  As she lifted the trunk to throw her stuff inside, a feminine voice spoke her name. “Sinclair Renton. All grown up.”

  Lord, it was her. Melinda Roberts. Of the once upon a time one of Craig and Ashton’s women Melinda Roberts. The one she’d seen them … do, giving Sinclair a window into their sexual predilections. Any joy of saving the mare and her offspring faded away as Sinclair pasted a neutral expression on her face. Time she faced this particular demon she had no right to fear. Craig and Ash belonged to her, and that solid fact clarified her thoughts and warmed her heart.

  “Hi, Melinda.”

  “I hear you’re back living on the ranch.” The older woman’s hair shone in the yard lights, and her heavily made up face loomed too close to Sinclair’s. She could smell a heavy, exotic perfume and wondered if eau d’ foaling compared.

  “For a few months now.”

  “Living with Craig and Ashton.”

  “I am.” Definitely not going to deny it.

  Melinda tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. She huffed, and her lips quirked in a nasty smile. Had she thought Sinclair would deny the inference? The woman had another think coming.

  “Those boys are fine. Now I’m back, I thought I’d stop by and see them. Catch up on old times.”

  “Better call first.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “We appreciate some notice from visitors. You know, so we’re prepared to entertain company. We tend to enjoy our time together.”

  “What are you doing here?” Melinda clearly was regrouping, and Sinclair could almost see the wheels turning in the other woman’s head.

  “I attended your father’s mare. The one foaling.”

  “Are you a vet?”

  “Not for a couple of years.”

  “My father uses Doc Webber.”

  “I guess he wasn’t available.” Sinclair kept her tone casual, and after a sharp glance, Melinda left the topic. What was done was done.

  The conversation died. Sinclair had no interest in asking Melinda anything about her life, past or present, and wanted to get gone before the woman delved deeper. And Sinclair spelled things out in an unladylike fashion. She slammed the trunk and stepped past Melinda, reaching for the front door handle.

  “Do you like their brand of kink?”

  So much for a strategic retreat, not that she wasn’t up for the battle. Being with Craig and Ash had given her confidence, not to mention a terrific boost to her self- esteem. And she had made it through some grueling years at university.

  Sinclair supposed it was best to have this conversation in the yard, and not at say, the local restaurant, or the pharmacy, or even the library, although Melinda didn’t look the type to read. And she didn’t doubt the woman would ask her the same question wherever, because the nastiness emanating from Melinda was tangible. As she considered her response, a big motor revved up the drive, and she recognized the sound—Ashton’s truck needed a tune-up.

  She wasn’t sure who she was angriest at in that moment and thought maybe it was a tie. Melinda squinted unattractively toward the big vehicle, then morphed into a seductive floozy when it stopped and Ash and Craig scrambled out. It was almost funny to view the transformation, but Sinclair was past seeing the humor in any situation.

  “Ashton! Craig! I was just telling your … umm … Sinclair here that I planned to stop by. Catch up on old times.” She pranced over and laid a hand on first Ashton and then Craig. They took on a look Sinclair had seen on an old dog when the vet came into the office and lifted it onto the examination table.

  Mutters of Hey, Melinda could be heard as both men sidled away, and Sinclair appreciated their effort to distance themselves, but it didn’t cool her outrage that they felt the need to ride to her rescue. If she was enough woman to take them on, then she was enough to deal with one of their former … flames.

  “Actually, Melinda was just asking me if I liked your brand of kink. I expect we’d be comparing notes next if you hadn’t arrived … so precipitously.”

  Melinda gaped, scarlet lips quivering wide, and she took a step back. Ash moved in Sinclair’s direction, and Craig circled around Melinda. All it would take was for George to come out from the barn to complete the circus.

  “I do like it, Melinda. Exclusively. You remember to call first before you stop by.” Yanking the driver’s door open, Sinclair slid inside, stabbing the keys into the ignition and cranking over the engine. As she pulled the door shut, she called out her farewell over the noise before shifting into drive and pulling away. Ashton set his hands on his hips and stared her way as Craig stumbled to a halt near her bumper.

  Lights in her rearview announced themselves a couple of minutes later, and she smiled widely. There would be some posturing at home, maybe even some raised voices, but she was taking a long, hot bath in the Jacuzzi—with or without her men, and she’d bet on the former—then going to bed. It had been an exhausting, fruitful day, and regardless of what happened tomorrow, she’d saved two valuable animals, slain her demon and felt mighty fine on the face of it. And once Ash and Craig settled, they’d take care of her like they always did. Their relationship was far more than just sex, although she wouldn’t minimize how important that was to her, and them.

  Her men caught up with her as she pulled her gear from the car, Craig relieving her of her burdens. He gave her a sheepish look.

  “My overalls need to be washed.”

  “Sure.” Craig bore the plast
ic bag into the house, the yard dogs trailing him and his aromatic armful.

  “Coward.” She turned to see Ashton scowling after his brother.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You worried us sick, Sinclair. Late and no phone call. No text. We couldn’t reach you.”

  “I’m sorry. I got wrapped up in the emergency.”

  “I know. I get it. It’s bound to happen. But then you said where you were…” Ash’s face was in shadow, but she interpreted the ambivalence in his tone. If it hadn’t been for Melinda, she knew there would have been a big, heated discussion, so there was a silver lining in that regard, too.

  “Whose idea was it to come save me from the evil Melinda?”

  Ash scuffed a boot in the dust. “Mine. Not that you needed saving, turned out.”

  “Ash?”

  “What, sweetheart?”

  She stepped into him, and he wrapped her up, resting his chin on the top of her head. Sinclair breathed him in. “We’re still figuring things out, Ash. There’ll be times when I can’t fight a battle and I’ll welcome your help. But I want to ask for it, okay? And I’m going to be a vet, and do all the things vets do. But I won’t take risks, okay? Can you give me that?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “I know you will, and believe me when I tell you how much I appreciate the fact you always have my back.”

  Craig hollered from the house. “The bath is running. You coming?”

  Ash scooped her up.

  “I can walk.”

  “Making it up to you, Sinclair. You look worn out.”

  ****

  Ash handed Sinclair over to Craig, who set about relieving her of her clothes, starting with her boots, which he passed back to Ash to set in the mudroom. The washer was also filling, and when he returned to find her outer clothing in a pile, he gathered them up and reversed his path to shove them in with the overalls, adding detergent with a lavish hand.

  He could hear her laughter even over the noise of the appliance and smiled in response. Craig would be making nice and groveling a little, although in truth they’d both been scared shitless when she was so late and didn’t call, and then to think of her possibly running into Melinda—he smirked. The look on the other woman’s face ... talk about dodging a bullet.

  When he gained the bathroom, Sinclair and Craig were already relaxing in the huge tub, jets burbling and fragrant steam filling the room. Ash cracked a window before stripping down, enjoying how Sinclair’s conversation with Craig wound down as her eyes slipped over his naked body. She pulled a hand through the water in invitation, and Ash hustled to climb in. Her hair shimmered through the bubbles the way he figured a mermaid’s would, and the strands veiled her slender torso. He sought a breast beneath the shroud and tenderly cupped it, feeling Craig’s hand cover the other.

  “I need my bed.” There was no negotiation in Sinclair’s tone, and Ash didn’t argue. Neither did his brother. It was rare indeed that their girl was so short with either of them, but he supposed it had been a long, wearing day—for all of them.

  “Just helping you wash, sweetheart.” He grabbed a bar of soap and a bath sponge to prove it and embarked on the enjoyable task. Taking care of Sinclair was nearly as good as having her. Nearly. She was worn out though, as he’d noted, so he kept his touching to the necessary, despite his own need. It was easier said than done, her satiny skin a temptation to taste, not to mention her lady parts.

  She slipped beneath the surface to rinse the suds Craig created in her hair, and Ash climbed out to get a pitcher of fresh water. She closed her eyes against the stream, and Craig stole a kiss. He never thought he was a romantic, but Ash thought he could write some words about the way she looked at that moment, before shaking it off and grabbing a thick towel.

  Wrapping her up, squeezing the excess moisture from her hair, he rubbed her down, easing what were obviously tired muscles, to her appreciative moans. Then he carried her to their bed.

  “I can’t leave my hair like this.” Her tired voice pushed him into motion.

  All he could find were some twist ties hanging off the electrical cord to the lamp, but he knew his way around a horse’s mane for the shows, and braided Sinclair’s hair in record time, securing the end with the plastic covered piece of wire. She lay on her belly, lax and unmoving.

  “There. You’ll have wavy hair tomorrow but no tangles.”

  “Thanks, Ash.” He could barely hear her response.

  “My pleasure, sweetheart. We’ll finish the laundry, clear up the bathroom, and be along shortly.”

  Nothing. She was out. Ash checked the bathroom and Craig was finishing up in there, so he sauntered down the stairs to throw the wash into the dryer and lock up, shut the lights. When he went back upstairs, he found Craig standing by the bed, staring down at their sleeping woman. His face was turned away, but Ash had no difficulty reading him.

  “How’d we get so lucky?”

  “Don’t know. But it’s like holding the winning lottery ticket. The rewards just keep on coming.”

  Epilogue

  Candy set the snack trays within easy reach of the guys while Sinclair brought in some paper towels and a bowl of salsa. Reece, Craig, and Ashton all appeared intent on the game, but she suspected it wouldn’t take much effort on her part or Sin’s to distract them. It was almost halftime, and at least they’d made it this far without the Russell brothers dragging Sinclair home so she could “rest”, and Reece counting the minutes until their guests went home. Not that she wasn’t as guilty. And Sinclair hadn’t minded that early night from all appearances.

  Rumor had it that Melinda Roberts had taken herself back to the east coast, saying that Barrister didn’t have anything to offer her. Sinclair made some weird Mona Lisa face when Candy told her, and then shared the confrontation.

  “I tried to be nice and avoid a confrontation, I really did.” Sin had ducked her head. “But she was just so … Melinda. And then my guys surfaced and my inner bitch rose up.”

  “I didn’t know you had an inner bitch,” Candy remembered teasing her friend, but was thrilled to know that Sinclair was coming into her own, likely the result of being the center of her men’s world.

  Candy would have given anything to be a fly on the wall and privy to that event. She was far more short-tempered than her friend, and she had no doubt there would have been a catfight, but Sin’s way of dealing with the other woman had been better—and more effective. If only she could have seen the Russell boys’ faces though. Candy kept her friend’s confidence, however. She’d never let on that she knew what played out.

  Candy’s daddy had indeed called her, and they’d exchanged a few cautious words, culminating in her agreeing that he drop off her mother’s picture. She hadn’t invited him inside—it was too soon—but they were going to have dinner at the estate in a week’s time. They could always leave if things went south, but it would be more difficult to ask her father and Roslyn to get the hell out of her house. With her history, it was hard learning to accept that the glass could be half full.

  She felt Reece’s eyes on her and looked his way, reveling in the way he studied her, full of promise. She relaxed, able to set away her issues as she always could around Reece.

  “Maybe we should go,” Sinclair teased.

  “And maybe we should get through one evening like adults and not horny teenagers.”

  With a wink, Sin bounced off to the couch and curled up between Ash and Craig, who immediately enveloped her. Candy raised a brow at Reece and went to fit herself on his lap, his big arms wrapping her up.

  “Who’s winning?”

  “We are!” Reece, Ashton, and Craig spoke as one. Sinclair stared into Candy’s eyes, and they agreed without speaking. All winners here. No more marking time, waiting and hoping for deep, abiding love.

  The End

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  Other Books by Allyson Young:

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