Tossing her short cap of hair, she strode around the hood of her car. Deliberately, she stared Mrs. Grainger full in the eye. “Have a nice day,” she crooned, overly sweet.
Kylie opened her door, slipped inside and turned on the ignition. Pressing on her headlights, she backed out of the drive. Never in her strangest wildest dreams had she ever thought her life would come to this.
Chapter Three
Wild Horse Crossing Ranch
Wild Horse Crossing Ranch,
located closest to the town of Pine Springs,
in the Three Star Republic of Texas, March 27, 2009
Dillon growled under his breath, his fists clenching inside his leather work gloves. Where the damn hell were his brothers? He scanned the expanse between one side of their sprawling stone house and their largest barn, then glanced back at the enormous patch of fire-blackened earth Donovan and Daschel were supposed to be tending.
They’d all agreed on the need for a vegetable and culinary garden. Wanting to add variety to their meals, they also worked toward remaining self-sufficient.
Besides, how on God’s green earth were they supposed to attract a woman without the “niceties” of life? Dillon clenched his jaw, making his mad bear face as some called it. He damn-for-certain needed a woman. His cock had been giving him fits for several months, refusing to be appeased by his hand, especially in the mornings.
He was about to shout for them when he heard crashing thumps against the hay barn’s inside wall. Grimly thinning his lips, he strode toward the sound at a fast pace.
Once he hit the flat stretch of ground between three of their corrals that lead to the barn’s entrance, he launched into a trot, his boots thudding on the dry packed dirt. It should have been a warning to his brothers, but he doubted they heard anything.
Ornery, his blood-bay stallion, threw his head and gave him a whinny of greeting as Dillon entered the barn’s dim interior, brighter now since they’d installed a series of skylights. Immediately, he spied Dono and Dash. They were using the neatly stacked hay bales as an arena.
With their arms locked together, each sought the advantage in their wrestling contest. Shirtless, they gleamed with sweat, and their muscles bulged in a battle for supremacy. They both grunted, their legs straining and threatening to burst the seams of their work jeans.
“You can’t wait for Saturday night in front of the betting cowpokes. In front of the womenfolk,” Dillon thundered toward them. He halted, his boot heels sinking in the dirt.
Sweeping off his Stetson, he smacked his thigh. His anger and frustration blasted through him like a lit box of gunpowder. “You get one warning. Stop or I get out the fire hose and blast your hides against the wall. You hear me.”
Momentarily seizing an advantage, Dash shoved his greater weight against Dono. They tumbled to the ground, smacking into the wall of hay bales. Still locked together, they rolled furiously, shifting positions often. Quickly, dirt and hay clung to their clothes and their skin.
“He started it,” Dash snarled, his not-quittin’ anger obvious.
“Dammit, I’m about to bring down those hay bales, let ‘em knock some sense into you.”
Astride Dono, Dash clamped his legs and grabbed for his brother’s neck. But before Dash could wrap his hands around for a win, Dono seized his wrists and ripped Dash’s hands away. Bucking his whole body like a sidewinder, Dono threw his brother off, and leaped to his feet.
Dash followed, swinging his fist for his brother’s jaw. His knuckles only grazed Dono. After that, both of their fists flew and connected, but not squarely. Still, the sound of pummeled flesh filled the large barn.
Entirely disgusted, Dillon pivoted on his heel, rapidly striding for the nearest fire hose, not far from the barn. Not that he wanted wet hay to deal with, but it was the only effective way he’d found of separating his brothers.
Before he’d taken several strides, though, Maisy and Wayward, two of their wolf-husky hybrid dogs ran past him. “That’s it,” Dillon yelled. “Go, get ’em.”
Yipping and circling around Dono and Dash, Maisy was the first to leap up. Her front teeth gripped Dash’s butt cheek and she pinched viciously. Wayward followed with his attack. Springing, he nipped Dono’s ass hard.
Circling again, Maisy snagged the rim of Dash’s boot through his jeans. She jerked powerfully, then dug in her front paws pulling.
“Good girl, Maisy.” Dillon shoved his hat back on, watching Wayward jump straight up and deftly snatch the waistband of Dono’s jeans.
The huge animal landed, planted his paws, and tugged like the devil himself until Dono backed away. Going with the momentum, Dono threw his hands up in surrender, though, not to his brother.
“Maisy, dang it. You bruised my butt enough the saddle ain’t going to feel that good.” Dash rubbed his ass cheek while Maisy danced around him. She held her tail high with triumph, a toothy grin on her white and silver-furred face.
Maisy adored Dash, often choosing him to curl up beside whenever they camped out on the vast lands of their ranch, a necessity when they patrolled trouble areas, made repairs, or tended to their horse and cattle herds.
Dillon narrowed his eyes, ticked off to high heaven. “I don’t give one flying F about your tender little butt. What about the garden? You two may want to live like fence-riding loners, but I don’t. I spent five hours taking care of the cattle without your help so you two could wrestle like two-year-olds instead of plantin’ the garden.”
With his ire burning the top of his scalp, Dillon continued, “You two may be partial to this bachelor existence. Well, I don’t like it. I want a woman’s touch around here. I want female companionship, and not just in bed. Do you understand?”
Dono scuffed the toe of his boot, then jammed his hands in his back pockets. “Enjoying the show?” he asked Maisy and Wayward. The two wolf-dogs had comfortably positioned themselves to observe the humans. “Let’s go talk out by the corral.” He gazed at Dillon squarely. His green eyes, a reflection of their part-Irish heritage, gleamed with apology.
“Yeah, outside. We’ll settle things.”
Whipping around, Dash retrieved his flannel shirt and belt. After sliding on his belt, he used his bundled up shirt to wipe away the hay clinging to his sweaty chest and arms. Shaking it out, he tossed it on quickly.
“Yeah, outside.” Feeling like a dang riled bear, Dillon spun around and stalked toward their talking spot at the corner of the first corral they’d all built together, once they’d claimed the deserted ranch and the huge tracts of land surrounding it twenty-five years ago.
Immense areas of land had been emptied of folks. Plagues, engineered by big pharma companies, had fire-stormed through Texas soon after the state’s declaration of secession from the Union twenty-seven years ago. Because of that, along with the fierce border battles, over half of the population had been wiped out. Then the entire world had fallen into a major depression. Ultimately, militaries all over the globe had rebelled against their despotic governments.
Dillon hitched his boot on the first rail and leaned forward, resting on his crossed arms. Swishing their tails, four of their year-old fillies munched on the fresh hay they’d been given in the morning. They were part of the next generation in the ranch’s breeding program to create the hardiest and best-looking stock.
Joining him, Dono and Dash keenly studied his expression, once they’d planted themselves.
“I don’t want to know,” Dillon forestalled any explanation. Looking away from his brothers, he eased himself by watching the fillies, yet kept Dono and Dash in his peripheral vision.
“We need more of a plan than just the garden,” Dono began.
“What kind of plan?” Dillon kept his tone neutral.
“You know that hole in the dimensional wall near Pine Springs at the gas station? I hear tell it’s still open.” Dash propped his boot up.
“Talked to Craig last Saturday,” Dono continued. “He says they still get vehicles with license plate
s and the people want to pay with credit cards. When they ain’t single women, he pretends to take the information and tells folks to make certain they get back on the main road the same way they came through town because a bridge is out.”
“Craig keeps a whole dang list of bachelors like us—”
Dillon shook his head, stopping Dash. “I’d lasso a woman for us quick as a rattlesnake strikes and bring her home. That’s accepted here. It don’t seem right when the woman is from a parallel world.”
“Hell, you could be doin’ the woman a favor,” Dash persisted. “Pamela says there were all sorts of women from her Earth who were looking for what she called their ‘soul mates’ and having no luck.”
“Talk about wanting a woman, big brother. How long will it take us to lure a woman here, even with the niceties? Right now, unattached women are scarcer than hen’s teeth.” Dono punched the fence plank, emphasizing his frustration.
“Yeah, and the fallout from the plagues has caused a low birth rate.” Dash kicked the dirt, barely stirring any dust from the low mountain ground of northwest Texas. “Besides, I don’t want no close-to-the-cradle bride. I want a real woman.”
Dillon dropped his head, staring at nothing. “Yeah, I agree. I want a woman not a child that still needs raisin’. What does Craig want from us?”
“Stud service for his two mares,” Dono quickly answered. “I know he’s been after our line for a long while.”
“Shoulda known. Dang it, they’re poor stock. What’s he offerin’ exactly?” Dillon raised his head and eyed his brothers.
“We tell him our general preferences, and he puts us at the head of the list for that type of female. One of us has to be within ridin’ distance of his fill-up station or someone else gets the call.” Dono’s gaze glittered with his desperate hope.
“It’s still faster than tryin’ to lure a woman here or canvassing the whole republic for a bride.” Dash used his most convincing voice.
“Let me guess, you two already told Craig our preferences.”
Dono and Dash nodded as one. “Just like we discussed,” Dono seriously replied.
“And how is this plan supposed to work? There are no roads to drive the Tesla or the trucks into Pine Springs. And the ranch don’t take care of itself.”
“We all take three day shifts,” Dash answered too enthusiastically. “It’s only half a day’s ride down our mountain path.”
“Besides it will give us a chance to make more barter deliveries to the general store.” Dono slightly grinned.
Dillon figured he knew that he and Dash were winning their big brother over. “You two got this all worked out, have you?” Turning at the waist, he leaned on the top rail again.
“We’ve been talkin’ a lot, figuring it out, yep.” Dash tossed back his long auburn hair. An unruly forelock had fallen over his eyes. “You’re not the only one loco and longin’ for a woman around here.”
“Must be true.” Dillon heard the dry retort of his voice. “Since you two got stud hormones that won’t be eased by pounding fists on each other. Promise to stop, and I’ll go along with this plan.” Dillon drilled them with his gaze. “Act up again, and I’ll stop it deader than a border raider’s blasted ass.”
“Wahoo!” Dash leaped straight up.
Dillon scowled. “This doesn’t get you two out of garden duty.”
Dono jabbed Dash’s ribs with his elbow. “Come on. She’s not gonna want a steady diet of meat, canned vegetables, biscuits and beans.”
Watching his brothers gallop toward the fenced-off plot with Maisy and Wayward hot on their heels, Dillon briefly shook his head.
One of the fillies, a chestnut he called Stargirl because of the marking on her forehead, approached and nuzzled his chest. He rubbed her gleaming neck. Her winter coat had fallen out mostly and she shone with a deep red color. “You’d make a good mount for a woman, my Stargirl.”
Despite his misgivings over the whole dang scheme, Dillon shrugged. He could kill two birds with one stone. They could all be on the lookout for a woman while increasing their trade with the general store. Their ranch’s tanned hides and smoked beef were always in demand. To their benefit, they’d stock up on needed items as well as purchase more of the luxuries. A woman would appreciate that.
Giving Stargirl a final pat, Dillon realized he felt lighter inside. He supposed hope had its talons in him but good. Before heading to what he and his brothers called the clean-up room, he patted his leg, an invitation to his favorite girl, Bonnie.
He’d found the two-month-old wolf hybrid pup alone and abandoned while scouting out pasture for their first large herd of longhorns. A bonnie wee thing, she’d curled up in his arms trusting him to take care of her. And he had.
Bonnie had proved her worth beyond being his companion. The quality of her pups had given them superior guard dogs, both for the ranch proper and for their cattle and horse herds. They were also vermin hunters and instinctively knew what wild plants to eat to stay healthy.
Course, they’d lost several chickens before fencing up a half acre for the few they kept. Their ten wolf hybrids also knew how to cull the herds, which animals were the weakest physically and genetically.
In the far distance, the sun, an intensely shining white disc in the pale blue sky, hung low between two mountain peaks. He and his brothers had chosen this remote and forgotten ranch where they could rebuild their lives as they saw fit.
Plus, any enemy, foreign or domestic, would be at a disadvantage. More than likely, they’d be dead, their boots up and their corpses left as a feast for the wild critters and insects.
In the Three Star Republic of Texas, every man was the law unto himself, even though certain codes had been established and were generally abided by.
“Just for you, Bonnie darlin’, even though I’m plumb tuckered out.”
Dillon halted near the door to the small clean-up room, then pretended to grab for her. Playing their favorite game, Bonnie dashed and whirled around him, leaping and nipping at his arms as he spun around mock-fighting with her. She’d only had him and his brothers to play with for a long time before they’d found her a mate.
“You win, cute thang.” Rumbling with laughter, Dillon swung open the door and heard their automatic coffee machine click on, as it had been programmed to do.
The odor of Dash’s Crock-Pot stew permeated the air. Dillon inhaled deeply, once again feeling gratitude for the energy-producing unit he and his brothers had managed to keep hold of despite the plagues, the battles they’d been in defending the Republic, and the fight to save their own hides.
The portable magnetic units were hard to come by these days, many of them lost when the Union drone planes had attacked with microwaves designed to destroy electronic capability. Course, since then, they’d strategically placed wood stoves and installed other energy systems, solar being one of them.
Dillon shed his outer layer of clothes, hanging his Stetson next to the gun belt he wore when working the ranch. Wearing only his jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, he moved to the ion booth they used before entering the main area of the house.
“Come on, Bonnie. Let’s go get clean.” Stretching out his arms, he watched her crouch and spring perfectly into his hold.
As he stepped inside, the cleansing booth hummed on, and he slowly rotated until the amber light glowed. “Clean, silver fur girl.” Dillon nuzzled the top of Bonnie’s soft head. She rewarded him with tongue kisses.
Hungrier than he realized, he set her down heading straight for the stew. Bonnie trotted beside him, then sat, eagerly watching as he fixed a bowl for each of them. Reveling in the smell, Dillon sliced off several hunks of the whole grain bread he’d made yesterday.
Early on, he’d insisted on the giant-capacity bread machine, well-knowing his brothers preferred biscuits. Dash made the tastiest baking powder biscuits. Still, a man had his own cravings.
He placed Bonnie’s portion close to her basket bed in the kitchen. Gathering up his bowl an
d plate, he moved toward the house’s old den, a cave-like area he particularly liked.
After easing into his large leather chair, he propped his bare feet up on the warm hearth stones. The fire still flickered beneath the blackened logs. With fragrant woods being abundant, they usually kept a small fire going since evenings were cool and it kept the dampness of the stone house away.
Dillon dipped his bread into the chunky savory stew, then ate with leisure. He let his thoughts run rampant for a short time. It had taken him several years after the border wars to simply allow this kind of idle wandering of his mind.
By the time he finished his dinner, the tiny blaze fought for survival. Setting the bowl on the hearth, he reached for another log and tossed it on the fire to keep it going. As was his usual habit, he switched on the solar-powered, hand-crank radio he kept near the room’s large plate glass window.
The weariness of his muscles took over, and he sat back, listening to Ben give a homey news report for El Paso, the closest major city to them and where they usually went on Saturday nights. The highway had been restored to full use about five years ago.
Long ago, Dillon had decided that he was damn partial to keeping a boot in both worlds, the modern world that had been salvaged and now advanced slowly, and the world of isolated self-survival that had kept them and others alive during the darkest of times.
It had always been the pioneering resilience and frontier independence of native Texans that kept the original Lone Star Republic from becoming one more downtrodden Union state with a demoralized and sickly population. Even with the several attempts at statehood, Texas had come through, victorious and free.
Reviewing the day’s accomplishments as he generally did, he looked at what needed doing next. He settled more comfortably, taking pleasure in watching the blaze grow and devour the log. Until…
And now a look at the Texas national news. There is a growing verbally aggressive movement in Las Vegas, Nevada, proper. They are demanding their autonomy as a country or as part of our Three Star Republic of Texas. A regional meeting has been scheduled to discuss the petition that is forthcoming from the Vegas Rabble Rousers. If you are on the Committee for Approval, Corporal Buck Nelson will be in contact with the details.
Branded by the Texans [Three Star Republic] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 3
