“Not on this mission. We decided there’d be only one of us at a time, once the border wars ended.”
“Sensible.”
“Yeah, sensible,” he parroted, amused by her assessment.
“Well, it is.”
“Okay, my sensible woman, ready to assist me in figuring out what to suggest?”
“Sure.”
Her tentative willingness to partner with him captured Dillon like nothing else, except for her dream-beautiful body.
“It breaks down like this. We can do a ground and air strike in two weeks without gathering more information, act as if we aren’t concerned about a future threat. Or, in about a month’s time, we can use our surveillance and set up a stronger ground and air attack.”
“How likely is the Union to attack first?”
“That’s the debate, Kylie. We don’t know how prepared they are to make a major move against us. It’s in the wind, though. Been there for a while. All of us can feel it.”
“Are you using remote viewers or psychics to make plans?”
“Us old battle warriors have proven more effective in knowing what’s coming down the pike. The Union uses frequencies from HAARP, the High Frequency Active Auroral Research Program, to shut down our psychics.”
“HAARP in Alaska? Have you tried tin hats?”
“Yep, in Alaska. Right now, our intel is that they’re battling the Russians, a dispute over the Arctic. Tin hats?”
“A term used to make fun of people who don’t go along with the government propa-genda . What frequency did they shut down? Brain waves, a gene resonance?”
“That’s still being debated. I think it’s both, or something we don’t know about the human physiology, yet. We have found copper bands around the head help. Our battle helmets are lined with one layer each of copper, silver, and gold. That blocks out most mind control attempts, whether technological or by the remote viewer types.”
“Interesting.”
“Do you have a gut feeling about our best strike strategy?”
“Right now...” She paused, pondering. “I think there’s something you still need to know before there’s an attack.”
Dillon’s own gut hit overdrive. “Get any sense about what that would be?”
“I feel like they’re looking for a high-profile victory to boost the morale of their people, or keep control. But you probably know that. You talked about a beam weapon. I think they might have an improved version.”
“That’s been the rumor for a while now, though we’ve detected no evidence of it.”
“Can you do a fake strike? I mean something that looks real, but isn’t?”
“I like how you think, Kylie.”
“I like how she looks.” Dash strode inside the office, a grin on his face that nothing was going to wipe off.
Kylie whipped around, apprehension stiffening her for a few instants.
“Barn all in order?” Dillon swiveled the chair toward his brother and brought Kylie closer to reassure her.
“Gettin’ there. Wanted to know if you need me to take care of your horses later. Make it easier on me to know now.” Dash halted unabashedly staring at Kylie, his gaze hungry as a bear cub after a tree full of honey.
“Yep. Thanks. Got the morning chores done. Can’t tell how long Colonel Harris is going to keep me tied up here. I’ll handle all the office duties.”
Dash nodded. “Gonna start lunch in an hour or so. Thought I’d find out what Kylie wants.” He smiled wider than the grill on his truck.
Kylie trembled briefly, then straightened and shook her hair. “A sandwich would be good. And some milk.”
“Somethin’ wrong?” Dash’s brow furrowed as if the world suddenly spun off its axis.
“I’m not used to all this attention. Makes me nervous.”
Dillon knew Kylie smiled at his brother by the way Dash brightened, the sun coming up in his gaze again. “How about a roast beef sandwich? I got a special dressing for it.”
“Sounds good. Better make it half the size you eat, please.”
“Yep, I will.” His brother didn’t move, his gaze stud-fastened on Kylie while his breeding flesh shoved at his zipper. “Sorry, honey. You’re just so dang purty.”
“Thank you, Dash,” Kylie quietly offered after a moment.
Pivoting around sharply Dash strode toward the doorway. Pausing, he whipped back around. “Big brother, have you decided on which design you like?”
“Yeah, Dash. Thought I’d find out which one our Kylie prefers.”
“Good idea.” After a speculative glance Dash disappeared into the hallway.
Kylie shifted on his thighs, peering at him. “Design?”
“I’ll show you later, sweet thang. Right now, I need to send our input back to Colonel Harris.”
“Why would you consider what I’ve said? It’s not like you really know me.”
“Kylie, being in war situations fine-tuned my ability to know a man or a woman. Their real nature. It was either that or end up in the morgue. You think I can’t see the intelligence shining in your eyes? That I can’t see the sweet purity of your soul? Yep, even if I’m besotted with our passion.”
“Yeah…besotted is a good word for it, isn’t it?”
She squirmed a bit, the heat of her sex rose scalding his thigh through the denim.
“Whoa there, little filly. I’ll set you down and finish. With all the extra coding, it’ll take a few minutes.” Dillon reluctantly swung her onto the floor. “If you want, darlin’, go have a look at the view.”
“Not the same without you,” she crooned as she walked toward the fifteen foot oblong window that began at the floor and rose to the ceiling.
Was Dillon ever glad as a buckaroo at his first dance that her passionate sexy side came out for him. “Nope,” he called out.
“Wow. That is some window. It didn’t come with this house, did it? Sorry, don’t answer, if I’m interrupting.”
Dillon heard her mount the three steps up to that area of the office where he and his two brothers often discussed what was next for expanding the ranch. The window had been an early luxury all three brothers had decided on as their finances had gone from being in the red to being in the black.
“We installed the window once prosperity came knockin’ on the door. Nothin’ like looking out over your own land.”
Dillon wrote on the pad fast, double-checking the words as they appeared on screen. Even in these times, it remained difficult for a person’s handwriting to be duplicated. Programs had been developed to micro-measure every stroke along with the distance between letters.
“I can see that.” Her thoughtful words reached Dillon. “All you need is a deck.”
“Deck? You don’t mean a card deck, do you?” Dillon carefully encoded his message. After a second look-through, he touched Send with the stylus. “Sorry, Kylie, what did you say?”
Leaping up, he moved toward his wife. Haloed by the midday light, she appeared ethereal, on loan to him from heaven. His to have and hold. And he was plannin’ on doing a whole lot of holding.
“A wood patio on stilts. That’s the best way I can describe a deck.”
Stepping closer, his wife gradually scanned the meadowland encircled by towering pine trees. In the far distance, the side of a mountain peak provided a stone backdrop where light and shadow danced with each other.
Standing behind her, Dillon inhaled her feminine scent along with the cleansing gel she’d used. If he touched her, he’d be hauling her flat against him for a meeting of their lips. “Hmmm…sounds similar to what we call a leisure lookout.”
“You’ll have to show me a picture.”
“I can do better than that, darlin’. My bedroom has one.”
She visibly shivered from their affect on each another. “Talk about being zapped with electricity.”
“No storm clouds in here, but it sure does feel like lightning.”
“No storm clouds. Just a storm,” she murmured. “You kn
ow what the view reminds me of? The Ponderosa.”
“You’re not speakin’ about an old television show called Bonanza, are you?” Anything to distract himself from making love to her. Heckfire, he’d roll with her on this very spot until the storm of their passion raged out of control, then temporarily abated.
“Hit that nail on the head, cowboy. Are any of the actors still alive here?”
To keep from seizing her, Dillon grabbed the back of his neck and rubbed at the tightness. “Two of them. Dan Blocker, Hoss. And Lorne Greene, Ben Cartwright.”
“Mom and I watched reruns of Bonanza together. She had a huge crush on Hoss and said she was really broken up when Dan Blocker died. Dad had his Hoss outfit, as he called it. And he’d come lumbering into the kitchen when Mom fixed dinner.” She paused, and he heard her swallow a lump in her throat. “Well, it was a thing they had together. Really funny at times.” She whirled to face him. “If this is a parallel dimension, would another me be here?”
“Far as we’ve been able to tell, anyone who does pass through the dimensional divide has never been born here.”
“That’s odd. If there’s a John Wayne and all the other people we’ve talked about, that doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe it does, sweet thang, if there’s the future possibility that you’ll be here, cross the dimensional divide.”
“Maybe…good explanation as any.” Her gaze turned to his computer station. “Your monitor is flashing a red banner.”
Dillon spun on his heel. “Saved by emergency communication.”
Sitting fast, he tapped out a code with the stylus and waited.
Union incursion by squad on foot reported by the El Paso sheriff. Flare gun battle. Two non-serious injuries to our people. Three of the enemy killed and several wounded. Eight chased to the border. Sheriff Taylor believes it was a diversion action and/or a test of our response time. Analysis team sent to investigate. The pot is boiling.
Dillon sat back after returning his signature. “Yep, the pot is boiling. And I’d sure like to douse the fire.”
“Pot is boiling?” Kylie asked, moving beside him.
“What we were discussing.” Dillon stretched, then swiveled toward her. “The Union is aimin’ for a major attack. Might have to do with the upcoming change in regime they want. The population is fed up with the current government.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask. What is the current form of government?” She stroked his shoulder and stepped inside the circle of his arm, her body lissome as she pressed against him.
“It’s a United Nations’ dictatorship. The president is like the CEO of a company, and Congress is the boot-licking board of directors.”
“Who’s the president?”
“Dick Cheney. Name familiar to you?”
“Mr. Mafia Face himself. He was the VP for eight years. Until the last election.”
“They still have elections in your Union?”
“They call them elections. But, shi-shoot, the electronic voting boxes can be hacked anytime, anywhere. Most of my crowd is fed up to the max. Nobody I know trusts government at any level, local to national. Last I knew, Congress had an eleven percent approval rating.”
Dillon felt her shrug before she continued speaking. “Trouble is we were all too scared to stand up against The Machine and throw the bums out. We were all just trying to get by and live our lives. I guess we were living on hope. What a laugh.”
“There was a damn good reason for tar and feathers in the good old days.” Dillon hugged his little wife closer. Damn, if his loins didn’t feel like they crackled with fire as she softly yielded against him. “Dang, Kylie.”
Nuzzling between her breasts, he savored the voluptuous feel of her through the shirt. Her little gasps of desire smoldered his blood bad. Mentally jerking back on the reins, Dillon lifted her, placed her on his lap again, then brought them before the computer station.
“Since I’m held hostage by the screen, I think it’s time we made your shopping list. Don’t you?”
“It’s time for something,” she whispered. “Aren’t you supposed to be plundering me, Viking cowboy?”
“Darlin’, the way I feel about you now, I’d be pillaging that sweet pussy of yours way too long and hard.”
“Later…that’s how I want it.”
With her words spurring his cock and her heated breath tantalizing his earlobe, Dillon stifled a groan that wanted to change into a roar.
“Figures. A man has a wife doin’ exactly what he wants and the Union is acting up like a brat with his first pony.”
“Shopping,” she ordered herself. “Okay, cowboy, I’ll behave for now. But you owe me.” Business-like, she stiffened her posture and faced the screen.
Dillon pressed a key bringing up their various shopping files, then snatched up the stylus. “Food, why don’t we start there? Chocolate, cocoa, lots of it.”
“I’m loving you now.” She gave his neck a big squeeze. “Hey, I make pretty good fudge…brownies, too. You do have flour, whole wheat and unbleached? Oh, that’s right. Dash made biscuits.”
“Flour is a regular item. All the basics are here. What don’t we have that you want?” Dillon mused. “Take a look.” Slowly, he scrolled the list on screen.
“There isn’t much fruit and vegetables. Is that why you need a garden?”
“It’s taken us decades to grow larger supplies of fruit and vegetables in Texas proper. People had to live off the land instead of planting.”
“Where does the wheat come from?”
“Hemp and wheat were the two crops we managed to keep growing. And some rice near the coast. Not only did we need them as staple foods, but their trade value on the world market bought us the raw materials we needed to manufacture arms and ammunition.”
“Are there good sources of seeds? I mean organic seeds.”
“Only organic. That’s been part of the hold up. We’ve had to pay exorbitant amounts to those who do trade in organic seeds. Course, once we get a crop abundance we’ll have another export product.”
“Later on, I’ll take a look at the garden and the tools. Decide on what else I’ll need. Any organic corn?”
“That’s been tough. So much of it was ruined by fungal diseases and by gene modification. We have a few species, some of them wild, that we Texans are bringing along.”
“Well, there goes my Mexican food munch-downs.”
“There are still some restaurants that can get good hold of good corn. But, yep, Dono, Dash, and I have lamented the loss of our favorite Mexicali maize dishes. Don’t get them started ”
“Did I hear Mexicali?” Dono swaggered into the office, the gleam in his gaze aimed straight at Kylie and enough to light up the night sky. “Got the fillies corralled if you got time to take a look at them.”
“On standby. The Union sent a squad into El Paso territory. Got whupped. But they’re up to no good.”
Dono’s expression transformed to somber. “Not the news I was lookin’ for. How serious is it?”
“We’re making plans to take out one of their new super-tech installations. Told Dash I’d be the desk jockey today.”
“Gotcha. Good thing you paid Bonnie some attention this morning. She’d be mighty unhappy ’bout now.” Dono perched on the arm of the closest large reading chair.
“What’re Bonnie and our pups up to?” Dillon pressed the clothing file, squelching his urge to know what kinds of lingerie his Kylie enjoyed wearing. Now was not the time for either of them.
“She’s got most of the pup gang in the south field huntin’ vermin. Dirk and his pack headed for the A cattle herd. They know it’s time to cull.”
“Oh, gosh, this is where I get squeamish.” His Kylie bent over, obviously queasy. “Not a ranch girl,” she mumbled.
Scooping her up, Dillon cradled her and peered at her face, now pale as moonlight.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Mercy On Your Bed Slave
“Kylie.” Dono leaped up.
“Sweetheart, I didn’t think.”
Dillon eyed Dono. “Get the peppermint tonic, will ya?”
As Dono loped out of the room, Dillon lifted his little wife higher. Gently, he fused their mouths. Looping her arms around his neck, she kissed him like a dream come true, her lips so soft, so utterly his that he didn’t break their kiss until he heard Dono running.
“That’s one way to cure me,” she whispered. Unwinding her arms, she moved to sit up on his lap. “It’s going to take me some time.”
Rushing to Kylie, Dono squatted before her. The tonic bottle already open, he poured an ounce out into a small glass. “This tastes good,” he encouraged, handing it to her.
After sniffing, she tasted, then downed it. “Hey, alcohol. Are you trying to get me drunk?” Her tone teased, yet held some concern.
“I only want you drunk on me, mermaid.” Dono studied her eyes to make certain Kylie was really okay.
“Feeling better. Even hungry.” Her gaze moved to Dash as he entered.
With a jaunty step, his brother carried a tray of sandwiches and milk toward them. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Kylie assured him. “That looks good, Dash. I’ll bet we’re all hungry.”
Dillon could only adore his wife more for caring about his brother’s feelings. “Why don’t we use the card table?”
“Good idea.” Dono rose and strode toward the corner where they kept it stored.
“You play cards in here?” she asked.
“Winter evenings, we got the fireplace and the view,” Dash answered. “Summer, the stars are out.”
“Now, we got a fourth.” Dono set the table in the center of the room. “If you play, Kylie.”
“Depends on the game. You all probably play poker. I’m lousy at it.”
None of them spoke, the silence nearly deafening.
“Strip poker,” Dash crowed. Moving to the table, he centered the tray and set it down.
“In that case, I’m wearing three times as many clothes. No, at least, four times.” Kylie’s voice dared any of them to make her do otherwise.
Dillon chuckled to himself as he eased her onto the floor, then rose behind her.
Branded by the Texans [Three Star Republic] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 23
