“I’m going to plow over every last acre on this god damned property!” Clayton yelled.
Ty halted his horse and threw a contemptuous glance at his brother. “You and your Russian rent-a-wife are going to go back to Los Angeles with your tails between your legs.”
“She’s not Russian,” Clayton said sullenly.
“Yeah? Where’s she from?”
“Who the fuck knows. All I care about is that, unlike your wife, she makes Vogue models look ugly.” Clayton’s tone was gloating.
Ty shook his head pityingly. “Clayton, you know what you clearly don’t care about? Her. If you say a bad thing about my wife, I’ll take your head off, and you know that. But no matter what I say about Ludmilla, I’ve never seen you jump to your wife’s defense. Not once.” His Nextel radio, clipped to his belt, crackled to life, and he grabbed it and keyed it on.
“Ty here. What’s up?”
“Come back to the ranch house right away. There’s been an accident with Abigail’s mother.”
* * *
“I feel so stupid,” Ruby groaned.
She was sitting in her wheelchair at the kitchen table, her leg, in traction, sticking straight out in front of her.
“That’s because you were stupid! What the heck were you thinking, climbing onto the roof by yourself?” Abigail cried, exasperated.
“Now Abigail. This is your mother you’re talking to,” Winston said reprovingly. He was sitting at the kitchen table with them, helping Ruby peel apples.
“There was a leak in the kitchen ceiling. I wanted to find the weak spot on the roof,” Ruby protested.
“You should have gotten someone else to go up there for you, and you didn’t even get anyone to hold the ladder for you. That’s common sense 101. You gave me a frickin’ heart attack,” Abigail grumbled, exasperated.
They’d spent three days at the hospital, with Ty sleeping by Abigail’s side the whole time.
Now Ruby faced at least 8 weeks before she was back on her feet, and there was no way she could stay at her house alone. Ty had insisted on bringing her to the ranch. And Ruby had insisted that she had to help out in some way, so she was sitting at the table peeling apples to make pies for all the ranch workers. Winston had volunteered to be her assistant. Ty had volunteered to be a taste tester. Goldielocks lay under the kitchen table, looking pathetic and hoping for table scraps.
Abigail wondered how long it would take Ty and Winston to notice that while they were at the hospital, the kitchen had been completely redecorated.
Being men, they probably never would have noticed.
Ludmilla wandered in, wearing form fitting yoga pants and yoga top, tossing her hair. “Do you like the new décor?” she said, with her poisonous smile.
Abigail was leafing through the pages of instructions from the hospital.
“Looks great ,” she said, without looking up.
“I threw all the old curtains in the trash. They were hideous.”
“Yup. Decorating’s not my strong suit. Glad you took over. Mom, did you get all of these prescriptions filled? If not, I can go in to town for you.”
“Oh, no, dear, I’ve gotten them all taken care of.”
Ludmilla stood in the kitchen, frustration boiling over. She wanted Abigail to shout at her, to rave, to scream “How dare you come in here and decorate MY home?”
But the truth was, Abigail didn’t mind. Ludmilla had done a great job. She’d bought rooster statues, and birds nests and chicken wire to cover the open cabinets, and decorated the kitchen with a barnyard theme that fit perfectly. She’d painted over the cabinets with a cream color and then speckled them with several different shades of dark brown for an aged look. She’d made little café curtains with curtain clips and rooster printed cloth hand towels, and it looked amazing. She had a designer’s touch.
In fact, Abigail had some ideas about what she’d love to do with Ludmilla’s talent, if only Ludmilla weren’t such a toxic bitch.
Ty glanced around the room. “Oh, yeah. Looks good,” he said mildly, then turned back to Ruby.
“I think you should sell your house or rent it out, and move onto the ranch. We’ve got a little two bedroom guest cottage that would suit you perfectly,” he said. Abigail glanced at him, startled.
“Really?” she said.
“Good heavens. That’s a big move. I’d really have to think about that.” Ruby blinked, owl-eyed.
“It’s the smart thing to do, Miz Wintergreen. Be close to family. Help’s always there when you need it,” Winston said, nodding for emphasis.
Ludmilla let out a hiss of frustration. Nobody was paying attention to her! Nobody was getting upset! And after she’d spent three days tearing the kitchen apart, with Clayton refusing to lift a finger to help her, and she’d broken half her nails destroying Abigail’s décor.
Frustrated, Ludmilla glared at Ruby, placid and plump, with her round rosy cheeks, hair piled in a bun on top of her head, and her comfortable girth clothed in a pink floral print skirt and pink cotton sweater.
“Like mother, like daughter,” Ludmilla sneered.
And that did it.
Abigail uncoiled from her chair like a cobra rearing back to strike, and was in front of Ludmilla in a blur of motion, backing her out of the kitchen before anyone else in the room could even rise from their chair.
In the hallway, she shoved Ludmilla against a wall.
“Listen the hell up,” Abigail said, with a smile that bared her even white teeth. “You can insult me all day long, and I could care less, because you’re such a vacuous ho-bag that your opinions make me laugh. But you say one goddamn thing about my mother, to my mother, you even think bad thoughts about my mother, and you’ll find out what a country girl’s fists taste like.”
Ludmilla spluttered, unable to form words.
Abigail jabbed her fingers into Ludmilla’s chest. “I will punch the pretty right off your face. And with a personality like yours, your face is all you’ve got.”
“You will go to jail!” Ludmilla squawked, outraged.
Abigail shrugged. “Eh. Don’t care. Been there before for my eco-trespessing arrests. Met some nice people. We still keep in touch by email.”
Ludmilla turned on her heel, face white, and stalked off.
Abigail turned to see Ty standing in the hallway behind her with a huge smile on his face.
“Damn, you are a badass. I don’t think I’ve ever been more turned on,” he said.
Abigail couldn’t help but giggle. “Oh yeah? Wait until tonight.”
“Ouch! Did you hear that? That was the buttons popping off the front of my jeans,” Ty groaned. “Why do you like to torture me, woman?”
“Oh, quit. You’re a big boy; you can take it.” She took a deep breath. “Did you mean what you said about my mother selling our house and moving on to this property?”
“Of course I meant it.”
“You…you really want this? This marriage? You want to stay here in Crooked Creek, and you want me to stay here, and…”
“My God in heaven, Abigail, for a smart woman you sure are stupid sometimes.”
He cupped her face in both hands and leaned down to claim her lips with a hot, passionate kiss. He thrust his tongue between her lips, and their mouths melted together, and he sucked on her hungrily, then pulled away. He brushed his thumb over her lips.
“You’re my wife. You’re mine. You’re staying here. That’s what I wanted the whole time I was dragging you into that justice of the peace office. A real marriage, to you, not a blackmail marriage. I only halfway knew it then, but I know it now, and I’m never letting you go.”
Abigail shivered as a hot flush of desire made her blush. “You sound like such a caveman when you talk like that.”
“Is that bad?” Ty’s brow wrinkled with concern.
“Hell no. There’s nothing sexier than a man who’ll do anything to claim his woman. And just wait until after dinner.” She flashed him a secretive smile, and then
walked back to the kitchen to rejoin her mother, and Ty limped behind her, vowing an extra hard spanking for his wife tonight. If his dick didn’t rupture first from being so damned rock hard. Three days in that hospital bed, lying next to Abigail, smelling her sweet flowery smell, watching her chest rise and fall as she slept…
Chapter Twelve
“Just lie down on the bed. On your back.”
“Why?” Ty asked suspiciously. His wife had a gleam in her eye that made him nervous.
“Because I asked you to. I’m only ever going to ask you this one favor, ” Abigail said.
“Really?” Ty grunted skeptically.
“Hell no. I’m your wife. I’m going to ask you favors all the damn time. But I’ll repay you with sex. Now lie down on the bed.”
Ty had stripped down to his boxer shorts, and Abigail was wearing a filmy pink nightie that tied in the front, and no panties.
“All right, for the sake of marital peace and harmony…” Ty lay down on the bed. Abigail straddled him and leaned over, pressing up against him, gently guiding his hands above his head…and he heard a click.
Abigail had handcuffed him to the headboard.
“By the way, did I mention that I borrowed Carlotta’s husband’s extra pair of handcuffs?” Abigail smiled sweetly.
“Abigail! Let me go!” he snapped, yanking at the headboard.
“Hell to the no. You know all those times that you tortured me, teased me, made me beg for it? Well, payback’s a bitch. And so’s your wife.” She flashed him a wicked grin.
“Abigail, if you don’t uncuff me this minute, I swear to God – the second I’m free I will spank you so hard that you won’t be able to sit for a week.”
“Promises, promises. But how are you going to punish me?”
And, still straddling his waist, she sank down, so he could feel the soft curls of her pubic hair tickling his stomach, and her wet pussy lips pressed against him. He drew in a harsh breath as red hot lightning bolts shot through his body, and his cock was so taut and hard that it quivered.
Slowly, she rubbed herself against him, over his smooth skin, his flat stomach. He tensed, his muscles rigid. She looked him right in the eye as she did it, her eyes glazed with desire, her teeth sinking into her lower lip.
Liquid fire raced through his veins.
“Baby…please…”his breath came in harsh gasps.
She backed up, sliding her wet pussy over his throbbing shaft, and for a brief moment he thought she’d taken pity on him, that she would climb on him and ride him until he exploded inside her.
But no such luck.
She kept backing up, and then bent down and took his nipple in her mouth, sucking hard on the puckered brown nub and then nipping it gently, sending shivers throughout his body. He groaned, yanking at the handcuffs, and she laughed softly and swirled her tongue around his nipple.
He clenched his fists helplessly. She moved onto the other nipple, sucking hard, scraping it with her teeth.
“Oh, God, baby…”he moaned as she began kissing her way down his stomach, slowly, her tongue darting and teasing, trailing across his skin. She paused at his navel, kissing it, dipping her tongue in, and he groaned, writhing underneath her hot, tormenting mouth.
Then finally her hand grasped the base of his throbbing cock, and she traced the thick vein that ran up the outside of it, running first her fingernail and then her tongue along it ever so lightly.
“Abigail! You are the devil! I can’t take anymore…”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure that you can.” She swirled her tongue around the head of his cock, lapping up the pearly drops of pre-cum that oozed from the slit, and then tracing circles around it, and then moved down to his testicles, gently scraping her nails across them. They were so swollen he moaned in mingled pleasure and pain, and she ran her soft lips across them, tongue trailing over the sensitive flesh.
And then finally she straddled him like he’d been praying she would, positioning herself above his cock, and slowly letting herself slide down his thick shaft, inch by inch.
“Ohhh, that feels good,” she whimpered, and sank down onto him all the way, and he was buried in her hot, wet tunnel. She squeezed him like a glove, and he moved his hips as she began riding him, sliding up and down.
A wildfire heat flared up inside him, and he tried to make her move faster but she controlled the rhythm, keeping him dangling on the precipice and moving with excruciating slowness. When he thrust up at her, she paused, almost sliding off him, and he bit back a strangled curse, and saw the half smile on her delicious rosebud lips. She was loving this, loving her power over him, and he’d never been so turned on in his life.
She began moving faster, sliding up and down him, and whimpering as she pleasured herself on his shaft. She reached down and began stroking herself, and through half-slitted eyes he watched her stroke her tight little button and heard her moans come faster and faster until she came, and he felt the inner convulsions squeeze him like a tight fist and he exploded, shattering, a supernova of pleasure shooting through his body, with the greatest relief he’d ever felt.
And she reached up and uncuffed him, and sagged on top of him, letting out a long sigh of pleasure.
Chapter Thirteen
“Why are you walking like that?” Carlotta looked at Abigail suspiciously.
“I’m not walking any differently,” Abigail said gingerly, sinking down onto the bench across the street the Crooked Creek Cowboy Up Mercantile, for a lunch break session of tourist watching.
Her husband sure knew how to deliver a spanking. He hadn’t exaggerated when he’d threatened her…not even a little bit. Maybe if she hadn’t moaned so enthusiastically, he wouldn’t have kept going until her entire butt was bright red.
Suddenly Becky and Carlotta were howling with laughter. Abigail glared at them.
“Shut UP. That is not it. Not at all!” She folded her arms. “You guys are so immature.”
“Oh my lord, what I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall of their bedroom,” Carlotta gasped, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.
“What are we laughing at?” Cheyenne had walked up behind them, with three packages of miniature pecan tarts from the Dry Gulch Saloon. She handed one each to Becky, Carlotta and Abigail. “Peace offering. I was a little testy last week. I apologize.”
“We’re laughing at Abigail.”
“I’m in. Why are we laughing at her?” Cheyenne sat down on the bench next to them, as the girls unwrapped their tarts and bit in.
“Her husband screwed her so hard she can’t walk straight,” Carlotta said around a mouthful of pastry. Crumbs fell onto her ever-expanding stomach, and she brushed them off onto the ground.
“Shut your mouth! And your table manners are appalling,” Abigail said, cheeks glowing red with embarrassment.
“Speaking of marriage…” Cheyenne said, and they all turned to look at her, much to Abigail’s relief.
“I just wanted to tell you guys…” She glanced around. “Keep this on the down-low. But I heard from Edna Vale, who heard from Rosemary, who heard from Dwight…”
“Mary, mother of Christ. This is on the down-low?” Carlotta interrupted.
“…That Franklin was talking to Barbara Painted Horse about having an engagement ring custom designed. Specifically, an engagement ring. Not just any ring.”
Barbara was a renowned local jewelry artist whose work had been featured in bridal magazines all over the country.
She looked around again, furtively. “But don’t say anything to him, when he pops the question I’m going to act surprised.” Then her face grew serious. “If he wants us to settle down in Connecticut, don’t worry, I’ll come visit every summer.”
She glanced at Carlotta. “I know Lorenzo was just trying to be helpful. But whatever he thought he heard Franklin saying, he heard wrong. Franklin’s all over me these days. He can’t get enough of me.”
“Lorenzo is not wrong. He heard what he heard.”
Cheyenne’s expression turned dark. “No, he didn’t.”
“Tell yourself whatever you want,” Carlotta shrugged.
“You know what your problem is? You’re jealous. You’re going to be stuck here in this stupid small town forever, married to a hick cop, and I’m going to be married to a millionaire and wearing designer gowns to society balls,” Cheyenne snapped.
Carlotta shot to her feet and tossed her pecan pie into a trash can. “Insult my husband again,” she said, fists clenched and eyes blazing. “Go on.”
“Cheyenne! Carlotta!” Abigail leaped in between the two of them. “Cut it out! This is ridiculous! You’ve been best friends since you both were twelve! Cheyenne, Carlotta’s had your back every time anyone at school ever said a bad thing about you, and you know it. She’s rolled in the dirt more than once when people made cracks about you.”
A tour bus parked in front of the Dry Gulch saloon, and dozens of tourists began descending onto the bright, sunny street.
Cheyenne glanced at them, then turned back to glare at Abigail.
“Yeah, well now my former best friend would rather believe her husband’s lies then be happy for me that I finally found the right guy. I don’t want to speak to you again until you admit Lorenzo was lying,” Cheyenne snapped at Carlotta.
“It’ll be a cold day in hell,” Carlotta said angrily. “The same day that Franklin proposes to you.”
Cheyenne shot her the middle finger and stomped off down the sidewalk, rushing through the front doors of the saloon.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Abigail sighed. “I don’t know, Carlotta. Is there any possibility we’re wrong about Franklin?”
Carlotta sighed impatiently and shook her head. “Does he ever take her out to dinner? The movies? Buy her presents? Do they do anything but screw each other all night long? No. And Lorenzo wasn’t wrong about what he overheard.”
“Maybe he changed his mind since he said that? Maybe he’s just not particularly romantic?” Abigail suggested hopefully.
“Sure,” Carlotta shrugged. She didn’t look convinced.
Curvy Girls: Claimed By The Cowboy (The BBW and the Billionaire Rancher) Page 8
