by C. R. Moss
“I’m Miguel, the cook. The office manager, Marianne, asked me to tell you that the computer is still down,” his voice crooned with the lilting roll of a Mexican accent. “It’ll be a little while before she can check you in. I’ve just put fresh coffee out so feel free to come in and have some. Perhaps even sit a spell.”
“Thanks,” she croaked, then cringed at her less than sexy voice. The stress of moving from one apartment to another back in Utah, the party, and then the flight had done a number on her. She needed to hydrate, return her body to balance. A long soak in a tub or a good spa day wouldn’t hurt either, she mused.
He offered a slight nod. Without another word, he disappeared into the building.
Cassie turned back, carefully smoothing her hand over the scarf again. It had been years since she’d been here last. She continued to take in the afternoon scene. Sunlight beat down on the varying terrain—mountains, cliffs and ridges in the distance, patches of green grass and clusters of trees nearby—surrounding the property. She pulled at her tight black top, trying to get some air between her and the material. She thanked God she had dressed in shorts and flip-flops and not the jeans and knee-high boots she originally wanted to wear.
Enjoying the mountain desert scenery of the ranch, she trailed her hand beneath the cloth around her neck, found the delicate silver chain her best friend, Bristol, had given her one Christmas and pulled it out of her shirt. She fingered the chain down to a ring looped on it and touched the piece of jewelry. A soft smile played at her lips. The boy who had lived on the ranch and given her the ring was probably married with children by now. It’d be too bad. From what she remembered, Dakota was a good looking guy.
The one who got away.
The sterling silver Claddagh ring with a heart-shaped sapphire in the hands was warm to the touch. She’d had the piece of jewelry for ages. It was connected to the ranch and symbolized something good, something pure. The ring helped to keep her grounded and sane in the crazy moments that life liked to throw at people. A strong endearing sensation swept over her. She was happy to be back on the ranch, glad Bristol, who wanted a vacation, thought of her, tracked her down and didn’t mind the ranch idea. When they were younger and in boarding school together, she spent many autumn nights telling Bris about her summer vacations here in Blue Diamond. It’d been ages since she spoke of the boys or the ranch. After twenty years, Cassie wondered how much Bristol remembered of their conversations. She wasn’t even sure the boys were still there.
And the trip sure came at the right time. She was in desperate need of a break and the Dougan’s spread was the best place to take it. The ranch had once been a source of pleasure in her life. A place where she felt safe and peaceful, loved even. She looked forward to relaxing, forgetting her troubles for a bit, catching up with her friend.
She sighed. She shouldn’t have lost contact with her childhood friends. Years of flitting from one state to the next trying to find the next best gig as a casino cocktail waitress in her twenties, then learning how to deal and working the pit in her thirties had taken its toll. Her nomadic way of life had consumed her, changed her, made her want to settle down somewhere. No longer was she the timid teen who’d visit the ranch every summer and once dismissed the feelings of the eldest Dougan brother.
Across the drive, a horse’s whinny followed by a loud metallic thud jerked her from her thoughts. In front of the stables, a silver, extend-cab pick-up idled. A man, topped with a black cowboy hat, tossed a large bulky bag into the truck’s bed.
She titled her sunglasses down her nose to get a better look at the cowboy. Tall, built but not burly, she’d place him around six feet tall. His tan hands were pronounced against the long white sleeves of his shirt. Relaxed fitting jeans encompassed long legs but didn’t form-fit around his butt. She wished the denim was tighter so it’d give a better idea of his muscle structure underneath. She’d hate to think the worker had a soft, saggy ass.
The man lifted the hat, wiped his forearm along his forehead. The sun’s afternoon glow highlighted golden streaks in his brown hair, but his arm created shadows on most of his face. She could only make out one prominent cheekbone and strong jaw. He replaced the hat, strolled over to the stable building, and faded into the dark shade of the building.
God, he looks like he has great lips for kissing, a five-o-clock-stubbled chin that she could trail her tongue along and tease it with the prickles. She waited on the porch for another glimpse of him. He stepped out of the doorway, face still cast in shadows so she couldn’t get a good look, with a length of rope looped in his hand.
Desire coiled low in her stomach, bunched into a tight ball. She purred quietly to herself. Maybe she’d see about a weekend fling with the ranch hand. A bit of a scratch for my little itch. And wouldn’t it be nice if the ranch hand was actually Dakota? A soft snicker followed the purr.
A throat cleared behind her. “Ms. Harding?”
Catherine turned. Tall and thin, the busty blonde-haired office manager stood in the doorway with a tired, agitated look on her face, glancing from her to the man at the truck and back. Seems that the office manager doesn’t like me checking out the staff… or that man in particular. “Marianne, right?” she inquired with a sweet tone, attempting to diffuse the woman’s obvious jealousy. “Miguel mentioned your name and that the computer was down.”
The woman nodded. Her face softened into a pleasant smile. “Yes, that’s right.” A southern drawl colored Marianne’s voice. “The system is back up, so if you’d like to come in, we can get you settled.” Her wistful gaze traveled back to the wrangler.
With a wave in their direction, the man jumped into the cab and drove away. Both she and Marianne sighed. An awkward moment of silence filled the space between them as each seemed to realize what the other had done.
Catherine chuckled uncomfortably. “Lead the way.”
They stepped through the doorway into the dining hall. She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head. Gray-brown ceramic tiles lined the floor. Golden pine wood planks covered the walls in diagonal patterns and straight lines on the ceiling. As she passed by one of the knobby pine tree trunks acting as columns in the center of the room, she smoothed a hand over its lacquered, shiny surface. The aroma of barbequed beef filled the dining hall. Memories of her summers spent as a youngster on the ranch sprang to mind—running through the lodge during games of hide and seek, food fights at dinner, sparklers on the fourth of July before the bright spectacles over the hotels.
Three drink containers sat on a table in the middle of the room. Forgoing the lemonade and ice tea, she snatched a glass and filled it with water. She downed it, re-filled, then followed Marianne into the dual lounge and recreational hall. It was a large room where people could play pool, sit at the tables with board games or relax on the comfy couches and chairs in front of the fireplace set within a floor to ceiling gray stone hearth and wall. Behind them, the crash of silverware clattered beyond the swinging doors leading to the kitchen.
Marianne shook her head, banked to the right and pulled out a set of keys.
Catherine studied the photographs of the staff hanging on the wall next to the door where Marianne fiddled with the lock. At the top, labeled as Mr. and Mrs. Dougan—Owners—Retired, was a picture of an older couple standing on the veranda, smiling. She remembered the blonde-haired woman with blue eyes and dark-haired man with brown eyes. Nice, down to earth people. Normal people living everyday normal lives, working on the land. If there was dysfunction, she never saw it. They were strict, but nothing like her parents had been. Two frames hung below the parents’ photo and above other headshots of men and women who worked in various positions on the ranch. One had a picture of the Dougan’s son—Damon. The tag corresponding to the empty holder read Dakota Dougan, Ranch Manager.
Dakota. The name whispered in her mind, sending a rush of warmth through her. A phantom scent of daisies filled her nose. Excited, she grasped at the olfactory memory, wanting it to expand
and show her another glimpse of her youth, but it dispersed as quick as it came. She scanned the other picture of the Dougan man, who was just an eleven year old boy when she last visited, hoping that his likenesses would trigger another response about Dakota. Damon, with his long sandy blonde hair that brushed his shoulders and dreamy blue eyes, was listed as ranch hand and paramedic. Even though his nose and eyebrows seemed familiar, it didn’t help her form an image of what Dakota would look like now. She wondered where his picture was.
“Ah, finally,” Marianne chimed. She pushed the door open and stepped into the office. “Come on in.” She waved a hand as she sat at a large desk.
Catherine strolled into the office. Her luggage, which a dark-haired, beefy wrangler named Kent placed in the untidy room for safe keeping, sat in the center of the tan linoleum floor. Marianne typed at a keyboard surrounded by stacks of loose papers and other clutter. It all looked like a precarious mess to her. Touch one item and it all would fall. A shredded photograph lay in a disheveled pile on the corner of the desk. The view from the window showed more of the mountainous countryside.
“Looks like you’ll be in the Pearl Hart cabin, Catherine,” the office manager chirped. She wrote the details down on a sales slip. “It’s a small private cabin, named after a notorious lady outlaw, a sometimes thief and prostitute. If you go out the double doors in the rec room, the building’s just down the path to the left, on the other side of the pool, up the hill, near the tree line. Third cabin from the trail. Your friend, Bristol, is in the last cabin next to yours.”
“Please, call me Cassie.” She took the slip of paper and a key on a piece of wood with the name Pearl Hart burned into it from Marianne. Pearl Hart, a soiled dove and outlaw. Lovely. Reading over the receipt, she noted at the bottom it stated her stay had been paid in full. “Says here I don’t owe anything.”
“That you don’t, Cassie,” Marianne stated, keeping her focus on the computer screen as she typed. “Your friend, Bristol, took care of the tab.”
“That’s right. Now I remember.” She folded the paper and placed it in her purse. To make sure she wouldn’t cut out on the vacation, Bristol told her she’d foot the bill, figuring if someone else paid then she’d have to show up. How she could forget a tidbit like that only re-confirmed how stressed she was.
Marianne picked up a packet and handed it to her. “There’s a list of the pre-planned activities we do for ranch guests on a regular basis inside the folder. Feel free to attend them or not. Dinner will be at five-thirty. This way everyone can get down to the campfire we’re having tonight. When you’re ready to go, Kent will be offering rides to and from the site. You missed the trail ride and today’s classes on shooting and roping, though. There’s also information in there on places to see and things to do in the surrounding area and down on the strip.” The younger woman picked up a small black trash can, swept the bits of photo paper into it then stuck the receptacle under the desk. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Nope. Guess not.” Cassie slung her carry-on over her shoulder, retrieved her two bags, and headed back out into the warm air, thankful she finally obtained access to her cabin.
She exited the lodge, found the concrete path outside. Down the hill, across the dirt and gravel parking lot, past the Olympic-sized pool, and up the hill sat a row of four cabins along the tree line. Several yards separated one cabin from another. Hers and the last one appeared to be in the farthest part of the guest area, which on the one hand was fine because she wanted privacy, but on the other, the remote location seemed to be a bit creepy.
Seemed there was some fun stuff happening on the ranch. Yet, as much as she wanted to track down her friend and participate in the events, she wanted to unpack and refresh herself more. Maybe relax for a while. If all went well and she didn’t collapse on the bed, she’d see Bristol at dinner or the campfire.
Safely secured away in her room with most of her clothes in the closet and drawers, Cassie closed the blinds. There was no need for anyone passing by to chance looking in on what was in her second suit case. Not that anyone would be walking by this far away from the lodge. She tossed the bag onto the queen-sized bed with its flowered design comforter and wagon wheel headboard. Unzipping it and removing the last of her delicates and a nightgown she rarely wore since she liked to sleep in the nude, she continued to hope that she might have a chance with the tall, dark-haired cowboy she saw earlier. She should have asked for his name, but had been too tired to think of such a simple thing. Then again, the ranch hands most likely weren’t allowed to fraternize with the guests so it didn’t matter.
Good thing she brought her favorite toy on the trip.
With the thought of a hot bubble bath where she could continue her daydream about the hunky wrangler uninterrupted, she picked up her purple vibrator and padded into the bathroom. Daydreams, though not as sweet as the real thing, still were a good way to pass the time. Masturbating would have to be enough of a stress release for the moment.
Submerged in the water, she closed her eyes, positioned the toy within her and clicked it on.
Now, where was I…
The handsome wrangler, naked, blindfolded and tied to a folding chair in her room, moaned softly as she trailed the leather flap of a crop over his muscular tan chest. She traced the rectangles of his abs, smoothed it over the fine line of hair leading to his cock. It twitched, hardened. She lightly flicked the mushroom head with the tool.
“Hey,” his shocked voice cut through the silence. He tried to move his arms, but she’d bound them behind the chair.
“Shh.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “I said no talking.” She flicked his nipple, smiled, stroked her finger down his chin and neck, following the path she had made with her crop to his cock. Grasping the hard length, she caressed it until shiny beads of pre-cum leaked from the tip. Using his moisture, she slicked his surface with it, then sheathed it with protection.
“You ready for me, big boy?”
He nodded. His Adam’s apple bobbed.
She straddled him. Her aching, needy pussy encompassed his cock. Her mouth claimed his sexy lips.
With slow, steady strokes meant to stoke her own pleasure, she slid the toy in and out of her, turning the vibration up a notch.
Continuing on in her daydream, she rode his swollen and rigid cock. Growling low in his throat, he met her demanding kiss with his own, changing the smoldering heat in her veins to a raging fire. Harder and faster, she pumped her hips, fueling her own sexual gratification. Deeper and stronger, their kiss continued, their tongues warring. The AC kicked on. Its breeze cooled her skin, brought her nipples to hard peaks. She palmed a breast, massaged herself, then leaned back, offering her breast to him. He locked on to her. As he suckled and her pussy pulsed around him, blissful sensations surged up in her, washed over her in a wave of passion.
“Oh, Cassie,” the wrangler’s deep voice murmured.
“Dakota,” she crooned back without conscious thought.
Cassie jolted out of the daydream. Her quick, heavy breathing filled the small room. The tension that had eased out of her muscles during her orgasm returned. Removing the toy and sitting up, water swished around her, slopped over the side of the tub. She turned off the vibrator and tossed it onto the bathroom rug.
Was the wrangler Cassie had seen earlier, and just used for masturbation fodder, Dakota? Reconciling the way the cowboy looked with what she remembered of Dakota as a teen, she concluded it was highly probable. She hoped she was right and prayed he wasn’t attached to that Marianne chick because he had turned into one fine hunk of a man.
Chapter Two
Finished with feeding the horses out in the back acres, Dakota drove to the stables, continuing to wonder who the brunette was. The tall woman with curves in all the right places hadn’t left his mind the whole time he did the chores. He pictured the guest list and mentally went down the line of names remaining. Catherine ‘Cassie’ Harding was one of them. Hoping the d
ark-haired woman was his old friend, Cassie, his first love, he imagined how he’d remove the tight clothes adorning her body, how he’d touch her and stroke her to the heights of passion, make her cry out for more. The thought of finally having her in his bed after all these years sent bolts of desire through him. His cock strained against his jeans, begged for release. But relief from his arousal would have to wait. Ranch duties and chores called—as always.
Scratching his head beneath his hat, he wondered what happened to the lines of communication between him and the office manager. Marianne was supposed to contact him the moment Cassie checked in. Much to his chagrin, he didn’t think the woman on the porch with Marianne earlier was his old friend or else the office manager would have let him know. At least he hoped she would have. He’d hate to think she was still sore about the incident that occurred between them a couple of weeks ago.
He parked the pick-up, jumped out and strolled around to the back to retrieve his rope. Cassie, a friend? Who am I kidding? All those years ago, when she used to visit her cousin, Rose, for the summer, he’d considered her more than just a friend. He had been in love with her. Well, as much in love as an eighteen year old could be. She had broken his heart, though, with her sudden disappearance from his life. Twenty years had passed since then. Twenty years in which he’d had plenty of time to wonder what happened to the long-legged, auburn-haired beauty he believed he wanted to marry. Lots of time to have meaningless affairs. Not commit to anyone.
“Dakota?”
He glanced up. Marianne hurried toward him, waving her hand.
Lots of time to make mistakes.
The glitter on the daggers she called manicured nails sparkled in the sun. “There you are.” She cozied up next to him, dragged a long finger down the front of his chest, poked at a button, picking off a piece of dirt. “I wanted to let you know that the computer system came back up.”
