by Anna Jeffrey
Pic’s personal wealth had multiplied many times. He rarely had a reason to touch his personal money. For years, it had been parked in mutual funds and with the stock market steadily climbing, it had multiplied. His trust fund, depleted by his divorce, was now worth several times what it had started out to be on the date of his birth. The Lockhart family and the Lockhart family members individually were filthy rich. Yeah, he could afford to get married, but how much of his personal wealth was he willing to risk?
The question was still dancing around in his head when he entered the quiet ranch house. No doubt his dad had already gone to bed and Johnnie Sue had gone to her suite. They would be getting up in a few hours to start the cooking. He had wanted to let his dad know that Drake and his wife were definitely coming tomorrow, but it would have to wait until tomorrow.
****
At the end of Jay Leno, Amanda went to bed, but not to sleep. Instead of sleeping, she stewed. The most critical decision of her entire life up to now waited for her. And she had never been more conflicted. She knew—had known for some time, really—that she couldn’t continue what she was doing with Pic. Still, she couldn’t walk away, even if doing so would be best for her. The last two years of her life had been invested with Pic and she loved him.
Of the many things she wanted, one thing she did not want was to appear to be trying to use her new-found opportunity to bludgeon him into a commitment. Perhaps she shouldn’t even tell him about her meeting with Eric Frazier until after she had made a firm decision about taking the job. If she decided to make the move, she would simply tell Pic she was leaving. Moving on to greener pastures. Cut and dried. No room for discussion or argument. That would be the easiest for both of them.
Nor would she confront him during an event that meant as much to him and his dad as their annual Fourth of July picnic did. She owed them both that much respect. After all, Bill Junior treated her like family.
But as soon as the picnic was behind them and before Pic went out to set up his cow camp, she would tell him what she had to consider. Eric Frazier had given her two weeks to give him an answer.
She finally dropped off to sleep, but she awoke at 4:00 a.m. She had already been awake most of the night, so she might as well get up.
What to do? What to do? How to tell Pic?
She put coffee on to brew, then walked back to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Pic’s phone call last night had made the plan for the early morning plain. After her shower, she put on sexy pink underwear as if everything in her life were the same and a new development hadn’t cropped up. She donned a lightweight cotton prairie skirt and a T-shirt, telling herself the clothing would be cool in the hundred-degree heat and she was not wearing it because it was easy to get out of. But as she told herself that, she was stuffing an extra pair of panties into the zippered compartment in her purse. In a moment of passion, Pic had been known to rip her panties off her and she had been known to help him.
Back in the kitchen, she leaned her backside against the kitchen counter sipping coffee and continuing to think about sex with Pic in his Double-Barrel office. Any other time, she would be up for it. They had done it before on the huge leather sofa in his office, even once in his desk chair. But this morning, she was too distracted. Sex, even fantastic sex, was the last thing on her mind. Overnight, her life had changed. In some ways, as extreme as it seemed, she had even changed as a person. This morning could be the last time she would be with Pic.
Without warning, an emotion akin to grief grabbed her and a knot formed in her throat. Oh, dear God. A squeak blurted from her chest and her hand flew to her mouth. She didn’t want to leave him. Where would she ever find another man she didn’t compare to him?
She tried to swallow the emotion, but almost broke down. She put down her mug and filled a glass with water, quickly drank it down. But the knot stayed.
Be strong, Amanda, a voice in her head told her. Taking that job in Odessa is the best thing for your future.
That voice was right. She could stay here in Drinkwell, earn a paycheck that amounted to not much more than minimum wage and on her dying day, be no closer to having a home and family than she was right now and have a pittance saved for the day she would end her career. She couldn’t let her feelings for Pic keep her from doing what was best for her in the long run. She dabbed at her eyes with the dishtowel.
Don’t cry, Amanda, that practical voice told her. You’re lucky to have an offer that will take you in a new direction.
She pulled herself together and left her home at 5:15 a.m. She drove slowly through Drinkwell, taking in the dark old buildings. The town looked as it had looked for years, but she saw it in a new light. Half the stores were vacant, their display windows painted black. Some were boarded up. For a long time the town had been kept alive by the Lockhart and McMillan families. The Lockharts continued to lend support when they could, but more and more they patronized businesses in Stephenville. The McMillans had leased out their place to an investor and the new manager, who had no kids in the Drinkwell schools, did business in Fort Worth. The town lost population every year. The school had nowhere to go but downhill.
Leaving this town is the right decision, Amanda.
By the time she reached the end of Main Street, a pair of headlights was behind her. Which one was following her this morning—Chris or Marcus? One good thing about moving to Odessa was she would be disconnected from the Lockharts and would not be followed around by dark cars. She sighed, pulled onto the state highway and headed for the Double-Barrel.
Forty minutes later, the night view of the Double-Barrel ranch house came into sight—distant lonely lights surrounded by nothing but black night. An outpost on the vast prairie. On a similar night, Pic had once said, What do you suppose it was like to be out here like this knowing you were the only person in hundreds of miles in any direction?
Ah, Pic. Her nineteenth century man who loved the old west.
The whole place was lit up like a circus and not for the picnic. The enhanced lighting was a security measure the Lockharts had installed after Kate’s barn had burned. Some of her horses that had been moved from her place to the Double-Barrel were still here. A few of them were boarding at her neighbor Will Harrington’s place and the Lockharts had outfitted his barn with security lighting and alarms, equipment he probably couldn’t have afforded on his own. Just as that Jordan Palmer person had said, Kate’s insurance company, so far, had refused to pay her claim, so Bill Junior had encouraged her not to invest in a new barn.
Getting closer to the gate, the knot in her throat moved to her stomach and squeezed. What had she been thinking agreeing to meet Pic for sex in his office? Could she have sex with him in any location knowing that she could soon be leaving him?
She made the left turn off the highway and rumbled across the cattle guard at 6:00 a.m, not yet daylight. A black SUV was parked behind the rock stanchion, so well hidden she almost missed it. It didn’t move and the SUV behind her pulled up beside it.
Two miles later, the house came into view—a one-story limestone rock structure sprawling over the top of a rise that overlooked a deep canyon carved out by the Brazos River. Huge old trees shaded it. Manicured landscaping surrounded it. It had an atmosphere of “home.”
She loved it so much. She had been a teenager when she had first been to the ranch. For Pic to invite her to attend a family gathering had been one of her biggest thrills. She had often dreamed of living here. Years gone by and various conflicts with Betty Lockhart had turned that dream into a nightmare.
Still, she liked the ranch house’s story. To her, the way it looked now was how it had always looked, but she knew it had started out as a small house with two bedrooms and a bath. Every generation who had lived in it had added on to it—a room or rooms, a porch, a bathroom or something until it looked like a hodgepodge of boxes shoved together. When Pic and his siblings were kids and after Bill Senior had passed, Bill Junior and Betty had modernized it from foundation
to roof to accommodate a family of seven. Betty had gone to night school and gotten a degree in home design and decorating. In the Lockhart home, she had an unlimited budget.
She had turned five of its seven bedrooms into small suites, each with its own bath and small sitting room. Then later, when Pic and his siblings became teenagers, each having his own vehicle, Bill Junior had a huge garage and a mini-gym built.
This might be the last time she would ever see it. Tears welled in her eyes, but she dashed them away with the back of her hand.
She veered off the driveway and drove to the office. Pic’s big gray pickup was parked in front. At the far end of the parking area sat a black SUV. Oh hell. These security guys weren’t fools. Whoever was in that SUV would know what she and Pic were up to.
Still, she parked beside Pic’s pickup. Before she could get out of her car, he came outside. He looked good enough to have for breakfast. He had on his usual summer dress—tight jeans, a torso-hugging T-shirt—turquoise blue today—and cowboy boots. Some men might wear shorts of some kind on a hundred-degree day, but not Pic Lockhart. Unless they were at the lake, she had never known him to go without long pants and his legs were snow-white. Getting a tan meant nothing to him.
A familiar quickening tingled between her legs. Lord, just watching him turned her into a sex fiend. Any goofy thoughts she had of not having sex with him this morning scattered like a flock of birds.
She buzzed down her window.
“Hey,” he said, leaning down and smiling. “Are you lost, little girl?” He poked his head through the window opening and kissed her, filling her car with the scent of his shampoo and body wash and minty toothpaste.
“Hey, yourself,” she said, pulling back and looking into his eyes. Even in the dim light, she saw he had nothing on his mind but sex. He was so unabashedly male. The idea of being desired by him was breathtaking.
He opened her car, grasped her arm and urged her out of the car, steered her toward the office’s front door.
“There’s someone parked over there,” she said, tilting her head toward the SUV.
“That’s Marcus. He keeps telling me to look at him like a piece of furniture, so that’s what we’re doing.”
“But Pic, he isn’t stupid. It embarrasses me having those guys know what we’re doing all the time.”
“Shh. Furniture, remember?”
Inside the building, the only light in the foyer was what spilled from his office. He kicked the front door shut and locked it. Then he turned back to her and hauled her against him, gripped her bottom with both hands and lifted her. She wrapped her arms and legs around his lean waist and looked into his eyes. “Good morning,” she said softly.
“Good morning, my pretty lady,” he said just as softly. “I thought about you all night.”
They kissed as if they hadn’t had blistering sex only a few days ago—nibbling, biting, suckling her lips. He carried her into the office. “I’m already hard as a fence post.”
Typically, that kind of talk would have her blood simmering in her veins and she would already feel wet and slick. This morning, her body betrayed her. Her heart wasn’t in it.
At the oversized sofa, he eased down, with her astraddle his lap. Even through his jeans, he felt as hard as he had said he was.
His hands slid under her skirt, up her thighs and his fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties. “Lift up, baby. Help me get these off.”
She got to her knees and he slid her panties down past her hips and together, they clumsily rid her of the silky wisps, with one of her huaraches tangling in the elastic. Then his hand went between her thighs and his thumb parted her folds. She wasn’t as wet as usual and of course he could tell.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
“I don’t know.”
“Damn, darlin’. This isn’t good. We’ve gotta get you primed for fucking.”
He unbuckled and unzipped, then lifted his bottom and shoved his jeans and shorts past his hips. His erection stood, long and thick and curved toward his navel. Looking down at the heavily-veined shaft, the head of it wide and plush, she drew a shuddery breath and began to grow wet at last. She gently stroked the hot, velvety skin with her fingertips. “You’re so soft,” she murmured.
“Baby, that’s not what a man wants to hear at a time like this.”
She managed a giggle. “I meant your skin.”
Her knee was trapped between the sofa cushions, but bracing one hand on his shoulder, she lifted herself and maneuvered until the tip of him was positioned between the lips of her sex. On a groan, his strong hands tightly gripped her thighs. “Aw, God, I need you, Mandy,” he said gruffly.
Need? Not one of his usual sex words.
“Slide down, baby,” he said.
Their faces were only inches apart. His breath touched her mouth, his scent surrounded her, held her captive. Looking into his blue yes, now so dark they were violet, she eased down an inch, taking only the head of him and squeezing her eyes shut at the stretch of her flesh around his thickness.
“You feel tight, baby. Can you take all of it?”
“Oh, Pic, you feel so good. Are you begging me?’
“Hell, yes, I’m begging…”
She slowly slid down another inch, loving the heat, the feeling of fullness, loving seeing lust for her in his eyes.
“Jesus,” he groaned, arching his neck and closing his eyes.
She levered up, lifting herself off him, savoring the delicious wet drag against her sensitized flesh. She glided down again, taking him all the way until she was sitting on his lap and he was deeply buried inside her.
“Shit.…Mandy….Aw, God…So good.” She loved how he talked as if nothing in the world meant more to him than what was happening right now.
He pulled back and looked up at her, a half-smile tipping up the corners of his mouth. “My cock’s never been so happy. It wants to feel you come.”
“Maybe I can’t. What if someone comes in?”
“Is that what’s bothering you, baby? Nobody’s coming in here. Don’t worry about it.”
He rid her of her T-shirt and bra at the same time, then caught her by the nape and they tongue-kissed. As his mouth moved down, his hand slid under her skirt and splayed over her belly, his thumb finding her clitoris and circling. His other hand lifted her breast to his mouth. He sucked hard, pressing the firm nub against the roof of his mouth. Sensation shot through her and more moisture released.
“Oooh,” she whined.
“Did that help?” he asked and licked her nipple.
“Uh-huh.”
He moved to her other breast, sucked it hard as the pad of his thumb circled her clitoris. An unexpected orgasm hurtled through her and she cried out. Her hips tried to buck, but she couldn’t move. She dug her fingers into his shoulders as her vaginal muscles convulsed around him.
“Fuck, yeah, baby….That’s what I’m talking about…”
When it was over, she was shaking. A hundred emotions battered her.
“See? I knew you could come. I just had to find the sweet spot.
“Oh, Pic,” she whimpered and broke into tears.
“What’s wrong, baby? Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head, unable to speak.
“Aww, darlin’, don’t cry.” His fingers rubbed up and down her back. “That felt so good. You’re so good.”
Emotion threatened to explode her chest. She wanted so badly to talk to him about so many things, but she didn’t know where to begin. “Just hold me close.”
He wrapped her in a tight embrace, his face buried in her neck. “You smell so good,” he whispered.
I love you, Pic. Please tell me you love me, too. Our future’s at stake. “When we’re like this,” she murmured, “it feels like you’re all the way up to my heart.”
“I know. It feels that way to me, too.”
Her knee was still trapped between the thick soft sofa cushions. “I don’t think I can move.”
“You don’t have to. Let me.” He began to move inside her, his back arching, his hips rising and falling—slow, deep lunges, reaching so high up inside her, causing a stitch of pain, but she would never complain about something she could describe only as exquisite.
His grip tightened on her hips and he began to move her up and down faster, in sync with his thrusts. Then they were moving hard and fast and his face was buried against her breasts. She hung on as voluptuous pressure began to build low in her belly again.
“I gotta come, Mandy,” he ground out.
He pushed hard and high and she felt the warmth of his semen filling her, felt the jerk of his penis inside her. After he finished, he hung on to her, not letting her move. She wrapped her arms around his head, covered it with kisses. Finally, she drew back and looked into his dear face and kissed him as sweetly as she knew how.
“What is it, baby? What’s bothering you?” he asked.
“Nothing. I’m okay.” Sniffling, she braced her hands on his shoulders and lifted herself off him. His essence trailed down her thighs. “I’m leaking,” she said. “Do you have a handkerchief handy?”
“We could take a shower. I still owe you.” He bobbed his brows.
“No, you don’t.” She got to her feet, one leg at a time.
He sat up and pried off his boots, peeled off his socks and stuffed them inside the tops. Then he stood, shucked his jeans and shorts, revealing all of his chiseled body. He was still half-hard, his thick, extended penis glistening from her moisture. Would this be the last time she would see him like this? She wanted to break down and cry again.
He offered her his hand. “C’mon. Take that skirt off.”
She slipped the skirt off, leaving herself naked and let him lead her to the bathroom at the end of the office. His office shower was bigger than the tiny stall in her house. They stepped under the spray. He poured body wash in his palm and washed her front, then moved to her back.
“Do you suppose anyone will wonder why we have the same scent?” she asked.
