Espino, Stacey - Midlife Ménage [Ride 'em Hard 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Stacey Espino

  Once back home she got straight to work mucking out the stalls. When she was through, her shirt was drenched in sweat, and she slicked her damp hair back into a ponytail. She leaned against the open bay doors and watched the horses grazing in the holding paddock, not a care in the world. She didn’t want to put one of them up for sale, but they were a liability at this point. It was foolish of any farmer to get too attached to their animals. The income from the boarder kept the lights on and put food on the table, but nothing more. She lifted her left hand and watched the sun glint off the thin gold band. Her thoughts drifted to memories, pain, regret, and anger for being forced to live her life alone. It had been such a challenge, taking every ounce of her strength to get through each day.

  “What’s the matter, Ma?” She turned her head to find Christine staring at her.

  Wendy stood straight and cleared her throat. “Nothing, sweetheart, just taking a little breather.”

  “You work too hard. Ever since Brad left, you’ve been doing his load plus your own.”

  She smiled, not willing to let her daughter slip into the same depression. “It keeps me young. Have I ever complained about working a God’s honest day?”

  “Maybe not, but I think I should probably stay home and help more.”

  Wendy pushed off from the barn to face off with her daughter. “Are you kidding me? You’ll finish college, do you understand?”

  Although Kylie was starting at a distant university in September, moving out to live on residence, Christine was studying her last year of agricultural management at the local college. The girl spent her days in classes, afternoons cooking, cleaning, and tending to duties around the ranch with every spare minute. Now she wanted to do more? Wendy wouldn’t have it. She wanted her girls to have a better life than she led, and a solid educational foundation was key.

  “Then hire a laborer. At least until after harvest.”

  “Do I look like I’m made of money?” she snapped, but quickly controlled her temper.

  “What about your boarder? He could help out in the evenings, couldn’t he?”

  “He’s not a farmer. Besides, he has to rest up each night for his events. My problems are no concern of his.”

  “What about Mr. Laweson?”

  Wendy’s heart clenched. Did her daughter sense her deviant desires when she spoke of her neighbor? “What about him?”

  “I can’t even remember how many times he’s asked to help. What’s so wrong with taking if he’s offering?”

  Christine sounded just like Wade now. She felt defensive, put on the spot. Her daughters had no idea the things she went through to ensure they had relatively easy living. All the backbreaking work and sacrifices they’d never seen because they were either too young to notice or busy at school. “Because he’s trying to fill your daddy’s boots,” she said, instantly regretting the words. A near-deafening silence settled around them. She rarely brought up the sensitive subject, not mentioning their father unless necessary. It was a black spot on their family history that she chose to ignore rather than deal with.

  “And what’s so wrong if he is? We could use the help.” Christine sounded bold, challenging even. It surprised Wendy. “You act like there’s a ghost sitting at our dinner table. It’s just us! It’s always been just us.”

  She couldn’t form the words to argue, lost in the fact her daughter had apparently decided to forget the memory of her own flesh-and-blood father. It hurt. But then again, the girls would barely remember him because they’d been so young when he died.

  Wendy stormed back to the house, unwilling to let her daughter see the unshed tears in her eyes. She was a lost woman, trying to hold on to a past that could never be relived. She was lonely, bitter, and scared, and frankly tired of carrying the burdens of the world on her shoulders as if they didn’t affect her.

  As she entered the back entrance, wrenching the screen door open with exaggerated force, she bumped into a hard body. A hand quickly shot out, hooking around her back to stabilize her. “Whoa there, Mrs. McCay. You nearly steamrollered me down.” Jackson was the last person she needed to see with her emotions on her sleeve.

  “Excuse me,” she managed to say without breaking completely.

  He still hadn’t moved his arm, but used his free hand to tilt her chin up. “Something the matter?”

  She shook her head, afraid to speak and release the floodgates of despair.

  “You know, my gran used to tell me that keeping things pent up, worries and secrets and such, was like keeping poison locked in your body. It’ll slowly eat away at you, kill you from the inside out. The only cure is to release it by sharing those burdens with another person, facing them head-on.”

  “Sometimes it’s easier to give good advice than it is to take it.”

  “You know where to find me if you change your mind.” He moved his fingers ever so slightly at the small of her back before releasing her. His touch did wondrous things to her body. She hadn’t been touched by another man for any reason, and it felt good coming from Jackson. He was young, strong, and virile. There was nothing phoney about him, just genuine cowboy charm.

  For the briefest of seconds, she’d actually considered taking him up on his offer.

  * * * *

  Jackson blended in well on the McCay Ranch. The two daughters were rarely home, and when he arrived at the farm in the evenings, his landlady was often out on the fields or busy in the barn. She was stoic, refusing his help every time he offered. The following Monday he had no events and wasn’t interested in watching his friends. In fact, what he really wanted to do was get to know more about the mysterious Mrs. McCay. Each day he seemed to become more and more obsessed with her. He wanted to get through to her, make her really notice him.

  “Shit!” He heard the muttered curse from around the side of the barn. Jackson had been outside smoking a cigarette. He quickly stomped it out, not realizing he wasn’t alone. Jackson wasn’t afraid of much, and had been in more brawls than he could count, but the little blonde cowgirl scared him shitless.

  Before he reached the corner, several chickens came racing by, followed by Mrs. McCay. She glanced at him briefly, her eyes narrowed, probably not expecting to find another person on the ranch at this hour.

  “Catch them,” she said, passing him. More chickens came scampering at him. “They escaped the pen.”

  They were both bent over, grabbing at the elusive little birds. “How’d they get out?” he shouted over the clucking.

  “I was mending the chicken wire and had a mishap.” There were a couple dozen chickens on the farm. They wouldn’t get far, but if they weren’t penned by dusk, the foxes and other nocturnal critters would make a meal of them.

  “Slippery little buggers.” There was a flurry of feathers as they fought to get all the chickens back in their pen. Mrs. McCay put him to shame, roughly grabbing the chickens, sometimes two at a time.

  After rounding them up for nearly twenty minutes they were both laughing out loud, falling over each other, and giddy from the chaos of it all. When they’d finally popped the last chicken into the pen, she knelt down and went to work twisting the metal fastenings together with a pair of pliers. He collapsed beside her on the dry grass, clean sweat coating his body. The heat these days was intense—add any form of exercise and it was brutal.

  “Thanks for your help,” she said, slightly breathless. The woman looked gorgeous in her natural, dishevelled state. Her hair had slipped from its fastening, and her cheeks were slightly flushed, lips swollen.

  “I’d much rather round up cattle on horseback any day of the week,” he joked. Jackson twisted to his side, tilting his Stetson back to get a better look at the beauty sitting beside him.

  “It shouldn’t happen again. I’ve secured the pen good and proper this time.”

  “If it meant chasing them with you, I wouldn’t mind.” He studied her reactions, the way she swallowed hard, her body tensing. She clearly wasn’t used to men or compliments. How lon
g did she plan to play a married woman to a dead man?

  She chuckled, dismissing his comment. “I expect you’re pretty popular with the young girls.”

  “I ain’t interested in girls. What I need is a woman.”

  Her lips parted, but no words came out.

  “I was talking to Kylie the other night.” He waited to see if she’d clue in without needing to say he knew her secret outright.

  “Oh?”

  “You don’t have to be afraid of me, darlin’. I’d never steal from you, never try to hurt you. Not all men are bad.”

  She fidgeted with her hair, pulling it around to one side of her neck and twirling in into a rope. “I’m not scared of you,” she said, barely above a whisper.

  “I have a high respect for single mothers. My own mother raised me alone for a large portion of my life, and I know it ain’t easy. What you’ve done should be commended.”

  Recognition widened her eyes for a moment. “Kylie had no right to be saying anything to you.” She started to stand up, brushing off her jeans with both hands. “Lying isn’t something I do regular, but a woman can never be too safe living alone in these parts. I have children to think about.”

  “I’m not judging you.” He rose up, not wanting to separate on a bad note. “And your children look grown to me.” Jackson followed her as she walked away from him. When they reached the barn, he spun her around, trapping her between his arms against the wooden boards.

  “What are you—”

  “You wouldn’t have to be afraid if you had a man to look after you.” He leaned over, breathing in against her neckline. She was the essence of a woman, equal parts of strength and fragility.

  She planted her palms on his chest, testing the muscles briefly before pushing him away. “Please mind your manners. I advertised for a boarder, not a husband.”

  He let her go now, but there was no way she could deny the chemistry between them. If only she’d take the leap, take a gamble on a new relationship.

  Chapter Three

  It had been three weeks since Wade saw Wendy at the feedstore. She’d dismissed him as usual, but he knew there was more to the woman than met the eye. The rain she’d spoken of had never come. Horror stories ran rampant through the gossip lines. Farmers losing whole crops, going bankrupt, deserting their land. There was even talk of a cowboy committing suicide. Every new bit of news he’d hear made him think of Wendy McCay and her wheat farm. She didn’t have the same technology he had, and ran the whole operation herself. It was unreal the things that woman could do. But she was too hotheaded to accept help, and still living in the past, refusing to really live her life.

  Wade supposed he was more a fool than her. He’d held off from getting into serious relationships, waiting for the day Wendy couldn’t hold out any longer. They’d had some fun times in the past during corn roasts and holiday events, but she’d only get so close to him before raising her shields. He could admit to himself he’d fallen in love with her years ago, but nothing he did was ever enough for her.

  By lunch hour the sun was merciless. Just stepping outside of his air-conditioned ranch was like walking into a solid wall of dry heat. He donned his Stetson and drove out to the McCay ranch to check up on his neighbor. She’d skin him for not minding his own business, or concerning himself with a so-called married woman. Wendy was just as lonely as him, a widow stuck in a time warp. Wade had heartache in his past, too, but together they could make a future for themselves. If only she’d open her eyes to the possibilities.

  Her truck was in front of the house, so he knew she’d be home. He parked to the side of the barn, and then knocked on the front door, getting no answer. A farmer would be crazy to work his fields at this hour, on a day like today, so he checked the barn and outbuildings. Her tractors were in the equipment barn. Where was she?

  “Wendy?” he called out. Maybe she was with the livestock or hanging laundry around back. Sometimes he’d see her riding out into the fields alone, just wandering aimlessly. Wade walked around the side of the house to the rear yard, finding it abandoned like the rest of the property. “Wendy?”

  He was about to leave, guessing someone had picked her up and drove her into town for errands, but then his peripheral vision caught some movement. There was a figure way off in the apple orchard. He mopped his brow with a cloth from his front pocket, and then walked across the crisp, burnt grass.

  When he reached the young trees, he noticed how parched the land was, the soil eroding from the dry spell. He weaved his way through the trees until he found her. Wendy was wearing a white tank top, transparent from sweat. She had on jean shorts with cowboy boots, her hair up in a messy ponytail. He’d never seen a woman so beautiful, yet worn at the same time. Her face was red, eyes heavy, and body close to collapsing. The fool was carting buckets of water from the well. He could see the drip trail from where she’d just come from, and the well was a good two-minute walk one way.

  She poured the contents of the large bucket over the roots of one tree, the soil barely darkening and too dry to absorb the water.

  “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?” He snatched the bucket from her and tossed it. Her eyes followed the metal container as it rolled away. “Answer me, damn it.”

  “They’ll die if they don’t get water. I can’t lose my orchard,” she said. Her voice was hoarse, her lips dry and peeling.

  “How long have you been out here?”

  “Since sunup, I suppose.” She tried to push by him to get to the bucket, nearly falling over she was so shaky on her feet. Wade wanted to make things better for her, take care of her, if only she’d allow it. There was no way she could save her trees by continuing to water them by the bucketful. No sooner than she’d dump the water, the heat would evaporate it.

  “Stop this nonsense. You can’t make a difference with a few buckets of water, Wendy.”

  “Watch me. This is my land, and I won’t watch it burn to hell.”

  He stood back as she staggered down her dusty path toward the well, dragging her boots as she shuffled along. All these years he’d given her the upper hand, kept his manners, but this was too much. Just when he’d decided to put an end to the spectacle, to demand she stop her foolish efforts, she fell forward onto the earth. He raced over, dropping to his knees, and rolled her to her back. Her eyes were closed, her parched lips unable to close.

  “Your stubbornness will be the death of you, woman.” He scooped her up into the cradle of his arms and carried her back to his truck.

  * * * *

  Every muscle in her body screamed out in protest when she moved. She shifted on the bed, too tired to open her eyes. Then she began to remember bits and pieces that didn’t make sense. She sat up in a rush, feeling a sudden raw terror. Her orchard! She had to save the orchard!

  “Ah, ah, ah. Lie back down, darlin’.” Wade’s familiar baritone anchored her. He lowered her back to the pillow on the sofa.

  “The orchard,” she said, her throat scratching when she spoke. Wendy brought a hand to her neck and attempted to swallow, but was unable to.

  “Here you go. Take a sip, but not too much.” He held a straw to her lips and she gladly took the cool water into her body. She could feel it travel down her throat, all the way to her stomach.

  Once her mouth was moisturized, she tried again to speak. “My orchard…”

  “Don’t worry about that now. If I hadn’t shown up when I did, we’d be planning a funeral for you.” She briefly glanced around the room. There were open rafters on the ceiling and a grand wood-burning fireplace in one corner. The house had a cozy, country feel.

  “Where am I?”

  “My ranch. It’s the only place I could take proper care of you. You needed to cool off.” When she ran her tongue over her lips, she realized he must have put petroleum jelly on them. Her boots were off, but her clothes were still in place. When she took a breath, she noticed how fresh and cool it was compared to outside.

  “I need
to get back and water those trees before they die. I won’t let two years of hard work turn to firewood.”

  “For nearly fifteen years I kept my distance out of respect. But there’s no way I’m letting you leave this house today.” His eyes were determined when he spoke. He was going to kidnap her? Force her to be idle while she could be productive, saving her orchard? “I’ve never seen a woman as stubborn as you. It boggles my mind.”

  She sat up and attempted to stand. Maybe Wade was partially right. She could barely support her weight she was so weak and dehydrated. “Where’re my boots at?”

  When she looked up, one hand bracing the arm of the sofa for support, he was shaking his head. For the first time he wasn’t the sexy, forbidding rancher next door that she easily put in his place with a few sharp words. He was all dominance, unmovable, and part of her liked this new side to him. With him she wasn’t the mother, the middle-aged widow. She was young, desirable, the center of his world.

  She wasn’t prepared for him to toss her over his shoulder. He was strong as an ox, his gait not affected by having a hundred and twenty pounds pressing down on him. “Put me down!”

  “I will, but not yet.” He easily bounded up the wooden staircase at the back of the split-level to the second story. They entered an obscenely large bathroom with a Jacuzzi-size tub—so much more extravagant than her water closet and stand-up shower back home. He kicked the door shut and then stood her on the cool tiled floor.

  “I’m leaving,” she said stubbornly, pushing at his chest to get to the door behind him. He growled his irritation, hoisted her up, and then plunged her into a bath full of cool water, clothes and all. She gasped, her arms flailing from the shock of everything.