The Private Stable [Iron Spur Ranch 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 10

  “So…which one is it?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Wyatt or Ethan?” asked Isabella. “Both have their appeal, I suppose. Ethan has that cowboy-next-door charm, and he’d never break your heart. On the other hand, Wyatt’s a loose cannon when it comes to women but also hard to resist. You’d get a thrill, but it’d last as long as a roller coaster ride.”

  “Neither,” she snapped. “I just got here. I want to do my job, nothing more.”

  She leaned over her knees and whispered. “Honey, you may have the menfolk fooled, but I know for a fact you can’t bunk with two of our best cowboys and not feel a little something.”

  Should she keep lying? Or should she spill it all? She was in lust with two men she barely knew. Every time she closed her eyes she envisioned them devoting themselves to her, her own white knights. She also had a shattered past that would no doubt come back to bite. All those years of abuse were already rearing their ugly head. She didn’t even know how to gossip or converse with another woman. Rachel was suspicious of everyone, slow to trust, and scared to love. She wasn’t even sure if she knew what love was. Maybe all she really desired was her freedom.

  “I’m really not interested. I just got out of a very bad relationship. Starting something new wouldn’t be in my best interest.”

  “Really?” Isabella cocked her head. “What happened?”

  Was it normal to share intimate details of your life with near strangers? She got a wholesome vibe from Isabella, but her judgment could be flawed.

  “He–he abused me. For years.” And like the floodgates on a faulty dam, everything came gushing out. She covered her face with both hands to try and contain her outburst. The tears wouldn’t stop, and all the pain she’d been stifling for so many years suddenly fought to come out. She’d carried the burden, shared the truth with no one, not even her own mother. Saying it aloud forced her out of denial and it hurt, a confirmation of what she’d endured. So much wasted life.

  “What?” She flipped her legs around and sat right next to her. “Did he hit you?” Isabella wrapped an arm behind her back and used her free hand to tuck Rachel’s hair behind her ear.

  “That wasn’t the worst of it.” The emotional abuse cut her much deeper, leaving her the shell of a woman at twenty-eight years old.

  “I promise nothing like that will ever happen here. Around these parts, a man knows not to raise his hand to a woman.”

  Like Ethan and Wyatt? She couldn’t get them out of her mind. If only…

  “I’m not qualified for the job!” she blurted, the lies unfolding, her sobs making her chest convulse. Everything had changed. The truth, the pain, the consequences—she had to face it all head-on. “I came here to escape Jason, to start over where he couldn’t find me.”

  “He won’t find you here,” she cooed, rocking them slowly side to side. “If he does, he’ll have a very unwelcome greeting, I can promise you that.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s not fair to you or your business that I came here. I was selfish.”

  “Darlin’, you did what you had to do. And womenfolk have to stick together. If you want the job, my crew will have you whipped into shape in no time.”

  “But Damien…”

  She scoffed. “Damien nothing. He wouldn’t dare test me on this one.”

  Rachel was in shock. Isabella was the exact opposite of her older brother, caring and accommodating. She felt warm inside, safe and accepted. For once, she felt like she just may belong somewhere.

  “Where will I stay?” What she really wanted was to return to the trailer she’d slept in last night, but she was no longer welcome.

  “Here with us. There’re nine bedrooms and just the two of us. You won’t be any trouble.”

  “Thank you.” Words weren’t enough to express her gratitude. Even the listening ear alone was priceless. Rachel felt like the weight of the world had been eased off her shoulders now that she’d exposed the ugly truth. There really was something therapeutic about confessing one’s pain.

  * * * *

  Wyatt tried to convince himself it was an ordinary morning, the same sun rising, same birds chirping as every other day. But in truth, he was scanning the yard for Rachel when he should have been thinking about all the work that needed to be done.

  “Stop looking,” said Ethan. “They’ll obviously be keeping her for breakfast.”

  “I ain’t looking.”

  “Sure. You tossed and turned nearly all damned night.” They reached the mess hall, a small crowd of men cramming to get into the door.

  “That’s because she left me with a hard-on. So don’t blame me for that, blame her.”

  “You’re the one who took off like a spoiled child. And you’re the one who sent her away. Life isn’t a game, Wyatt.”

  He felt heat escape from under his collar. It was best he end this discussion before he took it to the next level and made a scene. Since when was his life ever a game? It was one struggle and disappointment after the other. Nothing came easy. Everything he had, he’d worked for. And what did he have? A small savings account, a few pairs of worn jeans? All he really had was his job at the Iron Spur Ranch. It defined him, made him feel part of something larger—like a family. He was foreman now, not an easy feat with Damien calling the shots. But each passing year, he realized it wasn’t enough. Finding the missing pieces in his life was harder than winning the lottery. He could dream about finding his answers but knew they’d never come. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  They sat at their regular table. The noise and usual chaos was a constant drone outside his head, his focus elsewhere. Had Damien found the same appeal in the new girl? He had wealth and power, something attractive to young women. He also had Rachel locked up in his house alone all night long. Wyatt shook his head and reached for the pitcher of orange juice on the table. It didn’t matter what Rachel did with her life because she wasn’t his concern.

  “What happened to that sweet thing of yours?” asked Trevor as he settled in at the next table over. “I haven’t seen her since the roundup yesterday.”

  “Ain’t really any of your concern,” said Ethan. His best friend had been especially quiet, and he assumed it was his way of punishing Wyatt for sending Rachel away.

  “Don’t tell me she’s gone. I didn’t even have a chance to win her over.”

  Ethan’s chair legs scraped the floor as he abruptly stood up, his hands braced on the wooden table as he leaned over. He wasn’t a small man by any means. They were similar in height, which meant well over six feet. “Not every woman who crosses the Iron Spur gates is yours to claim, Trevor.”

  “Who says?”

  Wyatt leaned back in his chair. It sounded like the beginnings of a good, old-fashioned fight. Ethan must have been holding in as much tension as Wyatt had for that girl. Maybe Wyatt would join in a brawl—it would do him good to let off some steam. But then he remembered his responsibilities and commitment to Damien Holt. He was foreman, which meant he had to keep the peace, ensure the hired hands didn’t turn savage.

  “You’re fucking looking at him,” Ethan goaded, obviously not thinking clearly. This was the same situation that got him in trouble years ago, and Wyatt knew the other cowboys would be thinking the same thing.

  Half the room was standing up now, the crowd of roughneck ranch hands converging on their table.

  “Break it up!” Colton’s voice bellowed from the periphery. “Unless you want a pink slip in the morning, I suggest you grab your breakfast to go and get to work.”

  The men complied, murmuring to each other as they split apart. Some returned to their tables and others left the house entirely. He heard distinct words such as murderer and killer. And he knew his friend must have heard, too.

  Once Ethan sat down at the table again, his chest still heaving, Colton leaned over Wyatt’s chair. “What’s with your boy?”

  “I’m thinking he’s in love,” said Wyatt, half teasing. “When have you ever seen men as passionate for any
thing less?”

  Colton shrugged. “Women, horses, and money. That’s about it.”

  “I ain’t in the mood,” said Ethan from across the table.

  It had been several years since that fateful night when Ethan was charged with manslaughter. The charges were eventually dropped and his record cleared, but the stigma clung to him like cheap cologne. Wyatt never blamed Ethan. Barney had been plastered, drunker than all hell when the fight broke out. Barney had turned aggressive under the influence, picking fights with any man to walk by. Unfortunately, Ethan passed by that night at the wrong time. He returned the punch thrown at him, as was instinct for any cowboy. Barney hit his head on the metal bar rail, too drunk to maintain his balance, never to wake up again.

  Everyone called Ethan a murderer, keeping their distance, even when working together. For a young man to be categorized as a monster and lose all his friends in a day was an ugly lesson to learn. It may have been because Ethan had been new to the ranch, because Barney was a popular town icon, or they could have been looking for the next scapegoat for all their problems on the ranch. It was what it was.

  “Well, you have a funny way of showing it,” said Colton. “If you’re in love, you should be on top of the world, not madder than a plucked goose.”

  Colton was one of the other foremen in charge of the hired hands. He didn’t follow the gossip and hearsay about Ethan. Neither did Damien, which was why he still had a job at all.

  “Never said I was in love. That’s fool’s talk.” Ethan grabbed a few strips of back bacon, eating one as he left the mess hall.

  Wyatt called out to him. “Don’t forget, you’re training Ms. Price today.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Three more days came and went. Ethan trained her each day in the big barn, showing her all the things she should already know as a handler. But he rarely spoke, only doing his job and avoiding eye contract. Rachel had assumed it was just Wyatt who’d grown cold, not him. She was more wrong than she could imagine. And she felt completely alone in the world, forever remembering their kiss.

  On her sixth day at the Iron Spur Ranch, she grew a little bold. The silence was killing her, and Isabella said it was likely her last day of one-on-one training with Ethan. The probation period was over, so if she got fired, she hurt no one but herself.

  Ethan was shoveling manure, something she knew he wasn’t responsible for. There was a distinct hierarchy on the ranch, led by Damien Holt and ending with new handlers like her. She wasn’t sure why Ethan cared, doing her dirty work when he didn’t even speak with her. The mixed signals were making her crazy.

  She leaned against one of the stalls after oiling all the saddles, rubbing her hands dry on a rag. Ethan was built like a brick house, every muscle working as he bent over with the shovel. It was cruel of him to go around shirtless. When Isabella had caught her admiring him from the window one morning, she’d said the men often went without a shirt to beat the heat if they were just around the barns. If they were out on the fields they needed the protection from the sun and elements. She was right. Most of the workforce sauntered around half-naked, and they were all jaw-droppingly buff.

  Since coming to the ranch, Rachel had lost three pounds. At first she avoided the fancy scale in the guest en-suite bathroom like the plague. It was only this morning she dared to check. The weight loss spiked her confidence, giving her the nerve to finally confront Ethan.

  “Did I do something wrong, or do you give the cold shoulder to every woman you sleep with?”

  He turned his head, the sun highlighting the blond streaks in his hair and the clean sweat on his biceps. Ethan had been hunched over shoveling. Now he stood straight. Too straight, with shoulders back and chin squared. He stared at her from across the barn as if just realizing she existed.

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Then please tell me how it is.”

  He set the shovel aside, closed his eyes, and mopped his brow with a forearm. “I’m just used to working is all. A distraction is a dangerous thing on a working ranch.”

  “A distraction?”

  She’d come to the ranch less than a week ago broken and barely able to look herself in a mirror. Ethan’s tone suggested she affected him. Her self-assurance grew as she slowly walked toward him.

  “You’re the only pretty thing around here. You can make a man forget his manners looking like you do.”

  She bit her lower lip. Isabella had given her some spare clothes and offered her a huge selection of toiletries since moving into the big house. Rachel knew she smelled sweet and looked her best. She could never afford nice clothes back home. Since leaving Jason, she believed her health had improved thanks to the stress removed from her life.

  Now she could only focus on one thing—satisfying the sexual burden growing in strength by the minute. In just two days she’d grown addicted, and watching Ethan and Wyatt day to day only increased her withdrawal.

  The Iron Spur T-shirt was one size, clinging to her breasts and tapering down at her waist. Ethan’s eyes continually riveted to the small area of cleavage visible in the V-neck of her shirt.

  “What if I want you to forget your manners?” What am I doing? Working with Ethan one on one every day made her crush deepen. He was respectable, hardworking, and patient. He was also hotter than hell. As much as she craved a man like him for keeps, her body was strung tight and needed a quick release. One she knew he could provide.

  “I’ll never forget them,” he said, the monotone of his voice leaving no room for argument.

  “Didn’t you forget when your face was between my legs?” She felt her face flush with embarrassment. Rachel was never sexually bold. But she stood her ground, not apologizing for her crudeness. It was her last-ditch effort to get noticed, to garner the attention she so desperately craved.

  Time seemed to stand still as she awaited his reaction. Would he think less of her now? He frequently spoke of family, parents, and siblings—all wholesome things.

  Ethan suddenly lurched forward, forcing her to back away. Was he angry? He was fast and rough, pushing her into the hay storage room as if the place was on fire.

  “What are you—”

  His lips were on hers before she could finish her sentence, warm, firm lips. The ones she dreamed of. She was an ice cube, melting into him, fusing them as one. Her knees went weak. Rachel didn’t realize how much she’d missed the affection from her men. It was her fuel, the driving force behind her newfound strength.

  “I’ve been thinking of you, baby girl. Every night.” He kissed her hard on the mouth again, a man starved for a woman. The darkness in the enclosed room was soothing and intimate. Hearing his confession sent relief trickling through her veins. At least one of her lovers still thought of her, because she certainly thought of them. “Watching you work only feet away has been the hardest temptation I’ve ever faced.”

  “Then why? Did Wyatt tell you to stay away from me?”

  She knew Wyatt hated her. Rachel rarely saw him since that fateful night when he sent her packing to the main house. She yearned for him, maybe more so because of his rejection.

  “I think Wyatt’s just as lost as I am.” He began to unfasten her jeans, his hands moving quickly, his breathing labored. “I’ve been a fool. But now I have you back.”

  He got her jeans down over her rounded hips. She’d normally refuse him, complain that fucking in a hay barn like animals was improper. But her pussy was throbbing, aching to be filled. Sweet relief was only minutes away, and she wouldn’t run from it. In fact, there was something about these men or this place that brought out her base desires. She’d already done things she’d never contemplated in her entire life.

  Ethan stomped her jeans down to her ankles with force and then lifted her right out of her boots. He braced her against the wall with his hips while tugging off her T-shirt. He was savage, more animal than man. It turned her on, making her heart race in anticipation.

  “You’re gorgeous, Rachel.” He pe
eled the cup of her bra back and gorged himself on her breast as if starved. His wild energy both scared and fascinated her. What would it feel like to have such a virile cock inside her, fucking her against the wood plank wall? Hopefully she was about to find out.

  He used one hand to unzip his jeans, the sound echoing in the enclosed space, the promise of pleasure. The room smelled strongly of hay and dust, only shadows clinging to their bare flesh.

  “I have to have you. Right now.” He wasted no time in plunging up and into her hot, wet cunt. She let out a guttural moan of relief once the full length of his cock was fully inside her. She needed this like she needed air to breathe. It reset her inner balance, and maybe she’d actually be able to sleep tonight rather than fantasizing over her two cowboy lovers.

  * * * *

  Ethan was more pent up than a corralled stud horse. His cock was as hard as wood, easily sliding into Rachel’s slick little pussy. After avoiding her for days, he finally had what he really wanted. Wyatt said he was a lovesick fool, so he had set out to prove his friend wrong. And failed.

  The moment Rachel began to talk dirty, finally building a bridge between them, he lost it. All he could think about was fucking and more fucking. When he got her shirt off and stole a glimpse of her overflowing cleavage, he nearly came in his Wranglers. She was everything he fantasized about in a woman, from her full curves to her soft-spoken nature.

  He pumped in and out of her, slamming her hard against the wall. She didn’t shy away as she usually had, but spurred him on with her nails and heels. When she chanted, harder, faster, he gave her exactly what she ordered.

  Rachel wrapped her arms around his neck, the skin-to-skin contact soothing more than his libido. He savored the combined intimacy, having a woman wrapped around him. Even in his fervor, he took time to kiss her, stroke her, show her what she meant to him. And he hoped she could see how much she drove him crazy.

  He pumped into her, his balls tight and heavy. This was sex and he knew he’d come fast. With the crew of men wandering in and out of the barn, they’d be caught if he took his sweet time. Hopefully there would be other days for careful exploration, because he wanted to discover every inch of Rachel with his hands and tongue. The taste of her pussy was branded in his memory, and he yearned to indulge himself again.