Saving Grace Page 2

  “You forgot her bags,” shouted one of the men, rushing forward with a suitcase in each hand. Behind him, another man appeared from the darkness with her third piece of luggage. Their faces were hidden by shadows, and they were tall and fit like Trevor, regular cowboys with blue jeans and dingy T-shirts.

  “Thanks, Bryce. Guess I was distracted.”

  “I’ll say.” The second cowboy came closer, dropped the suitcase, and bent forward. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I’d be distracted too if I had to escort such a pretty thing.”

  “Seth, you’re spookin’ her.” Bryce shoved him out of the way and took his place in front of Grace. “Sorry about that. He has no manners. I’m Bryce. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He held out his hand, and she shook it, reciting her first name.

  “Why don’t you two clowns bring in the bags? Ms. Grace is freezing out here in the dead of night.” Trevor’s hand rested on the small of her back, and they continued on toward the door. Low whispers of complaint, rustling of bags, and heavy footsteps followed them.

  Inside the wooden doors, a larger-than-life fire roared in a stone fireplace at the end of the room with no overhead lighting, only the soft flicker of light from the fire and one table lamp. The burning logs crackled and sparked, and Grace breathed the scent of smoldering wood in deep, savored it.

  A menagerie of old Oriental rugs covered the hardwood floors, and an assortment of mismatched pillows adorned the three fabric sofas. Antlers hung high on the walls as trophies, and the smell of cinnamon and apples reminded her of Christmas.

  “Wagner?” Trevor called out as Seth and Bryce closed the door behind them and set the suitcases in the entranceway.

  “In the kitchen, be right there.”

  “You look like you’re in line for the slaughter. I told you Mr. Wagner ain’t nothing to be afraid of.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, lying. No way did she feel ready to meet her temporary husband. She expected the worst, the only thing she could do to prepare herself. If she pictured some overweight, balding pervert, the reality couldn’t shock her.

  They all stood in awkward silence until a figure meandered down the hallway with two oversized mugs in his hands. Internally, Grace sighed. The guy was a George Clooney look-alike. Salt-and-pepper hair, more pepper than salt. Squinty, flirty eyes and a playful smirk. For fifty-two, the man had aged well, very well. He wore faded blue jeans with a thick rodeo belt and a flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up past his elbows. The guy didn’t carry any extra fat, only lean muscle.

  “Just made some hot chocolate. Hope you like it,” he said to Grace, closing the distance between them. “Wasn’t expecting all you boys…If you want some, you’ll have to get it yourselves.”

  “I was just dropping off Ms. Grace for you. I’ll be heading out. Got an early morning ahead of me.” Trevor landed a heavy hand on Bryce’s shoulder.

  “Us too. Just dropping the bags off.”

  The three men scuttled out, and Grace felt like begging them to stay, to not leave her alone with this stranger. As the door slammed shut, she couldn’t take her eyes from it. Did she expect a miracle?

  “My fingers are likely to melt if you don’t take this soon.”

  “Oh!” Grace refocused and took one of the mugs from Mr. Wagner’s hand.

  “Come, have a seat. I’m sure you’re beat from the long trip.”

  His sense of ease relaxed Grace somewhat. She sat on the sofa in front of the fire, as far away from him as possible. The chasm between them created its own awkwardness, but it was still better than getting too close and personal.

  “Did you get the folder?”

  “Yes. Thank you, Mr. Wagner.”

  “Please, call me Wayne, and forget the formalities. This is your home for the next month.”

  She nodded and continued to watch the flames leaping above the burning logs. Grace had always been a bit on the shy side and regressed more after marrying Ken. With no social life and constantly being put down, she lost a part of herself, or kept it hidden from being hurt again. Of all the people in the world, Grace had to be the worst pick for a wife swap. Looking at herself in the mirror naked was difficult. She worked out nearly every day in an attempt to get a compliment from her husband, but he only found the negative. Her breasts “too small” and her ass “too big.” She wondered why he had married her in the first place if he detested her so much. How was she expected to share anything with this stranger?

  “I’m guessing this wasn’t your idea,” he said. With a chuckle, he leaned forward over his knees and cupped his mug with both big hands.

  Grace gently shook her head and took a sip of her cocoa so she wouldn’t have to talk. Did it ever taste good. Thick, rich, and chocolaty with heavy cream. She couldn’t even resist closing her eyes momentarily to savor the flavors dancing across her tongue.

  “Good, isn’t it?”

  “Very.” She smiled. She couldn’t help it.

  “Old family recipe. You’ll never stomach the processed stuff now that you’ve tasted it.”

  “I can believe that.”

  He inched his way across the sofa, still keeping a safe distance, allowing her some personal space. With one leg bent up slightly, he faced her. “Listen, Grace. I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do. This was my wife’s idea, not mine. I ain’t looking to take something that you don’t give freely. I’m hoping you’ll at least enjoy your stay. There’s a lot to explore on this land. It’d take you more than a month just to see it all.”

  “Thank you.” She turned her head slightly in his direction. What a handsome man. It seemed men were like wine and improved with age, women not so much.

  “How about we get you settled in your room? I’ll have Jenna come and help you out, get you anything you need.”

  She smiled and nodded politely. Wayne stood and padded across the carpets to the next room, where she heard the static of an intercom. In a minute, the front door burst open, and a girl in her midtwenties slipped in. She stood about Grace’s height with thin white-blonde hair to her shoulders and delicate features. Even with the loose flannel work shirt she wore, it was impossible not to notice her chest. She was either blessed or cursed with uncommonly large breasts.

  “Jenna, this is Grace.” Wayne sauntered out and introduced her with an open-armed wave. “Grace, this is Jenna. If you need anything, just ask her, and she’ll be sure to get it for you. And if any of them cowboys gives you trouble when I’m not around, you let her know that too. They’re not foolish enough to mess with her.” He gave the girl a wink.

  “Come on. I have your room ready.” Jenna planted her palm on Grace’s back as she led her down the hallway. Mr. Wagner whistled a comforting tune as he returned to the fire.

  Some beautiful fable must have inspired her room because it came from her dreams. A billowy pink duvet covered the four-poster white-iron canopy bed. Tasteful floral wallpaper covered the walls above the stained oak wainscoting. It took all her control not to run and jump up onto the bed and sink into the lush bedding.

  “Do you like it?” Jenna’s face tensed up as she waited for her reaction.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Jenna sighed before chuckling. “I’m glad. Personally, I can’t stand this room, but Mr. Wagner thought it would be perfect. I wouldn’t know. I’m not into the girly-girl stuff myself.”

  “How many people does he have on staff?”

  “Well, I’m the only one in the house. In fact, I’m the only woman on the ranch.”

  Grace lowered her brows. “That’s odd.”

  “You won’t say that when you see the crew at work tomorrow. Dozen of cowboys work the ranch each day, and every female hired on did more consorting than working, if you know what I mean.”

  She swallowed. “Not you?”

  “I play for the other team. Men don’t do it for me.”

  Grace widened her eyes in understanding.

  “I won’t let the guys bother you. I
f they have eyes in their heads, they’ll be wanting a piece. But, don’t you worry.” Jenna looked her up and down approvingly.

  Had a woman just hit on her?

  Chapter Three

  The next morning, Grace awoke to the sounds of hooves, thousands of them. If she hadn’t known better, she’d say it was an earthquake or Armageddon. Masculine voices called out, shouted, and whistled. She stirred in the bed, not willing to leave the warm nest. Last night had been the best sleep of her life. Before she had fallen asleep, the distant crackle of the fire and the soothing hum from the crickets had comforted her.

  Back home in Ken’s modern, sterile black bedroom, she had curled up on her side of the bed as far from him as possible. Any wrong move and he’d lash out, and the mere thought of being intimate with him kept her away. Not a life, barely an existence.

  With reluctance, she slipped out of bed, her bare feet hitting the cold hardwood. Hugging herself from the chill, she tiptoed to the window and peeked out the edge of the thick curtains.

  Billows of dust distorted her view. Dozens of cowboys, some on foot, some on horseback, herded countless head of cattle. She studied the back of one man near her window until he suddenly turned around, startling her. She leaped back from the window, letting the curtain fall into place. With her heart beating a frantic rhythm, she hoisted her suitcase up on the bed and sorted through her clothes.

  A month was a long time, so she began filling the drawers of the long white dresser with her clothing. Its mirror, beautifully carved and painted white, matched the décor. She slipped on her favorite jeans and a long-sleeved navy T-shirt. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she began brushing out her impossibly thick hair as she reflected. Would she lock herself in her room all day? Should she venture to the living room herself? She had no clue what a wife swap entailed. Was she expected to cook and clean? She doubted the real Mrs. Wagner did anything related to housework.

  A knock on the door made her look up, brush still in hand. Jenna poked her head in the door.

  “Good, you’re up. Though I don’t know how anyone could sleep in with the racket that goes on around here.”

  “It’s okay. Actually, I slept well.”

  Jenna sidled up beside her on the unmade bed and took the brush from her hand. With gentle care, she began combing through Grace’s hair from scalp to the tips, which reached her waist. It relaxed her, something she hadn’t enjoyed since being a young girl living at home.

  “That feels good,” whispered Grace as she closed her eyes and drifted.

  “It’s nice having you here. Too much testosterone around this place.”

  Jenna used the brush with one hand and collected her hair with the other, occasionally running her fingers along her jaw or neck. She had soft, slender fingers, and the smooth strokes sent shivers skittering across Grace’s skin. When Jenna ran her hand down her arm to her hand, Grace opened her eyes.

  “Ready for breakfast?”

  As soon as she nodded, Jenna pulled her by the hand and dragged her down the hall to the kitchen. A quaint kitchen, the only modern intrusions were the stainless steel appliances. Everything else matched the rest of the home. A heavy, oversized wooden-slab table sat in the center of the room. It had to be four inches thick and was all dinged and beat up, which only added to its charm. Five chairs on each side and one at each end. Baskets of fresh fruit decorated the tabletop.

  The scent of freshly baked bread wafting from the industrial-sized ovens made her mouth water. Pots and pans hung from the exposed beams in the ceiling, along with drying herbs and spices.

  “This is old Pete,” said Jenna, patting the back of a short, stocky man. His belly hit the counter before the rest of him as he tossed the first slices of bacon onto a large grill. The delicious scent assaulted Grace and made her stomach rumble.

  “Who’s old?” When Pete laughed, his entire body shook.

  “You know I’m just teasin’. This is Grace, the one I told you about.” Jenna pulled her by the arm so Pete could steal a sideways glance.

  “Good to meet you, Grace. Breakfast will be ready in two shakes.” Then he leaned his head into her personal space and in a mock whisper said, “I’ll serve you before I ring the cowbell. Those animals will eat every last scrap, and a lady like you will starve to death in the melee.”

  “Surely to God those heathens will act like gentlemen when Grace is here.” Jenna didn’t sound too optimistic.

  “It smells wonderful,” said Grace.

  Another belly laugh echoed throughout the vast kitchen. “Flattery will get you extra bacon.” He dropped more slabs onto the grill, and they sizzled and spurted.

  “Come on…” Jenna pulled Grace away from the lethal griddle to the French doors overlooking the fields. She recognized Trevor from last night, shoveling hay. His golden skin glistened in the early morning light, no shirt, just blue jeans and a cowboy hat. Damn, did he ever look good. She thought that men built like that only lived in her romance novels, the same books she had to hide from Ken or risk his taunting and jealous outbursts. Anything that stole attention from him was deemed evil.

  Jenna noticed Grace’s ogling. “That’s Trevor Mansfield.”

  “I know. He drove me here last night.”

  “He didn’t try anything funny, did he? Trevor ain’t exactly sugar and spice. I’m surprised Mr. Wagner sent him to get you.”

  “Actually, he was a perfect gentleman.” She smiled as she watched him. Strong shoulders straining, muscles shifting as he shoveled the hay with a pitchfork. The vision made a need burn within her, one she quickly pushed away.

  “What about you? Don’t the guys hit on you constantly? I mean…you’re the only woman here day in, day out.”

  “Hell no! They know to steer clear, or I’d have their balls in a vise. I was raised with a rifle, and the last time one of those fools made a move on me, I put a hole in the barn a foot from his head. He couldn’t hear from that ear for a week.” She chuckled at the memory. “Besides, they know I ain’t interested in men and never will be.”

  They took seats at the table after Pete set out platters of food. Slapping him in the face would have been kinder than asking to help. He wouldn’t hear of it.

  “Eat up, girls. I’m givin’ you a ten-minute head start. Then I have to let the guys in, or I’ll have a mutiny on my hands.”

  After eggs, bacon, fresh bread, and berries, Grace felt stuffed. A good feeling, not like that bloated sensation after Thanksgiving or Christmas. Before she could fully stand up, Pete opened the French doors, and a herd of men bustled in. Loud laughter, talking, shoving, and cursing filled the space. Grace froze, like a deer caught in headlights.

  When they saw Grace standing by her chair, the way the men stopped and silenced, as if a mute button had been pushed, made her blush. Pete’s voice broke them out of their trance, and they continued to file in with buttoned lips and shuffling boots.

  She tried to take in all ten or so cowboys at once. All unique, all temptingly delicious men, and this was only the first breakfast run. They eyed her as though she were the last piece of birthday cake and they had a serious case of the sweet tooth. She liked it. Even though they were just a bunch of horny cowboys, it flattered her to be wanted. Desired. She wondered what it would be like to get seduced by a man with a body to die for. What would it feel like to kiss another man? To feel wanted on a daily basis?

  Her only experiences were with Ken. From his sloppy wet kisses to his unloving manhandling to his selfish lovemaking…he left everything to be desired. Only now did she wonder what life beyond Ken would be like.

  “Stop your gawking, you cretins. I’m sure Mr. Wagner wouldn’t appreciate you taking in our guest with those lust-filled eyes.”

  Jenna took Grace’s hand and pulled her out of the kitchen as she tripped along backward, still taking in the scene and all those hungry eyes on her.

  Once safely in the hall and out of sight, Jenna released Grace, who immediately sank against the wall. She burned h
ot like never before, not that she’d admit it to save her life.

  The front door flew open, and Wayne came striding in with warmth and sunshine behind him.

  “There’s my girl. Awake and fed, I hope.”

  “She just ate. Pete served us before he let the guys in,” said Jenna.

  “Smart man, that Pete. Why do you think I keep him around?” Wayne set his cowboy hat on the small table by the door with care and leaned against the arm of a sofa to pull off his boots.

  “Do you want me to show Grace around?”

  “Maybe later. I thought I’d get to know my young wife before I lose her. A month isn’t very long, you know.” He winked at Grace.

  Jenna took leave and returned to the kitchen.

  “Come with me.”

  Wayne held out his hand, and Grace accepted. He led her farther down the hall, past her bedroom, and held a door open for her to enter a well-used study with thousands of books lining the shelves. Not big and grand like the other rooms in the house, this one was almost claustrophobic, or cozy, she decided. Small square windows, mostly covered by piles of books, let in a meager amount of light. The central illumination came from a floor lamp near the cluttered desk and, at night, from a small fireplace nestled in the corner.

  “This is your office?”

  “My getaway,” he corrected with a smirk, moving around the ancient desk to sit in the chair. When he spoke, his voice—deep, gruff, and, most importantly, patient—comforted her, calmed her. She wasn’t used to patience.

  Grace sat on the brown leather love seat. Thick, quality leather with brass buttons patterning the seams. She felt so small, at the mercy of this man and his whims. Being in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by sex-starved cowboys and apparently hoards of vicious dogs by night, she was essentially at the mercy of Mr. Wagner.

  Her first night had been uneventful, even pleasant, as she acquainted herself in her dollhouse-like bedroom. She wondered how Ken’s night had been. Somehow, the thought of him screwing Mrs. Wagner didn’t cut her like it should. Her feelings toward her husband had numbed over the years. He had stolen her passion and everything that made her Grace. In fact, she felt sorrier for Mr. Wagner. He seemed like such a kind, gentle man, not to mention strikingly handsome. She wasn’t sure how much he loved his wife, or if he did at all. But, it couldn’t be easy for a man to give up his wife. It came easy for Ken, but he was a bastard.