Chapter 3
1562 Words
Chapter Three
Blake’s mood mirrored the storm clouds building several miles to the west. From the ranch’s vantage point in the heart of the Flint Hills, he and his brothers could see storms long before they arrived. They’d have rain before nightfall. He stalked from the barn to the large front porch and grabbed a beer from the mini fridge plugged underneath the window.
His mother would roll in her grave to see the front porch looking like a bachelor pad, but the ability to grab a beer without removing one’s boots trumped propriety.
Another downpour would flood the south acreage completely, making it impossible for the bison to stay close. Not that calving couldn’t happen on the far acreage. It was just inconvenient. And costly.
It also made any controlled burn out of the question. Not that wildfires would be a concern immediately, but the longer the cedars grew, the more costly they were to remove. They were already beginning to take over down by the homestead thanks to years of neglect from Warren.
The cool liquid slid down his throat, slaking his thirst, but did nothing to slake his temper.
His thoughts drifted back to Maddie. Damn if she hadn’t crawled right under his skin like a chigger in May. He couldn’t get the blazing hot encounter they’d shared out of his mind. Three weeks of sleepless nights had made him grumpy and restless. His balls tightened again just thinking of her.
Of the way her tongue glided with his. The way her scent filled him as he breathed her in. He had the hard-on of a lifetime, and no amount of showering and hand time seemed to relieve it.
He groaned and began to pace, shaking his hands and hoping movement would take the edge off the raw, itchy sensations fraying his nerves like a sheet in a windstorm.
A shower was the wrong thing to think of. Not when all he wanted to do was soap Maddie’s body, graze his hands over the flare of her hips, slip his fingers into her wetness. Stroke her until she clung to him, her breasts dripping with slippery soap bubbles pressing against his chest.
He was certain she’d been more than wet the night they kissed. He’d bet a year of beers at the Trading Post that if he’d slipped his fingers up her skirt, he’d have found her n***d as the day she was born, and wet.
So wet.
“Gah.” He threw the beer bottle into the recycle bin with extra vigor. Damn her for captivating him then holding him at bay. Was he not scientific enough to hold her interest?
He was the one who held people at arms’ length. Not the other way around. He knew she’d wanted him. Knew it. And she’d drifted somewhere while he was seducing her. Trying to bring her to her knees. He’d be damned if he ever begged for kisses.
Especially hers.
He was in serious trouble.
He was supposed to be thinking about prepping the south pasture for calving, and all he could do was fantasize about getting n***d with her. In multiple naughty ways.
Damn Maddie Hansen and her perfect little mouth for haunting him like this. If he ever saw her again, he’d sure as hell make sure the only thing she was thinking about was him. And when she melted under him, he’d f**k her six ways to Sunday and wouldn’t let up until she’d screamed herself hoarse saying his name, begging for more. Too bad the one thing that haunted him more than her kisses was the look in her eye when he’d thrown the family feud in her face and stomped off.
“Take a breather and go into town. Nothin’ you can do about the weather.”
His brother, Ben, joined him on the porch. Blake clenched his jaw, nodding once.
“Yeah. Piss or get off the pot. Are we going into town or not?” His youngest brother hopped up the steps and gently cuffed him. Blake shook him off.
“Shut up, Brodie. We’ll go.”
Sometimes. No. Most times, Brodie was a pain in the a*s. Ben got him. Knew when to give him space. Right now, he needed space. Brodie was a damned bull in a china shop who didn’t know when to shut up. One day, it was going to get him into a mess of trouble.
“I heard Warren Hansen’s pretty sick.”
He swore Ben had inherited their great-great and so on grandmother’s sixth sense. He always knew what to say, and when.
“Yeah? Where’d you hear that?” And why hadn’t Maddie mentioned her father was sick? The answer floated right in front of him.
Why would she tell a Sinclaire?
She wouldn’t. He clenched his jaw, beating back his frustration.
“Didn’t have to hear it. Saw it at Dottie’s.” Ben pinned him with a stare.
Blake raised his eyebrows in question. Dottie had her finger on the pulse of everything that took place in Prairie. If Dottie knew it, everyone knew it. But if it happened at Dottie’s, the news traveled faster than a prairie fire in a stiff wind.
“Cut to it, Ben,” he snapped. “I don’t have time to be led to the light. What happened?”
Ben rolled his eyes and took a swig of beer. Clearly enjoying taking his time with his response.
Blake clenched his beer, tamping down the anger that threatened to bubble over. He needed to burn this off, and since s*x wasn’t an option, that only left sweat.
Or booze.
But he wasn’t about to lose control that way. Maybe he should stay home and shovel out the stalls. He was shitty company right now.
“Warren had an episode this morning. Turned grey and nearly passed out. Martha had to come pick him up and take him back to the Stables. Said something about his heart giving him trouble. But my guess is that kind of help doesn’t sit too well with him. Best strike while the iron is hot.”
“Don’t be a f*****g poet, Ben. What in the hell do you mean?”
“Go talk to him. I bet you could persuade him to give us our land back. For a price, of course.”
“For a price,” he stated flatly. “He f*****g stole it, Ben. I’m not giving Warren Hansen a Goddamned cent.” His brothers didn’t know what Maddie already knew – that he’d tried repeatedly.
The sting of humiliation had been too great.
Was still too great.
Anger, hot and raw, spilled over. Goddamn Warren Hansen. The man had known Blake’s father had a gambling problem, and instead of sending him home that night twelve years ago, he’d played a few rounds of Texas Hold’em and sent Jake Sinclaire home five hundred acres lighter. Five hundred acres of prime river bottom, and now the Hansens held both sides of Steele Creek, including the Sinclaire family homestead.
Maddie’s voice tut-tutted in his ear. Those emotions will get the best of you every time…
Ben eyed him curiously. “All I’m saying is that you should go talk to him. If you wait too long, his nephews will buy him out, or his daughter will sell it.”
“How do you know?” Warren Hansen was the last man on earth he wanted to talk to. Especially right now.
“Oh, you mean Britannica?” Brodie laughed scornfully. “Yeah, she’ll sell in a heartbeat.”
“Don’t call her that,” Blake gritted out, glaring at his brother.
“What?” Brodie c****d his head back, eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
“Why don’t you stop being an a*s for once and grow up?”
“Whoa. Where’s your head, Blake? Why do you care?”
“Shut up, Brodie.”
Ben put up a hand, waving off their younger brother. “Think about it, Blake. You know it’s good pastureland. It’s also good hunting and good water. Gunnar and Axel would be stupid not to buy out their uncle. Problem is, if he dies, it rightfully goes to his daughter, what’s her name?”
“Maddie,” he supplied.
“Right. And she’ll sell to the highest bidder. Do you want that to be you or her cousins? Or worse?”
Ben was right. Hell, he was right most of the time. This wasn’t the first time Ben had talked him down and into a place of reason. It was Ben that had suggested they make the switch to bison five years ago. They were still building the herd, but it had been a profitable move. One that kept the ranch in the black. But not by much.
If he could get his family’s property back from Warren, he’d break ground and build a state of the art hunting lodge. Seasonal hunting would not only be good for the land, it would be very lucrative for the Sinclaire coffers. He’d been reading about fancy eco lodges that had gourmet chefs and comfortable beds. Just the kind of thing that would appeal to the same high end chefs and clients he sold his bison to all over the country.
Question was, could he swallow his pride enough to convince Warren to sell? And if not sell, lease?
Aww, hell. For the millionth time in the last three weeks, he wished he could ask Maddie to elaborate on her advice about Warren.
Stupidest thing he’d ever done was not ask how he could contact her.
No.
Stupidest thing he’d ever done was kiss her.
And then he’d let her push his buttons and before he’d realized what was happening, he’d gone and behaved like an a*s. That was sure to ingratiate him to her father.
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
“You want us to come with you?”
He shook his head. “No. You two go on to The Trading Post, I’ll ride over and speak to Warren.”
- Writer
