Espino, Stacey - Midlife Ménage [Ride 'em Hard 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (3 page)

“I need my usual feed and a bag of lime.” She wandered around the store while he spoke with some other customers. The new tack displayed on the side wall called to her. She examined the shiny metal and lush leather, dreaming of the things she could never afford. She’d mended the cinch and girth straps on her saddle so many times they were practically held together by the fishing line she used as thread.

“We’re all set, Wendy.” She hadn’t realized how long she’d been standing there daydreaming. The two customers that were at the counter were gone.

She approached the counter. “Thanks, Phil. How much do I owe you?”

He leafed through his aged black ledger. “Including today’s order, just over six hundred dollars.” Six hundred dollars may as well been six million when she had so little to her name. How could she ask for more credit? But she didn’t have the money to clear up her account, especially when her harvest wasn’t even guaranteed at this point. She stalled, fiddling with the basket of hoof picks on the counter. Wendy didn’t want charity, but more time, or maybe a miracle.

“The weather affecting your crops?” he asked. “I’m hearing many locals have been hit hard from the drought.”

She nodded. “Don’t know how much longer my wheat will last until it’s not worth milling.” Wendy came prepared to pay for the day’s order, but not the whole bill. It wasn’t Phil’s fault she was suffering. He had to make a living like everyone else. She decided she’d have to sell one of her geldings to get caught up on her bills, and give her some wiggle room until hard times passed. The thought of giving up one of her three horses was heartbreaking because they really were like family.

“It’s hard times all around. I don’t expect you’ll be paying in full today. Just give me whatever you can.”

She took a cleansing breath to vanquish the emotion bubbling to the surface. “I can pay two hundred today, but I’ll be in before the month’s through to pay off the remainder.”

A new voice drawled from her side. “You need help, darlin’?”

How could she not have heard the bells chime on the glass or those heavy cowboy boots cross the wooden floor? Even that familiar chink of his spurs should have pulled her from her worries.

“No, I’m just fine, thank you.” She quickly pulled her cash from her front pocket and set in on the counter. Wade Laweson was the one man she didn’t want to see when faced with such a predicament. It was embarrassing, and she wanted nothing to do with his frequently offered handouts. How many years of her refusals would it take for him to leave her alone? To give her some credit that she was capable of surviving without a man?

“Can’t a neighbor help another? Nothing wrong with that.” He leaned against the counter, his subtle cologne surrounding her, a scent unique to him. Everything about Wade was a cursed distraction. He’d bought the next ranch over almost fifteen years ago, and to the day he’d been trying to woo her. She wouldn’t have any part of it. With young, fatherless children at home, a ranch in need of running, and a husband to mourn, she had to put distance between her and the tempting cowboy. The fact he made her heart beat faster from just a look made her hate herself and her traitorous desires. What kind of woman would she be to settle down with a new man? It would dishonor the memory of her late husband. She could imagine him watching her actions from the heavens. But as long as he couldn’t read her thoughts, she’d have made him proud by the way she constantly gave Wade the cold shoulder.

“I never asked for help.” She made the mistake of looking
up, up, up
at his face. His jaw was scruffy, his blue eyes penetrating. The man aged like a fine wine, even more handsome than he had been in his heyday. She suspected he was close to fifty, her senior by about six years.

“But I’m offering. It’d be polite of you to take it.”

She glanced at Phil. He was nodding discreetly, concern on his face. Wade Laweson may be one of the wealthiest ranchers in the province, but that didn’t impress her. She couldn’t be bought for any price, regardless of her personal financial situation. Her love was free, but unfortunately for him, she was plum out of stock. “The rain can’t hold out much longer, and when it comes, I’ll have a bumper crop on my hands. Now if you’ll excuse me.” She brushed past him in the narrow aisle of the cramped store.

He reached out and snagged her arm, bringing out her defenses. Wade was a tall, well-built man. He had to lean down to her level when he whispered in her ear. “How long you gonna hold out on me without giving me a chance, baby doll?”

She flashed her wedding band, the one she’d never taken off. “My husband may be dead and buried, but I’m still a married woman, and I’d appreciate it if you’d treat me as such.”

He scowled, returning to his full height. “It ain’t healthy to be talking like that. You’re still a young woman. It’s a shame you’d give up on love already.” With that he dismissed her, letting go of her arm, and returned to the counter. Wade had a large herd of cattle and cash crops, but unlike her, he had employees and expensive irrigation equipment she could only dream of affording.

Wendy drove around back to the loading dock where the hired hands dropped her feed and supplies into her truck bed, the suspension briefly dipping. The drive home was tiring. She felt mentally exhausted. Seeing Wade brought uncomfortable emotions and deep-seated longings to the surface. She wasn’t a woman, not any longer. Men should look through her because she only saw herself as a workhorse, getting through one day to the next. If her children all fared well, she’d have done her job in life. For Wade to see her as a conquest was foolhardy. She had as much interest in him as she did for kissing her milking cow. At least that’s what she tried to convince herself each time she saw him.

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.