ROMANCE: Party of Three: A Lustful Collection of Menage Romance (Menage Romance, Bisexual Romance, Stepbrother Romance) (4 page)
Authors: Brittanee Farrow
A BBW Western Romance
By Brittanee Farrow
Bonus!
CLICK HERE
to get instant access to my Insider’s List! Receive Updates whenever a fresh new title hits the shelves!
The intercom crackles and a monotone voice announces it’s time to board. I’m still anxious about visiting the ranch for the first time in five years, but I don’t have a choice anymore. Somehow I thought the last time I left would be my final goodbye, but life is rarely so simple.
When Chip called from my dad’s number I wasn’t expecting his voice and I choked on my iced latte.
“Diana—are you there?” he asked, as I sputtered, trying to clear my throat. All I could think while I tried to catch my breath was that his voice was still as deep and husky as I remembered. It made my heart speed up and my cheeks flush, even after all this time.
“Sorry—yes, I’m here. What’s going on?” I knew enough to recognize that a call from Chip after five years meant something was up.
“It’s your dad. I hate to tell you over the phone, but he passed away this morning and we weren’t sure if…”
The rest of the words faded away as I succumbed to shock—Dad is dead. It wasn’t a surprise—my father could have been the original Marlboro man the way he smoked, but since I left Texas I had managed to forget that part of my life. Now it is front and center in my mind, especially as I stand in line to board my flight back to Dallas.
I’m only wearing capris and a thin camisole, but the heat on the plane is unbearable, and I begin to sweat even with the tiny overhead fan on full blast. I could blame it on the heat, but I’ve always been on the curvy side, and I have to loosen the seat belt to fit. Those little trays are always useless to me on flights, since they awkwardly hit my chest when I raise or lower them, and they rest on my stomach. Chip had offered to book me a flight in first class, but I had to keep the upper hand in some way, so I kept my exact arrival time a secret. It has been so long since we were together, but the feelings that hit me when I heard his voice made me realize I still loved him as much as ever.
I can still remember our conversation before I left Dallas the last time. Chip and I were sitting under one of the old trees close to the house, and he asked if I would change my mind.
“My bags are packed. And I can’t stay here. With mom gone, it’s just too hard.” What I didn’t tell Chip was the ultimatum my father had given me. If I didn’t stop seeing Chip, one of my father’s best cowboys, he would fire him and make sure he couldn’t get another job in Texas.
Richard, my father, had always maintained a very strict “them” and “us” mentality. My grandmother was a blue blood, and raised him to preserve that line. I was a debutante, swimming in tulle and silk, escorted by Dwight Johnson. His family shared blood with Lyndon Johnson, making him “suitable” to my father, but all he did was grope me and drink whiskey from a flask he hid in his tuxedo. Before the main course was served, he was asleep—not that it bothered me. Everything about that life was too restrictive—the dresses, the parties, the proper topics of discussion. It felt like a play, my script and costume all laid out for me.
The only place I felt free was out on the land, among the livestock and astride my horse, Penny. She was a beautiful chestnut quarter horse, but I thought she looked like a Penny when she was given to me for my eighth birthday. Together, Penny and I galloped over miles of the ranch, going wherever we wanted. She was my best friend, and it was while riding her that I met Chip. I was seventeen, and had been exercising Penny. We tore through the back pasture, kicking up dirt. Sunlight glinted in my eyes, and I looked to find it was coming from a stranger standing next to my father. They watched me, leaning against the fence, and I slowed. My riding wasn’t for show.
Penny was confused by the abrupt downshift, but she kept a steady walk as we headed back to the barn.
“Good girl,” I soothed, brushing her coat to a beautiful sheen. “We’ll have an adventure later.”
“I didn’t mean to interrupt you all from an adventure,” a low voice drawled. “Your pa’ was just showin’ me the land out back of the house.”
I stopped brushing and turned sharply. “You didn’t factor into my coming back here. I don’t know you.”
“Not yet,” he smiled, rubbing his blonde hair. “I’m Chip. It seems your father wants to bring some cattle in and I’m going to help.”
In my eyes, Chip was everything my parents couldn’t approve of. He dropped letters on too many words, worked with his hands all day, and had the gall to talk to his ‘betters’. He was perfect. I reached out to offer my hand and he shook it. I smiled, in spite of myself.
“Your father said you could show me the boundaries of the ranch.”
“All right. If you think you can keep up with me.”
His blue eyes sparkled with the challenge, and I pointed toward a horse and tack he could use.
“Penny, our adventure is here sooner than I thought,” I whisper. She stamps her hoof and shakes her mane, impatient to get going.
Thinking of Penny makes my heart ache. I wonder if she still gets to run about. Miami is too humid for her, after twenty years living in Texas, or I would bring her back with me. That, and I live in a one-bedroom condo. It’s a different kind of freedom—living alone, right by the water. A peaceful freedom.
After several hours, the pilot announces final descent into Dallas, and my stomach begins to churn. It’s been so long since I’ve seen Chip. He could be married or might still hate me. Suddenly I wish I had just let the family lawyer take care of everything, but the ranch and everything else is mine, now. It becomes real when I enter the Dallas airport.
Hair is a good two inches higher than in Miami, and far less flowing. Perfect coifs are forced into shape and held with copious amounts of hairspray, which I can smell from several feet away. As I reach to claim my bag, a tanned arm beats me to it.
“Hey—Chip!” I stutter, shifting from dismay to surprise.
“Hey, Di—so sorry for your loss.” He awkwardly hugs me to his side with one arm.
The hug is quick, but I smell soap and sweat, and feel a tightening between my legs.
“I parked the Jeep out front—hope that’s okay,” he looks unsure at my un-sprayed hair.
“It’s fine,” I laugh. In the time it takes to walk from the baggage claim to the front door, I have my long dark hair restrained in a bun.
Without the top, there’s enough noise in the Jeep that we don’t have to talk. Warm air rushes over me, and I close my eyes, leaning back so my face can feel the sun’s warmth. I’m almost asleep when I hear Chip yelling over the wind.
“You hungry?” he looks at me.
I nod. We drive for a few more miles, before pulling into a familiar place.
“Hog Wild?”
He stares straight ahead but his eyes look mischievous, and I laugh.
“It’s perfect.” The smell of barbecue and roasted meat reach my nose, and I start to drool, so I hop out quickly, and he matches my pace.
The menu hasn’t changed, and I order my old stand-by: braised barbecue pork butt with corn on the cob, cole slaw, and a cold beer. Chip gets the same, and we eat on the picnic tables under an awning.
He keeps looking me up and down, and I self-consciously smooth my shirt. I’ve gained some weight since I left—my butt is rounder, my chest fuller, and my stomach softer. It’s all softer than when I was seventeen. My mind races, thinking about the extra pudge on my bare arms, when Chip reaches across the table and rubs my forearm.
“You’re more beautiful than the first day I saw you.”
I freeze, partially chewed cole slaw sits in my mouth, but smile after a second. Being with Chip is the closest I get to liking myself. I don’t deserve his kind words, but still they come.
“You’re more handsome,” I admit shyly, and he waves his hand.
“Pshaw. I know.”
We both laugh, and eat fast, enjoying every delicious bite. As we hit the road, I watch him drive. His arms are so strong and he looks so capable holding the wheel. His jeans are worn and faded, which I know is from being outside working and sweating in them on a daily basis. He wouldn’t buy jeans already distressed. Beneath his shirt I can see a small stomach, likely from nights enjoying beer and good Texas food, yet still maintaining a strong physique. He’s real and good, and I have to stop myself from wondering what could have been if I hadn’t left.
I force myself to look away, scanning Dallas from my own window, but I feel his hand reach for mine, and we drive the rest of the way holding hands, just like we did all those years ago.
When we reach the ranch a few hours later, I feel transported through time. The house looks exactly the same, down to the flowers in window boxes. My father kept every design choice my mother made, even after her death, and now they continue even after his death. Even the sign is the same:
Redbud Ranch
. My mother chose the script and tree, and commissioned a local metalworker to build it when we began to work cattle. Being back here is like visiting a museum.
“I thought you’d want to meet the staff tonight. The executor will be over tomorrow.”
“Works for me.”
Chip grabs my bags from the back, but before I can hop out of the Jeep another man with dark hair appears, opening the door and offering his hand.
“This is Jace—“
“Jace Michaels,” he interrupts. His eyes scan me quickly and he winks before letting go of my hand. As close as he stands, I can smell his cologne—
acqua de gio
. It seems strange to find anything Armani on a cowboy, but maybe some things do change.
Chip drapes a possessive arm around my shoulders, and after less than a day back in Texas, I feel more desirable than all of my time in Miami.
“Let’s go meet everyone else.”
I shake hands with two other cowboys, the landscaper, horse caretaker, housekeeper, and the part time repairman who does odd jobs. Each of them is gracious, offering condolences, but once the sun sets, a bonfire is built, beers are opened, and it feels peaceful. One of the cowboys nags Chip until he digs a guitar from the Jeep and picks the strings quietly. It’s my favorite Bob Dylan song, and I sing low with a twang I’d almost forgotten ever having:
“Ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe,
If’n you don’t know by now.
And it ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe,
It’ll never do somehow.
When your rooster crows at the break of dawn
Look out your window and I’ll be gone
You’re the reason I’m a-travelin’ on
But don’t think twice, it’s all right.”
Being here at my childhood home, sitting close to Chip under the stars, singing that song is too much. My eyes sting with tears, and I say a quick goodnight before retreating back to the house. Nothing makes you feel more alone than going back to your first bedroom, in your first home, and being the only person still alive in that house. The walls are steeped in memories of sleepovers, my mother styling my hair for society events, Chip scaling the lattice to sneak in and see me, slamming the door during fights with my father, packing my bags and leaving it all behind.
The floral quilt still smells like the fabric softener my mom used, and the house seems small yet too vast and empty at the same time, so I sneak out to the barn. Once I find Penny’s stall, I slip inside, but she still wakes up. She doesn’t spook, like some horses would, but nuzzles me.
“Hey, pretty girl. Mind if I crash here?” I was never allowed to sleep in the barn growing up, but it’s by far the coziest place on the ranch. She whinnies, and I take that as a yes, bunking on the stack of hay to the back under a saddle blanket. The smell of hay and horse relax me, until I pass out, exhausted.
