One in Waiting (Reedsville Roosters Book 2), page 11
“Why?”
“Because she has me for a mother, and I know I’m not much of one. She’s got a forgiving personality, but I do wonder what she must think of me. I wouldn’t fault her for judging me harshly. She tries to engage me and make conversation, but I’m just not good at it. I’m more comfortable when we’re around the ranch doing things because less of her attention is on me. The moment we sit down at the dinner table, though…I…I clam up. Having Ceria around helps. She’s an encourager. I also think she explains things to Alison.”
Of all the things she’d said, it was that first sentence that’d hung him up. “What makes you think you’re not much of a mother?”
“Because I gave her away. Because I let my family convince me to give her away. Maybe even back then, I knew I couldn’t hack it.”
“You were sixteen. Nobody expects sixteen-year-olds to make life-altering decisions. You relied on the counsel of the people around you. Put yourself in Alison’s shoes. Do you think she could make a good decision of that size on her own?”
She didn’t answer for a while, so he gave her a little squeeze.
She lowered her head. “No. She’s intelligent, but…naive.”
“Just like we were.”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
“You never really answered my question. You happy, Em?”
“I worry about happiness on a day-by-day basis. If I wake up in the morning and realize I managed to make it through a day without panicking about something or losing myself to an hour of anxiety over things beyond my control, I mark that down as a happy day. Most days are good days.”
“But bad days are really bad.”
“Less bad than they used to be. Ceria stays on top of things. Knows my moods. She’s worth every penny I pay her.”
“I bet. But do you ever get lonely out here? It’s just you and her and a handful of ranch hands.”
“And Alison on occasion. It’s very rare I acknowledge that feeling. That doesn’t mean I don’t get lonely, just that if I am, I wrap it up in other things. They’re hard to separate sometimes. I appreciate being able to have solitude when I need and want it.”
“And when you don’t want it, then what?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes I go to clubs. I interact for a while and then come home. You don’t have to make meaningful attachments with people that way.”
“You don’t want to?”
“I don’t try to bond with people who I don’t want around me long-term.”
Leary found that interesting. “Then why were you so sweet to Ren?”
“Because in spite of what he was asking for, he needed me to give it to him kindly. He’s your lover, and I respect that. I’d prefer for you to not go away with even more bad memories of me.”
Ah, she’d thought it, too. Funny how they were still on the same wavelength after so long.
“You can touch him, you know,” he said, rubbing his chin atop her head some more.
“What?” She squirmed out from beneath his grip and turned to face him.
“Ren. You don’t have to hold back. If you want to make love to him, I’m not going to be upset. He wants it. I think that’s obvious.”
Her furrowed brow and slightly parted lips gave obvious clues to her doubtfulness.
He wrapped his fingers around her biceps and chafed her arms. “He doesn’t think I’m going to keep him. Maybe if he feels included, we can disabuse him of that notion.”
“What exactly are we including him in?”
“I don’t know, Emilie. I can’t even say I have a picture of it in my head. All I know is he likes playing with you, I wouldn’t say no to the opportunity of making love to you again—and not like a goddamned animal, either—and I’m not giving him up. You tell me what that is.”
“That’s a mess. That’s what it is.”
“Yep. But what’s one more mess between us? The real question is how messy you really want to get, because honey, I’m willing to wade chest-deep into the muck to see if we can get everyone what they need. Are you?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Are you?” Leary had asked.
Emilie kept trying to answer it again and again throughout the course of the day, and she wasn’t even sure what he meant. She’d been too stupefied to ask any follow-up. She’d just trudged to her truck and moved on to check on the head gate that was supposed to be repaired.
Was Leary suggesting she fuck both of them? It wasn’t that she was appalled by the concept—and how could she be, given her proclivities?—but worried doing so would complicate the situation in a way that might be harmful for her. She was usually pretty good at keeping her emotions separate from sex, but she already had an emotional entanglement with Leary and didn’t think it would be so difficult to feel something stronger than affection for Ren. Dealing with them one at a time was manageable. She just compartmentalized the interactions and kept them firmly in the Do-Not-Attach file. But, together, only for them to go home with each other to wherever they lived and leave her neurotic ass alone to pick up the pieces?
No. No no no.
She kicked off her boots in the mudroom, tossed her hat onto the washing machine lid, stalked into the kitchen, and then froze in the doorway.
Leary sat on one of the island barstools sipping beer from a longneck, and Ren held camp at the table turning pages of her ranch record binder. They’d apparently entered into her house and made themselves at home. She suspected Ceria was to blame, but given the woman had left work promptly at five to go have her hair done, Emilie would have to wait until morning to chew her out, if she even remembered.
She swallowed and moved out of the doorway. It was her goddamed house. She wasn’t going to stand there acting like she was afraid they’d invaded her space. Her growling belly set her feet moving toward the refrigerator. “I guess you’ve already eaten.” Scanning the contents of the freezer, her gaze settled on a microwave meal. Some Chinese-inspired, sweet-and-sour vegetarian thing that nuked in five minutes and didn’t stink up the house too bad.
“Had burgers with a couple of the older ranch hands,” Leary said. “They were telling us about all the concessionaires you’ve got lined up for the Camp Out and how you don’t even charge them booth fees. They come out here and make money hand over fist for the weekend. Why do you do it?”
She ripped the packaging away from the plastic microwave bowl and dropped the garbage atop the overflowing garbage bin. “The vast majority of what I do is to keep myself busy. The Camp Out was never conceived to be a moneymaking venture. It’s just a big-assed event for me to fret about instead of other things. As long as I don’t lose any money doing it, and as long as that stretch of pasture doesn’t get torn up too bad, I’m happy. Most of the vendors who’ve been here since the start kick some of their proceeds into Alison’s college fund at the end of it. She’ll never have to worry about financial aid.”
“Not that she would have, anyway.”
Emilie scoffed and slid the bowl into the microwave. She punched in the time setting and hit the start button. “I don’t know about that. Eleanor and Rick aren’t exactly swimming in money. I mean, they do okay. Have good enough jobs, but like most of the country, they’re in that weird middle class place where they can’t afford to aspire upward. And before you even say it, no, I don’t get money from my family. I’m certain they’d cough some up if I asked and told them what it was for, but I really don’t want them in my business. I don’t want to feel like they’ve bought access to Alison.”
“Or you?”
“I’m sure I’m the least of their concerns.” Especially with Uncle Sebastian being laid up and his secret daughter popping up out of the blue.
“I’ll do what I can for her. You know that, right? Physical therapists aren’t really rolling in dough, either, but she shouldn’t have to scrimp.”
“You don’t have—”
“You don’t have to, either.” Ren didn’t even look up. He just kept turning pages and scanning cattle stats.
“What?”
Now he did look up. “You’re not technically obligated to do anything for her, right?”
“No, but—”
“But you’re her mother and you feel you should.”
“As far as I’m capable.”
“He’s just doing the same thing.” He went back to flipping.
Leary sidled over and leaned against the counter beside the stove. He crossed his legs at the ankles and folded his arms over his chest. “Certainly you’re not averse to me doing that.”
“No. I may be petty, but I can put my pride aside where Alison is concerned.”
“I bet she’d rather have her mother than the money, though.”
“I give her what I can. The money is more reliable.”
He let out a long breath. “Stop,” he whispered.
“Stop what? Telling the truth?”
“You may think it’s the truth, and you probably want to believe it. You would have made a fine mother.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “Still could be one.” He smirked.
“That ship has sailed.”
The grin fell away and his forehead furrowed. “What’d you do to yourself, Emilie?”
“That’s really none of your business.”
“Why wouldn’t it be? It was my business seventeen years ago.”
“When we were a couple. We’re not a couple.”
He shook his head and narrowed his eyes. His stare was full of, Well, duh, and she didn’t like it one bit. Her fertility, or appreciable lack thereof, was no one’s concern but hers and her gynecologist’s. “You telling me you’re all done? You’re thirty-three.”
“I haven’t forgotten my age.” The microwave beeped, and she scooted him away to open the door. In her twenties, she’d thought that maybe one day, the right man would come along and make her want to step onto that emotional landline. To make her have a baby she’d look at every day and feel guilty about because she’d given the other away. When she turned thirty, she decided it wasn’t going to happen.
“So, you’re saying you can’t give Alison a sibling.”
“It’s not an issue of can’t.” She slid the bowl onto the counter and peeled back the plastic film. “It’s an issue of won’t. It’s a reversible won’t, but a won’t all the same. Besides, nothing is stopping you from adding to the population.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
She stabbed a string bean with her fork and raised it to her lips. “Didn’t expect to see you two here.”
“Why not?” Ren asked. “And you can eat at the table. No reason to lean against the counter when there’s all this space over here.”
She opened her mouth to make some retort—any retort—but ultimately closed it without a sound. Leary nudged her toward the table. She picked up her food and carried it over.
Ren pushed the binder aside and set his elbows on the tabletop. “That all you eat most nights?”
“Depends on how much running around I’m doing. I don’t want Cook holding meals for just me. What are you looking for in my record book?”
He shrugged. His cool gray gaze managed to somehow be both questioning and submissive—as if he thought she’d chastise him for direct eye contact. She didn’t do that in the bedroom, and she sure as shit didn’t do it outside of it, either. “Just seeing what’s what. Hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind. I know the pages are a mess. I don’t keep records as tidy as my foster father did. He had a knack for knowing what to record. I jot down bare minimum.”
Ren’s dark eyebrows bobbed. “That, you do. It’s thin, but enough, I guess.”
“What’s the verdict?” She cut her dumpling in half and pushed a piece into her mouth.
Leary’s shadow darkened the tabletop. He hovered behind her, making the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end before he draped his hands over her shoulders.
Ren’s gaze settled on Leary’s creeping hands, and then down to the book. “Production is down over the past couple of years. Operations are erratic. Haying is almost always late. Probably not weeding and seeding enough.”
“Why don’t you tell her what you really think?” Leary freed her top button, then the next one.
“Uh.” She grabbed his wrist. What the hell is he doing? “He’s right. I know where I’m not doing great. Ceria’s a great admin, but she can’t help me with that end of the business.” She gave Leary’s hand a behave shake and went back to eating.
“You ever consider hiring a ranch manager?” Ren asked.
“Sure, I’ve considered it. I’ve even interviewed a few people.”
“And?”
“Their résumés may have said yes, but my gut said no.”
“Something rubbed you the wrong way about them?”
“Yeah. Just didn’t trust them. A couple talked down to me in that little lady way, which I’m used to and generally ignore, but most seemed to have their own agendas.”
“Bet I know the type. Like to get in and try to implement their own plans without input. Take the place over as if it were their own.” His gaze returned to Leary—a chagrined expression Emilie couldn’t make heads or tails of. She couldn’t help but feel like she’d missed something. “Am I right?”
“Um. Yes. That would be the sort.”
“I could give you some guidance if you want it. I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to run your own ranch. I picked up a few things here and there that might help.”
“I’d never say no to well-meaning advice. Just be careful in how you deliver it.”
“Tell me how you want it, and I’ll try to oblige you.”
Leary’s thumbs hooked over her shoulders and kneaded the top of her back. “He’s always eager to please.”
Ren chuckled and closed the book. “Not for everyone.”
“But you want to please Emilie, don’t you?”
“Leary.” Emilie tipped her head to glower at him, but before her gaze focused on his face, he skimmed his lips over hers. His hands crept down from her shoulders into her open neckline. He traced his tongue along the seam of her lips and gave one of her nipples a teasing flick.
She gasped and he straightened.
“Answer me, Ren.”
Ren’s nod was slow, his gaze locked on the tabletop.
“Did you see that?” Leary’s hot breath against her ear melted her brain and resistance at the same time. “He wants you to tell him what to do.”
“What are you up to, Leary?”
“Just making sure my lover gets what he needs.”
“And what do you get out of it?”
“I sure like watching.” His fingers twirled around that flicked nipple. “You gonna tease him with just a taste of you again, or are you gonna let him put his tongue between your legs? Let him put his tongue where he wishes his cock was? Sit on his face and make him tongue you off?”
“You have quite the imagination.” Her breathy sigh hid any traces of indignation she could muster.
He perked her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and inched her shirt up with his other hand. “Look over here, Ren.”
Ren raised his gaze slowly. His cheeks flushed and pupils dilated to darken the pools of gray.
Leary pushed aside her bra, cupped her breasts, and tilted them up for him. “Aren’t they pretty?”
Ren’s swallow was audible. He dragged his tongue across his lips and lowered his gaze again. “Yeah.”
“You want one in your mouth? Or maybe to have your face between them when your wrists are tied?”
“Anything she wants.”
“You hear him?” Leary dampened his thumbs and worked the pads over her hard nipples.
“I hear him.” She watched him spread the slickness around the peak, and he tugged her between his fingers, sending a sharp pull of arousal to her pussy.
“So what are you going to do about it? I think he needs some attention.”
Ren’s gaze tracked upward again, and this time stuck on her breasts.
He wanted it. She just needed to figure out what to give him.
“I’m going to finish my dinner.” She nudged Leary’s hands away and picked up her fork. “And take a shower. By the time I’ve dried my hair, you should be ready for me in the bedroom. Take off your clothes, lay in the middle of the bed, and wait.”
Ren nodded slowly.
Emilie resumed her meal. After a couple of minutes, he picked up the binder and carried it in the general direction of the office. As she shoved some carrot into her mouth, Leary leaned down and whispered, “He’s conflicted.”
“Who wouldn’t be? I certainly am.”
“Why?”
“He thinks you’re dividing your attention, and that’s not fair.”
“I’m not dividing it. I’m trying to get him more.”
“Don’t bring logic into the equation. Feelings don’t always make sense. I know that better than anyone. It’s one thing to play, but when you try to crack open the emotional shit, lines start to blur. You’ll confuse him and make it harder to separate what’s play and what’s permanent.”
“Are you saying you wouldn’t let him come back?”
“I haven’t given anything beyond this weekend any thought, to be perfectly honest.” She forked up a bit more of the dumplings and chewed.
“Maybe you should give that some thought.”
“Why?”
“Maybe it’s because I’m a left-brained thinker, but it seems obvious to me that if he wants what you can give him and you’re tolerant of the two of us, there’s no reason we can’t see you regularly.”
“Whenever you’re in the mood for pussy, right?”
“Don’t do that. We can get pussy anywhere. A guy like Ren doesn’t have to try so hard. If it were just a matter of finding a warm, wet cunt to sink into, we could have any stranger in our bed.”
“So what do you want, Leary?”
“Would a little structure hurt?”
“Asks the man who’s been in an open relationship for a year.”
“That’s right. Our choice, and able to be altered at any time. Do you want to see me again?”
