Acres, Natalie - Sex Club [Cowboy Sex 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (21 page)

“I wouldn’t dream of keeping good men waiting.”

Bailey wondered how she felt about several hardened, and quite aroused, fellows. When Tristan turned around, the first thing he did was make an effort to resituate things in his breeches again. His face was flushed and his eyes moist. The lust was practically seeping through his pores.

Tristan wasn’t the only one in dire straits. If Ansley took too long in the shower, Bailey was willing to bet, each man waiting would slowly disappear to take care of business. Come to think of it, Ansley would be damn lucky if she showered alone. They’d probably join her one by one.

Closing the door behind him, Tristan left Ansley alone. “I swear, I’ll be lucky if I don’t stroke out.”

“Why’s that, big brother?”

Tristan grunted. “You have to ask?”

“No, not really,” Bailey admitted. “I’m right there with you. After watching her with Graham, it’s all I can do to keep from busting down the bathroom door and offering to wash her back, or at least hold the soap.”

“I hear you,” Tristan said, turning once to glance at the closed door. “And I’m right there with ya.”

Minutes later, they met the Killians in the formal living room.

“This place is sweet,” Graham said, propping his elbow on the mantel, never bothering to mention his earlier act of human betrayal by taking what was offered without being polite enough to share. “You do all right for yourself bartending, huh, Tristan?”

Bailey took a seat on one of the leather winged-back chairs. Gripping the armrests, he braced for Tristan’s reply, wondering how he’d explain his ability to afford the finer things in life.

When Elliott and Graham swapped a questioning look, it was clear. The Killians wanted to know what they were getting into. Apparently, they were willing to push for answers since the woman they cared about was mixed up with someone they knew nothing about.

“Family money,” Tristan explained, which was about the only answer he could supply given where he currently resided. As a bartender, he wouldn’t be able to afford one night at The Grove Park Inn, much less an extended stay in the resort’s famed cottage.

His response shone a light on the path Bailey could take in order to change the direction of the conversation. “Kimberly had mentioned something about the two of you settling a family estate. Took you a year to do that, I believe?”

“Lawyers wanted to drag it out as long as they could. We had a few cousins who came out of the woodwork, too. A couple of them swore they were with Mom during her last days. Apparently, she promised to leave them a fortune,” Graham explained.

Tristan sat on the sofa, splayed his legs, and tossed his arms over the back cushions. “Then I take it you two aren’t poor boys, either?”

“We get by,” Elliott replied.

“Glad to hear it,” Tristan said. “So let me ask you something. When you’re not passing away the time the best way you know how, do you take a few hours to visit Ansley every now and then?”

“We don’t have any spoken claims on Ansley, if that’s what you’re askin’,” Graham said.

Tristan’s shoulders relaxed. He looked a lot more comfortable than he appeared in the previous seconds.

Elliott immediately glared at his brother. Apparently, he wanted Tristan and Bailey to believe Ansley belonged to them.

Since Bailey had been on staff at Clink for over six months, he knew better. “How come the two of you didn’t see her when you came home for a visit?”

Tristan immediately sprang forward, dropping clasped hands between his open legs. Obvious interest marked his furrowed brow.

Elliott said, “We never knew when we were coming home. Our trips were always planned last minute. As poor luck would have it, both trips this past year put us in Asheville when Ansley was out of the country.”

“Our mom owned a few feedlots scattered all over the state of Texas. We had more than papers to sign while we were out west. There was stock to sell, real estate to list with various agencies, and we didn’t have time to pursue a woman, if you want the straight of it,” Graham drawled.

“In other words, Ansley wasn’t a priority?” Tristan asked, clarifying.

Elliott cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t go as far as saying that.”

Tristan swung his gaze toward Graham. “Would you?”

Graham frowned. “I care about Ansley. I love her. I think that’s why you’re beatin’ the dead branches off the bush. You want to know how I feel about her because you’ve already gathered there are deep feelings lingerin’ between us.

“You saw how she responds to me. Ansley cares about me. I can speak for Elliott on this because we’ve discussed her a lot, as you can imagine. We planned to come home and ask her to move out to the farm with us.”

“So what’s stopping you?” Bailey asked.

“I think you boys both know the answer to that,” Elliott said. “We came home too late.”

“That you did, my friend,” Tristan said. “You’re several months late, a few hours short in the sack, too, of making Ansley your woman, and only yours to share.”

* * * *

The phone jarred the bedside table. Brock rolled over to his side, practically knocking off the lamp when he reached for the handset. He glanced at the alarm clock only to discover it was half past two in the morning. “So much for going to bed early,” he grumbled.

“Get the phone,” Trixie complained, stuffing her head under her pillow.

Awoken twice now, Brock was ready to give someone a piece of his mind. “Yeah. Who is this?”

“Mitch. The warden said you’re driving up in the morning. What’s this about? Maybe I can save you a trip.”

Brock eased away from the bed and walked in the bathroom. There was no reason to alarm Trixie. He didn’t want her frightened, and after Tristan’s phone call, she was clearly shaken. “Hang on,” he muttered, strolling into the tiled bathroom area where he took a seat on the edge of the whirlpool tub.

“I don’t have long. The warden granted a special favor and gave me ten minutes. It’s the middle of the night, you know.”

“You don’t say?” Brock drawled. “How the hell have you been?”

“All right, getting by. How the fuck do you think I’ve been? I’m in prison, for God’s sake.”

“So I hear. And from what I understand, your woman will end up there soon, too. How long has it been since you spoke to Jordie Anne?”

“Early tonight. What are you getting at?”

“She’s in town.”

“No, that can’t be. She’s in Marion, Virginia. She lives with an older lady who recently retired from the mental institution where Jordie Anne was a patient. She keeps an eye on her, I think. In fact, the facility’s board members more or less released Jordie Anne in her custody.”

“She may be living in Marion, but she’s visiting Fletcher. I’m going over to the club—Clink—in the morning to verify she was here, but apparently she has Ansley mixed up with Trixie. I received a text from one of the men working for Ansley. He has tapes, and supposedly the close-up surveillance shots will prove Jordie Anne was there.”

“So? Why is that a problem? Maybe she’s looking for you. Have you ever thought of that, Brock?” Bitterness was in his voice. Since Mitch had been in prison, the calls between friends had been limited, almost nonexistent. Mitch seemed to blame everyone else for the decisions that landed him behind bars.

“Mitch, she threatened Ansley, says she wants to kill her.”

“What?” His voice raised an octave. “That’s impossible. Jordie Anne wouldn’t know where to look if she wanted to find Trixie or…Ansley, for that matter.”

“Sure she would. Keep in mind, during your trial, Clink was all over the news.”

“That doesn’t matter. You don’t understand. Jordie Anne isn’t the same woman. She was well enough to walk out of that institution. She’s been holding down a part-time job at a surplus store near where she lives. When I talk to her, she’s…”

The line went deadly quiet. “She’s what, Mitch?”

A ragged breath filled the receiver. “She wasn’t right when I talked to her yesterday morning.”

“What’d she say?”

Another heavy breath and then one more filled the line. He was stalling. Brock knew him like the back of his hand. At one time, they were like brothers.

“Mitch, damn you! Don’t protect her! What did she tell you?”

“It wasn’t so much what she said but what I did.”

“Which was?”
Damn it
. He should’ve been a dentist. This was like pulling teeth.

“She demanded to know how I felt about Trixie. She does blame Trixie because I’m sitting in prison, says it’s her fault I’m here.”

Brock started to let the comment slide, but he just couldn’t. “Sure it was, because she so obviously had a thing for Ketamine, too, huh?”

“Fuck you, man.”

“Yeah, well, your woman is in town. If I know Jordie Anne, she won’t leave until she’s done the utmost damage.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Mitch, damn it! She’s trying to kill Ansley. How long before she figures out Ansley isn’t Trixie? Hmm? We have two kids here, damn you! We’ve made a life for ourselves, and you’re about to start over. What you don’t need is a lot of commotion when you’re released from prison. You know I’m right.” A beat later, he said, “Finish what you started. What else did the two of you discuss?”

“She wanted to know how I felt about Trixie, wanted to be sure I understood that a man couldn’t love two women. And then—” He cleared his throat and said, “She said I should’ve lied to her, told me it would’ve saved my little whore’s life if I hadn’t told her the truth.”

“And you didn’t think you should’ve called me or Rory right then? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I had one phone call yesterday. I couldn’t call you! I’m talking to you now.”

“Fuck you, Mitch. You wouldn’t have called tomorrow if the warden hadn’t told you I was on my way to Virginia. If something happens to Trixie or any of her family, this is on you!”

“How do you figure? I’m locked up. I can’t do anything about this. You’ll have to find Jordie Anne and talk some sense into her. Here, let me give you her number in Marion.”

“That won’t do,” Brock said. “Give me her address. Do you know where she lives exactly?”

“Yeah, you can’t miss the house. From what Jordie Anne says it’s on Main Street in downtown Marion. She lives right on the edge of town. It’s a log cabin with green shutters. In the front yard, there’s a sign that says ‘Mae’s Days.’ Evidently, it’s right in the middle of a flower bed. The whole town knows Mae Leonard. She’s some kind of good Samaritan, everyone’s grandmother.”

“Okay, and you said the old woman’s last name is Leonard?”

“Yeah.” A beat later, he said, “Why would you drive to Marion if you think she was at Clink last night?”

“Tomorrow is Sunday. The club is closed. She wouldn’t have any reason to stay in town unless she already knows where Ansley lives.”

“Or where you do?”

“I don’t think she’s even looking for
my
Trixie yet. Tristan, a guy from the club, said she accused ‘Ms. Cartwell’ of stealing her husband. She never actually called Ansley by name or mentioned Trixie.”

“Brock?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t hurt her, man. She’s all I’ve got, and I’ve come too far to lose her now.”

“And you love her, right?” Brock asked, concerned when his question caused a lingering silence.