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

Ride ’em Hard 5

STACEY ESPINO

Copyright © 2012

Chapter One

Wendy McCay had lived through the Alberta drought of 2002, but seeing her fields scorch under the cloudless sky still sent a shiver of fear through her heart. The wheat surrounded her, the wind caressing it like an ocean wave. In the blink of an eye, all her hard work could be snatched away, leaving her near bankruptcy. She’d come close to praying, but Wendy had lost faith decades ago.

Her house was only a speck on the horizon. She had been walking through her fields for an hour, assessing the damage, and wondering how much longer it would take before the crop was a complete write-off. While the northern province suffered from flooding, their land slowly turned to dust. Surely it would rain soon. But in the meantime she had to prepare for the worst. For the first time since she took over sole responsibility for her ranch and children, she was going to take on a boarder.

Wendy’s eldest daughter had moved out when she married. Bradley had left nearly two years ago. It was just her and her two daughters, Kylie and Christine, and even they had plans to spread their wings. She didn’t like the idea of a drifter sniffing around her two remaining girls. They were twenty-two and twenty-four, with God-given beauty. But with the unforgiving weather, she had to secure a second source of income. Only a fool failed to prepare for hard times.

They weren’t too far from the rodeo epicenter, so finding a cowboy looking for seasonal lodgings only took her one visit to the local feedstore. The stranger would arrive before dinner. She hadn’t even met the man, but she already disliked him. Renting out a part of her family home made her feel like a failure, unable to provide for her girls like she should. No man, besides her son, had stepped foot in the house since her husband died.

Her friends and neighbors warned her about allowing a drifter access to her home. They weren’t to be trusted, traveling the circuit with only the clothes on their backs and a death wish. But Wendy knew how to use a rifle, and her guard dogs were well trained, not taking a liking to men. Her bedroom was on the main level next to the spare she’d cleared out, her daughters safely upstairs with locks on their doors. It would be a sacrifice, but on the open land Mother Nature called the shots.

She pinched the tip of a wheat blade, breaking it apart between her fingers. This was her land, the one built on her blood, sweat, and tears. She’d never sell, even if she had to rent out every room in the house and sleep in the hayloft.

The heat radiated down on her, beads of sweat rolling past her temples. She rolled her hair into a loose knot and secured it at the back of her head in hopes of getting a little breeze to cool her neck. Whenever she felt particularly cornered, fears overpowering her strengths, she escaped into the fields on foot or horseback. She’d remind herself she’d been through it all—hell and back. One ruined season couldn’t bring her down, couldn’t break her spirit. If she stayed at home when despair threatened to unravel her, Kylie and Christine would likely feel her black mood, and her goal was to bring those girls up with love and security—both things she lacked. It was bad enough their father had been stolen from them as young children, they didn’t deserve to suffer more, needlessly.

After arriving back at the house, Wendy pushed open the whiny screen door to the kitchen, one of the dogs racing by her legs. “Where’s your sister at?” she asked Christine. “The cow’s out of the pen and probably in the garden. I don’t want the milk tasting like onion again this week.”

Christine stirred the evening stew at the stove, the rich scent of beef, carrots, and cabbage weighing heavily in the air. “She went into town to meet Jason.”

“For the love of God, I told her to stay away from him! You didn’t think to stop her?” Wendy kicked off her boots and stormed through the house. She thought she’d done well playing mother and father over the years, but apparently her youngest still had daddy issues. Kylie was a natural-blonde beauty with the entire world ahead of her, but she stubbornly continued to date the town’s biggest asshole. He’d struck her daughter once, and Wendy had paid him a visit and threatened to shoot his balls off. As far as she knew, he hadn’t hit Kylie again, but that didn’t make him a good man. He was an unemployed, worthless drunk. Why couldn’t her daughter realize what a mistake it was to date him? She deserved better, the best. If Bradley had been home, he’d never have put up with his sister running wild. The girls were too old for Wendy to turn over her knee, and with the combined issues on the farm, she felt the control over her life quickly slipping away. Kylie used to respect her wishes, now she just went behind her back.

Once in her bedroom, Wendy tugged off her sweat-damp T-shirt and tossed it in the hamper. She looked in the mirror above her dresser, staring into her eyes, and reaching for all the inner strength she could muster. Not only was her wheat crop in jeopardy, but she’d started her own small apple orchard two years ago, and the young trees were still fragile. Now it seemed her own daughter was against her, determined to ruin her young life.

Despite the heat, they had no luxuries like air-conditioning, just open windows. She could hear the gravel crunching outside, signalling a vehicle pulling up to the house. Wendy pulled out a clean shirt from her drawer, tugged it on, and headed to the front door to confront her wayward daughter.

She pushed open the wooden door leading to the old, wraparound porch. The vehicle wasn’t the one she expected. Wendy didn’t get many visitors, and since her mood was already foul, this stranger better not be bringing bad news.

“Afternoon, ma’am.” The young cowboy tilted his hat, a broad smile on his lips.

“What can I help you with?” she asked, leaning against the support pillar of the porch. Two of her three dogs came around the side of the house barking and growling as he walked toward the porch. “Settle!”

“I’m Jackson Taylor. I spoke with you about renting a room for the summer. Mrs. McCay, I assume?”

This was her boarder? He wasn’t what she’d expected from a rodeo drifter, but she wouldn’t complain about this good fortune. Rather than a washed-up cowboy with poor hygiene, he was downright good to look at. She anticipated having to worry about her daughters making trouble now, rather than her boarder.

He didn’t look much older than Bradley. It would be like having another son around the house, minus the help around the farm. Her nerves settled slightly, feeling no threat from the young cowboy despite his size. Still, he was hours early, and she still had much to do in preparation.

“You’re early,” she said flatly.

“I had an easy drive and thought I’d be best to settle in. I have an early start in the morning. Hope you don’t mind.”

She exhaled, wanting to scold him, but his manners stole her steam. “I’ll have my daughter bring you some ice water. You can have a seat on the porch until your room is ready.” Wendy knew she’d be wise to display a tough-as-nails bravado in case the cowboy had any inkling of taking advantage of her.

He was certainly handsome and clean cut. His teeth were healthy and white, and face recently shaven. Maybe she wouldn’t have to sleep with one eye open.

“Christine, our boarder’s here,” she said as she hurried into the kitchen. “Bring a glass of cool water out for him. I have to get the clean sheets off the line.”

“But the stew—”

“Never mind that now. It’ll take you but two minutes to do as you’re told. And mind your manners with our guest. He’s the reason we’ll be having food on the table the next three months.”

Christine set the stew to simmer and placed the ladle in a bowl. After brushing her hands out on her apron, she reached for a glass on the highest shelf of the cupboard where they kept the rarely used good dishes. She was a sweet girl, always obedient. Kylie had been no different until recently, until Jason came into her life.

There was a gentle breeze out back in the shade of the barn. She gathered her wicker basket and climbed the footstool to reel in the white sheets. The scent of laundry detergent still clung to them. She tossed the clothes pegs into the bucket on the ground, but had difficulty folding the sheet, trying to keep it from touching the ground. Her daughters usually handled the cooking and chores around the house, while Wendy did the man’s work—farming, animal care, and trading. She’d single-handedly started her apple orchard. It had been nightmarish getting it started, but it was now her pride and joy.

“Can I help you?”

She whirled around, nearly falling off her wooden stool. The sound of a man’s deep voice was unfamiliar to her at home. It would take some time to get used to it. Jackson had walked around the side of the house, her best crystal in hand. Her traitorous dogs were trailing behind him looking for attention rather than keeping on guard.

“I’m fine, thank you. As soon as I make your bed, you can start to get settled. You’ll have to share a bathroom—we only have the one. Christine will make sure you get three full meals a day, and there are plenty of apples in the orchard.”

“You’re very gracious. I’ll try not to get underfoot.” He ducked under the clothesline, staring out into her wheat fields. “Nice piece of land you have here.”

“Been in our family for generations.”

“It’s impressive.” He tilted his head back and took a drink of his water, the ice clinking against the glass as he finished it off. “Your daughter’s very nice.”

Her hackles rose. Her biggest concern when taking a strange male into her house was the safety of her girls, or now, their chastity. “Yes, she’s a good girl.”

He turned his head, the bright light forcing him to squint those striking blue eyes. “She looks like you.”

Wendy hurried to fold the remaining linens, not comfortable socializing with this man she knew so little about. Her life was work and survival, no time for friends and entertainment. With the recent drought, she had even less time to concern herself with the affairs of others.

She stepped off the stool and hooked the basket on her hip. After taking just two steps, he reached out and took the laundry from her. “I’ll trade you.” He winked, handing her the glass. Wendy wasn’t used to male gallantry, but didn’t complain. Living as a cowgirl all her life, men treated her like one of the guys.

They walked side by side around to the front of the house. “So, how long have you been rodeo riding?”

“Since my twentieth birthday. I promised my mother to wait until then. She didn’t want me to follow in my daddy’s footsteps, but the rodeo’s in my blood.”

The lure of the rodeo never tempted Wendy. She was satisfied working her land, raising her family. Life was different now with her youngest being an adult. Wendy’s role was changing, making her feel less needed, more lost than she’d been since losing her husband. What was the point of it all? Each day was no different than the last. When she wasn’t working her fingers to the bone, she was sitting in the hayloft reflecting on the life passing her by. Even her daughters were moving on, spending more time with friends, and not interested in continuing the legacy of the McCay family business. Once she died, she imagined the property would be sold off to the highest bidder, and the money distributed amongst her four children.

Jackson followed her into the house, removing his boots after she did. She’d asked him to wait on the porch, but the boy had a mind of his own. “I’ll just be a minute,” she said, pulling out the twin sheet and shaking it out over the stripped bed.

“Let me help.” He grabbed the two opposite corners, and together they made the bed, fitted the two pillows with cases, and loaded up the blanket box with extra linen. It was refreshing dealing with a man who didn’t think he was above women’s work.

When they were done, she brushed her hand through her hair, feeling the effects of the heat on her body. She needed a tall glass of water herself. It didn’t take much to get dehydrated in hot, dry conditions like these. “It’s a scorcher,” he said, watching her movements from the other side of the room. “Is there a place I could take a shower? I’m dusty and sweaty from traveling all day. I don’t want to show up to the dinner table looking a mess.”

“The bathroom’s at the end of the hall. Hot water tank has been acting up, so I hope you like cold showers.”

“On a day like today, I welcome it.” Jackson smiled, tossing his Stetson on the bed. Then he untucked his shirt from his pants, yanking it over his head. He paused, looking around for a place to put his dirty clothes. Stripping down in front of her didn’t faze him, but her blood turned to ice, and then molten lava in the blink of an eye. The thoughts in her head were impure and unhealthy. Her boarder was much too young for her to visualize in a sexual manner.