5
TAYLOR
FROM THE FRYING PAN, INTO THE FIRE
Clint shuts the door with a click, and I’m instantly swamped by uncertainty and loneliness. Scooping down to retrieve my underwear from the floor, it takes a while for me to come to my senses. The pulsing between my legs isn’t the only trace of the intense pleasure left in his wake. My nipples tingle with a lingering sensation still rippling its unfamiliar presence. Clint’s parting words hang heavily in the air, and not for the first time this weekend, I can’t make sense of what someone has told me.
Does he mean that I’ll have to have sex with all three of them?
Clint’s intense gaze floods my mind. His eyes are warm in color, like aged whiskey, but they’re cool in emotion, shuttered almost as though they’re concealing things he doesn’t want me to see. His rugged, toned body bears a scattering of faded tattoos like windows to his past. I can’t help but wonder what they mean. The rich darkness of his hair has not yet started to gray and frames his chiseled face, making him seem even more brooding and cloaked. But the lines etched into his skin put him somewhere close to forty, so much older than I am. I can’t figure out the heaviness that hangs in the air around him, but I’m not scared, just cautious, maybe. That can’t be a bad thing. And what he did to my body causes me to flush even though I’m alone now, embarrassed at the intensity of my physical urges as well as my stupid purple underwear. I refocus on Clint’s words and the fact that he may not be the only one of them who will see every inch of me.
Maverick. His charm is worn on his sleeve and oozes from his warm hazel eyes. I’m sure he’s the youngest, maybe in his early thirties, and his lighthearted energy seems to irritate the other two. They’re all healthy, well-honed men, but Maverick is leaner and longer-limbed. I like how he tries to put me at ease and lightens tense situations. He’s the easiest to be around.
Jesse’s the boss and the oldest of the three. His dark hair is peppered with flecks of white and gray, which could put him in his forties, but he is carefully turned out with a body that seems harder and a posture that’s straighter than most younger men. His eyes are so pale and blue that they remind me of a husky dog whose startled stare seems to pierce right through you. He seems ornery and gruff but straightforward. He’ll tell me what he wants and that’s a good thing. There’s nothing more unsettling than having to guess another person’s expectations. I’ve never been attracted to a man so much older than me before, but Jesse has classically attractive features and an intensity that makes him magnetic.
They’re all handsome men, rugged and dominant. And significantly older than me.
But there are three of them, and they expect me to be a wife to them all.
I look down at the plain band on my left hand that feels new and strange. I’m a wife now—Clint’s wife—just like that, literally in an afternoon. Mrs. Taylor Lawson. It has a nice ring to it but feels foreign, like I’ve put on a ball gown and tried to wear it to the bakery.
Surely, I can’t be married to him but be expected to be in a relationship with all three of them?
Molly is spending her first night alone without me and this is what I’m thinking about. I told myself I’d do whatever it takes to survive and thrive, but the fact that I’ve allowed myself to give into my body’s cravings and get drawn into what my life is going to be like here, has left behind guilt like an uncomfortable barb beneath my diaphragm. My heart tightens, a spring retracting.
Attempting to suppress the sensation, I shuffle to stand in the window, where the drapes are still open, and the windows feel like silent witnesses to the act that just took place. Traces of daylight are fading as I open the window a fraction, allowing the warm breeze inside. A scattering of wildflowers in the nearest meadow catches my attention—a haze of pastel and vibrant shades blended in perfect harmony—nature’s floral rainbow. It’s so pretty, and I imagine Molly running through the long grass, gathering a pretty posy, tucking flowers behind her ears, and laughing.
Maybe it’ll be possible, but these cowboys are expecting something from me that’s forbidden, and that won’t work with a kid as part of the bargain.
My stomach growls. I haven’t eaten a proper meal since last night. A stale doughnut and a couple of cookies, no matter how calorific, aren’t enough to keep my appetite at bay.
Fixing dinner is something Jesse stressed as essential; all meals, actually. What the hell have I agreed to? Cooking is one thing, but having sex with three total strangers seems like a push too far. Is that even legal? Surely, it’s adultery, at the very least.
I pull on the white dress and hurriedly cross the landing to the room that Maverick had taken me to earlier and said would be mine.
I’m struck by the need to wash between my legs, so I make my way to the small bathroom accessible from my bedroom. I’m relieved to have privacy and stand in front of the small mirror gazing at my haunted reflection, seeking answers. Who are you? Free from the clutches of my tormentor, I’m not sure I really know. The fading bruise jumps out at me. Whatever Dixie covered it with has long since blended in with my sweat and faded to nothing. Running the hot tap reveals that I may no longer have to heat pans of water on a stovetop to wash. A small win. A new sponge is hanging from a rope on one of the bathtub taps, and I unloop it and create a lather of foam using some hand soap.
The bath is like something from a homestyle magazine, with its rolling top and brass gothic-style legs standing on dark wooden floorboards. It’s quaint. I’ve never seen anything like it in real life before.
Dabbing at my throbbing place, I wince at how sore it now feels, bruised, and stretched from the movement of Clint’s masculine body inside mine. It’s like he is still there. His presence and scent linger. The way he made me feel, too.
He is the biggest man I have ever been with. Only the second so I don’t have a lot to compare him to. How am I going to manage three of them? What if they’re all as big and strong as Clint is? I splash my face with water from the cold tap. All I can do now is follow the rules, keep my head down and remember why I am here.
Maverick isn’t so bad. He’s quite funny. The other two may be stern in ways, but compared to what I’m used to, I don’t feel in danger. But I can’t be complacent. To the outside world, my dad came across as relatively normal. People laughed with him. If they knew what he was really like behind closed doors, they wouldn’t want to pass him on the street.
Reaching for the white towel, I dab my face and then between my legs, allowing the softness to brush over my still-sensitive flesh. I sidestep to the pale pink rug next to the bathtub, and my feet sink into the plush softness. Another tinge of guilt creeps over me.
I want to unpack but know that getting down to the kitchen is my next duty, and I want to ensure that I do nothing to rile any of these men. Maverick brought my bag in here after I changed into the wedding dress. I empty the bag’s contents onto the bed, reaching for clean underwear, another plain t-shirt, and loose pants. I’m careful not to crease the photo and place the book shielding it into the bedside cabinet. I’ll make sure that it’s the last thing I set my eyes on before I go to sleep tonight. Hastily, I throw on my chosen outfit, and as I reach for the door handle, I whisper into the silence. “I won’t forget you, Molly.”
Emerging onto the landing, I quietly shut my door and pad along the floorboards towards the top of the staircase. To my left is a window out onto the rear paddocks, framed with yellowing sheers. To my right stands a grandfather clock, beating its tick-tock calmly and confidently. The glossy Maplewood needs a polish, as do the framed portraits that line the stairs. Generations of smiles on well-dressed people stare out at me as I cling to the handrail. Each step down threatens to throw me off balance as my heart rate intensifies, my pulse pounding in my ears. I almost miss the bottom step entirely and fall straight into Maverick.
“Shit, sorry!”
“Excuse you, ma’am!”
“Sorry.”
“Do you say sorry for everything?” His smile is wide and white, my eyes are transfixed, and it strikes me that actually I do. Sometimes I feel sorry for existing.
“I’m going to take a look around the kitchen, I want to… to fix dinner.”
“Yeah, I bet you worked up quite an appetite up there. Clint’s a mess.”
I blush at his crassness and want to dissolve from his gaze. He winks and places one hand on my left shoulder. It’s warm and huge, his strength obvious in the gesture.
Strength that could hurt me, use me, break me.
He brushes his thumb over my bruised cheek and lifts my chin, searching my face with a questioning look. “What the—”
“Maverick! For Christ’s sake!” Jesse’s voice suddenly booms from another room, sending my heart haywire. “You can’t help yourself, can you? Let her get on with it.”
Maverick mutters something under his breath that I don’t quite catch before he shakes his head. I carry on to the kitchen, not wanting to add to Jesse’s ire. The annoyance in his voice spikes adrenaline through me, with an accompanying burst of frantic heartbeats.
The vastness of the kitchen is striking without the three men filling it with their bulk. There’s nothing cluttering the sideboards; the only thing on the windowsill is an empty vase. In the center of the room is what looks like an antique table, in good condition despite signs of heavy use. Without piles of soiled pans and dishes, I’m free to explore the pantry and cupboards. The huge refrigerator hums in the corner, and it’s my first stop. The door is heavy, and as it swings open, the smell of antiseptic wafts out. It’s clean and organized. The dairy on the top shelf consists of a range of cheeses and spreads, as well as a few tubs of sweetened yogurt, cream, and some sticks of butter. The middle shelf is packed with different cuts of meat, both raw and cooked, separated appropriately, and the bottom shelf has vegetables at different stages of freshness, right down to the wilting spinach leaves, which have seen better days. Inside the door is fresh milk and some orange juice, the kind with bits in. It’s nothing like the refrigerator at home.
“What are you looking for?” Jesse’s standing close behind me. I sense his body heat before his voice takes me out of my thoughts.
“Just meal planning.” I brace for harsh words about me stealing food or being so fat I don’t need to eat, but Jesse simply nods.
My cheeks are hot, and I feel like I’ve been caught in the act somehow.
“It’s all right, Taylor. You’re allowed to look in the refrigerator. In fact, you need to get comfortable in the kitchen. It’s going to be one of your main jobs, remember. And I can hear your stomach from here.”
Heat floods me again. “What should I prepare for tonight?” I risk looking up into his pale mountain-river-ice eyes.
“There’s some fresh beef rib, so how about that with potatoes and spinach?”
I nod, and he turns to leave the room. It’s important that I get this meal right. I can’t be a disappointment to anyone else.
“If you want to make some sauce to go with the beef, you’ll find some wild mustard out on the verandah.” Jesse pokes his head around the kitchen door, and once again, he is gone.
An hour later, I sit on a chair facing the oven. My mouth is watering at the smell of the beef as it spits and crackles in the heat. Medium rare will be best for this dish. I’m hopeful they’ll enjoy it. I’d eat anything at this point. I made a quick cake mixture as well which I’ll put in the oven just before we start on the main course. The pantry is well-stocked already. Everything is in place with just a few additional things I’ll ask for.
“Christ, that smells good.” Maverick swaggers into the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge and pulling up a chair opposite me. I quickly stand and make for the drawer housing the silverware and begin to set the table.
“Be careful, Taylor. We’re going to get used to this real quick, and you’ll make yourself indispensable.”
The outside door swings open and Clint steps in, removing his light jacket and standing in the doorway in a fitted t-shirt which hugs his chest just enough to show the defined outline of his strong pecs and shoulders. His arm muscles twitch and tense as he hangs the jacket on a hook behind the door. My legs weaken and I wish I was still sitting. The place between my legs pulses as I catch the scent of him, flipping my tummy into knots.
My husband.
The concept is so unreal that I shake my head. He licked me. He touched me. He was inside me.
I immediately avert my gaze, unable to look back in his direction and hope that neither man will notice the inevitable redness from my panicked blush.
“You’re looking flushed, Taylor. D’ya want me to take it from here while you get yourself some fresh air? Put some distance between you and the man who’s making you the color of a tomato.” Damn it. Maverick needs to stop with the jokes. He’s only magnifying my embarrassment.
“How about a glass of cool water then?” He won’t let it go.
“Sorry, sorry, I mean no. No, it’s all right. It’s just the heat from the oven, that’s all.” My throat constricts, and Maverick smirks.
Clint doesn’t seem to have noticed and takes a beer from the fridge. The food is almost ready, and I’m feeling a mixture of anxiousness and anticipation.
The oven timer pings, and I turn off the burner beneath the carrots and broccoli I’m steaming. The roasted potatoes are crispy, and the meat is ready to rest. I quickly switch the meat and the cake and close the oven door, setting another timer.
Jesse arrives from another room, and all three men sit at the table and begin to talk, taking the pressure off me. I half-listen as I slowly carve the beef. The talk of wolves leaves me concerned but curious to know more. It’s not the kind of conversation I’m used to. My dad only cared about food, beer, going out, and making our lives a misery. In contrast, these men have an admirable sense of purpose and a hard work ethic. Based on the list and Clint’s comments, they expect the same from me. I hope Jesse won’t notice I didn’t do the spinach. It was in bad shape and beyond saving.
As I struggle under the weight of the laden plates, I allow myself a moment to gauge their reactions before retrieving my food from the counter. Their eyes widen at their plates, and without hesitation, they all tuck in. I lower myself into my chair with a ripple of relief. The first bite is perfect; it’s absolutely melt-in-the-mouth delicious, and I can’t remember the last time I ate anything quite this good—when Mom and Nana were alive, years ago now.
“Where’d you learn to cook like this?” Jesse’s mouth is still full of food, but he’s expecting me to answer.
“My family.”
Jesse nods, pleased.
There’s a sense of calm as we all devour the food, and not one of us leaves a scrap on our plates apart from bones stripped of every morsel. Maverick picks up his plate and licks it exaggeratedly, eying me the whole time.
“For God’s sake, man.” Clint’s expression is disgusted. He exchanges a glance with Jesse as Maverick drops the plate unfazed.
“Is there more? My stomach still has space.”
Immediately, my nerves return. There’s nothing left; we’ve cleared the lot. Did I eat too much? No one said anything about my portion size, but now I’m worried that maybe I did. I tense up.
The oven timer pings, and I get to my feet to turn it off. Thank God. I remove the tin from the oven and place it on a rack to cool, then sit back down at the table.
“I made a cake for dessert. It’ll need a minute. Does anyone want coffee?”
A phone rings, and Jesse reaches to answer. “Damn it!” His sudden brusqueness startles me.
Jesse rises to his feet. “Maverick, stop thinking about your belly, we’ve got to go now. The wolves are back.”
All three rise without acknowledging me, my question hanging in the air.
“It’s all right, Clint. Stay here with Taylor. We”ll be fine.”
Both men are in their boots and out the door within seconds, and I’m left alone with Clint. He gazes at me across the table.
“You mentioned cake.” His gaze is steady, his expression impassive. My stomach flips and flutters as I get to my feet again and fight back the tremble in my fingers, reaching for a clean knife.
Clint closes his eyes as he savors the warm, sweet cake. Where my father ate like a hungry wolf, Clint takes his time to eat with manners. His appreciative noises are somehow polite rather than crass, and my relief makes me sink into the chair. As soon as he’s finished, he lets his spoon rise and fall between his fingers, staring at the counter. “I wouldn’t say no to another slice! Or that coffee.”
I’m immediately back on my feet.
“Not now, later. I’ve got to get back over to the shelter.”
“The shelter?”
Without Maverick’s humor to fill the room or Jesse’s need to take charge, I suddenly feel stripped bare and vulnerable, exposed as a newcomer with no idea what my husband is talking about.
“We keep a few stalls round the back of one of the main stables. It’s a place where I care for some of the wild animals who I find in a bad way in or around our land. It happens a lot. More than I’d like.”
Clint rises to his feet. I trail my eyes over his huge, muscular form and feel an unusual tightening in my core. Reaching for his clear plate, I run it under the warm tap and stack it on the side.
“I won’t be long,” he adds. “Why don’t you run yourself a bath? You could leave the others some cake. I’ve no idea how long they’ll be.”
Panic pulses at my temples about being alone in this big, old, unfamiliar house.
“Can I come with you?” The words are out before I have the chance to think. Clint eyes me wearily, clearly keen to leave as soon as possible and likely to be free of my company.
He eyes the door, his escape route, then turns to me and shrugs. “Grab your coat, and don’t get under my feet.”
The only warm thing I have is the cardigan I left on the bed upstairs.
When I return to the kitchen, the back door is open, and Clint waits on the wraparound porch. In the light of the moon, his eyes are like amber, warm, yet hiding layers of intensity that make me curious. He has a dimple on his chin, just like the rugged cowboys in TV shows. I linger on the thought of his hungry hands and mouth touching my body again, of me planting kisses on his stubbly face. My fear of the newness of this place mingles with the stirring in my flesh.
He turns and I follow, my shorter legs unable to keep up with his pace. His long stride is full of purpose, and I wonder what kind of a man takes care of sick or injured animals for nothing in return.
“What will the others do to the wolves?”
“Depends on what they find. Maybe they’ll just drive the exposed cattle to closer pastures protected within the electric perimeter. Or maybe they’ll get a gun to their heads. Hard to say.”
I swallow hard.
When we arrive at the shelter, Clint lights a series of lamps, casting a warm glow that allows me to focus on the scene in front of me. The scent of warm hay and clean freshness blends with a general animal musk. Rustling and moaning come from the furthest stall, and Clint immediately approaches, his voice gentle and steady.
“Hey, momma, are you missing your babies? It’s not gonna be long and I’ll have you back out there.”
I trail after Clint, and as we approach, whatever animal is in the stall gives a low-pitched mew. It doesn’t sound distressed, but it’s not a sound I have heard before. Clint opens the top half of the door, and immediately, the animal is there. Clint strokes its muzzle, lowering his face to be level with it.
“It’s beautiful. What is it?” Its body is like chocolate-brown velvet, and its dark, glossy eyes are framed by thick, bristly lashes.
“This is Sadie, my momma elk. I found her the other day, lying injured in one of the outer pastures. I think she’d escaped a hunter maybe and fallen in her haste. When I found her, she had two fawns with her. They’re old enough to survive without her for a short time, but I’ve seen them on the land, looking out for her. She’s close to release. I’m working on it, just gotta clean up the infection first to give the little critter the best chance of pulling through.”
The bond between them is visible. The gentleness he shows the animal is like nothing I’ve ever witnessed from a man before, and it contrasts with the reserved way he carries himself outside of the shelter.
“You’re so good with her.”
“It’s about building trust. She knows I mean her no harm.”
Sadie mewls again. I wonder what she’s trying to tell him. Clint must read my mind.
“She wants to get back out there to her babies. I’ve got to get her well-fed and back on that leg of hers. This is the best she has been standing since I brought her here last week.”
Clint walks past me and back to the first stall, where there’s a mountain of hay. Filling a cart with a handful and some greener plants, he wheels it back and opens the whole door, being careful Sadie doesn’t escape. She seems to cooperate and immediately starts feasting while he fixes her bedding area with fresh straw.
“Can I have a look in the other stalls?”
“Knock yourself out.” He is so engrossed with Sadie, and I need a moment to process. Witnessing his tenderness and his commitment is moving. His sheer imposingness and straightforward attitude have melted away in front of my eyes to reveal a sensitive man. The rest of the stalls are empty, but there are signs that they weren’t so long ago.
“How do you have time for this with everything else you have to do?”
“Everyone’s got to have a hobby, Taylor. And this is mine. Helps me keep my feet on the ground.”
“Did you always want to be a cowboy?”
Clint doesn’t answer. His silence rings in my ears. Sadie bellows a low groan, interrupting.
“Actually, I wanted to be a vet.” There’s an edge to his voice, and I want to know more.
“So why aren’t you?”
Clint inhales sharply and rises to his feet from where he has filled a water trough for Sadie. “You ask too many questions.”
I flush, so embarrassed that I’ve overstepped. I need to be more wary of speaking my mind. One small rebuff, and my world feels like it will topple like a tower of cards. I turn to leave the stalls, and the light from the main ranch house is like a welcome beacon as I make my way back without a second look. Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes, and as I quicken my pace and draw nearer to the house, I find relief. The door is unlocked. I just need to be alone.
When the door swings shut, I stand in the dark, the hammering in my chest pounding in my ears. I shuck off my shoes and hang my cardigan on a hook.
As I approach the staircase, I notice a low light coming from a room in the corner. Curiosity gets the best of me, and I approach, taking one step at a time over the floorboards, which feel warm beneath my feet. There’s no one home. I’m totally alone. The room is bare, apart from a large, worn sofa in tan leather and two floral armchairs flanking each side. Dusty cabinets display various rosettes and trophies. One stands out to me.
‘Awarded to Clint Lawson for his dedication to raising funds for The AAWA and for his tireless commitment to caring for animals in need. 2022.’
It’s the newest and least dusty award in the cabinet, and it hits me in the guts like a punch. This man I have married and know barely anything about, who has taken the wind out of my sails with one sentence, has achieved great things and possesses goodness behind his gruffness. But he doesn’t extend it to me.
Will he ever?
Beyond tired and overwhelmed, I decide to head upstairs and take the bath Clint suggested earlier. I can’t remember the last time I sank beneath hot, soapy water, but one thing’s for sure, it has been almost a decade.