7. Carson James
7
CARSON JAMES
“S
hitter’s all yours, new guy,” Jackson, the pain in my ass former new guy, said to the actual new guy, Brady.
I glanced up from the spot at the kitchen table where I had been pushing around the remnants of bulk-batch meatloaf and mashed potatoes. The rest of my appetite vanished at the stench that wafted out of the communal downstairs bathroom.
I grabbed my plate, scraped the crumbs into the trash, and loaded it into the mostly full dishwasher.
“Who’s on dish duty this week?” I asked the house.
Murmurs rose from the strewn-about bodies that were relaxing after a long day of working cattle.
“New guy,” Cody said. “I had it last week.”
“Tell him to start the dishwasher and wipe the sink. I don’t want ants coming in.”
“Sure thing, Boss Man,” Jackson said.
I hated being called boss man, but if it reminded him that I was in charge, I’d let it slide.
The sound from some annoying-ass show on the TV was way too loud. The voices were grating. Even if I went up to my room and shut the door, the noise would carry.
“You heading out?” Jackson asked, tipping his patchy-bearded face over the edge of the couch. “Thought you were working tomorrow night.”
“Just going on a walk,” I muttered as I shoved my feet into my boots and headed out the door.
I used to love living in the bunkhouse, even before it was the nice one we had now.
Back when the ranch hands lived in the cabins—the run-down ones Cassandra and Christian had turned into fancy-pants rentals—it was like being in the Boy Scouts.
When we all moved into the new bunkhouse, it was like a frat house. Work hard, play harder.
But I wasn’t a kid anymore. I didn’t like seeing abandoned beer cans and bottles on every horizontal surface. I yelled at people if they left the lights on. If the TV volume was over twelve, they knew to turn it down. I ruled the thermostat with an iron fist. The chore chart wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order.
I used to love the camaraderie of the ranch hands—back when I was just one of the guys working the herd, and Christian was the one telling people to get their shit together.
Now I was the one who had to keep everyone in line. I could see why Christian was okay with taking over for our father as the foreman.
The night air was cool and crisp. I looked up into the black sky, searching for the constellations I usually tracked to calm my mind, but I couldn’t see the stars.
The bright lights from the lodge and restaurant obscured them all.
Fuck that. Fuck all that.
Headlights flashed as a car carrying people who had no business being on this property sped toward the lodge. I was half tempted to jump out into the road and scare the shit out of them. We had fucking speed limit signs for a reason.
What if one of my nieces or my nephew had been out for a walk? It wasn’t safe for them to wander freely anymore.
Smoke tickled my nose. That smell was usually cause for alarm. Smoke on a ranch was generally a bad thing. Wildfires could wipe out a generational legacy in a day.
But this smoke wasn’t a warning. The air carried the scent of slow-cooking beef and a dry rub. Although I had just eaten dinner, it made my mouth water.
I followed the smoke instead of the stars, knowing I was a glutton for punishment.
If my momma had started smoking a brisket, it wouldn’t be ready for a day. And if she was still out tending to the fire, I was going to get a piece of her mind.
She hadn’t let me off the hook after my little showdown with Lennon at the restaurant during the grand opening.
But in my defense, I didn’t want to be there to begin with, and I let it be known.
The tendrils of smoke led me away from the ranch house my parents had called home for as long as I could remember. Even more infuriating was that they led me toward the restaurant.
I saw the glow of the embers as someone stood beside the smoker and prodded around in the firebox.
The person was too tall to be my mom, but the shadows dancing around obscured any other identifiable features.
It definitely wasn’t Christian. Cassandra cooked, but wasn’t the type to cook outside. If it were Brooke, the ranch would have already gone up in flames.
A twig snapped under my boot, and I froze.
Black and white hair glowed in the firelight like tendrils snaking up from Hades.
Soft features hardened. “What are you doing?” Lennon snapped, wielding the fire poker like a sword.
“Put that down before you hurt yourself, slugger,” I clipped in haughty derision.
She didn’t.
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered as I grabbed the handle of the poker and yanked it out of her hands. “Didn’t your parents teach you not to run with scissors or point knives at people? That applies here.”
“Actually, they didn’t,” she said as she elbowed me out of the way and grabbed the poker out of my hand, setting it beside the firebox.
I paused and looked around as one of the exterior lights of the restaurant bathed us in a dim glow.
A lawn chair sat next to the smoker. She had a pillow and blanket, a paperback book, thermometers to check the meat, and a giant insulated travel mug.
“Don’t know if you’re aware, but there’s a whole-ass hotel here now. No need to sleep outside with the animals.”
Lennon rolled her eyes. Back at the bar, it had been a turn-on—a signal of good-humored banter and teasing. But the amicable nature of it all was long gone.
She balled her fists, but kept them pinned to her side. “Get lost.”
I chuckled, crossing my arms as I moved to stand in front of her. “You really want to hit me, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said, lifting her chin. “But if I mess up that pretty face of yours, I’ll lose my job.”
“And what a pity it would be to never see you again.” I looked at the restaurant. “It’d be one person down, seventy to go.”
She stepped closer. The smoke mixed with the smell of her perfume made me think of the Angel of Death. Wickedly beautiful, intoxicating, and deadly.
“The bar was a mistake, but it happened. I don’t know what your problem is with me. If you leave me alone, we won’t have an issue. If you keep trying to get me fired, you’ll have hell to pay.”
I stepped closer this time, bumping her furry boots with the steel toes of mine. “Is that right?” I smirked. “Because my last name is on the gate you drive through to get to your job. So I think the only person with something to lose here is you.”
She eased closer. “Walk away, cowboy.”
My gaze fell to the tight workout jacket she was in. The way it hugged every sinful curve of her breasts. The way the zipper was just low enough that I could enjoy the valley of her cleavage. The memory of what those tits looked and felt like was burned in my mind.
“You sure you want me to walk away?” I murmured.
Her eyes were heavy. “More than anything.”
Growing up as one of four boys, I found it interesting to see how different we were, even though we shared DNA and had the same parents.
Nate was the type to tell us not to play with fire.
Christian was the one to manage the crisis when someone inevitably did.
Ray would poke at the sparks for the thrill of it.
I was the one who touched the flames, got burned, then always went back for seconds.
I wrapped a strand of long black hair around my finger, tethering her to me as I tipped my head to the side. “Then why did you move closer?”
The outline of the bars that pierced her nipples dotted the spandex jacket she was wearing. It was an infuriating tease.
“Walk away, Lennon.”
“Let me go.”
Neither of us moved.
“It was a quick fuck in a bar,” she panted. “We didn’t even spend the night together. We’re both adults. We can let bygones be bygones.”
A growl rumbled deep in my chest. “Not when you’re on my land, babysitting a smoker all night.”
Her breath hitched.
I wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not if I was thinking about her out here, alone all night, monitoring the temperatures and the meat and loading more wood into the firebox.
“CJ—”
I tightened my hold on that fucking strand of hair, daring her to move one way or the other. Sharp eyes locked on mine. Her fist was still balled at her side, knuckles clenching in desperate restraint.
“Someone’s a little uptight,” I murmured as I pressed my chest to hers, teasing those pierced points without my hands.
She sucked in a sharp breath.
“Go ahead, slugger,” I teased, lowering my mouth to hers until our lips brushed. “I’ll let you get a good swing in.”
“If I swing, I’m swinging low.”
I chuckled against her mouth. “Still thinking about my dick, huh? It was pretty good, wasn’t it?”
Lennon’s features turned deadly as she let out a frustrated growl.
“Or maybe—” I rolled my thumb over one nipple piercing “—you need to get that tension out some other way.”
She gasped and her pretty eyes fluttered closed.
I let out a pleased chuckle as I felt her nipple pebble under my touch. “That’s what I thought.”
Lennon melted in my hands as I toyed with her over her jacket, never diving below it to feel the velvet body that had haunted my dreams.
“Wearing leggings can’t be comfortable when you’re wet for me,” I mumbled.
She ground her teeth together. “Who says I’m wet?”
“I’d bet the seventy-five you won from me at the bar that you’re wet. You wanna admit I’m right or drop those leggings and let me check?”
Her cheeks flushed in the moonlight. “Fine.”
“You’re gonna admit that I’m right?”
“Never.”
I let go of her hair and cupped her pussy on the outside of her leggings, feeling how damp they already were. “Either you’re not wearing panties, or you’re going to have to change them.”
Lennon whimpered as I teased her slit through the spandex.
“Be a good girl, say my name, and beg me to let you come on my hand.”
Her teeth sank into my earlobe. “Never.”
The pierce of pain was sobering and arousing all at once. “You’ve got a long night ahead of you, Len. You sure you want to start eighteen hours out here, all pent up?”
She retaliated by reaching between us and squeezing the outline of my granite cock. “I could say the same about you, cowboy. Don’t pretend like I’m the only one who’s all worked up.”
I grunted as she gripped my dick. “You play dirty.”
“Don’t try to hustle a hustler, cowboy. A girl’s gotta eat.”
I pinched her nipple. “Don’t test me. I’ll get you on your knees and make you choke on my dick.”
“I bite,” she gasped.
Our weighted breaths were the only sounds lingering in the night air.
“You just talk a big game.” I tugged the zipper down on her jacket and slid my hand around her heavy breast.
Lennon whimpered as I toyed with her piercing—teasing her, but never quite giving her what she was craving. Her thighs tightened around my hand as I rubbed the outside of her pussy.
“All you have to do is ask nicely and I’ll let you come,” I reminded her. “It’ll be our little secret.”
Her head tipped backward, exposing her throat as she whispered unintelligible pleas to the sky.
“You’re soaking these leggings, and I’m not even on your skin.”
“Fuck you,” she whimpered in desperation.
“Say my name, Lennon.”
She shook her head, and I let go of her tit. A distressed whimper slipped out of her perfect lips.
A victorious smile curled at the corner of my mouth, because I had her right where I wanted her.
“I know, baby. I know,” I soothed against her lips. “You don’t want it to feel good because you want to be right. Just enjoy how fucking good it feels to be wrong. It can be our little secret.”
Lennon’s face twisted in anger. She opened her mouth to protest, but I rolled my thumb across the divot where her clit lay beneath her leggings, ignoring the ache in my cock.
It was easier to call out her desperation than my own.
“Look at me,” I ordered.
Her eyes blinked open, wide and pained. “Please,” she whispered.
I shook my head and stepped away, leaving her panting and antsy. “Not good enough.”
“CJ—”
“Too late.”
Her eyes were pleading, a sharp contrast to the wicked gaze she usually armed herself with.
Lennon swallowed and took a steadying breath. “Either you get used to the fact that I work here, and we figure out how to be amicable, or you leave me the hell alone.”
The smoke pricked my senses again. But this time, I didn’t think about brisket, good memories, and family around the table. I thought about burning buildings, danger, and threats to the people I loved. I thought about the charred wood I kept on my nightstand as a constant reminder of that night.
“You and I will never be amicable,” I hissed. “So, get used to that .”
Lennon’s jaw clenched as I turned and stomped back to the bunkhouse. So much for a walk to clear my head. It was even more fucked up than before.
Like a moth to a flame, I was drawn to her. That kind of attraction never ended well for the moth.
Jackson looked up from the couch when I stormed into the bunkhouse. “You alright, boss man? Thought you went out to get some air? You look pissed.”
I ignored the eight sets of eyes in the living room, stalked up the stairs to my room, and slammed the door.