4 | Takin you
CLEMENTINE
I take the long way back to the house, taking in my surroundings. This ranch feels so familiar, still. I used to come here all the time when I was younger. Tessa and I used to play in the barns, practice gymnastics in the grass, picnic in the field near the pastures.
I pause to look at the farmhouse from the pebble path leading up to it. It hasn’t changed at all. Same white siding, same wraparound porch with the peeling paint. Even the creaky screen door that never stayed shut properly.
I linger on the bottom step for a minute, shifting my weight. I’m this close to turning around and leaving, but then the door swings open.
“Mama” stands there with her hand on her hip, grey streaks in her curls, dark eyes twinkling even though her brows are lifted like she knows I was about to flee.
“Well? You plannin’ on loiterin’ all day or you gonna come hug my old self?”
My throat tightens. “Hey, Mama.”
She opens her arms wide. I rush up the stairs and fall into her embrace. She squeezes me so hard I wheeze, but I don’t dare complain. Her hugs were always my safe place.
“Girl, you’re too thin. And you look like you got hit by a tractor.”
“I missed you too,” I mumble into her soft shoulder.
She sniffs. “Don’t think I can’t hear that smart mouth. Come on. I’m puttin’ the kettle on.”
I follow her in, the screen door banging shut behind us. The house smells like old wood, mingled with the faint scent of Southern home cooking—the scent of my childhood.
She shoos me toward the worn floral couch. I hesitate.
“Are they here?” I ask quietly.
Mama knows exactly who I mean. Her face softens.
“They’re out. Don’t worry your pretty head, baby girl. You know I wouldn’t have you here if they were.”
Relief loosens my shoulders. I sink onto the couch. Mama disappears into the kitchen and comes back with two chipped mugs. Sets one in front of me with a thunk.
“Drink. You still like ginger?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Mama.”
She watches me over her own cup, sharp eyes twinkling.
“You look rough.”
“Corn whiskey hangover.”
She snorts. “Hell. Who let you drink that? You city folk can barely handle your wine.”
I don’t reply. There’s a pang of hurt in my chest that I can’t quite explain.
‘You city folk.’
I turn the words over in my head. I would’ve given anything to be considered ‘city folk’ growing up.
Hell, I did until stepping foot onto this ranch.
Maybe it’s the fact that it’s Mama saying it, sitting where she used to while I was still very much a country girl.
Or maybe it’s that I’m finally starting to feel at home again.
A deep, nostalgic feeling that settles low in my bones—stronger than what I ever felt back in the city.
We sip in silence for a bit. She glances at me. “So Tessa and Sawyer are still botherin’ you?”
I grimace. “Not them being together, exactly. Just… the way things unfolded. And she never even called, you know? It’s like I never existed after I left.”
Mama nods, patient. “That girl always was scared of confrontations. Especially with people she loved.”
“Yeah.” I swallow. “It just… hurts, is all. She could’ve at least reached out.”
Mama hums. “That goes for more of my children, huh?”
My head snaps up and I start to protest, but she lifts a challenging brow.
I drop my gaze, muttering, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She lets out a soft laugh, reaches over, pats my knee.
“Mhm. Drink your tea, Clementine.”
The screen door squeaks.
I look up and immediately wish I hadn’t.
Colton’s standing there, boots scuffed, shirt clinging to his chest with sweat, dark hair damp and curling at the edges. He pauses when he sees me, his gaze dragging over me slow and appreciative.
“Hey there, ladies,” he drawls.
Mama narrows her eyes at her son. “Don’t you dare track dirt in here.”
He toes off his boots dutifully, grinning. “No, ma’am.”
He heads for the sink, washing his hands—with soap—and splashing his face. Water drips down his neck, darkening the collar of his faded shirt.
I can’t look away.
He glances over his shoulder at me while drying off. “You feelin’ better, Tiny?”
“Don’t call me that,” I mutter, but it’s weak. Pathetic.
He leans his hip against the counter, shamelessly looking me up and down again.
“Didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m fine.”
“Mhm.” He doesn’t sound convinced.
Mama clears her throat in a way that’s about as subtle as a gunshot. “Colton Matthew, you best stop starin’ at her like she’s on the menu.”
He doesn’t even flinch, just meets her glare calmly. “Can’t help it, Mama.”
My brows lift to my hairline.
Mama lifts her mug, hiding her satisfied smirk. “I swear, you two…”
Colton pushes off the counter, strolls over, and leans down just enough to be in my space but not touching. His voice drops, warm and low.
“Can I get you anything, Clementine?”
I cross my arms over my chest, feigning defiance. “I’m good.”
He studies me like he doesn’t believe it. Then—slowly—he straightens.
Mama watches all of it unfold with a pleased expression. Then she slaps her hands on her knees and pushes out of her chair. “You gonna help me with the pie, Colton, or you just gonna drool all over my couch?”
He flicks me one last hot glance before sauntering into the kitchen. “Comin’, Mama.”
----
I drain my tea a little too fast and set the mug down, watching them in the kitchen.
Colton’s rolling out pie dough like it’s nothing, forearms flexing deliciously. Mama’s fussing at him about the flour getting everywhere, but he’s ignoring her with that infuriating calm.
“Boy, you are makin’ a mess of my kitchen.”
“Looks fine to me.”
“It’s on the floor, Colton.”
“It’s a farmhouse, Mama. We’ll live.”
She swats him with a towel.
He turns and catches me watching—doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes dip down my body again.
Mama follows his gaze, snorting. “Lord, would you two just get together already and get it over with?”
My jaw drops. “Mama!”
Colton doesn’t even blink. He just dusts the flour off his jeans, grinning calmly. “She’s not there yet, Mama.”
Mama arches a brow. “No?”
He glances at me, eyes hot but steady. “No. But I can wait.”
I scoff. “You’ll be waiting a long time.”
“Don’t mind.”
Mama’s house is a safe space—there’s no such thing as prudery or embarrassment here.
So I lean back on the couch, stretching my arms overhead so my shirt rides up a little, exposing my midriff. My gaze locks on his, all fiery and taunting.
“Sure you don’t mind, cowboy? Even if you’re sleeping all alone, thinking about it?”
His jaw ticks.
Mama cackles. “Clementine Marie, you behave.”
I don’t. I cross my legs slowly, smoothing my hand down my thigh. “Mama, I’m being polite. Colt’s the one imagining things.”
Colton’s eyes have gone dark. He wipes his hands on a dish towel, tosses it onto the counter, and stalks a step closer. “Don’t.”
I blink, feigning innocence. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t test me,” he growls, voice dropping. “I’m tryin’ real hard to be good here, Clementine.”
My stomach drops right through the floor. Heat blooms everywhere.
Mama fans herself with her hand. “Well. I’m gonna go get the clothes off the line. Y’all work it out without gettin’ arrested.”
She breezes out the back door, leaving me alone with him.
----
COLTON
I’m just about to say something when my phone buzzes. I check the screen to find Wells calling. I already know it’s trouble.
I pick up. “Talk to me.”
His voice is tight. “Big Tina’s calving. Somethin’ ain’t right.”
I’m already moving, grabbing the canvas bag I keep by the door. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”
I hang up. Clementine’s watching me with those sharp eyes, trying not to look worried. But she does. She knows me—reads me like a book, even after all these years.
I meet her stare. “Cow’s givin’ birth, but it’s goin’ bad.”
She swallows. “Is she gonna be okay?”
“If I get there in time.” I hesitate, hand on the door. God, I shouldn’t—
I turn back. “You wanna see a calf come into the world?”
Her lips part. She’s about to say no—I can see it. But she bites it back. Nods, slow. “Yeah. Okay.”
We’re in the barn a minute later. I toss her a helmet and grab my horse, along with Queeny’s bridle.
She freezes. “Colton. I don’t ride anymore.”
I glance over my shoulder. She’s pale, eyes wide.
“It’ll come back to you.”
She shakes her head, and her voice drops. “It’s not about skill. I fell once. Hard.”
I set the bridle down, move in close enough she has to tilt her chin to keep those stubborn eyes on me.
“We don’t have time to argue.” My voice drops. “Come on, I’ll take you.”
She glares at me. “Take me?”
I step even closer. “On my horse. I’m not lettin’ you fall.”
She hesitates, biting her lip. Goddamn, that mouth of hers…
I keep my voice calm and steady. “Trust me, Clementine.”
After a second, she nods.
I guide her to my gelding and lift her easily—she’s light as ever. She squeaks when my hands grip her thighs, hauling her onto the saddle. “Colton—!”
“Shh.” I swing up behind her, arms bracketing her on either side. I slide forward—a little closer than necessary—and bring my lips to her ear. “Lean into me. Don’t fight it.”
She shivers. Christ.
The horse shifts under us, ready to move.
“You ready?”
Her voice is small. “No.”
I grin. “Hold on anyway.”
I kick the horse into a canter, then a gallop.
She gasps, back pressing against my chest, and my arm slips around her waist, tightening. I feel her everywhere—her ass shifting in the saddle, her hips cradled in my thighs. My cock strains against the rough denim of my jeans.
My voice is rough, barely controlled, when I murmur in her ear. “That’s it. Good girl. Just move with me.”
Her breath hitches and she lets out a sound that’s been burned into my memory for years—a breathy little whimper. It goes straight to my balls.
I don’t say nothing else—I can’t control what comes out of my mouth with her ass grinding into me like that.
The wind tears at us as we race across the fields. Clementine’s trembling, but she doesn’t fight me. She trusts me. And I feel like a goddamn king for it.
We skid to a stop near Wells’s ATV. She’s panting, cheeks red, and for a second I wonder if she feels it too, this buzzing between us.
I jump down and reach for her. She hesitates but lets me lower her slowly. Her feet hit the dirt and she stumbles.
I don’t let go, just steady her against me. “You okay?”
She nods, averting her eyes. “Yeah. Just… dizzy.”
My thumb drags over her hip before I remember I’m supposed to be giving her space. I drop my hands and turn away.
Wells is waiting by Big Tina, raising an eyebrow at me.
I ignore his look, vaulting the fence to see what we’re dealing with. The cow’s on her side, groaning.
Clementine’s climbing the fence behind me, so I help her down before crouching down by the Big Tina.
“Watcha got here, darlin’?” I ask the cow, scrubbing my hands with iodine.
Big Tina’s restless, breathing hard, legs kicking as she tries to push something that ain’t coming.
“Easy, girl,” I murmur, running a hand over her belly as I assess the way she’s straining. A quick look at her hind end reveals no feet or nose. Fuck.
I glove up to my shoulder, lube up, and gently reach inside.
What I feel makes my gut clench. The calf’s breech—but worse. One back leg’s tucked under its body, the tailbone’s tilted, and I can’t feel the front legs at all.
It ain’t textbook—it’s bad.
----
How do we feel about them riding together? ??