Chapter 3
3
CLEMENTINE
G unner cuts the label off a can of chili with the tip of his pocket knife and sets the can on the grill over the coals while I set a foil-wrapped packet into the embers.
"You brought ice?" Gunner nods toward the small chest I packed my meals in.
"Need some for those joints, old man?"
We've settled into an easy exchange of snarky comments more like flirting than I care to admit.
Gunner pulls a flask out of his pack and holds a battered, steel mug toward me, presumably waiting for me to drop a couple bits of ice into it.
"If you got sore joints, this stuff'll do 'em better than ice."
Passing my own camp mug over, I let him pour a finger of liquid into it. The liquor shines amber in the firelight and I sniff it before taking a taste.
It's good whiskey. Lighting the back of my tongue up with a bit of warmth and leaving a sweet finish after I swallow.
"Good stuff," I tell him, without any of the grief I've been giving him all day. "Where'd you get it?"
I could use a bottle of this myself.
"Guy up in Moonshine Ridge has been making it for years," Gunner tells me.
"You actually buy moonshine in a place called Moonshine Ridge?" It's not the booze that makes me laugh.
Gunner looks up at me and his face relaxes in an easy smile that has me momentarily forgetting the fact that he's my boss, and all the reasons I've been giving him shit today.
Damn, the man is handsome.
"Mountain folk take their traditions pretty serious, I guess," he offers by way of answer, still looking over at me with that smile that's warming my insides up way more than the bit of whiskey in my cup.
A beat of silence stretches between us as I pull my dinner from the coals. Gunner watches me with a look I'm not brave enough to hope is what it looks like.
"Is that steak?"
Apparently my dinner is enough to pull him out of whatever trance he got caught in there for a minute.
"Of course it's steak." I hold the foil pack toward him and give him an evil smile when I see the envy on his face.
"What was I supposed to bring for dinner? Canned beans?"
Gunner looks at the can of chili he's holding with a leather work glove used as a pot holder. Now his face is contorted in a look of regret as he eyes his dinner and then my own.
"Gimme a bite." He moves closer to me, reaching with his fork.
Laughing hysterically, I pull my dinner out of his reach, but I don't exactly move away from him.
"Should have planned better, old man. Not my fault you can't cook."
Gunner grunts as he stabs into his chili with a vendetta.
"Didn't know I was going to be faced with so much temptation," he grumbles under his breath.
I catch his gaze sliding in my direction as I settle in beside him, and for a second I think he's looking at more than just my steak.
After we finish our dinner, I stoke the campfire back up to ward off the chill that's crept into the evening air in the hills while Gunner adds another splash of his whiskey to our cups.
It's not enough to catch a buzz, just enough for a few slow sips while we while away another hour before heading to bed.
I might have taken pity on him and let him have a bite of the steak from my dinner. Maybe I wanted to show off that I know my way around a campfire meal. Maybe I wanted to show him what he was missing out on. Maybe I wanted him wanting more.
Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't some sort of primal desire to prove I'd make a good wife.
That's what I tell myself while we fall into conversation, anyway. It's just an unfortunate attraction. Nothing about Gunner O'Leary has me thinking about putting down roots with a man and filling a house with his children.
"I'm going to bed."
My announcement takes Gunner of guard. It's a sudden interruption of our conversation, but dammit! I can't stay out here with him any longer.
Every time I move a little bit closer to him, he moves a little bit farther away. Making sure there's always just enough space between us to keep from touching me, even though I'm pretty damn sure I'm not the only one itching for contact.
Maybe he's better at remembering what a bad idea it is to cross the lines between boss and employee, or maybe he's too damn stupid to see what's right in front of him.
"I'll see you in the morning then," he says, that gruff edge back in his voice as I head to the solitude of my little shack for the night.
An hour later, I'm still awake. Thoughts of Gunner racing through my brain and through my nerve endings, long after he's doused the fire and gone silent outside.
Finally, I give in to the ache of my swollen clit, knowing there is no way I'm going to get to sleep without taking the edge off with a little self-care first.
Gunner
Damn woman has me so wound up I can't think.
After she went in to bed, I sat staring into the last of the embers for longer than was good for me. Thinking about how close she'd been all night and how the herbal scent of her shampoo suited her when she pulled her hair free of the braid.
How bad I wanted to be the one combing my fingers through those honey gold locks and how good she'd look with her skin flushed and glistening with sweat while I took her beside the fire.
I'd be all over it in a heartbeat if I didn't think she'd kick my ass for trying.
We had a nice evening, but getting to know more about Clem has only managed to get the woman worked further under my skin.
She's got me feeling something more than just lust. All night, I've been listening to her laugh and thinking how bad I need to hear more of it.
Especially after hearing how she ended up on my ranch-- after her own family shafted her out of inheriting the land she'd grown up on.
Didn't help matters any that when I finally managed to guilt her into giving me a bite of that dinner of hers, it was the best steak I've had in my life.
My mind is all kinds of messed up tonight, thinking about putting a ring on that woman and chasing her around the house for the next forty or fifty years.
Thoughts like this never got in my head before. Why now? Why does it have to be a woman who can barely stand me?
No point settin' here, making myself any crazier than she's already got me.
With a grunt to punctuate my frustration, I get to my feet and head for the outhouse out behind the shack. I figure it's been long enough since Clementine tapped out that she should be asleep by now. No chance of running into her tonight.
That's a good thing. The way she's got me feeling about now, I'm not sure I could control myself if I caught a glimpse of her in her night clothes. Even if she sleeps in long johns.
Visions of Clem in long underwear swim in my brain as I pick my way back from the outhouse, my eyes not quite adjusted to the dark of the moonless night after staring at the fire for so long.
I imagine her in my kitchen on one of the cold mornings that have had the last few winters feeling lonelier than I remember them when I was a younger man, in a set of thermals and the thick hunting socks I bet she likes, and that thick hair of hers falling wild and tangled over her shoulders from a morning romp while she cooks up some breakfast steaks.
The whole picture is too damn clear in my head. From the way her heavy breasts would look swaying free under her shirt, to the little noise she'd make, pretending to be mad at me, when I come up behind her to give 'em some attention while I nuzzle into her neck.
By the time I get to the big, live oak outside the window of the little shack, my dick's hard enough that I'm damn near about to stand still and take care of it right here.
That's when I hear her.
The back window of the little cabin is open and, from the sound of it, I'm not the only one that's got an itch to scratch tonight.
Without a single fuck given to the woman's privacy, I creep closer to the open window and treat my ears to the unmistakable sounds of Clementine taking care of a need that I'm desperate to handle for her.
Before I know it, I'm leaning up against the outside wall beside the window with my hand around my cock, stroking myself in time to her hard breaths and the little moans she's doing such a damn fine job of muffling.
If I was out by the fire still, I wouldn't have a clue what she's up to in there.
Grinding my molars, I make my best effort at unloading my balls without making any kind of noises that might alert Clem to the fact that I'm eavesdropping on the sound of her sweet climax while I come all over the fucking dirt thinking about licking her cream off her fingers.
As much as I want to stay here, hoping she'll give me more of those stifled little moans to torture myself with all night, it's well past dark on a summer night, we've got a lot of work to get done tomorrow, and I'm not about to let that woman catch me asleep past sun-up.
She'll probably throw a bucket of water on my head if she catches me sleeping in.
Zipping up, I curse under my breath as I make my way back to where I left my sleeping bag spread out at my campsite beside the fire ring.
I need a good night's sleep. Tomorrow, we'll be too damn busy working for me to stay distracted by that woman. Or her feminine curves or that sarcastic tongue that I'd like to put to better use than giving me shit all day.
Turns out, I'm plenty distracted tonight though.
I smothered the fire pretty damn well before I left it and now, with the moonless night and my forgetting to take any sort of flashlight with me, there's not enough light for me to see the shovel and bucket of water beside the fire ring before I step on the shovel.
The damn thing goes out from under my boot, straight into the side of the bucket, which tips over, sending water pouring onto the dirt and right for my things.
But that's not my biggest problem.
No way.
The biggest problem is the small, furry, creature I can now see in the middle of my sleeping bag.
"Fuck." It's the only appropriate word there is when you're scrambling backwards as fast as you can to get out of the line of fire.
The noise and the water and my heavy footsteps are more than enough to scare the skunk into attack mode rather than giving it time to move along on its own.
"Dammit!"
I don't care how loud I'm being at this point. I managed to escape the blast, but I won't be sleeping in my own sleeping bag...probably ever, to tell the truth.