Chapter 5
Janey
The next few days pass in a strange blur of normalcy and secret heat.
I go back to work as if nothing happened.
I show up at the clinic, drive out for farm calls, vaccinate calves, stitch up a horse that got tangled in barbed wire, and smile politely at the ranchers who call me “little lady” even though I’ve been doing this job for a while and deserve a different kind of respect.
On the outside, I’m the same competent, calm Janey everyone expects.
On the inside, I’m a mess.
Every time I sit down, I feel the deep ache between my legs and remember exactly how I got it.
When I catch sight of my reflection in the rear-view mirror, I still see the faint shadow of a hickey on my neck that makeup barely hides, and at night, when the house is too quiet, my body remembers what it felt like to be possessed by two strong men so completely.
My phone has become both a blessing and a torment.
The messages that started the same day I arrived home haven’t stopped.
Brookes: Hope the drive wasn’t too rough on you. Those bumpy back roads can be brutal after a long night.
I smiled despite myself and answered honestly.
Me: A little sore, but I survived.
I wanted to ask about how they were. Do men get sore after sex?
I’m sure they overused some muscles in the process of manhandling me, but then again, they’re used to wrangling bigger animals.
But I was so wary of making this what it isn’t supposed to be, I sent a smiley face emoji and walked away from my phone for a while.
From there, Brookes set up a group chat. An actual group chat. He definitely didn’t get the memo on how to walk away from a one-night stand.
The messages were consistent enough that I started looking forward to the buzz of my phone and found it impossible to leave them unanswered.
Mason: Finished moving cattle to the north pasture. Dusty as hell out here. What about you? Are you working today?
Me: Clinic in the morning, then heading out to the Thompson ranch to check on some pregnant heifers.
Brookes: You deal with a lot of ornery animals, don’t you?
Me: More than you’d think. The human ones are the worst. Some of the animals are sweeter than others, though.
Mason: Sounds like our kind of work. Except ours usually weigh a thousand pounds and have horns.
Brookes: Mason got kicked by a yearling yesterday. Swears he’s fine, but he’s limping like an old man.
Mason: Traitor.
I find myself laughing alone in my truck more than once.
They ask small questions that slowly paint a picture of who they are outside of that barn.
Brookes: What kind of music do you listen to when you’re driving between calls?
Me: A bit of everything, but I love old country and folk. Johnny Cash, Loretta Lynn, and some Chris Stapleton when I want something newer. What about you two?
Mason: Classic rock for me — Zeppelin, Eagles, Willie Nelson when I’m feeling sentimental.
Brookes: I’m more into bluegrass and old outlaw country. Music with real storytelling. Fits the long days out on the ranch.
Another afternoon, while I was waiting for a farrier to finish trimming hooves, Mason asked:
Mason: Did you grow up around animals, or did you decide to become a vet later?
Me: Both, I guess. My grandparents had a small farm. I was always following my grandpa around, helping with the horses and goats. But veterinary school was my choice. I liked the idea of being useful to the animals when they couldn’t speak for themselves.
And my mom approved. I don’t tell them that part.
Brookes: That’s a good reason. Respect that.
Mason: So you’re used to the big outdoors. We might make a cowgirl out of you, yet.
They kept the questions gentle, as if slowly peeling back layers.
Brookes: Sunrises or sunsets?
Me: Sunsets, definitely. There’s something peaceful about watching the day end. Like the world is exhaling. You?
Mason: Sunrises. Nothing beats that quiet moment right before the whole ranch wakes up. Feels like the day is full of possibilities.
Brookes: I’m with you on sunsets, Janey. Especially after a hard day. Feels like permission to slow down.
Later that same night, when I was finally home and exhausted, Brookes sent another.
Brookes: What do you do to unwind after a long day?
Me: Honestly? I make a cup of chamomile tea, put on some quiet music, and read. Sometimes I bake if I have the energy… nothing fancy, just cookies or bread. It helps me get out of my head. What about you two?
Mason: Cold beer on the porch, usually. Sometimes I tinker with old engines in the barn if my hands need something to do.
Brookes: I like sitting out by the creek when the weather’s decent. Listening to the water. Clears my mind. You any good at baking?
Me: I’m decent. My cinnamon rolls are pretty popular when I bring them to parties.
Mason: Cinnamon rolls? Now you’re trying to torture us.
The conversations feel easy. Natural. They ask questions like they actually want the answers, rather than making small talk before steering things back to that night in the barn.
They share pieces of themselves, too: stories about growing up on the family ranch, the trouble they used to get into as kids, how they ended up running their own spread together after their father passed.
Little details that make them feel less like the larger-than-life cowboys who had wrecked me so thoroughly, and more like real men.
By the end of the week, I realize I’m checking my phone compulsively, waiting for that familiar buzz like an addict seeking a fix.
And the scariest part is how much I’m starting to enjoy this softer version of them, because the more I let them in with these small, everyday truths, the harder it becomes to convince myself that our night together was a fling.
Mason and Brookes aren’t rushing me.
They’re courting me slowly, in their own gruff, cowboy way.
And I’m not sure how much longer my defenses can hold.
***
Thursday afternoon, I’m parked at a cattle ranch, waiting for the owner to bring out a limping steer.
Brookes: You working today?
Me: Yeah. Out at the Miller place. One of their steers has a bad hoof.
Brookes: Careful around those big bastards. You need us to come rescue you?
Me: I think I can handle one steer, cowboy.
Brookes: We know you can handle two bulls. Still like the idea of riding in to save you.
I bite my lip so hard I almost draw blood. Two.
A minute later, Mason jumps in on the group chat.
Mason: Tell the steer if he gives you any trouble, we’ll come brand his ass.
Me: You two are ridiculous.
Mason: Yeah, but you like it.
Brookes: She does. Don’t forget, Janey, we saw how wet you got when we teased you.
My face flames in the middle of a dusty ranch yard. I quickly lock my phone as the owner walks up.
***
Later that evening, I’m curled up on the couch with a cup of fragrant tea when the messages turn softer.
Mason: I’m bored. And my barn is complaining. There’s no Janey around to mess up the blankets and get straw in her hair. It’s jealous of Wade’s barn.
Brookes: He’s been unbearable since you left. Keeps walking past the barn like he’s hoping you’ll magically appear.
Me: I don’t go around frequenting barns, you know. Wade’s barn was a one-off. There will be no more barn shenanigans.
Mason: What are you even saying? If you were here, I’d put you over my knee.
Oh hell. Would I like that? If the surge of heat between my thighs is anything to go by, then the answer is yes. But no. This is flirting. Nothing's going to come of it.
Brookes: He would, Janey. But don’t worry. I’d kiss it all better.
I squeeze my thighs together, picturing exactly what they’ve described.
We’re in their barn, or at least, my made-up version of their barn, and I’m naked while they’re fully dressed.
I’m bent over Mason’s lap, my breasts hanging, and my ass in the air.
My wrists are secured behind my back with a small piece of rough rope that chafes.
Mason spanks me hard, and I yelp, but then Brookes is there to soothe my hurt with his warm hand and his soft kisses.
When I don’t respond for a while, Mason sends a perspiring emoji.
Mason: She’s imagining it, Brookes. And her sweet little pussy’s all wet and needy.
Me: I’m curled up on the couch reading. Nothing is wet and needy.
Brookes: Are you sure, sweetheart? Because we can help you out. All you have to do is ask.
Me: It was one night.
It seems like the right time to reiterate that fact. But they ignore me.
Mason: I can’t work you out, Janey. You look like sin, and fuck like a devil, but you talk like a good girl. It’s a dangerous combination, sweetheart.
I laugh despite myself, warmth blooming in my chest right alongside the low throb of arousal.
Brookes: Smooth, Mason. Real smooth.
Me: See? This is why I need quiet nights. You two are trouble.
Brookes: Guilty. But you handled trouble pretty well the other night.
Mason: Damn right she did.
Brookes: And she’ll handle it again sometime soon, won’t you, Janey?
I don’t answer, though.
Brookes replies a few minutes later with a photo. It’s a picture of their ranch house with the setting sun behind it, turning the whole place burnished orange. It’s worn in the same way that Wade and Caleb’s ranch is, and homier because of it.
Me: It’s beautiful.
Mason: He’s tempting you with a sunset. Is it working?
Brookes: The sunsets are beautiful here. That’s all I’m saying.
I walk to my window, trying to find my own sunset, but it must be hidden behind other houses.
Me: Sunsets are beautiful everywhere.
***
They send more photos avoiding anything X-rated, thank goodness. Unsolicited dick pics are gross, even when they have perfect dicks like the Fletcher brothers. Receiving one would result in an immediate block.
The cute ones of Mason holding up a tiny orphaned calf he’s bottle-feeding, and Brookes standing next to a new fence line he finished, sweat darkening his shirt, make me smile. They’re little glimpses into their lives that make them feel more real. Glimpses that feel familiar, and more dangerous.
When Mason sends a picture of his barn, accompanied by a sad face emoji, I spit my tea, I laugh so hard.
On Friday morning, I’m between appointments when my phone buzzes again.
Mason: Morning, pretty girl. You sleep okay?
Me: Eventually. Had a very vivid dream.
Mason: Yeah? Were we in it?
Me: I was in a house I didn’t recognize. It was huge. With sprawling rooms. Everything needed redecorating, and all I could think was that I couldn’t handle it.
Brookes: Yes, you could, Janey. If you can handle us, you can handle anything.
Mason: But you don’t have to, Janey. You ever need anything like that, you know where we are.
Mason: Serious question. You free this weekend? We’d like to take you out. Dinner. Maybe a walk somewhere pretty. No barn required… unless you ask real nice.
A fluttery, breathless feeling tightens my chest. This is confirmation that they’re looking for more than another hookup. They’re asking me out. To do date things. That sounds a whole lot like courting. I stare at the message for a long time, thumb hovering.
Part of me wants to say yes immediately.
The same risk taking part that followed them into the barn.
The same part that enjoys their messages, and looks at their photos over and over again.
But the other part—the one raised on my mother’s lectures about reputation, stability, and “not throwing your future away”—is screaming at me to delete the group chat and focus on my real life, not this fantasy version.
Me: I can’t.
I leave it simple. They don’t need to hear about my life or how they’d be perceived.
Mason: Why not?
Me: Please, Mason.
Mason: Please what, sweetheart? Fuck, I love it when you say that word.
Me: Because last time we were together it got… intense. And I can’t deal with that in my real life.
Brookes: We like intense. But we also like you, Janey. Not just your body. Though we definitely like that too. We want more.
Mason follows right after.
Mason: We’re not looking to treat you like a one-night secret. We want to know the girl who bakes cinnamon rolls and handles angry bulls for a living.
I let out a shaky breath, heart pounding way too hard for a text conversation.
Mason: Say yes, sweetheart. Let us take you out. We’ll be gentlemen… mostly.
Mostly.
I put my phone down, telling myself I need to think, but what's there to think about? I know what I need to do. It might be very different from what I want to do, but duty trumps desire. My mother drummed that in early.
Deep down, I already know I’m going to say no, but I give myself the illusion of choice. The alternative is too depressing.
Saying no is the only option.
It was supposed to be one wild night, but Mason and Brookes Fletcher have already started working their way under my skin.
I have to cut this off before it hurts us all.