Chapter 5 - Rebecca
five
Rebecca
I'm getting good at this ranch life thing.
Since I stumbled into Joseph's world, I can honestly say I've never felt more capable.
I can herd Bertha without ending up in a water trough.
The chickens and I have reached a détente where Gladys only tries to murder me on Tuesdays.
I've helped deliver a calf, treated three cases of minor lameness, and yesterday I successfully repaired a section of fence that didn't immediately fall over.
Joseph's been... attentive. That's the polite way to put it. The less polite way is that he watches me constantly with an intensity that makes my skin tingle. We haven't kissed again since that afternoon in the barn, but the tension between us has been building like pressure in a kettle.
Every accidental touch sends sparks through me.
Every time he explains something, standing close enough that I can feel his body heat, I have to fight not to lean into him.
And the way he looks at me when he thinks I'm not paying attention—like he's imagining all the things he promised to do to me in a proper bed—makes my knees weak.
I'm starting to think I don't want to leave at all.
I'm checking on the herd in the back pasture, enjoying the morning sun and the way the cattle have finally accepted me as part of their routine, when I spot the dust cloud on the horizon.
Vehicles. Moving fast.
My stomach drops. In this world, vehicles moving with purpose toward isolated ranches rarely bring good news.
I'm already running toward the house when Joseph appears, rifle in hand, expression grim.
"You see them?" he asks.
"Three trucks. Maybe four." I'm breathing hard from the sprint. "How long?"
"Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen." He hands me a pistol. "Iron Wolves?"
"Has to be." My hands shake as I check the magazine. "I should go. If I leave now—"
"No." His voice is flat, final. "We handle this together."
"Joseph, they're here because of me. Because they know survivors from Clearwater scattered and they're tracking us down."
"They're here because they want my cattle. You're just an excuse."
"But—"
"No." He grips my shoulders, forcing me to meet his eyes. "You don't run from fights you can win, remember? Well, we can win this one."
"How do you know?"
"Because I've been preparing for this day for three years. And because I've got you."
The faith in his voice steadies me. I nod, pushing down the fear. "What's the plan?"
"They'll try to intimidate first. Demand tribute, threaten violence if we don't comply." His jaw tightens. "We make it clear that's not happening."
"And then?"
"Then we convince them to find easier prey."
The trucks roar into the yard fifteen minutes later—four of them, just like I predicted. Men pile out, armed and aggressive, exactly what I expected from the Iron Wolves. But my blood turns to ice when I see who's leading them.
George. The same bastard who led the assault on Clearwater.
"Well, well," he calls out, spotting me on the porch. "Rebecca Rennick. We've been looking for you."
"I bet you have," I call back, surprised by how steady my voice sounds.
"You led us on quite a chase. But we figured you'd surface eventually. Survivors always do." He grins, showing a missing tooth. "And look what we found. A nice little operation, good man, valuable livestock. This is working out better than expected."
Joseph steps into view, rifle held casually but ready. "That's close enough."
"Easy there, friend." George spreads his hands in a gesture of false peace. "We're not here for trouble. Just want to talk business."
"I don't do business with the Iron Wolves."
"Smart man. We've got a reputation." George's grin turns threatening. "Here's how this works. You give us half your herd, plus the woman, and we leave you alone. Refuse, and we take everything. Including your life."
"Counter offer," Joseph says calmly. "You leave now, and I don't put a bullet in your head."
George laughs. "You see any other ranches out here, boys? Any other places to run if this goes bad?" He gestures to his men, who spread out in a practiced formation. "You're outnumbered and isolated. Be smart about this."
"I am being smart." Joseph's voice drops to that dangerous rumble I remember from our first kiss. "I'm protecting what's mine."
The words send heat spiraling through me despite the danger. His. When did I become his?
When did I want to be?
"Last chance," George says. "Hand over the woman and half the cattle, or we take it all."
"Over my dead body."
"That can be arranged."
That's when I make my choice. Not to run, not to hide, but to fight for this place that's become home and the man who's become everything.
"George!" I call out, stepping fully into view. "You want me? Come and get me."
What happens next is chaos, but not the kind I expected. I dive sideways as Joseph opens fire—warning shots that send the Iron Wolves scrambling for cover. I roll behind the water trough and start shooting too, aiming high, making noise, showing we're not helpless.
The Iron Wolves are tough, but they're used to terrorizing defenseless settlements, not facing organized resistance. Joseph moves with tactical precision, using every bit of cover, every angle of the ranch layout to his advantage. We're outnumbered, but we know this ground and they don't.
I do my part, keeping them pinned down, making them realize this isn't going to be the easy score they expected.
When one of the raiders tries to flank us through the barn, I put shots close enough to make him think twice.
When another goes for the cattle, thinking to use them as leverage, Joseph drives him back with a series of shots that kick up dirt at his feet.
"This is bullshit!" one of George's men shouts from behind their truck. "I didn't sign up to get shot at over a few cows!"
"Neither did I," another agrees. "There's easier prey out there, boss."
George looks around at his men—some wounded, all shaken, none of them eager to continue a fight against dug-in defenders who clearly know what they're doing.
"This isn't over," he shouts across the yard.
"Yes, it is," Joseph calls back calmly. "Because you're going to spread the word that this ranch is protected. That anyone who comes here looking for trouble will find more than they bargained for."
"You can't watch your back forever!"
"Don't have to. Word gets out that the Iron Wolves got their asses kicked by two people defending their home, how many settlements are going to roll over for you next time?"
The silence stretches, and I can practically see George doing the math. They came here expecting an easy score—lone man, maybe some cattle to steal. Instead they found a coordinated defense that bloodied their nose and made them look weak.
In a world where reputation is everything, that's almost as bad as losing a fight.
"Mount up," George finally orders his men. "This place isn't worth the cost."
They pile into their trucks, some limping, all looking thoroughly demoralized. As they drive away, George leans out the window for one last parting shot.
"You got lucky today. Don't expect it to last."
"I don't believe in luck," Joseph replies. "I believe in being prepared."
The trucks disappear down the valley road, leaving us alone with our racing hearts and the realization that we did it. We actually did it.
"Is it over?" I ask, still gripping my pistol.
"For now. Word will spread that the Iron Wolves hit organized resistance and backed down. Should make other raider groups think twice before coming here."
We spend the next hour checking the property—making sure no equipment was damaged, calming the cattle who got spooked by the gunfire, securing anything that got knocked around during the confrontation.
By the time we're done, the sun is setting and adrenaline is crashing. This time, when I look at him, it’s like I’m seeing him in a brand new light.
I cross to him and kiss him hard.
This time I don't pull away. I don't need more time. I don't need anything except his hands on me and the confirmation that we're both alive.
He responds instantly, backing me against the hay bales. I tear at his shirt, needing skin. He yanks mine over my head and his mouth is on my neck, my shoulder, moving lower.
Then he's kissing down my stomach, my hip, spreading my thighs wide.
"Need to taste you," he says, voice rough. "Been thinking about this for too long."
"Yes."
His tongue drags through my folds and I nearly come off the hay. He groans against me like I'm the best thing he's ever tasted, then gets to work in earnest.
No teasing. No building. Just his mouth on my clit, his tongue circling and flicking while two thick fingers push inside me. The stretch makes me gasp. I haven’t been touched like this since before the world went to hell.
"Jesus, you're so wet," he growls against me. "So fucking perfect."
He pumps his fingers while his mouth works my clit, and the dual sensation is devastating. I'm already close, thighs shaking, hands fisted in his hair.
"Joseph, I'm—"
"Come for me," he orders, and sucks hard.
I shatter. My whole body convulses as the orgasm rips through me, and he doesn't stop—keeps licking, keeps fingering me through it until I'm gasping and oversensitive.
When he finally pulls back, his beard is wet and his eyes are dark with hunger. He strips out of his jeans and I get my first look at him fully naked. Broad chest, narrow hips, thick muscular thighs.
And his cock, wow, his cock is gorgeous. Thick and hard and already leaking. He pushes inside slowly and the stretch is intense. He's thick, even thicker than I expected, and I have to breathe through it as he works himself deeper.
"Fuck," he groans when he's fully seated. "You're so tight. So perfect." He starts slow, long deep strokes that make me feel every inch of him. But I need more. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and his control snaps.
The pace turns brutal. Hard and fast and desperate, three weeks of tension finally exploding. The hay scratches my back and I don't care. The barn fills with the wet sounds of our bodies and our gasps and I don't care.
"Touch yourself," he orders, voice strained. "I want to feel you come on my cock."
I slide my hand between us, fingers finding my clit. The added sensation makes me cry out.
"That's it," he growls. "Let me feel it."
The orgasm builds fast and fierce. When it hits, I clench around him so hard he spasms, his rhythm faltering. My inner walls pulse around his thickness as pleasure crashes through me.
"Fuck, Rebecca." He thrusts twice more and follows me over with a groan, spilling hot inside me.
We collapse together, both breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin.
"I'm staying," I say against his shoulder.
He pulls back to look at me, eyes searching. "What?"
"I'm staying. Not just for the next few weeks. Permanently."
He kisses me deep, and I feel him already starting to harden inside me. "Good," he says, rolling us so I'm on top. His hands grip my hips. "Because I'm nowhere near done with you yet."
I sit up, taking him deeper, and we both groan at the angle. From here I can see all of him—his broad chest, the muscles of his stomach, the place where we're joined.
"Ride me," he orders, hands guiding my hips. "Show me you're mine."
I do. Start slowly, lifting up until just the head of his cock is inside me, then sinking back down. The friction is perfect. His hands on my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples, make it better.
"Faster," he growls.
I pick up the pace, riding him hard while he watches with dark hungry eyes. When his thumb finds my clit again, I'm already close.
"Come on my cock," he demands. "Let me see you fall apart."
I do. The orgasm hits even harder than the first, and I feel him swell inside me before he follows.
The world may be going to hell, but at least sex is still great.