Chapter 7 #2
“Don’t bother.” Dad’s voice is cold now, which is somehow worse than the yelling. “Just... stay away from the McCoys, Callie. I mean it. Nothing good can come from getting involved with those people.”
“Dad—”
“Nothing good,” he repeats, and walks out of the kitchen, leaving me standing in the wreckage.
I look down at the ruined newspaper clipping, the words bleeding together in orange juice stains, and I can’t help but think that maybe it’s time for some things to be washed away.
Later that night, I’m lying in bed staring at my phone, trying to decide if I’m brave or just stupid.
Dad’s words echo in my head: “Stay away from the McCoys.” But his words are competing with the memory of the night I had with them under the stars, the way it felt to be surrounded by all three, wanted by all three.
It was heady. Delicious. And I want to do it again. I shouldn’t. But I do.
The smart thing would be to listen to Dad. To stay home, keep my head down, and pretend the last few weeks never happened. The smart thing would be to focus on the fundraiser, get through Founders’ Day, and then go back to my quiet, predictable life.
The problem is, I’ve never been particularly smart when it comes to things like that.
I roll over and grab my phone from the nightstand. It’s 11:47 p.m. Way too late to be texting anyone, especially three guys who probably think I’m more trouble than I’m worth after this morning’s disaster.
But my fingers are already typing before my brain can stop me.
Me: Are you awake? And more importantly, do you think Rita would make a good rodeo clown? Because she’s got the whole ‘cause chaos and run away’ thing down to an art form.
I hit send before I can chicken out, then immediately regret it. What if they don’t respond? What if they’ve realized this whole thing is a bad idea and decided to cut their losses? What if they’re asleep and I wake them up just to ramble about my goat’s career prospects?
My phone buzzes almost immediately.
Jesse: Rita would be the best rodeo clown in the state. Also, yes, I’m awake.
Then another buzz.
Wyatt: Awake. Thinking about you.
And another.
Boone: Wide awake. Want company?
My heart does something acrobatic in my chest. They’re all awake. They’re all responding. They all want to see me.
But doubt creeps in almost immediately. What if Dad’s right? What if this is all some elaborate plan to get back at my family? What if I’m being naive and setting myself up for heartbreak?
I start typing:
Me: I don’t know if this is a good idea.
Then I delete it and type more.
Me: My dad thinks you’re using me.
Delete.
Me: What if we get caught?
Delete.
Finally, I settle.
Me: Meet me at the property line in ten minutes?
The responses come back rapid-fire:
Jesse: Already heading out.
Wyatt: On my way.
Boone: Race you there.
I slip out of bed and grab jeans and a hoodie. My bare feet are silent on the hardwood floors as I creep downstairs, carefully avoiding the spots that creak.
The back door opens with the softest whisper, and I step out into the night.
The night air is sharp and cool. There’s no moon, which makes the darkness complete except for the stars. The silence is profound, broken only by the distant sound of cattle.
I make my way to my truck, my heart pounding with anticipation. Every step takes me farther from the safety of home and closer to whatever this... thing is.
The guys are there when I arrive, three shadows leaning against the fence. In the darkness, I can barely make out their faces, but I can feel their presence, and that their attentions are focused entirely on me.
“Hey,” I say softly.
“Hey yourself,” Jesse replies, his voice warm in the darkness.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Wyatt asks.
“Couldn’t stop thinking,” I admit.
“About what?” Boone wants to know.
“About stuff. About my dad. About how bizarre everything has gotten.”
“Bizarre doesn’t have to be bad,” Jesse says, pushing off from the fence to move closer.
“No? Because from where I’m standing, bizarre looks a lot like impossible.”
“We’ve talked about this,” Wyatt says. “Impossible is just another word for difficult.”
“My dad found out I was on your property the other night. Mrs. Delaney saw me.”
“Damn she’s a nosy old bitty,” Boone mutters. “How’d he react?”
“There was lots of talk about family loyalty and how your family has tried to ruin ours.”
“What did you tell him?” Wyatt asks.
“The truth. That Rita got loose and I had to get her.”
“And?”
“And he thinks you’re all using me to get back at him somehow.”
Jesse laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Using you for what? Your superior goat-wrangling skills?”
“For information. For access. For revenge.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Boone says.
“Is it? Because the way my dad tells it, your family’s been plotting against mine for thirty years.”
“The way your dad tells it, we probably caused global warming and the national debt too,” Jesse points out.
Despite everything, I smile. “Don’t give him ideas.”
The silence stretches between us, comfortable but charged with possibility.
“Callie,” Wyatt says, his voice serious. “You know that’s not what this is, right? You know we’re not using you for anything except... this. Whatever this is between us.”
“I know. At least, I think I know. But knowing and convincing my dad are two different things.”
“So what do you want to do?” Boone asks.
“I want to stop thinking about my dad and feuds and consequences,” I say. “I am just so done with this crap.”
“What do you want instead?” Jesse’s voice is closer now, close enough that I can feel his breath on my cheek.
“I want to be reckless. I want to do something reckless and impulsive and maybe crazy.”
“How crazy?” Wyatt asks.
“The kind of crazy that involves sneaking into your barn and forgetting about everything except the way you guys make me feel.”
The silence that follows is charged.
“That’s crazy,” Boone says, nodding.
“Good,” I breathe. “I’m tired of being safe.”
Jesse’s hand finds mine in the darkness. “Are you sure?”
“No. But I’m sure I don’t care.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Wyatt asks.
Nothing, apparently. Because the next thing I know, we’re all moving toward their barn, my hand still in Jesse’s, my heart racing with anticipation and terror and the kind of reckless joy that comes from jumping off a cliff and hoping someone will catch you.
Or in this case, hoping three someones will catch you.
The barn door barely closes before Jesse’s got me pressed against the wall, his mouth hot and demanding. There’s nothing gentle about him. It’s just pure, undiluted want and it makes my knees weak.
“Fuck,” he breathes against my lips. “Been thinking about this all day.”
“Just thinking?” I challenge, nipping at his lower lip hard enough to make him groan.
“Among other activities,” he admits, his hands working their way under my hoodie.
Wyatt’s behind me, his chest solid against my back. “This is crazy, good crazy,” he says, but his hands are sliding around my waist, fingers splaying possessively over my stomach.
“Good,” I breathe, grinding back against him in a way that makes him curse. “I’m done being careful.”
“Thank God,” Boone mutters from somewhere on my left. “Careful is boring.”
Jesse pulls back just enough to yank my hoodie over my head, leaving me in a thin tank top that does nothing to hide how affected I am. His eyes go dark as he takes in the view.
“Jesus, Callie.”
“Less talking,” I demand, grabbing his shirt and pulling him back to me. “More doing.”
“Bossy,” Wyatt murmurs against my ear, his teeth grazing my neck in a way that sends heat straight through me.
“You have no idea,” I gasp, then prove it by reaching back to grab his hair, holding him against my throat.
The tack room is small and smells like leather and sweat, which is appropriate, considering what we’re about to do. Boone kicks the door shut behind us while Jesse backs me toward the makeshift couch someone made out of old saddle blankets and a broken bench.
“Someone might hear us,” Wyatt says, but he’s already pulling his shirt off, and holy hell, the sight of his chest in the dim light makes my mouth water.
“Then we’ll have to be quiet,” I say, which is a complete lie because the moment Jesse’s mouth finds that spot just below my ear, I let out a sound that’s definitely not quiet.
“So much for that plan,” Boone laughs, working on his belt. “Maybe we should gag you.”
“Maybe you should,” I shoot back, which is the wrong thing to say because suddenly all three of them are looking at me like I’m prey and they haven’t eaten in days.
“Careful what you ask for, pretty girl,” Jesse warns, his voice rough with want.
“I’m not asking,” I tell him, pulling my tank top over my head in one smooth motion. “I’m demanding.”
The effect is immediate and satisfying. Wyatt actually groans, Boone drops his belt, and Jesse looks like he might combust on the spot.
“Fuck me,” Boone breathes.
“That’s the plan,” I say, reaching for the button on my jeans. “Unless you three are all talk.”
That breaks whatever restraint they had left.
Jesse’s on me first, his mouth everywhere including my lips, my throat, and my collarbone while his hands work on getting my jeans off. Wyatt’s behind me again, his hands sliding up my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts through my bra in a way that makes me arch into him.
“Off,” I demand, fumbling with the clasp.
“Let me,” Boone says, reaching around to unhook it with practiced ease.
“Smooth,” I gasp as the bra disappears.
“I have skills.” He grins, then proves it by dropping to his knees in front of me.
“Boone, what are you doing? Oh fuck.”
His mouth is on my pussy through my underwear, and the sensation makes my legs buckle. Jesse and Wyatt have to hold me up as Boone works me with his tongue, the cotton barrier making everything more frustrating and intense.
“These need to go,” he announces, hooking his fingers in my waistband.
“Then stop talking and take them off,” I pant.