Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
I dismount, securing Bristol to the nearest post. The bunkhouse door is open, and the scent of cleaning supplies wafts from inside.
“Taylor. You in there?”
“Yeah,” she calls. I make my way inside, finding everything looking great. The beds all have fresh blue bedding. The place has been dusted, swept, and mopped. The bathroom is practically sparkling.
Taylor’s wearing cut-off shorts and a green tank, and her hair is in a ponytail that swishes as she cleans a mirror. My cock thickens at the sight of her thighs and the memory of her sweet pussy.
Last night, she slept in Maverick’s bed.
Tonight, it’s my turn. If I tread carefully, that is.
Things are difficult between us all. Taylor feels responsible for the blowout on my birthday, even though I assured her it’s all on me. I should have been honest with my sister, but I didn’t want to hear all the reasons why what I want isn’t a good idea.
“Mitch will be here soon,” I say. “Is there anything else that needs to be done?”
“Just take the cleaning supplies outside,” she says.
“Okay.”
I grab the bin that contains the cleaning supplies and carry the mop and bucket towards the door. Outside, I tip the dirty water in a patch of dirt away from the bunkhouse. I don’t want anyone tramping dirty footprints inside to ruin Taylor’s hard work.
She emerges with window spray and a cloth in her hand, blowing wispy hairs away from her sweaty forehead. The weather is warm for hard work. I’m used to it, but Taylor seems to be struggling.
The rattle and rumble of a truck approaching on uneven ground draws our attention, and Taylor drops what she’s holding and rests her hands on her hips.
They’re about ten minutes earlier than I expected, but to be honest, we may as well get this show on the road. I push away a twinge of unease. I’ve got too many plates spinning at once, which makes me antsy.
The three young men emerge from the truck in a whirlwind of energy and foul language. Their disheveled appearance is pretty standard. The taller and shiftiest looking of the three trails his beady eyes over Taylor’s body before licking the corners of his pursed, dry lips. He reminds me of a malnourished weasel, the sort I’ve found in traps. As he breaks into a smile, the teeth he still has in his head are stained and chipped.
“Who’s this pretty?”
Taylor tenses, giving off panic signals. I rest my hand on her shoulder, feeling the tension there and hoping my closeness will go some way to reassure her she’s safe.
When Mitch exits his truck and introduces the latest recruits, his tone is off. His usual jovial, upbeat attitude has been replaced with awkward silence, and he avoids eye contact. He coughs and acknowledges Taylor with a tip of his hat. He must be pissed if he’s risking a negative first impression on these juveniles.
“This is Jesse, who owns Twin Springs Ranch, and will be your go-to if you have any questions. And this is Taylor, the wife of Clint who’s one of the other cowboys here. She’s to be treated with respect at all times. Any problems, Jesse will call me, and it will be dealt with in the same way that a misdemeanor is dealt with back at the penitentiary, okay?”
Two of the men nod, but the weasel’s only response is a slight twitch of his lips. Where Mitch would usually seek verbal agreement, today, he simply moves on.
“Brian, Michael, Tom. I know you won’t let me down.”
So, Brian is the weasel. Michael and Tom seem slightly more reserved, but I know better than to give any of them the benefit of the doubt until they’ve earned my trust. We’ve had a mixed bag of hard workers who are focused on learning what they can while they’re here and men who don’t know the meaning of hard work or respect.
Although Mitch selects them, it’s easier to behave when under tight restrictions. When there’s an element of freedom, people react differently. Tom has bright red hair and a spattering of rusty freckles to match. He has the healthiest appearance of the three and I notice that he’s strong and toned and looks ready for hard graft. Michael is stocky but too quiet for comfort. His thick, dark hair is cropped short, and he has a huge snake tattoo coiling from shoulder to shoulder around the back of his neck and visible above the collar of his relaxed-fit t-shirt. Taylor’s eyes flit between the three of them before she drops her gaze to her hands momentarily.
Mitch shifts uncomfortably, hauling the waistband of his pants up beneath his big belly. “I should be getting back.”
Taylor glances from one of us to the other, her expression pained, conscious of the tension between us. “Do you want to stay for coffee, Mitch? I’m heading back now. How about a bite to eat?” She touches her hair awkwardly under the hungry leer of our new hands. Her obvious vulnerability and unease make me want to sweep her up and keep her safe.