Page 93 of Filthy Fae

1

Amber

With a shimmy of my hips, I danced across the kitchen to the tune of “Last Christmas” streaming from the satellite radio. Using my best dramatic flourish, I placed a cherry on top of the loaf of fruitcake that Holden had requested for reasons I couldn’t comprehend. I mean, it did have an awful lot of alcohol in it, but I still didn’t understand the appeal. But one of my boys had made a special request, and I meant to honor it. Holden never asked for anything, and it was the season of giving. Waylon had been his usual difficult self and told me he didn’t need anything, and damned if I could think of one thing he’d want. Sawyer was easy. He’d asked for extra blow jobs.

Outside, I heard the crunch of tires on the snow, and my heart leapt. But when I looked out, it was an unfamiliar black Jeep.

Must be a new mailman, I thought as I turned down the volume on the holiday station. Maybe the guys had gotten me something special, and I could snoop while they were out working. I’d had zero luck finding their gifts, and I’d searched the house from top to bottom under the ruse of giving it a good cleaning for our Christmas guest. Their mother, Lidia, always made sure to tell me that I wasn’t doing my job if there was so much as a throw pillow out of place on the couch.

Shoving my feet in a pair of winter boots, I grabbed a scarf and ran out the front door, winding my scarf as I went. And just as it was obscuring my vision, I hit a slick patch.

My legs shot out from under me, my arms flailed, and the next thing I knew I was flying through the air like a blindfolded skydiver. I finally hit a bit of luck when I landed in the snow instead of on the steps. I broke through the crunchy surface layer of the snow and sank into the soft whiteness below, wishing I could disappear entirely. But there was a mailman to greet and a package to collect, so I picked myself up, dusted off my sweater, and pried loose the scarf that had affixed itself to my face as I fell.

The Jeep was still idling in the driveway. I clomped over to it, trying to catch my breath after the scare. The window rolled down, and a guy in a black felt cowboy hat looked out at me.

“Sup?” I said, trying to look like I’d totally meant to faceplant off the porch.

“You all right there, miss?”

“Me? Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” I said, waving a hand dismissively. “Happens all the time.”

That part was pretty much true, but I was also stalling for time while I collected myself. I saw no mail in sight. In fact, he didn’t even have the little mail truck topper that our usual lady had. In the year I’d been there, mostly women had visited the farm trying to sniff out gossip. When a man came, it was to borrow some piece of farm equipment, and the guys had always been around. I wasn’t quite sure what to say to a strange man who’d stopped by. My New York roots had given be a healthy dose of suspicion toward all strangers.

“Anyway,” I said after an awkward silence. “I wasn’t expecting a visitor today. Did you need something? I mean, not that you can’t just stop by for neighborly reasons, because you totally can. I’m sure the guys would love to have another guy around. Not that they don’t have each other, but you know. Guy time and all that.”

“It’s okay,” he said, cutting me off before I could really get going on one of my verbal torrents.

My mind flashed to something Mr. Grimes had said about everyone lining up to get a turn with me, and how I shouldn’t be surprised that he wanted a turn, too. And Natalie saying people around here talked. By now, everyone probably knew I was up here taking it from my three stepbrothers like a champ. Hell, it had probably traveled on the wind like the first hint of spring after the long Wyoming winter, and they’d known I wasn’t a virgin the second Waylon’s big beautiful cock popped my cherry last winter.

I stepped away from the Jeep, a funny feeling edging into my tummy as the guy just stared at me. Maybe I had horse dung stuck to my face from my earlier chores or flour from my fruitcake attempt. I discretely wiped my cheek with the back of my wrist, hoping it was flour and I hadn’t touched a bunch of food while sporting a dung facial. Still, it might be better than some lonely rancher coming out here to ask if he could have a night with me to ease his holiday blues. He looked like he had the holiday blues. His soulful brown eyes were guarded and sad. He also looked vaguely familiar, so I must have seen him around town or down at the bar at some point during the past year, though I couldn’t recall a name or even where I’d seen him.

“Want me to get the guys?” I asked when he didn’t explain his presence further.

“No, that’s okay,” he said, opening the door and stepping out. He was average height for a guy, but broad-shouldered and muscular, with dark hair under his hat and a handsome, serious face. “I spoke to you on the phone,” he said. “About renting one of your cabins.”

“Oh,” I said, realization dawning. “Really? I could swear I knew you from around here. Let me just…I guess I’ll show you to it, then.”

It was our first renter this winter—Wade Johnson. I’d known he was coming, but we’d never finalized details. Apparently, he hadn’t felt the need to wait for a confirmation date or, you know, to pay. I’d expected a group of college students or at least a couple. Not just one guy.

“I wasn’t expecting you today,” I said. “But the cabin’s ready. I got them all ready before I even put the word out.”

“Good,” he said, heading for them while I trotted to keep up.

“I might need you to, um, you know. Pay?”

“I did all that online,” he said. Damn, I’d have to go check. I didn’t think he had, but then, I’d let the guys deal with it if not. They might tell me I was a pain in the ass and to forget the whole renting business, but they wouldn’t want me to get into it with this guy any more than I wanted to. He looked like he could throw me over his shoulder and carry me off like a caveman if he got the notion.

As we walked toward the cabins, I told myself I was overreacting. Not every guy was a creeper like Mr. Grimes. This guy had an intense stare, but at least he’d studied my face and not undressed me with his eyes. Still, I hadn’t lived in New York for eighteen years without learning a thing or two about being properly suspicious. No amount of money in the world could have compelled me to go into that cabin alone with Wade Johnson.

“You live on this ranch?” he asked when we reached the cabin.

“Yep,” I said. “Me and the guys. They’ll be out to greet you in a little bit. They’re all busy right now, but they’re close by. I can yell for them if you want to see them, too. Just so if you see us around, you’ll know who belongs here.”

“Anyone else live here?” he asked, glancing at the last cabin.

“Nope,” I said. “Just us four.” We’d debated hiring someone new after we’d had to fire the Grimeses for being judgmental assholes, but after much debate, they had decided not to hire someone new. It had been hard on the boys, who had to work from dawn ‘til dusk without Mr. Grimes around to lend a hand. I knew they hadn’t looked for a new ranch hand because of me—they didn’t want to risk anyone finding concrete evidence about our unique relationship and calling me a slut. Worse, they’d risk someone exposing me to the media.

“Huh.” Wade said. He stood on the porch of his cabin and planted his hands on his hips while I stood at the bottom of the steps. I wasn’t going any further. “Must be a lot of work,” he said after a minute. “Don’t you have some ranch hands?”