Shadow Maverick Ranch Box Set Page 32

  She fisted his hair, forcing his head up. “Race ya to the finish.”

  His fingers dug into her ass. She’d have bruises tomorrow.

  “You first.” His voice was tortured, hoarse with the same need that coursed through her.

  She didn’t wait for further instruction. She tightened her inner muscles and rocked her hips. The thick patch of hair at his groin teased her swollen clit, urging her to move faster.

  Sweat thickened the air and the sweet scent of sex filled her nose. Her lungs burned, her body sizzled with the telltale sign of her orgasm.

  She found his mouth, pressed a breathy kiss against his lips as stars exploded behind her eyelids. Her cry filled her ears, followed by a grunt from Clay as he twitched, and pumped his release into the condom.

  Ainsley collapsed against his chest, his T-shirt absorbing the sweat on her face. He hadn’t even completely undressed. She’d fucked her cowboy with his boots still on.

  A giggle escaped her lips.

  Good lord. She never giggled. Ever.

  So much for your life not changing.

  Cradled in the warmth of Clay’s arms, she couldn’t find a single reason to be upset about it either.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Clay wiped the sweat from his brow and shoved his hat back in place. He stomped the mud off his boots, then swiped them over the floor-mounted wire brush to take care of what was left.

  Hand on the doorknob, he took a deep breath.

  His fucking nerves were shot. He hadn’t had a solid night’s sleep in … he couldn’t remember—and not entirely due to pleasurable reasons.

  He’d been wrestling for weeks with the information contained in the folder he held, but finally, he had a workable plan.

  Now all he had to do was convince his family it was the right move.

  His dad glanced up from the newspaper as Clay stepped through the ranch office door. Gavin sat next to their dad, flipping through a magazine.

  “Afternoon, son.”

  “Hiya, Pops.” Clay took in the crisp button-down and stain-free jeans Pops wore. Whatever his parents had done while on their European summer vacation—and Clay didn’t want to know the gritty details—it appeared to have hit the spot. Home three weeks and Pops still looked relaxed, younger. The man walked around with a smile plastered on his face more often than not these days, and Clay was damn glad for it. After more than forty years of ranching, Pops deserved some fun in his life.

  “How’d it go out there today?” Pops folded the paper and set it aside.

  Clay slapped Gavin on the shoulder in greeting and slid into his usual seat at the round table. “Went good. A bull got out. Took two hours to track and rope the ornery sucker. No harm done other than a section or two of fence needin’ to be repaired. Crew’s already on it. Where’s Pax?”

  Gavin drummed his fingers against the table. “Should be here any minute. I hope this little powwow you’ve called is good news on the little recon job you’ve been doing. I could use some good news today.”

  Clay bit his tongue. Ainsley wasn’t a fucking recon job.

  Keeping his family’s interest in her ranch a secret from Ainsley had damn near killed him. More than once he’d started to talk to her about Gavin’s last offer and his own possible solution, but he waited, wanting to be able to give her options.

  Ainsley was smart. Resourceful. Had great instincts. She had every reason to be bitter and angry about her past, yet she looked at the world as though each day brought a new, exciting adventure.

  He wanted her opinions, her thoughts … wanted to share his with her. So, yeah. Keeping his not-so-little secret had been the hardest thing he’d ever done.

  Not that she’d been forthcoming as to what her plans were. After explaining why she’d sold the cattle, she’d clammed up tight.

  He knew her well enough now to know there was something brewing in that pretty head of hers. He wanted to be pissed she didn’t share it with him, but then that would be the pot and kettle scenario.

  That shit stopped now. No matter the outcome of this little meeting, Clay would head back to Ainsley’s to lay his cards on the table. All the cards.

  He wanted more than the six weeks they’d spent together. That meant no more secrets.

  “Problems?” Clay asked.

  Gavin scrubbed a hand over his shadowed jaw. “Delay out at the house. Could mean it won’t be done in time for the wedding.”

  Clay winced. “Ouch.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it,” Gavin said. “Lauren had her heart set on not going back to the fishing cabin after the honeymoon. Fucking kills me to disappoint her like that.”

  Clay could relate. His gut churned each time Ainsley so much as frowned. “Was she real upset?”

  “Was who upset?” Pax asked as he came through the door.

  “There’s been a delay finishing Gavin’s house,” Pops explained.

  “Lauren took it like a champ,” Gavin said. “I know better. She doesn’t want me to feel bad about it.”

  “You’ve got yourself a good woman there, boy. You do right by her. Bring in extra help if that’s what it takes to get it done.”

  Gavin smirked. “Yes, sir. I’m already on it.”

  Pops addressed Pax as he took his seat. “Don’t know what you’re grinnin’ about. While I’m damn proud of you for gettin’ rid of that old house, I don’t expect Reese will put up with visiting you in the bunkhouse much longer. Any luck finding a house?”

  Pax tipped the edge of his hat until Clay could see the humor in his gaze. “No, sir. Still lookin’. I’m starting to think Gavin’s got the right idea. I’d rather build Reese her dream home than let her settle for close enough. Problem is, her dream is to have an old farmhouse. Hard to build her one of those.”

  Clay wondered what kind of house Ainsley would want—if she had a choice. He’d bet she’d go for functional over fancy any day of the week.

  “Then you’ll keep lookin’.” Pops hitched a thumb at Clay. “Now if we could get this one to settle down, your momma would be on cloud nine.”

  Clay sat forward, his stomach a mass of knots and nerves. “Momma’s gonna have to wait a little longer for that slice of paradise.” Not too long, if he had his way. “But that brings me to why we’re here.”

  “You’re settling down?” Pax asked.

  Clay ignored him, focusing on first-things-first. He opened the folder and pulled out copies of the report. He passed them around. “Nelson Ranch. As you know, I’ve been spending a lot of time with Ainsley. I’ve seen every available square mile of her property as it stands today. I can tell you, the rumor she sold her cattle isn’t a rumor. It’s a fact.”

  “So, any purchase wouldn’t include stock,” Pops said.

  “That’s right. Which makes the last offer for land and livestock Gavin gave me…” Clay absently reached for his duffel, only to realize he’d left it at Ainsley’s. “Well, I don’t have it with me, but it doesn’t matter. The offer’s no good.”

  “What’s this?” Pax picked up the spreadsheet.

  “I had Tom work up some numbers.”

  Gavin looked affronted. “Tom worked this up? When?”

  Gavin’s long-time friend and financial advisor had been more than willing to help Clay with this project.

  “I met up with him about a month ago when Pax and I were in Galveston doing storm repair. Pax made a run for supplies, so I walked down the beach to Tom’s place hoping to catch him at home.”

  “He didn’t say anything,” Gavin grumbled.

  “I asked him not to. I wanted to keep this to myself until I knew it would work.”

  “Knew what would work, son? What is all this?”

  Here goes.

  Clay stood. “I’m proposing a new deal.” He pulled a map from the file and slid it to the center of the table where they could all see. “These sections here,” he tapped the three areas he’d marked.

  “She’s willing to sell those parcels?” Gavin sounde
d skeptical.

  Clay’s pulse skittered. “It’s more complicated than that.”

  “I’ve obviously missed some things in my absence,” Pops said. “You wanna catch me up, son?”

  Clay talked for twenty minutes. When he fell silent, he glanced around the table, and his stomach dropped. Dead stares and scowls all around.

  This can’t be good.

  Goddamn, that hurt. He hadn’t realized how important their support was to him. Too late to turn back now. Might as well finish what he started.

  “I need you to understand … I’m taking this deal to Ainsley. Whether the name on the offer is Shadow Maverick or Clayton Mathis is up to the three of you.”

  This decision had been one of the primary reasons for his lack of sleep lately. He had looked at it from every angle, and it always came back to the same point. Being with Ainsley felt right. It was as if he’d found a piece of himself he hadn’t realized was missing.

  Pax jerked back as though Clay had sucker punched him. “You’d run your own brand?”

  Something inside him split in two. “If I had to, yes.” God, it would kill him, but he wouldn’t hesitate.

  “You’ve been hanging around Ainsley’s place for what? A month? Two?”

  Clay met his dad’s gaze. “About halfway in-between. Doesn’t change how I feel about this.”

  Pops’ bushy eyebrows shot up. “And how’s that?”

  All. In.

  “I love her, Pops.” In the rip-his-heart-out-of-his-chest-and-present-it-to-her-on-his-knees kind of way. “You talked to Gavin and Pax about taking care of their women. That’s what I’m trying to do. Ainsley’s mine. It may seem fast to you—”

  Pops stopped him with a hand. “Nothing’s fast when you know what you want, boy. I knew the second I laid eyes on your momma I was going to spend my life with her. I reckon Gavin and Pax knew right off about their gals, too.”

  When his brothers nodded, Clay fell back into his chair, exhausted. “I know this deal wasn’t what you were hoping for,” he directed his words to Gavin. “It’s not the best case scenario, but I believe Ainsley will go for it. And it’s what I need.”

  Please don’t make me choose.

  Gavin turned to Pax. “Can you believe this motherfucker went and fell in love?”

  “Never thought I’d see the day.”

  Pops slapped a palm on the table. “All right. It’s settled then. Gavin, draw up the preliminaries.”

  “On it.” With a grin as big as Texas, his older brother leaned over and punched him in the shoulder. Hard.

  “What the hell was that for?” Clay rubbed away the pain as another, more powerful, sensation filled his chest.

  “Consider it a warning. Next time you think we won’t have your back, I’ll aim a little lower. With my boot.”

  #

  Ainsley caught herself humming as she cleaned the house, her mood a direct result of a certain man she couldn’t stop thinking about.

  Clay had been gone for a few hours and already she craved the sound of his voice. The feel of his touch. The warmth of his smile. When she thought about not seeing him again, she had the powerful urge to double over, to fold in on herself to ease the pain she feared losing him would cause.

  Which was silly, of course.

  They’d overslept, which meant he’d rushed out this morning, but not before promising to be back later.

  Ainsley stripped the sheets from her bed and tossed them into the laundry basket. She caught Clay’s masculine scent and brought the sheet back up, inhaling deeply. With a dreamy sigh, she let it fall again.

  She’d never get tired of his scent on her sheets. Or the sound of his voice. Or the feel of his touch. Or the … holy shit.

  Ainsley stopped the task of freeing the pillows from their cases.

  Was she in love with him? After so short a time?

  Love wasn’t exactly her area of expertise. What if she wasn’t any good at it? What if Clay didn’t feel the same way about her?

  God! What if, what if, what if.

  Two of the worst words in the English language. When combined, they could darn near drive a person straight to crazy town.

  Who the hell cared what if? The last six weeks had been the happiest of her life. Full of hope. Of passion. Of life.

  She still spent her mornings doing chores—exercising the horses, maintaining her garden. Early afternoons were still spent in the kitchen, winterizing vegetables in jars of sauces and stews in a process she’d grown to love. Nothing new there.

  But later, when the sun started its final descent each day, Clay would arrive. They’d make their afternoon trek around the ranch. And then he’d treat her to a different, more pleasurable kind of ride. Sometimes they’d even make it back to the house first.

  What might seem like a mundane daily routine to some, to Ainsley felt like a thick blanket on a cold night. Warm. Comforting. Safe. Throw Clay into the mix and she was a furnace in Fort Knox.

  And downright giddy with excitement for the future.

  Sure, a part of her waited for lightning to strike. With her penchant for bad luck and no word yet from the bank, how could she not? But it was a part she was determined to resist. Her whole damn life had been about risk—taking over the ranch the biggest of all. She could handle a little thing like love, right?

  She chuckled. She had no say in who her heart chose. The darn thing had been fickle to this point, not allowing anyone to get close. But Clay hadn’t slowly worked his way in—he’d blasted his way through her defenses and staked a claim.

  Whether he realized it or not, she was his.

  Ainsley gathered up the laundry and noticed Clay’s duffle bag on the floor. Without hesitation, she tossed the whole thing in the basket. He’d been at her place almost every night. He’d leave for work in the pre-dawn hours, usually carrying his bag with him. She assumed he went home for clean clothes every day, because her basket and bedroom floor were free of anything male. His laundry had to be piling up. For everything he’d done for her, the least she could do was run a load or two for him.

  Her desire to take care of him didn’t make her any less independent. Why shouldn’t she provide clean clothes and home-cooked meals for him when it gave her such pleasure to do so? He hadn’t expected it of her. He was always enthusiastically grateful for her cooking.

  She hummed an old country song on her way down the stairs and through to the kitchen. She dropped her bundle on the floor. She swayed her hips to the tune as she fished Clay’s clothes out of his bag. When she tossed them to the basket for sorting, a document fell from the bundle. She bent to pick up the folded papers, intending to put them back in his bag until two words caught her eye.

  Nelson Ranch.

  Nervous butterflies filled her stomach, then burst through her veins, leaving ice in their wake. With shaking hands, she folded back the edge.

  Tears burned her eyes as she scanned the first page. Another offer for her ranch. Page two. A very generous offer. More than enough to pay what she owed.

  It would leave her with nothing but a bank account.

  Why did everyone believe money solved everything? Didn’t people know there were more important things?

  Ainsley scanned the pages, her brain fighting to accept what was right in front of her: all the legal bullshit necessary to relieve her of her home. Hell, the damn thing had even been inked with Gavin’s name representing the Mathis family interest on the final page.

  But it hadn’t been Gavin carrying the document in his bag.

  She glanced at the date, and her head spun. Signed the day Clay fixed her porch. The day she’d made him dinner for the first time. Looked as if she’d been fucked more ways than one that night.

  She didn’t know how it happened but Ainsley found herself sitting. She smoothed the offer against the table, staring at it with disbelief.

  Clay had lied to her.

  He’d told her whatever was between them had nothing to do with the ranch. Had said he fixed
the porch because he didn’t want her to get hurt. That he’d rode with her each day because … oh god.

  Her stomach churned.

  Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.

  She gulped for air as her heart shattered into a million pieces.

  He hadn’t wanted to teach her about ranching. He’d been scoping out the place. Something she wouldn’t have allowed him to do if they hadn’t…

  She slammed her fist against the table hard enough to shoot pain to her elbow.

  She knew it!

  One swipe and the sugar bowl, salt and pepper shakers, and her water glass went flying, crashing to the floor.

  All the rides. All the questions.

  She’d ignored her instincts. She’d trusted—

  Ainsley’s tears burst forth with lung-seizing force. She buried her face in her hands. Her sobs were muffled by her palms, but ringing through loud and clear in her heart.

  The things they’d done. He’d made her beg. He’d made her scream. Jesus Christ, she’d gone to her knees for him, allowed him total access to her body. She’d given him everything she had.

  And he’d used her for his own advantage. The story of her life.

  Of course he’d wanted to fuck her. Fuck her out of her land, her home. He’d done his job well, the whole time hiding his real intent. He might’ve even known who she was all along, his determination to get her name that first night at the bar just another ploy to throw her off.

  She couldn’t deny the document in front of her. Or where it had come from.

  His nervousness the first time she’d offered to take his bag made sense now. He’d quickly moved it to his truck, so as not to show his hand too soon. He hadn’t seduced her yet. Hadn’t had time to soften her up. She had no doubt he carried the document that night.

  Seconds, minutes, hours later, her tears dried up.

  Hurt and anger took their place. With no idea what to do next, she sat at the kitchen table and tried to breathe in a room suddenly devoid of oxygen.

  The phone rang. On autopilot, she rose to answer. Ainsley cleared the lump in her throat. “Hello?”

  “Ms. Russell?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is Luke Meyer at Heritage National.”