Page 24 of Roughing It with the Rancher

Her bottom lip trembles, and her eyes water. “I understand the pull of gold. Really, I do. But please don’t be like my grandpa, becoming totally obsessed with it. It’s all that man can think about, even in the nursing home.” She frowns.

“Oh, Esmeralda,” I say, bringing my big, rough hand up to palm her delicate cheek. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. It’s just this treasure-hunting stuff has a dangerous magnetism to it.”

“We had an abandoned barn fall on top of us less than fifteen minutes ago, and all you’re thinking about is gold, gold, gold. You need to get your priorities straight, and let me look at your back.”

“You’re right. I won’t let it happen again.” To prove I mean what I say, I pull my T-shirt over my head, groaning at the pain caused by straining my back muscles. I turn around, asking, “Well, what’s the verdict?”

“You have some lacerations and red spots where I imagine you’ll have nasty bruising tomorrow. It looks like you took a beam to the back to save me.” Her voice trembles.

“Felt like it, too,” I say, turning and pulling her into my arms again. “What is it about you that makes me want you so much, even though I barely know you?” I whisper as she settles into my arms, her face beaming. My lips drop to hers, my heart racing as I devour her mouth, completely addicted to the warm, deliciousness of her cherry-stained lips.

“But your lip. You have a cut on it,” she says between kisses as my tongue delves into her, rhythmically claiming her to the beat of my heart. “I don’t want to hurt it worse.”

“The only thing that could hurt me right now is not tasting you,” I confess, thrilled at how she whimpers at my words, her tiny hands hanging onto my neck.

“But your back,” she pants as my lips descend to her neck, feathering lightly over her décolletage. “I need to wash your injuries and?—”

Her lips find mine, claiming me in return. Her juicy pink tongue dives into my mouth slowly and sensually, mating with mine until the last thing on my mind is falling barns, injured backs, or treasure maps. My hands grip her hips, grinding her against my firm arousal as tiny cries escape her lips, letting me know she likes what she feels.

Ding dong.

The doorbell.

“For God’s sake, are you kidding me?” I exclaim, reluctantly looking toward the door. I have half a mind to ignore it. Not that I get many visitors, but fuck them and fuck their lousy timing.

Ding dong.

“Dammit,” I say thickly, still so caught up in the mesmerizing flavor and feel of Esmeralda that I can’t think straight.

“Maybe you should get that?” Her warm breath teases my cheek as she speaks. I can’t help myself, finding her mouth and ravishing her again.

Ding dong.

Resigned to the damn interruption, I pull back, frowning as I take in my adorable wife’s flushed cheeks. “Coming!” I scream.

I struggle back into my shirt, heading for the door.

“Maybe it’s the paramedics after all,” Esmeralda says behind me.

Maybe.

I adjust myself as discreetly as possible, not ready to open the door with a raging hard-on. On the other side, I stare at Nick.Motherfucker!

Crossing my arms over my chest, I grumble, “Y’all need to get the hell out of here. This is private property, and I’m well within my legal rights to shoot you.”

Nick laughs. “If it ain’t the cowboy with the biggest balls West of the Mississippi. How are you, man?” He wears thick tortoiseshell glasses with wavy brown locks that hang to his shoulders and a red, white, and blue Hawaiian shirt that screams tourist. From his thin khaki shorts to his flip-flops, the man’s not dressed for the late-night outing he’s about to ask permission for. But who am I to lecture him?

“Are you okay, Reese? You’ve got a cut on your forehead, and you look like shit.”

“It’s a damn long story.”

He eyes me hesitantly. “Dude, we were heading up the road to our spot when we crested the corner, and your old barn came into view. It collapsed in front of our eyes. What’s going on?”

I shrug. “Time finally caught up with it. Unfortunately, I was inside when it happened.”

“Oh, man. Seriously? How in the hell did you manage to get out?”

“I had to for my wife,” I say matter-of-factly, feeling happier about that nickname for Esmeralda every time I use it. Repeating the sentiment of her earlier observations, I add, “I can’t leave her a widow on our wedding day.”

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