Healing Pleasure (3 page)

“It’s hitting May where it hurts knowing she can’t get through to him. The fact that Brit isn’t talking to her either isn’t helping.”

“Brit’s got his own thing happenin’ and I suspect May’s got somethin’ to do with it. As for Dillon, that boy’s had it rougher than most of ya, despite the hell I know all my boys went through before comin’ here.” The twinkle Trey had noticed earlier returned to the man’s eyes. “You and Brit marryin’ the counselor might be a good thing for all the boys on this ranch.”

Marry Lena? What the…“Hold up, now. I never said anything about—”

“Naw, you’re just thinkin’ of gettin’ her in bed right now. All’s I’m sayin’ is that ain’t stoppin’ me and May from hopin’ one pair of our first boys will give us a couple of grandchildren before we’re reunited with Hank.”

Hank, Horace’s late brother and the missing heart that had completed his and May’s trio. Trey still felt the pain of the man’s loss though three years had passed since Trent and Bobby had found Hank’s body along the back fence of the property.

The thought of losing Horace and May coupled with the idea of marrying a woman who sent his dick into hysterics had Trey knocking back the remainder of the whisky in his glass. “I’m headed upstairs to clean up. I figure I’ll head out at sundown, maybe spend a few hours at Colt’s club. If Brit happens to ask where I’m at, tell him I went into the city. It’ll be more believable when he meets Lena if he thinks I’ve been with her when I’ve been away from the ranch.”

It would be the third night he’d gone out this week and he couldn’t help but wonder if fate had been setting the stage for the whole pretend relationship game even before he’d met Lena. Every attempt he’d made at getting Brit off the ranch since their return had failed. Tired of spending every night reliving the goatfuck of a mission he couldn’t change, he’d started venturing out alone, paying visits to old friends the first night and drinking away the memories the second night as he’d kept talkative company with a willing sub at The Cowboy’s Den, Pleasure’s most exclusive club owned by Colt Barlow and his brothers, Seth and Darryl.

Plenty of drinks and several hours later, he’d come back to the ranch and jerked off rather than taking the opportunity to show the sub to one of the back rooms of the club. He hadn’t known why he’d ignored the pleading look in the sub’s eyes the whole time they’d talked. He’d only known he hadn’t felt the urge to take what she had been so obviously willing to give him.

He’d felt the urge today, though, despite suspecting it would take some smooth talking and finessing he wasn’t sure he possessed to chip away at Lena’s professionalism so he could uncover the submissive streak he suspected she was keeping buried deep.

Horace polished off his whisky and replaced his cowboy hat on his head. “I’ll spread the word ’case he asks anyone. Probably a good idea if you enjoy yourself at the Den tonight.” He lightly slapped the top of the bar as he stepped back. “Take the edge off, if you ain’t done it already. If this counselor’s the one, you’ll wanna take your time with her, give Brit the time to move in, too, and make it right for all three of ya.”

Lieutenant Brit Matthews counted the heat blobs through his infrared glasses. Two tangos stood guard at the entrance to the terrorist compound. Another two paced the grounds on either side of the hut. He’d counted eight more who’d disappeared inside in the hour since he and his five teammates had cozied into their hiding spots on the cold, rocky ground to wait for the sun to go down. In the waning daylight, they’d been able to confirm that one of those eight tangos was indeed the terrorist leader they had been sent in to take down.

Now they were playing the waiting game. First, wait for the darkness to fully overtake the sun. That had happened about twenty minutes ago. Next, wait for the tangos to settle in the compound. That had happened barely ten minutes later. Then, wait for the green light from command to break their covert status and take the fuckers out.

The command for Team Alpha, his team, to strike came through his headset just as one of his teammates, a man they’d nicknamed Snake, slithered from his hiding spot and settled next to Brit.

“Platter is reporting a group of tangos headed our way. ETA is less than thirty.”

Platter was Trey’s nickname for obvious reasons despite the implied misspelling of the man’s name. Team Bravo was under Trey’s leadership, protecting Team Alpha’s ass four clicks back.

“How many?”

“About twenty. Platter is requesting permission to move in.”

Twenty tangos coming up their path and ten at the compound made a total of thirty. It was an easy match for his team of highly trained, vastly competent SEALs. Brit didn’t sweat it. They could set up an ambush and take them out. No problem.

Brit shook his head. “Tell him to hold back. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

He laid out his plan, signaling to the rest of his team his intentions. Then a boy’s shout filled the air, the first bomb hit, and screams split the darkness.

Brit bolted upright in bed, the screams of his fallen teammates still ringing in his head. Sweat dripped from the hairs matted to his forehead, his chest rose and fell in breaths that came far too quick, and his knee throbbed in agony. A glance at the digital clock on the bedside table told him he’d slept for less than two hours before the nightmare had taken over. Hell, that was a new record.

He raked his hair from his face, threw his head back, and forced his breathing to return to a normal, much slower rhythm. That clock added to the beam of sunlight peeking through the heavy curtains over his bedroom window told him it was time to start another lovely, lively day. The first thing on his agenda was food, as bland as he knew it would be. Not because May wasn’t a fantastic cook, but simply because nothing had held much flavor for him since he’d returned to the states.

Forgoing a probably much needed shower, he carefully dragged his ass out of bed, pulled a shirt also in need of washing over his head, and limped out of his room. Each step was a test of his will in itself. Though the doctor said his surgery had been successful, he rarely got more than a few minutes respite from the pain. After a month of recovering on base after the surgery and nearly that long at home on the ranch, he’d figured the pain would’ve left him by now. Hell, being his luck, that was all in his head, too.

He stopped at the top of the stairs and scowled at the three flights that would take him to the bottom floor. May had tried to set him up in a room on the first floor, but he’d insisted on being in his quarters on the third, stupidly convincing her the trips he’d have to make up and down the stairs would be good exercise for his knee. Seeing as how the doctor had agreed as long as he felt he could handle it, she’d relented.

He muttered curses under his breath at the idea now as he hobbled, fucking
hobbled
, his way down each flight like a penguin. He stopped at the second floor, thankful when he found it empty, and continued down. His less than two hours of sleep had at least kept him in bed long enough for the main house to empty.

Scents he knew would’ve had his stomach rumbling if his life hadn’t turned so sour greeted him when he reached the bottom. He followed his nose, knowing it would lead him to the kitchen where he hoped he would find it deserted save for the leftovers from breakfast May would’ve no doubt set aside for him.

He found the leftovers as expected, along with May waiting for him. She must have heard him wobble in because she turned from the stove just as he moved into the room. A wide, motherly smile brightened her face and he felt a bubble of what might have been a chuckle in his throat at the sight of the flour streaked across her cheek.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

Brit snorted and made his way to the pot of fresh coffee on the counter. “It’s morning and there’s apparently sunshine out there.”

Her smile dimmed and he silently cursed himself for being the ass he’d become lately. A fantastic woman like May with her huge, loving heart didn’t deserve even an ounce of his jerkishness, but damn if he could seem to stop the shit the poured out of his mouth these days.

“All the boys wanted their eggs scrambled with cheese this morning, but I know you like yours sunny side up. They’ll be ready in a jiffy.”

Brit took a deep breath and softened his tone. “I wish you wouldn’t bother, May.”

“Well, I’m going to.” She pointed at him with the spatula. “And you’re going to eat them.”

Yes, he would, if for no other reason than because she told him to. He poured a cup of coffee, turned his back to the counter, and leaned against it as he blew into the cup before taking a sip. “What time did Trey get in last night?”

“I don’t have a clue. It was well after Horace and I went to bed.” She shot him a grin over her slender shoulder. “He looked a little worse for wear this morning, so I’m betting he was out pretty late.”

“Yeah, I bet he was,” Brit muttered into his coffee cup. Trey hadn’t bothered to ask him to go this time. Not that he would’ve tagged along anyway. His friend had apparently found something outside the ranch that was keeping his mind off what had happened. Then again, maybe he really wasn’t as affected by the loss of their teammates as Brit was. Or maybe he’d simply found that taking it out on a willing sub at The Cowboy’s Den was the medicine he needed to cure what ailed him. Either way, he knew he didn’t have a right to be pissed at the man, but that didn’t stop the emotion from taking hold.

The click of the toaster on the counter next to him had him nearly jumping out of his skin. May turned in time to see it, compassion swimming in her sea-blue eyes. Jesus, if was so far gone he was getting spooked by a fucking toaster, how the hell did he ever expect to return to covert ops? Provided his damn knee ever healed enough to make that possible.

May moved to the toaster, placed the two slices onto a plate where she’d put his eggs, and handed it to him. “There’s plenty of bacon, sausage, and gravy left on the table.”

Brit shook his head and obligingly set his coffee cup down so he could pick up a slice of the toast. “This’ll do, May. Thanks.” He attempted to smile at her, but figured he’d failed by the sympathetic expression on her face. Damn it, he didn’t want her pity. He didn’t want to feel the way he did, but he couldn’t seem to shake it.

She pulled the utensil drawer open, snagged a fork, and held it out. “You can eat your toast with your hands all you want, but you’re going to need this for those eggs.”

“No, I’m not,” Brit said around a mouthful of toast that tasted like cardboard. He put down the slice, balanced the plate on one hand, and used the other to scoop the eggs onto the untouched slice before putting the half-eaten one on top. He scooped it all up and took a large bite, holding the plate under his chin as the runny yolk slid down his beard and dripped onto the dish.

May’s giggle, so much like the much younger woman she’d been when he’d first met her, twisted at his heart. At sixty-three, gray had all but taken over her natural chestnut hair. Her sea-blue eyes still sparkled with life, but were rimmed with wrinkles of age and shadowed with loss. Though still blissfully happy with Horace, he knew she continued to pine for Hank and suspected she waited for the day when she and Horace would be with him again.

“I heard Horace mention the younger boys could use some help in the back pasture today,” she said as she reached behind her back, untied the apron she wore over a flowered blouse and blue jeans, and pulled it over her head. “The hired hands could probably use another pair of eyes checking the fences, too.”

Brit knew what she was trying to do, but it wasn’t going to work. She wanted him to get out of the ranch house, get out on the land, and pretend everything was normal. He simply couldn’t do it.

He shook his head, forced himself to take another bite of the egg sandwich, and spoke around it. “I’ve got enough equipment in the gym to give my knee the workout it needs.”

Horace had made sure of that even before he’d returned to the ranch to finish recuperating from the surgery. He’d spend an hour doing his home exercises, waste the better part of another few hours watching television, and then hit the gym again before dinner. The Soap Channel was running a One Life to Live marathon today. He’d make sure to watch that in his room. He refused to think what the boys on the ranch or, God, his teammates would say if they knew he’d gotten hooked on the old soap opera.

May’s expression turned apologetic. “You won’t find everything you need in the gym this morning. Horace had Trey, Trent, and Bobby move the treadmill and weight bench to the front yard before they went to work this morning.”

Incensed, Brit barely caught hold of his temper before he slammed the plate on the counter. “What the hell did he do that for?”

“To get you out of the house, son. Look out there.” She gestured to the open window behind the sink with a flourish of her arm. “It’s a beautiful day. The sun is high in the sky and there’s not a cloud blocking it.”

“And, as you’ve just pointed out, all I have to do is look out the window if I want to see it,” Brit said tightly.

“Or you can feel it beating down on you while you do your exercises in the front yard,” she countered in that motherly voice he’d quickly learned long ago not to argue with.

Brit gritted his teeth so hard he was surprised not to feel bits of enamel shooting out of his ass and looked down at himself. He hadn’t bothered to change out of the sweatpants he’d worn to bed. “I guess I’d better find a pair of shorts if I’m going to be working out in the heat.”