Love Under Two Cowboys (8 page)

“That I am, big sister. That I am.”

Carrie hung up the phone and headed to the shower. She hadn’t wanted to say anything to Chloe, but she’d had the feeling, right from the beginning, that Beck wasn’t the one for her. Chloe had always told her, every time they’d spoken, what a good man Beck was. But Carrie hadn’t detected any zing in her sister’s voice or demeanor when she’d spoken about him.

She didn’t think her sister felt anything at all like the zing Carrie felt every time those cowboys came within waving distance of her.

Oh, my. I really am starting to fall for them, and fall hard.

Just thinking about those two men got her horny. She’d never been in this position before. They’d kiss her and touch her and get her so hot, and then they’d ease back, turning the physical to the emotional in the blink of an eye.

She closed and locked the bathroom door—something she did without thinking. She was torn between wanting to pamper herself with warm water and soap, and rushing through her shower so she could get to the ranch as soon as possible.

They’re likely still out working
. They’d told her the night before they planned on giving the fence line one last inspection before getting themselves a few head of cattle and a dozen or so broodmares.

Broodmares made her think of breeding, which was synonymous with sex which, up until she’d met Chase and Brian Benedict, she’d had no interest in whatsoever.

Water, and soap, and hands. My hands, which I will fantasize are their hands.

Carrie stepped under the warm spray. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back and sighed as the heat and the pulse of the water stimulated and seduced.

She let her thoughts wander, let herself remember how it felt to be held and kissed, petted and caressed. Though they’d always stopped just short of completion, and though they’d kept a layer of clothing between their hands and her body, Carrie took those memories and, using her imagination, added to them.

The slide of lather-covered hands over her breasts made her breath catch. She surrendered to the moment, to the smell of the soap and the heat of the silky, satiny touch. Her nipples beaded, begging for attention. Never had she felt this kind of sizzle, never had she been aroused to a level she could only call sexual frenzy.

Never, until now, until Chase and Brian Benedict.

She couldn’t suppress a moan as fingers, hot and wet and clever, slid down her stomach, on a straight yet sultry course toward her mound. Brushing over her clit, stroking back and forth over her slit, arousal simmered and swelled.

Faster, needier, those fingers stroked and she imagined herself held and cherished, kissed and caressed as rapture beckoned.

She imagined twin voices, deep and velvety, two mouths hot and tasty, and two bodies, muscled, hard, and eager.

Carrie cried out as the orgasm exploded, as she was nearly brought to her knees in the shower by the power of the bliss that consumed her.

It faded quickly, leaving her feeling bereft, just shy of the kind of satiation she only suspected might exist.

The water continued to fall on her, still warm, as she inhaled deeply and fought her way back from the fantasy.

The echo of the sound of the shower underscored the loneliness in which she had lived most of her life.

She couldn’t go on this way. As she rinsed and dried and dressed, Carrie knew the time had come to make some tough decisions. She’d already taken a few baby steps away from what was, toward what might be.

Now she needed to decide if she was woman enough to begin the next part of that journey.

“What do we really know about this guy, anyway?”

Brian grinned at his brother. Chase had a way of slipping into the role of devil’s advocate the moment the need arose.

He’d done that a fair bit in the past, and there’d been a time or two Brian hadn’t particularly been grateful to him for it. But he understood that trait better now than he did in his younger days.

When he stopped for a minute and reflected that what was at stake at the moment was the very future they were building for themselves, he really couldn’t blame his older-by-eight-minutes twin for his caution.

Brian had already marshaled his argument in favor of the man who would soon be there. In this case it hadn’t been hard. He grinned. “You remember Michael Finn, don’t you?”

“The same Michael Finn who worked the rodeo
we
worked for the summer before college when we traveled the circuit? Mick, the slave driver we answered to every day?”

Brian nodded. “The very same.”

Their mom and dads had always known about their dream to be cowboys. There may have been a bit of rebellion in that dream, at one point. Brian could admit that now. After all, Uncle Jon had the ranch, but he was the
only
Benedict at the time working the land. All the rest of the family was split between Benedict Oil and Minerals and Benedict International. Well, except for his dad, who was a college professor and Uncle Caleb, who was a cop.

He and Chase had worked at the ranch during a few summers, and he guessed their parents weren’t satisfied that they hadn’t surrendered their dream in the face of the hard, stinky work of mucking out stalls and spreading manure that Uncle Jon had provided them each year.

Clearly the parents had decided that desperate times called for desperate measures, and had hooked them up to work the rodeo for most of the spring and summer the year they turned eighteen—with the codicil that they would enroll in college in the fall, and set out on a course that would bring them into the family corporate fold, as it were.

They’d kept their promise and fulfilled their obligations. He and Chase had honestly given the corporate life their best shot, but neither of them had been happy. Finally, when they’d returned to Lusty from New York, their parents had conceded the battle. It was pretty hard to accuse them of teenage rebellion when they were twenty-eight years old. The senior Benedicts had told them, and the Town Trust, that they were behind their sons’ choice to open this ranch and pursue their dream.

If only the rest of the family would get in line.
Brian shook his head and looked at his brother.

Chase had a far-off look, as if he was peering into the past. Then he smiled. “Yeah, the folks thought they’d cure us of our cowboy dreams by signing us up with the hardest-assed boss they could find. He certainly was a tough son of a bitch, was Mick Finn. But fair, and not so much of a hard-ass once he realized we
weren’t
the spoiled trust fund babies he’d been led to believe we were. So what’s Mick got to do with anything?”

“Well, while you ran into town this morning to the hardware store, Mick called. He said he heard we were opening up one of the old spreads, and that we might need a hand. Said he knew of a man looking for a job and not afraid of hard work. Only negative thing Mick had to say about the guy is that he was a bit of a drifter, still looking for his place.”

Chase took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “We can’t rightly hold that against a man. Until we made our move, we were looking for our place, too—even if we knew exactly where it was.”

Brian nodded because that was how he felt as well. “Oh, and he said this man—his name is Julián but Mick said he pronounces it the Hispanic way, making the
J
sound like an
H
—worked for a year as Gus Gorman’s lead hand.”

Brian waited to see the light of recognition flicker in his brother’s eyes. He wasn’t disappointed when Chase’s eyes widened and he said, “
Grumpy
Gus Gorman?”

“Yep. We met him that summer, when he was off-loading those horses that time. Remember? We all wondered if someone had shoved a burr or ten up his ass.”

“Hard to forget a man who fell out of the ornery tree and hit every damn branch on the way down.” Chase set his hat back on his head. “Any man can last a year with that sombitch deserves at least a look-see.”

“That’s what I figured. I didn’t commit us to hiring him. I figured we could meet him, see how it feels. If we both don’t cotton to him, we don’t have to hire him at all. Or, we can give him a trial period.”

Chase nodded. “And knowing how well you know me, you’d have told Mick to send the man on out.”

Brian knew he blushed, just a little. Then he shrugged even as he noticed a slightly worn black Ford half-ton pickup making its way down their long and winding driveway. He nodded in that direction, and said, “I did, yes. Reckon that’s him now.”

Chase turned and moved subtly, standing beside him so that they were shoulder to shoulder as the truck came down the lane toward them.

The vehicle eased to a stop and the driver’s door swung open without making a creak. The man who emerged was tall and ripcord lean. His jeans appeared as worn as his truck, but clean, and his black T-shirt didn’t have a wrinkle or a cute saying across the front of it. His straw hat covered dark hair, and when he peeled his sunglasses off, revealing his eyes, Brian could see their color was dark, his gaze sharp and intelligent.

He walked right up to them, no hesitation whatsoever. “You’d be the Benedicts?”

“Well, two of them, anyway. And you’d be Julián.” Brian shook his hand and approved of the strong grip, and the way Julián met his gaze straight on. “I’m Brian.”

“Chase,” his brother said as he shook hands with Julián.

The man didn’t waste time. “Mick said you were looking for someone who could help you get the place up and running. He didn’t say what you’d be running, so I’m guessing cattle or horses. If it’s pigs, goats, or sheep, we’re done here.”

Brian grinned but Chase laughed outright. “Horses, mostly, with a few cows thrown in. We’re thinking the cattle can be for market, and to help train the horses.”

“You’ve decided on cow ponies, then? Quarter horses? Or were you planning to crossbreed?”

“Quarter horses, first off. We want to target ranches, supply them with working horses that are sure-footed and amenable to work with. But we realize a lot of ranchers are also interested in acquiring horses for rodeo or western showing.”

“I’ve worked with a couple of ranches where they’ve had good breeding programs set up. Heard of a couple of others, run by men I consider very reputable, that we can likely go see. One of them, the best, is just over in Divine. I can help steer you in the right direction, and help you get your stock picked out, if you haven’t done so yet.”

“Mick said you knew horses.”

Julián shrugged. “I’ll be honest with you. Until five years ago, I didn’t know squat about anything. I was living another life that revolved around Gucci suits and vanilla lattes. Is that going to be a problem for you, that I wasn’t ‘to the saddle born,’ as they say?”

Brian felt one eyebrow go up. He turned to look at Chase, who seemed to be doing a better job of hiding his own amusement.

“Vanilla lattes,” Chase scoffed. “Ours were
double espresso lattes with an extra shot of chocolate and a dash of cinnamon.”

Julián sighed. “I used to dream of those. Unfortunately the group I worked with held to the belief that the more complicated the latte order, the bigger the asshole. No insult intended.”

Brian grinned. “None taken. Our coworkers felt that way, too. But since our coworkers were also mostly our brothers and giving them a hard time our sworn duty…” He let the sentence fall.

Brian wondered about the look that came and went quickly on Julián’s face.

“We seem to have a lot in common,” Chase said. “We’d be the first to tell you we don’t know a whole hell of a lot about the day-to-day running of any kind of ranch, let alone a horse breeding operation.”

“Even
I
have heard of the Benedicts of Central Texas. There’s one ranch still in operation, isn’t there?”

“Yeah, our cousin Steven runs that, as did our Uncle Jon before him. But that spread is mostly cattle. The only horses they have are the ones they use for working the herd, plus the ones that they keep for various family members who still like to ride.” Brian sighed. “Steven’s been a help, but his expertise isn’t in the area we need it to be.”

“So basically, you’re on your own, and need help getting started.”

“That about sums it up,” Chase said.

“I’ve heard some ranchers have been having a good bit of luck breeding and crossbreeding Andalusians,” Julián said.

“Yeah, we’ve heard the same thing, and we’ve heard of some of those ranches.”

“That ranch I mentioned, just outside of Divine, is one of the best. It’s the Divine Creek Ranch, owned by a trio of men—longtime best friends and business partners. The program itself is run by Angel and Joaquin Martinez. I know them from my rodeo days. Might be worth the trip to go and have a look.”

“It might, yes. We’ll also need to pick out our stock—both equine and bovine—and get them shipped here.”

“You’ve done your research, so you have a list of possibilities.”

Julián’s assumption that he and Chase were serious and knew basically what they were doing eased Brian’s major concern. He didn’t want to work with someone who thought he was a moron—or an easy mark as a boss.