Wicked Fall (7 page)

Callie would never speak to me again if she ever found out what my dirtiest fantasy with her was. Hell, I feel compelled to slap myself on her behalf just for thinking it.

Give it up, dude. Not ever going to happen.

I force myself to listen to Colton and even write down some notes as he talks. After about half an hour, we make arrangements for me to come over and check out his stock. When we’re finished, I walk with him to my door but before we get there, he says, “You missed a crazy time at the opening of Bacchanalia the other night.”

Colton is grinning at me slyly.

And yes, Colton is a member of The Wicked Horse’s inner club. He pays a whopping fifty-thousand dollars for a platinum membership, which pretty much gives him access to everything. Twenty-four-seven access to all the buildings, unlimited food and liquor, and registration in our fantasy database that helps to facilitate hookups by matching people according to their level of kink and desires.

Bridger and I have had to carefully construct our sex club so we don’t run afoul of prostitution laws. We employed a team of lawyers to make sure we were legally in compliance of all criminal statutes, and Bridger vets our employees very carefully to make sure they stay in compliance too.

The law is really quite simple though and easy enough to skirt around.

Prostitution in Wyoming is when a person performs, permits, offers, or agrees to sex in return for money or property.

Therefore, we had to make sure the exchange of monies to my company was not in exchange for sex. Rather, it’s more of a rental fee on the facilities to make use of however they want. For his fifty-thousand, Colton gets a membership into a private club that offers him a place to socialize with excellent food and liquor, as well as entertainment. If Colton happens to participate in sex when he shows up, that’s all his choice. He exchanges no money with his partner or partners, nor does said partner or partners get paid. All people engaging in sex are there because of paid memberships that do nothing more than guarantee them entry into the building, top-shelf liquor, and gourmet food. That includes the few employees from the main club that partake of what the club has to offer. So as not to confuse the payment of money for their bartending or waitressing services, as part of their salary, each of those employees also gets a Silver membership to the sex club. It only gives them access two days a week, but otherwise operates the same as a Platinum membership. So, technically, the employees are not paid for their work in The Silo or one of the cabins, but rather enjoy a much higher salary than most bartenders or waitresses would make as well as a Silver membership.

The one thing that has caused some troubles for Bridger and me is if a club member is extremely satisfied with the services one of my employees provides and wants to give a tip. We have to shut that shit down fast because that right there
is
prostitution. No employee of mine can accept monies once they step foot out of the main club, and I will fire them on the spot if I catch it.

I give a knowing smile to Colton and lower my voice so I ensure Callie can’t hear us through the door. I’m purposely vague when I say, “I was there when the party kicked off, but I didn’t stay long. Must have missed you.”

That’s true enough and if Colton chooses to believe I participated, so be it. But the fact of the matter is I just showed up and gave a little speech about how excited Bridger and I were. I only stayed for about a total of ten minutes, watching Bridger play with a husband and wife who’ve been members since we opened. Normally, observing Bridger put both a man and a woman on their knees before him and making them take turns sucking his dick would turn me the fuck on, but not that night. For some reason, I just wasn’t into it.

I felt unsettled and unsure of myself for the first time I can ever remember. I ended up going home and watched a basketball game on TV while I drank a beer. I even wondered what it would be like if Callie were there with me, maybe curled up into my side, reading a book.

Shaking my head because I have no fucking business thinking those things, I grab the doorknob and open the door. I hold my hand out, and Colton shakes it. “Thanks for coming by, man. I’ll be out to see you next week as planned.”

“Sure thing, Woolf.”

Turning my back on him, I force myself not to look at Callie sitting at her desk, and walk back to my own. I flip up my calendar to look at my schedule for the rest of the day, pleased to see that after my lunch meeting, I don’t have anything else. I think I’ll knock off and head over to The Wicked Horse. Stephanie is on duty I think, and I could get a quick fuck in. I think that all I need is to just get laid. It’s been going on a full week now since I’ve had some pussy, and I’m starting to get grumpy about it.

Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.

My mouth curves into a smile, and I give myself a little fist pump of exuberance. I just need to get re-oriented. Shake off all the crazy that came with the return of Callie Hayes.

“…this little restaurant they just opened up on the main square,” I hear Colton saying, and my ears perk up hard.

“Sounds divine,” Callie says.

“Awesome. Saturday then… I’ll pick you up at seven?” Colton says with excitement in his voice.

Oh, hell fucking no.

I shoot out of my chair and walk out of the office just as Callie says, “It’s a date.”

“What’s a date?” I ask casually as I open up the file cabinet behind her desk, rooting around for what the fuck ever.

“I’m going to take Callie out to that new restaurant in town on Saturday,” Colton says with a shit-eating grin.

I turn from the cabinet with a folder in my hand, no clue what I just grabbed, and give first Colton and then Callie an apologetic look. “Sorry… she has to work this weekend.”

“Doing what?” Callie demands as Colton’s face falls.

“It’s branding weekend on the Double J,” I say smoothly, immensely grateful that it is, in fact, the weekend we’ll be vaccinating, castrating, and branding the spring calves. “It’s going to be a busy day for me, and I’ll need your help.”

Colton looks at me dubiously because as an owner of a cattle ranch, he knows I really don’t have much to do. I mean, sure, I’ll participate in some of the branding, but that’s just for fun.

In fact, most ranches treat branding day as a festival of sorts. All the ranch hands and their families will be there. After all the work is done, we’ll have events like roping contests and three-legged races for the kids. I’ve got two hundred pounds of Double J barbeque being cooked with enough potato salad, baked beans, and apple pie to feed an army. Hell, I’ve even got a band to play and fireworks set up.

Not a damn thing for me to do other than enjoy it, and while I had been struggling this week on whether or not to invite Callie, that decision just got firmly made all so I could prevent her from going out with Colton.

I’m such an asshole and yet I can’t find it within me to feel guilty about it.

I don’t want her, not in the way I’m sure she wants to be wanted, but I don’t want anyone else to have her.

It’s twisted and complex and I should back the fuck off.

But I’m not.

“Plan on being out at the Double J about mid-morning, okay Callie?” I say as I look at her. I want to gauge how she feels about me breaking up her date with Colton.

She gives me a brilliant smile, and I relax. Callie’s always loved this type of stuff. She’s going to have a blast, and that makes me feel good.

She then turns that sunny smile to Colton and says, “I’m sorry. Maybe we could go next weekend?”

And now Colton is smiling brightly at Callie. It’s all shining white teeth flashing around the room, and it makes me pissy. I frantically search my brain for something I need her to do next weekend, but I come up empty.

No matter. I’ll figure something out by then.

“Catch you later, Colton,” I say in dismissal and then head back into my office. Colton apparently gets the hint because I hear the front door open and close seconds later.

Thoughts of fucking Stephanie gone, I shut my door and walk over to the shelf where the architectural drawings for The Wicked Horse are still laying. I pull them out from time to time, survey the surrounding land, and figure out how we can grow bigger. But now I look at them with a bit of dread in my stomach.

Week after next, Tenn will be coming to visit, and I’m going to have to show him these plans. It’s time he learned his little brother also has plans that exist outside of the family business. It’s important I show him this because I’ve been thinking a lot lately about seeing if there’s a way for me to distance myself from JennCo. We had considered once taking the company public, but our overwhelming sense of familial obligation shot that idea down. Almost two years later, though, and I’m feeling the walls closing in on me.

The Wicked Horse will be a shock to Tenn. It’s going to cause some waves. Big, choppy waves.

But I have to at least start the communication about it and see where he stands.

Callie

For a man that insisted I be here at the Double J mid-morning to help him, Woolf sure seems to be relaxing a lot. I look over at him sitting at one of the picnic tables set up on the east lawn beside the main house, lazily drinking a beer with his business partner, Bridger Payne. Woolf introduced me to him not long ago, and he’s an interesting man.

He’s big. I mean, bigger than Woolf, and Woolf is like a giant. Huge¸ muscled arms and a massive chest. It’s clear he works out seriously. He’s a little intimidating because there’s something in his eyes that doesn’t quite set right with me. Not in a dishonest type of way, but it’s more like he knows something about you that maybe even you don’t know yourself. Bridger also looks like the type of man who gets whatever he wants, and if it’s a challenge to get it, he’s going to knock you on your ass while he plows over you for the win.

What interests me the most about Bridger is actually my reaction to seeing him with Woolf. It’s clear that they are more than just business partners. You can tell they’re friends. Very close friends. It’s the natural way in which they talk with each other; it’s in the way in which they laugh together. Hell, I can even see it when they just sit there in silence with each other as they watch all the happenings going on around them.

I thought their friendship might make me a little bitter, seeing as how my brother used to be Woolf’s closest friend, but I found myself actually filled with a peaceful happiness for Woolf that he found someone in whom he could trust and bond like he had with Richard.

I busy myself at one of the many long tables covered with red checkered cloths and laden with food, starting to place some tinfoil over the bowls of side dishes as the first wave of people have gone through. While Woolf is having this party catered, I feel compelled to do actual work since he’s paying me. But so far, he’s not given me much to do so I’m trying to act busy.

I sneak another peek over at the picnic table, and both Woolf and Bridger are looking at me, their heads inclined toward each other. It’s clear they’re talking about me and a warm flush creeps up my neck. Never taking his eyes off me, Bridger murmurs something to Woolf and the look in Woolf’s eyes becomes focused with intensity. His eyes seem to be glittering across the way at me, and his jaw sets in a hard line. He even bites down roughly into his lower lip while Bridger continues to talk quietly to him, all while they are both staring at me.

I hastily avert my gaze, not able to handle the way Woolf is… eating me up? And what in the hell could Bridger have said to make him look at me like that? It’s like he was encouraging him… saying something to incite Woolf. I grab some napkins and start wiping up spills around the serving bowls, my pulse skipping madly for some reason.

The band Woolf hired starts tuning their instruments, causing my gaze to slide over there. I can see down past them to the branding paddock; the ranch hands are working on a few more calves, but most everything is done for the day. Everyone has plates of food and beers in their hands. People are laughing in celebration for a good, hard day’s work and a traditionally important rite of passage for the animals. I can remember coming to the Double J brandings all the time growing up. I’d watch Woolf, Tenn, and Richard help wrestle the calves to the ground, and I wanted to help too but my mother wouldn’t let me. It didn’t befit a young lady.

Or so she said.

The party afterward was always so much fun. Chasing fireflies when the sun set, listing to music and eating homemade ice cream until I was sick. Not much has changed, although I don’t intend to overindulge on the ice cream, but I do intend to enjoy the fireworks that will start up probably within the next hour.

I sneak one more peek over at the picnic tables, curious if Woolf and Bridger are still watching me. I’m not sure what it says about me that I’m actually disappointed they’re both gone. I scan my eyes around, but I don’t see either of them.

Sighing, I decide to go ahead and get a plate of food and a beer. My entire day of non-working has actually been quite tiring, and I’d like to get off my feet for a bit. Some barbeque, a little bit of pie, a little fireworks, then I’m heading home for a nice hot bath and maybe a good book.