Chapter 4

4

Colton

M elissa has been on the ranch for a week, and absolutely everybody is fawning over her, Darla included. And our auntie does not do that often. Nobody seems to remember or even care that Melissa is still an inmate of the Ridgeboro Correctional Facility.

I have so many questions about how she ended up there in the first place, but she doesn’t like it when we delve into that topic. It doesn’t stop me from getting to know her better, though, so one morning I decide to follow Mitch’s advice.

After breakfast is served, my brothers and I go back into the kitchen to find her.

“What are you up to?” I ask.

She whirls around with a plate and a dry cloth over her chest, her eyes as round as saucers. “Oh. Hey. Um, drying the dishes…”

“Leave that stuff,” I say. “You’re coming with us.”

“Where?”

Instantly, she goes into self-preservation mode. Her frame stiffens as she slowly sets the plate down. It would be cute if there wasn’t a layer of trauma underneath her behavior. Three years in prison will do that to a person I’m told.

“We thought you might want to join us outside today,” Mitch says. “If you’re going to be a ranch girl, you might as well learn the ropes around here.”

Melissa chuckles nervously. “I’m just the kitchen wench.”

“Wench?” Ethan raises an eyebrow.

“I’m kidding… okay, I’ll come,” she says, her cheeks blushing in the prettiest shade of deep red.

An hour later, Mitch is out with her by the barn as she struggles to put the harness on one of the gentler horses from our stables. Ethan and I sit atop our mustangs clad in wool sweaters and thick jackets, the horses’ hooves crunching in the snow, watching as Mitch teaches Melissa how to prep her horse for a ride.

“Remember, they can tell if you’re nervous,” Mitch tells her.

He’s trying hard not to laugh, but I know he’s as smitten with Melissa as the rest of us. He is also endearingly patient with her. We’ve been here for twenty minutes, trying not to intervene as he teaches her the basics.

“I am nervous,” Melissa says. Her mare, Isabella, is a beautiful creature with a robust back and a soft white coat. She’s almost as patient as Mitch, but she won’t be for much longer, not if Melissa keeps fidgeting with the harness instead of putting in on.

“She’s getting excited. She wants you to ride her,” Mitch reassures Melissa. “Here… allow me.”

“Finally,” Ethan mutters. “A couple more tries, and the mare would’ve just gone back to the stables on her own.”

I chuckle subtly, steam rolling from my mouth. It has gotten a lot colder in the past couple of days, but at least our cattle are safely sheltered for the winter, with Kyle and Jason handling their daily feeding while Sammy handles the overall maintenance with my brothers and me. We divided our duties efficiently for the winter, thanks to Melissa taking over the cooking. Darla’s got the administration, along with the business, so we’re able to enjoy moments such as this.

“She’s such a city mouse,” I tell my twin.

“The ranch will grow on her,” he says, unable to take his eyes off her.

“Alright, I get it,” Melissa says, the harness properly secured on Isabella’s pretty head. The mare neighs excitedly as Mitch helps Melissa get in the saddle, then connects a long rope to the harness to guide the horse in a circle. “Oh, this is… weird…”

“What’s weird?” Mitch asks.

“The saddle. I mean, I’ve never ridden a horse before.”

Ethan shakes his head slowly. “We need to be careful with this girl.”

“We’re not going to break her,” I reply, half-smiling.

“She’s going to break us.”

We’re several yards away from Mitch and Melissa, therefore out of their earshot. I lean slightly forward and pat my horse on his strong, muscular neck. Apex has been a loyal friend over the past couple of years, though he’s not as fast as Ethan’s horse, Elias. He’s stocky and resilient, however, and I can never get tired of his cappuccino-colored coat and white mane. Elias, on the other hand, is a black bolt, his coat so dark it swallows any light that hits it.

“What more have we learned about her?” Ethan asks.

“Darla says Melissa is innocent,” I say. “She wouldn’t go into detail, just that she believes her.”

“For what it’s worth, Aunt Darla is a good judge of character. It makes sense, though,” my brother surmises. “There’s nothing about Melissa whatsoever to make anybody think she’s a seasoned drug dealer.”

I nod slowly. “I know there’s more to that story, but we need to get her to open up to us. She’s constantly on edge. Darla said she’s prone to panic attacks.”

“I saw the signs, too. Whatever has happened to Melissa in the past few years… it’s taken a toll.”

“Look at her go,” I exclaim once Melissa performs a complete first circle ride around Mitch. The mare seems comfortable with her, trotting delightedly in the snow, while Mitch holds on to the rope and keeps guiding her in a steady rhythm. “Well done!” I raise my voice so they can hear me.

Melissa laughs and waves at me. “Not too bad, eh?”

“Not bad at all,” I reply.

“She’s a new kind of trouble,” Ethan says.

“And Mitch knows it, too,” I reply. “We can either keep our distance, or we can act on what is clearly there. Her body doesn’t lie.”

My twin nods again. “I noticed.”

We bring our horses slightly closer, taking advantage of Melissa’s divided focus to kick-start a much-needed conversation. She’s too busy paying attention to Isabella and her posture in the saddle to mind the topic we’re about to delve into.

“So, you’re from Lincoln, Melissa?” I ask.

Mitch gives me a wry smirk, fully aware of where I’m going. We talked about it long before we came downstairs for breakfast this morning. We always talk about what piques our interest, and Melissa has been an enticing topic for us since day one. I’ve yet to recover from that moment in my bathroom. I can still taste her on my lips.

“Born and raised,” Melissa says.

Above us, a brighter shade of grey unravels. We’re going to get more snowfall this evening. The sun is hidden behind a thin layer of clouds, but the existing snow gives us a clear view of the surrounding hills. It’s a quiet day on the ranch today. I like it when it’s quiet.

“Only child?” I inquire.

“Yeah.”

“What about your parents?” Ethan asks, his gaze fixed on her.

Melissa’s cheer fades for a few moments, but she doesn’t miss a single beat while riding Isabella. Her posture is quickly improving, a sign that she’s getting the hang of it. “My dad bailed when I was five years old. My mom died about four years ago.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say, almost regretting the questions.

“What were you doing before prison?” Mitch asks next.

Melissa gives him an amused glance. “You’re really working me over here, aren’t you?”

“The purpose is to teach you how to multitask,” he shoots back. “Talking and riding, roping a calf and riding…”

“Wait, roping a calf? Why on earth would I need to do that?”

Mitch laughs lightly. “It’s what ranch girls do.”

“I think I’d rather stick to cooking,” she mutters, but she doesn’t get off the mare. Instead, she keeps riding and getting to know Isabella better with every completed circle.

I lose myself in the details for a long minute. The jeans hug her thighs tightly, while the dark blue parka with a furry collar hides her curvy figure—but I remember those full hips, the firm, plump breasts, the inviting wetness between her legs.

Dammit, Ethan might be right. Melissa could be the nail in our coffin in so many ways. It’s been a while since we’ve been enthralled with the same woman. I like it, though. It says good things about Melissa. I dare hope she’ll join us for the ride.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Ethan reminds her. A smile tests the corner of his mouth as soon as she looks at him again. “I’m curious.”

“I was working as a sous chef at a restaurant in Lincoln,” she says.

“What restaurant?” I ask. “I know Lincoln pretty well.”

“The Sommelier,” she replies.

We’ve been there a couple of times while visiting the city. It’s a pretty high-end locale, with French cuisine and a discerning wine selection. “So, cooking is your calling,” I conclude.

“Pretty much. I’ve always been good at it,” Melissa says. “It keeps my mind quiet, and I love it when I get a dish right, from execution to aftertaste. The Sommelier was a wonderful experience. We had a French chef heading that kitchen. I learned a lot from the guy.”

“I’m still trying to figure out how you went from sous chef at a fancy French restaurant to drug-running felon,” Ethan says.

Melissa ignores him. Instead, she looks at Mitch. “How do I gently stop her?”

“Just pull on the reins. She knows,” he replies.

Slowly, Isabella comes to a halt, and Mitch, ever the gentleman, goes over to assist her as she dismounts. His hands linger on her hips, and she briefly peers deep into his eyes. I see it then. The spark. The much-needed spark that makes me think she’s anything but indifferent to the three of us. It makes Ethan’s apparently intrusive probing all the more important, despite its unpleasantness.

“We all do stupid things,” Melissa says to Ethan, her brow slightly furrowed. She doesn’t look as angry with that brown wool cap on, but I know she’s bubbling just beneath the surface. I reckon she’d make a fiery lover. “My stupidity was trusting the wrong man.”

“Not here to judge,” Ethan replies. “Just trying to get to know you better.”

“I thought Darla told you everything,” she sighs.

“Your conversations with Darla stay between the two of you. We respect each other’s privacy on this ranch,” I gently cut in.

Melissa stares at me. My guess is she’s probably wondering if I kept the bathroom incident to myself. I kept the details to myself, but I couldn’t hide the palpable chemistry from Ethan and Mitch, not when the three of us are drawn to her more and more each day.

“I appreciate that,” she says. “Thank you. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go back to the house. I could ride Isabella again tomorrow, if you want me to.”

“Do you want to ride Isabella again?” I ask, smiling broadly. She nods enthusiastically. “Then it’s a date,” I shoot back and get Apex into motion. “Come on, boy, let’s go for a ride.”

“Hold on, let me take Isabella back to the stable and I’ll join you!” Mitch says.

“You can catch up,” Ethan chuckles and gently heels Elias into a trotting rhythm beside me.

As the days go by and the winter establishes a firm hold on the land, my brothers and I find ourselves looking for work to do around the house more and more. With the field work we did over the summer, there isn’t much left for us to do in the winter, except take care of the cattle and horses and patrol the fences every day. Both tasks are often left to Kyle and Jason, occasionally accompanied by Sammy, while Ethan, Mitch, and I focus more on any home improvement projects and ranch business affairs.

Melissa is part of the family already, though she hasn’t realized it yet. I have a hard time staying away from her. Ethan and Mitch, too. We’re not too subtle about it either, a fact that Darla hasn’t failed to notice.

“You three are incorrigible,” she whispers to me one afternoon.

The two of us are in the kitchen at the breakfast table, poring over recent paperwork that needs some untangling while Melissa is prepping the meat for tonight’s dinner. There are two pots simmering on the stove—preserves for the upcoming Christmas holidays, their scent fills the room and makes my soul feel warmer with each deep breath.

Apples and cinnamon. Pears and nutmeg. And a dash of cloves in both, just enough to put a smile on my face as I admire Melissa, quietly slicing through the veal and dipping each strip in a soy-based marinade, her nimble fingers treating our food like it’s something meant for the gods. Her reverence toward her craft makes me fall harder, and I fear I have no way of stopping this train. It left the station the minute I kissed her.

“Colton.”

Darla’s voice pulls me back to a list of bank transactions I’m supposed to double-check before she slips it into last month’s archive folder.

“Sorry,” I reply. “What were you saying?”

“That you three are incorrigible.”

“We three?” I give her a skeptical look.

“Yeah. You. Ethan. Mitch. It’s almost hilarious to observe,” she chuckles dryly. “Smitten like teenage boys, yet not one of you has bothered to bring this girl a single flower.”

“Darla, we’re her bosses. It would be inappropriate.”

“Spare me the BS, Colton. I’ve known you since you first came into this world, naked and screaming.”

“That’s a nice visual,” I mutter.

Darla pours herself another glass of wine. “I’m just saying. If you want to do something, do it. If not, focus your attention somewhere else. Just don’t bother her out of sheer curiosity. She’s not some circus animal for you to gawk at all the time.”

“Where is this coming from?” I ask, my voice low as I steal glances at Melissa. She can’t hear us from across the kitchen, but I know she looks my way when she thinks I can’t see her. It’s driving me nuts.

“She’s clearly different from the kind of women you and your brothers are used to. This one’s dignified. And a convicted felon. Guilty or not, it doesn’t matter. The stigma is there, and it’s gonna follow her around forever.”

“The last thing I want to do is disrespect her.”

“Good. So, as I was saying. Either you three back off completely and keep things strictly professional—and that means y’all stop fawning over her like lovesick teenagers. Or you take the first step and woo the girl properly.”

“Thank you for the input, Auntie. I will take it under advisement,” I tell her. “Now, what’s with the Christmas music? We’re still three weeks away.”

“We’re just three weeks away, you mean,” she scoffs, then raises her voice. “Melissa?”

“Yes?”

“After dinner, I’m gonna get a few boxes out of the attic for you. Feel free to look through them and see what you can put up around the house to make it a little more festive,” Darla says.

For a moment, I’m not sure if Melissa registered the assignment, as she keeps staring at us. The silence is almost deafening, heavy enough to drown out even good ole’ Frankie.

“Is everything okay?” I ask her.

“Yeah, sorry.” She shakes her head. “I zoned out for a moment. I forgot about Christmas. I mean, it’s been a while since I’ve actually celebrated it.”

“Y’all didn’t put up a tree in Ridgeboro?” Darla asks. I’ve learned to love my aunt from a young age, despite her occasional outbursts. They’re part of her charm.

“Oh, no,” Melissa replies. “Any part of the tree, natural or faux, could be used as a makeshift shiv. The warden didn’t even put up Christmas lights. Those could be used as rope—for hanging.”

“Good grief,” Darla gasps, her eyes glistening with horror. “Sorry I asked.”

“It’s okay.” Melissa laughs lightly. “I got used to it. Yeah, I’ll unpack the boxes after dinner and see what I can do with the decorations. Sure.”

“Thank you,” Darla replies, then shifts her focus back to me while Melissa returns to her veal. “You can use this as an opportunity to assist the girl. She shouldn’t be left to put the decorations up all by herself. Right?”

“You’re absolutely right,” I sigh deeply.

I thought Darla’s cooking had become dangerous, but it’s her matchmaking skills that I should’ve been more wary of. Then again, I’d be lying if I didn’t agree that the home décor boxes do present me with a much-needed opportunity.

After dinner, the house becomes quiet.

Everyone’s in their room, snuggling beneath the covers to watch a movie or read a book. It’s snowing heavily outside, and frost flowers are quick to blossom across the windows. The smell of fruits and cloves and cinnamon lingers everywhere, courtesy of the kitchen doors left wide open. The silence comforts me.

Winter is never easy, not because of the heavy labor, for there isn’t much unless we have an emergency to deal with, but because it’s a waiting game. It teaches us to settle down and give the season its time to restart the entire ecosystem. The creek often freezes. The temperatures are too low for us to take the cattle out every day. Hell, if the weather keeps up like this, it will be a while before we’re able to safely let the animals out to stretch their legs.

Some of the decorations are already up—red, green, and gold ribbons adorning the staircase, white snowflakes hanging from the ceiling lamps, and the miniature Nativity scene on the side table in the hallway.

“I see you’ve been busy,” I say to Melissa as I walk into the living room.

She’s struggling with a tangled string of lights, her eyes tired as she looks up at me. “Huh?”

“Thought I’d lend a helping hand.”

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks. I don’t want to mess this up. These lights are so pretty.”

I smile as I sit next to her on the soft carpet, then take over the untangling project. “I remember these,” I mumble, the memories rushing back from a distant past. “Ethan and I found them at a shop near Fort Berry, where we were stationed before they sent us off on our last tour. He liked the oil-lamp shape of the lightbulbs.”

“They’re cute. Retro,” Melissa says with a smile.

“You’re exhausted,” I conclude, giving her another glance.

“I just want to finish this, and then I’ll go to bed, I promise.”

I look at the old grandfather clock in the corner. “It’s close to midnight. You do realize Darla won’t mind if you get the rest of it done at any point during the day tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, but…” She pauses and takes a deep breath, lowering her gaze. “I can’t sleep.”

“Why not? What’s troubling you?”

Melissa thinks about it for a few seconds while I visually retrace her hourglass figure beneath the velvety green jammies that are one size bigger than they should be. A woman like her would look glorious in anything tight. My cock jumps at the thought.

“I get anxiety attacks sometimes. They started in prison. Closed spaces make me jittery.”

“The house is huge. Your room is the largest on the upper floor,” I say. “The warden did mention that we should give you more space if we can. Is this why?”

She nods slowly. “I usually control them. Sometimes I get ahead of the whole thing and stop it from ruining my day. But tonight, I don’t know what happened,” Melissa says. “I finished putting the snowflakes up about an hour ago. I went up to my room thinking precisely what you suggested; that I’d do the rest tomorrow. I put my head down, and I couldn’t breathe. The living room is bigger, so I figured I might as well finish the decorating.”

“What starts the attacks?” I ask, scooting closer to her.

“I’m not sure. Sometimes a simple memory. An unpleasant event. I had a fit the other day after I accidentally locked myself in the pantry,” Melissa scoffs. “All I had to do was jiggle the latch, but I had to freak out for a hot second first.”

“While I’m not a medical professional, I would dare venture a guess and say it has something to do with the absence of freedom.”

“Yeah, pretty much. I’m sorry,” she says, giving me a kick in the guts with that pained look in her eyes.

It breaks whatever strength I had left, giving me no other choice but to intervene and pull her out of the darkness. I move closer, and she stills for a moment.

“Come here,” I say and wrap my arms around her. She feels so soft and warm against my chest, her heart echoing furiously against mine. “Don’t ever apologize for the way you feel, Melissa. Your emotions are yours and yours alone. Nobody can judge you for it.”

“I know. It’s just a force of habit, I guess.”

“We need to teach you some new habits, then,” I reply, a smile stretching my lips.

She melts in my embrace, her gaze almost golden under the rustic chandelier dangling above us. “What new habits?”

“First and foremost, a woman should kiss her man when he takes her in his arms. Here, I’ll show you.”

Melissa doesn’t object. I kiss her. I take possession of her lips with mine and conquer her defenses with remarkable ease. She loses her breath as she welcomes me, her tongue eager to play with mine. I taste the apple spice and the slivers of pain in her soul, tightening my hold on her as I deepen the kiss.

A delicate moan escapes her throat, and I quickly understand that there is no turning back from this—whatever this is.