CHAPTER ONE

At the intersection of where Sovereign Mountain once met Garrison Farms is a little valley. And walking through it, with his horse, Shadow, at his side, is my husband.

Head down, dark hat covering his face.

On Shadow is our son, holding tight to his mane. I tell my husband that our son, Cash, is too young to ride bareback and he tells me there’s no holding our boy back. Gerard has a knack for horsemanship, and that talent runs through Cash’s veins.

He’s barely six, but he already wants to ride barefoot, no saddle or bridle. Just his fingers gripping their mane. He’s a daredevil. Sometimes I wonder if things had been different for Gerard, he would have been just like Cash.

Wild and free.

I thought about that a lot at first—what might have been. Sometimes with a pang of sadness. But after six years, that sadness has faded for us both.

We’re both healing, slowly, but surely. Learning to trust more every day, learning to lean into each other and forget the injustices of our pasts.

I squint, shading my eyes as I gaze at my husband and son coming over the hill. Gerard wears the same clothes he always has—a worn Henley, usually blue like his eyes, work pants, and steel toed boots.

His short, dark hair is covered by his black cowboy hat, pushed low over his eyes. He wears the same boots and pants he wore when I met him. I can tell because I’ve patched the inside seam a dozen times. Gerard believes in buying land and cattle—and spoiling me on occasion—but never spending on himself.

Well, except for when he paid off half of South Platte so he could run my husband over with a herd of cattle and get away with it. I’m the single most expensive thing he’s ever bought just for himself.

A hot gust of wind carries the smell of spring over the front porch. I curl my toes against the floorboards.

The sight of my husband and son like this fills me with pride. It’s been six years and I’m positive now that I want at least one more baby.

I haven’t talked to Gerard yet, but I plan to be pregnant before the end of the year. We took a break after Cash to just enjoy having a son together. But now I feel I’m ready.

Maybe this time it’ll be a girl with red hair like mine. I smile at the thought.

Cash came out a spitting image of his father. Big, blue eyes and curly dark hair. It didn’t take long for him to start acting like him too. As soon as he was old enough to walk and put on a pair of boots, he was swaggering around the yard. Hands on his hips, squinting at horses and slapping cattle as they went by.

I smile, watching as they draw closer and enter the yard. Instead of heading to the barn, Gerard lifts his head and sees me waiting. He clicks his fingers for Shadow and the huge gelding turns and carries my son to the bottom of the steps.

“What are you doing, mom?” Cash asks, leaning in and resting his chin on Shadow’s mane.

“Waiting for you,” I say. “What are you doing?”

He straightens, pointing back at the valley. “We went up to the cliffs. Dad’s showing me where he runs the cattle when he changes the pasture around.”

I look past him to my husband, walking towards me with that habitually stern expression on his face. It’s the face that makes me remember why I never take off the silver collar around my neck. Not once in the seven years we’ve been married.

His pale blue gaze flicks up and catches mine. He gives me that look—the one that always gets my panties to drop around my ankles whenever he wants. My entire body tingles, like it did when we first met.

“Careful up in the cliffs,” I say lightly.

“Why?” Cash demands.

I turn to Gerard, who has his hands on his hips. He shrugs, glancing back.

“Wouldn’t want to get caught between them,” he says. “Not when the cattle are coming through.”

Cash squints, screwing up his face as he stares over the fields. He’s trying to make sense of what his father is saying, but he’ll never admit there might be something in the world he can’t comprehend.

“Okay,” he says finally. He turns to me, ready for the next thing. “I’m hungry. What’s for dinner?”

I put my hands on my hips. “I don’t know, baby. What are you making?”

He looks horrified and Gerard’s eyes glint. A ghost of a smile passes over his mouth.

“I can’t cook, mom,” Cash says.

Gerard lifts him down from Shadow and gathers the reins. “Maybe you should go help your mother, son,” he says. “You’re not too young to learn.”

Cash wilts, stuffing his hands in his pockets. I pull him near, hugging him against my hip and ruffling his dark curls.

“We’re having breakfast,” I say. “It’s Sunday so your dad gets to pick.”

“And he always picks breakfast,” Cash says, his mood improving.

Like father, like son. They’d live off biscuits and gravy if I let them. Cash takes his hat off and hits it against his thigh, the way Gerard does, to clear the dust. “Alright, let’s go.”

“Where you headed?” Gerard asks.

“Gotta help with Shadow,” he says, like it’s obvious.

I nod and Gerard hands Cash the reins. I watch them cross the yard and enter the barn, Shadow’s hooves clopping on the floor. They disappear and I hear my son’s voice faintly, still asking incessant questions.

My heart warms as my husband answers. Gerard has so much patience for him, just as much as he has for me.

It’s everyone else in the world who pisses him off.

I pad barefoot through the front hall and into the living room. It looks exactly the same as the day he offered me a contract to be his submissive. Except, now our son’s toys are strewn across the floor. There’s a stack of tin cars by the hearth and pile of sticks he brought in from the yard in the fireplace.

All evidence of the life we’ve built together in the last seven years.

Heart warm, I head to the kitchen and start taking things from the fridge. After Cash was born, Gerard decided to designate Sunday as the one time a week where no one but our family are allowed in the ranch house. All the hired help and wranglers take a day off in their homes, in the employee housing to the west of the house.

The very last day of the week is my favorite.

For a few different reasons.

On Sunday morning, Gerard and Cash go out to do their rounds. My son insists he be involved in everything Gerard does, but my husband only has time for it on Sundays. That’s when he sets our boy on the saddle in front of him and they ride out to the border. Sometimes they’re back by noon. Other days they stay out, just riding the land.

“This’ll be his when we retire,” Gerard says sometimes. “He needs to know it like the back of his hand.”

Sometimes, I take Angel and go with them. Other days, I like the quiet of the house when it’s just me.

Tonight, the kitchen is too quiet so I turn on Maddie’s radio. Peaceful music fills the sunny space as I roll out biscuit dough and start cutting. Maddie has all the resources in the world at her fingertips, but she still uses a chipped coffee mug to cut her biscuits. I understand—there’s something about the worn porcelain that’s comforting. Like hundreds of hands have done this before me and a hundred more will do it when I’m gone.

My mind drifts.

We spent the last few years resting and raising our son. We both needed to learn to be a married couple and let time heal the wounds of the past. I needed to process my first marriage and everything that had happened since I met Gerard. Our beginning was scorching hot, but with it came death, deceit, and the realization that we were both broken.

In the last six years, we’ve picked up all the pieces together. We’ve healed through our daily rituals.

Some of them are simple and sweet. Like the meals I make for him or the kisses he presses to my forehead before he leaves in the morning.

Others are so much darker, in a way that makes my toes curl just thinking about them. Pain to teach me it’s safe to be vulnerable with him. Pleasure to heal me from the years of having my needs trampled on.

These rituals fuel our intimacy. At night, when the doors are closed. When the ranch sleeps.

There, I find him, intimately. In the harsh darkness when it’s just our bodies, the bull skull watching over us, and the heat of leather against skin.

My body tingles, wide awake.

I hear a step in the hall, heavy like Gerard’s boot. It’s followed by the light patter of my son’s bare feet. Cash tears down the hall and I hear him scramble up the stairs, probably heading for the shower. I know he’s covered in grime, but I’ve got him trained to wash up before dinner, despite his frequent protests.

For a second, the house is quiet. But I know my husband is right outside. The kitchen door opens. A tingle moves up my spine and my nipples tighten under my dress.

His big, broad hands slide around my waist. My hands go still as he kisses the nape of my neck.

A hint of warmth. The tickle of his beard. The graze of his teeth.

“You smell good,” he murmurs.

He turns me around abruptly, bending me back over the table. I’m in a thin sundress with a ruched bodice. When he presses up against me, my breasts spill from the neckline and the skirt rides up my thighs.

The feeling of his work clothes against my bare skin takes my breath away. Rough, creased to his hard body underneath. My lids flutter as he bends in, takes my face in his hand to turn it, and kisses my mouth. Then he pulls away and flips me around, pressing me back against the counter. The warm palm of his hand skims over my stomach and slides down the inside of my thigh.

And back up again. Stopping an inch below my pussy.

Fire floods my veins.

My head spins.

He’s so good at this. He starts out gentle, then gives me just a trace of his tongue. He holds back until I’m begging for it. Then he kisses me like he’s starving, only tearing his mouth from mine to drag it over my neck.

He kisses my cleavage and my hands, covered in flour, dig into his shirt. This isn’t the first time he’s interrupted me in the kitchen and left with dusty white handprints all over his body.

“You’re so pretty,” he says distractedly. “My beautiful redbird.”

Heat radiates from my face. “You’d better stop distracting me if you want dinner.”

He glances up. “You can take a break while Cash washes up.”

Before I can speak, he picks me up and wraps my legs around his waist. I grip his shoulders as he carries me around the corner and into the walk-in pantry.

The door slams and he crushes me against the wall.

Kisses burn down my throat. His teeth graze my breasts. My head falls back as his rough fingers slip between my legs. Instead of stopping this time, he cups my pussy in his rough hand. Making it pulse under the pressure.

“Good girl,” he says. “You did good, keeping your pussy bare for me to use.”

He didn’t lay out panties this morning, just a bra, so that’s all I have on under my dress. It gives me such a thrill when he praises me for obeying him. My toes curl as his touch slips over my sex and out from below my skirt so he can rub himself against me.

I can feel him, big and hard, under his work pants.

My hips rise of their own accord, up against the enormous ridge. I can already tell my pussy is drenched, as it always is for him. All it takes is the darkness of his voice, like thunder over the mountains. The brush of his hand, so rough, but so gentle for me.

And I’m at his mercy.

His hand slides up the back of my neck and gathers my hair, wrapping it twice around his fist. My breath catches as he drags my head back. Forcing me to look into his impassive, blue stare.

Then he reaches between our bodies and his zipper hisses. My eyes flutter as he unleashes his cock and the head hits against my clit. Without prep or ceremony, he wraps his hand around the base and guides his heavy length into my pussy.

Inch by inch.

I groan softly, trying to rotate my hips to fit him. That familiar burn starts and my body responds like wildfire. Aching and trying to thrust against him. He’s written himself into my veins and my body wants nothing but him. Nothing but his taste, his scent, the weight and fullness of his cock deep inside me.

I gasp as he settles up against my cervix. At this angle, he can’t get in all the way, but that doesn’t stop him from trying.

Our eyes lock and I whimper. He brushes my hair back from my face.

“I think you can take it, redbird,” he says gruffly. “You’ve been a good whore for me, you can do it again.”

My nails rake over his shoulders and neck. Leaving flour all over him.

“Please,” I gasp. “Please, sir.”

He tilts his head, drawing his cock out slowly.

“Please…what?” he says.

My teeth bite down hard on my lower lip and release it, leaving the tender skin tingling.

“Please fuck me, sir,” I whisper.

His hips go still and his hand releases my hair. My breath catches as he slides a finger under my discreet collar, pulling it tight. I’m so turned on I can’t control the way my pussy grips him.

“Mine,” he says. “Say it.”

“Yours,” I breathe. “Sir.”

He releases the collar and braces his hand on the wall beside me. Upstairs, I can hear the water running through the pipes. We have a few more minutes to ourselves before we have to go back to being parents.

He draws out, dragging his cock to the head. Then he slams it back into me and my nails pierce his skin. My vision flashes and I hear how wet I am.

“Fuck me, redbird, you’re tight,” he groans.

Sweat breaks out on my upper back. I’m flat against the wall as he starts fucking hard, giving me all the power in that broad body. My skirt is up around my waist and my hair is tangled around my sweaty neck. His other hand grips my thigh, holding me up easily and spreading me open at the same time.

He slams me into the wall, taking what he wants. My pleasure sparks and gets closer every time the head of his cock drags over my G-spot.

He pushes to the hilt, until it hurts, and grinds into my clit. Then I break, hot pleasure bursting through me. I shake, pumping around him, whimpering through my teeth.

He groans and somehow goes even harder. My spine arcs, desperately trying to make room. This time, it’s too much.

A whimper pushes past my lips and he eases up on me. My pussy is so full I swear I can feel him past my navel. Gently stroking my cervix with the head of his cock. I’m not used to taking him at this angle, usually I’m on my back to make more room.

His mouth brushes over mine. His body stiffens.

Then he comes, hips slamming into me as the pleasure washes over him. I feel the warmth deep inside. His groan turns into a heavy growl deep in his chest. He buries his face in my neck.

Our bodies go still.

Lungs and hearts pumping.

He lifts his head, brushing his lips over my forehead. My heart melts.

How is he so rough and so gentle all at once?

The water turns off upstairs. He pulls his cock from me and zips himself up in one movement. Then he leaves the pantry and returns in a moment with a cool, wet cloth. He sinks down on his knees and parts my thighs, cleaning our arousal and cum from my body.

He kisses my clit. And I’m a puddle on the floor.

“I guess I should make biscuits,” I say, stumbling over my words.

The corner of his mouth turns up. “I guess so.”

My face is so sweaty and flushed I can’t hide it as I wash my hands and go back to laying out the biscuits. He leaves and takes his overwhelming presence with him, heading upstairs.

In a few moments, I hear Cash talking with him. I press the back of my hands to my cheek. I need some iced tea after that.

By the time I hear them climbing down the stairs, I’m cooled down. There are pitchers of iced tea and lemonade ready on the table. The biscuits are in the oven and sausages crackle on the stove. My face isn’t flushed anymore and my hair is smoothed back.

“Dinner smells good,” Cash says, popping up behind me. “Smells like biscuits.”

“Well, you know I don’t serve breakfast without biscuits,” I say, lifting him up to sit on the counter. He watches as I pour a glass of lemonade and hand it to him. He drinks, testing it experimentally. Just one time, when he was three, I gave him lemonade that wasn’t sweet enough and, I swear, he’ll remember it forever.

“It’s good,” he says.

“Cash,” Gerard says, walking into the kitchen in just his t-shirt and pants, a towel in hand. “Say thank you to your mother when she serves you.”

“Thank you, mom,” he says, looking guilty. “Sorry, I forgot.”

I kiss his head. “You’re welcome, baby.”

I give Gerard a glance over my shoulder and he gives me a glance back. It’s a silent exchange of me telling him he’s too stern with Cash and him telling me that he knows what he’s doing. For a second, I consider pushing back, but then I remember that Gerard shows his love differently than I do and that’s alright.

“Can we eat on the porch?” Cash says, dropping to the ground.

“Sure,” I say. “Why don’t you go set the table?”

He nods and starts gathering up the utensils and napkins. He’s not very good at it, I always have to do some subtle corrections. But I’m over the moon that he wants to help.

He heads out, everything in a bundle held to his chest. Gerard leans on the counter and gives me a look. Heat creeps up my neck and I pretend to ignore him as I flip the sausages.

But it’s so hard to ignore the way those pale eyes follow my every move. Finally, I turn.

“What?” I ask, not unkindly.

“Nothing,” he says. “I just have a good looking wife.”

I bite my lip, ducking my head. Never sure how to react when he looks at me like that. I give him everything. My body, my mind. There are no secrets, nothing between us anymore. And yet, he’s so hungry for more.

It’s thrilling, overwhelming.

At least, we’ll never get bored together.

We eat on the porch as the sun sets over the mountains. The grass in the fields is already high and it moves in waves. In the distance, I hear the cattle settling down. It’s a sound so familiar it brings me peace every night.

Cash plays in the yard for a while. Around eight, Gerard sends him up to brush his teeth and go to bed. When I’m finished with cleaning the kitchen, I sneak up the stairs and peer into his room.

My little boy is curled up, head on the pillow. Eyes hazy and fixed out his window.

“Goodnight, baby,” I whisper.

He glances over his shoulder, smile sleepy. Then he’s out, snoring as the moon rises and casts a pale blue glow over his bed. Heart overflowing, I close his door and go back downstairs to find my husband.