Hitched (Steele Ranch 4)

Snow began to fall, the storm that had been predicted to bring over a foot overnight had begun. I didn’t usually give a shit about the weather, especially in January, but the snow meant Sarah’s mother wouldn’t be coming back, especially if King didn’t plow his drive. It also meant that Sarah herself wasn’t going anywhere. While her car was good in the snow, it wasn’t that good.

King ran his hand over the back of his neck, glanced up the stairs as if he could see Sarah. “I’m going to have to get a new bed.”

He walked to the great room, checked the lock on the door that went out to the patio, flipped it. “It’s exactly what it looked like, except I didn’t touch her.”

“Of course, you didn’t. You’d need your fucking shots if you did.”

He glanced at me, grinned, but it fell quickly away. Then he went down the hall and to the door off the laundry room, checked the lock.

“You saw Sarah. She probably thinks I slept with her years ago, that I might have again today if she hadn’t shown up.”

“She was remarkably calm for a woman scorned,” I commented, following him back to the front door, to the stairs.

We’d made a circle of the first floor; everything was locked up tight. We both glanced up the steps.

“I need to make this right, to dig myself out of this shit.”

“She’ll believe you.”

Out of anyone, Sarah knew how fucked up her mother was. Knew she’d try anything to get what she wanted, even fucking a guy half her age. But this was bad. If it were reversed and I were the guy her mother was after, if Sarah discovered the woman in just my shirt, I’d be worried, too. Even though the idea I’d fuck her was preposterous, I’d still panic.

King gave me a look that said he doubted my words.

“She’s our wife,” I said, grabbing his shoulder and making him look at me. I pointed up the stairs. Sarah was up there. I wasn’t sure if she were mad, sad, happy, angry. But she was here. She was worth the fight. “She loves us. Married us. She didn’t run. Now let’s go fix this.”

King took a deep breath, let it out, but he still looked pissed as hell and headed up the steps. He turned, glanced down at me. “Fine, but be prepared to duck. I deserve anything she throws my way.”

* * *

KING

* * *

I stepped into my bedroom, prepared for an angry wife. Instead, it was empty, the master bathroom as well. Only the lingering, cloying scent of Beatrice’s perfume remained.

I turned on my heel, found Wilder standing in the hallway. I shrugged, wondering where she might be. She hadn’t slipped out; I’d ensured all the first-floor doors were now locked…and would stay that way. The house had four bedrooms. She was in one of them.

Wilder went down the hall, opened the door to the room he’d been sleeping in. He’d claimed it with things from his house in town, made it his. Sarah would sleep with both of us, taking turns.

If she didn’t want to divorce me after four days.

He didn’t go in, just stood there, staring. I moved to his side, peeked over his shoulder.

“Holy shit,” I murmured.

There was Sarah, on her knees, hands on her thighs, head bowed. Naked.

The perfect submissive. Gorgeous. Her skin looked milky white in the wintery light from the window. I could see the soft turn of her full breasts and a hint of her pussy, although it was in shadow.

My heart stuttered, stopped. When she lifted her head and looked at us, her face blotchy from crying, it kicked back in.

I’d made her cry.

“Princess,” I groaned, pushing Wilder out of the way and dropping to my knees before her. “Oh, baby.”

“I didn’t marry you for your money, for your ranch like my mother said. I didn’t.” Her last words were almost a plea, her eyes almost desperate.

I frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”