man lets bread fall through his hands.
“Better get a few hours of shut eye,” he says, undoing the belt and clasping her tight to his warm chest. “Tomorrow, after our usual work is done, we'll pack up your stuff in the guest room.”
Her heart does a roll. She leans up on his steely muscles, looking him in the eye, questioning whether or not he's telling her what she thinks he is.
“Come on, beautiful. You're not stupid. From now on, this room is yours, and we're going to do what we just finished all the time.”
That night, her dreams are restful nothingness. When she wakes up alone, she can't remember the last time she slept so well, sleeping on a soft cloud in the shape of a man.
IV: Urges Boiling Over
Brax flexes his dusty hands on the fence near the cattle pen. Several men are off in the distance, repairing a mild deficiency in the structure.
Two long nights filled with pleasure and very little sleep have given him a lot to think about. He smiles, knowing his woman is inside the house, probably hard at work on another big dinner for the crew after getting a late start.
It's mid-day, and the high summer sun beats on his back. He shifts his collar, walking toward the old steel wire windmill a few paces from his barn.
Several wooden crates are stacked up near the supports. They're full of old tools that could be carted for scrap, if they didn't make such nice stairs.
With a little effort, a person can climb up and survey most of the ranch. It's a weekly ritual he's kept since inheriting the place at twenty-five, almost a full decade ago.
Oh, Sadie Derby. What am I gonna do with you?
Filling his lungs with summer air, he puts one boot up on the nearest crate and climbs several levels.
He narrows his eyes in the bright sunlight, looking across the open land. His gaze inevitably falls toward the dirt road where so many things have happened.
Memories stream like the hot winding rays above, a steady procession with an energy and strength transcending time.
Brax smiles, remembering one of his first horseback rides alone along the path. He'd barely made it off the farm when his short legs slipped out the stirrups, sending him hurling to the ground.
Thankfully, the elder Weldon hadn't been far. His father materialized in what seemed like seconds, brushing away his tears and guiding him up to the house to dress the nasty scratch on his knee.
You were a good one, Pa. Can't believe it's almost been ten years...where do the days go?
The failed horse ride fades, replaced by a long dark hearse from the funeral home, taking his father away for the last time after being laid out in the house for a two day wake. The same dirt road that carries youth and comfort also carries death.
He's seen it in old family photos taken long before he was born. The same road had ferried imports and exports to Weldon ranch for generations, the lifeblood of his family's fortune.
Then there was the stormy night they'd found her crushed up Mazda off to the side.
When Brax first saw it, he expected the passenger inside to be just as broken. It's nothing short of a small miracle she went unharmed.
Except for her blasted memory. I just don't understand how someone could lose everything up in their brain.
He shakes his head and takes off his hat. The hot sun feels good against his forehead, but he doubts it will help him think more clearly.
“Maybe I should've taken you to a doctor. Should've reported the accident. But I don't know what kind of danger that would put you in. And I reckon I'm not interested in finding out.”
Brax leans against a taller crate, feeling his muscles stiffen with a deeper need. The past fifty hours have been a remarkable exercise in restraint.
It's risky enough to have her without a condom, knowing that the chances of her being on any kind of birth control are very slim. And yet, she doesn't stop him.
If anything, he feels her body screaming for it, offering a primal invitation that summons an erection
“Better get a few hours of shut eye,” he says, undoing the belt and clasping her tight to his warm chest. “Tomorrow, after our usual work is done, we'll pack up your stuff in the guest room.”
Her heart does a roll. She leans up on his steely muscles, looking him in the eye, questioning whether or not he's telling her what she thinks he is.
“Come on, beautiful. You're not stupid. From now on, this room is yours, and we're going to do what we just finished all the time.”
That night, her dreams are restful nothingness. When she wakes up alone, she can't remember the last time she slept so well, sleeping on a soft cloud in the shape of a man.
IV: Urges Boiling Over
Brax flexes his dusty hands on the fence near the cattle pen. Several men are off in the distance, repairing a mild deficiency in the structure.
Two long nights filled with pleasure and very little sleep have given him a lot to think about. He smiles, knowing his woman is inside the house, probably hard at work on another big dinner for the crew after getting a late start.
It's mid-day, and the high summer sun beats on his back. He shifts his collar, walking toward the old steel wire windmill a few paces from his barn.
Several wooden crates are stacked up near the supports. They're full of old tools that could be carted for scrap, if they didn't make such nice stairs.
With a little effort, a person can climb up and survey most of the ranch. It's a weekly ritual he's kept since inheriting the place at twenty-five, almost a full decade ago.
Oh, Sadie Derby. What am I gonna do with you?
Filling his lungs with summer air, he puts one boot up on the nearest crate and climbs several levels.
He narrows his eyes in the bright sunlight, looking across the open land. His gaze inevitably falls toward the dirt road where so many things have happened.
Memories stream like the hot winding rays above, a steady procession with an energy and strength transcending time.
Brax smiles, remembering one of his first horseback rides alone along the path. He'd barely made it off the farm when his short legs slipped out the stirrups, sending him hurling to the ground.
Thankfully, the elder Weldon hadn't been far. His father materialized in what seemed like seconds, brushing away his tears and guiding him up to the house to dress the nasty scratch on his knee.
You were a good one, Pa. Can't believe it's almost been ten years...where do the days go?
The failed horse ride fades, replaced by a long dark hearse from the funeral home, taking his father away for the last time after being laid out in the house for a two day wake. The same dirt road that carries youth and comfort also carries death.
He's seen it in old family photos taken long before he was born. The same road had ferried imports and exports to Weldon ranch for generations, the lifeblood of his family's fortune.
Then there was the stormy night they'd found her crushed up Mazda off to the side.
When Brax first saw it, he expected the passenger inside to be just as broken. It's nothing short of a small miracle she went unharmed.
Except for her blasted memory. I just don't understand how someone could lose everything up in their brain.
He shakes his head and takes off his hat. The hot sun feels good against his forehead, but he doubts it will help him think more clearly.
“Maybe I should've taken you to a doctor. Should've reported the accident. But I don't know what kind of danger that would put you in. And I reckon I'm not interested in finding out.”
Brax leans against a taller crate, feeling his muscles stiffen with a deeper need. The past fifty hours have been a remarkable exercise in restraint.
It's risky enough to have her without a condom, knowing that the chances of her being on any kind of birth control are very slim. And yet, she doesn't stop him.
If anything, he feels her body screaming for it, offering a primal invitation that summons an erection
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