Wrangler Read online

  Copyright © 2016

  by Dani Wyatt

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places,

  events and incidents are either the products

  of the author’s imagination

  or used in a fictitious manner.

  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,

  is purely coincidental.

  www.daniwyatt.com

  Photo Credit Rob Lang

  Cover Credit PopKitty

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  WRANGLER

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Epilogue One

  Epilogue Two

  BABY

  WHERE SHE BELONGS

  Bending Bethany

  Promise

  FOLLOW ME:

  Thank You.

  A NOTE TO MY READERS:

  I appreciate every one of you.

  This one’s for you NA.

  Hope you are a fan of the front porch,

  the slow ride and good old fashioned

  smutty goodness. Thank you for everything!

  Sordid fun and other dirty shenanigans

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  Chapter One

  CHAD

  “Harder. Can’t you do it harder?”

  The voice of the girl Roger has bent over in the bathroom echoes in the tall ceilings of this century old farmhouse. “Oh, fuck yeah, do it harder.” This chick likes to give out orders. “Up a little. No, not... yes! Stop there, now. Do it now. Do it harder. Faster! Can you go fast?”

  I’m in town barely two hours and already I’m glad I haven’t unpacked because I’m rethinking my decision to move back. I press my fingers into my eyebrows trying to stave off the thundering headache that is gaining momentum, listening to my best friend plow some chick on the other side of the bathroom door.

  Through the door it’s Roger now. “Can you, you know, shut the fuck up?” He sounds wound as tight as a lasso around a mustang’s neck. He’s had her in there too long for his taste already, and I know Roger; he wants to get in and get out, and all her instruction is keeping him from the finish line.

  A groaning chuckle gathers in my throat until I can’t hold back.

  Not because I think it’s funny. To the contrary, it’s because Roger hasn’t changed at all in the time I’ve been gone. Myself, I haven’t touched a woman since before I’d left Michigan years ago. If I think about it, it’s gotta be five? Six years since I’ve even been on a date let alone anything else.

  And Roger’s still on his quest to touch as many women as possible. We’re best friends, but sometimes I wonder how.

  In a solid hundred year old farmhouse like this, you might expect the walls to deaden the sound, but the acoustics must be something else because it just seems to be amplified. Fuck, if I closed my eyes I could imagine they’re putting on a sex show right here next to his mother’s old davenport.

  I don’t even realize that I’m gritting my teeth until my jaw pops and a jolt of pain darts through my brain. When Roger picked me up at the airport, I told him all I wanted was a shower and a bed. Unfortunately, I failed to specify that the bed should be empty.

  “So.” The girl in the bathroom has a friend and she’s sitting here bouncing her foot and staring at me like I might relent and fuck her just to pass the time. That ain’t happening. If Roger wants a fuck-chick that’s up to him, but I’m not interested. When her friend plopped down next to me on the sofa I found the first reason I could to redirect myself to the kitchen. I offered her a glass of water or a Coke but she’s not here for liquid refreshment.

  I made evening plans for us.

  Roger’s words bang around inside my head. Ten minutes after I dumped my bag in the guestroom and he drops that one on me.

  His hook-up’s friend is looking expectantly at me, but I can’t think of anything to say to her. Small talk’s never been in my wheelhouse on my best day. But, I’m a gentleman, my father raised me right, to treat all women with respect and I struggle to think of something to say without encouraging her too much.

  It’s hard to take a breath let alone make idle chat while I’m thinking about my visit with my mom. I made my most important stop on the way home from the airport when I dropped in to see her at the facility where she now lives. Not that she saw me. She doesn’t even know who I am any more. At this point, I guess I don’t give a shit what we do tonight.

  I swig my Coke, shake my head at no one in particular. Roger’s been like this since 5th grade when he managed to persuade Jane Wilkinson to show him her panties behind the hog barn at the 4-H Fairgrounds.

  On the other hand, I’m getting damn near monk status at this point, and it doesn’t bother me. I’ve never been a player so to speak. I don’t think I’m bad looking, and women make it clear they’re available if I’m interested, but I’m not. Call me a bitch, but I need more than a willing body. At this point I’m just not sure I’ll ever find it.

  The blond on the sofa doesn’t hide the way she’s staring directly at my crotch and I’m finding it difficult to stay in the same room. “So.” She attempts to open dialogue again.

  So. I repeat silently. It seems to be her go-to word. Deep conversationalist. Her perfume reminds me of Boone’s Farm and my Grandmother’s Rose water.

  I gulp down another swig from my Coke, grimacing as the icy fizz hits the back of my throat. “Yep, so.”

  Roger and the brunette are ratcheting up the porn soundtrack from behind the door. That chick is faking the shit out of it, screaming like a hyena on laughing gas. Sounds a whole lot like ‘let’s get this over with’ to me.

  He grunts his release and she mutters a few forced compliments, then a moment later the toilet flushes, his first condom of the evening spinning into the abyss.

  For a moment, all I hear is the popping fizz of the Coke in my bottle.

  “Where you from?” Blond sofa girl leans forward, her silicone-enhanced rack nearly spilling out of her black tank top, a smile playing on her lips.

  Sally. Her name finally registers. She’s peroxide blond, with two inches of black roots. In heels she’s nearly as tall as a Shetland pony, and she wears enough makeup for three drag queens ready to take the stage. I’m polite, but distant. This was not the night I had in mind.

  She gives me a flirta
tious shimmy of her shoulders, the jewels on her top glinting under the artificial light.

  I meet her eyes for a split second, then look away. “Couple hours north. But not for a while.”

  There’s a click and the bathroom door opens behind her. Roger emerges, looking like the Cheshire cat who just fucked the queen of hearts. I give him a death stare, but all I get in return is an open mouth grin as he jerks his head toward the bedroom, bouncing his eyes between me and sofa Sally.

  “Where have you been?” Sally tries her best to keep the conversation flowing, but the only thing flowing is thoughts of me taking my best friend out with a shot to the jaw.

  Roger answers for me. “Oklahoma, honey, he’s been in Oklahoma. Where the women are scarce and the sheep wear wedding bands.” Roger grins as he tucks his plaid shirt tails into his jeans. It’s a miracle he’s not wagging his dick in Sally’s face asking for a clean-up.

  I roll my eyes so hard the room spins. My hackles are up and if he wasn’t my best friend I’d already have flattened him. Tonight I am not in the mood for his shit. Sally makes this ‘pssssffftt’ sound as she springs back upright, disappointed that I’m not interested in her inflatable triple Ds.

  “So.” There’s that word again, but it’s from the brunette this time. “Are we going out or what?” She follows Roger, fussing with the hem of her black dress. Although ‘dress’ is a generous term, the thing she’s wearing is more like a tank top that’s stretched just enough to keep her from getting arrested.

  “Of course we are.” Roger stuffs his wallet into his back pocket and shoots me a sidelong glance. His teeth are on show again. “What do you say, Chad? Ready to head out?”

  When he bobs his eyebrows I almost lose it. Just lucky for him I’m standing by the front window and I can’t be bothered to make the leap to the front door to knock him out. His grin widens and he grabs his keys, points one at me.

  “Well, buddy?” He checks himself in the mirror, runs his fingers through his military-grade haircut. It’s near blond, a throwback to his family’s Scandinavian roots. Mine, on the other hand, is brown like maple syrup.

  That’s what my mom used to call it. No self-respecting dude would say they have ‘maple syrup brown hair.’ I guess being back in my home state is bringing back thoughts of my mom and dad.

  Other thoughts too. Memories. Some that would be better forgotten.

  “Well, I know I’m ready.” Roger slaps me on the shoulder as he breezes past. “Or maybe you want to shave that thing off your face first?” He attempts to grab at my beard, and God knows there’s plenty of it to grab, but I smack his hand away with a growl. As I lean back I rub at the hair on my cheek with my middle finger.

  Roger chuckles and gives me the finger right back.

  “Well, I like it.” Sally stands up and copies the brunette, adjusting the hem of her jean skirt in a show of false modesty. “I think beards are sexy.”

  Roger nods. “Uh huh. Of course you do.”

  She smiles at me and bats her eyelashes, Roger’s playful insult going right over her head.

  “Ready, Chad?” Roger toys with my name. He’s looking my way, meeting my eyes, measuring just how pissed I am. His toothy smile spreads like wet paint.

  My urge to take him to the ground, put him out with a half-nelson and then go find a quiet, empty bed is compelling. But even though he’s half asshole, there’s something comforting about being around him. He’s familiar, and right now familiar feels good. He never fails to entertain, that’s for sure. He flashes me his best shit-eating grin, turns and grabs his black Stetson off the hat rack.

  I crack a smile and shake my head. “Let’s go.”

  Roger motions towards the door. “Ladies, shall we?” When he pulls it open the breeze brings with it the scent of lilacs and fresh cut hay. The crickets are starting to sing as a dusting of stars pierce a wide country sky.

  The girls jostle and giggle with each other as they trot out the door, followed so closely by Roger that he’s able to give the brunette a loud slap on her ass to send her on her way.

  He looks back over his shoulder. “So, now that you’re back, you planning on keeping your Oklahoma look? You channeling a little bit of the old Forrest Gump? You know, running from coast to coast. I’m just saying, people gonna have a hard time deciding if you’re a homeless guy, a sociopath or a Viking.”

  He wrangles me out the door and slams it behind us.

  “Will you shut the fuck up? Where are we going, anyway?” We fall in step across the wooden planks of the front porch toward the steps.

  Sally turns her head as she walks in front of us. “That rugged look is hot. I like it.”

  “Which car?” Brunette asks. Roger never introduced us and I’m not interested enough to ask her name.

  “Whichever you want, ladies, your choice.”

  They laugh and rush on ahead, leaving me and Roger to walk together. For a moment it’s like old times. “I have to admit, you’re doing well,” I say, nodding at the lineup of cars.

  Of the three vehicles arrayed in front of us, the Ford 350 pickup would be my first and only choice. Roger knows that, which is why it’s the one he used to collect me from the airport. It’s as big as the fucking plane that brought me in, with black dual tires, four doors and an engine ready to haul the weight of a dozen Clydesdales.

  The girls don’t give the truck a second glance; they head straight to debate between the Mercedes and the Range Rover.

  “Yeah, you know, I’m doing okay. You know when mom passed and I sold the old farm, this place was perfect. A little closer to civilization with freeway access for the haul-in clinics than back home. Two hundred acres all the arenas and pastures all set up. It worked out perfect. Add to that the horse training business and I’m making ends meet. But you know all that already. But, I’ve franchised my system, did I tell you?”

  “Your system?”

  Roger and I started training horses since before we had any hair on our balls back in our hometown of Meyer about two hours from here. We might have taken different paths since, but our roots are in what we learned together over many years and a whole lotta mistakes. If you need a serving of humble pie, training horses is a good place to start. They don’t care who you are, how much money you make, or how much swagger you may think you have. It takes patience and more than that, you best check your ego because they can smell a fake like week-old road kill.

  He laughs, puts up his hands. “Okay, you got me. Our system. But you know, we have different styles, man. Anyway, I’ve packaged it up, branded it. Videos, webinars. I’m doing three seminars a month. All over the country to a full stable of eager students at twelve hundred bucks a pop. I even have my own line of training tack and supplements.”

  I nod. “Good for you, man.”

  “Where are we going?” Sally yells from her place by the Range Rover.

  Roger cups a hand to his mouth as he hollers back. “Murphy’s.”

  “No.” I stop dead on the gravel drive.

  “Man, what now?” Roger turns and squints his eyes at me. “Come on, no one’s going to know who you are. We’re two hours from where anyone knows you. You don’t have to worry about that around here. And even if we were back home no one would ever recognize you with all that hair. And that baseball hat. I mean, who the fuck wears a baseball hat around here? Unless it says ‘Mack’ or ‘John Deere.’” Roger snickers at his own joke but I don’t move.

  “I’m not going to Murphy’s.” My skin prickles, the evening suddenly chillier than it was a moment ago. Murphy's is a place where Roger and I used to hang out just before I left for Oklahoma. It was a good ninety minutes away from our hometown when he had an apartment here and back then I needed the distance. It was kind of a shitty time in my life, and I just don’t want the trip down memory lane.

  “Okay, okay.” Roger waves a hand at me. “Where then? Your call, buddy.”

  “Head over a couple towns, maybe Plythesville. They have that downtown with
a few bars. I’m sure not that much has changed in four years.”

  “Fuck man, that’s a whole forty minutes away from here. We’ll take so long we’ll meet ourselves coming back.”

  “Then go ahead to Murphy’s, but I’m staying here.” I spin to head back to the house.

  “Okay, okay.” Roger sighs and shakes his head. “Fine, well there’s that giant barn of a place, you know,” He thinks for a moment. “Crutches. Yeah, that’s it. Got a good and rowdy mix of regulars, bikers and townies.”

  “Fine.” If anyone recognizes me it’d be a miracle this far from home but tonight I need to be sure I’m anonymous. Besides the beard and hair, I’ve put on a good thirty pounds in muscle since I left. My life in Oklahoma consisted of horses, chores and two hours on the weights every day.

  Roger starts walking toward the girls, pressing the key fob in his hand and the lights on the Range Rover come to life.

  “Let’s go.” I puff out a laugh, and with everything that’s going on it feels good to release the tension like that. “You need a beer.”

  “Yeah?” Roger chuckles. “You sure you don’t have a six pack hiding in that beard? Why don’t you root around in there and see what shakes out?”

  I hurl a half-hearted swing to his jaw, but Roger jets forward out of the way. I miss by a whisker, and I’m sure he must have felt the rush of air as my fist passed his face. Anyone who didn’t know us would think it was serious, but he’s laughing and hooting as he takes off at a canter, leaving me to take a few calming breaths of Michigan’s late summer air.

  I reach up to grab the coarse hair that hangs from my chin and there is an emptiness that rumbles in my gut. Being home with no idea what the future holds is both freeing and frightening.

  Roger turns and leans against the Rover while the girls climb into the back. “Since you don’t seem interested in the little homecoming gift I brought you, I see a three-way in my future and you may need to find your own ride back.” He tips his hat at me then clucks his tongue. “Just sayin’.”

  He nods, and I return it as I saunter over to stand with him. The girls are in the back, adjusting their skirts for some level of decency.