Shaken, Not Stirred

  "That means a lot, Goldie," Tenn says quietly, and shivers race up my spine over the gratitude I hear in his voice. It feels good... knowing I'm doing something that he really needs right now.

  I turn and hold out my credit card to find Tenn already filling in information on the computer screen to book the flights. "Here... to purchase my ticket."

  He just shakes his head. "I got it."

  "No way," I insist. "You are not paying for my plane ticket."

  "Back off, Goldie," he says in a low warning. "I'm not in the mood to argue with you."

  I heed his voice, dropping my outstretched hand. He needs to be in charge now, and this is not the time to try to assert my independence with him. For the time being, I'll let Tenn do the things he needs to do, and I just need to be there to support him.

  Because we didn't eat, I head into the kitchen and find a few cans of soup I can heat up. I work on getting them opened and started on a low simmer on the stove while Tenn finishes booking our flights. When he's done, he pulls out his phone and sends a text to his brother with our arrival time, waits for his response, and then texts something back.

  "Woolf will pick us up at the airport," Tenn says absently as he pushes out of the chair.

  I turn the stove off and open the cupboard to the right to get some bowls. "Let's get some food in you and then we'll get a good night's sleep since we--"

  My words are cut off as Tenn steps up behind me, taking my wrist that is extended toward the cupboard. He pulls it away, drags it back toward my body, and then presses into my back. Wrapping both arms around me, he envelopes me in a warm hug that is full of thanks and then morphs into need. I know it's need because I can feel him start to grow hard against my lower back.

  "Aren't you hungry?" I ask softly, holding my body still to see what he really wants.

  "Yes," he breathes in my ear, and then drops his hands down to my thighs where he skims his fingers over my skin, just under the hem of my sundress.

  His unspoken words? I'm hungry for you.

  Immediately turning in his arms, I press my breasts into his chest and dip my fingers into his waistband. I look up at him and my heart hurts over the pain I see there, but know that based on the need I see there too, that I can make him feel marginally better.

  My hands work at his belt buckle and I quickly undo it, his button and zipper following quickly. He stares down at me with quiet interest, but when my hands start to push down at his jeans, he stills them with just one word. "Don't," he says quietly.

  I press a quick kiss against his breastbone, and then tilt my head back to look at him. "But I want to take care of you."

  Tenn's fingers drag upward, taking my skirt with his hands. He curls them around to the back, squeezing my ass gently, leveling me with a heated stare. He shakes his head. "I need to drive."

  "Be in charge?" I ask gently, knowing damn well that's what he means.

  "Yeah... I need a bit of normalcy right now," he admits as he slips his fingers under the back edge of my panties. "I honestly don't think I can handle you taking care of me tonight."

  His words are rough and strained but rather than respond... to potentially cause him to break on me, I simply nod and lift my mouth to his. He takes it... gladly, and kisses me deep.

  While his mouth moves against mine, causing me to start to fall into that deep abyss of pleasure, his hands grip hard on my ass and lift me up. My legs naturally wrap around his waist and our kiss never breaks. Deepens in fact.

  When my core settles against him and I give a little grind, deep gratification rumbles in his chest and he turns to carry me to the bedroom. In just moments, he has me on the bed and stripped naked. He proceeds to remove his own clothing, not rushing and keeping his eyes pinned on my face while I in turn let my own eyes rove all over his body. I take in the planes and contours of his muscles, the vibrant ink on his arms and shoulders, the patch of hair just below his belly button that dives down into those pants and points me to my favorite part of his body.

  My nerves hum and my blood sizzles.

  It's what always happens when I know that Tenn is going to touch me.

  Taste me.

  Fuck me.

  I wait with nervous anticipation to see what he'll do. Will it be an onslaught of lust? Or sweet touches to slowly build me up? He's a master at both, and I don't have a preference.

  But he does neither.

  Instead, he kneels on the bed between my legs and proceeds to run his hands over my skin. Everywhere. All over my entire body except my breasts and the money spot between my legs. He curves his hands around my ankles, digging his thumb deliciously into my instep. Spreads his fingers wide and palms my calves, squeezing them gently before smoothing upward to my thighs. Everywhere... hips, stomach, the inside of my elbows. He strokes my collarbone and my neck, running his fingers over my jawline.

  After he has his fill, he finally brings his body down on top of mine, nestling his hard cock against me and kisses me. Leisurely and deep, not in a rush to do anything but savor.

  He laces his fingers with mine, pulling our hands above our heads. He kisses me so sensually that I become immersed in a deep pool of feeling. I become so captivated by what his tongue does to mine that I really don't even notice as he starts to shift his hips so his cock presses against my warm opening.

  When he pushes in a fraction, I can't control the gasp that comes out of my mouth. He sucks it down and keeps kissing me, all while slowly pushing his way inside.

  And when he's fully seated... when we are pelvis to pelvis and he can't go any deeper, he just rocks against me. Presses deeply.

  Over and over again.

  He takes me slowly and drags out every bit of pleasure between us. Our breathing matches pace with one another, our hands grasp tightly. We build all the way up and when it's time, we take the plunge together.

  Pushing in deep, he starts coming at the same time I do.

  It's magnificent, and I've never felt closer to him than I do at this moment.

  Knowing that he needed me and based on the low moan of pleasure and relief I hear in his voice, I know that for even just a moment, I was able to give him some peace.

  When he finally collapses on top of me, I hear him whisper in my ear a direct admission. "I love you, Casey."

  Chapter 24

  Tenn

  As our flight turns parallel to the Teton Mountain range to line up with the runway at the Jackson Airport, I feel a moderate amount of turbulence that is typical of the high crosswinds. Casey jerks awake in her seat, and I immediately take her hand.

  She didn't tell me that this was only her second time on an airplane, or that she had a slight fear of flying until we were barreling down the runway in New Bern. She clutched my hand in a death grip, imprinting little half-moon divets into the back of my hand with her nails. I only managed to get her to release her hold after plying her with two Jack and Cokes so she could relax marginally. Just before our flight left Detroit after our layover, I also had her down a few drinks before we boarded, and that takeoff was much smoother. And she's been sleeping ever since.

  I still can't believe she came with me.

  Fuck, I can't believe my father is dead.

  Grief and guilt have been a constant companion since I got the news last night. Grief that a vibrant and beloved man is dead and guilt that perhaps I was an utter disappointment to him and he died with that on my conscience. He died without me ever having the ability to just make that final decision about what I wanted to do with my life. He died with me not knowing if he even forgave me for not wanting to continue with the family's legacy.

  Casey's hand clutches at mine again, and I can feel how sweaty her palms are. I squeeze her with reassurance, and she lays her head on my shoulder.

  It's a beautiful feeling.

  I like her dependence on me for comfort.

  I really like the fact she didn't go running after I told her I loved her last night.

  Granted, she didn't say
it back, but I could tell by the way her arms wrapped around me and she squeezed me so gently to her, that she was touched by my words. I know she was touched, and probably intrigued, maybe still a bit scared, but honestly... she's open to it. I know this because she fell asleep wrapped in my embrace, and that's how I found her this morning. Still glued to me... and it chased a little of my sadness away.

  We make it through the process of deplaning and walking through the small, rustic airport to the baggage claim. After a short wait, our bags arrive... a large one that holds both of our clothes and a smaller one that holds Casey's toiletries. I grab the big suitcase while she takes the smaller one, and lead her out the door, where I know Woolf will be waiting.

  I immediately see him... leaning up against the side of a silver pickup truck with the Double J Ranch logo on the side. He's dressed exactly as I would be if I were working the ranch. Plaid western shirt, pair of worn jeans, dusty cowboy boots, and his brown-colored Stetson pulled low over his face, the ends of his dark hair curling out from the bottom against his neck. Even with the hat pulled low, his light blue eyes, the exact duplicate of mine, shine brightly.

  I step off the curb to the rear of the truck and heft the large suitcase over the back and into the bed. Woolf pushes off from the truck and walks up to me, his eyes sad with grief and the same guilt that I know is reflected in mine.

  My arms open up naturally to him, and we give each other a short hug with hard slaps on the back. When I release him, he nudges the front of his hat back on his head so I can see his face more clearly. "Can't fucking believe it, bro," he mutters. "Fucking talking to him one minute, the next he's on the ground and Lucky is giving him CPR."

  I wince over that grim description, hating that Woolf even had to witness our dad's death. I'd seen a lot of death when I served in Afghanistan, but I suppose it's quite different when you watch a family member die before your eyes.

  "Sorry you had to see that, man. Wish I'd been here with you," I say quietly... absolutely lying through my teeth. No one would want to see that.

  "Fucking liar," Woolf says with a pained grin on his face, and I can't help give him a return smile that's more sheepish than anything.

  Turning to Casey, I reach my arm out and beckon her forward. She comes to me with sure steps, looking at Woolf with a sympathetic smile.

  I introduce her simply, so there's no question as to her status in my life. "This is my girlfriend, Casey."

  Slipping an arm around her waist to pull her in toward me, I tell her, "Goldie... this is my brother, Woolf."

  Casey sticks her hand out and Woolf shakes it, surprise on his face. I didn't tell him I was bringing anyone because I didn't feel like making explanations. I also didn't feel like listening to Woolf try to talk me out of bringing someone, so it's another reason why I kept my lips zipped about her.

  "Well, this is a surprise," Woolf says guardedly as he shakes her hand. "But welcome, Casey."

  "I'm so sorry about your father," she says, her eyes warm and soft as she regards my little brother.

  Woolf gives her an accommodating smile, continuing to look at her with a slight degree of suspicion, but at least his tone is friendly when he says, "Well... let's get you two out to the ranch."

  After I put Casey's carry-on into the back of the truck, I lead her to the passenger door where I climb into the back of the extended cab and offer her the front seat so she can get a better view of my old world. I may not want a place in my family's ranching history but there is absolutely no denying... this area of Wyoming is the most beautiful place in the world. Casey's world is gorgeous with soft, pale sand and blue-green waters that sparkle with the sun, but it just can't compare to this area with the majestic Teton mountain range with snowcapped peaks even in the summer, wide valleys filled with fragrant sagebrush, and sparkling rivers that wind through filled with cutthroat trout. While I certainly believe I can come to love living on the coast of North Carolina, there is nothing that will ever replace my love of this part of the country.

  The ranch is a good forty-five minute drive from the airport. Wyoming is land rich and people poor. You can drive over half an hour before seeing your closest neighbor, so if you are an overly social person, this isn't necessarily the place for you.

  Casey stares with her face practically pressed against the passenger window, making small noises of wonder in the back of her throat as she watches the miles melt away and yet the Teton Mountains never seem to end. She asks a few questions but for the most part, the ride is silent, filled with an awkward tension since Woolf wasn't expecting company on this ride and no one wants to talk about how my father died.

  When we get to the main entrance to the Double J, my shoulders start to stiffen. I haven't told Casey any more details about my family and the ranch. She has no clue what she's walking in to, and while I'd like to say that I simply didn't have the time to bring her up to speed, the fact of the matter is I just didn't feel up to it. I have no clue how she's going to react, but I figure it will be one of two ways. She'll either be pissed or she won't, and I figured that was going to happen whether I filled her in before or filled her in now.

  The road that turns off the main highway is nondescript, paved with black asphalt for at least the first half mile. But it soon turns into a well-maintained dirt and gravel road that is fairly wide and lined on both sides by wildflowers. Another quarter mile down the road and the actual entrance to the ranch is revealed with a huge, red-stained sign that hangs over the road with carved and burned lettering that says "Double J Ranch" in large, chunky letters and below that "Teton Division".

  Woolf drives under the arched entrance and casually asks Casey, "Have you ever been to Wyoming before?"

  "No," she says, her voice almost reverent as she continues to look out at the amazing scenery. "But you can damn well rest assured I'll be coming back. This may be the most beautiful place I've ever seen."

  Woolf chuckles, and I know that scored major points with him. He loves his home with a passion.

  As we get closer to the main house, my insides start clenching with apprehension. In just a few minutes, Casey is going to understand that my family's ranch is a bit more than just a small-time operation.

  The curving road finally straightens, crosses over a small bridge that traverses the Gros Ventre River, and then breaks free of a copse of cottonwood trees to reveal my family home sitting atop a butte.

  Casey gasps audibly and I wince, lowering my gaze to my hands clenched on my lap.

  "That's your house?" Casey asks Woolf in disbelief as she looks at the low, sprawling home that seems to cover the entire top of the hill.

  "It is," he says matter-of-factly, and he cuts his eyes in the rearview mirror to me. I can see his question clearly, "Doesn't she know anything at all about you?"

  The Jennings homestead is a little ostentatious, and Casey can't even see the entire house from this vantage point. While my great-grandfather, Jared Jennings, started out in a modest three-bedroom log cabin when he started the ranch, my grandfather, Louis Jennings, decided that it didn't necessarily convey the right message to the other cattle ranchers. He wanted to be the largest, most powerful cattleman, not only in the state of Wyoming, but also in the entire United States. Fueled on--no pun intended--by rich oil wells on our vast property, he built a home that rivaled that of the Vanderbilts.

  Over fifteen thousand square feet of pine logs, slate stone, and three-story walls of glass make up the monstrosity that I grew up in with my parents and only sibling, Woolf. Fuck... the house is so large that Woolf and I had our own separate wings and would sometimes go days without seeing each other. From where we approach, Casey can only really see the top floor, which looks like it lays across the top of the butte in a lazy-like fashion. What she doesn't know is that it actually spills down the back of the hill, cut partially into the earth and dribbling down three stories.

  "That may be the biggest house I've ever seen in my life," Casey practically chokes out.


  Woolf chuckles while I wince again. He has no clue what's running through Casey's mind right now, although I have a pretty damned good idea. He thinks she's just really impressed, but I know different.

  "Yeah... the house is pretty monstrous," Woolf says with a grin toward Casey as she leans forward to peer out the front windshield. "But it's a blip really when you consider the size of the property."

  "And just how big would that be?" Casey asks quietly.

  "Close to two-hundred thousand acres here in Wyoming, which encompasses both the cattle land and the oil wells," Woolf says with a good deal of pride in his voice. "But we have another hundred thousand or so acres in Montana and Idaho."

  I'm sitting directly behind Casey, so I can't really see the front of her face. Just the outline of her jaw, which seems to be popping back and forth. I don't miss the fact that she becomes noticeably quiet after that.

  Woolf doesn't seem to notice either but follows the drive, which now turns into flagstone pavers that leads into a giant semi-circle in front of the house. Casey's head turns slightly to the right as she takes in the detached eight-car garage constructed in the same pine logs and slate stone. It's climate controlled and holds my dad's toys... a loaded Silverado pickup truck that he used for ranch work, a vintage Hummer, a Mercedes G550, and a Corvette. The fifth spot is taken up by Woolf's Land Rover, the sixth by my mother's Jaguar that my dad refused to get rid of even though she passed away almost two years ago, and the remainder of the space is filled with Gators and ATVs that my dad would use to drive the property. What Casey can't see is the long cookhouse and three bunkhouses that hold the resident ranch hands, which sit about five hundred yards past the garage.

  The truck comes to a stop in front of the house, and we all exit. When I step down behind Casey, I resist the urge to reach out and try to massage the stiffness from her shoulders. I know her well enough to know she's angry and confused right now, and she won't accept any measure of physical touch from me.

  But I also can't let this fester further so I bluntly tell her, "Double J is the largest cattle ranch in United States."