I have no intentions of telling my parents that I signed up for the Barn Bonanza.
First of all, the chances of winning are slim, so there’s no need for me to rile them up when it might not lead to anything anyway.
Second of all, if I did win, the sponsorship and recording opportunities are local, so it’s not as if I would be giving up my position on the ranch. It would be like taking on a part-time job that could potentially lead to something bigger whilst maintaining my status as Golden Child.
Plus, I don’t even know if I would want a music career that’s that big. I would be more than happy doing what Kaleb’s band has done, touring their way across other small towns in the country with their loyal base of listeners and an expedient little income, thank you kindly.
But to hell with my intentions apparently, because the Universe has other plans.
I’m in the stable with my mom, braiding the horse’s hair after a scrub down, when I make my first mistake.
It’s ten degrees past volcanic and my hair’s clinging to my neck like a scarf so I dig around in the pocket of my shorts, wondering if I’ve got a saving grace scrunchie in there, when I remember that I can’t expose my neck to my mom anyway. I squeeze my eyes together and think of how I’m going to be able to keep my hair down and simultaneously survive in this heat, when I pull my fingers out of my shorts and Madden’s guitar pick flies out with them.
Mama’s eyes slide over to where it’s fallen between us, right beneath the horse’s belly, surveying it with a vaguely interested expression. Then she lifts her eyes to me, both curious and expectant.
“It’s a guitar pick,” I say way too quickly.
She smiles at me over the back of the horse, smoothing a hand through the hair that she hasn’t braided yet. “Mm-hm,” she says, meaning: go on.
“Uh, Kaleb said that I could use his old Fender. Because it’s in his room. And he isn’t using it.”
“That’s nice of him,” she says, expression calm. “And what are you using it for, exactly?”
“Um…” I look around the stable, trying to find a good enough lie.
My mom sighs, then rests her arms on the horse’s back and lays her head down between her elbows.
Undeniably she’s my spitting image, and when she looks into my eyes I feel like she’s hypnotising her way into my brain. Hopefully she can’t see everything that I’m hiding from her.
I must look Death Row guilty because she gives me a consoling smile and says, “What’s going on in that noggin of yours, Pumpkin?”
I stop braiding the horse’s hair and start braiding my own. Then I give my noggin a little rub around the temples, trying to ease the ache in my brain.
“Don’t be mad at me?” I ask nervously, looking up at her, unsure.
She shakes her head, still smiling encouragingly. “Go on, Pumpkin. It can’t be that bad.”
I swallow and look away, feeling guilty for what I’m about to admit. Telling her about wanting to pursue a career separate to the ranch makes me feel unbelievably disloyal. Maybe people who aren’t small towners won’t understand the extreme importance of familial fidelity, but in a place like this sticking by your blood is rule number one.
“There’s this competition in a few days’ time and I want to compete in it. It’s a music competition for locals who want the opportunity to get a trial run in the local recording studio, plus a sponsorship.”
I scrunch up my nose, trying to make the stinging in my eyes die down. I keep my gaze on my glossy toenails, peeking out of my flip-flops.
“I can sing really good, mom, and I think that I could do it. The money would be a good nudge in my bank account, and working with a local studio means that I won’t have to leave the ranch. I don’t want to leave you and Papa, but I think that it’s time that I give some of my own dreams a try.” I wince, cringing at myself a little. Then I shake my head and add, “So the guitar pick is so that I can play Kaleb’s Fender when I’m onstage, seeing that the show’s totally acoustic – like, all the music’s live, so no stereo background stuff is allowed. I practiced a little in town when Kaleb was watching over things, and I think that I could do a half-decent job of it.”
I shrug and then look up at her.
“So, yeah. That’s that.”
My mom blinks at me, expression neutral. I shuffle on the spot, nervously awaiting what she’s about to say.
Then she presses her chin into her hand, laughing lightly as she shakes her head.
“Oh, Pumpkin,” she says soothingly. “Why do you look so scared? That’s wonderful news, I don’t know why you’d be keepin’ it from me.”
She rounds the horse so that she can wrap her arms around me, pulling me in for a comforting hug. My lips round in surprise and then I cautiously hug her back, still anxious because I wasn’t expecting such a good response.
When she pulls away she’s giving me a pitying look.
“Pumpkin, I know that we run a tight game around here but that doesn’t mean that your Papa and I would ever hold you back from an opportunity like this. We let Kaleb do his thing, didn’t we? Of course the same applies for you. I know we advised you about stopping that Management course you were doing, but that’s ’cause we saw how freaking miserable you were. This talent show, this competition or what-have-you, it sounds absolutely perfect. You’ll get your salary from the ranch and, if you win your show, we can let you switch to part-time. I just want what’s best for you, Kit, please never fear being candid with me.”
I blink at her, bedazzled. Then I nod, because I’m too stunned to speak.
She leans down to get the guitar pick. Inspects it before she hands it back to me.
“What a lovely pick,” she says casually as I slip it back into my pocket. “What does the ‘M’ on it stand for?”
I still.
Oh dear. I blow out my cheeks and say the first word that comes to mind.
“Uh… music.”
She breathes a laugh. “I’m convinced. And your sheets are out on the line because…?”
“Mom!” I say, mortified. I guess she can read my mind.
She runs a hand over the plaits I’ve given the horse, scrunching her nose up because she really is my freaking twin.
“Your brother was out for the night, his best friend can’t take his eyes off you, and you’ve washed your bedding for the first time in a century. I’m no detective, but even I can put two and two together,” she says, looking almost as embarrassed as I feel. When she looks up at me she holds her palms up, pleading her innocence. “I’m not interfering, but this might be tricky when he goes on tour with Kaleb again. And this is going to be weird for your brother – not that it’s any of his business, but he’s probably going to feel betrayed by the both of you. If this is that serious, that is,” she adds, eyeing me with interest.
When my cheeks burn even brighter she exhales deeply and mutters, “Which I guess that it is.”
I shake my head, feeling the need to defend myself. “We’re just friends, he’s gonna be away too much for this to become… something. Anything.” My stomach sinks as the words leave my mouth.
My mom raises an eyebrow at me, her face sceptical. “Those his words?” she asks.
I shake my head.
She gives me a knowing look. “Didn’t think that they would be. You seen the way that he’s been watching you?”
When I shift around uncomfortably she wafts her hand through the air, letting our conversation disperse into secret molecular wisps.
“Never mind, forget that I said anything. It’s between you and him, and I trust you with your choices.”
Then she says something that I wasn’t expecting.
“I’ll talk to your Papa about your talent show and I promise he’ll be as on board as I am.”
My head snaps up. “You don’t have to do that,” I say, both grateful and terrified.
She pats my shoulder consolingly. “He’ll be fine with it, Pumpkin, you’re his sweet little girl. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
*
Madden’s hands slide up my belly until he’s cupping my chest, palms squeezing gently as he pushes against me from behind.
We’re in the kitchen over the counter and I’m chopping vegetables for this evening’s salad bowl. My parents are wrangling the animals back into the barn and Kaleb’s in his room strumming out slow sad rock songs, meaning that Madden and I are risking a couple minutes of solitude to get a little closer than we should.
His crotch rubs against the back of my shorts and I lean further forward, feeling lightheaded.
“Princess,” he murmurs hoarsely, his palm rubbing around my neck. He leans his head forward and starts kissing over my hickey.
I place the knife down because I’m finding it hard to concentrate right now.
He squeezes my throat lightly and a small gasp leaves my lips.
“I’m glad that your parents took the news about the music competition so well,” he says quietly, the thick fronts of his thighs pressing firmly into the backs of my own.
Yes, I told him about what happened with Mama. No, I don’t want to be thinking about my parents right now.
I turn so that I can look at him and his face is set, dark and hard. I trace my fingers tentatively up his stubble and a low growl rumbles in his chest.
He dips down to kiss me and he slides his tongue against mine, spreading an ache through the peaks of my breasts.
“I want you now,” he says gruffly, hands gripping and squeezing everywhere.
I shake my head. “Everyone’s here,” I say pleadingly. “We’ll have to think of some other place, some other time.”
He makes another deep noise, and his jaw flexes. “You’re my woman, Kitty. They’re gonna have to get used to me sooner or later.”
I make a little scoffing sound. His irises blaze red.
“Oh come on,” I whisper, rolling my eyes in amusement. “I’m hardly your woman. You’re gonna be on the road in a matter of days and then it’ll be like none of this ever happened.” Then, really gambling with my life, I give him a little punch in the chest and add on the word, “Friend.”
His mouth crushes down on mine and I immediately gasp, inadvertently opening wide for him so that his tongue can slide back inside. He rolls it against me in long, lush strokes until I’m aching so badly that I’m rubbing my heat against his thigh.
He pulls away growling, and then looks down so that he can see what I’m doing. He grasps his hands more firmly around my ass and uses his strength to help me grind harder.
My eyes roll backwards and the warmth in my belly spreads and pounds.
“Oh shit,” he grunts, and his voice is so deep that my legs slip wider. “Use me, princess. I want you to use me every day. I swear, the second you let me get a ring on your finger I’m gonna claim you as my wife.”
I whimper, too loud, and leash my fingers into his hair. It’s so warm, and soft, and thick, and my body grows more limp by the second.
I try and lift myself up in an attempt to kiss his lips when there’s a loud knocking to our right and Madden stumbles backwards, all the way to the other side of the kitchen. Sadly, it’s a small kitchen, so really it’s not far enough. I look at the two feet of emptiness now between us. Just enough space for Jesus.
Not enough space for Papa.
His head was turned away from us, probably, horrifyingly, having heard our little show. My stomach crunches painfully in embarrassment. Madden’s standing more erect than an Army General.
When Papa turns to face us he does not look happy.
“Funny. I was just talking to your Mama about this fandango. Didn’t expect to walk in on it in my kitchen though.”
He’s looking pointedly at Madden, eyes razor sharp.
“Luckily for you, I heard your nice bit of sweet-talking over there. You mean what you said?” he asks, deep shadows casting under his eyes. God I wish that he didn’t carry that pistol all the time.
Madden nods his head. I’m so overwhelmed that I don’t even know what they’re talking about.
“What’s that?” Papa barks.
“Yes, sir,” Madden replies immediately.
Papa points his finger at him, thick and weathered. The kind of finger that could gouge out an eye or two. He scans Madden up and down like he’s trying to decrypt his DNA. He doesn’t seem to hate what he sees but his voice is still low and authoritative when he says, “If I find that you’re lying to me, or to my little girl, and you haul ass like a punk…”
His fingers shimmer around his gun. Madden nods in understanding.
My brain ping pongs around my skull, not sure about what’s just happened.
Papa turns the pointer on me. I try not to look away in humiliation.
“No screwing in my kitchen. I don’t care how old you are.”
Then he spins around and leaves, the front door slamming closed, followed by thunderous steps down the porch.
I immediately hide my face in my hands.
“Hey.” Madden’s voice is hushed as he wraps his arms around me, big warm palms rubbing up and down my back.
I shove him away.
“What the hell are you doing?” I hiss, gesturing wildly to the direction that my dad just walked. “No touching! He’s probably gonna ground me for life!”
Madden smiles sceptically, dilating my rage.
“He can’t ground you, Kitty. You’re an adult woman.”
“On his property!” I whisper back at him. “Under his roof!”
I’m frazzled with anger. Why is it so hard for people to comprehend tight familial relationships? Bully for them if their parents set them free when they were a teen, but not everyone can sever that leash quite so easily.
“Princess-” he begins but I push at his chest when he tries to envelop me again.
“No ‘princess’,” I snap, at as low a volume as I can.
He narrows his eyes but still manages to swaddle me between his biceps. I put up a weak fight, too distracted by the breadth of his chest to care about the conversation that just went down, and I try not to purr when his heady male scent starts penetrating my bloodstream.
“Did we not just listen to the same conversation?” he asks, his tone hard and firm.
“Yes,” I nip. “Papa said no funny business. You’re lucky that you got away without a castration.”
Madden rolls his shoulders, unleashing another tide of pheromones. Half of my brain has turned to cotton candy mush.
Clenching his teeth he growls quietly against my ear, “He just said that I can make you my wife.”
I blink, startled, as he bites at my lobe.
Uh, what?
I shake my head, confused.
“At no point did he say that,” I argue, although with Madden slipping his knee back between my thighs my willpower’s draining faster than a tractor guzzles oil.
“He asked if I meant what I said about putting a ring on your finger. I told him yes.” Madden pulls back, thumbs stroking firmly up my jaw, possessive, in need. “He’s saying that, when the time’s right, I can have you.”
Still miffed about being caught I whisper back to him, “I’m not his to give away.”
Madden cocks an un-amused smirk at me. We’re both angry now.
“True,” he says, backing my ass into the counter. “You’ve always belonged to me.”
I knee him away from me and then slide my knife off the counter.
He raises a brow. “You flirting with me?” he asks.
I walk backwards from the kitchen, weapon by my side, a silent message saying do not touch.
He follows me anyway.
“Band’s playing at the bar in town tonight. Get ready.”
I snort. “I’m staying here tonight. With my Papa.”
His eyes blaze. He doesn’t like sharing.
“I didn’t ask. I’m telling you that you’re going.”
“And I didn’t ask. I’m telling you that I’m not going.”
“Yeah?” he asks, voice sinisterly calm.
“Mm-hm,” I say, cautiously placing my weapon on a side table as I intend to sprint up the stairs in less than three Mississippi’s.
I don’t even get to Mississippi number two.
“Right,” he grunts, before slamming a shoulder into my belly and tipping me upside down over his shoulder.
I squeak like a chew-toy as he strides us into the guest room, locking the door behind him and then throwing me down onto his bed. He quickly rounds it so that he can shut the curtains and, in a second, he’s back in front of me again.
Holy shit does it smell like him in here. His crumpled sheets gather around me and my body arches from the feel of them alone.
Luckily I still have one remaining brain cell and I hoist myself up onto an elbow as he chucks my flip flops over his shoulder.
“The hell do you think you’re doing?” I ask, eyebrow arched to the High Heavens. “You don’t think everyone will have heard all of that?”
He spreads out his knees, settling between my thighs.
Uh…?
“Kaleb’s preoccupied with his pity party and your parents are still outside,” he says, ripping down my shorts. He’s so eager that the zip snarls and the button pings somewhere across the room.
Good God.
He looks up at me, black fringe falling devilishly over his eyes, and he says gruffly, “I’m going down on you ’til you tell me that you’re gonna come.”
My mouth pops open. I don’t miss his innuendo.
“Madden, don’t be stupid – ah!”
One second I’m hissing at him and the next I’m covering my mouth with my hands as he licks a warm, wet stripe right up my centre. My body bucks off the bed and he releases a pleasured grunt.
“You just tell me the words,” he whispers hoarsely, stubble scraping up my inner thighs. “Tell me that you’ll come.”
My thighs squeeze around his head and he lets out a deep, masculine rumble, dipping back down so that he can kiss and suck some more. His tongue slowly laps me in long eager slides, and my fingers find their way into his hair, so warm and so soft.
No more words leave my mouth until I’m whispering that I’m gonna come.
