Mountain Delights

I smiled. This was it.

I pulled up and parked, looked out the windshield at the place. Typical two-story farmhouse, its vintage I guessed to be in the thirties or forties. It had white clapboard siding, a sweeping front porch. In the distance, I could see some other buildings which I assumed were the stables and several bunkhouses and small cabins. I wasn’t here for the non-profit that was run from this place, but for the man who owned it.

Speaking of… a man came out onto the porch, no doubt hearing my arrival. I pegged him at six-two, two hundred pounds, not one ounce of it was flab. His plaid shirt and jeans didn’t hide the muscled physique beneath. If tossing hay bales made a guy look like him, there needed to be a new fitness trend. At least a T-shirt that said Cowboy Strong.

Overlong dark hair curled over the collar of his plaid shirt, and I itched to run my fingers through it, hopefully when his head was between my legs and he was busy eating me out. I squirmed in my seat, my panties already damp with anticipation. It was the beard though… fuck. Thick and full, trimmed on the sides and longer on the bottom. What would that feel like brushing against my thighs? With the SUV off, the interior was getting cold quickly, but I wasn’t. Far from it. I was burning up just eye fucking him from thirty feet away.

He didn’t approach, just leaned against a post. Waited, with a rifle in his right hand. Just great.

He had no idea who I was; Lucas had said he wasn’t going to tell Cy in advance about my arrival. Since Lucas wasn’t here yet—mine was the only vehicle around—I had to wonder if this was a good idea or not.

The plan was for a threesome… if the third—Lucas—would show the fuck up.

As for Cy, he didn’t look thrilled to have company. That would change; at least I hoped. He was going to get lucky, and hopefully fuck my brains out. He just didn’t know it yet.

Taking a deep breath, I climbed from my SUV, careful of my left knee, and slammed the door shut behind me.

“You can hop right on up in that car of yours and head out,” Cy called. His voice was deep, the timbre smooth like whiskey, and full of threat.

Stiffening my resolve, and my shoulders, I took a step toward him. Only one because I wasn’t completely stupid since he was armed and all. I didn’t think he’d shoot me…

“I’m here to—”

He held up his free hand to stop me. “I know why you’re here. Your kind have been kicking up dust on my drive the past week to get a story. They must be getting desperate if they send the hot chick.”

Oh. Shit. He thought I was a reporter trying to get a scoop on the whole Dennis Seaborn fiasco. I knew all about it. Who hadn’t, in Cutthroat? The guy had turned himself in for murdering Erin Mills, Lucas’s sister. He’d been questioned six ways to Sunday and his story had held. Until a time-stamped traffic camera photo of Erin alive after when he’d said he’d killed her blew it all to hell. Now, he was out of jail—they couldn’t keep him for a crime he didn’t commit—and everyone in western Montana wondered why he’d stepped forward if he hadn’t done it. Who would do something like that? Take the blame for a murder? A murder.