Menage Page 2

  So she kept these things to herself. Her little survival secrets. For her and only her.

  To hear that she was now the source of amusement for the two cowboys she had taken in as labour, as well as to the folks in town, would not hurt her. She wiped her eyes with her threadbare apron. They too were just men. And men were weak. They just couldn’t help themselves.

  She had run off after she’d heard them laugh at Al’s words, not wanting to hear more. But they were just words and words did not hurt as much as blows. Just as well to ignore the reason for their laughter. They were farm hands. She was the boss around here and she had to act like it. Keep her distance. Not be yearning for human company or human contact. She’d allowed herself to want those things before and look where it had gotten her. Bruised and battered and almost broken.

  Never again.

  She took a deep breath and tucked her hair beneath her scarf. Time to see if they were serious about working. The hog pen needed a real good muck-out and no man dallying with ideas of swindling would stick around to get covered in pig poop.

  She opened the door and stepped out into the afternoon. Laugh at her would they? This time, the laugh would be on them.

  Chapter Two

  Grace walked across the yard, past the barn and towards the pig pen. The two cowboys stood there, waiting.

  “What’s the matter?” Grace surprised them. “Ain’t you never seen a hog before?”

  “Sure, Mrs Holbein. Seen plenty.” Matt gave her that lop-sided grin again. Heat rushed through her body, warming her insides and turning her legs to jelly. How did he do that? The unfamiliar sensations unnerved her. Confused her. She wasn’t sure that she liked it at all.

  She walked closer to the pen and placed her hands on the fencing. She needed to hold onto something. She dug her trembling hands into the sun-warmed wood.

  “Then what is it?”

  “These beasts are mighty big, ma’am. You breed ’em yourself?”

  Grace shook her head. “Not me, no. My…Mr Holbein. He prided himself on creating a bigger and stronger breed than he’d ever seen before.”

  “They…uh…aggressive?” Blake asked.

  Grace stared at the hogs. They could be. Sometimes. But at others they were as calm and light-hearted as new-born lambs. Funny how men and beasts could change at the pull of a trigger. Just like Jack. She shivered and pulled her shawl around her shoulders in spite of the warmth of the autumn afternoon.

  “Just take care when you get in with them. Shoo them over to the far side then push them into the smaller pen. You gotta show ’em who’s boss! Then you can get on with mucking out.” She offered a thin smile.

  “Sure thing, ma’am,” Matt replied. He looked at the pen then at Blake. “We’re gonna get covered in shi…in muck.”

  Blake wrinkled his nose. “Stinks to the heavens.”

  Grace realised why they were hesitating. They probably only had the one set of clothes and didn’t fancy getting them dirty. Pig dirty.

  “If you don’t mind, ma’am, we’re gonna remove a few garments. Spare the washing.”

  Grace didn’t trust herself to speak. Remove their clothes…in her yard…in the daytime?

  Her heart thundered like a steam train as she watched them take off their shirts then remove their trousers. When they stood before her in their union suits and boots, she managed to shut her mouth. She should walk away, leave them to it. She knew that. So why couldn’t she move her feet?

  Her eyes were drawn by an irresistible force to their groins. Like a wanton, she sought out the tell-tale bulges of their manhood and wondered how they would appear naked.

  She had been alone too long. But she had never seen a man other than Jack undressed before. And every time he had divested himself of his garments, she had retreated into herself, shivered with terror. She had known what came next. But this…it was different. She was not in the direct path of danger. These men were merely removing their clothing to clean out the hogs. So, it gave her a sense of unwonted freedom to sneak a peek at them. To satisfy her curiosity. And even in their union suits, they were pleasing to regard.

  “Come on then, Blake! Let’s get this done.” Matt took hold of a broom that Grace had left near the pen and opened the gate. Once Blake had followed him in, he closed it behind them.

  They padded gingerly across the space, trying not to slip in the manure and rotting vegetation.

  “I’ll let you guys get on then. I’ve a lot to do,” Grace called to them as she forced herself to walk away. She wanted to stay and watch them, to see how they dealt with the hogs. And…just to watch them.

  She was lonely. Even though they were strangers, even though they’d just arrived and she had no idea how long they would stay, it was good just to have folks around. She’d been alone for so long. Of course, it hadn’t been two months since she’d buried Jack, but even when he’d been around, she had always been alone.

  Seeing Matt and Blake, their masculine presence around the small farm, lifted her. In spite of her fear and suspicion of every other human being that crossed her path, she was gladdened that they had arrived today. She couldn’t quite understand it, but it raised her spirits higher than they had been in a long time. The young men were so full of life. They were so cheerful, so real. It had been a long time since Grace had felt real. Or alive. She just went through the motions every day. She got up early, did her chores, worked all day, ate what food she could force down then collapsed into bed at night before going through the same routine again.

  She didn’t live. She existed. And being around other people made that painfully clear to her.

  Jack had caused a lot of damage. She had stayed, so she could not blame him entirely. But marriage was meant to be until death. She had taken her vows seriously. To her own detriment. And where would she have gone if she had left him?

  Now she was finally free. And she had no idea what the hell she was going to do next.

  ****

  “Mrs Holbein?”

  Grace looked up from the chicken she was plucking on the small pine table. The cabin door swung slowly open.

  “Mrs Holbein?”

  She wiped her hands on her apron and walked through the small living space to the open door. She poked her head out into the twilight.

  “Evening, ma’am.” It was Blake.

  “Mr Donohue!” Grace exclaimed, lifting a hand to shield her nose. She eyed him from above her fingers. He was brown from head to toe.

  “Excuse the stench, ma’am.” He hung his head. “We uh…it didn’t go too well.”

  Grace lowered her hand. “The hogs?” The animals were valuable and she couldn’t afford to lose them. She’d fatten the older piglets over the winter then sell some of them on in the spring. It would keep her going through the following year. Some she would slaughter…well, maybe only one this year as it was just her.

  But to lose them would be a travesty. It was a loss she couldn’t afford.

  Blake raised a dirty hand. “It’s okay, Mrs Holbein. Hogs are fine. We’ve cleared the pen and put down fresh straw. The fence was a bit worn in one area so we’ve repaired that too. Don’t want those valuable hogs escaping. But uh…when we let them back through they got a bit excited and uh…”

  Grace started to laugh.

  She couldn’t help it. It began deep in her belly and erupted from her mouth like a mountain spring. It sounded strange, hoarse, as if she hadn’t laughed in a long, long time. Blake joined in, the pig poop on his face cracking as he grinned. Grace doubled over and held her stomach, laughing until she was convinced she would faint. The hogs had knocked him over in the pen and by the state of him, trampled him into the ground. Well, serve him right. She’d warned them to be careful.

  When she could finally catch her breath, she wiped her eyes and stood up straight.

  “What about Mr Huntley? They get him too?”

  Blake laughed. “He’s in the same state as me.”

  She cleared her throat and brea
thed slowly, trying to suppress the laughter that the thought of Matt’s misfortune had conjured.

  “There’s water in the barrel round the side of the barn. You can wash in that. I’ll bring you some rags to use as cloths.”

  “Be mighty grateful for that, ma’am,” Blake replied.

  As he walked gingerly away, Grace watched from the doorway. Even covered in muck, he was a fine figure of a man. His clammy union suit clung to his lean frame like a second skin. His shoulders were broad and strong, his waist was slim. She moved her eyes lower and her stomach flipped. His behind was rounded and firm, like two watermelon halves which moved up and down as he walked. He was gorgeous.

  An unfamiliar warmth flooded her body. It started in her chest and travelled up her throat and into her head. Her cheeks glowed with its presence. Simultaneously, it moved down, tickling her stomach and curling like knowing fingers at the apex of her thighs. It made her want to follow Blake, to continue to watch him walking. And more. It made her think of what he would be like without his muck-covered clothing. Totally naked. Would the hair on his body be as black as that on his head?

  She shook her head and dragged herself from the stoop. What was wrong with her? Was it because she had been so recently widowed that she had turned into…into what she could only think of as a wanton woman? Was this the female weakness that the preacher spoke of and that Jack had claimed he would beat out of her? If so, then they had been right. Her husband was barely cold and she was already allowing lust to take over her thoughts, her body and to lead her mind into wicked imaginings.

  But as she moved through the room and rifled through a wooden chest at the far corner, searching for something to tear into cloths, she realised that she was not convinced. If these feelings were wicked then why did they feel so good? If it was wrong to appreciate a man’s form, then why make it so fine?

  She was all churned up and confused. When she had been with Jack, at first, she had felt some stirrings but being married to him had soon obliterated any fire within her and left her numb. Marital relations were a hideous chore, something to be endured. So these sparks of desire that had been lit in her today, left her all balled up. Were her feelings wrong or was it society that had gotten it wrong?

  None of it made sense.

  But then for Grace, life rarely did.

  ****

  Blake wandered back towards the pig pen where Matt was securing the gate. He smiled at the state that his companion was in. Like him, Matt was brown from tip to toe. The hogs had gotten them good and proper. Just like Mrs Holbein had warned them they would.

  Blake knew that it had happened because they were being so careful with the creatures. In spite of Matt’s carefree appearance, Blake knew that he thought things through deeply. Already, Matt had assessed the widow Holbein, decided that she was no grizzly bear but a young woman in need and then made a silent decision to help her out. That was Matt. He could be fierce, could be cold whenever he assumed his protective veneer, but he had a heart made of creek-bed gold.

  It had just been hard for Matt, hard for them both, over the past two years. One day they’d had everything to live for. The next, there was a hole as big as a canyon in their lives where Rebecca had once been. Life could change so quickly that it defied belief. Even now, Blake found it hard to accept that she was gone. That their hopes and dreams in the human form of their precious baby son and daughter were also gone. Forever.

  Death was so final. So dark. So unforgiving.

  Each morning brought the grief back like a flash flood. The moments after waking were filled with the gentle bliss of forgetfulness but as sleep drifted away, the darkness was able to descend with its heart-wrenching reminders of what was lost, of what had once been. He feared that he would never get over their loss. Never fully heal. Like a physical scar, it would always be there, red, raised and angry.

  Matt glanced up and Blake offered him a smile. He knew that it wouldn’t have reached his eyes. The pain that had just filled his heart at the thought of his lost family would have seen to that, but he didn’t want Matt to have to think about that right now. Like he had said, it was better to keep on moving. Maintain momentum so that they could try to leave the past and their grief behind.

  It was what Blake wanted too. But he wasn’t really convinced that you could keep running from your loss. Surely, reality would catch up with you sooner or later? And try as he might to push the dark cloud away, it was always there. Just hovering over his shoulder. Black and relentless.

  “You tell Mrs Holbein, Blake?” Matt approached him.

  “Sure did. She said we should wash in the barrel around the side of the barn. She’s gonna get us some cloths to help clean the poop off.”

  “She offer to wash your back?” Matt winked.

  “No but I’ll scrub yours if you like.” Blake nudged Matt’s shoulder.

  They walked in step over to the barn and located the barrel the widow had spoken of. It was full to the brim with fresh, clean rain water.

  Blake dipped his hand into it.

  “It’s ice-cold!”

  “It’s in the shade around here. Probably doesn’t get warmed up at all. Can’t stay stinky all day though. There’s no way I’m snuggling up to you later unless you clean that off.”

  Blake snorted. “I know, I know.”

  He looked around. There was a small wooden pail near to the barrel so he picked it up. “Guess we have to use this. You first?”

  Matt’s eyes twinkled. “Coward.”

  “Better a warm coward than chilled through. Now get your union suit off and start bracing.”

  Matt unbuttoned the body of the suit then slid his arms out. He paused. “I ain’t looking forward to this.”

  “And the rest.” Blake was enjoying himself way too much. Matt now wore stripes. Head and legs were brown but his chest was bronzed male flesh. His nipples were hard little peaks, distended in anticipation. Blake licked his lips. He wanted to lean forwards and take those nips into his mouth, to tweak them with his teeth. His cock hardened.

  “Oh! Um…excuse me…I didn’t realise.”

  The widow Holbein had come around the corner. Her face was scarlet. Her breath coming in short, sharp bursts as if she’d been running.

  “Hey, Mrs Holbein. You got those cloths?” Blake asked.

  She held them out, trying to avert her gaze but Blake noticed that her eyes kept slipping back towards Matt. Her full pink lips were parted and she ran her tongue over them several times. Blake realised that she was hungry.

  But not for food.

  “Thanks, Mrs Holbein.”

  “You’re…you’re welcome. Will there be anything else?” She turned back to the pig pen. Blake watched as the fuchsia hue gradually drained from her cheeks. The widow had clearly liked what she’d seen even if she was evidently alarmed that she did.

  “Matt?” Blake grinned. He could see the swelling at Matt’s groin that told him that his lover had noticed the widow’s sensual response too. “Anything else?”

  “Well…” Matt winked. “There’s a spot between my shoulders that I might need help washing.”

  “What?” She turned suddenly and gaped at them. “What did you say?” A small line appeared between her brows and her hands clenched into tiny fists.

  Matt shrugged. “I was just kidding around.”

  Her eyes glistened. “Well please don’t. It was not funny. Not at all. I suggest that you get cleaned up. Dinner will be served at six sharp.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Matt inclined his head. “We’ll be there.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Holbein,” Blake added.

  She gave Matt’s chest one last longing glance then whirled on her heel and disappeared around the barn.

  Blake met Matt’s eyes. They were filled with confusion.

  Mrs Holbein was a pretty young woman but she was weighed down. Whether it was due to grief or something else, he wasn’t yet sure. But he wanted to find out. He wanted to help her if he could. They ha
d come to the farm seeking work and even joked on their journey that if she was as much of a grizzly as Swearengen had said, then they might lighten her load by taking a few of her horses. But he knew now that nothing in the world would compel him to do anything that would worsen the burden the widow carried.

  She was young. She was comely, if a bit thin. She had lit up when she laughed. And he had enjoyed making her laugh. Somehow it had made him feel good too. As if he could shake off his sadness for a while and actually enjoy something so simple. He wanted Matt to see it. Her amusement had warmed him right through. It had reached something deep within and made an unfamiliar joy bubble to the surface. This Mrs Holbein was unusual and she had touched his heart already.

  He intended on getting to know her better during his stay. Even if just to bask in her laughter one more time.

  Chapter Three

  Grace walked into the cabin and shut the door behind her. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing.

  Calm down. Focus. Relax.

  She was unable to get the image of Matt’s naked chest out of her mind. It was emblazoned there. Even covered in muck, he had been gorgeous. She pressed her fingers into her closed lids to try to push the image away.

  But it remained.

  His neck was thick and strong and he was broad-shouldered. His chest was smooth and tanned with muscles that bulged as he moved. His arms were defined. His stomach a rippling board which told of hours of manual labour. She had wanted to run her hands over his chest, to trace the line that led down to his belly button and lower still. His perfect masculine beauty had taken her breath away and brought heat to her cheeks.