Remember: With a Vanessa Vale book, one cowboy is never enough. In this smokin’ hot series, each heroine gets an extra helping (or two) of Grade-A Beefcake.
T-Bone
TUCKER
“Nobody smiles like that when ordering pig feed,” I grumbled, elbowing Colton in the ribs. We were in the Raines Seed and Feed standing beside the scarred wood table that used to hold old copies of agricultural magazines, but now held a fancy coffee machine, one of the many additions made by the new owner since she bought the place last winter. Ava Wilde.
He looked up from the sugar he was pouring in his coffee. He pulled his cup from the fancy machine that used the little pods. The first time I’d seen it, I’d thought it a little ridiculous for a small town ag store, especially situated between the salt licks and deworming solution. But now, well, it was a great addition. Keeping her customers caffeinated was pretty fucking smart.
But I didn’t give a shit about coffee. Not today. I had all my attention on the fucker who was leaning his hip against the checkout counter and flirting with Ava.
Our Ava.
I knew that guy’s look; I’d used it before myself. Roscoe Barnes was laying on the charm. The cowboy reached across the counter and put his hand on top of hers as she filled out one of the delivery forms.
Colton stood straighter, put his to-go cup down, all but forgotten. “That right there’s a way a man can lose some fingers.”
Ava pulled her hand away, shifted so she was out of reach, but continued with her paperwork—and didn’t punch Roscoe in the nose.
“Yeah, too bad cutting them off is against the law,” I replied. “I’m sure the sheriff will agree that breaking them is fine when he’s touching our woman.”
Colton offered a small growl in response. Yeah, no one touched our girl. No one but us.
And we hadn’t even done all that much with Ava Wilde. Yet.
We stopped into her store every day, one of us or both of us together like this morning, to check on her. To buy something we didn’t really need. To make sure no man crossed the line like Roscoe was right now. To let her know we were around, that we weren’t going anywhere. Ever.
The first time I ever laid eyes on Ava, the woman we would marry, was a month ago at Cassidy’s. Kaitlyn Leary had been bothered by a guy she’d dated. Roger Beirstad. The little fucker had stopped by our table and talked trash about my older brother’s woman. And since Ava was Kaitlyn’s BFF, she had been ready to rip Roger’s eyes out.
Fuck, I loved a feisty woman.
I’d had the good fortune of holding Ava back while Duke and Jed took care of Kaitlyn. With my arm about Ava’s narrow waist and her pulled back against me, I’d felt how soft she was. Every fucking inch of her. My forearm had been tucked beneath lush tits and her delectable ass had been pulled tight against my dick. I’d gone instantly hard and the thick pipe had settled between her cheeks, right where it wanted to be. She hadn’t pushed me away. In fact, she’d wiggled those wide hips and looked at me over her shoulder, wide-eyed and… interested.
I’d bet the ranch she’d been wet for me. Oh yeah, it had been perfect except we’d been in a room full of people and we’d had our clothes on. She’d known right then and there I wanted her. Knew my dick rose for her. That I had her in my sights.
I’d told Colton all about her and the next day, he’d skipped out on morning chores at the ranch and headed right to the Seed and Feed. One look and he’d agreed. Ava Wilde would be our woman.
All this time, we’d been waiting for her. And the kicker was, she’d been in town for months—months—and we hadn’t even known she was The One. We’d heard about the city slicker woman who’d bought the store, but hadn’t expected Ava. Hell no. Time we could have been eating her pussy had been wasted.
I licked my lips, eager for the taste of her. I now got hard from the scent of strawberries—it had to have been her shampoo that night—because she’d smelled good enough to eat. I just knew she was sweet all over and we’d find out. We’d get between those thick thighs with our mouths, our fingers, our dicks and she’d be screaming our names. That’s right. Everyone in town would hear her and know the truth.
Her pussy belonged to me and Colton.
While she might smell and taste sweet, her temperament was anything but. She was a little wildcat, my tiger. I loved it when she showed her claws. I was eager to have all that energy, all that wildness taking my dick for a ride. I wasn’t called T-Bone because I ran a cattle ranch. Hell, no. My dick was one hundred percent, grade-A, prime meat and she was going to love it. Every single inch.
As for Colton, she wouldn’t find him lacking either.
She went to the far side of the counter and got on the phone, back to us, most likely to confirm with her delivery driver about Roscoe’s order—we’d been in enough to know how she ran her business—leaving the fucker on his own.
We walked up to him, settled on either side of Roscoe. He paid no attention to us. No, his eyes were square on Ava’s ass. She looked fucking hot in her jeans, showing off every inch of her perfection. While I enjoyed the view, that didn’t mean I wanted the fucker to enjoy it at all. I wanted to toss a grain sack over Ava’s head so no one could see what Colton and I did every time we looked at her.
But fuck, it would be no use. A sack would do shit to hide her beauty.
“I’d like to plow her like the fall harvest,” Roscoe murmured, wi
nking at me and grinning at Colton.
Yeah, we were three good ole boys. Buds talking tail.