‘Forever Changed’ by Jambrea Jo Jones

“Tommy, you go. Go and see your father.”

“Ma—”

“Don’t Ma me.” She coughed and continued ignoring the spittle of blood on her lips. “Tell him I said goodbye. Promise me.”

She started gasping for air. Short little breaths as though she couldn’t seem to find what she needed. The sound she made at the back of her throat was familiar. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard the death rattle. He just never thought it’d be from his mom.

“I promise.” She squeezed his hand tight once before letting go. The machine she was hooked up to beeped. As he looked at the screen, he saw the flat line going across it. And like that, she was gone. Tommy wiped her mouth and waited for the hospital staff to show up. They couldn’t help her now. He hoped she was in a better place and he’d see her again.

“Can I help you?”

Tommy shook his head, coming back to the present. His ma had died of a broken heart and nothing anyone said could make Tommy think otherwise. Now here he was, at his dad’s ranch. He wanted to get this over with. He needed to leave town, but he’d made a promise to his ma and he wasn’t going to back down from it now that she was gone.

On the porch stood the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. He was slim, but muscled. His blond hair shone in the sunlight. He wished he was closer so he could see what color his eyes were. Tommy swallowed. No time for that. Not now. He had a plane to catch and discharge paperwork to fill out. A new life to start.

“Sorry, yes, I was looking for Daniel Grey.” Tommy stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“And you are?” The guy raised an eyebrow.

He was even sexier now with that cocky look on his face.

“Eric, are you talking to someone?” A stunning woman with curly red hair joined the man on the porch. She was wiping her hands on a dish towel.

They made a beautiful pair and that ended Tommy’s daydreaming. He wasn’t one to break up a couple. Tommy was only here on emergency leave from the Army and had to go back, but there was still the matter of the promise he’d made. He would have waited until his enlistment was up and return, but he wanted to get it over with as soon as possible and he didn’t have time for a distraction.

“I—” Tommy cleared his throat and walked up the stairs holding out a hand to the guy. “I’m Thomas Daniel Grey.”

“Tommy?” The woman’s eyes got huge and she ran toward him.

He tried to back away, but wasn’t successful—she leaped into his arms and he had no choice but to catch her or they’d both have ended up on the ground.

“Ma’am?” He released her and backed away. She was clinging a bit, but finally released him.

“Abigail?” The man didn’t look too happy.

Tommy stood at parade rest, not wanting anyone to think he was taking advantage of the situation. That was how people got hurt. He didn’t want any trouble. He wanted to find his dad and be done with the whole situation. Maybe have a little time to mourn. He missed his momma something fierce and he hated that he’d been away for such a long time.

‘Fortune’s Way’ by Jenna Byrnes

Wind whipped through Dean Fortune’s clothes as he pointed his Appaloosa mare in the direction of the stables. He’d taken the long ride in an attempt to clear his head. He’d merely succeeded in muddling his thinking even more.

He patted the horse’s neck. “Let’s go home, Domino.”

She snorted in response and they headed back. The sun was waning and it’d be gone in another hour. He’d be in his easy chair by then, a stiff whiskey in his hand. Or maybe the whole bottle. He’d have to see what else managed to go wrong between now and then.

The stables looked dark. He hoped one of the grooms was still there. He’d see to Domino himself if he had to, but in this mood, he’d really rather stomp off to the house and find a bottle.

At Domino’s stable, he dismounted and led her inside. Not seeing anyone at first glance, he began to remove her tack as he muttered to himself.

A shadow appeared in front of him and someone lifted the saddle from his hands. “Who pissed in your cornflakes?”

He turned and scowled at the ranch foreman, Kyle Reese. “That’s a distasteful expression.”

The tall, muscular man with shaggy blond hair grinned. “About as obnoxious as your mood, I’d guess. What’s got you so up in arms?”

Dean reached for the horse’s blanket.

Kyle intervened. “I’ll do this. Just take a step back and relax. Something’s got you all riled up, and I don’t think it’s got anything to do with Miz Domino here. Want to talk about it?”

Sighing, Dean stepped back as ordered. “I’ll help.” He allowed Kyle to remove Domino’s tack then reached for a towel and rubbed her down, wicking away the sweat. “No, it’s not about the horse. This horse, anyway. It’s the ranch in general. Aw, fuck. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Kyle placed a hand over his, and they gazed at each other. “Okay, we don’t have to talk. The fucking part sounds interesting, though. Want to do that?”

A spark of electricity shot from the touch on his hand directly to Dean’s groin. He hadn’t thought about sex tonight. The whole idea of showering and the preparation involved in a romantic evening sounded like way too much work. He wanted to collapse, drink then pass out.

He smiled at Kyle apologetically. “I’m sweaty and grubby. Can I get a rain check?”

Kyle cupped Dean’s crotch and squeezed. “Sex with me would get you sweaty again anyway. Don’t worry about it.”

Dean glanced around nervously. “Is everyone gone?”

Nodding, Kyle unbuckled Dean’s belt and tugged at the snap of his jeans. “The grooms have all gone home. Jake and his wife are having a date night. They’ve gone into town, and won’t be back for hours.”

‘Tying One On’ by Wendi Zwaduk

“Sometimes you need to stir things up in order to get action.” Ronan Boyd strode across the barn to his partner, Steve Reynolds. “Either she’ll tell us to go to hell or she’ll sign on for the ride of her life.”

Steve rolled his blue eyes. “She’s our ex-girlfriend and our best friend, but come on. No one has that much…fortitude. She’ll never agree.”

“Maybe and maybe not. We’ve got to try.” He loved Steve more than anyone, but they both knew something was missing from their relationship. He just couldn’t say those words exactly. “She’s the one.” He cornered Steve in the empty horse stable. “But right now, you’re the one I want.”

“Oh I am?” Steve wriggled his eyebrows. His blue eyes glittered. He hooked his fingers into Ronan’s waistband, tugging him and Ronan together. “How badly do you want me?”

“So much.” Pressing their bodies tight, Ronan kissed his lover. The moment their tongues tangled, his blood sizzled. Being with Steve topped any other experience. Nothing mattered but Steve. With his gaze fixed on Steve’s, he popped the fly on his man’s pants. “I’m going to fuck you right here against the wall.”

“Fuck yeah. Did you bring the lube?”

“Sure did.” Ronan patted his pocket. “Show me everything.”

Steve disengaged from Ronan long enough to pull his shirt tail up over his head and do what Ronan wanted. He left the garment around his arms and tucked it behind his head. The move showcased the rippling abs Steve worked so hard to maintain. He’d shaved his chest earlier that morning. Ronan grinned. He loved the hairless look.

Ronan pinched Steve’s nipples, eliciting a groan from his lover. “So sexy.” He kissed Steve’s stubble-covered neck. At the same time, he easily popped the button on Steve’s jeans. He slipped both hands into the denim and caressed his lover’s dick. “You’re hard for me.”

“Always,” Steve bit out.

Ronan shoved Steve’s pants to the barn floor. They’d christened every stall in the barn within days of erecting the steel and wooden structure. Their love for each other held no bounds. He kissed Steve’s chest, biting his nipple. When Steve moaned, he flicked his tongue across the tight bundle of nerves.

“Oh, man.” Steve rocked his hips. He rubbed his cock over the bulge in Ronan’s pants.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Ronan wrapped his hands around Steve’s dick. “Right here in the barn? Trista could walk in on us.” Actually, he wanted her to. She never said anything outright, but he knew she’d heard them fuck on more than one occasion.”

“I do.” Steve let go of Ronan and turned around. “I want you in my ass.”

“Good boy.” Ronan slipped the bottle of lube out of his pocket then squirted the clear liquid on his fingers. He inserted one digit into his lover’s ass while he used his free hand to unbutton his own pants. He wouldn’t last long. Sex with Steve always ranked off the charts, but the act never took long either. 

‘Claiming the Cowboys’ by Alysha Ellis

“In three hundred meters your destination is on the right.”

Sophie slowed the hardtop sports car and searched for the cattle-gridded entrance she barely remembered. As a child she’d spent most holidays here. Then she’d become a teenager and her aging grandparents’ remote property no longer held much appeal. It had been fifteen years since she had been a regular visitor to the farm nestled at the farthest end of the Hunter Valley.

When her grandfather died, and her grandmother moved away, Sophie never thought about what had happened to the farm. She had her life in the city, fast-paced and satisfying. Then in one horrifying car accident both her parents and her grandmother had been killed. In the aftermath, the parties, the alcohol, the superficial contacts that passed for her social life felt empty and meaningless.

Her parents’ death left her the sole heir to substantial assets including the Hunter Valley property. Memories of her childhood, of the peace and happiness, offered her solace in her grief.

Four months after the accident, she took extended leave from her job, packed her car and headed to the country. If the homestead was in disrepair, she could restore it, keep it as a holiday house, a reminder of happier times.

After seven hours of driving, she didn’t care what condition it was in, as long as there was a roof and somewhere to put a sleeping bag.

She made the turn onto the narrow gravel road. It was surprisingly pothole free, the paddocks on either side marked off by rows of fence posts, strung with taut wire.

She pulled up in front of the house. Built low to the ground, with verandahs on four sides in the Australian tradition, shaded by gum trees, it looked the same as it had when her grandparents were alive. The painted weatherboard sparkled white in the bright spring sunshine. The water tank still nestled up against the side of the house, the grass around it neat and freshly mown.

She grabbed her bag and fished around in it for the key she’d stored away in her jewelry box as a memento of some of the happiest times in her life. Not that she’d ever seen the door locked during her holidays with her grandparents, but the moment when they had given her the serrated metal shaped cut specially for her had been important, a mark of how much she belonged.

She walked up to the door, inserted the key and turned it. Although she pushed hard, the door stayed shut. She blew out a breath. In the years since she’d last been here, had someone changed the lock? She refused to believe crime had found its way to this little patch of serenity.

She squared her shoulders, flexed her muscles and turned the key again. This time the solid wooden panel swung inward. 

‘Hard Luck Ranch’ by Nan Comargue

Hard Luck Ranch.

The name was supposed to say it all, Emma guessed. Hard Luck for its owner, no doubt, trying to scrabble a living out of a few hundred acres of land. And tough luck for her, who had no choice but to come here.

The path to the ranch was certainly hard enough. The wagon on which she was perched had only a plain wooden board in place of a seat and the entire structure bounced mercilessly over each rocky turn in the road. Several times she’d predicted that she would simply be pitched bodily over the side, but each time she credited the driver’s skilled handling of the lone nag as they managed to stay upright for mile after lonely mile.

Emma held onto her hat, now viciously mangled from the dry wind and sharp eddies of dust that blew into her face every minute or so. She tried to picture her home back in New York State. Her father’s home, truly, and now, more than anything, her stepmother’s.

The image of warmth and genteel comfort would not come.

Perhaps it had never existed. What warmth had been in her life had been in the form of her lovely young mother, now more of a vague sense than an actual memory. She’d died when Emma was three and her father had mourned long and earnestly, leaving Emma to be raised by a succession of governesses.

She’d been neglected, she realized now when she looked back over her last twenty motherless years. But she’d forgiven her father almost before she recognized her right to a grievance. Her mother had been his childhood love. They’d grown up next to each other and been betrothed since they were old enough to be considered of marriageable age. An age Emma herself was now well past, as her stepmother delighted in reminding her.

Emma lifted her chin and with that gesture she nearly lost hold of her precious hat.

Well, she’d shown Mabel, hadn’t she? She managed to get married all on her own—and forever escape from Mabel’s terrible suffocating presence.

“Hold on,” the taciturn driver told her as he made another sharp turn for no reason at all, as far as Emma could see.

She held onto the side of the wagon for dear life.

Yes, she’d gotten herself married. Why was it that the idea that had seemed so good in New York looked so miserable here in Texas?

‘Dust and Desire’ by Demelza Hart

West Texas, 1906

The setting sun turned the distant hills a burnished russet as Chase Truman set off on his dusk ride to scout the perimeter of Redhorn Ranch. After the wrangles and rows he’d put up with earlier, he felt himself settling as he looked over the unchanging vastness of his land. How could any man want more?

His father was on his back again, taunting him about the loss of Blue Ridge, hounding him over settling down and finding a good woman.

Fireblade, his mustang, shook his mane in agitation at something—rattlesnake maybe. The cool mystery of night brought out all kinds of creatures—Chase knew that all too well. His horse—ever steady, ever reliable—walked on, picking his way carefully through the dust and burrs of the west Texas earth.

Chase took him right to the edge of the near acres, to the point where the land became even wilder and more open. It was still the Trumans’, had been for an age, but out there was something else, wild and untamed. The cattle grazed and moved across it, and although the Truman name may have been on the deeds, it never felt as if it really belonged to them properly. He adjusted himself in the saddle and gazed out as the sun disappeared over the ridge. There it was, that far hill that haunted him, giving off its strange gray-blue tinge. They had thousands of acres—why more? But his father had wanted it all his life, and Chase, in his father’s eyes, had lost it.

That old familiar ache started in Chase’s belly and he cursed it away. He rode on until he came to the faded, bleached wood of the old ranch house. It was derelict now, long abandoned. Chase had spent many happy hours here as a child and since—it was his get-away.

Fireblade took a few jittery steps and whinnied.

“Whoa, boy. What’s up?”

The horse threw back his head and snorted. Something was there. Fireblade was never wrong, and this time it was more than an inquisitive rattlesnake, Chase could tell. He eased himself smoothly off the stallion and drew his revolver.

Chase took slow and steady steps toward the old house, every sense alert to danger. He edged around the corner, his Colt .45 primed before him. Nothing.

The sense of danger was familiar and exhilarating. He continued, peering through the broken windows of the old house, and turned the far corner. Whatever was there was eluding him skillfully. He let out a curse before backing up to try the other way.

Before he took another step he heard the ominous click of a revolver being cocked right behind him. He froze, his heart plummeting from his chest.