JR

 

The aroma of fresh brewed coffee greeted Helena when she woke. She padded out barefoot from the master bedroom to the kitchen, poured a mug for herself, then leaned on the island as if to brace herself with caffeine to face the day—to face Griff.

He was already out on the deck in an Adirondack chair. Helena smiled at the sight of him sitting like a man-sphinx, shirtless in only Levi’s, staring blankly at the pre-dawn glow growing behind the mountains like a big, dumb Saint Bernard. She went to join him but hesitated at the sliding glass door. Up close, even in profile, the expression on Griff’s face gave her pause. She sensed an intensity, a grim tension in his stare at the horizon, more like a dangerously hungry wolf than a furry family pet.

“There you are.” Griff turned his ravenous gaze towards Helena as she came out on the deck and the rays of morning sun reaching around the mountains gave him x-ray vision to see her naked body beneath a sheer, gauzy summer dress. “You left me all alone last night.”

“Mmmm…well, three times—you know, there’s only so much a girl can take.” Helena sat down beside Griff.

“Yeah. I know. I feel so…used.” Griff smiled at Helena. “But, still, glad to be of service.”

Helena hid her smile behind a sip of coffee. “You always up this early?”

“Cattle don’t water themselves.”

“Yeah. They do, actually.”

Griff laughed. “Caught me. I figured you for a city-girl.”

“Daddy had a ranch in Montana. We’d spend summers there.”

“And a mansion in Bel Aire, a spread in Carmel, and a condo in Aspen, not to mention the apartment in Manhattan…and San Francisco…and Paris…Did Lance get them all?”

“Lance?”

“Already hard at work in the Windy City, sending me intelligence reports.” Griff held up his iPhone. “So, when did you text him? Before or after we consummated our understanding?”

“After, of course. You don’t think I just bought that Mustang in the driveway without test driving it, do you?” Helena poked Griff’s bicep with her index finger as if testing the firmness of his muscles. “Daddy didn’t raise some bubble-headed Barbie doll.”

“Yeah. I get that. What about Junior? He doesn’t strike me as the sharpest knife in the kitchen.”

“Oh, he pales into an albino in comparison to our dad. But people underestimate him because, well, he definitely doesn’t interview well. The camera hates him. Makes him look like a prototypical evil capitalist. I think ‘cause he got my step-mother’s deep-set eyes. Daddy was so smooth and easy-going, and no matter who it was he was talking to, he made them feel like they were just a couple of old chums from the neighborhood catching up on good times.” Helena shook her finger at Griff. “Careful. Don’t you underestimate him, too. He’s got a grisly kind of determination.”

“Just not your smarts…or good looks.”

“Well, that goes without saying.” Helena flipped her blonde hair off her shoulders. “Oh, just so you know, he hates being called Junior.”

“And that would be his problem, not mine.”

“For the record, he prefers JR.”

“And you think Junior has your father’s stuff?”

“You are incorrigible.” Helena sighed. “Or he knows who does. He was the executor of Daddy’s will.”

Griff leaned forward in the Adirondack. “What’s the point of all this?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know. But I want it back.”

“All right, then. I’ve got my marching orders.”

“Good.” Helena looked at Griff. “So, what’s keeping you?”

Griff stood up, effortlessly lifted Helena out of the Adirondack chair, and carried her inside. He headed towards the master bedroom.

“No. Not there.”

He laid her on the rug in front of the fireplace and clawed at the hem of her dress.

Helena pushed back on his chest, then sat up to pull the dress off over her head. Griff stood and stepped out of his jeans. When he went to lay on top of her, she rolled him over and, straddling his hips, ever so slowly lowered herself onto him.

He lay back and closed his eyes, his arms outstretched.

Helena sat up straight and methodically rode him with her hips for a long, long time, savoring the smile on Griff’s face, until he arched his back and they both came.

After, Helena rested her head on his chest listening to his heartbeat and breathing return to normal. Then, she found her dress, pulled it back on over her head, and left Griff on the floor to go make them breakfast.

Griff’s drive back to the airport was much more leisurely than the night before. He noticed the Mustang’s odometer had only four hundred thirty-seven miles on it.

Once over North La Veta Pass, he throttled back the Cirrus and floated along the Front Range heading home to his ranch in Wyoming.

 

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