The sound of Gotye singing Somebody That I Used to Know dragged Harper from the best dream of her life. A dream about two sexy Australian cowboys pleasuring her until she could no longer stand. She blinked in the semidarkness of the room, her heart racing, her blood roaring in her ears.
And realized she wasn’t alone in her bed.
Not your bed, Harper. Not your room.
The befuddled thought scraped at her subconscious a second before a distinctly male voice with a distinctly Australian accent said, “Are you going to get that, love?”
Harper sat upright, squinting at the shadows surrounding her.
Amy’s room. Amy’s bed. And Marc. And Keith…
She let out a hitching breath, reality washing over her.
She was in bed with Keith and Marc. They’d slept together. Actually slept together. After a night of the most incredible sex, they’d collapsed into bed and fallen asleep.
Is that surprising? After all, the three of you have done little but fuck for the last few nights.
“I’m all for ignoring the phone at this time of the morning, darl’.” Keith’s mutter drifted up from her left, his hand smoothing over her belly to cup her hip. “But do I have to listen to bloody Gotye constantly?”
“Tell them to bugger off,” Marc grumbled, his hand skimming up the length of her thigh until his fingertips brushed the folds of her pussy.
The song died mid-chorus and Harper let out a shaky breath. Whoever was calling her cell would have to deal with her voicemail now.
“Good.” Keith’s hand slipped down to the curve of her sex, so close to Marc’s fingers at her seam, her belly knotted with wanton anticipation. “Now we can—”
Harper’s cell phone dinged, loud enough to make both men flinch.
“Bloody hell.” Keith let out a harsh breath. “Can’t a bloke make love to a woman in peace?”
“Blokes.” Marc’s fingers stroked at her entry, parting the soft flesh there. “Plural, Blue. Plural.”
Her phone dinged again. And again.
Harper’s pulse quickened. Someone was trying to get her attention. And the only someone she knew who was that damn insistent was her brother.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, leaning over Keith to reach for her cell on the nightstand. “I’ve got to get this.”
The cowboy took advantage of her position, capturing her nipple as her breast brushed his face.
She hissed, instant pleasure sinking into the pit of her belly at the sucking pressure of his mouth.
Her fingers fumbled with her cell, forcing her to stretch farther forward. Keith continued to suckle, his deep moan of appreciation vibrating through her just as Marc’s lips found the small of her back.
“O-oh God, you guys,” she stammered, her body reacting to their wicked ministrations even as she snared her phone in a desperate grip. “You really know how to…”
The words died as she read the last text her brother had sent.
I know you’re not at a conference, Harper. I just don’t know where you are. If you don’t answer my text within five minutes I’m contacting the FBI and telling them you’ve been abducted.
“Crap,” she whispered, Keith’s and Marc’s mouths on her body forgotten, “this is so not good.”
“What’s going on, love?” Marc asked.
She flinched, aware both men were now watching her.
Marc narrowed his eyes. “I can’t tell if you’re scared or pissed off.”
She flicked her gaze back to the phone, a distant part of her mind noting it was 7:58 a.m.
Almost eight o’clock Thursday morning in Australia, which made it five o’clock Wednesday night back home.
“Harper?”
Keith’s voice made her lift her head. “Andrew knows I’m not in Chicago. He’s a bit…angry.”
“What do you mean, ‘knows you’re not in Chicago’?” Keith frowned. “Why wouldn’t he know you’re here?”
“I didn’t tell him.” She slid her gaze to Marc. “I told you he was overprotective.”
Keith’s eyebrows rose. “You didn’t tell him you were coming to Farpoint?”
She ran her hand through her hair. “I didn’t tell him I was coming to Australia.”
Marc burst out laughing. “Bloody hell, love. You like to live dangerously.”
“I’ve never done anything like this be—” The loud ding from her cell prevented Harper finishing. She dropped her stare to the new text on the screen.
Three minutes, Harper.
She looked up at Keith and Marc, a frown knitting her eyebrows. “Err…I really need to text my brother.”
Keith’s gaze was level. “Text?”
“He’s angry. I can tell. I’m not going to talk to him when he’s angry.”
“And I think that’s our cue to get out of bed, Blue.” Marc spun his legs over the side of the mattress and stood. “We’ve got work to do anyway. Can’t believe we slept in this long. Hunter’s going to kill us.”
Completely naked, he walked to the foot of bed, his ass cheeks bunching and flexing with sublime perfection, and scooped his clothes from where he’d deposited them the night before. If Harper weren’t so damn worried about Andrew discovering her whereabouts, she’d toss her cell aside, crawl down the bed and wrap her fingers around his very impressive morning erection.
“Are you sure you’re okay, darl’?”
She turned back to Keith, finding him perched on the side of the bed, studying her. Concern in his eyes.
“I’m okay, honest.” She wriggled her cell. “Just got a big brother to deal with is all. Will I see you both after school today?”
Keith nodded. “Yep. We’re finishing off the south mob for drenching today. It’ll be a little later than normal. We thought we might take you into Cobar for dinner at the pub. What do you think?”
Her cell dinged again. She jumped, dropping her stare to its small screen.
Two minutes, Harper.
The bed shifted and she looked up at Keith, now standing—just as naked and erect as Marc. “Pick you up later tonight, darl’,” he said, placing his hat on his head. “’Round sixish.”
“’Kay.”
He turned from the bed, snatched his jeans from the air as Marc tossed them at him and strode from the room, his tight, naked butt making Harper’s pussy constrict. Oh man, she’d held that butt in her hands last night. Hell, she’d licked that butt. And Marc’s.
“Havagood day, love,” Marc said, fixing his own hat on his head, his jeans, shirt and boots tucked under his arm. “See you tonight.”
He followed Keith out of the bedroom, not in the least bit embarrassed by his nudity as far as Harper could tell.
Her phone dinged.
One minute left, sis.
With a growl, she swiped her thumb across the screen and keyed in a response.
That was not a minute, Andrew.
Her heart slammed into her throat as she waited for her brother to read her rebuke.
It came so quickly she couldn’t help but be amazed how fast Andrew’s thumbs must be moving.
Ha! You are there after all. Now tell me where there is.
Chewing on her bottom lip, she keyed in a response.
Nope. You don’t need to know. Safe. And happy. That should be all that counts.
It didn’t take long for Andrew to text back.
If I call you, you’re not going to answer, are you?
Despite herself, Harper chuckled.
No.
A few seconds later, a new text appeared on her screen.
I’m not happy about this, Harper. At least tell me where you are.
Harper stared at the message, her thumb poised over her screen. She could tell him. There wasn’t much he could do about her being here. Apart from getting on the next flight to Australia, followed by the first flight to Cobar, followed by renting a car to drive to Farpoint Creek. Actually, knowing Andrew, he’d probably just get the studio that made his cable travel show to fly him to Oz and then charter a plane direct to the cattle station.
Then he’d arrive in thorough big-brother mode, furious with her. And she’d let him tuck her under his protective wing and take her back to Chicago.
Because that’s what he did—protected her from things that might hurt her. And that’s what she did—let him. She loved him and he loved her but it was time she stood on her own two feet. Time to live without fear or shame.
This was her time. Here in Farpoint with Marc and Keith.
This was her moment to truly live. And as much as she loved him, as much as she understood why he did what he did and why she allowed it, if Andrew came to Australia, she’d stop living again. She wasn’t ready yet to disappear back into her shell.
She wasn’t ready yet to say goodbye to Blue and Thomo.
After the last few days—afternoons spent laughing with the cowboys, nights spent moaning with pleasure as they worshipped her body and made her orgasm over and over again—she was wondering if she’d ever be ready.
Her cell dinged in her hand, making her flinch.
Are you going to tell me?
Gnawing on her bottom lip, her belly knotting, her blood roaring in her ears, she tapped in her response.
I’m fine. Stop worrying. Be nice to Amy.
She stared at the screen, waiting for his reply.
It didn’t come.
Ten minutes later, it still hadn’t come.
Ten minutes after that, when she laid out Amy’s yoga matt and attempted to stretch the expectant tension from her body, it still hadn’t come.
It wasn’t until she was watching her small class enjoy their morning tea in the sun, two hours later, that her phone dinged.
She stood frozen under a shady tree, a Granny Smith apple half raised to her mouth.
Lowering the apple, she slipped her hand into her back pocket and withdrew her cell. Heart racing, she read the messages Andrew had sent her.
Fine. Have it your way. I won’t keep hassling you about where you are. But I won’t stop worrying. I can’t. It’s what I do, right?
A tight lump filled Harper’s throat and she blinked, the sting of hot tears at the back of her eyes taking her by surprise.
“Goddamn, Andy,” she muttered, “how can you do this to me on the other side of the goddamn planet?”
Her cell dinged in her hand, making her jump.
She swiped at her eyes, glaring at the phone.
Just remember when you get home, YOU told me to be nice to Amy.
Harper frowned, reading the message again. What the hell did that mean?
What the hell does that mean?
The only answer she got was…
:)
Biting back a curse, Harper shoved the offending cell back into her pocket. “I’m going to punch him when I get home,” she muttered. “And I’m going to make sure it hurts.”
* * * *
The day had been a stinker. The south mob hadn’t behaved at all, more than one steer running amuck as Keith and Marc tried to round them up. Keith had resorted to not only using his dog, Jett—a tough-as-nails kelpie—but Dylan’s dog, Mutt, as well. Both dogs were amazing, running the herd of Angus down until the cattle finally went where Marc and Keith wanted them. However, two hours out from penning the lot, a bloody eight-foot brown snake in the grass got them riled and he and Marc spent the next three hours rounding the bellowing bloody things up again. Six hours on horseback, in the blazing Outback sun, after fuck-all sleep made for a very agitated Keith.
Especially when, despite all the shit from the cattle, his mind constantly kept wandering back to Harper Shaw.
The day would have gone much smoother if he could have kept his focus on the job rather than fantasizing about the gorgeous American teacher. The trouble was, every time his mind turned to her, the pit of his stomach clenched in a warm knot he knew damn well was happiness.
Checking Whippet’s hooves one last time, Keith walked out of his horse’s pen and removed his hat from his head. “Thank bloody God that’s done.”
Marc grinned at him over Kilowatt’s back, his hand working the scraper over the stallion’s rump. “You getting too old for this shit, Blue?”
Keith snorted, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Think I am, mate. Maybe it’s time to cash in and buy one of those swank apartments overlooking the harbor in Sydney?”
Marc snorted, returning his attention to his horse’s coat. “Yeah, yeah. You’ll live in the city the day hell has snow lifts and pay-to-rent ice skates.”
Keith returned his hat to his head. Marc was right. He’d rather hack off his left nut with a blunt pocketknife than live in the big smoke.
“Reckon we should have taken Legs out with us today? Given the young bloke a run at controlling the mob?”
Keith shook his head, picturing the seventeen-year-old jackaroo Dylan had hired before heading off on his honeymoon. “Not yet. He’s still dodgy on a horse. He may have come first in his class at Tocal and know his Black Angus from his red blindfolded, but throwing him into a muster when he still can’t stay seated in a saddle isn’t smart.”
Marc chuckled. “And leaving him with Big Mac was? Poor bugger’s probably quit by now.”
Keith leaned his shoulder against the entrance to Whippet’s pen and shoved his hands in his pockets, watching his best mate scrape the sweat and dirt from his own horse. “Big Mac may be a tosser, but he can teach Legs how to get the drenching pit ready better than you or me.” He adjusted his weight on the metal threshold. “As much as I hate to admit it, the bloke knows his way around a chemical mix.”
With a pat on Kilowatt’s rump, Marc joined Keith outside the horse’s pen. “True. So, when are we going to talk about the Harper situation?”
At the mention of Harper’s name, Keith’s jaw clenched. “What’s the Harper situation, Thomo?” he asked, striving to keep his voice calm.
“The one where we both spend every bloody waking minute thinking about her. That one. The one where we can’t wait to see her again and keep looking at our watches hoping it’s the end of the day and not five bloody minutes after we looked the last time. That one.” Marc folded his arms, leaned his back against the opposite frame of the pen’s opening. “The one where we start to work out how the hell to convince her not to go back to the U.S. when the fortnight finishes. That situation.”
Keith ground his teeth, balling his fists in his pockets. It wasn’t long at all before Harper flew back to Chicago. He didn’t like that idea.
He hadn’t figured on falling for her when they’d taken her to the billabong three days ago. He’d thought they’d all flirt a little. Maybe he’d get a look in before she decided that Thomo was the man she wanted to spend her time here with. Marc was her age, after all. He also fell firmly in the “tall, dark and handsome” category. Even a bloke as hetero as Keith could recognize that. Instead, she’d seduced them both with her innocent warmth, her brave sense of adventure and her willingness to enjoy life.
She’d opened up a whole new world of pleasure for him—the pleasure of sharing a woman with his best mate. The trouble now was, Keith didn’t see himself sharing anyone but Harper with Marc. In fact, the very idea of having sex with anyone apart from Harper made his gut churn.
Given those facts, Marc was correct. There was a Harper situation. Now what the fuck did they do about it?
Marc pushed his hat back on his head and fixed Keith with a steady look. “You reckon she’s open to the idea of staying a bit longer?”
Keith pulled a slow breath. “Dunno, mate. And if she says yes, what does that mean? We planning on spending every night in her bed together? You think the Sullivans are going to put up with that?”
A scowl fell over Marc’s face. “It’s no one else’s business but ours who sleeps in whose bed.”
Keith let out a dry grunt. “True, but it will be. You going to tell Hazel both of us are sleeping with Harper? You going to tell Amy?”
The scowl on Marc’s face twisted into a grimace. “Amy’s going to kill us.”
Keith nodded. “When she told us to look after her friend, I don’t think she meant what we’ve been doing. Speaking of Amy, what happens to Harper when she gets back? Harper is only here on a swap. When Amy comes home, Harper’s no longer the Farpoint teach. The Sullivans are bloody great bosses, but I can’t see them letting Harper hang around without contributing in some way, ignoring the fact she’d have nowhere to live.”
“You don’t think Amy would let her stay with her?”
Keith grunted again. “Maybe. But do you want to tell Amy she’s got to leave her home for a while every time you and I want to make love to Harper? Or do we just do it on the couch while Amy’s watching the telly or marking homework in the same room?”
Marc’s answering sigh was exasperated. “Okay, I get the point.”
Keith’s chest clamped tight. He hadn’t intended to illustrate how nothing permanent could come of their unorthodox situation while being the devil’s advocate, but he had.
So why the fuck did that change nothing?
Why the fuck did he still want to climb into the ute, drive over to Amy’s cottage, pull Harper against his body and kiss her senseless while Marc stripped her of her clothes?
Why did he want her to straddle his face while she sucked Marc off?
Why did he want to, in a nutshell, spend the rest of a bloody long time being with her? Being with them both? In a bloody three-sided relationship?
What the fuck was wrong with him?
Surely to God he wasn’t falling in love with her, was he?
“So what do we do now?”
Marc’s low question drew Keith’s attention back to his best friend. He shrugged. “No bloody idea, mate. But I’d suggest we start with taking a shower. We told her we’d pick her up at six and that’s only fifteen minutes away. I’d go straight there but I smell like sweat, horse and cow. Not exactly the aftershave for taking a lady out on a date.”
Marc’s eyebrows shot up. “A date? Is that what we’re doing? All three of us? At the pub in Cobar?”
Keith levered away from the pen’s threshold, his expression set. “Bloody oath it is. And I’m not afraid to let everyone see it. Are you?”
“Hell no. Just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.”
He chuckled. “If you mean, are we going to show Harper the best night of her life in a town so small it only has one set of traffic lights, followed by the most incredible sex of her life under the stars on the way home, followed by even more incredible sex in the cottage when we get here, then yes, we’re on the same page.”
Marc smirked. “Let’s get to it then. I’ll even let you have the first shower, seeing as you stink more than—”
“Excuse me, Blue? Thomo?”
A young male voice behind Keith took him by surprise. Fighting to keep his frustration at bay, he swung to face the jackaroo standing at the mouth of the stable. “What’s up, Legs?” he asked, giving the teenager an easy smile.
The tall, lanky city boy hell-bent on becoming a stockman took a step closer to them, the pimples on his cheeks blazing red. “Ronnie asked me to let you know he and Hughsie needed your help at the Wombat Gulley gate. Apparently one of the stud bulls has knocked down a fence post and the bull’s got its leg caught in the barbed wire.”
Keith bit back a curse.
Marc didn’t show any such restraint. “Shit. That’s not good. Thanks, Legs. We’ll head off right now. Can you fire up Blue’s ute for us, mate?”
The young jackaroo nodded, a wide smile pulling at his lips as he started to turn. “You bet,” he called. “I promise I won’t crash her, Blue.”
“Just start her up, Legs,” Keith called after the jackaroo, who was now almost running. “You don’t need to…ah fuck, he’s gone.”
Letting out a sigh, Keith shot Marc a quick look. “We’ll swing by the cottage on the way and let Harper know we’ll be late.”
Marc grinned at him as they both began to stride toward the stable doors. “Makes sense. Then she can smell how stinky you are before you scrub up.”
Keith shook his head. “Shut the fuck up, Thomo.”
* * * *
Harper sprang to her feet at the soft knock on the cottage door, dropping her red pen onto the haikus about the Australian bush she’d been grading. She shot her watch a quick glance, noting it was not quite quarter to six.
They were early.
She brushed her palms over her stomach and thighs, giving her reflection in the living area’s mirror a quick glance. She had no idea what one wore to a pub in Cobar, but based on the fifteen minutes she’d spent in its airport terminal, she figured a simple white sundress with sandals would be okay.
She could have worn the clothes she’d flown in, but the all-black ensemble really wasn’t her. It was part of the “let’s take life by the balls” attitude she’d started this trip with. Funny how she was doing things she’d never believed she would but the thought of wearing the tight designer-label jeans, the even tighter shirt and ridiculous stiletto boots made her want to cringe.
With a hasty rake of her fingers through the waves of her hair, and an equally quick lick of her lips, she crossed to the door, ready to greet Keith and Marc on the other side.
She had a surprise for them tonight. One she still couldn’t believe she was going to announce.
Belly fluttering like a horde of frantic butterflies, she gripped the knob and pulled open the door.
Only to find Ronnie McNamara standing on the other side of the threshold, hat in hand. “Ms. Shaw,” he said with a smile, returning his hat to his head. “Thought I’d pop by and say g’day. See how you’re going.”
Harper stared at him. She didn’t mean to. She knew it was rude, but her brain—having already decided Keith and Marc were going to be on the other side of the door—refused to process it was Ronnie.
She hadn’t seen the cowboy since Sunday. She certainly hadn’t been expecting to see him this afternoon. “H-hi, Ronnie,” she finally replied, stammering. “How are you?”
“Better for seeing you now, Ms. Shaw. May I come in?”
A lifetime of being raised by Andrew to have good manners saw Harper stepping aside before she even realized it. Ronnie ducked his head, removed his hat and crossed the threshold.
Harper caught a whiff of strong cologne and it was only then she noticed the cowboy was dressed in jeans and a shirt no man on a ranch would ever work in.
Station, Harper. Station. And stockman. Not cowboy. Keith and Marc would spank you senseless if they knew you—
“You look very pretty this arvo.” Ronnie’s voice jerked her away from the wholly delicious thought of Keith and Marc and their treatment of her ass. “Ms. Wesson never gets dolled up like that to teach.”
“Thomo and Blue are taking me to the pub in Cobar,” she answered, for some reason thoroughly unsettled by the man’s compliment. She’d never been one to handle praise well. Her usual reaction was to blush and mumble something contradictory. That she’d mentioned the reason for her state of dress now, that she’d mentioned Keith’s and Marc’s names as a shield against Ronnie’s obvious interest, told her she was in uncomfortable territory.
More than once back in Chicago she’d invoked her big brother’s name when trying to disengage from unwanted attention, especially while attending one of Andrew’s television events. Anyone who knew Andrew knew not to mess with him.
Here at Farpoint Creek, however, the name Andrew Shaw meant nothing. The names Blue and Thomo, though…
You trust them, Harper. And feel safe with them. It’s the first time you’ve felt safe with anyone apart from Andy.
The significance of the realization wasn’t lost on her.
Nor, it seemed, was it lost on Ronnie.
At the mention of their names, his amiable smile turned to a scowl. His eyes narrowed, his top lip curling. “So the rumors are true then, are they?”
Harper frowned, the question—and its tone—wrapping a rope of tight disquiet around her chest. “Rumors?”
Ronnie didn’t answer. Instead, he turned back toward the door.
Oh thank God. He’s leaving.
The sound of the lock sliding into place chilled Harper’s blood. “Ronnie?” Her pulse pounding, she took a step back. “What are you doing?”
Ronnie swung to face her again. With a slow rake of his stare over her body, he placed his hat on the stand beside the now closed door. “Told you.” His voice was low. Steady. “Thought I’d see how you’re going.”
He took a step toward her. A step she mirrored backward. “I’m well.” She tried like hell to keep the apprehension out of the words. “Enjoying my time here. Looking forward to going into Cobar tonight. I’ve heard the bar, I mean pub, gets a little crazy at night. Annie says the hot weather will bring out the yobbos. She’s obviously been here too long because she’s using Aussie terms I don’t understand. I guess that’s what happens when you live in the Outback and are surrounded by Australians, don’t you think?”
Harper was babbling. She knew that. But she was scared. She didn’t like the way Ronnie was looking at her, as if he were slowly stripping her dress off with his stare. She didn’t think he’d be stupid enough to hurt her, but she sure as shit didn’t like the way he’d locked the door before walking closer.
She shot a quick look around her, seeking a weapon. Christ, even a vase or candlestick.
Nothing.
“How was work today?” She was desperate to keep the illusion of control and confidence. Andy always told her when you looked scared you became a victim. Be strong, sis. Be confident. Let your eyes tell them to fuck off or they’ll be in a world of pain.
Whenever she’d asked him—as a painfully shy girl of eleven, then a shy teen—how she was going to put them in a world of pain, he’d always given the same answer. I’ll put them in it for you, sis.
But Andrew wasn’t here now. And she had no doubt her eyes weren’t telling Ronnie to fuck off. Her eyes were telling him that she was scared.
Scared like she used to feel when her stepfather came into her room.
Scared like she used to feel when he—
“Work was interesting.” Ronnie’s voice, so smooth it was almost a purr, made her already frantic heart slam faster in her throat. She took another step backward, all too aware of the fact she was running out of room to retreat.
His gaze flicked over her again, lingering on her cleavage. Cleavage only half an hour ago she’d imagined Marc and Keith admiring.
“Especially,” he went on, his stare lifting to her face, “when I heard about you and Thomo and Blue.”
Harper’s mouth went dry. Her lips tingled. “W-what…what did you hear?”
He stopped moving. Harper realized it was because she couldn’t go any farther without bumping into the back of the sofa.
“I heard you and Thomo and Blue are fucking each other all over Farpoint.” The statement left him on a flat snarl.
She stared at him, unable to move. Unable to draw breath.
“So I figured,” Ronnie closed the minute space between them, his hot breath fanning her face, his legs pressing to hers, “seeing as you’re already giving it out to two Aussie men at the same time, you’d have no problem giving it out to a third. I promise, my dick is bigger than—”
Her palm smacked against Ronnie’s cheek.
A second before the door to her cottage slammed open with a splintering crash.
Ronnie stumbled away from her, part backward, part sideways, his head swinging toward the black thundercloud charging at him.
No, not a thundercloud. Keith, his blue eyes colder than winter ice, his face etched with deadly menace.
Ronnie’s stumble turned to a scurry, his hands held up, head shaking. “Fucking hit me, Munroe, and I’ll make sure you—”
Keith’s fist smashing into his jaw shut him up.
He staggered backward, blood oozing from the corner of his mouth.
“Make sure what, Ronald?” Keith asked, following him, his fist drawing back. “Tell me. Go on.”
Ronald sneered, swiping at the blood on his lips. “Had your dick up her arse yet, Munroe?”
Keith’s punched him again, a blur of brutal speed. His fist cracked against Ronald’s jaw, the sound of splintering bone unmistakable.
Ronald stumbled once more, and again when Keith’s fist slammed into his mouth.
Harper stared at the scene, her mind blank. Her stomach churned, nauseous with stunned horror.
Keith hit the man again, again, driving him backward until Ronald crashed into the wall. He staggered sideways, head down, blood dripping from his mouth and nose, before—with a snarled “Fuck you, Munroe!”—he ran shoulder-first at Keith.
Harper cried out.
Keith’s knee punched up. Connected with Ronald’s nose.
Ronald arced backward, blood spattering from his mashed face.
Keith closed in on him, blood on his knuckles. Whose blood, Harper didn’t know.
“Keith!” she cried. “He’s not—”
“Going to kill you.” Ronald spat out a wad of blood. He stumbled forward, his glare fixed on Keith. “Going to fucking kill you, Munroe!”
Hatred fell over Keith’s face. “Try it.”
Ronald charged him again. Keith smashed his fist into his nose, his jaw.
The stockman fell, ass first, to the ground.
And Keith bore down on him, fist pulled back.
Only to have his arm snatched mid-swing by Marc, the sound of his palm smacking against Keith’s wrist like a crack of thunder. “You’re gonna kill him, Blue.”
Keith’s lip curled. His stare drilled into Ronald, now cowering on the floor at his feet. “That’s the idea.”
Harper let out a whimper, shaking her head. “He’s not worth it, Keith.” She stepped toward them, willing Keith to look at her. “He’s not worth going to jail over.”
The muscles in Keith’s jaw bunched. “He was going to—”
“But he didn’t,” Harper interjected.
“Don’t do it, Blue.” Marc struggled with his friend. Harper could see the tension in his muscles as he fought to keep Keith’s arm motionless. “Harper’s right. He’s not worth it.”
Keith shook his head. And then, his glare locked on Ronald, he opened his fist and stepped backward. “Turn yourself into Hunter, McNamara,” he said, his voice low. “Now. Or I’ll finish what I started.”
“Fucking have her then,” Ronnie snarled from the floor, throwing a glare of sheer contempt in Harper’s direction. He leaned forward and spat a glob of blood at her feet. “Bet she’s a dud root anyways.”
Marc cursed, strong arms grabbing Keith as he tried to lunge forward. “Get out of here, McNamara. Before I let go of Blue and he beats you to—”
Ronnie scrambled off his knees and bolted. Past Keith, past Marc, snatching his hat from the table as he ran out of the cottage.
Harper’s heart restarted. Smashing fast in her throat. She let out a choked breath, slumping against the back of the sofa, her hands clinging to the cushioned edge, her burning stare locked on her feet. “That…that wasn’t fun.”
Marc was at her side in two steps, smoothing his palms up her arms. “You okay, love?”
She flinched, twisting away from his gentle touch. Her stomach rolled, sick with a terror she thought she’d left behind years ago.
It’s okay, baby. You’re my special girl. My special—
“I’m fine,” she muttered, turning her head away as she wrapped her arms around her body. “I just need to be alone.”
“Alone?” Keith’s agitation was clear in the sharp word.
She flinched, hugging herself tighter. “Please.”
Oh God, Andrew. She wanted to call Andrew.
Her heart twisted, guilt and torment a physical pain she thought she’d put behind her.
“Harper,” Marc murmured, his hands smoothing up her arms again. “Big Mac’s gone. You’re o—”
“Don’t say the word okay!” she snapped, jerking her head to glare at him. Tears stung the backs of her eyes, hot acid that stripped away her dignity.
She’d never let her stepfather see her cry. She never cried in front of anyone but Andrew. Ever.
She wasn’t crying now.
Except she was. Hot tears slipped over her cheeks like burning trails of shame.
It’s okay, baby. You’re my special girl. My special sweet thing. This is just for me, okay? Just for me. No one else is allowed. It’s a special thing all daddies do. It’s okay, baby. Just let me touch—
Sickening hate and shame flooded her. She swallowed the bile threatening to choke off her throat.
“Harper,” Keith’s voice was steady. “Tell us what’s going on. What did McNamara do to you?”
She shook her head, refusing to look at him.
Never tell. Too shameful. Too scared. Never tell.
“Harper, I need to know.” The tips of Keith’s boots moved into her line of sight and she squeezed her eyes shut, driving her nails into her arms. “If he…” His voice cracked and he paused. “I’ll kill him. I promise, I’ll fucking rip the bastard apart and Marc won’t stop—”
Harper shook her head. “He didn’t touch me,” she said, her belly churning. The words were sour on her tongue. “He just…”
She couldn’t say any more. It was too shameful.
All daddies do it. Just let me touch you there. See? That didn’t hurt—
“Please go away,” she whispered, unable to look at either of them. “I need you to go away. Both of you.”
Neither man said a word.
Blood roared in her ears. Her head felt tight, as if something were clamping it. Trying to crush it. She blinked, the tears on her cheeks a bitter reminder of how pathetic she was.
“Go away,” she ground out, scraping her nails over her flesh. “I want to be alone.”
She heard a drawn-out breath. She didn’t know whose it was.
“C’mon, mate.” Marc’s mutter barely reached her ears. “We need to respect Harper’s wishes.”
Harper didn’t need to open her eyes to know Keith wasn’t moving. Of the two cowboys, Keith was the most stubborn. The most determined.
“Harper?” He spoke her name in a soft question.
She didn’t answer. Didn’t open her eyes. Didn’t lift her head.
That’s didn’t hurt, did it? That’s ’cause you’re my special girl. Now I’m going to do it again, but I want you to touch—
Shame sliced through her. Hot. Mortifying.
She caught her bottom lip with her teeth, biting hard into the flesh. Pain to numb the pain.
“Please,” she finally croaked, her mouth dry, her throat thick. “Just go. Please.”
The sound of boot heels on the cottage’s wooden floor told her Keith and Marc had left. She raised her head, blinking away the tears blurring her vision to stare at the closed door.
The doorjamb next to the lock was splintered, no doubt where Keith had kicked it open. She frowned, wondering if she could still lock it.
Swallowing the dust coating her mouth, she pushed herself away from the sofa and crossed the floor. A tremble was beginning to take her, deep within her core. She could feel it in her belly, her soul.
Refusing to let her hands shake, she flicked the little toggle that would engage the lock.
A dull click filled the room like a gunshot.
She fixed her stare on the knob, her heart slamming in her throat, and wrapped her fingers around the old brass knob.
She turned it to the right and pulled.
The door didn’t budge.
She was alone.
All alone.