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Diesel
“Don’t wake him, okay,” I hear my angel say. “He looks innocent, but he’s really a menace to society.”
I need to see her, but first I have to open my eyes. I’m not sure why this is important, but beneath the snark, I feel her concern for me. Struggling to pry my lids off my eyeballs, my vision is initially blurred. That’s not the only unusual finding. My head aches, as does my shoulders and back. With one hand, I move it slow and deliberate up my face until I reach my forehead. It’s covered in a gauzy fabric. Touching above my right eye, I wince.
“Put your hand down, Grinch. We just cleaned you up.”
She stops talking, but beside me the bed shifts on the right, and I reach out for the woman who should be there. The space is empty.
It shouldn’t be.
Shaking my head, I clear away the invisible fog.
“Whoa, Mr. Conrad. Keep still. You suffered a blow to the head. “
I’m surprised to see a young woman, brown-skinned and attractive, helicoptering above me, her dark eyes, assessing and gentle. She’s dressed in a loose wool sweater with the sleeves pushed up past her elbows and blue jeans.
“I’m Cristene Dennis,” she says, her voice gentle as if talking to a child. “This is my husband, Race.”
Behind her, but close enough to intervene is a middle-aged Caucasian man, lean, but strong with dark hair and gray peppering his beard and mustache. He nods in greeting but says nothing.
“Why are you here?” I demand.
Cristene laughs. “He’s definitely a Conrad. We’re the caretakers here.”
“Past tense,” Race grunts.
I don’t get the implication, but the hard set of his jaw says he’s unhappy about a change in the circumstances involving this place. His wife cuts a sharp glance over her shoulder. Like a well-trained husband, Race looks contrite, but when his eyes land on me, they harden again.
“What my eloquent mountain man meant to say was, we were on our way with the horses when you and your friend fell.”
I cut her off, shifting my back up against the pine headboard. The bedroom, cavernous and open, felt like a small apartment with its burgundy couch in front of the wood-burning fireplace, a view of a frozen pond through the French doors, and high vaulted ceilings.
“My woman. Where is she?”
Cristene frowns, and then looks to Race. My heart rate starts to pick up. Did something happen to her? I heard her voice. Didn’t I? Was it all a dream? Or worse, she was here, but abandoned me here with strangers?
There’s a heavy quilt covering my legs. I toss it off, prepared to search, if need be. “When did she leave?”
Yeah, she’ll have to run hard and fast to get away from me. I’ve lost too much in this life. I excel at getting other people to submit to my demands. Some consider me unscrupulous. I call it a successful venture. Before I can push to my feet, which will be a challenge, I feel her presence.
Amanda appears in the doorway, and just stands there, silent. Her light brown eyes are clouded with sadness. This feels off, but I’m not sure why. I frown when she doesn’t approach the bed. I’m instantly on alert.
“You okay?” I ask. My voice sounds rusty, like I’ve been encased in ice. Clearing my throat, I wait for her to reply. That doesn’t feel right either. Her tongue is sharp, and her wit is fast. I like that about her. She doesn’t let me bulldoze over her.
She shakes her head, but she still doesn’t move. “Yep.”
“Come here,” I grouse, shifting on the bed to make room for her.
“Huh.” She twists her mouth as if she doesn’t know how to react to my demand. “I’m fine right here.”
Doubt colors her words and confusion mares her pretty face. Cristene said we fell. Is Amanda hurt and trying to keep her injuries from me?
“I’m not. Come here, Amanda.”
She crosses her arms over really perky breasts. “Say your peace from there.”
Why in the hell does she look ready to run and Race poised to pounce? The tension climbs in the room. I look to the other two people. Understandably, they are searching the floor and the ceiling, but not missing a thing about this weird interaction between me and Amanda.
I look to Race. “You two excuse us.”
That got a reaction. “No,” Amanda yelps. “Stay, in case I end up with a knot on my head.”
“Amanda,” I snap. “Bring your ass over here.” Somehow, my bellow seems to ease her tension. Her shoulders visibly relax and a hint of a smile invades her scowl.
“You bed-ridden Hulk,” she steams out, marching towards my location. “Don’t you be yelling at me in front of these nice people. I swear, it was an accident.”
Never have I been so entertained by a woman just being herself. Amanda is a walking, talking holiday carnival full of surprises. I liked them all, big or small. I consider them a gift. I hadn’t gotten many gifts as a young boy. It made me appreciate them as a man.
“Stop talking. Get that little ass in this bed.”
Cristene’s jaw drops. Yeah, most people privy to me and Amanda’s conversations would be shocked. Race grabs his wife’s hand and drags her towards the exit. “Alrighty then. You lovebirds have a good night. Give us a holler if you need anything.”
When Amanda is within arm’s reach, I pull her up and place her on top of me. With my hands, I roam her body making sure she’s uninjured. When I am satisfied I’m the one who took the hard knocks, I tangle my fingers in her hair, tilt her head back, and cover her mouth with mine. She seems shocked—at first. Then she softens underneath my touch, just like I remember. Damn, it feels like I’ve been waiting all my life to claim her mouth like this. The connection ends too quickly.
She strokes one small hand down my bicep. “You scared the shit out of all of us, Grinchy,” she whispers. My shirt has been removed. Just my t-shirt and boxers remain. Amanda’s wearing one of my button downs.
“I’m sorry for scaring you, sweetness.”
She rears back, staring at me. “Sweetness? Who are you?”
I grin, not releasing her. “You know who the fuck I am. I’m- I’m.”
Cristene halts, spinning on her heel. “I was afraid of this. I think you have a concussion, Mr. Conrad. Memory can be affected.”
“Bullshit, “I say, sitting my girl firmly in my lap. I like holding her.
“Hey,” Amanda places a hand on my chest, “shut it. You getting upset is not going to help.”
“Does it sound like I’m upset?” I balk.
“Yes,” three voices reply in unison.
My skin heats under her palm, and my heart rate kicks up a notch. She must feel the change because she sucks in a breath and holds it. I think this is the first time we’ve connected like this in a while.
“Breathe,” I rasp to Amanda. “You’re wrong.”
“Okayyy, Grinchy. “Why don’t you tell us what you remember?”
“No problem. Me and my woman came to the ranch for two weeks. She wanted a winter wonderland, and I wanted to give it to her.”
Instead of relieved, Amanda looks absolutely horror-stricken. “Again, who-who are you, and who do you think is your woman?”
“You are,” I growl.
“Ma’am. I thought you said something about being a realtor,” Race mouths, wiping a weathered hand over his mouth.
“I am the realtor,” Amanda screeches.
“Bull shit,” I growl. “Did I or did I not spank your ass hours ago?”
“Yes, but,” Amanda stammers. “That was—"
I tangle my fingers in her hair, not letting go. I’m aroused just holding her. I can’t remember what it’s like to be inside her, but I know it’s going to be magic. “How we do foreplay, sweetness.”
Cristene gasps, “He’s an ass-spanking cowboy, too?”
“Thought it was just me?” Race starts grinning. “We got plans, babe. Let’s go.”
Amanda whimpers, and I know exactly why we’re here. “I don’t give a fuck about my name.” I meet her eyes. “I’ll answer to whatever you call me.”
“Fuck,” she hisses.
Tightening my hold, I gaze into her wide eyes. “I plan to,” I whisper, nipping her ear. “But tell me the name you scream when you cum.”
No bump on the head is going to ruin our winter wonderland Christmas.