Chapter 1: The Back of the Truck
The sun was a dying ember behind the Bitterroots, staining the sky the color of a fresh bruise. Kayce Dutton leaned against the flank of his pickup, the door warm against his back. He’d been watching the river for an hour, or maybe ten minutes. Time had a way of bleeding together out here, especially now, especially since the silence in the ranch house had grown teeth.
The screen door slapped shut, a sharp crack in the quiet evening.He didn’t turn.He knew the step. Light, quick, almost dancing.Not Monica’s steady, weary tread.“Hey, cowboy.”
Reese. He took a long pull from his beer, the glass bottle sweating in his hand. He could feel her hovering at the edge of his vision, a splash of yellow sundress against the gathering dusk.
“Monica’s looking for you,” he said, his voice gravel from disuse.
“She’s on the phone with her sister. Crisis.” Reese moved closer, leaning her hip against the truck’s bumper. The scent of her hit him—cheap sunscreen and something sweeter, like fake cherries. “Seems like there’s always a crisis, doesn’t it?”
Kayce said nothing.He watched a hawk circle high over the river. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable for him; it was a tool, a wall.Most people rushed to fill it.Not Reese. She just smiled, tilting her head. “You get the fence fixed up by the north gulch?”
“Mmhm.”
“Looks good. Tough job for one man.” She pushed off the bumper and walked around to the bed of the truck. He heard her hop up, the old springs groaning.“You ever get tired of it? All this… quiet?”
Finally, he turned his head. She was sitting in the truck bed, legs dangling over the edge, the hem of her dress riding high on her thighs. The last of the light caught in her blonde hair, turning it white-gold.She was looking at him with a frankness Monica had lost years ago.
“It’s not quiet,” he said. “You just ain’t listenin’ to the right things.”
“What should I be listening to?”
“The river.The coyotes. The goddamn earth settlin’.”
She laughed, a bright, tinkling sound that felt out of place. “Sounds lonely.”
“It is what it is.” He pushed off the truck, intending to go inside, to leave her there with the mosquitoes and her questions.
“Monica says you don’t talk to her anymore.” The words stopped him cold. “Says you sleep on the couch.Says you look right through her.”
Slowly, Kayce turned fully around. His dark eyes pinned her in the fading light. “You got a point, Reese?”
She held his gaze, a challenge sparking in her own.“Maybe. Maybe I just think a man like you shouldn’t be so… alone.”
The air thickened. The murmur of the river seemed to swell, filling the space between them with a potent, thrumming energy. He took two steps toward the truck bed.Then two more. He stood before her, close enough to see the faint dusting of freckles across her nose, the quick rise and fall of her chest.
“You don’t know what kinda man I am.”
“I think I do,” she whispered.
In one swift move, his hands were on her hips, dragging her forward to the edge of the tailgate. She let out a small gasp, her hands flying to his shoulders. He was solid, unyielding muscle under worn flannel.“Kayce—”
He didn’t let her finish.He kissed her. It wasn’t gentle. It was a conquest, all heat and demand and the bitter taste of his beer. For a second, she stiffened, then her mouth opened under his, and a low moan vibrated in her throat.Her fingers dug into his arms.
He broke the kiss, his breathing harsh.“This what you wanted?”
“Yes,” she breathed, her eyes wide and dark.
With a rough grunt, he lifted her, turning and depositing her none-too-gently onto the worn blanket in the bed of the truck.The metal was cold through the thin fabric. She landed with a jolt, looking up at him as he climbed in after her, the entire vehicle shifting under his weight.“Kayce, wait,” she stammered, scooting back a little. “No, I can’t—I’m seeing someone back at school.”
He didn’t pause.He followed her, his knees bracketing her thighs, caging her in. “Don’t care.” His big hand pushed the flimsy yellow fabric of her dress up around her waist. The sight of her, bare except for a tiny pair of lace panties, pale skin glowing in the twilight, made his gut clench.
“Seriously, stop,” she said, but the command was weak, her body arching subtly toward his touch.
He hooked his fingers in the lace at her hips.“You said yes.” He didn’t ask.He stated it. With a brutal tug, he ripped the panties down her legs, the sound obscenely loud. She cried out, a sharp, shocked sound that dissolved into a choked gasp as his hand found her.
She was already wet, slick and hot. He shoved two thick fingers inside her without ceremony, curling them deep.
“Oh, God!” Her back bowed off the blanket, her head thumping against the metal bed.Her legs fell open, a wordless invitation.
“Yeah,” he growled, working his fingers in and out of her, fast and ruthless. The filthy, wet sound of it mixed with the river’s rush.“That’s it.Tell me to stop now. Tell me.”
She couldn’t.Her hips rocked against his hand, matching his rhythm. Her protests turned into panting, ragged breaths. “Fuck… Kayce…”
“What do you want?” he demanded, adding a third finger, stretching her. He watched her face contort, a mask of pure need.“You,” she whimpered.“Just you. Please.”
He unbuttoned his jeans with his free hand, shoving them and his briefs down just enough to free his cock.It was hard, achingly so, the tip slick with his own need. He pulled his fingers from her, and she whimpered at the loss.He didn’t make her wait. He positioned himself at her entrance, the broad head pressing against her. He looked down at her, her lips swollen, her eyes glazed. “Last chance,” he muttered, though it was a lie.He was past stopping.
She answered by hooking her legs around his hips, pulling him into her.He shoved forward, burying himself inside her to the hilt in one relentless stroke. She was tight, impossibly so, and she screamed, a raw, sharp sound that echoed off the cottonwoods. He held himself there, deep, feeling her internal muscles fluttering around him, a frantic pulse.“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, the sensation almost blinding.Then he moved. He set a punishing pace from the start, each thrust jolting her body up the truck bed. He fucked her with a single-minded intensity, a man trying to lose himself, to beat a feeling out of his own bones.The truck rocked on its creaky suspension, a rhythmic, metallic complaint.
Reese clung to him, her nails scraping down his back through his shirt. Every impact forced a sound from her—a gasp, a sob, a fuck. Her heels dug into his ass, urging him deeper, harder. The civilized world—the cousin in the house, the boyfriend at school—it all melted away in the heat and the sweat and the crushing need.
“Harder,” she slurred into his neck, her breath hot.“God, don’t stop.”
He didn’t. His rhythm grew more ragged, more desperate.The coil in his lower abdomen tightened beyond bearing. With a final, brutal drive, he came, spurting into her with a hoarse shout that was more pain than pleasure, his whole body shuddering. He collapsed on top of her, his weight pressing her into the scratchy blanket, both of them slick with sweat and breathing like they’d run for miles.The world rushed back in.The chuckle of the river. The chill of the evening air on his damp skin.The rough reality of the metal beneath them.
He rolled off her, onto his back, staring up at the first faint stars. The emptiness he’d been fighting all day flooded back in, colder now.For a long minute, the only sound was their slowing breath. Then Reese shifted, pulling her dress down.She sat up, hugging her knees.
He zipped his jeans, the sound final. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the truck bed, his back to her.“Kayce…” Her voice was small.He didn’t turn. He just dropped to the ground, his boots crunching on the gravel. He walked to the driver’s side door, yanked it open, and got in.
The engine roared to life, headlights cutting two swaths through the dark. He didn’t look back at her as he threw the truck into gear and spun toward the ranch road, leaving her there by the river, alone in the deep and gathering dark.