Coming Home

  Bound by grief, branded by need too intense to ignore…

  After an accident kills Brett Miller’s parents, the reins of Steeplecrest Ranch fall to him. The arrival of rightful half-owner Cade Armstrong, who lost his parents in the same accident, only kicks up the tension. Brett would rather buy out Cade’s share and send the man back to New York, but his hands are tied.

  After seven years leading a hedonistic life in the big city, Cade returns to face his loss. Once he’s got acres of rolling ranch land back under his feet he discovers he wants to keep them planted on home ground—and show the man he’s lusted after since puberty just how good they’d be together.

  Then Cade’s friend, Jessica, arrives from the city and the sexual tension rockets from simmer to full boil. Brett finds himself incredibly turned on—and incredibly confused. Cade is through waiting for Brett’s mind to open wide enough to let love in. It’s time for the proper application of an emotional crowbar. Even if it means he could lose Brett forever.

  Warning: This book contains confused emotions, a man in denial, anal sex 101, a steamy ménage scene, drunken blow-jobs, seriously hot cowboy sex and enough sexual tension to make you squirm.

  eBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  Coming Home

  Copyright © 2010 by Ava Rose Johnson

  ISBN: 978-1-60504-895-6

  Edited by Heidi Moore

  Cover by Kanaxa

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: February 2010

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  Coming Home

  Ava Rose Johnson

  Dedication

  To my lovely dog who kept me company on the late nights I spent writing this.

  Chapter One

  Brett Miller could remember the last thing his father had said to him before he died. Things sure do change fast in Texas, kid. He’d been talking about development in agricultural methods as Brett had walked him to the truck. Neither man had realized just how fast things were about to change. They hadn’t realized that less than an hour after Henry Miller steered his truck down the winding drive of Steeplecrest Ranch, he’d be dead.

  The last words between father and son echoed in Brett’s mind as he watched the coffin being lowered into an open grave, the last in a row of four coffins that had been buried on this sweltering Monday morning. Brett glanced to the left where the minister was throwing earth over his mother’s coffin. It was a tradition he’d never understood and one he wanted to put a stop to right then and there. Clara Miller deserved better than to have dirt thrown all over her. So did Brett’s father. And Ken and June Armstrong who’d been their companions on the jet when they’d all met their fiery end.

  He tried to swallow and found he couldn’t. His throat was dry as sawdust. Damn sun. He tugged on the tie that held his collar tightly together. This wasn’t the weather for a frickin’ monkey suit. Beneath the heavy material of the jacket, his shirt clung to his skin, damp with sweat. He could take it all off right now. He knew his parents wouldn’t give a damn. Hell, his father would have keeled over laughing if he’d seen his son dressed like this, like a goddamn lawyer or something.

  Brett’s gaze flickered away from the pinewood coffins to Cade Armstrong, Ken and June’s twenty-five-year-old son. Now there was a guy who probably wore his suit to bed. He wasn’t a lawyer. Come to think of it, Brett wasn’t exactly sure what Cade did. Property or something like that. It paid good, he knew that much. Ranching didn’t make the same kind of money, but a hefty inheritance handed down through the Miller family since the plantations and his father’s eye for good horses had always kept Brett and his family in good financial shape. A good thing if he wanted to buy Cade out of his half of the ranch.

  Taking in the guy’s somber expression, Brett wished for the first time the merger had never happened. Fifteen years back, Henry Miller and Ken Armstrong had decided to pool their resources and bring together their neighboring ranches that sat at the hills of the Glass Mountains. The merge had widened the pastures, increased the efficiency of their processes and tripled each man’s income. An all-round success, but neither Henry nor Ken had factored in what would happen after their death, because Brett didn’t want to work with the younger Armstrong and he had a sinking feeling the guy wouldn’t sell easily.

  Cade’s blue eyes found his and Brett looked away, just in time to watch the minister back away from the graves, closed prayer book in hand. The service was over.

  Now came the hard part.

  Reluctantly, Brett turned to face the mourners who’d come out in their Sunday best for the funeral of four of their people. Steeplecrest was by no means a large town, a thousand people at most, but when they came together like this, a sea of sad, sorry faces, Brett couldn’t see an end to the crowd.

  “Just shake their hands as you walk through. They don’t expect more than that.”

  The assured male voice in his ear had Brett’s hackles rising. He didn’t need to turn around to know Cade was standing beside him. Arrogant jerk. Like he needed the advice of a New York yuppie. Ignoring the younger man, he stepped forward and forced a somber smile as he accepted the condolences of family friends. At all times he was aware of Cade at his side, doing the same. Deep down he knew he should feel some sort of bond with the guy, they were facing the same shit, but all he wanted to do was tell the kid to fuck off.

  A perfectly manicured hand grabbed his forearm as he made it past the bulk of the crowd. “Brett…”

  He forced a smile again and tried not to wince at the sickening pity brimming in the young woman’s wide eyes. “Hey, Mary Ellen.”

  The petite blonde moved closer and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her generous breasts against his chest. “I’m so sorry, Brett,” she cooed in honeyed tones. Pulling back, she stared up at him. He fought the urge to grimace. He’d gone through high school with this girl, even screwed her a couple of times after too many beers at the local bar, but today it was like looking at a stranger. Hell, he’d felt surrounded by strangers all through the service. With his folks in the ground something was shifting inside him, turning him into someone else. Not the man who’d grown up with these people and could joke and banter with them easily. He didn’t know how long it would be before he’d be able to strike up a conversation with any of them again. It was a weird feeling, but a very real one.

  “Thanks,” he muttered to Mary Ellen, trying to be as subtle as possible as he disentangled himself from her smothering embrace.

  He started to walk toward his truck and she was right on his heels. He had to admire her determination. Those stilettos had to be killer to walk in, especially on the uneven surface of a cemetery.

  “Do you want me to come over tonight?” she asked, slightly out of breath as she tried to keep up with his long strides.

  This time he did grimace. “Not sure that’s such a great idea, Mary Ellen. Got family staying at the house.”

  “Oh.” Instead of accepting the brush-off and saying goodbye, she kept staring at him, mouth slightly open.

  He was having a har
d time keeping his frustration from bubbling to the surface. How had he never noticed how empty her eyes were, as if nothing was going on behind them? He guessed she’d never needed brains, not with those tits.

  Quit being an asshole, Brett. Forcing his way past his frustration with Mary Ellen and himself, he started to move again. “Listen,” he said, appreciation finally making its way to the fore. “Thanks for coming out.”

  Once again, that annoying pity veiled her eyes and his appreciation dissipated.

  “Maybe I could bring you by some food,” she suggested eagerly. “You gotta eat sometime.”

  “We got it covered.” He quickened his steps and gave her a quick wave as he put some distance between them. “I’ll see you around.”

  He didn’t look back until he’d reached his blue Chevrolet and when he did she was gone. He released a long breath and ran his hand over his jaw. He probably wouldn’t have her knocking on his door anytime soon, a good thing as far as he was concerned. She’d soon find a guy who’d appreciate her for what she had to give.

  Ready to escape the mourning nightmare, he moved around the truck to the driver’s side, then stopped in his tracks. The rush of freedom he’d been experiencing slowed and then diminished at the sight in front of him. Leaning back against the shiny cab, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, stood Cade. He pulled the cigarette from his lips and held it up sheepishly.

  “I quit this shit two years ago.” He shook his head, smirking, and then took another drag. “Didn’t think I’d fall so fast.”

  Another surge of frustration rose within Brett and this time he didn’t try to hide it. “What are you doing behind my truck?”

  If Cade was fazed by his sharp tone, he didn’t show it. “Hiding,” he replied, throwing the cigarette on the ground and grinding it into the pavement. He jerked his head back toward the crowd. “Saw you with Mary Ellen Sanders.”

  Brett narrowed his eyes. “So what?”

  He shrugged. “Chicks sure do dig this death stuff, don’t they?”

  What the fuck is this guy’s deal? His irritated confusion must have been written plain across his face because Cade straightened and elaborated.

  “They go in for all the drama, they like their men to be down and fucked up. Then they can take care of them, fix the boo-boo.” Cade grinned, a sudden flash of straight white teeth that caught Brett off-guard. “You’re going to get laid real good tonight.”

  Brett didn’t bother contradicting him. Instead, he pulled open the truck’s door and swung up onto the seat, needing to get away as fast as the pickup could accelerate. Without saying anything, he shut the door and started the engine. Five seconds later, he left Cade Armstrong behind in a billowing cloud of dust.

  ***

  “So what are you going to do, Armstrong?”

  Cade was standing in the kitchen of the house he’d grown up in. A week had passed since he’d buried his parents, but it seemed longer. The days had dragged, the nights had been worse. He’d considered paying a visit to Billy’s Bar and checking out what the town had to offer these days, but he knew if he went anywhere in Steeplecrest he’d be met with somber silence and pitiful stares. He wasn’t ready to face that yet.

  “Cade, you still there?”

  Mike, one of the partners at the firm he worked for, was on the line. Cade held his cell to his ear and tried to form an answer. For the first time in a long while his bullshitting skills were failing him. He hadn’t a clue what he wanted to say and he didn’t know how to hide that fact from his boss. “It’s going to be another couple of weeks, Mike,” he finally said. “There’s a lot to sort out down here. I’ll give you a call when I know more.”

  “Sure, sure, no problem.”

  Cade smiled. Despite Mike’s assurances, he knew it was a problem. He’d been working for Sullivan & Robson Properties for three years now and had moved to the top at lightning speed, a direct result of confidence, instinct and working his butt off. The longest vacation he’d taken in those three years had been a week. Any more than that and he’d break out in cold sweats. Seemed pretty damn stupid now. Why the hell would he want to go back when he had acres of rolling ranchland at his feet?

  He ended the call and dropped the phone on the table. As silence swooped down over him, the pain he’d spent the past week ignoring started to throb inside him. Christ. Left with his own company for less than a minute and it kicked off. Grief stabbed at his chest, working its way from the inside out. When alone it hurt him worse than hell and it was all he could do not to shove his hands into his chest and pull out the source of the pain.

  Closing his eyes, he waited for the ache to recede but it only deepened. His mother’s freckled face flashed in his mind’s eye and he slammed his palms down on the kitchen counter. He’d never see her again. She’d never laugh with him on the phone. Never scold him for not visiting at the holidays.

  He gave his head a quick shake. Only a week had passed since he’d buried her, so of course he still felt the grief. He just wished it would hurry the hell up and work its way out of his system.

  The soft pad of footsteps on the kitchen tiles drew his attention, distracting him from the pain. He turned and couldn’t help but grin at the sight of Jessica Lawson, his best friend and occasional fuck-buddy who’d flown in from New York to be with him. When the accident had happened she’d been overseas at a conference and hadn’t made it back in time for the funeral. The following day she’d arrived on his doorstep wearing a sundress—fabric so light it may as well have been sheer. And she hadn’t been wearing any panties underneath. As a top executive at NY Cosmetics and self-proclaimed man-eater, she didn’t do emotion too well.

  “Nothing I can say to make you feel better,” she’d told him as she’d slipped past him into the house. “So I’ll just have to ride the pain out of you.”

  She’d remained true to her promise and they’d been in bed since she’d arrived. When he was with her, whether laughing at the way she ate a muffin with a knife and fork or driving his cock inside her wet pussy, the pain dulled. He didn’t know what he was going to do with himself when she left. Just the idea left him with a sick stomach.

  “You okay?” she asked, her eyes soft as she moved farther into the kitchen. “You were tossing and turning all night.”

  “All night?” He watched her cat-like approach and tried to ignore the fact that soon she wouldn’t be here to distract him and he’d be suffering alone. “I was screwing you all night,” he reminded her, keeping his tone light as she stopped beside the kitchen table. “Didn’t have time for any tossing or turning.”

  Hesitation flickered in her eyes before she thankfully decided to go along with him. “Oh, that’s right,” she murmured, drumming her fingers on the table edge. “Now how did I forget a thing like that?”

  “I don’t know, darlin’,” he replied, running his eyes over her sweet figure. Standing in front of him, wrapped in one of his shirts, she looked good enough to eat. He licked his lips and her eyes sparked a come-on.

  “Hungry?”

  He growled, then closed the distance between them in two quick strides and gathered her up in his arms. “Starving,” he muttered before placing her on the edge of the table and hooking her long, golden legs over his shoulders. He stared down at the junction of her thighs, savoring the view. Damn, her cunt was gorgeous. Pink and smooth as silk. He drew his finger along her slit and his cock stirred. Wet too.

  She ran her hand along his arm. “You didn’t have any breakfast?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing in the fridge is as good as this.” Lowering his head to her pussy, he darted out his tongue and licked her from the bottom of her seam to the tight bud of her clit. She gasped. Shuddered. He grinned and dug in, slipping his tongue inside her sheath. Always hot for him, always ready. He lapped up her juices, sucked lightly on her swollen flesh. He caught her clit between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed. Her hips lifted off the table.

  “Come on, Cade.” Her heel dug into his
shoulder blade. “I have to hit the road in an hour.”

  The reminder of her departure stung. So little time for what he wanted to do to her, what he’d been doing to her for the past few days. He didn’t know what he’d have done if she hadn’t been here this week. Without her company, he was sure the reality of his parents’ death would have struck him like a thunderbolt. Having her here had eased the pain, kept the sharp edge of grief on a level. This new way of living—life without family—was seeping into his consciousness, but at a slow, manageable pace. He didn’t think he’d be able to keep a rein on his emotions when she left.

  He kept his head buried between her thighs until the walls of her cunt tightened. Then he pulled away, ignoring her disapproving moan as he licked her cream from his lips.

  “Jerk,” she said, slapping his chest.

  “Easy there, darlin’.” He grinned down at her, undoing the button of his jeans. “We’re just getting started.”

  A slow smile spread across her face and she leaned back, resting her weight on her elbows. “Come on then. Show me what you got.”

  He laughed as he jerked his zipper downward and pulled his dick from the confines of his pants. Bracing his hands on either side of her body, he lunged forward, driving his cock deep inside her hot little pussy. She cried out and arched her back. He sucked in a deep breath as he drew back, then thrust forward again. Her cunt clenched around him and he closed his eyes, relishing the sensation. He wouldn’t get this again for a while.

  He steadied the motion of his hips and once they’d settled into a slow, rhythmic pace, he slid his hands beneath her shirt to play with her tits. The stiff nipples pressed into his palms and he pinched and rolled them. Jess’s eyes widened and her lips clamped together. For about the millionth time since they’d first met in a hotel bar in New York, he wondered how the hell he wasn’t in love with her. They were perfect for each other—the same views on life and how to live it. And she was perfectly at ease with his need for male-on-male encounters. Hell, she joined in whenever she could. But though the sex blew his mind, she wasn’t the one. And he wasn’t her one either.