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“Patience, honey. You’ll see.”

I kiss my way down her belly, stopping to nip at each hip bone. I kiss her pubic hair.

Kiss her clit, giving it a quick, short stroke of tongue.

Mollie’s hips jerk forward. “More. That. More of that, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Then I’m turning around. I sit on the ground so that my back is against the hay bale. I sit upright and tilt back my head so that Mollie’s pussy hovers above me, right where I want her.

Leaning up, I lick her. A hard, long stroke of her slit thathas her yelling my name.

“Someone’s definitely going to hear us,” I manage.

“I don’t care.More.”

I chuckle. “I’ll do my part”—I suck on her clit—“and you do yours. Ride my mustache, honey. Like you mean it.”

And, Lord, does she mean it. I place a hand on her hip and guide her movements against my mouth. She starts slow, little circles of her pelvis, but when I reach for my dick and start to jack myself off, her movements become frenzied, urgent, bigger.

I eat her pussy and I tug on my dick. Mollie’s cries become louder, so loud that I know they’d hear us at my family’s old house here on this side of the ranch. Luckily, our renters moved out last week, but there’s always a chance someone will be nearby.

Not like I care.

“Let them hear you, cowgirl.” I move my hand and thumb her pussy, spreading her wider so that I can nick at her clit with my teeth. “Don’t hold back now.”

I dip my tongue inside her entrance at the same time I roll my thumb over her clit. She shouts my name, her legs shuddering, and I know she’s coming, hard.

I come, too, the orgasm ricocheting through me with the force of a nuclear blast. My hips buck. Cum leaks down my shaft and covers my hand.

“That’s so hot.” Mollie is panting. “You’re so fucking hot, Cash.”

When the rush recedes and Mollie sinks down onto my mouth, spent, I press one last kiss to her pussy. “Only you. You’re the only one I want wearing that hat.”

I can’t see her face, but I know Mollie is smiling when she says, “Yessir.”

We take our time getting dressed. I don’t miss how Mollie keeps my hat on, refusing to give it back, even when we emerge into the sunshine a little while later.

I’m in the mood for a drive, so we take a long one, looping around this side of the ranch as we pepper each other with questions and ideas.

Lucky River Ranch is gonna be one hell of a destination once we’re done with it.

We only head home—back to the cabin—when Mollie’s stomach starts to growl. It’s suppertime, and I’ve got some pork chops I plan to make for us, along with the spicy ranch waters Mollie’s grown to love.

It’s a heavenly drive. Setting sun, cool air, George Strait on the stereo.

That is, until we pull past the horse barn and I see a knot of people gathered by the corral.

It’s not dark yet, but I still have to squint to see who it is.

My stomach seizes as the scene takes shape before me. Wyatt is standing with his hands held up, his hat tipped back on his head. John B is aiming a rifle—Wyatt’s Beretta, from the looks of it—at his chest.

There’s shouting. A scream. Sally is at John B’s side, her chest rising and falling.

“What the fuck?” I jam on the brakes.

Mollie’s eyes go wide. “Careful, Cash.”