Chapter 20

Logan

Christ, my woman is failing miserably and I couldn’t be prouder. There are seven women in the contest and Darla and April are neck and neck after the first four events.

Valentine is dead last, but after she finished each event, she gave me a thumbs-up and a smile.

Every task she attempted was so fucking funny I couldn’t help but laugh. Ted stood next to me and we drank our beers and kept our eyes pinned on Valentine.

For the salmon cleaning, when the start whistle was blown, the other six contestants whipped out their knives and had their fishes cleaned and filleted in less than two minutes. When the stop whistle blew—April won that event and Jorgen was cheering quite proudly—Valentine was just getting up the courage to touch the raw fish with her nose all wrinkled up. The look of utter relief she didn’t have to touch it had Ted doubling over with laughter.

The moose carving was just as funny, with carcasses hanging from trees, two contestants to a carcass, as there was a saddle loin on each side. Since Valentine was the last to enter, she had an entire carcass to herself, but it was clear when the whistle blew she had no clue where the saddle loin was. The other women had their knives out and were making short work of their task.

Valentine’s eyes came to mine and she pointed to an area near the shank, raising her eyebrows in question whether she was even close. I grinned and shook my head. Before she could even point again, the stop whistle sounded, this time Darla having carved it out the fastest.

I’ll have to give Valentine credit on the fire building. I was able to give her about five minutes of instruction before it began, and she followed my advice beautifully. She even got the fire lit, but couldn’t get it high enough to burn through the finish rope that was strung on a frame across the fire. Darla again won that competition. April gave Valentine a congratulatory high five for getting her fire started, and then Valentine grinned at me with a good deal of pride on her face. She was having fun, and that meant I was having fun.

The wood chopping was also a bit of a surprise. Valentine’s a tall woman, but she’s thin. Not bone thin, and she definitely has lean muscle on her, but chopping wood is no easy task. She had no clue what to do, so when the whistle blew, she watched April for a few seconds to get the basics, and then she set to chopping her stack. I was stunned when she was able to split her first piece cleanly with her axe, and next thing you know, several people were cheering on Valentine. Now granted, 100 percent of those people were men, but I didn’t mind. I wanted her to have support, because even though she was strong enough to do it, she wasn’t as strong as her competitors.

When the whistle blew, April put her ax down and wiped her brow, winking at Jorgen because she had won that event.

Al Portney now comes to the microphone on the same platform where the band had performed last night and announces, “Okay, we are at our last event, an oldie but a goodie, the ever-popular Welcome Home Honey event. We’ll need about twenty minutes to get the stage set up, so go grab a beer and relax for a bit. We’ll be starting up again shortly.”

Valentine comes over to me, and first things first, I give her a big hug.

Then a big, deep kiss.

“You were awesome,” I tell her.

She grins at me and says, “Well, you haven’t seen anything yet. Got my bag?”

I hand her the large garbage bag she had thrown a few things in when we went to my house, and one other thing she got at the general store—having been very very pleased she found what she was looking for there. I have no idea what’s up her sleeve, but I am eager to find out what she’s going to do.

Turns out, it takes almost forty-five minutes to get the stage set up, which includes a set design to resemble a home. There’s a realistic-looking kitchen, a small dining table, a recliner, and a TV. There’s also a walled frame around the stage, and when Al comes out to the microphone, dark curtains are pulled closed so the home setup is blocked out.

“All right, folks, come gather close. We’re ready for the Welcome Home Honey event. Now this is the event where our women can get as creative as they want, or they can just show us how it is when they welcome their honey home. This is more of a subjectively judged event, so each councilmember will award points on how well they think each woman does. And I think we’re ready for our first contestant, so without further ado…”

One by one, the contestants put on their best Welcome Home Honey skit. They each get a few minutes to set their stage, then the curtains are pulled back. There’s a fake door, and their “honey” walks through, then the woman shows why she’s the best at welcoming them home.

Most of them are pretty funny. April’s is adorable as she welcomes Jorgen through the door and has a picnic basket packed for him, along with two fishing poles. She walks right back out the door with him, denoting to all that she knows her guy would appreciate some early evening fishing with his girl.

Darla’s is kind of predictable, having a hearty meal cooked for when her honey comes home. She conned Monte into being her partner, and he’ll probably get laid tonight I’m sure for his participation.

Finally, we get down to the last contestant, which is Valentine. The curtains are closed so she can set up, and Al points at me to go to the side of the stage so I can walk through the door when she’s ready. I’m fucking nervous as hell for her and yet excited to see what she’s going to do. Valentine is fiendishly clever and this should be good.

“Okay,” Al says into the microphone. “Our last contestant tonight is our beautiful New York visitor, Valentine French. She’s done a remarkable job on all of these events, don’t you think so, folks?”

The men all give rousing cheers, most of the women offering lukewarm applause, and Darla glares stonily at Al.

“You ready, Logan?” Al asks as he looks across the stage to me. And then adds, “Honey.”

I resist the urge to flip him off and just nod at him.

Al leans into the microphone and says, “I give you…Miss Valentine French…all the way from New York City.”

More cheering and the black curtains slide open. I can’t see the stage, but when I hear a collective gasp from the crowd, I figure that’s my cue to walk through the door.

And holy fucking shit, Christ on a cracker and Jesus…I’ve died and gone to heaven.

Valentine has set the stage perfectly and there isn’t a man who wouldn’t give his right nut to come home to this.

She has soft, sexy music with a feral sort of beat playing in the background, and I note that’s my tiny wireless speaker she must have snatched from my bedroom earlier. She’s standing by the recliner wearing a miniscule red dress, and when I say miniscule…there’s hardly anything to is. She has to be freezing her ass off and my eyes immediately go to her breasts. I’m relieved that at least the material is thick enough to cover her hardened nipples or she’s wearing a thicker bra underneath. Regardless, the dress is strapless and cuts into a deep V at her breasts, and the hem barely comes to midthigh. And on her feet are the fucking sexiest shoes I’ve ever seen. Red spike-heeled sandals with a thick leather strap that goes around her ankles.

And because my girl is from New York City, she’s casually but sexily holding a martini glass with three olives in her hand.

“Hey, baby,” she purrs as she struts to me. I sneak a glance out at the crowd and every man is watching her like a hawk, their tongues practically hanging out of their mouths. It makes me proud, but makes me want to crack some heads too.

When she reaches me, she curls a hand around the back of my neck and goes to her tiptoes, placing her lips near my ear but speaking loud enough the crowd can hear. “I’ve missed you.”

Fuck and I’m turned on. I have to think of fish guts or something so I don’t get a hard-on.

Valentine hands me the martini and says, “I made your favorite drink.”

She knows this isn’t my favorite drink—which is beer—but she’s putting her New York spin on this so I take it from her and bring it to my mouth. It’s water, but I take only a small sip.

She smiles at me, her lips slick and puffy as she takes the glass back, bending to the side to place it on a table beside the recliner. Her warm hands then go inside my jacket and she slides it from my shoulders, placing it carefully over the back of the chair.

Valentine’s hand then takes mine and she laces her fingers through mine. She turns and walks around the back of the recliner, leading me there. When we get to the front of it, she puts her hands to my chest and pushes me gently down. “I know you’ve had a long, hard day so sit back and relax.”

I sink back down into the recliner, and all of these visions of this being my life for real with Valentine start crashing in on me. She looks at me sympathetically, not because of what I’m thinking, because she has no clue, but because she’s in character and she’s welcoming her honey home after a long day.

To my surprise, Valentine turns sideways and sits on my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck and crossing one sexy leg over the other. And it’s useless, with her warm ass on me, I start to get hard. She knows it and wiggles a little, and I want to spank her ass for that.

Valentine stares at me a moment then places her fingertip on my chin as if she’s contemplating something. Then she says, again loud enough for the crowd to hear, “I bet I know exactly what will make you feel better. Want to hear?”

Fuck yeah I want to hear. Another glance out at the crowd and I know they all want to hear as well.

“Then let me tell you,” she purrs, and I think I hear a few guys in the audience groan.

Valentine leans into me, puts her lips near my ear, and whispers low enough so only I can hear. “I want you to handcuff me again tonight, Logan. Use me hard, okay?”

Fuck…full-blown erection.

No one in the audience could hear that, but she bares her teeth and bites my ear, and everyone saw that. Some guy whistles and then they all start cheering with hoots and hollers as the black curtains drop and Valentine and I are alone for a brief moment.

She grins at me. “How’d I do?”

“You should win the whole fucking thing after that,” I tell her earnestly. “And I’ve got a hard-on, you brat.”

“And I’m not wearing any panties under this dress if you want to cop a quick feel to see how much I’m turned on,” she whispers.

I don’t even ponder for a second if she’s teasing me or not. My hand goes right between her legs, knowing full well someone could walk back here any minute, and my fingers find her wetness.

“Jesus,” I mutter before leaning in to brush my lips over her neck. “Can we go home now?”

“Yes, let’s go home,” she says on a low moan.

Visibly hard or not, I pull my hand out from between her legs, surge up out of the chair, and grab my coat. I throw it over Valentine’s shoulders, and then I head off the stage and toward where my truck is parked. We’re not staying around for the announcement of the winner.