KING

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“Kingston Barlow. Took you long enough to get home.”

My hands were on the buttons of my shirt, headed to take a shower when the woman’s voice stopped me dead in my tracks. “Shit,” I swore, when I saw who was sprawled seductively across my bed.

I turned away.

“You don’t have to stop what you were doing on my account,” Beatrice Gandry Roberts Something Something all but purred. She’d been through too many husbands and I had no idea what her name was now. It had been a few years since I’d seen her and tossed her out of my house. Then, she’d been naked. This time, she was wearing one of my flannel shirts.

Not only was I pissed that she’d broken into my house, but that was one of my favorite shirts. I was going to have to burn it now.

I wanted to walk right on out of my house and pretend she wasn’t there, but I didn’t dare leave her alone. Not here. Fuck, she was on the bed I shared with her fucking daughter.

“Beatrice, what the fuck are you doing?”

I looked out the hallway window, hands on hips. The view was all white snow and open fields; the stables and other ranch buildings were all on the other side of the property.

“You could at least look at me,” she replied, sounding put out.

“You could at least ring the fucking doorbell,” I countered. I wasn’t being a gentleman and my mother had taught me to treat a woman better than this, but Beatrice was no lady. She was where she blatantly didn’t belong. The weight of my wedding ring proved that.

“You always leave your door unlocked.”

I did, but that would stop. I’d rather have a fucking burglar in the house than her.

“Why don’t you keep taking off that shirt and let’s have some fun.”

I spun about, stalked into my bedroom. She was a pretty woman, I’d give her that. But she was almost thirty years older than me and been through more husbands than I could remember.

“Get off my bed and get dressed.” Grabbing her clothes from the chair beneath the large window, I tossed them onto the foot of the bed.

“I have an itch and you can definitely scratch it. By the size of that bulge in your pants, I’d say you can do a fine job.”

“You don’t want my dick. You want my cash. My land. Just like last time. Didn’t I make it clear enough then that I wanted nothing to do with you?”

She sat up, her dark hair sliding over her shoulder. My shirt was big on her—she had the similar petite and curvy physique as her daughter—and it slid down to reveal the top swell of one bare breast. I looked away.

The answer was obviously no.

The only breasts I wanted to see were Sarah’s. The only woman I wanted wearing my shirts was Sarah. I only wanted Sarah.

“I’d keep your bed warm. Other places around the house, too. You’ve got long winters here and a man’s got needs.”

“I’m married.” I lifted my left hand up so she could see the proof.

The seductive smile slipped. “When?”

“Recently.” I wasn’t telling her more than that.

“Who?”

“It doesn’t matter who it is. She’s the woman who belongs in my bed. Not you. Now get the fuck out of it and out of my house.”

To let her get dressed, I went back in the hall, looked out the window again. I heard her rustling around, but didn’t dare turn around. I saw a car come up the long drive, recognized it as Sarah’s. My heartrate kicked up and I ran my hand through my hair. “Fuck.”

I didn’t look back, but went down the steps and to the front door, tossed it open.

Sarah came in, all bundled up, smile on her face. Yeah, this was what I’d dreamed of. Having Sarah Gandry be Sarah Barlow and be excited to see me as she came home from the library, kissing me on the cheek with her cold lips, undoing her coat.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, studying me as she hung her jacket on a hook by the door. Since we’d married so quickly, we hadn’t had time—or let her out of bed to do so—to pack up her things and move out of her house. I didn’t care since she was here. A sofa or her summer clothes could wait.

“Um, there’s something I have to tell you.”

“Sarah, dear. What are you doing here?”

I gritted my teeth as I watched Sarah’s eyes widen, then all color drain from her face. She couldn’t see her mother because I blocked her view, but she knew who it was instantly.

“Mother.”

When she moved to the small bench by the door to remove her boots, she paused, her mouth falling open.

Turning, I got a look at what made my wife blanch. Beatrice was on the stairs, one manicured hand on the railing, still in my shirt…and only my shirt.

I ran my hand through my hair again as I glanced down at Sarah. I didn’t give a shit about anything else. She was looking to me, then Beatrice, then back. I noticed her gaze was on my chest, not my face. Looking down, I realized my shirt was mostly undone.

Shit. This looked bad.

Sarah dropped down onto the bench, leaned forward and began to undo the laces of her snow boots. Only a few hours ago, I’d had my hands on the tops of those sexy-as-hell thigh-high tights as I’d fucked her ass.

My dick stirred. Shit, this was not the time, but just thinking about Sarah made me hard. I smelled her shampoo from four feet away.

“I heard you were in town,” Sarah said to her mother, but didn’t look up from her task.

“Yes, we came in town last night. I was just…catching up with Kingston.”

“I didn’t realize you two were close.” Sarah dropped her boot on the plastic tray that was beneath the bench, used to catch the melting snow.

Beatrice came down the steps casually as if she owned the place. “The last time I was in his bed—”

I held up my hand. “Stop.”

“What?” Beatrice asked, putting her hand to her chest, looking as if she were the one being put out. “I only tell the truth. The last time I was here, I was in your bed. Just like this time.”

I hated that woman.

“What do you want, Mother, besides my husband?” Sarah asked, tugging off her other boot. She didn’t seem mad. She didn’t seem sad. Hell, she just seemed…calm.

Beatrice stilled, then laughed. Hard. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so proud of you. I told you to go after Kingston Barlow and you did. Good job. Think of the trips you can go on, the decorating you need to do to the house. So drab.”

I narrowed my eyes. They’d talked about me? About Sarah…what, seducing me so she could get her hands on my money? If Beatrice couldn’t do it herself, then Sarah could do it for her.

Was that why she’d been at Hawk’s Landing last weekend all dressed in that sexy-as-fuck outfit? To seduce me out of my property?

Another car pulled up. I went to the door, opened it again. This time it was a sheriff’s SUV. Archer Wade climbed out of the driver’s side, Wilder was the passenger. Thank fuck.

I stepped out onto the porch, left the door open, even in the cold weather. I didn’t dare turn my back for too long on those two.

“What’s up?” Wilder asked, frowning.

“You’re never going to believe this one.” I shook Archer’s hand when they made it to the porch. “I’m going to need your help.”

Spinning on my heel, I walked back inside, the others following.

“Wilder, Archer, this is Beatrice, Sarah’s mother.”

I heard Wilder swear under his breath, but Archer kept his calm. He had on his uniform and held his hat in his hands, clearly on the job. “Ma’am.”

I turned to Beatrice. “It’s time for you to leave.”

“But it’s a family reunion, my daughter and I need to celebrate her wedding,” she responded.

As if we were going to uncork the champagne with her in my flannel shirt.

“Archer, I’m pressing charges. This woman broke into my house and she’s refusing to leave.”

“What?” she squawked. “The door was unlocked. We’re old friends!”

Archer raised a dark brow and I nodded.

“Ma’am, since you’re family and all, I’ll give you five minutes to get dressed or I’ll have to take you in like that.” Archer crossed his arms over his chest, already bulked up by his bulletproof vest.

All casualness slipped away and Beatrice’s mouth thinned, her eyes narrowed. “Sarah, tell him off.”

“No. I’ll get your clothes.” She walked to the stairs, turned her shoulder to pass by her mother. “I assume they’re in King’s bedroom.”

Wilder hissed and Archer cleared his throat.

We all stood there, uncomfortable as fuck until Sarah came back, a clump of clothing held against her chest. She went to her mother, dropped the pile at her feet. “Be sure to call Karl to bail you out.”

She turned on her heel and went back up the steps, taking them two at a time. I heard a door slam and I knew I was screwed. At least she didn’t get in her car and leave.

As soon as Archer took the woman away, I knew I had some groveling to do. I didn’t know what Sarah thought, whether she believed I’d fucked her mother, not just today—which looked pretty damning—but in the past as well. She was hurt and it was my job to make it right. Our marriage was being tested and she had every right to flee. It had only been three days and I was about to discover how strong our love was.