Menage: A scandalous Western romance. Molly Wishlade Ann

      Blake wandered back towards the pig pen where Matt was securing the gate. He smiled at the state that his companion was in. Like him, Matt was brown from tip to toe. The hogs had gotten them good and proper. Just like Mrs Holbein had warned them they would.

      Blake knew that it had happened because they were being so careful with the creatures. In spite of Matt’s carefree appearance, Blake knew that he thought things through deeply. Already, Matt had assessed the widow Holbein, decided that she was no grizzly bear but a young woman in need and then made a silent decision to help her out. That was Matt. He could be fierce, could be cold whenever he assumed his protective veneer, but he had a heart made of creek-bed gold.

      It had just been hard for Matt, hard for them both, over the past two years. One day they’d had everything to live for. The next, there was a hole as big as a canyon in their lives where Rebecca had once been. Life could change so quickly that it defied belief. Even now, Blake found it hard to accept that she was gone. That their hopes and dreams in the human form of their precious baby son and daughter were also gone. Forever.

      Death was so final. So dark. So unforgiving.

      Each morning brought the grief back like a flash flood. The moments after waking were filled with the gentle bliss of forgetfulness but as sleep drifted away, the darkness was able to descend with its heart-wrenching reminders of what was lost, of what had once been. He feared that he would never get over their loss. Never fully heal. Like a physical scar, it would always be there, red, raised and angry.

      Matt glanced up and Blake offered him a smile. He knew that it wouldn’t have reached his eyes. The pain that had just filled his heart at the thought of his lost family would have seen to that, but he didn’t want Matt to have to think about that right now. Like he had said, it was better to keep on moving. Maintain momentum so that they could try to leave the past and their grief behind.

      It was what Blake wanted too. But he wasn’t really convinced that you could keep running from your loss. Surely, reality would catch up with you sooner or later? And try as he might to push the dark cloud away, it was always there. Just hovering over his shoulder. Black and relentless.

      “You tell Mrs Holbein, Blake?” Matt approached him.

      “Sure did. She said we should wash in the barrel around the side of the barn. She’s gonna get us some cloths to help clean the poop off.”

      “She offer to wash your back?” Matt winked.

      “No but I’ll scrub yours if you like.” Blake nudged Matt’s shoulder.

      They walked in step over to the barn and located the barrel the widow had spoken of. It was full to the brim with fresh, clean rain water.

      Blake dipped his hand into it.

      “It’s ice-cold!”

      “It’s in the shade around here. Probably doesn’t get warmed up at all. Can’t stay stinky all day though. There’s no way I’m snuggling up to you later unless you clean that off.”

      Blake snorted. “I know, I know.”

      He looked around. There was a small wooden pail near to the barrel so he picked it up. “Guess we have to use this. You first?”

      Matt’s eyes twinkled. “Coward.”

      “Better a warm coward than chilled through. Now get your union suit off and start bracing.”

      Matt unbuttoned the body of the suit then slid his arms out. He paused. “I ain’t looking forward to this.”

      “And the rest.” Blake was enjoying himself way too much. Matt now wore stripes. Head and legs were brown but his chest was bronzed male flesh. His nipples were hard little peaks, distended in anticipation. Blake licked his lips. He wanted to lean forwards and take those nips into his mouth, to tweak them with his teeth. His cock hardened.

      “Oh! Um…excuse me…I didn’t realise.”

      The widow Holbein had come around the corner. Her face was scarlet. Her breath coming in short, sharp bursts as if she’d been running.

      “Hey, Mrs Holbein. You got those cloths?” Blake asked.

      She held them out, trying to avert her gaze but Blake noticed that her eyes kept slipping back towards Matt. Her full pink lips were parted and she ran her tongue over them several times. Blake realised that she was hungry.

      But not for food.

      “Thanks, Mrs Holbein.”

      “You’re…you’re welcome. Will there be anything else?” She turned back to the pig pen. Blake watched as the fuchsia hue gradually drained from her cheeks. The widow had clearly liked what she’d seen even if she was evidently alarmed that she did.

      “Matt?” Blake grinned. He could see the swelling at Matt’s groin that told him that his lover had noticed the widow’s sensual response too. “Anything else?”

      “Well…” Matt winked. “There’s a spot between my shoulders that I might need help washing.”