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She’s always been my number one and I press my lips against hers. “Proud of you, beloved.”
Her cheeks tint from the praise and then she shakes her head as we start walking toward the exit. “It’s so strange, you know. How nervous he seemed. Usually he’s never that nervous, usually he just insults me and...” She trails off, her mouth opening in a gasp and her head whips my way and she cries out, “What did you do?”
I smirk. “Threatened him.”
Yale pales. “What! Are you out of your mind?”
I shrug. “I let him know if he cheats on my woman, he’ll be dead before he gets a chance to regret it.”
“Great!” Yale cries, flaring out with her arms in exasperation before her eyes narrow at me, arms crossing and I love it when she scolds me, especially when she’s dressed in her conservative clothes and has her hair in a tight bun. “You seem pretty pleased with yourself.”
Grinning, I nod and I put my hand on her flat belly. “Remember what you told me would happen if you won?”
Her face softens, her mouth turning plumper and she whispers, “You and me and a ton of babies.”
Since we’re on the same page, I grab my wife and usher her behind a closed door that as it turns out leads to a broom cupboard. She pants, facing me and her eyes sparkle, her hands moving on my chest. This isn’t the kind of place, where I usually enjoy her but there’s a first time for everything.
“Missed you while you were on stage,” I growl, attacking her arching throat with kisses. “Any second away from you is one second too much.”
“Will it ever stop?” Yale pants and she clings to me like she always does. With her whole heart. “This need we have for each other?”
“Never,” I say heatedly, boring my eyes into hers. “It’s ours. It’s what we are. It’s us.” One king and one queen. One black and one white. One full of shadows and one full of light and their love is where they found their kingdom.
The End
The Mobster’s Milkmaid
1.
Adelaide
For a lonesome girl, early mornings at the farm are always rough. Stepping out on my porch, I let out a big yawn and rub my eyes. The sun is barely up, the lake vaguely shimmering in the distance and the rooster’s shrieking at the top of his lungs, being the farm’s biggest bully as always. Raising my arms over my head, I do a big stretch. A couple of knots crack in my neck but I’m still tense. I didn’t use to be this on edge before but lately, it’s become my new normal.
Sighing, I fork my fingers through my hair before walking out to the courtyard and I look over my grounds. It’s the one thing I hold the dearest to my heart. This place has been in my family for ages and I’m the only one left.
There’s no more Bowen’s standing anymore, except for me and the responsibility weighs heavier on my shoulders than I’d like to admit. We used to be a tight knit clan once, with festive Sunday dinners and loud country music. The men had strong muscles and the women robust hands and this place would run as smooth as cream. Now though, things are different and I pinch my lips at the sight of one of my apple trees. I’ve been so busy, trying to take care of everything that I didn’t have time to pluck them all. And now they’re rotten, letting out a sweet cidery smell that lingers in the air.
This place can’t fall apart. I don’t care what I have to do but I will never let it deteriorate. It’s a promise I made to my family and it’s a promise, I intend to keep.
Pulling myself together which is something I have to do every single morning, I go on with feeding the animals, first the chickens and then the few sheep I have and not to mention my half a dozen cats. I’m so consumed by my chores that it takes me a while to realize something’s different this morning. There’s some kind of energy, covering my farm like a black blanket.
It’s been a long time since I felt an energy like that around here, a masculine one, hard and penetrating. I squint, paying closer attention to my surroundings.
Is somebody out there? Hiding?
A shiver drips down my spine, like raindrops on a window and I put my arms around me. If someone wanted to hurt me, there’s nothing I could do to stop them. I’ve always been small and on top of it, violence has always terrified me. Any kind of violence, even a harsh word tends to be too much for me and usually leads to me bursting out in tears. Sometimes I wish I was one of those girls who can ride motorbikes and jab mean people in the face but I’m not.
I’m just a small dairy farmer. A milkmaid.
When there’s no sign of an intruder, I decide to shrug off my suspicions and walk into the barn. The cows immediately greet me, causing my lips to curve and I give them a cuddle before grabbing a bucket. Sitting down on a stool, I go ahead and start milking. We’ve always been old fashioned around here, no fancy machinery, no advancements and it gives my farm a pretty picturesque charm.
No wonder I’m being blackmailed into giving it up.
Dragging a deep breath, I try to think of something else because otherwise, I’ll probably pass out. I’ve been blackmailed for about six months now, ever since the last Bowen male died. My brother kept this farm running together with me and I had barely begun mourning before the threats came.
It’s some scary stuff and I often wake up in the middle of the night, just to make sure all doors and windows are closed. My old house creaks a lot and in the past I found it soothing but now I always worry it’s because someone has entered without my permission. In the beginning, I would stay up all night, sit in my chair by the fireplace with an unloaded shotgun beside me and one of my cats tightly pressed to my chest. But keeping watch like that wasn’t sustainable because a girl can’t stay awake forever.
And going to the cops won’t work. The cops are roughly a handful and pretty much useless. They’re just as terrified of my blackmailers as I am. In fact the whole village is pretty much petrified.
