One wild night between two rugged cowboys… which one has put a baby in me?
Brookes and Mason Fletcher are cowboys who ride hard, fight harder, and take what they want. I should’ve known better. But I wanted one impulsive, filthy, mind-altering night with Mason’s mouth on my neck and Brookes watching from the shadows like he couldn’t decide whether to join, or just make me beg.
When they find out what’s growing in my belly, they insist I move to their ranch.
They say it doesn’t matter whose baby it is. That I belong to them. That they’ll share.
But the idea of a life with two men like them? It’s reckless. Impossible.
They want me between them, held open, keeping them warm in the most intimate ways, and dripping with everything they’re willing to give.
They like to edge me, watch me beg, and make me fall apart over and over again.
The way they are should terrify me, but I can’t stop thinking about what it feels like with both of them around me, inside me, owning me.
But can a girl like me really fit between two rough ranchers with darker needs, and build a family that was never supposed to be?
In Rockwell Ridge, scandals don’t stay secret for long. Will the truth break us… or bind us together for good?
Hold on to your horse, because this kinky, forbidden, fast-burn, cowboy menage romance features a secret baby, found family, and two brothers who want to keep one woman full and on the edge.
Chapter 1
Janey
Spending an entire evening trying to avoid staring at Brookes and Mason Fletcher would be easier if they didn’t make it so hard to look anywhere else.
We’re at a first birthday party, for heaven’s sake. Not a bar or a club where ogling members of the opposite sex is expected.
And there has definitely been ogling in both directions.
The party has wound down, with most of the other guests hitting the road, but not Brookes and Mason. They sit on their cousins’ porch swing, sipping beer like the whole wide stretch of sprawling land and open night air was built around them instead of the other way around.
Mason leans back with one arm stretched along the backrest, his posture loose in a way that still manages to feel deliberate. Brookes sits beside him, his body more contained, his weight angled slightly forward, his attention sharper.
Two brothers. Same blood. Totally different gravity.
And I’m drawn to both.
I lean against the doorway, transfixed in a way I haven’t been over a member of the opposite sex in far too long.
Mason draws the eye first. His shirt pulls across his chest when he shifts, the fabric stretched, hinting at the thick, solid muscle underneath. The sleeves strain slightly at his upper arms, exposing sun-browned skin and a faded line of ink curling and disappearing beneath the fabric. His forearm rests along the back of the swing, strong and marked, with a pale scar cutting across it. His fingers flex idly, as if he’s always half a second away from doing something with them.
Something filthy and amazing, probably. Or tough. He looks like the kind of man who could wring the neck of a wild beast or a violent man without breaking a sweat.
My gaze lingers on him longer than it should. Longer than I mean it to.
Brookes is different. He’s quieter in a way that makes him harder to read and, somehow, harder to look away from once I start. Where Mason spreads his arms and legs wide to take up space, Brookes seems to hold himself in, like everything about him is controlled. His sleeves are rolled as well, though the muscle there is leaner and more defined; the kind that’s formed by repetition rather than force. There’s a small, almost hidden mark at his wrist, ink that disappears when his hand shifts, subtle enough that it feels private. His hands rest loosely in his lap, though there is nothing soft about them. They look as capable, rough, and familiar with work as his brother’s.
I’m ogling.
Again.
Heat creeps up the back of my neck as I drag my gaze away, suddenly very aware of myself in a way I have been all night. Of how I must look. Of how I must seem.
Eager, probably. Hungry. Shameless.
Desperate to be grabbed by those hands and held down. Made to do things I really want to do, even though I’d pretend otherwise.
This is ridiculous.
I’m not a teenager. I don’t lose my composure over a couple of men who must be at least a decade older than me. I might be young, but I have a good head on my shoulders and a set of boundaries that keep me away from temptation and danger.
My eyes flick back anyway.
Mason shifts, dragging his boot across the porch floor, the movement slow and unhurried, pulling the denim of his jeans tight across his thighs, and the ease of it sends a small, unwelcome ripple through me. It’s his confidence. The complete lack of self-consciousness, as though he knows exactly who and what he is and has never once questioned it.
Brookes glances toward the house, and for half a second, our eyes almost meet. I look away before they do, my pulse picking up for no good reason.
Except there is a reason.
It sits low in my stomach, warm and restless, spreading slowly the longer I stand here pretending I’m unaffected and in control.
I shift my weight, pressing my thighs together slightly, as if that might ease the ache.
It doesn’t.
If anything, it makes me more aware of it. I’m warm and swollen down there, and maybe a little slick from all my filthy cowboy-centered fantasies.
Which is… deeply inconvenient.
I draw in a quiet breath, steadying myself, though my attention drifts back out to the porch like it has a mind of its own.
Two brothers. Two rugged, older, imposing ranchers.
A very bad idea waiting to happen.
The worst part is how little that thought deters me.
“Earth to Janey.”
I jump, turning back into the kitchen to find Joelle watching me with a knowing expression, “Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t hear you come in. It’s been a long day.”
“Mm-hmm.” Her tone carries enough skepticism to make my face warm. “You planning on going to bed anytime soon, or are you going to keep pretending you aren’t interested in those two hunks of men out there?”
A flush prickles my skin. “I needed some air.”
Her smile softens, turning fond. “It’s okay if you do, Janey. They’re good men. Handsome men. And you’re a grown woman.”
I blink, surprised at my friend’s encouragement. She’s had her fair share of highs and lows. I guess falling in love with two cowboys and shackin’ up with them in their ranch house has done wonders for her enthusiasm for that type of man. Two years ago, when the only experience she’d had of cowboys was the one who’d taken her virginity, left her pregnant, and run, her opinion was very different. Now that she has a stable home for her son and a constant look of happiness in her eyes, cowboys are suddenly the dish du jour.
“A grown woman with sense,” I say, even though I feel like I lost it somewhere on the way into this house. Or maybe, there’s something about this place that fogs the mind into thinking sex with multiple cowboys is perfectly normal.
She shrugs like that doesn’t matter a bit. “Well, don’t stay up too late. Some of us have plans.”
Her gaze flicks toward the stairs, timed perfectly with the sound of Wade’s voice and then Caleb’s drifting down.
Right. Plans. I should really be asleep before those plans come to fruition. I love my friend, but hearing her engaging in orgasmic group rancher sex would be mortifying.
Is rancher sex a thing? It should be. All those ropes, and hats, worn jeans and leather.
My mind descends into the gutter.
“Goodnight,” I murmur.
“Night.”
I go back into the house and busy myself with preparing my bed on the sofa and getting ready to sleep. My pajamas are white cotton with eyelet embroidery, a pretty camisole and shorts set that I treated myself to with my last paycheck. Shame there’s been no one else to appreciate them. I clean my teeth, wash my face, and brush my hair.
Overhead, footsteps cause the ceiling to groan. I guess Joelle and her men are turning in for the night.
Then I hear laughter from outside. The Fletcher brothers haven’t left yet. What are they waiting for?
You?
I shake my head. Those men outside can’t possibly be hard up for female attention. If I had to place a bet on it, I’d say every virgin, spinster, and widow within a thirty-mile radius has succumbed to the appeal of their rustic cowboy charms.
As have I. At a child’s birthday party. Over sandwiches, balloons and cake.
Embarrassing.
My mouth is dry, so I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, intending to head to bed, but instead, find myself switching it for another beer and heading outside, propelled by some insane craving to live a little while I’m away from my mother’s confining expectations.
Cool air brushes over my skin as I step onto the porch. The swing creaks softly as both men look up at the same time.
“Janey,” Mason says. “Couldn’t sleep?” His voice is an easy drawl with roughened edges, and it hits me square in the clit.
“It’s early for me,” I admit.
I usually stay up to read, but I don’t tell them that. I’m pretty sure cowboys have a type, and book nerds aren’t it.
And there are two very large distractions sitting twenty feet from my sofa bed.
Mason shifts, making space between them. The gap looks big enough to be polite, and small enough to feel intimate.
“Come sit.” He pats the seat like he’s encouraging a wary pet, and the words settle somewhere low in my stomach as I step forward, unable to resist his authoritative tone.
This feels like a big decision. Probably a bad one.
I’ve spent my life being a good girl, living up to my parents’ expectations. It’s the safe option. The easy option. Saying no to everything with a chance to hurt becomes a habit, but I’ve been bored with my life for a while. Since Joelle moved out, I’ve been rattling around in my home alone, and it’s sad. More than sad. It’s pathetic that a woman of my age doesn’t have anything better to do than live between the pages of a fictional story.
I’m far enough away from the confining influence of home to push that wary woman aside a little. Maybe it’ll be fun to play-act as a different person for a while. Maybe I’ll like being the kind of woman who slides between two cowboys who have been looking at her like she’s hot food and maybe flirt a little.
I sit. So good at taking instructions. So adept at bending my will to others, except this feels like my will.
The swing dips gently under my weight, settling quickly. Warmth presses in on both sides of me almost immediately. Mason rests solid against my right thigh, his arm still stretched behind me. Brookes adjusts slightly on my left, his knee brushing mine with contact that feels light and deliberate at the same time.
I take a sip of my beer, which does nothing to steady me. My heart is practically rattling in my chest.
“You make it through the party alright?” Brookes asks.
His voice is softer and smoother than Mason’s, with a gruff edge that makes me pay attention.
“I did.” I turn toward him. Up close, the details sharpen. Dark eyes. A mouth that looks like it holds back more than it gives away. Dark stubble that would rasp against my skin. I flush. “Your cousins threw a pretty intense first birthday.”
“They went all in,” Mason says, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Kid won’t remember any of it.”
“Joelle will, though.”
“That’s the point. Wade and Caleb are stupid for that woman. It’s nice to see.”
I smile, relaxing despite myself.
“Well,” Mason says after a moment, tipping his bottle toward me, “I think the real question is how much cake you actually managed to put away tonight.”
I blink at him. “Excuse me?”
“I counted at least two slices,” he continues, completely unbothered by my sharp tone. “Maybe three.”
I laugh, startled into it. “I didn’t realize the cake was on ration.”
“Not on ration,” he says. “I like a woman who knows how to enjoy good food.”
“I know how to enjoy good frosting.”
Brookes huffs out a quiet breath beside me, just shy of a laugh. “Pretty sure you were enjoying it more than the kid.”
I turn toward him. “Maybe I was.”
“Mmmm.” His gaze flicks over me briefly. “If tucking into frosting with that much enthusiasm is what makes a woman look like you, they should make it part of the recommended dietary guidelines for all Americans.”
I flush, embarrassed and flattered, my stomach flip-flopping.
Mason nudges my knee with his. “You had frosting on your lip at one point. Just sat there talking like nothing was happening.”
“Oh my God,” I mutter, covering my face for a second. “Why would you even notice that?”
“Hard to miss when you’re staring at a woman’s pretty lips,” he says easily.
Before I can react, he cups my face and runs the pad of his thumb over my top lip. He leans in. “Just here.” I freeze, mesmerized at his touch and the intensity of his deep, chocolaty brown eyes.
Brookes takes a slow drink. “Yeah. It was impossible to look away.”
Warmth floods my cheeks. “You should have told me.”
“You were busy,” Mason says.
“Doing what?”
“Talking.”
I shake my head, trying to recover some ground. “You two spend all night watching other people eat cake, or am I special?”
Brookes’s mouth curves slightly. “Special. Definitely special.”
He shifts slightly beside me, his knee brushing mine again, the contact lingering long enough to feel intentional.
I gulp from the bottle, suddenly aware of how close they both are, how easily the conversation has slipped into one that feels… pointed.
“So,” Mason says after a beat, “Joelle said you work with animals?”
They talked about me with Joelle? “Yeah. I spend my days wrangling sick beasts into accepting treatment they don’t want or understand.”
He snorts. “That so? What kind?”
“Mostly farm calls. Some clinic work. Whatever comes my way.”
“That explains it,” he says.
“Explains what?”
“You’re calm,” he replies. “I bet you’re good with animals. They can sense a person’s energy.”
I glance at him, catching the brief flicker in his expression before it settles again, controlled as ever.
“Yeah. You have to stay calm, or they’ll get skittish. Especially the bigger animals. It can be dangerous to get close.”
“Not all big animals are dangerous,” Mason says with a wink. “Some of us look intimidating until someone scratches behind our ears.”
I snort, but it’s a cover for the swell of heat that runs beneath my skin.
“Or rubs our bellies,” Brookes adds.
I give a startled laugh. “Is that what turns you on?”
“Maybe,” he smiles. “Men like to be touched. We’re easy on where.”
“That so?”
“Well…” He turns to me. “There are some favored places.”
“I’m sure there are.” Without meaning to, my gaze drops to the seam over his jeans bulging over his crotch.
It’s his turn to laugh. “Exactly.”
My cheeks are an instant inferno.
“What about you?” Mason asks.
“What about me?”
“Where do you like to be touched, Janey?”
His big, calloused hand rests on my thigh, as strong and rough as I imagined it would be. Before I can answer, a sound carries down from upstairs.
A soft laugh followed by a breathless moan.
I freeze, recognition hitting almost instantly as Joelle’s voice filters through the quiet, followed by a lower groan.
“Oh my God,” I murmur, pressing my lips together as a laugh slips out anyway.
Mason lets out a low chuckle. “Sounds like someone has plans for the night.”
Brookes takes a slow drink, his gaze fixed where the horizon would be, his whole body tensed.
The sounds fade after a moment, leaving the silence, heavy with awareness. Every point of contact sharpens. The press of denim against my skin. The steady heat on either side of me. The slow, easy sway of the swing beneath us.
I should go inside.
That thought comes and stays, clear and reasonable.
I should.
Of course I should.
Every sensible part of me knows it. My mother’s voice is so clear in my mind it’s like she’s sitting across from me, watching. “What do you think you’re doing, Janey? Sitting on a swing with two men like that. Wearing indecent clothing. Get inside before you make a mistake you’ll regret. Didn’t I raise you better?”
But with the air charged with intention and two men close enough to feel their heat and power, it seems tonight, the sensible parts of me have left the building. Or, I’m set on banishing them.
I remain where I am, my thighs pressed tightly, warmth swelling in parts that have been unused for too long, vibrating with sexual tension and rebellion.
Mason’s hand gently squeezes my thigh, a hint of what could be. My breath catches as I turn my head toward him. His gaze is already on me, intent in a way that sends a shudder through me.
“Janey?”
It sounds like a question.
Is this okay? Is this what you want? Is this why you came out and sat between my brother and me, wearing skimpy pajamas?
Yes. Yes. And hell yes!
His hand slides up, fingers brushing higher, parting my tightly clasped flesh as he leans in. I meet him halfway, my hand curling into his shirt as his mouth finds mine, and god, the kiss is warm and unhurried, making my thoughts blur at the edges. His confidence anchors me even as everything inside me shifts.
I’m doing this. I’m really doing this.
Mason’s hand moves again, gripping my hip, guiding me closer.
My breath catches as he draws away to turn my face to the side, bringing Brookes into view. Brookes watches me for a brief moment, his gaze dropping to my mouth before lifting again.
A pause stretches between us.
I’m offered a choice.
I feel it clearly.
Do you want my brother?
Maybe this is a family thing. Their two cousins seem more than happy in a relationship with one woman. Maybe the Fletcher brothers move as a unit, too. I shiver as the wrongness and the rightness of being offered another man coalesce between my thighs.
I lean toward Brookes, who’s dark eyes spark with excitement.
His kiss is different, curling through me as he moves slower and deeper, patient, as though he’s waiting to see if I’ll withdraw once my senses hit.
I don’t.
I can’t. I’m drugged on the looming largeness of them both as they crowd me between them. It’s so easy to relax into accepting what they clearly want from me. Like a pawn in a game of chess, my body is pushed forward into the unknown, ready for however they want to play the game.
The night seems to close in, the space around us narrowing until there is only this. The three of us, and the quiet, charged tension threading between every breath.
Two men.
Before Joelle found Wade and Caleb and settled into a life with them, the idea of a woman with two men wasn’t a setup that ever crossed my mind. It didn’t belong to my world. I didn’t even have language for it, let alone curiosity about it.
Now, sitting here between Mason and Brookes, I understand the appeal.
It isn’t only about having two sets of hands or two different kinds of attention, though I’m aware of both in a way that feels impossible to ignore. It’s the contrast. The way Mason’s presence presses in, warm and steady, while Brookes lingers just at the edge of that, watchful and measured, like he’s taking his time deciding exactly how close to get. Or giving me time to work out how much I’ll accept.
It’s the balance of it. One draws me out without hesitation, the other makes me aware of every reaction. I don’t feel pulled in two directions. I feel… held in the middle.
For the first time, I can see how a woman might step into this kind of situation and never want to leave. But that isn’t what I want. My parents would never accept the kind of life that Joelle has for me.
But a fling? No one would ever have to find out.
Mason stands, the movement smooth and certain. His hands settle at my waist, lifting me easily. My arms come up around his shoulders without thought, my pulse quickening as the world shifts again. He’s so strong, I feel like I weigh a feather. So powerful, he could do anything, and I’d be unable to resist. The thought sends a thrill through me.
“You sure you can carry me with all that cake and frosting weighing me down?” I say, trying to lighten the moment.
He laughs, kissing my lips hard.
“Come on,” he murmurs.
I’ve a strong sense of where this is going, but I don’t ask. Neither does Brookes as he stands and follows. The barn looms in the distance, doors open, shadows spilling out into the night.
Brookes’s footsteps are heavy, thudding in time with my heart. I’m fizzy with anticipation, and aching with desire. I’m overwhelmed with this chance to be a different Janey. One not weighed down by my mother’s high expectations for perfection at all costs. One who can lust after two men and be brave enough to discover if their bodies and their intentions are as hot as she imagines.
For once, I don’t hesitate.
I let them lead me into a situation I know better than to be a part of, ready to let all my inhibitions fly away with the wind. Ready to devour them both like frosting.
(c) Stephanie Brother 2026
