Chapter 1

The small wooden cabin and large barn were typical of a ranch in the Old West in 1880. There also was nothing unusual about the corrals and vegetable garden. What made the Grimston ranch unique was its isolation. When Wyatt Grimston Sr. had stumbled upon the beautiful land with a stream, lake, and bountiful trees, he had fallen in love with it. The fact that it had no neighbors and was a half day’s wagon ride to town had made it even more attractive to him. He had no use for people. So he had singlehandedly sculpted a ranch out of the wilderness and lived alone until fifteen years ago. That was when he had decided to have sons. And that couldn’t be done alone. It had required a wife.

Abigail Grimston was washing the last of the lunch plates in a basin of water in the kitchen. Every time she used it, she smiled and thanked her late husband for his ingenuity. They had a trough outside with a pump handle like all the other ranches, but he had engineered a pump in the kitchen that filled a basin with water to wash plates with. All she had to do was open the heavy wood shutters when done and toss the dirty water out the window. It was especially useful on cold days or at night.

Abigail’s eyes drifted to the sky. She dropped the plate into the basin with a splash, pressed her hands on the counter, and leaned forward to peer out the window. The clouds were speeding through the sky toward the house, and the ones coming her way were black. The tree tops were bending in the wind and the horses were restless in their corral.

“Wyatt!” Abigail shouted through the open window, but the approaching storm’s rumbling swallowed up her voice.

Where was he? Her son had spent all fourteen years of his life on the ranch and knew as much as she did that the horses needed to be sheltered in the barn when there was a storm like the one approaching. Wyatt had to have seen it coming. It wasn’t like him to goof off.

Abigail leaned over the counter again to grab the heavy wood shutters and pull them closed. After latching them, she dashed for the open door and ran outside. The horses were neighing and stomping. Even the dumb animals knew the storm was coming. Why didn’t her son?

With or without her son, Abigail needed to get the horses out of the imminent weather. She rushed to the barn to get the bridles. Her long black hair was tied behind her with a ribbon, but a gust of wind blew the ribbon off. Her hair, now free, whipped across her face as she ran. But she couldn’t stop. She had other ribbons. The horses needed to be sheltered as soon as possible.

As she ran, her long skirt caught the wind like a sail. It was plastered to her body, pushed between her legs, and fluttered behind her. Leaning into the wind with her hair whipping around her, she trudged forward, like walking through waist high water. The dust pelted her cheeks as she squinted in the gusting wind with her arm stretched out in front of her ready to grab the barn door handle. She got closer and closer, the wind now howling. And then she reached the handle and flung the barn door open, leaping inside where there suddenly was no wind.

Abigail froze, not understanding what she was seeing. Wyatt stood behind one of the hair sheep they raised for meat. Lamb was a nice change from their steady diet of beef. Her son’s pants and long johns were around his ankles and he was holding the ewe’s tail up. Wyatt’s hips humped to and fro.

“NO!” Abigail screamed in realization.

She charged, slamming a shoulder into her son. The fourteen-year-old boy was nearly as tall as her and heavier from the bulk and muscles he had developed working the ranch. He still went flying from the impact and crashed to the dirt floor. His hard cock jutted from his body with an angry red color and fluttered like the trees outside.