Welcome to the Thornton Brothers’ Ranch, where the men are opinionated and stubborn to the core – but if there’s one thing they can all agree on, it’s that their women need discipline.

This collection includes three individual stories about three brothers and the women they love told by the legendary author Carolyn Faulkner and written in her classic style.

AJ’s Hope
AJ’s been hurt and is driving everyone on the ranch crazy. Beau decides only Hope can reach his brother and help him heal. Hope and AJ had a rocky relationship once; can it be smoother this time?

Beau’s Desire
Beau didn’t always have the best luck when hiring physical therapists for AJ. Little did he know that Heather, the spitfire he hired for AJ, would light a fire in him that would burn hot for a lifetime.

Cade’s Wish
Cade runs the Thornton Brothers’ Ranch and is kept busy during AJ’s recovery time. When he hires Gabby, after his assistant takes personal leave, and she’s accused of embezzlement he’s determined to get to the bottom of it, one way or another.

Publisher’s Note: This collection of three complete books each with a happily-ever-after contains elements of mystery, suspense, action, adventure, sensual scenes, and power exchange. If any of these offend you, please do not purchase.

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Two years earlier . . .

His hands slid down the insides of her raised arms as she shimmied out of her smudged t-shirt.  They’d spent the afternoon out on the range surveying his land on horseback–land that would soon be theirs–and now they were cleaning up before indulging in the homemade beef and vegetable stew she’d put in the crock pot before they’d left the house.

It was one of those rarest of times when, by a fortunate fluke, they had the house to themselves.  Everyone else that was usually milling about the place either were at their own places, working, or out with friends.

A.J. grabbed her hands and put them on his hard, bare chest, tracing her hands with one still somewhat smudged finger.  A large, marquis cut sapphire, sandwiched by two large diamonds, was nestled on the ring finger of her right hand.  Her left hand sported her engagement ring, a small, badly cut and seriously flawed quarter karat diamond that his father had given his mother all those years ago.  One ring was old, one new, one for show and one for symbolism.

If she hadn’t captured his heart so completely, if he hadn’t spent all those years waiting and aching for her to grow up, and then waiting for the right time for them to come together, she would have possessed the just for show ring alone.  But this woman meant more to him than any woman, ever.  She deserved everything he could give her, including every scrap of himself.  He’d dated occasionally, but he’d always known, somehow, that this woman belonged to him and that, when everything aligned correctly, she would be his.

She stood before him in a pretty lavender and lace bra that barely concealed her wonderfully ripened mounds.  A.J. snaked his arms around her waist, contracting them ever so gently, so that she settled carefully against him. He knew there was no way she could mistake the bulge she most surely felt against her yielding tummy as anything other than what it was–a tribute to his rampant, everlasting desire for her.

There had never been any other woman –past, present, or future–for him and now she was his.

One big hand came up to cup her jaw and tip it up.  His soft lips descended like a springtime rain, melding into hers–no rough demands or nervous fumbling for him.  That wasn’t his style in general, and certainly not with her.

No, their lovemaking tended much more towards the very long and the very slow, each touch trembling with anticipation.  He’d known all his life that they would be dynamite when they got together.  She excited him like no other woman ever had or could, and he intended to prove that to her every night for the next hundred years or so.

A.J. maneuvered them carefully over to the corner of the bedroom where he proceeded to open his closet door, revealing a full-length mirror.  He slipped behind her and brought one big splayed, brown hand to rest on her flat tummy in marked contrast to her pale, creamy skin.  He pressed her back very slowly and ever so gently so that she was plastered against him, her backside to his front.  Ten pink toes peeped out from under the boot cut jeans that pooled at her feet an instant later.  Hope kicked them away impatiently and moved back to stand against him in just her matching bra and demure bikini briefs.  A.J. spread his legs so that hers were between them, shortening just a bit, so that her head now just barely reached his shoulders.

“I love you,” he whispered against the back of her neck.  His lips slid over that soft, delicate flesh and he felt her shiver in his arms in a way that made him never want to stop.  He nipped her softly there, just enough for her to know that he wasn’t quite as tame as she might think; a stallion signaling to his mare that the end was inevitable, but he was willing to go slowly.

The paw that had spread itself naturally over her tummy glided carefully over that small expanse.  His pinky got caught just under the waist of her panties, not forcing things, just dipping there a little, foreshadowing a bit, laying gentle claim to as much of the interesting territory as he could.  Her breasts were damned near perfect.  That sensitive hand began to journey upward to the pale lilac covered flesh that enticed him so. 

This was not the first time they had made love, and it sure enough wasn’t the last, but for him, it always felt new.  A.J. couldn’t imagine ever becoming jaded about what this woman gave him, what she surrendered to him each and every time they came together like this.  It was more than her body and her mind and her pleasure.  She gave him her soul, as he gave her his.

Nothing and no one had ever been as perfect for him, and nothing and no one ever would be.

Hope had tried–once–to convince him that her thighs were lumpy with cellulite, her right breast was just slightly larger than her left, and that her skin was splotchy and unbecoming without makeup, which he’d required that she relieve herself of before they began to make love.

With no warning what so ever, he had flipped her over on to her tummy on his custom king sized bed where they had been lazily basking in the afterglow. He placed his big right hand over almost all of her well-rounded bottom, and told her in no uncertain terms that those were spanking words.  If she continued to run herself down like that, he would spank her bottom until she couldn’t sit comfortably for a week.  He’d better never hear her saying anything like that about herself again, or she’d find herself in exactly the same position, each and every time.

Hope couldn’t have been any more surprised if he had confessed to her that he preferred the company of men.  She’d known A.J. all her life, and she would have bet her life that he would never have raised his hand to a woman in any situation.  A spanking?  She wasn’t six years old!

But what alarmed her the most about his threat was the fact that it caused a distinct tingle where she really didn’t want it to.  Their lovemaking so far had been absolutely unbelievable, and she wondered if her disturbing response might have been a result of that; she was so attuned to him and so sensitive to him that her body would respond to anything he suggested.  She dismissed the thought.  Despite her lifelong craving for him that had only worsened since they’d given in to their desires, she wasn’t about to let him lead her down the road into some sort of strange fetish or kink–that just wasn’t going to happen.

She hoped.

Now, several months later, he hadn’t repeated his threat about spanking her, and watching herself in a mirror with him like this was just about as kinky as she wanted to get.  As those huge hands molded themselves to her lace covered breasts, she couldn’t help but arch her back, pressing them even more firmly into his palms, desperately wishing there was no material between her sensitive flesh and his calloused palms.

He was everything she’d ever wanted physically–a heavily muscled six foot four man with the trademark Thornton shock of hair, black in his case, with sharply focused vivid blue eyes and a face that was anything but handsome.  But that didn’t matter.  Her A.J. was more of a man than any ten men put together–any ten men that weren’t his brothers, anyway–and everything about him, from his purposeful stride to his broad as a barn shoulders, screamed his confidence in himself and his manhood.  A.J. had never needed to chase women; more than enough of them had chased after him since he’d hit puberty, because every pore he had fairly oozed with quiet, authoritative masculinity.

No wonder she’d been in love with him since before she could remember.

He pressed his lips to the side of her neck and whispered huskily, “I think this bra has got to go, darlin’.”  Her entire body shuddered convulsively.  That voice scraped slowly along her already fevered skin.  It was very deep and permanently slightly hoarse, the result of getting caught in the throat by the hoof of a very unhappy bull when he was in his teens.

Hope certainly wasn’t going to complain about it.  He had a bedroom voice to go along with his bedroom eyes.  Even the most run of the mill comments were enough to make her nipples peak, as if they already were within his gentle grasp.

He dispensed with her bra easily, letting it fall to the floor in a heap beside them while his hands returned to much more intriguing territory.  Hope had always thought that her breasts were too large, but A.J. was working on disabusing her of that notion too.  His hands were just big enough to cup them perfectly, which he did, very careful not to massage too hard as he knew that her breasts were exquisitely sensitive.  But those insistent nipples poked into his calloused palms, begging for the agonizing attention of his strong fingers that he was only too willing to provide.

As his fingertips and thumbs claimed those impudent points of hers and squeezed carefully but firmly, Hope’s long, guttural moan settled unerringly in his groin, making him answer her moan with one of his own.

She couldn’t be still when he did this; she simply couldn’t.  His hands on her–in any way  –inspired in her a need to move compulsively.  Hope could no more suppress it than she could stop the sun from rising tomorrow morning.  Her hips began to move slowly, rhythmically, and no amount of trying could suppress the impulse as her bikini briefed bottom worked back and forth over the answering ridge in his pants.  The fact that she could excite him like this suffused her with heat, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

A.J. wasn’t usually an overly demonstrative man.  He didn’t fawn all over her or have to constantly be touching her, like some of the few men she’d dated.  He had too much confidence in himself and in her for that.  There wasn’t an insecure bone in his body.

When they made love, he was so romantic, attentive and focused on her that she could barely stand it.  His eyes drank her in almost as avidly as her own feasted on him.  Every touch, every kiss and every caress brought her that much closer to a screaming, frenzied end.  The heat burst into her body every time she saw him, even in the most tame of situations like when his hand brushed hers at the dinner table, or they were just sitting together on the couch watching “CSI”.  Since they’d come together as a couple, Hope had lived her life on the edge of ecstasy, and even just a small smile from him across the room could make her whole body contract with an almost painful awareness.

She looked down and watched the way he handled her so carefully, knowing the incredible power contained within his hands and arms.  He was the biggest, strongest man she knew, and yet she had never felt any way but completely safe in his embrace.

A.J. knew he wasn’t going to be able to last very long if she kept dancing those curvaceous pillows against him.  He squatted down quickly, taking her panties with him, and lifting her into his arms as he rose.  He carried her to his big bed, which had begun to be almost unbearably lonely on those long nights when she elected to stay at her apartment.

But he didn’t want to think about that right now.  He wanted to revel in everything about her.  His senses were nearly exploding.  Her light, flowery scent filled his head as he dipped it between her full breasts to kiss her sternum.  He gathered those beautiful mounds against his cheeks, adoring the feel of them as they nearly overflowed his palms.  He reared back to catch her all over arch as his fingers, rolling and pinching with gentle firmness, found those sensitive nipples again.

She appealed to him on every possible level, and he had to smack himself upside the head some times in order to realize that she was truly his to touch in this intimate, reverent manner.

“Please, A.J. Please!” It seemed all she could say, the only words her pleasure-muddled mind could get out.

He was of a mind to draw it out, to make her blush all over as she always did when he made her tell him exactly what she wanted.  But it was too raw, and he was too embarrassingly close to his own end to delay things any longer than he absolutely had to.

A.J. reached down only enough to adjust himself out of the confinement of his jeans and underwear and then settled himself back between her legs, nestling his rigid length against the home it sought between her legs.

Hope let her hands wander over his bulging chest. She didn’t know why, but being naked beneath him while he was still only undressed enough to complete their connection, somehow made her ache just that much more, almost to an unbearable point.  It made her feel just the slightest bit submissive and helpless against him, as if she was being taken instead of being made love to, and that thought both drove her crazy and made her a little angry in the back of her mind.

But the crazy part won out hands down as he pressed himself inexorably inside her.  She thought she would never get over how big he was.  Her body clung to him with no direction from her, almost as if it was trying to deny him access, which was the last thing she wanted.  She needed him to complete her.  She needed to be filled to overflowing with him as she always was; it was the only way she could meet her own end and shatter around him with a scream that would leave her hoarse for days afterwards.

He didn’t disappoint her in the least; he rode her relentlessly, but with such a tender, careful edge that she could barely stand it.  She whimpered and writhed beneath him like a mindless creature and was bent on just one thought, one inevitable conclusion that he brought her to without mercy. He watched her every second of the way, gauging himself and his reactions–his very plunges and retreats–to her mewls and arches.

When they finally collapsed on top of each other after a much longer time than she would have guessed she could have lasted before exploding into pieces all around him–not that he’d given her any choice about it–he’d rolled slightly to her right, keeping one big hand’s claim on her hip, and nuzzled her shoulder, as if he couldn’t stand for them to be apart in the least.

“You’re going to kill me, you know.  We’re too damned good together, and I’m too old for you.”

“Want some Geritol, Grampa?” Hope asked dryly, surprised her brain could summon sarcasm when it felt like he’d dissolved her into pudding.

“No, but Viagra might not be too off.” A.J. admitted humbly.

Hope snorted. “Puh-leeze.  If you were on Viagra, you’d kill me.  I can barely keep up with you as it is, old man.” She ran her hand lazily from his wrist to his thickly muscled shoulder.  “Besides, it ain’t that you’re older than I am that’s the problem.  It’s that I’m so damned ugly.”

A.J. didn’t even think.  Even as exhausted as he was–as he was likely to be for some time–it only took him a mere flick of those big fingers to grasp her hip and turn it, bringing her onto her tummy gently.  He silently marveled at the gorgeous line of her back and bottom, almost reluctant to do what he knew he had to.

Before she realized what he was going to do, he reached up and gathered her wrists together in his left hand, slowly, so as not to arouse her suspicions.  He knew she was going to want to kill him long before he was through doing what he knew he needed to do for her.

A.J. was not going to tolerate his intended or his wife running herself down like that–not in private, not in public.  Not at all, even within the confines of her own mind.  She would find herself in this exact position time and time again if he ever got wind of anything coming out of her mouth that even slightly resembled a putdown aimed at herself.  He just wouldn’t allow it–not when he loved her to distraction and saw what a wonderful person she was.  She gave so much–gave of herself until it hurt–to everyone she knew, was funny, bright and warm and, no matter what she thought or said, sexy as hell and pretty to boot.

A.J. took a deep breath, looking at the way his hand covered nearly every inch of that generous white bottom of hers.  He would much have preferred to just give her a back rub, or maybe lick his way over every inch of her as he had when they had first come together intimately, but instead he was going to have to spank her–hurt her and make her cry.

And it wasn’t easy.  It especially wasn’t easy because he’d never talked to her about this, never really put forth the idea that he had always subscribed to what most people would consider to be a less than enlightened view of marriage and close relationships between men and women.

He’d always wanted to be married.  He’d always wanted a marriage like his parents’ where his father was the undisputed–benevolent, yes, but undisputed nonetheless–head of the family.  Not that his beautiful mother had ever kowtowed to him in the least, but there had never been any of the screaming matches he’d heard at friends’ houses, where the children had had to cringe in a closet to get away from the sounds of their parents verbally tearing at each other.

His father had never had to raise his voice at anyone–much less his kids or his wife.  He didn’t need to.  All he’d had to do was say his wife’s name, in that deadly calm, almost whisper of a deep voice. And the next morning, they would have worked it out.  He came to know, once he’d grown up some, that part of “working it out” was his mother’s submission to his father’s discipline.  There had never been any sign of any sort of abuse, no black eyes to hide, no broken bones; he couldn’t imagine his father ever, ever raising his fist to hurt his mother in any way. The man was too completely devoted to her and his family to ever do anything like that.  They were so excruciatingly happy together it was sometimes hard to look at them when they were making calves’ eyes at each other, which they had done to their dying days.

And now he was going to continue that tradition–that solid base of happiness and love and respect–with the woman who would be his own wife.

Hope’s indignant shriek at his first swat should have been his first clue that she was not going to accept this easily.  She didn’t know what he was trying to do.  She had been basking in the afterglow, not quite in her right mind yet, when he’d turned her onto her stomach.  She’d been hoping for a lovely massage, as he’d done for her before.  Even when he’d taken her wrists in his hand, she hadn’t worried.

But that first swat had caught her by surprise with its mere existence, as well as its pain. It wasn’t a playful boyfriend smack and she couldn’t really even claim that she didn’t expect it.  It wasn’t as if he hadn’t warned her several times exactly what he would do if she continued to insult herself in his presence.  In the back of her mind though, she had been quite sure that he could never, would never, touch a woman in a painful manner.

And this most certainly qualified as a painful manner–an extremely painful manner–especially since he continued to deliver crisp, sharp swats, one after the other, without pause, to her rapidly reddening rear.

No amount of wiggling or writhing or kicking her feet up seemed to help either.  As soon as she’d started launching her feet back towards her rear, he’d placed a long, heavy leg diagonally across them and the weight of it was enough to still her every effort to block the God awful spanks he was raining down onto her poor, quickly roasted rump.

“Stop it!  Now!  A.J.!  Cut it out!” She could barely get coherent words out while he was blistering her butt like this.

But A.J. was resolute. “I’ve told you before what would happen if you kept saying things like that about yourself.  I told you that first time we made love.  I should have taken you over my knee then, but I didn’t.  I wanted you too much, and I let my libido override what I knew you needed.  But then you called yourself ugly again, and I won’t stand for it; I just won’t.  You’re going to get a good, thorough spanking every time I hear you say anything like that about yourself.”

He continued to spank so long and hard that Hope was certain that she was going to go crazy from it.  He continued until she was a limp, ragged doll.  Her face was wet with angry tears.  Her eyes were swollen and she knew that she was looking more ugly than she’d ever looked in her life.

When he finally stopped, she rocketed off the bed as if he’d shot her out of a cannon.  She slipped into her panties and then rummaged through the drawer she’d occupied in his room for a pair of shorts that would go easier on her still burning bottom.  After stepping into them, she caught the sparkle of his rings on her fingers and very quietly took them off without so much as a word to him.  Not trying to hide the movement from him, she did it with no fanfare, no discussion and no real thought.

She wouldn’t be engaged–much less married–to a man who could abuse her like that.  She just wouldn’t.

Hope ignored him as he trailed after her.  He had kicked off his jeans afterwards, and now was trying awkwardly to drag them up his legs as she walked out the bedroom door.  She was already at her car before he was able to catch up with her.  He tugged her arm back and turned her towards him.

“What’s the meaning of this?” He held out his hand, where the rings were nestled in his palm, looking small and defenseless, which was exactly how she felt too.

Hope refused to look at him. “I thought my meaning would be clear.  But perhaps not, to a man like you.  We are officially unengaged.”

As much as he wanted to go the caveman route, drag her back up to his bedroom, hold her and talk to her about why he’d done what he’d done, he instead stepped back and let her go.  If she didn’t want to be here, if she didn’t want to marry him or even be around him, he certainly wasn’t going to force her to do so.

She’d come to regret what she’d done and come crying back to him. Then he’d smooth things over with her.

He was sure of it.

She’d come back to him.

She had to.