Agatha Kristenson - The rancher_s wife

The water was soupy and warm on the surface from the sun, but it was cold and clean underneath. Kate swam and dove and drove herself back and forth across the pond until she was exhausted. But even underneath the cold green water she could see those nakedly writhing bodies before her eyes. Oh dear heaven, what did you do when you found your husband fucking another woman! How did you ever ease the pain?

At last she climbed wearily up on the little pier where they moored the row boat. She lay panting for long minutes while her body dried. At last, she made her way through the bushes to her secret sunning spot that was hidden from the driveway, the house, and even the barns. Her geese were still swimming lazily around, happily pulling the lettuce leaves from the banks where she'd scattered them earlier.

"Here, Goosey… here, babies… here Goosey…" But they ignored her and went blithely floating away from her. They were still babies and ordinarily followed her everywhere; over in the pond, however, they became independent little devils. She always had a terrible time getting them out and back up to the house.

Kate picked up the old leather bound book and tried to memorize the poem she was planning to read to the poetry group. Cole had laughed about that, too. "Now how the hell do you think you're going to get a bunch of ranchers and their wives interested in poetry?" he'd snorted. But she had to do all the things she did. The loneliness of this country would drive you mad if you were a woman and didn't have the hard physical labor of the men at their work. The gallery in town, the theater group, and the poetry group had saved her sanity many a time. Her husband didn't need any hobbies, she thought bitterly… he had his women! It wasn't the baby she wanted that had turned him off these past two years. It was other women. For all she knew he might have a whole bevy of them scattered around the countryside.

The book fell from her hands and Kate lay back on the towel in her bower of bushes and reeds and trees. A little wind fluttered the pages, hiding Browning's poem, My Last Duchess… Kate couldn't erase the memory of the character portrait and wondered about the vivid Duke and his dead Duchess. Was she, herself, like that poor young woman in the poem… "She had a heart – how shall I say? – too soon made glad… t'was not her husband's presence only, called that spot of joy into the Duchess' cheek… she liked whate'er she looked on and her looks went everywhere…" Kate turned and rested her chin on her hands. Was it really her fault that Cole had gone off with another woman… had she failed him inadvertently as that poor young woman had or rather as her husband thought she had? Was Cole really trying to tell her something important when he objected to her projects and groups and activities. Was he really saying that she didn't pay enough attention to him… that he was jealous of her time spent on other things and other people? Oh God, she didn't know! If only she hadn't seen him naked with that girl… if only she could erase the awful memory from her brain. Kate's hands gripped her skull that was aching; her face came down against the towel and her tears slid silently down into the colorfully printed terrycloth.

The events of the morning had badly shaken her composure. Really, how could she blame her husband for what he had done when she, herself, had come so close to doing exactly the same thing with Sandy Gayman. The handsome foreman would never know the monumental self-control that had been required to get into her station wagon and drive away from him, while all the time her loins and hotly seeping, shamelessly aroused vagina had been pleading that she remain. Even now, over three hours later, she still could feel those strange hands familiarly caressing her heatedly straining breasts and buttocks. Well, she thought dully, I'll get over it… and so will Sandy. At least he has the ranch chores to keep his mind off it.

Kate, however, had no way of knowing that instead of cooling off, the sandy-haired foreman had found that his anger and need to fuck her in revenge was growing more painfully intense with each passing second. Christ, he still had the Goddamned hard-on! Then everything blew up all at once when he came out of the horse barn and saw the red convertible racing down the road toward town and Mela's long bright hair streaming behind her. That son of a bitch, Cole Sutherland, was driving! Five minutes later, his face dark with rage, Sandy crunched up to the Sutherland's sprawling ranch house. He knocked and called "Kate," several times without success. The wagon was there… she must be around somewhere. Finally, he opened the door to the kitchen and stepped in. "Kate? Hey, anybody home?" By God, if she was upstairs taking a nap, he'd fuck her right there and not give a shit how much she yelled.

The silence of the empty house echoed in his own ears.

It was the tall blonde kid with the eastern accent, Eric, he said his name was, who told Sandy that Kate was swimming. The big man didn't even mutter "thanks" as he spun on his heel and made for the pond. By the time he found her, his anger was cooling, but his painfully throbbing erection had grown to monstrous proportions.

Kate sensed someone's eyes on her even before she heard the rustling sound in the bushes. She looked up and saw Sandy Gayman standing there with his hat in his hands just staring hotly down at her. Kate could feel the tension immediately growing like a live thing between them again as he stood staring into her eyes.

At last he spoke, dropping down beside her on the towel. "You've been crying some more?" He plucked a spear of grass and chewed the end of it as Kate nodded dumbly.

"Don't think I'd waste my tears if I was you." Sandy lay back in the grass, one hand pillowing his head. "I been thinking… I don't rightly see how… what we saw could have happened so fast… I mean I didn't think they even knowed each other before. But now… I think they must have. I don't know when or where… but they knew each other before today. I'd bet my life on it."

"But where? How? When?" Kate whispered, sitting up.

"It wasn't here at the ranch. I been here for years… ever since Mela was first sent to school in Switzerland. I been here when she come home now and then. Never was here more'n a week. No, I think they must have met up when Cole went over to get that bull… in France."

"Of course!" she said eagerly. "I think you're right. That would explain it."

"Fact is," the big foreman continued, "I was figuring on marrying Mela myself when she got this running around out of her system… I watched her since she was a kid."

"Oh, Sandy…" Kate's hand went out in quick sympathy to Sandy's arm. "I didn't know… I didn't know that you were hurting inside as much as I was… back there… I'm so sorry for what my… my husband did."

Sandy, lying flat on his back, looked up into Kate's sympathetic face. The loose chestnut hair was still damp around her shoulders, the tanned fleshy swells of her breasts were almost spilling out of the deeply plunging blue swimsuit, and her blue eyes still had tears trembling on the edge of the thick lashes. Grabbing her hand he pulled her down across his chest and caught her wetly trembling mouth, murmuring against it before he kissed her, "No use being sorry…"

Kate squirmed and fought against the hard arms that had caught her by surprise and held her captive. He'd seemed so kind and sympathetic, but he only wanted to continue that madness they had indulged in when they were hurting so this morning. No! It was all wrong! They'd only be perpetrating the horrible example they'd seen.

Holding her easily with his greater strength, Sandy kissed her 'til her soft, warm lips finally opened slack under his and her breath was whistling out her mouth in unintelligible little moans. Just like taming a reluctant mare, he thought, and sat up with Kate in his arms, holding her across his chest and lap. She was so limp be thought she was going to faint.