She wants her nails painted black
She wants the toy in the crackerjack
She wants to ride the bull at the rodeo
She wants to wear my shirt to bed
She wants to make every stray a pet
And drive around in my truck with no place to go
And I know, I know, I know
Logan snuffled deeply into his flannel sheets, rubbing his face into an uncomfortably damp spot. Dammit. He drooled again. His six foot frame sprawled across his king sized, log-frame bed, sun beams and motes dancing across his grizzled cheeks through the panes of a large picture window overlooking a pristine fescue pasture, propped open by an ancient textbook with a mildewed spine. He tensed and flexed the muscles in his back, tan skin rippling pleasurably from buttocks to shoulders as he rolled onto his back, one hand scratching his washboard abs and fiddling with the button on his jeans.
“Huhuhuhuhuh.” Something whispered from outside the window.
“Shuddup.” Logan groaned, and fisted his hands into the soft-denim patchwork quilt tightly. The scratchy denim of his starched Wranglers rubbed irritatingly across his skin. At least he’d remembered to take his belt buckle off the night before. Tapping toenails clickety-clacked down his hallway, and with a mighty “whoosh” a forty pound cattle dog leapt onto his chest, depositing a kiss directly in his vulnerable ear.
“YEOW, Rylie!” Logan yelped, wiping slobber from his ear as his blue merle heeler was joined by her best friend, a terrier mix named Scruffy, who set about grooming his chest hairs as if he had fleas. “Gerroffome dogs!” he growled, eyes still shut, and flailing his hands ineffectually against the friendly onslaught of wake-up-wake-up-wake-up from his loyal companions.
“Huhuhuhuh.” The sound echoed through the bedroom, and Logan opened bleary, bloodshot eyes to see his horse, Pistol’s, head, inside his room via the open window. Pistol whickered again, snorting noisily and bobbing his head up-and-down. His tawny yellow coat was coated in bits of dust and dirt, most likely from wallowing in his favorite sandy spot in the early morning sunlight. His messy, black forelock had bits of hay and sandspurs tangled in it, foreshadowing a lengthy grooming in Logan’s future.
“Okay, okay! I’m up!” Logan yelped as Scruffy set about attacking his denim clad knees beneath the covers, teeth nibbling along merrily in typical terrorist…terrier fashion.
Groaning, he rolled sideways, running a hand through his messy morning hair and stretching, hands widespread above his head. Logan staggered towards his favorite leather chair, gently lifting a sleeping kitten from atop the seat and plopping it into his lap, where it mewled discontentedly, stretched, and trotted off to sit on his dresser in typical aloof cat fashion. Reaching for his worn work boots, Logan leaned over to hook them on. Pistol took advantage of this by whuffling his lips in Logan’s hair, nibbling in affectionate horsey fashion. Shooting narrowed eyes at Pistol, Logan shook his head and smiled, patted the horse on the nose, and stood up.
“Who wants breakfast?” he asked, one eyebrow up. Every set of animal ears in earshot responded with an excited, uproarious chorus of neighs, snorts, barks, meows, whickers, and baaaas. Pistol ducked his head out of the window, and Logan smiled as thundering hooves pounded towards the barn.
Walking shirtless down the hall, Logan carefully avoided stepping on the paws of his menagerie as Scruffy and Rylie danced around him, Rylie doing little bunny hops of doggie excitement.
“You’d think you’d never been fed before.” Logan grumped as he walked into the mudroom. He dumped a cup of Purina 1 in two ceramic bowls, then filled the various chipped cups and saucers on top of the washer and dryer with cat food.
“Don’t know why I feed you lot anyways,” he muttered, “You’re supposed to be out catching rats!”
Opening the door, Logan stood to the side as his cat rodeo ducked inside, toms, tabbies, and calicos all jostling for a place to eat. Stepping outside onto his screened in porch, Logan inhaled the sweet scent of the Appalachians, cool, early morning mountain air kissing his skin. The promise of North Carolina’s customary summer heat and humidity was certain. The heat made the log timbers that held up the porch smelled deliciously of heart pine, and he reached towards the timber that held his favorite, broken in straw cowboy hat.
Plopping it atop his head unceremoniously, Logan opened the screened door, letting it slam behind him as he stepped out into his yard.
“You’re up late!” a cheerful yell, accompanied by hoof beats, came from the fence line. Logan looked up and grinned broadly. It was Marie. Her hair was pulled back into a bouncy ponytail underneath her black riding helmet, a far-too-large chino work shirt covering a white tank top tucked into denim blue jeans. Ariat work boots covered her feet, which swung comfortably on each side of her liver chestnut tobiano gelding, Bear, whom she was riding bareback. Marie squeezed Bear’s sides, and the horse broke into an easy, slow lope, cantering up the dirt driveway, dust blowing away behind him. The horse’s white-and-black streaked mane blew in the wind, his dark tail streaming out behind him. Lime green splint boots protected his legs, and a leather, one-earred work bridle covered his pink, rope halter.
“Maybe your just up too early, darlin’,” Logan drawled. He was surprised how much his gruff, Canadian accent had faded in the ten years he had lived in the mountains of North Carolina. Marie lived two farms over in Swain county. He’d met her at a rodeo when she was just 13, running her sorrel quarter-pony through the barrels at blazing speeds. He’d had a soft spot for the kid from the beginning. Her family situation was bad – Mama dead, Daddy drunk, and the little mutant girl left to run the farm on her own.
So he’d helped out, earned some money cleaning up their ranch and getting it back on its feet while using Pistol’s speed and his mutation’s perks to pick up rodeo purse after rodeo purse, as well as the occasional cage fight for extra cash. And luckily, the little girl he regarded as a younger sister never questioned where the extra five or six hundred dollars came from each month, nor did she bother him about it. When his little gal Marie turned 18 and went off to Western Carolina to get a degree in animal husbandry and business management, Logan’s accumulated funds had been enough to buy the old Fuller place a mile down the road and a little ways up the mountain -- a hundred acres including a house, cabin, and gabled barn, as well as supplementing Marie’s textbook fund.
He never thought Marie would come back. Figured she’d head off to the big city, fall in love, or find her fortunes elsewhere in the world. When her Daddy died from alcohol poisoning her final semester of college though, that little girl had blown back into town, and back into his life like a whirlwind.
Logan remembered going to her Daddy’s funeral, ready to comfort the little girl he’d watch grow up. Instead, he was greeted by a young woman. A young, beautiful woman. She had on a black sundress -- all legs, pale, pale skin, hair flowing around her like a curtain. And when she peeled off her black satin gloves, black fingernails glinting in the pale light of the funeral home and flung her arms around his neck trustingly...
She was a sight for sore eyes.
Logan, of course, had not changed at all in the time she was gone. Eternally thirty. Actually a hundred and twenty. And in love with a girl who was first-life twenty-three and unable to physically touch someone for more than five minutes.
Benjamin Button didn’t even have life this hard.
But how to segue from father-figure to lover was a difficult process. Marie, somehow or another, had been the actual instigator of their current situation, which was to ride over for “contact” lessons several days a week while simultaneously helping Logan out around the ranch, since he was the only mutant besides a few other ne’er do wells that could survive prolonged contact, and well, he needed help around the ranch.
She clattered to a stop a few feet from him, and Logan reached out one tan and calloused hand to run a finger over the rope halter. “A pink halter, Marie?” Logan asked, hand scratching behind his head. “He already has no balls, now you’re making him wear pink?”
“Men can wear pink,” Marie said, winking at him and tugging on the lapels of the pink-plaid work shirt. “This is yours, by the way, you left it at Fred’s the other night.”
She swung a leg over, sitting on Bear like a sofa, then slid all the way to the ground. An over the shoulder, slouchy leather bag opened to produce two chilled cans of diet Dr. Pepper and a ziplock bag of crackerjacks. Logan reached out and took the one that she offered to him, popping the top and almost inhaling the caffeinated beverage, then dug his fingers into Marie’s after-breakfast snack.
“Hey!” she yelped.
“Finder’s keepers.” Logan said, smirking through a mouth of caramel covered popcorn.
Rolling her eyes, Marie unhooked the curb strap on Bear’s bridle, then slid it off of his head, looping the reins and patting him on the butt as he trotted off into the open pasture next to the drive, whereupon she shut the red metal gate behind him.
Logan took the bridle from her, hanging it on a horse shoe shaped hook by the door, then stepped towards Marie to tug playfully on the work shirt that hung almost to her knees, making her scoot towards him. One finger trailed upwards to the helmet on her head, which he unsnapped, then lifted from her head.
“Nice helmet-head,” he laughed, popcorn bits spraying on her freckled cheeks, then ducked behind her to yank the pink shirt tail up over her head.
“Logan! You jerk!” Marie wiggled out of the work shirt and dropped it on the ground.
“Hey, I like that shirt!” Logan yelped, ducking down to grab the fabric before one of his many animals (many of which Marie had convinced him to keep or forced him to adopt from the local pound) stepped on it.
Hands on her hips, Marie laughed at him, then took off running up the path to the barn. Pistol and Bear, reunited in the pasture after a few days away from each other, both neighed and ran after her, easily beating her to the top of the hill.
Barks and yips signaled the renewed presence of Rylie and Scruffy, who danced around Logan as he trotted up behind her. Lifting a pitch fork, he trudged towards Pistol and Bear, whose heads hung over the gate as Marie scooped feed into two feeder troughs. Logan lifted a bale of coastal hay up on his shoulder, then popped his claws to split the baling twine. Once the hay string was gone, he chunked Bear and Pistol two pats of hay each, which they meandered to after woofing down their grain.
“So, you riding in the rodeo Saturday night?” Marie called, peeking her head over Pistol’s dutch door. An ergonomic pitch fork full of fresh manure rested in her white-and-black work gloved hands. She dumped it in the nearest wheel barrow, then moved to the next stall, where Pickle, a yearling shetland pony, nibbled mischievously at her belt loops.
“Since when have Pistol and I missed a rodeo?” Logan teased, “He’s sixteen, just getting into his prime!” Stepping into the tack room, Logan lifted two bags of sawdust over his shoulders and stepped in to fill the the box stalls with fresh bedding as Pickle was shooed out into the goat pen to play.
“I’m thinking of riding a bull.” Marie said, totally serious, resting her head on folded arms atop the dutch door, which she swung back and forth in the cool mountain breeze.
“You’re shitting me, right?” Logan asked, wiping his forehead with the back of one hand, “What’s wrong with can chasing?”
“Bear is a show horse, Logan,” Marie said, “The barrel racing is good practice, but I’m going to need another horse if I’m going to win. I can’t pay the electric bill on my own, you know, and Bear is trained to lope slow, not fast.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to ride a bull to win the money, Marie.” Logan said, gruffly, “All you hafta do is ask me, I’ve got plenty to spare.”
“But don’t you think riding a bull would be like an adventure?” Marie said, wistfully.
“One that’ll get your neck broken.” Logan replied doggedly as he fluffed Pistol’s bedding. “If you need money that bad, and don’t want to take mine,” he growled, his feral, possessive side peeping through his normally easy-going mannerisms, “Sell your five acres to me, live rent free, it backs right into the woods over there, and has road access. Bank would finance it, easy.”
“It’s all I’ve got, Logan,” Marie protested, running a hand through her hair. “Momma’s buried there, I can’t sell it!”
“Then what’re you gonna do with it, Marie?” Logan asked, trying not to poke a sore spot between the two of them. “I’m not gonna let you live offa pimento cheese and peanut butter when you could be eating steak and broccoli at my place.”
Marie stuck out her lower lip, which trembled just a bit. “I don’t wanna hafta live off of charity, Logan.” One sun freckled, petite hand brushed at her eyes angrily and tugged her bangs down so it was hard to see them.
Dropping the pitchfork and shavings, Logan walked until he stood on the other side of the door. His rough, ungloved fingers lifted her chin, skin-on-skin, they’d worked so hard for that.
“Look at me, Marie,” Logan practically purred. Her brown eyes shot upwards to lock onto his hazel ones, watery from emotion.
“It’s not charity, darlin’, I wanna help you because...” he paused, gulped, and tried to find the right words, “Well, just because.”
One slim eyebrow quirked upwards, slightly interested. Marie pursed her lips thoughtfully, “When you say ‘just because’ it’s normally because either you can’t say what you’re thinking or you really don’t give a damn.”
“Marie,” Logan warned, as she slid out from behind the door like a cat ready to pounce on a mouse, “Don’t push it.”
“But I thought you wanted to help me?” she asked, innocently twisting one foot in the sand. One arm held the other behind her back, and even though he was being totally serious about this, Logan couldn’t help but notice the way her breasts pushed forwards perkily when she did it.
Oh, I’d help you outta that tank top right about now. Logan thought, then mentally slapped himself. Control, Logan, control.
She stepped closer until her gloved hands rested on his bare forearms, her stomach pressed against his own naked abs. Her head tilted upwards to look at him, bits of hay and shavings dusting her bangs and ponytail. “Are we gonna practice touchin’ today?” Marie asked, innocently tracing one finger along the back of his wrist.
“You’ve got hay on your cheek,” Logan whispered, hat shading them both as he leaned in closer. His hot breath tickled her skin, and her eyelids fluttered shut in response.
Marie felt his forefinger and thumb pluck the hay off, and then his breath was gone, those lips that had almost touched hers disappeared, he backed away, and turned back to the shavings, adjusting his britches as he went, back muscles tense.
Damn. She scowled, then turned to grab a bucket of goat feed. Stubborn man.
But she needs to feel that fire
The one that lets her know for sure
She’s everything I want and more
Her real desire
Is to know I’d walk alone out on a wire
To make her feel that fire
She wants a cabin in the woods
She wants to stand where nobody’s stood
And someday she wants a couple kids of her own
She wants to make love on a train
Somedays she only wants a break
Hey she knows what she wants
Marie leaned back against Logan’s bare chest as they sat in his hot tub that evening. Her feet were propped up over the edge, and her toes -- painted with black polish -- gleamed under the just twinkling stars as the sun dipped down below the mountains.
“You staying tonight?” Logan asked, trailing one bare finger along her freckled skin, water droplets drip-drip-dropping back into the tub as he propped his feet atop on of those massaging-type vents.
“I guess so, little too dark to be headed home now. Plus, we already bedded Bear, Pickle, and Pistol down for the night.” Marie responded, sleepily.
“Alright, little lady,” Logan said, standing up in the hot tub and stepping out onto the open air front porch. “Out you go, no sleeping in the tub, you could drown, plus, storms rolling in.” he scolded, nodding towards clouds that trickled towards them on the horizon.
Marie stood up, handing him both of her bare hands -- her control was excellent these days, Logan noted -- and hopped out of the tub. Her feet slipped on the wet deck timbers, but Logan swept her up into his arms before she could fall.
“See, that’s how close to drowning you were,” Logan teased as he set her down on the dry deck and they toweled themselves off vigorously.
“I’m sure, thanks Mom.” Marie said, winding her towel up and snapping it ridiculously close to Logan’s exposed thigh.
“You really wanna play that game?” Logan said, shaking his eyebrows suggestively, winding his towel tight as she nervously ducked towards the screen door that led into the house.
SNAP!
Logan’s towel hit mid-air as Marie dashed inside, squealing, Scruffy and Rylie barking noisily and nipping at Logan’s heels as he chased after her into the cabin. Marie ducked into the guest room and into the double-doored bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
But Logan, quick as he was, managed to dart around to the opposite door that you entered through the master bedroom and stepped inside right as she turned around to dash out the door. Bathing suits still mostly dripping wet, he popped the towel in mid-air near Marie’s arm, then ducked backwards into a puddle as she attempted to swing her towel towards him, but stepped on it instead.
In the confusion, Logan slipped backwards as Marie tripped forwards.
And somehow, they tumbled together in a heap, Marie straddling his hips in her sensible one-piece navy swimsuit, her hands on his chest as Logan rubbed his now aching head gingerly.
“Are you alright?” she asked, a half-grin on her face. He knew that she knew that that was a silly question -- he healed quicker than most people clotted blood.
He grinned toothily, and reached up to grasp one of Marie’s wrists that played nervous circles on his stomach with his hand, thrusting his hips accidentally upwards in the process. “That tickles,” he grumbled, trying to ignore the jolt of pleasure that shot through him during that innocent motion.
“Oh!” Marie gasped, half-lidded eyes looking sideways as a she flushed from neck to hairline in embarrassment.
“Sorry, Marie,” Logan began, but was cut off when she rocked her hips experimentally into his own. Then he shut the hell up.
Mainly because he couldn’t speak.
Rocking forwards again, Marie cocked her head to the side, then reached up with one hand to pull her hair out of its pony tail, letting gently curling ringlets fall down around her shoulders and breasts. “Tell me,” Marie purred, picking up on their unfinished conversation from earlier that morning, “Just because why?”
“Nope.” Logan squeaked out, trying not to let his eyes roll back into his frazzled head which contained a brain overloaded with synapse misfirings and general lack of blood flow.
“See, I was thinking,” Marie said, leaning forward to nibble on Logan’s collarbone, “I was thinking that the reason I resent your help so much,” she paused and gasped as he rocked into her a little more enthusiastically this time, “Is not because I don’t want it, it’s because...because I don’t know what I’d do without it.” she finished, somewhat lamely.
Logan grabbed her hips with his hands, then pulled himself forward into a sitting position, Marie’s legs tangled up behind him as he held her tightly. Her breasts heaved against his chest, and all Logan could think about was want-want-want-want-want, and all Marie could think about was need-need-need-need-need-need.
“Logan?” Marie managed to ask, hands gripping his back, fingernails dragging along his skin. Then she was moving, hauled up into powerful arms that dropped her gently on his unmade bed as he shooed the dogs out of the room, the door to the master bedroom closing gently. Marie scooted backwards until her head rested against the headboard, one swimsuit strap slipping down her shoulder to expose the top of a creamy breast.
An audible growl sounded in the room as thunder rumbled outside, the lights flickering and going out, cool wind whooshing through the still cracked window accompanied by the sound of gentle rain. Lightning flashed, silhouetting Logan, who stood at the end of the bed, one hand running through his hair anxiously.
The room went dark again, and Marie felt and heard, rather than saw, Logan as he crept from the foot of the bed until he loomed over her crouched on his knees and hands, breathing heavily. Another flash of lightning illuminated his eyes, and despite the bestial behavior he was exuding, Marie caught a glimpse of the just because why that he hadn’t been able to enunciate that morning.
He loved her.
He was afraid of losing her. Wanted her land so he could bind her tightly to him through a tie of mutual ownership if she didn’t return his feelings.
But she loved him.
Had loved him since the day he picked her up off of her momma’s still too fresh grave and set her back on her feet, gave her a future. Waited for her.
Waited ten years for her.
That was a helluva long time to wait.
Marie leaned forward, her hands cupping his cheeks. He still looked wild in the flashing light, and she tugged him lower, until her lips met his.
She coaxed him into that first kiss, could almost feel the way he was coiled tight like a spring when her tongue slid out to stroke his lips, asking for entrance. And gently he obliged, the kiss turning from awkward to passionate as he settled himself over her. She spread her legs, and he slid his hips in between hers, gently grinding against her as he fumbled with her swimsuit, finally resorting to slicing it off with a claw from leg holes to shoulder straps, letting it fall from her skin in two halves.
His trunks received the same treatment, and suddenly they were both bare, naked, and trembling against one another as Logan placed gentle kisses along Marie’s collar bone, suckling on her breasts, devouring her like a feast, winding her tight like that proverbial spring until she could barely hang on to the control she possessed over her skin.
“Please,” she whispered, one leg wrapping around the back of his knee, the other caught up around his hip as he dragged his fingers along her soft skin. She felt the tip of him as he parted her slick folds, and she almost begged out loud when he rocked forward slightly, hesitantly.
“Don’t stop,” Marie gasped, teeth tugging on his ear.
Logan sank into her slowly, one hand sliding up to lace fingers with her, the other supporting his weight as he set up a slow, steady rhythm that fanned the flames of their fiery passion. Marie kissed him, suckling on his neck, and reveling in the feeling that they were the only two people in the world, wrapped up tightly in a cocoon of love and acceptance, the only sounds in the room the slow smack of his hips into the backs of her thighs, their heavy breathing, and gasping moans.
Her hips rocked into his own, and Marie slipped her hand between them to tease her pleasure center, her muscles clenching around him as it pushed her over the edge, her legs dragging him down until she felt like they had truly become one, and he shuddered, thrusting sporadically, then pushing as far as he could go, his seed pouring inside of her.
“Oh,” Marie cried softly, “oh, oh, oh, Logan.”
Seeing her tears, Logan’s hands came up to touch her cheeks, her hips still holding him tightly inside her. “Are you okay?” he murmured, desperately.
“Yes, yes, I’m happy.” Marie laughed, “Oh, I’m so happy.”
Logan grinned then, a truly, beautiful grin instead of his normal snarky smirk. “So can I persuade you to sell me your land now?” he asked, teeth closing around her earlobe, making her moan breathlessly.
“Only if you pay me in kisses,” Marie growled, legs pulling him closer. She could feel him hardening within her, and rocked against him teasingly.
“You drive a hard bargain,” he purred, flexing his hips slightly and beginning to move inside her again, “But I think that can be arranged.”
“Oh, I’m gonna wear you out, sugar,” Marie moaned, then leaned up to collect the first of many payments.
And I know, I know, I know
She needs to feel that fire
The one that lets her know for sure
She’s everything I want and more
Her real desire
Is to know I’d walk alone out on a wire
To make her feel that fire
So as long as there’s a breath to take
A smile to share
A prayer to prayer
A chance to hold her hand to fan the flames
She’s going to feel that fire
The one that lets her know for sure
She’s everything I want and more
Her real desire
Is to know I’d walk alone out on a wire
Yeah to make her feel that fire
Feel that fire
She wants her nails painted black
She wants the toy in the crackerjack
She wants to ride the bull at the rodeo
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Feel that Fire
A/N: So this goes out to LoganMcGraw, inspiration being, of course Dierks Bentley’s “Feel that Fire.” I love country music (I’m a huge country and classic rock fan), but I hadn’t actually heard this song so I had to go download it to get the feel for it. Guest appearances in this story are being made by Bear and Pistol. Bear is my six year old APHA gelding and show horse (trained him myself! :D I love him so very very much!!), and Pistol is a buckskin quarter horse gelding, world champion calf-roping horse. (My primary hobby in life is horseback riding) On to the story! (P.S. my doggies are also guest starring)
A/N: So this goes out to LoganMcGraw, inspiration being, of course Dierks Bentley’s “Feel that Fire.” I love country music (I’m a huge country and classic rock fan), but I hadn’t actually heard this song so I had to go download it to get the feel for it. Guest appearances in this story are being made by Bear and Pistol. Bear is my six year old APHA gelding and show horse (trained him myself! :D I love him so very very much!!), and Pistol is a buckskin quarter horse gelding, world champion calf-roping horse. (My primary hobby in life is horseback riding) On to the story! (P.S. my doggies are also guest starring)