I first met Jack Reynolds the day I moved into the large boarded up house on Hwy 87. My Grandfather Jonathan Summours had died in a car accident ten years earlier leaving my Grandmother Eleanor truly alone for the first time in her life and increasingly lonely as each year passed. My Dad's family had owned and successfully managed one of the larger ranches in that area and knowing how much the ranch had meant to my Grandfather and my Dad, Grammy had stayed in the house, determined to make it work. Running the business was difficult at first, but with the help of her neighbor and old friend Jack Reynolds, she was able to keep it operating and more importantly profitable.
Grammy passed away almost a year ago, and since then, the house had been vacant.
I remembered the house from my childhood and the many wonderful summers that my cousins and I had spent running through the house, playing in the yard, fishing and swimming in the large pond behind the house. I would never forget the delicious summer barbeques and large, noisy family gatherings; it was a very special place, and I had to admit that my Grandmother leaving the house to me came as an unanticipated surprise.
At the time of her death, I was in the midst of a terribly unhappy marriage. I suppose a divorce was inevitable, but I still held out hope that my then husband Martin and I could save our marriage, and the last thing on my mind was moving south and taking on the responsibility of an old house. A year went by, and the fighting, yelling, and animosity continued. Finally, I had had enough. Fortunately, Martin wanted out as much as I did and the divorce proceeded without any major problems. As soon as it became final, Martin bought me out of my share of our house; I packed up my things, loaded them into my car and started driving. After almost three days on the road, I pulled into the winding driveway of the house that held so many memories.
I sat there behind the wheel and without knowing quite why I began to cry. Maybe it was thinking about Grammy; maybe it was the final release of tension from the divorce. Hell, maybe it was just the realization that a new door was opening for me.
As I sat there blubbering, a loud but measured tapping on the driver's side window pulled me from my momentary funk, and I looked up to see a big, tall man wearing a cowboy hat. Standing next to the car with an aggressively impatient expression on his sharp featured, leathery face his fist came down hard on the roof of the car. I sat there silently staring at him until he began tapping on the window again.
"Hey! You can't stop here. What do you want?" he shouted in a loud, gruff voice.
Now angry and refusing to let him intimidate me, with all my strength I pushed the car door open, forcing him to step back and I got out of the car.
"My name is Miranda Summours . . . I own this place. Who the hell are you?" I demanded, indignation dripping from each word.
A look of surprise momentarily flickered across his face before being replaced with a stern no nonsense demeanor. The man was about forty with thick dark hair that was just beginning to gray. Hard bodied, broad shoulders, flat muscled stomach and slim hips, he towered over me. The man took a step toward me, coming so close I felt as if he were about to pin me to the car door. So close, I could smell the faint scent of fading cologne, tobacco, and sweat that clung to him.
"So, you're Miranda?" He asked, taking in my body in a slow lecherous scan that made me feel vulnerable and exposed.
"My name's Jack Reynolds; I was good friends with your Dad when we were growing up and got closer to his parents, your grandparents after he went off to college and moved away."
He was standing too close, practically leaning over me now.
"I spent a lot of time working for your Grandmother after her husband died, coming by here checking on her, helping her run the ranch. She talked about you often. I caught a glimpse of you at her funeral, but we didn't get a chance to talk. I was surprised when you didn't show up to claim the house. When I realized the house was going to be left vacant, after a while I came by and decided it was better to board it up, you know, to keep the animals and vagrants out."
I squirmed away from him, my breast brushing hard across his chest as I did so.
"Well, thank you for being there for her," I began before realizing that he was staring at my chest. I glanced down and saw to my chagrin my nipples were standing hard and erect under my thin blouse, my involuntary excitement obvious. Blushing with embarrassment, I turned abruptly and headed for the house.
*****
Unlocking the front door, I entered and stood in the foyer silently looking about the lower floor, flooded by long ago memories of a happy childhood, spent with loving grandparents. The quiet of the moment was interrupted when Jack came up behind me and stood so close I could feel the warmth of this body.
"The house is yours," he said in a matter of fact tone.
"It's going to take some work to get it back in shape after being empty for so long, he added, but I'll have a couple of the boys come over to help you out until you're settled in."
"Thank you Mr. Reynolds, but you don't have to . . ." I began nervously before he dismissed my objection with a wave of his hand.
"Well, thank you anyway," I said as he walked away and headed back to his truck.
That was our first meeting.
True to his word, early the next morning Jack and two of his men arrived and began repairing the roof. It took the majority of the spring, but by early summer, the grounds were cleaned up, repaired and looking like it had during those summers when I would come to visit.
I liked being here. I discovered I enjoyed gardening and caring for the odd mix of animals (brood of chickens, two sheep, three horses, two dogs and three cats). As the weather continued to warm and the days grew longer, I also found that I liked and enjoyed Jack's company. We fell into a pattern where most afternoons, he would stop by to move something, fix something often staying for dinner. After dinner, we'd sit and talk, him eventually opening up about his growing relationship with my Grammy after the death of my grandfather. As for me, I found myself confiding closely held feelings about my often sexually abusive marriage, my final decision to divorce my ex-husband and to move here.
There were qualities of strength, experience, and kindness about Jack that pulled me to him like a magnet. Despite our contentious first meeting, my feelings, in the beginning, had been just a growing affection much as it would be for a daughter toward her father. As time went on, I began to know him better and to appreciate him for the man that he was. Those feelings slowly began to change. I wanted him and felt attracted to him as a woman would for a man. Sadly, as my feelings intensified, I could sense Jack trying halfheartedly to maintain a distance between us.
Coming out of one bad relationship, I certainly had not intended to enter into another one, particularly with Jack, a man almost twenty years my senior. Emotionally I think I understood why I felt this way, but physically, sexually, my body ached whenever he was near. It had gotten to the point where one night I awoke, prone on my bed, my body covered in a light sweat and a large pillow under my hips. I could feel a warm, wet pulsing between my legs and immediately knew what I had been doing. In my sleep, I had been humping, rubbing myself against the pillow until I had cum in a warm, soft orgasm. I had only been with one man sexually, my ex-husband Martin, but to my surprise, I realized that increasingly, my nights were filled with restless sleep and masturbation as I dreamed of Jack making love to me.
*****
Despite his unspoken and halfhearted efforts not to touch or encourage me, the physical desires on both our parts were undeniable.
The physical intimacies between us started slowly. One afternoon I was outside in my small orchard picking apples from the now heavily fruit laden tree that had flourished in the rear yard for many years. Jack who was always so cautious and controlled, quietly came up behind me. I gasped in surprise when he slipped his hands under my t-shirt and began to fondle my naked breasts. I sank back against his broad, hard chest as an electric tingling traveled from my nipples downward to my clit making me wet with desire for him. Jack kissed me hard and demandingly as he reached under my skirt and began to pull my panties down. In that moment of weakness, I have no doubt that Jack would have fucked me right there in my garden had not Bobby, one of his workers come looking for him. I'm sure the sexual tension between us had been obvious to others for some time, and when Bobby saw us together, he began to cough self-consciously, as he approached and we broke apart.
Jack left with Bobby and though a bit disgruntled I walked back to the house, disappointed and unsatisfied. Hurrying to my room, I lay across my bed, removed my damp clinging panties and found my sensitive swollen clit. Closing my eyes, I pleased and pleasured myself until the warm waves of orgasm flooded through me as I whispered his name, "Jack . . . Jack".
*****
After several more weeks of kissing, petting and fondling the frustration and tension were unbearable. One night while sitting out on the porch talking, I blurted out to Jack that I wanted to have sex with him. He gave me a not very fatherly kiss and told me that it wouldn't be right. He kept saying how sorry he was, that our age difference, his relationships with my Dad and my Grandparents weighted heavily on him, and he had decided that sexual intimacy between us would be wrong.
I was hurt and confused, "I don't care, I don't care, Jack," I screamed at him.
"You've been feeling me up, masturbating and fondling me for weeks. Why wasn't it wrong when I sucked your cock . . . why wasn't it wrong then?" Even as I yelled at him, I could see an erection growing in his pants that he tried to hide.
