Sinfully Mastered: Naughty Nookie

by Akeroyd, Serena

  “He isn’t a good man. Like everyone on this goddamn ranch, he lives to his own rules. But this time, he’s gone against tradition. Blue Ridge has never bred horses and if he hadn’t spent so much money on it, we wouldn’t be continuing with the damned project. As it is, I have no choice and you, Jase, can show me what’s so great about Uncle Sam’s dream.”

  That being said, I storm off and when I fail to hear Jase’s footsteps fall into line with my own, I spin on my heel, prop my hands on my hips and grit out, “Well?”

  As he rushes forward to do my bidding, a part of me takes note that Nate would never have leaped to do as I said. Even before I realized he had Dominant traits. He’d have cocked his eyebrow, studied me for a moment and shot me a look that patently said, ‘If I’m going to comply, it’s because it has to be done and not because you ordered me to do it.’ I could never be a brat where Nate’s concerned.

  Only now, when I look back, do I see that look is the look. His ‘I’m in charge’ stare. Only a couple of months into this lifestyle and already it makes me want to melt.

  With Jase at my side, we bound down the stairs together and as we do, the scent of wood polish and air freshener makes me sneeze. Someone overkilled on the lavender spray. Taking a step out of the house, I suck in a fresh breath of air and stride across the yard.

  The commune is arranged in a geometrical pattern. Of course, my great granddaddy was a mathematician, so there’s probably some kind of trigonometrical reason for the layout of the land too. The yard separating the buildings is shaped like a triangle. One point has the homestead, another point a barn, another point outhouses filled with all the paraphernalia required on a ranch this size, but that has no real storage home.

  The homestead is one point in four different triangles, making it the heart of Blue Ridge. Another triangle is the homestead, the studios, the laboratory. Another one, the mess hall and the dormitories as well as the ranch house. The final one, the stables interconnect with a small cluster of bungalows where the married folk live, and as always, connected to the house.

  Sound complicated? Yeah, it is. You don’t really take note of the design and layout until you fly overhead and then, it’s near as dammit a perfect circle in the middle of thousands of acres of land dotted with our beef herd.

  The yards dissecting the buildings are all pathologically neat. Someone cuts the grass to a regulated height. Flowerbeds are in the heart of the land, each one neatly tended, not a weed in sight. Sometimes, there are herb gardens. Vegetable patches. The one commonality? Neatness. Anal retention to a degree that even Eddie couldn’t complain.

  It could be quite claustrophobic, living amidst such perfection, but I’m used to it. Nothing changes. Except the flora from season to season.

  Pumpkins, beets, radishes, potatoes…they’re currently growing away on one patch. We’ve had uncommonly mild weather, so the basil and mint is still holding its own in the herb gardens. Just. And finally, we’re harvesting the last hardy blueberries, raspberries, and huckleberries. Size wise, each plot of tended land is about the size of a basketball court.

  We have other gardens dotted here and there over the spread. Some places where the weather is mild thanks to protection from a large copse of trees or from a hill. Then, we’ve one close to the river that dissects the ranch. There are eight in all outside the heart of Blue Ridge and amidst the wide-open spaces of the acreage.

  As I pass a horde of basil, my nose twitches in delight. The fresh, floral notes are a relief after the false lavender scent in the homestead.

  The pair of us are silent as we cross the yard, but it’s nearing the mid-afternoon break, where people can enter the mess for coffee or tea with a sandwich, soup or cake. It’s inevitable that we happen upon folk, and I grit my teeth and bear the smiles and waves.

  One glare from Lucy Devenish has me jolting with surprise. We never got on as girls, she was up her own ass, so proud of the fact she could speak six languages fluently before she turned nine that she never let anyone forget it. She lives on the ranch, but she flies out, on loan to several colleges as well as some government departments for her linguistic talents. At nine, she didn’t stop learning languages. At last count, she’s broaching thirteen.

  And we’re not talking French or Spanish here. We’re talking Arabic and Russian and all the other damned complicated languages out there. I’m not complaining. She’s a stuck up bitch, but she makes Blue Ridge a fortune.

  Despite my anger at Jase’s defense of Uncle Sam’s indefensible behavior, I can’t help but mutter, “What the hell’s got her goat?”

  The last time I’d seen her, she’d been all false smiles, but basically friendly.

  “She had her sights on Nate.”

  I snort at the idea of Nate wanting Lucy. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a beautiful girl. All long blonde hair and legs that don’t quit, but she isn’t Nate’s sort. I might be a pain in the rear, but I tell it how it is. If I’m pissed off, you know it. I do lie, it’s my second nature to protect and defend myself, but I’m not false. And for the most part, I try to lead a quiet life. Ignore the fact my boyfriend has just been shot by the Russian mob for a second. Until those bastards got involved with Papillon, my line of work was as boring as anyone else’s. There were just more moans and groans in mine.

  Lucy is a backstabber. Whenever she wants something, it’s for herself. She never wants to help anyone else.

  Blue Ridge works on a tithing system. We provide all materials, all course work, any and everything to our people and in return, we take seventy per cent of whatever a body earns.

  Bearing in mind, for the majority of childhood, each kid is worthless; we still invest in their future. We home, protect, feed, clothe, and educate them.

  Families are on allowances so their kids don’t miss out. Single folks have spending restrictions, but they can buy whatever the hell they want with the money they earn.

  And the wages aren’t to be sniffed at. Three times the average US worker’s wage. They earn that whether they’re productive or not, whether they earn money for the ranch or not. We invest in each person’s intelligence, because their child could be the next Einstein. We look ahead, constantly.

  It’s an infrastructure most people appreciate. Some of the folk on here are millionaires thanks to the tithing system as well as what their inventions have reaped, others have earned more than most Americans could dream without having invented a damned thing. They’re not rich, but way above average incomes.

  It’s rare for anyone to complain. In the past ten years, two people have. One of them was Lucy. The other was Uncle Sam, but he was just messing me around. Lucy wasn’t. She bitched that her work was off-ranch and as such, hers to keep. It didn’t matter that we pay for her rent or her first class air fares when she flies around the world. We feed her, be she here or abroad. Her clothes are bought with her clothing allowance. Her training, college degrees, all of them were funded by Blue Ridge. On average, we invest over six hundred thousand dollars into each person on the ranch. We’ve spent nearly double that on her college courses alone.

  That’s a huge sum of money to put into one person, but Lucy doesn’t care about that. She doesn’t give a shit that we need to take a cut of her earnings for the entire project to continue. She’s selfish. Thinks of no one but herself.

  “I can just imagine how that went down. I’d say she has as much chance with Nate as you do.”

  Jase chuckles at my amused remark. “As far as I know, it developed pretty quickly. She got back from Brussels after some conference or other, and it was like she’d never seen Nate before. Ever since then, she’s been hanging out like a fly around horse shit.”

  “Pleasant imagery, Jase.”

  “Just calling it how I see it, Marina. You don’t seem the sort to pull any punches.”

  “No, you’re not wrong there.” He pauses a second, glancing out of the corner of his eye to study me, until I say, “What? If you have a question, just ask.”

&n
bsp; His shrug is sheepish. “It’s just, most women I know, they’d have asked if Nate was as interested in her as she was in him.”

  “I don’t need to ask. Lucy isn’t Nate’s type. She’s way too up her own ass for anything else to fit in.”

  Laughter bursts out of Jase, spraying me with a bit of spit—lovely—as he gasps out, “You did not just say that.”

  “Why not? It’s the truth.”

  Another guffaw bellows out of Jase, a belly-deep laugh that has my own lips twitching. Hell, it’s infectious. Not only that, we now have the entire yard’s population gawking at us. I merely smile at them all, politely nodding my head with as much aplomb as the First Lady, while Jase continues to chuckle.

  “Christ, my belly aches now,” he grumbles around a gasp. As he sucks in a breath, Jase rolls his eyes at me. “You’re not how I thought you’d be, Ms. Denison.”

  “Most people would agree with that statement, Jase.”

  “I should have known you’d be different. Nate isn’t known for settling down.”

  I smile sweetly at him. “I keep him on his toes.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “I’ll bet,” he comments as we step into the stables.

  Immediately, the stench of hay, horse, and manure assail my nostrils. One of these horse’s cum might be worth a small fortune, but that doesn’t mean his shit smells of honey.

  Although in fairness, manure is at the bottom end of the odor scale. As always on Blue Ridge, this place is immaculate. The walkway down the stalls is cleaner than my bathroom; I could probably apply my makeup in the gleam. The low gabled building is a pleasant structure, painted maroon red with glaring white trim. Inside, multi-colored heads bob over the stall doors in greeting. Soft neighs echo around the structure at Jase’s presence.

  Horses are intelligent creatures; in fact, they’re the smartest animals I know. And they know Jase. He hasn’t just popped in for a visit. He’s been here a while. Long enough to ride them, bond with them.

  “How long have you actually worked here, Jase? I know you lied to me that first night. There’s no way in hell you’ve only been here for a season. No BS now. Or lies.” I wonder if that counts as a break of the ‘no curse’ rule.

  “Yeah. No BS.” He scratches his nose, then looks at me, as though gauging my mood. “I’ve been here from inception to conception as it were. Your uncle bought a colt with the intention of using him for stud. But there were immediate complications and Nate brought me in.”

  “Do I need to know what those complications are?”

  He shrugs. “They’re sorted now. Big Boy is the colt’s name and he’s the one who’s going to make Blue Ridge Thoroughbreds renowned for their horses.

  “In his lineage, he has two Triple Crown winners, then countless single wins in the competition, and we’re talking about some of the biggest racing competitions in the world here.

  “His dam’s Sire was Big Baby and he won the Triple Crown twice in a row.”

  “Impressive,” I mumble, continuing to stroke the horse’s head.

  Jase snorts. “It’s more than that. Not only does his pedigree speak for itself, but he won the Kentucky Derby in his second year. His owners had to pull him out of his third year race season thanks to tendonitis and they put him out to stud until Sam bought him last year.”

  “Big Boy? Big Baby? Who the hell names their horse that?”

  He rolls his eyes at me. “There are worse names out there. Believe me. The problem was, Big Boy…well, he didn’t like the ladies. Not at first.”

  We step down the passageway, passing roans, chestnuts, bays, dark bays, and the odd palomino. Each horse we pass, I pat them on the head, and Jase stops to give them a treat from a pouch hanging just outside of the stall for easy access.

  “Trust Uncle Sam to buy a gay colt.”

  “Nah, he wasn’t gay. Just nervous. We had to use a few of the mares in the stock horse stable, some used to mating, until we reined him in. Now, he’s taken to it like a duck to water.”

  “I’ll bet he has.”

  “Yeah, we don’t get many complaints.”

  “So why are you still here? If Big Boy’s studliness is no longer an issue.”

  “Sam invited me to stay on. I just passed the IQ test. One point over the required 135. I manage the stables and the breeding lines. We’ve four mares in foal and six mares are waiting to be bred, when Big Boy decides he’s interested. We don’t like to overtax him.”

  I grunt. “Thought that was every man’s dying wish. More women than he can handle.”

  “Yeah, well, we don’t take Big Boy’s early problems lightly.”

  “What’s his stud fee?”

  “One hundred thousand per mare.”

  I stop. My feet create skid marks in the grass from how quickly I braked. “And we have six mares waiting for him?”

  Jase grins. “Sam wasn’t so wrong, was he?”

  I wave a hand at that. “You don’t know much he’s plowed into this damn thing.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think you can. I’ve seen the final total for the setup costs. Big Boy needs to start getting more hard-ons for chicks.” Shaking my head at the price we’re charging and that people are actually willing to pay, I ask, “Why does he command such high rates?”

  “His heritage. Winning is in his blood. He has a tendency to sire colts, another plus and one of his foals actually won Preakness Stakes and one of the two fillies he’s sired, the Belmont Stakes. That alone is enough to have him commanding higher fees. Do you realize how many fillies have won the Belmont? Three. In nearly two hundred years of the race existing: three. And Big Boy is the sire of the fourth.”

  “Okay, I’m impressed. Show me the one ray of hope for this entire damned project.”

  He shakes his head at my gloomy statement and leads me down to the end stall. There’s a window directly opposite Big Boy, one that overlooks the yard.

  “Cute. He has a room with a view.”

  With a smile, Jase pats the horse on the head and unable to be cranky around one of my favorite animals, I do too. A chestnut, his amber-brown coloring gleams in the light. A white spot blazes between his brown velvet eyes. A peer over the stall lets me see his white socks.

  “Good form.” I’m no expert, but even I can tell Big Boy is a perfect example of his kind. “Seventeen hands?”

  “Good guess. Just under. Beautiful, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah.” I can’t lie.

  “I think your uncle saw Big Boy and this dream just spread out of nowhere.” Jase sighs. “I’d say let the old man have his dream. I know he screwed you over, but from what I can tell, and what I’ve heard, he did you a huge favor by looking after the ranch while you were in New York.”

  “Gossip.” I shake my head. “You’d think, with some of the world’s best minds on site, we’d be above petty gossiping. I don’t dispute, Jason, that my uncle did me a favor. But I didn’t just sit on my ass, you know. There were reasons for my not being able to handle living at Blue Ridge.”

  A hand cups my shoulder, breaking into the tirade aimed Jase’s way, and even though I haven’t seen or heard from him in at least eight years on one of my infrequent visits to the ranch, I spin on my heel the instant the scent of licorice fills my nose.

  “Donald,” I breathe, and with a watery smile, stand on tiptoe to embrace Jimmy’s father. At that moment, Jase and Big Boy cease to exist. “It’s wonderful to see you. Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you,” I tell him, meaning every word.

  “I just got in from a conference in Oslo.” He smiles down at me and the warmth makes me sigh happily. It’s weird how Donald and Molly, Jimmy’s parents, took to me where my own didn’t. “It’s about time you came home, kiddo. Done running?”

  My arms tighten about him, squeezing fiercely. Oh, it’s good to see him. He’s been in the back of my mind for the last few weeks. I asked his lab partners and they’d said he was attending some seminars in Eu
rope.

  Molly died a year after Jimmy did. Heart attack. I didn’t come back for the funeral. I try not to have regrets; they weigh you down, but I do regret my adolescent foolhardiness in not attending. I called Donald, gave him my sympathies. But over the phone, it isn’t the same. It was all I was capable of back then though and he said he understood. He’s still talking to me, hugging me back, so I guess he did. I wish I could forgive myself for being so inconsiderate.

  “Yeah. I’m home for good.”

  “I’m glad. You’re not made for the big cities. You always were a home and hearth kind of girl, even if you moaned about it back when you were a kid.”

  I release him from my tight embrace and smile up at him again. Jimmy looked just like Donald. They could have been twins, crossing the generation. The son hadn’t shared his father’s genius, just his appearance. Tall, sandy-blond hair, lanky, lean. His craggy face is attractive, lined with the wear and tear of life. Molly and Donald had been a love match; some folk on the ranch married with their genes in mind. Not Jimmy’s parents. And some of the bitches said that was why Jimmy had lacked their genius-level IQs.

  Not in my hearing, mind.

  With my hands still on his shoulders, I jump, when someone clears their throat. Spotting him out of the corner of my eye, brightly, I remark, “Nate,” and hold out my hand for him.

  He eyes the hand I'm resting on Donald’s shoulder, but making no comment, allows our fingers to connect. The instant they do, his curl into mine.

  Donald’s smile is rueful. “Ah, so Nate brought you back. Jimmy would be pleased, Marina. He wanted you to be happy.”

  Nate frowns. “You're Jimmy’s father?”