Master of Freedom: A Mountain Masters Novella

by Cherise Sinclair

  When he finally released her, his hand was squeezing her ass, and she was dizzy and hot.

  She might have to rethink her stance on those public displays. Sex education for children shouldn’t occur in grocery stores.

  “Now you can go. And I’ll see you tomorrow.” Atticus’s gaze roamed over her face, and his lips quirked. With a final caress of her cheek, he headed down the aisle, leaving her staring after him.

  Men—walking, talking proof that God is a sadist.

  Distracted as all get out, she took twice as long as normal to finish shopping. As she went through checkout, hope was rising in her heart. Maybe Logan or Jake would talk to the women. Would say Gin wasn’t a total bitch.

  Before she even made it out of the store, her cell rang. “Hello?”

  “About time you answered your phone,” Becca said huffily. “How about a girls’ night out, and you can tell us everything.”

  Gin gave a shimmy of delight. “How about a girls’ night in? Can you come to my place? I have two gallons of chocolate chip ice cream I got...before.”

  “Oh. My. You’re certainly in sore need of help. I’ll gather the others—and bring hot fudge syrup.”

  * * * *

  That man. On Thursday, Gin finished vacuuming the carpet in Atticus’s bedroom and rolled her eyes, laughing at herself. The correct word was that Dom.

  For the past week, since her hot tub “interrogation,” Atticus was in her life, either spending the night at her place or taking her—and Trigger—home with him. He constantly asked what she was feeling, why she was doing something, prompting her to search her emotions.

  The man was like a therapist on steroids.

  “What are you up to, babe?” As if her wayward thoughts had summoned him, he appeared in the doorway. He studied her, the vacuum, the cleaned carpet, and shook his head. “No, let me rephrase, why are you cleaning my carpet?”

  “Oh honestly. No, I’m not doing housework because I’m worried you’ll dump me.” She set the vacuum away with a scowl. “Or for the joy of it either. It’s because this morning, I stepped on a piece of some unidentifiable stinky substance.” She wrinkled her nose. “I do believe it came from the floor of the stables.”

  He stared at her a second and burst out laughing.

  Heavens, she loved that. Open, hearty laughter wasn’t heard nearly often enough in the prison—and Atticus had a deep, wonderful, infectious laugh.

  “As the homeowner, I should inspect to make sure you did a thorough job.”

  What? The floor was spotless. “Oh, really. And how exactly are you planning to do that?”

  “Piece of cake.” He unbuttoned her shirt. “I’ll put you on your back on the carpet and apply some…weight. When we’re through, I’ll check your skin, and if you have any dents from dirt, I’ll spank you and let you vacuum it again.”

  “Spank me. Oh, you best not even try—”

  His mouth silenced her, and then he pulled her shirt up to tie it over her head, blindfolding her.

  An hour later, she tried to tell him the “dent” on her bottom was from his teeth, but he spanked her anyway…using his fingers every few swats so effectively that she came twice before he finished with her “punishment.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Her mama would have had a fit to see Gin rest her forearms on the restaurant table and lean forward. But Friday nights at the Mother Lode tended to be noisy, and Becca was telling how their dog Thor had almost given a lodger a heart attack when the man approached the baby.

  It was good to be with friends—especially her three besties with their husbands—or maybe she should say their Doms, cuz boy, when the men were together, the testosterone was thicker than the perfume at a churchwomen’s social.

  Beside Gin was Atticus. To her right were Virgil and Summer; across the table were Logan, Becca, and the baby, as well as Jake and Kallie.

  “You’re right, babe. This is great.” As Atticus signed the check, he used his free hand to steal the last bite of her strudel.

  “Thief,” she said without rancor, far too full to be upset.

  He rubbed his shoulder affectionately against hers. “Like being back with your girlfriends, don’t you.”

  It wasn’t a question. “Yes. I missed them.”

  His smile faded. “Magnolia, no matter what fights we get into, I won’t ask your buddies to choose between us. That’d be a fucking cowardly thing to do.” He tugged her hair. “If I’d known you were avoiding them, we’d have talked sooner. I see I need to watch you more closely.”

  She made a disparaging noise in the back of her throat even as her inner girl wiggled in happiness. “I don’t see how you possibly could.”

  In the dim restaurant, his grin was bright. “I’ll figure out a way. Speaking of which, we need to talk about you starting a journal.”

  “I have one—and it’s for me, not you.”

  His lips twitched. “’Fraid not, babe. D/s journals are what a submissive shares with her Dom. Because sometimes writing is easier than talking. You know all about not sharing, right, little counselor?”

  Trapped. “Listen, you’re not—”

  “Next time, I want to know you’re feeling insecure before I find it out in a grocery store,” he said softly.

  When he talked like that, she wanted to burrow right into him. As his gaze held hers, every smidgen of her resistance dissolved.

  She should learn his technique. The skill would be most useful with her caseload of hardened convicts.

  “Atticus,” Jake said from across the table. “You going on the Search and Rescue climbing day? We could use someone familiar with the rigging.”

  “Sure.”

  Gin stiffened. “You’re climbing?” she whispered.

  “SAR needs everyone it can get. And those exercises you gave me are helping.” He touched a finger to her cheek. “Don’t worry, darlin’. Even if—when—I can climb without needing to puke, I’ll use gear.”

  Thank you, little baby Jesus.

  A flash of pain showed in his eyes. “You know, I’d planned to quit free soloing, but Bryan was still into it.” He shook his head. “I should have stuck to my guns. Maybe he’d…”

  “Oh, honey. Over the years, I’ve learned that decent people are walking storehouses of regrets.” She tipped her cheek into his palm. “If you’d died and Bryan was the survivor, would you forgive him?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “If Bryan’s ghost could talk, would it blame you?”

  The corner of Atticus’s mouth edged up. “He’d get a kick out of being a ghost—and he never held a grudge in his life.”

  “Well, then.”

  “You have a tender heart, counselor.” He bent down, slanted his mouth over hers, and ran his tongue over her bottom lip, before giving her a leisurely intoxicating kiss. He tasted of dessert, making her think of other treats a woman might have if she tried.

  A baby crying and chairs moving broke them apart.

  “Easy, buddy,” Logan was saying. Ansel’s face was red, fat tears on his cheeks.

  Rebecca plopped a pacifier in Ansel’s mouth. Silence. “Sorry, everyone, but we need to go before the youngest Hunt gets cranky. He takes after his father, you know.” As laughter ran around the table, she bent to pick up the diaper bag from the floor.

  Logan shifted Ansel to his other shoulder and took advantage of her position to run a finger along the top edge of her chemise. “Nice breasts, little rebel. Good thing they keep me—and Ansel—from getting too cranky.”

  Becca rolled her eyes. “You’re the reason those breasts are so big, thank you very much.”

  “And it was my very great pleasure.”

  Gin grinned as she shoved back her chair. In her usual country-urban style, Becca wore faded jeans, fancy stiletto boots, and a flannel shirt unbuttoned far enough to show off her lacy chemise. She’d complained her breasts had increased two sizes with pregnancy, but no man around seemed to mind.

  As Logan stood wit
h Ansel in his arms, the baby was chuckling and kicking his little feet inside the onesie.

  Becca was a lucky, lucky woman.

  Atticus picked up Gin’s coat and saw her watching the baby with a longing expression.

  She wanted children. The knowledge kindled a kindred desire inside him. But one that might take a while to materialize.

  Although she was slowly coming to rely on him, she didn’t yet trust him not to vamoose. Eventually, she’d learn he wasn’t like her previous lovers—or asshole father, for that matter. Time would show her he was honorable and wouldn’t walk away from the woman he loved.

  Loved?

  He froze in place for a moment—and then shook his head ruefully. Snuck right up on him, hadn’t it? But, there it was—the woman he loved.

  Now he had to figure out how to share how he felt without her fleeing the state. Smiling, he helped her into her coat and helped himself to a long hug. His woman gave good hugs.

  Outside, the rain was still pouring down, and after a quick good-bye, Logan and Becca and Ansel, Jake and Kallie headed for their vehicles.

  Under the overhang, Gin was talking to Summer about a proposed shopping trip when Atticus caught her attention. He jerked his chin toward the convenience store across the street. “Didn’t you say you needed dog food for Trigger?”

  “Oh, spit. Yes, I do.”

  Summer eyed the wet street. “I have to make a run too. The bottomless pits called the Masterson men are out of milk and—horror of horrors—chips. You wouldn’t believe the way they go through junk food.”

  “I can’t believe you cook for them.” Gin pulled up her hood.

  “Everyone takes a turn, and each of the guys has a specialty—like Morgan does all the Asian foods. But the cleaning? Oh, God, you should see the messes they make.”

  “Nurse, meet pigs, right?” Gin giggled. “But you shouldn’t have to put up with that.”

  Atticus grinned as he and Virgil followed the women.

  And, yep, as the women entered the store, Gin was giving Summer ideas on how to effect a change in the brothers’ slovenly behavior.

  Dumping all their scattered stuff in the stable? Possibly effective, although the horses might get offended by the stench.

  Upping any offender’s share of household expenses to hire a maid for their scheduled cleaning days? Now that was plain evil.

  Virgil rubbed his chin. “My brothers might be in for a shock.”

  “I take it you’re not on the shit list?”

  “Nope.” Virgil smirked. “If I do my part, then my submissive has enough energy to last through what I want to do to her. Win:win.”

  “Smart man.” After shaking the water from his hat, Atticus followed Virgil into the store.

  “Hey, Lieutenant. Detective.” The grizzled owner, Mark Greaves, stepped from behind the counter. “Any chance you two could help me out? I have dry rot under a fridge in back. Didn’t notice it until today when it started sagging. I can’t budge it, and I’m afraid it’ll go through the floor before I get Harve’s crew out here tomorrow.”

  “That’d suck,” Atticus muttered.

  “Not a problem,” Virgil said. He raised his voice. “We’ll be in the back, Sunshine.”

  The women were perusing a potato chip bag label, discussing health and fat grams.

  Jesus, seriously? Shaking his head, Atticus followed the men. If Gin brought home “healthy” chips, he’d warm her ass.

  Over the next few minutes, he soon regretted the hearty meal he consumed. The fucking industrial refrigerator weighed a ton.

  Greased by an ample amount of swearing, they eventually managed to shove the damn thing to a stable section of floor.

  Leaving Greaves to plug his machine back in, Atticus led the way out of the backroom, rotating his strained shoulders. Hot tub tonight.

  He froze at the smack of flesh on flesh. A woman cried out in pain.

  Gin. Atticus broke for the front. Virgil veered off, taking another aisle.

  The front was deserted.

  “Leave her alone!” Gin’s raised voice came from the right. “Get out of here before our men return.”

  Atticus leaned over the counter to check Greaves’s store monitor.

  Third aisle. Two men. Gin and Summer. Someone lay on the floor.

  “Hey, looky-looky, the cunt wants to play.” The man’s voice held an ugly note.

  “I don’t see no men, do you?” Another spoke. “Bitch is lying.”

  Atticus sped toward aisle three, glancing down each row as he passed. No one. No one. There.

  At the far end of the row was his woman, back to him. United against two men in leather jackets, she and Summer stood side-by-side, protecting the black woman sprawled on the floor behind them.

  Gin held a bag of dog food in her hands. The men had no weapons out, and his fear receded a notch.

  Even as Atticus yelled, “Police,” the men attacked the women.

  Gin threw the dog food at the biggest bastard’s legs.

  He tripped and fell to his hands and knees.

  Screaming bloody murder—good girl—Gin backpedaled.

  Summer shrieked, “Virgil, help!” With a sweep of her arm, she knocked an entire display of cereal boxes at the other man.

  He stumbled, doing fancy footwork to keep his feet.

  Snatching cans from the shelves, Gin bombarded her target, and Summer followed suit.

  “Fuck. Shit.” Cursing accompanied the thud of metal against flesh.

  Charging up behind the men, Virgil dodged a thrown can, skidded to a halt—and roared with laughter.

  Despite his fury, Atticus was already laughing. He reached over Gin’s shoulder and grabbed her next missile. “Okay, slugger. We got this.”

  She glared at him. “I do believe you were dawdling.”

  Hell of an accusation in that slow drawl of hers.

  She stepped around to join the injured woman. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

  “Police, motherfucker. Stay down.” Virgil kicked the feet out from under one assailant. The crash and yelp of pain was pleasing. “Summer, can you help Mrs. Ganning?”

  Atticus shoved the other asshole face down in the cans. Both bastards had racist tats on their shaved heads and necks. “We got an infestation of skinheads around here, Virg.” He tossed Virgil a zip tie, secured his perp, and called the station for pickup.

  “My day off and now I have paperwork,” Virgil muttered. “I got these assholes. You want to check the women?”

  “Will do.”

  Summer had disappeared.

  Sitting on the floor, Gin had an arm around the waist of the elderly woman. “Don’t try to stand up yet, ma’am.”

  “Mrs. Ganning.” Atticus knelt on one knee. He gently touched at the swelling on the side of her face. “They got you good, huh?” Bastards. The old librarian might weigh a hundred pounds on a good day.

  “Detective.” She reached out and patted his leg with a shaky hand. “You have a very brave woman here.”

  Damn straight. “I would have to agree with you there.” His smile brought pink to Gin’s cheeks. “Are you hurt anywhere else, ma’am?”

  “Oh, I’ll have some bruises, I fear. Those two followed me from the street, making”—her expression sickened—“filthy comments.”

  “This would be the one time I’m not in the front.” Greaves appeared, jaw clenched with anger. “I’m sorry, Maud.”

  “No need to fret. I was rescued quite nicely by these young women—and our law enforcement.”

  Summer trotted around the corner. Gently, she applied a towel-wrapped ice pack to Mrs. Ganning’s cheek.

  “It’s good we were here, Greaves,” Atticus said. “I doubt the assholes would have backed off for one man.” They’d have flattened him and robbed the place as well.

  The thump of boots heralded the arrival of the uniformed officers along with Fire and Rescue for Mrs. Ganning. As they bore off their various charges, Atticus guided Gin out to the street.


  “You…” He could only shake his head. “That was one of the bravest, most ballsy things I’ve ever seen. And you scared a goddamned decade off my life.” He opened his arms.

  When she hugged him without a single hesitation, his chest tightened.

  Jesus, he was still scared. “What the hell were you thinking?” he growled, pulling her completely against him.

  “Well, there wasn’t much choice. I could hardly let them beat her up.”

  Far, far too many people would have. And she hadn’t even considered walking away an option. Truth: he loved this woman.

  And she thought on her feet. He kissed the top of her head and smiled into her silky hair. The story would be all over town tomorrow: Skinheads downed by Campbell’s soup. The heroes—two terminally cute women.

  Gin lifted onto tiptoes to say quietly in his ear, “By the way…”

  “Mmmhmm?”

  “Thanks for coming to my rescue.”

  His arms tightened around her. She hadn’t had enough rescues in her life. Not enough backup. Too many people had abandoned her. With a good mom and two brothers, he’d been the lucky one. “Of course I rescued you.”

  She was his now to care for and protect—and she needed to know that. He lifted her face up and met her eyes. “Virginia, I’ll always come after you. I keep what’s mine.”

  He could see the declaration strike home. See the gleam of tears in her eyes. See her love.

  Oh yeah, it was there, even if she hadn’t said the words.

  * * * *

  “Virginia, I’ll always come after you. I keep what’s mine.” For the last few days, Atticus’s words had played a continuous loop in Gin’s head.

  She set her journal on the coffee table and pulled her feet up on her small couch, jostling Trigger. He set his head back on her thigh and fell back asleep.

  “Always.” Such a wonderfully reassuring—yet frightening word. Atticus was implying they had a…a future. Which meant she’d have to invest herself.

  And—darn Shrink Atticus—as she’d journaled, a theme emerged. She not only thought she had sacrificed herself in a relationship, but she also believed that any man would leave her eventually.