Ranch Rivalry

by Gray Gardner

  Whoever resided here lived a teenage dream. Utility served no purpose in this place. Everything exponentially resembled the quarters of a princess. King sized antique white canopy bed, with pink, furry circle rugs polka dotting the hard wood floor, and overstuffed white chairs and ottomans by a bay window. A crystal chandelier, a white fireplace with a burning fire, a stack of stuffed animals piled in a small room to the side, pink fluffy comforter, white bookshelves with old hardback books, pink drapes, and a couple of scattered Beatles posters plastered on the pink flowered wall paper.

  “My aunt’s room,” he sighed, walking in and stoking the fire that Helena had started before she left. “Overkill, I know.”

  “Spoiled comes to mind,” Case muttered, running her finger along a shelf displaying a variety of crystal figurines. Dozens of them.

  “She died when she was 12,” he sighed, not turning around.

  “Oh. Sorry,” she quickly apologized, biting her lip and looking at him over her shoulder. She’d always heard Mr. Blackhill was an only child.

  “My grandmother wouldn’t let anyone touch it,” he continued, walking past Case and opening two small double doors. An entire attached room appeared when he clicked on a light, revealing wall to wall clothes.

  “Her closet?” Case asked, sucking in her breath. Weird that it was still full, but still impressive to say the least.

  “Yeah, so feel free to look around and try something on while Helena washes whatever it is you’re wearing.”

  She quickly peered down at her blackened white shirt and torn Levis.

  “Those look like hand-me-downs from your brother,” he smirked, eyeing her pants. They hung at her hips and gathered at her ankles… but in a cute way.

  “As the matter of fact they are,” she snapped, stepping back and clearing her throat as he continued to look her over. Women’s jeans had high waists and looked ridiculous on her athletic frame. Jackson’s old jeans hung perfectly on her. What did he care? Why was he looking her up and down? “And, she’s not washing anything because I’m leaving first thing tomorrow.”

  “Well you’re not sleeping in the clean sheets in those dirty clothes, so, again, feel free to try anything on and I’ll run a load tonight,” he replied, giving her a quick, fake smile. She had to make this more difficult than it really was, didn’t she.

  “I don’t need you to do my laundry, Halston.”

  “Well whether you’re in the clothes or not, everything’s getting washed, Case.”

  Her mouth fell open as she looked up at him. Was he suggesting that she bathe now, too? She didn’t have time for this. She had to get up at the crack of dawn and get moving on her car, finding a place to stay, and most importantly, finding Jackson.

  “Helena drew you a hot bath. It’s right through this door,” he gestured, keeping his eyes on her. She seemed more than reluctant to comply. This could get ugly very quickly though he didn’t understand why she wouldn’t just take a few minutes to clean up. He inwardly grinned as he realized fighting with her was kind of fun.

  “I’m exhausted,” she groaned, closing her eyes and sagging her shoulders. “Can’t you just let me sleep?”

  “Of course,” he nodded, dipping his shoulder down and grabbing a handful of her shirt and her jeans. He stood back up with her dangling and shouting over his shoulder, walked into the Barbie themed bathroom, stood over the bubble-filled tub as she banged her fists on his back, then dumped her in.

  The hot water gushed over her head as her elbows slammed into the bottom of the tub. Her clothes weighed her down for a second but she quickly pushed up and gasped for air, frantically wiping the soapy bubbles out of her eyes.

  “You lunatic! You better watch out or maybe I’ll murder you in your sleep, dammit!” She coughed up a little water as he smiled, nodded, and walked out of the bathroom in all of his arrogance.

  “See you in the morning, kiddo.”

  “Go fuck yourself!” she shouted, leaning over the tub with a wet white sleeve hanging limply over her hand. Water sloshed around in her nose as she tried to think of something more insulting to say.

  She instinctively pushed back in the rectangular tub as he paused, turned, and walked back in the bathroom. His eyes peered darkly down at her.

  “I want you to think about what happened earlier today… at the water tank,” he growled.

  Her mouth fell open as her cheeks flushed, and she was totally speechless. She’d been trying her hardest not to think about it.

  “Do you remember? Answer me,” he ordered. Her sweet blush revealed she understood.

  She pressed her lips together and gave a short, quick nod. There was really only one direction he could go with this, and it made her squirm in the hot water.

  “Do you think that spanking hurt?”

  She looked down at her hands. They were gripping her jeans so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. She tried to relax as she looked back up at him, giving a small nod. It hadn’t hurt too terribly but she sure as hell wasn’t going to invite any more violence upon herself.

  “There is real, life-threatening danger out there, Case. This isn’t some panty raid in the dorms. If I have to chase you out of this house again, and believe me, I know everything that goes on in this house, I am going to spank you much, much harder. Do you understand?” he asked, now placing his hands on his hips. He almost wished she’d just jump out of the tub and start running. He didn’t care that she wasn’t a little kid like he’d originally thought. She could benefit from lesson in self-preservation and he was all too happy to deliver it.

  She swallowed and continued staring up at him. He had to be kidding. Did they not just have a discussion five minutes earlier about her being eighteen? She wasn’t a child.

  “I know you’re not a child, Case, but God help me I will treat you like one if you keep acting like one. Now, tell me you understand,” he evenly said, knowing exactly what she was thinking. He’d never found women easy to read. In fact, he’d never really felt the need to protect one like he did with Case. It was almost primal.

  She pressed her lips together. She wasn’t acting childish, she was acting… independent. He took a brisk step towards her and she slammed her hands against the side of the tub, splashing water everywhere as she furiously nodded up at him. “Y-yes,” she squeaked.

  He turned and sighed heavily as he walked out of the bathroom, closing the bedroom door behind him. He didn’t want her to get hurt and he didn’t really know any other way to keep her in the house and safe. He grinned to himself as he thought about her blushing. It meant she was still pretty innocent and for some reason he really admired that.

  Case rubbed her wet hand down her face. What the hell was that? He was psychotic.

  She furiously ripped her shirt off, then her shoes, socks, and jeans, and finally her white bra and underwear. He couldn’t threaten her like that. If he thought she was going to stay and endure any more of this, he was out of his mind.

  All Blackhills were out of their minds. They were famous for it.

  Laying back in the huge white tub and trying to calm down, she stared at the pink horses stenciled on the white ceiling as she devised an escape plan. The front door? He’d hear her sneaking down the hallway. The window in the room? The second floor was high up, and without a balcony, the ground was a long way down. Which one would be better?

  She stood in the now brown water in the tub and pulled the drain, wrapping herself in a fluffy white towel hanging next to her. She’d have to risk the window. Her wet clothes lay piled in a dripping heap on the tiled floor. That certainly wouldn’t do.

  “Oh, you’ve got to be joking,” she whispered, standing in the opened doors of the walk-in closet, mouth agape.

  Full of clothes, sure. Full of clothes an eighteen-year-old would wear in 1989? Not even close. She fingered the endless rows of frilly, pastel dresses and nearly gagged. Yes, the stench of mothballs was overwhelming in the softly lit room, but the clothes made her nauseated. Sitting
back on a padded pink bench in the middle of the room, she glanced to her right and stared at herself in a wide mirror.

  Her brown hair stuck to her face in thick, wet strands. Her shoulders hunched over as she slumped on the bench. She did not look well. The only thing that could make her feel better was getting the hell out of the Blackhill house and getting to Tizzy’s place.

  She forced her body to stand up and drop the towel. She made her hands search in the stacked pink drawers. The underwear was modest and silk, but made for a twelve-year-old, so it clung tightly to her waist and hips. Again, twelve years old, so no bra in sight. Sighing heavily, she found the least offensive dress and pulled it over her head, swearing that this would be the first and last time she’d ever scavenge in this closet.

  “Christ Almighty,” she choked, eyeing herself in the mirror. First of all, the sea green dress hung loosely over her figure, like it was on a baby doll, with curved, white trimmed cut-outs for the arms and neckline. Worst, though, it hit her legs just above mid-thigh, showing way more than she was comfortable with. She shuffled back into the bathroom, neatly hung up the towel and lay her clothes on a drying rack, then kicked her feet into her Kaepas.

  They were cold and wet and squeaked whenever she took a step, but she was really out of options. She couldn’t get her big toe into those tiny white Mary Janes lining the closet floor. Thankfully.

  She quickly brushed out her hair in the mirror lined with soft light bulbs, then squeaked out into the bedroom. The bay window. Crawling over the fluffy pastel pillows, she reached out to flip the latch on the connecting French windows.

  The phone suddenly rang with a loud clinging. She sucked in her breath and jerked her arm back, closing her eyes, and swallowing hard. As the white rotary phone next to the bed rang another time, she tried to calm herself down. She was way too jumpy. She carefully reached over for the latch again, the light from the bathroom and closet casting long shadows over the room as the fire burned down to glowing embers.

  “Hello?”

  Case jumped again at the sound of the muffled voice. Were the walls that thin? She leaned back against the windows and looked to her right. Hall laughed in the other room, full and hearty. She never thought someone like him ever laughed a real laugh. He’d been so mean and… commanding. Pressing her lips together, she walked into the closet and leaned against the mirror, holding her breath as she tried to listen.

  “What the… where are y’all? No way. All five of you? Yeah, sounds fun but, well, I got some stuff going on here. I know, I wish! How many girls? In one night? One hour!”

  Case caught herself smiling and quickly cleared her throat as she stepped back out into the room. He was obviously talking to old friends, probably from Harvard or boarding school. Her friends didn’t understand what it was like to be responsible for large properties and always got disconcerted when she refused invitations to yachting trips and Mediterranean beach vacations. She had to come home and help take care of things, though. She glanced back at the closet as Hall’s muffled laughs carried through. It must have been really hard doing it all alone, missing out on all the fun.

  Ugh, was she actually feeling sorry for that creep? Shaking her head, she turned and flipped up the latch, pushing the windows outward into the night. Glancing down, she realized she was more like three stories up from the hard ground below. Not only were there basement windows, making the first floor higher than normal, but the ceilings were so high, too. Taking a breath, she began to rethink her strategy.

  Could she jump? She sat back against a soft pillow as a cool breeze blew her hair back. Could tying sheets together really work or was that just a movie thing?

  “Planning your great escape?”

  Case jerked to the side and rolled off the padding and pillows of the bay window, hitting the floor with a thud. Squinting, she surveyed her surroundings. Pink room, sunlight, tall creepy neighbor.

  Damn it all, she’d fallen asleep.

  “Morning,” Hall smiled forcefully, sipping his coffee from a white mug as he stood over her. He’d already dressed for the day in clean dark Levis and a starched white pearl snap shirt. Peeking out from underneath the top 2 buttons was a white t-shirt with the silvery tops of the letters ‘V’ and ‘H,’ part of the Van Halen 1979 World Tour insignia. She frowned and pushed up to a sitting position, carefully scooting backwards to keep a safe distance. Would he be mad that she’d tried and failed to escape? She needed a quick subject change. “What time is it?”

  “Time to eat something and head into town,” he ordered, turning for the door to her room. He loved the fact that she’d thought twice about leaving. It meant she was starting to listen to him. And curled up by the open window, she looked like a little angel sleeping. “I see you’re already dressed. Cute outfit, brings out your eyes.”

  “Shut up!” she yelled, chunking a pillow at him as he disappeared into the bright hallway. Why was he so infuriating? How could he smile and boss her around like that after holding her prisoner and threatening to… God, she couldn’t even say it in her head. He was a jerk, that’s how. He’d probably stolen that t-shirt from one of his cooler roommates, too.

  She splashed a little water on her face, brushed her hair, and clomped down the hardwood stairs in her tennis shoes. Perfectly gratifying insults lay on the tip of her tongue as she marched past all of the large rooms in the downstairs hallway, but she suddenly forgot them all as she entered the large kitchen. A stack of waffles sat steaming in a mix of butter and syrup in front of Hall as he poured more coffee at the table. A similar stack mocked her across from him at an empty chair, calling her a traitor for even toying with the idea of eating again in this kitchen.

  “Please,” Hall offered, standing and holding his hand out to the seat across from him.

  She slowly approached and sat down, not taking her eyes off of him for a second. Food? Polite manners? Was this some kind of Blackhill trap? “We have a lot to do today.”

  Cringing at the word “we,” she carefully picked up her fork and took a bite.

  “Oh my God,” she muttered, mouth full as she cut another bite and stuffed it in her mouth. The waffles were hearty, the butter homemade, and the syrup sugary and sweet.

  “Helena knows her way around a waffle,” Hall grinned, enjoying watching her enjoy her meal. He cleared his throat and quit smiling, trying to be authoritative. “Speaking of Helena, she’s washing everything you wore yesterday and they’ll be ready—”

  “What?” Case interrupted, looking up from her half eaten stack and swallowing hard. Had he been in her room before she’d woken up and gathered her clothes? “But I need those clothes now! I don’t care if they’re dirty.”

  “And they will be ready this afternoon,” he continued in a louder voice, easily speaking over her. He tried not to smile at her ‘mad face’ but it was kind of adorable. Especially with waffles tucked in her cheeks. He quickly wiped away any signs of emotion. “Right now we have to go meet Mr. Nixon at his filling station and see what he can do with your car.”

  Case frowned as he stood up and wiped his mouth, taking one last sip of coffee and turning his gaze down upon her. She dropped her fork and glared up at him.

  “I didn’t need you to call Bob Nixon for me.”

  “I know.”

  “Just like I don’t need a babysitter and I really don’t need you to drive me into town like you’re my escort! It’s broad daylight, I think I’ll be okay!” she shouted, standing up and pulling her short dress down in the back. She folded her arms across her chest. “And I’d like my clothes now.”

  “Like I said,” Hall sighed, rubbing his eyes and trying his hardest to be patient, a trait he pretty much lacked altogether. “Helena is washing them, and we are going to town.”

  “No, you are staying put, I am going to town,” she huffed, turning and walking for the front door. The nerve!

  Hall sighed heavily and grabbed his navy Astros baseball hat and Ray Ban aviators. Just as she reached the fron
t door and pulled back, he slammed it shut with his brown boot.

  “What are you doing?” she grumbled, staring at the door.

  “Case,” he began in a very calm voice, “you can get in my truck the easy way… or the hard way. Regardless, you’re getting into that truck in the next two minutes.”

  Her mouth dropped open as she turned and looked up at him. His gray eyes looked a little bluer in the morning light… and actually a little less scary. This wouldn’t count as running away from the house, would it? She was too nervous to ask. The previous day’s events were too fresh in her mind for her to argue with him any further, but she sighed very loudly a few times as she followed him outside and down the front steps towards his tan Ford F-250 next to the barn.

  “Ugh, it smells like cow shit in here,” she complained, slamming the door and scrunching her nose. She, of course, was all too familiar with the smell, but she wanted to make things harder for him. She’d ride with him but it didn’t have to be a pleasant ride. She looked around for something else to complain about, but to her surprise he actually didn’t drive a flashy, fast car like most young men with money did. His car was kind of crappy, to tell the truth.

  “That’s because the windows won’t roll up anymore,” he replied, starting the loud diesel truck and pulling out from the carport onto the paved road. They rode in silence for a long ways, then he jumped out to open and close his front gate. The county road wasn’t as smooth of a ride as his ranch road. He glanced over as she sat with the wind blowing her light brown hair, deep in thought as they bumped along. She had to be worried about her missing brother and what her other brothers were going to do to her. At least the dress looked cute on her, that wasn’t a lie. It brought out her green eyes.

  She suddenly looked over at him, frowned for a second, then shook her head.

  “That’s it up there.”

  “Hm?” he asked, looking up the road at the white POS with a racing stripe down the middle. “What… that’s not your car.”

  “The only one available in Gomez,” she groaned.