by Dee Palmer
“Right, of course, the placenta?”
“Yes, it’s in the sink if you want to have a look?” The woman points over her shoulder.
Toxic and I both have our faces screwed up at the unpleasant idea. “Um, no, I’m good.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t come straight to the house, I had a nightmare of a journey, and when I couldn’t get my truck through the gate, I walked down to see if there were any keys, before I started to look, I heard Molly, and, well, the rest is a messy story with a rather embarrassing ending.”
“Embarrassing?” I ask.
“It’s not the greatest of first impressions, meeting the boss in my underwear?” She tips her head to peer down the front of the horse blanket she has wrapped around herself. Looking back up through long lashes and with a sinful smirk, I have to swallow the lump in my throat when her big brown eyes fix on me.
“Boss?” Toxic asks.
“Yeah, I’m Max. I’m here for the job.” She holds out her hand, and he shakes it.
I do the same when she offers it to me. “You’re a woman?”
“I’d ask what gave it away, but since you’ve pretty much seen everything but my birthmark, I’m going to take that as a rhetorical question,” she quips.
Toxic shoves my shoulder. “Idiot.”
Bristling with a flash of my own embarrassment, I try to rectify my stupid comment. “Pink never said you were going to be a woman, that’s all. I just assumed Max was a guy, and where’s Clifford? He said you guys worked as a team.”
“We do, and who’s Pink?” Her brows pull together in a cute wrinkle.“If you don’t want me, I have other options.”
“No, no, we do, trust me we do.” Panic tears through me, and Toxic must feel the same as he rushes to explain the situation.
“Pink is our brother, the actual boss of this place, Tug and I are just firefighting until he gets back. Sorry about the confusion, we’re fucking glad to have you here.”
“We really are, so where is Clifford? He’s your husband? Boyfriend?” I fish, peering down the long barn for her partner.
“He’s my dog. This, this is Clifford?” Max drops to her haunches, and with one free hand ruffles the big dog’s head. He’s sitting, swishing his large tail and creating a miniature storm with the flakes of shavings on the ground.
“It is?”
She bounces back up to full height, all five foot nothing of it. “He’s normally really protective. If I’m honest, I’m not sure how you got so close to me without him raising all hell.” She arches a suspicious brow and puts her hand on her hip.
“In fairness, he kept me at the gate for a good ten minutes.” I explain patting his head.
“Still he must like you. That’s a good sign.” Max says, and as if on cue, Clifford picks himself up, only to travel the few steps to drop his ass down on my foot.
“It is?” I groan at the weight. That’s got to be eighty pounds resting on my pinky toe.
“Yeah, and if he didn’t, there’s no way I’d be able to stay. Like I said, we’re a team.” Her face lights up with the warmest smile. Clifford has his bony head nestling against my thigh, and I’m glad he approves, but I’m not sure this is anything above standard animal cupboard love.
“So no husband? Boyfriend?” I ask.
She ignores the question I had no right to ask. “How did you get past him?”
“I have a confession… I had chocolate.”
“You did, hmm?”
“I just don’t want to start off on a bed of lies; he might’ve been blinded by food.”
She pats her thighs, and Clifford leaps to his feet and barges into her, nearly knocking her backward. Her laughter is light and infectious. I look at Toxic, and he’s smiling just as wide as I am. She’s cute. A short sharp whistle flies from her lips, and Clifford is instantly sitting bolt upright, alert and totally focused on his master. She strokes him absently with her fingertip, her focus now directed our way.
“It wouldn’t be the first time, but not when it comes to protecting me. He loves his food; still, you could’ve been wearing Porterhouse chaps, and if he didn’t like you, you would not get within a mile of me. He’s very protective.” She looks down at Clifford. “He can be quite scary when he wants to be.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Toxic mutters.
“It was a surprise, that’s all. We were seeing you having a shower, a nice surprise” I add brightly and she bites back a knowing smirk. Toxic slaps his forehead.
“What? What did I say?”
“Call the vet, Tug.” Toxic reaches for his phone and hands it to me.
I flip him the bird. It was a nice surprise. “I’ve got my own phone.” I pinch out a tight smile, and walk away to call the vet. It only takes a moment to get through and arrange the call out.
“The vet is on his way, says it’ll be about an hour before he can get here.” Max and Toxic have their arms hanging over the stable door, and I slide to the other side of Max. Molly is licking the floppy foal as it tries to sleep through the roughest-looking tongue bath. Max lets out a little breathy sigh that I feel my nuts. She shivers beside me. “Do you want to come to the house to wait? I can get you some clean clothes to change into, Finn will probably have something that will fit.”
“Oh, no, that’s fine. I’ll wait here.” Shaking her head, she looks horrified, only I’m not sure which bit has her worried.
I look at Toxic. He must know what thoughts are already running through my mind, because he offers an explanation before I put my foot in it…again.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Max, but we have an odd reputation around here as it is. We’d rather the Vet didn’t think we had our new employees working in their underwear.”
She peeks once more down her body, snickers, and nods slowly with understanding. “My trailer is at the end of the drive. I can go back and get some clothes. I just don’t want to leave her.”
Toxic holds out his hand. “Give me your keys, and I’ll bring your trailer down here.”
She looks at Molly, then Clifford. “Oh, um…okay, I guess that will be okay?”
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing, it’s just I don’t usually let anyone drive my truck.”
“First time for everything, darlin’. Welcome to life at Elemental.” A broad grin fills my face. I’m standing shoulder to shoulder next to Toxic, happy to welcome Max into our strange little world. I rest my arm across Toxic’s shoulder. She smiles slyly, steps up close and personal, and lays both her hands in the center of our chests. The rug she was ‘wearing’ drops to the floor, and she’s once more almost naked. Only this time I can feel her heat and see the tiny hair on her skin spark to attention. It’s distracting, and it’s fucking hot. Her fingertips drill a staccato beat that matches the thumping in my chest. She tips up on her toes, her face between ours, when she exhales a wicked whisper.
“Not my first Rodeo…boys.” She pushes between us and sashays away, leaving me to pick my jaw up from the floor and adjust my pants.
When I’m happy she’s out of earshot, I exhale. “I’m so fucking hard.” Toxic scowls at me, but he doesn’t argue the fact that Max is smokin’ hot.
Preview of Disgrace
Sixteen Months Ago
“You still there, Sam?” I can hear the concern in his voice, but it fades into the mix of nerves and sickness threatening to escape my mouth. Saliva pools at the back of my throat and I swallow, the slight metallic taste an indication that I have scraped my teeth against some soft tissue. My jaw is clenched so tight I didn’t even feel the bite. “Sam!” His tone is urgent almost panicked.
“I’m here…sorry. This is harder than I thought it would be that’s all.” I grip the phone a little tighter, angry that my hand is actually trembling.
“Look, wait there. I can be there in an hour. You shouldn’t do this on your own. I told you this but you never bloody listen.” He lets out an angry breath, which makes me smile. All my life I never had some
one care about me the way he does. I am so very grateful. I tell him often enough, but it’s never enough. He saved me.
“No…no don’t come, Leon. I will be fine. It’s just a house.” I swallow that pooling water again. So loud this time I can hear him let out a sigh filled with only a fraction of the sadness welling in me.
“Yeah…just a house. Like Manson was just a guy. Sam you don’t have to do this in person. The solicitor can deal with this shit. Come home. You can beat the crap out of me and make us both feel better.”
I bark out a dirty laugh. I love that he can turn my mood on a dime. “God, I love you.” I feel some tension leave my frame when I push out a fortifying breath. “I will be fine. I am made of much stronger stuff…now.” I add before he reminds me of the empty, broken girl he slowly helped transform ten years ago.
“Call me when you’re done…and the offer still stands.” His silence is filled with hope.
“Leon, I found you an excellent replacement and you need to start using her.” My tone is resolute if a little sharp.
“I know…I know…It’s just when you’ve had the best—” His flattery will get him nowhere…absolutely nowhere.
“You’re my best friend, Leon.” I add softly.
“Which might be an issue if we were fucking.” He is pushing me and I feel all that tension back.
“Leon!” I snap. “Enough…You can be such an arsehole!”
“But you love me?” I can almost see the devilish grin creeping across his dark features. We share similar colouring, rich coffee skin, deep brown eyes and impossibly dark brown hair that falls just shy of jet black.
“I do.” My tone is clipped.
“Did it work?” He asks after a short silence and before I get to ask what, he adds. “Are you feeling all angry and distracted now?” I sniff out a laugh and shake my head though he can’t see that part.
“Yes, Leon…Thank you.” A tentative smile tips the corners of my lips, sleek and shiny with my trademark red.
“My work here is done. Now go and sort the house of horrors…and come home. Where you belong.” He hangs up and I chuckle. He never says goodbye.
I straighten my shoulders and hold on to the false bravado trickling through my veins hoping it’s enough to get me through this next hour.
It’s a beautiful cottage. The perfect picture of an idyllic Home County village dwelling. Honey coloured, washed out stone, four tiny windows under a mottled, red slate roof and an old oak front door with polished wrought iron fixings that wouldn’t look out of place on a church. The Old Rectory, my family home. The garden is bare now, cut back and pruned to within an inch of its life. My mother would spend hours—days—tending the flower beds. She craved the attention it brought from passersby, strangers, people who meant nothing.
The bones of the wisteria cling to the front of the house like some distorted exoskeleton, the branches so thick the blooms would block the sunlight from the windows in the spring. I slide my key into the lock. She didn’t change the lock when I left. Why would she? There was no need, I was the one who left, and I promised I’d never return as long as she lived.
The door opens to a shrill discord of creaking hinges loudly objecting my presence. I push the heavy door wide with a firm shove. The stale, dry air hits me with an aroma brimming with memories. I puff the air from my nose. I have no desire to reminisce; memory lane is for masochists. There is only one room I want to see.
It’s been so long, but I need to remember so I don’t let it happen again. I walk through the dim hall, lit only by the soft winter sun spilling in from the open front door. Everything is neat and tidy with a fine layer of dust that only now dares to settle. Now she’s dead that is. I drag my finger along the welcome table, swirling patterns, irregular and petty. Her coat is still hanging from the gnarled hatstand, and I wipe the dust from my finger on the thick woollen sleeve.
The stairs exhale a painful groan with each step, and I find myself hovering on the final tread. This was the only step that made a sound when I’d lived here. This was my warning. I place my foot down and feel my tummy tighten as the unique sound makes my foot start to shake. I stamp it down heavily. The sound is different this time, and I stamp my other foot, too. No need to fucking tremble, Sam. She’s not here, I reprimand myself. I stride the remainder of the corridor and don’t hesitate when I reach for the door handle of my old room. I step inside.
I’m surprised. I don’t know why I’m surprised, but I thought she would’ve changed it. The small metal framed bed with the pink floral covers and a rickety bedside table with no lamp. The walls are plain light grey, as are the curtains cinched back with a thick rope tie. Above the bed and on each wall hang several embroidered pictures. A different prayer for each of my sins. My lips thin with bittersweet amusement. The walls would collapse under the weight of prayers needed for my sins now. I look to my feet just inside the threshold.
“There…something that has changed. That is new,” I say to myself. The point on my toe all shiny, in patent black knee high lace up boot, flips the corner of the new rug which is awkwardly placed at an angle by the door. “And that is why.” My voice catches, my eyes clamp tight and my hand flies to my mouth, an attempt to stop the sob that’s being wrenched from my chest. Don’t you fucking cry one more fucking tear in this house. I dig my long acrylic nails into my palms with such force the pain is exactly enough to stop my tears. I turn and walk to the window. I need some air. I lift the window catch from its cradle and push the small lead-encased pane, but the window is jammed. I roll my eyes. It’s not jammed; it’s nailed shut.
I let out a sharp laugh that bounces uncomfortably around the still silent room. It’s funny how, with time, your memory tries to trick you. You rewrite your own history. Some memories are exaggerated to make them a little more intense or a little more amusing. Others are suppressed, and some you think couldn’t possibly be as bad as you remember, so you do yourself a favour and forget. I shouldn’t have come.
“Hello!” A gruff voice calls from inside the house. “Hello, Ms Cartwright! Is that you?”
“Upstairs,” I reply and take a steadying breath. I hear Mr Brown, the solicitor in charge of my mother’s estate, climb the stairs and I watch him stumble and trip into the room. Flustered he tries to compose himself. He kicks the badly placed rug exposing more of the bare floorboards.
“Who places a rug there, like that?” He pulls the cuffs of his jacket one at a time to straighten the bunched up material. “Oh…Look at that.” He muses and leans to take a closer look. “I can see why now but still…it seems a stupid place.” He mutters, “What do you suppose that stain is?” He tips his head at the mark but my eyes are already fixed in the shadow on the wood…my mind unfortunately is hurtling into my past.
“Blood…lots and lots of blood.” I don’t recognise the chill in my own voice, and Mr Brown turns to look at me as if for the first time. He doesn’t respond to my macabre declaration. Well, he might have, but I don’t hear him. As much as I fight it, the flashback hits me like the first strike of a palm across my cheek, and I recoil as I stand just as I did back then.
Sam aged seventeen
“You filthy little slut!” His voice is menacingly low and he draws his hand back to strike me again.
“Richard, please!” I cry holding the heat in my cheek from his hand. It doesn’t hurt. I’ve had worse from him. Even his words don’t slice me like they used to, but the fury today distorts his face. Harsh lines twisted into an ugly scowl, thin lips pursed and pulled tight into a hate-filled grimace. He doesn’t look like my boyfriend. He looks like a monster. Clenching his fist this time, he swings and cracks my jaw so hard I feel it like a blade behind my eyes. An unbelievable pain that knocks me to my knees.
“You spread your legs for me quick enough. How do I know the little bastard is mine, hmm?” He sneers at me, down his too straight nose, his blue eyes wild with anger, spit now dripping from his lips.
“Richard, please. I’m sorry
. It’s was an accident. That one time maybe, when you…you didn’t wear the condom.” His eyes widen, and I shrink rushing quickly to rectify my mistake. It’s too late he hauls me up by grabbing a fistful of my hair and throws me against the wall like a rag doll. Strange, I never thought him to be that strong, with his slight build. But he is taller than me, and obviously, with the pure hatred running through his veins, his strength is no match for me. “Richard, I didn’t mean it was your fault. You know my mother…I can’t risk taking birth control. She would kill me if she knew what we’d done.” I plead into vacant eyes.
He strides over to me and again grabs my hair, my scalp tender from hairs being torn from their roots. I grab his forearms to try and support my weight.
“Yes…let’s not forget your social-climbing mother in all this. She really believed me when I said I was going to marry you. Christ! To think I would have someone like her in my family…someone like you. A half-bred slut, who’s probably fucked every boy in the village while I was at boarding school,” he mocks.
“Richard, don’t…that’s not true. I love you.” My voice is horse from crying, and I choke back the words when his large hand reaches around my neck.
“Say that again… whore!” He squeezes and I gasp for air. His eyes darken, and I feel him harden against my stomach. Jesus, how can he get off on my terror? The thin cotton dress is no barrier at all. I panic because this doesn’t feel like the times he has abused me in the past. Something has changed in him. He looks unhinged. He needs to calm down or he’s going to really hurt me. I soften my voice.
“Richard, my love, of course I love you. There is only you…you know that.” I struggle to swallow against his grip. He loosens a little, and I let out a breath and try to smile. It catches when I realise, too late and with utter horror, his intention. He pulls his arm right back and levels a punch directly into my stomach. I collapse gasping for air that won’t come, winded and in agony I roll onto the floor. My arms wrap tight across my tummy trying to protect what’s inside.