The CEO & I

by River Laurent

  “You’ve been up all night.”

  “Yup.”

  The lantern casts a gentle glow over the mare’s smooth, tan hide. She snorts and tosses her head then slowly comes to a stop. Painfully, she lowers herself to the straw and rolls onto her side, breathing hard, her big belly rising in the light.

  It’s almost time.

  I point to the milking stool at the corner of the stall and Tamara goes and sits on it. She pulls her knees up to her chin and stares at the mare with wide eyes. I know she’s trying to play it cool, but inside she must be quaking with the same something I felt when I saw my first foal being born. It’s a blend of discovery, fear, joy, and worry, all rolled into an emotion so sharp and strong, it stings your eyes.

  I sit back on my heels and watch as the mare turns this way and that, her restless hooves kicking through the hay. She huffs hard through her nose, lifts her huge head, and looks first at Tamara, then me, before she lays back down with a soft groan. Her sides heave with the effort of breathing, and her belly is hard as she bears down, preparing to bring her foal into the world.

  “Is the baby coming?” Tamara asks, her voice hushed.

  “Nearly. It won’t be long now.”

  “Have you seen many births?” Her eyes gleam wetly in the yellow light.

  “Many, but the magic never dies,” I tell her.

  At that moment, the mare rises to her front knees and rocks back and forth, obviously in the throes of pain. She gets back down on the straw and lies on her side. This time, she pushes long and hard. Suddenly, a bulge appears between her legs and then it is gone. Liquid seeps out.

  “Come. You can see it better from here,” I whisper.

  Tamara creeps from the stool to sit on her knees next to me. I look over to her and our eyes meet. For a long, excruciating moment, our gazes remain locked. I take a deep breath and it hurts deep at the bottom of my lungs, just as if I’d sucked in a cold blast of mountain air.

  Our gaze breaks when the mare kicks at the straw and rolls. This time, the bulge takes more shape. Little hooves wrapped in a white sac appear. I stare intently, ready to jump in and help if necessary. I had to help Bessie once before. I hope I won’t have to again. Tamara creeps closer still.

  “What can I do?” she whispers.

  “Nothing. Just watch. We’ll intervene if things don’t go smoothly.” We stand guard as the mare pushes again with a long drawn out sigh, this time revealing not only tiny hooves but the nose of her foal as well.

  “Oh, my God,” Tamara squeals, her hand clasped over her mouth.

  Another gust of wind rattles the old barn. I settle on my knees, a little bit closer to the mare. I look at Tamara and tears are slipping down her face.

  “Why are you crying?” I ask, making my way to her side

  “She’s in pain and I can’t do anything to help her. Can she even do this on her own?” She sniffs, wiping her tears with the sleeves of her sweatshirt.

  I stare at her in amazement. It never crossed my mind that she could feel so much for another creature. How I longed to take her in my arms and comfort her.

  “She has to do this part on her own,” I say softly.

  She hugs herself. “She’s hurting though.”

  “Giving birth hurts, but she’s done it before. It shouldn’t take her too long this time.”

  Tamara nods and tries to creep even closer to the mare, but I reach out to her.

  “Come back here with me. She might kick out and you could get hurt. Give her plenty of room.”

  We sit side-by-side against the wall, watching the mare as she labors to bring her baby into the world. She pushes, then pauses, then pushes again. Each time she pushes the baby a little further out.

  “Does it always take this long?” Tamara asks.

  “It’s only been fifteen minutes,” I tell her.

  “It feels like hours.”

  Finally, the baby’s head pops out of the birth canal so suddenly that Tamara gasps. I grin at her.

  The mare rests for a bit then pushes again. A sudden gush of red liquid soaks the straw underneath the mare, and the foal begins to slide out, covered in a glistening sac. There’s a small popping sound and the sac rips away. There is nothing left inside but the foal’s hind legs. Bessie lays her head down as if she is done.

  The foal lies on the ground, lifeless. I wait for a moment then pick up a piece of straw and gently poke at the baby’s head.

  “What are you doing?” Tamara cries, her face a mask of fury. I know what she feels. She is overwhelmed with the need to protect the new baby. She thinks I’m messing with the miracle in front of us.

  “I’m making him breathe,” I explain as I tickle the baby’s nostrils with the straw.

  The foal suddenly heaves, his whole body shaking as he coughs the tiniest cough imaginable, then his chest rises with a small breath. The second breath is much bigger and a moment after that, the mare pushes one last time and the little one is free.

  The foal lifts its head, lays it back down, then tries again.

  Tears run completely unheeded down Tamara’s face. I look at the city girl, the painted butterfly who has spent her entire empty life fluttering about in the glare of the media, and all I want to do is wipe away those tears and never let her go again.

  I reach out and take her hand.

  A spark of static electricity shoots up my arm, heightening everything that is already coursing through my mind. She feels it too, because she jumps. Then she grips my hand hard and together we watch as the foal begins his clumsy journey of standing on his own legs. For almost ten minutes he flops around, trying out his spindly legs, failing, and trying again. Finally, when his exhausted mother reaches her nose out to him, it is as if he takes strength from her. This time when he stands, he stays up.

  “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Tamara murmurs.

  “Yes, it is,” I agree, but I wasn’t talking about just the foal.

  Her cheeks become pink with confusion. “I like it here at the ranch,” she whispers. “I like everything about it, but I especially like the way it smells. It’s so crisp and clean that it almost hurts my lungs when I take a deep breath.”

  Then she holds her breath, because she’s opened the door to her heart the tiniest little bit, just enough to let in a sliver of light, and if I throw it back in her face, she will slam it shut forever.

  For the longest time, there is silence because I can’t find the words. For the first time in my life, I’m at loss for words. “I was going to ask you on a date. I mean, it doesn’t have to be formal if you don’t want it to be. It can be an apology or an actual date. It’s up to you.” Fuck, I sure messed that one up.

  The horse neighs loudly and she jumps back and almost hits the foal. I shoot a hand out and catch her by the wrist and pull her toward me. She slams into my body.

  “I’ll go on a date with you,” she says, her body molded to mine.

  I smile. “Good.”

  “So you don’t hate me?” The unguarded words tumble out of her mouth. Her lashes sweep down and she looks up at me through them.

  “I never did.”

  “I don’t hate you either,” she says, a small smile trembling on her lips.

  Chapter 31

  Cass

  I thought hell would freeze over before I received a day off work at the ranch, but I was wrong. It’s well past four in the morning before we leave the mother and her new foal, so Lars offers me a day off.

  I try to go to sleep for a couple of hours, but I am too excited. After fifteen minutes of tossing and turning, I hurriedly get dressed and run back to the barn. I spend most of the day gawking at the new baby. He is so cute and sweet, I can’t stop kissing him and petting him. Bessie puts up with me while I take hundreds of photos of her.

  Under the guise of taking photos of the horses, I also surreptitiously manage to take a few of Lars. I’m hoping there will one or two bad ones of him, but he looks awesome in every single shot. I
send Tamara the one where the shadow of his hat makes his eyes look like they’re not piercing, but kind of dull. Even so, you can see that his shoulders are strong, his hands broad and powerful, and his jaw chiseled. As I gaze at the photo, my heart swells high and tight. Everything about him draws me in a way that nothing else ever has. I say a little prayer and hope that Tamara will not be interested in him.

  I spend an hour with Thunder in the yard before I go back to my living quarters and have a shower. It’s about seven when I open my suitcase and look through the stuff that I am supposed to wear if I go out anywhere as Tamara Honeywell. Tamara’s wardrobe is not something I would ever be comfortable in, but I’ll have to tough it out tonight.

  I separate the clothes into three piles—tolerable, unacceptable, and absolutely not. Sixty percent of the clothes fall into the absolutely not range and the rest fall into the unacceptable pile. Only a few low-cut tops make it into the tolerable pile, but none of them are worthy of being worn on a proper date.

  I look at the clock and get a shock. I never realized how much time I’ve wasted strutting around my room in a bra and an uncomfortable thong trying to figure out what to wear. I quickly put on some make-up. I know I’m supposed to pile it on, but I don’t. Tonight, I want to look as fabulous as I can for Lars. Then I turn back to the pile of clothes and groan. I just can’t bring myself to dress in my Tamara-approved gear. Not tonight. I don’t want him to look at me and think city slut.

  In a moment of pure weakness, I FaceTime Jesse. Jesse can put together three rags and make it look like it came from a fashion runway. She picks up, looking flustered, so I look at the background of the frame. Before I can speak, she says, “Hey. Just give me a moment,” and starts moving out of the room she is in.

  As soon as she is in another room, she grins. “Howdy, partner. You’re wearing make-up. What’s going on?”

  “I’m going on a date with Lars.”

  She shrieks loudly.

  I ignore her and carry on. “And I need help picking an outfit. I have a suitcase crammed full of expensive clothes, but I can’t wear any of it.”

  “Back up. Back up,” she says. “I need more details. What kind of date is this? Where is he taking you? Will you get a little action afterward?”

  “It’s just a first date. I don’t know where he’s taking me. Nothing will be happening after,” I say, but I don’t know if I’m being entirely truthful with the last statement. Do I want something to happen?

  “Then why are you wearing sexy underwear?”

  “Look, can you save the interrogation for later. I only have,” I look at the clock once again, “fifteen minutes and I need your expert help.”

  “Okay, flip the camera.”

  I do as she asks and place the camera on a pile of clothing. I avoid the dangerously inappropriate pile and show Jesse the other two.

  “Nope, nope, nope,” she mumbles, rejecting each garment that I lay down on the bed. She comes close to the camera. “I see a third pile. Let me see that,” she demands.

  I know not to argue with her, as I turn the camera to the pile of clothes that I planned to never wear.

  “That’s the one,” she says triumphantly. “Grab that yellow belly shirt.”

  “I thought you told me never to wear yellow?” I say, not reaching for the top. Besides it’s not a typical belly shirt. It is full of artfully placed holes throughout the fabric.

  “That was before you became all lovely and tanned. Yellow is a fantastic color for you now. Isn’t it scalding hot in Montana right now? A belly shirt will be tactical and cute. You can wear it with the black mini skirt.”

  I wince. “The top has holes all through it,” I state.

  “Your point?”

  “People, country people, will be able to see my boobs,” I say, looking at the yellow top doubtfully.

  “You’re wearing a bra, aren’t you?”

  “But—”

  “No, buts. You’ll never see those country people again. It will get him going.”

  “I don’t want to get him going,” I argue.

  “Lie to yourself all you want, but don’t lie to me, Cass. You know and I know you want to get him going.”

  “I called you for fashion advice,” I remind.

  “The tummy top is my advice,” she says firmly.

  “Please, just choose something else,” I plead, flipping the camera back to my face.

  She pouts. “Fine, go with the blue halter top and the black miniskirt. That’s my final decision. Take it or leave it. I’ve got to go. Guests. Call me tomorrow and tell me how hard you rode him. Much love!” Jesse makes loud kissing noises and hangs up.

  I survey my three options: wear what she suggested, wear something that I choose on my own, or wear the sundress again. Lars has already seen me in the sundress, and I don’t have the time to press it, anyway. Option two really isn’t an option since I have about ten minutes left and no other ideas.

  That leaves option one. It looks like I’ll be wearing a halter top on my date with Lars.

  With that thought, a knock echoes through my room. I didn’t anticipate him being early, but I should have known.

  “Tamara, are you about ready?”

  “Nearly,” I call back. Throwing my clothes on quickly, I go to my door.

  Chapter 32

  Cass

  I open the door and come face to face with…

  Whoa! Oh boy, oh boy. My eyes widen.

  Gone are the mud-stained jeans, the worn shirts, and the dusty hats. He looks dangerously—no, make that mind-blowingly—dazzling in a silky black shirt open at the throat; a pair of low-cut, made-to-fit-at-the-hips, ultra-sexy, black jeans; a tan hat, and black cowboy boots.

  “Hello,” he says, his eyes stuck to my skimpy outfit.

  “Um…uh…I can go change. I didn’t realize we were going somewhere so gorgeous…oh…I mean…so formal,” I say, waving my hands around and trying to hide how flustered I am by his appearance.

  “No, you’re wearing that,” he growls.

  My eyebrows fly up at his tone.

  He looks down at me, a possessive, dominant expression etched into his handsome, sensual face, and something happens between my legs. “Okay,” I whisper. My lips are suddenly dry and I lick them. His eyes become focused on my mouth. The mood changes as strange vibes surround us.

  His expression suddenly changes. “Shall we?” he asks thickly.

  I blink. What? What the hell just happened? Is he angry? Why? All I did was open my bedroom door. Dumbfounded by the sudden change in his behavior, I nod. Immediately, he starts taking big strides away from me. I tilt my head and watch as he puts as much distance between us as quickly as he can. Okay. This is obviously going to go down as one very strange date. And there’s Jesse expecting me to tell her how good the sex was.

  Lars opens the front door and stands beside it, his back tense. “Ladies first,” he says, motioning for me to go forward.

  I stop next to him for a few seconds, then shaking my head, I obey him in a rush. I get to the car, wrench open the passenger door before he can reach the truck, scramble in, and slam the door shut. I’m furious. I swear I don’t understand him at all. I did nothing wrong, but he’s angry again. Roughly, I pull my short skirt down as low on my thighs as I can before he jumps into the driver’s seat.

  It is then that I notice that the interior of the truck looks freshly cleaned. It also smells of lemons. Compared to the mud-stained seats I saw yesterday, it’s a nice change, and it makes me aware that he did make an effort after all.

  “Did you clean your truck?” I ask with a smirk.

  “It needed it,” he responds tersely.

  That’s it. I’ve had it. I angle my body toward him. “Come on. Out with it.”

  He frowns. “Out with what?”

  “You’re angry with me. Just spit it out. There’s no point going out on a date like this?”

  He looks startled. “You think I’m angry with you?” he asks incred
ulously.

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Tamara, where did you get your reputation as a man-eater from?” he asks, shaking his head in wonder.

  “What?”

  “You seem to have no clue about men and what they’re thinking or feeling.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Forget it. I’m not angry. With you or anyone else. I was just…thinking of something else.” He forces his stiff shoulders to relax and smiles at me. “I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just a big fool who wants to drag you off to my bed. Let’s just have a nice dinner, okay?”

  Desire stirs low in my belly. He wants to drag me off to his bed? How caveman. How hot. He smiles at me. Oh God, that lower lip. I could suck it into my mouth. Thank God, people can’t read minds. I return the smile. “Okay. Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see,” he says.

  He switches on the radio. I stare out at the scenic landscape while country music plays in the background. Periodically, I notice him glancing at me from the corner of his eye. Sometimes, our eyes catch and I blush like a schoolgirl. His eyes dart away as if he’s shy or awkward. God, how can someone be so adorable while being robust and masculine at the same time?

  We drive through a town and I gaze at the old-fashioned buildings. Nearly an hour later, we stop at a quaint establishment surrounded by an empty parking lot.

  “Is this it?” I ask, looking around me curiously.

  “This is it.”

  I grin at him. “It’s really cute.”

  He smiles, jumps out of the truck, and is around to my side before I have a chance to open my door. I hold onto his hand and get out of the truck.

  “I know you’re used to bigger and fancier restaurants, but this is the best one in these parts, so I hope it will do,” he says.

  “It will make a nice change to what I’m used to,” I say and I’m not lying. I’ve never been to a fancy restaurant in my life or one outside Chicago, so this is very different and special.

  I follow him through the doors and the delectable scent of meat barbecuing assaults my nose. I can almost decipher which meats are being cooked at the time, and I can barely contain my excitement. Would Tamara appreciate being brought to a steakhouse? Probably not, but I feel almost sick with happiness at being in this warm, rustic place with Lars.