by Lee Savino
“Because I needed it, okay?” she hissed. She was all mad again. A pocked-sized spitfire. A feisty tomboy with a pretty face and curves in all the right places. “Isn’t there something else I can do in this place?”
“It’s a horse ranch. I hire riders. Not little girls who wouldn’t know the truth if it hit them in the face.”
She was getting right under my skin. I was done. I’d been up all night. I took Silver’s reins and began to lead her out of the corral. “Job interview’s over.” I made my voice as steely as I could. “Like I told you, I’m not looking for staff.”
“Please, mister,” she called after me. “I’ll do any work you ask.” Her voice cracked. “Anything at all. I just need a place to stay right now.”
I wheeled on her. The reddish dirt on her face only made her look younger. Her lonely trek out here, her unwashed clothes—she had nowhere else to go. That much was obvious.
But I ran a business, not a charity. I wouldn’t take on a freeloader again, no matter how pretty her face. No matter how my body responded to her.
But the desperation in her eyes gave me pause. She wasn’t trying to seduce me. And she’d sent in her resume. She wasn’t looking for a handout, she was trying to earn her way. Maybe I could help her for a little while.
Looks like I still have a few soft places left in my heart. A miracle. After Victoria, I didn’t think I had a heart left at all.
“Fine,” I said. “You even like horses?”
She nodded. “I’ve always liked them. I like all animals. And when I saw your advert, I got a real good feeling about it, and I figured… maybe I’d be happier being around animals than people.”
The words came out in a rush, and there was something so raw, so true, about them that my chest ached for her. Something had happened to her that had scared her badly. Had made her distrust other humans. I wanted to ask her what it was, but now wasn’t the time.
Instead, I looked her up and down and sighed.
“Okay, how about this. You can stay—just for a couple of days. Help me out with some odd jobs. But any more sass, and you’re gone. I’ll drive you to the station and put you on the next train myself.”
A mixture of emotions—relief, disappointment—passed across her grubby little face. “Okay,” she said at last. “Thank you.”
Outside the corral, I untacked Silver and let her loose in the open fields.
“Now, shake my hand,” I told Carrie. Her hand was tiny in mine, but her grip was surprisingly firm, and she met my gaze with determination.
“You can call me Steele,” I said.
“Steele,” she repeated and, heaven help me but I liked the sound of my name on her lips.
I handed Silver’s bridle to her. “Help me carry this.”
Maybe all she needed was a little discipline. If so, she’d come to the right place.
Chapter 2
Carrie
When we were done putting the horse stuff away, I followed Steele’s tall, broad figure up the porch steps, hugging myself. Trying to stop the shaking that had taken hold of me.
It was dumb of me to have lied about my experience—I knew that.
But it was all I had. And I was desperate.
I’d been running panicked, scared, for weeks, until I was down to my last handful of dollars. I’d hitched rides; sneaked on a train; slept in bus stations, a restroom, around the back of a gas station, and even, one awful night, in a ditch.
Then I’d seen Steele’s ad, and gotten a stupid notion that I could hide out on the ranch and work with the animals. I pictured myself taking care of them—safe among their simple natures, sheltered from the world. They didn’t trick you like humans did. They didn’t tell you one thing, then do another.
I hadn’t figured on their owner being so damn intimidating, though. That gruff, unfriendly way of his. His straight-backed, broad-shouldered bulk. The way he’d picked me up off the dirt like I weighed nothing. That uncompromising set to his jaw.
But his eyes were shrewd—like he could see right into me; see all the dirt and mess and sadness.
And for some reason I couldn’t understand, he was giving me a chance—even though I’d made a giant fool of myself.
That meant he was kind, at least.
“Pick up your backpack,” he ordered.
He was also someone who was used to being obeyed.
I snatched it up from where I’d left it, full of every single thing I owned in the world.
“I’ll show you around,” he said as I followed him inside the ranch house.
There was a small, neat kitchen. The countertop was polished to a shine. No crockery in the sink or on the drainer; a dish towel folded neatly over the oven door rail. Off to the side was a wooden dining table and four chairs, and beyond that, a comfy looking sitting room. Down a corridor was a modern bathroom, all bright and sparkling.
“Are you married?” I blurted out.
He paused in the tour. “No, why do you ask?”
I shrugged. “No reason. Seems real clean in here.”
Some emotion shadowed his face, but he only said, “Cleanliness is a virtue.”
In the mirror above the basin, I caught a glimpse of our reflections. Me looking like a street urchin; him towering more than a foot above me, his plaid cowboy shirt straining across his huge shoulders. He was a lot older than me, but drop-dead sexy. All muscle; all masculine—from his broad jaw and sharp cheekbones, to his firm, pale lips. His skin was tanned and weathered, offsetting the inky blue of his narrow eyes. I couldn’t see what color his hair was, as it was hidden beneath his black cowboy hat, but his eyebrows were dark brown and thick. He smelled of fresh air and horse leather.
He turned suddenly, and his arm brushed mine. I wobbled, weak from lack of food and sleep, and for the second time that day, he caught me. His arms were ridiculously big and hard with muscle, his body strong and rugged as a rock hewn from the nearby mountains. I was safe, swallowed up in his arms. His warmth seeped into me, and the chill I’d carried in my bones all these miles started to thaw.
“Careful.” His voice was a rumble in my ear.
I gave a shaky nod and pushed off his firm chest to stand on my own two feet.
“This is your house? It isn’t much.”
I instantly regretted mouthing off. His house was a lot nicer than any home I’d been in. “I-I mean, with all the land around, I expected a bigger place.”
He gazed down at me, a single dark brow arched. “Careful,” he repeated, and my cheeks flushed. I ducked my head, all the sass draining from my body. I didn’t know why I mouthed off other than because I was tired. It wasn’t even nine am, and it had already been a long day.
Steele motioned down the hall, which ended in a bedroom. The door was cracked and I took a peek. It looked cozier than I’d expected, with rustic looking pine furniture, and a blue comforter spread neatly over the king-size bed.
“That’s it. Tour complete,” Steele said.
But where am I supposed to sleep? He might be the sexiest older guy I’d ever seen, but that didn’t mean I was ready to share a bed with him. Panic prickled in my gut.
“I’ve got a bed for you out back, where the travelers stay,” he continued.
Phew.
He clapped his hands together. “Now, let’s get you washed up.” He gestured to my backpack. “Got anything clean in there?”
I shook my head dumbly. The clothes in there were even dirtier than the set I was wearing.
“Give me all your laundry,” he told me, “and when you go in the bathroom, put your dirty clothes outside, too. I’ll put them in the washing machine for you.”
I opened my backpack and handed him two T-shirts and a pair of shorts, then hesitated.
“Anything else?” he said.
My cheeks warmed as I pulled out two pairs of panties and a bra, and stuffed them in the bundle with the rest.
“There’s a fresh towel in the airing cupboard,” he told me, “and you’ll find
soap and shampoo in the shower.”
I went into the bathroom, pulled off my filthy clothes, and dropped them on the floor. I felt dazed by all the instructions. But a small part of me liked being ordered about like this. It was nice not having to make decisions for myself for once.
As I turned to step into the shower, there was a knock on the door.
“Carrie? I told you to pass me your dirty clothes.” There was a harder edge to Steele’s voice now. Hurriedly, I picked up my T-shirt, jeans, panties and bra, bundled them up, and opened the door a crack.
For a moment, I wondered if he was going to push the door wide open. See me naked. A part of me wanted him to. But he stayed outside, only his big, callused hand coming into view. I shoved the things at him with a whispered, “Thank you,” and shut the door again.
The shower was amazing. Rainforest style, and so hot and steamy. It was literally the most luxurious experience I’d had in my entire life. I scrubbed myself from head to toe, washing a week’s travelling grime off of me.
When I was done, I wrapped myself in a towel. It was rough—a guy’s towel—but it smelled fresh.
I felt transformed. Like I was leaving the fear and ugliness of my past life behind. I didn’t know what lay in my future. I was still in trouble. And Steele said I could only stay a couple of days. But at least he’d given me this—this moment of kindness.
I eased open the bathroom door, embarrassed at the thought of emerging in just a towel. But something dropped to the floor on the other side. It was a red plaid shirt, which must’ve been hanging on the other side of the handle. I retreated back into the bathroom with it. It was obviously Steele’s shirt—massive, and softened from being worn often. I pressed it to my face and inhaled. It smelled of fresh laundry, but I wished it smelled of him instead: horses and hay and manly sweat. I put it on and buttoned it up. It was comically big on me, falling down to my knees. I rolled the cuffs until they no longer hung over my hands.
My hair was all tangled, as usual. I found a tortoiseshell comb in the bathroom cabinet and combed it straight with a neat parting off to the side. My hair was wispy, and never grew much past my shoulders.
I hung the towel on a hook and hesitated at the bathroom door, very aware that I was naked under the shirt. There was nothing touching me between my legs. Nothing protecting me.
Since Steele had taken my underwear, he would know that, too.
The thought made me feel hot and squirmy.
“Everything okay?” came Steele’s deep voice.
Dammit. He’d probably heard me fiddling with the bathroom door.
“Coming,” I called, and took a deep breath.
When I emerged into the kitchen, Steele was standing at the stove, frying something in a skillet. He was no longer wearing his cowboy hat, and his hair was tawny colored: short on the sides, but longer on top, and a little mussed. It was sexy—less ordered than the rest of him. His eyes roamed over me from head to toe, and I felt even more naked. My cheeks warmed.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “You clean up nice.”
I didn’t know what to say, so said nothing. I’d braided my wet hair, thinking it was an appropriate hairstyle for a cowgirl. I fussed self-consciously with the ragged end of the braid.
He nodded toward the dining table. “Take a seat over there. It’ll be ready in a minute.”
Holding the shirt tight around my body, I shuffled across the room, the wooden floorboards smooth beneath my bare feet. I dragged out a chair and sat down.
Steele clicked his tongue. “Lift, don’t scrape.”
“What?”
“The chair.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
He nodded and turned back to the stove.
Wow. Dude sure has a thing for rules.
The silverware was set up neatly on the table, with a folded napkin and water glass.
I bunched the spare fabric of the shirt between my thighs, and watched him discreetly as he worked. Despite his bulk, he moved fluidly, every action spare and precise. And whatever he was cooking smelled wonderful.
A few minutes later, he put down a plate of eggs, bacon and pancakes. My stomach growled like a hungry beast, the sound surprising me. The loud gurgle seemed too big to come from my small body.
Steele seemed to think so too. He gave a snort of a laugh, and amusement eased the sternness from his features. “Been a long time since you ate?” he asked, standing at my side.
I nodded. “Yeah, I think so.” I’d mostly lived on gas station snacks for the past two weeks.
The silverware was set up neatly at the table. I picked up my fork in my right hand and started to eat.
“Now, Carrie…” came Steele’s deep voice. “You eat at my table, you hold your fork in your left, your knife with your right.”
I blinked at him. All my life, I’d been eating one-handed. I hardly ever ate anything that needed cutting up, in fact. “You sure have a lotta rules.”
He raised a brow. “That’s right. If you stick around, you’ll learn them all.”
Ugh. “Were you in the military?” I demanded.
He nodded, the grooves along his mouth turning serious. “Yup. Four years in the army. My father was, too. He brought me and my brother Max up with an appreciation for discipline.” He loomed over me, taking my napkin, and smoothing it onto my lap. “I can tell you haven’t had a lot of order in your life, Carrie. But you’ll find that it fills you with a sense of purpose, and gives you a lot more freedom.”
Frowning, I transferred my fork into my left hand, just like he’d told me, and dug into my pancakes, struggling to comprehend what discipline and freedom had to do with each other.
The food gave me energy, and my body started to wake up. I started to eat fast, but that didn’t impress Steele either. He gave me a ton of instructions: how to position my fingers on my fork, not to talk with my mouth full.
“Yes, sir.” I pretended to salute him with my fork, and he frowned at me.
“You’ll thank me for this one day,” he said.
I opened my mouth to retort that I wouldn’t, then realized how childish that sounded.
The look in his eye startled me. It was full of kindness. No one had looked at me like that before. “It doesn’t matter whether you’re on a ranch, or eating with the queen of England,” he said. “Good table manners will see you right, anywhere.”
I shrugged. Guess he has a point. My whole life, we were lucky if we even ate off a plate. Usually, we were sitting on the couch, with the TV blaring and the room stinking of smoke.
“There’s just so many rules to remember,” I mumbled.
“That’s right. Especially out here on the ranch. Rules are important, they keep you safe.” He gave me a look that made my mouth go dry. “If you want to stay around, you’ll follow my rules. And if you break them, you’ll accept the consequences. Understand?”
I ducked my head, but that wasn’t enough for Steele.
“Answer me, Carrie. You want to stay here, you abide by my rules. Disobedience has consequences.”
“Got it.” My nonchalant answer didn’t seem to appease him, but after a moment, he grunted and left it alone.
I kept stealing glances at Steele while we were eating. The knife and fork looked tiny in his big hands, but he handled them like a surgeon or something.
I remembered how one of those hands had touched my bare skin this morning. It had been an accident, I knew that. But a silly part of me wished it hadn’t been.
The moment we were done eating, I jumped up and grabbed his empty plate. Surprise flashed in his eyes, then approval.
I wanted to please him, I realized. To win his respect. The feeling kindled inside me like a flame.
Steele got to his feet, too, and showed me where everything belonged in the kitchen—which things could go in the dishwasher, and exactly how to stack them. There were rules for everything, a place for everything.
So anal, my best friend from home would’ve said. But it was actua
lly nice. The house where I’d grown up with my mom and brother and the string of men I was supposed to call uncle was full of junk, and you could never find anything you needed.
“That’s kind of neat,” I said, inspecting the silverware drawer. There was a tray inside, and the forks, spoons and knives were all separated out into their own little compartments.
“Something new and different?” Steele asked, amusement in his voice.
“Oh, yeah. We mostly grew up with plastic silverware. Tossed it straight in the trash when it was done.”
His face darkened.
I stiffened. Uh oh, I’ve said the wrong thing.
“Such a waste,” he said. “We need to look after this precious planet of ours. It’s the only one we’re going to get. I wish more people understood that.”
“It’s a real nice part of the planet here,” I said quickly.
He nodded and the tension in his face eased away. “Most beautiful place on Earth. Come on, I’ll show you around the ranch.”
Then he stopped and gave me a hard look.
My breath caught in my throat.
What have I done now?
“Forgot about your clothes,” he said. He strode to the mudroom, which led off the kitchen, and opened the dryer door. Squatting down, he fingered each of my items of clothing, while my stomach flip-flopped in embarrassment. “Almost done.” He straightened up again. “You drink coffee?”
“I guess,” I replied. I hated it actually, but didn’t want him to think I was just a kid.
He raised a brow. “Another lie, young lady?”
I gulped. “No, sir. I don’t like the taste, but I need the caffeine.”
He seemed to accept that, and I let out a breath of relief. Maybe I’d keep calling him sir to butter him up. “I’ll make a pot, then your clothes should be ready.”
He had some fancy-looking machine. He showed me how to work it, “So you’ll know for next time.”
Before long, a rich aroma filled the kitchen, which smelled nothing like its bitter taste.
Steele handed me a cup. I sipped, focusing on keeping a straight face, but it was no good. My face automatically screwed up, and I shuddered.