by Lee Savino
I sensed his eyes burning into me but I kept my chin tucked down, eyes on the ground.
“C’mere.” He took the cup out of my hand and set it on the floor, and I was suddenly enfolded in his huge arms. He pressed my head against his chest, the buttons of his shirt chafing my cheek.
I wanted to fight him, but instead a weird hiccup burst out of my mouth and I found myself leaning into him, letting my body go limp. He stroked my hair soothingly, and my nostrils filled with that exciting, spicy scent of his.
“All better now,” he said, his deep voice vibrating through his chest.
I drew in some long breaths. They shuddered in my throat, sounding like a child when it’s been sobbing for a long time and is all cried out. There was a sense of relief in my body—as though I’d healed from something. Strangely, I felt drowsy.
Just as my eyelids were getting heavy, Steele pulled away.
I blinked, already missing the warmth of his body. I should’ve hated him, but instead, all I wanted was for him to hold me a little bit longer.
He gave me a lingering look, then handed me the cup again. “Drink up, and I’ll show you how to muck out the stables. Then we’ll have breakfast.”
Obediently, I took the mugs indoors and put them in the dishwasher, then followed Steele to the stables.
I watched dazedly as he led the first horse—a huge, sleek black one—out of the stall and tied it to a fence rail. It was lively, tossing its head and dancing like it was desperate to go join its friends in the field. It was beautiful, but I was a little afraid of its massive, muscular body and dangerous-looking hooves.
“Maybe you can start leading them out tomorrow,” Steele told me. I looked at the horse doubtfully. It looked like it could run off with me dangling off the end of the rope.
Steele caught my expression and chuckled. He stroked the horse’s nose and ears, and it lowered its head. “You see it as a dangerous animal, but it doesn’t think of itself like that. A horse is a prey animal. Easily scared. You master it with a kind but firm touch. You teach it to trust you, and it doesn’t think about kicking you anymore.”
He looked at me significantly as he spoke, and I had the strangest feeling he was actually talking about me.
Whatever. If he thought he was going to tame me like a wild beast, he had another think coming.
He took out a brush and began to groom the horse. I watched, grudgingly at first.
It was kind of fascinating the way this gruff, intimidating guy turned gentle. He brushed the animal’s shiny hide all over, then its legs, and it lifted up its feet so he could scrape out its hooves with a curved tool. Then he took a different comb and brushed out its mane and tail. I got a weird feeling in my stomach that was a bit like envy.
Idiot. Who gets jealous over a horse?
Probably someone who’d never had their hair brushed by anyone else in their life.
“Okay, done,” Steele said with satisfaction. “Now I’ll show you how to get the stable cleaned up.”
He grabbed a broom and a shovel and showed me his technique, and I got to work.
My arms felt weak because I hadn’t had breakfast yet, but I tried my best, wanting him to be pleased with me.
As I worked, I was aware of that dampness between my thighs, sticky and distracting. And every time I glanced up at Steele, it only got worse.
I wanted him more since he’d spanked me. How screwed up is that? I wanted him to kiss me, take my clothes off, touch me all over.
More than touch me.
Like he’d be into me, anyway. I was just a teen. He hadn’t even believed I was over eighteen, while he had to be at least forty. He said he didn’t have a wife, but maybe he was divorced. There’s no way a man as hot as Steele would be single. He probably had a girlfriend somewhere.
I conjured up an image of her in my mind. She’d be real classy, but not afraid to get her hands dirty. She probably wore tailored shirts from some designer store, and kept her hair nice, in long, dark curls. She’d look at me and laugh at the thought I had a crush on her sexy man.
I glanced at Steele yet again. He happened to look up at the same moment, and our eyes met. My cheeks burning, I dropped my gaze to the ground.
When I’d piled all the mess into a wheelbarrow, Steele showed me how to spread a layer of clean straw across the floor. Then we filled up the feeding trough with hay. The horse was eager to go back into its stable, pricking up its ears and sniffing around curiously.
We repeated the process with the next stable, Steele taking the horse out to groom it while I mucked out.
We didn’t speak much, but I kept sneaking glances at him when he wasn’t looking, watching the concentration on his handsome face, the way the muscles in his bare forearms flexed as he tended to the horses with such skill and kindness.
Finally, we were done. It was fully light by now. I’d missed seeing the sun rise and it was already high in the sky, partly hidden by hazy orange clouds. Steele told me to take the full wheelbarrow out to a manure heap at the back. It didn’t smell as bad as I’d expected. But on the way back, I discovered I was sweating all over, gross damp patches under my arms. Mucking out was hot work.
I was surprised when Steele let us walk into the kitchen in our horsey-smelling clothes.
“We’ll get washed up later,” he said, with his eerie habit of knowing exactly what I was thinking. “Time for breakfast first.”
My stomach rumbled again. “Sorry,” I mumbled, feeling childish.
“Sign you’ve worked up an appetite,” he said, and his eyes crinkled at the corners like he thought I was charming.
This time, he made me his assistant in the kitchen, giving me instructions on how to set everything up. We were having eggs and bacon, and since that was one of the few things I knew how to cook, I volunteered to take over.
Steele hovered beside me, and I could practically see the tension crackling off him. But when the food was ready, he nodded appreciatively. “Good work, girlie,” he said, and a silly glow of pride warmed me through.
I set everything up on the table—fork on the left, knife on the right—then we dug in.
When we were done, Steele prepared to check on the cows. “Go get showered now,” he told me. “See that you’re ready by the time I’m back, then I’ve got someplace to take you.”
I got ready as quickly as I could, wondering what he had in mind. My jeans stank of horses. It wasn’t a bad smell really, but I figured other folks wouldn’t appreciate it, so I put on my shorts. Then I washed up the breakfast things. It was kind of nice having the place all tidy, the sink clear of dirty dishes.
Soon, Steele strode back in, whistling to himself. “All good,” he said. “Three calves were born in the night, and they’re all fine.”
“Can I see them sometime?” I asked him.
“Sure thing.” He nodded, looking pleased. Fireworks went off in my bloodstream and I grinned back, full of a giddy feeling.
Steele had one of those intimidating Ford pickups, all gleaming black with a mean-looking grill.
“You going to tell me where we’re going?” I asked as we set off, getting frustrated with his secretiveness.
“You’ll see,” was his only reply.
But when we passed a sign for the town, alarm spiked in my chest.
“You’re not taking to me to the station?” I demanded, sounding surly to hide my fear.
He started to frown at my tone. But when he caught the look on my face, it died away.
“No, of course not. What got that idea into your head? We’re going shopping—figured you needed some new clothes.”
“Shopping?” I echoed stupidly. “But I don’t have any—”
“Don’t worry about that,” he cut in. “Think I can stretch to a couple of sets of clothes. And you did good today.”
I stared out of the windshield, kind of confused. He had a point though—my wardrobe needed a refresh in a big way. I’d left my home so fast, I’d only had time to grab the f
irst things I put my hands on. Steele had noticed, and he cared, like no one ever had before. It made me feel warm to my toes.
Before long, we arrived in Ashcroft. It was a quaint country town—wide roads and long, low buildings. It reminded me of my hometown, but it was a lot prettier.
Steele pulled into the parking lot of Hoyle’s department store. As we walked across the lot, several people called out greetings to him. I got the impression he was well-known and liked around here.
The store was old-fashioned, but it had a homely feel, and I liked it.
Steele strode through the different departments like a man on a mission, and I trotted at his side, doing my best to keep up with his loping gait. We passed through the home improvement and kitchen departments before arriving at the women’s fashion section.
Immediately, he began to go through the clothing rails, like he’d done it a hundred times before.
“How about these?” he said, handing me a couple of pairs of jeans. “And these…” He added some shirts to the pile, and then a couple of wifebeaters, and a sweater. Apparently, he was in charge of picking my clothes out, and I was happy enough for him to do it—I would’ve been too embarrassed to do it myself. Before long, my arms were full, but he kept going, getting more enthusiastic the more stuff he found.
Finally, he stopped and looked at me seriously, eyes narrowed. “Guess you’ll be needing some new underthings, too?”
I froze; my breath caught in my lungs. “Guess so,” I managed to croak.
When we approached the underwear section, he seemed a little less confident. “You should probably choose your own,” he muttered. “I don’t know about this kind of thing.”
A hot wave of embarrassment washed over me. Was he really going to stand here and watch me pick out underwear?
Apparently, he was. He took the pile of clothes from me and stood at my side as I deliberated over a multipack of patterned cotton panties, and some fancier ones that were displayed on individual hangers. I lifted my hand and fingered a pair of cream lace panties. They were the kind I liked to wear best.
“You should get those,” Steele muttered. His voice was a little hoarse, like he had something stuck in his throat.
“Okay,” I said, and snatched them up.
“And maybe the matching brassiere.” He jabbed a finger at the row of bras above.
My cheeks heating, I rummaged through until I found my size. I was a B cup; wished I was a C.
Jeez, this was more embarrassing than the time I’d asked my mom to take me bra shopping, but in a totally different way. Was he imagining what I’d look like in this underwear set? I didn’t think he was into me, but still, he was a guy…
No, there was no way he would see me as anything but a homeless runaway. A girl to be pitied. He could crook his finger, and any woman would come running. Why would he want me?
“Okay, think I’m ready,” I blurted out. Keeping my head down, I looked around for the changing room.
Steele followed me, but to my relief, he sat outside on one of the chairs that seemed to have been put out for guys accompanying their partners on shopping trips.
I went in and started trying stuff on. Steele had done a good job of guessing my size, and I put everything into two piles—a big pile of stuff that fit, and a smaller one of stuff that didn’t.
And then, at the bottom of the pile was a dress. I held it up, squinting under the garish store lights.
It was dusky pink, with a lace panel on the front and capped sleeves. The skirt was full and came out from a high waist. Not my usual taste, but pretty. Couldn’t hurt to try it on, I guessed.
I slithered into it and zipped it up. It actually fit perfectly, enhancing the shape of my skinny body. It made me look older, more sophisticated.
“Need any help in there?” Steele’s deep voice came from the other side of the curtain.
I jumped. “Th-there’s a dress here. I don’t know where it came from—”
“Let me see.” Before I could argue, he yanked the curtain wide open.
Then he stood very still. His lips parted, and his irises turned from cornflower blue to deep navy.
“You look very pretty,” he said at last. His tone was low, gravelly, and it sent shivers right through me.
“I was just trying it on.” I smoothed the skirt self-consciously.
“You’re taking it,” he said.
I opened my mouth to say I couldn’t, but he had that uncompromising set to his jaw again. I nodded. “Thank you,” I said in a small voice.
“Everything else fit?”
I pointed to the big pile. “All this.”
“Hand it to me, and bring the dress out when you’re done.”
I fingered the fabric. I felt different wearing the dress. Beautiful. But I couldn’t possibly afford it. “No—I—it’s too much. I have no way of paying you back.”
“Do as you’re told, babygirl.” He slid the curtain shut, and he was gone.
I changed back into my old T-shirt and shorts, tingling all over. No one had taken me shopping like this before. When I was growing up, most of my clothes had come from Goodwill. But Steele—my new employer—was taking care of me like this. Buying me all these gifts. It was too much for my brain to handle.
When I emerged from the changing room, he was waiting for me. He took the dress with a businesslike smile and marched up to the sales desk. I trailed after him, hands stuffed into my pockets. We were getting some curious glances from the customers and the cashier, but Steele seemed oblivious to them. He was humming to himself and making conversation with the cashier like he was having a real good day. He was pleased with me, and I liked that feeling.
Outside, I walked alongside him feeling like a little girl on her birthday—no, more like a grown woman with an adoring boyfriend or husband. I was proud to be seen at his side, and hoped people would think we were together. It was a giddy, special feeling, and I wanted to enjoy it for as long as possible.
Instead of heading back to the truck, we crossed the lot and turned onto the sidewalk.
“Where we going?” I asked.
“If you’re going to be riding horses, you need real boots,” was the answer. He put a hand on my back. “Stand up straight, Carrie,” he ordered. “You’re slouching.”
“More rules,” I muttered, but did as I was told.
Steele led me to an old-fashioned shoe shop and held the door for me to go inside. There was a strong smell of new leather, and inside were rows of boots designed for outdoor living.
Sitting by the cashier’s desk was a guy in a vest, with a big droopy moustache. He greeted Steele warmly.
“How you doing, Carl?” Steele said. “Need a special pair of boots for the young lady.”
Carl’s eyes lit up. “I’ve got just the pair,” he said. “What size?”
I told him, and he disappeared in the back and returned with a pair of boots in a box. They were beautiful—brown leather on the shoe part, and embroidered teal leather going up the leg.
Steele told me to take a seat on a leather bench, and I tried to pull the boots on. They were tight as hell. I grunted and strained, but they wouldn’t budge past my instep.
“That’s how they’re supposed to be when you first get them,” he remarked. Then he went behind me, reached around my back, and tugged with both hands. Suddenly he was all wrapped around me, his torso pressing up against my back and his stubble brushing my cheek. I couldn’t breathe. I forgot I was supposed to be helping him. All I was aware of was his scent surrounding me, his big, hard body encircling me.
At last, my heel popped into the boot. Steele released me and I staggered to my feet and walked around. The shoes fit but my toes were pinched.
“They’ll take a bit of wearing in,” Steele commented. “But when you get used to them, you’ll never want to take them off.”
I glanced at Steele’s dark brown boots, which were battered from years of hard wear. What was that thing about a cowboy keeping his boo
ts on even in bed? Suddenly, an image of Steele in nothing but his boots burst into my mind. A little tingle started up between my thighs and I turned away from him fast, before my face started to burn as well.
“You’ll need some feminine shoes, too,” Steele said, striding around the small shop, surveying the stock. “How about these?” He pointed to a pair of black patent Mary Janes.
I opened my mouth to make some comment about just how unhip they were. Then I shut it again. “They’re pretty,” I said instead.
Carl brought over a pair of size sixes and I tried them on. They didn’t look so bad when they were on my feet. They’ll go nicely with the dress,” Steele said, and I was glad if that made him happy.
“Okay, that’ll be $365,” Carl said, ringing everything up in the cash register.
I gaped. I’d had no idea cowboy boots were so expensive. But Steele handed over his credit card like he bought expensive gifts for his ranch hands every day.
“You like ice cream?” he asked once we strolling along the sidewalk again.
“Sure,” I replied.
We passed down a side street and through the door of an old-style creamery. It had white tiles on the walls and fancy gold writing on the windows.
“This place opened up a while ago—I’ve been looking for an excuse to try it out,” he explained gruffly.
I eyed him sideways. “Guess I’m an excuse?”
“Yep.” His expression didn’t change, but I sensed his smile.
The store had all kinds of hip flavors like lavender and rose petal. I ordered one scoop of pistachio and one of rose petal, but Steele looked perturbed by the selection.
He wasn’t a guy for fancy flavors, apparently.
“You like vanilla bean?” I asked him.
“Yup,” he said.
“And chocolate?”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Happens to be my favorite.”
“You have plain chocolate?” I asked the woman at the counter.
“I think we have some out the back,” she said.
Steele threw me a look of gratitude and I was glad I could do something for him, however small.