by April Hill
And for some complicated reasons she couldn’t have explained, Abby agreed.
They sat in Luke’s kitchen until dawn, talking. As they sat down, he laid a big wooden spoon on the table between them. Abby raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Think of it as a kind of incentive,” he explained. “Not to steal my car and take off on me again.”
“Not likely,” she grumbled, adjusting her sore backside on the gingham seat cushion. “Sitting down hurts like hell. I’d have to walk most of the way.” She sighed. “Am I going to get spanked again if I offer to pay for the damage?”
He smiled. “I’ll be happy to take your check. But I’ll have to hold it ‘til it clears. Remember, I’m a working man. Now, before you stole my truck and ran it into a ditch, you were telling me about yourself. I’d like you to finish. You can start with that.” He pointed to Abby’s engagement ring.
She slipped the ring off her finger, and dropped in onto the table. “Past history. Is there at least a pawn shop in this town?”
Luke chuckled. “You ever watch Judge Judy? According to her, the man gets the ring back.”
“I’ve got a feeling Edward would say it was worth it to get rid of me.”
“He that rich?” Luke asked.
“Define rich. On a scale of one to ten, the Sultan of Brunei being a ten, Edward’s family is probably a six. Maybe a pretentious five.”
“And your family?”
“Somewhere in between. Dad doesn’t actually own a country, yet. May I change the subject for a moment?”
He nodded.
“Remember what you said, about what people should get for Christmas? Something they want, and something they need?”
“I remember, but I’m kinda’ surprised you do.”
“Well,” Abby said softly. “I think you already gave me both. I guess there’s not much doubt that I needed that spanking, but I realize now that I may have wanted it, as well.”
“You care to explain that?” Luke asked. “I’ve known a couple of ladies in my time who liked getting paddled, during the preliminaries, so to speak, but you didn’t act much like you were enjoyin’ it.”
“I didn’t,” she conceded, blushing furiously. “But I did everything I could to make sure it happened, didn’t I? Even after you kept warning me?”
He grinned. “Yeah, I wondered about that. Most folks have the sense to back off a little from what they’re doin’ when it looks like they’re gonna take a lickin’ if they keep doin’ it. I guess I just figured you weren’t gettin’ my message.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” Abby said. “Nobody really explained the rules. Not the right way, anyway, and not while I was still young enough to listen. And nobody cared enough to enforce them, either. And then, I kept doing what I’d always done, even when I began to realize that it was wrong. I don’t think I really meant to hurt anyone, Luke. I just wasn’t paying attention.”
“The problem with that is you don’t just hurt other people, you hurt yourself,” he observed. “Then, one day, you look around, and find out that you’ve driven everyone away.”
Abby nodded. “Right. But what I don’t get is why you didn’t just walk away. The way everyone else had. It would have been easier for you. Was spanking the daylights out of me really worth all the trouble I gave you?”
Luke chuckled. “Well, now, I was pretty pissed off about a couple of things, and I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I didn’t enjoy blistering your ass, but there was a little more to it than just revenge. I wanted you to understand that having the money to pay for the rotten things you do doesn’t make them any less rotten. Sometimes, you need to feel the pain somewhere besides your wallet. Otherwise, you’ll just keep doing it. Until the cash runs out, anyway.” When Abby squirmed around again, trying to get comfortable, he shook his head. “You know, what happened back at Homer’s isn’t somethin’ I do a lot. Did I overdo it?”
She laughed. “It’s not something I know much about, either, and I’m pretty sure I’ll regret saying this, but I think you got it about right. I don’t convince easily.”
“You convinced now?”
She rolled her eyes. “Absolutely.”
Luke smiled. “Well, you be sure to let me know if you start to backslide, okay? Now, since you’re stuck here in Nerdville for a while, anyway, what about making it for a couple of months?”
“Here?”
“Sure. Give yourself a chance to think things out, make a few decisions. Maybe even a new start. What can you do?”
“Do?” she asked.
“Yeah, you know. What kind of work do you usually do? What did you do at your last job?” He paused. “Have you ever had a job?”
“I used to baby-sit for Mrs. Jannison’s twins. She was my father’s secretary.”
“And that was how long ago?”
“I was twelve, I think.”
“Let me get this straight,” Luke said, shaking his head. “You went from being a babysitter at the age of twelve to being what my grandmother used to call a kept woman?”
“Of course not! I went to college, first.”
“What’s your degree in?”
“Degree?”
“Yeah, you know. That fancy piece of paper they give you in a fake leather folder when you graduate.”
“I didn’t exactly graduate.”
“All right. What sort of classes did you take, exactly, when you were still there? Anything useful?”
“I was an art history major. I minored in French literature.”
“It figures.”
“What’s wrong with art?” she asked sullenly. “Or French, for that matter?”
“Nothing. I’m just tryin’ to remember where the closest French speakin’ art gallery is.”
“Face it, “ Abby moaned, “I’m a big, fat failure, with no prospects.”
Luke glanced at the wall clock, and stood up.
“I’ve got work to do, so I’ll tell you what. When you get done feeling sorry for yourself, come on down to the barn and talk to me. Tomorrow, we’ll be driving up to my sister’s for Christmas dinner, God help us, and when we get back, you can bunk here for a while. Maybe even earn your own ticket back to the Big Apple.”
“Bunk?” she repeated.
“I sleep downstairs. There’s a spare room on the second floor with a lock on the door, and a bathroom right across the hall I never use. Take it or leave it.”
“Do you trust me? With what you know? And I may as well tell you, I’m kind of a slob. Edward had a cleaning woman.”
“Okay, how’s this? If I catch you stealing, I’ll drag you into town and have you locked up on bread and water. If you don’t clean up after yourself, I’ll blister your butt, and rescind my damned invitation.”
“And what am I expected to do, in return for all that gracious generosity and hospitality?” Abby asked sweetly.
“You can start by losing the attitude and the chip on your shoulder,” he said. “Can you cook?”
Abby shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never really tried.”
“Then don’t start trying, now. I’d just as soon not get poisoned, or see my house burn down. I’m guessing you don’t milk cows, either, or feed them.”
“Is it hard?”
“Not especially.”
“Then, you can teach me.”
“All right. That’s a start. Seven bucks an hour, and your keep.”
“And I have to be neat?”
“Neat, clean, and organized. I used to be in the Navy. And I already told you what’ll happen if I have to clean up after you. A hairbrush works even better than a shingle, and I’ve got a couple of ‘em around here, somewhere.”
“The ships in the Navy stopped flogging people two hundred years ago,” she sulked.
“I run a tougher ship than they did. Besides, you won’t get flogged, just spanked hard enough to get the point across, and long enough to help you remember why it happened.”
“I imagine you have a lot
of trouble getting housekeepers,” she said.
He grinned. “You’ll be the first, actually. If you take the job.”
“Is that legal in Texas? Spanking your hired help?”
“Everything’s legal in Texas. We carry concealed weapons, here, and hang litterbugs. If you don’t think you can follow the rules, or take the consequences, don’t take the job.”
“I need the job. Besides, I’m betting you’re bluffing.”
Luke smiled. “You’ll lose that bet.”
“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” she said, stifling a yawn. “God, I’m sleepy. Where did you say I should sleep?”
“Be down at the barn in ten minutes. And have another couple of cups of coffee, first. I like my hired hands wide awake.”
And so began Abby’s first day at work. Tomorrow was Christmas, but today, she would rake hay alongside Luke McLaughlin until her hands were sore, and muck out stalls until the smell of horse manure was as familiar as the perfume she used to wear. He introduced her to the three other hands that worked the ranch, and bunked in the small log building behind the main house. That night, she bathed in an antique claw-footed tub, and went to sleep in the same room, and the same wide, four-poster bed where Luke McLaughlin had been born. But as she began to drift off to sleep, she imagined her handsome boss sleeping in the room below, and found herself wondering whether he slept in pajamas, or naked. Which led, inevitably to wondering how he looked, naked. And how his long, lean body would feel against hers…naked.
And then, she began planning how to arrange for herself certain very specific employee benefits. If a woman who had never worked a day in her life before was suddenly forced to earn her own living, it was always nice to get the complete benefits package, right?
There was still the problem of Christmas, of course. Luke had already given her a Christmas present…the one she had both wanted and needed. But here it was, the night before Christmas, and she had no gift to give him.
Well, maybe there was one thing. She lifted the quilt and glanced down at the outfit she had gone to bed in. One of Luke’s old tee shirts, hugely too large and stained with fence paint. And a pair of Homer Dickerson’s gray wool socks. Very festive. What her gift to Luke needed was more attractive gift-wrap.
Abby got up, knelt on the floor, and dragged her small blue suitcase from under the bed. Most of her other clothing had gone on to Las Vegas without her, but if there was one thing Abby had plenty of in the little suitcase, it was a collection of very expensive “gift-wrap.” Filmy, soft, lacy, and in a virtual rainbow of colors. The sort of gift-wrap one could only find in the scented lingerie departments in all the most exclusive stores.
And as soon as she was properly gift-wrapped, she would tiptoe downstairs, slip into the Boss’s room, and ask him if he saw anything he needed–or at least wanted–for Christmas.
THE END
“All is Calm, All Is Bright”
It began to snow harder after he turned onto the lake road, but the flakes were still large and wet, and not sticking, yet. No reason he couldn’t make the cabin by ten, Jim thought. Ten-thirty, at the latest, unless the snow began coming down in earnest. He’d never known Jess to go to bed before eleven, especially when she was angry. She’d come up here to think, or maybe just to sulk. In any case, what he had to say, and to do, wouldn’t take long. The rest of the conversation— if there were a conversation, would be up to her. He was out of words. Exhausted by words. Sick to death of them, after the last go-round. How many words had there been? How many hours, and even days, spent in pointless bickering? How many arguments that started quietly enough, but then turned angry, ending in bitterness and frustration for both of them?
Next question, and the one he didn’t really want to think about, was would this work? Would anything he said or did, at this point, change anything? Change things between them? Or would it just make everything worse? Maybe that was the real question. Could things get any worse? She was barely speaking to him, as it was, and they hadn’t had sex in three months. A few weeks short of their tenth wedding anniversary, and their marriage was already teetering on the edge. What he was planning to do, tonight, could end up pushing it over that edge—to divorce.
Divorce. Jess had threatened it often enough. Especially in the last few months. He’d tried to convince himself that it was the worsening stress at work that made her lash out at him so often, and with such rage. She never got enough sleep. Hell, she never even sat down at a table for a real meal, anymore, but seemed to live on energy drinks and fast food, which kept her on edge and even quicker to lose her temper. But holding a divorce over his head was relatively new in the threats department. It made a great weapon, though, and Jess had never been afraid of using whatever weapons worked. The problem was that recently, she’d used it so often that the word had begun to lose the power to terrify him, the way it had in the beginning. But the possibility was still there, and that was usually enough to make him to back down when they argued. He couldn’t imagine life without Jess.
The funny thing—or more accurately, the heartbreaking thing—was that he knew she didn’t really want a divorce. After the last ugly quarrel, though, he’d been forced to finally face the fact that it might be the only remaining option. Because the way it was now was killing him. But he didn’t want to be the one to take that step toward divorce. Not without a fight.
Jim Warren didn’t like fighting, but for reasons he’d never completely understood, Jess seemed to thrive on it. She’d fight about everything, or about nothing, with equal ferocity. Fights that left him emotionally drained, and bewildered about how they had started. Or what the fight had really been about. Finally, he’d simply stopped. Issued a blanket surrender, declared a separate peace, and retreated from the field.
“I’m done,” he told her. “I won’t fight over things that don’t matter, and I don’t understand why you want to. I love you, and I think you love me, but until you’re ready to help me understand what’s going on—why you want this—there’s nothing else I can do. All the senseless quarreling is over, as of now. I’m declaring a permanent truce.” He grinned, hoping to lighten the mood. “Of course, when there’s something really worth battling about, like who gets control of the remote, that’s another–”
Jess turned on her heel, and walked away. “The real problem is, you’re a rotten loser,” she called over her shoulder. After that, she’d been relentless. Not a day passed that she didn’t try to pick a battle over something trivial. And eventually, she goaded him into one final argument. An argument that started nasty, and turned viciously personal. Fifteen minutes into it, when she refused to stop, Jim left the apartment, and spent the night in a hotel. As he walked out the front door, Jess was smirking in triumph.
When he came home the next day, hoping she’d calmed down enough to discuss things reasonably, he’d found the note on the refrigerator door. “I’ve gone up to the cabin, to think things over. I’ll be gone three days. Don’t come up, and don’t call me—Jess.”
So, here he was, driving through a snowstorm, directly into what he hated most—another fight. There was no question about it. After he’d done what he needed to do, there was going to be one hell of a fight. He didn’t look forward to it, but at least this fight would be different. This time, he’d be fighting for his life. For Jess’s life. And for their life together. This was a fight they couldn’t afford to lose.
The really rotten thing was the timing. Christmas Eve was a hell of a time to spank the living daylights out of your wife for the first time.
* * * *
He pulled up in the driveway a little short of ten-thirty, and sat for a minute or two with the wipers on, looking at the cabin through the snow. They’d bought the place just after they were married, in a bank foreclosure that took every penny they could scrape together, or borrow. Every weekend for the next two years had been devoted to making it livable. A new roof, major repairs to the sagging boards on the porch and front steps,
and a complete redo of the kitchen and single bathroom. Now, it was a charming, comfortable retreat they never seemed to have the time to use. Jess traveled a lot on business, and when she wasn’t on a plane, going somewhere, she spent long hours at her office. His teaching job at the college could be demanding at times, but in the last year, Jess had rarely even made it home for dinner. The drive up here from the city was a long one, more than two hours, even in good weather, so the cabin usually sat empty for most of the year—an expense they couldn’t really afford, but they couldn’t face giving up.
The lights were on in the living room and the kitchen, and the red gingham curtains Jess had put up that first year gave the cabin a cheerful, welcoming appearance. With the snowdrifts underneath the windows reflecting the warm glow from inside, the scene resembled a Christmas card. A little corny, but pretty, and peaceful. The way everyone should feel on Christmas Eve.
Finally, with a resigned sigh, he pulled the keys from the ignition, took his cell phone from his shirt pocket, and locked the phone in the glove compartment. He didn’t want distractions, or to be interrupted. Not tonight. When he stepped from the car, the air was colder than he’d expected. A stiff breeze was blowing off the lake, bitter, and sharp enough to sting his face as he trudged through the snow to the front steps.
Jim swore. The snow was already two feet deep, all the way to the front door, and even higher where the wind had driven it into drifts. Impassable without a shovel and a half-hour’s hard work. He’d noticed Jess’s little BMW parked at the side of the house, near the kitchen door, and guessed she’d at least partially cleared the kitchen steps when she arrived, in order to get to the woodpile. In the hope that the steps, there, were still navigable, he blew on his hands, and made his way around the side. As he walked, he looked for a good place to put his keys, and settled on a cracked flowerpot under the first step. One less chance of a premature exit, he thought. Jess had helped herself to his car keys and run out on him before, when she got mad.
With the car keys tucked safely in for the time being, he climbed the steps and knocked on the kitchen door once, waited for a moment or two, and knocked again, a little louder. When there was no response, he glanced between the curtains, into the small kitchen. Through the doorway that led to the living room, he saw Jess curled up on the couch, under a red tartan blanket, probably asleep. He could only see a small sliver of the living room, but there was a fire in the fireplace, and the TV was apparently on, because he could hear what the weatherman talking about the storm. He rubbed his upper arms in the cold, wishing he’d taken the time to put on his coat, and knocked again. Twice, and harder, this time.