by Joey W. Hill
Enough. He needed to get his mind back on work. Right now.
Giving himself a mental shake, he coaxed Midnight into a canter, heading toward the other side of the meadow where the gate to the next pasture was located. It was turning out to be a good day weather-wise, the sun coming up, a touch of breeze, the kind of day he liked. In the distance he could see the rise of the low mountains that gave the Hill Country its name, dotted with thick stands of mountain cedar.
The temperature had climbed to the high seventies, about average for late spring in south-central Texas. Before too long though, they'd be crowding triple digits. Texas wasn't known for long spring seasons. Summer could be a bitch, like living in an oven, so he tried to schedule chores with the herd accordingly.
Then Midnight hit a pothole and stumbled.
His fault. It was a fucking greenhorn mistake. With ranch work, there was no such thing as not paying attention, even when things seemed to be going smooth. Men who didn't pay attention ended up going ass over teakettle over their horse's head or worse, permanently injuring a horse Quinn considered worth three of himself.
"Fuck, whoa, boy. Christ."
It all happened in a blink, worst-case scenarios flashing through his head, and then Midnight shied back, righting himself. Experienced as he was, Quinn was nearly unhorsed by the sudden jolt, but then they were right as rain, just like that. Midnight dropped to a trot but kept heading toward the gate, obviously more focused on the job than Quinn was. As he said, the horse was worth three of him.
Then he saw what had made Midnight shy back on course. A butterfly of all things. It fluttered up past the left side of Midnight's head, the horse giving it a snort and head shake.
Quinn was used to seeing the beautiful little creatures. Texas had more species of butterflies and a larger population of them than any other state. Every year millions of Monarch butterflies migrated through the Hill Country, heading south for the winter and back to their habitat for the spring and summer. Midnight saw them all the time too, but this one had apparently almost flown up his nose when he hit that pothole.
Quinn was familiar with the variety of designs on their wings, but this one had a different blend of colors than he'd ever seen before. The larger part of the wingspan was a smoky blue, almost the exact color of Selene's eyes. The border at the bottom was a shimmery pale gold, like her hair.
Okay, he was going loopy if he was comparing a woman's eyes and hair to a butterfly. Still, as he halted Midnight, giving them both a moment to recoup from the near miss, he kept an eye on the creature. The butterfly made a graceful turn, riding an air current to land on his hand, which rested on the pommel of the saddle, reins wrapped over his knuckles. The insect perched there, its delicate wings rippling. Then it took off, brushing his hat brim before heading off on its daily business.
Almost like it was sending him a message. Okay, cowboy, get your mind back on your business. I can't hang around all day to save your ass.
His lips twisted. He'd given the butterfly Selene's imperious, sultry voice, which proved he had his head caught up in his dick. Definitely not on the job at hand. Nudging Midnight into a canter back toward the gate, he told himself to get down to business. Running a ranch was hard work; immersing himself in that would get him back on track better than anything else.
*
He actually did pretty well in that regard until the day started winding down. At that point, every time he touched the whip coiled on his saddle or felt the belting of his chaps press across his pelvis, he thought of Selene, demanding he bring the chaps and whip with him. Usually he dreaded going to After Hours. Today, when the cattle were finally settled and he could ride back to the ranch with the hands, he was chafing at the bit to be at the saloon.
Quite frankly, that pissed him off. During the afternoon he had caught the men sending peculiar glances his way and he knew his distraction was obvious to them. He was too old to be led around by his dick, and he sure as hell couldn't afford for his men to see him that way. He needed to shower, change, get his shit together. The main reason he needed to go to After Hours tonight was not to get laid or let some pint-sized girl boss him around. He needed to make sure last night wasn't some kind of fluke, and that she really did know what she was doing with the bar. Everything else was secondary. Ridiculous as it might be, it felt like his goals for the ranch, the saloon, his whole life plan, were all teetering in the balance.
Maybe he shouldn't take the whip, make it clear he wasn't going to do everything she said. Or maybe he would take it, just to turn the tables. He imagined wrapping the fall around her luscious backside, holding it tight to keep her pressed against his cock. He wouldn't use it on her. God no. But he idly considered putting her over his knee, giving her a spanking, watching her thrash.
That was kind of fun to imagine. He'd gone that route before with women. But as he chose a clean shirt from his closet, his movements slowed, and he only got as far in his mind as closing his hand around her delicate wrist and pulling her forward between his knees. Then she took over the fantasy the same way she seemed to take over his reality. Sliding her hands free to frame his face, she'd bend down and brush his lips with hers, whispering the command to keep his hands on his knees, off her until she said okay, while things built inside him like a cyclone threatening to tear out his foundation.
Time to head to After Hours and Selene. And what was sure to be an erotic battle of wills. He couldn't wait.
*
The dashboard clock on Quinn's truck read eleven o'clock when he finally pulled into the parking area at the rear of After Hours and let himself in through the backdoor. Despite his full intent to be there earlier, Johnny had intercepted him to go over some things, which led to a couple phone calls in his office, where the stack of paperwork waiting for his attention couldn't be ignored.
So here he was, three hours later than he'd intended. He reasoned that was okay though. If this--hiring her as manager--was to work, he needed to give her room to establish herself. Let the patrons see her as the person in charge. He'd still come early enough to see how she was doing. All in all, this was probably the best time to do it. Any problems she'd had would be obvious.
He looked at the coiled whip he held in his hand and the leather chaps draped over one arm and shook his head, hardly able to believe he had actually brought them with him. A kaleidoscope of erotic images danced in his head as he opened the office door and placed them on his desk. He visualized her naked with the whip in her hand, flicking her wrist to make the thin strip of leather dance in the air as he did when herding cattle. In his mind he was also naked, except for the chaps, and facing away from her, hands pressed to the wall. He could almost hear the hiss of the single tail in the air and his buttocks clenched in anticipation.
Jesus, Pedraza. Despite all his self admonitions, the second he stepped into the building, those desires surged back to the forefront. Don't be a pussy. Unless that's part of wanting to be a sissy-boy submissive too.
His jaw hardened along with his resolve. She's only in charge of the bar.
The office had already been reorganized, a new system in place that made it easy to see which invoices were paid, which were pending, everything in a commonsense, neat filing system. She'd also laid out reports on the now clean desk that made it clear she'd expected him to come in and take a look. Reports evaluating inventory versus sales, legible notes in the margins of what product could be cut, which should be added. A cost estimate and sketch of interior design adjustments to spruce up the bar area and encourage more liquor purchases. A scaled-down but more appealing menu of bar food choices, integrating some local flavor with traditional comfort foods.
All in less than twenty-four hours. Was the woman even real?
He couldn't find anything that didn't seem like a good idea or not affordable on the current income level. Given that word of mouth had obviously turned out a big local crowd this week to check out the new help, it was a good bet they'd keep coming back.
As he left the office and headed to the main floor, the good impressions just multiplied. The air was filled with a mixture of voices and music, but tonight they seemed to be less raucous than usual. Not subdued, exactly, but...tempered. People having a good time, but not out of control like rowdy schoolchildren.
Standing at the hallway entrance, he assessed the situation. All the tables were taken, as were most of the bar stools. A few couples were on the dance floor moving to the music. He wasn't sure what they were doing could actually be called dancing, but they seemed to be enjoying themselves. Laughter was a punctuation mark in the blend of noises and shockingly no one was fighting or falling-down drunk.
Maria wove between the tables, serving tray balanced on one hand, smiling as she delivered the orders. A pink t-shirt with some kind of sparkle on it and boot-cut jeans covered her curves. Her thick hair was pulled back in a ponytail that bounced with each step. No one was grabbing for her body parts or making lewd remarks.
The tantalizing aroma of barbecue drifted from the kitchen and when he slid along the back wall to peek into the kitchen, he was stunned to see Manuel in not only a clean shirt but a new cook's apron, piling barbecue on heated buns and sliding the plates onto the pass-through for Selene or Maria to pull them through.
Another transformation.
But what drew his attention and mesmerized him was the manager herself. Selene wore the same jeans from the night before but tonight she'd paired them with a black t-shirt that made the gold of her hair even more pronounced.
Even though there was a sizeable crowd, her gaze pinned him the second he approached the bar. Her lips curved, the blue eyes reflecting...he wouldn't describe it as the easy warmth of a hearth fire. More like a she-wolf realizing dinner was within range of her jaws. Why that turned him on, he wasn't sure. For a brief moment he remembered the butterfly and a strange mixture of emotions surged through him like a waterfall tumbling along sparkling rock.
Selene never missed a beat, even though he was sure she was aware of his eyes on her every minute. She moved easily up and down behind the bar, working the beer taps, serving drinks, cleaning as she went and making sure she collected every dime due to the bar.
Quinn shook his head. Just like last night, it seemed to be her tone of voice, her smile, just the right touch of professional reserve and friendly barkeep, that kept people behaving and gravitating to her. While his customers wouldn't appreciate the comparison, it was a lot like the way cows responded to an experienced hand. If he showed weakness or fear, they picked up on it and took advantage or got out of control fast. Feeling uncertain and nervous, unguided or unprotected was the worst situation for a herd. If a hand knew what he was doing, the cows knew he was in charge and responded accordingly, staying pretty manageable even when things got riled up.
Her smile had a core of steel behind it, which she'd made evident to everyone. She'd cast a magic net over them, earning their respect and turning a mob into a friendly group of people. She was such a paradox. Look what she was doing to him.
Fuck.
He hadn't been this conflicted since he left rodeoing and took ownership of the ranch. At least in that area he had some working knowledge of what was required. With Selene he was drifting rudderless, trying to find his footing.
Moving into the barback area, he fetched an empty mug and poured a beer for himself. Selene turned in his direction and unleashed her bewitching smile. Heat surged through him and he took a healthy swallow of his beer. Trying to look casual and unaffected.
"You're early, boss," she said, with just a touch of sultry taunt on the title. "Come to check up on the help?"
"Thought I'd make sure the other night wasn't a one-hit-wonder performance. That you weren't just selling me a bill of goods."
Something dark flashed in her eyes, there then gone. "You've nothing to worry about. Why don't you take your beer and socialize with some of your patrons? They can tell you how much better things are running since that disgrace of a manager you hired is gone."
She headed back down along the bar, the muscles of her very fine ass flexing with each stride, her hair moving around her like a pale golden cloud.
Quinn grinned. Put him in his place, didn't she? When she turned back, he made sure she saw him still leaning against the wall, one boot hooked over the other as he lifted his beer to his lips and kept his eyes glued on her. He had no intention of hanging out with his customers. He planned to stand here and drive himself crazy with thoughts of what would happen upstairs after the bar closed.
Her brow arched, her eyes sliding over him as if sizing him up for what she had planned. He forced himself to give back some of the same, and felt his cock jump at the spark in her eyes. Yeah, it's going to be a bit more of a tug-of-war tonight, honey. If the balance shifted it would be at his design, not hers.
The next couple of hours dragged by such that Quinn thought time might have stood still. Yet it wasn't a chore. He moved to that back table she'd preferred the other night, one booted foot propped on a seat, and then he did chat up a few customers. But while he did that, he kept his eye on her, drinking in everything she was doing. There were still some hiccups, mostly having to do with Manuel and Maria's learning curves as they struggled to adapt to new skills. However, she was patient and encouraging with them, and he'd have to be blind not to see those types of hiccups were temporary drawbacks. Things were already three hundred percent improved.
A couple times some of the more troublesome regulars started to get out of hand, but before he could act, she was on top of that. A firm hand placed on a shoulder, her steely look mixed with a warm but pointed direction to behave--or get the hell out of his bar. Barely five feet tall and he'd bet she'd make a hell of a cooler. He wouldn't be surprised if she'd been one.
So at least, job-wise, she seemed to be the real bill of goods. Still way too good to be true though. He reminded himself how deftly she'd avoided his questions. He knew the signs of someone running, no matter what she'd said. But from what? Or who? What was so terrible that she couldn't tell him? He would simply win her confidence, one step at a time, before he addressed the question again.
The only other problem with his quickly met satisfaction at the changes was it left his mind open to consider other things. He made a move once to help with clearing tables, just to distract himself, but Selene gave him a quick head shake. It was clear she was teaching Maria to manage her time covering the floor without help, and when she did truly need help, it was Selene's job to assist. Exactly what he'd hoped to see happen at the bar so he didn't have to be here every night. But he made a note it might be time to hire a busboy, especially if the income increased the way it looked like it would.
Because of how involved he'd had to be in the past, it felt odd sitting here with his feet up, slouched down comfortably to nurse his beer as she did it all. The way her gaze passed over him said she was cognizant of the message it sent to the patrons--he was the boss, and she was the employee. Given his earlier resolve, he should be pleased he was underscoring that message. He was the one in control. Instead he kept thinking about what would happen when--not if--those roles were reversed. How he'd serve her at the end of the night.
She was able to get the last one out the door by midnight. His other girl, Carol, would be coming in tomorrow, and Quinn was amazed to hear Maria offer to come in without pay to help train her so Selene wouldn't be overwhelmed. Selene agreed, but firmly indicated Maria would be compensated after a brief glance toward him to see that he concurred. She obviously deferred to the things that were his call as owner, showing him respect in front of his people. But was it an act? He remembered that little taunt when he got here, saying "boss".
Oh yeah, he'd show her who was boss tonight. As dumbass Neanderthal as that sounded, even in his own head, it helped steady him a bit.
"Good night, Selene."
Selene lifted a hand, acknowledging Maria's farewell as the girl and Manuel disappeared. She followed them to the fo
yer doors, flipped the locks, pulled down the security shades. Then she turned around and looked at him, the length of the mopped bar floor between them.
Honest to God, he was ready to toss her to the floor. Rip off her jeans and thrust himself into her as deeply as he could. He was so busy imagining her naked it startled him when she flicked off the lights and appeared right in front of him. Had he zoned out, or had it seemed she hadn't even moved, just materialized right there? His brain was fogged with lust. She pressed herself against him.
"Upstairs, cowboy. We have business to conduct." She tilted her head. "You brought the whip and chaps?"
"I did."
Her lips curved. "Excellent. Then let's get to it."
"Why wait?" He clamped both hands on her waist and set her on one of the stools, pushing his way between her knees that spread to accommodate him. In the next blink, his mouth was fused on hers.
Oh God yes. It was like he hadn't had her in months, let alone less than a day. Her lips parted beneath his, her breath sweet and whiskey tinged from where she'd sampled her drinks or let a customer pay for a shot just to see her tip it back in one smooth move like last night. She didn't chase it or spit it out, yet she was as clear and levelheaded now as a teetotaler. How did someone so petite tolerate alcohol like a linebacker?
He was good at taking over a woman, making her feel good. His large hands slid from her waist to her hips, curved back over her ass, kneaded in that way that shot sensation up a woman's rim, right straight to her pussy, making her wiggle and squirm. She did writhe under his hands, her breasts pressing into his chest, and he groaned with the pleasure of it.
"Come on." He lifted her from the stool and clasped her hand, pulling her after him to the office. He grabbed the stuff from there, the whip and the chaps, and met her gaze, all smoky and mysterious.
"Looks like you planned a couple of your own surprises for me tonight," she said.