by Jaime Samms
“You always do this!” Len scurried around the truck to cut him off. “You go too fast. I need time—”
“Time, time. More time.” Vance almost threw up his hands but clenched them at his sides instead. He turned and walked toward the barn. “Take all the time you need. It don’t matter.”
“Vance!”
He kept walking.
“Vance!” Len stomped a foot, his fingers curling tight. “Dammit, I’m talking. You can’t just walk away!” He ran around, planted himself in front of Vance, and stiff-armed him, palms on his chest, elbows locked tight. It wasn’t as though he could shove the much bigger man. Maybe slow his progress, but not stop his forward momentum. “You have to give me a minute.”
Vance sighed and firmly removed Len’s hands from his chest. “I’ve got horses to look to, Len.”
“You’ve got me to look after.” Len could feel it, chunks of flesh and bone falling away, and no one saw him disintegrating. Not even Vance.
“I can’t.” Vance’s voice was desperately quiet and tight. “Darlin’, I just—” He took Len by the biceps and made a move to lift him bodily to one side.
Len panicked, fought his grip, one small part of him fighting Vance’s intention, struggling to stay in the big man’s path. The rest of him, though, broke apart, exploded before he could think. Before he could stop it. His heart shredded the careful construct of control in a wild attempt to get free of the constraining hands, and he dug fingers into the meat of Vance’s hands. His nails bit deep and Vance roared.
“Len.”
“No!”
Vance’s fingers tightened and it hurt, and gods, how he wanted to cling to that small truth.
But Vance was bigger and stronger, and he would win this tussle. And then what? Len fought his own mind, cursing at the images of Ace overlaying everything, making him crazy. Making him lash out.
Let go!
“Don’t.” He gasped for a breath, ground a wild scream to a hoarse whisper inside his tightening throat.
Don’t let go!
“Len.” Vance eased away from him and he realized he had clenched both fists and pounded them against Vance’s chest. The hands on him were gone. The heat and breadth of maleness, of towering other, had backed off. Next, Vance would walk away.
Frantic, Len tried to grab him. Vance was always faster, pushing him off, snatching his hands out of reach, setting Len aside over and over until Len snapped. He swung.
Not because he wanted to hurt anyone. Not for any reason. It was instinct.
Vance snared his wrist and a handful of hair, and a heartbeat later, Len was on his knees in the dirt. Gravel bit through his jeans, and Vance’s grip, ferociously strong, held him still.
His heart crashed into a wall of utter annihilation and he heard his own far-off pleading, as if it came from way back in time from the years with Ace and not from his own throat swollen with impending tears. He couldn’t breathe through the constriction.
“Enough!” Vance snarled.
Len whimpered. Not from pain. Not physical pain, anyway. He stared up at Vance, incapable of voicing words, the inescapable clinging terror that something bad was about to happen.
“Shit. Oh shit.” Vance released his hand first, slowly opening his fingers and stepping back so he had to lean to retain the grip in Len’s hair. The hair was next, and Vance took a step back.
“Enough,” he said again, so quiet. So vicious.
Len stared up at him as his heart dripped blood on its slow thud down and out his toes.
A dribble of real blood seeped from Vance’s split lip and trickled through the stubble on his chin. “Stay.” He turned his back and stalked toward the house.
THE BLINDS in the office had been left open. Vance remembered leaving them that way, the better to see the fireflies playing under the willow in the front yard the evening before. Now, afternoon sun baked the room’s interior, lifting the smells of old carpet and wallboard into the air. It was a whiff of his childhood, of memories of his father sitting behind the heavy oak desk making plans and paying bills. Even though some tension left Vance’s shoulders, it never went away completely these days. The door closed behind him with an unintentional slam despite his best effort to keep his temper tethered.
Through the wide windows, he could see Len kneeling in the dust of the barnyard, hands clasped loosely behind his back, then falling to his sides, and then moving again as he reclasped them. He didn’t quite know what to do with them.
God, he was so small. And he looked stunned. So fucking terrified.
Touching shaking fingers to his lip, he cursed at the sting and the blood. He searched and found a napkin on the desk to daub at the injury.
If sunshine streaming into the room was muted, out in the yard, there was no protection from it. Len’s pale features and red hair stood out like beacons in all that brightness. One of the farmhands—Kilmer Hennessey—shot furtive glances at Len every thirty seconds or so as he puttered around one of the tractors.
Probably he’d seen the entire scuffle.
If anyone could be trusted to keep that mess private, it was Kilmer. He was a good man, and he understood the dynamic between Len and Vance because he lived it himself. He was a strong, independent man who enjoyed submitting, and had submitted to Vance more than a few times in the past. He’d understand. Vance stared out the window at Len, hands still behind him, head bent, shoulders slumped.
He should go back out there. But fuck! Len had hit him. Accidentally? Probably.
Vance was supposed to control these situations. He was supposed to control Len.
How long had it been now? Five minutes? Ten?
Len hadn’t moved a muscle since closing his right hand around his left wrist behind his back the last time. He knelt, facing the house, sun beating down on his bare, bent head.
“Fuck!”
Vance hurried to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water and Len’s Stetson from its hook by the back door, and went back to the office. He tossed hat and water onto the couch under the window and crossed his arms over his chest. He had no idea what he was going to say to the man. No idea what he could say.
Had he been hasty in assuming Len wouldn’t tell him what he’d talked to Dr. Stanton about? He didn’t have any reason to think today was going to be different than the appointments over the past weeks when Len hadn’t wanted to talk about the sessions. But he could admit he’d let his own emotions dictate his actions. He’d not wanted to hear another refusal, because refusal hurt. He was battered and heartsore and didn’t want to feel that way anymore.
When he glanced out the window, Len hadn’t moved. Hennessey was gone.
How was he supposed to do this? No other man had gotten to him like this. No other man had ever made him doubt his control. No other man had scared him like Len could scare him when the tiny man turned to spitfire and brimstone in the blink of an eye. Not that Len could hurt him physically, but the potential for collateral emotional damage was extreme. For both of them. Vance would never forgive himself if he did more damage to the fragile man he had claimed responsibility for.
“Boss?” The soft rap on his office door gave him a start.
“Not now, Hennessey.” He bit out the words and almost instantly regretted the tone. Kilmer was one of his oldest friends. When Vance had transplanted his entire life from his father’s not-so-gay-friendly Texas ranch to remake his music career in Toronto, Kilmer had said a reluctant good-bye. Years later, when Vance bought his current spread in Southern Ontario with his hard-earned music profits, he’d asked Kilmer to come work for him, and Kilmer hadn’t thought twice about pulling up stakes and moving north. They had a lot of history. Kilmer worked hard, and it wasn’t fair of Vance to take out his shitty mood on the man.
“Sir,” Kilmer said, deference in his tone. It caught at Vance, that soft tone. It was the same one he used in a scene, and Vance sighed.
“What?”
“It’s awful hot out there, sir.”
Kilmer took a step into the room, glanced between Vance and the window, then picked up the Stetson. “He’s mighty upset, sir.”
Vance watched Len another few seconds before turning to Kilmer. He met the man’s deep brown eyes and thought back to all the times he’d been privileged to have them fixed solely on him. Kilmer had been his once, and it had been a good relationship. They had managed to part still friends, and he had the utmost respect for the man.
“Kilmer….” An idea dawned, one that could give Len what he needed, safely, and without jeopardizing the trust between them. What was left of it. Because Vance wasn’t sure he was calm enough, strong enough, to hear the things Len had to say to move beyond his past.
“Sir?” Kilmer studied him, worry in his gaze now, as well as deference.
“He needs someone to talk to, Kil,” he admitted, abandoning the boss/worker façade and leaning heavily on their lifelong friendship.
Kilmer frowned. “Not you?”
Vance let out what felt like his last viable breath in a sigh. “Not me,” he agreed. He shoved his hands into his pockets and forced his gaze up past Kilmer’s chest to his face. “I thought maybe another submissive. Someone who knows the ropes. Someone who can teach him.”
Kilmer sighed too. “He’s your man, sir.”
Vance could only nod and meet his old friend’s eyes. “I’m lost, Kil. Lost. I can’t help him. I can only make it worse, and I love him too much to hurt him. And doing nothin’ is hurtin’ him just as much.”
Kilmer nodded. “I can make the offer, sir. About all I can do.”
“I know.”
Kilmer dipped his chin once more, took the hat and water, and moved to the door.
“Kilmer.”
“Sir?” He stopped and looked back.
“You don’t have to tell me anything he says. He’ll tell me what he wants me to know. Just. Help him. If you can.”
Kilmer glanced out the window. “Like a wild mustang, ain’t he?”
If that was true, patience and understanding would be enough. But Len had been abused. Misused. Teaching a wild thing to trust was so much easier than reminding a broken man he could trust.
“Bring him his hat,” Vance said. “I’ll be out shortly.”
Kilmer smiled faintly and hurried out. A moment later, the front door closed and Kilmer appeared in the yard. He crouched in front of Len, and Vance held his breath, waiting to see if Len would so much as look at the ranch hand.
“Please, baby,” he whispered. “Let him help you. Please.”
3
FOOTSTEPS APPROACHED from the house but Len kept his gaze fixed on the ground. An ant scurried past his knee, and he watched its progress until he couldn’t see it anymore. He’d counted eleven of the tiny insects following the same path across the sunbaked ground since he’d knelt there. Sweat dripped into his eyes. He blinked but didn’t move to wipe it away.
The footsteps were getting closer, a sort of a clop-shuffle gait that was not Vance’s confident, stomping stride. Boots entered his field of vision, narrowly missing stepping on the ant highway. Their owner crouched and the brim of a hat dropped into view.
“Len.” The man’s voice was soft and soothing.
Len stared at the ground in front of him.
“The boss sent me out to see to you.”
Len flinched. Not even as worthy of the attention Vance would give one of his horses.
“You gotta understand, Len. He’s in a bad way over you. I’m going to take a spell lookin’ after you here, because he’s got to get his head on straight, an’ he can’t when he’s so all-fired worried about you.” The man shifted, and a moment later, a hat settled over Len’s head. He was grateful for the shade and finally glanced up.
“Hennessey?” he asked, pretty sure he remembered the man’s name but wanting to be positive.
The man nodded. “Kilmer Hennessey, yeah.” He held out a bottle of water. “Take a drink, okay? It’s damn hot out here.”
Len’s hand shook as he took the offered water and used more effort than warranted to get the lid off, but he chugged over half the contents before looking his savior in the face. “Why won’t he come himself?”
“I told you. He’s as upset as you are. He sent me to make sure you’re okay. I can’t let you get up. That ain’t my place, but if you want, I can stay and talk.”
Len studied him. He was older than Len, maybe as old as Vance. It was hard to tell because his face was lined from spending so much time out of doors. He had a kind face, though, lean and intense, with pale-blue eyes and a bit of gray at his temples, and well-worn laugh lines around his wide mouth. He was handsome, Len thought, in a soft, worn-like-old-leather sort of way.
“Talk about what?” Len asked.
Kilmer smiled, deepening the lines around his mouth and making his eyes sparkle. “Finish the water first.”
Len did and Kilmer took the bottle back. For a long moment, he watched Len, as though he was waiting, but Len wasn’t sure for what.
“This isn’t any different from kneelin’ for him in the bedroom, Len,” Kilmer said softly. “Protocol.”
Breath hissed out of Len. “You… know about that?”
“’Course I do. I’m like you. And I know Vance’s protocol.”
Len stared at him, unsure what he was talking about for a heartbeat. Then understanding dawned and his eyes got wide. “You…?”
“Long time ago, Len,” Kilmer assured him. “Long time, and I got my own man now, so no worries on that count, okay? Just say I know what he expects, and I know what he’ll tolerate and what he won’t.”
Len nodded, still at a loss, but when Kilmer’s gaze dropped to his hands, he understood and clasped them behind his back again.
Kilmer smiled his kind smile again. “Better,” he assured Len. “Protocol is the same under any circumstances, unless he tells you different. Understand?”
“Yes.” Len watched Kilmer carefully. “He sent you out here?”
“He did.”
“To look after me.”
“Yes.”
“Why won’t he do it?”
Kilmer sighed and shifted his weight. “You are mistaking can’t for won’t.”
“Can’t?” That sent a cold spike of uncertainty deep into the messy blob of emotion in Len’s gut.
“Don’t forget, his heart is invested too. He wants what’s best for you, and it terrifies him to think that might not be him. Do you understand that?”
“All I want is him.”
Kilmer smiled, gentle but sad. “But you don’t trust him.”
“Of course I do!”
“You don’t talk to him.”
“I—” Len frowned. “Talk to him,” he said. “About….” He shuddered. “I can’t.” He watched Kilmer, expecting anger or disappointment. He found patience. Maybe even understanding. “It’s personal.”
“Do you think lettin’ him dominate you ain’t personal?”
“Of course it is.”
“But it’s also dangerous if he doesn’t know what’s goin’ on in your head. He could trigger somethin’ without knowin’. He could hurt you.”
“He wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Never on purpose, of course not. But he might, accidentally, not knowin’, do somethin’ that frightens you or hurts”—he gently touched Len’s chest—“here. How would that make him feel?”
Len grimaced.
“Exactly. It’s your responsibility to make sure you’re not puttin’ him in that position. And if you won’t, he has to make sure himself, and the only way for him to do that, if you won’t talk to him, is to put severe limits on what you do together. It’s the only way he has to keep you safe.”
Len said nothing.
“Keepin’ you safe is his number one priority. Lovin’ you is secondary. Not unimportant, but not as important as bein’ absolutely sure what you have with him is safe and consensual and go
od for you. If that means lettin’ you go, he will, no matter how much he loves you or how much it hurts him.”
“I want him,” Len blurted, unable to voice words that broached the subject of being let go.
“Then meet him halfway. Help him.”
“Help him?”
Kilmer smiled. “It’s a relationship, Len. Sort of implies things flow both ways.”
Len slumped back onto his heels. “I don’t know how.”
The smile again, patient and kind. “Guess that’s where I come in.”
“You?”
“Kil.” Vance’s deep voice interrupted them. “Thank you.”
Kilmer rose immediately and Len straightened.
“Anytime, sir.” Kilmer tossed a sunny smile at Vance and moved away. “I’ll get back to work.”
“Yes,” Vance agreed. “Thank you for takin’ care of my boy.”
“My pleasure, sir. I’ll be off.” And his shuffle-clop gait retreated.
“Get up,” Vance said, voice curt.
Len obeyed, shifting awkwardly on stiff knees to get to his feet without unclasping his hands. Once on his feet, he kept his eyes downcast, focused on Vance’s dusty boots.
“I’m still your boy?” Len asked.
“Come inside.” Vance turned and led the way toward the house.
All Len could do was follow.
4
VANCE SAT at his desk and watched Len, kneeling on the floor on the other side. They stayed that way, silent, for a long time. Len probably wouldn’t speak until spoken to, and Vance didn’t know what to say.
Finally, curiosity won out, and he got Len’s attention. “What did Kilmer say to you?”
“I—” Len frowned. “You slept with him.”
Vance laughed, and Len’s head came up, fury in his eyes.
“Yeah,” Vance drawled, sobering but not giving in to his temper at seeing Len’s. “I did. We were close. He’s a good man an’ a good submissive.” He shook his head. “He belongs to someone else now. He’s happy.”
“Why did you break up?”
Vance shrugged. “I suppose because I needed a ranch manager more’n I needed a lover or a submissive at the time, an’ Kilmer couldn’t be both. Some people, I suppose, can separate one from the other, but in this case, we couldn’t. We decided to part friends an’ colleagues before we destroyed that too.”