by Stasia Black
But, all right. Everything feels ok. At least it does now. Maybe it was a drug that’s quickly metabolized and wears off within twelve hours? Or however long I’ve been sleeping.
What time is it anyway?
I turn around and look over at Xavier’s desk to try to find a clock. And see the two giant monitors.
He left me in here with all the electronics. Ignoring my nakedness, I run over to the computer and move the mouse. The monitor comes to life, but of course, duh, I’m met with a screen asking for a password.
“Damn it.” I look around the desk for anything else that might be useful for communication. Doesn’t the guy even have a landline somewhere? Does he actually get cell service out here in the boonies? But there’s no phone to be found, and while there are three enticing drawers to the desk, they’re all locked.
I jerk uselessly on one of the drawers yet again, frustration building, when I hear heavy footsteps on the stairs.
“Shit,” I yip, then run back the few steps to the bed and jump in it, yanking the covers back up over myself right before Xavier pushes open the door.
I open my eyes and stretch like I’m just waking up but the amused look on his face tells me I’m not fooling anyone.
“Good morning, Pet.”
I look up at him warily. His dark curls are matted down by the shape of his hat even though he doesn’t have it on. He’s carrying some clothes and… are those cowboy boots?
“Time to get dressed for the day.”
He heads toward the bed and I can’t help pulling the covers tighter to my body. He pauses at my action, a small frown creasing his brow.
“Gonna have to retread some ground,” he murmurs under his breath, more to himself than me.
What? That doesn’t sound like it bodes well for me.
He pulls the covers down as soon as he gets to the bed. There’s a small tug of war before he pries my fingers off the cloth. Which makes me feel about five years old. But still, having no barriers between me and him, God, it just makes me feel far too… well, naked.
I squeeze my eyes shut. What now?
But all Xavier does is urge me to a sitting position where he puts on my bra, then lifts my arm, slides on one sleeve of a denim shirt, then the other. Then he crouches in front of me and buttons each button, slowly and methodically, not saying a single word the whole time.
Next he pulls me to a standing position, then taps one leg for me to lift and step into a pair of cotton panties, then jeans. They fit me comfortably. Everything does.
But still. Does he have to dress me like this? He even rolls on my socks. He pauses to rub my arches in deep massaging circles in a way reminiscent of last night before he finally urges each foot into one of the tall black cowboy boots.
The way he handles my body… I can’t help gulping hard when he has his hands on my second foot, briefly massaging up to the calf before reaching for the boot. For a second, just a brief flash, I remember how I felt last night. And it’s not just a memory—for that brief moment, I feel exactly the same way—like I could melt into his touch and willingly want to do whatever he asks. Not like I was drugged and doing things against my will.
“I got it.” I pull the boot away from him and tug it on myself. It slides on with ease and when I stand up and walk around, purposefully not looking his direction, I’m surprised at how comfortable they are. You always see cowboy boots in the movies, or I mean, some of my friends have fashion label versions, but these are definitely the authentic thing. When did he get them? And how the hell did he know my size?
Not useful to think about right now, Mel. Just be glad it’s not another goddamned dress.
Not that denim is any more my style. But at least there’s sturdy cloth between me and Xavier now. Let’s just take not naked as a win.
It doesn’t stop Xavier from assuming he has full rights to my body, though. He closes the space between us and clamps his hand to the back of my neck with a firm but gentle pressure. Then he slides it slowly down the back of my shoulder, dips in toward my waist, and finishes with a light pat to my ass.
“Breakfast.”
He heads out of the room with the confidence of a man who knows I’ll follow.
And damn him, I do.
I’m hungry. Last night’s meal was only enough to quench my initial hunger.
There are vegetable omelets waiting for us on covered plates when we get downstairs. I guess he cooked them before he came up to get me.
And there’s the damned pillow by his chair.
At least he doesn’t snap his fingers at me today. He just exerts a light pressure on my shoulder, urging me down when we reach the head of the table.
Path of least resistance. It’s still my strategy even if there were disturbing results last night.
I go to my knees and he feeds me the omelet from his fingers. I can’t help but be wary with every bite, waiting for whatever new bit of fuckery is coming next.
But breakfast goes off without a hitch. Normal as normal can be while, you know, crouched like a dog at my Master’s feet.
“Up,” he says after withdrawing the cup of orange juice from my lips. He rises and puts our dishes in the kitchen sink. “Full day of work ahead.”
Okaaaaaaay. I get to my feet. I guess I’ll finally see what he does outside all day. I’m not sure I like this new development. I was just A-Okay hanging out inside where there’s air-conditioning, reading books all day.
If I’m going to be stuck here, at least let me be a properly kept woman. Especially if I have access to that awesome bathtub with the jets now.
But the way he’s standing, eyes flicking expectantly between me and the back door tells me there’s probably not going to be much lounging in my future. At least not today.
I don’t suppose explaining that I was never much of an outside girl would help at this point? I spent my summers at debate camp and doing even the most menial internships I could find at small businesses in New York. Anything I thought might look good on a college application. The outside was a place you had to endure to get to and from the subway station when traffic was too bad to bother with an Uber or a taxi.
Xavier jerks his head toward the door as he picks up his wide-brimmed hat from a side table and I get the unspoken verbal cue—he’s big on those—time to get moving.
I head out the door. From the clock in the kitchen I saw that it’s eight in the morning. By the look of Xavier, he’s already been up several hours. I think that the times I’ve seen him leaving in the mornings are actually when he’s come back to the house after having been out already several hours, like today. As in, he gets up around four-thirty or something crazy like that, then comes back in for breakfast at seven or eight.
I’ve always been something of a night owl and while I worked my ass off and was never late, you never saw me at the office a minute before 8:55.
Morning people freak me out.
Shocker that Xavier loves waking up before the crack of dawn.
When I step outside, it smells like fresh grass and… is that cow manure? Awesome. Loving this already.
Not to mention the first sight that greets me is the dog enclosure that was my home for two and a half days. For a second, my feet freeze. Is this all a ruse and he’s just trying to get me out here so he can lock me back up in there again?
But no, his hand comes to the small of my back and he directs us away from the chain-link cage and around the far side of the house, toward the part of the property I haven’t been able to see before. My room faces the front of the house and this area is what could be called the ‘side yard,’ even though it opens up to endless land.
Then we turn the corner and—holy shit!
There’s one large barn or stable and then several smaller out buildings.
And horses.
A lot of horses.
Okay, so maybe only nine or ten, but to a person who’s never seen a horse up close and in person, that’s a ton of horses!
There are
several large paddocks and pastures, some with several horses together, others with just a single horse. A couple are running with manes flying out gloriously in the morning sunlight.
I turn around to look at Xavier in surprise.
Right in time to see him twirling a lasso in the air.
“What are—?”
Which is when he lets it fly.
It lands over my head, right over my shoulders. He cinches it tight.
You heard me right.
The bastard just lassoed me like I’m a damn stock animal.
Chapter 11
“Lesson one,” Xavier says, calm as can be as he tugs me toward him by the rope around my upper arms. “Expect the unexpected when dealing with an animal that can weigh up to two thousand pounds and isn’t afraid to let you know it.”
He walks forward as he coils the rope and reels me in until we meet in the middle, his hand around the knot of the lasso that meets right in between my breasts. “Lesson two. Listen to everything I say today and not just because I’m Master. Every instruction I give you is for your safety. Do you understand?”
For just a second, he seems to drop the dominance act. When he searches my eyes, I feel like it’s a plea that’s made as if we’re on equal footing, not something else he’s trying to manipulate from me.
I nod. And then wait for him to remove the rope from around my body.
Silly me.
Xavier steps closer and while he does slide it down over my arms, he only cinches it tight again around my waist like a belt. He loops the lead rope in his hands and jerks it once to draw me forward.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I balk, stubbornly resisting his pull.
He looks back at me, eyes narrowing. In the bright morning sunshine, the scarring on his face is clear, but it’s not that I’m focusing on. I glare at him, then my eyes drop down to the rope tied firmly around my waist.
He walks the few feet back to where I’m standing and lifts the other end, positioning it right over my backside.
I look over my shoulder, mouth dropping open.
The bastard better not—
With a lift of his eyebrow, he uses the tail end of the rope to give me a solid smack on my ass. “Get moving.”
I yelp and jump forward several steps.
That’s all the start Xavier needs. He moves back in front of me and tugs on the rope again, pulling me forward. He’s not even dragging me. It’s just a steady pressure, taking for granted that I’ll follow.
Path of least resistance. Path of least resistance.
I grit my teeth and trail behind him as far as the three-feet length of rope will allow.
“Just got a delivery this morning,” Xavier offers as we get closer to the closest paddock where a huge brown horse—the only one in a big fenced-in circle that’s separated from all the others by a long gated-off run—trots this way and that. He lets out a loud, angry-sounding squeal as we get closer. Xavier comes close to the wooden fence posts of the paddock but stops several feet away.
“I’m surprised he didn’t wake you up. Samson was raising hell when they brought him in. He didn’t like being trailered one bit.” Xavier’s focus is fully engaged by the horse now, his features a mix of concentration and admiration. I follow his gaze and watch as the great beast stomps back and forth. His eyes seem wild. His ears flick back and forth and he lets out occasional high-pitched snorts, nostrils flaring.
I initially came up to stand beside Xavier, but I quickly take a small step back. Up to two thousand pounds, he said. No, that thing does not look safe.
“Where did you get him from?” Even I can hear the quiver in my voice. Xavier doesn’t expect me to like, ride that, does he?
“The BLM,” he pauses when he looks over and notices my befuddled expression, “the Bureau of Land Management. They do roundups of wild horses sometimes so the mustangs don’t overwhelm grazing resources and water. Then ranchers can adopt the horses so they don’t spend their whole lives stuck in some BLM holding facility somewhere.” His gaze goes back to the paddock. “Or be put down.”
My breath catches as my eyes go back to the huge, snorting animal. “That’s horrible.”
Xavier shrugs and continues calmly, “No worse than hundreds of foals starving to death when there’s not enough food to go ‘round in winter because the population gets too big.”
I jerk my head to look up at Xavier but he’s still just staring out at the paddock, gaze intent on the horse there. I can’t ever imagine understanding this man. He’s entirely incomprehensible.
He taps the top slat of the paddock. “We’ll be back, Samson,” he calls out.
He starts walking, at first leaving slack on the rope, then tugging once when I don’t move quickly enough for his liking. His back is still turned so I permit myself a good roll of the eyes. Then I jog to hurry up and follow at his heels like a good little pet. Ugh.
Next he gives me a tour of the stables and other paddocks. I get to meet the horses, all of whom are far gentler spirits than Samson.
Also, horses are way bigger in person than they look in the movies.
Like, way bigger.
And I’m pretty sure Xavier introduces me to the smallest one first.
“This is Lulu. Raised her up from a foal. She was born right here in this stable. Who’s my good girl?”
Lulu all but breaks down the stall door of the stable in her excitement to get to Xavier. When he lifts up his hand to her, she nickers and nuzzles into him. He leans in close and she buries her muzzle in his neck.
And Xavier?
It’s like a transformation comes over him.
Well, not completely. But his entire demeanor… I don’t know exactly how to explain it. He… softens. The hard lines of his jaw loosen. His stern brow finally goes soft. His whole body relaxes. It’s as if he’s releasing all the tension he seems to perpetually carry around as he scratches at the mare’s cheek and then strokes down her neck. Like I’ve been missing some key part of him until I saw him in this context with these animals.
“That’s my good, good girl.” Even the quality of his voice is different. It’s pitched softer with a gentle croon to it.
Though I can’t say I’ve never heard it like that before.
No, with a startled shock, I realize it’s the same tone he’s used with me after I’ve complied in the bedroom. Or… the bath.
That revelation’s about as welcome as Lulu seems to find having another female around her favorite man.
When Xavier tries to introduce me to her, her ears constantly flick back and forth. She blows out a loud huff of air through her nostrils, pulling away and turning her head toward Xavier like, who dis bitch?
I yank my hand back since I’m not especially inclined to lose a finger before lunchtime. Or, you know, ever.
Xavier clicks his teeth at her and she ducks her nose, chastened. She butts her head into him again and he soothes her, then attempts the introduction again.
By the end of the introduction, Lulu reluctantly sniffs me, which earns her a carrot from Xavier’s pocket. When did he get those? Looking down, though, I see his pockets are stuffed with them.
Guess he’s anticipating I’m going to be a real hit with his fan club.
Because it’s not just Lulu that he seems to have such a special bond with. He introduces me to a string of other animals, all of whom react almost the exact same way Lulu did. Ok, that’s not fair. Even as a person who doesn’t know a thing about horses, I can already begin to make out little personality differences. Though, by the time we get to the back pasture I’m not sure I’m getting all their names right.
There was Pioneer, Sundance Kid, Holy Hellfire—I remember him because he was one of the pasture horses who looked so old I was shocked he was still standing upright. Then there was Tornado, Bob—that’s right, just, Bob, and Paddyshack. Not Caddyshack, I double-checked. No, it’s Paddyshack.
Xavier tells me the stories of some of them. Pioneer threw his owner so har
d, he broke his leg. The owner was threatening to put the horse down, so Xavier took him in. Several others are retired racehorses past their prime.
“Is Holy Hellfire one of those?” I ask as we walk past another low building—another set of stables, I’m guessing. As grouchy as I still might be about being led around like a pack animal, I have to say this is all sort of interesting. And Xavier’s spoken more this morning than during the entirety of my time with him so far. That seems like something to encourage.
He shakes his head at my inquiry, the right side of his mouth tilting. “No, he just spent his whole life being ornery.”
That surprises a laugh out of me. “What do you mean?”
“Ever heard of a racehorse called Bierbaum?”
“If he didn’t make Page 6 in the Post, it wasn’t in my sphere.”
He shakes his head at me. “Think Secretariat or Man o’ War.”
At my continued blank stare, he tosses his hand in the air. “Seabiscuit?”
“Oh,” I perk up. “Wasn’t that a movie?”
He draws in a long breath as if searching for patience.
“Okay, well just picture one of the greatest racehorses of the twentieth century. That was Bierbaum. And Holy Hellfire was one of his foals. Everyone in the racing world expected great things of him.”
“And you…” I look out in the direction of the pasture where we met Holy Hellfire, “or your family, bought this foal? Or your parents owned the mare or whatever?”
Xavier shakes his head. “No, I didn’t get him until much later. It was one of the wealthiest and most prominent racing families back east who bred him. They had all the best trainers work with him. But whenever they tried racing him… nada.”
He shrugs, lifting his hands. “He just wouldn’t run. He’s a dreamer. Too interested in his own horse thoughts or staring at the clouds.”
I pull back and look at him. “Really? Even with his dad being some super champion?”
Xavier keeps walking. “The mare had good racing bloodlines, too. No explanation for it. The family that invested so much in it tried everything from expensive trainers to medicine men. Finally sold him off to try to recoup some of their losses.” Xavier’s expression sours, the furrow between his brow deepening, which causes the burned half of his face to take on a menacing appearance. “That’s when things got bad for my boy.”