"So, which one of us do you want, Lenore?" Santiago suddenly asked." Or do you want both holes filled again?"
"Leave her the fuck alone, Santiago!"
This wasn't fair. God, she wanted Carlos, but she wasn't supposed to be offered a choice in any of this. This was all a part of James' plans, not her own. She was a married woman, a married woman who had never cheated on her husband, not even in her mind, until the first day she saw Carlos Ortiz. Her dying husband was up at the house, fantasizing that his wife was being double fucked by the hired help as he took the rest of his bottle of pain medication and closed his eyes for the last time. The last time...
"I'm sorry," she sobbed, addressing James, although she knew he couldn't hear her.
"What are you sorry for?" Carlos said gently, tightening his grip on her. His mouth brushed the back of her neck. "I'm sure there's nothing you need to be sorry for."
"I'm sorry I fell in love with you, Carlos." The words came out quietly, but saying them out loud made it feel as though she had just screamed them. "I didn't try to, I didn't mean to ... it just happened."
He exhaled in a loud rasp.
"I'm sorry, James! Please, change your mind," she screamed at the trailer door, barely aware that she was shrieking. She cried out her apologies to James over and over until her throat was hoarse and raw.
She was going to lose him – James was going to be gone. With a blinding intensity, the full impact of that realization hit her like a fist. Gone...
She would have collapsed were it not for Carlos' arms around her. The pain medication couldn't touch the ache in her heart. There was no way she could go on without James. Tears that she had held in for months were unstoppable. She twisted in his arms and clung to Carlos sobbing against his chest until she could scarcely breathe.
Rough hands pulled at the shirt that covered her. Santiago was trying to strip it away. Lenore let herself go limp in Carlos' arms, no longer caring what happened. Her world was ending.
"Hit me," she cried, her voice cracking. "Hit me with that fucking belt! Hit me!"
Carlos gently stroked her hair. "Shh, no one's going to hurt you."
"No! Hit me!" She spun around to face Santiago and grabbed the belt in his hand. Pulling on it hard she raised her other hand and slapped him.
"Hit me! Come on motherfucker, do it!" she shouted.
His eyes darkened with rage and he raised the belt. "You crazy fucking bitch! You want to be hit?" The leather belt whistled through the air and struck her in the shoulder with a loud snap. Lenore didn't even feel it.
Carlos dragged her back and his angry voice sounded very far away. "Leave her the fuck alone, Santi, something is wrong with her. Can't you see that?"
Soft, then everything felt soft, she blinked her eyes to focus and found that she was on the sofa cradled in Carlos' arms. He stroked her hair tenderly.
"It will be all right. I won't let Santiago touch you. You're safe with me. Go to sleep, Ma'am," he said gently.
Lenore couldn't speak but she could hear a horrible sound, a tortured cry of pain and anguish, like that of a dying animal. The sound came from her.
She didn't want to sleep, but the pills were making it difficult to keep her eyes open. They drifted shut once more as she sobbed James' name.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ms. Lenore was like a ghost after her husband died. Carlos seldom saw her, and when he did it was only a fleeting glimpse. She was frail and pale, her fair skin lighter since she never left the house.
The work load was lighter too, and for a time he worried that she would dismiss Santiago and him, but she didn't. Instead, she paid them more. She slipped the envelopes containing their wages beneath the trailer door late at night, with no note or explanation as to why she had increased their pay. A heating and cooling company arrived and installed a new furnace and central air in the trailer. About a week after that, new carpet was installed, and an appliance store delivered a new stove and refrigerator, hauling away the relics that they had been using.
Magdalena wrote to him. She had received a large sum of money from a woman in the United States, a woman who didn't give her name, but wrote that she was a friend of Carlos' and wanted to help pay for her kidney transplant. Carlos didn't have any doubt in his mind that the mysterious benefactor was Lenore Acheson.
Carlos appreciated all of the things that Lenore did, but he grew more worried about her with each day that passed. Ms. Lenore didn't do any of the things he'd once seen her take so much joy in. Her roses and irises were overgrown with weeds and she stopped riding the horses. Occasionally, when he was working, he'd see her going to get the mail, but for the most part she remained indoors with the drapes tightly drawn.
When Mr. James was first gone, Santiago spoke often about Lenore. It was plain that he was still interested in her sexually, but Carlos never spoke of his own feelings.
Carlos spent much of the winter thinking about her, and twice he'd summoned the courage to walk up to the front door of her house and knock. Neither time did she open the door, although he knew she was home. Once he saw her looking out the curtains and then she was gone.
She'd said that she loved him. He didn't take that lightly; he had dwelled on it, and hoped that it was true. As the winter passed Santiago seemed to forget about her, and he spent more time in town. Santiago was through with Dot. He met another woman, one he claimed to be in love with. Carlos only half-listened to Santi go on and on about how special his new girlfriend was. Carlos wished that he could speak to Santiago about Ms. Lenore like that, but he was afraid of being made fun of.
In the early spring he began the task of clearing the weeds from her once-cherished garden. He pruned the roses and watered them, put down mulch and moved fieldstones to make a walkway through the garden. He built a bench from willow wood that he cut by hand from the trees near the lake. Carlos hoped that the flowers would make her want to come back, back into the world, instead of shut inside her house. He worked long hours in the evenings perfecting the garden, convinced if it was beautiful and perfect enough that Ms. Lenore would come to it.
It gave him something to focus on, something other than the darkness that seemed to be burrowing into his heart. He was changing inside, and he didn't like it. He was almost certain that the blackness inside him was put there by James Acheson and that even in death he controlled him.
Santiago made fun of him for working on the rose garden, told him it was a waste of time. Carlos was beginning to wonder if Santi was right, until one evening as he stood in the shadow of the barn he saw Ms. Lenore walking on the path he had made. She wore a flowing white nightgown and his breath caught in his throat. His queen walked elegantly among the roses, the moonlight on her skin making her glow like an angel. She sat down on the bench he'd made for her and he listened to her crying, his heart aching to see her so sad.
As he watched her, he tried not to remember the times he had been with her. He'd been trying to forget them for the past year, but found he was not able. He was torn apart inside by things that he felt, the dark things, things that he knew were wrong. He cared deeply for her, but now his lust interfered. Something had changed in him, and he hadn't known so many perverse thoughts and ideas lived in his heart. He had begun having dreams and visions that made him uneasy, and made him question all the things he thought he once knew.
There was a time he was certain that he was in love with Lenore Acheson, but now he was confused. Lately, his fantasies all seemed to involve degrading her. When he thought about her lovely naked ass he wanted to mark her again, to leave physical proof that she was his: no longer a woman, but a possession, a belonging, his property.
He'd wake in the night after dreaming of Lenore, dreaming of whipping her with one of the riding crops from the stable, dreaming of keeping her bound and spread. He could hear her voice pleading. Hit me.
James Acheson had behaved as though everything in the world was put there just for him. James Acheson, that arrogant bastard, the man wh
o'd spit on him countless times, had treated Lenore that way. He had expected that she would serve and obey both him and Santiago that night when he'd so roughly delivered her to the trailer. Carlos had seen the truth in her eyes: she'd wanted that. She wanted to serve, it didn't matter if it had been her idea or James' idea, Lenore wanted it.
He walked through the field towards the garden, unsure what he could say to her, but not wanting to leave her there by herself crying.
She didn't hear him approach and he saw her jump when he spoke from behind the bench.
"Ma'am? Are you all right?"
She didn't turn around. "Thank you for this, Carlos. It's a beautiful garden," she said, her voice sounding very small.
"I'm glad to see you outside," Carlos said.
"I'm tired of being inside." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Tired of being alone."
Then don't be alone .Be with me. He wanted to say those words, but they died in his throat. There was nothing he could say. He listened to her crying until he couldn't stand it anymore.
Carlos sat down beside her on the bench, so close to her, and yet he felt so very far away. He could smell her hair as the evening breeze drifted in his direction. She turned her head slowly, her face was wet with tears and still there was nothing he could say, so he leaned towards her and softly kissed her mouth. For all the intimacy he had shared with her, he'd never been able to kiss her.
While he'd always wanted to kiss her, this was not the way he had imagined it happening. He didn't want to kiss her to comfort her, he wanted ... he wanted things that were wrong, things that he shouldn't want, and when she kissed him back with a desperate hunger he only wanted all those things more. Not now. She was too fragile right now; the wound in her heart was deep. Too fragile, especially to be with him – because he wanted to break her.
She let out a little whimper and threw her arms around him. Her lips and her body seemed like fire against him. His hand closed over the softness of her silk-covered breast, felt the nipple grow under his palm until he slid his hand downward and caressed it with his thumb. She moaned; her breath was hot and alive in his mouth. He sucked her exhaled air into his lungs, taking a part of her inside of himself to keep. His.
Lenore pulled her lips away and a long moment passed as she gazed into his eyes, then she leaned in and kissed him again. Her tongue thrust into his mouth, possessing it. Her hands slipped around the back of his neck and curled in his hair. A soft whine from her throat vibrated against his tongue.
"I need you, Carlos," she whispered into his mouth. "Please?"
He moved his hand in a halfhearted attempt to prevent himself from stroking and caressing her breasts. Her heartbeat thundered beneath his palm. A hot spark of fire raged through him, knowing she was as aroused as he was. His hand trembled; it was all he could do to keep it where it was. He wanted so badly to put it between her thighs and feel her. He knew she'd be wet, soaked with her desire, wet for him.
Images flashed through his mind. Her ass red and hot with the marks of his palm, her body bound and helpless ... Things he didn't want to imagine, thoughts he was sure that had come from James Acheson.
He pushed her away from him, fast and hard. Too hard. She slid off the bench and landed with a thud on the walkway.
"I'm sorry," he stammered, pulling her up off of the ground. Her beautiful nightgown was all dirty. She stared at him and he could see she was confused. Well, fuck, that made two of them. There was no way to explain, what could he say? That he couldn't be near her because he was afraid that he'd hurt her ... that he wanted to hurt her? He wanted to love her. Fucking James Acheson, he'd cursed him. Made it so that Carlos would never be able to have the one thing he wanted more than anything.
"I'm sorry Ma'am," he said as he tried his best to brush the dirt off of her nightgown. This only made matters worse as far as he was concerned, his hands slid over the curves of her body and that delicate fabric snagged on his rough palms.
"Why don't you want me, Carlos?" she asked. The hurt in her eyes made him feel guilty. Why couldn't she look at him and see the truth? He wanted her so much that it frightened him.
"I have to go," he said quickly.
"Please ... don't," she said, her voice quivering.
She was tearing him apart and she didn't even know it. It was wrong to let her think that he didn't want her, but the dark feelings bubbling inside of him were threatening to come spilling out.
"Stop it!" he snarled. "Stop playing with me. You don't know what you want right now, and you have no idea what I could do to you!"
She blinked, maybe she was surprised, but she definitely didn't seem afraid. He was afraid enough for the both of them. Afraid of what he was becoming, and afraid of the hurt that he could cause her, that he would cause her.
"I have to go, Ma'am," he said, forcing himself to speak calmly. He laid his hand on her shoulder. "You are my boss. I think that you are very beautiful; I also think that you need some more time to be sure what you want. You've hidden away in your house for nearly a year, and you still mourn your loss. You're not ready for this."
He turned and walked slowly away, forcing himself not to turn around. He was the one who wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to deal with these sadistic urges that James Acheson had burdened him with.
Hours later Carlos found himself in the stable's tack room. He rubbed an oiled cloth slowly over the leather-riding crop. Holding it tightly in his hand he could feel James Acheson's presence, and he could feel the blackness inside of him spreading. James had whipped his wife with this crop, without remorse, and without mercy.
Carlos laid the rag on a worktable and raised his right arm, then jerked it down hard towards him. The crop whistled through the air, and then hit his thigh with a loud crack. The stinging pain was sharp and biting – it made the darkness in him swell and come alive.
It was only a matter of time before he'd have to let it out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
From inside the huge barn, Lenore watched the approaching tractor as it pulled the overloaded hay wagon towards her. Heavy, black clouds chased across the darkening sky, threatening to dump their rain at any second.
It felt wonderful to be outside, and today she felt better than she had for a long time. The sun had felt good on her skin, and the soles of her bare feet were stained from walking through the grass. She could sense the rain, smell it on the wind that whipped her hair.
The tractor chugged inside, rumbling over the strips that secured the bottom of the door. The wagon's tires rolled over the strips next, and the stacked load shifted, spilling several bales on the ground outside the door before it came to a stop inside of the barn. As if on cue, when the tractor shut off, the skies opened, and it began to pour. The soil was so dry she swore she could hear it sigh with relief as the rain began to soak it. Lenore breathed in the scent. It was clean and invigorating, the smell of the earth as the rain renewed it. She marveled at the emotion inside of her: she was happy. Strange to feel that way, it had been so long she'd nearly forgotten what it was like.
Lenore watched in admiration as the big man on the tractor climbed down and went out into the downpour to retrieve the fallen bales. His dirty white shirt was instantly soaked, his long black hair dripped, and the water drew clean lines on his dusty skin. He tossed the wet hay bales up onto a wooden rack and smiled over at her, the pride on his face evident. She loved to see him look that way, self-assured and strong. There were probably a lot of jobs that he'd had to do before where he wasn't respected, but Lenore had always tried to let him know that his presence here was appreciated.
He'd changed since she had first met him. The confidence that had grown in him was a welcome change from the man who'd once looked like he expected to be yelled at if he did one little thing wrong. No, Carlos certainly had no reason to miss James; in fact, she was sure both he and Santiago were happy that he was gone. Lenore still had not adjusted. The loss of James was like losing part of herself. The pain was dulling, it was still
there, but her mind didn't recognize it the way it had before.
"Last load. Got it all in before the rain. Yes Ma'am, I didn't think it was going to happen."
"I never doubted that you would," she said. "I don't know what I would do without you Carlos." She heard the way her voice sounded, like an awestruck little girl, but she didn't care. He deserved the praise and she'd never met anyone who worked as hard as he did.
He paused and looked at her. "That's really nice of you to say, Ma'am."
Lenore lowered her eyes as he continued to stare at her. There was nothing else she could do to try and make him interested in her. She'd given him opportunity after opportunity since the night he had kissed her in the garden, and yet he acted as if nothing had ever happened between them. He never brought it up, never addressed any of the things that had happened in James' office, never behaved as if they were anything other than employee and employer.
"Ma'am?"
She took a deep breath and looked up at him. It always seemed like she held her breath when he spoke to her although she wasn't sure why. Perhaps she was hoping that he was finally going to address their relationship. Was that what it was? Not really, if it weren't for the night in the garden she could almost believe he'd only done the things he had because James had told him to. Then why did he kiss her that night? To comfort her? That was a possibility, but she hated to think that was the only reason.
"Thank you for this. For letting me stay on, and for the raise. You're the nicest person I have ever worked for."
"I'm lucky you wanted to stay," she said honestly, as she tried to keep the disappointment she felt inside from showing on her face. She didn't want him to thank her – she didn't want to be the nicest person he'd ever worked for.
"Oh, no. It is me and Santiago who are lucky to work for such a nice lady."
"Where is Santiago?" She was getting good at avoiding him. A whole week could pass and she could avoid speaking to him more than once.
Mastered by the Hired Man Page 10