Dead Weight

by Kat Faitour

  “I do.” Mason hastily assured him, eager to lighten the mood between them. “I meant no criticism. Only to explain. In some ways, Noor is very different than the rest of us.”

  Thomas nodded, his face serious.

  “Plus, I know you have your favorites.” Mason grinned. “I’ve seen the way Ruby wraps you around her finger.”

  A faint tinge of pink colored the apples of Thomas’ wrinkled cheeks. “Well, no one could resist Ruby. That one could charm the pants off a preacher.”

  They both laughed at the analogy, as it was so true.

  After a few moments, Mason sobered. “Is there any chance she’s been by? Or have you talked with her? I know she likes to occasionally call.”

  Thomas’s smile faded. “No, she’s been quiet. I haven’t seen or spoken to her since she was here for the last meeting.”

  “Shit.”

  “That’s what Clara said.” He straightened, and Mason had the fleeting impression his blush had grown deeper. “She—Clara—was here for a few days. Before she left to go find Ruby.”

  Mason shook his head. “If Ruby doesn’t want to be found, then it’ll be a hard job.” He eyed Thomas. “You don’t have to worry about Clara staying here while I was away. You know I don’t care about that. She has a suite of rooms here.”

  Thomas tipped his cup to his lips and finished his coffee.

  Suddenly, Mason felt a little ashamed. Spending time with Margaux had reminded him it was unbecoming and selfish to forget the needs of others. She never meant to be inconsiderate but could be acutely oblivious to her own privilege.

  He touched the other man’s arm. “You have a life, Thomas, and I want you to know I respect that. I consider this your home as much as mine. Feel free to entertain and invite your friends as often as you like.” Mason laughed, but it sounded a little forced and awkward even to his own ears. “I’m just saying you don’t have to limit yourself to me, Clara, and the rest of the Orphans.”

  “I know that.”

  Mason nodded. “Good.” He surreptitiously pushed the bowl of oatmeal away, but Thomas’s eyes tracked the move.

  “Since you’re feeling so warm and fuzzy, I’d like to talk about the woman hiding in your room upstairs.”

  Mason’s brows shot up to his hairline. Here he was, worried about taking Thomas for granted, and then the older man neatly turned the tables and made Mason feel like a wayward teenager.

  “I wouldn’t let Margaux hear you saying she was hiding, Thomas. She’s likely never avoided a situation in her life. We’re both adults, well past the age of consent.” He sipped his cold coffee. “Besides, she even has her own suite. Separate from mine.”

  It had seemed important at the time that she have her own rooms. Though she was a guest in his home, she deserved to feel autonomous and independent. Mason didn’t want her to feel crowded, or worse, obligated to spend her nights with him.

  Turned out, that really wasn’t a concern. Margaux was refreshingly upfront about her desires. Still, the choice had been and always would be hers.

  “Well, whatever,” Thomas grumped, interrupting Mason’s thoughts. “She’s spending precious little time there.”

  Mason cocked his head. “Thomas, are you worried about my virtue?”

  The old man snorted. “Hardly worth worrying about that now, I’d say. But considering her rooms are basically unused, I can’t imagine why she wants some of the furniture moved out.” He paused, tracing his fingers over the tabletop. “I am concerned you’ve forgotten the circumstances behind meeting her.”

  “How so?”

  “You were in Johannesburg to steal her diamonds. I can’t say I wasn’t disturbed when you returned with her. And realized you were involved.”

  Mason felt his neck begin to heat. “Things got complicated.”

  “I’d say.” His gaze was level on Mason’s. “If she were anyone else, I’d be happy for you. It’s nice to see you relax your guard.”

  “But you don’t like her.”

  In an obvious move to deflect the question, Thomas rose and collected their used cups and cutlery. With a pointed look, he left the oatmeal where it was. He was spared answering altogether when the woman in question bounded into the kitchen, not having been asleep upstairs but coming fresh from the stables.

  She leaned down and bussed Mason’s cheek, smelling like hay, sunshine, and apples. He inhaled her, memorizing the scents along with the feeling of her soft lips against his roughened jaw.

  When he opened his eyes, Thomas was staring at him as if dumbfounded.

  Margaux, oblivious to the undercurrents between the two men, caught sight of the bowl of cold oatmeal and wrinkled her nose.

  “Is that cat food?”

  Thomas grunted, and the intense atmosphere was broken. He grabbed the bowl and walked away, muttering.

  Margaux grinned at his back, then turned to Mason.

  “I’ll go up and shower. Plus, I need to check in with Julian.”

  “Okay.”

  “In the meantime…” This time her grin was cheeky and she winked. “Fry up some bacon, will you? We need to keep up our strength.”

  She was laughing as she left the room. Mason moved to do her bidding, thinking he’d need more than bacon to keep from falling at her feet.

  * * *

  Margaux closed the bedroom door behind her and leaned back on it, breathless. She’d gone downstairs this morning not long after rising from Mason’s bed.

  His masculine, musky smell had been all around her, mixing with hers like a phantom amid the dark, linen sheets. For several long moments, she’d lain prone, breathing him in and out.

  But she wanted the man, not the memory of him. And since that thought was even more disturbing, she opted to go to the stables for fresh air and exercise, hoping to clear her head.

  It had worked, at least until she’d walked into the kitchen and kissed him. Then the cravings had begun again, but not for breakfast, as she’d suggested.

  Desire for Mason consumed her, obsessed her. And she was growing tired of resisting him.

  Not physically, of course. But emotionally, she held a piece of herself apart, even as his unique appeal continued to devastate her with every passing day. Baffled by how confused she felt, she decided to call Julian in an attempt to distract herself.

  Margaux crossed the room to sit in a slate-gray, leather wing chair. The furnishings of Mason’s home tended toward Danish modern design. Natural elements mixed with a minimalist style to give the upscale farm estate a surprisingly warm but fresh feel. She’d fallen in love the moment she saw it.

  She settled into the chair then removed her phone from her pocket and swiped it open. Julian’s number was easy to find, as she spoke with him so frequently.

  Since departing Johannesburg—and really, even in the days leading up to that—their conversations had been brief, approaching cool. He was never rude; in fact, he was faultlessly polite. But something was different between them now. It had changed when she’d demanded he stay behind in Johannesburg to provide updates regarding Andrew.

  So far, there’d been no change in the other man’s condition. Julian had faced angry accusations from Andrew’s wife and family about the lax security at Taylor labs. And to his credit, he’d handled the difficult conversations with compassion and understanding. But Margaux suspected the toll exacted from each painful interaction had been high.

  She felt guilty, but it was his job. In her absence, his role was to act as her representative.

  Once again, she wondered whether the boundaries between them should be reexamined. And reinforced. For all she loved Julian and considered him a friend, he was still an employee, even if highly valued.

  It was a dilemma for another day, however. For now, she needed to check in on Andrew.

  As she waited for the call to connect, Margaux had no concerns about the early time. Johannesburg was one hour ahead, and Julian was an early riser.

  “Hello?”

  Marga
ux was surprised by how good it was to hear his voice. She immediately dismissed her uncharitable thoughts about him only being an employee. Anything she asked of him, he tried to fulfill. This task was plainly more emotionally taxing than others.

  “Julian. How are you?”

  She heard him take a deep breath.

  “Andrew is the same. Doctors consider him critical but stable, if that makes any sense.”

  Margaux winced. Every day, she hoped for better news.

  “They are guarded but hopeful he’ll wake soon. But there aren’t any concrete signs of him doing so yet.”

  He audibly exhaled.

  “Margaux, I know you want me here so I can give a firsthand account of Andrew’s progress. But it could be days or weeks or months before he regains consciousness. And that is if he wakes up.”

  Margaux winced, conflicted about what to do. She knew it was unfair to leave Julian in South Africa indefinitely. But she also didn’t want Andrew’s family to think they’d left and forgotten him.

  “I know you’re frustrated.”

  There was a sound from Julian’s end of the call like something being dropped. A muffled curse followed.

  “You really don’t know, Margaux.” He voice was louder and strained. “I’m your assistant and will do what you want. But this feels a lot like I’m cleaning up your mess.”

  Margaux held the phone away from her, staring at it in shocked surprise. “Are you saying what happened to Andrew was my fault?”

  “Yes,” he bit out. “For all intents and purposes, yes. You were irresponsible, Margaux, and distracted. Which reminds me—I’ve heard some things about Mason Graff I think you should know.”

  “Leave Mason out of this, Julian. And finish what you were saying. How, pray tell, am I responsible for what happened to Andrew?”

  “Fine,” he huffed. “Have it your way. You asked Andrew to come back to the building well after normal business hours. At the least, that would have been inconsiderate. But then you failed to show. Just blew him off.”

  Margaux was speechless, winded from Julian’s harsh accusations. He wasn’t finished.

  “It’s so like you to treat people that way.” His voice dropped. “I know you don’t mean to be, but you’re so cavalier sometimes. Like everyone else in the world exists for your sole convenience.” She heard Julian inhale, his breath shuddering. “But he was a person, with a life and family. And if you’d just done what you said you would, he probably wouldn’t be here, fighting to survive.”

  “Don’t talk about him in the past tense, Julian.” She lashed out to defend herself. “And yes, I made a mistake, but this is not my fault.”

  “How convenient for you to excuse yourself.”

  “Would you rather it was me, Julian? Would it make you feel better if I was the one in the hospital, comatose?”

  “No, never!” He shouted, anguished. “But you should have been there,” he whispered. “You could have stopped it from happening.”

  Margaux’s breath hitched. “You don’t know that. And I am not the villain here. Someone hit Andrew hard enough to split his head open. Then they left him there, bleeding out.” Margaux unclenched the fingers of her hand and saw the half-moons where her nails had bitten into the flesh of her palm. “Whoever did that? He is your villain. Not me.”

  Julian audibly swallowed then made a choking sound, as if trying to speak. But Margaux was at her limit. She’d heard enough and had no intention of waiting for more.

  “Goodbye, Julian.” With more force than necessary, she ended the call then tossed the phone away, where it bounced on the cushion of a neighboring chair. For several long moments, she remained sitting where she was, breathing in and out to calm her frantic heart.

  Julian had never spoken to her that way before. His words had sliced her open and left her bleeding. It hurt, more than she would have expected. And certainly more than she wanted.

  Her movements wooden, Margaux rose and headed to the bathroom. She would take a very long, very hot shower. And then she would find Mason, who would make her feel whole again.

  * * *

  Mason hoped bringing Margaux along for his latest errand would shake her out of the dull mood that had plagued her for days. So he was delighted to hear her laugh, then surprised when she couldn’t seem to stop.

  She braced her hands on her knees, leaning over as tears streamed from her eyes. When Mason reached out, she waved him off with one hand, still gurgling.

  Finally, she regained a semblance of control and glanced upward and sideways at him.

  “Is that…Mason, is that a horse?”

  He grinned in return. “Of course he’s a horse. What else could he be?” He eyed the enormous animal standing near them, behind the paddock’s fence. Thomas had told him about the animal, pitching his case as a potential rescue. At the time, Mason voiced misgivings since he was only familiar with racehorses. But Thomas insisted he go visit, saying the horse deserved a chance. Plus, Margaux had developed an affinity for equines. He thought she might get a kick out of seeing this one. He was delighted to be right. “Okay, so he’s a little oversized. But see how noble he is? Look at the profile.”

  Peals of more laughter greeted this declaration. Meanwhile, the questionably aristocratic beast in question stretched his neck so his big head edged over the wooden rails. With no hesitation, Mason reached up and stroked the velvety muzzle. Dark, equine eyes stared back at him in open adoration.

  Oh. Well.

  Mason’s heart melted like wax. Once again, Thomas showed an unerring instinct for finding the right animals.

  At this time, Mason’s stables held six horses, all rescues, and most of them former racers. Four Thoroughbreds, an Arabian, and one Quarter Horse comprised the mix.

  This horse, unnamed and unwanted, was none of those breeds.

  Mason looked at Margaux, who had tentatively edged closer but was still out of range should the horse decide to nip. She’d already learned her lesson with Buck, Mason’s most temperamental stallion.

  Mason reached higher and scratched between his ears. In return, the horse bent his head lower and nickered.

  “He’s big, but a gentle giant. Come closer. He won’t bite.”

  Margaux cocked a brow. “How do you know?”

  Mason just smiled. “Trust me.”

  “Okay.” She drew the word out, obviously hesitant. Taking a few small steps, she moved closer, but only as far as needed to barely reach him with arm outstretched. As Mason had shown her, she kept her hand flat, palm upward.

  The big horse sniffed, his nostrils quivering. Then he gently laid his muzzle on her hand.

  “Oh!” Margaux rubbed the soft underside of his chin. “He’s so soft, like fine suede.”

  Mason watched as she proceeded to scratch and rub the animal’s chin.

  “His whiskers tickle,” she giggled. “And he sounds like he’s purring.”

  He gaped, taking in the unexpected but welcome sight of Margaux falling head over heels for the huge, homely horse.

  “I’ll let you name him.” Mason lowered his eyebrows in a parody of stern seriousness. “If you promise a title befitting his dignity and stoicism.”

  Animal and woman fawned over each other in mutual, preoccupied admiration. Mason realized he was utterly superfluous to the love fest going on in front of him.

  He started to walk toward the paddock owner, who sat astride the fence with boots hooked behind a slat. Margaux’s voice stopped him, however, before he could begin negotiations.

  “I have it.”

  He faced her. “What?”

  “His name, silly.” Completely absorbed with the horse, and unwilling to look away, she raised her voice so Mason could hear.

  Mason propped his hands on his hips. “Okay. Let’s have it. Remember, I have final approval.”

  “Nope, I’m not telling. Not yet.”

  “Well, when?”

  “When you bring him home, I’ll tell you.” She was scratching the
horse’s ears now, and Mason wondered if the animal would simply drop to the ground and roll at her feet. She leaned close to his head and appeared to whisper something. The beast nickered again, as if in agreement.

  Finally, she turned her gaze back to Mason, her eyes wide and pleading. “Please adopt him,” she implored.

  If she but knew, he would lay heaven and earth at her feet if she asked. So a big, sweet horse was really no problem.

  When he didn’t answer straightaway, Margaux walked to meet him. She laid her hands over his chest and fixed her eyes on his.

  “I’m sure you’ve figured me out, but I love all your horses.” She tilted her lips in a crooked smile. “Well, maybe not Buck. But I’ll keep working on him.”

  She needn’t bother. Ruby was the only human Buck tolerated.

  “I was never allowed pets growing up. We traveled. Our homes were showcases loaded with antiques. My mother was allergic.” She waved her hand. “A million excuses. But I was an only child. And I wanted a companion so badly.” Margaux looked down. “Since coming to stay with you, there hasn’t been a day where I’ve felt that old loneliness. It’s all down to you. And Thomas.” She looked over her shoulder where the big horse was making mooneyes at her. She grinned. “And the horses. But this one,” she gestured with her thumb, “well, he’s special.”

  She smoothed her hands over his shirt. Mason was amazed his heart didn’t thunder straight from his chest.

  “He’s yours,” he promised hoarsely. He cleared his throat. “Besides, I wouldn’t dream of leaving such a magnificent specimen behind. But we don’t have a horse trailer with us, so I’ll arrange for him to be transported back to the estate.”

  A broad smile split Margaux’s face. “Thank you.” Cupping his face between her palms, she pressed her lips to his in a breathtaking caress. “Thank you for being the kind of man who could love a broken-down, unwanted horse.” Moisture brightened her pale eyes until they glistened like jade.

  It was the kind of raw emotion and vulnerability she’d denied him up to this point. If they’d been alone, he’d have tumbled her to the ground and ravished her until she showed more of herself.