Black Light: Branded

by Parker, Kay Elle

  “No, there has to be a budget. I mean, I could go out and buy three hundred Angus heifers for the same price as your bull? So, do I buy one superior quality animal or a lot of decent cattle for the same money? It's all relevant in the scheme, Finn. I need a strict limit to adhere to in this hypothetical ranching simulation.” She beamed at him, the shadows slinking from her eyes as enjoyment radiated through the blue. “So, my budget, please?”

  “Well, you're in charge, Ava. Financial matters are in your hands.”

  “Oh, shit. We'll be bankrupt in a week!”

  “I highly doubt that, darlin'. Stop avoiding the subject. You have an unlimited budget; what are you buying?”

  “I have more money than an ATM; I can buy all the cows.” Ava chirruped before Finn had chance to sigh and groan her name in frustration. “If I buy them, I can name them. I think I'd buy five hundred Angus, but not all heifers. I'd buy the best bull, and some cows with babies. Maybe some pregnant ones too.”

  “Thinking on a grand scale, that's my girl.”

  “I think I'd want some more pretty silver ones too, but if there's not a lot of people breeding them in the US, won't that,” she brought her hands together until they were only inches apart, palms flat, “do something with genes? Shorten them or mix them wrong?”

  Clever, clever girl. “That's where inbreeding—or line-breeding as some like to call it—can creep in. Breed societies keep track of registered cattle so each animal on the register has a family tree. Some people breed close family back to each other because they believe the best traits of both animals stand a better chance of appearing in the end product. It also keeps lines going that might otherwise be lost or die out. Personally, I don't agree with mating a mother back to her son or a sire onto his daughters, but each to their own.”

  Because he was looking, he caught the faintest flinch on Ava's face before she masked it expertly. He wondered how many times she'd had to mask her discomfort, her disgust, in order to hide her secrets. He hoped it didn't mean what he thought it did, but it sure would explain a hell of a lot of her anxiety. Something to tuck away and bring up into conversation later.

  When they finally wrenched open that damn vault in her head, he was going to have to tie her down to keep her from being swept away in the sea of pain that followed. Tie her down and brace himself as her anchor.

  “So how does fantasy me get around that problem?”

  “Well, that's easy enough. We get you a passport, fly to Australia, and make a few appointments with ranchers to view their stock. You pick the ones you like, negotiate a price, shake hands with some very happy breeders, and import them back here. It's a bit of a lengthy process so fantasy you would be better looking at stock in the US first.”

  She mulled that over, and it tickled Finn to watch her rub her chin the same way he did when his brain deciphered a puzzle. “What if...”

  “Mmm-hmmm.”

  “I think I'd go to Australia—even though there are snakes and spiders and giant creepy-crawlies—and I would buy like fifty cows with calves or that are going to pop one out. But to different bulls. I can do that?”

  “You can, yes. That's forward thinking, Ava.” Finn grimaced as the road got rougher, the wheels bouncing on rocks set into the track for stability. He eased off the gas, knowing the next section would rattle their bones if he went too fast. “Are you thinking of adding anything else? Right now, you're running a head count of twelve-fifty on eighty-thousand acres. That's a lot of grass, darlin'.”

  “Well, if I've sold the rest, how much money am I losing from not breeding calves for meat?”

  He ran some quick calculations in his head, stated a sum that turned Ava white.

  “Oh my God, don't leave me in charge of anything.” She gave a moaning laugh, shaking her head. “I've just spent an absolute fortune on cows and cut off a very lucrative income. We'll be living in a cardboard box by the end of the week.”

  “You've lost one income, Ava. You're taking steps toward building another which will probably net you more in the long run. That's good, but you need to consider there are still three stations currently standing empty, a lot of ranch hands waiting to see if they still have jobs, and a stable full of horses.”

  “This is too much stress. How do you cope with all the decisions?”

  “They have to be made, darlin'. Whether they're right or wrong, the boss has to carry the weight of responsibility. Sometimes you'll have time to think it over; more often than not, someone needs an answer then and there. You cope by knowing you made the choice with the best intentions in mind and you made the most of the information you had at hand. If it goes wrong, so be it. You fix it and keep going.”

  “So if I said I'd shut down the other three stations on my fantasy ranch and turn it into a wildlife preserve, you wouldn't mind?”

  He winced, visibly, trying to imagine how he'd explain that to his employees. “I'd say it's your fantasy, your choice.”

  “I think I'd move the horses to the west. Some of the guys were saying you have some of the nicest horses in Montana, but they don't get the recognition they deserve with the cattle taking up a lot of your time.”

  That was true enough. Ash was in almost complete control of the Quarter Horse breeding program. Finn's word was final when selecting stallions for the mares, and more than a few nights pre-Ava had been spent drinking whiskey, pouring over pedigrees and discussing conformation with his best friend. It was a regret that niggled at him on a daily basis, but with an operation the size of his, problems always cropped up that couldn't be solved by delegation. “For what reason?”

  “Well, if my Dom is going to start competing, he needs to have the best horses, right? I mean, you have pictures on your walls of horses with ribbons and trophies. So, we need to breed the best, which means more room for more horses. That's two stations occupied,” she reminded him, making him smile. “Three if I leave the south station as it is.”

  “Why do you think I want to compete again?” he asked, simply out of curiosity.

  “You have no family pictures, Finn. Not one that I've seen. Both your offices have horses and cows spotlighted in all their glory. I think escalating the size of the commercial operation cut your fun time down to nothing. So, if I keep my fantasy ranch on a much smaller scale but still bring in a sizeable income from the Angus, and a little extra from breeding quality horses, you'll have time to indulge in what makes you happy. All the employees will still have jobs, and the only station standing empty will be the east station...but I'm sure we can find something to do with that. Raise those giant fluffy sheep with the really long necks, maybe.”

  Finn slammed on the brakes sharply enough to pitch them both forward. Ava's cry of alarm was short-lived as he switched off the engine, yanked on the handbrake, and reached over to unclip her seatbelt in what felt like one continuous move. He dragged her over the center console onto his lap. “Giant fluffy sheep? You mean llamas?”

  “Why the hell did you—oh,” she breathed when his hand cupped her cheek. Her eyes darted around the outside of the vehicle as though they might have an audience, but there was just grass, trees, and the rocky footings of a hill. “That's one way to get my attention, Sir.”

  “You have mine all the time, little dove.” His lips whispered over hers, lighter than air. The merest hint of connection. “I think I underestimate you, Ava. You told me you don't want my money, don't want to be spoiled, but even in fantasy, you think about me. If our roles were reversed, I think you'd spoil the hell out of me, wouldn't you?”

  “Of course, I would. I'd give you everything.”

  She was the sweetest thing. A giver, not a taker. She took from him now because he asked her to. She took what he offered eagerly and, in true Ava style, gave back everything she had.

  Chapter 8

  Ava

  Her head was still buzzing an hour later when Finn informed her they were crossing the boundary line separating the north station from east. Another hour and they'd
arrive at their destination where, if Finn's beliefs were anything to go by, she'd be met with a man who really didn't like her—or at least, the idea of her. But she couldn't bring herself to care, not deep down where the wounds cut the deepest.

  If a man she'd never met disliked her that much without meeting her, screw him.

  Finn had started something on the ride, asking her to use her own dreams to build a fantasy ranch on the reality of his. She'd shocked herself with the direction of her choices, essentially decimating his entire operation and finding she had an aptitude for thinking like him. He'd been proud of her, pleased with her method of thinking, and in turn, she felt more confident in herself.

  She had value, even if it was just a dream she'd never realize.

  Who knew she'd picked up some of the language from the yard? She'd remembered it and used it in context. In a way that made perfect sense to someone who'd been in the ranching lifestyle for years. It made her want to giggle and grin and hug herself with glee. For that entire hour, her father had been nowhere in sight, in mind, or hearing range.

  She was in bliss.

  She was loved by a man she was in love with. He loved her, respected her enough to value her opinion on a subject she knew hardly anything about. He'd given her an opportunity to show what she did know, guided her through the parts she had no idea about, and let her pave an image she was proud of without influencing her decisions.

  Her eyes were closed to the wonder of the world they were driving through. The truck smelled like leather and Finn. The cab was warm, the A/C running on low as random patches of sunlight burst through the clouds. Her body felt heavy, jostling gently with the bump of tires over the hard ground, lulling her tired brain into the place where it clung to the edge of sleep.

  Her fingers linked with his.

  Through the heaviness, Ava heard a phone ring and mumbled in protest. The truck slowed, and she sensed Finn's big body shift. She envisioned him studying the screen, deciding whether or not he wanted to talk. “Answer it, Finn.”

  “Driving here, darlin'. Go back to sleep.”

  The incessant bleat of the phone turned sleep into an impossibility. “No cops here.”

  “Smart ass. I need one hand for driving and one hand for you, little dove.”

  She squinted at him through tired eyes. “Technology isn't my forte, Sir, but I think phones have speakerphones now.”

  A tiny curl of dread formed in her belly at the look on his face. The call was important, and it was about her. Apparently, he'd kept his word and gotten in touch with whoever he needed to for help. Her fate suddenly seemed uncertain, the joy of the last hour waned.

  Her arms didn't just itch now. They screamed.

  “Breathe, little dove. Let me do the talking.” His thumb slipped over the screen, silencing the tone, then pressed a button. He set the phone into a holder on the dashboard before speaking. “McLeod.”

  “Mr. McLeod, my name is Madeline Parrish. A...mutual friend contacted me earlier this morning with your details and asked me to call you. Are you able to talk with me now?”

  The voice was soft, melodic, posed no threat through the woman's words or tone. Yet Ava's entire body felt as though she was being towed through an open door, resisting every step of the way. She wanted to slam her hands, her feet, against the jamb and stop the sensation of being propelled where she didn't want to go.

  “Now's fine. Thank you for getting in touch, Dr. Parrish.” Finn's hand squeezed Ava's tightly in reassurance when she shuddered at the honorific. “We appreciate you taking the time. I'll be honest, I'm not entirely sure in how we go about this. I've never done this before.”

  “Please, call me Madeline. Don't worry about the details. Part of my job is to guide you through the process of therapy so we can reach a satisfactory result. Mr. Cook wasn't forthcoming with any details other than your name, phone number, and mutual interests. I'm presuming, forgive me, but you're not the one in need of my help?”

  Ava couldn't meet his eyes when he glanced at her. “Not me, no. My sub...my girlfriend, Ava, is having some difficulty.”

  “I see. This is a private line, Mr. McLeod. You can speak freely. I'm alone in my office, there's no one to overhear our discussion.”

  Uh-oh. Did the big, bad Dominant call reinforcements? You must have been really bad. Her father picked the most inopportune moment to pipe up.

  “Might as well call me Finn. I get the feeling we're all going to know each other really well by the end of this. Do you need me to give you an outline of what's happening, or do you prefer to do that face to face?”

  “Ordinarily, I do prefer a more personal approach. My schedule, however, is rather hectic. I have a cancellation available later this afternoon, around five, if you'd be able to meet me at my office?”

  Finn groaned under his breath. “That's not possible, I'm sorry. We aren't in D.C. Ava recently relocated to Montana to live with me. The soonest we could make it is tomorrow.”

  The sound of pages flipping came across the line, then what might have been a pen tap-tap-tapping on a notepad. “I'm fully booked for the next two weeks unless I get another cancellation. Why don't you give me a rundown of events and we'll see what might work best until you can make it to Washington.”

  “We met at this year's Roulette event,” Finn began, and Ava felt her hold on reality slip. Her story, their history, was being shared with a complete stranger. Picked over and analyzed by someone who didn't even know her. “We were paired up by the wheel. It became evident fairly quickly that Ava is a self-harmer. She has anxiety attacks and uses cutting as a way to get rid of the voices in her head.”

  Scratch, scratch, scratch. Listen to that pen engraving your pain into paper. Written down for everyone to read. They'll see how pathetic you are, using your lover to hide behind.

  “I see. That must be difficult for her. Do you know how long she's been using self-harm as a coping mechanism?” More writing, more ink locking Ava's failures into reality.

  Ava yanked her hand free of Finn’s and dug her fingers into her jacket, wishing she could bury them into her chest to ease the constriction starting to choke her. There wasn't enough air in the truck for her to gain a full breath, and someone must've switched the heaters on because, heaven help her, it was too hot in here.

  She fumbled with her seatbelt, voices buzzing in her ears and her brain. The catch popped free and she yanked the belt off, but her senses told her she was still trapped. She slapped away the fingers trying to curl around her wrist, but they came back faster and stronger, locking on like tentacles.

  “Ava. Ava. I'm sorry, Doc, I'll have to call you back.”

  “Ava's there with you? Is she okay?”

  The door handle was cool and smooth in her fingers, reacting to the pressure of her instinctive jerk at hearing her name mentioned with as much concern as there'd been in Finn's. The door opened and cool air washed in, sweeping over Ava's sweat-kissed skin like a damp cloth. She watched the ground flash past in a blur through the crack between door and frame, leaned toward it as the door pushed open further, struggling against the truck's forward motion.

  “She's about to fall out of a moving vehicle, so no. Goddamn it, Ava, put your seatbelt back on.” Finn snapped, his grip tightening as he prevented her rapid exit out the door. He was already slowing up, braking as hard as he dared, but Ava had no intention of falling out.

  She just needed to breathe.

  Ava swung her legs out of the truck as it drew to a complete stop, twisting her body to perch on the edge of her seat and gulp down air. Finn's bruising grip on her wrist released, and she took advantage of it, wrapping her arms around her waist and hunching into a protective ball.

  His hand returned, rubbing between her shoulder blades. “That's it, good girl. Slow it down, Ava. Nice and slow now, before you hyperventilate, darlin'. Christ, you're shaking. Are you cold?” The rubbing stopped, and his fingers curled around the nape of her neck. “Hotter than Hades. Stay right there, lit
tle dove.”

  His touch vanished completely, causing her heart to ache, and she heard him rummaging behind the seat before his door opened and closed. A lifetime passed as her blood pulsed through her ears and her heart hammered against her ribs, then Finn fell to his knees in front of her, setting a bottle of water in the foot well before his hands stroked her thighs. “It's okay, Ava. You're doing really well. Breathe in through your nose,” he coached gently, demonstrating, “and out through your mouth.”

  Everything seemed to shudder. Breath, heart, body. Her muscles trembled, and she tried to fend them off by curling tighter into her ball. Finn wouldn't let her; with strong hands, he urged her to lift her head, straightening her upper body gently. Nimble fingers unfastened her jacket and the body warmer beneath, allowing some of the heat cooking her bones to escape.

  “F-F-Finn,” she stuttered.

  “Shush, little dove. Just breathe. Sit and breathe for me, okay?”

  She could see the stress around his eyes and hated herself for putting him through this shit over and over again. He didn't deserve this. He should hate her for disrupting his life like this. Why didn't he hate her? “F-Finn, I'm sorry.”

  He sighed and cupped her face in both hands, his eyes softening with empathy. “Nothing to be sorry for, Ava. I went into this with my eyes open, remember? So, there'll be no regrets and no blaming yourself for things out of your control. Are we clear on that?”

  She sniffled, a tear sliding down her cheek.

  “I said,” his voice deepened, dropping several octaves, “are we clear on that?”

  “Y-Yes, Sir.”

  “Say it back to me, Ava.”

  She reached out, gripped his jacket. They both knew if she had a sharp within reach, she'd use it. Finn was in tune with her, covering her hands with his as he waited for her to find her tongue. “No regrets,” she whispered brokenly. “No blame for...for things out...out of my control.”