by Lee Savino
He nodded. “I was.”
I closed my eyes as the horror of today washed over me again. “Thank goodness you were there at the right moment.”
“I was pretty shocked when I saw you being muscled out of there in this getup of yours.” He fingered the fussy lace skirt of my dress. “When they stuffed you into that limo, I knew something bad was up. And I knew deep down that I had to stop it from happening.”
I stared out the windshield as I pieced it all together. “And then you caused the traffic jam?”
“Pretty much. I think they were so distracted, they didn’t notice you slipping into the truck.”
I stared blankly through the window, wondering what would have happened if they’d seen him stealing their ‘prize’. Something told me they’d stop at nothing to get it back. I shivered, remembering all the nasty things Anton said to instill terror in me.
“Where were they taking you?” Joel asked.
I looked into his face, that was so full of kindness and desire to protect me. And I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t expose him to all that danger. Couldn’t mix him up in everything.
“They were taking me to an event. Something fancy, they said. Think I was supposed to strip for someone’s birthday surprise.”
Joel frowned. “And you decided to get away?”
“Yeah.” I twisted my fingers together. “I was scared it might be more than dancing.”
That was the truth, at least.
Joel’s face darkened. “I would like to personally fuck up every last one of those assholes,” he said between gritted teeth.
“I can’t go back there,” I said.
“Of course you’re not going back,” he said, and the firmness in his voice sent a tingle right through me. He lifted me off him and put me gently back in the passenger seat. “I’m taking you back to the ranch.”
“Th-the ranch?”
“It’s the only place where I can be sure you’ll be safe.”
“No. Joel, I can’t.”
“You’re coming back with me, no arguments.”
“What if I say no?” the bratty part of me blurted out.
His features turned hard, uncompromising. “Then I’ll have to kidnap you, for your own good.”
I blinked. “Are you serious?”
His jaw flexed. “If I have to be.”
I gazed at him, open-mouthed. This was a very different Joel. He meant what he said.
I was quiet as we drove along the quiet, country roads, deep-buried memories awakening, one after another, growing stronger the closer we got.
Joel seemed to understand, and he stayed quiet, too, giving me the space I needed.
But when we pulled into the yard, I started to shake all over. It looked almost exactly as I remembered it—the sign over the entrance saying Wild Whip Ranch. The big, untidy yard, its corners cluttered with all kinds of industrial equipment. The barrel emblazoned with the words Welcome home to the ranch! The sprawling ranch house; the rag-tag bunch of dogs barking and rushing to greet us. Everything the same, but everything else so altered.
“You okay?” Joel asked when he’d turned off the engine.
I nodded. “I think so.”
He climbed out, went around, and opened the passenger door for me—just like he had, all those years ago.
“Things are a bit different around here nowadays. Mom has retired and she lives a few miles away, and my brothers have all moved out to their own places. So it’s just me now.”
“All by yourself?” I looked at the vast property in awe.
“Yup. Me and my employees, and all the cows and horses,” he said with a grin. “Just the way I like it. No guests anymore. Me and Mom used to butt heads pretty often, but now it’s all calm.”
I broke into a grin. “From what I remember, she was always giving you a hard time for your easygoing ways.”
“That’s Mom. Sergeant Major all the way.” He raised his hand to his head in a mock salute.
He led me up the porch steps and into the ranch house. It was so cozy and homely. So familiar. He showed me around, talking about what he’d changed since his mom had moved out, and I followed him numbly. The last time I was here, I was with my family. And now they were gone.
My brain couldn’t take it. It was like it had gone into overload. Darkness closed in at the edges of my vision, and it was like I was seeing the world through the end of a tunnel.
“Plenty of bedrooms,” he said, leading me down a short hallway. “Take your pick, and I’ll get some sheets for you.”
I pointed to one of the doors at random. He looked surprised. “That was Billy’s room. Smallest one of the bunch.”
I shrugged, walked in, and plopped down on the mattress.
He scratched at his forehead. “Guess I should leave you to settle in.”
“Thanks,” I said quietly.
I wanted to tell him I just needed some time, that the hugeness of everything was hitting me like a tidal wave. But my mouth didn’t work, and I couldn’t say a single word.
“Shout if you need anything,” he said. When I didn’t reply after a moment, the door closed softly behind me.
And he was gone.
As I sat and looked around the room, panic clutched at my throat and the tastefully decorated walls started to close in on me.
Chapter 7
Joel
I stood by the kitchen window, drinking my coffee and watching the sun come up. It was all drama this morning: black streaks and billowing orange. Every sunrise was unique, and I never tired of it. The rancher’s life—every day the same, but different. I wouldn’t exchange it for anything. Just wished I had someone to share it with.
I looked at my empty cup in surprise. I’d drained it twice as fast as usual. I took the jug and filled it up again.
I was worrying about Isabelle. She’d had a hell of a time, poor kid. I hated to think what might have happened to her if she hadn’t run from the limo. I’d felt uneasy about stalking her day in day out, but my instinct had proved right—it had been the only way to save her from those thugs.
I’d gotten her away from the strip club, that was the main thing. But I was shocked by how much she’d shut down when we came back to the ranch, like she hated being here. I had half a mind to spank it out of her. I’d seen how much good it did her at the strip club. How the punishment had opened her up.
Turned her on.
I hadn’t planned for any of that to happen, but I wasn’t sorry that it had.
The sight of her sweet ass over my knee, the pale flesh blushing so prettily under my hand. Her sweet lips on mine. Her pussy clenching tight around my fingers, and her sound of surprise and delight when she came for me. She was perfect. A wild girl who needed taming. She wouldn’t be mine forever, I knew that. But I was going to keep her safe here, and if she needed a little discipline from time to time, well, I wasn’t going to hold back.
The floorboards creaked behind me. I turned around.
There she was, barefoot, and still wearing the white dress. She looked beautiful, like a bedraggled princess. Her white-blonde hair was all mussed around her face in a halo. It was a cool, grown-up style, but to be honest, I missed the dark red curls. I remembered that moment at the rodeo when she’d let her hair down for the first time—literally—and I could hardly tear my eyes away from her. When I’d finally glimpsed the fieriness that lay within her perfectly controlled exterior.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Morning,” she muttered unhappily.
“Coffee?” I went to the jug and filled a cup.
“Thanks.”
“Cream and sugar?” I said, over my shoulder.
When I turned around again, I noticed that her feet were covered in scratches. Running in those high heels in the traffic had been rough on her. Her eyes were swollen, too, like she’d been crying again.
“Yes please.” She took the coffee and gulped it eagerly.
“How did you sleep?”
�
��Okay,” she replied.
I looked at her sideways. “Monosyllabic this morning, huh?”
“What?”
I planted my hands on my hips and looked her up and down. She was avoiding my eyes, and I was reminded again of the haughty teenager she used to be. “I’m just trying to see how you are, Isabelle.”
She shook her hair out of her face. “Sorry. Just tired.”
“And you just got out of a real bad situation. That’s got to take some getting used to.”
She nodded vaguely, went to the kitchen table, and dragged out a chair.
“I’m cooking bacon and eggs,” I told her. “Want some?”
“I’ll help,” she said, as if remembering her manners.
I scanned her ruined white dress again, realization dawning on me. She probably felt as uncomfortable as hell in that outfit. “Go take a shower while I cook,” I told her.
She lifted up her skirt and let it fall again. “There any spare clothes here?”
I took the bacon out of the fridge. “Mom took all her stuff when she moved out, but there was a lost-property box somewhere. I’ll see if I can find you something in there.”
She nodded thanks and shuffled off to the bathroom.
I sighed to myself. It was even worse than last night. Yesterday, her eyes had been huge and fearful. But now she looked closed in. Like she wanted to be left alone. My palms tingled to take her in hand again. I could get her to open up to me.
She was in the shower for a long time. I went off to the cupboard under the stairs where Mom had kept a bunch of miscellaneous stuff, and found the lost-property box. I brought it out to the kitchen, thinking Isabelle could pick out what she wanted.
I started frying the bacon and eggs, and eventually, she emerged in a towel with her hair wet and slicked back, and her make-up washed off. She looked younger now, more like the girl I used to know. And a twinge of nostalgia plucked at me.
“Better?”
“Yeah. These are the clothes?”
“I don’t know what’s in there, but hopefully you can find something.”
She adjusted the towel around her body, and I tried not to look while she tucked it between her breasts, making her cleavage swell. She rooted through the box, picking out some things, discarding others.
“Is this clean?” she asked.
“Of course. Mom’s a stickler for hygiene.” I laughed, but she didn’t humor me. All her attention seemed to be focused on finding an outfit to wear.
Finally, she disappeared with a few things and returned wearing a pair of black leggings and a cowboy shirt that looked like it came from a souvenir shop. All overdone tassels and ridiculous embroidery.
“Better,” I said, but she didn’t look pleased. In fact, she looked annoyed that this was all she had to wear. I didn’t blame her. She was the kind of girl who would have looked good in a potato sack, but this outfit was awful.
She slunk into a chair at the kitchen table, and I finished plating up the food.
“There’s a store in town where we can get some clothes if you want?” I offered. It was kind of a dorky place. Even my mom didn’t really like to buy clothes there, and she was hardly what you would call a fashion mogul. But I figured it was better than nothing.
Finally, there was a spark of enthusiasm in her eyes. “Can we go after breakfast?”
I nodded. “Of course.”
Isabelle seemed preoccupied during the journey, and when we walked through the store, her eyes darted in all directions.
“You want me to wait outside?” I asked, not sure how me hanging around the women’s department while she shopped would go down.
“No,” she almost shouted. “Stay with me, please.”
I startled. That was the first almost-warm thing she’d said to me all morning. I’d been starting to think she couldn’t stand the sight of me.
She shopped like she was on autopilot, grabbing armfuls of clothes, then retreating to the changing room to try them on. I slumped on the chairs outside the room, preparing myself for a long wait. I’d made the mistake of going clothes shopping with my mom before when she’d just needed to ‘pick up a couple of things.’
But Isabelle was in and out in five minutes, with a bunch of jeans and shirts stacked over her arm.
“Anything nice?” I said.
“I guess,” she mumbled.
So, she hated the clothes too. I didn’t blame her. But she didn’t have to sound so dang grumpy about it. I probably should have offered to drive her to Vancouver, but it was a good eight-hour round trip, and she seemed kind of in a hurry.
I gave her some space while she went to the underwear section.
When she brought everything over to the cash register to pay, her card got declined.
“What? Can you try again?”
“I’m sorry, my dear. Still saying declined,” the clerk said.
“Must be something wrong with the card machine,” Isabelle muttered, her cheeks flushing. She rummaged in her pocketbook, but she obviously didn’t have enough cash to pay either. She got more and more wound up, until receipts were flying out of her pocketbook and landing on the floor.
“Stop,” I said. “Let me pay.”
“No, it’s fine, Joel. I just—” She clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Let me, Isabelle.”
She watched silently as I handed my card over, then she took the carrier bag awkwardly. She stalked back to the truck in silence.
When I next looked at her, I was shocked to see she was on the verge of tears. “What is it?” I demanded.
“There was nothing wrong with the card machine. I just don’t have any money.” She sniffed hard. “The boss at the club pays me peanuts, barely enough to get by. The rest of the wages, he takes for this debt I’m supposed to owe him.”
I shook my head. “What debt?”
She rolled her eyes. “Some small print in the contract, apparently. I was supposed to pay for the privilege of working at the club. Like I was a freelancer or something, so I’m supposed to be indebted to them for the next year.”
I clenched my jaw, white-hot fury flooding my veins. “They enslaved you. It was even worse than I thought.”
She raised her chin, still hanging onto the tatters of her pride. “Pretty much.”
“I’m not surprised you’re so scared of them.”
She met my gaze and her lips parted, as if she was going to say something. But then she fell silent again.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“You were going to say something else?”
“They’re not going to find me here, are they?” she said in a rush.
Understanding hit me. “That’s why you were acting so tense in the store?”
She nodded, her gaze fixed on the windshield, fingers busy, picking at her nails.
“No, of course not. They don’t know my truck. They have no way of knowing you’re out here.” I reached out and squeezed her knee, then I startled. Her legs were shaking.
“You’re safe here, Isabelle. Trust me.”
At last she met my eyes, but the look she gave me was so desperate, it cut me.
When we got back to the ranch, Isabelle changed into her new clothes. On her knockout figure, the chain-store outfit was transformed. The tight blue jeans clung to the curves of her ass, and the white T-shirt emphasized the ripe fullness of her breasts.
“Nice,” I said neutrally.
She stuffed her hands in her pockets. “I’ll be out of your hair soon. Then I’ll get a job in the city, and pay you back what I owe you.”
Her words were like a punch in the gut. She hated being here with me. Sure, she was grateful that I’d rescued her, but she saw me as a stopgap.
As if I’d get involved with a cowhand like him.
The old insult came back to me again like a dart of poison.
The way she’d kissed me in the club—like she’d meant it, like she wanted me as much as I wanted her. It had set me
on fire. But had it just been part of the job for her? Part of the show that had just gotten out of hand?
Since she’d been here, she hadn’t once looked at me like she was attracted to me. I was just good old Joel, the cowhand. I imagined seeing me here had brought her opinion into sharper relief.
I was so frustrated, my head hurt.
“Come outside,” I told her. “I’ve got a job for you.”
She followed me obediently enough, but without any sign of enthusiasm.
I took her around the back of the stables where the horse muck was stored before it got spread on the fields. I pointed to a wheelbarrow and gave her a spade. “I want you to fill up this wheelbarrow with horse muck, then go spread it around the ornamental bushes as fertilizer. Can you do that?”
I was hoping to see some reaction from her—disgust, defiance, anything.
But all she did was shrug.
“Okay,” she said.
I left her to it, and returned to my earlier task of fixing a fence post, but I kept an eye on her.
She wasn’t acting like a bratty teenager. That was something, at least. She shoveled manure methodically, and when the wheelbarrow was full, she pushed it along, and I showed her which bushes to start on. While she spread muck on the ones on the left, I started pruning the ones on the right. I was hoping that when she relaxed into her task, she’d open up a little more. But she went on giving monosyllabic replies to my questions, like she’d rather be left alone.
Or like she couldn’t stand me.
I couldn’t bear it any longer.
“What’s wrong, tiny dancer?”
Her jaw clenched. “Don’t call me that. I hate it.”
“You do?”
“Of course I do. I’m not a dancer.” Her hand rubbed over her cheek, leaving a streak of dirt.
I went to brush it away, and she slapped my hand down.
“All right, Isabelle,” I said.
“And… just stop that.”
This girl was snarly and jumpy as a wild mare. But I’d dealt with pretty, wild things before. I reined in my temper, and called upon my deep well of patience. “Stop what?”