Held for the Stud

by Vonna Harper

  Regretting that she’d let her need to stand up for herself get in the way of what was probably a perfectly practical conversation and an intriguing job offer, she nodded.

  “Believe me, you’ll know when I issue an order.”

  “Like you did the other day.” She rubbed her backside for emphases. “Is that the kind of boss you are? Your way or the highway?”

  “My way keeps people alive and gives them a chance to recover.”

  Recover from what? PTSD? Even more intrigued, she took a step toward the house. He matched her pace. He had to work at accommodating her shorter legs. He didn’t have to stay so close, but because he was, she stood her ground. As a result their shoulders occasionally brushed. Every time that happened her heart stuttered a little. If it made any kind of sense, she’d swear he was absorbing bits and pieces of her, taking fragments to use when it benefited him. She’d surrendered something vital when he’d spanked her. It could happen again.

  Chapter Seven

  The house wasn’t what she’d call ‘open concept’. From where she sat in the musty-smelling living room, she could see a long hall with doors on either side. The building more closely resembled a bunk house than something designed for a family.

  “We can accommodate a half-dozen guests at any time,” he said as if responding to her unspoken question.

  He sat in a well-worn chair close to the smaller one she’d chosen. He’d turned on an overhead light but enough shadows remained around the edge of the room that she guessed one or more bulbs needed changing. She wouldn’t be surprised if the place hadn’t been occupied for a while. If she wound up working here she’d make airing it a priority. The windows needed cleaning. Some new furniture would be a good idea if they wanted guests to keep coming.

  “I’m not going to tell you everything,” he said. “Mostly because the details would take half the night. I assume you’re knowledgeable about what’s happening at our border with New Undine.”

  “I know there’s been some fighting.”

  “Some!” He leveled an angry look at her. “Yeah, that’s how the politicians spin it. Has it occurred to you to wonder why the TV stations haven’t shown more than a few short videos from the battleground?”

  “I guess I haven’t thought about it.”

  “Because that hellhole doesn’t personally affect you. You live your comfortable life not—”

  “Wait a minute.” She clamped her hands over her knees to keep from jumping to her feet. “When did I become the enemy? I’m sorry if conditions on the border aren’t my number one priority in life.”

  “They should be.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” She wouldn’t have said what she had if she hadn’t spotted something unnerving in his penetrating stare. She wanted to know what was responsible for his dark mood.

  “I am right.” He pressed his hand to the bridge of his nose then leaned back. “It’s a shit show.”

  “What is?”

  “The disconnect between reality and the spin.”

  “Are you saying things are bad at the border but the public isn’t allowed to know?”

  “Something like that.”

  Instead of asking him to explain and probably testing his patience anew, she decided to wait. After a pause, he hit her with facts and figures that boggled her mind. The number of soldiers protecting the border was more than twice what she’d been led to believe. Vital weapons were in short supply as was medical equipment, food and housing. Some of the problem, he explained, was because the struggle was taking place in a remote area surrounded by mountains that complicated communication. The land under dispute wasn’t the only current hot spot. Supplies were being sent to other areas. After decades of minimal military need near New Undine, maintaining a strong force there had become a necessity. The army was playing catch-up and not doing a very good job of it.

  “I’d like to simply blame the politicians,” he said, “but tax money can only be stretched so far. What military support exists there is concentrated on keeping hostile governments in check, but we’ve lost sight of what’s most important.”

  “Which is?”

  “Providing security for those on the front line.”

  He stood and walked to the picture window. She didn’t think he could see anything, but his thoughts needed a place to be.

  “In essence that’s what’s behind Escape. Giving stressed soldiers a place to go when they need help holding on to their sanity.”

  The overhead light wasn’t doing enough to make him look real. Any moment now she’d feel compelled to join him, maybe touch him so he’d realize he wasn’t alone. He still intimidated her. He was more complex than she’d initially believed.

  And domineering.

  “What can I do?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “What?”

  “Let me make this absolutely clear. You won’t be working with the soldiers beyond giving them access to the animals. I’m thinking most will be hesitant to interact with livestock. Not many farmers or ranchers wind up in the military.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “Horses in particular have proven to serve a vital role when it comes to emotional healing. A traumatized soldier will confide in a horse in ways he wouldn’t with humans.”

  “I’ve done some research into therapy animals. What about dogs? I hope you intend to have some around.”

  “Yes, thanks to the local Humane Society.” He faced her, the slow spin ratcheting up her awareness of him. It wouldn’t take much for him to trap her. She wasn’t sure she’d want to escape.

  She’d always wanted a dog, but until recently her life had been too uncertain to subject one to it. Banner struck her as a Rottweiler or Doberman type, something big and confident. He might take on a pit bull or large mutt, even an aggressive one. Hopefully he understood that aggression was usually a cover for fear.

  “Back to livestock,” he said. “I trust you understand that I insist you limit yourself to educating the guests, maybe encouraging them to help with the animals’ care. Show them how to approach a horse, how to saddle, bridle and ride one. Let them watch you—up to a point.”

  His tone had changed at the end. A warning note had been added.

  “What are you getting at?” she asked as she joined him at the window.

  The stars were in abundance, but the moon hadn’t yet made an appearance and there weren’t any outside lights. In some respects it was as if they were the only two people in the world. Whatever they said, did or thought wouldn’t go past this room. She couldn’t read his mind but had a pretty good idea.

  “Oh I think you get my point.”

  “You’re warning me not to take advantage of the fact that I might be the only woman the soldiers see while they’re here.”

  “That’s part of it.”

  He was determined to pull even more out of her, darn him. Fine. “You think I might be tempted to dress and conduct myself in a seductive way. Feed my ego.”

  “And maybe encourage them to do something they wouldn’t under normal circumstances.”

  Chilled, she flattened her hand against the glass. “They aren’t animals.”

  “But they’ve seen, heard and done things they never thought they would. Their moral footing has been upended. They’ve lost a great deal—their belief in who they are for one. They’re tempted to drink to excess, to take illicit drugs, to…”

  Most likely he knew what to say but wanted to see if she’d finish for him. Much as she didn’t want to go down that road, she had to.

  “They’re doing a lot of thinking about how short life can be.” Still touching the window, she looked over at him. He seemed to be getting larger and darker by the moment. “If they have to return to the battlefield, every day here will be precious. They’re young men full of testosterone. If they believe or convince themselves that I’m encouraging them they’ll weigh the possibility of fucking me against not knowing how long they might live.”

 
; “Yeah. Better to go out knowing they’ve left their DNA somewhere. What does it matter whether you want the same thing? They’ll spread your legs.”

  “Rape?”

  “Not all of them,” he whispered. “Hopefully not most.”

  “But it only takes one.”

  “Yes. You understand.”

  “What I understand is you’re telling me I have to take responsibility for my safety but you still want to throw me into the lions’ den.”

  “You stood up to me.”

  “Did I?” The tension she’d been feeling seeped out of her. She came close to laughing. “As I recall you won that battle.”

  His head jerked at the word ‘battle’. Then he chuckled. “I don’t recall you fighting.”

  She’d weathered a great deal while she was under his control, but no, fighting hadn’t been part of it.

  “It wouldn’t have done me any good.”

  “Yes, it would.” He closed a hand over the back of her neck and drew her close. “Asha, if I’d believed you hated being spanked, if deep down that was the last thing you wanted, I would have let you go.”

  “Would you have?”

  She couldn’t think of anything else to say, could barely think. It felt as if she’d been waiting all her life for this moment. There was something awesome and overwhelming about Banner, an electric charge deep inside that broke free without notice. She was the other half of the current, a woman with the potential to fly apart.

  With her own emotional scars.

  “Yes. If nothing else, believe that about me.”

  “You’re a hard man to figure out.”

  A rumbling sound that might have been a laugh rolled out of him. Balanced on numb and shaking legs, she dismissed their surroundings. She no longer cared whether the moon would make an appearance. If he wanted, she’d haul her RV here and work for free. Anything for this contact to continue. As long as his hand burned the back of her neck—

  “I’m a hard man. I can be a bastard.”

  “And I can be a bitch.”

  “That I don’t need. What I do require is you understanding that your existence has to be limited to providing animal care and encouraging the guests to interact with them. Answer their questions. Build their confidence. Educate them about animal behavior. Nothing the hell else.”

  “Damn it, I get it. Let me make this clear. I don’t need or want you micromanaging me.”

  She expected him to shake her, maybe show her the door. She might have taken things too far. He’d find someone else to do the job, not that she had any idea who that’d be. Instead he tightened his hold on her neck and forced her off balance. She planted her palms on his hips and pushed back. He held her in place.

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” he said. “I’m a real bastard when it comes to making Escape into what soldiers need. Do your damn job and you’ll be well compensated. Mess up and I’ll make you regret it.”

  He’d given her no leeway, no opportunity to point out that he didn’t have to be such a hard-ass. But this wasn’t the time or place to argue the point. She didn’t know much about the goals here, but she agreed with what she did know. She’d be dealing with men and a few women who were barely holding on to sanity. As a result, she had to handle them with kid gloves so they wouldn’t be lost.

  “Were you one of them?” she ventured.

  “I still am.”

  She’d sensed that. She just hadn’t expected him to be so honest. Wondering if anything remained of the innocent child he’d once been—she wasn’t sure any part of the girl she’d left behind existed—she stopped pushing on his hipbones and started stroking him there.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. A little of the pressure on her neck lessened.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe—what happened to you? Was it a particular battle? Maybe you had to kill someone.”

  He growled a curse and pushed her away. After righting herself, she rubbed her thighs. Something was coming to life inside her.

  “I’ve been on my own most of my life,” she told him. “It isn’t easy. Having animals to confide in helps. I hope the same thing happens for you.”

  “What?” he scoffed. “You want me to cuddle chickens? Raise goats? Then everything will be perfect? Sorry, girl, but life isn’t that simple.”

  “I know it,” she snapped, even as the image of him holding a chicken to his chest made her smile. “Give goats a shot. They’re delightful. Good for endless laughs.”

  When he didn’t respond, she sighed and turned away. The way she saw it, the conversation was over. He’d get in touch with her when and if he was ready to hire her. She could tell him she wasn’t sure she wanted the job, that she needed time to think about it, but it would be a lie. She’d been looking for something to commit to, to share herself with. She’d long ago stopped thinking a man could fulfill that role.

  “What’s your phone number?” he asked. “I’ll give you mine.”

  Connection. A link forged.

  Chapter Eight

  Looking back over the past month, Asha couldn’t quite wrap her mind around everything that had happened since Banner had offered her the job. A few days after spending time with him in the ranch house, he’d emailed her a contract. She’d studied the terms, which included details of what he expected from her in the way of behavior. She’d Googled Escape’s directors then signed the contract and sent it back to him. A number of doctors and prominent businessmen were behind Escape. There was even a retired general.

  Her employers hadn’t been happy when she’d given them a week’s notice but at least they’d paid her in full. The morning after her last day at the horse stable, she’d followed the truck hauling her RV to Escape. Early the next day she’d watched as two cowboys brought a half dozen beef cows with calves onto the property. Two dairy cows had arrived around noon. Twenty-four hours later three pregnant goats and an equal number of fat-bellied sheep had showed up. She’d spent the better part of a day rebuilding an old chicken pen so wild animals and the three Humane Society dogs couldn’t get to the hens and chicks.

  She and Banner had disagreed over whether the dogs would stay on unfamiliar-to-them property. He’d won because he was the employer and she his employee. To his credit he’d spent considerable time with the dogs before announcing he had to leave. He hadn’t asked whether she objected to having the dogs added to her responsibilities.

  Okay, so she didn’t. The three neutered youngsters were delightful. They were also housebroken, and if Banner didn’t mind that they chewed on the furniture, who was she to object?

  The soldiers had been here for a week. There were four of them, all with young bodies and old eyes. They didn’t say much to her or one another, and except for the one on crutches they spent a lot of their time going on long walks. As she’d expected, the baby goats were a hit with everyone. She’d thought there’d be a lot of meetings or counseling sessions, mental health professionals coming and going. Instead, except for loud music, especially in the evenings, everything was low-key. There was a cook, a man in his sixties who didn’t object when one of the soldiers announced he intended to fix his own meals. They were responsible for their clothes and keeping their rooms clean. For the most part she stayed out of their way.

  On Thursday she’d just finished making sure the hay delivery was stored under cover when one of the soldiers approached. Earlier, when he’d jumped back when one of the mares reached over the fencing, she’d explained that the mare had wanted her forehead rubbed followed by demonstrating the technique. The man had introduced himself as Andy and held out his hand. Introducing herself, she’d taken it. He’d held on until she’d pulled free. Since then they’d had a couple of conversations. Both times she’d excused herself before the conversation became personal.

  “Carrots, right?” Andy held up several. “The way to a horse’s heart.”

  “And not as messy as apples.”

  “You know, I want to thank you for not making fun of me earlier. It�
�s just that horses are big and I’m a city boy—man.”

  “They don’t know their size.” She’d already told Andy that, but it wouldn’t hurt to repeat herself. “Don’t forget, they’re prey animals. Their instinct is to run if they think they’re in danger.”

  “They should stand their ground, fight.”

  Sensing this had nothing to do with horses, she waited. Andy was well over six feet tall but slender enough to be considered skinny. He had a jerky quality to him, as if he didn’t know how to handle his body. In some respects he was a growing boy.

  “I’d like to try riding one of them,” he said. “Not the stallion of course, and I don’t want to go where the stallion can get to me. Also I’m not interested in galloping or whatever it’s called.”

  “A canter is easier on the body, but you probably don’t want to do more than trot the first few times.”

  “Trot. Okay.” He didn’t look sure of himself.

  “Here’s what I’m thinking,” she said. “Two of the mares are middle age. Settled. They aren’t interested in a hard workout. You might have your work cut out for you getting them to move at all. They’d balk at having to go up the mountain.” She pointed.

  He stared in the direction she’d indicated. “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t want to go off on my own until I know more about what I’m doing.”

  She agreed. In fact she’d wanted to talk to Banner about conducting riding lessons. He couldn’t find fault with that, could he?

  “What if we start with you saddling and bridling Babe? She’s the steadiest of the bunch. Your only problem will be getting her to stay awake.”

  “You’ll show me how?”

  “Of course. I have time now if you’d like.”

  Something about Andy’s smile put her a bit on edge. It had come and gone so fast, not that she should be surprised. After all Andy and the others hadn’t had much to smile about recently.

  She dismissed her vague unease while guiding Andy in what it took to get a horse ready to be ridden. Although she’d been clear with her instructions, she had to repeat something she considered non-negotiable. Andy obviously thought Babe needed a firm hand, as witnessed by how he shoved the bit into her mouth and jerked the reins when Babe shifted her weight when he threw the saddle over her back.