by Vanessa Vale
“Where did you find it?” He ran his hand over his mustache.
I looked at the snap buttons on his shirt. “Um, in a garden gnome.”
Dex’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”
I looked him in the eye. “I bought the gnomes at a garage sale.”
Nodding his head, Dex asked, “How do you connect a vial of semen inside a garden gnome, which you bought at a garage sale, and my ranch?”
I didn’t blame him if he thought I was crazy. It sounded ridiculous. Ridiculous, but true. “I got it by accident, actually, from Morty Moore. I’ve been told he works here.”
Dex looked over his shoulder and gave a casual wave to a man leading a horse out of the ring. “I have over a hundred employees working for me. I don’t know everyone by name. It’s certainly possible this man, Morty Moore, works here.” He pushed off the railing. I stepped back. “Let me make a call.” He pulled a cell from his shirt pocket and did some fancy dialing.
It was plausible Dex didn’t know the name of every employee, but in a ranch of this caliber, a man who was clearly in charge—of everything—it would seem likely he’d be very familiar with all of his workers. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who left anything to chance. There was something really off about Dex, something a little creepy. Make that a lot creepy. The way he looked at me, the snide sexual comments. They weren’t flirty, they were possessive, overly aggressive, and not just dominant, but disrespectful.
I listened in as he asked someone about Morty Moore, then hung up. “Morty worked seasonally with the cattle. Spring season is big for when we brand and castrate the calves.”
Chopping off calf balls. Good times.
“Is he here today? I’d really like to talk to him.” I knew he wasn’t here as I’d talked with the man in the stable. What would Dex say?
“The resource manager said Morty hasn’t shown up for work in over a week.” Dex shrugged his shoulders. “It happens. Turnover around here in some jobs, like working with the cattle, is pretty high.”
I was disappointed. A dead end. Or was it? I’d seen Morty two nights ago fleeing my house. Ty had confirmed that Morty’s parents hadn’t heard from him in a week. He hadn’t been to work in a week either. Were Ty and I the last to have seen him?
“Sure. Thanks for your help.” I offered a quick smile and turned to walk away.
“Where’s the vial now?” Dex asked in a friendly voice.
I turned back around. “Freezer. I’m guessing it’s no good for you anymore so I’ll just throw it out.” I lied. I hadn’t put it in my freezer. I’d have to buy a new one if I had. To save myself the expense, I’d chucked it into the trash can.
He gave a brief nod and gently took my arm. He obviously didn’t care one way or the other about the missing vial. “I’ll give you a tour before you go.”
It seemed Dex didn’t ask, he told. He steered me away from the ring and toward a side door. “Um, okay.” Looked like I was going to get a tour of a horse ranch. Whether I wanted to or not.
Although if I put up a stink I knew Dex would let me leave. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who liked to make a scene. The tour probably wasn’t a bad idea though. I might learn something about the vial and Morty’s interest in it. I knew less than nothing now about the whole business. I wouldn’t have minded being asked though. Bossy, bossy.
“So did you start this ranch all on your own? It’s very impressive,” I asked, trying to make small talk. Nothing like boosting up a man’s ego. If I was going to stick around, it made sense to learn something, and do it with a man willing to talk. Dex might help me, unknowingly, learn more about Morty and help track him down.
Dex still had his hand on my arm, his skin warm in contact with mine. The initial attraction, that fantasy zing, was all gone. He might be super handsome, but that was it.
“My parents were cattle ranchers on this land since the fifties. I found a passion for horses and added the equine enterprise to the ranch.”
“Are your parents still involved in the property?”
“They’ve been dead a long time. What about you? What do you do with yourself? I don’t see a ring on your finger.”
We’d left the horse arena, cut through the bright sunshine and approached a third building. This one was smaller, about fifty feet square. It too, had gray siding and green trim. All of the buildings matched.
“Um, no. I’m a widow.”
Dex stopped in his tracks and gazed down at me. “Good. Wouldn’t want to fight a husband for you.”
My brain stalled. Good? That I was a widow? He didn’t want to fight a husband for me? Yikes! I’d known the man less than ten minutes. He was serious. I could tell from the look in his eye. Like a predator ready to pounce on his prey. Gross.
“Boss!” a man in a green ranch shirt called from the door. “We’re ready.” Dex let go of me and raised his arm in response. The man ducked back inside.
Dex broke eye contact with me. Phew!
“I really need to get back,” I said. “I don’t want to interrupt your day.”
“You’re not interrupting anything. I don’t get beautiful guests very often.” He smiled down at me then started walking, heading toward the man who called to him. “What do you do for a living?” he asked over his shoulder.
Obviously, I was supposed to follow. “I…um…run Goldilocks in Bozeman.” I had to walk quickly to keep up with his long stride.
“Goldilocks?” he asked.
“Adult store.”
He stopped and looked me over again. How many times was he planning on doing that? He grinned and a new light came to his eyes. “Really? Then you’re sure to find this part of the tour right up your alley.”
I wasn’t sure what running an adult store had to do with a horse farm. He held the door for me and I entered first. Skeptical.
“This is the breeding shed where we provide our stud service.”
Shed was not the word I’d use to describe the place. I had a shed in the back yard I used to store the lawn mower and yard tools. Some people used the proverbial woodshed to spank their kids when they were bad. This was something else entirely. The room was large with a strange stand in the middle. It was well lit and operating-room clean. One area off to the right was a horse stall with a half gate and straw on the ground. No lawnmower in sight.
“This is the room where we collect semen on the phantom mare for artificial insemination. Mares are brought from all over and come to the Double D to be bred with our studs. Instead of the old-fashioned way, they’re inseminated via pipette directly into the uterus to avoid being harmed by a rough stallion.”
Okie dokie.
Wide double doors directly across from us opened and a horse was led in by a man in the green ranch shirt and jeans. I didn’t know what kind of horse it was besides being brown. “That’s a teaser mare. She’s in heat and will be in the stall to help the stud.”
Hmmm. Ick. Why on earth did Dex think this was right up my alley? What did running an adult store have to do with breeding horses? Did he think since I dealt in sex I’d be interested in horse sex, too? Within a minute I’d already learned way more than I wanted to about horse breeding. Ever.
The mare was led into the stall, the bridle removed and the half gate closed. “The stud will sense the mare, smell her and know she’s in heat. This will build his need to copulate.”
I assumed the phantom mare was the thing in the middle of the room. It looked like a pommel horse from gym class. About a foot wide and four feet long and cylindrical in shape. It was mounted on two metal posts at about four feet high. It was kind of like a horse body without any legs or head.
“Our studs have been trained to mount the phantom mare, although they’d much prefer the real thing.” He winked at me. “We don’t have a choice when it comes to a client’s mare.”
Another horse was led into the room through the same double doors. This one was black and about a foot taller than the mare. He was frisky, moving his he
How on earth did I make it just in time for horse porn?
“I’ve…I’ve got to get going,” I said, starting to back away. “I think maybe the horse might want some privacy or something.”
“Stay.” He took my arm again, looked down at me. His gaze was powerful, his voice rough and deep. “It’s like a man and a woman. Some stallions are downright barbaric with their mating. They’re only focused on their needs, so single-minded in their desire to breed they forget about the mare. But when she’s manhandled, treated roughly, she can’t deny how, deep down, she really wants to be treated. When the mare submits to the stud, ultimately her needs are met.”
I must have had a confused look on my face because he continued. “A woman likes a man to take control. Possess her body. Show her what she wants by doing what he needs.”
Ding, ding. Drake Dexter was a Dominant. He liked to control women, use them. Treat them like a…like a piece of horse flesh. And he was showing off his prowess through a horny horse. To me. The widow who worked at an adult store.
“Oookay.” I didn’t feel threatened, just ludicrously uncomfortable. I wasn’t into domination. Sure, I liked a man who took charge, made me feel feminine. I just had no intention of wearing leather, being bound and calling a man Sir. And I definitely wasn’t into Drake Dexter. But it was probably easier to play along, for now.
“The stud is going to be led over to the mare. He’ll smell her, sense she’s in heat. This will ready him. There, see. He’s smelled her.” The stud was indeed checking out the mare.
The handler circled the stud around the phantom mare while two other men came into the room. One went and reached beneath the contraption and pulled out a white object. It was about eighteen inches long and cylindrical with a hole in the middle.
“That’s an artificial vagina, or AV, Robert is holding.”
Great. An artificial vagina.
“Now watch,” Dex whispered. “It’s always amazing to watch a stallion’s power. His sexual intensity and need to expel his seed.”
If I hadn’t felt weirded out before, I officially was now. Dex was way too into this. He watched as if mesmerized. Probably fantasizing about a woman being strapped down to the phantom mare and taking her from behind like a horse. Was a woman just a vessel for his ‘seed’? The answer was most likely yes. Hopefully I wasn’t the woman he had in mind. Then I remembered what I'd first said to him. I have some of your sperm. Great.
The next thirty seconds were like watching a car crash. You couldn’t look away from the carnage. The stud mounted the phantom mare and Robert, the AV holder, quickly placed the AV over the super-sized equine penis. The horse didn’t really thrust as much as stand there, his hind legs adjusting to the position of his upper body across the phantom mare. The noise of horse pain—or possibly lust—filled the room. I winced as I watched. Moments later, Robert pulled the AV off, the horse dismounted and was led out of the building.
I felt like I needed a cigarette.
“Wow.” I didn’t know what to say. That was great, or That really turned me on, definitely didn’t work.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Amazing wasn’t the first word that came to mind. I nodded my head weakly. “The AV has a sterile tip that collects the semen. Then it’s put into a vial, like the one you said you have, and frozen. It’s stored until needed and sent around the world.”
“Is there a big market for it?”
“Absolutely. My studs are famous for their speed, their exemplary genetic qualities and are much sought after. So much so that the stud you just saw, his semen brings in over $10,000 a vial.”
“Holy crap.” No wonder Morty wanted the vial. It would be quite the side business for him.
Dex laughed. “You find this interesting.” He still held my arm but now he moved in close, close enough to invade my personal space. “I knew you would.” He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. A chill ran down my spine at his creepy touch.
I stepped back. “Yup, it’s been interesting.” I looked at my watch. I didn’t care what time it was, I just wanted out of there. I’d had enough for one day. Maybe a lifetime. “Boy, look at the time. I’ve got to run.”
* * *
Norris Road was known for crappy cell service so I had to wait until I got closer to town to call Kelly.
“Remember when I told you my dream cowboy was Bobby Ewing?” I asked when I was finally in range. When I was eight I’d fantasized about marrying Bobby Ewing from the TV show Dallas. I wanted to be Pamela, his wife, with her beautiful hair and clothes. Bobby wore cowboy hats, lived on a ranch and drove that fancy red Mercedes convertible. He was the bomb. Ever since then I’d dreamed about marrying a cowboy. Maybe deep down that was a reason I’d moved to Montana. But Bobby Ewing lived in Texas. Obviously, I’d picked the wrong state since I’d ended up marrying Nate the Jerk instead.
“Yeah. Please tell me Drake Dexter was super-hot like Bobby.” She sighed. “You get all the cute ones.”
“Tom’s a super stud and you know it,” I countered.
“Yeah, but he’s my husband. Not the same thing at all.”
“This guy looks nothing like Bobby Ewing. Definitely Marlboro Man.”
Kelly sighed again.
“But he’s a total perv.”
“Oh.” Kelly sounded deflated. As if her dream man turned out to be gay. You only dreamed about guys who would have sex with you.
The gas warning light on the dash came on accompanied by a ding. “Crap. I’ve got to get gas.” I hung up and drove to the nearest station on Huffine by the mall.
I fed the pump my credit card, then my car some gas. I was dying of thirst so I went inside to get a drink. I meandered through the fridge wall of the convenience store checking out all of the beverages. It smelled like hot dogs and buttered popcorn and the A/C felt good on my dusty skin. I opened the fridge and picked out a tea with ginseng and lemon when I heard, “Give me all your money!”
Holy crap.
I turned around and saw a man in a bright yellow wife beater holding a knife up to the cashier. Angled off to the side, I could see his crazy black hair standing every which way about his head. His eyes had a crazed, glassy look. Drugs. Definitely drugs. He looked like death warmed over, his skin color a funky gray, an open sore on his lip. If he was stupid enough to rob a convenience store in the middle of the day, his brain cells must be occupied with trying to score more drugs. Stupid, but dangerous.
Three other customers were in the store, two with the utility company with their neon orange T-shirts. They were further down the fridge wall that lined the back of the store. Another man, in his fifties, stood about five feet away from me. I was closest to the robber.
The store clerk looked panicked. He had to be eighteen and just out of high school. Pimple faced and a patchy attempt at a beard coated his cheeks like mange. He may have peed his pants with fear. I couldn’t blame the kid if he had. He didn’t make enough money to be held up by a deranged lunatic.
“Now! Open the register and give me the fucking money!” the robber shouted, his knife waving wildly about. It was a bowie knife used to gut animals during hunting season. Hopefully none of us were next.
I slowly stepped back, moving further and further from the register trying to breathe through my fear. I had that instantaneous hot flash that came with panic, kind of like just avoiding a near collision while driving. The utility workers charged past me. One pulled a gun from the back waistband of his pants. The other one held a knife that had been in a sheath attached to his leather belt. Obviously, working with the utility company required being armed at all times. No telling what type of customers they dealt with every day.
They approached Robber at the same time as a man threw open the door to the store armed with a rifle. At first, I thought he might be another bad guy, but then he yelled, “Put it down, Fucker!”
It was like living in a demilitarized zone with all the weaponry around. Montanans and their guns. Never get between them. All three Good Samaritans ganged up on Robber.
“Don’t even think about it, asshole!”
A click-click of a rifle being cocked. “Drop the knife!”
The weapon fell out of Robber’s hand onto the ground as one of the utility workers clocked him on the back of the head. He was then forced—at gunpoint—to the ground. I could practically see little birdies circle around his head. The fifty-something man had his cell out and talked with the police.
I stood there gawking and quickly closed my mouth which had fallen open. I grabbed a roll of duct tape off the shelves in front of me and handed it to one of the utility workers. He gave me a brief smile. Big and burly, he looked like he hauled a lot of cable. "Good idea." He started rolling the man’s wrists and ankles in the gray tape and had him trussed up like a Christmas goose in seconds. Must’ve done calf roping on the rodeo circuit.
“Lucky you had your gun,” I commented once he’d finished.
“New wire’s going to the new subdivision out on Huffine. Prairie dogs are all over the place. Thought we’d get a little target practice in over lunch.”
Prairie dogs were everywhere in the West. They tore up open fields by burrowing entire towns underground and were shot for fun on private land. Barbaric, but natural selection at work.
The rifle stayed right on Robber until the cops arrived. The fifty-something guy on the cell must have updated the police to the various weaponry in the store and how they had Robber contained. Thankfully, they didn’t shoot all of us and ask questions later.
Two minutes after the police swarmed in and took Robber into custody, the fire department rolled up, sirens blaring.
I was being questioned by an officer named Dempsey out in front of the building. Forty-ish and kind, he took his time getting my statement. Ty walked up in his fire uniform, navy T-shirt and yellow bunker pants and boots. Red suspenders. God, the red suspenders made my heart skip a beat. “Can you give us a minute?” he asked the officer.
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