Steal Me (Longshadows Book 1)

by Natalia Banks

  He really thought I’d sell.

  He really doesn’t get it.

  As Olivia works on her daily lesson, I find myself beside an unusually stoic Knight. His shock has faded into an absolute fury. Fury that I’d swear spells murder for me. But he’s quiet, calm even, as he watches Olivia work.

  Then, the ire shifts once more and he glances down at me. This time, the anger is gone. The shock is gone. They’re replaced by something so sinister I wince. I’d swear the look is respect.

  And I decide, that, though I owe him nothing, I’ll share my reasons with him. I’m confident he won’t be able to use this against me, and I find myself feeling bad for him. He’s such a powerful man, no one ever tells him no. Then I come along and turn his world up on its end. That’s got to be uncomfortable. No wonder he thinks I’m unreasonable. Reasonable people – all the people he’s ever dealt with besides me – do what he wants.

  “My dad wanted a boy,” I say, giving voice to the beginning. “He said women are trouble. That I’d be like my mom, pregnant at sixteen and married off to some fool I’d fallen in love with.”

  Knight is silent.

  But I’m giving voice to my truth, and his silence is merely an invitation to continue. “Like they were. He needed a son to follow in his footsteps. Needed a boy to take over and run things when he was gone.”

  The pain of it all rises up and chokes me. My throat feels like it’s closing and I take a moment to compose myself as we watch Olivia, her chin held high and a stubborn light in her eyes as she works with Dreamer to do figure eights.

  When I’m certain I can speak again, I start slow. “When dad would hire guys, they’d resort to any wheel and deal tactics they could.” I shake my head, still feeling as incredulous as I had back then. “One offered to marry me to take care of me and the ranch.” Realizing he might need context, I add, “I was ten.”

  Beside me, Knight stiffens, and I realize I might have hit a nerve. Olivia is nine. I’m sure he’s putting her in my place, perhaps putting his whole life in mine as I speak. Maybe he’s in a better place to understand my life than I’ve given him credit for.

  “I felt like dad wanted to kill the guy,” I say, remembering with a smile. Dad had stood up for me. “He told him to get the fuck out and never come back unless he wanted to lose his tackle.” I can’t help the grin widening over my lips. “It was the first time I’d ever heard dad threaten someone, the first time I’d heard him cuss, or raise his voice. He was such a calm man.”

  Knight looks at me, and deep in his eyes, I see darkness that’s drowning him.

  Struck silent, I feel my lips part as he stares at me like the world is falling down around us. His eyes move to my lips and I can’t help but run my tongue over them. They’re so dry and my nerves are working overtime with the intensity behind his stare.

  His eyes meet mine again and my heart begins to pound in my throat so hard I feel faint. As if he knows the effect he’s having on me, he looks away. With his attention back on Olivia, I can gather the shredded bits of my courage around me like a moth-eaten blanket.

  And I continue telling him the story.

  “But there were guys who didn’t go the nice route. Some straight up told dad that I couldn’t run this place. They said I’m just a stupid, weak girl and I’d wind up losing everything.” Tears sting in my eyes as I speak. It hurts to remember how dad had argued, but perhaps half-heartedly. Like he was arguing his hopes rather than with a conviction that told him I’d be just fine.

  And I’m still here. Still fighting. Still running the place like dad did.

  I wonder if Knight is even listening to me at this point. But it feels good to talk, so I’m ready to continue even if he’s ignoring me. I haven’t opened up about this yet, and it’s a nice feeling to just let it all out. If I had more time - and more friends - I’d talk to them, but time is such a short commodity it’s just not feasible. I’ll settle for this.

  At least I know Knight wont fake pity me, or bullshit me.

  “Thanks,” I say suddenly. He looks at me this time his expression is carefully guarded. I smile at him as I speak part of what’s on my mind. “I was just thinking that I know you won’t fake pity me or bullshit me. It’s nice to be so candid and honest without worrying about what you think or how you’ll react.”

  His eyes narrow a tiny bit before returning to normal, and I find myself wondering what’s going on in that mind of his. What is he thinking? Feeling? Is he just thinking about how crazy I am to be dumping all of this on him? Because it is nuts. He’s not a friend. Not a confidant. Not even someone who has the slightest care about the worst parts of my life.

  Maybe that’s why I like this. I can show the ugliest parts of my being to him and his opinion of me won’t change, because he already doesn’t like me.

  His attention returns to Olivia, and I keep talking, taking his silence as an invitation to keep spilling. He would have told me to stop if he was hating it, right? And I know he’s listening now. He’d responded to my thanking him. Sure, he’s not talking, but that’s not a bad thing. If he said something it might make me second guess talking to him. At least this way, it’s like talking to the horses, except he understands the words. He responds. He’s human.

  Kind of. Maybe not so much human.

  “Dad used to hire guys to help out. They’d work hard and listen to him. It made life easier when we had rushes we couldn’t keep up with.” I think back on the times we’d have men taking some of load off. It had been such a relief, a chance to rest a bit and catch up on sleep. Though we never took time off, we just took better care of ourselves. Something dad thought was very important.

  My heart falls a little as I think about how things had gone when I’d tried to hire help myself. My voice lowers to a humiliated croak. “But when I try to hire guys, they just goof off. No one takes me seriously.”

  Beside me, he stiffens a little and I look toward Olivia, trying to figure out if something is wrong. Everything looks good, so I assume his response is to my story.

  “But I’m still here,” I say softly. “I still keep this place running, by myself. I get things done. I’m as good as the son dad wanted.” I take a moment to take a deep breath and compose myself. As the thoughts come full circle, I finally find the reason I’m telling him this.

  “If I give up, throw in the towel and sell the place, then I’ll be proving them all right. I’ll be proving I can’t do it, that I would let dad down.” A lump rises I my throat and I feel it cutting off my air as I grip the fence tightly to stop from falling.

  “If I sell,” I whisper as Knight looks down at me with an expression I can’t read, “I’ll be proving them all right.”

  Chapter 15

  Kieran

  Sure, she’s seen some shit.

  But her dad believed in her. At least she had that. With everything that went to hell for her, she had a strong support system. So she’s got no fucking right to be complaining. My dad left me nothing but self-loathing and a broken family that I can’t fix.

  He left me with emotional scars that I’ve long since buried.

  When Emma tells Olivia it’s time to head in, I sense Olivia’s frustration. She doesn’t want to quit. She argues with Emma.

  “But I just got this down!” She says, her face twisting up in a way that leaves me knowing tonight is going to be rough. “I need to keep practicing.”

  Emma is all patience as she responds. “You’ve done so well today. You’re learning this faster than anyone I’ve taught ever has. Most people take a week to get this move perfect.” She pauses and smile as Olivia seems to calm a tiny bit. “Maybe you should be teaching my students.”

  Olivia lights up and I’m left wondering how the fuck she managed to say just the right thing to calm her down. There’s an endless patience in her that I can’t help but respect. As Olivia brings it in and we head to the barn, I find myself watching Emma’s ass as she walks.

  Fuck. Even the time with Jessica
wasn’t enough to get me to stop thinking about Emma that way. As my cock wakes, I think about how it would feel to bend Emma over one of those saw horses she stores saddles on and press so deeply into her she screams…

  Shoving the thoughts away, I stare up at the ceiling and count to ten, thinking of every unsexy thing I can.

  And it hits me; I’m going about this all wrong.

  Emma throws a glance at me over her shoulder and I see a new warmth there. A warmth that I’d felt while she was talking to me. She’s trusting me. She thinks that, since she’s certain I hate her, that she can open up to me. Like I can’t think less of her. Or that even if I did, it wouldn’t matter to her.

  That’s just a hop, skip, and jump away from love, dear people.

  What if, just what if, I find another way to get to her and her farm?

  How many times has Olivia told me she wants to live on a farm? Every night since she stared these damn lessons. And I’ve blown her off every time, told her I can’t work in the middle of nowhere. That we have a home. That that kind of life isn’t for us.

  As we head home, I find myself talking to Olivia as I entertain evil plans.

  “You’re not even listening,” Olivia says, her tone rising to a whine.

  “Sorry, baby, I wasn’t. I am now, though,” I tell her, sensing a meltdown on the horizon.

  “I want to live on a farm!” She says, her voice rising to that squeal only girlfriends and dogs can hear.

  “But we can’t,” I tell her, hating that this is becoming such a point of contention. I want her to talk to me, to open up about what’s eating at her, but I don’t know how to handle things like this. Things I can’t fix or change.

  To my dismay, she only grows more unreasonable. “This is important to me!” She says, her voice nearing that shout that generally dissolves into tears. “You don’t even care!”

  “I do care,” I tell her. “I need you to calm down, though.” I say. Instantly I know I’ve said the wrong thing.

  “I hate you!” She shouts, and my jaw locks as pain lances through me. Her meltdowns are so rare I know I’m lucky. But when she has them, they’re ugly.

  “That’s a really mean thing to say,” I tell her, but she’s sobbing and I know she’s not hearing me. With a sigh, I try not to let it get to me. Kids say things when they’re mad. Things they don’t mean. I’m not my dad. I’m not going to hit her for saying she hates me. Even if she really did hate me – which I don’t think she does – I still wouldn’t punish her for feeling.

  I think about the time Connor told dad he hated him. Dad had been so drunk I’d managed to shove Conner out of the way. I took his beating that night. And a beating it had been. My knuckles tighten and turn white as the memory rolls over me. Dad had beat me with the buckle of his belt until he passed out drunk.

  When it was over, I’d been bruised and bloody. It had left me with a scar over my right shoulder where the buckle had cut me. Connor had stared at me, his gaze an apology and thanks all in one. But he’d never said it again.

  No, now he stands up for the piece of shit.

  When we pull into the garage, Olivia runs from the truck and slams the door behind her. I follow more slowly, deciding to give her her space. It’s better to let her be right now, I think. I’ll give her room to breathe, to calm down, to realize that we can’t just uproot and leave. This is our home. It’s safe. It’s guarded. It’s private and the cameras make certain I’ll know if I ever need to get her out in a hurry.

  Even the body guard, who keeps his distance and watches from afar, is always on guard for anything.

  Because this world isn’t safe for Olivia. And I’d die to protect her. I’ll take her anger, her hate, her temper tantrums even, to keep her safe.

  And I’ll do it all without ever letting her know how much danger she’s really in. She never needs to know that people are looking for her. That if they find her, everything will change. That some people want to hurt her just because of who she is. Because of me.

  She’s just an innocent little girl. She doesn’t need to know how fucked up the word is.

  And I’ll take anything to keep her safe. Anything.

  Chapter 16

  Emma

  I’m giving Jenny another once over with the brush when my phone begins to ring. I take it out of my pocket and frown at it. I know what number. My lips twist as I consider whether or not to answer.

  I step out of the stall and smile at Jenny and her little colt as I lock them in. With a quick touch of my thumb, I answer the phone, ready to deal with whatever is eating at Knight now.

  “Emma?” It’s Olivia, and it sounds like she’s been crying.

  “Hey, what’s up, girlie?” I ask, keeping my tone soothing and gentle as I talk to her. With slow steps, I begin to walk toward the house.

  She makes a sound that I can only assume is a sob mixed with a cough and perhaps a hiccup that tells me she’s been crying her eyes out for a while. That’s the kind of stuffed up, icky feeling that comes with hours of uncontrollable crying. “Can I come live with you?” She asks, followed by the muffled sound of blowing her nose.

  Oh, the poor thing. She sounds like she’s a mess, and I feel terribly for her. Whatever I have against her father, I can’t help but I do wish I could help his daughter. She’s young, and she needs positive influences in her life. And it looks like she’s turning to me to find one.

  “Why would you want to live with me?” I ask kindly, wanting to really understand where this train of thought is coming from. I can’t help her if I don’t understand.

  “Because dad hates me and I hate him!” She sounds furious, and I puzzle over what could have happened.

  I’d told dad I hated him at one point. Hell, I’d been about her age. He’d refused to let me go out with my friends to see some new movie I can’t even remember the title of now. It seems like a lifetime ago, and I’d give anything to go back to that night again to fix it. To see him again. To hear him parent me. He loved me. He cared. Even when it didn’t seem like it.

  But now isn’t the time to try to explain that to this girl.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” I tell her, thinking fast. “If you get permission from your dad, you can stay the night.” I hear her gasp in joy and quickly add the caveat. “But I’m going to make you work, hard. You’ll work like you would if you were my daughter. It’s not fun. It’s dirty, difficult, and you’ll be really sore.” Inside the house, I click on the kitchen light.

  “Really?” she asks, and I’d swear she’s holding her breath on the other end of the phone.

  “Yes,” I say, knowing I’ve got her attention. “Having a farm and horses isn’t easy. It’s a lot of work. It makes you sore and tired. There’s very little time for fun.”

  “It seems like fun,” she says, sounding more than a little unsure of her choice now. “I have fun when I’m there.”

  “And I have fun when you’re here, but there’s a lot more mucking stalls and cleaning hooves than riding horses,” I tell her, hoping the fresh memory of the work she’s been doing is enough to give her further pause.

  “Okay,” she sounds doubtful.

  “But,” I say, needing to give her a silver lining. “When you grow up, you can own your own farm. You could hire people to do the work you don’t like, and you could do the fun parts.” It’s a pipe dream, but hell, she’s a smart cookie. I don’t doubt she could find a way.

  “Why don’t you do that?” she asks, and I stop, startled by her candor.

  Unable to come up with a good reason, I answer honestly. “I’m not sure. Maybe I like working hard. It keeps me from getting bored.”

  “Hmmm,” She says, clearly not buying it. So I quickly steer the conversation back to her.

  “So are you coming out to stay the night?” I ask, praying I’ve talked her down as I walk up the stairs toward my room.

  “I don’t think so,” She says, her voice lower. She sounds tired, and I feel bad for her.

  �
�Why don’t you go get some rest,” I tell her, “I’ll do the same, then we’ll see each other tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay.” She sounds happier, and I feel an unexpected warmth rising up within me. We say our goodnights and hang up.

  Is that what it would feel like to be a mom? Sure, it was a hurdle, but it wasn’t a bad one. Part of me wonders if I should call Knight and tell him what happened. But I also worry about getting her in trouble. No harm came of this, so there’s no reason to tell him, right? It’s not like she’s really running away.

  If I actually thought there was a chance she still would, I’d tell him.

  But there’s not.

  Still, what would it be like to be a mom? Are there fires like that every day? I doubt it. Olivia seems very well mannered. She’s such a quick study and good girl, I find it hard to believe she’d be any kind of trouble. Something very bad must have happened to set her off tonight. Some silly fight between her and her father, no doubt. These things happen.

  Knight seems like the kind of guy who’s quick to temper, anyway. He’s easy to fight with. I wonder if he’s that hot-headed in bed. What would it be like to be his wife? Would he be demanding?

  I imagine he’s just a ruthless in bed as he is out. Someone that demanding in every facet of life has to be worse between the sheets. I wonder how he’d touch me. Judging by the glances he’s been throwing my way, the way he stares at me, he’s thought about it. Would he push me against something and just take me? Would he be forceful?

  Excitement begins to bubble up within me and I run my hand down my chest. Under the thin shirt and confines of my sports bra, my nipple hardens and I let out a sigh and sink into my bed. With a little smile, I pull my shirt off and peel the bra off.

  The warm summer air kisses my skin and I glance down at the delicate pink tips of my nipples. They’re quickly hardening to tight little pebbles. It’s such a sexy feeling to be sitting here, topless and brazen. My curtains are open. If we had any ranch hands, they’d surely be getting an eyeful now.