The CEO & I

by River Laurent

  “If you want her to halt, pull on the reins,” Lars says.

  I do as he says and Misty immediately comes to a standstill.

  “Now, how would you feel about riding on your own?”

  I hate to admit it, but I don’t want to ride alone. Sure, I’d love to experience the freedom and independence of riding the horse by myself. But the sensation of his legs wrapped around me and his firm chest radiating heat and power behind me are not something I want to give up just yet. I turn my head in his direction and look into his eyes. They’re unlike before. His irises are like molten silver, full of something unnamable, wild, and beautiful. It makes me forget myself.

  “Stay close to me for a few more minutes,” I whisper.

  For a second, his eyes widen and his pupils dilate, then it’s like a shutter falls over his face. His jaw hardens and his eyes become frighteningly blank. He scoots backward and hops onto the ground without the help of the stirrup, using only the brute muscles of his legs.

  “Use the skills I taught you and you’ll be just fine,” he says tightly.

  I’m on my own. On a huge horse.

  Gently, I prod Misty and she begins to move. She takes one step, then another, and another. I’m riding a horse on my own. Being so high above everything should have been scary—and it was at first—but now that I’ve gotten used to Misty’s rhythm, for the first time since selling my soul to the loan sharks, I feel on top of the world.

  Chapter 15

  Cass

  Feeling fantastic about my first riding lesson, I walk back to the house with Lars. He doesn’t enter with me, but goes his separate way up the road. I open the door, and as usual, it is silent and still. Taking off my muck boots, I pad over to the kitchen. Emma Jean has left a pot of beef stew on the stove and cornbread in a skillet. I’m starving and the smell of the food makes my mouth water as I open the pot and ladle it on to a plate. There is a note stuck on the refrigerator. Emma Jean’s writing is small and neat.

  There’s Huckleberry Bear’s Paw going to waste in the fridge, Poppet.

  I open the refrigerator and to my great surprise, it’s a dessert that looks exactly like a bear’s paw. While the stew is heating in the microwave, I cut a thick wedge of bread and fill up another plate with a big helping of bear’s paw.

  I carry everything out to my patio and eat the delicious meal while watching the sky turn pink and orange. It’s an indescribably beautiful show. The remote setting and the barrenness of the scenery makes me feel as if I have stepped back in time. As if I am looking at exactly what the early settlers coming across the prairie in their covered wagons must have seen. When my food is all gone, I do what I’ve never considered doing in my life. I bring the plate up to my face and lick it clean like some sort of savage.

  Mmmm.

  I’m too exhausted to sit and watch the stars come out, so I have a hot shower and am asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow. The insistent sound of my phone ringing wakes me. I peer groggily at the screen and come awake with a jolt. Crap! Tamara. I switch on the bedside light, which blinds me for an instant, and tap the green button.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Tamara demands furiously, her face contorted and ugly. “I’ve been calling for like hours.”

  “I was asleep,” I reply.

  Her eyebrows meet, making her look crabby and surly. “Asleep?” she repeats. “Why are you asleep during the day? Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

  “It’s two o’clock in the morning here,” I explain tiredly.

  “Oh, right. Well, it’s bright and sunny here. Look,” she says, and waves the phone around her so that I can see the blue sea close by and the pristine white sand that she’s lying on.

  “Great. You’re on a beach,” I say, injecting as much enthusiasm as I can into my voice.

  “So, how’s it going?” she asks casually before taking a sip of champagne. It’s amazing what a selfish creature she is. She didn’t bother to check the time before calling, and even now that she knows it’s two a.m., she just won’t piss off.

  “It’s okay, but it’s very hard work,” I say, trying to keep my eyes open.

  “What did you expect?” she shoots back.

  I groan inwardly. As if I need this in my life. “I’m not complaining.”

  “Good. You better not be. You’re getting paid to do this.”

  “I know. I know,” I say quickly.

  “Have you learned to ride yet?”

  “No, I just got here yesterday.”

  She stares at me sullenly.

  “Uh…I did get on a horse today. Maybe by next week, I’ll be able to ride.”

  She scowls. “Next week? Are you sure you’re going to be able to ride properly by the end of the month?”

  “I think so, but I’ll call you next week and let you know how I get on.”

  “You better learn fast,” she warns. “I’m not staying on this godforsaken island for one day longer than necessary. I’ve got no friends here, there’s nothing to do at night, and I’m already bored out of my head.” Her voice is whiny and petulant.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll learn how to ride well enough for Lars to give your father a good report.”

  “Remember, you don’t get paid if you don’t learn to ride.”

  I sigh inwardly. “I know.”

  “So, who’s Lars?” she asks perkily, like she is my best friend and we are having a heart to heart.

  For some weird reason, my heart contracts. “He’s just one of the trainers.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing.”

  “Oh,” she says in a disappointed voice, as if she was expecting to me to gossip with her about Lars.

  Someone calls to her so she turns away from the screen and shouts, “What?” I wait while she listens to someone say something indistinguishable, then she faces me again and rolls her eyes. “No rest for the wicked. My hairdresser is here. The sun is wrecking my hair.”

  “Bye, Tamara,” I say quickly.

  The line goes dead.

  I blow out a puff of air, switch off the light, curl up with my hands under my pillow, and fall straight back to sleep.

  “Morning, Poppet,” Emma Jean greets, looking up from her pots and pans to smile at me.

  “Morning,” I reply and smile brightly even though every muscle in my body is in agony.

  “Take a pew. You’ve got a big day ahead, and you’ll be needing some food that’ll stick to your ribs.” Pulling a slip of paper from the notepad on the counter, she walks over and puts it in front of me. I peer down at the page and sigh heavily. Lars has written a specific to-do list to ensure that I don’t slack off on my chores. The list includes disgusting stuff like picking up trash, cigarette butts, and dog poo from around the property, as well as feeding and watering the horses; and of course, shoveling manure.

  “Will I not be learning to ride today then?”

  She pours coffee into my mug. “Lars is away, so probably not.”

  “Oh.”

  Disheartened, I curl my hands around the mug and take a sip. While Emma Jean fills the kitchen with mouth-watering smells as she makes veggie browns, bacon, Croquet-Monsieur, and waffles, I ask her about the ranch and its surrounding area. She tells me that the mountain range visible from my patio is the Pryor Mountains and that Bucking Bronco Ranch is located on the east slope of it, right in the heart of the historic Crow Indian Reservation.

  I fill my belly with the food that she piles high on my plate and listen to her talk about life on the ranch. It seems to be completely dependent on the seasons. The men drive the cows and horses fifty miles into the ranch in spring, then it’s back to winter pastures all the way in Wyoming during the late fall. Spring, I learn, is also when the mother cows bring forth their calves. The branding of new calves happens in June, and weaning is in September.

  “What’s done about now?” I ask, shoveling another mouthful of waffle drenched in huckleberry jam and maple syrup into my mouth.

&nb
sp; “This is the season for the arrival of the new foals.”

  “Really? Will I get to see a birth?” I ask excitedly.

  “I don’t see why not.”

  Once I have eaten, I start on my chores and do not stop until it is time for a quick lunch. The work is never ending and I only finish at sundown. I walk through the deserted house and find chicken, a baked potato, and chocolate cake with a gooey center waiting for me in the kitchen. My mouth is watering as I walk to my room. I have never eaten anything like the food Emma Jean serves up. Possibly because everything here is freshly grown, slaughtered, and collected, instead of being frozen and store bought.

  I suck it all down like a starving savage, shower, and hit the sack.

  Chapter 16

  Cass

  For the next three days, my life revolves around the same pattern of drudgery. A long to-do list that keeps me going until late, and no sign of Lars. The work is hard but it leaves me time to think, and the more time that passes, the more I realize how much I want to see Lars again. Somehow, I manage to avoid other people, which is for the best. I don’t want to act like Tamara to anyone else. I hate being horrible and rude to these simple, good-hearted folks.

  By day four, I arrive in Emma Jean’s kitchen, mentally and physically beat. I’m used to hard work, and I knew working on a ranch wouldn’t be easy, but the workload I’ve been given is beyond difficult.

  “What’s on the list today?” I ask tiredly.

  “There’s no list today,” she says with a satisfied expression.

  I perk up. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s been overworking you. Twelve hours of physical labor every day with only one break all day ain’t right. Even the highest paid employees here only work a few hours a day and have multiple breaks. It’s too hot to work the way you’ve been doin’.”

  I stare at her. Lars dialing down my hours without a good reason? “Wait—what? How did you get him to agree to that?”

  Emma Jean smiles and takes the scrambled eggs off the heat. The pan is full to the brim and I wonder how she manages to cook it all so evenly, or avoid spilling any on the stove top. I’m used to Jesse’s burnt scrambled eggs.

  “I’ve been around a long time, Poppet. I’ve seen people come and go, but I’ve never met anyone as passionate as you. It’s been three days. You look like you can barely keep your eyes open, but you won’t give up or admit defeat. If he carries on with this silliness, he’ll run you into the ground.”

  “I am a bit tired,” I admit with a smile.

  “You’re dying on your feet, child. Today you’ll have time to digest your breakfast. You’re not to go to the barns until gone nine-thirty.” I look at her with wide eyes then glance at the clock. It’s only seven.

  “What will I do until then?”

  “Go look at the animals. Go back to bed. Go explore the ranch. Whatever tickles your fancy.”

  “When will Lars come back?”

  “Probably in the next couple of days.”

  “Does he go away a lot.”

  “Some,” she says cautiously. It’s obvious she doesn’t want to gossip about him.

  I nod unhappily. The next time Tamara calls, she’ll be expecting me to tell her that I’ve mastered riding and at this rate… “I’m only asking because I need to be able to ride a horse by the end of my stay, and if he’s not around much to teach me then…” I leave the sentence trailing.

  “I’ll mention it to him when he calls,” she says, switching off the stove.

  I stand to grab a plate from the cupboard and Emma Jean gives me a look best described as sit-down-and-don’t-you-dare-try-to-do-my-job.

  I raise my hands up and drop back into the chair. “So, you just asked him to shorten my hours and he did it?” It still seems too unbelievable.

  She begins to fill my plate and my stomach growls.

  “You still have to be in the barns at nine-thirty today, but anytime in the future if you ever get in later than nine o’clock at night, you don’t have to be back in the barns until noon the next day. Also, you get a small fifteen-minute break every hour and an hour lunch break,” she adds with satisfaction.

  I gawk at her and shake my head in awe. “Thank you so much.”

  “Lars is a good lad. He always tries to do the right thing. The two of you might have gotten off on the wrong foot.”

  Might? “That’s an understatement if I ever heard one.”

  “I know your reputation isn’t great, but you’re not a bad person. Your eyes show that you’ve been through hard times, and eyes never lie.”

  “Thank you so much.” To have a stranger who doesn’t know me acknowledge and empathize with how hard my life has been, fills my eyes with unexpected tears. I blink them away, but I can’t stop the tremble in my lower lip. To hide it, I hurriedly stuff a forkful of eggs and sausage into my mouth.

  “Do you miss your life back home?” Emma Jean asks.

  I slow down chewing to give myself some time to think. I don’t want to lie to her. I like her a lot and find solace with her every morning. In a funny sort of way, she’s almost like a mother to me. Even though she doesn’t even know my real name, she knows me better than most people do. I pick up my glass of orange juice and down it in one long gulp. No longer able to put the moment off, I shift in my seat and look up into Emma Jean’s kind face.

  In a flash, I come to a breathtaking solution. I don’t need to pretend to be Tamara with her. Why should I? She’s never meet the real Tamara. I’ll be myself and show her the real me, and all she’ll remember is that someone called Tamara Honeywell was nice and kind to her. I smile warmly at her. “Not really.”

  Her eyes sparkle. “So, you do like it here?”

  “I should hate it, shouldn’t I?” I ask rhetorically, “with all the endless chores, but I don’t. It’s an awesome place. I’ve always loved animals and the idea of a farm, but I thought of myself as a city girl because that is how I grew up. I realize now I couldn’t have been more wrong. Even with the punishing workload, I still love it.” Other than to Jesse and Emma Jean, I wouldn’t admit this to anyone else.

  She nods triumphantly. “I knew your daddy did the right thing when he sent you here. How could anyone hate it here? It’s wide open land and you never run out of things to do. When I was a girl about your age, I was a lot like you—aside from the celebrity aspect, of course. I lived in Dallas, Texas, and I didn’t know hard work a day in my life until I married a ranch hand. Over the years, we drifted about all over the States until we finally found this place five years ago. We’ve been working here ever since.”

  I smile at her. “You and your husband are lucky.”

  “We are,” she says, smiling softly. “We got each other and we live in beauty.”

  I pick up my empty plate to take to the sink, but before I can even take a step forward, Emma Jean snatches it from my hands. She heaps more eggs and a sausage on it and slaps it down in front of me. “After all the work you’ve been doing, Poppet, you need more sustenance.”

  I’m not going to argue with her. “Where’s your husband now?” I ask, slicing into a sausage.

  “One of the stallions broke a couple of his ribs, so he’s home resting.”

  “You mean Thunder?”

  “That’ll be the one.”

  “How old is your husband?” I ask curiously. She must be at least sixty.

  “Jack just celebrated his sixty-eighth birthday last month,” she says with a smile. “After this stunt, I won’t be letting him go back to training horses. He’s getting too old to be jumping on and off horses. It was good of Lars to agree to pay his medical bills.”

  “Lars paid for your husband’s medical bills?”

  She looks anxious. “You won’t tell anyone I told you, will you?”

  I shake my head. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  Maybe I’ve misjudged Lars after all.

  Chapter 17

  Cass

  I have a surprise the next day
. Emma Jean says that I’m getting a riding lesson after my chores. Someone called James will teach me. I wonder why Lars can’t be around. What is it that makes him too busy to see me for days at a time. He’s supposed to be my trainer, after all.

  Nevertheless, I rush through my chores excitedly. As I am running to the barn, my phone rings. It’s Ms. Moore checking up on me. I quickly assure her that everything is hunky dory.

  “Has Tamara been in touch?” she asks.

  “Yeah, she called me last night at 2 a.m.”

  “Hmm,” she says disapprovingly.

  We talk a bit more before she rings off. I have just enough time to race to the barn for my four o’clock lesson.

  “Are you James?” I ask breathlessly.

  A man, maybe twenty-eight or twenty-nine years old, with a Miley Cyrus hairstyle, turns around with a broad smile on his face. “And you must be Miss Tamara,” he says, walking in my direction with long strides. Like Lars, he too is good-looking, but where Lars is rugged and masculine as hell, this man is more of a pretty boy with sparkling blue eyes and cute lips.

  “I am her,” I say.

  He stops right in front of me, and to my surprise, pulls my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles.

  My eyebrows rise. I did not expect this type of gallantry from a guy in the middle of nowhere.

  “You’re nothing like…” he begins, and I know exactly what he’s thinking. I’m not what he was expecting. My hair is scraped back in an unglamorous ponytail and I’ve stopped wearing the thick foundation I’m supposed to wear. Mainly because it takes too long to slap on, but also, it seems stupid to layer it on thick when all I seem to do is the most disgusting tasks anyway. So, I’m not glamorous but I’ll have to do because I don’t have enough energy to be painstakingly put together and fulfill my responsibilities on this ranch.