BDSM Connections - The Complete 4 Novel Series

by Claire Thompson

  “You’ve got a girlfriend?” Taggart asked before he could stop himself.

  “Don’t act so surprised,” Patrick retorted, pulling back his shoulders and lifting his chin. “I’m only forty-five. I can still get the girls.”

  “You’re fifty-four,” Taggart corrected. And you look eighty.

  “And you’re, what now, twenty-five, twenty-six?”

  “Twenty-eight,” Taggart snapped.

  “Plenty old enough to help out your poor old dad, surely.” Patrick made a sour face. He looked around the workshop again. “Looks like you’re doing all right for yourself, boy, in spite of your mama leaving you high and dry, and your daddy falling on some hard times.”

  Taggart heard footsteps on the stairs and realized with a shock he’d forgotten all about Rylee. “Wait right there,” he said gruffly. “Don’t fucking move until I get back.”

  He hurried out of the workshop toward the stairs. Rylee was halfway down, her wet hair brushed back, her bare skin rosy and damp. “There’s someone here,” he said quickly. “He’ll be gone in a second. Please wait upstairs. I’ll come get you.”

  She opened her mouth as if about to speak, but apparently understood Taggart’s urgent need for her to just do as she was told. With a nod, she disappeared back up the stairs.

  Taggart returned to the workshop, relieved to see his father still standing where he’d left him. He grinned conspiratorially at Taggart, revealing his big teeth, yellowed by nicotine. “Didn’t realize you had a guest,” he said insinuatingly, waggling his eyebrows for emphasis. “You going to introduce us?”

  “No.”

  Taggart reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He took out everything he had in there, not quite a hundred dollars, and held it out. “Here. Take it and get out of here.”

  Patrick palmed the money with the speed of a quick-change artist and offered another crocodile smile. “Thanks, son. You’re always so good to your dear old dad. I appreciate whatever little thing you can do.”

  Chapter 14

  Rylee heard the front door slam. She straightened her back and spread her knees a little farther as she waited, naked and in position, on the throw rug beside the bed. Taggart’s expression had been dark when he’d urged her back up the stairs, and though she hadn’t heard what the two men were saying, she knew that whoever Taggart’s uninvited guest had been, he hadn’t been a welcome one.

  She waited another minute. Then two. Then three. Where was he? Was everything okay?

  Rylee got to her feet and walked to the bedroom door. “Tag?” she called.

  “I’ll be right up,” he called back.

  Relieved, Rylee returned to her kneeling up position by the side of the bed. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she sought her center. Whatever was happening with Taggart, she wouldn’t let it detract from the intensity and power of the experience they’d shared so far. She wouldn’t give up on him, or herself.

  She heard Taggart’s footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later, he appeared at the door of the bedroom. He smiled down at her, though his eyes looked troubled. He approached her and held out his hand, which she accepted.

  Wordlessly, he took her into his arms and she melted against his chest, relief coursing through her. “Is everything okay?” she couldn’t help asking. “Who came by?”

  Abruptly he let her go and took a step back. “Nobody. My dad.”

  In her confusion, Rylee barked a small laugh of surprise. “Your dad is nobody?”

  “We don’t really talk,” Taggart said, his tone terse. “He only shows up from time to time when he needs money.”

  Rylee recalled his brief remarks about parents messing with your head, but he hadn’t really shared much about his past over the time they had been together. Clearly there was bad blood between him and his dad.

  “That sounds rough,” she offered.

  “Look, no offense, but I really don’t want to talk about this right now. Let’s just go to bed. Get a fresh start in the morning, okay?”

  “Sure, of course,” she managed.

  They brushed their teeth in silence. They climbed into the bed, and Taggart reached over to turn off the lamp. As he rolled away from her, Rylee thought back on the romantic relationships in her life. She had always been the one to leave, the one to break things off, the one to run away when things began to fall apart.

  She didn’t want to do that this time. Whatever had been developing between them was more than just a training setup, and Taggart meant more to her than just a great scene partner—way more.

  She could hear Taggart’s gravelly voice in her head, speaking the words that had been the final push she’d needed to find the courage to give this whole submission thing a try.

  I’m the other side of you, Rylee Miller.

  How those words had resonated in Rylee’s soul. It was like hearing a perfect line of poetry in a language you knew before you were born.

  So, what the hell had happened?

  She knew what had happened. Each time she had mentioned or started to mention the word love, Taggart had freaked out. He had withdrawn, vanished, disappeared.

  Rylee reached out a tentative hand and touched Taggart’s shoulder.

  To her relief, he rolled onto his back and reached for her, pulling her into his arms. “I’m sorry I’m being such a dick,” he said. “I just have some stuff to work through in my head.”

  Let me work it through with you, she wanted to say, but she only rested her cheek against his chest and placed her palm against his heart.

  She woke a little while later. Taggart had once more turned away from her and was breathing deep and even. Something didn’t feel right and it took her a moment to realize what it was. They had forgotten what had become their nightly ritual.

  She reached for her cuffs and wrapped them around her wrists herself, savoring the welcoming snug of leather. Don’t shut me out, she silently entreated the big, sleeping man beside her. Scooting closer, she nestled against his back and draped one arm over him.

  Rylee awoke the next morning to an empty bed. She saw a folded piece of paper on Taggart’s pillow. Her heart swooped unpleasantly as she reached for it. She opened it and read:

  Be back later.

  Tag

  What the fuck? When was later? He hadn’t given her the chore assignment for the morning. She didn’t know if Steve and Zach were coming by. Damn it, what was going on?

  “I don’t have time for this shit,” Rylee said aloud, seizing on anger to mask the hurt. The impulse to flee was strong; to pack her bags and leave this cozy cottage and the man she had thought she was falling in love with.

  She reached reflexively for the O-ring at the center of her collar, becoming aware at the same time of her wrist cuffs. She pulled them off, along with the collar, and strode with determination into the bathroom.

  She brushed her teeth and showered quickly, returning to the bedroom with the intention of packing her bags. Instead, she sat on Taggart’s side of the bed. She reached for his pillow and cradled it in her arms, leaning into it to inhale his warm, familiar sent.

  Tears filled her eyes. Taggart had opened a whole new world for her, extending his hand and drawing her in. Was she really ready to cut and run?

  She grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, impulsively reaching for one of Taggart’s worn, impossibly soft flannel shirts to pull over it. She padded down the stairs in her socks and moved through the house to the kitchen, where her red cowboy boots waited by the back door.

  Her purse hung on a hook beside her jacket, as if she lived there, as if this were her home. She pulled on the leather jacket, reaching into the pocket to feel for her car keys. She slung her purse over her shoulder and walked out the door.

  This time she didn’t get lost. She drove under the large sign of the Lucky Horseshoe Ranch and wended her way down the long drive toward the stables. Her heart clutched at the sight of Taggart’s blue pickup truck. Her guess h
ad been correct. She parked her car beside his truck and climbed out.

  The morning was sunny, the sky a deep, autumnal blue. Rylee saw Harlan in the paddock beside the stables. It looked like most of the horses were out there, too, though she didn’t see Taggart’s big, black mare among them.

  As she approached, Harlan looked up from what he was doing and gave her a wave. “Hey there,” he called. “Nice to see you again.”

  Rylee walked to the paddock gate and slid open the metal latch. She stepped inside, closing the gate behind her. “Hi, Harlan. I hope it’s okay that I just stopped by.” He wasn’t wearing his hat today, and his thick blond hair glinted in the sun.

  “You betcha. Like I told you before, any friend of Taggart’s is a friend of mine. You’re always welcome here. You looking for Tag?”

  Rylee was suddenly uncertain, despite Harlan’s friendly welcome. If Taggart had wanted her along, he would’ve taken her with him. Just because her guess had been correct about where he had gone, that didn’t mean he would welcome her presence.

  Harlan must’ve seen something in her face, because he moved closer and touched her shoulder. “Hey,” he said gently. “You okay?”

  Tears that had been burning behind her eyes since the night before suddenly escaped in a gush, rolling down her cheeks. She turned away, embarrassed as she wiped angrily at them. She could hear her father’s voice in her head: Suck it up, Rylee. Only pussies cry.

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” she lied. Infuriatingly, the tears continued to roll down her cheeks.

  “I don’t mean to intrude, Rylee, but people who are okay don’t usually burst into tears.” When Rylee didn’t reply, he continued, “It’s that dang Tag, isn’t it? He’s done something to hurt you.”

  More in control now, Rylee wiped her face with the back of her hand and straightened her shoulders. Turning back to Harlan, she forced a smile. Instead of answering his question, she said, “I’ll be fine, really. I don’t even know exactly why I came out here.”

  Harlan regarded her a long moment and then said, “Sometimes the head doesn’t know what it wants, even when the heart does. Quit trying to be so tough. I’ve known Taggart Fitzgerald since he was a kid. I’m not a betting man, but if there’s a problem here, the odds are pretty good he’s the one at fault.”

  “I’ve only known him a few days,” Rylee blurted without meaning to. “It’s been the most amazing few days of my life, but now I don’t know what’s going on. His dad stopped by last night, but even before that—”

  “Patrick Fitzgerald is back in town?” Harlan interrupted. He passed his hand over his eyes and pushed back his thick hair from his forehead. “That right there explains a lot. How much do you know about Taggart’s past?”

  “Not a whole lot. I know his family used to own a horse ranch, his parents split up and his father lost the ranch. I know he’s pretty bitter about it.”

  Harlan rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. “You could say that,” he agreed. “Though there’s a whole lot more to the story.” He glanced around at his horses and then turned back to Rylee. “Say, I was just about to take a coffee break. Come join me, why don’t you? I got some biscuits my wife made fresh this morning.”

  Rylee started to automatically refuse. She barely knew this guy. On the other hand, he was an old friend of Taggart’s, and he was clearly a kind man. And she wanted to know more about Taggart. She wanted to know everything about him.

  Harlan led her into the stables, to an alcove just off the tack room. The space contained a small refrigerator, a microwave and a coffee maker. An old-fashioned chrome table with a red enamel top stood in the center of the room, red vinyl chairs seated around it.

  “How do you take your coffee?”

  “Cream and one sugar, thanks,” Rylee replied. “Can I help with something?”

  “No, just have a seat. This won’t take but a second.” Harlan waved toward the table.

  Rylee had to resist a split-second impulse to kneel on the ground beside the table. How quickly she had become accustomed to kneeling on the mat and waiting with patient eagerness for each morsel Taggart placed on her tongue.

  Instead, she slid onto a chair and watched Harlan as he busied himself at the counter.

  Taggart must be out riding. She conjured his image in her mind’s eye, and then inserted herself in front of him on the saddle. She leaned back against him, and he brought his arm around her waist as he pulled her closer, dipping his head to nuzzle her ear.

  She was distracted from her daydream as Harlan set two mugs of coffee and a plate of biscuits on the table. He returned a moment later with a butter dish and a glass jar of what looked like blueberry jam, along with two small plates. Setting down the things, he slid into the chair opposite her.

  Rylee sipped at the coffee, which was strong and hot. Her stomach rumbling, she reached for a biscuit, adding a healthy dollop of the preserves. “Thanks for your hospitality,” she said between mouthfuls. “Your wife makes wonderful biscuits.”

  “She does,” Harlan agreed, the love and pride evident on his face. “She made the jam, too. We got a lot of wild blueberries out back.” He took a biscuit and cut it open. As he buttered it, he said, “Now, let me tell you a little bit about Taggart Fitzgerald. I’m not saying I excuse his bad behavior, but he’s been through some stuff that’s made him a little gun shy, I expect, when it comes to ladies.”

  Rylee nodded, waiting.

  “First off, let me say that Tag is a great guy. He has a good heart. He’s reliable, honest and hardworking. He’s been a good friend over the years, but sometimes I just want to hit him upside the head.” Harlan regarded her with pursed lips and then said, “I have to confess, I was cautiously optimistic about you when we were introduced, and I still am. I haven’t seen that kind of light sparkle in his eyes in quite some time.”

  Rylee smiled in spite of herself, warmed at Harlan’s words.

  “Taggart is one of those hardheaded cases who keeps a shield around his heart, but don’t let that fool you, there’s definitely something beating behind it. Between you and me”—Harlan leaned forward, his elbows on the table—“he just needs someone, a strong woman like you, to set him straight.”

  Rylee shook her head. “Unfortunately, I think I’m the very thing he’s running from right now.”

  “Nah,” Harlan said with certainty. “It ain’t you he’s running from. It’s his past. I think it was the end of Taggart’s senior year of high school when his mom disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?” Rylee replied, startled.

  “Not off the face of the earth,” Harlan clarified with a grin. “She skedaddled in the dead of night, apparently. She left a note for Taggart, apologizing, but saying she had to do it this way. At the time, for Taggart, it felt like she was abandoning him.

  “He was four years behind me in school, but since our families owned adjoining horse ranches here in Beaverton, we knew each other well enough. What we didn’t know was that Tag’s dad was an abusive son of a bitch who had been terrorizing his wife for years.”

  “Oh my god,” Rylee whispered, shocked to her core.

  “Yeah, it was pretty bad, apparently—bad enough that she felt she had to slip away in the middle of the night like that, leaving Tag behind. He’s never gotten over it. Not just that she left, but that he didn’t save her while it was going on, though if I know Tag, I bet he sure as hell tried.”

  “He was a kid,” Rylee interjected.

  “Yeah,” Harlan agreed. “But he was ashamed, too, and surely scared. On the outside, Patrick Fitzgerald was the kind of guy everybody loved. He was a big, imposing man, always the life of the party. He was good-looking, too, a lot like Taggart, and charming as you please. He was always shaking everybody’s hand and clapping them on the back. He definitely liked his liquor, but nobody really thought that much about it. Of course, we had no idea back then what was going on behind closed doors.”

  Harlan stared down into his coffee, a dark look moving over his fea
tures. “I still remember the day Taggart came over to our place. He looked like somebody had died. ‘My mom is gone,’ he said. ‘We don’t know where she is.’

  “My mom went to hug him, and he started bawling like a baby. That’s when we learned Patrick wasn’t the nice guy he liked to portray in public. Turns out, he was a mean drunk at home, and Taggart’s mom, Julia, was the primary target, but Tag was on the receiving end, too.

  “The whole miserable story came tumbling out as he sat at our kitchen table. It got to the point where Julia had all she could take. Taggart was about to go off to OSU, so I guess she figured he’d be okay. She did finally get in touch with him a couple of months later. She had moved in with a cousin of hers in California, and she made Taggart swear not to tell Patrick where she was.”

  “Wow,” Rylee breathed, her heart aching for Taggart. “That’s a lot for a teenager to handle.”

  Harlan nodded. “Yeah, it sure is. Even though Taggart understood she had done what she thought she had to do, it took him a long time to forgive her for leaving without a word to him about what she was doing. That’s definitely contributed to whatever trust issues he has with women. I think he tends to run first, so they won’t abandon him like his mama did.”

  “Poor Taggart,” she mused.

  “That ain’t the half of it,” Harlan said. “After Julia left, Patrick really let loose. He was furious at her and certain that Taggart had been in cahoots with her. I guess the one good thing to come of it, other than Julia getting out of an abusive situation, was that Taggart, who was nearly as big as his dad by then, coldcocked him when he tried to turn his fury onto his son. Punched him dead in his face and knocked him to the ground. Patrick minded his p’s and q’s after that, but we were still glad when Taggart started college.

  “Once Taggart was out of the house, Patrick really went to hell with himself. He was drinking hard, and had added gambling to the mix. He started selling off his horses to pay for his addictions. He also got his hands on Taggart’s college fund, which had included most every cent Taggart had earned from jobs he worked after school since he was twelve years old. When it came time for Taggart’s second year, the money was gone. And Patrick had sold off just about all of his horses, and had mortgaged the ranch to boot.”