Be My Warmth

by Shanade White

  “Sleep tight, angel…” was the last thing she heard whispered into her ear.

  *****

  Waking up content, Whitney felt glorious. She stretched like a cat, bathing in the sunlight streaming through the window. Their clothes lay strewn across the floor from the antics of last night, and the heady smell of sex lingered. Naked, Whitney turned to her side to explore Jack’s sleeping face, and examined the arm draped over her stomach. She stared at him like this for several minutes, before he cracked an eyelid open, spotted her and yawned, then pulled her in closer for a warm embrace, naked bodies locked together.

  “Not moving,” Jack breathed, face buried into her neck and hair. “Not letting you go.”

  “Aight. So what happens when we get hot and sticky from overheating?”

  “Mmm…” Jack nuzzled her earlobe. “That’s a problem we don’t have to think about for ten minutes.”

  Whitney chuckled, the vibration of it thrumming through her body and transferring into Jack. She felt him harden slightly against her thigh. “Would love to know more ‘bout you. Not something to talk about in the morning, though. Still need to wake up. And remember… certain things from last night.”

  “Oh. I remember them very well. If you want though, we can remind ourselves of the better moments…?” He gently bit her ear, sending shivering arousal through Whitney’s spine. She pressed into him more urgently, before calming herself.

  “Didn’t we remind ourselves? Two more times?” Whitney grinned. On two more incidents in the night, they had woken up, engaged in some conversation, only to have each attempt end up in more sex. The moment they woke up and saw each other, they grew excited at the thought that they shared the bed, and could reach across to touch.

  Too excited.

  “What about a fourth time?” His arousal grew harder, becoming solid as it rubbed her thigh.

  “Oh, I’d love to be reminded yet another time. But what time we got before breakfast in the hall?”

  Jack gave a disgruntled sound. “Sure there’s plenty of time. I think. Curse responsibilities. Let me check… since the clock is behind you…”

  “Oh. Sorry. Too busy staring at you.”

  “Shush.” He was silent a moment, likely squinting at the clock to make out the time. Then, he dropped back with a huff of annoyance. “We’re late.”

  “Oh, okay.” Whitney paused. “Wait? Late? Late? Shit!” She became wide awake, eyes bulging out of her head. “We got a meeting after breakfast! I shouldn’t be here! What if people spot me coming out?”

  “Hey, hey! No need to panic. There’s enough time to get yourself there. Though I suppose we better go separately and you don’t want anyone seeing you come out of my cabin. Erm.” He sat bolt upright, running a soothing hand over Whitney’s coffee-colored back. “I’ll go out first. If you give me your number I can text you when it’s safe to come out. You can head to your cabin or straight to breakfast. I should have been up with the dawn-herders to rein in the horses. I’ll come up with something.”

  He rolled out of bed, quickly washed himself down, then placed on some clothes. Whitney did the same in a frantic, trying-not-to-panic rush, enveloped once more in her evening clothes. Though the sun dazzled, the morning emanated coldness through tiny gaps in the cabin. Exchanging numbers, which also sent another hum of delight inside – they hastily kissed goodbye before he opened the door. “This was worth it,” he said. “Whatever happens.” He strolled out to the ranch with a spring to his step.

  Whitney watched in her familiar clustering of emotion. Attraction, happiness, worry and amazement mingled. A small stab of fear intruded as well, when she thought about Natalie discovering this.

  Flirting was fine. But knowing they went to bed together – having that particular rumor spread around the ranch like wildfire and confirmed – Whitney couldn’t guarantee getting stabbed in the back at some point in the future. There were things she should and shouldn’t do.

  There were also things she wanted to do, despite hearing the warning bells rattling in her skull. Of course, she hadn’t heard of any of those bells with Jack. What happened between them didn’t feel wrong. It only felt bad afterwards, when she started considering the results and consequence. When anxiety and fear began gnawing at her from the inside out.

  Her stomach growled. She sat on the bed, feeling less like a mature thirty-one-year-old and more like a bewildered teenager as she examined her cellphone, waiting for the all-clear text. With nothing better to do, she scouted Jack’s cabin, trying to spot his personality in the furniture, and the possessions held. The bookcase was stuffed with different books of various authors, many whom Whitney had never heard of. There were many foreign names – so he liked reading international authors. There was an Isabel Allende, a Cody Mcfayden and a Stieg Larsson – that one she did recognize. She remembered those books being a little too boring for her taste, and ran her hands over the Mcfayden book. Crime novels. Forensic novels. Fantasy. Children’s. Even a few language learning dictionaries, and others on economics.

  Jack clearly had a curious mind. She wandered over to the bathroom. Barely anything resided inside it, apart from essential toiletries, and an expensive aftershave. She checked her hair and patted it down as best as able, looking less like she had just rolled out of bed. His wardrobe held one very fine tuxedo, but mostly filled itself up with practical, ranch-hand clothes. There was a patched-eye teddy bear seated by the window, face turned towards the fields where the horses roamed. Peering out through that window, Whitney saw ranch workers reining in the last of the horses, the last two being led by ropes around their necks.

  Upon inspecting the kitchen top, where only basic cooking utensils lay in the drawers, her phone buzzed.

  Everyone’s at breakfast. You won’t be seen by the people in the fields if you go dead right from when you leave the door. Just say you overslept. Look forward to seeing you.

  Jack.

  Whitney rapidly texted back, to confirm the sent message.

  Great. See u soon.

  Taking a deep breath, Whitney stepped out into the cold morning. She made it to the dining hall ten minutes later, planning to keep her jacket on inside and change clothes after breakfast and whatever short obligatory meeting their group would have.

  Entering the hall, she spotted Natalie leaning over Jack, her hair almost brushing his shoulder as she murmured something.

  “Look who took their sweet time showing up!” Gracie declared. Whitney shrugged apologetically.

  “Breakfast over or still time to get some bites?”

  Anja, who again shared the table with them and Miles, jabbed her fork at the canteen area. “Hurry. They close in five.”

  Miles poured a mug of coffee for himself, and offered one to Whitney as she seized jam packets, toast, butter, and an orange. Her stomach growled at the sight of the bacon, eggs and sausages, but ignored them for something she could shove down her throat.

  “No talk before coffee,” Miles said, hugging his drink protectively.

  “Aight. Sounds good.” She placed herself next to Gracie and Tia, settling to butter her toast.

  “You slept long,” Gracie drawled, elbow on table, chin resting in hand. “What's that all ‘bout?”

  Whitney didn’t bother looking as she replied, “Real exhausted after events. And my phone didn’t go off in the morning. Was annoyed as hell when I realized.”

  “We saw you walking out quite late you see,” Tia added conspiratorially. “Got us curious.”

  Whitney was careful to conceal her alarm, delivering the two women a nonchalant smile. “Saw a horse there when walking earlier. Wanted to see it again and give it sugar cubes. Really affectionate horse. Pretty cold night, though. Should have wrapped up warmer.”

  “Hmm. Maybe you can point out the ‘horse’ when we go training today, eh?” Gracie obviously didn’t believe her.

  “Sure.” Whitney placed down her knife. “Seriously, what’s up with y’all? Staring at me like it’s jud
gment day. Can’t a gal take a walk when she feels like?”

  Tia folded more into her blue hoodie, shrugging as she sipped on a fruit drink. “Of course you can. We just… well. Jack’s been real friendly to you.”

  “So? He’s been real friendly to everyone.” Whitney raised one eyebrow. “Yunno, I can just imagine you two gossiping together late at night about certain things…”

  “Gossip’s how we pass the time,” Gracie smirked, giving Whitney a clap on the shoulder. “And true, dat. He friendly to all. Just hoped you be reeling something in that Natabitch can’t hook.”

  “We’re here for a company holiday – not to take it in turns lining up to see who can pull the ranch owner into their bed or not. Should probably stop with that talk.” Whitney couldn’t believe her own brusqueness, but it did the job. Even if it contained a lie.

  “Aight, aight woman. No need to snap heads.” Gracie raised up her arms in surrender, then turned to speak to Tia, pointedly turning her shoulder to Whitney. She continued to eat in silence. Miles joined their table, looking out of it as he tried to revive himself with coffee. Anja glanced at him, though seemed used to the spectacle. The Dutch woman engaged in conversation with Tia and Gracie, and they nattered away like excited children.

  Whitney finished off her toast. Where was Faith? She received the answer to her question a moment later, when Faith stumbled out of a door – she’d been in the toilets. She skulked to the canteen area which was now gathering away the food, and seized a hasty drink, looking for all the world like a cornered animal.

  Whitney waved to her, and saw the palpable sense of relief on her face as she took the invitation, joining them at the table.

  “Sleep aight, Faith?”

  The shy, dark haired girl twitched her lips upwards. “Better than usual. The beds are nice and soft.”

  “Usual, eh?” The statement intrigued Whitney. She struggles to sleep at night?

  Faith didn’t add anything more to it, instead examining Natalie with Whitney. The executive seemed to be making an excuse to reach out and physically touch Jack, laughing in the fakest, ugliest way Whitney expected. Natalie did genuine, beautiful laughs – but this one – it reeked of jealously and desire for possession. Not even a shred of warmth lingered in it. The thirty-year-old seemed completely oblivious to her actions and how they might appear to others. She ponced and put on an air of maturity, responsibility and success, but underneath that lay something indiscernible.

  Almost as if she needed Jack Brook to see how successful she was. Notice how beautiful she was. Natalie let out a high pitched laugh, throwing back her head as she touched Jack on the wrist. He smiled as well, charming as ever, not showing a hint of discomfort with the situation. Shouldn’t he be? Wasn’t it sickeningly obvious what Natalie was trying to pull? What Sandra, laughing in tandem, was? Just a sycophantic cheerleader out to appease her boss? Whitney knew those types. Sandra by herself acted reasonable, if sometimes vapid and fixated on topics that had no weight to them – like celebrity pairings, fashionable shoes and soap operas. Put her together with someone with higher authority, and she scrambled to please them as if this was the only worthwhile thing that ever happened in her life. Sandra forgot her individuality. Whitney imagined Sandra as a freshly grown carrot, beautiful and well nurtured, then chopped up and dumped into Natalie stew, losing her unique quality in favor of making the stew delicious. The analogy made Whitney smile, before frowning darkly. Natalie Glenn needed people like Sandra to thrive.

  The swirling thoughts took a new turn, settling on someone else close to her heart. Aniyah, Whitney’s mother – what of her? She needed people to care for. She was less than a carrot. She only existed through others. A body that worked, a hand that scrubbed, holding no dreams of her own.

  Or was Whitney only looking at herself in the mirror, there?

  Whitney finished off her food, in a blink noticing her negative, poisonous thoughts encroaching. The last reflection on her mother hit Whitney in a slap of cold-doused clarity. It also made her consider the other ruminations.

  On Natalie, truthfully, Whitney wanted to be jealous. The feeling surged irrationally in her, but with careful picking apart of the emotion, it quelled. Jealously implied she lacked something, and that she felt insecure about her current position, and the people who co-existed with her. Right now, she didn’t feel like she lacked anything. The frustration contained for her mother also seemed needless. Aniyah may not ever do things for herself, but she worked fanatically to bind their family together. Even if it meant turning a blind eye to their flaws and ignoring the bigger problems.

  Whitney couldn’t fault that. She just couldn’t. The mounting anger inside – had she really been accumulating such rage? – whittled away.

  She certainly didn’t feel insecure. The activities of yesterday and the night romp stayed with her.

  Acknowledging this was better than the alternative.

  And she didn’t need to seek out Jack for confirmation he still liked her. If he didn’t like her, last night wouldn’t have happened. And if he was playing her, well. Last night still happened. Tainting that experience with jealously would destroy the discovered happiness. Even a fling, like holidays, could be short lived, fun and memorable.

  The notion bolstered her. She found she could tear her eyes away from the attention, without the unease in her stomach.

  She poked conversation with Faith, though the younger woman still kept her words close, unwilling to divulge anything juicy or substantial. Whitney respected it. People didn’t come out of their shells instantly. They needed encouragement and reason to leave the protective safety they created themselves.

  People… were people.

  *****

  After breakfast, they gathered together for a small debriefing. It covered nothing essential, as they had all heard the speeches before – but it did remain a company requirement to make sure everyone participated. Alex and Natalie, the two main authorities of the staff trip, also were required to take part in a daily conference call to update their department CEO, Richard Larkland.

  “There could be a possibility in the future,” Natalie informed them, before they broke up for the day’s tasks, “That Jack Brook may be interested in sponsoring Outback Bandits with us – via investments through our company. He expressed interest in the brand and thinks a hefty promotion of outdoor life will be beneficial to everyone, especially those stressed by inner city life and turmoil. So, remember. Best behavior! And, Faith. I’d like to see the pictures you’ve taken so far later, to see if you’re capturing the vibe of what we want. We can look into sending them to the department this evening. Okay?”

  Faith nodded mutely, cradling her camera like a child.

  Natalie had then sighed. “The last group was… less than proactive on this matter. One might say our men spent more time pretending to be cowboys rather than forging a connection with the ranch and the business here.”

  After that, they broke up the meeting, and prepared for their first task. Horse riding. Making it to the stables, all the horses loitered in their stalls, already reined up, with their saddles placed on and tightened. A mounting platform in the middle of the clearing with steps showed where people stood, to position themselves to sit on the horses.

  All the women from their company without exception were outfitted with riding helmets, for safety reasons. The ranch hands didn’t bother, instead preferring wide-brim hats and practical clothing. Once the instructors judged the skills of those they worked with, depended on where the guidance was directed.

  Whitney, Tia, Alex and Sandra had all never ridden a horse before. Gracie, Natalie and Faith had. Sandra maintained she did have some lessons when she was five years old, but had forgotten most of them.

  Standing on the platform, waiting for the horse as it was led to her proved nerve-wracking. Whitney was on display for all to see, and she dreaded most just slipping off the horse without even having a chance to sit down.

  “You'll be
fine!” Gracie called from her horse – a stocky strawberry roan mare with ears flicked slightly backwards. The instructor by her side, Lamar, conversed, before letting Gracie walk the horse alone, heading towards the training paddocks. Reaching the paddocks involved walking through two bends in the stable area, and then a straight, stomped down dirt track to the selection of fields. Jack was saddled up on Graham Cracker – And Whitney honestly felt astonished at Graham Cracker’s attitude towards the other workers. When Miles passed too close, the horse actively whipped back his ears and snapped at Miles with blunt teeth, only held back by Jack resisting the reins. Because of Jack’s lateness, the other ranch-hands had tried leading Graham Cracker to the stables, only able to prevent serious injury to themselves by compensating with a trail of sugar cubes, which had distracted him for moments at a time. Miles confessed the story to her in a rueful mood, showing a mark on his palm where Graham Cracker hadn’t quite scooped up the cube properly.

  Graham Cracker snorted, rearing slightly, causes the last three rider-less horses to shy away, alarmed. The huge bay clearly scared the others. Damn. Jack ain’t kidding ‘bout that one.

  The horse given to Whitney was of a light dun color, the coat spots reminding Whitney of a Dalmatian.

  “Is this like a Dalmatian horse?” She asked Anja, the one leading the reins. Anja halted the silver dapple at the mounting platform.

  Anja tutted. “No. Flowerfield is a mustang with the silver dapple gene. So her coat is watered down to light dun with little spots.”

  “You know of horses?” Whitney said, staring nervously at the saddle in front.

  The Dutch woman nodded. “A little. Not as much as I would like. That beast over there,” she said, jerking her thumb to Graham Cracker, “Is from very expensive stock. He is impure. Jack Brook’s father keeps a small selection of what is known as Friesian horses. There are many breeds, but Jack’s father has a particular fancy for Friesians. Very graceful horses.”

  “Impure?” Whitney grimaced as Anja coaxed her onto the horse. She had no clue about horses, their types or what kinds were considered valuable.