by Julie Cannon
The crushed granite under her feet would keep boots from bogging down in the mud or tracking it unnecessarily into the house, which was more stunning from the ground than from the air. Sturdy logs wrapped around its exterior, each interlocked with its perpendicular mate at the corners. It reminded Rachel of a set of Lincoln Logs she played with as a child. Eight smooth beams rose from the ground, providing support for the porch and roof. The stone fireplace shown in the brochure faced east, towering over the shake roof that sported three dormer windows. Large four-pane windows flanked a carved front door that was massive yet welcoming. Several rocking chairs waited expectantly on the front porch. A porch swing hung from an end beam and swayed gently in the light breeze.
Rachel walked across the yard. She wore boots and jeans, but today she sported a green long-sleeve Henley shirt. The hat that she’d so casually donned when she stepped out of the plane was more the style worn by Harrison Ford in the Indiana Jones movies than those worn by John Wayne. Rachel’s confident steps faltered when familiar, hot eyes met hers. It took a moment for her to realize that the image that had filled her dreams the night before was standing twenty feet in front of her. Her body signaled recognition of Shivley long before her brain, and she somehow managed to put one foot in front of the other. Does this mean what I think this means? Her pulse throbbed between her legs at the thought of spending ten days with Shivley McCoy. Rachel smiled as she slowly closed the last few feet between them.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” she said, holding in a grin. Shivley’s face was partially hidden by the brim of her cowboy hat, and Rachel hoped that she was just as glad to see her.
“And why is that?” Shivley tipped her head, but not enough for Rachel to see all of her face.
Rachel quirked an eyebrow at the question. Shivley still hadn’t moved from her pose leaning casually against the Jeep as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “People might talk.”
“And what would they say?”
“That we’re clearly attracted to each other and can’t bear to be apart. Or maybe that we’re carrying on a torrid affair and can’t keep our hands off each other.” Rachel hesitated a moment before adding her final thought. “Or maybe they would say that we just want to fuck each other senseless.” Her last sentence finally made Shivley lift her head, fully exposing her face. Rachel’s gaze made her feel like she had been pinned against the nearest tree. She had seen that look many times and was never disappointed afterward. She crossed her arms across her chest and went for broke. “You pick.”
Shivley’s imagination drew a vivid picture of what people might think if they came upon them in a quiet place. She flushed and fought to control her breathing. It would not bode well for Rachel to believe that something would come from her suggestive words. She was a guest and it wasn’t going to happen. However, the wordplay was fun, and Shivley had not had fun with a woman in a long time. “You have a vivid imagination.” Shivley caught the unmistakable flicker of increased arousal in Rachel’s gaze. “I like all of them.” Shivley winked and took several steps to her right to address the rest of her guests.
“Good afternoon, ladies. I’m Shivley McCoy, owner of the Springdale Ranch and your host for the next ten days.”
Chapter Five
Our host? Rachel’s ardor soared instantly when she realized that her chances of scoring with Shivley had increased considerably. She wasn’t the hired help; she was the boss, and the boss didn’t have to worry about losing her job if she slept with one of the guests. The women around her ceased their nervous chatter and gave Shivley their full attention. Rachel watched as each woman introduced herself and Shivley shook their hands. She caught snippets of conversation and was only able to pick up the self-descriptors of doctor, librarian, and mom from a few of her bunk mates. She would learn much more about each woman in the coming days, but the one she wanted to know much, much more about was addressing her now.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Ms. Stanton. Welcome to the Springdale. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay with us. If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
Rachel politely took the hand offered to her. It was warm and steady and her body reacted to the contact in the same manner it had the first time they touched. “Thank you, Ms. McCoy. I may take you up on that invitation.” Rachel held Shivley’s hand much longer than was necessary. She finally released it when it was apparent that Shivley was growing uncomfortable.
“Please call me Shivley.” She turned and addressed her request to the group. “Let me introduce the rest of the staff and then we’ll go inside and you can get settled.”
Rachel half listened to the introductions, her attention on who was issuing them instead. She was anything but inexperienced when it came to the art of seduction, and as she watched the subtle movements of her host, she planned her next move.
Introductions complete, the guests followed Shivley into the house like ducklings in a neat little row. Shivley stopped in the center of the largest room in the house. “I’ll give you a quick lay of the land here in the house and then show each of you to your room. We’ll take a tour of the grounds later this afternoon.” She spread her arms proudly. “This is the great room.” A smattering of laughter interrupted her. “Yeah, I know, kind of self-explanatory, isn’t it?”
Rachel estimated that the room had to be at least fifty feet on each side. The interior walls mirrored the outside, the deep grain in the logs intensified by the rustic fixtures strategically located around the expansive room. The furniture consisted of two couches flanked by large recliners inviting their occupants to nap. A large thick area rug filled the center of the room, and lamps sat prominently atop large wooden end tables. Several pillows were scattered around the floor, each more colorful than the one next to it. A large stone fireplace dominated one wall, and two wooden rockers faced the hearth like a bride and groom standing in front of the altar. For such a large room it had a cozy, comfortable feel to it.
Shivley completed the tour of the first floor and everyone picked up their suitcases and headed up the polished stairs. Rachel watched with interest as two of the women could barely get themselves and their luggage up the fifteen steps to the second floor. She wondered what they were thinking when they booked ten days at a working dude ranch when they were so obviously out of shape. She bet herself a thousand dollars that they wouldn’t be able to lift the weight of their bodies into the saddle. The physical requirements of the ranch were such that the unprepared would feel the effects long after they went home. Rachel was grateful that she regularly worked out in any gym she could find while on the road, and she maintained a steady routine of running three miles at least five times a week, rain or shine. Even with her level of exercise, she knew she would be exhausted and sore, and she looked forward to it.
The long hall held six bedrooms, each with its own private bath. Rachel stood patiently while Shivley showed each guest the nuances and features of her room. Finally it was her turn. Shivley opened a door at the far end of the hall, motioning her inside. She intentionally brushed against Shivley when she crossed the threshold. She sensed more than felt Shivley respond and hid a grin that threatened to spread across her face. The future was looking brighter. She stopped a few steps inside and looked around.
The room was warm and inviting, dominated by a four-poster king-size bed covered with a patterned quilt of red and brown with a dark green border. A tan throw was draped over one end while six large pillows lay neatly arranged against the headboard. A nightstand stood on each side and a cedar chest snuggled against the footboard. A dresser with accompanying mirror filled one wall, while the closet and the door to the bathroom lined the other. The walls, painted light brown, were decorated with several oil paintings of ranch life. Several throw rugs would mute any noise coming from the room and keep warm feet off the cold wooden floor. Rachel was exhausted and wanted to lose herself in the thick blankets. She dropped her hat and duffel bag and turned to face her h
ost.
Shivley watched Rachel’s reaction to her accommodations. She was impressed that she carried only one bag. Her other guests had at least two, and some even had three. For some reason, it mattered to Shivley that Rachel was comfortable in her home, and she’d surprised herself earlier when she mentally changed the room that she had originally assigned to her. She refused to admit that it had anything to do with the fact that her own room was right across the hall.
“I hope this meets with your approval?”
Rachel took a long, slow look at Shivley’s entire body. Her eyes lingered over the important parts, and she could swear she saw Shivley’s nipples harden in response. Suddenly she was no longer tired but was filled with mischievous energy. “Where is your room?”
If Shivley had any doubt of Rachel’s interest in her, Rachel’s slow, seductive perusal of her body erased it. The room was suddenly very small, and the sight of Rachel standing next to the bed was unsettling. Shivley clenched her jaw to maintain control over her mind because her body was rapidly losing it. The only thing that saved her was that she thought Rachel’s seduction was too practiced, too perfect to be only for her. Shivley knew that a woman as beautiful as the one looking at her with such undisguised desire rarely slept alone.
Shivley finally answered. “Across the hall.”
Rachel’s pupils dilated and her chin lifted slightly before she coolly smiled. “Then it definitely meets with my approval.”
Rachel’s comment was not lost on Shivley, but she chose to ignore it. She knew she needed to leave the room before she did something she might not be ready for, or worse yet, something she was.
“Good.” Shivley slipped back into her professional mode. “Come back down anytime. Dinner is at six.”
Chapter Six
Shivley was in the kitchen helping Ann prepare dinner. Ann was in charge of the house, and as a matter of practice she and Shivley reviewed the preregistration cards required from each guest, noting any food preferences, allergies, or specific requests for accommodations. Shivley described each woman, helping Ann put the right face to each registered name.
“Okay,” Ann said. “So Sue and Cindy are best friends? Jeez, they look so much alike they could be twins. And Christina is the ballbuster?”
Shivley nodded, trying to maintain a neutral expression.
“The redhead and the soccer mom are Becky and Ellen.” Ann glanced at Shivley for confirmation before continuing. “Debra’s got dark hair and Dingo boots, and Jane always wears that baseball cap.”
Again Shivley nodded.
“And finally,” Ann said, “we have the contradictions. Joyce the Napoleonic power broker, and Jackie the feminist who wears all designer clothes.”
Shivley couldn’t help but laugh at Ann’s conclusions, but she hesitated when she came to her description of the guest in the room at the end of the hall.
“Shivley?” Ann asked when Shivley stopped cutting the carrots in mid-slice.
The sound of her name brought her back to the present. “Sorry. I finally figured out why Rachel Stanton is so familiar to me.” Ever since Shivley had practically run over the poor woman not once but twice, she had a nagging sense that they had met somewhere before. She would have remembered a woman as beautiful as Rachel, and finally the pieces fell into place. Ann looked at her expectantly. “Her name. It’s her name that was familiar. I knew she was going to be a guest here, and I didn’t put the two together until now.”
“What in the world are you talking about?”
Shivley hadn’t shared with her housekeeper how she and Rachel had met, and she quickly filled her in. She had just finished her story when conversation in the great room indicated that the women were making their way downstairs. She handed Ann the knife and joined them.
Throughout the evening Shivley assumed the role of host, bartender, and at times referee. The women were an interesting combination, none of them shy about voicing their opinion on everything from canasta to world hunger. They were all around the same age, but that was where the similarities ended. Debra was a pediatrician and her partner Jane a librarian. Christina owned several Harley dealerships in Las Vegas and Texas. Joyce was a financial adviser, and Sue and Cindy were best friends teaching in the New York public school system. Jackie, a professor of women’s studies at Smith College, dominated the conversation, and Shivley worried that she and Jane would come to blows over the apple pie. Thankfully Becky, who was a therapist, and Ellen, a stay-at-home mom, had been together for eighteen years and were able to defuse the situation before anything other than passionate opinions were shared.
Shivley had trouble figuring out Rachel. She had seated herself directly across from Shivley at the table and was now draped across the high-backed chair next to her. Her foot swung back and forth, reminding Shivley of a child sitting in a grown-up chair. She had been the quietest one at the table for the thirty minutes they had been relaxing in the great room with their after-dinner drinks. Shivley’s curiosity won out over her patience for someone to ask the question.
“Rachel, we’ve heard from all the other nine-to-fivers. Now it’s your turn. What is it that you do?” Shivley chuckled, suspecting that Rachel didn’t have a nine-to-five job.
“A little of this and a little of that,” Rachel answered evasively. She refrained from volunteering her chosen profession because it always stirred things up, sometimes to the point of confrontation. She usually said she worked for the government, which more often than not garnered the desired disinterest.
“What the hell does that mean?” Christina asked good-naturedly.
“I know.” Ellen piped up. “You’re filthy rich, don’t need to work, and jaunt around the world spending daddy’s money.”
Sue added to the guessing game. “No, you’re a spy for the CIA and have come here to infiltrate a gang of wild horses.” Everyone laughed, including Rachel and Shivley.
Rachel opened her mouth to give her typical response when her eyes met Shivley’s. She was looking at her expecting an honest answer, and Rachel didn’t want to disappoint her. “I’m a political strategist.” Shivley’s expression went from polite interest to extreme interest and Rachel was glad she had told the truth.
“What exactly is a political strategist?” Debra asked, refilling her wineglass.
It had been a long time since Rachel had to explain what it was she did, and she thought for a moment. KISS – keep it simple, stupid. “I work with candidates to get reelected or those first-timers who want to get elected.”
The simple answer did not satisfy Shivley’s curiosity. “In what respect?”
The other women had dominated the conversation earlier, so Rachel was surprised when Shivley spoke. It was obvious that she had an inquisitive mind and wasn’t satisfied with her benign answer. “I figure out what their constituents are looking for and we develop a strategy to give it to them. We work on what they need to say and how they need to say it in order to get their vote.”
Jackie moved to the end of her chair and Shivley held her breath.
“You’re a spin doctor?” Jackie’s question sounded accusatory.
Rachel had been through this before. The fact was the last few campaigns she’d worked on, that was what she had become. In the course of a few short months she had gone from strategizer and policy maker to spin doctor, rearranging the facts to present a specific agenda or position for an incumbent U.S. senator. She had been forced by the campaign chairman to provide day-to-day tactical responses to claims and accusations released by the challenger. She didn’t mind until the exchanges became ugly and downright untruthful. It had made her sick to her stomach to have her name associated with such crap.
Rachel decided to inject some humor into the conversation. “No, I leave that to the sleazy guys. I’m more of a big-picture kind of girl.” Her comment was successful, as several of the women nodded their understanding.
“I like the CIA story better,” said Jane dryly. Everyone in the room roared with la
ughter.
Shivley looked around the room at the people she fondly referred to as her “charges” and relaxed. It was always hit or miss when total strangers came together for ten days; throw in physical labor like they probably had never experienced before, and the days got longer and tempers got shorter. As she watched the women and spoke with each one, Shivley fine-tuned her evaluation as they revealed more about themselves and each other. She was surprised at how correctly she had pegged each one. She would need to adjust the schedule and work assignments before they began in earnest in the morning.
The person who fascinated her the most was Rachel. Their first meeting on the road gave her the impression that Rachel was not a city girl, and that was verified when Rachel stepped off the plane in her boots, jeans, and fedora. Shivley watched her move with grace that she expected but with an underlying strength that surprised her. Now she had learned that Rachel was an accomplished professional, hobnobbed with politicos, and was a serious power broker. She was a chameleon, which only added to her mystique.
A creature of habit or an occupational hazard, she wasn’t certain which, Rachel spent the evening carefully observing the interplay between the women. They displayed the typical lesbian mannerisms, used the typical euphemisms, and spouted the typical political viewpoints. Ellen and Becky were obviously very much in love, were constantly aware of each other, and touched each other with light brushes of their hands. Honest love was not something Rachel had ever seen much of, especially recently. Political wives and the occasional husband were the norm, each wanting their own slice of power, however they got it. The close relationship between Sue and Cindy was obvious, and to her they sounded more like an old married couple than Ellen and Becky.
