Buckled

by Pam Godwin

  I wind up the rope and return it to the wall, watching her as she wanders along the stalls.

  She stops in front of Jake’s stallion, and her eyes connect with mine over her shoulder. “Are any of these yours?”

  “That one.” I gesture at the black gelding behind her.

  She turns, and her cheeks lift. “He’s beautiful.”

  Not as beautiful as her smile. She should do that more often.

  “What’s his name?” She approaches the sliding grill door on his stall.

  “Ginny.”

  “Oh.” She cranes her neck, trying to look under his legs. “I thought…”

  “He’s a gelding.” I join her side and hang an arm through the vertical rungs.

  “Gelding?”

  “He’s castrated.”

  Grooves form on her brow. “Why would you do that?”

  “When he bucked me off and almost trampled me to death, my dad deemed him too dangerous for a thirteen-year-old kid.” I reach farther through the rungs and run a hand along Ginny’s neck. “I fought to keep him, so Dad compromised by having him castrated. The procedure calms them down.”

  “Why does he have a girl’s name?”

  “That was Conor. She named all four of our horses.” I move along the stalls, pointing to the critters that belong to Jake and Conor. “That’s Barnabe and Ketchup. And this…” I pause in front of the white and brown dappled palomino stallion, who misses Lorne as much as I do. “This is Captain Undies.”

  Her lips twitch, and she bursts into laughter. It’s a musical sound, dancing along my skin and penetrating me in ways it shouldn’t.

  “Holy shit, that’s great.” She composes herself but doesn’t lose that smile. “How did she come up with that name?”

  “Her brother had a flair for superhero underwear. She used to tease him for that.” My throat thickens in memory. “We all did.”

  “Why did he go along with the name? And you, for that matter? I mean, you let her name your male horse Ginny?”

  I shrug. “We love to indulge her.”

  Then and now. After abandoning her for six years, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make it up to her. If I could only expedite her brother’s return home…

  Captain lowers his head and nudges the gate with his nose. I gladly answer his request for attention with a vigorous ear rub.

  Every horse has different boundaries and preferences for affection. I try to handle Captain the same way Lorne did, but the horse knows it’s not the same. My stomach hardens with regret. Nothing’s the same without Lorne.

  Maybe rests her arms on the gate, studying me. “You miss Conor’s brother.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can we talk about his incarceration?”

  “Nope.” I pat Captain on the shoulder and turn to the blue-eyed intruder beside me. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “I shared something personal. My employees don’t even know the story behind Ginny’s name.”

  “Thank you for telling me.” Her gaze flicks away and takes its time returning to mine. “I don’t really have anything to share.”

  “Likes? Dislikes? I know nothing about you.”

  “I love animals.”

  “That’s not an answer.” I grunt. “Anyone with a heart loves animals.”

  “Okay, well, let me elaborate.” She shifts from one foot to the other. “Sometimes when I drive past a chicken farm, I dream about plowing through the gate with an eighteen-wheeler. When the owner runs out, I shoot him with a shotgun. Not a fatal shot. Just some buckshot in the leg, enough to give him a terrible limp and unbearable pain for the rest of his life. Then I gather all the chickens and usher them into the truck. There’s soft bedding and food and soothing music to make their journey comfortable. I take them to a sanctuary. You know, like the chicken version of an all-inclusive resort, where their little chicken hearts overflow with happiness. They’re surrounded by people who love them and pamper them with affection, and oh my God, it’s the best place on earth.” She blinks the shine from her eyes and looks at me expectantly. “What do you think?”

  “You’re serious?”

  “I mean, yeah. It’s a dream, but it can happen. Don’t you ever want to do something like that?”

  “No.” I stare at her, incredulous. “I eat chickens. Breaded and fried, skewered and grilled—”

  “Enough.”

  I grimace with realization. “You don’t eat meat.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “You realize I raise cattle to be butchered, right?”

  “Yes.” She hardens her eyes.

  “Don’t ever ask me to go to a chicken farm with you.”

  “Fine.”

  “And I’m hiding all my shotguns.”

  “Geez. Now you’re just making me feel like a crazy person.”

  “You’re a vegetarian. ‘Nough said.”

  She looks down at her bare feet and smiles to herself.

  The emotion on her angelic face isn’t easy to decipher. Mystery lurks in that smile. Something deep and contradictory. Like pain. That’s it, I think. There’s a sadness about her I’m just now noticing. A lonely, lost look in her eyes.

  That’s where her soul shines the brightest, in those vast oceans of restless blue. All the beauty in the universe can’t compete with the allure in her eyes. Vivid layers of complexity burn like fire, and when she lifts that gaze to mine, I ache to be incinerated by it.

  I remain still, not wanting to stir the sliver of calm between us. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “I like this… Talking with you.”

  “If you trusted me, you’d like that, too.” I nod at the support beam I tied her to.

  She follows my gaze to the post, pulls in a deep breath, and slowly releases it. “I should go.”

  “Not until I know where we stand.”

  “You’re asking me to let you use me, under uncertain terms, to work out your kinks or whatever you—”

  “No. I’m offering an exchange that benefits both of us. I’m attracted to you. I want to know you, in every way. And you want to learn about me and my family. Isn’t that why you’re here? To seek the truth?” I harden my tone. “Spend your evenings with me.”

  I’ll open her eyes to all kinds of truths. She can write a story on my devious sexual proclivities, for all I care. My livelihood rides on the price of cattle. What I do in the bedroom has no impact on that.

  On the other hand, if another one of us goes to prison for murder, it would crush our family.

  She chews on her lip. “I need to see a contract.”

  “That’s not how I work. No contracts or safe words or any of that crap. Maybe I won’t lay a hand on you. Or maybe we’ll explore every fantasy you’ve ever conjured. But that’s for me to decide. I lead, and you follow.”

  “That sounds safe,” she deadpans.

  “It’s not.” I rest a knuckle under her chin and lift her gaze to mine. “There’s a delicious sort of thrill in taking risks. I see the excitement in your eyes.”

  “That might be true.” She pulls away from my touch. “Doesn’t mean I jump on every thrill that comes along.”

  She heads toward the door, and I trail behind her, admiring the abundant mass of curls that hang damn-near to her waist.

  “I need to sleep on it.” She steps outside, her face aglow in the moonlight. “I’ll give you an answer tomorrow.”

  I’m not a patient man like my brother, but I find I’m willing to wait for this woman. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  The five-acre hike to the lot passes in silence. It’s the kind of silence when I would reach for a woman and caress her soft skin. When a woman would drift closer to my side, seeking a kiss that would lead to a not-so silent night.

  But none of that happens. Maybe Quinn isn’t easy. Not when it comes to sex or anything else. That only makes me want her more.

  We pass the spot where I dumped her on her ass, and I
change course, searching the ground.

  “What are you doing?” She stands where I left her, watching me pick through the tall grass.

  “You lost…” I spot her shoes and scoop them up. “These.”

  “Oh, right.” She sighs. “Thanks.”

  I follow her to the car and open the rear door to toss her shoes inside. The dome light flicks on, illuminating cases of canned food piled on the backseat.

  I squint at the labels. “Is that…?”

  “Would you like a can of oysters?”

  “That’s a lot of oysters.”

  “I start every day with three cans.”

  “You do?”

  “No.” She opens the driver’s door and bends to slide in.

  “I thought you were a vegetarian.”

  “I am.” She leans back up, facing me. “Oysters don’t have eyes.”

  This woman is a trip.

  “Let me get this straight.” I rest my hip against the car and cross my arms. “If a chicken is born without eyes, it’s okay to eat it?”

  “No! That’s not…” She stares at the cans and sucks on her bottom lip. “We’re talking about oysters, not chickens.”

  “Sounds discriminatory. What about equal rights? Oysters have families, feelings, reasons to live—”

  “All right. You made your point.” She grips her temples. “I’m never eating another oyster again.”

  Chuckling, I return my attention to the car. More food clutters the floorboards—cases of canned beans, meatless spaghetti, beets, granola bars, and bottled water. Blankets, matches, and random hygiene products fill the backseat.

  No luggage. Maybe it’s in the trunk or at the motel? If that’s the case, why are her toiletries littered throughout the car?

  “What are you doing with all this?” I pop the cap on a bottle of mint shampoo and sniff. Smells just like her hair. “Expecting an apocalypse?”

  “Or surviving one.”

  My gaze snaps to hers. “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing.” She pushes on the rear door, nudging me back. “Enough snooping.”

  “This car isn’t a rental.”

  “It’s mine. I drove it from Chicago.”

  As old as it is, she probably paid fifty bucks for it. I can’t believe it made the nine-hundred-mile journey.

  I shut the door. “Open the trunk.”

  “Why?”

  I give her my hardest glare, and she tosses one right back.

  The soft lowing of a nearby herd echoes in the dark. Lightening bugs flicker above the grass, and Maybe Quinn grinds her teeth, realizing I won’t back down.

  With a huff, she reaches under the dash to pull the lever. The latch clicks behind me.

  Circling around the back, I lift the lid and find what I expected. Instead of luggage, a few boxes line the cargo space. I rifle through them. All clothes.

  She’s living out of her car.

  “Be careful.” Her footsteps pause beside me. “You’re going to get my privileged existence all over you.”

  “Is this everything you own?”

  She sweeps her gaze over the car and the meager supplies within. “Pretty much.”

  “How long have you been living like this?”

  “A while.” She raises her chin, not a trace of embarrassment on her face.

  I already know the answer after her apocalypse comment, but I ask anyway. “Is this a lifestyle choice or a financial necessity?”

  “It’s a consequence of bad judgment and rotten luck.”

  “Explain that.”

  “I’m homeless until I get this story. That’s all I’m saying.”

  A news story won’t pull her out of poverty. There’s more she isn’t telling me, and she won’t until she trusts me.

  I make a decision. She’ll fight me on it, but I won’t be able to sleep knowing she’s conked out, alone in her car, where someone could sneak up on her and hurt her.

  Digging through her clothes, I look for something casual, like jeans, t-shirts, sneakers… There’s nothing practical here. It’s all pants suits and dresses and nonsense.

  “Where are your regular clothes?” I ask.

  “I sold everything except…” She gestures at the boxes. “I kept the nice things that would help me find work.” She crosses her arms. “I realize that was stupid and tried to find a second-hand store today to pick up some jeans.”

  “We don’t have anything like that in town.” I turn over one of the boxes and dump the contents into the trunk of the car.

  She gasps. “What are you doing?”

  “Grab what you need tonight.” I carry the box to the backseat and drop the shampoo bottle in it. “I have a spare room.”

  “I don’t want your charity.”

  “This isn’t charity. I work long days. There’s endless shit to do. You can help me with the workload, earn your keep, and we’ll get to know each other in the process.”

  She pinches her bottom lip. “There’s room in the bunkhouse?”

  That would be the ideal place to put her, but… “No one lives there. We shut off the utilities to that building to save money.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “You need a shower and A/C in this heat. You’ll stay in the main house.”

  Her gaze shifts to the estate, expression pensive.

  I’m offering her a journalist’s dream. She wants the seedy truth about Julep Ranch. Here’s her chance to nose around in our home.

  What she doesn’t know is she won’t find anything to use against us. We destroyed all documents and evidence after we digitalized and uploaded it to a secure location.

  But she could plant bugs in our living space, which means Jake and I will have to guard what we say.

  “Don’t make me wait.” I push the box into her hands.

  “I haven’t agreed to the second part of the deal.”

  “All we’re doing tonight is sleeping.”

  “I feel like there’s a catch.”

  “No catch. I’m going to put you to work. Out there.” I point toward the fields.

  “I don’t have the right clothes.”

  “I’ll take care of that.” I reach into the front seat and grab her purse. “Is this coming in?”

  At her nod, I rummage through it, searching for weapons and offending electronics. Her lips tighten, but rather than complaining, she packs the things she needs for the night.

  I pull out her wallet and glance at her driver’s license. Her name, her Chicago address, everything checks out.

  That done, I take the box from her and lead her into the house and through the dark foyer.

  “That wing belongs to Jake and Conor.” I tilt my head at the door that closes off their quarters. Pivoting in the opposite direction, I face the Holsten wing. “My room is down that hall. It’s the largest of the two wings, but I remodeled it into two master suites. The second one will be Lorne’s.”

  “Where am I staying?”

  “In Lorne’s suite.”

  I lead her through an abbreviated tour of the common areas—formal dining room, sitting room, and a gaming area that’s never used.

  When we arrive in the kitchen, I give her slender body a once over. “Are you hungry?”

  She shakes her head, looking around the open floor plan. “It’s all very masculine.”

  Our fathers installed the reclaimed hardwood and rustic accents and filled the spacious rooms with dark, timeless furniture.

  “I’ve been thinking about updating it.” When I have enough money.

  “No, I like it. It suits you.” She searches my eyes. “Who’s older, you or Jake?”

  “I beat him into the world by fifteen minutes. Do you have siblings?”

  “Nope. Just me.”

  “Living parents?”

  Another shake of her head. “Mom passed last year.”

  “I’m sorry.” My fingers twitch to touch her. “Were you close?”

  “Yeah. She, uh… She had cancer. I was with
her at the end, and…” Pain mars her pretty features. “Let’s change the subject.”

  “I’ll show you to your room.”

  I guide her through the estate and into the Holsten wing.

  “My rooms are just through there.” I motion at the end of the corridor. Turning back, I open the door to the vacant suite and flip on the lights. “It’s not furnished. Just a bed and—”

  “Wow.” She enters, taking in the bare white walls and enormous spread of interconnecting rooms. “It’s huge.”

  I gave him the larger of the two suites because he’s the oldest, and for some reason, I’ve always imagined him marrying before I do.

  “The bathroom is around the corner, and you’ll find a closet full of towels and shit for the bed.” I set the box of toiletries on the mattress, glancing at the scarcity of its contents. “You don’t have much here. Do you need anything?”

  “No, I’m just going to take a shower and go to sleep.”

  I give her a nod and stride toward the door.

  “Jarret?”

  “Yeah?” I pause on the threshold and glance back, sinking into her deep blue eyes.

  “Thank you.”

  I doubt she’ll be thanking me tomorrow. With another nod, I close the door and make my way to the wing on the opposite side of the estate.

  By the time I knock on Jake’s door, I’ve prepared myself for every argument he’ll hurl at me.

  The door cracks open, and he pokes his head out, his hair tousled and eyes heavy with sleep. “What?”

  “We need to talk.”

  He opens the door wider and moves to step out.

  I stop him with a hand on his bare chest. “In your room.”

  His entire body goes rigid, his voice an angry hush. “You brought her into our house?”

  I don’t answer him. He sees the adamancy in my eyes.

  “Dammit.” He glances behind him at the bed and squints. Then he opens the door all the way.

  I follow him through the dark and veer off to sit on the couch near the fireplace. His silhouette moves to the bed, where he adjusts the covers over Conor’s still form and kisses her on the head.

  A moment later, he joins me, lowering into the chair, wearing only boxer briefs. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  Despite the absence of light, I feel his glare and know it well.

  With a deep breath, I recap my evening with Maybe Quinn, detailing the names she listed, the meeting she claims she had with our father, her financial situation, every word we exchanged. Then I outline my plan to keep her close and gain her trust.