Stabled (The Stables Trilogy #1) Page 6

  It had been a long time since she’d been kissed, and the last time hadn’t been this nice.

  Maple wasn’t sure if she liked it. Raúl slid his hand to her cheek, pressing his warm palm to it. His tongue gently swept her lip, tasting her. Maple let him, opening her mouth, sucking in his exhalation.

  Raúl groaned and pushed back, helping her lay down on the hay. It stuck in uncomfortable points on her back and fuck, that’s what she’d needed. Her body fell open to him, pressing into the itch, seeking discomfort as it invited him in.

  The young rancher settled between her thighs, eager. When he pressed into her she felt his hard cock through their clothes, nestled next to her pussy. It had been so long. The precarious wall in her mind began to crack, her patch job not keeping back the impending flood.

  The kiss deepened. Raúl rocked his hips into her. Could she do this? It felt so sweet. Innocent. This is what she should have done first, she knew, when she left home. She should have found a nice boy. Made out a lot. Gone on dates. But she’d found Tony, and he had been whips and pain instead of flowers and kisses.

  Maple tangled her fingers in Raúl’s hair, loving the coarse feel of it. It was dark, almost black like J.B.’s. The soft, pillow feel of his lips was nice. Her body ached, having missed the press of warm, male heat. But… that was it. This is nice. Nice wasn’t hot. Nice wasn’t needy, scratchy desperation. It wasn’t coming so hard she went blind for a moment.

  Raúl would always be nice to her. Maple knew that. She’d get kisses, she’d get sweet terms of affection. But she’d never get the danger, or the anger, or the wild passion that she craved. The crack in her opened wider, dark tentacles of desire curling their way through. She didn’t just crave it; she needed it.

  Fuck. What was she doing? The smell of leather and horses and hay filled her sense. The truth was there and she knew it: Raúl was wrong for her, and she was definitely not good enough for him. She could still feel Raúl’s erection pressed into her leg. Gently, she pressed her palms to his chest and pushed him off.

  He leapt up immediately, his features softened in their confusion. In the low light of the barn, he really was handsome. Maple was sorry for what needed to happen next. In a different life, she might be rolling in the hay with her coworker, feeling the first-time butterflies of a new lover.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have let you do that. We work together and--”

  He sat back, concerned, and helped her up. Her stomach coiled as he brushed her shoulders clean and picked hay from her hair. “Look, I don’t mind if we work together. I really like you, Maple.”

  His face was open, his heart in his hand. She didn’t want to crush it, but the consequences of letting him hope were beginning to swarm in, screaming at her for her stupidity. “No, I know. But I’ve only been here a little while. I’m still learning how I fit in. This is just… too complicated for me right now.”

  He backed off. “I got it, I got it. Too soon.”

  He clearly didn’t get it, because she heard the implication-- it’s too soon now, but one day it won’t be. Maple needed him to know there wasn’t a too soon, there was only a never again. The relief at having a situation end smoothly was overwhelming, though. She didn’t know how to assert herself, so she nodded, letting it go.

  “Hey, no worries. I can’t help it, I move fast. It’s the Hispanic lover in me. You know, the Don Juan genes.” Raúl was already laughing and standing, giving her a hand. Pulling her up, he draped an arm around her. Apparently “too soon” didn’t mean backing all the way off.

  “Wasn’t Don Juan Spanish?”

  “Belleza, you’re smart, too?” Raúl’s hand flew over his heart. “I’m doomed.”

  Maple couldn’t help it. She giggled. Raúl was sweet and charming, good looking and earnest. It was painfully obvious to her that it had been a long time since she’d had a friend; it was still hard not to pull back after every interaction and over-analyze it. For now, he seemed to be willing to let this go. Maybe, just maybe she could salvage a friendship with him.

  But you can’t let it go too far. It’s too risky.

  No, she’d have to be on guard.

  Chapter Seven

  Her days had rhythm. It had taken a month to get there, but Maple was settling in. She helped Mariela in the kitchen in the mornings, chopping whatever the cook needed for the day. Mariela was Raúl’s older sister and, while tamer than her brother, she shared his ability to talk without needing Maple to contribute much.

  She’d learned that Tim and Jones lived off the ranch with their respective families, so they didn’t venture in until after breakfast. Mariela and Raúl shared a small house nearby, room and board being part of their deal, too. The three would eat breakfast together, and then it was time for work.

  Tim, Jones, and Raúl would meet her in the stable in the morning. By now she was able to saddle and prep Mesa, Red, and Justice before they showed up. Then they’d load up the horses with food and anything else they needed and ride out to work the cattle. Tim brought his two herding dogs, Moomoo and Sugar, too. His five-year-old daughter had named them, and Maple giggled each time she heard his hard Texan drawl barking their names.

  Their days were long. J.B. owned a lot of land, which meant rotating pastures was easier. But it was dry, and they were near enough to the Rio Grande to get some water, but not much. It meant moving the herds often. Maple learned they were only responsible for the purebred Wagyus. There were other herds that had been bred with less expensive American cattle that J.B. had hired help for.

  The size of J.B.’s ranch wasn’t the awe-inspiring part. No, it was the meticulous record keeping the men did. Every pasture rotation. Every bull coming of age. Every cow that refused to calf got slotted for slaughter. It was constant. They were between breeding seasons, which meant Maple got to see Raúl at night. She knew from her father’s ranch that as soon as breeding and calving seasons were on them, they’d all have long days with no time for chat.

  The operation felt like her father’s ranch, just larger. It was comforting to see snippets of ranching that reminded her of home.

  J.B. was practically invisible, despite her eyes searching for him each day. Occasionally she’d see him in the house. He didn’t eat dinner with them. He never spoke with her. Whenever she caught a glimpse of his tight jeans and broad back, Maple would be forced to close her eyes and slow her pulse.

  It was good she didn’t see him, because her desire had been growing. Too many nights she brought herself to a swift climax just to keep the edge off. It was easy as long as she pictured J.B. doing increasingly degrading things to her. Whipping her with a belt until her skin was sliced with red. Until it bruised. Handcuffing her and slapping her face while he fucked her pussy.

  These were the things her ex-boyfriend, Tony, had done to her for the two years they’d been together. It had taken so long to be able to come for Tony, but he’d trained her. If he fucked her hard enough, if he worked her body over with fist and cock, he could make her come each and every time. It was sick. She was sick.

  When she pictured J.B. doing the same things, she came so hard she cried.

  Not that she had much time to think on it, for which she was grateful.

  Maple kept the stalls meticulously clean. She clipped the hooves of the horses, she brushed their coats, she made sure they were well fed and watered. Maple occasionally took Bonnie out for an easy ride when she had the time.

  Those were her favorite days. Bonnie was gentle. Her slow, plodding gait relaxed Maple. With Bonnie, Maple didn’t have to be anxious. She didn’t have a thousand thoughts and worries competing in her brain. She could just look at the endless horizon and be quiet.

  Bane, though. He was a tick that had latched on tight. His stall was dirtier than was healthy because she had to clean it so quickly. Maple thought he must run on pure fury, because, despite not getting a chance to stretch his legs, he managed to stay strong and willful.

  There wer
e moments, too, when it seemed like there was a connection. When she held out an apple and he’d step forward, curious. But always, at the last minute, he’d snort and snap at Maple, forcing her to drop the apple in his stall and retreat.

  Each time she brought it up with Raúl, he said no.

  It was infuriating.

  As Maple lay in her bed, re-reading the same paragraph in her book and unable to sleep, an idea began to grow.

  It started as something small. The heroine in the novel was being put in shackles, the villain promising her she’d never have freedom again. Maple knew it was overkill, but she loved the plot for its simplicity. Two dimensional characters with obvious motives. Nothing to think too hard on.

  But the villain kept telling the heroine “no.” No, she’d never be free. No, she’d never see her love again. She found herself getting frustrated with the word.

  Since she’d started the job, she’d had a lot of people telling her what not to do. Even Mariela, sweet and kind, would tell her not to cut the vegetables a certain way, or not to touch a simmering pot. It shouldn’t bother her, but she couldn’t ask about the locked stable. She couldn’t look behind closed doors. She couldn’t let Bane run in the paddock, even though he clearly needed it. No, no, no.

  Hell, she was fuming. The horses’ stable had practically become her domain. She knew the animals now. She knew Bonnie favored carrots over apples and liked to nuzzle close for hugs. She knew Mesa was headstrong until praised, then she’d preen like a peacock. Red liked to be brushed roughly, turning for her so she’d catch every spot. Justice could sleep through anything, not rising until he was good and ready (or got a friendly smack on his flank).

  So she knew Bane wasn’t what they thought he was. Yes, he was huge. And yes, he was dangerous, but only because he was kept shut in and treated with fear whenever they took him out.

  There weren’t many things Maple was confident about. Art history was one of the few things she rarely second guessed herself with. And now she could add stable life to that. She knew this stable. She knew these horses. It was time for people to stop telling her ‘no.’

  Maple looked at her watch. 5AM. She hadn’t slept all night, though insomnia wasn’t unusual for her. Sometimes her mind just didn’t shut off. What was unusual was that she didn’t feel defeated this time. Maple felt… determined.

  She dressed quickly, too afraid to question what was happening. She put on the pearl necklace, rubbing her thumb on it for good luck. She’d come from a long line of tough women. She was named for a tough tree that grew from grit. She’d been letting them all down.

  Avoiding the kitchen, she stole out to the barn. The sun hadn’t quite peeked out yet; the sky was just coloring in preparation for it. It was chilly outside, and she wrapped her sweater tighter. It was the end of summer, where the mornings spoke of fall but the day was still hotter than hell.

  Breezing into the stable, she opened both doors. The pasture wasn’t that far. Looking from Bane’s stall to pasture gate, she guessed it to be no more than sixty feet, though estimating distance had never been a strong suit of Maple’s.

  It was going to have to be up to trust. She had a suspicion trust was all Bane needed. God, she hoped she was right.

  She grabbed the lasso, having assisted Raúl enough to be fair at it in the closed space. It took two throws to get it over Bane’s tossing head. “Shh, shh, good boy,” she murmured soothingly. Instead of tightening it, she just waited. He thrashed. He stomped around in his stall. His ears lay flat.

  Maple waited.

  It took a long time, but slowly Bane calmed down. She kept whispering to him. She was waiting until he stilled completely before moving to the gate. Then she waited some more. She talked to him, explaining what she was going to do. Open the gate. Take him for a little walk. Let him stretch his legs.

  “It’s been a hard time for you, Buddy,” she admitted. “I don’t want to talk bad about my boss, but keeping a gorgeous horse like you locked up in here is wrong. So we’re going to prove ourselves to them. Will you help me? Will you help me show them?”

  Bane snorted.

  Slowly, she undid the lock and let the gate swing open. She didn’t wait for Bane; holding the lasso, she started walking toward the pasture. It tugged, then she heard the clop-clop of hooves behind her.

  Maple tried not to smile. Her chest ached from the thumping of her heart. Her teeth ached, she was clenching her jaw so hard.

  As soon as Bane was out of the stable he bucked. The rope tightened in her grip and she stepped back. “Whoa, Boy. Whoa,” she called, trying not to let her fear infiltrate her voice. In the wide open space, Bane seemed larger and much scarier. It would take nothing for him to trample her.

  Take a deep breath, Maple. This isn’t about you.

  This was about trust. He had to know she trusted him.

  He continued to buck and jump around. She took tiny steps toward the pasture, never tightening the rope around his neck, but never letting go, either. He moved with her.

  Slowly they made it inside of the pasture. Maple kicked the gate shut and locked it. She couldn’t let the rope loose, so she walked and jogged with Bane. He kept trying to scare her, but he stayed the same distance apart. She could work with that.

  Soothing voice. Movement. Maple just waited him out.

  It may have been another hour before he stopped bucking so hard. His jumps and stomps seemed more for show than for threat. Maple kept speaking quietly. It pleased her, having something to focus on.

  Maple thought if she could help Bane, she would know she was strong. If she was strong, she could rebuild the wall. She could push Tony’s memory back in. She could bury her desires.

  It happened. Bane stilled. They stood, neither moving, evaluating the other.

  “Bane, may I touch you?” It was silly to think the horse could understand her, but it felt better to ask permission. When the huge, muscled body stayed put, she took a tentative step closer. And another. Until she was standing close enough to see the veins throbbing in Bane’s neck.

  She placed her hand gently on Bane’s shoulder. The corded muscles twitched underneath, but he didn’t bite or yank back.

  I did it!

  Her hand stroked softly as she reached her other to grab the rope. He needed a lot more time outside. If she could get the rope off, she could lock the paddock and give his stall the deep clean it desperately needed.

  Fingers clasped rope. Slowly, so slowly, she inched it up Bane’s neck. She smiled, silently cursing how tall the horse was, when Bane stomped a foot in warning. She froze--

  Footsteps and shouts, running right at Bane and her.

  The horse’s eye rolled, her only warning before he reared up, his hooves whipping by her skull. Maple scrambled to the side on instinct, falling back. The ground shook when the massive hooves came crashing down less than a foot from her. Shuffling in a crab crawl, she backed away from the horse, who’d begun to buck again in horrifying earnest.

  She was so focused on the horse that her hand struck down on a large pile of rocks. Fiery pain, like a knife stabbing her, flew up her wrist. Maple clutched her arm to her chest, but the knife-pain struck again at her side.

  Rolling away, she turned right into the boots of Raúl, his eyes huge. “What the fuck are you doing?” There wasn’t time to answer before he hooked his hands under her armpits, dragging her swiftly out of the paddock, his eyes never leaving Bane’s bucking mass. Jones was with him, slamming the gate shut and throwing the lock down.

  Bane’s angry whinnies met them, but he was contained.

  “Are you okay?” Raúl was rubbing her arms as if searching for a break.

  She shook him off, disoriented. “I was fine until you came running and spooked Bane and--” a wash of dizziness stopped her. Her wrist and back were still on fire and it was spreading. Her stomach twisted. Maple pulled her cuff up, exposing her wrist. At the same time, they both heard the unmistakable rattle from between the rocks.

 
“I take that back. I’m not okay. I’m very not okay.”

  Two angry, perfectly spaced, red puncture wounds were staring up at her.

  Chapter Eight

  By the time Raúl got Maple to the house she was sweating and shaking. The puncture wounds were bleeding still, a trickle of blood that wouldn’t stop.

  “J.B.!” Raúl’s yell boomed through the house. “J.B., Maple’s been hurt!”

  The sound of boots on marble beat rapidly in her ears. “What the fuck happened?”

  “Rattlesnake. Jones killed it, but she’s been bit twice.”

  Maple wanted to say something, but it was hard to breathe, like her lungs just couldn’t take a full breath of air. Instead, her head lolled onto Raúl’s shoulder.