Life in the Fast Lane: A BBW Erotic Novella (Western Romance, Billionaire Cowboy, Curvy Girls) (2 page)

I unpacked my things and settled into the cottage for a bit. Then I walked over to Jim’s cottage so we could get to work.

We spent the day working out the horses. Since we were training not just Fast Lane, but several younger Thoroughbreds as well, there would always be lots of work to do.

Jim was sort of concerned we might need to bring in an additional person, something he hadn’t discussed with either Don or Mr. Matheson, but I assured him we could handle it. We’d just need to stay on top of our game. Besides, anything we needed to complete our training, we could get from Don. And we could probably utilize some of the ranch hands, too, if necessary.

Around noon, Don came out to the stables and invited us into the mansion for lunch. I was a bit anxious about meeting Mr. Matheson, but Don told us he was away on business.

Lunch was absolutely tremendous. Never before in my life had I seen such a spread. It was a luxurious take on good old-fashioned Texas barbeque: ribs in three different sauces, coleslaw, mac n’ cheese, pomme frites and more all done up with a certain subtle flair. These classic dishes were taken to an entirely new level by Mr. Matheson’s professionally-trained personal chef, adding an additional layer of sumptuous decadence to the simple food. Needless to say, I’d never had a lunch like this before.

As it turned out though, lunch wasn’t just a time for relaxing.

“I hate to break it to you, but lunch isn’t going to be this damn good every day,” said Don as he sat across from us at the large table of the dining hall.

We laughed in a friendly way, appreciative of the generosity that had been shown to us so far.

“I’m serious,” said Don. “The reason we’re here today is we have some business to attend to.”

Don handed us each a ten page memo. It featured various statistics, training objectives, and a timeline of strategic goals aimed at getting us prepared for the Kentucky Derby. Then he flipped on a projector that displayed the broad points of the memo in PowerPoint form on a wall of the dining room. He walked over and flipped off the light switch, then sat back down at the table. He started to go over everything, slide by slide.

Jim shifted awkwardly in his seat for a few minutes, then decided to interject.

“Don, I thought we’d be putting together our own training regimen here. I thought we’d worked out a suitable amount of discretion. I need autonomy if I’m going to do this thing right,” he said, putting the memo down on the table.

“You’ll have autonomy, but only down at the ground level, the actual training and exercise of the horses. Mr. Matheson is a businessman, first and foremost. He wants to provide strategic oversight. He’ll be the one determining the goals, and you two will figure out how we achieve them. Are we in agreement?”

I looked over at Jim and rolled my eyes. I knew this wasn’t what either of us wanted. Jim thrived on the freedom of being his own boss. I could see him visibly bristling under what he thought was an unnecessary encroachment on his area of expertise. But I also knew that the money and the opportunity of this job was too much to give up. He’d have to simply deal with the parameters of the relationship as the elusive Mr. Matheson defined them.

“Yes, sir,” said Jim. “We want success for these horses as much as Mr. Matheson.”

I nodded my agreement.

“Good, I’m glad we’re all on the same page. The way we see it, we want Fast Lane to become a household name. It’s a tall order, but we wouldn’t have hired you if we didn’t think you were the people to do it.”

As we walked back out to the stables after lunch, Jim muttered to himself. Once we were inside and certain we were out of earshot, he turned to me.

“Can you believe that?” he said exasperatedly.

I didn’t answer verbally, but merely shrugged my shoulders. I thought it was ridiculous, but what choice did we have? It was Mr. Matheson’s horse, not ours. He was the boss and we were the employees.

At the same time, I understood Jim’s frustration. He hated being micromanaged. He felt—rightfully, I thought—that horse owners only got in the way of him doing the best possible job. It was a strange irony: the more an owner took interest in his horse’s training, the worse it did. As I stood there listening to Jim complain, I tried to reassure him.

“I mean if you think about it, he really just wants performance updates. We get to decide everything else,” I said.

“Yeah, but he made a timeline. I can’t validate that timeline until I see what this horse is capable of. We can’t push the horse any faster than it can go, we could ruin him for the race if we do that. Ruin his entire racing
career
, in fact. I don’t know if you looked at that schedule, but it’s
very
aggressive. I give the man credit for being an excellent businessman, but this isn’t just business. There’s an art to training for the Derby.”

“Well, let’s just give it a go. Maybe we can get him to budge on some of the milestone goals if we’re not progressing fast enough.”

“I hope you’re right. But I’ve heard rumors.”

“What rumors?”

“Oh, it’s all hearsay, but I’ve heard about him firing people at his company for simply expressing an opinion contrary to his. They say he’s a real control freak. That’s why I tried to get us some autonomy before I took the contract. I don’t want to get on this man’s bad side.”

Jim sounded very concerned and it made me nervous, far more nervous than I’d been as we’d watched Don’s presentation. I was starting to have questions about the work environment.
Were our jobs really on the line at every turn of the corner?
If that was true, then I was doubtful about how successful we could be. I agreed with Jim: we needed some leeway to do our job with Fast Lane. We were the experts, after all.

I pondered this the rest of the afternoon while Jim and I worked out the horses, but neither of us said another word about it. We knew better than to bad-mouth our employer. After the initial venting, it was a null subject; better for us to just buckle down and try to get the job done, no matter the circumstances.

We worked late that night. By the time I went back to my cottage at ten o’clock I was absolutely exhausted. I walked into the kitchen to find that all of my groceries had been packed away for me. It was good to have a fully-stocked kitchen; one less thing to worry about. But I was dead tired and there was no way I’d be cooking anything tonight.

After taking a quick shower, I went down to the fridge in search of a drink and found a six pack of Budweiser. I hadn’t remembered putting it on my grocery list, but maybe somebody knew how much I’d need a drink after my first day on the ranch. I grabbed a bottle and twisted off the cap, plunking myself down on the couch and turning on the television.

Halfway through my first beer I felt as if I was moments away from sleep. I put the bottle down on the table and headed up to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Moments later, I was fast asleep.

The next day I was up at 5:00 AM and ready to set to work. I made coffee and fried up some eggs quickly, then called Jim at his cottage to invite him over for breakfast. I figured we could have a quick strategy session as we ate before starting the day.

Both of us were more than impressed with Fast Lane. The fact that the horse was so obviously well-bred bode well for us. The previous trainer had also done a decent job with him. This made us slightly more confident about our ability to stick with Mr. Matheson’s timeline.

The only other issue we faced was that we were also responsible for training some of the younger Thoroughbreds for some lesser races. Ideally, these were horses we could expect to be competing a year or two down the road in the major events like the Derby, the Preakness and the Belmont stakes.

Jim and I were split on how to allocate our time between our dual task. Obviously, Fast Lane needed our attention more urgently, but neglecting the other horses wasn’t an option either. I reminded him that we could use some of the ranch hands if necessary.

“I realize that,” said Jim. “But they aren’t trainers.”

“True,” I said. “The way I see it, I think we should spend most of our time on Fast Lane. If we don’t do well in the Derby, we won’t even be around in a year or two to train those other horses.”

“Good point,” said Jim. “But I still want you to put in some good time with the other horses. We’ll work them out and identify the ones that are the real stars. I doubt all of them have what it takes. Let’s spend some time finding the diamond in the rough.”

“That’s a solid plan,” I said.

After finishing breakfast, we headed out to the stables. As much as I liked talking strategy, my real passion was working with the animals; that was the real reason I liked my job.

Over the next few weeks, the days took on much of the same structure. Early breakfasts and planning sessions, then out to the stables to work with the horses. We’d stop for a quick lunch around noon, and then head back out until dinner at seven o’clock. Then we’d spend a few more hours before quitting for the day around 9:00 or 10:00 PM. Only on rare occasions did we stay on later.

Things were progressing quite nicely. I’d work with Jim on Fast Lane in the mornings, then I’d turn my attention to the other horses in the afternoons. It was an intense schedule with very long days, but it worked out well. On Sundays we had the day off—although typically we’d still spend a few hours with the horses. In my first few months there, I never left the property once, not even on my day off. I liked it here; it was like its own little perfect world.

We had our weekly meeting with Don on Fridays at lunch. There was always a delicious spread of food, but also another dreaded PowerPoint presentation going over our progress. Despite Don’s appearance as an experienced ranch hand, he definitely had something of a businessman in him as well. I could see why Mr. Matheson had tasked him with keeping up with our performance updates.

Despite our initial reservations, meetings with Don went well. We were on track with our progress. It was an intense schedule, but we were keeping up with it. Don told us that both he and Mr. Matheson were very pleased with our work so far, and that it looked like this relationship would be a lucrative one for everyone involved.

That was good news. As long as they were happy with our work, that meant we had more discretion to train the horses how we pleased.

There was one other aspect of living on the ranch that I hadn’t much anticipated: all the attention I would be getting from the men that worked there. See, I was the only woman on the
entire
ranch. So naturally, for a group of sex-starved ranch hands, I was a sight for sore eyes.

But the crazy thing was I wasn’t used to this type of attention, so it kind of threw me for a loop. I’m on the bigger side, and by that I mean I’ve got curves for days. Voluptuous might even be an understatement. It was something I used to be ashamed of when I was much younger, but as I’d grown up I’d realized that there were plenty of men out there who could appreciate a curvy woman.

On the ranch, there were about ten of them.

I didn’t hate the attention or resent the men for giving it to me, but it became a bit tiresome after a while. I knew they were interested simply because I was the only woman around. Some of them were rather attractive in that rough, rugged way, but I knew that it would be a stupid career move to sleep with any of them. Simply put, it would be unprofessional. I wasn’t going to risk my job for some stupid fling.