Ride 'Em (A Giddyup Novel) (4 page)

Not to Jameson, though, who’d taken an all-or-nothing approach to every offer he’d made Logan, and who’d made it clear he would keep hammering away until Logan cracked. And he wouldn’t lease to anybody who worked for Jameson, no matter how perky her boobs were, no matter how rounded her ass. No matter how bright a toothpaste-commercial smile she flashed his way. No matter how sweetly she wrapped her plush, curvy lips around his—

“ ’Bout ready for dinner, sir?”

Robert’s entrance broke Logan’s train of thought and deflated his unfortunate response to the unexpectedly vivid image he’d been conjuring.

“Sure, let’s get it set out. And remember, cool it with the ‘sir.’ This isn’t the club or a leather household. ‘Boss’ will do just fine.”

Robert grinned and fluttered his startlingly long lashes. “I’ll do my best . . . boss. But old habits, and all that.”

“Consider it an order.”

“Ooh, hot. I always did yearn for you to give me orders, s—boss.”

Robert knew he wasn’t Logan’s type, but Logan didn’t mind the teasing. His Domly ego enjoyed a little unrequited adulation now and then, regardless of the source. If only Robert’s demure eyelash-flickering didn’t recall an almost identical look from a certain strawberry-haired princess earlier.

Logan grimaced and adjusted his jeans once the cook’s back was turned. He couldn’t seem to help himself where Mindy Valek was concerned. Even after all these years, just thinking about her still gave him an almost instant boner. It had been horrific in high school, the stealthy dance of arousal and secrecy he and so many other guys played in the halls and under their desks, particularly on game days when the cheerleaders wore their uniforms to class. Oh, the lurid classroom-set spanking fantasies of his high school days! He had more control now, but not nearly as much as he’d thought.

Logan helped lay out the settings on the long farmhouse table that had been in the dining room since the early days of his grandparents’ marriage. The guests started to arrive, and he put his raconteur smile back on for the duration. Each
flap
and
clap
of the front screen door opening and closing drew Logan’s eyes to the end of the dining room. When he realized he was waiting for Mindy to arrive, he forced her out of his mind and focused on the business at hand. He had a whole week to address that
other
business. And address it he most certainly would.

S
he hadn’t anticipated a roommate.

Apparently the spider hadn’t anticipated Mindy, either. It had retreated to the corner of its enormous web when Mindy breezed into the cabin, and now they were simply staring at each other, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

Or at least Mindy thought the spider was staring at her. It was hard to tell with spiders. Even one as big as this one.

It was an orb weaver, she knew that much. Its web spanned one corner of the bedroom ceiling in an elegant sweep, looking for all the world like a Halloween decoration. The spider looked like one, too. It was nearly as big as her hand, with striking black markings on its leg joints. There were already a few mosquitos trapped in the web.

“Where’s a broom when you need one? Or a vacuum cleaner?”

The spider didn’t answer. Mindy pulled out her phone and found just enough signal to search the internet. Yes, it was an orb weaver. No, it wasn’t likely to bite her. It would probably just stay in its web over in the far corner, gorging itself on mosquitos, which would then not have the opportunity to suck her blood.

“Okay,” she conceded. “You can stay. But only because I don’t have a good way to kill you without you falling down on my head. And only because you didn’t build the damn web right over the bed. Smart spider.”

Aside from the unexpected additional occupant, the cabin was nicer than she’d expected. Rustic log walls appeared worse for the wear outside, but were smoothed and nicely weatherproofed inside. It wasn’t quite hot enough yet to make the window unit air conditioner a necessity, but at least there was one. The mattress on the queen-size bed was nicely made, the bed linens fine hotel quality. All the rough-hewn log furniture was meticulously cleaned and dusted, and the few accent pieces in the room were charming. A vase from a local pottery, a pair of watercolors of San Antonio landmarks. Even the towels in the tiny bathroom were thick and soft, and there was a basket of toiletries on the counter, also from local companies.

All in all, it seemed like a lovely place to spend a week of vacation. In other circumstances she thought she’d really enjoy it. She unpacked her things, laid her cosmetics out in the bathroom, and reminded herself that the trip was an investment in her future career.

She’d intended to head for the main house for dinner after she’d unpacked, but once outside the cabin, her feet took her back to the stable. A few solar lights were staked around, and she hoped they’d be enough to help her navigate back to the cabin once full dark fell. She was hungry after the afternoon’s exercise, the long drive—the general stress of the day. For the moment, though, she was more in need of another taste of the stable’s comfort: the familiar, hazy smell of horse and hay and . . . home.

Poppy accepted the handful of sweet feed Mindy grabbed from a bin near the main door. The horse’s long, elegant face was shadowed, nearly black in the gathering gloom. Mindy wondered if lights for the stable were on the to-do list, or if Logan planned to keep things as dark as possible. A break, for his guests, from the light pollution of Texas’s cities and seemingly endless suburbs.

“Come for the horseback riding, stay for the view of the Milky Way,” she murmured to Poppy. Her voice sounded harsh and out of place against the almost-disquieting stillness, and a prickling sensation ran up her spine, prompting her to glance over her shoulder in age-old instinct. Nobody was there. Just more horses, neatly stabled, innocently browsing for scraps in their feed bins.

It’s quiet. Too quiet
.

She thought about every horror movie she’d ever seen, and recognized that if she were in one of them, this would be the scene where the insane killer ambushed her in the barn with a pitchfork.

Across the aisle, one of the horses snorted and twitched at a fly, the stamp and swish filling the dead air in a comforting way. Mindy shook her head at her own foolishness, and proceeded into Poppy’s stall with a curry comb. As she passed the bristles over the dark hair, Mindy mused on the power of guilt to mess with a person’s mind.

Poppy seemed indifferent to the grooming, but it eased Mindy’s mind to do the simple, repetitive task. When the horse grew more restive, Mindy gave her neck a final pat and slipped back out of the stall, moving down the row to the tack room, where she’d put up her saddle and bridle earlier under Lamar’s watchful eye. The saddle had been as dusty as the horse, and she’d noticed at the time it could use a polish. Now she started poking around the supply shelf for some oil and a rag.

It was ridiculous for her to be there at all, more ridiculous still for her to be wasting time and energy on menial tasks that Logan probably already paid somebody to do. If she were thinking with her head instead of what was in her pants, she would be gone by now. No good could come of any further talks between her and Logan, not once he talked to Lamar. Although she’d be sure to apologize for not being honest with him from the start, the very next time she saw him.

The very next time—

“Mindy.”

She jumped with a shriek, whirling to face the serial killer at the door, bracing for the pitchfork attack.

It was Logan. He didn’t have a pitchfork, but Mindy wasn’t completely reassured. Some instinct made her back up at the look on his face. Not scowling, not frowning, but she could still read anger there. Anger and more. She took another step back and found herself with nowhere left to go. Her back pressed firmly against the wall between the supply shelf and the bridle rack. She tried to look like she was just leaning there casually.

“You weren’t hungry?”

It took her a second to process the question. She’d been expecting an accusation. But his voice was soft, cool. He stalked toward her, trailing his fingers along the neat row of bridles, toying with the reins.

“I wasn’t in the mood for conversation. And actually I was just leaving. I wanted to head back to my cabin. It’s getting a little chilly. Maybe time for a jacket.”

“Yeah, there’s a chill, all right.” He stopped directly in front of her, still holding a rein from the closest bridle in one hand. “And I’m sure it’s hard to chitchat when you’re working on keeping your story straight.”

The look in his eyes wasn’t just anger, it was betrayal, and that could only mean one thing. “You had a chitchat with Lamar?”

Logan smiled, but not in a nice way. She tried to smile back but failed, because she felt too sick to manage. Eyeing the tack room door wistfully, she wondered whether she had a chance at making a break for it, literally running away from her problems. Getting into her car and disappearing into the night.

“An enlightening talk, one might say.” He took one of her hands in his and, before she could protest, wrapped her wrist snugly with the end of the rein and tucked in the tail to secure the loops against her skin. The well-used leather tied well enough to hold her, and the bridle was on a high hook. She couldn’t reach it, and couldn’t jerk it down without damaging it. The disconnect between this setting and the one where she was usually tied up was beyond unsettling. Her heart pounded, and instead of the outrage she knew she ought to feel, she felt a delicious slide of arousal low in her belly.

“Hey. Um, okay. Wh—whatcha doing?”

Logan caught her other wrist up in a halter lead he’d snatched from one of the nearby hooks. It didn’t hold quite as tight as the rein on the other side, but once he’d looped it around the shelf bracket by her shoulder, it did well enough. He’d roped and tied her as quickly and efficiently as an errant calf he needed to brand, albeit with leather and nylon instead of a lasso. His shirtsleeves were rolled back, revealing muscular forearms that flexed as he secured her. Mindy’s mind, primed for kink, offered an image of Logan hog-tying her.
Not helpful
.

“You had a look in your eye like you were fixing to bolt. I’m just making sure you stay put,” he explained, placing his hands on the wall just over her shoulders and leaning in until he was talking right next to her ear. “While we
chitchat
. Wouldn’t want you running off to your cabin for a jacket, or suddenly remembering a work phone call you had to make, or anything like that. Lamar is up at the house helping Robert out with cleanup, and everybody else has headed back to their cabins. Gives us some nice, uninterrupted private time.”

“Oh.” Her voice was a tiny, pathetic thing, which was about right considering how she felt. Miserable, mortified . . . weirdly and inappropriately turned on by Logan’s sudden shift from cowboy-next-door to dangerous outlaw. Every puff of his breath against her neck sent shivers down her spine. He could tie her to the railroad tracks and—
no, no, stop all that, Mindy, pull yourself together
.

“I’ll untie you if you tell me to, because otherwise I’d be breaking the law. But somehow I don’t think you’ll tell me to. Now, I’m going to ask you one more time, one
last
time. What brings you here, Miss Valek?”

She exhaled with an unintended whimper. “A sincere desire to get back in touch with my roots?”

“You’ll forgive me if I find that hard to believe.”

He pulled back just far enough to stare directly at her, his glare uncompromising. Mindy wasn’t physically intimidated. In fact, she was sure if she asked, he would untie her just as he’d said he would, and let her leave immediately. She was also sure if that happened, she would never see Logan again. That prospect already seemed unimaginable to her.

“I came here for work, because I knew my boss wanted your mineral rights. I was trying to prove myself to him. If I could bring back a deal, I’d have a shot at avoiding the next firing round, and maybe even doing some
real
work for the company.”

“
Dammit!
” He thumped the wall by her head with both hands, then sagged toward her, shoulders slumped. His posture telegraphed his disappointment.

“And I’m really, really sorry I wasn’t honest from the start,” she added. She was sorry about a lot of things. Miserable, in fact.

“So am I.”

“I had no right to come here and turn this week into one long hard sell. I was an idiot and a creep.”

“Yes, you were.”

Oh no. She was starting to cry. Big, fat tears, rolling down her face. She managed to wipe one eye then the other against her shoulders, then straightened to see Logan glaring at her with renewed fury.

“Cut that out.”

Her mouth curled into a rueful twist, and her forehead started to ache. “I’m not doing it on purpose.” It was something she’d had to train herself out of at work, something she usually only gave free rein to in the safety of a club or play party. And even then, only occasionally. The freedom to weep when challenged by authority figures. It was the impromptu bondage, she thought—crossing her signals, opening the floodgates during what should have been a purely businesslike conversation.

“Jesus. You’re manipulative to the bone, aren’t you?”

“No,” she insisted. “No! I’m not manipulative at all—that’s the
problem
.” The truth of this stunned her into a momentary silence. She mulled over the words as she snuffled back more tears. “I’m sorry, sir—um. Sorry, Logan.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.
God
.”

Her wires were hopelessly crossed. She knew she ought to ask him to untie her—hell, or work her hands free on her own, she was pretty sure she could do that—and just
go
. But she couldn’t make herself do it.

Logan folded his arms and scowled for a few seconds, then cursed and reached for the roll of rough brown paper towels on the supply shelf. He ripped a length off with unnecessary force and dabbed at Mindy’s face, then held a dry portion to her nose.

“Blow,” he ordered. After a moment, she complied. It didn’t matter what Logan thought of her anymore anyway. Her humiliation was complete.

“Explain how you’re not being manipulative.” He tossed the wadded paper towel into the trash can in the corner, then refolded his arms and stared her down, his legs braced wide like he was ready for a fight. “You come here under false pretenses, planning to sucker me into some deal for your own benefit. You sweet-talk me, let me think you like me, for God’s sake. Then when I call you out for lying to me, you start weeping like a hurt baby. How is any of that not an attempt to manipulate me?”

“I didn’t mean any of it like that. It sounds awful when you say it, but it wasn’t like that, Logan. I really
do
like it here. I—” The truth struck her the second before she said it. “I had pretty much given up on the deal. I was never gonna make it work anyway. And I
do
like you. I thought you liked me, and that was so great, and I hadn’t expected any of that. I knew if I tried to bring the lease up, all that would go away, and the week would be a total loss. The flirting part just made it worse.”

His scowl deepened. “I don’t flirt. Wait, so you’re saying my flirting was
bad
?”

“It was wonderful. But I hadn’t planned on doing that. Or on ...
meaning
it.”

“Then why ... what did you come here expecting, Mindy? If not this, then what did you think you were going to find?”

She shrugged, as best she could within the limitations of the restraints, and felt embarrassed all over again. But she wouldn’t compound her problems by adding more deceit to the mix. He deserved the truth. “Some pathetic, balding drugstore cowboy who’d spent his whole life in his hometown because he had to, not because he wanted to. Someone who never got out, and might be impressed by me pretending like I was something. And yes, I thought I might flirt a little if I needed to. But I would
never
have gone any further with it. Never.”

“I would’ve.”