Ride 'Em (A Giddyup Novel) (6 page)

Logan seemed quieter now, more aloof than angry, and she felt his eyes on her as she led the way down the hall to the back of the house where the kitchen was located. She could hear movement elsewhere in the house, the sound of somebody typing, a television or something with the sound down low. But the kitchen was empty, only one industrial-style fixture over the giant farmhouse sink illuminating the space. The long butcher-block island was spotless, the stainless counters shone dully from the shadows, all the dishes were neatly stowed on shelves.

“If the kitchen’s closed, I can—”

“You need to eat.” He put a hand on her hip and gently nudged her from the doorway, then reached for the light switch, turning on the under-cabinet lights. “Ham, salami, or turkey?”

He washed his hands before retrieving ingredients from the big commercial fridge, shooting options at her the whole time. Ham on rye, no cheese, no tomato. Mayo, mustard. Lettuce, sure, why not? Yes to onions, because they were kind of a statement that she didn’t expect any further kissing to happen.

When all the components were out on the counter, he pulled down two plates and gestured to her, clearly expecting her to take over.

“Oh, you want me to . . . um, sure. Just let me . . .” Late to the party, she washed her hands, then turned to the task of assembling both her own sandwich and a second one for Logan. She was nearly done by the time she realized she was actually
making him a sandwich
, not really what she’d planned for the evening. He’d already eaten dinner, presumably. But then he was a big guy—tall, rangy— and probably ripped through calories at a furious pace. Dude was probably hungry all the time.

He watched her as she worked, and he
looked
hungry, to the extent she could bring herself to watch him back. Something about his face—the stern expression, probably—made her look down automatically, made her
bow her head
. If he hadn’t tied her up earlier, she might never have drawn the connection, but now she was thinking of him like a Dom,
dammit
, and she couldn’t get her body to stop responding accordingly.

That didn’t mean she was okay with him tricking her into making him a sandwich, though. When she was done, she slid him the plate with a frown. “Mild coercion on rye, side of gender stereotype.”

“My favorite.” He picked up the sandwich, not bothering to hide his grin. “Right outside that door is a whole world of consent, and nobody is stopping you.” He took a huge bite and munched, still smiling.

She wished she could lose her appetite and stalk out, but it was far too late for that. She tucked into her own sandwich and suppressed a moan. It was really good ham, and the onions were the sweet kind. Heaven. As she chewed, she pondered what he’d said, the fact that he’d responded to the coercion charge by countering with consent.
Interesting
.

It wouldn’t actually be so hard, would it, to find out whether he was kinky? Just drop a few key words and see if he picked up on it?
If I say “safe,” you
say . . .

But did she really want to know? Would that make things better or infinitely worse?

There he stood, leaning on the island, sexy even while taking a far-too-large bite from his rapidly dwindling sandwich. The only safe part about him was her assumption that he was as vanilla as a cream soda. Without that . . .

A gentle throat-clearing broke the silence; Robert was leaning into the kitchen from the hallway, his feet still beyond the door frame.

“May I come in, sir?”

“
Robert
.”

“Boss.”

“Yes. Come on in.”

Robert floated past, clearing the plate from in front of Logan and then swinging by to pick up hers before carrying both to the sink. Startled, she realized she’d finished her sandwich. She glanced at Logan, who was biting the side of his cheek and studiously staring up at the central light fixture.

And . . . that was that, then.
Sir
. And permission. And if she hadn’t been there, she’d be willing to lay odds Robert would’ve engaged in a lot more protocol than that. Logan might be a subtle Dom, if he was one, but Robert was far from a subtle bottom. He had a rainbow key fob latched to his right-hand belt loop, and wore a thick metal choker-length necklace she’d assumed from the start was a street collar.

That in itself hadn’t meant much, because it wouldn’t have flagged him to anyone not already kinky. But the fact that Logan had corrected his “sir,” that he had tied her up for what should have been a business conversation, had been so quick with an assurance about consent . . . too much smoke for there not to be a fire.

And Lord, was there ever fire. She would probably regret confirming his status, because she would out herself in the process, and it would give him a certain amount of power over her if he was unscrupulous. On the other hand . . . so far, she’d been the unscrupulous one. So maybe by doing this, she would right the balance. Gripping the edge of the island, she exhaled, centering herself, then spoke softly.

“If I say ‘
safe
,’ you say . . . ?”

At the sink, Robert started whistling. The bridge from a certain Rihanna song. Of course. Had she just been willfully blind this whole time?

Logan sighed, shooting a glare over his shoulder at his employee before leveling his gaze at Mindy. She made herself return it without flinching. She wasn’t
his
sub.

Finally, after sighing again in clear exasperation, Logan answered. “I say, ‘risk-aware.’ And I also say it’s time for you to go back to your cabin. You’ll want to rest up for tomorrow.”

Fair enough. She was trembling so hard she was afraid she’d lose the sandwich if she stayed, anyway. “Can I have a Coke to go?”

Little muscles all over Logan’s jawline tightened, and his eyes narrowed. “No. You may have a water bottle to go. The cooler’s right behind you.”

She’d known that. What she didn’t know was why she’d asked permission for a Coke.

Liar, liar, pants on fire
.

She pulled up the lid, knowing she could take whatever she wanted out of the cooler. Knowing, too, that she would only take a water bottle.

Retrieving her flashlight from the island, she headed for the back door this time. Logan moved behind her, picking up condiments to return to the fridge. Clearing all evidence of their bizarre, revelatory sandwich feast.

Maybe he’d just wanted to be fueled up for the big day tomorrow, whatever that entailed. Funny, she didn’t recall anything particular on the schedule. Why should she need to rest up?

With one hand on the knob, she turned to ask him about it. He was stopped next to the fridge, his eyes trained where her ass had been a moment before. Not just looking at it like he appreciated it—looking at it like he owned it.

It should have been awkward. In any normal social context, it would have been. Except he made eye contact, with that stern look back on his face, and made a little pirouette gesture with his hand. Then dropped his eyes again, clearly waiting for her to turn around for him to ogle some more.

The real decision point hadn’t been the Coke after all. It was this. Her blood rang in her ears, and she was barely aware of Robert’s whistling as he flipped the damp dish towel over his shoulder and sauntered out of the kitchen.

Should she turn around, yank the door open, stalk off in a huff like she undoubtedly
should
? Or . . .

She pivoted slowly on one foot, placed her free hand on the doorknob. . . and stopped.

Logan took a step closer, and she could almost feel the heat of his body, his gaze. Long seconds ticked by. Sweat from the water bottle dripped down Mindy’s wrist, dampening the flashlight, as well, making it hard to keep a grip on both. Would he touch her?

“Back around.”

She hadn’t ever thought of herself as having an inspection kink. But when she turned around, Logan kept staring, and this time she knew he wasn’t waiting to check out her ass. His eyes were trained on her pussy, pulling a flush from her. She wasn’t wet enough for it to show through her jeans, but it felt that way, an instant surge of crazy hormonal activity as her body responded to his attention. By the time his eyes lifted up to the level of her chest, her nipples were hard, clearly visible through her bra and T-shirt. Nowhere to hide. She dropped her gaze to the floor at last, unable to resist the internal pressure.

She might as well have been naked, he’d undressed her with his eyes so effectively. Naked would have felt more comfortable, in a way. More anonymous. Naked, in a club, with black-painted walls and a dungeon master standing nearby in an orange safety vest. This interaction in a kitchen, fully clothed, with a guy she’d known since high school, felt . . .

Filthy
.

Perfect
.

“Did you have something else you wanted to ask me, Mindy?”

Did she? It had been burned from her consciousness, if so. He’d looked at her for a few seconds and turned her into a column of pure, pent-up need. There was nothing else but that. She shook her head. “I . . . no.”

“No . . . ?”

She exhaled, not quite a laugh, but the whole thing seemed so surreal she couldn’t help herself. Still, there was no way she could
not
say it. She could at least meet his eyes when she did, though. They both knew what her answer meant. She forced her eyes back up. Logan held her gaze and lifted an eyebrow, and Mindy felt a blush spread from her chest to her cheeks. “No,
sir
.”

He nodded, a smile turning his lips up for a second, and with an almost sickening jolt, Mindy recognized a rush of pride, a sense of accomplishment. For having pleased him in some way.
Oh, I am so fucked
.

“Well, I guess that pretty much answers any remaining questions I had, too.” Then he turned away, clearly dismissing her even before he spoke again. “Good night, Mindy.”

She’d been asking herself that all day, while eating history’s most awkward breakfast with the rest of the guests and a host with whom she could not make eye contact. While smiling to cover her moment of
Whaaaaat . . .
when Logan had cheerfully announced to the group that his “old friend” Mindy would be helping the staff out for the week, so the other guests should feel free to rely on her. While hauling saddle after saddle from the tack room, and doing whatever else Lamar could foist off, including “shadowing” Thelma Gordon on the trail ride just in case she fell off the plodding, amiable gelding Lamar had assigned her.

Not that there was much danger. Logan had led the pack of guests up what the brochure called the “Low Trail,” and Logan and his brother, Ethan, called the “Bunny Slope.” Wide enough to accommodate a truck, neatly groomed, so even Mindy thought she could have Rollerbladed along it except for the gentle rise.

The greatest hazard was the risk that one of the placid trail horses would decide to stop for a graze, or be startled by a darting rabbit or lizard. That didn’t happen. And despite a few close calls, Thelma didn’t fall off.

The ride itself wasn’t exactly a hardship. The weather was behaving, staying in the sunny low eighties, and the views from up in the hills were spectacular. Lush vistas of wildflowers and granite, the soothing jostle of the horses, the unaccustomed exercise. The outside world slipped away, replaced with beauty and simplicity and the need to be physically present and alert to the now. It was almost better than a night at the club.

Almost
.

By the time they made the two-hour-long loop and returned the horses to Lamar at the stable, Mindy realized there was another similarity to a night at the club: Her ass was sore. But her dream of a long soak in her cabin’s cute claw-foot tub was thwarted by Thelma Gordon and her husband, Floyd.

“Mindy, Mr. Hill said they have some maps back at the big house, and you’d be the person to ask about where to go shopping in town.”

Logan, who was just dismounting behind the charming couple, shot a shit-eating grin her way. “Maps are on the sideboard in the entryway. You remember where, right, Mindy?”

Bastard
.

The Gordons were waiting for a response.

“I’d be happy to help. Were you interested in souvenirs, or maybe antiquing, or . . . ?”

“No souvenirs.” Floyd tugged his hat further down on his forehead with a look of determination.

Thelma patted his upper arm. “Maybe just something for the grandkids. Let’s look at what they have down there.”

Half an hour later—armed with more knowledge about the Gordons’ grandchildren than she could have ever asked for, and having described the relative merits of just about every business establishment she could remember in town—Mindy escaped the main house and the delightful Gordons, only to run smack into Ethan. Logan’s little brother had arrived early that morning with a loaded horse trailer and a lot of enthusiasm. Mindy thought the ranch could use the infusion of knowledge and energy, but she was leery when he turned the slightly manic gleam in his eyes her way.

“Hey, just the person I was looking for!”

Her heart sank. The long soak in the bath was never to be. “Oh?”

“Yeah, Logan said you’d offered to help with the fire pit. The rocks just got delivered. If we get it all set up this afternoon, there should be plenty of time for the cement to cure, and we can have some campfire time before the end of the week.”

He grinned, clearly not expecting “no” for an answer. Mindy stifled a groan. “Campfire time? Awesome! Can we toast marshmallows?”

Ethan leaned forward and winked. “And sing songs, Mindy.
Cowboy songs
. Diego plays the git-tar. It’s gonna be so great.”

She nodded. “Yippee-kai-yay.”

He nodded right back. “Motherfucker.”

They held it for a second, then lost it, cracking up, holding each other for support until they laughed themselves out. Finally Ethan pushed away and shrugged. “He’s roped us both into it, he has his ways. But the only solution is to have some fun with it, am I right? I plan to write all kinds of stuff in the mortar layers and bake my opinion right into the damn thing.”

That thought cheered her tremendously. She followed him toward the soon-to-be fire pit area with a lighter heart. “It’ll make the marshmallows taste that much sweeter.”

So with some borrowed work gloves and a lot of elbow grease, she spent the rest of the afternoon helping to haul fire-safe bricks and rocks from the parking lot to the level spot near the cabin trailhead.

Not the saddle-soreness cure she had desired. But almost certainly better for her character.

Mindy hated things that were good for her character. But she was a sucker for feeling useful. These two traits often collided with exhausting results.

The worst part—sort of—was knowing Logan was watching her. Judging her. She hated him for it, but she hated herself a lot more for the circumstances leading up to it. She wanted to make up for what she’d done. Every rock she carried, staggering, to the rapidly growing circular pit, felt like a weight lifted from her shoulders. As the afternoon progressed, she felt Logan’s attention shift from glowering disapproval to grudging admiration, and it restored a piece of her soul. Lamar was slower to come around, but even he was less gruff by late afternoon.

Manual labor and domestic discipline were not kinks of Mindy’s, but that day she understood the appeal. Do a bad, make a good. Right the balance.

It was still no fun when she dumped off what she thought was her last paving stone and Logan pointed back to the parking lot with his mortar-slathered trowel. “Two more.”

The fire pit area had been leveled and covered in landscape fabric a few weeks earlier, when Lamar and Diego had poured the concrete base for the pit. Wide stone benches surrounded it—pulled, Ethan explained, from the overgrown garden behind the main house. Restoring
that
was a project for another time, apparently.

When Mindy made her
actual
last heavily laden trudge from the parking lot, Lamar and Diego had left the fire pit. Robert had departed long since to start on dinner. The sun was lowering, and Mindy was starving. She collapsed on one of the benches and watched Ethan and Logan mortar the final two capstones into place.

Ethan slapped his trowel down next to the mortar bucket with a weak but triumphant “Yaaaay.” Then he slumped dramatically backward, sprawling on the landscape fabric.

“Gotta finish cleaning up.” Logan poked his leg with his toe. “C’mon, man.”

Ethan lifted his head only enough to shake it. “Fuck that. I’m taking a break. Or joining a stronger union.”

“Ugh. Mindy.” Logan gestured toward the trowel, then glanced at his brother. He seemed to be taking a moment to evaluate his approach before he looked back at her. “Will you please take that and rinse it off before it’s ruined? There’s a faucet and hose on the front side of the house to the right of the stairs behind the bushes.”

She knew she should just do it. Part of the penance. But he’d asked so politely instead of just telling her, because he hadn’t wanted to order her around in front of Ethan. It left her an opening she couldn’t resist. “Naaaah. I think I’m about done here, if you don’t mind. That last trip from the parking lot wiped me out. Gonna sit for a few minutes and chill until Robert rings the dinner bell.”

“Ohhhh,” Ethan said from the ground, “there’s
subtext
. So much subtext. You two, seriously. Hey, Mindy, I hear you’re working as a landman now? How’s that going for you?”

Sigh
. “Oh, it’s awesome. How’s that whole vet thing?”

“Stellar. Gets me all the chicks.”

As one, Logan and Mindy said, “Gross, dude.” They glanced at each other and then away again, quickly.

Ethan lifted his head, stared at them each in turn, then lowered it again, lacing his hands behind his neck. “Speaking of gross, or actually of being officially
not
gross . . . bro, did you finally get that Health-vana problem sorted out?”

Logan coughed. Mindy’s ears pricked. She had a current clean bill of health on the app herself. Did Logan have an unpleasant secret?

He blushed—or it might have been the result of too much afternoon sun and labor. “Ethan. Not okay. Boundaries.”

“What? Health is important.”

“We’re with somebody I know in a . . . professional context. That isn’t . . . you don’t just . . . no. I mean, yes, I got it sorted out. But you don’t go implying . . . I mean, now I have to—”

“I don’t need to know,” Mindy hastened to reassure him. “No big deal.”

“It’s this app where you can—”

“I know, I know. I have it. Because, you know, a lot of play parti—private clubs, they . . . aw, fuck.” Private sex clubs. Really professional topic of conversation. For super-professional grown-ups. She might as well have strolled through the barnyard in nothing but a corset and heels.

Ethan propped himself on his elbows, grinning. “Oh, do go on.”

She shot him a look. “You’re a terrible human being. You didn’t
seem
this terrible growing up. I have negatives all the way down. So there.”

“I do,
too
,” Logan said. “I had a password issue with my clinic. My results weren’t getting updated. My brother”—he gave Ethan more than just a toe-nudge—“is just being a dick. He needs to learn to exercise some damn restraint.”

Ethan shrugged, then eased his long, lean body up from the ground with unexpected grace. “I could teach you a thing or two about restraint, as you well know.” He didn’t seem sorry at all. In fact, he started whistling as he picked up the trowel and sauntered off toward the front of the house.

Mindy was so used to a situation where her face was on fire and others were calm. It was intriguing to see Logan—toppy, confident Logan—navigate that particular set of feelings. On the whole, she didn’t like it. It didn’t feel like justice at all.

She nodded in Ethan’s direction. “Gee, he seems nice.”

Logan rolled his eyes and shook his head. “He’s fine. He can be a jerk sometimes, but he doesn’t mean any harm by it. Mostly he just thinks he knows best about people and feelings and he wants it to all be out in the open. Thinks that’s easier.”

“He’s not necessarily wrong.”
But
. “Did he think we have something going on that needs to be out in the open?”

He chuckled sheepishly and took his hat off, rubbing his hand over his hair. “Uh, maybe? I might have . . . expressed some frustration in a way that led him to believe that was a possibility. Not on purpose, he just picks up on stuff. He always has. And once he found out I was kinky, too, it only got worse.”

“Too? Oh . . . the restraint thing. I get it.” Kinksters everywhere. First Logan and Robert, now Ethan. It was turning out to be quite the kinky dude ranch.

“He’s really good with ropes. If you ever know anyone who likes to be tied up, he really seems to know his stuff.” He flipped his hat a few times with his fingertips, then popped it back onto his head.

“Okay, he’s your brother, though,” she pointed out, “so this is kind of a weird area.”

“For you and me both. You have no idea. He’s really not great at boundaries.”

Mindy recalled Ethan as a brilliant student, but one of those kids who always seemed to contain too much energy for the space they occupied. She didn’t know if it was hyperactivity or what, but he’d always been either literally bouncing off the walls, or so absorbed in a project that he tuned everything else out. His Future Farmers of America animals always won prizes, though—his name was often on the school marquee for that, or in the local paper—so she wasn’t surprised he’d become a vet.

Logan had his phone out, scrolling, frowning at the screen. After a second he realized she was looking at him, and he started to put it away then shrugged and turned the screen toward her. “For what it’s worth.”

A series of minus signs. He was indeed as disease-free as the app could prove. After a second of consideration she pulled her phone from her pocket, pulled the app up, and let him see her results. Why, she wasn’t sure. Because they weren’t angling to sleep with each other or anything. That would be wildly inappropriate. But it was good to know they’d both been telling the truth.

“He’s not wrong,” she repeated as she put her phone away. “It is better to have things out in the open.”

Logan seemed to consider it a second, then nodded. “Right now, I think it’s time to be open about being hungry as fuck, and head in to dinner.”

She smiled. “I’ll be open about needing some Tylenol and a hot bath. I’m beyond saddle-sore. It’s so tragic.”

“Been too long?”

“Waaaayyy too long.”

“Now you’re just teasing.” He chuckled and gestured for her to lead the way up to the main house.

She had been teasing—she didn’t seem able to help herself. And she had been open about the saddle-soreness, but she felt like she was being secretive about everything that mattered most.

* * *

So much jerking off
. Logan was considering writing a little song about it, something he could sing to himself like a mantra to calm the insanity.

Once last night, shortly after the guests were tucked in for the evening. He’d made a beeline for his room and the private sanctity of his bathroom, and it was just lucky for him Robert had turned out the lights and locked up. Then a nearly wet dream around two in the morning. He’d woken before the critical moment, thought,
Fuck it
, and finished things off with his hand and a crystal-clear image of that whole scene in the kitchen—only with Mindy naked, her perky butt crosshatched with red from a switching.