Spanking Her Highness (2 page)

"My bass pond is nearly done and I can't fill it affordably without that water from the river. Journey's End is between me and it. I'm offering a fair deal, even a generous deal. Why won't your father see me?"

"Hell if I know."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I mean… I dunno. He's a stubborn guy, though, so if he says he doesn't want to see you, he means it."

"But your brother Ace can do the deal?"

She nodded. "Yeah. He's got full authority, same as my Daddy."

"Okay." He opened the door for her. "I'll be back in two days."

That deflated her balloon a bit, but she tried not to let it show. "Yeah. Whatever."

He put a hand on her shoulder and half turned her toward him. "There's more on the Journey ranch I'd like to pursue, Queenie." She knew he meant her and that slickness on her panties called to her like a siren song. "But you need a break."

She didn't want a break. She wanted to spar with him some more…and she didn't. She didn't know what to say, so she set her jaw and frowned.

He grinned. "Cat got your tongue, I guess." Will's lips touched hers quickly, and then he released her and gestured for her to precede him out the door. Queenie nearly reached up and touched her lips, looking for the shadow of sensuality he left behind, but she caught herself and clenched her fists instead.

When they got back to the front porch, her dogs jumped all over him, wanting more treats, and he dug two more out of his pocket. Lucy and Ethel scampered away. Queenie had to give him credit, he came prepared.

"I'll see you in a couple of days, Ms. Journey."

"Don't let the screen door hit your…butt…on the way out."

He laughed and made his way to his jeep.

As she watched him roll down the driveway, she wondered what it might have felt like if he'd pursued a course with his fingers, slipping them under her thong.

Shaking her head at her own conflicted feelings, she gingerly sat back down on her chair in the sun and started to fiddle. It usually calmed her nerves, but that morning, it didn't quite work.

After a few minutes, her fury at Will Mazie growing rather than receding, she scraped her bow along the violin strings with an awful screech and put the instrument down. Near her sweet tea on the floor of the porch sat her cellphone, and she grabbed it.

If her Daddy wasn't going to fix the matter, she'd have to rely on her oldest brother, Ace, to do the job.

He answered in a few rings.

"Ace?" Her voice was breathless.

"Who else would it be, Queenie?"

"He spanked me!"

"What?"

"Will Mazie fuckin' spanked me!"

Ace was patient as she told him what happened, but he wasn't particularly sympathetic.

"Did you talk to Dad about this?"

"I told him that Will had threatened me with a spankin' a few days ago, and he just shook his head and told me to mind my manners.
Me
mind
my
manners!"

"But you didn't."

Ace wasn't being any help at all, and Queenie began to feel like she was on her own with this problem. "Hell no! Who does he think he is? Tellin' me to watch my language!"

"Well, Q, your language
could
use a li'l cleanin' up."

"Goddamn it, Ace! Are you on my side or his?"

There was a pause. "I guess I'd have to meet him first before I answered that question."

"Traitor!" Queenie was suddenly deflated. There was no help from her family where Mazie's behavior was concerned. So long as things stayed at the level of spankings, they all seemed to be in collusion.  "When the fuck are you gettin' home? I need your help here."

"The business deal is done--no go. But I have somethin' else I'm workin' on. I'll need another week to wrap it up."

"A week! My rear is gonna be black 'n blue by a week from now."

"Maybe y'all should try removin' some of the more colorful words from your vocabulary, sis."

"Piss-head."

"Maybe not. Anyway, there's a woman, Q. I'm gonna marry her and—"

"You're gettin' married? Holy shit, Ace. Daddy is gonna be dancin' a jig."

He chuckled and it was mighty nice to feel a smile on her own face in response. "Yeah, I know."

"What's her name?"

"Gabriella Appleby."

"Gabri—hey! Isn't that the girl who tried to blackmail Trey's wife?"

"Er… She's grown up a bit since then."

Although Queenie hadn't been involved in the situation, she knew that her little brother, Trey, had had to do some fast work to get his sweetheart out of the frying pan. They'd got it straightened out, and Gabriella had been punished with a harsh spanking delivered by Ace. That ended the problem, but it had been strange to have her at Trey and Liv's wedding. The young woman hadn't hung around for the reception, or Queenie would have grilled her for more details.

Something had happened between Gabriella and Ace, though. Some spark had been ignited. Apparently, it was leading to the altar.

"I guess New Jersey isn't the armpit of the world like they say."

Ace laughed again. "No, Q, it ain't. Listen, I have to go. I want to get Gabby's movin' plans started. It's a logistics problem."

"'K. I'll deal with thin's 'till you can make it back."

"Thanks, li'l sis. Call me if you need me."

They rung off and Queenie sat quietly on the porch for a few minutes before picking up her fiddle again. The whole idea of Trey getting married and Ace so soon after made Queenie question her own situation.

She'd been married already, and it had ended badly in a divorce a year ago. She hadn't taken up with a man since then, and although she was getting to an age where starting a family was something she'd have to do soon or miss out altogether, she hadn't found a fellow who lit her fire.

Except on the butt, she thought with a flare of temper. Will Mazie had certainly gotten her attention.

She was attracted to him, but something about him just pissed her off. It was too confusing, and nothing like the way she'd felt for her ex before he'd screwed everything up by cheating on her.

Harry was a jackass, but he'd been
her
jackass for four of their five years. He was like a bad cold that wouldn't quite go away—you bought a lot more Kleenex. If the first year hadn't been so good, she'd have run for the hills a lot earlier.

Will was persistent, too, but, somehow, it was different. Welcome. Exciting. Totally confusing.

* * *

The screen door leading into his kitchen
did
slap him on the butt as he entered, and it made Will smile. Queenie was one helluva piece of work. And work she'd be. She was fierce and temperamental, and cussed like the studio laborers he'd worked with when he was first starting out. Her artistically dyed blonde hair was perky and attractive, and her figure was slender and sleek. Passion showed in her fiddling so strongly he could taste it, as with the kisses he'd stolen. The artistic talent she showed was impressive. And, even though she had that temper, it was obvious that she was smart, too. He wanted to pursue her, but his new ranch had to come first.

Will had hoped to ask Leo Journey a few questions about ranching, maybe throw a few of his ideas at the older man and find out if they were completely stupid from a rancher's perspective. He'd heard that Journey was one of the most successful men in the area and that the ranch had belonged to his family for several generations. Journey had grown up with ranching, and would definitely be the one to look to for advice—if he could manage to corner the man for a few minutes.

He needed that easement, too. His first project, after learning the names of the ranch hands and selecting a foreman, had been to start building a bass pond. He liked the idea of spending a few hours on a pond now and then, sinking a line in the water and pulling up a big, fresh fish for supper–nothing like Hollywood, where stress was the operating paradigm.

Which reminded him of the call he'd pushed to voicemail while talking to Queenie.

He tossed his keys into a box on the kitchen counter and pulled his phone out of his pocket. After punching a few icons, he got to his voicemail.

"Hey, Will. Jason Barnaby here. I'm in New York, meeting with a producer we both know. I have a deal I'd like to bounce off you. Mega-bucks, and it looks like it could be a sweet deal. Long-term, maybe. Gimme a ring."

Will sighed. Barnaby was a packager he'd dealt with in the past. He was, in fact, the one he'd agreed to work with on "Tim Crane, Private Dick," the adult cable TV show he'd been the lead screenwriter for over the last seven years. It had been a smash hit and proved to be very lucrative for everyone involved, including Jason Barnaby. It was no wonder he was coming back to Will for another kick at the can.

The idea was momentarily tempting. It would be so easy to move back to Hollywood and do what he knew how to do. He'd worked hard to make it in the business, and there was an inner tension that drove him to do more, make more money, be more famous. But, the fact was, if he husbanded it well, he didn't need more money, and fame was fickle. He wanted to build something tangible and long-lasting.

He'd always dreamed of owning a ranch, some cattle and horses, a big barn filled with hay. It was something he'd fantasized about since watching re-runs of "Bonanza" and "Big Valley" as a kid. Those old TV shows had been like favorite playmates on the days when his father worked long hours at the factory and Will was home with no one but his little brother Rob for company.

Over the last five years, Will had spent a chunk of time learning how to ride western saddle and take care of horses. He'd spent countless hours mucking out stalls while he took a kind of internship with a horse ranch in the San Fernando Valley during his precious spare time, but now he was proficient at the necessary tasks. Riding was a passion for him, so much so that he'd brought his favorite horse, Starlight, with him when he moved to Texas. Learning to breed horses successfully was next on his agenda, and he'd purchased a small herd of them with that in mind. Several were prime mares that were going to be dams to some mighty fine quarter horses.

Although his ranch didn't have a name yet, he was determined to put as much effort into it as he had his screenwriting career. He'd learn how to do it, and he'd do it well. The cynicism and pretentiousness of Hollywood had barely been tolerable while he'd been building his career, but eventually it wore his considerable patience too thin. He wanted out.

So much for Jason Barnaby. He typed out a text consisting of two words, "No thanks."

Arthur, Will's irascible cook and housekeeper, came into the kitchen as Will was putting his phone down. The black man with the white beard was difficult to get along with and complained constantly, but it was good-natured irritability, and he was excellent at his job. Will had been very lucky to have found him within a few weeks of taking residence at the ranch, because housekeeping and cooking were not his forte. Arthur was a Godsend.

"Chicken and dumplin's for dinner tonight, Will. And don't go arguin' with me. We can't have beef every night or you'll be swellin' up like an Easter hog."

Will grinned. "Yes, sir!"

"Hmph. You get Leo Journey to see you this time?"

"No. I don't know what I said or did to offend him, either."

"Leo's a good man. You be persistent and he'll come 'round."

"Oh, I'll be persistent." He wasn't thinking of Leo Journey, though.

Chapter 2

"Goddamn it, no, Harry!" The dogs were going wild, barking and jumping around frantically.

The man wheedled with a strong Tennessee drawl. "Come on, Queenie-baby. I've never steered you wrong before."

Queenie put down her fiddle and poked the fellow's chest with her finger. He flinched, so it must have been some poke. "No, no, and no! You've fucked me over before and I-" Her head swiveled as she saw Will approaching.  "-I won't let you do it again…d-darn you!"

Will couldn't help but smile at her sudden change from profanity to something equally angry but less ugly. He walked up to the pair and looked over the man. Both terriers immediately went to him, looking for treats. Of course, he didn't let them down.

Harry was scruffy, though not dirty. His hair was wild and yet it obviously had styling gel in it. He sported a soul patch beardette, and an earring in his left ear. A menthol-scented cigarette smoldered between his fingers. Will was a little taller, so he stared Harry down until the power hierarchy was understood between them.

"Queenie," he said, nodding and smiling at the perky blonde. "Who's your friend?"

She was angry and it showed, but she did no more than huff her ire. "This is Harry Tatum, my ex-husband."

Will hadn't realized that she'd been married, but it appeared that there was no love lost between the two. "Ah." He offered his hand to Harry. "Will Mazie."

Harry's handshake was firm, and the big ring on one of his fingers dug into Will's hand. It was annoying, but that didn't make Will squeeze less hard.

Tatum started to say something, but Queenie interrupted. "Harry was just leavin'."

"I was not! You've got to listen to me!"

"You're not sayin' anythin' I want to hear, fu—fool!" She tilted her chin up and crossed her arms over her chest.

Will considered staying out of it, but what the hell. "What's this about?"

Harry eyed him, sizing him up. Wide pupils in his light eyes, despite the morning sunshine, suggested that Harry was not entirely sober. It made Will a little more wary. "I have a business proposition for Queenie. I doubt you'd be int'rested."

"Try me."

There was a pause as Harry took the last puff of his cigarette then stubbed the butt out with the toe of his dusty boot. Finally, he jumped in, talking fast as a used car salesman. "There's this great UFC fighter named Thunder McCleary. He's a light heavyweight with a shot at the world title but needs sponsors to pay for his expenses. It's a brilliant investment! He's sure to take the championship. He's fantastic! I've seen him fight and no one could beat him. He's won his last six bouts with hardly a contest. They want to pit him against the champ, Jorge Rodriguez, next, and it's practically a sure thin'. I think Queenie should invest in this guy. I'm goin' to do it, but it won't be enough."

"Thunder McCleary…" It was a foolish name, but then fighters often had names that were supposed to be intimidating. Will had never heard of him, but he had heard of the Ultimate Fighting Championship's Jorge Rodriguez and knew the man was hugely successful. He looked over at Queenie, who was still fuming. "It's your money, honey. It wouldn't be my choice of investments, though."

Anger made Harry shout. "Hey! You don't know a goddamn thin', mister! This is a great investment. I have it on good authority." He gave Will a shove in the shoulder.

Will gave Harry a shove back and shot him a Clint Eastwood stare. The other man backed down, lowering his eyes.

"Maybe you should go, Harry," Will told him.

"Goddamn it, goddamn it!" the other man muttered, practically spitting. He looked daggers at both Queenie and Will. "I'm tellin' you, this is worth doin'. If you're too stupid to go for it, it's your loss."

"Get the hell away from me, Harry. I told you to leave me alone the last time you had one of these crazy ideas. I meant it."

Harry pushed dark hair off his forehead. "I'll call you later."

"Don't bother!"

"You will take my calls, bitch!"

Will stepped between Queenie and her ex. "It's definitely time for you to leave, Harry. Do I make myself clear?"

Harry turned to leave, but paused to look over his shoulder at Queenie. "We're not done with this."

"Oh yes we are," Will told him.

"Go to hell, Harry," Queenie added.

Harry stomped away, got into his economy sedan and drove away from the ranch. Will watched him go then turned to Queenie.

"Nice guy."

She visibly relaxed. "Yeah, well, there's a reason he's my ex."

"He looked hopped up on something."

"He just got out of rehab, so probably not. I don't much care. He's a pain in the ass." She sighed. "It's not like he's a complete fu…uh…screw-up. He's a helluva guitarist, when he focuses. He's a primary reason why Wild Horse Wilderness has been successful over the years. And, the drug problem is relatively new. He was different when I first met him. Funny and intelligent. But then he chea- uh, changed, and I finally had to leave. He quit the group and has been tryin' to make it on his own."

Will put his hand on Queenie's shoulder and ran it up to cup her cheek. "Frustrating, huh?"

She nodded leaning toward him, then glared at him, pulling away. "I'm still mad at you. Are you here to see my father again?"

Smiling, he nodded. "Is he here?"

"He's on the property up north. He'll be gone a couple of days."

"Damn."

"Sorry," she said, but it sounded flippant.

Although he should have turned and left, Will stayed put. Queenie was pouting after her mad, and it was endearing. "You play the fiddle for your band?"

"Yeah."

He hoped for more, but she turned and walked back to the covered porch, picking up her violin. "Play something for me."

She looked over her shoulder at him. It was a little coy, and he grinned. Sighing, she sat down. Her dogs came over and lay at her feet. As she lifted the violin to her chin, she paused and scowled at him. "I only play country, Celtic and classical. I don't like any of that air puddin'  sh-shinola."

Will walked over to the porch and put a foot on the step, leaning toward her. "I don't care. Play whatever you're in the mood for."

"Hmph." Her eyes closed as she began to play. It was a classical piece, and, although Will didn't know the composer, he recognized it as something he'd heard before. It sounded very 19
^th
century. She played it well and with feeling

"That's beautiful, Queenie."

"Mendelssohn," she said softly, her fingers tender on the strings. "It was a college requirement."

He stood and listened for a while, but she stopped playing after a few minutes, looking at him with dreamy eyes, as though transported by the music. There was that passion again. He'd like to have more of that directed toward him.
Patience.
He had to treat her like a skittish mare.

"I ought to go."

"Yeah," she said. "You ought to go."

Will studied her face for a moment, deciding to take the two steps up to the porch to lean over her. "I'd rather kiss you."

"How do you know I won't slap you again?" she whispered.

He put two fingers under her chin. "I'll take my chances." When their lips touched, Will sank into the sensation. It was like her music; kissing her made his blood surge. Subtle violet perfume teased his nose. As the seconds passed, he dueled with her tongue gently, then with more force, and she matched his ardor. Queenie's eyes opened slowly as he ended the kiss. "Are you going to slap me now?"

A frown lowered onto her brow, and she pushed him away. "Thank you for remindin' me about that spankin'. Now, go fu-I mean, buzz off!"

He straightened with a chuckle. She stood and headed toward the screen door. Will put his sunglasses back on, watching the gentle swell of her round butt as she walked away. "I'm buzzing, alright," he teased.

Her answer was a dirty look thrown over her shoulder and the screen door slamming behind her.

* * *

The sheriff was insistent. "He says you'll bail him out."

Queenie's ire rose. She was up to her ass in Boot Camp paperwork and had phone calls to return. How dare Harry put this on her! "He can rot in jail for all I care."

"Look, Queenie, I got two cells here. One has a broken lock. The other one has this Harry Tatum guy who says he's your husband and that you'll get him out. Hell, girl, I didn't even know you were married."

"I'm not! Not anymore, anyway." She considered her options. "Can't you let him loose on his own recognizance or somethin'?"

"He's high as a kite, Queenie. I can't let him out like this. As it is, I'm lettin' him off easy, 'cause he belongs to you."

"But he doesn't belong to me!" She sighed. Harry couldn't simply fade away. He had to constantly drag her into his crap. "Doesn't he get a phone call or somethin'? Maybe he could call his father or an attorney."

"He called his father already and got voicemail. You comin' to get him or not? You don't have to, but I'd consider it a favor."

There didn't seem to be anyway to get around it. "Yeah. I'll come. How much is it?"

He named a figure that made Queenie's temper rise another notch, but she agreed and headed out for the jail.

When she got there, she found Sheriff Brown sitting behind his battered desk, smoking and typing with two fingers on a computer keyboard. The small-town jail was compact, made up of a duty room adjacent to two barred cells. He looked up and took the cigarette out of his mouth, putting it into the ashtray on his desk. There were burn marks from where the hot butts had fallen off in the past.

"Queenie."

"Yeah, Sheriff. It's the sucker, come to bail out the loser."

His lips turned up at the corners slightly and he pushed a clipboard at her. "Sign these."

She read them over and glared at the sheriff. "I don't want to be responsible for him. I don't trust him."

"That's what bailing him out is all about. You put up your money and if he fails to appear before a judge, you lose it. It's in your own best interest to keep an eye on him."

"Shit! He's a serial fucker, Sheriff! I can't do this." Queenie pushed the unsigned papers back at him. The last thing she wanted was to hang around with Harry, making sure he was a good boy until an appearance before the judge. There were things she had to handle on the ranch while Ace was out of town.

"Fine. I'll keep 'im locked up. You ain't got no responsibility for him. I get that."

"You could let him go. You just won't!" She turned toward the cells, where she could see Harry dozing. Harry had put her in a terrible position. She ought to let him rot, but there was no getting around the fact that they had history together, and, at the moment, she was all he had. Frustration swamped her. Stomping to the cell, she pressed up against the bars, shouting at Harry. How he could sleep at a time like this, Queenie didn't know. Nor did she care. "Get the fuck up, Harry! What the fuck do you think you're doin'?"

He roused and stood, coming to the bars with a hang-dog expression. "I couldn't help it, Queenie. It's your fault, anyway. You made me so mad-"

"I made you mad?" She turned back toward the sheriff. "Let me in there so I can smack him!"

The Sheriff took an aggressive stance, hands on his hips. "Stop talkin' to me like that, Queenie. If you ain't gonna help, then best you leave."

She turned back toward the cell and grabbed Harry by the t-shirt, pulling him up against the bars forcefully. "You stupid asshole!"

He tried to push her hands aside, a look of surprise on his face as he turned toward the sheriff. "Hey! Can she do that? Aren't you gonna protect me or somethin'?"

"That's it!" The sheriff stomped over and grabbed her arm, dragging her toward the other cell. "I'm arrestin' you for disorderly conduct!"

Queenie resisted. This could not be happening to her. "You can't do that!"

"I can. And if you keep strugglin', I'll add resistin' arrest to your charges."

"Goddamn it!"

He shoved her in the cell, snagging her purse off her shoulder as he did. "I'll lock this up for you. You can't have it in the cell." Closing the door behind him, he wagged a finger at her. "Now you simmer down, young lady."

"You son of a bitch! I'm gonna tell my father!"

"No," he said. "I'm gonna tell your father. He'll tan your hide for gettin' so out of control. I know he raised you better."

Queenie tried to get hold of her temper. Deciding that a strategic retreat was in order, she took three deep breaths. "I'm sorry, Sheriff. I'll stop cussin' at you. You can let me out now."

"You're under arrest, Queenie! Of course, I won't let you out. You'll have to wait for your father to come bail you out. Same as your husband."

Both Harry and Queenie yelled at once. "We're not married!"

"Hush, both of you!"

"Sheriff, my father's up north for a few days. He can't come bail me out."

He appeared to consider this. While he was thinking, Queenie went to the cell door and pressed her face against the bars, trying to speak reasonably and not shout. The door crept open and she stepped back with a surprised cry.

The sheriff looked up from his desk and glared at her. "I told you the lock was broken. You are incarcerated on your honor."

"I am?"

"If you break out, Queenie, it'll be a lot worse for you. I'll have ta hunt you down-"

She held up a hand, pulling the cell door closed. "I've got it."

He went back to his computer, but stopped after a minute. When he came to her cell door, she looked up from the cot where she sat. "You get a phone call, girl. Call your daddy."

"I can't! He's out of town on the range."

"Then you'd best call one of your brothers."

Ace was in New Jersey, Deuce was on his annual trip to Jamaica for a few more days, and Trey was preparing to go to Afghanistan again. She considered calling her little sister, Jackie, but it seemed like a load of shit to drop on the much younger woman.

The door to the sheriff's station opened and a tall man walked in. "Hi. Are you Sheriff Brown? I'm Will Mazie. I own the old Caswell ranch." He offered his hand. "Nice to meet you."