Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Stafford walked up to the front door of the house.
“Get out! Get out right now!”
Shit. That was Grandpa Jack.
The front door swung open and Blakely raced out, tears streaming down her face.
Fuck.
He rushed past her and into the house. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
His grandfather was staring down at something on the floor.
What was he looking at?
Stepping closer, realization filled Stafford. “She broke one of Grandma’s cups?”
“I didn’t notice what cup she was using,” Grandpa Jack said slowly. “Should have been paying attention, but I didn’t want her here. It was a test . . . getting her to make a cup of tea. Why the hell did she drop it?”
Stafford frowned. It did seem strange. “Nerves?”
“Maybe. And what’s with wearing gloves inside on a warm day? All nonsense. She won’t do. Too jumpy. Can’t have her breaking anything. Only got four of these left, you know.”
Stafford knew. They were the last of a tea set his grandma had brought with her from England. And like this house and everything in it, they were things that his grandpa treasured. It was like he was trying to keep her memory alive by keeping everything the same as when she died.
Any time he suggested changing or updating something, his grandfather would get upset and he’d back off. The only room he’d been allowed to touch was his bedroom.
Stafford sighed. Shit. What was he going to do now? Although he admitted that he hadn’t been holding onto much hope that she’d last.
After cleaning up the mess, he stood to make his grandfather a cup of tea. That’s when he saw her sweater.
Shit.
Blakely sat on the sofa with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She didn’t know why she felt so cold, but shivers kept working their way through her body.
Stupid.
So stupid.
Mr. Whiskers and Mrs. Flopsy sat on either side of her, trying to comfort her. But it wasn’t working.
Why hadn’t she been more careful? She knew better.
“What are we going to do?” she whispered.
What was it about her that no one wanted to take a chance on her?
Maybe because you break stuff? Because you’re useless?
Stupid.
Blakely stared down at her hands. If she hadn’t been doing that magic trick . . . if she hadn’t been cooking and gotten distracted . . . if she’d been more damn careful.
She’d taken off her gloves but left the bandages on. She should probably apply some more cream, but the pain felt like a well-deserved punishment.
A knock on the door startled her and she glanced over, wiping the tears off her face. Standing, she grabbed a tissue as another knock came.
Someone was impatient.
The door rattled so much that she knew that it would only take a good shove to break it open. That thought often kept her awake at night.
It needed a deadbolt, but she couldn’t afford one and Mr. Brandt wouldn’t put one on.
“I know you’re in there, Miss Ellis.”
Shit. Mr. Brandt.
Did she have the worst luck today or what?
“I saw you come home. Open up or I’ll be forced to use my key.”
Great. She hated that he had his own key to her apartment. But he was her landlord, she guessed.
Opening the door, she stared up at him. He was tall and thin. His hair was a deep black that was at odds with his wrinkled face.
“Mr. Brandt, how can I help? The rent isn’t due until the end of the week.”
“Yes, but I’m going to have to ask you to vacate the apartment.”
Shock filled her. What?
“Why?”
“Because of the noise. I told you I couldn’t have any noise. My birds are very sensitive to noise.”
“What noise?” she asked.
“All that racket you were making this morning with the alarm.”
“It was the smoke alarm. I burned my casserole.”
“Smoke? There was a fire?” he asked, sounding alarmed.
Shit. Why had she said that?
“There was no fire,” she replied hastily. “It was just smoke.”
“Is there damage? There has to be damage.” He shook his head. “No, no. I can’t have you living here. You might set the whole building on fire. You need to be out by the end of the week.”
“You . . . you can’t do that! I have nowhere to go.” Panic bubbled in her stomach.
This was the worst thing that could’ve happened to her.
“Should have thought of that before you tried to set the building on fire,” he grumbled before shuffling away.
She leaned against the door frame, her legs weak.
What was she going to do now? She didn’t want to have to go back to living in her car.
But it seemed that was rapidly becoming her only choice.
This day just kept getting worse and worse.
Stafford glanced down at the address on her application and up at the building. He didn’t come into Frogmore a lot and he wasn’t familiar with this area. The building was rundown, but it looked like it had once been a large, grand house.
He walked past a rusty old car parked next to the footpath.
Wait. That was her car.
He hadn’t taken a good look at it before, but now that he was, he didn’t like what he saw.
The tires appeared to be bald. There was rust everywhere. Was it even safe to drive?
Frowning, he walked up to the front door and knocked.
An older man with black hair opened the door and scowled at him. “What do you want?”
“I’m looking for Blakely.”
The older man eyed him suspiciously. “Who’re you?”
“Is she home?”
“I’m not her damn butler. Her apartment is upstairs. But she’s not supposed to have visitors.”
What?
“Why not?”
“House rules. My house. My rules.”
Ahh. He was beginning to understand. “You own the house and rent her an apartment?”
“Not for long. Go around the back. There are stairs.”
The door shut in his face.
What did he mean? Not for long?
None of your business. You’re just here to return her sweater.
He should have gotten one of his workers to do this, but he’d wanted to check in on her. She’d looked so upset as she’d run out of the house.
So here he was, walking up a set of rickety stairs that had seen better days to deliver her sweater.
He knocked on the door, and there was silence. Okay, perhaps he should just leave it out here. But the image of her upset face was burned in his brain.
He’d just try one more time.
This time, he heard someone moving before the door opened. Her eyes were swollen and red, her cheeks blotchy, and she was hunched over with a blanket around her shoulders.
She looked like she had the weight of the world weighing her down.
Was this just about a broken teacup and a grouchy old man?
“I’m packing! What do you . . . oh, sorry. I thought you were Mr. Brandt,” she said.
Stafford frowned. Packing? “Is that the grouchy old man downstairs?”
“Um, yeah. You met him, then?”
“Yes, he seems delightful. Why are you packing? What did he mean that you’re leaving soon? Are you moving into another apartment?”
She blinked at him. “Um, what are you doing here?”
Okay. He didn’t actually have the right to ask her those questions, he guessed.
Maybe you would if you were her boss.
“I brought back your sweater.”
He held it out to her.
“Oh, thanks.”
She reached for it, but he suddenly snatched it back. “What the fuck is wrong with your hands?”
Um.
He seemed really mad. About her hands? Why would he be angry about her hands?
Still, she put them behind her back for good measure since she didn’t like the way he was staring at them.
“You lied to me,” he growled.
She had?
“I, uh, I . . . thanks for my sweater. You can just leave it there.” She reached for the door to shut it, but he held out his hand to stop her.
“Wait!”
She sucked in a breath, staring up at him. What was he doing? Should she be worried?
“Look, I don’t want to frighten you, but I would like to know what’s wrong with your hands. Have you hurt them?”
“I, um, they’re fine.”
“They’re not fine,” he replied firmly. “I saw you wince several times at the ranch. And when I asked you what was wrong, you lied to me.”
Why did she feel the need to squirm and apologize?
He sounded so stern. Like he was about to tip her over his lap and . . . whoa.
Stop.
“I burned them. They’re fine, though.”
“They’re obviously not fine if you’re in pain. Is that why you were wearing gloves?”
“I . . . well, I didn’t think it was a good look to turn up for an interview with bandages on my hands.”
“But it’s okay to hurt yourself by picking up a hot, heavy kettle?” he queried.
“I managed the kettle okay! But it was like the teacup was a step too far or something. My hands just gave way. I’m so sorry! I’ll pay you for it.”
He rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin. He looked tired. She should ask him in. Maybe make him a drink.
Wait. Nope. She didn’t owe him anything.
But she did feel really bad about breaking the cup.
“You don’t need to pay for it. It was just an accident. Have you had someone check your hands?”
“Like who?”
For some reason, his jaw tightened. “Like a doctor?”
“Oh no, the burns aren’t that serious. I don’t need a doctor.” Not to mention she couldn’t afford one.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“Let me check them.” It was an order not a request.
Blakely sighed. “Are you going to leave without seeing them?”
“No.”
“Fine,” she said. “I guess you better come in.”
She turned around and moved over to the couch, settling in beside Mr. Whiskers and Mrs. Flopsy.
He shut the door and stared at it for a long moment.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“The lock on this door is crap.”
“Ah, yeah. I know.”
He spun with a glare. “You should replace it or buy a deadbolt.”
“It’s not my apartment.”
“Your landlord should take care of your safety better. I guess it’s a good thing you’re leaving.”
She let out a small huff. “Yeah, a good thing.”
“You don’t want to leave?” he asked, glancing around.
She knew it wasn’t much. It had come furnished, but the furniture was at least forty years old. Worn and tired.
Like her.
“It’s more like I have to. Mr. Brandt thought that the smoke alarm going off this morning was too loud and he’s told me to leave by the end of the week.”
“Do you have somewhere else to go?” he asked.
“I’ll figure something out.” She grabbed Mr. Whiskers and pulled him close.
The ginger cat had seen better days. His fur had rubbed off in places and was a bit matted. But at least he had both of his eyes, right?
She hugged her toy tight, not caring what Stafford thought.
“Where will you go?” he asked.
“I think it’s time to move on. There aren’t many jobs here.”
“How long have you been here? Why did you move here? Where did you come from?”
She eyed him. What was with all the questions? Should she answer? Eh, what did it matter? It wasn’t like she was going to work for him now.
“I was living in Chicago, but when I lost my job six weeks ago, I thought I’d take a chance and come out here. I’ve traveled around a lot over the past eight years. I’d heard that Wishingbone was a good place to live. That there were a lot of Daddy Doms that lived in the area. But I couldn’t find anywhere to live in Wishingbone, so instead I moved in here.”
“Daddy Doms?” He looked taken aback as he sat on the coffee table. She winced as it creaked. The last thing she wanted was for Mr. Brandt to accuse her of breaking the furniture. “You’re a Little?” He stared at Mr. Whiskers.
“Yeah. Does that surprise you? You must know some Littles, right?” Had he never met any of the Littles who lived in this area?
“Ahh, well, I used to. Sort of.”
Huh?
“I don’t get off the ranch much. I’m not really close to anyone in Wishingbone.”
“I haven’t been able to go to Wishingbone much, either.”
“So you moved here to find a Daddy Dom?”
“I moved here because it sounded like a fun place to live. Because I hoped that I might get to meet other people like me. Because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. Finding a Daddy Dom would just be icing on the cake.”
He cleared his throat. “While I know that Sanctuary Ranch has always been a safe haven for people who are part of the BDSM community, I’m not sure that everyone in this area is so accepting.”
“Oh, this town doesn’t seem to be very accepting. Don’t worry, I figured that out early.”
Stafford nodded. “Good. You need to be careful who you tell.”
Was he trying to protect her? That was kind, but she’d been taking care of herself for the past eight years.
Actually, even longer than that.
“Let me see your hands,” he commanded.
She wasn’t sure about that. She grabbed Mrs. Flopsy with her other arm and held both toys close.
“You can keep hold of your friends,” he told her soothingly as he held out his hand. “Give me your hand. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She held out her right hand, and he carefully took off the bandages.
For someone who could be so grouchy and blunt, it seemed that he could also be gentle.
“Oh, darlin’, these look sore. Did you run them under cold water?” he asked as he unwrapped her other hand.
Blakely shook her head.
Darlin’? Oh, she liked that.
“No? Why not?”
“No time. Had to get to my interview. Which ended up being a disaster.”
He hummed and stood.
Was he leaving already?
“Come with me.” He walked over to the sink and turned on the water. It spluttered before coming out in a rush.
“I don’t think there’s any point in putting them under water now,” she protested as she followed him.
He just shot her a look that told her he wasn’t backing down.
Bossy.