29. Ransom
29
RANSOM
M y muscles ache with the healthy exhaustion of a day well spent.
I like working with my hands. Working with the horses. Riding, training, taking care of them. Better than the backbreaking work I was doing before for pennies…working with animals, it feeds my soul.
I’d do it for free, but someone’s gotta put gas in my truck and pay my grandparents’ electricity bill.
The sun’s dipping below the mountains by time the rest of the workers pack up. I’m locking in the last of the horses when one of them says: “Hey, we’re hitting up Maeby’s after this. You coming?”
Across the way, through the open barn door, I see the light go on in Calypso’s stable.
Can’t explain it, but I can feel Claire calling out to me.
“Maybe another time.”
He nods, dips out. I shuck off my gloves and hang them up before trudging out of the barn towards the opposite stable.
It’s cricket hour. They’re singing their nighttime song as I step through the grass and enter the stable.
It’s quiet here, all the hustle and bustle of the day cleared out. Nothing but the animals. And Claire. She’s dressed in a tight pair of jeans that fits high on her hips with a blouse tucked in. All put together, in true Claire style, but she’s…off.
She paces in front of Calypso’s pen. She’s muttering—to herself or the horse, I’m not sure. She’s got her hand in her hair, that grip tight. Same as it was when she threw a fit on the road. Pulling at her skull, like she’s trying to rip the bad thoughts straight out of her head.
I step in closer. I approach her the way I would a spooked horse—calm, steady. “Hey,” I say softly.
She halts in her tracks. She looks up at me, those gray eyes hazy and far away.
“Thank God,” she says. Which is the nicest way anyone has greeted me, ever.
She rushes up to me. She stops in front of me and holds her arms outstretched, her wrists pressed together.
“I need you to…do it. The thing with the rope.” She sniffs as though she’s been crying, but her eyes are dry.
I’ve gotta be clear about this. “You want me to…tie you up?”
Those gray eyes plead. “I want you to make it stop.”
I pick out a lead rope. It’s tough and supple, but more importantly, it’s soft and flexible. It won’t itch and it shouldn’t leave marks. Claire sits on a bench and I crouch down in front of her, lacing her arms up. I start at her wrists, wrapping the rope around, making a loop, and snaking it through.
“How’s that?” I ask. “Too tight?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
This is a version of Claire I’m not used to. A docile, soft version.
The urge to take care of her runs so deep, it rewrites my damn DNA.
I’m in no rush. I take my time wrapping the rope around her arms, lacing it through, and wrapping again. I’m far more used to roping up horses than ladies, but Claire doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, each loop seems to put her deeper and deeper in some kind of trace.
By time I get all the way up to her elbows, the intensity has vanished from her face. She looks relaxed. Peaceful. I pull the final knot through and then sit down beside her.
We stay like that for…I don’t know how long. Just sitting. Staring up at Calypso. Side my side in silence. Our legs touch and I can see the steady, slow, rise and fall of her chest. The way someone breaths when they’re sleeping.
I don’t know what sent Claire into her frenzy. I don’t ask. When she’s ready to tell me, she’ll tell me. Until then, I’ll give her what she needs.
Silence. Peace. Company.
When Claire speaks up, her voice sounds clear again. “I have my dressage show tomorrow.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Don’t. I won’t be able to think straight if you’re watching.”
“Alright.”
Another pass of silence. We let the crickets do the talking for us.
“I’ve never had sex,” Claire said suddenly. “Have you?”
It’s out of nowhere, and my tongue tangles for a moment.
I answer honestly. “No.”
“I think we should.” She says it, calm as anything. Like our chemistry is a math equation, and she’s found the solution, and that’s that.
I can’t say anything. She might be the one bound, but I’m the one all tied up in knots.
The crickets sing. The horses shuffle around in their pens.
Claire looks down at her wrists. “You can untie me now.”
I ignore the beating of my own heart as I get down in front of her. She extends her arms and I unlace the rope from her body. She shakes free of the last loop and gets to her feet.
She’s a woman reborn. Caterpillar to cocoon to butterfly.
She fixes her hair. “Goodnight, Ransom.”
“G’night.”
I watch Claire leave. Then I plop back down and start winding the rope around itself, making tight loops so I can put it away and hang it up.
I need something to do with my hands. Something to take my mind off of Claire’s proposal.
Calypso watches me with raised eyebrows, and I swear, the horse is judging me.
“Hush,” I tell her, and she huffs.