Master of Freedom

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“You fucking…” As the inmate on the other side of her office desk alternated spitting and swearing, Virginia Cunningham fought to keep the expression from her face.

Her years as a social worker had given her a fair amount of experience, but the past two months of working in a prison were sorely testing her skills.

She flattened her trembling hands on the desktop and glanced around her claustrophobia-inducing cement box of an office.

Since the sole window was in the door, she’d tried to create a more spacious feeling by hanging vibrant posters of the nearby Yosemite mountains.

Her favorite was of a man climbing El Capitan.

She could almost feel the strain in his muscles as he moved upward toward the peak.

If only she could give him a boost. But the determination on his face told her he’d make the summit all on his own.

Now, if she could only transmit some of his resolve to the inmates she counseled. So many had given up hope. Or, like Mr. Jorgensen, were so filled with anger there was room for nothing else.

“Mr. Jorgensen,” she said quietly. “When you––”

His voice rose to drown her out. “And those mother-fucking, cocksuckers…”

Lordy. Sometimes her job was simply to listen, however they chose to speak. Sometimes inmates would talk to her goldfish, Chuck, who lived in a small bowl on the filing cabinet. After they relaxed, she could move into active therapy.

Unfortunately, Mr. Jorgensen’s ranting hadn’t helped him one bit, and she had a feeling he wouldn’t depart politely.

Although he had no history of violence, she’d been warned not to take chances—as if seeing unrestrained inmates without a guard present wasn’t already risky. But it was what it was. She pressed the intercom summoning the correctional officer.

When the CO entered her room, she rose. “Mr. Jorgenson, our time is up now.”

The prisoner spat at her. “And those fucking bastards…”

“Please escort him out,” she told the officer.

“C’mon, let’s go, Jorgensen,” he said.

The inmate jerked around and saw the CO. Obediently and quietly, he stomped from the room.

As the door closed behind them, Gin sank back, turning her chair to avoid seeing the puddles of spittle. Thankfully, her desk was quite wide.

In the past when working with children and families, she’d been cussed out, yelled at, insulted. Teenagers were adept at the scathing put-downs.

But never had anyone spit at her.

She pulled in slow, calming breaths, although each inhalation brought the stink of Mr. Jorgensen’s sweat mixed with the harsh cleansers used by the inmate workers.

Dear heavens, she was not cut out to work as a prison social worker. She should have looked before leaping into the position. Desperation surely did sorry things to a body—and she’d been so frantic to get away from her ex-fiancé that she’d taken the most distant job she could find.

Well, mistakes happened. And, so she’d carry on—and do the very best she could for the souls entrusted to her.

“The day is over. And I’m so out of here.” Penelope’s voice drifted in from the reception area.

What an excellent idea.

Jorgenson’s had been Gin’s last session of the day.

She pushed to her feet, ignored her wobbly knees, and shrugged into her black jacket.

The garment was loose fitting, as were her baggy pants and oversized, button-up, white shirt.

The last thing she wanted was for an inmate to see her as a female, although her ugly attire didn’t seem to affect the number of catcalls and whistles.

After a quick pat to ensure she had her body alarm and keys, she walked out of her office into the gray reception area.

Two other counselors were preparing to leave.

Flouting the suggestions for feminine attire, Penelope’s flaming red, skintight dress accented every curve.

Bless her heart, the woman obviously didn’t have any problem with getting hit on by the inmates.

Near the door, Howard Slidell was pulling on his coat.

Gin nodded politely at him, then smiled at Penelope. “I’ll walk with y’all, if it’s all right.”

“Sure, Gin,” Penelope said. “There’s safety in numbers, right?”

“Not with animals like these,” Howard said sourly.

Gin bit down on her response. The overweight social worker was one of the most intolerant people she’d ever met. In his mind, the inmates were irrevocably bad. Unredeemable. With such a biased point of view, how could he help them?

Then again, maybe he’d never experienced the joy of improving someone’s life. Lord knew, it wasn’t easy to do, not here, but the chance to make a difference was what had called her into counseling. That’s what she did.

An hour later, Gin pulled open the heavy door to the ClaimJumper Tavern. The loud country-western music echoing off the rough log walls knocked her back a step. At a high enough volume, Johnny Cash’s gravel voice could abrade skin.

Walking into a bar without a date surely could make a girl feel awfully lonely, and Gin paused next to the wall-mounted antlers serving as a coat rack.

Despite being a Thursday night, the place was packed.

With the summer season beginning for Yosemite Valley and the surround, the population of loggers, fishermen, and locals swelled with the influx of seasonal help.

She looked around unhappily. Her favorite brown cords and slinky silver-blue top with the intricate side ruching were definitely too dressy for the jeans and flannel shirt crowd. Oops. A shopping trip needed to happen in her near future.

More people entered the bar and spurred her into movement despite her desire to linger by the wall.

“Gin! Over here!” In the far corner of the room, a tall, curvy redhead stood and waved. Two other women were seated at the square wooden table.

Spirits lifting, Gin crossed the room, careful of the uneven floor in her high-heeled leather boots. Each breath brought her the scents of perfume and popcorn, beer and sweat, damp clothes and cologne.

“Gin, I’m so glad you came.” Becca moved her hand in an all-encompassing circle. “Virginia Cunningham, this is Sunny Aragon and Kallie Masterson Hunt. Sunny is a nurse at the Bear Flat clinic. Kallie and her family own a wilderness guide business.”

The pretty blonde in a golden cashmere sweater beamed across the rustic plank table. Definitely a “Sunny.” “Welcome, Gin.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Kallie was petite with dark, dark brown eyes, choppy black hair, and wore a flannel shirt over a tank top. She motioned to the pitcher of beer and held up a glass. “Do you drink beer?”

“Thank you—and y’all are lifesavers.” Gin hung her suede jacket over the back of the chair and settled in. She took the beer Kallie had poured and downed a third. Cold and malty. “This is just what I needed.”

“Rough day at work?” Sunny asked with unfeigned sympathy, every inch the nurse.

“Sugar, you have no idea.” Gin rolled her eyes and grinned.

“What do you do?” Kallie asked.

“I’m a social worker.”

“With the county home health agency?” Sunny asked, eyebrows pulling together. “Or do you have your own practice?”

“No.” Longing for her old clinic made her swallow. “I work at the prison.”

“Wow, I can’t even imagine,” Becca said.

“I’ve only been there about two months. It’s very different from what I’m used to.

” Some of her associates had gone into prison counseling, so she’d thought she’d enjoy the challenge.

Wrong. She stared into her glass, watching the bubbles rise to the surface.

She’d dreamed of a fresh beginning, a brand-new life filled with rewarding work, a supportive community, and wonderful friends.

Instead, she’d been stunned silly by her job. And even worse, she missed her ex-fiancé, her friends, her city. In fact, she’d been more homesick than a child away at her first summer camp.

Moping around home and indulging in comfort food and old Western movies wasn’t the way to start a new life.

After giving herself a good scolding, here she was, out having fun. Gold star, Gin. Happy noise surrounded her—laughter, clinking glasses, Alan Jackson singing Good Time, the popcorn popping. She smiled at the others. “I’m really glad y’all let me join you.”

“Here, girl, have some essential salt and grease.” Becca slid a plate of French fries over. “So what happened today?”

“Well, first there was a prisoner who…well, he feels so guilty about hurting a friend”—about being the cause of his friend’s death—“that he’s almost suicidal.” And having Howard Slidell as his counselor in the past sure hadn’t helped.

Could she pull him out of it?

She would. She had to.

“The next one”—she made a face—“he didn’t want counseling as much as he wanted to…um, play with himself. In my office.”

The shocked expressions of the others made her grin. “Then came the guy who was spitting and yelling at me through the entire session. His list of sexual endeavors was extensive, but I do believe some are not physically possible.”

Kallie was giggling, Becca laughing outright.

Sunny’s smile faded. “Virgil—my husband is a police lieutenant—said a prisoner was murdered. Shanked?”

Gin’s hands tensed on her mug. “It was horrible. The guard, I mean the correctional officer”—she needed to be better about remembering the correct title—“said an old con had sharpened a toothbrush handle and stabbed a new inmate.” Gin took a deep drink.

The young man had done cleaning and always had a polite word for her. And now he was gone.

“Oh, that’s brutal.” Sunny patted her hand.

Kallie frowned. “Bet the warden’s catching some grief over the death. People weren’t happy when the state built the prison out here. They were worried about escapees and all that.”

“No doubt. Although, the facility is awfully isolated,” Gin said. “Have you been on the road to it? All those steep curves? I almost wet my pants the first time I drove it.”

Becca laughed. “You should see the road to our lodge. And wait until it snows.”

“I am so screwed,” Gin moaned. “I don’t know how to do snow. The highest peak in Louisiana is the levee.”

“Ah ay-im so sca-rewed,” Kallie said. “I love your accent. And I’m being shallow, but you sound just like Scarlett O’Hara.”

“I loved Gone with the Wind when I was little.” Except the ending. Her smile flattened at the flash of memory. Standing on the sidewalk as her father put his suitcase in the car. “B-but, Daddy, I’ll try. I will. I’ll do more…” He hadn’t stopped. Had driven away, just like Rhett.

“So you’ve been here only two months?” Sunny asked.

“Mmmhmm. I might should have done more reading before I ran off to California.”

“Hey, why ruin the joy of discovery?” Becca tilted her head. “But was there a reason you left too fast for due diligence?” Under Becca’s genuine concern, the question didn’t feel intrusive.

“My fiancé and I broke up. And I…” She’d hurt so badly and would have done anything to keep him. The realization had panicked her enough that she’d snapped up the most distant job offered. Possessing a California license from years ago let her start immediately. “I didn’t want…”

“To ever see his face again?” Sunny nodded. “I know the feeling.”

“Men.” Kallie refilled Gin’s glass. “They can be such bastards.”

“Dumb too. There are moments I’m not sure they’re any smarter than stumps,” Sunny agreed.

“So true.” Becca grinned. “Except for our husbands, who only occasionally descend to the maggot-IQ levels.”

As alcohol buzzed through her veins, Gin realized she should have eaten before drinking. She grabbed a French fry. “Husbands, huh? So, you won’t be out partying and picking up men?” With me? She didn’t want another man, but how could she give up dancing?

And sex. Surely a girl could find a man who’d be a good lover without wanting anything more.

“You’ve never seen territorial men like ours.” Becca grinned. “My husband would tan my ass if I tried.”

“Uh-huh. Sure he would.” Gin snorted.

“Oh, Logan has paddled my behind before,” Becca said.

What…seriously? A thrill shot through her at the thought of spanking. Lord, have mercy, she’d certainly been reading too many erotic novels.

Becca waved her hand at the others. “Jake and Virgil would too if their ladies misbehaved.”

“Becca.” Sunny frowned at Becca.

Kallie chimed in. “This isn’t a topic for general conversation.”

“Let me tell you how I met Gin.” Becca grinned at her friends.

Gin choked on her beer. “No.” But she was coughing too hard to be understood.

“It was in Pottery and Pages. Would you believe Mrs. Reed set up a WHAT TO READ AFTER 50 SHADES display?” Becca nodded at her shocked friends. “Truth. Anyway, Gin had picked up a Lexi Blake/Shayla Black book, a Fiona Archer, and a J. Kenner.”

Gin considered crawling under the table. True, she and Becca had hit it off, but still…she’d just met these others. Nice, normal women who lived in a small, small town. She was doomed. And her blush must be approaching crimson.

Sunny shook her head. “Becca, you’re embarrassing her. Did you mention we’re into the same kink?”

“Of course… Oh God, I didn’t.” Becca turned to Gin. “You must think I outted your reading habits to the Christian ladies sewing circle, right?”

Gin managed to pull in a breath. “Uh, actually, yes.”

Across the table, Kallie and Sunny were giggling themselves stupid.

Kallie held up a hand. “None of us are, like, in the 24/7 lifestyle, but we do play. In fact, I’m leading a wilderness tour this weekend for people wanting instruction about BDSM. My husband and his friend are teaching it.”

Beer. Drink some beer. Gin took such a big gulp that she choked. Again. Her face not only felt hot, but now her whole body had entered the sauna. “Wait,” she said hoarsely. “You mean the romances are for real? BDSM is real?”

Becca’s eyebrows lifted quizzically. “Well, yes.”

Oh. My. Stars. “My ex-fiancé said the stories were just hot fantasies made up to sell books.” People really did that stuff? Gin leaned forward to whisper to Kallie, “And you take people and teach them how?”

Kallie tilted her head. “Mmmhmm.”

Wow. Wow, wow, wow. “I never thought…” Her insides were quivering. Fantasies couldn’t truly exist in physical form…right?

“You know,” Kallie said slowly, a slight smile on her lips, “I could use assistance with camp chores. You want to come and see?”

She shouldn’t. Bad, bad idea. “Yes.” The excitement racing through Gin’s veins made her body shake…until her common sense resurfaced. “Uh, maybe. Can I simply watch and see what’s what?”

“That’s all that will happen. The guests are all couples—and monogamous. You couldn’t play even if you wanted to.” Kallie grinned. “You in?”

It was real. The craving to see for herself was too overwhelming to be put aside. “Yes. Please. I’m in.”