11. Ransom
11
RANSOM
T hen.
“ ?a va? ”
“Sar-var.”
“ ?a va .”
“Sah…what?”
Claire lets out a low wail of frustration. “It means how are you in French. We’re one week away, and you can’t even get that right!”
I can see Claire’s boots pacing back and forth on the other side of Chaucer as I brush the dust off the big horse. Chaucer, who is used to Claire’s temper tantrums, doesn’t even bat an ear at her complaining.
I grip the brush, band around the back of my hand. “How about you do the talking, and I’ll just grunt and point?”
Wrong thing to say. Even with Chaucer between us, I can feel her energy shift. Claire walks around Chaucer to look me square in the face. She looks particularly intimidating in her dressage outfit, all navy blue suit, crisp pants, and round helmet. As I brush him, I can feel her quizzical stare.
“Why aren’t you taking this seriously?” she asks.
“Who says I ain’t?”
“Things are going to change when we get to Paris.”
“How’s that?”
She clutches her little translation book to her chest. She looks off, and even though she’s staring at nothing but the stable walls, I can tell she’s seeing the Eiffel Tower in her eyes.
“Can’t you picture it? Croissants and coffee in bed. Sharing a bottle of wine as we watch the sun set on the Seine. Eating macarons by the handful.”
“What’s a macaron?”
She swats me with her little book. “It’s a cookie.”
She can’t escape me. I hook my finger under the chin strap of her helmet and tug her in. “You’re a cookie.”
She gives my chest a push. I lose my balance, sitting back on a block, and pull her down with me. She fits in my lap perfectly, straddling me.
Whenever I’ve got Claire to myself, it’s hard to keep my hands off her.
“Screw the horse,” I say. “Ride me.”
She nuzzles that button nose against mine. Her helmet bumps my forehead. “Say it,” she says.
“ ?a va. ”
“Good boy.” That’s pleased her, at least. Her breath patters on my cheek and makes my heart race.
“We get to reinvent ourselves,” she says. “I’ll go to school, and you can be…I don’t know. A cop.”
“A cop ? ”
“A firefighter. A doctor. The first cowboy to put his spurs on the moon.”
“I like that the last one.”
“What do you want to be?” She looks down at me, genuinely curious now. “You can be whatever you put your mind to.”
And it feels like someone tossed a lasso around my neck. Most of my life, no one’s ever asked me what I wanted to do. They all just figured I’d pick up whatever low-hanging fruit my dumb, greedy hands could grasp.
When this woman looks at me, she sees the potential for something good. No—something great .
Ain’t no one ever looked at me like that before.
I slip my hands into the back pockets of her pants. Her body fits so snugly in my hands. “I wanna be yours, princess. Only yours.”
She blinks at that, surprised. A small smile touches her mouth, and it sets my heart on fire. “We can reinvent ourselves, Ransom.” She pushes my hair back, and her lips brush mine. “It’ll all work out.”
But that’s the thing about girls who grew up with silver spoons in their mouths.
When Claire Preacher says it’ll all work out , she believes it.
Her whole life, she’s had a little trust fund fairy godmother on her shoulder. Anytime she’s needed a soft place to fall, there’s her daddy’s dollar bills giving her that nice, green cushion.
What she doesn’t get is once he cuts her off—and he will—that’s it .
Life ain’t so easy when you’re scraping pennies to get by.
I should know. All my life, I’ve lived paycheck to paycheck. I’ve learned to beg, borrow, and, yeah, sometimes, even steal. I know firsthand that it doesn’t always work out. In fact, sometimes, it’s really fucking shitty.
The closer and closer we get to our departure date, the more it weighs on me. Claire’s a tough girl. If the going got tough, I know she’d survive it.
But I don’t know if I can. Can I survive the disappointed downward turn of her lips the first time her card gets declined? Can I survive watching her rake her fingers through her hair as she pores over the unpaid bills?
Can I survive knowing she won’t be able to eat all the macarons her sweet tooth deserves?
It makes my stomach twist up in knots. We’re less than a week out from departure, and I can’t barely focus on work.
“Ransom! Come get your crazy-ass horse!”
The shout of my name shakes me out of my haze. I drop the rope I’ve been wrapping up and get to my feet, quickly making my way through the stables.
I see one of the hands, Rafe, giving me a mean glare. Rafe and I have been friends since we were too small to fit in our boots. He’s a joker off the clock, but he’s serious on the farm, and he’s got a guilty-looking Chaucer by the halter.
“What’d he do now?” I ask.
“Your stallion keeps breaking out. I caught him riding Miss Penny again.”
I take Chaucer’s halter and pat his dusty neck. Affectionately, I say, “You dumb, horny bastard. C’mere.”
I lead Chaucer back into the stable, hooking him up. He jerks his head disapprovingly.
But Rafe still looks irritated. He shakes his head. “You gotta get rid of that penny-horse. This horse pumps out gold bars, man. You can’t have him wasting that.”
I shift back on my heels. Wheels are turning. “How much gold are we talking?”
Rafe takes off his gloves and leans against the gate. “Fifty thousand.”
“Huh.”
Rafe clicks his tongue like a disapproving mom. “ Huh , he says. If my stuff went for fifty thousand a pop, you better believe I’d buy some gold briefs. Put these eggs in a nest. Strict, pineapple-only diet.”
I side-eye him. He shrugs. “Keep him away from Miss Penny. I mean it.”
But now my brain is working overtime.
Technically, it’s against the rules to collect semen manually from thoroughbreds. That’s why what we do at the breeding farm is so important. The only way these thoroughbreds are allowed to breed is the old-fashioned way—stallion meets mare, they do what animals do, and then eleven months later, boom. A beautiful, purebred foal.
Of course, if someone, say, collected the semen of a prize-winning thoroughbred…well. That’d be incredibly valuable on the market.
Sell it to the right person with the right mare. She starts pushing out race-winning foals, and her value goes up…everyone wins.
It’s a victimless crime, if you think about it.
And I think about it.
Long. Hard. I even start talking to Rafe about it .
He’s in. In fact, he tells me if I can get the goods , he’ll sell it. He’s already got a buyer with a ready mare. But?—
“It’s all about the timing,” Rafe says. His Corona hangs between his knees. We sit on the steps outside Maeby’s Bar, watching the dipping sun bruise the sky.
I thumb my beer cap, making little rigid indentations in my palm. “Go on.”
“ Hypothetically ,” Rafe continues—which has become his new favorite word, hypothetically , “we’d have to collect and get it to the mare within twenty-four hours. Plus , it’s gotta be in the window when she’s ovulating. If she doesn’t produce a foal, we don’t get paid, and then this is all for nothing.”
I squint at him. “ We ?”
“Yeah. Fifty-fifty.”
“Fifty-fifty! I’m doing all the damn dirty work!”
Rafe clasps my shoulder. “Yeah, but you look so pretty doing it. C’mon, I’ve got something to show you.”
He pushes up to his feet, choking his beer by the neck. We walk through the parking lot, and he pops the trunk of his car. It’s stuffed with bags of feed, tattered clothes, and other bits. He pulls a utility bag forward and unzips it, motioning me closer.
“I’ve got everything you need,” he says, “ hypothetically .” He lifts out the items as he goes through them. “This vial here is where you’ll put the collection. You mix it up with this extender to preserve it. Then you’ve got to store it in this ice pack immediately to keep it from spoiling. Keep it out of sunlight. We’ve got six hours from storing to insemination, so there isn’t a hell of a lot of wiggle room. I spoke to the mare’s handler—he said they can get her prepped and ready to go on Friday.”
“Claire and I are flying out Friday.”
“Well, you can consider this my bon voyage present. ”
“The hell is that?” I say, pointing to the bag.
Rafe winks, wearing this dumb, wide grin. “Your stallion’s new girlfriend. Artificial lady-horse bits. Wanna try it out first? See how it compares to Claire?”
“I’m this close to knocking your teeth out, pal.”
I swallow the rest of my beer. It tastes warm and clots in the back of my throat. I stare at the bag and its dubious contents. Rafe stares at me.
“What are you thinking?” he asks after a beat.
“You ever wonder if your parents are looking down at you and wondering, why the hell didn’t I throw him out with the bathwater when I had the chance? ”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rafe says. He slaps me on the shoulder. “They’re Ransoms. They’re definitely looking up .”
Claire isn’t happy.
When I tell her I’m going to meet her at the airport, she blows up my phone about it. It’s a hurt I’ll smooth over later.
Twenty-five grand makes for a pretty nice Band-Aid, the way I figure it.
And she can’t know anything about this. I can’t implicate her like that.
Better or worse, this is all on me.
The night of our departure, I check my watch. Just near eleven. My suitcase is in the back of my truck. I’m all ready to roll out. Just one more thing I have to do.
My truck growls like a guard dog as I keep it loitering in neutral. Rafe’s utility bag sits in the passenger seat beside me, feeling a bit like an unpinned grenade.
From my spot, I watch as the car rolls up around the back of the main house. Claire leaves, bag in hand. I can barely make her out in the dark, but I see her looking around for me.
My heart lurches. I’m coming, princess .
Just a little later.
She finally gives in and gets in the car. I hold my breath until it leaves.
Alright. Go time.
Now or never.
I drive my truck up as far as the dirt roads will let me and then park it. I climb by foot the rest of the way to the stable.
Luck would have it, the stable is empty. The horses are quiet, except for the occasional nighttime whinny.
I pull off a lantern from the shelf and turn it on. It splashes light over my boots and across the floor. I take the coin-operated horse out, set her up, and strap the device on Rafe’s bag onto it.
What’d you do this week?
Ah, you know. Just set up a sex toy for my horse.
Normal people stuff.
Once Miss Penny is situated, I quickly walk down the hall to Chaucer.
Lazy bastard is lying down, nose tucked into the ground, sound asleep. I click to get his attention, and he blinks an eye open.
“Hey, buddy. Wake up.”
He flicks his ear and turns his head away from the light.
“Wanna go on a date with Miss Penny?”
His ears perk up at that. He lifts his head.
My heart is pounding so hard, but that gets relief fizzling through my blood. “That’s what I thought. C’mon, Romeo.”
Quietly, I hook the lead on Ransom and guide him out of his stall. I take him into the pen in back, where I’ve already got Miss Penny waiting for him.
Now, Chaucer is wide-awake. The second I release him, he trots over to the coin-operated horse. He knocks his head against hers, nuzzling her stiff frame.
It’s almost romantic, if I weren’t here to steal his guy stuff.
“Make me proud, you kinky stud,” I mutter under my breath.
Chaucer is quick on the charm. After a little flirting and necking, he and Miss Penny get into it. With a satisfied snort, he hops off his girl and yawns. Back to bed for him.
I crouch and unfasten the device. I’ll be damned, the damn thing worked. Carefully, I transfer the collection into the vial. I tilt it up so I can make sure I’ve got enough. I swear, the stuff nearly sparkles in the lantern light.
But just like that, I feel like I’ve been kicked in the throat by a pair of hooves.
What the hell am I doing?
A common thief, stealing horse jizz in the middle of the night.
Claire deserves better.
But ain’t that why I’m doing this in the first place?
Claire deserves everything .
After the hell her father put her through, hasn’t she earned a little…cream off the top?
But his ears must be itching because out of the dark, I hear?—
“Riley Ransom.”
I startle. I lose my grip and drop the vial.
And just like that, fifty thousand dollars spills out over my boot .
But even that doesn’t compare to the dread I feel when my gaze meets Mr. Preacher’s cold, gray eyes.
He stares at me, unmoved. The lantern light flickers like flames around his face.
“My office,” he says, his voice low and firm. “Now.”
The grandfather clock clicks. Its pendulum swings back and forth like a bad omen.
Mr. Preacher and I sit in silence otherwise. My heart is pounding like a jackhammer in my ear, and my leg won’t stop shaking. I latch my fingers together to keep them from trembling.
“Listen,” I start. “What you saw, it wasn’t?—”
“I have a panic button,” he interrupts. “Underneath my desk. If I press it, Deputy Holden will be here before you can get out of that chair.”
I swallow a lump the size of an ostrich egg.
All I can think about is Claire. Claire in the airport. Claire clutching the handle of her bag. Claire all alone. Waiting for me.
I cast my eyes to the floor. They land on the dark, shameful stain on my boot.
This much anxiety can make a man sick.
His dark voice carries through my cloud of fear. “Or we can strike a deal.”
I lift my head. Those gray eyes don’t move an inch.
“What kinda deal?”
I’m trying not to sound too hopeful, but Jesus H. Christ, I need a Hail Mary right now if I’m ever going to see Claire again.
If she’ll ever want to see me again after all this .
“I know all about Paris,” he says evenly. “She purchased the tickets on my card, after all. I learned long ago that I can’t control Claire. If she wants to leave, she’ll leave. There’s nothing I can do to stop her. But I’ll be damned if she runs away with a useless degenerate like you.”
Rage loosens the knot in my throat. “That ain’t fair.”
“There are two people in this world, Ransom. Winners and losers. My Claire is a winner. Can you guess which you are?”
“I love her, sir.” I can hear the shake in my voice, but I can’t stop it. My heart is bleeding all over his perfect oriental carpet. “I’ll do whatever it takes to spend the rest of my life taking care of her. You can be damned sure of that.”
“You couldn’t successfully steal sperm off a fake horse. What makes you think you could take care of my Claire?”
My Claire .
And just like that, it’s like a cold splash of water in the face.
What the hell am I doing?
I don’t need this. I don’t need to sit here and take this from him. Claire is waiting for me— my Claire, not his— and Paris might not be perfect, but hell, she’s right.
We’ll figure it out .
We can do anything, long as we’re together.
The grandfather clock ticks. I’ve still got thirty minutes before takeoff.
I can still make this right.
“All respect, sir, she ain’t your problem anymore. She’s mine.”
I grab my jacket off the back of the chair, and I stand to leave. Before I can get a foot toward the door, however, his voice cuts through the air like a knife.
“If you go that way, you’ll leave in handcuffs. ”
I stop in my tracks.
“How did you think this was going to go?” Mr. Preacher continues. “That I would let you leave and destroy everything I’ve worked so hard to create?”
“Claire is who she is in spite of you. Not because of you.”
His eyes darken, and I know I’ve hit a nerve.
“Sit down, Ransom,” he says.
This time, I have no choice. I retrace my steps and sink down into the hard leather of the chair.
He watches me. Exhales. And then starts cutting me apart, piece by piece.
“She will make something of herself in Paris, but you…you will lie. And steal. And cheat your way through life. Because when faced with a hard thing, you will always take the easy way out. It’s your nature. It was your parents’ nature. The Ransoms are a family of weak hearts. Claire has a strong heart and an unbreakable spirit. But if you insist on following her, you will slow her down. You will drag her down with you. And she will let you because despite everything I’ve done to train it out of her, my Claire still believes in the best of people.”
My blood is roaring in my ears. My chest is so tight it’s hard to breathe.
For a second, I close my eyes.
I’m so sorry, Claire.
“You’ll break her fucking heart, you know that?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. It will take more than a deadbeat ranch hand to destroy her. She’ll cry for a night, and then you’ll be nothing but a mistake she’s learned better from.” He takes a stack of papers from the table, meticulously lines them up, and then slides them across to me. “Sign this.”
I don’t budge. “What is it?”
“Your work contract. I won’t press charges. Your event with Chaucer will stay between us. In return, you stay here. Continue to work on the farm. You were expecting, I imagine, somewhere in the range of fifty thousand for your efforts? Let’s call it fifty-five with interest. I’ll dock the difference from your earnings until you’ve paid in full. In return, this can stay between us. No law enforcement. You can keep your freedom and your job.”
“And what about Claire?”
There’s a lengthy pause. “Claire will thrive without the burden of either of us holding her back.”
My heart is shaking apart in my chest.
He opens his hand, motioning to the chair. “You can make the call here.”
I dial Claire’s number and put the cell phone to my ear.
“Ransom.” Even angry, her voice makes my heart skip. “Where are you?”
I swallow hard. I lift my gaze.
Mr. Preacher nods. Go ahead .
I take in a breath and break her heart.