CHAPTER TWENTY
“I really don’t think this is a good idea.”
Ronnie sends me the same annoyed expression I’ve already received no less than seventeen times since trying to ditch my first riding lesson.
Her small boot taps in the dirt, impatiently waiting for me to grow a pair.
Greta would probably stamp her hoof if it wouldn’t spook me.
The horse has done nothing wrong except appear so tall.
She’s honestly better behaved than most humans.
I’m beginning to think I’m overreacting.
But there’s more to it than hoisting myself up into the saddle. “We should save this for tomorrow. It’s supposed to be warmer.”
Ronnie’s lips squish into a more severe line. “The indoor arena is heated.”
“Uh-huh, but it’s dusty.”
“We’re just gonna walk.”
This is how it’s been for the last twenty minutes. Every lame excuse I toss out gets promptly swatted down. There’s no proper way to explain that her daddy rearranged my internal organs with his monster cock last night and I’m still recovering.
I’ve never been pounded that hard. My vagina is throbbing, radiating an ache down my thighs. Don’t even get me started on the chafing Byron’s beard left behind. Good thing he didn’t hoover my basement or I’d still be in bed. But I loved every filthy second of it.
And now, here I stand. Prepared to go for a totally different ride.
I attempt a squat and almost collapse. “Whoa, did you see that? I’m not sure my legs can handle this.”
Her eyes narrow. “It’s just like sitting on a motorcycle.”
“How do you know?”
“You bought me a little one for Christmas,” she deadpans.
I deserve her snark for that one. “Why are you so smart?”
“My brain is humongous.”
“That’s such a big word! I bet you get really good grades.”
“Yep!” She beams with pride.
“Can you show me your report card?”
Her features scrunch. “Daddy has it. You gotta ask him.”
“Pass,” I mutter.
“Huh?”
“Never mind.” I wave that unnecessary drama away. “As I was saying, let’s go get ice cream. You’ve earned it.”
“We just ate breakfast.”
“There’s always room for ice cream.”
Ronnie doesn’t appear convinced. “After lunch.”
My mind whirls. “Gosh, your negotiating skills are top notch. Have you thought about becoming a lawyer?”
“What’s a lawyer?”
“A person who can talk their way out of any problem.”
She smiles wide. “That sounds fun!”
“Exactly. We should probably research the best schools to get you on the fast track.”
Her head tips in that cute way. “But I’m only in kindergarten.”
“It’s never too early. Education is important.” I almost snort at myself. It’s only by some crooked miracle that I even managed to graduate high school. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about Ronnie’s future.
And she seems equally concerned about mine. “You need to learn how to ride a horse.”
“Right now?”
“Yes.” She stamps her foot again. “Greta needs exercise. You can’t just let her sit around. That’s a waste. Do you want Daddy to sell her?”
“No,” I grumble. “I just really think—”
“Frannie,” she states in a firm tone. “Put your boot in the stirrup.”
She’s beginning to sound like my gynecologist and we’re not on speaking terms. That reminds me to find a replacement. But I digress. Again.
“Promise you won’t let go?”
Ronnie smacks her forehead with both palms. I’m just that exhausting. But there’s a more important matter at stake.
“You let go! She might run away.” I point at where the lead rope is hanging limp from Greta’s halter.
“She’s not moving. Look.” Ronnie waves her empty hands at Greta. The mare doesn’t so much as swish her glossy tail. She’s worthy of that outrageous price tag.
“But you dropped the rope. I’m not sure I can trust you once I’m up there,” I retort.
“Don’t be a chicken!”
I drop my jaw at her audacity. “Your prissy pants have no place here. This is my first time and I’m nervous.”
She’d look sympathetic if it weren’t for the exaggerated flare of her nostrils. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I warmed her up for you.”
“I’m not sure what that means.”
Ronnie huffs again. “Greta is a good girl. If a kid can ride her, so can you.”
Well, when she puts it that way, I’m acting like a wimp.
I take a deep, calming breath. When that doesn’t work, I flip my hair back and square my shoulders like the heartless criminal James Keller raised. It’s just a horse. I’ve conquered much scarier challenges.
This dreamscape I’m caught in is about trying new things, such as letting the grumpy single dad dick me dirty in the barn after dark. My horizons are spreading like my thighs. A shiver zips down my spine at the reminder. Yes, that was delightful.
And there’s no reason to limit myself now. I can pretend to be a cowgirl. It fits right in with my role as a nanny. No problem.
The little girl gasps. “Frannie! What happened?”
My head whips around, searching for the culprit. “Where?”
“On your neck!” She stabs her finger at me. “You’ve got boo-boos.”
I lift my hand to the area, but don’t feel anything. My fingers blindly reach for the knife holstered at my hip. The shiny blade gleams in the low light. It provides an adequate view of the hickeys decorating my delicate flesh. There are at least five of them.
This is why I should always check my reflection before going out in public. The rough patches on my cheek and jaw were obvious to the touch, but not very visible. There’s no missing the red marks Byron gifted me like a brand.
“That son of a—”
Frannie makes another startled noise. “We’re not supposed to play with knives. They’re very sharp and can hurt us.”
“Oh, I’m not playing.” But I put the weapon away for her fragile mind’s sake.
“Why do you have a knife?”
“For protection.”
“Can I have one?”
I choke on my saliva. “No way, kiddo. You’re too young.”
“But you’re young too.”
My palm lifts to flatten against my chest. “Awww, thank you.”
She stares at me expectantly.
“Oh, umm… you need to be a certain age.”
“How many years old?”
“Uhh…” I stall again. Six is when I got my first knife, but that doesn’t seem appropriate or safe. “Ten? Maybe twelve? You should ask your dad.”
“M’kay.” Ronnie spins on her heel, ready to do just that.
“Wait!”
Shit, I need to think before I speak. This formerly innocent child already wants to cover her skin in tattoos thanks to me.
Byron is going to kill me if she asks for a knife.
Maybe we can call it even for the marks he left all over me.
It’s a small miracle Ronnie didn’t press for the details of how those got there.
“You can’t go now. I was about to get on Greta.”
“Oh, yeah! Duh.” She returns to her spot at the horse’s head, gathering the lead rope in her tiny hand.
The moment has finally arrived. I gulp and test my footing on the step ladder. Ronnie was kind enough to drag it over to me. Usually I would’ve been offended at the assumption I needed it, but my current condition has humbled me.
My body trembles slightly as I secure my boot in the stirrup.
A sharp ache radiates through my muscles when I reach for the saddle horn.
I bite back a curse. That pain increases into stabbing cramps from the swinging motion needed to get my leg over.
But then I’m astride Greta and the deep throb dulls into a manageable twinge.
“Phew, I did it.” My fingers brush fake sweat off my forehead.
Ronnie beams at me like a proud teacher. “Okay, hold on.”
I snort. That sounds familiar. The amusement vanishes when Greta begins to walk. Her gait is smooth, but I’m jostled to and fro faster than I prefer.
“Whoa! Why are we moving?”
She giggles. “That’s the whole point, silly.”
“Uh, can’t I just… sit on her to start?”
“Nope.”
“Go slow,” I demand.
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Mother.”
Those words strike at the sensitive sliver she created in me. “Not funny. You shouldn’t use that name as if I’m nagging you.”
“Can I call you Mom to be nice?” That hopeful lilt in her voice will be my undoing.
Shit. I hang my head, once again stepping into a big pile of manure. Metaphorically or not, I’m really stinking it up this morning.
“Frannie is better. Stick to that,” I murmur.
Her shoulders slump. “Fine.”
We find a rhythm after that. It doesn’t take long for me to realize riding is rather relaxing.
I’m just going with the flow, rocking gently in the saddle.
Ronnie seems happy to let silence rest between us.
Greta’s fuzzy ears are forward, which I take as a good sign.
That allows me to sit and enjoy the rustic scenery.
But then there’s a tingle across the nape of my neck, alerting me that we’re no longer alone.
A sideways glance reveals Byron darkening one of the many doorways.
His arms are stretched overhead in an incredibly sexy, masculine pose that makes me thirsty.
I swear he’s standing like that on purpose.
Even through the thick layer of his flannel jacket, I can envision the definition of muscle and control.
“Daddy!” Ronnie makes wild gestures with her arms when she should be focused on holding a horse. “Look, look! Frannie is riding.”
A gruff chuckle rumbles from the cowboy. “I can’t believe my eyes.”
“What? You don’t see her? She’s right here.” The little girl points at where I’m purposely avoiding Byron’s stare.
I haven’t been able to look at him since he double fucked me. My vagina was down to pound, but I didn’t anticipate him screwing my mind too. After Byron shattered my orgasmic sexpectations, a familiar sense of panic rushed in and I needed to escape.
Sex isn’t supposed to mean anything. It serves a purpose, such as giving a quick endorphin boost or dragging out secrets from an enemy. Byron made me feel too much and I’m not referring to the persistent ache between my legs.