Ride 'Em (A Giddyup Novel) Read online

  “Why am I not flattered?”

  “Crushing self-esteem issues stemming from an unhappy childhood?”

  He took her other wrist, shackling her firmly. “Melinda. Can you just be honest with me? If you don’t want to tell me, say you don’t want to tell me. Say it’s none of my business. But if it was because of something I did, I need to know.”

  She’d already been looking down, avoiding his gaze. Now she glanced off to the side. He wanted to tell her never, ever to play poker. She was one big tell. He couldn’t bring himself to believe anybody had an act this good.

  “I lied . . . a little.”

  “About . . . ?” He tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest.

  “I wasn’t homesick for Dallas,” she explained. “I’m homesick for here. For Bolero. These trees, dirt this color, the way it all smells, the damn pie at Minnie’s. Just . . . all of it.”

  He tried to piece it together, but just couldn’t. “Okay. But. You’re here.”

  “I know. That’s the problem.” She finally looked up, her brown eyes almost amber in the late afternoon sunlight. “I’m here, but I’m not supposed to be. And I have to go back home. That’s hanging over me. Once I realized how much I wanted to stay here, and that I couldn’t stay, I thought I’d get it over with fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid. Then the storm happened. And I thought, well, I should have seen that coming. So did I set myself up by not keeping a close enough eye on the weather? Then I ran up to say good-bye because I thought it would be really shitty to leave without saying goodbye. And of course you weren’t going to let me run back out of there with the sky falling. I knew that afterward. It was so obvious afterward, but at the time I felt like I was doing the right thing. Then that scene, and the whole thing, it was . . . good, really good, and it’s not that I want to leave. It’s that I feel like I’d be smarter to? But I don’t want to.”

  Her eyes pleaded with him, and he wished like anything he had an easy answer for her. Something to make it all okay. But he didn’t want her to leave, either, so he wasn’t really qualified to advise her. He wanted her to stay. Or at least to come back. That much, he’d figured out, and he didn’t care how stupid or ill-advised it was. “That’s a lot to sort through.”

  “I know. So when I say I don’t know what I’m doing, I mean all of that. It’s such a mess. I’m a mess.”

  Her wrists felt vulnerable in his hands—strong, but only relatively so. He could snap her if he wanted to. But all he really wanted was to help her feel better about whatever she decided. He was too sleep-deprived to feel confident he could give good counsel, but he had to try. “It’s kind of late now. If you start this late, you’ll be driving at least some of the way in the dark. So I really hope you at least stay tonight and hit the road tomorrow. And we can maybe talk more after supper, and get to feeling better about at least some things?”

  After a second or so, she nodded. “That makes sense.”

  He told himself not to do it. Don’t do it, man. Do NOT. But he did it. “You know the isolation stalls? The old barn, I mean? Ethan went through there earlier, swept out the creepy-crawlies, but he ended up putting his horses in the big barn.” The ranch was full of old and new versions of the same thing—sturdy old rock buildings in need of repair, and newer structures his grandparents had installed a few decades ago, when their customers had found the old ones too outdated. Now the native rock was part of the retro appeal, so Logan was looking into restoring everything. “He said the ceiling beams are actually in pretty good shape. In terms of load-bearing.”

  Mindy planted one toe and swiveled her heel back and forth, grinding a circle in the dust. “I assume you’re not just telling me this because you’re interested in architecture? Oh . . . he ties people up. So you mean some suspension, in the barn? Sure, I could go for that. Not both of you, though. That would be weird.”

  “No, no, gross. He’s my brother. We don’t . . . well, not if there’s any sex involved. We’ve done, like, suspension demos where I’ve helped him rig some things that need two people.”

  “The barn would actually be a wonderful place for suspension demos. So atmospheric, you know? You could charge admission. There’s plenty of room for spectators. Of course, you wouldn’t want to do it while you had the regular guests here.”

  Logan chuckled. “That’d be one way to make some more money. I’ll have to keep that in mind. But . . . no. I just thought we could finish what we started the day you got here.” He ran his thumbs over her wrists, tracing the delicate veins and tendons. Imagining them bound in elegant twists of rope.

  “In the tack room, you mean?” She looked up shyly—but at least not upset anymore. “You have a thing for barns, sir.”

  “Yeehaw,” he confirmed.

  She looked down again for a few seconds, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. Okay. Just name the time.”

  * * *

  The atmosphere was perfect. Mindy stared up into the rafters, trying to pick out details above the point from which she hung by one foot. Everything was too dark, however, outside the pool of light from the lantern Logan had brought. The old barn wasn’t wired for electricity—that was one of many needed improvements. For years, it had been used only when they needed to isolate a fractious stallion or an ill horse.

  “And the occasional pig or cow,” Logan added, sighing over a hank of rope he’d been casting out then rewrapping for the past few minutes. “God, this thing just won’t lie smooth. Yeah, Memaw and Papaw used to keep a little herd out here, and some other animals, for authenticity. You doin’ okay?”

  “Super.” She hauled on the section of rope that looped up through the suspension ring, pulling herself vertical again. “I wish I could remember the three-point self-suspension thing. It’s chest and both feet, but there’s a certain order to how you get yourself into it. I can stay in that one forever.”

  Logan looked up. “Ethan would know.”

  She worked her foot against the pressure of the rope, shifting her weight to get more comfortable. “You really like him around for this stuff, don’t you? Should I be concerned?” The loops around her torso were compressing, but not dangerously so. At least she’d remembered that part of the process correctly.

  “You’re fully clothed and suspending yourself. There is nothing sexual about this situation.”

  “You sound a little grumpy about that, sir.” She grinned and inverted again, flipping her hair down against the old mattress Logan had dragged from the main house to provide some cushion under the suspension point. “Self-suspension is so much fun.” It really was. It always cheered her up, made her feel like a trapeze artist in the circus. Glamorous, with mad skills. Even if she was only doing the simplest tricks.

  “So is tying other people up when they’re naked.”

  “True. Fair enough. You didn’t press very hard for that, though.” She was vaguely concerned that he hadn’t. But she wasn’t sure if the pall currently shadowing his expression was frustration with her, general fatigue, moodiness, or something else. She didn’t know him well enough to know the difference.

  She unknotted the loose end from her rope-wrapped midsection and lowered herself carefully onto the mattress, head then shoulders then back. From that position she could look up at Logan as he sat cross-legged at one end of the mattress.

  He tied off the wrap he’d been working on and tossed it down in front of his legs. “Eh, fuck it. It isn’t perfect, so what?”

  Mindy rolled to a sitting position and eased the loops of rope down from her rib cage. She left her foot bound, so she wouldn’t have to retie it in case the three-point process came back to her. “You look tired. I won’t have any hard feelings if you want to call it a night.”

  He opened his mouth as if to protest, then shook his head and chuckled. “I’m pretty wiped out. This is my new normal, though, I guess. Not last night, as such, but the whole thing. Staying up too late to work out details, try to get new ideas. I don’t know . . .” He picked the bundle o
f rope up and stroked the loops thoughtfully.

  “I’m exhausted, too,” she admitted, rolling on her side to face him and propping herself on one elbow. “I feel like I’ve put in a year’s worth of good honest work, these past few days. Plus all this fresh country air, my lungs don’t know what to do with themselves. So thank you for all that.”

  He shot her a sardonic smile. “You aren’t exactly on the standard vacation package.”

  “True, true. You could probably make a fortune selling my vacation package to the right clientele, though.” She sifted her fingers through the loops on the opposite end of his rope bundle. It was hemp, soft and beautifully dyed, almost the same cobalt blue as her shirt. “This is lovely stuff, by the way.”

  “Thanks. Ethan made it.”

  “Seriously? Wow.”

  “He and a friend make it and sell a little online, and at some of the local conventions when they can get there. The friend also makes wooden toys, that’s the primary business. The rope’s just a sideline. They don’t have space to do anything over fifty feet, or dye in anything other than solid colors, which limits them.”

  She gestured around them. “Why doesn’t he just do it here? All the space in the world. You could have an off-limits area so the vanilla dude ranchers don’t ever suspect there’s a kinky bondage rope factory or . . . however you make it.”

  Logan pursed his lips. “That’s actually not a bad idea. He’s talked about moving out here anyway, he wants to build one of those little house trailer things that look like cottages.”

  “A tiny house?” She loved them. Wouldn’t want to live in one, but she thought the idea was great for the right person.

  “Yeah. He says I should open up for people to park them here. Rent the land. Another way to make money. I just . . .” He shrugged and rested his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands.

  “You don’t want to spoil it. I get it now. I really do.” It broke her heart. Riding and walking all over the ranch the past few days, she had seen the raw beauty of the place. She didn’t want it spoiled, either. Just thinking about what would have happened if she’d succeeded in getting him to sign the lease made her physically ill.

  Or possibly that was spending too long in an inverted suspension. But still.

  “You’re the last person I should be telling this to.” He leaned his forehead into his hands. “But I don’t know if I can make this work.”

  He wasn’t talking about their relationship. Or lack thereof. For a second she was tempted to pretend she thought that was what he’d meant, but then she couldn’t take the thought of any more subterfuge.

  She stroked his hair, combing her fingers through the waves. “Maybe look at the numbers when you’re not so worn out?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve looked. Ethan’s looked. Our accountant is still looking but hasn’t sounded that hopeful. There are just too many big, established ranches out here that we can’t compete with on cost, and we haven’t come up with a unique draw. Our preliminary numbers looked better, but there were a lot of factors we didn’t know to account for. Seasonal cost changes, some of the operating expenses we learned about as we did the initial restoration. We had some overruns there, too. To do it the way we really wanted, go high-end and cater to a boutique crowd like I wanted, work the hunting angle Chet suggested, work the living-history angle with some cattle and a full vintage blacksmith shop like Ethan wants, we’d need a lot of money and a lot of time. And we won’t make enough in the meantime to get us there. It’ll be a few years of barely breaking even and then the place sliding downhill because we don’t have the capital to improve it to the point where it could make us more money. And . . . ugh. The whole thing is turning into a train wreck.”

  It was the longest speech she’d ever heard him make, and she wished she could make it better, but she couldn’t. She could only offer some pleasant distraction. “So. You want to walk me back to my place, maybe fool around a little?”

  Logan tapped his fingers against his forehead. “Maaayyyybeee.”

  Taking it as a yes, she stood and stretched, wincing as her various bruises and welts made themselves known. She reached a hand down and after a second he took it, allowing her to pull him to his feet. He continued the motion straight into a hug, picking her up gently by the waist and swinging her around once before kissing her on the cheek.

  “What was that for?”

  “Letting me vent.” He set her down, only to bend, grab her by the knees and shoulders, and quickly scoop her into his arms. This time, he kissed her hard on the mouth, not letting up until they were both breathless. “That was for offering to make me feel better with sex.”

  “Any time.” She said it automatically, senses still reeling from the sensation of his lips and tongue and end-of-the-day stubble. She didn’t expect him to take her up on it.

  “Maybe next time we could bolt the door in here and get you naked. Probably need a gag so you won’t frighten the guests when I bullwhip you, though.”

  “Next time? Logan . . .” She kicked her feet, and he set her down again.

  But he didn’t let up on the topic. “Yeah. Next time. Like when you drive down here some time from Dallas. To visit. I could take you to Minnie’s for pie and everything. We could go to a drive-in movie.” He seemed so certain about the next time, she found herself believing him. At least enough to pretend for tonight.

  She sat and started unwrapping the rope from her foot and ankle. The marks were perfect, pink and deep and clear. She wondered what the ones on her torso looked like. “The drive-in hasn’t been there since we were in high school.”

  “It’s still there,” he corrected her, throwing the rest of the rope into his bag. “They just don’t show movies anymore. And most of the screen is gone. But I figured we could park and watch something on a tablet. Bring some popcorn. Make a night of it.”

  “Crazy.” She flung the foot rope at him, and he caught it deftly.

  “But cute. Admit it.”

  “Yeah. You have a certain appeal.” All-American cowboy engineer sadist appeal. Which was apparently her Kryptonite.

  He took her hand firmly on the walk back to the cabin. He pointed out some stars—not just the Pleiades and Orion’s Belt and the Big Dipper, like most guys who thought girls couldn’t possibly already know these things, but some ones she actually didn’t know. When they arrived at the cabin, he greeted Moose with solemn dignity and a promise to maintain detente.

  Mindy excused herself to go to the restroom and when she came back out, stark naked, ready to show Logan her lovely new rope marks, he was facedown on her bed. Not quite snoring. But not exactly not snoring.

  At least his boots were off.

  She set a five o’clock alarm on her phone, turned off the lights, flipped a blanket over them both, and cuddled against his side like she belonged there.

  Chapter Thirteen

  They all agreed they’d hit it lucky with the weather—the drop in temperature after the storm had held, so it was cool and breezy the next day, and promised to be down in the high fifties after nightfall.

  About half of the guests were already gathered around the fire pit, working on setting up the first bonfire. Floyd Gordon had no idea how to stack wood for a fire, but that was okay. Everybody was still having a good time.

  Mindy handed Floyd another split log from the pile behind the bench, and tried not to giggle at the faces Logan’s cousin Chet was making behind the guy’s back. Not to mock, but if Chet’s jaw got any tighter or his eyes any squintier, he’d turn into a cartoon character. The poor guy was so frustrated watching the inept fire-building that Mindy expected steam to burst out of his ears any second.

  Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. “Hey, Chet. Uh, Sheriff Garcia. I heard Robert mention earlier he had some old newspapers saved up. Have you seen him anywhere recently?”

  Chet turned his scowl on her, and for a second she thought she was about to reap the whirlwind. Then he nodded sternly, seeming to get the h
int that she was trying to give him an out. “Chet will do. In this setting. I will seek Robert out. Excuse me.”

  He strode off like a mountain man on a mission to hunt down the last grizzly and wrestle it to death. That was a happier look for him than watching Floyd lay an inadequate fire.

  “Thank you, sweetheart. I thought he was gonna stare a damn hole in my back.”

  She turned back to Floyd, giggling, wondering why it really didn’t bother her to have Floyd call her sweetheart when back in Dallas she’d have had to leave the room to cool down for half an hour if she’d heard that. “Let’s hope he takes a while to twist up a lot of kindling out of that paper. It’ll give you time to clear the area so you can’t see him sneak back and move your logs around.”

  Floyd’s wife, Thelma, cackled. “I have to do that with the Christmas tree tinsel every year. He’s used to it.”

  “I can hear you, you know!” Floyd placed the last log in the careful stack, then stepped back, brushing his hands off on his thighs. “Ah, hell with it anyway. It’s fire, not rocket science. My experience, if the wood’s dry, it’ll catch and do just fine. If ol’ Chet wants to switch it up, that’ll do just fine, too.” He joined his wife and one of the other guests, Marlene Jackson, on their bench.

  Mindy had seen good ol’ boys come to blows over less serious matters than how to stack a campfire, but she kept her skepticism to herself. At least there was no beer in the equation. Yet.

  The Delgados, Bob Jackson, and Mary Havlicek were all still out on their last trail ride of the week. It was an hour or so until sunset, which meant Lamar would be leading the riders back from the High Trail any minute. The smell of searing meat drifted over from the big barbecue grill next to the kitchen door. Beneath that, a hint of white jasmine floated on the air; the vines ran rampant in the as-yet-untamed back garden. Cicadas churred. Some sort of insect or frog made a gentle but insistent peeping noise. The Gordons and their new friend talked companionably, laughing softly, seeming just as loath to disturb the quiet as Mindy was.