Ride 'Em (A Giddyup Novel) Read online

  Poppy seemed indifferent to the grooming, but it eased Mindy’s mind to do the simple, repetitive task. When the horse grew more restive, Mindy gave her neck a final pat and slipped back out of the stall, moving down the row to the tack room, where she’d put up her saddle and bridle earlier under Lamar’s watchful eye. The saddle had been as dusty as the horse, and she’d noticed at the time it could use a polish. Now she started poking around the supply shelf for some oil and a rag.

  It was ridiculous for her to be there at all, more ridiculous still for her to be wasting time and energy on menial tasks that Logan probably already paid somebody to do. If she were thinking with her head instead of what was in her pants, she would be gone by now. No good could come of any further talks between her and Logan, not once he talked to Lamar. Although she’d be sure to apologize for not being honest with him from the start, the very next time she saw him.

  The very next time—

  “Mindy.”

  She jumped with a shriek, whirling to face the serial killer at the door, bracing for the pitchfork attack.

  It was Logan. He didn’t have a pitchfork, but Mindy wasn’t completely reassured. Some instinct made her back up at the look on his face. Not scowling, not frowning, but she could still read anger there. Anger and more. She took another step back and found herself with nowhere left to go. Her back pressed firmly against the wall between the supply shelf and the bridle rack. She tried to look like she was just leaning there casually.

  Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck—

  “You weren’t hungry?”

  It took her a second to process the question. She’d been expecting an accusation. But his voice was soft, cool. He stalked toward her, trailing his fingers along the neat row of bridles, toying with the reins.

  “I wasn’t in the mood for conversation. And actually I was just leaving. I wanted to head back to my cabin. It’s getting a little chilly. Maybe time for a jacket.”

  “Yeah, there’s a chill, all right.” He stopped directly in front of her, still holding a rein from the closest bridle in one hand. “And I’m sure it’s hard to chitchat when you’re working on keeping your story straight.”

  The look in his eyes wasn’t just anger, it was betrayal, and that could only mean one thing. “You had a chitchat with Lamar?”

  Logan smiled, but not in a nice way. She tried to smile back but failed, because she felt too sick to manage. Eyeing the tack room door wistfully, she wondered whether she had a chance at making a break for it, literally running away from her problems. Getting into her car and disappearing into the night.

  “An enlightening talk, one might say.” He took one of her hands in his and, before she could protest, wrapped her wrist snugly with the end of the rein and tucked in the tail to secure the loops against her skin. The well-used leather tied well enough to hold her, and the bridle was on a high hook. She couldn’t reach it, and couldn’t jerk it down without damaging it. The disconnect between this setting and the one where she was usually tied up was beyond unsettling. Her heart pounded, and instead of the outrage she knew she ought to feel, she felt a delicious slide of arousal low in her belly.

  “Hey. Um, okay. Wh—whatcha doing?”

  Logan caught her other wrist up in a halter lead he’d snatched from one of the nearby hooks. It didn’t hold quite as tight as the rein on the other side, but once he’d looped it around the shelf bracket by her shoulder, it did well enough. He’d roped and tied her as quickly and efficiently as an errant calf he needed to brand, albeit with leather and nylon instead of a lasso. His shirtsleeves were rolled back, revealing muscular forearms that flexed as he secured her. Mindy’s mind, primed for kink, offered an image of Logan hog-tying her. Not helpful.

  “You had a look in your eye like you were fixing to bolt. I’m just making sure you stay put,” he explained, placing his hands on the wall just over her shoulders and leaning in until he was talking right next to her ear. “While we chitchat. Wouldn’t want you running off to your cabin for a jacket, or suddenly remembering a work phone call you had to make, or anything like that. Lamar is up at the house helping Robert out with cleanup, and everybody else has headed back to their cabins. Gives us some nice, uninterrupted private time.”

  “Oh.” Her voice was a tiny, pathetic thing, which was about right considering how she felt. Miserable, mortified . . . weirdly and inappropriately turned on by Logan’s sudden shift from cowboy-next-door to dangerous outlaw. Every puff of his breath against her neck sent shivers down her spine. He could tie her to the railroad tracks and—no, no, stop all that, Mindy, pull yourself together.

  “I’ll untie you if you tell me to, because otherwise I’d be breaking the law. But somehow I don’t think you’ll tell me to. Now, I’m going to ask you one more time, one last time. What brings you here, Miss Valek?”

  She exhaled with an unintended whimper. “A sincere desire to get back in touch with my roots?”

  “You’ll forgive me if I find that hard to believe.”

  He pulled back just far enough to stare directly at her, his glare uncompromising. Mindy wasn’t physically intimidated. In fact, she was sure if she asked, he would untie her just as he’d said he would, and let her leave immediately. She was also sure if that happened, she would never see Logan again. That prospect already seemed unimaginable to her.

  “I came here for work, because I knew my boss wanted your mineral rights. I was trying to prove myself to him. If I could bring back a deal, I’d have a shot at avoiding the next firing round, and maybe even doing some real work for the company.”

  “Dammit!” He thumped the wall by her head with both hands, then sagged toward her, shoulders slumped. His posture telegraphed his disappointment.

  “And I’m really, really sorry I wasn’t honest from the start,” she added. She was sorry about a lot of things. Miserable, in fact.

  “So am I.”

  “I had no right to come here and turn this week into one long hard sell. I was an idiot and a creep.”

  “Yes, you were.”

  Oh no. She was starting to cry. Big, fat tears, rolling down her face. She managed to wipe one eye then the other against her shoulders, then straightened to see Logan glaring at her with renewed fury.

  “Cut that out.”

  Her mouth curled into a rueful twist, and her forehead started to ache. “I’m not doing it on purpose.” It was something she’d had to train herself out of at work, something she usually only gave free rein to in the safety of a club or play party. And even then, only occasionally. The freedom to weep when challenged by authority figures. It was the impromptu bondage, she thought—crossing her signals, opening the floodgates during what should have been a purely businesslike conversation.

  “Jesus. You’re manipulative to the bone, aren’t you?”

  “No,” she insisted. “No! I’m not manipulative at all—that’s the problem.” The truth of this stunned her into a momentary silence. She mulled over the words as she snuffled back more tears. “I’m sorry, sir—um. Sorry, Logan.”

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing. God.”

  Her wires were hopelessly crossed. She knew she ought to ask him to untie her—hell, or work her hands free on her own, she was pretty sure she could do that—and just go. But she couldn’t make herself do it.

  Logan folded his arms and scowled for a few seconds, then cursed and reached for the roll of rough brown paper towels on the supply shelf. He ripped a length off with unnecessary force and dabbed at Mindy’s face, then held a dry portion to her nose.

  “Blow,” he ordered. After a moment, she complied. It didn’t matter what Logan thought of her anymore anyway. Her humiliation was complete.

  “Explain how you’re not being manipulative.” He tossed the wadded paper towel into the trash can in the corner, then refolded his arms and stared her down, his legs braced wide like he was ready for a fight. “You come here under false pretenses, planning to sucker me into some deal for your own benefit.
You sweet-talk me, let me think you like me, for God’s sake. Then when I call you out for lying to me, you start weeping like a hurt baby. How is any of that not an attempt to manipulate me?”

  “I didn’t mean any of it like that. It sounds awful when you say it, but it wasn’t like that, Logan. I really do like it here. I—” The truth struck her the second before she said it. “I had pretty much given up on the deal. I was never gonna make it work anyway. And I do like you. I thought you liked me, and that was so great, and I hadn’t expected any of that. I knew if I tried to bring the lease up, all that would go away, and the week would be a total loss. The flirting part just made it worse.”

  His scowl deepened. “I don’t flirt. Wait, so you’re saying my flirting was bad?”

  “It was wonderful. But I hadn’t planned on doing that. Or on ... meaning it.”

  “Then why ... what did you come here expecting, Mindy? If not this, then what did you think you were going to find?”

  She shrugged, as best she could within the limitations of the restraints, and felt embarrassed all over again. But she wouldn’t compound her problems by adding more deceit to the mix. He deserved the truth. “Some pathetic, balding drugstore cowboy who’d spent his whole life in his hometown because he had to, not because he wanted to. Someone who never got out, and might be impressed by me pretending like I was something. And yes, I thought I might flirt a little if I needed to. But I would never have gone any further with it. Never.”

  “I would’ve.”

  “I would’ve, too, after seeing you.” Crap. Being tied up was like a truth serum, apparently. She twisted her hands to grip the leather and nylon, the back of her mind noting with approval that he’d left her enough slack not to interfere with circulation. The man clearly knew how to tie a girl up. In other circumstances, she’d be thrilled by that knowledge. “But not to get the deal.”

  Logan pursed his lips, considering her. His gaze flicked over her hands, apparently checking the bonds as if it was automatic to do so. “So, just for the sake of argument, you would have let me, say . . . kiss you, if there was no land deal involved? If you’d just come here on vacation like you said?”

  Her eyes were welling with tears again as she nodded. She looked down at the rough stones paving the floor, and watched a pair of drops fall to darken the dusty limestone. “I did come here on vacation. I really did. I mean, I planned to try for the deal, I planned to be straightforward about it, but . . . I’m not sure what happened.”

  In her line of vision, Logan’s boots stepped forward until he was toe to toe with her. Another teardrop spattered down, hitting dark leather this time. His chest brushed her forehead and she leaned there, wishing she could stay like that indefinitely. Mortified though she was, it was still comforting. He smelled so good. When he spoke, his voice sounded rumbly, vibrating against her skull.

  “It was Mr. Clapsaddle, by the way. At the feed store.”

  “What?”

  He hooked a finger under her chin and tipped her head up. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or more worried to see a slightly cynical, cockeyed smile on his lips. “That’s who told Lamar about you working for your stepfather. How Clapsaddle knew you were visiting here, I have no idea. It’s that Bolero grapevine. Maybe your mom told somebody else’s mom who has a cousin who sat next to Arlene Clapsaddle in church, who knows? I’m going to let you go in a minute, by the way.”

  “In a minute? Why not just let me go now, Logan? I’ll clear out and leave you in peace. I know you’re never going to deal with my stepfather’s company.” The idea of him letting her go was suddenly the worst part of all. She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want him to release her. All tied up was her comfort zone, the only part of the current situation she absolutely knew what to do with.

  He moved closer, his fingers still trapping her chin. The harsh edge was back in his expression. “That’s probably true. But once I untie you, you’ll be out the door, and I wasn’t quite ready for you to go yet. I had one more point to make first.”

  “Oh?” Mindy’s mind and heart were racing, her body responding to Logan’s proximity while her head tried to sort out what he might mean.

  She didn’t have to puzzle over it for long. A moment later, his lips captured hers in a take-no-prisoners kiss. Her startled gasp was all the opportunity Logan needed to invade her mouth, but the moment she started to respond he drew back to tease his way over to her ear.

  “I’m not too proud to admit if you had tried using sex as a bargaining tactic, we might be having a conversation about mineral leases right now. I still wouldn’t have sold the rights, but it could’ve been an interesting chitchat.”

  Was that a suggestion? A threat? A compliment? Mindy cared for another two seconds, until Logan swiped his tongue over that spot behind her ear, the one that melted her knees and fried her brain. His hands roamed, exploring her in forays from her waist. First up, almost grazing the undersides of her breasts. Then down, curving behind her to cup her ass and pull her closer. He was so hard she almost felt bad for him. Whatever Logan was doing to her, he was clearly doing to himself, as well.

  He kissed her again, channeling lust and anger into every possessive move of his tongue, into the rough grasp of his hands on her body.

  When he pulled away without warning, she swayed forward, clutching the rein and halter lead for balance as Logan stepped back. Panting, he hesitated for a moment before blurting, “Well, I guess I showed you.”

  If she’d had even a single one of her wits about her, she probably would have laughed. But of all the things she was feeling as she leaned toward Logan, amusement wasn’t among them. He untied her bonds with quick, jerky movements, not meeting her eyes.

  Mindy hissed as she brought her arms down, wrapping them around her to stretch her shoulders. The muscles twitched from the strain, vibrating in a way that suggested they’d be sore tomorrow from the unaccustomed use. Pitiful. Her stamina wasn’t what it used to be.

  “I’m sorry,” she offered again, since it seemed to apply on several levels at the moment. Sorry he’d stopped. Sorry he’d ever started. Sorry about his possible blue balls, and that she’d ever come to his ranch in the first place. She was a sorry, sorry specimen of a woman. “I’d better get going.”

  “No.”

  Stunned, she looked up at him. “No?”

  Logan looked embarrassed. “I mean, you’re free to go if you want. But damned if I’ll refund your money. So you might as well stay the week.”

  “Because I’m a paying customer.”

  He nodded. “Ma’am.”

  She coughed into her hand, looking toward the door. Logan stepped out of her way, and she moved in that direction but turned with her hand on the doorknob, considering a handshake. A second later, she thought better of it. Best not to touch him. In fact, that was probably the only way.

  She nodded back at him, then opened the door and headed out into the night.

  Chapter Five

  Crocodile tears.

  Had to be. Logan chided himself for ten kinds of fool as he strode through the cooling night air, making a final round to check that all was well before he turned in.

  He also wanted to give himself time for full boner deflation before he went back to the house. Robert was never one to let a hard dick go by without a comment. And detecting them was one of his superpowers.

  It wasn’t easy, though. Logan kept thinking of the scene in the barn, and then there the damn thing would go again. Because it had felt like a scene, hadn’t it, and he’d craved nothing more than to get Mindy naked and start leaving marks until, when she cried, he knew for certain the tears were real.

  He had lost his head at one point in there, he knew that much. Maybe when she’d bowed her head like that, standing so still and penitent, but graceful and proud at the same time. So like a remorseful submissive, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to restrain her in some way. To keep her from rattling apart until he could decide what to do
with her. And then . . . it had seemed to have exactly that effect on her, holding her together. And after he’d lashed the first wrist to the shelf, she’d offered up her other hand without his even having to ask . . . seemingly without realizing she’d done it.

  And then she’d relaxed into the bonds and said the thing he couldn’t get off the auto-play in his mind.

  Sir. Why did it have to be “sir”? And he wouldn’t have thought twice about it—this was Texas, people still said “sir” and “ma’am”—except that she’d caught herself and changed it as if she’d said something wrong.

  His cock thrummed against his fly, complaining silently about the neglect. Patience, Sparky.

  As he walked down the path past the cabins, he dragged his thoughts back to the substance of the conversation. The mineral rights. Bud fucking Jameson. And Mindy, Bud’s paid lackey. They wanted the use of what lay under Logans land? They’d get it over his dead body. He came from a long line of holdouts, and the ranch’s position on the underlying granite substrate had even foiled previous attempts at sneaky, underhanded slant-well drilling from neighboring properties. The bulk of the land was basically in the middle of a natural underground moat. If there was oil, nobody was getting it without going straight through Logan Hill—and that was not happening.

  His palm itched, and he slapped it against his thigh, the sound falling curiously flat in the thick evening air. This part of the trail was bounded by shrubbery, deadening noise as it provided privacy. All the cabins still had some lights on. Everything seemed to be in order.

  That palm wanted something softer than his own leg to land against. His own hand conspired with his brain to remind him of Mindy’s butt, and how tempting it had felt during the brief, mad grope he’d allowed himself.

  Jesus. She’d been so pliant in his grip, whimpering and fucking melting against him when he stole that kiss. As if she were already turned on, already getting into the scene, maybe aroused by the bondage. Probably a rope bunny . . .