Buckled (Trails of Sin 2)

She flinches, sucking in a wheezing gulp. “Don’t hurt me.”

I yank my hand back before making contact. She thinks I’d retaliate because of that kick? It was my fault I let my guard down.

Fucking hell, I’m not an abuser. My chest constricts.

But I am a murderer.

Does she know that? Is that why she fears my reaction?

It doesn’t help that I trussed her up against her will. I’m certain she’s into this kind of play, but it’s too soon. I pushed too hard, too fast, without a foundation of trust.

I fucked up.

“Listen to me.” I lower my face to hers. “I would never hurt you out of anger.”

“I don’t know that.”

“You’re right.” I grip the knot on the rope and loosen her restraints. “Let’s back up and slow down.”

As the rope falls away, her breathing slows.

I check her skin for rub marks and help her straighten the dress. “How long are you in town?”

“Until I have the story.”

My jaw clenches. “Where are you staying?”

She runs her hands over the chaos of curls around her shoulders. “Doesn’t concern you.”

Why is she being so secretive about that?

I believe her about the listening devices, not that it matters. Jake and I don’t discuss anything incriminating in the stable, where our crew could overhear.

I wind up the rope and return it to the wall, watching her as she wanders along the stalls.

She stops in front of Jake’s stallion, and her eyes connect with mine over her shoulder. “Are any of these yours?”

“That one.” I gesture at the black gelding behind her.

She turns, and her cheeks lift. “He’s beautiful.”

Not as beautiful as her smile. She should do that more often.

“What’s his name?” She approaches the sliding grill door on his stall.

“Ginny.”

“Oh.” She cranes her neck, trying to look under his legs. “I thought…”

“He’s a gelding.” I join her side and hang an arm through the vertical rungs.

“Gelding?”

“He’s castrated.”

Grooves form on her brow. “Why would you do that?”

“When he bucked me off and almost trampled me to death, my dad deemed him too dangerous for a thirteen-year-old kid.” I reach farther through the rungs and run a hand along Ginny’s neck. “I fought to keep him, so Dad compromised by having him castrated. The procedure calms them down.”

“Why does he have a girl’s name?”

“That was Conor. She named all four of our horses.” I move along the stalls, pointing to the critters that belong to Jake and Conor. “That’s Barnabe and Ketchup. And this…” I pause in front of the white and brown dappled palomino stallion, who misses Lorne as much as I do. “This is Captain Undies.”

Her lips twitch, and she bursts into laughter. It’s a musical sound, dancing along my skin and penetrating me in ways it shouldn’t.

“Holy shit, that’s great.” She composes herself but doesn’t lose that smile. “How did she come up with that name?”

“Her brother had a flair for superhero underwear. She used to tease him for that.” My throat thickens in memory. “We all did.”

“Why did he go along with the name? And you, for that matter? I mean, you let her name your male horse Ginny?”

I shrug. “We love to indulge her.”

Then and now. After abandoning her for six years, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make it up to her. If I could only expedite her brother’s return home…

Captain lowers his head and nudges the gate with his nose. I gladly answer his request for attention with a vigorous ear rub.

Every horse has different boundaries and preferences for affection. I try to handle Captain the same way Lorne did, but the horse knows it’s not the same. My stomach hardens with regret. Nothing’s the same without Lorne.

Maybe rests her arms on the gate, studying me. “You miss Conor’s brother.”

“Yeah.”

“Can we talk about his incarceration?”

“Nope.” I pat Captain on the shoulder and turn to the blue-eyed intruder beside me. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I shared something personal. My employees don’t even know the story behind Ginny’s name.”

“Thank you for telling me.” Her gaze flicks away and takes its time returning to mine. “I don’t really have anything to share.”

“Likes? Dislikes? I know nothing about you.”

“I love animals.”

“That’s not an answer.” I grunt. “Anyone with a heart loves animals.”

“Okay, well, let me elaborate.” She shifts from one foot to the other. “Sometimes when I drive past a chicken farm, I dream about plowing through the gate with an eighteen-wheeler. When the owner runs out, I shoot him with a shotgun. Not a fatal shot. Just some buckshot in the leg, enough to give him a terrible limp and unbearable pain for the rest of his life. Then I gather all the chickens and usher them into the truck. There’s soft bedding and food and soothing music to make their journey comfortable. I take them to a sanctuary. You know, like the chicken version of an all-inclusive resort, where their little chicken hearts overflow with happiness. They’re surrounded by people who love them and pamper them with affection, and oh my God, it’s the best place on earth.” She blinks the shine from her eyes and looks at me expectantly. “What do you think?”