potent than coffee.
That wasn’t what was truly on her mind, though. J.B. was. His lithe body. His chiseled jaw and dark, curly hair. She remembered their discussion about art, the way his eyes grew wild and daring as he admitted to painting. God, and those paintings…
He’d admitted they were a celebration. But the colors, the formless slashes and strokes of paint, spoke of violence. Her breaths grew shallower as she guessed at what it could mean. All she knew was, art interpretation was up to the beholder. What she saw in those angry, triumphant paintings was a wanton wickedness that felt uncomfortably familiar.
J.B. had fueled several filthy fantasies that even her hour-long cold shower hadn’t cured. She was jonesing. It was embarrassing, but if she was going to stay here, she’d need to order a vibrator. Something that came in a nondescript brown box.
She cursed Tony, cursed her body, cursed her twisted mind. And she planned on working so hard she could erase all of it, leaving her a blank, docile slate. Escaping into the job wasn’t turning out the way she’d hoped.
Raúl’s company was welcome. She was surprised to find she felt more at ease with him when it was just the two of them. It didn’t hurt that he was cute, like an eager little brother. His dark, Hispanic looks and eager smile were things she might have been attracted to before Tony had warped her. Now she didn’t want eager, she craved sadistic.
It also helped that he was able to keep a conversation going-- he didn’t even need her to contribute often.
“Well, he didn’t tell me about it, exactly. He caught me looking at it. I told him I majored in Art History, and then we discussed school a bit.”
Her stall mate was leaning on his pitchfork, mouth open. “Maple, J.B. doesn’t talk to anyone. Not even Mariela and me, and we’ve known him the longest.” His nose wrinkled like he smelled something unpleasant. “You didn’t tell me any of that stuff last night, about school or anything about you.”
“You kind of bombarded me. I’m not real social, Raúl, in case you didn’t notice.”
“I get it,” he said, winking. “You’re one of those mysterious types. All quiet and bookish, but a freak on the inside, right?”
Maple dropped the armful of hay she had, spinning in dismay. His hands were already flying up in apology. “Joking, joking.” The mirth in his eyes told her he was picturing her and freaky things, though. Some part of her wanted to laugh; he didn’t know the half of it. The other part wanted to cringe, because Raúl’s harmless flirting was moving their relationship quickly into an awkward place.
“He does seem closed off, though,” she agreed. “Is he married? Dating anyone?” It was dangerous to pry like this, but when it came to J.B., she was like a baby with a wall socket-- curious, regardless of the risk.
Raúl’s manner changed. His shoulders stiffened and he worked faster, sloppier. “No. He’s single. Used to be married, though.”
“What happened? Divorce?”
Raúl froze, staring at her hard. When he spoke, each word was weighted. “An accident. She got hurt bad in the head, and died a few days later.” He wasn’t telling her everything, that was for sure. What kind of accident? Where? Raúl could see the wheels turning in her head, she thought, because he said, “She was beautiful. And kind, and loving, and all the things you want in an employer. J.B. loved her something fierce. But no one talks about it. At all.”
There it was. Another shut door. Another mystery to pique her interest. A ghost wife that no one would talk about. She knew no one else would, because Raúl was the only chatty person on the ranch. If he wouldn’t spill, she was out of luck.
She decided on another approach. After all, she was dying to have at least one riddle solved. “So what’s up with that other stable?”
This time
That wasn’t what was truly on her mind, though. J.B. was. His lithe body. His chiseled jaw and dark, curly hair. She remembered their discussion about art, the way his eyes grew wild and daring as he admitted to painting. God, and those paintings…
He’d admitted they were a celebration. But the colors, the formless slashes and strokes of paint, spoke of violence. Her breaths grew shallower as she guessed at what it could mean. All she knew was, art interpretation was up to the beholder. What she saw in those angry, triumphant paintings was a wanton wickedness that felt uncomfortably familiar.
J.B. had fueled several filthy fantasies that even her hour-long cold shower hadn’t cured. She was jonesing. It was embarrassing, but if she was going to stay here, she’d need to order a vibrator. Something that came in a nondescript brown box.
She cursed Tony, cursed her body, cursed her twisted mind. And she planned on working so hard she could erase all of it, leaving her a blank, docile slate. Escaping into the job wasn’t turning out the way she’d hoped.
Raúl’s company was welcome. She was surprised to find she felt more at ease with him when it was just the two of them. It didn’t hurt that he was cute, like an eager little brother. His dark, Hispanic looks and eager smile were things she might have been attracted to before Tony had warped her. Now she didn’t want eager, she craved sadistic.
It also helped that he was able to keep a conversation going-- he didn’t even need her to contribute often.
“Well, he didn’t tell me about it, exactly. He caught me looking at it. I told him I majored in Art History, and then we discussed school a bit.”
Her stall mate was leaning on his pitchfork, mouth open. “Maple, J.B. doesn’t talk to anyone. Not even Mariela and me, and we’ve known him the longest.” His nose wrinkled like he smelled something unpleasant. “You didn’t tell me any of that stuff last night, about school or anything about you.”
“You kind of bombarded me. I’m not real social, Raúl, in case you didn’t notice.”
“I get it,” he said, winking. “You’re one of those mysterious types. All quiet and bookish, but a freak on the inside, right?”
Maple dropped the armful of hay she had, spinning in dismay. His hands were already flying up in apology. “Joking, joking.” The mirth in his eyes told her he was picturing her and freaky things, though. Some part of her wanted to laugh; he didn’t know the half of it. The other part wanted to cringe, because Raúl’s harmless flirting was moving their relationship quickly into an awkward place.
“He does seem closed off, though,” she agreed. “Is he married? Dating anyone?” It was dangerous to pry like this, but when it came to J.B., she was like a baby with a wall socket-- curious, regardless of the risk.
Raúl’s manner changed. His shoulders stiffened and he worked faster, sloppier. “No. He’s single. Used to be married, though.”
“What happened? Divorce?”
Raúl froze, staring at her hard. When he spoke, each word was weighted. “An accident. She got hurt bad in the head, and died a few days later.” He wasn’t telling her everything, that was for sure. What kind of accident? Where? Raúl could see the wheels turning in her head, she thought, because he said, “She was beautiful. And kind, and loving, and all the things you want in an employer. J.B. loved her something fierce. But no one talks about it. At all.”
There it was. Another shut door. Another mystery to pique her interest. A ghost wife that no one would talk about. She knew no one else would, because Raúl was the only chatty person on the ranch. If he wouldn’t spill, she was out of luck.
She decided on another approach. After all, she was dying to have at least one riddle solved. “So what’s up with that other stable?”
This time
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