Just A Woman (Marina: Part Two: Naughty Nookie Series) (5 page)

Christ knows who
this Jase is.  He can’t be an itinerant worker, because the commune
doesn’t have any!  Save the housekeeper and her husband, the rest of the
ranch’s population is all members of the brain squad. 

By the time we
reach the homestead, my ears are rattling with the hideous sound of the engine
and the blessed peace that hits soon afterward is heaven-sent.  I crawl
over the seat, missing the stick shift by a few inches, and climb out on Nate’s
side.  Placing an arm through his, I tell him without words that I’m here
to help.  He tenses his arm in silent thanks and with a great huff of
breath and a grunt of pain, he climbs out and stands at my side.  I can
just make out the beads of sweat on his brow and the weather isn’t the cause of
it.  It might still be hot in Chicago, but not over here.  The faint
breeze eddying around the ranch is chilly and if anything, I’m more likely to
shiver than sweat.

His pain makes me
wince, but I say nothing, help him over to the porch steps, and leave his
jackass of a friend to get the luggage.  I can just make out the façade of
the homestead and notice it hasn’t changed since my last visit.  It’s
still a mildewy shade of green with cream detailing around the windows and
matching shutters pinned back to the wall.

There is no way
I’m living somewhere that makes moldy cheese look attractive.  Getting
some new paint is definitely on the To-Do list.  But apart from that, it’s
as well kept as ever.  No squeaking boards as we climb the four wide steps
to the verandah that wings around the whole house.  From the light hanging
over the door, I can see a swing chair and a sofa at one side and a low table
with two armchairs on the other.  Sam’s taste for interior decoration
hasn’t improved.  Well, call me a snob, but mine has!  This place
hasn’t changed since my Granddaddy was the guardian here.  And I was six
when he died. 

The door wings its
way open and I spot Uncle Sam for the first time in four years.  We chat
over the phone, talk about the ranch and any major changes he wants to
implement, usually under Nate’s advice to call, but it’s strange to note how
the years have passed and I haven’t been here to see it.  His hair is pure
white now, with shots of silver.  His belly is round and his shoulders are
stooped.  A goatee, silvery-white like his hair, surrounds his mouth and
those sparkling blue eyes of his are as filled with mischief as they were when
I was a kid.

He’s always looked
like Santa Claus, but with his hair so stridently white, he looks it even
more.  Although I doubt St. Nick would be wearing a ratty flannel shirt
and thermals to answer the door.

Safe to say, Uncle
Sam doesn’t stand on ceremony.

“’Bout time you
got here, girl.”

“’Bout time you
lost some weight, St. Nick.”

Sam looks smug and
pats his belly.  “Coming on mighty nice now, isn’t it?  The Santa
costume fits me perfectly.  Was a little too baggy round the waist, but
now it’s real comfy come the holiday season.”

I roll my
eyes.  “Haven’t you read the latest statistics on obesity in this
country?”

“Haven’t
you
read
the latest statistics on eating disorders?  Hell, girl.  You look
like you need a dozen hamburgers.” 

At Sam’s snort of
disgust at my lack of rotundness, Nate shakes his head.  “Sorry to break
up the welcome party, but I really need to sit down.”

“Oh, shit!” I
mutter under my breath and curse myself for having forgotten Nate’s precarious
state of health.  Just because they discharged him, doesn’t mean to say he
doesn’t need a checkup in a few days or that he’s one-hundred percent better.
 I think the only reason they did is because Blue Ridge has its own
on-site hospital and two doctors.  “Move out of the way, Santa.”

Sam quickly does
as bid, his pleasure in my caustic greeting evident in the wide smile on his
face, even though there’s definite concern for Nate written into the glittering
blue gaze. 

We’ve always had a
weird rapport, Sam and I.  I’m just glad time and distance hasn’t changed
that.

“Santa?” Nate asks
as he grunts down the hall to the lounge.

“Yeah. 
Standing joke,” I wheeze, grunting myself at hauling Nate’s not inconsiderable
weight twenty feet down the corridor.  By the time we make it, sweat is
beading on
my
brow and Nate has started to shiver a little.  I’m
relieved to see the fire has been laid and flames lick the hearth, but not as
relieved as I am to help Nate down on to the sofa.  With a huff, I lift
his legs on to the seat and stand back, twisting my waist a little to ease the
cramp that came from the awkward hold I had on him. 

Stepping back, I
survey his gray face and whisper, “Do you need some meds?”

“Yeah.  Do
you know where they are?”

Unable to help it,
I snort.  “I packed your cases, so yeah, I know where they are.  Jase
is bringing the bags in so I’ll go and get you them.”

“Boy doesn’t need
drugs.  Needs a good whiff of Scotch.”

“Not with the
pills he’s on, Sam.”

“Ha!  My
Scotch will blow the cockles away.  Needs that more than some damned
drugs.  Never did trust doctors.  Nate, if you’re a wise man, and I
know you’re on the way to being one, you’ll ignore the docs and do as your good
pal Sam says.”

Nate grunts. 
“I’d love to take you up on your advice,
old pal
, but I need the high
more than I need the low.  Get the pill, Marina.”

As I walk out of
the room, shooting an ‘I told you so’ look at Sam, to which he sticks out his
tongue, I overhear my Uncle saying, “Didn’t take you for a pussy, boy.”

“Try getting shot
and then judge him,” I call out and hear the pair of them laugh as I stride
down the hall.  Another part of the house that hasn’t changed. 

A thick
northwestern style rug runs down the center of the vestibule adding a rich red
to the otherwise dour room.  To the left of the door, there’s a coat stand
loaded with different jackets and hats, even though we have a mudroom to store
the crap.  That is to say,
we did.
I doubt things have changed that
much, though!

On the right,
there’s a dresser.  The lower cupboards are filled with more crap, if
memory serves, and the drawers contain thousands of keys—some of which are
defunct and some of which might open the family vault!  On the back wall,
there is a pair of antlers, stripped down to bone, but all throughout the
house, there are more displays of my family’s appalling taste in
taxidermy.  Blame my Granddaddy for that.

At the front door,
Jase is cradling his Stetson.  He looks at me and scowls down at the
floor.  “Sorry about before, ma’am.”

“It isn’t me you
have to apologize to,” I bite out, still pissed at his thoughtlessness.  I
unbend enough to say, “Thanks for bringing the bags in.”

He nods and is
about to turn around, when Nate calls out, “You be nice to him, Marina.”

“I’ve been
polite,” I yell back.

“Christ, she’s
probably flayed his skin by now.  Get your skinny butt back in here,
girl.”

“Personally, I
think it’s a rather nice butt,” Jase mutters, tacking on, “Ma’am,” when I glare
at him.

“Who are you,
anyway?” I ask, bending down to grab the small vanity case in which I stored
Nate’s brown paper bag of medicine and a small bottle of water.

“Just here for the
season, ma’am.  Your Uncle was having some problems with the stock and
needed my help.”

“Why you in
particular?”

“I’m the best at
what I do.”

“And what is
that?”

“Horse breeding.”

“Horse
breeding?”  My voice is no way near calm.  A shriek would have been
better than the sound escaping my mouth.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“But we don’t have
any horses
to
breed!  We buy them in from Janicowicz’s over in
Billings.”

He snorts. 
“Did you miss the new stables on the way in?”

“The pitch black
might have had something to do with me not spotting a second set of bloody
stables!”  My teeth grind down.  “Since when are we breeding horses?”
I call out and dead silence is my answer.  My eyes want to twitch; in
fact, they’re on the brink of crossing, when I mutter, “You’d better get your
ass in there.”

“Me?”

“Yeah,
you
. 
Move it.”

Slamming the door,
when he moves past me, I stalk down the corridor and into the lounge. 
“What the hell are we doing with horses?”  I grit out, simultaneously
handing Nate his meds and the water bottle.

Nate and Sam share
a look.  “Now, look here, Marina,” my Uncle starts.

“No, I won’t look
here, Sam.  What the hell did you think you were doing?  Why didn’t
you consult me on this?”

“Because you’re
never here, that’s why!”

“Oh, so I’m not on
the other end of a telephone?” I hiss.  “I didn’t realize you’d suddenly
lost my goddamn number!”

“Don’t you take
that tone with me, missy.”

“I’ll take
whatever friggin’ tone I like.  You
do not
make these kinds of
decisions without my say so.”  I suck in a breath, trying to calm down,
but I can’t.  They’ve messed with all of the family’s traditions
here.  And they didn’t even tell me about it.  Christ, I’ve tried to
run away from this place but through it all, the quarterly reports, the weekly
statements, and the long-distance care taking, I’ve known everything that’s
gone down here.  Somehow, they’ve both been hiding this from me. 
Just like the new structures... they’re probably the stables Jase
mentioned.  “This isn’t how things are done, Sam.  You know that!”

“If I’d have
consulted you, you’d have said no.”

“That’s because
it’s my right to say no!”

“Have you seen the
prices of beef?” Sam shrieks.  “Thoroughbreds are big business. 
We’re making money hand over goddamn foot!”

“Thoroughbreds?” I
squeak.  It’s worse than I thought.  “You’re not breeding stock
horses?”  Dislike the idea as I may, I prefer it to breeding the
notoriously delicate, purebred stallions and mares.

Sam bites his lip
and from the regret on his face, I can tell he wishes his words back.  He
could have wangled out of it a while longer if he hadn’t told me the kind of
horses he was intent on breeding.

“Well, they’re a
money-maker!  It made sense.”

“And the bull stud
wasn’t making us a fortune?  Hell, the ranch is supposed to support the
commune but the commune is more than self-supporting.  This place is
earning more than anyone ever dreamed!”

“That’s a bit
short-sighted, Marina,” Nate murmurs from his supine position on the sofa.

“Maybe, but that
doesn’t mean we change the running of the ranch just because I’m not thinking
of the future.  And that’s bullshit anyway.  The bull stud earns us a
fortune; more than enough and we’ve at least five years left until Rogue leaves
his prime.”

Nate stares at me
and something in his eyes, something that I’ve never seen before and I can’t
even name, has my own darting down to glare at the floor.  “I deserved to
be kept in the loop,” I mutter, my voice is petulant but Christ, it’s the truth!

And it isn’t just
the changes made without my permission, it’s the fact they lied to me!

“This is your
damned fault, Jase.  Couldn’t you keep your mouth shut until the morning,
when I’d have had a chance to tell her?”

Sam’s grouchy
words have my eyes shooting up once more to pin him with a furious
glower.  He tugs at his floppy collar, something that’s anything but
tight.  “Feeling guilty?” I ask, sweet as honey.

He frowns at me
and turns to face the fireplace.  

“How many
Thoroughbreds do we have?”

Sam’s sheepish,
“Thirty,” has me breaking out into a cough.

“Thirty?”  My
eyes feel as though they’re bugging out of their sockets.  I stagger over
to a seat and slump down.  I’ve no idea how much Thoroughbreds cost to
stable, but I know it will be a damned sight more than stock horses. 
“You’ve obviously been doctoring the accounts to hide all of this.  What
are the true figures?”

Another tug at the
collar.  “We were having a problem with our stud, but Jase saw to
that.  As it is, we’re making a loss.  But it’s a new business! 
You know how things like that work!”

“How much of a
loss?  I thought we were making money hand over foot!” I bark, scowling
over at him and then, I hold up a hand.  Enough is enough.  “Get your
stories straight for the morning.  I’m too tired to listen to this
bullshit.  I’m going to bed.  One of you, help Nate upstairs, when
he’s ready.”

Okay, so I
abandoned him downstairs.

Not exactly a
smooth move considering our earlier conversation in the plane.  But I had
to get out of there.  I
just
had to.  Uncle Sam is one of the
only people on this planet who can get my goat within ten minutes of our being
together.  For all that, I love him.  He’s a pain in the ass, a
major
one, but my affection for him is real.  It would be too easy to
explode, to go atomic on his ass after what he’s done, but I’ve been back in
Montana for twenty minutes.  I don’t want to self-combust in anger. 
I’m tired, weary, and nervous about being here.  I’m also on tenterhooks
with Nate!

Storming out of the
room might have been a bad idea, but I compounded it by ignoring Nate’s low
call of my name.  His low shout had me hovering on the staircase. 
For a good minute, I’ve hesitated here.  A part of me wanting to go up and
the other, reacting to that low tone, making me wonder if I should go down and
back to his side.

That I’m even
questioning myself has me striding up the stairs, but I know, he’ll be pissed
off.  But Christ, a woman can only take so much.  And I’m not a
dog.  I don’t come running when a guy calls my name!

Feeling
justifiably furious, I stomp up the stairs and head down the hallway to the
bottom of the corridor, which is where my old suite of rooms lies.  I
remember Nate’s earlier words, the
fait accompli
discussed before that
hideous night of the shooting, which would have me staying with him in his room
as soon as I got here, but I ignore the memory.  Things have most
definitely changed since then.  He probably needs his space.  Not to
mention time to get his head straight.

That could just be
wishful thinking.

Banging the door,
I switch on the light.  Nothing’s changed here, either.  It’s as if
time stopped and I guess when Jimmy died, it did. 

The lounge is a
throwback to my teenage self.  An old black box of a television stands on
a low table covered in a flowery, frilly doily.  A sofa, covered in
matching flowers, sits opposite.  Around the room, there are posters of my
teenage crushes.  Brad Pitt.  Tom Cruise.  Robert Downey
Jr. 

I’d been a weird
teenager.  Alone, but enjoying the solitude, needing it so I could create
the wild figurines, the vibrant sculptures that in the local towns, I was
starting to be renowned for.  That changed when I met Jimmy.  Many
things did.  New feelings emerged, feelings I hadn’t understood. 

It had been during
that period,  when I can remember lying on the couch, the window wide open
as a summer breeze floated in, legs spread as I masturbated to the one porn
flick I’d found in the commune’s video library.  It had obviously been put
back there by mistake and I’d snatched it and seen more than I’d bargained
for. 

Watching cattle
and knowing the logistics didn’t make the actual act any less shocking. 
At first, I’d been embarrassed, then uncomfortable and then horny.

The time between
meeting Jimmy and the pair of us losing our virginity had been a difficult
one.  I’d wanted him, but had been playing hard to get.  One of the
girls in Sheridan, a kid I’d known from elementary school, had been five months
pregnant at sixteen.  Unusual for the nineties.  I’d been terrified
about the idea of getting pregnant, but still, I’d been needy. 

That porn flick
had pushed me through a very trying time.  And the one thing my parents
did give me was privacy.  Not out of generosity to their daughter, simply
because they didn’t give a crap.  That did have its advantages. 
Sometimes.

A sad grin creases
my mouth and I stride across the room and head to the bedroom.  More
nineties revival furniture.  More posters.  More frilly and flowery
fabrics that make me heave now.  But it’s all clean.  Not a speck of
dust anywhere.

I head to the
closet hoping the bright orange pine cupboard still houses some of my old
clothes.  It does.  Relieved I don’t have to return downstairs for my
cases, I grab a T-shirt and pull off my fitted silk, pinstriped vest and the
matching trousers.  I’ve been dressed like I have a meeting with my
attorney; have been since I landed in Chicago.  The only things I brought
with me from Manhattan were stuff I’d grabbed in a hurry.  I should have
taken the time to bring some casuals.  Instead, at the hospital, I looked
like a corporate shark and not a visitor.  I never left Nate long enough
to go out and buy some new gear.  Thinking about it, I should have done.

Shrugging out of
the clothes with a grimace at my lack of foresight, I pull on the shirt and
climb into bed.  The scent of summer, blue skies and fabric softener fill
my nose and before I switch off the overhead light, I take a look around a room
I’d once considered cool.

What had I been
thinking?

Pine ruled. 
Bookshelves, cupboards, dressers, even the bed.  More posters, some of hot
guys and others with quotes, rebelling against society.  One wall was
filled with my sketches, the prelim drawings of my sculptures.  I was
never one for being tucked away in here.  I was always down at the
studios, doing something crazy with clay or glass.  Those were the days.

Another smile tugs
at my lips and I reach for the switch.  Darkness fills the room and for a
few minutes, those silent moments, I come to terms with the fact I’m
here.  I’m really here.

I swallow back the
sudden surge of tears that linger at the back of my throat and press closed
fists to my eyes.  It’s only when I’m here that the sheer peace of the
place can astound me.  A distant bray of the cattle, perhaps a rustle from
somewhere in the house, but where are the sounds of traffic?  Of honks and
toots?  Of people and sirens?

It’s like being on
an alien planet.

In a good way.

I’m here.

Really here.

I want to shake my
head at the thought, question my sanity at actually returning to this madhouse,
but before I can, I hear the outer door of my rooms open.

It can only be
Nate.

The door swings
open and the light from the lounge pierces the darkness in my bedroom.  I
blink, gawking at his shadowy form.

“I didn’t realize
you had a crush on Brad Pitt.”

“I was fifteen at
the time.”  Whatever I thought he’d say, it hadn’t been that!

He hums under his
breath and switches on the ceiling light.  I blink back the glare and
stare up at him from between my duvet and cozy pillow.  He looks around,
takes in the artwork on the wall and the rest of the adolescent paraphernalia
on the shelves, anything from yo-yos to trolls.  But his attention is
mostly on the drawings.  He limps over to the wall covered in paper tacked
to the surface, as he studies it, he murmurs, voice soft, “I called you back.”

“I heard.”

My defiance has
his head turning to the side to stare at me.  And it’s then I realize why
I looked away earlier and why I’m looking away now.  When a tiger stares
at you, you look away.  You don’t stare back, do you?  Not unless you
fancy being tiger kibble! 

My eyes trace the
flowers on the duvet and I swallow as he continues, “Different rules now,
Marina.  You know that.  I told you in the plane.”

“No, you didn’t
actually.  You didn’t tell me word for word that if you called, I was to
come running!”

“No, I
didn’t.  You aren’t wrong.  But tonight is the last night for any
defiance without punishment.”

“What do you
mean?” I ask, scowling at him.

“I mean exactly
what I said.  You defy me, or misbehave or lie or do anything I don’t
think is appropriate, you get punished.”

“Who died and made
you king?”

He snorts. 
“The nurses tell me I almost died a few times.  So maybe that question
isn’t appropriate?”  When red tinges my cheeks, he smiles.  “But, to
answer,
you
did.  It’s the same answer as I gave you earlier.”

“What kind of
punishment?”

“Anything I think
is necessary.”

“What do you class
as defiance?”

“When I call you,
you come.  Tonight, you didn’t.  You ignored me.  Plus, you’re
here and not in my room.  Two acts of defiance.  Twice, you’ve gone
against what I’ve said.”

Lifting a hand to
my head, I wriggle my fingers through my hair.  The act of self-comforting
doesn’t do much apart from make my scalp tingle.  “I’m a human being,
capable of ruling myself.  I don’t need you to control me.  I’m not a
child in need of chastisement, Nate.”

“No?  I’d say
that’s exactly what you are.  A spoilt brat.  You’re used to your own
way and you’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that happens.”

I’ve read too many
BDSM romance novels, seen too many scenes at Papillon to fail to realize where
this is going.  “I’m not submissive and I wouldn’t pin you down as a Dom,
either.”

“Like I said on
the plane.  There’s a lot you don’t know about me.  That part of
myself is one thing I’ve kept separate from you.  And the other, you’ve
hidden from yourself.  You’re most definitely a sub.”

Frowning at him, I
sit up.  Beavis glares at him from my shirt.  “Just because you say
it, doesn’t make it so.  You want me to fit into some weird-ass fetish
fantasy, then just labelling me won’t do.  But hey, I like kink. 
Just not on a daily basis.”

He ignores that
and cool as a cucumber says, “I’m not labelling.  You know you’re a
sub.  Maybe not with most people.  You take charge, you’re in
control.  But never with me.”

“Look, I let you
take over in the bedroom and hell, you open a few doors for me, order my dinner
whenever we go out: that doesn’t make me a sub.  I’m
not
submissive.”

He shrugs. 
“If I’m wrong, I’m wrong.  You’ll still get punished.  Only you won’t
enjoy it like a sub would.  I guess we’ll see who’s right, when the time
comes to discipline you.”

Discipline. 

My pussy tingles
at the idea.  That simple word change has all kinds of ideas flittering through
my brain.  Punishment made me think of punches and pinches.  Violence
and cruelty. 
Mona’s father
!  Discipline, on the other hand...
the very noun has my nipples peaking.

I don’t get
why.  I truly don’t think I am a sub.  Sure, I enjoyed watching the
scenes at Papillon.  The brazenness.  The in-your-face sexuality of
it all.  The sub’s apparent helplessness ̶ at her Dom’s
command.  The idea that while the sub isn’t
in
control, she holds
the
control.  The freakish, distorted power play has always intrigued me...
but I’m a voyeur, not submissive.

Aren’t I?

Biting my lip, I
whisper, “How long do you think I need to be disciplined for?” 

I’ve never been
disciplined.  My parents left rules with the housekeepers and I had to
follow them; no cookies or candy.  Just healthy, boring, organic
food.  When I was young; no video games or TV after seven.  That kind
of thing.  Not for
me
, but the welfare of my genius.  

I wasn't
rebellious as a kid, so I just did as I was told.  Only after Jimmy died,
when my world turned upside down, did this new Marina emerge.  One who
refused to follow rules, who did what she wanted, when.  I’d been too old
to be controlled and soon after, I’d left. 

Discipline has
never been a part of my life, so maybe that’s why the idea of being chastised
seems so alien.  So exotic.

Or maybe I’m just
being a freak.

“You’re off the
rails, Marina.  You know it and I know it.  How long’s a piece of
string?  It might take years to turn you into the sort of person who isn’t
proud of running a brothel!  Or who can calmly lie to the police.” 
He turns around and walks to the door, he stands there with his back to
me.  “We’ll know when you change.  When your behavior modifies to
that of a decent human being, who doesn’t get their lover shot by the fucking
mafia.”  He pulls in a long, angry breath and on the exhalation states,
“It’s time for bed.  I’m fucked.  I’ll expect you in my room before I
switch off the light.  And if you don’t, well, you know how it works
now.  You’ll be disciplined for your misbehavior.

“Tomorrow is the
first day of your new life.  If you don’t want it or me, then stay
here.  Be alone.  Like you’ve always been.  Live recklessly and
without fear for the consequences.  If you’re ready to change, then I’ll
see you in two.”