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The nurse looked flustered and ducked her head. “I-I apologize. The doctor will be in to have a look at you in a few minutes.”
“Thank you.”
The nurse excused herself, and Veronica tried to calm down, to stop the trembling that had started in her hands again. All the adrenaline and fear of the day was catching up to her.
Within a few hours she’d been X-rayed and poked and prodded. Her initial gut reaction had been right. She’d broken a couple of bones in her foot. Thankfully, the breaks were clean and they were able to put her in a boot and gave her some crutches with instructions to come back in six weeks so they could check how she was healing.
When Veronica returned to Luke, he didn’t appear relieved or uncertain. He hadn’t doubted her for a moment. He knew she was his. If anything, the look on his face was smug and a touch arrogant. She wished that look didn’t make her so wet.
He wrote a check at the billing desk and helped her back into the truck. She hadn’t taken the out she’d been given, but in six weeks she’d have another opportunity. Deep down she knew she wouldn’t take that opportunity, either.
They’d been in the truck for about ten minutes when she finally worked up the nerve to ask the question that had been on her mind since he’d first filled out the forms in the waiting room. “Why would you fill out those forms with the name of a dead woman? Why didn’t anyone notice?”
She’d expected somebody to at least say something.
Luke let out a long sigh. “Because nobody knows she’s dead.”
Veronica felt the cab of the truck getting smaller, the oxygen seeping out, leaving her in a vacuum. She felt like that first night when he’d kidnapped her, riding in the truck, feeling like death or torture was only hours away.
She cringed when he reached across the seat and touched her knee. “I didn’t kill her, Ronnie. She’d wanted to do a home birth. She hadn’t even wanted a midwife. She had a fear of doctors and hospitals, wanted nothing to do with them. She said women had been giving birth for thousands of years without hospitals or specialized doctors. She read all about it and thought she could do it herself. I should have insisted. I was out herding cattle when she went into labor. It came on quick. The baby didn’t make it, and she bled to death.”
“If you didn’t do anything wrong, why does nobody know?” Veronica knew the question could cost her life. If he’d really killed Trish and had some kind of meltdown confession, surely it wouldn’t end well for her.
“I panicked. We didn’t go into town a lot, anyway. There were no medical records for her with the pregnancy. It just didn’t look right. The guys thought I’d be implicated because I didn’t get her to the hospital and hadn’t made her go for the checkups, like I’d been negligent. And I was, but she begged me not to make her go. She was distraught. On top of that, someone might just think I killed her. Ronnie, there was so much blood. She’d tried to make it out of the house... and there was just so much blood. There would have been a lot of questions. The guys helped me bury her and the baby.”
He’d gotten choked up, and his hands shook on the steering wheel.
Veronica’s heart beat so hard in her chest she could barely hear his words. Should she believe him? She couldn’t decide if his story was credible. He sounded sincere, but if he was some kind of girlfriend-killing sociopath, he’d sound sincere and make her believe it. Had Trish ever had an accident that the hospital staff was concerned about? Had people in town thought she was being abused? Had she been?
In the months he’d had Veronica, he’d never been violent. Yeah, he’d punished her in the playroom a few times and spanked her a few times, but it had always been controlled. Not like a killer or abusive boyfriend. Not like you saw on TV or in the movies. He’d never shown a particularly sadistic streak. He was more interested in sharing her and humiliating her than physically hurting her.
“I didn’t kill her,” he insisted. “How could you even think that? Ilovedher.”
Veronica stared out the window, not sure if she could look at him at the moment. “Did you make her fuck your ranch hands? Is that love to you? Do you even know what the word means?”
“That was her idea. The brand, the ranch hands. We had our rough patches trying to make it work, but nearly every kinky thing we did had been her idea.”
But it hadn’t been Veronica’s. He’d been so single-minded in trying to bring back his former lover that he’d taken a darker turn where her consent had meant nothing, because somewhere in his head, shewasTrish, and Trish had given consent.
“I can’t be her.” Not only was it a physical impossibility, it hurt too much to be nothing more than a replacement. Like a Trish-shaped blow-up doll.
“I know.”
When they got back to the house, he carried her upstairs to bed. She’d expected to be in her room, but he set her up in his, instead, and brought a TV up to keep her entertained. They didn’t talk anymore about Trish that day. He made Veronica dinner and drank from her without her having to beg for it.
* * *
Weeks passedand she slowly began to hobble around. Luke had hired the services of a housekeeper to take over Veronica’s work and cook the meals while she recovered. During those weeks, he kept the playroom door locked.
She didn’t know what the housekeeper knew about her—probably nothing if the playroom door was locked. The woman could be an ally if she wanted out, but each day she bypassed each opportunity for rescue. Who would take care of her while she recovered? Where would she go? How would she live?
By the time the six-week checkup rolled around, Veronica had given up the fake excuses. She didn’t believe Luke had hurt Trish, and though she still felt confused about all the things that had happened between them, she wanted to stay. The break in their dynamic from her injury gave her a chance to see her master as just a person. A person who brought her evening meal to her and helped her bathe, and helped her when she made her first few trips down the stairs. A person who seemed concerned for her well-being.
At the checkup, she didn’t turn him in. She didn’t show them the brand on her hip. She didn’t do anything but discuss her foot and go back to the ranch. Soon, as she was able to take on her chores again, the housekeeper was released from her duties, Veronica’s last chance to escape drifting out the door with the matronly woman.
Slowly things went back to normal. He had her measured for new clothing, dresses that supported her breasts but left them exposed for his access. The dresses made her look like a serving wench or like what she imagined aMilk Maidwould look like—according to Will’s definition. And he’d gotten her more corsets and jeans.
One Sunday afternoon after her foot had healed and she was walking normally again, Freida came over and took her to the playroom. Veronica thought something illicit was about to happen, but she had a box of hair dye and a comb and scissors and a smock. Nothing kinky.
