AllFreeNovel
Share Us
After graduation, I was hired on full-time at the Diamond G Bar Ranch, working for Daniel Hayes, the foreman. Tanya worked closely with his wife, Simona, tending to the cleaning and meal preparations. Daniel took me under his wing, utilizing my experience in the rodeo to tend the herd of purebred Black Angus cattle.
Mr. Guzman, the owner of the Diamond G Bar, noticed my hard work and took interest in my education, encouraging me to pursue animal husbandry and genetics through a local university.
Over the next several years at the ranch, Tanya and I had two more sons. Heat wasn’t our problem; we could still barely keep our hands off each other. But outside of the bedroom, our relationship became more and more strained from the long work hours and the demands of three children under the age of eight.
A drunk driver ended our marriage before we had to make the decision to do so. I was devastated that my children would grow up without a mother, as I had grown up without a father. My mama lived in the same town, and her help was invaluable, but a grandmother isn’t a mother.
After a respectable mourning period, I decided to start dating again, hoping to find a woman who would love me and my sons. I came close a couple of times, but each time, something stopped me from making it permanent. So the years passed, and we stuck together.
Daniel retired as foreman, and Mr. Guzman promoted me as he had seen me thrive over the years. Because of my suggestions, his herd of cattle had quickly risen to be top quality, and his horses were well-known in all disciplines. Upon his death, I learned that he had left the entire operation to me. I was speechless.
The impatient stamping of a hoof onto the cobblestone floor of the stable rips me from my memories, Quiver telling me it’s timeto focus and get on with the day. The morning air is chilly, and I can see the steamy breath escaping in spiraling plumes from her velvety nostrils as she plays with the bit in her mouth.
Running the brush over her back and legs, I murmur to her in a low voice, hoping to keep her patient in the cross ties. Quiver has always been rambunctious, eager to run until she’s breathing hard. She got her name because when she was born, she was moving immediately, unable to stay still in the hay while her mother cleaned her—she hasn’t stopped moving since.
Her training at the age of two was a sight to behold. I didn’t think that either of us would survive it, but here we are. Now, at seven, Quiver has calmed down some but still has the energy to work the ranch all day and galavant in the paddock with the other horses in the evening. While I have several horses to pick from, the beautiful Blood Bay Quarter Horse is my go-to girl.
Ducking into the warm tack room, I grab my saddle and pad and gently throw them over Quiver’s back, securing them in just the right place with the wide girth under her belly. She’s learned to bloat herself during this process to keep the girth looser, so I gently pat her belly and remind her that it’s a part of going onto the ranch. Feeling her belly return to normal, I cinch it up a little tighter and return to the tack room for my rifle.
Securing it in the scabbard, I unclip the cross ties and move the reins to either side of her neck. Placing my left foot in the wide stirrup, I hoist myself up into the saddle, settling myself into the well-worn leather that has a distinct ass shape molded into it from years of hard riding.
Clicking my tongue, I turn Quiver toward the open stable door, whistling for Twitch as we emerge, heading left for the back of the property, toward the hills and the unknown threat.
Pain.That’s the only thing I can focus on.
Time has ceased to mean anything to me at this point. I’m not sure how long I’ve been out here, wandering. Well, Iwaswandering, anyway, until I tripped over that stupid rock hidden in the knee-high grass and twisted my freaking ankle. I’ve been out here for a while, I know that much. Ever since I ran away from the small town where that skeezy guy tried to force himself on me. If only I had my phone—but a phone can be traced, and I can’t have that.
I’ve been sitting on this boulder thinking about my situation since the sun was almost directly above me, and now it’s edging toward the horizon. I should probably make a plan that doesn’t include me dying out here. With my luck, I’ll be scavenged by vultures.Gross.
Looking around me again, praying for divine inspiration, I sigh loudly when nothing looks promising. There is no hint of civilization anywhere. I wouldn’t be able to find my way back to the town I fled, even if I wasn’t afraid to come face to face with Rapey McRaperson again.
A few scraggly trees stand pathetically in the distance, mocking me with their leafless limbs. There are a few outcroppings of rock, though I shudder to think what creatures might inhabit those sheltered areas. One thing is clear, however. I can’t just stay on top of this uncomfortable rock for the foreseeable future.
I’ve never experienced this kind of desolate isolation before. In Chicago, I was constantly surrounded by people. Anything I needed was promptly provided, as long as I didn’t require emotional connection and dutifully played the part I was groomed to play.
Shuddering, I replay my last week in Chicago in my head.
My nanny informed me that my father required my presence at dinner Friday evening. At nineteen, I still had a nanny, though she had officially been promoted to attendant since I no longer required raising but instead a watchful eye more loyal to my parents than to me.
That morning, my mother took me to the spa, and I was excited, thinking we were finally going to be able to connect on a more mature level. After hours of silence, receiving endless unpleasant beauty treatments that resulted in my completely waxed and overly made-up self stumbling into a dressingroom, I was stuffed into an elegant but ill-fitting, one-of-a-kind monstrosity that my mother effused about endlessly.
Looking twice my age and feeling more nervous than I had in years, I immediately knew why I was on edge as I walked into the formal living room of our home. Gerald, my father’s business partner, was seated in the plush leather armchair, holding a glass of amber liquid in his pudgy hand, watching my approach.
I tried to suppress the shudder that ran through me as I felt his eyes raking up and down my body salaciously. More than twice my age, the rotund, balding man stood several inches shorter than me in my ballet flats on a good day.
Each of our limited interactions thus far had consisted of his beady, little brown eyes raking over my body, a forced hug that was just a little too tight and lasted just a little too long, and withstanding uncomfortable comments until I could politely make my escape.
Because of my age, my father would never tolerate Gerald’s comments or physical contact to be completely over the line, but as soon as I turned eighteen, his overtures increased in both frequency and ick factor while my father feigned ignorance.
“Annabeth, you look beautiful.” His voice oozed malice as he stood, slowly walking toward me, a predatory gleam in his mud brown eyes. When he was standing in front of me, close enough for the smell of alcohol on his breath to assault my nose, he grabbed me and dragged me into an awkward embrace.
Shocked, I allowed him to wrap his arms tightly around me for far longer than I would’ve liked. My father clearing his throat broke me out of my shock, and I skittered away from Gerald toward my father, giving him a brief kiss on the cheek as I rushed past him into the relative safety of the formal dining room.
My father took his seat at the head of the table, indicating that the rest of us should sit. Taking my usual seat to his left, I shuddered when Gerald sat across from me, leaving my mother to take the seat beside me. Trying to avoid eye contact with either man, I concentrated on the water goblet in front of me, watching the condensation trickle slowly down the glass, down the stem, and coming to rest on the pristine tablecloth beneath it.
When Trudy brought the first course, I thanked her and then gave it all of my focus. A sharp pain in my thigh brought my attention back to the dinner table, and I realized that my mother had pinched my thigh with her long fingernails. I looked over to see my father’s pointed glare focused on me, awaiting a response.
“I’m sorry, Father, could you repeat that?” I asked quietly, afraid of the punishment I would be subjected to if I had embarrassed him in front of his guest.
