Boss Of Her Heart (Dirty Texas Love Book 1) Read online

  “I try very hard not to ever make a mistake now,” I admitted quietly.

  She gave her tinkling bell laugh. “How can one do that? It’s impossible to never mess up.”

  “You’ll see, when you read my contract. I run a tight ship.”

  Her cute little nose wrinkled up. “Contract?”

  I gave her ribs a gentle nudge with my elbow. “You know, the employee contract that all new hires have to sign. The one that says, among other things, not to be late.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her that her contract was very different from the one the others had signed. My other hires didn’t have Bella’s past, or flighty tendencies. I knew I was taking a chance on her and she was going to need very special guidance.

  A pink blush rose to her cheeks. “Ah, that one.”

  “There are consequences, you know.”

  She gave a little gasp, her eyes flying open wide as she stared at me. She asked in a husky whisper, “What kind?”

  Bingo. It was as I had suspected.

  “You’ll see,” I said, in what I hoped to be a reassuring tone. Tugging her hand, I led her back to the barn. “Let’s finish our tour, first.”

  “Tell me the tale of Samuel Love. I heard he was nothing but a common horse thief,” she said brightly, her eyes shining and her hand warm in mine.

  “Well, to start, his name was Samuel Parr. Then, some say Samuel Poke. No one knows for sure but the documents for the ranch say Samuel Love. Story goes he changed his last name to hide from the law after the Civil War.”

  “Why Love? That’s an unusual last name.”

  “The only thing he figured could heal the country after such a bloody war that tore brother from brother was love, so he changed his name to Love. That’s how the story goes at least.”

  “But he probably just figured with a name like that no one would think him guilty. Love sounds so innocent.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?” Luckily, she looked away from me because I knew the look I was giving her was anything but innocent. The feel of her bare skin against mine, even though it was only hand holding, had me burning to the core for the petite redhead.

  Bella

  When he released my hand, I felt cold and alone. He was still within feet of me but somehow on our short walk I had begun to crave his touch.

  All tenderness was forgotten when he opened his office door wide for me and I saw the big, wooden desk. Gulping nervously, I took a seat in the same chair I had been in just that morning—when my boss of less than one day had threatened to spank me if I hitchhiked again.

  My overactive imagination could not stop from picturing myself as a naughty school girl sent to the principal’s office as I sat on the hard, wooden chair, waiting for Garrett. He took his time filing papers, tidying his office, his broad muscled back to me. It only served to make me more anxious. I crossed my legs, tightly, tucking my trembling fingers underneath my thighs, out of view.

  When he turned to me, his dark brows were narrow, his jaw set. A thrill ran through me as his stern gaze roved over me. I tried to paste a bright smile on my face to hide my apprehension.

  Opening the middle drawer slowly, he retrieved a manila file folder. Discreetly sitting forward a bit, I could just make out my name, Bella Buchanan, neatly written in an elegant cursive at the top of the folder. Flipping it open, he pulled from within what I assumed to be the contract he had mentioned earlier. The packet looked to be about two pages thick, on simple white printer paper, neatly stapled at the top.

  Tossing the paper in front of me, it landed without a sound. I gulped again. Garrett sat down, filling out the entirety of his big chair with his lean pantherlike physique.

  “Read it,” he demanded. He leaned towards me, his elbows resting on the desk. His gaze bore into mine. I swear the man never blinked. The little muscle in his jaw started to twitch as I kept him waiting.

  I picked up the contract.

  My eyes roved over the first line. It read: I, Bella Buchanan, as an employee of The Lonestar Cattle Company will abide by the rules and regulations set forth for me by owner and founder of Hope Reigns, Garrett Love.

  Okay, a little formal but nothing too crazy. So why did my heart feel like it was pounding out of my chest? A deep voice interrupted my thoughts.

  “Out loud.”

  “What?” I mumbled, my mind distracted by the words in front of me.

  One brow raised to me as if a warning. “Read the paper. Out loud.”

  “Okay,” I mumbled. Hands shaking, I held the paper in my lap. My voice wavering, I began to read.

  “I, Bella Buchanan, as an employee of The Lonestar Cattle Company will abide by the rules and regulations set forth for me by owner and founder of Hope Reigns, Garrett Love. If I should break the rules, consciously or by accident, I agree to submit myself to Mr. Love’s…”

  Looking up at him, my eyes popped open so wide, it hurt. His solemn gaze bore into mine.

  “Finish.”

  “d—discipline?” I managed to squeak out. He gave a nod of his head. “Corporal punishment.”

  My face was on fire—I could feel my cheeks burning and knew that they were as red as my hair. My insides felt funny, my knees weak.

  “I meant what I said earlier. I will spank you.” He paused, taking in my reaction. My eyes dropped to my lap. I was unable to meet his eyes.

  “You take your responsibilities too lightly. Your own safety is a joke to you. You may be sober, but you still seem to live your life like you’re a college kid. People’s lives are at risk on this ranch and we can’t afford for someone to ‘forget’, or ‘be late’, or God forbid,” I snuck a peek up at him and his face was livid as he completed his statement, “hitchhike.”

  I sat silently, my head bowed, the contract wrapped in my sweaty hands. When I could finally speak, my voice was barely above a whisper. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

  His tone softened. “I care about you, Bella. I want to see you succeed here. And that requires discipline, which I am afraid you lack.”

  I went from anxious to furious in seconds. “Who are you to say what I lack?”

  “When you applied for this job, I investigated you, as I would do any employee. Judging by what I found, you still live as if you are a college student. A string of jobs quit on what seems like a whim with no notice given. You’re rent is almost always late. Your mode of transportation is obviously unreliable—”

  Going after old Bessie… he had crossed the line. Inhaling a big breath to prepare for my outburst, I then let it go. “None of that is your business, Mr. Garrett Love. And to spank me like a child. This is so, so—illegal!” It was the only term I could come up with in the heat of the moment.

  He had an amused smirk on his handsome face. I wanted to claw it off.

  “Tsk, tsk. Temper, temper.”

  The one thing that was certain to enrage someone who was already furious was to tell them directly that they have a temper.

  I stood up, almost tipping my chair over behind me in my fury. Grabbing up the papers, I slapped my hand and his ludicrous contract beneath it, onto the desk. Stabbing it with the tip of my finger, I punctuated my words. “This. Is. A. Joke.”

  “I’m afraid not.” Drumming his own fingertips on the papers, his eyes dark, his tone condescending, he annunciated carefully. “This. Is. An. Agreement. You agree to submit yourself to my discipline. Or, you no longer work here. I told you very clearly. I run a tight ship and I do not allow room for error without consequences.”

  “I’ll sue, I’ll call the news… I’ll…”

  Interrupting me, he handed me a pen. “You will sign.”

  “I will never sign this,” I said, tossing the papers at him with disgust.

  His eyes locked on mine, his smugness replaced with a knowing look. “You need this. You want this.” Leaning in dangerously close, his voice as low as it could register, he growled, “You will sign.”

  Mimicking his stance, I leaned in as well, clenchin
g my teeth as I growled back my response. “Never.”

  “Then, I’ll have Gary drive you home. Go back to Peach Street and get that little temper of yours under control. Think it over. I’ll be there to pick you up for work tomorrow morning, seven a.m. sharp. I will honk the horn, one time only. You are ready to go, and in that truck, or you are fired.”

  Rising to his feet, I couldn’t help but look him up and down. His presence was intimidating to say the least. To my personal disappointment, I shrank back under his hard gaze. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, the tension pulling like a tight band between us, he held his hand out to shake mine.

  Narrowing my eyes, giving him the best ‘if looks could kill’ glare that I could muster, I crossed my arms over my chest. Garrett moved from behind his desk, walking towards me. Trying to dig within and find the temper that was slowly being replaced with fear, I straightened my spine, reaching up to my full height of five foot three inches.

  My knees buckled as he drew nearer. Running one hand down the side of my face, Garrett moved his mouth by my ear. Shudders ran through me and despite my temper, I could feel my insides melting. “You know what happens to sassy little girls around here, don’t you?”

  I felt the blush burning in my once pale cheeks. He could probably smell the intimate moisture his simple touch had brought to me. Furious, terrified, and now horny as a teenage girl who’d just been kissed by a Frenchman for the first time, the man left me a wreck.

  His hand left my face. With a dark chuckle, he turned his back to me and left the office. I could hear him calling, “Gary, can you kindly take Ms. Buchanan home?”

  Damn him. Getting the last word. Dismissing me. Having his henchman drive me home. And the thing that made me the angriest—making me want nothing more in this world than for Garrett Love to bend me right over his desk and fuck my brains out.

  Suddenly, there was a six foot five giant standing in the doorframe of the office, tipping his Stetson at me.

  “Uh, Miss Buchanan, I’m here to take you home, ma’am.”

  I grabbed the contract off the desk. I’d be damned if I was going to leave my name on a piece of paper saying I would submit myself to Mr. Love’s discipline where someone could see it.

  “I’m ready.” Stomping out with my head held high I passed by Gary. I tried to paste a look of confidence on my face, but my hands were trembling, and my legs felt like they were made of the rubbery slime Oliver had brought home from science camp last summer.

  The ride was silent which was just fine with me. I was cutting ties with The Lonestar Cattle Company and their crazy ways. Better to not spend another second wasting my breath talking to one of them. Gary kept giving me long, sad looking, side glances, but he kept his mouth shut.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I muttered, giving the door a little more of a slam than was necessary. Stepping out of the truck, the big man shyly walked me to the door. When I was safely inside, with a tip of his hat, the henchman turned to the truck, climbed inside and headed back to the ranch.

  After Gary dropped me off, I threw myself down on my couch with a pint of Chunky Monkey and a soup spoon. Muttering to myself, I shoveled the chocolate banana concoction into my mouth. “I don’t lack discipline. Living like a college student—please. Who does he think he is? Mr. Perfect, huh?” As I stuffed the ice cream into my mouth, my gaze roved over my little bungalow rental.

  Mismatched end tables held garage sale mismatched lamps. I had cracked the lampshades when I had moved in and never got around to buying new ones. Colorful sheer scarves hung over the damaged shades, hiding the evidence. Colorful swaths of fabric hung from the walls—I had no artwork to speak of. The goal was to create a bohemian look on a dime, but now the faded tapestries just looked cheap to me. And dusty.

  On the coffee table were empty green glass bottles from the sparkling water I liked to drink all night—in place of the dozens of beers I used to consume. Next to them was a stack of ignored, unopened mail. Bills, probably. Bills that needed to be paid—weeks ago. A product of my most recently quit job in the string that Garrett had mentioned.

  The screen of my television was covered in smudges. It sat on a dusty table, also covered with empty bottles. The burgundy colored shag carpet that must have been installed in the seventies was littered with dirty clothes. I couldn’t remember the last time I had vacuumed it. Or if I even owned a vacuum.

  The unpacked moving boxes in the corner caught my eye, making my stomach turn. I had been in this house for five years. How had I not gotten around to unpacking all the boxes?

  “Ugh.” I stood up from my pity party on the couch. Heading into the kitchen, I tossed the rest of the ice cream into the trash, knowing that had been my dinner for the night. The sink was stacked with dirty dishes. I would do them just before Oliver showed up but usually not before.

  Sighing, I made my way to investigate my bedroom. It was in an even more pathetic state than the rest of the house.

  I kept the door closed whenever Oliver visited, hiding my mess of dirty clothes, books and empty food wrappers. Disgusted, I turned from my room. Closing the door behind me I looked to my left. There at the end of the hall was a shut door. Taking a deep breath, I went to the closed door. Turning the knob slowly with reverence, I peeked into the crack in the door. Opening it the full way the sight made tears spring into my eyes.

  The room of my ten-year-old son was immaculate. Bed made neatly, corners of the blanket tightly folded under the mattress. Books lined in height order on the shelves. I walked towards the shelves to investigate but already knew what I would find—when I ran my finger over the edge of the shelves, nothing came up with my fingertip. Oliver had dusted the last time he was here.

  No dirty clothing, no toys, no empty food wrappers on his floors. My son, making order out of chaos.

  The sight broke my heart.

  I sat down on his bed my elbows resting on my thighs, my head in my hands. I moaned to no one in particular, “What is wrong with me?”

  Two tears fell from my eyes and dotted my jeans, darkening the material where they landed. This wouldn’t do. I might make mistakes, but I wasn’t one to give up.

  Garrett’s handsome face played in my mind’s eye. That look he had given me—I remembered it well. “Don’t you think you ought to clean this up, young lady?” the stern cowboy boss in my mind seemed to say.

  “Shut up,” I said. The dark look he gave me in my head almost made me apologize out loud.

  Shaking Mr. Love out of my brain, I stood from the bed.

  “That’s it. Time for a little spring cleaning.” Leaving the room, I carefully closed the door to Oliver’s room and got to work.

  Putting my favorite upbeat tunes on my CD player that I had purchased sometime in the early two thousands, I focused on my work while shoving Garrett’s face and voice from my mind. Grabbing a big, black trash bag from under the sink I started my overhaul by walking around the house, stuffing all the trash and bottles within the dark depths of the vast plastic bag. It filled quickly. Saying a little ‘I’m sorry but it ain’t gonna happen’ prayer to the recycling fairies, I got rid of all the empty green glass bottles. On top of those was the crinkling trash wrappers, then any stained or ripped clothing that was beyond repair.

  When I was done, I had hauled two and a half bags to the big trash can on the curb. Then I bagged up all the dirty clothes, promising myself I would hit the laundromat that weekend. I put them in the corner of my kitchen.

  Running to the bathroom, I grabbed my make-up bag of dollar store nail polish, taking it back to the kitchen and placing it on top of the garbage bag of clothing so I wouldn’t forget it. Pink, purple, red, gold glitter polish—it was all in that bag for the little girls who had to go to the laundromat with their moms on Saturday. I loved the way their faces brightened when they saw me. As soon as I had my loads in the washer, I would set up my little manicure shop, painting all their little nails pretty pink, or purple, or some of each. Whatever they wanted
that day.

  Hands on my hips, I blew a strand of sweaty hair away from my face. Taking in my house, I tried to figure out what came next—this was my first time ever spring cleaning after all. Spying the huge tumble weeds under the couch and the thick film covering just about everything in the living room, I made up my mind.

  Time to dust.

  Using clean socks that had a few holes in them over my hands, I dusted every inch of the house, sneezing as I did. Then I went to my back-storage closet ignoring the mess in there. I figured everyone had to have at least one junk closet. Pushing past the out of date winter coats and toys Oliver had outgrown, I found it.

  “Aha!” I yelled victoriously, pulling out the old Hoover. I had inherited it when a past roommate had moved out with no notice. I plugged it in and turned it on. It made a terrible whining noise and smelled of burning rubber, but it did the job. I vacuumed every inch of the shag carpet, being sure to leave visible lines in a star pattern on Oliver’s carpet when I did his room.

  Next was the kitchen. I wanted to cry as I took in the stack of dishes with dried food that had hardened on them. I struggled through my messy cupboard to find dish soap. There wasn’t any. I wasn’t going to give up. Thinking quickly, I went to the bathroom and retrieved my lavender body wash. Pinning my dusty hair back, I pulled on my old yellow, elbow length, rubber gloves.

  I turned on the water as hot as it would go. Unable to find the stopper, I put a plastic Tupperware lid over the base of the sink hoping the amount of dishes weighing on the lid would keep the water from draining. Squeezing the bottle, I poured half of the soap into the sink.

  That was when I heard a knock at the door.

  That would be Mr. McAllister. An elderly man who had lived next door to me for the past year or so, his cat was always getting out and he would come have me help him find her. Sweetie was usually up in the Bradford pear tree that grew in my little fenced in backyard. Grabbing a quick look at my reflection in the mirror above the sink, I gave a shrug. My disheveled hair hung wildly and there was a patch of bubbles on my face that I tried to wipe away with the back of my glove.