Big Sky (21 page)

“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? I
loved
her.”

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, she
was
Trish, 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 passed and 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 a
Milk Maid
would 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.

“It’s okay, hun. I do this for a living,” the woman said, gently pushing her into a chair.

Veronica could only assume Luke had ordered this. But why? The woman worked quietly. Veronica couldn’t think of anything to say to her, and for her part, the hairdresser didn’t seem compelled to engage in small talk either, so they didn’t. When Freida was finished, Veronica’s long brown hair was chin length with bangs... and golden blonde.

Luke stepped into the room then.

“What do you think?” Freida asked.

“Perfect. Thank you.”

She packed up her things without further acknowledging Veronica, and left.

Luke sat on the leather sofa and watched her for a long time. He’d dressed her today in a corset and jeans. Trish’s clothes had been packed away as the new things Luke kept buying slowly replaced them.

“You don’t look like her anymore,” he said. He handed her a mirror, and it was true. With the bangs and new color, the resemblance had all but disappeared.

He went out into the hallway and came back with a large, wrapped box. “I got you something.”

Veronica tugged at the red ribbon, and then tore through the gold wrapping paper. Inside the box, wrapped in tissue, were a pair of cowboy boots in her size.”

“I prefer you without shoes, but when you need them, you can wear them. Will you run from me?”

“Where would I go?”

“Good answer, princess.”

She put the boots on and went outside. The temperature had started to turn warm again, the first hint of spring easing its way into the air. She lay in the grass, looking up at the sky and the clouds that had turned fluffy again. She stared up at it for a long time, her mind going back to that first night on the road when she’d stopped and stared up in awe at the stars, and then the day of the branding, where she’d fallen asleep watching the clouds blend and merge through the euphoria of the endorphin rush. She’d felt open and free.

Luke joined her a few minutes later and lay beside her. “What are you thinking about?”

“You were right, I love this sky. I love this ranch.”

“Thank me for bringing you here,” he said. The day he’d told her she’d politely thank him by the time he was finished with her flashed through her mind.

“Thank you, Master.”

A tear slid down her cheek, but Luke didn’t see it. He seemed preoccupied with pretending he wasn’t crazy—as if he could allow her to be a separate person from his tragic love. But the gestures: the hair, the boots... they meant nothing. When he’d looked at her, after Freida was finished... it hadn’t been with the same intensity as before. There had been a note of disappointment that had registered in his eyes for a moment before quickly flitting away.

No, Veronica saw clearly. Soon her roots would grow out, and Luke would let them. She’d be back to the way she’d looked before, as if today had never happened. She’d traded one slavery for another, one lie for another, no more in control of her destiny than before—no matter how much hedonistic pleasure this version brought her. The irony of it all was that she could have been the gold standard, but now she’d stand in the shadow of a ghost, forever clawing for the love and approval that had so easily been given to the other woman.

She blinked back the tears before they could overwhelm her. If he couldn’t love her, this had to be enough. The pleasure. The clean air and peace. The freedom from her debt. As she looked up, bright blue with dots of cotton candy clouds filled her vision. In the end, the sky was the only thing that was real.

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Acknowledgments for Big Sky:

Betas: Emma, Kimberly, Stephannie, Michelle, Claudia

Editing: Natasha

Cover Art: Robin Ludwig

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