Page 24 of Mine To Break
He tucked into the eggs like he hadn’t eaten in days, without any challenges from her like he’d needed that first night. It actually made her throat tighten enough that she had to swallow the bite twice to make sure she didn’t choke. Usually her Mistress games were just that: games. Fun. Entertainment. She didn’t often actually get to help somebody. Let alone someone like Colby. She let her gaze wander across his pecs, reading the stories written into his skin.
“It does at night, but we didn’t have many foxholes there. That was actually boot camp in San Diego.”
She didn’t prompt him, hoping instead that he’d keep talking after a few bites. Her patience was rewarded when he reached for his third biscuit.
“It was mostly dust and heat and miserable sun. During the day, you’d cut off your right arm for a bit of shade. When we had breaks, it was nothing to lie under the vehicles, both for shade and protection. I thought Texas was hot, but it wasn’t anything close. At least here, we have plants that have adapted to long summers and even droughts, but there, it’s just all rock and sand and dust, blowing, so dry and grim. They’ve been bombed for decades, first the Russians and then us, hunting for the elusive terrorist cells. So there’s barely anything left but rubble.”
He’d already given her a lot to think about. The youngest with three sisters. That would explain his politeness and absolute horror at the thought of hurting her. He’d grown up on a ranch too, so he was probably used to doing chores, handling animals. Unless he’d joined the military to escape that life. “I can see you as a cowboy.”
Actually, now that she’d said it, the image of him in cowboy boots and a big hat made her nipples tighten. His slow Texan drawl, allyes, ma’am, no ma’am, with nothing on but a hat and boots…
“I never really took to farm life.” He looked away a moment, his jaw clenching. A bit of old guilt and shame. If his father had been excited to have a boy after three girls, and then his only son hadn’t been much of a rancher, maybe his dad had made him feel like shit for it. “I wasn’t good at it.”
“Sugar, I can’t imagine anything physical and outdoorsy that you wouldn’t be good at.”
He laughed but it was harsh and tight with suppressed rage and angst. “Tell that to Dad. He made it very clear that I was nothing but a disappointment.”
Fighting down those old feelings of childhood failures, Colby pushed his plate away and picked up his coffee cup. He took a few calming sips. He’d left the ranch behind a long time ago, along with a dissatisfied father. Funny how those old arguments and feelings never actually went away. Mal, damn her, didn’t say anything, but watched his every move as diligently as he’d watch a drug dealer on the street approaching a bunch of school kids. Though her eyes gleamed with a soft, golden light that he’d never give to a criminal.
She wanted those old stories of hurt and anger. She was a Mistress. She dealt in pain.
She didn’t ask, so he didn’t feel obliged to share those ugly stories of his past. But she waited, and watched, and he couldn’t seem to wire his jaws shut.
“Maybe it’s not like this anywhere else, but here in Texas, there’s a sort of hierarchy that fathers expect from their sons. First, the land and the work it needs. Second, Friday night football. Third, church and God, although some people claim it should be higher in the list, most people I know always knock it down at least a few notches. Most people have family in there somewhere, and eventually country. I’ve known a few guys who’d put their truck at the top of the list.”
Mal nodded and settled back in her chair with her cup, quietly sipping. “That’s a pretty good list.”
“It wasn’t my list.” Even now, his voice sharpened, defiant and hurt that nobody cared more about him than a bunch of cow shit and dust. Adult Colby knew that wasn’t true, but the kid buried deep inside him still hurt. “Even as a kid, I failed the most basic tasks Dad expected of me.”
He had to pause a moment to keep the old rage contained. He took another sip and almost choked because his throat was too tight and raw to swallow.
“It was the same for me. I think it’s the same for all kids. I think we all have a moment where we fail to meet our parents’ expectations and suddenly realize that we’re different, unique, and can’t ever follow some parental guidebook.”
“What was it for you?” He didn’t expect her to answer, but something deep inside of him craved a bit of her soul. Something she hadn’t told anyone else, before he cut open his old wounds for her.
A sad smile twisted her lips and she turned to look out the window. “Mama gave up on me in the kitchen at an early age. I can only do the most basic recipes. Meanwhile, she’s baking twelve pies for church and opening her own restaurant. She needed my help, but I couldn’t keep up. I made more mistakes, that made more work for her. Eventually she hired someone to help her and replaced me entirely.”
Gave up. Yeah, that’s exactly what Dad did to me too.
“Plus she never liked my taste in men.” Mal glanced over at him, a teasing lilt in her voice that didn’t match the sadness in her eyes. “Though I got that taste from her.”
He could feel her gaze gliding over his chest like hot embers smoking into his skin. “Ex-soldiers with tats?”
“White men,” Mal clarified. “My daddy was white.”
“Oh. I guess I never really thought about it.” Which was true. When he looked at Mal, he saw a beautiful woman with a kind of power that drew him like a moth to a flame. Even if he ended up crispy, he couldn’t stay away. Didn’t want to stay away.
She laughed. “Which is totally a white man thing to say. I’m sure the man who fathered me probably thought the very same thing, right before he went back to his high-class family and blonde girlfriend. I only met him once. He wasn’t ever part of my life and refused to acknowledge me publicly as his daughter. That’s fine. His payoff funded Mama’s first restaurant and that’s all we ever needed after that.”
It was too early for him to start thinking long-term. Two nights, and one of them sleeping only, sure didn’t count for much. But the thought that her mother might frown on him from the get-go put him on high alert. “I wouldn’t ever do that to you. Or anyone, for that matter.”
“I know.” She smiled and reached over to pat his thigh. “I wouldn’t let you.”
The firm stroke of her fingers took away some of the sting to his ego. His brain wanted to object that he’d do what he damn well pleased, but she’d already shown him another way. A way that had his dick tied up in a leash that only she could guide.
“Surely your daddy wasn’t worse than mine. At least yours stayed around.”
He saw what she’d done there, but with her hand on his thigh, he couldn’t find it in himself to complain. Even if he flopped around a bit like a catfish on a line. She’d baited and hooked him good. “I let him down, not the other way around. Over and over.” A dam rose up in his throat, old walls he’d built a long time ago to protect himself. She didn’t push for details, but gently kneaded his quadriceps, a silent encouragement with infinite patience. Old memories swirled in those flood waters, a tidal wave slowly building pressure behind the dam in his mind. He tried to hold on, to push those words back, but knowing that Mal wanted them made it impossible to deny her.
