Chapter 10

Wilder

Even the day after the wedding, I woke early, ready for work. And now, a few days had passed. I might have been married, but nothing had changed. Dawn crept in through the kitchen windows. I started a pot of coffee. The drip trickled at a steady pace, and I stared out into the dim morning light. Our family’s property was expansive enough that I had built my own house on our land, away from the main house but between both barns, with enough rooms to keep Maisie occupied and out of sight.

And it had stayed empty until now. I had never cared about luxury before. But out of simplicity, I had hired one of my father’s staff to fully furnish, decorate, and stock my house with my wife in mind. Now, there were decadent fur blankets, silk sleep masks, high-end electronics, other expensive garbage, and enough clothes to dress a stadium. I had also secretly installed a four-poster bed with hidden restraints, in case I needed to lock her there.

Yet Maisie followed me around the house like a duckling. She even brought up a honeymoon. But I had never taken a vacation or a trip before.

None of that appealed to me.

The coffee pot beeped. I poured a mug. My phone buzzed.

The chef is out, Kyle sent. I didn’t talk to many people, but Kyle took over my duties whenever a livestock order cut into my time. I respected him.

Dairy Barn? I replied.

A few seconds later, he sent: Yes, sir.

I sighed, not because I cared about the indulgences that my brother and father insisted upon, but because I was smart enough to know that when your employees were well fed, they worked harder. He had been a good chef.

A throat cleared. Maisie stood in tight jeans with manufactured rips in the thighs, and a slim tank top on her shoulders. Had I paid for the outfit or had she brought it herself?

“Morning,” she said.

I said nothing. What was the point?

“Where are you going?” she asked.

Now, if it was a question, one that seemed necessary, I could answer. “Work,” I said. Speaking of which, we needed a substitute chef so we hired another one.

“But you only got in a few hours ago.” She put a hand on her hip.

“From work.”

“Can you cook?” I asked.

She tilted her head, perhaps too intrigued that I had asked her a question, to notice the fact that I had ignored hers.

“I mean, I can throw something together—”

“Then you’re on kitchen duty.”

“Excuse me?” I took a long, hot sip of coffee, the liquid burning my throat. Maisie wrinkled her nose. “Why? Because I’m a woman?”

“Because the chef is out.”

“Do you cook?”

I raised a brow and she touched my arm. A jolt of electricity surged through me. I stepped back.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” she whispered.

I narrowed my eyes. Even though I constantly rejected her, Maisie never gave up. She put her hands on her hips again. “What do you do during the workday? Dare I ask about the graveyard shift that keeps you out all night?”

“Cattle,” I said. “Livestock.”

I motioned for her to follow me. Kyle and a few others were waiting past the edge of my property. We only had about twenty cow-calf pairs. We honestly didn’t need this many men. But it was part of how we operated both sides of the business.

“Then let me do that.” She lifted her chin. “Trust me. I can handle it.”

For a second, I considered working in the main house kitchen myself, just so I could laugh at her trembling through a day of ranching. I nodded at Kyle.

“You want kitchen duty?” I asked.

Kyle practically leaped toward the house, his smile spread wide. “Yep.

On it, boss.”

Maisie snorted at him. “Why is he so happy?”

“Air conditioning,” Kyle yelled back. Maisie’s brow furrowed, and I buried a chuckle. She’d learn fast.

I dipped my head toward her clothes. “Get dressed.”

When she came back, she was dressed in the same holey jeans, but this time, she had a short-sleeved shirt. I considered telling her to wear long sleeves, but seeing as she was so damn confident in what she was doing, I let it be.

I had Maisie and a rancher corral a few of the calves into the barn, with the other ranchers keeping the mothers separate. The two of them led the calves down to the chute, where we quickly vaccinated and tagged their ears, then let them off into another pen where the cows lined up at the gate, bawling for their babies.

We opened the pen to let the calves back in with their mothers, but one eager cow-headed straight through us for her calf. I smacked a hand into Maisie’s chest.

“Hey!” she yelled. But then she saw why. The cow moved past us, sniffing at her calves’ back. Once the cow confirmed the calf was her own, the cow grunted at us, the noise deep and protective.

Maisie’s mouth was open, her fingers shaking, but she nodded at me to prove she was fine. Nothing could scare her away. Not even almost being trampled by a thousand-pound animal.

After taking them back to their pastures, Maisie and I took the tractor out to lay hay bales to supplement anything they needed. She cut the net wrap. Strips of hay clung to her arms and neck, and she slapped it off. Long sleeves; she’d figure it out. Kitchen duty was a prized position.

I took a seat at the edge of the pasture, leaning against the metal gate. A few of the pairs, including the trampling mother and her babe, acknowledged me, their low sounds humming toward us. Some pairs were still new to our farm, and it was good to have them get used to us, especially if Maisie planned to do the day shift. The pond glared with sunlight. Maisie’s strong scent spread through the air, mixing with hay, dirt, and fur. Either she had forgotten the perfume, or her musk was too strong for it. I kept my gaze on the reflective pond.

“You swim?” I asked.

“I can survive,” she said. “I wouldn’t drown or anything.” I had a hard time believing that. Under the right circumstances, anyone could drown. “I can doggy paddle.” I snickered, and Maisie sunk beside me. “What’s wrong with that?”

“You ought to learn how to swim,” I said.

“Throw me in some water. I’ll be fine.”

I gave a subtle shake of my head. She wanted to believe that? “All right,” I said.

Later, after we had said our goodbyes to the rest of the ranchers, I took her back to the house. Once she was in the shower, I excused myself. I had work to do in the Dairy Barn, some livestock orders I didn’t need her help with.

By the time I got back, it was dark, well into the night. My boots crunched against the floor. Maisie, like a restless ghost, stood in the doorway to the kitchen like she had that morning, waiting for me.

“You didn’t join me in the shower,” she said. I went past her. I had barely touched her since our kiss at the ceremony; why would I have taken a shower with her?

I went to the master bathroom, closing the door behind me. She was smart enough; she had to pick up those signals. I showered, then toweled myself off, leaving it wrapped around my waist, my chest exposed.

Once again, she stood in the doorframe, her arms crossed, her eyes focused on me.

“Where were you?” she asked.

I didn’t have to answer that.

“I am your wife,” she said. “Arranged marriage or not, I deserve respect.”

What did she know about respect? “I was working,” I said.

“Working? You said ‘goodnight’ to the ranchers. We both did.” She shook her head. “You weren’t working. That’s bullshit.”

I studied her with sudden focus. Such anger from someone so tiny. Why did she care?

“I saw you wash your hands,” she said, nodding towards the drop of blood on my fist. “Is it from the animals? The equipment or something?” I wasn’t going to answer that.

“You’re cheating on me,” she gasped.

I relaxed my shoulders. I almost wanted to toy with her. How could she feel possessive when we shared nothing, not even the same bed?

Instead, I said nothing, feeding into her paranoia as she stewed.

“That’s why you married me, isn’t it?” she asked, stomping one foot on the ground. “You’re protecting someone. You’re not supposed to be in love with her, but you are. And I’m your cover-up.” She stepped closer. “If that’s the truth, then you need to tell me. I don’t care what’s going on with you. But I can help you if you help me.”