Page 9 of The Mountain Man's Retribution
Every muscle in Bodie’s body tenses, as though he is overpowered by a realization I don’t grasp. My mouth gapes, trying to find the right words to right my wrong. An animal part of me screams through my limbs, urging me to run and hide. But I stand firm, forcing myself to follow this man’s rules, for now I know there are three, though he only told me one. Never run away. Do not fear him. And do not make him feel less-than.
Inhaling sharply and opening his eyes, the towering man explains, “One handle gives off hot and the other cold. You can mix them together until you find the right combination, so that you don’t burn yourself. Do you understand?”
I nod, shoulders relaxing as I realize I have misread the man. He is not angry or about to punish me. His words hold true that he will never hurt me. But my mind skitters, taking in everything he says as overwhelm grows. I know enough from Big Man’s stories to understand things are different in town. Shouldit surprise me that it is the same in this man’s cabin on the brink of that town?
“Come with me, Fawn,” Bodie grunts with an impatient motion of his big hand, and I follow tentatively down the dark hallway. His finger flicks a protrusion from the wall upwards, and light illuminates the space. I squeal, shocked by the trick. This man is all magic, and his house is exceedingly rich. I read about electricity and lighting in some of my books, but the golden glow still takes my breath away.
“Are you okay?” the man asks, glancing back over his shoulder at me.
“Your house is grand.”
“My cabin is comfortable, big, and safe.” He emphasizes the last word.
I nod, working hard to keep my smile to a reasonable level.
He opens a door and walks inside. I stand outside for a moment, biting my lip and reminding myself I must summon my courage. Stepping inside the big room, I stare at the beautiful floor, wondering if these are tiles that I have read about in books from distant lands. My hand reaches out to the smoothness of the glass-encased area behind me, feeling the smooth white rock with gray swirls within it. “Beautiful,” I whisper as though I am at a blessed shrine.
“This is my bathroom, Fawn.” He points to a white structure on the floor, lifting a covering to reveal a pool of crystal-clear water. I fight the urge to kneel and splash the cool, clean water on my face and drink it from my cupped hands. “My toilet. Or outhouse, only indoors,” he says, shocking me to my core. He touches a metal handle, and the water swirls, sucked into the hole at the base. “For when you are done. Okay?”
My cheeks burn, and a laugh ripples up from deep inside. This is a rich man’s house, or I have crossed the pearly gates without knowing it.
“Why are you laughing, Fawn?”
Elation races through me as I breathe hard, unable to answer him. Tears of joy flood my face, and I quickly swipe them away. On a deep breath, I explain, “No pumping water from the well or visiting the stream. No chamber pot or outhouse. You are an exceedingly rich man.”
Words meant to express my happiness darken his face, and I wonder yet again what I have said wrong. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “My words were meant as a compliment.”
“Don’t apologize. Do you think you can manage the hot and cold water?” he asks gruffly, pointing towards the metal handles inside the glass compartment.
I shrug. “It is time for my shower, then?”
“Yes.”
Without a second thought, I undo the tight belt cinching my waist and the dirty denim drops to my ankles, revealing nothing beneath. Simultaneously, I wiggle out of my green coat, my hands going for the dirty white T-shirt beneath.
He gasps. “Whoa. Whoa. What in the hell are you doing?”
I eye him confusedly. “Taking a shower?”
“But I mean,” he growls, eyes dropping to my curves, his face burning as I remove my shirt, standing in my birth clothes before him.
“It’s okay,” I say calmly. “I know about men. I know what you must do while I bathe. It doesn’t bother me.”
“God,” he exclaims, stepping back, his face animated with emotions I can’t read. “What in the hell do you mean?”
“Before Big Man started drinking too much and his dick quit getting hard, he liked to watch me bathe. He pleasured himself to the sight, sometimes many times, to keep his devil at bay.”
Bodie rubs his hands over his face. “And did he touch you, Fawn? Hurt you in any way?”
“Punishment, yes,” I reply resolutely. “But touching? No. That was our rule. Never to touch.”
The man’s face is conflicted, anger seething beneath the surface. His eyes go to my shoulders, his face hardening. “Turn around and pull back your hair,” he commands. I do, and he lets out a violent exhale. “Those scars on your back? Are those from Big Man?”
“When I did wrong,” I excuse. “But it was my fault, not his. He tried to teach me, but I was stubborn as a mule.”
I glance over my shoulder, finding Bodie’s face stony. Anger flashes fiercely in his eyes, and I fight hard not to crouch in terror. “I have to go. Hot and cold,” he hisses, pointing at the handles again. “Mix them until they feel good.”
“But,” I say, panic festering. “Does my body not please you? Do I not make you hard?”
