Circle 'M'

An angry woman is vindictive beyond measure, and hesitates at nothing in her bitterness. ~Jean Antoine Petit-Senn

Laney swiped away the rivulet of perspiration snaking its way down the side of her face. The July heat blowing through the open windows of her dilapidated pick-up truck pooled ever thicker as she eased the truck to a stop and killed the engine.

In front of her, a massive gate spanned the entrance to the imposing home visible through the tree-lined driveway. She dismissed the handcrafted artistry of the sculptured ironwork and concentrated on the detestable medallion displaying the Circle M symbol. In the last twelve weeks, that same symbol had been indelibly stamped on her life, branding her as the undisputed property of its owner. Though she’d never seen him, she hated everything about him, most especially, the arrogance with which he’d presumed to dictate her future.

She reached for the small black notebook laying on the seat next to her and turned the cover. There on the front page was the authoritative symbol that served as a preamble to the order that followed— Stay put and follow instructions until I come for you.

The instructions had come from a grandmotherly housekeeper who gave Laney the minimum amount of information needed to understand her situation.

She'd been rescued by a man named Caleb Masters after having been kidnapped and left for dead while on a trip to Mexico with three other friends, who were still missing. She'd been in a coma when he'd found her and in order to get her quickly back to the USA, he'd had to execute a legal marriage and then somehow accelerated her return.

Whoever he was, he hadn't been present when she'd awakened from the coma. Nor had he returned in the past two months. Tired of waiting and ready to get on with her life, she'd taken matters into her own hands and slipped away from her caretaker.

Besides the black notebook, he'd left her a bank card with a $20,000 balance. She smiled. No twinge of conscience deterred her plans of using that money to restart her life.

The sound of tires grating to a halt on the road’s loose gravel brought her abruptly back to reality. In her rearview mirror loomed a sleek, ebony-black truck and horse trailer. The sun reflecting off its chrome accents gave the intruder an ethereal appearance.

Embarrassed to be caught dawdling at the gate, Laney cranked the engine and stomped on the gas. Lurching forward, the truck rolled twenty feet before the poor excuse for transportation backfired and stopped dead in the middle of the cattle guard.

“Don’t do this to me now.” She pleaded. For lack of a better option, she kept trying the ignition, hoping for a miracle.

* * *

Caleb Masters wondered who the fool was blocking his entrance. Taking in the rusted doors, dented fenders, and broken glass, he wasn’t surprised the thing had decided to give it up and die. The driver, however, should know better. It was a crime to put such a piece of junk on the road, not to mention his road.

If he wanted to get home, however, he’d have to call a wrecker to tow it away from the entrance and off his land. He muttered a few derogatory words about the driver and stepped out of his truck.

He knew her the instant he saw the damp, coppery ringlets surrounding her beautiful face. He jerked to a halt beside her door, feeling as though he’d just been stomach-punched.

Memories flooded his mind with the speed and force of a flash flood. Visions of a beaten and battered young woman, deathly pale and cold despite the hellish desert heat that mercilessly bore down on her. At that moment, the only sign of life, or glimmer of color, had been the coppery ringlets plastered to her face. Unconscious, dirty, with hands and feet tied, she’d been left to die a slow and painful death.

Ever since, the memory of that sight and this woman had haunted his days and nights. He wasn't ready for this. He wasn't ready for her.

* * *

Laney noticed the shadow, which gave her a little respite from the sun’s rays. Dropping her hand from the ignition, she turned her head to confront the person who blocked the scorching heat. She wished she hadn’t. Standing just inches from her door was a giant of a man. She figured his height to be, at least, 6’ 2”, with shoulders as broad as the land he stood on.

The door at her side jerked open. Laney grabbed for her purse, hoping to find the can of pepper spray it contained.

“Hello, Wife.” Caleb Masters’ voice oozed with annoyance.

It had to be him. Who else would call her, wife?

He bent down to stare in her face. “I distinctly remember instructing you to stay in New Orleans until I came for you. What are you doing here?

Laney swallowed her fear and pulled her hand out of her purse. By the look on his face, pepper spray would probably get her killed on the spot.

“Since you’ve chosen to ignore all my replies to your written instructions, I decided it was time to meet you face-to-face and solve this problem.”

His lips curved into a half-smirk. “I’m not aware we have a problem.”

Laney’s resolve to hold her temper dissolved under the arrogance and challenge of that smirk. She unsnapped the seatbelt, grabbed the black notebook, and hurled it like a Frisbee through the open door. As quick as a grasshopper, she leaped out of the truck.

* * *

Caleb Masters lurched backward, surprised by the sudden impact of the projectile that hit him square in the chest and then dropped to his feet. Looking up, he met the irate stare of the petite woman glaring at him with bulldog eyes.

Laney rose on her tiptoes. “You may not have a problem, but I do! I’m here to get one thing from you and I want it today!”

Caleb couldn’t help but smile at the little package of femininity who thought she was equal to the task of giving him orders. As if preparing for a physical confrontation, an instant rush of adrenalin tightened his muscles and shortened his breath. He raised an eyebrow and rested one arm on the door of her truck. “And what would that one thing be?”

Laney’s index finger pointed toward his torso and made three quick jabs into his chest. “A divorce certificate or your death certificate. I’m not particular — It’s your choice.”