Read Stabled (The Stables Trilogy #1) for Free Online

your parents don’t talk, then they don’t ask too many questions, either. But the day had just been so damned strange. Picked up by a driver? She’d never been in a car that nice before. Hired with so little interview? Did that even happen in real life?
     
    She should be able to ramble to her mom about it. Gush about her hot boss. Get advice. Giggle.
     
    “No, Mom, I’ve got everything here.”
     
    “Good, Honey. I’m proud of you.” Her mother added that last bit in like it was an afterthought.
     
    “Right. I’ll call when I can,” Maple offered. It didn’t escape her that her palms were damp. That her chest was tight with nerves. Ask me to call next week. Tell me you miss me. Ask me if I need to come back home.
     
    “Okay. Be safe, Maple.”
     
    Click .
     
    She hadn’t even waited for Maple to say goodbye. Sighing heavily, Maple tucked her cellphone into the drawer of her bedside table. Most likely she wouldn’t need it for a while. Her parents were the only people she had to call.
     
    This was typical for them. It was one of the reasons she needed to leave home. Her parents loved her, she knew. But they’d grown up in tough times and it’d made them hard. Hard to talk to. Hell, she’d never even really seen them talk to each other.
     
    Maple had wanted more. She’d told herself she wanted a life outside of cattle. She wanted human connection. Maybe it was all the books she’d poured over as a kid. The fantasy ones with intense, passionate relationships and epic, soul-changing adventures. Those books made the world out of Silt Springs and her tiny bedroom seem enormous. Enchanting.
     
    Funny how she was now back at a ranch and feeling more alone than ever.
     
    It was too early to go to bed. She could go to her room and read, but her curiosity was growing. J.B. had said she could explore, and she wanted to see this house that should be a movie set instead of a place where people lived.
     
    There weren’t many twisting halls; after she left what she realized was the guest wing and kitchen, she stepped into the open-concept living space. This was the room she’d seen from the car. The single, enormous glass wall making it feel as if she were stepping outside.
     
    Maple gasped. The night sky bloomed in front of her. No cars were parked in front. It was just wide, open sky and the shadow of the fence and gate on the horizon. The stars were so plentiful that, combined with a half moon, the room could have been lit from them alone.
     
    Lights were on, though, which allowed her to view the art on the walls up close. The pieces were not what she expected. They were modern, for the most part. Huge canvases covered with slabs of dark paint that was slashed through with grays, whites, and blues. They looked angry, foreboding, clashing with the pristine white walls and polished marble floor.
     
    Between the oppressive canvases were smaller pieces, contemporary but mimicking classic styles. Twisted faces, mouths screaming in pain. Pale bodies, misshapen and haggard. Reminiscent of Goya, they startled her more than all the posh elements of the house combined. How did a man with such refined tastes everywhere else choose such atrocious paintings for his living space?
     
    As she peered around, it became more and more apparent that there was a unifying theme in all of the smaller works: Women in bondage. Every screaming face, every writhing body was a female, while dark, mysterious, masculine figures loomed in their background. Her eyes picked out elements she hadn’t seen at first glance. Riding crops. Whips. Ropes tied so tight around breasts and bellies the flesh bulged out.
     
    Maple shivered, her stomach lurching. The paintings were evocative, at least. She found herself making her way back to the first, to begin looking at them anew. They captured her fully, drawing her in. When she waded past her initial shock at the dark matter, she found something ugly and sensual inside herself.
     
    She