Afterward, he returned to his own private room with a double bed, small side table, and a window. Jake hadn’t slept in a bed in years either. Well, other than when required to service a woman who wanted to use his body, that is. He wondered, staring at the blue-quilted bed, if sexual services were a requirement here as well, whether Miss Avery or one of her guards would arrive one night to press him for favors. He’d seen the appraising looks women in the surrounding crowd gave him upon his arrival. One brown-haired young woman, in particular, had ogled him more closely than he would’ve liked. Not that there was anything he could do about it. He was a slave. The guards and other women could do what they liked with him; at least, that was the life he’d become accustomed to. Things seemed different here, but he wondered how different they could actually be.
On the afternoon of his first day on the ranch, a male doctor came to give Jake a checkup. Dr. Beck lived at Miss Avery’s friend’s place. Nearly seventy years old, stocky, and somewhat sickly himself, the doctor didn’t allow his ill health to stop him from helping others. He chatted amiably as he examined Jake’s numerous injuries.
“Well,” the old man said as he pushed his stethoscope back in his small leather satchel, “I can diagnose your shivering as too much of the fear drug, which should dissipate in a day or two, but your other injuries will take a little longer. I’m prescribing you bed rest until the shaking ceases and to give your body a break.”
“But I’m supposed t-to be wor-working,” Jake argued while struggling to sit up on the bed, worry written all over his face.
“Don’t worry, son.” The older man gave him a reassuring smile as he pressed Jake back down to the mattress. “Monica Avery is nothing like Darla Cain.” He patted Jake’s shoulder consolingly and grabbed his bag. “Get some sleep, Jake. You should be feeling better in a few days.”
With that, he left the room.
Not feeling so cared for since before Bret’s mother passed away years ago, Jake curled up beneath the warm blankets in the softest bed he could remember and fell into fitful dreams.
He lay in bed for two days, quaking from the effects of the drug. The head guard, Rosa Santos, checked on him two or three times a day, often bringing his meals and monitoring his recovery. She came across as busy and distracted, but he didn’t mind. She made him almost as nervous as Monica. During Rosa’s first visit, the evening he arrived on the ranch, she stayed for a little while to chat him up, but her first off-hand comment caught him off guard.
“You’ve already caused quite a stir among the young women on this ranch, Mr. Nichols,” she stated in a playful tone as she set his dinner tray in his lap, but her comment struck Jake completely opposite from her intent.
His whole body froze, and his eyes went wide as he gaped at her in fear. “I-I didn’t d-do anything,” he stammered anxiously from beneath the covers. “I don’t wa-want to cause tr-trouble.”
Rosa frowned in confusion, staring as if he had suddenly grown horns. His unreasonable distress over her lighthearted comment was an overreaction, but he couldn’t help it. The fear drug, still strong and flowing through his system, had surged to life the minute she walked into the room. But the implication that he had inadvertently attracted women living at Monica’s sent panic rushing through him that had nothing to do with the drug.
“You haven’t done anything wrong, Mr. Nichols,” Rosa said, backing away from the bed to give him some room.
Jake breathed a little easier, but her previous statement still bothered him. His experiences with women over the last twenty months were mostly unpleasant, to say the least. The last thing he’d meant to do was to invite attention he didn’t want and wasn’t prepared to handle.
“I…don’t m-mean to s-sound ungrateful,” he stuttered. “I appreciate b-being sprung from m-my prison, but I d-don’t want—” He stopped abruptly, realizing he was about to make a demand. Doing such a thing at Darla’s would bring on a painful lesson in etiquette, and despite Miss Avery’s claims earlier that afternoon, he was unsure what the practices here actually were.
“You don’t want what?” Rosa probed lightly.
Jake dropped his eyes to the food in his lap without speaking. A shudder passed through him, causing the silverware on the tray to rattle against the dish.
“You can speak your mind, Mr. Nichols,” Rosa told him gently, her tone reminding him of Bret’s when he worked with a terrified horse. “Nothing bad will happen to you.”
He glanced at her, saw the empathy in her eyes, and shook his head. He didn’t want her pity either.
“We can discuss this more later, if you like,” Rosa said with a gentle smile as she headed for the door.
“Wait!” Jake called; he suddenly needed her to know what he had intended to say. He needed to test what he’d been told too. He sucked in a deep breath and braced himself to speak the words burning inside him.
“I don’t want…a…woman,” he said quietly, staring at his blankets. “I can’t… I don’t… I…I just want to do my job and stay out of trouble.” His last words were said in a rush.
“I understand,” Rosa murmured, and Jake’s head lifted. “Don’t look so surprised. I’m well aware of what life is like where you came from. What you need to understand is it’s different here. If you don’t want a woman’s attention while you’re staying here, you’re under no obligation to accept it. We want you to be happy here, Mr. Nichols.”
He stared at her, still shuddering slightly, amazed by her short speech.
“You—” His voice cracked. He had to ask the question, even though he might not believe her answer. He swallowed and began again. “You mean that?”
“Absolutely,” Rosa smiled.
