Kit Morgan is Brokenhead’s sex therapist by day and Dominatrix by night. While she never shies away from being her true self, she rarely mixes business with pleasure until she meets Greg Anderson, the owner of the only two horses in this kinky two-horse town.
Submissive Greg longs to turn his ranch into a BDSM bed and breakfast—a safe place to stay and play for those in the kink lifestyle. He’s looking for a partner in life and business, and he wonders if he’s found that in Kit.
Will they ride off into the sunset, or tie each other up in knots?
Kit Morgan bit her lips together, brushed back a lock of dark hair behind one ear, closed the notebook she held in one hand, and set it down on the table in front of her beside a tissue box. She leaned over and took the hands of the elderly woman in front of her.
Although the term elderly didn’t describe Trudy Anderson in the least. Well into her late sixties, the woman had more energy than women half her age and talked a mile a minute.
Currently, Trudy’s silver head bobbed as her plump body shook with sobs. Kit squeezed her hands and tried hard not to roll her eyes. She’d never known someone who could turn the waterworks on and off as fast as this woman.
Kit massaged the back of one of Trudy’s hands, hoping to soothe her. “There, there… It will be all right.”
Trudy hiccupped, then let loose another barrage of sobs. “It…will…never…be…all…right…”
It took effort for Kit to refrain from heaving a sigh. She’s pouring it on thick today. “Your son, Greg, is a grown man, Trudy. He is capable of making his own decisions. You can’t force someone to seek counselling if they don’t want it.”
Trudy lifted her head, beseeching Kit with wide tear-filled grey-blue eyes.
Kit had to work at keeping her facial expression neutral. During another session, Trudy had pleaded with Kit to counsel her son. Kit had insisted Greg make his own appointment if he felt he needed it. She’d figured Trudy would bring it up again at some point, but she hadn’t expected the woman to resort to tears on the matter.
Kit kept her tone gentle. “Mrs. Anderson—Trudy—it sounds like Greg is coping just fine. You’ve told me time and again how he’s always felt at home on the farm, so it would not be unusual for him to throw himself into working on the property to cope with his loss. Everyone grieves in their own way in their own time. Not everyone requires counselling, and certainly not the kind I provide.”
Teardrops dripped down Trudy’s face, and she opened her mouth to protest. Kit held up a hand to stop her. The woman should win an Oscar. “Trudy, I want to focus on you. It’s why you’re here.”
The tears ceased as abruptly as they’d started. Trudy slipped her hands away from Kit and wiped the tears from her face. “Well, I had to try.”
Kit shook her head, and another strand of dark hair escaped her bun. She tucked it back behind her ear and suppressed a chuckle. “You’re a good woman and a great mother.”
Trudy sighed and shrugged. “Not according to him. I never know what is going on in his life. I figured you’d help an old lady.”
“You’re hardly old.” Kit sat back in her chair. “An award-winning performance. Nice try milking it for all it’s worth.”
Trudy sighed again and reached for a tissue. A honking sound emanated from her nose, and Kit waited for her to finish. As Trudy disposed of the tissue in the garbage can to the right of the table, she said, “I want him to be happy. He rarely smiles, and he works all the time. That cannot be healthy.”
“What is healthy for one individual might be harmful to another. Only a therapist would be able to determine that.” Kit picked up the notebook and consulted her notes.
“That’s why I wanted him to see you.”
“I’m not a grief counsellor,” Kit reminded her. “I’m uncertain Greg needs the services I provide.”
“You said it yourself, people grieve in their own way. Maybe he needs some sex therapy.”
“That’s hardly for you to decide. And I cannot help people if they don’t want it.” Kit cleared her throat, trying not to picture the tall, dark, and handsome rancher she’d had the pleasure of being intimate with. She had left out that bit of information when Trudy had first made her plea. As a therapist, she believed all information should be confidential, especially personal information.
Kit wanted to get to know Greg better, but in a personal way, and not as a counsellor, and most definitely not because his mother had set them up. “So, you said he wants to open a bed and breakfast on the farm?”
Trudy beamed, nodding with enthusiasm. “That’s right. I’m so proud of him. He wants to own his own business and generate more tourism for the town.”
“Sounds like he has his hands full.” Kit tilted her head with a nod. “Let’s talk about that. How does it make you feel?”
“Oh, I’m sure whatever he’s doing keeps him busy. I worry about him being all alone out there. He needs people. We all need people. And he hasn’t spoken to me about his father’s death. In fact, we don’t talk much at all. Haven’t since he was a boy.”
“You’ve mentioned that before. What happened between the two of you?” Kit picked up a pencil, tapping the eraser against her chin.
Trudy lifted her hands in the air. “I don’t know. He was a talkative child and then stopped one day. Since then, I always do the talking, and he listens. He never confides in me about anything.”
Kit understood Trudy’s concern for her son, but she didn’t feel there was any reason to worry. A grown man, Greg probably realized, as most of the town did, that big-hearted Trudy was the biggest gossip around. She knew everybody’s business, and Greg had most likely clammed up at some point to keep his business private. Kit had a sneaking suspicion as to why.
Trudy heaved a dramatic sigh and threw herself back into the couch. “If I die, then he’ll have no one. It’s a mother’s worst nightmare.”
Kit coughed to suppress a giggle. “If you’re dead, you won’t be able to worry about him anymore. Problem solved.”
Trudy narrowed her eyes. “You really have a way of getting right to the point.”
Kit shrugged a shoulder. “One of my instructors used to say I had a way of cutting through bullshit.”