Petulant Shadows

By Martha Sweeney

Dedicated to those who have been abducted, trafficked, abused, and murdered, the families who have lost someone, and the sheepdogs who fight to save them.  May your souls find peace.
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There is a sinister evil hidden in the shadows. Some do not know of its existence yet others are haunted by it every waking moment and every sleepless night.

The legends say that it arrives quiet like the wind, lurking in the shadows as the darkness sets upon the earth each night. It leaches into towns through the smallest of cracks and festers, growing like a fungus that makes everything rot in its path.

A sudden opportunity to flee presents itself to Paisley. Something within her commands her to run. As if guided by the hand of God, she finds shelter in the town of Biernhard and through a man named Grayson.

As Paisley begins to come to grips with her past and embrace a new life for herself, the shadows creep back into her life and the town she calls home. Will this darkness conquer Biernhard and claim Paisley once again, or does the town have its own fortitude against the darkness that it is rumored to have battled and defeated many generations before?

• Language: English
• Publisher: WWN Publishing Group
• Release date: Oct 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223356585

Martha Sweeney

Pushing boundaries across genres. Martha Sweeney is a Best-Selling, multi-genre author who writes in a variety of genres: romance, suspense, thriller, coloring books, romantic comedy, and science fiction. She strives to push herself as a storyteller with each new tale and hopes to push her readers outside of their comfort zone whether it be genre or the stories themselves. With a B.S. in Psychology, Martha utilizes her knowledge of human and animal behavior successfully in the business world and in her writing to present realistic characters and situations. She's been creative since she was little, always drawing, coloring or making crafts, so her venture into being an author was a natural transition.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Strangers in the Woods

The scent of petrichor coats the air as the sun rises. There was a late-night storm that passed through and left behind a faint shadow of death. Clouds have remained, but the sun peeks through randomly which doesn’t blot out the stench of decay.

This ain’t your land, Grayson warns, cocking his shotgun as he rides up on five unknown men trespassing on his property. He steadies his aim as they cautiously turn to face him.

Mason, Grayson’s German Shepherd, growls and readies for the command to attack.

The men are dressed differently than anything Grayson has seen in the area, even for travelers passing through the village. Aside from the darker color of their attire, there’s a foreboding energy around them that makes Grayson’s hair stand on edge.

Our apologies, one of the men states with an unfamiliar accent, raising his hands as he slowly steps back a few feet. We had lost—

Far enough away from any place for anyone to have lost something, Grayson counters as his gray eyes darken. Don’t see how—

We mean nothing by our simple mistake, the man replies with a slight bow. We’ll be on our way.

That’d be best, Grayson agrees gruffly. He remains on his horse, watching the strangers vacate his land in the same direction they entered.

Though he owns a large plot, and uses much of the hills that belong to no one, Grayson has tended to the land for many years. The men head toward the east which makes the most sense if they were unaware of the area in general. Where they are located, eastward is the closest edge of his territory and Biernhard.

The stench of rotted darkness lingers from the men who did not have a single, visible weapon on them. Everyone knows you travel with a weapon, even if to ward off a bear, other animals, or thieves.

Grayson waits patiently atop his horse until the five men are long out of sight.

A gentle whimper is heard, pulling Mason from his guarded stance and Grayson from his thoughts. Mason makes his way to a large tree stump that has been down for some time. Sniffing and circling to the opposite side, it doesn’t take long for him to find the final intruder.

You can come out, Grayson informs, taking off his hat and raking his fingers through his mahogany locks for a second. When the only sound is Mason’s footsteps, he looks back over his shoulder. They’re gone. I promise.

The woman in hiding whimpers again as her body trembles.

Grayson slides off his steed and slowly makes his way around the trunk. Twigs and leaves crunch under his steps. Honest. He squats down and peers under the tree. They won’t be coming back.

She weeps in reply, unsure if she should be relieved or terrified of her new situation.

I ain’t gonna hurt you, Grayson says soothingly. Come on. Come on out.

Mason inches closer, causing the woman to let out a shallow yelp.

That’s just Mason, Grayson states. He’s more bark than bite. He chuckles to himself. He won’t hurt you. He’ll protect you.

Realizing that she is paralyzed by her emotions, Grayson carefully tugs the woman out from under the tree. She's light and boney, though he can feel the strength within her muscles as her body tenses and shakes. Mason whimpers, eager to greet her appropriately.

Calm down, Grayson directs his four-legged companion.

He doesn’t think twice about his actions nor does he ask permission. Scooping the woman up, Grayson carries her to his horse. He tries to get her to stand, but her body continues to pulse from her sobbing.

Gonna need your help, ma’am, he requests sweetly. Gonna need you to either stand on your own or allow me to getcha up on the horse.

She doesn’t reply.

Have you ever ridden a horse? he asks, hoping to distract her.

Her head sways in reply.

Ah, he sighs. Well… He manages to get her to stand and directs the horse to turn. This here is Whiskey. He’s got an attitude like Mason, but he’s a softy. Grayson directs her hand out to allow the horse to sniff her.

The tension in her body lessens slightly as her fingers caress the velvety softness of his coat. She feels warmth radiating off the animal which entices her to step closer. Her attire is ratty and thin, muddied all over as is her hair, face, and skin.

There, Grayson says encouragingly. See. He ain’t gonna hurt you.

She suddenly reveals her tear-stained face and wipes it which hints at a milky tone to her skin.

There you are, Grayson says with a kind smile. What’s your name?

After a deep, shaky breath, she mumbles, Pai…Paisley.

Paisley, huh? he replies. That’s a pretty name for a pretty girl.

For the first time in a long time, a hint of discontent surfaces within her emerald eyes. I ain’t no girl.

I didn’t mean to insult you, Grayson replies, wiping her cheek.

That’s fine, she says with a gulp. Paisley glances around nervously as if expecting the men to return.

Come on, he instructs, gently tugging at her arm. We’ll cover more ground by riding.

I don’t know how, she states softly.

No need to know, Grayson replies. Whiskey does most of the work.

Paisley raises a brow as she sniffles, desperately vying to hide the shaking of her body. The chill in the air seems to prick at her skin more than usual.

He could offer his hand by hoisting her or by way of using his hands as a step, but Grayson knows the sight of a beaten animal. Instead, he explains that the stump would be the best way for her to mount the horse. It takes her a moment to comprehend and comply. Before she gets the chance to react, she’s on the horse and Grayson is sitting behind her. Paisley’s body becomes ridged as his arms surround her.

You hold ‘em, he suggests, offering the reins.

She stares at his hands in dismay.

As I said, Whiskey does most of the work. Besides, he knows how to get back so there’s no need in knowing how to ride. Plus, you can control him.

H…how? she asks timidly.

Grayson cautiously surrounds her hands with his. A pull on this one makes him go right. A pull on this one—

Makes him go left, Paisley declares as Whiskey follows the commands.

Correct, he affirms. Pulling back on both sides at the same time either gets him to stop or walk backward.

How…how do you make him go forward?

There are a few ways, Grayson replies. He responds to a whistle. He responds to a kick to the—

I dare not kick him, she interrupts.

More like a nudge, he clarifies. See. Grayson demonstrates the action.

Whiskey snorts in reply and remains in place.

Is…is there another? she inquires with a shaky tone.

When we ain’t home, he replies. "Just tell him let’s go home."

Let’s go home? she repeats.

A little louder and more of a command than a question.

Let’s go home, Paisleys states again.

Whiskey takes his first step which catches her off guard, making her body fall back into Grayson.

You can also hold here if you’d like, he instructs, guiding her hand to the saddle horn.

Where…where will you hold?

Grayson chuckles. Usually, just with my legs.

Your legs?

Mm, he confirms. Use them to hug his body.

Paisley attempts it, feeling the fatigue in her muscles.

It takes time to get used to, Grayson informs. It’s a bit of a ride home, so no need to tire yourself. Try it off and on and you can practice over time.

She nods and directs her attention to her surroundings. Paisley’s eyes dart around, noticing that the land is unfamiliar. She can’t remember how long she had been running. Was it a day or was it several? All she knows is that she is hungry, tired, and not as scared. Though she doesn’t know the man, she feels the most secure she has felt in a tremendously long time even though she assumes it is a fleeting and futile thing to expect.

Paisley’s body shudders at the memories that come flooding back regarding her escape. Grayson presses his chest into her and carefully slips one hand around her to take hold of the saddle horn.

You’re safe now, he says softly in her ear.

She takes a sharp breath in, unable to believe his words. He isn’t the first man to tell her such and has lied. Though she wants to believe him, Paisley’s instincts tell her the contrary.

They ride in silence for a long while. The rocking of her body, the heat from the man behind her, and the horse’s calm swagger cause Paisley to nod off on occasion. She wakes up abruptly from time to time but falls back to sleep quickly from exhaustion. Grayson reassures her, and by the fourth time, Paisley surrenders to the fatigue.

They arrive at the cottage by mid-day just as more clouds being to roll in. Grayson manages to position Paisley in such a way that he’s able to jump down before easing her off. Whiskey waits patiently as Grayson carries her inside. Once she’s settled on the bed, he heads back outside and takes Whiskey to his pasture, feeding him before returning to the strange woman. He checks on her before making lunch for Mason and himself. There are several tasks around the farm to keep his attention, so Grayson sees to them despite his thoughts wandering to Paisley.

Well after the sun has set, he prepares dinner. All the noise he makes doesn’t wake Paisley, so after waiting a few minutes, seated at the table, he eats. Afterward, Grayson sits beside the bed and studies the woman, curious about why the men were looking for her. They didn’t notice Paisley as she hid. If they had, Grayson knows they would have tried a subtle way to look for her while they gradually backed away and left or would have attempted to stay longer. He suspects the men will return and Grayson plans to be ready.

Chapter 2

Timid Greetings

Paisley jolts to a sitting position upon an abrupt awakening. She glances around the room and notices that it is foreign by sight, but there is a familiar smell that she cannot place. Sunlight streams through the window to her right, brightening the white, wood-panel walls.

Her hands dart around her body and she finds herself still clothed and fairly intact despite her hair being a bit of a mess. After sniffing herself, Paisley winces at the stench coming from her. Gazing at the blanket and sheets, she lets out a sigh of relief when she notices there isn’t a speck of dirt on the bed.

Cautiously, she slips out from under the covers and lowers her feet to the wooden floor. She’s pleased when she discovers it is cool to the touch. As Paisley takes her third step, the floorboard creeks below. Her head darts up and her eyes focus on the wall across from her, waiting for a noise to reveal that someone is coming. Pulling up her dress, Paisley glides her feet along the wood, hoping to minimize any further creeks. Her body tenses and she braces for an interaction the second she hears odd footsteps coming toward the door to her left. It sounds as if there are several people.

Quiet, Mason, Grayson calls from deeper in the house.

Paisley listens for his footsteps. She lets out a heavy breath, thinking she’s safe only to suck it back in when she hears definitive steps getting louder.

Hush, Grayson commands just outside the door. You’ll wake her.

Mason whines again, tapping his feet from side to side.

Right as Grayson is about to head back to the kitchen, he stops when he hears a noise.

Paisley slaps her hand over her mouth as she steadies her next breath. As the doorknob slowly turns, she presses her back to the closest wall. The door creaks open and Mason rushes in.

Mas— Grayson spots the empty bed and locates Paisley once he pushes the door open a little further. Good day.

Paisley turns her face away and doesn’t comment. Her body tenses as Grayson takes a few, slow steps inside the room. Mason approaches her, but she ignores him.

Had us worried there, he states gently.

She swallows hard and barely flits her eyes in his direction. The dog sitting astutely at her feet draws Paisley’s attention.

Mason thought you’d sleep the whole week, Grayson chuckles, wringing his neck. But, it’s only been six days.

Paisley’s gaze tentatively shifts in his direction.

Left you some fresh water there, he informs, gesturing to the nightstand.

She doesn’t reply.

Breakfast is ready if you’re hungry, he states.

Paisley’s eyes slowly make their way to him.

Do you want to wash up first? he asks kindly.

She considers her option as her stomach grumbles at the thought of food. It has been some time since she last ate that wasn’t something she found in the forest.

Grayson chuckles when he hears her stomach’s reply. Come on, then. He stretches out his hand, waiting for her to take it or move in his general direction. Realizing that she’ll need a minute or two, he begins to slowly back away. You come when you’re ready. I’ll set out a plate for you.

Paisley watches him as he continues to walk backward. The door is left wide open for her to watch where he goes. Grayson doesn’t turn until he reaches a doorway to his right. He spins slowly and exits the hallway.

Considering her options, Paisley slides against the wall toward the window. Mason stays which spooks her. Peering out the window, she contemplates how fast it would take for her to get it open and get out before Grayson could make it back into the room. Then, the thought of the men who were chasing her could be out in the trees, watching and waiting for her to leave.

After debating which situation is better, Paisley eventually begins a slow trek beyond the doorway of the bedroom. Carefully, she gradually steps with little to no sound as much as possible. However, Mason gives away her location as he follows and snorts at her as if she’s taking too long.

By the time Paisley reaches the entrance to the kitchen, Grayson is halfway done with his meal. She keeps her body out of sight and slowly peeks around the corner.

I know you’re there. He chuckles before taking his next bite. Mason gave you away.

The dog nudges the woman from behind which startles her and forces her to pop into view. Paisley takes in the cozy room and the man sitting before her. It’s tidy and simple, yet functional. The sink is large and has a pump, which will make washing dishes easier than having to fetch a pale.

It’s gonna get cold, Grayson says, gesturing to the plate across from him.

As Paisley is about to consider her options, the smell of the food compels her forward. She lowers to the empty chair and drapes a napkin over her lap. She waits for his direction.

Grayson studies her. It’s gonna get cold. You better eat.

Though she considers inspecting it, her logic is ruled out by the pain in her belly. She moans on her first bite which makes Grayson chuckle. Paisley can’t remember the last time she had a warm meal, let alone one that wasn’t scraps.

Mason whimpers, hoping he’ll get some.

Hush, Grayson replies.

The dog complies and lowers to the floor.

Though she tries to eat slowly, starvation pushes Paisley to consume her meal rapidly. Her eyes spring up to Grayson after every scoop to make sure she won’t be reprimanded.

There’s plenty more, Grayson informs. But, you might want to give your body time to acclimate.

Paisley’s hand pauses just before her mouth. She lowers her spoon and wipes her face.

He nods at her. I can see it has been some time since you last ate.

Her chin and gaze lower, shame and embarrassment etching on her expression.

No need to be shy about it, Grayson states.

Having begun to build a thick skin for many years, Paisley ignores the emotions swirling inside her and finishes eating, pacing each bite. She studies the man before her, curious if he’s one of them. There have been many men Paisley had been presented to who acted sweet toward her—at first. Grayson looks nothing like them in build, facial features, or how he dresses.

They was looking for you? he asks after she finishes her last bite.

Paisley gulps the rest of her drink. Her eyes stay on him as her hand lowers to the table, returning everything to its proper place.

You don’t need to tell me why, Grayson declares. You’re safe here for as long as you wish to stay.

She does not reply.

Is there anyone I can aid you with reaching?

Paisley’s eyes lower to the tablecloth as she thinks back over her life. She twiddles the edges of the cloth napkin between her fingers as a memory surfaces. The last time she had seen her mother, she was only a child. The thought that her mother might be dead arises, considering how Paisley came to be where she was before running away. Then, the realization that she doesn’t know where she is in relation to where her mother would or could be settles in her heart, bringing a tear to her eyes.

She shakes her head gently as she blinks the tear out of existence.

You stay as long as you’d like, Grayson states. It’s just me, Mason, Whiskey, another horse called Mudd, and then a bunch of cows, sheep, and chickens out there.

Paisley tentatively lifts her gaze.

He gets up and takes the dishes to the sink. Do you want more?

I’ll…I’ll wait, she replies meekly. Thank you.

He opens the fridge and pantry to show her where things are. There’s plenty to pick from later. Help yourself.

Paisley darts to the sink when Grayson is on the other side of the kitchen, revealing the root cellar. She begins cleaning the dishes, knowing that her actions will prevent him from getting upset.

No need to clean them, he says, gently taking a dish from her hand.

It is a woman’s duty, she says nervously. I—

They can be done later, Grayson states, intending to clean them himself.

She offers a curt nod, though dread lurks within her bones. He could be testing her. He could strike whether she complies or continues to wash the dishes.

Grayson escorts Paisley to the washroom, offering her to bathe if she’d like. When she catches sight of herself in the mirror, she’s taken aback by her appearance. She comprehends why he has not expected her to tend to his needs.

Your shoes are next to the bed, he informs. As are your stockings. I was able to wash those for you.

Discretely, she glances around the room, noting how it is modern for a cottage out in the middle of a large plot of land. The porcelain tub is rather large—big enough for two people. She swallows hard, wondering if he plans on joining her.

That’s a toilet, Grayson informs, gesturing to the item in the corner. Made it myself after seeing how they’re built. He tugs on the handle that sits at the end of the hanging chain. This is how you flush it.

Paisley jumps back, shocked by the sound of the apparatus, but leans toward it, curious to see how it works. She had heard of toilets but had never seen one in person. She was limited in where she was allowed to go. She stuck to the kitchen where she was assigned unless she was requested or demanded to be elsewhere.

I got some hot stones in the fire to make the water warm, he adds. Give me a moment and I’ll get them in and then you can stay in here as long as you’d like.

She waits patiently though she fiddles with the edge of her sleeve even well after Grayson returns with the stones and leaves once again, closing the door behind him. After a minute, Paisley smells the soap. It brings a sense of calm to her. She attempts the toilet, though she feels odd using it, considering she’s used a communal stream most of her life. Dipping her fingers into the bath water, Paisley's skin begins to ignite, eager for the chance to be in it. After moving the sitting chair in front of the door to act as a barrier, she quickly, though carefully, undresses, and lowers herself into the water.

She gets lost for a long while in the sensation. Paisley cannot remember the last time she had a warm bath. Cool water at best on a less than favorable day was her fate generally when it was her turn to rinse, but still far better than even cold water on a cold day.

Eventually, Paisley cracks open the door and peers out with only the towel draped around her body. Mason startles her again as he’s been sitting outside the door the entire time.

Suddenly, Grayson appears in the hallway. I…I should have offered you a change of clothes.

Closing the door slightly to shield herself, Paisley lifts a brow in reply as her hand tightens on the towel.

My…my wife has some things that might fit you, he states gruffly.

Her gaze falls to the floor. I do not wish to intrude on your wife’s belongings, Paisley mumbles.

She wouldn’t mind, Grayson returns.

She studies him for a moment and realizes that he hadn’t mentioned a wife until now.

You can wear whatever you’d like or that will fit, he adds, looking down at the floor.

You…you did not speak of a wife, she states. I do not wish to—

She passed, he admits with a heavy breath, wringing his neck. A few years now.

I…I am sorry for your loss, she replies.

I, as well, he huffs. She was kind. Grayson glances around the hall. Her dresses are in the far closet…by the windows. And, she had some other items in the top two draws of the dresser.

No…no children? Paisley inquires timidly.

We weren’t married long, he sighs.

Her head bobs as she looks at the floor. If…if you don’t think she would mind? Paisley says softly. I dare not put back on the dress I had until I can wash it and perhaps mend it.

Nor wish to wear men’s clothing? he chuckles.

She offers him a soft smile, finding it odd that she cannot remember the last time she had, in fact, genuinely smiled. I’d be grateful for whatever you offer. You have offered so much.

It ain’t much by what I’ve offered, he returns. Any good man or woman would do the same.

Paisley’s lips purse. She doesn’t remember the last time she met a good man or woman. The women she knew, were either in the same situation as her or just as evil as the men.

Your kindness will not go unnoticed, she says with a curtsey that is hidden by the door.

No need for formality, he quips. I’ll…I’ll leave you be. Grayson steps toward her in the hallway.

Paisley takes a step back inside the bathroom, closing the door all but an inch, and clutches the towel she’s been gripping. Grayson offers a timid, slight bow before continuing past her and out the front door.

It takes Paisley several, long moments before she moves into the bedroom and peers in the closet. There are three dresses, two skirts, and two blouses to choose from aside from what looks like a nightgown, a jacket, and two pairs of shoes. The dresser contains a scarf, several undergarments, and a few personal, female belongings.

Once dressed, Paisley studies her body in the floor-length mirror, noting the thinness of her form, the paleness of her skin, and the redness in her eyes. She tentatively decides to try on a pair of shoes from the closet. Hers are too old and had several holes. The new ones fit, though she tightens the laces to ensure they won’t be loose. Paisley decides to style her hair in a way to keep it out of her face, but also to aid in covering any area of her neck that could become exposed even with the high collar.

After cracking open the door, Paisley peers down the hallway and calls out with a shaky tone, Sir?

There isn’t a reply, not even Mason waiting close by or rushing her way.

Sir? Paisley waits to see if he may still be in the house.

A faint, muffled sound is heard in the distance, indicating that she is alone. Despite this knowledge, Paisley cautiously ventures beyond the kitchen and into the living area. The front door is wide open, but a wooden screen door allows her to see out. Keeping herself a foot from the doorway, she watches the man and dog. Grayson is chopping wood and every time Mason brings him a stick, he throws it.

She glances back at the interior of the house, noting how clean he keeps it. Paisley worries that he’ll be strict with her about keeping it tidy. There are two chairs, each with a table and light. The wall that lines the kitchen has several shotguns hanging on it, and a large area rug covers the space. Heat is faintly felt from the hearth which is keeping the morning chill at bay.

A shiver runs down Paisley’s body as a memory of one of the men she was a caretaker for presents itself. He was grumpy, and expected everything to be in its place, yet blamed her when he moved or misplaced things. Her hand reaches back and gently touches her shoulder, wincing as if the pain still resides from the beatings she had received.

Chapter 3

Lay of the Land

As soon as the creaking of the door is heard, Grayson halts his actions and his eyes shift to his left. Though it was his wife’s navy dress, he does not see her standing before him. There is much difference, aside from the personality, the way in which Paisley appears. He finds himself attracted to a woman again after eight years of being alone.

To hinder his staring, Grayson hoists the ax over his head and resumes his task.

You did not leave the dishes, Paisley states, approaching him. She inspects her surroundings and watches the tree line for someone to suddenly come for her. She has the distinct feeling that they’re being watched.

Grayson leaves his ax stuck in the stump and tosses the loose pieces into the cart. Did you wish to eat more?

Her head sways. I should have seen to them. I will next time before I—

There is no need, Grayson interrupts, wielding the ax once again.

That is a woman’s duty, she says. Among other things.

Housework isn’t only a woman’s duty, he counters. It’s especially not her duty when it’s not her home.

Paisley’s face falls as she twiddles with her sleeve. What duties will you have me tend to while I’m—

I’ve done just fine on my own, he says more gruffly than intended.

A woman’s place is…. Paisley’s voice fades. She hates that she’s reciting words that have been ingrained into her since she was taken. I have many skills.

Why were those men looking for you? he asks.

Paisley avoids eye contact. I’ll use the leftover bath water to wash my dress. Where do you prefer I hang it? I don’t dare waste the water. I know it can be used in the garden and—

He steps toward her which cuts her off.

None were my husband if that is what you were thinking, she says abruptly.

Grayson takes another step, this time more slowly. What kind of business are those foul men involved in?

I dare not wish to speak nor think of them ever again, she mutters, fighting back the onslaught of tears.

Grayson takes another step, but this time, Paisley takes her own away from him, regretting it instantly. She braces for a strike, expecting to be corrected. A whimper escapes her lips when his fingers graze along her cheek. He does not need to hear from her what had happened and why she had fled. Grayson can surmise several different reasons why a woman would be terrified, but not cower, at the touch of a man.

I do not mean to upset you, he says gently.

She offers a forced smile as her gaze darts around, nervous to maintain eye contact. What would you like me to tend to?

Grayson chuckles and wields the ax hard enough to latch into the tree stump. Rest.

Rest? She stares at him, confused by his answer.

You are to tend to resting, he clarifies. "You resting."

No master ev— Paisley cuts herself off, realizing she’s already revealed too much.

You will find no master here, Grayson states, irritation laced in his tone. And, if you do, I’ll shoot him on sight.

Her eyes flit around, unable to make eye contact as she is uncomfortable with his words.

Grayson shifts closer to her. If you’d like, you could check on the horses.

Tentatively, her gaze lifts to find his.

I’m sure Whiskey will want to know you’re alive, he says with a hint of a teasing tone.

You mock me, Paisley states more than questions, keeping her chin down. Her body tenses, expecting a blow.

I know better than to mock a woman, he replies with a grin. Learned not to tease them from my mother…and my wife.

The desire to inquire about him surfaces, but she thinks better of it and guardedly takes two steps toward the barn. After a few paces, Paisley turns to face him. What shall I call you?

Grayson, ma’am, he replies. My apologies for not properly introducing myself earlier.

Ma’am? she repeats, fighting back a smile.

You’re a woman, ain’t ya? he asks with a raised brow.

Her head bobs from side to side. You…you are the first man to call me as such, though I do not deserve it.

Grayson shifts in her direction. Every woman deserves to be respected.

Heat rises inside her as she looks at him. Not every woman, she claims, expression hardening. I have met my share of…. Paisley refrains from commenting further, shocked to hear herself speak so candidly.

She does not know him. He could be testing her. A beating could occur at any moment.

Even whores deserve respect, Grayson states. They’re the ones who’ve been treated with the least amount of it.

Paisley looks away. "I was not referring to whores."

He’s surprised by how she states her last word with a harsh tone of hatred. Then, who? he asks.

Her jaw clenches and she dares not say what they are. Without a glance in his direction, Paisley heads to the barn, not uttering another word.

It doesn’t take long for her to spot the horses. She greets Whiskey first and he happily nudges her with his head. Paisley stays close to him for a long while, only becoming alarmed when Mudd begins to whinny.

She’s jealous, Grayson declares, suddenly at the entrance.

Paisley steps away from Whiskey. What do you mean?

Mudd ain’t one for not being greeted, he informs. She’s more social than Whiskey. Grayson heads to the mare and soothes her. She knows your smell from him.

With a hesitant step, Paisley shifts toward the horse. She studies the animal for a while as Grayson observes her. Eventually, she reaches out, allowing Mudd to greet her the same way she and Whiskey met.

Mudd snorts and stomps her foot two times.

Means she likes you, Grayson claims.

Paisley doesn’t comment as she takes in the man before her. She notices a pine scent