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    The Tiger Tamer and the Ranch Hand (a Fantasy-Romance Short Story)
    The Tiger Tamer and the Ranch Hand (a Fantasy-Romance Short Story)
    The Tiger Tamer and the Ranch Hand (a Fantasy-Romance Short Story)
    Ebook54 pages43 minutes

    The Tiger Tamer and the Ranch Hand (a Fantasy-Romance Short Story)

    By Naima Haviland

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    About this ebook

    Ever since he found her sleeping naked in the hay barn, Shayne has tried to learn the identity of the beautiful woman he knows only by the name he's given her. Ezzie's obscure language is impossible to translate, but it has the power to break wild horses. Will she also break Shayne's heart?  

     

    Read this unusual love story with an open mind and an incurably romantic heart.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPH Press
    Release dateJan 1, 2018
    ISBN9781537832883
    The Tiger Tamer and the Ranch Hand (a Fantasy-Romance Short Story)
    Author

    Naima Haviland

    Naima Haviland writes novels and short stories in which a person is confronted by evil, be it external or internal, supernatural or human. Her subject matter is often dark, but writing and sharing stories uplifts her and brings in the light. She hopes that you, dear reader, will find your creative voice in whatever medium excites you, and be uplifted. It is never too late to start. Or to start again.

    Read more from Naima Haviland

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      Book preview

      The Tiger Tamer and the Ranch Hand (a Fantasy-Romance Short Story) - Naima Haviland

      The Tiger Tamer and the Ranch Hand

      There was once a young man named Shayne who worked on a ranch. He was tall, strapping, and handsome, and like many young men with these attributes, a little conceited. One morning, he went into the barn and found curled up asleep on the bales of hay a beautiful young woman who was completely naked.

      The normal assumption was that this was a drunk girl another ranch hand had partied with the night before, and after she passed out, had abandoned on the hay. But Shayne never thought that for an instant about this girl.

      Instead, he felt reverence, something that happened when he watched a horse run in the fields. Morning sun sliding between the planks in the barn's wall cast thin gold stripes over her cinnamon skin and her long, wild, black hair. Shayne wanted to touch her hair. The girl-woman had long legs and long arms, her body curled up in a self-embrace, like a rose. Her ribs showed a little, and they moved with her gentle breathing. Shayne wanted to run his fingers over them. Without thinking, he took a step toward her. His boot crunched on dry straw.

      The girl sprang into a crouch, fully alert, her black eyes spitting fire. Shayne could see her breasts with their rose-colored nipples and saw a thatch of dark hair between her thighs. His throat went dry, his heart thumped, and he couldn't say, for the words were lodged in his tight throat, I won't hurt you. What he did, instead, was grab a horse blanket off a peg and throw it over her. He swept her up into his arms, though she was kicking and twisting, and said into her coarse-silk hair, ...Shshsshhhhhhhh ...

      Tension ran through her body but she stopped fighting him. She clung to his shoulders. She hid her face in his neck. Shayne hurried to his trailer in the dawn's light. He did not want anyone seeing her and crowding her with their stupid curiosity. And besides, she was his.

      If he'd thought about it—this young man too handsome and headstrong to think much or even have to think at all—he'd've thought now, 'She's not yours, idiot. She's somebody else's—her own at least—and she was buck naked where she shouldn’t oughta be so she's trouble and now you just plunked her down at your kitchen table.'

      The girl sat, tense fingers digging into the plaid banquette upholstery. He put a cup of hot black coffee on the table. She glanced at it balefully and looked back up at him.

      What's your deal? he asked.

      She hadn't said a word yet and she said nothing now.

      You deaf?

      Nothing. Just looked at him. But now, he thought there was some curiosity in her black eyes, not just anger. The horse blanket had fallen off her when he plunked her down. It hung off her shoulders and spilled all around her, not covering her at all. Shayne was no saint; he couldn't help looking at those gorgeous breasts, even though her face wasn't hard to look at either.

      Who stole your clothes?

      When she didn't answer, he ran an agitated hand through his shaggy brown hair. He sighed and sat down opposite her. It was a big, graceful movement—though he took his body's ease of motion for granted, he felt her avid eyes on him the whole second it took him to seat himself. Shayne put his arms on the table, drummed long fingers on the Formica. She watched his fingers. He saw her do it, and, handsome as he was, he knew

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