Del gave a yank on the lead. "Whoa," he said.

Penny halted.

His feet crunched on the crushed gravel bridle trail. Penny held still as he approached, didn't stir as he unfastened the lead from her bridle. He gave a swat to her flank. "Over there."

She wasn't graceful in the heels she was wearing. Her legs shook a she walked to the log bench; she kept her arms straight down, palms flat, fingertips out.

He watched her, shook his head, and went to the bench, coiling the lead as he walked. He sat on the bench, left her standing by his right hand, both facing the trail.

This part of the ranch was wooded. He could hear birds move in the branches overhead. If Penny and he had kept on going they would have come out of the woods and seen grassy rolling hills. The Colonel had cut the sod on one hillside and carved the running white horse just like he had seen in England. Or so the Colonel said.

Del had been told by an old timer when he first started working that the Colonel had hired a landscape architect who had actually come up with the idea. The architect's crew carved the horse and filled the shallow trenches with white chalk. The White Horse of Uffington. The image of the horse and the ranch's name were embroidered on the left pocket, over the heart, of the jackets they were all supposed to wear. He was so touched he kept his jacket in the closet at home.

He didn't want to think about Penny, talk to Penny, whatever. He didn't want to check his watch. The ranch hands were all having dinner. They'd bed their charges then go home, maybe take a girl on a date or work on their car.

He could smell her sweat.

When he finally got home at night Marge wanted to tell, in minute detail, all she'd accomplished around the house all the livelong day and about the story she was working on. What he wanted to do was sit in his chair in front of the TV and just forget about everything.

"Kneel," he said. "Turn sideways to me."

Forget about the Colonel, the ranch, Penny, owners, all of it. The Colonel wanted him to hurry up with Penny. He wanted to . . . He shut his eyes. He listened to her breathing, her teeth on the bit. He didn't want to look at her.

He never knew if what he was doing was just a waste of time or not. A waste of energy. Patience. As he grew older he felt like he had only so much left. The well wasn't bottomless. He almost could see the end. Definitely could on times like these.

He looked at Penny, saw her eyes watching him, drool from the bit forming on the corner of her lips and dripping down her chin.

He'd have to repaint her tomorrow morning, a task that took well over an hour.

She stirred.

He raised his eyes and studied the tree leaves on the other side of the path.

When allowed to speak the charges could only say three words, yes, please and more It was an okay system, he couldn't come up with anything better right off the top of his head but boy, some of the hands really took advantage of it. Thinking anything goes.

Of course there were limits. His limits of patience and energy. His charges' limits which they hadn't realized were imaginary. Which they had to release, go beyond, so the charges could be where they should be.

Where Penny should be. She was light years from being a pony. Her owner was either a fool or a masochist. Quite a few of the owners were masochists as near as he could see, letting these girls, always a dirty word, girls, run all over them.

Penny champed at her bit, glanced down at her hands open on her thighs, palms up, sloppy as hell. She raised her eyes and stared at him.

There were things he wanted to do but knew he shouldn't. There were things she wanted to do but couldn't and not because he wouldn't let her.

"How about we finish the week and call it quits?" he said. "The Colonel has someone waiting for me. You and I are not getting anywhere. Three more weeks, two months, a year isn't going to make a bit of difference, will it?" He touched her knee with his boot.

She looked down then up. Her eyes were wide. She slowly shook her head. She tried to speak around the bit.

"Enough of that." He spoke sharply.

She settled back onto her heels, stared straight ahead.

"We'll spend a few days with the cart. We can pretend you're trained. Your owner won't know the difference. What matter if we do?"

She swallowed and lowered her head.

He'd shave her tonight before bedding her down. Shave her and he wouldn't have to look at this mess any more.

Boston popped in his head. He'd never been to Boston, would like to visit some time. Boston. Anything but this damned paint.

He checked the bridle, refastened the lead, and sat back on the bench. It would be dark soon. He liked being out at dusk. All the activity — birds, bugs, even humans scurrying to finish the day. This was his moment to relax.

"Up," he said, rising to his feet.

She stood slowly, carefully. She glanced at him quickly, looked away.

She wasn't bad looking, terrible conformation and ratty mane aside. Once she got used to the bit she wouldn't drool so much. Nice flanks. You could say that about her.

He yawned. "Time to bed you down for the night sweet cakes." He gave the lead a snap, followed her.

Misty's stall was two down from Penny's. He'd take a second there tonight before going home.

He turned her and followed her up the gentle rise then down. There was a hill then they were level for a bit. The charges couldn't pull their carts if the terrain were too rough. Woods, meadow and rolling hills. The Colonel had a fine place. When he started out he'd have only forty acres, a lot of it wooded which was okay though a meadow and a pond would be nice.

Boston. He shook his head, smiled at the first lightning bug for the night. Penny held her fingers straight, splayed, resisted the urge to swat or slap the insects on her. She had that. He'd never want to break her spirit. Her spirit was what would drive her on.

Once she stopped playing this silly game. He snapped the lead and she picked up pace. She was trying but it was all wrong.

He wasn't a believer in the whip but tonight he was tempted to whip her raw, from head to toe, every bit of her. He wanted to hurt her.

They came out of the woods on a rise overlooking the ranch. The Colonel's house was level with them; the path went by it before going downhill. All the windows were lit, every damn one of them. He was glad he wasn't the person paying the bills.

The Colonel's house was two storied, a mixture of modern and colonial. The broad front had a relatively small, open porch at the large front door. The wood siding was natural, not painted. The pool was at the back, surrounded with shrubs and small trees. Del had seen the back but never up close. The Colonel liked his privacy.

In the front of the house, not too far from the front porch, was Spot's doghouse. Spot was one of the Colonel's hobbies, young, beautiful and heavily tattooed. Every house needed a dog like Spot.

Everything below looked quiet. The stable was lit; the bunkhouse was almost dark. He was hungry, hoped something was left to eat.

Penny stumbled; he snapped the lead. Del hoped they'd get past the Colonel's without Penny getting sidetracked. It was worst when the Colonel was entertaining: a cookout, some friends over for cocktails, an informal brunch.

Damn. Spot saw them. He dropped the lead and went over to stop Spot's barking. Spot looked up at him and grinned as he scratched her behind the ears. "Shush," he said.

Spot growled, grinned again.

"More?" he said.

Spot nodded.

He looked over at Penny standing in a patch of light from the windows. He wanted to shout but knew it was useless.

Spot's paw rubbed his jeans.

"Not now, Spot." He patted her shoulder. "Gotta go."

Spot whimpered, followed him as far as the chain would let her. She kept the chain stretched taut as she whimpered.

He waved his hand down, patting the air by his side, as he walked to Penny. He could see shiny streaks where tears had crossed Penny's cheeks. Her eyes were bright. She tossed her head at him, champed at the bit.

He heard the house door open behind him. "Who is it?" The Colonel's deep voice asked.

He turned. "Del, sir."

"Del? Del and Penny." There was a chuckle. "I should have known."

All he could see was a shape outlined by light in the doorway. Penny rubbed against him.

"Come here, Del. Bring Penny with you."

He picked up the lead and gave a snap. Penny led him to the door. For some reason her gait was perfect. Go figure.

"Come in." The Colonel backed from the door. "Come in."

He unclipped the lead from Penny's bridle and coiled it. He put his hand on the center of her back, her skin was soft and cool, and pressed. As he followed, he saw the Colonel shut the door and proceed them into the study.

There was a large carved plaque of the White Horse above the fireplace. This size he could see the blobs or strokes were definitely shaped like women in a variety of postures. "Kneel," he said.

Penny knelt and bowed her head.

"In a bridle already. Fine. Fine." The Colonel sat on the edge of his huge partner's desk, eighteenth century Cuban mahogany. All the hands learned about the desk the day they were hired. Usually the history of the desk came after a tour of the ranch. Usually the new hand was still in a bit of shock. Naked women, the Colonel's off-color jokes, the bizarre juxtapositions.

The Colonel laid the decanter's lid on the tray, lifted the decanter and poured two glasses. He raised his glass so he could sniff it; let Del serve himself.

Del stepped back to stand by Penny, his glass of brandy held in front of his belt buckle.

The Colonel took a sip, set his glass in the tray, and folded his hands onto the leg bent on the desk. He looked at Penny and smiled. "Are you painting her again tomorrow?"

"Yes, sir."

The Colonel smiled and stood. He took a leather crop from a brass hook on the wall and walked around Penny. He lifted her chin with the crop, grinned. He drew a circle around her right breast, tapped her softly and stepped back. "Good." He paused. "Good. Unbridle her."

Del knelt and unfastened the clasps at the back of her head. He lifted the bridle and bit from Penny, rose and let it hang from his fingers holding the glass of brandy and coiled lead.

"Sit down, Del. Go on. Relax." The Colonel moved slowly around Penny. The Colonel dragged the crop over her back, down her shoulder. "Open," he said.

The Colonel blocked Penny's face from Del. He finished the brandy in one gulp, set the glass on the table by his side.

"Wider," the Colonel said. He spun to Del. "This reminds me of the time when we were in a village. There was this fifteen-year-old, cute, devilishly cute, that one of the men fancied. I told the NCO to bring her to my office. That's good, Penny." He turned back to Del. "Where was I?"

"A young girl in your office, sir." The bridle chain gave a tinkle sound when Del moved his hand.

"On your hands and knees, Penny," the Colonel said. He watched her change position, swung the crop fiercely at her ass. She gave a jerk and a small cry. The Colonel dragged the crop up her crack past her tail. "Do you do it like that, Del?" He hit her again. "Like that, Del?"

Del shook his head. "No, sir."

The Colonel tossed the crop onto the desk. "It shows." He picked up his glass, finished, turned to Del. "Pour you another?"

"No thank you, sir."

The Colonel refilled his glass, sat on the corner of his desk, his foot swinging. He smiled at Penny, turned to Del. "I trust you'll finish this week."

Del shook his head. "She's not ready yet, sir."

"I thought we talked about this earlier, Del." The Colonel swung his shoe to Penny's face. "Lick it." He grinned as he watched her.

"Some things can't be rushed, sir."

"Del. Del. Del." The Colonel rose to his feet, went to his desk chair and sat.

Del sat back in his seat.

"Come here," the Colonel said.

Penny crawled to him, waited as he unfastened his jeans.

Del swung the bridle against his shin, looked over his shoulder at the bookcases filled with a mishmash of books — hardbacks, paperbacks, expensive leather-bound editions with gold tooling alongside luridly colored dust jacketed spines of throw away novels of a half century ago. He heard the Colonel slap Penny's face. Heard the sounds of her pleasing him. Another slap. He turned and saw the Colonel stand and pull Penny to her feet, spin her, and push her face down over the desk. Her tail hit the floor and Del turned back to study the bookshelf.

He listened to the Colonel grunt as the Colonel fucked Penny. He slapped his leg with the bridle, harder this time, wished he had another brandy to drink. He heard Penny moan, glanced and saw the Colonel grasp a handful of her hair and pull back, lifting her head from the desk.

The Colonel finished in her, held her against him as he stared at her back. The Colonel grinned at Del, then fell into his chair and swiveled from side to side. "She's ready, Del. Oh, she's ready." The Colonel stroked her flank. "Finish it."

She raised herself off the desk, stood, ran her eyes quickly past Del as she turned. She knelt and cleaned the Colonel.

Del could see the two marks from the crop on her ass. One of her shoes had come off; her bare foot was twisted to the side and bent onto itself. He struck his leg with the bridle, stood. "Sir, we should go. She needs to be bedded down."

The Colonel shoved her aside, fastened his pants, lifted her chin and held it. He stared at her for a moment and shook his head. "I'm keeping her tonight, Del. She'll be here for you in the morning. Won't you, Penny?" He let go of her chin. The Colonel motioned. "Go on."

Penny turned and crawled to Del. He'd seen this masked look before. He stepped by her, patted her shoulder as he passed. "I should be going."

When he turned back to the room the Colonel was grinning at him, Penny knelt, head bowed. She raised her face, gave him a quick smile and watched him leave.

Del let himself out, stood on the porch wishing he had a flashlight. He walked across the yard, past Spot who still tugged at her chain. He bent and picked up a rock. He threw it as he rose, across the yard, down the hill toward the lights in the stable yard.

He wanted to curse, to kick something. He paused, whispered, "Good girl," to Spot and walked down the bank.

His boots were smooth soled; he was sure he'd take a spill on the dewy grass. He didn't look back at the Colonel's, he didn't look at his watch. The bunkhouse was dark; he'd missed dinner again.

He carried the bridle into the stable, past Misty's stall, to Penny's stall. He opened the latch, went into her stall and sat on the bench.

The stable was quiet; all the hands were gone except for the two night hands who were more guards than anything else. The charges were sleeping or pretending they were sleeping.

He sat not thinking for he didn't know how long. He stirred, rose to his feet and went to the small blackboard. He took a piece of chalk and wrote:

"Shaving.

"Whipping.

"Cart training."

It wasn't too early for the cart. Hell any of them could do it right off, fresh and green and wobbly kneed. What took time was training them so they looked graceful. So they moved with an economy and sureness of motion.

He cleaned the bridle and bit. He dressed the lead and bridle leathers and hung them on their pegs. Further down the wall was his whip. He lifted it off the peg, brushed the dark leather with the rag in his hand, felt the woven structure.

Somehow everything he did felt wrong now. Maybe in the morning he'd feel differently. He doubted it. He hung the whip back up, took a final look at the stall and left. In the stall next to Penny's was a new charge. He checked the clipboard on the wall. Star was her name. He swore, hung the clipboard back on its nail. He was to do Star, too.

Damn him to hell. He looked into the stall, saw Star was a blonde, dyed blonde with red dots in her hair. She was curled up, didn't stir when he hissed. He could see her cunt rings and a crossed brand on her ass. One who'd been around. She was either extremely good or awfully bad.

The fucking Colonel knew he liked challenges. Damn him.

He stood at Misty's stall door and watched her sleep. The bridle was off and her thick hair surrounded her head with a corona of gold. His eyes followed the curve of her legs around her ass to the gentle dip of her waist. He saw her eyes were open and she was watching him. He touched his brow to her, left the stable.

His truck was parked on the lot on the other side of the bunkhouse. He tried the bunkhouse door but it was locked.

He sat in the old Dodge, stared at the dim night reflection off the sparse chrome and the metal dash. He started her up, a flathead six, all he ever needed. He'd stop at McDonald's for dinner and coffee. He wasn't going to sleep tonight. Why pretend.

Penny and Star. Star and Penny and the fucking Colonel. Then he relaxed. Two of them. If he could do it here, there'd be no problem when he was on his own.

Reager let him out at the gate.

Half hour drive. Not McDonald's. There was a restaurant he'd heard about. He'd always wanted to take Marge there, hadn't gotten a chance yet. He'd see if it was any good. If it was, Marge and he'd go out on Saturday.

He'd always thought the charges learned best by watching each other. Penny could watch Star. Star could observe Penny. Maybe he'd even bed them together. Stay in the stable the first few nights just to be sure there'd be no problems.

Oh, there'd be problems all right, but the hands would just have to get used to it. The twisty country road helped him think. He'd driven it thousands of times. When he first started working out here it was pure country all around. Times had changed. Now it was almost like the suburbs.

No more post for Penny. Or Star. From now on punishment would be between the three of them.