If your muse were in therapy, what would they be in therapy for?
She sat there and stared at the woman on the other side of the desk. Three piece suit, glasses, hair pulled up in what looked like a painfully tight bun. In short, she looked like every cliché therapist Laine has ever seen depicted on television and in movies. She wasn’t impressed. She certainly wasn’t talking.
Billings, Montana wasn’t the most worldly or even that metropolitan as far as US cities are concerned but to someone like Laine Anderson, it may as well have been New York City. She made the drive in from Flint Creek Ranch and the little township that shared her rural route on the advice of her long-time family physician. She hasn’t been sleeping well lately and she was too stubborn to fill a prescription for sleeping pills.
Of course, she was also too stubborn to talk things out with a complete stranger.
Not that she could discuss most of what troubled her in the first place. She made promises to people and she’d not go back on them. Besides, she’d brand herself a lunatic if she tried explaining Anrai MacEibhir to a professional headshrinker.
Why yes, ma’am, my long-distance lover isn’t human at all. He’s a hundred and twenty-four year old púca. That’d be a horse-faery. He can turn himself into the most gorgeous gray stallion. He gets that from his daddy’s side.
Laine snorted at her own musing. Christ, it sounded Goddamned ridiculous to her let alone someone else. It was also completely true. She’d caught him in the act of changing from man to horse once. That was how she found out about his little secret in the first place-and nearly took a horsewhip to him for playing games with her for it. Ended up in bed with him instead. Hayloft. They ended up having some incredibly passionate sex right there in the barn.
No, she’d not be telling this woman about that. She looked like the type who would close her eyes and think of Queen Victoria during sex-if she ever had any in the first place. Laine smirked at her rather uncharitable, and certainly unchristian, assessment of the therapist. Nevertheless, some things were simply private and her sex life qualified as private, púca involvement or no.
There was also the matter of her late brother. Laine was even more tight-lipped about that than she was Anrai. Five years and she still hadn’t begun to make peace with it. And now? Now, with what she knew about the ‘accident’ that took Wesley Jansen out of her world, she was certain she’d never have any peace where her big brother was concerned.
Much of it she couldn’t talk about until the trial was over, and even if she could, why would she? It was ugly. Violent. The dirtiest side of humanity as far as Laine was concerned. Love turned to hate and greed. She wanted no part of it and resented that she had to be involved at all. Couldn’t stand the way it tarnished cherished memories and the very heart of Flint Creek. She wasn’t even sure she knew who he was anymore. Who Wesley had been.
Wasn’t sure if she could trust her judgment when it came to people at all, even the ones she’d known her whole life. She found herself laying awake at night replaying conversations with people, wondering if she should take their words at face value or not. Suspicion where trust had always been given. And the one person she did trust…well, he was too far away to assuage her doubts and set her at ease.
Then there was the ranch itself. Did she want to keep it? Sell it? Take the business in a different direction? There were so many opportunities and possibilities that they could make her head spin if she thought about it for too long a stretch at a time. It always left her with a headache and the desire to run away. Saddle up Ruby Tuesday and just take off.
Town gossip, arguments with her ex-husband, worrying her parents, being distant with her best friend…
Laine Anderson had many reasons to be in therapy. It was a shame she’d never allow herself the luxury of actually admitting it aloud.
Laine Anderson//Flint Creek Ranch//712
Billings, Montana wasn’t the most worldly or even that metropolitan as far as US cities are concerned but to someone like Laine Anderson, it may as well have been New York City. She made the drive in from Flint Creek Ranch and the little township that shared her rural route on the advice of her long-time family physician. She hasn’t been sleeping well lately and she was too stubborn to fill a prescription for sleeping pills.
Of course, she was also too stubborn to talk things out with a complete stranger.
Not that she could discuss most of what troubled her in the first place. She made promises to people and she’d not go back on them. Besides, she’d brand herself a lunatic if she tried explaining Anrai MacEibhir to a professional headshrinker.
Why yes, ma’am, my long-distance lover isn’t human at all. He’s a hundred and twenty-four year old púca. That’d be a horse-faery. He can turn himself into the most gorgeous gray stallion. He gets that from his daddy’s side.
Laine snorted at her own musing. Christ, it sounded Goddamned ridiculous to her let alone someone else. It was also completely true. She’d caught him in the act of changing from man to horse once. That was how she found out about his little secret in the first place-and nearly took a horsewhip to him for playing games with her for it. Ended up in bed with him instead. Hayloft. They ended up having some incredibly passionate sex right there in the barn.
No, she’d not be telling this woman about that. She looked like the type who would close her eyes and think of Queen Victoria during sex-if she ever had any in the first place. Laine smirked at her rather uncharitable, and certainly unchristian, assessment of the therapist. Nevertheless, some things were simply private and her sex life qualified as private, púca involvement or no.
There was also the matter of her late brother. Laine was even more tight-lipped about that than she was Anrai. Five years and she still hadn’t begun to make peace with it. And now? Now, with what she knew about the ‘accident’ that took Wesley Jansen out of her world, she was certain she’d never have any peace where her big brother was concerned.
Much of it she couldn’t talk about until the trial was over, and even if she could, why would she? It was ugly. Violent. The dirtiest side of humanity as far as Laine was concerned. Love turned to hate and greed. She wanted no part of it and resented that she had to be involved at all. Couldn’t stand the way it tarnished cherished memories and the very heart of Flint Creek. She wasn’t even sure she knew who he was anymore. Who Wesley had been.
Wasn’t sure if she could trust her judgment when it came to people at all, even the ones she’d known her whole life. She found herself laying awake at night replaying conversations with people, wondering if she should take their words at face value or not. Suspicion where trust had always been given. And the one person she did trust…well, he was too far away to assuage her doubts and set her at ease.
Then there was the ranch itself. Did she want to keep it? Sell it? Take the business in a different direction? There were so many opportunities and possibilities that they could make her head spin if she thought about it for too long a stretch at a time. It always left her with a headache and the desire to run away. Saddle up Ruby Tuesday and just take off.
Town gossip, arguments with her ex-husband, worrying her parents, being distant with her best friend…
Laine Anderson had many reasons to be in therapy. It was a shame she’d never allow herself the luxury of actually admitting it aloud.
Laine Anderson//Flint Creek Ranch//712