At Risk

by Kit Ehrman

  Chapter 5

  Wednesday morning, I could have done without. The combination of whiskey and pain medication that had successfully obliterated feeling of any sort the night before had mutated into a sledgehammer of a headache between my temples. And it didn't help that the first person I ran into was Brian.

  "What'n the hell'd you tell that cop?" he asked before I'd even unlocked the feed room door.

  "What cop?"

  "That cop that was here, Ran . . ."

  "Ralston?"

  "Yeah, him."

  "What about it?" I said. "He's investigating the horse theft."

  "I know that," he snapped. "He was here again Monday, day you was off. Questions he was asking, you'd of thought I was guilty or somethin'."

  I shook my head. "Brian, I didn't say anything about you."

  "You must of said something."

  "No," I said and knew I was wasting my breath. "I didn't."

  Brian sulked off, and I wondered if he'd ever see that he created his own reality. And I was impressed with Ralston. He'd pegged Brian pretty quick, and I wondered how he had classified me.

  The morning dragged on. Boarders came and went. Horses were shifted from stall to paddock or paddock to stall. A third of the stalls had been mucked out by lunch time, and the headache had disappeared without my being aware of it. I walked into the lounge, got my lunch out of the fridge, and checked the office. Mrs. Hill had gone home to eat, and everyone else had gone out. For something to do, I switched on the TV, sank into the sofa cushions, and flipped through the channels. The news was a repeat of the day before; only the names had changed. The soaps were a farce. The talk shows worse. I hit the play button. Someone had left an instructional video in the machine, and though it didn't much interest me, it was better than nothing.

  I had almost finished my lunch when the door to the lounge opened. I looked over my shoulder.

  Mrs. Elsa Timbrook walked into the room. Well, she hadn't walked, not really. I doubted she walked anywhere. More accurately, she strode with long lithe legs, like a cat. Or a tigress. She stood just inside the doorway and surveyed the room as the door swung shut behind her. Satisfied that we were alone, she looked at me and smiled, and I felt my pulse pick up.

  She had long blond hair that tended to frizz when it rained, stunning green eyes, and a body so sensual in design and proportion, she ought to be illegal. I looked back at the television and tried to ignore her. She crossed the room and sat next to me. I glanced at her and managed a weak smile, then looked at the apple in my hand and couldn't imagine finishing my lunch.

  She wriggled around on the sofa and slid her leg onto the cushion, like she was going to sit Indian-style, but she left the other leg where it was so that her knees were spread apart. She made sure her shin was pressing into my leg. My gaze drifted downward. Her skin-tight breeches left little to the imagination, and I felt frozen, sitting there like some damn idiot, completely under her control.

  "Hi, Steve," she said in that husky voice of hers that always got me wondering what she sounded like when she wasn't putting on an act. Or maybe she'd played it for so long, the act was the only thing that was real.

  "Hello, Mrs. Timbrook."

  "Elsa."

  I cleared my throat. "Elsa."

  "Oooh, you've hurt your face." She leaned forward and brushed my cheek with her fingertips. "What happened?"

  I was surprised she hadn't heard, but the rest of the boarders, the majority being female, left her strictly alone. "I, eh . . . got hurt."

  She leaned closer, and the scent of her perfume filled my nostrils. "Poor honey."

  Elsa put her hand on my knee, and it was then that I noticed her ring. I'd often wondered what her husband was like, though she probably never did it with him--the thrill for her was the chase. The more you resisted, the more determined she became. The woman liked control as long as she was the one who had it, and I almost felt sorry for him.

  She looked at the TV. "What are you watching?"

  "'Rider Position and Technique,'" I mumbled.

  "You don't need to watch that." She slid her hand farther up my leg. "I can teach you everything you need to know about position and technique."

  Christ. I bet she could. I felt my face flush, and it was getting damn uncomfortable sitting there like that. I needed to adjust myself in the worst sort of way. Maybe she'd do it for me, and imagining that made it worse.

  I shifted on the cushion just as she slid her hand off my leg in a slow upward movement. Her fingers brushed across my crotch. I exhaled sharply.

  Elsa's eyes were strangely unfocused under heavy lids, and she was breathing through her mouth. She straightened and unzipped her coat, then reached up with both hands and shifted it off her shoulders. It tumbled onto the cushion behind her and slid to the floor in slow motion. Her sweater was softly luminescent under the florescent lights, the swell of her breasts pressing against the fabric.

  She reached over and stroked her fingers across the top of my hand. Her touch sent a jolt through my body, like electricity was coursing through my veins instead of blood.

  Elsa moved her hand beneath mine and took hold of the apple I had forgotten was there. My grip was so tight, I had to force my fingers to relax as she pried it from my grasp. As she turned it in her hands, I noticed that her nail polish was the same deep red. She had great hands. Long slender fingers, long nails, a light touch. I bet she was good with her hands. Practiced anyway.

  When she had the apple just so, she gazed into my eyes, slid her tongue across the skin, and took a bite where I'd last taken one. I imagined our saliva mixing together, and one thought led to another.

  I grabbed her wrist. She started, then I watched transfixed as the expression in her eyes and on her face shifted from surprise to daring. She parted her lips, and her warm breath brushed my cheek.

  I laced my fingers in her hair and kissed her roughly on the mouth. She pushed her tongue between my teeth, and I was vaguely aware of the taste of apple. When I moved my hand over her breast, she sighed. A quiet sound, barely audible. Beneath the gauze-like fabric, her nipple hardened under my palm. I smoothed my hand over her flat stomach and curled my fingers under her sweater.

  She clamped down on my wrist and pushed my hand away. "Well. It's about time you came around, Stevie. But not here, Silly. Your Mrs. Hill might--"

  The door opened.

  I jerked upright. Marty came in along with a blast of cold air. Elsa didn't bothered to check, and I couldn't believe her composure. Practice probably had a lot to do with it.

  She licked her lips. "See what I mean."

  Marty was stomping his boots on the mat when he looked up and saw the expression on my face. He paused in mid-stomp and stared with his mouth open. I looked away from him, and he burst out laughing.

  "Steve . . . a horse in barn B," he choked on the words, ". . . is colicky."

  I jumped to my feet. Elsa stood more slowly, behaving as if Marty wasn't even there. He had been a previous conquest, easy by anyone's standards. Elsa lowered her gaze to my crotch and smiled. When I yanked my jacket off the back of the sofa and held it at waist height, I thought Marty was going to have a seizure, he was laughing so hard. And he was making a damn ass of himself. I glared at him as Elsa reached over and took my hand in hers. She placed the apple in my palm and closed my fingers around it. She didn't let go, at least not right away.

  I had a sudden vision of Eve in the Garden of Eden. Poor Adam. He hadn't stood a chance.

  I cleared my throat. "I'll be right there," I said to Marty and was relieved when he spun around and went back outside.

  As I leaned forward and picked Elsa's coat off the floor, I became intensely aware of her body's proximity to mine. My hair brushed against her thigh when I straightened, and I was afforded a slow-motion, close-up tour of her body--legs, crotch (couldn't help but pause there ) waist, breasts (another pause) lips, eyes.

  I held out her coat.

  She squeezed my hand as she
took the coat. "Later, Stevie."

  I shrugged. Couldn't think of anything intelligent to say, and with a conscious effort, I walked slowly to the door.

  Outside, Marty was waiting for me, and he was still laughing. "Fucking shit. Another couple minutes, and you'd of done it."

  "Marty . . . be quiet."

  "Why don't you put your coat on, Steve?"

  "Shut up," I said. And amazingly, he did.

  We walked past the restrooms, and I dropped the apple into a trash can. I was no longer hungry, not for food anyway, and the hunger I felt, I could do nothing about.

  Too bad I hadn't brought a banana for dessert. Now, that would have been . . . interesting. I gritted my teeth. "Which horse?" I said.

  "Horse?"

  I looked at him. He was grinning wildly, his imagination running away with him, too. "Yeah, Marty, you know the one. Four legs, mane, tail, whinnies. Which horse is colicky?"

  "Oh, Sandstone." He walked into the barn ahead of me. "She'll get you yet. Why you just don't give in and get it over with, I'll never know."

  "She's not my type."

  He whirled around. "Looked like she was 'your type' just a second ago." When I didn't say anything, he said, "Loosen up, for Christ's sake. Have some fun."

  "Marty."

  His eyebrows rose. "Yes-s-s?"

  "When a boarder's around and there's a problem, wait until we're out of hearing range before you tell me what's wrong."

  "What're you talkin' about? She don't care 'bout no horses. She only cares about fuckin' your ass. Only reason she's got a horse in the first place is so she can expand her territory. Though when I think about it, it was a bad move on her part, 'cause mostly it's girls 'round here, and the guys, well, some of 'em are more than a little questionable, if you know what I mean. My cousin works at that new health club by Wilde Lake, and he knows Elsa. She's a member, and he told me--"

  "Marty. I don't want to hear about it." I sighed. "It's general operating procedure I'm talking about. And you need to watch your mouth."

  "Yes, sir." He rolled his eyes and pulled the stall door open with exaggerated subservience.

  I stepped into the gelding's stall. "Your mom never use soap in your mouth, or what?"

  "My momma dishes out slop at a truck stop sixty hours a week. Compared to her," he grinned, "I'm a fucking angel."

  "Then heaven help us."

  Sandstone, a washy palomino, stood at the back of the stall with his head lowered. His eyes were a dead giveaway. He was so preoccupied with his pain, he hadn't even bothered to look at us when we entered his stall.

  I checked his vitals. Capillary refill time was normal. Pulse and respiration right on the mark. His gut sounds were slightly louder on the left. I pinched the skin on his neck, and it snapped back fast enough. He wasn't dehydrated.

  "Who noticed he wasn't feeling well?"

  "I did," Marty said.

  "Good work. I'm impressed. You were on top of it to have noticed that anything was wrong at all."

  "Yeah." He grinned wickedly. "You oughta get on top of it."

  "Damn. I stepped right into that, didn't I?" I turned away from him to keep from cracking up. "I'll give him some Banamine and monitor his vitals. Do me a favor and check on him whenever you're over here, and let me know if he gets worse?"

  "Sure. You need help with the shot?"

  I shook my head.

  "I'm gonna go switch the horses, then."

  I got what I needed from the feed room, prepared the syringe, and injected the gelding in the neck. He began eating his hay almost immediately. I looked at the syringe and rolled it between my fingertips. He couldn't have felt better that fast, not from the drug, anyway. Given intramuscularly, it takes twenty minutes before it kicks in. He knew what the injection was about. He felt better in his mind, if not his body.

  "You junkie, you," I said, softly.

  He stopped in mid-chew, with wisps of hay sticking out the side of his mouth, and looked at me with inquisitive brown eyes. When I said nothing further, he lost interest and turned his attention back to lunch.

  Satisfied that he was okay for the time being, I spent the rest of the afternoon dragging and hosing down the indoor arenas. In truth, what I really wanted to do was take a nap, but with Mrs. Timbrook on the premises, who knew what would happen if she found me in a prone position? I smiled to myself and spent some minutes thinking about that. It did nothing to satisfy but helped pass the time.