Broken and Beautiful

by Ryan, Kendall

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” Mariska sighs as we walk through the yellow light. “It’s going to take forever to blow them all out.”

  “We’ll have to open a window.” Soft laughter, and I pull her into my arms.

  Her small hands rest on my chest, and I want to kiss her long and hard before slipping her lace dress off her body.

  “It was very thoughtful,” she says just before I claim those lips.

  A breathy moan escapes her throat as I slide my hands up the material of her gown.

  “This dress,” I say, stepping back to survey the filmy network of lace. “All I could think about was touching you in it.”

  “That’s the point.” She steps into my arms, a naughty gleam in her eyes.

  Cupping her breasts, I slide my thumbs over her nipples, feeling them peak just beneath the fabric. She hums a happy noise, and I trace my fingers higher, lifting the thin straps off her shoulders and guiding them down her arms. The entire garment drops away to the floor, and she stands before me in what I suppose are panties. It’s nothing more than a triangle of lace with tiny lines over her hips.

  “Turn around.” My voice is low, and her eyes darken. She steps out of the gown, turning her back and looking over her shoulder. “Fuck me,” I hiss taking in the long sweep of her beautiful back, the curve of her ass, leading down to her long smooth legs.

  My fingers work quickly to unfasten the buttons on my shirt. “Come here.”

  She steps back, and her slim fingers join mine in removing the remainder of my clothes until at last we’re facing each other, nothing between us in the soft glow of candlelight. Her hair is loose, and she’s stopped straightening it. Now it hangs in gentle waves to the tops of her shoulders. I reach out to remove the white flower behind her ear.

  Looking down at the bloom, I confess. “The scent of jasmine haunted me when we were apart. When the sun set, I could see your eyes…”

  She steps forward and slides her hands around my waist before pressing her face to the center of my chest. I toss the flower aside and run my palms down the length of her back. Her soft lips press against my skin, and it’s enough.

  In a sweep, she’s in my arms. She holds my neck, kissing me roughly, and I almost stumble on the short trip to her bedroom as my erection strains for her. Sheer netting is draped around the bed. I stop in front of it and lower her to stand while I rip back the thick white duvet. Then I sweep her up again and toss her to the center. She squeals a laugh, but my arms are around her thighs, dragging her to my mouth so I can slide my tongue down the center of her sex.

  “Oh, god! Stuart!” she cries, slim fingers threading into my hair. Her hips rotate in time with my mouth, and I hold on, continuing the motion, tasting and teasing until I feel her legs break into shuddering jerks. Her back arches, and she releases a low moan. I move quickly up her slim body, kissing her stomach, tracing her small navel, cupping and squeezing her small breast before covering it with my mouth, giving her nipple a firm pull.

  Her legs go around my waist and her hands are on my ass as I pull her to me. “I want you inside me,” she gasps, and in one swift thrust, I grant her request, groaning low at the sensation. Her swollen, wet heat massages my aching cock.

  “Yes,” I groan, pulling back slightly and pushing deeper.

  Her hands are on my shoulders now, and her lips are at my ear. “Harder,” she whispers, and I let go, grasping her hips as I work out my own orgasm.

  The room recedes as traces of pleasure wind up my thighs like a vine. I’m chasing the explosion. It’s just in my grasp when she pulls my neck, rising up to nip my bottom lip with her teeth. I release with a groan and our mouths smash together, tongues entwining as we pulse back to Earth. Her fingers twine in my hair before tracing down my neck and back, and all I can do is hold her, buried deep inside, savoring the afterglow.

  “Mm,” she sighs. “I love you, Mr. Knight.”

  I turn and kiss the inside of her shoulder, across to her collarbone, and up to her chin. Our eyes meet, and I look deep into the golden hazel that entranced me from the beginning.

  “I love you, Mrs. Knight.”

  * * *

  The sun is making its way toward the horizon as we drive the narrow, two-lane road into the middle of nowhere to the ranch. It’ll be setting in just a few hours, but we’ve got time to get home and unpack before it’s dark.

  I consider as we cross the endless prairie all my preparations before returning to Princeton ended up being for Mariska and me this winter. I’d done all the chores, cut and cured firewood, and prepared the barn, tack, and horses so Bill wouldn’t be left struggling, and now my uncle says he’ll spend the winter in Chicago. I can’t help wondering if he planned it with this in mind.

  “I know we have the house to ourselves,” Mariska says, turning from looking out the truck window, “But I’d like to spend at least a few days in the cabin before it gets too snowy.

  “We can do that.” I say, giving her a grin. I’ve got my straw cowboy hat on, and she’s back to flowing skirts and tiny tees. “I’d like to swim in the spring one more time.”

  “Does it freeze in the winter?”

  “I’ve never been there in the winter.”

  “It’s so warm… we’ll have to check it out.”

  Reaching across the back of the seat, I thread my fingers in the soft waves of her hair. “We can do anything you want.”

  Winona has dinner simmering on the stove, and she leaves shortly after we arrive at the house. It feels strange but right to be the man of the house now. In the past, I’ve always been Bill’s right hand, but I was also a guest. Now Mariska and I are making the place our home, and I couldn’t be happier.

  We each take bowls and spoon out portions of soft carrots, celery, and potatoes mixed with stew meat in a dark gravy and carry them to the living room to sit in front of the fire. On the way, I open a bottle of cabernet sauvignon from a supply of wine I ordered from Princeton and had delivered.

  “I called about starting at UGF this fall,” she says, taking a sip of the deep red liquid. “They said all of my credits would transfer, but they don’t have a graduate degree in fine arts.”

  Frustration tightens my chest. I don’t want her to give up anything coming here. “What can we do?”

  A little smile, and she sets her glass to the side, placing her hand on top of mine. “They have a course of study in expressive arts therapy, and we discussed working it into a graduate program. It’s very interesting.”

  I lift my wine glass, noticing the gleam in her eye as she says it. “Okay… Tell me about it.”

  “It uses creative expression to help people heal. It’s a form of counseling and therapy.”

  “It sounds like a perfect fit for you.”

  “Doesn’t it?” She hops up onto her knees and crawls across the couch to sit on my lap. I put my glass aside and hold her waist. “I can’t wait to learn more about it, and you know what?”

  I grin at her girlish enthusiasm. “What?”

  “I probably would never have known or even considered it if we hadn’t come here—if I hadn’t transferred my course work, and…” she pauses, and her bottom lip catches in her teeth.

  “What else?”

  “If we hadn’t gone through everything that happened.” She leans forward, holding my neck. “I’ve always used my art to help me heal. Now I can teach other people to do the same thing.”

  Relief spreads through my chest, and I wrap my arms around her, hugging her close. “I’m so happy you found this.” I inhale the jasmine-scent of her hair. “I want you to be as happy and fulfilled here as I am.”

  She moves to sit beside me on the couch. “I’ll be happy wherever you are, but now I know we’ve come to the right place for us.”

  I smile, and we finish the savory broth, and I watch the fire dance off the gold highlights in her hair. We chat about the coming winter, and she tells me about online course options for when we’re snowed in. I point out she might not g
et much studying done if we’re snowed in for long, and we laugh.

  The light is disappearing fast outside, and the clouds are low, cast in dusky orange and blue. She hops up and goes to the window, a worried look on her face.

  “What is it?” I say, watching her.

  She looks up at me. “I wanted to visit her…” Her voice is quiet. “Jessica.”

  A flash of pain moves across my stomach, but I nod. “We’ve got time before the sun sets.”

  Her hand moves into mine, and I open the door, leading her across the porch and down the side steps in the direction of the little thicket behind the trees. I know the way very well, and as we walk, the heaviness in my chest grows.

  I knew we would do this sooner or later. I didn’t expect it to be our first night back, and I’m worried how this visit will affect Mariska.

  Looking back at her, she seems far away, watching the grass move beneath our feet. The painting of our daughter is packed in our things, trucking across the country on its way to us here. I wonder if she’s thinking of it, of her vision.

  When we reach the opening, I see the small headstone placed after she and Amy left. Sylvia was here to help me get it right, and she selected a few clumps of perennial flowers for me to plant on each side of the little monument.

  Mariska stops right in front of it and drops to her knees. I kneel behind her as she reaches forward and runs her fingers across the cool marble headstone, tracing the outline of our daughter’s name.

  I’m watching her so closely, I see the moment her shoulders break, and I’m right with her, pulling her into my arms. She holds my arms, gripping the fabric of my shirt in her fists as she quietly cries. I blink up to the trees, smoothing my hands down the back of her head to the skin of her soft neck and around her shoulders. I hold her as she releases the last of her grief. It’s another step in the healing process.

  The never-ending breeze pushes through, and I wait until at last she’s able to sit up, touching her eyes with her fingertips. I cup her cheeks and move my thumbs along the line of her jaw, smiling as I blink away the haze in my own eyes.

  She clears her throat, and her gaze returns to the headstone. “After it happened, I wanted to get away from you and all of the pain of this place as fast as I could.”

  Her words tear at the freshly healed wound in my chest. “I’ll spend my life making it up to you. I—”

  “No,” she lunges forward, holding my face in her hands. “I expected you to be stronger than you were. I expected you not to hurt as much as I did. Will you forgive me? We never had a chance to grieve together.”

  Reaching for her waist, I pull her onto my lap and hold her close. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  My Mariska. She knows me so well. She always has. She always knows what to say to heal the pain I can’t show. She holds me now soothing my guilt with words of understanding and pure love.

  Her arms are around me, and we melt into each other. Our hearts move together, and we find a place of peace on the other side of this storm.

  Home

  Mariska

  The noise of Scout’s hoof beats mixes with the roar of the wind as we ride in a full gallop across the prairie. Overnight packs are strapped to our saddles, and Stuart is on Freckles, letting her stretch her legs and work out her nerves.

  Cold air races us across the open prairie, bringing frigid temperatures and the last chance we’ll have to camp out in the cabin before the heavy snows start. I’ve been in school at the University of Great Falls one month, and I love my classes.

  It’s amazing to think I might never have found my new course of study if we hadn’t come here. I’ve always been interested in healing and art, but I never considered combining the two. I’m completely consumed by my work, and Stuart is in heaven being back on the ranch. We’ve reached a place of contentment and deep satisfaction in our life together.

  I don’t like thinking about the days we were apart. I was so lost and alone, even more so because of how close we’d been. Still, like a bone, we’re so much stronger because of our break. I’m distracted, considering all these things, when I see Stuart pulling Freckles to a halt. I tighten my stomach muscles and do the same, and following his gaze, my heart stops when I see her.

  The little grey horse—Jessie is standing near a clump of trees watching us, not moving. I would recognize her anywhere with her shadow-black muzzle and the little moon in the center of her forehead.

  My eyes fly to Stuart’s, and he glances at me. Freckles shakes her head and nickers, and she seems to recognize her runaway foal as well. My heart beats so fast it hurts, and I’m surprised by how much I want her back. I don’t want to do anything to scare her away. My insides pull to this little horse, and I remember crying to Sylvia in the hospital, It wasn’t her fault. She was so afraid.

  I don’t want her to be out here wild and running, an easy target for a predator or worse, falling and being injured, suffering alone until she dies.

  I watch Stuart as he watches Jessie, and I can’t help remembering how he tried to kill her. “What can we do?” I whisper.

  “I don’t have any rope or anything to use as a lasso. We’re going to have to let her go and see if we can find her later or see if she comes back around.”

  “Do you think she will?” I’m so happy he understands without me having to explain how much this means to me.

  I’m desperate to do anything to catch her, yet at the same time, I remember how new she was to us. She had only just started coming around when the accident occurred. First I fainted, falling off the gate and causing Stuart to panic, which startled her. Then Amy and I scared her in the barn, and finally the gunshot. It would be a miracle if she ever came back at all.

  “I don’t know.” Stuart looks at the reins he’s holding. “Winter’s coming. It’s not good for her to be out here alone.”

  The little horse stays at the tree line watching us, and we continue on to the cabin, keeping her in sight. By the time we reach our destination, she’s gone, and we can only unpack and go inside.

  Sliding down from Scout, I pause a moment, holding the Palomino’s saddle. My head is light, and I feel suddenly weak.

  “You okay?” Stuart is at my side.

  I nod and smile reassuringly. “Too much excitement, I guess.”

  “I’ll get the fire going.”

  We brought kindling for a campfire, an Indian blanket, and suits for swimming. I unpack the dinner Winona prepared for us and think about how kind she’s been since we arrived. I’d worried she might resent Stuart and me coming in because of our age or because we’re not Bill. I worried she might not like the change. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  She has embraced us like a grandmother, and I guess she feels that way toward Stuart, since he’s been coming here since he was a teenager. I learned she’s Chippewa-Cree, and I can’t wait to get to know her better, see if we share any gifts.

  When I went back to Bayville, my faith was shaken. I had lost my baby, my family, and I lost my ability to believe. Now I’ve gotten almost all of those things back again, and as we were packing, Stuart found a letter to me from my Yaya.

  I’ll never forget his beautiful face, cautiously bringing it to me. “This was in your grandmother’s journal,” he’d said, handing me a yellowed envelope with my name handwritten on the front.

  I opened it, and inside was a letter…

  My sweet Mishka,

  I worry that someday you might read these documents about your past, and I might not be here to explain them to you. I’m writing this down in case that happens.

  You are a beautiful girl of pure heart, and as such, you’ve been given gifts. Faith is the hardest part to sustain. It’s the hardest concept for humans to master.

  As a child, you accepted what you are easily because it was in you. You could see people’s motives. You had dreams. You believed so effortlessly.

  When you became ill and the doctors said your faith wasn’t real, I knew it was my jo
b to protect you, to protect your gift. It isn’t your abilities I care about, it’s your faith.

  You accept that people can change. You know the future, and you’re able to wait for good things to come. It’s what makes you who you are.

  Never change. Never stop believing.

  Science cannot explain miracles.

  All my love,

  Yaya

  I held the letter close to my chest for so long, allowing the healing words to soak into my heart. It restored my faith in everything that had happened, in everything that brought Stuart and me together.

  If I hadn’t dreamed of him lost and dying in the desert, I’d never have run after him. At least that’s what he says, and I let him believe it. He hasn’t seen his sexy backside. I’d probably have followed him even without the dreams.

  Tonight as we sit under the stars, I remember that night so long ago when we held each other, sharing everything. Why he became a Marine, why I was alone. I made a wish on a shooting star to have exactly what I have now. Two arms that will never let me go, even when life gets dark, even when I lose faith. Two strong arms to carry me back.

  “What are you thinking about?” Stuart’s lips press against the side of my neck sending chills across my skin. We’re wrapped together in the warm blanket, my back to his chest.

  “How I’ve almost gotten back everything.”

  His brow lines, and he cups the side of my face. “We’ll get there.”

  “No—I don’t mean it that way. I’m so happy. And then we saw Jessie.”

  “I want you to have everything you’ve lost.”

  Thinking about that, I lower my voice. “We can’t have everything.”

  Sadness flickers in his eyes, but I reach forward to kiss his lips. “Don’t—I don’t want to be sad.” My lip catches in my teeth, and I tell him. “I haven’t gone back on the pill since I lost Jessica. Who knows what might happen.”