Rescue Me: a horse mystery

by Toni Leland

“Stories. Childhood. Hobbies.”

  Her features hardened ever so slightly. “Why are you so interested in this stuff?”

  He leveled a sober look at her. “Why are you sitting in my kitchen? Is this trip just a lark? A way to pass some idle time?” He pushed his plate away and stood up. “I thought we had some sort of connection going here, but I’m obviously mistaken. I won’t bother you anymore.”

  He grabbed a hooded parka off a hook by the back door, then stepped out onto the deck without looking back. Whatever instincts or insights he’d had about Ginger’s past or her secrets were proving to be correct. He’d involved himself with someone who’d never let him know her and, regardless of how he’d begun to feel, he wasn’t setting himself up for a big surprise. He trudged over to the heavy pick-up truck parked near the semi, and swiped the snow off the windows. He’d get her back to Illinois as soon as possible and get back on track with his mission.

  The pickup started on the first try and he nodded. There were a few things he could always count on. He shifted into first and drove forward six feet, stopping at the plow blade lying by the edge of the driveway. The cold engine rumbled while he dug the chains out of the snow and hooked them onto the lift pistons. He glanced toward the house as he climbed back into the truck, his irritation rising to the surface again. He pushed it away and concentrated on lifting the blade into position, then trudged around to the front of the truck again to guide the blade onto the push plates.

  His phone shrilled in the crisp air and he fumbled with his gloves, hurrying to catch the call before it ended. A familiar voice came through.

  “Hey Heck, how the Dillon are ya?”

  He laughed at the old joke his Secret Service buddies always used. “I’m good. Haven’t heard from you in a long time.”

  “I’ve been down in Southern California on a firearms thing. You in Massachusetts?”

  Dillon glanced up at the house. Ginger stood at the window.

  He turned away. “Yeah, but I’m heading out tomorrow.”

  He squatted down and began installing the first bolt into the blade, listening to the caller’s update.

  “Your contact at the DC office gave me some information on that casket company truck you phoned in. They’ve been real active up and down the I-84 corridor lately. You might want to follow that.”

  Dillon grunted with the exertion of crawling around in the snow and muscling the six-hundred pound blade into position. He exhaled and rocked back on his heels.

  “Interesting. I only saw the one truck on 70, but I took the northern interstate after Columbus. Nothing running along I-90.” He glanced at the window again. She was gone. “Hey man, thanks for the call. I’m gonna hit this hard now.”

  He pocketed the phone and stood up.

  Snow crunched behind him and a shadow fell across the snow blade.

  “Dillon?”

  He stood up, hardening his heart as he turned. Ginger stood shivering in her light jacket, her cheeks rosy, her beautiful green eyes glistening.

  Her lower lip trembled. “I’m so sorry…I…there are some things I just can’t tell you. At least not right now. I want…” Her voice broke.

  All his resolve disappeared and he pulled her close, burying his nose in her soft hair, inhaling the scent of shampoo and snow.

  “It’s okay. I’m sorry too,” he whispered.

  Julia struggled with the tears that threatened to spill. How could she be so confused and unhappy? She’d asked Dillon to trust her, but why couldn’t she give him the same consideration? She’d trusted him enough to travel across the country—why couldn’t she tell him her real story? Because he was a federal agent, that’s why. How would she ever rationalize that fact?

  Dillon rubbed her back as they stood in the frigid air, then he stepped back and smiled. “You go on back in the house. You’ll catch pneumonia out here in that flimsy track suit. I’ll be done here in about an hour.”

  She turned toward the house, and his voice drifted behind her. “Go downstairs. There’s a bedroom off the family room. My ski gear is in the closet there. See if you can find something that fits.”

  As she thawed out in front of the fire, Julia pondered her seemingly unreasonable distrust of the man. If he liked her—which he obviously did—why would he do anything that would bring her to harm? Even if he knew her real story, would he be bound by some law or code of ethics to turn her in to the authorities? Or Stephen? She shuddered, thinking about the reward money. She rose from the hearth and wandered over to the windows. Dillon’s pick-up moved along the driveway, leaving a tidy pile of snow on the shoulder. He disappeared around the curve and she sighed, then headed for the stairs to the lower level. In a leap of faith, she decided that, once they’d returned to Illinois, she would tell him the whole story. At least there she’d be on home ground, not isolated in the middle of nowhere.

  An hour later, Dillon came stomping through the back door, huffing and puffing. “That was a lot of snow.” He peeled out of his jacket and kicked off his boots, then stopped and raised his eyebrows.

  “Wow! You look much better in that outfit than I do!”

  Julia looked down at the gray nylon insulated ski pants and bib. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

  Dillon reached for the coffee pot. “I have a much better idea than going up to Jiminy Peak. Why don’t we stay here and I’ll teach you to cross-country ski. Being tall is a real advantage on that one, and you have less chance of breaking a leg.”

  A wave of relief swept over her. “Thank you. I was terrified at the thought of rocketing down a mountain on toothpicks. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get out of this thing. I’m melting.”

  When she returned to the great room, Dillon was slouched on the couch with his feet on the coffee table, staring at the Christmas tree. She sat down on the bear rug, crossed her legs, and took a deep breath.

  “I grew up in the Pacific Northwest, Washington State to be exact.”

  Dillon sat up, his face crumpling into an apology. “No, Ginger, you don’t have to do this—”

  She held up a hand. “I want to. You deserve better than I’ve treated you.”

  For the next hour, she regaled him with anecdotes from her youth, true stories that had no bearing on her life with Stephen or her flight to freedom. Dillon nodded, laughing often at some of her observations about being a tall, gangly girl and the obstacles it had created. Dateless proms, dismal performance in physical education classes, and other assorted perceived disasters.

  She shook her head. “I wasn’t good looking enough or graceful enough to consider modeling. I was a particularly unhappy teenager.”

  “What about your interest in horses? Where did that come from?”

  She hesitated, unsure how far to go. “I always loved them, but my dad was terrified I’d get hurt, so I was never allowed to take riding lessons. I hated him for it then, but I know he was only concerned for my safety.”

  “I think you’d make a terrific equestrian athlete. And I beg to differ with you on the issue of being coordinated. You have a natural grace that would be an asset in the saddle.”

  She studied his face for a moment, remembering his skill with the skittish mare at Casey’s. “How do you know so much about riding?”

  His eyes widened with surprise and she mentally smiled. Gotcha.

  He pursed his lips, then nodded. “I was with the Fifth Special Forces Group in Afghanistan. Horse Soldiers.”

  “You’re kidding! Why would the Army have horse troops over there?”

  He snorted and rose from the couch. “You ever seen the terrain? There are no roads, and only a few footpaths into the mountains.” He picked up his mug. “You want some more coffee?”

  She nodded, then watched him disappear into the kitchen. This was beginning to feel like some sort of board game where the winner would be the one with the most secrets.

  Dillon returned and settled onto the rug beside her. His face was thoughtful and she wondered what h
e was thinking at that very moment. She took a sip of coffee and set the mug on the hearth.

  “Tell me about the horse soldiers—I’ve never heard of them.”

  He smiled wryly. “You and most of the rest of the population.” He shook his head. “Our group arrived in Mazar-i-Sharif thinking we were there to help the Northern Alliance beat back the Taliban, which was true. What we hadn’t been told was how we would do that. What a jolt!

  “Only the team leader had ever ridden a horse, and the rest of us literally learned ‘in the saddle.’ Those saddles were three boards held together with goatskin. My butt hurt for days after our first ride across the flatlands and into the mountains. Six hours. After a week, I was pretty good at getting my horse to do what I wanted. Those animals were like a cross between a Mustang and a donkey—hard-mouthed and ornery, stocky and very strong.”

  Julia stared into her mug. “Using horses in war seems so...medieval.”

  “The Afghans have been horsemen for centuries. The animals are bred for battle—they’re wily and sure-footed.” He exhaled sharply. “There were times when I just had to close my eyes as we trekked along a foot-wide path at the edge of a cliff with a thousand-foot drop.”

  Julia gazed at him, thinking about the many facets that comprised his life—those she knew and those she didn’t. She looked away, watching the flames leap and reach for the chimney, and reviewed what she had told him. The truth about her adult life would be harder, but at least she was building a foundation on which to base his trust.

  She turned to look at him again and found his soft gaze focused on her. A tiny blip ran through her pulse, followed by a thump against her ribcage. He leaned closer, never breaking eye contact. She could smell his skin, fresh with snow and aftershave. He tilted his head and brushed her lips with his, sending a barrage of adrenaline coursing through her system. His lips moved to her cheek, then her neck. She rested her hand on his shoulder and leaned closer. He slipped his arms around her waist and drew her near, whispering through her hair.

  “You smell like heaven.”

  She drew back and took his face in her hands. His eyes were dark with desire and, for one moment, terror ripped through her chest. Could she control this, or was she headed down another deadly path?

  Dillon took her hands from his face and whispered, “Trust me.”

  Fear fled and Julia kissed him softly, tentatively, testing herself, waiting for a warning. None came, and when Dillon responded, she let go. This was what she wanted.

  Sliding her arms around his neck, she lost herself in the kiss. He eased her down onto the thick fur rug, then rested his weight on one elbow and gazed at her for a moment through half-lidded eyes, giving her one last chance to change her mind. She traced a finger along his jaw, returning his gaze with confidence. His face blurred as he leaned in and captured her mouth. His hand moved slowly down the length of her body, caressing the curves and sending electrical charges sparking across her skin. The heat of her desire matched the flames on the hearth.

  Chapter 24

  Julia leaned on the deck rail, watching Dillon trudge through the drifts toward a utility shed. The snow had mounded up against the doors and it took him several minutes to gain access. The crisp air caressed her face and she closed her eyes. If she felt any happier, she’d explode. Snug inside layers of clothing, her body still hummed with the aftershocks of desire. Making love with Dillon had been the way she’d always imagined passionate sex would be. For so long, she’d only known the self-serving, thoughtless coupling of her husband and, being young and naïve, she’d endured it, thinking it was the way things really were—the fantasies were just fantasies.

  Dillon emerged from the shed carrying two sets of skis and poles. Just the sight of him set her stomach fluttering with anticipation for what the rest of the day might bring. Love on a bear rug—what a way to start!

  Dillon finished buckling Julia’s ski bindings, then stood up and grinned. “You’re all set.”

  “Okay, now what? You gonna just give me a push and hope I can do it?”

  He laughed. “We’ll practice here in the driveway, then I’ll take you on the trails that run behind the house.” He offered his hand. “Hold on to me while you stand up.”

  Carefully, she straightened her knees, feeling the slippery contact beneath the skis. It was all about balance—she’d need to find her center of balance, the same as when she was in the saddle. She moved one leg sideways about a foot and immediately felt connected to the ground.

  She grinned at Dillon. “There, that wasn’t so hard. Can we go inside now?”

  He gave her a smoldering look. “Be careful what you wish for, my dear.”

  She smiled, pretending chagrin. “Yes sir.”

  His breath curled away as he spoke. “The key to cross-country skiing is stepping. The skis don’t stay glued to the ground like they do in downhill. Cross-country is like walking. For every stride you take, you glide forward, hesitating between each step, letting the momentum carry you forward.” He took her hand again. “Let’s try that. Take a step with one foot and lift the other ski off the ground. When the glide begins to slow, do the same thing with the other foot.”

  Julia took a deep breath and pushed off. The ski skimmed across the plowed surface more quickly than she’d expected and she lost her balance, but Dillon’s strong grip kept her upright.

  “Don’t work so hard at it. Just let your weight guide the momentum of each step.”

  She tried again, this time with more success, actually getting four strides in before she fell down.

  “Don’t lean back. That changes your center of gravity.”

  So many times her trainer had instructed her to stay centered in the saddle, not to lean back. If she kept the comparison between riding and skiing, she should be able to do this.

  Dillon helped her up. “As you step, lean forward, throw your arms to the front as you stride. Let the skis carry you.”

  After two more practice sessions, she was gliding along smoothly by herself, feeling the rhythm. Dillon called out for her to follow him, then turned and disappeared around the side of the house. Taking a deep breath, she pushed off after him, exhilaration feeding her energy. In this winter wonderland and fantastic adventure, the past seemed like a bad dream.

  “You might want to have a hot soak in the tub,” said Dillon. “I suspect you’ll be very stiff tomorrow.”

  Julia threw him a sultry look. “You mean, from the skiing?”

  His face actually flushed, then he chuckled. “Snow seems to bring out the best in you.”

  She stepped up close and traced his jaw with her finger. “No, you bring out the best in me.”

  He grasped her fingers and kissed them, his eyes closed. Julia sensed a conflict somewhere in his head. Was it her? Or something else? She leaned forward and gave him a peck on the cheek, then stepped back.

  “I’m going to take your advice on that bath.”

  His smile spoke volumes. “I’ll see what I have in the freezer. Christmas dinner might be frozen pizza.”

  “That’s okay, I’m easy.”

  He gazed at her, his eyes twinkling. “Hardly.”

  Julia woke the next morning and stared at the rafters of the small bedroom. What had happened yesterday to change Dillon’s attitude toward her? Or rather, his desire for her. He’d been friendly and affectionate, but the message was clear. There’d be no more sex. Rather a strange reaction for a man, unless…could it be he was hung up on the fact she was a married woman? She turned her gaze to the window. Snow still covered the tree branches, but the sky was brilliant. Dillon’s offer to help with her marital problems had given her pause for thought. The imaginary husband in Florida would never be a problem, but Stephen Dorsey would. How could she have a new life without completely ending the old one? She sighed. Dillon was clearly not a man to play second fiddle, so she’d need to figure out exactly what she would do when they returned to Illinois.

  She rolled over to get out of be
d, and gasped. Every muscle complained, especially her upper arms.

  “Good grief, what would I feel like if I hadn’t taken that hot bath?”

  She slowly slid out of bed and padded into the bathroom. Another hot shower might help and, besides, she wasn’t ready to face whatever developments today might bring. She turned on the water, thinking again about Dillon’s resistance to her intimate overtures. He’d wanted her—no question there. She’d seen it in his eyes. Whatever was holding him back, maybe he’d tell her before this trip was over.

  An hour later, feeling much better, she descended the stairs and entered the great room. A fire crackled on the hearth and Dillon sat in one of the easy chairs, tapping away on his laptop. He looked up and smiled, sending a volley of delight through her head. If she wanted this man, she’d better get her life in order.

  He set the computer aside, stood up and stretched. “I thought we might take a little drive today. Couldn’t ask for better weather.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a secret.”

  He walked past her and into the kitchen, leaving a trail of his scent that made her blood rush. She looked after him. Was this road trip just a way to avoid being together there in the house where they’d made love? A ploy to avoid any further chance of intimacy? Her paranoia grew, then anger replaced her anxiety. No way would she spend however many more days with this man and not have the conversation. She strode into the kitchen.

  Dillon was pulling stuff out of the refrigerator, and she leaned on the breakfast bar and took a deep breath.

  “Can we talk?”

  He turned, his surprised expression clearly one of complete ignorance. “Sure. About what?”

  Suddenly, she had no idea how to begin. She dropped her gaze to focus on a fingernail. Could she just come right out and ask why he didn’t want to have sex again? Hardly.

  “Ginger, is something wrong?”

  She met his sincere gaze and swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “I just…uh, wondered why you don’t…well…”