by Remy Landon
Initially, it was awkward—where was she supposed to look? Straight ahead at his chest? At the band? Or at his face? She tried all three and decided it was safest to look around the bar and focus on the faces of strangers as he moved her in a slow circle.
As Garrett's voice grew more plaintive and intense, Josh pulled her in closer so that they were no longer in waltz position with space between them, but swaying as one, her hand flattened against his chest and his belt buckle pressing in to her. At least she told herself it was his belt buckle.
He was a great dancer, moving in perfect time to the song's rhythm, and as she relaxed, she found it easier to read his next step. It was either his soapy scent, or that she was horny, or that she simply missed the closeness of a man, but she found dancing with Josh sexy as hell. Most likely, it was all of the above. It also could have just been him.
When the song ended, the crowd erupted in applause, and though only two other couples had joined them, Cassandra realized they could have been dancing alone and it wouldn't have fazed her.
Josh looked down at her for a few seconds before releasing her and said exactly what she was thinking. “That song was short.”
Blushing, she nodded. “Thank you for the dance.”
“My pleasure. I haven't gotten to do that in a while.”
“You're very good. No offense, but most guys don't really have any sense of rhythm.”
He grinned. “I'll agree with that. My former girlfriend persuaded me to take ballroom lessons with her. Thought it would bring us closer.”
“And did it?”
“Nope. Hence the term, former girlfriend.”
Cassandra laughed as she pushed her hair away from her face. They walked back to the table and Kevin gave Josh a fist bump. “I didn't know Buffalo Bill here could move like Jagger. I'm completely smitten.”
Josh shook his head, grinning and taking his seat. Teal took a sip of her Midori Sour and looked at Cassandra with wide-eyed innocence. “You know, for someone who isn't a fan of blues, you sure looked like you were feeling that song.”
The bitch. It was a good thing she loved Teal. “Guess I'm expanding my horizons,” she replied evenly, shrugging.
Whitney raised her glass. “To new horizons.”
The five of them clinked glasses, and Cassandra allowed her gaze to linger on Josh's face as the band started another song. She reached under the table for her purse and took out her phone to check the time. There were three text messages sent in quick succession an hour earlier, at 10:30 p.m.
I want to kiss you long, slow and deep until you can't breathe...like the time I had you against the wall in the parking lot.
I am aching to fuck you.
I won't give up.
It was as though everything around her became muted: the laughter at her table, the sound of the band, people's loud, inebriated voices. There was a tugging at her heart, a yearning that had been thankfully lying dormant. She knew the ache Carlo was referring to. She felt like she was being sucked into a vacuum, where there was no one else and nothing else that mattered except for him.
Teal pulled her back. “Are you okay?”
Cassandra took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes,” she said, deleting the texts and slipping the phone back into her purse. “I am.”
chapter twenty-one ~ Carlo
It had become readily apparent to Carlo that Liv Malstrom was used to getting her way. She reminded him, actually, of himself. For the past couple of weeks, ever since he had dodged her request to come to Manheim and show off Allied's new Teflon packing, citing the reason he'd be busy interviewing for a new regional sales manager (which was true), Liv seemed to have become even more determined. She'd continued calling and emailing, and if she'd had his cell phone number, he was sure he'd be hearing from her that way as well. Yesterday, she had left a message with Estelle asking him to let her know when he was available after the holidays, and if he didn't get back to her, she would pick a day and just show up. Delivering the message to Carlo, Estelle's glare was sharp enough to cut glass. He had laughed it off, amused, and said he would handle it. He had finally relented and decided on the second week in January. Thank God Olivia lived in Connecticut, or he'd really have a problem. And he had enough to deal with.
He was having nightmares and flashbacks again, exacerbated no doubt by the stress in his life. Usually, he could counteract them by exercising to the point of exhaustion and by the physical and emotional release that sexual activity had always brought him. Since the latter was now non-existent, he threw himself into his workouts: running on a fully-inclined treadmill, lifting weights, doing chin-ups on the bar in his basement, pushing himself until he was dripping with sweat, pulse racing, as he willed each heartbeat to carry away his pain and frustration.
Sitting in his kitchen with the Sunday paper unfolded, it occurred to Carlo that perhaps it was time to face his fears...to actually try to remember—everything—instead of distracting himself as he always had. Maybe then, the hold on him would loosen, and he could breathe without guilt, without torment.
But did he deserve to?
The answer was still, no.
He could remember the before. A Saturday in early October, unseasonably mild. They'd gone to the farmers' market that day for pumpkins and chrysanthemums to decorate the front steps, and a bag of crisp apples because she wanted to make a pie to take to her parents on Sunday, to celebrate her father's birthday. It will be a memorable weekend, she had said.
It had been.
Carlo shuddered. This house was too goddamned quiet. He interrupted his reminiscing and went to his Bose SoundTouch—no classical or jazz this time; he needed rock music to fill the room, make the walls pulse with sound, feel the beat in his bones.
He returned to remembering. They had planned to take his bike to dinner at a casual Thai restaurant. He'd told her to dress warmly; even though the night was deceptively mild, the breeze would be cool, especially riding on the bike.
I'm never cold when I'm holding you, Carlo. But she had worn a thick green sweater to appease him.
He could remember the feel of her chin pressing into his upper back, her arms wrapped around him...oddly, it was he who always felt secure this way. He could remember heading down Route 772, the gentle curve of the road, the milky white of the moon, her hair dancing, and her words in his ear—just a little faster, Carlo—and he could remember another motorcycle, the driver also helmet-less and giving a quick nod as he passed and pulled in front of them.
Then afterwards, as if no time had passed, waking up in the field with the wind-rustled cornstalks whispering all around him. He remembered the scream that worked its way up from the depths of his core to mingle with the siren's blare. But he couldn't remember the actual accident—only before, and the aftermath.
The doctors told him this was not unusual; he had most likely blocked out the memory and would never be able to retrieve it. And it was probably best that way, people said.
So he had been left with this blank space in his brain where he knew something horrific should have been. It was merciful, but he didn't deserve mercy. Not after he'd lost control.
Not after he'd lost his wife.
chapter twenty-two ~ Cassandra
She had wondered if it might be a little awkward to see Josh when he started work today at Windswept, but she was pleasantly surprised that it was not. It wasn't like they had hooked up or anything, but the dancing that night—she had to admit there had been some chemistry. This was soo not what she had planned. She wasn't the type to have to find someone else on the rebound (like Teal's “getting under someone else” theory), but Josh had just shown up—much like Carlo had just shown up, in this very stable. A little irony there. So far, her new relationship with Josh didn't feel wrong. But she would have to watch it, because she didn't want to (a) complicate her life; (b) lead Josh on; or (c) get hurt again.
It was hard to imagine Josh hurting anyone. Last week at Nocturnem, she'd been able to sit back a
nd just watch him as he conversed with her friends, smiling and joking. He had seemed so relaxed and at ease with everyone—even Kevin. When Josh had gotten up to use the bathroom, Teal had grabbed Cassandra's arm. “He's so goddamned nice, Cass. I mean, he's got that hot cowboy thing going on and everything, but on the most basic level, he's just so nice. You know?”
She did.
This Saturday morning at the stable was cold and frosty. It had yet to snow, but the air had that damp smell that hinted of precipitation. Too cold to rain, so no need to put the horses' waterproof sheets on before she turned them out.
Standing in front of Josh's tri-color paint gelding, Cassandra admired his beauty. He looked like someone had splashed him with light and dark chocolate and milk. Tango was as loud and flashy as his owner was quiet and unassuming. He was spirited but always calmed down when Josh came near. His nostrils flared as he took in the scent of her. Speaking softly to him, she stroked his sleek neck as she slipped the rope halter on his head, and his ears flicked forward as he looked past her. She turned to follow his gaze.
Josh was standing across the aisle in a brown suede jacket with a Sherpa collar, arms folded and looking pleased. “Visiting with my boy?”
“Yes, but I'm thinking Brownie will probably be jealous.” Tango curved his neck to look at her, and she slid her hand under his mane.
“I wouldn't blame him. I'd want you all to myself, too.”
Way to catch me off guard, cowboy. Cassandra blushed as she gathered up the lead rope and started to open Tango's door.
“Hey, you want to wait on turning him out?”
“Are you going to ride?”
“I was thinking I could do a natural horsemanship demo in the arena, since you said you were interested. Do you have time?”
“Oh! Yes, I should. I don't really have anything going on after I leave here. Just cleaning my apartment.”
“Great. I'll help you with turn-out, and then Tango and I can show you what we've been working on. He'll be pissed that he's not going right out, but I've got carrots.” Josh patted his coat pocket. “Plus, he likes to perform for people. And sometimes, so do I...depending on the people.” His dimples appeared.
Again, with the off guard thing.
The two of them turned out the horses who seemed particularly wound up today, probably because of the changing weather. Rafsi, the high-strung Anglo-Arab, performed her usual jig down the aisle. Her eyes were soft as Josh spoke to her soothingly. “Seems like this one needs some groundwork,” he remarked. “Does Ingrid ever work with her?”
“I haven't seen Ingrid do much with her...she usually just hops on, gets frustrated, and they're both worked up into a lather by the time the ride is over,” Cassandra smiled ruefully. “To be honest, I don't think Ingrid knows much about the natural horsemanship philosophy. She's good to the horses, but she tends to be more into the dressage way of thinking.”
“Maybe I'll ask Ingrid if I can try some exercises with her. It would make a big difference with her under saddle.”
Cassandra watched in surprise as Josh opened Tango's stall door and let the horse out without haltering him first. Clucking to the gelding, Josh started to walk down the aisle with Tango following close behind.
“Okay, so I'm already impressed,” she announced after they had entered the indoor arena.
“Mission accomplished, then.” Josh grinned at her. “But it's really not rocket science. You just have to understand their nature and take the time to work with them.” He walked in a serpentine figure with Tango's nose at his shoulder, making a blurry path in the soft footing. “This is just simple join-up. Have you done this before?”
“I actually have with Brownie in the pasture—we were just kind of playing around one time. But I didn't know there was a name for it.”
“There's a name for everything, if you think about it.”
“I don't know if that's true.”
“Sure it is. For example, this—what we're doing right here—it's relationship building. And I'm not talking just with the horse.”
Josh stopped and put his hands on his hips, and Tango halted abruptly. Cassandra opened her mouth and closed it, unsure of how to respond. Considering what Josh had just said, this potentially awkward moment was surprisingly not. She tucked her hands in the pockets of her fleece jacket and found herself smiling.
He turned toward Tango. “Looks like our audience finds us entertaining, buddy. Let's see if we can really impress her.”
Cassandra stepped back against the rail and watched as Josh used subtle hand motions and soft clucks with his tongue to get the gelding to move freely in different patterns. She noticed that Josh wasn't so much commanding as asking politely. Very different than what she'd seen Judy, the Windswept trainer, and even Ingrid do, with their tight reins, riding crops and more aggressive training styles. Tango was relaxed as he performed the tasks, his eyes soft and compliant.
Now Josh placed his hand behind Tango's front leg, and to Cassandra's delight, the horse extended the leg and bowed down, enabling Josh to mount him with ease. Pulling himself smoothly onto Tango, Josh swung his right leg over the gelding's back and briefly scratched the horse's withers. With barely perceptible signals—extending his arm at a slight angle and rubbing his fingers together—Josh rode the Paint at a walk, jog and lope around the arena, picking up speed on the long sides and slowing as he reached the corners. Trotting down the center line, Josh gave his horse a few gentle nudges with his foot, and Tango performed what was known in dressage as a side pass, although what Josh was doing with him was far different than that discipline...in the absence of a bridle, saddle, spurs, whip, with only soft words and light contact, you could focus on the beauty and movement of the horse rather than the rider.
Josh put his hands at the lower part of Tango's flowing white mane, and the gelding came to a smooth, sliding stop in front of Cassandra, dust from the sandy footing ballooning behind them.
Smiling proudly, he stroked the horse's neck and dismounted. “So what did you think of our little demo? He's pretty talented, huh?”
“I'd say his owner is pretty talented as well. I can't believe you were able to teach him all that.”
“I've had him since he was a yearling. I'm not gonna lie, it took a while. You have to start slow and go from there. Typical relationship building.” He winked. “The key is pressure and release. Come here...I'll show you.”
Cassandra stepped closer, feeling her heart rate pick up unexpectedly.
“Take off your glove and put your hand here on his chest, and rub. This shows him that you're friendly and also gets his attention.”
She did as she was told, moving her hand in a light, circular motion.
“Okay, good. Now don't do this till I tell you, but I'm going to have you put your fingers on that same spot and press, real gentle—just the slightest bit, until the exact second he starts to step back. When he does, immediately take your hand away. The release of the pressure is the reward. Got it?”
“I think so. It sounds like timing is key.”
“Yeah, it is...timing is everything when you're training a horse. But then again, timing is everything in other areas, too, isn't it?”
“Very true.”
“All right, go ahead and give a little rub, like you did before, and then try the pressure and release thing.”
Cassandra put her hand back on Tango's chest, rubbing gently, then pressed her fingers lightly. The gelding lifted his head slightly, ears moving back as he felt the pressure, and took a step backwards. She released her hand and looked up at Josh, her nose wrinkling. “I was too slow, wasn't I?”
He grinned. “Yep. Good that you knew that, though. Let's try again...I'll help.”
Josh stepped beside her, his coat brushing hers. The very nearness of him made her pulse quicken. She drew in her breath, hoping he wouldn't notice, as he placed his hand over hers. His fingers were surprisingly warm. Could it be from standing next to her? Don't be stupid, she chided
herself. He has a heavy coat on, and he just rode.
With Josh's hand to guide her, Cassandra pushed her fingers gently into Tango's chest, and just as the horse started to respond, Josh pulled her hand away. “There. That's when you want to release the pressure—the very second he begins to do what you want, you reward him. That's how they learn. You can use this technique with anything...when you want them to move laterally, increase their speed, lower their head...simple stuff, but it's one of the principles of natural horsemanship. This way, instead of learning from the pressure or force—the punishment—the horse learns from the reward, or the release of pressure.” A slow smile crossed his face. “I seem to still be holding your hand.”
Cue the fast heartbeat. “I noticed that, too.”
Over Josh's shoulder, a single sunbeam had poked its way into the arena from the upper windows and was glittering with particles of dust. She focused on that briefly, needing a release of pressure of her own from his warm gaze.
When she looked at him again, his eyes were smiling. Slowly, he took his hand away from hers as Cassandra said the first thing that came to her head.
“Is there a name for this, too?” This was bold by her standards, and it felt good.
He laughed softly. “There is. I'd call it progress.”
And now she had absolutely no idea what to say. Tango came to the rescue by snorting suddenly, startling them both. Josh ruffled the horse's forelock. “Ready to go out and see your friends, buddy?”
The gelding's head lifted, his ears sharply forward. Cassandra turned to see Ingrid standing in the arena entrance, arms folded. She looked immaculate as usual in gray riding breeches, black turtleneck and vest, her short blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. “What are you two doing? Is everything all right with your horse, Joshua?”
“Yes, ma'am. Just did a natural horsemanship demo for Cassandra.”