by Alexa Davis
I nodded my assent and Tracy wrapped her arms around my elbow. “We are going to party tonight. Seriously. You have a two-drink minimum, lady,” she commanded me with a glare. “I won’t have you making me look like a booze-hound, drinking all by myself. A drink or two won’t get in the way of your interview tomorrow.”
I laughed in reply. “The fact that you are a booze-hound doesn’t play into this at all, does it?” I drawled. Tracy held onto my arm as she belly-laughed.
“Of course not,” she finally gasped through her laughter. “Now, let’s go get gorgeous. Which, admittedly, is going to take me longer than you,” she added with a sigh, shaking her shoulder-length hair back again.
I shook my own head without answering. I already knew Tracy was mostly kidding. The lovely redhead was about as physically perfect as any human being I’d ever encountered, with a peaches and cream complexion that managed not to freckle and a svelte figure kept lean and fit through her rigorous training for the swim team.
We headed back to the modest apartment we shared and I jumped in the shower before Tracy could take all the hot water. I took my time, washing and conditioning my long hair and running a razor over my legs even as I wondered why I bothered to, since no one was going to be touching them. I stalked to my room in a bath sheet, ignoring Tracy’s pout as we passed in the hall, and stood in front of my closet wondering what would be an appropriate outfit for celebrating the start of summer break.
I chuckled as I listened to Tracy belting out an off-key Taylor Swift song in the shower and thought to myself, “What would Tracy wear?” The obvious answer, of course, was the shortest, tightest miniskirt she owned. I, however, opted for a thin–strapped, navy summer dress that fluttered and twirled prettily around my legs when I moved, and my navy and candy-apple red cowboy boots. I felt almost like a princess as the dress swung around my knees and did a small twirl in my room where no one could laugh at me. I blew out my hair and tied it up off my neck in a beribboned chignon and quickly applied a little mascara and lip gloss—the only make-up I ever wore.
By the time Tracy was exiting the steamy bathroom, I was curled up on the sofa with my legs tucked under me, reading the list that Carol had given me and making notes about each of the prospects. I chewed on my lip and alternated between Google searches on my laptop and making notes in my trusty, spiral-bound notebook. Tracy emerged from her room in a predictable, but nonetheless sexy and chic, mini-dress and heeled sandals. She posed at the door to the living room and waited for my approval, but I was so engrossed in my research that I didn’t know she was there until I heard her make an explosive sound of disgust.
“Ugh. I don’t even know why we’re friends,” Tracy whined, as I looked up in surprise. I laughed at the exaggerated pose my friend had struck in the arched doorway.
“You look amazing, hot, expensive, and so very…you,” I asserted obligingly. I uncurled and tried to stand, wincing at the pins and needles that had developed in my feet from sitting so long. I wiggled my toes in my boots and took a couple of experimental steps before judging myself okay and striding over to the kitchen. “I’m grabbing a drink of water, then I’m good to go,” I told Tracy, who was making last-second adjustments to her hair and lipstick in the hallway mirror.
I snuck a peek to make sure she wasn’t paying attention, then slipped my anti-anxiety medication into my clutch. It had been months since I’d needed it, and I didn’t want to take it unless it was an emergency, but knowing my friend, we’d be in the middle of the 6th Street mob all night, and I preferred not having a panic attack over a glass of wine. I was just too embarrassed to admit that after everything I’d been through, sometimes the world outside of school just terrified me.
So, Tracy pretended not to notice me hemming and hawing over the tiny prescription bottle before tucking it away in my purse like a dirty secret. It hadn’t been nearly long enough since my world was turned upside down.
Even in the mirror’s reflection, I knew Tracy could see the very top edge of an angry scar that peeked out the back of my dress. She knew there were more scars under the pretty, embroidered fabric; she’d seen them all when she helped nurse me back to health after the car wreck that left me nervous, timid, and embarrassed by my weakness. I was determined to make my way in the world in spite of how people perceived me now.
Tracy grabbed the car keys and automatically tossed them to me. When I arched an eyebrow at her, she shrugged in response. “Why fight you to let me drive when I’m planning on needing you to DD for me anyway?” she explained nonchalantly. I laughed and slung the slim strap of my purse over my head so it hung across my body. Ever since the car accident nearly two years before that had left me scarred and broken, I preferred not riding in cars at all, if I could help it. However, as long as I was in the driver’s seat, I seemed to manage just fine as time progressed, with only discomfort where there had been panic attacks even a few months earlier.
I found parking in a public lot on the far end of 6th Street and we walked to dinner. We sat and chatted over our individual plans for the summer. Tracy let me know that our friend, Frederica, had agreed to sublet my room while I was away if I got the interning position I was interviewing for. Tracy started getting texts from friends as we ate, and by the time the check arrived, we had plans to meet up with a couple of our best school mates. Our friend Frederica and her boyfriend Jayden were already at Coyote Ugly and holding a table for us. We decided maybe getting to sit for a little while before we spent the rest of the evening out in the mad crush of the 6th Street nightlife wasn’t a bad idea.
We met up with the two math majors, who were lamenting the fact that we were finished with finals while they both had one more week. Tracy ordered beers for us and we sat, watching the bartenders kicking bottles over as they danced on the bar top for tips.
“I can’t help it if I’m finished early. I went full time, plus six credits, all year long,” I teased. “I never thought I’d see the light at the end of the finals tunnel.” Jayden raised his beer to that, and we all toasted the end, or near end, of the school year.
The music was so loud already that there was no point in talking, so we watched while Jayden and Freddie danced in the dim light of the bar. Another beer each, and Tracy was on the floor shaking her ass and bouncing to the club rock. I sat in the corner, happy to be alone in the crowd, watching my friends have fun.
A tall, good-looking cowboy sauntered over with two beers and set one in front of me. My first instinct was to brace myself and pull away, but he didn’t get any closer or try to touch me, so I forced myself to smile and say thank you. Before I could lift the bottle to my lips, Tracy ran up and snatched the bottle out of my hand.
“Sorry, do we know you?” she asked in an accusing tone. He shook his head and lifted his hands, palms out, in a sign of surrender. “Yeah, I think we’ll just have to let you keep that, then.” She handed him back the bottle and grabbed my arm. “Let’s go, Sugar. We’re going to go listen to street music.” I shrugged my shoulders at the guy, who saluted us with the bottle she handed him and drained it without stopping. He winked at me and set the empty on the table, then walked away.
“Yeah, yeah, I saw,” Tracy griped before I said anything. “You can never be too careful, you know.” I agreed with her whole heartedly and put an arm around her shoulder.
“No one with half a brain would mess with me with you by my side.” I gave her a squeeze and picked up my pace to catch up with Jayden and Freddie. Strings of lights, bands playing on the street, and vendors drew crowds that made the 6th Street district a dirty, noisy spectacle. By midnight, we had traversed the entire outdoor music scene and were making our way back the way we’d come. Fredericka and Jayden had disappeared already, both having early work hours.
I’d more than doubled my Tracy-imposed drink minimum and had switched to diet Coke a couple of hours before. When Tracy’s signature strut turned into a sloppy stumble, I knew it was time to call it quits. I tucked my shoulder under on
e of her arms and held her steady while we made our way down the crowded street to the car. The night was perfect, still warm enough that I didn’t need a sweater, even after midnight.
By the time we got home, Tracy had moved from the happy, sloppy stage of drunk to apologetic, half-sober, which my back appreciated. I hadn’t wanted to have to put the girl to bed. The day had well and truly caught up with me, so I took a quick, hot shower to relax and slipped between the sheets without drying my hair or dressing. I didn’t even feel my face touch the pillow before I fell asleep, to dream of horses racing over a grassy hill toward a lake as smooth as glass.
Chapter Two
Daniel
Kaiser was already saddled and waiting for me when I got to the stables Saturday morning. Pete, our stable master and horseman, was almost finished feeding the horses their morning oats, and Kaiser was pulling at the bit to get at the breakfast being denied to him. I saw his ears flick as he recognized my approach, and he shook his mane out and pranced in place, willing me to hurry. I didn’t doubt that he could already smell the apples in my pockets. I waved to Pete as he came around for another bucket of oat mix.
“Normally, I’d be irritated that you took care of saddling Kaiser for me, but I’m short on time today and appreciate the extra minutes I can spend riding,” I called out in greeting. Pete laughed and walked over with a handful of oats for my big, bay stallion. Kaiser snuffled his hand and munched on the grain, spilling it all over our feet and the stable floor.
“I didn’t give the big boy much to eat, either. I knew you’d want to go out before your big debut,” he joked, referring to the interview I had later that morning. I’d hired people before, but always under my father’s rather close direction. Frank Hargrave was a particular man, and that he was willing to relinquish any piece of his control to me was important enough to make for gossip.
“It isn’t even a real job,” I protested. “We’re Texas A&M alum; we’re doing the dean of the veterinary program a favor by placing an intern in your competent hands,” I reminded him with smug satisfaction. Pete was less than ten years my senior, but he’d worked hard and had a God-given gift with horses. The combination of talent and grit had earned him the reputation of being one of the top horsemen in not only the state of Texas, but the whole equine world.
It was my father who had given Pete his start, and in turn, it was Pete who had taught me everything I knew about horses and ranching. I swung up onto Kaiser’s back as Pete brushed the wet remnants of grain from his work gloves. With a wave, I turned Kaiser toward the high pasture and gave him his head. The stallion bounded forward as he felt the reigns loosen and loped toward the gate. I felt his muscles tense as we approached and tightened my grip on the reigns, urging him into a gallop. He leapt and cleared the gate with room to spare. I let him take the lead as he galloped across the field toward the forest trail we often followed.
Approaching the woods, I reined him in and slowed to a walk. Behind me, the sun was barely over the horizon and the sky was more gold than blue. Kaiser chomped at the bit, reminding me that he was the one trying to get exercise, and I wheeled around and took a cool, forest path down to the lake. I rode down the edge of the lake to the limit of our property before looking at my watch. Kaiser played in the shallow water along the sandy shore, pouncing at the light glimmering off the rocks as the sun caught up with us on its ascent. I fed him an apple from my pocket, cutting it in half and letting him lip the pieces out of my palm.
I considered the request the Edith Green, the dean of the veterinary program at my alma mater, had sent me months before. She had a remarkably talented student she wanted to have the chance to learn under Pete Call. She’d never asked for anything more complicated than pulling out a checkbook. She had actually been fairly specific that the internship didn’t have to be paid, as long as food and lodging were provided. My father had countered that we wouldn’t bring anyone on the property that wasn’t vetted by us, so I was given the task of having a visit with this promising young man, whoever he was, and deciding if we truly had anything to teach him.
I checked my watch again – only an hour or so until I had to be presentable. I turned the reticent stallion toward home and trotted him back into the woods. By the time we reached the stable, Kaiser had the building to himself and the rest of the horses were in the paddock. Pete offered to rub him down and feed him breakfast, and I readily accepted in the interest of heading up to the main house and attempting to get something more substantial in my own stomach. I had a cabin on the property, just as each of my brothers did, but the toast with peanut butter that marked the end of my food supply was hardly the breakfast of champions.
I snuck into the kitchen through the back door and the smell of bacon smacked me in the salivary glands. I opened the refrigerator and found a plate heaping with sausage and thick, maple-cured bacon. I made myself a proper farmer’s breakfast of sausage, bacon, and a side of the cornbread flapjacks my mother had made that morning. Luckily, the leftovers hadn’t been in the fridge long, and I didn’t even need to microwave them.
I was still sitting at the table, mopping up syrup from my plate with a forkful of sausage, when my father found me. He sat next to me at the table and picked a piece of bacon off my plate, ignoring my grunt of complaint.
“You got much planned for today?” he asked, somehow managing not to show the food in his mouth as he talked. I shook my head and swallowed before answering.
“Just that interview for Edith,” I finally replied, before knocking back half of the glass of milk at my elbow. “After that, I thought I’d go help the guys fix the section of fence that came down in the storm last week.” My dad nodded and reached for more bacon. I feigned a stab at his hand with my fork, and he spluttered out a laugh.
“Don’t forget, anything in this house, technically, is mine,” he reminded me with a stern glare. I laughed and turned the plate to give him access to the less choice portions of meat left. “You may be my most responsible child, but I’ll never accuse you of being the most generous,” he complained. I held my hand to my chest and feigned heartbreak, which made him laugh again.
“When I’m done with the interview, I’ll stop by your office and let you know how it went,” I offered as he stood to go. He nodded and grabbed his hat from the hook next to the kitchen door, setting it forward on his brow and walking out toward the sick pens. I knew that was going to be the most likely place to find him, waiting for Pesky to foal. Her pregnancy had been a difficult one, and at her age, I’d told him it had to be her last.
It was a difficult decision, and one I didn’t take lightly. Many mares would have at least three or four more broods in them, but Pesky had lived up to her name and we were only going to get this third foal from her. On the flipside of that coin, however, was the pure beauty of those foals, far more valuable than some of our more prolific mares. So Dad agreed to help her at foaling-time, and then we were going to give her the retirement she deserved, roaming the high pasture or palling around with my mother, an accomplished rider in her own right, who loved to spoil her horses.
As though my thoughts conjured her, my mother found me in the kitchen as I was rinsing my plate and attempting to hide the evidence of my breakfast theft. She ran her fingers through my shaggy hair and made a sound of displeasure.
“You know, my offer to cut this mop of yours into something resembling an adult haircut still stands.” I shook my head in the negative.
“It’s okay, Mom. At my age, if a man chooses not to get his hair cut, he has a reason.” Granted, in my case, the reason was because I was lazy and kept forgetting, but I wasn’t going to tell her that. “Anyway, I don’t have time – my interviewee will be here any minute, so I really don’t have time today,” I replied, sticking my rinsed dishes in the dishwasher.
“You never have time to look respectable, but you have time to eat enough food for two men.”
“To be fair, Dad was here. So in essence, two men did eat that food.” I
instinctively ducked at the smack that I knew from long experience was aimed at the back of my head.
“Oh, you brat.” My mother laughed and surprised me with a flick to the ear instead. When I looked at her wide-eyed, she laughed harder and commented with a shrug that raising five boys largely on her own, while her husband was always working, had taught her to be creative and think fast on her feet. I picked her up in a big bear hug, then set her down gently, realizing once again how tiny she was. Feeling a little nostalgic for the days when my mother seemed so tall, and my responsibilities were few, I exited the kitchen and kicked my younger brother Jackson out of the parlor to set up for my interview.
The clock on the wall read ten minutes before ten when I heard tires coming up the gravel drive. I let Patty, my mother’s personal assistant, answer the door and show in my one and only internship candidate.
I looked up, expecting to see a young man, possibly still struggling to cast off the shackles of puberty. The image in my mind’s eye of a pimpled, scrawny man-child were shattered by the curvaceous brunette that blushed at me when she smiled. I stood gaping like a fish out of water as she crossed the room and held out a hand. When I took her hand in mine, she was quick to grip and shake my hand properly, and I felt the work-won calluses on her palm.
“I’m Rachel Martinez,” the green-eyed beauty said. Her voice was low and breathy, and I immediately felt a physical reaction to her that startled and unsettled me. I was irritated with my bumbling lack of propriety and professionalism. When I frowned, she flinched as though I’d raised a hand to strike her, and I felt sick and embarrassed for frightening her. A split second later, my annoyance was turned on her. What right did a little field mouse have, to be out on a hard-working ranch like ours?
She recovered quickly, and I was astonished to watch her put herself back together. It was as though I watched her put up a wall around herself, brick by brick, until all I saw was a lovely, professionally courteous expression on her face and in her body language. Belatedly, I realized we were still standing and offered her a seat on the settee across from my chair.