by Karis Walsh
Kira had stopped under a colorful patchwork quilt hanging from the ceiling. Her head was tilted as she tried to read the information card, and she pushed a wave of hair behind her ear. Abby took a step back as the sudden urge to kiss Kira’s exposed neck caught her off guard. She’d been lost in the past for a few moments, and the sight of Kira’s skin yanked her back to the present.
“What about you?” she asked, sticking to a more neutral topic. “Do you like to compete?”
“This quilt has pieces of clothing from five generations of one family,” Kira said. She looked down again and moved on to the next case of food. “I played soccer when I was younger, but I never had a strong drive to win. Except in grades, though. I always wanted to be the top of my class.”
“Why?” Abby asked. She stood next to Kira and pretended she was more interested in the plate of petrified chocolate chip cookies than in nuzzling the nape of Kira’s neck. “I mean, I understand wanting to do well in school, but what made you need to be the best?”
“It made my grandparents happy. They were so proud of me when I’d bring home a report card full of As.” She paused. “I lost my parents when I was four, and my grandparents raised me. I liked making them smile.”
Kira left it at that and turned to a display of handcrafted toys and stuffed animals. Abby filled in the rest herself. Survivor guilt. Kira had been raised by a mom and dad who had lost their child but were pushing through their grief to raise their grandchild. She’d probably sought all sorts of ways to give them moments of joy and to rarely give them a moment of trouble. She knew Kira’s life wasn’t as simple as Abby’s pop psychology made it sound, but she had a feeling it was close. Kira was a peacemaker. She was strong and independent and capable, but she craved peace. Her world had been shaken by Dale and Rick and Tad, and Abby wanted to be there until Kira found secure footing again.
“I do have something entered here at the fair,” Kira said in a conspiratorial whisper when they were standing side by side near some knitted sweaters.
“This year? What is it?”
“Guess.”
Abby smiled at the dare she saw in Kira’s eyes. “What do I get if I’m right?”
“What do you want?”
“Um…” Abby ran through a tempting variety of possibilities in her mind. A kiss. Take off your top. She shook the visions out of her head and gave a somewhat more sensible answer. “You have to go on the roller coaster with me.”
“Deal,” Kira said with a smile. “Although maybe someday you’ll tell me what your other ideas were before you picked that one. You’re blushing.”
“I am not,” Abby said indignantly. She turned away and scanned the room.
“It might not be on display here,” Kira warned.
Abby thought about the other exhibit halls. “Let’s see,” she said, listing the possibilities while she mulled over her choice. “You might have grown a prize-winning tomato or one of those enormous pumpkins. Or maybe you have a collection of Disney memorabilia in the hobby hall. Perhaps a vase of geraniums in the floral section?”
Kira watched her with a smug smile, apparently certain Abby wouldn’t guess.
Abby snapped her fingers. She pretended she’d been going over options, but she went with her initial idea. “A photograph. Probably of one of your wetland projects.”
Kira’s jaw dropped open, confirming Abby was right. She seemed as taken aback as Abby had been to find out Kira already knew her well. “How’d you know?”
“Superior deductive reasoning,” Abby said. She was weirdly pleased with herself for getting it right and surprising Kira. She hadn’t spent much time with Kira, but she felt she understood her in some ways. “I’ll bet you can make great chocolate-chip cookies, and I saw your garden when I took you home, so I can guarantee you’d win a prize with your flowers. But you wouldn’t bother to compete just for the sake of getting a ribbon. You’d have to have a reason for wanting to share whatever you’d created. Now, you have to show me the picture.”
“Don’t look so proud of yourself. It isn’t becoming,” Kira said, but with a teasing smile. She led Abby through the maze of photos and stopped in front of the nature and landscape section.
Abby picked out Kira’s photo before she read her name on the placard. The shot was taken from the ground, looking up through a stand of cattails. Treetops in the distance added asymmetrical layers to the picture. Clouds of different shapes crisscrossed the sky, in waves and puffs and wispy curls. A red second-place ribbon was attached to the frame.
“It’s beautiful,” Abby said. “I love how you gave texture and depth to a two-dimensional medium. It’s…It shows how you feel about these city wetlands you work so hard to save. They might be surrounded by houses or businesses, but they are pieces of nature. You connect to the earth and up to the sky. Self-contained, but connected.”
Kira watched Abby as she examined the photo. Her words captured what Kira had been trying to portray in the picture, but Abby’s appreciative scrutiny of it meant even more than her intuitive interpretation. Abby understood her, she’d proven it when she had figured out what Kira entered in the fair. Kira might be a private person, keeping things to herself, but she wasn’t able to do the same thing when it came to her work with the environment. She had to shout to the world about the value she saw when she studied the plants and wildlife coexisting in the endangered ecosystems. She had to fight like a mother wildcat to protect them from development and pollution—whether by people who were too wealthy or too little informed to care about the harm they did.
Kira had been lying on the muddy edge of the water that day, tracking the sound of a red-legged frog and hoping to get a picture, when her supporting hand slipped and she toppled into the muck. She had saved her camera by rolling onto her back as she fell, and she had found herself staring up at the waving cattails with clouds wafting behind them. The sound of nearby traffic receded, as did the anxiety she’d been feeling because the whole area was slated to become yet another strip mall if she wasn’t able to save it. Her world narrowed to a single frame, and she captured it on film. As Abby had guessed, Kira had needed to share her vision with the public, somehow, even if no one besides her understood it. But Abby had.
“Come on, Mom.” Julie appeared from behind the display stands. “We need to get back to the barn because the chicken judging is going to start soon.” She paused. “It’s an awesome photo, isn’t it, Abby? You should have seen Mom the day she took it. Head-to-toe mud. It was disgusting.”
“Chicken judging?” Abby repeated with disbelief in her voice. “When you asked me to see the fair with you, I don’t think I realized what you actually meant.”
“You were expecting the Extreme Scream and a funnel cake, I suppose?” Kira took Abby’s hand and hurried them to the escalator. She had done it automatically, because the girls were already far ahead, and Abby seemed inclined to stay put in the Pavilion, but the rightness of it scared her. Having Abby’s hand in hers felt as natural as if it had been created for just that purpose. The feeling was deceptive. She might enjoy Abby’s company, and Abby might be connected to her life right now in some very confusing ways, but the whole situation was too complex for Kira. If she were stupid enough to repeat a dangerous pattern with another dominant woman, then all her self-pride would rightly disappear. She and Julie deserved better than a life spent under someone else’s control. Seeing Abby and Dale facing off with each other had made her realize how dominant Abby was. Would the trait ever be used against her? She didn’t believe so—after all, Abby had been defending her, not attacking her.
Kira tried to act casual when she dropped Abby’s hand. “Julie and Angie have a friend who raises chickens for her 4-H project. They actually bathe them in the sink.” She couldn’t keep the note of horror out of her voice. She loved birds in the wild, but the thought of chicken poop in her kitchen made her skin crawl. She’d have to eat out for months after.
“That sounds…unhygienic,” Abby said as the
y rushed across the fairground, dodging around groups of people. “And it must be disturbing for the chickens to be so close to the stove. You’d have to be sure to keep the lemons and capers hidden.”
Kira stopped speed-walking and pointed her finger at Abby. “You cannot make me laugh when we’re in there. Promise?”
“I wasn’t telling a joke,” Abby said in her deadpan way that made Kira want to crack up. “I really think they’d be traumatized if they happened to see the ingredients for a nice piccata sauce on the counter next to them. They’d need counseling afterward.”
“Maybe the therapist could put a silver platter on his couch for them to sit in. He could close the dome lid if they got too emotional.”
“I changed my mind about chicken judging,” Abby said with a grin. She started walking again and called to Kira over her shoulder. “I think this is going to be fun. Let’s go.”
“You have to behave,” Kira pleaded when she caught up to Abby and they joined the crowd around the judging area. Her entreaty lost some of its effectiveness because she’d joined in with Abby’s joke, but she hoped it would work. She was feeling punchy from lack of sleep, but at least she was inclined to laugh and not sob. A small but significant victory for the day. She stood in front of Abby, and the large number of spectators in the small room meant she had to stand close enough so the full length of her back was against Abby’s front.
Kira leaned back. She’d been aware of her body’s reaction to Abby since the first moment they’d touched. Electric and arousing. Abby stirred desire with the flick of her tongue against fingertips or the press of a thigh against hers. But when Abby put her hands on Kira’s hips and anchored them together, Kira felt an entirely new response seeping through her. She felt calm and protected. She sighed and felt her body shudder as the tension she’d been carrying broke free and floated away.
The feeling of belonging was more frightening than her original, undeniable sexual response to Abby had been.
Kira looked around the room, searching for some way to distract herself from the bewitching pressure from Abby’s body. Long tables were placed around the room, with dividers between the contestants. Kira supposed it was because they might peck at each other if they weren’t separated. The judges walked to each station and examined the birds, prodding them and looking at beaks and feet.
“What do you think she’s saying?” Abby leaned down and whispered in her ear.
The warmth of her breath bombarded Kira’s ear and radiated outward. She felt it everywhere, as if she was made of dry kindling and the mere tickle of air ignited her. She blinked, trying to concentrate on Abby’s words and the judge in front of her who was poking at a large hen’s breast.
“Maybe Hmm, I could make at least twenty McNuggets out of this one,” she said. She covered her mouth in an attempt to conceal her snort of laughter that echoed Abby’s, but the judge gave them an angry glare. Abby grabbed her arm and pulled her outside where they collapsed in giggles against the side of the barn.
“I can’t believe you said that,” Abby said, wiping her eyes.
“Me? You started it, you and your piccata sauce. I’ll probably be banned from all future chicken judging.”
“How can I ever make it up to you?” Abby asked. She skimmed her fingers through Kira’s hair and down the side of her neck.
“Do you want a list? Because I can make a long one right now.” Kira was too worn out, too depleted to be able to filter her thoughts and keep from saying them out loud. Her body felt energized by Abby’s touch, even as her mind seemed to slow down, and all she wanted was for Abby to lean a little closer and kiss her, no matter how bad a decision it might prove to be.
A burst of commotion from a passing group of teenagers caught their attention for a moment. Abby looked at them, and then back at Kira. She sighed and stroked Kira’s hair once more, but this time Kira felt her letting go, not reaching closer.
“You must be exhausted,” Abby said. “You should get home and sleep, and I need to get to work.”
She walked a few steps away before turning back toward Kira, where she was still leaning against the wooden building. “Maybe I’ll ask you about that list of yours another time.”
Kira watched her until she was swallowed up by the crowd. Abby was right. She needed to get to bed, but she sure as hell wouldn’t be going to sleep anytime soon.
Chapter Thirteen
The next afternoon, Abby slid off Legs and pulled the reins over her head. She was stopped several times before she got back to the barn by people who wanted to take a picture with her and the pretty gray mare. She smiled for the cameras and chatted with the bystanders while they patted her horse, but she felt out of sync with the whole process. Today, she had put on a friendly expression the same way she put on her uniform. It was something she was supposed to wear, not something that felt natural. She was relieved when she got back to the more private aisle where Legs and the other police mounts were stabled, but even there they were on display. They were separated from the public by a mere piece of yellow tape, as if they were in a crime scene, and people stood just beyond the fragile barrier and watched the riders work as they untacked and groomed the horses.
Abby was carrying her saddle back to the makeshift tack room when a man with a little girl on his shoulders called out a question about it. She carried the bulky saddle over to him and explained the various parts of it while he asked question after question until she wanted to conk him on the head with one of the heavy stirrups. She would have publicly berated any of her officers if they were rude to a citizen when they were supposed to be goodwill ambassadors for the city, so she had to maintain the same pleasant and friendly attitude she’d expect from them. She eventually disengaged from the conversation, and she took the saddle into the stall Rachel had filled with saddle racks and grooming equipment. She sat on a small trunk and rested her hands on her knees while she inhaled and exhaled slowly. She could use more time and privacy to decompress before they went on duty tonight, but she didn’t have the luxury of either.
“You did well today,” Rachel said as she entered the stall with Bandit’s bridle in her hand. “You and Legs looked like old pros out there. You looked settled, I suppose.”
“Thank you,” Abby said. She had felt more natural on horseback, finally, as if she hadn’t had so much time off. She wasn’t sure how much of it was because she was adapting to the work and the routines and how much was because her mind was occupied and so her body had been able to perform without constant overthinking. She had been dwelling on Kira, replaying their interactions over the past days. The events had been crazy—from her recognition of Kira to their playful lunch to Kira’s kidnapping to their near-miss moment of passion. Time had been compressed because so much had taken place, and she had gotten too close too fast. She couldn’t believe they’d only met last Friday, but she’d been ready to kiss her yesterday. No wonder she had strict rules about not dating anyone connected to her work. She couldn’t handle the mix of personal and professional very well at all. She hoped Rachel’s words were prophetic in more ways than one and that Abby’s feelings toward Kira would settle. Disappear.
Rachel hung the bridle on a hook and picked up a tote full of horse brushes. “Are you all right, Lieutenant? You look a little tired. You took part in the demos more than usual today, so if you need to—”
Abby held up her hand. “Don’t tell me to take the night off, Sergeant. I’ll be fine.” She would be. As long as she reminded herself where her boundaries were and why they should be maintained.
“Okay.” Rachel turned to go, but paused in the doorway. “Cal and I are going to grab some dinner before we go on patrol. Why don’t you join us?”
Abby was tempted—a regular experience for her these days—but she shook her head. Boundaries didn’t just apply to romantic involvement with Kira. Abby had waded in the shallow end of friendship with her team, joking on their patrol rides and even asking Billie for help in case Kira needed it. But
she wouldn’t allow her ethics to drown because she was lonely and wanted friends.
“Thanks, Rachel, but go on without me. I’ll meet you back here in an hour.”
Abby stood up and braced herself for the walk back to Legs’s stall. Luckily, there were fewer people clustered around the barn door than before.
“Hey, Lieutenant,” Don called out to her as she walked by Fancy’s stall. “Are you hungry? We’re going over to the International Village during our break, if you wanna come.”
“Um, no. But thank you, Don.” Abby wasn’t accustomed to her team—or anyone from work, for that matter—making so many overtures of friendship toward her. She met Billie coming out of Ranger’s stall and raised her eyebrows, waiting for her chance to refuse yet another meal invitation.
“Don’t worry, Lieutenant, I already heard you say no twice, so I’m not going to ask.” Billie grinned at her and walked on a few steps before turning around. “But if you change your mind, you know where to find us.”
Abby shook her head and ducked into the stall with Legs, irritated that she felt as transparent as she did. Abby had been hesitant about bringing Billie on as a mounted officer after their first interview, but she was damned glad she had listened to the recommendation of Billie’s sergeant at the time and had gone against her first instincts. She didn’t admit to having wrong gut feelings often, but in this case she’d been way off the mark. She’d been concerned about Billie’s lack of prior riding experience. In fact, her only time with horses had come when she had returned from the Middle East and had taken part in a therapeutic equestrian program for soldiers suffering from PTSD. The records were in Billie’s file, but she’d been very close-lipped about both the PTSD and her time with the program. Well, she’d been reserved about everything during her interview. Abby had eventually hired her but had kept a close watch on her progress and had carefully read Rachel’s evaluations. Billie might not have been taught long, but she’d been taught well. Abby had never regretted making her part of the team, but she had always considered herself to be as much an enigma to the rest of the department as Billie was to her. Now, she felt exposed. Maybe it had been a bad idea to join the team this week and be seen as one of them, instead of as their aloof lieutenant. She had liked being here with the horses, but she hadn’t chosen her career to have fun.