Stallion of Ash and Flame (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Savanna Kougar

  At his truck, he turned around in time to see the door swing shut. Checking his psi-senses, he reaffirmed that no one lurked nearby. Quickly pulling out the equipment he’d bought, Trail set to work securing the windows and all the doors with superior locking mechanisms. Next, he set up an unseen electric shock barrier which could be powered by an indoor plug or run on solar energy. Lastly, he juiced up her alarm system, adding some simple technology from his realm. He’d used it back at his rental house.

  Once he’d tested out everything to his satisfaction, he hauled his gear into Rory’s room, glad for the private entrance. Out of habit, he stowed everything away in an order that would give him instant access without thought. Truth told, he lived like a moving target since it was the only way to stay ahead of his enemies on Earth.

  He cleaned himself up listening to the sizzle of bacon and inhaled the aroma as he changed clothes. Gazing at himself in the bathroom mirror, he rubbed his chin wondering if he should shave off his five o’clock shadow. She might think he made himself ‘pretty’ for her and planned on making a move. He might be planning like a rutting stud, but he didn’t want her on guard more than she already was.

  For that reason, he merely swiped a comb through his shoulder length hair, the same color as his mane. A dark brown close to black, it was burnished by bronze like his coat. His mane and tail were a darker shade. His skin color showed the bronze pigment as well. He could move about on Earth easier than some of his brethren since his features resembled the Apache race mixed with Caucasian blood. However, many of his race would have been considered so odd in appearance as to be mutations or what they were, alien to Earth.

  Donning a clean pair of denims and a dark green t-shirt, he strolled toward the kitchen. The smell of onions cooking in bacon fat and olive oil wafted toward him. Obviously hearing his footsteps, she looked up from slicing potatoes. She’d changed into a sloppy looking pale pink t-shirt and some tan drawstring pants. Her pistol lay within easy reach. Despite the looseness of her I’m-off-limits clothing, he already knew the ripe curves of her body.

  “Get settled in?” she asked, then dumped a bowl full of cut potatoes into the frying pan to cook along with the sautéed onions.

  “All settled in. How are you doing?”

  “I’m keeping busy right now so I don’t have to think too much.” She began dicing a green pepper.

  “Tell me where the plates and silverware are, I’ll set the table,” he offered as casually as he could, the last feeling he had for her being casual.

  “Look in the dishwasher. I rarely have time to put anything away. It just gets used and washed.”

  Heading to the dishwasher at the other end of the long rectangular kitchen, he opened it and pulled out plates, glasses and what looked like real silverware.

  “Bring the plates over here. I’ll load them up once it’s ready. Get whatever you want out of the fridge to drink. There’s purified water in the gallon jars.”

  Setting the glasses and silverware down on the simple plank table constructed of dark wood, he brought the two mismatched plates over to the counter beside her. “Real silverware?” he asked.

  “Yep, the real stuff. Rory and I buy it every chance we get. Estate sales and such.”

  “Why? For any reason other than the value of silver?”

  “Yeah, that’s our secret nest egg,” she joked. “Well, I suppose it could have been if we hadn’t found...you know.” She stirred, then turned over the mixture, so it would brown more evenly, and crumbled in the bacon. “Actually, silver is good for your health. It keeps all the bad germs away. That’s why we originally started buying it. We give it as gifts to those who will use it.”

  “What do you want to drink?” he asked, walking to the fridge.

  “There should be a jug of fresh milk and water. I don’t have much in the way of soda, except some of the organic brands. There’s some good salsa and ketchup. Yeah, Rory has to have ketchup on about everything. Help yourself to whatever you can find. Could be a beer or two, although Rory usually keeps it in his small fridge.”

  “No alcohol for me. I want to stay sharp.” He brought out the milk and water, then grabbed out a bottle of apple juice. He often drank it by the gallon.

  “I heard on the news there was a fire they thought would turn ugly, but it mysteriously died out. Good thing, since it wasn’t all that far away from here.” She piled the potato mixture onto the plates, then carried them to the table. “If you don’t like my cooking, Luke and Spook will gobble it up.”

  “Is that a threat?” he teased, and pulled out a chair for her.

  She twisted around, staring up at him for a moment, disbelief darkening her eyes. “No,” she murmured, sitting. “I just thought if you didn’t like it, or didn’t want to finish—”

  “Hungrier than a horse.” He seated himself opposite her. “How are they doing, Luke and Spook?”

  “Drinking tons of water. I left their outside door open for now. I boiled them some chicken liver. Gave them the broth mostly. Dig in,” she encouraged, lifting her fork.

  He did, after pouring out a large glass of apple juice. Surreptitiously, he observed her eat the first few bites hungrily, then eat because she needed to. God, how he longed to ease her way in life. Yes, she’d fought back against her bad breaks and won a lot of territory by improving her circumstances. But he knew life on Earth was about to get a lot rougher for most folks.

  They ate companionably for a while. He used the time to assess her more closely, studying the structure of her face for those clues that would give him a better idea of how to seduce her. Her mouth was generous and sensual, the color a deep rosy pink, telling him she wanted to be kissed and to kiss in return, a lot. Her pert little nose told him she liked impetuous passion and, at times, she liked to be playful. The strength and stubbornness of her chin warned him she would challenge him whenever she thought it necessary. More importantly, she would challenge his right to claim her. That was her natural female spirit.

  The high flare of her cheek bones not only added to her beauty, but let him know her sexual fires soared high, once ignited. And a man who couldn’t keep up with her or satisfy her deep passions would be a major disappointment to her. This went double because of the deep coppery flame of her hair. Even now, his hand itched to grab hold of a length and pull her to him. Not a wise move, given the broad width of her forehead. A stallion always had to appeal to a mare’s intelligence first to be accepted by her. Before she would allow his mating.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  He must have been staring too intently. “My apologies, Seneca, the color of your hair is unusual and beautiful.” Why not tell the truth? See where it got him for now.

  “Do you have a thing for redheads? Some men do.”

  “I’ve had a thing for most women,” he bantered, countering her tone, at once mocking, yet curious, and proud that she was a redhead. He gave a small lop-sided grin.

  “Or they’ve had a ‘thing’ for you,” she returned, along with a one-eyed glance over his torso, then his face. Her claws showed. Inside she ran, wild as a cougar. And she would fight like one.

  “Can’t say I’ve ever been neglected.” He let his gaze dance over her briefly.

  “Ice cream?” she asked as if she dropped ice cubes in his lap. “For dessert. I have the good, whole cream, organic kind.”

  He nodded. “I’ll clear away. And get some bowls.”

  “Just put them next to the sink. I’ll let Luke and Spook lick them clean later. Oops,” she paused before she fully rose from the chair. “Some people are particular about dogs licking their dishes, even if they are washed afterwards.” She raised her eyebrows, waiting.

  “No problem.” He grinned widely. “Besides, the damage has already been done. I assume they’ve licked those plates clean before.”

  She let herself smile in return. “Often. You’ve been permanently contaminated.”

  “Probably not the first time.” Scooting his
chair back, he gathered up the dishes and watched as she headed for the fridge. He wondered how a woman could dance her smallest movements. Somehow she did. Not like a ballerina, nor with the sultry fertility of a belly dancer, but somewhere between the two. She would be as sinuous and frenzied as flame against him. He knew it to the proud head of his cock, now shoving impatiently against his jeans. Inwardly, he groaned.

  “Brownies?” she called after him from behind the fridge door.

  “Absolutely,” he called back, mentally commanding his stud flesh to behave more like a gentleman, something he’d rarely required of it.

  Setting everything down, he drew in a giant breath. Hell wild, he should have known if he ever let himself this close to her, he’d gallop after Seneca, his hooves pounding full bore letting nothing and no one stand in his way. Now, only she stood between them. Pivoting decisively, he headed for the dishwasher and retrieved two bowls with two more spoons.

  The sparkling beauty of her eyes met him, her most riveting feature in his opinion. Her eyes held all her secrets, the vulnerability of her heart and the toughness of her spirit. The fact that she wasn’t immune to a man romancing her shimmered in their depths, too deep for most men to notice. God as his witness, he wanted to race his needs beneath her bright sky eyes and take her often.

  Trail often counted his blessings over Earthmen. In his culture, men trained themselves to notice what most men missed here about their women, or the woman they wanted. In his world, to know a mare for more reasons than mating, always meant a wooing advantage.

  However, mating permanently with a powerful mare-woman remained the priority for a stallion-man, and many a battle was fought over her during a breeding rut.

  “How much?” she asked, spooning out the thick vanilla ice cream.

  “Couple of scoops is good.” He seated himself. An instant later, he shot upwards, cautioning her with a finger against his lips to be quiet.

  Silently, he walked out to the front window and peered towards her drive. Headlights shut off, and he knew who had arrived before the man stepped into the pool of illumination beneath the tall lamppost. “Bobby McKeaver,” he announced, hearing her light tread. “He have any business here?”

  “Thinks he does. He probably came by with the excuse Rory needs something. They are friends. But he’s a pest as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Want a solution?” Trail seized his chance where he could. “I’ll act like your new boyfriend.”

  “Yeah, that might put a dent in his thick skull like a fast-aimed hoof. I can’t help but wonder what it does for you, though.” Her tone sliced through him, reminding him of winter’s chill. “Not to mention the gossip circuit in town,” she added.

  “At least the gossip circuit would let everyone know you’ve got extra protection out here.”

  She didn’t answer. Flicking on the light at Bobby’s knock, she moved to the front door, opening it.

  “Hey, Bobby, what I can get for you? Rory still okay?”

  Chapter Four

  Psi-viewing Together

  “Yeah, he’s happier than a coddled pup with all of Clara’s attention. I stopped by because Rory is worried about you. He had a strange visit. Two men who claimed to be FBI agents spent about an hour talking to him. They had badges. But he said they asked odd questions.”

  “Come on in.” She stood aside for him. “Tell me what details you can. I did have some trouble up here earlier. I don’t know what the heck is going on.”

  “That Trail’s pickup? I heard—” Bobby halted in mid-sentence. He eyed Trail like a challenger, his chin jutting out.

  “Yep, Mandy sent him over in answer to my ad. We were just having dessert. Trail, why don’t you put on some coffee?” She gave him the I-mean-business look.

  “Sure.” He smiled. “I’ll just mosey on out to the kitchen and get a fresh pot brewing.”

  “All the fixin’s are above the coffee pot,” she instructed.

  He nodded, striding toward the kitchen. They did need to discover whatever Bobby knew, then find a way to talk privately with Rory. No doubt, he’d been placed under surveillance now from the good guys or the bad guys, probably both.

  “If it weren’t for the job being such a good-paying one, I would have come up, taken over Rory’s chores.”

  Bobby had emphasized ‘good-paying.’

  “I know. And I thought I could manage it all for awhile. I’m stubborn about that sort of thing. However, I was only foolin’ myself.” She led the way inside the kitchen. “Ice cream and brownies, or just coffee?”

  “Your brownies are the best. A brownie and coffee would be great. Hey, where’s Luke and Spook?”

  “That’s the trouble I was talking about. They were poisoned. I think by anti-freeze. I don’t keep any up here, so that means someone intentionally poisoned them both.”

  “Are they okay?” Bobby asked anxiously, obviously truly fond of them.

  “They’re both recovering okay, so far. I think whoever the creeps are, they ransacked the stable looking for something. The padlock on the tack room had been cut, but nothing stolen. Odd, don’t you think?”

  “It is odd. There’s a huge business in stolen tack.” Bobby sat down, removed his cowboy hat, and hung it on the nearby rack. “Why didn’t you call Rory?”

  “What could he do? Besides, Trail had shown up by the time I found Luke and Spook. All I could think about was taking care of them. I didn’t see the broken lock until I fed the horses.”

  She took a small plate and a fork out of the dishwasher, then cut a generous portion for Bobby.

  “Just needs to percolate,” Trail announced, joining them. As if all he thought about was devouring his dessert, he spooned a huge bite into his mouth. More likely Bobby would spill what he knew if they weren’t pawing the air like stallions over her.

  “Delicious as ever,” Bobby complimented after a bite.

  “Thanks.” Seneca settled herself and took a bite of her ice-cream saturated brownie. “Melty, but good. Was Rory worried they were after him for anything?”

  “Naw. But they asked him about recent acquaintances, and if anyone had approached him about finding antiquities. What threw Rory is that they never mentioned the illegal trade angle.”

  Trail kept eating as if he politely listened.

  “Definitely odd,” she agreed. “Anything else? I’ll talk with Rory later. He probably tried to call while I was out bringing the horses in.”

  “Yeah, he got a bit concerned, even though he knows the routine. Then he figured the phone lines could be tapped. On his second try to call, he heard a strange series of tones.”

  “Good grief! I wonder what is going on?” She frowned, her spoon poised in the air. She didn’t have to feign distress.

  “Since you and Rory ride up by those caves where some artifacts have been found, maybe someone thinks you’ve found something.”

  “We have found a couple of little things. Nothing significant, though.”

  “That’s what Rory said he told them.” Bobby shook his head in confusion, then polished off his brownie. “Now, all I need is a cup of coffee and I’m good to go.”

  Trail didn’t hesitate. He grabbed up Bobby’s plate and his own empty bowl, and headed for the coffee pot.

  “Hey, Trail,” Bobby called after him, “I talked with Paula the other day. She says she misses your,” he paused for effect, “special touch.”

  “She probably does,” Seneca muttered loudly, “knowing Paula. Now, there’s a woman who couldn’t keep her jeans snapped, even if they’d been padlocked.”

  Trail pulled out a couple of well-used coffee mugs from the cabinet above, then lounged back against the counter, waiting on the coffee maker. Hell for luck, he’d lost ground, and now he had steep ground to race up.

  Bobby chuckled annoyingly, enjoying his moment. “I don’t think Paula is the only woman in town who needs a padlock for her jeans when she gets around Trail here.”

  “Yeah, he did mention earlier
about his overall appreciation of women. Not just redheads. Given that we redheads have an ego around feeling special, that didn’t earn him any points.”

  The beam from Bobby’s smile could have lasered Trail’s face off. He smiled to himself, knowing despite his stud past, he had a real shot with Seneca. Turning, he poured out a couple of cups of coffee. “Bobby, do you take yours black?” he asked.

  “I’ll get the half and half out.” Trail heard her chair scrape backwards as she rose. “Does Rory need anything, Bobby, since you’re here?”

  “Naw. Clara is spoiling him. He’s one lucky cowpoke. Must have found a few four leaf clovers out here.”

  “Clara’s been good for him. I’m hoping it will work out between them.”

  Trail watched her set the small carton on the table as he brought over the steaming mugs. The caffeine would do him good tonight. He didn’t plan on getting much sleep. Placing one mug in front of Bobby, he lowered himself to his chair. “Careful,” he warned, “it’s hot.” Spooning in a small portion of the raw cane sugar she kept on the table, Trail stirred nonchalantly.

  “Coffee always smells so good.” She sniffed, savoring. “I just have no tolerance for the amount of caffeine in it.”

  Trail reached for her empty bowl. Dipping out a spoonful of his coffee, he poured it over the brownie crumbs, then added some half and half.

  “Thanks,” she murmured, surprise in her voice and in her eyes as he handed the bowl back to her.

  “You know I’d stay,” Bobby jumped in. “But you know how Earl is about getting an early start. And I’ve got a chance to become foreman.”

  “That’s great, Bobby. All that hard work you’ve put in is paying off.”

  Trail dribbled in the half and half, stirred and sipped. He watched her taste the coffee mixture and savor. “Remember anything else, Bobby?” he asked.

  “Nope.” Bobby gave a short shake of his head. “I’ll give Rory a holler that everything is okay here.”

  “That’d be great. Just don’t tell him what happened today, will ya? In case his phone is bugged.”