Feeling uncomfortable on the wooden stool, I wiggled around, crossing and uncrossing my legs. Unable to find a position that worked, I gave up and walked over to the couch. My body was still sore from the bike crash and the scabs along my jaw seemed destined to stay awhile. But even with the wipeout a recent memory, my mind felt as if it had taken a beating.
"So," Connor said, blowing at the steam that rose from the top of his cup, "I take it you got what you needed for the horses?"
I nodded and leaned deeper into the plush cushions. "We got what we needed. But we won't be returning back to the same farm." I shivered at the mental picture of the severed horse head and tried to replace it with something less gruesome. It didn't work.
"Why? Was the place wiped out?"
"No. Something bad happened there. We'll find another place to rummage through next time," I answered, keeping my tone level and my gaze on the fireplace across from the table my feet rested on.
"Hasn't something bad happened everywhere?" he asked, clearly knowing I didn't want to talk, but pushing anyway.
"It was a different kind of bad. I'll talk to you about it later," I looked up at him, meeting his charmed appearance with a smile. Inside my mind, I chanted over and over: Do not jump him, do not jump him. But after he moved from the kitchen to the neighboring chair, sitting with one leg hooked casually over the other, sipping that damn cup and looking sexy as hell, all I could think about was ripping his clothes off.
Since I knew that was exactly what he wanted to happen, I rose instead and walked away from the sitting room, not speaking again until my hand was on the wooden staircase banister, "I need a shower, keep your eyes out for Kris, okay?"
***
The cold water gave me goose bumps, but I still felt flushed. As I stood beneath the streaming water, my mind was full of thoughts ranging from borderline indecent as far as Connor was concerned, to graphic and gory horse parts and on to fear and frustration that too much time had already passed since I decided to look for Mariah. She was out there, lost somewhere in a dead city. Finding her had become an obsession and I knew why. I had sent them away. I had killed her brother. Sure, it was self-defense, but that didn't keep the guilt at bay.
Someone had to care about her and for whatever reason I didn't understand, that someone was me. It was illogical. It was border lining on stupidity. The thought that I would locate any trace of her in a city as large as Los Angeles was absurd, but - and I knew this to be true - if it was me out there, I would want someone to come and find me, or to at least try. Connor had to understand that, or I'd end up going alone.
Not that I couldn't go alone. It's not as if I didn't think about it, but that would create an unnecessary problem and probably a small war between Connor and me. A war I wasn't sure I'd win. If I stayed in San Diego, I would be unhappy. If I left for Los Angeles, Connor would be unhappy. It wasn't a matter of right vs. wrong, it was a matter of who won this round. As I scrubbed the smell of horse and dry hay off my skin with my lathered loofa, I repeated one sentence over and over again in my head until I truly began to believe it: I will win this fight.
***
"Feeling better?" Connor placed a glass of an antique bronze-colored liquid in front of me as I slid onto the barstool. I intentionally came downstairs after my cold shower in just a loose top - no bra and a short pair of running shorts. It seemed that neither of us was above using our sex appeal on each other.
I let the water drip off the ends of my hair onto the floor underneath the stool. "What is this?" I sniffed at the glass and winced. "It's strong, whatever it is."
"Try it," he said, taking a sip from a matching glass. The muscles in his arms rippled as he effortlessly hoisted himself up onto the counter by the sink so he could sit and face me.
"Is it whiskey?" I sniffed again, leery of anything that didn't come from a longneck bottle. Connor could drink me under the table any day. I had learned that fact months ago. The drink was fragrant and confusing on my senses; oak, pears, chocolate, cloves and coffee flooded through my nasal membranes. "I've never smelled anything like it."
Connor chuckled and dragged a hand across his open mouth. "Oh, I'm sure you haven't. This is a very rare drink, my dear."
I leaned forward over the glass, inhaling its complex aroma once more. "But, it is a whiskey, right?"
He laughed again, leisurely sipping from his glass. "Taste it, and then I'll tell you what it is," he said with a wink.
Raising the tumbler to my lips, I let only a dribble of the liquid onto my tongue; almost sure I would hate it. The smoothness of it surprised me so I opened my mouth to let in more. With a slow swallow, the sweetness of it warmed my tongue before the bitter oak and chocolate hit the back of my mouth. Heat erupted inside my throat as the drink went down.
Peering up at Connor with one of my eyes squeezed shut I managed to squeak out a few words before coughing, "Yeah, that's good stuff."
He reached behind him and carefully grabbed a tall bottle with a faded red label and jumped off the counter before setting it down between us. I leaned forward to read the dusty label out loud. "Glenfiddich, Rare Collection, 1937…is that the year?"
"Yep." He laughed when my eyes widened and my mouth dropped open.
"Where'd you find it?"
"In one of the big houses on our last Julian trip. Jacks and I hit the jackpot in this dude's wine cellar. I brought back a few things. This bottle I planned to save for a special occasion but then I realized the man that owned it probably thought the same thing and yet, there it stayed, locked behind a glass cabinet door with a bunch of other rare shit. You know, I think only sixty-something bottles of this are out there. You can only find them in Auctions now." His eyes glazed over as he realized what he said. "I mean, before. Whatever, it's a rare whiskey, this is." He sipped from his glass again and pushed mine closer to my hand.
"It's not bad. But may I ask - why'd you pull it out now?"
"What? You’re thinking I planned on getting you drunk enough to promise to stay here in the mountains with the rest of us. And not go riding into the sunset on the back of a horse you don't know, spending a week traveling to one of the most dangerous cities in the country?" The sharp edge to his voice betrayed the smile on his face.
"That's exactly what I was thinking," I said, sipping from my glass. I couldn't help but wince from the heat.
"And, I take it you came down here dressed like that in order to convince me to let you go?"
"Well, two for two. A smart one you are." I rose my tumbler up. His eyes roamed freely over my shirt, pausing over the material that was stretched across my breasts. "Is it working?" I asked with my most seductive smile.
"Maybe, I'll tell you later. We're about to have company." With a nod, he gestured outside and I turned to see the rest of the group walking up the trail to our cabin steps.
"I hope you plan on sharing your whiskey find with the others." I said with a laugh while Zoey met Winchester at the door, all tail wags and jumpy paws.
"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" Connor waved the group in and smirked as I crossed an arm casually over my breasts.
"I'll be right back," I said as I waved at the others. I took the stairs up two at a time, hoping the other men weren't staring at my backside as I ran from the room. My plan had backfired. That's okay, I thought, there's always a Plan B. And Connor will eventually have to come upstairs and climb into bed with me.
***
Connor was still drinking with the other men well past one in the morning. The rare bottle of Glenfiddich had been a treat for them, especially Skip, who wasn't much of a drinker but did enjoy the occasional snifter of whiskey. The bottle was gone in less than an hour and the men had moved on to another amber-colored liquid that I stayed clear of. By the time I dragged myself upstairs, I was more than ready for sleep.
When my head hit the pillow, the weight of my eyelids multiplied exponentially and rather than struggle to keep them open, I submitted to my body's call for sleep. My last
conscious thought was about Connor and how I was going to convince him to get on one of the horses as soon as they were ready to ride.
It was the change in the air around the bed that roused me from a dreamless sleep. I heard the curtain from one of the windows drag across the windowsill and sensed its movement as it fluttered up against the glass. I lifted my head, my vision still blurry and smiled up at the face peering down at me.
"Connor…did you get enough to drink tonight?" I mumbled.
The face leaned forward slightly and I felt the mattress give a little as his elbows pressed into the bed. A chill ran along my cheek, travelling down the side of my face and crawled around to the back of my neck, lifting the small hairs that ran along my spine. The sensation made me shudder and I bolted upright and away from the man kneeling on the worn, wooden floor next to where I had been sleeping.
It wasn't Connor.
***
Connor stumbled up the stairs, half-laughing and half-grimacing as the drink he'd poured eagerly down his throat threatened to resurface with each step he took up to the second landing. For the first time since Fin, he was happily drunk, without a care in the world. And so was Winchester, who was sprawled out on the living room sofa, and Jacks, who was helped back to the cabin next door by Skip, where a pregnant Ana waited.
He giggled, not bothering to cover his mouth while he passed Kris's dark bedroom as the image of Ana came mind. She would be pissed to see Jacks indisposed and unable to wait on her. The tongue-lashing she would give the man would be epic and Connor was more than bummed that he would not be there to hear it.
After precariously weaving down the hallway, he finally made it to the room he shared with Riley. He was surprised to see a crack of light coming from the underside of the closed door and he pushed on it until the heavy wood creaked inward. Riley sat on the mattress, pillows clutched to her chest with her back pressed into the bedframe. She didn't look at him as he nosily entered their bedchambers, tugging at his shirt with one hand and the buttons of his jeans with the other.
"Hey baby…you waited for me?" he slurred his words as he kicked off his shoes before plopping down onto the side of the bed.
The shirt was fighting with him and he cursed as the material twisted under his arms and around his neck. He couldn't seem to get the damn thing off. "Whada fuck," he hissed, as the shirt snagged his lips and nose. With both arms awkwardly flailing in mid-air he began to giggle again. "Baaaaby, tink I's need help," he said. A full minute went by in silence as he continued to struggle against the tight fabric before he was free. He tossed the stretched out shirt onto the ground at his feet and noticed a wet stain down the front of it. "Huh."
Riley hadn't said a word since he came into the room. The thought that she was angry occurred to him but his head had begun to spin and the room was tilting and swaying with it.
"Fine. Ya win, baby. I give, mmkay?" His accent was strong, even to his drunk self and that made him giggle again.
When she finally did speak, her voice was flat, devoid of emotion. It didn’t even sound like her and for a split second he panicked, thinking he had wandered into the wrong bedroom. "Connor. Be quiet."
He turned his head around to stare at her. Yeah, it was Riley. It was definitely Riley sitting next to him, wearing something strappy and shiny. With a grin, he lifted a hand and fumbled at her shoulder, teasing the spaghetti strap until it slid down her arm. Without a word, she simply shrugged his hand off her shoulder.
"Awww, babe, dannae be like dat." He was drunk but not so drunk that he didn't realize how horrible his speech was. Clearing his throat, he tried again to speak to her but only got a fleeting glance in his direction before she looked away from him again. Feeling slighted, he smirked at her profile and followed her gaze across the room to whatever it was that was more interesting than him.
"Holy fuck!" he shouted, pushing off the mattress so quickly that he lost his balance and had to flail his arms to keep from falling backwards.
In the far corner stood a man with his back facing them. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, causing his body to sway from side to side. Blood soaked his shirt from the collar to the waist area and in the center, where his shoulder blades should have been, was a dark and fleshy hole. The back of the man's light hair was crusty from dried blood and grass. Connor didn't need to see the man's face to know exactly who he was. But it couldn't be. He was dead. Dead and buried on a hill not far from there, with a panoramic view of the lake.
The spinning in Connor's head took over and his body pitched forward. Just before he collapsed onto the ground, his eyes rolled back into his head and Fin's rugged voice spoke to him, "Connor…don't let her go, Connor. You can't let her leave us…"
CHAPTER eight
I rubbed at my arm with a scowl on my face so severe I was certain the horse knew exactly what I was thinking. Foxy stomped her right foot down into the dirt and kicked at it, spraying my boot with dusty residue. She turned around and stuck her ass in my face. Swished her tail at me twice and then casually walked over to the hay pile that Sunny was eagerly picking through.
"You okay?" Kris asked. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was drawn in a tight line.
"I'm fine. Damn horse is just stubborn. I'll try again later," I said with a huff while Kris helped pull me to my feet. I lifted my arm to find my elbow scraped and bloody. But it was my pride that had taken the biggest blow. Three times. The bay had thrown me three times.
It was mid-day and the sun beat relentlessly down onto my shoulders, turning my tan a shade darker. Gnats flew around my face and I swatted at them, cursing under my breath as one of the puny bugs flew up my nose.
Sunny was easy to saddle and even easier to mount. In fact, she seemed happy to have a rider. But Foxy proved to be more of a challenge. She allowed us to saddle her without a problem and even to lead her around the lodge lawn on her side pull. But the instant I put my foot into the stirrup, she changed. The first time she threw me, I hadn't even lowered my butt fully onto the saddle before being tossed off. I immediately tried again, only to have the bay lower her head, tossing me up and over the saddle horn. Both times, I landed on my backside somehow. But this last time she reared up and bucked when she realized I had a solid handful of her mane and wasn't letting go. My left foot slipped out of the stirrup and off the saddle I went, landing hard on my back just inches away from her stomping feet. She could have crushed me if she wanted or at the least, landed a few good solid blows before she stomped away, but she didn't. She was testing me. It was a battle of wills and I was intent on winning the next round.
"Let's take a break, let them eat, and hopefully try again when the sun's not so damn hot."
Kris nodded and carefully approached the horses, tying their leads onto the post by their hay pile. Foxy didn't look up at her, just continued to munch on the dried strands as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened that morning.
I was shaking clumps of grassy dirt from my ponytail when I heard Connor's voice, followed by Winchester's laugh. The trees had thinned out some from the heat of summer but I could still only see the tops of their heads as they followed the trail up. I briskly rubbed at my clothes, wiping at the dirt and scuffmarks left over from my falls. The last thing I needed was another argument with Connor about my safety. There was no way to hide my bloodied elbow, so I propped my hands on my hips as the men came into view, hoping neither would spot my injury.
Winchester waved in our direction and I nodded at him with a smile, raising my uninjured arm in a quick wave. Connor looked as if he had gone a few revolutions in a clothes dryer. His hair was pressed straight in funky places and curled in others. Even from a distance, it was easy to see which side of his face he had spent the last ten hours lying on. He was wearing the same jeans but a different top - the only tidy thing about his appearance.
As they got closer he smiled timidly, as if he was nervous or anxious to see me. "Well, good morning," I beamed, when the pair was within earshot.<
br />
"It's a perfect day," Winchester said. His hands were shoved deep into his jean pockets and he looked me up and down before a scowl settled on his face. "What have you ladies been doing up here all morning?"
"Cleaning the horses, can't you tell?" I answered. It wasn't exactly a lie. We had spent over an hour brushing the horses down with the shedding tools. And I had attempted to use the hoof pick to clean out the clods of dirt and mud packed onto the bottoms of their feet. Neither horse had enjoyed that very much. They must have sensed it was my first time grooming a horse and that I was nervous around their legs. Falling off a horse and landing on your backside was one thing - getting kicked in the head was another thing altogether. Thankfully, neither Sunny nor Foxy decided to see what my face felt like beneath their hooves.
Winchester nodded at me but the scowl didn't leave his face. "Being careful, I hope?"
I smiled, silently urging myself to keep from lecturing him that he was not my father. "Yep. All good here. So, I see you both survived the night. How you feeling?"
Connor groaned, the first sound he had made, and Winchester winced. "Let's just say this morning my stomach objected…profusely," Winchester said.
"I figured as much." I turned to look at Connor and softened my tone, "Sorry about leaving you on the floor. You passed out and all I could do was roll you around until you looked comfortable."
"I'm sorry 'bout that. You know, for coming to bed so drunk."
I shrugged eager to change the conversation. I wanted to talk to Connor, to see how much he remembered before his face kissed the hardwood floor the night before, but not in front of the others.
Lost in my own thoughts, I didn't notice the men stepping back from me until there was a good five feet between us. When I looked up at them with a frown, confused by their matching expressions of concern, something tapped me on the shoulder. As I turned my head to see what Kris wanted, a piece of rope dragged across my neck and I yelped. The stubborn bay stood just behind me with her head next to mine, her lead dangling against my back. She pushed her muzzle along the side of my face, rubbing my cheek. With a playful nip at my shirt, she turned around and walked back to her hay.
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