by J. D. Brick
On the banks of the river, the main house twinkles with Christmas decorations Virginia always has the ranch hands put up in early November. In this weather, all the fireplaces will be blazing, and the inside will be as beautifully decorated as the outside.
I almost refused Virginia’s invitation. I don’t believe it comes with no strings attached. But when she dangled my dad and Buick’s presence in my face, I couldn’t resist. And the truth is, I miss the ranch. It’s the only place I’ve ever really thought of as home.
Wow.” Kendra unbuckles her seat belt and leans her forearms on the front seats. “I can't believe I'm actually at the Cooke ranch,” she says sarcastically. “You sure your snooty grandma will let me in the door.”
I’m a little irritated. It’s okay for me to say that about Virginia, but not for somebody else to do it. “Yeah, Kendra,” I say pointedly, “I’m sure.”
“Hey, what about your grandfather, Virginia’s husband?” Blue asks as we get closer to the house. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention him.”
“Cause I’ve never met him. He left Virginia before I was ever born. Went back to New York. Told Virginia he’d only married her for her money, and it wasn’t worth it to him anymore. According to what my mom told me, anyway.”
Then I point toward one of the barns, which has an open garage door. “Pull into that barn,” I tell Blue. “The heat’ll be on and you can leave the car in there.”
“Yes ma’am,” he drawls. He’s been talking like Cowboy Blue ever since we left the highway. He shuts off the car inside the barn, and I’m slipping my socked feet back into my boots when Kendra makes this odd noise and grips my shoulder.
“Holy Mother of Pearl! Who is that?” I look at her, surprised, then turn my gaze out the front windshield, trying to figure out what she’s talking about. Buick is standing in the back of a pickup on the other side of the barn, pulling down bales of hay from a stack that rises to the ceiling. He’s shirtless; he pauses to wipe sweat off his face. Virginia always wants the heat up too high, even in the barn.
It’s obvious Buick spent his time in prison working out. He’s seriously bulked up since the last time I saw him. And he’s grown his hair out too; you can see it under his cowboy hat, falling in waves to his shoulders.
Kendra’s claws are still digging into me. “What is your problem?” I pull away from her and start to open the door. “That’s just my little brother, Buick.”
“Wait! Is my makeup smeared?” She runs a finger under her eyes, then tries to fluff her black hair with her hand. “How bad does my hair look?” She doesn’t even pause long enough for me to answer. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you have a brother who looks like that?”
Blue snorts. “So much for Henderson.”
I’ve heard girls go on about Buick being gorgeous for years, but I never paid any attention. He’s my kid brother, for Pete’s sake. And he’s only 18. “Kendra, he’s, like, 10 years younger than you!”
“So?”
“And he just go out of prison.” I feel bad telling her that. She had her hand on the car door, but my words stop her cold.
“What did he do?” she asks.
I sigh. “He got involved with the wrong crowd and went along when he shouldn’t have. Look, Buick’s a good person. Once you get beyond this big layer of stupid that he carries around, I mean. But he’s off. . .”
She already has the damn door open.
Blue and I get out at the same time. Buick sees us and jumps from the truck bed to the ground. He’s grinning. I suddenly can’t see very well because of the tears in my eyes. I could have been a much better sister to him than I have been. I hadn’t realized ‘til right then how much I missed him.
I wipe my eyes, clearing them in time to see Kendra doing this strange little sashay across the barn floor toward Buick. He put his hand out to shake hers, and it’s pretty obvious she is having to control herself to keep from jumping his bones right then and there.
“Unbelievable,” I say as Blue slides an arm around me.
“I can’t wait til bedtime,” he whispers, his lips against my ear.
I smile at him. “Me either.”
I hear footsteps and look up to see Virginia standing at the barn door, wrapped in a Pendleton blanket. “Oh shit, here we go,” I mutter.
Blue squeezes my arm. “Steady, bar girl.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Truth
Blue
It's usually the little things that trigger the memories. Like a pair of damn cat eyes glowing in the dark. I’m sneaking up the stairs at the ranch, trying not to make any noise, when I almost step on Boots, Virginia’s standoffish Siamese. His eyes—an eerie blue—flash at me before he rushes through my legs with a cranky meow.
And just like that, I’m back in Aziza’s village, sneaking around behind the mud-walled house she had shared with her father and four brothers. I’d heard a noise then and froze, my heart thumping, until a black cat crossed the alley in front of me, its yellow gaze sending a shiver of fear down my spine. I should have listened to my gut, which was screaming at me to get out of there. But I’d been determined to find Aziza and bring her back to the base before she ended up trapped in a forced marriage, like so many other girls. Blue to the fucking rescue, as usual. But it didn’t turn out that way.
I shake my head, trying to force out the flashback, and have to grab the stair railing to keep from tumbling over.
Jesus, Blue. Get it together.
I take a couple of steps up. The stairs squeak loud enough to wake the dead. Fuck. Virginia’s room is the closest to the top of the stairs. It would be my luck to wake her up while I’m trying to slip into her granddaughter’s bed.
Virginia Cooke. Her eyes, so like Keegan’s and yet so unlike them at the same time, gave me chills as she glared at me across the table this afternoon. She examined me like an unwelcome insect scurrying around on the ceiling. I couldn’t decide whether to return the stare or ignore it and focus on the lavish spread before me. It’d been a long time since I sat down to a Thanksgiving meal like that. Mama always puts out a spread. But I haven't been home for the holidays in a while.
So I stuffed my face and gave Keegan's grandmother a big, shucks-I’m-just-glad-to-be-here smile. It was the same kind of dumbass grin I used to give Bill. It’s far more effective than a head-on challenge.
I stop outside Virginia's room and listen for signs of movement, then scuttle like the rodent she apparently thinks I am toward Keegan’s door at the end of the hall. I have to pass her dad’s door and Buick’s as well. Hard to tell how they’d react to my presence in Keegan’s bed, although they’ve both been much friendlier than Madam Matriarch. Mark Crenshaw has a deeply lined, lived-in face with light blue eyes so kind and guileless it gives me a lump in the throat. I liked him instantly, and for me, that’s rare.
Buick is harder to figure out: wary, wanting you to think he’s prison-hardened, but his bravado feels only skin-deep. And he completely failed to play it cool with Kendra; not two hours after they met, they seemed unable to keep from touching each other as they sat side-by-side at the table. Buick was actually blushing all the way from his neck to the roots of his hair. And Kendra sure as hell wasn’t thinking about Henderson anymore.
No wonder Virginia looked pissed. She thought she was gathering only her fractious family members back at the ranch. Keegan is convinced she has some nefarious purpose for it. Whatever her reason, Virginia wasn’t expecting a couple of interlopers to tag along. Oklahoma’s most powerful politician would really shit bricks if she knew my complicated sexual history with both Keegan and Kendra. Buick might not be too pleased either.
I turn the knob, cringing as Keegan’s door squeaks as loudly as the stairs. Then I forget all about the noise or anything else for that matter. All my mind—and my suddenly raging dick—can focus on is the gloriously naked girl sitting on the canopy bed in front of me, the flames from the fireplace throwing flickering shadows on her skin. S
he’s smiling. She shakes her hair and it cascades over her shoulder, over one breast. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Every once in a while, I seem to step out of myself, kind of like those near-death experiences you hear about where somebody’s spirit rises up out of the body and lingers around on the ceiling, watching what’s going on below. Not to get too mystical about it, but that’s how it feels: as if some other, shimmery Blue steps out of my body and stands there looking at the other me, who is standing there gawking at Keegan. And other Blue—the one without a hard-on, the one with a coolly functioning brain—says “You will remember this moment for the rest of your life.”
The same thing happened to me back in the village right after I saw the cat’s eyes and made the mistake of thinking I was safe. Only a cat. That’s the thought that slipped into my mind the second before I felt the muzzle of an AK-47 pressing into my side and heard the voice—hate-soaked, in broken English—spitting in my ear. I had no doubt I would never forget that moment or what happened in the hours that followed.
My back is burning. Not that I notice it much at first. I’ve turned into one walking, throbbing penis at that point. But when I reach the bed and lift Keegan into my arms, she puts her hands on my back, and I cry out.
“Oh I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s okay. You didn’t.” I kiss her, then carry her swiftly over to the fireplace, dropping down on my knees and laying her gently on the plush white carpet. I ignore my sizzling scars as I whip off my shirt and pull off my jeans and underwear, kicking them aside. It’s ridiculous, the way my brain sometimes tricks me into believing the skin on my back is once again flayed open, shredded by the whip wielded by Aziza’s oldest brother. I am determined to ignore it.
My mouth finds Keegan’s breast, sliding to the nipple, where I let my tongue linger as she arches her back and moans. I move to the other breast, nuzzling the side nearest the fire. The skin’s warmer there, kind of smoky tasting. She moans again and says my name. I close my eyes and bite my lip so hard I taste blood. Better blood than the tears threatening to spill all over her body. Just the sound of my name coming from her lips is enough to make me want to cry.
“Keegan…” I fall on top of her, kissing her mouth, chin, neck, stomach, running my hands and my face through her hair, dragging my lips down, all the way down until my breath exhales against her thighs. Then my tongue searches for, and finds, the spot that I’ve learned sends shudders throughout her body until a bolt of electricity seems to lift her off the floor.
After a few delicious moments, I stretch out above her. We’re both panting. I stare into her eyes. They glow, reflecting the fire next to us; they’re soft, happy, full of life. So different from Virginia’s cold, dead gaze. “Keegan…” I’m not even aware of forming words; they just seemed to suddenly be there between us. “I love you.” She melts her lips against mine. Liquid heat, running into my mouth and down my throat. “I never want this to end.”
I clench her hands in mine, then roll onto my back, pulling her on top of me. I close my eyes as her hair tickle my cheeks. “I never. . .” I hear the tremor in my voice. Fuck, Blue, act like a man. She kisses me. “. . .want this. . .” She kisses me again, and I open my eyes, trying to finish the sentence. “. . .this feeling between us to. . .” One side of her face curls up in a mischievous half-smile as she slides her body against mine. She pushes down until, suddenly, I’m inside her. “. . .end.”
The last word comes out as something between a sigh and a shout. She’s so unbelievably warm and tight and all-encompassing. I want to be far inside Keegan, so far that I stop being me, at least the me that ever has to be apart from her. I don’t want to be the phony with a burning back. I don’t want to be Blue the failed hero. I want to start over. “Keegan. . .” I can’t seem to stop talking.
She shushes me by lifting her head and, at the same time, grinding into me. I make some kind of cartoon wolf howling sound. We move together then, a slow sensual rhythm that Keegan is completely in charge of. I watch her—eyes closed, lips parted, hair falling across her face, almost oblivious to my presence—this girl who only a few weeks ago had been so uncertain and inexperienced. Now she is using me as a very willing sex toy.
I am so turned on that things are in danger of, um, coming very rapidly to. . .yeah. . .a head. Don’t blow this, Blue. Fuck. I can’t seem to stop with the double entendres, even in my own head. . . .brain. Focus, you jackass. Think of something else. I don’t want to spoil this spectacular moment with poor timing.
But then Keegan’s eyelids flutter, and she’s gasping, running her hands through her hair, down her neck, over her own breasts as flame shadows dance across them. She calls my name, over and over. I can’t hold it off any longer. I’m pretty sure I do a full-on howl at the moon. I know I call out Keegan’s name more than once. It’s blinding, white-hot bliss. And it’s loud.
We collapse on the carpet side-by-side, rolling on our backs, our hands automatically clasping. After a few minutes filled only with our that-was-incredible heavy breathing, Keegan detaches her hand from mine and covers her face. “Oh God, what if everyone heard us? What if Virginia heard us?”
“I was just thinking the same thing. I’m actually surprised your grandmother hasn’t already busted into the room and had her ranch hands drag me away for some country justice.” I turn on my side, prop up on an elbow and run a finger down her arm. “But it would absolutely be worth it.”
She chuckles, but casts a wary glance at the door. I get up and pull a blanket from the foot of her bed, then lay down right next to her; she curls into my chest. We lay there in silence for a few minutes, under the blanket, listening to the crackling fire.
“Blue,” Keegan finally says, drowsily, “you know you’re my hero. That probably makes me sound like a little girl, but it’s true. You’re so different than anyone else I know. You’ve served your country. You’ve made a difference. That’s heroic. That’s how I think of you.”
I can’t help wincing at the words. She raises her head to look at me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I kiss her nose and pull her into my chest again, holding her a little too tightly. “Go to sleep, baby.”
Then, just before we both drift off, she says softly, “Hey Blue?”
“Yeah?”
“What time do we have to leave tomorrow to get to your mom’s on time?”
“I guess about 10. Why?” I bend my head down to look at her. She’s chewing her lip.
“Can you ride?” she asked.
“You mean a horse? Yeah. I actually took riding lessons in middle school.” I snort. “Bill seemed to think it was necessary.” I squeeze her again, inhaling the scent of her hair.
“Will you come riding with me in the morning? It’s supposed to be sunny and a little warmer. We can go early and be back in time.” She reaches up and runs her fingers over my face, circling my mouth. “There’s something I really want to show you.”
You don't think about things in order, like you should. Your brain, after war, doesn't work like that anymore. Shit's just jumbled around all over the place.
So that crisp, clear morning—the day after Thanksgiving—I am following Keegan, watching her hair streaming behind her, admiring the way she handles her bay gelding, staring at her ass bouncing around in the saddle. And then, just when my thoughts should move on to pleasantries like the way her ass bounced around on top of me the night before, my head’s instead suddenly filled up with a vision of Cunny's bloody face.
He was the only one still alive when I got to the Buffalo. His hand still gripped the goddamn radio so tightly I had to pry it loose. He'd been sitting in the back when the Stinger hit; it was the only part of the vehicle that hadn't been completely incinerated. I tried to keep my eyes off what was left of Monti and Hud and focus on dragging Cunny away from the Buffalo.
It’s all kind of hazy now. I remember hearing the explosion. I was sitting slumped against the wall in a
small room in Aziza's house, my bare back on fire from the beating I'd gotten. I was sitting like that all night, since they cut me down. When one of the brothers—who'd been ordered to guard me—was distracted by the noise, my instincts took over. I was on my feet and across the room in an instant, grabbing the AK out of his hands and smashing it across his face to knock him out. I'd have shot him if I had to, but I didn't want the sound of gunfire to bring all the others running before I had time to escape. And, in spite of what they'd done to me, I didn't especially want to kill one of Aziza's brothers. As horrible as they'd been to her, she still loved them. She was that kind of person.
I slipped through the house, praying I wouldn't stumble into any of the others, and out into the back alley. I realized later they'd all been drawn outside by the sound of the Buffalo being blown apart. But I didn't know at the time that it was the Buffalo. I didn't know Cunny, Monti and Hud were inside. My brothers, who'd come to rescue me.
I made it to the edge of the village, to the bike I'd thrown into a ditch after riding it the night before the short distance from the base. I figured a bike ride at dusk was a lot safer than trying to barrel into the village in any kind of vehicle. Not to mention a better way to not draw attention to myself since I was off base without permission. I had just jumped on the bike, meaning to race back to the base, when I saw the Buffalo, black bilious plumes of smoke boiling above it.
I don't remember getting to it. I don't know how Aziza's brothers didn't see me running and grab me again. Maybe they did see me, but they also heard the choppers already on the way. Cunny had managed to call for help, I found out later. First thing he thought to do, even before trying to save himself.
I don't remember scrambling through the flames toward him, burning the torn skin on my back to a crisp, or pulling Cunny out. I do remember begging him, as the choppers closed in, to stay alive; I remember begging him—begging them—over and over and over to forgive me.
I remember my heart pounding in my ears so loud I could barely hear anything else. So maybe it’s my horse's pounding hooves that brings it all back in a rush as I spur him into a gallop to keep up with Keegan. I am riding Buick's gelding, Okie. Keegan assured me Buick wouldn't mind. I sure hope that’s true. There’d been no sign of Buick or anyone but the housekeeper when we snuck out of the house at dawn and quickly saddled up in the barn. I'd forgotten how good it feels to be out on a horse, barreling across the prairie, enveloped by a clean, grassy cow shit-laced scent that smells like freedom. I could stay out here forever.