by Keary Taylor
Pulling myself up, I swing my other leg over the saddle and wedge my foot into the other stirrup. I reach forward, unclip the line tied to the post, and rein us out into the arena.
Sir Devil walks sideways for a second, feeling his belly out against the cinches around him. He tosses his head for a second, the feel of the bit in his mouth uncomfortable, the reins leading back to me disorienting.
My heart rate picks up, but there’s a triumphant smile on my face.
We go slow. We simply walk around the perimeter, keeping close to the fence line, but not close enough for him to hang me on it if he decides to throw a fit. He wiggles himself into his tack, getting used to the feel of it on him, with a person on his back.
And once he gets used to the feel of me up there and seems more comfortable, I give him a little nudge.
He twitches hard when I do this, but I’m prepared for it and hold his reins firm. Once he realizes I’m not trying to beat him, he works into a trot.
Every new step we take, every new speed we try, it takes him some getting used to. But one by one he settles his way into it.
The grin on my face must really look crazy.
The most out of control horse I’ve had to deal with yet, and probably the most expensively bred one too, and I’m on his back. And he’s listening to me.
It took us a few months to get here, but here we are.
After a full three hours of work, I tie him back up, unsaddle him, brush him down, and put him back in his stall. Because he did so well, I even give him a scoop of grain.
I rest my hands on his gate, and look out toward the driveway. There’s still no truck that’s rolled up it. Still not one parked next to the barn.
There’s one person in the world that I wanted to see me actually ride Sir Devil. To share this huge triumph with. And he’s gone.
I’ve been watching the driveway all day. For a rusty old beat up truck to drive up. For Lake to come back.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, the random people keep dropping in to check on me.
I’m fine. No signs of Travis. But I keep my handgun nestled close to me at all times.
I head into the house that night at nine o’clock. Make myself a ham sandwich. Shower. Collapse into bed.
I stare up at the ceiling as the house grows dark. Outside it’s silent—as bad as I want to be hearing the sound of tires on gravel. It doesn’t come.
It isn’t in me to go chasing Lake down, begging for forgiveness. But as I lay there, I feel sick. I feel hollow. I feel as if there’s that extension of me that is one of my better halves, and it’s missing.
I miss Lake.
I want him back.
I need him back.
But there’s this snake around my heart. And it says I’m too prideful to go chase him down. It says you need to be careful and protect yourself. It whispers nasty things about him not wanting me anymore after everything I’ve put him through.
Lake is probably at his parents’ house, and I’m sure I’ve got an address for them as an emergency contact somewhere. If I really tried, I could probably go track him down.
But the snake inside of me says I’m too scared to do it.
In the morning, I wake to the rising sun. In the midst of my tangled thoughts I forgot to set an alarm. I roll over and see it’s six-fifty.
The house is always so quiet and still in the mornings now. I miss Mom being downstairs, cooking something up. I miss her yelling at me to come down and eat. It’s just me now.
Comfortable, worn-out jeans hug my legs as I pull them on. A tank top I’ve had since high school goes on next. I walk downstairs. Make some toast to take out to the barn with me. Pull on my boots and step outside.
The first thing I notice is the dogs acting fidgety. Bear simply stares up the stairs to Lake’s apartment, his nose twitching. Chico paces back and forth, giving a low growl.
My eyes dart up to the apartment.
The door is open.
But Lake’s truck is nowhere in sight.
The door to the barn is also open. And I never forget to close it.
I rest my hand on the gun tucked into the back of my jeans and silently cross to the stairs. The dogs whine softly when they notice me and start licking me like crazy.
“Stay,” I say quietly. They both sit, but Chico continues to complain quietly.
One step at a time, my heart hammering in fear that one of them will give me away with a creak, I make my way up them. My heart is racing in my chest so hard I can barely breathe.
I listen outside the door to Lake’s apartment. But no sounds come within.
The handgun leveled in front of me, I push the door the rest of the way open and step inside.
Everything has been tossed. The kitchen drawers have been emptied onto the floor and across the counters. I find Lake’s few leftover clothes strewn out across his room. His bed has been torn apart. Someone has searched Lake’s apartment.
But there’s no one here.
The dogs whine quietly again when I come back down the stairs, Chico jumping up on my legs as if to say “Don’t go searching, Mom.” Bear glues himself to my side. But I creep into the barn, never resting my gun.
The horses seem agitated when I walk inside. Lady snorts, Trooper stomps and shakes his head. This is more than being morning hungry. This is knowing something wrong.
Sometimes animals just know.
I check each stall. And my grip on my handgun nearly falters when I reach the end.
Radio’s gone.
My blood runs hot and vengeful, and I swear I see red. I tuck my handgun into the back of my pants and reel back one stall. The gate creeks loudly as I open Dakota’s stall. He whinnies and tosses his nose, excitement and agitation obvious.
He follows me out of his stall and I dash to the tack room for his bridle. Not bothering with a saddle, that’s as much as I suit him up before I climb onto his back and head out.
For all of two seconds, I’m not sure where to start looking. But as soon as the dogs see me, they dart toward the back of the property.
I urge Dakota into a lope and we follow the dogs down the driveway, past the garage. Past the pasture fence. And I see the hoof prints in the dirt.
Headed straight for the mountain trail.
“Bear, Chico!” I yell to the dogs. As soon as they hear my voice, they grind do a halt. They both turn and look at me expectantly. “Stay,” I say firmly, pointing to the ground.
They both whine, but they sit their hairy rear ends on the ground and obey.
I race past them, into the trees.
The air is still and quiet around me on the trail. It’s only three feet wide and tends to get lost in the undergrowth. Trees press in on us, overhanging the trail, creating a tunnel. Sound doesn’t travel far, and the sound of Dakota’s hooves pounding the soft ground falls flat.
Every once in a while, Radio’s hoof prints disappear, but they always resurface.
This is it. This ends now with Travis.
He’s stalked me with calls and gifts.
He’s watched me, and seen who knows what.
He’s threatened Lake.
And now he’s stolen my horse.
I reach to my back and grab my handgun from my waistband.
One mile stretches into two and still Radio’s hoof prints continue.
I finally hear something up ahead.
It’s Radio, I know it is. He snorts, and I hear him stomp his feet in aggravation.
Someone swears.
I slow Dakota to a walk, then pull him to a stop. Looping his reins around a tree branch so he won’t run off on me, I creep along the trees, my gun ever before me. The trail makes a slight curve and I’m familiar enough with it to know it opens up to a little meadow.
And sure enough, there in the middle of the meadow, is Travis.
I watch him from the shadow of the trees, hardly daring to breathe. He’s got a blanket laid out in the tall grass. Some kind of picnic is spread over it. A bottle of
wine, glasses.
It would look romantic.
Except for the handcuffs that dangle from the back pocket of Travis’ jeans.
Radio is tied up to a tree nearby. He’s tugging on his reins, trying to free himself. Good boy. Travis keeps himself busy preparing everything. He looks exactly the same as I remember him. Tall and lanky. Curly brown hair that he keeps a bit too long. Button up plaid shirt, jeans, and always cowboy boots. His bottom lip bulges slightly from the chew that is always there.
This entire scene makes me sick. I’m so tired of this. Of having him over my shoulder, in the shadows, creeping into my room. Of feeling like he has any control over my life. I can do this. I can make him leave. I can make him see that if he keep coming around, that I will hurt him.
In five…four…three…two…
I take a step forward, and snap a twig.
Travis looks up, and I’ve blown my element of surprise.
“Riley,” he says, his voice surprised and caught. He starts toward me, just as I level my handgun and step into the meadow.
“I told you if you didn’t leave me alone that I’d make you regret it,” I hiss as I aim for his head.
“Whoa,” he says, holding his hands up, his eyes going wide.
Everything in me roils at the sight of him. He’s disgusting. A filthy, disgusting pervert. I shiver at the thought that he’s been watching me. What he must have seen. What he must have done while he watched me.
“Let’s not go and do anything rash here, darling,” he says. He takes a step toward me. I load a round into the chamber and he stops. “I just…I missed you. I wanted to see you.”
“You’ve been seeing far too much of me lately,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Right now.”
“You going to shoot me?” he asks. There’s disgust in his voice, but also shock, like he’s totally delusional. Like he really believes I want him here.
“If I think I’m in danger, yes,” I say. I take a step toward him, fire in my eyes.
“Such spark,” Travis says, a disturbing smile curling on one side of his mouth. “Just one of the many things I love about you, Riley James.”
“Get off my property!” I scream. Being in the same space as him makes my skin crawl. It makes my stomach roll. Makes me feel like I’m suffocating.
“Hey, now,” he says as he lowers his hands. “Let’s play nice. You wouldn’t want to go upsetting me. I just might do something truly nasty to that hired help of yours. It would be a tragedy if he were to go missing. Right?”
And a noise off in the trees distracts me just long enough for him to rush me.
Travis grabs my wrists and pushes the gun down just as I fire off a shot that embeds itself into a tree. He squeezes and twists my wrists, and the gun drops from my hands.
I swing at him, just as he grabs my hair and yanks me back. Instead, I give my elbow some momentum, and catch him on the side of the head. As he goes down to the ground with a yell, I hear the dogs barking off in the distance.
I haul myself on top of Travis and swing a fist. I land one solid blow to his cheekbone. There’s murder in his eyes when he looks back up at me and he catches my fist on the next strike. Using his body weight, he shoves me over, landing on top of me.
I can feel him harden as he presses himself against me in the dirt, even as he presses his forearm across my throat. My lungs grow desperate for oxygen. Frantically, I search for my gun.
“I love you, Riley,” Travis says, spit flying from his lips. He gets in my face, his wild eyes boring into me. “Can’t you see that I just want to love you? Why are you making this so damn hard?”
There it is. Just there.
My fingers stretch for it. Catch the edge of it.
But I can’t close my fingers around the barrel.
“Are you even listening to me?” Travis bellows.
And then he realizes what I’m trying to do.
On instinct, I swing my knee up.
I catch him in the groin at the same time Lake comes barreling into the clearing on Sir Devil.
Travis is off of me in a flash and oxygen floods back into my body. There’s yelling and scuffling, and suddenly the two of them crash into a small tree, snapping it right in half.
My feet try to get purchase under me, and all I manage to do is slide myself through the dirt away from the two of them.
“You picked the wrong woman to jack off to,” Lake bellows as he takes a swing at Travis. His fist meets him square in the face, and I can hear the crunch from across the meadow. Blood gushes from Travis’s nose. He only gets a pissed off look before going for Lake’s throat with his bare hands.
But Lake has to outweigh Travis by at least seventy-five pounds. Lake grabs his wrists, gives a sharp twist and flips him around. Travis loses his balance, falling to his knees. Lake, with one wrist still in his hand, kneels with one knee on the Travis’s back.
“I’ll kill you!” Travis screams madly. “I’ll kill you for touching her!”
Anger surges hot and wicked inside of me.
He’s threatened Lake verbally now. And the look in his eyes as he stares at me says he means it.
My fingers wrap around my handgun, and I close the distance between us, dust swirling around my boots.
“Riley,” Lake says in a breath through the early morning light that shoots through the trees in brilliant rays. One lands right on him, illuminating Lake’s face. “Riley, listen to me. Go call the cops. Let them come and deal with this bastard.”
I shake my head as everything in me goes still and cold. I press the barrel of the gun to Travis’s forehead as I kneel on one knee.
“You can threaten me,” I say, my voice absolutely calm. Travis’s eyes cross as he tries to look at the gun. He’s stopped fighting Lake. He looks terrified and shocked. “You can break into my house, and you can watch me like the creep you are. But you threaten those I love, and you’re dancing with death.”
“Riley,” Lake breathes again.
“My daddy taught me how to shoot when I was eight years old. I am very good, and this is point blank,” I say. My hands don’t shake. There is no hesitation in me. This ends now. “So do not have any misconceptions in my ability to kill you right here. Right now.”
“I’m sorry,” Travis whispers. Blood has run all over his face, and he looks like a disgusting, sniveling pig. “I’m sorry. I’ll do anything. But don’t kill me. You wouldn’t kill me, would you, Riley?”
I swallow, press the barrel harder to his forehead. “I want you to leave. I want you to leave this county. I’d prefer it if you left this state, this continent, this planet. But I want you to leave. And if I ever catch a breath of you again, you’ll regret it. And if you ever so much think of Lake’s name again, I will kill you.”
He mutters and sobs something as fat tears roll down his face.
“What was that?” I yell, shoving the barrel into his forehead again. “I couldn’t hear you.”
“I’ll go!” he cries. “I’ll leave. I promise.”
“Riley, we can’t just let him go,” Lake says. I feel his eyes shift to me, but I don’t look back at him. “Guys like him, they don’t just disappear. He’ll just find someone else to stalk. You don’t want him doing what he did to you to anyone else, do you?”
Finally, my eyes snap to Lake’s. He stares at me, adrenaline, fear, anger, and justice all there dancing in his eyes.
And I feel sick. I’ve handled Travis. I’ve hated every second of what he’s done to me. But I’ve handled it.
But what if he starts stalking some other woman who doesn’t know how to defend herself?
That would be on me for letting him go.
“He’s got handcuffs in his back pocket,” I say, looking back down at Travis. His face is a bloody, snot streaked mess. His expression wars between terror and anger.
Lake pulls the handcuffs out and snaps them around his wrists.
Suddenly, I’m filled with violen
t shakes. I yank the gun away from Travis’ head and back up a few steps. There’s a heavy indent impressed into his skin that’s the exact shape of the barrel of my gun.
Lake stands and yanks Travis to his feet. Travis keeps my eyes as Lake leads him over to Dakota. I watch, frozen and in shock, as Lake not too gently forces Travis onto Dakota’s back and ties his cuffed hands to the horn of the saddle.
Lake speaks to Travis in quiet, harsh tones as he makes sure Travis won’t get away. Travis’ eyes are wide and shocked, and he doesn’t say a word. I can only imagine what Lake is saying.
You really don’t want to mess with Lake McCain.
It takes me a moment to spring back to life. I unthaw, one limb at a time. I take the few steps back to the trail, and suddenly the dogs run into view. Bear and Chico circle me, panting and licking me like they’re all excited and so confused.
I climb onto Radio’s back, and it’s as if I can hear him give a sigh of relief that everything is back the way it should be.
I ride over to the two of them, and holding my eyes, telling me that this is my moment for justice, Lake hands Dakota’s reins to me.
It takes everything in me to not spit in Travis’ face.
Lake, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, climbs onto Sir Devil’s back. And the three of us head back to the ranch.
Lake is not a skilled horseman. Not yet anyway. He barely knows what he’s doing on the back of such a powerful animal. But just like that, he’s taken control of the most out of control horse I’ve ever worked with.
I watch him as we ride back to the property. And something shifts inside of me.
Lake’s strong legs, the Devil underneath him. The muscles that flex in his arms as the commands the beast. His furrowed brows, and the line between them that can’t seem to relax.
Lake McCain.
Here he is again.
And I’m never going to be the same.
Lake keeps checking his phone, and just a few minutes later, gets a cell signal. Within seconds, he’s on the phone with Sheriff Akins.
When we get back to the ranch, not another word spoken, the Sheriff is waiting there for us. Travis is read his rights, and then put into the backseat of the police car.
It took hours, lots of questioning, and statements from both Lake and me, but on that day, Travis Malone was brought to justice.