by Mima
She couldn’t hear the waterfall. She couldn’t smell the pines. She didn’t care about how muddy she was getting or who could hear the escalating, raw sounds escaping from her. She lived only for the chafing heat he drilled into her, fast, so fast. He was right. It was hard. She’d never had a man use his strength on her like this. Her breath jammed with each strike, her nipples aching as her breasts jerked on her chest.
Time passed while he hammered the pressure deep, deep, deep. It burst. She came wailing, forehead pressed to the dirt, and then he was grunting behind her, the most erotic thing she’d ever heard. The orgasm folded in on itself, soaring over the moment it should have landed.
Their bodies slid softer, slower, rocking in the aftermath. When he came to stillness, his cock felt fused to her channel, and the roar of the waterfall rattled her head. Slowly, she collapsed onto her side, his body pulling free.
She sat up with effort, filthy, sweating. He sat slumped nearby, one knee drawn up, head resting on his forearm propped there. His chest bellowed with effort still.
“See?” He grinned. “Fucking ain’t that crazy. It’s great.”
She nodded, dazed.
There was just something so iconic about the cowboy and his horse at the river. She’d head there and at least wade in the “crick.” It would be a great way to get in touch with this land that was so new to her. The tree leaves shimmered with that special quake aspens had, almost as if they were beckoning her closer.
Lauren went into her cabin and pulled out her swimsuit. A quick check made sure the black maillot looked as good as it had last month, and her feet were in her silver sandals. She added a huge, gauzy, aqua scarf around her hips, and she took one of the fluffy towels from the bathroom.
A moment’s decision had her leaving her cabin key under the front steps. This place doesn’t seem like a hotbed of criminal minds, she thought with a grin. A teenager who looked authentically Western led a pony past her with a tip of his white hat, confirming her choice. A three-year-old girl, looking considerably less authentic in her cowgirl getup, enthusiastically bounced on the unperturbed pony. That one’s name must be Grunty.
When she approached the river, she was surprised—but pleased, she had to admit—to discover the cowboy was still there, messing with pouches on his giant saddle. She snickered, wondering if the old saying about guys with flashy cars held true for cowboys with ridiculous saddles. Overcompensation?
He turned as she came up and her mental snicker screeched to a halt—this cowboy could mount whatever saddle he damn well pleased. He seemed made from mountain granite, his face was so square and chiseled. His eyes were dark slits beneath his brown hat. He was large-framed and muscled, but moved smoothly. In college, Sorrel would have called him a hottie.
Lauren was not in college anymore. She smiled and said, “Hi.”
“Hello.” He got points for saying it to her face first. His gaze slid down her body second.
Which didn’t bother her at all. “Hello. Or should I say, ‘Howdy’?”
“Nah. Then people would think you’re from Texas.”
“Which I wouldn’t want.”
“No, Ma’am.”
She smiled wider, and was charmed when a small smile rested just at the corner of his stern mouth. “Do you work here?”
That smile settled farther onto his mouth. “No, Ma’am.”
She had stopped a few yards from his horse. Moving the towel from her hip to her belly, she hugged it. “I think I’m younger than you. The ma’am isn’t necessary.”
“All adult women are ma’am. That’s how we’re raised here. Everybody gets respect.”
“Except Texas?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Oh, she really liked him. She moved closer.
“You’ll want to stop right there.”
She froze.
“Never approach a horse from directly behind. Left side first, so they can get a look at ya.”
Looking beyond him, she did indeed see his horse craning its neck around, ears pricked, to watch her. It was a colossal horse, a really pretty chestnut with a lighter gold mane and tail.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She angled herself more to the left. The horse relaxed, swinging its head back to the grass at the edge of the river. “I just got here today. Haven’t had my basic lesson.”
“Wheezy wouldn’t have hurt you. It’s just good horse sense.”
She licked her lips to keep from judging the name Wheezy with her face. “Sure, thanks.”
She stood in front of him and had that sudden awkward moment of connection. It happened so much in the city. A good vibe with a random stranger and then the dance of how to ask for an introduction without looking weird. “So you don’t work here, but if you’re a guest, I’ll eat my hat.”
Now it was his turn to work his lips briefly. The movement fascinated her.
“If you have a hat, I’ll eat my hat.”
“I have several hats, so there, Mister. But I won’t hold you to snack time.”
“You have a cowboy hat?” he asked in patent disbelief.
She had to be honest with him. “Hell no.”
“It’s okay. Lovely fairies don’t need hats.”
She blinked, uncertain if that was an insult or compliment.
“I live on the next ranch over. I came over for the hoedown tonight. And with all the times I’ve stopped at this river, I’ve never seen a vision like you walk up.”
For some reason, his slow, simple, slightly drawled words brought a blush to her cheeks. “This doesn’t seem like fairy country. Native wolf and bear spirits, but not fairies.”
He nodded. “I’ve lived in these mountains all my life, and I’d have said so, too. But—” He turned back to his saddle and finished tying a pocket closed with some long leather laces. “You don’t look out of place to me.”
Awww. So it was a compliment. “I saw you come across the river from my cabin and you were enough to inspire my own magical vision. You reminded me of a centaur.”
His head ducked down a little. “Ain’t no magic, just practice and trust.”
She shrugged, happy with their flirting. “Well, the river looked so perfect I had to come over for a swim.”
He gathered his horse’s reins from the saddle horn. “Current can be faster than it looks. Stay to the pools or the edge,” he warned.
She shifted from one foot to the other. “It’s still a little while till the hoedown. You could come in and cool off with me. It sure is warm enough.”
He nodded. Again with that appreciative slide. “Or you and I could take Wheezy out for a ride.”
She cocked her head, studying the big horse that seemed to have gone to sleep, one back leg resting daintily on the edge of a lifted hoof. “A ride, huh? Together?”
“There’s a waterfall up on the first cliff. It’s real peaceful. I’m perfectly safe. Anyone on the ranch would vouch for me.”
Lauren looked back at the river. It had drawn her over the other attractions on the ranch, and she was dressed for it. It was still calling her. She’d sure like to coax him into joining her. On the other hand, her cabin was close enough for a quick change, and the chance to be plastered to the length of . . .
“What’s your name?”
“Walt.” He leaned back against the horse, which didn’t budge. “And yourself?”
“I’m Lauren.”
“Pleased to meet you, Lauren.”
These western manners were really awesome. Riding with Walt seemed a great way to get used to horses, and the waterfall sounded interesting. But he was the most interesting thing of all. What should she do?
Go for a ride with Walt and Wheezy, or stick to the river?
She totally chickened out.
“No!” Her voice came out in a strangled whisper, but she sucked in a tortured gasp and
every babbled no that followed grew until she was screeching. “No, no, no, no, no, no!”
Wheezy’s head tossed up and down, and with a soft “damn it,” Walt pulled on the reins. The horse danced, front end bouncing, back end sinking. She bobbled in the saddle, moaning as the tree trunk loomed only two feet in front of the horse’s hooves.
They weren’t going over, but Wheezy didn’t seem to understand that. He continued to jerk, trembling and snorting.
“There’s a boy. Just wait. There, now.” Walt’s soothing patter didn’t seem to work. Wheezy tried to turn in a circle, but the trail was quite narrow here, clearly in an area that had seen a lot of erosion. A cascade of fine dirt and clumps of earth began to shiver away down the incline. The horse doubled his body, turning on the trail, his hooves sliding.
Walt tightened his hand on Lauren’s waist. “Hup, Wheezy. Hup.” His voice was low and calm.
Wheezy did not hup. Whatever was happening, Lauren was quite sure it was not a hup. As they started to slide down the hill, her nails sank deeper into Walt’s forearm.
“Come round.” Walt pulled hard, lifting the reins high against Wheezy’s neck and hauling the spooked horse’s head around so that it pointed downhill.
Wrong way, Lauren wanted to point out, but then they were off the path. It was so steep. She couldn’t believe how they were practically falling down a cliff. Walt leaned far back and hauled her up against him so she lay straight out against his body. She didn’t like that, craning her neck up to see the fast approaching wall of brush, fallen logs, and saplings they approached.
Wheezy’s body gathered, twisted, and then they were crashing through stinging trees. Lauren cried out, eyes closed tight, every muscle rigid. She got leaves in her mouth and something stabbed her in the shin.
Wheezy continued to thrash and lunge through the brush and then they were in a more standard forest, but still going down a severe incline with too much speed. The horse rammed past a tree, and Walt cursed as their legs were both caught and scraped hard against it.
“Get off.”
“What?”
“I’ll come back for you.” As easily as he’d twirled her up, he used her arm to spin her off. For a moment, her boots skimmed the earth. He leaned low for one lurch of Wheezy’s hooves, his grip biting hard into her wrist, then released her.
She landed with a rib-jarring oof and slid a body length on loose leaves. She came to rest rather gently against a tree with very pretty white bark. Either a birch or an aspen, she wasn’t sure which. You’re an idiot thinking about the name of this tree, she thought. He just chucked you off his horse.
Well. She had been rather dead weight. Rolling to look downhill, she tracked the fresh churned earth scar and caught just a bouncing blond tail as they disappeared into the trees. She flopped back to the ground.
When the world stopped spinning, she admired the blue sky through the shifting canopy of jade green leaves. Eventually, she sat up. Bracing herself against the tree, she stood, awkwardly leaning into the incline. Attempting to stand upright only led to sliding down the hill.
Sighing, she determined to follow Wheezy’s trail anyway. With halting motions, she kept her feet sideways to the hill and minced down, sometimes lurching from one tree trunk to another. This was not what she’d expected to be doing when she’d left Denver this morning. This was not the path of a Fairy Queen, either.
She felt horrible. She’d caused this by refusing the jump. It had seemed like the saner choice at the time. She tried to judge how far a walk she’d have back to the ranch. Resting against a young tree that bowed under her weight, she tried to get control of her shaking knees. Gauging the directions, she was pretty sure the ranch was to her right. Pretty sure. Well for now, she had a clear trail to follow.
For a long time, she worked her way down the hill. Her knee throbbed from where it had caught the tree. Her hip hurt and so did one shoulder. She had a bleeding scrape on one arm and some sort of bad scratch on her cheek. At one point, she pulled up her pant leg and verified the nasty cut in her shin from where some stick had jabbed her when they broke through the deadfall.
Grimly, she kept going. Eventually she came to a flat ridge and stood with relief on the level section, looking in either direction. Unlike above, this was not a trail, but it was open enough to walk along. The problem was that Wheezy’s churned dirt continued straight over it and down. The incline there was less steep, and looking back up the slide from where she’d come dazed her. She should probably continue to follow Wheezy and Walt, but this flat ridge led off toward the ranch. Biting her lip, she reviewed what she knew of safety. Don’t leave your location. Stay put.
With a sigh, she sat down on a lump of rock. Sweat dripped down her neck and chest, and these boots definitely weren’t made for climbing. Wiping her dirty hands on her jeans, she thought mournfully of the cool river swim she’d first wanted. And that’s when she heard the rattle.
The hissing metallic sound of a rattlesnake was a new experience, but she recognized it immediately with a primal reflexive freezing of her body. Motionless, not even breathing, her gaze scanned the ground desperately. On the extreme left of her vision, she found it, but only because it was six inches from her foot.
The snake so exactly matched the scattered brown leaves on the forest floor only the girth of its body allowed her to see where it was lying coiled in elegant S curves. It was smaller than she knew snakes could be, maybe only two inches wide in the thickness of its body. Its head was toward the middle of where it piled itself, and its rattle stood upright. The tail tip would pause, then blur into noise again.
If she thought she was sweaty before, she was wrong. Her body was instantly drenched, her heart kicking in from its shocked stillness. Her jeans stuck to her, and her hands ached with tension where they rested on her thighs. Don’t. Move. The order was a chant in her blood, despite the urging of her rasping lungs.
The sounds of thrashing brush and heavy thuds came from down the hill. Walt. Walt was on the way. Well, that didn’t change her immediate plan. Don’t. Move. Could she call out to him? Could snakes hear? Would a voice count as provocation? Swallowing, she knew she couldn’t speak without clearing her throat, but was afraid to. The catch in her throat swelled, but she choked back the looming need to cough.
The sounds of heavily huffing horse came closer. Walt spoke once to Wheezy in that low encouraging drawl, but she couldn’t make out the words. He was almost up to her ridge, and she simply couldn’t let him pass by. She coughed. The snake paused in its rattle. She held her breath again.
“Lauren?”
Tears popped to life in her eyes. She didn’t know what to do! Could she call out to him? Clearly the snake had noticed her cough. Or had it sensed the horse’s movement?
“Walt,” she whispered.
Wheezy blundered up onto the flat ridge in front of her. He tromped nervously, skin rippling, dripping with white, stinky horse sweat.
“What is it? Are you hurt?” Walt demanded.
“Snake,” she whispered.
“Stay still.” Walt turned Wheezy and walked him farther away. He dismounted, talking quietly to the horse, who continued to shift noisily. Then he started to mess with his saddlebags.
The thought that he was organizing his stuff while she was in mortal peril flashed heat through her, but of course that was unfair. She remained locked in place, waiting.
He turned toward her and her eyes almost popped out of her head. He was holding a freaking sword the length of his forearm. “Yeah, it’s a rattler.”
No kidding. She glared at him.
He walked around behind her in a wide circle, but she felt him come up closer toward her back. “Well, we can do two things. We can wait and see if he moseys away. Or I can go for a kill. No doubt I’ll get him, but he could strike out at you in that time.”
“Wait.”
�
��Really? How long you been here?”
She thought, but it was too hard to tell for sure. At the most, perhaps five minutes. Five aching, bruising minutes. “Not long.”
“Okay. Then we’ll wait.”
The rattler started up his little love song again, and she wanted to cry, but didn’t. Her vision blurred, but she held still. This time when he stopped rattling, he moved his head up in the air.
Another long, scream-worthy hold, but then he flowed away. Just as relief filled her veins with triumph, silver flashed past her and the snake was chopped in half in a writhing red-spurting mess. Another chop and the head rolled across the leaves, fangs gleaming.
“Ayeeeeeeeee!” Lauren’s body burst into a mad dash. The sky whirled as she threw herself backward off the rock, clawing through the leaves to get to her feet. She ran past Walt about twenty yards down the ridge. When she stopped, her knees were so wobbly she had to hang on a tree.
Walt stood looking at her, the knife pointing down to his side.
“What is that?” She gestured at it. “What are you doing with a sword!”
“It’s a bowie knife. I’ve got a revolver, too, but this is a surer kill with a snake and I don’t want to startle Wheezy anymore.”
Wonderful. Her riding mate was packing multiple weapons. Then again, they’d needed them. “You killed it when it was leaving.”
“Sure. Don’t need it hanging around. No sense taking a chance.” He gestured to his face. “You’ve got a bad scratch. I have a first-aid kit. Come on over here.” He turned and went back toward the horse.
On shaking legs, she tottered back over to them, giving the death site a wide berth. He hadn’t strictly needed to kill it, but since they were still standing around in the area, it was wonderful to know it was dead.
She avoided Wheezy’s rear and came up to stand with Walt. He had wiped the snake blood off on his boot edge and sheathed the knife. It was back in the saddlebags, and now he had a small white box. He opened it and took out a disinfectant pad, then handed her the box to hold.