by Tia Louise
“No,” I say quietly, staring into her big black eyes. “She has such a pretty face.”
The black covering her nose is like a sheer veil with darker spots scattered across the bridge and between her eyes. The white spot in the center of her forehead reminds me of a little moon shining above it all.
“It’s almost as if her spot is casting a reflection down her face,” I say, and without thinking my hand moves from her neck to the white spot at the top of her head.
“Easy,” Stuart says softly, but she doesn’t pull away or even resist.
I place my palm flat over the white circle and look into her eyes. “Hello, girl,” I whisper. “You’re a beauty, did you know that?”
“I’ve never touched her there,” Stuart says in the same even tone. “She’s letting you do more with her than she lets me.”
“See?” My voice takes on a musical quality. “She’s my horse. I told you.”
Still, he stays beside me, not releasing her. “It’s good that she lets you touch her. She trusts you.”
“It’s because she knows I love her. I can’t wait to ride her.”
“We’re a ways out from riding. It’s possible we might not even make it that far before we have to leave.”
Pulling my hand back, I jerk my face to look at him. “What?”
The sudden change causes Jessie to pull back. She nods her head up and down, trying to lunge away from us, but Stuart holds her, stepping in front of me to block her with his body.
“Ho! Easy, girl.” He holds her nose making that clicking noise, and I feel terrible.
“I’m sorry.” My voice is back to soft. “I didn’t mean to scare her.”
He continues making the clicking sound, holding her. “Come on, it’s okay.” She lets him put his hand on her neck and then her face again, and I exhale the breath I was holding.
“Bill’s been working with her. She’s not going to lose ground so fast.” He’s got her back to him now. “Still, she has to trust me if I’m going to teach her speeding up and slowing down on the line.”
“And me!”
He looks over and smiles, and my stomach does a little flip. “She already seems to trust you. Sit up on the fence while I let her run.”
I skip back over to the fence and climb up while he makes a different noise to her. I’m starting to understand the different sounds are for different commands.
“What if someone works with her, and they don’t know all the sounds you make?” I watch as he follows her, jogging to the right.
“They’re pretty standard in the horse world. Bill taught them to me.”
My brow lines. “I don’t know any of them.”
“Just keep listening. You’ll catch on.”
I sit and watch as he leads her around and around until he takes a few steps toward her while saying whoa. She does not stop, and he repeats the process, shortening the line. They keep at it again and again until she finally stops when he gives the command.
“She’s very smart,” I call out from where I’m sitting.
He nods. “She learns fast. We’ll have to wait and see how much she’s like Freckles.”
I know he’s referencing her mother’s habit of being flighty and running away. Uncle Bill told me Freckles was captured with a band of wild horses, which is why she’s prone to erratic behavior. Jessie isn’t like her. I’m convinced my little horse is different.
As they work, my eyes follow the movement of her legs, the way it’s almost like dancing how she takes tiny steps to avoid Stuart, then large, graceful canters when she’s doing what she’s told. Stuart’s expression is focused, intense. His hazel eyes never leave her, and his light-brown hair is messy over his forehead. The muscle in his jaw moves, and the rope is like an instrument in his elegant hands. He’s strong and so intoxicatingly handsome as I watch him work with her.
It feels like we’ve been out here for hours, and I skipped breakfast. Still, I don’t want to miss anything. Quickly dropping down to fetch my sketchpad, I climb back to the top rail, holding it on my lap.
With one long, black sweep, I draw the curve of Jessie’s back. Her dark mane ripples along her side, and her tail is slightly raised. The grasses in the pen are low and brown, and behind all of it, the hazy mountains rise in the distance, purple, green, and gray.
Stuart is lean and tall guiding her. I shade the cuffs in his sleeves then spend a little time shading the muscles in his forearms. Watching the movement of his hands, my mind drifts to our morning in the spring and his hands on my bare skin. Warmth spreads across my stomach in a fizzy wave. The water in the creek was fizzy and warm. The sun was bright over our heads like the brightness of the sun today…
Too bright. It makes my eyes ache. Brightness, aching eyes. It’s like my dream. My sketchpad is so heavy. I need to put it down. My head is light, and from somewhere far off, I hear a voice shouting my name. I have to close my eyes. I’m falling…
Three worried faces are the next things I see. I’m lying on the couch in the house, and a cool rag is on my head. Bill’s face is drawn tight, and Stuart’s is pale. Sylvia looks like she’s about to cry.
“What happened?” I whisper, trying to sit up.
“Oh, thank God!” Sylvia gasps, catching my shoulder. “Lie back and sip this.”
She holds a glass of lemonade to my lips, and I sip it. Grasping it tighter, I take another, longer sip. It’s the best-tasting lemonade I’ve ever had.
“Take it easy now,” Bill says calmly. “You got a little overheated.”
“But I wasn’t doing anything…” I try to remember the last thing that happened before I passed out. “I was just sitting on the fence sketching.”
“On the top of the fence. If I hadn’t heard your sketchpad fall, looked up and saw you swoon.” Stuart’s voice trails off, and I realize what must have happened.
“Is Jessie okay?”
“Forget Jessie. Are you okay?” I can tell how worried he is by the sharpness of his tone, and I quickly try to ease his mind.
“I’m okay. I should’ve eaten some breakfast is all—”
“You didn’t eat breakfast?” His voice rises, and his mother stands quickly beside him.
“Why don’t you ask Winona if she has a little bread or something mild like a banana or cheese…”
His jaw is tight, and his eyes flash. I wish there was a blanket or something I could pull over my head to hide. “No more skipping meals,” he says in a voice just above a growl.
With that he turns and heads for the kitchen, and I feel the blood flaming hot in my cheeks. “I had no idea I would faint like that. I’ve never fainted in my life.”
“Your blood sugar must’ve dropped,” Sylvia says. “It never happened to me until I was nursing, but you’re not very big to begin with.”
“I’ll let you two have some privacy. I’m glad you’re okay,” Bill says, giving me a kind smile. Then he tilts his head toward the kitchen where Stuart went. “Don’t worry about him.”
My stomach tightens, and I’m so embarrassed. “I can’t believe this happened. As if he weren’t overprotective enough.”
“Now, stop that.” Sylvia moves my legs and sits beside me on the couch. “You’re still learning how your body is going to respond to pregnancy. It’s not your fault.”
“Still, I should know not to skip meals. Especially breakfast.”
“You’re also not used to this climate. The air is drier and a little thinner. We’re at a higher elevation.”
The thud of boots on the wooden floor signals Stuart’s return. I look up to see his expression has cooled slightly, even though his jaw is still tight.
“Mom, can I steal your seat?” he says, and Sylvia jumps up.
“Of course.” As she starts to go, she squeezes his shoulder. “Be gentle.”
His eyes are fixed on the plate in his hand. Winona has arranged several slices of fresh cucumber, a wedge of watermelon, several cheese cubes, and a stack of crackers.
&nbs
p; “Do you need some more lemonade?” His voice isn’t as stern as I expected, and I relax slightly. Still I feel guilty.
“I’m okay for now.” Picking up a slice of cucumber, I eat it slowly, not meeting his eyes. “I was just so interested in watching you work with her. I feel so stupid.”
“It was after lunch. I should have made you go inside and eat something.”
“It’s not your fault. You shouldn’t have to remind me to eat.”
I look up and our eyes meet. In spite of his irritation, I see the love simmering in those hazel depths. Two breaths, and he reaches for the plate, setting it aside and pulling me into his arms. I reach around his waist, holding his firm torso tightly. My face is pressed into his shoulder.
“You scared the shit out of me,” he says, holding the back of my head.
We’re quiet a few beats, and my insides throb with a mixture of relief and love and embarrassment. My eyes heat as per usual, and internally, I chastise myself.
“It won’t happen again,” I say. It’s a promise to us both.
He exhales, leaning back to smooth my hair away from my face. “Mom’s right. The climate here is different, we’re at a higher altitude—”
“Still,” I shake my head and grasp his hand, giving it a squeeze. “I’ve been taking care of myself a long time. I’ll do a better job. You don’t have to worry about me.”
That gets me a smile, and another wave of relief washes through me. “I’m sure I’ll worry about you regardless, but it’s good to hear.”
Reaching for the plate, he sets it on my lap again. “You good here?”
I nod, picking up the watermelon. “I’ll eat this and then have some lunch.”
“I’ll go check on Jessie.”
Nodding, I wave him away. “Go on. I’ll be right here.”
He walks to the door, but pauses a moment to give me a final look before heading out. I exhale a breath as I watch his handsome form disappear through the doorway.
10
Orders
Stuart
My muscles are tense, vibrating with adrenaline as I return to the yard. If I hadn’t heard Mariska’s sketchpad hit the ground, I might not have made it to the fence in time to catch her. Her face was so pale, and she fell so fast, I almost missed her.
I remember shouting her name. Jessie bolted, of course. I couldn’t care less as I ran to the house, carrying Mariska limp as a doll in my arms. She’d been fine only moments before. I had no clue why she would suddenly be unconscious. Fuck this helpless feeling! I hate it!
When I’d entered the house, I scanned quickly for my keys, trying to decide if it would be quicker to take her to the truck and drive her into town or call 911. My mother and Bill saw me from the kitchen and ran to where I stood holding her.
“Put her on the couch,” my mother said, running back to the kitchen. “Let me get some water.”
“Lemonade would be better,” Bill called, holding Mariska’s wrist as I laid her on the soft leather cushions. “Her pulse is steady. It’s probably altitude sickness.”
“Altitude?” That couldn’t be right. “She’s never had a problem before.”
“She wasn’t pregnant before.”
Mom came back with a damp washcloth and a glass of lemonade. “Move back so I can put this on her face.”
Reluctantly, I stepped out of the way, but not too far. “I think we should call 911.”
“Let’s see if this works before we panic.”
That fueled my anger. “I’m not panicking.” Mom cut her eyes at me, but fuck if I was sorry. “She could be in serious danger.”
“I think she’s going to be okay.” Mom leaned back as Mariska exhaled a soft noise and turned her head.
Every muscle in my body shuddered with release.
“What happened?” Her voice was soft but strong, and all three of us let out the collective breath we were holding.
The tension had just started to ease until Mariska said she hadn’t eaten… It was good that my mom sent me to the kitchen to get her a plate of food. I might have said something I’d regret in that moment. At least she seemed to realize the seriousness of what happened. I silently decided to do a better job making sure she eats.
Now on my way back to check on Jessie, all this adrenaline has left me drained. The little horse is in the pen with the line still attached to her halter, which is dangerous. As I approach, she kicks her feet and runs away, dragging it. I have to pick it up so she doesn’t hurt herself.
What happened isn’t the greatest thing when training a new colt, but it’s not the worst either. We’ll get to desensitization before too long. She has to be ready for the unexpected and not panic—she just got an early lesson today.
“Ho, girl, easy,” I say in an even tone. She keeps running, but as I walk closer, she struggles.
Her instinct is to run. Horses are easy prey for mountain lions and other big cats in the area, and their flight instinct is strong. But she’s coming back around. Mariska’s right. She’s a smart little thing.
Before we leave the pen, I keep working with her until she’s calm again, coming to me and putting her nose on my chest so I can touch her head. Then I stroke her neck, thinking about the coming winter and returning to Princeton.
Perhaps I can convince Bill to hold onto her during the long season. My jaw tightens. It’s not fair to her with no one riding her or working with her. When we come back in the spring it’ll be like starting all over. Still, Mariska loves her so much…
“What do you think, girl?” I ask, scratching behind her ears. “How much will you remember after six months?”
She lowers her head, and I almost think she understands me. I unfasten the line from her halter and wrap it up, coiling it over my elbow and shoulder. Then I do a quick loop around the center and throw it over my shoulder. I make a clucking noise and start to walk. She walks beside me, not going too far ahead or dropping back.
“Good girl,” I say when we reach the gate, smoothing her neck.
She’s learning really well, but when we get into the open space between the barn and the ring, her head lifts fast and she looks out away from the house, toward the open prairie. Her ears twitch, and I recognize that body language. I’ve seen it in her mother on more than one occasion.
Reaching for her halter, I catch the side by her face. “Come on. You’re not going anywhere.”
It’ll take more than a few weeks of gentling to get that urge to run out of her, if we ever do.
“Finished?” I look up and see Mariska coming toward me. The color is back in her cheeks, and her strength seems fully returned.
“She’s done enough for today.” We walk her to the barn. “How are you feeling?”
“I have a little headache, but I feel a lot better.” She smiles up at me, and my chest tightens. If anything happened to her…
Jessie’s stall is right beside her mother’s. Once she’s inside, Freckles nickers and stamps around her corral. “Freckles should be ridden more. Part of her problem is being cooped up too long.
“Let’s do it then!” Mariska has climbed onto the rails and is watching as I brush Jessie’s neck.
I give her a glance then shake my head. “I don’t know.”
“My blood sugar dropped. I’m not sick!” She catches my shirtsleeve and pulls it. “I wanted to go to that lake where Patrick took us last year. You can ride Freckles, and I’ll saddle up Cheyenne.”
“I’ll saddle up Cheyenne. You can worry about the bridle.”
Her pink lips press together, but I brush that off. If she thinks she’s going to be stubborn with me, she’s got her work cut out for her. Still, it’s a good idea. We need to run the horses, so I relent.
Freckles is jumpy and pulls on the reins the entire way to the lake. I hold her at an easy canter because I don’t want Mariska riding at a full gallop. She’s not only pregnant, she’s inexperienced—something my little brother didn’t worry about last year.
I ease my horse
to a stop at the top of the last hill so we can look over the small valley with the large pond in the center. It’s in the opposite direction from the cabin but still about as far from the ranch house.
“In the winter it’s black,” Mariska says, pushing her hair back as she adjusts her seat on Cheyenne. “The grasses around it were brown, and it looked like something from another planet.”
“It changes with the season.” I turn Freckles to the side. She doesn’t want to stand still.
“It’s beautiful.” Mariska gives Cheyenne a nudge, and we start down the hill at an easy walk. Today the grasses are sage green and the water of the lake reflects the blue sky.
When we reach the clump of small trees near the bank, I leave Cheyenne’s reins loose on a scrub bush, but I have to tie Freckles to a branch. I don’t usually tie the horses, but she’s so flighty. I don’t want to have to tell Bill she ran away again—with all his tack.
Mariska takes off with a shriek. “Last one in is a rotten egg!”
Freckles dances in place, but I can’t help a laugh as I watch my fiancée stripping off her top and tossing it aside followed quickly by her bra. Her black mini is next, and in a flash of golden skin and wild chestnut hair she cannonballs into the water, creating a huge splash.
Since I’m clearly the rotten egg in this scenario, I take my time removing my boots and hat and leaving them by the horses. I asked Winona to pack us a snack just in case, and I take the towel off the back of my saddle.
Leaving my shirt with my boots, I walk out onto the weathered wooden pier, collecting discarded items of clothing as I go. Mariska is in the center of the lake dog paddling around.
“It’s so warm!” she calls out. “It was like ice last winter.”
“It was probably about to freeze before the Chinook blew in.”
“What are you waiting for? Get in!” She swims toward the end of the pier and holds the posts as she waits.
I can’t help smiling down at her. Her face is glowing, and she’s so damn happy. What happened earlier today seems far away. “Give me a second.”
Shrugging out of my jeans, I toss them aside and do a shallow-dive into the warm water. Mariska is on me in a second.